[ Emma by Jane Austen 1816 ]
VOLUME I
CHAPTER I
Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty - one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.
She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate, indulgent father; and had, in consequence of her sister's marriage, been mistress of his house from a very early period.
Her mother had died too long ago for her to have more than an indistinct remembrance of her caresses; and her place had been supplied by an excellent woman as governess, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection.
Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr. Woodhouse's family, less as a governess than a friend, very fond of both daughters, but particularly of Emma.
Between _them_ it was more the intimacy of sisters.
The real evils, indeed, of Emma's situation were the power of having rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of herself; these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to her many enjoyments.
The danger, however, was at present so unperceived, that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her.
Sorrow came--a gentle sorrow--but not at all in the shape of any disagreeable consciousness.-- Miss Taylor married.
It was Miss Taylor's loss which first brought grief.
It was on the wedding - day of this beloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful thought of any continuance.
The wedding over, and the bride - people gone, her father and herself were left to dine together, with no prospect of a third to cheer a long evening.
Her father composed himself to sleep after dinner, as usual, and she had then only to sit and think of what she had lost.
The event had every promise of happiness for her friend.
The want of Miss Taylor would be felt every hour of every day.
A large debt of gratitude was owing here; but the intercourse of the last seven years, the equal footing and perfect unreserve which had soon followed Isabella's marriage, on their being left to each other, was yet a dearer, tenderer recollection.
She dearly loved her father, but he was no companion for her.
He could not meet her in conversation, rational or playful.
Highbury, the large and populous village, almost amounting to a town, to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn, and shrubberies, and name, did really belong, afforded her no equals.
The Woodhouses were first in consequence there.
All looked up to them.
She had many acquaintance in the place, for her father was universally civil, but not one among them who could be accepted in lieu of Miss Taylor for even half a day.
It was a melancholy change; and Emma could not but sigh over it, and wish for impossible things, till her father awoke, and made it necessary to be cheerful.
His spirits required support.
He was a nervous man, easily depressed; fond of every body that he was used to, and hating to part with them; hating change of every kind.
Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she could, to keep him from such thoughts; but when tea came, it was impossible for him not to say exactly as he had said at dinner,
" Poor Miss Taylor!-- I wish she were here again.
What a pity it is that Mr. Weston ever thought of her!"
" I cannot agree with you, papa; you know I cannot.
Mr. Weston is such a good - humoured, pleasant, excellent man, that he thoroughly deserves a good wife;-- and you would not have had Miss Taylor live with us for ever, and bear all my odd humours, when she might have a house of her own?"
" A house of her own!-- But where is the advantage of a house of her own?
This is three times as large.-- And you have never any odd humours, my dear."
" How often we shall be going to see them, and they coming to see us!-- We shall be always meeting!
_We_ must begin; we must go and pay wedding visit very soon."
" My dear, how am I to get so far?
Randalls is such a distance.
I could not walk half so far."
" No, papa, nobody thought of your walking.
We must go in the carriage, to be sure."
" The carriage!
But James will not like to put the horses to for such a little way;-- and where are the poor horses to be while we are paying our visit?"
" They are to be put into Mr. Weston's stable, papa.
You know we have settled all that already.
We talked it all over with Mr. Weston last night.
And as for James, you may be very sure he will always like going to Randalls, because of his daughter's being housemaid there.
I only doubt whether he will ever take us anywhere else.
That was your doing, papa.
You got Hannah that good place.
Nobody thought of Hannah till you mentioned her--James is so obliged to you!"
" I am very glad I did think of her.
It was very lucky, for I would not have had poor James think himself slighted upon any account; and I am sure she will make a very good servant: she is a civil, pretty - spoken girl; I have a great opinion of her.
Whenever I see her, she always curtseys and asks me how I do, in a very pretty manner; and when you have had her here to do needlework, I observe she always turns the lock of the door the right way and never bangs it.
I am sure she will be an excellent servant; and it will be a great comfort to poor Miss Taylor to have somebody about her that she is used to see.
Whenever James goes over to see his daughter, you know, she will be hearing of us.
He will be able to tell her how we all are."
Emma spared no exertions to maintain this happier flow of ideas, and hoped, by the help of backgammon, to get her father tolerably through the evening, and be attacked by no regrets but her own.
The backgammon - table was placed; but a visitor immediately afterwards walked in and made it unnecessary.
Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight - and - thirty, was not only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularly connected with it, as the elder brother of Isabella's husband.
He lived about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor, and always welcome, and at this time more welcome than usual, as coming directly from their mutual connexions in London.
He had returned to a late dinner, after some days'absence, and now walked up to Hartfield to say that all were well in Brunswick Square.
It was a happy circumstance, and animated Mr. Woodhouse for some time.
Mr. Knightley had a cheerful manner, which always did him good; and his many inquiries after " poor Isabella " and her children were answered most satisfactorily.
When this was over, Mr. Woodhouse gratefully observed, " It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, to come out at this late hour to call upon us.
I am afraid you must have had a shocking walk."
" Not at all, sir.
It is a beautiful moonlight night; and so mild that I must draw back from your great fire."
" But you must have found it very damp and dirty.
I wish you may not catch cold."
" Dirty, sir!
Look at my shoes.
Not a speck on them."
" Well!
that is quite surprising, for we have had a vast deal of rain here.
It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour while we were at breakfast.
I wanted them to put off the wedding."
" By the bye--I have not wished you joy.
Being pretty well aware of what sort of joy you must both be feeling, I have been in no hurry with my congratulations; but I hope it all went off tolerably well.
How did you all behave?
Who cried most?"
" Ah!
poor Miss Taylor!
' Tis a sad business."
" Poor Mr. and Miss Woodhouse, if you please; but I cannot possibly say 'poor Miss Taylor.'
I have a great regard for you and Emma; but when it comes to the question of dependence or independence!-- At any rate, it must be better to have only one to please than two."
" Especially when _one_ of those two is such a fanciful, troublesome creature!"
said Emma playfully.
" That is what you have in your head, I know--and what you would certainly say if my father were not by."
" I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed," said Mr. Woodhouse, with a sigh.
" I am afraid I am sometimes very fanciful and troublesome."
" My dearest papa!
You do not think I could mean _you_, or suppose Mr. Knightley to mean _you_.
What a horrible idea!
Oh no!
I meant only myself.
Mr. Knightley loves to find fault with me, you know--in a joke--it is all a joke.
We always say what we like to one another."
" Emma knows I never flatter her," said Mr. Knightley, " but I meant no reflection on any body.
Miss Taylor has been used to have two persons to please; she will now have but one.
The chances are that she must be a gainer."
" Well," said Emma, willing to let it pass --" you want to hear about the wedding; and I shall be happy to tell you, for we all behaved charmingly.
Every body was punctual, every body in their best looks: not a tear, and hardly a long face to be seen.
Oh no; we all felt that we were going to be only half a mile apart, and were sure of meeting every day."
" Dear Emma bears every thing so well," said her father.
" But, Mr. Knightley, she is really very sorry to lose poor Miss Taylor, and I am sure she _will_ miss her more than she thinks for."
Emma turned away her head, divided between tears and smiles.
" It is impossible that Emma should not miss such a companion," said Mr. Knightley.
Every friend of Miss Taylor must be glad to have her so happily married."
" And you have forgotten one matter of joy to me," said Emma, " and a very considerable one--that I made the match myself.
I made the match, you know, four years ago; and to have it take place, and be proved in the right, when so many people said Mr. Weston would never marry again, may comfort me for any thing."
Mr. Knightley shook his head at her.
Her father fondly replied, " Ah!
my dear, I wish you would not make matches and foretell things, for whatever you say always comes to pass.
Pray do not make any more matches."
" I promise you to make none for myself, papa; but I must, indeed, for other people.
It is the greatest amusement in the world!
And after such success, you know!-- Every body said that Mr. Weston would never marry again.
Oh dear, no!
Oh no!
Mr. Weston certainly would never marry again.
Some people even talked of a promise to his wife on her deathbed, and others of the son and the uncle not letting him.
All manner of solemn nonsense was talked on the subject, but I believed none of it.
" Ever since the day--about four years ago--that Miss Taylor and I met with him in Broadway Lane, when, because it began to drizzle, he darted away with so much gallantry, and borrowed two umbrellas for us from Farmer Mitchell's, I made up my mind on the subject.
I planned the match from that hour; and when such success has blessed me in this instance, dear papa, you cannot think that I shall leave off match - making."
" I do not understand what you mean by 'success,'" said Mr. Knightley.
" Success supposes endeavour.
Your time has been properly and delicately spent, if you have been endeavouring for the last four years to bring about this marriage.
A worthy employment for a young lady's mind!
Where is your merit?
What are you proud of?
You made a lucky guess; and _that_ is all that can be said."
" And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a lucky guess?-- I pity you.-- I thought you cleverer--for, depend upon it a lucky guess is never merely luck.
There is always some talent in it.
And as to my poor word 'success,' which you quarrel with, I do not know that I am so entirely without any claim to it.
You have drawn two pretty pictures; but I think there may be a third--a something between the do - nothing and the do - all.
If I had not promoted Mr. Weston's visits here, and given many little encouragements, and smoothed many little matters, it might not have come to any thing after all.
I think you must know Hartfield enough to comprehend that."
" A straightforward, open - hearted man like Weston, and a rational, unaffected woman like Miss Taylor, may be safely left to manage their own concerns.
You are more likely to have done harm to yourself, than good to them, by interference."
" Emma never thinks of herself, if she can do good to others," rejoined Mr. Woodhouse, understanding but in part.
" But, my dear, pray do not make any more matches; they are silly things, and break up one's family circle grievously."
" Only one more, papa; only for Mr. Elton.
Poor Mr. Elton!
You like Mr. Elton, papa,-- I must look about for a wife for him.
I think very well of Mr. Elton, and this is the only way I have of doing him a service."
" Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man, to be sure, and a very good young man, and I have a great regard for him.
But if you want to shew him any attention, my dear, ask him to come and dine with us some day.
That will be a much better thing.
I dare say Mr. Knightley will be so kind as to meet him."
" With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time," said Mr. Knightley, laughing, " and I agree with you entirely, that it will be a much better thing.
Invite him to dinner, Emma, and help him to the best of the fish and the chicken, but leave him to chuse his own wife.
Depend upon it, a man of six or seven - and - twenty can take care of himself."
CHAPTER II
Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable family, which for the last two or three generations had been rising into gentility and property.
It was an unsuitable connexion, and did not produce much happiness.
Mrs. Weston ought to have found more in it, for she had a husband whose warm heart and sweet temper made him think every thing due to her in return for the great goodness of being in love with him; but though she had one sort of spirit, she had not the best.
She had resolution enough to pursue her own will in spite of her brother, but not enough to refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother's unreasonable anger, nor from missing the luxuries of her former home.
They lived beyond their income, but still it was nothing in comparison of Enscombe: she did not cease to love her husband, but she wanted at once to be the wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe.
From the expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved.
A complete change of life became desirable.
He quitted the militia and engaged in trade, having brothers already established in a good way in London, which afforded him a favourable opening.
It was a concern which brought just employment enough.
He had still a small house in Highbury, where most of his leisure days were spent; and between useful occupation and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or twenty years of his life passed cheerfully away.
He had made his fortune, bought his house, and obtained his wife; and was beginning a new period of existence, with every probability of greater happiness than in any yet passed through.
He had only himself to please in his choice: his fortune was his own; for as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly brought up as his uncle's heir, it had become so avowed an adoption as to have him assume the name of Churchill on coming of age.
It was most unlikely, therefore, that he should ever want his father's assistance.
His father had no apprehension of it.
The aunt was a capricious woman, and governed her husband entirely; but it was not in Mr. Weston's nature to imagine that any caprice could be strong enough to affect one so dear, and, as he believed, so deservedly dear.
He saw his son every year in London, and was proud of him; and his fond report of him as a very fine young man had made Highbury feel a sort of pride in him too.
He was looked on as sufficiently belonging to the place to make his merits and prospects a kind of common concern.
Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, and a lively curiosity to see him prevailed, though the compliment was so little returned that he had never been there in his life.
His coming to visit his father had been often talked of but never achieved.
Now, upon his father's marriage, it was very generally proposed, as a most proper attention, that the visit should take place.
There was not a dissentient voice on the subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tea with Mrs. and Miss Bates, or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned the visit.
Now was the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to come among them; and the hope strengthened when it was understood that he had written to his new mother on the occasion.
For a few days, every morning visit in Highbury included some mention of the handsome letter Mrs. Weston had received.
" I suppose you have heard of the handsome letter Mr. Frank Churchill has written to Mrs. Weston?
I understand it was a very handsome letter, indeed.
Mr. Woodhouse told me of it.
Mr. Woodhouse saw the letter, and he says he never saw such a handsome letter in his life."
It was, indeed, a highly prized letter.
She felt herself a most fortunate woman; and she had lived long enough to know how fortunate she might well be thought, where the only regret was for a partial separation from friends whose friendship for her had never cooled, and who could ill bear to part with her.
But never did she go without Mr. Woodhouse's giving a gentle sigh, and saying, " Ah, poor Miss Taylor!
She would be very glad to stay."
There was no recovering Miss Taylor--nor much likelihood of ceasing to pity her; but a few weeks brought some alleviation to Mr. Woodhouse.
The compliments of his neighbours were over; he was no longer teased by being wished joy of so sorrowful an event; and the wedding - cake, which had been a great distress to him, was all eat up.
His own stomach could bear nothing rich, and he could never believe other people to be different from himself.
What was unwholesome to him he regarded as unfit for any body; and he had, therefore, earnestly tried to dissuade them from having any wedding - cake at all, and when that proved vain, as earnestly tried to prevent any body's eating it.
He had been at the pains of consulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on the subject.
With such an opinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr. Woodhouse hoped to influence every visitor of the newly married pair; but still the cake was eaten; and there was no rest for his benevolent nerves till it was all gone.
There was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little Perrys being seen with a slice of Mrs. Weston's wedding - cake in their hands: but Mr. Woodhouse would never believe it.
CHAPTER III
Mr. Woodhouse was fond of society in his own way.
He had not much intercourse with any families beyond that circle; his horror of late hours, and large dinner - parties, made him unfit for any acquaintance but such as would visit him on his own terms.
Fortunately for him, Highbury, including Randalls in the same parish, and Donwell Abbey in the parish adjoining, the seat of Mr. Knightley, comprehended many such.
Had it taken place only once a year, it would have been a grievance.
Mrs. Bates, the widow of a former vicar of Highbury, was a very old lady, almost past every thing but tea and quadrille.
She lived with her single daughter in a very small way, and was considered with all the regard and respect which a harmless old lady, under such untoward circumstances, can excite.
Her daughter enjoyed a most uncommon degree of popularity for a woman neither young, handsome, rich, nor married.
Miss Bates stood in the very worst predicament in the world for having much of the public favour; and she had no intellectual superiority to make atonement to herself, or frighten those who might hate her into outward respect.
She had never boasted either beauty or cleverness.
Her youth had passed without distinction, and her middle of life was devoted to the care of a failing mother, and the endeavour to make a small income go as far as possible.
And yet she was a happy woman, and a woman whom no one named without good - will.
It was her own universal good - will and contented temper which worked such wonders.
The simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature, her contented and grateful spirit, were a recommendation to every body, and a mine of felicity to herself.
She was a great talker upon little matters, which exactly suited Mr. Woodhouse, full of trivial communications and harmless gossip.
It was no wonder that a train of twenty young couple now walked after her to church.
These were the ladies whom Emma found herself very frequently able to collect; and happy was she, for her father's sake, in the power; though, as far as she was herself concerned, it was no remedy for the absence of Mrs. Weston.
She was delighted to see her father look comfortable, and very much pleased with herself for contriving things so well; but the quiet prosings of three such women made her feel that every evening so spent was indeed one of the long evenings she had fearfully anticipated.
A very gracious invitation was returned, and the evening no longer dreaded by the fair mistress of the mansion.
Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of somebody.
Somebody had placed her, several years back, at Mrs. Goddard's school, and somebody had lately raised her from the condition of scholar to that of parlour - boarder.
This was all that was generally known of her history.
She had no visible friends but what had been acquired at Highbury, and was now just returned from a long visit in the country to some young ladies who had been at school there with her.
She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sort which Emma particularly admired.
She was short, plump, and fair, with a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular features, and a look of great sweetness, and, before the end of the evening, Emma was as much pleased with her manners as her person, and quite determined to continue the acquaintance.
Encouragement should be given.
Those soft blue eyes, and all those natural graces, should not be wasted on the inferior society of Highbury and its connexions.
The acquaintance she had already formed were unworthy of her.
The friends from whom she had just parted, though very good sort of people, must be doing her harm.
_She_ would notice her; she would improve her; she would detach her from her bad acquaintance, and introduce her into good society; she would form her opinions and her manners.
It would be an interesting, and certainly a very kind undertaking; highly becoming her own situation in life, her leisure, and powers.
Upon such occasions poor Mr. Woodhouses feelings were in sad warfare.
Such another small basin of thin gruel as his own was all that he could, with thorough self - approbation, recommend; though he might constrain himself, while the ladies were comfortably clearing the nicer things, to say:
" Mrs. Bates, let me propose your venturing on one of these eggs.
An egg boiled very soft is not unwholesome.
Serle understands boiling an egg better than any body.
I would not recommend an egg boiled by any body else; but you need not be afraid, they are very small, you see--one of our small eggs will not hurt you.
Miss Bates, let Emma help you to a _little_ bit of tart--a _very_ little bit.
Ours are all apple - tarts.
You need not be afraid of unwholesome preserves here.
I do not advise the custard.
Mrs. Goddard, what say you to _half_ a glass of wine?
A _small_ half - glass, put into a tumbler of water?
I do not think it could disagree with you."
Emma allowed her father to talk--but supplied her visitors in a much more satisfactory style, and on the present evening had particular pleasure in sending them away happy.
The happiness of Miss Smith was quite equal to her intentions.
CHAPTER IV
Harriet Smith's intimacy at Hartfield was soon a settled thing.
Quick and decided in her ways, Emma lost no time in inviting, encouraging, and telling her to come very often; and as their acquaintance increased, so did their satisfaction in each other.
As a walking companion, Emma had very early foreseen how useful she might find her.
In that respect Mrs. Weston's loss had been important.
Her father never went beyond the shrubbery, where two divisions of the ground sufficed him for his long walk, or his short, as the year varied; and since Mrs. Weston's marriage her exercise had been too much confined.
She had ventured once alone to Randalls, but it was not pleasant; and a Harriet Smith, therefore, one whom she could summon at any time to a walk, would be a valuable addition to her privileges.
But in every respect, as she saw more of her, she approved her, and was confirmed in all her kind designs.
Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile, grateful disposition, was totally free from conceit, and only desiring to be guided by any one she looked up to.
Her early attachment to herself was very amiable; and her inclination for good company, and power of appreciating what was elegant and clever, shewed that there was no want of taste, though strength of understanding must not be expected.
Altogether she was quite convinced of Harriet Smith's being exactly the young friend she wanted--exactly the something which her home required.
Such a friend as Mrs. Weston was out of the question.
Two such could never be granted.
Two such she did not want.
It was quite a different sort of thing, a sentiment distinct and independent.
Mrs. Weston was the object of a regard which had its basis in gratitude and esteem.
Harriet would be loved as one to whom she could be useful.
For Mrs. Weston there was nothing to be done; for Harriet every thing.
Her first attempts at usefulness were in an endeavour to find out who were the parents, but Harriet could not tell.
She was ready to tell every thing in her power, but on this subject questions were vain.
Emma was obliged to fancy what she liked--but she could never believe that in the same situation _she_ should not have discovered the truth.
Harriet had no penetration.
She had been satisfied to hear and believe just what Mrs. Goddard chose to tell her; and looked no farther.
Mrs. Goddard, and the teachers, and the girls and the affairs of the school in general, formed naturally a great part of the conversation--and but for her acquaintance with the Martins of Abbey - Mill Farm, it must have been the whole.
But the Martins occupied her thoughts a good deal; she had spent two very happy months with them, and now loved to talk of the pleasures of her visit, and describe the many comforts and wonders of the place.
For some time she was amused, without thinking beyond the immediate cause; but as she came to understand the family better, other feelings arose.
With this inspiriting notion, her questions increased in number and meaning; and she particularly led Harriet to talk more of Mr. Martin, and there was evidently no dislike to it.
Harriet was very ready to speak of the share he had had in their moonlight walks and merry evening games; and dwelt a good deal upon his being so very good - humoured and obliging.
He had gone three miles round one day in order to bring her some walnuts, because she had said how fond she was of them, and in every thing else he was so very obliging.
He had his shepherd's son into the parlour one night on purpose to sing to her.
She was very fond of singing.
He could sing a little himself.
She believed he was very clever, and understood every thing.
He had a very fine flock, and, while she was with them, he had been bid more for his wool than any body in the country.
She believed every body spoke well of him.
His mother and sisters were very fond of him.
Mrs. Martin had told her one day (and there was a blush as she said it,) that it was impossible for any body to be a better son, and therefore she was sure, whenever he married, he would make a good husband.
Not that she _wanted_ him to marry.
She was in no hurry at all.
" Well done, Mrs.
Martin!"
thought Emma.
" You know what you are about."
" And when she had come away, Mrs. Martin was so very kind as to send Mrs. Goddard a beautiful goose--the finest goose Mrs. Goddard had ever seen.
Mrs. Goddard had dressed it on a Sunday, and asked all the three teachers, Miss Nash, and Miss Prince, and Miss Richardson, to sup with her."
" Mr. Martin, I suppose, is not a man of information beyond the line of his own business?
He does not read?"
" Oh yes!-- that is, no--I do not know--but I believe he has read a good deal--but not what you would think any thing of.
He reads the Agricultural Reports, and some other books that lay in one of the window seats--but he reads all _them_ to himself.
But sometimes of an evening, before we went to cards, he would read something aloud out of the Elegant Extracts, very entertaining.
And I know he has read the Vicar of Wakefield.
He never read the Romance of the Forest, nor The Children of the Abbey.
He had never heard of such books before I mentioned them, but he is determined to get them now as soon as ever he can."
The next question was --
" What sort of looking man is Mr.
Martin?"
" Oh!
not handsome--not at all handsome.
I thought him very plain at first, but I do not think him so plain now.
One does not, you know, after a time.
But did you never see him?
He is in Highbury every now and then, and he is sure to ride through every week in his way to Kingston.
He has passed you very often."
" That may be, and I may have seen him fifty times, but without having any idea of his name.
A young farmer, whether on horseback or on foot, is the very last sort of person to raise my curiosity.
The yeomanry are precisely the order of people with whom I feel I can have nothing to do.
A degree or two lower, and a creditable appearance might interest me; I might hope to be useful to their families in some way or other.
But a farmer can need none of my help, and is, therefore, in one sense, as much above my notice as in every other he is below it."
" To be sure.
Oh yes!
It is not likely you should ever have observed him; but he knows you very well indeed--I mean by sight."
" I have no doubt of his being a very respectable young man.
I know, indeed, that he is so, and, as such, wish him well.
What do you imagine his age to be?"
" He was four - and - twenty the 8th of last June, and my birthday is the 23rd just a fortnight and a day's difference--which is very odd."
" Only four - and - twenty.
That is too young to settle.
His mother is perfectly right not to be in a hurry.
They seem very comfortable as they are, and if she were to take any pains to marry him, she would probably repent it.
Six years hence, if he could meet with a good sort of young woman in the same rank as his own, with a little money, it might be very desirable."
" Six years hence!
Dear Miss Woodhouse, he would be thirty years old!"
" Well, and that is as early as most men can afford to marry, who are not born to an independence.
Mr. Martin, I imagine, has his fortune entirely to make--cannot be at all beforehand with the world.
" To be sure, so it is.
But they live very comfortably.
They have no indoors man, else they do not want for any thing; and Mrs. Martin talks of taking a boy another year."
The misfortune of your birth ought to make you particularly careful as to your associates.
There can be no doubt of your being a gentleman's daughter, and you must support your claim to that station by every thing within your own power, or there will be plenty of people who would take pleasure in degrading you."
" Yes, to be sure, I suppose there are.
But while I visit at Hartfield, and you are so kind to me, Miss Woodhouse, I am not afraid of what any body can do."
" You understand the force of influence pretty well, Harriet; but I would have you so firmly established in good society, as to be independent even of Hartfield and Miss Woodhouse.
" To be sure.
Yes.
Not that I think Mr. Martin would ever marry any body but what had had some education--and been very well brought up.
However, I do not mean to set up my opinion against your's--and I am sure I shall not wish for the acquaintance of his wife.
I shall always have a great regard for the Miss Martins, especially Elizabeth, and should be very sorry to give them up, for they are quite as well educated as me.
But if he marries a very ignorant, vulgar woman, certainly I had better not visit her, if I can help it."
Emma watched her through the fluctuations of this speech, and saw no alarming symptoms of love.
The young man had been the first admirer, but she trusted there was no other hold, and that there would be no serious difficulty, on Harriet's side, to oppose any friendly arrangement of her own.
They met Mr. Martin the very next day, as they were walking on the Donwell road.
He was on foot, and after looking very respectfully at her, looked with most unfeigned satisfaction at her companion.
Emma was not sorry to have such an opportunity of survey; and walking a few yards forward, while they talked together, soon made her quick eye sufficiently acquainted with Mr. Robert Martin.
His appearance was very neat, and he looked like a sensible young man, but his person had no other advantage; and when he came to be contrasted with gentlemen, she thought he must lose all the ground he had gained in Harriet's inclination.
Harriet was not insensible of manner; she had voluntarily noticed her father's gentleness with admiration as well as wonder.
Mr. Martin looked as if he did not know what manner was.
They remained but a few minutes together, as Miss Woodhouse must not be kept waiting; and Harriet then came running to her with a smiling face, and in a flutter of spirits, which Miss Woodhouse hoped very soon to compose.
" Only think of our happening to meet him!-- How very odd!
It was quite a chance, he said, that he had not gone round by Randalls.
He did not think we ever walked this road.
He thought we walked towards Randalls most days.
He has not been able to get the Romance of the Forest yet.
He was so busy the last time he was at Kingston that he quite forgot it, but he goes again to - morrow.
So very odd we should happen to meet!
Well, Miss Woodhouse, is he like what you expected?
What do you think of him?
Do you think him so very plain?"
" He is very plain, undoubtedly--remarkably plain:-- but that is nothing compared with his entire want of gentility.
I had no right to expect much, and I did not expect much; but I had no idea that he could be so very clownish, so totally without air.
I had imagined him, I confess, a degree or two nearer gentility."
" To be sure," said Harriet, in a mortified voice, " he is not so genteel as real gentlemen."
" I think, Harriet, since your acquaintance with us, you have been repeatedly in the company of some such very real gentlemen, that you must yourself be struck with the difference in Mr. Martin.
At Hartfield, you have had very good specimens of well educated, well bred men.
I should be surprized if, after seeing them, you could be in company with Mr. Martin again without perceiving him to be a very inferior creature--and rather wondering at yourself for having ever thought him at all agreeable before.
Do not you begin to feel that now?
Were not you struck?
I am sure you must have been struck by his awkward look and abrupt manner, and the uncouthness of a voice which I heard to be wholly unmodulated as I stood here."
" Certainly, he is not like Mr. Knightley.
He has not such a fine air and way of walking as Mr. Knightley.
I see the difference plain enough.
But Mr. Knightley is so very fine a man!"
" Mr. Knightley's air is so remarkably good that it is not fair to compare Mr. Martin with _him_.
You might not see one in a hundred with _gentleman_ so plainly written as in Mr. Knightley.
But he is not the only gentleman you have been lately used to.
What say you to Mr. Weston and Mr. Elton?
Compare Mr. Martin with either of _them_.
Compare their manner of carrying themselves; of walking; of speaking; of being silent.
You must see the difference."
" Oh yes!-- there is a great difference.
But Mr. Weston is almost an old man.
Mr. Weston must be between forty and fifty."
" Which makes his good manners the more valuable.
The older a person grows, Harriet, the more important it is that their manners should not be bad; the more glaring and disgusting any loudness, or coarseness, or awkwardness becomes.
What is passable in youth is detestable in later age.
Mr. Martin is now awkward and abrupt; what will he be at Mr. Weston's time of life?"
" There is no saying, indeed," replied Harriet rather solemnly.
" But there may be pretty good guessing.
He will be a completely gross, vulgar farmer, totally inattentive to appearances, and thinking of nothing but profit and loss."
" Will he, indeed?
That will be very bad."
" How much his business engrosses him already is very plain from the circumstance of his forgetting to inquire for the book you recommended.
He was a great deal too full of the market to think of any thing else--which is just as it should be, for a thriving man.
What has he to do with books?
And I have no doubt that he _will_ thrive, and be a very rich man in time--and his being illiterate and coarse need not disturb _us_."
" I wonder he did not remember the book "-- was all Harriet's answer, and spoken with a degree of grave displeasure which Emma thought might be safely left to itself.
She, therefore, said no more for some time.
Her next beginning was,
" In one respect, perhaps, Mr. Elton's manners are superior to Mr. Knightley's or Mr. Weston's.
They have more gentleness.
They might be more safely held up as a pattern.
There is an openness, a quickness, almost a bluntness in Mr. Weston, which every body likes in _him_, because there is so much good - humour with it--but that would not do to be copied.
Neither would Mr. Knightley's downright, decided, commanding sort of manner, though it suits _him_ very well; his figure, and look, and situation in life seem to allow it; but if any young man were to set about copying him, he would not be sufferable.
On the contrary, I think a young man might be very safely recommended to take Mr. Elton as a model.
Mr. Elton is good - humoured, cheerful, obliging, and gentle.
He seems to me to be grown particularly gentle of late.
I do not know whether he has any design of ingratiating himself with either of us, Harriet, by additional softness, but it strikes me that his manners are softer than they used to be.
If he means any thing, it must be to please you.
Did not I tell you what he said of you the other day?"
She then repeated some warm personal praise which she had drawn from Mr. Elton, and now did full justice to; and Harriet blushed and smiled, and said she had always thought Mr. Elton very agreeable.
Mr. Elton was the very person fixed on by Emma for driving the young farmer out of Harriet's head.
She thought it would be an excellent match; and only too palpably desirable, natural, and probable, for her to have much merit in planning it.
She feared it was what every body else must think of and predict.
It was not likely, however, that any body should have equalled her in the date of the plan, as it had entered her brain during the very first evening of Harriet's coming to Hartfield.
The longer she considered it, the greater was her sense of its expediency.
Mr. Elton's situation was most suitable, quite the gentleman himself, and without low connexions; at the same time, not of any family that could fairly object to the doubtful birth of Harriet.
And he was really a very pleasing young man, a young man whom any woman not fastidious might like.
CHAPTER V
" I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston," said Mr. Knightley, " of this great intimacy between Emma and Harriet Smith, but I think it a bad thing."
" A bad thing!
Do you really think it a bad thing?-- why so?"
" I think they will neither of them do the other any good."
" You surprize me!
Emma must do Harriet good: and by supplying her with a new object of interest, Harriet may be said to do Emma good.
I have been seeing their intimacy with the greatest pleasure.
How very differently we feel!-- Not think they will do each other any good!
This will certainly be the beginning of one of our quarrels about Emma, Mr.
Knightley."
" Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel with you, knowing Weston to be out, and that you must still fight your own battle."
" Mr. Weston would undoubtedly support me, if he were here, for he thinks exactly as I do on the subject.
We were speaking of it only yesterday, and agreeing how fortunate it was for Emma, that there should be such a girl in Highbury for her to associate with.
Mr. Knightley, I shall not allow you to be a fair judge in this case.
You are so much used to live alone, that you do not know the value of a companion; and, perhaps no man can be a good judge of the comfort a woman feels in the society of one of her own sex, after being used to it all her life.
I can imagine your objection to Harriet Smith.
She is not the superior young woman which Emma's friend ought to be.
But on the other hand, as Emma wants to see her better informed, it will be an inducement to her to read more herself.
They will read together.
She means it, I know."
" Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelve years old.
I have seen a great many lists of her drawing - up at various times of books that she meant to read regularly through--and very good lists they were--very well chosen, and very neatly arranged--sometimes alphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule.
The list she drew up when only fourteen--I remember thinking it did her judgment so much credit, that I preserved it some time; and I dare say she may have made out a very good list now.
But I have done with expecting any course of steady reading from Emma.
She will never submit to any thing requiring industry and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the understanding.
Where Miss Taylor failed to stimulate, I may safely affirm that Harriet Smith will do nothing.-- You never could persuade her to read half so much as you wished.-- You know you could not."
" I dare say," replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, " that I thought so _then_;-- but since we have parted, I can never remember Emma's omitting to do any thing I wished."
" There is hardly any desiring to refresh such a memory as _that_,"-- said Mr. Knightley, feelingly; and for a moment or two he had done.
" But I," he soon added, " who have had no such charm thrown over my senses, must still see, hear, and remember.
Emma is spoiled by being the cleverest of her family.
At ten years old, she had the misfortune of being able to answer questions which puzzled her sister at seventeen.
She was always quick and assured: Isabella slow and diffident.
And ever since she was twelve, Emma has been mistress of the house and of you all.
In her mother she lost the only person able to cope with her.
She inherits her mother's talents, and must have been under subjection to her."
" I should have been sorry, Mr. Knightley, to be dependent on _your_ recommendation, had I quitted Mr. Woodhouse's family and wanted another situation; I do not think you would have spoken a good word for me to any body.
I am sure you always thought me unfit for the office I held."
" Yes," said he, smiling.
" You are better placed _here_; very fit for a wife, but not at all for a governess.
But you were preparing yourself to be an excellent wife all the time you were at Hartfield.
" Thank you.
There will be very little merit in making a good wife to such a man as Mr.
Weston."
" Why, to own the truth, I am afraid you are rather thrown away, and that with every disposition to bear, there will be nothing to be borne.
We will not despair, however.
Weston may grow cross from the wantonness of comfort, or his son may plague him."
" I hope not _that_.-- It is not likely.
No, Mr. Knightley, do not foretell vexation from that quarter."
" Not I, indeed.
I only name possibilities.
I do not pretend to Emma's genius for foretelling and guessing.
I hope, with all my heart, the young man may be a Weston in merit, and a Churchill in fortune.-- But Harriet Smith--I have not half done about Harriet Smith.
I think her the very worst sort of companion that Emma could possibly have.
She knows nothing herself, and looks upon Emma as knowing every thing.
She is a flatterer in all her ways; and so much the worse, because undesigned.
Her ignorance is hourly flattery.
How can Emma imagine she has any thing to learn herself, while Harriet is presenting such a delightful inferiority?
And as for Harriet, I will venture to say that _she_ cannot gain by the acquaintance.
Hartfield will only put her out of conceit with all the other places she belongs to.
She will grow just refined enough to be uncomfortable with those among whom birth and circumstances have placed her home.
I am much mistaken if Emma's doctrines give any strength of mind, or tend at all to make a girl adapt herself rationally to the varieties of her situation in life.-- They only give a little polish."
" I either depend more upon Emma's good sense than you do, or am more anxious for her present comfort; for I cannot lament the acquaintance.
How well she looked last night!"
" Oh!
you would rather talk of her person than her mind, would you?
Very well; I shall not attempt to deny Emma's being pretty."
" Pretty!
say beautiful rather.
Can you imagine any thing nearer perfect beauty than Emma altogether--face and figure?"
" I do not know what I could imagine, but I confess that I have seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers.
But I am a partial old friend."
" Such an eye!-- the true hazle eye--and so brilliant!
regular features, open countenance, with a complexion!
oh!
what a bloom of full health, and such a pretty height and size; such a firm and upright figure!
There is health, not merely in her bloom, but in her air, her head, her glance.
One hears sometimes of a child being 'the picture of health;' now, Emma always gives me the idea of being the complete picture of grown - up health.
She is loveliness itself.
Mr. Knightley, is not she?"
" I have not a fault to find with her person," he replied.
" I think her all you describe.
I love to look at her; and I will add this praise, that I do not think her personally vain.
Considering how very handsome she is, she appears to be little occupied with it; her vanity lies another way.
Mrs. Weston, I am not to be talked out of my dislike of Harriet Smith, or my dread of its doing them both harm."
" And I, Mr. Knightley, am equally stout in my confidence of its not doing them any harm.
With all dear Emma's little faults, she is an excellent creature.
Where shall we see a better daughter, or a kinder sister, or a truer friend?
No, no; she has qualities which may be trusted; she will never lead any one really wrong; she will make no lasting blunder; where Emma errs once, she is in the right a hundred times."
" Very well; I will not plague you any more.
Emma shall be an angel, and I will keep my spleen to myself till Christmas brings John and Isabella.
John loves Emma with a reasonable and therefore not a blind affection, and Isabella always thinks as he does; except when he is not quite frightened enough about the children.
I am sure of having their opinions with me."
It has been so many years my province to give advice, that you cannot be surprized, Mr. Knightley, at this little remains of office."
" Not at all," cried he; " I am much obliged to you for it.
It is very good advice, and it shall have a better fate than your advice has often found; for it shall be attended to."
" Mrs. John Knightley is easily alarmed, and might be made unhappy about her sister."
" Be satisfied," said he, " I will not raise any outcry.
I will keep my ill - humour to myself.
I have a very sincere interest in Emma.
Isabella does not seem more my sister; has never excited a greater interest; perhaps hardly so great.
There is an anxiety, a curiosity in what one feels for Emma.
I wonder what will become of her!"
" So do I," said Mrs. Weston gently, " very much."
" She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, means just nothing at all.
But I have no idea that she has yet ever seen a man she cared for.
It would not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love with a proper object.
I should like to see Emma in love, and in some doubt of a return; it would do her good.
But there is nobody hereabouts to attach her; and she goes so seldom from home."
I do not recommend matrimony at present to Emma, though I mean no slight to the state, I assure you."
Part of her meaning was to conceal some favourite thoughts of her own and Mr. Weston's on the subject, as much as possible.
There were wishes at Randalls respecting Emma's destiny, but it was not desirable to have them suspected; and the quiet transition which Mr. Knightley soon afterwards made to " What does Weston think of the weather; shall we have rain?"
convinced her that he had nothing more to say or surmise about Hartfield.
CHAPTER VI
She was quite convinced of Mr. Elton's being in the fairest way of falling in love, if not in love already.
She had no scruple with regard to him.
He talked of Harriet, and praised her so warmly, that she could not suppose any thing wanting which a little time would not add.
His perception of the striking improvement of Harriet's manner, since her introduction at Hartfield, was not one of the least agreeable proofs of his growing attachment.
" You have given Miss Smith all that she required," said he; " you have made her graceful and easy.
She was a beautiful creature when she came to you, but, in my opinion, the attractions you have added are infinitely superior to what she received from nature."
" I am glad you think I have been useful to her; but Harriet only wanted drawing out, and receiving a few, very few hints.
She had all the natural grace of sweetness of temper and artlessness in herself.
I have done very little."
" If it were admissible to contradict a lady," said the gallant Mr. Elton --
" I have perhaps given her a little more decision of character, have taught her to think on points which had not fallen in her way before."
" Exactly so; that is what principally strikes me.
So much superadded decision of character!
Skilful has been the hand!"
" Great has been the pleasure, I am sure.
I never met with a disposition more truly amiable."
" I have no doubt of it."
And it was spoken with a sort of sighing animation, which had a vast deal of the lover.
She was not less pleased another day with the manner in which he seconded a sudden wish of hers, to have Harriet's picture.
" Did you ever have your likeness taken, Harriet?"
said she: " did you ever sit for your picture?"
Harriet was on the point of leaving the room, and only stopt to say, with a very interesting naivete,
" Oh!
dear, no, never."
No sooner was she out of sight, than Emma exclaimed,
" What an exquisite possession a good picture of her would be!
I would give any money for it.
I almost long to attempt her likeness myself.
You do not know it I dare say, but two or three years ago I had a great passion for taking likenesses, and attempted several of my friends, and was thought to have a tolerable eye in general.
But from one cause or another, I gave it up in disgust.
But really, I could almost venture, if Harriet would sit to me.
It would be such a delight to have her picture!"
" Let me entreat you," cried Mr. Elton; " it would indeed be a delight!
Let me entreat you, Miss Woodhouse, to exercise so charming a talent in favour of your friend.
I know what your drawings are.
How could you suppose me ignorant?
Is not this room rich in specimens of your landscapes and flowers; and has not Mrs. Weston some inimitable figure - pieces in her drawing - room, at Randalls?"
Yes, good man!-- thought Emma--but what has all that to do with taking likenesses?
You know nothing of drawing.
Don't pretend to be in raptures about mine.
Keep your raptures for Harriet's face.
" Well, if you give me such kind encouragement, Mr. Elton, I believe I shall try what I can do.
Harriet's features are very delicate, which makes a likeness difficult; and yet there is a peculiarity in the shape of the eye and the lines about the mouth which one ought to catch."
" Exactly so--The shape of the eye and the lines about the mouth--I have not a doubt of your success.
Pray, pray attempt it.
As you will do it, it will indeed, to use your own words, be an exquisite possession."
" But I am afraid, Mr. Elton, Harriet will not like to sit.
She thinks so little of her own beauty.
Did not you observe her manner of answering me?
How completely it meant, 'why should my picture be drawn?'"
" Oh!
yes, I observed it, I assure you.
It was not lost on me.
But still I cannot imagine she would not be persuaded."
Harriet was soon back again, and the proposal almost immediately made; and she had no scruples which could stand many minutes against the earnest pressing of both the others.
Emma wished to go to work directly, and therefore produced the portfolio containing her various attempts at portraits, for not one of them had ever been finished, that they might decide together on the best size for Harriet.
Her many beginnings were displayed.
Miniatures, half - lengths, whole - lengths, pencil, crayon, and water - colours had been all tried in turn.
She had always wanted to do every thing, and had made more progress both in drawing and music than many might have done with so little labour as she would ever submit to.
She played and sang;-- and drew in almost every style; but steadiness had always been wanting; and in nothing had she approached the degree of excellence which she would have been glad to command, and ought not to have failed of.
She was not much deceived as to her own skill either as an artist or a musician, but she was not unwilling to have others deceived, or sorry to know her reputation for accomplishment often higher than it deserved.
There was merit in every drawing--in the least finished, perhaps the most; her style was spirited; but had there been much less, or had there been ten times more, the delight and admiration of her two companions would have been the same.
They were both in ecstasies.
A likeness pleases every body; and Miss Woodhouse's performances must be capital.
" No great variety of faces for you," said Emma.
" I had only my own family to study from.
There is my father--another of my father--but the idea of sitting for his picture made him so nervous, that I could only take him by stealth; neither of them very like therefore.
Mrs. Weston again, and again, and again, you see.
Dear Mrs. Weston!
always my kindest friend on every occasion.
She would sit whenever I asked her.
There is my sister; and really quite her own little elegant figure!-- and the face not unlike.
I should have made a good likeness of her, if she would have sat longer, but she was in such a hurry to have me draw her four children that she would not be quiet.
Then, here come all my attempts at three of those four children;-- there they are, Henry and John and Bella, from one end of the sheet to the other, and any one of them might do for any one of the rest.
Here is my sketch of the fourth, who was a baby.
I took him as he was sleeping on the sofa, and it is as strong a likeness of his cockade as you would wish to see.
He had nestled down his head most conveniently.
That's very like.
I am rather proud of little George.
The corner of the sofa is very good.
Then here is my last,"-- unclosing a pretty sketch of a gentleman in small size, whole - length --" my last and my best--my brother, Mr. John Knightley.-- This did not want much of being finished, when I put it away in a pet, and vowed I would never take another likeness.
We had had a great deal of trouble in persuading him to sit at all.
But for Harriet's sake, or rather for my own, and as there are no husbands and wives in the case _at_ _present_, I will break my resolution now."
Mr. Elton seemed very properly struck and delighted by the idea, and was repeating, " No husbands and wives in the case at present indeed, as you observe.
Exactly so.
No husbands and wives," with so interesting a consciousness, that Emma began to consider whether she had not better leave them together at once.
But as she wanted to be drawing, the declaration must wait a little longer.
She had soon fixed on the size and sort of portrait.
It was to be a whole - length in water - colours, like Mr. John Knightley's, and was destined, if she could please herself, to hold a very honourable station over the mantelpiece.
The sitting began; and Harriet, smiling and blushing, and afraid of not keeping her attitude and countenance, presented a very sweet mixture of youthful expression to the steady eyes of the artist.
But there was no doing any thing, with Mr. Elton fidgeting behind her and watching every touch.
She gave him credit for stationing himself where he might gaze and gaze again without offence; but was really obliged to put an end to it, and request him to place himself elsewhere.
It then occurred to her to employ him in reading.
" If he would be so good as to read to them, it would be a kindness indeed!
It would amuse away the difficulties of her part, and lessen the irksomeness of Miss Smith's."
Mr. Elton was only too happy.
Harriet listened, and Emma drew in peace.
She could not respect his eye, but his love and his complaisance were unexceptionable.
The sitting was altogether very satisfactory; she was quite enough pleased with the first day's sketch to wish to go on.
Harriet was to sit again the next day; and Mr. Elton, just as he ought, entreated for the permission of attending and reading to them again.
" By all means.
We shall be most happy to consider you as one of the party."
The same civilities and courtesies, the same success and satisfaction, took place on the morrow, and accompanied the whole progress of the picture, which was rapid and happy.
Every body who saw it was pleased, but Mr. Elton was in continual raptures, and defended it through every criticism.
" Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty she wanted,"-- observed Mrs. Weston to him--not in the least suspecting that she was addressing a lover.--" The expression of the eye is most correct, but Miss Smith has not those eyebrows and eyelashes.
It is the fault of her face that she has them not."
" Do you think so?"
replied he.
" I cannot agree with you.
It appears to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature.
I never saw such a likeness in my life.
We must allow for the effect of shade, you know."
" You have made her too tall, Emma," said Mr. Knightley.
Emma knew that she had, but would not own it; and Mr. Elton warmly added,
" Oh no!
certainly not too tall; not in the least too tall.
Consider, she is sitting down--which naturally presents a different--which in short gives exactly the idea--and the proportions must be preserved, you know.
Proportions, fore - shortening.-- Oh no!
it gives one exactly the idea of such a height as Miss Smith's.
Exactly so indeed!"
" It is very pretty," said Mr. Woodhouse.
" So prettily done!
Just as your drawings always are, my dear.
I do not know any body who draws so well as you do.
The only thing I do not thoroughly like is, that she seems to be sitting out of doors, with only a little shawl over her shoulders--and it makes one think she must catch cold."
" But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be summer; a warm day in summer.
Look at the tree."
" But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear."
" You, sir, may say any thing," cried Mr. Elton, " but I must confess that I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing of Miss Smith out of doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitable spirit!
Any other situation would have been much less in character.
The naivete of Miss Smith's manners--and altogether--Oh, it is most admirable!
I cannot keep my eyes from it.
I never saw such a likeness."
The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed; and here were a few difficulties.
But no sooner was the distress known to Mr. Elton, than it was removed.
His gallantry was always on the alert.
" Might he be trusted with the commission, what infinite pleasure should he have in executing it!
he could ride to London at any time.
It was impossible to say how much he should be gratified by being employed on such an errand."
" He was too good!-- she could not endure the thought!-- she would not give him such a troublesome office for the world,"-- brought on the desired repetition of entreaties and assurances,-- and a very few minutes settled the business.
Mr. Elton was to take the drawing to London, chuse the frame, and give the directions; and Emma thought she could so pack it as to ensure its safety without much incommoding him, while he seemed mostly fearful of not being incommoded enough.
" What a precious deposit!"
said he with a tender sigh, as he received it.
" This man is almost too gallant to be in love," thought Emma.
" I should say so, but that I suppose there may be a hundred different ways of being in love.
He is an excellent young man, and will suit Harriet exactly; it will be an 'Exactly so,' as he says himself; but he does sigh and languish, and study for compliments rather more than I could endure as a principal.
I come in for a pretty good share as a second.
But it is his gratitude on Harriet's account."
CHAPTER VII
The very day of Mr. Elton's going to London produced a fresh occasion for Emma's services towards her friend.
Half a minute brought it all out.
" Who could have thought it?
She was so surprized she did not know what to do.
Yes, quite a proposal of marriage; and a very good letter, at least she thought so.
And he wrote as if he really loved her very much--but she did not know--and so, she was come as fast as she could to ask Miss Woodhouse what she should do.--" Emma was half - ashamed of her friend for seeming so pleased and so doubtful.
" Upon my word," she cried, " the young man is determined not to lose any thing for want of asking.
He will connect himself well if he can."
" Will you read the letter?"
cried Harriet.
" Pray do.
I'd rather you would."
Emma was not sorry to be pressed.
She read, and was surprized.
The style of the letter was much above her expectation.
There were not merely no grammatical errors, but as a composition it would not have disgraced a gentleman; the language, though plain, was strong and unaffected, and the sentiments it conveyed very much to the credit of the writer.
It was short, but expressed good sense, warm attachment, liberality, propriety, even delicacy of feeling.
She paused over it, while Harriet stood anxiously watching for her opinion, with a " Well, well," and was at last forced to add, " Is it a good letter?
or is it too short?"
" Yes, indeed, a very good letter," replied Emma rather slowly --" so good a letter, Harriet, that every thing considered, I think one of his sisters must have helped him.
I can hardly imagine the young man whom I saw talking with you the other day could express himself so well, if left quite to his own powers, and yet it is not the style of a woman; no, certainly, it is too strong and concise; not diffuse enough for a woman.
No doubt he is a sensible man, and I suppose may have a natural talent for--thinks strongly and clearly--and when he takes a pen in hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words.
It is so with some men.
Yes, I understand the sort of mind.
Vigorous, decided, with sentiments to a certain point, not coarse.
A better written letter, Harriet (returning it,) than I had expected."
" Well," said the still waiting Harriet;--" well--and--and what shall I do?"
" What shall you do!
In what respect?
Do you mean with regard to this letter?"
" Yes."
" But what are you in doubt of?
You must answer it of course--and speedily."
" Yes.
But what shall I say?
Dear Miss Woodhouse, do advise me."
" Oh no, no!
the letter had much better be all your own.
You will express yourself very properly, I am sure.
There is no danger of your not being intelligible, which is the first thing.
Your meaning must be unequivocal; no doubts or demurs: and such expressions of gratitude and concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety requires, will present themselves unbidden to _your_ mind, I am persuaded.
You need not be prompted to write with the appearance of sorrow for his disappointment."
" You think I ought to refuse him then," said Harriet, looking down.
" Ought to refuse him!
My dear Harriet, what do you mean?
Are you in any doubt as to that?
I thought--but I beg your pardon, perhaps I have been under a mistake.
I certainly have been misunderstanding you, if you feel in doubt as to the _purport_ of your answer.
I had imagined you were consulting me only as to the wording of it."
Harriet was silent.
With a little reserve of manner, Emma continued:
" You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect."
" No, I do not; that is, I do not mean--What shall I do?
What would you advise me to do?
Pray, dear Miss Woodhouse, tell me what I ought to do."
" I shall not give you any advice, Harriet.
I will have nothing to do with it.
This is a point which you must settle with your feelings."
" I had no notion that he liked me so very much," said Harriet, contemplating the letter.
For a little while Emma persevered in her silence; but beginning to apprehend the bewitching flattery of that letter might be too powerful, she thought it best to say,
" I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a woman _doubts_ as to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse him.
If she can hesitate as to 'Yes,' she ought to say 'No'directly.
It is not a state to be safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with half a heart.
I thought it my duty as a friend, and older than yourself, to say thus much to you.
But do not imagine that I want to influence you."
" Oh!
" Not for the world," said Emma, smiling graciously, " would I advise you either way.
You must be the best judge of your own happiness.
If you prefer Mr. Martin to every other person; if you think him the most agreeable man you have ever been in company with, why should you hesitate?
You blush, Harriet.-- Does any body else occur to you at this moment under such a definition?
Harriet, Harriet, do not deceive yourself; do not be run away with by gratitude and compassion.
At this moment whom are you thinking of?"
The symptoms were favourable.-- Instead of answering, Harriet turned away confused, and stood thoughtfully by the fire; and though the letter was still in her hand, it was now mechanically twisted about without regard.
Emma waited the result with impatience, but not without strong hopes.
At last, with some hesitation, Harriet said --
" Miss Woodhouse, as you will not give me your opinion, I must do as well as I can by myself; and I have now quite determined, and really almost made up my mind--to refuse Mr. Martin.
Do you think I am right?"
" Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet; you are doing just what you ought.
While you were at all in suspense I kept my feelings to myself, but now that you are so completely decided I have no hesitation in approving.
Dear Harriet, I give myself joy of this.
It would have grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which must have been the consequence of your marrying Mr. Martin.
While you were in the smallest degree wavering, I said nothing about it, because I would not influence; but it would have been the loss of a friend to me.
I could not have visited Mrs. Robert Martin, of Abbey - Mill Farm.
Now I am secure of you for ever."
Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but the idea of it struck her forcibly.
" You could not have visited me!"
she cried, looking aghast.
" No, to be sure you could not; but I never thought of that before.
That would have been too dreadful!-- What an escape!-- Dear Miss Woodhouse, I would not give up the pleasure and honour of being intimate with you for any thing in the world."
" Indeed, Harriet, it would have been a severe pang to lose you; but it must have been.
You would have thrown yourself out of all good society.
I must have given you up."
" Dear me!-- How should I ever have borne it!
It would have killed me never to come to Hartfield any more!"
" Dear affectionate creature!-- _You_ banished to Abbey - Mill Farm!-- _You_ confined to the society of the illiterate and vulgar all your life!
I wonder how the young man could have the assurance to ask it.
He must have a pretty good opinion of himself."
However, I do really think Mr. Martin a very amiable young man, and have a great opinion of him; and his being so much attached to me--and his writing such a letter--but as to leaving you, it is what I would not do upon any consideration."
" Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend.
We will not be parted.
A woman is not to marry a man merely because she is asked, or because he is attached to her, and can write a tolerable letter."
" Oh no;-- and it is but a short letter too."
Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but let it pass with a " very true; and it would be a small consolation to her, for the clownish manner which might be offending her every hour of the day, to know that her husband could write a good letter."
" Oh!
yes, very.
Nobody cares for a letter; the thing is, to be always happy with pleasant companions.
I am quite determined to refuse him.
But how shall I do?
What shall I say?"
This letter, however, was written, and sealed, and sent.
The business was finished, and Harriet safe.
She was rather low all the evening, but Emma could allow for her amiable regrets, and sometimes relieved them by speaking of her own affection, sometimes by bringing forward the idea of Mr. Elton.
" I shall never be invited to Abbey - Mill again," was said in rather a sorrowful tone.
" Nor, if you were, could I ever bear to part with you, my Harriet.
You are a great deal too necessary at Hartfield to be spared to Abbey - Mill."
" And I am sure I should never want to go there; for I am never happy but at Hartfield."
Some time afterwards it was, " I think Mrs. Goddard would be very much surprized if she knew what had happened.
I am sure Miss Nash would--for Miss Nash thinks her own sister very well married, and it is only a linen - draper."
" One should be sorry to see greater pride or refinement in the teacher of a school, Harriet.
I dare say Miss Nash would envy you such an opportunity as this of being married.
Even this conquest would appear valuable in her eyes.
As to any thing superior for you, I suppose she is quite in the dark.
The attentions of a certain person can hardly be among the tittle - tattle of Highbury yet.
Hitherto I fancy you and I are the only people to whom his looks and manners have explained themselves."
Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about wondering that people should like her so much.
The idea of Mr. Elton was certainly cheering; but still, after a time, she was tender - hearted again towards the rejected Mr. Martin.
" Now he has got my letter," said she softly.
" I wonder what they are all doing--whether his sisters know--if he is unhappy, they will be unhappy too.
I hope he will not mind it so very much."
" Let us think of those among our absent friends who are more cheerfully employed," cried Emma.
" At this moment, perhaps, Mr. Elton is shewing your picture to his mother and sisters, telling how much more beautiful is the original, and after being asked for it five or six times, allowing them to hear your name, your own dear name."
" My picture!-- But he has left my picture in Bond - street."
" Has he so!-- Then I know nothing of Mr. Elton.
No, my dear little modest Harriet, depend upon it the picture will not be in Bond - street till just before he mounts his horse to - morrow.
It is his companion all this evening, his solace, his delight.
It opens his designs to his family, it introduces you among them, it diffuses through the party those pleasantest feelings of our nature, eager curiosity and warm prepossession.
How cheerful, how animated, how suspicious, how busy their imaginations all are!"
Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger.
CHAPTER VIII
Harriet slept at Hartfield that night.
For some weeks past she had been spending more than half her time there, and gradually getting to have a bed - room appropriated to herself; and Emma judged it best in every respect, safest and kindest, to keep her with them as much as possible just at present.
She was obliged to go the next morning for an hour or two to Mrs. Goddard's, but it was then to be settled that she should return to Hartfield, to make a regular visit of some days.
Mr. Knightley, who had nothing of ceremony about him, was offering by his short, decided answers, an amusing contrast to the protracted apologies and civil hesitations of the other.
" Well, I believe, if you will excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if you will not consider me as doing a very rude thing, I shall take Emma's advice and go out for a quarter of an hour.
As the sun is out, I believe I had better take my three turns while I can.
I treat you without ceremony, Mr. Knightley.
We invalids think we are privileged people."
" My dear sir, do not make a stranger of me."
" I leave an excellent substitute in my daughter.
Emma will be happy to entertain you.
And therefore I think I will beg your excuse and take my three turns--my winter walk."
" You cannot do better, sir."
" I would ask for the pleasure of your company, Mr. Knightley, but I am a very slow walker, and my pace would be tedious to you; and, besides, you have another long walk before you, to Donwell Abbey."
" Thank you, sir, thank you; I am going this moment myself; and I think the sooner _you_ go the better.
I will fetch your greatcoat and open the garden door for you."
Mr. Woodhouse at last was off; but Mr. Knightley, instead of being immediately off likewise, sat down again, seemingly inclined for more chat.
He began speaking of Harriet, and speaking of her with more voluntary praise than Emma had ever heard before.
" I cannot rate her beauty as you do," said he; " but she is a pretty little creature, and I am inclined to think very well of her disposition.
Her character depends upon those she is with; but in good hands she will turn out a valuable woman."
" I am glad you think so; and the good hands, I hope, may not be wanting."
" Come," said he, " you are anxious for a compliment, so I will tell you that you have improved her.
You have cured her of her school - girl's giggle; she really does you credit."
" Thank you.
I should be mortified indeed if I did not believe I had been of some use; but it is not every body who will bestow praise where they may.
_You_ do not often overpower me with it."
" You are expecting her again, you say, this morning?"
" Almost every moment.
She has been gone longer already than she intended."
" Something has happened to delay her; some visitors perhaps."
" Highbury gossips!-- Tiresome wretches!"
" Harriet may not consider every body tiresome that you would."
Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and therefore said nothing.
He presently added, with a smile,
" I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must tell you that I have good reason to believe your little friend will soon hear of something to her advantage."
" Indeed!
how so?
of what sort?"
" A very serious sort, I assure you;" still smiling.
" Very serious!
I can think of but one thing--Who is in love with her?
Who makes you their confidant?"
Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr. Elton's having dropt a hint.
Mr. Knightley was a sort of general friend and adviser, and she knew Mr. Elton looked up to him.
" I have reason to think," he replied, " that Harriet Smith will soon have an offer of marriage, and from a most unexceptionable quarter:-- Robert Martin is the man.
Her visit to Abbey - Mill, this summer, seems to have done his business.
He is desperately in love and means to marry her."
" He is very obliging," said Emma; " but is he sure that Harriet means to marry him?"
" Well, well, means to make her an offer then.
Will that do?
He came to the Abbey two evenings ago, on purpose to consult me about it.
He knows I have a thorough regard for him and all his family, and, I believe, considers me as one of his best friends.
I was very much pleased with all that he said.
I never hear better sense from any one than Robert Martin.
He always speaks to the purpose; open, straightforward, and very well judging.
He told me every thing; his circumstances and plans, and what they all proposed doing in the event of his marriage.
He is an excellent young man, both as son and brother.
I had no hesitation in advising him to marry.
He proved to me that he could afford it; and that being the case, I was convinced he could not do better.
I praised the fair lady too, and altogether sent him away very happy.
If he had never esteemed my opinion before, he would have thought highly of me then; and, I dare say, left the house thinking me the best friend and counsellor man ever had.
This happened the night before last.
" Pray, Mr. Knightley," said Emma, who had been smiling to herself through a great part of this speech, " how do you know that Mr. Martin did not speak yesterday?"
" Certainly," replied he, surprized, " I do not absolutely know it; but it may be inferred.
Was not she the whole day with you?"
" Come," said she, " I will tell you something, in return for what you have told me.
He did speak yesterday--that is, he wrote, and was refused."
This was obliged to be repeated before it could be believed; and Mr. Knightley actually looked red with surprize and displeasure, as he stood up, in tall indignation, and said,
" Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her.
What is the foolish girl about?"
" Oh!
to be sure," cried Emma, " it is always incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage.
A man always imagines a woman to be ready for any body who asks her."
" Nonsense!
a man does not imagine any such thing.
But what is the meaning of this?
Harriet Smith refuse Robert Martin?
madness, if it is so; but I hope you are mistaken."
" I saw her answer!-- nothing could be clearer."
" You saw her answer!-- you wrote her answer too.
Emma, this is your doing.
You persuaded her to refuse him."
" And if I did, (which, however, I am far from allowing) I should not feel that I had done wrong.
Mr. Martin is a very respectable young man, but I cannot admit him to be Harriet's equal; and am rather surprized indeed that he should have ventured to address her.
By your account, he does seem to have had some scruples.
It is a pity that they were ever got over."
" Not Harriet's equal!"
exclaimed Mr. Knightley loudly and warmly; and with calmer asperity, added, a few moments afterwards, " No, he is not her equal indeed, for he is as much her superior in sense as in situation.
Emma, your infatuation about that girl blinds you.
What are Harriet Smith's claims, either of birth, nature or education, to any connexion higher than Robert Martin?
She is the natural daughter of nobody knows whom, with probably no settled provision at all, and certainly no respectable relations.
She is known only as parlour - boarder at a common school.
She is not a sensible girl, nor a girl of any information.
She has been taught nothing useful, and is too young and too simple to have acquired any thing herself.
At her age she can have no experience, and with her little wit, is not very likely ever to have any that can avail her.
She is pretty, and she is good tempered, and that is all.
My only scruple in advising the match was on his account, as being beneath his deserts, and a bad connexion for him.
I felt that, as to fortune, in all probability he might do much better; and that as to a rational companion or useful helpmate, he could not do worse.
But I could not reason so to a man in love, and was willing to trust to there being no harm in her, to her having that sort of disposition, which, in good hands, like his, might be easily led aright and turn out very well.
The advantage of the match I felt to be all on her side; and had not the smallest doubt (nor have I now) that there would be a general cry - out upon her extreme good luck.
Even _your_ satisfaction I made sure of.
It crossed my mind immediately that you would not regret your friend's leaving Highbury, for the sake of her being settled so well.
I remember saying to myself, 'Even Emma, with all her partiality for Harriet, will think this a good match.'"
" I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of Emma as to say any such thing.
What!
think a farmer, (and with all his sense and all his merit Mr. Martin is nothing more,) a good match for my intimate friend!
Not regret her leaving Highbury for the sake of marrying a man whom I could never admit as an acquaintance of my own!
I wonder you should think it possible for me to have such feelings.
I assure you mine are very different.
I must think your statement by no means fair.
You are not just to Harriet's claims.
They would be estimated very differently by others as well as myself; Mr. Martin may be the richest of the two, but he is undoubtedly her inferior as to rank in society.-- The sphere in which she moves is much above his.-- It would be a degradation."
" A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be married to a respectable, intelligent gentleman - farmer!"
" As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal sense she may be called Nobody, it will not hold in common sense.
" Whoever might be her parents," said Mr. Knightley, " whoever may have had the charge of her, it does not appear to have been any part of their plan to introduce her into what you would call good society.
After receiving a very indifferent education she is left in Mrs. Goddard's hands to shift as she can;-- to move, in short, in Mrs. Goddard's line, to have Mrs. Goddard's acquaintance.
Her friends evidently thought this good enough for her; and it _was_ good enough.
She desired nothing better herself.
Till you chose to turn her into a friend, her mind had no distaste for her own set, nor any ambition beyond it.
She was as happy as possible with the Martins in the summer.
She had no sense of superiority then.
If she has it now, you have given it.
You have been no friend to Harriet Smith, Emma.
Robert Martin would never have proceeded so far, if he had not felt persuaded of her not being disinclined to him.
I know him well.
He has too much real feeling to address any woman on the haphazard of selfish passion.
And as to conceit, he is the farthest from it of any man I know.
Depend upon it he had encouragement."
It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct reply to this assertion; she chose rather to take up her own line of the subject again.
" You are a very warm friend to Mr. Martin; but, as I said before, are unjust to Harriet.
Harriet's claims to marry well are not so contemptible as you represent them.
She is not a clever girl, but she has better sense than you are aware of, and does not deserve to have her understanding spoken of so slightingly.
Her good - nature, too, is not so very slight a claim, comprehending, as it does, real, thorough sweetness of temper and manner, a very humble opinion of herself, and a great readiness to be pleased with other people.
I am very much mistaken if your sex in general would not think such beauty, and such temper, the highest claims a woman could possess."
" Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the reason you have, is almost enough to make me think so too.
Better be without sense, than misapply it as you do."
" To be sure!"
cried she playfully.
" I know _that_ is the feeling of you all.
I know that such a girl as Harriet is exactly what every man delights in--what at once bewitches his senses and satisfies his judgment.
Oh!
Harriet may pick and chuse.
Were you, yourself, ever to marry, she is the very woman for you.
And is she, at seventeen, just entering into life, just beginning to be known, to be wondered at because she does not accept the first offer she receives?
No--pray let her have time to look about her."
" I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy," said Mr. Knightley presently, " though I have kept my thoughts to myself; but I now perceive that it will be a very unfortunate one for Harriet.
You will puff her up with such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has a claim to, that, in a little while, nobody within her reach will be good enough for her.
Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief.
Nothing so easy as for a young lady to raise her expectations too high.
Miss Harriet Smith may not find offers of marriage flow in so fast, though she is a very pretty girl.
Men of sense, whatever you may chuse to say, do not want silly wives.
Men of family would not be very fond of connecting themselves with a girl of such obscurity--and most prudent men would be afraid of the inconvenience and disgrace they might be involved in, when the mystery of her parentage came to be revealed.
" We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley, that there can be no use in canvassing it.
We shall only be making each other more angry.
But as to my _letting_ her marry Robert Martin, it is impossible; she has refused him, and so decidedly, I think, as must prevent any second application.
She must abide by the evil of having refused him, whatever it may be; and as to the refusal itself, I will not pretend to say that I might not influence her a little; but I assure you there was very little for me or for any body to do.
His appearance is so much against him, and his manner so bad, that if she ever were disposed to favour him, she is not now.
I can imagine, that before she had seen any body superior, she might tolerate him.
He was the brother of her friends, and he took pains to please her; and altogether, having seen nobody better (that must have been his great assistant) she might not, while she was at Abbey - Mill, find him disagreeable.
But the case is altered now.
She knows now what gentlemen are; and nothing but a gentleman in education and manner has any chance with Harriet."
" Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked!"
cried Mr.
Knightley.--" Robert Martin's manners have sense, sincerity, and good - humour to recommend them; and his mind has more true gentility than Harriet Smith could understand."
Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully unconcerned, but was really feeling uncomfortable and wanting him very much to be gone.
Some minutes passed in this unpleasant silence, with only one attempt on Emma's side to talk of the weather, but he made no answer.
He was thinking.
The result of his thoughts appeared at last in these words.
" Robert Martin has no great loss--if he can but think so; and I hope it will not be long before he does.
Emma laughed and disclaimed.
He continued,
" Depend upon it, Elton will not do.
Elton is a very good sort of man, and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely to make an imprudent match.
He knows the value of a good income as well as any body.
Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally.
He is as well acquainted with his own claims, as you can be with Harriet's.
He knows that he is a very handsome young man, and a great favourite wherever he goes; and from his general way of talking in unreserved moments, when there are only men present, I am convinced that he does not mean to throw himself away.
I have heard him speak with great animation of a large family of young ladies that his sisters are intimate with, who have all twenty thousand pounds apiece."
" I am very much obliged to you," said Emma, laughing again.
" If I had set my heart on Mr. Elton's marrying Harriet, it would have been very kind to open my eyes; but at present I only want to keep Harriet to myself.
I have done with match - making indeed.
I could never hope to equal my own doings at Randalls.
I shall leave off while I am well."
" Good morning to you,"-- said he, rising and walking off abruptly.
He was very much vexed.
He felt the disappointment of the young man, and was mortified to have been the means of promoting it, by the sanction he had given; and the part which he was persuaded Emma had taken in the affair, was provoking him exceedingly.
Emma remained in a state of vexation too; but there was more indistinctness in the causes of her's, than in his.
She did not always feel so absolutely satisfied with herself, so entirely convinced that her opinions were right and her adversary's wrong, as Mr. Knightley.
He walked off in more complete self - approbation than he left for her.
She was not so materially cast down, however, but that a little time and the return of Harriet were very adequate restoratives.
Harriet's staying away so long was beginning to make her uneasy.
The possibility of the young man's coming to Mrs. Goddard's that morning, and meeting with Harriet and pleading his own cause, gave alarming ideas.
Harriet's cheerful look and manner established hers: she came back, not to think of Mr. Martin, but to talk of Mr. Elton.
Miss Nash had been telling her something, which she repeated immediately with great delight.
Mr. Perry could not quite understand him, but he was very sure there must be a _lady_ in the case, and he told him so; and Mr. Elton only looked very conscious and smiling, and rode off in great spirits.
CHAPTER IX
Mr. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could not quarrel with herself.
He was so much displeased, that it was longer than usual before he came to Hartfield again; and when they did meet, his grave looks shewed that she was not forgiven.
She was sorry, but could not repent.
On the contrary, her plans and proceedings were more and more justified and endeared to her by the general appearances of the next few days.
Emma was soon perfectly satisfied of Mr. Martin's being no otherwise remembered, than as he furnished a contrast with Mr. Elton, of the utmost advantage to the latter.
Her views of improving her little friend's mind, by a great deal of useful reading and conversation, had never yet led to more than a few first chapters, and the intention of going on to - morrow.
In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand scale are not uncommon.
Miss Nash, head - teacher at Mrs. Goddard's, had written out at least three hundred; and Harriet, who had taken the first hint of it from her, hoped, with Miss Woodhouse's help, to get a great many more.
Emma assisted with her invention, memory and taste; and as Harriet wrote a very pretty hand, it was likely to be an arrangement of the first order, in form as well as quantity.
Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the business as the girls, and tried very often to recollect something worth their putting in.
" So many clever riddles as there used to be when he was young--he wondered he could not remember them!
but he hoped he should in time."
And it always ended in " Kitty, a fair but frozen maid."
His good friend Perry, too, whom he had spoken to on the subject, did not at present recollect any thing of the riddle kind; but he had desired Perry to be upon the watch, and as he went about so much, something, he thought, might come from that quarter.
It was by no means his daughter's wish that the intellects of Highbury in general should be put under requisition.
Mr. Elton was the only one whose assistance she asked.
They owed to him their two or three politest puzzles; and the joy and exultation with which at last he recalled, and rather sentimentally recited, that well - known charade,
My first doth affliction denote, Which my second is destin'd to feel And my whole is the best antidote That affliction to soften and heal.--
made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had transcribed it some pages ago already.
" Why will not you write one yourself for us, Mr.
Elton?"
said she; " that is the only security for its freshness; and nothing could be easier to you."
" Oh no!
he had never written, hardly ever, any thing of the kind in his life.
The stupidest fellow!
He was afraid not even Miss Woodhouse "-- he stopt a moment --" or Miss Smith could inspire him."
The very next day however produced some proof of inspiration.
He called for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper on the table containing, as he said, a charade, which a friend of his had addressed to a young lady, the object of his admiration, but which, from his manner, Emma was immediately convinced must be his own.
" I do not offer it for Miss Smith's collection," said he.
" Being my friend's, I have no right to expose it in any degree to the public eye, but perhaps you may not dislike looking at it."
The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which Emma could understand.
There was deep consciousness about him, and he found it easier to meet her eye than her friend's.
He was gone the next moment:-- after another moment's pause,
" Take it," said Emma, smiling, and pushing the paper towards Harriet --" it is for you.
Take your own."
But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it; and Emma, never loth to be first, was obliged to examine it herself.
To Miss --
CHARADE.
My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, Lords of the earth!
their luxury and ease.
Another view of man, my second brings, Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
But ah!
united, what reverse we have!
Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown; Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Thy ready wit the word will soon supply, May its approval beam in that soft eye!
I have read worse charades.
_Courtship_--a very good hint.
I give you credit for it.
This is feeling your way.
This is saying very plainly --'Pray, Miss Smith, give me leave to pay my addresses to you.
Approve my charade and my intentions in the same glance.'
May its approval beam in that soft eye!
Harriet exactly.
Soft is the very word for her eye--of all epithets, the justest that could be given.
Thy ready wit the word will soon supply.
Humph--Harriet's ready wit!
All the better.
A man must be very much in love, indeed, to describe her so.
Ah!
Mr. Knightley, I wish you had the benefit of this; I think this would convince you.
For once in your life you would be obliged to own yourself mistaken.
An excellent charade indeed!
and very much to the purpose.
Things must come to a crisis soon now.
She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant observations, which were otherwise of a sort to run into great length, by the eagerness of Harriet's wondering questions.
" What can it be, Miss Woodhouse?-- what can it be?
I have not an idea--I cannot guess it in the least.
What can it possibly be?
Do try to find it out, Miss Woodhouse.
Do help me.
I never saw any thing so hard.
Is it kingdom?
I wonder who the friend was--and who could be the young lady.
Do you think it is a good one?
Can it be woman?
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Can it be Neptune?
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
Or a trident?
or a mermaid?
or a shark?
Oh, no!
shark is only one syllable.
It must be very clever, or he would not have brought it.
Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, do you think we shall ever find it out?"
" Mermaids and sharks!
Nonsense!
My dear Harriet, what are you thinking of?
Where would be the use of his bringing us a charade made by a friend upon a mermaid or a shark?
Give me the paper and listen.
For Miss ----------, read Miss Smith.
My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, Lords of the earth!
their luxury and ease.
That is _court_.
Another view of man, my second brings; Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
That is _ship_;-- plain as it can be.-- Now for the cream.
But ah!
united, (_courtship_, you know,) what reverse we have!
Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown.
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
A very proper compliment!-- and then follows the application, which I think, my dear Harriet, you cannot find much difficulty in comprehending.
Read it in comfort to yourself.
There can be no doubt of its being written for you and to you."
Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion.
She read the concluding lines, and was all flutter and happiness.
She could not speak.
But she was not wanted to speak.
It was enough for her to feel.
Emma spoke for her.
" There is so pointed, and so particular a meaning in this compliment," said she, " that I cannot have a doubt as to Mr. Elton's intentions.
You are his object--and you will soon receive the completest proof of it.
I thought it must be so.
I thought I could not be so deceived; but now, it is clear; the state of his mind is as clear and decided, as my wishes on the subject have been ever since I knew you.
Yes, Harriet, just so long have I been wanting the very circumstance to happen what has happened.
I could never tell whether an attachment between you and Mr. Elton were most desirable or most natural.
Its probability and its eligibility have really so equalled each other!
I am very happy.
I congratulate you, my dear Harriet, with all my heart.
This is an attachment which a woman may well feel pride in creating.
This is a connexion which offers nothing but good.
It will give you every thing that you want--consideration, independence, a proper home--it will fix you in the centre of all your real friends, close to Hartfield and to me, and confirm our intimacy for ever.
This, Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in either of us."
" Dear Miss Woodhouse!"
-- and " Dear Miss Woodhouse," was all that Harriet, with many tender embraces could articulate at first; but when they did arrive at something more like conversation, it was sufficiently clear to her friend that she saw, felt, anticipated, and remembered just as she ought.
Mr. Elton's superiority had very ample acknowledgment.
" Whatever you say is always right," cried Harriet, " and therefore I suppose, and believe, and hope it must be so; but otherwise I could not have imagined it.
It is so much beyond any thing I deserve.
Mr. Elton, who might marry any body!
There cannot be two opinions about _him_.
He is so very superior.
Only think of those sweet verses --'To Miss --------.'
Dear me, how clever!-- Could it really be meant for me?"
" I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about that.
It is a certainty.
Receive it on my judgment.
It is a sort of prologue to the play, a motto to the chapter; and will be soon followed by matter - of - fact prose."
" It is a sort of thing which nobody could have expected.
I am sure, a month ago, I had no more idea myself!-- The strangest things do take place!"
You and Mr. Elton are by situation called together; you belong to one another by every circumstance of your respective homes.
Your marrying will be equal to the match at Randalls.
There does seem to be a something in the air of Hartfield which gives love exactly the right direction, and sends it into the very channel where it ought to flow.
The course of true love never did run smooth --
A Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long note on that passage."
" That Mr. Elton should really be in love with me,-- me, of all people, who did not know him, to speak to him, at Michaelmas!
And he, the very handsomest man that ever was, and a man that every body looks up to, quite like Mr. Knightley!
His company so sought after, that every body says he need not eat a single meal by himself if he does not chuse it; that he has more invitations than there are days in the week.
And so excellent in the Church!
Miss Nash has put down all the texts he has ever preached from since he came to Highbury.
Dear me!
When I look back to the first time I saw him!
And how beautiful we thought he looked!
He was arm - in - arm with Mr.
Cole."
" This is an alliance which, whoever--whatever your friends may be, must be agreeable to them, provided at least they have common sense; and we are not to be addressing our conduct to fools.
" Yes, very true.
How nicely you talk; I love to hear you.
You understand every thing.
You and Mr. Elton are one as clever as the other.
This charade!-- If I had studied a twelvemonth, I could never have made any thing like it."
" I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner of declining it yesterday."
" I do think it is, without exception, the best charade I ever read."
" I never read one more to the purpose, certainly."
" It is as long again as almost all we have had before."
" I do not consider its length as particularly in its favour.
Such things in general cannot be too short."
Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear.
The most satisfactory comparisons were rising in her mind.
Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection of Mr. Martin's prose.
" Such sweet lines!"
continued Harriet --" these two last!-- But how shall I ever be able to return the paper, or say I have found it out?-- Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, what can we do about that?"
" Leave it to me.
You do nothing.
He will be here this evening, I dare say, and then I will give it him back, and some nonsense or other will pass between us, and you shall not be committed.-- Your soft eyes shall chuse their own time for beaming.
Trust to me."
" Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not write this beautiful charade into my book!
I am sure I have not got one half so good."
" Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason why you should not write it into your book."
" Oh!
but those two lines are "--
--" The best of all.
Granted;-- for private enjoyment; and for private enjoyment keep them.
They are not at all the less written you know, because you divide them.
The couplet does not cease to be, nor does its meaning change.
But take it away, and all _appropriation_ ceases, and a very pretty gallant charade remains, fit for any collection.
Depend upon it, he would not like to have his charade slighted, much better than his passion.
A poet in love must be encouraged in both capacities, or neither.
Give me the book, I will write it down, and then there can be no possible reflection on you."
Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly separate the parts, so as to feel quite sure that her friend were not writing down a declaration of love.
It seemed too precious an offering for any degree of publicity.
" I shall never let that book go out of my own hands," said she.
" Very well," replied Emma; " a most natural feeling; and the longer it lasts, the better I shall be pleased.
But here is my father coming: you will not object to my reading the charade to him.
It will be giving him so much pleasure!
He loves any thing of the sort, and especially any thing that pays woman a compliment.
He has the tenderest spirit of gallantry towards us all!-- You must let me read it to him."
Harriet looked grave.
" My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon this charade.-- You will betray your feelings improperly, if you are too conscious and too quick, and appear to affix more meaning, or even quite all the meaning which may be affixed to it.
Do not be overpowered by such a little tribute of admiration.
If he had been anxious for secrecy, he would not have left the paper while I was by; but he rather pushed it towards me than towards you.
Do not let us be too solemn on the business.
He has encouragement enough to proceed, without our sighing out our souls over this charade."
" Oh!
no--I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it.
Do as you please."
Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject again, by the recurrence of his very frequent inquiry of " Well, my dears, how does your book go on?-- Have you got any thing fresh?"
" Yes, papa; we have something to read you, something quite fresh.
A piece of paper was found on the table this morning --(dropt, we suppose, by a fairy)-- containing a very pretty charade, and we have just copied it in."
She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing read, slowly and distinctly, and two or three times over, with explanations of every part as she proceeded--and he was very much pleased, and, as she had foreseen, especially struck with the complimentary conclusion.
" Aye, that's very just, indeed, that's very properly said.
Very true.
'Woman, lovely woman.'
It is such a pretty charade, my dear, that I can easily guess what fairy brought it.-- Nobody could have written so prettily, but you, Emma."
Emma only nodded, and smiled.-- After a little thinking, and a very tender sigh, he added,
" Ah!
it is no difficulty to see who you take after!
Your dear mother was so clever at all those things!
If I had but her memory!
But I can remember nothing;-- not even that particular riddle which you have heard me mention; I can only recollect the first stanza; and there are several.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid, Kindled a flame I yet deplore, The hood - wink'd boy I called to aid, Though of his near approach afraid, So fatal to my suit before.
And that is all that I can recollect of it--but it is very clever all the way through.
But I think, my dear, you said you had got it."
" Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page.
We copied it from the Elegant Extracts.
It was Garrick's, you know."
" Aye, very true.-- I wish I could recollect more of it.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.
The name makes me think of poor Isabella; for she was very near being christened Catherine after her grandmama.
I hope we shall have her here next week.
Have you thought, my dear, where you shall put her--and what room there will be for the children?"
" Oh!
yes--she will have her own room, of course; the room she always has;-- and there is the nursery for the children,-- just as usual, you know.
Why should there be any change?"
" I do not know, my dear--but it is so long since she was here!-- not since last Easter, and then only for a few days.-- Mr.
John Knightley's being a lawyer is very inconvenient.-- Poor Isabella!-- she is sadly taken away from us all!-- and how sorry she will be when she comes, not to see Miss Taylor here!"
" She will not be surprized, papa, at least."
" I do not know, my dear.
I am sure I was very much surprized when I first heard she was going to be married."
" We must ask Mr. and Mrs. Weston to dine with us, while Isabella is here."
" Yes, my dear, if there is time.-- But --(in a very depressed tone)-- she is coming for only one week.
There will not be time for any thing."
" It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer--but it seems a case of necessity.
Mr. John Knightley must be in town again on the 28th, and we ought to be thankful, papa, that we are to have the whole of the time they can give to the country, that two or three days are not to be taken out for the Abbey.
Mr. Knightley promises to give up his claim this Christmas--though you know it is longer since they were with him, than with us."
" It would be very hard, indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella were to be anywhere but at Hartfield."
Mr. Woodhouse could never allow for Mr. Knightley's claims on his brother, or any body's claims on Isabella, except his own.
He sat musing a little while, and then said,
" But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged to go back so soon, though he does.
I think, Emma, I shall try and persuade her to stay longer with us.
She and the children might stay very well."
" Ah!
papa--that is what you never have been able to accomplish, and I do not think you ever will.
Isabella cannot bear to stay behind her husband."
This was too true for contradiction.
Unwelcome as it was, Mr. Woodhouse could only give a submissive sigh; and as Emma saw his spirits affected by the idea of his daughter's attachment to her husband, she immediately led to such a branch of the subject as must raise them.
" Harriet must give us as much of her company as she can while my brother and sister are here.
I am sure she will be pleased with the children.
We are very proud of the children, are not we, papa?
I wonder which she will think the handsomest, Henry or John?"
" Aye, I wonder which she will.
Poor little dears, how glad they will be to come.
They are very fond of being at Hartfield, Harriet."
" I dare say they are, sir.
I am sure I do not know who is not."
" Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mama.
Henry is the eldest, he was named after me, not after his father.
John, the second, is named after his father.
Some people are surprized, I believe, that the eldest was not, but Isabella would have him called Henry, which I thought very pretty of her.
And he is a very clever boy, indeed.
They are all remarkably clever; and they have so many pretty ways.
They will come and stand by my chair, and say, 'Grandpapa, can you give me a bit of string?'
and once Henry asked me for a knife, but I told him knives were only made for grandpapas.
I think their father is too rough with them very often."
" He appears rough to you," said Emma, " because you are so very gentle yourself; but if you could compare him with other papas, you would not think him rough.
He wishes his boys to be active and hardy; and if they misbehave, can give them a sharp word now and then; but he is an affectionate father--certainly Mr. John Knightley is an affectionate father.
The children are all fond of him."
" And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to the ceiling in a very frightful way!"
" But they like it, papa; there is nothing they like so much.
It is such enjoyment to them, that if their uncle did not lay down the rule of their taking turns, whichever began would never give way to the other."
" Well, I cannot understand it."
" That is the case with us all, papa.
One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other."
Later in the morning, and just as the girls were going to separate in preparation for the regular four o'clock dinner, the hero of this inimitable charade walked in again.
Harriet turned away; but Emma could receive him with the usual smile, and her quick eye soon discerned in his the consciousness of having made a push--of having thrown a die; and she imagined he was come to see how it might turn up.
His ostensible reason, however, was to ask whether Mr. Woodhouse's party could be made up in the evening without him, or whether he should be in the smallest degree necessary at Hartfield.
If he were, every thing else must give way; but otherwise his friend Cole had been saying so much about his dining with him--had made such a point of it, that he had promised him conditionally to come.
Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his disappointing his friend on their account; her father was sure of his rubber.
He re - urged--she re - declined; and he seemed then about to make his bow, when taking the paper from the table, she returned it --
" Oh!
here is the charade you were so obliging as to leave with us; thank you for the sight of it.
We admired it so much, that I have ventured to write it into Miss Smith's collection.
Your friend will not take it amiss I hope.
Of course I have not transcribed beyond the first eight lines."
Mr. Elton certainly did not very well know what to say.
He looked rather doubtingly--rather confused; said something about " honour,"-- glanced at Emma and at Harriet, and then seeing the book open on the table, took it up, and examined it very attentively.
With the view of passing off an awkward moment, Emma smilingly said,
" You must make my apologies to your friend; but so good a charade must not be confined to one or two.
He may be sure of every woman's approbation while he writes with such gallantry."
After this speech he was gone as soon as possible.
Emma could not think it too soon; for with all his good and agreeable qualities, there was a sort of parade in his speeches which was very apt to incline her to laugh.
She ran away to indulge the inclination, leaving the tender and the sublime of pleasure to Harriet's share.
CHAPTER X
Though now the middle of December, there had yet been no weather to prevent the young ladies from tolerably regular exercise; and on the morrow, Emma had a charitable visit to pay to a poor sick family, who lived a little way out of Highbury.
Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage Lane, a lane leading at right angles from the broad, though irregular, main street of the place; and, as may be inferred, containing the blessed abode of Mr. Elton.
A few inferior dwellings were first to be passed, and then, about a quarter of a mile down the lane rose the Vicarage, an old and not very good house, almost as close to the road as it could be.
It had no advantage of situation; but had been very much smartened up by the present proprietor; and, such as it was, there could be no possibility of the two friends passing it without a slackened pace and observing eyes.-- Emma's remark was --
" There it is.
There go you and your riddle - book one of these days."
-- Harriet's was --
" Oh, what a sweet house!-- How very beautiful!-- There are the yellow curtains that Miss Nash admires so much."
" I do not often walk this way _now_," said Emma, as they proceeded, " but _then_ there will be an inducement, and I shall gradually get intimately acquainted with all the hedges, gates, pools and pollards of this part of Highbury."
Harriet, she found, had never in her life been within side the Vicarage, and her curiosity to see it was so extreme, that, considering exteriors and probabilities, Emma could only class it, as a proof of love, with Mr. Elton's seeing ready wit in her.
" I wish we could contrive it," said she; " but I cannot think of any tolerable pretence for going in;-- no servant that I want to inquire about of his housekeeper--no message from my father."
She pondered, but could think of nothing.
After a mutual silence of some minutes, Harriet thus began again --
" I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not be married, or going to be married!
so charming as you are!"
Emma laughed, and replied,
" My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough to induce me to marry; I must find other people charming--one other person at least.
And I am not only, not going to be married, at present, but have very little intention of ever marrying at all."
" Ah!-- so you say; but I cannot believe it."
" I must see somebody very superior to any one I have seen yet, to be tempted; Mr. Elton, you know, (recollecting herself,) is out of the question: and I do _not_ wish to see any such person.
I would rather not be tempted.
I cannot really change for the better.
If I were to marry, I must expect to repent it."
" Dear me!-- it is so odd to hear a woman talk so!"
" I have none of the usual inducements of women to marry.
Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing!
but I never have been in love; it is not my way, or my nature; and I do not think I ever shall.
And, without love, I am sure I should be a fool to change such a situation as mine.
" But then, to be an old maid at last, like Miss Bates!"
" That is as formidable an image as you could present, Harriet; and if I thought I should ever be like Miss Bates!
so silly--so satisfied--so smiling--so prosing--so undistinguishing and unfastidious--and so apt to tell every thing relative to every body about me, I would marry to - morrow.
But between _us_, I am convinced there never can be any likeness, except in being unmarried."
" But still, you will be an old maid!
and that's so dreadful!"
" Never mind, Harriet, I shall not be a poor old maid; and it is poverty only which makes celibacy contemptible to a generous public!
A single woman, with a very narrow income, must be a ridiculous, disagreeable old maid!
the proper sport of boys and girls, but a single woman, of good fortune, is always respectable, and may be as sensible and pleasant as any body else.
And the distinction is not quite so much against the candour and common sense of the world as appears at first; for a very narrow income has a tendency to contract the mind, and sour the temper.
Those who can barely live, and who live perforce in a very small, and generally very inferior, society, may well be illiberal and cross.
This does not apply, however, to Miss Bates; she is only too good natured and too silly to suit me; but, in general, she is very much to the taste of every body, though single and though poor.
Poverty certainly has not contracted her mind: I really believe, if she had only a shilling in the world, she would be very likely to give away sixpence of it; and nobody is afraid of her: that is a great charm."
" Dear me!
but what shall you do?
how shall you employ yourself when you grow old?"
" If I know myself, Harriet, mine is an active, busy mind, with a great many independent resources; and I do not perceive why I should be more in want of employment at forty or fifty than one - and - twenty.
Woman's usual occupations of hand and mind will be as open to me then as they are now; or with no important variation.
If I draw less, I shall read more; if I give up music, I shall take to carpet - work.
There will be enough of them, in all probability, to supply every sort of sensation that declining life can need.
There will be enough for every hope and every fear; and though my attachment to none can equal that of a parent, it suits my ideas of comfort better than what is warmer and blinder.
My nephews and nieces!-- I shall often have a niece with me."
" Do you know Miss Bates's niece?
That is, I know you must have seen her a hundred times--but are you acquainted?"
" Oh!
yes; we are always forced to be acquainted whenever she comes to Highbury.
By the bye, _that_ is almost enough to put one out of conceit with a niece.
Heaven forbid!
at least, that I should ever bore people half so much about all the Knightleys together, as she does about Jane Fairfax.
One is sick of the very name of Jane Fairfax.
Every letter from her is read forty times over; her compliments to all friends go round and round again; and if she does but send her aunt the pattern of a stomacher, or knit a pair of garters for her grandmother, one hears of nothing else for a month.
I wish Jane Fairfax very well; but she tires me to death."
They were now approaching the cottage, and all idle topics were superseded.
Emma was very compassionate; and the distresses of the poor were as sure of relief from her personal attention and kindness, her counsel and her patience, as from her purse.
In the present instance, it was sickness and poverty together which she came to visit; and after remaining there as long as she could give comfort or advice, she quitted the cottage with such an impression of the scene as made her say to Harriet, as they walked away,
" These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good.
How trifling they make every thing else appear!-- I feel now as if I could think of nothing but these poor creatures all the rest of the day; and yet, who can say how soon it may all vanish from my mind?"
" Very true," said Harriet.
" Poor creatures!
one can think of nothing else."
" And really, I do not think the impression will soon be over," said Emma, as she crossed the low hedge, and tottering footstep which ended the narrow, slippery path through the cottage garden, and brought them into the lane again.
" I do not think it will," stopping to look once more at all the outward wretchedness of the place, and recall the still greater within.
" Oh!
dear, no," said her companion.
They walked on.
The lane made a slight bend; and when that bend was passed, Mr. Elton was immediately in sight; and so near as to give Emma time only to say farther,
" Ah!
Harriet, here comes a very sudden trial of our stability in good thoughts.
Well, (smiling,) I hope it may be allowed that if compassion has produced exertion and relief to the sufferers, it has done all that is truly important.
If we feel for the wretched, enough to do all we can for them, the rest is empty sympathy, only distressing to ourselves."
Harriet could just answer, " Oh!
dear, yes," before the gentleman joined them.
The wants and sufferings of the poor family, however, were the first subject on meeting.
He had been going to call on them.
His visit he would now defer; but they had a very interesting parley about what could be done and should be done.
Mr. Elton then turned back to accompany them.
" To fall in with each other on such an errand as this," thought Emma; " to meet in a charitable scheme; this will bring a great increase of love on each side.
I should not wonder if it were to bring on the declaration.
It must, if I were not here.
I wish I were anywhere else."
Anxious to separate herself from them as far as she could, she soon afterwards took possession of a narrow footpath, a little raised on one side of the lane, leaving them together in the main road.
But she had not been there two minutes when she found that Harriet's habits of dependence and imitation were bringing her up too, and that, in short, they would both be soon after her.
This would not do; she immediately stopped, under pretence of having some alteration to make in the lacing of her half - boot, and stooping down in complete occupation of the footpath, begged them to have the goodness to walk on, and she would follow in half a minute.
She gained on them, however, involuntarily: the child's pace was quick, and theirs rather slow; and she was the more concerned at it, from their being evidently in a conversation which interested them.
Mr. Elton was speaking with animation, Harriet listening with a very pleased attention; and Emma, having sent the child on, was beginning to think how she might draw back a little more, when they both looked around, and she was obliged to join them.
" This would soon have led to something better, of course," was her consoling reflection; " any thing interests between those who love; and any thing will serve as introduction to what is near the heart.
If I could but have kept longer away!"
They now walked on together quietly, till within view of the vicarage pales, when a sudden resolution, of at least getting Harriet into the house, made her again find something very much amiss about her boot, and fall behind to arrange it once more.
She then broke the lace off short, and dexterously throwing it into a ditch, was presently obliged to entreat them to stop, and acknowledged her inability to put herself to rights so as to be able to walk home in tolerable comfort.
" Part of my lace is gone," said she, " and I do not know how I am to contrive.
I really am a most troublesome companion to you both, but I hope I am not often so ill - equipped.
Mr. Elton, I must beg leave to stop at your house, and ask your housekeeper for a bit of ribband or string, or any thing just to keep my boot on."
Mr. Elton looked all happiness at this proposition; and nothing could exceed his alertness and attention in conducting them into his house and endeavouring to make every thing appear to advantage.
She was obliged to leave the door ajar as she found it; but she fully intended that Mr. Elton should close it.
It was not closed, however, it still remained ajar; but by engaging the housekeeper in incessant conversation, she hoped to make it practicable for him to chuse his own subject in the adjoining room.
For ten minutes she could hear nothing but herself.
It could be protracted no longer.
She was then obliged to be finished, and make her appearance.
The lovers were standing together at one of the windows.
It had a most favourable aspect; and, for half a minute, Emma felt the glory of having schemed successfully.
But it would not do; he had not come to the point.
He had been most agreeable, most delightful; he had told Harriet that he had seen them go by, and had purposely followed them; other little gallantries and allusions had been dropt, but nothing serious.
" Cautious, very cautious," thought Emma; " he advances inch by inch, and will hazard nothing till he believes himself secure."
Still, however, though every thing had not been accomplished by her ingenious device, she could not but flatter herself that it had been the occasion of much present enjoyment to both, and must be leading them forward to the great event.
CHAPTER XI
Mr. Elton must now be left to himself.
It was no longer in Emma's power to superintend his happiness or quicken his measures.
They might advance rapidly if they would, however; they must advance somehow or other whether they would or no.
She hardly wished to have more leisure for them.
There are people, who the more you do for them, the less they will do for themselves.
Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer than usual absent from Surry, were exciting of course rather more than the usual interest.
She could never see a fault in any of them.
They were alike too, in a general benevolence of temper, and a strong habit of regard for every old acquaintance.
Mr. John Knightley was a tall, gentleman - like, and very clever man; rising in his profession, domestic, and respectable in his private character; but with reserved manners which prevented his being generally pleasing; and capable of being sometimes out of humour.
He was not an ill - tempered man, not so often unreasonably cross as to deserve such a reproach; but his temper was not his great perfection; and, indeed, with such a worshipping wife, it was hardly possible that any natural defects in it should not be increased.
The extreme sweetness of her temper must hurt his.
He had all the clearness and quickness of mind which she wanted, and he could sometimes act an ungracious, or say a severe thing.
He was not a great favourite with his fair sister - in - law.
Nothing wrong in him escaped her.
She was quick in feeling the little injuries to Isabella, which Isabella never felt herself.
There he had not always the patience that could have been wished.
Mr. Woodhouse's peculiarities and fidgetiness were sometimes provoking him to a rational remonstrance or sharp retort equally ill - bestowed.
The beginning, however, of every visit displayed none but the properest feelings, and this being of necessity so short might be hoped to pass away in unsullied cordiality.
They had not been long seated and composed when Mr. Woodhouse, with a melancholy shake of the head and a sigh, called his daughter's attention to the sad change at Hartfield since she had been there last.
" Ah, my dear," said he, " poor Miss Taylor--It is a grievous business."
" Oh yes, sir," cried she with ready sympathy, " how you must miss her!
And dear Emma, too!-- What a dreadful loss to you both!-- I have been so grieved for you.-- I could not imagine how you could possibly do without her.-- It is a sad change indeed.-- But I hope she is pretty well, sir."
" Pretty well, my dear--I hope--pretty well.-- I do not know but that the place agrees with her tolerably."
Mr. John Knightley here asked Emma quietly whether there were any doubts of the air of Randalls.
" Oh!
no--none in the least.
I never saw Mrs. Weston better in my life--never looking so well.
Papa is only speaking his own regret."
" Very much to the honour of both," was the handsome reply.
" And do you see her, sir, tolerably often?"
asked Isabella in the plaintive tone which just suited her father.
Mr. Woodhouse hesitated.--" Not near so often, my dear, as I could wish."
" Oh!
papa, we have missed seeing them but one entire day since they married.
Either in the morning or evening of every day, excepting one, have we seen either Mr. Weston or Mrs. Weston, and generally both, either at Randalls or here--and as you may suppose, Isabella, most frequently here.
They are very, very kind in their visits.
Mr. Weston is really as kind as herself.
Papa, if you speak in that melancholy way, you will be giving Isabella a false idea of us all.
Every body must be aware that Miss Taylor must be missed, but every body ought also to be assured that Mr. and Mrs. Weston do really prevent our missing her by any means to the extent we ourselves anticipated--which is the exact truth."
" Just as it should be," said Mr. John Knightley, " and just as I hoped it was from your letters.
Her wish of shewing you attention could not be doubted, and his being a disengaged and social man makes it all easy.
I have been always telling you, my love, that I had no idea of the change being so very material to Hartfield as you apprehended; and now you have Emma's account, I hope you will be satisfied."
" Why, to be sure," said Mr. Woodhouse --" yes, certainly--I cannot deny that Mrs. Weston, poor Mrs. Weston, does come and see us pretty often--but then--she is always obliged to go away again."
" It would be very hard upon Mr. Weston if she did not, papa.-- You quite forget poor Mr.
Weston."
" I think, indeed," said John Knightley pleasantly, " that Mr. Weston has some little claim.
You and I, Emma, will venture to take the part of the poor husband.
I, being a husband, and you not being a wife, the claims of the man may very likely strike us with equal force.
As for Isabella, she has been married long enough to see the convenience of putting all the Mr. Westons aside as much as she can."
I believe he is one of the very best - tempered men that ever existed.
Excepting yourself and your brother, I do not know his equal for temper.
" Where is the young man?"
said John Knightley.
" Has he been here on this occasion--or has he not?"
" He has not been here yet," replied Emma.
" There was a strong expectation of his coming soon after the marriage, but it ended in nothing; and I have not heard him mentioned lately."
" But you should tell them of the letter, my dear," said her father.
" He wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston, to congratulate her, and a very proper, handsome letter it was.
She shewed it to me.
I thought it very well done of him indeed.
Whether it was his own idea you know, one cannot tell.
He is but young, and his uncle, perhaps --"
" My dear papa, he is three - and - twenty.
You forget how time passes."
" Three - and - twenty!-- is he indeed?-- Well, I could not have thought it--and he was but two years old when he lost his poor mother!
Well, time does fly indeed!-- and my memory is very bad.
However, it was an exceeding good, pretty letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston a great deal of pleasure.
I remember it was written from Weymouth, and dated Sept. 28th--and began, 'My dear Madam,' but I forget how it went on; and it was signed 'F. C. Weston Churchill.'
-- I remember that perfectly."
" How very pleasing and proper of him!"
cried the good - hearted Mrs. John Knightley.
" I have no doubt of his being a most amiable young man.
But how sad it is that he should not live at home with his father!
There is something so shocking in a child's being taken away from his parents and natural home!
I never could comprehend how Mr. Weston could part with him.
To give up one's child!
I really never could think well of any body who proposed such a thing to any body else."
" Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy," observed Mr. John Knightley coolly.
" But you need not imagine Mr. Weston to have felt what you would feel in giving up Henry or John.
Emma could not like what bordered on a reflection on Mr. Weston, and had half a mind to take it up; but she struggled, and let it pass.
CHAPTER XII
Mr. Knightley was to dine with them--rather against the inclination of Mr. Woodhouse, who did not like that any one should share with him in Isabella's first day.
Emma's sense of right however had decided it; and besides the consideration of what was due to each brother, she had particular pleasure, from the circumstance of the late disagreement between Mr. Knightley and herself, in procuring him the proper invitation.
She hoped they might now become friends again.
She thought it was time to make up.
Making - up indeed would not do.
_She_ certainly had not been in the wrong, and _he_ would never own that he had.
It did assist; for though he began with grave looks and short questions, he was soon led on to talk of them all in the usual way, and to take the child out of her arms with all the unceremoniousness of perfect amity.
Emma felt they were friends again; and the conviction giving her at first great satisfaction, and then a little sauciness, she could not help saying, as he was admiring the baby,
" What a comfort it is, that we think alike about our nephews and nieces.
As to men and women, our opinions are sometimes very different; but with regard to these children, I observe we never disagree."
" If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of men and women, and as little under the power of fancy and whim in your dealings with them, as you are where these children are concerned, we might always think alike."
" To be sure--our discordancies must always arise from my being in the wrong."
" Yes," said he, smiling --" and reason good.
I was sixteen years old when you were born."
" A material difference then," she replied --" and no doubt you were much my superior in judgment at that period of our lives; but does not the lapse of one - and - twenty years bring our understandings a good deal nearer?"
" Yes--a good deal _nearer_."
" But still, not near enough to give me a chance of being right, if we think differently."
" I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years'experience, and by not being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child.
Come, my dear Emma, let us be friends, and say no more about it.
Tell your aunt, little Emma, that she ought to set you a better example than to be renewing old grievances, and that if she were not wrong before, she is now."
" That's true," she cried --" very true.
Little Emma, grow up a better woman than your aunt.
Be infinitely cleverer and not half so conceited.
Now, Mr. Knightley, a word or two more, and I have done.
As far as good intentions went, we were _both_ right, and I must say that no effects on my side of the argument have yet proved wrong.
I only want to know that Mr. Martin is not very, very bitterly disappointed."
" A man cannot be more so," was his short, full answer.
" Ah!-- Indeed I am very sorry.-- Come, shake hands with me."
This had just taken place and with great cordiality, when John Knightley made his appearance, and " How d'ye do, George?"
and " John, how are you?"
succeeded in the true English style, burying under a calmness that seemed all but indifference, the real attachment which would have led either of them, if requisite, to do every thing for the good of the other.
The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits, but principally of those of the elder, whose temper was by much the most communicative, and who was always the greater talker.
While they were thus comfortably occupied, Mr. Woodhouse was enjoying a full flow of happy regrets and fearful affection with his daughter.
" My poor dear Isabella," said he, fondly taking her hand, and interrupting, for a few moments, her busy labours for some one of her five children --" How long it is, how terribly long since you were here!
And how tired you must be after your journey!
You must go to bed early, my dear--and I recommend a little gruel to you before you go.-- You and I will have a nice basin of gruel together.
My dear Emma, suppose we all have a little gruel."
Emma could not suppose any such thing, knowing as she did, that both the Mr. Knightleys were as unpersuadable on that article as herself;-- and two basins only were ordered.
After a little more discourse in praise of gruel, with some wondering at its not being taken every evening by every body, he proceeded to say, with an air of grave reflection,
" It was an awkward business, my dear, your spending the autumn at South End instead of coming here.
I never had much opinion of the sea air."
" Mr. Wingfield most strenuously recommended it, sir--or we should not have gone.
He recommended it for all the children, but particularly for the weakness in little Bella's throat,-- both sea air and bathing."
" Ah!
my dear, but Perry had many doubts about the sea doing her any good; and as to myself, I have been long perfectly convinced, though perhaps I never told you so before, that the sea is very rarely of use to any body.
I am sure it almost killed me once."
" Come, come," cried Emma, feeling this to be an unsafe subject, " I must beg you not to talk of the sea.
It makes me envious and miserable;-- I who have never seen it!
South End is prohibited, if you please.
My dear Isabella, I have not heard you make one inquiry about Mr. Perry yet; and he never forgets you."
" Oh!
good Mr. Perry--how is he, sir?"
" Why, pretty well; but not quite well.
Poor Perry is bilious, and he has not time to take care of himself--he tells me he has not time to take care of himself--which is very sad--but he is always wanted all round the country.
I suppose there is not a man in such practice anywhere.
But then there is not so clever a man any where."
" And Mrs. Perry and the children, how are they?
do the children grow?
I have a great regard for Mr. Perry.
I hope he will be calling soon.
He will be so pleased to see my little ones."
" I hope he will be here to - morrow, for I have a question or two to ask him about myself of some consequence.
And, my dear, whenever he comes, you had better let him look at little Bella's throat."
" Oh!
my dear sir, her throat is so much better that I have hardly any uneasiness about it.
Either bathing has been of the greatest service to her, or else it is to be attributed to an excellent embrocation of Mr. Wingfield's, which we have been applying at times ever since August."
" It is not very likely, my dear, that bathing should have been of use to her--and if I had known you were wanting an embrocation, I would have spoken to --
" You seem to me to have forgotten Mrs. and Miss Bates," said Emma, " I have not heard one inquiry after them."
" Oh!
the good Bateses--I am quite ashamed of myself--but you mention them in most of your letters.
I hope they are quite well.
Good old Mrs. Bates--I will call upon her to - morrow, and take my children.-- They are always so pleased to see my children.-- And that excellent Miss Bates!-- such thorough worthy people!-- How are they, sir?"
" Why, pretty well, my dear, upon the whole.
But poor Mrs. Bates had a bad cold about a month ago."
" How sorry I am!
But colds were never so prevalent as they have been this autumn.
Mr. Wingfield told me that he has never known them more general or heavy--except when it has been quite an influenza."
" That has been a good deal the case, my dear; but not to the degree you mention.
Perry says that colds have been very general, but not so heavy as he has very often known them in November.
Perry does not call it altogether a sickly season."
" No, I do not know that Mr. Wingfield considers it _very_ sickly except --
" Ah!
my poor dear child, the truth is, that in London it is always a sickly season.
Nobody is healthy in London, nobody can be.
It is a dreadful thing to have you forced to live there!
so far off!-- and the air so bad!"
" No, indeed--_we_ are not at all in a bad air.
Our part of London is very superior to most others!-- You must not confound us with London in general, my dear sir.
The neighbourhood of Brunswick Square is very different from almost all the rest.
We are so very airy!
I should be unwilling, I own, to live in any other part of the town;-- there is hardly any other that I could be satisfied to have my children in: but _we_ are so remarkably airy!-- Mr.
Wingfield thinks the vicinity of Brunswick Square decidedly the most favourable as to air."
" Ah!
my dear, it is not like Hartfield.
You make the best of it--but after you have been a week at Hartfield, you are all of you different creatures; you do not look like the same.
Now I cannot say, that I think you are any of you looking well at present."
I hope you will think better of their looks to - morrow; for I assure you Mr. Wingfield told me, that he did not believe he had ever sent us off altogether, in such good case.
I trust, at least, that you do not think Mr. Knightley looking ill," turning her eyes with affectionate anxiety towards her husband.
" Middling, my dear; I cannot compliment you.
I think Mr. John Knightley very far from looking well."
" What is the matter, sir?-- Did you speak to me?"
cried Mr. John Knightley, hearing his own name.
" I am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not think you looking well--but I hope it is only from being a little fatigued.
I could have wished, however, as you know, that you had seen Mr. Wingfield before you left home."
" My dear Isabella,"-- exclaimed he hastily --" pray do not concern yourself about my looks.
Be satisfied with doctoring and coddling yourself and the children, and let me look as I chuse."
" I did not thoroughly understand what you were telling your brother," cried Emma, " about your friend Mr. Graham's intending to have a bailiff from Scotland, to look after his new estate.
What will it answer?
Will not the old prejudice be too strong?"
" That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax!"
said Mrs. John Knightley.-- " It is so long since I have seen her, except now and then for a moment accidentally in town!
What happiness it must be to her good old grandmother and excellent aunt, when she comes to visit them!
I always regret excessively on dear Emma's account that she cannot be more at Highbury; but now their daughter is married, I suppose Colonel and Mrs. Campbell will not be able to part with her at all.
She would be such a delightful companion for Emma."
Mr. Woodhouse agreed to it all, but added,
" Our little friend Harriet Smith, however, is just such another pretty kind of young person.
You will like Harriet.
Emma could not have a better companion than Harriet."
" I am most happy to hear it--but only Jane Fairfax one knows to be so very accomplished and superior!-- and exactly Emma's age."
This topic was discussed very happily, and others succeeded of similar moment, and passed away with similar harmony; but the evening did not close without a little return of agitation.
Often as she had wished for and ordered it, she had never been able to get any thing tolerable.
Here was a dangerous opening.
" Ah!"
said Mr. Woodhouse, shaking his head and fixing his eyes on her with tender concern.-- The ejaculation in Emma's ear expressed, " Ah!
there is no end of the sad consequences of your going to South End.
It does not bear talking of."
And for a little while she hoped he would not talk of it, and that a silent rumination might suffice to restore him to the relish of his own smooth gruel.
After an interval of some minutes, however, he began with,
" I shall always be very sorry that you went to the sea this autumn, instead of coming here."
" But why should you be sorry, sir?-- I assure you, it did the children a great deal of good."
" And, moreover, if you must go to the sea, it had better not have been to South End.
South End is an unhealthy place.
Perry was surprized to hear you had fixed upon South End."
" You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you went anywhere.-- Perry was a week at Cromer once, and he holds it to be the best of all the sea - bathing places.
A fine open sea, he says, and very pure air.
And, by what I understand, you might have had lodgings there quite away from the sea--a quarter of a mile off--very comfortable.
You should have consulted Perry."
" But, my dear sir, the difference of the journey;-- only consider how great it would have been.-- An hundred miles, perhaps, instead of forty."
" Ah!
This is just what Perry said.
It seemed to him a very ill - judged measure."
Emma's attempts to stop her father had been vain; and when he had reached such a point as this, she could not wonder at her brother - in - law's breaking out.
" Mr. Perry," said he, in a voice of very strong displeasure, " would do as well to keep his opinion till it is asked for.
Why does he make it any business of his, to wonder at what I do?-- at my taking my family to one part of the coast or another?-- I may be allowed, I hope, the use of my judgment as well as Mr.
Perry.-- I want his directions no more than his drugs."
" True, true," cried Mr. Knightley, with most ready interposition--" very true.
That's a consideration indeed.-- But John, as to what I was telling you of my idea of moving the path to Langham, of turning it more to the right that it may not cut through the home meadows, I cannot conceive any difficulty.
I should not attempt it, if it were to be the means of inconvenience to the Highbury people, but if you call to mind exactly the present line of the path.
The only way of proving it, however, will be to turn to our maps.
I shall see you at the Abbey to - morrow morning I hope, and then we will look them over, and you shall give me your opinion."
CHAPTER XIII
There could hardly be a happier creature in the world than Mrs. John Knightley, in this short visit to Hartfield, going about every morning among her old acquaintance with her five children, and talking over what she had done every evening with her father and sister.
She had nothing to wish otherwise, but that the days did not pass so swiftly.
It was a delightful visit;-- perfect, in being much too short.
In general their evenings were less engaged with friends than their mornings; but one complete dinner engagement, and out of the house too, there was no avoiding, though at Christmas.
Mr. Weston would take no denial; they must all dine at Randalls one day;-- even Mr. Woodhouse was persuaded to think it a possible thing in preference to a division of the party.
Harriet, Mr. Elton, and Mr. Knightley, their own especial set, were the only persons invited to meet them;-- the hours were to be early, as well as the numbers few; Mr. Woodhouse's habits and inclination being consulted in every thing.
Emma called on her the next day, and found her doom already signed with regard to Randalls.
They joined company and proceeded together.
Mr. Elton looked all alarm on the occasion, as he exclaimed,
" A sore - throat!-- I hope not infectious.
I hope not of a putrid infectious sort.
Has Perry seen her?
Indeed you should take care of yourself as well as of your friend.
Let me entreat you to run no risks.
Why does not Perry see her?"
But, upon my word, Mr. Elton, in your case, I should certainly excuse myself.
You appear to me a little hoarse already, and when you consider what demand of voice and what fatigues to - morrow will bring, I think it would be no more than common prudence to stay at home and take care of yourself to - night."
" You do quite right," said she;--" we will make your apologies to Mr. and Mrs.
Weston."
But hardly had she so spoken, when she found her brother was civilly offering a seat in his carriage, if the weather were Mr. Elton's only objection, and Mr. Elton actually accepting the offer with much prompt satisfaction.
It was a done thing; Mr. Elton was to go, and never had his broad handsome face expressed more pleasure than at this moment; never had his smile been stronger, nor his eyes more exulting than when he next looked at her.
What a strange thing love is!
he can see ready wit in Harriet, but will not dine alone for her."
After a few minutes of entire silence between them, John Knightley began with --
" I never in my life saw a man more intent on being agreeable than Mr. Elton.
It is downright labour to him where ladies are concerned.
With men he can be rational and unaffected, but when he has ladies to please, every feature works."
" Mr. Elton's manners are not perfect," replied Emma; " but where there is a wish to please, one ought to overlook, and one does overlook a great deal.
Where a man does his best with only moderate powers, he will have the advantage over negligent superiority.
There is such perfect good - temper and good - will in Mr. Elton as one cannot but value."
" Yes," said Mr. John Knightley presently, with some slyness, " he seems to have a great deal of good - will towards you."
" Me!"
she replied with a smile of astonishment, " are you imagining me to be Mr. Elton's object?"
" Such an imagination has crossed me, I own, Emma; and if it never occurred to you before, you may as well take it into consideration now."
" Mr. Elton in love with me!-- What an idea!"
" I do not say it is so; but you will do well to consider whether it is so or not, and to regulate your behaviour accordingly.
I think your manners to him encouraging.
I speak as a friend, Emma.
You had better look about you, and ascertain what you do, and what you mean to do."
" I thank you; but I assure you you are quite mistaken.
He said no more.
The cold, however, was severe; and by the time the second carriage was in motion, a few flakes of snow were finding their way down, and the sky had the appearance of being so overcharged as to want only a milder air to produce a very white world in a very short time.
Emma soon saw that her companion was not in the happiest humour.
" A man," said he, " must have a very good opinion of himself when he asks people to leave their own fireside, and encounter such a day as this, for the sake of coming to see him.
He must think himself a most agreeable fellow; I could not do such a thing.
It is the greatest absurdity--Actually snowing at this moment!-- The folly of not allowing people to be comfortable at home--and the folly of people's not staying comfortably at home when they can!
Going in dismal weather, to return probably in worse;-- four horses and four servants taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they might have had at home."
She could not be complying, she dreaded being quarrelsome; her heroism reached only to silence.
She allowed him to talk, and arranged the glasses, and wrapped herself up, without opening her lips.
They arrived, the carriage turned, the step was let down, and Mr. Elton, spruce, black, and smiling, was with them instantly.
Emma thought with pleasure of some change of subject.
Mr. Elton was all obligation and cheerfulness; he was so very cheerful in his civilities indeed, that she began to think he must have received a different account of Harriet from what had reached her.
She had sent while dressing, and the answer had been, " Much the same--not better."
" _My_ report from Mrs. Goddard's," said she presently, " was not so pleasant as I had hoped --'Not better'was _my_ answer."
His face lengthened immediately; and his voice was the voice of sentiment as he answered.
" Oh!
no--I am grieved to find--I was on the point of telling you that when I called at Mrs. Goddard's door, which I did the very last thing before I returned to dress, I was told that Miss Smith was not better, by no means better, rather worse.
Very much grieved and concerned--I had flattered myself that she must be better after such a cordial as I knew had been given her in the morning."
Emma smiled and answered --" My visit was of use to the nervous part of her complaint, I hope; but not even I can charm away a sore throat; it is a most severe cold indeed.
Mr. Perry has been with her, as you probably heard."
" Yes--I imagined--that is--I did not --"
" He has been used to her in these complaints, and I hope to - morrow morning will bring us both a more comfortable report.
But it is impossible not to feel uneasiness.
Such a sad loss to our party to - day!"
" Dreadful!-- Exactly so, indeed.-- She will be missed every moment."
This was very proper; the sigh which accompanied it was really estimable; but it should have lasted longer.
Emma was rather in dismay when only half a minute afterwards he began to speak of other things, and in a voice of the greatest alacrity and enjoyment.
" What an excellent device," said he, " the use of a sheepskin for carriages.
How very comfortable they make it;-- impossible to feel cold with such precautions.
The contrivances of modern days indeed have rendered a gentleman's carriage perfectly complete.
One is so fenced and guarded from the weather, that not a breath of air can find its way unpermitted.
Weather becomes absolutely of no consequence.
It is a very cold afternoon--but in this carriage we know nothing of the matter.-- Ha!
snows a little I see."
" Yes," said John Knightley, " and I think we shall have a good deal of it."
" Christmas weather," observed Mr. Elton.
This is quite the season indeed for friendly meetings.
At Christmas every body invites their friends about them, and people think little of even the worst weather.
I was snowed up at a friend's house once for a week.
Nothing could be pleasanter.
I went for only one night, and could not get away till that very day se'nnight."
Mr. John Knightley looked as if he did not comprehend the pleasure, but said only, coolly,
" I cannot wish to be snowed up a week at Randalls."
At another time Emma might have been amused, but she was too much astonished now at Mr. Elton's spirits for other feelings.
Harriet seemed quite forgotten in the expectation of a pleasant party.
" We are sure of excellent fires," continued he, " and every thing in the greatest comfort.
Charming people, Mr. and Mrs. Weston;-- Mrs. Weston indeed is much beyond praise, and he is exactly what one values, so hospitable, and so fond of society;-- it will be a small party, but where small parties are select, they are perhaps the most agreeable of any.
Mr. Weston's dining - room does not accommodate more than ten comfortably; and for my part, I would rather, under such circumstances, fall short by two than exceed by two.
I think you will agree with me, (turning with a soft air to Emma,) I think I shall certainly have your approbation, though Mr. Knightley perhaps, from being used to the large parties of London, may not quite enter into our feelings."
" I know nothing of the large parties of London, sir--I never dine with any body."
" Indeed!
(in a tone of wonder and pity,) I had no idea that the law had been so great a slavery.
Well, sir, the time must come when you will be paid for all this, when you will have little labour and great enjoyment."
" My first enjoyment," replied John Knightley, as they passed through the sweep - gate, " will be to find myself safe at Hartfield again."
CHAPTER XIV
Some change of countenance was necessary for each gentleman as they walked into Mrs. Weston's drawing - room;-- Mr. Elton must compose his joyous looks, and Mr. John Knightley disperse his ill - humour.
Mr. Elton must smile less, and Mr. John Knightley more, to fit them for the place.-- Emma only might be as nature prompted, and shew herself just as happy as she was.
To her it was real enjoyment to be with the Westons.
She could tell nothing of Hartfield, in which Mrs. Weston had not a lively concern; and half an hour's uninterrupted communication of all those little matters on which the daily happiness of private life depends, was one of the first gratifications of each.
The misfortune of Harriet's cold had been pretty well gone through before her arrival.
Emma's project of forgetting Mr. Elton for a while made her rather sorry to find, when they had all taken their places, that he was close to her.
The difficulty was great of driving his strange insensibility towards Harriet, from her mind, while he not only sat at her elbow, but was continually obtruding his happy countenance on her notice, and solicitously addressing her upon every occasion.
Instead of forgetting him, his behaviour was such that she could not avoid the internal suggestion of " Can it really be as my brother imagined?
can it be possible for this man to be beginning to transfer his affections from Harriet to me?-- Absurd and insufferable!"
Now, it so happened that in spite of Emma's resolution of never marrying, there was something in the name, in the idea of Mr. Frank Churchill, which always interested her.
She had frequently thought--especially since his father's marriage with Miss Taylor--that if she _were_ to marry, he was the very person to suit her in age, character and condition.
He seemed by this connexion between the families, quite to belong to her.
She could not but suppose it to be a match that every body who knew them must think of.
Weston.-- So it proved;-- for when happily released from Mr. Elton, and seated by Mr. Weston, at dinner, he made use of the very first interval in the cares of hospitality, the very first leisure from the saddle of mutton, to say to her,
" We want only two more to be just the right number.
I should like to see two more here,-- your pretty little friend, Miss Smith, and my son--and then I should say we were quite complete.
I believe you did not hear me telling the others in the drawing - room that we are expecting Frank.
I had a letter from him this morning, and he will be with us within a fortnight."
Emma spoke with a very proper degree of pleasure; and fully assented to his proposition of Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Smith making their party quite complete.
" He has been wanting to come to us," continued Mr. Weston, " ever since September: every letter has been full of it; but he cannot command his own time.
He has those to please who must be pleased, and who (between ourselves) are sometimes to be pleased only by a good many sacrifices.
But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second week in January."
" What a very great pleasure it will be to you!
and Mrs. Weston is so anxious to be acquainted with him, that she must be almost as happy as yourself."
" Yes, she would be, but that she thinks there will be another put - off.
She does not depend upon his coming so much as I do: but she does not know the parties so well as I do.
The case, you see, is --(but this is quite between ourselves: I did not mention a syllable of it in the other room.
There are secrets in all families, you know)-- The case is, that a party of friends are invited to pay a visit at Enscombe in January; and that Frank's coming depends upon their being put off.
If they are not put off, he cannot stir.
But I know they will, because it is a family that a certain lady, of some consequence, at Enscombe, has a particular dislike to: and though it is thought necessary to invite them once in two or three years, they always are put off when it comes to the point.
I have not the smallest doubt of the issue.
" I am sorry there should be any thing like doubt in the case," replied Emma; " but am disposed to side with you, Mr. Weston.
If you think he will come, I shall think so too; for you know Enscombe."
" Yes--I have some right to that knowledge; though I have never been at the place in my life.-- She is an odd woman!-- But I never allow myself to speak ill of her, on Frank's account; for I do believe her to be very fond of him.
I used to think she was not capable of being fond of any body, except herself: but she has always been kind to him (in her way--allowing for little whims and caprices, and expecting every thing to be as she likes).
And it is no small credit, in my opinion, to him, that he should excite such an affection; for, though I would not say it to any body else, she has no more heart than a stone to people in general; and the devil of a temper."
I cannot be so sanguine as Mr. Weston.
I am very much afraid that it will all end in nothing.
Mr. Weston, I dare say, has been telling you exactly how the matter stands?"
" Yes--it seems to depend upon nothing but the ill - humour of Mrs. Churchill, which I imagine to be the most certain thing in the world."
" My Emma!"
replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, " what is the certainty of caprice?"
Then turning to Isabella, who had not been attending before --" You must know, my dear Mrs. Knightley, that we are by no means so sure of seeing Mr. Frank Churchill, in my opinion, as his father thinks.
It depends entirely upon his aunt's spirits and pleasure; in short, upon her temper.
To you--to my two daughters--I may venture on the truth.
Mrs. Churchill rules at Enscombe, and is a very odd - tempered woman; and his coming now, depends upon her being willing to spare him."
" Oh, Mrs. Churchill; every body knows Mrs. Churchill," replied Isabella: " and I am sure I never think of that poor young man without the greatest compassion.
To be constantly living with an ill - tempered person, must be dreadful.
It is what we happily have never known any thing of; but it must be a life of misery.
What a blessing, that she never had any children!
Poor little creatures, how unhappy she would have made them!"
Emma wished she had been alone with Mrs. Weston.
But at present there was nothing more to be said.
Mr. Woodhouse very soon followed them into the drawing - room.
To be sitting long after dinner, was a confinement that he could not endure.
Neither wine nor conversation was any thing to him; and gladly did he move to those with whom he was always comfortable.
While he talked to Isabella, however, Emma found an opportunity of saying,
" And so you do not consider this visit from your son as by any means certain.
I am sorry for it.
The introduction must be unpleasant, whenever it takes place; and the sooner it could be over, the better."
" Yes; and every delay makes one more apprehensive of other delays.
Even if this family, the Braithwaites, are put off, I am still afraid that some excuse may be found for disappointing us.
I cannot bear to imagine any reluctance on his side; but I am sure there is a great wish on the Churchills'to keep him to themselves.
There is jealousy.
They are jealous even of his regard for his father.
In short, I can feel no dependence on his coming, and I wish Mr. Weston were less sanguine."
" He ought to come," said Emma.
" If he could stay only a couple of days, he ought to come; and one can hardly conceive a young man's not having it in his power to do as much as that.
A young _woman_, if she fall into bad hands, may be teazed, and kept at a distance from those she wants to be with; but one cannot comprehend a young _man_'s being under such restraint, as not to be able to spend a week with his father, if he likes it."
" One ought to be at Enscombe, and know the ways of the family, before one decides upon what he can do," replied Mrs. Weston.
" One ought to use the same caution, perhaps, in judging of the conduct of any one individual of any one family; but Enscombe, I believe, certainly must not be judged by general rules: _she_ is so very unreasonable; and every thing gives way to her."
" But she is so fond of the nephew: he is so very great a favourite.
" My dearest Emma, do not pretend, with your sweet temper, to understand a bad one, or to lay down rules for it: you must let it go its own way.
I have no doubt of his having, at times, considerable influence; but it may be perfectly impossible for him to know beforehand _when_ it will be."
Emma listened, and then coolly said, " I shall not be satisfied, unless he comes."
" He may have a great deal of influence on some points," continued Mrs. Weston, " and on others, very little: and among those, on which she is beyond his reach, it is but too likely, may be this very circumstance of his coming away from them to visit us."
CHAPTER XV
Mr. Woodhouse was soon ready for his tea; and when he had drank his tea he was quite ready to go home; and it was as much as his three companions could do, to entertain away his notice of the lateness of the hour, before the other gentlemen appeared.
Mr. Weston was chatty and convivial, and no friend to early separations of any sort; but at last the drawing - room party did receive an augmentation.
Mr. Elton, in very good spirits, was one of the first to walk in.
Mrs. Weston and Emma were sitting together on a sofa.
He joined them immediately, and, with scarcely an invitation, seated himself between them.
He professed himself extremely anxious about her fair friend--her fair, lovely, amiable friend.
" Did she know?-- had she heard any thing about her, since their being at Randalls?-- he felt much anxiety--he must confess that the nature of her complaint alarmed him considerably."
And in this style he talked on for some time very properly, not much attending to any answer, but altogether sufficiently awake to the terror of a bad sore throat; and Emma was quite in charity with him.
But at last there seemed a perverse turn; it seemed all at once as if he were more afraid of its being a bad sore throat on her account, than on Harriet's--more anxious that she should escape the infection, than that there should be no infection in the complaint.
She was vexed.
It did appear--there was no concealing it--exactly like the pretence of being in love with her, instead of Harriet; an inconstancy, if real, the most contemptible and abominable!
and she had difficulty in behaving with temper.
He turned to Mrs. Weston to implore her assistance, " Would not she give him her support?-- would not she add her persuasions to his, to induce Miss Woodhouse not to go to Mrs. Goddard's till it were certain that Miss Smith's disorder had no infection?
He could not be satisfied without a promise--would not she give him her influence in procuring it?"
" So scrupulous for others," he continued, " and yet so careless for herself!
She wanted me to nurse my cold by staying at home to - day, and yet will not promise to avoid the danger of catching an ulcerated sore throat herself.
Is this fair, Mrs.
Weston?-- Judge between us.
Have not I some right to complain?
I am sure of your kind support and aid."
She could only give him a look; but it was such a look as she thought must restore him to his senses, and then left the sofa, removing to a seat by her sister, and giving her all her attention.
" This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter engagements, sir.
Something new for your coachman and horses to be making their way through a storm of snow."
Poor Mr. Woodhouse was silent from consternation; but every body else had something to say; every body was either surprized or not surprized, and had some question to ask, or some comfort to offer.
Mrs. Weston and Emma tried earnestly to cheer him and turn his attention from his son - in - law, who was pursuing his triumph rather unfeelingly.
" I admired your resolution very much, sir," said he, " in venturing out in such weather, for of course you saw there would be snow very soon.
Every body must have seen the snow coming on.
I admired your spirit; and I dare say we shall get home very well.
Another hour or two's snow can hardly make the road impassable; and we are two carriages; if one is blown over in the bleak part of the common field there will be the other at hand.
I dare say we shall be all safe at Hartfield before midnight."
Mr. Weston, with triumph of a different sort, was confessing that he had known it to be snowing some time, but had not said a word, lest it should make Mr. Woodhouse uncomfortable, and be an excuse for his hurrying away.
As to there being any quantity of snow fallen or likely to fall to impede their return, that was a mere joke; he was afraid they would find no difficulty.
" What is to be done, my dear Emma?-- what is to be done?"
was Mr. Woodhouse's first exclamation, and all that he could say for some time.
To her he looked for comfort; and her assurances of safety, her representation of the excellence of the horses, and of James, and of their having so many friends about them, revived him a little.
His eldest daughter's alarm was equal to his own.
" You had better order the carriage directly, my love," said she; " I dare say we shall be able to get along, if we set off directly; and if we do come to any thing very bad, I can get out and walk.
I am not at all afraid.
I should not mind walking half the way.
I could change my shoes, you know, the moment I got home; and it is not the sort of thing that gives me cold."
" Indeed!"
replied he.
" Then, my dear Isabella, it is the most extraordinary sort of thing in the world, for in general every thing does give you cold.
Walk home!-- you are prettily shod for walking home, I dare say.
It will be bad enough for the horses."
Isabella turned to Mrs. Weston for her approbation of the plan.
Mrs. Weston could only approve.
He had seen the coachmen, and they both agreed with him in there being nothing to apprehend.
He was satisfied of there being no present danger in returning home, but no assurances could convince him that it was safe to stay; and while the others were variously urging and recommending, Mr. Knightley and Emma settled it in a few brief sentences: thus --
" Your father will not be easy; why do not you go?"
" I am ready, if the others are."
" Shall I ring the bell?"
" Yes, do."
And the bell was rung, and the carriages spoken for.
A few minutes more, and Emma hoped to see one troublesome companion deposited in his own house, to get sober and cool, and the other recover his temper and happiness when this visit of hardship were over.
" He was afraid they should have a very bad drive.
He was afraid poor Isabella would not like it.
And there would be poor Emma in the carriage behind.
He did not know what they had best do.
They must keep as much together as they could;" and James was talked to, and given a charge to go very slow and wait for the other carriage.
It would not have been the awkwardness of a moment, it would have been rather a pleasure, previous to the suspicions of this very day; she could have talked to him of Harriet, and the three - quarters of a mile would have seemed but one.
But now, she would rather it had not happened.
She believed he had been drinking too much of Mr. Weston's good wine, and felt sure that he would want to be talking nonsense.
It really was so.
Without scruple--without apology--without much apparent diffidence, Mr. Elton, the lover of Harriet, was professing himself _her_ lover.
She tried to stop him; but vainly; he would go on, and say it all.
Angry as she was, the thought of the moment made her resolve to restrain herself when she did speak.
She felt that half this folly must be drunkenness, and therefore could hope that it might belong only to the passing hour.
Accordingly, with a mixture of the serious and the playful, which she hoped would best suit his half and half state, she replied,
" I am very much astonished, Mr. Elton.
This to _me_!
you forget yourself--you take me for my friend--any message to Miss Smith I shall be happy to deliver; but no more of this to _me_, if you please."
" Miss Smith!-- message to Miss Smith!-- What could she possibly mean!"
-- And he repeated her words with such assurance of accent, such boastful pretence of amazement, that she could not help replying with quickness,
" Mr. Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct!
and I can account for it only in one way; you are not yourself, or you could not speak either to me, or of Harriet, in such a manner.
Command yourself enough to say no more, and I will endeavour to forget it."
But Mr. Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate his spirits, not at all to confuse his intellects.
As she thought less of his inebriety, she thought more of his inconstancy and presumption; and with fewer struggles for politeness, replied,
" It is impossible for me to doubt any longer.
You have made yourself too clear.
Mr. Elton, my astonishment is much beyond any thing I can express.
After such behaviour, as I have witnessed during the last month, to Miss Smith--such attentions as I have been in the daily habit of observing--to be addressing me in this manner--this is an unsteadiness of character, indeed, which I had not supposed possible!
Believe me, sir, I am far, very far, from gratified in being the object of such professions."
" Good Heaven!"
cried Mr. Elton, " what can be the meaning of this?-- Miss Smith!-- I never thought of Miss Smith in the whole course of my existence--never paid her any attentions, but as your friend: never cared whether she were dead or alive, but as your friend.
If she has fancied otherwise, her own wishes have misled her, and I am very sorry--extremely sorry--But, Miss Smith, indeed!-- Oh!
Miss Woodhouse!
who can think of Miss Smith, when Miss Woodhouse is near!
No, upon my honour, there is no unsteadiness of character.
I have thought only of you.
I protest against having paid the smallest attention to any one else.
Every thing that I have said or done, for many weeks past, has been with the sole view of marking my adoration of yourself.
You cannot really, seriously, doubt it.
No!--(in an accent meant to be insinuating)-- I am sure you have seen and understood me."
It would be impossible to say what Emma felt, on hearing this--which of all her unpleasant sensations was uppermost.
She was too completely overpowered to be immediately able to reply: and two moments of silence being ample encouragement for Mr. Elton's sanguine state of mind, he tried to take her hand again, as he joyously exclaimed --
" Charming Miss Woodhouse!
allow me to interpret this interesting silence.
It confesses that you have long understood me."
" No, sir," cried Emma, " it confesses no such thing.
So far from having long understood you, I have been in a most complete error with respect to your views, till this moment.
Am I to believe that you have never sought to recommend yourself particularly to Miss Smith?-- that you have never thought seriously of her?"
" Never, madam," cried he, affronted in his turn: " never, I assure you.
_I_ think seriously of Miss Smith!-- Miss Smith is a very good sort of girl; and I should be happy to see her respectably settled.
I wish her extremely well: and, no doubt, there are men who might not object to--Every body has their level: but as for myself, I am not, I think, quite so much at a loss.
I need not so totally despair of an equal alliance, as to be addressing myself to Miss Smith!-- No, madam, my visits to Hartfield have been for yourself only; and the encouragement I received --"
" Encouragement!-- I give you encouragement!-- Sir, you have been entirely mistaken in supposing it.
I have seen you only as the admirer of my friend.
In no other light could you have been more to me than a common acquaintance.
I am exceedingly sorry: but it is well that the mistake ends where it does.
Had the same behaviour continued, Miss Smith might have been led into a misconception of your views; not being aware, probably, any more than myself, of the very great inequality which you are so sensible of.
But, as it is, the disappointment is single, and, I trust, will not be lasting.
I have no thoughts of matrimony at present."
If there had not been so much anger, there would have been desperate awkwardness; but their straightforward emotions left no room for the little zigzags of embarrassment.
Without knowing when the carriage turned into Vicarage Lane, or when it stopped, they found themselves, all at once, at the door of his house; and he was out before another syllable passed.-- Emma then felt it indispensable to wish him a good night.
The compliment was just returned, coldly and proudly; and, under indescribable irritation of spirits, she was then conveyed to Hartfield.
CHAPTER XVI
" If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking the man, I could have borne any thing.
He might have doubled his presumption to me--but poor Harriet!"
How she could have been so deceived!-- He protested that he had never thought seriously of Harriet--never!
She looked back as well as she could; but it was all confusion.
She had taken up the idea, she supposed, and made every thing bend to it.
His manners, however, must have been unmarked, wavering, dubious, or she could not have been so misled.
The picture!-- How eager he had been about the picture!-- and the charade!-- and an hundred other circumstances;-- how clearly they had seemed to point at Harriet.
To be sure, the charade, with its " ready wit "-- but then the " soft eyes "-- in fact it suited neither; it was a jumble without taste or truth.
Who could have seen through such thick - headed nonsense?
To Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first idea on the subject, for the first start of its possibility.
There was no denying that those brothers had penetration.
It was dreadfully mortifying; but Mr. Elton was proving himself, in many respects, the very reverse of what she had meant and believed him; proud, assuming, conceited; very full of his own claims, and little concerned about the feelings of others.
Contrary to the usual course of things, Mr. Elton's wanting to pay his addresses to her had sunk him in her opinion.
His professions and his proposals did him no service.
She thought nothing of his attachment, and was insulted by his hopes.
He wanted to marry well, and having the arrogance to raise his eyes to her, pretended to be in love; but she was perfectly easy as to his not suffering any disappointment that need be cared for.
There had been no real affection either in his language or manners.
Sighs and fine words had been given in abundance; but she could hardly devise any set of expressions, or fancy any tone of voice, less allied with real love.
She need not trouble herself to pity him.
He only wanted to aggrandise and enrich himself; and if Miss Woodhouse of Hartfield, the heiress of thirty thousand pounds, were not quite so easily obtained as he had fancied, he would soon try for Miss Somebody else with twenty, or with ten.
Perhaps it was not fair to expect him to feel how very much he was her inferior in talent, and all the elegancies of mind.
The very want of such equality might prevent his perception of it; but he must know that in fortune and consequence she was greatly his superior.
He must know that the Woodhouses had been settled for several generations at Hartfield, the younger branch of a very ancient family--and that the Eltons were nobody.
If _she_ had so misinterpreted his feelings, she had little right to wonder that _he_, with self - interest to blind him, should have mistaken hers.
The first error and the worst lay at her door.
It was foolish, it was wrong, to take so active a part in bringing any two people together.
It was adventuring too far, assuming too much, making light of what ought to be serious, a trick of what ought to be simple.
She was quite concerned and ashamed, and resolved to do such things no more.
" Here have I," said she, " actually talked poor Harriet into being very much attached to this man.
She might never have thought of him but for me; and certainly never would have thought of him with hope, if I had not assured her of his attachment, for she is as modest and humble as I used to think him.
Oh!
that I had been satisfied with persuading her not to accept young Martin.
There I was quite right.
That was well done of me; but there I should have stopped, and left the rest to time and chance.
I was introducing her into good company, and giving her the opportunity of pleasing some one worth having; I ought not to have attempted more.
But now, poor girl, her peace is cut up for some time.
I have been but half a friend to her; and if she were _not_ to feel this disappointment so very much, I am sure I have not an idea of any body else who would be at all desirable for her;-- William Coxe--Oh!
no, I could not endure William Coxe--a pert young lawyer."
She stopt to blush and laugh at her own relapse, and then resumed a more serious, more dispiriting cogitation upon what had been, and might be, and must be.
To youth and natural cheerfulness like Emma's, though under temporary gloom at night, the return of day will hardly fail to bring return of spirits.
The youth and cheerfulness of morning are in happy analogy, and of powerful operation; and if the distress be not poignant enough to keep the eyes unclosed, they will be sure to open to sensations of softened pain and brighter hope.
Emma got up on the morrow more disposed for comfort than she had gone to bed, more ready to see alleviations of the evil before her, and to depend on getting tolerably out of it.
These were very cheering thoughts; and the sight of a great deal of snow on the ground did her further service, for any thing was welcome that might justify their all three being quite asunder at present.
The weather was most favourable for her; though Christmas Day, she could not go to church.
Mr. Woodhouse would have been miserable had his daughter attempted it, and she was therefore safe from either exciting or receiving unpleasant and most unsuitable ideas.
No intercourse with Harriet possible but by note; no church for her on Sunday any more than on Christmas Day; and no need to find excuses for Mr. Elton's absenting himself.
" Ah!
Mr. Knightley, why do not you stay at home like poor Mr.
Elton?"
He was always agreeable and obliging, and speaking pleasantly of every body.
But with all the hopes of cheerfulness, and all the present comfort of delay, there was still such an evil hanging over her in the hour of explanation with Harriet, as made it impossible for Emma to be ever perfectly at ease.
CHAPTER XVII
Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were not detained long at Hartfield.
Emma was most agreeably surprized.-- Mr.
Elton's absence just at this time was the very thing to be desired.
She admired him for contriving it, though not able to give him much credit for the manner in which it was announced.
Resentment could not have been more plainly spoken than in a civility to her father, from which she was so pointedly excluded.
It did, however.-- Her father was quite taken up with the surprize of so sudden a journey, and his fears that Mr. Elton might never get safely to the end of it, and saw nothing extraordinary in his language.
It was a very useful note, for it supplied them with fresh matter for thought and conversation during the rest of their lonely evening.
Mr. Woodhouse talked over his alarms, and Emma was in spirits to persuade them away with all her usual promptitude.
She now resolved to keep Harriet no longer in the dark.
She had reason to believe her nearly recovered from her cold, and it was desirable that she should have as much time as possible for getting the better of her other complaint before the gentleman's return.
The confession completely renewed her first shame--and the sight of Harriet's tears made her think that she should never be in charity with herself again.
Harriet bore the intelligence very well--blaming nobody--and in every thing testifying such an ingenuousness of disposition and lowly opinion of herself, as must appear with particular advantage at that moment to her friend.
Emma was in the humour to value simplicity and modesty to the utmost; and all that was amiable, all that ought to be attaching, seemed on Harriet's side, not her own.
Harriet did not consider herself as having any thing to complain of.
The affection of such a man as Mr. Elton would have been too great a distinction.-- She never could have deserved him--and nobody but so partial and kind a friend as Miss Woodhouse would have thought it possible.
It was rather too late in the day to set about being simple - minded and ignorant; but she left her with every previous resolution confirmed of being humble and discreet, and repressing imagination all the rest of her life.
Her second duty now, inferior only to her father's claims, was to promote Harriet's comfort, and endeavour to prove her own affection in some better method than by match - making.
She got her to Hartfield, and shewed her the most unvarying kindness, striving to occupy and amuse her, and by books and conversation, to drive Mr. Elton from her thoughts.
If Mr. Elton, on his return, made his own indifference as evident and indubitable as she could not doubt he would anxiously do, she could not imagine Harriet's persisting to place her happiness in the sight or the recollection of him.
Their being fixed, so absolutely fixed, in the same place, was bad for each, for all three.
Not one of them had the power of removal, or of effecting any material change of society.
They must encounter each other, and make the best of it.
Where the wound had been given, there must the cure be found if anywhere; and Emma felt that, till she saw her in the way of cure, there could be no true peace for herself.
CHAPTER XVIII
Mr. Frank Churchill did not come.
When the time proposed drew near, Mrs. Weston's fears were justified in the arrival of a letter of excuse.
For the present, he could not be spared, to his " very great mortification and regret; but still he looked forward with the hope of coming to Randalls at no distant period."
It soon flies over the present failure, and begins to hope again.
These feelings rapidly restored his comfort, while Mrs. Weston, of a more apprehensive disposition, foresaw nothing but a repetition of excuses and delays; and after all her concern for what her husband was to suffer, suffered a great deal more herself.
Emma was not at this time in a state of spirits to care really about Mr. Frank Churchill's not coming, except as a disappointment at Randalls.
The acquaintance at present had no charm for her.
She was the first to announce it to Mr. Knightley; and exclaimed quite as much as was necessary, (or, being acting a part, perhaps rather more,) at the conduct of the Churchills, in keeping him away.
" The Churchills are very likely in fault," said Mr. Knightley, coolly; " but I dare say he might come if he would."
" I do not know why you should say so.
He wishes exceedingly to come; but his uncle and aunt will not spare him."
" I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming, if he made a point of it.
It is too unlikely, for me to believe it without proof."
" How odd you are!
What has Mr. Frank Churchill done, to make you suppose him such an unnatural creature?"
" I am not supposing him at all an unnatural creature, in suspecting that he may have learnt to be above his connexions, and to care very little for any thing but his own pleasure, from living with those who have always set him the example of it.
It is a great deal more natural than one could wish, that a young man, brought up by those who are proud, luxurious, and selfish, should be proud, luxurious, and selfish too.
If Frank Churchill had wanted to see his father, he would have contrived it between September and January.
A man at his age--what is he?-- three or four - and - twenty--cannot be without the means of doing as much as that.
It is impossible."
" That's easily said, and easily felt by you, who have always been your own master.
You are the worst judge in the world, Mr. Knightley, of the difficulties of dependence.
You do not know what it is to have tempers to manage."
" It is not to be conceived that a man of three or four - and - twenty should not have liberty of mind or limb to that amount.
He cannot want money--he cannot want leisure.
We know, on the contrary, that he has so much of both, that he is glad to get rid of them at the idlest haunts in the kingdom.
We hear of him for ever at some watering - place or other.
A little while ago, he was at Weymouth.
This proves that he can leave the Churchills."
" Yes, sometimes he can."
" And those times are whenever he thinks it worth his while; whenever there is any temptation of pleasure."
" It is very unfair to judge of any body's conduct, without an intimate knowledge of their situation.
Nobody, who has not been in the interior of a family, can say what the difficulties of any individual of that family may be.
We ought to be acquainted with Enscombe, and with Mrs. Churchill's temper, before we pretend to decide upon what her nephew can do.
He may, at times, be able to do a great deal more than he can at others."
" There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always do, if he chuses, and that is, his duty; not by manoeuvring and finessing, but by vigour and resolution.
It is Frank Churchill's duty to pay this attention to his father.
He knows it to be so, by his promises and messages; but if he wished to do it, it might be done.
A man who felt rightly would say at once, simply and resolutely, to Mrs. Churchill--'Every sacrifice of mere pleasure you will always find me ready to make to your convenience; but I must go and see my father immediately.
I know he would be hurt by my failing in such a mark of respect to him on the present occasion.
I shall, therefore, set off to - morrow.'
-- If he would say so to her at once, in the tone of decision becoming a man, there would be no opposition made to his going."
" No," said Emma, laughing; " but perhaps there might be some made to his coming back again.
Such language for a young man entirely dependent, to use!-- Nobody but you, Mr. Knightley, would imagine it possible.
But you have not an idea of what is requisite in situations directly opposite to your own.
Mr. Frank Churchill to be making such a speech as that to the uncle and aunt, who have brought him up, and are to provide for him!-- Standing up in the middle of the room, I suppose, and speaking as loud as he could!-- How can you imagine such conduct practicable?"
" Depend upon it, Emma, a sensible man would find no difficulty in it.
Respect would be added to affection.
Respect for right conduct is felt by every body.
If he would act in this sort of manner, on principle, consistently, regularly, their little minds would bend to his."
" I rather doubt that.
You are very fond of bending little minds; but where little minds belong to rich people in authority, I think they have a knack of swelling out, till they are quite as unmanageable as great ones.
I can imagine, that if you, as you are, Mr. Knightley, were to be transported and placed all at once in Mr. Frank Churchill's situation, you would be able to say and do just what you have been recommending for him; and it might have a very good effect.
The Churchills might not have a word to say in return; but then, you would have no habits of early obedience and long observance to break through.
To him who has, it might not be so easy to burst forth at once into perfect independence, and set all their claims on his gratitude and regard at nought.
He may have as strong a sense of what would be right, as you can have, without being so equal, under particular circumstances, to act up to it."
" Then it would not be so strong a sense.
If it failed to produce equal exertion, it could not be an equal conviction."
" Oh, the difference of situation and habit!
I wish you would try to understand what an amiable young man may be likely to feel in directly opposing those, whom as child and boy he has been looking up to all his life."
" Our amiable young man is a very weak young man, if this be the first occasion of his carrying through a resolution to do right against the will of others.
It ought to have been a habit with him by this time, of following his duty, instead of consulting expediency.
I can allow for the fears of the child, but not of the man.
As he became rational, he ought to have roused himself and shaken off all that was unworthy in their authority.
He ought to have opposed the first attempt on their side to make him slight his father.
Had he begun as he ought, there would have been no difficulty now."
" We shall never agree about him," cried Emma; " but that is nothing extraordinary.
I have not the least idea of his being a weak young man: I feel sure that he is not.
Mr. Weston would not be blind to folly, though in his own son; but he is very likely to have a more yielding, complying, mild disposition than would suit your notions of man's perfection.
I dare say he has; and though it may cut him off from some advantages, it will secure him many others."
" Yes; all the advantages of sitting still when he ought to move, and of leading a life of mere idle pleasure, and fancying himself extremely expert in finding excuses for it.
He can sit down and write a fine flourishing letter, full of professions and falsehoods, and persuade himself that he has hit upon the very best method in the world of preserving peace at home and preventing his father's having any right to complain.
His letters disgust me."
" Your feelings are singular.
They seem to satisfy every body else."
" I suspect they do not satisfy Mrs. Weston.
They hardly can satisfy a woman of her good sense and quick feelings: standing in a mother's place, but without a mother's affection to blind her.
It is on her account that attention to Randalls is doubly due, and she must doubly feel the omission.
Had she been a person of consequence herself, he would have come I dare say; and it would not have signified whether he did or no.
Can you think your friend behindhand in these sort of considerations?
Do you suppose she does not often say all this to herself?
No, Emma, your amiable young man can be amiable only in French, not in English.
He may be very 'aimable,' have very good manners, and be very agreeable; but he can have no English delicacy towards the feelings of other people: nothing really amiable about him."
" You seem determined to think ill of him."
" Me!-- not at all," replied Mr. Knightley, rather displeased; " I do not want to think ill of him.
I should be as ready to acknowledge his merits as any other man; but I hear of none, except what are merely personal; that he is well - grown and good - looking, with smooth, plausible manners."
" Well, if he have nothing else to recommend him, he will be a treasure at Highbury.
We do not often look upon fine young men, well - bred and agreeable.
We must not be nice and ask for all the virtues into the bargain.
Cannot you imagine, Mr. Knightley, what a _sensation_ his coming will produce?
There will be but one subject throughout the parishes of Donwell and Highbury; but one interest--one object of curiosity; it will be all Mr. Frank Churchill; we shall think and speak of nobody else."
" You will excuse my being so much over - powered.
If I find him conversable, I shall be glad of his acquaintance; but if he is only a chattering coxcomb, he will not occupy much of my time or thoughts."
" My idea of him is, that he can adapt his conversation to the taste of every body, and has the power as well as the wish of being universally agreeable.
" And mine," said Mr. Knightley warmly, " is, that if he turn out any thing like it, he will be the most insufferable fellow breathing!
What!
My dear Emma, your own good sense could not endure such a puppy when it came to the point."
" I will say no more about him," cried Emma, " you turn every thing to evil.
We are both prejudiced; you against, I for him; and we have no chance of agreeing till he is really here."
" Prejudiced!
I am not prejudiced."
" But I am very much, and without being at all ashamed of it.
My love for Mr. and Mrs. Weston gives me a decided prejudice in his favour."
" He is a person I never think of from one month's end to another," said Mr. Knightley, with a degree of vexation, which made Emma immediately talk of something else, though she could not comprehend why he should be angry.
VOLUME II
CHAPTER I
Emma and Harriet had been walking together one morning, and, in Emma's opinion, had been talking enough of Mr. Elton for that day.
she found something else must be done.
They were just approaching the house where lived Mrs. and Miss Bates.
She determined to call upon them and seek safety in numbers.
But now she made the sudden resolution of not passing their door without going in--observing, as she proposed it to Harriet, that, as well as she could calculate, they were just now quite safe from any letter from Jane Fairfax.
The house belonged to people in business.
The mention of the Coles was sure to be followed by that of Mr. Elton.
There was intimacy between them, and Mr. Cole had heard from Mr. Elton since his going away.
This she had been prepared for when she entered the house; but meant, having once talked him handsomely over, to be no farther incommoded by any troublesome topic, and to wander at large amongst all the Mistresses and Misses of Highbury, and their card - parties.
She had not been prepared to have Jane Fairfax succeed Mr. Elton; but he was actually hurried off by Miss Bates, she jumped away from him at last abruptly to the Coles, to usher in a letter from her niece.
" Oh!
Whenever she is with us, Mrs. Cole does not know how to shew her kindness enough; and I must say that Jane deserves it as much as any body can.
'Have you, upon your honour?'
said she; 'well, that is quite unexpected.
Do let me hear what she says.'"
Emma's politeness was at hand directly, to say, with smiling interest --
" Have you heard from Miss Fairfax so lately?
I am extremely happy.
I hope she is well?"
" Thank you.
You are so kind!"
replied the happily deceived aunt, while eagerly hunting for the letter.--" Oh!
here it is.
I was sure it could not be far off; but I had put my huswife upon it, you see, without being aware, and so it was quite hid, but I had it in my hand so very lately that I was almost sure it must be on the table.
My mother often wonders that I can make it out so well.
And, indeed, though my mother's eyes are not so good as they were, she can see amazingly well still, thank God!
with the help of spectacles.
It is such a blessing!
My mother's are really very good indeed.
Jane often says, when she is here, 'I am sure, grandmama, you must have had very strong eyes to see as you do--and so much fine work as you have done too!-- I only wish my eyes may last me as well.'"
All this spoken extremely fast obliged Miss Bates to stop for breath; and Emma said something very civil about the excellence of Miss Fairfax's handwriting.
" You are extremely kind," replied Miss Bates, highly gratified; " you who are such a judge, and write so beautifully yourself.
I am sure there is nobody's praise that could give us so much pleasure as Miss Woodhouse's.
My mother does not hear; she is a little deaf you know.
Ma'am," addressing her, " do you hear what Miss Woodhouse is so obliging to say about Jane's handwriting?"
And Emma had the advantage of hearing her own silly compliment repeated twice over before the good old lady could comprehend it.
She was pondering, in the meanwhile, upon the possibility, without seeming very rude, of making her escape from Jane Fairfax's letter, and had almost resolved on hurrying away directly under some slight excuse, when Miss Bates turned to her again and seized her attention.
" My mother's deafness is very trifling you see--just nothing at all.
By only raising my voice, and saying any thing two or three times over, she is sure to hear; but then she is used to my voice.
But it is very remarkable that she should always hear Jane better than she does me.
Jane speaks so distinct!
However, she will not find her grandmama at all deafer than she was two years ago; which is saying a great deal at my mother's time of life--and it really is full two years, you know, since she was here.
We never were so long without seeing her before, and as I was telling Mrs. Cole, we shall hardly know how to make enough of her now."
" Are you expecting Miss Fairfax here soon?"
" Oh yes; next week."
" Indeed!-- that must be a very great pleasure."
" Thank you.
You are very kind.
Yes, next week.
Every body is so surprized; and every body says the same obliging things.
I am sure she will be as happy to see her friends at Highbury, as they can be to see her.
Yes, Friday or Saturday; she cannot say which, because Colonel Campbell will be wanting the carriage himself one of those days.
So very good of them to send her the whole way!
But they always do, you know.
Oh yes, Friday or Saturday next.
That is what she writes about.
That is the reason of her writing out of rule, as we call it; for, in the common course, we should not have heard from her before next Tuesday or Wednesday."
" Yes, so I imagined.
I was afraid there could be little chance of my hearing any thing of Miss Fairfax to - day."
" So obliging of you!
No, we should not have heard, if it had not been for this particular circumstance, of her being to come here so soon.
My mother is so delighted!-- for she is to be three months with us at least.
Three months, she says so, positively, as I am going to have the pleasure of reading to you.
The case is, you see, that the Campbells are going to Ireland.
Mrs. Dixon has persuaded her father and mother to come over and see her directly.
He is a most amiable, charming young man, I believe.
Jane was quite longing to go to Ireland, from his account of things."
At this moment, an ingenious and animating suspicion entering Emma's brain with regard to Jane Fairfax, this charming Mr. Dixon, and the not going to Ireland, she said, with the insidious design of farther discovery,
" You must feel it very fortunate that Miss Fairfax should be allowed to come to you at such a time.
Considering the very particular friendship between her and Mrs. Dixon, you could hardly have expected her to be excused from accompanying Colonel and Mrs.
Campbell."
" Very true, very true, indeed.
The very thing that we have always been rather afraid of; for we should not have liked to have her at such a distance from us, for months together--not able to come if any thing was to happen.
But you see, every thing turns out for the best.
He is a most charming young man.
-- But ever since we had the history of that day, I have been so fond of Mr.
Dixon!"
" But, in spite of all her friends'urgency, and her own wish of seeing Ireland, Miss Fairfax prefers devoting the time to you and Mrs.
Bates?"
" Yes--entirely her own doing, entirely her own choice; and Colonel and Mrs. Campbell think she does quite right, just what they should recommend; and indeed they particularly _wish_ her to try her native air, as she has not been quite so well as usual lately."
" I am concerned to hear of it.
I think they judge wisely.
But Mrs. Dixon must be very much disappointed.
Mrs. Dixon, I understand, has no remarkable degree of personal beauty; is not, by any means, to be compared with Miss Fairfax."
" Oh!
no.
You are very obliging to say such things--but certainly not.
There is no comparison between them.
Miss Campbell always was absolutely plain--but extremely elegant and amiable."
" Yes, that of course."
" Jane caught a bad cold, poor thing!
so long ago as the 7th of November, (as I am going to read to you,) and has never been well since.
A long time, is not it, for a cold to hang upon her?
She never mentioned it before, because she would not alarm us.
Just like her!
Nobody could nurse her, as we should do."
" It appears to me the most desirable arrangement in the world."
" And so she is to come to us next Friday or Saturday, and the Campbells leave town in their way to Holyhead the Monday following--as you will find from Jane's letter.
So sudden!-- You may guess, dear Miss Woodhouse, what a flurry it has thrown me in!
If it was not for the drawback of her illness--but I am afraid we must expect to see her grown thin, and looking very poorly.
I must tell you what an unlucky thing happened to me, as to that.
I always make a point of reading Jane's letters through to myself first, before I read them aloud to my mother, you know, for fear of there being any thing in them to distress her.
Jane desired me to do it, so I always do: and so I began to - day with my usual caution; but no sooner did I come to the mention of her being unwell, than I burst out, quite frightened, with 'Bless me!
poor Jane is ill!'
-- which my mother, being on the watch, heard distinctly, and was sadly alarmed at.
However, when I read on, I found it was not near so bad as I had fancied at first; and I make so light of it now to her, that she does not think much about it.
But I cannot imagine how I could be so off my guard.
If Jane does not get well soon, we will call in Mr. Perry.
The expense shall not be thought of; and though he is so liberal, and so fond of Jane that I dare say he would not mean to charge any thing for attendance, we could not suffer it to be so, you know.
He has a wife and family to maintain, and is not to be giving away his time.
Well, now I have just given you a hint of what Jane writes about, we will turn to her letter, and I am sure she tells her own story a great deal better than I can tell it for her."
" I am afraid we must be running away," said Emma, glancing at Harriet, and beginning to rise --" My father will be expecting us.
I had no intention, I thought I had no power of staying more than five minutes, when I first entered the house.
I merely called, because I would not pass the door without inquiring after Mrs. Bates; but I have been so pleasantly detained!
Now, however, we must wish you and Mrs. Bates good morning."
And not all that could be urged to detain her succeeded.
She regained the street--happy in this, that though much had been forced on her against her will, though she had in fact heard the whole substance of Jane Fairfax's letter, she had been able to escape the letter itself.
CHAPTER II
Jane Fairfax was an orphan, the only child of Mrs. Bates's youngest daughter.
The marriage of Lieut.
But the compassionate feelings of a friend of her father gave a change to her destiny.
This was Colonel Campbell, who had very highly regarded Fairfax, as an excellent officer and most deserving young man; and farther, had been indebted to him for such attentions, during a severe camp - fever, as he believed had saved his life.
These were claims which he did not learn to overlook, though some years passed away from the death of poor Fairfax, before his own return to England put any thing in his power.
When he did return, he sought out the child and took notice of her.
It was accepted; and from that period Jane had belonged to Colonel Campbell's family, and had lived with them entirely, only visiting her grandmother from time to time.
The plan was that she should be brought up for educating others; the very few hundred pounds which she inherited from her father making independence impossible.
Such was Jane Fairfax's history.
She had fallen into good hands, known nothing but kindness from the Campbells, and been given an excellent education.
Neither father nor mother could promote, and the daughter could not endure it.
The evil day was put off.
The affection of the whole family, the warm attachment of Miss Campbell in particular, was the more honourable to each party from the circumstance of Jane's decided superiority both in beauty and acquirements.
That nature had given it in feature could not be unseen by the young woman, nor could her higher powers of mind be unfelt by the parents.
This event had very lately taken place; too lately for any thing to be yet attempted by her less fortunate friend towards entering on her path of duty; though she had now reached the age which her own judgment had fixed on for beginning.
She had long resolved that one - and - twenty should be the period.
With the fortitude of a devoted novitiate, she had resolved at one - and - twenty to complete the sacrifice, and retire from all the pleasures of life, of rational intercourse, equal society, peace and hope, to penance and mortification for ever.
The good sense of Colonel and Mrs. Campbell could not oppose such a resolution, though their feelings did.
As long as they lived, no exertions would be necessary, their home might be hers for ever; and for their own comfort they would have retained her wholly; but this would be selfishness:-- what must be at last, had better be soon.
Perhaps they began to feel it might have been kinder and wiser to have resisted the temptation of any delay, and spared her from a taste of such enjoyments of ease and leisure as must now be relinquished.
Still, however, affection was glad to catch at any reasonable excuse for not hurrying on the wretched moment.
With regard to her not accompanying them to Ireland, her account to her aunt contained nothing but truth, though there might be some truths not told.
Certain it was that she was to come; and that Highbury, instead of welcoming that perfect novelty which had been so long promised it--Mr. Frank Churchill--must put up for the present with Jane Fairfax, who could bring only the freshness of a two years'absence.
Emma was sorry;-- to have to pay civilities to a person she did not like through three long months!-- to be always doing more than she wished, and less than she ought!
These were her reasons--she had no better.
Jane Fairfax was very elegant, remarkably elegant; and she had herself the highest value for elegance.
Emma could not but feel all this; and then, her face--her features--there was more beauty in them altogether than she had remembered; it was not regular, but it was very pleasing beauty.
Her eyes, a deep grey, with dark eye - lashes and eyebrows, had never been denied their praise; but the skin, which she had been used to cavil at, as wanting colour, had a clearness and delicacy which really needed no fuller bloom.
It was a style of beauty, of which elegance was the reigning character, and as such, she must, in honour, by all her principles, admire it:-- elegance, which, whether of person or of mind, she saw so little in Highbury.
There, not to be vulgar, was distinction, and merit.
In short, she sat, during the first visit, looking at Jane Fairfax with twofold complacency; the sense of pleasure and the sense of rendering justice, and was determining that she would dislike her no longer.
In that case, nothing could be more pitiable or more honourable than the sacrifices she had resolved on.
Emma was very willing now to acquit her of having seduced Mr. Dixon's actions from his wife, or of any thing mischievous which her imagination had suggested at first.
If it were love, it might be simple, single, successless love on her side alone.
Upon the whole, Emma left her with such softened, charitable feelings, as made her look around in walking home, and lament that Highbury afforded no young man worthy of giving her independence; nobody that she could wish to scheme about for her.
These were charming feelings--but not lasting.
Before she had committed herself by any public profession of eternal friendship for Jane Fairfax, or done more towards a recantation of past prejudices and errors, than saying to Mr. Knightley, " She certainly is handsome; she is better than handsome!"
Jane had spent an evening at Hartfield with her grandmother and aunt, and every thing was relapsing much into its usual state.
Former provocations reappeared.
They had music; Emma was obliged to play; and the thanks and praise which necessarily followed appeared to her an affectation of candour, an air of greatness, meaning only to shew off in higher style her own very superior performance.
She was, besides, which was the worst of all, so cold, so cautious!
There was no getting at her real opinion.
Wrapt up in a cloak of politeness, she seemed determined to hazard nothing.
She was disgustingly, was suspiciously reserved.
If any thing could be more, where all was most, she was more reserved on the subject of Weymouth and the Dixons than any thing.
She seemed bent on giving no real insight into Mr. Dixon's character, or her own value for his company, or opinion of the suitableness of the match.
It was all general approbation and smoothness; nothing delineated or distinguished.
It did her no service however.
Her caution was thrown away.
Emma saw its artifice, and returned to her first surmises.
There probably _was_ something more to conceal than her own preference; Mr. Dixon, perhaps, had been very near changing one friend for the other, or been fixed only to Miss Campbell, for the sake of the future twelve thousand pounds.
The like reserve prevailed on other topics.
She and Mr. Frank Churchill had been at Weymouth at the same time.
It was known that they were a little acquainted; but not a syllable of real information could Emma procure as to what he truly was.
" Was he handsome?"
--" She believed he was reckoned a very fine young man."
" Was he agreeable?"
-- " He was generally thought so."
" Did he appear a sensible young man; a young man of information?"
--" At a watering - place, or in a common London acquaintance, it was difficult to decide on such points.
Manners were all that could be safely judged of, under a much longer knowledge than they had yet had of Mr. Churchill.
She believed every body found his manners pleasing."
Emma could not forgive her.
CHAPTER III
He had been used to think her unjust to Jane, and had now great pleasure in marking an improvement.
" A very pleasant evening," he began, as soon as Mr. Woodhouse had been talked into what was necessary, told that he understood, and the papers swept away;--" particularly pleasant.
You and Miss Fairfax gave us some very good music.
I do not know a more luxurious state, sir, than sitting at one's ease to be entertained a whole evening by two such young women; sometimes with music and sometimes with conversation.
I am sure Miss Fairfax must have found the evening pleasant, Emma.
You left nothing undone.
I was glad you made her play so much, for having no instrument at her grandmother's, it must have been a real indulgence."
" I am happy you approved," said Emma, smiling; " but I hope I am not often deficient in what is due to guests at Hartfield."
" No, my dear," said her father instantly; " _that_ I am sure you are not.
There is nobody half so attentive and civil as you are.
If any thing, you are too attentive.
The muffin last night--if it had been handed round once, I think it would have been enough."
" No," said Mr. Knightley, nearly at the same time; " you are not often deficient; not often deficient either in manner or comprehension.
I think you understand me, therefore."
An arch look expressed --" I understand you well enough;" but she said only, " Miss Fairfax is reserved."
" I always told you she was--a little; but you will soon overcome all that part of her reserve which ought to be overcome, all that has its foundation in diffidence.
What arises from discretion must be honoured."
" You think her diffident.
I do not see it."
" My dear Emma," said he, moving from his chair into one close by her, " you are not going to tell me, I hope, that you had not a pleasant evening."
" Oh!
no; I was pleased with my own perseverance in asking questions; and amused to think how little information I obtained."
" I am disappointed," was his only answer.
" I hope every body had a pleasant evening," said Mr. Woodhouse, in his quiet way.
" I had.
Once, I felt the fire rather too much; but then I moved back my chair a little, a very little, and it did not disturb me.
Miss Bates was very chatty and good - humoured, as she always is, though she speaks rather too quick.
However, she is very agreeable, and Mrs. Bates too, in a different way.
I like old friends; and Miss Jane Fairfax is a very pretty sort of young lady, a very pretty and a very well - behaved young lady indeed.
She must have found the evening agreeable, Mr. Knightley, because she had Emma."
" True, sir; and Emma, because she had Miss Fairfax."
Emma saw his anxiety, and wishing to appease it, at least for the present, said, and with a sincerity which no one could question --
" She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep one's eyes from.
I am always watching her to admire; and I do pity her from my heart."
Mr. Knightley looked as if he were more gratified than he cared to express; and before he could make any reply, Mr. Woodhouse, whose thoughts were on the Bates's, said --
" It is a great pity that their circumstances should be so confined!
a great pity indeed!
" My dear papa, I sent the whole hind - quarter.
I knew you would wish it.
There will be the leg to be salted, you know, which is so very nice, and the loin to be dressed directly in any manner they like."
" That's right, my dear, very right.
I had not thought of it before, but that is the best way.
They must not over - salt the leg; and then, if it is not over - salted, and if it is very thoroughly boiled, just as Serle boils ours, and eaten very moderately of, with a boiled turnip, and a little carrot or parsnip, I do not consider it unwholesome."
" Emma," said Mr. Knightley presently, " I have a piece of news for you.
You like news--and I heard an article in my way hither that I think will interest you."
" News!
Oh!
yes, I always like news.
What is it?-- why do you smile so?-- where did you hear it?-- at Randalls?"
He had time only to say,
" No, not at Randalls; I have not been near Randalls," when the door was thrown open, and Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax walked into the room.
Full of thanks, and full of news, Miss Bates knew not which to give quickest.
Mr. Knightley soon saw that he had lost his moment, and that not another syllable of communication could rest with him.
" Oh!
my dear sir, how are you this morning?
My dear Miss Woodhouse--I come quite over - powered.
Such a beautiful hind - quarter of pork!
You are too bountiful!
Have you heard the news?
Mr. Elton is going to be married."
Emma had not had time even to think of Mr. Elton, and she was so completely surprized that she could not avoid a little start, and a little blush, at the sound.
" There is my news:-- I thought it would interest you," said Mr. Knightley, with a smile which implied a conviction of some part of what had passed between them.
" But where could _you_ hear it?"
cried Miss Bates.
" Where could you possibly hear it, Mr. Knightley?
So I said I would go down and see, and Jane said, 'Shall I go down instead?
for I think you have a little cold, and Patty has been washing the kitchen.'--'Oh!
my dear,' said I--well, and just then came the note.
A Miss Hawkins--that's all I know.
A Miss Hawkins of Bath.
But, Mr. Knightley, how could you possibly have heard it?
for the very moment Mr. Cole told Mrs. Cole of it, she sat down and wrote to me.
A Miss Hawkins --"
" I was with Mr. Cole on business an hour and a half ago.
He had just read Elton's letter as I was shewn in, and handed it to me directly."
" Well!
that is quite--I suppose there never was a piece of news more generally interesting.
My dear sir, you really are too bountiful.
My mother desires her very best compliments and regards, and a thousand thanks, and says you really quite oppress her."
" We consider our Hartfield pork," replied Mr. Woodhouse --" indeed it certainly is, so very superior to all other pork, that Emma and I cannot have a greater pleasure than --"
" Oh!
my dear sir, as my mother says, our friends are only too good to us.
If ever there were people who, without having great wealth themselves, had every thing they could wish for, I am sure it is us.
We may well say that 'our lot is cast in a goodly heritage.'
Well, Mr. Knightley, and so you actually saw the letter; well --"
" It was short--merely to announce--but cheerful, exulting, of course."
-- Here was a sly glance at Emma.
" He had been so fortunate as to--I forget the precise words--one has no business to remember them.
The information was, as you state, that he was going to be married to a Miss Hawkins.
By his style, I should imagine it just settled."
" Mr. Elton going to be married!"
said Emma, as soon as she could speak.
" He will have every body's wishes for his happiness."
" He is very young to settle," was Mr. Woodhouse's observation.
" He had better not be in a hurry.
He seemed to me very well off as he was.
We were always glad to see him at Hartfield."
" A new neighbour for us all, Miss Woodhouse!"
said Miss Bates, joyfully; " my mother is so pleased!-- she says she cannot bear to have the poor old Vicarage without a mistress.
This is great news, indeed.
Jane, you have never seen Mr.
Elton!-- no wonder that you have such a curiosity to see him."
Jane's curiosity did not appear of that absorbing nature as wholly to occupy her.
" No--I have never seen Mr. Elton," she replied, starting on this appeal; " is he--is he a tall man?"
" Who shall answer that question?"
cried Emma.
" My father would say 'yes,' Mr. Knightley 'no;' and Miss Bates and I that he is just the happy medium.
When you have been here a little longer, Miss Fairfax, you will understand that Mr. Elton is the standard of perfection in Highbury, both in person and mind."
" Very true, Miss Woodhouse, so she will.
He is the very best young man--But, my dear Jane, if you remember, I told you yesterday he was precisely the height of Mr. Perry.
Miss Hawkins,-- I dare say, an excellent young woman.
His extreme attention to my mother--wanting her to sit in the vicarage pew, that she might hear the better, for my mother is a little deaf, you know--it is not much, but she does not hear quite quick.
Jane says that Colonel Campbell is a little deaf.
He fancied bathing might be good for it--the warm bath--but she says it did him no lasting benefit.
Colonel Campbell, you know, is quite our angel.
And Mr. Dixon seems a very charming young man, quite worthy of him.
It is such a happiness when good people get together--and they always do.
Now, here will be Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins; and there are the Coles, such very good people; and the Perrys--I suppose there never was a happier or a better couple than Mr. and Mrs. Perry.
I say, sir," turning to Mr. Woodhouse, " I think there are few places with such society as Highbury.
I always say, we are quite blessed in our neighbours.-- My dear sir, if there is one thing my mother loves better than another, it is pork--a roast loin of pork --"
" As to who, or what Miss Hawkins is, or how long he has been acquainted with her," said Emma, " nothing I suppose can be known.
One feels that it cannot be a very long acquaintance.
He has been gone only four weeks."
Nobody had any information to give; and, after a few more wonderings, Emma said,
" You are silent, Miss Fairfax--but I hope you mean to take an interest in this news.
You, who have been hearing and seeing so much of late on these subjects, who must have been so deep in the business on Miss Campbell's account--we shall not excuse your being indifferent about Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins."
" When I have seen Mr. Elton," replied Jane, " I dare say I shall be interested--but I believe it requires _that_ with me.
And as it is some months since Miss Campbell married, the impression may be a little worn off."
I do not pretend to it.
What is before me, I see.
At the same time, nobody could wonder if Mr. Elton should have aspired--Miss Woodhouse lets me chatter on, so good - humouredly.
She knows I would not offend for the world.
How does Miss Smith do?
She seems quite recovered now.
Have you heard from Mrs. John Knightley lately?
Oh!
those dear little children.
Jane, do you know I always fancy Mr. Dixon like Mr. John Knightley.
I mean in person--tall, and with that sort of look--and not very talkative."
" Quite wrong, my dear aunt; there is no likeness at all."
" Very odd!
but one never does form a just idea of any body beforehand.
One takes up a notion, and runs away with it.
Mr. Dixon, you say, is not, strictly speaking, handsome?"
" Handsome!
Oh!
no--far from it--certainly plain.
I told you he was plain."
" My dear, you said that Miss Campbell would not allow him to be plain, and that you yourself --"
" Oh!
as for me, my judgment is worth nothing.
Where I have a regard, I always think a person well - looking.
But I gave what I believed the general opinion, when I called him plain."
" Well, my dear Jane, I believe we must be running away.
The weather does not look well, and grandmama will be uneasy.
You are too obliging, my dear Miss Woodhouse; but we really must take leave.
This has been a most agreeable piece of news indeed.
I shall just go round by Mrs. Cole's; but I shall not stop three minutes: and, Jane, you had better go home directly--I would not have you out in a shower!-- We think she is the better for Highbury already.
Thank you, we do indeed.
I shall not attempt calling on Mrs. Goddard, for I really do not think she cares for any thing but _boiled_ pork: when we dress the leg it will be another thing.
Good morning to you, my dear sir.
Oh!
Mr. Knightley is coming too.
Well, that is so very!-- I am sure if Jane is tired, you will be so kind as to give her your arm.-- Mr.
Elton, and Miss Hawkins!-- Good morning to you."
Emma, alone with her father, had half her attention wanted by him while he lamented that young people would be in such a hurry to marry--and to marry strangers too--and the other half she could give to her own view of the subject.
It was now about the time that she was likely to call.
If she were to meet Miss Bates in her way!-- and upon its beginning to rain, Emma was obliged to expect that the weather would be detaining her at Mrs. Goddard's, and that the intelligence would undoubtedly rush upon her without preparation.
The shower was heavy, but short; and it had not been over five minutes, when in came Harriet, with just the heated, agitated look which hurrying thither with a full heart was likely to give; and the " Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, what do you think has happened!"
which instantly burst forth, had all the evidence of corresponding perturbation.
As the blow was given, Emma felt that she could not now shew greater kindness than in listening; and Harriet, unchecked, ran eagerly through what she had to tell.
only think.
I thought I should have fainted.
I did not know what to do.
I was sitting near the door--Elizabeth saw me directly; but he did not; he was busy with the umbrella.
I am sure she saw me, but she looked away directly, and took no notice; and they both went to quite the farther end of the shop; and I kept sitting near the door!-- Oh!
dear; I was so miserable!
I am sure I must have been as white as my gown.
I could not go away you know, because of the rain; but I did so wish myself anywhere in the world but there.-- Oh!
dear, Miss Woodhouse--well, at last, I fancy, he looked round and saw me; for instead of going on with her buyings, they began whispering to one another.
I am sure they were talking of me; and I could not help thinking that he was persuading her to speak to me --(do you think he was, Miss Woodhouse?)
-- for presently she came forward--came quite up to me, and asked me how I did, and seemed ready to shake hands, if I would.
Dear, Miss Woodhouse, I was absolutely miserable!
Oh!
dear, I thought it would have been the death of me!
So I said, I was very much obliged to him: you know I could not do less; and then he went back to Elizabeth, and I came round by the stables--I believe I did--but I hardly knew where I was, or any thing about it.
Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, I would rather done any thing than have it happen: and yet, you know, there was a sort of satisfaction in seeing him behave so pleasantly and so kindly.
And Elizabeth, too.
Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, do talk to me and make me comfortable again."
Very sincerely did Emma wish to do so; but it was not immediately in her power.
She was obliged to stop and think.
She was not thoroughly comfortable herself.
The young man's conduct, and his sister's, seemed the result of real feeling, and she could not but pity them.
As Harriet described it, there had been an interesting mixture of wounded affection and genuine delicacy in their behaviour.
But she had believed them to be well - meaning, worthy people before; and what difference did this make in the evils of the connexion?
It was folly to be disturbed by it.
Of course, he must be sorry to lose her--they must be all sorry.
Ambition, as well as love, had probably been mortified.
They might all have hoped to rise by Harriet's acquaintance: and besides, what was the value of Harriet's description?-- So easily pleased--so little discerning;-- what signified her praise?
She exerted herself, and did try to make her comfortable, by considering all that had passed as a mere trifle, and quite unworthy of being dwelt on,
" It might be distressing, for the moment," said she; " but you seem to have behaved extremely well; and it is over--and may never--can never, as a first meeting, occur again, and therefore you need not think about it."
Mr. Elton's rights, however, gradually revived.
Emma learned to be rather glad that there had been such a meeting.
It had been serviceable in deadening the first shock, without retaining any influence to alarm.
CHAPTER IV
Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting situations, that a young person, who either marries or dies, is sure of being kindly spoken of.
Mr. Elton returned, a very happy man.
He had gone away rejected and mortified--disappointed in a very sanguine hope, after a series of what appeared to him strong encouragement; and not only losing the right lady, but finding himself debased to the level of a very wrong one.
He had gone away deeply offended--he came back engaged to another--and to another as superior, of course, to the first, as under such circumstances what is gained always is to what is lost.
He came back gay and self - satisfied, eager and busy, caring nothing for Miss Woodhouse, and defying Miss Smith.
During his present short stay, Emma had barely seen him; but just enough to feel that the first meeting was over, and to give her the impression of his not being improved by the mixture of pique and pretension, now spread over his air.
She wished him very well; but he gave her pain, and his welfare twenty miles off would administer most satisfaction.
The pain of his continued residence in Highbury, however, must certainly be lessened by his marriage.
Many vain solicitudes would be prevented--many awkwardnesses smoothed by it.
A _Mrs. _ _Elton_ would be an excuse for any change of intercourse; former intimacy might sink without remark.
It would be almost beginning their life of civility again.
Of the lady, individually, Emma thought very little.
She was good enough for Mr. Elton, no doubt; accomplished enough for Highbury--handsome enough--to look plain, probably, by Harriet's side.
As to connexion, there Emma was perfectly easy; persuaded, that after all his own vaunted claims and disdain of Harriet, he had done nothing.
On that article, truth seemed attainable.
_What_ she was, must be uncertain; but _who_ she was, might be found out; and setting aside the 10, 000 l., it did not appear that she was at all Harriet's superior.
She brought no name, no blood, no alliance.
Emma guessed him to be the drudge of some attorney, and too stupid to rise.
And all the grandeur of the connexion seemed dependent on the elder sister, who was _very_ _well_ _married_, to a gentleman in a _great_ _way_, near Bristol, who kept two carriages!
That was the wind - up of the history; that was the glory of Miss Hawkins.
Could she but have given Harriet her feelings about it all!
She had talked her into love; but, alas!
she was not so easily to be talked out of it.
The charm of an object to occupy the many vacancies of Harriet's mind was not to be talked away.
He might be superseded by another; he certainly would indeed; nothing could be clearer; even a Robert Martin would have been sufficient; but nothing else, she feared, would cure her.
Harriet was one of those, who, having once begun, would be always in love.
And now, poor girl!
she was considerably worse from this reappearance of Mr. Elton.
She was always having a glimpse of him somewhere or other.
Had it been allowable entertainment, had there been no pain to her friend, or reproach to herself, in the waverings of Harriet's mind, Emma would have been amused by its variations.
Sometimes Mr. Elton predominated, sometimes the Martins; and each was occasionally useful as a check to the other.
Mr. Elton's engagement had been the cure of the agitation of meeting Mr. Martin.
The unhappiness produced by the knowledge of that engagement had been a little put aside by Elizabeth Martin's calling at Mrs. Goddard's a few days afterwards.
But Mr. Elton, in person, had driven away all such cares.
While he staid, the Martins were forgotten; and on the very morning of his setting off for Bath again, Emma, to dissipate some of the distress it occasioned, judged it best for her to return Elizabeth Martin's visit.
How that visit was to be acknowledged--what would be necessary--and what might be safest, had been a point of some doubtful consideration.
Absolute neglect of the mother and sisters, when invited to come, would be ingratitude.
It must not be: and yet the danger of a renewal of the acquaintance!--
After much thinking, she could determine on nothing better, than Harriet's returning the visit; but in a way that, if they had understanding, should convince them that it was to be only a formal acquaintance.
She could think of nothing better: and though there was something in it which her own heart could not approve--something of ingratitude, merely glossed over--it must be done, or what would become of Harriet?
CHAPTER V
Small heart had Harriet for visiting.
She went on herself, to give that portion of time to an old servant who was married, and settled in Donwell.
The quarter of an hour brought her punctually to the white gate again; and Miss Smith receiving her summons, was with her without delay, and unattended by any alarming young man.
She came solitarily down the gravel walk--a Miss Martin just appearing at the door, and parting with her seemingly with ceremonious civility.
Harriet could not very soon give an intelligible account.
She was feeling too much; but at last Emma collected from her enough to understand the sort of meeting, and the sort of pain it was creating.
She had seen only Mrs. Martin and the two girls.
In that very room she had been measured last September, with her two friends.
There were the pencilled marks and memorandums on the wainscot by the window.
_He_ had done it.
The style of the visit, and the shortness of it, were then felt to be decisive.
Fourteen minutes to be given to those with whom she had thankfully passed six weeks not six months ago!-- Emma could not but picture it all, and feel how justly they might resent, how naturally Harriet must suffer.
It was a bad business.
She would have given a great deal, or endured a great deal, to have had the Martins in a higher rank of life.
They were so deserving, that a _little_ higher should have been enough: but as it was, how could she have done otherwise?-- Impossible!-- She could not repent.
They must be separated; but there was a great deal of pain in the process--so much to herself at this time, that she soon felt the necessity of a little consolation, and resolved on going home by way of Randalls to procure it.
Her mind was quite sick of Mr. Elton and the Martins.
The refreshment of Randalls was absolutely necessary.
It was a good scheme; but on driving to the door they heard that neither " master nor mistress was at home;" they had both been out some time; the man believed they were gone to Hartfield.
" This is too bad," cried Emma, as they turned away.
" And now we shall just miss them; too provoking!-- I do not know when I have been so disappointed."
And she leaned back in the corner, to indulge her murmurs, or to reason them away; probably a little of both--such being the commonest process of a not ill - disposed mind.
Presently the carriage stopt; she looked up; it was stopt by Mr. and Mrs. Weston, who were standing to speak to her.
There was instant pleasure in the sight of them, and still greater pleasure was conveyed in sound--for Mr. Weston immediately accosted her with,
" How d'ye do?-- how d'ye do?-- We have been sitting with your father--glad to see him so well.
Frank comes to - morrow--I had a letter this morning--we see him to - morrow by dinner - time to a certainty--he is at Oxford to - day, and he comes for a whole fortnight; I knew it would be so.
If he had come at Christmas he could not have staid three days; I was always glad he did not come at Christmas; now we are going to have just the right weather for him, fine, dry, settled weather.
We shall enjoy him completely; every thing has turned out exactly as we could wish."
There was no resisting such news, no possibility of avoiding the influence of such a happy face as Mr. Weston's, confirmed as it all was by the words and the countenance of his wife, fewer and quieter, but not less to the purpose.
To know that _she_ thought his coming certain was enough to make Emma consider it so, and sincerely did she rejoice in their joy.
It was a most delightful reanimation of exhausted spirits.
The worn - out past was sunk in the freshness of what was coming; and in the rapidity of half a moment's thought, she hoped Mr. Elton would now be talked of no more.
Mr. Weston gave her the history of the engagements at Enscombe, which allowed his son to answer for having an entire fortnight at his command, as well as the route and the method of his journey; and she listened, and smiled, and congratulated.
" I shall soon bring him over to Hartfield," said he, at the conclusion.
Emma could imagine she saw a touch of the arm at this speech, from his wife.
" We had better move on, Mr. Weston," said she, " we are detaining the girls."
Emma could look perfectly unconscious and innocent, and answer in a manner that appropriated nothing.
" Think of me to - morrow, my dear Emma, about four o'clock," was Mrs. Weston's parting injunction; spoken with some anxiety, and meant only for her.
" Four o'clock!-- depend upon it he will be here by three," was Mr. Weston's quick amendment; and so ended a most satisfactory meeting.
Emma's spirits were mounted quite up to happiness; every thing wore a different air; James and his horses seemed not half so sluggish as before.
When she looked at the hedges, she thought the elder at least must soon be coming out; and when she turned round to Harriet, she saw something like a look of spring, a tender smile even there.
" Will Mr. Frank Churchill pass through Bath as well as Oxford?"
-- was a question, however, which did not augur much.
But neither geography nor tranquillity could come all at once, and Emma was now in a humour to resolve that they should both come in time.
The morning of the interesting day arrived, and Mrs. Weston's faithful pupil did not forget either at ten, or eleven, or twelve o'clock, that she was to think of her at four.
The clock struck twelve as she passed through the hall.
' Tis twelve; I shall not forget to think of you four hours hence; and by this time to - morrow, perhaps, or a little later, I may be thinking of the possibility of their all calling here.
I am sure they will bring him soon."
She opened the parlour door, and saw two gentlemen sitting with her father--Mr. Weston and his son.
She felt immediately that she should like him; and there was a well - bred ease of manner, and a readiness to talk, which convinced her that he came intending to be acquainted with her, and that acquainted they soon must be.
He had reached Randalls the evening before.
She was pleased with the eagerness to arrive which had made him alter his plan, and travel earlier, later, and quicker, that he might gain half a day.
" I told you yesterday," cried Mr. Weston with exultation, " I told you all that he would be here before the time named.
I remembered what I used to do myself.
One cannot creep upon a journey; one cannot help getting on faster than one has planned; and the pleasure of coming in upon one's friends before the look - out begins, is worth a great deal more than any little exertion it needs."
" It is a great pleasure where one can indulge in it," said the young man, " though there are not many houses that I should presume on so far; but in coming _home_ I felt I might do any thing."
The word _home_ made his father look on him with fresh complacency.
Emma was directly sure that he knew how to make himself agreeable; the conviction was strengthened by what followed.
That he should never have been able to indulge so amiable a feeling before, passed suspiciously through Emma's brain; but still, if it were a falsehood, it was a pleasant one, and pleasantly handled.
His manner had no air of study or exaggeration.
He did really look and speak as if in a state of no common enjoyment.
Their subjects in general were such as belong to an opening acquaintance.
He did not advance a word of praise beyond what she knew to be thoroughly deserved by Mrs. Weston; but, undoubtedly he could know very little of the matter.
He understood what would be welcome; he could be sure of little else.
" His father's marriage," he said, " had been the wisest measure, every friend must rejoice in it; and the family from whom he had received such a blessing must be ever considered as having conferred the highest obligation on him."
He got as near as he could to thanking her for Miss Taylor's merits, without seeming quite to forget that in the common course of things it was to be rather supposed that Miss Taylor had formed Miss Woodhouse's character, than Miss Woodhouse Miss Taylor's.
And at last, as if resolved to qualify his opinion completely for travelling round to its object, he wound it all up with astonishment at the youth and beauty of her person.
" Elegant, agreeable manners, I was prepared for," said he; " but I confess that, considering every thing, I had not expected more than a very tolerably well - looking woman of a certain age; I did not know that I was to find a pretty young woman in Mrs.
Weston."
" You cannot see too much perfection in Mrs. Weston for my feelings," said Emma; " were you to guess her to be _eighteen_, I should listen with pleasure; but _she_ would be ready to quarrel with you for using such words.
Don't let her imagine that you have spoken of her as a pretty young woman."
" I hope I should know better," he replied; " no, depend upon it, (with a gallant bow,) that in addressing Mrs. Weston I should understand whom I might praise without any danger of being thought extravagant in my terms."
Emma wondered whether the same suspicion of what might be expected from their knowing each other, which had taken strong possession of her mind, had ever crossed his; and whether his compliments were to be considered as marks of acquiescence, or proofs of defiance.
She must see more of him to understand his ways; at present she only felt they were agreeable.
She had no doubt of what Mr. Weston was often thinking about.
His quick eye she detected again and again glancing towards them with a happy expression; and even, when he might have determined not to look, she was confident that he was often listening.
Her own father's perfect exemption from any thought of the kind, the entire deficiency in him of all such sort of penetration or suspicion, was a most comfortable circumstance.
She blessed the favouring blindness.
A reasonable visit paid, Mr. Weston began to move.--" He must be going.
He had business at the Crown about his hay, and a great many errands for Mrs. Weston at Ford's, but he need not hurry any body else."
His son, too well bred to hear the hint, rose immediately also, saying,
" As you are going farther on business, sir, I will take the opportunity of paying a visit, which must be paid some day or other, and therefore may as well be paid now.
I have the honour of being acquainted with a neighbour of yours, (turning to Emma,) a lady residing in or near Highbury; a family of the name of Fairfax.
I shall have no difficulty, I suppose, in finding the house; though Fairfax, I believe, is not the proper name--I should rather say Barnes, or Bates.
Do you know any family of that name?"
" To be sure we do," cried his father; " Mrs. Bates--we passed her house--I saw Miss Bates at the window.
True, true, you are acquainted with Miss Fairfax; I remember you knew her at Weymouth, and a fine girl she is.
Call upon her, by all means."
" There is no necessity for my calling this morning," said the young man; " another day would do as well; but there was that degree of acquaintance at Weymouth which --"
" Oh!
go to - day, go to - day.
Do not defer it.
What is right to be done cannot be done too soon.
And, besides, I must give you a hint, Frank; any want of attention to her _here_ should be carefully avoided.
You saw her with the Campbells, when she was the equal of every body she mixed with, but here she is with a poor old grandmother, who has barely enough to live on.
If you do not call early it will be a slight."
The son looked convinced.
" I have heard her speak of the acquaintance," said Emma; " she is a very elegant young woman."
He agreed to it, but with so quiet a " Yes," as inclined her almost to doubt his real concurrence; and yet there must be a very distinct sort of elegance for the fashionable world, if Jane Fairfax could be thought only ordinarily gifted with it.
" If you were never particularly struck by her manners before," said she, " I think you will to - day.
You will see her to advantage; see her and hear her--no, I am afraid you will not hear her at all, for she has an aunt who never holds her tongue."
" You are acquainted with Miss Jane Fairfax, sir, are you?"
said Mr. Woodhouse, always the last to make his way in conversation; " then give me leave to assure you that you will find her a very agreeable young lady.
She is staying here on a visit to her grandmama and aunt, very worthy people; I have known them all my life.
They will be extremely glad to see you, I am sure; and one of my servants shall go with you to shew you the way."
" My dear sir, upon no account in the world; my father can direct me."
They were permitted to go alone; and with a cordial nod from one, and a graceful bow from the other, the two gentlemen took leave.
Emma remained very well pleased with this beginning of the acquaintance, and could now engage to think of them all at Randalls any hour of the day, with full confidence in their comfort.
CHAPTER VI
The next morning brought Mr. Frank Churchill again.
He came with Mrs. Weston, to whom and to Highbury he seemed to take very cordially.
Highbury, that airy, cheerful, happy - looking Highbury, would be his constant attraction."
-- Highbury, with Mrs. Weston, stood for Hartfield; and she trusted to its bearing the same construction with him.
They walked thither directly.
She was wanting to see him again, and especially to see him in company with Mrs. Weston, upon his behaviour to whom her opinion of him was to depend.
If he were deficient there, nothing should make amends for it.
But on seeing them together, she became perfectly satisfied.
It was not merely in fine words or hyperbolical compliment that he paid his duty; nothing could be more proper or pleasing than his whole manner to her--nothing could more agreeably denote his wish of considering her as a friend and securing her affection.
And there was time enough for Emma to form a reasonable judgment, as their visit included all the rest of the morning.
They were all three walking about together for an hour or two--first round the shrubberies of Hartfield, and afterwards in Highbury.
Some of the objects of his curiosity spoke very amiable feelings.
He was immediately interested.
Its character as a ball - room caught him; and instead of passing on, he stopt for several minutes at the two superior sashed windows which were open, to look in and contemplate its capabilities, and lament that its original purpose should have ceased.
He saw no fault in the room, he would acknowledge none which they suggested.
No, it was long enough, broad enough, handsome enough.
It would hold the very number for comfort.
They ought to have balls there at least every fortnight through the winter.
Why had not Miss Woodhouse revived the former good old days of the room?-- She who could do any thing in Highbury!
The want of proper families in the place, and the conviction that none beyond the place and its immediate environs could be tempted to attend, were mentioned; but he was not satisfied.
He argued like a young man very much bent on dancing; and Emma was rather surprized to see the constitution of the Weston prevail so decidedly against the habits of the Churchills.
He seemed to have all the life and spirit, cheerful feelings, and social inclinations of his father, and nothing of the pride or reserve of Enscombe.
Of pride, indeed, there was, perhaps, scarcely enough; his indifference to a confusion of rank, bordered too much on inelegance of mind.
He could be no judge, however, of the evil he was holding cheap.
It was but an effusion of lively spirits.
At last he was persuaded to move on from the front of the Crown; and being now almost facing the house where the Bateses lodged, Emma recollected his intended visit the day before, and asked him if he had paid it.
" Yes, oh!
yes "-- he replied; " I was just going to mention it.
A very successful visit:-- I saw all the three ladies; and felt very much obliged to you for your preparatory hint.
If the talking aunt had taken me quite by surprize, it must have been the death of me.
As it was, I was only betrayed into paying a most unreasonable visit.
The good lady had not given me the possibility of escape before."
" And how did you think Miss Fairfax looking?"
" Ill, very ill--that is, if a young lady can ever be allowed to look ill.
But the expression is hardly admissible, Mrs. Weston, is it?
Ladies can never look ill. And, seriously, Miss Fairfax is naturally so pale, as almost always to give the appearance of ill health.-- A most deplorable want of complexion."
Emma would not agree to this, and began a warm defence of Miss Fairfax's complexion.
" It was certainly never brilliant, but she would not allow it to have a sickly hue in general; and there was a softness and delicacy in her skin which gave peculiar elegance to the character of her face."
He listened with all due deference; acknowledged that he had heard many people say the same--but yet he must confess, that to him nothing could make amends for the want of the fine glow of health.
Where features were indifferent, a fine complexion gave beauty to them all; and where they were good, the effect was--fortunately he need not attempt to describe what the effect was.
" Well," said Emma, " there is no disputing about taste.-- At least you admire her except her complexion."
He shook his head and laughed.--" I cannot separate Miss Fairfax and her complexion."
" Did you see her often at Weymouth?
Were you often in the same society?"
At this moment they were approaching Ford's, and he hastily exclaimed, " Ha!
this must be the very shop that every body attends every day of their lives, as my father informs me.
He comes to Highbury himself, he says, six days out of the seven, and has always business at Ford's.
If it be not inconvenient to you, pray let us go in, that I may prove myself to belong to the place, to be a true citizen of Highbury.
I must buy something at Ford's.
It will be taking out my freedom.-- I dare say they sell gloves."
" Oh!
yes, gloves and every thing.
I do admire your patriotism.
You will be adored in Highbury.
You were very popular before you came, because you were Mr. Weston's son--but lay out half a guinea at Ford's, and your popularity will stand upon your own virtues."
Do not let me lose it.
I assure you the utmost stretch of public fame would not make me amends for the loss of any happiness in private life."
" I merely asked, whether you had known much of Miss Fairfax and her party at Weymouth."
" And now that I understand your question, I must pronounce it to be a very unfair one.
It is always the lady's right to decide on the degree of acquaintance.
Miss Fairfax must already have given her account.-- I shall not commit myself by claiming more than she may chuse to allow."
" Upon my word!
you answer as discreetly as she could do herself.
But her account of every thing leaves so much to be guessed, she is so very reserved, so very unwilling to give the least information about any body, that I really think you may say what you like of your acquaintance with her."
" May I, indeed?-- Then I will speak the truth, and nothing suits me so well.
I met her frequently at Weymouth.
I had known the Campbells a little in town; and at Weymouth we were very much in the same set.
Colonel Campbell is a very agreeable man, and Mrs. Campbell a friendly, warm - hearted woman.
I like them all."
" You know Miss Fairfax's situation in life, I conclude; what she is destined to be?"
" Yes --(rather hesitatingly)-- I believe I do."
" You get upon delicate subjects, Emma," said Mrs. Weston smiling; " remember that I am here.-- Mr.
Frank Churchill hardly knows what to say when you speak of Miss Fairfax's situation in life.
I will move a little farther off."
" I certainly do forget to think of _her_," said Emma, " as having ever been any thing but my friend and my dearest friend."
He looked as if he fully understood and honoured such a sentiment.
When the gloves were bought, and they had quitted the shop again, " Did you ever hear the young lady we were speaking of, play?"
said Frank Churchill.
" Ever hear her!"
repeated Emma.
" You forget how much she belongs to Highbury.
I have heard her every year of our lives since we both began.
She plays charmingly."
" You think so, do you?-- I wanted the opinion of some one who could really judge.
That, I thought, in a man of known musical talent, was some proof."
" Proof indeed!"
said Emma, highly amused.--" Mr.
Dixon is very musical, is he?
We shall know more about them all, in half an hour, from you, than Miss Fairfax would have vouchsafed in half a year."
" Yes, Mr. Dixon and Miss Campbell were the persons; and I thought it a very strong proof."
" Certainly--very strong it was; to own the truth, a great deal stronger than, if _I_ had been Miss Campbell, would have been at all agreeable to me.
I could not excuse a man's having more music than love--more ear than eye--a more acute sensibility to fine sounds than to my feelings.
How did Miss Campbell appear to like it?"
" It was her very particular friend, you know."
" Poor comfort!"
said Emma, laughing.
" One would rather have a stranger preferred than one's very particular friend--with a stranger it might not recur again--but the misery of having a very particular friend always at hand, to do every thing better than one does oneself!-- Poor Mrs. Dixon!
Well, I am glad she is gone to settle in Ireland."
" You are right.
It was not very flattering to Miss Campbell; but she really did not seem to feel it."
" So much the better--or so much the worse:-- I do not know which.
But be it sweetness or be it stupidity in her--quickness of friendship, or dulness of feeling--there was one person, I think, who must have felt it: Miss Fairfax herself.
She must have felt the improper and dangerous distinction."
" As to that--I do not --"
" Oh!
do not imagine that I expect an account of Miss Fairfax's sensations from you, or from any body else.
They are known to no human being, I guess, but herself.
But if she continued to play whenever she was asked by Mr. Dixon, one may guess what one chuses."
" There appeared such a perfectly good understanding among them all --" he began rather quickly, but checking himself, added, " however, it is impossible for me to say on what terms they really were--how it might all be behind the scenes.
I can only say that there was smoothness outwardly.
But you, who have known Miss Fairfax from a child, must be a better judge of her character, and of how she is likely to conduct herself in critical situations, than I can be."
" I have known her from a child, undoubtedly; we have been children and women together; and it is natural to suppose that we should be intimate,-- that we should have taken to each other whenever she visited her friends.
But we never did.
I hardly know how it has happened; a little, perhaps, from that wickedness on my side which was prone to take disgust towards a girl so idolized and so cried up as she always was, by her aunt and grandmother, and all their set.
And then, her reserve--I never could attach myself to any one so completely reserved."
" It is a most repulsive quality, indeed," said he.
" Oftentimes very convenient, no doubt, but never pleasing.
There is safety in reserve, but no attraction.
One cannot love a reserved person."
" Not till the reserve ceases towards oneself; and then the attraction may be the greater.
But I must be more in want of a friend, or an agreeable companion, than I have yet been, to take the trouble of conquering any body's reserve to procure one.
Intimacy between Miss Fairfax and me is quite out of the question.
I have no reason to think ill of her--not the least--except that such extreme and perpetual cautiousness of word and manner, such a dread of giving a distinct idea about any body, is apt to suggest suspicions of there being something to conceal."
He perfectly agreed with her: and after walking together so long, and thinking so much alike, Emma felt herself so well acquainted with him, that she could hardly believe it to be only their second meeting.
He was not exactly what she had expected; less of the man of the world in some of his notions, less of the spoiled child of fortune, therefore better than she had expected.
His ideas seemed more moderate--his feelings warmer.
She was particularly struck by his manner of considering Mr. Elton's house, which, as well as the church, he would go and look at, and would not join them in finding much fault with.
No, he could not believe it a bad house; not such a house as a man was to be pitied for having.
If it were to be shared with the woman he loved, he could not think any man to be pitied for having that house.
There must be ample room in it for every real comfort.
The man must be a blockhead who wanted more.
Mrs. Weston laughed, and said he did not know what he was talking about.
Used only to a large house himself, and without ever thinking how many advantages and accommodations were attached to its size, he could be no judge of the privations inevitably belonging to a small one.
But Emma, in her own mind, determined that he _did_ know what he was talking about, and that he shewed a very amiable inclination to settle early in life, and to marry, from worthy motives.
CHAPTER VII
Emma's very good opinion of Frank Churchill was a little shaken the following day, by hearing that he was gone off to London, merely to have his hair cut.
A sudden freak seemed to have seized him at breakfast, and he had sent for a chaise and set off, intending to return to dinner, but with no more important view that appeared than having his hair cut.
There was certainly no harm in his travelling sixteen miles twice over on such an errand; but there was an air of foppery and nonsense in it which she could not approve.
It did not accord with the rationality of plan, the moderation in expense, or even the unselfish warmth of heart, which she had believed herself to discern in him yesterday.
Vanity, extravagance, love of change, restlessness of temper, which must be doing something, good or bad; heedlessness as to the pleasure of his father and Mrs. Weston, indifferent as to how his conduct might appear in general; he became liable to all these charges.
His father only called him a coxcomb, and thought it a very good story; but that Mrs. Weston did not like it, was clear enough, by her passing it over as quickly as possible, and making no other comment than that " all young people would have their little whims."
With the exception of this little blot, Emma found that his visit hitherto had given her friend only good ideas of him.
Mrs. Weston was very ready to say how attentive and pleasant a companion he made himself--how much she saw to like in his disposition altogether.
Mr. Weston, on his side, added a virtue to the account which must have some weight.
He gave her to understand that Frank admired her extremely--thought her very beautiful and very charming; and with so much to be said for him altogether, she found she must not judge him harshly.
As Mrs. Weston observed, " all young people would have their little whims."
There was one person among his new acquaintance in Surry, not so leniently disposed.
The circumstance was told him at Hartfield; for the moment, he was silent; but Emma heard him almost immediately afterwards say to himself, over a newspaper he held in his hand, " Hum!
just the trifling, silly fellow I took him for."
She had half a mind to resent; but an instant's observation convinced her that it was really said only to relieve his own feelings, and not meant to provoke; and therefore she let it pass.
Although in one instance the bearers of not good tidings, Mr. and Mrs. Weston's visit this morning was in another respect particularly opportune.
Something occurred while they were at Hartfield, to make Emma want their advice; and, which was still more lucky, she wanted exactly the advice they gave.
This was the occurrence:-- The Coles had been settled some years in Highbury, and were very good sort of people--friendly, liberal, and unpretending; but, on the other hand, they were of low origin, in trade, and only moderately genteel.
With their wealth, their views increased; their want of a larger house, their inclination for more company.
They added to their house, to their number of servants, to their expenses of every sort; and by this time were, in fortune and style of living, second only to the family at Hartfield.
Their love of society, and their new dining - room, prepared every body for their keeping dinner - company; and a few parties, chiefly among the single men, had already taken place.
The regular and best families Emma could hardly suppose they would presume to invite--neither Donwell, nor Hartfield, nor Randalls.
Nothing should tempt _her_ to go, if they did; and she regretted that her father's known habits would be giving her refusal less meaning than she could wish.
The Coles were very respectable in their way, but they ought to be taught that it was not for them to arrange the terms on which the superior families would visit them.
This lesson, she very much feared, they would receive only from herself; she had little hope of Mr. Knightley, none of Mr. Weston.
But she had made up her mind how to meet this presumption so many weeks before it appeared, that when the insult came at last, it found her very differently affected.
Donwell and Randalls had received their invitation, and none had come for her father and herself; and Mrs. Weston's accounting for it with " I suppose they will not take the liberty with you; they know you do not dine out," was not quite sufficient.
Harriet was to be there in the evening, and the Bateses.
They had been speaking of it as they walked about Highbury the day before, and Frank Churchill had most earnestly lamented her absence.
Might not the evening end in a dance?
had been a question of his.
The bare possibility of it acted as a farther irritation on her spirits; and her being left in solitary grandeur, even supposing the omission to be intended as a compliment, was but poor comfort.
She owned that, considering every thing, she was not absolutely without inclination for the party.
The Coles expressed themselves so properly--there was so much real attention in the manner of it--so much consideration for her father.
" They would have solicited the honour earlier, but had been waiting the arrival of a folding - screen from London, which they hoped might keep Mr. Woodhouse from any draught of air, and therefore induce him the more readily to give them the honour of his company."
As for _his_ going, Emma did not wish him to think it possible, the hours would be too late, and the party too numerous.
He was soon pretty well resigned.
" I am not fond of dinner - visiting," said he --" I never was.
No more is Emma.
Late hours do not agree with us.
I am sorry Mr. and Mrs. Cole should have done it.
I think it would be much better if they would come in one afternoon next summer, and take their tea with us--take us in their afternoon walk; which they might do, as our hours are so reasonable, and yet get home without being out in the damp of the evening.
The dews of a summer evening are what I would not expose any body to.
However, as they are so very desirous to have dear Emma dine with them, and as you will both be there, and Mr. Knightley too, to take care of her, I cannot wish to prevent it, provided the weather be what it ought, neither damp, nor cold, nor windy."
Then turning to Mrs. Weston, with a look of gentle reproach --" Ah!
Miss Taylor, if you had not married, you would have staid at home with me."
" Well, sir," cried Mr. Weston, " as I took Miss Taylor away, it is incumbent on me to supply her place, if I can; and I will step to Mrs. Goddard in a moment, if you wish it."
But the idea of any thing to be done in a _moment_, was increasing, not lessening, Mr. Woodhouse's agitation.
The ladies knew better how to allay it.
Mr. Weston must be quiet, and every thing deliberately arranged.
With this treatment, Mr. Woodhouse was soon composed enough for talking as usual.
" He should be happy to see Mrs. Goddard.
He had a great regard for Mrs. Goddard; and Emma should write a line, and invite her.
James could take the note.
But first of all, there must be an answer written to Mrs.
Cole."
" You will make my excuses, my dear, as civilly as possible.
You will say that I am quite an invalid, and go no where, and therefore must decline their obliging invitation; beginning with my _compliments_, of course.
But you will do every thing right.
I need not tell you what is to be done.
We must remember to let James know that the carriage will be wanted on Tuesday.
I shall have no fears for you with him.
We have never been there above once since the new approach was made; but still I have no doubt that James will take you very safely.
And when you get there, you must tell him at what time you would have him come for you again; and you had better name an early hour.
You will not like staying late.
You will get very tired when tea is over."
" But you would not wish me to come away before I am tired, papa?"
" Oh!
no, my love; but you will soon be tired.
There will be a great many people talking at once.
You will not like the noise."
" But, my dear sir," cried Mr. Weston, " if Emma comes away early, it will be breaking up the party."
" And no great harm if it does," said Mr. Woodhouse.
" The sooner every party breaks up, the better."
" But you do not consider how it may appear to the Coles.
Emma's going away directly after tea might be giving offence.
They are good - natured people, and think little of their own claims; but still they must feel that any body's hurrying away is no great compliment; and Miss Woodhouse's doing it would be more thought of than any other person's in the room.
You would not wish to disappoint and mortify the Coles, I am sure, sir; friendly, good sort of people as ever lived, and who have been your neighbours these _ten_ years."
" No, upon no account in the world, Mr. Weston; I am much obliged to you for reminding me.
I should be extremely sorry to be giving them any pain.
I know what worthy people they are.
Perry tells me that Mr. Cole never touches malt liquor.
You would not think it to look at him, but he is bilious--Mr. Cole is very bilious.
No, I would not be the means of giving them any pain.
My dear Emma, we must consider this.
I am sure, rather than run the risk of hurting Mr. and Mrs. Cole, you would stay a little longer than you might wish.
You will not regard being tired.
You will be perfectly safe, you know, among your friends."
" Oh yes, papa.
I have no fears at all for myself; and I should have no scruples of staying as late as Mrs. Weston, but on your account.
I am only afraid of your sitting up for me.
I am not afraid of your not being exceedingly comfortable with Mrs. Goddard.
She loves piquet, you know; but when she is gone home, I am afraid you will be sitting up by yourself, instead of going to bed at your usual time--and the idea of that would entirely destroy my comfort.
You must promise me not to sit up."
CHAPTER VIII
Frank Churchill came back again; and if he kept his father's dinner waiting, it was not known at Hartfield; for Mrs. Weston was too anxious for his being a favourite with Mr. Woodhouse, to betray any imperfection which could be concealed.
He came back, had had his hair cut, and laughed at himself with a very good grace, but without seeming really at all ashamed of what he had done.
He had no reason to wish his hair longer, to conceal any confusion of face; no reason to wish the money unspent, to improve his spirits.
He was quite as undaunted and as lively as ever; and, after seeing him, Emma thus moralised to herself:--
" I do not know whether it ought to be so, but certainly silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent way.
Wickedness is always wickedness, but folly is not always folly.-- It depends upon the character of those who handle it.
Mr. Knightley, he is _not_ a trifling, silly young man.
If he were, he would have done this differently.
He would either have gloried in the achievement, or been ashamed of it.
There would have been either the ostentation of a coxcomb, or the evasions of a mind too weak to defend its own vanities.-- No, I am perfectly sure that he is not trifling or silly."
She meant to be very happy, in spite of the scene being laid at Mr. Cole's; and without being able to forget that among the failings of Mr. Elton, even in the days of his favour, none had disturbed her more than his propensity to dine with Mr. Cole.
She had an opportunity now of speaking her approbation while warm from her heart, for he stopped to hand her out.
" This is coming as you should do," said she; " like a gentleman.-- I am quite glad to see you."
He thanked her, observing, " How lucky that we should arrive at the same moment!
for, if we had met first in the drawing - room, I doubt whether you would have discerned me to be more of a gentleman than usual.-- You might not have distinguished how I came, by my look or manner."
" Yes I should, I am sure I should.
There is always a look of consciousness or bustle when people come in a way which they know to be beneath them.
You think you carry it off very well, I dare say, but with you it is a sort of bravado, an air of affected unconcern; I always observe it whenever I meet you under those circumstances.
_Now_ you have nothing to try for.
You are not afraid of being supposed ashamed.
You are not striving to look taller than any body else.
_Now_ I shall really be very happy to walk into the same room with you."
" Nonsensical girl!"
was his reply, but not at all in anger.
Emma had as much reason to be satisfied with the rest of the party as with Mr. Knightley.
She was received with a cordial respect which could not but please, and given all the consequence she could wish for.
The party was rather large, as it included one other family, a proper unobjectionable country family, whom the Coles had the advantage of naming among their acquaintance, and the male part of Mr. Cox's family, the lawyer of Highbury.
The first remote sound to which she felt herself obliged to attend, was the name of Jane Fairfax.
Mrs. Cole seemed to be relating something of her that was expected to be very interesting.
She listened, and found it well worth listening to.
That very dear part of Emma, her fancy, received an amusing supply.
" One can suppose nothing else," added Mrs. Cole, " and I was only surprized that there could ever have been a doubt.
But Jane, it seems, had a letter from them very lately, and not a word was said about it.
She knows their ways best; but I should not consider their silence as any reason for their not meaning to make the present.
They might chuse to surprize her."
" I declare, I do not know when I have heard any thing that has given me more satisfaction!-- It always has quite hurt me that Jane Fairfax, who plays so delightfully, should not have an instrument.
It seemed quite a shame, especially considering how many houses there are where fine instruments are absolutely thrown away.
This is like giving ourselves a slap, to be sure!
Miss Woodhouse made the proper acquiescence; and finding that nothing more was to be entrapped from any communication of Mrs. Cole's, turned to Frank Churchill.
" Why do you smile?"
said she.
" Nay, why do you?"
" Me!-- I suppose I smile for pleasure at Colonel Campbell's being so rich and so liberal.-- It is a handsome present."
" Very."
" I rather wonder that it was never made before."
" Perhaps Miss Fairfax has never been staying here so long before."
" Or that he did not give her the use of their own instrument--which must now be shut up in London, untouched by any body."
" That is a grand pianoforte, and he might think it too large for Mrs. Bates's house."
" You may _say_ what you chuse--but your countenance testifies that your _thoughts_ on this subject are very much like mine."
" I do not know.
I rather believe you are giving me more credit for acuteness than I deserve.
I smile because you smile, and shall probably suspect whatever I find you suspect; but at present I do not see what there is to question.
If Colonel Campbell is not the person, who can be?"
" What do you say to Mrs.
Dixon?"
" Mrs. Dixon!
very true indeed.
I had not thought of Mrs. Dixon.
She must know as well as her father, how acceptable an instrument would be; and perhaps the mode of it, the mystery, the surprize, is more like a young woman's scheme than an elderly man's.
It is Mrs. Dixon, I dare say.
I told you that your suspicions would guide mine."
" If so, you must extend your suspicions and comprehend _Mr_.
Dixon in them."
" Mr.
Dixon.-- Very well.
Yes, I immediately perceive that it must be the joint present of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon.
We were speaking the other day, you know, of his being so warm an admirer of her performance."
One might guess twenty things without guessing exactly the right; but I am sure there must be a particular cause for her chusing to come to Highbury instead of going with the Campbells to Ireland.
Here, she must be leading a life of privation and penance; there it would have been all enjoyment.
As to the pretence of trying her native air, I look upon that as a mere excuse.-- In the summer it might have passed; but what can any body's native air do for them in the months of January, February, and March?
Good fires and carriages would be much more to the purpose in most cases of delicate health, and I dare say in her's.
I do not require you to adopt all my suspicions, though you make so noble a profession of doing it, but I honestly tell you what they are."
" And, upon my word, they have an air of great probability.
Mr. Dixon's preference of her music to her friend's, I can answer for being very decided."
" And then, he saved her life.
Did you ever hear of that?-- A water party; and by some accident she was falling overboard.
He caught her."
" He did.
I was there--one of the party."
" Were you really?-- Well!-- But you observed nothing of course, for it seems to be a new idea to you.-- If I had been there, I think I should have made some discoveries."
" I dare say you would; but I, simple I, saw nothing but the fact, that Miss Fairfax was nearly dashed from the vessel and that Mr. Dixon caught her.-- It was the work of a moment.
And though the consequent shock and alarm was very great and much more durable--indeed I believe it was half an hour before any of us were comfortable again--yet that was too general a sensation for any thing of peculiar anxiety to be observable.
I do not mean to say, however, that you might not have made discoveries."
The conversation was here interrupted.
" The arrival of this pianoforte is decisive with me.
I wanted to know a little more, and this tells me quite enough.
Depend upon it, we shall soon hear that it is a present from Mr. and Mrs.
Dixon."
" And if the Dixons should absolutely deny all knowledge of it we must conclude it to come from the Campbells."
" No, I am sure it is not from the Campbells.
Miss Fairfax knows it is not from the Campbells, or they would have been guessed at first.
She would not have been puzzled, had she dared fix on them.
I may not have convinced you perhaps, but I am perfectly convinced myself that Mr. Dixon is a principal in the business."
" Indeed you injure me if you suppose me unconvinced.
Your reasonings carry my judgment along with them entirely.
At first, while I supposed you satisfied that Colonel Campbell was the giver, I saw it only as paternal kindness, and thought it the most natural thing in the world.
But when you mentioned Mrs. Dixon, I felt how much more probable that it should be the tribute of warm female friendship.
And now I can see it in no other light than as an offering of love."
There was no occasion to press the matter farther.
The conviction seemed real; he looked as if he felt it.
The ladies had not been long in the drawing - room, before the other ladies, in their different divisions, arrived.
There she sat--and who would have guessed how many tears she had been lately shedding?
To be in company, nicely dressed herself and seeing others nicely dressed, to sit and smile and look pretty, and say nothing, was enough for the happiness of the present hour.
In so large a party it was not necessary that Emma should approach her.
They were soon joined by some of the gentlemen; and the very first of the early was Frank Churchill.
In he walked, the first and the handsomest; and after paying his compliments en passant to Miss Bates and her niece, made his way directly to the opposite side of the circle, where sat Miss Woodhouse; and till he could find a seat by her, would not sit at all.
Emma divined what every body present must be thinking.
She was his object, and every body must perceive it.
She introduced him to her friend, Miss Smith, and, at convenient moments afterwards, heard what each thought of the other.
" He had never seen so lovely a face, and was delighted with her naivete."
And she, " Only to be sure it was paying him too great a compliment, but she did think there were some looks a little like Mr.
Elton."
Emma restrained her indignation, and only turned from her in silence.
Smiles of intelligence passed between her and the gentleman on first glancing towards Miss Fairfax; but it was most prudent to avoid speech.
She saw that Enscombe could not satisfy, and that Highbury, taken at its best, might reasonably please a young man who had more retirement at home than he liked.
His importance at Enscombe was very evident.
He did not boast, but it naturally betrayed itself, that he had persuaded his aunt where his uncle could do nothing, and on her laughing and noticing it, he owned that he believed (excepting one or two points) he could _with_ _time_ persuade her to any thing.
One of those points on which his influence failed, he then mentioned.
He had wanted very much to go abroad--had been very eager indeed to be allowed to travel--but she would not hear of it.
This had happened the year before.
_Now_, he said, he was beginning to have no longer the same wish.
The unpersuadable point, which he did not mention, Emma guessed to be good behaviour to his father.
" I have made a most wretched discovery," said he, after a short pause.-- " I have been here a week to - morrow--half my time.
I never knew days fly so fast.
A week to - morrow!-- And I have hardly begun to enjoy myself.
But just got acquainted with Mrs. Weston, and others!-- I hate the recollection."
" Perhaps you may now begin to regret that you spent one whole day, out of so few, in having your hair cut."
" No," said he, smiling, " that is no subject of regret at all.
I have no pleasure in seeing my friends, unless I can believe myself fit to be seen."
The rest of the gentlemen being now in the room, Emma found herself obliged to turn from him for a few minutes, and listen to Mr. Cole.
When Mr. Cole had moved away, and her attention could be restored as before, she saw Frank Churchill looking intently across the room at Miss Fairfax, who was sitting exactly opposite.
" What is the matter?"
said she.
He started.
" Thank you for rousing me," he replied.
" I believe I have been very rude; but really Miss Fairfax has done her hair in so odd a way--so very odd a way--that I cannot keep my eyes from her.
I never saw any thing so outree!-- Those curls!-- This must be a fancy of her own.
I see nobody else looking like her!-- I must go and ask her whether it is an Irish fashion.
Shall I?-- Yes, I will--I declare I will--and you shall see how she takes it;-- whether she colours."
He was gone immediately; and Emma soon saw him standing before Miss Fairfax, and talking to her; but as to its effect on the young lady, as he had improvidently placed himself exactly between them, exactly in front of Miss Fairfax, she could absolutely distinguish nothing.
Before he could return to his chair, it was taken by Mrs. Weston.
" This is the luxury of a large party," said she:--" one can get near every body, and say every thing.
My dear Emma, I am longing to talk to you.
I have been making discoveries and forming plans, just like yourself, and I must tell them while the idea is fresh.
Do you know how Miss Bates and her niece came here?"
" How?-- They were invited, were not they?"
" Oh!
yes--but how they were conveyed hither?-- the manner of their coming?"
" They walked, I conclude.
How else could they come?"
" Very true.-- Well, a little while ago it occurred to me how very sad it would be to have Jane Fairfax walking home again, late at night, and cold as the nights are now.
And as I looked at her, though I never saw her appear to more advantage, it struck me that she was heated, and would therefore be particularly liable to take cold.
Poor girl!
I could not bear the idea of it; so, as soon as Mr. Weston came into the room, and I could get at him, I spoke to him about the carriage.
You may guess how readily he came into my wishes; and having his approbation, I made my way directly to Miss Bates, to assure her that the carriage would be at her service before it took us home; for I thought it would be making her comfortable at once.
Good soul!
she was as grateful as possible, you may be sure.
'Nobody was ever so fortunate as herself!'
-- but with many, many thanks --'there was no occasion to trouble us, for Mr. Knightley's carriage had brought, and was to take them home again.'
I was quite surprized;-- very glad, I am sure; but really quite surprized.
Such a very kind attention--and so thoughtful an attention!-- the sort of thing that so few men would think of.
And, in short, from knowing his usual ways, I am very much inclined to think that it was for their accommodation the carriage was used at all.
I do suspect he would not have had a pair of horses for himself, and that it was only as an excuse for assisting them."
" Very likely," said Emma --" nothing more likely.
I know no man more likely than Mr. Knightley to do the sort of thing--to do any thing really good - natured, useful, considerate, or benevolent.
He is not a gallant man, but he is a very humane one; and this, considering Jane Fairfax's ill - health, would appear a case of humanity to him;-- and for an act of unostentatious kindness, there is nobody whom I would fix on more than on Mr. Knightley.
I know he had horses to - day--for we arrived together; and I laughed at him about it, but he said not a word that could betray."
" Well," said Mrs. Weston, smiling, " you give him credit for more simple, disinterested benevolence in this instance than I do; for while Miss Bates was speaking, a suspicion darted into my head, and I have never been able to get it out again.
The more I think of it, the more probable it appears.
In short, I have made a match between Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax.
See the consequence of keeping you company!-- What do you say to it?"
" Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax!"
exclaimed Emma.
" Dear Mrs. Weston, how could you think of such a thing?-- Mr.
Knightley!-- Mr.
Knightley must not marry!-- You would not have little Henry cut out from Donwell?-- Oh!
no, no, Henry must have Donwell.
I cannot at all consent to Mr. Knightley's marrying; and I am sure it is not at all likely.
I am amazed that you should think of such a thing."
" My dear Emma, I have told you what led me to think of it.
I do not want the match--I do not want to injure dear little Henry--but the idea has been given me by circumstances; and if Mr. Knightley really wished to marry, you would not have him refrain on Henry's account, a boy of six years old, who knows nothing of the matter?"
" Yes, I would.
I could not bear to have Henry supplanted.-- Mr. Knightley marry!-- No, I have never had such an idea, and I cannot adopt it now.
And Jane Fairfax, too, of all women!"
" Nay, she has always been a first favourite with him, as you very well know."
" But the imprudence of such a match!"
" I am not speaking of its prudence; merely its probability."
" I see no probability in it, unless you have any better foundation than what you mention.
His good - nature, his humanity, as I tell you, would be quite enough to account for the horses.
He has a great regard for the Bateses, you know, independent of Jane Fairfax--and is always glad to shew them attention.
My dear Mrs. Weston, do not take to match - making.
You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax mistress of the Abbey!-- Oh!
no, no;-- every feeling revolts.
For his own sake, I would not have him do so mad a thing."
" Imprudent, if you please--but not mad.
Excepting inequality of fortune, and perhaps a little disparity of age, I can see nothing unsuitable."
" But Mr. Knightley does not want to marry.
I am sure he has not the least idea of it.
Do not put it into his head.
Why should he marry?-- He is as happy as possible by himself; with his farm, and his sheep, and his library, and all the parish to manage; and he is extremely fond of his brother's children.
He has no occasion to marry, either to fill up his time or his heart."
" My dear Emma, as long as he thinks so, it is so; but if he really loves Jane Fairfax --"
" Nonsense!
He does not care about Jane Fairfax.
In the way of love, I am sure he does not.
He would do any good to her, or her family; but --"
" Well," said Mrs. Weston, laughing, " perhaps the greatest good he could do them, would be to give Jane such a respectable home."
" If it would be good to her, I am sure it would be evil to himself; a very shameful and degrading connexion.
How would he bear to have Miss Bates belonging to him?-- To have her haunting the Abbey, and thanking him all day long for his great kindness in marrying Jane?-- 'So very kind and obliging!-- But he always had been such a very kind neighbour!'
And then fly off, through half a sentence, to her mother's old petticoat.
'Not that it was such a very old petticoat either--for still it would last a great while--and, indeed, she must thankfully say that their petticoats were all very strong.'"
" For shame, Emma!
Do not mimic her.
You divert me against my conscience.
And, upon my word, I do not think Mr. Knightley would be much disturbed by Miss Bates.
Little things do not irritate him.
She might talk on; and if he wanted to say any thing himself, he would only talk louder, and drown her voice.
But the question is not, whether it would be a bad connexion for him, but whether he wishes it; and I think he does.
I have heard him speak, and so must you, so very highly of Jane Fairfax!
The interest he takes in her--his anxiety about her health--his concern that she should have no happier prospect!
I have heard him express himself so warmly on those points!-- Such an admirer of her performance on the pianoforte, and of her voice!
I have heard him say that he could listen to her for ever.
Oh!
and I had almost forgotten one idea that occurred to me--this pianoforte that has been sent here by somebody--though we have all been so well satisfied to consider it a present from the Campbells, may it not be from Mr. Knightley?
I cannot help suspecting him.
I think he is just the person to do it, even without being in love."
" Then it can be no argument to prove that he is in love.
But I do not think it is at all a likely thing for him to do.
Mr. Knightley does nothing mysteriously."
" I have heard him lamenting her having no instrument repeatedly; oftener than I should suppose such a circumstance would, in the common course of things, occur to him."
" Very well; and if he had intended to give her one, he would have told her so."
" There might be scruples of delicacy, my dear Emma.
I have a very strong notion that it comes from him.
I am sure he was particularly silent when Mrs. Cole told us of it at dinner."
" You take up an idea, Mrs. Weston, and run away with it; as you have many a time reproached me with doing.
I see no sign of attachment--I believe nothing of the pianoforte--and proof only shall convince me that Mr. Knightley has any thought of marrying Jane Fairfax."
She knew the limitations of her own powers too well to attempt more than she could perform with credit; she wanted neither taste nor spirit in the little things which are generally acceptable, and could accompany her own voice well.
One accompaniment to her song took her agreeably by surprize--a second, slightly but correctly taken by Frank Churchill.
Her pardon was duly begged at the close of the song, and every thing usual followed.
He was accused of having a delightful voice, and a perfect knowledge of music; which was properly denied; and that he knew nothing of the matter, and had no voice at all, roundly asserted.
They sang together once more; and Emma would then resign her place to Miss Fairfax, whose performance, both vocal and instrumental, she never could attempt to conceal from herself, was infinitely superior to her own.
With mixed feelings, she seated herself at a little distance from the numbers round the instrument, to listen.
Frank Churchill sang again.
They had sung together once or twice, it appeared, at Weymouth.
But the sight of Mr. Knightley among the most attentive, soon drew away half Emma's mind; and she fell into a train of thinking on the subject of Mrs. Weston's suspicions, to which the sweet sounds of the united voices gave only momentary interruptions.
Her objections to Mr. Knightley's marrying did not in the least subside.
She could see nothing but evil in it.
It would be a great disappointment to Mr. John Knightley; consequently to Isabella.
A real injury to the children--a most mortifying change, and material loss to them all;-- a very great deduction from her father's daily comfort--and, as to herself, she could not at all endure the idea of Jane Fairfax at Donwell Abbey.
A Mrs. Knightley for them all to give way to!-- No--Mr.
Knightley must never marry.
Little Henry must remain the heir of Donwell.
Presently Mr. Knightley looked back, and came and sat down by her.
They talked at first only of the performance.
His admiration was certainly very warm; yet she thought, but for Mrs. Weston, it would not have struck her.
As a sort of touchstone, however, she began to speak of his kindness in conveying the aunt and niece; and though his answer was in the spirit of cutting the matter short, she believed it to indicate only his disinclination to dwell on any kindness of his own.
" I often feel concern," said she, " that I dare not make our carriage more useful on such occasions.
It is not that I am without the wish; but you know how impossible my father would deem it that James should put - to for such a purpose."
" Quite out of the question, quite out of the question," he replied;-- " but you must often wish it, I am sure."
And he smiled with such seeming pleasure at the conviction, that she must proceed another step.
" This present from the Campbells," said she --" this pianoforte is very kindly given."
" Yes," he replied, and without the smallest apparent embarrassment.-- " But they would have done better had they given her notice of it.
Surprizes are foolish things.
The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable.
I should have expected better judgment in Colonel Campbell."
From that moment, Emma could have taken her oath that Mr. Knightley had had no concern in giving the instrument.
But whether he were entirely free from peculiar attachment--whether there were no actual preference--remained a little longer doubtful.
Towards the end of Jane's second song, her voice grew thick.
" That will do," said he, when it was finished, thinking aloud--" you have sung quite enough for one evening--now be quiet."
Another song, however, was soon begged for.
" One more;-- they would not fatigue Miss Fairfax on any account, and would only ask for one more."
And Frank Churchill was heard to say, " I think you could manage this without effort; the first part is so very trifling.
The strength of the song falls on the second."
Mr. Knightley grew angry.
" That fellow," said he, indignantly, " thinks of nothing but shewing off his own voice.
This must not be."
And touching Miss Bates, who at that moment passed near --" Miss Bates, are you mad, to let your niece sing herself hoarse in this manner?
Go, and interfere.
They have no mercy on her."
Miss Bates, in her real anxiety for Jane, could hardly stay even to be grateful, before she stept forward and put an end to all farther singing.
Mrs. Weston, capital in her country - dances, was seated, and beginning an irresistible waltz; and Frank Churchill, coming up with most becoming gallantry to Emma, had secured her hand, and led her up to the top.
While waiting till the other young people could pair themselves off, Emma found time, in spite of the compliments she was receiving on her voice and her taste, to look about, and see what became of Mr. Knightley.
This would be a trial.
He was no dancer in general.
If he were to be very alert in engaging Jane Fairfax now, it might augur something.
There was no immediate appearance.
No; he was talking to Mrs. Cole--he was looking on unconcerned; Jane was asked by somebody else, and he was still talking to Mrs. Cole.
Emma had no longer an alarm for Henry; his interest was yet safe; and she led off the dance with genuine spirit and enjoyment.
Not more than five couple could be mustered; but the rarity and the suddenness of it made it very delightful, and she found herself well matched in a partner.
They were a couple worth looking at.
Two dances, unfortunately, were all that could be allowed.
It was growing late, and Miss Bates became anxious to get home, on her mother's account.
After some attempts, therefore, to be permitted to begin again, they were obliged to thank Mrs. Weston, look sorrowful, and have done.
" Perhaps it is as well," said Frank Churchill, as he attended Emma to her carriage.
" I must have asked Miss Fairfax, and her languid dancing would not have agreed with me, after your's."
CHAPTER IX
Emma did not repent her condescension in going to the Coles.
The visit afforded her many pleasant recollections the next day; and all that she might be supposed to have lost on the side of dignified seclusion, must be amply repaid in the splendour of popularity.
She must have delighted the Coles--worthy people, who deserved to be made happy!-- And left a name behind her that would not soon die away.
Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not common; and there were two points on which she was not quite easy.
She doubted whether she had not transgressed the duty of woman by woman, in betraying her suspicions of Jane Fairfax's feelings to Frank Churchill.
It was hardly right; but it had been so strong an idea, that it would escape her, and his submission to all that she told, was a compliment to her penetration, which made it difficult for her to be quite certain that she ought to have held her tongue.
The other circumstance of regret related also to Jane Fairfax; and there she had no doubt.
She did unfeignedly and unequivocally regret the inferiority of her own playing and singing.
She did most heartily grieve over the idleness of her childhood--and sat down and practised vigorously an hour and a half.
She was then interrupted by Harriet's coming in; and if Harriet's praise could have satisfied her, she might soon have been comforted.
" Oh!
if I could but play as well as you and Miss Fairfax!"
" Don't class us together, Harriet.
My playing is no more like her's, than a lamp is like sunshine."
" Oh!
dear--I think you play the best of the two.
I think you play quite as well as she does.
I am sure I had much rather hear you.
Every body last night said how well you played."
" Those who knew any thing about it, must have felt the difference.
The truth is, Harriet, that my playing is just good enough to be praised, but Jane Fairfax's is much beyond it."
" Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well as she does, or that if there is any difference nobody would ever find it out.
Mr. Cole said how much taste you had; and Mr. Frank Churchill talked a great deal about your taste, and that he valued taste much more than execution."
" Ah!
but Jane Fairfax has them both, Harriet."
" Are you sure?
I saw she had execution, but I did not know she had any taste.
Nobody talked about it.
And I hate Italian singing.-- There is no understanding a word of it.
Besides, if she does play so very well, you know, it is no more than she is obliged to do, because she will have to teach.
The Coxes were wondering last night whether she would get into any great family.
How did you think the Coxes looked?"
" Just as they always do--very vulgar."
" They told me something," said Harriet rather hesitatingly;" but it is nothing of any consequence."
Emma was obliged to ask what they had told her, though fearful of its producing Mr. Elton.
" They told me--that Mr. Martin dined with them last Saturday."
" Oh!"
" He came to their father upon some business, and he asked him to stay to dinner."
" Oh!"
" They talked a great deal about him, especially Anne Cox.
I do not know what she meant, but she asked me if I thought I should go and stay there again next summer."
" She meant to be impertinently curious, just as such an Anne Cox should be."
" She said he was very agreeable the day he dined there.
He sat by her at dinner.
Miss Nash thinks either of the Coxes would be very glad to marry him."
" Very likely.-- I think they are, without exception, the most vulgar girls in Highbury."
Harriet had business at Ford's.-- Emma thought it most prudent to go with her.
Another accidental meeting with the Martins was possible, and in her present state, would be dangerous.
A mind lively and at ease, can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer.
She looked down the Randalls road.
The scene enlarged; two persons appeared; Mrs. Weston and her son - in - law; they were walking into Highbury;-- to Hartfield of course.
Mrs. Weston informed her that she was going to call on the Bateses, in order to hear the new instrument.
" For my companion tells me," said she, " that I absolutely promised Miss Bates last night, that I would come this morning.
I was not aware of it myself.
I did not know that I had fixed a day, but as he says I did, I am going now."
" And while Mrs. Weston pays her visit, I may be allowed, I hope," said Frank Churchill, " to join your party and wait for her at Hartfield--if you are going home."
Mrs. Weston was disappointed.
" I thought you meant to go with me.
They would be very much pleased."
" Me!
I should be quite in the way.
But, perhaps--I may be equally in the way here.
Miss Woodhouse looks as if she did not want me.
My aunt always sends me off when she is shopping.
She says I fidget her to death; and Miss Woodhouse looks as if she could almost say the same.
What am I to do?"
" I am here on no business of my own," said Emma; " I am only waiting for my friend.
She will probably have soon done, and then we shall go home.
But you had better go with Mrs. Weston and hear the instrument."
" Well--if you advise it.-- But (with a smile) if Colonel Campbell should have employed a careless friend, and if it should prove to have an indifferent tone--what shall I say?
I shall be no support to Mrs. Weston.
She might do very well by herself.
A disagreeable truth would be palatable through her lips, but I am the wretchedest being in the world at a civil falsehood."
" I do not believe any such thing," replied Emma.--" I am persuaded that you can be as insincere as your neighbours, when it is necessary; but there is no reason to suppose the instrument is indifferent.
Quite otherwise indeed, if I understood Miss Fairfax's opinion last night."
" Do come with me," said Mrs. Weston, " if it be not very disagreeable to you.
It need not detain us long.
We will go to Hartfield afterwards.
We will follow them to Hartfield.
I really wish you to call with me.
It will be felt so great an attention!
and I always thought you meant it."
He could say no more; and with the hope of Hartfield to reward him, returned with Mrs. Weston to Mrs. Bates's door.
At last it was all settled, even to the destination of the parcel.
" Should I send it to Mrs. Goddard's, ma'am?"
asked Mrs.
Ford.-- " Yes--no--yes, to Mrs. Goddard's.
Only my pattern gown is at Hartfield.
No, you shall send it to Hartfield, if you please.
But then, Mrs. Goddard will want to see it.-- And I could take the pattern gown home any day.
But I shall want the ribbon directly--so it had better go to Hartfield--at least the ribbon.
You could make it into two parcels, Mrs. Ford, could not you?"
" It is not worth while, Harriet, to give Mrs. Ford the trouble of two parcels."
" No more it is."
" No trouble in the world, ma'am," said the obliging Mrs. Ford.
" Oh!
but indeed I would much rather have it only in one.
Then, if you please, you shall send it all to Mrs. Goddard's--I do not know--No, I think, Miss Woodhouse, I may just as well have it sent to Hartfield, and take it home with me at night.
What do you advise?"
" That you do not give another half - second to the subject.
To Hartfield, if you please, Mrs.
Ford."
" Aye, that will be much best," said Harriet, quite satisfied, " I should not at all like to have it sent to Mrs.
Goddard's."
Voices approached the shop--or rather one voice and two ladies: Mrs. Weston and Miss Bates met them at the door.
" My dear Miss Woodhouse," said the latter, " I am just run across to entreat the favour of you to come and sit down with us a little while, and give us your opinion of our new instrument; you and Miss Smith.
How do you do, Miss Smith?-- Very well I thank you.-- And I begged Mrs. Weston to come with me, that I might be sure of succeeding."
" I hope Mrs. Bates and Miss Fairfax are --"
" Very well, I am much obliged to you.
My mother is delightfully well; and Jane caught no cold last night.
How is Mr.
Woodhouse?-- I am so glad to hear such a good account.
Mrs. Weston told me you were here.-- Oh!
And, by the bye, every body ought to have two pair of spectacles; they should indeed.
Jane said so.
I meant to take them over to John Saunders the first thing I did, but something or other hindered me all the morning; first one thing, then another, there is no saying what, you know.
At one time Patty came to say she thought the kitchen chimney wanted sweeping.
Oh, said I, Patty do not come with your bad news to me.
Here is the rivet of your mistress's spectacles out.
And it cannot be for the value of our custom now, for what is our consumption of bread, you know?
Only three of us.-- besides dear Jane at present--and she really eats nothing--makes such a shocking breakfast, you would be quite frightened if you saw it.
I dare not let my mother know how little she eats--so I say one thing and then I say another, and it passes off.
But about the middle of the day she gets hungry, and there is nothing she likes so well as these baked apples, and they are extremely wholesome, for I took the opportunity the other day of asking Mr. Perry; I happened to meet him in the street.
Not that I had any doubt before--I have so often heard Mr. Woodhouse recommend a baked apple.
I believe it is the only way that Mr. Woodhouse thinks the fruit thoroughly wholesome.
We have apple - dumplings, however, very often.
Patty makes an excellent apple - dumpling.
Well, Mrs. Weston, you have prevailed, I hope, and these ladies will oblige us."
Emma would be " very happy to wait on Mrs. Bates, & c.," and they did at last move out of the shop, with no farther delay from Miss Bates than,
" How do you do, Mrs. Ford?
I beg your pardon.
I did not see you before.
I hear you have a charming collection of new ribbons from town.
Jane came back delighted yesterday.
Thank ye, the gloves do very well--only a little too large about the wrist; but Jane is taking them in."
" What was I talking of?"
said she, beginning again when they were all in the street.
Emma wondered on what, of all the medley, she would fix.
" I declare I cannot recollect what I was talking of.-- Oh!
my mother's spectacles.
So very obliging of Mr. Frank Churchill!
'Oh!'
said he, 'I do think I can fasten the rivet; I like a job of this kind excessively.'
-- Which you know shewed him to be so very.
Indeed I must say that, much as I had heard of him before and much as I had expected, he very far exceeds any thing.
I do congratulate you, Mrs. Weston, most warmly.
He seems every thing the fondest parent could.
'Oh!'
said he, 'I can fasten the rivet.
I like a job of that sort excessively.'
I never shall forget his manner.
And when I brought out the baked apples from the closet, and hoped our friends would be so very obliging as to take some, 'Oh!'
said he directly, 'there is nothing in the way of fruit half so good, and these are the finest - looking home - baked apples I ever saw in my life.'
That, you know, was so very.
And I am sure, by his manner, it was no compliment.
Indeed they are very delightful apples, and Mrs. Wallis does them full justice--only we do not have them baked more than twice, and Mr. Woodhouse made us promise to have them done three times--but Miss Woodhouse will be so good as not to mention it.
The apples themselves are the very finest sort for baking, beyond a doubt; all from Donwell--some of Mr. Knightley's most liberal supply.
He sends us a sack every year; and certainly there never was such a keeping apple anywhere as one of his trees--I believe there is two of them.
My mother says the orchard was always famous in her younger days.
But I was really quite shocked the other day--for Mr. Knightley called one morning, and Jane was eating these apples, and we talked about them and said how much she enjoyed them, and he asked whether we were not got to the end of our stock.
'I am sure you must be,' said he, 'and I will send you another supply; for I have a great many more than I can ever use.
William Larkins let me keep a larger quantity than usual this year.
I will send you some more, before they get good for nothing.'
And when he was gone, she almost quarrelled with me--No, I should not say quarrelled, for we never had a quarrel in our lives; but she was quite distressed that I had owned the apples were so nearly gone; she wished I had made him believe we had a great many left.
Oh, said I, my dear, I did say as much as I could.
However, the very same evening William Larkins came over with a large basket of apples, the same sort of apples, a bushel at least, and I was very much obliged, and went down and spoke to William Larkins and said every thing, as you may suppose.
William Larkins is such an old acquaintance!
I am always glad to see him.
But, however, I found afterwards from Patty, that William said it was all the apples of _that_ sort his master had; he had brought them all--and now his master had not one left to bake or boil.
William did not seem to mind it himself, he was so pleased to think his master had sold so many; for William, you know, thinks more of his master's profit than any thing; but Mrs. Hodges, he said, was quite displeased at their being all sent away.
She could not bear that her master should not be able to have another apple - tart this spring.
He told Patty this, but bid her not mind it, and be sure not to say any thing to us about it, for Mrs. Hodges _would_ be cross sometimes, and as long as so many sacks were sold, it did not signify who ate the remainder.
And so Patty told me, and I was excessively shocked indeed!
I would not have Mr. Knightley know any thing about it for the world!
He would be so very.
I wanted to keep it from Jane's knowledge; but, unluckily, I had mentioned it before I was aware."
Miss Bates had just done as Patty opened the door; and her visitors walked upstairs without having any regular narration to attend to, pursued only by the sounds of her desultory good - will.
" Pray take care, Mrs. Weston, there is a step at the turning.
Pray take care, Miss Woodhouse, ours is rather a dark staircase--rather darker and narrower than one could wish.
Miss Smith, pray take care.
Miss Woodhouse, I am quite concerned, I am sure you hit your foot.
Miss Smith, the step at the turning."
CHAPTER X
Busy as he was, however, the young man was yet able to shew a most happy countenance on seeing Emma again.
" This is a pleasure," said he, in rather a low voice, " coming at least ten minutes earlier than I had calculated.
You find me trying to be useful; tell me if you think I shall succeed."
" What!"
said Mrs. Weston, " have not you finished it yet?
you would not earn a very good livelihood as a working silversmith at this rate."
" I have not been working uninterruptedly," he replied, " I have been assisting Miss Fairfax in trying to make her instrument stand steadily, it was not quite firm; an unevenness in the floor, I believe.
You see we have been wedging one leg with paper.
This was very kind of you to be persuaded to come.
I was almost afraid you would be hurrying home."
He contrived that she should be seated by him; and was sufficiently employed in looking out the best baked apple for her, and trying to make her help or advise him in his work, till Jane Fairfax was quite ready to sit down to the pianoforte again.
At last Jane began, and though the first bars were feebly given, the powers of the instrument were gradually done full justice to.
Mrs. Weston had been delighted before, and was delighted again; Emma joined her in all her praise; and the pianoforte, with every proper discrimination, was pronounced to be altogether of the highest promise.
" Whoever Colonel Campbell might employ," said Frank Churchill, with a smile at Emma, " the person has not chosen ill.
I heard a good deal of Colonel Campbell's taste at Weymouth; and the softness of the upper notes I am sure is exactly what he and _all_ _that_ _party_ would particularly prize.
I dare say, Miss Fairfax, that he either gave his friend very minute directions, or wrote to Broadwood himself.
Do not you think so?"
Jane did not look round.
She was not obliged to hear.
Mrs. Weston had been speaking to her at the same moment.
" It is not fair," said Emma, in a whisper; " mine was a random guess.
Do not distress her."
He shook his head with a smile, and looked as if he had very little doubt and very little mercy.
Soon afterwards he began again,
" How much your friends in Ireland must be enjoying your pleasure on this occasion, Miss Fairfax.
I dare say they often think of you, and wonder which will be the day, the precise day of the instrument's coming to hand.
He paused.
She could not but hear; she could not avoid answering,
" Till I have a letter from Colonel Campbell," said she, in a voice of forced calmness, " I can imagine nothing with any confidence.
It must be all conjecture."
" Conjecture--aye, sometimes one conjectures right, and sometimes one conjectures wrong.
I wish I could conjecture how soon I shall make this rivet quite firm.
What nonsense one talks, Miss Woodhouse, when hard at work, if one talks at all;-- your real workmen, I suppose, hold their tongues; but we gentlemen labourers if we get hold of a word--Miss Fairfax said something about conjecturing.
There, it is done.
I have the pleasure, madam, (to Mrs. Bates,) of restoring your spectacles, healed for the present."
He was very warmly thanked both by mother and daughter; to escape a little from the latter, he went to the pianoforte, and begged Miss Fairfax, who was still sitting at it, to play something more.
" If you are very kind," said he, " it will be one of the waltzes we danced last night;-- let me live them over again.
You did not enjoy them as I did; you appeared tired the whole time.
I believe you were glad we danced no longer; but I would have given worlds--all the worlds one ever has to give--for another half - hour."
She played.
" What felicity it is to hear a tune again which _has_ made one happy!-- If I mistake not that was danced at Weymouth."
She looked up at him for a moment, coloured deeply, and played something else.
He took some music from a chair near the pianoforte, and turning to Emma, said,
" Here is something quite new to me.
Do you know it?-- Cramer.-- And here are a new set of Irish melodies.
That, from such a quarter, one might expect.
This was all sent with the instrument.
Very thoughtful of Colonel Campbell, was not it?-- He knew Miss Fairfax could have no music here.
I honour that part of the attention particularly; it shews it to have been so thoroughly from the heart.
Nothing hastily done; nothing incomplete.
True affection only could have prompted it."
He brought all the music to her, and they looked it over together.-- Emma took the opportunity of whispering,
" You speak too plain.
She must understand you."
" I hope she does.
I would have her understand me.
I am not in the least ashamed of my meaning."
" But really, I am half ashamed, and wish I had never taken up the idea."
" I am very glad you did, and that you communicated it to me.
I have now a key to all her odd looks and ways.
Leave shame to her.
If she does wrong, she ought to feel it."
" She is not entirely without it, I think."
" I do not see much sign of it.
She is playing _Robin_ _Adair_ at this moment--_his_ favourite."
Shortly afterwards Miss Bates, passing near the window, descried Mr. Knightley on horse - back not far off.
" Mr. Knightley I declare!-- I must speak to him if possible, just to thank him.
I will not open the window here; it would give you all cold; but I can go into my mother's room you know.
I dare say he will come in when he knows who is here.
Quite delightful to have you all meet so!-- Our little room so honoured!"
She was in the adjoining chamber while she still spoke, and opening the casement there, immediately called Mr. Knightley's attention, and every syllable of their conversation was as distinctly heard by the others, as if it had passed within the same apartment.
" How d'ye do?-- how d'ye do?-- Very well, I thank you.
So obliged to you for the carriage last night.
We were just in time; my mother just ready for us.
Pray come in; do come in.
You will find some friends here."
So began Miss Bates; and Mr. Knightley seemed determined to be heard in his turn, for most resolutely and commandingly did he say,
" How is your niece, Miss Bates?-- I want to inquire after you all, but particularly your niece.
How is Miss Fairfax?-- I hope she caught no cold last night.
How is she to - day?
Tell me how Miss Fairfax is."
And Miss Bates was obliged to give a direct answer before he would hear her in any thing else.
The listeners were amused; and Mrs. Weston gave Emma a look of particular meaning.
But Emma still shook her head in steady scepticism.
" So obliged to you!-- so very much obliged to you for the carriage," resumed Miss Bates.
He cut her short with,
" I am going to Kingston.
Can I do any thing for you?"
" Oh!
dear, Kingston--are you?-- Mrs.
Cole was saying the other day she wanted something from Kingston."
" Mrs. Cole has servants to send.
Can I do any thing for _you_?"
" No, I thank you.
But do come in.
Who do you think is here?-- Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith; so kind as to call to hear the new pianoforte.
Do put up your horse at the Crown, and come in."
" Well," said he, in a deliberating manner, " for five minutes, perhaps."
" And here is Mrs. Weston and Mr. Frank Churchill too!-- Quite delightful; so many friends!"
" No, not now, I thank you.
I could not stay two minutes.
I must get on to Kingston as fast as I can."
" Oh!
do come in.
They will be so very happy to see you."
" No, no; your room is full enough.
I will call another day, and hear the pianoforte."
" Well, I am so sorry!-- Oh!
Mr. Knightley, what a delightful party last night; how extremely pleasant.-- Did you ever see such dancing?-- Was not it delightful?-- Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Frank Churchill; I never saw any thing equal to it."
" Oh!
very delightful indeed; I can say nothing less, for I suppose Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Frank Churchill are hearing every thing that passes.
And (raising his voice still more) I do not see why Miss Fairfax should not be mentioned too.
I think Miss Fairfax dances very well; and Mrs. Weston is the very best country - dance player, without exception, in England.
Now, if your friends have any gratitude, they will say something pretty loud about you and me in return; but I cannot stay to hear it."
" Oh!
Mr. Knightley, one moment more; something of consequence--so shocked!-- Jane and I are both so shocked about the apples!"
" What is the matter now?"
" To think of your sending us all your store apples.
You said you had a great many, and now you have not one left.
We really are so shocked!
Mrs. Hodges may well be angry.
William Larkins mentioned it here.
You should not have done it, indeed you should not.
Ah!
he is off.
He never can bear to be thanked.
But I thought he would have staid now, and it would have been a pity not to have mentioned.
Well, (returning to the room,) I have not been able to succeed.
Mr. Knightley cannot stop.
He is going to Kingston.
He asked me if he could do any thing.
" Yes," said Jane, " we heard his kind offers, we heard every thing."
" Oh!
yes, my dear, I dare say you might, because you know, the door was open, and the window was open, and Mr. Knightley spoke loud.
You must have heard every thing to be sure.
'Can I do any thing for you at Kingston?'
said he; so I just mentioned.
Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, must you be going?-- You seem but just come--so very obliging of you."
CHAPTER XI
It may be possible to do without dancing entirely.
Frank Churchill had danced once at Highbury, and longed to dance again; and the last half - hour of an evening which Mr. Woodhouse was persuaded to spend with his daughter at Randalls, was passed by the two young people in schemes on the subject.
Frank's was the first idea; and his the greatest zeal in pursuing it; for the lady was the best judge of the difficulties, and the most solicitous for accommodation and appearance.
His first proposition and request, that the dance begun at Mr. Cole's should be finished there--that the same party should be collected, and the same musician engaged, met with the readiest acquiescence.
" You and Miss Smith, and Miss Fairfax, will be three, and the two Miss Coxes five," had been repeated many times over.
" And there will be the two Gilberts, young Cox, my father, and myself, besides Mr. Knightley.
Yes, that will be quite enough for pleasure.
You and Miss Smith, and Miss Fairfax, will be three, and the two Miss Coxes five; and for five couple there will be plenty of room."
But soon it came to be on one side,
" But will there be good room for five couple?-- I really do not think there will."
On another,
" And after all, five couple are not enough to make it worth while to stand up.
Five couple are nothing, when one thinks seriously about it.
It will not do to _invite_ five couple.
It can be allowable only as the thought of the moment."
Somebody said that _Miss_ Gilbert was expected at her brother's, and must be invited with the rest.
Somebody else believed _Mrs_.
Gilbert would have danced the other evening, if she had been asked.
The doors of the two rooms were just opposite each other.
" Might not they use both rooms, and dance across the passage?"
It seemed the best scheme; and yet it was not so good but that many of them wanted a better.
Emma said it would be awkward; Mrs. Weston was in distress about the supper; and Mr. Woodhouse opposed it earnestly, on the score of health.
It made him so very unhappy, indeed, that it could not be persevered in.
" Oh!
no," said he; " it would be the extreme of imprudence.
I could not bear it for Emma!-- Emma is not strong.
She would catch a dreadful cold.
So would poor little Harriet.
So you would all.
Mrs. Weston, you would be quite laid up; do not let them talk of such a wild thing.
Pray do not let them talk of it.
That young man (speaking lower) is very thoughtless.
Do not tell his father, but that young man is not quite the thing.
He has been opening the doors very often this evening, and keeping them open very inconsiderately.
He does not think of the draught.
I do not mean to set you against him, but indeed he is not quite the thing!"
Mrs. Weston was sorry for such a charge.
She knew the importance of it, and said every thing in her power to do it away.
" We were too magnificent," said he.
" We allowed unnecessary room.
Ten couple may stand here very well."
Emma demurred.
" It would be a crowd--a sad crowd; and what could be worse than dancing without space to turn in?"
" Very true," he gravely replied; " it was very bad."
But still he went on measuring, and still he ended with,
" I think there will be very tolerable room for ten couple."
" No, no," said she, " you are quite unreasonable.
It would be dreadful to be standing so close!
Nothing can be farther from pleasure than to be dancing in a crowd--and a crowd in a little room!"
" There is no denying it," he replied.
" I agree with you exactly.
A crowd in a little room--Miss Woodhouse, you have the art of giving pictures in a few words.
Exquisite, quite exquisite!-- Still, however, having proceeded so far, one is unwilling to give the matter up.
It would be a disappointment to my father--and altogether--I do not know that--I am rather of opinion that ten couple might stand here very well."
Emma perceived that the nature of his gallantry was a little self - willed, and that he would rather oppose than lose the pleasure of dancing with her; but she took the compliment, and forgave the rest.
Had she intended ever to _marry_ him, it might have been worth while to pause and consider, and try to understand the value of his preference, and the character of his temper; but for all the purposes of their acquaintance, he was quite amiable enough.
Before the middle of the next day, he was at Hartfield; and he entered the room with such an agreeable smile as certified the continuance of the scheme.
It soon appeared that he came to announce an improvement.
" Well, Miss Woodhouse," he almost immediately began, " your inclination for dancing has not been quite frightened away, I hope, by the terrors of my father's little rooms.
I bring a new proposal on the subject:-- a thought of my father's, which waits only your approbation to be acted upon.
May I hope for the honour of your hand for the two first dances of this little projected ball, to be given, not at Randalls, but at the Crown Inn?"
" The Crown!"
" Yes; if you and Mr. Woodhouse see no objection, and I trust you cannot, my father hopes his friends will be so kind as to visit him there.
Better accommodations, he can promise them, and not a less grateful welcome than at Randalls.
It is his own idea.
Mrs. Weston sees no objection to it, provided you are satisfied.
This is what we all feel.
Oh!
you were perfectly right!
Ten couple, in either of the Randalls rooms, would have been insufferable!-- Dreadful!-- I felt how right you were the whole time, but was too anxious for securing _any_ _thing_ to like to yield.
Is not it a good exchange?-- You consent--I hope you consent?"
" It appears to me a plan that nobody can object to, if Mr. and Mrs. Weston do not.
I think it admirable; and, as far as I can answer for myself, shall be most happy--It seems the only improvement that could be.
Papa, do you not think it an excellent improvement?"
She was obliged to repeat and explain it, before it was fully comprehended; and then, being quite new, farther representations were necessary to make it acceptable.
" No; he thought it very far from an improvement--a very bad plan--much worse than the other.
A room at an inn was always damp and dangerous; never properly aired, or fit to be inhabited.
If they must dance, they had better dance at Randalls.
He had never been in the room at the Crown in his life--did not know the people who kept it by sight.-- Oh!
no--a very bad plan.
They would catch worse colds at the Crown than anywhere."
" I was going to observe, sir," said Frank Churchill, " that one of the great recommendations of this change would be the very little danger of any body's catching cold--so much less danger at the Crown than at Randalls!
Mr. Perry might have reason to regret the alteration, but nobody else could."
" Sir," said Mr. Woodhouse, rather warmly, " you are very much mistaken if you suppose Mr. Perry to be that sort of character.
Mr. Perry is extremely concerned when any of us are ill.
But I do not understand how the room at the Crown can be safer for you than your father's house."
" From the very circumstance of its being larger, sir.
We shall have no occasion to open the windows at all--not once the whole evening; and it is that dreadful habit of opening the windows, letting in cold air upon heated bodies, which (as you well know, sir) does the mischief."
" Open the windows!-- but surely, Mr. Churchill, nobody would think of opening the windows at Randalls.
Nobody could be so imprudent!
I never heard of such a thing.
Dancing with open windows!-- I am sure, neither your father nor Mrs. Weston (poor Miss Taylor that was) would suffer it."
" Ah!
sir--but a thoughtless young person will sometimes step behind a window - curtain, and throw up a sash, without its being suspected.
I have often known it done myself."
" Have you indeed, sir?-- Bless me!
I never could have supposed it.
But I live out of the world, and am often astonished at what I hear.
However, this does make a difference; and, perhaps, when we come to talk it over--but these sort of things require a good deal of consideration.
One cannot resolve upon them in a hurry.
If Mr. and Mrs. Weston will be so obliging as to call here one morning, we may talk it over, and see what can be done."
" But, unfortunately, sir, my time is so limited --"
" Oh!"
interrupted Emma, " there will be plenty of time for talking every thing over.
There is no hurry at all.
If it can be contrived to be at the Crown, papa, it will be very convenient for the horses.
They will be so near their own stable."
" So they will, my dear.
That is a great thing.
Not that James ever complains; but it is right to spare our horses when we can.
If I could be sure of the rooms being thoroughly aired--but is Mrs. Stokes to be trusted?
I doubt it.
I do not know her, even by sight."
" I can answer for every thing of that nature, sir, because it will be under Mrs. Weston's care.
Mrs. Weston undertakes to direct the whole."
" There, papa!-- Now you must be satisfied--Our own dear Mrs. Weston, who is carefulness itself.
Do not you remember what Mr. Perry said, so many years ago, when I had the measles?
'If _Miss_ _Taylor_ undertakes to wrap Miss Emma up, you need not have any fears, sir.'
How often have I heard you speak of it as such a compliment to her!"
" Aye, very true.
Mr. Perry did say so.
I shall never forget it.
Poor little Emma!
You were very bad with the measles; that is, you would have been very bad, but for Perry's great attention.
He came four times a day for a week.
He said, from the first, it was a very good sort--which was our great comfort; but the measles are a dreadful complaint.
I hope whenever poor Isabella's little ones have the measles, she will send for Perry."
" My father and Mrs. Weston are at the Crown at this moment," said Frank Churchill, " examining the capabilities of the house.
I left them there and came on to Hartfield, impatient for your opinion, and hoping you might be persuaded to join them and give your advice on the spot.
I was desired to say so from both.
It would be the greatest pleasure to them, if you could allow me to attend you there.
They can do nothing satisfactorily without you."
Emma was most happy to be called to such a council; and her father, engaging to think it all over while she was gone, the two young people set off together without delay for the Crown.
There were Mr. and Mrs. Weston; delighted to see her and receive her approbation, very busy and very happy in their different way; she, in some little distress; and he, finding every thing perfect.
" Emma," said she, " this paper is worse than I expected.
Look!
in places you see it is dreadfully dirty; and the wainscot is more yellow and forlorn than any thing I could have imagined."
" My dear, you are too particular," said her husband.
" What does all that signify?
You will see nothing of it by candlelight.
It will be as clean as Randalls by candlelight.
We never see any thing of it on our club - nights."
The ladies here probably exchanged looks which meant, " Men never know when things are dirty or not;" and the gentlemen perhaps thought each to himself, " Women will have their little nonsenses and needless cares."
One perplexity, however, arose, which the gentlemen did not disdain.
It regarded a supper - room.
At the time of the ballroom's being built, suppers had not been in question; and a small card - room adjoining, was the only addition.
What was to be done?
This card - room would be wanted as a card - room now; or, if cards were conveniently voted unnecessary by their four selves, still was it not too small for any comfortable supper?
Another room of much better size might be secured for the purpose; but it was at the other end of the house, and a long awkward passage must be gone through to get at it.
This made a difficulty.
Mrs. Weston was afraid of draughts for the young people in that passage; and neither Emma nor the gentlemen could tolerate the prospect of being miserably crowded at supper.
Mrs. Weston proposed having no regular supper; merely sandwiches, & c., set out in the little room; but that was scouted as a wretched suggestion.
A private dance, without sitting down to supper, was pronounced an infamous fraud upon the rights of men and women; and Mrs. Weston must not speak of it again.
She then took another line of expediency, and looking into the doubtful room, observed,
" I do not think it _is_ so very small.
We shall not be many, you know."
And Mr. Weston at the same time, walking briskly with long steps through the passage, was calling out,
" You talk a great deal of the length of this passage, my dear.
It is a mere nothing after all; and not the least draught from the stairs."
" I wish," said Mrs. Weston, " one could know which arrangement our guests in general would like best.
To do what would be most generally pleasing must be our object--if one could but tell what that would be."
" Yes, very true," cried Frank, " very true.
You want your neighbours'opinions.
I do not wonder at you.
If one could ascertain what the chief of them--the Coles, for instance.
They are not far off.
Shall I call upon them?
Or Miss Bates?
She is still nearer.-- And I do not know whether Miss Bates is not as likely to understand the inclinations of the rest of the people as any body.
I think we do want a larger council.
Suppose I go and invite Miss Bates to join us?"
" Well--if you please," said Mrs. Weston rather hesitating, " if you think she will be of any use."
" You will get nothing to the purpose from Miss Bates," said Emma.
" She will be all delight and gratitude, but she will tell you nothing.
She will not even listen to your questions.
I see no advantage in consulting Miss Bates."
" But she is so amusing, so extremely amusing!
I am very fond of hearing Miss Bates talk.
And I need not bring the whole family, you know."
Here Mr. Weston joined them, and on hearing what was proposed, gave it his decided approbation.
" Aye, do, Frank.-- Go and fetch Miss Bates, and let us end the matter at once.
She will enjoy the scheme, I am sure; and I do not know a properer person for shewing us how to do away difficulties.
Fetch Miss Bates.
We are growing a little too nice.
She is a standing lesson of how to be happy.
But fetch them both.
Invite them both."
" Both sir!
Can the old lady?"
" The old lady!
No, the young lady, to be sure.
I shall think you a great blockhead, Frank, if you bring the aunt without the niece."
" Oh!
I beg your pardon, sir.
I did not immediately recollect.
Undoubtedly if you wish it, I will endeavour to persuade them both."
And away he ran.
All the rest, in speculation at least, was perfectly smooth.
All the minor arrangements of table and chair, lights and music, tea and supper, made themselves; or were left as mere trifles to be settled at any time between Mrs. Weston and Mrs.
Stokes.-- Every body invited, was certainly to come; Frank had already written to Enscombe to propose staying a few days beyond his fortnight, which could not possibly be refused.
And a delightful dance it was to be.
Most cordially, when Miss Bates arrived, did she agree that it must.
As a counsellor she was not wanted; but as an approver, (a much safer character,) she was truly welcome.
Her approbation, at once general and minute, warm and incessant, could not but please; and for another half - hour they were all walking to and fro, between the different rooms, some suggesting, some attending, and all in happy enjoyment of the future.
The party did not break up without Emma's being positively secured for the two first dances by the hero of the evening, nor without her overhearing Mr. Weston whisper to his wife, " He has asked her, my dear.
That's right.
I knew he would!"
CHAPTER XII
But this was not judged feasible.
The preparations must take their time, nothing could be properly ready till the third week were entered on, and for a few days they must be planning, proceeding and hoping in uncertainty--at the risk--in her opinion, the great risk, of its being all in vain.
Enscombe however was gracious, gracious in fact, if not in word.
His wish of staying longer evidently did not please; but it was not opposed.
All was safe and prosperous; and as the removal of one solicitude generally makes way for another, Emma, being now certain of her ball, began to adopt as the next vexation Mr. Knightley's provoking indifference about it.
Either because he did not dance himself, or because the plan had been formed without his being consulted, he seemed resolved that it should not interest him, determined against its exciting any present curiosity, or affording him any future amusement.
To her voluntary communications Emma could get no more approving reply, than,
" Very well.
If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to say against it, but that they shall not chuse pleasures for me.-- Oh!
Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something very different."
This Emma felt was aimed at her; and it made her quite angry.
It was not in compliment to Jane Fairfax however that he was so indifferent, or so indignant; he was not guided by _her_ feelings in reprobating the ball, for _she_ enjoyed the thought of it to an extraordinary degree.
It made her animated--open hearted--she voluntarily said;--
" Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to prevent the ball.
What a disappointment it would be!
I do look forward to it, I own, with _very_ great pleasure."
It was not to oblige Jane Fairfax therefore that he would have preferred the society of William Larkins.
No!-- she was more and more convinced that Mrs. Weston was quite mistaken in that surmise.
There was a great deal of friendly and of compassionate attachment on his side--but no love.
Alas!
there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr. Knightley.
Two days of joyful security were immediately followed by the over - throw of every thing.
A letter arrived from Mr. Churchill to urge his nephew's instant return.
The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in a note from Mrs. Weston, instantly.
As to his going, it was inevitable.
He must be gone within a few hours, though without feeling any real alarm for his aunt, to lessen his repugnance.
He knew her illnesses; they never occurred but for her own convenience.
Mrs. Weston added, " that he could only allow himself time to hurry to Highbury, after breakfast, and take leave of the few friends there whom he could suppose to feel any interest in him; and that he might be expected at Hartfield very soon."
This wretched note was the finale of Emma's breakfast.
When once it had been read, there was no doing any thing, but lament and exclaim.
The loss of the ball--the loss of the young man--and all that the young man might be feeling!-- It was too wretched!-- Such a delightful evening as it would have been!-- Every body so happy!
and she and her partner the happiest!--" I said it would be so," was the only consolation.
Her father's feelings were quite distinct.
He thought principally of Mrs. Churchill's illness, and wanted to know how she was treated; and as for the ball, it was shocking to have dear Emma disappointed; but they would all be safer at home.
Emma was ready for her visitor some time before he appeared; but if this reflected at all upon his impatience, his sorrowful look and total want of spirits when he did come might redeem him.
He felt the going away almost too much to speak of it.
His dejection was most evident.
He sat really lost in thought for the first few minutes; and when rousing himself, it was only to say,
" Of all horrid things, leave - taking is the worst."
" But you will come again," said Emma.
" This will not be your only visit to Randalls."
" Our poor ball must be quite given up."
" Ah!
that ball!-- why did we wait for any thing?-- why not seize the pleasure at once?-- How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!-- You told us it would be so.-- Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, why are you always so right?"
" Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance.
I would much rather have been merry than wise."
" If I can come again, we are still to have our ball.
My father depends on it.
Do not forget your engagement."
Emma looked graciously.
" Such a fortnight as it has been!"
he continued; " every day more precious and more delightful than the day before!-- every day making me less fit to bear any other place.
Happy those, who can remain at Highbury!"
" As you do us such ample justice now," said Emma, laughing, " I will venture to ask, whether you did not come a little doubtfully at first?
Do not we rather surpass your expectations?
I am sure we do.
I am sure you did not much expect to like us.
You would not have been so long in coming, if you had had a pleasant idea of Highbury."
He laughed rather consciously; and though denying the sentiment, Emma was convinced that it had been so.
" And you must be off this very morning?"
" Yes; my father is to join me here: we shall walk back together, and I must be off immediately.
I am almost afraid that every moment will bring him."
" Not five minutes to spare even for your friends Miss Fairfax and Miss Bates?
How unlucky!
Miss Bates's powerful, argumentative mind might have strengthened yours."
" Yes--I _have_ called there; passing the door, I thought it better.
It was a right thing to do.
I went in for three minutes, and was detained by Miss Bates's being absent.
She was out; and I felt it impossible not to wait till she came in.
She is a woman that one may, that one _must_ laugh at; but that one would not wish to slight.
It was better to pay my visit, then "--
He hesitated, got up, walked to a window.
" In short," said he, " perhaps, Miss Woodhouse--I think you can hardly be quite without suspicion "--
He looked at her, as if wanting to read her thoughts.
She hardly knew what to say.
It seemed like the forerunner of something absolutely serious, which she did not wish.
Forcing herself to speak, therefore, in the hope of putting it by, she calmly said,
" You are quite in the right; it was most natural to pay your visit, then "--
He was silent.
She believed he was looking at her; probably reflecting on what she had said, and trying to understand the manner.
She heard him sigh.
It was natural for him to feel that he had _cause_ to sigh.
He could not believe her to be encouraging him.
A few awkward moments passed, and he sat down again; and in a more determined manner said,
" It was something to feel that all the rest of my time might be given to Hartfield.
My regard for Hartfield is most warm "--
He stopt again, rose again, and seemed quite embarrassed.-- He was more in love with her than Emma had supposed; and who can say how it might have ended, if his father had not made his appearance?
Mr. Woodhouse soon followed; and the necessity of exertion made him composed.
A very few minutes more, however, completed the present trial.
Mr. Weston, always alert when business was to be done, and as incapable of procrastinating any evil that was inevitable, as of foreseeing any that was doubtful, said, " It was time to go;" and the young man, though he might and did sigh, could not but agree, to take leave.
" I shall hear about you all," said he; " that is my chief consolation.
I shall hear of every thing that is going on among you.
I have engaged Mrs. Weston to correspond with me.
She has been so kind as to promise it.
Oh!
the blessing of a female correspondent, when one is really interested in the absent!-- she will tell me every thing.
In her letters I shall be at dear Highbury again."
A very friendly shake of the hand, a very earnest " Good - bye," closed the speech, and the door had soon shut out Frank Churchill.
Short had been the notice--short their meeting; he was gone; and Emma felt so sorry to part, and foresaw so great a loss to their little society from his absence as to begin to be afraid of being too sorry, and feeling it too much.
It was a sad change.
They had been meeting almost every day since his arrival.
Certainly his being at Randalls had given great spirit to the last two weeks--indescribable spirit; the idea, the expectation of seeing him which every morning had brought, the assurance of his attentions, his liveliness, his manners!
It had been a very happy fortnight, and forlorn must be the sinking from it into the common course of Hartfield days.
To complete every other recommendation, he had _almost_ told her that he loved her.
" I certainly must," said she.
Well!
evil to some is always good to others.
I shall have many fellow - mourners for the ball, if not for Frank Churchill; but Mr. Knightley will be happy.
He may spend the evening with his dear William Larkins now if he likes."
Mr. Knightley, however, shewed no triumphant happiness.
He could not say that he was sorry on his own account; his very cheerful look would have contradicted him if he had; but he said, and very steadily, that he was sorry for the disappointment of the others, and with considerable kindness added,
" You, Emma, who have so few opportunities of dancing, you are really out of luck; you are very much out of luck!"
It was some days before she saw Jane Fairfax, to judge of her honest regret in this woeful change; but when they did meet, her composure was odious.
CHAPTER XIII
Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love.
Her ideas only varied as to the how much.
At first, she thought it was a good deal; and afterwards, but little.
Their affection was always to subside into friendship.
Every thing tender and charming was to mark their parting; but still they were to part.
" I do not find myself making any use of the word _sacrifice_," said she.-- " In not one of all my clever replies, my delicate negatives, is there any allusion to making a sacrifice.
I do suspect that he is not really necessary to my happiness.
So much the better.
I certainly will not persuade myself to feel more than I do.
I am quite enough in love.
I should be sorry to be more."
Upon the whole, she was equally contented with her view of his feelings.
" _He_ is undoubtedly very much in love--every thing denotes it--very much in love indeed!-- and when he comes again, if his affection continue, I must be on my guard not to encourage it.-- It would be most inexcusable to do otherwise, as my own mind is quite made up.
Not that I imagine he can think I have been encouraging him hitherto.
No, if he had believed me at all to share his feelings, he would not have been so wretched.
Could he have thought himself encouraged, his looks and language at parting would have been different.-- Still, however, I must be on my guard.
When his letter to Mrs. Weston arrived, Emma had the perusal of it; and she read it with a degree of pleasure and admiration which made her at first shake her head over her own sensations, and think she had undervalued their strength.
Compressed into the very lowest vacant corner were these words --" I had not a spare moment on Tuesday, as you know, for Miss Woodhouse's beautiful little friend.
Pray make my excuses and adieus to her."
This, Emma could not doubt, was all for herself.
Harriet was remembered only from being _her_ friend.
His information and prospects as to Enscombe were neither worse nor better than had been anticipated; Mrs. Churchill was recovering, and he dared not yet, even in his own imagination, fix a time for coming to Randalls again.
Her intentions were unchanged.
Her resolution of refusal only grew more interesting by the addition of a scheme for his subsequent consolation and happiness.
His recollection of Harriet, and the words which clothed it, the " beautiful little friend," suggested to her the idea of Harriet's succeeding her in his affections.
" I must not dwell upon it," said she.--" I must not think of it.
I know the danger of indulging such speculations.
But stranger things have happened; and when we cease to care for each other as we do now, it will be the means of confirming us in that sort of true disinterested friendship which I can already look forward to with pleasure."
It was well to have a comfort in store on Harriet's behalf, though it might be wise to let the fancy touch it seldom; for evil in that quarter was at hand.
He would soon be among them again; Mr. Elton and his bride.
There was hardly time to talk over the first letter from Enscombe before " Mr. Elton and his bride " was in every body's mouth, and Frank Churchill was forgotten.
Emma grew sick at the sound.
She had had three weeks of happy exemption from Mr. Elton; and Harriet's mind, she had been willing to hope, had been lately gaining strength.
With Mr. Weston's ball in view at least, there had been a great deal of insensibility to other things; but it was now too evident that she had not attained such a state of composure as could stand against the actual approach--new carriage, bell - ringing, and all.
Poor Harriet was in a flutter of spirits which required all the reasonings and soothings and attentions of every kind that Emma could give.
Emma felt that she could not do too much for her, that Harriet had a right to all her ingenuity and all her patience; but it was heavy work to be for ever convincing without producing any effect, for ever agreed to, without being able to make their opinions the same.
At last Emma attacked her on another ground.
" Your allowing yourself to be so occupied and so unhappy about Mr. Elton's marrying, Harriet, is the strongest reproach you can make _me_.
You could not give me a greater reproof for the mistake I fell into.
It was all my doing, I know.
I have not forgotten it, I assure you.-- Deceived myself, I did very miserably deceive you--and it will be a painful reflection to me for ever.
Do not imagine me in danger of forgetting it."
Harriet felt this too much to utter more than a few words of eager exclamation.
Emma continued,
These are the motives which I have been pressing on you.
They are very important--and sorry I am that you cannot feel them sufficiently to act upon them.
My being saved from pain is a very secondary consideration.
I want you to save yourself from greater pain.
Perhaps I may sometimes have felt that Harriet would not forget what was due--or rather what would be kind by me."
This appeal to her affections did more than all the rest.
" You, who have been the best friend I ever had in my life--Want gratitude to you!-- Nobody is equal to you!-- I care for nobody as I do for you!-- Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, how ungrateful I have been!"
Such expressions, assisted as they were by every thing that look and manner could do, made Emma feel that she had never loved Harriet so well, nor valued her affection so highly before.
" There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart," said she afterwards to herself.
" There is nothing to be compared to it.
Warmth and tenderness of heart, with an affectionate, open manner, will beat all the clearness of head in the world, for attraction, I am sure it will.
It is tenderness of heart which makes my dear father so generally beloved--which gives Isabella all her popularity.-- I have it not--but I know how to prize and respect it.-- Harriet is my superior in all the charm and all the felicity it gives.
Dear Harriet!-- I would not change you for the clearest - headed, longest - sighted, best - judging female breathing.
Oh!
the coldness of a Jane Fairfax!-- Harriet is worth a hundred such--And for a wife--a sensible man's wife--it is invaluable.
I mention no names; but happy the man who changes Emma for Harriet!"
CHAPTER XIV
Emma had feelings, less of curiosity than of pride or propriety, to make her resolve on not being the last to pay her respects; and she made a point of Harriet's going with her, that the worst of the business might be gone through as soon as possible.
She could not enter the house again, could not be in the same room to which she had with such vain artifice retreated three months ago, to lace up her boot, without _recollecting_.
A thousand vexatious thoughts would recur.
Compliments, charades, and horrible blunders; and it was not to be supposed that poor Harriet should not be recollecting too; but she behaved very well, and was only rather pale and silent.
She did not really like her.
She would not be in a hurry to find fault, but she suspected that there was no elegance;-- ease, but not elegance.-- She was almost sure that for a young woman, a stranger, a bride, there was too much ease.
Her person was rather good; her face not unpretty; but neither feature, nor air, nor voice, nor manner, were elegant.
Emma thought at least it would turn out so.
As for Mr. Elton, his manners did not appear--but no, she would not permit a hasty or a witty word from herself about his manners.
It was an awkward ceremony at any time to be receiving wedding visits, and a man had need be all grace to acquit himself well through it.
" Well, Miss Woodhouse," said Harriet, when they had quitted the house, and after waiting in vain for her friend to begin; " Well, Miss Woodhouse, (with a gentle sigh,) what do you think of her?-- Is not she very charming?"
There was a little hesitation in Emma's answer.
" Oh!
yes--very--a very pleasing young woman."
" I think her beautiful, quite beautiful."
" Very nicely dressed, indeed; a remarkably elegant gown."
" I am not at all surprized that he should have fallen in love."
" Oh!
no--there is nothing to surprize one at all.-- A pretty fortune; and she came in his way."
" I dare say," returned Harriet, sighing again, " I dare say she was very much attached to him."
" Perhaps she might; but it is not every man's fate to marry the woman who loves him best.
Miss Hawkins perhaps wanted a home, and thought this the best offer she was likely to have."
" Yes," said Harriet earnestly, " and well she might, nobody could ever have a better.
Well, I wish them happy with all my heart.
And now, Miss Woodhouse, I do not think I shall mind seeing them again.
He is just as superior as ever;-- but being married, you know, it is quite a different thing.
No, indeed, Miss Woodhouse, you need not be afraid; I can sit and admire him now without any great misery.
To know that he has not thrown himself away, is such a comfort!-- She does seem a charming young woman, just what he deserves.
Happy creature!
He called her 'Augusta.'
How delightful!"
When the visit was returned, Emma made up her mind.
She could then see more and judge better.
Harriet would have been a better match.
If not wise or refined herself, she would have connected him with those who were; but Miss Hawkins, it might be fairly supposed from her easy conceit, had been the best of her own set.
The rich brother - in - law near Bristol was the pride of the alliance, and his place and his carriages were the pride of him.
The very first subject after being seated was Maple Grove, " My brother Mr. Suckling's seat;"-- a comparison of Hartfield to Maple Grove.
The grounds of Hartfield were small, but neat and pretty; and the house was modern and well - built.
Mrs. Elton seemed most favourably impressed by the size of the room, the entrance, and all that she could see or imagine.
" Very like Maple Grove indeed!-- She was quite struck by the likeness!-- That room was the very shape and size of the morning - room at Maple Grove; her sister's favourite room."
-- Mr. Elton was appealed to.--" Was not it astonishingly like?-- She could really almost fancy herself at Maple Grove."
" And the staircase--You know, as I came in, I observed how very like the staircase was; placed exactly in the same part of the house.
I really could not help exclaiming!
I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, it is very delightful to me, to be reminded of a place I am so extremely partial to as Maple Grove.
I have spent so many happy months there!
(with a little sigh of sentiment).
A charming place, undoubtedly.
Every body who sees it is struck by its beauty; but to me, it has been quite a home.
Whenever you are transplanted, like me, Miss Woodhouse, you will understand how very delightful it is to meet with any thing at all like what one has left behind.
I always say this is quite one of the evils of matrimony."
Emma made as slight a reply as she could; but it was fully sufficient for Mrs. Elton, who only wanted to be talking herself.
" So extremely like Maple Grove!
And it is not merely the house--the grounds, I assure you, as far as I could observe, are strikingly like.
The laurels at Maple Grove are in the same profusion as here, and stand very much in the same way--just across the lawn; and I had a glimpse of a fine large tree, with a bench round it, which put me so exactly in mind!
My brother and sister will be enchanted with this place.
People who have extensive grounds themselves are always pleased with any thing in the same style."
Emma doubted the truth of this sentiment.
She had a great idea that people who had extensive grounds themselves cared very little for the extensive grounds of any body else; but it was not worth while to attack an error so double - dyed, and therefore only said in reply,
" When you have seen more of this country, I am afraid you will think you have overrated Hartfield.
Surry is full of beauties."
" Oh!
yes, I am quite aware of that.
It is the garden of England, you know.
Surry is the garden of England."
" Yes; but we must not rest our claims on that distinction.
Many counties, I believe, are called the garden of England, as well as Surry."
" No, I fancy not," replied Mrs. Elton, with a most satisfied smile."
I never heard any county but Surry called so."
Emma was silenced.
" My brother and sister have promised us a visit in the spring, or summer at farthest," continued Mrs. Elton; " and that will be our time for exploring.
While they are with us, we shall explore a great deal, I dare say.
They will have their barouche - landau, of course, which holds four perfectly; and therefore, without saying any thing of _our_ carriage, we should be able to explore the different beauties extremely well.
They would hardly come in their chaise, I think, at that season of the year.
Indeed, when the time draws on, I shall decidedly recommend their bringing the barouche - landau; it will be so very much preferable.
When people come into a beautiful country of this sort, you know, Miss Woodhouse, one naturally wishes them to see as much as possible; and Mr. Suckling is extremely fond of exploring.
We explored to King's - Weston twice last summer, in that way, most delightfully, just after their first having the barouche - landau.
You have many parties of that kind here, I suppose, Miss Woodhouse, every summer?"
" No; not immediately here.
We are rather out of distance of the very striking beauties which attract the sort of parties you speak of; and we are a very quiet set of people, I believe; more disposed to stay at home than engage in schemes of pleasure."
" Ah!
there is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.
Nobody can be more devoted to home than I am.
I was quite a proverb for it at Maple Grove.
Many a time has Selina said, when she has been going to Bristol, 'I really cannot get this girl to move from the house.
I absolutely must go in by myself, though I hate being stuck up in the barouche - landau without a companion; but Augusta, I believe, with her own good - will, would never stir beyond the park paling.'
Many a time has she said so; and yet I am no advocate for entire seclusion.
I think, on the contrary, when people shut themselves up entirely from society, it is a very bad thing; and that it is much more advisable to mix in the world in a proper degree, without living in it either too much or too little.
I perfectly understand your situation, however, Miss Woodhouse--(looking towards Mr. Woodhouse), Your father's state of health must be a great drawback.
Why does not he try Bath?-- Indeed he should.
Let me recommend Bath to you.
I assure you I have no doubt of its doing Mr. Woodhouse good."
" My father tried it more than once, formerly; but without receiving any benefit; and Mr. Perry, whose name, I dare say, is not unknown to you, does not conceive it would be at all more likely to be useful now."
" Ah!
that's a great pity; for I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, where the waters do agree, it is quite wonderful the relief they give.
In my Bath life, I have seen such instances of it!
And it is so cheerful a place, that it could not fail of being of use to Mr. Woodhouse's spirits, which, I understand, are sometimes much depressed.
And as to its recommendations to _you_, I fancy I need not take much pains to dwell on them.
The advantages of Bath to the young are pretty generally understood.
It would be a charming introduction for you, who have lived so secluded a life; and I could immediately secure you some of the best society in the place.
A line from me would bring you a little host of acquaintance; and my particular friend, Mrs. Partridge, the lady I have always resided with when in Bath, would be most happy to shew you any attentions, and would be the very person for you to go into public with."
It was as much as Emma could bear, without being impolite.
She restrained herself, however, from any of the reproofs she could have given, and only thanked Mrs. Elton coolly; " but their going to Bath was quite out of the question; and she was not perfectly convinced that the place might suit her better than her father."
And then, to prevent farther outrage and indignation, changed the subject directly.
" I do not ask whether you are musical, Mrs. Elton.
Upon these occasions, a lady's character generally precedes her; and Highbury has long known that you are a superior performer."
" Oh!
no, indeed; I must protest against any such idea.
A superior performer!-- very far from it, I assure you.
Consider from how partial a quarter your information came.
I am doatingly fond of music--passionately fond;-- and my friends say I am not entirely devoid of taste; but as to any thing else, upon my honour my performance is _mediocre_ to the last degree.
You, Miss Woodhouse, I well know, play delightfully.
I assure you it has been the greatest satisfaction, comfort, and delight to me, to hear what a musical society I am got into.
I absolutely cannot do without music.
It is a necessary of life to me; and having always been used to a very musical society, both at Maple Grove and in Bath, it would have been a most serious sacrifice.
When he was speaking of it in that way, I honestly said that _the_ _world_ I could give up--parties, balls, plays--for I had no fear of retirement.
Blessed with so many resources within myself, the world was not necessary to _me_.
I could do very well without it.
To those who had no resources it was a different thing; but my resources made me quite independent.
And as to smaller - sized rooms than I had been used to, I really could not give it a thought.
I hoped I was perfectly equal to any sacrifice of that description.
Certainly I had been accustomed to every luxury at Maple Grove; but I did assure him that two carriages were not necessary to my happiness, nor were spacious apartments.
'But,' said I, 'to be quite honest, I do not think I can live without something of a musical society.
I condition for nothing else; but without music, life would be a blank to me.'"
" We cannot suppose," said Emma, smiling, " that Mr. Elton would hesitate to assure you of there being a _very_ musical society in Highbury; and I hope you will not find he has outstepped the truth more than may be pardoned, in consideration of the motive."
" No, indeed, I have no doubts at all on that head.
I am delighted to find myself in such a circle.
I hope we shall have many sweet little concerts together.
I think, Miss Woodhouse, you and I must establish a musical club, and have regular weekly meetings at your house, or ours.
Will not it be a good plan?
If _we_ exert ourselves, I think we shall not be long in want of allies.
Something of that nature would be particularly desirable for _me_, as an inducement to keep me in practice; for married women, you know--there is a sad story against them, in general.
They are but too apt to give up music."
" But you, who are so extremely fond of it--there can be no danger, surely?"
" I should hope not; but really when I look around among my acquaintance, I tremble.
Selina has entirely given up music--never touches the instrument--though she played sweetly.
And the same may be said of Mrs. Jeffereys--Clara Partridge, that was--and of the two Milmans, now Mrs. Bird and Mrs. James Cooper; and of more than I can enumerate.
Upon my word it is enough to put one in a fright.
I used to be quite angry with Selina; but really I begin now to comprehend that a married woman has many things to call her attention.
I believe I was half an hour this morning shut up with my housekeeper."
" But every thing of that kind," said Emma, " will soon be in so regular a train --"
" Well," said Mrs. Elton, laughing, " we shall see."
Emma, finding her so determined upon neglecting her music, had nothing more to say; and, after a moment's pause, Mrs. Elton chose another subject.
" We have been calling at Randalls," said she, " and found them both at home; and very pleasant people they seem to be.
I like them extremely.
Mr. Weston seems an excellent creature--quite a first - rate favourite with me already, I assure you.
And _she_ appears so truly good--there is something so motherly and kind - hearted about her, that it wins upon one directly.
She was your governess, I think?"
Emma was almost too much astonished to answer; but Mrs. Elton hardly waited for the affirmative before she went on.
" Having understood as much, I was rather astonished to find her so very lady - like!
But she is really quite the gentlewoman."
" Mrs. Weston's manners," said Emma, " were always particularly good.
Their propriety, simplicity, and elegance, would make them the safest model for any young woman."
" And who do you think came in while we were there?"
Emma was quite at a loss.
The tone implied some old acquaintance--and how could she possibly guess?
" Knightley!"
continued Mrs. Elton; " Knightley himself!-- Was not it lucky?-- for, not being within when he called the other day, I had never seen him before; and of course, as so particular a friend of Mr. E.' s, I had a great curiosity.
'My friend Knightley'had been so often mentioned, that I was really impatient to see him; and I must do my caro sposo the justice to say that he need not be ashamed of his friend.
Knightley is quite the gentleman.
I like him very much.
Decidedly, I think, a very gentleman - like man."
Happily, it was now time to be gone.
They were off; and Emma could breathe.
" Insufferable woman!"
was her immediate exclamation.
" Worse than I had supposed.
Absolutely insufferable!
Knightley!-- I could not have believed it.
Knightley!-- never seen him in her life before, and call him Knightley!-- and discover that he is a gentleman!
A little upstart, vulgar being, with her Mr. E., and her _caro_ _sposo_, and her resources, and all her airs of pert pretension and underbred finery.
Actually to discover that Mr. Knightley is a gentleman!
I doubt whether he will return the compliment, and discover her to be a lady.
I could not have believed it!
And to propose that she and I should unite to form a musical club!
One would fancy we were bosom friends!
And Mrs.
Weston!-- Astonished that the person who had brought me up should be a gentlewoman!
Worse and worse.
I never met with her equal.
Much beyond my hopes.
Harriet is disgraced by any comparison.
Oh!
what would Frank Churchill say to her, if he were here?
How angry and how diverted he would be!
Ah!
there I am--thinking of him directly.
Always the first person to be thought of!
How I catch myself out!
Frank Churchill comes as regularly into my mind!"
All this ran so glibly through her thoughts, that by the time her father had arranged himself, after the bustle of the Eltons'departure, and was ready to speak, she was very tolerably capable of attending.
" Well, my dear," he deliberately began, " considering we never saw her before, she seems a very pretty sort of young lady; and I dare say she was very much pleased with you.
She speaks a little too quick.
A little quickness of voice there is which rather hurts the ear.
But I believe I am nice; I do not like strange voices; and nobody speaks like you and poor Miss Taylor.
However, she seems a very obliging, pretty - behaved young lady, and no doubt will make him a very good wife.
Though I think he had better not have married.
I made the best excuses I could for not having been able to wait on him and Mrs. Elton on this happy occasion; I said that I hoped I _should_ in the course of the summer.
But I ought to have gone before.
Not to wait upon a bride is very remiss.
Ah!
it shews what a sad invalid I am!
But I do not like the corner into Vicarage Lane."
" I dare say your apologies were accepted, sir.
Mr. Elton knows you."
" Yes: but a young lady--a bride--I ought to have paid my respects to her if possible.
It was being very deficient."
" But, my dear papa, you are no friend to matrimony; and therefore why should you be so anxious to pay your respects to a _bride_?
It ought to be no recommendation to _you_.
It is encouraging people to marry if you make so much of them."
" No, my dear, I never encouraged any body to marry, but I would always wish to pay every proper attention to a lady--and a bride, especially, is never to be neglected.
More is avowedly due to _her_.
A bride, you know, my dear, is always the first in company, let the others be who they may."
" Well, papa, if this is not encouragement to marry, I do not know what is.
And I should never have expected you to be lending your sanction to such vanity - baits for poor young ladies."
" My dear, you do not understand me.
This is a matter of mere common politeness and good - breeding, and has nothing to do with any encouragement to people to marry."
Emma had done.
Her father was growing nervous, and could not understand _her_.
Her mind returned to Mrs. Elton's offences, and long, very long, did they occupy her.
CHAPTER XV
Emma was not required, by any subsequent discovery, to retract her ill opinion of Mrs. Elton.
Her observation had been pretty correct.
Such as Mrs. Elton appeared to her on this second interview, such she appeared whenever they met again,-- self - important, presuming, familiar, ignorant, and ill - bred.
There was no reason to suppose Mr. Elton thought at all differently from his wife.
He seemed not merely happy with her, but proud.
In one respect Mrs. Elton grew even worse than she had appeared at first.
Her manners, too--and Mr. Elton's, were unpleasant towards Harriet.
They were sneering and negligent.
She was, of course, the object of their joint dislike.-- When they had nothing else to say, it must be always easy to begin abusing Miss Woodhouse; and the enmity which they dared not shew in open disrespect to her, found a broader vent in contemptuous treatment of Harriet.
Mrs. Elton took a great fancy to Jane Fairfax; and from the first.
" Jane Fairfax is absolutely charming, Miss Woodhouse.-- I quite rave about Jane Fairfax.-- A sweet, interesting creature.
So mild and ladylike--and with such talents!-- I assure you I think she has very extraordinary talents.
I do not scruple to say that she plays extremely well.
I know enough of music to speak decidedly on that point.
Oh!
she is absolutely charming!
You will laugh at my warmth--but, upon my word, I talk of nothing but Jane Fairfax.-- And her situation is so calculated to affect one!-- Miss Woodhouse, we must exert ourselves and endeavour to do something for her.
We must bring her forward.
Such talent as hers must not be suffered to remain unknown.-- I dare say you have heard those charming lines of the poet,
'Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 'And waste its fragrance on the desert air.'
We must not allow them to be verified in sweet Jane Fairfax."
" I cannot think there is any danger of it," was Emma's calm answer--" and when you are better acquainted with Miss Fairfax's situation and understand what her home has been, with Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, I have no idea that you will suppose her talents can be unknown."
" Oh!
but dear Miss Woodhouse, she is now in such retirement, such obscurity, so thrown away.-- Whatever advantages she may have enjoyed with the Campbells are so palpably at an end!
And I think she feels it.
I am sure she does.
She is very timid and silent.
One can see that she feels the want of encouragement.
I like her the better for it.
I must confess it is a recommendation to me.
I am a great advocate for timidity--and I am sure one does not often meet with it.-- But in those who are at all inferior, it is extremely prepossessing.
Oh!
I assure you, Jane Fairfax is a very delightful character, and interests me more than I can express."
" You appear to feel a great deal--but I am not aware how you or any of Miss Fairfax's acquaintance here, any of those who have known her longer than yourself, can shew her any other attention than "--
" My dear Miss Woodhouse, a vast deal may be done by those who dare to act.
You and I need not be afraid.
If _we_ set the example, many will follow it as far as they can; though all have not our situations.
I have no idea of that sort of thing.
It is not likely that I _should_, considering what I have been used to.
My greatest danger, perhaps, in housekeeping, may be quite the other way, in doing too much, and being too careless of expense.
My acquaintance is so very extensive, that I have little doubt of hearing of something to suit her shortly.-- I shall introduce her, of course, very particularly to my brother and sister when they come to us.
" Poor Jane Fairfax!"
-- thought Emma.--" You have not deserved this.
You may have done wrong with regard to Mr. Dixon, but this is a punishment beyond what you can have merited!-- The kindness and protection of Mrs.
Elton!--'Jane Fairfax and Jane Fairfax.'
Heavens!
Let me not suppose that she dares go about, Emma Woodhouse - ing me!-- But upon my honour, there seems no limits to the licentiousness of that woman's tongue!"
Emma had not to listen to such paradings again--to any so exclusively addressed to herself--so disgustingly decorated with a " dear Miss Woodhouse."
She looked on with some amusement.-- Miss Bates's gratitude for Mrs. Elton's attentions to Jane was in the first style of guileless simplicity and warmth.
She was quite one of her worthies--the most amiable, affable, delightful woman--just as accomplished and condescending as Mrs. Elton meant to be considered.
Emma's only surprize was that Jane Fairfax should accept those attentions and tolerate Mrs. Elton as she seemed to do.
She heard of her walking with the Eltons, sitting with the Eltons, spending a day with the Eltons!
This was astonishing!-- She could not have believed it possible that the taste or the pride of Miss Fairfax could endure such society and friendship as the Vicarage had to offer.
" She is a riddle, quite a riddle!"
said she.--" To chuse to remain here month after month, under privations of every sort!
And now to chuse the mortification of Mrs. Elton's notice and the penury of her conversation, rather than return to the superior companions who have always loved her with such real, generous affection."
Jane had come to Highbury professedly for three months; the Campbells were gone to Ireland for three months; but now the Campbells had promised their daughter to stay at least till Midsummer, and fresh invitations had arrived for her to join them there.
According to Miss Bates--it all came from her--Mrs. Dixon had written most pressingly.
Would Jane but go, means were to be found, servants sent, friends contrived--no travelling difficulty allowed to exist; but still she had declined it!
" She must have some motive, more powerful than appears, for refusing this invitation," was Emma's conclusion.
" She must be under some sort of penance, inflicted either by the Campbells or herself.
There is great fear, great caution, great resolution somewhere.-- She is _not_ to be with the _Dixons_.
The decree is issued by somebody.
But why must she consent to be with the Eltons?-- Here is quite a separate puzzle."
Upon her speaking her wonder aloud on that part of the subject, before the few who knew her opinion of Mrs. Elton, Mrs. Weston ventured this apology for Jane.
" We cannot suppose that she has any great enjoyment at the Vicarage, my dear Emma--but it is better than being always at home.
Her aunt is a good creature, but, as a constant companion, must be very tiresome.
We must consider what Miss Fairfax quits, before we condemn her taste for what she goes to."
" You are right, Mrs. Weston," said Mr. Knightley warmly, " Miss Fairfax is as capable as any of us of forming a just opinion of Mrs. Elton.
Could she have chosen with whom to associate, she would not have chosen her.
But (with a reproachful smile at Emma) she receives attentions from Mrs. Elton, which nobody else pays her."
Emma felt that Mrs. Weston was giving her a momentary glance; and she was herself struck by his warmth.
With a faint blush, she presently replied,
" Such attentions as Mrs. Elton's, I should have imagined, would rather disgust than gratify Miss Fairfax.
Mrs. Elton's invitations I should have imagined any thing but inviting."
" I should not wonder," said Mrs. Weston, " if Miss Fairfax were to have been drawn on beyond her own inclination, by her aunt's eagerness in accepting Mrs. Elton's civilities for her.
Poor Miss Bates may very likely have committed her niece and hurried her into a greater appearance of intimacy than her own good sense would have dictated, in spite of the very natural wish of a little change."
Both felt rather anxious to hear him speak again; and after a few minutes silence, he said,
" Another thing must be taken into consideration too--Mrs. Elton does not talk _to_ Miss Fairfax as she speaks _of_ her.
We all know the difference between the pronouns he or she and thou, the plainest spoken amongst us; we all feel the influence of a something beyond common civility in our personal intercourse with each other--a something more early implanted.
We cannot give any body the disagreeable hints that we may have been very full of the hour before.
We feel things differently.
And besides the operation of this, as a general principle, you may be sure that Miss Fairfax awes Mrs. Elton by her superiority both of mind and manner; and that, face to face, Mrs. Elton treats her with all the respect which she has a claim to.
Such a woman as Jane Fairfax probably never fell in Mrs. Elton's way before--and no degree of vanity can prevent her acknowledging her own comparative littleness in action, if not in consciousness."
" I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax," said Emma.
Little Henry was in her thoughts, and a mixture of alarm and delicacy made her irresolute what else to say.
" Yes," he replied, " any body may know how highly I think of her."
" And yet," said Emma, beginning hastily and with an arch look, but soon stopping--it was better, however, to know the worst at once--she hurried on --" And yet, perhaps, you may hardly be aware yourself how highly it is.
The extent of your admiration may take you by surprize some day or other."
Mr. Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons of his thick leather gaiters, and either the exertion of getting them together, or some other cause, brought the colour into his face, as he answered,
" Oh!
are you there?-- But you are miserably behindhand.
Mr. Cole gave me a hint of it six weeks ago."
He stopped.-- Emma felt her foot pressed by Mrs. Weston, and did not herself know what to think.
In a moment he went on --
" That will never be, however, I can assure you.
Miss Fairfax, I dare say, would not have me if I were to ask her--and I am very sure I shall never ask her."
Emma returned her friend's pressure with interest; and was pleased enough to exclaim,
" You are not vain, Mr. Knightley.
I will say that for you."
He seemed hardly to hear her; he was thoughtful--and in a manner which shewed him not pleased, soon afterwards said,
" So you have been settling that I should marry Jane Fairfax?"
" No indeed I have not.
You have scolded me too much for match - making, for me to presume to take such a liberty with you.
What I said just now, meant nothing.
One says those sort of things, of course, without any idea of a serious meaning.
Oh!
no, upon my word I have not the smallest wish for your marrying Jane Fairfax or Jane any body.
You would not come in and sit with us in this comfortable way, if you were married."
Mr. Knightley was thoughtful again.
The result of his reverie was, " No, Emma, I do not think the extent of my admiration for her will ever take me by surprize.-- I never had a thought of her in that way, I assure you."
And soon afterwards, " Jane Fairfax is a very charming young woman--but not even Jane Fairfax is perfect.
She has a fault.
She has not the open temper which a man would wish for in a wife."
Emma could not but rejoice to hear that she had a fault.
" Well," said she, " and you soon silenced Mr. Cole, I suppose?"
" Yes, very soon.
He gave me a quiet hint; I told him he was mistaken; he asked my pardon and said no more.
Cole does not want to be wiser or wittier than his neighbours."
" In that respect how unlike dear Mrs. Elton, who wants to be wiser and wittier than all the world!
I wonder how she speaks of the Coles--what she calls them!
How can she find any appellation for them, deep enough in familiar vulgarity?
She calls you, Knightley--what can she do for Mr. Cole?
And so I am not to be surprized that Jane Fairfax accepts her civilities and consents to be with her.
Mrs. Weston, your argument weighs most with me.
I can much more readily enter into the temptation of getting away from Miss Bates, than I can believe in the triumph of Miss Fairfax's mind over Mrs. Elton.
I have no faith in Mrs. Elton's acknowledging herself the inferior in thought, word, or deed; or in her being under any restraint beyond her own scanty rule of good - breeding.
" Jane Fairfax has feeling," said Mr. Knightley --" I do not accuse her of want of feeling.
Her sensibilities, I suspect, are strong--and her temper excellent in its power of forbearance, patience, self - controul; but it wants openness.
She is reserved, more reserved, I think, than she used to be--And I love an open temper.
No--till Cole alluded to my supposed attachment, it had never entered my head.
I saw Jane Fairfax and conversed with her, with admiration and pleasure always--but with no thought beyond."
" Well, Mrs. Weston," said Emma triumphantly when he left them, " what do you say now to Mr. Knightley's marrying Jane Fairfax?"
" Why, really, dear Emma, I say that he is so very much occupied by the idea of _not_ being in love with her, that I should not wonder if it were to end in his being so at last.
Do not beat me."
CHAPTER XVI
Every body in and about Highbury who had ever visited Mr. Elton, was disposed to pay him attention on his marriage.
Dinner - parties and evening - parties were made for him and his lady; and invitations flowed in so fast that she had soon the pleasure of apprehending they were never to have a disengaged day.
" I see how it is," said she.
" I see what a life I am to lead among you.
Upon my word we shall be absolutely dissipated.
We really seem quite the fashion.
If this is living in the country, it is nothing very formidable.
From Monday next to Saturday, I assure you we have not a disengaged day!-- A woman with fewer resources than I have, need not have been at a loss."
No invitation came amiss to her.
Her Bath habits made evening - parties perfectly natural to her, and Maple Grove had given her a taste for dinners.
She was a little shocked at the want of two drawing rooms, at the poor attempt at rout - cakes, and there being no ice in the Highbury card - parties.
Mrs. Bates, Mrs. Perry, Mrs. Goddard and others, were a good deal behind - hand in knowledge of the world, but she would soon shew them how every thing ought to be arranged.
Emma, in the meanwhile, could not be satisfied without a dinner at Hartfield for the Eltons.
They must not do less than others, or she should be exposed to odious suspicions, and imagined capable of pitiful resentment.
A dinner there must be.
After Emma had talked about it for ten minutes, Mr. Woodhouse felt no unwillingness, and only made the usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom of the table himself, with the usual regular difficulty of deciding who should do it for him.
The persons to be invited, required little thought.
" She would rather not be in his company more than she could help.
She was not yet quite able to see him and his charming happy wife together, without feeling uncomfortable.
If Miss Woodhouse would not be displeased, she would rather stay at home."
It was precisely what Emma would have wished, had she deemed it possible enough for wishing.
Knightley's words dwelt with her.
He had said that Jane Fairfax received attentions from Mrs. Elton which nobody else paid her.
" This is very true," said she, " at least as far as relates to me, which was all that was meant--and it is very shameful.-- Of the same age--and always knowing her--I ought to have been more her friend.-- She will never like me now.
I have neglected her too long.
But I will shew her greater attention than I have done."
Every invitation was successful.
They were all disengaged and all happy.-- The preparatory interest of this dinner, however, was not yet over.
A circumstance rather unlucky occurred.
She comforted her father better than she could comfort herself, by representing that though he certainly would make them nine, yet he always said so little, that the increase of noise would be very immaterial.
She thought it in reality a sad exchange for herself, to have him with his grave looks and reluctant conversation opposed to her instead of his brother.
The event was more favourable to Mr. Woodhouse than to Emma.
John Knightley came; but Mr. Weston was unexpectedly summoned to town and must be absent on the very day.
He might be able to join them in the evening, but certainly not to dinner.
Mr. Woodhouse was quite at ease; and the seeing him so, with the arrival of the little boys and the philosophic composure of her brother on hearing his fate, removed the chief of even Emma's vexation.
The day came, the party were punctually assembled, and Mr. John Knightley seemed early to devote himself to the business of being agreeable.
Instead of drawing his brother off to a window while they waited for dinner, he was talking to Miss Fairfax.
Mrs. Elton, as elegant as lace and pearls could make her, he looked at in silence--wanting only to observe enough for Isabella's information--but Miss Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet girl, and he could talk to her.
He had met her before breakfast as he was returning from a walk with his little boys, when it had been just beginning to rain.
It was natural to have some civil hopes on the subject, and he said,
" I hope you did not venture far, Miss Fairfax, this morning, or I am sure you must have been wet.-- We scarcely got home in time.
I hope you turned directly."
" I went only to the post - office," said she, " and reached home before the rain was much.
It is my daily errand.
I always fetch the letters when I am here.
It saves trouble, and is a something to get me out.
A walk before breakfast does me good."
" Not a walk in the rain, I should imagine."
" No, but it did not absolutely rain when I set out."
Mr. John Knightley smiled, and replied,
" That is to say, you chose to have your walk, for you were not six yards from your own door when I had the pleasure of meeting you; and Henry and John had seen more drops than they could count long before.
The post - office has a great charm at one period of our lives.
When you have lived to my age, you will begin to think letters are never worth going through the rain for."
There was a little blush, and then this answer,
" I must not hope to be ever situated as you are, in the midst of every dearest connexion, and therefore I cannot expect that simply growing older should make me indifferent about letters."
" Indifferent!
Oh!
no--I never conceived you could become indifferent.
Letters are no matter of indifference; they are generally a very positive curse."
" You are speaking of letters of business; mine are letters of friendship."
" I have often thought them the worst of the two," replied he coolly.
" Business, you know, may bring money, but friendship hardly ever does."
" Ah!
you are not serious now.
I know Mr. John Knightley too well--I am very sure he understands the value of friendship as well as any body.
I can easily believe that letters are very little to you, much less than to me, but it is not your being ten years older than myself which makes the difference, it is not age, but situation.
You have every body dearest to you always at hand, I, probably, never shall again; and therefore till I have outlived all my affections, a post - office, I think, must always have power to draw me out, in worse weather than to - day."
" When I talked of your being altered by time, by the progress of years," said John Knightley, " I meant to imply the change of situation which time usually brings.
I consider one as including the other.
Time will generally lessen the interest of every attachment not within the daily circle--but that is not the change I had in view for you.
As an old friend, you will allow me to hope, Miss Fairfax, that ten years hence you may have as many concentrated objects as I have."
It was kindly said, and very far from giving offence.
A pleasant " thank you " seemed meant to laugh it off, but a blush, a quivering lip, a tear in the eye, shewed that it was felt beyond a laugh.
Her attention was now claimed by Mr. Woodhouse, who being, according to his custom on such occasions, making the circle of his guests, and paying his particular compliments to the ladies, was ending with her--and with all his mildest urbanity, said,
" I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being out this morning in the rain.
Young ladies should take care of themselves.-- Young ladies are delicate plants.
They should take care of their health and their complexion.
My dear, did you change your stockings?"
" Yes, sir, I did indeed; and I am very much obliged by your kind solicitude about me."
" My dear Miss Fairfax, young ladies are very sure to be cared for.-- I hope your good grand - mama and aunt are well.
They are some of my very old friends.
I wish my health allowed me to be a better neighbour.
You do us a great deal of honour to - day, I am sure.
My daughter and I are both highly sensible of your goodness, and have the greatest satisfaction in seeing you at Hartfield."
The kind - hearted, polite old man might then sit down and feel that he had done his duty, and made every fair lady welcome and easy.
By this time, the walk in the rain had reached Mrs. Elton, and her remonstrances now opened upon Jane.
" My dear Jane, what is this I hear?-- Going to the post - office in the rain!-- This must not be, I assure you.-- You sad girl, how could you do such a thing?-- It is a sign I was not there to take care of you."
Jane very patiently assured her that she had not caught any cold.
" Oh!
do not tell _me_.
You really are a very sad girl, and do not know how to take care of yourself.-- To the post - office indeed!
Mrs. Weston, did you ever hear the like?
You and I must positively exert our authority."
" My advice," said Mrs. Weston kindly and persuasively, " I certainly do feel tempted to give.
Miss Fairfax, you must not run such risks.-- Liable as you have been to severe colds, indeed you ought to be particularly careful, especially at this time of year.
The spring I always think requires more than common care.
Better wait an hour or two, or even half a day for your letters, than run the risk of bringing on your cough again.
Now do not you feel that you had?
Yes, I am sure you are much too reasonable.
You look as if you would not do such a thing again."
" Oh!
she _shall_ _not_ do such a thing again," eagerly rejoined Mrs. Elton.
" We will not allow her to do such a thing again:"-- and nodding significantly --" there must be some arrangement made, there must indeed.
I shall speak to Mr. E. The man who fetches our letters every morning (one of our men, I forget his name) shall inquire for yours too and bring them to you.
That will obviate all difficulties you know; and from _us_ I really think, my dear Jane, you can have no scruple to accept such an accommodation."
" You are extremely kind," said Jane; " but I cannot give up my early walk.
I am advised to be out of doors as much as I can, I must walk somewhere, and the post - office is an object; and upon my word, I have scarcely ever had a bad morning before."
" My dear Jane, say no more about it.
The thing is determined, that is (laughing affectedly) as far as I can presume to determine any thing without the concurrence of my lord and master.
You know, Mrs. Weston, you and I must be cautious how we express ourselves.
But I do flatter myself, my dear Jane, that my influence is not entirely worn out.
If I meet with no insuperable difficulties therefore, consider that point as settled."
" Excuse me," said Jane earnestly, " I cannot by any means consent to such an arrangement, so needlessly troublesome to your servant.
If the errand were not a pleasure to me, it could be done, as it always is when I am not here, by my grandmama's."
" Oh!
my dear; but so much as Patty has to do!-- And it is a kindness to employ our men."
Jane looked as if she did not mean to be conquered; but instead of answering, she began speaking again to Mr. John Knightley.
" The post - office is a wonderful establishment!"
said she.-- " The regularity and despatch of it!
If one thinks of all that it has to do, and all that it does so well, it is really astonishing!"
" It is certainly very well regulated."
" So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears!
So seldom that a letter, among the thousands that are constantly passing about the kingdom, is even carried wrong--and not one in a million, I suppose, actually lost!
And when one considers the variety of hands, and of bad hands too, that are to be deciphered, it increases the wonder."
" The clerks grow expert from habit.-- They must begin with some quickness of sight and hand, and exercise improves them.
If you want any farther explanation," continued he, smiling, " they are paid for it.
That is the key to a great deal of capacity.
The public pays and must be served well."
The varieties of handwriting were farther talked of, and the usual observations made.
" I have heard it asserted," said John Knightley, " that the same sort of handwriting often prevails in a family; and where the same master teaches, it is natural enough.
But for that reason, I should imagine the likeness must be chiefly confined to the females, for boys have very little teaching after an early age, and scramble into any hand they can get.
Isabella and Emma, I think, do write very much alike.
I have not always known their writing apart."
" Yes," said his brother hesitatingly, " there is a likeness.
I know what you mean--but Emma's hand is the strongest."
" Isabella and Emma both write beautifully," said Mr. Woodhouse; " and always did.
And so does poor Mrs. Weston "-- with half a sigh and half a smile at her.
Is it necessary for me to use any roundabout phrase?-- Your Yorkshire friend--your correspondent in Yorkshire;-- that would be the way, I suppose, if I were very bad.-- No, I can pronounce his name without the smallest distress.
I certainly get better and better.-- Now for it."
Mrs. Weston was disengaged and Emma began again --" Mr. Frank Churchill writes one of the best gentleman's hands I ever saw."
" I do not admire it," said Mr. Knightley.
" It is too small--wants strength.
It is like a woman's writing."
This was not submitted to by either lady.
They vindicated him against the base aspersion.
" No, it by no means wanted strength--it was not a large hand, but very clear and certainly strong.
Had not Mrs. Weston any letter about her to produce?"
No, she had heard from him very lately, but having answered the letter, had put it away.
" If we were in the other room," said Emma, " if I had my writing - desk, I am sure I could produce a specimen.
I have a note of his.-- Do not you remember, Mrs. Weston, employing him to write for you one day?"
" He chose to say he was employed "--
" Well, well, I have that note; and can shew it after dinner to convince Mr.
Knightley."
" Oh!
when a gallant young man, like Mr. Frank Churchill," said Mr. Knightley dryly, " writes to a fair lady like Miss Woodhouse, he will, of course, put forth his best."
Dinner was on table.-- Mrs.
Elton, before she could be spoken to, was ready; and before Mr. Woodhouse had reached her with his request to be allowed to hand her into the dining - parlour, was saying --
" Must I go first?
I really am ashamed of always leading the way."
Jane's solicitude about fetching her own letters had not escaped Emma.
She had heard and seen it all; and felt some curiosity to know whether the wet walk of this morning had produced any.
She suspected that it _had_; that it would not have been so resolutely encountered but in full expectation of hearing from some one very dear, and that it had not been in vain.
She thought there was an air of greater happiness than usual--a glow both of complexion and spirits.
She could have made an inquiry or two, as to the expedition and the expense of the Irish mails;-- it was at her tongue's end--but she abstained.
She was quite determined not to utter a word that should hurt Jane Fairfax's feelings; and they followed the other ladies out of the room, arm in arm, with an appearance of good - will highly becoming to the beauty and grace of each.
CHAPTER XVII
When the ladies returned to the drawing - room after dinner, Emma found it hardly possible to prevent their making two distinct parties;-- with so much perseverance in judging and behaving ill did Mrs. Elton engross Jane Fairfax and slight herself.
She and Mrs. Weston were obliged to be almost always either talking together or silent together.
Mrs. Elton left them no choice.
" Here is April come!"
said she, " I get quite anxious about you.
June will soon be here."
" But I have never fixed on June or any other month--merely looked forward to the summer in general."
" But have you really heard of nothing?"
" I have not even made any inquiry; I do not wish to make any yet."
" Oh!
my dear, we cannot begin too early; you are not aware of the difficulty of procuring exactly the desirable thing."
" I not aware!"
said Jane, shaking her head; " dear Mrs. Elton, who can have thought of it as I have done?"
" But you have not seen so much of the world as I have.
You do not know how many candidates there always are for the _first_ situations.
I saw a vast deal of that in the neighbourhood round Maple Grove.
A cousin of Mr. Suckling, Mrs. Bragge, had such an infinity of applications; every body was anxious to be in her family, for she moves in the first circle.
Wax - candles in the schoolroom!
You may imagine how desirable!
Of all houses in the kingdom Mrs. Bragge's is the one I would most wish to see you in."
" Colonel and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by midsummer," said Jane.
" I must spend some time with them; I am sure they will want it;-- afterwards I may probably be glad to dispose of myself.
But I would not wish you to take the trouble of making any inquiries at present."
" Trouble!
aye, I know your scruples.
You are afraid of giving me trouble; but I assure you, my dear Jane, the Campbells can hardly be more interested about you than I am.
I shall write to Mrs. Partridge in a day or two, and shall give her a strict charge to be on the look - out for any thing eligible."
" Thank you, but I would rather you did not mention the subject to her; till the time draws nearer, I do not wish to be giving any body trouble."
" But, my dear child, the time is drawing near; here is April, and June, or say even July, is very near, with such business to accomplish before us.
Your inexperience really amuses me!
A situation such as you deserve, and your friends would require for you, is no everyday occurrence, is not obtained at a moment's notice; indeed, indeed, we must begin inquiring directly."
" Excuse me, ma'am, but this is by no means my intention; I make no inquiry myself, and should be sorry to have any made by my friends.
When I am quite determined as to the time, I am not at all afraid of being long unemployed.
There are places in town, offices, where inquiry would soon produce something--Offices for the sale--not quite of human flesh--but of human intellect."
" Oh!
my dear, human flesh!
You quite shock me; if you mean a fling at the slave - trade, I assure you Mr. Suckling was always rather a friend to the abolition."
But I only mean to say that there are advertising offices, and that by applying to them I should have no doubt of very soon meeting with something that would do."
" Something that would do!"
repeated Mrs. Elton.
" You are very obliging; but as to all that, I am very indifferent; it would be no object to me to be with the rich; my mortifications, I think, would only be the greater; I should suffer more from comparison.
A gentleman's family is all that I should condition for."
" I know you, I know you; you would take up with any thing; but I shall be a little more nice, and I am sure the good Campbells will be quite on my side; with your superior talents, you have a right to move in the first circle.
" You may well class the delight, the honour, and the comfort of such a situation together," said Jane, " they are pretty sure to be equal; however, I am very serious in not wishing any thing to be attempted at present for me.
I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mrs. Elton, I am obliged to any body who feels for me, but I am quite serious in wishing nothing to be done till the summer.
For two or three months longer I shall remain where I am, and as I am."
" And I am quite serious too, I assure you," replied Mrs. Elton gaily, " in resolving to be always on the watch, and employing my friends to watch also, that nothing really unexceptionable may pass us."
In this style she ran on; never thoroughly stopped by any thing till Mr. Woodhouse came into the room; her vanity had then a change of object, and Emma heard her saying in the same half - whisper to Jane,
" Here comes this dear old beau of mine, I protest!-- Only think of his gallantry in coming away before the other men!-- what a dear creature he is;-- I assure you I like him excessively.
I admire all that quaint, old - fashioned politeness; it is much more to my taste than modern ease; modern ease often disgusts me.
But this good old Mr. Woodhouse, I wish you had heard his gallant speeches to me at dinner.
Oh!
I assure you I began to think my caro sposo would be absolutely jealous.
I fancy I am rather a favourite; he took notice of my gown.
How do you like it?-- Selina's choice--handsome, I think, but I do not know whether it is not over - trimmed; I have the greatest dislike to the idea of being over - trimmed--quite a horror of finery.
I must put on a few ornaments now, because it is expected of me.
A bride, you know, must appear like a bride, but my natural taste is all for simplicity; a simple style of dress is so infinitely preferable to finery.
But I am quite in the minority, I believe; few people seem to value simplicity of dress,-- show and finery are every thing.
I have some notion of putting such a trimming as this to my white and silver poplin.
Do you think it will look well?"
The whole party were but just reassembled in the drawing - room when Mr. Weston made his appearance among them.
He had returned to a late dinner, and walked to Hartfield as soon as it was over.
He had been too much expected by the best judges, for surprize--but there was great joy.
Mr. Woodhouse was almost as glad to see him now, as he would have been sorry to see him before.
John Knightley looked at him with amazement, then shrugged his shoulders, and said, " I could not have believed it even of _him_."
He gave her a letter, it was from Frank, and to herself; he had met with it in his way, and had taken the liberty of opening it.
" Read it, read it," said he, " it will give you pleasure; only a few lines--will not take you long; read it to Emma."
The two ladies looked over it together; and he sat smiling and talking to them the whole time, in a voice a little subdued, but very audible to every body.
" Well, he is coming, you see; good news, I think.
As to her illness, all nothing of course.
But it is an excellent thing to have Frank among us again, so near as town.
They will stay a good while when they do come, and he will be half his time with us.
This is precisely what I wanted.
Well, pretty good news, is not it?
Have you finished it?
Has Emma read it all?
Put it up, put it up; we will have a good talk about it some other time, but it will not do now.
I shall only just mention the circumstance to the others in a common way."
Mrs. Weston was most comfortably pleased on the occasion.
Her looks and words had nothing to restrain them.
She was happy, she knew she was happy, and knew she ought to be happy.
Her congratulations were warm and open; but Emma could not speak so fluently.
_She_ was a little occupied in weighing her own feelings, and trying to understand the degree of her agitation, which she rather thought was considerable.
It was well that he took every body's joy for granted, or he might not have thought either Mr. Woodhouse or Mr. Knightley particularly delighted.
CHAPTER XVIII
" I hope I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing my son to you," said Mr. Weston.
Mrs. Elton, very willing to suppose a particular compliment intended her by such a hope, smiled most graciously.
" You have heard of a certain Frank Churchill, I presume," he continued--" and know him to be my son, though he does not bear my name."
" Oh!
yes, and I shall be very happy in his acquaintance.
I am sure Mr. Elton will lose no time in calling on him; and we shall both have great pleasure in seeing him at the Vicarage."
" You are very obliging.-- Frank will be extremely happy, I am sure.-- He is to be in town next week, if not sooner.
We have notice of it in a letter to - day.
I met the letters in my way this morning, and seeing my son's hand, presumed to open it--though it was not directed to me--it was to Mrs. Weston.
She is his principal correspondent, I assure you.
I hardly ever get a letter."
" And so you absolutely opened what was directed to her!
Oh!
Mr. Weston--(laughing affectedly) I must protest against that.-- A most dangerous precedent indeed!-- I beg you will not let your neighbours follow your example.-- Upon my word, if this is what I am to expect, we married women must begin to exert ourselves!-- Oh!
Mr. Weston, I could not have believed it of you!"
" Aye, we men are sad fellows.
You must take care of yourself, Mrs.
" Indeed!-- from Yorkshire, I think.
Enscombe is in Yorkshire?"
" Yes, they are about one hundred and ninety miles from London.
a considerable journey."
" Yes, upon my word, very considerable.
Sixty - five miles farther than from Maple Grove to London.
But what is distance, Mr. Weston, to people of large fortune?-- You would be amazed to hear how my brother, Mr. Suckling, sometimes flies about.
You will hardly believe me--but twice in one week he and Mr. Bragge went to London and back again with four horses."
" The evil of the distance from Enscombe," said Mr. Weston, " is, that Mrs. Churchill, _as_ _we_ _understand_, has not been able to leave the sofa for a week together.
In Frank's last letter she complained, he said, of being too weak to get into her conservatory without having both his arm and his uncle's!
This, you know, speaks a great degree of weakness--but now she is so impatient to be in town, that she means to sleep only two nights on the road.-- So Frank writes word.
Certainly, delicate ladies have very extraordinary constitutions, Mrs. Elton.
You must grant me that."
" No, indeed, I shall grant you nothing.
I Always take the part of my own sex.
I do indeed.
I give you notice--You will find me a formidable antagonist on that point.
I always stand up for women--and I assure you, if you knew how Selina feels with respect to sleeping at an inn, you would not wonder at Mrs. Churchill's making incredible exertions to avoid it.
Selina says it is quite horror to her--and I believe I have caught a little of her nicety.
She always travels with her own sheets; an excellent precaution.
Does Mrs. Churchill do the same?"
" Depend upon it, Mrs. Churchill does every thing that any other fine lady ever did.
Mrs. Churchill will not be second to any lady in the land for "--
Mrs. Elton eagerly interposed with,
" Oh!
Mr. Weston, do not mistake me.
Selina is no fine lady, I assure you.
Do not run away with such an idea."
" Is not she?
Then she is no rule for Mrs. Churchill, who is as thorough a fine lady as any body ever beheld."
Mrs. Elton began to think she had been wrong in disclaiming so warmly.
It was by no means her object to have it believed that her sister was _not_ a fine lady; perhaps there was want of spirit in the pretence of it;-- and she was considering in what way she had best retract, when Mr. Weston went on.
" Mrs. Churchill is not much in my good graces, as you may suspect--but this is quite between ourselves.
She is very fond of Frank, and therefore I would not speak ill of her.
Besides, she is out of health now; but _that_ indeed, by her own account, she has always been.
I would not say so to every body, Mrs. Elton, but I have not much faith in Mrs. Churchill's illness."
" If she is really ill, why not go to Bath, Mr.
Weston?-- To Bath, or to Clifton?"
" She has taken it into her head that Enscombe is too cold for her.
The fact is, I suppose, that she is tired of Enscombe.
She has now been a longer time stationary there, than she ever was before, and she begins to want change.
It is a retired place.
A fine place, but very retired."
" Aye--like Maple Grove, I dare say.
Nothing can stand more retired from the road than Maple Grove.
Such an immense plantation all round it!
You seem shut out from every thing--in the most complete retirement.-- And Mrs. Churchill probably has not health or spirits like Selina to enjoy that sort of seclusion.
Or, perhaps she may not have resources enough in herself to be qualified for a country life.
I always say a woman cannot have too many resources--and I feel very thankful that I have so many myself as to be quite independent of society."
" Frank was here in February for a fortnight."
" So I remember to have heard.
He will find an _addition_ to the society of Highbury when he comes again; that is, if I may presume to call myself an addition.
But perhaps he may never have heard of there being such a creature in the world."
This was too loud a call for a compliment to be passed by, and Mr. Weston, with a very good grace, immediately exclaimed,
" My dear madam!
Nobody but yourself could imagine such a thing possible.
Not heard of you!-- I believe Mrs. Weston's letters lately have been full of very little else than Mrs.
Elton."
He had done his duty and could return to his son.
" When Frank left us," continued he, " it was quite uncertain when we might see him again, which makes this day's news doubly welcome.
It has been completely unexpected.
That is, _I_ always had a strong persuasion he would be here again soon, I was sure something favourable would turn up--but nobody believed me.
He and Mrs. Weston were both dreadfully desponding.
'How could he contrive to come?
And how could it be supposed that his uncle and aunt would spare him again?'
and so forth--I always felt that something would happen in our favour; and so it has, you see.
I have observed, Mrs. Elton, in the course of my life, that if things are going untowardly one month, they are sure to mend the next."
" Very true, Mr. Weston, perfectly true.
Oh!
the pains I have been at to dispel those gloomy ideas and give him cheerfuller views!
The carriage--we had disappointments about the carriage;-- one morning, I remember, he came to me quite in despair."
She was stopped by a slight fit of coughing, and Mr. Weston instantly seized the opportunity of going on.
" You were mentioning May.
When he was here before, we made the best of it; but there was a good deal of wet, damp, cheerless weather; there always is in February, you know, and we could not do half that we intended.
Now will be the time.
I think it is so.
I think it is the state of mind which gives most spirit and delight.
I hope you will be pleased with my son; but you must not expect a prodigy.
He is generally thought a fine young man, but do not expect a prodigy.
Mrs. Weston's partiality for him is very great, and, as you may suppose, most gratifying to me.
She thinks nobody equal to him."
" And I assure you, Mr. Weston, I have very little doubt that my opinion will be decidedly in his favour.
I have heard so much in praise of Mr. Frank Churchill.-- At the same time it is fair to observe, that I am one of those who always judge for themselves, and are by no means implicitly guided by others.
I give you notice that as I find your son, so I shall judge of him.-- I am no flatterer."
Mr. Weston was musing.
" I hope," said he presently, " I have not been severe upon poor Mrs. Churchill.
If she is ill I should be sorry to do her injustice; but there are some traits in her character which make it difficult for me to speak of her with the forbearance I could wish.
You cannot be ignorant, Mrs. Elton, of my connexion with the family, nor of the treatment I have met with; and, between ourselves, the whole blame of it is to be laid to her.
She was the instigator.
Frank's mother would never have been slighted as she was but for her.
Mr. Churchill has pride; but his pride is nothing to his wife's: his is a quiet, indolent, gentlemanlike sort of pride that would harm nobody, and only make himself a little helpless and tiresome; but her pride is arrogance and insolence!
And what inclines one less to bear, she has no fair pretence of family or blood.
She was nobody when he married her, barely the daughter of a gentleman; but ever since her being turned into a Churchill she has out - Churchill'd them all in high and mighty claims: but in herself, I assure you, she is an upstart."
" Only think!
well, that must be infinitely provoking!
I have quite a horror of upstarts.
Maple Grove has given me a thorough disgust to people of that sort; for there is a family in that neighbourhood who are such an annoyance to my brother and sister from the airs they give themselves!
Your description of Mrs. Churchill made me think of them directly.
People of the name of Tupman, very lately settled there, and encumbered with many low connexions, but giving themselves immense airs, and expecting to be on a footing with the old established families.
A year and a half is the very utmost that they can have lived at West Hall; and how they got their fortune nobody knows.
They came from Birmingham, which is not a place to promise much, you know, Mr. Weston.
One has not great hopes from Birmingham.
It is infinitely too bad.
Mr. Suckling, who has been eleven years a resident at Maple Grove, and whose father had it before him--I believe, at least--I am almost sure that old Mr. Suckling had completed the purchase before his death."
They were interrupted.
Tea was carrying round, and Mr. Weston, having said all that he wanted, soon took the opportunity of walking away.
After tea, Mr. and Mrs. Weston, and Mr. Elton sat down with Mr. Woodhouse to cards.
Mr. John Knightley proved more talkative than his brother.
He was to leave them early the next day; and he soon began with --
" Well, Emma, I do not believe I have any thing more to say about the boys; but you have your sister's letter, and every thing is down at full length there we may be sure.
My charge would be much more concise than her's, and probably not much in the same spirit; all that I have to recommend being comprised in, do not spoil them, and do not physic them."
" I rather hope to satisfy you both," said Emma, " for I shall do all in my power to make them happy, which will be enough for Isabella; and happiness must preclude false indulgence and physic."
" And if you find them troublesome, you must send them home again."
" That is very likely.
You think so, do not you?"
" I hope I am aware that they may be too noisy for your father--or even may be some encumbrance to you, if your visiting engagements continue to increase as much as they have done lately."
" Increase!"
" Certainly; you must be sensible that the last half - year has made a great difference in your way of life."
" Difference!
No indeed I am not."
" There can be no doubt of your being much more engaged with company than you used to be.
Witness this very time.
Here am I come down for only one day, and you are engaged with a dinner - party!-- When did it happen before, or any thing like it?
Your neighbourhood is increasing, and you mix more with it.
A little while ago, every letter to Isabella brought an account of fresh gaieties; dinners at Mr. Cole's, or balls at the Crown.
The difference which Randalls, Randalls alone makes in your goings - on, is very great."
" Yes," said his brother quickly, " it is Randalls that does it all."
" Very well--and as Randalls, I suppose, is not likely to have less influence than heretofore, it strikes me as a possible thing, Emma, that Henry and John may be sometimes in the way.
And if they are, I only beg you to send them home."
" No," cried Mr. Knightley, " that need not be the consequence.
Let them be sent to Donwell.
I shall certainly be at leisure."
" Upon my word," exclaimed Emma, " you amuse me!
I should like to know how many of all my numerous engagements take place without your being of the party; and why I am to be supposed in danger of wanting leisure to attend to the little boys.
These amazing engagements of mine--what have they been?
Dining once with the Coles--and having a ball talked of, which never took place.
I can understand you --(nodding at Mr. John Knightley)-- your good fortune in meeting with so many of your friends at once here, delights you too much to pass unnoticed.
But you, (turning to Mr. Knightley,) who know how very, very seldom I am ever two hours from Hartfield, why you should foresee such a series of dissipation for me, I cannot imagine.
Mr. Knightley seemed to be trying not to smile; and succeeded without difficulty, upon Mrs. Elton's beginning to talk to him.
VOLUME III
CHAPTER I
A very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma as to the nature of her agitation on hearing this news of Frank Churchill.
She was soon convinced that it was not for herself she was feeling at all apprehensive or embarrassed; it was for him.
If a separation of two months should not have cooled him, there were dangers and evils before her:-- caution for him and for herself would be necessary.
She did not mean to have her own affections entangled again, and it would be incumbent on her to avoid any encouragement of his.
She wished she might be able to keep him from an absolute declaration.
That would be so very painful a conclusion of their present acquaintance!
and yet, she could not help rather anticipating something decisive.
She felt as if the spring would not pass without bringing a crisis, an event, a something to alter her present composed and tranquil state.
It was not very long, though rather longer than Mr. Weston had foreseen, before she had the power of forming some opinion of Frank Churchill's feelings.
The Enscombe family were not in town quite so soon as had been imagined, but he was at Highbury very soon afterwards.
He rode down for a couple of hours; he could not yet do more; but as he came from Randalls immediately to Hartfield, she could then exercise all her quick observation, and speedily determine how he was influenced, and how she must act.
They met with the utmost friendliness.
There could be no doubt of his great pleasure in seeing her.
But she had an almost instant doubt of his caring for her as he had done, of his feeling the same tenderness in the same degree.
She watched him well.
It was a clear thing he was less in love than he had been.
Absence, with the conviction probably of her indifference, had produced this very natural and very desirable effect.
He was in high spirits; as ready to talk and laugh as ever, and seemed delighted to speak of his former visit, and recur to old stories: and he was not without agitation.
It was not in his calmness that she read his comparative difference.
He was not calm; his spirits were evidently fluttered; there was restlessness about him.
Lively as he was, it seemed a liveliness that did not satisfy himself; but what decided her belief on the subject, was his staying only a quarter of an hour, and hurrying away to make other calls in Highbury.
This was the only visit from Frank Churchill in the course of ten days.
He was often hoping, intending to come--but was always prevented.
His aunt could not bear to have him leave her.
Such was his own account at Randall's.
If he were quite sincere, if he really tried to come, it was to be inferred that Mrs. Churchill's removal to London had been of no service to the wilful or nervous part of her disorder.
That she was really ill was very certain; he had declared himself convinced of it, at Randalls.
Though much might be fancy, he could not doubt, when he looked back, that she was in a weaker state of health than she had been half a year ago.
It soon appeared that London was not the place for her.
She could not endure its noise.
Her nerves were under continual irritation and suffering; and by the ten days'end, her nephew's letter to Randalls communicated a change of plan.
They were going to remove immediately to Richmond.
Mrs. Churchill had been recommended to the medical skill of an eminent person there, and had otherwise a fancy for the place.
A ready - furnished house in a favourite spot was engaged, and much benefit expected from the change.
Emma heard that Frank wrote in the highest spirits of this arrangement, and seemed most fully to appreciate the blessing of having two months before him of such near neighbourhood to many dear friends--for the house was taken for May and June.
She was told that now he wrote with the greatest confidence of being often with them, almost as often as he could even wish.
Emma saw how Mr. Weston understood these joyous prospects.
He was considering her as the source of all the happiness they offered.
She hoped it was not so.
Two months must bring it to the proof.
Mr. Weston's own happiness was indisputable.
He was quite delighted.
It was the very circumstance he could have wished for.
Now, it would be really having Frank in their neighbourhood.
What were nine miles to a young man?-- An hour's ride.
He would be always coming over.
The difference in that respect of Richmond and London was enough to make the whole difference of seeing him always and seeing him never.
Sixteen miles--nay, eighteen--it must be full eighteen to Manchester - street--was a serious obstacle.
Were he ever able to get away, the day would be spent in coming and returning.
There was no comfort in having him in London; he might as well be at Enscombe; but Richmond was the very distance for easy intercourse.
Better than nearer!
One good thing was immediately brought to a certainty by this removal,-- the ball at the Crown.
It had not been forgotten before, but it had been soon acknowledged vain to attempt to fix a day.
Mr. Weston's ball was to be a real thing.
A very few to - morrows stood between the young people of Highbury and happiness.
Mr. Woodhouse was resigned.
The time of year lightened the evil to him.
May was better for every thing than February.
Mrs. Bates was engaged to spend the evening at Hartfield, James had due notice, and he sanguinely hoped that neither dear little Henry nor dear little John would have any thing the matter with them, while dear Emma were gone.
CHAPTER II
No misfortune occurred, again to prevent the ball.
The day approached, the day arrived; and after a morning of some anxious watching, Frank Churchill, in all the certainty of his own self, reached Randalls before dinner, and every thing was safe.
No second meeting had there yet been between him and Emma.
The room at the Crown was to witness it;-- but it would be better than a common meeting in a crowd.
She was to convey Harriet, and they drove to the Crown in good time, the Randalls party just sufficiently before them.
Frank Churchill seemed to have been on the watch; and though he did not say much, his eyes declared that he meant to have a delightful evening.
They all walked about together, to see that every thing was as it should be; and within a few minutes were joined by the contents of another carriage, which Emma could not hear the sound of at first, without great surprize.
" So unreasonably early!"
Emma perceived that her taste was not the only taste on which Mr. Weston depended, and felt, that to be the favourite and intimate of a man who had so many intimates and confidantes, was not the very first distinction in the scale of vanity.
She liked his open manners, but a little less of open - heartedness would have made him a higher character.-- General benevolence, but not general friendship, made a man what he ought to be.-- She could fancy such a man.
Emma found that it was not Mr. Weston's fault that the number of privy councillors was not yet larger.
They had stopped at Mrs. Bates's door to offer the use of their carriage, but the aunt and niece were to be brought by the Eltons.
Frank was standing by her, but not steadily; there was a restlessness, which shewed a mind not at ease.
He was looking about, he was going to the door, he was watching for the sound of other carriages,-- impatient to begin, or afraid of being always near her.
Mrs. Elton was spoken of.
" I think she must be here soon," said he.
" I have a great curiosity to see Mrs. Elton, I have heard so much of her.
It cannot be long, I think, before she comes."
A carriage was heard.
He was on the move immediately; but coming back, said,
" I am forgetting that I am not acquainted with her.
I have never seen either Mr. or Mrs. Elton.
I have no business to put myself forward."
Mr. and Mrs. Elton appeared; and all the smiles and the proprieties passed.
" But Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax!"
said Mr. Weston, looking about.
" We thought you were to bring them."
The mistake had been slight.
The carriage was sent for them now.
Emma longed to know what Frank's first opinion of Mrs. Elton might be; how he was affected by the studied elegance of her dress, and her smiles of graciousness.
He was immediately qualifying himself to form an opinion, by giving her very proper attention, after the introduction had passed.
In a few minutes the carriage returned.-- Somebody talked of rain.-- " I will see that there are umbrellas, sir," said Frank to his father: " Miss Bates must not be forgotten:" and away he went.
Mr. Weston was following; but Mrs. Elton detained him, to gratify him by her opinion of his son; and so briskly did she begin, that the young man himself, though by no means moving slowly, could hardly be out of hearing.
" A very fine young man indeed, Mr. Weston.
You know I candidly told you I should form my own opinion; and I am happy to say that I am extremely pleased with him.-- You may believe me.
I never compliment.
I think him a very handsome young man, and his manners are precisely what I like and approve--so truly the gentleman, without the least conceit or puppyism.
You must know I have a vast dislike to puppies--quite a horror of them.
They were never tolerated at Maple Grove.
Neither Mr. Suckling nor me had ever any patience with them; and we used sometimes to say very cutting things!
Selina, who is mild almost to a fault, bore with them much better."
While she talked of his son, Mr. Weston's attention was chained; but when she got to Maple Grove, he could recollect that there were ladies just arriving to be attended to, and with happy smiles must hurry away.
Mrs. Elton turned to Mrs. Weston.
" I have no doubt of its being our carriage with Miss Bates and Jane.
Our coachman and horses are so extremely expeditious!-- I believe we drive faster than any body.-- What a pleasure it is to send one's carriage for a friend!-- I understand you were so kind as to offer, but another time it will be quite unnecessary.
You may be very sure I shall always take care of _them_."
Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, escorted by the two gentlemen, walked into the room; and Mrs. Elton seemed to think it as much her duty as Mrs. Weston's to receive them.
As the door opened she was heard,
" So very obliging of you!-- No rain at all.
Nothing to signify.
I do not care for myself.
Quite thick shoes.
And Jane declares--Well!--(as soon as she was within the door) Well!
This is brilliant indeed!-- This is admirable!-- Excellently contrived, upon my word.
Nothing wanting.
Could not have imagined it.-- So well lighted up!-- Jane, Jane, look!-- did you ever see any thing?
Oh!
Mr. Weston, you must really have had Aladdin's lamp.
Good Mrs. Stokes would not know her own room again.
I saw her as I came in; she was standing in the entrance.
'Oh!
Mrs. Stokes,' said I--but I had not time for more."
She was now met by Mrs.
Weston.-- " Very well, I thank you, ma'am.
I hope you are quite well.
Very happy to hear it.
So afraid you might have a headache!-- seeing you pass by so often, and knowing how much trouble you must have.
Delighted to hear it indeed.
Ah!
dear Mrs. Elton, so obliged to you for the carriage!-- excellent time.
Jane and I quite ready.
Did not keep the horses a moment.
Most comfortable carriage.-- Oh!
and I am sure our thanks are due to you, Mrs. Weston, on that score.
Mrs. Elton had most kindly sent Jane a note, or we should have been.-- But two such offers in one day!-- Never were such neighbours.
I said to my mother, 'Upon my word, ma'am --.'
Thank you, my mother is remarkably well.
Gone to Mr. Woodhouse's.
I made her take her shawl--for the evenings are not warm--her large new shawl--Mrs. Dixon's wedding - present.-- So kind of her to think of my mother!
Bought at Weymouth, you know--Mr. Dixon's choice.
There were three others, Jane says, which they hesitated about some time.
Colonel Campbell rather preferred an olive.
My dear Jane, are you sure you did not wet your feet?-- It was but a drop or two, but I am so afraid:-- but Mr. Frank Churchill was so extremely--and there was a mat to step upon--I shall never forget his extreme politeness.-- Oh!
Mr. Frank Churchill, I must tell you my mother's spectacles have never been in fault since; the rivet never came out again.
My mother often talks of your good - nature.
Does not she, Jane?-- Do not we often talk of Mr. Frank Churchill?-- Ah!
here's Miss Woodhouse.-- Dear Miss Woodhouse, how do you do?-- Very well I thank you, quite well.
This is meeting quite in fairy - land!-- Such a transformation!-- Must not compliment, I know (eyeing Emma most complacently)-- that would be rude--but upon my word, Miss Woodhouse, you do look--how do you like Jane's hair?-- You are a judge.-- She did it all herself.
Quite wonderful how she does her hair!-- No hairdresser from London I think could.-- Ah!
Dr. Hughes I declare--and Mrs. Hughes.
Must go and speak to Dr. and Mrs. Hughes for a moment.-- How do you do?
How do you do?-- Very well, I thank you.
This is delightful, is not it?-- Where's dear Mr.
Richard?-- Oh!
there he is.
Don't disturb him.
Much better employed talking to the young ladies.
How do you do, Mr.
Richard?-- I saw you the other day as you rode through the town--Mrs. Otway, I protest!-- and good Mr. Otway, and Miss Otway and Miss Caroline.-- Such a host of friends!-- and Mr. George and Mr.
Arthur!-- How do you do?
How do you all do?-- Quite well, I am much obliged to you.
Never better.-- Don't I hear another carriage?-- Who can this be?-- very likely the worthy Coles.-- Upon my word, this is charming to be standing about among such friends!
And such a noble fire!-- I am quite roasted.
No coffee, I thank you, for me--never take coffee.-- A little tea if you please, sir, by and bye,-- no hurry--Oh!
here it comes.
Every thing so good!"
Frank Churchill returned to his station by Emma; and as soon as Miss Bates was quiet, she found herself necessarily overhearing the discourse of Mrs. Elton and Miss Fairfax, who were standing a little way behind her.-- He was thoughtful.
Whether he were overhearing too, she could not determine.
After a good many compliments to Jane on her dress and look, compliments very quietly and properly taken, Mrs. Elton was evidently wanting to be complimented herself--and it was, " How do you like my gown?-- How do you like my trimming?-- How has Wright done my hair?"
-- with many other relative questions, all answered with patient politeness.
And I see very few pearls in the room except mine.-- So Frank Churchill is a capital dancer, I understand.-- We shall see if our styles suit.-- A fine young man certainly is Frank Churchill.
I like him very well."
Elton had just joined them, and his wife was exclaiming,
" Oh!
you have found us out at last, have you, in our seclusion?-- I was this moment telling Jane, I thought you would begin to be impatient for tidings of us."
" Jane!"
-- repeated Frank Churchill, with a look of surprize and displeasure.-- " That is easy--but Miss Fairfax does not disapprove it, I suppose."
" How do you like Mrs.
Elton?"
said Emma in a whisper.
" Not at all."
" You are ungrateful."
" Ungrateful!-- What do you mean?"
Then changing from a frown to a smile --" No, do not tell me--I do not want to know what you mean.-- Where is my father?-- When are we to begin dancing?"
Emma could hardly understand him; he seemed in an odd humour.
He walked off to find his father, but was quickly back again with both Mr. and Mrs. Weston.
He had met with them in a little perplexity, which must be laid before Emma.
It had just occurred to Mrs. Weston that Mrs. Elton must be asked to begin the ball; that she would expect it; which interfered with all their wishes of giving Emma that distinction.-- Emma heard the sad truth with fortitude.
" And what are we to do for a proper partner for her?"
said Mr. Weston.
" She will think Frank ought to ask her."
Emma must submit to stand second to Mrs. Elton, though she had always considered the ball as peculiarly for her.
It was almost enough to make her think of marrying.
Mrs. Elton had undoubtedly the advantage, at this time, in vanity completely gratified; for though she had intended to begin with Frank Churchill, she could not lose by the change.
She wished he could love a ballroom better, and could like Frank Churchill better.-- He seemed often observing her.
She must not flatter herself that he thought of her dancing, but if he were criticising her behaviour, she did not feel afraid.
There was nothing like flirtation between her and her partner.
They seemed more like cheerful, easy friends, than lovers.
That Frank Churchill thought less of her than he had done, was indubitable.
The ball proceeded pleasantly.
The anxious cares, the incessant attentions of Mrs. Weston, were not thrown away.
Every body seemed happy; and the praise of being a delightful ball, which is seldom bestowed till after a ball has ceased to be, was repeatedly given in the very beginning of the existence of this.
Of very important, very recordable events, it was not more productive than such meetings usually are.
He would not ask Harriet to dance if it were possible to be avoided: she was sure he would not--and she was expecting him every moment to escape into the card - room.
Escape, however, was not his plan.
He came to the part of the room where the sitters - by were collected, spoke to some, and walked about in front of them, as if to shew his liberty, and his resolution of maintaining it.
He did not omit being sometimes directly before Miss Smith, or speaking to those who were close to her.-- Emma saw it.
She was not yet dancing; she was working her way up from the bottom, and had therefore leisure to look around, and by only turning her head a little she saw it all.
Elton?"
to which his prompt reply was, " Most readily, Mrs. Weston, if you will dance with me."
" Me!-- oh!
no--I would get you a better partner than myself.
I am no dancer."
Gilbert."
" Mrs. Gilbert does not mean to dance, but there is a young lady disengaged whom I should be very glad to see dancing--Miss Smith."
" Miss Smith!-- oh!-- I had not observed.-- You are extremely obliging--and if I were not an old married man.-- But my dancing days are over, Mrs. Weston.
You will excuse me.
Any thing else I should be most happy to do, at your command--but my dancing days are over."
Mrs. Weston said no more; and Emma could imagine with what surprize and mortification she must be returning to her seat.
This was Mr. Elton!
the amiable, obliging, gentle Mr.
Elton.-- She looked round for a moment; he had joined Mr. Knightley at a little distance, and was arranging himself for settled conversation, while smiles of high glee passed between him and his wife.
She would not look again.
Her heart was in a glow, and she feared her face might be as hot.
In another moment a happier sight caught her;-- Mr. Knightley leading Harriet to the set!-- Never had she been more surprized, seldom more delighted, than at that instant.
She was all pleasure and gratitude, both for Harriet and herself, and longed to be thanking him; and though too distant for speech, her countenance said much, as soon as she could catch his eye again.
It was not thrown away on her, she bounded higher than ever, flew farther down the middle, and was in a continual course of smiles.
Mr. Elton had retreated into the card - room, looking (Emma trusted) very foolish.
She did not think he was quite so hardened as his wife, though growing very like her;-- _she_ spoke some of her feelings, by observing audibly to her partner,
" Knightley has taken pity on poor little Miss Smith!-- Very goodnatured, I declare."
Supper was announced.
The move began; and Miss Bates might be heard from that moment, without interruption, till her being seated at table and taking up her spoon.
" Jane, Jane, my dear Jane, where are you?-- Here is your tippet.
Mrs. Weston begs you to put on your tippet.
She says she is afraid there will be draughts in the passage, though every thing has been done--One door nailed up--Quantities of matting--My dear Jane, indeed you must.
Mr. Churchill, oh!
you are too obliging!
How well you put it on!-- so gratified!
Excellent dancing indeed!-- Yes, my dear, I ran home, as I said I should, to help grandmama to bed, and got back again, and nobody missed me.-- I set off without saying a word, just as I told you.
'Oh!'
said I, 'I shall not forestall Jane; I left her dancing with Mr. George Otway; she will love to tell you all about it herself to - morrow: her first partner was Mr. Elton, I do not know who will ask her next, perhaps Mr. William Cox.'
My dear sir, you are too obliging.-- Is there nobody you would not rather?-- I am not helpless.
Sir, you are most kind.
Upon my word, Jane on one arm, and me on the other!-- Stop, stop, let us stand a little back, Mrs. Elton is going; dear Mrs. Elton, how elegant she looks!-- Beautiful lace!-- Now we all follow in her train.
Quite the queen of the evening!-- Well, here we are at the passage.
Two steps, Jane, take care of the two steps.
Oh!
no, there is but one.
Well, I was persuaded there were two.
How very odd!
I was convinced there were two, and there is but one.
I am all amazement!
could not have supposed any thing!-- Such elegance and profusion!-- I have seen nothing like it since--Well, where shall we sit?
where shall we sit?
Anywhere, so that Jane is not in a draught.
Where _I_ sit is of no consequence.
Oh!
do you recommend this side?-- Well, I am sure, Mr. Churchill--only it seems too good--but just as you please.
What you direct in this house cannot be wrong.
Dear Jane, how shall we ever recollect half the dishes for grandmama?
Soup too!
Bless me!
I should not be helped so soon, but it smells most excellent, and I cannot help beginning."
Emma had no opportunity of speaking to Mr. Knightley till after supper; but, when they were all in the ballroom again, her eyes invited him irresistibly to come to her and be thanked.
He was warm in his reprobation of Mr. Elton's conduct; it had been unpardonable rudeness; and Mrs. Elton's looks also received the due share of censure.
" They aimed at wounding more than Harriet," said he.
" Emma, why is it that they are your enemies?"
He looked with smiling penetration; and, on receiving no answer, added, " _She_ ought not to be angry with you, I suspect, whatever he may be.-- To that surmise, you say nothing, of course; but confess, Emma, that you did want him to marry Harriet."
" I did," replied Emma, " and they cannot forgive me."
He shook his head; but there was a smile of indulgence with it, and he only said,
" I shall not scold you.
I leave you to your own reflections."
" Can you trust me with such flatterers?-- Does my vain spirit ever tell me I am wrong?"
" Not your vain spirit, but your serious spirit.-- If one leads you wrong, I am sure the other tells you of it."
" I do own myself to have been completely mistaken in Mr. Elton.
There is a littleness about him which you discovered, and which I did not: and I was fully convinced of his being in love with Harriet.
It was through a series of strange blunders!"
" And, in return for your acknowledging so much, I will do you the justice to say, that you would have chosen for him better than he has chosen for himself.-- Harriet Smith has some first - rate qualities, which Mrs. Elton is totally without.
An unpretending, single - minded, artless girl--infinitely to be preferred by any man of sense and taste to such a woman as Mrs. Elton.
I found Harriet more conversable than I expected."
Emma was extremely gratified.-- They were interrupted by the bustle of Mr. Weston calling on every body to begin dancing again.
" Come Miss Woodhouse, Miss Otway, Miss Fairfax, what are you all doing?-- Come Emma, set your companions the example.
Every body is lazy!
Every body is asleep!"
" I am ready," said Emma, " whenever I am wanted."
" Whom are you going to dance with?"
asked Mr. Knightley.
She hesitated a moment, and then replied, " With you, if you will ask me."
" Will you?"
said he, offering his hand.
" Indeed I will.
You have shewn that you can dance, and you know we are not really so much brother and sister as to make it at all improper."
" Brother and sister!
no, indeed."
CHAPTER III
This little explanation with Mr. Knightley gave Emma considerable pleasure.
It seemed as if her eyes were suddenly opened, and she were enabled to see that Mr. Elton was not the superior creature she had believed him.
The fever was over, and Emma could harbour little fear of the pulse being quickened again by injurious courtesy.
She was not to see Frank Churchill this morning.
He had told her that he could not allow himself the pleasure of stopping at Hartfield, as he was to be at home by the middle of the day.
She did not regret it.
Harriet looked white and frightened, and he was trying to cheer her.-- The iron gates and the front - door were not twenty yards asunder;-- they were all three soon in the hall, and Harriet immediately sinking into a chair fainted away.
A young lady who faints, must be recovered; questions must be answered, and surprizes be explained.
Such events are very interesting, but the suspense of them cannot last long.
A few minutes made Emma acquainted with the whole.
A child on the watch, came towards them to beg; and Miss Bickerton, excessively frightened, gave a great scream, and calling on Harriet to follow her, ran up a steep bank, cleared a slight hedge at the top, and made the best of her way by a short cut back to Highbury.
But poor Harriet could not follow.
She had suffered very much from cramp after dancing, and her first attempt to mount the bank brought on such a return of it as made her absolutely powerless--and in this state, and exceedingly terrified, she had been obliged to remain.
In this state Frank Churchill had found her, she trembling and conditioning, they loud and insolent.
By a most fortunate chance his leaving Highbury had been delayed so as to bring him to her assistance at this critical moment.
The terror which the woman and boy had been creating in Harriet was then their own portion.
He had left them completely frightened; and Harriet eagerly clinging to him, and hardly able to speak, had just strength enough to reach Hartfield, before her spirits were quite overcome.
It was his idea to bring her to Hartfield: he had thought of no other place.
Such an adventure as this,-- a fine young man and a lovely young woman thrown together in such a way, could hardly fail of suggesting certain ideas to the coldest heart and the steadiest brain.
So Emma thought, at least.
It was a very extraordinary thing!
He was wishing to get the better of his attachment to herself, she just recovering from her mania for Mr. Elton.
It seemed as if every thing united to promise the most interesting consequences.
It was not possible that the occurrence should not be strongly recommending each to the other.
Every thing was to take its natural course, however, neither impelled nor assisted.
She would not stir a step, nor drop a hint.
No, she had had enough of interference.
There could be no harm in a scheme, a mere passive scheme.
It was no more than a wish.
Beyond it she would on no account proceed.
Emma's first resolution was to keep her father from the knowledge of what had passed,-- aware of the anxiety and alarm it would occasion: but she soon felt that concealment must be impossible.
Within half an hour it was known all over Highbury.
It was the very event to engage those who talk most, the young and the low; and all the youth and servants in the place were soon in the happiness of frightful news.
The last night's ball seemed lost in the gipsies.
Poor Mr. Woodhouse trembled as he sat, and, as Emma had foreseen, would scarcely be satisfied without their promising never to go beyond the shrubbery again.
She had an unhappy state of health in general for the child of such a man, for she hardly knew what indisposition was; and if he did not invent illnesses for her, she could make no figure in a message.
The gipsies did not wait for the operations of justice; they took themselves off in a hurry.
CHAPTER IV
A very few days had passed after this adventure, when Harriet came one morning to Emma with a small parcel in her hand, and after sitting down and hesitating, thus began:
" Miss Woodhouse--if you are at leisure--I have something that I should like to tell you--a sort of confession to make--and then, you know, it will be over."
Emma was a good deal surprized; but begged her to speak.
There was a seriousness in Harriet's manner which prepared her, quite as much as her words, for something more than ordinary.
" It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish," she continued, " to have no reserves with you on this subject.
As I am happily quite an altered creature in _one_ _respect_, it is very fit that you should have the satisfaction of knowing it.
I do not want to say more than is necessary--I am too much ashamed of having given way as I have done, and I dare say you understand me."
" Yes," said Emma, " I hope I do."
" How I could so long a time be fancying myself!
cried Harriet, warmly.
" It seems like madness!
Cannot you guess what this parcel holds?"
said she, with a conscious look.
" Not the least in the world.-- Did he ever give you any thing?"
" No--I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that I have valued very much."
She held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the words _Most_ _precious_ _treasures_ on the top.
Her curiosity was greatly excited.
Harriet unfolded the parcel, and she looked on with impatience.
Within abundance of silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge - ware box, which Harriet opened: it was well lined with the softest cotton; but, excepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of court - plaister.
" Now," said Harriet, " you _must_ recollect."
" No, indeed I do not."
" Dear me!
And so then, in my nonsense, I could not help making a treasure of it--so I put it by never to be used, and looked at it now and then as a great treat."
" My dearest Harriet!"
cried Emma, putting her hand before her face, and jumping up, " you make me more ashamed of myself than I can bear.
Remember it?
Aye, I remember it all now; all, except your saving this relic--I knew nothing of that till this moment--but the cutting the finger, and my recommending court - plaister, and saying I had none about me!-- Oh!
my sins, my sins!-- And I had plenty all the while in my pocket!-- One of my senseless tricks!-- I deserve to be under a continual blush all the rest of my life.-- Well --(sitting down again)-- go on--what else?"
" And had you really some at hand yourself?
I am sure I never suspected it, you did it so naturally."
" And so you actually put this piece of court - plaister by for his sake!"
said Emma, recovering from her state of shame and feeling divided between wonder and amusement.
And secretly she added to herself, " Lord bless me!
when should I ever have thought of putting by in cotton a piece of court - plaister that Frank Churchill had been pulling about!
I never was equal to this."
" Here," resumed Harriet, turning to her box again, " here is something still more valuable, I mean that _has_ _been_ more valuable, because this is what did really once belong to him, which the court - plaister never did."
Emma was quite eager to see this superior treasure.
It was the end of an old pencil,-- the part without any lead.
" This was really his," said Harriet.--" Do not you remember one morning?-- no, I dare say you do not.
But one morning--I forget exactly the day--but perhaps it was the Tuesday or Wednesday before _that_ _evening_, he wanted to make a memorandum in his pocket - book; it was about spruce - beer.
But I kept my eye on it; and, as soon as I dared, caught it up, and never parted with it again from that moment."
" I do remember it," cried Emma; " I perfectly remember it.-- Talking about spruce - beer.-- Oh!
yes--Mr. Knightley and I both saying we liked it, and Mr. Elton's seeming resolved to learn to like it too.
I perfectly remember it.-- Stop; Mr. Knightley was standing just here, was not he?
I have an idea he was standing just here."
" Ah!
I do not know.
I cannot recollect.-- It is very odd, but I cannot recollect.-- Mr.
Elton was sitting here, I remember, much about where I am now."
" Well, go on."
" Oh!
that's all.
I have nothing more to shew you, or to say--except that I am now going to throw them both behind the fire, and I wish you to see me do it."
" My poor dear Harriet!
and have you actually found happiness in treasuring up these things?"
" Yes, simpleton as I was!-- but I am quite ashamed of it now, and wish I could forget as easily as I can burn them.
It was very wrong of me, you know, to keep any remembrances, after he was married.
I knew it was--but had not resolution enough to part with them."
" But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court - plaister?-- I have not a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the court - plaister might be useful."
" I shall be happier to burn it," replied Harriet.
" It has a disagreeable look to me.
I must get rid of every thing.-- There it goes, and there is an end, thank Heaven!
of Mr.
Elton."
" And when," thought Emma, " will there be a beginning of Mr.
Churchill?"
Emma was not thinking of it at the moment, which made the information she received more valuable.
She merely said, in the course of some trivial chat, " Well, Harriet, whenever you marry I would advise you to do so and so "-- and thought no more of it, till after a minute's silence she heard Harriet say in a very serious tone, " I shall never marry."
Emma then looked up, and immediately saw how it was; and after a moment's debate, as to whether it should pass unnoticed or not, replied,
" Never marry!-- This is a new resolution."
" It is one that I shall never change, however."
After another short hesitation, " I hope it does not proceed from--I hope it is not in compliment to Mr.
Elton?"
" Mr. Elton indeed!"
cried Harriet indignantly.--" Oh!
no "-- and Emma could just catch the words, " so superior to Mr.
Elton!"
She then took a longer time for consideration.
Plain dealing was always best.
She had previously determined how far she would proceed, on any application of the sort; and it would be safer for both, to have the judicious law of her own brain laid down with speed.-- She was decided, and thus spoke --
" Harriet, I will not affect to be in doubt of your meaning.
Your resolution, or rather your expectation of never marrying, results from an idea that the person whom you might prefer, would be too greatly your superior in situation to think of you.
Is not it so?"
" Oh!
" I am not at all surprized at you, Harriet.
The service he rendered you was enough to warm your heart."
" Service!
oh!
it was such an inexpressible obligation!-- The very recollection of it, and all that I felt at the time--when I saw him coming--his noble look--and my wretchedness before.
Such a change!
In one moment such a change!
From perfect misery to perfect happiness!"
" It is very natural.
It is natural, and it is honourable.-- Yes, honourable, I think, to chuse so well and so gratefully.-- But that it will be a fortunate preference is more that I can promise.
I do not advise you to give way to it, Harriet.
I do not by any means engage for its being returned.
Consider what you are about.
Perhaps it will be wisest in you to check your feelings while you can: at any rate do not let them carry you far, unless you are persuaded of his liking you.
Be observant of him.
Let his behaviour be the guide of your sensations.
I give you this caution now, because I shall never speak to you again on the subject.
I am determined against all interference.
Henceforward I know nothing of the matter.
Let no name ever pass our lips.
We were very wrong before; we will be cautious now.-- He is your superior, no doubt, and there do seem objections and obstacles of a very serious nature; but yet, Harriet, more wonderful things have taken place, there have been matches of greater disparity.
But take care of yourself.
I would not have you too sanguine; though, however it may end, be assured your raising your thoughts to _him_, is a mark of good taste which I shall always know how to value."
Harriet kissed her hand in silent and submissive gratitude.
Emma was very decided in thinking such an attachment no bad thing for her friend.
Its tendency would be to raise and refine her mind--and it must be saving her from the danger of degradation.
CHAPTER V
In this state of schemes, and hopes, and connivance, June opened upon Hartfield.
To Highbury in general it brought no material change.
Mr. Knightley, who, for some reason best known to himself, had certainly taken an early dislike to Frank Churchill, was only growing to dislike him more.
He began to suspect him of some double dealing in his pursuit of Emma.
That Emma was his object appeared indisputable.
Every thing declared it; his own attentions, his father's hints, his mother - in - law's guarded silence; it was all in unison; words, conduct, discretion, and indiscretion, told the same story.
But while so many were devoting him to Emma, and Emma herself making him over to Harriet, Mr. Knightley began to suspect him of some inclination to trifle with Jane Fairfax.
_She_ was not present when the suspicion first arose.
He was dining with the Randalls family, and Jane, at the Eltons '; and he had seen a look, more than a single look, at Miss Fairfax, which, from the admirer of Miss Woodhouse, seemed somewhat out of place.
When he was again in their company, he could not help remembering what he had seen; nor could he avoid observations which, unless it were like Cowper and his fire at twilight,
" Myself creating what I saw,"
brought him yet stronger suspicion of there being a something of private liking, of private understanding even, between Frank Churchill and Jane.
He had walked up one day after dinner, as he very often did, to spend his evening at Hartfield.
They all united; and, on reaching Hartfield gates, Emma, who knew it was exactly the sort of visiting that would be welcome to her father, pressed them all to go in and drink tea with him.
The Randalls party agreed to it immediately; and after a pretty long speech from Miss Bates, which few persons listened to, she also found it possible to accept dear Miss Woodhouse's most obliging invitation.
As they were turning into the grounds, Mr. Perry passed by on horseback.
The gentlemen spoke of his horse.
" By the bye," said Frank Churchill to Mrs. Weston presently, " what became of Mr. Perry's plan of setting up his carriage?"
Mrs. Weston looked surprized, and said, " I did not know that he ever had any such plan."
" Nay, I had it from you.
You wrote me word of it three months ago."
" Me!
impossible!"
" Indeed you did.
I remember it perfectly.
You mentioned it as what was certainly to be very soon.
Mrs. Perry had told somebody, and was extremely happy about it.
It was owing to _her_ persuasion, as she thought his being out in bad weather did him a great deal of harm.
You must remember it now?"
" Upon my word I never heard of it till this moment."
" Never!
really, never!-- Bless me!
how could it be?-- Then I must have dreamt it--but I was completely persuaded--Miss Smith, you walk as if you were tired.
You will not be sorry to find yourself at home."
" What is this?-- What is this?"
cried Mr. Weston, " about Perry and a carriage?
Is Perry going to set up his carriage, Frank?
I am glad he can afford it.
You had it from himself, had you?"
I am a great dreamer.
I dream of every body at Highbury when I am away--and when I have gone through my particular friends, then I begin dreaming of Mr. and Mrs.
Perry."
" It is odd though," observed his father, " that you should have had such a regular connected dream about people whom it was not very likely you should be thinking of at Enscombe.
Perry's setting up his carriage!
and his wife's persuading him to it, out of care for his health--just what will happen, I have no doubt, some time or other; only a little premature.
What an air of probability sometimes runs through a dream!
And at others, what a heap of absurdities it is!
Well, Frank, your dream certainly shews that Highbury is in your thoughts when you are absent.
Emma, you are a great dreamer, I think?"
Emma was out of hearing.
She had hurried on before her guests to prepare her father for their appearance, and was beyond the reach of Mr. Weston's hint.
Mrs. Perry was very anxious that he should have a carriage, and came to my mother in great spirits one morning because she thought she had prevailed.
Jane, don't you remember grandmama's telling us of it when we got home?
I forget where we had been walking to--very likely to Randalls; yes, I think it was to Randalls.
At the same time, I will not positively answer for my having never dropt a hint, because I know I do sometimes pop out a thing before I am aware.
I am a talker, you know; I am rather a talker; and now and then I have let a thing escape me which I should not.
I am not like Jane; I wish I were.
I will answer for it _she_ never betrayed the least thing in the world.
Where is she?-- Oh!
just behind.
Perfectly remember Mrs. Perry's coming.-- Extraordinary dream, indeed!"
They were entering the hall.
Mr. Knightley's eyes had preceded Miss Bates's in a glance at Jane.
From Frank Churchill's face, where he thought he saw confusion suppressed or laughed away, he had involuntarily turned to hers; but she was indeed behind, and too busy with her shawl.
Mr. Weston had walked in.
The two other gentlemen waited at the door to let her pass.
Mr. Knightley suspected in Frank Churchill the determination of catching her eye--he seemed watching her intently--in vain, however, if it were so--Jane passed between them into the hall, and looked at neither.
There was no time for farther remark or explanation.
Tea passed pleasantly, and nobody seemed in a hurry to move.
" Miss Woodhouse," said Frank Churchill, after examining a table behind him, which he could reach as he sat, " have your nephews taken away their alphabets--their box of letters?
It used to stand here.
Where is it?
This is a sort of dull - looking evening, that ought to be treated rather as winter than summer.
We had great amusement with those letters one morning.
I want to puzzle you again."
Emma was pleased with the thought; and producing the box, the table was quickly scattered over with alphabets, which no one seemed so much disposed to employ as their two selves.
They were rapidly forming words for each other, or for any body else who would be puzzled.
Frank Churchill placed a word before Miss Fairfax.
She gave a slight glance round the table, and applied herself to it.
Frank was next to Emma, Jane opposite to them--and Mr. Knightley so placed as to see them all; and it was his object to see as much as he could, with as little apparent observation.
The word was discovered, and with a faint smile pushed away.
If meant to be immediately mixed with the others, and buried from sight, she should have looked on the table instead of looking just across, for it was not mixed; and Harriet, eager after every fresh word, and finding out none, directly took it up, and fell to work.
She was sitting by Mr. Knightley, and turned to him for help.
The word was _blunder_; and as Harriet exultingly proclaimed it, there was a blush on Jane's cheek which gave it a meaning not otherwise ostensible.
Mr. Knightley connected it with the dream; but how it could all be, was beyond his comprehension.
How the delicacy, the discretion of his favourite could have been so lain asleep!
He feared there must be some decided involvement.
Disingenuousness and double dealing seemed to meet him at every turn.
These letters were but the vehicle for gallantry and trick.
It was a child's play, chosen to conceal a deeper game on Frank Churchill's part.
With great indignation did he continue to observe him; with great alarm and distrust, to observe also his two blinded companions.
He saw a short word prepared for Emma, and given to her with a look sly and demure.
He saw that Emma had soon made it out, and found it highly entertaining, though it was something which she judged it proper to appear to censure; for she said, " Nonsense!
for shame!"
He heard Frank Churchill next say, with a glance towards Jane, " I will give it to her--shall I?"
-- and as clearly heard Emma opposing it with eager laughing warmth.
" No, no, you must not; you shall not, indeed."
It was done however.
This gallant young man, who seemed to love without feeling, and to recommend himself without complaisance, directly handed over the word to Miss Fairfax, and with a particular degree of sedate civility entreated her to study it.
Mr. Knightley's excessive curiosity to know what this word might be, made him seize every possible moment for darting his eye towards it, and it was not long before he saw it to be _Dixon_.
Jane Fairfax's perception seemed to accompany his; her comprehension was certainly more equal to the covert meaning, the superior intelligence, of those five letters so arranged.
Her face was averted from those who had made the attack, and turned towards her aunt.
" Aye, very true, my dear," cried the latter, though Jane had not spoken a word --" I was just going to say the same thing.
It is time for us to be going indeed.
The evening is closing in, and grandmama will be looking for us.
My dear sir, you are too obliging.
We really must wish you good night."
Jane's alertness in moving, proved her as ready as her aunt had preconceived.
She was immediately up, and wanting to quit the table; but so many were also moving, that she could not get away; and Mr. Knightley thought he saw another collection of letters anxiously pushed towards her, and resolutely swept away by her unexamined.
She was afterwards looking for her shawl--Frank Churchill was looking also--it was growing dusk, and the room was in confusion; and how they parted, Mr. Knightley could not tell.
He remained at Hartfield after all the rest, his thoughts full of what he had seen; so full, that when the candles came to assist his observations, he must--yes, he certainly must, as a friend--an anxious friend--give Emma some hint, ask her some question.
He could not see her in a situation of such danger, without trying to preserve her.
It was his duty.
" Pray, Emma," said he, " may I ask in what lay the great amusement, the poignant sting of the last word given to you and Miss Fairfax?
I saw the word, and am curious to know how it could be so very entertaining to the one, and so very distressing to the other."
Emma was extremely confused.
She could not endure to give him the true explanation; for though her suspicions were by no means removed, she was really ashamed of having ever imparted them.
" Oh!"
she cried in evident embarrassment, " it all meant nothing; a mere joke among ourselves."
" The joke," he replied gravely, " seemed confined to you and Mr.
Churchill."
He had hoped she would speak again, but she did not.
She would rather busy herself about any thing than speak.
He sat a little while in doubt.
A variety of evils crossed his mind.
Interference--fruitless interference.
Emma's confusion, and the acknowledged intimacy, seemed to declare her affection engaged.
Yet he would speak.
He owed it to her, to risk any thing that might be involved in an unwelcome interference, rather than her welfare; to encounter any thing, rather than the remembrance of neglect in such a cause.
" My dear Emma," said he at last, with earnest kindness, " do you think you perfectly understand the degree of acquaintance between the gentleman and lady we have been speaking of?"
" Between Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax?
Oh!
yes, perfectly.-- Why do you make a doubt of it?"
" Have you never at any time had reason to think that he admired her, or that she admired him?"
" Never, never!"
she cried with a most open eagerness --" Never, for the twentieth part of a moment, did such an idea occur to me.
And how could it possibly come into your head?"
" I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of attachment between them--certain expressive looks, which I did not believe meant to be public."
" Oh!
you amuse me excessively.
I am delighted to find that you can vouchsafe to let your imagination wander--but it will not do--very sorry to check you in your first essay--but indeed it will not do.
That is, I _presume_ it to be so on her side, and I can _answer_ for its being so on his.
I will answer for the gentleman's indifference."
She spoke with a confidence which staggered, with a satisfaction which silenced, Mr. Knightley.
She was in gay spirits, and would have prolonged the conversation, wanting to hear the particulars of his suspicions, every look described, and all the wheres and hows of a circumstance which highly entertained her: but his gaiety did not meet hers.
He found he could not be useful, and his feelings were too much irritated for talking.
That he might not be irritated into an absolute fever, by the fire which Mr. Woodhouse's tender habits required almost every evening throughout the year, he soon afterwards took a hasty leave, and walked home to the coolness and solitude of Donwell Abbey.
CHAPTER VI
After being long fed with hopes of a speedy visit from Mr. and Mrs. Suckling, the Highbury world were obliged to endure the mortification of hearing that they could not possibly come till the autumn.
No such importation of novelties could enrich their intellectual stores at present.
Mrs. Elton was very much disappointed.
It was the delay of a great deal of pleasure and parade.
Her introductions and recommendations must all wait, and every projected party be still only talked of.
So she thought at first;-- but a little consideration convinced her that every thing need not be put off.
Why should not they explore to Box Hill though the Sucklings did not come?
They could go there again with them in the autumn.
It was settled that they should go to Box Hill.
That there was to be such a party had been long generally known: it had even given the idea of another.
Emma had never been to Box Hill; she wished to see what every body found so well worth seeing, and she and Mr. Weston had agreed to chuse some fine morning and drive thither.
Two or three more of the chosen only were to be admitted to join them, and it was to be done in a quiet, unpretending, elegant way, infinitely superior to the bustle and preparation, the regular eating and drinking, and picnic parade of the Eltons and the Sucklings.
Every feeling was offended; and the forbearance of her outward submission left a heavy arrear due of secret severity in her reflections on the unmanageable goodwill of Mr. Weston's temper.
" I am glad you approve of what I have done," said he very comfortably.
" But I thought you would.
Such schemes as these are nothing without numbers.
One cannot have too large a party.
A large party secures its own amusement.
And she is a good - natured woman after all.
One could not leave her out."
Emma denied none of it aloud, and agreed to none of it in private.
It was now the middle of June, and the weather fine; and Mrs. Elton was growing impatient to name the day, and settle with Mr. Weston as to pigeon - pies and cold lamb, when a lame carriage - horse threw every thing into sad uncertainty.
It might be weeks, it might be only a few days, before the horse were useable; but no preparations could be ventured on, and it was all melancholy stagnation.
Mrs. Elton's resources were inadequate to such an attack.
" Is not this most vexations, Knightley?"
she cried.--" And such weather for exploring!-- These delays and disappointments are quite odious.
What are we to do?-- The year will wear away at this rate, and nothing done.
Before this time last year I assure you we had had a delightful exploring party from Maple Grove to Kings Weston."
" You had better explore to Donwell," replied Mr. Knightley.
" That may be done without horses.
Come, and eat my strawberries.
They are ripening fast."
If Mr. Knightley did not begin seriously, he was obliged to proceed so, for his proposal was caught at with delight; and the " Oh!
I should like it of all things," was not plainer in words than manner.
Donwell was famous for its strawberry - beds, which seemed a plea for the invitation: but no plea was necessary; cabbage - beds would have been enough to tempt the lady, who only wanted to be going somewhere.
She promised him again and again to come--much oftener than he doubted--and was extremely gratified by such a proof of intimacy, such a distinguishing compliment as she chose to consider it.
" You may depend upon me," said she.
" I certainly will come.
Name your day, and I will come.
You will allow me to bring Jane Fairfax?"
" I cannot name a day," said he, " till I have spoken to some others whom I would wish to meet you."
" Oh!
leave all that to me.
Only give me a carte - blanche.-- I am Lady Patroness, you know.
It is my party.
I will bring friends with me."
" I hope you will bring Elton," said he: " but I will not trouble you to give any other invitations."
" Oh!
now you are looking very sly.
But consider--you need not be afraid of delegating power to _me_.
I am no young lady on her preferment.
Married women, you know, may be safely authorised.
It is my party.
Leave it all to me.
I will invite your guests."
" No,"-- he calmly replied,--" there is but one married woman in the world whom I can ever allow to invite what guests she pleases to Donwell, and that one is --"
"-- Mrs. Weston, I suppose," interrupted Mrs. Elton, rather mortified.
" No--Mrs. Knightley;-- and till she is in being, I will manage such matters myself."
" Ah!
you are an odd creature!"
she cried, satisfied to have no one preferred to herself.--" You are a humourist, and may say what you like.
Quite a humourist.
Well, I shall bring Jane with me--Jane and her aunt.-- The rest I leave to you.
I have no objections at all to meeting the Hartfield family.
Don't scruple.
I know you are attached to them."
" You certainly will meet them if I can prevail; and I shall call on Miss Bates in my way home."
" That's quite unnecessary; I see Jane every day:-- but as you like.
It is to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightley; quite a simple thing.
I shall wear a large bonnet, and bring one of my little baskets hanging on my arm.
Here,-- probably this basket with pink ribbon.
Nothing can be more simple, you see.
And Jane will have such another.
There is to be no form or parade--a sort of gipsy party.
We are to walk about your gardens, and gather the strawberries ourselves, and sit under trees;-- and whatever else you may like to provide, it is to be all out of doors--a table spread in the shade, you know.
Every thing as natural and simple as possible.
Is not that your idea?"
" Not quite.
My idea of the simple and the natural will be to have the table spread in the dining - room.
The nature and the simplicity of gentlemen and ladies, with their servants and furniture, I think is best observed by meals within doors.
When you are tired of eating strawberries in the garden, there shall be cold meat in the house."
" Well--as you please; only don't have a great set out.
And, by the bye, can I or my housekeeper be of any use to you with our opinion?-- Pray be sincere, Knightley.
If you wish me to talk to Mrs. Hodges, or to inspect anything --"
" I have not the least wish for it, I thank you."
" Well--but if any difficulties should arise, my housekeeper is extremely clever."
" I will answer for it, that mine thinks herself full as clever, and would spurn any body's assistance."
" I wish we had a donkey.
The thing would be for us all to come on donkeys, Jane, Miss Bates, and me--and my caro sposo walking by.
I really must talk to him about purchasing a donkey.
In a country life I conceive it to be a sort of necessary; for, let a woman have ever so many resources, it is not possible for her to be always shut up at home;-- and very long walks, you know--in summer there is dust, and in winter there is dirt."
" You will not find either, between Donwell and Highbury.
Donwell Lane is never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry.
Come on a donkey, however, if you prefer it.
You can borrow Mrs. Cole's.
I would wish every thing to be as much to your taste as possible."
" That I am sure you would.
Indeed I do you justice, my good friend.
Under that peculiar sort of dry, blunt manner, I know you have the warmest heart.
As I tell Mr. E., you are a thorough humourist.-- Yes, believe me, Knightley, I am fully sensible of your attention to me in the whole of this scheme.
You have hit upon the very thing to please me."
Mr. Knightley had another reason for avoiding a table in the shade.
He was invited on good faith.
No lurking horrors were to upbraid him for his easy credulity.
He did consent.
He had not been at Donwell for two years.
" Some very fine morning, he, and Emma, and Harriet, could go very well; and he could sit still with Mrs. Weston, while the dear girls walked about the gardens.
He did not suppose they could be damp now, in the middle of the day.
He should like to see the old house again exceedingly, and should be very happy to meet Mr. and Mrs. Elton, and any other of his neighbours.-- He could not see any objection at all to his, and Emma's, and Harriet's going there some very fine morning.
He thought it very well done of Mr. Knightley to invite them--very kind and sensible--much cleverer than dining out.-- He was not fond of dining out."
Mr. Knightley was fortunate in every body's most ready concurrence.
In the meanwhile the lame horse recovered so fast, that the party to Box Hill was again under happy consideration; and at last Donwell was settled for one day, and Box Hill for the next,-- the weather appearing exactly right.
She had given them neither men, nor names, nor places, that could raise a blush.
Such, for half an hour, was the conversation--interrupted only once by Mrs. Weston, who came out, in her solicitude after her son - in - law, to inquire if he were come--and she was a little uneasy.-- She had some fears of his horse.
Seats tolerably in the shade were found; and now Emma was obliged to overhear what Mrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax were talking of.-- A situation, a most desirable situation, was in question.
Mrs. Elton had received notice of it that morning, and was in raptures.
It was not with Mrs. Suckling, it was not with Mrs. Bragge, but in felicity and splendour it fell short only of them: it was with a cousin of Mrs. Bragge, an acquaintance of Mrs. Suckling, a lady known at Maple Grove.
Would not Mr. Knightley shew them the gardens--all the gardens?-- She wished to see the whole extent."
-- The pertinacity of her friend seemed more than she could bear.
It was a sweet view--sweet to the eye and the mind.
English verdure, English culture, English comfort, seen under a sun bright, without being oppressive.
In this walk Emma and Mr. Weston found all the others assembled; and towards this view she immediately perceived Mr. Knightley and Harriet distinct from the rest, quietly leading the way.
Mr. Knightley and Harriet!-- It was an odd tete - a - tete; but she was glad to see it.-- There had been a time when he would have scorned her as a companion, and turned from her with little ceremony.
Now they seemed in pleasant conversation.
There had been a time also when Emma would have been sorry to see Harriet in a spot so favourable for the Abbey Mill Farm; but now she feared it not.
It might be safely viewed with all its appendages of prosperity and beauty, its rich pastures, spreading flocks, orchard in blossom, and light column of smoke ascending.-- She joined them at the wall, and found them more engaged in talking than in looking around.
He was giving Harriet information as to modes of agriculture, etc.
and Emma received a smile which seemed to say, " These are my own concerns.
I have a right to talk on such subjects, without being suspected of introducing Robert Martin."
-- She did not suspect him.
It was too old a story.-- Robert Martin had probably ceased to think of Harriet.-- They took a few turns together along the walk.-- The shade was most refreshing, and Emma found it the pleasantest part of the day.
The next remove was to the house; they must all go in and eat;-- and they were all seated and busy, and still Frank Churchill did not come.
Mrs. Weston looked, and looked in vain.
His father would not own himself uneasy, and laughed at her fears; but she could not be cured of wishing that he would part with his black mare.
He had expressed himself as to coming, with more than common certainty.
" His aunt was so much better, that he had not a doubt of getting over to them."-- Mrs.
Mr. Knightley had done all in his power for Mr. Woodhouse's entertainment.
Books of engravings, drawers of medals, cameos, corals, shells, and every other family collection within his cabinets, had been prepared for his old friend, to while away the morning; and the kindness had perfectly answered.
Mr. Woodhouse had been exceedingly well amused.
It would only be giving trouble and distress.
Some are gone to the ponds, and some to the lime walk.
Till they all come in I shall not be missed; and when they do, will you have the goodness to say that I am gone?"
" Certainly, if you wish it;-- but you are not going to walk to Highbury alone?"
" Yes--what should hurt me?-- I walk fast.
I shall be at home in twenty minutes."
" But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite alone.
Let my father's servant go with you.-- Let me order the carriage.
It can be round in five minutes."
" Thank you, thank you--but on no account.-- I would rather walk.-- And for _me_ to be afraid of walking alone!-- I, who may so soon have to guard others!"
She spoke with great agitation; and Emma very feelingly replied, " That can be no reason for your being exposed to danger now.
I must order the carriage.
The heat even would be danger.-- You are fatigued already."
" I am,"-- she answered --" I am fatigued; but it is not the sort of fatigue--quick walking will refresh me.-- Miss Woodhouse, we all know at times what it is to be wearied in spirits.
Mine, I confess, are exhausted.
The greatest kindness you can shew me, will be to let me have my own way, and only say that I am gone when it is necessary."
Emma had not another word to oppose.
She saw it all; and entering into her feelings, promoted her quitting the house immediately, and watched her safely off with the zeal of a friend.
Her parting look was grateful--and her parting words, " Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, the comfort of being sometimes alone!"
-- seemed to burst from an overcharged heart, and to describe somewhat of the continual endurance to be practised by her, even towards some of those who loved her best.
" Such a home, indeed!
such an aunt!"
said Emma, as she turned back into the hall again.
" I do pity you.
And the more sensibility you betray of their just horrors, the more I shall like you."
Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they had only accomplished some views of St. Mark's Place, Venice, when Frank Churchill entered the room.
Emma had not been thinking of him, she had forgotten to think of him--but she was very glad to see him.
Mrs. Weston would be at ease.
The black mare was blameless; _they_ were right who had named Mrs. Churchill as the cause.
" You will soon be cooler, if you sit still," said Emma.
" As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again.
I could very ill be spared--but such a point had been made of my coming!
You will all be going soon I suppose; the whole party breaking up.
I met _one_ as I came--Madness in such weather!-- absolute madness!"
Emma listened, and looked, and soon perceived that Frank Churchill's state might be best defined by the expressive phrase of being out of humour.
Some people were always cross when they were hot.
Such might be his constitution; and as she knew that eating and drinking were often the cure of such incidental complaints, she recommended his taking some refreshment; he would find abundance of every thing in the dining - room--and she humanely pointed out the door.
" No--he should not eat.
He was not hungry; it would only make him hotter."
In two minutes, however, he relented in his own favour; and muttering something about spruce - beer, walked off.
Emma returned all her attention to her father, saying in secret --
" I am glad I have done being in love with him.
I should not like a man who is so soon discomposed by a hot morning.
Harriet's sweet easy temper will not mind it."
He was not in his best spirits, but seemed trying to improve them; and, at last, made himself talk nonsense very agreeably.
They were looking over views in Swisserland.
" As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad," said he.
" I shall never be easy till I have seen some of these places.
You will have my sketches, some time or other, to look at--or my tour to read--or my poem.
I shall do something to expose myself."
" That may be--but not by sketches in Swisserland.
You will never go to Swisserland.
Your uncle and aunt will never allow you to leave England."
" They may be induced to go too.
A warm climate may be prescribed for her.
I have more than half an expectation of our all going abroad.
I assure you I have.
I feel a strong persuasion, this morning, that I shall soon be abroad.
I ought to travel.
I am tired of doing nothing.
I want a change.
I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, whatever your penetrating eyes may fancy--I am sick of England--and would leave it to - morrow, if I could."
" You are sick of prosperity and indulgence.
Cannot you invent a few hardships for yourself, and be contented to stay?"
" _I_ sick of prosperity and indulgence!
You are quite mistaken.
I do not look upon myself as either prosperous or indulged.
I am thwarted in every thing material.
I do not consider myself at all a fortunate person."
" You are not quite so miserable, though, as when you first came.
Go and eat and drink a little more, and you will do very well.
Another slice of cold meat, another draught of Madeira and water, will make you nearly on a par with the rest of us."
" No--I shall not stir.
I shall sit by you.
You are my best cure."
" We are going to Box Hill to - morrow;-- you will join us.
It is not Swisserland, but it will be something for a young man so much in want of a change.
You will stay, and go with us?"
" No, certainly not; I shall go home in the cool of the evening."
" But you may come again in the cool of to - morrow morning."
" No--It will not be worth while.
If I come, I shall be cross."
" Then pray stay at Richmond."
" But if I do, I shall be crosser still.
I can never bear to think of you all there without me."
" These are difficulties which you must settle for yourself.
Chuse your own degree of crossness.
I shall press you no more."
The rest of the party were now returning, and all were soon collected.
With some there was great joy at the sight of Frank Churchill; others took it very composedly; but there was a very general distress and disturbance on Miss Fairfax's disappearance being explained.
That it was time for every body to go, concluded the subject; and with a short final arrangement for the next day's scheme, they parted.
Frank Churchill's little inclination to exclude himself increased so much, that his last words to Emma were,
" Well;-- if _you_ wish me to stay and join the party, I will."
She smiled her acceptance; and nothing less than a summons from Richmond was to take him back before the following evening.
CHAPTER VII
They had a very fine day for Box Hill; and all the other outward circumstances of arrangement, accommodation, and punctuality, were in favour of a pleasant party.
Mr. Weston directed the whole, officiating safely between Hartfield and the Vicarage, and every body was in good time.
Emma and Harriet went together; Miss Bates and her niece, with the Eltons; the gentlemen on horseback.
Mrs. Weston remained with Mr. Woodhouse.
Nothing was wanting but to be happy when they got there.
Seven miles were travelled in expectation of enjoyment, and every body had a burst of admiration on first arriving; but in the general amount of the day there was deficiency.
There was a languor, a want of spirits, a want of union, which could not be got over.
They separated too much into parties.
The Eltons walked together; Mr. Knightley took charge of Miss Bates and Jane; and Emma and Harriet belonged to Frank Churchill.
And Mr. Weston tried, in vain, to make them harmonise better.
It seemed at first an accidental division, but it never materially varied.
At first it was downright dulness to Emma.
She had never seen Frank Churchill so silent and stupid.
He said nothing worth hearing--looked without seeing--admired without intelligence--listened without knowing what she said.
While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Harriet should be dull likewise; and they were both insufferable.
When they all sat down it was better; to her taste a great deal better, for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object.
Every distinguishing attention that could be paid, was paid to her.
" Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse flirted together excessively."
They were laying themselves open to that very phrase--and to having it sent off in a letter to Maple Grove by one lady, to Ireland by another.
Not that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any real felicity; it was rather because she felt less happy than she had expected.
She laughed because she was disappointed; and though she liked him for his attentions, and thought them all, whether in friendship, admiration, or playfulness, extremely judicious, they were not winning back her heart.
She still intended him for her friend.
" How much I am obliged to you," said he, " for telling me to come to - day!-- If it had not been for you, I should certainly have lost all the happiness of this party.
I had quite determined to go away again."
" Yes, you were very cross; and I do not know what about, except that you were too late for the best strawberries.
I was a kinder friend than you deserved.
But you were humble.
You begged hard to be commanded to come."
" Don't say I was cross.
I was fatigued.
The heat overcame me."
" It is hotter to - day."
" Not to my feelings.
I am perfectly comfortable to - day."
" You are comfortable because you are under command."
" Your command?-- Yes."
" Perhaps I intended you to say so, but I meant self - command.
You had, somehow or other, broken bounds yesterday, and run away from your own management; but to - day you are got back again--and as I cannot be always with you, it is best to believe your temper under your own command rather than mine."
" It comes to the same thing.
I can have no self - command without a motive.
You order me, whether you speak or not.
And you can be always with me.
You are always with me."
" Dating from three o'clock yesterday.
My perpetual influence could not begin earlier, or you would not have been so much out of humour before."
" Three o'clock yesterday!
That is your date.
I thought I had seen you first in February."
" Your gallantry is really unanswerable.
But (lowering her voice)-- nobody speaks except ourselves, and it is rather too much to be talking nonsense for the entertainment of seven silent people."
" I say nothing of which I am ashamed," replied he, with lively impudence.
" I saw you first in February.
Let every body on the Hill hear me if they can.
Let my accents swell to Mickleham on one side, and Dorking on the other.
I saw you first in February."
And then whispering--" Our companions are excessively stupid.
What shall we do to rouse them?
Any nonsense will serve.
They _shall_ talk.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse (who, wherever she is, presides) to say, that she desires to know what you are all thinking of?"
Some laughed, and answered good - humouredly.
Miss Bates said a great deal; Mrs. Elton swelled at the idea of Miss Woodhouse's presiding; Mr. Knightley's answer was the most distinct.
" Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what we are all thinking of?"
" Oh!
no, no "-- cried Emma, laughing as carelessly as she could--" Upon no account in the world.
It is the very last thing I would stand the brunt of just now.
Let me hear any thing rather than what you are all thinking of.
I will not say quite all.
There are one or two, perhaps, (glancing at Mr. Weston and Harriet,) whose thoughts I might not be afraid of knowing."
" It is a sort of thing," cried Mrs. Elton emphatically, " which _I_ should not have thought myself privileged to inquire into.
Though, perhaps, as the _Chaperon_ of the party--_I_ never was in any circle--exploring parties--young ladies--married women --"
Her mutterings were chiefly to her husband; and he murmured, in reply,
" Very true, my love, very true.
Exactly so, indeed--quite unheard of--but some ladies say any thing.
Better pass it off as a joke.
Every body knows what is due to _you_."
" It will not do," whispered Frank to Emma; " they are most of them affronted.
I will attack them with more address.
Ladies and gentlemen--I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse to say, that she waives her right of knowing exactly what you may all be thinking of, and only requires something very entertaining from each of you, in a general way.
" Oh!
very well," exclaimed Miss Bates, " then I need not be uneasy.
'Three things very dull indeed.'
That will just do for me, you know.
I shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan't I?
(looking round with the most good - humoured dependence on every body's assent)-- Do not you all think I shall?"
Emma could not resist.
" Ah!
ma'am, but there may be a difficulty.
Pardon me--but you will be limited as to number--only three at once."
Miss Bates, deceived by the mock ceremony of her manner, did not immediately catch her meaning; but, when it burst on her, it could not anger, though a slight blush shewed that it could pain her.
" Ah!-- well--to be sure.
Yes, I see what she means, (turning to Mr. Knightley,) and I will try to hold my tongue.
I must make myself very disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend."
" I like your plan," cried Mr. Weston.
" Agreed, agreed.
I will do my best.
I am making a conundrum.
How will a conundrum reckon?"
" Low, I am afraid, sir, very low," answered his son;--" but we shall be indulgent--especially to any one who leads the way."
" No, no," said Emma, " it will not reckon low.
A conundrum of Mr. Weston's shall clear him and his next neighbour.
Come, sir, pray let me hear it."
" I doubt its being very clever myself," said Mr. Weston.
" It is too much a matter of fact, but here it is.-- What two letters of the alphabet are there, that express perfection?"
" What two letters!-- express perfection!
I am sure I do not know."
" Ah!
you will never guess.
You, (to Emma), I am certain, will never guess.-- I will tell you.-- M.
and A.-- Em - ma.-- Do you understand?"
Understanding and gratification came together.
It might be a very indifferent piece of wit, but Emma found a great deal to laugh at and enjoy in it--and so did Frank and Harriet.-- It did not seem to touch the rest of the party equally; some looked very stupid about it, and Mr. Knightley gravely said,
" This explains the sort of clever thing that is wanted, and Mr. Weston has done very well for himself; but he must have knocked up every body else.
_Perfection_ should not have come quite so soon."
" Oh!
for myself, I protest I must be excused," said Mrs. Elton; " _I_ really cannot attempt--I am not at all fond of the sort of thing.
I had an acrostic once sent to me upon my own name, which I was not at all pleased with.
I knew who it came from.
An abominable puppy!-- You know who I mean (nodding to her husband).
These kind of things are very well at Christmas, when one is sitting round the fire; but quite out of place, in my opinion, when one is exploring about the country in summer.
Miss Woodhouse must excuse me.
I am not one of those who have witty things at every body's service.
I do not pretend to be a wit.
I have a great deal of vivacity in my own way, but I really must be allowed to judge when to speak and when to hold my tongue.
Pass us, if you please, Mr. Churchill.
Pass Mr. E., Knightley, Jane, and myself.
We have nothing clever to say--not one of us.
" Yes, yes, pray pass _me_," added her husband, with a sort of sneering consciousness; " _I_ have nothing to say that can entertain Miss Woodhouse, or any other young lady.
An old married man--quite good for nothing.
Shall we walk, Augusta?"
" With all my heart.
I am really tired of exploring so long on one spot.
Come, Jane, take my other arm."
Jane declined it, however, and the husband and wife walked off.
" Happy couple!"
said Frank Churchill, as soon as they were out of hearing:--" How well they suit one another!-- Very lucky--marrying as they did, upon an acquaintance formed only in a public place!-- They only knew each other, I think, a few weeks in Bath!
Peculiarly lucky!-- for as to any real knowledge of a person's disposition that Bath, or any public place, can give--it is all nothing; there can be no knowledge.
It is only by seeing women in their own homes, among their own set, just as they always are, that you can form any just judgment.
Short of that, it is all guess and luck--and will generally be ill - luck.
How many a man has committed himself on a short acquaintance, and rued it all the rest of his life!"
Miss Fairfax, who had seldom spoken before, except among her own confederates, spoke now.
" Such things do occur, undoubtedly."
-- She was stopped by a cough.
Frank Churchill turned towards her to listen.
" You were speaking," said he, gravely.
She recovered her voice.
" I was only going to observe, that though such unfortunate circumstances do sometimes occur both to men and women, I cannot imagine them to be very frequent.
A hasty and imprudent attachment may arise--but there is generally time to recover from it afterwards.
I would be understood to mean, that it can be only weak, irresolute characters, (whose happiness must be always at the mercy of chance,) who will suffer an unfortunate acquaintance to be an inconvenience, an oppression for ever."
He made no answer; merely looked, and bowed in submission; and soon afterwards said, in a lively tone,
" Well, I have so little confidence in my own judgment, that whenever I marry, I hope some body will chuse my wife for me.
Will you?
(turning to Emma.)
Will you chuse a wife for me?-- I am sure I should like any body fixed on by you.
You provide for the family, you know, (with a smile at his father).
Find some body for me.
I am in no hurry.
Adopt her, educate her."
" And make her like myself."
" By all means, if you can."
" Very well.
I undertake the commission.
You shall have a charming wife."
" She must be very lively, and have hazle eyes.
I care for nothing else.
I shall go abroad for a couple of years--and when I return, I shall come to you for my wife.
Remember."
Emma was in no danger of forgetting.
It was a commission to touch every favourite feeling.
Would not Harriet be the very creature described?
Hazle eyes excepted, two years more might make her all that he wished.
He might even have Harriet in his thoughts at the moment; who could say?
Referring the education to her seemed to imply it.
" Now, ma'am," said Jane to her aunt, " shall we join Mrs.
Elton?"
" If you please, my dear.
With all my heart.
I am quite ready.
I was ready to have gone with her, but this will do just as well.
We shall soon overtake her.
There she is--no, that's somebody else.
That's one of the ladies in the Irish car party, not at all like her.-- Well, I declare --"
They walked off, followed in half a minute by Mr. Knightley.
Mr. Weston, his son, Emma, and Harriet, only remained; and the young man's spirits now rose to a pitch almost unpleasant.
Even Emma grew tired at last of flattery and merriment, and wished herself rather walking quietly about with any of the others, or sitting almost alone, and quite unattended to, in tranquil observation of the beautiful views beneath her.
Such another scheme, composed of so many ill - assorted people, she hoped never to be betrayed into again.
While waiting for the carriage, she found Mr. Knightley by her side.
He looked around, as if to see that no one were near, and then said,
" Emma, I must once more speak to you as I have been used to do: a privilege rather endured than allowed, perhaps, but I must still use it.
I cannot see you acting wrong, without a remonstrance.
How could you be so unfeeling to Miss Bates?
How could you be so insolent in your wit to a woman of her character, age, and situation?-- Emma, I had not thought it possible."
Emma recollected, blushed, was sorry, but tried to laugh it off.
" Nay, how could I help saying what I did?-- Nobody could have helped it.
It was not so very bad.
I dare say she did not understand me."
" I assure you she did.
She felt your full meaning.
She has talked of it since.
I wish you could have heard how she talked of it--with what candour and generosity.
I wish you could have heard her honouring your forbearance, in being able to pay her such attentions, as she was for ever receiving from yourself and your father, when her society must be so irksome."
" Oh!"
cried Emma, " I know there is not a better creature in the world: but you must allow, that what is good and what is ridiculous are most unfortunately blended in her."
" They are blended," said he, " I acknowledge; and, were she prosperous, I could allow much for the occasional prevalence of the ridiculous over the good.
Were she a woman of fortune, I would leave every harmless absurdity to take its chance, I would not quarrel with you for any liberties of manner.
Were she your equal in situation--but, Emma, consider how far this is from being the case.
She is poor; she has sunk from the comforts she was born to; and, if she live to old age, must probably sink more.
Her situation should secure your compassion.
It was badly done, indeed!
While they talked, they were advancing towards the carriage; it was ready; and, before she could speak again, he had handed her in.
He had misinterpreted the feelings which had kept her face averted, and her tongue motionless.
They were combined only of anger against herself, mortification, and deep concern.
He had turned away, and the horses were in motion.
She continued to look back, but in vain; and soon, with what appeared unusual speed, they were half way down the hill, and every thing left far behind.
She was vexed beyond what could have been expressed--almost beyond what she could conceal.
Never had she felt so agitated, mortified, grieved, at any circumstance in her life.
She was most forcibly struck.
The truth of this representation there was no denying.
She felt it at her heart.
How could she have been so brutal, so cruel to Miss Bates!
How could she have exposed herself to such ill opinion in any one she valued!
And how suffer him to leave her without saying one word of gratitude, of concurrence, of common kindness!
Time did not compose her.
As she reflected more, she seemed but to feel it more.
She never had been so depressed.
Happily it was not necessary to speak.
There was only Harriet, who seemed not in spirits herself, fagged, and very willing to be silent; and Emma felt the tears running down her cheeks almost all the way home, without being at any trouble to check them, extraordinary as they were.
CHAPTER VIII
The wretchedness of a scheme to Box Hill was in Emma's thoughts all the evening.
How it might be considered by the rest of the party, she could not tell.
A whole evening of back - gammon with her father, was felicity to it.
As a daughter, she hoped she was not without a heart.
She hoped no one could have said to her, " How could you be so unfeeling to your father?-- I must, I will tell you truths while I can."
Miss Bates should never again--no, never!
If attention, in future, could do away the past, she might hope to be forgiven.
She had been often remiss, her conscience told her so; remiss, perhaps, more in thought than fact; scornful, ungracious.
But it should be so no more.
In the warmth of true contrition, she would call upon her the very next morning, and it should be the beginning, on her side, of a regular, equal, kindly intercourse.
She was just as determined when the morrow came, and went early, that nothing might prevent her.
It was not unlikely, she thought, that she might see Mr. Knightley in her way; or, perhaps, he might come in while she were paying her visit.
She had no objection.
She would not be ashamed of the appearance of the penitence, so justly and truly hers.
Her eyes were towards Donwell as she walked, but she saw him not.
" The ladies were all at home."
She had never rejoiced at the sound before, nor ever before entered the passage, nor walked up the stairs, with any wish of giving pleasure, but in conferring obligation, or of deriving it, except in subsequent ridicule.
There was a bustle on her approach; a good deal of moving and talking.
She heard Miss Bates's voice, something was to be done in a hurry; the maid looked frightened and awkward; hoped she would be pleased to wait a moment, and then ushered her in too soon.
The aunt and niece seemed both escaping into the adjoining room.
Jane she had a distinct glimpse of, looking extremely ill; and, before the door had shut them out, she heard Miss Bates saying, " Well, my dear, I shall _say_ you are laid down upon the bed, and I am sure you are ill enough."
Poor old Mrs. Bates, civil and humble as usual, looked as if she did not quite understand what was going on.
" I am afraid Jane is not very well," said she, " but I do not know; they _tell_ me she is well.
I dare say my daughter will be here presently, Miss Woodhouse.
I hope you find a chair.
I wish Hetty had not gone.
I am very little able--Have you a chair, ma'am?
Do you sit where you like?
I am sure she will be here presently."
Emma seriously hoped she would.
She had a moment's fear of Miss Bates keeping away from her.
But Miss Bates soon came --" Very happy and obliged "-- but Emma's conscience told her that there was not the same cheerful volubility as before--less ease of look and manner.
A very friendly inquiry after Miss Fairfax, she hoped, might lead the way to a return of old feelings.
The touch seemed immediate.
" Ah!
Miss Woodhouse, how kind you are!-- I suppose you have heard--and are come to give us joy.
'My dear,' said I, 'you will blind yourself '-- for tears were in her eyes perpetually.
One cannot wonder, one cannot wonder.
if you were to see what a headache she has.
When one is in great pain, you know one cannot feel any blessing quite as it may deserve.
She is as low as possible.
To look at her, nobody would think how delighted and happy she is to have secured such a situation.
You will excuse her not coming to you--she is not able--she is gone into her own room--I want her to lie down upon the bed.
'My dear,' said I, 'I shall say you are laid down upon the bed:' but, however, she is not; she is walking about the room.
But, now that she has written her letters, she says she shall soon be well.
She will be extremely sorry to miss seeing you, Miss Woodhouse, but your kindness will excuse her.
You were kept waiting at the door--I was quite ashamed--but somehow there was a little bustle--for it so happened that we had not heard the knock, and till you were on the stairs, we did not know any body was coming.
'It is only Mrs. Cole,' said I, 'depend upon it.
Nobody else would come so early.'
'Well,' said she, 'it must be borne some time or other, and it may as well be now.'
But then Patty came in, and said it was you.
'Oh!'
said I, 'it is Miss Woodhouse: I am sure you will like to see her.'
-- 'I can see nobody,' said she; and up she got, and would go away; and that was what made us keep you waiting--and extremely sorry and ashamed we were.
'If you must go, my dear,' said I, 'you must, and I will say you are laid down upon the bed.'"
Emma was most sincerely interested.
She spoke as she felt, with earnest regret and solicitude--sincerely wishing that the circumstances which she collected from Miss Bates to be now actually determined on, might be as much for Miss Fairfax's advantage and comfort as possible.
" It must be a severe trial to them all.
She had understood it was to be delayed till Colonel Campbell's return."
" So very kind!"
replied Miss Bates.
" But you are always kind."
There was no bearing such an " always;" and to break through her dreadful gratitude, Emma made the direct inquiry of --
" Where--may I ask?-- is Miss Fairfax going?"
" To a Mrs. Smallridge--charming woman--most superior--to have the charge of her three little girls--delightful children.
Impossible that any situation could be more replete with comfort; if we except, perhaps, Mrs. Suckling's own family, and Mrs. Bragge's; but Mrs. Smallridge is intimate with both, and in the very same neighbourhood:-- lives only four miles from Maple Grove.
Jane will be only four miles from Maple Grove."
" Mrs. Elton, I suppose, has been the person to whom Miss Fairfax owes --"
" Yes, our good Mrs. Elton.
The most indefatigable, true friend.
She would not take a denial.
Quite a surprize to me!
I had not the least idea!-- Jane took Mrs. Elton aside, and told her at once, that upon thinking over the advantages of Mrs. Smallridge's situation, she had come to the resolution of accepting it.-- I did not know a word of it till it was all settled."
" You spent the evening with Mrs.
Elton?"
" Yes, all of us; Mrs. Elton would have us come.
It was settled so, upon the hill, while we were walking about with Mr. Knightley.
'You _must_ _all_ spend your evening with us,' said she --'I positively must have you _all_ come.'"
" Mr. Knightley was there too, was he?"
" No, not Mr. Knightley; he declined it from the first; and though I thought he would come, because Mrs. Elton declared she would not let him off, he did not;-- but my mother, and Jane, and I, were all there, and a very agreeable evening we had.
Such kind friends, you know, Miss Woodhouse, one must always find agreeable, though every body seemed rather fagged after the morning's party.
Even pleasure, you know, is fatiguing--and I cannot say that any of them seemed very much to have enjoyed it.
However, _I_ shall always think it a very pleasant party, and feel extremely obliged to the kind friends who included me in it."
" Miss Fairfax, I suppose, though you were not aware of it, had been making up her mind the whole day?"
" I dare say she had."
" Whenever the time may come, it must be unwelcome to her and all her friends--but I hope her engagement will have every alleviation that is possible--I mean, as to the character and manners of the family."
" Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse.
Yes, indeed, there is every thing in the world that can make her happy in it.
Except the Sucklings and Bragges, there is not such another nursery establishment, so liberal and elegant, in all Mrs. Elton's acquaintance.
Mrs. Smallridge, a most delightful woman!-- A style of living almost equal to Maple Grove--and as to the children, except the little Sucklings and little Bragges, there are not such elegant sweet children anywhere.
Jane will be treated with such regard and kindness!-- It will be nothing but pleasure, a life of pleasure.-- And her salary!-- I really cannot venture to name her salary to you, Miss Woodhouse.
Even you, used as you are to great sums, would hardly believe that so much could be given to a young person like Jane."
" Ah!
madam," cried Emma, " if other children are at all like what I remember to have been myself, I should think five times the amount of what I have ever yet heard named as a salary on such occasions, dearly earned."
" You are so noble in your ideas!"
" And when is Miss Fairfax to leave you?"
" Very soon, very soon, indeed; that's the worst of it.
Within a fortnight.
Mrs. Smallridge is in a great hurry.
My poor mother does not know how to bear it.
So then, I try to put it out of her thoughts, and say, Come ma'am, do not let us think about it any more."
" Her friends must all be sorry to lose her; and will not Colonel and Mrs. Campbell be sorry to find that she has engaged herself before their return?"
" Yes; Jane says she is sure they will; but yet, this is such a situation as she cannot feel herself justified in declining.
I was so astonished when she first told me what she had been saying to Mrs. Elton, and when Mrs. Elton at the same moment came congratulating me upon it!
It was before tea--stay--no, it could not be before tea, because we were just going to cards--and yet it was before tea, because I remember thinking--Oh!
no, now I recollect, now I have it; something happened before tea, but not that.
Mr. Elton was called out of the room before tea, old John Abdy's son wanted to speak with him.
That was what happened before tea.
It was after tea that Jane spoke to Mrs.
Elton."
Miss Bates would hardly give Emma time to say how perfectly new this circumstance was to her; but as without supposing it possible that she could be ignorant of any of the particulars of Mr. Frank Churchill's going, she proceeded to give them all, it was of no consequence.
There was nothing in all this either to astonish or interest, and it caught Emma's attention only as it united with the subject which already engaged her mind.
" Aye, I see what you are thinking of, the pianoforte.
What is to become of that?-- Very true.
Poor dear Jane was talking of it just now.-- 'You must go,' said she.
'You and I must part.
You will have no business here.-- Let it stay, however,' said she; 'give it houseroom till Colonel Campbell comes back.
I shall talk about it to him; he will settle for me; he will help me out of all my difficulties.'
-- And to this day, I do believe, she knows not whether it was his present or his daughter's."
CHAPTER IX
Emma's pensive meditations, as she walked home, were not interrupted; but on entering the parlour, she found those who must rouse her.
Mr. Knightley and Harriet had arrived during her absence, and were sitting with her father.-- Mr.
Knightley immediately got up, and in a manner decidedly graver than usual, said,
" I would not go away without seeing you, but I have no time to spare, and therefore must now be gone directly.
I am going to London, to spend a few days with John and Isabella.
Have you any thing to send or say, besides the 'love,' which nobody carries?"
" Nothing at all.
But is not this a sudden scheme?"
" Yes--rather--I have been thinking of it some little time."
Emma was sure he had not forgiven her; he looked unlike himself.
Time, however, she thought, would tell him that they ought to be friends again.
While he stood, as if meaning to go, but not going--her father began his inquiries.
" Well, my dear, and did you get there safely?-- And how did you find my worthy old friend and her daughter?-- I dare say they must have been very much obliged to you for coming.
Dear Emma has been to call on Mrs. and Miss Bates, Mr. Knightley, as I told you before.
She is always so attentive to them!"
Emma's colour was heightened by this unjust praise; and with a smile, and shake of the head, which spoke much, she looked at Mr.
Knightley.-- It seemed as if there were an instantaneous impression in her favour, as if his eyes received the truth from her's, and all that had passed of good in her feelings were at once caught and honoured.-- He looked at her with a glow of regard.
It spoke such perfect amity.-- He left them immediately afterwards--gone in a moment.
He always moved with the alertness of a mind which could neither be undecided nor dilatory, but now he seemed more sudden than usual in his disappearance.
Emma could not regret her having gone to Miss Bates, but she wished she had left her ten minutes earlier;-- it would have been a great pleasure to talk over Jane Fairfax's situation with Mr.
It was a pity that she had not come back earlier!
He had long made up his mind to Jane Fairfax's going out as governess, and could talk of it cheerfully, but Mr. Knightley's going to London had been an unexpected blow.
" I am very glad, indeed, my dear, to hear she is to be so comfortably settled.
Mrs. Elton is very good - natured and agreeable, and I dare say her acquaintance are just what they ought to be.
I hope it is a dry situation, and that her health will be taken good care of.
It ought to be a first object, as I am sure poor Miss Taylor's always was with me.
You know, my dear, she is going to be to this new lady what Miss Taylor was to us.
And I hope she will be better off in one respect, and not be induced to go away after it has been her home so long."
The following day brought news from Richmond to throw every thing else into the background.
An express arrived at Randalls to announce the death of Mrs. Churchill!
Though her nephew had had no particular reason to hasten back on her account, she had not lived above six - and - thirty hours after his return.
A sudden seizure of a different nature from any thing foreboded by her general state, had carried her off after a short struggle.
The great Mrs. Churchill was no more.
It was felt as such things must be felt.
Every body had a degree of gravity and sorrow; tenderness towards the departed, solicitude for the surviving friends; and, in a reasonable time, curiosity to know where she would be buried.
Goldsmith tells us, that when lovely woman stoops to folly, she has nothing to do but to die; and when she stoops to be disagreeable, it is equally to be recommended as a clearer of ill - fame.
Mrs. Churchill, after being disliked at least twenty - five years, was now spoken of with compassionate allowances.
In one point she was fully justified.
She had never been admitted before to be seriously ill.
The event acquitted her of all the fancifulness, and all the selfishness of imaginary complaints.
" Poor Mrs. Churchill!
no doubt she had been suffering a great deal: more than any body had ever supposed--and continual pain would try the temper.
It was a sad event--a great shock--with all her faults, what would Mr. Churchill do without her?
Mr. Churchill's loss would be dreadful indeed.
Mr. Churchill would never get over it."
-- Even Mr. Weston shook his head, and looked solemn, and said, " Ah!
poor woman, who would have thought it!"
and resolved, that his mourning should be as handsome as possible; and his wife sat sighing and moralising over her broad hems with a commiseration and good sense, true and steady.
How it would affect Frank was among the earliest thoughts of both.
It was also a very early speculation with Emma.
The character of Mrs. Churchill, the grief of her husband--her mind glanced over them both with awe and compassion--and then rested with lightened feelings on how Frank might be affected by the event, how benefited, how freed.
She saw in a moment all the possible good.
Now, an attachment to Harriet Smith would have nothing to encounter.
Mr. Churchill, independent of his wife, was feared by nobody; an easy, guidable man, to be persuaded into any thing by his nephew.
All that remained to be wished was, that the nephew should form the attachment, as, with all her goodwill in the cause, Emma could feel no certainty of its being already formed.
Harriet behaved extremely well on the occasion, with great self - command.
What ever she might feel of brighter hope, she betrayed nothing.
Emma was gratified, to observe such a proof in her of strengthened character, and refrained from any allusion that might endanger its maintenance.
They spoke, therefore, of Mrs. Churchill's death with mutual forbearance.
Short letters from Frank were received at Randalls, communicating all that was immediately important of their state and plans.
Mr. Churchill was better than could be expected; and their first removal, on the departure of the funeral for Yorkshire, was to be to the house of a very old friend in Windsor, to whom Mr. Churchill had been promising a visit the last ten years.
At present, there was nothing to be done for Harriet; good wishes for the future were all that could yet be possible on Emma's side.
It was a more pressing concern to shew attention to Jane Fairfax, whose prospects were closing, while Harriet's opened, and whose engagements now allowed of no delay in any one at Highbury, who wished to shew her kindness--and with Emma it was grown into a first wish.
She had scarcely a stronger regret than for her past coldness; and the person, whom she had been so many months neglecting, was now the very one on whom she would have lavished every distinction of regard or sympathy.
She wanted to be of use to her; wanted to shew a value for her society, and testify respect and consideration.
She resolved to prevail on her to spend a day at Hartfield.
A note was written to urge it.
The invitation was refused, and by a verbal message.
Her health seemed for the moment completely deranged--appetite quite gone--and though there were no absolutely alarming symptoms, nothing touching the pulmonary complaint, which was the standing apprehension of the family, Mr. Perry was uneasy about her.
He thought she had undertaken more than she was equal to, and that she felt it so herself, though she would not own it.
Her spirits seemed overcome.
Her care and attention could not be questioned; they were, in fact, only too great.
He very much feared that Miss Fairfax derived more evil than good from them.
Emma listened with the warmest concern; grieved for her more and more, and looked around eager to discover some way of being useful.
The answer was only in this short note:
" Miss Fairfax's compliments and thanks, but is quite unequal to any exercise."
Emma felt that her own note had deserved something better; but it was impossible to quarrel with words, whose tremulous inequality shewed indisposition so plainly, and she thought only of how she might best counteract this unwillingness to be seen or assisted.
" Indeed, the truth was, that poor dear Jane could not bear to see any body--any body at all--Mrs. Elton, indeed, could not be denied--and Mrs. Cole had made such a point--and Mrs. Perry had said so much--but, except them, Jane would really see nobody."
On that subject poor Miss Bates was very unhappy, and very communicative; Jane would hardly eat any thing:-- Mr. Perry recommended nourishing food; but every thing they could command (and never had any body such good neighbours) was distasteful.
Emma, on reaching home, called the housekeeper directly, to an examination of her stores; and some arrowroot of very superior quality was speedily despatched to Miss Bates with a most friendly note.
She was sorry, very sorry.
CHAPTER X
One morning, about ten days after Mrs. Churchill's decease, Emma was called downstairs to Mr. Weston, who " could not stay five minutes, and wanted particularly to speak with her."
-- He met her at the parlour - door, and hardly asking her how she did, in the natural key of his voice, sunk it immediately, to say, unheard by her father,
" Can you come to Randalls at any time this morning?-- Do, if it be possible.
Mrs. Weston wants to see you.
She must see you."
" Is she unwell?"
" No, no, not at all--only a little agitated.
She would have ordered the carriage, and come to you, but she must see you _alone_, and that you know --(nodding towards her father)-- Humph!-- Can you come?"
" Certainly.
This moment, if you please.
It is impossible to refuse what you ask in such a way.
But what can be the matter?-- Is she really not ill?"
" Depend upon me--but ask no more questions.
You will know it all in time.
The most unaccountable business!
But hush, hush!"
To guess what all this meant, was impossible even for Emma.
" Now,"-- said Emma, when they were fairly beyond the sweep gates,-- " now Mr. Weston, do let me know what has happened."
" No, no,"-- he gravely replied.--" Don't ask me.
I promised my wife to leave it all to her.
She will break it to you better than I can.
Do not be impatient, Emma; it will all come out too soon."
" Break it to me," cried Emma, standing still with terror.-- " Good God!-- Mr.
Weston, tell me at once.-- Something has happened in Brunswick Square.
I know it has.
Tell me, I charge you tell me this moment what it is."
" No, indeed you are mistaken."
" Mr. Weston do not trifle with me.-- Consider how many of my dearest friends are now in Brunswick Square.
Which of them is it?-- I charge you by all that is sacred, not to attempt concealment."
" Upon my word, Emma."
" Your word!-- why not your honour!-- why not say upon your honour, that it has nothing to do with any of them?
Good Heavens!-- What can be to be _broke_ to me, that does not relate to one of that family?"
" Upon my honour," said he very seriously, " it does not.
It is not in the smallest degree connected with any human being of the name of Knightley."
Emma's courage returned, and she walked on.
" I was wrong," he continued, " in talking of its being _broke_ to you.
I should not have used the expression.
In fact, it does not concern you--it concerns only myself,-- that is, we hope.-- Humph!-- In short, my dear Emma, there is no occasion to be so uneasy about it.
I don't say that it is not a disagreeable business--but things might be much worse.-- If we walk fast, we shall soon be at Randalls."
Emma found that she must wait; and now it required little effort.
Her fancy was very active.
Half a dozen natural children, perhaps--and poor Frank cut off!-- This, though very undesirable, would be no matter of agony to her.
It inspired little more than an animating curiosity.
" Who is that gentleman on horseback?"
said she, as they proceeded--speaking more to assist Mr. Weston in keeping his secret, than with any other view.
" I do not know.-- One of the Otways.-- Not Frank;-- it is not Frank, I assure you.
You will not see him.
He is half way to Windsor by this time."
" Has your son been with you, then?"
" Oh!
yes--did not you know?-- Well, well, never mind."
For a moment he was silent; and then added, in a tone much more guarded and demure,
" Yes, Frank came over this morning, just to ask us how we did."
They hurried on, and were speedily at Randalls.--" Well, my dear," said he, as they entered the room --" I have brought her, and now I hope you will soon be better.
I shall leave you together.
There is no use in delay.
I shall not be far off, if you want me."
-- And Emma distinctly heard him add, in a lower tone, before he quitted the room,--" I have been as good as my word.
She has not the least idea."
Mrs. Weston was looking so ill, and had an air of so much perturbation, that Emma's uneasiness increased; and the moment they were alone, she eagerly said,
" What is it my dear friend?
Something of a very unpleasant nature, I find, has occurred;-- do let me know directly what it is.
I have been walking all this way in complete suspense.
We both abhor suspense.
Do not let mine continue longer.
It will do you good to speak of your distress, whatever it may be."
" Have you indeed no idea?"
said Mrs. Weston in a trembling voice.
" Cannot you, my dear Emma--cannot you form a guess as to what you are to hear?"
" So far as that it relates to Mr. Frank Churchill, I do guess."
" You are right.
It does relate to him, and I will tell you directly;" (resuming her work, and seeming resolved against looking up.)
" He has been here this very morning, on a most extraordinary errand.
It is impossible to express our surprize.
He came to speak to his father on a subject,-- to announce an attachment --"
She stopped to breathe.
Emma thought first of herself, and then of Harriet.
" More than an attachment, indeed," resumed Mrs. Weston; " an engagement--a positive engagement.-- What will you say, Emma--what will any body say, when it is known that Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax are engaged;-- nay, that they have been long engaged!"
Emma even jumped with surprize;-- and, horror - struck, exclaimed,
" Jane Fairfax!-- Good God!
You are not serious?
You do not mean it?"
" You may well be amazed," returned Mrs. Weston, still averting her eyes, and talking on with eagerness, that Emma might have time to recover--" You may well be amazed.
But it is even so.
There has been a solemn engagement between them ever since October--formed at Weymouth, and kept a secret from every body.
Not a creature knowing it but themselves--neither the Campbells, nor her family, nor his.-- It is so wonderful, that though perfectly convinced of the fact, it is yet almost incredible to myself.
I can hardly believe it.-- I thought I knew him."
Emma scarcely heard what was said.-- Her mind was divided between two ideas--her own former conversations with him about Miss Fairfax; and poor Harriet;-- and for some time she could only exclaim, and require confirmation, repeated confirmation.
" Well," said she at last, trying to recover herself; " this is a circumstance which I must think of at least half a day, before I can at all comprehend it.
What!-- engaged to her all the winter--before either of them came to Highbury?"
" Engaged since October,-- secretly engaged.-- It has hurt me, Emma, very much.
It has hurt his father equally.
_Some_ _part_ of his conduct we cannot excuse."
Emma pondered a moment, and then replied, " I will not pretend _not_ to understand you; and to give you all the relief in my power, be assured that no such effect has followed his attentions to me, as you are apprehensive of."
Mrs. Weston looked up, afraid to believe; but Emma's countenance was as steady as her words.
Fortunately, however, it did cease.
I have really for some time past, for at least these three months, cared nothing about him.
You may believe me, Mrs. Weston.
This is the simple truth."
Mrs. Weston kissed her with tears of joy; and when she could find utterance, assured her, that this protestation had done her more good than any thing else in the world could do.
" Mr. Weston will be almost as much relieved as myself," said she.
" On this point we have been wretched.
It was our darling wish that you might be attached to each other--and we were persuaded that it was so.-- Imagine what we have been feeling on your account."
" I have escaped; and that I should escape, may be a matter of grateful wonder to you and myself.
But this does not acquit _him_, Mrs. Weston; and I must say, that I think him greatly to blame.
What right had he to come among us with affection and faith engaged, and with manners so _very_ disengaged?
" From something that he said, my dear Emma, I rather imagine --"
" And how could _she_ bear such behaviour!
Composure with a witness!
to look on, while repeated attentions were offering to another woman, before her face, and not resent it.-- That is a degree of placidity, which I can neither comprehend nor respect."
" There were misunderstandings between them, Emma; he said so expressly.
He had not time to enter into much explanation.
He was here only a quarter of an hour, and in a state of agitation which did not allow the full use even of the time he could stay--but that there had been misunderstandings he decidedly said.
The present crisis, indeed, seemed to be brought on by them; and those misunderstandings might very possibly arise from the impropriety of his conduct."
" Impropriety!
Oh!
Mrs. Weston--it is too calm a censure.
Much, much beyond impropriety!-- It has sunk him, I cannot say how it has sunk him in my opinion.
So unlike what a man should be!-- None of that upright integrity, that strict adherence to truth and principle, that disdain of trick and littleness, which a man should display in every transaction of his life."
" Nay, dear Emma, now I must take his part; for though he has been wrong in this instance, I have known him long enough to answer for his having many, very many, good qualities; and --"
" Good God!"
cried Emma, not attending to her.--" Mrs.
Smallridge, too!
Jane actually on the point of going as governess!
What could he mean by such horrible indelicacy?
To suffer her to engage herself--to suffer her even to think of such a measure!"
" He knew nothing about it, Emma.
On this article I can fully acquit him.
It was a private resolution of hers, not communicated to him--or at least not communicated in a way to carry conviction.-- Till yesterday, I know he said he was in the dark as to her plans.
Emma began to listen better.
" I am to hear from him soon," continued Mrs. Weston.
" He told me at parting, that he should soon write; and he spoke in a manner which seemed to promise me many particulars that could not be given now.
Let us wait, therefore, for this letter.
It may bring many extenuations.
It may make many things intelligible and excusable which now are not to be understood.
Don't let us be severe, don't let us be in a hurry to condemn him.
Let us have patience.
I must love him; and now that I am satisfied on one point, the one material point, I am sincerely anxious for its all turning out well, and ready to hope that it may.
They must both have suffered a great deal under such a system of secresy and concealment."
" _His_ sufferings," replied Emma dryly, " do not appear to have done him much harm.
Well, and how did Mr. Churchill take it?"
" Most favourably for his nephew--gave his consent with scarcely a difficulty.
Conceive what the events of a week have done in that family!
While poor Mrs. Churchill lived, I suppose there could not have been a hope, a chance, a possibility;-- but scarcely are her remains at rest in the family vault, than her husband is persuaded to act exactly opposite to what she would have required.
What a blessing it is, when undue influence does not survive the grave!-- He gave his consent with very little persuasion."
" Ah!"
thought Emma, " he would have done as much for Harriet."
" This was settled last night, and Frank was off with the light this morning.
" And do you really believe the affair to have been carrying on with such perfect secresy?-- The Campbells, the Dixons, did none of them know of the engagement?"
Emma could not speak the name of Dixon without a little blush.
" None; not one.
He positively said that it had been known to no being in the world but their two selves."
" Well," said Emma, " I suppose we shall gradually grow reconciled to the idea, and I wish them very happy.
But I shall always think it a very abominable sort of proceeding.
" I am quite easy on that head," replied Mrs. Weston.
" I am very sure that I never said any thing of either to the other, which both might not have heard."
" You are in luck.-- Your only blunder was confined to my ear, when you imagined a certain friend of ours in love with the lady."
" True.
But as I have always had a thoroughly good opinion of Miss Fairfax, I never could, under any blunder, have spoken ill of her; and as to speaking ill of him, there I must have been safe."
At this moment Mr. Weston appeared at a little distance from the window, evidently on the watch.
His wife gave him a look which invited him in; and, while he was coming round, added, " Now, dearest Emma, let me intreat you to say and look every thing that may set his heart at ease, and incline him to be satisfied with the match.
Let us make the best of it--and, indeed, almost every thing may be fairly said in her favour.
It is not a connexion to gratify; but if Mr. Churchill does not feel that, why should we?
And how much may be said in her situation for even that error!"
" Much, indeed!"
cried Emma feelingly.
" If a woman can ever be excused for thinking only of herself, it is in a situation like Jane Fairfax's.-- Of such, one may almost say, that 'the world is not their's, nor the world's law.'"
She met Mr. Weston on his entrance, with a smiling countenance, exclaiming,
" A very pretty trick you have been playing me, upon my word!
This was a device, I suppose, to sport with my curiosity, and exercise my talent of guessing.
But you really frightened me.
I thought you had lost half your property, at least.
And here, instead of its being a matter of condolence, it turns out to be one of congratulation.-- I congratulate you, Mr. Weston, with all my heart, on the prospect of having one of the most lovely and accomplished young women in England for your daughter."
A glance or two between him and his wife, convinced him that all was as right as this speech proclaimed; and its happy effect on his spirits was immediate.
His air and voice recovered their usual briskness: he shook her heartily and gratefully by the hand, and entered on the subject in a manner to prove, that he now only wanted time and persuasion to think the engagement no very bad thing.
CHAPTER XI
" Harriet, poor Harriet!"
-- Those were the words; in them lay the tormenting ideas which Emma could not get rid of, and which constituted the real misery of the business to her.
Frank Churchill had behaved very ill by herself--very ill in many ways,-- but it was not so much _his_ behaviour as her _own_, which made her so angry with him.
It was the scrape which he had drawn her into on Harriet's account, that gave the deepest hue to his offence.-- Poor Harriet!
to be a second time the dupe of her misconceptions and flattery.
Mr. Knightley had spoken prophetically, when he once said, " Emma, you have been no friend to Harriet Smith."
She might have prevented the indulgence and increase of such sentiments.
Her influence would have been enough.
And now she was very conscious that she ought to have prevented them.-- She felt that she had been risking her friend's happiness on most insufficient grounds.
Common sense would have directed her to tell Harriet, that she must not allow herself to think of him, and that there were five hundred chances to one against his ever caring for her.--" But, with common sense," she added, " I am afraid I have had little to do."
She was extremely angry with herself.
If she could not have been angry with Frank Churchill too, it would have been dreadful.-- As for Jane Fairfax, she might at least relieve her feelings from any present solicitude on her account.
This discovery laid many smaller matters open.
No doubt it had been from jealousy.-- In Jane's eyes she had been a rival; and well might any thing she could offer of assistance or regard be repulsed.
An airing in the Hartfield carriage would have been the rack, and arrowroot from the Hartfield storeroom must have been poison.
She understood it all; and as far as her mind could disengage itself from the injustice and selfishness of angry feelings, she acknowledged that Jane Fairfax would have neither elevation nor happiness beyond her desert.
But poor Harriet was such an engrossing charge!
There was little sympathy to be spared for any body else.
Emma was sadly fearful that this second disappointment would be more severe than the first.
Considering the very superior claims of the object, it ought; and judging by its apparently stronger effect on Harriet's mind, producing reserve and self - command, it would.-- She must communicate the painful truth, however, and as soon as possible.
An injunction of secresy had been among Mr. Weston's parting words.
" For the present, the whole affair was to be completely a secret.
Mr. Churchill had made a point of it, as a token of respect to the wife he had so very recently lost; and every body admitted it to be no more than due decorum."
-- Emma had promised; but still Harriet must be excepted.
It was her superior duty.
In spite of her vexation, she could not help feeling it almost ridiculous, that she should have the very same distressing and delicate office to perform by Harriet, which Mrs. Weston had just gone through by herself.
The intelligence, which had been so anxiously announced to her, she was now to be anxiously announcing to another.
Her heart beat quick on hearing Harriet's footstep and voice; so, she supposed, had poor Mrs. Weston felt when _she_ was approaching Randalls.
Could the event of the disclosure bear an equal resemblance!-- But of that, unfortunately, there could be no chance.
" Well, Miss Woodhouse!"
cried Harriet, coming eagerly into the room--" is not this the oddest news that ever was?"
" What news do you mean?"
replied Emma, unable to guess, by look or voice, whether Harriet could indeed have received any hint.
" About Jane Fairfax.
Did you ever hear any thing so strange?
Oh!-- you need not be afraid of owning it to me, for Mr. Weston has told me himself.
I met him just now.
He told me it was to be a great secret; and, therefore, I should not think of mentioning it to any body but you, but he said you knew it."
" What did Mr. Weston tell you?"
-- said Emma, still perplexed.
" Oh!
he told me all about it; that Jane Fairfax and Mr. Frank Churchill are to be married, and that they have been privately engaged to one another this long while.
How very odd!"
It was, indeed, so odd; Harriet's behaviour was so extremely odd, that Emma did not know how to understand it.
Her character appeared absolutely changed.
She seemed to propose shewing no agitation, or disappointment, or peculiar concern in the discovery.
Emma looked at her, quite unable to speak.
" Had you any idea," cried Harriet, " of his being in love with her?-- You, perhaps, might.-- You (blushing as she spoke) who can see into every body's heart; but nobody else --"
" Upon my word," said Emma, " I begin to doubt my having any such talent.
You may be very sure that if I had, I should have cautioned you accordingly."
" Me!"
cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished.
" Why should you caution me?-- You do not think I care about Mr. Frank Churchill."
" I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the subject," replied Emma, smiling; " but you do not mean to deny that there was a time--and not very distant either--when you gave me reason to understand that you did care about him?"
" Him!-- never, never.
Dear Miss Woodhouse, how could you so mistake me?"
turning away distressed.
" Harriet!"
cried Emma, after a moment's pause --" What do you mean?-- Good Heaven!
what do you mean?-- Mistake you!-- Am I to suppose then?--"
She could not speak another word.-- Her voice was lost; and she sat down, waiting in great terror till Harriet should answer.
Harriet, who was standing at some distance, and with face turned from her, did not immediately say any thing; and when she did speak, it was in a voice nearly as agitated as Emma's.
" I should not have thought it possible," she began, " that you could have misunderstood me!
I know we agreed never to name him--but considering how infinitely superior he is to every body else, I should not have thought it possible that I could be supposed to mean any other person.
Mr. Frank Churchill, indeed!
I do not know who would ever look at him in the company of the other.
I hope I have a better taste than to think of Mr. Frank Churchill, who is like nobody by his side.
And that you should have been so mistaken, is amazing!-- I am sure, but for believing that you entirely approved and meant to encourage me in my attachment, I should have considered it at first too great a presumption almost, to dare to think of him.
" Harriet!"
cried Emma, collecting herself resolutely --" Let us understand each other now, without the possibility of farther mistake.
Are you speaking of--Mr.
Knightley?"
" To be sure I am.
I never could have an idea of any body else--and so I thought you knew.
When we talked about him, it was as clear as possible."
" Not quite," returned Emma, with forced calmness, " for all that you then said, appeared to me to relate to a different person.
I could almost assert that you had _named_ Mr. Frank Churchill.
I am sure the service Mr. Frank Churchill had rendered you, in protecting you from the gipsies, was spoken of."
" Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, how you do forget!"
" My dear Harriet, I perfectly remember the substance of what I said on the occasion.
" Oh, dear," cried Harriet, " now I recollect what you mean; but I was thinking of something very different at the time.
It was not the gipsies--it was not Mr. Frank Churchill that I meant.
No!
(with some elevation) I was thinking of a much more precious circumstance--of Mr. Knightley's coming and asking me to dance, when Mr. Elton would not stand up with me; and when there was no other partner in the room.
That was the kind action; that was the noble benevolence and generosity; that was the service which made me begin to feel how superior he was to every other being upon earth."
" Good God!"
cried Emma, " this has been a most unfortunate--most deplorable mistake!-- What is to be done?"
" You would not have encouraged me, then, if you had understood me?
At least, however, I cannot be worse off than I should have been, if the other had been the person; and now--it _is_ possible --"
She paused a few moments.
Emma could not speak.
" I do not wonder, Miss Woodhouse," she resumed, " that you should feel a great difference between the two, as to me or as to any body.
You must think one five hundred million times more above me than the other.
But I hope, Miss Woodhouse, that supposing--that if--strange as it may appear --.
But you are too good for that, I am sure."
Harriet was standing at one of the windows.
Emma turned round to look at her in consternation, and hastily said,
" Have you any idea of Mr. Knightley's returning your affection?"
" Yes," replied Harriet modestly, but not fearfully --" I must say that I have."
Emma's eyes were instantly withdrawn; and she sat silently meditating, in a fixed attitude, for a few minutes.
A few minutes were sufficient for making her acquainted with her own heart.
A mind like hers, once opening to suspicion, made rapid progress.
She touched--she admitted--she acknowledged the whole truth.
Why was it so much worse that Harriet should be in love with Mr. Knightley, than with Frank Churchill?
Why was the evil so dreadfully increased by Harriet's having some hope of a return?
It darted through her, with the speed of an arrow, that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself!
Her own conduct, as well as her own heart, was before her in the same few minutes.
She saw it all with a clearness which had never blessed her before.
How improperly had she been acting by Harriet!
How inconsiderate, how indelicate, how irrational, how unfeeling had been her conduct!
What blindness, what madness, had led her on!
It struck her with dreadful force, and she was ready to give it every bad name in the world.
Harriet had been conscious of a difference in his behaviour ever since those two decisive dances.-- Emma knew that he had, on that occasion, found her much superior to his expectation.
When they had been all walking together, he had so often come and walked by her, and talked so very delightfully!-- He seemed to want to be acquainted with her.
Emma knew it to have been very much the case.
She had often observed the change, to almost the same extent.-- Harriet repeated expressions of approbation and praise from him--and Emma felt them to be in the closest agreement with what she had known of his opinion of Harriet.
The superior degree of confidence towards Harriet, which this one article marked, gave her severe pain.
On the subject of the first of the two circumstances, she did, after a little reflection, venture the following question.
" Might he not?-- Is not it possible, that when enquiring, as you thought, into the state of your affections, he might be alluding to Mr. Martin--he might have Mr. Martin's interest in view?
But Harriet rejected the suspicion with spirit.
" Mr. Martin!
No indeed!-- There was not a hint of Mr. Martin.
I hope I know better now, than to care for Mr. Martin, or to be suspected of it."
When Harriet had closed her evidence, she appealed to her dear Miss Woodhouse, to say whether she had not good ground for hope.
" I never should have presumed to think of it at first," said she, " but for you.
You told me to observe him carefully, and let his behaviour be the rule of mine--and so I have.
But now I seem to feel that I may deserve him; and that if he does chuse me, it will not be any thing so very wonderful."
The bitter feelings occasioned by this speech, the many bitter feelings, made the utmost exertion necessary on Emma's side, to enable her to say on reply,
" Harriet, I will only venture to declare, that Mr. Knightley is the last man in the world, who would intentionally give any woman the idea of his feeling for her more than he really does."
Harriet seemed ready to worship her friend for a sentence so satisfactory; and Emma was only saved from raptures and fondness, which at that moment would have been dreadful penance, by the sound of her father's footsteps.
He was coming through the hall.
Harriet was too much agitated to encounter him.
" She could not compose herself--Mr. Woodhouse would be alarmed--she had better go;"-- with most ready encouragement from her friend, therefore, she passed off through another door--and the moment she was gone, this was the spontaneous burst of Emma's feelings: " Oh God!
that I had never seen her!"
The rest of the day, the following night, were hardly enough for her thoughts.-- She was bewildered amidst the confusion of all that had rushed on her within the last few hours.
Every moment had brought a fresh surprize; and every surprize must be matter of humiliation to her.-- How to understand it all!
To understand, thoroughly understand her own heart, was the first endeavour.
To that point went every leisure moment which her father's claims on her allowed, and every moment of involuntary absence of mind.
How long had Mr. Knightley been so dear to her, as every feeling declared him now to be?
had it, by any blessed felicity, occurred to her, to institute the comparison.-- She saw that there never had been a time when she did not consider Mr. Knightley as infinitely the superior, or when his regard for her had not been infinitely the most dear.
She saw, that in persuading herself, in fancying, in acting to the contrary, she had been entirely under a delusion, totally ignorant of her own heart--and, in short, that she had never really cared for Frank Churchill at all!
This was the conclusion of the first series of reflection.
This was the knowledge of herself, on the first question of inquiry, which she reached; and without being long in reaching it.-- She was most sorrowfully indignant; ashamed of every sensation but the one revealed to her--her affection for Mr.
Knightley.-- Every other part of her mind was disgusting.
With insufferable vanity had she believed herself in the secret of every body's feelings; with unpardonable arrogance proposed to arrange every body's destiny.
She was proved to have been universally mistaken; and she had not quite done nothing--for she had done mischief.
She had brought evil on Harriet, on herself, and she too much feared, on Mr.
Knightley and Harriet Smith!-- Such an elevation on her side!
Such a debasement on his!
And yet it was far, very far, from impossible.-- Was it a new circumstance for a man of first - rate abilities to be captivated by very inferior powers?
Was it new for one, perhaps too busy to seek, to be the prize of a girl who would seek him?-- Was it new for any thing in this world to be unequal, inconsistent, incongruous--or for chance and circumstance (as second causes) to direct the human fate?
Oh!
had she never brought Harriet forward!
How Harriet could ever have had the presumption to raise her thoughts to Mr.
Knightley's.-- Alas!
was not that her own doing too?
CHAPTER XII
She had herself been first with him for many years past.
In spite of all her faults, she knew she was dear to him; might she not say, very dear?-- When the suggestions of hope, however, which must follow here, presented themselves, she could not presume to indulge them.
Harriet Smith might think herself not unworthy of being peculiarly, exclusively, passionately loved by Mr. Knightley.
_She_ could not.
She could not flatter herself with any idea of blindness in his attachment to _her_.
She had received a very recent proof of its impartiality.-- How shocked had he been by her behaviour to Miss Bates!
It would be incompatible with what she owed to her father, and with what she felt for him.
Nothing should separate her from her father.
She would not marry, even if she were asked by Mr. Knightley.
The power of observation would be soon given--frightfully soon it appeared when her thoughts were in one course.
A little curiosity Emma had; and she made the most of it while her friend related.
Emma smiled, and felt that Mr. Weston had very good reason for saying so.
They had gone, in short--and very great had been the evident distress and confusion of the lady.
She had hardly been able to speak a word, and every look and action had shewn how deeply she was suffering from consciousness.
The quiet, heart - felt satisfaction of the old lady, and the rapturous delight of her daughter--who proved even too joyous to talk as usual, had been a gratifying, yet almost an affecting, scene.
They were both so truly respectable in their happiness, so disinterested in every sensation; thought so much of Jane; so much of every body, and so little of themselves, that every kindly feeling was at work for them.
Mrs. Weston was convinced that such conversation must be the greatest relief to her companion, pent up within her own mind as every thing had so long been, and was very much pleased with all that she had said on the subject.
" On the misery of what she had suffered, during the concealment of so many months," continued Mrs. Weston, " she was energetic.
This was one of her expressions.
'I will not say, that since I entered into the engagement I have not had some happy moments; but I can say, that I have never known the blessing of one tranquil hour:'-- and the quivering lip, Emma, which uttered it, was an attestation that I felt at my heart."
" Poor girl!"
said Emma.
" She thinks herself wrong, then, for having consented to a private engagement?"
" Wrong!
No one, I believe, can blame her more than she is disposed to blame herself.
'The consequence,' said she, 'has been a state of perpetual suffering to me; and so it ought.
But after all the punishment that misconduct can bring, it is still not less misconduct.
Pain is no expiation.
I never can be blameless.
I have been acting contrary to all my sense of right; and the fortunate turn that every thing has taken, and the kindness I am now receiving, is what my conscience tells me ought not to be.'
'Do not imagine, madam,' she continued, 'that I was taught wrong.
Do not let any reflection fall on the principles or the care of the friends who brought me up.
The error has been all my own; and I do assure you that, with all the excuse that present circumstances may appear to give, I shall yet dread making the story known to Colonel Campbell.'"
" Poor girl!"
said Emma again.
" She loves him then excessively, I suppose.
It must have been from attachment only, that she could be led to form the engagement.
Her affection must have overpowered her judgment."
" Yes, I have no doubt of her being extremely attached to him."
" I am afraid," returned Emma, sighing, " that I must often have contributed to make her unhappy."
" On your side, my love, it was very innocently done.
But she probably had something of that in her thoughts, when alluding to the misunderstandings which he had given us hints of before.
One natural consequence of the evil she had involved herself in," she said, " was that of making her _unreasonable_.
The consciousness of having done amiss, had exposed her to a thousand inquietudes, and made her captious and irritable to a degree that must have been--that had been--hard for him to bear.
She was sensible that you had never received any proper acknowledgment from herself."
" If I did not know her to be happy now," said Emma, seriously, " which, in spite of every little drawback from her scrupulous conscience, she must be, I could not bear these thanks;-- for, oh!
Mrs. Weston, if there were an account drawn up of the evil and the good I have done Miss Fairfax!-- Well (checking herself, and trying to be more lively), this is all to be forgotten.
You are very kind to bring me these interesting particulars.
They shew her to the greatest advantage.
I am sure she is very good--I hope she will be very happy.
It is fit that the fortune should be on his side, for I think the merit will be all on hers."
Such a conclusion could not pass unanswered by Mrs. Weston.
She thought well of Frank in almost every respect; and, what was more, she loved him very much, and her defence was, therefore, earnest.
" Are you well, my Emma?"
was Mrs. Weston's parting question.
" Oh!
perfectly.
I am always well, you know.
Be sure to give me intelligence of the letter as soon as possible."
Mrs. Weston's communications furnished Emma with more food for unpleasant reflection, by increasing her esteem and compassion, and her sense of past injustice towards Miss Fairfax.
She bitterly regretted not having sought a closer acquaintance with her, and blushed for the envious feelings which had certainly been, in some measure, the cause.
Of all the sources of evil surrounding the former, since her coming to Highbury, she was persuaded that she must herself have been the worst.
She must have been a perpetual enemy.
They never could have been all three together, without her having stabbed Jane Fairfax's peace in a thousand instances; and on Box Hill, perhaps, it had been the agony of a mind that would bear no more.
The evening of this day was very long, and melancholy, at Hartfield.
The weather added what it could of gloom.
A cold stormy rain set in, and nothing of July appeared but in the trees and shrubs, which the wind was despoiling, and the length of the day, which only made such cruel sights the longer visible.
The weather affected Mr. Woodhouse, and he could only be kept tolerably comfortable by almost ceaseless attention on his daughter's side, and by exertions which had never cost her half so much before.
It reminded her of their first forlorn tete - a - tete, on the evening of Mrs. Weston's wedding - day; but Mr. Knightley had walked in then, soon after tea, and dissipated every melancholy fancy.
Alas!
such delightful proofs of Hartfield's attraction, as those sort of visits conveyed, might shortly be over.
The picture which she had then drawn of the privations of the approaching winter, had proved erroneous; no friends had deserted them, no pleasures had been lost.-- But her present forebodings she feared would experience no similar contradiction.
The prospect before her now, was threatening to a degree that could not be entirely dispelled--that might not be even partially brightened.
If all took place that might take place among the circle of her friends, Hartfield must be comparatively deserted; and she left to cheer her father with the spirits only of ruined happiness.
The child to be born at Randalls must be a tie there even dearer than herself; and Mrs. Weston's heart and time would be occupied by it.
They should lose her; and, probably, in great measure, her husband also.-- Frank Churchill would return among them no more; and Miss Fairfax, it was reasonable to suppose, would soon cease to belong to Highbury.
They would be married, and settled either at or near Enscombe.
All that were good would be withdrawn; and if to these losses, the loss of Donwell were to be added, what would remain of cheerful or of rational society within their reach?
Mr. Knightley to be no longer coming there for his evening comfort!-- No longer walking in at all hours, as if ever willing to change his own home for their's!-- How was it to be endured?
CHAPTER XIII
With all the eagerness which such a transition gives, Emma resolved to be out of doors as soon as possible.
Never had the exquisite sight, smell, sensation of nature, tranquil, warm, and brilliant after a storm, been more attractive to her.
She had been thinking of him the moment before, as unquestionably sixteen miles distant.-- There was time only for the quickest arrangement of mind.
She must be collected and calm.
In half a minute they were together.
The " How d'ye do's " were quiet and constrained on each side.
She asked after their mutual friends; they were all well.-- When had he left them?-- Only that morning.
He must have had a wet ride.-- Yes.-- He meant to walk with her, she found.
" He had just looked into the dining - room, and as he was not wanted there, preferred being out of doors."
-- She thought he neither looked nor spoke cheerfully; and the first possible cause for it, suggested by her fears, was, that he had perhaps been communicating his plans to his brother, and was pained by the manner in which they had been received.
They walked together.
He was silent.
She thought he was often looking at her, and trying for a fuller view of her face than it suited her to give.
And this belief produced another dread.
Perhaps he wanted to speak to her, of his attachment to Harriet; he might be watching for encouragement to begin.-- She did not, could not, feel equal to lead the way to any such subject.
He must do it all himself.
Yet she could not bear this silence.
With him it was most unnatural.
She considered--resolved--and, trying to smile, began --
" You have some news to hear, now you are come back, that will rather surprize you."
" Have I?"
said he quietly, and looking at her; " of what nature?"
" Oh!
the best nature in the world--a wedding."
After waiting a moment, as if to be sure she intended to say no more, he replied,
" If you mean Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have heard that already."
" How is it possible?"
cried Emma, turning her glowing cheeks towards him; for, while she spoke, it occurred to her that he might have called at Mrs. Goddard's in his way.
" I had a few lines on parish business from Mr. Weston this morning, and at the end of them he gave me a brief account of what had happened."
Emma was quite relieved, and could presently say, with a little more composure,
For a moment or two nothing was said, and she was unsuspicious of having excited any particular interest, till she found her arm drawn within his, and pressed against his heart, and heard him thus saying, in a tone of great sensibility, speaking low,
" Time, my dearest Emma, time will heal the wound.-- Your own excellent sense--your exertions for your father's sake--I know you will not allow yourself --."
Her arm was pressed again, as he added, in a more broken and subdued accent, " The feelings of the warmest friendship--Indignation--Abominable scoundrel!"
-- And in a louder, steadier tone, he concluded with, " He will soon be gone.
They will soon be in Yorkshire.
I am sorry for _her_.
She deserves a better fate."
Emma understood him; and as soon as she could recover from the flutter of pleasure, excited by such tender consideration, replied,
" You are very kind--but you are mistaken--and I must set you right.-- I am not in want of that sort of compassion.
" Emma!"
cried he, looking eagerly at her, " are you, indeed?"
-- but checking himself --" No, no, I understand you--forgive me--I am pleased that you can say even so much.-- He is no object of regret, indeed!
" Mr. Knightley," said Emma, trying to be lively, but really confused--" I am in a very extraordinary situation.
He listened in perfect silence.
She wished him to speak, but he would not.
She supposed she must say more before she were entitled to his clemency; but it was a hard case to be obliged still to lower herself in his opinion.
She went on, however.
Many circumstances assisted the temptation.
He was the son of Mr. Weston--he was continually here--I always found him very pleasant--and, in short, for (with a sigh) let me swell out the causes ever so ingeniously, they all centre in this at last--my vanity was flattered, and I allowed his attentions.
Latterly, however--for some time, indeed--I have had no idea of their meaning any thing.-- I thought them a habit, a trick, nothing that called for seriousness on my side.
He has imposed on me, but he has not injured me.
I have never been attached to him.
And now I can tolerably comprehend his behaviour.
He never wished to attach me.
She had hoped for an answer here--for a few words to say that her conduct was at least intelligible; but he was silent; and, as far as she could judge, deep in thought.
At last, and tolerably in his usual tone, he said,
" I have never had a high opinion of Frank Churchill.-- I can suppose, however, that I may have underrated him.
" I have no doubt of their being happy together," said Emma; " I believe them to be very mutually and very sincerely attached."
" He is a most fortunate man!"
returned Mr. Knightley, with energy.
" So early in life--at three - and - twenty--a period when, if a man chuses a wife, he generally chuses ill. At three - and - twenty to have drawn such a prize!
" You speak as if you envied him."
" And I do envy him, Emma.
In one respect he is the object of my envy."
Emma could say no more.
They seemed to be within half a sentence of Harriet, and her immediate feeling was to avert the subject, if possible.
She made her plan; she would speak of something totally different--the children in Brunswick Square; and she only waited for breath to begin, when Mr. Knightley startled her, by saying,
" You will not ask me what is the point of envy.-- You are determined, I see, to have no curiosity.-- You are wise--but _I_ cannot be wise.
Emma, I must tell you what you will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid the next moment."
" Oh!
then, don't speak it, don't speak it," she eagerly cried.
" Take a little time, consider, do not commit yourself."
" Thank you," said he, in an accent of deep mortification, and not another syllable followed.
Emma could not bear to give him pain.
He was wishing to confide in her--perhaps to consult her;-- cost her what it would, she would listen.
" You are going in, I suppose?"
said he.
" No,"-- replied Emma--quite confirmed by the depressed manner in which he still spoke --" I should like to take another turn.
Mr. Perry is not gone."
I will tell you exactly what I think."
" As a friend!"
-- repeated Mr.
He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and the expression of his eyes overpowered her.
" My dearest Emma," said he, " for dearest you will always be, whatever the event of this hour's conversation, my dearest, most beloved Emma--tell me at once.
Say 'No,' if it is to be said."
-- She could really say nothing.--" You are silent," he cried, with great animation; " absolutely silent!
at present I ask no more."
Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment.
The dread of being awakened from the happiest dream, was perhaps the most prominent feeling.
" I cannot make speeches, Emma:" he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing.--" If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.
But you know what I am.-- You hear nothing but truth from me.-- I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it.-- Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them.
The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them.
God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover.-- But you understand me.-- Yes, you see, you understand my feelings--and will return them if you can.
At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice."
She felt for Harriet, with pain and with contrition; but no flight of generosity run mad, opposing all that could be probable or reasonable, entered her brain.
She had led her friend astray, and it would be a reproach to her for ever; but her judgment was as strong as her feelings, and as strong as it had ever been before, in reprobating any such alliance for him, as most unequal and degrading.
Her way was clear, though not quite smooth.-- She spoke then, on being so entreated.-- What did she say?-- Just what she ought, of course.
A lady always does.-- She said enough to shew there need not be despair--and to invite him to say more himself.
He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of his own influence.
He had followed her into the shrubbery with no idea of trying it.
It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill that had taken him from the country.-- The Box Hill party had decided him on going away.
He would save himself from witnessing again such permitted, encouraged attentions.-- He had gone to learn to be indifferent.-- But he had gone to a wrong place.
He had ridden home through the rain; and had walked up directly after dinner, to see how this sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults, bore the discovery.
He had found her agitated and low.-- Frank Churchill was a villain.-- He heard her declare that she had never loved him.
Frank Churchill's character was not desperate.-- She was his own Emma, by hand and word, when they returned into the house; and if he could have thought of Frank Churchill then, he might have deemed him a very good sort of fellow.
CHAPTER XIV
Her father--and Harriet.
She could not be alone without feeling the full weight of their separate claims; and how to guard the comfort of both to the utmost, was the question.
With respect to her father, it was a question soon answered.
She hardly knew yet what Mr. Knightley would ask; but a very short parley with her own heart produced the most solemn resolution of never quitting her father.-- She even wept over the idea of it, as a sin of thought.
She opened the packet; it was too surely so;-- a note from Mrs. Weston to herself, ushered in the letter from Frank to Mrs. Weston.
" I have the greatest pleasure, my dear Emma, in forwarding to you the enclosed.
[ To Mrs.
Weston.]
WINDSOR - JULY.
MY DEAR MADAM,
My courage rises while I write.
It is very difficult for the prosperous to be humble.
This was the fact.
My right to place myself in a situation requiring such concealment, is another question.
I shall not discuss it here.
For my temptation to _think_ it a right, I refer every caviller to a brick house, sashed windows below, and casements above, in Highbury.
Every possibility of good was before me, and the first of blessings secured, in obtaining her promises of faith and correspondence.
My behaviour, during the very happy fortnight which I spent with you, did not, I hope, lay me open to reprehension, excepting on one point.
And now I come to the principal, the only important part of my conduct while belonging to you, which excites my own anxiety, or requires very solicitous explanation.
We seemed to understand each other.
I cannot doubt it.
You will find, whenever the subject becomes freed from its present restraints, that it did not take her wholly by surprize.
She frequently gave me hints of it.
I remember her telling me at the ball, that I owed Mrs. Elton gratitude for her attentions to Miss Fairfax.-- I hope this history of my conduct towards her will be admitted by you and my father as great extenuation of what you saw amiss.
While you considered me as having sinned against Emma Woodhouse, I could deserve nothing from either.
My heart was in Highbury, and my business was to get my body thither as often as might be, and with the least suspicion.
You will soon, I earnestly hope, know her thoroughly yourself.-- No description can describe her.
I want to have your opinion of her looks.
I know you will soon call on her; she is living in dread of the visit.
Perhaps it is paid already.
Let me hear from you without delay; I am impatient for a thousand particulars.
Remember how few minutes I was at Randalls, and in how bewildered, how mad a state: and I am not much better yet; still insane either from happiness or misery.
When I think of the kindness and favour I have met with, of her excellence and patience, and my uncle's generosity, I am mad with joy: but when I recollect all the uneasiness I occasioned her, and how little I deserve to be forgiven, I am mad with anger.
If I could but see her again!-- But I must not propose it yet.
My uncle has been too good for me to encroach.-- I must still add to this long letter.
You have not heard all that you ought to hear.
I should myself have shrunk from any thing so hasty, and she would have felt every scruple of mine with multiplied strength and refinement.-- But I had no choice.
I behaved shamefully.
And here I can admit, that my manners to Miss W., in being unpleasant to Miss F., were highly blameable.
_She_ disapproved them, which ought to have been enough.-- My plea of concealing the truth she did not think sufficient.-- She was displeased; I thought unreasonably so: I thought her, on a thousand occasions, unnecessarily scrupulous and cautious: I thought her even cold.
But she was always right.
I was late; I met her walking home by herself, and wanted to walk with her, but she would not suffer it.
She absolutely refused to allow me, which I then thought most unreasonable.
Now, however, I see nothing in it but a very natural and consistent degree of discretion.
Even then, I was not such a fool as not to mean to be reconciled in time; but I was the injured person, injured by her coldness, and I went away determined that she should make the first advances.-- I shall always congratulate myself that you were not of the Box Hill party.
Had you witnessed my behaviour there, I can hardly suppose you would ever have thought well of me again.
Think, then, what I must have endured in hearing it bandied between the Eltons with all the vulgarity of needless repetition, and all the insolence of imaginary superiority.
I knew the name, the place, I knew all about it, and instantly saw what she had been doing.
It was perfectly accordant with that resolution of character which I knew her to possess; and the secrecy she had maintained, as to any such design in her former letter, was equally descriptive of its anxious delicacy.
For the world would not she have seemed to threaten me.-- Imagine the shock; imagine how, till I had actually detected my own blunder, I raved at the blunders of the post.-- What was to be done?-- One thing only.-- I must speak to my uncle.
Without his sanction I could not hope to be listened to again.-- I spoke; circumstances were in my favour; the late event had softened away his pride, and he was, earlier than I could have anticipated, wholly reconciled and complying; and could say at last, poor man!
A great deal of very reasonable, very just displeasure I had to persuade away.
But it is done; we are reconciled, dearer, much dearer, than ever, and no moment's uneasiness can ever occur between us again.
Now, my dear madam, I will release you; but I could not conclude before.
I hope she is right.-- In one respect, my good fortune is undoubted, that of being able to subscribe myself, Your obliged and affectionate Son, F. C. WESTON CHURCHILL.
CHAPTER XV
This letter must make its way to Emma's feelings.
She was obliged, in spite of her previous determination to the contrary, to do it all the justice that Mrs. Weston foretold.
She thought so well of the letter, that when Mr. Knightley came again, she desired him to read it.
She was sure of Mrs. Weston's wishing it to be communicated; especially to one, who, like Mr. Knightley, had seen so much to blame in his conduct.
" I shall be very glad to look it over," said he; " but it seems long.
I will take it home with me at night."
But that would not do.
Mr. Weston was to call in the evening, and she must return it by him.
" I would rather be talking to you," he replied; " but as it seems a matter of justice, it shall be done."
He began--stopping, however, almost directly to say, " Had I been offered the sight of one of this gentleman's letters to his mother - in - law a few months ago, Emma, it would not have been taken with such indifference."
He proceeded a little farther, reading to himself; and then, with a smile, observed, " Humph!
a fine complimentary opening: But it is his way.
One man's style must not be the rule of another's.
We will not be severe."
" It will be natural for me," he added shortly afterwards, " to speak my opinion aloud as I read.
By doing it, I shall feel that I am near you.
It will not be so great a loss of time: but if you dislike it --"
" Not at all.
I should wish it."
Mr. Knightley returned to his reading with greater alacrity.
" He trifles here," said he, " as to the temptation.
He knows he is wrong, and has nothing rational to urge.-- Bad.-- He ought not to have formed the engagement.--'His father's disposition:'-- he is unjust, however, to his father.
Mr. Weston's sanguine temper was a blessing on all his upright and honourable exertions; but Mr. Weston earned every present comfort before he endeavoured to gain it.-- Very true; he did not come till Miss Fairfax was here."
" And I have not forgotten," said Emma, " how sure you were that he might have come sooner if he would.
You pass it over very handsomely--but you were perfectly right."
" I was not quite impartial in my judgment, Emma:-- but yet, I think--had _you_ not been in the case--I should still have distrusted him."
" Very bad--though it might have been worse.-- Playing a most dangerous game.
Too much indebted to the event for his acquittal.-- No judge of his own manners by you.-- Always deceived in fact by his own wishes, and regardless of little besides his own convenience.-- Fancying you to have fathomed his secret.
Natural enough!-- his own mind full of intrigue, that he should suspect it in others.-- Mystery; Finesse--how they pervert the understanding!
My Emma, does not every thing serve to prove more and more the beauty of truth and sincerity in all our dealings with each other?"
Emma agreed to it, and with a blush of sensibility on Harriet's account, which she could not give any sincere explanation of.
" You had better go on," said she.
He did so, but very soon stopt again to say, " the pianoforte!
Ah!
That was the act of a very, very young man, one too young to consider whether the inconvenience of it might not very much exceed the pleasure.
A boyish scheme, indeed!-- I cannot comprehend a man's wishing to give a woman any proof of affection which he knows she would rather dispense with; and he did know that she would have prevented the instrument's coming if she could."
After this, he made some progress without any pause.
Frank Churchill's confession of having behaved shamefully was the first thing to call for more than a word in passing.
" I perfectly agree with you, sir,"-- was then his remark.
" You did behave very shamefully.
You never wrote a truer line."
He should have respected even unreasonable scruples, had there been such; but hers were all reasonable.
We must look to her one fault, and remember that she had done a wrong thing in consenting to the engagement, to bear that she should have been in such a state of punishment."
Emma knew that he was now getting to the Box Hill party, and grew uncomfortable.
Her own behaviour had been so very improper!
She was deeply ashamed, and a little afraid of his next look.
It was all read, however, steadily, attentively, and without the smallest remark; and, excepting one momentary glance at her, instantly withdrawn, in the fear of giving pain--no remembrance of Box Hill seemed to exist.
" There is no saying much for the delicacy of our good friends, the Eltons," was his next observation.--" His feelings are natural.-- What!
actually resolve to break with him entirely!-- She felt the engagement to be a source of repentance and misery to each--she dissolved it.-- What a view this gives of her sense of his behaviour!-- Well, he must be a most extraordinary --"
" Nay, nay, read on.-- You will find how very much he suffers."
" I hope he does," replied Mr. Knightley coolly, and resuming the letter.
'Smallridge!'
-- What does this mean?
What is all this?"
" She had engaged to go as governess to Mrs. Smallridge's children--a dear friend of Mrs. Elton's--a neighbour of Maple Grove; and, by the bye, I wonder how Mrs. Elton bears the disappointment?"
" Say nothing, my dear Emma, while you oblige me to read--not even of Mrs. Elton.
Only one page more.
I shall soon have done.
What a letter the man writes!"
" I wish you would read it with a kinder spirit towards him."
" Well, there _is_ feeling here.-- He does seem to have suffered in finding her ill.-- Certainly, I can have no doubt of his being fond of her.
'Dearer, much dearer than ever.'
I hope he may long continue to feel all the value of such a reconciliation.-- He is a very liberal thanker, with his thousands and tens of thousands.--'Happier than I deserve.'
Come, he knows himself there.
'Miss Woodhouse calls me the child of good fortune.'
-- Those were Miss Woodhouse's words, were they?-- And a fine ending--and there is the letter.
The child of good fortune!
That was your name for him, was it?"
" You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I am; but still you must, at least I hope you must, think the better of him for it.
I hope it does him some service with you."
" Yes, certainly it does.
And now, let me talk to you of something else.
I have another person's interest at present so much at heart, that I cannot think any longer about Frank Churchill.
Ever since I left you this morning, Emma, my mind has been hard at work on one subject."
The subject followed; it was in plain, unaffected, gentlemanlike English, such as Mr. Knightley used even to the woman he was in love with, how to be able to ask her to marry him, without attacking the happiness of her father.
Emma's answer was ready at the first word.
" While her dear father lived, any change of condition must be impossible for her.
She could never quit him."
Part only of this answer, however, was admitted.
The impossibility of her quitting her father, Mr. Knightley felt as strongly as herself; but the inadmissibility of any other change, he could not agree to.
Mr. Woodhouse taken from Hartfield!-- No, he felt that it ought not to be attempted.
Of their all removing to Donwell, Emma had already had her own passing thoughts.
Like him, she had tried the scheme and rejected it; but such an alternative as this had not occurred to her.
She was sensible of all the affection it evinced.
She felt that, in quitting Donwell, he must be sacrificing a great deal of independence of hours and habits; that in living constantly with her father, and in no house of his own, there would be much, very much, to be borne with.
She promised to think of it, and advised him to think of it more; but he was fully convinced, that no reflection could alter his wishes or his opinion on the subject.
He had given it, he could assure her, very long and calm consideration; he had been walking away from William Larkins the whole morning, to have his thoughts to himself.
" Ah!
there is one difficulty unprovided for," cried Emma.
" I am sure William Larkins will not like it.
You must get his consent before you ask mine."
She promised, however, to think of it; and pretty nearly promised, moreover, to think of it, with the intention of finding it a very good scheme.
It is remarkable, that Emma, in the many, very many, points of view in which she was now beginning to consider Donwell Abbey, was never struck with any sense of injury to her nephew Henry, whose rights as heir - expectant had formerly been so tenaciously regarded.
This proposal of his, this plan of marrying and continuing at Hartfield--the more she contemplated it, the more pleasing it became.
His evils seemed to lessen, her own advantages to increase, their mutual good to outweigh every drawback.
Such a companion for herself in the periods of anxiety and cheerlessness before her!-- Such a partner in all those duties and cares to which time must be giving increase of melancholy!
She would have been too happy but for poor Harriet; but every blessing of her own seemed to involve and advance the sufferings of her friend, who must now be even excluded from Hartfield.
The delightful family party which Emma was securing for herself, poor Harriet must, in mere charitable caution, be kept at a distance from.
She would be a loser in every way.
Emma could not deplore her future absence as any deduction from her own enjoyment.
In such a party, Harriet would be rather a dead weight than otherwise; but for the poor girl herself, it seemed a peculiarly cruel necessity that was to be placing her in such a state of unmerited punishment.
In time, of course, Mr. Knightley would be forgotten, that is, supplanted; but this could not be expected to happen very early.
Mr. Knightley himself would be doing nothing to assist the cure;-- not like Mr. Elton.
Mr. Knightley, always so kind, so feeling, so truly considerate for every body, would never deserve to be less worshipped than now; and it really was too much to hope even of Harriet, that she could be in love with more than _three_ men in one year.
CHAPTER XVI
It was a very great relief to Emma to find Harriet as desirous as herself to avoid a meeting.
Their intercourse was painful enough by letter.
How much worse, had they been obliged to meet!
She had no difficulty in procuring Isabella's invitation; and she was fortunate in having a sufficient reason for asking it, without resorting to invention.-- There was a tooth amiss.
Harriet really wished, and had wished some time, to consult a dentist.
The difference of Harriet at Mrs. Goddard's, or in London, made perhaps an unreasonable difference in Emma's sensations; but she could not think of her in London without objects of curiosity and employment, which must be averting the past, and carrying her out of herself.
She would not allow any other anxiety to succeed directly to the place in her mind which Harriet had occupied.
There was a communication before her, one which _she_ only could be competent to make--the confession of her engagement to her father; but she would have nothing to do with it at present.-- She had resolved to defer the disclosure till Mrs. Weston were safe and well.
She soon resolved, equally as a duty and a pleasure, to employ half an hour of this holiday of spirits in calling on Miss Fairfax.-- She ought to go--and she was longing to see her; the resemblance of their present situations increasing every other motive of goodwill.
It would be a _secret_ satisfaction; but the consciousness of a similarity of prospect would certainly add to the interest with which she should attend to any thing Jane might communicate.
There was consciousness, animation, and warmth; there was every thing which her countenance or manner could ever have wanted.-- She came forward with an offered hand; and said, in a low, but very feeling tone,
" This is most kind, indeed!-- Miss Woodhouse, it is impossible for me to express--I hope you will believe--Excuse me for being so entirely without words."
Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Elton were together.
Miss Bates was out, which accounted for the previous tranquillity.
Emma could have wished Mrs. Elton elsewhere; but she was in a humour to have patience with every body; and as Mrs. Elton met her with unusual graciousness, she hoped the rencontre would do them no harm.
She soon believed herself to penetrate Mrs. Elton's thoughts, and understand why she was, like herself, in happy spirits; it was being in Miss Fairfax's confidence, and fancying herself acquainted with what was still a secret to other people.
" We can finish this some other time, you know.
You and I shall not want opportunities.
And, in fact, you have heard all the essential already.
I only wanted to prove to you that Mrs. S. admits our apology, and is not offended.
You see how delightfully she writes.
Oh!
she is a sweet creature!
You would have doated on her, had you gone.-- But not a word more.
Let us be discreet--quite on our good behaviour.-- Hush!-- You remember those lines--I forget the poem at this moment:
" For when a lady's in the case, " You know all other things give place."
Now I say, my dear, in _our_ case, for _lady_, read ---- mum!
a word to the wise.-- I am in a fine flow of spirits, an't I?
But I want to set your heart at ease as to Mrs. S.-- _My_ representation, you see, has quite appeased her."
And again, on Emma's merely turning her head to look at Mrs. Bates's knitting, she added, in a half whisper,
" I mentioned no _names_, you will observe.-- Oh!
no; cautious as a minister of state.
I managed it extremely well."
Emma could not doubt.
It was a palpable display, repeated on every possible occasion.
When they had all talked a little while in harmony of the weather and Mrs. Weston, she found herself abruptly addressed with,
" Do not you think, Miss Woodhouse, our saucy little friend here is charmingly recovered?-- Do not you think her cure does Perry the highest credit?--(here was a side - glance of great meaning at Jane.)
Upon my word, Perry has restored her in a wonderful short time!-- Oh!
if you had seen her, as I did, when she was at the worst!"
-- And when Mrs. Bates was saying something to Emma, whispered farther, " We do not say a word of any _assistance_ that Perry might have; not a word of a certain young physician from Windsor.-- Oh!
no; Perry shall have all the credit."
" I have scarce had the pleasure of seeing you, Miss Woodhouse," she shortly afterwards began, " since the party to Box Hill.
Very pleasant party.
But yet I think there was something wanting.
Things did not seem--that is, there seemed a little cloud upon the spirits of some.-- So it appeared to me at least, but I might be mistaken.
However, I think it answered so far as to tempt one to go again.
What say you both to our collecting the same party, and exploring to Box Hill again, while the fine weather lasts?-- It must be the same party, you know, quite the same party, not _one_ exception."
Soon after this Miss Bates came in, and Emma could not help being diverted by the perplexity of her first answer to herself, resulting, she supposed, from doubt of what might be said, and impatience to say every thing.
" Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse, you are all kindness.-- It is impossible to say--Yes, indeed, I quite understand--dearest Jane's prospects--that is, I do not mean.-- But she is charmingly recovered.-- How is Mr.
Woodhouse?-- I am so glad.-- Quite out of my power.-- Such a happy little circle as you find us here.-- Yes, indeed.-- Charming young man!-- that is--so very friendly; I mean good Mr.
Perry!-- such attention to Jane!"
" Yes, here I am, my good friend; and here I have been so long, that anywhere else I should think it necessary to apologise; but, the truth is, that I am waiting for my lord and master.
He promised to join me here, and pay his respects to you."
" What!
are we to have the pleasure of a call from Mr.
Elton?-- That will be a favour indeed!
for I know gentlemen do not like morning visits, and Mr. Elton's time is so engaged."
" Upon my word it is, Miss Bates.-- He really is engaged from morning to night.-- There is no end of people's coming to him, on some pretence or other.-- The magistrates, and overseers, and churchwardens, are always wanting his opinion.
They seem not able to do any thing without him.--'Upon my word, Mr. E.,' I often say, 'rather you than I.-- I do not know what would become of my crayons and my instrument, if I had half so many applicants.'
-- Bad enough as it is, for I absolutely neglect them both to an unpardonable degree.-- I believe I have not played a bar this fortnight.-- However, he is coming, I assure you: yes, indeed, on purpose to wait on you all."
And putting up her hand to screen her words from Emma --" A congratulatory visit, you know.-- Oh!
yes, quite indispensable."
Miss Bates looked about her, so happily!--
" He promised to come to me as soon as he could disengage himself from Knightley; but he and Knightley are shut up together in deep consultation.-- Mr.
E. is Knightley's right hand."
Emma would not have smiled for the world, and only said, " Is Mr. Elton gone on foot to Donwell?-- He will have a hot walk."
" Oh!
no, it is a meeting at the Crown, a regular meeting.
Weston and Cole will be there too; but one is apt to speak only of those who lead.-- I fancy Mr. E. and Knightley have every thing their own way."
" Have not you mistaken the day?"
said Emma.
" I am almost certain that the meeting at the Crown is not till to - morrow.-- Mr.
Knightley was at Hartfield yesterday, and spoke of it as for Saturday."
" Oh!
no, the meeting is certainly to - day," was the abrupt answer, which denoted the impossibility of any blunder on Mrs. Elton's side.-- " I do believe," she continued, " this is the most troublesome parish that ever was.
We never heard of such things at Maple Grove."
" Your parish there was small," said Jane.
" Upon my word, my dear, I do not know, for I never heard the subject talked of."
" But it is proved by the smallness of the school, which I have heard you speak of, as under the patronage of your sister and Mrs. Bragge; the only school, and not more than five - and - twenty children."
" Ah!
you clever creature, that's very true.
What a thinking brain you have!
I say, Jane, what a perfect character you and I should make, if we could be shaken together.
My liveliness and your solidity would produce perfection.-- Not that I presume to insinuate, however, that _some_ people may not think _you_ perfection already.-- But hush!-- not a word, if you please."
It seemed an unnecessary caution; Jane was wanting to give her words, not to Mrs. Elton, but to Miss Woodhouse, as the latter plainly saw.
The wish of distinguishing her, as far as civility permitted, was very evident, though it could not often proceed beyond a look.
Mr. Elton made his appearance.
His lady greeted him with some of her sparkling vivacity.
" Very pretty, sir, upon my word; to send me on here, to be an encumbrance to my friends, so long before you vouchsafe to come!-- But you knew what a dutiful creature you had to deal with.
You knew I should not stir till my lord and master appeared.-- Here have I been sitting this hour, giving these young ladies a sample of true conjugal obedience--for who can say, you know, how soon it may be wanted?"
Mr. Elton was so hot and tired, that all this wit seemed thrown away.
His civilities to the other ladies must be paid; but his subsequent object was to lament over himself for the heat he was suffering, and the walk he had had for nothing.
" When I got to Donwell," said he, " Knightley could not be found.
Very odd!
very unaccountable!
after the note I sent him this morning, and the message he returned, that he should certainly be at home till one."
" Donwell!"
cried his wife.--" My dear Mr. E., you have not been to Donwell!-- You mean the Crown; you come from the meeting at the Crown."
" No, no, that's to - morrow; and I particularly wanted to see Knightley to - day on that very account.-- Such a dreadful broiling morning!-- I went over the fields too --(speaking in a tone of great ill - usage,) which made it so much the worse.
And then not to find him at home!
I assure you I am not at all pleased.
And no apology left, no message for me.
The housekeeper declared she knew nothing of my being expected.-- Very extraordinary!-- And nobody knew at all which way he was gone.
Perhaps to Hartfield, perhaps to the Abbey Mill, perhaps into his woods.-- Miss Woodhouse, this is not like our friend Knightley!-- Can you explain it?"
Emma amused herself by protesting that it was very extraordinary, indeed, and that she had not a syllable to say for him.
" I cannot imagine," said Mrs. Elton, (feeling the indignity as a wife ought to do,) " I cannot imagine how he could do such a thing by you, of all people in the world!
The very last person whom one should expect to be forgotten!-- My dear Mr. E., he must have left a message for you, I am sure he must.-- Not even Knightley could be so very eccentric;-- and his servants forgot it.
Depend upon it, that was the case: and very likely to happen with the Donwell servants, who are all, I have often observed, extremely awkward and remiss.-- I am sure I would not have such a creature as his Harry stand at our sideboard for any consideration.
And as for Mrs. Hodges, Wright holds her very cheap indeed.-- She promised Wright a receipt, and never sent it."
" I met William Larkins," continued Mr. Elton, " as I got near the house, and he told me I should not find his master at home, but I did not believe him.-- William seemed rather out of humour.
He did not know what was come to his master lately, he said, but he could hardly ever get the speech of him.
I have nothing to do with William's wants, but it really is of very great importance that _I_ should see Knightley to - day; and it becomes a matter, therefore, of very serious inconvenience that I should have had this hot walk to no purpose."
Emma felt that she could not do better than go home directly.
In all probability she was at this very time waited for there; and Mr. Knightley might be preserved from sinking deeper in aggression towards Mr. Elton, if not towards William Larkins.
She was pleased, on taking leave, to find Miss Fairfax determined to attend her out of the room, to go with her even downstairs; it gave her an opportunity which she immediately made use of, to say,
" It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility.
Had you not been surrounded by other friends, I might have been tempted to introduce a subject, to ask questions, to speak more openly than might have been strictly correct.-- I feel that I should certainly have been impertinent."
" Oh!"
cried Jane, with a blush and an hesitation which Emma thought infinitely more becoming to her than all the elegance of all her usual composure --" there would have been no danger.
The danger would have been of my wearying you.
You could not have gratified me more than by expressing an interest --.
I long to make apologies, excuses, to urge something for myself.
I feel it so very due.
But, unfortunately--in short, if your compassion does not stand my friend --"
" Oh!
you are too scrupulous, indeed you are," cried Emma warmly, and taking her hand.
" You owe me no apologies; and every body to whom you might be supposed to owe them, is so perfectly satisfied, so delighted even --"
" You are very kind, but I know what my manners were to you.-- So cold and artificial!-- I had always a part to act.-- It was a life of deceit!-- I know that I must have disgusted you."
" Pray say no more.
I feel that all the apologies should be on my side.
Let us forgive each other at once.
We must do whatever is to be done quickest, and I think our feelings will lose no time there.
I hope you have pleasant accounts from Windsor?"
" Very."
" And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are to lose you--just as I begin to know you."
" Oh!
as to all that, of course nothing can be thought of yet.
I am here till claimed by Colonel and Mrs.
Campbell."
" Nothing can be actually settled yet, perhaps," replied Emma, smiling --" but, excuse me, it must be thought of."
The smile was returned as Jane answered,
" You are very right; it has been thought of.
And I will own to you, (I am sure it will be safe), that so far as our living with Mr. Churchill at Enscombe, it is settled.
There must be three months, at least, of deep mourning; but when they are over, I imagine there will be nothing more to wait for."
" Thank you, thank you.-- This is just what I wanted to be assured of.-- Oh!
if you knew how much I love every thing that is decided and open!-- Good - bye, good - bye."
CHAPTER XVII
Mrs. Weston's friends were all made happy by her safety; and if the satisfaction of her well - doing could be increased to Emma, it was by knowing her to be the mother of a little girl.
She had been decided in wishing for a Miss Weston.
She would not acknowledge that it was with any view of making a match for her, hereafter, with either of Isabella's sons; but she was convinced that a daughter would suit both father and mother best.
" She has had the advantage, you know, of practising on me," she continued --" like La Baronne d'Almane on La Comtesse d'Ostalis, in Madame de Genlis'Adelaide and Theodore, and we shall now see her own little Adelaide educated on a more perfect plan."
" That is," replied Mr. Knightley, " she will indulge her even more than she did you, and believe that she does not indulge her at all.
It will be the only difference."
" Poor child!"
cried Emma; " at that rate, what will become of her?"
" Nothing very bad.-- The fate of thousands.
She will be disagreeable in infancy, and correct herself as she grows older.
I am losing all my bitterness against spoilt children, my dearest Emma.
I, who am owing all my happiness to _you_, would not it be horrible ingratitude in me to be severe on them?"
Emma laughed, and replied: " But I had the assistance of all your endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other people.
I doubt whether my own sense would have corrected me without it."
" Do you?-- I have no doubt.
Nature gave you understanding:-- Miss Taylor gave you principles.
You must have done well.
My interference was quite as likely to do harm as good.
It was very natural for you to say, what right has he to lecture me?-- and I am afraid very natural for you to feel that it was done in a disagreeable manner.
I do not believe I did you any good.
The good was all to myself, by making you an object of the tenderest affection to me.
I could not think about you so much without doating on you, faults and all; and by dint of fancying so many errors, have been in love with you ever since you were thirteen at least."
" I am sure you were of use to me," cried Emma.
" I was very often influenced rightly by you--oftener than I would own at the time.
I am very sure you did me good.
And if poor little Anna Weston is to be spoiled, it will be the greatest humanity in you to do as much for her as you have done for me, except falling in love with her when she is thirteen."
" How often, when you were a girl, have you said to me, with one of your saucy looks --'Mr. Knightley, I am going to do so - and - so; papa says I may, or I have Miss Taylor's leave '-- something which, you knew, I did not approve.
In such cases my interference was giving you two bad feelings instead of one."
" What an amiable creature I was!-- No wonder you should hold my speeches in such affectionate remembrance."
'Mr.
Knightley.'
-- You always called me, 'Mr. Knightley;' and, from habit, it has not so very formal a sound.-- And yet it is formal.
I want you to call me something else, but I do not know what."
" I remember once calling you 'George,' in one of my amiable fits, about ten years ago.
I did it because I thought it would offend you; but, as you made no objection, I never did it again."
" And cannot you call me 'George'now?"
" Impossible!-- I never can call you any thing but 'Mr.
Knightley.'
I will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by calling you Mr. K.-- But I will promise," she added presently, laughing and blushing --" I will promise to call you once by your Christian name.
I do not say when, but perhaps you may guess where;-- in the building in which N. takes M. for better, for worse."
This, on his side, might merely proceed from her not being thought of; but Emma was rather inclined to attribute it to delicacy, and a suspicion, from some appearances, that their friendship were declining.
She was aware herself, that, parting under any other circumstances, they certainly should have corresponded more, and that her intelligence would not have rested, as it now almost wholly did, on Isabella's letters.
He might observe that it was so.
The pain of being obliged to practise concealment towards him, was very little inferior to the pain of having made Harriet unhappy.
Emma's comforts and hopes were most agreeably carried on, by Harriet's being to stay longer; her fortnight was likely to be a month at least.
Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were to come down in August, and she was invited to remain till they could bring her back.
" John does not even mention your friend," said Mr. Knightley.
" Here is his answer, if you like to see it."
It was the answer to the communication of his intended marriage.
Emma accepted it with a very eager hand, with an impatience all alive to know what he would say about it, and not at all checked by hearing that her friend was unmentioned.
But I am not afraid of your seeing what he writes."
" He writes like a sensible man," replied Emma, when she had read the letter.
" I honour his sincerity.
It is very plain that he considers the good fortune of the engagement as all on my side, but that he is not without hope of my growing, in time, as worthy of your affection, as you think me already.
Had he said any thing to bear a different construction, I should not have believed him."
" My Emma, he means no such thing.
He only means --"
" He and I should differ very little in our estimation of the two," interrupted she, with a sort of serious smile --" much less, perhaps, than he is aware of, if we could enter without ceremony or reserve on the subject."
" Emma, my dear Emma --"
" Oh!"
she cried with more thorough gaiety, " if you fancy your brother does not do me justice, only wait till my dear father is in the secret, and hear his opinion.
Depend upon it, he will be much farther from doing _you_ justice.
He will think all the happiness, all the advantage, on your side of the question; all the merit on mine.
I wish I may not sink into 'poor Emma'with him at once.-- His tender compassion towards oppressed worth can go no farther."
" Ah!"
he cried, " I wish your father might be half as easily convinced as John will be, of our having every right that equal worth can give, to be happy together.
I am amused by one part of John's letter--did you notice it?-- where he says, that my information did not take him wholly by surprize, that he was rather in expectation of hearing something of the kind."
" If I understand your brother, he only means so far as your having some thoughts of marrying.
He had no idea of me.
He seems perfectly unprepared for that."
" Yes, yes--but I am amused that he should have seen so far into my feelings.
What has he been judging by?-- I am not conscious of any difference in my spirits or conversation that could prepare him at this time for my marrying any more than at another.-- But it was so, I suppose.
I dare say there was a difference when I was staying with them the other day.
I believe I did not play with the children quite so much as usual.
I remember one evening the poor boys saying, 'Uncle seems always tired now.'"
The time was coming when the news must spread farther, and other persons'reception of it tried.
She must not make it a more decided subject of misery to him, by a melancholy tone herself.
Poor man!-- it was at first a considerable shock to him, and he tried earnestly to dissuade her from it.
She was reminded, more than once, of having always said she would never marry, and assured that it would be a great deal better for her to remain single; and told of poor Isabella, and poor Miss Taylor.-- But it would not do.
Knightley?-- Who was so useful to him, who so ready to write his letters, who so glad to assist him?-- Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached to him?-- Would not he like to have him always on the spot?-- Yes.
That was all very true.
Mr. Knightley could not be there too often; he should be glad to see him every day;-- but they did see him every day as it was.-- Why could not they go on as they had done?
And who but Mr. Knightley could know and bear with Mr. Woodhouse, so as to make such an arrangement desirable!-- The difficulty of disposing of poor Mr. Woodhouse had been always felt in her husband's plans and her own, for a marriage between Frank and Emma.
But here there was nothing to be shifted off in a wild speculation on the future.
It was all right, all open, all equal.
No sacrifice on any side worth the name.
It was a union of the highest promise of felicity in itself, and without one real, rational difficulty to oppose or delay it.
Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in such reflections as these, was one of the happiest women in the world.
If any thing could increase her delight, it was perceiving that the baby would soon have outgrown its first set of caps.
" It is to be a secret, I conclude," said he.
" These matters are always a secret, till it is found out that every body knows them.
Only let me be told when I may speak out.-- I wonder whether Jane has any suspicion."
He went to Highbury the next morning, and satisfied himself on that point.
He told her the news.
Was not she like a daughter, his eldest daughter?-- he must tell her; and Miss Bates being present, it passed, of course, to Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Perry, and Mrs. Elton, immediately afterwards.
It was no more than the principals were prepared for; they had calculated from the time of its being known at Randalls, how soon it would be over Highbury; and were thinking of themselves, as the evening wonder in many a family circle, with great sagacity.
In general, it was a very well approved match.
Some might think him, and others might think her, the most in luck.
-- But Mrs. Elton was very much discomposed indeed.--" Poor Knightley!
But that would be all over now.-- Poor fellow!-- No more exploring parties to Donwell made for _her_.
Oh!
no; there would be a Mrs. Knightley to throw cold water on every thing.-- Extremely disagreeable!
But she was not at all sorry that she had abused the housekeeper the other day.-- Shocking plan, living together.
It would never do.
She knew a family near Maple Grove who had tried it, and been obliged to separate before the end of the first quarter.
CHAPTER XVIII
Time passed on.
A few more to - morrows, and the party from London would be arriving.
It was an alarming change; and Emma was thinking of it one morning, as what must bring a great deal to agitate and grieve her, when Mr. Knightley came in, and distressing thoughts were put by.
After the first chat of pleasure he was silent; and then, in a graver tone, began with,
" I have something to tell you, Emma; some news."
" Good or bad?"
said she, quickly, looking up in his face.
" I do not know which it ought to be called."
" Oh!
good I am sure.-- I see it in your countenance.
You are trying not to smile."
" I am afraid," said he, composing his features, " I am very much afraid, my dear Emma, that you will not smile when you hear it."
" Indeed!
but why so?-- I can hardly imagine that any thing which pleases or amuses you, should not please and amuse me too."
" There is one subject," he replied, " I hope but one, on which we do not think alike."
He paused a moment, again smiling, with his eyes fixed on her face.
" Does nothing occur to you?-- Do not you recollect?-- Harriet Smith."
Her cheeks flushed at the name, and she felt afraid of something, though she knew not what.
" Have you heard from her yourself this morning?"
cried he.
" You have, I believe, and know the whole."
" No, I have not; I know nothing; pray tell me."
" You are prepared for the worst, I see--and very bad it is.
Harriet Smith marries Robert Martin."
Emma gave a start, which did not seem like being prepared--and her eyes, in eager gaze, said, " No, this is impossible!"
but her lips were closed.
" It is so, indeed," continued Mr. Knightley; " I have it from Robert Martin himself.
He left me not half an hour ago."
She was still looking at him with the most speaking amazement.
" You like it, my Emma, as little as I feared.-- I wish our opinions were the same.
But in time they will.
Time, you may be sure, will make one or the other of us think differently; and, in the meanwhile, we need not talk much on the subject."
" You mistake me, you quite mistake me," she replied, exerting herself.
" It is not that such a circumstance would now make me unhappy, but I cannot believe it.
It seems an impossibility!-- You cannot mean to say, that Harriet Smith has accepted Robert Martin.
You cannot mean that he has even proposed to her again--yet.
You only mean, that he intends it."
" I mean that he has done it," answered Mr. Knightley, with smiling but determined decision, " and been accepted."
" Good God!"
she cried.--" Well!"
-- Then having recourse to her workbasket, in excuse for leaning down her face, and concealing all the exquisite feelings of delight and entertainment which she knew she must be expressing, she added, " Well, now tell me every thing; make this intelligible to me.
How, where, when?-- Let me know it all.
I never was more surprized--but it does not make me unhappy, I assure you.-- How--how has it been possible?"
" It is a very simple story.
He went to town on business three days ago, and I got him to take charge of some papers which I was wanting to send to John.-- He delivered these papers to John, at his chambers, and was asked by him to join their party the same evening to Astley's.
They were going to take the two eldest boys to Astley's.
The party was to be our brother and sister, Henry, John--and Miss Smith.
My friend Robert could not resist.
He came down by yesterday's coach, and was with me this morning immediately after breakfast, to report his proceedings, first on my affairs, and then on his own.
This is all that I can relate of the how, where, and when.
He stopped.-- Emma dared not attempt any immediate reply.
To speak, she was sure would be to betray a most unreasonable degree of happiness.
She must wait a moment, or he would think her mad.
Her silence disturbed him; and after observing her a little while, he added,
" Emma, my love, you said that this circumstance would not now make you unhappy; but I am afraid it gives you more pain than you expected.
His situation is an evil--but you must consider it as what satisfies your friend; and I will answer for your thinking better and better of him as you know him more.
His good sense and good principles would delight you.-- As far as the man is concerned, you could not wish your friend in better hands.
His rank in society I would alter if I could, which is saying a great deal I assure you, Emma.-- You laugh at me about William Larkins; but I could quite as ill spare Robert Martin."
He wanted her to look up and smile; and having now brought herself not to smile too broadly--she did--cheerfully answering,
" You need not be at any pains to reconcile me to the match.
I think Harriet is doing extremely well.
_Her_ connexions may be worse than _his_.
In respectability of character, there can be no doubt that they are.
I have been silent from surprize merely, excessive surprize.
You cannot imagine how suddenly it has come on me!
how peculiarly unprepared I was!-- for I had reason to believe her very lately more determined against him, much more, than she was before."
" You ought to know your friend best," replied Mr. Knightley; " but I should say she was a good - tempered, soft - hearted girl, not likely to be very, very determined against any young man who told her he loved her."
Emma could not help laughing as she answered, " Upon my word, I believe you know her quite as well as I do.-- But, Mr. Knightley, are you perfectly sure that she has absolutely and downright _accepted_ him.
It could not be otherwise.
" Do you dare say this?"
cried Mr. Knightley.
" Do you dare to suppose me so great a blockhead, as not to know what a man is talking of?-- What do you deserve?"
" Oh!
I always deserve the best treatment, because I never put up with any other; and, therefore, you must give me a plain, direct answer.
Are you quite sure that you understand the terms on which Mr. Martin and Harriet now are?"
" I am quite sure," he replied, speaking very distinctly, " that he told me she had accepted him; and that there was no obscurity, nothing doubtful, in the words he used; and I think I can give you a proof that it must be so.
He asked my opinion as to what he was now to do.
He knew of no one but Mrs. Goddard to whom he could apply for information of her relations or friends.
Could I mention any thing more fit to be done, than to go to Mrs. Goddard?
I assured him that I could not.
Then, he said, he would endeavour to see her in the course of this day."
" I am perfectly satisfied," replied Emma, with the brightest smiles, " and most sincerely wish them happy."
" You are materially changed since we talked on this subject before."
" I hope so--for at that time I was a fool."
" And I am changed also; for I am now very willing to grant you all Harriet's good qualities.
I have taken some pains for your sake, and for Robert Martin's sake, (whom I have always had reason to believe as much in love with her as ever,) to get acquainted with her.
I have often talked to her a good deal.
You must have seen that I did.
" Me!"
cried Emma, shaking her head.--" Ah!
poor Harriet!"
She checked herself, however, and submitted quietly to a little more praise than she deserved.
Their conversation was soon afterwards closed by the entrance of her father.
She was not sorry.
She wanted to be alone.
Her mind was in a state of flutter and wonder, which made it impossible for her to be collected.
She was in dancing, singing, exclaiming spirits; and till she had moved about, and talked to herself, and laughed and reflected, she could be fit for nothing rational.
Her father's business was to announce James's being gone out to put the horses to, preparatory to their now daily drive to Randalls; and she had, therefore, an immediate excuse for disappearing.
The joy, the gratitude, the exquisite delight of her sensations may be imagined.
The sole grievance and alloy thus removed in the prospect of Harriet's welfare, she was really in danger of becoming too happy for security.-- What had she to wish for?
Nothing, but to grow more worthy of him, whose intentions and judgment had been ever so superior to her own.
Nothing, but that the lessons of her past folly might teach her humility and circumspection in future.
Serious she was, very serious in her thankfulness, and in her resolutions; and yet there was no preventing a laugh, sometimes in the very midst of them.
She must laugh at such a close!
Such an end of the doleful disappointment of five weeks back!
Such a heart--such a Harriet!
Now there would be pleasure in her returning--Every thing would be a pleasure.
It would be a great pleasure to know Robert Martin.
High in the rank of her most serious and heartfelt felicities, was the reflection that all necessity of concealment from Mr. Knightley would soon be over.
The disguise, equivocation, mystery, so hateful to her to practise, might soon be over.
She could now look forward to giving him that full and perfect confidence which her disposition was most ready to welcome as a duty.
They arrived.-- Mrs.
Weston was alone in the drawing - room:-- but hardly had they been told of the baby, and Mr. Woodhouse received the thanks for coming, which he asked for, when a glimpse was caught through the blind, of two figures passing near the window.
" It is Frank and Miss Fairfax," said Mrs. Weston.
" I was just going to tell you of our agreeable surprize in seeing him arrive this morning.
He stays till to - morrow, and Miss Fairfax has been persuaded to spend the day with us.-- They are coming in, I hope."
In half a minute they were in the room.
Emma was extremely glad to see him--but there was a degree of confusion--a number of embarrassing recollections on each side.
When Mr. Weston joined the party, however, and when the baby was fetched, there was no longer a want of subject or animation--or of courage and opportunity for Frank Churchill to draw near her and say,
" I have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters.
I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon.
I hope you do not retract what you then said."
" No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, " not in the least.
I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person."
He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness.
" Is not she looking well?"
said he, turning his eyes towards Jane.
" Better than she ever used to do?-- You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her."
But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.-- Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing.
" I can never think of it," she cried, " without extreme shame."
" The shame," he answered, " is all mine, or ought to be.
But is it possible that you had no suspicion?-- I mean of late.
Early, I know, you had none."
" I never had the smallest, I assure you."
" That appears quite wonderful.
I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better.
But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.-- It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing."
" It is not now worth a regret," said Emma.
" I have some hope," resumed he, " of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her.
Do not you pity me?"
Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried,
" Ah!
by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment --" I hope Mr. Knightley is well?"
He paused.-- She coloured and laughed.--" I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour.
Let me return your congratulations.-- I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.-- He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise."
Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were,
" Did you ever see such a skin?-- such smoothness!
such delicacy!-- and yet without being actually fair.-- One cannot call her fair.
It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye - lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion!
So peculiarly the lady in it.-- Just colour enough for beauty."
" I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; " but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?-- When we first began to talk of her.-- Have you quite forgotten?"
" Oh!
no--what an impudent dog I was!-- How could I dare --"
But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying,
" I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.-- I am sure you had.-- I am sure it was a consolation to you."
" Oh!
no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing?
I was the most miserable wretch!"
" Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth.
I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.-- Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation.
I think there is a little likeness between us."
He bowed.
" If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, " there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own."
" True, true," he answered, warmly.
" No, not true on your side.
You can have no superior, but most true on mine.-- She is a complete angel.
Look at her.
Is not she an angel in every gesture?
Observe the turn of her throat.
Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.-- You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels.
They are to be new set.
I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head.
Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?"
" Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out,
" How delighted I am to see you again!
and to see you in such excellent looks!-- I would not have missed this meeting for the world.
I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come."
The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well.
She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry.
Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.-- In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again.
This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it.
" She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment.
She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often.
It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it."
Frank Churchill caught the name.
" Perry!"
said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye.
" My friend Mr. Perry!
What are they saying about Mr.
Perry?-- Has he been here this morning?-- And how does he travel now?-- Has he set up his carriage?"
Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf.
" Such an extraordinary dream of mine!"
he cried.
" I can never think of it without laughing.-- She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse.
I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown.
Look at her.
Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?"
Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice,
" How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!-- They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!"
The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced.
CHAPTER XIX
But what did such particulars explain?-- The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.-- Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma.
The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.-- Harriet's parentage became known.
Elton!-- The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed.
She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good - tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement.
She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness.
She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out.
She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;-- or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself.
Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.-- The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November.
The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr.
But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?-- he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event.
When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.-- A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.-- He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation.
Still, however, he was not happy.
Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed.
Other poultry - yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.-- Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.-- He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son - in - law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life.
The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence.
While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.-- But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November.
-- But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union.
FINIS
[ Persuasion by Jane Austen 1818 ]
Chapter 1
This was the page at which the favourite volume always opened:
" ELLIOT OF KELLYNCH HALL.
" Walter Elliot, born March 1, 1760, married, July 15, 1784, Elizabeth, daughter of James Stevenson, Esq.
of South Park, in the county of Gloucester, by which lady (who died 1800) he has issue Elizabeth, born June 1, 1785; Anne, born August 9, 1787; a still - born son, November 5, 1789; Mary, born November 20, 1791."
of Uppercross, in the county of Somerset," and by inserting most accurately the day of the month on which he had lost his wife.
" Heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot, Esq., great grandson of the second Sir Walter."
Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot's character; vanity of person and of situation.
He had been remarkably handsome in his youth; and, at fifty - four, was still a very fine man.
Few women could think more of their personal appearance than he did, nor could the valet of any new made lord be more delighted with the place he held in society.
He considered the blessing of beauty as inferior only to the blessing of a baronetcy; and the Sir Walter Elliot, who united these gifts, was the constant object of his warmest respect and devotion.
His good looks and his rank had one fair claim on his attachment; since to them he must have owed a wife of very superior character to any thing deserved by his own.
-- Three girls, the two eldest sixteen and fourteen, was an awful legacy for a mother to bequeath, an awful charge rather, to confide to the authority and guidance of a conceited, silly father.
This friend, and Sir Walter, did not marry, whatever might have been anticipated on that head by their acquaintance.
Thirteen years had passed away since Lady Elliot's death, and they were still near neighbours and intimate friends, and one remained a widower, the other a widow.
Be it known then, that Sir Walter, like a good father, (having met with one or two private disappointments in very unreasonable applications), prided himself on remaining single for his dear daughters'sake.
For one daughter, his eldest, he would really have given up any thing, which he had not been very much tempted to do.
Elizabeth had succeeded, at sixteen, to all that was possible, of her mother's rights and consequence; and being very handsome, and very like himself, her influence had always been great, and they had gone on together most happily.
His two other children were of very inferior value.
To Lady Russell, indeed, she was a most dear and highly valued god - daughter, favourite, and friend.
Lady Russell loved them all; but it was only in Anne that she could fancy the mother to revive again.
He had never indulged much hope, he had now none, of ever reading her name in any other page of his favourite work.
All equality of alliance must rest with Elizabeth, for Mary had merely connected herself with an old country family of respectability and large fortune, and had therefore given all the honour and received none: Elizabeth would, one day or other, marry suitably.
It sometimes happens that a woman is handsomer at twenty - nine than she was ten years before; and, generally speaking, if there has been neither ill health nor anxiety, it is a time of life at which scarcely any charm is lost.
Anne haggard, Mary coarse, every face in the neighbourhood worsting, and the rapid increase of the crow's foot about Lady Russell's temples had long been a distress to him.
Elizabeth did not quite equal her father in personal contentment.
Thirteen years had seen her mistress of Kellynch Hall, presiding and directing with a self - possession and decision which could never have given the idea of her being younger than she was.
For thirteen years had she been doing the honours, and laying down the domestic law at home, and leading the way to the chaise and four, and walking immediately after Lady Russell out of all the drawing - rooms and dining - rooms in the country.
Thirteen winters'revolving frosts had seen her opening every ball of credit which a scanty neighbourhood afforded, and thirteen springs shewn their blossoms, as she travelled up to London with her father, for a few weeks'annual enjoyment of the great world.
Then might she again take up the book of books with as much enjoyment as in her early youth, but now she liked it not.
Always to be presented with the date of her own birth and see no marriage follow but that of a youngest sister, made the book an evil; and more than once, when her father had left it open on the table near her, had she closed it, with averted eyes, and pushed it away.
She had had a disappointment, moreover, which that book, and especially the history of her own family, must ever present the remembrance of.
The heir presumptive, the very William Walter Elliot, Esq., whose rights had been so generously supported by her father, had disappointed her.
She had, while a very young girl, as soon as she had known him to be, in the event of her having no brother, the future baronet, meant to marry him, and her father had always meant that she should.
He was at that time a very young man, just engaged in the study of the law; and Elizabeth found him extremely agreeable, and every plan in his favour was confirmed.
He was invited to Kellynch Hall; he was talked of and expected all the rest of the year; but he never came.
The following spring he was seen again in town, found equally agreeable, again encouraged, invited, and expected, and again he did not come; and the next tidings were that he was married.
Instead of pushing his fortune in the line marked out for the heir of the house of Elliot, he had purchased independence by uniting himself to a rich woman of inferior birth.
Sir Walter has resented it.
As the head of the house, he felt that he ought to have been consulted, especially after taking the young man so publicly by the hand; " For they must have been seen together," he observed, " once at Tattersall's, and twice in the lobby of the House of Commons."
His disapprobation was expressed, but apparently very little regarded.
Mr Elliot had attempted no apology, and shewn himself as unsolicitous of being longer noticed by the family, as Sir Walter considered him unworthy of it: all acquaintance between them had ceased.
There was not a baronet from A to Z whom her feelings could have so willingly acknowledged as an equal.
Yet so miserably had he conducted himself, that though she was at this present time (the summer of 1814) wearing black ribbons for his wife, she could not admit him to be worth thinking of again.
This could not be pardoned.
But now, another occupation and solicitude of mind was beginning to be added to these.
Her father was growing distressed for money.
She knew, that when he now took up the Baronetage, it was to drive the heavy bills of his tradespeople, and the unwelcome hints of Mr Shepherd, his agent, from his thoughts.
The Kellynch property was good, but not equal to Sir Walter's apprehension of the state required in its possessor.
While Lady Elliot lived, there had been method, moderation, and economy, which had just kept him within his income; but with her had died all such right - mindedness, and from that period he had been constantly exceeding it.
He had given her some hints of it the last spring in town; he had gone so far even as to say, " Can we retrench?
Does it occur to you that there is any one article in which we can retrench?"
But these measures, however good in themselves, were insufficient for the real extent of the evil, the whole of which Sir Walter found himself obliged to confess to her soon afterwards.
Elizabeth had nothing to propose of deeper efficacy.
She felt herself ill - used and unfortunate, as did her father; and they were neither of them able to devise any means of lessening their expenses without compromising their dignity, or relinquishing their comforts in a way not to be borne.
There was only a small part of his estate that Sir Walter could dispose of; but had every acre been alienable, it would have made no difference.
He had condescended to mortgage as far as he had the power, but he would never condescend to sell.
No; he would never disgrace his name so far.
The Kellynch estate should be transmitted whole and entire, as he had received it.
Chapter 2
Lady Russell was most anxiously zealous on the subject, and gave it much serious consideration.
She was a woman rather of sound than of quick abilities, whose difficulties in coming to any decision in this instance were great, from the opposition of two leading principles.
She was of strict integrity herself, with a delicate sense of honour; but she was as desirous of saving Sir Walter's feelings, as solicitous for the credit of the family, as aristocratic in her ideas of what was due to them, as anybody of sense and honesty could well be.
She was a benevolent, charitable, good woman, and capable of strong attachments, most correct in her conduct, strict in her notions of decorum, and with manners that were held a standard of good - breeding.
She had a cultivated mind, and was, generally speaking, rational and consistent; but she had prejudices on the side of ancestry; she had a value for rank and consequence, which blinded her a little to the faults of those who possessed them.
They must retrench; that did not admit of a doubt.
But she was very anxious to have it done with the least possible pain to him and Elizabeth.
She drew up plans of economy, she made exact calculations, and she did what nobody else thought of doing: she consulted Anne, who never seemed considered by the others as having any interest in the question.
She consulted, and in a degree was influenced by her in marking out the scheme of retrenchment which was at last submitted to Sir Walter.
Every emendation of Anne's had been on the side of honesty against importance.
She wanted more vigorous measures, a more complete reformation, a quicker release from debt, a much higher tone of indifference for everything but justice and equity.
" If we can persuade your father to all this," said Lady Russell, looking over her paper, " much may be done.
What will he be doing, in fact, but what very many of our first families have done, or ought to do?
There will be nothing singular in his case; and it is singularity which often makes the worst part of our suffering, as it always does of our conduct.
I have great hope of prevailing.
We must be serious and decided; for after all, the person who has contracted debts must pay them; and though a great deal is due to the feelings of the gentleman, and the head of a house, like your father, there is still more due to the character of an honest man."
This was the principle on which Anne wanted her father to be proceeding, his friends to be urging him.
She considered it as an act of indispensable duty to clear away the claims of creditors with all the expedition which the most comprehensive retrenchments could secure, and saw no dignity in anything short of it.
She wanted it to be prescribed, and felt as a duty.
She rated Lady Russell's influence highly; and as to the severe degree of self - denial which her own conscience prompted, she believed there might be little more difficulty in persuading them to a complete, than to half a reformation.
Her knowledge of her father and Elizabeth inclined her to think that the sacrifice of one pair of horses would be hardly less painful than of both, and so on, through the whole list of Lady Russell's too gentle reductions.
How Anne's more rigid requisitions might have been taken is of little consequence.
Lady Russell's had no success at all: could not be put up with, were not to be borne.
" What!
every comfort of life knocked off!
Journeys, London, servants, horses, table--contractions and restrictions every where!
To live no longer with the decencies even of a private gentleman!
No, he would sooner quit Kellynch Hall at once, than remain in it on such disgraceful terms."
" Quit Kellynch Hall."
The hint was immediately taken up by Mr Shepherd, whose interest was involved in the reality of Sir Walter's retrenching, and who was perfectly persuaded that nothing would be done without a change of abode.
" Since the idea had been started in the very quarter which ought to dictate, he had no scruple," he said, " in confessing his judgement to be entirely on that side.
It did not appear to him that Sir Walter could materially alter his style of living in a house which had such a character of hospitality and ancient dignity to support.
In any other place Sir Walter might judge for himself; and would be looked up to, as regulating the modes of life in whatever way he might choose to model his household."
Sir Walter would quit Kellynch Hall; and after a very few days more of doubt and indecision, the great question of whither he should go was settled, and the first outline of this important change made out.
There had been three alternatives, London, Bath, or another house in the country.
All Anne's wishes had been for the latter.
A small house in their own neighbourhood, where they might still have Lady Russell's society, still be near Mary, and still have the pleasure of sometimes seeing the lawns and groves of Kellynch, was the object of her ambition.
But the usual fate of Anne attended her, in having something very opposite from her inclination fixed on.
She disliked Bath, and did not think it agreed with her; and Bath was to be her home.
Sir Walter had at first thought more of London; but Mr Shepherd felt that he could not be trusted in London, and had been skilful enough to dissuade him from it, and make Bath preferred.
It was a much safer place for a gentleman in his predicament: he might there be important at comparatively little expense.
Lady Russell felt obliged to oppose her dear Anne's known wishes.
It would be too much to expect Sir Walter to descend into a small house in his own neighbourhood.
Anne herself would have found the mortifications of it more than she foresaw, and to Sir Walter's feelings they must have been dreadful.
Anne had been too little from home, too little seen.
Her spirits were not high.
A larger society would improve them.
She wanted her to be more known.
The undesirableness of any other house in the same neighbourhood for Sir Walter was certainly much strengthened by one part, and a very material part of the scheme, which had been happily engrafted on the beginning.
He was not only to quit his home, but to see it in the hands of others; a trial of fortitude, which stronger heads than Sir Walter's have found too much.
Kellynch Hall was to be let.
This, however, was a profound secret, not to be breathed beyond their own circle.
Sir Walter could not have borne the degradation of being known to design letting his house.
Mr Shepherd had once mentioned the word " advertise," but never dared approach it again.
How quick come the reasons for approving what we like!
Lady Russell had another excellent one at hand, for being extremely glad that Sir Walter and his family were to remove from the country.
Elizabeth had been lately forming an intimacy, which she wished to see interrupted.
It was with the daughter of Mr Shepherd, who had returned, after an unprosperous marriage, to her father's house, with the additional burden of two children.
Lady Russell, indeed, had scarcely any influence with Elizabeth, and seemed to love her, rather because she would love her, than because Elizabeth deserved it.
She had never received from her more than outward attention, nothing beyond the observances of complaisance; had never succeeded in any point which she wanted to carry, against previous inclination.
Chapter 3
" I must take leave to observe, Sir Walter," said Mr Shepherd one morning at Kellynch Hall, as he laid down the newspaper, " that the present juncture is much in our favour.
This peace will be turning all our rich naval officers ashore.
They will be all wanting a home.
Could not be a better time, Sir Walter, for having a choice of tenants, very responsible tenants.
Many a noble fortune has been made during the war.
If a rich admiral were to come in our way, Sir Walter --"
" He would be a very lucky man, Shepherd," replied Sir Walter; " that's all I have to remark.
A prize indeed would Kellynch Hall be to him; rather the greatest prize of all, let him have taken ever so many before; hey, Shepherd?"
Mr Shepherd laughed, as he knew he must, at this wit, and then added --
" I presume to observe, Sir Walter, that, in the way of business, gentlemen of the navy are well to deal with.
I have had a little knowledge of their methods of doing business; and I am free to confess that they have very liberal notions, and are as likely to make desirable tenants as any set of people one should meet with.
Sir Walter only nodded.
But soon afterwards, rising and pacing the room, he observed sarcastically --
" There are few among the gentlemen of the navy, I imagine, who would not be surprised to find themselves in a house of this description."
I have known a good deal of the profession; and besides their liberality, they are so neat and careful in all their ways!
These valuable pictures of yours, Sir Walter, if you chose to leave them, would be perfectly safe.
Everything in and about the house would be taken such excellent care of!
The gardens and shrubberies would be kept in almost as high order as they are now.
You need not be afraid, Miss Elliot, of your own sweet flower gardens being neglected."
" As to all that," rejoined Sir Walter coolly, " supposing I were induced to let my house, I have by no means made up my mind as to the privileges to be annexed to it.
I am not particularly disposed to favour a tenant.
The park would be open to him of course, and few navy officers, or men of any other description, can have had such a range; but what restrictions I might impose on the use of the pleasure - grounds, is another thing.
I am not fond of the idea of my shrubberies being always approachable; and I should recommend Miss Elliot to be on her guard with respect to her flower garden.
I am very little disposed to grant a tenant of Kellynch Hall any extraordinary favour, I assure you, be he sailor or soldier."
After a short pause, Mr Shepherd presumed to say --
" In all these cases, there are established usages which make everything plain and easy between landlord and tenant.
Your interest, Sir Walter, is in pretty safe hands.
Depend upon me for taking care that no tenant has more than his just rights.
I venture to hint, that Sir Walter Elliot cannot be half so jealous for his own, as John Shepherd will be for him."
Here Anne spoke --
" The navy, I think, who have done so much for us, have at least an equal claim with any other set of men, for all the comforts and all the privileges which any home can give.
Sailors work hard enough for their comforts, we must all allow."
" Very true, very true.
What Miss Anne says, is very true," was Mr Shepherd's rejoinder, and " Oh!
certainly," was his daughter's; but Sir Walter's remark was, soon afterwards --
" The profession has its utility, but I should be sorry to see any friend of mine belonging to it."
" Indeed!"
was the reply, and with a look of surprise.
" Yes; it is in two points offensive to me; I have two strong grounds of objection to it.
I have observed it all my life.
A man is in greater danger in the navy of being insulted by the rise of one whose father, his father might have disdained to speak to, and of becoming prematurely an object of disgust himself, than in any other line.
'In the name of heaven, who is that old fellow?'
said I to a friend of mine who was standing near, (Sir Basil Morley).
'Old fellow!'
cried Sir Basil, 'it is Admiral Baldwin.
What do you take his age to be?'
'Sixty,' said I, 'or perhaps sixty - two.'
'Forty,' replied Sir Basil, 'forty, and no more.'
Picture to yourselves my amazement; I shall not easily forget Admiral Baldwin.
I never saw quite so wretched an example of what a sea - faring life can do; but to a degree, I know it is the same with them all: they are all knocked about, and exposed to every climate, and every weather, till they are not fit to be seen.
It is a pity they are not knocked on the head at once, before they reach Admiral Baldwin's age."
" Nay, Sir Walter," cried Mrs Clay, " this is being severe indeed.
Have a little mercy on the poor men.
We are not all born to be handsome.
The sea is no beautifier, certainly; sailors do grow old betimes; I have observed it; they soon lose the look of youth.
But then, is not it the same with many other professions, perhaps most other?
Soldiers, in active service, are not at all better off: and even in the quieter professions, there is a toil and a labour of the mind, if not of the body, which seldom leaves a man's looks to the natural effect of time.
" And who is Admiral Croft?"
was Sir Walter's cold suspicious inquiry.
Mr Shepherd answered for his being of a gentleman's family, and mentioned a place; and Anne, after the little pause which followed, added --
" He is a rear admiral of the white.
He was in the Trafalgar action, and has been in the East Indies since; he was stationed there, I believe, several years."
" Then I take it for granted," observed Sir Walter, " that his face is about as orange as the cuffs and capes of my livery."
Mr Shepherd was eloquent on the subject; pointing out all the circumstances of the Admiral's family, which made him peculiarly desirable as a tenant.
He was a married man, and without children; the very state to be wished for.
A house was never taken good care of, Mr Shepherd observed, without a lady: he did not know, whether furniture might not be in danger of suffering as much where there was no lady, as where there were many children.
A lady, without a family, was the very best preserver of furniture in the world.
He had seen Mrs Croft, too; she was at Taunton with the admiral, and had been present almost all the time they were talking the matter over.
Bless me!
what was his name?
At this moment I cannot recollect his name, though I have heard it so lately.
Penelope, my dear, can you help me to the name of the gentleman who lived at Monkford: Mrs Croft's brother?"
But Mrs Clay was talking so eagerly with Miss Elliot, that she did not hear the appeal.
" I have no conception whom you can mean, Shepherd; I remember no gentleman resident at Monkford since the time of old Governor Trent."
" Bless me!
how very odd!
I shall forget my own name soon, I suppose.
Very odd indeed!"
After waiting another moment --
" You mean Mr Wentworth, I suppose?"
said Anne.
Mr Shepherd was all gratitude.
" Wentworth was the very name!
Mr Wentworth was the very man.
He had the curacy of Monkford, you know, Sir Walter, some time back, for two or three years.
Came there about the year --- 5, I take it.
You remember him, I am sure."
" Wentworth?
Oh!
ay,-- Mr Wentworth, the curate of Monkford.
You misled me by the term gentleman.
I thought you were speaking of some man of property: Mr Wentworth was nobody, I remember; quite unconnected; nothing to do with the Strafford family.
One wonders how the names of many of our nobility become so common."
Sir Walter was not very wise; but still he had experience enough of the world to feel, that a more unobjectionable tenant, in all essentials, than Admiral Croft bid fair to be, could hardly offer.
So far went his understanding; and his vanity supplied a little additional soothing, in the Admiral's situation in life, which was just high enough, and not too high.
" I have let my house to Admiral Croft," would sound extremely well; very much better than to any mere Mr --; a Mr (save, perhaps, some half dozen in the nation,) always needs a note of explanation.
An admiral speaks his own consequence, and, at the same time, can never make a baronet look small.
In all their dealings and intercourse, Sir Walter Elliot must ever have the precedence.
Nothing could be done without a reference to Elizabeth: but her inclination was growing so strong for a removal, that she was happy to have it fixed and expedited by a tenant at hand; and not a word to suspend decision was uttered by her.
Chapter 4
He was, at that time, a remarkably fine young man, with a great deal of intelligence, spirit, and brilliancy; and Anne an extremely pretty girl, with gentleness, modesty, taste, and feeling.
Half the sum of attraction, on either side, might have been enough, for he had nothing to do, and she had hardly anybody to love; but the encounter of such lavish recommendations could not fail.
They were gradually acquainted, and when acquainted, rapidly and deeply in love.
It would be difficult to say which had seen highest perfection in the other, or which had been the happiest: she, in receiving his declarations and proposals, or he in having them accepted.
A short period of exquisite felicity followed, and but a short one.
Troubles soon arose.
Sir Walter, on being applied to, without actually withholding his consent, or saying it should never be, gave it all the negative of great astonishment, great coldness, great silence, and a professed resolution of doing nothing for his daughter.
He thought it a very degrading alliance; and Lady Russell, though with more tempered and pardonable pride, received it as a most unfortunate one.
Anne Elliot, so young; known to so few, to be snatched off by a stranger without alliance or fortune; or rather sunk by him into a state of most wearing, anxious, youth - killing dependence!
It must not be, if by any fair interference of friendship, any representations from one who had almost a mother's love, and mother's rights, it would be prevented.
Captain Wentworth had no fortune.
He had been lucky in his profession; but spending freely, what had come freely, had realized nothing.
But he was confident that he should soon be rich: full of life and ardour, he knew that he should soon have a ship, and soon be on a station that would lead to everything he wanted.
He had always been lucky; he knew he should be so still.
Such confidence, powerful in its own warmth, and bewitching in the wit which often expressed it, must have been enough for Anne; but Lady Russell saw it very differently.
His sanguine temper, and fearlessness of mind, operated very differently on her.
She saw in it but an aggravation of the evil.
It only added a dangerous character to himself.
He was brilliant, he was headstrong.
Lady Russell had little taste for wit, and of anything approaching to imprudence a horror.
She deprecated the connexion in every light.
Such opposition, as these feelings produced, was more than Anne could combat.
She was persuaded to believe the engagement a wrong thing: indiscreet, improper, hardly capable of success, and not deserving it.
But it was not a merely selfish caution, under which she acted, in putting an end to it.
Had she not imagined herself consulting his good, even more than her own, she could hardly have given him up.
He had left the country in consequence.
A few months had seen the beginning and the end of their acquaintance; but not with a few months ended Anne's share of suffering from it.
Her attachment and regrets had, for a long time, clouded every enjoyment of youth, and an early loss of bloom and spirits had been their lasting effect.
No one had ever come within the Kellynch circle, who could bear a comparison with Frederick Wentworth, as he stood in her memory.
No second attachment, the only thoroughly natural, happy, and sufficient cure, at her time of life, had been possible to the nice tone of her mind, the fastidiousness of her taste, in the small limits of the society around them.
They knew not each other's opinion, either its constancy or its change, on the one leading point of Anne's conduct, for the subject was never alluded to; but Anne, at seven - and - twenty, thought very differently from what she had been made to think at nineteen.
All his sanguine expectations, all his confidence had been justified.
His genius and ardour had seemed to foresee and to command his prosperous path.
He had, very soon after their engagement ceased, got employ: and all that he had told her would follow, had taken place.
He had distinguished himself, and early gained the other step in rank, and must now, by successive captures, have made a handsome fortune.
She had only navy lists and newspapers for her authority, but she could not doubt his being rich; and, in favour of his constancy, she had no reason to believe him married.
How eloquent could Anne Elliot have been!
how eloquent, at least, were her wishes on the side of early warm attachment, and a cheerful confidence in futurity, against that over - anxious caution which seems to insult exertion and distrust Providence!
She had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older: the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.
With all these circumstances, recollections and feelings, she could not hear that Captain Wentworth's sister was likely to live at Kellynch without a revival of former pain; and many a stroll, and many a sigh, were necessary to dispel the agitation of the idea.
She often told herself it was folly, before she could harden her nerves sufficiently to feel the continual discussion of the Crofts and their business no evil.
She was assisted, however, by that perfect indifference and apparent unconsciousness, among the only three of her own friends in the secret of the past, which seemed almost to deny any recollection of it.
That brother had been long removed from the country and being a sensible man, and, moreover, a single man at the time, she had a fond dependence on no human creature's having heard of it from him.
With these supports, she hoped that the acquaintance between herself and the Crofts, which, with Lady Russell, still resident in Kellynch, and Mary fixed only three miles off, must be anticipated, need not involve any particular awkwardness.
Chapter 5
This meeting of the two parties proved highly satisfactory, and decided the whole business at once.
The Baronet will never set the Thames on fire, but there seems to be no harm in him."
reciprocal compliments, which would have been esteemed about equal.
The Crofts were to have possession at Michaelmas; and as Sir Walter proposed removing to Bath in the course of the preceding month, there was no time to be lost in making every dependent arrangement.
It would be most right, and most wise, and, therefore must involve least suffering to go with the others.
Something occurred, however, to give her a different duty.
" I cannot possibly do without Anne," was Mary's reasoning; and Elizabeth's reply was, " Then I am sure Anne had better stay, for nobody will want her in Bath."
This invitation of Mary's removed all Lady Russell's difficulties, and it was consequently soon settled that Anne should not go to Bath till Lady Russell took her, and that all the intervening time should be divided between Uppercross Cottage and Kellynch Lodge.
Lady Russell was extremely sorry that such a measure should have been resorted to at all, wondered, grieved, and feared; and the affront it contained to Anne, in Mrs Clay's being of so much use, while Anne could be of none, was a very sore aggravation.
Anne herself was become hardened to such affronts; but she felt the imprudence of the arrangement quite as keenly as Lady Russell.
With a great deal of quiet observation, and a knowledge, which she often wished less, of her father's character, she was sensible that results the most serious to his family from the intimacy were more than possible.
She did not imagine that her father had at present an idea of the kind.
Anne was so impressed by the degree of their danger, that she could not excuse herself from trying to make it perceptible to her sister.
She had little hope of success; but Elizabeth, who in the event of such a reverse would be so much more to be pitied than herself, should never, she thought, have reason to reproach her for giving no warning.
She spoke, and seemed only to offend.
Elizabeth could not conceive how such an absurd suspicion should occur to her, and indignantly answered for each party's perfectly knowing their situation.
And as to my father, I really should not have thought that he, who has kept himself single so long for our sakes, need be suspected now.
If Mrs Clay were a very beautiful woman, I grant you, it might be wrong to have her so much with me; not that anything in the world, I am sure, would induce my father to make a degrading match, but he might be rendered unhappy.
But poor Mrs Clay who, with all her merits, can never have been reckoned tolerably pretty, I really think poor Mrs Clay may be staying here in perfect safety.
One would imagine you had never heard my father speak of her personal misfortunes, though I know you must fifty times.
That tooth of her's and those freckles.
Freckles do not disgust me so very much as they do him.
I have known a face not materially disfigured by a few, but he abominates them.
You must have heard him notice Mrs Clay's freckles."
" There is hardly any personal defect," replied Anne, " which an agreeable manner might not gradually reconcile one to."
" I think very differently," answered Elizabeth, shortly; " an agreeable manner may set off handsome features, but can never alter plain ones.
However, at any rate, as I have a great deal more at stake on this point than anybody else can have, I think it rather unnecessary in you to be advising me."
Anne had done; glad that it was over, and not absolutely hopeless of doing good.
Elizabeth, though resenting the suspicion, might yet be made observant by it.
The last office of the four carriage - horses was to draw Sir Walter, Miss Elliot, and Mrs Clay to Bath.
Her friend was not in better spirits than herself.
Lady Russell felt this break - up of the family exceedingly.
Their respectability was as dear to her as her own, and a daily intercourse had become precious by habit.
Accordingly their removal was made together, and Anne was set down at Uppercross Cottage, in the first stage of Lady Russell's journey.
Here Anne had often been staying.
She knew the ways of Uppercross as well as those of Kellynch.
The two families were so continually meeting, so much in the habit of running in and out of each other's house at all hours, that it was rather a surprise to her to find Mary alone; but being alone, her being unwell and out of spirits was almost a matter of course.
Though better endowed than the elder sister, Mary had not Anne's understanding nor temper.
While well, and happy, and properly attended to, she had great good humour and excellent spirits; but any indisposition sunk her completely.
She had no resources for solitude; and inheriting a considerable share of the Elliot self - importance, was very prone to add to every other distress that of fancying herself neglected and ill - used.
In person, she was inferior to both sisters, and had, even in her bloom, only reached the dignity of being " a fine girl."
She was now lying on the faded sofa of the pretty little drawing - room, the once elegant furniture of which had been gradually growing shabby, under the influence of four summers and two children; and, on Anne's appearing, greeted her with --
" So, you are come at last!
I began to think I should never see you.
I am so ill I can hardly speak.
I have not seen a creature the whole morning!"
" I am sorry to find you unwell," replied Anne.
" You sent me such a good account of yourself on Thursday!"
" Yes, I made the best of it; I always do: but I was very far from well at the time; and I do not think I ever was so ill in my life as I have been all this morning: very unfit to be left alone, I am sure.
Suppose I were to be seized of a sudden in some dreadful way, and not able to ring the bell!
So, Lady Russell would not get out.
I do not think she has been in this house three times this summer."
Anne said what was proper, and enquired after her husband.
" Oh!
Charles is out shooting.
I have not seen him since seven o'clock.
He would go, though I told him how ill I was.
He said he should not stay out long; but he has never come back, and now it is almost one.
I assure you, I have not seen a soul this whole long morning."
" You have had your little boys with you?"
" Yes, as long as I could bear their noise; but they are so unmanageable that they do me more harm than good.
Little Charles does not mind a word I say, and Walter is growing quite as bad."
" Well, you will soon be better now," replied Anne, cheerfully.
" You know I always cure you when I come.
How are your neighbours at the Great House?"
" I can give you no account of them.
I have not seen one of them to - day, except Mr Musgrove, who just stopped and spoke through the window, but without getting off his horse; and though I told him how ill I was, not one of them have been near me.
It did not happen to suit the Miss Musgroves, I suppose, and they never put themselves out of their way."
" You will see them yet, perhaps, before the morning is gone.
It is early."
" I never want them, I assure you.
They talk and laugh a great deal too much for me.
Oh!
Anne, I am so very unwell!
It was quite unkind of you not to come on Thursday."
" My dear Mary, recollect what a comfortable account you sent me of yourself!
" Dear me!
what can you possibly have to do?"
" A great many things, I assure you.
More than I can recollect in a moment; but I can tell you some.
I have been making a duplicate of the catalogue of my father's books and pictures.
I have been several times in the garden with Mackenzie, trying to understand, and make him understand, which of Elizabeth's plants are for Lady Russell.
I was told that they wished it.
But all these things took up a great deal of time."
" Oh!
well!"
and after a moment's pause, " but you have never asked me one word about our dinner at the Pooles yesterday."
" Did you go then?
I have made no enquiries, because I concluded you must have been obliged to give up the party."
" Oh yes!
I went.
I was very well yesterday; nothing at all the matter with me till this morning.
It would have been strange if I had not gone."
" I am very glad you were well enough, and I hope you had a pleasant party."
" Nothing remarkable.
One always knows beforehand what the dinner will be, and who will be there; and it is so very uncomfortable not having a carriage of one's own.
Mr and Mrs Musgrove took me, and we were so crowded!
They are both so very large, and take up so much room; and Mr Musgrove always sits forward.
So, there was I, crowded into the back seat with Henrietta and Louise; and I think it very likely that my illness to - day may be owing to it."
A little further perseverance in patience and forced cheerfulness on Anne's side produced nearly a cure on Mary's.
She could soon sit upright on the sofa, and began to hope she might be able to leave it by dinner - time.
Then, forgetting to think of it, she was at the other end of the room, beautifying a nosegay; then, she ate her cold meat; and then she was well enough to propose a little walk.
" Where shall we go?"
said she, when they were ready.
" I suppose you will not like to call at the Great House before they have been to see you?"
" I have not the smallest objection on that account," replied Anne.
" I should never think of standing on such ceremony with people I know so well as Mrs and the Miss Musgroves."
" Oh!
but they ought to call upon you as soon as possible.
They ought to feel what is due to you as my sister.
However, we may as well go and sit with them a little while, and when we have that over, we can enjoy our walk."
Anne had always thought such a style of intercourse highly imprudent; but she had ceased to endeavour to check it, from believing that, though there were on each side continual subjects of offence, neither family could now do without it.
Oh!
could the originals of the portraits against the wainscot, could the gentlemen in brown velvet and the ladies in blue satin have seen what was going on, have been conscious of such an overthrow of all order and neatness!
The portraits themselves seemed to be staring in astonishment.
The Musgroves, like their houses, were in a state of alteration, perhaps of improvement.
The father and mother were in the old English style, and the young people in the new.
Mr and Mrs Musgrove were a very good sort of people; friendly and hospitable, not much educated, and not at all elegant.
Their children had more modern minds and manners.
Their dress had every advantage, their faces were rather pretty, their spirits extremely good, their manner unembarrassed and pleasant; they were of consequence at home, and favourites abroad.
They were received with great cordiality.
Nothing seemed amiss on the side of the Great House family, which was generally, as Anne very well knew, the least to blame.
The half hour was chatted away pleasantly enough; and she was not at all surprised at the end of it, to have their walking party joined by both the Miss Musgroves, at Mary's particular invitation.
Chapter 6
Anne had not wanted this visit to Uppercross, to learn that a removal from one set of people to another, though at a distance of only three miles, will often include a total change of conversation, opinion, and idea.
and this, without much waiting for an answer; or in the young ladies'addition of, " I hope we shall be in Bath in the winter; but remember, papa, if we do go, we must be in a good situation: none of your Queen Squares for us!"
or in the anxious supplement from Mary, of--" Upon my word, I shall be pretty well off, when you are all gone away to be happy at Bath!"
She could only resolve to avoid such self - delusion in future, and think with heightened gratitude of the extraordinary blessing of having one such truly sympathising friend as Lady Russell.
The Mr Musgroves had their own game to guard, and to destroy, their own horses, dogs, and newspapers to engage them, and the females were fully occupied in all the other common subjects of housekeeping, neighbours, dress, dancing, and music.
She acknowledged it to be very fitting, that every little social commonwealth should dictate its own matters of discourse; and hoped, ere long, to become a not unworthy member of the one she was now transplanted into.
With the prospect of spending at least two months at Uppercross, it was highly incumbent on her to clothe her imagination, her memory, and all her ideas in as much of Uppercross as possible.
She had no dread of these two months.
Mary was not so repulsive and unsisterly as Elizabeth, nor so inaccessible to all influence of hers; neither was there anything among the other component parts of the cottage inimical to comfort.
She was always on friendly terms with her brother - in - law; and in the children, who loved her nearly as well, and respected her a great deal more than their mother, she had an object of interest, amusement, and wholesome exertion.
As it was, he did nothing with much zeal, but sport; and his time was otherwise trifled away, without benefit from books or anything else.
As to the management of their children, his theory was much better than his wife's, and his practice not so bad.
One of the least agreeable circumstances of her residence there was her being treated with too much confidence by all parties, and being too much in the secret of the complaints of each house.
Known to have some influence with her sister, she was continually requested, or at least receiving hints to exert it, beyond what was practicable.
" I wish you could persuade Mary not to be always fancying herself ill," was Charles's language; and, in an unhappy mood, thus spoke Mary: " I do believe if Charles were to see me dying, he would not think there was anything the matter with me.
I am sure, Anne, if you would, you might persuade him that I really am very ill--a great deal worse than I ever own."
And Mrs Musgrove took the first opportunity of being alone with Anne, to say, " Oh!
Miss Anne, I cannot help wishing Mrs Charles had a little of your method with those children.
They are quite different creatures with you!
But to be sure, in general they are so spoilt!
It is a pity you cannot put your sister in the way of managing them.
They are as fine healthy children as ever were seen, poor little dears!
without partiality; but Mrs Charles knows no more how they should be treated --!
Bless me!
how troublesome they are sometimes.
I assure you, Miss Anne, it prevents my wishing to see them at our house so often as I otherwise should.
She had this communication, moreover, from Mary.
" Mrs Musgrove thinks all her servants so steady, that it would be high treason to call it in question; but I am sure, without exaggeration, that her upper house - maid and laundry - maid, instead of being in their business, are gadding about the village, all day long.
I meet them wherever I go; and I declare, I never go twice into my nursery without seeing something of them.
If Jemima were not the trustiest, steadiest creature in the world, it would be enough to spoil her; for she tells me, they are always tempting her to take a walk with them."
Mrs Charles quite swears by her, I know; but I just give you this hint, that you may be upon the watch; because, if you see anything amiss, you need not be afraid of mentioning it."
Again, it was Mary's complaint, that Mrs Musgrove was very apt not to give her the precedence that was her due, when they dined at the Great House with other families; and she did not see any reason why she was to be considered so much at home as to lose her place.
Nobody doubts her right to have precedence of mamma, but it would be more becoming in her not to be always insisting on it.
It is not that mamma cares about it the least in the world, but I know it is taken notice of by many persons."
How was Anne to set all these matters to rights?
She could do little more than listen patiently, soften every grievance, and excuse each to the other; give them all hints of the forbearance necessary between such near neighbours, and make those hints broadest which were meant for her sister's benefit.
In all other respects, her visit began and proceeded very well.
She knew that when she played she was giving pleasure only to herself; but this was no new sensation.
Excepting one short period of her life, she had never, since the age of fourteen, never since the loss of her dear mother, known the happiness of being listened to, or encouraged by any just appreciation or real taste.
In music she had been always used to feel alone in the world; and Mr and Mrs Musgrove's fond partiality for their own daughters'performance, and total indifference to any other person's, gave her much more pleasure for their sakes, than mortification for her own.
The party at the Great House was sometimes increased by other company.
The neighbourhood was not large, but the Musgroves were visited by everybody, and had more dinner - parties, and more callers, more visitors by invitation and by chance, than any other family.
There were more completely popular.
The girls were wild for dancing; and the evenings ended, occasionally, in an unpremeditated little ball.
very well done indeed!
Lord bless me!
how those little fingers of yours fly about!"
So passed the first three weeks.
Michaelmas came; and now Anne's heart must be in Kellynch again.
A beloved home made over to others; all the precious rooms and furniture, groves, and prospects, beginning to own other eyes and other limbs!
She could not think of much else on the 29th of September; and she had this sympathetic touch in the evening from Mary, who, on having occasion to note down the day of the month, exclaimed, " Dear me, is not this the day the Crofts were to come to Kellynch?
I am glad I did not think of it before.
How low it makes me!"
The Crofts took possession with true naval alertness, and were to be visited.
Mary deplored the necessity for herself.
" Nobody knew how much she should suffer.
She should put it off as long as she could;" but was not easy till she had talked Charles into driving her over on an early day, and was in a very animated, comfortable state of imaginary agitation, when she came back.
Anne had very sincerely rejoiced in there being no means of her going.
She wished, however to see the Crofts, and was glad to be within when the visit was returned.
Mrs Croft, though neither tall nor fat, had a squareness, uprightness, and vigour of form, which gave importance to her person.
Her manners were open, easy, and decided, like one who had no distrust of herself, and no doubts of what to do; without any approach to coarseness, however, or any want of good humour.
She was quite easy on that head, and consequently full of strength and courage, till for a moment electrified by Mrs Croft's suddenly saying,--
" It was you, and not your sister, I find, that my brother had the pleasure of being acquainted with, when he was in this country."
Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing; but the age of emotion she certainly had not.
" Perhaps you may not have heard that he is married?"
added Mrs Croft.
She could now answer as she ought; and was happy to feel, when Mrs Croft's next words explained it to be Mr Wentworth of whom she spoke, that she had said nothing which might not do for either brother.
She immediately felt how reasonable it was, that Mrs Croft should be thinking and speaking of Edward, and not of Frederick; and with shame at her own forgetfulness applied herself to the knowledge of their former neighbour's present state with proper interest.
The rest was all tranquillity; till, just as they were moving, she heard the Admiral say to Mary --
" We are expecting a brother of Mrs Croft's here soon; I dare say you know him by name."
She could not, however, reach such a degree of certainty, as not to be anxious to hear whether anything had been said on the subject at the other house, where the Crofts had previously been calling.
The folks of the Great House were to spend the evening of this day at the Cottage; and it being now too late in the year for such visits to be made on foot, the coach was beginning to be listened for, when the youngest Miss Musgrove walked in.
" And I will tell you our reason," she added, " and all about it.
I am come on to give you notice, that papa and mamma are out of spirits this evening, especially mamma; she is thinking so much of poor Richard!
And we agreed it would be best to have the harp, for it seems to amuse her more than the piano - forte.
I will tell you why she is out of spirits.
When the Crofts called this morning, (they called here afterwards, did not they?
And upon looking over his letters and things, she found it was so, and is perfectly sure that this must be the very man, and her head is quite full of it, and of poor Richard!
So we must be as merry as we can, that she may not be dwelling upon such gloomy things."
Mr Musgrove was, in a lesser degree, affected likewise; and when they reached the cottage, they were evidently in want, first, of being listened to anew on this subject, and afterwards, of all the relief which cheerful companions could give them.
She found, however, that it was one to which she must inure herself.
Since he actually was expected in the country, she must teach herself to be insensible on such points.
The resolution of doing so helped to form the comfort of their evening.
Chapter 7
A very few days more, and Captain Wentworth was known to be at Kellynch, and Mr Musgrove had called on him, and come back warm in his praise, and he was engaged with the Crofts to dine at Uppercross, by the end of another week.
It had been a great disappointment to Mr Musgrove to find that no earlier day could be fixed, so impatient was he to shew his gratitude, by seeing Captain Wentworth under his own roof, and welcoming him to all that was strongest and best in his cellars.
But a week must pass; only a week, in Anne's reckoning, and then, she supposed, they must meet; and soon she began to wish that she could feel secure even for a week.
Captain Wentworth made a very early return to Mr Musgrove's civility, and she was all but calling there in the same half hour.
She and Mary were actually setting forward for the Great House, where, as she afterwards learnt, they must inevitably have found him, when they were stopped by the eldest boy's being at that moment brought home in consequence of a bad fall.
The child's situation put the visit entirely aside; but she could not hear of her escape with indifference, even in the midst of the serious anxiety which they afterwards felt on his account.
His collar - bone was found to be dislocated, and such injury received in the back, as roused the most alarming ideas.
Her brother's return was the first comfort; he could take best care of his wife; and the second blessing was the arrival of the apothecary.
And in short, he had looked and said everything with such exquisite grace, that they could assure them all, their heads were both turned by him; and off they ran, quite as full of glee as of love, and apparently more full of Captain Wentworth than of little Charles.
" Oh no; as to leaving the little boy," both father and mother were in much too strong and recent alarm to bear the thought; and Anne, in the joy of the escape, could not help adding her warm protestations to theirs.
But in this he was eagerly opposed by his wife, with " Oh!
no, indeed, Charles, I cannot bear to have you go away.
Only think if anything should happen?"
The child had a good night, and was going on well the next day.
It must be a work of time to ascertain that no injury had been done to the spine; but Mr Robinson found nothing to increase alarm, and Charles Musgrove began, consequently, to feel no necessity for longer confinement.
The child was to be kept in bed and amused as quietly as possible; but what was there for a father to do?
This was quite a female case, and it would be highly absurd in him, who could be of no use at home, to shut himself up.
His father very much wished him to meet Captain Wentworth, and there being no sufficient reason against it, he ought to go; and it ended in his making a bold, public declaration, when he came in from shooting, of his meaning to dress directly, and dine at the other house.
" Nothing can be going on better than the child," said he; " so I told my father, just now, that I would come, and he thought me quite right.
Your sister being with you, my love, I have no scruple at all.
You would not like to leave him yourself, but you see I can be of no use.
Anne will send for me if anything is the matter."
Husbands and wives generally understand when opposition will be vain.
Mary knew, from Charles's manner of speaking, that he was quite determined on going, and that it would be of no use to teaze him.
She said nothing, therefore, till he was out of the room, but as soon as there was only Anne to hear --
" So you and I are to be left to shift by ourselves, with this poor sick child; and not a creature coming near us all the evening!
I knew how it would be.
This is always my luck.
If there is anything disagreeable going on men are always sure to get out of it, and Charles is as bad as any of them.
Very unfeeling!
I must say it is very unfeeling of him to be running away from his poor little boy.
Talks of his being going on so well!
How does he know that he is going on well, or that there may not be a sudden change half an hour hence?
I did not think Charles would have been so unfeeling.
So here he is to go away and enjoy himself, and because I am the poor mother, I am not to be allowed to stir; and yet, I am sure, I am more unfit than anybody else to be about the child.
My being the mother is the very reason why my feelings should not be tried.
I am not at all equal to it.
You saw how hysterical I was yesterday."
" But that was only the effect of the suddenness of your alarm--of the shock.
You will not be hysterical again.
I dare say we shall have nothing to distress us.
I perfectly understand Mr Robinson's directions, and have no fears; and indeed, Mary, I cannot wonder at your husband.
Nursing does not belong to a man; it is not his province.
A sick child is always the mother's property: her own feelings generally make it so."
I have not nerves for the sort of thing."
" But, could you be comfortable yourself, to be spending the whole evening away from the poor boy?"
" Yes; you see his papa can, and why should not I?
Jemima is so careful; and she could send us word every hour how he was.
I really think Charles might as well have told his father we would all come.
I am not more alarmed about little Charles now than he is.
I was dreadfully alarmed yesterday, but the case is very different to - day."
" Well, if you do not think it too late to give notice for yourself, suppose you were to go, as well as your husband.
Leave little Charles to my care.
Mr and Mrs Musgrove cannot think it wrong while I remain with him."
" Are you serious?"
cried Mary, her eyes brightening.
" Dear me!
that's a very good thought, very good, indeed.
To be sure, I may just as well go as not, for I am of no use at home--am I?
and it only harasses me.
You, who have not a mother's feelings, are a great deal the properest person.
You can make little Charles do anything; he always minds you at a word.
It will be a great deal better than leaving him only with Jemima.
Oh!
I shall certainly go; I am sure I ought if I can, quite as much as Charles, for they want me excessively to be acquainted with Captain Wentworth, and I know you do not mind being left alone.
An excellent thought of yours, indeed, Anne.
I will go and tell Charles, and get ready directly.
You can send for us, you know, at a moment's notice, if anything is the matter; but I dare say there will be nothing to alarm you.
I should not go, you may be sure, if I did not feel quite at ease about my dear child."
The next moment she was tapping at her husband's dressing - room door, and as Anne followed her up stairs, she was in time for the whole conversation, which began with Mary's saying, in a tone of great exultation --
" I mean to go with you, Charles, for I am of no more use at home than you are.
If I were to shut myself up for ever with the child, I should not be able to persuade him to do anything he did not like.
Anne will stay; Anne undertakes to stay at home and take care of him.
It is Anne's own proposal, and so I shall go with you, which will be a great deal better, for I have not dined at the other house since Tuesday."
" This is very kind of Anne," was her husband's answer, " and I should be very glad to have you go; but it seems rather hard that she should be left at home by herself, to nurse our sick child."
They were gone, she hoped, to be happy, however oddly constructed such happiness might seem; as for herself, she was left with as many sensations of comfort, as were, perhaps, ever likely to be hers.
She knew herself to be of the first utility to the child; and what was it to her if Frederick Wentworth were only half a mile distant, making himself agreeable to others?
She would have liked to know how he felt as to a meeting.
Perhaps indifferent, if indifference could exist under such circumstances.
He must be either indifferent or unwilling.
Had he wished ever to see her again, he need not have waited till this time; he would have done what she could not but believe that in his place she should have done long ago, when events had been early giving him the independence which alone had been wanting.
Her brother and sister came back delighted with their new acquaintance, and their visit in general.
There had been music, singing, talking, laughing, all that was most agreeable; charming manners in Captain Wentworth, no shyness or reserve; they seemed all to know each other perfectly, and he was coming the very next morning to shoot with Charles.
Anne understood it.
He wished to avoid seeing her.
He had inquired after her, she found, slightly, as might suit a former slight acquaintance, seeming to acknowledge such as she had acknowledged, actuated, perhaps, by the same view of escaping introduction when they were to meet.
Mary, very much gratified by this attention, was delighted to receive him, while a thousand feelings rushed on Anne, of which this was the most consoling, that it would soon be over.
And it was soon over.
In two minutes after Charles's preparation, the others appeared; they were in the drawing - room.
Charles shewed himself at the window, all was ready, their visitor had bowed and was gone, the Miss Musgroves were gone too, suddenly resolving to walk to the end of the village with the sportsmen: the room was cleared, and Anne might finish her breakfast as she could.
" It is over!
it is over!"
she repeated to herself again and again, in nervous gratitude.
" The worst is over!"
Mary talked, but she could not attend.
She had seen him.
They had met.
They had been once more in the same room.
Soon, however, she began to reason with herself, and try to be feeling less.
Eight years, almost eight years had passed, since all had been given up.
How absurd to be resuming the agitation which such an interval had banished into distance and indistinctness!
What might not eight years do?
Events of every description, changes, alienations, removals--all, all must be comprised in it, and oblivion of the past--how natural, how certain too!
It included nearly a third part of her own life.
Alas!
with all her reasoning, she found, that to retentive feelings eight years may be little more than nothing.
Now, how were his sentiments to be read?
Was this like wishing to avoid her?
And the next moment she was hating herself for the folly which asked the question.
On one other question which perhaps her utmost wisdom might not have prevented, she was soon spared all suspense; for, after the Miss Musgroves had returned and finished their visit at the Cottage she had this spontaneous information from Mary: --
" Captain Wentworth is not very gallant by you, Anne, though he was so attentive to me.
Henrietta asked him what he thought of you, when they went away, and he said, 'You were so altered he should not have known you again.'"
Mary had no feelings to make her respect her sister's in a common way, but she was perfectly unsuspicious of being inflicting any peculiar wound.
" Altered beyond his knowledge."
Anne fully submitted, in silent, deep mortification.
Doubtless it was so, and she could take no revenge, for he was not altered, or not for the worse.
She had already acknowledged it to herself, and she could not think differently, let him think of her as he would.
No: the years which had destroyed her youth and bloom had only given him a more glowing, manly, open look, in no respect lessening his personal advantages.
She had seen the same Frederick Wentworth.
" So altered that he should not have known her again!"
These were words which could not but dwell with her.
Yet she soon began to rejoice that she had heard them.
They were of sobering tendency; they allayed agitation; they composed, and consequently must make her happier.
Frederick Wentworth had used such words, or something like them, but without an idea that they would be carried round to her.
He had thought her wretchedly altered, and in the first moment of appeal, had spoken as he felt.
He had not forgiven Anne Elliot.
She had used him ill, deserted and disappointed him; and worse, she had shewn a feebleness of character in doing so, which his own decided, confident temper could not endure.
She had given him up to oblige others.
It had been the effect of over - persuasion.
It had been weakness and timidity.
He had been most warmly attached to her, and had never seen a woman since whom he thought her equal; but, except from some natural sensation of curiosity, he had no desire of meeting her again.
Her power with him was gone for ever.
It was now his object to marry.
He was rich, and being turned on shore, fully intended to settle as soon as he could be properly tempted; actually looking round, ready to fall in love with all the speed which a clear head and a quick taste could allow.
He had a heart for either of the Miss Musgroves, if they could catch it; a heart, in short, for any pleasing young woman who came in his way, excepting Anne Elliot.
This was his only secret exception, when he said to his sister, in answer to her suppositions:--
" Yes, here I am, Sophia, quite ready to make a foolish match.
Anybody between fifteen and thirty may have me for asking.
A little beauty, and a few smiles, and a few compliments to the navy, and I am a lost man.
Should not this be enough for a sailor, who has had no society among women to make him nice?"
He said it, she knew, to be contradicted.
His bright proud eye spoke the conviction that he was nice; and Anne Elliot was not out of his thoughts, when he more seriously described the woman he should wish to meet with.
" A strong mind, with sweetness of manner," made the first and the last of the description.
" That is the woman I want," said he.
" Something a little inferior I shall of course put up with, but it must not be much.
If I am a fool, I shall be a fool indeed, for I have thought on the subject more than most men."
Chapter 8
From this time Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot were repeatedly in the same circle.
They were soon dining in company together at Mr Musgrove's, for the little boy's state could no longer supply his aunt with a pretence for absenting herself; and this was but the beginning of other dinings and other meetings.
There must be the same immediate association of thought, though she was very far from conceiving it to be of equal pain.
They had no conversation together, no intercourse but what the commonest civility required.
Once so much to each other!
Now nothing!
There had been a time, when of all the large party now filling the drawing - room at Uppercross, they would have found it most difficult to cease to speak to one another.
Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted.
It was a perpetual estrangement.
When he talked, she heard the same voice, and discerned the same mind.
From thus listening and thinking, she was roused by a whisper of Mrs Musgrove's who, overcome by fond regrets, could not help saying --
" Ah!
Miss Anne, if it had pleased Heaven to spare my poor son, I dare say he would have been just such another by this time."
Anne suppressed a smile, and listened kindly, while Mrs Musgrove relieved her heart a little more; and for a few minutes, therefore, could not keep pace with the conversation of the others.
" Your first was the Asp, I remember; we will look for the Asp."
" You will not find her there.
Quite worn out and broken up.
I was the last man who commanded her.
Hardly fit for service then.
Reported fit for home service for a year or two, and so I was sent off to the West Indies."
The girls looked all amazement.
" The Admiralty," he continued, " entertain themselves now and then, with sending a few hundred men to sea, in a ship not fit to be employed.
But they have a great many to provide for; and among the thousands that may just as well go to the bottom as not, it is impossible for them to distinguish the very set who may be least missed."
" Phoo!
phoo!"
cried the Admiral, " what stuff these young fellows talk!
Never was a better sloop than the Asp in her day.
For an old built sloop, you would not see her equal.
Lucky fellow to get her!
He knows there must have been twenty better men than himself applying for her at the same time.
Lucky fellow to get anything so soon, with no more interest than his."
" I felt my luck, Admiral, I assure you;" replied Captain Wentworth, seriously.
" I was as well satisfied with my appointment as you can desire.
It was a great object with me at that time to be at sea; a very great object, I wanted to be doing something."
" To be sure you did.
What should a young fellow like you do ashore for half a year together?
If a man had not a wife, he soon wants to be afloat again."
" But, Captain Wentworth," cried Louisa, " how vexed you must have been when you came to the Asp, to see what an old thing they had given you."
" I knew pretty well what she was before that day;" said he, smiling.
" I had no more discoveries to make than you would have as to the fashion and strength of any old pelisse, which you had seen lent about among half your acquaintance ever since you could remember, and which at last, on some very wet day, is lent to yourself.
Ah!
she was a dear old Asp to me.
She did all that I wanted.
I knew she would.
I brought her into Plymouth; and here another instance of luck.
We had not been six hours in the Sound, when a gale came on, which lasted four days and nights, and which would have done for poor old Asp in half the time; our touch with the Great Nation not having much improved our condition.
Four - and - twenty hours later, and I should only have been a gallant Captain Wentworth, in a small paragraph at one corner of the newspapers; and being lost in only a sloop, nobody would have thought about me."
Anne's shudderings were to herself alone; but the Miss Musgroves could be as open as they were sincere, in their exclamations of pity and horror.
" And so then, I suppose," said Mrs Musgrove, in a low voice, as if thinking aloud, " so then he went away to the Laconia, and there he met with our poor boy.
Charles, my dear," (beckoning him to her), " do ask Captain Wentworth where it was he first met with your poor brother.
I always forgot."
" It was at Gibraltar, mother, I know.
Dick had been left ill at Gibraltar, with a recommendation from his former captain to Captain Wentworth."
" Oh!
but, Charles, tell Captain Wentworth, he need not be afraid of mentioning poor Dick before me, for it would be rather a pleasure to hear him talked of by such a good friend."
Charles, being somewhat more mindful of the probabilities of the case, only nodded in reply, and walked away.
" Ah!
those were pleasant days when I had the Laconia!
How fast I made money in her.
A friend of mine and I had such a lovely cruise together off the Western Islands.
Poor Harville, sister!
You know how much he wanted money: worse than myself.
He had a wife.
Excellent fellow.
I shall never forget his happiness.
He felt it all, so much for her sake.
I wished for him again the next summer, when I had still the same luck in the Mediterranean."
" And I am sure, Sir."
said Mrs Musgrove, " it was a lucky day for us, when you were put captain into that ship.
We shall never forget what you did."
Her feelings made her speak low; and Captain Wentworth, hearing only in part, and probably not having Dick Musgrove at all near his thoughts, looked rather in suspense, and as if waiting for more.
" My brother," whispered one of the girls; " mamma is thinking of poor Richard."
" Poor dear fellow!"
continued Mrs Musgrove; " he was grown so steady, and such an excellent correspondent, while he was under your care!
Ah!
it would have been a happy thing, if he had never left you.
I assure you, Captain Wentworth, we are very sorry he ever left you."
They were actually on the same sofa, for Mrs Musgrove had most readily made room for him; they were divided only by Mrs Musgrove.
It was no insignificant barrier, indeed.
Personal size and mental sorrow have certainly no necessary proportions.
A large bulky figure has as good a right to be in deep affliction, as the most graceful set of limbs in the world.
But, fair or not fair, there are unbecoming conjunctions, which reason will patronize in vain--which taste cannot tolerate--which ridicule will seize.
" If you had been a week later at Lisbon, last spring, Frederick, you would have been asked to give a passage to Lady Mary Grierson and her daughters."
" Should I?
I am glad I was not a week later then."
The Admiral abused him for his want of gallantry.
He defended himself; though professing that he would never willingly admit any ladies on board a ship of his, excepting for a ball, or a visit, which a few hours might comprehend.
" But, if I know myself," said he, " this is from no want of gallantry towards them.
It is rather from feeling how impossible it is, with all one's efforts, and all one's sacrifices, to make the accommodations on board such as women ought to have.
There can be no want of gallantry, Admiral, in rating the claims of women to every personal comfort high, and this is what I do.
I hate to hear of women on board, or to see them on board; and no ship under my command shall ever convey a family of ladies anywhere, if I can help it."
This brought his sister upon him.
" Oh!
Frederick!
But I cannot believe it of you.
-- All idle refinement!
-- Women may be as comfortable on board, as in the best house in England.
I believe I have lived as much on board as most women, and I know nothing superior to the accommodations of a man - of - war.
I declare I have not a comfort or an indulgence about me, even at Kellynch Hall," (with a kind bow to Anne), " beyond what I always had in most of the ships I have lived in; and they have been five altogether."
" Nothing to the purpose," replied her brother.
" You were living with your husband, and were the only woman on board."
" But you, yourself, brought Mrs Harville, her sister, her cousin, and three children, round from Portsmouth to Plymouth.
Where was this superfine, extraordinary sort of gallantry of yours then?"
" All merged in my friendship, Sophia.
I would assist any brother officer's wife that I could, and I would bring anything of Harville's from the world's end, if he wanted it.
But do not imagine that I did not feel it an evil in itself."
" Depend upon it, they were all perfectly comfortable."
" I might not like them the better for that perhaps.
Such a number of women and children have no right to be comfortable on board."
" My dear Frederick, you are talking quite idly.
Pray, what would become of us poor sailors'wives, who often want to be conveyed to one port or another, after our husbands, if everybody had your feelings?"
" My feelings, you see, did not prevent my taking Mrs Harville and all her family to Plymouth."
" But I hate to hear you talking so like a fine gentleman, and as if women were all fine ladies, instead of rational creatures.
We none of us expect to be in smooth water all our days."
" Ah!
my dear," said the Admiral, " when he had got a wife, he will sing a different tune.
When he is married, if we have the good luck to live to another war, we shall see him do as you and I, and a great many others, have done.
We shall have him very thankful to anybody that will bring him his wife."
" Ay, that we shall."
" Now I have done," cried Captain Wentworth.
" When once married people begin to attack me with,--'Oh!
you will think very differently, when you are married.'
I can only say, 'No, I shall not;' and then they say again, 'Yes, you will,' and there is an end of it."
He got up and moved away.
" What a great traveller you must have been, ma'am!"
said Mrs Musgrove to Mrs Croft.
" Pretty well, ma'am in the fifteen years of my marriage; though many women have done more.
I have crossed the Atlantic four times, and have been once to the East Indies, and back again, and only once; besides being in different places about home: Cork, and Lisbon, and Gibraltar.
But I never went beyond the Streights, and never was in the West Indies.
We do not call Bermuda or Bahama, you know, the West Indies."
Mrs Musgrove had not a word to say in dissent; she could not accuse herself of having ever called them anything in the whole course of her life.
" And I do assure you, ma'am," pursued Mrs Croft, " that nothing can exceed the accommodations of a man - of - war; I speak, you know, of the higher rates.
When you come to a frigate, of course, you are more confined; though any reasonable woman may be perfectly happy in one of them; and I can safely say, that the happiest part of my life has been spent on board a ship.
While we were together, you know, there was nothing to be feared.
Thank God!
I have always been blessed with excellent health, and no climate disagrees with me.
A little disordered always the first twenty - four hours of going to sea, but never knew what sickness was afterwards.
The only time I ever really suffered in body or mind, the only time that I ever fancied myself unwell, or had any ideas of danger, was the winter that I passed by myself at Deal, when the Admiral (Captain Croft then) was in the North Seas.
I lived in perpetual fright at that time, and had all manner of imaginary complaints from not knowing what to do with myself, or when I should hear from him next; but as long as we could be together, nothing ever ailed me, and I never met with the smallest inconvenience."
" Aye, to be sure.
Yes, indeed, oh yes!
I am quite of your opinion, Mrs Croft," was Mrs Musgrove's hearty answer.
" There is nothing so bad as a separation.
I am quite of your opinion.
I know what it is, for Mr Musgrove always attends the assizes, and I am so glad when they are over, and he is safe back again."
The evening ended with dancing.
On its being proposed, Anne offered her services, as usual; and though her eyes would sometimes fill with tears as she sat at the instrument, she was extremely glad to be employed, and desired nothing in return but to be unobserved.
It was a merry, joyous party, and no one seemed in higher spirits than Captain Wentworth.
She felt that he had every thing to elevate him which general attention and deference, and especially the attention of all the young women, could do.
If he were a little spoilt by such universal, such eager admiration, who could wonder?
These were some of the thoughts which occupied Anne, while her fingers were mechanically at work, proceeding for half an hour together, equally without error, and without consciousness.
The answer was, " Oh, no; never; she has quite given up dancing.
She had rather play.
She is never tired of playing."
Once, too, he spoke to her.
She had left the instrument on the dancing being over, and he had sat down to try to make out an air which he wished to give the Miss Musgroves an idea of.
Unintentionally she returned to that part of the room; he saw her, and, instantly rising, said, with studied politeness --
" I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat;" and though she immediately drew back with a decided negative, he was not to be induced to sit down again.
Anne did not wish for more of such looks and speeches.
His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything.
Chapter 9
Captain Wentworth was come to Kellynch as to a home, to stay as long as he liked, being as thoroughly the object of the Admiral's fraternal kindness as of his wife's.
He had intended, on first arriving, to proceed very soon into Shropshire, and visit the brother settled in that country, but the attractions of Uppercross induced him to put this off.
It was soon Uppercross with him almost every day.
Hitherto there had been but one opinion of Captain Wentworth among the Musgroves and their dependencies.
It was unvarying, warm admiration everywhere; but this intimate footing was not more than established, when a certain Charles Hayter returned among them, to be a good deal disturbed by it, and to think Captain Wentworth very much in the way.
Charles Hayter was the eldest of all the cousins, and a very amiable, pleasing young man, between whom and Henrietta there had been a considerable appearance of attachment previous to Captain Wentworth's introduction.
He was in orders; and having a curacy in the neighbourhood, where residence was not required, lived at his father's house, only two miles from Uppercross.
A short absence from home had left his fair one unguarded by his attentions at this critical period, and when he came back he had the pain of finding very altered manners, and of seeing Captain Wentworth.
Mrs Musgrove and Mrs Hayter were sisters.
They had each had money, but their marriages had made a material difference in their degree of consequence.
The two families had always been on excellent terms, there being no pride on one side, and no envy on the other, and only such a consciousness of superiority in the Miss Musgroves, as made them pleased to improve their cousins.
Charles's attentions to Henrietta had been observed by her father and mother without any disapprobation.
" It would not be a great match for her; but if Henrietta liked him,"-- and Henrietta did seem to like him.
Henrietta fully thought so herself, before Captain Wentworth came; but from that time Cousin Charles had been very much forgotten.
Which of the two sisters was preferred by Captain Wentworth was as yet quite doubtful, as far as Anne's observation reached.
Henrietta was perhaps the prettiest, Louisa had the higher spirits; and she knew not now, whether the more gentle or the more lively character were most likely to attract him.
Mr and Mrs Musgrove, either from seeing little, or from an entire confidence in the discretion of both their daughters, and of all the young men who came near them, seemed to leave everything to take its chance.
Charles gave it for Louisa, Mary for Henrietta, but quite agreeing that to have him marry either could be extremely delightful.
Charles " had never seen a pleasanter man in his life; and from what he had once heard Captain Wentworth himself say, was very sure that he had not made less than twenty thousand pounds by the war.
Here was a fortune at once; besides which, there would be the chance of what might be done in any future war; and he was sure Captain Wentworth was as likely a man to distinguish himself as any officer in the navy.
Oh!
it would be a capital match for either of his sisters."
" Upon my word it would," replied Mary.
" Dear me!
If he should rise to any very great honours!
If he should ever be made a baronet!
'Lady Wentworth'sounds very well.
That would be a noble thing, indeed, for Henrietta!
She would take place of me then, and Henrietta would not dislike that.
Sir Frederick and Lady Wentworth!
It would be but a new creation, however, and I never think much of your new creations."
It suited Mary best to think Henrietta the one preferred on the very account of Charles Hayter, whose pretensions she wished to see put an end to.
She looked down very decidedly upon the Hayters, and thought it would be quite a misfortune to have the existing connection between the families renewed--very sad for herself and her children.
" You know," said she, " I cannot think him at all a fit match for Henrietta; and considering the alliances which the Musgroves have made, she has no right to throw herself away.
I do not think any young woman has a right to make a choice that may be disagreeable and inconvenient to the principal part of her family, and be giving bad connections to those who have not been used to them.
And, pray, who is Charles Hayter?
Nothing but a country curate.
A most improper match for Miss Musgrove of Uppercross."
Her husband, however, would not agree with her here; for besides having a regard for his cousin, Charles Hayter was an eldest son, and he saw things as an eldest son himself.
" Now you are taking nonsense, Mary," was therefore his answer.
The estate at Winthrop is not less than two hundred and fifty acres, besides the farm near Taunton, which is some of the best land in the country.
No, no; Henrietta might do worse than marry Charles Hayter; and if she has him, and Louisa can get Captain Wentworth, I shall be very well satisfied."
She took hardly any notice of Charles Hayter yesterday.
I wish you had been there to see her behaviour.
And as to Captain Wentworth's liking Louisa as well as Henrietta, it is nonsense to say so; for he certainly does like Henrietta a great deal the best.
But Charles is so positive!
I wish you had been with us yesterday, for then you might have decided between us; and I am sure you would have thought as I did, unless you had been determined to give it against me."
A dinner at Mr Musgrove's had been the occasion when all these things should have been seen by Anne; but she had staid at home, under the mixed plea of a headache of her own, and some return of indisposition in little Charles.
She had thought only of avoiding Captain Wentworth; but an escape from being appealed to as umpire was now added to the advantages of a quiet evening.
As to Captain Wentworth's views, she deemed it of more consequence that he should know his own mind early enough not to be endangering the happiness of either sister, or impeaching his own honour, than that he should prefer Henrietta to Louisa, or Louisa to Henrietta.
Either of them would, in all probability, make him an affectionate, good - humoured wife.
Charles Hayter had met with much to disquiet and mortify him in his cousin's behaviour.
He had been absent only two Sundays, and when they parted, had left her interested, even to the height of his wishes, in his prospect of soon quitting his present curacy, and obtaining that of Uppercross instead.
When he came back, alas!
the zeal of the business was gone by.
" Well, I am very glad indeed: but I always thought you would have it; I always thought you sure.
It did not appear to me that--in short, you know, Dr Shirley must have a curate, and you had secured his promise.
Is he coming, Louisa?"
One morning, very soon after the dinner at the Musgroves, at which Anne had not been present, Captain Wentworth walked into the drawing - room at the Cottage, where were only herself and the little invalid Charles, who was lying on the sofa.
He continued at the window; and after calmly and politely saying, " I hope the little boy is better," was silent.
She was obliged to kneel down by the sofa, and remain there to satisfy her patient; and thus they continued a few minutes, when, to her very great satisfaction, she heard some other person crossing the little vestibule.
She hoped, on turning her head, to see the master of the house; but it proved to be one much less calculated for making matters easy--Charles Hayter, probably not at all better pleased by the sight of Captain Wentworth than Captain Wentworth had been by the sight of Anne.
She only attempted to say, " How do you do?
Will you not sit down?
The others will be here presently."
Captain Wentworth, however, came from his window, apparently not ill - disposed for conversation; but Charles Hayter soon put an end to his attempts by seating himself near the table, and taking up the newspaper; and Captain Wentworth returned to his window.
Another minute brought another addition.
There being nothing to eat, he could only have some play; and as his aunt would not let him tease his sick brother, he began to fasten himself upon her, as she knelt, in such a way that, busy as she was about Charles, she could not shake him off.
She spoke to him, ordered, entreated, and insisted in vain.
Once she did contrive to push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in getting upon her back again directly.
" Walter," said she, " get down this moment.
You are extremely troublesome.
I am very angry with you."
" Walter," cried Charles Hayter, " why do you not do as you are bid?
Do not you hear your aunt speak?
Come to me, Walter, come to cousin Charles."
But not a bit did Walter stir.
Her sensations on the discovery made her perfectly speechless.
She could not even thank him.
She could only hang over little Charles, with most disordered feelings.
She could not stay.
It might have been an opportunity of watching the loves and jealousies of the four--they were now altogether; but she could stay for none of it.
It was evident that Charles Hayter was not well inclined towards Captain Wentworth.
But neither Charles Hayter's feelings, nor anybody's feelings, could interest her, till she had a little better arranged her own.
She was ashamed of herself, quite ashamed of being so nervous, so overcome by such a trifle; but so it was, and it required a long application of solitude and reflection to recover her.
Chapter 10
Other opportunities of making her observations could not fail to occur.
They were more in love with him; yet there it was not love.
It was a little fever of admiration; but it might, probably must, end in love with some.
Charles Hayter seemed aware of being slighted, and yet Henrietta had sometimes the air of being divided between them.
Anne longed for the power of representing to them all what they were about, and of pointing out some of the evils they were exposing themselves to.
She did not attribute guile to any.
It was the highest satisfaction to her to believe Captain Wentworth not in the least aware of the pain he was occasioning.
There was no triumph, no pitiful triumph in his manner.
He had, probably, never heard, and never thought of any claims of Charles Hayter.
He was only wrong in accepting the attentions (for accepting must be the word) of two young women at once.
After a short struggle, however, Charles Hayter seemed to quit the field.
Three days had passed without his coming once to Uppercross; a most decided change.
He had even refused one regular invitation to dinner; and having been found on the occasion by Mr Musgrove with some large books before him, Mr and Mrs Musgrove were sure all could not be right, and talked, with grave faces, of his studying himself to death.
It was Mary's hope and belief that he had received a positive dismissal from Henrietta, and her husband lived under the constant dependence of seeing him to - morrow.
Anne could only feel that Charles Hayter was wise.
One morning, about this time Charles Musgrove and Captain Wentworth being gone a - shooting together, as the sisters in the Cottage were sitting quietly at work, they were visited at the window by the sisters from the Mansion - house.
" I cannot imagine why they should suppose I should not like a long walk," said Mary, as she went up stairs.
" Everybody is always supposing that I am not a good walker; and yet they would not have been pleased, if we had refused to join them.
When people come in this manner on purpose to ask us, how can one say no?"
Just as they were setting off, the gentlemen returned.
They had taken out a young dog, who had spoilt their sport, and sent them back early.
Their time and strength, and spirits, were, therefore, exactly ready for this walk, and they entered into it with pleasure.
Anne's object was, not to be in the way of anybody; and where the narrow paths across the fields made many separations necessary, to keep with her brother and sister.
She occupied her mind as much as possible in such like musings and quotations; but it was not possible, that when within reach of Captain Wentworth's conversation with either of the Miss Musgroves, she should not try to hear it; yet she caught little very remarkable.
It was mere lively chat, such as any young persons, on an intimate footing, might fall into.
He was more engaged with Louisa than with Henrietta.
Louisa certainly put more forward for his notice than her sister.
This distinction appeared to increase, and there was one speech of Louisa's which struck her.
After one of the many praises of the day, which were continually bursting forth, Captain Wentworth added: --
" What glorious weather for the Admiral and my sister!
They meant to take a long drive this morning; perhaps we may hail them from some of these hills.
They talked of coming into this side of the country.
I wonder whereabouts they will upset to - day.
Oh!
it does happen very often, I assure you; but my sister makes nothing of it; she would as lieve be tossed out as not."
" Ah!
You make the most of it, I know," cried Louisa, " but if it were really so, I should do just the same in her place.
If I loved a man, as she loves the Admiral, I would always be with him, nothing should ever separate us, and I would rather be overturned by him, than driven safely by anybody else."
It was spoken with enthusiasm.
" Had you?"
cried he, catching the same tone; " I honour you!"
And there was silence between them for a little while.
Anne could not immediately fall into a quotation again.
The sweet scenes of autumn were for a while put by, unless some tender sonnet, fraught with the apt analogy of the declining year, with declining happiness, and the images of youth and hope, and spring, all gone together, blessed her memory.
She roused herself to say, as they struck by order into another path, " Is not this one of the ways to Winthrop?"
But nobody heard, or, at least, nobody answered her.
Winthrop, without beauty and without dignity, was stretched before them an indifferent house, standing low, and hemmed in by the barns and buildings of a farm - yard.
Mary exclaimed, " Bless me!
here is Winthrop.
I declare I had no idea!
Well now, I think we had better turn back; I am excessively tired."
Henrietta, conscious and ashamed, and seeing no cousin Charles walking along any path, or leaning against any gate, was ready to do as Mary wished; but " No!"
said Charles Musgrove, and " No, no!"
cried Louisa more eagerly, and taking her sister aside, seemed to be arguing the matter warmly.
Charles, in the meanwhile, was very decidedly declaring his resolution of calling on his aunt, now that he was so near; and very evidently, though more fearfully, trying to induce his wife to go too.
But this was one of the points on which the lady shewed her strength; and when he recommended the advantage of resting herself a quarter of an hour at Winthrop, as she felt so tired, she resolutely answered, " Oh!
no, indeed!
walking up that hill again would do her more harm than any sitting down could do her good;" and, in short, her look and manner declared, that go she would not.
Louisa seemed the principal arranger of the plan; and, as she went a little way with them, down the hill, still talking to Henrietta, Mary took the opportunity of looking scornfully around her, and saying to Captain Wentworth --
" It is very unpleasant, having such connexions!
But, I assure you, I have never been in the house above twice in my life."
She received no other answer, than an artificial, assenting smile, followed by a contemptuous glance, as he turned away, which Anne perfectly knew the meaning of.
She turned through the same gate, but could not see them.
Anne found a nice seat for her, on a dry sunny bank, under the hedge - row, in which she had no doubt of their still being, in some spot or other.
Mary sat down for a moment, but it would not do; she was sure Louisa had found a better seat somewhere else, and she would go on till she overtook her.
Anne, really tired herself, was glad to sit down; and she very soon heard Captain Wentworth and Louisa in the hedge - row, behind her, as if making their way back along the rough, wild sort of channel, down the centre.
They were speaking as they drew near.
Louisa's voice was the first distinguished.
She seemed to be in the middle of some eager speech.
What Anne first heard was --
" And so, I made her go.
I could not bear that she should be frightened from the visit by such nonsense.
What!
would I be turned back from doing a thing that I had determined to do, and that I knew to be right, by the airs and interference of such a person, or of any person I may say?
No, I have no idea of being so easily persuaded.
When I have made up my mind, I have made it; and Henrietta seemed entirely to have made up hers to call at Winthrop to - day; and yet, she was as near giving it up, out of nonsensical complaisance!"
" She would have turned back then, but for you?"
" She would indeed.
I am almost ashamed to say it."
" Happy for her, to have such a mind as yours at hand!
After the hints you gave just now, which did but confirm my own observations, the last time I was in company with him, I need not affect to have no comprehension of what is going on.
Your sister is an amiable creature; but yours is the character of decision and firmness, I see.
If you value her conduct or happiness, infuse as much of your own spirit into her as you can.
But this, no doubt, you have been always doing.
It is the worst evil of too yielding and indecisive a character, that no influence over it can be depended on.
You are never sure of a good impression being durable; everybody may sway it.
Let those who would be happy be firm.
Here is a nut," said he, catching one down from an upper bough.
" to exemplify: a beautiful glossy nut, which, blessed with original strength, has outlived all the storms of autumn.
Not a puncture, not a weak spot anywhere.
This nut," he continued, with playful solemnity, " while so many of his brethren have fallen and been trodden under foot, is still in possession of all the happiness that a hazel nut can be supposed capable of."
Then returning to his former earnest tone--" My first wish for all whom I am interested in, is that they should be firm.
If Louisa Musgrove would be beautiful and happy in her November of life, she will cherish all her present powers of mind."
He had done, and was unanswered.
It would have surprised Anne if Louisa could have readily answered such a speech: words of such interest, spoken with such serious warmth!
She could imagine what Louisa was feeling.
For herself, she feared to move, lest she should be seen.
While she remained, a bush of low rambling holly protected her, and they were moving on.
Before they were beyond her hearing, however, Louisa spoke again.
" Mary is good - natured enough in many respects," said she; " but she does sometimes provoke me excessively, by her nonsense and pride--the Elliot pride.
She has a great deal too much of the Elliot pride.
We do so wish that Charles had married Anne instead.
I suppose you know he wanted to marry Anne?"
After a moment's pause, Captain Wentworth said --
" Do you mean that she refused him?"
" Oh!
yes; certainly."
" When did that happen?"
" I do not exactly know, for Henrietta and I were at school at the time; but I believe about a year before he married Mary.
I wish she had accepted him.
We should all have liked her a great deal better; and papa and mamma always think it was her great friend Lady Russell's doing, that she did not.
They think Charles might not be learned and bookish enough to please Lady Russell, and that therefore, she persuaded Anne to refuse him."
The sounds were retreating, and Anne distinguished no more.
Her own emotions still kept her fixed.
She had much to recover from, before she could move.
The listener's proverbial fate was not absolutely hers; she had heard no evil of herself, but she had heard a great deal of very painful import.
She saw how her own character was considered by Captain Wentworth, and there had been just that degree of feeling and curiosity about her in his manner which must give her extreme agitation.
As soon as she could, she went after Mary, and having found, and walked back with her to their former station, by the stile, felt some comfort in their whole party being immediately afterwards collected, and once more in motion together.
Her spirits wanted the solitude and silence which only numbers could give.
Charles and Henrietta returned, bringing, as may be conjectured, Charles Hayter with them.
Henrietta looked a little ashamed, but very well pleased;-- Charles Hayter exceedingly happy: and they were devoted to each other almost from the first instant of their all setting forward for Uppercross.
Everything now marked out Louisa for Captain Wentworth; nothing could be plainer; and where many divisions were necessary, or even where they were not, they walked side by side nearly as much as the other two.
In a long strip of meadow land, where there was ample space for all, they were thus divided, forming three distinct parties; and to that party of the three which boasted least animation, and least complaisance, Anne necessarily belonged.
She joined Charles and Mary, and was tired enough to be very glad of Charles's other arm; but Charles, though in very good humour with her, was out of temper with his wife.
He and his wife had taken their intended drive, and were returning home.
Upon hearing how long a walk the young people had engaged in, they kindly offered a seat to any lady who might be particularly tired; it would save her a full mile, and they were going through Uppercross.
The invitation was general, and generally declined.
The Miss Musgroves were not at all tired, and Mary was either offended, by not being asked before any of the others, or what Louisa called the Elliot pride could not endure to make a third in a one horse chaise.
The walking party had crossed the lane, and were surmounting an opposite stile, and the Admiral was putting his horse in motion again, when Captain Wentworth cleared the hedge in a moment to say something to his sister.
The something might be guessed by its effects.
" Miss Elliot, I am sure you are tired," cried Mrs Croft.
" Do let us have the pleasure of taking you home.
Here is excellent room for three, I assure you.
If we were all like you, I believe we might sit four.
You must, indeed, you must."
Anne was still in the lane; and though instinctively beginning to decline, she was not allowed to proceed.
Yes; he had done it.
She was in the carriage, and felt that he had placed her there, that his will and his hands had done it, that she owed it to his perception of her fatigue, and his resolution to give her rest.
She was very much affected by the view of his disposition towards her, which all these things made apparent.
This little circumstance seemed the completion of all that had gone before.
She understood him.
He could not forgive her, but he could not be unfeeling.
Though condemning her for the past, and considering it with high and unjust resentment, though perfectly careless of her, and though becoming attached to another, still he could not see her suffer, without the desire of giving her relief.
It was a remainder of former sentiment; it was an impulse of pure, though unacknowledged friendship; it was a proof of his own warm and amiable heart, which she could not contemplate without emotions so compounded of pleasure and pain, that she knew not which prevailed.
Her answers to the kindness and the remarks of her companions were at first unconsciously given.
They had travelled half their way along the rough lane, before she was quite awake to what they said.
She then found them talking of " Frederick."
" He certainly means to have one or other of those two girls, Sophy," said the Admiral; " but there is no saying which.
He has been running after them, too, long enough, one would think, to make up his mind.
Ay, this comes of the peace.
If it were war now, he would have settled it long ago.
We sailors, Miss Elliot, cannot afford to make long courtships in time of war.
How many days was it, my dear, between the first time of my seeing you and our sitting down together in our lodgings at North Yarmouth?"
" We had better not talk about it, my dear," replied Mrs Croft, pleasantly; " for if Miss Elliot were to hear how soon we came to an understanding, she would never be persuaded that we could be happy together.
I had known you by character, however, long before."
" Well, and I had heard of you as a very pretty girl, and what were we to wait for besides?
I do not like having such things so long in hand.
I wish Frederick would spread a little more canvass, and bring us home one of these young ladies to Kellynch.
Then there would always be company for them.
And very nice young ladies they both are; I hardly know one from the other."
" Very good humoured, unaffected girls, indeed," said Mrs Croft, in a tone of calmer praise, such as made Anne suspect that her keener powers might not consider either of them as quite worthy of her brother; " and a very respectable family.
One could not be connected with better people.
My dear Admiral, that post!
we shall certainly take that post."
Chapter 11
The time now approached for Lady Russell's return: the day was even fixed; and Anne, being engaged to join her as soon as she was resettled, was looking forward to an early removal to Kellynch, and beginning to think how her own comfort was likely to be affected by it.
It would place her in the same village with Captain Wentworth, within half a mile of him; they would have to frequent the same church, and there must be intercourse between the two families.
They did not like each other, and no renewal of acquaintance now could do any good; and were Lady Russell to see them together, she might think that he had too much self - possession, and she too little.
These points formed her chief solicitude in anticipating her removal from Uppercross, where she felt she had been stationed quite long enough.
Her usefulness to little Charles would always give some sweetness to the memory of her two months'visit there, but he was gaining strength apace, and she had nothing else to stay for.
The conclusion of her visit, however, was diversified in a way which she had not at all imagined.
Captain Wentworth, after being unseen and unheard of at Uppercross for two whole days, appeared again among them to justify himself by a relation of what had kept him away.
A letter from his friend, Captain Harville, having found him out at last, had brought intelligence of Captain Harville's being settled with his family at Lyme for the winter; of their being therefore, quite unknowingly, within twenty miles of each other.
Captain Harville had never been in good health since a severe wound which he received two years before, and Captain Wentworth's anxiety to see him had determined him to go immediately to Lyme.
He had been there for four - and - twenty hours.
The young people were all wild to see Lyme.
They were, consequently, to stay the night there, and not to be expected back till the next day's dinner.
After securing accommodations, and ordering a dinner at one of the inns, the next thing to be done was unquestionably to walk directly down to the sea.
They were come too late in the year for any amusement or variety which Lyme, as a public place, might offer.
Captain Wentworth turned in to call on his friend; the others walked on, and he was to join them on the Cobb.
He had been engaged to Captain Harville's sister, and was now mourning her loss.
They had been a year or two waiting for fortune and promotion.
Fortune came, his prize - money as lieutenant being great; promotion, too, came at last; but Fanny Harville did not live to know it.
She had died the preceding summer while he was at sea.
Captain Wentworth believed it impossible for man to be more attached to woman than poor Benwick had been to Fanny Harville, or to be more deeply afflicted under the dreadful change.
He considered his disposition as of the sort which must suffer heavily, uniting very strong feelings with quiet, serious, and retiring manners, and a decided taste for reading, and sedentary pursuits.
To finish the interest of the story, the friendship between him and the Harvilles seemed, if possible, augmented by the event which closed all their views of alliance, and Captain Benwick was now living with them entirely.
The sympathy and good - will excited towards Captain Benwick was very great.
" And yet," said Anne to herself, as they now moved forward to meet the party, " he has not, perhaps, a more sorrowing heart than I have.
I cannot believe his prospects so blighted for ever.
He is younger than I am; younger in feeling, if not in fact; younger as a man.
He will rally again, and be happy with another."
They all met, and were introduced.
Captain Harville was a tall, dark man, with a sensible, benevolent countenance; a little lame; and from strong features and want of health, looking much older than Captain Wentworth.
Captain Benwick looked, and was, the youngest of the three, and, compared with either of them, a little man.
He had a pleasing face and a melancholy air, just as he ought to have, and drew back from conversation.
Captain Harville, though not equalling Captain Wentworth in manners, was a perfect gentleman, unaffected, warm, and obliging.
The dinner, already ordered at the inn, was at last, though unwillingly, accepted as a excuse; but they seemed almost hurt that Captain Wentworth should have brought any such party to Lyme, without considering it as a thing of course that they should dine with them.
" These would have been all my friends," was her thought; and she had to struggle against a great tendency to lowness.
On quitting the Cobb, they all went in - doors with their new friends, and found rooms so small as none but those who invite from the heart could think capable of accommodating so many.
Captain Harville was no reader; but he had contrived excellent accommodations, and fashioned very pretty shelves, for a tolerable collection of well - bound volumes, the property of Captain Benwick.
His lameness prevented him from taking much exercise; but a mind of usefulness and ingenuity seemed to furnish him with constant employment within.
He drew, he varnished, he carpentered, he glued; he made toys for the children; he fashioned new netting - needles and pins with improvements; and if everything else was done, sat down to his large fishing - net at one corner of the room.
He ventured among them again, however, though his spirits certainly did not seem fit for the mirth of the party in general.
He was shy, and disposed to abstraction; but the engaging mildness of her countenance, and gentleness of her manners, soon had their effect; and Anne was well repaid the first trouble of exertion.
Chapter 12
Anne and Henrietta, finding themselves the earliest of the party the next morning, agreed to stroll down to the sea before breakfast.
They went to the sands, to watch the flowing of the tide, which a fine south - easterly breeze was bringing in with all the grandeur which so flat a shore admitted.
They praised the morning; gloried in the sea; sympathized in the delight of the fresh - feeling breeze--and were silent; till Henrietta suddenly began again with --
" Oh!
yes,-- I am quite convinced that, with very few exceptions, the sea - air always does good.
There can be no doubt of its having been of the greatest service to Dr Shirley, after his illness, last spring twelve - month.
He declares himself, that coming to Lyme for a month, did him more good than all the medicine he took; and, that being by the sea, always makes him feel young again.
Now, I cannot help thinking it a pity that he does not live entirely by the sea.
I do think he had better leave Uppercross entirely, and fix at Lyme.
Do not you, Anne?
Do not you agree with me, that it is the best thing he could do, both for himself and Mrs Shirley?
She has cousins here, you know, and many acquaintance, which would make it cheerful for her, and I am sure she would be glad to get to a place where she could have medical attendance at hand, in case of his having another seizure.
Indeed I think it quite melancholy to have such excellent people as Dr and Mrs Shirley, who have been doing good all their lives, wearing out their last days in a place like Uppercross, where, excepting our family, they seem shut out from all the world.
I wish his friends would propose it to him.
I really think they ought.
And, as to procuring a dispensation, there could be no difficulty at his time of life, and with his character.
My only doubt is, whether anything could persuade him to leave his parish.
He is so very strict and scrupulous in his notions; over - scrupulous I must say.
Do not you think, Anne, it is being over - scrupulous?
Do not you think it is quite a mistaken point of conscience, when a clergyman sacrifices his health for the sake of duties, which may be just as well performed by another person?
And at Lyme too, only seventeen miles off, he would be near enough to hear, if people thought there was anything to complain of."
Anne smiled more than once to herself during this speech, and entered into the subject, as ready to do good by entering into the feelings of a young lady as of a young man, though here it was good of a lower standard, for what could be offered but general acquiescence?
" I wish," said Henrietta, very well pleased with her companion, " I wish Lady Russell lived at Uppercross, and were intimate with Dr Shirley.
I have always heard of Lady Russell as a woman of the greatest influence with everybody!
I always look upon her as able to persuade a person to anything!
I am afraid of her, as I have told you before, quite afraid of her, because she is so very clever; but I respect her amazingly, and wish we had such a neighbour at Uppercross."
They came also for a stroll till breakfast was likely to be ready; but Louisa recollecting, immediately afterwards that she had something to procure at a shop, invited them all to go back with her into the town.
They were all at her disposal.
When they came to the steps, leading upwards from the beach, a gentleman, at the same moment preparing to come down, politely drew back, and stopped to give them way.
They ascended and passed him; and as they passed, Anne's face caught his eye, and he looked at her with a degree of earnest admiration, which she could not be insensible of.
She was looking remarkably well; her very regular, very pretty features, having the bloom and freshness of youth restored by the fine wind which had been blowing on her complexion, and by the animation of eye which it had also produced.
It was evident that the gentleman, (completely a gentleman in manner) admired her exceedingly.
Captain Wentworth looked round at her instantly in a way which shewed his noticing of it.
He gave her a momentary glance, a glance of brightness, which seemed to say, " That man is struck with you, and even I, at this moment, see something like Anne Elliot again."
She had before conjectured him to be a stranger like themselves, and determined that a well - looking groom, who was strolling about near the two inns as they came back, should be his servant.
Both master and man being in mourning assisted the idea.
He seemed about thirty, and though not handsome, had an agreeable person.
Anne felt that she should like to know who he was.
They had nearly done breakfast, when the sound of a carriage, (almost the first they had heard since entering Lyme) drew half the party to the window.
It was a gentleman's carriage, a curricle, but only coming round from the stable - yard to the front door; somebody must be going away.
It was driven by a servant in mourning.
" Ah!"
cried Captain Wentworth, instantly, and with half a glance at Anne, " it is the very man we passed."
The Miss Musgroves agreed to it; and having all kindly watched him as far up the hill as they could, they returned to the breakfast table.
The waiter came into the room soon afterwards.
" Pray," said Captain Wentworth, immediately, " can you tell us the name of the gentleman who is just gone away?"
" Yes, Sir, a Mr Elliot, a gentleman of large fortune, came in last night from Sidmouth.
Dare say you heard the carriage, sir, while you were at dinner; and going on now for Crewkherne, in his way to Bath and London."
" Elliot!"
Many had looked on each other, and many had repeated the name, before all this had been got through, even by the smart rapidity of a waiter.
" Bless me!"
cried Mary; " it must be our cousin; it must be our Mr Elliot, it must, indeed!
Charles, Anne, must not it?
In mourning, you see, just as our Mr Elliot must be.
How very extraordinary!
In the very same inn with us!
Anne, must not it be our Mr Elliot?
my father's next heir?
Pray sir," turning to the waiter, " did not you hear, did not his servant say whether he belonged to the Kellynch family?"
" No, ma'am, he did not mention no particular family; but he said his master was a very rich gentleman, and would be a baronight some day."
" There!
you see!"
cried Mary in an ecstasy, " just as I said!
Heir to Sir Walter Elliot!
I was sure that would come out, if it was so.
Depend upon it, that is a circumstance which his servants take care to publish, wherever he goes.
But, Anne, only conceive how extraordinary!
I wish I had looked at him more.
I wish we had been aware in time, who it was, that he might have been introduced to us.
What a pity that we should not have been introduced to each other!
Do you think he had the Elliot countenance?
I hardly looked at him, I was looking at the horses; but I think he had something of the Elliot countenance, I wonder the arms did not strike me!
Oh!
the great - coat was hanging over the panel, and hid the arms, so it did; otherwise, I am sure, I should have observed them, and the livery too; if the servant had not been in mourning, one should have known him by the livery."
" Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances together," said Captain Wentworth, " we must consider it to be the arrangement of Providence, that you should not be introduced to your cousin."
When she could command Mary's attention, Anne quietly tried to convince her that their father and Mr Elliot had not, for many years, been on such terms as to make the power of attempting an introduction at all desirable.
At the same time, however, it was a secret gratification to herself to have seen her cousin, and to know that the future owner of Kellynch was undoubtedly a gentleman, and had an air of good sense.
" Of course," said Mary, " you will mention our seeing Mr Elliot, the next time you write to Bath.
I think my father certainly ought to hear of it; do mention all about him."
Anne avoided a direct reply, but it was just the circumstance which she considered as not merely unnecessary to be communicated, but as what ought to be suppressed.
The offence which had been given her father, many years back, she knew; Elizabeth's particular share in it she suspected; and that Mr Elliot's idea always produced irritation in both was beyond a doubt.
Mary never wrote to Bath herself; all the toil of keeping up a slow and unsatisfactory correspondence with Elizabeth fell on Anne.
Breakfast had not been long over, when they were joined by Captain and Mrs Harville and Captain Benwick; with whom they had appointed to take their last walk about Lyme.
They ought to be setting off for Uppercross by one, and in the mean while were to be all together, and out of doors as long as they could.
Anne found Captain Benwick getting near her, as soon as they were all fairly in the street.
" Miss Elliot," said he, speaking rather low, " you have done a good deed in making that poor fellow talk so much.
I wish he could have such company oftener.
It is bad for him, I know, to be shut up as he is; but what can we do?
We cannot part."
" No," said Anne, " that I can easily believe to be impossible; but in time, perhaps--we know what time does in every case of affliction, and you must remember, Captain Harville, that your friend may yet be called a young mourner--only last summer, I understand."
" Ay, true enough," (with a deep sigh) " only June."
" And not known to him, perhaps, so soon."
" Not till the first week of August, when he came home from the Cape, just made into the Grappler.
I was at Plymouth dreading to hear of him; he sent in letters, but the Grappler was under orders for Portsmouth.
There the news must follow him, but who was to tell it?
not I. I would as soon have been run up to the yard - arm.
Nobody could do it, but that good fellow " (pointing to Captain Wentworth.)
" The Laconia had come into Plymouth the week before; no danger of her being sent to sea again.
He stood his chance for the rest; wrote up for leave of absence, but without waiting the return, travelled night and day till he got to Portsmouth, rowed off to the Grappler that instant, and never left the poor fellow for a week.
That's what he did, and nobody else could have saved poor James.
You may think, Miss Elliot, whether he is dear to us!"
Anne did think on the question with perfect decision, and said as much in reply as her own feeling could accomplish, or as his seemed able to bear, for he was too much affected to renew the subject, and when he spoke again, it was of something totally different.
Anne found Captain Benwick again drawing near her.
Lord Byron's " dark blue seas " could not fail of being brought forward by their present view, and she gladly gave him all her attention as long as attention was possible.
It was soon drawn, perforce another way.
In all their walks, he had had to jump her from the stiles; the sensation was delightful to her.
The hardness of the pavement for her feet, made him less willing upon the present occasion; he did it, however.
She was safely down, and instantly, to show her enjoyment, ran up the steps to be jumped down again.
There was no wound, no blood, no visible bruise; but her eyes were closed, she breathed not, her face was like death.
The horror of the moment to all who stood around!
Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up, knelt with her in his arms, looking on her with a face as pallid as her own, in an agony of silence.
" She is dead!
she is dead!"
" Is there no one to help me?"
were the first words which burst from Captain Wentworth, in a tone of despair, and as if all his own strength were gone.
" Go to him, go to him," cried Anne, " for heaven's sake go to him.
I can support her myself.
Leave me, and go to him.
Rub her hands, rub her temples; here are salts; take them, take them."
" Oh God!
her father and mother!"
" A surgeon!"
said Anne.
He caught the word; it seemed to rouse him at once, and saying only--" True, true, a surgeon this instant," was darting away, when Anne eagerly suggested --
" Captain Benwick, would not it be better for Captain Benwick?
He knows where a surgeon is to be found."
Every one capable of thinking felt the advantage of the idea, and in a moment (it was all done in rapid moments) Captain Benwick had resigned the poor corpse - like figure entirely to the brother's care, and was off for the town with the utmost rapidity.
Anne, attending with all the strength and zeal, and thought, which instinct supplied, to Henrietta, still tried, at intervals, to suggest comfort to the others, tried to quiet Mary, to animate Charles, to assuage the feelings of Captain Wentworth.
Both seemed to look to her for directions.
" Anne, Anne," cried Charles, " What is to be done next?
What, in heaven's name, is to be done next?"
Captain Wentworth's eyes were also turned towards her.
" Had not she better be carried to the inn?
Yes, I am sure: carry her gently to the inn."
" Yes, yes, to the inn," repeated Captain Wentworth, comparatively collected, and eager to be doing something.
" I will carry her myself.
Musgrove, take care of the others."
They were not off the Cobb, before the Harvilles met them.
Captain Benwick had been seen flying by their house, with a countenance which showed something to be wrong; and they had set off immediately, informed and directed as they passed, towards the spot.
Shocked as Captain Harville was, he brought senses and nerves that could be instantly useful; and a look between him and his wife decided what was to be done.
She must be taken to their house; all must go to their house; and await the surgeon's arrival there.
Louisa had once opened her eyes, but soon closed them again, without apparent consciousness.
This had been a proof of life, however, of service to her sister; and Henrietta, though perfectly incapable of being in the same room with Louisa, was kept, by the agitation of hope and fear, from a return of her own insensibility.
Mary, too, was growing calmer.
The surgeon was with them almost before it had seemed possible.
They were sick with horror, while he examined; but he was not hopeless.
The head had received a severe contusion, but he had seen greater injuries recovered from: he was by no means hopeless; he spoke cheerfully.
The tone, the look, with which " Thank God!"
Louisa's limbs had escaped.
There was no injury but to the head.
It now became necessary for the party to consider what was best to be done, as to their general situation.
They were now able to speak to each other and consult.
That Louisa must remain where she was, however distressing to her friends to be involving the Harvilles in such trouble, did not admit a doubt.
Her removal was impossible.
The Harvilles silenced all scruples; and, as much as they could, all gratitude.
They had looked forward and arranged everything before the others began to reflect.
Captain Benwick must give up his room to them, and get another bed elsewhere; and the whole was settled.
Mrs Harville was a very experienced nurse, and her nursery - maid, who had lived with her long, and gone about with her everywhere, was just such another.
Between these two, she could want no possible attendance by day or night.
And all this was said with a truth and sincerity of feeling irresistible.
Charles, Henrietta, and Captain Wentworth were the three in consultation, and for a little while it was only an interchange of perplexity and terror.
" Uppercross, the necessity of some one's going to Uppercross; the news to be conveyed; how it could be broken to Mr and Mrs Musgrove; the lateness of the morning; an hour already gone since they ought to have been off; the impossibility of being in tolerable time."
At first, they were capable of nothing more to the purpose than such exclamations; but, after a while, Captain Wentworth, exerting himself, said --
" We must be decided, and without the loss of another minute.
Every minute is valuable.
Some one must resolve on being off for Uppercross instantly.
Musgrove, either you or I must go."
Charles agreed, but declared his resolution of not going away.
He would be as little incumbrance as possible to Captain and Mrs Harville; but as to leaving his sister in such a state, he neither ought, nor would.
So far it was decided; and Henrietta at first declared the same.
She, however, was soon persuaded to think differently.
The usefulness of her staying!
She who had not been able to remain in Louisa's room, or to look at her, without sufferings which made her worse than helpless!
She was forced to acknowledge that she could do no good, yet was still unwilling to be away, till, touched by the thought of her father and mother, she gave it up; she consented, she was anxious to be at home.
The plan had reached this point, when Anne, coming quietly down from Louisa's room, could not but hear what followed, for the parlour door was open.
" Then it is settled, Musgrove," cried Captain Wentworth, " that you stay, and that I take care of your sister home.
But as to the rest, as to the others, if one stays to assist Mrs Harville, I think it need be only one.
Mrs Charles Musgrove will, of course, wish to get back to her children; but if Anne will stay, no one so proper, so capable as Anne."
She paused a moment to recover from the emotion of hearing herself so spoken of.
The other two warmly agreed with what he said, and she then appeared.
" You will stay, I am sure; you will stay and nurse her;" cried he, turning to her and speaking with a glow, and yet a gentleness, which seemed almost restoring the past.
She coloured deeply, and he recollected himself and moved away.
She expressed herself most willing, ready, happy to remain.
" It was what she had been thinking of, and wishing to be allowed to do.
A bed on the floor in Louisa's room would be sufficient for her, if Mrs Harville would but think so."
One thing more, and all seemed arranged.
Captain Wentworth now hurried off to get everything ready on his part, and to be soon followed by the two ladies.
When the plan was made known to Mary, however, there was an end of all peace in it.
She was so wretched and so vehement, complained so much of injustice in being expected to go away instead of Anne; Anne, who was nothing to Louisa, while she was her sister, and had the best right to stay in Henrietta's stead!
Why was not she to be as useful as Anne?
And to go home without Charles, too, without her husband!
No, it was too unkind.
And in short, she said more than her husband could long withstand, and as none of the others could oppose when he gave way, there was no help for it; the change of Mary for Anne was inevitable.
Anne had never submitted more reluctantly to the jealous and ill - judging claims of Mary; but so it must be, and they set off for the town, Charles taking care of his sister, and Captain Benwick attending to her.
She gave a moment's recollection, as they hurried along, to the little circumstances which the same spots had witnessed earlier in the morning.
There she had listened to Henrietta's schemes for Dr Shirley's leaving Uppercross; farther on, she had first seen Mr Elliot; a moment seemed all that could now be given to any one but Louisa, or those who were wrapt up in her welfare.
She endeavoured to be composed, and to be just.
Without emulating the feelings of an Emma towards her Henry, she would have attended on Louisa with a zeal above the common claims of regard, for his sake; and she hoped he would not long be so unjust as to suppose she would shrink unnecessarily from the office of a friend.
In the mean while she was in the carriage.
He had handed them both in, and placed himself between them; and in this manner, under these circumstances, full of astonishment and emotion to Anne, she quitted Lyme.
How the long stage would pass; how it was to affect their manners; what was to be their sort of intercourse, she could not foresee.
It was all quite natural, however.
He was devoted to Henrietta; always turning towards her; and when he spoke at all, always with the view of supporting her hopes and raising her spirits.
In general, his voice and manner were studiously calm.
To spare Henrietta from agitation seemed the governing principle.
Once only, when she had been grieving over the last ill - judged, ill - fated walk to the Cobb, bitterly lamenting that it ever had been thought of, he burst forth, as if wholly overcome --
" Don't talk of it, don't talk of it," he cried.
" Oh God!
that I had not given way to her at the fatal moment!
Had I done as I ought!
But so eager and so resolute!
Dear, sweet Louisa!"
She thought it could scarcely escape him to feel that a persuadable temper might sometimes be as much in favour of happiness as a very resolute character.
They got on fast.
Anne was astonished to recognise the same hills and the same objects so soon.
Their actual speed, heightened by some dread of the conclusion, made the road appear but half as long as on the day before.
In a low, cautious voice, he said: --
" I have been considering what we had best do.
She must not appear at first.
She could not stand it.
I have been thinking whether you had not better remain in the carriage with her, while I go in and break it to Mr and Mrs Musgrove.
Do you think this is a good plan?"
She did: he was satisfied, and said no more.
But the remembrance of the appeal remained a pleasure to her, as a proof of friendship, and of deference for her judgement, a great pleasure; and when it became a sort of parting proof, its value did not lessen.
(End of volume one.)
Chapter 13
They had an early account from Lyme the next morning.
Louisa was much the same.
No symptoms worse than before had appeared.
Charles came a few hours afterwards, to bring a later and more particular account.
He was tolerably cheerful.
A speedy cure must not be hoped, but everything was going on as well as the nature of the case admitted.
In speaking of the Harvilles, he seemed unable to satisfy his own sense of their kindness, especially of Mrs Harville's exertions as a nurse.
" She really left nothing for Mary to do.
He and Mary had been persuaded to go early to their inn last night.
Mary had been hysterical again this morning.
When he came away, she was going to walk out with Captain Benwick, which, he hoped, would do her good.
He almost wished she had been prevailed on to come home the day before; but the truth was, that Mrs Harville left nothing for anybody to do."
Charles was to return to Lyme the same afternoon, and his father had at first half a mind to go with him, but the ladies could not consent.
It would be going only to multiply trouble to the others, and increase his own distress; and a much better scheme followed and was acted upon.
Vague wishes of getting Sarah thither, had occurred before to Mrs Musgrove and Henrietta; but without Anne, it would hardly have been resolved on, and found practicable so soon.
They were indebted, the next day, to Charles Hayter, for all the minute knowledge of Louisa, which it was so essential to obtain every twenty - four hours.
He made it his business to go to Lyme, and his account was still encouraging.
The intervals of sense and consciousness were believed to be stronger.
Every report agreed in Captain Wentworth's appearing fixed in Lyme.
Anne was to leave them on the morrow, an event which they all dreaded.
" What should they do without her?
They were wretched comforters for one another."
And so much was said in this way, that Anne thought she could not do better than impart among them the general inclination to which she was privy, and persuaded them all to go to Lyme at once.
She had little difficulty; it was soon determined that they would go; go to - morrow, fix themselves at the inn, or get into lodgings, as it suited, and there remain till dear Louisa could be moved.
She was the last, excepting the little boys at the cottage, she was the very last, the only remaining one of all that had filled and animated both houses, of all that had given Uppercross its cheerful character.
A few days had made a change indeed!
If Louisa recovered, it would all be well again.
More than former happiness would be restored.
There could not be a doubt, to her mind there was none, of what would follow her recovery.
A few months hence, and the room now so deserted, occupied but by her silent, pensive self, might be filled again with all that was happy and gay, all that was glowing and bright in prosperous love, all that was most unlike Anne Elliot!
Scenes had passed in Uppercross which made it precious.
It stood the record of many sensations of pain, once severe, but now softened; and of some instances of relenting feeling, some breathings of friendship and reconciliation, which could never be looked for again, and which could never cease to be dear.
She left it all behind her, all but the recollection that such things had been.
Anne had never entered Kellynch since her quitting Lady Russell's house in September.
It had not been necessary, and the few occasions of its being possible for her to go to the Hall she had contrived to evade and escape from.
Her first return was to resume her place in the modern and elegant apartments of the Lodge, and to gladden the eyes of its mistress.
There was some anxiety mixed with Lady Russell's joy in meeting her.
She knew who had been frequenting Uppercross.
When they came to converse, she was soon sensible of some mental change.
The subjects of which her heart had been full on leaving Kellynch, and which she had felt slighted, and been compelled to smother among the Musgroves, were now become but of secondary interest.
She had lately lost sight even of her father and sister and Bath.
She was actually forced to exert herself to meet Lady Russell with anything like the appearance of equal solicitude, on topics which had by nature the first claim on her.
There was a little awkwardness at first in their discourse on another subject.
They must speak of the accident at Lyme.
Anne was conscious of not doing it so well as Lady Russell.
She could not speak the name, and look straight forward to Lady Russell's eye, till she had adopted the expedient of telling her briefly what she thought of the attachment between him and Louisa.
When this was told, his name distressed her no longer.
The first three or four days passed most quietly, with no circumstance to mark them excepting the receipt of a note or two from Lyme, which found their way to Anne, she could not tell how, and brought a rather improving account of Louisa.
At the end of that period, Lady Russell's politeness could repose no longer, and the fainter self - threatenings of the past became in a decided tone, " I must call on Mrs Croft; I really must call upon her soon.
Anne, have you courage to go with me, and pay a visit in that house?
It will be some trial to us both."
Anne did not shrink from it; on the contrary, she truly felt as she said, in observing --
" I think you are very likely to suffer the most of the two; your feelings are less reconciled to the change than mine.
By remaining in the neighbourhood, I am become inured to it."
These convictions must unquestionably have their own pain, and severe was its kind; but they precluded that pain which Lady Russell would suffer in entering the house again, and returning through the well - known apartments.
In such moments Anne had no power of saying to herself, " These rooms ought to belong only to us.
Oh, how fallen in their destination!
How unworthily occupied!
An ancient family to be so driven away!
Strangers filling their place!"
No, except when she thought of her mother, and remembered where she had been used to sit and preside, she had no sigh of that description to heave.
Mrs Croft always met her with a kindness which gave her the pleasure of fancying herself a favourite, and on the present occasion, receiving her in that house, there was particular attention.
He had enquired after her, she found, particularly; had expressed his hope of Miss Elliot's not being the worse for her exertions, and had spoken of those exertions as great.
This was handsome, and gave her more pleasure than almost anything else could have done.
The Admiral wound it up summarily by exclaiming --
" Ay, a very bad business indeed.
A new sort of way this, for a young fellow to be making love, by breaking his mistress's head, is not it, Miss Elliot?
This is breaking a head and giving a plaster, truly!"
Admiral Croft's manners were not quite of the tone to suit Lady Russell, but they delighted Anne.
His goodness of heart and simplicity of character were irresistible.
" Now, this must be very bad for you," said he, suddenly rousing from a little reverie, " to be coming and finding us here.
I had not recollected it before, I declare, but it must be very bad.
But now, do not stand upon ceremony.
Get up and go over all the rooms in the house if you like it."
" Another time, Sir, I thank you, not now."
" Well, whenever it suits you.
You can slip in from the shrubbery at any time; and there you will find we keep our umbrellas hanging up by that door.
A good place is not it?
But," (checking himself), " you will not think it a good place, for yours were always kept in the butler's room.
Ay, so it always is, I believe.
One man's ways may be as good as another's, but we all like our own best.
And so you must judge for yourself, whether it would be better for you to go about the house or not."
Anne, finding she might decline it, did so, very gratefully.
" We have made very few changes either," continued the Admiral, after thinking a moment.
" Very few.
We told you about the laundry - door, at Uppercross.
That has been a very great improvement.
The wonder was, how any family upon earth could bear with the inconvenience of its opening as it did, so long!
You will tell Sir Walter what we have done, and that Mr Shepherd thinks it the greatest improvement the house ever had.
Indeed, I must do ourselves the justice to say, that the few alterations we have made have been all very much for the better.
My wife should have the credit of them, however.
I have done very little besides sending away some of the large looking - glasses from my dressing - room, which was your father's.
A very good man, and very much the gentleman I am sure: but I should think, Miss Elliot," (looking with serious reflection), " I should think he must be rather a dressy man for his time of life.
Such a number of looking - glasses!
oh Lord!
there was no getting away from one's self.
So I got Sophy to lend me a hand, and we soon shifted their quarters; and now I am quite snug, with my little shaving glass in one corner, and another great thing that I never go near."
Anne, amused in spite of herself, was rather distressed for an answer, and the Admiral, fearing he might not have been civil enough, took up the subject again, to say --
" The next time you write to your good father, Miss Elliot, pray give him my compliments and Mrs Croft's, and say that we are settled here quite to our liking, and have no fault at all to find with the place.
The breakfast - room chimney smokes a little, I grant you, but it is only when the wind is due north and blows hard, which may not happen three times a winter.
And take it altogether, now that we have been into most of the houses hereabouts and can judge, there is not one that we like better than this.
Pray say so, with my compliments.
He will be glad to hear it."
So ended all danger to Anne of meeting Captain Wentworth at Kellynch Hall, or of seeing him in company with her friend.
Everything was safe enough, and she smiled over the many anxious feelings she had wasted on the subject.
Chapter 14
They had been all in lodgings together.
Mary had had her evils; but upon the whole, as was evident by her staying so long, she had found more to enjoy than to suffer.
Anne enquired after Captain Benwick, Mary's face was clouded directly.
Charles laughed.
" Oh!
Captain Benwick is very well, I believe, but he is a very odd young man.
I do not know what he would be at.
We asked him to come home with us for a day or two: Charles undertook to give him some shooting, and he seemed quite delighted, and, for my part, I thought it was all settled; when behold!
on Tuesday night, he made a very awkward sort of excuse; 'he never shot'and he had 'been quite misunderstood,' and he had promised this and he had promised that, and the end of it was, I found, that he did not mean to come.
I suppose he was afraid of finding it dull; but upon my word I should have thought we were lively enough at the Cottage for such a heart - broken man as Captain Benwick."
Charles laughed again and said, " Now Mary, you know very well how it really was.
It was all your doing," (turning to Anne.)
" He fancied that if he went with us, he should find you close by: he fancied everybody to be living in Uppercross; and when he discovered that Lady Russell lived three miles off, his heart failed him, and he had not courage to come.
That is the fact, upon my honour, Mary knows it is."
But Mary did not give into it very graciously, whether from not considering Captain Benwick entitled by birth and situation to be in love with an Elliot, or from not wanting to believe Anne a greater attraction to Uppercross than herself, must be left to be guessed.
Anne's good - will, however, was not to be lessened by what she heard.
She boldly acknowledged herself flattered, and continued her enquiries.
" Oh!
he talks of you," cried Charles, " in such terms --" Mary interrupted him.
" I declare, Charles, I never heard him mention Anne twice all the time I was there.
I declare, Anne, he never talks of you at all."
" No," admitted Charles, " I do not know that he ever does, in a general way; but however, it is a very clear thing that he admires you exceedingly.
His head is full of some books that he is reading upon your recommendation, and he wants to talk to you about them; he has found out something or other in one of them which he thinks--oh!
I cannot pretend to remember it, but it was something very fine--I overheard him telling Henrietta all about it; and then 'Miss Elliot'was spoken of in the highest terms!
Now Mary, I declare it was so, I heard it myself, and you were in the other room.
'Elegance, sweetness, beauty.'
Oh!
there was no end of Miss Elliot's charms."
" And I am sure," cried Mary, warmly, " it was a very little to his credit, if he did.
Miss Harville only died last June.
Such a heart is very little worth having; is it, Lady Russell?
I am sure you will agree with me."
" I must see Captain Benwick before I decide," said Lady Russell, smiling.
" And that you are very likely to do very soon, I can tell you, ma'am," said Charles.
" Though he had not nerves for coming away with us, and setting off again afterwards to pay a formal visit here, he will make his way over to Kellynch one day by himself, you may depend on it.
So, I give you notice, Lady Russell."
" Any acquaintance of Anne's will always be welcome to me," was Lady Russell's kind answer.
" Oh!
as to being Anne's acquaintance," said Mary, " I think he is rather my acquaintance, for I have been seeing him every day this last fortnight."
" Well, as your joint acquaintance, then, I shall be very happy to see Captain Benwick."
" You will not find anything very agreeable in him, I assure you, ma'am.
He is one of the dullest young men that ever lived.
He has walked with me, sometimes, from one end of the sands to the other, without saying a word.
He is not at all a well - bred young man.
I am sure you will not like him."
" There we differ, Mary," said Anne.
" I think Lady Russell would like him.
I think she would be so much pleased with his mind, that she would very soon see no deficiency in his manner."
" So do I, Anne," said Charles.
" I am sure Lady Russell would like him.
He is just Lady Russell's sort.
Give him a book, and he will read all day long."
" Yes, that he will!"
exclaimed Mary, tauntingly.
" He will sit poring over his book, and not know when a person speaks to him, or when one drop's one's scissors, or anything that happens.
Do you think Lady Russell would like that?"
Lady Russell could not help laughing.
" Upon my word," said she, " I should not have supposed that my opinion of any one could have admitted of such difference of conjecture, steady and matter of fact as I may call myself.
I have really a curiosity to see the person who can give occasion to such directly opposite notions.
I wish he may be induced to call here.
And when he does, Mary, you may depend upon hearing my opinion; but I am determined not to judge him beforehand."
" You will not like him, I will answer for it."
Lady Russell began talking of something else.
Mary spoke with animation of their meeting with, or rather missing, Mr Elliot so extraordinarily.
" He is a man," said Lady Russell, " whom I have no wish to see.
His declining to be on cordial terms with the head of his family, has left a very strong impression in his disfavour with me."
This decision checked Mary's eagerness, and stopped her short in the midst of the Elliot countenance.
With regard to Captain Wentworth, though Anne hazarded no enquiries, there was voluntary communication sufficient.
His spirits had been greatly recovering lately as might be expected.
As Louisa improved, he had improved, and he was now quite a different creature from what he had been the first week.
He had not seen Louisa; and was so extremely fearful of any ill consequence to her from an interview, that he did not press for it at all; and, on the contrary, seemed to have a plan of going away for a week or ten days, till her head was stronger.
He had talked of going down to Plymouth for a week, and wanted to persuade Captain Benwick to go with him; but, as Charles maintained to the last, Captain Benwick seemed much more disposed to ride over to Kellynch.
There can be no doubt that Lady Russell and Anne were both occasionally thinking of Captain Benwick, from this time.
Lady Russell could not hear the door - bell without feeling that it might be his herald; nor could Anne return from any stroll of solitary indulgence in her father's grounds, or any visit of charity in the village, without wondering whether she might see him or hear of him.
Captain Benwick came not, however.
He was either less disposed for it than Charles had imagined, or he was too shy; and after giving him a week's indulgence, Lady Russell determined him to be unworthy of the interest which he had been beginning to excite.
The Musgroves came back to receive their happy boys and girls from school, bringing with them Mrs Harville's little children, to improve the noise of Uppercross, and lessen that of Lyme.
Henrietta remained with Louisa; but all the rest of the family were again in their usual quarters.
Lady Russell and Anne paid their compliments to them once, when Anne could not but feel that Uppercross was already quite alive again.
Though neither Henrietta, nor Louisa, nor Charles Hayter, nor Captain Wentworth were there, the room presented as strong a contrast as could be wished to the last state she had seen it in.
Immediately surrounding Mrs Musgrove were the little Harvilles, whom she was sedulously guarding from the tyranny of the two children from the Cottage, expressly arrived to amuse them.
It was a fine family - piece.
Anne, judging from her own temperament, would have deemed such a domestic hurricane a bad restorative of the nerves, which Louisa's illness must have so greatly shaken.
Louisa was now recovering apace.
Her mother could even think of her being able to join their party at home, before her brothers and sisters went to school again.
The Harvilles had promised to come with her and stay at Uppercross, whenever she returned.
Captain Wentworth was gone, for the present, to see his brother in Shropshire.
" I hope I shall remember, in future," said Lady Russell, as soon as they were reseated in the carriage, " not to call at Uppercross in the Christmas holidays."
Everybody has their taste in noises as well as in other matters; and sounds are quite innoxious, or most distressing, by their sort rather than their quantity.
No, these were noises which belonged to the winter pleasures; her spirits rose under their influence; and like Mrs Musgrove, she was feeling, though not saying, that after being long in the country, nothing could be so good for her as a little quiet cheerfulness.
Anne did not share these feelings.
And looked back, with fond regret, to the bustles of Uppercross and the seclusion of Kellynch.
Elizabeth's last letter had communicated a piece of news of some interest.
Mr Elliot was in Bath.
He had called in Camden Place; had called a second time, a third; had been pointedly attentive.
If Elizabeth and her father did not deceive themselves, had been taking much pains to seek the acquaintance, and proclaim the value of the connection, as he had formerly taken pains to shew neglect.
This was very wonderful if it were true; and Lady Russell was in a state of very agreeable curiosity and perplexity about Mr Elliot, already recanting the sentiment she had so lately expressed to Mary, of his being " a man whom she had no wish to see."
She had a great wish to see him.
If he really sought to reconcile himself like a dutiful branch, he must be forgiven for having dismembered himself from the paternal tree.
Anne was not animated to an equal pitch by the circumstance, but she felt that she would rather see Mr Elliot again than not, which was more than she could say for many other persons in Bath.
She was put down in Camden Place; and Lady Russell then drove to her own lodgings, in Rivers Street.
Chapter 15
Sir Walter had taken a very good house in Camden Place, a lofty dignified situation, such as becomes a man of consequence; and both he and Elizabeth were settled there, much to their satisfaction.
Anne entered it with a sinking heart, anticipating an imprisonment of many months, and anxiously saying to herself, " Oh!
when shall I leave you again?"
A degree of unexpected cordiality, however, in the welcome she received, did her good.
Her father and sister were glad to see her, for the sake of shewing her the house and furniture, and met her with kindness.
Her making a fourth, when they sat down to dinner, was noticed as an advantage.
Mrs Clay was very pleasant, and very smiling, but her courtesies and smiles were more a matter of course.
Anne had always felt that she would pretend what was proper on her arrival, but the complaisance of the others was unlooked for.
They were evidently in excellent spirits, and she was soon to listen to the causes.
They had no inclination to listen to her.
After laying out for some compliments of being deeply regretted in their old neighbourhood, which Anne could not pay, they had only a few faint enquiries to make, before the talk must be all their own.
Uppercross excited no interest, Kellynch very little: it was all Bath.
They had the pleasure of assuring her that Bath more than answered their expectations in every respect.
Their house was undoubtedly the best in Camden Place; their drawing - rooms had many decided advantages over all the others which they had either seen or heard of, and the superiority was not less in the style of the fitting - up, or the taste of the furniture.
Their acquaintance was exceedingly sought after.
Everybody was wanting to visit them.
They had drawn back from many introductions, and still were perpetually having cards left by people of whom they knew nothing.
Here were funds of enjoyment.
Could Anne wonder that her father and sister were happy?
But this was not all which they had to make them happy.
They had Mr Elliot too.
Anne had a great deal to hear of Mr Elliot.
He was not only pardoned, they were delighted with him.
They had not a fault to find in him.
He had explained away all the appearance of neglect on his own side.
It had originated in misapprehension entirely.
He had never had an idea of throwing himself off; he had feared that he was thrown off, but knew not why, and delicacy had kept him silent.
Upon the hint of having spoken disrespectfully or carelessly of the family and the family honours, he was quite indignant.
He, who had ever boasted of being an Elliot, and whose feelings, as to connection, were only too strict to suit the unfeudal tone of the present day.
He was astonished, indeed, but his character and general conduct must refute it.
He could refer Sir Walter to all who knew him; and certainly, the pains he had been taking on this, the first opportunity of reconciliation, to be restored to the footing of a relation and heir - presumptive, was a strong proof of his opinions on the subject.
The circumstances of his marriage, too, were found to admit of much extenuation.
Colonel Wallis had known Mr Elliot long, had been well acquainted also with his wife, had perfectly understood the whole story.
She was certainly not a woman of family, but well educated, accomplished, rich, and excessively in love with his friend.
There had been the charm.
She had sought him.
Without that attraction, not all her money would have tempted Elliot, and Sir Walter was, moreover, assured of her having been a very fine woman.
Here was a great deal to soften the business.
A very fine woman with a large fortune, in love with him!
Sir Walter seemed to admit it as complete apology; and though Elizabeth could not see the circumstance in quite so favourable a light, she allowed it be a great extenuation.
Anne listened, but without quite understanding it.
Allowances, large allowances, she knew, must be made for the ideas of those who spoke.
She heard it all under embellishment.
All that sounded extravagant or irrational in the progress of the reconciliation might have no origin but in the language of the relators.
Still, however, she had the sensation of there being something more than immediately appeared, in Mr Elliot's wishing, after an interval of so many years, to be well received by them.
In a worldly view, he had nothing to gain by being on terms with Sir Walter; nothing to risk by a state of variance.
In all probability he was already the richer of the two, and the Kellynch estate would as surely be his hereafter as the title.
A sensible man, and he had looked like a very sensible man, why should it be an object to him?
She could only offer one solution; it was, perhaps, for Elizabeth's sake.
There might really have been a liking formerly, though convenience and accident had drawn him a different way; and now that he could afford to please himself, he might mean to pay his addresses to her.
Elizabeth was certainly very handsome, with well - bred, elegant manners, and her character might never have been penetrated by Mr Elliot, knowing her but in public, and when very young himself.
How her temper and understanding might bear the investigation of his present keener time of life was another concern and rather a fearful one.
Anne mentioned the glimpses she had had of him at Lyme, but without being much attended to.
" Oh!
yes, perhaps, it had been Mr Elliot.
They did not know.
It might be him, perhaps."
They could not listen to her description of him.
They were describing him themselves; Sir Walter especially.
Mr Elliot appeared to think that he (Sir Walter) was looking exactly as he had done when they last parted;" but Sir Walter had " not been able to return the compliment entirely, which had embarrassed him.
He did not mean to complain, however.
Mr Elliot was better to look at than most men, and he had no objection to being seen with him anywhere."
Mr Elliot, and his friends in Marlborough Buildings, were talked of the whole evening.
" Colonel Wallis had been so impatient to be introduced to them!
and Mr Elliot so anxious that he should!"
Sir Walter thought much of Mrs Wallis; she was said to be an excessively pretty woman, beautiful.
" He longed to see her.
He hoped she might make some amends for the many very plain faces he was continually passing in the streets.
The worst of Bath was the number of its plain women.
He did not mean to say that there were no pretty women, but the number of the plain was out of all proportion.
It had been a frosty morning, to be sure, a sharp frost, which hardly one woman in a thousand could stand the test of.
But still, there certainly were a dreadful multitude of ugly women in Bath; and as for the men!
they were infinitely worse.
Such scarecrows as the streets were full of!
It was evident how little the women were used to the sight of anything tolerable, by the effect which a man of decent appearance produced.
He had never walked anywhere arm - in - arm with Colonel Wallis (who was a fine military figure, though sandy - haired) without observing that every woman's eye was upon him; every woman's eye was sure to be upon Colonel Wallis."
Modest Sir Walter!
He was not allowed to escape, however.
His daughter and Mrs Clay united in hinting that Colonel Wallis's companion might have as good a figure as Colonel Wallis, and certainly was not sandy - haired.
" How is Mary looking?"
said Sir Walter, in the height of his good humour.
" The last time I saw her she had a red nose, but I hope that may not happen every day."
" Oh!
no, that must have been quite accidental.
In general she has been in very good health and very good looks since Michaelmas."
" If I thought it would not tempt her to go out in sharp winds, and grow coarse, I would send her a new hat and pelisse."
Anne was considering whether she should venture to suggest that a gown, or a cap, would not be liable to any such misuse, when a knock at the door suspended everything.
" A knock at the door!
and so late!
It was ten o'clock.
Could it be Mr Elliot?
They knew he was to dine in Lansdown Crescent.
It was possible that he might stop in his way home to ask them how they did.
They could think of no one else.
Mrs Clay decidedly thought it Mr Elliot's knock."
Mrs Clay was right.
With all the state which a butler and foot - boy could give, Mr Elliot was ushered into the room.
It was the same, the very same man, with no difference but of dress.
He looked completely astonished, but not more astonished than pleased; his eyes brightened!
and with the most perfect alacrity he welcomed the relationship, alluded to the past, and entreated to be received as an acquaintance already.
He was quite as good - looking as he had appeared at Lyme, his countenance improved by speaking, and his manners were so exactly what they ought to be, so polished, so easy, so particularly agreeable, that she could compare them in excellence to only one person's manners.
They were not the same, but they were, perhaps, equally good.
He sat down with them, and improved their conversation very much.
There could be no doubt of his being a sensible man.
Ten minutes were enough to certify that.
His tone, his expressions, his choice of subject, his knowing where to stop; it was all the operation of a sensible, discerning mind.
She gave him a short account of her party and business at Lyme.
His regret increased as he listened.
If he had but asked who the party were!
The name of Musgrove would have told him enough.
" Well, it would serve to cure him of an absurd practice of never asking a question at an inn, which he had adopted, when quite a young man, on the principal of its being very ungenteel to be curious.
" The notions of a young man of one or two and twenty," said he, " as to what is necessary in manners to make him quite the thing, are more absurd, I believe, than those of any other set of beings in the world.
The folly of the means they often employ is only to be equalled by the folly of what they have in view."
But he must not be addressing his reflections to Anne alone: he knew it; he was soon diffused again among the others, and it was only at intervals that he could return to Lyme.
His enquiries, however, produced at length an account of the scene she had been engaged in there, soon after his leaving the place.
Having alluded to " an accident," he must hear the whole.
When he questioned, Sir Walter and Elizabeth began to question also, but the difference in their manner of doing it could not be unfelt.
She could only compare Mr Elliot to Lady Russell, in the wish of really comprehending what had passed, and in the degree of concern for what she must have suffered in witnessing it.
He staid an hour with them.
The elegant little clock on the mantel - piece had struck " eleven with its silver sounds," and the watchman was beginning to be heard at a distance telling the same tale, before Mr Elliot or any of them seemed to feel that he had been there long.
Anne could not have supposed it possible that her first evening in Camden Place could have passed so well!
Chapter 16
On going down to breakfast the next morning, she found there had just been a decent pretence on the lady's side of meaning to leave them.
She could imagine Mrs Clay to have said, that " now Miss Anne was come, she could not suppose herself at all wanted;" for Elizabeth was replying in a sort of whisper, " That must not be any reason, indeed.
I assure you I feel it none.
She is nothing to me, compared with you;" and she was in full time to hear her father say, " My dear madam, this must not be.
As yet, you have seen nothing of Bath.
You have been here only to be useful.
You must not run away from us now.
You must stay to be acquainted with Mrs Wallis, the beautiful Mrs Wallis.
To your fine mind, I well know the sight of beauty is a real gratification."
He spoke and looked so much in earnest, that Anne was not surprised to see Mrs Clay stealing a glance at Elizabeth and herself.
Her countenance, perhaps, might express some watchfulness; but the praise of the fine mind did not appear to excite a thought in her sister.
The lady could not but yield to such joint entreaties, and promise to stay.
In the course of the same morning, Anne and her father chancing to be alone together, he began to compliment her on her improved looks; he thought her " less thin in her person, in her cheeks; her skin, her complexion, greatly improved; clearer, fresher.
Had she been using any thing in particular?"
" No, nothing."
" Merely Gowland," he supposed.
" No, nothing at all."
" Ha!
he was surprised at that;" and added, " certainly you cannot do better than to continue as you are; you cannot be better than well; or I should recommend Gowland, the constant use of Gowland, during the spring months.
Mrs Clay has been using it at my recommendation, and you see what it has done for her.
You see how it has carried away her freckles."
If Elizabeth could but have heard this!
Such personal praise might have struck her, especially as it did not appear to Anne that the freckles were at all lessened.
But everything must take its chance.
The evil of a marriage would be much diminished, if Elizabeth were also to marry.
As for herself, she might always command a home with Lady Russell.
Lady Russell's composed mind and polite manners were put to some trial on this point, in her intercourse in Camden Place.
As Mr Elliot became known to her, she grew more charitable, or more indifferent, towards the others.
His manners were an immediate recommendation; and on conversing with him she found the solid so fully supporting the superficial, that she was at first, as she told Anne, almost ready to exclaim, " Can this be Mr Elliot?"
and could not seriously picture to herself a more agreeable or estimable man.
Everything united in him; good understanding, correct opinions, knowledge of the world, and a warm heart.
He had strong feelings of family attachment and family honour, without pride or weakness; he lived with the liberality of a man of fortune, without display; he judged for himself in everything essential, without defying public opinion in any point of worldly decorum.
She was sure that he had not been happy in marriage.
Colonel Wallis said it, and Lady Russell saw it; but it had been no unhappiness to sour his mind, nor (she began pretty soon to suspect) to prevent his thinking of a second choice.
Her satisfaction in Mr Elliot outweighed all the plague of Mrs Clay.
Anne presumed, however, still to smile about it, and at last to mention " Elizabeth."
Lady Russell listened, and looked, and made only this cautious reply:--" Elizabeth!
very well; time will explain."
It was a reference to the future, which Anne, after a little observation, felt she must submit to.
She could determine nothing at present.
In that house Elizabeth must be first; and she was in the habit of such general observance as " Miss Elliot," that any particularity of attention seemed almost impossible.
Mr Elliot, too, it must be remembered, had not been a widower seven months.
A little delay on his side might be very excusable.
They went through the particulars of their first meeting a great many times.
He gave her to understand that he had looked at her with some earnestness.
She knew it well; and she remembered another person's look also.
They did not always think alike.
His value for rank and connexion she perceived was greater than hers.
It was not merely complaisance, it must be a liking to the cause, which made him enter warmly into her father and sister's solicitudes on a subject which she thought unworthy to excite them.
Anne had never seen her father and sister before in contact with nobility, and she must acknowledge herself disappointed.
No letter of condolence had been sent to Ireland.
The neglect had been visited on the head of the sinner; for when poor Lady Elliot died herself, no letter of condolence was received at Kellynch, and, consequently, there was but too much reason to apprehend that the Dalrymples considered the relationship as closed.
How to have this anxious business set to rights, and be admitted as cousins again, was the question: and it was a question which, in a more rational manner, neither Lady Russell nor Mr Elliot thought unimportant.
" Family connexions were always worth preserving, good company always worth seeking; Lady Dalrymple had taken a house, for three months, in Laura Place, and would be living in style.
She had been at Bath the year before, and Lady Russell had heard her spoken of as a charming woman.
It was very desirable that the connexion should be renewed, if it could be done, without any compromise of propriety on the side of the Elliots."
Sir Walter, however, would choose his own means, and at last wrote a very fine letter of ample explanation, regret, and entreaty, to his right honourable cousin.
Neither Lady Russell nor Mr Elliot could admire the letter; but it did all that was wanted, in bringing three lines of scrawl from the Dowager Viscountess.
" She was very much honoured, and should be happy in their acquaintance."
The toils of the business were over, the sweets began.
Anne was ashamed.
Had Lady Dalrymple and her daughter even been very agreeable, she would still have been ashamed of the agitation they created, but they were nothing.
There was no superiority of manner, accomplishment, or understanding.
Lady Dalrymple had acquired the name of " a charming woman," because she had a smile and a civil answer for everybody.
Miss Carteret, with still less to say, was so plain and so awkward, that she would never have been tolerated in Camden Place but for her birth.
Anne smiled and said,
" My idea of good company, Mr Elliot, is the company of clever, well - informed people, who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company."
" You are mistaken," said he gently, " that is not good company; that is the best.
Good company requires only birth, education, and manners, and with regard to education is not very nice.
Birth and good manners are essential; but a little learning is by no means a dangerous thing in good company; on the contrary, it will do very well.
My cousin Anne shakes her head.
She is not satisfied.
She is fastidious.
My dear cousin " (sitting down by her), " you have a better right to be fastidious than almost any other woman I know; but will it answer?
Will it make you happy?
Will it not be wiser to accept the society of those good ladies in Laura Place, and enjoy all the advantages of the connexion as far as possible?
You may depend upon it, that they will move in the first set in Bath this winter, and as rank is rank, your being known to be related to them will have its use in fixing your family (our family let me say) in that degree of consideration which we must all wish for."
" Yes," sighed Anne, " we shall, indeed, be known to be related to them!"
then recollecting herself, and not wishing to be answered, she added, " I certainly do think there has been by far too much trouble taken to procure the acquaintance.
I suppose " (smiling) " I have more pride than any of you; but I confess it does vex me, that we should be so solicitous to have the relationship acknowledged, which we may be very sure is a matter of perfect indifference to them."
" Pardon me, dear cousin, you are unjust in your own claims.
In London, perhaps, in your present quiet style of living, it might be as you say: but in Bath; Sir Walter Elliot and his family will always be worth knowing: always acceptable as acquaintance."
" Well," said Anne, " I certainly am proud, too proud to enjoy a welcome which depends so entirely upon place."
" I love your indignation," said he; " it is very natural.
But here you are in Bath, and the object is to be established here with all the credit and dignity which ought to belong to Sir Walter Elliot.
You talk of being proud; I am called proud, I know, and I shall not wish to believe myself otherwise; for our pride, if investigated, would have the same object, I have no doubt, though the kind may seem a little different.
In one point, I am sure, my dear cousin," (he continued, speaking lower, though there was no one else in the room) " in one point, I am sure, we must feel alike.
We must feel that every addition to your father's society, among his equals or superiors, may be of use in diverting his thoughts from those who are beneath him."
Chapter 17
While Sir Walter and Elizabeth were assiduously pushing their good fortune in Laura Place, Anne was renewing an acquaintance of a very different description.
She had called on her former governess, and had heard from her of there being an old school - fellow in Bath, who had the two strong claims on her attention of past kindness and present suffering.
Miss Hamilton, now Mrs Smith, had shewn her kindness in one of those periods of her life when it had been most valuable.
Miss Hamilton had left school, had married not long afterwards, was said to have married a man of fortune, and this was all that Anne had known of her, till now that their governess's account brought her situation forward in a more decided but very different form.
She was a widow and poor.
Her husband had been extravagant; and at his death, about two years before, had left his affairs dreadfully involved.
She had had difficulties of every sort to contend with, and in addition to these distresses had been afflicted with a severe rheumatic fever, which, finally settling in her legs, had made her for the present a cripple.
She had come to Bath on that account, and was now in lodgings near the hot baths, living in a very humble way, unable even to afford herself the comfort of a servant, and of course almost excluded from society.
Their mutual friend answered for the satisfaction which a visit from Miss Elliot would give Mrs Smith, and Anne therefore lost no time in going.
She mentioned nothing of what she had heard, or what she intended, at home.
It would excite no proper interest there.
She only consulted Lady Russell, who entered thoroughly into her sentiments, and was most happy to convey her as near to Mrs Smith's lodgings in Westgate Buildings, as Anne chose to be taken.
The visit was paid, their acquaintance re - established, their interest in each other more than re - kindled.
The first ten minutes had its awkwardness and its emotion.
Twelve years were gone since they had parted, and each presented a somewhat different person from what the other had imagined.
Anne found in Mrs Smith the good sense and agreeable manners which she had almost ventured to depend on, and a disposition to converse and be cheerful beyond her expectation.
Neither the dissipations of the past--and she had lived very much in the world--nor the restrictions of the present, neither sickness nor sorrow seemed to have closed her heart or ruined her spirits.
In the course of a second visit she talked with great openness, and Anne's astonishment increased.
She could scarcely imagine a more cheerless situation in itself than Mrs Smith's.
She had been very fond of her husband: she had buried him.
She had been used to affluence: it was gone.
She had no child to connect her with life and happiness again, no relations to assist in the arrangement of perplexed affairs, no health to make all the rest supportable.
Yet, in spite of all this, Anne had reason to believe that she had moments only of languor and depression, to hours of occupation and enjoyment.
How could it be?
She watched, observed, reflected, and finally determined that this was not a case of fortitude or of resignation only.
It was the choicest gift of Heaven; and Anne viewed her friend as one of those instances in which, by a merciful appointment, it seems designed to counterbalance almost every other want.
There had been a time, Mrs Smith told her, when her spirits had nearly failed.
She could not call herself an invalid now, compared with her state on first reaching Bath.
She had weathered it, however, and could truly say that it had done her good.
It had increased her comforts by making her feel herself to be in good hands.
" And she," said Mrs Smith, " besides nursing me most admirably, has really proved an invaluable acquaintance.
She had a large acquaintance, of course professionally, among those who can afford to buy, and she disposes of my merchandise.
She always takes the right time for applying.
Everybody's heart is open, you know, when they have recently escaped from severe pain, or are recovering the blessing of health, and Nurse Rooke thoroughly understands when to speak.
She is a shrewd, intelligent, sensible woman.
Hers is a line for seeing human nature; and she has a fund of good sense and observation, which, as a companion, make her infinitely superior to thousands of those who having only received 'the best education in the world,' know nothing worth attending to.
Call it gossip, if you will, but when Nurse Rooke has half an hour's leisure to bestow on me, she is sure to have something to relate that is entertaining and profitable: something that makes one know one's species better.
One likes to hear what is going on, to be au fait as to the newest modes of being trifling and silly.
To me, who live so much alone, her conversation, I assure you, is a treat."
Anne, far from wishing to cavil at the pleasure, replied, " I can easily believe it.
Women of that class have great opportunities, and if they are intelligent may be well worth listening to.
Such varieties of human nature as they are in the habit of witnessing!
And it is not merely in its follies, that they are well read; for they see it occasionally under every circumstance that can be most interesting or affecting.
What instances must pass before them of ardent, disinterested, self - denying attachment, of heroism, fortitude, patience, resignation: of all the conflicts and all the sacrifices that ennoble us most.
A sick chamber may often furnish the worth of volumes."
" Yes," said Mrs Smith more doubtingly, " sometimes it may, though I fear its lessons are not often in the elevated style you describe.
Here and there, human nature may be great in times of trial; but generally speaking, it is its weakness and not its strength that appears in a sick chamber: it is selfishness and impatience rather than generosity and fortitude, that one hears of.
There is so little real friendship in the world!
and unfortunately " (speaking low and tremulously) " there are so many who forget to think seriously till it is almost too late."
Anne saw the misery of such feelings.
The husband had not been what he ought, and the wife had been led among that part of mankind which made her think worse of the world than she hoped it deserved.
It was but a passing emotion however with Mrs Smith; she shook it off, and soon added in a different tone --
" I do not suppose the situation my friend Mrs Rooke is in at present, will furnish much either to interest or edify me.
She is only nursing Mrs Wallis of Marlborough Buildings; a mere pretty, silly, expensive, fashionable woman, I believe; and of course will have nothing to report but of lace and finery.
I mean to make my profit of Mrs Wallis, however.
She has plenty of money, and I intend she shall buy all the high - priced things I have in hand now."
Anne had called several times on her friend, before the existence of such a person was known in Camden Place.
At last, it became necessary to speak of her.
Sir Walter, Elizabeth and Mrs Clay, returned one morning from Laura Place, with a sudden invitation from Lady Dalrymple for the same evening, and Anne was already engaged, to spend that evening in Westgate Buildings.
She was not sorry for the excuse.
They were not much interested in anything relative to Anne; but still there were questions enough asked, to make it understood what this old schoolfellow was; and Elizabeth was disdainful, and Sir Walter severe.
" Westgate Buildings!"
said he, " and who is Miss Anne Elliot to be visiting in Westgate Buildings?
A Mrs Smith.
A widow Mrs Smith; and who was her husband?
One of five thousand Mr Smiths whose names are to be met with everywhere.
And what is her attraction?
That she is old and sickly.
Upon my word, Miss Anne Elliot, you have the most extraordinary taste!
Everything that revolts other people, low company, paltry rooms, foul air, disgusting associations are inviting to you.
But surely you may put off this old lady till to - morrow: she is not so near her end, I presume, but that she may hope to see another day.
What is her age?
Forty?"
" No, sir, she is not one - and - thirty; but I do not think I can put off my engagement, because it is the only evening for some time which will at once suit her and myself.
She goes into the warm bath to - morrow, and for the rest of the week, you know, we are engaged."
" But what does Lady Russell think of this acquaintance?"
asked Elizabeth.
" She sees nothing to blame in it," replied Anne; " on the contrary, she approves it, and has generally taken me when I have called on Mrs Smith.
" Westgate Buildings must have been rather surprised by the appearance of a carriage drawn up near its pavement," observed Sir Walter.
" Sir Henry Russell's widow, indeed, has no honours to distinguish her arms, but still it is a handsome equipage, and no doubt is well known to convey a Miss Elliot.
A widow Mrs Smith lodging in Westgate Buildings!
Mrs Smith!
Such a name!"
She made no reply.
She left it to himself to recollect, that Mrs Smith was not the only widow in Bath between thirty and forty, with little to live on, and no surname of dignity.
Anne kept her appointment; the others kept theirs, and of course she heard the next morning that they had had a delightful evening.
Anne had the whole history of all that such an evening could supply from Lady Russell.
To her, its greatest interest must be, in having been very much talked of between her friend and Mr Elliot; in having been wished for, regretted, and at the same time honoured for staying away in such a cause.
Her kind, compassionate visits to this old schoolfellow, sick and reduced, seemed to have quite delighted Mr Elliot.
He thought her a most extraordinary young woman; in her temper, manners, mind, a model of female excellence.
He could meet even Lady Russell in a discussion of her merits; and Anne could not be given to understand so much by her friend, could not know herself to be so highly rated by a sensible man, without many of those agreeable sensations which her friend meant to create.
Lady Russell was now perfectly decided in her opinion of Mr Elliot.
She was as much convinced of his meaning to gain Anne in time as of his deserving her, and was beginning to calculate the number of weeks which would free him from all the remaining restraints of widowhood, and leave him at liberty to exert his most open powers of pleasing.
Anne heard her, and made no violent exclamations; she only smiled, blushed, and gently shook her head.
" I am no match - maker, as you well know," said Lady Russell, " being much too well aware of the uncertainty of all human events and calculations.
I only mean that if Mr Elliot should some time hence pay his addresses to you, and if you should be disposed to accept him, I think there would be every possibility of your being happy together.
A most suitable connection everybody must consider it, but I think it might be a very happy one."
" Mr Elliot is an exceedingly agreeable man, and in many respects I think highly of him," said Anne; " but we should not suit."
You are your mother's self in countenance and disposition; and if I might be allowed to fancy you such as she was, in situation and name, and home, presiding and blessing in the same spot, and only superior to her in being more highly valued!
My dearest Anne, it would give me more delight than is often felt at my time of life!"
Anne was obliged to turn away, to rise, to walk to a distant table, and, leaning there in pretended employment, try to subdue the feelings this picture excited.
For a few moments her imagination and her heart were bewitched.
The idea of becoming what her mother had been; of having the precious name of " Lady Elliot " first revived in herself; of being restored to Kellynch, calling it her home again, her home for ever, was a charm which she could not immediately resist.
Lady Russell said not another word, willing to leave the matter to its own operation; and believing that, could Mr Elliot at that moment with propriety have spoken for himself!-- she believed, in short, what Anne did not believe.
The same image of Mr Elliot speaking for himself brought Anne to composure again.
The charm of Kellynch and of " Lady Elliot " all faded away.
She never could accept him.
And it was not only that her feelings were still adverse to any man save one; her judgement, on a serious consideration of the possibilities of such a case was against Mr Elliot.
Though they had now been acquainted a month, she could not be satisfied that she really knew his character.
That he was a sensible man, an agreeable man, that he talked well, professed good opinions, seemed to judge properly and as a man of principle, this was all clear enough.
He certainly knew what was right, nor could she fix on any one article of moral duty evidently transgressed; but yet she would have been afraid to answer for his conduct.
She distrusted the past, if not the present.
The names which occasionally dropt of former associates, the allusions to former practices and pursuits, suggested suspicions not favourable of what he had been.
How could it ever be ascertained that his mind was truly cleansed?
Mr Elliot was rational, discreet, polished, but he was not open.
There was never any burst of feeling, any warmth of indignation or delight, at the evil or good of others.
This, to Anne, was a decided imperfection.
Her early impressions were incurable.
She prized the frank, the open - hearted, the eager character beyond all others.
Warmth and enthusiasm did captivate her still.
She felt that she could so much more depend upon the sincerity of those who sometimes looked or said a careless or a hasty thing, than of those whose presence of mind never varied, whose tongue never slipped.
Mr Elliot was too generally agreeable.
Various as were the tempers in her father's house, he pleased them all.
He endured too well, stood too well with every body.
He had spoken to her with some degree of openness of Mrs Clay; had appeared completely to see what Mrs Clay was about, and to hold her in contempt; and yet Mrs Clay found him as agreeable as any body.
Lady Russell saw either less or more than her young friend, for she saw nothing to excite distrust.
She could not imagine a man more exactly what he ought to be than Mr Elliot; nor did she ever enjoy a sweeter feeling than the hope of seeing him receive the hand of her beloved Anne in Kellynch church, in the course of the following autumn.
Chapter 18
It was the beginning of February; and Anne, having been a month in Bath, was growing very eager for news from Uppercross and Lyme.
She wanted to hear much more than Mary had communicated.
It was three weeks since she had heard at all.
The Crofts must be in Bath!
A circumstance to interest her.
They were people whom her heart turned to very naturally.
" What is this?"
cried Sir Walter.
" The Crofts have arrived in Bath?
The Crofts who rent Kellynch?
What have they brought you?"
" A letter from Uppercross Cottage, Sir."
" Oh!
those letters are convenient passports.
They secure an introduction.
I should have visited Admiral Croft, however, at any rate.
I know what is due to my tenant."
Anne could listen no longer; she could not even have told how the poor Admiral's complexion escaped; her letter engrossed her.
It had been begun several days back.
" February 1st.
" My dear Anne,-- I make no apology for my silence, because I know how little people think of letters in such a place as Bath.
You must be a great deal too happy to care for Uppercross, which, as you well know, affords little to write about.
We have had a very dull Christmas; Mr and Mrs Musgrove have not had one dinner party all the holidays.
I do not reckon the Hayters as anybody.
The holidays, however, are over at last: I believe no children ever had such long ones.
I am sure I had not.
The house was cleared yesterday, except of the little Harvilles; but you will be surprised to hear they have never gone home.
Mrs Harville must be an odd mother to part with them so long.
I do not understand it.
They are not at all nice children, in my opinion; but Mrs Musgrove seems to like them quite as well, if not better, than her grandchildren.
What dreadful weather we have had!
It may not be felt in Bath, with your nice pavements; but in the country it is of some consequence.
I have not had a creature call on me since the second week in January, except Charles Hayter, who had been calling much oftener than was welcome.
Between ourselves, I think it a great pity Henrietta did not remain at Lyme as long as Louisa; it would have kept her a little out of his way.
The carriage is gone to - day, to bring Louisa and the Harvilles to - morrow.
We are not asked to dine with them, however, till the day after, Mrs Musgrove is so afraid of her being fatigued by the journey, which is not very likely, considering the care that will be taken of her; and it would be much more convenient to me to dine there to - morrow.
I am glad you find Mr Elliot so agreeable, and wish I could be acquainted with him too; but I have my usual luck: I am always out of the way when any thing desirable is going on; always the last of my family to be noticed.
What an immense time Mrs Clay has been staying with Elizabeth!
Does she never mean to go away?
But perhaps if she were to leave the room vacant, we might not be invited.
Let me know what you think of this.
I do not expect my children to be asked, you know.
I can leave them at the Great House very well, for a month or six weeks.
I have this moment heard that the Crofts are going to Bath almost immediately; they think the Admiral gouty.
Charles heard it quite by chance; they have not had the civility to give me any notice, or of offering to take anything.
I do not think they improve at all as neighbours.
We see nothing of them, and this is really an instance of gross inattention.
Charles joins me in love, and everything proper.
Yours affectionately,
" Mary M ---.
" I am sorry to say that I am very far from well; and Jemima has just told me that the butcher says there is a bad sore - throat very much about.
I dare say I shall catch it; and my sore - throats, you know, are always worse than anybody's."
So ended the first part, which had been afterwards put into an envelope, containing nearly as much more.
" I kept my letter open, that I might send you word how Louisa bore her journey, and now I am extremely glad I did, having a great deal to add.
In the first place, I had a note from Mrs Croft yesterday, offering to convey anything to you; a very kind, friendly note indeed, addressed to me, just as it ought; I shall therefore be able to make my letter as long as I like.
The Admiral does not seem very ill, and I sincerely hope Bath will do him all the good he wants.
I shall be truly glad to have them back again.
Our neighbourhood cannot spare such a pleasant family.
But now for Louisa.
I have something to communicate that will astonish you not a little.
She and the Harvilles came on Tuesday very safely, and in the evening we went to ask her how she did, when we were rather surprised not to find Captain Benwick of the party, for he had been invited as well as the Harvilles; and what do you think was the reason?
Neither more nor less than his being in love with Louisa, and not choosing to venture to Uppercross till he had had an answer from Mr Musgrove; for it was all settled between him and her before she came away, and he had written to her father by Captain Harville.
True, upon my honour!
Are not you astonished?
I shall be surprised at least if you ever received a hint of it, for I never did.
Mrs Musgrove protests solemnly that she knew nothing of the matter.
We are all very well pleased, however, for though it is not equal to her marrying Captain Wentworth, it is infinitely better than Charles Hayter; and Mr Musgrove has written his consent, and Captain Benwick is expected to - day.
Mrs Harville says her husband feels a good deal on his poor sister's account; but, however, Louisa is a great favourite with both.
Indeed, Mrs Harville and I quite agree that we love her the better for having nursed her.
Charles wonders what Captain Wentworth will say; but if you remember, I never thought him attached to Louisa; I never could see anything of it.
And this is the end, you see, of Captain Benwick's being supposed to be an admirer of yours.
How Charles could take such a thing into his head was always incomprehensible to me.
I hope he will be more agreeable now.
Certainly not a great match for Louisa Musgrove, but a million times better than marrying among the Hayters."
Mary need not have feared her sister's being in any degree prepared for the news.
She had never in her life been more astonished.
Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove!
It was almost too wonderful for belief, and it was with the greatest effort that she could remain in the room, preserve an air of calmness, and answer the common questions of the moment.
Happily for her, they were not many.
Sir Walter wanted to know whether the Crofts travelled with four horses, and whether they were likely to be situated in such a part of Bath as it might suit Miss Elliot and himself to visit in; but had little curiosity beyond.
" How is Mary?"
said Elizabeth; and without waiting for an answer, " And pray what brings the Crofts to Bath?"
" They come on the Admiral's account.
He is thought to be gouty."
" Gout and decrepitude!"
said Sir Walter.
" Poor old gentleman."
" Have they any acquaintance here?"
asked Elizabeth.
" I do not know; but I can hardly suppose that, at Admiral Croft's time of life, and in his profession, he should not have many acquaintance in such a place as this."
" I suspect," said Sir Walter coolly, " that Admiral Croft will be best known in Bath as the renter of Kellynch Hall.
Elizabeth, may we venture to present him and his wife in Laura Place?"
" Oh, no!
I think not.
Situated as we are with Lady Dalrymple, cousins, we ought to be very careful not to embarrass her with acquaintance she might not approve.
If we were not related, it would not signify; but as cousins, she would feel scrupulous as to any proposal of ours.
We had better leave the Crofts to find their own level.
There are several odd - looking men walking about here, who, I am told, are sailors.
The Crofts will associate with them."
This was Sir Walter and Elizabeth's share of interest in the letter; when Mrs Clay had paid her tribute of more decent attention, in an enquiry after Mrs Charles Musgrove, and her fine little boys, Anne was at liberty.
In her own room, she tried to comprehend it.
Well might Charles wonder how Captain Wentworth would feel!
Perhaps he had quitted the field, had given Louisa up, had ceased to love, had found he did not love her.
She could not endure the idea of treachery or levity, or anything akin to ill usage between him and his friend.
She could not endure that such a friendship as theirs should be severed unfairly.
Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove!
The high - spirited, joyous - talking Louisa Musgrove, and the dejected, thinking, feeling, reading, Captain Benwick, seemed each of them everything that would not suit the other.
Their minds most dissimilar!
Where could have been the attraction?
The answer soon presented itself.
It had been in situation.
That was a point which Anne had not been able to avoid suspecting before; and instead of drawing the same conclusion as Mary, from the present course of events, they served only to confirm the idea of his having felt some dawning of tenderness toward herself.
She did not mean, however, to derive much more from it to gratify her vanity, than Mary might have allowed.
She was persuaded that any tolerably pleasing young woman who had listened and seemed to feel for him would have received the same compliment.
He had an affectionate heart.
He must love somebody.
She saw no reason against their being happy.
Louisa had fine naval fervour to begin with, and they would soon grow more alike.
He would gain cheerfulness, and she would learn to be an enthusiast for Scott and Lord Byron; nay, that was probably learnt already; of course they had fallen in love over poetry.
The idea of Louisa Musgrove turned into a person of literary taste, and sentimental reflection was amusing, but she had no doubt of its being so.
The day at Lyme, the fall from the Cobb, might influence her health, her nerves, her courage, her character to the end of her life, as thoroughly as it appeared to have influenced her fate.
No, it was not regret which made Anne's heart beat in spite of herself, and brought the colour into her cheeks when she thought of Captain Wentworth unshackled and free.
She had some feelings which she was ashamed to investigate.
They were too much like joy, senseless joy!
She longed to see the Crofts; but when the meeting took place, it was evident that no rumour of the news had yet reached them.
The visit of ceremony was paid and returned; and Louisa Musgrove was mentioned, and Captain Benwick, too, without even half a smile.
The Crofts had placed themselves in lodgings in Gay Street, perfectly to Sir Walter's satisfaction.
He was not at all ashamed of the acquaintance, and did, in fact, think and talk a great deal more about the Admiral, than the Admiral ever thought or talked about him.
The Crofts knew quite as many people in Bath as they wished for, and considered their intercourse with the Elliots as a mere matter of form, and not in the least likely to afford them any pleasure.
They brought with them their country habit of being almost always together.
He was ordered to walk to keep off the gout, and Mrs Croft seemed to go shares with him in everything, and to walk for her life to do him good.
Anne saw them wherever she went.
Lady Russell took her out in her carriage almost every morning, and she never failed to think of them, and never failed to see them.
Knowing their feelings as she did, it was a most attractive picture of happiness to her.
He was standing by himself at a printshop window, with his hands behind him, in earnest contemplation of some print, and she not only might have passed him unseen, but was obliged to touch as well as address him before she could catch his notice.
When he did perceive and acknowledge her, however, it was done with all his usual frankness and good humour.
" Ha!
is it you?
Thank you, thank you.
This is treating me like a friend.
Here I am, you see, staring at a picture.
I can never get by this shop without stopping.
But what a thing here is, by way of a boat!
Do look at it.
Did you ever see the like?
What queer fellows your fine painters must be, to think that anybody would venture their lives in such a shapeless old cockleshell as that?
And yet here are two gentlemen stuck up in it mightily at their ease, and looking about them at the rocks and mountains, as if they were not to be upset the next moment, which they certainly must be.
I wonder where that boat was built!"
(laughing heartily); " I would not venture over a horsepond in it.
Well," (turning away), " now, where are you bound?
Can I go anywhere for you, or with you?
Can I be of any use?"
" None, I thank you, unless you will give me the pleasure of your company the little way our road lies together.
I am going home."
" That I will, with all my heart, and farther, too.
Yes, yes we will have a snug walk together, and I have something to tell you as we go along.
There, take my arm; that's right; I do not feel comfortable if I have not a woman there.
Lord!
what a boat it is!"
taking a last look at the picture, as they began to be in motion.
" Did you say that you had something to tell me, sir?"
" Yes, I have, presently.
But here comes a friend, Captain Brigden; I shall only say, 'How d'ye do?'
as we pass, however.
I shall not stop.
'How d'ye do?'
Brigden stares to see anybody with me but my wife.
She, poor soul, is tied by the leg.
She has a blister on one of her heels, as large as a three - shilling piece.
If you look across the street, you will see Admiral Brand coming down and his brother.
Shabby fellows, both of them!
I am glad they are not on this side of the way.
Sophy cannot bear them.
They played me a pitiful trick once: got away with some of my best men.
I will tell you the whole story another time.
There comes old Sir Archibald Drew and his grandson.
Look, he sees us; he kisses his hand to you; he takes you for my wife.
Ah!
the peace has come too soon for that younker.
Poor old Sir Archibald!
How do you like Bath, Miss Elliot?
It suits us very well.
We do not like our lodgings here the worse, I can tell you, for putting us in mind of those we first had at North Yarmouth.
The wind blows through one of the cupboards just in the same way."
When they were got a little farther, Anne ventured to press again for what he had to communicate.
As soon as they were fairly ascending Belmont, he began --
" Well, now you shall hear something that will surprise you.
But first of all, you must tell me the name of the young lady I am going to talk about.
That young lady, you know, that we have all been so concerned for.
The Miss Musgrove, that all this has been happening to.
Her Christian name: I always forget her Christian name."
Anne had been ashamed to appear to comprehend so soon as she really did; but now she could safely suggest the name of " Louisa."
" Ay, ay, Miss Louisa Musgrove, that is the name.
I wish young ladies had not such a number of fine Christian names.
I should never be out if they were all Sophys, or something of that sort.
Well, this Miss Louisa, we all thought, you know, was to marry Frederick.
He was courting her week after week.
The only wonder was, what they could be waiting for, till the business at Lyme came; then, indeed, it was clear enough that they must wait till her brain was set to right.
But even then there was something odd in their way of going on.
Instead of staying at Lyme, he went off to Plymouth, and then he went off to see Edward.
When we came back from Minehead he was gone down to Edward's, and there he has been ever since.
We have seen nothing of him since November.
Even Sophy could not understand it.
But now, the matter has take the strangest turn of all; for this young lady, the same Miss Musgrove, instead of being to marry Frederick, is to marry James Benwick.
You know James Benwick."
" A little.
I am a little acquainted with Captain Benwick."
" Well, she is to marry him.
Nay, most likely they are married already, for I do not know what they should wait for."
" I thought Captain Benwick a very pleasing young man," said Anne, " and I understand that he bears an excellent character."
" Oh!
yes, yes, there is not a word to be said against James Benwick.
He is only a commander, it is true, made last summer, and these are bad times for getting on, but he has not another fault that I know of.
An excellent, good - hearted fellow, I assure you; a very active, zealous officer too, which is more than you would think for, perhaps, for that soft sort of manner does not do him justice."
" Indeed you are mistaken there, sir; I should never augur want of spirit from Captain Benwick's manners.
I thought them particularly pleasing, and I will answer for it, they would generally please."
" Well, well, ladies are the best judges; but James Benwick is rather too piano for me; and though very likely it is all our partiality, Sophy and I cannot help thinking Frederick's manners better than his.
There is something about Frederick more to our taste."
Anne was caught.
" And the thing is certainly true.
It is not a mere bit of gossip.
We have it from Frederick himself.
His sister had a letter from him yesterday, in which he tells us of it, and he had just had it in a letter from Harville, written upon the spot, from Uppercross.
I fancy they are all at Uppercross."
This was an opportunity which Anne could not resist; she said, therefore, " I hope, Admiral, I hope there is nothing in the style of Captain Wentworth's letter to make you and Mrs Croft particularly uneasy.
It did seem, last autumn, as if there were an attachment between him and Louisa Musgrove; but I hope it may be understood to have worn out on each side equally, and without violence.
I hope his letter does not breathe the spirit of an ill - used man."
" Not at all, not at all; there is not an oath or a murmur from beginning to end."
Anne looked down to hide her smile.
" No, no; Frederick is not a man to whine and complain; he has too much spirit for that.
If the girl likes another man better, it is very fit she should have him."
" Certainly.
But what I mean is, that I hope there is nothing in Captain Wentworth's manner of writing to make you suppose he thinks himself ill - used by his friend, which might appear, you know, without its being absolutely said.
I should be very sorry that such a friendship as has subsisted between him and Captain Benwick should be destroyed, or even wounded, by a circumstance of this sort."
" Yes, yes, I understand you.
But there is nothing at all of that nature in the letter.
He does not give the least fling at Benwick; does not so much as say, 'I wonder at it, I have a reason of my own for wondering at it.'
No, you would not guess, from his way of writing, that he had ever thought of this Miss (what's her name?)
for himself.
He very handsomely hopes they will be happy together; and there is nothing very unforgiving in that, I think."
Anne did not receive the perfect conviction which the Admiral meant to convey, but it would have been useless to press the enquiry farther.
She therefore satisfied herself with common - place remarks or quiet attention, and the Admiral had it all his own way.
" Poor Frederick!"
said he at last.
" Now he must begin all over again with somebody else.
I think we must get him to Bath.
Sophy must write, and beg him to come to Bath.
Here are pretty girls enough, I am sure.
It would be of no use to go to Uppercross again, for that other Miss Musgrove, I find, is bespoke by her cousin, the young parson.
Do not you think, Miss Elliot, we had better try to get him to Bath?"
Chapter 19
While Admiral Croft was taking this walk with Anne, and expressing his wish of getting Captain Wentworth to Bath, Captain Wentworth was already on his way thither.
Before Mrs Croft had written, he was arrived, and the very next time Anne walked out, she saw him.
Mr Elliot was attending his two cousins and Mrs Clay.
They were in Milsom Street.
He soon joined them again, successful, of course; Lady Dalrymple would be most happy to take them home, and would call for them in a few minutes.
Her ladyship's carriage was a barouche, and did not hold more than four with any comfort.
Miss Carteret was with her mother; consequently it was not reasonable to expect accommodation for all the three Camden Place ladies.
There could be no doubt as to Miss Elliot.
Whoever suffered inconvenience, she must suffer none, but it occupied a little time to settle the point of civility between the other two.
The rain was a mere trifle, and Anne was most sincere in preferring a walk with Mr Elliot.
But the rain was also a mere trifle to Mrs Clay; she would hardly allow it even to drop at all, and her boots were so thick!
It was fixed accordingly, that Mrs Clay should be of the party in the carriage; and they had just reached this point, when Anne, as she sat near the window, descried, most decidedly and distinctly, Captain Wentworth walking down the street.
Her start was perceptible only to herself; but she instantly felt that she was the greatest simpleton in the world, the most unaccountable and absurd!
For a few minutes she saw nothing before her; it was all confusion.
She was lost, and when she had scolded back her senses, she found the others still waiting for the carriage, and Mr Elliot (always obliging) just setting off for Union Street on a commission of Mrs Clay's.
She now felt a great inclination to go to the outer door; she wanted to see if it rained.
Why was she to suspect herself of another motive?
Captain Wentworth must be out of sight.
She left her seat, she would go; one half of her should not be always so much wiser than the other half, or always suspecting the other of being worse than it was.
She would see if it rained.
She was sent back, however, in a moment by the entrance of Captain Wentworth himself, among a party of gentlemen and ladies, evidently his acquaintance, and whom he must have joined a little below Milsom Street.
He was more obviously struck and confused by the sight of her than she had ever observed before; he looked quite red.
For the first time, since their renewed acquaintance, she felt that she was betraying the least sensibility of the two.
She had the advantage of him in the preparation of the last few moments.
All the overpowering, blinding, bewildering, first effects of strong surprise were over with her.
Still, however, she had enough to feel!
It was agitation, pain, pleasure, a something between delight and misery.
He spoke to her, and then turned away.
The character of his manner was embarrassment.
She could not have called it either cold or friendly, or anything so certainly as embarrassed.
After a short interval, however, he came towards her, and spoke again.
Mutual enquiries on common subjects passed: neither of them, probably, much the wiser for what they heard, and Anne continuing fully sensible of his being less at ease than formerly.
They had by dint of being so very much together, got to speak to each other with a considerable portion of apparent indifference and calmness; but he could not do it now.
Time had changed him, or Louisa had changed him.
There was consciousness of some sort or other.
It did not surprise, but it grieved Anne to observe that Elizabeth would not know him.
Lady Dalrymple's carriage, for which Miss Elliot was growing very impatient, now drew up; the servant came in to announce it.
It was beginning to rain again, and altogether there was a delay, and a bustle, and a talking, which must make all the little crowd in the shop understand that Lady Dalrymple was calling to convey Miss Elliot.
At last Miss Elliot and her friend, unattended but by the servant, (for there was no cousin returned), were walking off; and Captain Wentworth, watching them, turned again to Anne, and by manner, rather than words, was offering his services to her.
" I am much obliged to you," was her answer, " but I am not going with them.
The carriage would not accommodate so many.
I walk: I prefer walking."
" But it rains."
" Oh!
very little, Nothing that I regard."
She was very much obliged to him, but declined it all, repeating her conviction, that the rain would come to nothing at present, and adding, " I am only waiting for Mr Elliot.
He will be here in a moment, I am sure."
She had hardly spoken the words when Mr Elliot walked in.
Captain Wentworth recollected him perfectly.
There was no difference between him and the man who had stood on the steps at Lyme, admiring Anne as she passed, except in the air and look and manner of the privileged relation and friend.
being all that she had time for, as she passed away.
As soon as they were out of sight, the ladies of Captain Wentworth's party began talking of them.
" Mr Elliot does not dislike his cousin, I fancy?"
" Oh!
no, that is clear enough.
One can guess what will happen there.
He is always with them; half lives in the family, I believe.
What a very good - looking man!"
" Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him once at the Wallises, says he is the most agreeable man she ever was in company with."
" She is pretty, I think; Anne Elliot; very pretty, when one comes to look at her.
It is not the fashion to say so, but I confess I admire her more than her sister."
" Oh!
so do I."
" And so do I.
No comparison.
But the men are all wild after Miss Elliot.
Anne is too delicate for them."
Anne would have been particularly obliged to her cousin, if he would have walked by her side all the way to Camden Place, without saying a word.
But just now she could think only of Captain Wentworth.
She could not understand his present feelings, whether he were really suffering much from disappointment or not; and till that point were settled, she could not be quite herself.
She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time; but alas!
alas!
she must confess to herself that she was not wise yet.
Another circumstance very essential for her to know, was how long he meant to be in Bath; he had not mentioned it, or she could not recollect it.
He might be only passing through.
But it was more probable that he should be come to stay.
In that case, so liable as every body was to meet every body in Bath, Lady Russell would in all likelihood see him somewhere.
Would she recollect him?
How would it all be?
She had already been obliged to tell Lady Russell that Louisa Musgrove was to marry Captain Benwick.
It had cost her something to encounter Lady Russell's surprise; and now, if she were by any chance to be thrown into company with Captain Wentworth, her imperfect knowledge of the matter might add another shade of prejudice against him.
There were many other men about him, many groups walking the same way, but there was no mistaking him.
She looked instinctively at Lady Russell; but not from any mad idea of her recognising him so soon as she did herself.
No, it was not to be supposed that Lady Russell would perceive him till they were nearly opposite.
At last, Lady Russell drew back her head.
" Now, how would she speak of him?"
" You will wonder," said she, " what has been fixing my eye so long; but I was looking after some window - curtains, which Lady Alicia and Mrs Frankland were telling me of last night.
Anne sighed and blushed and smiled, in pity and disdain, either at her friend or herself.
The part which provoked her most, was that in all this waste of foresight and caution, she should have lost the right moment for seeing whether he saw them.
A day or two passed without producing anything.
It was a concert for the benefit of a person patronised by Lady Dalrymple.
Of course they must attend.
It was really expected to be a good one, and Captain Wentworth was very fond of music.
If she could only have a few minutes conversation with him again, she fancied she should be satisfied; and as to the power of addressing him, she felt all over courage if the opportunity occurred.
Elizabeth had turned from him, Lady Russell overlooked him; her nerves were strengthened by these circumstances; she felt that she owed him attention.
She had once partly promised Mrs Smith to spend the evening with her; but in a short hurried call she excused herself and put it off, with the more decided promise of a longer visit on the morrow.
Mrs Smith gave a most good - humoured acquiescence.
" By all means," said she; " only tell me all about it, when you do come.
Who is your party?"
Anne named them all.
Anne was startled and confused; but after standing in a moment's suspense, was obliged, and not sorry to be obliged, to hurry away.
Chapter 20
Sir Walter, his two daughters, and Mrs Clay, were the earliest of all their party at the rooms in the evening; and as Lady Dalrymple must be waited for, they took their station by one of the fires in the Octagon Room.
But hardly were they so settled, when the door opened again, and Captain Wentworth walked in alone.
Anne was the nearest to him, and making yet a little advance, she instantly spoke.
He was preparing only to bow and pass on, but her gentle " How do you do?"
brought him out of the straight line to stand near her, and make enquiries in return, in spite of the formidable father and sister in the back ground.
Their being in the back ground was a support to Anne; she knew nothing of their looks, and felt equal to everything which she believed right to be done.
While they were speaking, a whispering between her father and Elizabeth caught her ear.
This, though late, and reluctant, and ungracious, was yet better than nothing, and her spirits improved.
" I have hardly seen you since our day at Lyme.
I am afraid you must have suffered from the shock, and the more from its not overpowering you at the time."
She assured him that she had not.
" It was a frightful hour," said he, " a frightful day!"
and he passed his hand across his eyes, as if the remembrance were still too painful, but in a moment, half smiling again, added, " The day has produced some effects however; has had some consequences which must be considered as the very reverse of frightful.
When you had the presence of mind to suggest that Benwick would be the properest person to fetch a surgeon, you could have little idea of his being eventually one of those most concerned in her recovery."
" Certainly I could have none.
But it appears--I should hope it would be a very happy match.
There are on both sides good principles and good temper."
" Yes," said he, looking not exactly forward; " but there, I think, ends the resemblance.
With all my soul I wish them happy, and rejoice over every circumstance in favour of it.
They have no difficulties to contend with at home, no opposition, no caprice, no delays.
The Musgroves are behaving like themselves, most honourably and kindly, only anxious with true parental hearts to promote their daughter's comfort.
All this is much, very much in favour of their happiness; more than perhaps --"
He stopped.
A sudden recollection seemed to occur, and to give him some taste of that emotion which was reddening Anne's cheeks and fixing her eyes on the ground.
After clearing his throat, however, he proceeded thus --
" I confess that I do think there is a disparity, too great a disparity, and in a point no less essential than mind.
I regard Louisa Musgrove as a very amiable, sweet - tempered girl, and not deficient in understanding, but Benwick is something more.
He is a clever man, a reading man; and I confess, that I do consider his attaching himself to her with some surprise.
Had it been the effect of gratitude, had he learnt to love her, because he believed her to be preferring him, it would have been another thing.
But I have no reason to suppose it so.
It seems, on the contrary, to have been a perfectly spontaneous, untaught feeling on his side, and this surprises me.
A man like him, in his situation!
with a heart pierced, wounded, almost broken!
Fanny Harville was a very superior creature, and his attachment to her was indeed attachment.
A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman.
He ought not; he does not."
It was impossible for her to enter on such a subject; and yet, after a pause, feeling the necessity of speaking, and having not the smallest wish for a total change, she only deviated so far as to say --
" You were a good while at Lyme, I think?"
" About a fortnight.
I could not leave it till Louisa's doing well was quite ascertained.
I had been too deeply concerned in the mischief to be soon at peace.
It had been my doing, solely mine.
She would not have been obstinate if I had not been weak.
The country round Lyme is very fine.
I walked and rode a great deal; and the more I saw, the more I found to admire."
" I should very much like to see Lyme again," said Anne.
" Indeed!
I should not have supposed that you could have found anything in Lyme to inspire such a feeling.
The horror and distress you were involved in, the stretch of mind, the wear of spirits!
I should have thought your last impressions of Lyme must have been strong disgust."
" The last hours were certainly very painful," replied Anne; " but when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure.
One does not love a place the less for having suffered in it, unless it has been all suffering, nothing but suffering, which was by no means the case at Lyme.
We were only in anxiety and distress during the last two hours, and previously there had been a great deal of enjoyment.
So much novelty and beauty!
I have travelled so little, that every fresh place would be interesting to me; but there is real beauty at Lyme; and in short " (with a faint blush at some recollections), " altogether my impressions of the place are very agreeable."
As she ceased, the entrance door opened again, and the very party appeared for whom they were waiting.
" Lady Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple," was the rejoicing sound; and with all the eagerness compatible with anxious elegance, Sir Walter and his two ladies stepped forward to meet her.
Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, escorted by Mr Elliot and Colonel Wallis, who had happened to arrive nearly at the same instant, advanced into the room.
The others joined them, and it was a group in which Anne found herself also necessarily included.
She was divided from Captain Wentworth.
Their interesting, almost too interesting conversation must be broken up for a time, but slight was the penance compared with the happiness which brought it on!
She had learnt, in the last ten minutes, more of his feelings towards Louisa, more of all his feelings than she dared to think of; and she gave herself up to the demands of the party, to the needful civilities of the moment, with exquisite, though agitated sensations.
She was in good humour with all.
She had received ideas which disposed her to be courteous and kind to all, and to pity every one, as being less happy than herself.
The delightful emotions were a little subdued, when on stepping back from the group, to be joined again by Captain Wentworth, she saw that he was gone.
She was just in time to see him turn into the Concert Room.
He was gone; he had disappeared, she felt a moment's regret.
But " they should meet again.
He would look for her, he would find her out before the evening were over, and at present, perhaps, it was as well to be asunder.
She was in need of a little interval for recollection."
Very, very happy were both Elizabeth and Anne Elliot as they walked in.
Anne saw nothing, thought nothing of the brilliancy of the room.
Her happiness was from within.
Her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowed; but she knew nothing about it.
She was thinking only of the last half hour, and as they passed to their seats, her mind took a hasty range over it.
His choice of subjects, his expressions, and still more his manner and look, had been such as she could see in only one light.
Yes, some share of the tenderness of the past.
She could not contemplate the change as implying less.
He must love her.
These were thoughts, with their attendant visions, which occupied and flurried her too much to leave her any power of observation; and she passed along the room without having a glimpse of him, without even trying to discern him.
The party was divided and disposed of on two contiguous benches: Anne was among those on the foremost, and Mr Elliot had manoeuvred so well, with the assistance of his friend Colonel Wallis, as to have a seat by her.
Miss Elliot, surrounded by her cousins, and the principal object of Colonel Wallis's gallantry, was quite contented.
Towards the close of it, in the interval succeeding an Italian song, she explained the words of the song to Mr Elliot.
They had a concert bill between them.
" This," said she, " is nearly the sense, or rather the meaning of the words, for certainly the sense of an Italian love - song must not be talked of, but it is as nearly the meaning as I can give; for I do not pretend to understand the language.
I am a very poor Italian scholar."
" Yes, yes, I see you are.
I see you know nothing of the matter.
You have only knowledge enough of the language to translate at sight these inverted, transposed, curtailed Italian lines, into clear, comprehensible, elegant English.
You need not say anything more of your ignorance.
Here is complete proof."
" I will not oppose such kind politeness; but I should be sorry to be examined by a real proficient."
" For shame!
for shame!
this is too much flattery.
I forget what we are to have next," turning to the bill.
" Perhaps," said Mr Elliot, speaking low, " I have had a longer acquaintance with your character than you are aware of."
" Indeed!
How so?
You can have been acquainted with it only since I came to Bath, excepting as you might hear me previously spoken of in my own family."
" I knew you by report long before you came to Bath.
I had heard you described by those who knew you intimately.
I have been acquainted with you by character many years.
Your person, your disposition, accomplishments, manner; they were all present to me."
Mr Elliot was not disappointed in the interest he hoped to raise.
No one can withstand the charm of such a mystery.
To have been described long ago to a recent acquaintance, by nameless people, is irresistible; and Anne was all curiosity.
She wondered, and questioned him eagerly; but in vain.
He delighted in being asked, but he would not tell.
" No, no, some time or other, perhaps, but not now.
He would mention no names now; but such, he could assure her, had been the fact.
He had many years ago received such a description of Miss Anne Elliot as had inspired him with the highest idea of her merit, and excited the warmest curiosity to know her."
Anne could think of no one so likely to have spoken with partiality of her many years ago as the Mr Wentworth of Monkford, Captain Wentworth's brother.
He might have been in Mr Elliot's company, but she had not courage to ask the question.
" The name of Anne Elliot," said he, " has long had an interesting sound to me.
Very long has it possessed a charm over my fancy; and, if I dared, I would breathe my wishes that the name might never change."
Such, she believed, were his words; but scarcely had she received their sound, than her attention was caught by other sounds immediately behind her, which rendered every thing else trivial.
Her father and Lady Dalrymple were speaking.
" A well - looking man," said Sir Walter, " a very well - looking man."
" A very fine young man indeed!"
said Lady Dalrymple.
" More air than one often sees in Bath.
Irish, I dare say."
" No, I just know his name.
A bowing acquaintance.
Wentworth; Captain Wentworth of the navy.
His sister married my tenant in Somersetshire, the Croft, who rents Kellynch."
Before Sir Walter had reached this point, Anne's eyes had caught the right direction, and distinguished Captain Wentworth standing among a cluster of men at a little distance.
As her eyes fell on him, his seemed to be withdrawn from her.
It had that appearance.
It seemed as if she had been one moment too late; and as long as she dared observe, he did not look again: but the performance was recommencing, and she was forced to seem to restore her attention to the orchestra and look straight forward.
When she could give another glance, he had moved away.
He could not have come nearer to her if he would; she was so surrounded and shut in: but she would rather have caught his eye.
Mr Elliot's speech, too, distressed her.
She had no longer any inclination to talk to him.
She wished him not so near her.
The first act was over.
Now she hoped for some beneficial change; and, after a period of nothing - saying amongst the party, some of them did decide on going in quest of tea.
Anne was one of the few who did not choose to move.
She remained in her seat, and so did Lady Russell; but she had the pleasure of getting rid of Mr Elliot; and she did not mean, whatever she might feel on Lady Russell's account, to shrink from conversation with Captain Wentworth, if he gave her the opportunity.
She was persuaded by Lady Russell's countenance that she had seen him.
He did not come however.
Anne sometimes fancied she discerned him at a distance, but he never came.
The anxious interval wore away unproductively.
The others returned, the room filled again, benches were reclaimed and repossessed, and another hour of pleasure or of penance was to be sat out, another hour of music was to give delight or the gapes, as real or affected taste for it prevailed.
To Anne, it chiefly wore the prospect of an hour of agitation.
She could not quit that room in peace without seeing Captain Wentworth once more, without the interchange of one friendly look.
In re - settling themselves there were now many changes, the result of which was favourable for her.
Such was her situation, with a vacant space at hand, when Captain Wentworth was again in sight.
She saw him not far off.
He saw her too; yet he looked grave, and seemed irresolute, and only by very slow degrees came at last near enough to speak to her.
She felt that something must be the matter.
The change was indubitable.
The difference between his present air and what it had been in the Octagon Room was strikingly great.
Why was it?
She thought of her father, of Lady Russell.
Could there have been any unpleasant glances?
He began by speaking of the concert gravely, more like the Captain Wentworth of Uppercross; owned himself disappointed, had expected singing; and in short, must confess that he should not be sorry when it was over.
Anne replied, and spoke in defence of the performance so well, and yet in allowance for his feelings so pleasantly, that his countenance improved, and he replied again with almost a smile.
They talked for a few minutes more; the improvement held; he even looked down towards the bench, as if he saw a place on it well worth occupying; when at that moment a touch on her shoulder obliged Anne to turn round.
It came from Mr Elliot.
He begged her pardon, but she must be applied to, to explain Italian again.
Miss Carteret was very anxious to have a general idea of what was next to be sung.
Anne could not refuse; but never had she sacrificed to politeness with a more suffering spirit.
A few minutes, though as few as possible, were inevitably consumed; and when her own mistress again, when able to turn and look as she had done before, she found herself accosted by Captain Wentworth, in a reserved yet hurried sort of farewell.
" He must wish her good night; he was going; he should get home as fast as he could."
" Is not this song worth staying for?"
said Anne, suddenly struck by an idea which made her yet more anxious to be encouraging.
" No!"
he replied impressively, " there is nothing worth my staying for;" and he was gone directly.
Jealousy of Mr Elliot!
It was the only intelligible motive.
Captain Wentworth jealous of her affection!
Could she have believed it a week ago; three hours ago!
For a moment the gratification was exquisite.
But, alas!
there were very different thoughts to succeed.
How was such jealousy to be quieted?
How was the truth to reach him?
How, in all the peculiar disadvantages of their respective situations, would he ever learn of her real sentiments?
It was misery to think of Mr Elliot's attentions.
Their evil was incalculable.
Chapter 21
Anne recollected with pleasure the next morning her promise of going to Mrs Smith, meaning that it should engage her from home at the time when Mr Elliot would be most likely to call; for to avoid Mr Elliot was almost a first object.
She felt a great deal of good - will towards him.
In spite of the mischief of his attentions, she owed him gratitude and regard, perhaps compassion.
She could not help thinking much of the extraordinary circumstances attending their acquaintance, of the right which he seemed to have to interest her, by everything in situation, by his own sentiments, by his early prepossession.
It was altogether very extraordinary; flattering, but painful.
There was much to regret.
How she might have felt had there been no Captain Wentworth in the case, was not worth enquiry; for there was a Captain Wentworth; and be the conclusion of the present suspense good or bad, her affection would be his for ever.
Their union, she believed, could not divide her more from other men, than their final separation.
Prettier musings of high - wrought love and eternal constancy, could never have passed along the streets of Bath, than Anne was sporting with from Camden Place to Westgate Buildings.
It was almost enough to spread purification and perfume all the way.
She was sure of a pleasant reception; and her friend seemed this morning particularly obliged to her for coming, seemed hardly to have expected her, though it had been an appointment.
An account of the concert was immediately claimed; and Anne's recollections of the concert were quite happy enough to animate her features and make her rejoice to talk of it.
Everybody of any consequence or notoriety in Bath was well know by name to Mrs Smith.
" The little Durands were there, I conclude," said she, " with their mouths open to catch the music, like unfledged sparrows ready to be fed.
They never miss a concert."
" Yes; I did not see them myself, but I heard Mr Elliot say they were in the room."
" The Ibbotsons, were they there?
and the two new beauties, with the tall Irish officer, who is talked of for one of them."
" I do not know.
I do not think they were."
" Old Lady Mary Maclean?
I need not ask after her.
She never misses, I know; and you must have seen her.
She must have been in your own circle; for as you went with Lady Dalrymple, you were in the seats of grandeur, round the orchestra, of course."
" No, that was what I dreaded.
It would have been very unpleasant to me in every respect.
But happily Lady Dalrymple always chooses to be farther off; and we were exceedingly well placed, that is, for hearing; I must not say for seeing, because I appear to have seen very little."
" Oh!
you saw enough for your own amusement.
I can understand.
There is a sort of domestic enjoyment to be known even in a crowd, and this you had.
You were a large party in yourselves, and you wanted nothing beyond."
" But I ought to have looked about me more," said Anne, conscious while she spoke that there had in fact been no want of looking about, that the object only had been deficient.
" No, no; you were better employed.
You need not tell me that you had a pleasant evening.
I see it in your eye.
I perfectly see how the hours passed: that you had always something agreeable to listen to.
In the intervals of the concert it was conversation."
Anne half smiled and said, " Do you see that in my eye?"
" Yes, I do.
Your countenance perfectly informs me that you were in company last night with the person whom you think the most agreeable in the world, the person who interests you at this present time more than all the rest of the world put together."
A blush overspread Anne's cheeks.
She could say nothing.
" And such being the case," continued Mrs Smith, after a short pause, " I hope you believe that I do know how to value your kindness in coming to me this morning.
It is really very good of you to come and sit with me, when you must have so many pleasanter demands upon your time."
Anne heard nothing of this.
She was still in the astonishment and confusion excited by her friend's penetration, unable to imagine how any report of Captain Wentworth could have reached her.
After another short silence --
" Pray," said Mrs Smith, " is Mr Elliot aware of your acquaintance with me?
Does he know that I am in Bath?"
" Mr Elliot!"
repeated Anne, looking up surprised.
A moment's reflection shewed her the mistake she had been under.
She caught it instantaneously; and recovering her courage with the feeling of safety, soon added, more composedly, " Are you acquainted with Mr Elliot?"
" I have been a good deal acquainted with him," replied Mrs Smith, gravely, " but it seems worn out now.
It is a great while since we met."
" I was not at all aware of this.
You never mentioned it before.
Had I known it, I would have had the pleasure of talking to him about you."
" To confess the truth," said Mrs Smith, assuming her usual air of cheerfulness, " that is exactly the pleasure I want you to have.
I want you to talk about me to Mr Elliot.
I want your interest with him.
He can be of essential service to me; and if you would have the goodness, my dear Miss Elliot, to make it an object to yourself, of course it is done."
" I should be extremely happy; I hope you cannot doubt my willingness to be of even the slightest use to you," replied Anne; " but I suspect that you are considering me as having a higher claim on Mr Elliot, a greater right to influence him, than is really the case.
I am sure you have, somehow or other, imbibed such a notion.
You must consider me only as Mr Elliot's relation.
If in that light there is anything which you suppose his cousin might fairly ask of him, I beg you would not hesitate to employ me."
Mrs Smith gave her a penetrating glance, and then, smiling, said --
" I have been a little premature, I perceive; I beg your pardon.
I ought to have waited for official information, But now, my dear Miss Elliot, as an old friend, do give me a hint as to when I may speak.
Next week?
To be sure by next week I may be allowed to think it all settled, and build my own selfish schemes on Mr Elliot's good fortune."
" No," replied Anne, " nor next week, nor next, nor next.
I assure you that nothing of the sort you are thinking of will be settled any week.
I am not going to marry Mr Elliot.
I should like to know why you imagine I am?"
Mrs Smith looked at her again, looked earnestly, smiled, shook her head, and exclaimed --
" Now, how I do wish I understood you!
How I do wish I knew what you were at!
I have a great idea that you do not design to be cruel, when the right moment occurs.
Till it does come, you know, we women never mean to have anybody.
It is a thing of course among us, that every man is refused, till he offers.
But why should you be cruel?
Let me plead for my--present friend I cannot call him, but for my former friend.
Where can you look for a more suitable match?
Where could you expect a more gentlemanlike, agreeable man?
Let me recommend Mr Elliot.
I am sure you hear nothing but good of him from Colonel Wallis; and who can know him better than Colonel Wallis?"
" My dear Mrs Smith, Mr Elliot's wife has not been dead much above half a year.
He ought not to be supposed to be paying his addresses to any one."
" Oh!
if these are your only objections," cried Mrs Smith, archly, " Mr Elliot is safe, and I shall give myself no more trouble about him.
Do not forget me when you are married, that's all.
Let him know me to be a friend of yours, and then he will think little of the trouble required, which it is very natural for him now, with so many affairs and engagements of his own, to avoid and get rid of as he can; very natural, perhaps.
Ninety - nine out of a hundred would do the same.
Of course, he cannot be aware of the importance to me.
Well, my dear Miss Elliot, I hope and trust you will be very happy.
Mr Elliot has sense to understand the value of such a woman.
Your peace will not be shipwrecked as mine has been.
You are safe in all worldly matters, and safe in his character.
He will not be led astray; he will not be misled by others to his ruin."
" No," said Anne, " I can readily believe all that of my cousin.
He seems to have a calm decided temper, not at all open to dangerous impressions.
I consider him with great respect.
I have no reason, from any thing that has fallen within my observation, to do otherwise.
But I have not known him long; and he is not a man, I think, to be known intimately soon.
Will not this manner of speaking of him, Mrs Smith, convince you that he is nothing to me?
Surely this must be calm enough.
And, upon my word, he is nothing to me.
Should he ever propose to me (which I have very little reason to imagine he has any thought of doing), I shall not accept him.
I assure you I shall not.
I assure you, Mr Elliot had not the share which you have been supposing, in whatever pleasure the concert of last night might afford: not Mr Elliot; it is not Mr Elliot that --"
She stopped, regretting with a deep blush that she had implied so much; but less would hardly have been sufficient.
Mrs Smith would hardly have believed so soon in Mr Elliot's failure, but from the perception of there being a somebody else.
" Do tell me how it first came into your head."
But I never heard it spoken of till two days ago."
" And has it indeed been spoken of?"
" Did you observe the woman who opened the door to you when you called yesterday?"
" No.
Was not it Mrs Speed, as usual, or the maid?
I observed no one in particular."
" It was my friend Mrs Rooke; Nurse Rooke; who, by - the - bye, had a great curiosity to see you, and was delighted to be in the way to let you in.
She came away from Marlborough Buildings only on Sunday; and she it was who told me you were to marry Mr Elliot.
She had had it from Mrs Wallis herself, which did not seem bad authority.
She sat an hour with me on Monday evening, and gave me the whole history."
" The whole history," repeated Anne, laughing.
" She could not make a very long history, I think, of one such little article of unfounded news."
Mrs Smith said nothing.
" But," continued Anne, presently, " though there is no truth in my having this claim on Mr Elliot, I should be extremely happy to be of use to you in any way that I could.
Shall I mention to him your being in Bath?
Shall I take any message?"
" No, I thank you: no, certainly not.
In the warmth of the moment, and under a mistaken impression, I might, perhaps, have endeavoured to interest you in some circumstances; but not now.
No, I thank you, I have nothing to trouble you with."
" I think you spoke of having known Mr Elliot many years?"
" I did."
" Not before he was married, I suppose?"
" Yes; he was not married when I knew him first."
" And--were you much acquainted?"
" Intimately."
" Indeed!
Then do tell me what he was at that time of life.
I have a great curiosity to know what Mr Elliot was as a very young man.
Was he at all such as he appears now?"
" I have not seen Mr Elliot these three years," was Mrs Smith's answer, given so gravely that it was impossible to pursue the subject farther; and Anne felt that she had gained nothing but an increase of curiosity.
They were both silent: Mrs Smith very thoughtful.
At last --
" I beg your pardon, my dear Miss Elliot," she cried, in her natural tone of cordiality, " I beg your pardon for the short answers I have been giving you, but I have been uncertain what I ought to do.
I have been doubting and considering as to what I ought to tell you.
There were many things to be taken into the account.
One hates to be officious, to be giving bad impressions, making mischief.
Even the smooth surface of family - union seems worth preserving, though there may be nothing durable beneath.
However, I have determined; I think I am right; I think you ought to be made acquainted with Mr Elliot's real character.
Though I fully believe that, at present, you have not the smallest intention of accepting him, there is no saying what may happen.
You might, some time or other, be differently affected towards him.
Hear the truth, therefore, now, while you are unprejudiced.
Mr Elliot is a man without heart or conscience; a designing, wary, cold - blooded being, who thinks only of himself; whom for his own interest or ease, would be guilty of any cruelty, or any treachery, that could be perpetrated without risk of his general character.
He has no feeling for others.
Those whom he has been the chief cause of leading into ruin, he can neglect and desert without the smallest compunction.
He is totally beyond the reach of any sentiment of justice or compassion.
Oh!
he is black at heart, hollow and black!"
Anne's astonished air, and exclamation of wonder, made her pause, and in a calmer manner, she added,
" My expressions startle you.
You must allow for an injured, angry woman.
But I will try to command myself.
I will not abuse him.
I will only tell you what I have found him.
Facts shall speak.
He was the intimate friend of my dear husband, who trusted and loved him, and thought him as good as himself.
The intimacy had been formed before our marriage.
I found them most intimate friends; and I, too, became excessively pleased with Mr Elliot, and entertained the highest opinion of him.
At nineteen, you know, one does not think very seriously; but Mr Elliot appeared to me quite as good as others, and much more agreeable than most others, and we were almost always together.
We were principally in town, living in very good style.
He was then the inferior in circumstances; he was then the poor one; he had chambers in the Temple, and it was as much as he could do to support the appearance of a gentleman.
He had always a home with us whenever he chose it; he was always welcome; he was like a brother.
My poor Charles, who had the finest, most generous spirit in the world, would have divided his last farthing with him; and I know that his purse was open to him; I know that he often assisted him."
" This must have been about that very period of Mr Elliot's life," said Anne, " which has always excited my particular curiosity.
It must have been about the same time that he became known to my father and sister.
I never knew him myself; I only heard of him; but there was a something in his conduct then, with regard to my father and sister, and afterwards in the circumstances of his marriage, which I never could quite reconcile with present times.
It seemed to announce a different sort of man."
" I know it all, I know it all," cried Mrs Smith.
" He had been introduced to Sir Walter and your sister before I was acquainted with him, but I heard him speak of them for ever.
I know he was invited and encouraged, and I know he did not choose to go.
I can satisfy you, perhaps, on points which you would little expect; and as to his marriage, I knew all about it at the time.
" Nay," said Anne, " I have no particular enquiry to make about her.
I have always understood they were not a happy couple.
But I should like to know why, at that time of his life, he should slight my father's acquaintance as he did.
My father was certainly disposed to take very kind and proper notice of him.
Why did Mr Elliot draw back?"
" Mr Elliot," replied Mrs Smith, " at that period of his life, had one object in view: to make his fortune, and by a rather quicker process than the law.
He was determined to make it by marriage.
That was his motive for drawing back, I can assure you.
He told me the whole story.
He had no concealments with me.
It was curious, that having just left you behind me in Bath, my first and principal acquaintance on marrying should be your cousin; and that, through him, I should be continually hearing of your father and sister.
He described one Miss Elliot, and I thought very affectionately of the other."
" Perhaps," cried Anne, struck by a sudden idea, " you sometimes spoke of me to Mr Elliot?"
" To be sure I did; very often.
I used to boast of my own Anne Elliot, and vouch for your being a very different creature from --"
She checked herself just in time.
" This accounts for something which Mr Elliot said last night," cried Anne.
" This explains it.
I found he had been used to hear of me.
I could not comprehend how.
What wild imaginations one forms where dear self is concerned!
How sure to be mistaken!
But I beg your pardon; I have interrupted you.
Mr Elliot married then completely for money?
The circumstances, probably, which first opened your eyes to his character."
Mrs Smith hesitated a little here.
" Oh!
those things are too common.
When one lives in the world, a man or woman's marrying for money is too common to strike one as it ought.
I was very young, and associated only with the young, and we were a thoughtless, gay set, without any strict rules of conduct.
We lived for enjoyment.
I think differently now; time and sickness and sorrow have given me other notions; but at that period I must own I saw nothing reprehensible in what Mr Elliot was doing.
'To do the best for himself,' passed as a duty."
" But was not she a very low woman?"
" Yes; which I objected to, but he would not regard.
Money, money, was all that he wanted.
Her father was a grazier, her grandfather had been a butcher, but that was all nothing.
She was a fine woman, had had a decent education, was brought forward by some cousins, thrown by chance into Mr Elliot's company, and fell in love with him; and not a difficulty or a scruple was there on his side, with respect to her birth.
All his caution was spent in being secured of the real amount of her fortune, before he committed himself.
Depend upon it, whatever esteem Mr Elliot may have for his own situation in life now, as a young man he had not the smallest value for it.
His chance for the Kellynch estate was something, but all the honour of the family he held as cheap as dirt.
I have often heard him declare, that if baronetcies were saleable, anybody should have his for fifty pounds, arms and motto, name and livery included; but I will not pretend to repeat half that I used to hear him say on that subject.
It would not be fair; and yet you ought to have proof, for what is all this but assertion, and you shall have proof."
" Indeed, my dear Mrs Smith, I want none," cried Anne.
" You have asserted nothing contradictory to what Mr Elliot appeared to be some years ago.
This is all in confirmation, rather, of what we used to hear and believe.
I am more curious to know why he should be so different now."
" But for my satisfaction, if you will have the goodness to ring for Mary; stay: I am sure you will have the still greater goodness of going yourself into my bedroom, and bringing me the small inlaid box which you will find on the upper shelf of the closet."
Anne, seeing her friend to be earnestly bent on it, did as she was desired.
The box was brought and placed before her, and Mrs Smith, sighing over it as she unlocked it, said --
" This is full of papers belonging to him, to my husband; a small portion only of what I had to look over when I lost him.
The letter I am looking for was one written by Mr Elliot to him before our marriage, and happened to be saved; why, one can hardly imagine.
Here it is; I would not burn it, because being even then very little satisfied with Mr Elliot, I was determined to preserve every document of former intimacy.
I have now another motive for being glad that I can produce it."
This was the letter, directed to " Charles Smith, Esq.
Tunbridge Wells," and dated from London, as far back as July, 1803: --
" Dear Smith,-- I have received yours.
Your kindness almost overpowers me.
I wish nature had made such hearts as yours more common, but I have lived three - and - twenty years in the world, and have seen none like it.
At present, believe me, I have no need of your services, being in cash again.
Give me joy: I have got rid of Sir Walter and Miss.
They are gone back to Kellynch, and almost made me swear to visit them this summer; but my first visit to Kellynch will be with a surveyor, to tell me how to bring it with best advantage to the hammer.
The baronet, nevertheless, is not unlikely to marry again; he is quite fool enough.
If he does, however, they will leave me in peace, which may be a decent equivalent for the reversion.
He is worse than last year.
" I wish I had any name but Elliot.
I am sick of it.
The name of Walter I can drop, thank God!
and I desire you will never insult me with my second W. again, meaning, for the rest of my life, to be only yours truly,-- Wm.
Elliot."
Such a letter could not be read without putting Anne in a glow; and Mrs Smith, observing the high colour in her face, said --
" The language, I know, is highly disrespectful.
Though I have forgot the exact terms, I have a perfect impression of the general meaning.
But it shows you the man.
Mark his professions to my poor husband.
Can any thing be stronger?"
Anne could not immediately get over the shock and mortification of finding such words applied to her father.
" Thank you.
This is full proof undoubtedly; proof of every thing you were saying.
But why be acquainted with us now?"
" I can explain this too," cried Mrs Smith, smiling.
" Can you really?"
" Yes.
I have shewn you Mr Elliot as he was a dozen years ago, and I will shew him as he is now.
I cannot produce written proof again, but I can give as authentic oral testimony as you can desire, of what he is now wanting, and what he is now doing.
He is no hypocrite now.
He truly wants to marry you.
His present attentions to your family are very sincere: quite from the heart.
I will give you my authority: his friend Colonel Wallis."
" Colonel Wallis!
you are acquainted with him?"
" No.
It does not come to me in quite so direct a line as that; it takes a bend or two, but nothing of consequence.
The stream is as good as at first; the little rubbish it collects in the turnings is easily moved away.
She in the overflowing spirits of her recovery, repeats it all to her nurse; and the nurse knowing my acquaintance with you, very naturally brings it all to me.
On Monday evening, my good friend Mrs Rooke let me thus much into the secrets of Marlborough Buildings.
When I talked of a whole history, therefore, you see I was not romancing so much as you supposed."
" My dear Mrs Smith, your authority is deficient.
This will not do.
Mr Elliot's having any views on me will not in the least account for the efforts he made towards a reconciliation with my father.
That was all prior to my coming to Bath.
I found them on the most friendly terms when I arrived."
" I know you did; I know it all perfectly, but --"
" Indeed, Mrs Smith, we must not expect to get real information in such a line.
Facts or opinions which are to pass through the hands of so many, to be misconceived by folly in one, and ignorance in another, can hardly have much truth left."
" Only give me a hearing.
You will soon be able to judge of the general credit due, by listening to some particulars which you can yourself immediately contradict or confirm.
Nobody supposes that you were his first inducement.
He had seen you indeed, before he came to Bath, and admired you, but without knowing it to be you.
So says my historian, at least.
Is this true?
Did he see you last summer or autumn, 'somewhere down in the west,' to use her own words, without knowing it to be you?"
" He certainly did.
So far it is very true.
At Lyme.
I happened to be at Lyme."
" Well," continued Mrs Smith, triumphantly, " grant my friend the credit due to the establishment of the first point asserted.
He saw you then at Lyme, and liked you so well as to be exceedingly pleased to meet with you again in Camden Place, as Miss Anne Elliot, and from that moment, I have no doubt, had a double motive in his visits there.
But there was another, and an earlier, which I will now explain.
If there is anything in my story which you know to be either false or improbable, stop me.
Here Mrs Smith paused a moment; but Anne had not a word to say, and she continued --
Now you are to understand, that time had worked a very material change in Mr Elliot's opinions as to the value of a baronetcy.
Upon all points of blood and connexion he is a completely altered man.
Having long had as much money as he could spend, nothing to wish for on the side of avarice or indulgence, he has been gradually learning to pin his happiness upon the consequence he is heir to.
I thought it coming on before our acquaintance ceased, but it is now a confirmed feeling.
He cannot bear the idea of not being Sir William.
This was agreed upon between the two friends as the only thing to be done; and Colonel Wallis was to assist in every way that he could.
He was to be introduced, and Mrs Wallis was to be introduced, and everybody was to be introduced.
Mr Elliot came back accordingly; and on application was forgiven, as you know, and re - admitted into the family; and there it was his constant object, and his only object (till your arrival added another motive), to watch Sir Walter and Mrs Clay.
He omitted no opportunity of being with them, threw himself in their way, called at all hours; but I need not be particular on this subject.
You can imagine what an artful man would do; and with this guide, perhaps, may recollect what you have seen him do."
" Yes," said Anne, " you tell me nothing which does not accord with what I have known, or could imagine.
There is always something offensive in the details of cunning.
The manoeuvres of selfishness and duplicity must ever be revolting, but I have heard nothing which really surprises me.
I know those who would be shocked by such a representation of Mr Elliot, who would have difficulty in believing it; but I have never been satisfied.
I have always wanted some other motive for his conduct than appeared.
I should like to know his present opinion, as to the probability of the event he has been in dread of; whether he considers the danger to be lessening or not."
" Lessening, I understand," replied Mrs Smith.
" He thinks Mrs Clay afraid of him, aware that he sees through her, and not daring to proceed as she might do in his absence.
But since he must be absent some time or other, I do not perceive how he can ever be secure while she holds her present influence.
Mrs Wallis has an amusing idea, as nurse tells me, that it is to be put into the marriage articles when you and Mr Elliot marry, that your father is not to marry Mrs Clay.
A scheme, worthy of Mrs Wallis's understanding, by all accounts; but my sensible nurse Rooke sees the absurdity of it.
'Why, to be sure, ma'am,' said she, 'it would not prevent his marrying anybody else.'
And, indeed, to own the truth, I do not think nurse, in her heart, is a very strenuous opposer of Sir Walter's making a second match.
She must be allowed to be a favourer of matrimony, you know; and (since self will intrude) who can say that she may not have some flying visions of attending the next Lady Elliot, through Mrs Wallis's recommendation?"
" I am very glad to know all this," said Anne, after a little thoughtfulness.
" It will be more painful to me in some respects to be in company with him, but I shall know better what to do.
My line of conduct will be more direct.
Mr Elliot is evidently a disingenuous, artificial, worldly man, who has never had any better principle to guide him than selfishness."
But Mr Elliot was not done with.
She learned that (the intimacy between them continuing unimpaired by Mr Elliot's marriage) they had been as before always together, and Mr Elliot had led his friend into expenses much beyond his fortune.
From his wife's account of him she could discern Mr Smith to have been a man of warm feelings, easy temper, careless habits, and not strong understanding, much more amiable than his friend, and very unlike him, led by him, and probably despised by him.
The husband had died just in time to be spared the full knowledge of it.
They had previously known embarrassments enough to try the friendship of their friends, and to prove that Mr Elliot's had better not be tried; but it was not till his death that the wretched state of his affairs was fully known.
It was a dreadful picture of ingratitude and inhumanity; and Anne felt, at some moments, that no flagrant open crime could have been worse.
She had a great deal to listen to; all the particulars of past sad scenes, all the minutiae of distress upon distress, which in former conversations had been merely hinted at, were dwelt on now with a natural indulgence.
Anne could perfectly comprehend the exquisite relief, and was only the more inclined to wonder at the composure of her friend's usual state of mind.
There was one circumstance in the history of her grievances of particular irritation.
But there was nobody to stir in it.
Mr Elliot would do nothing, and she could do nothing herself, equally disabled from personal exertion by her state of bodily weakness, and from employing others by her want of money.
She had no natural connexions to assist her even with their counsel, and she could not afford to purchase the assistance of the law.
This was a cruel aggravation of actually straitened means.
To feel that she ought to be in better circumstances, that a little trouble in the right place might do it, and to fear that delay might be even weakening her claims, was hard to bear.
It was on this point that she had hoped to engage Anne's good offices with Mr Elliot.
After listening to this full description of Mr Elliot, Anne could not but express some surprise at Mrs Smith's having spoken of him so favourably in the beginning of their conversation.
" She had seemed to recommend and praise him!"
" My dear," was Mrs Smith's reply, " there was nothing else to be done.
I considered your marrying him as certain, though he might not yet have made the offer, and I could no more speak the truth of him, than if he had been your husband.
My heart bled for you, as I talked of happiness; and yet he is sensible, he is agreeable, and with such a woman as you, it was not absolutely hopeless.
He was very unkind to his first wife.
They were wretched together.
But she was too ignorant and giddy for respect, and he had never loved her.
I was willing to hope that you must fare better."
Anne could just acknowledge within herself such a possibility of having been induced to marry him, as made her shudder at the idea of the misery which must have followed.
It was just possible that she might have been persuaded by Lady Russell!
And under such a supposition, which would have been most miserable, when time had disclosed all, too late?
Chapter 22
Anne went home to think over all that she had heard.
In one point, her feelings were relieved by this knowledge of Mr Elliot.
There was no longer anything of tenderness due to him.
He stood as opposed to Captain Wentworth, in all his own unwelcome obtrusiveness; and the evil of his attentions last night, the irremediable mischief he might have done, was considered with sensations unqualified, unperplexed.
Pity for him was all over.
But this was the only point of relief.
In every other respect, in looking around her, or penetrating forward, she saw more to distrust and to apprehend.
She was concerned for the disappointment and pain Lady Russell would be feeling; for the mortifications which must be hanging over her father and sister, and had all the distress of foreseeing many evils, without knowing how to avert any one of them.
She was most thankful for her own knowledge of him.
She had never considered herself as entitled to reward for not slighting an old friend like Mrs Smith, but here was a reward indeed springing from it!
Mrs Smith had been able to tell her what no one else could have done.
Could the knowledge have been extended through her family?
But this was a vain idea.
She found, on reaching home, that she had, as she intended, escaped seeing Mr Elliot; that he had called and paid them a long morning visit; but hardly had she congratulated herself, and felt safe, when she heard that he was coming again in the evening.
" I had not the smallest intention of asking him," said Elizabeth, with affected carelessness, " but he gave so many hints; so Mrs Clay says, at least."
" Indeed, I do say it.
I never saw anybody in my life spell harder for an invitation.
Poor man!
I was really in pain for him; for your hard - hearted sister, Miss Anne, seems bent on cruelty."
" Oh!"
cried Elizabeth, " I have been rather too much used to the game to be soon overcome by a gentleman's hints.
However, when I found how excessively he was regretting that he should miss my father this morning, I gave way immediately, for I would never really omit an opportunity of bring him and Sir Walter together.
They appear to so much advantage in company with each other.
Each behaving so pleasantly.
Mr Elliot looking up with so much respect."
" Quite delightful!"
cried Mrs Clay, not daring, however, to turn her eyes towards Anne.
" Exactly like father and son!
Dear Miss Elliot, may I not say father and son?"
" Oh!
I lay no embargo on any body's words.
If you will have such ideas!
But, upon my word, I am scarcely sensible of his attentions being beyond those of other men."
" My dear Miss Elliot!"
exclaimed Mrs Clay, lifting her hands and eyes, and sinking all the rest of her astonishment in a convenient silence.
" Well, my dear Penelope, you need not be so alarmed about him.
I did invite him, you know.
I sent him away with smiles.
When I found he was really going to his friends at Thornberry Park for the whole day to - morrow, I had compassion on him."
Anne admired the good acting of the friend, in being able to shew such pleasure as she did, in the expectation and in the actual arrival of the very person whose presence must really be interfering with her prime object.
It was impossible but that Mrs Clay must hate the sight of Mr Elliot; and yet she could assume a most obliging, placid look, and appear quite satisfied with the curtailed license of devoting herself only half as much to Sir Walter as she would have done otherwise.
To Anne herself it was most distressing to see Mr Elliot enter the room; and quite painful to have him approach and speak to her.
She had been used before to feel that he could not be always quite sincere, but now she saw insincerity in everything.
His attentive deference to her father, contrasted with his former language, was odious; and when she thought of his cruel conduct towards Mrs Smith, she could hardly bear the sight of his present smiles and mildness, or the sound of his artificial good sentiments.
She meant to avoid any such alteration of manners as might provoke a remonstrance on his side.
She was accordingly more guarded, and more cool, than she had been the night before.
He little surmised that it was a subject acting now exactly against his interest, bringing immediately to her thoughts all those parts of his conduct which were least excusable.
She had some satisfaction in finding that he was really going out of Bath the next morning, going early, and that he would be gone the greater part of two days.
He was invited again to Camden Place the very evening of his return; but from Thursday to Saturday evening his absence was certain.
It was bad enough that a Mrs Clay should be always before her; but that a deeper hypocrite should be added to their party, seemed the destruction of everything like peace and comfort.
It was so humiliating to reflect on the constant deception practised on her father and Elizabeth; to consider the various sources of mortification preparing for them!
Mrs Clay's selfishness was not so complicate nor so revolting as his; and Anne would have compounded for the marriage at once, with all its evils, to be clear of Mr Elliot's subtleties in endeavouring to prevent it.
She saw Mrs Clay fairly off, therefore, before she began to talk of spending the morning in Rivers Street.
" Very well," said Elizabeth, " I have nothing to send but my love.
Oh!
you may as well take back that tiresome book she would lend me, and pretend I have read it through.
I really cannot be plaguing myself for ever with all the new poems and states of the nation that come out.
Lady Russell quite bores one with her new publications.
You need not tell her so, but I thought her dress hideous the other night.
I used to think she had some taste in dress, but I was ashamed of her at the concert.
Something so formal and arrange in her air!
and she sits so upright!
My best love, of course."
" And mine," added Sir Walter.
" Kindest regards.
And you may say, that I mean to call upon her soon.
Make a civil message; but I shall only leave my card.
Morning visits are never fair by women at her time of life, who make themselves up so little.
If she would only wear rouge she would not be afraid of being seen; but last time I called, I observed the blinds were let down immediately."
While her father spoke, there was a knock at the door.
Who could it be?
Anne, remembering the preconcerted visits, at all hours, of Mr Elliot, would have expected him, but for his known engagement seven miles off.
After the usual period of suspense, the usual sounds of approach were heard, and " Mr and Mrs Charles Musgrove " were ushered into the room.
They were come to Bath for a few days with Mrs Musgrove, and were at the White Hart.
She then found that it consisted of Mrs Musgrove, Henrietta, and Captain Harville, beside their two selves.
He gave her a very plain, intelligible account of the whole; a narration in which she saw a great deal of most characteristic proceeding.
The scheme had received its first impulse by Captain Harville's wanting to come to Bath on business.
But then, it had been taken up by his father and mother.
They had arrived late the night before.
Mrs Harville, her children, and Captain Benwick, remained with Mr Musgrove and Louisa at Uppercross.
Anne's only surprise was, that affairs should be in forwardness enough for Henrietta's wedding - clothes to be talked of.
" And a very good living it was," Charles added: " only five - and - twenty miles from Uppercross, and in a very fine country: fine part of Dorsetshire.
In the centre of some of the best preserves in the kingdom, surrounded by three great proprietors, each more careful and jealous than the other; and to two of the three at least, Charles Hayter might get a special recommendation.
Not that he will value it as he ought," he observed, " Charles is too cool about sporting.
That's the worst of him."
I hope your father and mother are quite happy with regard to both."
" Oh!
yes.
My father would be well pleased if the gentlemen were richer, but he has no other fault to find.
Money, you know, coming down with money--two daughters at once--it cannot be a very agreeable operation, and it streightens him as to many things.
However, I do not mean to say they have not a right to it.
It is very fit they should have daughters'shares; and I am sure he has always been a very kind, liberal father to me.
Mary does not above half like Henrietta's match.
She never did, you know.
But she does not do him justice, nor think enough about Winthrop.
I cannot make her attend to the value of the property.
It is a very fair match, as times go; and I have liked Charles Hayter all my life, and I shall not leave off now."
" Such excellent parents as Mr and Mrs Musgrove," exclaimed Anne, " should be happy in their children's marriages.
They do everything to confer happiness, I am sure.
What a blessing to young people to be in such hands!
Your father and mother seem so totally free from all those ambitious feelings which have led to so much misconduct and misery, both in young and old.
I hope you think Louisa perfectly recovered now?"
He answered rather hesitatingly, " Yes, I believe I do; very much recovered; but she is altered; there is no running or jumping about, no laughing or dancing; it is quite different.
If one happens only to shut the door a little hard, she starts and wriggles like a young dab - chick in the water; and Benwick sits at her elbow, reading verses, or whispering to her, all day long."
Anne could not help laughing.
" That cannot be much to your taste, I know," said she; " but I do believe him to be an excellent young man."
" To be sure he is.
Nobody doubts it; and I hope you do not think I am so illiberal as to want every man to have the same objects and pleasures as myself.
I have a great value for Benwick; and when one can but get him to talk, he has plenty to say.
His reading has done him no harm, for he has fought as well as read.
He is a brave fellow.
I got more acquainted with him last Monday than ever I did before.
We had a famous set - to at rat - hunting all the morning in my father's great barns; and he played his part so well that I have liked him the better ever since."
She would certainly have risen to their blessings if she could, but she did not want to lessen theirs.
The visit passed off altogether in high good humour.
She had no demands on her father or sister, and her consequence was just enough increased by their handsome drawing - rooms.
Elizabeth was, for a short time, suffering a good deal.
She felt that Mrs Musgrove and all her party ought to be asked to dine with them; but she could not bear to have the difference of style, the reduction of servants, which a dinner must betray, witnessed by those who had been always so inferior to the Elliots of Kellynch.
It was a struggle between propriety and vanity; but vanity got the better, and then Elizabeth was happy again.
I am sure she would rather not come; she cannot feel easy with us.
I will ask them all for an evening; that will be much better; that will be a novelty and a treat.
They have not seen two such drawing rooms before.
They will be delighted to come to - morrow evening.
It shall be a regular party, small, but most elegant."
And this satisfied Elizabeth: and when the invitation was given to the two present, and promised for the absent, Mary was as completely satisfied.
She was particularly asked to meet Mr Elliot, and be introduced to Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, who were fortunately already engaged to come; and she could not have received a more gratifying attention.
Miss Elliot was to have the honour of calling on Mrs Musgrove in the course of the morning; and Anne walked off with Charles and Mary, to go and see her and Henrietta directly.
Her plan of sitting with Lady Russell must give way for the present.
They found Mrs Musgrove and her daughter within, and by themselves, and Anne had the kindest welcome from each.
It was a heartiness, and a warmth, and a sincerity which Anne delighted in the more, from the sad want of such blessings at home.
A morning of thorough confusion was to be expected.
A large party in an hotel ensured a quick - changing, unsettled scene.
The appearance of the latter could not be more than the surprise of the moment.
It was impossible for her to have forgotten to feel that this arrival of their common friends must be soon bringing them together again.
Their last meeting had been most important in opening his feelings; she had derived from it a delightful conviction; but she feared from his looks, that the same unfortunate persuasion, which had hastened him away from the Concert Room, still governed.
He did not seem to want to be near enough for conversation.
She tried to be calm, and leave things to take their course, and tried to dwell much on this argument of rational dependence:-- " Surely, if there be constant attachment on each side, our hearts must understand each other ere long.
We are not boy and girl, to be captiously irritable, misled by every moment's inadvertence, and wantonly playing with our own happiness."
And yet, a few minutes afterwards, she felt as if their being in company with each other, under their present circumstances, could only be exposing them to inadvertencies and misconstructions of the most mischievous kind.
" Anne," cried Mary, still at her window, " there is Mrs Clay, I am sure, standing under the colonnade, and a gentleman with her.
I saw them turn the corner from Bath Street just now.
They seemed deep in talk.
Who is it?
Come, and tell me.
Good heavens!
I recollect.
It is Mr Elliot himself."
" No," cried Anne, quickly, " it cannot be Mr Elliot, I assure you.
He was to leave Bath at nine this morning, and does not come back till to - morrow."
As she spoke, she felt that Captain Wentworth was looking at her, the consciousness of which vexed and embarrassed her, and made her regret that she had said so much, simple as it was.
Her distress returned, however, on perceiving smiles and intelligent glances pass between two or three of the lady visitors, as if they believed themselves quite in the secret.
It was evident that the report concerning her had spread, and a short pause succeeded, which seemed to ensure that it would now spread farther.
" Do come, Anne " cried Mary, " come and look yourself.
You will be too late if you do not make haste.
They are parting; they are shaking hands.
He is turning away.
Not know Mr Elliot, indeed!
You seem to have forgot all about Lyme."
To pacify Mary, and perhaps screen her own embarrassment, Anne did move quietly to the window.
He has changed his hour of going, I suppose, that is all, or I may be mistaken, I might not attend;" and walked back to her chair, recomposed, and with the comfortable hope of having acquitted herself well.
The visitors took their leave; and Charles, having civilly seen them off, and then made a face at them, and abused them for coming, began with --
" Well, mother, I have done something for you that you will like.
I have been to the theatre, and secured a box for to - morrow night.
A'n't I a good boy?
I know you love a play; and there is room for us all.
It holds nine.
I have engaged Captain Wentworth.
Anne will not be sorry to join us, I am sure.
We all like a play.
Have not I done well, mother?"
Mrs Musgrove was good humouredly beginning to express her perfect readiness for the play, if Henrietta and all the others liked it, when Mary eagerly interrupted her by exclaiming --
" Good heavens, Charles!
how can you think of such a thing?
Take a box for to - morrow night!
Have you forgot that we are engaged to Camden Place to - morrow night?
and that we were most particularly asked to meet Lady Dalrymple and her daughter, and Mr Elliot, and all the principal family connexions, on purpose to be introduced to them?
How can you be so forgetful?"
" Phoo!
phoo!"
replied Charles, " what's an evening party?
Never worth remembering.
Your father might have asked us to dinner, I think, if he had wanted to see us.
You may do as you like, but I shall go to the play."
" Oh!
Charles, I declare it will be too abominable if you do, when you promised to go."
" No, I did not promise.
I only smirked and bowed, and said the word 'happy.'
There was no promise."
" But you must go, Charles.
It would be unpardonable to fail.
We were asked on purpose to be introduced.
There was always such a great connexion between the Dalrymples and ourselves.
Nothing ever happened on either side that was not announced immediately.
We are quite near relations, you know; and Mr Elliot too, whom you ought so particularly to be acquainted with!
Every attention is due to Mr Elliot.
Consider, my father's heir: the future representative of the family."
" Don't talk to me about heirs and representatives," cried Charles.
" I am not one of those who neglect the reigning power to bow to the rising sun.
If I would not go for the sake of your father, I should think it scandalous to go for the sake of his heir.
What is Mr Elliot to me?"
The careless expression was life to Anne, who saw that Captain Wentworth was all attention, looking and listening with his whole soul; and that the last words brought his enquiring eyes from Charles to herself.
Mrs Musgrove interposed.
" We had better put it off.
Charles, you had much better go back and change the box for Tuesday.
It would be a pity to be divided, and we should be losing Miss Anne, too, if there is a party at her father's; and I am sure neither Henrietta nor I should care at all for the play, if Miss Anne could not be with us."
Anne felt truly obliged to her for such kindness; and quite as much so for the opportunity it gave her of decidedly saying --
" If it depended only on my inclination, ma'am, the party at home (excepting on Mary's account) would not be the smallest impediment.
I have no pleasure in the sort of meeting, and should be too happy to change it for a play, and with you.
But, it had better not be attempted, perhaps."
She had spoken it; but she trembled when it was done, conscious that her words were listened to, and daring not even to try to observe their effect.
It was soon generally agreed that Tuesday should be the day; Charles only reserving the advantage of still teasing his wife, by persisting that he would go to the play to - morrow if nobody else would.
Captain Wentworth left his seat, and walked to the fire - place; probably for the sake of walking away from it soon afterwards, and taking a station, with less bare - faced design, by Anne.
" You have not been long enough in Bath," said he, " to enjoy the evening parties of the place."
" Oh!
no.
The usual character of them has nothing for me.
I am no card - player."
" You were not formerly, I know.
You did not use to like cards; but time makes many changes."
" I am not yet so much changed," cried Anne, and stopped, fearing she hardly knew what misconstruction.
After waiting a few moments he said, and as if it were the result of immediate feeling, " It is a period, indeed!
Eight years and a half is a period."
They were obliged to move.
Their preparations, however, were stopped short.
Alarming sounds were heard; other visitors approached, and the door was thrown open for Sir Walter and Miss Elliot, whose entrance seemed to give a general chill.
Anne felt an instant oppression, and wherever she looked saw symptoms of the same.
The comfort, the freedom, the gaiety of the room was over, hushed into cold composure, determined silence, or insipid talk, to meet the heartless elegance of her father and sister.
How mortifying to feel that it was so!
Her jealous eye was satisfied in one particular.
Captain Wentworth was acknowledged again by each, by Elizabeth more graciously than before.
She even addressed him once, and looked at him more than once.
Elizabeth was, in fact, revolving a great measure.
The sequel explained it.
After the waste of a few minutes in saying the proper nothings, she began to give the invitation which was to comprise all the remaining dues of the Musgroves.
" To - morrow evening, to meet a few friends: no formal party."
It was all said very gracefully, and the cards with which she had provided herself, the " Miss Elliot at home," were laid on the table, with a courteous, comprehensive smile to all, and one smile and one card more decidedly for Captain Wentworth.
The truth was, that Elizabeth had been long enough in Bath to understand the importance of a man of such an air and appearance as his.
The past was nothing.
The present was that Captain Wentworth would move about well in her drawing - room.
The card was pointedly given, and Sir Walter and Elizabeth arose and disappeared.
The interruption had been short, though severe, and ease and animation returned to most of those they left as the door shut them out, but not to Anne.
She could think only of the invitation she had with such astonishment witnessed, and of the manner in which it had been received; a manner of doubtful meaning, of surprise rather than gratification, of polite acknowledgement rather than acceptance.
She knew him; she saw disdain in his eye, and could not venture to believe that he had determined to accept such an offering, as an atonement for all the insolence of the past.
Her spirits sank.
He held the card in his hand after they were gone, as if deeply considering it.
" Only think of Elizabeth's including everybody!"
whispered Mary very audibly.
" I do not wonder Captain Wentworth is delighted!
You see he cannot put the card out of his hand."
Anne caught his eye, saw his cheeks glow, and his mouth form itself into a momentary expression of contempt, and turned away, that she might neither see nor hear more to vex her.
The party separated.
The gentlemen had their own pursuits, the ladies proceeded on their own business, and they met no more while Anne belonged to them.
She was earnestly begged to return and dine, and give them all the rest of the day, but her spirits had been so long exerted that at present she felt unequal to more, and fit only for home, where she might be sure of being as silent as she chose.
They were reckoning him as certain, but with her it was a gnawing solicitude never appeased for five minutes together.
She generally thought he would come, because she generally thought he ought; but it was a case which she could not so shape into any positive act of duty or discretion, as inevitably to defy the suggestions of very opposite feelings.
She exclaimed, however, with a very tolerable imitation of nature: --
" Oh!
dear!
very true.
Only think, Miss Elliot, to my great surprise I met with Mr Elliot in Bath Street.
I was never more astonished.
He turned back and walked with me to the Pump Yard.
He had been prevented setting off for Thornberry, but I really forget by what; for I was in a hurry, and could not much attend, and I can only answer for his being determined not to be delayed in his return.
He wanted to know how early he might be admitted to - morrow.
He was full of 'to - morrow,' and it is very evident that I have been full of it too, ever since I entered the house, and learnt the extension of your plan and all that had happened, or my seeing him could never have gone so entirely out of my head."
Chapter 23
She had promised to be with the Musgroves from breakfast to dinner.
Her faith was plighted, and Mr Elliot's character, like the Sultaness Scheherazade's head, must live another day.
She could not keep her appointment punctually, however; the weather was unfavourable, and she had grieved over the rain on her friends'account, and felt it very much on her own, before she was able to attempt the walk.
When she reached the White Hart, and made her way to the proper apartment, she found herself neither arriving quite in time, nor the first to arrive.
She had only to submit, sit down, be outwardly composed, and feel herself plunged at once in all the agitations which she had merely laid her account of tasting a little before the morning closed.
There was no delay, no waste of time.
She was deep in the happiness of such misery, or the misery of such happiness, instantly.
Two minutes after her entering the room, Captain Wentworth said --
" We will write the letter we were talking of, Harville, now, if you will give me materials."
Materials were at hand, on a separate table; he went to it, and nearly turning his back to them all, was engrossed by writing.
Mrs Musgrove was giving Mrs Croft the history of her eldest daughter's engagement, and just in that inconvenient tone of voice which was perfectly audible while it pretended to be a whisper.
Mrs Croft was attending with great good - humour, and whenever she spoke at all, it was very sensibly.
Anne hoped the gentlemen might each be too much self - occupied to hear.
At any rate, said I, it will be better than a long engagement."
" That is precisely what I was going to observe," cried Mrs Croft.
" I would rather have young people settle on a small income at once, and have to struggle with a few difficulties together, than be involved in a long engagement.
I always think that no mutual --"
" Oh!
dear Mrs Croft," cried Mrs Musgrove, unable to let her finish her speech, " there is nothing I so abominate for young people as a long engagement.
It is what I always protested against for my children.
It is all very well, I used to say, for young people to be engaged, if there is a certainty of their being able to marry in six months, or even in twelve; but a long engagement --"
" Yes, dear ma'am," said Mrs Croft, " or an uncertain engagement, an engagement which may be long.
To begin without knowing that at such a time there will be the means of marrying, I hold to be very unsafe and unwise, and what I think all parents should prevent as far as they can."
Anne found an unexpected interest here.
Captain Harville, who had in truth been hearing none of it, now left his seat, and moved to a window, and Anne seeming to watch him, though it was from thorough absence of mind, became gradually sensible that he was inviting her to join him where he stood.
He looked at her with a smile, and a little motion of the head, which expressed, " Come to me, I have something to say;" and the unaffected, easy kindness of manner which denoted the feelings of an older acquaintance than he really was, strongly enforced the invitation.
She roused herself and went to him.
The window at which he stood was at the other end of the room from where the two ladies were sitting, and though nearer to Captain Wentworth's table, not very near.
As she joined him, Captain Harville's countenance re - assumed the serious, thoughtful expression which seemed its natural character.
" Look here," said he, unfolding a parcel in his hand, and displaying a small miniature painting, " do you know who that is?"
" Certainly: Captain Benwick."
" Yes, and you may guess who it is for.
But," (in a deep tone,) " it was not done for her.
Miss Elliot, do you remember our walking together at Lyme, and grieving for him?
I little thought then--but no matter.
This was drawn at the Cape.
He met with a clever young German artist at the Cape, and in compliance with a promise to my poor sister, sat to him, and was bringing it home for her; and I have now the charge of getting it properly set for another!
It was a commission to me!
But who else was there to employ?
I hope I can allow for him.
I am not sorry, indeed, to make it over to another.
He undertakes it;" (looking towards Captain Wentworth,) " he is writing about it now."
And with a quivering lip he wound up the whole by adding, " Poor Fanny!
she would not have forgotten him so soon!"
" No," replied Anne, in a low, feeling voice.
" That I can easily believe."
" It was not in her nature.
She doted on him."
" It would not be the nature of any woman who truly loved."
Captain Harville smiled, as much as to say, " Do you claim that for your sex?"
and she answered the question, smiling also, " Yes.
We certainly do not forget you as soon as you forget us.
It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit.
We cannot help ourselves.
We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us.
You are forced on exertion.
You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions."
" Granting your assertion that the world does all this so soon for men (which, however, I do not think I shall grant), it does not apply to Benwick.
He has not been forced upon any exertion.
The peace turned him on shore at the very moment, and he has been living with us, in our little family circle, ever since."
" True," said Anne, " very true; I did not recollect; but what shall we say now, Captain Harville?
If the change be not from outward circumstances, it must be from within; it must be nature, man's nature, which has done the business for Captain Benwick."
" No, no, it is not man's nature.
I will not allow it to be more man's nature than woman's to be inconstant and forget those they do love, or have loved.
I believe the reverse.
I believe in a true analogy between our bodily frames and our mental; and that as our bodies are the strongest, so are our feelings; capable of bearing most rough usage, and riding out the heaviest weather."
" Your feelings may be the strongest," replied Anne, " but the same spirit of analogy will authorise me to assert that ours are the most tender.
Man is more robust than woman, but he is not longer lived; which exactly explains my view of the nature of their attachments.
Nay, it would be too hard upon you, if it were otherwise.
You have difficulties, and privations, and dangers enough to struggle with.
You are always labouring and toiling, exposed to every risk and hardship.
Your home, country, friends, all quitted.
Neither time, nor health, nor life, to be called your own.
It would be hard, indeed " (with a faltering voice), " if woman's feelings were to be added to all this."
" We shall never agree upon this question," Captain Harville was beginning to say, when a slight noise called their attention to Captain Wentworth's hitherto perfectly quiet division of the room.
" Have you finished your letter?"
said Captain Harville.
" Not quite, a few lines more.
I shall have done in five minutes."
" There is no hurry on my side.
I am only ready whenever you are.
I am in very good anchorage here," (smiling at Anne,) " well supplied, and want for nothing.
No hurry for a signal at all.
Well, Miss Elliot," (lowering his voice,) " as I was saying we shall never agree, I suppose, upon this point.
No man and woman, would, probably.
But let me observe that all histories are against you--all stories, prose and verse.
If I had such a memory as Benwick, I could bring you fifty quotations in a moment on my side the argument, and I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman's inconstancy.
Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman's fickleness.
But perhaps you will say, these were all written by men."
" Perhaps I shall.
Yes, yes, if you please, no reference to examples in books.
Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story.
Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands.
I will not allow books to prove anything."
" But how shall we prove anything?"
" We never shall.
We never can expect to prove any thing upon such a point.
It is a difference of opinion which does not admit of proof.
" Ah!"
If I could explain to you all this, and all that a man can bear and do, and glories to do, for the sake of these treasures of his existence!
I speak, you know, only of such men as have hearts!"
pressing his own with emotion.
" Oh!"
cried Anne eagerly, " I hope I do justice to all that is felt by you, and by those who resemble you.
God forbid that I should undervalue the warm and faithful feelings of any of my fellow - creatures!
I should deserve utter contempt if I dared to suppose that true attachment and constancy were known only by woman.
No, I believe you capable of everything great and good in your married lives.
I believe you equal to every important exertion, and to every domestic forbearance, so long as--if I may be allowed the expression--so long as you have an object.
I mean while the woman you love lives, and lives for you.
All the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one; you need not covet it), is that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone."
She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart was too full, her breath too much oppressed.
" You are a good soul," cried Captain Harville, putting his hand on her arm, quite affectionately.
" There is no quarrelling with you.
And when I think of Benwick, my tongue is tied."
Their attention was called towards the others.
Mrs Croft was taking leave.
" Here, Frederick, you and I part company, I believe," said she.
" I am going home, and you have an engagement with your friend.
To - night we may have the pleasure of all meeting again at your party," (turning to Anne.)
" We had your sister's card yesterday, and I understood Frederick had a card too, though I did not see it; and you are disengaged, Frederick, are you not, as well as ourselves?"
Captain Wentworth was folding up a letter in great haste, and either could not or would not answer fully.
" Yes," said he, " very true; here we separate, but Harville and I shall soon be after you; that is, Harville, if you are ready, I am in half a minute.
I know you will not be sorry to be off.
I shall be at your service in half a minute."
Mrs Croft left them, and Captain Wentworth, having sealed his letter with great rapidity, was indeed ready, and had even a hurried, agitated air, which shewed impatience to be gone.
Anne knew not how to understand it.
She had the kindest " Good morning, God bless you!"
from Captain Harville, but from him not a word, nor a look!
He had passed out of the room without a look!
She had only time, however, to move closer to the table where he had been writing, when footsteps were heard returning; the door opened, it was himself.
The revolution which one instant had made in Anne, was almost beyond expression.
The letter, with a direction hardly legible, to " Miss A. E.--," was evidently the one which he had been folding so hastily.
While supposed to be writing only to Captain Benwick, he had been also addressing her!
On the contents of that letter depended all which this world could do for her.
Anything was possible, anything might be defied rather than suspense.
Mrs Musgrove had little arrangements of her own at her own table; to their protection she must trust, and sinking into the chair which he had occupied, succeeding to the very spot where he had leaned and written, her eyes devoured the following words:
" I can listen no longer in silence.
I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach.
You pierce my soul.
I am half agony, half hope.
Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.
I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago.
Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death.
I have loved none but you.
Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant.
You alone have brought me to Bath.
For you alone, I think and plan.
Have you not seen this?
Can you fail to have understood my wishes?
I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine.
I can hardly write.
I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me.
You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others.
Too good, too excellent creature!
You do us justice, indeed.
You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men.
Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in F. W.
" I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible.
A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never."
Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from.
Half and hour's solitude and reflection might have tranquillized her; but the ten minutes only which now passed before she was interrupted, with all the restraints of her situation, could do nothing towards tranquillity.
Every moment rather brought fresh agitation.
It was overpowering happiness.
And before she was beyond the first stage of full sensation, Charles, Mary, and Henrietta all came in.
The absolute necessity of seeming like herself produced then an immediate struggle; but after a while she could do no more.
She began not to understand a word they said, and was obliged to plead indisposition and excuse herself.
They could then see that she looked very ill, were shocked and concerned, and would not stir without her for the world.
This was dreadful.
Would they only have gone away, and left her in the quiet possession of that room it would have been her cure; but to have them all standing or waiting around her was distracting, and in desperation, she said she would go home.
" By all means, my dear," cried Mrs Musgrove, " go home directly, and take care of yourself, that you may be fit for the evening.
I wish Sarah was here to doctor you, but I am no doctor myself.
Charles, ring and order a chair.
She must not walk."
But the chair would never do.
Worse than all!
To lose the possibility of speaking two words to Captain Wentworth in the course of her quiet, solitary progress up the town (and she felt almost certain of meeting him) could not be borne.
Anxious to omit no possible precaution, Anne struggled, and said --
" I am afraid, ma'am, that it is not perfectly understood.
Pray be so good as to mention to the other gentlemen that we hope to see your whole party this evening.
I am afraid there had been some mistake; and I wish you particularly to assure Captain Harville and Captain Wentworth, that we hope to see them both."
" Oh!
my dear, it is quite understood, I give you my word.
Captain Harville has no thought but of going."
" Do you think so?
But I am afraid; and I should be so very sorry.
Will you promise me to mention it, when you see them again?
You will see them both this morning, I dare say.
Do promise me."
" To be sure I will, if you wish it.
Charles, if you see Captain Harville anywhere, remember to give Miss Anne's message.
But indeed, my dear, you need not be uneasy.
Captain Harville holds himself quite engaged, I'll answer for it; and Captain Wentworth the same, I dare say."
Anne could do no more; but her heart prophesied some mischance to damp the perfection of her felicity.
It could not be very lasting, however.
Even if he did not come to Camden Place himself, it would be in her power to send an intelligible sentence by Captain Harville.
Another momentary vexation occurred.
Charles, in his real concern and good nature, would go home with her; there was no preventing him.
This was almost cruel.
But she could not be long ungrateful; he was sacrificing an engagement at a gunsmith's, to be of use to her; and she set off with him, with no feeling but gratitude apparent.
They were on Union Street, when a quicker step behind, a something of familiar sound, gave her two moments'preparation for the sight of Captain Wentworth.
He joined them; but, as if irresolute whether to join or to pass on, said nothing, only looked.
Anne could command herself enough to receive that look, and not repulsively.
The cheeks which had been pale now glowed, and the movements which had hesitated were decided.
He walked by her side.
Presently, struck by a sudden thought, Charles said --
" Captain Wentworth, which way are you going?
Only to Gay Street, or farther up the town?"
" I hardly know," replied Captain Wentworth, surprised.
" Are you going as high as Belmont?
Are you going near Camden Place?
Because, if you are, I shall have no scruple in asking you to take my place, and give Anne your arm to her father's door.
She is rather done for this morning, and must not go so far without help, and I ought to be at that fellow's in the Market Place.
He promised me the sight of a capital gun he is just going to send off; said he would keep it unpacked to the last possible moment, that I might see it; and if I do not turn back now, I have no chance.
By his description, a good deal like the second size double - barrel of mine, which you shot with one day round Winthrop."
There could not be an objection.
There could be only the most proper alacrity, a most obliging compliance for public view; and smiles reined in and spirits dancing in private rapture.
There they exchanged again those feelings and those promises which had once before seemed to secure everything, but which had been followed by so many, many years of division and estrangement.
All the little variations of the last week were gone through; and of yesterday and today there could scarcely be an end.
She had not mistaken him.
Jealousy of Mr Elliot had been the retarding weight, the doubt, the torment.
That had begun to operate in the very hour of first meeting her in Bath; that had returned, after a short suspension, to ruin the concert; and that had influenced him in everything he had said and done, or omitted to say and do, in the last four - and - twenty hours.
Of what he had then written, nothing was to be retracted or qualified.
He persisted in having loved none but her.
She had never been supplanted.
He never even believed himself to see her equal.
Thus much indeed he was obliged to acknowledge: that he had been constant unconsciously, nay unintentionally; that he had meant to forget her, and believed it to be done.
He had imagined himself indifferent, when he had only been angry; and he had been unjust to her merits, because he had been a sufferer from them.
Her character was now fixed on his mind as perfection itself, maintaining the loveliest medium of fortitude and gentleness; but he was obliged to acknowledge that only at Uppercross had he learnt to do her justice, and only at Lyme had he begun to understand himself.
At Lyme, he had received lessons of more than one sort.
The passing admiration of Mr Elliot had at least roused him, and the scenes on the Cobb and at Captain Harville's had fixed her superiority.
There, he had learnt to distinguish between the steadiness of principle and the obstinacy of self - will, between the darings of heedlessness and the resolution of a collected mind.
There he had seen everything to exalt in his estimation the woman he had lost; and there begun to deplore the pride, the folly, the madness of resentment, which had kept him from trying to regain her when thrown in his way.
From that period his penance had become severe.
He had no sooner been free from the horror and remorse attending the first few days of Louisa's accident, no sooner begun to feel himself alive again, than he had begun to feel himself, though alive, not at liberty.
" I found," said he, " that I was considered by Harville an engaged man!
That neither Harville nor his wife entertained a doubt of our mutual attachment.
I was startled and shocked.
To a degree, I could contradict this instantly; but, when I began to reflect that others might have felt the same--her own family, nay, perhaps herself--I was no longer at my own disposal.
I was hers in honour if she wished it.
I had been unguarded.
I had not thought seriously on this subject before.
I had been grossly wrong, and must abide the consequences."
He found too late, in short, that he had entangled himself; and that precisely as he became fully satisfied of his not caring for Louisa at all, he must regard himself as bound to her, if her sentiments for him were what the Harvilles supposed.
It determined him to leave Lyme, and await her complete recovery elsewhere.
He would gladly weaken, by any fair means, whatever feelings or speculations concerning him might exist; and he went, therefore, to his brother's, meaning after a while to return to Kellynch, and act as circumstances might require.
" I was six weeks with Edward," said he, " and saw him happy.
I could have no other pleasure.
I deserved none.
He enquired after you very particularly; asked even if you were personally altered, little suspecting that to my eye you could never alter."
Anne smiled, and let it pass.
It was too pleasing a blunder for a reproach.
He had remained in Shropshire, lamenting the blindness of his own pride, and the blunders of his own calculations, till at once released from Louisa by the astonishing and felicitous intelligence of her engagement with Benwick.
" Here," said he, " ended the worst of my state; for now I could at least put myself in the way of happiness; I could exert myself; I could do something.
But to be waiting so long in inaction, and waiting only for evil, had been dreadful.
Within the first five minutes I said, 'I will be at Bath on Wednesday,' and I was.
Was it unpardonable to think it worth my while to come?
and to arrive with some degree of hope?
You were single.
It was possible that you might retain the feelings of the past, as I did; and one encouragement happened to be mine.
I could never doubt that you would be loved and sought by others, but I knew to a certainty that you had refused one man, at least, of better pretensions than myself; and I could not help often saying, 'Was this for me?'"
Their first meeting in Milsom Street afforded much to be said, but the concert still more.
That evening seemed to be made up of exquisite moments.
The moment of her stepping forward in the Octagon Room to speak to him: the moment of Mr Elliot's appearing and tearing her away, and one or two subsequent moments, marked by returning hope or increasing despondency, were dwelt on with energy.
" To see you," cried he, " in the midst of those who could not be my well - wishers; to see your cousin close by you, conversing and smiling, and feel all the horrible eligibilities and proprieties of the match!
To consider it as the certain wish of every being who could hope to influence you!
Even if your own feelings were reluctant or indifferent, to consider what powerful supports would be his!
Was it not enough to make the fool of me which I appeared?
How could I look on without agony?
Was not the very sight of the friend who sat behind you, was not the recollection of what had been, the knowledge of her influence, the indelible, immoveable impression of what persuasion had once done--was it not all against me?"
" You should have distinguished," replied Anne.
" You should not have suspected me now; the case is so different, and my age is so different.
If I was wrong in yielding to persuasion once, remember that it was to persuasion exerted on the side of safety, not of risk.
When I yielded, I thought it was to duty, but no duty could be called in aid here.
In marrying a man indifferent to me, all risk would have been incurred, and all duty violated."
" Perhaps I ought to have reasoned thus," he replied, " but I could not.
I could not derive benefit from the late knowledge I had acquired of your character.
I could not bring it into play; it was overwhelmed, buried, lost in those earlier feelings which I had been smarting under year after year.
I could think of you only as one who had yielded, who had given me up, who had been influenced by any one rather than by me.
I saw you with the very person who had guided you in that year of misery.
I had no reason to believe her of less authority now.
The force of habit was to be added."
" I should have thought," said Anne, " that my manner to yourself might have spared you much or all of this."
" No, no!
your manner might be only the ease which your engagement to another man would give.
I left you in this belief; and yet, I was determined to see you again.
My spirits rallied with the morning, and I felt that I had still a motive for remaining here."
At last Anne was at home again, and happier than any one in that house could have conceived.
All the surprise and suspense, and every other painful part of the morning dissipated by this conversation, she re - entered the house so happy as to be obliged to find an alloy in some momentary apprehensions of its being impossible to last.
An interval of meditation, serious and grateful, was the best corrective of everything dangerous in such high - wrought felicity; and she went to her room, and grew steadfast and fearless in the thankfulness of her enjoyment.
The evening came, the drawing - rooms were lighted up, the company assembled.
It was but a card party, it was but a mixture of those who had never met before, and those who met too often; a commonplace business, too numerous for intimacy, too small for variety; but Anne had never found an evening shorter.
Glowing and lovely in sensibility and happiness, and more generally admired than she thought about or cared for, she had cheerful or forbearing feelings for every creature around her.
Mr Elliot was there; she avoided, but she could pity him.
The Wallises, she had amusement in understanding them.
Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret--they would soon be innoxious cousins to her.
She cared not for Mrs Clay, and had nothing to blush for in the public manners of her father and sister.
It was in one of these short meetings, each apparently occupied in admiring a fine display of greenhouse plants, that she said --
To me, she was in the place of a parent.
Do not mistake me, however.
I am not saying that she did not err in her advice.
It was, perhaps, one of those cases in which advice is good or bad only as the event decides; and for myself, I certainly never should, in any circumstance of tolerable similarity, give such advice.
But I mean, that I was right in submitting to her, and that if I had done otherwise, I should have suffered more in continuing the engagement than I did even in giving it up, because I should have suffered in my conscience.
I have now, as far as such a sentiment is allowable in human nature, nothing to reproach myself with; and if I mistake not, a strong sense of duty is no bad part of a woman's portion."
He looked at her, looked at Lady Russell, and looking again at her, replied, as if in cool deliberation --
" Not yet.
But there are hopes of her being forgiven in time.
I trust to being in charity with her soon.
But I too have been thinking over the past, and a question has suggested itself, whether there may not have been one person more my enemy even than that lady?
My own self.
Tell me if, when I returned to England in the year eight, with a few thousand pounds, and was posted into the Laconia, if I had then written to you, would you have answered my letter?
Would you, in short, have renewed the engagement then?"
" Would I!"
was all her answer; but the accent was decisive enough.
" Good God!"
he cried, " you would!
It is not that I did not think of it, or desire it, as what could alone crown all my other success; but I was proud, too proud to ask again.
I did not understand you.
I shut my eyes, and would not understand you, or do you justice.
This is a recollection which ought to make me forgive every one sooner than myself.
Six years of separation and suffering might have been spared.
It is a sort of pain, too, which is new to me.
I have been used to the gratification of believing myself to earn every blessing that I enjoyed.
I have valued myself on honourable toils and just rewards.
Like other great men under reverses," he added, with a smile.
" I must endeavour to subdue my mind to my fortune.
I must learn to brook being happier than I deserve."
Chapter 24
Who can be in doubt of what followed?
When any two young people take it into their heads to marry, they are pretty sure by perseverance to carry their point, be they ever so poor, or ever so imprudent, or ever so little likely to be necessary to each other's ultimate comfort.
They might in fact, have borne down a great deal more than they met with, for there was little to distress them beyond the want of graciousness and warmth.
Sir Walter made no objection, and Elizabeth did nothing worse than look cold and unconcerned.
Captain Wentworth, with five - and - twenty thousand pounds, and as high in his profession as merit and activity could place him, was no longer nobody.
Sir Walter, indeed, though he had no affection for Anne, and no vanity flattered, to make him really happy on the occasion, was very far from thinking it a bad match for her.
The only one among them, whose opposition of feeling could excite any serious anxiety was Lady Russell.
Anne knew that Lady Russell must be suffering some pain in understanding and relinquishing Mr Elliot, and be making some struggles to become truly acquainted with, and do justice to Captain Wentworth.
This however was what Lady Russell had now to do.
There was nothing less for Lady Russell to do, than to admit that she had been pretty completely wrong, and to take up a new set of opinions and of hopes.
There is a quickness of perception in some, a nicety in the discernment of character, a natural penetration, in short, which no experience in others can equal, and Lady Russell had been less gifted in this part of understanding than her young friend.
But she was a very good woman, and if her second object was to be sensible and well - judging, her first was to see Anne happy.
She loved Anne better than she loved her own abilities; and when the awkwardness of the beginning was over, found little hardship in attaching herself as a mother to the man who was securing the happiness of her other child.
Of all the family, Mary was probably the one most immediately gratified by the circumstance.
She had something to suffer, perhaps, when they came into contact again, in seeing Anne restored to the rights of seniority, and the mistress of a very pretty landaulette; but she had a future to look forward to, of powerful consolation.
Anne had no Uppercross Hall before her, no landed estate, no headship of a family; and if they could but keep Captain Wentworth from being made a baronet, she would not change situations with Anne.
It would be well for the eldest sister if she were equally satisfied with her situation, for a change is not very probable there.
She had soon the mortification of seeing Mr Elliot withdraw, and no one of proper condition has since presented himself to raise even the unfounded hopes which sunk with him.
The news of his cousins Anne's engagement burst on Mr Elliot most unexpectedly.
It deranged his best plan of domestic happiness, his best hope of keeping Sir Walter single by the watchfulness which a son - in - law's rights would have given.
But, though discomfited and disappointed, he could still do something for his own interest and his own enjoyment.
Mrs Clay's affections had overpowered her interest, and she had sacrificed, for the young man's sake, the possibility of scheming longer for Sir Walter.
It cannot be doubted that Sir Walter and Elizabeth were shocked and mortified by the loss of their companion, and the discovery of their deception in her.
They had their great cousins, to be sure, to resort to for comfort; but they must long feel that to flatter and follow others, without being flattered and followed in turn, is but a state of half enjoyment.
Anne, satisfied at a very early period of Lady Russell's meaning to love Captain Wentworth as she ought, had no other alloy to the happiness of her prospects than what arose from the consciousness of having no relations to bestow on him which a man of sense could value.
There she felt her own inferiority very keenly.
She had but two friends in the world to add to his list, Lady Russell and Mrs Smith.
To those, however, he was very well disposed to attach himself.
Lady Russell, in spite of all her former transgressions, he could now value from his heart.
While he was not obliged to say that he believed her to have been right in originally dividing them, he was ready to say almost everything else in her favour, and as for Mrs Smith, she had claims of various kinds to recommend her quickly and permanently.
Her recent good offices by Anne had been enough in themselves, and their marriage, instead of depriving her of one friend, secured her two.
She might have been absolutely rich and perfectly healthy, and yet be happy.
Her spring of felicity was in the glow of her spirits, as her friend Anne's was in the warmth of her heart.
Anne was tenderness itself, and she had the full worth of it in Captain Wentworth's affection.
His profession was all that could ever make her friends wish that tenderness less, the dread of a future war all that could dim her sunshine.
She gloried in being a sailor's wife, but she must pay the tax of quick alarm for belonging to that profession which is, if possible, more distinguished in its domestic virtues than in its national importance.
Finis
[ Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen 1811 ]
CHAPTER 1
The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex.
Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of their property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance.
The late owner of this estate was a single man, who lived to a very advanced age, and who for many years of his life, had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister.
In the society of his nephew and niece, and their children, the old Gentleman's days were comfortably spent.
His attachment to them all increased.
By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had one son: by his present lady, three daughters.
The son, a steady respectable young man, was amply provided for by the fortune of his mother, which had been large, and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age.
By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards, he added to his wealth.
To him therefore the succession to the Norland estate was not so really important as to his sisters; for their fortune, independent of what might arise to them from their father's inheriting that property, could be but small.
Their mother had nothing, and their father only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal; for the remaining moiety of his first wife's fortune was also secured to her child, and he had only a life - interest in it.
The old gentleman died: his will was read, and like almost every other will, gave as much disappointment as pleasure.
He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful, as to leave his estate from his nephew;-- but he left it to him on such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest.
He meant not to be unkind, however, and, as a mark of his affection for the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds a - piece.
But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was his only one twelvemonth.
He survived his uncle no longer; and ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies, was all that remained for his widow and daughters.
His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known, and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strength and urgency which illness could command, the interest of his mother - in - law and sisters.
Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of the rest of the family; but he was affected by a recommendation of such a nature at such a time, and he promised to do every thing in his power to make them comfortable.
His father was rendered easy by such an assurance, and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider how much there might prudently be in his power to do for them.
He was not an ill - disposed young man, unless to be rather cold hearted and rather selfish is to be ill - disposed: but he was, in general, well respected; for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of his ordinary duties.
Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have been made still more respectable than he was:-- he might even have been made amiable himself; for he was very young when he married, and very fond of his wife.
But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself;-- more narrow - minded and selfish.
When he gave his promise to his father, he meditated within himself to increase the fortunes of his sisters by the present of a thousand pounds a - piece.
He then really thought himself equal to it.
The prospect of four thousand a - year, in addition to his present income, besides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune, warmed his heart, and made him feel capable of generosity.-- " Yes, he would give them three thousand pounds: it would be liberal and handsome!
It would be enough to make them completely easy.
Three thousand pounds!
he could spare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience."
-- He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively, and he did not repent.
No sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. John Dashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to her mother - in - law, arrived with her child and their attendants.
Mrs. John Dashwood had never been a favourite with any of her husband's family; but she had had no opportunity, till the present, of shewing them with how little attention to the comfort of other people she could act when occasion required it.
She had an excellent heart;-- her disposition was affectionate, and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern them: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn; and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.
Marianne's abilities were, in many respects, quite equal to Elinor's.
She was sensible and clever; but eager in everything: her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation.
She was generous, amiable, interesting: she was everything but prudent.
The resemblance between her and her mother was strikingly great.
Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of her sister's sensibility; but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valued and cherished.
They encouraged each other now in the violence of their affliction.
The agony of grief which overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed, was sought for, was created again and again.
They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it, and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future.
Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but still she could struggle, she could exert herself.
She could consult with her brother, could receive her sister - in - law on her arrival, and treat her with proper attention; and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion, and encourage her to similar forbearance.
Margaret, the other sister, was a good - humored, well - disposed girl; but as she had already imbibed a good deal of Marianne's romance, without having much of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fair to equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.
CHAPTER 2
Mrs. John Dashwood now installed herself mistress of Norland; and her mother and sisters - in - law were degraded to the condition of visitors.
As such, however, they were treated by her with quiet civility; and by her husband with as much kindness as he could feel towards anybody beyond himself, his wife, and their child.
He really pressed them, with some earnestness, to consider Norland as their home; and, as no plan appeared so eligible to Mrs. Dashwood as remaining there till she could accommodate herself with a house in the neighbourhood, his invitation was accepted.
A continuance in a place where everything reminded her of former delight, was exactly what suited her mind.
In seasons of cheerfulness, no temper could be more cheerful than hers, or possess, in a greater degree, that sanguine expectation of happiness which is happiness itself.
But in sorrow she must be equally carried away by her fancy, and as far beyond consolation as in pleasure she was beyond alloy.
Mrs. John Dashwood did not at all approve of what her husband intended to do for his sisters.
To take three thousand pounds from the fortune of their dear little boy would be impoverishing him to the most dreadful degree.
She begged him to think again on the subject.
How could he answer it to himself to rob his child, and his only child too, of so large a sum?
And what possible claim could the Miss Dashwoods, who were related to him only by half blood, which she considered as no relationship at all, have on his generosity to so large an amount.
It was very well known that no affection was ever supposed to exist between the children of any man by different marriages; and why was he to ruin himself, and their poor little Harry, by giving away all his money to his half sisters?
" It was my father's last request to me," replied her husband, " that I should assist his widow and daughters."
" He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say; ten to one but he was light - headed at the time.
Had he been in his right senses, he could not have thought of such a thing as begging you to give away half your fortune from your own child."
" He did not stipulate for any particular sum, my dear Fanny; he only requested me, in general terms, to assist them, and make their situation more comfortable than it was in his power to do.
Perhaps it would have been as well if he had left it wholly to myself.
He could hardly suppose I should neglect them.
But as he required the promise, I could not do less than give it; at least I thought so at the time.
The promise, therefore, was given, and must be performed.
Something must be done for them whenever they leave Norland and settle in a new home."
" Well, then, LET something be done for them; but THAT something need not be three thousand pounds.
Consider," she added, " that when the money is once parted with, it never can return.
Your sisters will marry, and it will be gone for ever.
If, indeed, it could be restored to our poor little boy --"
" Why, to be sure," said her husband, very gravely, " that would make great difference.
The time may come when Harry will regret that so large a sum was parted with.
If he should have a numerous family, for instance, it would be a very convenient addition."
" To be sure it would."
" Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties, if the sum were diminished one half.-- Five hundred pounds would be a prodigious increase to their fortunes!"
" Oh!
beyond anything great!
What brother on earth would do half so much for his sisters, even if REALLY his sisters!
And as it is--only half blood!-- But you have such a generous spirit!"
" I would not wish to do any thing mean," he replied.
" One had rather, on such occasions, do too much than too little.
No one, at least, can think I have not done enough for them: even themselves, they can hardly expect more."
" There is no knowing what THEY may expect," said the lady, " but we are not to think of their expectations: the question is, what you can afford to do."
" Certainly--and I think I may afford to give them five hundred pounds a - piece.
As it is, without any addition of mine, they will each have about three thousand pounds on their mother's death--a very comfortable fortune for any young woman."
" To be sure it is; and, indeed, it strikes me that they can want no addition at all.
They will have ten thousand pounds divided amongst them.
If they marry, they will be sure of doing well, and if they do not, they may all live very comfortably together on the interest of ten thousand pounds."
A hundred a year would make them all perfectly comfortable."
His wife hesitated a little, however, in giving her consent to this plan.
" To be sure," said she, " it is better than parting with fifteen hundred pounds at once.
But, then, if Mrs. Dashwood should live fifteen years we shall be completely taken in."
" Fifteen years!
my dear Fanny; her life cannot be worth half that purchase."
" Certainly not; but if you observe, people always live for ever when there is an annuity to be paid them; and she is very stout and healthy, and hardly forty.
An annuity is a very serious business; it comes over and over every year, and there is no getting rid of it.
You are not aware of what you are doing.
I have known a great deal of the trouble of annuities; for my mother was clogged with the payment of three to old superannuated servants by my father's will, and it is amazing how disagreeable she found it.
Twice every year these annuities were to be paid; and then there was the trouble of getting it to them; and then one of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned out to be no such thing.
My mother was quite sick of it.
Her income was not her own, she said, with such perpetual claims on it; and it was the more unkind in my father, because, otherwise, the money would have been entirely at my mother's disposal, without any restriction whatever.
It has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I am sure I would not pin myself down to the payment of one for all the world."
" It is certainly an unpleasant thing," replied Mr. Dashwood, " to have those kind of yearly drains on one's income.
One's fortune, as your mother justly says, is NOT one's own.
To be tied down to the regular payment of such a sum, on every rent day, is by no means desirable: it takes away one's independence."
" Undoubtedly; and after all you have no thanks for it.
They think themselves secure, you do no more than what is expected, and it raises no gratitude at all.
If I were you, whatever I did should be done at my own discretion entirely.
I would not bind myself to allow them any thing yearly.
It may be very inconvenient some years to spare a hundred, or even fifty pounds from our own expenses."
It will certainly be much the best way.
A present of fifty pounds, now and then, will prevent their ever being distressed for money, and will, I think, be amply discharging my promise to my father."
" To be sure it will.
Indeed, to say the truth, I am convinced within myself that your father had no idea of your giving them any money at all.
I'll lay my life that he meant nothing farther; indeed, it would be very strange and unreasonable if he did.
Altogether, they will have five hundred a - year amongst them, and what on earth can four women want for more than that?-- They will live so cheap!
Their housekeeping will be nothing at all.
They will have no carriage, no horses, and hardly any servants; they will keep no company, and can have no expenses of any kind!
Only conceive how comfortable they will be!
Five hundred a year!
I am sure I cannot imagine how they will spend half of it; and as to your giving them more, it is quite absurd to think of it.
They will be much more able to give YOU something."
" Upon my word," said Mr. Dashwood, " I believe you are perfectly right.
My father certainly could mean nothing more by his request to me than what you say.
I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfil my engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness to them as you have described.
When my mother removes into another house my services shall be readily given to accommodate her as far as I can.
Some little present of furniture too may be acceptable then."
" Certainly," returned Mrs. John Dashwood.
" But, however, ONE thing must be considered.
When your father and mother moved to Norland, though the furniture of Stanhill was sold, all the china, plate, and linen was saved, and is now left to your mother.
Her house will therefore be almost completely fitted up as soon as she takes it."
" That is a material consideration undoubtedly.
A valuable legacy indeed!
And yet some of the plate would have been a very pleasant addition to our own stock here."
" Yes; and the set of breakfast china is twice as handsome as what belongs to this house.
A great deal too handsome, in my opinion, for any place THEY can ever afford to live in.
But, however, so it is.
Your father thought only of THEM.
And I must say this: that you owe no particular gratitude to him, nor attention to his wishes; for we very well know that if he could, he would have left almost everything in the world to THEM."
This argument was irresistible.
CHAPTER 3
But she could hear of no situation that at once answered her notions of comfort and ease, and suited the prudence of her eldest daughter, whose steadier judgment rejected several houses as too large for their income, which her mother would have approved.
Mrs. Dashwood had been informed by her husband of the solemn promise on the part of his son in their favour, which gave comfort to his last earthly reflections.
She doubted the sincerity of this assurance no more than he had doubted it himself, and she thought of it for her daughters'sake with satisfaction, though as for herself she was persuaded that a much smaller provision than 7000L would support her in affluence.
For their brother's sake, too, for the sake of his own heart, she rejoiced; and she reproached herself for being unjust to his merit before, in believing him incapable of generosity.
His attentive behaviour to herself and his sisters convinced her that their welfare was dear to him, and, for a long time, she firmly relied on the liberality of his intentions.
But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by either consideration.
It was enough for her that he appeared to be amiable, that he loved her daughter, and that Elinor returned the partiality.
It was contrary to every doctrine of her's that difference of fortune should keep any couple asunder who were attracted by resemblance of disposition; and that Elinor's merit should not be acknowledged by every one who knew her, was to her comprehension impossible.
Edward Ferrars was not recommended to their good opinion by any peculiar graces of person or address.
He was not handsome, and his manners required intimacy to make them pleasing.
He was too diffident to do justice to himself; but when his natural shyness was overcome, his behaviour gave every indication of an open, affectionate heart.
His understanding was good, and his education had given it solid improvement.
But he was neither fitted by abilities nor disposition to answer the wishes of his mother and sister, who longed to see him distinguished--as--they hardly knew what.
They wanted him to make a fine figure in the world in some manner or other.
His mother wished to interest him in political concerns, to get him into parliament, or to see him connected with some of the great men of the day.
Mrs. John Dashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while, till one of these superior blessings could be attained, it would have quieted her ambition to see him driving a barouche.
But Edward had no turn for great men or barouches.
All his wishes centered in domestic comfort and the quiet of private life.
Fortunately he had a younger brother who was more promising.
Edward had been staying several weeks in the house before he engaged much of Mrs. Dashwood's attention; for she was, at that time, in such affliction as rendered her careless of surrounding objects.
She saw only that he was quiet and unobtrusive, and she liked him for it.
He did not disturb the wretchedness of her mind by ill - timed conversation.
She was first called to observe and approve him farther, by a reflection which Elinor chanced one day to make on the difference between him and his sister.
It was a contrast which recommended him most forcibly to her mother.
" It is enough," said she; " to say that he is unlike Fanny is enough.
It implies everything amiable.
I love him already."
" I think you will like him," said Elinor, " when you know more of him."
" Like him!"
replied her mother with a smile.
" I feel no sentiment of approbation inferior to love."
" You may esteem him."
" I have never yet known what it was to separate esteem and love."
Mrs. Dashwood now took pains to get acquainted with him.
Her manners were attaching, and soon banished his reserve.
No sooner did she perceive any symptom of love in his behaviour to Elinor, than she considered their serious attachment as certain, and looked forward to their marriage as rapidly approaching.
" In a few months, my dear Marianne."
said she, " Elinor will, in all probability be settled for life.
We shall miss her; but SHE will be happy."
" Oh!
Mamma, how shall we do without her?"
" My love, it will be scarcely a separation.
We shall live within a few miles of each other, and shall meet every day of our lives.
You will gain a brother, a real, affectionate brother.
I have the highest opinion in the world of Edward's heart.
But you look grave, Marianne; do you disapprove your sister's choice?"
" Perhaps," said Marianne, " I may consider it with some surprise.
Edward is very amiable, and I love him tenderly.
But yet--he is not the kind of young man--there is something wanting--his figure is not striking; it has none of that grace which I should expect in the man who could seriously attach my sister.
His eyes want all that spirit, that fire, which at once announce virtue and intelligence.
And besides all this, I am afraid, Mamma, he has no real taste.
Music seems scarcely to attract him, and though he admires Elinor's drawings very much, it is not the admiration of a person who can understand their worth.
It is evident, in spite of his frequent attention to her while she draws, that in fact he knows nothing of the matter.
He admires as a lover, not as a connoisseur.
To satisfy me, those characters must be united.
I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every point coincide with my own.
He must enter into all my feelings; the same books, the same music must charm us both.
Oh!
mama, how spiritless, how tame was Edward's manner in reading to us last night!
I felt for my sister most severely.
Yet she bore it with so much composure, she seemed scarcely to notice it.
I could hardly keep my seat.
To hear those beautiful lines which have frequently almost driven me wild, pronounced with such impenetrable calmness, such dreadful indifference!"
" He would certainly have done more justice to simple and elegant prose.
I thought so at the time; but you WOULD give him Cowper."
" Nay, Mamma, if he is not to be animated by Cowper!-- but we must allow for difference of taste.
Elinor has not my feelings, and therefore she may overlook it, and be happy with him.
But it would have broke MY heart, had I loved him, to hear him read with so little sensibility.
Mama, the more I know of the world, the more am I convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love.
I require so much!
He must have all Edward's virtues, and his person and manners must ornament his goodness with every possible charm."
" Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen.
It is yet too early in life to despair of such a happiness.
Why should you be less fortunate than your mother?
In one circumstance only, my Marianne, may your destiny be different from her's!"
CHAPTER 4
" What a pity it is, Elinor," said Marianne, " that Edward should have no taste for drawing."
" No taste for drawing!"
replied Elinor, " why should you think so?
He does not draw himself, indeed, but he has great pleasure in seeing the performances of other people, and I assure you he is by no means deficient in natural taste, though he has not had opportunities of improving it.
Had he ever been in the way of learning, I think he would have drawn very well.
He distrusts his own judgment in such matters so much, that he is always unwilling to give his opinion on any picture; but he has an innate propriety and simplicity of taste, which in general direct him perfectly right."
Marianne was afraid of offending, and said no more on the subject; but the kind of approbation which Elinor described as excited in him by the drawings of other people, was very far from that rapturous delight, which, in her opinion, could alone be called taste.
Yet, though smiling within herself at the mistake, she honoured her sister for that blind partiality to Edward which produced it.
" I hope, Marianne," continued Elinor, " you do not consider him as deficient in general taste.
Indeed, I think I may say that you cannot, for your behaviour to him is perfectly cordial, and if THAT were your opinion, I am sure you could never be civil to him."
Marianne hardly knew what to say.
She would not wound the feelings of her sister on any account, and yet to say what she did not believe was impossible.
At length she replied:
" Do not be offended, Elinor, if my praise of him is not in every thing equal to your sense of his merits.
I have not had so many opportunities of estimating the minuter propensities of his mind, his inclinations and tastes, as you have; but I have the highest opinion in the world of his goodness and sense.
I think him every thing that is worthy and amiable."
" I am sure," replied Elinor, with a smile, " that his dearest friends could not be dissatisfied with such commendation as that.
I do not perceive how you could express yourself more warmly."
Marianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily pleased.
" Of his sense and his goodness," continued Elinor, " no one can, I think, be in doubt, who has seen him often enough to engage him in unreserved conversation.
The excellence of his understanding and his principles can be concealed only by that shyness which too often keeps him silent.
You know enough of him to do justice to his solid worth.
But of his minuter propensities, as you call them you have from peculiar circumstances been kept more ignorant than myself.
He and I have been at times thrown a good deal together, while you have been wholly engrossed on the most affectionate principle by my mother.
His abilities in every respect improve as much upon acquaintance as his manners and person.
At first sight, his address is certainly not striking; and his person can hardly be called handsome, till the expression of his eyes, which are uncommonly good, and the general sweetness of his countenance, is perceived.
At present, I know him so well, that I think him really handsome; or at least, almost so.
What say you, Marianne?"
" I shall very soon think him handsome, Elinor, if I do not now.
When you tell me to love him as a brother, I shall no more see imperfection in his face, than I now do in his heart."
Elinor started at this declaration, and was sorry for the warmth she had been betrayed into, in speaking of him.
She felt that Edward stood very high in her opinion.
She believed the regard to be mutual; but she required greater certainty of it to make Marianne's conviction of their attachment agreeable to her.
She knew that what Marianne and her mother conjectured one moment, they believed the next--that with them, to wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect.
She tried to explain the real state of the case to her sister.
" I do not attempt to deny," said she, " that I think very highly of him--that I greatly esteem, that I like him."
Marianne here burst forth with indignation --
" Esteem him!
Like him!
Cold - hearted Elinor!
Oh!
worse than cold - hearted!
Ashamed of being otherwise.
Use those words again, and I will leave the room this moment."
Elinor could not help laughing.
" Excuse me," said she; " and be assured that I meant no offence to you, by speaking, in so quiet a way, of my own feelings.
Believe them to be stronger than I have declared; believe them, in short, to be such as his merit, and the suspicion--the hope of his affection for me may warrant, without imprudence or folly.
But farther than this you must not believe.
I am by no means assured of his regard for me.
There are moments when the extent of it seems doubtful; and till his sentiments are fully known, you cannot wonder at my wishing to avoid any encouragement of my own partiality, by believing or calling it more than it is.
In my heart I feel little--scarcely any doubt of his preference.
But there are other points to be considered besides his inclination.
He is very far from being independent.
Marianne was astonished to find how much the imagination of her mother and herself had outstripped the truth.
" And you really are not engaged to him!"
said she.
" Yet it certainly soon will happen.
But two advantages will proceed from this delay.
I shall not lose you so soon, and Edward will have greater opportunity of improving that natural taste for your favourite pursuit which must be so indispensably necessary to your future felicity.
Oh!
if he should be so far stimulated by your genius as to learn to draw himself, how delightful it would be!"
Elinor had given her real opinion to her sister.
She could not consider her partiality for Edward in so prosperous a state as Marianne had believed it.
There was, at times, a want of spirits about him which, if it did not denote indifference, spoke of something almost as unpromising.
A doubt of her regard, supposing him to feel it, need not give him more than inquietude.
It would not be likely to produce that dejection of mind which frequently attended him.
A more reasonable cause might be found in the dependent situation which forbade the indulgence of his affection.
She knew that his mother neither behaved to him so as to make his home comfortable at present, nor to give him any assurance that he might form a home for himself, without strictly attending to her views for his aggrandizement.
With such a knowledge as this, it was impossible for Elinor to feel easy on the subject.
She was far from depending on that result of his preference of her, which her mother and sister still considered as certain.
Nay, the longer they were together the more doubtful seemed the nature of his regard; and sometimes, for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no more than friendship.
But, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough, when perceived by his sister, to make her uneasy, and at the same time, (which was still more common,) to make her uncivil.
She gave her an answer which marked her contempt, and instantly left the room, resolving that, whatever might be the inconvenience or expense of so sudden a removal, her beloved Elinor should not be exposed another week to such insinuations.
In this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her from the post, which contained a proposal particularly well timed.
It was the offer of a small house, on very easy terms, belonging to a relation of her own, a gentleman of consequence and property in Devonshire.
The letter was from this gentleman himself, and written in the true spirit of friendly accommodation.
He understood that she was in need of a dwelling; and though the house he now offered her was merely a cottage, he assured her that everything should be done to it which she might think necessary, if the situation pleased her.
She needed no time for deliberation or inquiry.
Her resolution was formed as she read.
The situation of Barton, in a county so far distant from Sussex as Devonshire, which, but a few hours before, would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh every possible advantage belonging to the place, was now its first recommendation.
She instantly wrote Sir John Middleton her acknowledgment of his kindness, and her acceptance of his proposal; and then hastened to shew both letters to her daughters, that she might be secure of their approbation before her answer were sent.
Elinor had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle at some distance from Norland, than immediately amongst their present acquaintance.
On THAT head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose her mother's intention of removing into Devonshire.
CHAPTER 5
No sooner was her answer dispatched, than Mrs. Dashwood indulged herself in the pleasure of announcing to her son - in - law and his wife that she was provided with a house, and should incommode them no longer than till every thing were ready for her inhabiting it.
They heard her with surprise.
Mrs. John Dashwood said nothing; but her husband civilly hoped that she would not be settled far from Norland.
She had great satisfaction in replying that she was going into Devonshire.-- Edward turned hastily towards her, on hearing this, and, in a voice of surprise and concern, which required no explanation to her, repeated, " Devonshire!
Are you, indeed, going there?
So far from hence!
And to what part of it?"
She explained the situation.
It was within four miles northward of Exeter.
" It is but a cottage," she continued, " but I hope to see many of my friends in it.
A room or two can easily be added; and if my friends find no difficulty in travelling so far to see me, I am sure I will find none in accommodating them."
She concluded with a very kind invitation to Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood to visit her at Barton; and to Edward she gave one with still greater affection.
Though her late conversation with her daughter - in - law had made her resolve on remaining at Norland no longer than was unavoidable, it had not produced the smallest effect on her in that point to which it principally tended.
To separate Edward and Elinor was as far from being her object as ever; and she wished to show Mrs. John Dashwood, by this pointed invitation to her brother, how totally she disregarded her disapprobation of the match.
Mr. John Dashwood told his mother again and again how exceedingly sorry he was that she had taken a house at such a distance from Norland as to prevent his being of any service to her in removing her furniture.
He really felt conscientiously vexed on the occasion; for the very exertion to which he had limited the performance of his promise to his father was by this arrangement rendered impracticable.-- The furniture was all sent around by water.
It chiefly consisted of household linen, plate, china, and books, with a handsome pianoforte of Marianne's.
Mrs. John Dashwood saw the packages depart with a sigh: she could not help feeling it hard that as Mrs. Dashwood's income would be so trifling in comparison with their own, she should have any handsome article of furniture.
Mrs. Dashwood took the house for a twelvemonth; it was ready furnished, and she might have immediate possession.
For the comfort of her children, had she consulted only her own wishes, she would have kept it; but the discretion of Elinor prevailed.
HER wisdom too limited the number of their servants to three; two maids and a man, with whom they were speedily provided from amongst those who had formed their establishment at Norland.
Her eagerness to be gone from Norland was preserved from diminution by the evident satisfaction of her daughter - in - law in the prospect of her removal; a satisfaction which was but feebly attempted to be concealed under a cold invitation to her to defer her departure.
Now was the time when her son - in - law's promise to his father might with particular propriety be fulfilled.
Since he had neglected to do it on first coming to the estate, their quitting his house might be looked on as the most suitable period for its accomplishment.
But Mrs. Dashwood began shortly to give over every hope of the kind, and to be convinced, from the general drift of his discourse, that his assistance extended no farther than their maintenance for six months at Norland.
In a very few weeks from the day which brought Sir John Middleton's first letter to Norland, every thing was so far settled in their future abode as to enable Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters to begin their journey.
Many were the tears shed by them in their last adieus to a place so much beloved.
" Dear, dear Norland!"
said Marianne, as she wandered alone before the house, on the last evening of their being there; " when shall I cease to regret you!-- when learn to feel a home elsewhere!-- Oh!
CHAPTER 6
The first part of their journey was performed in too melancholy a disposition to be otherwise than tedious and unpleasant.
But as they drew towards the end of it, their interest in the appearance of a country which they were to inhabit overcame their dejection, and a view of Barton Valley as they entered it gave them cheerfulness.
It was a pleasant fertile spot, well wooded, and rich in pasture.
After winding along it for more than a mile, they reached their own house.
A small green court was the whole of its demesne in front; and a neat wicket gate admitted them into it.
As a house, Barton Cottage, though small, was comfortable and compact; but as a cottage it was defective, for the building was regular, the roof was tiled, the window shutters were not painted green, nor were the walls covered with honeysuckles.
A narrow passage led directly through the house into the garden behind.
On each side of the entrance was a sitting room, about sixteen feet square; and beyond them were the offices and the stairs.
Four bed - rooms and two garrets formed the rest of the house.
It had not been built many years and was in good repair.
In comparison of Norland, it was poor and small indeed!-- but the tears which recollection called forth as they entered the house were soon dried away.
They were cheered by the joy of the servants on their arrival, and each for the sake of the others resolved to appear happy.
It was very early in September; the season was fine, and from first seeing the place under the advantage of good weather, they received an impression in its favour which was of material service in recommending it to their lasting approbation.
The situation of the house was good.
High hills rose immediately behind, and at no great distance on each side; some of which were open downs, the others cultivated and woody.
The village of Barton was chiefly on one of these hills, and formed a pleasant view from the cottage windows.
The prospect in front was more extensive; it commanded the whole of the valley, and reached into the country beyond.
The hills which surrounded the cottage terminated the valley in that direction; under another name, and in another course, it branched out again between two of the steepest of them.
" As for the house itself, to be sure," said she, " it is too small for our family, but we will make ourselves tolerably comfortable for the present, as it is too late in the year for improvements.
Perhaps in the spring, if I have plenty of money, as I dare say I shall, we may think about building.
I could wish the stairs were handsome.
But one must not expect every thing; though I suppose it would be no difficult matter to widen them.
I shall see how much I am before - hand with the world in the spring, and we will plan our improvements accordingly."
Marianne's pianoforte was unpacked and properly disposed of; and Elinor's drawings were affixed to the walls of their sitting room.
In such employments as these they were interrupted soon after breakfast the next day by the entrance of their landlord, who called to welcome them to Barton, and to offer them every accommodation from his own house and garden in which theirs might at present be deficient.
Sir John Middleton was a good looking man about forty.
He had formerly visited at Stanhill, but it was too long for his young cousins to remember him.
His countenance was thoroughly good - humoured; and his manners were as friendly as the style of his letter.
Their arrival seemed to afford him real satisfaction, and their comfort to be an object of real solicitude to him.
His kindness was not confined to words; for within an hour after he left them, a large basket full of garden stuff and fruit arrived from the park, which was followed before the end of the day by a present of game.
He insisted, moreover, on conveying all their letters to and from the post for them, and would not be denied the satisfaction of sending them his newspaper every day.
They were, of course, very anxious to see a person on whom so much of their comfort at Barton must depend; and the elegance of her appearance was favourable to their wishes.
Lady Middleton was not more than six or seven and twenty; her face was handsome, her figure tall and striking, and her address graceful.
Her manners had all the elegance which her husband's wanted.
On every formal visit a child ought to be of the party, by way of provision for discourse.
In the present case it took up ten minutes to determine whether the boy were most like his father or mother, and in what particular he resembled either, for of course every body differed, and every body was astonished at the opinion of the others.
An opportunity was soon to be given to the Dashwoods of debating on the rest of the children, as Sir John would not leave the house without securing their promise of dining at the park the next day.
CHAPTER 7
Barton Park was about half a mile from the cottage.
The ladies had passed near it in their way along the valley, but it was screened from their view at home by the projection of a hill.
The house was large and handsome; and the Middletons lived in a style of equal hospitality and elegance.
The former was for Sir John's gratification, the latter for that of his lady.
They were scarcely ever without some friends staying with them in the house, and they kept more company of every kind than any other family in the neighbourhood.
Sir John was a sportsman, Lady Middleton a mother.
He hunted and shot, and she humoured her children; and these were their only resources.
Lady Middleton had the advantage of being able to spoil her children all the year round, while Sir John's independent employments were in existence only half the time.
Continual engagements at home and abroad, however, supplied all the deficiencies of nature and education; supported the good spirits of Sir John, and gave exercise to the good breeding of his wife.
Lady Middleton piqued herself upon the elegance of her table, and of all her domestic arrangements; and from this kind of vanity was her greatest enjoyment in any of their parties.
But Sir John's satisfaction in society was much more real; he delighted in collecting about him more young people than his house would hold, and the noisier they were the better was he pleased.
The arrival of a new family in the country was always a matter of joy to him, and in every point of view he was charmed with the inhabitants he had now procured for his cottage at Barton.
The Miss Dashwoods were young, pretty, and unaffected.
It was enough to secure his good opinion; for to be unaffected was all that a pretty girl could want to make her mind as captivating as her person.
The friendliness of his disposition made him happy in accommodating those, whose situation might be considered, in comparison with the past, as unfortunate.
They would see, he said, only one gentleman there besides himself; a particular friend who was staying at the park, but who was neither very young nor very gay.
He hoped they would all excuse the smallness of the party, and could assure them it should never happen so again.
He had been to several families that morning in hopes of procuring some addition to their number, but it was moonlight and every body was full of engagements.
Luckily Lady Middleton's mother had arrived at Barton within the last hour, and as she was a very cheerful agreeable woman, he hoped the young ladies would not find it so very dull as they might imagine.
The young ladies, as well as their mother, were perfectly satisfied with having two entire strangers of the party, and wished for no more.
Mrs. Jennings, Lady Middleton's mother, was a good - humoured, merry, fat, elderly woman, who talked a great deal, seemed very happy, and rather vulgar.
She was full of jokes and laughter, and before dinner was over had said many witty things on the subject of lovers and husbands; hoped they had not left their hearts behind them in Sussex, and pretended to see them blush whether they did or not.
Marianne was vexed at it for her sister's sake, and turned her eyes towards Elinor to see how she bore these attacks, with an earnestness which gave Elinor far more pain than could arise from such common - place raillery as Mrs. Jennings's.
Colonel Brandon, the friend of Sir John, seemed no more adapted by resemblance of manner to be his friend, than Lady Middleton was to be his wife, or Mrs. Jennings to be Lady Middleton's mother.
He was silent and grave.
Lady Middleton seemed to be roused to enjoyment only by the entrance of her four noisy children after dinner, who pulled her about, tore her clothes, and put an end to every kind of discourse except what related to themselves.
In the evening, as Marianne was discovered to be musical, she was invited to play.
Marianne's performance was highly applauded.
Sir John was loud in his admiration at the end of every song, and as loud in his conversation with the others while every song lasted.
Lady Middleton frequently called him to order, wondered how any one's attention could be diverted from music for a moment, and asked Marianne to sing a particular song which Marianne had just finished.
Colonel Brandon alone, of all the party, heard her without being in raptures.
He paid her only the compliment of attention; and she felt a respect for him on the occasion, which the others had reasonably forfeited by their shameless want of taste.
She was perfectly disposed to make every allowance for the colonel's advanced state of life which humanity required.
CHAPTER 8
Mrs. Jennings was a widow with an ample jointure.
She had only two daughters, both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the world.
In the promotion of this object she was zealously active, as far as her ability reached; and missed no opportunity of projecting weddings among all the young people of her acquaintance.
She rather suspected it to be so, on the very first evening of their being together, from his listening so attentively while she sang to them; and when the visit was returned by the Middletons'dining at the cottage, the fact was ascertained by his listening to her again.
It must be so.
She was perfectly convinced of it.
It would be an excellent match, for HE was rich, and SHE was handsome.
Mrs. Jennings had been anxious to see Colonel Brandon well married, ever since her connection with Sir John first brought him to her knowledge; and she was always anxious to get a good husband for every pretty girl.
The immediate advantage to herself was by no means inconsiderable, for it supplied her with endless jokes against them both.
At the park she laughed at the colonel, and in the cottage at Marianne.
Mrs. Dashwood, who could not think a man five years younger than herself, so exceedingly ancient as he appeared to the youthful fancy of her daughter, ventured to clear Mrs. Jennings from the probability of wishing to throw ridicule on his age.
" But at least, Mamma, you cannot deny the absurdity of the accusation, though you may not think it intentionally ill - natured.
Colonel Brandon is certainly younger than Mrs. Jennings, but he is old enough to be MY father; and if he were ever animated enough to be in love, must have long outlived every sensation of the kind.
It is too ridiculous!
When is a man to be safe from such wit, if age and infirmity will not protect him?"
" Infirmity!"
said Elinor, " do you call Colonel Brandon infirm?
I can easily suppose that his age may appear much greater to you than to my mother; but you can hardly deceive yourself as to his having the use of his limbs!"
" Did not you hear him complain of the rheumatism?
and is not that the commonest infirmity of declining life?"
" My dearest child," said her mother, laughing, " at this rate you must be in continual terror of MY decay; and it must seem to you a miracle that my life has been extended to the advanced age of forty."
" Mamma, you are not doing me justice.
I know very well that Colonel Brandon is not old enough to make his friends yet apprehensive of losing him in the course of nature.
He may live twenty years longer.
But thirty - five has nothing to do with matrimony."
" Perhaps," said Elinor, " thirty - five and seventeen had better not have any thing to do with matrimony together.
But if there should by any chance happen to be a woman who is single at seven and twenty, I should not think Colonel Brandon's being thirty - five any objection to his marrying HER."
In his marrying such a woman therefore there would be nothing unsuitable.
It would be a compact of convenience, and the world would be satisfied.
In my eyes it would be no marriage at all, but that would be nothing.
To me it would seem only a commercial exchange, in which each wished to be benefited at the expense of the other."
" It would be impossible, I know," replied Elinor, " to convince you that a woman of seven and twenty could feel for a man of thirty - five anything near enough to love, to make him a desirable companion to her.
But I must object to your dooming Colonel Brandon and his wife to the constant confinement of a sick chamber, merely because he chanced to complain yesterday (a very cold damp day) of a slight rheumatic feel in one of his shoulders."
" But he talked of flannel waistcoats," said Marianne; " and with me a flannel waistcoat is invariably connected with aches, cramps, rheumatisms, and every species of ailment that can afflict the old and the feeble."
" Had he been only in a violent fever, you would not have despised him half so much.
Confess, Marianne, is not there something interesting to you in the flushed cheek, hollow eye, and quick pulse of a fever?"
Soon after this, upon Elinor's leaving the room, " Mamma," said Marianne, " I have an alarm on the subject of illness which I cannot conceal from you.
I am sure Edward Ferrars is not well.
We have now been here almost a fortnight, and yet he does not come.
Nothing but real indisposition could occasion this extraordinary delay.
What else can detain him at Norland?"
" Had you any idea of his coming so soon?"
said Mrs. Dashwood.
" I had none.
On the contrary, if I have felt any anxiety at all on the subject, it has been in recollecting that he sometimes showed a want of pleasure and readiness in accepting my invitation, when I talked of his coming to Barton.
Does Elinor expect him already?"
" I have never mentioned it to her, but of course she must."
" I rather think you are mistaken, for when I was talking to her yesterday of getting a new grate for the spare bedchamber, she observed that there was no immediate hurry for it, as it was not likely that the room would be wanted for some time."
" How strange this is!
what can be the meaning of it!
But the whole of their behaviour to each other has been unaccountable!
How cold, how composed were their last adieus!
How languid their conversation the last evening of their being together!
In Edward's farewell there was no distinction between Elinor and me: it was the good wishes of an affectionate brother to both.
Twice did I leave them purposely together in the course of the last morning, and each time did he most unaccountably follow me out of the room.
And Elinor, in quitting Norland and Edward, cried not as I did.
Even now her self - command is invariable.
When is she dejected or melancholy?
When does she try to avoid society, or appear restless and dissatisfied in it?"
CHAPTER 9
The Dashwoods were now settled at Barton with tolerable comfort to themselves.
Sir John Middleton, who called on them every day for the first fortnight, and who was not in the habit of seeing much occupation at home, could not conceal his amazement on finding them always employed.
There were but few who could be so classed; and it was not all of them that were attainable.
But they learnt, on enquiry, that its possessor, an elderly lady of very good character, was unfortunately too infirm to mix with the world, and never stirred from home.
The whole country about them abounded in beautiful walks.
The weather was not tempting enough to draw the two others from their pencil and their book, in spite of Marianne's declaration that the day would be lastingly fair, and that every threatening cloud would be drawn off from their hills; and the two girls set off together.
" Is there a felicity in the world," said Marianne, " superior to this?-- Margaret, we will walk here at least two hours."
One consolation however remained for them, to which the exigence of the moment gave more than usual propriety; it was that of running with all possible speed down the steep side of the hill which led immediately to their garden gate.
They set off.
Marianne had at first the advantage, but a false step brought her suddenly to the ground; and Margaret, unable to stop herself to assist her, was involuntarily hurried along, and reached the bottom in safety.
A gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers playing round him, was passing up the hill and within a few yards of Marianne, when her accident happened.
He put down his gun and ran to her assistance.
She had raised herself from the ground, but her foot had been twisted in her fall, and she was scarcely able to stand.
The gentleman offered his services; and perceiving that her modesty declined what her situation rendered necessary, took her up in his arms without farther delay, and carried her down the hill.
Then passing through the garden, the gate of which had been left open by Margaret, he bore her directly into the house, whither Margaret was just arrived, and quitted not his hold till he had seated her in a chair in the parlour.
Had he been even old, ugly, and vulgar, the gratitude and kindness of Mrs. Dashwood would have been secured by any act of attention to her child; but the influence of youth, beauty, and elegance, gave an interest to the action which came home to her feelings.
She thanked him again and again; and, with a sweetness of address which always attended her, invited him to be seated.
But this he declined, as he was dirty and wet.
Mrs. Dashwood then begged to know to whom she was obliged.
His name, he replied, was Willoughby, and his present home was at Allenham, from whence he hoped she would allow him the honour of calling tomorrow to enquire after Miss Dashwood.
The honour was readily granted, and he then departed, to make himself still more interesting, in the midst of a heavy rain.
But she had seen enough of him to join in all the admiration of the others, and with an energy which always adorned her praise.
His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite story; and in his carrying her into the house with so little previous formality, there was a rapidity of thought which particularly recommended the action to her.
Every circumstance belonging to him was interesting.
His name was good, his residence was in their favourite village, and she soon found out that of all manly dresses a shooting - jacket was the most becoming.
Her imagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant, and the pain of a sprained ankle was disregarded.
Sir John called on them as soon as the next interval of fair weather that morning allowed him to get out of doors; and Marianne's accident being related to him, he was eagerly asked whether he knew any gentleman of the name of Willoughby at Allenham.
" Willoughby!"
cried Sir John; " what, is HE in the country?
That is good news however; I will ride over tomorrow, and ask him to dinner on Thursday."
" You know him then," said Mrs. Dashwood.
" Know him!
to be sure I do.
Why, he is down here every year."
" And what sort of a young man is he?"
" As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you.
A very decent shot, and there is not a bolder rider in England."
" And is that all you can say for him?"
cried Marianne, indignantly.
" But what are his manners on more intimate acquaintance?
What his pursuits, his talents, and genius?"
Sir John was rather puzzled.
" Upon my soul," said he, " I do not know much about him as to all THAT.
But he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow, and has got the nicest little black bitch of a pointer I ever saw.
Was she out with him today?"
But Marianne could no more satisfy him as to the colour of Mr. Willoughby's pointer, than he could describe to her the shades of his mind.
" But who is he?"
said Elinor.
" Where does he come from?
Has he a house at Allenham?"
Miss Marianne must not expect to have all the men to herself.
Brandon will be jealous, if she does not take care."
" I do not believe," said Mrs. Dashwood, with a good humoured smile, " that Mr. Willoughby will be incommoded by the attempts of either of MY daughters towards what you call CATCHING him.
It is not an employment to which they have been brought up.
Men are very safe with us, let them be ever so rich.
I am glad to find, however, from what you say, that he is a respectable young man, and one whose acquaintance will not be ineligible."
" He is as good a sort of fellow, I believe, as ever lived," repeated Sir John.
" I remember last Christmas at a little hop at the park, he danced from eight o'clock till four, without once sitting down."
" Did he indeed?"
cried Marianne with sparkling eyes, " and with elegance, with spirit?"
" Yes; and he was up again at eight to ride to covert."
" That is what I like; that is what a young man ought to be.
Whatever be his pursuits, his eagerness in them should know no moderation, and leave him no sense of fatigue."
" Aye, aye, I see how it will be," said Sir John, " I see how it will be.
You will be setting your cap at him now, and never think of poor Brandon."
" That is an expression, Sir John," said Marianne, warmly, " which I particularly dislike.
I abhor every common - place phrase by which wit is intended; and'setting one's cap at a man,' or'making a conquest,' are the most odious of all.
Their tendency is gross and illiberal; and if their construction could ever be deemed clever, time has long ago destroyed all its ingenuity."
Sir John did not much understand this reproof; but he laughed as heartily as if he did, and then replied,
" Ay, you will make conquests enough, I dare say, one way or other.
Poor Brandon!
he is quite smitten already, and he is very well worth setting your cap at, I can tell you, in spite of all this tumbling about and spraining of ankles."
CHAPTER 10
Marianne's preserver, as Margaret, with more elegance than precision, styled Willoughby, called at the cottage early the next morning to make his personal enquiries.
Of their personal charms he had not required a second interview to be convinced.
Miss Dashwood had a delicate complexion, regular features, and a remarkably pretty figure.
Marianne was still handsomer.
Her form, though not so correct as her sister's, in having the advantage of height, was more striking; and her face was so lovely, that when in the common cant of praise, she was called a beautiful girl, truth was less violently outraged than usually happens.
From Willoughby their expression was at first held back, by the embarrassment which the remembrance of his assistance created.
It was only necessary to mention any favourite amusement to engage her to talk.
She could not be silent when such points were introduced, and she had neither shyness nor reserve in their discussion.
They speedily discovered that their enjoyment of dancing and music was mutual, and that it arose from a general conformity of judgment in all that related to either.
Their taste was strikingly alike.
The same books, the same passages were idolized by each--or if any difference appeared, any objection arose, it lasted no longer than till the force of her arguments and the brightness of her eyes could be displayed.
He acquiesced in all her decisions, caught all her enthusiasm; and long before his visit concluded, they conversed with the familiarity of a long - established acquaintance.
" Well, Marianne," said Elinor, as soon as he had left them, " for ONE morning I think you have done pretty well.
You have already ascertained Mr. Willoughby's opinion in almost every matter of importance.
You know what he thinks of Cowper and Scott; you are certain of his estimating their beauties as he ought, and you have received every assurance of his admiring Pope no more than is proper.
But how is your acquaintance to be long supported, under such extraordinary despatch of every subject for discourse?
You will soon have exhausted each favourite topic.
Another meeting will suffice to explain his sentiments on picturesque beauty, and second marriages, and then you can have nothing farther to ask."
" Elinor," cried Marianne, " is this fair?
is this just?
are my ideas so scanty?
But I see what you mean.
I have been too much at my ease, too happy, too frank.
" My love," said her mother, " you must not be offended with Elinor--she was only in jest.
I should scold her myself, if she were capable of wishing to check the delight of your conversation with our new friend."
-- Marianne was softened in a moment.
Willoughby, on his side, gave every proof of his pleasure in their acquaintance, which an evident wish of improving it could offer.
He came to them every day.
To enquire after Marianne was at first his excuse; but the encouragement of his reception, to which every day gave greater kindness, made such an excuse unnecessary before it had ceased to be possible, by Marianne's perfect recovery.
She was confined for some days to the house; but never had any confinement been less irksome.
Willoughby was a young man of good abilities, quick imagination, lively spirits, and open, affectionate manners.
He was exactly formed to engage Marianne's heart, for with all this, he joined not only a captivating person, but a natural ardour of mind which was now roused and increased by the example of her own, and which recommended him to her affection beyond every thing else.
His society became gradually her most exquisite enjoyment.
They read, they talked, they sang together; his musical talents were considerable; and he read with all the sensibility and spirit which Edward had unfortunately wanted.
Marianne began now to perceive that the desperation which had seized her at sixteen and a half, of ever seeing a man who could satisfy her ideas of perfection, had been rash and unjustifiable.
Willoughby was all that her fancy had delineated in that unhappy hour and in every brighter period, as capable of attaching her; and his behaviour declared his wishes to be in that respect as earnest, as his abilities were strong.
Colonel Brandon's partiality for Marianne, which had so early been discovered by his friends, now first became perceptible to Elinor, when it ceased to be noticed by them.
Their attention and wit were drawn off to his more fortunate rival; and the raillery which the other had incurred before any partiality arose, was removed when his feelings began really to call for the ridicule so justly annexed to sensibility.
She saw it with concern; for what could a silent man of five and thirty hope, when opposed to a very lively one of five and twenty?
and as she could not even wish him successful, she heartily wished him indifferent.
She liked him--in spite of his gravity and reserve, she beheld in him an object of interest.
His manners, though serious, were mild; and his reserve appeared rather the result of some oppression of spirits than of any natural gloominess of temper.
Sir John had dropped hints of past injuries and disappointments, which justified her belief of his being an unfortunate man, and she regarded him with respect and compassion.
Perhaps she pitied and esteemed him the more because he was slighted by Willoughby and Marianne, who, prejudiced against him for being neither lively nor young, seemed resolved to undervalue his merits.
" Brandon is just the kind of man," said Willoughby one day, when they were talking of him together, " whom every body speaks well of, and nobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers to talk to."
" That is exactly what I think of him," cried Marianne.
" Do not boast of it, however," said Elinor, " for it is injustice in both of you.
He is highly esteemed by all the family at the park, and I never see him myself without taking pains to converse with him."
" That he is patronised by YOU," replied Willoughby, " is certainly in his favour; but as for the esteem of the others, it is a reproach in itself.
Who would submit to the indignity of being approved by such a woman as Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings, that could command the indifference of any body else?"
" But perhaps the abuse of such people as yourself and Marianne will make amends for the regard of Lady Middleton and her mother.
If their praise is censure, your censure may be praise, for they are not more undiscerning, than you are prejudiced and unjust."
" In defence of your protege you can even be saucy."
" My protege, as you call him, is a sensible man; and sense will always have attractions for me.
Yes, Marianne, even in a man between thirty and forty.
He has seen a great deal of the world; has been abroad, has read, and has a thinking mind.
I have found him capable of giving me much information on various subjects; and he has always answered my inquiries with readiness of good - breeding and good nature."
" That is to say," cried Marianne contemptuously, " he has told you, that in the East Indies the climate is hot, and the mosquitoes are troublesome."
" He WOULD have told me so, I doubt not, had I made any such inquiries, but they happened to be points on which I had been previously informed."
" Perhaps," said Willoughby, " his observations may have extended to the existence of nabobs, gold mohrs, and palanquins."
" I may venture to say that HIS observations have stretched much further than your candour.
But why should you dislike him?"
" I do not dislike him.
I consider him, on the contrary, as a very respectable man, who has every body's good word, and nobody's notice; who, has more money than he can spend, more time than he knows how to employ, and two new coats every year."
" Add to which," cried Marianne, " that he has neither genius, taste, nor spirit.
That his understanding has no brilliancy, his feelings no ardour, and his voice no expression."
" You decide on his imperfections so much in the mass," replied Elinor, " and so much on the strength of your own imagination, that the commendation I am able to give of him is comparatively cold and insipid.
I can only pronounce him to be a sensible man, well - bred, well - informed, of gentle address, and, I believe, possessing an amiable heart."
" Miss Dashwood," cried Willoughby, " you are now using me unkindly.
You are endeavouring to disarm me by reason, and to convince me against my will.
But it will not do.
You shall find me as stubborn as you can be artful.
I have three unanswerable reasons for disliking Colonel Brandon; he threatened me with rain when I wanted it to be fine; he has found fault with the hanging of my curricle, and I cannot persuade him to buy my brown mare.
If it will be any satisfaction to you, however, to be told, that I believe his character to be in other respects irreproachable, I am ready to confess it.
And in return for an acknowledgment, which must give me some pain, you cannot deny me the privilege of disliking him as much as ever."
CHAPTER 11
Yet such was the case.
When Marianne was recovered, the schemes of amusement at home and abroad, which Sir John had been previously forming, were put into execution.
The private balls at the park then began; and parties on the water were made and accomplished as often as a showery October would allow.
Elinor could not be surprised at their attachment.
She only wished that it were less openly shewn; and once or twice did venture to suggest the propriety of some self - command to Marianne.
Willoughby thought the same; and their behaviour at all times, was an illustration of their opinions.
When he was present she had no eyes for any one else.
Every thing he did, was right.
Every thing he said, was clever.
If their evenings at the park were concluded with cards, he cheated himself and all the rest of the party to get her a good hand.
If dancing formed the amusement of the night, they were partners for half the time; and when obliged to separate for a couple of dances, were careful to stand together and scarcely spoke a word to any body else.
Such conduct made them of course most exceedingly laughed at; but ridicule could not shame, and seemed hardly to provoke them.
Mrs. Dashwood entered into all their feelings with a warmth which left her no inclination for checking this excessive display of them.
To her it was but the natural consequence of a strong affection in a young and ardent mind.
This was the season of happiness to Marianne.
Her heart was devoted to Willoughby, and the fond attachment to Norland, which she brought with her from Sussex, was more likely to be softened than she had thought it possible before, by the charms which his society bestowed on her present home.
Elinor's happiness was not so great.
Her heart was not so much at ease, nor her satisfaction in their amusements so pure.
They afforded her no companion that could make amends for what she had left behind, nor that could teach her to think of Norland with less regret than ever.
Neither Lady Middleton nor Mrs. Jennings could supply to her the conversation she missed; although the latter was an everlasting talker, and from the first had regarded her with a kindness which ensured her a large share of her discourse.
Lady Middleton was more agreeable than her mother only in being more silent.
Elinor needed little observation to perceive that her reserve was a mere calmness of manner with which sense had nothing to do.
Towards her husband and mother she was the same as to them; and intimacy was therefore neither to be looked for nor desired.
She had nothing to say one day that she had not said the day before.
In Colonel Brandon alone, of all her new acquaintance, did Elinor find a person who could in any degree claim the respect of abilities, excite the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion.
Willoughby was out of the question.
Her admiration and regard, even her sisterly regard, was all his own; but he was a lover; his attentions were wholly Marianne's, and a far less agreeable man might have been more generally pleasing.
Colonel Brandon, unfortunately for himself, had no such encouragement to think only of Marianne, and in conversing with Elinor he found the greatest consolation for the indifference of her sister.
Elinor's compassion for him increased, as she had reason to suspect that the misery of disappointed love had already been known to him.
This suspicion was given by some words which accidently dropped from him one evening at the park, when they were sitting down together by mutual consent, while the others were dancing.
His eyes were fixed on Marianne, and, after a silence of some minutes, he said, with a faint smile, " Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second attachments."
" No," replied Elinor, " her opinions are all romantic."
" Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist."
" I believe she does.
But how she contrives it without reflecting on the character of her own father, who had himself two wives, I know not.
A few years however will settle her opinions on the reasonable basis of common sense and observation; and then they may be more easy to define and to justify than they now are, by any body but herself."
" This will probably be the case," he replied; " and yet there is something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one is sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions."
" I cannot agree with you there," said Elinor.
" There are inconveniences attending such feelings as Marianne's, which all the charms of enthusiasm and ignorance of the world cannot atone for.
Her systems have all the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at nought; and a better acquaintance with the world is what I look forward to as her greatest possible advantage."
After a short pause he resumed the conversation by saying,--
" Does your sister make no distinction in her objections against a second attachment?
or is it equally criminal in every body?
Are those who have been disappointed in their first choice, whether from the inconstancy of its object, or the perverseness of circumstances, to be equally indifferent during the rest of their lives?"
" Upon my word, I am not acquainted with the minutiae of her principles.
I only know that I never yet heard her admit any instance of a second attachment's being pardonable."
" This," said he, " cannot hold; but a change, a total change of sentiments--No, no, do not desire it; for when the romantic refinements of a young mind are obliged to give way, how frequently are they succeeded by such opinions as are but too common, and too dangerous!
I speak from experience.
The lady would probably have passed without suspicion, had he not convinced Miss Dashwood that what concerned her ought not to escape his lips.
As it was, it required but a slight effort of fancy to connect his emotion with the tender recollection of past regard.
Elinor attempted no more.
But Marianne, in her place, would not have done so little.
The whole story would have been speedily formed under her active imagination; and every thing established in the most melancholy order of disastrous love.
CHAPTER 12
As Elinor and Marianne were walking together the next morning the latter communicated a piece of news to her sister, which in spite of all that she knew before of Marianne's imprudence and want of thought, surprised her by its extravagant testimony of both.
Marianne told her, with the greatest delight, that Willoughby had given her a horse, one that he had bred himself on his estate in Somersetshire, and which was exactly calculated to carry a woman.
" He intends to send his groom into Somersetshire immediately for it," she added, " and when it arrives we will ride every day.
You shall share its use with me.
Imagine to yourself, my dear Elinor, the delight of a gallop on some of these downs."
Most unwilling was she to awaken from such a dream of felicity to comprehend all the unhappy truths which attended the affair; and for some time she refused to submit to them.
As to an additional servant, the expense would be a trifle; Mamma she was sure would never object to it; and any horse would do for HIM; he might always get one at the park; as to a stable, the merest shed would be sufficient.
Elinor then ventured to doubt the propriety of her receiving such a present from a man so little, or at least so lately known to her.
This was too much.
" You are mistaken, Elinor," said she warmly, " in supposing I know very little of Willoughby.
I have not known him long indeed, but I am much better acquainted with him, than I am with any other creature in the world, except yourself and mama.
It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;-- it is disposition alone.
Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.
I should hold myself guilty of greater impropriety in accepting a horse from my brother, than from Willoughby.
Of John I know very little, though we have lived together for years; but of Willoughby my judgment has long been formed."
Elinor thought it wisest to touch that point no more.
She knew her sister's temper.
Opposition on so tender a subject would only attach her the more to her own opinion.
She was faithful to her word; and when Willoughby called at the cottage, the same day, Elinor heard her express her disappointment to him in a low voice, on being obliged to forego the acceptance of his present.
The reasons for this alteration were at the same time related, and they were such as to make further entreaty on his side impossible.
His concern however was very apparent; and after expressing it with earnestness, he added, in the same low voice,--" But, Marianne, the horse is still yours, though you cannot use it now.
I shall keep it only till you can claim it.
When you leave Barton to form your own establishment in a more lasting home, Queen Mab shall receive you."
From that moment she doubted not of their being engaged to each other; and the belief of it created no other surprise than that she, or any of their friends, should be left by tempers so frank, to discover it by accident.
Margaret related something to her the next day, which placed this matter in a still clearer light.
" Oh, Elinor!"
she cried, " I have such a secret to tell you about Marianne.
I am sure she will be married to Mr. Willoughby very soon."
" But indeed this is quite another thing.
I am sure they will be married very soon, for he has got a lock of her hair."
" Take care, Margaret.
It may be only the hair of some great uncle of HIS."
" But, indeed, Elinor, it is Marianne's.
I am almost sure it is, for I saw him cut it off.
For such particulars, stated on such authority, Elinor could not withhold her credit; nor was she disposed to it, for the circumstance was in perfect unison with what she had heard and seen herself.
Margaret's sagacity was not always displayed in a way so satisfactory to her sister.
This of course made every body laugh; and Elinor tried to laugh too.
But the effort was painful.
She was convinced that Margaret had fixed on a person whose name she could not bear with composure to become a standing joke with Mrs. Jennings.
Marianne felt for her most sincerely; but she did more harm than good to the cause, by turning very red and saying in an angry manner to Margaret,
" Remember that whatever your conjectures may be, you have no right to repeat them."
" I never had any conjectures about it," replied Margaret; " it was you who told me of it yourself."
This increased the mirth of the company, and Margaret was eagerly pressed to say something more.
" Oh!
pray, Miss Margaret, let us know all about it," said Mrs. Jennings.
" What is the gentleman's name?"
" I must not tell, ma'am.
But I know very well what it is; and I know where he is too."
" Yes, yes, we can guess where he is; at his own house at Norland to be sure.
He is the curate of the parish I dare say."
" No, THAT he is not.
He is of no profession at all."
" Margaret," said Marianne with great warmth, " you know that all this is an invention of your own, and that there is no such person in existence."
" Well, then, he is lately dead, Marianne, for I am sure there was such a man once, and his name begins with an F."
The idea however started by her, was immediately pursued by Colonel Brandon, who was on every occasion mindful of the feelings of others; and much was said on the subject of rain by both of them.
Willoughby opened the piano - forte, and asked Marianne to sit down to it; and thus amidst the various endeavours of different people to quit the topic, it fell to the ground.
But not so easily did Elinor recover from the alarm into which it had thrown her.
The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful, and Sir John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might be allowed to be a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties to visit them, at least, twice every summer for the last ten years.
They contained a noble piece of water; a sail on which was to a form a great part of the morning's amusement; cold provisions were to be taken, open carriages only to be employed, and every thing conducted in the usual style of a complete party of pleasure.
To some few of the company it appeared rather a bold undertaking, considering the time of year, and that it had rained every day for the last fortnight;-- and Mrs. Dashwood, who had already a cold, was persuaded by Elinor to stay at home.
CHAPTER 13
Their intended excursion to Whitwell turned out very different from what Elinor had expected.
She was prepared to be wet through, fatigued, and frightened; but the event was still more unfortunate, for they did not go at all.
By ten o'clock the whole party was assembled at the park, where they were to breakfast.
The morning was rather favourable, though it had rained all night, as the clouds were then dispersing across the sky, and the sun frequently appeared.
They were all in high spirits and good humour, eager to be happy, and determined to submit to the greatest inconveniences and hardships rather than be otherwise.
While they were at breakfast the letters were brought in.
Among the rest there was one for Colonel Brandon;-- he took it, looked at the direction, changed colour, and immediately left the room.
" What is the matter with Brandon?"
said Sir John.
Nobody could tell.
" I hope he has had no bad news," said Lady Middleton.
" It must be something extraordinary that could make Colonel Brandon leave my breakfast table so suddenly."
In about five minutes he returned.
" No bad news, Colonel, I hope;" said Mrs. Jennings, as soon as he entered the room.
" None at all, ma'am, I thank you."
" Was it from Avignon?
I hope it is not to say that your sister is worse."
" No, ma'am.
It came from town, and is merely a letter of business."
" But how came the hand to discompose you so much, if it was only a letter of business?
Come, come, this won't do, Colonel; so let us hear the truth of it."
" My dear madam," said Lady Middleton, " recollect what you are saying."
" Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin Fanny is married?"
said Mrs. Jennings, without attending to her daughter's reproof.
" No, indeed, it is not."
" Well, then, I know who it is from, Colonel.
And I hope she is well."
" Whom do you mean, ma'am?"
said he, colouring a little.
" Oh!
you know who I mean."
" I am particularly sorry, ma'am," said he, addressing Lady Middleton, " that I should receive this letter today, for it is on business which requires my immediate attendance in town."
" In town!"
cried Mrs. Jennings.
" What can you have to do in town at this time of year?"
" My own loss is great," be continued, " in being obliged to leave so agreeable a party; but I am the more concerned, as I fear my presence is necessary to gain your admittance at Whitwell."
What a blow upon them all was this!
" But if you write a note to the housekeeper, Mr. Brandon," said Marianne, eagerly, " will it not be sufficient?"
He shook his head.
" We must go," said Sir John.--" It shall not be put off when we are so near it.
You cannot go to town till tomorrow, Brandon, that is all."
" I wish it could be so easily settled.
But it is not in my power to delay my journey for one day!"
" If you would but let us know what your business is," said Mrs. Jennings, " we might see whether it could be put off or not."
" You would not be six hours later," said Willoughby, " if you were to defer your journey till our return."
" I cannot afford to lose ONE hour."
Elinor then heard Willoughby say, in a low voice to Marianne, " There are some people who cannot bear a party of pleasure.
Brandon is one of them.
He was afraid of catching cold I dare say, and invented this trick for getting out of it.
I would lay fifty guineas the letter was of his own writing."
" I have no doubt of it," replied Marianne.
" There is no persuading you to change your mind, Brandon, I know of old," said Sir John, " when once you are determined on anything.
But, however, I hope you will think better of it.
Consider, here are the two Miss Careys come over from Newton, the three Miss Dashwoods walked up from the cottage, and Mr. Willoughby got up two hours before his usual time, on purpose to go to Whitwell."
Colonel Brandon again repeated his sorrow at being the cause of disappointing the party; but at the same time declared it to be unavoidable.
" Well, then, when will you come back again?"
" I hope we shall see you at Barton," added her ladyship, " as soon as you can conveniently leave town; and we must put off the party to Whitwell till you return."
" You are very obliging.
But it is so uncertain, when I may have it in my power to return, that I dare not engage for it at all."
" Oh!
he must and shall come back," cried Sir John.
" If he is not here by the end of the week, I shall go after him."
" Ay, so do, Sir John," cried Mrs. Jennings, " and then perhaps you may find out what his business is."
" I do not want to pry into other men's concerns.
I suppose it is something he is ashamed of."
Colonel Brandon's horses were announced.
" You do not go to town on horseback, do you?"
added Sir John.
" No.
Only to Honiton.
I shall then go post."
" Well, as you are resolved to go, I wish you a good journey.
But you had better change your mind."
" I assure you it is not in my power."
He then took leave of the whole party.
" Is there no chance of my seeing you and your sisters in town this winter, Miss Dashwood?"
" I am afraid, none at all."
" Then I must bid you farewell for a longer time than I should wish to do."
To Marianne, he merely bowed and said nothing.
" Come Colonel," said Mrs. Jennings, " before you go, do let us know what you are going about."
He wished her a good morning, and, attended by Sir John, left the room.
The complaints and lamentations which politeness had hitherto restrained, now burst forth universally; and they all agreed again and again how provoking it was to be so disappointed.
" I can guess what his business is, however," said Mrs. Jennings exultingly.
" Can you, ma'am?"
said almost every body.
" Yes; it is about Miss Williams, I am sure."
" And who is Miss Williams?"
asked Marianne.
" What!
do not you know who Miss Williams is?
I am sure you must have heard of her before.
She is a relation of the Colonel's, my dear; a very near relation.
We will not say how near, for fear of shocking the young ladies."
Then, lowering her voice a little, she said to Elinor, " She is his natural daughter."
" Indeed!"
" Oh, yes; and as like him as she can stare.
I dare say the Colonel will leave her all his fortune."
The carriages were then ordered; Willoughby's was first, and Marianne never looked happier than when she got into it.
He drove through the park very fast, and they were soon out of sight; and nothing more of them was seen till their return, which did not happen till after the return of all the rest.
They both seemed delighted with their drive; but said only in general terms that they had kept in the lanes, while the others went on the downs.
It was settled that there should be a dance in the evening, and that every body should be extremely merry all day long.
Some more of the Careys came to dinner, and they had the pleasure of sitting down nearly twenty to table, which Sir John observed with great contentment.
Willoughby took his usual place between the two elder Miss Dashwoods.
Mrs. Jennings sat on Elinor's right hand; and they had not been long seated, before she leant behind her and Willoughby, and said to Marianne, loud enough for them both to hear, " I have found you out in spite of all your tricks.
I know where you spent the morning."
Marianne coloured, and replied very hastily, " Where, pray?"
" Did not you know," said Willoughby, " that we had been out in my curricle?"
" Yes, yes, Mr. Impudence, I know that very well, and I was determined to find out WHERE you had been to.-- I hope you like your house, Miss Marianne.
It is a very large one, I know; and when I come to see you, I hope you will have new - furnished it, for it wanted it very much when I was there six years ago."
Marianne turned away in great confusion.
Elinor could hardly believe this to be true, as it seemed very unlikely that Willoughby should propose, or Marianne consent, to enter the house while Mrs. Smith was in it, with whom Marianne had not the smallest acquaintance.
As soon as they left the dining - room, Elinor enquired of her about it; and great was her surprise when she found that every circumstance related by Mrs. Jennings was perfectly true.
Marianne was quite angry with her for doubting it.
" Why should you imagine, Elinor, that we did not go there, or that we did not see the house?
Is not it what you have often wished to do yourself?"
" Yes, Marianne, but I would not go while Mrs. Smith was there, and with no other companion than Mr.
Willoughby."
" Mr. Willoughby however is the only person who can have a right to shew that house; and as he went in an open carriage, it was impossible to have any other companion.
I never spent a pleasanter morning in my life."
" I am afraid," replied Elinor, " that the pleasantness of an employment does not always evince its propriety."
" On the contrary, nothing can be a stronger proof of it, Elinor; for if there had been any real impropriety in what I did, I should have been sensible of it at the time, for we always know when we are acting wrong, and with such a conviction I could have had no pleasure."
" But, my dear Marianne, as it has already exposed you to some very impertinent remarks, do you not now begin to doubt the discretion of your own conduct?"
" If the impertinent remarks of Mrs. Jennings are to be the proof of impropriety in conduct, we are all offending every moment of our lives.
I value not her censure any more than I should do her commendation.
I am not sensible of having done anything wrong in walking over Mrs. Smith's grounds, or in seeing her house.
They will one day be Mr. Willoughby's, and --"
" If they were one day to be your own, Marianne, you would not be justified in what you have done."
It is a corner room, and has windows on two sides.
On one side you look across the bowling - green, behind the house, to a beautiful hanging wood, and on the other you have a view of the church and village, and, beyond them, of those fine bold hills that we have so often admired.
I did not see it to advantage, for nothing could be more forlorn than the furniture,-- but if it were newly fitted up--a couple of hundred pounds, Willoughby says, would make it one of the pleasantest summer - rooms in England."
Could Elinor have listened to her without interruption from the others, she would have described every room in the house with equal delight.
CHAPTER 14
She wondered, with little intermission what could be the reason of it; was sure there must be some bad news, and thought over every kind of distress that could have befallen him, with a fixed determination that he should not escape them all.
" Something very melancholy must be the matter, I am sure," said she.
" I could see it in his face.
Poor man!
I am afraid his circumstances may be bad.
The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two thousand a year, and his brother left everything sadly involved.
I do think he must have been sent for about money matters, for what else can it be?
I wonder whether it is so.
I would give anything to know the truth of it.
Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I dare say it is, because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her.
May be she is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely, for I have a notion she is always rather sickly.
I would lay any wager it is about Miss Williams.
It is not so very likely he should be distressed in his circumstances NOW, for he is a very prudent man, and to be sure must have cleared the estate by this time.
I wonder what it can be!
May be his sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent for him over.
His setting off in such a hurry seems very like it.
Well, I wish him out of all his trouble with all my heart, and a good wife into the bargain."
So wondered, so talked Mrs. Jennings.
Her opinion varying with every fresh conjecture, and all seeming equally probable as they arose.
It was engrossed by the extraordinary silence of her sister and Willoughby on the subject, which they must know to be peculiarly interesting to them all.
As this silence continued, every day made it appear more strange and more incompatible with the disposition of both.
Why they should not openly acknowledge to her mother and herself, what their constant behaviour to each other declared to have taken place, Elinor could not imagine.
She could easily conceive that marriage might not be immediately in their power; for though Willoughby was independent, there was no reason to believe him rich.
His estate had been rated by Sir John at about six or seven hundred a year; but he lived at an expense to which that income could hardly be equal, and he had himself often complained of his poverty.
Nothing could be more expressive of attachment to them all, than Willoughby's behaviour.
To Marianne it had all the distinguishing tenderness which a lover's heart could give, and to the rest of the family it was the affectionate attention of a son and a brother.
" What!"
he exclaimed --" Improve this dear cottage!
No.
THAT I will never consent to.
Not a stone must be added to its walls, not an inch to its size, if my feelings are regarded."
" Do not be alarmed," said Miss Dashwood, " nothing of the kind will be done; for my mother will never have money enough to attempt it."
" I am heartily glad of it," he cried.
" May she always be poor, if she can employ her riches no better."
" Thank you, Willoughby.
But you may be assured that I would not sacrifice one sentiment of local attachment of yours, or of any one whom I loved, for all the improvements in the world.
Depend upon it that whatever unemployed sum may remain, when I make up my accounts in the spring, I would even rather lay it uselessly by than dispose of it in a manner so painful to you.
But are you really so attached to this place as to see no defect in it?"
" I am," said he.
" To me it is faultless.
Nay, more, I consider it as the only form of building in which happiness is attainable, and were I rich enough I would instantly pull Combe down, and build it up again in the exact plan of this cottage."
" With dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that smokes, I suppose," said Elinor.
" Yes," cried he in the same eager tone, " with all and every thing belonging to it;-- in no one convenience or INconvenience about it, should the least variation be perceptible.
Then, and then only, under such a roof, I might perhaps be as happy at Combe as I have been at Barton."
" I flatter myself," replied Elinor, " that even under the disadvantage of better rooms and a broader staircase, you will hereafter find your own house as faultless as you now do this."
" There certainly are circumstances," said Willoughby, " which might greatly endear it to me; but this place will always have one claim of my affection, which no other can possibly share."
Mrs. Dashwood looked with pleasure at Marianne, whose fine eyes were fixed so expressively on Willoughby, as plainly denoted how well she understood him.
" How often did I wish," added he, " when I was at Allenham this time twelvemonth, that Barton cottage were inhabited!
I never passed within view of it without admiring its situation, and grieving that no one should live in it.
Must it not have been so, Marianne?"
speaking to her in a lowered voice.
Then continuing his former tone, he said, " And yet this house you would spoil, Mrs. Dashwood?
You would rob it of its simplicity by imaginary improvement!
Mrs. Dashwood again assured him that no alteration of the kind should be attempted.
" You are a good woman," he warmly replied.
" Your promise makes me easy.
Extend it a little farther, and it will make me happy.
Tell me that not only your house will remain the same, but that I shall ever find you and yours as unchanged as your dwelling; and that you will always consider me with the kindness which has made everything belonging to you so dear to me."
The promise was readily given, and Willoughby's behaviour during the whole of the evening declared at once his affection and happiness.
" Shall we see you tomorrow to dinner?"
said Mrs. Dashwood, when he was leaving them.
" I do not ask you to come in the morning, for we must walk to the park, to call on Lady Middleton."
He engaged to be with them by four o'clock.
CHAPTER 15
On their return from the park they found Willoughby's curricle and servant in waiting at the cottage, and Mrs. Dashwood was convinced that her conjecture had been just.
So far it was all as she had foreseen; but on entering the house she beheld what no foresight had taught her to expect.
They were no sooner in the passage than Marianne came hastily out of the parlour apparently in violent affliction, with her handkerchief at her eyes; and without noticing them ran up stairs.
Surprised and alarmed they proceeded directly into the room she had just quitted, where they found only Willoughby, who was leaning against the mantel - piece with his back towards them.
He turned round on their coming in, and his countenance shewed that he strongly partook of the emotion which over - powered Marianne.
" Is anything the matter with her?"
cried Mrs. Dashwood as she entered --" is she ill?"
" I hope not," he replied, trying to look cheerful; and with a forced smile presently added, " It is I who may rather expect to be ill--for I am now suffering under a very heavy disappointment!"
" Disappointment?"
" Yes, for I am unable to keep my engagement with you.
Mrs. Smith has this morning exercised the privilege of riches upon a poor dependent cousin, by sending me on business to London.
I have just received my dispatches, and taken my farewell of Allenham; and by way of exhilaration I am now come to take my farewell of you."
" To London!-- and are you going this morning?"
" Almost this moment."
" This is very unfortunate.
But Mrs. Smith must be obliged;-- and her business will not detain you from us long I hope."
He coloured as he replied, " You are very kind, but I have no idea of returning into Devonshire immediately.
My visits to Mrs. Smith are never repeated within the twelvemonth."
" And is Mrs. Smith your only friend?
Is Allenham the only house in the neighbourhood to which you will be welcome?
For shame, Willoughby, can you wait for an invitation here?"
His colour increased; and with his eyes fixed on the ground he only replied, " You are too good."
Mrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise.
Elinor felt equal amazement.
For a few moments every one was silent.
Mrs. Dashwood first spoke.
" My engagements at present," replied Willoughby, confusedly, " are of such a nature--that--I dare not flatter myself "--
He stopt.
Mrs. Dashwood was too much astonished to speak, and another pause succeeded.
This was broken by Willoughby, who said with a faint smile, " It is folly to linger in this manner.
I will not torment myself any longer by remaining among friends whose society it is impossible for me now to enjoy."
He then hastily took leave of them all and left the room.
They saw him step into his carriage, and in a minute it was out of sight.
Mrs. Dashwood felt too much for speech, and instantly quitted the parlour to give way in solitude to the concern and alarm which this sudden departure occasioned.
Elinor's uneasiness was at least equal to her mother's.
She thought of what had just passed with anxiety and distrust.
Willoughby's behaviour in taking leave of them, his embarrassment, and affectation of cheerfulness, and, above all, his unwillingness to accept her mother's invitation, a backwardness so unlike a lover, so unlike himself, greatly disturbed her.
In about half an hour her mother returned, and though her eyes were red, her countenance was not uncheerful.
" Our dear Willoughby is now some miles from Barton, Elinor," said she, as she sat down to work, " and with how heavy a heart does he travel?"
" It is all very strange.
So suddenly to be gone!
It seems but the work of a moment.
And last night he was with us so happy, so cheerful, so affectionate?
And now, after only ten minutes notice--Gone too without intending to return!-- Something more than what be owned to us must have happened.
He did not speak, he did not behave like himself.
YOU must have seen the difference as well as I.
What can it be?
Can they have quarrelled?
Why else should he have shewn such unwillingness to accept your invitation here?"
" It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I could plainly see THAT.
He had not the power of accepting it.
I have thought it all over I assure you, and I can perfectly account for every thing that at first seemed strange to me as well as to you."
" Can you, indeed!"
" Yes.
I have explained it to myself in the most satisfactory way;-- but you, Elinor, who love to doubt where you can--it will not satisfy YOU, I know; but you shall not talk ME out of my trust in it.
This is what I believe to have happened.
You will tell me, I know, that this may or may NOT have happened; but I will listen to no cavil, unless you can point out any other method of understanding the affair as satisfactory at this.
And now, Elinor, what have you to say?"
" Nothing, for you have anticipated my answer."
" Then you would have told me, that it might or might not have happened.
Oh, Elinor, how incomprehensible are your feelings!
You had rather take evil upon credit than good.
You had rather look out for misery for Marianne, and guilt for poor Willoughby, than an apology for the latter.
You are resolved to think him blameable, because he took leave of us with less affection than his usual behaviour has shewn.
And is no allowance to be made for inadvertence, or for spirits depressed by recent disappointment?
Are no probabilities to be accepted, merely because they are not certainties?
Is nothing due to the man whom we have all such reason to love, and no reason in the world to think ill of?
To the possibility of motives unanswerable in themselves, though unavoidably secret for a while?
And, after all, what is it you suspect him of?"
" I can hardly tell myself.
But suspicion of something unpleasant is the inevitable consequence of such an alteration as we just witnessed in him.
There is great truth, however, in what you have now urged of the allowances which ought to be made for him, and it is my wish to be candid in my judgment of every body.
Willoughby may undoubtedly have very sufficient reasons for his conduct, and I will hope that he has.
But it would have been more like Willoughby to acknowledge them at once.
Secrecy may be advisable; but still I cannot help wondering at its being practiced by him."
" Do not blame him, however, for departing from his character, where the deviation is necessary.
But you really do admit the justice of what I have said in his defence?-- I am happy--and he is acquitted."
" Not entirely.
It may be proper to conceal their engagement (if they ARE engaged) from Mrs. Smith--and if that is the case, it must be highly expedient for Willoughby to be but little in Devonshire at present.
But this is no excuse for their concealing it from us."
" Concealing it from us!
my dear child, do you accuse Willoughby and Marianne of concealment?
This is strange indeed, when your eyes have been reproaching them every day for incautiousness."
" I want no proof of their affection," said Elinor; " but of their engagement I do."
" I am perfectly satisfied of both."
" Yet not a syllable has been said to you on the subject, by either of them."
" I have not wanted syllables where actions have spoken so plainly.
Has not his behaviour to Marianne and to all of us, for at least the last fortnight, declared that he loved and considered her as his future wife, and that he felt for us the attachment of the nearest relation?
Have we not perfectly understood each other?
Has not my consent been daily asked by his looks, his manner, his attentive and affectionate respect?
My Elinor, is it possible to doubt their engagement?
How could such a thought occur to you?
How is it to be supposed that Willoughby, persuaded as he must be of your sister's love, should leave her, and leave her perhaps for months, without telling her of his affection;-- that they should part without a mutual exchange of confidence?"
" I confess," replied Elinor, " that every circumstance except ONE is in favour of their engagement; but that ONE is the total silence of both on the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every other."
" How strange this is!
You must think wretchedly indeed of Willoughby, if, after all that has openly passed between them, you can doubt the nature of the terms on which they are together.
Has he been acting a part in his behaviour to your sister all this time?
Do you suppose him really indifferent to her?"
" No, I cannot think that.
He must and does love her I am sure."
" But with a strange kind of tenderness, if he can leave her with such indifference, such carelessness of the future, as you attribute to him."
" You must remember, my dear mother, that I have never considered this matter as certain.
I have had my doubts, I confess; but they are fainter than they were, and they may soon be entirely done away.
If we find they correspond, every fear of mine will be removed."
" A mighty concession indeed!
If you were to see them at the altar, you would suppose they were going to be married.
Ungracious girl!
But I require no such proof.
Nothing in my opinion has ever passed to justify doubt; no secrecy has been attempted; all has been uniformly open and unreserved.
You cannot doubt your sister's wishes.
It must be Willoughby therefore whom you suspect.
But why?
Is he not a man of honour and feeling?
Has there been any inconsistency on his side to create alarm?
can he be deceitful?"
" I hope not, I believe not," cried Elinor.
" I love Willoughby, sincerely love him; and suspicion of his integrity cannot be more painful to yourself than to me.
It has been involuntary, and I will not encourage it.
I was startled, I confess, by the alteration in his manners this morning;-- he did not speak like himself, and did not return your kindness with any cordiality.
But all this may be explained by such a situation of his affairs as you have supposed.
" You speak very properly.
Willoughby certainly does not deserve to be suspected.
Though WE have not known him long, he is no stranger in this part of the world; and who has ever spoken to his disadvantage?
Had he been in a situation to act independently and marry immediately, it might have been odd that he should leave us without acknowledging everything to me at once: but this is not the case.
It is an engagement in some respects not prosperously begun, for their marriage must be at a very uncertain distance; and even secrecy, as far as it can be observed, may now be very advisable."
They were interrupted by the entrance of Margaret; and Elinor was then at liberty to think over the representations of her mother, to acknowledge the probability of many, and hope for the justice of all.
They saw nothing of Marianne till dinner time, when she entered the room and took her place at the table without saying a word.
Her eyes were red and swollen; and it seemed as if her tears were even then restrained with difficulty.
She avoided the looks of them all, could neither eat nor speak, and after some time, on her mother's silently pressing her hand with tender compassion, her small degree of fortitude was quite overcome, she burst into tears and left the room.
This violent oppression of spirits continued the whole evening.
She was without any power, because she was without any desire of command over herself.
CHAPTER 16
Marianne would have thought herself very inexcusable had she been able to sleep at all the first night after parting from Willoughby.
She would have been ashamed to look her family in the face the next morning, had she not risen from her bed in more need of repose than when she lay down in it.
But the feelings which made such composure a disgrace, left her in no danger of incurring it.
She was awake the whole night, and she wept the greatest part of it.
She got up with a headache, was unable to talk, and unwilling to take any nourishment; giving pain every moment to her mother and sisters, and forbidding all attempt at consolation from either.
Her sensibility was potent enough!
When breakfast was over she walked out by herself, and wandered about the village of Allenham, indulging the recollection of past enjoyment and crying over the present reverse for the chief of the morning.
The evening passed off in the equal indulgence of feeling.
She spent whole hours at the pianoforte alternately singing and crying; her voice often totally suspended by her tears.
In books too, as well as in music, she courted the misery which a contrast between the past and present was certain of giving.
She read nothing but what they had been used to read together.
No letter from Willoughby came; and none seemed expected by Marianne.
Her mother was surprised, and Elinor again became uneasy.
But Mrs. Dashwood could find explanations whenever she wanted them, which at least satisfied herself.
" Remember, Elinor," said she, " how very often Sir John fetches our letters himself from the post, and carries them to it.
We have already agreed that secrecy may be necessary, and we must acknowledge that it could not be maintained if their correspondence were to pass through Sir John's hands."
Elinor could not deny the truth of this, and she tried to find in it a motive sufficient for their silence.
But there was one method so direct, so simple, and in her opinion so eligible of knowing the real state of the affair, and of instantly removing all mystery, that she could not help suggesting it to her mother.
" Why do you not ask Marianne at once," said she, " whether she is or she is not engaged to Willoughby?
From you, her mother, and so kind, so indulgent a mother, the question could not give offence.
It would be the natural result of your affection for her.
She used to be all unreserve, and to you more especially."
" I would not ask such a question for the world.
Supposing it possible that they are not engaged, what distress would not such an enquiry inflict!
At any rate it would be most ungenerous.
I should never deserve her confidence again, after forcing from her a confession of what is meant at present to be unacknowledged to any one.
I know Marianne's heart: I know that she dearly loves me, and that I shall not be the last to whom the affair is made known, when circumstances make the revealment of it eligible.
I would not attempt to force the confidence of any one; of a child much less; because a sense of duty would prevent the denial which her wishes might direct."
Elinor thought this generosity overstrained, considering her sister's youth, and urged the matter farther, but in vain; common sense, common care, common prudence, were all sunk in Mrs. Dashwood's romantic delicacy.
" We have never finished Hamlet, Marianne; our dear Willoughby went away before we could get through it.
We will put it by, that when he comes again... But it may be months, perhaps, before THAT happens."
" Months!"
cried Marianne, with strong surprise.
" No--nor many weeks."
Mrs. Dashwood was sorry for what she had said; but it gave Elinor pleasure, as it produced a reply from Marianne so expressive of confidence in Willoughby and knowledge of his intentions.
One morning, about a week after his leaving the country, Marianne was prevailed on to join her sisters in their usual walk, instead of wandering away by herself.
Hitherto she had carefully avoided every companion in her rambles.
If her sisters intended to walk on the downs, she directly stole away towards the lanes; if they talked of the valley, she was as speedy in climbing the hills, and could never be found when the others set off.
But at length she was secured by the exertions of Elinor, who greatly disapproved such continual seclusion.
They walked along the road through the valley, and chiefly in silence, for Marianne's MIND could not be controlled, and Elinor, satisfied with gaining one point, would not then attempt more.
Amongst the objects in the scene, they soon discovered an animated one; it was a man on horseback riding towards them.
In a few minutes they could distinguish him to be a gentleman; and in a moment afterwards Marianne rapturously exclaimed,
" It is he; it is indeed;-- I know it is!"
-- and was hastening to meet him, when Elinor cried out,
" Indeed, Marianne, I think you are mistaken.
It is not Willoughby.
The person is not tall enough for him, and has not his air."
" He has, he has," cried Marianne, " I am sure he has.
His air, his coat, his horse.
I knew how soon he would come."
She walked eagerly on as she spoke; and Elinor, to screen Marianne from particularity, as she felt almost certain of its not being Willoughby, quickened her pace and kept up with her.
They were soon within thirty yards of the gentleman.
He was the only person in the world who could at that moment be forgiven for not being Willoughby; the only one who could have gained a smile from her; but she dispersed her tears to smile on HIM, and in her sister's happiness forgot for a time her own disappointment.
He dismounted, and giving his horse to his servant, walked back with them to Barton, whither he was purposely coming to visit them.
He was welcomed by them all with great cordiality, but especially by Marianne, who showed more warmth of regard in her reception of him than even Elinor herself.
To Marianne, indeed, the meeting between Edward and her sister was but a continuation of that unaccountable coldness which she had often observed at Norland in their mutual behaviour.
On Edward's side, more particularly, there was a deficiency of all that a lover ought to look and say on such an occasion.
He was confused, seemed scarcely sensible of pleasure in seeing them, looked neither rapturous nor gay, said little but what was forced from him by questions, and distinguished Elinor by no mark of affection.
Marianne saw and listened with increasing surprise.
She began almost to feel a dislike of Edward; and it ended, as every feeling must end with her, by carrying back her thoughts to Willoughby, whose manners formed a contrast sufficiently striking to those of his brother elect.
After a short silence which succeeded the first surprise and enquiries of meeting, Marianne asked Edward if he came directly from London.
No, he had been in Devonshire a fortnight.
" A fortnight!"
she repeated, surprised at his being so long in the same county with Elinor without seeing her before.
He looked rather distressed as he added, that he had been staying with some friends near Plymouth.
" Have you been lately in Sussex?"
said Elinor.
" I was at Norland about a month ago."
" And how does dear, dear Norland look?"
cried Marianne.
" Dear, dear Norland," said Elinor, " probably looks much as it always does at this time of the year.
The woods and walks thickly covered with dead leaves."
" Oh," cried Marianne, " with what transporting sensation have I formerly seen them fall!
How have I delighted, as I walked, to see them driven in showers about me by the wind!
What feelings have they, the season, the air altogether inspired!
Now there is no one to regard them.
They are seen only as a nuisance, swept hastily off, and driven as much as possible from the sight."
" It is not every one," said Elinor, " who has your passion for dead leaves."
" No; my feelings are not often shared, not often understood.
But SOMETIMES they are."
-- As she said this, she sunk into a reverie for a few moments;-- but rousing herself again, " Now, Edward," said she, calling his attention to the prospect, " here is Barton valley.
Look up to it, and be tranquil if you can.
Look at those hills!
Did you ever see their equals?
To the left is Barton park, amongst those woods and plantations.
You may see the end of the house.
And there, beneath that farthest hill, which rises with such grandeur, is our cottage."
" It is a beautiful country," he replied; " but these bottoms must be dirty in winter."
" How can you think of dirt, with such objects before you?"
" Because," replied he, smiling, " among the rest of the objects before me, I see a very dirty lane."
" How strange!"
said Marianne to herself as she walked on.
" Have you an agreeable neighbourhood here?
Are the Middletons pleasant people?"
" No, not all," answered Marianne; " we could not be more unfortunately situated."
" Marianne," cried her sister, " how can you say so?
How can you be so unjust?
They are a very respectable family, Mr. Ferrars; and towards us have behaved in the friendliest manner.
Have you forgot, Marianne, how many pleasant days we have owed to them?"
" No," said Marianne, in a low voice, " nor how many painful moments."
Elinor took no notice of this; and directing her attention to their visitor, endeavoured to support something like discourse with him, by talking of their present residence, its conveniences, & c. extorting from him occasional questions and remarks.
CHAPTER 17
Mrs. Dashwood was surprised only for a moment at seeing him; for his coming to Barton was, in her opinion, of all things the most natural.
Her joy and expression of regard long outlived her wonder.
He received the kindest welcome from her; and shyness, coldness, reserve could not stand against such a reception.
They had begun to fail him before he entered the house, and they were quite overcome by the captivating manners of Mrs. Dashwood.
Indeed a man could not very well be in love with either of her daughters, without extending the passion to her; and Elinor had the satisfaction of seeing him soon become more like himself.
His affections seemed to reanimate towards them all, and his interest in their welfare again became perceptible.
He was not in spirits, however; he praised their house, admired its prospect, was attentive, and kind; but still he was not in spirits.
The whole family perceived it, and Mrs. Dashwood, attributing it to some want of liberality in his mother, sat down to table indignant against all selfish parents.
" What are Mrs. Ferrars's views for you at present, Edward?"
said she, when dinner was over and they had drawn round the fire; " are you still to be a great orator in spite of yourself?"
" No.
I hope my mother is now convinced that I have no more talents than inclination for a public life!"
" But how is your fame to be established?
for famous you must be to satisfy all your family; and with no inclination for expense, no affection for strangers, no profession, and no assurance, you may find it a difficult matter."
" I shall not attempt it.
I have no wish to be distinguished; and have every reason to hope I never shall.
Thank Heaven!
I cannot be forced into genius and eloquence."
" You have no ambition, I well know.
Your wishes are all moderate."
" As moderate as those of the rest of the world, I believe.
I wish as well as every body else to be perfectly happy; but, like every body else it must be in my own way.
Greatness will not make me so."
" Strange that it would!"
cried Marianne.
" What have wealth or grandeur to do with happiness?"
" Grandeur has but little," said Elinor, " but wealth has much to do with it."
" Elinor, for shame!"
said Marianne, " money can only give happiness where there is nothing else to give it.
Beyond a competence, it can afford no real satisfaction, as far as mere self is concerned."
" Perhaps," said Elinor, smiling, " we may come to the same point.
YOUR competence and MY wealth are very much alike, I dare say; and without them, as the world goes now, we shall both agree that every kind of external comfort must be wanting.
Your ideas are only more noble than mine.
Come, what is your competence?"
" About eighteen hundred or two thousand a year; not more than THAT."
Elinor laughed.
" TWO thousand a year!
ONE is my wealth!
I guessed how it would end."
" And yet two thousand a - year is a very moderate income," said Marianne.
" A family cannot well be maintained on a smaller.
I am sure I am not extravagant in my demands.
A proper establishment of servants, a carriage, perhaps two, and hunters, cannot be supported on less."
Elinor smiled again, to hear her sister describing so accurately their future expenses at Combe Magna.
" Hunters!"
repeated Edward --" but why must you have hunters?
Every body does not hunt."
Marianne coloured as she replied, " But most people do."
" I wish," said Margaret, striking out a novel thought, " that somebody would give us all a large fortune apiece!"
" Oh that they would!"
cried Marianne, her eyes sparkling with animation, and her cheeks glowing with the delight of such imaginary happiness.
" We are all unanimous in that wish, I suppose," said Elinor, " in spite of the insufficiency of wealth."
" Oh dear!"
cried Margaret, " how happy I should be!
I wonder what I should do with it!"
Marianne looked as if she had no doubt on that point.
" I should be puzzled to spend so large a fortune myself," said Mrs. Dashwood, " if my children were all to be rich my help."
" You must begin your improvements on this house," observed Elinor, " and your difficulties will soon vanish."
" What magnificent orders would travel from this family to London," said Edward, " in such an event!
What a happy day for booksellers, music - sellers, and print - shops!
You, Miss Dashwood, would give a general commission for every new print of merit to be sent you--and as for Marianne, I know her greatness of soul, there would not be music enough in London to content her.
And books!-- Thomson, Cowper, Scott--she would buy them all over and over again: she would buy up every copy, I believe, to prevent their falling into unworthy hands; and she would have every book that tells her how to admire an old twisted tree.
Should not you, Marianne?
Forgive me, if I am very saucy.
But I was willing to shew you that I had not forgot our old disputes."
" I love to be reminded of the past, Edward--whether it be melancholy or gay, I love to recall it--and you will never offend me by talking of former times.
You are very right in supposing how my money would be spent--some of it, at least--my loose cash would certainly be employed in improving my collection of music and books."
" And the bulk of your fortune would be laid out in annuities on the authors or their heirs."
" No, Edward, I should have something else to do with it."
" Perhaps, then, you would bestow it as a reward on that person who wrote the ablest defence of your favourite maxim, that no one can ever be in love more than once in their life--your opinion on that point is unchanged, I presume?"
" Undoubtedly.
At my time of life opinions are tolerably fixed.
It is not likely that I should now see or hear any thing to change them."
" Marianne is as steadfast as ever, you see," said Elinor, " she is not at all altered."
" She is only grown a little more grave than she was."
" Nay, Edward," said Marianne, " you need not reproach me.
You are not very gay yourself."
" Why should you think so!"
replied he, with a sigh.
" But gaiety never was a part of MY character."
" Nor do I think it a part of Marianne's," said Elinor; " I should hardly call her a lively girl--she is very earnest, very eager in all she does--sometimes talks a great deal and always with animation--but she is not often really merry."
" I believe you are right," he replied, " and yet I have always set her down as a lively girl."
Sometimes one is guided by what they say of themselves, and very frequently by what other people say of them, without giving oneself time to deliberate and judge."
" But I thought it was right, Elinor," said Marianne, " to be guided wholly by the opinion of other people.
I thought our judgments were given us merely to be subservient to those of neighbours.
This has always been your doctrine, I am sure."
" No, Marianne, never.
My doctrine has never aimed at the subjection of the understanding.
All I have ever attempted to influence has been the behaviour.
You must not confound my meaning.
I am guilty, I confess, of having often wished you to treat our acquaintance in general with greater attention; but when have I advised you to adopt their sentiments or to conform to their judgment in serious matters?"
" You have not been able to bring your sister over to your plan of general civility," said Edward to Elinor, " Do you gain no ground?"
" Quite the contrary," replied Elinor, looking expressively at Marianne.
" My judgment," he returned, " is all on your side of the question; but I am afraid my practice is much more on your sister's.
I never wish to offend, but I am so foolishly shy, that I often seem negligent, when I am only kept back by my natural awkwardness.
I have frequently thought that I must have been intended by nature to be fond of low company, I am so little at my ease among strangers of gentility!"
" Marianne has not shyness to excuse any inattention of hers," said Elinor.
" She knows her own worth too well for false shame," replied Edward.
" Shyness is only the effect of a sense of inferiority in some way or other.
If I could persuade myself that my manners were perfectly easy and graceful, I should not be shy."
" But you would still be reserved," said Marianne, " and that is worse."
Edward started --" Reserved!
Am I reserved, Marianne?"
" Yes, very."
" I do not understand you," replied he, colouring.
" Reserved!-- how, in what manner?
What am I to tell you?
What can you suppose?"
Elinor looked surprised at his emotion; but trying to laugh off the subject, she said to him, " Do not you know my sister well enough to understand what she means?
Do not you know she calls every one reserved who does not talk as fast, and admire what she admires as rapturously as herself?"
Edward made no answer.
His gravity and thoughtfulness returned on him in their fullest extent--and he sat for some time silent and dull.
CHAPTER 18
Elinor saw, with great uneasiness the low spirits of her friend.
His visit afforded her but a very partial satisfaction, while his own enjoyment in it appeared so imperfect.
He joined her and Marianne in the breakfast - room the next morning before the others were down; and Marianne, who was always eager to promote their happiness as far as she could, soon left them to themselves.
But before she was half way upstairs she heard the parlour door open, and, turning round, was astonished to see Edward himself come out.
" I am going into the village to see my horses," said be, " as you are not yet ready for breakfast; I shall be back again presently."
***
I shall call hills steep, which ought to be bold; surfaces strange and uncouth, which ought to be irregular and rugged; and distant objects out of sight, which ought only to be indistinct through the soft medium of a hazy atmosphere.
You must be satisfied with such admiration as I can honestly give.
I call it a very fine country--the hills are steep, the woods seem full of fine timber, and the valley looks comfortable and snug--with rich meadows and several neat farm houses scattered here and there.
It exactly answers my idea of a fine country, because it unites beauty with utility--and I dare say it is a picturesque one too, because you admire it; I can easily believe it to be full of rocks and promontories, grey moss and brush wood, but these are all lost on me.
I know nothing of the picturesque."
" I am afraid it is but too true," said Marianne; " but why should you boast of it?"
" I suspect," said Elinor, " that to avoid one kind of affectation, Edward here falls into another.
Because he believes many people pretend to more admiration of the beauties of nature than they really feel, and is disgusted with such pretensions, he affects greater indifference and less discrimination in viewing them himself than he possesses.
He is fastidious and will have an affectation of his own."
" It is very true," said Marianne, " that admiration of landscape scenery is become a mere jargon.
Every body pretends to feel and tries to describe with the taste and elegance of him who first defined what picturesque beauty was.
I detest jargon of every kind, and sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to describe them in but what was worn and hackneyed out of all sense and meaning."
" I am convinced," said Edward, " that you really feel all the delight in a fine prospect which you profess to feel.
But, in return, your sister must allow me to feel no more than I profess.
I like a fine prospect, but not on picturesque principles.
I do not like crooked, twisted, blasted trees.
I admire them much more if they are tall, straight, and flourishing.
I do not like ruined, tattered cottages.
I am not fond of nettles or thistles, or heath blossoms.
I have more pleasure in a snug farm - house than a watch - tower--and a troop of tidy, happy villages please me better than the finest banditti in the world."
Marianne looked with amazement at Edward, with compassion at her sister.
Elinor only laughed.
The subject was continued no farther; and Marianne remained thoughtfully silent, till a new object suddenly engaged her attention.
She was sitting by Edward, and in taking his tea from Mrs. Dashwood, his hand passed so directly before her, as to make a ring, with a plait of hair in the centre, very conspicuous on one of his fingers.
" I never saw you wear a ring before, Edward," she cried.
" Is that Fanny's hair?
I remember her promising to give you some.
But I should have thought her hair had been darker."
Marianne spoke inconsiderately what she really felt--but when she saw how much she had pained Edward, her own vexation at her want of thought could not be surpassed by his.
He coloured very deeply, and giving a momentary glance at Elinor, replied, " Yes; it is my sister's hair.
The setting always casts a different shade on it, you know."
Elinor had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise.
Edward's embarrassment lasted some time, and it ended in an absence of mind still more settled.
He was particularly grave the whole morning.
Marianne severely censured herself for what she had said; but her own forgiveness might have been more speedy, had she known how little offence it had given her sister.
Before the middle of the day, they were visited by Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, who, having heard of the arrival of a gentleman at the cottage, came to take a survey of the guest.
But, as it was, she only learned, from some very significant looks, how far their penetration, founded on Margaret's instructions, extended.
Sir John never came to the Dashwoods without either inviting them to dine at the park the next day, or to drink tea with them that evening.
On the present occasion, for the better entertainment of their visitor, towards whose amusement he felt himself bound to contribute, he wished to engage them for both.
" You MUST drink tea with us to night," said he, " for we shall be quite alone--and tomorrow you must absolutely dine with us, for we shall be a large party."
Mrs. Jennings enforced the necessity.
" And who knows but you may raise a dance," said she.
" And that will tempt YOU, Miss Marianne."
" A dance!"
cried Marianne.
" Impossible!
Who is to dance?"
" Who!
why yourselves, and the Careys, and Whitakers to be sure.-- What!
you thought nobody could dance because a certain person that shall be nameless is gone!"
" I wish with all my soul," cried Sir John, " that Willoughby were among us again."
This, and Marianne's blushing, gave new suspicions to Edward.
" And who is Willoughby?"
said he, in a low voice, to Miss Dashwood, by whom he was sitting.
She gave him a brief reply.
Marianne's countenance was more communicative.
Edward saw enough to comprehend, not only the meaning of others, but such of Marianne's expressions as had puzzled him before; and when their visitors left them, he went immediately round her, and said, in a whisper, " I have been guessing.
Shall I tell you my guess?"
" What do you mean?"
" Shall I tell you."
" Certainly."
" Well then; I guess that Mr. Willoughby hunts."
Marianne was surprised and confused, yet she could not help smiling at the quiet archness of his manner, and after a moment's silence, said,
" Oh, Edward!
How can you?-- But the time will come I hope... I am sure you will like him."
CHAPTER 19
Edward remained a week at the cottage; he was earnestly pressed by Mrs. Dashwood to stay longer; but, as if he were bent only on self - mortification, he seemed resolved to be gone when his enjoyment among his friends was at the height.
Never had any week passed so quickly--he could hardly believe it to be gone.
He said so repeatedly; other things he said too, which marked the turn of his feelings and gave the lie to his actions.
He had no pleasure at Norland; he detested being in town; but either to Norland or London, he must go.
He valued their kindness beyond any thing, and his greatest happiness was in being with them.
Yet, he must leave them at the end of a week, in spite of their wishes and his own, and without any restraint on his time.
Elinor placed all that was astonishing in this way of acting to his mother's account; and it was happy for her that he had a mother whose character was so imperfectly known to her, as to be the general excuse for every thing strange on the part of her son.
His want of spirits, of openness, and of consistency, were most usually attributed to his want of independence, and his better knowledge of Mrs. Ferrars's disposition and designs.
The shortness of his visit, the steadiness of his purpose in leaving them, originated in the same fettered inclination, the same inevitable necessity of temporizing with his mother.
The old well - established grievance of duty against will, parent against child, was the cause of all.
She would have been glad to know when these difficulties were to cease, this opposition was to yield,-- when Mrs. Ferrars would be reformed, and her son be at liberty to be happy.
" I think, Edward," said Mrs. Dashwood, as they were at breakfast the last morning, " you would be a happier man if you had any profession to engage your time and give an interest to your plans and actions.
Some inconvenience to your friends, indeed, might result from it--you would not be able to give them so much of your time.
But (with a smile) you would be materially benefited in one particular at least--you would know where to go when you left them."
" I do assure you," he replied, " that I have long thought on this point, as you think now.
It has been, and is, and probably will always be a heavy misfortune to me, that I have had no necessary business to engage me, no profession to give me employment, or afford me any thing like independence.
But unfortunately my own nicety, and the nicety of my friends, have made me what I am, an idle, helpless being.
We never could agree in our choice of a profession.
I always preferred the church, as I still do.
But that was not smart enough for my family.
They recommended the army.
That was a great deal too smart for me.
The law was allowed to be genteel enough; many young men, who had chambers in the Temple, made a very good appearance in the first circles, and drove about town in very knowing gigs.
But I had no inclination for the law, even in this less abstruse study of it, which my family approved.
I was therefore entered at Oxford and have been properly idle ever since."
" The consequence of which, I suppose, will be," said Mrs. Dashwood, " since leisure has not promoted your own happiness, that your sons will be brought up to as many pursuits, employments, professions, and trades as Columella's."
" They will be brought up," said he, in a serious accent, " to be as unlike myself as is possible.
In feeling, in action, in condition, in every thing."
" Come, come; this is all an effusion of immediate want of spirits, Edward.
You are in a melancholy humour, and fancy that any one unlike yourself must be happy.
But remember that the pain of parting from friends will be felt by every body at times, whatever be their education or state.
Know your own happiness.
You want nothing but patience--or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope.
Your mother will secure to you, in time, that independence you are so anxious for; it is her duty, and it will, it must ere long become her happiness to prevent your whole youth from being wasted in discontent.
How much may not a few months do?"
" I think," replied Edward, " that I may defy many months to produce any good to me."
Their means were as different as their objects, and equally suited to the advancement of each.
Such behaviour as this, so exactly the reverse of her own, appeared no more meritorious to Marianne, than her own had seemed faulty to her.
The business of self - command she settled very easily;-- with strong affections it was impossible, with calm ones it could have no merit.
That her sister's affections WERE calm, she dared not deny, though she blushed to acknowledge it; and of the strength of her own, she gave a very striking proof, by still loving and respecting that sister, in spite of this mortifying conviction.
There were moments in abundance, when, if not by the absence of her mother and sisters, at least by the nature of their employments, conversation was forbidden among them, and every effect of solitude was produced.
Her mind was inevitably at liberty; her thoughts could not be chained elsewhere; and the past and the future, on a subject so interesting, must be before her, must force her attention, and engross her memory, her reflection, and her fancy.
From a reverie of this kind, as she sat at her drawing - table, she was roused one morning, soon after Edward's leaving them, by the arrival of company.
She happened to be quite alone.
The closing of the little gate, at the entrance of the green court in front of the house, drew her eyes to the window, and she saw a large party walking up to the door.
Amongst them were Sir John and Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings, but there were two others, a gentleman and lady, who were quite unknown to her.
" Well," said he, " we have brought you some strangers.
How do you like them?"
" Hush!
they will hear you."
" Never mind if they do.
It is only the Palmers.
Charlotte is very pretty, I can tell you.
You may see her if you look this way."
As Elinor was certain of seeing her in a couple of minutes, without taking that liberty, she begged to be excused.
" Where is Marianne?
Has she run away because we are come?
I see her instrument is open."
" She is walking, I believe."
They were now joined by Mrs. Jennings, who had not patience enough to wait till the door was opened before she told HER story.
She came hallooing to the window, " How do you do, my dear?
How does Mrs. Dashwood do?
And where are your sisters?
What!
all alone!
you will be glad of a little company to sit with you.
I have brought my other son and daughter to see you.
Only think of their coming so suddenly!
I thought I heard a carriage last night, while we were drinking our tea, but it never entered my head that it could be them.
I thought of nothing but whether it might not be Colonel Brandon come back again; so I said to Sir John, I do think I hear a carriage; perhaps it is Colonel Brandon come back again "--
Mrs. Palmer was several years younger than Lady Middleton, and totally unlike her in every respect.
She was short and plump, had a very pretty face, and the finest expression of good humour in it that could possibly be.
Her manners were by no means so elegant as her sister's, but they were much more prepossessing.
She came in with a smile, smiled all the time of her visit, except when she laughed, and smiled when she went away.
Her husband was a grave looking young man of five or six and twenty, with an air of more fashion and sense than his wife, but of less willingness to please or be pleased.
He entered the room with a look of self - consequence, slightly bowed to the ladies, without speaking a word, and, after briefly surveying them and their apartments, took up a newspaper from the table, and continued to read it as long as he staid.
Mrs. Palmer, on the contrary, who was strongly endowed by nature with a turn for being uniformly civil and happy, was hardly seated before her admiration of the parlour and every thing in it burst forth.
" Well!
what a delightful room this is!
I never saw anything so charming!
Only think, Mamma, how it is improved since I was here last!
I always thought it such a sweet place, ma'am!
(turning to Mrs. Dashwood) but you have made it so charming!
Only look, sister, how delightful every thing is!
How I should like such a house for myself!
Should not you, Mr.
Palmer?"
Mr. Palmer made her no answer, and did not even raise his eyes from the newspaper.
" Mr. Palmer does not hear me," said she, laughing; " he never does sometimes.
It is so ridiculous!"
This was quite a new idea to Mrs. Dashwood; she had never been used to find wit in the inattention of any one, and could not help looking with surprise at them both.
Mrs. Jennings, in the meantime, talked on as loud as she could, and continued her account of their surprise, the evening before, on seeing their friends, without ceasing till every thing was told.
Mrs. Palmer laughed heartily at the recollection of their astonishment, and every body agreed, two or three times over, that it had been quite an agreeable surprise.
I wanted her to stay at home and rest this morning, but she would come with us; she longed so much to see you all!"
Mrs. Palmer laughed, and said it would not do her any harm.
" She expects to be confined in February," continued Mrs. Jennings.
Lady Middleton could no longer endure such a conversation, and therefore exerted herself to ask Mr. Palmer if there was any news in the paper.
" No, none at all," he replied, and read on.
" Here comes Marianne," cried Sir John.
" Now, Palmer, you shall see a monstrous pretty girl."
He immediately went into the passage, opened the front door, and ushered her in himself.
Mrs. Jennings asked her, as soon as she appeared, if she had not been to Allenham; and Mrs. Palmer laughed so heartily at the question, as to show she understood it.
Mr. Palmer looked up on her entering the room, stared at her some minutes, and then returned to his newspaper.
Mrs. Palmer's eye was now caught by the drawings which hung round the room.
She got up to examine them.
" Oh!
dear, how beautiful these are!
Well!
how delightful!
Do but look, mama, how sweet!
I declare they are quite charming; I could look at them for ever."
And then sitting down again, she very soon forgot that there were any such things in the room.
When Lady Middleton rose to go away, Mr. Palmer rose also, laid down the newspaper, stretched himself and looked at them all around.
" My love, have you been asleep?"
said his wife, laughing.
He made her no answer; and only observed, after again examining the room, that it was very low pitched, and that the ceiling was crooked.
He then made his bow, and departed with the rest.
Sir John had been very urgent with them all to spend the next day at the park.
Mrs. Dashwood, who did not chuse to dine with them oftener than they dined at the cottage, absolutely refused on her own account; her daughters might do as they pleased.
But they had no curiosity to see how Mr. and Mrs. Palmer ate their dinner, and no expectation of pleasure from them in any other way.
They attempted, therefore, likewise, to excuse themselves; the weather was uncertain, and not likely to be good.
But Sir John would not be satisfied--the carriage should be sent for them and they must come.
Lady Middleton too, though she did not press their mother, pressed them.
Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Palmer joined their entreaties, all seemed equally anxious to avoid a family party; and the young ladies were obliged to yield.
" Why should they ask us?"
said Marianne, as soon as they were gone.
" The rent of this cottage is said to be low; but we have it on very hard terms, if we are to dine at the park whenever any one is staying either with them, or with us."
" They mean no less to be civil and kind to us now," said Elinor, " by these frequent invitations, than by those which we received from them a few weeks ago.
The alteration is not in them, if their parties are grown tedious and dull.
We must look for the change elsewhere."
CHAPTER 20
As the Miss Dashwoods entered the drawing - room of the park the next day, at one door, Mrs. Palmer came running in at the other, looking as good humoured and merry as before.
She took them all most affectionately by the hand, and expressed great delight in seeing them again.
" I am so glad to see you!"
said she, seating herself between Elinor and Marianne, " for it is so bad a day I was afraid you might not come, which would be a shocking thing, as we go away again tomorrow.
We must go, for the Westons come to us next week you know.
It was quite a sudden thing our coming at all, and I knew nothing of it till the carriage was coming to the door, and then Mr. Palmer asked me if I would go with him to Barton.
He is so droll!
He never tells me any thing!
I am so sorry we cannot stay longer; however we shall meet again in town very soon, I hope."
They were obliged to put an end to such an expectation.
" Not go to town!"
cried Mrs. Palmer, with a laugh, " I shall be quite disappointed if you do not.
I could get the nicest house in world for you, next door to ours, in Hanover - square.
You must come, indeed.
I am sure I shall be very happy to chaperon you at any time till I am confined, if Mrs. Dashwood should not like to go into public."
They thanked her; but were obliged to resist all her entreaties.
" Oh, my love," cried Mrs. Palmer to her husband, who just then entered the room --" you must help me to persuade the Miss Dashwoods to go to town this winter."
Her love made no answer; and after slightly bowing to the ladies, began complaining of the weather.
" How horrid all this is!"
said he.
" Such weather makes every thing and every body disgusting.
Dullness is as much produced within doors as without, by rain.
It makes one detest all one's acquaintance.
What the devil does Sir John mean by not having a billiard room in his house?
How few people know what comfort is!
Sir John is as stupid as the weather."
The rest of the company soon dropt in.
" I am afraid, Miss Marianne," said Sir John, " you have not been able to take your usual walk to Allenham today."
Marianne looked very grave and said nothing.
" Oh, don't be so sly before us," said Mrs. Palmer; " for we know all about it, I assure you; and I admire your taste very much, for I think he is extremely handsome.
We do not live a great way from him in the country, you know.
Not above ten miles, I dare say."
" Much nearer thirty," said her husband.
" Ah, well!
there is not much difference.
I never was at his house; but they say it is a sweet pretty place."
" As vile a spot as I ever saw in my life," said Mr. Palmer.
Marianne remained perfectly silent, though her countenance betrayed her interest in what was said.
" Is it very ugly?"
continued Mrs. Palmer --" then it must be some other place that is so pretty I suppose."
When they were seated in the dining room, Sir John observed with regret that they were only eight all together.
" My dear," said he to his lady, " it is very provoking that we should be so few.
Why did not you ask the Gilberts to come to us today?"
" Did not I tell you, Sir John, when you spoke to me about it before, that it could not be done?
They dined with us last."
" You and I, Sir John," said Mrs. Jennings, " should not stand upon such ceremony."
" Then you would be very ill - bred," cried Mr. Palmer.
" My love you contradict every body," said his wife with her usual laugh.
" Do you know that you are quite rude?"
" I did not know I contradicted any body in calling your mother ill - bred."
" Ay, you may abuse me as you please," said the good - natured old lady, " you have taken Charlotte off my hands, and cannot give her back again.
So there I have the whip hand of you."
Charlotte laughed heartily to think that her husband could not get rid of her; and exultingly said, she did not care how cross he was to her, as they must live together.
It was impossible for any one to be more thoroughly good - natured, or more determined to be happy than Mrs. Palmer.
The studied indifference, insolence, and discontent of her husband gave her no pain; and when he scolded or abused her, she was highly diverted.
" Mr. Palmer is so droll!"
said she, in a whisper, to Elinor.
" He is always out of humour."
Elinor was not inclined, after a little observation, to give him credit for being so genuinely and unaffectedly ill - natured or ill - bred as he wished to appear.
It was the desire of appearing superior to other people.
The motive was too common to be wondered at; but the means, however they might succeed by establishing his superiority in ill - breeding, were not likely to attach any one to him except his wife.
" Oh, my dear Miss Dashwood," said Mrs. Palmer soon afterwards, " I have got such a favour to ask of you and your sister.
Will you come and spend some time at Cleveland this Christmas?
Now, pray do,-- and come while the Westons are with us.
You cannot think how happy I shall be!
It will be quite delightful!-- My love," applying to her husband, " don't you long to have the Miss Dashwoods come to Cleveland?"
" Certainly," he replied, with a sneer --" I came into Devonshire with no other view."
" There now,"-- said his lady, " you see Mr. Palmer expects you; so you cannot refuse to come."
They both eagerly and resolutely declined her invitation.
" But indeed you must and shall come.
I am sure you will like it of all things.
The Westons will be with us, and it will be quite delightful.
You cannot think what a sweet place Cleveland is; and we are so gay now, for Mr. Palmer is always going about the country canvassing against the election; and so many people came to dine with us that I never saw before, it is quite charming!
But, poor fellow!
it is very fatiguing to him!
for he is forced to make every body like him."
Elinor could hardly keep her countenance as she assented to the hardship of such an obligation.
" How charming it will be," said Charlotte, " when he is in Parliament!-- won't it?
How I shall laugh!
It will be so ridiculous to see all his letters directed to him with an M. P.-- But do you know, he says, he will never frank for me?
He declares he won't.
Don't you, Mr.
Palmer?"
Mr. Palmer took no notice of her.
" He cannot bear writing, you know," she continued--" he says it is quite shocking."
" No," said he, " I never said any thing so irrational.
Don't palm all your abuses of languages upon me."
" There now; you see how droll he is.
This is always the way with him!
Sometimes he won't speak to me for half a day together, and then he comes out with something so droll--all about any thing in the world."
She surprised Elinor very much as they returned into the drawing - room, by asking her whether she did not like Mr. Palmer excessively.
" Certainly," said Elinor; " he seems very agreeable."
" Well--I am so glad you do.
I thought you would, he is so pleasant; and Mr. Palmer is excessively pleased with you and your sisters I can tell you, and you can't think how disappointed he will be if you don't come to Cleveland.-- I can't imagine why you should object to it."
Elinor was again obliged to decline her invitation; and by changing the subject, put a stop to her entreaties.
She began by inquiring if they saw much of Mr. Willoughby at Cleveland, and whether they were intimately acquainted with him.
" Oh dear, yes; I know him extremely well," replied Mrs. Palmer;--" Not that I ever spoke to him, indeed; but I have seen him for ever in town.
Somehow or other I never happened to be staying at Barton while he was at Allenham.
Mama saw him here once before;-- but I was with my uncle at Weymouth.
However, I dare say we should have seen a great deal of him in Somersetshire, if it had not happened very unluckily that we should never have been in the country together.
He is very little at Combe, I believe; but if he were ever so much there, I do not think Mr. Palmer would visit him, for he is in the opposition, you know, and besides it is such a way off.
I know why you inquire about him, very well; your sister is to marry him.
I am monstrous glad of it, for then I shall have her for a neighbour you know."
" Upon my word," replied Elinor, " you know much more of the matter than I do, if you have any reason to expect such a match."
" Don't pretend to deny it, because you know it is what every body talks of.
I assure you I heard of it in my way through town."
" My dear Mrs.
Palmer!"
" Upon my honour I did.-- I met Colonel Brandon Monday morning in Bond - street, just before we left town, and he told me of it directly."
" You surprise me very much.
Colonel Brandon tell you of it!
Surely you must be mistaken.
To give such intelligence to a person who could not be interested in it, even if it were true, is not what I should expect Colonel Brandon to do."
" But I do assure you it was so, for all that, and I will tell you how it happened.
Is it true, pray?
for of course you must know, as you have been in Devonshire so lately.'"
" And what did the Colonel say?"
" Oh--he did not say much; but he looked as if he knew it to be true, so from that moment I set it down as certain.
It will be quite delightful, I declare!
When is it to take place?"
" Mr. Brandon was very well I hope?"
" Oh!
yes, quite well; and so full of your praises, he did nothing but say fine things of you."
" I am flattered by his commendation.
He seems an excellent man; and I think him uncommonly pleasing."
" So do I.-- He is such a charming man, that it is quite a pity he should be so grave and so dull.
Mamma says HE was in love with your sister too.-- I assure you it was a great compliment if he was, for he hardly ever falls in love with any body."
" Is Mr. Willoughby much known in your part of Somersetshire?"
said Elinor.
" Oh!
yes, extremely well; that is, I do not believe many people are acquainted with him, because Combe Magna is so far off; but they all think him extremely agreeable I assure you.
Nobody is more liked than Mr. Willoughby wherever he goes, and so you may tell your sister.
She is a monstrous lucky girl to get him, upon my honour; not but that he is much more lucky in getting her, because she is so very handsome and agreeable, that nothing can be good enough for her.
However, I don't think her hardly at all handsomer than you, I assure you; for I think you both excessively pretty, and so does Mr. Palmer too I am sure, though we could not get him to own it last night."
Mrs. Palmer's information respecting Willoughby was not very material; but any testimony in his favour, however small, was pleasing to her.
" I am so glad we are got acquainted at last," continued Charlotte.--" And now I hope we shall always be great friends.
You can't think how much I longed to see you!
It is so delightful that you should live at the cottage!
Nothing can be like it, to be sure!
And I am so glad your sister is going to be well married!
I hope you will be a great deal at Combe Magna.
It is a sweet place, by all accounts."
" You have been long acquainted with Colonel Brandon, have not you?"
" Yes, a great while; ever since my sister married.-- He was a particular friend of Sir John's.
I believe," she added in a low voice, " he would have been very glad to have had me, if he could.
Sir John and Lady Middleton wished it very much.
But mama did not think the match good enough for me, otherwise Sir John would have mentioned it to the Colonel, and we should have been married immediately."
" Did not Colonel Brandon know of Sir John's proposal to your mother before it was made?
Had he never owned his affection to yourself?"
" Oh, no; but if mama had not objected to it, I dare say he would have liked it of all things.
He had not seen me then above twice, for it was before I left school.
However, I am much happier as I am.
Mr. Palmer is the kind of man I like."
CHAPTER 21
The Palmers returned to Cleveland the next day, and the two families at Barton were again left to entertain each other.
As it was impossible, however, now to prevent their coming, Lady Middleton resigned herself to the idea of it, with all the philosophy of a well - bred woman, contenting herself with merely giving her husband a gentle reprimand on the subject five or six times every day.
The young ladies arrived: their appearance was by no means ungenteel or unfashionable.
She declared them to be very agreeable girls indeed, which for her ladyship was enthusiastic admiration.
Sir John's confidence in his own judgment rose with this animated praise, and he set off directly for the cottage to tell the Miss Dashwoods of the Miss Steeles'arrival, and to assure them of their being the sweetest girls in the world.
From such commendation as this, however, there was not much to be learned; Elinor well knew that the sweetest girls in the world were to be met with in every part of England, under every possible variation of form, face, temper and understanding.
Sir John wanted the whole family to walk to the Park directly and look at his guests.
Benevolent, philanthropic man!
It was painful to him even to keep a third cousin to himself.
" Do come now," said he --" pray come--you must come--I declare you shall come--You can't think how you will like them.
Lucy is monstrous pretty, and so good humoured and agreeable!
The children are all hanging about her already, as if she was an old acquaintance.
And they both long to see you of all things, for they have heard at Exeter that you are the most beautiful creatures in the world; and I have told them it is all very true, and a great deal more.
You will be delighted with them I am sure.
They have brought the whole coach full of playthings for the children.
How can you be so cross as not to come?
Why they are your cousins, you know, after a fashion.
YOU are my cousins, and they are my wife's, so you must be related."
But Sir John could not prevail.
He could only obtain a promise of their calling at the Park within a day or two, and then left them in amazement at their indifference, to walk home and boast anew of their attractions to the Miss Steeles, as he had been already boasting of the Miss Steeles to them.
She saw with maternal complacency all the impertinent encroachments and mischievous tricks to which her cousins submitted.
She saw their sashes untied, their hair pulled about their ears, their work - bags searched, and their knives and scissors stolen away, and felt no doubt of its being a reciprocal enjoyment.
It suggested no other surprise than that Elinor and Marianne should sit so composedly by, without claiming a share in what was passing.
" John is in such spirits today!"
said she, on his taking Miss Steeles's pocket handkerchief, and throwing it out of window --" He is full of monkey tricks."
And soon afterwards, on the second boy's violently pinching one of the same lady's fingers, she fondly observed, " How playful William is!"
" And here is my sweet little Annamaria," she added, tenderly caressing a little girl of three years old, who had not made a noise for the last two minutes; " And she is always so gentle and quiet--Never was there such a quiet little thing!"
But unfortunately in bestowing these embraces, a pin in her ladyship's head dress slightly scratching the child's neck, produced from this pattern of gentleness such violent screams, as could hardly be outdone by any creature professedly noisy.
The mother's consternation was excessive; but it could not surpass the alarm of the Miss Steeles, and every thing was done by all three, in so critical an emergency, which affection could suggest as likely to assuage the agonies of the little sufferer.
She was seated in her mother's lap, covered with kisses, her wound bathed with lavender - water, by one of the Miss Steeles, who was on her knees to attend her, and her mouth stuffed with sugar plums by the other.
With such a reward for her tears, the child was too wise to cease crying.
" Poor little creatures!"
said Miss Steele, as soon as they were gone.
" It might have been a very sad accident."
" Yet I hardly know how," cried Marianne, " unless it had been under totally different circumstances.
But this is the usual way of heightening alarm, where there is nothing to be alarmed at in reality."
" What a sweet woman Lady Middleton is!"
said Lucy Steele.
Marianne was silent; it was impossible for her to say what she did not feel, however trivial the occasion; and upon Elinor therefore the whole task of telling lies when politeness required it, always fell.
She did her best when thus called on, by speaking of Lady Middleton with more warmth than she felt, though with far less than Miss Lucy.
" And Sir John too," cried the elder sister, " what a charming man he is!"
Here too, Miss Dashwood's commendation, being only simple and just, came in without any eclat.
She merely observed that he was perfectly good humoured and friendly.
" And what a charming little family they have!
I never saw such fine children in my life.-- I declare I quite doat upon them already, and indeed I am always distractedly fond of children."
" I should guess so," said Elinor, with a smile, " from what I have witnessed this morning."
" I confess," replied Elinor, " that while I am at Barton Park, I never think of tame and quiet children with any abhorrence."
A short pause succeeded this speech, which was first broken by Miss Steele, who seemed very much disposed for conversation, and who now said rather abruptly, " And how do you like Devonshire, Miss Dashwood?
I suppose you were very sorry to leave Sussex."
In some surprise at the familiarity of this question, or at least of the manner in which it was spoken, Elinor replied that she was.
" Norland is a prodigious beautiful place, is not it?"
added Miss Steele.
" We have heard Sir John admire it excessively," said Lucy, who seemed to think some apology necessary for the freedom of her sister.
" I think every one MUST admire it," replied Elinor, " who ever saw the place; though it is not to be supposed that any one can estimate its beauties as we do."
" And had you a great many smart beaux there?
I suppose you have not so many in this part of the world; for my part, I think they are a vast addition always."
" But why should you think," said Lucy, looking ashamed of her sister, " that there are not as many genteel young men in Devonshire as Sussex?"
" Nay, my dear, I'm sure I don't pretend to say that there an't.
I'm sure there's a vast many smart beaux in Exeter; but you know, how could I tell what smart beaux there might be about Norland; and I was only afraid the Miss Dashwoods might find it dull at Barton, if they had not so many as they used to have.
But perhaps you young ladies may not care about the beaux, and had as lief be without them as with them.
For my part, I think they are vastly agreeable, provided they dress smart and behave civil.
But I can't bear to see them dirty and nasty.
" Upon my word," replied Elinor, " I cannot tell you, for I do not perfectly comprehend the meaning of the word.
But this I can say, that if he ever was a beau before he married, he is one still for there is not the smallest alteration in him."
" Oh!
dear!
one never thinks of married men's being beaux--they have something else to do."
" Lord!
Anne," cried her sister, " you can talk of nothing but beaux;-- you will make Miss Dashwood believe you think of nothing else."
And then to turn the discourse, she began admiring the house and the furniture.
This specimen of the Miss Steeles was enough.
The vulgar freedom and folly of the eldest left her no recommendation, and as Elinor was not blinded by the beauty, or the shrewd look of the youngest, to her want of real elegance and artlessness, she left the house without any wish of knowing them better.
Sir John could do no more; but he did not know that any more was required: to be together was, in his opinion, to be intimate, and while his continual schemes for their meeting were effectual, he had not a doubt of their being established friends.
' Twill be a fine thing to have her married so young to be sure," said she, " and I hear he is quite a beau, and prodigious handsome.
And I hope you may have as good luck yourself soon,-- but perhaps you may have a friend in the corner already."
The letter F--had been likewise invariably brought forward, and found productive of such countless jokes, that its character as the wittiest letter in the alphabet had been long established with Elinor.
But Sir John did not sport long with the curiosity which he delighted to raise, for he had at least as much pleasure in telling the name, as Miss Steele had in hearing it.
" His name is Ferrars," said he, in a very audible whisper; " but pray do not tell it, for it's a great secret."
" Ferrars!"
repeated Miss Steele; " Mr. Ferrars is the happy man, is he?
What!
your sister - in - law's brother, Miss Dashwood?
a very agreeable young man to be sure; I know him very well."
" How can you say so, Anne?"
cried Lucy, who generally made an amendment to all her sister's assertions.
" Though we have seen him once or twice at my uncle's, it is rather too much to pretend to know him very well."
Elinor heard all this with attention and surprise.
" And who was this uncle?
Where did he live?
How came they acquainted?"
CHAPTER 22
" You will think my question an odd one, I dare say," said Lucy to her one day, as they were walking together from the park to the cottage --" but pray, are you personally acquainted with your sister - in - law's mother, Mrs.
Ferrars?"
Elinor DID think the question a very odd one, and her countenance expressed it, as she answered that she had never seen Mrs. Ferrars.
" Indeed!"
replied Lucy; " I wonder at that, for I thought you must have seen her at Norland sometimes.
Then, perhaps, you cannot tell me what sort of a woman she is?"
" No," returned Elinor, cautious of giving her real opinion of Edward's mother, and not very desirous of satisfying what seemed impertinent curiosity--" I know nothing of her."
Elinor made her a civil reply, and they walked on for a few minutes in silence.
It was broken by Lucy, who renewed the subject again by saying, with some hesitation,
" I cannot bear to have you think me impertinently curious.
I am sure I would rather do any thing in the world than be thought so by a person whose good opinion is so well worth having as yours.
And I am sure I should not have the smallest fear of trusting YOU; indeed, I should be very glad of your advice how to manage in such and uncomfortable situation as I am; but, however, there is no occasion to trouble YOU.
I am sorry you do not happen to know Mrs.
Ferrars."
" I am sorry I do NOT," said Elinor, in great astonishment, " if it could be of any use to YOU to know my opinion of her.
But really I never understood that you were at all connected with that family, and therefore I am a little surprised, I confess, at so serious an inquiry into her character."
" I dare say you are, and I am sure I do not at all wonder at it.
But if I dared tell you all, you would not be so much surprised.
Mrs. Ferrars is certainly nothing to me at present--but the time MAY come--how soon it will come must depend upon herself--when we may be very intimately connected."
She looked down as she said this, amiably bashful, with only one side glance at her companion to observe its effect on her.
" Good heavens!"
cried Elinor, " what do you mean?
Are you acquainted with Mr. Robert Ferrars?
Can you be?"
And she did not feel much delighted with the idea of such a sister - in - law.
" No," replied Lucy, " not to Mr. ROBERT Ferrars--I never saw him in my life; but," fixing her eyes upon Elinor, " to his eldest brother."
What felt Elinor at that moment?
Astonishment, that would have been as painful as it was strong, had not an immediate disbelief of the assertion attended it.
She turned towards Lucy in silent amazement, unable to divine the reason or object of such a declaration; and though her complexion varied, she stood firm in incredulity, and felt in no danger of an hysterical fit, or a swoon.
And I do not think Mr. Ferrars can be displeased, when he knows I have trusted you, because I know he has the highest opinion in the world of all your family, and looks upon yourself and the other Miss Dashwoods quite as his own sisters."
-- She paused.
Elinor for a few moments remained silent.
" We have been engaged these four years."
" Four years!"
" Yes."
Elinor, though greatly shocked, still felt unable to believe it.
" I did not know," said she, " that you were even acquainted till the other day."
" Our acquaintance, however, is of many years date.
He was under my uncle's care, you know, a considerable while."
" Your uncle!"
" Yes; Mr. Pratt.
Did you never hear him talk of Mr.
Pratt?"
" I think I have," replied Elinor, with an exertion of spirits, which increased with her increase of emotion.
" He was four years with my uncle, who lives at Longstaple, near Plymouth.
It was there our acquaintance begun, for my sister and me was often staying with my uncle, and it was there our engagement was formed, though not till a year after he had quitted as a pupil; but he was almost always with us afterwards.
We cannot mean the same Mr.
Ferrars."
" We can mean no other," cried Lucy, smiling.
" Mr. Edward Ferrars, the eldest son of Mrs. Ferrars, of Park Street, and brother of your sister - in - law, Mrs. John Dashwood, is the person I mean; you must allow that I am not likely to be deceived as to the name of the man on who all my happiness depends."
" It is strange," replied Elinor, in a most painful perplexity, " that I should never have heard him even mention your name."
" No; considering our situation, it was not strange.
She was silent.-- Elinor's security sunk; but her self - command did not sink with it.
" Four years you have been engaged," said she with a firm voice.
" Yes; and heaven knows how much longer we may have to wait.
Poor Edward!
It puts him quite out of heart."
Then taking a small miniature from her pocket, she added, " To prevent the possibility of mistake, be so good as to look at this face.
It does not do him justice, to be sure, but yet I think you cannot be deceived as to the person it was drew for.-- I have had it above these three years."
She put it into her hands as she spoke; and when Elinor saw the painting, whatever other doubts her fear of a too hasty decision, or her wish of detecting falsehood might suffer to linger in her mind, she could have none of its being Edward's face.
She returned it almost instantly, acknowledging the likeness.
" I have never been able," continued Lucy, " to give him my picture in return, which I am very much vexed at, for he has been always so anxious to get it!
But I am determined to set for it the very first opportunity."
" You are quite in the right," replied Elinor calmly.
They then proceeded a few paces in silence.
Lucy spoke first.
" I am sure," said she, " I have no doubt in the world of your faithfully keeping this secret, because you must know of what importance it is to us, not to have it reach his mother; for she would never approve of it, I dare say.
I shall have no fortune, and I fancy she is an exceeding proud woman."
" I certainly did not seek your confidence," said Elinor; " but you do me no more than justice in imagining that I may be depended on.
Your secret is safe with me; but pardon me if I express some surprise at so unnecessary a communication.
You must at least have felt that my being acquainted with it could not add to its safety."
As she said this, she looked earnestly at Lucy, hoping to discover something in her countenance; perhaps the falsehood of the greatest part of what she had been saying; but Lucy's countenance suffered no change.
" I was afraid you would think I was taking a great liberty with you," said she, " in telling you all this.
I have not known you long to be sure, personally at least, but I have known you and all your family by description a great while; and as soon as I saw you, I felt almost as if you was an old acquaintance.
Besides in the present case, I really thought some explanation was due to you after my making such particular inquiries about Edward's mother; and I am so unfortunate, that I have not a creature whose advice I can ask.
Anne is the only person that knows of it, and she has no judgment at all; indeed, she does me a great deal more harm than good, for I am in constant fear of her betraying me.
She does not know how to hold her tongue, as you must perceive, and I am sure I was in the greatest fright in the world t'other day, when Edward's name was mentioned by Sir John, lest she should out with it all.
You can't think how much I go through in my mind from it altogether.
I only wonder that I am alive after what I have suffered for Edward's sake these last four years.
Every thing in such suspense and uncertainty; and seeing him so seldom--we can hardly meet above twice a - year.
I am sure I wonder my heart is not quite broke."
Here she took out her handkerchief; but Elinor did not feel very compassionate.
" Sometimes."
continued Lucy, after wiping her eyes, " I think whether it would not be better for us both to break off the matter entirely."
As she said this, she looked directly at her companion.
" But then at other times I have not resolution enough for it.-- I cannot bear the thoughts of making him so miserable, as I know the very mention of such a thing would do.
And on my own account too--so dear as he is to me--I don't think I could be equal to it.
What would you advise me to do in such a case, Miss Dashwood?
What would you do yourself?"
" Pardon me," replied Elinor, startled by the question; " but I can give you no advice under such circumstances.
Your own judgment must direct you."
" To be sure," continued Lucy, after a few minutes silence on both sides, " his mother must provide for him sometime or other; but poor Edward is so cast down by it!
Did you not think him dreadful low - spirited when he was at Barton?
He was so miserable when he left us at Longstaple, to go to you, that I was afraid you would think him quite ill."
" Did he come from your uncle's, then, when he visited us?"
" Oh, yes; he had been staying a fortnight with us.
Did you think he came directly from town?"
" No," replied Elinor, most feelingly sensible of every fresh circumstance in favour of Lucy's veracity; " I remember he told us, that he had been staying a fortnight with some friends near Plymouth."
She remembered too, her own surprise at the time, at his mentioning nothing farther of those friends, at his total silence with respect even to their names.
" Did not you think him sadly out of spirits?"
repeated Lucy.
" We did, indeed, particularly so when he first arrived."
I heard from him just before I left Exeter;" taking a letter from her pocket and carelessly showing the direction to Elinor.
" You know his hand, I dare say, a charming one it is; but that is not written so well as usual.-- He was tired, I dare say, for he had just filled the sheet to me as full as possible."
Elinor saw that it WAS his hand, and she could doubt no longer.
" Writing to each other," said Lucy, returning the letter into her pocket, " is the only comfort we have in such long separations.
Yes, I have one other comfort in his picture, but poor Edward has not even THAT.
If he had but my picture, he says he should be easy.
I gave him a lock of my hair set in a ring when he was at Longstaple last, and that was some comfort to him, he said, but not equal to a picture.
Perhaps you might notice the ring when you saw him?"
" I did," said Elinor, with a composure of voice, under which was concealed an emotion and distress beyond any thing she had ever felt before.
She was mortified, shocked, confounded.
Fortunately for her, they had now reached the cottage, and the conversation could be continued no farther.
After sitting with them a few minutes, the Miss Steeles returned to the Park, and Elinor was then at liberty to think and be wretched.
[ At this point in the first and second editions, Volume 1 ends.]
CHAPTER 23
However small Elinor's general dependence on Lucy's veracity might be, it was impossible for her on serious reflection to suspect it in the present case, where no temptation could be answerable to the folly of inventing a falsehood of such a description.
What Lucy had asserted to be true, therefore, Elinor could not, dared not longer doubt; supported as it was too on every side by such probabilities and proofs, and contradicted by nothing but her own wishes.
Had Edward been intentionally deceiving her?
Had he feigned a regard for her which he did not feel?
Was his engagement to Lucy an engagement of the heart?
No; whatever it might once have been, she could not believe it such at present.
His affection was all her own.
She could not be deceived in that.
Her mother, sisters, Fanny, all had been conscious of his regard for her at Norland; it was not an illusion of her own vanity.
He certainly loved her.
What a softener of the heart was this persuasion!
How much could it not tempt her to forgive!
He had been blamable, highly blamable, in remaining at Norland after he first felt her influence over him to be more than it ought to be.
In that, he could not be defended; but if he had injured her, how much more had he injured himself; if her case were pitiable, his was hopeless.
His imprudence had made her miserable for a while; but it seemed to have deprived himself of all chance of ever being otherwise.
She might in time regain tranquillity; but HE, what had he to look forward to?
Could he ever be tolerably happy with Lucy Steele; could he, were his affection for herself out of the question, with his integrity, his delicacy, and well - informed mind, be satisfied with a wife like her--illiterate, artful, and selfish?
If in the supposition of his seeking to marry herself, his difficulties from his mother had seemed great, how much greater were they now likely to be, when the object of his engagement was undoubtedly inferior in connections, and probably inferior in fortune to herself.
These difficulties, indeed, with a heart so alienated from Lucy, might not press very hard upon his patience; but melancholy was the state of the person by whom the expectation of family opposition and unkindness, could be felt as a relief!
As these considerations occurred to her in painful succession, she wept for him, more than for herself.
The necessity of concealing from her mother and Marianne, what had been entrusted in confidence to herself, though it obliged her to unceasing exertion, was no aggravation of Elinor's distress.
From their counsel, or their conversation, she knew she could receive no assistance, their tenderness and sorrow must add to her distress, while her self - command would neither receive encouragement from their example nor from their praise.
She was stronger alone, and her own good sense so well supported her, that her firmness was as unshaken, her appearance of cheerfulness as invariable, as with regrets so poignant and so fresh, it was possible for them to be.
Much as she had suffered from her first conversation with Lucy on the subject, she soon felt an earnest wish of renewing it; and this for more reasons than one.
And even Sir John's joking intelligence must have had some weight.
But indeed, while Elinor remained so well assured within herself of being really beloved by Edward, it required no other consideration of probabilities to make it natural that Lucy should be jealous; and that she was so, her very confidence was a proof.
What other reason for the disclosure of the affair could there be, but that Elinor might be informed by it of Lucy's superior claims on Edward, and be taught to avoid him in future?
And as she could now have nothing more painful to hear on the subject than had already been told, she did not mistrust her own ability of going through a repetition of particulars with composure.
Such a thought would never enter either Sir John or Lady Middleton's head; and therefore very little leisure was ever given for a general chat, and none at all for particular discourse.
They met for the sake of eating, drinking, and laughing together, playing at cards, or consequences, or any other game that was sufficiently noisy.
The young ladies went, and Lady Middleton was happily preserved from the frightful solitude which had threatened her.
They quitted it only with the removal of the tea - things.
The card - table was then placed, and Elinor began to wonder at herself for having ever entertained a hope of finding time for conversation at the park.
They all rose up in preparation for a round game.
" I am glad," said Lady Middleton to Lucy, " you are not going to finish poor little Annamaria's basket this evening; for I am sure it must hurt your eyes to work filigree by candlelight.
And we will make the dear little love some amends for her disappointment to - morrow, and then I hope she will not much mind it."
This hint was enough, Lucy recollected herself instantly and replied, " Indeed you are very much mistaken, Lady Middleton; I am only waiting to know whether you can make your party without me, or I should have been at my filigree already.
I would not disappoint the little angel for all the world: and if you want me at the card - table now, I am resolved to finish the basket after supper."
" You are very good, I hope it won't hurt your eyes--will you ring the bell for some working candles?
My poor little girl would be sadly disappointed, I know, if the basket was not finished tomorrow, for though I told her it certainly would not, I am sure she depends upon having it done."
Lucy directly drew her work table near her and reseated herself with an alacrity and cheerfulness which seemed to infer that she could taste no greater delight than in making a filigree basket for a spoilt child.
Lady Middleton proposed a rubber of Casino to the others.
No one made any objection but Marianne, who with her usual inattention to the forms of general civility, exclaimed, " Your Ladyship will have the goodness to excuse ME--you know I detest cards.
I shall go to the piano - forte; I have not touched it since it was tuned."
And without farther ceremony, she turned away and walked to the instrument.
Lady Middleton looked as if she thanked heaven that SHE had never made so rude a speech.
" Marianne can never keep long from that instrument you know, ma'am," said Elinor, endeavouring to smooth away the offence; " and I do not much wonder at it; for it is the very best toned piano - forte I ever heard."
The remaining five were now to draw their cards.
" Perhaps," continued Elinor, " if I should happen to cut out, I may be of some use to Miss Lucy Steele, in rolling her papers for her; and there is so much still to be done to the basket, that it must be impossible I think for her labour singly, to finish it this evening.
I should like the work exceedingly, if she would allow me a share in it."
" Indeed I shall be very much obliged to you for your help," cried Lucy, " for I find there is more to be done to it than I thought there was; and it would be a shocking thing to disappoint dear Annamaria after all."
" Oh!
that would be terrible, indeed," said Miss Steele--" Dear little soul, how I do love her!"
" You are very kind," said Lady Middleton to Elinor; " and as you really like the work, perhaps you will be as well pleased not to cut in till another rubber, or will you take your chance now?"
Elinor joyfully profited by the first of these proposals, and thus by a little of that address which Marianne could never condescend to practise, gained her own end, and pleased Lady Middleton at the same time.
Lucy made room for her with ready attention, and the two fair rivals were thus seated side by side at the same table, and, with the utmost harmony, engaged in forwarding the same work.
CHAPTER 24
In a firm, though cautious tone, Elinor thus began.
" I should be undeserving of the confidence you have honoured me with, if I felt no desire for its continuance, or no farther curiosity on its subject.
I will not apologize therefore for bringing it forward again."
" Thank you," cried Lucy warmly, " for breaking the ice; you have set my heart at ease by it; for I was somehow or other afraid I had offended you by what I told you that Monday."
" Offended me!
How could you suppose so?
Believe me," and Elinor spoke it with the truest sincerity, " nothing could be farther from my intention than to give you such an idea.
Could you have a motive for the trust, that was not honourable and flattering to me?"
" And yet I do assure you," replied Lucy, her little sharp eyes full of meaning, " there seemed to me to be a coldness and displeasure in your manner that made me quite uncomfortable.
I felt sure that you was angry with me; and have been quarrelling with myself ever since, for having took such a liberty as to trouble you with my affairs.
But I am very glad to find it was only my own fancy, and that you really do not blame me.
If you knew what a consolation it was to me to relieve my heart speaking to you of what I am always thinking of every moment of my life, your compassion would make you overlook every thing else I am sure."
" Indeed, I can easily believe that it was a very great relief to you, to acknowledge your situation to me, and be assured that you shall never have reason to repent it.
Your case is a very unfortunate one; you seem to me to be surrounded with difficulties, and you will have need of all your mutual affection to support you under them.
Mr. Ferrars, I believe, is entirely dependent on his mother."
" He has only two thousand pounds of his own; it would be madness to marry upon that, though for my own part, I could give up every prospect of more without a sigh.
I have been always used to a very small income, and could struggle with any poverty for him; but I love him too well to be the selfish means of robbing him, perhaps, of all that his mother might give him if he married to please her.
We must wait, it may be for many years.
With almost every other man in the world, it would be an alarming prospect; but Edward's affection and constancy nothing can deprive me of I know."
" That conviction must be every thing to you; and he is undoubtedly supported by the same trust in your's.
If the strength of your reciprocal attachment had failed, as between many people, and under many circumstances it naturally would during a four years'engagement, your situation would have been pitiable, indeed."
Lucy here looked up; but Elinor was careful in guarding her countenance from every expression that could give her words a suspicious tendency.
" Edward's love for me," said Lucy, " has been pretty well put to the test, by our long, very long absence since we were first engaged, and it has stood the trial so well, that I should be unpardonable to doubt it now.
I can safely say that he has never gave me one moment's alarm on that account from the first."
Elinor hardly knew whether to smile or sigh at this assertion.
Lucy went on.
I do not mean to say that I am particularly observant or quick - sighted in general, but in such a case I am sure I could not be deceived."
" All this," thought Elinor, " is very pretty; but it can impose upon neither of us."
" But what," said she after a short silence, " are your views?
" If we could be certain that it would be only for a while!
But Mrs. Ferrars is a very headstrong proud woman, and in her first fit of anger upon hearing it, would very likely secure every thing to Robert, and the idea of that, for Edward's sake, frightens away all my inclination for hasty measures."
" And for your own sake too, or you are carrying your disinterestedness beyond reason."
Lucy looked at Elinor again, and was silent.
" Do you know Mr. Robert Ferrars?"
asked Elinor.
" Not at all--I never saw him; but I fancy he is very unlike his brother--silly and a great coxcomb."
" A great coxcomb!"
repeated Miss Steele, whose ear had caught those words by a sudden pause in Marianne's music.-- " Oh, they are talking of their favourite beaux, I dare say."
" No sister," cried Lucy, " you are mistaken there, our favourite beaux are NOT great coxcombs."
" I can answer for it that Miss Dashwood's is not," said Mrs. Jennings, laughing heartily; " for he is one of the modestest, prettiest behaved young men I ever saw; but as for Lucy, she is such a sly little creature, there is no finding out who SHE likes."
" Oh," cried Miss Steele, looking significantly round at them, " I dare say Lucy's beau is quite as modest and pretty behaved as Miss Dashwood's."
Elinor blushed in spite of herself.
Lucy bit her lip, and looked angrily at her sister.
A mutual silence took place for some time.
Lucy first put an end to it by saying in a lower tone, though Marianne was then giving them the powerful protection of a very magnificent concerto --
" I will honestly tell you of one scheme which has lately come into my head, for bringing matters to bear; indeed I am bound to let you into the secret, for you are a party concerned.
That would be enough for us to marry upon, and we might trust to time and chance for the rest."
" I should always be happy," replied Elinor, " to show any mark of my esteem and friendship for Mr. Ferrars; but do you not perceive that my interest on such an occasion would be perfectly unnecessary?
He is brother to Mrs. John Dashwood--THAT must be recommendation enough to her husband."
" But Mrs. John Dashwood would not much approve of Edward's going into orders."
" Then I rather suspect that my interest would do very little."
They were again silent for many minutes.
At length Lucy exclaimed with a deep sigh,
" I believe it would be the wisest way to put an end to the business at once by dissolving the engagement.
We seem so beset with difficulties on every side, that though it would make us miserable for a time, we should be happier perhaps in the end.
But you will not give me your advice, Miss Dashwood?"
" No," answered Elinor, with a smile, which concealed very agitated feelings, " on such a subject I certainly will not.
You know very well that my opinion would have no weight with you, unless it were on the side of your wishes."
Elinor blushed for the insincerity of Edward's future wife, and replied, " This compliment would effectually frighten me from giving any opinion on the subject had I formed one.
It raises my influence much too high; the power of dividing two people so tenderly attached is too much for an indifferent person."
' Tis because you are an indifferent person," said Lucy, with some pique, and laying a particular stress on those words, " that your judgment might justly have such weight with me.
If you could be supposed to be biased in any respect by your own feelings, your opinion would not be worth having."
Elinor thought it wisest to make no answer to this, lest they might provoke each other to an unsuitable increase of ease and unreserve; and was even partly determined never to mention the subject again.
Another pause therefore of many minutes'duration, succeeded this speech, and Lucy was still the first to end it.
" Shall you be in town this winter, Miss Dashwood?"
said she with all her accustomary complacency.
" Certainly not."
" I am sorry for that," returned the other, while her eyes brightened at the information, " it would have gave me such pleasure to meet you there!
But I dare say you will go for all that.
To be sure, your brother and sister will ask you to come to them."
" It will not be in my power to accept their invitation if they do."
" How unlucky that is!
I had quite depended upon meeting you there.
Anne and me are to go the latter end of January to some relations who have been wanting us to visit them these several years!
But I only go for the sake of seeing Edward.
He will be there in February, otherwise London would have no charms for me; I have not spirits for it."
The visit of the Miss Steeles at Barton Park was lengthened far beyond what the first invitation implied.
CHAPTER 25
Though Mrs. Jennings was in the habit of spending a large portion of the year at the houses of her children and friends, she was not without a settled habitation of her own.
Since the death of her husband, who had traded with success in a less elegant part of the town, she had resided every winter in a house in one of the streets near Portman Square.
Towards this home, she began on the approach of January to turn her thoughts, and thither she one day abruptly, and very unexpectedly by them, asked the elder Misses Dashwood to accompany her.
Elinor, without observing the varying complexion of her sister, and the animated look which spoke no indifference to the plan, immediately gave a grateful but absolute denial for both, in which she believed herself to be speaking their united inclinations.
The reason alleged was their determined resolution of not leaving their mother at that time of the year.
Mrs. Jennings received the refusal with some surprise, and repeated her invitation immediately.
" Oh, Lord!
I am sure your mother can spare you very well, and I DO beg you will favour me with your company, for I've quite set my heart upon it.
Don't fancy that you will be any inconvenience to me, for I shan't put myself at all out of my way for you.
It will only be sending Betty by the coach, and I hope I can afford THAT.
We three shall be able to go very well in my chaise; and when we are in town, if you do not like to go wherever I do, well and good, you may always go with one of my daughters.
I shall speak a good word for you to all the young men, you may depend upon it."
" I have a notion," said Sir John, " that Miss Marianne would not object to such a scheme, if her elder sister would come into it.
It is very hard indeed that she should not have a little pleasure, because Miss Dashwood does not wish it.
So I would advise you two, to set off for town, when you are tired of Barton, without saying a word to Miss Dashwood about it."
But one or the other, if not both of them, I must have.
Lord bless me!
how do you think I can live poking by myself, I who have been always used till this winter to have Charlotte with me.
Come, Miss Marianne, let us strike hands upon the bargain, and if Miss Dashwood will change her mind by and bye, why so much the better."
" I thank you, ma'am, sincerely thank you," said Marianne, with warmth: " your invitation has insured my gratitude for ever, and it would give me such happiness, yes, almost the greatest happiness I am capable of, to be able to accept it.
But my mother, my dearest, kindest mother,-- I feel the justice of what Elinor has urged, and if she were to be made less happy, less comfortable by our absence--Oh!
no, nothing should tempt me to leave her.
It should not, must not be a struggle."
" I am delighted with the plan," she cried, " it is exactly what I could wish.
Margaret and I shall be as much benefited by it as yourselves.
When you and the Middletons are gone, we shall go on so quietly and happily together with our books and our music!
You will find Margaret so improved when you come back again!
I have a little plan of alteration for your bedrooms too, which may now be performed without any inconvenience to any one.
It is very right that you SHOULD go to town; I would have every young woman of your condition in life acquainted with the manners and amusements of London.
You will be under the care of a motherly good sort of woman, of whose kindness to you I can have no doubt.
And in all probability you will see your brother, and whatever may be his faults, or the faults of his wife, when I consider whose son he is, I cannot bear to have you so wholly estranged from each other."
" Though with your usual anxiety for our happiness," said Elinor, " you have been obviating every impediment to the present scheme which occurred to you, there is still one objection which, in my opinion, cannot be so easily removed."
Marianne's countenance sunk.
" And what," said Mrs. Dashwood, " is my dear prudent Elinor going to suggest?
What formidable obstacle is she now to bring forward?
Do let me hear a word about the expense of it."
" My objection is this; though I think very well of Mrs. Jennings's heart, she is not a woman whose society can afford us pleasure, or whose protection will give us consequence."
" That is very true," replied her mother, " but of her society, separately from that of other people, you will scarcely have any thing at all, and you will almost always appear in public with Lady Middleton."
" If Elinor is frightened away by her dislike of Mrs. Jennings," said Marianne, " at least it need not prevent MY accepting her invitation.
I have no such scruples, and I am sure I could put up with every unpleasantness of that kind with very little effort."
To this determination she was the more easily reconciled, by recollecting that Edward Ferrars, by Lucy's account, was not to be in town before February; and that their visit, without any unreasonable abridgement, might be previously finished.
" I will have you BOTH go," said Mrs. Dashwood; " these objections are nonsensical.
Mrs. Dashwood smiled, and said nothing.
Marianne lifted up her eyes in astonishment, and Elinor conjectured that she might as well have held her tongue.
After very little farther discourse, it was finally settled that the invitation should be fully accepted.
Mrs. Jennings received the information with a great deal of joy, and many assurances of kindness and care; nor was it a matter of pleasure merely to her.
Sir John was delighted; for to a man, whose prevailing anxiety was the dread of being alone, the acquisition of two, to the number of inhabitants in London, was something.
Even Lady Middleton took the trouble of being delighted, which was putting herself rather out of her way; and as for the Miss Steeles, especially Lucy, they had never been so happy in their lives as this intelligence made them.
Elinor submitted to the arrangement which counteracted her wishes with less reluctance than she had expected to feel.
Marianne's joy was almost a degree beyond happiness, so great was the perturbation of her spirits and her impatience to be gone.
Her unwillingness to quit her mother was her only restorative to calmness; and at the moment of parting her grief on that score was excessive.
Her mother's affliction was hardly less, and Elinor was the only one of the three, who seemed to consider the separation as any thing short of eternal.
Their departure took place in the first week in January.
The Middletons were to follow in about a week.
The Miss Steeles kept their station at the park, and were to quit it only with the rest of the family.
CHAPTER 26
A short, a very short time however must now decide what Willoughby's intentions were; in all probability he was already in town.
They were three days on their journey, and Marianne's behaviour as they travelled was a happy specimen of what future complaisance and companionableness to Mrs. Jennings might be expected to be.
She sat in silence almost all the way, wrapt in her own meditations, and scarcely ever voluntarily speaking, except when any object of picturesque beauty within their view drew from her an exclamation of delight exclusively addressed to her sister.
They reached town by three o'clock the third day, glad to be released, after such a journey, from the confinement of a carriage, and ready to enjoy all the luxury of a good fire.
The house was handsome, and handsomely fitted up, and the young ladies were immediately put in possession of a very comfortable apartment.
It had formerly been Charlotte's, and over the mantelpiece still hung a landscape in coloured silks of her performance, in proof of her having spent seven years at a great school in town to some effect.
As dinner was not to be ready in less than two hours from their arrival, Elinor determined to employ the interval in writing to her mother, and sat down for that purpose.
In a few moments Marianne did the same.
" I am writing home, Marianne," said Elinor; " had not you better defer your letter for a day or two?"
" I am NOT going to write to my mother," replied Marianne, hastily, and as if wishing to avoid any farther inquiry.
Elinor said no more; it immediately struck her that she must then be writing to Willoughby; and the conclusion which as instantly followed was, that, however mysteriously they might wish to conduct the affair, they must be engaged.
This conviction, though not entirely satisfactory, gave her pleasure, and she continued her letter with greater alacrity.
Marianne's was finished in a very few minutes; in length it could be no more than a note; it was then folded up, sealed, and directed with eager rapidity.
Elinor thought she could distinguish a large W in the direction; and no sooner was it complete than Marianne, ringing the bell, requested the footman who answered it to get that letter conveyed for her to the two - penny post.
This decided the matter at once.
Her spirits still continued very high; but there was a flutter in them which prevented their giving much pleasure to her sister, and this agitation increased as the evening drew on.
She could scarcely eat any dinner, and when they afterwards returned to the drawing room, seemed anxiously listening to the sound of every carriage.
It was a great satisfaction to Elinor that Mrs. Jennings, by being much engaged in her own room, could see little of what was passing.
and seemed almost ready to throw herself into his arms, when Colonel Brandon appeared.
It was too great a shock to be borne with calmness, and she immediately left the room.
Elinor was disappointed too; but at the same time her regard for Colonel Brandon ensured his welcome with her; and she felt particularly hurt that a man so partial to her sister should perceive that she experienced nothing but grief and disappointment in seeing him.
She instantly saw that it was not unnoticed by him, that he even observed Marianne as she quitted the room, with such astonishment and concern, as hardly left him the recollection of what civility demanded towards herself.
" Is your sister ill?"
said he.
Elinor answered in some distress that she was, and then talked of head - aches, low spirits, and over fatigues; and of every thing to which she could decently attribute her sister's behaviour.
He heard her with the most earnest attention, but seeming to recollect himself, said no more on the subject, and began directly to speak of his pleasure at seeing them in London, making the usual inquiries about their journey, and the friends they had left behind.
In this calm kind of way, with very little interest on either side, they continued to talk, both of them out of spirits, and the thoughts of both engaged elsewhere.
Elinor wished very much to ask whether Willoughby were then in town, but she was afraid of giving him pain by any enquiry after his rival; and at length, by way of saying something, she asked if he had been in London ever since she had seen him last.
" Yes," he replied, with some embarrassment, " almost ever since; I have been once or twice at Delaford for a few days, but it has never been in my power to return to Barton."
Mrs. Jennings soon came in.
" Oh!
But pray, Colonel, how came you to conjure out that I should be in town today?"
" I had the pleasure of hearing it at Mr. Palmer's, where I have been dining."
" Oh, you did; well, and how do they all do at their house?
How does Charlotte do?
I warrant you she is a fine size by this time."
" Mrs. Palmer appeared quite well, and I am commissioned to tell you, that you will certainly see her to - morrow."
" Ay, to be sure, I thought as much.
Well, Colonel, I have brought two young ladies with me, you see--that is, you see but one of them now, but there is another somewhere.
Your friend, Miss Marianne, too--which you will not be sorry to hear.
I do not know what you and Mr. Willoughby will do between you about her.
Ay, it is a fine thing to be young and handsome.
Well!
I was young once, but I never was very handsome--worse luck for me.
However, I got a very good husband, and I don't know what the greatest beauty can do more.
Ah!
poor man!
he has been dead these eight years and better.
But Colonel, where have you been to since we parted?
And how does your business go on?
Come, come, let's have no secrets among friends."
He replied with his accustomary mildness to all her inquiries, but without satisfying her in any.
Elinor now began to make the tea, and Marianne was obliged to appear again.
After her entrance, Colonel Brandon became more thoughtful and silent than he had been before, and Mrs. Jennings could not prevail on him to stay long.
No other visitor appeared that evening, and the ladies were unanimous in agreeing to go early to bed.
Marianne rose the next morning with recovered spirits and happy looks.
The disappointment of the evening before seemed forgotten in the expectation of what was to happen that day.
So surprised at their coming to town, though it was what she had rather expected all along; so angry at their accepting her mother's invitation after having declined her own, though at the same time she would never have forgiven them if they had not come!
" Mr. Palmer will be so happy to see you," said she; " What do you think he said when he heard of your coming with Mamma?
I forget what it was now, but it was something so droll!"
Wherever they went, she was evidently always on the watch.
In Bond Street especially, where much of their business lay, her eyes were in constant inquiry; and in whatever shop the party were engaged, her mind was equally abstracted from every thing actually before them, from all that interested and occupied the others.
" Has no letter been left here for me since we went out?"
said she to the footman who then entered with the parcels.
She was answered in the negative.
" Are you quite sure of it?"
she replied.
" Are you certain that no servant, no porter has left any letter or note?"
The man replied that none had.
" How very odd!"
said she, in a low and disappointed voice, as she turned away to the window.
" How odd, indeed!"
repeated Elinor within herself, regarding her sister with uneasiness.
" If she had not known him to be in town she would not have written to him, as she did; she would have written to Combe Magna; and if he is in town, how odd that he should neither come nor write!
Oh!
my dear mother, you must be wrong in permitting an engagement between a daughter so young, a man so little known, to be carried on in so doubtful, so mysterious a manner!
I long to inquire; and how will MY interference be borne."
She determined, after some consideration, that if appearances continued many days longer as unpleasant as they now were, she would represent in the strongest manner to her mother the necessity of some serious enquiry into the affair.
Mrs. Palmer and two elderly ladies of Mrs. Jennings's intimate acquaintance, whom she had met and invited in the morning, dined with them.
The former left them soon after tea to fulfill her evening engagements; and Elinor was obliged to assist in making a whist table for the others.
CHAPTER 27
" If this open weather holds much longer," said Mrs. Jennings, when they met at breakfast the following morning, " Sir John will not like leaving Barton next week;'tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day's pleasure.
Poor souls!
I always pity them when they do; they seem to take it so much to heart."
" That is true," cried Marianne, in a cheerful voice, and walking to the window as she spoke, to examine the day.
" I had not thought of that.
This weather will keep many sportsmen in the country."
It was a lucky recollection, all her good spirits were restored by it.
" It is charming weather for THEM indeed," she continued, as she sat down to the breakfast table with a happy countenance.
" How much they must enjoy it!
But " (with a little return of anxiety) " it cannot be expected to last long.
At this time of the year, and after such a series of rain, we shall certainly have very little more of it.
Frosts will soon set in, and in all probability with severity.
In another day or two perhaps; this extreme mildness can hardly last longer--nay, perhaps it may freeze tonight!"
" At any rate," said Elinor, wishing to prevent Mrs. Jennings from seeing her sister's thoughts as clearly as she did, " I dare say we shall have Sir John and Lady Middleton in town by the end of next week."
" Ay, my dear, I'll warrant you we do.
Mary always has her own way."
" And now," silently conjectured Elinor, " she will write to Combe by this day's post."
But if she DID, the letter was written and sent away with a privacy which eluded all her watchfulness to ascertain the fact.
Whatever the truth of it might be, and far as Elinor was from feeling thorough contentment about it, yet while she saw Marianne in spirits, she could not be very uncomfortable herself.
And Marianne was in spirits; happy in the mildness of the weather, and still happier in her expectation of a frost.
" Don't you find it colder than it was in the morning, Elinor?
There seems to me a very decided difference.
I can hardly keep my hands warm even in my muff.
It was not so yesterday, I think.
The clouds seem parting too, the sun will be out in a moment, and we shall have a clear afternoon."
Elinor was alternately diverted and pained; but Marianne persevered, and saw every night in the brightness of the fire, and every morning in the appearance of the atmosphere, the certain symptoms of approaching frost.
The Miss Dashwoods had no greater reason to be dissatisfied with Mrs. Jennings's style of living, and set of acquaintance, than with her behaviour to themselves, which was invariably kind.
She feared it was a strengthening regard.
It grieved her to see the earnestness with which he often watched Marianne, and his spirits were certainly worse than when at Barton.
About a week after their arrival, it became certain that Willoughby was also arrived.
His card was on the table when they came in from the morning's drive.
" Good God!"
cried Marianne, " he has been here while we were out."
Elinor, rejoiced to be assured of his being in London, now ventured to say, " Depend upon it, he will call again tomorrow."
But Marianne seemed hardly to hear her, and on Mrs. Jenning's entrance, escaped with the precious card.
This event, while it raised the spirits of Elinor, restored to those of her sister all, and more than all, their former agitation.
From this moment her mind was never quiet; the expectation of seeing him every hour of the day, made her unfit for any thing.
She insisted on being left behind, the next morning, when the others went out.
Elinor's thoughts were full of what might be passing in Berkeley Street during their absence; but a moment's glance at her sister when they returned was enough to inform her, that Willoughby had paid no second visit there.
A note was just then brought in, and laid on the table,
" For me!"
cried Marianne, stepping hastily forward.
" No, ma'am, for my mistress."
But Marianne, not convinced, took it instantly up.
" It is indeed for Mrs. Jennings; how provoking!"
" You are expecting a letter, then?"
said Elinor, unable to be longer silent.
" Yes, a little--not much."
After a short pause.
" You have no confidence in me, Marianne."
" Nay, Elinor, this reproach from YOU--you who have confidence in no one!"
" Me!"
returned Elinor in some confusion; " indeed, Marianne, I have nothing to tell."
" Nor I," answered Marianne with energy, " our situations then are alike.
We have neither of us any thing to tell; you, because you do not communicate, and I, because I conceal nothing."
Elinor, distressed by this charge of reserve in herself, which she was not at liberty to do away, knew not how, under such circumstances, to press for greater openness in Marianne.
Mrs. Jennings soon appeared, and the note being given her, she read it aloud.
It was from Lady Middleton, announcing their arrival in Conduit Street the night before, and requesting the company of her mother and cousins the following evening.
Business on Sir John's part, and a violent cold on her own, prevented their calling in Berkeley Street.
Elinor found, when the evening was over, that disposition is not materially altered by a change of abode, for although scarcely settled in town, Sir John had contrived to collect around him, nearly twenty young people, and to amuse them with a ball.
This was an affair, however, of which Lady Middleton did not approve.
He looked at them slightly, without seeming to know who they were, and merely nodded to Mrs. Jennings from the other side of the room.
Marianne gave one glance round the apartment as she entered: it was enough--HE was not there--and she sat down, equally ill - disposed to receive or communicate pleasure.
" I thought you were both in Devonshire," said he.
" Did you?"
replied Elinor.
" When do you go back again?"
" I do not know."
And thus ended their discourse.
Never had Marianne been so unwilling to dance in her life, as she was that evening, and never so much fatigued by the exercise.
She complained of it as they returned to Berkeley Street.
" Aye, aye," said Mrs. Jennings, " we know the reason of all that very well; if a certain person who shall be nameless, had been there, you would not have been a bit tired: and to say the truth it was not very pretty of him not to give you the meeting when he was invited."
" Invited!"
cried Marianne.
" So my daughter Middleton told me, for it seems Sir John met him somewhere in the street this morning."
Marianne said no more, but looked exceedingly hurt.
Elinor was very earnest in her application to her mother, relating all that had passed, her suspicions of Willoughby's inconstancy, urging her by every plea of duty and affection to demand from Marianne an account of her real situation with respect to him.
Her letter was scarcely finished, when a rap foretold a visitor, and Colonel Brandon was announced.
Marianne, who had seen him from the window, and who hated company of any kind, left the room before he entered it.
He looked more than usually grave, and though expressing satisfaction at finding Miss Dashwood alone, as if he had somewhat in particular to tell her, sat for some time without saying a word.
Elinor, persuaded that he had some communication to make in which her sister was concerned, impatiently expected its opening.
After a pause of several minutes, their silence was broken, by his asking her in a voice of some agitation, when he was to congratulate her on the acquisition of a brother?
Elinor was not prepared for such a question, and having no answer ready, was obliged to adopt the simple and common expedient, of asking what he meant?
He tried to smile as he replied, " your sister's engagement to Mr. Willoughby is very generally known."
" It cannot be generally known," returned Elinor, " for her own family do not know it."
He looked surprised and said, " I beg your pardon, I am afraid my inquiry has been impertinent; but I had not supposed any secrecy intended, as they openly correspond, and their marriage is universally talked of."
" How can that be?
By whom can you have heard it mentioned?"
" By many--by some of whom you know nothing, by others with whom you are most intimate, Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Palmer, and the Middletons.
I came to inquire, but I was convinced before I could ask the question.
Is every thing finally settled?
Is it impossible to -?
But I have no right, and I could have no chance of succeeding.
Excuse me, Miss Dashwood.
I believe I have been wrong in saying so much, but I hardly know what to do, and on your prudence I have the strongest dependence.
Tell me that it is all absolutely resolved on, that any attempt, that in short concealment, if concealment be possible, is all that remains."
These words, which conveyed to Elinor a direct avowal of his love for her sister, affected her very much.
She was not immediately able to say anything, and even when her spirits were recovered, she debated for a short time, on the answer it would be most proper to give.
The real state of things between Willoughby and her sister was so little known to herself, that in endeavouring to explain it, she might be as liable to say too much as too little.
She acknowledged, therefore, that though she had never been informed by themselves of the terms on which they stood with each other, of their mutual affection she had no doubt, and of their correspondence she was not astonished to hear.
He listened to her with silent attention, and on her ceasing to speak, rose directly from his seat, and after saying in a voice of emotion, " to your sister I wish all imaginable happiness; to Willoughby that he may endeavour to deserve her,"-- took leave, and went away.
CHAPTER 28
Nothing occurred during the next three or four days, to make Elinor regret what she had done, in applying to her mother; for Willoughby neither came nor wrote.
When they had paid their tribute of politeness by curtsying to the lady of the house, they were permitted to mingle in the crowd, and take their share of the heat and inconvenience, to which their arrival must necessarily add.
After some time spent in saying little or doing less, Lady Middleton sat down to Cassino, and as Marianne was not in spirits for moving about, she and Elinor luckily succeeding to chairs, placed themselves at no great distance from the table.
They had not remained in this manner long, before Elinor perceived Willoughby, standing within a few yards of them, in earnest conversation with a very fashionable looking young woman.
She soon caught his eye, and he immediately bowed, but without attempting to speak to her, or to approach Marianne, though he could not but see her; and then continued his discourse with the same lady.
Elinor turned involuntarily to Marianne, to see whether it could be unobserved by her.
At that moment she first perceived him, and her whole countenance glowing with sudden delight, she would have moved towards him instantly, had not her sister caught hold of her.
" Good heavens!"
she exclaimed, " he is there--he is there--Oh!
why does he not look at me?
why cannot I speak to him?"
" Pray, pray be composed," cried Elinor, " and do not betray what you feel to every body present.
Perhaps he has not observed you yet."
This however was more than she could believe herself; and to be composed at such a moment was not only beyond the reach of Marianne, it was beyond her wish.
She sat in an agony of impatience which affected every feature.
At last he turned round again, and regarded them both; she started up, and pronouncing his name in a tone of affection, held out her hand to him.
He approached, and addressing himself rather to Elinor than Marianne, as if wishing to avoid her eye, and determined not to observe her attitude, inquired in a hurried manner after Mrs. Dashwood, and asked how long they had been in town.
Elinor was robbed of all presence of mind by such an address, and was unable to say a word.
But the feelings of her sister were instantly expressed.
Her face was crimsoned over, and she exclaimed, in a voice of the greatest emotion, " Good God!
Willoughby, what is the meaning of this?
Have you not received my letters?
Will you not shake hands with me?"
He could not then avoid it, but her touch seemed painful to him, and he held her hand only for a moment.
During all this time he was evidently struggling for composure.
Elinor watched his countenance and saw its expression becoming more tranquil.
After a moment's pause, he spoke with calmness.
" I did myself the honour of calling in Berkeley Street last Tuesday, and very much regretted that I was not fortunate enough to find yourselves and Mrs. Jennings at home.
My card was not lost, I hope."
" But have you not received my notes?"
cried Marianne in the wildest anxiety.
" Here is some mistake I am sure--some dreadful mistake.
What can be the meaning of it?
Tell me, Willoughby; for heaven's sake tell me, what is the matter?"
Marianne, now looking dreadfully white, and unable to stand, sunk into her chair, and Elinor, expecting every moment to see her faint, tried to screen her from the observation of others, while reviving her with lavender water.
" Go to him, Elinor," she cried, as soon as she could speak, " and force him to come to me.
Tell him I must see him again--must speak to him instantly.-- I cannot rest--I shall not have a moment's peace till this is explained--some dreadful misapprehension or other.-- Oh go to him this moment."
" How can that be done?
No, my dearest Marianne, you must wait.
This is not the place for explanations.
Wait only till tomorrow."
In a short time Elinor saw Willoughby quit the room by the door towards the staircase, and telling Marianne that he was gone, urged the impossibility of speaking to him again that evening, as a fresh argument for her to be calm.
She instantly begged her sister would entreat Lady Middleton to take them home, as she was too miserable to stay a minute longer.
Lady Middleton, though in the middle of a rubber, on being informed that Marianne was unwell, was too polite to object for a moment to her wish of going away, and making over her cards to a friend, they departed as soon the carriage could be found.
Scarcely a word was spoken during their return to Berkeley Street.
Marianne was in a silent agony, too much oppressed even for tears; but as Mrs. Jennings was luckily not come home, they could go directly to their own room, where hartshorn restored her a little to herself.
She was soon undressed and in bed, and as she seemed desirous of being alone, her sister then left her, and while she waited the return of Mrs. Jennings, had leisure enough for thinking over the past.
Nothing but a thorough change of sentiment could account for it.
Absence might have weakened his regard, and convenience might have determined him to overcome it, but that such a regard had formerly existed she could not bring herself to doubt.
As for Marianne, on the pangs which so unhappy a meeting must already have given her, and on those still more severe which might await her in its probable consequence, she could not reflect without the deepest concern.
Her own situation gained in the comparison; for while she could ESTEEM Edward as much as ever, however they might be divided in future, her mind might be always supported.
But every circumstance that could embitter such an evil seemed uniting to heighten the misery of Marianne in a final separation from Willoughby--in an immediate and irreconcilable rupture with him.
CHAPTER 29
In this situation, Elinor, roused from sleep by her agitation and sobs, first perceived her; and after observing her for a few moments with silent anxiety, said, in a tone of the most considerate gentleness,
" Marianne, may I ask -?"
" No, Elinor," she replied, " ask nothing; you will soon know all."
The sort of desperate calmness with which this was said, lasted no longer than while she spoke, and was immediately followed by a return of the same excessive affliction.
It was some minutes before she could go on with her letter, and the frequent bursts of grief which still obliged her, at intervals, to withhold her pen, were proofs enough of her feeling how more than probable it was that she was writing for the last time to Willoughby.
Elinor paid her every quiet and unobtrusive attention in her power; and she would have tried to sooth and tranquilize her still more, had not Marianne entreated her, with all the eagerness of the most nervous irritability, not to speak to her for the world.
At breakfast she neither ate, nor attempted to eat any thing; and Elinor's attention was then all employed, not in urging her, not in pitying her, nor in appearing to regard her, but in endeavouring to engage Mrs. Jenning's notice entirely to herself.
That good lady, however, saw only that Marianne had received a letter from Willoughby, which appeared to her a very good joke, and which she treated accordingly, by hoping, with a laugh, that she would find it to her liking.
Of Elinor's distress, she was too busily employed in measuring lengths of worsted for her rug, to see any thing at all; and calmly continuing her talk, as soon as Marianne disappeared, she said,
" Upon my word, I never saw a young woman so desperately in love in my life!
MY girls were nothing to her, and yet they used to be foolish enough; but as for Miss Marianne, she is quite an altered creature.
I hope, from the bottom of my heart, he won't keep her waiting much longer, for it is quite grievous to see her look so ill and forlorn.
Pray, when are they to be married?"
Elinor, though never less disposed to speak than at that moment, obliged herself to answer such an attack as this, and, therefore, trying to smile, replied, " And have you really, Ma'am, talked yourself into a persuasion of my sister's being engaged to Mr. Willoughby?
I thought it had been only a joke, but so serious a question seems to imply more; and I must beg, therefore, that you will not deceive yourself any longer.
I do assure you that nothing would surprise me more than to hear of their being going to be married."
" For shame, for shame, Miss Dashwood!
how can you talk so?
Don't we all know that it must be a match, that they were over head and ears in love with each other from the first moment they met?
Did not I see them together in Devonshire every day, and all day long; and did not I know that your sister came to town with me on purpose to buy wedding clothes?
Come, come, this won't do.
Because you are so sly about it yourself, you think nobody else has any senses; but it is no such thing, I can tell you, for it has been known all over town this ever so long.
I tell every body of it and so does Charlotte."
" Indeed, Ma'am," said Elinor, very seriously, " you are mistaken.
Indeed, you are doing a very unkind thing in spreading the report, and you will find that you have though you will not believe me now."
Elinor drew near, but without saying a word; and seating herself on the bed, took her hand, kissed her affectionately several times, and then gave way to a burst of tears, which at first was scarcely less violent than Marianne's.
The latter, though unable to speak, seemed to feel all the tenderness of this behaviour, and after some time thus spent in joint affliction, she put all the letters into Elinor's hands; and then covering her face with her handkerchief, almost screamed with agony.
Elinor, who knew that such grief, shocking as it was to witness it, must have its course, watched by her till this excess of suffering had somewhat spent itself, and then turning eagerly to Willoughby's letter, read as follows:
" Bond Street, January.
" MY DEAR MADAM,
" I have just had the honour of receiving your letter, for which I beg to return my sincere acknowledgments.
I shall never reflect on my former acquaintance with your family in Devonshire without the most grateful pleasure, and flatter myself it will not be broken by any mistake or misapprehension of my actions.
My esteem for your whole family is very sincere; but if I have been so unfortunate as to give rise to a belief of more than I felt, or meant to express, I shall reproach myself for not having been more guarded in my professions of that esteem.
That I should ever have meant more you will allow to be impossible, when you understand that my affections have been long engaged elsewhere, and it will not be many weeks, I believe, before this engagement is fulfilled.
It is with great regret that I obey your commands in returning the letters with which I have been honoured from you, and the lock of hair, which you so obligingly bestowed on me.
" I am, dear Madam, " Your most obedient " humble servant, " JOHN WILLOUGHBY."
With what indignation such a letter as this must be read by Miss Dashwood, may be imagined.
Determined not to quit Marianne, though hopeless of contributing, at present, to her ease, she hurried away to excuse herself from attending Mrs. Jennings, on account of her sister being indisposed.
A glass of wine, which Elinor procured for her directly, made her more comfortable, and she was at last able to express some sense of her kindness, by saying,
" Poor Elinor!
how unhappy I make you!"
" I only wish," replied her sister, " there were any thing I COULD do, which might be of comfort to you."
This, as every thing else would have been, was too much for Marianne, who could only exclaim, in the anguish of her heart, " Oh!
Elinor, I am miserable, indeed," before her voice was entirely lost in sobs.
Elinor could no longer witness this torrent of unresisted grief in silence.
" Exert yourself, dear Marianne," she cried, " if you would not kill yourself and all who love you.
Think of your mother; think of her misery while YOU suffer: for her sake you must exert yourself."
" I cannot, I cannot," cried Marianne; " leave me, leave me, if I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me!
but do not torture me so.
Oh!
how easy for those, who have no sorrow of their own to talk of exertion!
Happy, happy Elinor, YOU cannot have an idea of what I suffer."
" Do you call ME happy, Marianne?
Ah!
if you knew!-- And can you believe me to be so, while I see you so wretched!"
" Forgive me, forgive me," throwing her arms round her sister's neck; " I know you feel for me; I know what a heart you have; but yet you are--you must be happy; Edward loves you--what, oh what, can do away such happiness as that?"
" Many, many circumstances," said Elinor, solemnly.
" No, no, no," cried Marianne wildly, " he loves you, and only you.
You CAN have no grief."
" I can have no pleasure while I see you in this state."
" And you will never see me otherwise.
Mine is a misery which nothing can do away."
" You must not talk so, Marianne.
Have you no comforts?
no friends?
Is your loss such as leaves no opening for consolation?
Much as you suffer now, think of what you would have suffered if the discovery of his character had been delayed to a later period--if your engagement had been carried on for months and months, as it might have been, before he chose to put an end to it.
Every additional day of unhappy confidence, on your side, would have made the blow more dreadful."
" Engagement!"
cried Marianne, " there has been no engagement."
" No engagement!"
" No, he is not so unworthy as you believe him.
He has broken no faith with me."
" But he told you that he loved you."
" Yes--no--never absolutely.
It was every day implied, but never professedly declared.
Sometimes I thought it had been--but it never was."
" Yet you wrote to him?"
" Yes--could that be wrong after all that had passed?-- But I cannot talk."
Elinor said no more, and turning again to the three letters which now raised a much stronger curiosity than before, directly ran over the contents of all.
The first, which was what her sister had sent him on their arrival in town, was to this effect.
Berkeley Street, January.
" How surprised you will be, Willoughby, on receiving this; and I think you will feel something more than surprise, when you know that I am in town.
An opportunity of coming hither, though with Mrs. Jennings, was a temptation we could not resist.
I wish you may receive this in time to come here to - night, but I will not depend on it.
At any rate I shall expect you to - morrow.
For the present, adieu.
" M. D."
Her second note, which had been written on the morning after the dance at the Middletons ', was in these words:--
" I cannot express my disappointment in having missed you the day before yesterday, nor my astonishment at not having received any answer to a note which I sent you above a week ago.
I have been expecting to hear from you, and still more to see you, every hour of the day.
Pray call again as soon as possible, and explain the reason of my having expected this in vain.
You had better come earlier another time, because we are generally out by one.
We were last night at Lady Middleton's, where there was a dance.
I have been told that you were asked to be of the party.
But could it be so?
You must be very much altered indeed since we parted, if that could be the case, and you not there.
But I will not suppose this possible, and I hope very soon to receive your personal assurance of its being otherwise.
" M. D."
The contents of her last note to him were these:--
" What am I to imagine, Willoughby, by your behaviour last night?
Again I demand an explanation of it.
I was prepared to meet you with the pleasure which our separation naturally produced, with the familiarity which our intimacy at Barton appeared to me to justify.
I was repulsed indeed!
I have passed a wretched night in endeavouring to excuse a conduct which can scarcely be called less than insulting; but though I have not yet been able to form any reasonable apology for your behaviour, I am perfectly ready to hear your justification of it.
You have perhaps been misinformed, or purposely deceived, in something concerning me, which may have lowered me in your opinion.
Tell me what it is, explain the grounds on which you acted, and I shall be satisfied, in being able to satisfy you.
My feelings are at present in a state of dreadful indecision; I wish to acquit you, but certainty on either side will be ease to what I now suffer.
If your sentiments are no longer what they were, you will return my notes, and the lock of my hair which is in your possession.
" M. D."
That such letters, so full of affection and confidence, could have been so answered, Elinor, for Willoughby's sake, would have been unwilling to believe.
" I felt myself," she added, " to be as solemnly engaged to him, as if the strictest legal covenant had bound us to each other."
" I can believe it," said Elinor; " but unfortunately he did not feel the same."
" He DID feel the same, Elinor--for weeks and weeks he felt it.
I know he did.
Whatever may have changed him now, (and nothing but the blackest art employed against me can have done it), I was once as dear to him as my own soul could wish.
This lock of hair, which now he can so readily give up, was begged of me with the most earnest supplication.
Had you seen his look, his manner, had you heard his voice at that moment!
Have you forgot the last evening of our being together at Barton?
The morning that we parted too!
When he told me that it might be many weeks before we met again--his distress--can I ever forget his distress?"
For a moment or two she could say no more; but when this emotion had passed away, she added, in a firmer tone,
" Elinor, I have been cruelly used; but not by Willoughby."
" Dearest Marianne, who but himself?
By whom can he have been instigated?"
" By all the world, rather than by his own heart.
I could rather believe every creature of my acquaintance leagued together to ruin me in his opinion, than believe his nature capable of such cruelty.
This woman of whom he writes--whoever she be--or any one, in short, but your own dear self, mama, and Edward, may have been so barbarous to bely me.
Beyond you three, is there a creature in the world whom I would not rather suspect of evil than Willoughby, whose heart I know so well?"
Elinor would not contend, and only replied, " Whoever may have been so detestably your enemy, let them be cheated of their malignant triumph, my dear sister, by seeing how nobly the consciousness of your own innocence and good intentions supports your spirits.
It is a reasonable and laudable pride which resists such malevolence."
" No, no," cried Marianne, " misery such as mine has no pride.
I care not who knows that I am wretched.
The triumph of seeing me so may be open to all the world.
Elinor, Elinor, they who suffer little may be proud and independent as they like--may resist insult, or return mortification--but I cannot.
I must feel--I must be wretched--and they are welcome to enjoy the consciousness of it that can."
" But for my mother's sake and mine --"
" I would do more than for my own.
But to appear happy when I am so miserable--Oh!
who can require it?"
Again they were both silent.
" It is too much!
Oh, Willoughby, Willoughby, could this be yours!
Cruel, cruel--nothing can acquit you.
Elinor, nothing can.
Whatever he might have heard against me--ought he not to have suspended his belief?
ought he not to have told me of it, to have given me the power of clearing myself?
' The lock of hair, (repeating it from the letter,) which you so obligingly bestowed on me '-- That is unpardonable.
Willoughby, where was your heart when you wrote those words?
Oh, barbarously insolent!-- Elinor, can he be justified?"
" No, Marianne, in no possible way."
" And yet this woman--who knows what her art may have been?-- how long it may have been premeditated, and how deeply contrived by her!-- Who is she?-- Who can she be?-- Whom did I ever hear him talk of as young and attractive among his female acquaintance?-- Oh!
no one, no one--he talked to me only of myself."
Another pause ensued; Marianne was greatly agitated, and it ended thus.
" Elinor, I must go home.
I must go and comfort mama.
Can not we be gone to - morrow?"
" To - morrow, Marianne!"
" Yes, why should I stay here?
I came only for Willoughby's sake--and now who cares for me?
Who regards me?"
" It would be impossible to go to - morrow.
We owe Mrs. Jennings much more than civility; and civility of the commonest kind must prevent such a hasty removal as that."
" Well then, another day or two, perhaps; but I cannot stay here long, I cannot stay to endure the questions and remarks of all these people.
The Middletons and Palmers--how am I to bear their pity?
The pity of such a woman as Lady Middleton!
Oh, what would HE say to that!"
Some lavender drops, however, which she was at length persuaded to take, were of use; and from that time till Mrs. Jennings returned, she continued on the bed quiet and motionless.
CHAPTER 30
Mrs. Jennings came immediately to their room on her return, and without waiting to have her request of admittance answered, opened the door and walked in with a look of real concern.
" How do you do my dear?"
-- said she in a voice of great compassion to Marianne, who turned away her face without attempting to answer.
" How is she, Miss Dashwood?-- Poor thing!
she looks very bad.-- No wonder.
Ay, it is but too true.
He is to be married very soon--a good - for - nothing fellow!
I have no patience with him.
Mrs. Taylor told me of it half an hour ago, and she was told it by a particular friend of Miss Grey herself, else I am sure I should not have believed it; and I was almost ready to sink as it was.
Well, said I, all I can say is, that if this be true, he has used a young lady of my acquaintance abominably ill, and I wish with all my soul his wife may plague his heart out.
And so I shall always say, my dear, you may depend on it.
I have no notion of men's going on in this way; and if ever I meet him again, I will give him such a dressing as he has not had this many a day.
But there is one comfort, my dear Miss Marianne; he is not the only young man in the world worth having; and with your pretty face you will never want admirers.
Well, poor thing!
I won't disturb her any longer, for she had better have her cry out at once and have done with.
The Parrys and Sandersons luckily are coming tonight you know, and that will amuse her."
She then went away, walking on tiptoe out of the room, as if she supposed her young friend's affliction could be increased by noise.
Marianne, to the surprise of her sister, determined on dining with them.
Elinor even advised her against it.
But " no, she would go down; she could bear it very well, and the bustle about her would be less."
When there, though looking most wretchedly, she ate more and was calmer than her sister had expected.
Elinor, who did justice to Mrs. Jennings's kindness, though its effusions were often distressing, and sometimes almost ridiculous, made her those acknowledgments, and returned her those civilities, which her sister could not make or return for herself.
Their good friend saw that Marianne was unhappy, and felt that every thing was due to her which might make her at all less so.
She treated her therefore, with all the indulgent fondness of a parent towards a favourite child on the last day of its holidays.
Marianne was to have the best place by the fire, was to be tempted to eat by every delicacy in the house, and to be amused by the relation of all the news of the day.
Had not Elinor, in the sad countenance of her sister, seen a check to all mirth, she could have been entertained by Mrs. Jennings's endeavours to cure a disappointment in love, by a variety of sweetmeats and olives, and a good fire.
As soon, however, as the consciousness of all this was forced by continual repetition on Marianne, she could stay no longer.
With a hasty exclamation of Misery, and a sign to her sister not to follow her, she directly got up and hurried out of the room.
" Poor soul!"
cried Mrs. Jennings, as soon as she was gone, " how it grieves me to see her!
And I declare if she is not gone away without finishing her wine!
And the dried cherries too!
Lord!
nothing seems to do her any good.
I am sure if I knew of any thing she would like, I would send all over the town for it.
Well, it is the oddest thing to me, that a man should use such a pretty girl so ill!
But when there is plenty of money on one side, and next to none on the other, Lord bless you!
they care no more about such things!--"
" The lady then--Miss Grey I think you called her--is very rich?"
" Fifty thousand pounds, my dear.
Did you ever see her?
a smart, stylish girl they say, but not handsome.
I remember her aunt very well, Biddy Henshawe; she married a very wealthy man.
But the family are all rich together.
Fifty thousand pounds!
and by all accounts, it won't come before it's wanted; for they say he is all to pieces.
No wonder!
dashing about with his curricle and hunters!
Well, it don't signify talking; but when a young man, be who he will, comes and makes love to a pretty girl, and promises marriage, he has no business to fly off from his word only because he grows poor, and a richer girl is ready to have him.
Why don't he, in such a case, sell his horses, let his house, turn off his servants, and make a thorough reform at once?
I warrant you, Miss Marianne would have been ready to wait till matters came round.
But that won't do now - a - days; nothing in the way of pleasure can ever be given up by the young men of this age."
" Do you know what kind of a girl Miss Grey is?
Is she said to be amiable?"
" And who are the Ellisons?"
" Her guardians, my dear.
But now she is of age and may choose for herself; and a pretty choice she has made!-- What now," after pausing a moment --" your poor sister is gone to her own room, I suppose, to moan by herself.
Is there nothing one can get to comfort her?
Poor dear, it seems quite cruel to let her be alone.
Well, by - and - by we shall have a few friends, and that will amuse her a little.
What shall we play at?
She hates whist I know; but is there no round game she cares for?"
" Dear ma'am, this kindness is quite unnecessary.
Marianne, I dare say, will not leave her room again this evening.
I shall persuade her if I can to go early to bed, for I am sure she wants rest."
" Aye, I believe that will be best for her.
Let her name her own supper, and go to bed.
Lord!
no wonder she has been looking so bad and so cast down this last week or two, for this matter I suppose has been hanging over her head as long as that.
And so the letter that came today finished it!
Poor soul!
I am sure if I had had a notion of it, I would not have joked her about it for all my money.
But then you know, how should I guess such a thing?
I made sure of its being nothing but a common love letter, and you know young people like to be laughed at about them.
Lord!
how concerned Sir John and my daughters will be when they hear it!
If I had my senses about me I might have called in Conduit Street in my way home, and told them of it.
But I shall see them tomorrow."
" It would be unnecessary I am sure, for you to caution Mrs. Palmer and Sir John against ever naming Mr. Willoughby, or making the slightest allusion to what has passed, before my sister.
Their own good - nature must point out to them the real cruelty of appearing to know any thing about it when she is present; and the less that may ever be said to myself on the subject, the more my feelings will be spared, as you my dear madam will easily believe."
" Oh!
Lord!
yes, that I do indeed.
It must be terrible for you to hear it talked of; and as for your sister, I am sure I would not mention a word about it to her for the world.
You saw I did not all dinner time.
No more would Sir John, nor my daughters, for they are all very thoughtful and considerate; especially if I give them a hint, as I certainly will.
For my part, I think the less that is said about such things, the better, the sooner'tis blown over and forgot.
And what does talking ever do you know?"
" In this affair it can only do harm; more so perhaps than in many cases of a similar kind, for it has been attended by circumstances which, for the sake of every one concerned in it, make it unfit to become the public conversation.
I must do THIS justice to Mr. Willoughby--he has broken no positive engagement with my sister."
" Law, my dear!
Don't pretend to defend him.
No positive engagement indeed!
after taking her all over Allenham House, and fixing on the very rooms they were to live in hereafter!"
Elinor, for her sister's sake, could not press the subject farther, and she hoped it was not required of her for Willoughby's; since, though Marianne might lose much, he could gain very little by the enforcement of the real truth.
After a short silence on both sides, Mrs. Jennings, with all her natural hilarity, burst forth again.
" Well, my dear,'tis a true saying about an ill - wind, for it will be all the better for Colonel Brandon.
He will have her at last; aye, that he will.
Mind me, now, if they an't married by Mid - summer.
Lord!
how he'll chuckle over this news!
I hope he will come tonight.
It will be all to one a better match for your sister.
Two thousand a year without debt or drawback--except the little love - child, indeed; aye, I had forgot her; but she may be'prenticed out at a small cost, and then what does it signify?
Delaford is a nice place, I can tell you; exactly what I call a nice old fashioned place, full of comforts and conveniences; quite shut in with great garden walls that are covered with the best fruit - trees in the country; and such a mulberry tree in one corner!
Lord!
how Charlotte and I did stuff the only time we were there!
Oh!
' tis a nice place!
A butcher hard by in the village, and the parsonage - house within a stone's throw.
To my fancy, a thousand times prettier than Barton Park, where they are forced to send three miles for their meat, and have not a neighbour nearer than your mother.
Well, I shall spirit up the Colonel as soon as I can.
One shoulder of mutton, you know, drives another down.
If we CAN but put Willoughby out of her head!"
" Ay, if we can do THAT, Ma'am," said Elinor, " we shall do very well with or without Colonel Brandon."
And then rising, she went away to join Marianne, whom she found, as she expected, in her own room, leaning, in silent misery, over the small remains of a fire, which, till Elinor's entrance, had been her only light.
" You had better leave me," was all the notice that her sister received from her.
" I will leave you," said Elinor, " if you will go to bed."
But this, from the momentary perverseness of impatient suffering, she at first refused to do.
Her sister's earnest, though gentle persuasion, however, soon softened her to compliance, and Elinor saw her lay her aching head on the pillow, and as she hoped, in a way to get some quiet rest before she left her.
In the drawing - room, whither she then repaired, she was soon joined by Mrs. Jennings, with a wine - glass, full of something, in her hand.
" My dear," said she, entering, " I have just recollected that I have some of the finest old Constantia wine in the house that ever was tasted, so I have brought a glass of it for your sister.
My poor husband!
how fond he was of it!
Whenever he had a touch of his old colicky gout, he said it did him more good than any thing else in the world.
Do take it to your sister."
" Dear Ma'am," replied Elinor, smiling at the difference of the complaints for which it was recommended, " how good you are!
But I have just left Marianne in bed, and, I hope, almost asleep; and as I think nothing will be of so much service to her as rest, if you will give me leave, I will drink the wine myself."
Colonel Brandon came in while the party were at tea, and by his manner of looking round the room for Marianne, Elinor immediately fancied that he neither expected nor wished to see her there, and, in short, that he was already aware of what occasioned her absence.
Mrs. Jennings was not struck by the same thought; for soon after his entrance, she walked across the room to the tea - table where Elinor presided, and whispered--" The Colonel looks as grave as ever you see.
He knows nothing of it; do tell him, my dear."
He shortly afterwards drew a chair close to her's, and, with a look which perfectly assured her of his good information, inquired after her sister.
" Marianne is not well," said she.
" She has been indisposed all day, and we have persuaded her to go to bed."
" Perhaps, then," he hesitatingly replied, " what I heard this morning may be--there may be more truth in it than I could believe possible at first."
" What did you hear?"
" That a gentleman, whom I had reason to think--in short, that a man, whom I KNEW to be engaged--but how shall I tell you?
If you know it already, as surely you must, I may be spared."
" You mean," answered Elinor, with forced calmness, " Mr. Willoughby's marriage with Miss Grey.
Yes, we DO know it all.
This seems to have been a day of general elucidation, for this very morning first unfolded it to us.
Mr. Willoughby is unfathomable!
Where did you hear it?"
" In a stationer's shop in Pall Mall, where I had business.
Two ladies were waiting for their carriage, and one of them was giving the other an account of the intended match, in a voice so little attempting concealment, that it was impossible for me not to hear all.
One thing, especially, I remember, because it served to identify the man still more:-- as soon as the ceremony was over, they were to go to Combe Magna, his seat in Somersetshire.
My astonishment!-- but it would be impossible to describe what I felt.
The communicative lady I learnt, on inquiry, for I stayed in the shop till they were gone, was a Mrs. Ellison, and that, as I have been since informed, is the name of Miss Grey's guardian."
" It is.
But have you likewise heard that Miss Grey has fifty thousand pounds?
In that, if in any thing, we may find an explanation."
" It may be so; but Willoughby is capable--at least I think "-- he stopped a moment; then added in a voice which seemed to distrust itself, " And your sister--how did she --"
" Her sufferings have been very severe.
I have only to hope that they may be proportionately short.
It has been, it is a most cruel affliction.
Till yesterday, I believe, she never doubted his regard; and even now, perhaps--but I am almost convinced that he never was really attached to her.
He has been very deceitful!
and, in some points, there seems a hardness of heart about him."
" Ah!"
said Colonel Brandon, " there is, indeed!
But your sister does not--I think you said so--she does not consider quite as you do?"
" You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerly she would still justify him if she could."
He made no answer; and soon afterwards, by the removal of the tea - things, and the arrangement of the card parties, the subject was necessarily dropped.
CHAPTER 31
From a night of more sleep than she had expected, Marianne awoke the next morning to the same consciousness of misery in which she had closed her eyes.
Sometimes she could believe Willoughby to be as unfortunate and as innocent as herself, and at others, lost every consolation in the impossibility of acquitting him.
At one moment she was absolutely indifferent to the observation of all the world, at another she would seclude herself from it for ever, and at a third could resist it with energy.
In one thing, however, she was uniform, when it came to the point, in avoiding, where it was possible, the presence of Mrs. Jennings, and in a determined silence when obliged to endure it.
Her heart was hardened against the belief of Mrs. Jennings's entering into her sorrows with any compassion.
" No, no, no, it cannot be," she cried; " she cannot feel.
Her kindness is not sympathy; her good - nature is not tenderness.
All that she wants is gossip, and she only likes me now because I supply it."
Like half the rest of the world, if more than half there be that are clever and good, Marianne, with excellent abilities and an excellent disposition, was neither reasonable nor candid.
She expected from other people the same opinions and feelings as her own, and she judged of their motives by the immediate effect of their actions on herself.
With a letter in her outstretched hand, and countenance gaily smiling, from the persuasion of bringing comfort, she entered their room, saying,
" Now, my dear, I bring you something that I am sure will do you good."
Marianne heard enough.
The work of one moment was destroyed by the next.
The hand writing of her mother, never till then unwelcome, was before her; and, in the acuteness of the disappointment which followed such an ecstasy of more than hope, she felt as if, till that instant, she had never suffered.
But the letter, when she was calm enough to read it, brought little comfort.
Willoughby filled every page.
All her impatience to be at home again now returned; her mother was dearer to her than ever; dearer through the very excess of her mistaken confidence in Willoughby, and she was wildly urgent to be gone.
Elinor, unable herself to determine whether it were better for Marianne to be in London or at Barton, offered no counsel of her own except of patience till their mother's wishes could be known; and at length she obtained her sister's consent to wait for that knowledge.
Mrs. Jennings left them earlier than usual; for she could not be easy till the Middletons and Palmers were able to grieve as much as herself; and positively refusing Elinor's offered attendance, went out alone for the rest of the morning.
In this manner they had continued about a quarter of an hour, when Marianne, whose nerves could not then bear any sudden noise, was startled by a rap at the door.
" Who can this be?"
cried Elinor.
" So early too!
I thought we HAD been safe."
Marianne moved to the window --
" It is Colonel Brandon!"
said she, with vexation.
" We are never safe from HIM."
" He will not come in, as Mrs. Jennings is from home."
" I will not trust to THAT," retreating to her own room.
" A man who has nothing to do with his own time has no conscience in his intrusion on that of others."
" I met Mrs. Jennings in Bond Street," said he, after the first salutation, " and she encouraged me to come on; and I was the more easily encouraged, because I thought it probable that I might find you alone, which I was very desirous of doing.
My object--my wish--my sole wish in desiring it--I hope, I believe it is--is to be a means of giving comfort;-- no, I must not say comfort--not present comfort--but conviction, lasting conviction to your sister's mind.
He stopped.
" I understand you," said Elinor.
" You have something to tell me of Mr. Willoughby, that will open his character farther.
Your telling it will be the greatest act of friendship that can be shewn Marianne.
MY gratitude will be insured immediately by any information tending to that end, and HERS must be gained by it in time.
Pray, pray let me hear it."
" You shall; and, to be brief, when I quitted Barton last October,-- but this will give you no idea--I must go farther back.
You will find me a very awkward narrator, Miss Dashwood; I hardly know where to begin.
A short account of myself, I believe, will be necessary, and it SHALL be a short one.
On such a subject," sighing heavily, " can I have little temptation to be diffuse."
He stopt a moment for recollection, and then, with another sigh, went on.
" Indeed," answered Elinor, " I have NOT forgotten it."
He looked pleased by this remembrance, and added,
" If I am not deceived by the uncertainty, the partiality of tender recollection, there is a very strong resemblance between them, as well in mind as person.
The same warmth of heart, the same eagerness of fancy and spirits.
This lady was one of my nearest relations, an orphan from her infancy, and under the guardianship of my father.
Our ages were nearly the same, and from our earliest years we were playfellows and friends.
I cannot remember the time when I did not love Eliza; and my affection for her, as we grew up, was such, as perhaps, judging from my present forlorn and cheerless gravity, you might think me incapable of having ever felt.
Her's, for me, was, I believe, fervent as the attachment of your sister to Mr. Willoughby and it was, though from a different cause, no less unfortunate.
At seventeen she was lost to me for ever.
She was married--married against her inclination to my brother.
Her fortune was large, and our family estate much encumbered.
And this, I fear, is all that can be said for the conduct of one, who was at once her uncle and guardian.
My brother did not deserve her; he did not even love her.
I have never told you how this was brought on.
We were within a few hours of eloping together for Scotland.
The treachery, or the folly, of my cousin's maid betrayed us.
I was banished to the house of a relation far distant, and she was allowed no liberty, no society, no amusement, till my father's point was gained.
I had depended on her fortitude too far, and the blow was a severe one--but had her marriage been happy, so young as I then was, a few months must have reconciled me to it, or at least I should not have now to lament it.
This however was not the case.
My brother had no regard for her; his pleasures were not what they ought to have been, and from the first he treated her unkindly.
The consequence of this, upon a mind so young, so lively, so inexperienced as Mrs. Brandon's, was but too natural.
She resigned herself at first to all the misery of her situation; and happy had it been if she had not lived to overcome those regrets which the remembrance of me occasioned.
But can we wonder that, with such a husband to provoke inconstancy, and without a friend to advise or restrain her (for my father lived only a few months after their marriage, and I was with my regiment in the East Indies) she should fall?
Had I remained in England, perhaps--but I meant to promote the happiness of both by removing from her for years, and for that purpose had procured my exchange.
The shock which her marriage had given me," he continued, in a voice of great agitation, " was of trifling weight--was nothing to what I felt when I heard, about two years afterwards, of her divorce.
It was THAT which threw this gloom,-- even now the recollection of what I suffered --"
He could say no more, and rising hastily walked for a few minutes about the room.
Elinor, affected by his relation, and still more by his distress, could not speak.
He saw her concern, and coming to her, took her hand, pressed it, and kissed it with grateful respect.
A few minutes more of silent exertion enabled him to proceed with composure.
" It was nearly three years after this unhappy period before I returned to England.
My first care, when I DID arrive, was of course to seek for her; but the search was as fruitless as it was melancholy.
I could not trace her beyond her first seducer, and there was every reason to fear that she had removed from him only to sink deeper in a life of sin.
Her legal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor sufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and I learnt from my brother that the power of receiving it had been made over some months before to another person.
He imagined, and calmly could he imagine it, that her extravagance, and consequent distress, had obliged her to dispose of it for some immediate relief.
At last, however, and after I had been six months in England, I DID find her.
Regard for a former servant of my own, who had since fallen into misfortune, carried me to visit him in a spunging - house, where he was confined for debt; and there, the same house, under a similar confinement, was my unfortunate sister.
So altered--so faded--worn down by acute suffering of every kind!
hardly could I believe the melancholy and sickly figure before me, to be the remains of the lovely, blooming, healthful girl, on whom I had once doted.
What I endured in so beholding her--but I have no right to wound your feelings by attempting to describe it--I have pained you too much already.
That she was, to all appearance, in the last stage of a consumption, was--yes, in such a situation it was my greatest comfort.
Life could do nothing for her, beyond giving time for a better preparation for death; and that was given.
I saw her placed in comfortable lodgings, and under proper attendants; I visited her every day during the rest of her short life: I was with her in her last moments."
Again he stopped to recover himself; and Elinor spoke her feelings in an exclamation of tender concern, at the fate of his unfortunate friend.
" Your sister, I hope, cannot be offended," said he, " by the resemblance I have fancied between her and my poor disgraced relation.
Their fates, their fortunes, cannot be the same; and had the natural sweet disposition of the one been guarded by a firmer mind, or a happier marriage, she might have been all that you will live to see the other be.
But to what does all this lead?
I seem to have been distressing you for nothing.
Ah!
Miss Dashwood--a subject such as this--untouched for fourteen years--it is dangerous to handle it at all!
I WILL be more collected--more concise.
She left to my care her only child, a little girl, the offspring of her first guilty connection, who was then about three years old.
She loved the child, and had always kept it with her.
It was a valued, a precious trust to me; and gladly would I have discharged it in the strictest sense, by watching over her education myself, had the nature of our situations allowed it; but I had no family, no home; and my little Eliza was therefore placed at school.
I saw her there whenever I could, and after the death of my brother, (which happened about five years ago, and which left to me the possession of the family property,) she visited me at Delaford.
I called her a distant relation; but I am well aware that I have in general been suspected of a much nearer connection with her.
But last February, almost a twelvemonth back, she suddenly disappeared.
I had allowed her, (imprudently, as it has since turned out,) at her earnest desire, to go to Bath with one of her young friends, who was attending her father there for his health.
I knew him to be a very good sort of man, and I thought well of his daughter--better than she deserved, for, with a most obstinate and ill - judged secrecy, she would tell nothing, would give no clue, though she certainly knew all.
In short, I could learn nothing but that she was gone; all the rest, for eight long months, was left to conjecture.
What I thought, what I feared, may be imagined; and what I suffered too."
" Good heavens!"
cried Elinor, " could it be--could Willoughby!"
" The first news that reached me of her," he continued, " came in a letter from herself, last October.
Little did Mr. Willoughby imagine, I suppose, when his looks censured me for incivility in breaking up the party, that I was called away to the relief of one whom he had made poor and miserable; but HAD he known it, what would it have availed?
Would he have been less gay or less happy in the smiles of your sister?
No, he had already done that, which no man who CAN feel for another would do.
He had left the girl whose youth and innocence he had seduced, in a situation of the utmost distress, with no creditable home, no help, no friends, ignorant of his address!
He had left her, promising to return; he neither returned, nor wrote, nor relieved her."
" This is beyond every thing!"
exclaimed Elinor.
" His character is now before you; expensive, dissipated, and worse than both.
Knowing all this, as I have now known it many weeks, guess what I must have felt on seeing your sister as fond of him as ever, and on being assured that she was to marry him: guess what I must have felt for all your sakes.
When I came to you last week and found you alone, I came determined to know the truth; though irresolute what to do when it WAS known.
My behaviour must have seemed strange to you then; but now you will comprehend it.
To suffer you all to be so deceived; to see your sister--but what could I do?
I had no hope of interfering with success; and sometimes I thought your sister's influence might yet reclaim him.
But now, after such dishonorable usage, who can tell what were his designs on her.
Surely this comparison must have its use with her.
She will feel her own sufferings to be nothing.
They proceed from no misconduct, and can bring no disgrace.
On the contrary, every friend must be made still more her friend by them.
Concern for her unhappiness, and respect for her fortitude under it, must strengthen every attachment.
Use your own discretion, however, in communicating to her what I have told you.
Elinor's thanks followed this speech with grateful earnestness; attended too with the assurance of her expecting material advantage to Marianne, from the communication of what had passed.
" I have been more pained," said she, " by her endeavors to acquit him than by all the rest; for it irritates her mind more than the most perfect conviction of his unworthiness can do.
Now, though at first she will suffer much, I am sure she will soon become easier.
Have you," she continued, after a short silence, " ever seen Mr. Willoughby since you left him at Barton?"
" Yes," he replied gravely, " once I have.
One meeting was unavoidable."
Elinor, startled by his manner, looked at him anxiously, saying,
" What?
have you met him to --"
" I could meet him no other way.
Eliza had confessed to me, though most reluctantly, the name of her lover; and when he returned to town, which was within a fortnight after myself, we met by appointment, he to defend, I to punish his conduct.
We returned unwounded, and the meeting, therefore, never got abroad."
Elinor sighed over the fancied necessity of this; but to a man and a soldier she presumed not to censure it.
" Such," said Colonel Brandon, after a pause, " has been the unhappy resemblance between the fate of mother and daughter!
and so imperfectly have I discharged my trust!"
" Is she still in town?"
" No; as soon as she recovered from her lying - in, for I found her near her delivery, I removed her and her child into the country, and there she remains."
Recollecting, soon afterwards, that he was probably dividing Elinor from her sister, he put an end to his visit, receiving from her again the same grateful acknowledgments, and leaving her full of compassion and esteem for him.
CHAPTER 32
When the particulars of this conversation were repeated by Miss Dashwood to her sister, as they very soon were, the effect on her was not entirely such as the former had hoped to see.
Her mind did become settled, but it was settled in a gloomy dejection.
Long letters from her, quickly succeeding each other, arrived to tell all that she suffered and thought; to express her anxious solicitude for Marianne, and entreat she would bear up with fortitude under this misfortune.
Bad indeed must the nature of Marianne's affliction be, when her mother could talk of fortitude!
mortifying and humiliating must be the origin of those regrets, which SHE could wish her not to indulge!
She recommended it to her daughters, therefore, by all means not to shorten their visit to Mrs. Jennings; the length of which, though never exactly fixed, had been expected by all to comprise at least five or six weeks.
From all danger of seeing Willoughby again, her mother considered her to be at least equally safe in town as in the country, since his acquaintance must now be dropped by all who called themselves her friends.
She had yet another reason for wishing her children to remain where they were; a letter from her son - in - law had told her that he and his wife were to be in town before the middle of February, and she judged it right that they should sometimes see their brother.
Her carefulness in guarding her sister from ever hearing Willoughby's name mentioned, was not thrown away.
Marianne, though without knowing it herself, reaped all its advantage; for neither Mrs. Jennings, nor Sir John, nor even Mrs. Palmer herself, ever spoke of him before her.
Elinor wished that the same forbearance could have extended towards herself, but that was impossible, and she was obliged to listen day after day to the indignation of them all.
Sir John, could not have thought it possible.
" A man of whom he had always had such reason to think well!
Such a good - natured fellow!
He did not believe there was a bolder rider in England!
It was an unaccountable business.
He wished him at the devil with all his heart.
He would not speak another word to him, meet him where he might, for all the world!
No, not if it were to be by the side of Barton covert, and they were kept watching for two hours together.
Such a scoundrel of a fellow!
such a deceitful dog!
It was only the last time they met that he had offered him one of Folly's puppies!
and this was the end of it!"
Mrs. Palmer, in her way, was equally angry.
" She was determined to drop his acquaintance immediately, and she was very thankful that she had never been acquainted with him at all.
The rest of Mrs. Palmer's sympathy was shewn in procuring all the particulars in her power of the approaching marriage, and communicating them to Elinor.
She could soon tell at what coachmaker's the new carriage was building, by what painter Mr. Willoughby's portrait was drawn, and at what warehouse Miss Grey's clothes might be seen.
The calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton on the occasion was a happy relief to Elinor's spirits, oppressed as they often were by the clamorous kindness of the others.
It was a great comfort to her to be sure of exciting no interest in ONE person at least among their circle of friends: a great comfort to know that there was ONE who would meet her without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or any anxiety for her sister's health.
Every qualification is raised at times, by the circumstances of the moment, to more than its real value; and she was sometimes worried down by officious condolence to rate good - breeding as more indispensable to comfort than good - nature.
Lady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair about once every day, or twice, if the subject occurred very often, by saying, " It is very shocking, indeed!"
Colonel Brandon's delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were never unwelcome to Miss Dashwood.
He had abundantly earned the privilege of intimate discussion of her sister's disappointment, by the friendly zeal with which he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always conversed with confidence.
The good understanding between the Colonel and Miss Dashwood seemed rather to declare that the honours of the mulberry - tree, the canal, and the yew arbour, would all be made over to HER; and Mrs. Jennings had, for some time ceased to think at all of Mrs. Ferrars.
Early in February, within a fortnight from the receipt of Willoughby's letter, Elinor had the painful office of informing her sister that he was married.
She had taken care to have the intelligence conveyed to herself, as soon as it was known that the ceremony was over, as she was desirous that Marianne should not receive the first notice of it from the public papers, which she saw her eagerly examining every morning.
She received the news with resolute composure; made no observation on it, and at first shed no tears; but after a short time they would burst out, and for the rest of the day, she was in a state hardly less pitiable than when she first learnt to expect the event.
The Willoughbys left town as soon as they were married; and Elinor now hoped, as there could be no danger of her seeing either of them, to prevail on her sister, who had never yet left the house since the blow first fell, to go out again by degrees as she had done before.
About this time the two Miss Steeles, lately arrived at their cousin's house in Bartlett's Buildings, Holburn, presented themselves again before their more grand relations in Conduit and Berkeley Streets; and were welcomed by them all with great cordiality.
Elinor only was sorry to see them.
Their presence always gave her pain, and she hardly knew how to make a very gracious return to the overpowering delight of Lucy in finding her STILL in town.
" I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found you here STILL," said she repeatedly, with a strong emphasis on the word.
" But I always thought I SHOULD.
I was almost sure you would not leave London yet awhile; though you TOLD me, you know, at Barton, that you should not stay above a MONTH.
But I thought, at the time, that you would most likely change your mind when it came to the point.
It would have been such a great pity to have went away before your brother and sister came.
And now to be sure you will be in no hurry to be gone.
I am amazingly glad you did not keep to YOUR WORD."
Elinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use all her self - command to make it appear that she did NOT.
" Well, my dear," said Mrs. Jennings, " and how did you travel?"
" Not in the stage, I assure you," replied Miss Steele, with quick exultation; " we came post all the way, and had a very smart beau to attend us.
Dr. Davies was coming to town, and so we thought we'd join him in a post - chaise; and he behaved very genteelly, and paid ten or twelve shillings more than we did."
" Oh, oh!"
cried Mrs. Jennings; " very pretty, indeed!
and the Doctor is a single man, I warrant you."
" There now," said Miss Steele, affectedly simpering, " everybody laughs at me so about the Doctor, and I cannot think why.
My cousins say they are sure I have made a conquest; but for my part I declare I never think about him from one hour's end to another.
' Lord!
here comes your beau, Nancy,' my cousin said t'other day, when she saw him crossing the street to the house.
My beau, indeed!
said I--I cannot think who you mean.
The Doctor is no beau of mine."
" Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking--but it won't do--the Doctor is the man, I see."
" No, indeed!"
replied her cousin, with affected earnestness, " and I beg you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of."
Mrs. Jennings directly gave her the gratifying assurance that she certainly would NOT, and Miss Steele was made completely happy.
" I suppose you will go and stay with your brother and sister, Miss Dashwood, when they come to town," said Lucy, returning, after a cessation of hostile hints, to the charge.
" No, I do not think we shall."
" Oh, yes, I dare say you will."
Elinor would not humour her by farther opposition.
" What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can spare you both for so long a time together!"
" Long a time, indeed!"
interposed Mrs. Jennings.
" Why, their visit is but just begun!"
Lucy was silenced.
" I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood," said Miss Steele.
" I am sorry she is not well --" for Marianne had left the room on their arrival.
" You are very good.
My sister will be equally sorry to miss the pleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much plagued lately with nervous head - aches, which make her unfit for company or conversation."
" Oh, dear, that is a great pity!
but such old friends as Lucy and me!-- I think she might see US; and I am sure we would not speak a word."
Elinor, with great civility, declined the proposal.
Her sister was perhaps laid down upon the bed, or in her dressing gown, and therefore not able to come to them.
" Oh, if that's all," cried Miss Steele, " we can just as well go and see HER."
CHAPTER 33
After some opposition, Marianne yielded to her sister's entreaties, and consented to go out with her and Mrs. Jennings one morning for half an hour.
She expressly conditioned, however, for paying no visits, and would do no more than accompany them to Gray's in Sackville Street, where Elinor was carrying on a negotiation for the exchange of a few old - fashioned jewels of her mother.
On ascending the stairs, the Miss Dashwoods found so many people before them in the room, that there was not a person at liberty to tend to their orders; and they were obliged to wait.
All that could be done was, to sit down at that end of the counter which seemed to promise the quickest succession; one gentleman only was standing there, and it is probable that Elinor was not without hope of exciting his politeness to a quicker despatch.
But the correctness of his eye, and the delicacy of his taste, proved to be beyond his politeness.
At last the affair was decided.
Elinor lost no time in bringing her business forward, was on the point of concluding it, when another gentleman presented himself at her side.
She turned her eyes towards his face, and found him with some surprise to be her brother.
Their affection and pleasure in meeting was just enough to make a very creditable appearance in Mr. Gray's shop.
John Dashwood was really far from being sorry to see his sisters again; it rather gave them satisfaction; and his inquiries after their mother were respectful and attentive.
Elinor found that he and Fanny had been in town two days.
" I wished very much to call upon you yesterday," said he, " but it was impossible, for we were obliged to take Harry to see the wild beasts at Exeter Exchange; and we spent the rest of the day with Mrs. Ferrars.
Harry was vastly pleased.
THIS morning I had fully intended to call on you, if I could possibly find a spare half hour, but one has always so much to do on first coming to town.
I am come here to bespeak Fanny a seal.
But tomorrow I think I shall certainly be able to call in Berkeley Street, and be introduced to your friend Mrs. Jennings.
I understand she is a woman of very good fortune.
And the Middletons too, you must introduce me to THEM.
As my mother - in - law's relations, I shall be happy to show them every respect.
They are excellent neighbours to you in the country, I understand."
" Excellent indeed.
Their attention to our comfort, their friendliness in every particular, is more than I can express."
" I am extremely glad to hear it, upon my word; extremely glad indeed.
But so it ought to be; they are people of large fortune, they are related to you, and every civility and accommodation that can serve to make your situation pleasant might be reasonably expected.
And so you are most comfortably settled in your little cottage and want for nothing!
Edward brought us a most charming account of the place: the most complete thing of its kind, he said, that ever was, and you all seemed to enjoy it beyond any thing.
It was a great satisfaction to us to hear it, I assure you."
Elinor did feel a little ashamed of her brother; and was not sorry to be spared the necessity of answering him, by the arrival of Mrs. Jennings's servant, who came to tell her that his mistress waited for them at the door.
Mr. Dashwood attended them down stairs, was introduced to Mrs. Jennings at the door of her carriage, and repeating his hope of being able to call on them the next day, took leave.
His visit was duly paid.
He came with a pretence at an apology from their sister - in - law, for not coming too; " but she was so much engaged with her mother, that really she had no leisure for going any where."
Mrs. Jennings, however, assured him directly, that she should not stand upon ceremony, for they were all cousins, or something like it, and she should certainly wait on Mrs. John Dashwood very soon, and bring her sisters to see her.
His manners to THEM, though calm, were perfectly kind; to Mrs. Jennings, most attentively civil; and on Colonel Brandon's coming in soon after himself, he eyed him with a curiosity which seemed to say, that he only wanted to know him to be rich, to be equally civil to HIM.
After staying with them half an hour, he asked Elinor to walk with him to Conduit Street, and introduce him to Sir John and Lady Middleton.
The weather was remarkably fine, and she readily consented.
As soon as they were out of the house, his enquiries began.
" Who is Colonel Brandon?
Is he a man of fortune?"
" Yes; he has very good property in Dorsetshire."
" I am glad of it.
He seems a most gentlemanlike man; and I think, Elinor, I may congratulate you on the prospect of a very respectable establishment in life."
" Me, brother!
what do you mean?"
" He likes you.
I observed him narrowly, and am convinced of it.
What is the amount of his fortune?"
" I believe about two thousand a year."
" Two thousand a - year;" and then working himself up to a pitch of enthusiastic generosity, he added, " Elinor, I wish with all my heart it were TWICE as much, for your sake."
" Indeed I believe you," replied Elinor; " but I am very sure that Colonel Brandon has not the smallest wish of marrying ME."
" You are mistaken, Elinor; you are very much mistaken.
A very little trouble on your side secures him.
Perhaps just at present he may be undecided; the smallness of your fortune may make him hang back; his friends may all advise him against it.
But some of those little attentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give will fix him, in spite of himself.
And there can be no reason why you should not try for him.
It is not to be supposed that any prior attachment on your side--in short, you know as to an attachment of that kind, it is quite out of the question, the objections are insurmountable--you have too much sense not to see all that.
Colonel Brandon must be the man; and no civility shall be wanting on my part to make him pleased with you and your family.
It is a match that must give universal satisfaction.
In short, it is a kind of thing that "-- lowering his voice to an important whisper --" will be exceedingly welcome to ALL PARTIES."
Recollecting himself, however, he added, " That is, I mean to say--your friends are all truly anxious to see you well settled; Fanny particularly, for she has your interest very much at heart, I assure you.
And her mother too, Mrs. Ferrars, a very good - natured woman, I am sure it would give her great pleasure; she said as much the other day."
Elinor would not vouchsafe any answer.
" It would be something remarkable, now," he continued, " something droll, if Fanny should have a brother and I a sister settling at the same time.
And yet it is not very unlikely."
" Is Mr. Edward Ferrars," said Elinor, with resolution, " going to be married?"
" It is not actually settled, but there is such a thing in agitation.
He has a most excellent mother.
Mrs. Ferrars, with the utmost liberality, will come forward, and settle on him a thousand a year, if the match takes place.
The lady is the Hon.
Miss Morton, only daughter of the late Lord Morton, with thirty thousand pounds.
A very desirable connection on both sides, and I have not a doubt of its taking place in time.
A thousand a - year is a great deal for a mother to give away, to make over for ever; but Mrs. Ferrars has a noble spirit.
To give you another instance of her liberality:-- The other day, as soon as we came to town, aware that money could not be very plenty with us just now, she put bank - notes into Fanny's hands to the amount of two hundred pounds.
And extremely acceptable it is, for we must live at a great expense while we are here."
He paused for her assent and compassion; and she forced herself to say,
" Your expenses both in town and country must certainly be considerable; but your income is a large one."
" Not so large, I dare say, as many people suppose.
I do not mean to complain, however; it is undoubtedly a comfortable one, and I hope will in time be better.
The enclosure of Norland Common, now carrying on, is a most serious drain.
And then I have made a little purchase within this half year; East Kingham Farm, you must remember the place, where old Gibson used to live.
The land was so very desirable for me in every respect, so immediately adjoining my own property, that I felt it my duty to buy it.
I could not have answered it to my conscience to let it fall into any other hands.
A man must pay for his convenience; and it HAS cost me a vast deal of money."
" More than you think it really and intrinsically worth."
" Why, I hope not that.
Elinor could only smile.
" Other great and inevitable expenses too we have had on first coming to Norland.
Our respected father, as you well know, bequeathed all the Stanhill effects that remained at Norland (and very valuable they were) to your mother.
Far be it from me to repine at his doing so; he had an undoubted right to dispose of his own property as he chose, but, in consequence of it, we have been obliged to make large purchases of linen, china, & c. to supply the place of what was taken away.
You may guess, after all these expenses, how very far we must be from being rich, and how acceptable Mrs. Ferrars's kindness is."
" Certainly," said Elinor; " and assisted by her liberality, I hope you may yet live to be in easy circumstances."
" Another year or two may do much towards it," he gravely replied; " but however there is still a great deal to be done.
There is not a stone laid of Fanny's green - house, and nothing but the plan of the flower - garden marked out."
" Where is the green - house to be?"
" Upon the knoll behind the house.
The old walnut trees are all come down to make room for it.
It will be a very fine object from many parts of the park, and the flower - garden will slope down just before it, and be exceedingly pretty.
We have cleared away all the old thorns that grew in patches over the brow."
Elinor kept her concern and her censure to herself; and was very thankful that Marianne was not present, to share the provocation.
" Nothing at all, I should rather suppose; for she has only her jointure, which will descend to her children."
" But it is not to be imagined that she lives up to her income.
Few people of common prudence will do THAT; and whatever she saves, she will be able to dispose of."
" And do you not think it more likely that she should leave it to her daughters, than to us?"
" Her daughters are both exceedingly well married, and therefore I cannot perceive the necessity of her remembering them farther.
Whereas, in my opinion, by her taking so much notice of you, and treating you in this kind of way, she has given you a sort of claim on her future consideration, which a conscientious woman would not disregard.
Nothing can be kinder than her behaviour; and she can hardly do all this, without being aware of the expectation it raises."
" But she raises none in those most concerned.
Indeed, brother, your anxiety for our welfare and prosperity carries you too far."
" Why, to be sure," said he, seeming to recollect himself, " people have little, have very little in their power.
But, my dear Elinor, what is the matter with Marianne?-- she looks very unwell, has lost her colour, and is grown quite thin.
Is she ill?"
" She is not well, she has had a nervous complaint on her for several weeks."
" I am sorry for that.
At her time of life, any thing of an illness destroys the bloom for ever!
Her's has been a very short one!
She was as handsome a girl last September, as I ever saw; and as likely to attract the man.
There was something in her style of beauty, to please them particularly.
I remember Fanny used to say that she would marry sooner and better than you did; not but what she is exceedingly fond of YOU, but so it happened to strike her.
She will be mistaken, however.
I question whether Marianne NOW, will marry a man worth more than five or six hundred a - year, at the utmost, and I am very much deceived if YOU do not do better.
Dorsetshire!
I know very little of Dorsetshire; but, my dear Elinor, I shall be exceedingly glad to know more of it; and I think I can answer for your having Fanny and myself among the earliest and best pleased of your visitors."
He had just compunction enough for having done nothing for his sisters himself, to be exceedingly anxious that everybody else should do a great deal; and an offer from Colonel Brandon, or a legacy from Mrs. Jennings, was the easiest means of atoning for his own neglect.
They were lucky enough to find Lady Middleton at home, and Sir John came in before their visit ended.
Abundance of civilities passed on all sides.
" I shall have a charming account to carry to Fanny," said he, as he walked back with his sister.
" Lady Middleton is really a most elegant woman!
Such a woman as I am sure Fanny will be glad to know.
And Mrs. Jennings too, an exceedingly well - behaved woman, though not so elegant as her daughter.
But now I can carry her a most satisfactory account of both."
CHAPTER 34
Lady Middleton was equally pleased with Mrs. Dashwood.
There was a kind of cold hearted selfishness on both sides, which mutually attracted them; and they sympathised with each other in an insipid propriety of demeanor, and a general want of understanding.
The intelligence however, which SHE would not give, soon flowed from another quarter.
Lucy came very shortly to claim Elinor's compassion on being unable to see Edward, though he had arrived in town with Mr. and Mrs. Dashwood.
He dared not come to Bartlett's Buildings for fear of detection, and though their mutual impatience to meet, was not to be told, they could do nothing at present but write.
Edward assured them himself of his being in town, within a very short time, by twice calling in Berkeley Street.
Twice was his card found on the table, when they returned from their morning's engagements.
Elinor was pleased that he had called; and still more pleased that she had missed him.
Their sisters and Mrs. Jennings were invited likewise, and John Dashwood was careful to secure Colonel Brandon, who, always glad to be where the Miss Dashwoods were, received his eager civilities with some surprise, but much more pleasure.
They were to meet Mrs. Ferrars; but Elinor could not learn whether her sons were to be of the party.
The interest with which she thus anticipated the party, was soon afterwards increased, more powerfully than pleasantly, by her hearing that the Miss Steeles were also to be at it.
On Elinor its effect was very different.
She began immediately to determine, that Edward who lived with his mother, must be asked as his mother was, to a party given by his sister; and to see him for the first time, after all that passed, in the company of Lucy!-- she hardly knew how she could bear it!
These apprehensions, perhaps, were not founded entirely on reason, and certainly not at all on truth.
The important Tuesday came that was to introduce the two young ladies to this formidable mother - in - law.
" Pity me, dear Miss Dashwood!"
said Lucy, as they walked up the stairs together--for the Middletons arrived so directly after Mrs. Jennings, that they all followed the servant at the same time --" There is nobody here but you, that can feel for me.-- I declare I can hardly stand.
Good gracious!-- In a moment I shall see the person that all my happiness depends on--that is to be my mother!"
Mrs. Ferrars was a little, thin woman, upright, even to formality, in her figure, and serious, even to sourness, in her aspect.
Her complexion was sallow; and her features small, without beauty, and naturally without expression; but a lucky contraction of the brow had rescued her countenance from the disgrace of insipidity, by giving it the strong characters of pride and ill nature.
But while she smiled at a graciousness so misapplied, she could not reflect on the mean - spirited folly from which it sprung, nor observe the studied attentions with which the Miss Steeles courted its continuance, without thoroughly despising them all four.
Lucy was all exultation on being so honorably distinguished; and Miss Steele wanted only to be teazed about Dr. Davies to be perfectly happy.
The dinner was a grand one, the servants were numerous, and every thing bespoke the Mistress's inclination for show, and the Master's ability to support it.
John Dashwood had not much to say for himself that was worth hearing, and his wife had still less.
The parties stood thus:
The two mothers, though each really convinced that her own son was the tallest, politely decided in favour of the other.
The two grandmothers, with not less partiality, but more sincerity, were equally earnest in support of their own descendant.
" These are done by my eldest sister," said he; " and you, as a man of taste, will, I dare say, be pleased with them.
I do not know whether you have ever happened to see any of her performances before, but she is in general reckoned to draw extremely well."
The Colonel, though disclaiming all pretensions to connoisseurship, warmly admired the screens, as he would have done any thing painted by Miss Dashwood; and on the curiosity of the others being of course excited, they were handed round for general inspection.
" Hum "-- said Mrs. Ferrars --" very pretty,"-- and without regarding them at all, returned them to her daughter.
Perhaps Fanny thought for a moment that her mother had been quite rude enough,-- for, colouring a little, she immediately said,
" They are very pretty, ma'am--an't they?"
But then again, the dread of having been too civil, too encouraging herself, probably came over her, for she presently added,
" Do you not think they are something in Miss Morton's style of painting, Ma'am?-- She DOES paint most delightfully!-- How beautifully her last landscape is done!"
" Beautifully indeed!
But SHE does every thing well."
Marianne could not bear this.-- She was already greatly displeased with Mrs. Ferrars; and such ill - timed praise of another, at Elinor's expense, though she had not any notion of what was principally meant by it, provoked her immediately to say with warmth,
" This is admiration of a very particular kind!-- what is Miss Morton to us?-- who knows, or who cares, for her?-- it is Elinor of whom WE think and speak."
And so saying, she took the screens out of her sister - in - law's hands, to admire them herself as they ought to be admired.
Mrs. Ferrars looked exceedingly angry, and drawing herself up more stiffly than ever, pronounced in retort this bitter philippic, " Miss Morton is Lord Morton's daughter."
Fanny looked very angry too, and her husband was all in a fright at his sister's audacity.
Marianne's feelings did not stop here.
" Dear, dear Elinor, don't mind them.
Don't let them make YOU unhappy."
She could say no more; her spirits were quite overcome, and hiding her face on Elinor's shoulder, she burst into tears.
Every body's attention was called, and almost every body was concerned.-- Colonel Brandon rose up and went to them without knowing what he did.-- Mrs.
Jennings, with a very intelligent " Ah!
poor dear," immediately gave her her salts; and Sir John felt so desperately enraged against the author of this nervous distress, that he instantly changed his seat to one close by Lucy Steele, and gave her, in a whisper, a brief account of the whole shocking affair.
In a few minutes, however, Marianne was recovered enough to put an end to the bustle, and sit down among the rest; though her spirits retained the impression of what had passed, the whole evening.
" Poor Marianne!"
You would not think it perhaps, but Marianne WAS remarkably handsome a few months ago; quite as handsome as Elinor.-- Now you see it is all gone."
CHAPTER 35
Or at least, if she did not bring herself quite to rejoice in Edward's being fettered to Lucy, she determined, that had Lucy been more amiable, she OUGHT to have rejoiced.
The chance proved a lucky one, for a message from Mrs. Palmer soon after she arrived, carried Mrs. Jennings away.
" My dear friend," cried Lucy, as soon as they were by themselves, " I come to talk to you of my happiness.
Could anything be so flattering as Mrs. Ferrars's way of treating me yesterday?
So exceeding affable as she was!-- You know how I dreaded the thoughts of seeing her;-- but the very moment I was introduced, there was such an affability in her behaviour as really should seem to say, she had quite took a fancy to me.
Now was not it so?-- You saw it all; and was not you quite struck with it?"
" She was certainly very civil to you."
" Civil!-- Did you see nothing but only civility?-- I saw a vast deal more.
Such kindness as fell to the share of nobody but me!-- No pride, no hauteur, and your sister just the same--all sweetness and affability!"
Elinor wished to talk of something else, but Lucy still pressed her to own that she had reason for her happiness; and Elinor was obliged to go on.--
" Undoubtedly, if they had known your engagement," said she, " nothing could be more flattering than their treatment of you;-- but as that was not the case "--
" I guessed you would say so "-- replied Lucy quickly --" but there was no reason in the world why Mrs. Ferrars should seem to like me, if she did not, and her liking me is every thing.
You shan't talk me out of my satisfaction.
I am sure it will all end well, and there will be no difficulties at all, to what I used to think.
Mrs. Ferrars is a charming woman, and so is your sister.
They are both delightful women, indeed!-- I wonder I should never hear you say how agreeable Mrs. Dashwood was!"
To this Elinor had no answer to make, and did not attempt any.
" Are you ill, Miss Dashwood?-- you seem low--you don't speak;-- sure you an't well."
" I never was in better health."
" I am glad of it with all my heart; but really you did not look it.
I should be sorry to have YOU ill; you, that have been the greatest comfort to me in the world!-- Heaven knows what I should have done without your friendship."
Elinor tried to make a civil answer, though doubting her own success.
But it seemed to satisfy Lucy, for she directly replied,
But Elinor would not give her any encouragement to hope that she SHOULD tell her sister.
Lucy continued.
" I am sure I should have seen it in a moment, if Mrs. Ferrars had took a dislike to me.
I could not have stood it.
For where she DOES dislike, I know it is most violent."
Elinor was prevented from making any reply to this civil triumph, by the door's being thrown open, the servant's announcing Mr. Ferrars, and Edward's immediately walking in.
It was a very awkward moment; and the countenance of each shewed that it was so.
They all looked exceedingly foolish; and Edward seemed to have as great an inclination to walk out of the room again, as to advance farther into it.
The very circumstance, in its unpleasantest form, which they would each have been most anxious to avoid, had fallen on them.-- They were not only all three together, but were together without the relief of any other person.
The ladies recovered themselves first.
It was not Lucy's business to put herself forward, and the appearance of secrecy must still be kept up.
She could therefore only LOOK her tenderness, and after slightly addressing him, said no more.
She would not allow the presence of Lucy, nor the consciousness of some injustice towards herself, to deter her from saying that she was happy to see him, and that she had very much regretted being from home, when he called before in Berkeley Street.
She would not be frightened from paying him those attentions which, as a friend and almost a relation, were his due, by the observant eyes of Lucy, though she soon perceived them to be narrowly watching her.
When that was once done, however, it was time for the raptures of Edward to cease; for Marianne's joy hurried her into the drawing - room immediately.
Her pleasure in seeing him was like every other of her feelings, strong in itself, and strongly spoken.
She met him with a hand that would be taken, and a voice that expressed the affection of a sister.
" Dear Edward!"
she cried, " this is a moment of great happiness!-- This would almost make amends for every thing?"
Edward tried to return her kindness as it deserved, but before such witnesses he dared not say half what he really felt.
Again they all sat down, and for a moment or two all were silent; while Marianne was looking with the most speaking tenderness, sometimes at Edward and sometimes at Elinor, regretting only that their delight in each other should be checked by Lucy's unwelcome presence.
Edward was the first to speak, and it was to notice Marianne's altered looks, and express his fear of her not finding London agree with her.
" Oh, don't think of me!"
she replied with spirited earnestness, though her eyes were filled with tears as she spoke, " don't think of MY health.
Elinor is well, you see.
That must be enough for us both."
This remark was not calculated to make Edward or Elinor more easy, nor to conciliate the good will of Lucy, who looked up at Marianne with no very benignant expression.
" Do you like London?"
said Edward, willing to say any thing that might introduce another subject.
" Not at all.
I expected much pleasure in it, but I have found none.
The sight of you, Edward, is the only comfort it has afforded; and thank Heaven!
you are what you always were!"
She paused--no one spoke.
" I think, Elinor," she presently added, " we must employ Edward to take care of us in our return to Barton.
In a week or two, I suppose, we shall be going; and, I trust, Edward will not be very unwilling to accept the charge."
Poor Edward muttered something, but what it was, nobody knew, not even himself.
But Marianne, who saw his agitation, and could easily trace it to whatever cause best pleased herself, was perfectly satisfied, and soon talked of something else.
" We spent such a day, Edward, in Harley Street yesterday!
So dull, so wretchedly dull!-- But I have much to say to you on that head, which cannot be said now."
And with this admirable discretion did she defer the assurance of her finding their mutual relatives more disagreeable than ever, and of her being particularly disgusted with his mother, till they were more in private.
" But why were you not there, Edward?-- Why did you not come?"
" I was engaged elsewhere."
" Engaged!
But what was that, when such friends were to be met?"
" Perhaps, Miss Marianne," cried Lucy, eager to take some revenge on her, " you think young men never stand upon engagements, if they have no mind to keep them, little as well as great."
Elinor was very angry, but Marianne seemed entirely insensible of the sting; for she calmly replied,
" Not so, indeed; for, seriously speaking, I am very sure that conscience only kept Edward from Harley Street.
And I really believe he HAS the most delicate conscience in the world; the most scrupulous in performing every engagement, however minute, and however it may make against his interest or pleasure.
He is the most fearful of giving pain, of wounding expectation, and the most incapable of being selfish, of any body I ever saw.
Edward, it is so, and I will say it.
What!
are you never to hear yourself praised!-- Then you must be no friend of mine; for those who will accept of my love and esteem, must submit to my open commendation."
The nature of her commendation, in the present case, however, happened to be particularly ill - suited to the feelings of two thirds of her auditors, and was so very unexhilarating to Edward, that he very soon got up to go away.
" Going so soon!"
said Marianne; " my dear Edward, this must not be."
And drawing him a little aside, she whispered her persuasion that Lucy could not stay much longer.
But even this encouragement failed, for he would go; and Lucy, who would have outstaid him, had his visit lasted two hours, soon afterwards went away.
" What can bring her here so often?"
said Marianne, on her leaving them.
" Could not she see that we wanted her gone!-- how teazing to Edward!"
" Why so?-- we were all his friends, and Lucy has been the longest known to him of any.
It is but natural that he should like to see her as well as ourselves."
Marianne looked at her steadily, and said, " You know, Elinor, that this is a kind of talking which I cannot bear.
If you only hope to have your assertion contradicted, as I must suppose to be the case, you ought to recollect that I am the last person in the world to do it.
I cannot descend to be tricked out of assurances, that are not really wanted."
All that she could hope, was that Edward would not often expose her or himself to the distress of hearing Marianne's mistaken warmth, nor to the repetition of any other part of the pain that had attended their recent meeting--and this she had every reason to expect.
CHAPTER 36
Within a few days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the world, that the lady of Thomas Palmer, Esq.
was safely delivered of a son and heir; a very interesting and satisfactory paragraph, at least to all those intimate connections who knew it before.
For their own comfort they would much rather have remained, at least all the morning, in Mrs. Jennings's house; but it was not a thing to be urged against the wishes of everybody.
Their hours were therefore made over to Lady Middleton and the two Miss Steeles, by whom their company, in fact was as little valued, as it was professedly sought.
They had too much sense to be desirable companions to the former; and by the latter they were considered with a jealous eye, as intruding on THEIR ground, and sharing the kindness which they wanted to monopolize.
Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton's behaviour to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all.
Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not believe them good - natured; and because they were fond of reading, she fancied them satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be satirical; but THAT did not signify.
It was censure in common use, and easily given.
Their presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy.
It checked the idleness of one, and the business of the other.
Lady Middleton was ashamed of doing nothing before them, and the flattery which Lucy was proud to think of and administer at other times, she feared they would despise her for offering.
Miss Steele was the least discomposed of the three, by their presence; and it was in their power to reconcile her to it entirely.
Would either of them only have given her a full and minute account of the whole affair between Marianne and Mr. Willoughby, she would have thought herself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the best place by the fire after dinner, which their arrival occasioned.
An effort even yet lighter might have made her their friend.
Would they only have laughed at her about the Doctor!
But so little were they, anymore than the others, inclined to oblige her, that if Sir John dined from home, she might spend a whole day without hearing any other raillery on the subject, than what she was kind enough to bestow on herself.
One thing DID disturb her; and of that she made her daily complaint.
I come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about this time befell Mrs. John Dashwood.
It so happened that while her two sisters with Mrs. Jennings were first calling on her in Harley Street, another of her acquaintance had dropt in--a circumstance in itself not apparently likely to produce evil to her.
But while the imaginations of other people will carry them away to form wrong judgments of our conduct, and to decide on it by slight appearances, one's happiness must in some measure be always at the mercy of chance.
The power of disappointing them, it was true, must always be her's.
But that was not enough; for when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of any thing better from them.
To her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly indifferent, as not to bestow half the consideration on it, during the whole of her toilet, which it received from Miss Steele in the first five minutes of their being together, when it was finished.
The events of this evening were not very remarkable.
As Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so, she made no scruple of turning her eyes from the grand pianoforte, whenever it suited her, and unrestrained even by the presence of a harp, and violoncello, would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the room.
In one of these excursive glances she perceived among a group of young men, the very he, who had given them a lecture on toothpick - cases at Gray's.
She perceived him soon afterwards looking at herself, and speaking familiarly to her brother; and had just determined to find out his name from the latter, when they both came towards her, and Mr. Dashwood introduced him to her as Mr. Robert Ferrars.
He addressed her with easy civility, and twisted his head into a bow which assured her as plainly as words could have done, that he was exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy.
Happy had it been for her, if her regard for Edward had depended less on his own merit, than on the merit of his nearest relations!
For then his brother's bow must have given the finishing stroke to what the ill - humour of his mother and sister would have begun.
But while she wondered at the difference of the two young men, she did not find that the emptiness of conceit of the one, put her out of all charity with the modesty and worth of the other.
" Upon my soul," he added, " I believe it is nothing more; and so I often tell my mother, when she is grieving about it.
' My dear Madam,' I always say to her,'you must make yourself easy.
The evil is now irremediable, and it has been entirely your own doing.
Why would you be persuaded by my uncle, Sir Robert, against your own judgment, to place Edward under private tuition, at the most critical time of his life?
If you had only sent him to Westminster as well as myself, instead of sending him to Mr. Pratt's, all this would have been prevented.'
This is the way in which I always consider the matter, and my mother is perfectly convinced of her error."
Elinor would not oppose his opinion, because, whatever might be her general estimation of the advantage of a public school, she could not think of Edward's abode in Mr. Pratt's family, with any satisfaction.
" You reside in Devonshire, I think,"-- was his next observation, " in a cottage near Dawlish."
Elinor set him right as to its situation; and it seemed rather surprising to him that anybody could live in Devonshire, without living near Dawlish.
He bestowed his hearty approbation however on their species of house.
" For my own part," said he, " I am excessively fond of a cottage; there is always so much comfort, so much elegance about them.
And I protest, if I had any money to spare, I should buy a little land and build one myself, within a short distance of London, where I might drive myself down at any time, and collect a few friends about me, and be happy.
I advise every body who is going to build, to build a cottage.
My friend Lord Courtland came to me the other day on purpose to ask my advice, and laid before me three different plans of Bonomi's.
I was to decide on the best of them.
' My dear Courtland,' said I, immediately throwing them all into the fire,'do not adopt either of them, but by all means build a cottage.'
And that I fancy, will be the end of it.
" Some people imagine that there can be no accommodations, no space in a cottage; but this is all a mistake.
I was last month at my friend Elliott's, near Dartford.
Lady Elliott wished to give a dance.
' But how can it be done?'
said she;'my dear Ferrars, do tell me how it is to be managed.
There is not a room in this cottage that will hold ten couple, and where can the supper be?'
I immediately saw that there could be no difficulty in it, so I said,'My dear Lady Elliott, do not be uneasy.
The dining parlour will admit eighteen couple with ease; card - tables may be placed in the drawing - room; the library may be open for tea and other refreshments; and let the supper be set out in the saloon.'
Lady Elliott was delighted with the thought.
We measured the dining - room, and found it would hold exactly eighteen couple, and the affair was arranged precisely after my plan.
So that, in fact, you see, if people do but know how to set about it, every comfort may be as well enjoyed in a cottage as in the most spacious dwelling."
Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the compliment of rational opposition.
As John Dashwood had no more pleasure in music than his eldest sister, his mind was equally at liberty to fix on any thing else; and a thought struck him during the evening, which he communicated to his wife, for her approbation, when they got home.
The consideration of Mrs. Dennison's mistake, in supposing his sisters their guests, had suggested the propriety of their being really invited to become such, while Mrs. Jenning's engagements kept her from home.
The expense would be nothing, the inconvenience not more; and it was altogether an attention which the delicacy of his conscience pointed out to be requisite to its complete enfranchisement from his promise to his father.
Fanny was startled at the proposal.
" I do not see how it can be done," said she, " without affronting Lady Middleton, for they spend every day with her; otherwise I should be exceedingly glad to do it.
You know I am always ready to pay them any attention in my power, as my taking them out this evening shews.
But they are Lady Middleton's visitors.
How can I ask them away from her?"
Her husband, but with great humility, did not see the force of her objection.
" They had already spent a week in this manner in Conduit Street, and Lady Middleton could not be displeased at their giving the same number of days to such near relations."
Fanny paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigor, said,
" My love I would ask them with all my heart, if it was in my power.
But I had just settled within myself to ask the Miss Steeles to spend a few days with us.
They are very well behaved, good kind of girls; and I think the attention is due to them, as their uncle did so very well by Edward.
We can ask your sisters some other year, you know; but the Miss Steeles may not be in town any more.
I am sure you will like them; indeed, you DO like them, you know, very much already, and so does my mother; and they are such favourites with Harry!"
Mr. Dashwood was convinced.
Fanny, rejoicing in her escape, and proud of the ready wit that had procured it, wrote the next morning to Lucy, to request her company and her sister's, for some days, in Harley Street, as soon as Lady Middleton could spare them.
This was enough to make Lucy really and reasonably happy.
Mrs. Dashwood seemed actually working for her, herself; cherishing all her hopes, and promoting all her views!
Such an opportunity of being with Edward and his family was, above all things, the most material to her interest, and such an invitation the most gratifying to her feelings!
It was an advantage that could not be too gratefully acknowledged, nor too speedily made use of; and the visit to Lady Middleton, which had not before had any precise limits, was instantly discovered to have been always meant to end in two days'time.
Her flattery had already subdued the pride of Lady Middleton, and made an entry into the close heart of Mrs. John Dashwood; and these were effects that laid open the probability of greater.
The Miss Steeles removed to Harley Street, and all that reached Elinor of their influence there, strengthened her expectation of the event.
Sir John, who called on them more than once, brought home such accounts of the favour they were in, as must be universally striking.
Mrs. Dashwood had never been so much pleased with any young women in her life, as she was with them; had given each of them a needle book made by some emigrant; called Lucy by her Christian name; and did not know whether she should ever be able to part with them.
[ At this point in the first and second edtions, Volume II ended.]
CHAPTER 37
" Lord!
my dear Miss Dashwood!
have you heard the news?"
" No, ma'am.
What is it?"
" Something so strange!
But you shall hear it all.-- When I got to Mr. Palmer's, I found Charlotte quite in a fuss about the child.
She was sure it was very ill--it cried, and fretted, and was all over pimples.
So I looked at it directly, and,'Lord!
my dear,' says I,'it is nothing in the world, but the red gum --' and nurse said just the same.
And so, just as he was going away again, it came into my head, I am sure I do not know how I happened to think of it, but it came into my head to ask him if there was any news.
" What!
is Fanny ill?"
" That is exactly what I said, my dear.
' Lord!'
says I,'is Mrs. Dashwood ill?'
So then it all came out; and the long and the short of the matter, by all I can learn, seems to be this.
Well, and so this was kept a great secret, for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, and neither she nor your brother or sister suspected a word of the matter;-- till this very morning, poor Nancy, who, you know, is a well - meaning creature, but no conjurer, popt it all out.
' Lord!'
So you may think what a blow it was to all her vanity and pride.
She fell into violent hysterics immediately, with such screams as reached your brother's ears, as he was sitting in his own dressing - room down stairs, thinking about writing a letter to his steward in the country.
So up he flew directly, and a terrible scene took place, for Lucy was come to them by that time, little dreaming what was going on.
Poor soul!
I pity HER.
And I must say, I think she was used very hardly; for your sister scolded like any fury, and soon drove her into a fainting fit.
Nancy, she fell upon her knees, and cried bitterly; and your brother, he walked about the room, and said he did not know what to do.
Mrs. Dashwood declared they should not stay a minute longer in the house, and your brother was forced to go down upon HIS knees too, to persuade her to let them stay till they had packed up their clothes.
THEN she fell into hysterics again, and he was so frightened that he would send for Mr. Donavan, and Mr. Donavan found the house in all this uproar.
The carriage was at the door ready to take my poor cousins away, and they were just stepping in as he came off; poor Lucy in such a condition, he says, she could hardly walk; and Nancy, she was almost as bad.
I declare, I have no patience with your sister; and I hope, with all my heart, it will be a match in spite of her.
Lord!
what a taking poor Mr. Edward will be in when he hears of it!
To have his love used so scornfully!
for they say he is monstrous fond of her, as well he may.
I should not wonder, if he was to be in the greatest passion!-- and Mr. Donavan thinks just the same.
I have no pity for either of them.
I have no notion of people's making such a to - do about money and greatness.
Lord!
how snug they might live in such another cottage as yours--or a little bigger--with two maids, and two men; and I believe I could help them to a housemaid, for my Betty has a sister out of place, that would fit them exactly."
Here Mrs. Jennings ceased, and as Elinor had had time enough to collect her thoughts, she was able to give such an answer, and make such observations, as the subject might naturally be supposed to produce.
She could hardly determine what her own expectation of its event really was; though she earnestly tried to drive away the notion of its being possible to end otherwise at last, than in the marriage of Edward and Lucy.
What Mrs. Ferrars would say and do, though there could not be a doubt of its nature, she was anxious to hear; and still more anxious to know how Edward would conduct himself.
For HIM she felt much compassion;-- for Lucy very little--and it cost her some pains to procure that little;-- for the rest of the party none at all.
As Mrs. Jennings could talk on no other subject, Elinor soon saw the necessity of preparing Marianne for its discussion.
No time was to be lost in undeceiving her, in making her acquainted with the real truth, and in endeavouring to bring her to hear it talked of by others, without betraying that she felt any uneasiness for her sister, or any resentment against Edward.
But unwelcome as such a task must be, it was necessary to be done, and Elinor therefore hastened to perform it.
She was very far from wishing to dwell on her own feelings, or to represent herself as suffering much, any otherwise than as the self - command she had practised since her first knowledge of Edward's engagement, might suggest a hint of what was practicable to Marianne.
Her narration was clear and simple; and though it could not be given without emotion, it was not accompanied by violent agitation, nor impetuous grief.-- THAT belonged rather to the hearer, for Marianne listened with horror, and cried excessively.
Elinor was to be the comforter of others in her own distresses, no less than in theirs; and all the comfort that could be given by assurances of her own composure of mind, and a very earnest vindication of Edward from every charge but of imprudence, was readily offered.
But Marianne for some time would give credit to neither.
Edward seemed a second Willoughby; and acknowledging as Elinor did, that she HAD loved him most sincerely, could she feel less than herself!
As for Lucy Steele, she considered her so totally unamiable, so absolutely incapable of attaching a sensible man, that she could not be persuaded at first to believe, and afterwards to pardon, any former affection of Edward for her.
She would not even admit it to have been natural; and Elinor left her to be convinced that it was so, by that which only could convince her, a better knowledge of mankind.
The first question on her side, which led to farther particulars, was,
" How long has this been known to you, Elinor?
has he written to you?"
" I have known it these four months.
When Lucy first came to Barton Park last November, she told me in confidence of her engagement."
At these words, Marianne's eyes expressed the astonishment which her lips could not utter.
After a pause of wonder, she exclaimed --
" Four months!-- Have you known of this four months?"
Elinor confirmed it.
" What!-- while attending me in all my misery, has this been on your heart?-- And I have reproached you for being happy!"
" It was not fit that you should then know how much I was the reverse!"
" Four months!"
-- cried Marianne again.--" So calm!-- so cheerful!-- how have you been supported?"
" By feeling that I was doing my duty.-- My promise to Lucy, obliged me to be secret.
I owed it to her, therefore, to avoid giving any hint of the truth; and I owed it to my family and friends, not to create in them a solicitude about me, which it could not be in my power to satisfy."
Marianne seemed much struck.
" I have very often wished to undeceive yourself and my mother," added Elinor; " and once or twice I have attempted it;-- but without betraying my trust, I never could have convinced you."
" Four months!-- and yet you loved him!"
" Yes.
But I did not love only him;-- and while the comfort of others was dear to me, I was glad to spare them from knowing how much I felt.
Now, I can think and speak of it with little emotion.
I would not have you suffer on my account; for I assure you I no longer suffer materially myself.
I have many things to support me.
I am not conscious of having provoked the disappointment by any imprudence of my own, I have borne it as much as possible without spreading it farther.
I acquit Edward of essential misconduct.
I wish him very happy; and I am so sure of his always doing his duty, that though now he may harbour some regret, in the end he must become so.
" If such is your way of thinking," said Marianne, " if the loss of what is most valued is so easily to be made up by something else, your resolution, your self - command, are, perhaps, a little less to be wondered at.-- They are brought more within my comprehension."
Marianne was quite subdued.--
" Oh!
The tenderest caresses followed this confession.
She performed her promise of being discreet, to admiration.-- She attended to all that Mrs. Jennings had to say upon the subject, with an unchanging complexion, dissented from her in nothing, and was heard three times to say, " Yes, ma'am."
-- She listened to her praise of Lucy with only moving from one chair to another, and when Mrs. Jennings talked of Edward's affection, it cost her only a spasm in her throat.-- Such advances towards heroism in her sister, made Elinor feel equal to any thing herself.
The next morning brought a farther trial of it, in a visit from their brother, who came with a most serious aspect to talk over the dreadful affair, and bring them news of his wife.
" You have heard, I suppose," said he with great solemnity, as soon as he was seated, " of the very shocking discovery that took place under our roof yesterday."
They all looked their assent; it seemed too awful a moment for speech.
" Your sister," he continued, " has suffered dreadfully.
Mrs. Ferrars too--in short it has been a scene of such complicated distress--but I will hope that the storm may be weathered without our being any of us quite overcome.
Poor Fanny!
she was in hysterics all yesterday.
But I would not alarm you too much.
Donavan says there is nothing materially to be apprehended; her constitution is a good one, and her resolution equal to any thing.
She has borne it all, with the fortitude of an angel!
She says she never shall think well of anybody again; and one cannot wonder at it, after being so deceived!-- meeting with such ingratitude, where so much kindness had been shewn, so much confidence had been placed!
And now to be so rewarded!
' I wish, with all my heart,' says poor Fanny in her affectionate way,'that we had asked your sisters instead of them.'"
Here he stopped to be thanked; which being done, he went on.
" What poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when first Fanny broke it to her, is not to be described.
While she with the truest affection had been planning a most eligible connection for him, was it to be supposed that he could be all the time secretly engaged to another person!-- such a suspicion could never have entered her head!
If she suspected ANY prepossession elsewhere, it could not be in THAT quarter.
' THERE, to be sure,' said she,'I might have thought myself safe.'
She was quite in an agony.
We consulted together, however, as to what should be done, and at last she determined to send for Edward.
He came.
But I am sorry to relate what ensued.
All that Mrs. Ferrars could say to make him put an end to the engagement, assisted too as you may well suppose by my arguments, and Fanny's entreaties, was of no avail.
Duty, affection, every thing was disregarded.
I never thought Edward so stubborn, so unfeeling before.
Here Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped her hands together, and cried, " Gracious God!
can this be possible!"
" Well may you wonder, Marianne," replied her brother, " at the obstinacy which could resist such arguments as these.
Your exclamation is very natural."
Marianne was going to retort, but she remembered her promises, and forbore.
" All this, however," he continued, " was urged in vain.
Edward said very little; but what he did say, was in the most determined manner.
Nothing should prevail on him to give up his engagement.
He would stand to it, cost him what it might."
" Then," cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt sincerity, no longer able to be silent, " he has acted like an honest man!
I beg your pardon, Mr. Dashwood, but if he had done otherwise, I should have thought him a rascal.
I have some little concern in the business, as well as yourself, for Lucy Steele is my cousin, and I believe there is not a better kind of girl in the world, nor one who more deserves a good husband."
John Dashwood was greatly astonished; but his nature was calm, not open to provocation, and he never wished to offend anybody, especially anybody of good fortune.
He therefore replied, without any resentment,
" I would by no means speak disrespectfully of any relation of yours, madam.
Miss Lucy Steele is, I dare say, a very deserving young woman, but in the present case you know, the connection must be impossible.
And to have entered into a secret engagement with a young man under her uncle's care, the son of a woman especially of such very large fortune as Mrs. Ferrars, is perhaps, altogether a little extraordinary.
In short, I do not mean to reflect upon the behaviour of any person whom you have a regard for, Mrs. Jennings.
We all wish her extremely happy; and Mrs. Ferrars's conduct throughout the whole, has been such as every conscientious, good mother, in like circumstances, would adopt.
It has been dignified and liberal.
Edward has drawn his own lot, and I fear it will be a bad one."
Marianne sighed out her similar apprehension; and Elinor's heart wrung for the feelings of Edward, while braving his mother's threats, for a woman who could not reward him.
" Well, sir," said Mrs. Jennings, " and how did it end?"
" I am sorry to say, ma'am, in a most unhappy rupture:-- Edward is dismissed for ever from his mother's notice.
He left her house yesterday, but where he is gone, or whether he is still in town, I do not know; for WE of course can make no inquiry."
" Poor young man!-- and what is to become of him?"
" What, indeed, ma'am!
It is a melancholy consideration.
Born to the prospect of such affluence!
I cannot conceive a situation more deplorable.
We must all feel for him; and the more so, because it is totally out of our power to assist him."
" Poor young man!"
cried Mrs. Jennings, " I am sure he should be very welcome to bed and board at my house; and so I would tell him if I could see him.
It is not fit that he should be living about at his own charge now, at lodgings and taverns."
Elinor's heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward, though she could not forbear smiling at the form of it.
" If he would only have done as well by himself," said John Dashwood, " as all his friends were disposed to do by him, he might now have been in his proper situation, and would have wanted for nothing.
But as it is, it must be out of anybody's power to assist him.
And there is one thing more preparing against him, which must be worse than all--his mother has determined, with a very natural kind of spirit, to settle THAT estate upon Robert immediately, which might have been Edward's, on proper conditions.
I left her this morning with her lawyer, talking over the business."
" Well!"
said Mrs. Jennings, " that is HER revenge.
Everybody has a way of their own.
But I don't think mine would be, to make one son independent, because another had plagued me."
Marianne got up and walked about the room.
" Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man," continued John, " than to see his younger brother in possession of an estate which might have been his own?
Poor Edward!
I feel for him sincerely."
Marianne's indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted the room; and as her vehemence made reserve impossible in Elinor, and unnecessary in Mrs. Jennings, they all joined in a very spirited critique upon the party.
CHAPTER 38
Mrs. Jennings was very warm in her praise of Edward's conduct, but only Elinor and Marianne understood its true merit.
THEY only knew how little he had had to tempt him to be disobedient, and how small was the consolation, beyond the consciousness of doing right, that could remain to him in the loss of friends and fortune.
Elinor gloried in his integrity; and Marianne forgave all his offences in compassion for his punishment.
But though confidence between them was, by this public discovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject on which either of them were fond of dwelling when alone.
Her mind was so much weakened that she still fancied present exertion impossible, and therefore it only dispirited her more.
Nothing new was heard by them, for a day or two afterwards, of affairs in Harley Street, or Bartlett's Buildings.
The third day succeeding their knowledge of the particulars, was so fine, so beautiful a Sunday as to draw many to Kensington Gardens, though it was only the second week in March.
Mrs. Jennings and Elinor were of the number; but Marianne, who knew that the Willoughbys were again in town, and had a constant dread of meeting them, chose rather to stay at home, than venture into so public a place.
An intimate acquaintance of Mrs. Jennings joined them soon after they entered the Gardens, and Elinor was not sorry that by her continuing with them, and engaging all Mrs. Jennings's conversation, she was herself left to quiet reflection.
She saw nothing of the Willoughbys, nothing of Edward, and for some time nothing of anybody who could by any chance whether grave or gay, be interesting to her.
Mrs. Jennings immediately whispered to Elinor,
" Get it all out of her, my dear.
She will tell you any thing if you ask.
You see I cannot leave Mrs.
Clarke."
It was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings's curiosity and Elinor's too, that she would tell any thing WITHOUT being asked; for nothing would otherwise have been learnt.
" I am so glad to meet you;" said Miss Steele, taking her familiarly by the arm --" for I wanted to see you of all things in the world."
And then lowering her voice, " I suppose Mrs. Jennings has heard all about it.
Is she angry?"
" Not at all, I believe, with you."
" That is a good thing.
And Lady Middleton, is SHE angry?"
" I cannot suppose it possible that she should."
" I am monstrous glad of it.
Good gracious!
I have had such a time of it!
I never saw Lucy in such a rage in my life.
She vowed at first she would never trim me up a new bonnet, nor do any thing else for me again, so long as she lived; but now she is quite come to, and we are as good friends as ever.
Look, she made me this bow to my hat, and put in the feather last night.
There now, YOU are going to laugh at me too.
But why should not I wear pink ribbons?
I do not care if it IS the Doctor's favourite colour.
I am sure, for my part, I should never have known he DID like it better than any other colour, if he had not happened to say so.
My cousins have been so plaguing me!
I declare sometimes I do not know which way to look before them."
She had wandered away to a subject on which Elinor had nothing to say, and therefore soon judged it expedient to find her way back again to the first.
" Well, but Miss Dashwood," speaking triumphantly, " people may say what they chuse about Mr. Ferrars's declaring he would not have Lucy, for it is no such thing I can tell you; and it is quite a shame for such ill - natured reports to be spread abroad.
Whatever Lucy might think about it herself, you know, it was no business of other people to set it down for certain."
" I never heard any thing of the kind hinted at before, I assure you," said Elinor.
" Oh, did not you?
Once Lucy thought to write to him, but then her spirits rose against that.
I heard him say all this as plain as could possibly be.
And it was entirely for HER sake, and upon HER account, that he said a word about being off, and not upon his own.
I will take my oath he never dropt a syllable of being tired of her, or of wishing to marry Miss Morton, or any thing like it.
But, to be sure, Lucy would not give ear to such kind of talking; so she told him directly (with a great deal about sweet and love, you know, and all that--Oh, la!
So then he was monstrous happy, and talked on some time about what they should do, and they agreed he should take orders directly, and they must wait to be married till he got a living.
" I do not understand what you mean by interrupting them," said Elinor; " you were all in the same room together, were not you?"
" No, indeed, not us.
La!
Miss Dashwood, do you think people make love when any body else is by?
Oh, for shame!-- To be sure you must know better than that.
(Laughing affectedly.)
-- No, no; they were shut up in the drawing - room together, and all I heard was only by listening at the door."
" How!"
cried Elinor; " have you been repeating to me what you only learnt yourself by listening at the door?
I am sorry I did not know it before; for I certainly would not have suffered you to give me particulars of a conversation which you ought not to have known yourself.
How could you behave so unfairly by your sister?"
" Oh, la!
there is nothing in THAT.
I only stood at the door, and heard what I could.
And I am sure Lucy would have done just the same by me; for a year or two back, when Martha Sharpe and I had so many secrets together, she never made any bones of hiding in a closet, or behind a chimney - board, on purpose to hear what we said."
Elinor tried to talk of something else; but Miss Steele could not be kept beyond a couple of minutes, from what was uppermost in her mind.
" Edward talks of going to Oxford soon," said she; " but now he is lodging at No.
--, Pall Mall.
What an ill - natured woman his mother is, an't she?
And your brother and sister were not very kind!
However, I shan't say anything against them to YOU; and to be sure they did send us home in their own chariot, which was more than I looked for.
And for my part, I was all in a fright for fear your sister should ask us for the huswifes she had gave us a day or two before; but, however, nothing was said about them, and I took care to keep mine out of sight.
Edward have got some business at Oxford, he says; so he must go there for a time; and after THAT, as soon as he can light upon a Bishop, he will be ordained.
I wonder what curacy he will get!-- Good gracious!
(giggling as she spoke) I'd lay my life I know what my cousins will say, when they hear of it.
They will tell me I should write to the Doctor, to get Edward the curacy of his new living.
I know they will; but I am sure I would not do such a thing for all the world.--'La!'
I shall say directly,'I wonder how you could think of such a thing?
I write to the Doctor, indeed!'"
" Well," said Elinor, " it is a comfort to be prepared against the worst.
You have got your answer ready."
Miss Steele was going to reply on the same subject, but the approach of her own party made another more necessary.
" Oh, la!
here come the Richardsons.
I had a vast deal more to say to you, but I must not stay away from them not any longer.
I assure you they are very genteel people.
He makes a monstrous deal of money, and they keep their own coach.
I suppose Lady Middleton won't ask us any more this bout.
Good - by; I am sorry Miss Marianne was not here.
Remember me kindly to her.
La!
if you have not got your spotted muslin on!-- I wonder you was not afraid of its being torn."
The continuance of their engagement, and the means that were able to be taken for promoting its end, was all her communication; and this produced from Mrs. Jennings the following natural remark.
and Lord help'em!
how poor they will be!-- I must see what I can give them towards furnishing their house.
Two maids and two men, indeed!-- as I talked of t'other day.-- No, no, they must get a stout girl of all works.-- Betty's sister would never do for them NOW."
The next morning brought Elinor a letter by the two - penny post from Lucy herself.
It was as follows:
" Bartlett's Building, March.
though we have suffered dreadfully, we are both quite well now, and as happy as we must always be in one another's love.
We have had great trials, and great persecutions, but however, at the same time, gratefully acknowledge many friends, yourself not the least among them, whose great kindness I shall always thankfully remember, as will Edward too, who I have told of it.
" I am, & c."
As soon as Elinor had finished it, she performed what she concluded to be its writer's real design, by placing it in the hands of Mrs. Jennings, who read it aloud with many comments of satisfaction and praise.
" Very well indeed!-- how prettily she writes!-- aye, that was quite proper to let him be off if he would.
That was just like Lucy.-- Poor soul!
I wish I COULD get him a living, with all my heart.-- She calls me dear Mrs. Jennings, you see.
She is a good - hearted girl as ever lived.-- Very well upon my word.
That sentence is very prettily turned.
Yes, yes, I will go and see her, sure enough.
How attentive she is, to think of every body!-- Thank you, my dear, for shewing it me.
It is as pretty a letter as ever I saw, and does Lucy's head and heart great credit."
CHAPTER 39
The Miss Dashwoods had now been rather more than two months in town, and Marianne's impatience to be gone increased every day.
She sighed for the air, the liberty, the quiet of the country; and fancied that if any place could give her ease, Barton must do it.
Elinor was hardly less anxious than herself for their removal, and only so much less bent on its being effected immediately, as that she was conscious of the difficulties of so long a journey, which Marianne could not be brought to acknowledge.
The Palmers were to remove to Cleveland about the end of March, for the Easter holidays; and Mrs. Jennings, with both her friends, received a very warm invitation from Charlotte to go with them.
When she told Marianne what she had done, however, her first reply was not very auspicious.
" Cleveland!"
-- she cried, with great agitation.
" No, I cannot go to Cleveland."
" You forget," said Elinor gently, " that its situation is not... that it is not in the neighbourhood of..."
" But it is in Somersetshire.-- I cannot go into Somersetshire.-- There, where I looked forward to going... No, Elinor, you cannot expect me to go there."
As Marianne's affection for her mother was sincere, it must triumph with little difficulty, over the imaginary evils she had started.
Mrs. Jennings was so far from being weary of her guest, that she pressed them very earnestly to return with her again from Cleveland.
" Ah!
we shall sit and gape at one another as dull as two cats."
This set the matter beyond a doubt.
She wondered, indeed, at his thinking it necessary to do so; but supposed it to be the proper etiquette.
What Elinor said in reply she could not distinguish, but judged from the motion of her lips, that she did not think THAT any material objection;-- and Mrs. Jennings commended her in her heart for being so honest.
They then talked on for a few minutes longer without her catching a syllable, when another lucky stop in Marianne's performance brought her these words in the Colonel's calm voice,--
" I am afraid it cannot take place very soon."
Astonished and shocked at so unlover - like a speech, she was almost ready to cry out, " Lord!
what should hinder it?"
-- but checking her desire, confined herself to this silent ejaculation.
" This is very strange!-- sure he need not wait to be older."
" I shall always think myself very much obliged to you."
What had really passed between them was to this effect.
Elinor told him that it was.
" The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty,"-- he replied, with great feeling,--" of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long attached to each other, is terrible.-- Mrs. Ferrars does not know what she may be doing--what she may drive her son to.
I have seen Mr. Ferrars two or three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with him.
He is not a young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted in a short time, but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for his own sake, and as a friend of yours, I wish it still more.
I understand that he intends to take orders.
Such as it is, however, my pleasure in presenting him to it, will be very great.
Pray assure him of it."
Elinor's astonishment at this commission could hardly have been greater, had the Colonel been really making her an offer of his hand.
She thanked him for it with all her heart, spoke of Edward's principles and disposition with that praise which she knew them to deserve; and promised to undertake the commission with pleasure, if it were really his wish to put off so agreeable an office to another.
But at the same time, she could not help thinking that no one could so well perform it as himself.
Edward, she believed, was still in town, and fortunately she had heard his address from Miss Steele.
She could undertake therefore to inform him of it, in the course of the day.
" The smallness of the house," said she, " I cannot imagine any inconvenience to them, for it will be in proportion to their family and income."
" This little rectory CAN do no more than make Mr. Ferrars comfortable as a bachelor; it cannot enable him to marry.
I am sorry to say that my patronage ends with this; and my interest is hardly more extensive.
If, however, by an unforeseen chance it should be in my power to serve him farther, I must think very differently of him from what I now do, if I am not as ready to be useful to him then as I sincerely wish I could be at present.
What I am now doing indeed, seems nothing at all, since it can advance him so little towards what must be his principal, his only object of happiness.
His marriage must still be a distant good;-- at least, I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.--"
CHAPTER 40
And I assure you I never was better pleased in my life, and I wish you joy of it with all my heart."
" Thank you, ma'am," said Elinor.
" It is a matter of great joy to me; and I feel the goodness of Colonel Brandon most sensibly.
There are not many men who would act as he has done.
Few people who have so compassionate a heart!
I never was more astonished in my life."
" Lord!
my dear, you are very modest.
I an't the least astonished at it in the world, for I have often thought of late, there was nothing more likely to happen."
" You judged from your knowledge of the Colonel's general benevolence; but at least you could not foresee that the opportunity would so very soon occur."
" Opportunity!"
repeated Mrs. Jennings --" Oh!
as to that, when a man has once made up his mind to such a thing, somehow or other he will soon find an opportunity.
Well, my dear, I wish you joy of it again and again; and if ever there was a happy couple in the world, I think I shall soon know where to look for them."
" You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose," said Elinor, with a faint smile.
" Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed.
And as to the house being a bad one, I do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as ever I saw."
" He spoke of its being out of repair."
" Well, and whose fault is that?
why don't he repair it?-- who should do it but himself?"
They were interrupted by the servant's coming in to announce the carriage being at the door; and Mrs. Jennings immediately preparing to go, said,--
" Well, my dear, I must be gone before I have had half my talk out.
But, however, we may have it all over in the evening; for we shall be quite alone.
I do not ask you to go with me, for I dare say your mind is too full of the matter to care for company; and besides, you must long to tell your sister all about it."
Marianne had left the room before the conversation began.
" Certainly, ma'am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not mention it at present to any body else."
" Oh!
very well," said Mrs. Jennings rather disappointed.
" Then you would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as Holborn to - day."
" No, ma'am, not even Lucy if you please.
One day's delay will not be very material; and till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought not to be mentioned to any body else.
I shall do THAT directly.
It is of importance that no time should be lost with him, for he will of course have much to do relative to his ordination."
This speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly.
Why Mr. Ferrars was to have been written to about it in such a hurry, she could not immediately comprehend.
A few moments'reflection, however, produced a very happy idea, and she exclaimed;--
" Oh, ho!-- I understand you.
Mr. Ferrars is to be the man.
Well, so much the better for him.
Ay, to be sure, he must be ordained in readiness; and I am very glad to find things are so forward between you.
But, my dear, is not this rather out of character?
Should not the Colonel write himself?-- sure, he is the proper person."
Elinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings's speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore only replied to its conclusion.
" Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself."
" And so YOU are forced to do it.
Well THAT is an odd kind of delicacy!
However, I will not disturb you (seeing her preparing to write.)
You know your own concerns best.
So goodby, my dear.
I have not heard of any thing to please me so well since Charlotte was brought to bed."
And away she went; but returning again in a moment,
" I have just been thinking of Betty's sister, my dear.
I should be very glad to get her so good a mistress.
But whether she would do for a lady's maid, I am sure I can't tell.
She is an excellent housemaid, and works very well at her needle.
However, you will think of all that at your leisure."
" Certainly, ma'am," replied Elinor, not hearing much of what she said, and more anxious to be alone, than to be mistress of the subject.
How she should begin--how she should express herself in her note to Edward, was now all her concern.
Her astonishment and confusion were very great on his so sudden appearance.
I go to Oxford tomorrow."
" You would not have gone, however," said Elinor, recovering herself, and determined to get over what she so much dreaded as soon as possible, " without receiving our good wishes, even if we had not been able to give them in person.
Mrs. Jennings was quite right in what she said.
I have something of consequence to inform you of, which I was on the point of communicating by paper.
I am charged with a most agreeable office (breathing rather faster than usual as she spoke.)
Colonel Brandon, who was here only ten minutes ago, has desired me to say, that understanding you mean to take orders, he has great pleasure in offering you the living of Delaford now just vacant, and only wishes it were more valuable.
What Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected that any one else should say for him.
He LOOKED all the astonishment which such unexpected, such unthought - of information could not fail of exciting; but he said only these two words,
" Colonel Brandon!"
" Colonel Brandon give ME a living!-- Can it be possible?"
" The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find friendship any where."
" No," replied be, with sudden consciousness, " not to find it in YOU; for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness, I owe it all.-- I feel it--I would express it if I could--but, as you well know, I am no orator."
" You are very much mistaken.
I do assure you that you owe it entirely, at least almost entirely, to your own merit, and Colonel Brandon's discernment of it.
I have had no hand in it.
I did not even know, till I understood his design, that the living was vacant; nor had it ever occurred to me that he might have had such a living in his gift.
As a friend of mine, of my family, he may, perhaps--indeed I know he HAS, still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe nothing to my solicitation."
For a short time he sat deep in thought, after Elinor had ceased to speak;-- at last, and as if it were rather an effort, he said,
" Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and respectability.
I have always heard him spoken of as such, and your brother I know esteems him highly.
He is undoubtedly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly the gentleman."
Edward made no answer; but when she had turned away her head, gave her a look so serious, so earnest, so uncheerful, as seemed to say, that he might hereafter wish the distance between the parsonage and the mansion - house much greater.
" Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street," said he, soon afterwards, rising from his chair.
Elinor told him the number of the house.
" I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which you will not allow me to give YOU; to assure him that he has made me a very--an exceedingly happy man."
" When I see him again," said Elinor to herself, as the door shut him out, " I shall see him the husband of Lucy."
And with this pleasing anticipation, she sat down to reconsider the past, recall the words and endeavour to comprehend all the feelings of Edward; and, of course, to reflect on her own with discontent.
" Well, my dear," she cried, " I sent you up to the young man.
Did not I do right?-- And I suppose you had no great difficulty--You did not find him very unwilling to accept your proposal?"
" No, ma'am; THAT was not very likely."
" Well, and how soon will he be ready?-- For it seems all to depend upon that."
" Really," said Elinor, " I know so little of these kind of forms, that I can hardly even conjecture as to the time, or the preparation necessary; but I suppose two or three months will complete his ordination."
" Two or three months!"
cried Mrs. Jennings; " Lord!
my dear, how calmly you talk of it; and can the Colonel wait two or three months!
Lord bless me!-- I am sure it would put ME quite out of patience!-- And though one would be very glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think it is not worth while to wait two or three months for him.
Sure somebody else might be found that would do as well; somebody that is in orders already."
" My dear ma'am," said Elinor, " what can you be thinking of?-- Why, Colonel Brandon's only object is to be of use to Mr.
Ferrars."
" Lord bless you, my dear!-- Sure you do not mean to persuade me that the Colonel only marries you for the sake of giving ten guineas to Mr.
Ferrars!"
But, my dear, we must touch up the Colonel to do some thing to the parsonage, and make it comfortable for them, before Lucy goes to it."
" But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living's being enough to allow them to marry."
" The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two thousand a - year himself, he thinks that nobody else can marry on less.
Take my word for it, that, if I am alive, I shall be paying a visit at Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas; and I am sure I sha'nt go if Lucy an't there."
Elinor was quite of her opinion, as to the probability of their not waiting for any thing more.
CHAPTER 41
Her own happiness, and her own spirits, were at least very certain; and she joined Mrs. Jennings most heartily in her expectation of their being all comfortably together in Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas.
The consequence was, that Elinor set out by herself to pay a visit, for which no one could really have less inclination, and to run the risk of a tete - a - tete with a woman, whom neither of the others had so much reason to dislike.
Mrs. Dashwood was denied; but before the carriage could turn from the house, her husband accidentally came out.
He expressed great pleasure in meeting Elinor, told her that he had been just going to call in Berkeley Street, and, assuring her that Fanny would be very glad to see her, invited her to come in.
They walked up stairs in to the drawing - room.-- Nobody was there.
" Fanny is in her own room, I suppose," said he:--" I will go to her presently, for I am sure she will not have the least objection in the world to seeing YOU.-- Very far from it, indeed.
NOW especially there cannot be--but however, you and Marianne were always great favourites.-- Why would not Marianne come?"
Elinor made what excuse she could for her.
" I am not sorry to see you alone," he replied, " for I have a good deal to say to you.
This living of Colonel Brandon's--can it be true?-- has he really given it to Edward?-- I heard it yesterday by chance, and was coming to you on purpose to enquire farther about it."
" It is perfectly true.-- Colonel Brandon has given the living of Delaford to Edward."
" Really!-- Well, this is very astonishing!-- no relationship!-- no connection between them!-- and now that livings fetch such a price!-- what was the value of this?"
" About two hundred a year."
" Very well--and for the next presentation to a living of that value--supposing the late incumbent to have been old and sickly, and likely to vacate it soon--he might have got I dare say--fourteen hundred pounds.
I suppose, however--on recollection--that the case may probably be THIS.
Edward is only to hold the living till the person to whom the Colonel has really sold the presentation, is old enough to take it.-- Aye, aye, that is the fact, depend upon it."
Elinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by relating that she had herself been employed in conveying the offer from Colonel Brandon to Edward, and, therefore, must understand the terms on which it was given, obliged him to submit to her authority.
" It is truly astonishing!"
-- he cried, after hearing what she said --" what could be the Colonel's motive?"
" A very simple one--to be of use to Mr.
Ferrars."
" Well, well; whatever Colonel Brandon may be, Edward is a very lucky man.-- You will not mention the matter to Fanny, however, for though I have broke it to her, and she bears it vastly well,-- she will not like to hear it much talked of."
Elinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, that she thought Fanny might have borne with composure, an acquisition of wealth to her brother, by which neither she nor her child could be possibly impoverished.
Surely, after doing so, she cannot be imagined liable to any impression of sorrow or of joy on his account--she cannot be interested in any thing that befalls him.-- She would not be so weak as to throw away the comfort of a child, and yet retain the anxiety of a parent!"
" Ah!
Elinor," said John, " your reasoning is very good, but it is founded on ignorance of human nature.
When Edward's unhappy match takes place, depend upon it his mother will feel as much as if she had never discarded him; and, therefore every circumstance that may accelerate that dreadful event, must be concealed from her as much as possible.
Mrs. Ferrars can never forget that Edward is her son."
" You surprise me; I should think it must nearly have escaped her memory by THIS time."
" You wrong her exceedingly.
Mrs. Ferrars is one of the most affectionate mothers in the world."
Elinor was silent.
" We think NOW,"-- said Mr. Dashwood, after a short pause, " of ROBERT'S marrying Miss Morton."
Elinor, smiling at the grave and decisive importance of her brother's tone, calmly replied,
" The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair."
" Choice!-- how do you mean?"
" I only mean that I suppose, from your manner of speaking, it must be the same to Miss Morton whether she marry Edward or Robert."
" Certainly, there can be no difference; for Robert will now to all intents and purposes be considered as the eldest son;-- and as to any thing else, they are both very agreeable young men: I do not know that one is superior to the other."
Elinor said no more, and John was also for a short time silent.-- His reflections ended thus.
" Of ONE thing, my dear sister," kindly taking her hand, and speaking in an awful whisper,--" I may assure you;-- and I WILL do it, because I know it must gratify you.
I was exceedingly pleased to hear that Mrs. Ferrars considered it in that light--a very gratifying circumstance you know to us all.
' It would have been beyond comparison,' she said,'the least evil of the two, and she would be glad to compound NOW for nothing worse.'
But however, all that is quite out of the question--not to be thought of or mentioned--as to any attachment you know--it never could be--all that is gone by.
But I thought I would just tell you of this, because I knew how much it must please you.
Not that you have any reason to regret, my dear Elinor.
There is no doubt of your doing exceedingly well--quite as well, or better, perhaps, all things considered.
Has Colonel Brandon been with you lately?"
They had scarcely been two minutes by themselves, before he began to speak of Edward; for he, too, had heard of the living, and was very inquisitive on the subject.
Elinor repeated the particulars of it, as she had given them to John; and their effect on Robert, though very different, was not less striking than it had been on HIM.
He laughed most immoderately.
Elinor, while she waited in silence and immovable gravity, the conclusion of such folly, could not restrain her eyes from being fixed on him with a look that spoke all the contempt it excited.
It was a look, however, very well bestowed, for it relieved her own feelings, and gave no intelligence to him.
He was recalled from wit to wisdom, not by any reproof of her's, but by his own sensibility.
" We may treat it as a joke," said he, at last, recovering from the affected laugh which had considerably lengthened out the genuine gaiety of the moment --" but, upon my soul, it is a most serious business.
Poor Edward!
he is ruined for ever.
I am extremely sorry for it--for I know him to be a very good - hearted creature; as well - meaning a fellow perhaps, as any in the world.
My poor mother was half frantic."
" Have you ever seen the lady?"
" Yes; once, while she was staying in this house, I happened to drop in for ten minutes; and I saw quite enough of her.
The merest awkward country girl, without style, or elegance, and almost without beauty.-- I remember her perfectly.
Just the kind of girl I should suppose likely to captivate poor Edward.
But had I been informed of it a few hours earlier--I think it is most probable--that something might have been hit on.
I certainly should have represented it to Edward in a very strong light.
' My dear fellow,' I should have said,'consider what you are doing.
You are making a most disgraceful connection, and such a one as your family are unanimous in disapproving.'
I cannot help thinking, in short, that means might have been found.
But now it is all too late.
He must be starved, you know;-- that is certain; absolutely starved."
He had just settled this point with great composure, when the entrance of Mrs. John Dashwood put an end to the subject.
But though SHE never spoke of it out of her own family, Elinor could see its influence on her mind, in the something like confusion of countenance with which she entered, and an attempt at cordiality in her behaviour to herself.
CHAPTER 42
Very early in April, and tolerably early in the day, the two parties from Hanover Square and Berkeley Street set out from their respective homes, to meet, by appointment, on the road.
For the convenience of Charlotte and her child, they were to be more than two days on their journey, and Mr. Palmer, travelling more expeditiously with Colonel Brandon, was to join them at Cleveland soon after their arrival.
Nor could she leave the place in which Willoughby remained, busy in new engagements, and new schemes, in which SHE could have no share, without shedding many tears.
Elinor's satisfaction, at the moment of removal, was more positive.
Their journey was safely performed.
The second day brought them into the cherished, or the prohibited, county of Somerset, for as such was it dwelt on by turns in Marianne's imagination; and in the forenoon of the third they drove up to Cleveland.
Cleveland was a spacious, modern - built house, situated on a sloping lawn.
The morning was fine and dry, and Marianne, in her plan of employment abroad, had not calculated for any change of weather during their stay at Cleveland.
With great surprise therefore, did she find herself prevented by a settled rain from going out again after dinner.
She had depended on a twilight walk to the Grecian temple, and perhaps all over the grounds, and an evening merely cold or damp would not have deterred her from it; but a heavy and settled rain even SHE could not fancy dry or pleasant weather for walking.
Their party was small, and the hours passed quietly away.
Mrs. Palmer had her child, and Mrs. Jennings her carpet - work; they talked of the friends they had left behind, arranged Lady Middleton's engagements, and wondered whether Mr. Palmer and Colonel Brandon would get farther than Reading that night.
Elinor, however little concerned in it, joined in their discourse; and Marianne, who had the knack of finding her way in every house to the library, however it might be avoided by the family in general, soon procured herself a book.
Nothing was wanting on Mrs. Palmer's side that constant and friendly good humour could do, to make them feel themselves welcome.
The two gentlemen arrived the next day to a very late dinner, affording a pleasant enlargement of the party, and a very welcome variety to their conversation, which a long morning of the same continued rain had reduced very low.
Elinor had seen so little of Mr. Palmer, and in that little had seen so much variety in his address to her sister and herself, that she knew not what to expect to find him in his own family.
For the rest of his character and habits, they were marked, as far as Elinor could perceive, with no traits at all unusual in his sex and time of life.
He was nice in his eating, uncertain in his hours; fond of his child, though affecting to slight it; and idled away the mornings at billiards, which ought to have been devoted to business.
Prescriptions poured in from all quarters, and as usual, were all declined.
Though heavy and feverish, with a pain in her limbs, and a cough, and a sore throat, a good night's rest was to cure her entirely; and it was with difficulty that Elinor prevailed on her, when she went to bed, to try one or two of the simplest of the remedies.
CHAPTER 43
Marianne got up the next morning at her usual time; to every inquiry replied that she was better, and tried to prove herself so, by engaging in her accustomary employments.
The little she said was all in lamentation of this inevitable delay; though Elinor tried to raise her spirits, and make her believe, as she THEN really believed herself, that it would be a very short one.
The next day produced little or no alteration in the state of the patient; she certainly was not better, and, except that there was no amendment, did not appear worse.
Marianne was, of course, kept in ignorance of all these arrangements.
She knew not that she had been the means of sending the owners of Cleveland away, in about seven days from the time of their arrival.
It gave her no surprise that she saw nothing of Mrs. Palmer; and as it gave her likewise no concern, she never mentioned her name.
Two days passed away from the time of Mr. Palmer's departure, and her situation continued, with little variation, the same.
Mr. Harris, who attended her every day, still talked boldly of a speedy recovery, and Miss Dashwood was equally sanguine; but the expectation of the others was by no means so cheerful.
Mrs. Jennings had determined very early in the seizure that Marianne would never get over it, and Colonel Brandon, who was chiefly of use in listening to Mrs. Jennings's forebodings, was not in a state of mind to resist their influence.
On the morning of the third day however, the gloomy anticipations of both were almost done away; for when Mr. Harris arrived, he declared his patient materially better.
Her pulse was much stronger, and every symptom more favourable than on the preceding visit.
But the day did not close so auspiciously as it began.-- Towards the evening Marianne became ill again, growing more heavy, restless, and uncomfortable than before.
Her sleep, though not so quiet as Elinor wished to see it, lasted a considerable time; and anxious to observe the result of it herself, she resolved to sit with her during the whole of it.
Mrs. Jennings, knowing nothing of any change in the patient, went unusually early to bed; her maid, who was one of the principal nurses, was recreating herself in the housekeeper's room, and Elinor remained alone with Marianne.
" Is mama coming?--"
" Not yet," cried the other, concealing her terror, and assisting Marianne to lie down again, " but she will be here, I hope, before it is long.
It is a great way, you know, from hence to Barton."
" But she must not go round by London," cried Marianne, in the same hurried manner.
" I shall never see her, if she goes by London."
Elinor perceived with alarm that she was not quite herself, and, while attempting to soothe her, eagerly felt her pulse.
It was lower and quicker than ever!
and Marianne, still talking wildly of mama, her alarm increased so rapidly, as to determine her on sending instantly for Mr. Harris, and despatching a messenger to Barton for her mother.
It was no time for hesitation.
Her fears and her difficulties were immediately before him.
Elinor made no resistance that was not easily overcome.
She thanked him with brief, though fervent gratitude, and while he went to hurry off his servant with a message to Mr. Harris, and an order for post - horses directly, she wrote a few lines to her mother.
HE, meanwhile, whatever he might feel, acted with all the firmness of a collected mind, made every necessary arrangement with the utmost despatch, and calculated with exactness the time in which she might look for his return.
Not a moment was lost in delay of any kind.
The horses arrived, even before they were expected, and Colonel Brandon only pressing her hand with a look of solemnity, and a few words spoken too low to reach her ear, hurried into the carriage.
It was then about twelve o'clock, and she returned to her sister's apartment to wait for the arrival of the apothecary, and to watch by her the rest of the night.
It was a night of almost equal suffering to both.
Hour after hour passed away in sleepless pain and delirium on Marianne's side, and in the most cruel anxiety on Elinor's, before Mr. Harris appeared.
Her apprehensions once raised, paid by their excess for all her former security; and the servant who sat up with her, for she would not allow Mrs. Jennings to be called, only tortured her more, by hints of what her mistress had always thought.
She was on the point of sending again for Mr. Harris, or if HE could not come, for some other advice, when the former--but not till after five o'clock--arrived.
He promised to call again in the course of three or four hours, and left both the patient and her anxious attendant more composed than he had found them.
With strong concern, and with many reproaches for not being called to their aid, did Mrs. Jennings hear in the morning of what had passed.
Her former apprehensions, now with greater reason restored, left her no doubt of the event; and though trying to speak comfort to Elinor, her conviction of her sister's danger would not allow her to offer the comfort of hope.
Her heart was really grieved.
The rapid decay, the early death of a girl so young, so lovely as Marianne, must have struck a less interested person with concern.
On Mrs. Jennings's compassion she had other claims.
She had been for three months her companion, was still under her care, and she was known to have been greatly injured, and long unhappy.
The distress of her sister too, particularly a favourite, was before her;-- and as for their mother, when Mrs. Jennings considered that Marianne might probably be to HER what Charlotte was to herself, her sympathy in HER sufferings was very sincere.
Mr. Harris was punctual in his second visit;-- but he came to be disappointed in his hopes of what the last would produce.
His medicines had failed;-- the fever was unabated; and Marianne only more quiet--not more herself--remained in a heavy stupor.
Elinor, catching all, and more than all, his fears in a moment, proposed to call in further advice.
But he judged it unnecessary: he had still something more to try, some more fresh application, of whose success he was as confident as the last, and his visit concluded with encouraging assurances which reached the ear, but could not enter the heart of Miss Dashwood.
Elinor felt all the reasonableness of the idea, and it gave fresh misery to her reflections.
Mrs. Jennings, though forced, on examination, to acknowledge a temporary revival, tried to keep her young friend from indulging a thought of its continuance;-- and Elinor, conning over every injunction of distrust, told herself likewise not to hope.
But it was too late.
Hope had already entered; and feeling all its anxious flutter, she bent over her sister to watch--she hardly knew for what.
Half an hour passed away, and the favourable symptom yet blessed her.
Others even arose to confirm it.
Her breath, her skin, her lips, all flattered Elinor with signs of amendment; and Marianne fixed her eyes on her with a rational, though languid, gaze.
Marianne was in every respect materially better, and he declared her entirely out of danger.
Elinor could not be cheerful.
Her joy was of a different kind, and led to any thing rather than to gaiety.
Marianne restored to life, health, friends, and to her doting mother, was an idea to fill her heart with sensations of exquisite comfort, and expand it in fervent gratitude;-- but it lead to no outward demonstrations of joy, no words, no smiles.
All within Elinor's breast was satisfaction, silent and strong.
She continued by the side of her sister, with little intermission the whole afternoon, calming every fear, satisfying every inquiry of her enfeebled spirits, supplying every succour, and watching almost every look and every breath.
The time was now drawing on, when Colonel Brandon might be expected back.
At ten o'clock, she trusted, or at least not much later her mother would be relieved from the dreadful suspense in which she must now be travelling towards them.
The Colonel, too!-- perhaps scarcely less an object of pity!-- Oh!-- how slow was the progress of time which yet kept them in ignorance!
At seven o'clock, leaving Marianne still sweetly asleep, she joined Mrs. Jennings in the drawing - room to tea.
Of breakfast she had been kept by her fears, and of dinner by their sudden reverse, from eating much;-- and the present refreshment, therefore, with such feelings of content as she brought to it, was particularly welcome.
Mrs. Jennings therefore attending her up stairs into the sick chamber, to satisfy herself that all continued right, left her there again to her charge and her thoughts, and retired to her own room to write letters and sleep.
The night was cold and stormy.
The wind roared round the house, and the rain beat against the windows; but Elinor, all happiness within, regarded it not.
Marianne slept through every blast; and the travellers--they had a rich reward in store, for every present inconvenience.
The clock struck eight.
She instantly saw that her ears had not deceived her.
The flaring lamps of a carriage were immediately in view.
By their uncertain light she thought she could discern it to be drawn by four horses; and this, while it told the excess of her poor mother's alarm, gave some explanation to such unexpected rapidity.
Never in her life had Elinor found it so difficult to be calm, as at that moment.
The knowledge of what her mother must be feeling as the carriage stopt at the door--of her doubt--her dread--perhaps her despair!-- and of what SHE had to tell!-- with such knowledge it was impossible to be calm.
All that remained to be done was to be speedy; and, therefore staying only till she could leave Mrs. Jennings's maid with her sister, she hurried down stairs.
The bustle in the vestibule, as she passed along an inner lobby, assured her that they were already in the house.
She rushed to the drawing - room,-- she entered it,-- and saw only Willoughby.
CHAPTER 44
" Miss Dashwood, for half an hour--for ten minutes--I entreat you to stay."
" No, sir," she replied with firmness, " I shall NOT stay.
Your business cannot be with ME.
The servants, I suppose, forgot to tell you that Mr. Palmer was not in the house."
" Had they told me," he cried with vehemence, " that Mr. Palmer and all his relations were at the devil, it would not have turned me from the door.
My business is with you, and only you."
" With me!"
-- in the utmost amazement --" well, sir,-- be quick--and if you can--less violent."
" Sit down, and I will be both."
She hesitated; she knew not what to do.
The possibility of Colonel Brandon's arriving and finding her there, came across her.
But she had promised to hear him, and her curiosity no less than her honor was engaged.
After a moment's recollection, therefore, concluding that prudence required dispatch, and that her acquiescence would best promote it, she walked silently towards the table, and sat down.
He took the opposite chair, and for half a minute not a word was said by either.
" Pray be quick, sir,"-- said Elinor, impatiently;-- " I have no time to spare."
He was sitting in an attitude of deep meditation, and seemed not to hear her.
" Your sister," said he, with abruptness, a moment afterwards --" is out of danger.
I heard it from the servant.
God be praised!-- But is it true?
is it really true?"
Elinor would not speak.
He repeated the inquiry with yet greater eagerness.
" For God's sake tell me, is she out of danger, or is she not?"
" We hope she is."
He rose up, and walked across the room.
Elinor looked at him with greater astonishment than ever.
She began to think that be must be in liquor;-- the strangeness of such a visit, and of such manners, seemed no otherwise intelligible; and with this impression she immediately rose, saying,
" Mr. Willoughby, I advise you at present to return to Combe--I am not at leisure to remain with you longer.-- Whatever your business may be with me, will it be better recollected and explained to - morrow."
" I understand you," he replied, with an expressive smile, and a voice perfectly calm; " yes, I am very drunk.-- A pint of porter with my cold beef at Marlborough was enough to over - set me."
" At Marlborough!"
-- cried Elinor, more and more at a loss to understand what he would be at.
" Yes,-- I left London this morning at eight o'clock, and the only ten minutes I have spent out of my chaise since that time procured me a nuncheon at Marlborough."
The steadiness of his manner, and the intelligence of his eye as he spoke, convincing Elinor, that whatever other unpardonable folly might bring him to Cleveland, he was not brought there by intoxication, she said, after a moment's recollection,
" Mr. Willoughby, you OUGHT to feel, and I certainly DO--that after what has passed--your coming here in this manner, and forcing yourself upon my notice, requires a very particular excuse.-- What is it, that you mean by it?"
" I mean,"-- said he, with serious energy --" if I can, to make you hate me one degree less than you do NOW.
I mean to offer some kind of explanation, some kind of apology, for the past; to open my whole heart to you, and by convincing you, that though I have been always a blockhead, I have not been always a rascal, to obtain something like forgiveness from Ma--from your sister."
" Is this the real reason of your coming?"
" Upon my soul it is,"-- was his answer, with a warmth which brought all the former Willoughby to her remembrance, and in spite of herself made her think him sincere.
" If that is all, you may be satisfied already,-- for Marianne DOES--she has LONG forgiven you."
" Has she?"
-- he cried, in the same eager tone.-- " Then she has forgiven me before she ought to have done it.
But she shall forgive me again, and on more reasonable grounds.-- NOW will you listen to me?"
Elinor bowed her assent.
When I first became intimate in your family, I had no other intention, no other view in the acquaintance than to pass my time pleasantly while I was obliged to remain in Devonshire, more pleasantly than I had ever done before.
Your sister's lovely person and interesting manners could not but please me; and her behaviour to me almost from the first, was of a kind--It is astonishing, when I reflect on what it was, and what SHE was, that my heart should have been so insensible!
But at first I must confess, my vanity only was elevated by it.
Careless of her happiness, thinking only of my own amusement, giving way to feelings which I had always been too much in the habit of indulging, I endeavoured, by every means in my power, to make myself pleasing to her, without any design of returning her affection."
Miss Dashwood, at this point, turning her eyes on him with the most angry contempt, stopped him, by saying,
" It is hardly worth while, Mr. Willoughby, for you to relate, or for me to listen any longer.
Such a beginning as this cannot be followed by any thing.-- Do not let me be pained by hearing any thing more on the subject."
" I insist on you hearing the whole of it," he replied, " My fortune was never large, and I had always been expensive, always in the habit of associating with people of better income than myself.
But have I ever known it?-- Well may it be doubted; for, had I really loved, could I have sacrificed my feelings to vanity, to avarice?-- or, what is more, could I have sacrificed hers?-- But I have done it.
To avoid a comparative poverty, which her affection and her society would have deprived of all its horrors, I have, by raising myself to affluence, lost every thing that could make it a blessing."
" You did then," said Elinor, a little softened, " believe yourself at one time attached to her?"
Even THEN, however, when fully determined on paying my addresses to her, I allowed myself most improperly to put off, from day to day, the moment of doing it, from an unwillingness to enter into an engagement while my circumstances were so greatly embarrassed.
I will not reason here--nor will I stop for YOU to expatiate on the absurdity, and the worse than absurdity, of scrupling to engage my faith where my honour was already bound.
The event has proved, that I was a cunning fool, providing with great circumspection for a possible opportunity of making myself contemptible and wretched for ever.
At last, however, my resolution was taken, and I had determined, as soon as I could engage her alone, to justify the attentions I had so invariably paid her, and openly assure her of an affection which I had already taken such pains to display.
But in the interim--in the interim of the very few hours that were to pass, before I could have an opportunity of speaking with her in private--a circumstance occurred--an unlucky circumstance, to ruin all my resolution, and with it all my comfort.
A discovery took place,"-- here he hesitated and looked down.--" Mrs.
" I have," returned Elinor, colouring likewise, and hardening her heart anew against any compassion for him, " I have heard it all.
And how you will explain away any part of your guilt in that dreadful business, I confess is beyond my comprehension."
" Remember," cried Willoughby, " from whom you received the account.
Could it be an impartial one?
I acknowledge that her situation and her character ought to have been respected by me.
I do not mean to justify myself, but at the same time cannot leave you to suppose that I have nothing to urge--that because she was injured she was irreproachable, and because I was a libertine, SHE must be a saint.
If the violence of her passions, the weakness of her understanding--I do not mean, however, to defend myself.
Her affection for me deserved better treatment, and I often, with great self - reproach, recall the tenderness which, for a very short time, had the power of creating any return.
I wish--I heartily wish it had never been.
But I have injured more than herself; and I have injured one, whose affection for me --(may I say it?)
was scarcely less warm than hers; and whose mind--Oh!
how infinitely superior!"
" Your indifference, however, towards that unfortunate girl--I must say it, unpleasant to me as the discussion of such a subject may well be--your indifference is no apology for your cruel neglect of her.
Do not think yourself excused by any weakness, any natural defect of understanding on her side, in the wanton cruelty so evident on yours.
You must have known, that while you were enjoying yourself in Devonshire pursuing fresh schemes, always gay, always happy, she was reduced to the extremest indigence."
" But, upon my soul, I did NOT know it," he warmly replied; " I did not recollect that I had omitted to give her my direction; and common sense might have told her how to find it out."
" Well, sir, and what said Mrs.
Smith?"
" She taxed me with the offence at once, and my confusion may be guessed.
The purity of her life, the formality of her notions, her ignorance of the world--every thing was against me.
The matter itself I could not deny, and vain was every endeavour to soften it.
She was previously disposed, I believe, to doubt the morality of my conduct in general, and was moreover discontented with the very little attention, the very little portion of my time that I had bestowed on her, in my present visit.
In short, it ended in a total breach.
By one measure I might have saved myself.
In the height of her morality, good woman!
she offered to forgive the past, if I would marry Eliza.
That could not be--and I was formally dismissed from her favour and her house.
The night following this affair--I was to go the next morning--was spent by me in deliberating on what my future conduct should be.
The struggle was great--but it ended too soon.
I had reason to believe myself secure of my present wife, if I chose to address her, and I persuaded myself to think that nothing else in common prudence remained for me to do.
A heavy scene however awaited me, before I could leave Devonshire;-- I was engaged to dine with you on that very day; some apology was therefore necessary for my breaking this engagement.
But whether I should write this apology, or deliver it in person, was a point of long debate.
To see Marianne, I felt, would be dreadful, and I even doubted whether I could see her again, and keep to my resolution.
In that point, however, I undervalued my own magnanimity, as the event declared; for I went, I saw her, and saw her miserable, and left her miserable--and left her hoping never to see her again."
" Why did you call, Mr.
Willoughby?"
said Elinor, reproachfully; " a note would have answered every purpose.-- Why was it necessary to call?"
" It was necessary to my own pride.
I could not bear to leave the country in a manner that might lead you, or the rest of the neighbourhood, to suspect any part of what had really passed between Mrs. Smith and myself--and I resolved therefore on calling at the cottage, in my way to Honiton.
The sight of your dear sister, however, was really dreadful; and, to heighten the matter, I found her alone.
You were all gone I do not know where.
I had left her only the evening before, so fully, so firmly resolved within my self on doing right!
A few hours were to have engaged her to me for ever; and I remember how happy, how gay were my spirits, as I walked from the cottage to Allenham, satisfied with myself, delighted with every body!
But in this, our last interview of friendship, I approached her with a sense of guilt that almost took from me the power of dissembling.
Her sorrow, her disappointment, her deep regret, when I told her that I was obliged to leave Devonshire so immediately--I never shall forget it--united too with such reliance, such confidence in me!-- Oh, God!-- what a hard - hearted rascal I was!"
They were both silent for a few moments.
Elinor first spoke.
" Did you tell her that you should soon return?"
" I do not know what I told her," he replied, impatiently; " less than was due to the past, beyond a doubt, and in all likelihood much more than was justified by the future.
I cannot think of it.-- It won't do.-- Then came your dear mother to torture me farther, with all her kindness and confidence.
Thank Heaven!
it DID torture me.
I was miserable.
Miss Dashwood, you cannot have an idea of the comfort it gives me to look back on my own misery.
I owe such a grudge to myself for the stupid, rascally folly of my own heart, that all my past sufferings under it are only triumph and exultation to me now.
Well, I went, left all that I loved, and went to those to whom, at best, I was only indifferent.
My journey to town--travelling with my own horses, and therefore so tediously--no creature to speak to--my own reflections so cheerful--when I looked forward every thing so inviting!-- when I looked back at Barton, the picture so soothing!-- oh, it was a blessed journey!"
He stopped.
" Well, sir," said Elinor, who, though pitying him, grew impatient for his departure, " and this is all?"
" Ah!-- no,-- have you forgot what passed in town?-- That infamous letter--Did she shew it you?"
" Yes, I saw every note that passed."
To know that Marianne was in town was--in the same language--a thunderbolt.-- Thunderbolts and daggers!-- what a reproof would she have given me!-- her taste, her opinions--I believe they are better known to me than my own,-- and I am sure they are dearer."
Elinor's heart, which had undergone many changes in the course of this extraordinary conversation, was now softened again;-- yet she felt it her duty to check such ideas in her companion as the last.
" This is not right, Mr.
Willoughby.-- Remember that you are married.
Relate only what in your conscience you think necessary for me to hear."
" Marianne's note, by assuring me that I was still as dear to her as in former days, that in spite of the many, many weeks we had been separated, she was as constant in her own feelings, and as full of faith in the constancy of mine as ever, awakened all my remorse.
-- But this note made me know myself better.
I felt that she was infinitely dearer to me than any other woman in the world, and that I was using her infamously.
But every thing was then just settled between Miss Grey and me.
To retreat was impossible.
All that I had to do, was to avoid you both.
" Watched us out of the house!"
" Even so.
You would be surprised to hear how often I watched you, how often I was on the point of falling in with you.
I have entered many a shop to avoid your sight, as the carriage drove by.
Lodging as I did in Bond Street, there was hardly a day in which I did not catch a glimpse of one or other of you; and nothing but the most constant watchfulness on my side, a most invariably prevailing desire to keep out of your sight, could have separated us so long.
I avoided the Middletons as much as possible, as well as everybody else who was likely to prove an acquaintance in common.
Not aware of their being in town, however, I blundered on Sir John, I believe, the first day of his coming, and the day after I had called at Mrs. Jennings's.
He asked me to a party, a dance at his house in the evening.-- Had he NOT told me as an inducement that you and your sister were to be there, I should have felt it too certain a thing, to trust myself near him.
The next morning brought another short note from Marianne--still affectionate, open, artless, confiding--everything that could make MY conduct most hateful.
I could not answer it.
I tried--but could not frame a sentence.
But I thought of her, I believe, every moment of the day.
If you CAN pity me, Miss Dashwood, pity my situation as it was THEN.
With my head and heart full of your sister, I was forced to play the happy lover to another woman!-- Those three or four weeks were worse than all.
It was a horrid sight!-- yet when I thought of her to - day as really dying, it was a kind of comfort to me to imagine that I knew exactly how she would appear to those, who saw her last in this world.
She was before me, constantly before me, as I travelled, in the same look and hue."
A short pause of mutual thoughtfulness succeeded.
Willoughby first rousing himself, broke it thus:
" Well, let me make haste and be gone.
Your sister is certainly better, certainly out of danger?"
" We are assured of it."
" Your poor mother, too!-- doting on Marianne."
" But the letter, Mr. Willoughby, your own letter; have you any thing to say about that?"
" Yes, yes, THAT in particular.
Your sister wrote to me again, you know, the very next morning.
You saw what she said.
I was breakfasting at the Ellisons,-- and her letter, with some others, was brought to me there from my lodgings.
It happened to catch Sophia's eye before it caught mine--and its size, the elegance of the paper, the hand - writing altogether, immediately gave her a suspicion.
Some vague report had reached her before of my attachment to some young lady in Devonshire, and what had passed within her observation the preceding evening had marked who the young lady was, and made her more jealous than ever.
Affecting that air of playfulness, therefore, which is delightful in a woman one loves, she opened the letter directly, and read its contents.
She was well paid for her impudence.
She read what made her wretched.
Her wretchedness I could have borne, but her passion--her malice--At all events it must be appeased.
And, in short--what do you think of my wife's style of letter - writing?-- delicate--tender--truly feminine--was it not?"
" Your wife!-- The letter was in your own hand - writing."
" Yes, but I had only the credit of servilely copying such sentences as I was ashamed to put my name to.
The original was all her own--her own happy thoughts and gentle diction.
But what could I do!-- we were engaged, every thing in preparation, the day almost fixed--But I am talking like a fool.
Preparation!-- day!-- In honest words, her money was necessary to me, and in a situation like mine, any thing was to be done to prevent a rupture.
And after all, what did it signify to my character in the opinion of Marianne and her friends, in what language my answer was couched?-- It must have been only to one end.
Such were my reasonings, as, in a sort of desperate carelessness, I copied my wife's words, and parted with the last relics of Marianne.
Her three notes--unluckily they were all in my pocketbook, or I should have denied their existence, and hoarded them for ever--I was forced to put them up, and could not even kiss them.
And the lock of hair--that too I had always carried about me in the same pocket - book, which was now searched by Madam with the most ingratiating virulence,-- the dear lock--all, every memento was torn from me."
" You are very wrong, Mr. Willoughby, very blamable," said Elinor, while her voice, in spite of herself, betrayed her compassionate emotion; " you ought not to speak in this way, either of Mrs. Willoughby or my sister.
You had made your own choice.
It was not forced on you.
Your wife has a claim to your politeness, to your respect, at least.
She must be attached to you, or she would not have married you.
To treat her with unkindness, to speak of her slightingly is no atonement to Marianne--nor can I suppose it a relief to your own conscience."
Have I explained away any part of my guilt?"
" Yes, you have certainly removed something--a little.-- You have proved yourself, on the whole, less faulty than I had believed you.
You have proved your heart less wicked, much less wicked.
But I hardly know--the misery that you have inflicted--I hardly know what could have made it worse."
" Will you repeat to your sister when she is recovered, what I have been telling you?-- Let me be a little lightened too in her opinion as well as in yours.
You tell me that she has forgiven me already.
Let me be able to fancy that a better knowledge of my heart, and of my present feelings, will draw from her a more spontaneous, more natural, more gentle, less dignified, forgiveness.
Tell her of my misery and my penitence--tell her that my heart was never inconstant to her, and if you will, that at this moment she is dearer to me than ever."
" I will tell her all that is necessary to what may comparatively be called, your justification.
But you have not explained to me the particular reason of your coming now, nor how you heard of her illness."
" Last night, in Drury Lane lobby, I ran against Sir John Middleton, and when he saw who I was--for the first time these two months--he spoke to me.-- That he had cut me ever since my marriage, I had seen without surprise or resentment.
Now, however, his good - natured, honest, stupid soul, full of indignation against me, and concern for your sister, could not resist the temptation of telling me what he knew ought to--though probably he did not think it WOULD--vex me horridly.
His heart was softened in seeing mine suffer; and so much of his ill - will was done away, that when we parted, he almost shook me by the hand while he reminded me of an old promise about a pointer puppy.
What I felt on hearing that your sister was dying--and dying too, believing me the greatest villain upon earth, scorning, hating me in her latest moments--for how could I tell what horrid projects might not have been imputed?
ONE person I was sure would represent me as capable of any thing--What I felt was dreadful!-- My resolution was soon made, and at eight o'clock this morning I was in my carriage.
Now you know all."
Elinor made no answer.
The world had made him extravagant and vain--Extravagance and vanity had made him cold - hearted and selfish.
Vanity, while seeking its own guilty triumph at the expense of another, had involved him in a real attachment, which extravagance, or at least its offspring, necessity, had required to be sacrificed.
Each faulty propensity in leading him to evil, had led him likewise to punishment.
From a reverie of this kind she was recalled at the end of some minutes by Willoughby, who, rousing himself from a reverie at least equally painful, started up in preparation for going, and said --
" There is no use in staying here; I must be off."
" Are you going back to town?"
" No--to Combe Magna.
I have business there; from thence to town in a day or two.
Good bye."
He held out his hand.
She could not refuse to give him hers's;-- he pressed it with affection.
" And you DO think something better of me than you did?"
-- said he, letting it fall, and leaning against the mantel - piece as if forgetting he was to go.
Elinor assured him that she did;-- that she forgave, pitied, wished him well--was even interested in his happiness--and added some gentle counsel as to the behaviour most likely to promote it.
His answer was not very encouraging.
" As to that," said he, " I must rub through the world as well as I can.
Domestic happiness is out of the question.
If, however, I am allowed to think that you and yours feel an interest in my fate and actions, it may be the means--it may put me on my guard--at least, it may be something to live for.
Marianne to be sure is lost to me for ever.
Were I even by any blessed chance at liberty again --"
Elinor stopped him with a reproof.
" Well,"-- he replied --" once more good bye.
I shall now go away and live in dread of one event."
" What do you mean?"
" Your sister's marriage."
" You are very wrong.
She can never be more lost to you than she is now."
" But she will be gained by some one else.
And if that some one should be the very he whom, of all others, I could least bear--but I will not stay to rob myself of all your compassionate goodwill, by shewing that where I have most injured I can least forgive.
Good bye,-- God bless you!"
And with these words, he almost ran out of the room.
CHAPTER 45
Elinor, for some time after he left her, for some time even after the sound of his carriage had died away, remained too much oppressed by a crowd of ideas, widely differing in themselves, but of which sadness was the general result, to think even of her sister.
But she felt that it was so, long, long before she could feel his influence less.
When at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne, she found her just awaking, refreshed by so long and sweet a sleep to the extent of her hopes.
Elinor's heart was full.
The past, the present, the future, Willoughby's visit, Marianne's safety, and her mother's expected arrival, threw her altogether into an agitation of spirits which kept off every indication of fatigue, and made her only fearful of betraying herself to her sister.
He shared it, however, in a silence even greater than her own.
As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself, to see Marianne was her first desire; and in two minutes she was with her beloved child, rendered dearer to her than ever by absence, unhappiness, and danger.
Mrs. Dashwood WOULD sit up with her all night; and Elinor, in compliance with her mother's entreaty, went to bed.
But the rest, which one night entirely sleepless, and many hours of the most wearing anxiety seemed to make requisite, was kept off by irritation of spirits.
Willoughby, " poor Willoughby," as she now allowed herself to call him, was constantly in her thoughts; she would not but have heard his vindication for the world, and now blamed, now acquitted herself for having judged him so harshly before.
But her promise of relating it to her sister was invariably painful.
She dreaded the performance of it, dreaded what its effect on Marianne might be; doubted whether after such an explanation she could ever be happy with another; and for a moment wished Willoughby a widower.
Then, remembering Colonel Brandon, reproved herself, felt that to HIS sufferings and his constancy far more than to his rival's, the reward of her sister was due, and wished any thing rather than Mrs. Willoughby's death.
Marianne continued to mend every day, and the brilliant cheerfulness of Mrs. Dashwood's looks and spirits proved her to be, as she repeatedly declared herself, one of the happiest women in the world.
Elinor could not hear the declaration, nor witness its proofs without sometimes wondering whether her mother ever recollected Edward.
But Mrs. Dashwood, trusting to the temperate account of her own disappointment which Elinor had sent her, was led away by the exuberance of her joy to think only of what would increase it.
Marianne was restored to her from a danger in which, as she now began to feel, her own mistaken judgment in encouraging the unfortunate attachment to Willoughby, had contributed to place her;-- and in her recovery she had yet another source of joy unthought of by Elinor.
It was thus imparted to her, as soon as any opportunity of private conference between them occurred.
" At last we are alone.
My Elinor, you do not yet know all my happiness.
Colonel Brandon loves Marianne.
He has told me so himself."
Her daughter, feeling by turns both pleased and pained, surprised and not surprised, was all silent attention.
" You are never like me, dear Elinor, or I should wonder at your composure now.
Had I sat down to wish for any possible good to my family, I should have fixed on Colonel Brandon's marrying one of you as the object most desirable.
And I believe Marianne will be the most happy with him of the two."
" He opened his whole heart to me yesterday as we travelled.
It came out quite unawares, quite undesignedly.
He has loved her, my Elinor, ever since the first moment of seeing her."
Here, however, Elinor perceived,-- not the language, not the professions of Colonel Brandon, but the natural embellishments of her mother's active fancy, which fashioned every thing delightful to her as it chose.
" Colonel Brandon's character," said Elinor, " as an excellent man, is well established."
" I know it is "-- replied her mother seriously, " or after such a warning, I should be the last to encourage such affection, or even to be pleased by it.
But his coming for me as he did, with such active, such ready friendship, is enough to prove him one of the worthiest of men."
" His character, however," answered Elinor, " does not rest on ONE act of kindness, to which his affection for Marianne, were humanity out of the case, would have prompted him.
What answer did you give him?-- Did you allow him to hope?"
" Oh!
my love, I could not then talk of hope to him or to myself.
Marianne might at that moment be dying.
But he did not ask for hope or encouragement.
His was an involuntary confidence, an irrepressible effusion to a soothing friend--not an application to a parent.
Time, a very little time, I tell him, will do everything;-- Marianne's heart is not to be wasted for ever on such a man as Willoughby.-- His own merits must soon secure it."
" To judge from the Colonel's spirits, however, you have not yet made him equally sanguine."
" No.-- He thinks Marianne's affection too deeply rooted for any change in it under a great length of time, and even supposing her heart again free, is too diffident of himself to believe, that with such a difference of age and disposition he could ever attach her.
There, however, he is quite mistaken.
His age is only so much beyond hers as to be an advantage, as to make his character and principles fixed;-- and his disposition, I am well convinced, is exactly the very one to make your sister happy.
And his person, his manners too, are all in his favour.
My partiality does not blind me; he certainly is not so handsome as Willoughby--but at the same time, there is something much more pleasing in his countenance.-- There was always a something,-- if you remember,-- in Willoughby's eyes at times, which I did not like."
Elinor could NOT remember it;-- but her mother, without waiting for her assent, continued,
" And his manners, the Colonel's manners are not only more pleasing to me than Willoughby's ever were, but they are of a kind I well know to be more solidly attaching to Marianne.
Their gentleness, their genuine attention to other people, and their manly unstudied simplicity is much more accordant with her real disposition, than the liveliness--often artificial, and often ill - timed of the other.
I am very sure myself, that had Willoughby turned out as really amiable, as he has proved himself the contrary, Marianne would yet never have been so happy with HIM, as she will be with Colonel Brandon."
She paused.-- Her daughter could not quite agree with her, but her dissent was not heard, and therefore gave no offence.
Poor Elinor!-- here was a new scheme for getting her to Delaford!-- but her spirit was stubborn.
" His fortune too!-- for at my time of life you know, everybody cares about THAT;-- and though I neither know nor desire to know, what it really is, I am sure it must be a good one."
Here they were interrupted by the entrance of a third person, and Elinor withdrew to think it all over in private, to wish success to her friend, and yet in wishing it, to feel a pang for Willoughby.
CHAPTER 46
When there, at her own particular request, for she was impatient to pour forth her thanks to him for fetching her mother, Colonel Brandon was invited to visit her.
At the end of another day or two, Marianne growing visibly stronger every twelve hours, Mrs. Dashwood, urged equally by her own and her daughter's wishes, began to talk of removing to Barton.
On HER measures depended those of her two friends; Mrs. Jennings could not quit Cleveland during the Dashwoods'stay; and Colonel Brandon was soon brought, by their united request, to consider his own abode there as equally determinate, if not equally indispensable.
The Dashwoods were two days on the road, and Marianne bore her journey on both, without essential fatigue.
Every thing that the most zealous affection, the most solicitous care could do to render her comfortable, was the office of each watchful companion, and each found their reward in her bodily ease, and her calmness of spirits.
To Elinor, the observation of the latter was particularly grateful.
As they approached Barton, indeed, and entered on scenes of which every field and every tree brought some peculiar, some painful recollection, she grew silent and thoughtful, and turning away her face from their notice, sat earnestly gazing through the window.
But here, Elinor could neither wonder nor blame; and when she saw, as she assisted Marianne from the carriage, that she had been crying, she saw only an emotion too natural in itself to raise any thing less tender than pity, and in its unobtrusiveness entitled to praise.
After dinner she would try her piano - forte.
The next morning produced no abatement in these happy symptoms.
" When the weather is settled, and I have recovered my strength," said she, " we will take long walks together every day.
I know we shall be happy.
I know the summer will pass happily away.
I mean never to be later in rising than six, and from that time till dinner I shall divide every moment between music and reading.
I have formed my plan, and am determined to enter on a course of serious study.
Our own library is too well known to me, to be resorted to for any thing beyond mere amusement.
But there are many works well worth reading at the Park; and there are others of more modern production which I know I can borrow of Colonel Brandon.
By reading only six hours a - day, I shall gain in the course of a twelve - month a great deal of instruction which I now feel myself to want."
Her smile however changed to a sigh when she remembered that promise to Willoughby was yet unfulfilled, and feared she had that to communicate which might again unsettle the mind of Marianne, and ruin at least for a time this fair prospect of busy tranquillity.
Willing therefore to delay the evil hour, she resolved to wait till her sister's health were more secure, before she appointed it.
But the resolution was made only to be broken.
Marianne had been two or three days at home, before the weather was fine enough for an invalid like herself to venture out.
But at last a soft, genial morning appeared; such as might tempt the daughter's wishes and the mother's confidence; and Marianne, leaning on Elinor's arm, was authorised to walk as long as she could without fatigue, in the lane before the house.
" There, exactly there,"-- pointing with one hand, " on that projecting mound,-- there I fell; and there I first saw Willoughby."
Her voice sunk with the word, but presently reviving she added,
" I am thankful to find that I can look with so little pain on the spot!-- shall we ever talk on that subject, Elinor?"
-- hesitatingly it was said.--" Or will it be wrong?-- I can talk of it now, I hope, as I ought to do."
Elinor tenderly invited her to be open.
" As for regret," said Marianne, " I have done with that, as far as HE is concerned.
She stopt.
Elinor joyfully treasured her words as she answered,
" If you could be assured of that, you think you should be easy."
" Yes.
" How then," asked her sister, " would you account for his behaviour?"
" I would suppose him,-- Oh, how gladly would I suppose him, only fickle, very, very fickle."
Elinor said no more.
She was debating within herself on the eligibility of beginning her story directly, or postponing it till Marianne were in stronger health;-- and they crept on for a few minutes in silence.
" I am not wishing him too much good," said Marianne at last with a sigh, " when I wish his secret reflections may be no more unpleasant than my own.
He will suffer enough in them."
" Do you compare your conduct with his?"
" No.
I compare it with what it ought to have been; I compare it with yours."
" Our situations have borne little resemblance."
" They have borne more than our conduct.-- Do not, my dearest Elinor, let your kindness defend what I know your judgment must censure.
My illness has made me think--It has given me leisure and calmness for serious recollection.
Long before I was enough recovered to talk, I was perfectly able to reflect.
I considered the past: I saw in my own behaviour, since the beginning of our acquaintance with him last autumn, nothing but a series of imprudence towards myself, and want of kindness to others.
I saw that my own feelings had prepared my sufferings, and that my want of fortitude under them had almost led me to the grave.
My illness, I well knew, had been entirely brought on by myself by such negligence of my own health, as I had felt even at the time to be wrong.
Had I died,-- it would have been self - destruction.
I did not know my danger till the danger was removed; but with such feelings as these reflections gave me, I wonder at my recovery,-- wonder that the very eagerness of my desire to live, to have time for atonement to my God, and to you all, did not kill me at once.
Had I died,-- in what peculiar misery should I have left you, my nurse, my friend, my sister!-- You, who had seen all the fretful selfishness of my latter days; who had known all the murmurings of my heart!-- How should I have lived in YOUR remembrance!-- My mother too!
How could you have consoled her!-- I cannot express my own abhorrence of myself.
Whenever I looked towards the past, I saw some duty neglected, or some failing indulged.
Every body seemed injured by me.
The kindness, the unceasing kindness of Mrs. Jennings, I had repaid with ungrateful contempt.
But you,-- you above all, above my mother, had been wronged by me.
I, and only I, knew your heart and its sorrows; yet to what did it influence me?-- not to any compassion that could benefit you or myself.-- Your example was before me; but to what avail?-- Was I more considerate of you and your comfort?
Here ceased the rapid flow of her self - reproving spirit; and Elinor, impatient to soothe, though too honest to flatter, gave her instantly that praise and support which her frankness and her contrition so well deserved.
Marianne pressed her hand and replied,
" You are very good.-- The future must be my proof.
I have laid down my plan, and if I am capable of adhering to it--my feelings shall be governed and my temper improved.
They shall no longer worry others, nor torture myself.
I shall now live solely for my family.
You, my mother, and Margaret, must henceforth be all the world to me; you will share my affections entirely between you.
As for Willoughby--to say that I shall soon or that I shall ever forget him, would be idle.
His remembrance can be overcome by no change of circumstances or opinions.
But it shall be regulated, it shall be checked by religion, by reason, by constant employment."
She paused--and added in a low voice, " If I could but know HIS heart, everything would become easy."
She managed the recital, as she hoped, with address; prepared her anxious listener with caution; related simply and honestly the chief points on which Willoughby grounded his apology; did justice to his repentance, and softened only his protestations of present regard.
Marianne said not a word.-- She trembled, her eyes were fixed on the ground, and her lips became whiter than even sickness had left them.
A thousand inquiries sprung up from her heart, but she dared not urge one.
She caught every syllable with panting eagerness; her hand, unknowingly to herself, closely pressed her sister's, and tears covered her cheeks.
As soon as they entered the house, Marianne with a kiss of gratitude and these two words just articulate through her tears, " Tell mama," withdrew from her sister and walked slowly up stairs.
CHAPTER 47
Mrs. Dashwood did not hear unmoved the vindication of her former favourite.
She rejoiced in his being cleared from some part of his imputed guilt;-- she was sorry for him;-- she wished him happy.
But the feelings of the past could not be recalled.-- Nothing could restore him with a faith unbroken--a character unblemished, to Marianne.
Nothing could do away the knowledge of what the latter had suffered through his means, nor remove the guilt of his conduct towards Eliza.
Nothing could replace him, therefore, in her former esteem, nor injure the interests of Colonel Brandon.
Had Mrs. Dashwood, like her daughter, heard Willoughby's story from himself--had she witnessed his distress, and been under the influence of his countenance and his manner, it is probable that her compassion would have been greater.
But it was neither in Elinor's power, nor in her wish, to rouse such feelings in another, by her retailed explanation, as had at first been called forth in herself.
" I wish to assure you both," said she, " that I see every thing--as you can desire me to do."
Mrs. Dashwood would have interrupted her instantly with soothing tenderness, had not Elinor, who really wished to hear her sister's unbiased opinion, by an eager sign, engaged her silence.
Marianne slowly continued --
" It is a great relief to me--what Elinor told me this morning--I have now heard exactly what I wished to hear."
-- For some moments her voice was lost; but recovering herself, she added, and with greater calmness than before --" I am now perfectly satisfied, I wish for no change.
I never could have been happy with him, after knowing, as sooner or later I must have known, all this.-- I should have had no confidence, no esteem.
Nothing could have done it away to my feelings."
" I know it--I know it," cried her mother.
Marianne sighed, and repeated, " I wish for no change."
Had you married, you must have been always poor.
His expensiveness is acknowledged even by himself, and his whole conduct declares that self - denial is a word hardly understood by him.
His demands and your inexperience together, on a small, very small income, must have brought on distresses which would not be the LESS grievous to you, from having been entirely unknown and unthought of before.
Marianne's lips quivered, and she repeated the word " Selfish?"
in a tone that implied --" do you really think him selfish?"
" The whole of his behaviour," replied Elinor, " from the beginning to the end of the affair, has been grounded on selfishness.
It was selfishness which first made him sport with your affections; which afterwards, when his own were engaged, made him delay the confession of it, and which finally carried him from Barton.
His own enjoyment, or his own ease, was, in every particular, his ruling principle."
" It is very true.
MY happiness never was his object."
" At present," continued Elinor, " he regrets what he has done.
And why does he regret it?-- Because he finds it has not answered towards himself.
It has not made him happy.
His circumstances are now unembarrassed--he suffers from no evil of that kind; and he thinks only that he has married a woman of a less amiable temper than yourself.
But does it follow that had he married you, he would have been happy?-- The inconveniences would have been different.
He would then have suffered under the pecuniary distresses which, because they are removed, he now reckons as nothing.
" I have not a doubt of it," said Marianne; " and I have nothing to regret--nothing but my own folly."
" Rather say your mother's imprudence, my child," said Mrs. Dashwood; " SHE must be answerable."
Marianne would not let her proceed;-- and Elinor, satisfied that each felt their own error, wished to avoid any survey of the past that might weaken her sister's spirits; she, therefore, pursuing the first subject, immediately continued,
" One observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the story--that all Willoughby's difficulties have arisen from the first offence against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams.
That crime has been the origin of every lesser one, and of all his present discontents."
Marianne assented most feelingly to the remark; and her mother was led by it to an enumeration of Colonel Brandon's injuries and merits, warm as friendship and design could unitedly dictate.
Her daughter did not look, however, as if much of it were heard by her.
Margaret returned, and the family were again all restored to each other, again quietly settled at the cottage; and if not pursuing their usual studies with quite so much vigour as when they first came to Barton, at least planning a vigorous prosecution of them in future.
Elinor grew impatient for some tidings of Edward.
She had heard nothing of him since her leaving London, nothing new of his plans, nothing certain even of his present abode.
She was not doomed, however, to be long in ignorance of his measures.
Their man - servant had been sent one morning to Exeter on business; and when, as he waited at table, he had satisfied the inquiries of his mistress as to the event of his errand, this was his voluntary communication --
" I suppose you know, ma'am, that Mr. Ferrars is married."
Marianne gave a violent start, fixed her eyes upon Elinor, saw her turning pale, and fell back in her chair in hysterics.
The servant, who saw only that Miss Marianne was taken ill, had sense enough to call one of the maids, who, with Mrs. Dashwood's assistance, supported her into the other room.
Mrs. Dashwood immediately took all that trouble on herself; and Elinor had the benefit of the information without the exertion of seeking it.
" Who told you that Mr. Ferrars was married, Thomas?"
" I see Mr. Ferrars myself, ma'am, this morning in Exeter, and his lady too, Miss Steele as was.
They was stopping in a chaise at the door of the New London Inn, as I went there with a message from Sally at the Park to her brother, who is one of the post - boys.
" But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?"
" Yes, ma'am.
She smiled, and said how she had changed her name since she was in these parts.
She was always a very affable and free - spoken young lady, and very civil behaved.
So, I made free to wish her joy."
" Was Mr. Ferrars in the carriage with her?"
" Yes, ma'am, I just see him leaning back in it, but he did not look up;-- he never was a gentleman much for talking."
Elinor's heart could easily account for his not putting himself forward; and Mrs. Dashwood probably found the same explanation.
" Was there no one else in the carriage?"
" No, ma'am, only they two."
" Do you know where they came from?"
" They come straight from town, as Miss Lucy--Mrs. Ferrars told me."
" And are they going farther westward?"
" Yes, ma'am--but not to bide long.
They will soon be back again, and then they'd be sure and call here."
Mrs. Dashwood now looked at her daughter; but Elinor knew better than to expect them.
She recognised the whole of Lucy in the message, and was very confident that Edward would never come near them.
She observed in a low voice, to her mother, that they were probably going down to Mr. Pratt's, near Plymouth.
Thomas's intelligence seemed over.
Elinor looked as if she wished to hear more.
" Did you see them off, before you came away?"
" No, ma'am--the horses were just coming out, but I could not bide any longer; I was afraid of being late."
" Did Mrs. Ferrars look well?"
" Yes, ma'am, she said how she was very well; and to my mind she was always a very handsome young lady--and she seemed vastly contented."
Mrs. Dashwood could think of no other question, and Thomas and the tablecloth, now alike needless, were soon afterwards dismissed.
Marianne had already sent to say, that she should eat nothing more.
When the dessert and the wine were arranged, and Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor were left by themselves, they remained long together in a similarity of thoughtfulness and silence.
Mrs. Dashwood feared to hazard any remark, and ventured not to offer consolation.
She now found that she had erred in relying on Elinor's representation of herself; and justly concluded that every thing had been expressly softened at the time, to spare her from an increase of unhappiness, suffering as she then had suffered for Marianne.
She found that she had been misled by the careful, the considerate attention of her daughter, to think the attachment, which once she had so well understood, much slighter in reality, than she had been wont to believe, or than it was now proved to be.
CHAPTER 48
Elinor now found the difference between the expectation of an unpleasant event, however certain the mind may be told to consider it, and certainty itself.
But he was now married; and she condemned her heart for the lurking flattery, which so much heightened the pain of the intelligence.
That he should be married soon, before (as she imagined) he could be in orders, and consequently before he could be in possession of the living, surprised her a little at first.
But she soon saw how likely it was that Lucy, in her self - provident care, in her haste to secure him, should overlook every thing but the risk of delay.
They were married, married in town, and now hastening down to her uncle's.
What had Edward felt on being within four miles from Barton, on seeing her mother's servant, on hearing Lucy's message!
They would soon, she supposed, be settled at Delaford.-- Delaford,-- that place in which so much conspired to give her an interest; which she wished to be acquainted with, and yet desired to avoid.
In Edward--she knew not what she saw, nor what she wished to see;-- happy or unhappy,-- nothing pleased her; she turned away her head from every sketch of him.
Elinor flattered herself that some one of their connections in London would write to them to announce the event, and give farther particulars,-- but day after day passed off, and brought no letter, no tidings.
Though uncertain that any one were to blame, she found fault with every absent friend.
They were all thoughtless or indolent.
" When do you write to Colonel Brandon, ma'am?"
was an inquiry which sprung from the impatience of her mind to have something going on.
" I wrote to him, my love, last week, and rather expect to see, than to hear from him again.
I earnestly pressed his coming to us, and should not be surprised to see him walk in today or tomorrow, or any day."
This was gaining something, something to look forward to.
Colonel Brandon must have some information to give.
Scarcely had she so determined it, when the figure of a man on horseback drew her eyes to the window.
He stopt at their gate.
It was a gentleman, it was Colonel Brandon himself.
Now she could hear more; and she trembled in expectation of it.
But--it was NOT Colonel Brandon--neither his air--nor his height.
Were it possible, she must say it must be Edward.
She looked again.
He had just dismounted;-- she could not be mistaken,-- it WAS Edward.
She moved away and sat down.
" He comes from Mr. Pratt's purposely to see us.
I WILL be calm; I WILL be mistress of myself."
In a moment she perceived that the others were likewise aware of the mistake.
She saw her mother and Marianne change colour; saw them look at herself, and whisper a few sentences to each other.
She would have given the world to be able to speak--and to make them understand that she hoped no coolness, no slight, would appear in their behaviour to him;-- but she had no utterance, and was obliged to leave all to their own discretion.
Not a syllable passed aloud.
They all waited in silence for the appearance of their visitor.
His footsteps were heard along the gravel path; in a moment he was in the passage, and in another he was before them.
His countenance, as he entered the room, was not too happy, even for Elinor.
His complexion was white with agitation, and he looked as if fearful of his reception, and conscious that he merited no kind one.
Mrs. Dashwood, however, conforming, as she trusted, to the wishes of that daughter, by whom she then meant in the warmth of her heart to be guided in every thing, met with a look of forced complacency, gave him her hand, and wished him joy.
He coloured, and stammered out an unintelligible reply.
Elinor's lips had moved with her mother's, and, when the moment of action was over, she wished that she had shaken hands with him too.
But it was then too late, and with a countenance meaning to be open, she sat down again and talked of the weather.
When Elinor had ceased to rejoice in the dryness of the season, a very awful pause took place.
It was put an end to by Mrs. Dashwood, who felt obliged to hope that he had left Mrs. Ferrars very well.
In a hurried manner, he replied in the affirmative.
Another pause.
Elinor resolving to exert herself, though fearing the sound of her own voice, now said,
" Is Mrs. Ferrars at Longstaple?"
" At Longstaple!"
he replied, with an air of surprise.-- " No, my mother is in town."
" I meant," said Elinor, taking up some work from the table, " to inquire for Mrs. EDWARD Ferrars."
She dared not look up;-- but her mother and Marianne both turned their eyes on him.
He coloured, seemed perplexed, looked doubtingly, and, after some hesitation, said,--
" Perhaps you mean--my brother--you mean Mrs.-- Mrs. ROBERT Ferrars."
" Mrs. Robert Ferrars!"
-- was repeated by Marianne and her mother in an accent of the utmost amazement;-- and though Elinor could not speak, even HER eyes were fixed on him with the same impatient wonder.
He rose from his seat, and walked to the window, apparently from not knowing what to do; took up a pair of scissors that lay there, and while spoiling both them and their sheath by cutting the latter to pieces as he spoke, said, in a hurried voice,
" Perhaps you do not know--you may not have heard that my brother is lately married to--to the youngest--to Miss Lucy Steele."
His words were echoed with unspeakable astonishment by all but Elinor, who sat with her head leaning over her work, in a state of such agitation as made her hardly know where she was.
" Yes," said he, " they were married last week, and are now at Dawlish."
Elinor could sit it no longer.
She almost ran out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed, burst into tears of joy, which at first she thought would never cease.
CHAPTER 49
His errand at Barton, in fact, was a simple one.
It was only to ask Elinor to marry him;-- and considering that he was not altogether inexperienced in such a question, it might be strange that he should feel so uncomfortable in the present case as he really did, so much in need of encouragement and fresh air.
How soon he had walked himself into the proper resolution, however, how soon an opportunity of exercising it occurred, in what manner he expressed himself, and how he was received, need not be particularly told.
His situation indeed was more than commonly joyful.
He had more than the ordinary triumph of accepted love to swell his heart, and raise his spirits.
He was brought, not from doubt or suspense, but from misery to happiness;-- and the change was openly spoken in such a genuine, flowing, grateful cheerfulness, as his friends had never witnessed in him before.
His heart was now open to Elinor, all its weaknesses, all its errors confessed, and his first boyish attachment to Lucy treated with all the philosophic dignity of twenty - four.
" It was a foolish, idle inclination on my side," said he, " the consequence of ignorance of the world--and want of employment.
She was pretty too--at least I thought so THEN; and I had seen so little of other women, that I could make no comparisons, and see no defects.
Considering everything, therefore, I hope, foolish as our engagement was, foolish as it has since in every way been proved, it was not at the time an unnatural or an inexcusable piece of folly."
The change which a few hours had wrought in the minds and the happiness of the Dashwoods, was such--so great--as promised them all, the satisfaction of a sleepless night.
Marianne could speak HER happiness only by tears.
Comparisons would occur--regrets would arise;-- and her joy, though sincere as her love for her sister, was of a kind to give her neither spirits nor language.
But Elinor--how are HER feelings to be described?-- From the moment of learning that Lucy was married to another, that Edward was free, to the moment of his justifying the hopes which had so instantly followed, she was every thing by turns but tranquil.
Between THEM no subject is finished, no communication is even made, till it has been made at least twenty times over.
To her own heart it was a delightful affair, to her imagination it was even a ridiculous one, but to her reason, her judgment, it was completely a puzzle.
Edward could only attempt an explanation by supposing, that, perhaps, at first accidentally meeting, the vanity of the one had been so worked on by the flattery of the other, as to lead by degrees to all the rest.
Elinor remembered what Robert had told her in Harley Street, of his opinion of what his own mediation in his brother's affairs might have done, if applied to in time.
She repeated it to Edward.
" THAT was exactly like Robert,"-- was his immediate observation.--" And THAT," he presently added, " might perhaps be in HIS head when the acquaintance between them first began.
And Lucy perhaps at first might think only of procuring his good offices in my favour.
Other designs might afterward arise."
He put the letter into Elinor's hands.
" DEAR SIR,
" Being very sure I have long lost your affections, I have thought myself at liberty to bestow my own on another, and have no doubt of being as happy with him as I once used to think I might be with you; but I scorn to accept a hand while the heart was another's.
Sincerely wish you happy in your choice, and it shall not be my fault if we are not always good friends, as our near relationship now makes proper.
I can safely say I owe you no ill - will, and am sure you will be too generous to do us any ill offices.
" Your sincere well - wisher, friend, and sister, " LUCY FERRARS.
" I have burnt all your letters, and will return your picture the first opportunity.
Please to destroy my scrawls--but the ring with my hair you are very welcome to keep."
Elinor read and returned it without any comment.
" However it may have come about," said Elinor, after a pause,--" they are certainly married.
And your mother has brought on herself a most appropriate punishment.
The independence she settled on Robert, through resentment against you, has put it in his power to make his own choice; and she has actually been bribing one son with a thousand a - year, to do the very deed which she disinherited the other for intending to do.
She will hardly be less hurt, I suppose, by Robert's marrying Lucy, than she would have been by your marrying her."
" She will be more hurt by it, for Robert always was her favourite.-- She will be more hurt by it, and on the same principle will forgive him much sooner."
In what state the affair stood at present between them, Edward knew not, for no communication with any of his family had yet been attempted by him.
He had quitted Oxford within four and twenty hours after Lucy's letter arrived, and with only one object before him, the nearest road to Barton, had had no leisure to form any scheme of conduct, with which that road did not hold the most intimate connection.
It was his business, however, to say that he DID, and he said it very prettily.
What he might say on the subject a twelvemonth after, must be referred to the imagination of husbands and wives.
Nothing but such a persuasion could have prevented his putting an end to an engagement, which, long before the discovery of it laid him open to his mother's anger, had been a continual source of disquiet and regret to him.
" I thought it my duty," said he, " independent of my feelings, to give her the option of continuing the engagement or not, when I was renounced by my mother, and stood to all appearance without a friend in the world to assist me.
And even now, I cannot comprehend on what motive she acted, or what fancied advantage it could be to her, to be fettered to a man for whom she had not the smallest regard, and who had only two thousand pounds in the world.
She could not foresee that Colonel Brandon would give me a living."
" No; but she might suppose that something would occur in your favour; that your own family might in time relent.
And at any rate, she lost nothing by continuing the engagement, for she has proved that it fettered neither her inclination nor her actions.
The connection was certainly a respectable one, and probably gained her consideration among her friends; and, if nothing more advantageous occurred, it would be better for her to marry YOU than be single."
Edward was, of course, immediately convinced that nothing could have been more natural than Lucy's conduct, nor more self - evident than the motive of it.
Elinor scolded him, harshly as ladies always scold the imprudence which compliments themselves, for having spent so much time with them at Norland, when he must have felt his own inconstancy.
" Your behaviour was certainly very wrong," said she; " because--to say nothing of my own conviction, our relations were all led away by it to fancy and expect WHAT, as you were THEN situated, could never be."
He could only plead an ignorance of his own heart, and a mistaken confidence in the force of his engagement.
" I was simple enough to think, that because my FAITH was plighted to another, there could be no danger in my being with you; and that the consciousness of my engagement was to keep my heart as safe and sacred as my honour.
I felt that I admired you, but I told myself it was only friendship; and till I began to make comparisons between yourself and Lucy, I did not know how far I was got.
After that, I suppose, I WAS wrong in remaining so much in Sussex, and the arguments with which I reconciled myself to the expediency of it, were no better than these:-- The danger is my own; I am doing no injury to anybody but myself."
Elinor smiled, and shook her head.
NOW he felt astonished himself that he had never yet been to the place.
One question after this only remained undecided, between them, one difficulty only was to be overcome.
They were brought together by mutual affection, with the warmest approbation of their real friends; their intimate knowledge of each other seemed to make their happiness certain--and they only wanted something to live upon.
Edward was not entirely without hopes of some favourable change in his mother towards him; and on THAT he rested for the residue of their income.
About four days after Edward's arrival Colonel Brandon appeared, to complete Mrs. Dashwood's satisfaction, and to give her the dignity of having, for the first time since her living at Barton, more company with her than her house would hold.
Edward was allowed to retain the privilege of first comer, and Colonel Brandon therefore walked every night to his old quarters at the Park; from whence he usually returned in the morning, early enough to interrupt the lovers'first tete - a - tete before breakfast.
Among such friends, however, and such flattery, he did revive.
No rumour of Lucy's marriage had yet reached him:-- he knew nothing of what had passed; and the first hours of his visit were consequently spent in hearing and in wondering.
Every thing was explained to him by Mrs. Dashwood, and he found fresh reason to rejoice in what he had done for Mr. Ferrars, since eventually it promoted the interest of Elinor.
It would be needless to say, that the gentlemen advanced in the good opinion of each other, as they advanced in each other's acquaintance, for it could not be otherwise.
The letters from town, which a few days before would have made every nerve in Elinor's body thrill with transport, now arrived to be read with less emotion that mirth.
Not a soul suspected anything of the matter, not even Nancy, who, poor soul!
And I must say that Lucy's crossness not to take them along with them in the chaise is worse than all.
Poor Mr. Edward!
I cannot get him out of my head, but you must send for him to Barton, and Miss Marianne must try to comfort him."
Mr. Dashwood's strains were more solemn.
Mrs. Ferrars was the most unfortunate of women--poor Fanny had suffered agonies of sensibility--and he considered the existence of each, under such a blow, with grateful wonder.
Robert's offence was unpardonable, but Lucy's was infinitely worse.
Neither of them were ever again to be mentioned to Mrs. Ferrars; and even, if she might hereafter be induced to forgive her son, his wife should never be acknowledged as her daughter, nor be permitted to appear in her presence.
" Mrs. Ferrars has never yet mentioned Edward's name, which does not surprise us; but, to our great astonishment, not a line has been received from him on the occasion.
This paragraph was of some importance to the prospects and conduct of Edward.
It determined him to attempt a reconciliation, though not exactly in the manner pointed out by their brother and sister.
" A letter of proper submission!"
" You may certainly ask to be forgiven," said Elinor, " because you have offended;-- and I should think you might NOW venture so far as to profess some concern for having ever formed the engagement which drew on you your mother's anger."
He agreed that he might.
" And when she has forgiven you, perhaps a little humility may be convenient while acknowledging a second engagement, almost as imprudent in HER eyes as the first."
CHAPTER 50
Her family had of late been exceedingly fluctuating.
For many years of her life she had had two sons; but the crime and annihilation of Edward a few weeks ago, had robbed her of one; the similar annihilation of Robert had left her for a fortnight without any; and now, by the resuscitation of Edward, she had one again.
With apprehensive caution therefore it was revealed, and he was listened to with unexpected calmness.
It was as much, however, as was desired, and more than was expected, by Edward and Elinor; and Mrs. Ferrars herself, by her shuffling excuses, seemed the only person surprised at her not giving more.
The first month after their marriage was spent with their friend at the Mansion - house; from whence they could superintend the progress of the Parsonage, and direct every thing as they liked on the spot;-- could chuse papers, project shrubberies, and invent a sweep.
Mrs. Jennings's prophecies, though rather jumbled together, were chiefly fulfilled; for she was able to visit Edward and his wife in their Parsonage by Michaelmas, and she found in Elinor and her husband, as she really believed, one of the happiest couples in the world.
They had in fact nothing to wish for, but the marriage of Colonel Brandon and Marianne, and rather better pasturage for their cows.
They were visited on their first settling by almost all their relations and friends.
Mrs. Ferrars came to inspect the happiness which she was almost ashamed of having authorised; and even the Dashwoods were at the expense of a journey from Sussex to do them honour.
" I will not say that I am disappointed, my dear sister," said John, as they were walking together one morning before the gates of Delaford House, " THAT would be saying too much, for certainly you have been one of the most fortunate young women in the world, as it is.
But, I confess, it would give me great pleasure to call Colonel Brandon brother.
But though Mrs. Ferrars DID come to see them, and always treated them with the make - believe of decent affection, they were never insulted by her real favour and preference.
THAT was due to the folly of Robert, and the cunning of his wife; and it was earned by them before many months had passed away.
When Robert first sought her acquaintance, and privately visited her in Bartlett's Buildings, it was only with the view imputed to him by his brother.
He merely meant to persuade her to give up the engagement; and as there could be nothing to overcome but the affection of both, he naturally expected that one or two interviews would settle the matter.
In that point, however, and that only, he erred;-- for though Lucy soon gave him hopes that his eloquence would convince her in TIME, another visit, another conversation, was always wanted to produce this conviction.
Some doubts always lingered in her mind when they parted, which could only be removed by another half hour's discourse with himself.
His attendance was by this means secured, and the rest followed in course.
He was proud of his conquest, proud of tricking Edward, and very proud of marrying privately without his mother's consent.
What immediately followed is known.
The forgiveness, at first, indeed, as was reasonable, comprehended only Robert; and Lucy, who had owed his mother no duty and therefore could have transgressed none, still remained some weeks longer unpardoned.
What Edward had done to forfeit the right of eldest son, might have puzzled many people to find out; and what Robert had done to succeed to it, might have puzzled them still more.
Elinor's marriage divided her as little from her family as could well be contrived, without rendering the cottage at Barton entirely useless, for her mother and sisters spent much more than half their time with her.
Mrs. Dashwood was acting on motives of policy as well as pleasure in the frequency of her visits at Delaford; for her wish of bringing Marianne and Colonel Brandon together was hardly less earnest, though rather more liberal than what John had expressed.
It was now her darling object.
Precious as was the company of her daughter to her, she desired nothing so much as to give up its constant enjoyment to her valued friend; and to see Marianne settled at the mansion - house was equally the wish of Edward and Elinor.
They each felt his sorrows, and their own obligations, and Marianne, by general consent, was to be the reward of all.
With such a confederacy against her--with a knowledge so intimate of his goodness--with a conviction of his fond attachment to herself, which at last, though long after it was observable to everybody else--burst on her--what could she do?
Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate.
She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her conduct, her most favourite maxims.
But so it was.
Marianne could never love by halves; and her whole heart became, in time, as much devoted to her husband, as it had once been to Willoughby.
That his repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its own punishment, was sincere, need not be doubted;-- nor that he long thought of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret.
But that he was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be depended on--for he did neither.
He lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself.
His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity.
THE END
[ The King James Bible ]
The Old Testament of the King James Bible
The First Book of Moses: Called Genesis
1: 1 In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
1: 2 And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.
And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.
1: 3 And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.
1: 4 And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.
1: 5 And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night.
And the evening and the morning were the first day.
1: 6 And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.
1: 7 And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so.
1: 8 And God called the firmament Heaven.
And the evening and the morning were the second day.
1: 9 And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.
1: 10 And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good.
1: 11 And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is in itself, upon the earth: and it was so.
1: 12 And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after his kind: and God saw that it was good.
1: 13 And the evening and the morning were the third day.
1: 16 And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also.
1: 17 And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth, 1: 18 And to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness: and God saw that it was good.
1: 19 And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.
1: 20 And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.
1: 21 And God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after his kind: and God saw that it was good.
1: 22 And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.
1: 23 And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.
1: 24 And God said, Let the earth bring forth the living creature after his kind, cattle, and creeping thing, and beast of the earth after his kind: and it was so.
1: 25 And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind: and God saw that it was good.
1: 26 And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.
1: 27 So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.
1: 28 And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.
1: 29 And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.
1: 30 And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air, and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there is life, I have given every green herb for meat: and it was so.
1: 31 And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.
And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.
2: 1 Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them.
2: 2 And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made; and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had made.
2: 3 And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made.
2: 6 But there went up a mist from the earth, and watered the whole face of the ground.
2: 7 And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.
2: 8 And the LORD God planted a garden eastward in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed.
2: 9 And out of the ground made the LORD God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil.
2: 10 And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became into four heads.
2: 11 The name of the first is Pison: that is it which compasseth the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold; 2: 12 And the gold of that land is good: there is bdellium and the onyx stone.
2: 13 And the name of the second river is Gihon: the same is it that compasseth the whole land of Ethiopia.
2: 14 And the name of the third river is Hiddekel: that is it which goeth toward the east of Assyria.
And the fourth river is Euphrates.
2: 15 And the LORD God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it.
2: 16 And the LORD God commanded the man, saying, Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat: 2: 17 But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.
2: 18 And the LORD God said, It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him.
2: 19 And out of the ground the LORD God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air; and brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them: and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof.
2: 20 And Adam gave names to all cattle, and to the fowl of the air, and to every beast of the field; but for Adam there was not found an help meet for him.
2: 21 And the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof; 2: 22 And the rib, which the LORD God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man.
2: 23 And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.
2: 24 Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.
2: 25 And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed.
3: 1 Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field which the LORD God had made.
And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?
3: 2 And the woman said unto the serpent, We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden: 3: 3 But of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die.
3: 4 And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die: 3: 5 For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.
3: 6 And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat.
3: 7 And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons.
3: 8 And they heard the voice of the LORD God walking in the garden in the cool of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the LORD God amongst the trees of the garden.
3: 9 And the LORD God called unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art thou?
3: 10 And he said, I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.
3: 11 And he said, Who told thee that thou wast naked?
Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat?
3: 12 And the man said, The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.
3: 13 And the LORD God said unto the woman, What is this that thou hast done?
And the woman said, The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat.
3: 16 Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.
3: 20 And Adam called his wife's name Eve; because she was the mother of all living.
3: 21 Unto Adam also and to his wife did the LORD God make coats of skins, and clothed them.
3: 24 So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.
4: 1 And Adam knew Eve his wife; and she conceived, and bare Cain, and said, I have gotten a man from the LORD.
4: 2 And she again bare his brother Abel.
And Abel was a keeper of sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground.
4: 3 And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an offering unto the LORD.
4: 4 And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof.
And the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his offering: 4: 5 But unto Cain and to his offering he had not respect.
And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell.
4: 6 And the LORD said unto Cain, Why art thou wroth?
and why is thy countenance fallen?
4: 7 If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted?
and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door.
And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.
4: 8 And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.
4: 9 And the LORD said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother?
And he said, I know not: Am I my brother's keeper?
4: 10 And he said, What hast thou done?
the voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground.
4: 11 And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand; 4: 12 When thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth.
4: 13 And Cain said unto the LORD, My punishment is greater than I can bear.
4: 14 Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth; and from thy face shall I be hid; and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth; and it shall come to pass, that every one that findeth me shall slay me.
4: 15 And the LORD said unto him, Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold.
And the LORD set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him.
4: 16 And Cain went out from the presence of the LORD, and dwelt in the land of Nod, on the east of Eden.
4: 17 And Cain knew his wife; and she conceived, and bare Enoch: and he builded a city, and called the name of the city, after the name of his son, Enoch.
4: 18 And unto Enoch was born Irad: and Irad begat Mehujael: and Mehujael begat Methusael: and Methusael begat Lamech.
4: 19 And Lamech took unto him two wives: the name of the one was Adah, and the name of the other Zillah.
4: 20 And Adah bare Jabal: he was the father of such as dwell in tents, and of such as have cattle.
4: 21 And his brother's name was Jubal: he was the father of all such as handle the harp and organ.
4: 22 And Zillah, she also bare Tubalcain, an instructer of every artificer in brass and iron: and the sister of Tubalcain was Naamah.
4: 23 And Lamech said unto his wives, Adah and Zillah, Hear my voice; ye wives of Lamech, hearken unto my speech: for I have slain a man to my wounding, and a young man to my hurt.
4: 24 If Cain shall be avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech seventy and sevenfold.
4: 25 And Adam knew his wife again; and she bare a son, and called his name Seth: For God, said she, hath appointed me another seed instead of Abel, whom Cain slew.
4: 26 And to Seth, to him also there was born a son; and he called his name Enos: then began men to call upon the name of the LORD.
5: 1 This is the book of the generations of Adam.
In the day that God created man, in the likeness of God made he him; 5: 2 Male and female created he them; and blessed them, and called their name Adam, in the day when they were created.
5: 6 And Seth lived an hundred and five years, and begat Enos: 5: 7 And Seth lived after he begat Enos eight hundred and seven years, and begat sons and daughters: 5: 8 And all the days of Seth were nine hundred and twelve years: and he died.
5: 9 And Enos lived ninety years, and begat Cainan: 5: 10 And Enos lived after he begat Cainan eight hundred and fifteen years, and begat sons and daughters: 5: 11 And all the days of Enos were nine hundred and five years: and he died.
5: 12 And Cainan lived seventy years and begat Mahalaleel: 5: 13 And Cainan lived after he begat Mahalaleel eight hundred and forty years, and begat sons and daughters: 5: 14 And all the days of Cainan were nine hundred and ten years: and he died.
5: 15 And Mahalaleel lived sixty and five years, and begat Jared: 5: 16 And Mahalaleel lived after he begat Jared eight hundred and thirty years, and begat sons and daughters: 5: 17 And all the days of Mahalaleel were eight hundred ninety and five years: and he died.
5: 18 And Jared lived an hundred sixty and two years, and he begat Enoch: 5: 19 And Jared lived after he begat Enoch eight hundred years, and begat sons and daughters: 5: 20 And all the days of Jared were nine hundred sixty and two years: and he died.
5: 25 And Methuselah lived an hundred eighty and seven years, and begat Lamech.
5: 26 And Methuselah lived after he begat Lamech seven hundred eighty and two years, and begat sons and daughters: 5: 27 And all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred sixty and nine years: and he died.
5: 28 And Lamech lived an hundred eighty and two years, and begat a son: 5: 29 And he called his name Noah, saying, This same shall comfort us concerning our work and toil of our hands, because of the ground which the LORD hath cursed.
5: 30 And Lamech lived after he begat Noah five hundred ninety and five years, and begat sons and daughters: 5: 31 And all the days of Lamech were seven hundred seventy and seven years: and he died.
5: 32 And Noah was five hundred years old: and Noah begat Shem, Ham, and Japheth.
6: 1 And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, 6: 2 That the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose.
6: 3 And the LORD said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, for that he also is flesh: yet his days shall be an hundred and twenty years.
6: 4 There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown.
6: 5 And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually.
6: 6 And it repented the LORD that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him at his heart.
6: 7 And the LORD said, I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth; both man, and beast, and the creeping thing, and the fowls of the air; for it repenteth me that I have made them.
6: 8 But Noah found grace in the eyes of the LORD.
6: 9 These are the generations of Noah: Noah was a just man and perfect in his generations, and Noah walked with God.
6: 10 And Noah begat three sons, Shem, Ham, and Japheth.
6: 11 The earth also was corrupt before God, and the earth was filled with violence.
6: 12 And God looked upon the earth, and, behold, it was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth.
6: 13 And God said unto Noah, The end of all flesh is come before me; for the earth is filled with violence through them; and, behold, I will destroy them with the earth.
6: 14 Make thee an ark of gopher wood; rooms shalt thou make in the ark, and shalt pitch it within and without with pitch.
6: 15 And this is the fashion which thou shalt make it of: The length of the ark shall be three hundred cubits, the breadth of it fifty cubits, and the height of it thirty cubits.
6: 16 A window shalt thou make to the ark, and in a cubit shalt thou finish it above; and the door of the ark shalt thou set in the side thereof; with lower, second, and third stories shalt thou make it.
6: 17 And, behold, I, even I, do bring a flood of waters upon the earth, to destroy all flesh, wherein is the breath of life, from under heaven; and every thing that is in the earth shall die.
6: 18 But with thee will I establish my covenant; and thou shalt come into the ark, thou, and thy sons, and thy wife, and thy sons'wives with thee.
6: 19 And of every living thing of all flesh, two of every sort shalt thou bring into the ark, to keep them alive with thee; they shall be male and female.
6: 20 Of fowls after their kind, and of cattle after their kind, of every creeping thing of the earth after his kind, two of every sort shall come unto thee, to keep them alive.
6: 21 And take thou unto thee of all food that is eaten, and thou shalt gather it to thee; and it shall be for food for thee, and for them.
6: 22 Thus did Noah; according to all that God commanded him, so did he.
7: 1 And the LORD said unto Noah, Come thou and all thy house into the ark; for thee have I seen righteous before me in this generation.
7: 2 Of every clean beast thou shalt take to thee by sevens, the male and his female: and of beasts that are not clean by two, the male and his female.
7: 3 Of fowls also of the air by sevens, the male and the female; to keep seed alive upon the face of all the earth.
7: 4 For yet seven days, and I will cause it to rain upon the earth forty days and forty nights; and every living substance that I have made will I destroy from off the face of the earth.
7: 5 And Noah did according unto all that the LORD commanded him.
7: 6 And Noah was six hundred years old when the flood of waters was upon the earth.
7: 7 And Noah went in, and his sons, and his wife, and his sons'wives with him, into the ark, because of the waters of the flood.
7: 8 Of clean beasts, and of beasts that are not clean, and of fowls, and of every thing that creepeth upon the earth, 7: 9 There went in two and two unto Noah into the ark, the male and the female, as God had commanded Noah.
7: 10 And it came to pass after seven days, that the waters of the flood were upon the earth.
7: 11 In the six hundredth year of Noah's life, in the second month, the seventeenth day of the month, the same day were all the fountains of the great deep broken up, and the windows of heaven were opened.
7: 12 And the rain was upon the earth forty days and forty nights.
7: 15 And they went in unto Noah into the ark, two and two of all flesh, wherein is the breath of life.
7: 16 And they that went in, went in male and female of all flesh, as God had commanded him: and the LORD shut him in.
7: 17 And the flood was forty days upon the earth; and the waters increased, and bare up the ark, and it was lift up above the earth.
7: 18 And the waters prevailed, and were increased greatly upon the earth; and the ark went upon the face of the waters.
7: 19 And the waters prevailed exceedingly upon the earth; and all the high hills, that were under the whole heaven, were covered.
7: 20 Fifteen cubits upward did the waters prevail; and the mountains were covered.
7: 21 And all flesh died that moved upon the earth, both of fowl, and of cattle, and of beast, and of every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth, and every man: 7: 22 All in whose nostrils was the breath of life, of all that was in the dry land, died.
7: 23 And every living substance was destroyed which was upon the face of the ground, both man, and cattle, and the creeping things, and the fowl of the heaven; and they were destroyed from the earth: and Noah only remained alive, and they that were with him in the ark.
7: 24 And the waters prevailed upon the earth an hundred and fifty days.
8: 4 And the ark rested in the seventh month, on the seventeenth day of the month, upon the mountains of Ararat.
8: 5 And the waters decreased continually until the tenth month: in the tenth month, on the first day of the month, were the tops of the mountains seen.
8: 6 And it came to pass at the end of forty days, that Noah opened the window of the ark which he had made: 8: 7 And he sent forth a raven, which went forth to and fro, until the waters were dried up from off the earth.
8: 10 And he stayed yet other seven days; and again he sent forth the dove out of the ark; 8: 11 And the dove came in to him in the evening; and, lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf pluckt off: so Noah knew that the waters were abated from off the earth.
8: 12 And he stayed yet other seven days; and sent forth the dove; which returned not again unto him any more.
8: 13 And it came to pass in the six hundredth and first year, in the first month, the first day of the month, the waters were dried up from off the earth: and Noah removed the covering of the ark, and looked, and, behold, the face of the ground was dry.
8: 14 And in the second month, on the seven and twentieth day of the month, was the earth dried.
8: 15 And God spake unto Noah, saying, 8: 16 Go forth of the ark, thou, and thy wife, and thy sons, and thy sons'wives with thee.
8: 17 Bring forth with thee every living thing that is with thee, of all flesh, both of fowl, and of cattle, and of every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth; that they may breed abundantly in the earth, and be fruitful, and multiply upon the earth.
8: 18 And Noah went forth, and his sons, and his wife, and his sons'wives with him: 8: 19 Every beast, every creeping thing, and every fowl, and whatsoever creepeth upon the earth, after their kinds, went forth out of the ark.
8: 20 And Noah builded an altar unto the LORD; and took of every clean beast, and of every clean fowl, and offered burnt offerings on the altar.
8: 21 And the LORD smelled a sweet savour; and the LORD said in his heart, I will not again curse the ground any more for man's sake; for the imagination of man's heart is evil from his youth; neither will I again smite any more every thing living, as I have done.
8: 22 While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease.
9: 1 And God blessed Noah and his sons, and said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth.
9: 2 And the fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth, and upon every fowl of the air, upon all that moveth upon the earth, and upon all the fishes of the sea; into your hand are they delivered.
9: 3 Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you; even as the green herb have I given you all things.
9: 4 But flesh with the life thereof, which is the blood thereof, shall ye not eat.
9: 5 And surely your blood of your lives will I require; at the hand of every beast will I require it, and at the hand of man; at the hand of every man's brother will I require the life of man.
9: 6 Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed: for in the image of God made he man.
9: 7 And you, be ye fruitful, and multiply; bring forth abundantly in the earth, and multiply therein.
9: 11 And I will establish my covenant with you, neither shall all flesh be cut off any more by the waters of a flood; neither shall there any more be a flood to destroy the earth.
9: 12 And God said, This is the token of the covenant which I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for perpetual generations: 9: 13 I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth.
9: 16 And the bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, that I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is upon the earth.
9: 17 And God said unto Noah, This is the token of the covenant, which I have established between me and all flesh that is upon the earth.
9: 18 And the sons of Noah, that went forth of the ark, were Shem, and Ham, and Japheth: and Ham is the father of Canaan.
9: 19 These are the three sons of Noah: and of them was the whole earth overspread.
9: 20 And Noah began to be an husbandman, and he planted a vineyard: 9: 21 And he drank of the wine, and was drunken; and he was uncovered within his tent.
9: 22 And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw the nakedness of his father, and told his two brethren without.
9: 23 And Shem and Japheth took a garment, and laid it upon both their shoulders, and went backward, and covered the nakedness of their father; and their faces were backward, and they saw not their father's nakedness.
9: 24 And Noah awoke from his wine, and knew what his younger son had done unto him.
9: 25 And he said, Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be unto his brethren.
9: 26 And he said, Blessed be the LORD God of Shem; and Canaan shall be his servant.
9: 27 God shall enlarge Japheth, and he shall dwell in the tents of Shem; and Canaan shall be his servant.
9: 28 And Noah lived after the flood three hundred and fifty years.
9: 29 And all the days of Noah were nine hundred and fifty years: and he died.
10: 1 Now these are the generations of the sons of Noah, Shem, Ham, and Japheth: and unto them were sons born after the flood.
10: 2 The sons of Japheth; Gomer, and Magog, and Madai, and Javan, and Tubal, and Meshech, and Tiras.
10: 3 And the sons of Gomer; Ashkenaz, and Riphath, and Togarmah.
10: 4 And the sons of Javan; Elishah, and Tarshish, Kittim, and Dodanim.
10: 5 By these were the isles of the Gentiles divided in their lands; every one after his tongue, after their families, in their nations.
10: 6 And the sons of Ham; Cush, and Mizraim, and Phut, and Canaan.
10: 7 And the sons of Cush; Seba, and Havilah, and Sabtah, and Raamah, and Sabtechah: and the sons of Raamah; Sheba, and Dedan.
10: 8 And Cush begat Nimrod: he began to be a mighty one in the earth.
10: 9 He was a mighty hunter before the LORD: wherefore it is said, Even as Nimrod the mighty hunter before the LORD.
10: 10 And the beginning of his kingdom was Babel, and Erech, and Accad, and Calneh, in the land of Shinar.
10: 11 Out of that land went forth Asshur, and builded Nineveh, and the city Rehoboth, and Calah, 10: 12 And Resen between Nineveh and Calah: the same is a great city.
10: 13 And Mizraim begat Ludim, and Anamim, and Lehabim, and Naphtuhim, 10: 14 And Pathrusim, and Casluhim, (out of whom came Philistim,) and Caphtorim.
10: 19 And the border of the Canaanites was from Sidon, as thou comest to Gerar, unto Gaza; as thou goest, unto Sodom, and Gomorrah, and Admah, and Zeboim, even unto Lasha.
10: 20 These are the sons of Ham, after their families, after their tongues, in their countries, and in their nations.
10: 21 Unto Shem also, the father of all the children of Eber, the brother of Japheth the elder, even to him were children born.
10: 22 The children of Shem; Elam, and Asshur, and Arphaxad, and Lud, and Aram.
10: 23 And the children of Aram; Uz, and Hul, and Gether, and Mash.
10: 24 And Arphaxad begat Salah; and Salah begat Eber.
10: 25 And unto Eber were born two sons: the name of one was Peleg; for in his days was the earth divided; and his brother's name was Joktan.
10: 26 And Joktan begat Almodad, and Sheleph, and Hazarmaveth, and Jerah, 10: 27 And Hadoram, and Uzal, and Diklah, 10: 28 And Obal, and Abimael, and Sheba, 10: 29 And Ophir, and Havilah, and Jobab: all these were the sons of Joktan.
10: 30 And their dwelling was from Mesha, as thou goest unto Sephar a mount of the east.
10: 31 These are the sons of Shem, after their families, after their tongues, in their lands, after their nations.
10: 32 These are the families of the sons of Noah, after their generations, in their nations: and by these were the nations divided in the earth after the flood.
11: 1 And the whole earth was of one language, and of one speech.
11: 2 And it came to pass, as they journeyed from the east, that they found a plain in the land of Shinar; and they dwelt there.
11: 3 And they said one to another, Go to, let us make brick, and burn them thoroughly.
And they had brick for stone, and slime had they for morter.
11: 4 And they said, Go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven; and let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.
11: 5 And the LORD came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of men builded.
11: 6 And the LORD said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all one language; and this they begin to do: and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do.
11: 7 Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech.
11: 8 So the LORD scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth: and they left off to build the city.
11: 9 Therefore is the name of it called Babel; because the LORD did there confound the language of all the earth: and from thence did the LORD scatter them abroad upon the face of all the earth.
11: 10 These are the generations of Shem: Shem was an hundred years old, and begat Arphaxad two years after the flood: 11: 11 And Shem lived after he begat Arphaxad five hundred years, and begat sons and daughters.
11: 12 And Arphaxad lived five and thirty years, and begat Salah: 11: 13 And Arphaxad lived after he begat Salah four hundred and three years, and begat sons and daughters.
11: 14 And Salah lived thirty years, and begat Eber: 11: 15 And Salah lived after he begat Eber four hundred and three years, and begat sons and daughters.
11: 16 And Eber lived four and thirty years, and begat Peleg: 11: 17 And Eber lived after he begat Peleg four hundred and thirty years, and begat sons and daughters.
11: 18 And Peleg lived thirty years, and begat Reu: 11: 19 And Peleg lived after he begat Reu two hundred and nine years, and begat sons and daughters.
11: 20 And Reu lived two and thirty years, and begat Serug: 11: 21 And Reu lived after he begat Serug two hundred and seven years, and begat sons and daughters.
11: 22 And Serug lived thirty years, and begat Nahor: 11: 23 And Serug lived after he begat Nahor two hundred years, and begat sons and daughters.
11: 24 And Nahor lived nine and twenty years, and begat Terah: 11: 25 And Nahor lived after he begat Terah an hundred and nineteen years, and begat sons and daughters.
11: 26 And Terah lived seventy years, and begat Abram, Nahor, and Haran.
11: 27 Now these are the generations of Terah: Terah begat Abram, Nahor, and Haran; and Haran begat Lot.
11: 28 And Haran died before his father Terah in the land of his nativity, in Ur of the Chaldees.
11: 29 And Abram and Nahor took them wives: the name of Abram's wife was Sarai; and the name of Nahor's wife, Milcah, the daughter of Haran, the father of Milcah, and the father of Iscah.
11: 30 But Sarai was barren; she had no child.
11: 31 And Terah took Abram his son, and Lot the son of Haran his son's son, and Sarai his daughter in law, his son Abram's wife; and they went forth with them from Ur of the Chaldees, to go into the land of Canaan; and they came unto Haran, and dwelt there.
11: 32 And the days of Terah were two hundred and five years: and Terah died in Haran.
12: 4 So Abram departed, as the LORD had spoken unto him; and Lot went with him: and Abram was seventy and five years old when he departed out of Haran.
12: 5 And Abram took Sarai his wife, and Lot his brother's son, and all their substance that they had gathered, and the souls that they had gotten in Haran; and they went forth to go into the land of Canaan; and into the land of Canaan they came.
12: 6 And Abram passed through the land unto the place of Sichem, unto the plain of Moreh.
And the Canaanite was then in the land.
12: 7 And the LORD appeared unto Abram, and said, Unto thy seed will I give this land: and there builded he an altar unto the LORD, who appeared unto him.
12: 8 And he removed from thence unto a mountain on the east of Bethel, and pitched his tent, having Bethel on the west, and Hai on the east: and there he builded an altar unto the LORD, and called upon the name of the LORD.
12: 9 And Abram journeyed, going on still toward the south.
12: 10 And there was a famine in the land: and Abram went down into Egypt to sojourn there; for the famine was grievous in the land.
12: 13 Say, I pray thee, thou art my sister: that it may be well with me for thy sake; and my soul shall live because of thee.
12: 14 And it came to pass, that, when Abram was come into Egypt, the Egyptians beheld the woman that she was very fair.
12: 15 The princes also of Pharaoh saw her, and commended her before Pharaoh: and the woman was taken into Pharaoh's house.
12: 16 And he entreated Abram well for her sake: and he had sheep, and oxen, and he asses, and menservants, and maidservants, and she asses, and camels.
12: 17 And the LORD plagued Pharaoh and his house with great plagues because of Sarai Abram's wife.
12: 18 And Pharaoh called Abram and said, What is this that thou hast done unto me?
why didst thou not tell me that she was thy wife?
12: 19 Why saidst thou, She is my sister?
so I might have taken her to me to wife: now therefore behold thy wife, take her, and go thy way.
12: 20 And Pharaoh commanded his men concerning him: and they sent him away, and his wife, and all that he had.
13: 1 And Abram went up out of Egypt, he, and his wife, and all that he had, and Lot with him, into the south.
13: 2 And Abram was very rich in cattle, in silver, and in gold.
13: 3 And he went on his journeys from the south even to Bethel, unto the place where his tent had been at the beginning, between Bethel and Hai; 13: 4 Unto the place of the altar, which he had make there at the first: and there Abram called on the name of the LORD.
13: 5 And Lot also, which went with Abram, had flocks, and herds, and tents.
13: 6 And the land was not able to bear them, that they might dwell together: for their substance was great, so that they could not dwell together.
13: 7 And there was a strife between the herdmen of Abram's cattle and the herdmen of Lot's cattle: and the Canaanite and the Perizzite dwelled then in the land.
13: 8 And Abram said unto Lot, Let there be no strife, I pray thee, between me and thee, and between my herdmen and thy herdmen; for we be brethren.
13: 9 Is not the whole land before thee?
separate thyself, I pray thee, from me: if thou wilt take the left hand, then I will go to the right; or if thou depart to the right hand, then I will go to the left.
13: 10 And Lot lifted up his eyes, and beheld all the plain of Jordan, that it was well watered every where, before the LORD destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, even as the garden of the LORD, like the land of Egypt, as thou comest unto Zoar.
13: 11 Then Lot chose him all the plain of Jordan; and Lot journeyed east: and they separated themselves the one from the other.
13: 12 Abram dwelled in the land of Canaan, and Lot dwelled in the cities of the plain, and pitched his tent toward Sodom.
13: 13 But the men of Sodom were wicked and sinners before the LORD exceedingly.
13: 16 And I will make thy seed as the dust of the earth: so that if a man can number the dust of the earth, then shall thy seed also be numbered.
13: 17 Arise, walk through the land in the length of it and in the breadth of it; for I will give it unto thee.
13: 18 Then Abram removed his tent, and came and dwelt in the plain of Mamre, which is in Hebron, and built there an altar unto the LORD.
14: 3 All these were joined together in the vale of Siddim, which is the salt sea.
14: 4 Twelve years they served Chedorlaomer, and in the thirteenth year they rebelled.
14: 5 And in the fourteenth year came Chedorlaomer, and the kings that were with him, and smote the Rephaims in Ashteroth Karnaim, and the Zuzims in Ham, and the Emins in Shaveh Kiriathaim, 14: 6 And the Horites in their mount Seir, unto Elparan, which is by the wilderness.
14: 7 And they returned, and came to Enmishpat, which is Kadesh, and smote all the country of the Amalekites, and also the Amorites, that dwelt in Hazezontamar.
14: 10 And the vale of Siddim was full of slimepits; and the kings of Sodom and Gomorrah fled, and fell there; and they that remained fled to the mountain.
14: 11 And they took all the goods of Sodom and Gomorrah, and all their victuals, and went their way.
14: 12 And they took Lot, Abram's brother's son, who dwelt in Sodom, and his goods, and departed.
14: 13 And there came one that had escaped, and told Abram the Hebrew; for he dwelt in the plain of Mamre the Amorite, brother of Eshcol, and brother of Aner: and these were confederate with Abram.
14: 14 And when Abram heard that his brother was taken captive, he armed his trained servants, born in his own house, three hundred and eighteen, and pursued them unto Dan.
14: 15 And he divided himself against them, he and his servants, by night, and smote them, and pursued them unto Hobah, which is on the left hand of Damascus.
14: 16 And he brought back all the goods, and also brought again his brother Lot, and his goods, and the women also, and the people.
14: 17 And the king of Sodom went out to meet him after his return from the slaughter of Chedorlaomer, and of the kings that were with him, at the valley of Shaveh, which is the king's dale.
14: 18 And Melchizedek king of Salem brought forth bread and wine: and he was the priest of the most high God.
14: 19 And he blessed him, and said, Blessed be Abram of the most high God, possessor of heaven and earth: 14: 20 And blessed be the most high God, which hath delivered thine enemies into thy hand.
And he gave him tithes of all.
14: 21 And the king of Sodom said unto Abram, Give me the persons, and take the goods to thyself.
15: 1 After these things the word of the LORD came unto Abram in a vision, saying, Fear not, Abram: I am thy shield, and thy exceeding great reward.
15: 2 And Abram said, LORD God, what wilt thou give me, seeing I go childless, and the steward of my house is this Eliezer of Damascus?
15: 3 And Abram said, Behold, to me thou hast given no seed: and, lo, one born in my house is mine heir.
15: 4 And, behold, the word of the LORD came unto him, saying, This shall not be thine heir; but he that shall come forth out of thine own bowels shall be thine heir.
15: 5 And he brought him forth abroad, and said, Look now toward heaven, and tell the stars, if thou be able to number them: and he said unto him, So shall thy seed be.
15: 6 And he believed in the LORD; and he counted it to him for righteousness.
15: 7 And he said unto him, I am the LORD that brought thee out of Ur of the Chaldees, to give thee this land to inherit it.
15: 8 And he said, LORD God, whereby shall I know that I shall inherit it?
15: 9 And he said unto him, Take me an heifer of three years old, and a she goat of three years old, and a ram of three years old, and a turtledove, and a young pigeon.
15: 10 And he took unto him all these, and divided them in the midst, and laid each piece one against another: but the birds divided he not.
15: 11 And when the fowls came down upon the carcases, Abram drove them away.
15: 12 And when the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram; and, lo, an horror of great darkness fell upon him.
15: 15 And thou shalt go to thy fathers in peace; thou shalt be buried in a good old age.
15: 16 But in the fourth generation they shall come hither again: for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet full.
15: 17 And it came to pass, that, when the sun went down, and it was dark, behold a smoking furnace, and a burning lamp that passed between those pieces.
16: 1 Now Sarai Abram's wife bare him no children: and she had an handmaid, an Egyptian, whose name was Hagar.
16: 2 And Sarai said unto Abram, Behold now, the LORD hath restrained me from bearing: I pray thee, go in unto my maid; it may be that I may obtain children by her.
And Abram hearkened to the voice of Sarai.
16: 3 And Sarai Abram's wife took Hagar her maid the Egyptian, after Abram had dwelt ten years in the land of Canaan, and gave her to her husband Abram to be his wife.
16: 4 And he went in unto Hagar, and she conceived: and when she saw that she had conceived, her mistress was despised in her eyes.
16: 5 And Sarai said unto Abram, My wrong be upon thee: I have given my maid into thy bosom; and when she saw that she had conceived, I was despised in her eyes: the LORD judge between me and thee.
16: 6 But Abram said unto Sarai, Behold, thy maid is in thine hand; do to her as it pleaseth thee.
And when Sarai dealt hardly with her, she fled from her face.
16: 7 And the angel of the LORD found her by a fountain of water in the wilderness, by the fountain in the way to Shur.
16: 8 And he said, Hagar, Sarai's maid, whence camest thou?
and whither wilt thou go?
And she said, I flee from the face of my mistress Sarai.
16: 9 And the angel of the LORD said unto her, Return to thy mistress, and submit thyself under her hands.
16: 10 And the angel of the LORD said unto her, I will multiply thy seed exceedingly, that it shall not be numbered for multitude.
16: 11 And the angel of the LORD said unto her, Behold, thou art with child and shalt bear a son, and shalt call his name Ishmael; because the LORD hath heard thy affliction.
16: 12 And he will be a wild man; his hand will be against every man, and every man's hand against him; and he shall dwell in the presence of all his brethren.
16: 13 And she called the name of the LORD that spake unto her, Thou God seest me: for she said, Have I also here looked after him that seeth me?
16: 14 Wherefore the well was called Beerlahairoi; behold, it is between Kadesh and Bered.
16: 15 And Hagar bare Abram a son: and Abram called his son's name, which Hagar bare, Ishmael.
16: 16 And Abram was fourscore and six years old, when Hagar bare Ishmael to Abram.
17: 1 And when Abram was ninety years old and nine, the LORD appeared to Abram, and said unto him, I am the Almighty God; walk before me, and be thou perfect.
17: 2 And I will make my covenant between me and thee, and will multiply thee exceedingly.
17: 3 And Abram fell on his face: and God talked with him, saying, 17: 4 As for me, behold, my covenant is with thee, and thou shalt be a father of many nations.
17: 5 Neither shall thy name any more be called Abram, but thy name shall be Abraham; for a father of many nations have I made thee.
17: 6 And I will make thee exceeding fruitful, and I will make nations of thee, and kings shall come out of thee.
17: 7 And I will establish my covenant between me and thee and thy seed after thee in their generations for an everlasting covenant, to be a God unto thee, and to thy seed after thee.
17: 8 And I will give unto thee, and to thy seed after thee, the land wherein thou art a stranger, all the land of Canaan, for an everlasting possession; and I will be their God.
17: 9 And God said unto Abraham, Thou shalt keep my covenant therefore, thou, and thy seed after thee in their generations.
17: 10 This is my covenant, which ye shall keep, between me and you and thy seed after thee; Every man child among you shall be circumcised.
17: 11 And ye shall circumcise the flesh of your foreskin; and it shall be a token of the covenant betwixt me and you.
17: 12 And he that is eight days old shall be circumcised among you, every man child in your generations, he that is born in the house, or bought with money of any stranger, which is not of thy seed.
17: 13 He that is born in thy house, and he that is bought with thy money, must needs be circumcised: and my covenant shall be in your flesh for an everlasting covenant.
17: 14 And the uncircumcised man child whose flesh of his foreskin is not circumcised, that soul shall be cut off from his people; he hath broken my covenant.
17: 15 And God said unto Abraham, As for Sarai thy wife, thou shalt not call her name Sarai, but Sarah shall her name be.
17: 16 And I will bless her, and give thee a son also of her: yea, I will bless her, and she shall be a mother of nations; kings of people shall be of her.
17: 17 Then Abraham fell upon his face, and laughed, and said in his heart, Shall a child be born unto him that is an hundred years old?
and shall Sarah, that is ninety years old, bear?
17: 18 And Abraham said unto God, O that Ishmael might live before thee!
17: 19 And God said, Sarah thy wife shall bear thee a son indeed; and thou shalt call his name Isaac: and I will establish my covenant with him for an everlasting covenant, and with his seed after him.
17: 20 And as for Ishmael, I have heard thee: Behold, I have blessed him, and will make him fruitful, and will multiply him exceedingly; twelve princes shall he beget, and I will make him a great nation.
17: 21 But my covenant will I establish with Isaac, which Sarah shall bear unto thee at this set time in the next year.
17: 22 And he left off talking with him, and God went up from Abraham.
17: 23 And Abraham took Ishmael his son, and all that were born in his house, and all that were bought with his money, every male among the men of Abraham's house; and circumcised the flesh of their foreskin in the selfsame day, as God had said unto him.
17: 24 And Abraham was ninety years old and nine, when he was circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin.
17: 25 And Ishmael his son was thirteen years old, when he was circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin.
17: 26 In the selfsame day was Abraham circumcised, and Ishmael his son.
17: 27 And all the men of his house, born in the house, and bought with money of the stranger, were circumcised with him.
And they said, So do, as thou hast said.
18: 6 And Abraham hastened into the tent unto Sarah, and said, Make ready quickly three measures of fine meal, knead it, and make cakes upon the hearth.
18: 7 And Abraham ran unto the herd, and fetcht a calf tender and good, and gave it unto a young man; and he hasted to dress it.
18: 8 And he took butter, and milk, and the calf which he had dressed, and set it before them; and he stood by them under the tree, and they did eat.
18: 9 And they said unto him, Where is Sarah thy wife?
And he said, Behold, in the tent.
18: 10 And he said, I will certainly return unto thee according to the time of life; and, lo, Sarah thy wife shall have a son.
And Sarah heard it in the tent door, which was behind him.
18: 11 Now Abraham and Sarah were old and well stricken in age; and it ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women.
18: 12 Therefore Sarah laughed within herself, saying, After I am waxed old shall I have pleasure, my lord being old also?
18: 13 And the LORD said unto Abraham, Wherefore did Sarah laugh, saying, Shall I of a surety bear a child, which am old?
18: 14 Is any thing too hard for the LORD?
At the time appointed I will return unto thee, according to the time of life, and Sarah shall have a son.
18: 15 Then Sarah denied, saying, I laughed not; for she was afraid.
And he said, Nay; but thou didst laugh.
18: 16 And the men rose up from thence, and looked toward Sodom: and Abraham went with them to bring them on the way.
18: 17 And the LORD said, Shall I hide from Abraham that thing which I do; 18: 18 Seeing that Abraham shall surely become a great and mighty nation, and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed in him?
18: 19 For I know him, that he will command his children and his household after him, and they shall keep the way of the LORD, to do justice and judgment; that the LORD may bring upon Abraham that which he hath spoken of him.
18: 20 And the LORD said, Because the cry of Sodom and Gomorrah is great, and because their sin is very grievous; 18: 21 I will go down now, and see whether they have done altogether according to the cry of it, which is come unto me; and if not, I will know.
18: 22 And the men turned their faces from thence, and went toward Sodom: but Abraham stood yet before the LORD.
18: 23 And Abraham drew near, and said, Wilt thou also destroy the righteous with the wicked?
18: 24 Peradventure there be fifty righteous within the city: wilt thou also destroy and not spare the place for the fifty righteous that are therein?
18: 25 That be far from thee to do after this manner, to slay the righteous with the wicked: and that the righteous should be as the wicked, that be far from thee: Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?
18: 26 And the LORD said, If I find in Sodom fifty righteous within the city, then I will spare all the place for their sakes.
18: 27 And Abraham answered and said, Behold now, I have taken upon me to speak unto the LORD, which am but dust and ashes: 18: 28 Peradventure there shall lack five of the fifty righteous: wilt thou destroy all the city for lack of five?
And he said, If I find there forty and five, I will not destroy it.
18: 29 And he spake unto him yet again, and said, Peradventure there shall be forty found there.
And he said, I will not do it for forty's sake.
18: 30 And he said unto him, Oh let not the LORD be angry, and I will speak: Peradventure there shall thirty be found there.
And he said, I will not do it, if I find thirty there.
18: 31 And he said, Behold now, I have taken upon me to speak unto the LORD: Peradventure there shall be twenty found there.
And he said, I will not destroy it for twenty's sake.
18: 32 And he said, Oh let not the LORD be angry, and I will speak yet but this once: Peradventure ten shall be found there.
And he said, I will not destroy it for ten's sake.
18: 33 And the LORD went his way, as soon as he had left communing with Abraham: and Abraham returned unto his place.
And they said, Nay; but we will abide in the street all night.
19: 3 And he pressed upon them greatly; and they turned in unto him, and entered into his house; and he made them a feast, and did bake unleavened bread, and they did eat.
19: 4 But before they lay down, the men of the city, even the men of Sodom, compassed the house round, both old and young, all the people from every quarter: 19: 5 And they called unto Lot, and said unto him, Where are the men which came in to thee this night?
bring them out unto us, that we may know them.
19: 6 And Lot went out at the door unto them, and shut the door after him, 19: 7 And said, I pray you, brethren, do not so wickedly.
19: 8 Behold now, I have two daughters which have not known man; let me, I pray you, bring them out unto you, and do ye to them as is good in your eyes: only unto these men do nothing; for therefore came they under the shadow of my roof.
19: 9 And they said, Stand back.
And they said again, This one fellow came in to sojourn, and he will needs be a judge: now will we deal worse with thee, than with them.
And they pressed sore upon the man, even Lot, and came near to break the door.
19: 10 But the men put forth their hand, and pulled Lot into the house to them, and shut to the door.
19: 11 And they smote the men that were at the door of the house with blindness, both small and great: so that they wearied themselves to find the door.
19: 12 And the men said unto Lot, Hast thou here any besides?
son in law, and thy sons, and thy daughters, and whatsoever thou hast in the city, bring them out of this place: 19: 13 For we will destroy this place, because the cry of them is waxen great before the face of the LORD; and the LORD hath sent us to destroy it.
19: 14 And Lot went out, and spake unto his sons in law, which married his daughters, and said, Up, get you out of this place; for the LORD will destroy this city.
But he seemed as one that mocked unto his sons in law.
19: 15 And when the morning arose, then the angels hastened Lot, saying, Arise, take thy wife, and thy two daughters, which are here; lest thou be consumed in the iniquity of the city.
19: 16 And while he lingered, the men laid hold upon his hand, and upon the hand of his wife, and upon the hand of his two daughters; the LORD being merciful unto him: and they brought him forth, and set him without the city.
19: 17 And it came to pass, when they had brought them forth abroad, that he said, Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed.
and my soul shall live.
19: 21 And he said unto him, See, I have accepted thee concerning this thing also, that I will not overthrow this city, for the which thou hast spoken.
19: 22 Haste thee, escape thither; for I cannot do anything till thou be come thither.
Therefore the name of the city was called Zoar.
19: 23 The sun was risen upon the earth when Lot entered into Zoar.
19: 24 Then the LORD rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the LORD out of heaven; 19: 25 And he overthrew those cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground.
19: 26 But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt.
19: 27 And Abraham gat up early in the morning to the place where he stood before the LORD: 19: 28 And he looked toward Sodom and Gomorrah, and toward all the land of the plain, and beheld, and, lo, the smoke of the country went up as the smoke of a furnace.
19: 29 And it came to pass, when God destroyed the cities of the plain, that God remembered Abraham, and sent Lot out of the midst of the overthrow, when he overthrew the cities in the which Lot dwelt.
19: 30 And Lot went up out of Zoar, and dwelt in the mountain, and his two daughters with him; for he feared to dwell in Zoar: and he dwelt in a cave, he and his two daughters.
19: 31 And the firstborn said unto the younger, Our father is old, and there is not a man in the earth to come in unto us after the manner of all the earth: 19: 32 Come, let us make our father drink wine, and we will lie with him, that we may preserve seed of our father.
19: 33 And they made their father drink wine that night: and the firstborn went in, and lay with her father; and he perceived not when she lay down, nor when she arose.
19: 34 And it came to pass on the morrow, that the firstborn said unto the younger, Behold, I lay yesternight with my father: let us make him drink wine this night also; and go thou in, and lie with him, that we may preserve seed of our father.
19: 35 And they made their father drink wine that night also: and the younger arose, and lay with him; and he perceived not when she lay down, nor when she arose.
19: 36 Thus were both the daughters of Lot with child by their father.
19: 37 And the first born bare a son, and called his name Moab: the same is the father of the Moabites unto this day.
19: 38 And the younger, she also bare a son, and called his name Benammi: the same is the father of the children of Ammon unto this day.
20: 1 And Abraham journeyed from thence toward the south country, and dwelled between Kadesh and Shur, and sojourned in Gerar.
20: 2 And Abraham said of Sarah his wife, She is my sister: and Abimelech king of Gerar sent, and took Sarah.
20: 3 But God came to Abimelech in a dream by night, and said to him, Behold, thou art but a dead man, for the woman which thou hast taken; for she is a man's wife.
20: 4 But Abimelech had not come near her: and he said, LORD, wilt thou slay also a righteous nation?
20: 5 Said he not unto me, She is my sister?
and she, even she herself said, He is my brother: in the integrity of my heart and innocency of my hands have I done this.
20: 6 And God said unto him in a dream, Yea, I know that thou didst this in the integrity of thy heart; for I also withheld thee from sinning against me: therefore suffered I thee not to touch her.
20: 7 Now therefore restore the man his wife; for he is a prophet, and he shall pray for thee, and thou shalt live: and if thou restore her not, know thou that thou shalt surely die, thou, and all that are thine.
20: 8 Therefore Abimelech rose early in the morning, and called all his servants, and told all these things in their ears: and the men were sore afraid.
20: 9 Then Abimelech called Abraham, and said unto him, What hast thou done unto us?
and what have I offended thee, that thou hast brought on me and on my kingdom a great sin?
thou hast done deeds unto me that ought not to be done.
20: 10 And Abimelech said unto Abraham, What sawest thou, that thou hast done this thing?
20: 11 And Abraham said, Because I thought, Surely the fear of God is not in this place; and they will slay me for my wife's sake.
20: 12 And yet indeed she is my sister; she is the daughter of my father, but not the daughter of my mother; and she became my wife.
20: 13 And it came to pass, when God caused me to wander from my father's house, that I said unto her, This is thy kindness which thou shalt shew unto me; at every place whither we shall come, say of me, He is my brother.
20: 14 And Abimelech took sheep, and oxen, and menservants, and womenservants, and gave them unto Abraham, and restored him Sarah his wife.
20: 15 And Abimelech said, Behold, my land is before thee: dwell where it pleaseth thee.
20: 16 And unto Sarah he said, Behold, I have given thy brother a thousand pieces of silver: behold, he is to thee a covering of the eyes, unto all that are with thee, and with all other: thus she was reproved.
20: 17 So Abraham prayed unto God: and God healed Abimelech, and his wife, and his maidservants; and they bare children.
20: 18 For the LORD had fast closed up all the wombs of the house of Abimelech, because of Sarah Abraham's wife.
21: 1 And the LORD visited Sarah as he had said, and the LORD did unto Sarah as he had spoken.
21: 2 For Sarah conceived, and bare Abraham a son in his old age, at the set time of which God had spoken to him.
21: 3 And Abraham called the name of his son that was born unto him, whom Sarah bare to him, Isaac.
21: 4 And Abraham circumcised his son Isaac being eight days old, as God had commanded him.
21: 5 And Abraham was an hundred years old, when his son Isaac was born unto him.
21: 6 And Sarah said, God hath made me to laugh, so that all that hear will laugh with me.
21: 7 And she said, Who would have said unto Abraham, that Sarah should have given children suck?
for I have born him a son in his old age.
21: 8 And the child grew, and was weaned: and Abraham made a great feast the same day that Isaac was weaned.
21: 9 And Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, which she had born unto Abraham, mocking.
21: 10 Wherefore she said unto Abraham, Cast out this bondwoman and her son: for the son of this bondwoman shall not be heir with my son, even with Isaac.
21: 11 And the thing was very grievous in Abraham's sight because of his son.
21: 12 And God said unto Abraham, Let it not be grievous in thy sight because of the lad, and because of thy bondwoman; in all that Sarah hath said unto thee, hearken unto her voice; for in Isaac shall thy seed be called.
21: 13 And also of the son of the bondwoman will I make a nation, because he is thy seed.
21: 14 And Abraham rose up early in the morning, and took bread, and a bottle of water, and gave it unto Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, and the child, and sent her away: and she departed, and wandered in the wilderness of Beersheba.
21: 15 And the water was spent in the bottle, and she cast the child under one of the shrubs.
21: 16 And she went, and sat her down over against him a good way off, as it were a bow shot: for she said, Let me not see the death of the child.
And she sat over against him, and lift up her voice, and wept.
21: 17 And God heard the voice of the lad; and the angel of God called to Hagar out of heaven, and said unto her, What aileth thee, Hagar?
fear not; for God hath heard the voice of the lad where he is.
21: 18 Arise, lift up the lad, and hold him in thine hand; for I will make him a great nation.
21: 19 And God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water; and she went, and filled the bottle with water, and gave the lad drink.
21: 20 And God was with the lad; and he grew, and dwelt in the wilderness, and became an archer.
21: 21 And he dwelt in the wilderness of Paran: and his mother took him a wife out of the land of Egypt.
21: 24 And Abraham said, I will swear.
21: 25 And Abraham reproved Abimelech because of a well of water, which Abimelech's servants had violently taken away.
21: 26 And Abimelech said, I wot not who hath done this thing; neither didst thou tell me, neither yet heard I of it, but to day.
21: 27 And Abraham took sheep and oxen, and gave them unto Abimelech; and both of them made a covenant.
21: 28 And Abraham set seven ewe lambs of the flock by themselves.
21: 29 And Abimelech said unto Abraham, What mean these seven ewe lambs which thou hast set by themselves?
21: 30 And he said, For these seven ewe lambs shalt thou take of my hand, that they may be a witness unto me, that I have digged this well.
21: 31 Wherefore he called that place Beersheba; because there they sware both of them.
21: 32 Thus they made a covenant at Beersheba: then Abimelech rose up, and Phichol the chief captain of his host, and they returned into the land of the Philistines.
21: 33 And Abraham planted a grove in Beersheba, and called there on the name of the LORD, the everlasting God.
21: 34 And Abraham sojourned in the Philistines'land many days.
22: 1 And it came to pass after these things, that God did tempt Abraham, and said unto him, Abraham: and he said, Behold, here I am.
22: 2 And he said, Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.
22: 3 And Abraham rose up early in the morning, and saddled his ass, and took two of his young men with him, and Isaac his son, and clave the wood for the burnt offering, and rose up, and went unto the place of which God had told him.
22: 4 Then on the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes, and saw the place afar off.
22: 5 And Abraham said unto his young men, Abide ye here with the ass; and I and the lad will go yonder and worship, and come again to you.
22: 6 And Abraham took the wood of the burnt offering, and laid it upon Isaac his son; and he took the fire in his hand, and a knife; and they went both of them together.
22: 7 And Isaac spake unto Abraham his father, and said, My father: and he said, Here am I, my son.
And he said, Behold the fire and the wood: but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?
22: 8 And Abraham said, My son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering: so they went both of them together.
22: 9 And they came to the place which God had told him of; and Abraham built an altar there, and laid the wood in order, and bound Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar upon the wood.
22: 10 And Abraham stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son.
22: 11 And the angel of the LORD called unto him out of heaven, and said, Abraham, Abraham: and he said, Here am I.
22: 12 And he said, Lay not thine hand upon the lad, neither do thou any thing unto him: for now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son from me.
22: 13 And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold behind him a ram caught in a thicket by his horns: and Abraham went and took the ram, and offered him up for a burnt offering in the stead of his son.
22: 14 And Abraham called the name of that place Jehovahjireh: as it is said to this day, In the mount of the LORD it shall be seen.
22: 19 So Abraham returned unto his young men, and they rose up and went together to Beersheba; and Abraham dwelt at Beersheba.
22: 23 And Bethuel begat Rebekah: these eight Milcah did bear to Nahor, Abraham's brother.
22: 24 And his concubine, whose name was Reumah, she bare also Tebah, and Gaham, and Thahash, and Maachah.
23: 1 And Sarah was an hundred and seven and twenty years old: these were the years of the life of Sarah.
23: 2 And Sarah died in Kirjatharba; the same is Hebron in the land of Canaan: and Abraham came to mourn for Sarah, and to weep for her.
23: 3 And Abraham stood up from before his dead, and spake unto the sons of Heth, saying, 23: 4 I am a stranger and a sojourner with you: give me a possession of a buryingplace with you, that I may bury my dead out of my sight.
23: 5 And the children of Heth answered Abraham, saying unto him, 23: 6 Hear us, my lord: thou art a mighty prince among us: in the choice of our sepulchres bury thy dead; none of us shall withhold from thee his sepulchre, but that thou mayest bury thy dead.
23: 7 And Abraham stood up, and bowed himself to the people of the land, even to the children of Heth.
23: 12 And Abraham bowed down himself before the people of the land.
23: 13 And he spake unto Ephron in the audience of the people of the land, saying, But if thou wilt give it, I pray thee, hear me: I will give thee money for the field; take it of me, and I will bury my dead there.
23: 14 And Ephron answered Abraham, saying unto him, 23: 15 My lord, hearken unto me: the land is worth four hundred shekels of silver; what is that betwixt me and thee?
bury therefore thy dead.
23: 16 And Abraham hearkened unto Ephron; and Abraham weighed to Ephron the silver, which he had named in the audience of the sons of Heth, four hundred shekels of silver, current money with the merchant.
23: 19 And after this, Abraham buried Sarah his wife in the cave of the field of Machpelah before Mamre: the same is Hebron in the land of Canaan.
23: 20 And the field, and the cave that is therein, were made sure unto Abraham for a possession of a buryingplace by the sons of Heth.
24: 1 And Abraham was old, and well stricken in age: and the LORD had blessed Abraham in all things.
24: 5 And the servant said unto him, Peradventure the woman will not be willing to follow me unto this land: must I needs bring thy son again unto the land from whence thou camest?
24: 6 And Abraham said unto him, Beware thou that thou bring not my son thither again.
24: 8 And if the woman will not be willing to follow thee, then thou shalt be clear from this my oath: only bring not my son thither again.
24: 9 And the servant put his hand under the thigh of Abraham his master, and sware to him concerning that matter.
24: 10 And the servant took ten camels of the camels of his master, and departed; for all the goods of his master were in his hand: and he arose, and went to Mesopotamia, unto the city of Nahor.
24: 11 And he made his camels to kneel down without the city by a well of water at the time of the evening, even the time that women go out to draw water.
24: 12 And he said O LORD God of my master Abraham, I pray thee, send me good speed this day, and shew kindness unto my master Abraham.
24: 15 And it came to pass, before he had done speaking, that, behold, Rebekah came out, who was born to Bethuel, son of Milcah, the wife of Nahor, Abraham's brother, with her pitcher upon her shoulder.
24: 16 And the damsel was very fair to look upon, a virgin, neither had any man known her: and she went down to the well, and filled her pitcher, and came up.
24: 17 And the servant ran to meet her, and said, Let me, I pray thee, drink a little water of thy pitcher.
24: 18 And she said, Drink, my lord: and she hasted, and let down her pitcher upon her hand, and gave him drink.
24: 19 And when she had done giving him drink, she said, I will draw water for thy camels also, until they have done drinking.
24: 20 And she hasted, and emptied her pitcher into the trough, and ran again unto the well to draw water, and drew for all his camels.
24: 21 And the man wondering at her held his peace, to wit whether the LORD had made his journey prosperous or not.
24: 22 And it came to pass, as the camels had done drinking, that the man took a golden earring of half a shekel weight, and two bracelets for her hands of ten shekels weight of gold; 24: 23 And said, Whose daughter art thou?
tell me, I pray thee: is there room in thy father's house for us to lodge in?
24: 24 And she said unto him, I am the daughter of Bethuel the son of Milcah, which she bare unto Nahor.
24: 25 She said moreover unto him, We have both straw and provender enough, and room to lodge in.
24: 26 And the man bowed down his head, and worshipped the LORD.
24: 27 And he said, Blessed be the LORD God of my master Abraham, who hath not left destitute my master of his mercy and his truth: I being in the way, the LORD led me to the house of my master's brethren.
24: 28 And the damsel ran, and told them of her mother's house these things.
24: 29 And Rebekah had a brother, and his name was Laban: and Laban ran out unto the man, unto the well.
24: 30 And it came to pass, when he saw the earring and bracelets upon his sister's hands, and when he heard the words of Rebekah his sister, saying, Thus spake the man unto me; that he came unto the man; and, behold, he stood by the camels at the well.
24: 31 And he said, Come in, thou blessed of the LORD; wherefore standest thou without?
for I have prepared the house, and room for the camels.
24: 32 And the man came into the house: and he ungirded his camels, and gave straw and provender for the camels, and water to wash his feet, and the men's feet that were with him.
24: 33 And there was set meat before him to eat: but he said, I will not eat, until I have told mine errand.
And he said, Speak on.
24: 34 And he said, I am Abraham's servant.
24: 35 And the LORD hath blessed my master greatly; and he is become great: and he hath given him flocks, and herds, and silver, and gold, and menservants, and maidservants, and camels, and asses.
24: 36 And Sarah my master's wife bare a son to my master when she was old: and unto him hath he given all that he hath.
24: 37 And my master made me swear, saying, Thou shalt not take a wife to my son of the daughters of the Canaanites, in whose land I dwell: 24: 38 But thou shalt go unto my father's house, and to my kindred, and take a wife unto my son.
24: 39 And I said unto my master, Peradventure the woman will not follow me.
24: 45 And before I had done speaking in mine heart, behold, Rebekah came forth with her pitcher on her shoulder; and she went down unto the well, and drew water: and I said unto her, Let me drink, I pray thee.
24: 46 And she made haste, and let down her pitcher from her shoulder, and said, Drink, and I will give thy camels drink also: so I drank, and she made the camels drink also.
24: 47 And I asked her, and said, Whose daughter art thou?
And she said, the daughter of Bethuel, Nahor's son, whom Milcah bare unto him: and I put the earring upon her face, and the bracelets upon her hands.
24: 48 And I bowed down my head, and worshipped the LORD, and blessed the LORD God of my master Abraham, which had led me in the right way to take my master's brother's daughter unto his son.
24: 49 And now if ye will deal kindly and truly with my master, tell me: and if not, tell me; that I may turn to the right hand, or to the left.
24: 50 Then Laban and Bethuel answered and said, The thing proceedeth from the LORD: we cannot speak unto thee bad or good.
24: 51 Behold, Rebekah is before thee, take her, and go, and let her be thy master's son's wife, as the LORD hath spoken.
24: 52 And it came to pass, that, when Abraham's servant heard their words, he worshipped the LORD, bowing himself to the earth.
24: 53 And the servant brought forth jewels of silver, and jewels of gold, and raiment, and gave them to Rebekah: he gave also to her brother and to her mother precious things.
24: 54 And they did eat and drink, he and the men that were with him, and tarried all night; and they rose up in the morning, and he said, Send me away unto my master.
24: 55 And her brother and her mother said, Let the damsel abide with us a few days, at the least ten; after that she shall go.
24: 56 And he said unto them, Hinder me not, seeing the LORD hath prospered my way; send me away that I may go to my master.
24: 57 And they said, We will call the damsel, and enquire at her mouth.
24: 58 And they called Rebekah, and said unto her, Wilt thou go with this man?
And she said, I will go.
24: 59 And they sent away Rebekah their sister, and her nurse, and Abraham's servant, and his men.
24: 60 And they blessed Rebekah, and said unto her, Thou art our sister, be thou the mother of thousands of millions, and let thy seed possess the gate of those which hate them.
24: 61 And Rebekah arose, and her damsels, and they rode upon the camels, and followed the man: and the servant took Rebekah, and went his way.
24: 62 And Isaac came from the way of the well Lahairoi; for he dwelt in the south country.
24: 63 And Isaac went out to meditate in the field at the eventide: and he lifted up his eyes, and saw, and, behold, the camels were coming.
24: 64 And Rebekah lifted up her eyes, and when she saw Isaac, she lighted off the camel.
24: 65 For she had said unto the servant, What man is this that walketh in the field to meet us?
And the servant had said, It is my master: therefore she took a vail, and covered herself.
24: 66 And the servant told Isaac all things that he had done.
24: 67 And Isaac brought her into his mother Sarah's tent, and took Rebekah, and she became his wife; and he loved her: and Isaac was comforted after his mother's death.
25: 1 Then again Abraham took a wife, and her name was Keturah.
25: 2 And she bare him Zimran, and Jokshan, and Medan, and Midian, and Ishbak, and Shuah.
25: 3 And Jokshan begat Sheba, and Dedan.
And the sons of Dedan were Asshurim, and Letushim, and Leummim.
25: 4 And the sons of Midian; Ephah, and Epher, and Hanoch, and Abidah, and Eldaah.
All these were the children of Keturah.
25: 5 And Abraham gave all that he had unto Isaac.
25: 6 But unto the sons of the concubines, which Abraham had, Abraham gave gifts, and sent them away from Isaac his son, while he yet lived, eastward, unto the east country.
25: 7 And these are the days of the years of Abraham's life which he lived, an hundred threescore and fifteen years.
25: 8 Then Abraham gave up the ghost, and died in a good old age, an old man, and full of years; and was gathered to his people.
25: 9 And his sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, in the field of Ephron the son of Zohar the Hittite, which is before Mamre; 25: 10 The field which Abraham purchased of the sons of Heth: there was Abraham buried, and Sarah his wife.
25: 11 And it came to pass after the death of Abraham, that God blessed his son Isaac; and Isaac dwelt by the well Lahairoi.
25: 17 And these are the years of the life of Ishmael, an hundred and thirty and seven years: and he gave up the ghost and died; and was gathered unto his people.
25: 18 And they dwelt from Havilah unto Shur, that is before Egypt, as thou goest toward Assyria: and he died in the presence of all his brethren.
25: 19 And these are the generations of Isaac, Abraham's son: Abraham begat Isaac: 25: 20 And Isaac was forty years old when he took Rebekah to wife, the daughter of Bethuel the Syrian of Padanaram, the sister to Laban the Syrian.
25: 21 And Isaac intreated the LORD for his wife, because she was barren: and the LORD was intreated of him, and Rebekah his wife conceived.
25: 22 And the children struggled together within her; and she said, If it be so, why am I thus?
And she went to enquire of the LORD.
25: 23 And the LORD said unto her, Two nations are in thy womb, and two manner of people shall be separated from thy bowels; and the one people shall be stronger than the other people; and the elder shall serve the younger.
25: 24 And when her days to be delivered were fulfilled, behold, there were twins in her womb.
25: 25 And the first came out red, all over like an hairy garment; and they called his name Esau.
25: 26 And after that came his brother out, and his hand took hold on Esau's heel; and his name was called Jacob: and Isaac was threescore years old when she bare them.
25: 27 And the boys grew: and Esau was a cunning hunter, a man of the field; and Jacob was a plain man, dwelling in tents.
25: 28 And Isaac loved Esau, because he did eat of his venison: but Rebekah loved Jacob.
25: 29 And Jacob sod pottage: and Esau came from the field, and he was faint: 25: 30 And Esau said to Jacob, Feed me, I pray thee, with that same red pottage; for I am faint: therefore was his name called Edom.
25: 31 And Jacob said, Sell me this day thy birthright.
25: 32 And Esau said, Behold, I am at the point to die: and what profit shall this birthright do to me?
25: 33 And Jacob said, Swear to me this day; and he sware unto him: and he sold his birthright unto Jacob.
25: 34 Then Jacob gave Esau bread and pottage of lentiles; and he did eat and drink, and rose up, and went his way: thus Esau despised his birthright.
26: 1 And there was a famine in the land, beside the first famine that was in the days of Abraham.
And Isaac went unto Abimelech king of the Philistines unto Gerar.
26: 6 And Isaac dwelt in Gerar: 26: 7 And the men of the place asked him of his wife; and he said, She is my sister: for he feared to say, She is my wife; lest, said he, the men of the place should kill me for Rebekah; because she was fair to look upon.
26: 8 And it came to pass, when he had been there a long time, that Abimelech king of the Philistines looked out at a window, and saw, and, behold, Isaac was sporting with Rebekah his wife.
26: 9 And Abimelech called Isaac, and said, Behold, of a surety she is thy wife; and how saidst thou, She is my sister?
And Isaac said unto him, Because I said, Lest I die for her.
26: 10 And Abimelech said, What is this thou hast done unto us?
one of the people might lightly have lien with thy wife, and thou shouldest have brought guiltiness upon us.
26: 11 And Abimelech charged all his people, saying, He that toucheth this man or his wife shall surely be put to death.
26: 12 Then Isaac sowed in that land, and received in the same year an hundredfold: and the LORD blessed him.
26: 13 And the man waxed great, and went forward, and grew until he became very great: 26: 14 For he had possession of flocks, and possession of herds, and great store of servants: and the Philistines envied him.
26: 15 For all the wells which his father's servants had digged in the days of Abraham his father, the Philistines had stopped them, and filled them with earth.
26: 16 And Abimelech said unto Isaac, Go from us; for thou art much mightier than we.
26: 17 And Isaac departed thence, and pitched his tent in the valley of Gerar, and dwelt there.
26: 18 And Isaac digged again the wells of water, which they had digged in the days of Abraham his father; for the Philistines had stopped them after the death of Abraham: and he called their names after the names by which his father had called them.
26: 19 And Isaac's servants digged in the valley, and found there a well of springing water.
26: 20 And the herdmen of Gerar did strive with Isaac's herdmen, saying, The water is ours: and he called the name of the well Esek; because they strove with him.
26: 21 And they digged another well, and strove for that also: and he called the name of it Sitnah.
26: 22 And he removed from thence, and digged another well; and for that they strove not: and he called the name of it Rehoboth; and he said, For now the LORD hath made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land.
26: 23 And he went up from thence to Beersheba.
26: 24 And the LORD appeared unto him the same night, and said, I am the God of Abraham thy father: fear not, for I am with thee, and will bless thee, and multiply thy seed for my servant Abraham's sake.
26: 25 And he builded an altar there, and called upon the name of the LORD, and pitched his tent there: and there Isaac's servants digged a well.
26: 26 Then Abimelech went to him from Gerar, and Ahuzzath one of his friends, and Phichol the chief captain of his army.
26: 27 And Isaac said unto them, Wherefore come ye to me, seeing ye hate me, and have sent me away from you?
26: 30 And he made them a feast, and they did eat and drink.
26: 31 And they rose up betimes in the morning, and sware one to another: and Isaac sent them away, and they departed from him in peace.
26: 32 And it came to pass the same day, that Isaac's servants came, and told him concerning the well which they had digged, and said unto him, We have found water.
26: 33 And he called it Shebah: therefore the name of the city is Beersheba unto this day.
26: 34 And Esau was forty years old when he took to wife Judith the daughter of Beeri the Hittite, and Bashemath the daughter of Elon the Hittite: 26: 35 Which were a grief of mind unto Isaac and to Rebekah.
27: 1 And it came to pass, that when Isaac was old, and his eyes were dim, so that he could not see, he called Esau his eldest son, and said unto him, My son: and he said unto him, Behold, here am I.
27: 5 And Rebekah heard when Isaac spake to Esau his son.
And Esau went to the field to hunt for venison, and to bring it.
27: 6 And Rebekah spake unto Jacob her son, saying, Behold, I heard thy father speak unto Esau thy brother, saying, 27: 7 Bring me venison, and make me savoury meat, that I may eat, and bless thee before the LORD before my death.
27: 8 Now therefore, my son, obey my voice according to that which I command thee.
27: 9 Go now to the flock, and fetch me from thence two good kids of the goats; and I will make them savoury meat for thy father, such as he loveth: 27: 10 And thou shalt bring it to thy father, that he may eat, and that he may bless thee before his death.
27: 11 And Jacob said to Rebekah his mother, Behold, Esau my brother is a hairy man, and I am a smooth man: 27: 12 My father peradventure will feel me, and I shall seem to him as a deceiver; and I shall bring a curse upon me, and not a blessing.
27: 13 And his mother said unto him, Upon me be thy curse, my son: only obey my voice, and go fetch me them.
27: 14 And he went, and fetched, and brought them to his mother: and his mother made savoury meat, such as his father loved.
27: 18 And he came unto his father, and said, My father: and he said, Here am I; who art thou, my son?
27: 19 And Jacob said unto his father, I am Esau thy first born; I have done according as thou badest me: arise, I pray thee, sit and eat of my venison, that thy soul may bless me.
27: 20 And Isaac said unto his son, How is it that thou hast found it so quickly, my son?
And he said, Because the LORD thy God brought it to me.
27: 21 And Isaac said unto Jacob, Come near, I pray thee, that I may feel thee, my son, whether thou be my very son Esau or not.
27: 22 And Jacob went near unto Isaac his father; and he felt him, and said, The voice is Jacob's voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau.
27: 23 And he discerned him not, because his hands were hairy, as his brother Esau's hands: so he blessed him.
27: 24 And he said, Art thou my very son Esau?
And he said, I am.
27: 25 And he said, Bring it near to me, and I will eat of my son's venison, that my soul may bless thee.
And he brought it near to him, and he did eat: and he brought him wine and he drank.
27: 26 And his father Isaac said unto him, Come near now, and kiss me, my son.
27: 30 And it came to pass, as soon as Isaac had made an end of blessing Jacob, and Jacob was yet scarce gone out from the presence of Isaac his father, that Esau his brother came in from his hunting.
27: 31 And he also had made savoury meat, and brought it unto his father, and said unto his father, Let my father arise, and eat of his son's venison, that thy soul may bless me.
27: 32 And Isaac his father said unto him, Who art thou?
And he said, I am thy son, thy firstborn Esau.
27: 33 And Isaac trembled very exceedingly, and said, Who?
where is he that hath taken venison, and brought it me, and I have eaten of all before thou camest, and have blessed him?
yea, and he shall be blessed.
27: 34 And when Esau heard the words of his father, he cried with a great and exceeding bitter cry, and said unto his father, Bless me, even me also, O my father.
27: 35 And he said, Thy brother came with subtilty, and hath taken away thy blessing.
27: 36 And he said, Is not he rightly named Jacob?
for he hath supplanted me these two times: he took away my birthright; and, behold, now he hath taken away my blessing.
And he said, Hast thou not reserved a blessing for me?
27: 37 And Isaac answered and said unto Esau, Behold, I have made him thy lord, and all his brethren have I given to him for servants; and with corn and wine have I sustained him: and what shall I do now unto thee, my son?
27: 38 And Esau said unto his father, Hast thou but one blessing, my father?
bless me, even me also, O my father.
And Esau lifted up his voice, and wept.
27: 41 And Esau hated Jacob because of the blessing wherewith his father blessed him: and Esau said in his heart, The days of mourning for my father are at hand; then will I slay my brother Jacob.
27: 42 And these words of Esau her elder son were told to Rebekah: and she sent and called Jacob her younger son, and said unto him, Behold, thy brother Esau, as touching thee, doth comfort himself, purposing to kill thee.
27: 46 And Rebekah said to Isaac, I am weary of my life because of the daughters of Heth: if Jacob take a wife of the daughters of Heth, such as these which are of the daughters of the land, what good shall my life do me?
28: 1 And Isaac called Jacob, and blessed him, and charged him, and said unto him, Thou shalt not take a wife of the daughters of Canaan.
28: 2 Arise, go to Padanaram, to the house of Bethuel thy mother's father; and take thee a wife from thence of the daughers of Laban thy mother's brother.
28: 5 And Isaac sent away Jacob: and he went to Padanaram unto Laban, son of Bethuel the Syrian, the brother of Rebekah, Jacob's and Esau's mother.
28: 10 And Jacob went out from Beersheba, and went toward Haran.
28: 11 And he lighted upon a certain place, and tarried there all night, because the sun was set; and he took of the stones of that place, and put them for his pillows, and lay down in that place to sleep.
28: 12 And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven: and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it.
28: 15 And, behold, I am with thee, and will keep thee in all places whither thou goest, and will bring thee again into this land; for I will not leave thee, until I have done that which I have spoken to thee of.
28: 16 And Jacob awaked out of his sleep, and he said, Surely the LORD is in this place; and I knew it not.
28: 17 And he was afraid, and said, How dreadful is this place!
this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.
28: 18 And Jacob rose up early in the morning, and took the stone that he had put for his pillows, and set it up for a pillar, and poured oil upon the top of it.
28: 19 And he called the name of that place Bethel: but the name of that city was called Luz at the first.
29: 1 Then Jacob went on his journey, and came into the land of the people of the east.
29: 2 And he looked, and behold a well in the field, and, lo, there were three flocks of sheep lying by it; for out of that well they watered the flocks: and a great stone was upon the well's mouth.
29: 3 And thither were all the flocks gathered: and they rolled the stone from the well's mouth, and watered the sheep, and put the stone again upon the well's mouth in his place.
29: 4 And Jacob said unto them, My brethren, whence be ye?
And they said, Of Haran are we.
29: 5 And he said unto them, Know ye Laban the son of Nahor?
And they said, We know him.
29: 6 And he said unto them, Is he well?
And they said, He is well: and, behold, Rachel his daughter cometh with the sheep.
29: 7 And he said, Lo, it is yet high day, neither is it time that the cattle should be gathered together: water ye the sheep, and go and feed them.
29: 8 And they said, We cannot, until all the flocks be gathered together, and till they roll the stone from the well's mouth; then we water the sheep.
29: 9 And while he yet spake with them, Rachel came with her father's sheep; for she kept them.
29: 10 And it came to pass, when Jacob saw Rachel the daughter of Laban his mother's brother, and the sheep of Laban his mother's brother, that Jacob went near, and rolled the stone from the well's mouth, and watered the flock of Laban his mother's brother.
29: 11 And Jacob kissed Rachel, and lifted up his voice, and wept.
29: 12 And Jacob told Rachel that he was her father's brother, and that he was Rebekah's son: and she ran and told her father.
29: 13 And it came to pass, when Laban heard the tidings of Jacob his sister's son, that he ran to meet him, and embraced him, and kissed him, and brought him to his house.
And he told Laban all these things.
29: 14 And Laban said to him, Surely thou art my bone and my flesh.
And he abode with him the space of a month.
29: 15 And Laban said unto Jacob, Because thou art my brother, shouldest thou therefore serve me for nought?
tell me, what shall thy wages be?
29: 16 And Laban had two daughters: the name of the elder was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel.
29: 17 Leah was tender eyed; but Rachel was beautiful and well favoured.
29: 18 And Jacob loved Rachel; and said, I will serve thee seven years for Rachel thy younger daughter.
29: 19 And Laban said, It is better that I give her to thee, than that I should give her to another man: abide with me.
29: 20 And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her.
29: 21 And Jacob said unto Laban, Give me my wife, for my days are fulfilled, that I may go in unto her.
29: 22 And Laban gathered together all the men of the place, and made a feast.
29: 23 And it came to pass in the evening, that he took Leah his daughter, and brought her to him; and he went in unto her.
29: 24 And Laban gave unto his daughter Leah Zilpah his maid for an handmaid.
29: 25 And it came to pass, that in the morning, behold, it was Leah: and he said to Laban, What is this thou hast done unto me?
did not I serve with thee for Rachel?
wherefore then hast thou beguiled me?
29: 26 And Laban said, It must not be so done in our country, to give the younger before the firstborn.
29: 27 Fulfil her week, and we will give thee this also for the service which thou shalt serve with me yet seven other years.
29: 28 And Jacob did so, and fulfilled her week: and he gave him Rachel his daughter to wife also.
29: 29 And Laban gave to Rachel his daughter Bilhah his handmaid to be her maid.
29: 30 And he went in also unto Rachel, and he loved also Rachel more than Leah, and served with him yet seven other years.
29: 31 And when the LORD saw that Leah was hated, he opened her womb: but Rachel was barren.
29: 32 And Leah conceived, and bare a son, and she called his name Reuben: for she said, Surely the LORD hath looked upon my affliction; now therefore my husband will love me.
29: 33 And she conceived again, and bare a son; and said, Because the LORD hath heard I was hated, he hath therefore given me this son also: and she called his name Simeon.
29: 34 And she conceived again, and bare a son; and said, Now this time will my husband be joined unto me, because I have born him three sons: therefore was his name called Levi.
29: 35 And she conceived again, and bare a son: and she said, Now will I praise the LORD: therefore she called his name Judah; and left bearing.
30: 1 And when Rachel saw that she bare Jacob no children, Rachel envied her sister; and said unto Jacob, Give me children, or else I die.
30: 2 And Jacob's anger was kindled against Rachel: and he said, Am I in God's stead, who hath withheld from thee the fruit of the womb?
30: 3 And she said, Behold my maid Bilhah, go in unto her; and she shall bear upon my knees, that I may also have children by her.
30: 4 And she gave him Bilhah her handmaid to wife: and Jacob went in unto her.
30: 5 And Bilhah conceived, and bare Jacob a son.
30: 6 And Rachel said, God hath judged me, and hath also heard my voice, and hath given me a son: therefore called she his name Dan.
30: 7 And Bilhah Rachel's maid conceived again, and bare Jacob a second son.
30: 8 And Rachel said, With great wrestlings have I wrestled with my sister, and I have prevailed: and she called his name Naphtali.
30: 9 When Leah saw that she had left bearing, she took Zilpah her maid, and gave her Jacob to wife.
30: 10 And Zilpah Leah's maid bare Jacob a son.
30: 11 And Leah said, A troop cometh: and she called his name Gad.
30: 12 And Zilpah Leah's maid bare Jacob a second son.
30: 13 And Leah said, Happy am I, for the daughters will call me blessed: and she called his name Asher.
30: 14 And Reuben went in the days of wheat harvest, and found mandrakes in the field, and brought them unto his mother Leah.
Then Rachel said to Leah, Give me, I pray thee, of thy son's mandrakes.
30: 15 And she said unto her, Is it a small matter that thou hast taken my husband?
and wouldest thou take away my son's mandrakes also?
And Rachel said, Therefore he shall lie with thee to night for thy son's mandrakes.
30: 16 And Jacob came out of the field in the evening, and Leah went out to meet him, and said, Thou must come in unto me; for surely I have hired thee with my son's mandrakes.
And he lay with her that night.
30: 17 And God hearkened unto Leah, and she conceived, and bare Jacob the fifth son.
30: 18 And Leah said, God hath given me my hire, because I have given my maiden to my husband: and she called his name Issachar.
30: 19 And Leah conceived again, and bare Jacob the sixth son.
30: 20 And Leah said, God hath endued me with a good dowry; now will my husband dwell with me, because I have born him six sons: and she called his name Zebulun.
30: 21 And afterwards she bare a daughter, and called her name Dinah.
30: 22 And God remembered Rachel, and God hearkened to her, and opened her womb.
30: 23 And she conceived, and bare a son; and said, God hath taken away my reproach: 30: 24 And she called his name Joseph; and said, The LORD shall add to me another son.
30: 25 And it came to pass, when Rachel had born Joseph, that Jacob said unto Laban, Send me away, that I may go unto mine own place, and to my country.
30: 26 Give me my wives and my children, for whom I have served thee, and let me go: for thou knowest my service which I have done thee.
30: 27 And Laban said unto him, I pray thee, if I have found favour in thine eyes, tarry: for I have learned by experience that the LORD hath blessed me for thy sake.
30: 28 And he said, Appoint me thy wages, and I will give it.
30: 29 And he said unto him, Thou knowest how I have served thee, and how thy cattle was with me.
30: 30 For it was little which thou hadst before I came, and it is now increased unto a multitude; and the LORD hath blessed thee since my coming: and now when shall I provide for mine own house also?
30: 31 And he said, What shall I give thee?
And Jacob said, Thou shalt not give me any thing: if thou wilt do this thing for me, I will again feed and keep thy flock.
30: 32 I will pass through all thy flock to day, removing from thence all the speckled and spotted cattle, and all the brown cattle among the sheep, and the spotted and speckled among the goats: and of such shall be my hire.
30: 33 So shall my righteousness answer for me in time to come, when it shall come for my hire before thy face: every one that is not speckled and spotted among the goats, and brown among the sheep, that shall be counted stolen with me.
30: 34 And Laban said, Behold, I would it might be according to thy word.
30: 35 And he removed that day the he goats that were ringstraked and spotted, and all the she goats that were speckled and spotted, and every one that had some white in it, and all the brown among the sheep, and gave them into the hand of his sons.
30: 36 And he set three days'journey betwixt himself and Jacob: and Jacob fed the rest of Laban's flocks.
30: 37 And Jacob took him rods of green poplar, and of the hazel and chesnut tree; and pilled white strakes in them, and made the white appear which was in the rods.
30: 38 And he set the rods which he had pilled before the flocks in the gutters in the watering troughs when the flocks came to drink, that they should conceive when they came to drink.
30: 39 And the flocks conceived before the rods, and brought forth cattle ringstraked, speckled, and spotted.
30: 40 And Jacob did separate the lambs, and set the faces of the flocks toward the ringstraked, and all the brown in the flock of Laban; and he put his own flocks by themselves, and put them not unto Laban's cattle.
30: 41 And it came to pass, whensoever the stronger cattle did conceive, that Jacob laid the rods before the eyes of the cattle in the gutters, that they might conceive among the rods.
30: 42 But when the cattle were feeble, he put them not in: so the feebler were Laban's, and the stronger Jacob's.
30: 43 And the man increased exceedingly, and had much cattle, and maidservants, and menservants, and camels, and asses.
31: 1 And he heard the words of Laban's sons, saying, Jacob hath taken away all that was our father's; and of that which was our father's hath he gotten all this glory.
31: 2 And Jacob beheld the countenance of Laban, and, behold, it was not toward him as before.
31: 3 And the LORD said unto Jacob, Return unto the land of thy fathers, and to thy kindred; and I will be with thee.
31: 4 And Jacob sent and called Rachel and Leah to the field unto his flock, 31: 5 And said unto them, I see your father's countenance, that it is not toward me as before; but the God of my father hath been with me.
31: 6 And ye know that with all my power I have served your father.
31: 7 And your father hath deceived me, and changed my wages ten times; but God suffered him not to hurt me.
31: 8 If he said thus, The speckled shall be thy wages; then all the cattle bare speckled: and if he said thus, The ringstraked shall be thy hire; then bare all the cattle ringstraked.
31: 9 Thus God hath taken away the cattle of your father, and given them to me.
31: 10 And it came to pass at the time that the cattle conceived, that I lifted up mine eyes, and saw in a dream, and, behold, the rams which leaped upon the cattle were ringstraked, speckled, and grisled.
31: 11 And the angel of God spake unto me in a dream, saying, Jacob: And I said, Here am I.
31: 12 And he said, Lift up now thine eyes, and see, all the rams which leap upon the cattle are ringstraked, speckled, and grisled: for I have seen all that Laban doeth unto thee.
31: 13 I am the God of Bethel, where thou anointedst the pillar, and where thou vowedst a vow unto me: now arise, get thee out from this land, and return unto the land of thy kindred.
31: 14 And Rachel and Leah answered and said unto him, Is there yet any portion or inheritance for us in our father's house?
31: 15 Are we not counted of him strangers?
for he hath sold us, and hath quite devoured also our money.
31: 16 For all the riches which God hath taken from our father, that is ours, and our children's: now then, whatsoever God hath said unto thee, do.
31: 17 Then Jacob rose up, and set his sons and his wives upon camels; 31: 18 And he carried away all his cattle, and all his goods which he had gotten, the cattle of his getting, which he had gotten in Padanaram, for to go to Isaac his father in the land of Canaan.
31: 19 And Laban went to shear his sheep: and Rachel had stolen the images that were her father's.
31: 20 And Jacob stole away unawares to Laban the Syrian, in that he told him not that he fled.
31: 21 So he fled with all that he had; and he rose up, and passed over the river, and set his face toward the mount Gilead.
31: 22 And it was told Laban on the third day that Jacob was fled.
31: 23 And he took his brethren with him, and pursued after him seven days'journey; and they overtook him in the mount Gilead.
31: 24 And God came to Laban the Syrian in a dream by night, and said unto him, Take heed that thou speak not to Jacob either good or bad.
31: 25 Then Laban overtook Jacob.
Now Jacob had pitched his tent in the mount: and Laban with his brethren pitched in the mount of Gilead.
31: 26 And Laban said to Jacob, What hast thou done, that thou hast stolen away unawares to me, and carried away my daughters, as captives taken with the sword?
31: 27 Wherefore didst thou flee away secretly, and steal away from me; and didst not tell me, that I might have sent thee away with mirth, and with songs, with tabret, and with harp?
31: 28 And hast not suffered me to kiss my sons and my daughters?
thou hast now done foolishly in so doing.
31: 29 It is in the power of my hand to do you hurt: but the God of your father spake unto me yesternight, saying, Take thou heed that thou speak not to Jacob either good or bad.
31: 30 And now, though thou wouldest needs be gone, because thou sore longedst after thy father's house, yet wherefore hast thou stolen my gods?
31: 31 And Jacob answered and said to Laban, Because I was afraid: for I said, Peradventure thou wouldest take by force thy daughters from me.
31: 32 With whomsoever thou findest thy gods, let him not live: before our brethren discern thou what is thine with me, and take it to thee.
For Jacob knew not that Rachel had stolen them.
31: 33 And Laban went into Jacob's tent, and into Leah's tent, and into the two maidservants'tents; but he found them not.
Then went he out of Leah's tent, and entered into Rachel's tent.
31: 34 Now Rachel had taken the images, and put them in the camel's furniture, and sat upon them.
And Laban searched all the tent, but found them not.
31: 35 And she said to her father, Let it not displease my lord that I cannot rise up before thee; for the custom of women is upon me.
And he searched but found not the images.
31: 36 And Jacob was wroth, and chode with Laban: and Jacob answered and said to Laban, What is my trespass?
what is my sin, that thou hast so hotly pursued after me?
31: 37 Whereas thou hast searched all my stuff, what hast thou found of all thy household stuff?
set it here before my brethren and thy brethren, that they may judge betwixt us both.
31: 38 This twenty years have I been with thee; thy ewes and thy she goats have not cast their young, and the rams of thy flock have I not eaten.
31: 39 That which was torn of beasts I brought not unto thee; I bare the loss of it; of my hand didst thou require it, whether stolen by day, or stolen by night.
31: 40 Thus I was; in the day the drought consumed me, and the frost by night; and my sleep departed from mine eyes.
31: 41 Thus have I been twenty years in thy house; I served thee fourteen years for thy two daughters, and six years for thy cattle: and thou hast changed my wages ten times.
31: 42 Except the God of my father, the God of Abraham, and the fear of Isaac, had been with me, surely thou hadst sent me away now empty.
God hath seen mine affliction and the labour of my hands, and rebuked thee yesternight.
31: 44 Now therefore come thou, let us make a covenant, I and thou; and let it be for a witness between me and thee.
31: 45 And Jacob took a stone, and set it up for a pillar.
31: 46 And Jacob said unto his brethren, Gather stones; and they took stones, and made an heap: and they did eat there upon the heap.
31: 47 And Laban called it Jegarsahadutha: but Jacob called it Galeed.
31: 48 And Laban said, This heap is a witness between me and thee this day.
Therefore was the name of it called Galeed; 31: 49 And Mizpah; for he said, The LORD watch between me and thee, when we are absent one from another.
31: 50 If thou shalt afflict my daughters, or if thou shalt take other wives beside my daughters, no man is with us; see, God is witness betwixt me and thee.
31: 53 The God of Abraham, and the God of Nahor, the God of their father, judge betwixt us.
And Jacob sware by the fear of his father Isaac.
31: 54 Then Jacob offered sacrifice upon the mount, and called his brethren to eat bread: and they did eat bread, and tarried all night in the mount.
31: 55 And early in the morning Laban rose up, and kissed his sons and his daughters, and blessed them: and Laban departed, and returned unto his place.
32: 1 And Jacob went on his way, and the angels of God met him.
32: 2 And when Jacob saw them, he said, This is God's host: and he called the name of that place Mahanaim.
32: 3 And Jacob sent messengers before him to Esau his brother unto the land of Seir, the country of Edom.
32: 6 And the messengers returned to Jacob, saying, We came to thy brother Esau, and also he cometh to meet thee, and four hundred men with him.
32: 7 Then Jacob was greatly afraid and distressed: and he divided the people that was with him, and the flocks, and herds, and the camels, into two bands; 32: 8 And said, If Esau come to the one company, and smite it, then the other company which is left shall escape.
32: 11 Deliver me, I pray thee, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau: for I fear him, lest he will come and smite me, and the mother with the children.
32: 12 And thou saidst, I will surely do thee good, and make thy seed as the sand of the sea, which cannot be numbered for multitude.
32: 16 And he delivered them into the hand of his servants, every drove by themselves; and said unto his servants, Pass over before me, and put a space betwixt drove and drove.
32: 17 And he commanded the foremost, saying, When Esau my brother meeteth thee, and asketh thee, saying, Whose art thou?
and whither goest thou?
and whose are these before thee?
32: 18 Then thou shalt say, They be thy servant Jacob's; it is a present sent unto my lord Esau: and, behold, also he is behind us.
32: 19 And so commanded he the second, and the third, and all that followed the droves, saying, On this manner shall ye speak unto Esau, when ye find him.
32: 20 And say ye moreover, Behold, thy servant Jacob is behind us.
For he said, I will appease him with the present that goeth before me, and afterward I will see his face; peradventure he will accept of me.
32: 21 So went the present over before him: and himself lodged that night in the company.
32: 22 And he rose up that night, and took his two wives, and his two womenservants, and his eleven sons, and passed over the ford Jabbok.
32: 23 And he took them, and sent them over the brook, and sent over that he had.
32: 24 And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day.
32: 25 And when he saw that he prevailed not against him, he touched the hollow of his thigh; and the hollow of Jacob's thigh was out of joint, as he wrestled with him.
32: 26 And he said, Let me go, for the day breaketh.
And he said, I will not let thee go, except thou bless me.
32: 27 And he said unto him, What is thy name?
And he said, Jacob.
32: 28 And he said, Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel: for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast prevailed.
32: 29 And Jacob asked him, and said, Tell me, I pray thee, thy name.
And he said, Wherefore is it that thou dost ask after my name?
And he blessed him there.
32: 30 And Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: for I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved.
32: 31 And as he passed over Penuel the sun rose upon him, and he halted upon his thigh.
32: 32 Therefore the children of Israel eat not of the sinew which shrank, which is upon the hollow of the thigh, unto this day: because he touched the hollow of Jacob's thigh in the sinew that shrank.
33: 1 And Jacob lifted up his eyes, and looked, and, behold, Esau came, and with him four hundred men.
And he divided the children unto Leah, and unto Rachel, and unto the two handmaids.
33: 2 And he put the handmaids and their children foremost, and Leah and her children after, and Rachel and Joseph hindermost.
33: 3 And he passed over before them, and bowed himself to the ground seven times, until he came near to his brother.
33: 4 And Esau ran to meet him, and embraced him, and fell on his neck, and kissed him: and they wept.
33: 5 And he lifted up his eyes, and saw the women and the children; and said, Who are those with thee?
And he said, The children which God hath graciously given thy servant.
33: 6 Then the handmaidens came near, they and their children, and they bowed themselves.
33: 7 And Leah also with her children came near, and bowed themselves: and after came Joseph near and Rachel, and they bowed themselves.
33: 8 And he said, What meanest thou by all this drove which I met?
And he said, These are to find grace in the sight of my lord.
33: 9 And Esau said, I have enough, my brother; keep that thou hast unto thyself.
33: 10 And Jacob said, Nay, I pray thee, if now I have found grace in thy sight, then receive my present at my hand: for therefore I have seen thy face, as though I had seen the face of God, and thou wast pleased with me.
33: 11 Take, I pray thee, my blessing that is brought to thee; because God hath dealt graciously with me, and because I have enough.
And he urged him, and he took it.
33: 12 And he said, Let us take our journey, and let us go, and I will go before thee.
33: 13 And he said unto him, My lord knoweth that the children are tender, and the flocks and herds with young are with me: and if men should overdrive them one day, all the flock will die.
33: 14 Let my lord, I pray thee, pass over before his servant: and I will lead on softly, according as the cattle that goeth before me and the children be able to endure, until I come unto my lord unto Seir.
33: 15 And Esau said, Let me now leave with thee some of the folk that are with me.
And he said, What needeth it?
let me find grace in the sight of my lord.
33: 16 So Esau returned that day on his way unto Seir.
33: 17 And Jacob journeyed to Succoth, and built him an house, and made booths for his cattle: therefore the name of the place is called Succoth.
33: 18 And Jacob came to Shalem, a city of Shechem, which is in the land of Canaan, when he came from Padanaram; and pitched his tent before the city.
33: 19 And he bought a parcel of a field, where he had spread his tent, at the hand of the children of Hamor, Shechem's father, for an hundred pieces of money.
33: 20 And he erected there an altar, and called it EleloheIsrael.
34: 1 And Dinah the daughter of Leah, which she bare unto Jacob, went out to see the daughters of the land.
34: 2 And when Shechem the son of Hamor the Hivite, prince of the country, saw her, he took her, and lay with her, and defiled her.
34: 3 And his soul clave unto Dinah the daughter of Jacob, and he loved the damsel, and spake kindly unto the damsel.
34: 4 And Shechem spake unto his father Hamor, saying, Get me this damsel to wife.
34: 5 And Jacob heard that he had defiled Dinah his daughter: now his sons were with his cattle in the field: and Jacob held his peace until they were come.
34: 6 And Hamor the father of Shechem went out unto Jacob to commune with him.
34: 7 And the sons of Jacob came out of the field when they heard it: and the men were grieved, and they were very wroth, because he had wrought folly in Israel in lying with Jacob's daughter: which thing ought not to be done.
34: 8 And Hamor communed with them, saying, The soul of my son Shechem longeth for your daughter: I pray you give her him to wife.
34: 9 And make ye marriages with us, and give your daughters unto us, and take our daughters unto you.
34: 10 And ye shall dwell with us: and the land shall be before you; dwell and trade ye therein, and get you possessions therein.
34: 11 And Shechem said unto her father and unto her brethren, Let me find grace in your eyes, and what ye shall say unto me I will give.
34: 12 Ask me never so much dowry and gift, and I will give according as ye shall say unto me: but give me the damsel to wife.
34: 17 But if ye will not hearken unto us, to be circumcised; then will we take our daughter, and we will be gone.
34: 18 And their words pleased Hamor, and Shechem Hamor's son.
34: 19 And the young man deferred not to do the thing, because he had delight in Jacob's daughter: and he was more honourable than all the house of his father.
34: 22 Only herein will the men consent unto us for to dwell with us, to be one people, if every male among us be circumcised, as they are circumcised.
34: 23 Shall not their cattle and their substance and every beast of their's be our's?
only let us consent unto them, and they will dwell with us.
34: 24 And unto Hamor and unto Shechem his son hearkened all that went out of the gate of his city; and every male was circumcised, all that went out of the gate of his city.
34: 25 And it came to pass on the third day, when they were sore, that two of the sons of Jacob, Simeon and Levi, Dinah's brethren, took each man his sword, and came upon the city boldly, and slew all the males.
34: 26 And they slew Hamor and Shechem his son with the edge of the sword, and took Dinah out of Shechem's house, and went out.
34: 27 The sons of Jacob came upon the slain, and spoiled the city, because they had defiled their sister.
34: 28 They took their sheep, and their oxen, and their asses, and that which was in the city, and that which was in the field, 34: 29 And all their wealth, and all their little ones, and their wives took they captive, and spoiled even all that was in the house.
34: 31 And they said, Should he deal with our sister as with an harlot?
35: 1 And God said unto Jacob, Arise, go up to Bethel, and dwell there: and make there an altar unto God, that appeared unto thee when thou fleddest from the face of Esau thy brother.
35: 4 And they gave unto Jacob all the strange gods which were in their hand, and all their earrings which were in their ears; and Jacob hid them under the oak which was by Shechem.
35: 5 And they journeyed: and the terror of God was upon the cities that were round about them, and they did not pursue after the sons of Jacob.
35: 6 So Jacob came to Luz, which is in the land of Canaan, that is, Bethel, he and all the people that were with him.
35: 7 And he built there an altar, and called the place Elbethel: because there God appeared unto him, when he fled from the face of his brother.
35: 8 But Deborah Rebekah's nurse died, and she was buried beneath Bethel under an oak: and the name of it was called Allonbachuth.
35: 9 And God appeared unto Jacob again, when he came out of Padanaram, and blessed him.
35: 10 And God said unto him, Thy name is Jacob: thy name shall not be called any more Jacob, but Israel shall be thy name: and he called his name Israel.
35: 13 And God went up from him in the place where he talked with him.
35: 14 And Jacob set up a pillar in the place where he talked with him, even a pillar of stone: and he poured a drink offering thereon, and he poured oil thereon.
35: 15 And Jacob called the name of the place where God spake with him, Bethel.
35: 16 And they journeyed from Bethel; and there was but a little way to come to Ephrath: and Rachel travailed, and she had hard labour.
35: 17 And it came to pass, when she was in hard labour, that the midwife said unto her, Fear not; thou shalt have this son also.
35: 18 And it came to pass, as her soul was in departing, (for she died) that she called his name Benoni: but his father called him Benjamin.
35: 19 And Rachel died, and was buried in the way to Ephrath, which is Bethlehem.
35: 20 And Jacob set a pillar upon her grave: that is the pillar of Rachel's grave unto this day.
35: 21 And Israel journeyed, and spread his tent beyond the tower of Edar.
35: 22 And it came to pass, when Israel dwelt in that land, that Reuben went and lay with Bilhah his father's concubine: and Israel heard it.
35: 27 And Jacob came unto Isaac his father unto Mamre, unto the city of Arbah, which is Hebron, where Abraham and Isaac sojourned.
35: 28 And the days of Isaac were an hundred and fourscore years.
35: 29 And Isaac gave up the ghost, and died, and was gathered unto his people, being old and full of days: and his sons Esau and Jacob buried him.
36: 1 Now these are the generations of Esau, who is Edom.
36: 2 Esau took his wives of the daughters of Canaan; Adah the daughter of Elon the Hittite, and Aholibamah the daughter of Anah the daughter of Zibeon the Hivite; 36: 3 And Bashemath Ishmael's daughter, sister of Nebajoth.
36: 4 And Adah bare to Esau Eliphaz; and Bashemath bare Reuel; 36: 5 And Aholibamah bare Jeush, and Jaalam, and Korah: these are the sons of Esau, which were born unto him in the land of Canaan.
36: 6 And Esau took his wives, and his sons, and his daughters, and all the persons of his house, and his cattle, and all his beasts, and all his substance, which he had got in the land of Canaan; and went into the country from the face of his brother Jacob.
36: 7 For their riches were more than that they might dwell together; and the land wherein they were strangers could not bear them because of their cattle.
36: 8 Thus dwelt Esau in mount Seir: Esau is Edom.
36: 9 And these are the generations of Esau the father of the Edomites in mount Seir: 36: 10 These are the names of Esau's sons; Eliphaz the son of Adah the wife of Esau, Reuel the son of Bashemath the wife of Esau.
36: 11 And the sons of Eliphaz were Teman, Omar, Zepho, and Gatam, and Kenaz.
36: 12 And Timna was concubine to Eliphaz Esau's son; and she bare to Eliphaz Amalek: these were the sons of Adah Esau's wife.
36: 13 And these are the sons of Reuel; Nahath, and Zerah, Shammah, and Mizzah: these were the sons of Bashemath Esau's wife.
36: 14 And these were the sons of Aholibamah, the daughter of Anah the daughter of Zibeon, Esau's wife: and she bare to Esau Jeush, and Jaalam, and Korah.
36: 17 And these are the sons of Reuel Esau's son; duke Nahath, duke Zerah, duke Shammah, duke Mizzah: these are the dukes that came of Reuel in the land of Edom; these are the sons of Bashemath Esau's wife.
36: 18 And these are the sons of Aholibamah Esau's wife; duke Jeush, duke Jaalam, duke Korah: these were the dukes that came of Aholibamah the daughter of Anah, Esau's wife.
36: 19 These are the sons of Esau, who is Edom, and these are their dukes.
36: 20 These are the sons of Seir the Horite, who inhabited the land; Lotan, and Shobal, and Zibeon, and Anah, 36: 21 And Dishon, and Ezer, and Dishan: these are the dukes of the Horites, the children of Seir in the land of Edom.
36: 22 And the children of Lotan were Hori and Hemam; and Lotan's sister was Timna.
36: 23 And the children of Shobal were these; Alvan, and Manahath, and Ebal, Shepho, and Onam.
36: 24 And these are the children of Zibeon; both Ajah, and Anah: this was that Anah that found the mules in the wilderness, as he fed the asses of Zibeon his father.
36: 25 And the children of Anah were these; Dishon, and Aholibamah the daughter of Anah.
36: 26 And these are the children of Dishon; Hemdan, and Eshban, and Ithran, and Cheran.
36: 27 The children of Ezer are these; Bilhan, and Zaavan, and Akan.
36: 28 The children of Dishan are these; Uz, and Aran.
36: 29 These are the dukes that came of the Horites; duke Lotan, duke Shobal, duke Zibeon, duke Anah, 36: 30 Duke Dishon, duke Ezer, duke Dishan: these are the dukes that came of Hori, among their dukes in the land of Seir.
36: 31 And these are the kings that reigned in the land of Edom, before there reigned any king over the children of Israel.
36: 32 And Bela the son of Beor reigned in Edom: and the name of his city was Dinhabah.
36: 33 And Bela died, and Jobab the son of Zerah of Bozrah reigned in his stead.
36: 34 And Jobab died, and Husham of the land of Temani reigned in his stead.
36: 35 And Husham died, and Hadad the son of Bedad, who smote Midian in the field of Moab, reigned in his stead: and the name of his city was Avith.
36: 36 And Hadad died, and Samlah of Masrekah reigned in his stead.
36: 37 And Samlah died, and Saul of Rehoboth by the river reigned in his stead.
36: 38 And Saul died, and Baalhanan the son of Achbor reigned in his stead.
36: 39 And Baalhanan the son of Achbor died, and Hadar reigned in his stead: and the name of his city was Pau; and his wife's name was Mehetabel, the daughter of Matred, the daughter of Mezahab.
37: 1 And Jacob dwelt in the land wherein his father was a stranger, in the land of Canaan.
37: 2 These are the generations of Jacob.
Joseph, being seventeen years old, was feeding the flock with his brethren; and the lad was with the sons of Bilhah, and with the sons of Zilpah, his father's wives: and Joseph brought unto his father their evil report.
37: 3 Now Israel loved Joseph more than all his children, because he was the son of his old age: and he made him a coat of many colours.
37: 4 And when his brethren saw that their father loved him more than all his brethren, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably unto him.
37: 5 And Joseph dreamed a dream, and he told it his brethren: and they hated him yet the more.
37: 6 And he said unto them, Hear, I pray you, this dream which I have dreamed: 37: 7 For, behold, we were binding sheaves in the field, and, lo, my sheaf arose, and also stood upright; and, behold, your sheaves stood round about, and made obeisance to my sheaf.
37: 8 And his brethren said to him, Shalt thou indeed reign over us?
or shalt thou indeed have dominion over us?
And they hated him yet the more for his dreams, and for his words.
37: 9 And he dreamed yet another dream, and told it his brethren, and said, Behold, I have dreamed a dream more; and, behold, the sun and the moon and the eleven stars made obeisance to me.
37: 10 And he told it to his father, and to his brethren: and his father rebuked him, and said unto him, What is this dream that thou hast dreamed?
Shall I and thy mother and thy brethren indeed come to bow down ourselves to thee to the earth?
37: 11 And his brethren envied him; but his father observed the saying.
37: 12 And his brethren went to feed their father's flock in Shechem.
37: 13 And Israel said unto Joseph, Do not thy brethren feed the flock in Shechem?
come, and I will send thee unto them.
And he said to him, Here am I.
37: 14 And he said to him, Go, I pray thee, see whether it be well with thy brethren, and well with the flocks; and bring me word again.
So he sent him out of the vale of Hebron, and he came to Shechem.
37: 15 And a certain man found him, and, behold, he was wandering in the field: and the man asked him, saying, What seekest thou?
37: 16 And he said, I seek my brethren: tell me, I pray thee, where they feed their flocks.
37: 17 And the man said, They are departed hence; for I heard them say, Let us go to Dothan.
And Joseph went after his brethren, and found them in Dothan.
37: 18 And when they saw him afar off, even before he came near unto them, they conspired against him to slay him.
37: 19 And they said one to another, Behold, this dreamer cometh.
37: 20 Come now therefore, and let us slay him, and cast him into some pit, and we will say, Some evil beast hath devoured him: and we shall see what will become of his dreams.
37: 21 And Reuben heard it, and he delivered him out of their hands; and said, Let us not kill him.
37: 22 And Reuben said unto them, Shed no blood, but cast him into this pit that is in the wilderness, and lay no hand upon him; that he might rid him out of their hands, to deliver him to his father again.
37: 23 And it came to pass, when Joseph was come unto his brethren, that they stript Joseph out of his coat, his coat of many colours that was on him; 37: 24 And they took him, and cast him into a pit: and the pit was empty, there was no water in it.
37: 25 And they sat down to eat bread: and they lifted up their eyes and looked, and, behold, a company of Ishmeelites came from Gilead with their camels bearing spicery and balm and myrrh, going to carry it down to Egypt.
37: 26 And Judah said unto his brethren, What profit is it if we slay our brother, and conceal his blood?
37: 27 Come, and let us sell him to the Ishmeelites, and let not our hand be upon him; for he is our brother and our flesh.
And his brethren were content.
37: 28 Then there passed by Midianites merchantmen; and they drew and lifted up Joseph out of the pit, and sold Joseph to the Ishmeelites for twenty pieces of silver: and they brought Joseph into Egypt.
37: 29 And Reuben returned unto the pit; and, behold, Joseph was not in the pit; and he rent his clothes.
37: 30 And he returned unto his brethren, and said, The child is not; and I, whither shall I go?
37: 31 And they took Joseph's coat, and killed a kid of the goats, and dipped the coat in the blood; 37: 32 And they sent the coat of many colours, and they brought it to their father; and said, This have we found: know now whether it be thy son's coat or no.
37: 33 And he knew it, and said, It is my son's coat; an evil beast hath devoured him; Joseph is without doubt rent in pieces.
37: 34 And Jacob rent his clothes, and put sackcloth upon his loins, and mourned for his son many days.
37: 35 And all his sons and all his daughters rose up to comfort him; but he refused to be comforted; and he said, For I will go down into the grave unto my son mourning.
Thus his father wept for him.
37: 36 And the Midianites sold him into Egypt unto Potiphar, an officer of Pharaoh's, and captain of the guard.
38: 1 And it came to pass at that time, that Judah went down from his brethren, and turned in to a certain Adullamite, whose name was Hirah.
38: 2 And Judah saw there a daughter of a certain Canaanite, whose name was Shuah; and he took her, and went in unto her.
38: 3 And she conceived, and bare a son; and he called his name Er.
38: 4 And she conceived again, and bare a son; and she called his name Onan.
38: 5 And she yet again conceived, and bare a son; and called his name Shelah: and he was at Chezib, when she bare him.
38: 6 And Judah took a wife for Er his firstborn, whose name was Tamar.
38: 7 And Er, Judah's firstborn, was wicked in the sight of the LORD; and the LORD slew him.
38: 8 And Judah said unto Onan, Go in unto thy brother's wife, and marry her, and raise up seed to thy brother.
38: 9 And Onan knew that the seed should not be his; and it came to pass, when he went in unto his brother's wife, that he spilled it on the ground, lest that he should give seed to his brother.
38: 10 And the thing which he did displeased the LORD: wherefore he slew him also.
38: 11 Then said Judah to Tamar his daughter in law, Remain a widow at thy father's house, till Shelah my son be grown: for he said, Lest peradventure he die also, as his brethren did.
And Tamar went and dwelt in her father's house.
38: 12 And in process of time the daughter of Shuah Judah's wife died; and Judah was comforted, and went up unto his sheepshearers to Timnath, he and his friend Hirah the Adullamite.
38: 13 And it was told Tamar, saying, Behold thy father in law goeth up to Timnath to shear his sheep.
38: 14 And she put her widow's garments off from her, and covered her with a vail, and wrapped herself, and sat in an open place, which is by the way to Timnath; for she saw that Shelah was grown, and she was not given unto him to wife.
38: 15 When Judah saw her, he thought her to be an harlot; because she had covered her face.
38: 16 And he turned unto her by the way, and said, Go to, I pray thee, let me come in unto thee; (for he knew not that she was his daughter in law.)
And she said, What wilt thou give me, that thou mayest come in unto me?
38: 17 And he said, I will send thee a kid from the flock.
And she said, Wilt thou give me a pledge, till thou send it?
38: 18 And he said, What pledge shall I give thee?
And she said, Thy signet, and thy bracelets, and thy staff that is in thine hand.
And he gave it her, and came in unto her, and she conceived by him.
38: 19 And she arose, and went away, and laid by her vail from her, and put on the garments of her widowhood.
38: 20 And Judah sent the kid by the hand of his friend the Adullamite, to receive his pledge from the woman's hand: but he found her not.
38: 21 Then he asked the men of that place, saying, Where is the harlot, that was openly by the way side?
And they said, There was no harlot in this place.
38: 22 And he returned to Judah, and said, I cannot find her; and also the men of the place said, that there was no harlot in this place.
38: 23 And Judah said, Let her take it to her, lest we be shamed: behold, I sent this kid, and thou hast not found her.
38: 24 And it came to pass about three months after, that it was told Judah, saying, Tamar thy daughter in law hath played the harlot; and also, behold, she is with child by whoredom.
And Judah said, Bring her forth, and let her be burnt.
38: 25 When she was brought forth, she sent to her father in law, saying, By the man, whose these are, am I with child: and she said, Discern, I pray thee, whose are these, the signet, and bracelets, and staff.
38: 26 And Judah acknowledged them, and said, She hath been more righteous than I; because that I gave her not to Shelah my son.
And he knew her again no more.
38: 27 And it came to pass in the time of her travail, that, behold, twins were in her womb.
38: 28 And it came to pass, when she travailed, that the one put out his hand: and the midwife took and bound upon his hand a scarlet thread, saying, This came out first.
38: 29 And it came to pass, as he drew back his hand, that, behold, his brother came out: and she said, How hast thou broken forth?
this breach be upon thee: therefore his name was called Pharez.
38: 30 And afterward came out his brother, that had the scarlet thread upon his hand: and his name was called Zarah.
39: 1 And Joseph was brought down to Egypt; and Potiphar, an officer of Pharaoh, captain of the guard, an Egyptian, bought him of the hands of the Ishmeelites, which had brought him down thither.
39: 2 And the LORD was with Joseph, and he was a prosperous man; and he was in the house of his master the Egyptian.
39: 3 And his master saw that the LORD was with him, and that the LORD made all that he did to prosper in his hand.
39: 4 And Joseph found grace in his sight, and he served him: and he made him overseer over his house, and all that he had he put into his hand.
39: 5 And it came to pass from the time that he had made him overseer in his house, and over all that he had, that the LORD blessed the Egyptian's house for Joseph's sake; and the blessing of the LORD was upon all that he had in the house, and in the field.
39: 6 And he left all that he had in Joseph's hand; and he knew not ought he had, save the bread which he did eat.
And Joseph was a goodly person, and well favoured.
39: 7 And it came to pass after these things, that his master's wife cast her eyes upon Joseph; and she said, Lie with me.
39: 10 And it came to pass, as she spake to Joseph day by day, that he hearkened not unto her, to lie by her, or to be with her.
39: 11 And it came to pass about this time, that Joseph went into the house to do his business; and there was none of the men of the house there within.
39: 12 And she caught him by his garment, saying, Lie with me: and he left his garment in her hand, and fled, and got him out.
39: 16 And she laid up his garment by her, until his lord came home.
39: 17 And she spake unto him according to these words, saying, The Hebrew servant, which thou hast brought unto us, came in unto me to mock me: 39: 18 And it came to pass, as I lifted up my voice and cried, that he left his garment with me, and fled out.
39: 19 And it came to pass, when his master heard the words of his wife, which she spake unto him, saying, After this manner did thy servant to me; that his wrath was kindled.
39: 20 And Joseph's master took him, and put him into the prison, a place where the king's prisoners were bound: and he was there in the prison.
39: 21 But the LORD was with Joseph, and shewed him mercy, and gave him favour in the sight of the keeper of the prison.
39: 22 And the keeper of the prison committed to Joseph's hand all the prisoners that were in the prison; and whatsoever they did there, he was the doer of it.
39: 23 The keeper of the prison looked not to any thing that was under his hand; because the LORD was with him, and that which he did, the LORD made it to prosper.
40: 1 And it came to pass after these things, that the butler of the king of Egypt and his baker had offended their lord the king of Egypt.
40: 2 And Pharaoh was wroth against two of his officers, against the chief of the butlers, and against the chief of the bakers.
40: 3 And he put them in ward in the house of the captain of the guard, into the prison, the place where Joseph was bound.
40: 4 And the captain of the guard charged Joseph with them, and he served them: and they continued a season in ward.
40: 5 And they dreamed a dream both of them, each man his dream in one night, each man according to the interpretation of his dream, the butler and the baker of the king of Egypt, which were bound in the prison.
40: 6 And Joseph came in unto them in the morning, and looked upon them, and, behold, they were sad.
40: 7 And he asked Pharaoh's officers that were with him in the ward of his lord's house, saying, Wherefore look ye so sadly to day?
40: 8 And they said unto him, We have dreamed a dream, and there is no interpreter of it.
And Joseph said unto them, Do not interpretations belong to God?
tell me them, I pray you.
40: 18 And Joseph answered and said, This is the interpretation thereof: The three baskets are three days: 40: 19 Yet within three days shall Pharaoh lift up thy head from off thee, and shall hang thee on a tree; and the birds shall eat thy flesh from off thee.
40: 20 And it came to pass the third day, which was Pharaoh's birthday, that he made a feast unto all his servants: and he lifted up the head of the chief butler and of the chief baker among his servants.
40: 21 And he restored the chief butler unto his butlership again; and he gave the cup into Pharaoh's hand: 40: 22 But he hanged the chief baker: as Joseph had interpreted to them.
40: 23 Yet did not the chief butler remember Joseph, but forgat him.
41: 1 And it came to pass at the end of two full years, that Pharaoh dreamed: and, behold, he stood by the river.
41: 2 And, behold, there came up out of the river seven well favoured kine and fatfleshed; and they fed in a meadow.
41: 3 And, behold, seven other kine came up after them out of the river, ill favoured and leanfleshed; and stood by the other kine upon the brink of the river.
41: 4 And the ill favoured and leanfleshed kine did eat up the seven well favoured and fat kine.
So Pharaoh awoke.
41: 5 And he slept and dreamed the second time: and, behold, seven ears of corn came up upon one stalk, rank and good.
41: 6 And, behold, seven thin ears and blasted with the east wind sprung up after them.
41: 7 And the seven thin ears devoured the seven rank and full ears.
And Pharaoh awoke, and, behold, it was a dream.
41: 8 And it came to pass in the morning that his spirit was troubled; and he sent and called for all the magicians of Egypt, and all the wise men thereof: and Pharaoh told them his dream; but there was none that could interpret them unto Pharaoh.
41: 12 And there was there with us a young man, an Hebrew, servant to the captain of the guard; and we told him, and he interpreted to us our dreams; to each man according to his dream he did interpret.
41: 13 And it came to pass, as he interpreted to us, so it was; me he restored unto mine office, and him he hanged.
41: 14 Then Pharaoh sent and called Joseph, and they brought him hastily out of the dungeon: and he shaved himself, and changed his raiment, and came in unto Pharaoh.
41: 15 And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, I have dreamed a dream, and there is none that can interpret it: and I have heard say of thee, that thou canst understand a dream to interpret it.
41: 16 And Joseph answered Pharaoh, saying, It is not in me: God shall give Pharaoh an answer of peace.
So I awoke.
41: 25 And Joseph said unto Pharaoh, The dream of Pharaoh is one: God hath shewed Pharaoh what he is about to do.
41: 26 The seven good kine are seven years; and the seven good ears are seven years: the dream is one.
41: 27 And the seven thin and ill favoured kine that came up after them are seven years; and the seven empty ears blasted with the east wind shall be seven years of famine.
41: 28 This is the thing which I have spoken unto Pharaoh: What God is about to do he sheweth unto Pharaoh.
41: 32 And for that the dream was doubled unto Pharaoh twice; it is because the thing is established by God, and God will shortly bring it to pass.
41: 33 Now therefore let Pharaoh look out a man discreet and wise, and set him over the land of Egypt.
41: 34 Let Pharaoh do this, and let him appoint officers over the land, and take up the fifth part of the land of Egypt in the seven plenteous years.
41: 35 And let them gather all the food of those good years that come, and lay up corn under the hand of Pharaoh, and let them keep food in the cities.
41: 36 And that food shall be for store to the land against the seven years of famine, which shall be in the land of Egypt; that the land perish not through the famine.
41: 37 And the thing was good in the eyes of Pharaoh, and in the eyes of all his servants.
41: 38 And Pharaoh said unto his servants, Can we find such a one as this is, a man in whom the Spirit of God is?
41: 39 And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, Forasmuch as God hath shewed thee all this, there is none so discreet and wise as thou art: 41: 40 Thou shalt be over my house, and according unto thy word shall all my people be ruled: only in the throne will I be greater than thou.
41: 41 And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, See, I have set thee over all the land of Egypt.
41: 44 And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, I am Pharaoh, and without thee shall no man lift up his hand or foot in all the land of Egypt.
41: 45 And Pharaoh called Joseph's name Zaphnathpaaneah; and he gave him to wife Asenath the daughter of Potipherah priest of On.
And Joseph went out over all the land of Egypt.
41: 46 And Joseph was thirty years old when he stood before Pharaoh king of Egypt.
And Joseph went out from the presence of Pharaoh, and went throughout all the land of Egypt.
41: 47 And in the seven plenteous years the earth brought forth by handfuls.
41: 48 And he gathered up all the food of the seven years, which were in the land of Egypt, and laid up the food in the cities: the food of the field, which was round about every city, laid he up in the same.
41: 49 And Joseph gathered corn as the sand of the sea, very much, until he left numbering; for it was without number.
41: 50 And unto Joseph were born two sons before the years of famine came, which Asenath the daughter of Potipherah priest of On bare unto him.
41: 51 And Joseph called the name of the firstborn Manasseh: For God, said he, hath made me forget all my toil, and all my father's house.
41: 52 And the name of the second called he Ephraim: For God hath caused me to be fruitful in the land of my affliction.
41: 53 And the seven years of plenteousness, that was in the land of Egypt, were ended.
41: 54 And the seven years of dearth began to come, according as Joseph had said: and the dearth was in all lands; but in all the land of Egypt there was bread.
41: 55 And when all the land of Egypt was famished, the people cried to Pharaoh for bread: and Pharaoh said unto all the Egyptians, Go unto Joseph; what he saith to you, do.
41: 56 And the famine was over all the face of the earth: and Joseph opened all the storehouses, and sold unto the Egyptians; and the famine waxed sore in the land of Egypt.
41: 57 And all countries came into Egypt to Joseph for to buy corn; because that the famine was so sore in all lands.
42: 1 Now when Jacob saw that there was corn in Egypt, Jacob said unto his sons, Why do ye look one upon another?
42: 2 And he said, Behold, I have heard that there is corn in Egypt: get you down thither, and buy for us from thence; that we may live, and not die.
42: 3 And Joseph's ten brethren went down to buy corn in Egypt.
42: 4 But Benjamin, Joseph's brother, Jacob sent not with his brethren; for he said, Lest peradventure mischief befall him.
42: 5 And the sons of Israel came to buy corn among those that came: for the famine was in the land of Canaan.
42: 6 And Joseph was the governor over the land, and he it was that sold to all the people of the land: and Joseph's brethren came, and bowed down themselves before him with their faces to the earth.
42: 7 And Joseph saw his brethren, and he knew them, but made himself strange unto them, and spake roughly unto them; and he said unto them, Whence come ye?
And they said, From the land of Canaan to buy food.
42: 8 And Joseph knew his brethren, but they knew not him.
42: 9 And Joseph remembered the dreams which he dreamed of them, and said unto them, Ye are spies; to see the nakedness of the land ye are come.
42: 10 And they said unto him, Nay, my lord, but to buy food are thy servants come.
42: 11 We are all one man's sons; we are true men, thy servants are no spies.
42: 12 And he said unto them, Nay, but to see the nakedness of the land ye are come.
42: 13 And they said, Thy servants are twelve brethren, the sons of one man in the land of Canaan; and, behold, the youngest is this day with our father, and one is not.
42: 14 And Joseph said unto them, That is it that I spake unto you, saying, Ye are spies: 42: 15 Hereby ye shall be proved: By the life of Pharaoh ye shall not go forth hence, except your youngest brother come hither.
42: 16 Send one of you, and let him fetch your brother, and ye shall be kept in prison, that your words may be proved, whether there be any truth in you: or else by the life of Pharaoh surely ye are spies.
42: 17 And he put them all together into ward three days.
And they did so.
42: 21 And they said one to another, We are verily guilty concerning our brother, in that we saw the anguish of his soul, when he besought us, and we would not hear; therefore is this distress come upon us.
42: 22 And Reuben answered them, saying, Spake I not unto you, saying, Do not sin against the child; and ye would not hear?
therefore, behold, also his blood is required.
42: 23 And they knew not that Joseph understood them; for he spake unto them by an interpreter.
42: 24 And he turned himself about from them, and wept; and returned to them again, and communed with them, and took from them Simeon, and bound him before their eyes.
42: 25 Then Joseph commanded to fill their sacks with corn, and to restore every man's money into his sack, and to give them provision for the way: and thus did he unto them.
42: 26 And they laded their asses with the corn, and departed thence.
42: 27 And as one of them opened his sack to give his ass provender in the inn, he espied his money; for, behold, it was in his sack's mouth.
42: 28 And he said unto his brethren, My money is restored; and, lo, it is even in my sack: and their heart failed them, and they were afraid, saying one to another, What is this that God hath done unto us?
42: 29 And they came unto Jacob their father unto the land of Canaan, and told him all that befell unto them; saying, 42: 30 The man, who is the lord of the land, spake roughly to us, and took us for spies of the country.
42: 31 And we said unto him, We are true men; we are no spies: 42: 32 We be twelve brethren, sons of our father; one is not, and the youngest is this day with our father in the land of Canaan.
42: 35 And it came to pass as they emptied their sacks, that, behold, every man's bundle of money was in his sack: and when both they and their father saw the bundles of money, they were afraid.
42: 36 And Jacob their father said unto them, Me have ye bereaved of my children: Joseph is not, and Simeon is not, and ye will take Benjamin away: all these things are against me.
42: 37 And Reuben spake unto his father, saying, Slay my two sons, if I bring him not to thee: deliver him into my hand, and I will bring him to thee again.
42: 38 And he said, My son shall not go down with you; for his brother is dead, and he is left alone: if mischief befall him by the way in the which ye go, then shall ye bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.
43: 1 And the famine was sore in the land.
43: 2 And it came to pass, when they had eaten up the corn which they had brought out of Egypt, their father said unto them, Go again, buy us a little food.
43: 3 And Judah spake unto him, saying, The man did solemnly protest unto us, saying, Ye shall not see my face, except your brother be with you.
43: 4 If thou wilt send our brother with us, we will go down and buy thee food: 43: 5 But if thou wilt not send him, we will not go down: for the man said unto us, Ye shall not see my face, except your brother be with you.
43: 6 And Israel said, Wherefore dealt ye so ill with me, as to tell the man whether ye had yet a brother?
43: 7 And they said, The man asked us straitly of our state, and of our kindred, saying, Is your father yet alive?
have ye another brother?
and we told him according to the tenor of these words: could we certainly know that he would say, Bring your brother down?
43: 8 And Judah said unto Israel his father, Send the lad with me, and we will arise and go; that we may live, and not die, both we, and thou, and also our little ones.
43: 9 I will be surety for him; of my hand shalt thou require him: if I bring him not unto thee, and set him before thee, then let me bear the blame for ever: 43: 10 For except we had lingered, surely now we had returned this second time.
If I be bereaved of my children, I am bereaved.
43: 15 And the men took that present, and they took double money in their hand and Benjamin; and rose up, and went down to Egypt, and stood before Joseph.
43: 16 And when Joseph saw Benjamin with them, he said to the ruler of his house, Bring these men home, and slay, and make ready; for these men shall dine with me at noon.
43: 17 And the man did as Joseph bade; and the man brought the men into Joseph's house.
43: 22 And other money have we brought down in our hands to buy food: we cannot tell who put our money in our sacks.
43: 23 And he said, Peace be to you, fear not: your God, and the God of your father, hath given you treasure in your sacks: I had your money.
And he brought Simeon out unto them.
43: 24 And the man brought the men into Joseph's house, and gave them water, and they washed their feet; and he gave their asses provender.
43: 25 And they made ready the present against Joseph came at noon: for they heard that they should eat bread there.
43: 26 And when Joseph came home, they brought him the present which was in their hand into the house, and bowed themselves to him to the earth.
43: 27 And he asked them of their welfare, and said, Is your father well, the old man of whom ye spake?
Is he yet alive?
43: 28 And they answered, Thy servant our father is in good health, he is yet alive.
And they bowed down their heads, and made obeisance.
43: 29 And he lifted up his eyes, and saw his brother Benjamin, his mother's son, and said, Is this your younger brother, of whom ye spake unto me?
And he said, God be gracious unto thee, my son.
43: 30 And Joseph made haste; for his bowels did yearn upon his brother: and he sought where to weep; and he entered into his chamber, and wept there.
43: 31 And he washed his face, and went out, and refrained himself, and said, Set on bread.
43: 32 And they set on for him by himself, and for them by themselves, and for the Egyptians, which did eat with him, by themselves: because the Egyptians might not eat bread with the Hebrews; for that is an abomination unto the Egyptians.
43: 33 And they sat before him, the firstborn according to his birthright, and the youngest according to his youth: and the men marvelled one at another.
43: 34 And he took and sent messes unto them from before him: but Benjamin's mess was five times so much as any of their's.
And they drank, and were merry with him.
44: 1 And he commanded the steward of his house, saying, Fill the men's sacks with food, as much as they can carry, and put every man's money in his sack's mouth.
44: 2 And put my cup, the silver cup, in the sack's mouth of the youngest, and his corn money.
And he did according to the word that Joseph had spoken.
44: 3 As soon as the morning was light, the men were sent away, they and their asses.
44: 4 And when they were gone out of the city, and not yet far off, Joseph said unto his steward, Up, follow after the men; and when thou dost overtake them, say unto them, Wherefore have ye rewarded evil for good?
44: 5 Is not this it in which my lord drinketh, and whereby indeed he divineth?
ye have done evil in so doing.
44: 6 And he overtook them, and he spake unto them these same words.
44: 7 And they said unto him, Wherefore saith my lord these words?
God forbid that thy servants should do according to this thing: 44: 8 Behold, the money, which we found in our sacks'mouths, we brought again unto thee out of the land of Canaan: how then should we steal out of thy lord's house silver or gold?
44: 9 With whomsoever of thy servants it be found, both let him die, and we also will be my lord's bondmen.
44: 10 And he said, Now also let it be according unto your words: he with whom it is found shall be my servant; and ye shall be blameless.
44: 11 Then they speedily took down every man his sack to the ground, and opened every man his sack.
44: 12 And he searched, and began at the eldest, and left at the youngest: and the cup was found in Benjamin's sack.
44: 13 Then they rent their clothes, and laded every man his ass, and returned to the city.
44: 14 And Judah and his brethren came to Joseph's house; for he was yet there: and they fell before him on the ground.
44: 15 And Joseph said unto them, What deed is this that ye have done?
wot ye not that such a man as I can certainly divine?
44: 16 And Judah said, What shall we say unto my lord?
what shall we speak?
or how shall we clear ourselves?
God hath found out the iniquity of thy servants: behold, we are my lord's servants, both we, and he also with whom the cup is found.
44: 17 And he said, God forbid that I should do so: but the man in whose hand the cup is found, he shall be my servant; and as for you, get you up in peace unto your father.
44: 18 Then Judah came near unto him, and said, Oh my lord, let thy servant, I pray thee, speak a word in my lord's ears, and let not thine anger burn against thy servant: for thou art even as Pharaoh.
44: 19 My lord asked his servants, saying, Have ye a father, or a brother?
44: 20 And we said unto my lord, We have a father, an old man, and a child of his old age, a little one; and his brother is dead, and he alone is left of his mother, and his father loveth him.
44: 21 And thou saidst unto thy servants, Bring him down unto me, that I may set mine eyes upon him.
44: 22 And we said unto my lord, The lad cannot leave his father: for if he should leave his father, his father would die.
44: 23 And thou saidst unto thy servants, Except your youngest brother come down with you, ye shall see my face no more.
44: 24 And it came to pass when we came up unto thy servant my father, we told him the words of my lord.
44: 25 And our father said, Go again, and buy us a little food.
44: 26 And we said, We cannot go down: if our youngest brother be with us, then will we go down: for we may not see the man's face, except our youngest brother be with us.
44: 32 For thy servant became surety for the lad unto my father, saying, If I bring him not unto thee, then I shall bear the blame to my father for ever.
44: 33 Now therefore, I pray thee, let thy servant abide instead of the lad a bondman to my lord; and let the lad go up with his brethren.
44: 34 For how shall I go up to my father, and the lad be not with me?
lest peradventure I see the evil that shall come on my father.
45: 1 Then Joseph could not refrain himself before all them that stood by him; and he cried, Cause every man to go out from me.
And there stood no man with him, while Joseph made himself known unto his brethren.
45: 2 And he wept aloud: and the Egyptians and the house of Pharaoh heard.
45: 3 And Joseph said unto his brethren, I am Joseph; doth my father yet live?
And his brethren could not answer him; for they were troubled at his presence.
45: 4 And Joseph said unto his brethren, Come near to me, I pray you.
And they came near.
And he said, I am Joseph your brother, whom ye sold into Egypt.
45: 5 Now therefore be not grieved, nor angry with yourselves, that ye sold me hither: for God did send me before you to preserve life.
45: 6 For these two years hath the famine been in the land: and yet there are five years, in the which there shall neither be earing nor harvest.
45: 7 And God sent me before you to preserve you a posterity in the earth, and to save your lives by a great deliverance.
45: 8 So now it was not you that sent me hither, but God: and he hath made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house, and a ruler throughout all the land of Egypt.
45: 12 And, behold, your eyes see, and the eyes of my brother Benjamin, that it is my mouth that speaketh unto you.
45: 13 And ye shall tell my father of all my glory in Egypt, and of all that ye have seen; and ye shall haste and bring down my father hither.
45: 14 And he fell upon his brother Benjamin's neck, and wept; and Benjamin wept upon his neck.
45: 15 Moreover he kissed all his brethren, and wept upon them: and after that his brethren talked with him.
45: 16 And the fame thereof was heard in Pharaoh's house, saying, Joseph's brethren are come: and it pleased Pharaoh well, and his servants.
45: 19 Now thou art commanded, this do ye; take you wagons out of the land of Egypt for your little ones, and for your wives, and bring your father, and come.
45: 20 Also regard not your stuff; for the good of all the land of Egypt is your's.
45: 21 And the children of Israel did so: and Joseph gave them wagons, according to the commandment of Pharaoh, and gave them provision for the way.
45: 22 To all of them he gave each man changes of raiment; but to Benjamin he gave three hundred pieces of silver, and five changes of raiment.
45: 23 And to his father he sent after this manner; ten asses laden with the good things of Egypt, and ten she asses laden with corn and bread and meat for his father by the way.
45: 24 So he sent his brethren away, and they departed: and he said unto them, See that ye fall not out by the way.
45: 25 And they went up out of Egypt, and came into the land of Canaan unto Jacob their father, 45: 26 And told him, saying, Joseph is yet alive, and he is governor over all the land of Egypt.
And Jacob's heart fainted, for he believed them not.
46: 1 And Israel took his journey with all that he had, and came to Beersheba, and offered sacrifices unto the God of his father Isaac.
46: 2 And God spake unto Israel in the visions of the night, and said, Jacob, Jacob.
And he said, Here am I.
46: 3 And he said, I am God, the God of thy father: fear not to go down into Egypt; for I will there make of thee a great nation: 46: 4 I will go down with thee into Egypt; and I will also surely bring thee up again: and Joseph shall put his hand upon thine eyes.
46: 5 And Jacob rose up from Beersheba: and the sons of Israel carried Jacob their father, and their little ones, and their wives, in the wagons which Pharaoh had sent to carry him.
46: 8 And these are the names of the children of Israel, which came into Egypt, Jacob and his sons: Reuben, Jacob's firstborn.
46: 9 And the sons of Reuben; Hanoch, and Phallu, and Hezron, and Carmi.
46: 10 And the sons of Simeon; Jemuel, and Jamin, and Ohad, and Jachin, and Zohar, and Shaul the son of a Canaanitish woman.
46: 11 And the sons of Levi; Gershon, Kohath, and Merari.
46: 12 And the sons of Judah; Er, and Onan, and Shelah, and Pharez, and Zarah: but Er and Onan died in the land of Canaan.
And the sons of Pharez were Hezron and Hamul.
46: 13 And the sons of Issachar; Tola, and Phuvah, and Job, and Shimron.
46: 14 And the sons of Zebulun; Sered, and Elon, and Jahleel.
46: 15 These be the sons of Leah, which she bare unto Jacob in Padanaram, with his daughter Dinah: all the souls of his sons and his daughters were thirty and three.
46: 16 And the sons of Gad; Ziphion, and Haggi, Shuni, and Ezbon, Eri, and Arodi, and Areli.
46: 17 And the sons of Asher; Jimnah, and Ishuah, and Isui, and Beriah, and Serah their sister: and the sons of Beriah; Heber, and Malchiel.
46: 18 These are the sons of Zilpah, whom Laban gave to Leah his daughter, and these she bare unto Jacob, even sixteen souls.
46: 19 The sons of Rachel Jacob's wife; Joseph, and Benjamin.
46: 20 And unto Joseph in the land of Egypt were born Manasseh and Ephraim, which Asenath the daughter of Potipherah priest of On bare unto him.
46: 21 And the sons of Benjamin were Belah, and Becher, and Ashbel, Gera, and Naaman, Ehi, and Rosh, Muppim, and Huppim, and Ard.
46: 22 These are the sons of Rachel, which were born to Jacob: all the souls were fourteen.
46: 23 And the sons of Dan; Hushim.
46: 24 And the sons of Naphtali; Jahzeel, and Guni, and Jezer, and Shillem.
46: 25 These are the sons of Bilhah, which Laban gave unto Rachel his daughter, and she bare these unto Jacob: all the souls were seven.
46: 28 And he sent Judah before him unto Joseph, to direct his face unto Goshen; and they came into the land of Goshen.
46: 29 And Joseph made ready his chariot, and went up to meet Israel his father, to Goshen, and presented himself unto him; and he fell on his neck, and wept on his neck a good while.
46: 30 And Israel said unto Joseph, Now let me die, since I have seen thy face, because thou art yet alive.
46: 33 And it shall come to pass, when Pharaoh shall call you, and shall say, What is your occupation?
46: 34 That ye shall say, Thy servants'trade hath been about cattle from our youth even until now, both we, and also our fathers: that ye may dwell in the land of Goshen; for every shepherd is an abomination unto the Egyptians.
47: 1 Then Joseph came and told Pharaoh, and said, My father and my brethren, and their flocks, and their herds, and all that they have, are come out of the land of Canaan; and, behold, they are in the land of Goshen.
47: 2 And he took some of his brethren, even five men, and presented them unto Pharaoh.
47: 3 And Pharaoh said unto his brethren, What is your occupation?
And they said unto Pharaoh, Thy servants are shepherds, both we, and also our fathers.
47: 4 They said morever unto Pharaoh, For to sojourn in the land are we come; for thy servants have no pasture for their flocks; for the famine is sore in the land of Canaan: now therefore, we pray thee, let thy servants dwell in the land of Goshen.
47: 7 And Joseph brought in Jacob his father, and set him before Pharaoh: and Jacob blessed Pharaoh.
47: 8 And Pharaoh said unto Jacob, How old art thou?
47: 9 And Jacob said unto Pharaoh, The days of the years of my pilgrimage are an hundred and thirty years: few and evil have the days of the years of my life been, and have not attained unto the days of the years of the life of my fathers in the days of their pilgrimage.
47: 10 And Jacob blessed Pharaoh, and went out from before Pharaoh.
47: 11 And Joseph placed his father and his brethren, and gave them a possession in the land of Egypt, in the best of the land, in the land of Rameses, as Pharaoh had commanded.
47: 12 And Joseph nourished his father, and his brethren, and all his father's household, with bread, according to their families.
47: 13 And there was no bread in all the land; for the famine was very sore, so that the land of Egypt and all the land of Canaan fainted by reason of the famine.
47: 14 And Joseph gathered up all the money that was found in the land of Egypt, and in the land of Canaan, for the corn which they bought: and Joseph brought the money into Pharaoh's house.
47: 15 And when money failed in the land of Egypt, and in the land of Canaan, all the Egyptians came unto Joseph, and said, Give us bread: for why should we die in thy presence?
for the money faileth.
47: 16 And Joseph said, Give your cattle; and I will give you for your cattle, if money fail.
47: 17 And they brought their cattle unto Joseph: and Joseph gave them bread in exchange for horses, and for the flocks, and for the cattle of the herds, and for the asses: and he fed them with bread for all their cattle for that year.
buy us and our land for bread, and we and our land will be servants unto Pharaoh: and give us seed, that we may live, and not die, that the land be not desolate.
47: 20 And Joseph bought all the land of Egypt for Pharaoh; for the Egyptians sold every man his field, because the famine prevailed over them: so the land became Pharaoh's.
47: 21 And as for the people, he removed them to cities from one end of the borders of Egypt even to the other end thereof.
47: 22 Only the land of the priests bought he not; for the priests had a portion assigned them of Pharaoh, and did eat their portion which Pharaoh gave them: wherefore they sold not their lands.
47: 23 Then Joseph said unto the people, Behold, I have bought you this day and your land for Pharaoh: lo, here is seed for you, and ye shall sow the land.
47: 24 And it shall come to pass in the increase, that ye shall give the fifth part unto Pharaoh, and four parts shall be your own, for seed of the field, and for your food, and for them of your households, and for food for your little ones.
47: 25 And they said, Thou hast saved our lives: let us find grace in the sight of my lord, and we will be Pharaoh's servants.
47: 26 And Joseph made it a law over the land of Egypt unto this day, that Pharaoh should have the fifth part, except the land of the priests only, which became not Pharaoh's.
47: 27 And Israel dwelt in the land of Egypt, in the country of Goshen; and they had possessions therein, and grew, and multiplied exceedingly.
47: 28 And Jacob lived in the land of Egypt seventeen years: so the whole age of Jacob was an hundred forty and seven years.
And he said, I will do as thou hast said.
47: 31 And he said, Swear unto me.
And he sware unto him.
And Israel bowed himself upon the bed's head.
48: 1 And it came to pass after these things, that one told Joseph, Behold, thy father is sick: and he took with him his two sons, Manasseh and Ephraim.
48: 2 And one told Jacob, and said, Behold, thy son Joseph cometh unto thee: and Israel strengthened himself, and sat upon the bed.
48: 5 And now thy two sons, Ephraim and Manasseh, which were born unto thee in the land of Egypt before I came unto thee into Egypt, are mine; as Reuben and Simeon, they shall be mine.
48: 6 And thy issue, which thou begettest after them, shall be thine, and shall be called after the name of their brethren in their inheritance.
48: 7 And as for me, when I came from Padan, Rachel died by me in the land of Canaan in the way, when yet there was but a little way to come unto Ephrath: and I buried her there in the way of Ephrath; the same is Bethlehem.
48: 8 And Israel beheld Joseph's sons, and said, Who are these?
48: 9 And Joseph said unto his father, They are my sons, whom God hath given me in this place.
And he said, Bring them, I pray thee, unto me, and I will bless them.
48: 10 Now the eyes of Israel were dim for age, so that he could not see.
And he brought them near unto him; and he kissed them, and embraced them.
48: 11 And Israel said unto Joseph, I had not thought to see thy face: and, lo, God hath shewed me also thy seed.
48: 12 And Joseph brought them out from between his knees, and he bowed himself with his face to the earth.
48: 13 And Joseph took them both, Ephraim in his right hand toward Israel's left hand, and Manasseh in his left hand toward Israel's right hand, and brought them near unto him.
48: 14 And Israel stretched out his right hand, and laid it upon Ephraim's head, who was the younger, and his left hand upon Manasseh's head, guiding his hands wittingly; for Manasseh was the firstborn.
48: 17 And when Joseph saw that his father laid his right hand upon the head of Ephraim, it displeased him: and he held up his father's hand, to remove it from Ephraim's head unto Manasseh's head.
48: 18 And Joseph said unto his father, Not so, my father: for this is the firstborn; put thy right hand upon his head.
48: 19 And his father refused, and said, I know it, my son, I know it: he also shall become a people, and he also shall be great: but truly his younger brother shall be greater than he, and his seed shall become a multitude of nations.
48: 20 And he blessed them that day, saying, In thee shall Israel bless, saying, God make thee as Ephraim and as Manasseh: and he set Ephraim before Manasseh.
48: 21 And Israel said unto Joseph, Behold, I die: but God shall be with you, and bring you again unto the land of your fathers.
48: 22 Moreover I have given to thee one portion above thy brethren, which I took out of the hand of the Amorite with my sword and with my bow.
49: 1 And Jacob called unto his sons, and said, Gather yourselves together, that I may tell you that which shall befall you in the last days.
49: 2 Gather yourselves together, and hear, ye sons of Jacob; and hearken unto Israel your father.
49: 5 Simeon and Levi are brethren; instruments of cruelty are in their habitations.
49: 6 O my soul, come not thou into their secret; unto their assembly, mine honour, be not thou united: for in their anger they slew a man, and in their selfwill they digged down a wall.
49: 7 Cursed be their anger, for it was fierce; and their wrath, for it was cruel: I will divide them in Jacob, and scatter them in Israel.
49: 8 Judah, thou art he whom thy brethren shall praise: thy hand shall be in the neck of thine enemies; thy father's children shall bow down before thee.
49: 9 Judah is a lion's whelp: from the prey, my son, thou art gone up: he stooped down, he couched as a lion, and as an old lion; who shall rouse him up?
49: 10 The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh come; and unto him shall the gathering of the people be.
49: 11 Binding his foal unto the vine, and his ass's colt unto the choice vine; he washed his garments in wine, and his clothes in the blood of grapes: 49: 12 His eyes shall be red with wine, and his teeth white with milk.
49: 13 Zebulun shall dwell at the haven of the sea; and he shall be for an haven of ships; and his border shall be unto Zidon.
49: 14 Issachar is a strong ass couching down between two burdens: 49: 15 And he saw that rest was good, and the land that it was pleasant; and bowed his shoulder to bear, and became a servant unto tribute.
49: 16 Dan shall judge his people, as one of the tribes of Israel.
49: 17 Dan shall be a serpent by the way, an adder in the path, that biteth the horse heels, so that his rider shall fall backward.
49: 18 I have waited for thy salvation, O LORD.
49: 19 Gad, a troop shall overcome him: but he shall overcome at the last.
49: 20 Out of Asher his bread shall be fat, and he shall yield royal dainties.
49: 21 Naphtali is a hind let loose: he giveth goodly words.
49: 27 Benjamin shall ravin as a wolf: in the morning he shall devour the prey, and at night he shall divide the spoil.
49: 28 All these are the twelve tribes of Israel: and this is it that their father spake unto them, and blessed them; every one according to his blessing he blessed them.
49: 31 There they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife; there they buried Isaac and Rebekah his wife; and there I buried Leah.
49: 32 The purchase of the field and of the cave that is therein was from the children of Heth.
49: 33 And when Jacob had made an end of commanding his sons, he gathered up his feet into the bed, and yielded up the ghost, and was gathered unto his people.
50: 1 And Joseph fell upon his father's face, and wept upon him, and kissed him.
50: 2 And Joseph commanded his servants the physicians to embalm his father: and the physicians embalmed Israel.
50: 3 And forty days were fulfilled for him; for so are fulfilled the days of those which are embalmed: and the Egyptians mourned for him threescore and ten days.
Now therefore let me go up, I pray thee, and bury my father, and I will come again.
50: 6 And Pharaoh said, Go up, and bury thy father, according as he made thee swear.
50: 9 And there went up with him both chariots and horsemen: and it was a very great company.
50: 10 And they came to the threshingfloor of Atad, which is beyond Jordan, and there they mourned with a great and very sore lamentation: and he made a mourning for his father seven days.
50: 11 And when the inhabitants of the land, the Canaanites, saw the mourning in the floor of Atad, they said, This is a grievous mourning to the Egyptians: wherefore the name of it was called Abelmizraim, which is beyond Jordan.
50: 14 And Joseph returned into Egypt, he, and his brethren, and all that went up with him to bury his father, after he had buried his father.
50: 15 And when Joseph's brethren saw that their father was dead, they said, Joseph will peradventure hate us, and will certainly requite us all the evil which we did unto him.
And Joseph wept when they spake unto him.
50: 18 And his brethren also went and fell down before his face; and they said, Behold, we be thy servants.
50: 19 And Joseph said unto them, Fear not: for am I in the place of God?
50: 20 But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive.
50: 21 Now therefore fear ye not: I will nourish you, and your little ones.
And he comforted them, and spake kindly unto them.
50: 22 And Joseph dwelt in Egypt, he, and his father's house: and Joseph lived an hundred and ten years.
50: 23 And Joseph saw Ephraim's children of the third generation: the children also of Machir the son of Manasseh were brought up upon Joseph's knees.
50: 24 And Joseph said unto his brethren, I die: and God will surely visit you, and bring you out of this land unto the land which he sware to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.
50: 25 And Joseph took an oath of the children of Israel, saying, God will surely visit you, and ye shall carry up my bones from hence.
50: 26 So Joseph died, being an hundred and ten years old: and they embalmed him, and he was put in a coffin in Egypt.
The Second Book of Moses: Called Exodus
1: 1 Now these are the names of the children of Israel, which came into Egypt; every man and his household came with Jacob.
1: 2 Reuben, Simeon, Levi, and Judah, 1: 3 Issachar, Zebulun, and Benjamin, 1: 4 Dan, and Naphtali, Gad, and Asher.
1: 5 And all the souls that came out of the loins of Jacob were seventy souls: for Joseph was in Egypt already.
1: 6 And Joseph died, and all his brethren, and all that generation.
1: 7 And the children of Israel were fruitful, and increased abundantly, and multiplied, and waxed exceeding mighty; and the land was filled with them.
1: 8 Now there arose up a new king over Egypt, which knew not Joseph.
1: 11 Therefore they did set over them taskmasters to afflict them with their burdens.
And they built for Pharaoh treasure cities, Pithom and Raamses.
1: 12 But the more they afflicted them, the more they multiplied and grew.
And they were grieved because of the children of Israel.
1: 13 And the Egyptians made the children of Israel to serve with rigour: 1: 14 And they made their lives bitter with hard bondage, in morter, and in brick, and in all manner of service in the field: all their service, wherein they made them serve, was with rigour.
1: 17 But the midwives feared God, and did not as the king of Egypt commanded them, but saved the men children alive.
1: 18 And the king of Egypt called for the midwives, and said unto them, Why have ye done this thing, and have saved the men children alive?
1: 19 And the midwives said unto Pharaoh, Because the Hebrew women are not as the Egyptian women; for they are lively, and are delivered ere the midwives come in unto them.
1: 20 Therefore God dealt well with the midwives: and the people multiplied, and waxed very mighty.
1: 21 And it came to pass, because the midwives feared God, that he made them houses.
1: 22 And Pharaoh charged all his people, saying, Every son that is born ye shall cast into the river, and every daughter ye shall save alive.
2: 1 And there went a man of the house of Levi, and took to wife a daughter of Levi.
2: 2 And the woman conceived, and bare a son: and when she saw him that he was a goodly child, she hid him three months.
2: 3 And when she could not longer hide him, she took for him an ark of bulrushes, and daubed it with slime and with pitch, and put the child therein; and she laid it in the flags by the river's brink.
2: 4 And his sister stood afar off, to wit what would be done to him.
2: 5 And the daughter of Pharaoh came down to wash herself at the river; and her maidens walked along by the river's side; and when she saw the ark among the flags, she sent her maid to fetch it.
2: 6 And when she had opened it, she saw the child: and, behold, the babe wept.
And she had compassion on him, and said, This is one of the Hebrews'children.
2: 7 Then said his sister to Pharaoh's daughter, Shall I go and call to thee a nurse of the Hebrew women, that she may nurse the child for thee?
2: 8 And Pharaoh's daughter said to her, Go.
And the maid went and called the child's mother.
2: 9 And Pharaoh's daughter said unto her, Take this child away, and nurse it for me, and I will give thee thy wages.
And the women took the child, and nursed it.
2: 10 And the child grew, and she brought him unto Pharaoh's daughter, and he became her son.
And she called his name Moses: and she said, Because I drew him out of the water.
2: 11 And it came to pass in those days, when Moses was grown, that he went out unto his brethren, and looked on their burdens: and he spied an Egyptian smiting an Hebrew, one of his brethren.
2: 12 And he looked this way and that way, and when he saw that there was no man, he slew the Egyptian, and hid him in the sand.
2: 13 And when he went out the second day, behold, two men of the Hebrews strove together: and he said to him that did the wrong, Wherefore smitest thou thy fellow?
2: 14 And he said, Who made thee a prince and a judge over us?
intendest thou to kill me, as thou killedst the Egyptian?
And Moses feared, and said, Surely this thing is known.
2: 15 Now when Pharaoh heard this thing, he sought to slay Moses.
But Moses fled from the face of Pharaoh, and dwelt in the land of Midian: and he sat down by a well.
2: 16 Now the priest of Midian had seven daughters: and they came and drew water, and filled the troughs to water their father's flock.
2: 17 And the shepherds came and drove them away: but Moses stood up and helped them, and watered their flock.
2: 18 And when they came to Reuel their father, he said, How is it that ye are come so soon to day?
2: 19 And they said, An Egyptian delivered us out of the hand of the shepherds, and also drew water enough for us, and watered the flock.
2: 20 And he said unto his daughters, And where is he?
why is it that ye have left the man?
call him, that he may eat bread.
2: 21 And Moses was content to dwell with the man: and he gave Moses Zipporah his daughter.
2: 22 And she bare him a son, and he called his name Gershom: for he said, I have been a stranger in a strange land.
2: 23 And it came to pass in process of time, that the king of Egypt died: and the children of Israel sighed by reason of the bondage, and they cried, and their cry came up unto God by reason of the bondage.
2: 24 And God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob.
2: 25 And God looked upon the children of Israel, and God had respect unto them.
3: 1 Now Moses kept the flock of Jethro his father in law, the priest of Midian: and he led the flock to the backside of the desert, and came to the mountain of God, even to Horeb.
3: 2 And the angel of the LORD appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed.
3: 3 And Moses said, I will now turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burnt.
3: 4 And when the LORD saw that he turned aside to see, God called unto him out of the midst of the bush, and said, Moses, Moses.
And he said, Here am I.
3: 5 And he said, Draw not nigh hither: put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground.
3: 6 Moreover he said, I am the God of thy father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.
And Moses hid his face; for he was afraid to look upon God.
3: 9 Now therefore, behold, the cry of the children of Israel is come unto me: and I have also seen the oppression wherewith the Egyptians oppress them.
3: 10 Come now therefore, and I will send thee unto Pharaoh, that thou mayest bring forth my people the children of Israel out of Egypt.
3: 11 And Moses said unto God, Who am I, that I should go unto Pharaoh, and that I should bring forth the children of Israel out of Egypt?
3: 12 And he said, Certainly I will be with thee; and this shall be a token unto thee, that I have sent thee: When thou hast brought forth the people out of Egypt, ye shall serve God upon this mountain.
3: 13 And Moses said unto God, Behold, when I come unto the children of Israel, and shall say unto them, The God of your fathers hath sent me unto you; and they shall say to me, What is his name?
what shall I say unto them?
3: 14 And God said unto Moses, I AM THAT I AM: and he said, Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, I AM hath sent me unto you.
3: 15 And God said moreover unto Moses, Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, the LORD God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, hath sent me unto you: this is my name for ever, and this is my memorial unto all generations.
3: 19 And I am sure that the king of Egypt will not let you go, no, not by a mighty hand.
3: 20 And I will stretch out my hand, and smite Egypt with all my wonders which I will do in the midst thereof: and after that he will let you go.
3: 21 And I will give this people favour in the sight of the Egyptians: and it shall come to pass, that, when ye go, ye shall not go empty.
3: 22 But every woman shall borrow of her neighbour, and of her that sojourneth in her house, jewels of silver, and jewels of gold, and raiment: and ye shall put them upon your sons, and upon your daughters; and ye shall spoil the Egyptians.
4: 1 And Moses answered and said, But, behold, they will not believe me, nor hearken unto my voice: for they will say, The LORD hath not appeared unto thee.
4: 2 And the LORD said unto him, What is that in thine hand?
And he said, A rod.
4: 3 And he said, Cast it on the ground.
And he cast it on the ground, and it became a serpent; and Moses fled from before it.
4: 4 And the LORD said unto Moses, Put forth thine hand, and take it by the tail.
And he put forth his hand, and caught it, and it became a rod in his hand: 4: 5 That they may believe that the LORD God of their fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, hath appeared unto thee.
4: 6 And the LORD said furthermore unto him, Put now thine hand into thy bosom.
And he put his hand into his bosom: and when he took it out, behold, his hand was leprous as snow.
4: 7 And he said, Put thine hand into thy bosom again.
And he put his hand into his bosom again; and plucked it out of his bosom, and, behold, it was turned again as his other flesh.
4: 8 And it shall come to pass, if they will not believe thee, neither hearken to the voice of the first sign, that they will believe the voice of the latter sign.
4: 10 And Moses said unto the LORD, O my LORD, I am not eloquent, neither heretofore, nor since thou hast spoken unto thy servant: but I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue.
4: 11 And the LORD said unto him, Who hath made man's mouth?
or who maketh the dumb, or deaf, or the seeing, or the blind?
have not I the LORD?
4: 12 Now therefore go, and I will be with thy mouth, and teach thee what thou shalt say.
4: 13 And he said, O my LORD, send, I pray thee, by the hand of him whom thou wilt send.
4: 14 And the anger of the LORD was kindled against Moses, and he said, Is not Aaron the Levite thy brother?
I know that he can speak well.
And also, behold, he cometh forth to meet thee: and when he seeth thee, he will be glad in his heart.
4: 15 And thou shalt speak unto him, and put words in his mouth: and I will be with thy mouth, and with his mouth, and will teach you what ye shall do.
4: 16 And he shall be thy spokesman unto the people: and he shall be, even he shall be to thee instead of a mouth, and thou shalt be to him instead of God.
4: 17 And thou shalt take this rod in thine hand, wherewith thou shalt do signs.
4: 18 And Moses went and returned to Jethro his father in law, and said unto him, Let me go, I pray thee, and return unto my brethren which are in Egypt, and see whether they be yet alive.
And Jethro said to Moses, Go in peace.
4: 19 And the LORD said unto Moses in Midian, Go, return into Egypt: for all the men are dead which sought thy life.
4: 20 And Moses took his wife and his sons, and set them upon an ass, and he returned to the land of Egypt: and Moses took the rod of God in his hand.
4: 21 And the LORD said unto Moses, When thou goest to return into Egypt, see that thou do all those wonders before Pharaoh, which I have put in thine hand: but I will harden his heart, that he shall not let the people go.
4: 22 And thou shalt say unto Pharaoh, Thus saith the LORD, Israel is my son, even my firstborn: 4: 23 And I say unto thee, Let my son go, that he may serve me: and if thou refuse to let him go, behold, I will slay thy son, even thy firstborn.
4: 24 And it came to pass by the way in the inn, that the LORD met him, and sought to kill him.
4: 25 Then Zipporah took a sharp stone, and cut off the foreskin of her son, and cast it at his feet, and said, Surely a bloody husband art thou to me.
4: 26 So he let him go: then she said, A bloody husband thou art, because of the circumcision.
4: 27 And the LORD said to Aaron, Go into the wilderness to meet Moses.
And he went, and met him in the mount of God, and kissed him.
4: 28 And Moses told Aaron all the words of the LORD who had sent him, and all the signs which he had commanded him.
4: 29 And Moses and Aaron went and gathered together all the elders of the children of Israel: 4: 30 And Aaron spake all the words which the LORD had spoken unto Moses, and did the signs in the sight of the people.
4: 31 And the people believed: and when they heard that the LORD had visited the children of Israel, and that he had looked upon their affliction, then they bowed their heads and worshipped.
5: 1 And afterward Moses and Aaron went in, and told Pharaoh, Thus saith the LORD God of Israel, Let my people go, that they may hold a feast unto me in the wilderness.
5: 2 And Pharaoh said, Who is the LORD, that I should obey his voice to let Israel go?
I know not the LORD, neither will I let Israel go.
5: 3 And they said, The God of the Hebrews hath met with us: let us go, we pray thee, three days'journey into the desert, and sacrifice unto the LORD our God; lest he fall upon us with pestilence, or with the sword.
5: 4 And the king of Egypt said unto them, Wherefore do ye, Moses and Aaron, let the people from their works?
get you unto your burdens.
5: 5 And Pharaoh said, Behold, the people of the land now are many, and ye make them rest from their burdens.
5: 6 And Pharaoh commanded the same day the taskmasters of the people, and their officers, saying, 5: 7 Ye shall no more give the people straw to make brick, as heretofore: let them go and gather straw for themselves.
5: 8 And the tale of the bricks, which they did make heretofore, ye shall lay upon them; ye shall not diminish ought thereof: for they be idle; therefore they cry, saying, Let us go and sacrifice to our God.
5: 9 Let there more work be laid upon the men, that they may labour therein; and let them not regard vain words.
5: 10 And the taskmasters of the people went out, and their officers, and they spake to the people, saying, Thus saith Pharaoh, I will not give you straw.
5: 11 Go ye, get you straw where ye can find it: yet not ought of your work shall be diminished.
5: 12 So the people were scattered abroad throughout all the land of Egypt to gather stubble instead of straw.
5: 13 And the taskmasters hasted them, saying, Fulfil your works, your daily tasks, as when there was straw.
5: 14 And the officers of the children of Israel, which Pharaoh's taskmasters had set over them, were beaten, and demanded, Wherefore have ye not fulfilled your task in making brick both yesterday and to day, as heretofore?
5: 15 Then the officers of the children of Israel came and cried unto Pharaoh, saying, Wherefore dealest thou thus with thy servants?
5: 16 There is no straw given unto thy servants, and they say to us, Make brick: and, behold, thy servants are beaten; but the fault is in thine own people.
5: 17 But he said, Ye are idle, ye are idle: therefore ye say, Let us go and do sacrifice to the LORD.
5: 18 Go therefore now, and work; for there shall no straw be given you, yet shall ye deliver the tale of bricks.
5: 19 And the officers of the children of Israel did see that they were in evil case, after it was said, Ye shall not minish ought from your bricks of your daily task.
5: 22 And Moses returned unto the LORD, and said, LORD, wherefore hast thou so evil entreated this people?
why is it that thou hast sent me?
5: 23 For since I came to Pharaoh to speak in thy name, he hath done evil to this people; neither hast thou delivered thy people at all.
6: 1 Then the LORD said unto Moses, Now shalt thou see what I will do to Pharaoh: for with a strong hand shall he let them go, and with a strong hand shall he drive them out of his land.
6: 2 And God spake unto Moses, and said unto him, I am the LORD: 6: 3 And I appeared unto Abraham, unto Isaac, and unto Jacob, by the name of God Almighty, but by my name JEHOVAH was I not known to them.
6: 4 And I have also established my covenant with them, to give them the land of Canaan, the land of their pilgrimage, wherein they were strangers.
6: 5 And I have also heard the groaning of the children of Israel, whom the Egyptians keep in bondage; and I have remembered my covenant.
6: 8 And I will bring you in unto the land, concerning the which I did swear to give it to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob; and I will give it you for an heritage: I am the LORD.
6: 9 And Moses spake so unto the children of Israel: but they hearkened not unto Moses for anguish of spirit, and for cruel bondage.
6: 10 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 6: 11 Go in, speak unto Pharaoh king of Egypt, that he let the children of Israel go out of his land.
6: 12 And Moses spake before the LORD, saying, Behold, the children of Israel have not hearkened unto me; how then shall Pharaoh hear me, who am of uncircumcised lips?
6: 13 And the LORD spake unto Moses and unto Aaron, and gave them a charge unto the children of Israel, and unto Pharaoh king of Egypt, to bring the children of Israel out of the land of Egypt.
6: 14 These be the heads of their fathers'houses: The sons of Reuben the firstborn of Israel; Hanoch, and Pallu, Hezron, and Carmi: these be the families of Reuben.
6: 15 And the sons of Simeon; Jemuel, and Jamin, and Ohad, and Jachin, and Zohar, and Shaul the son of a Canaanitish woman: these are the families of Simeon.
6: 16 And these are the names of the sons of Levi according to their generations; Gershon, and Kohath, and Merari: and the years of the life of Levi were an hundred thirty and seven years.
6: 17 The sons of Gershon; Libni, and Shimi, according to their families.
6: 18 And the sons of Kohath; Amram, and Izhar, and Hebron, and Uzziel: and the years of the life of Kohath were an hundred thirty and three years.
6: 19 And the sons of Merari; Mahali and Mushi: these are the families of Levi according to their generations.
6: 20 And Amram took him Jochebed his father's sister to wife; and she bare him Aaron and Moses: and the years of the life of Amram were an hundred and thirty and seven years.
6: 21 And the sons of Izhar; Korah, and Nepheg, and Zichri.
6: 22 And the sons of Uzziel; Mishael, and Elzaphan, and Zithri.
6: 23 And Aaron took him Elisheba, daughter of Amminadab, sister of Naashon, to wife; and she bare him Nadab, and Abihu, Eleazar, and Ithamar.
6: 24 And the sons of Korah; Assir, and Elkanah, and Abiasaph: these are the families of the Korhites.
6: 25 And Eleazar Aaron's son took him one of the daughters of Putiel to wife; and she bare him Phinehas: these are the heads of the fathers of the Levites according to their families.
6: 26 These are that Aaron and Moses, to whom the LORD said, Bring out the children of Israel from the land of Egypt according to their armies.
6: 27 These are they which spake to Pharaoh king of Egypt, to bring out the children of Israel from Egypt: these are that Moses and Aaron.
6: 28 And it came to pass on the day when the LORD spake unto Moses in the land of Egypt, 6: 29 That the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, I am the LORD: speak thou unto Pharaoh king of Egypt all that I say unto thee.
6: 30 And Moses said before the LORD, Behold, I am of uncircumcised lips, and how shall Pharaoh hearken unto me?
7: 1 And the LORD said unto Moses, See, I have made thee a god to Pharaoh: and Aaron thy brother shall be thy prophet.
7: 2 Thou shalt speak all that I command thee: and Aaron thy brother shall speak unto Pharaoh, that he send the children of Israel out of his land.
7: 3 And I will harden Pharaoh's heart, and multiply my signs and my wonders in the land of Egypt.
7: 4 But Pharaoh shall not hearken unto you, that I may lay my hand upon Egypt, and bring forth mine armies, and my people the children of Israel, out of the land of Egypt by great judgments.
7: 5 And the Egyptians shall know that I am the LORD, when I stretch forth mine hand upon Egypt, and bring out the children of Israel from among them.
7: 6 And Moses and Aaron did as the LORD commanded them, so did they.
7: 7 And Moses was fourscore years old, and Aaron fourscore and three years old, when they spake unto Pharaoh.
7: 8 And the LORD spake unto Moses and unto Aaron, saying, 7: 9 When Pharaoh shall speak unto you, saying, Shew a miracle for you: then thou shalt say unto Aaron, Take thy rod, and cast it before Pharaoh, and it shall become a serpent.
7: 10 And Moses and Aaron went in unto Pharaoh, and they did so as the LORD had commanded: and Aaron cast down his rod before Pharaoh, and before his servants, and it became a serpent.
7: 11 Then Pharaoh also called the wise men and the sorcerers: now the magicians of Egypt, they also did in like manner with their enchantments.
7: 12 For they cast down every man his rod, and they became serpents: but Aaron's rod swallowed up their rods.
7: 13 And he hardened Pharaoh's heart, that he hearkened not unto them; as the LORD had said.
7: 14 And the LORD said unto Moses, Pharaoh's heart is hardened, he refuseth to let the people go.
7: 15 Get thee unto Pharaoh in the morning; lo, he goeth out unto the water; and thou shalt stand by the river's brink against he come; and the rod which was turned to a serpent shalt thou take in thine hand.
7: 16 And thou shalt say unto him, The LORD God of the Hebrews hath sent me unto thee, saying, Let my people go, that they may serve me in the wilderness: and, behold, hitherto thou wouldest not hear.
7: 17 Thus saith the LORD, In this thou shalt know that I am the LORD: behold, I will smite with the rod that is in mine hand upon the waters which are in the river, and they shall be turned to blood.
7: 18 And the fish that is in the river shall die, and the river shall stink; and the Egyptians shall lothe to drink of the water of the river.
7: 20 And Moses and Aaron did so, as the LORD commanded; and he lifted up the rod, and smote the waters that were in the river, in the sight of Pharaoh, and in the sight of his servants; and all the waters that were in the river were turned to blood.
7: 21 And the fish that was in the river died; and the river stank, and the Egyptians could not drink of the water of the river; and there was blood throughout all the land of Egypt.
7: 22 And the magicians of Egypt did so with their enchantments: and Pharaoh's heart was hardened, neither did he hearken unto them; as the LORD had said.
7: 23 And Pharaoh turned and went into his house, neither did he set his heart to this also.
7: 24 And all the Egyptians digged round about the river for water to drink; for they could not drink of the water of the river.
7: 25 And seven days were fulfilled, after that the LORD had smitten the river.
8: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, Go unto Pharaoh, and say unto him, Thus saith the LORD, Let my people go, that they may serve me.
8: 5 And the LORD spake unto Moses, Say unto Aaron, Stretch forth thine hand with thy rod over the streams, over the rivers, and over the ponds, and cause frogs to come up upon the land of Egypt.
8: 6 And Aaron stretched out his hand over the waters of Egypt; and the frogs came up, and covered the land of Egypt.
8: 7 And the magicians did so with their enchantments, and brought up frogs upon the land of Egypt.
8: 8 Then Pharaoh called for Moses and Aaron, and said, Intreat the LORD, that he may take away the frogs from me, and from my people; and I will let the people go, that they may do sacrifice unto the LORD.
8: 9 And Moses said unto Pharaoh, Glory over me: when shall I intreat for thee, and for thy servants, and for thy people, to destroy the frogs from thee and thy houses, that they may remain in the river only?
8: 10 And he said, To morrow.
And he said, Be it according to thy word: that thou mayest know that there is none like unto the LORD our God.
8: 11 And the frogs shall depart from thee, and from thy houses, and from thy servants, and from thy people; they shall remain in the river only.
8: 12 And Moses and Aaron went out from Pharaoh: and Moses cried unto the LORD because of the frogs which he had brought against Pharaoh.
8: 13 And the LORD did according to the word of Moses; and the frogs died out of the houses, out of the villages, and out of the fields.
8: 14 And they gathered them together upon heaps: and the land stank.
8: 15 But when Pharaoh saw that there was respite, he hardened his heart, and hearkened not unto them; as the LORD had said.
8: 16 And the LORD said unto Moses, Say unto Aaron, Stretch out thy rod, and smite the dust of the land, that it may become lice throughout all the land of Egypt.
8: 17 And they did so; for Aaron stretched out his hand with his rod, and smote the dust of the earth, and it became lice in man, and in beast; all the dust of the land became lice throughout all the land of Egypt.
8: 18 And the magicians did so with their enchantments to bring forth lice, but they could not: so there were lice upon man, and upon beast.
8: 19 Then the magicians said unto Pharaoh, This is the finger of God: and Pharaoh's heart was hardened, and he hearkened not unto them; as the LORD had said.
8: 20 And the LORD said unto Moses, Rise up early in the morning, and stand before Pharaoh; lo, he cometh forth to the water; and say unto him, Thus saith the LORD, Let my people go, that they may serve me.
8: 21 Else, if thou wilt not let my people go, behold, I will send swarms of flies upon thee, and upon thy servants, and upon thy people, and into thy houses: and the houses of the Egyptians shall be full of swarms of flies, and also the ground whereon they are.
8: 22 And I will sever in that day the land of Goshen, in which my people dwell, that no swarms of flies shall be there; to the end thou mayest know that I am the LORD in the midst of the earth.
8: 23 And I will put a division between my people and thy people: to morrow shall this sign be.
8: 24 And the LORD did so; and there came a grievous swarm of flies into the house of Pharaoh, and into his servants'houses, and into all the land of Egypt: the land was corrupted by reason of the swarm of flies.
8: 25 And Pharaoh called for Moses and for Aaron, and said, Go ye, sacrifice to your God in the land.
8: 26 And Moses said, It is not meet so to do; for we shall sacrifice the abomination of the Egyptians to the LORD our God: lo, shall we sacrifice the abomination of the Egyptians before their eyes, and will they not stone us?
8: 27 We will go three days'journey into the wilderness, and sacrifice to the LORD our God, as he shall command us.
8: 28 And Pharaoh said, I will let you go, that ye may sacrifice to the LORD your God in the wilderness; only ye shall not go very far away: intreat for me.
8: 30 And Moses went out from Pharaoh, and intreated the LORD.
8: 31 And the LORD did according to the word of Moses; and he removed the swarms of flies from Pharaoh, from his servants, and from his people; there remained not one.
8: 32 And Pharaoh hardened his heart at this time also, neither would he let the people go.
9: 1 Then the LORD said unto Moses, Go in unto Pharaoh, and tell him, Thus saith the LORD God of the Hebrews, Let my people go, that they may serve me.
9: 2 For if thou refuse to let them go, and wilt hold them still, 9: 3 Behold, the hand of the LORD is upon thy cattle which is in the field, upon the horses, upon the asses, upon the camels, upon the oxen, and upon the sheep: there shall be a very grievous murrain.
9: 4 And the LORD shall sever between the cattle of Israel and the cattle of Egypt: and there shall nothing die of all that is the children's of Israel.
9: 5 And the LORD appointed a set time, saying, To morrow the LORD shall do this thing in the land.
9: 6 And the LORD did that thing on the morrow, and all the cattle of Egypt died: but of the cattle of the children of Israel died not one.
9: 7 And Pharaoh sent, and, behold, there was not one of the cattle of the Israelites dead.
And the heart of Pharaoh was hardened, and he did not let the people go.
9: 8 And the LORD said unto Moses and unto Aaron, Take to you handfuls of ashes of the furnace, and let Moses sprinkle it toward the heaven in the sight of Pharaoh.
9: 9 And it shall become small dust in all the land of Egypt, and shall be a boil breaking forth with blains upon man, and upon beast, throughout all the land of Egypt.
9: 10 And they took ashes of the furnace, and stood before Pharaoh; and Moses sprinkled it up toward heaven; and it became a boil breaking forth with blains upon man, and upon beast.
9: 11 And the magicians could not stand before Moses because of the boils; for the boil was upon the magicians, and upon all the Egyptians.
9: 12 And the LORD hardened the heart of Pharaoh, and he hearkened not unto them; as the LORD had spoken unto Moses.
9: 13 And the LORD said unto Moses, Rise up early in the morning, and stand before Pharaoh, and say unto him, Thus saith the LORD God of the Hebrews, Let my people go, that they may serve me.
9: 14 For I will at this time send all my plagues upon thine heart, and upon thy servants, and upon thy people; that thou mayest know that there is none like me in all the earth.
9: 15 For now I will stretch out my hand, that I may smite thee and thy people with pestilence; and thou shalt be cut off from the earth.
9: 16 And in very deed for this cause have I raised thee up, for to shew in thee my power; and that my name may be declared throughout all the earth.
9: 17 As yet exaltest thou thyself against my people, that thou wilt not let them go?
9: 18 Behold, to morrow about this time I will cause it to rain a very grievous hail, such as hath not been in Egypt since the foundation thereof even until now.
9: 19 Send therefore now, and gather thy cattle, and all that thou hast in the field; for upon every man and beast which shall be found in the field, and shall not be brought home, the hail shall come down upon them, and they shall die.
9: 20 He that feared the word of the LORD among the servants of Pharaoh made his servants and his cattle flee into the houses: 9: 21 And he that regarded not the word of the LORD left his servants and his cattle in the field.
9: 22 And the LORD said unto Moses, Stretch forth thine hand toward heaven, that there may be hail in all the land of Egypt, upon man, and upon beast, and upon every herb of the field, throughout the land of Egypt.
9: 23 And Moses stretched forth his rod toward heaven: and the LORD sent thunder and hail, and the fire ran along upon the ground; and the LORD rained hail upon the land of Egypt.
9: 24 So there was hail, and fire mingled with the hail, very grievous, such as there was none like it in all the land of Egypt since it became a nation.
9: 25 And the hail smote throughout all the land of Egypt all that was in the field, both man and beast; and the hail smote every herb of the field, and brake every tree of the field.
9: 26 Only in the land of Goshen, where the children of Israel were, was there no hail.
9: 27 And Pharaoh sent, and called for Moses and Aaron, and said unto them, I have sinned this time: the LORD is righteous, and I and my people are wicked.
9: 28 Intreat the LORD (for it is enough) that there be no more mighty thunderings and hail; and I will let you go, and ye shall stay no longer.
9: 29 And Moses said unto him, As soon as I am gone out of the city, I will spread abroad my hands unto the LORD; and the thunder shall cease, neither shall there be any more hail; that thou mayest know how that the earth is the LORD's.
9: 30 But as for thee and thy servants, I know that ye will not yet fear the LORD God.
9: 31 And the flax and the barley was smitten: for the barley was in the ear, and the flax was bolled.
9: 32 But the wheat and the rie were not smitten: for they were not grown up.
9: 33 And Moses went out of the city from Pharaoh, and spread abroad his hands unto the LORD: and the thunders and hail ceased, and the rain was not poured upon the earth.
9: 34 And when Pharaoh saw that the rain and the hail and the thunders were ceased, he sinned yet more, and hardened his heart, he and his servants.
9: 35 And the heart of Pharaoh was hardened, neither would he let the children of Israel go; as the LORD had spoken by Moses.
10: 3 And Moses and Aaron came in unto Pharaoh, and said unto him, Thus saith the LORD God of the Hebrews, How long wilt thou refuse to humble thyself before me?
let my people go, that they may serve me.
And he turned himself, and went out from Pharaoh.
10: 7 And Pharaoh's servants said unto him, How long shall this man be a snare unto us?
let the men go, that they may serve the LORD their God: knowest thou not yet that Egypt is destroyed?
10: 8 And Moses and Aaron were brought again unto Pharaoh: and he said unto them, Go, serve the LORD your God: but who are they that shall go?
10: 9 And Moses said, We will go with our young and with our old, with our sons and with our daughters, with our flocks and with our herds will we go; for we must hold a feast unto the LORD.
10: 10 And he said unto them, Let the LORD be so with you, as I will let you go, and your little ones: look to it; for evil is before you.
10: 11 Not so: go now ye that are men, and serve the LORD; for that ye did desire.
And they were driven out from Pharaoh's presence.
10: 12 And the LORD said unto Moses, Stretch out thine hand over the land of Egypt for the locusts, that they may come up upon the land of Egypt, and eat every herb of the land, even all that the hail hath left.
10: 13 And Moses stretched forth his rod over the land of Egypt, and the LORD brought an east wind upon the land all that day, and all that night; and when it was morning, the east wind brought the locusts.
10: 14 And the locust went up over all the land of Egypt, and rested in all the coasts of Egypt: very grievous were they; before them there were no such locusts as they, neither after them shall be such.
10: 16 Then Pharaoh called for Moses and Aaron in haste; and he said, I have sinned against the LORD your God, and against you.
10: 17 Now therefore forgive, I pray thee, my sin only this once, and intreat the LORD your God, that he may take away from me this death only.
10: 18 And he went out from Pharaoh, and intreated the LORD.
10: 19 And the LORD turned a mighty strong west wind, which took away the locusts, and cast them into the Red sea; there remained not one locust in all the coasts of Egypt.
10: 20 But the LORD hardened Pharaoh's heart, so that he would not let the children of Israel go.
10: 21 And the LORD said unto Moses, Stretch out thine hand toward heaven, that there may be darkness over the land of Egypt, even darkness which may be felt.
10: 22 And Moses stretched forth his hand toward heaven; and there was a thick darkness in all the land of Egypt three days: 10: 23 They saw not one another, neither rose any from his place for three days: but all the children of Israel had light in their dwellings.
10: 24 And Pharaoh called unto Moses, and said, Go ye, serve the LORD; only let your flocks and your herds be stayed: let your little ones also go with you.
10: 25 And Moses said, Thou must give us also sacrifices and burnt offerings, that we may sacrifice unto the LORD our God.
10: 26 Our cattle also shall go with us; there shall not an hoof be left behind; for thereof must we take to serve the LORD our God; and we know not with what we must serve the LORD, until we come thither.
10: 27 But the LORD hardened Pharaoh's heart, and he would not let them go.
10: 28 And Pharaoh said unto him, Get thee from me, take heed to thyself, see my face no more; for in that day thou seest my face thou shalt die.
10: 29 And Moses said, Thou hast spoken well, I will see thy face again no more.
11: 1 And the LORD said unto Moses, Yet will I bring one plague more upon Pharaoh, and upon Egypt; afterwards he will let you go hence: when he shall let you go, he shall surely thrust you out hence altogether.
11: 2 Speak now in the ears of the people, and let every man borrow of his neighbour, and every woman of her neighbour, jewels of silver and jewels of gold.
11: 3 And the LORD gave the people favour in the sight of the Egyptians.
Moreover the man Moses was very great in the land of Egypt, in the sight of Pharaoh's servants, and in the sight of the people.
11: 6 And there shall be a great cry throughout all the land of Egypt, such as there was none like it, nor shall be like it any more.
11: 7 But against any of the children of Israel shall not a dog move his tongue, against man or beast: that ye may know how that the LORD doth put a difference between the Egyptians and Israel.
11: 8 And all these thy servants shall come down unto me, and bow down themselves unto me, saying, Get thee out, and all the people that follow thee: and after that I will go out.
And he went out from Pharaoh in a great anger.
11: 9 And the LORD said unto Moses, Pharaoh shall not hearken unto you; that my wonders may be multiplied in the land of Egypt.
11: 10 And Moses and Aaron did all these wonders before Pharaoh: and the LORD hardened Pharaoh's heart, so that he would not let the children of Israel go out of his land.
12: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt saying, 12: 2 This month shall be unto you the beginning of months: it shall be the first month of the year to you.
12: 7 And they shall take of the blood, and strike it on the two side posts and on the upper door post of the houses, wherein they shall eat it.
12: 8 And they shall eat the flesh in that night, roast with fire, and unleavened bread; and with bitter herbs they shall eat it.
12: 9 Eat not of it raw, nor sodden at all with water, but roast with fire; his head with his legs, and with the purtenance thereof.
12: 10 And ye shall let nothing of it remain until the morning; and that which remaineth of it until the morning ye shall burn with fire.
12: 11 And thus shall ye eat it; with your loins girded, your shoes on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and ye shall eat it in haste: it is the LORD's passover.
12: 12 For I will pass through the land of Egypt this night, and will smite all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, both man and beast; and against all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgment: I am the LORD.
12: 13 And the blood shall be to you for a token upon the houses where ye are: and when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and the plague shall not be upon you to destroy you, when I smite the land of Egypt.
12: 14 And this day shall be unto you for a memorial; and ye shall keep it a feast to the LORD throughout your generations; ye shall keep it a feast by an ordinance for ever.
12: 15 Seven days shall ye eat unleavened bread; even the first day ye shall put away leaven out of your houses: for whosoever eateth leavened bread from the first day until the seventh day, that soul shall be cut off from Israel.
12: 16 And in the first day there shall be an holy convocation, and in the seventh day there shall be an holy convocation to you; no manner of work shall be done in them, save that which every man must eat, that only may be done of you.
12: 17 And ye shall observe the feast of unleavened bread; for in this selfsame day have I brought your armies out of the land of Egypt: therefore shall ye observe this day in your generations by an ordinance for ever.
12: 18 In the first month, on the fourteenth day of the month at even, ye shall eat unleavened bread, until the one and twentieth day of the month at even.
12: 19 Seven days shall there be no leaven found in your houses: for whosoever eateth that which is leavened, even that soul shall be cut off from the congregation of Israel, whether he be a stranger, or born in the land.
12: 20 Ye shall eat nothing leavened; in all your habitations shall ye eat unleavened bread.
12: 21 Then Moses called for all the elders of Israel, and said unto them, Draw out and take you a lamb according to your families, and kill the passover.
12: 22 And ye shall take a bunch of hyssop, and dip it in the blood that is in the bason, and strike the lintel and the two side posts with the blood that is in the bason; and none of you shall go out at the door of his house until the morning.
12: 23 For the LORD will pass through to smite the Egyptians; and when he seeth the blood upon the lintel, and on the two side posts, the LORD will pass over the door, and will not suffer the destroyer to come in unto your houses to smite you.
12: 24 And ye shall observe this thing for an ordinance to thee and to thy sons for ever.
12: 25 And it shall come to pass, when ye be come to the land which the LORD will give you, according as he hath promised, that ye shall keep this service.
12: 26 And it shall come to pass, when your children shall say unto you, What mean ye by this service?
12: 27 That ye shall say, It is the sacrifice of the LORD's passover, who passed over the houses of the children of Israel in Egypt, when he smote the Egyptians, and delivered our houses.
And the people bowed the head and worshipped.
12: 28 And the children of Israel went away, and did as the LORD had commanded Moses and Aaron, so did they.
12: 29 And it came to pass, that at midnight the LORD smote all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, from the firstborn of Pharaoh that sat on his throne unto the firstborn of the captive that was in the dungeon; and all the firstborn of cattle.
12: 30 And Pharaoh rose up in the night, he, and all his servants, and all the Egyptians; and there was a great cry in Egypt; for there was not a house where there was not one dead.
12: 31 And he called for Moses and Aaron by night, and said, Rise up, and get you forth from among my people, both ye and the children of Israel; and go, serve the LORD, as ye have said.
12: 32 Also take your flocks and your herds, as ye have said, and be gone; and bless me also.
12: 33 And the Egyptians were urgent upon the people, that they might send them out of the land in haste; for they said, We be all dead men.
12: 34 And the people took their dough before it was leavened, their kneadingtroughs being bound up in their clothes upon their shoulders.
And they spoiled the Egyptians.
12: 37 And the children of Israel journeyed from Rameses to Succoth, about six hundred thousand on foot that were men, beside children.
12: 38 And a mixed multitude went up also with them; and flocks, and herds, even very much cattle.
12: 39 And they baked unleavened cakes of the dough which they brought forth out of Egypt, for it was not leavened; because they were thrust out of Egypt, and could not tarry, neither had they prepared for themselves any victual.
12: 40 Now the sojourning of the children of Israel, who dwelt in Egypt, was four hundred and thirty years.
12: 41 And it came to pass at the end of the four hundred and thirty years, even the selfsame day it came to pass, that all the hosts of the LORD went out from the land of Egypt.
12: 42 It is a night to be much observed unto the LORD for bringing them out from the land of Egypt: this is that night of the LORD to be observed of all the children of Israel in their generations.
12: 43 And the LORD said unto Moses and Aaron, This is the ordinance of the passover: There shall no stranger eat thereof: 12: 44 But every man's servant that is bought for money, when thou hast circumcised him, then shall he eat thereof.
12: 45 A foreigner and an hired servant shall not eat thereof.
12: 46 In one house shall it be eaten; thou shalt not carry forth ought of the flesh abroad out of the house; neither shall ye break a bone thereof.
12: 47 All the congregation of Israel shall keep it.
12: 48 And when a stranger shall sojourn with thee, and will keep the passover to the LORD, let all his males be circumcised, and then let him come near and keep it; and he shall be as one that is born in the land: for no uncircumcised person shall eat thereof.
12: 49 One law shall be to him that is homeborn, and unto the stranger that sojourneth among you.
12: 50 Thus did all the children of Israel; as the LORD commanded Moses and Aaron, so did they.
12: 51 And it came to pass the selfsame day, that the LORD did bring the children of Israel out of the land of Egypt by their armies.
13: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 13: 2 Sanctify unto me all the firstborn, whatsoever openeth the womb among the children of Israel, both of man and of beast: it is mine.
13: 3 And Moses said unto the people, Remember this day, in which ye came out from Egypt, out of the house of bondage; for by strength of hand the LORD brought you out from this place: there shall no leavened bread be eaten.
13: 4 This day came ye out in the month Abib.
13: 6 Seven days thou shalt eat unleavened bread, and in the seventh day shall be a feast to the LORD.
13: 7 Unleavened bread shall be eaten seven days; and there shall no leavened bread be seen with thee, neither shall there be leaven seen with thee in all thy quarters.
13: 8 And thou shalt shew thy son in that day, saying, This is done because of that which the LORD did unto me when I came forth out of Egypt.
13: 9 And it shall be for a sign unto thee upon thine hand, and for a memorial between thine eyes, that the LORD's law may be in thy mouth: for with a strong hand hath the LORD brought thee out of Egypt.
13: 10 Thou shalt therefore keep this ordinance in his season from year to year.
13: 13 And every firstling of an ass thou shalt redeem with a lamb; and if thou wilt not redeem it, then thou shalt break his neck: and all the firstborn of man among thy children shalt thou redeem.
13: 14 And it shall be when thy son asketh thee in time to come, saying, What is this?
13: 16 And it shall be for a token upon thine hand, and for frontlets between thine eyes: for by strength of hand the LORD brought us forth out of Egypt.
13: 19 And Moses took the bones of Joseph with him: for he had straitly sworn the children of Israel, saying, God will surely visit you; and ye shall carry up my bones away hence with you.
13: 20 And they took their journey from Succoth, and encamped in Etham, in the edge of the wilderness.
14: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 14: 2 Speak unto the children of Israel, that they turn and encamp before Pihahiroth, between Migdol and the sea, over against Baalzephon: before it shall ye encamp by the sea.
14: 3 For Pharaoh will say of the children of Israel, They are entangled in the land, the wilderness hath shut them in.
14: 4 And I will harden Pharaoh's heart, that he shall follow after them; and I will be honoured upon Pharaoh, and upon all his host; that the Egyptians may know that I am the LORD.
And they did so.
14: 5 And it was told the king of Egypt that the people fled: and the heart of Pharaoh and of his servants was turned against the people, and they said, Why have we done this, that we have let Israel go from serving us?
14: 6 And he made ready his chariot, and took his people with him: 14: 7 And he took six hundred chosen chariots, and all the chariots of Egypt, and captains over every one of them.
14: 8 And the LORD hardened the heart of Pharaoh king of Egypt, and he pursued after the children of Israel: and the children of Israel went out with an high hand.
14: 9 But the Egyptians pursued after them, all the horses and chariots of Pharaoh, and his horsemen, and his army, and overtook them encamping by the sea, beside Pihahiroth, before Baalzephon.
14: 10 And when Pharaoh drew nigh, the children of Israel lifted up their eyes, and, behold, the Egyptians marched after them; and they were sore afraid: and the children of Israel cried out unto the LORD.
14: 11 And they said unto Moses, Because there were no graves in Egypt, hast thou taken us away to die in the wilderness?
wherefore hast thou dealt thus with us, to carry us forth out of Egypt?
14: 12 Is not this the word that we did tell thee in Egypt, saying, Let us alone, that we may serve the Egyptians?
For it had been better for us to serve the Egyptians, than that we should die in the wilderness.
14: 13 And Moses said unto the people, Fear ye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the LORD, which he will shew to you to day: for the Egyptians whom ye have seen to day, ye shall see them again no more for ever.
14: 14 The LORD shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace.
14: 15 And the LORD said unto Moses, Wherefore criest thou unto me?
speak unto the children of Israel, that they go forward: 14: 16 But lift thou up thy rod, and stretch out thine hand over the sea, and divide it: and the children of Israel shall go on dry ground through the midst of the sea.
14: 17 And I, behold, I will harden the hearts of the Egyptians, and they shall follow them: and I will get me honour upon Pharaoh, and upon all his host, upon his chariots, and upon his horsemen.
14: 18 And the Egyptians shall know that I am the LORD, when I have gotten me honour upon Pharaoh, upon his chariots, and upon his horsemen.
14: 21 And Moses stretched out his hand over the sea; and the LORD caused the sea to go back by a strong east wind all that night, and made the sea dry land, and the waters were divided.
14: 22 And the children of Israel went into the midst of the sea upon the dry ground: and the waters were a wall unto them on their right hand, and on their left.
14: 23 And the Egyptians pursued, and went in after them to the midst of the sea, even all Pharaoh's horses, his chariots, and his horsemen.
14: 26 And the LORD said unto Moses, Stretch out thine hand over the sea, that the waters may come again upon the Egyptians, upon their chariots, and upon their horsemen.
14: 27 And Moses stretched forth his hand over the sea, and the sea returned to his strength when the morning appeared; and the Egyptians fled against it; and the LORD overthrew the Egyptians in the midst of the sea.
14: 28 And the waters returned, and covered the chariots, and the horsemen, and all the host of Pharaoh that came into the sea after them; there remained not so much as one of them.
14: 29 But the children of Israel walked upon dry land in the midst of the sea; and the waters were a wall unto them on their right hand, and on their left.
14: 30 Thus the LORD saved Israel that day out of the hand of the Egyptians; and Israel saw the Egyptians dead upon the sea shore.
14: 31 And Israel saw that great work which the LORD did upon the Egyptians: and the people feared the LORD, and believed the LORD, and his servant Moses.
15: 1 Then sang Moses and the children of Israel this song unto the LORD, and spake, saying, I will sing unto the LORD, for he hath triumphed gloriously: the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.
15: 2 The LORD is my strength and song, and he is become my salvation: he is my God, and I will prepare him an habitation; my father's God, and I will exalt him.
15: 3 The LORD is a man of war: the LORD is his name.
15: 4 Pharaoh's chariots and his host hath he cast into the sea: his chosen captains also are drowned in the Red sea.
15: 5 The depths have covered them: they sank into the bottom as a stone.
15: 6 Thy right hand, O LORD, is become glorious in power: thy right hand, O LORD, hath dashed in pieces the enemy.
15: 7 And in the greatness of thine excellency thou hast overthrown them that rose up against thee: thou sentest forth thy wrath, which consumed them as stubble.
15: 8 And with the blast of thy nostrils the waters were gathered together, the floods stood upright as an heap, and the depths were congealed in the heart of the sea.
15: 9 The enemy said, I will pursue, I will overtake, I will divide the spoil; my lust shall be satisfied upon them; I will draw my sword, my hand shall destroy them.
15: 10 Thou didst blow with thy wind, the sea covered them: they sank as lead in the mighty waters.
15: 11 Who is like unto thee, O LORD, among the gods?
who is like thee, glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders?
15: 12 Thou stretchedst out thy right hand, the earth swallowed them.
15: 13 Thou in thy mercy hast led forth the people which thou hast redeemed: thou hast guided them in thy strength unto thy holy habitation.
15: 14 The people shall hear, and be afraid: sorrow shall take hold on the inhabitants of Palestina.
15: 15 Then the dukes of Edom shall be amazed; the mighty men of Moab, trembling shall take hold upon them; all the inhabitants of Canaan shall melt away.
15: 16 Fear and dread shall fall upon them; by the greatness of thine arm they shall be as still as a stone; till thy people pass over, O LORD, till the people pass over, which thou hast purchased.
15: 17 Thou shalt bring them in, and plant them in the mountain of thine inheritance, in the place, O LORD, which thou hast made for thee to dwell in, in the Sanctuary, O LORD, which thy hands have established.
15: 18 The LORD shall reign for ever and ever.
15: 19 For the horse of Pharaoh went in with his chariots and with his horsemen into the sea, and the LORD brought again the waters of the sea upon them; but the children of Israel went on dry land in the midst of the sea.
15: 20 And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances.
15: 21 And Miriam answered them, Sing ye to the LORD, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.
15: 22 So Moses brought Israel from the Red sea, and they went out into the wilderness of Shur; and they went three days in the wilderness, and found no water.
15: 23 And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they were bitter: therefore the name of it was called Marah.
15: 24 And the people murmured against Moses, saying, What shall we drink?
15: 27 And they came to Elim, where were twelve wells of water, and threescore and ten palm trees: and they encamped there by the waters.
16: 1 And they took their journey from Elim, and all the congregation of the children of Israel came unto the wilderness of Sin, which is between Elim and Sinai, on the fifteenth day of the second month after their departing out of the land of Egypt.
16: 4 Then said the LORD unto Moses, Behold, I will rain bread from heaven for you; and the people shall go out and gather a certain rate every day, that I may prove them, whether they will walk in my law, or no.
16: 5 And it shall come to pass, that on the sixth day they shall prepare that which they bring in; and it shall be twice as much as they gather daily.
16: 8 And Moses said, This shall be, when the LORD shall give you in the evening flesh to eat, and in the morning bread to the full; for that the LORD heareth your murmurings which ye murmur against him: and what are we?
your murmurings are not against us, but against the LORD.
16: 9 And Moses spake unto Aaron, Say unto all the congregation of the children of Israel, Come near before the LORD: for he hath heard your murmurings.
16: 10 And it came to pass, as Aaron spake unto the whole congregation of the children of Israel, that they looked toward the wilderness, and, behold, the glory of the LORD appeared in the cloud.
16: 11 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 16: 12 I have heard the murmurings of the children of Israel: speak unto them, saying, At even ye shall eat flesh, and in the morning ye shall be filled with bread; and ye shall know that I am the LORD your God.
16: 13 And it came to pass, that at even the quails came up, and covered the camp: and in the morning the dew lay round about the host.
16: 14 And when the dew that lay was gone up, behold, upon the face of the wilderness there lay a small round thing, as small as the hoar frost on the ground.
16: 15 And when the children of Israel saw it, they said one to another, It is manna: for they wist not what it was.
And Moses said unto them, This is the bread which the LORD hath given you to eat.
16: 16 This is the thing which the LORD hath commanded, Gather of it every man according to his eating, an omer for every man, according to the number of your persons; take ye every man for them which are in his tents.
16: 17 And the children of Israel did so, and gathered, some more, some less.
16: 18 And when they did mete it with an omer, he that gathered much had nothing over, and he that gathered little had no lack; they gathered every man according to his eating.
16: 19 And Moses said, Let no man leave of it till the morning.
16: 20 Notwithstanding they hearkened not unto Moses; but some of them left of it until the morning, and it bred worms, and stank: and Moses was wroth with them.
16: 21 And they gathered it every morning, every man according to his eating: and when the sun waxed hot, it melted.
16: 22 And it came to pass, that on the sixth day they gathered twice as much bread, two omers for one man: and all the rulers of the congregation came and told Moses.
16: 23 And he said unto them, This is that which the LORD hath said, To morrow is the rest of the holy sabbath unto the LORD: bake that which ye will bake to day, and seethe that ye will seethe; and that which remaineth over lay up for you to be kept until the morning.
16: 24 And they laid it up till the morning, as Moses bade: and it did not stink, neither was there any worm therein.
16: 25 And Moses said, Eat that to day; for to day is a sabbath unto the LORD: to day ye shall not find it in the field.
16: 26 Six days ye shall gather it; but on the seventh day, which is the sabbath, in it there shall be none.
16: 27 And it came to pass, that there went out some of the people on the seventh day for to gather, and they found none.
16: 28 And the LORD said unto Moses, How long refuse ye to keep my commandments and my laws?
16: 29 See, for that the LORD hath given you the sabbath, therefore he giveth you on the sixth day the bread of two days; abide ye every man in his place, let no man go out of his place on the seventh day.
16: 30 So the people rested on the seventh day.
16: 31 And the house of Israel called the name thereof Manna: and it was like coriander seed, white; and the taste of it was like wafers made with honey.
16: 32 And Moses said, This is the thing which the LORD commandeth, Fill an omer of it to be kept for your generations; that they may see the bread wherewith I have fed you in the wilderness, when I brought you forth from the land of Egypt.
16: 33 And Moses said unto Aaron, Take a pot, and put an omer full of manna therein, and lay it up before the LORD, to be kept for your generations.
16: 34 As the LORD commanded Moses, so Aaron laid it up before the Testimony, to be kept.
16: 35 And the children of Israel did eat manna forty years, until they came to a land inhabited; they did eat manna, until they came unto the borders of the land of Canaan.
16: 36 Now an omer is the tenth part of an ephah.
17: 1 And all the congregation of the children of Israel journeyed from the wilderness of Sin, after their journeys, according to the commandment of the LORD, and pitched in Rephidim: and there was no water for the people to drink.
17: 2 Wherefore the people did chide with Moses, and said, Give us water that we may drink.
And Moses said unto them, Why chide ye with me?
wherefore do ye tempt the LORD?
17: 3 And the people thirsted there for water; and the people murmured against Moses, and said, Wherefore is this that thou hast brought us up out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and our cattle with thirst?
17: 4 And Moses cried unto the LORD, saying, What shall I do unto this people?
they be almost ready to stone me.
17: 5 And the LORD said unto Moses, Go on before the people, and take with thee of the elders of Israel; and thy rod, wherewith thou smotest the river, take in thine hand, and go.
17: 6 Behold, I will stand before thee there upon the rock in Horeb; and thou shalt smite the rock, and there shall come water out of it, that the people may drink.
And Moses did so in the sight of the elders of Israel.
17: 7 And he called the name of the place Massah, and Meribah, because of the chiding of the children of Israel, and because they tempted the LORD, saying, Is the LORD among us, or not?
17: 8 Then came Amalek, and fought with Israel in Rephidim.
17: 9 And Moses said unto Joshua, Choose us out men, and go out, fight with Amalek: to morrow I will stand on the top of the hill with the rod of God in mine hand.
17: 10 So Joshua did as Moses had said to him, and fought with Amalek: and Moses, Aaron, and Hur went up to the top of the hill.
17: 11 And it came to pass, when Moses held up his hand, that Israel prevailed: and when he let down his hand, Amalek prevailed.
17: 12 But Moses hands were heavy; and they took a stone, and put it under him, and he sat thereon; and Aaron and Hur stayed up his hands, the one on the one side, and the other on the other side; and his hands were steady until the going down of the sun.
17: 13 And Joshua discomfited Amalek and his people with the edge of the sword.
17: 14 And the LORD said unto Moses, Write this for a memorial in a book, and rehearse it in the ears of Joshua: for I will utterly put out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven.
17: 15 And Moses built an altar, and called the name of it Jehovahnissi: 17: 16 For he said, Because the LORD hath sworn that the LORD will have war with Amalek from generation to generation.
18: 7 And Moses went out to meet his father in law, and did obeisance, and kissed him; and they asked each other of their welfare; and they came into the tent.
18: 8 And Moses told his father in law all that the LORD had done unto Pharaoh and to the Egyptians for Israel's sake, and all the travail that had come upon them by the way, and how the LORD delivered them.
18: 9 And Jethro rejoiced for all the goodness which the LORD had done to Israel, whom he had delivered out of the hand of the Egyptians.
18: 10 And Jethro said, Blessed be the LORD, who hath delivered you out of the hand of the Egyptians, and out of the hand of Pharaoh, who hath delivered the people from under the hand of the Egyptians.
18: 11 Now I know that the LORD is greater than all gods: for in the thing wherein they dealt proudly he was above them.
18: 12 And Jethro, Moses'father in law, took a burnt offering and sacrifices for God: and Aaron came, and all the elders of Israel, to eat bread with Moses'father in law before God.
18: 13 And it came to pass on the morrow, that Moses sat to judge the people: and the people stood by Moses from the morning unto the evening.
18: 14 And when Moses'father in law saw all that he did to the people, he said, What is this thing that thou doest to the people?
why sittest thou thyself alone, and all the people stand by thee from morning unto even?
18: 15 And Moses said unto his father in law, Because the people come unto me to enquire of God: 18: 16 When they have a matter, they come unto me; and I judge between one and another, and I do make them know the statutes of God, and his laws.
18: 17 And Moses'father in law said unto him, The thing that thou doest is not good.
18: 18 Thou wilt surely wear away, both thou, and this people that is with thee: for this thing is too heavy for thee; thou art not able to perform it thyself alone.
18: 23 If thou shalt do this thing, and God command thee so, then thou shalt be able to endure, and all this people shall also go to their place in peace.
18: 24 So Moses hearkened to the voice of his father in law, and did all that he had said.
18: 25 And Moses chose able men out of all Israel, and made them heads over the people, rulers of thousands, rulers of hundreds, rulers of fifties, and rulers of tens.
18: 26 And they judged the people at all seasons: the hard causes they brought unto Moses, but every small matter they judged themselves.
18: 27 And Moses let his father in law depart; and he went his way into his own land.
19: 1 In the third month, when the children of Israel were gone forth out of the land of Egypt, the same day came they into the wilderness of Sinai.
19: 2 For they were departed from Rephidim, and were come to the desert of Sinai, and had pitched in the wilderness; and there Israel camped before the mount.
19: 5 Now therefore, if ye will obey my voice indeed, and keep my covenant, then ye shall be a peculiar treasure unto me above all people: for all the earth is mine: 19: 6 And ye shall be unto me a kingdom of priests, and an holy nation.
These are the words which thou shalt speak unto the children of Israel.
19: 7 And Moses came and called for the elders of the people, and laid before their faces all these words which the LORD commanded him.
19: 8 And all the people answered together, and said, All that the LORD hath spoken we will do.
And Moses returned the words of the people unto the LORD.
19: 9 And the LORD said unto Moses, Lo, I come unto thee in a thick cloud, that the people may hear when I speak with thee, and believe thee for ever.
And Moses told the words of the people unto the LORD.
19: 10 And the LORD said unto Moses, Go unto the people, and sanctify them to day and to morrow, and let them wash their clothes, 19: 11 And be ready against the third day: for the third day the LORD will come down in the sight of all the people upon mount Sinai.
19: 14 And Moses went down from the mount unto the people, and sanctified the people; and they washed their clothes.
19: 15 And he said unto the people, Be ready against the third day: come not at your wives.
19: 16 And it came to pass on the third day in the morning, that there were thunders and lightnings, and a thick cloud upon the mount, and the voice of the trumpet exceeding loud; so that all the people that was in the camp trembled.
19: 17 And Moses brought forth the people out of the camp to meet with God; and they stood at the nether part of the mount.
19: 18 And mount Sinai was altogether on a smoke, because the LORD descended upon it in fire: and the smoke thereof ascended as the smoke of a furnace, and the whole mount quaked greatly.
19: 19 And when the voice of the trumpet sounded long, and waxed louder and louder, Moses spake, and God answered him by a voice.
19: 20 And the LORD came down upon mount Sinai, on the top of the mount: and the LORD called Moses up to the top of the mount; and Moses went up.
19: 21 And the LORD said unto Moses, Go down, charge the people, lest they break through unto the LORD to gaze, and many of them perish.
19: 22 And let the priests also, which come near to the LORD, sanctify themselves, lest the LORD break forth upon them.
19: 23 And Moses said unto the LORD, The people cannot come up to mount Sinai: for thou chargedst us, saying, Set bounds about the mount, and sanctify it.
19: 24 And the LORD said unto him, Away, get thee down, and thou shalt come up, thou, and Aaron with thee: but let not the priests and the people break through to come up unto the LORD, lest he break forth upon them.
19: 25 So Moses went down unto the people, and spake unto them.
20: 1 And God spake all these words, saying, 20: 2 I am the LORD thy God, which have brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.
20: 3 Thou shalt have no other gods before me.
20: 4 Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.
20: 7 Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy God in vain; for the LORD will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.
20: 8 Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.
20: 12 Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee.
20: 13 Thou shalt not kill.
20: 14 Thou shalt not commit adultery.
20: 15 Thou shalt not steal.
20: 16 Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour.
20: 17 Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbour's.
20: 18 And all the people saw the thunderings, and the lightnings, and the noise of the trumpet, and the mountain smoking: and when the people saw it, they removed, and stood afar off.
20: 19 And they said unto Moses, Speak thou with us, and we will hear: but let not God speak with us, lest we die.
20: 20 And Moses said unto the people, Fear not: for God is come to prove you, and that his fear may be before your faces, that ye sin not.
20: 21 And the people stood afar off, and Moses drew near unto the thick darkness where God was.
20: 22 And the LORD said unto Moses, Thus thou shalt say unto the children of Israel, Ye have seen that I have talked with you from heaven.
20: 23 Ye shall not make with me gods of silver, neither shall ye make unto you gods of gold.
20: 24 An altar of earth thou shalt make unto me, and shalt sacrifice thereon thy burnt offerings, and thy peace offerings, thy sheep, and thine oxen: in all places where I record my name I will come unto thee, and I will bless thee.
20: 25 And if thou wilt make me an altar of stone, thou shalt not build it of hewn stone: for if thou lift up thy tool upon it, thou hast polluted it.
20: 26 Neither shalt thou go up by steps unto mine altar, that thy nakedness be not discovered thereon.
21: 1 Now these are the judgments which thou shalt set before them.
21: 2 If thou buy an Hebrew servant, six years he shall serve: and in the seventh he shall go out free for nothing.
21: 3 If he came in by himself, he shall go out by himself: if he were married, then his wife shall go out with him.
21: 4 If his master have given him a wife, and she have born him sons or daughters; the wife and her children shall be her master's, and he shall go out by himself.
21: 7 And if a man sell his daughter to be a maidservant, she shall not go out as the menservants do.
21: 8 If she please not her master, who hath betrothed her to himself, then shall he let her be redeemed: to sell her unto a strange nation he shall have no power, seeing he hath dealt deceitfully with her.
21: 9 And if he have betrothed her unto his son, he shall deal with her after the manner of daughters.
21: 10 If he take him another wife; her food, her raiment, and her duty of marriage, shall he not diminish.
21: 11 And if he do not these three unto her, then shall she go out free without money.
21: 12 He that smiteth a man, so that he die, shall be surely put to death.
21: 13 And if a man lie not in wait, but God deliver him into his hand; then I will appoint thee a place whither he shall flee.
21: 14 But if a man come presumptuously upon his neighbour, to slay him with guile; thou shalt take him from mine altar, that he may die.
21: 15 And he that smiteth his father, or his mother, shall be surely put to death.
21: 16 And he that stealeth a man, and selleth him, or if he be found in his hand, he shall surely be put to death.
21: 17 And he that curseth his father, or his mother, shall surely be put to death.
21: 20 And if a man smite his servant, or his maid, with a rod, and he die under his hand; he shall be surely punished.
21: 21 Notwithstanding, if he continue a day or two, he shall not be punished: for he is his money.
21: 22 If men strive, and hurt a woman with child, so that her fruit depart from her, and yet no mischief follow: he shall be surely punished, according as the woman's husband will lay upon him; and he shall pay as the judges determine.
21: 23 And if any mischief follow, then thou shalt give life for life, 21: 24 Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, 21: 25 Burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.
21: 26 And if a man smite the eye of his servant, or the eye of his maid, that it perish; he shall let him go free for his eye's sake.
21: 27 And if he smite out his manservant's tooth, or his maidservant's tooth; he shall let him go free for his tooth's sake.
21: 28 If an ox gore a man or a woman, that they die: then the ox shall be surely stoned, and his flesh shall not be eaten; but the owner of the ox shall be quit.
21: 29 But if the ox were wont to push with his horn in time past, and it hath been testified to his owner, and he hath not kept him in, but that he hath killed a man or a woman; the ox shall be stoned, and his owner also shall be put to death.
21: 30 If there be laid on him a sum of money, then he shall give for the ransom of his life whatsoever is laid upon him.
21: 31 Whether he have gored a son, or have gored a daughter, according to this judgment shall it be done unto him.
21: 32 If the ox shall push a manservant or a maidservant; he shall give unto their master thirty shekels of silver, and the ox shall be stoned.
21: 33 And if a man shall open a pit, or if a man shall dig a pit, and not cover it, and an ox or an ass fall therein; 21: 34 The owner of the pit shall make it good, and give money unto the owner of them; and the dead beast shall be his.
21: 35 And if one man's ox hurt another's, that he die; then they shall sell the live ox, and divide the money of it; and the dead ox also they shall divide.
21: 36 Or if it be known that the ox hath used to push in time past, and his owner hath not kept him in; he shall surely pay ox for ox; and the dead shall be his own.
22: 1 If a man shall steal an ox, or a sheep, and kill it, or sell it; he shall restore five oxen for an ox, and four sheep for a sheep.
22: 2 If a thief be found breaking up, and be smitten that he die, there shall no blood be shed for him.
22: 3 If the sun be risen upon him, there shall be blood shed for him; for he should make full restitution; if he have nothing, then he shall be sold for his theft.
22: 4 If the theft be certainly found in his hand alive, whether it be ox, or ass, or sheep; he shall restore double.
22: 5 If a man shall cause a field or vineyard to be eaten, and shall put in his beast, and shall feed in another man's field; of the best of his own field, and of the best of his own vineyard, shall he make restitution.
22: 6 If fire break out, and catch in thorns, so that the stacks of corn, or the standing corn, or the field, be consumed therewith; he that kindled the fire shall surely make restitution.
22: 7 If a man shall deliver unto his neighbour money or stuff to keep, and it be stolen out of the man's house; if the thief be found, let him pay double.
22: 8 If the thief be not found, then the master of the house shall be brought unto the judges, to see whether he have put his hand unto his neighbour's goods.
22: 12 And if it be stolen from him, he shall make restitution unto the owner thereof.
22: 13 If it be torn in pieces, then let him bring it for witness, and he shall not make good that which was torn.
22: 14 And if a man borrow ought of his neighbour, and it be hurt, or die, the owner thereof being not with it, he shall surely make it good.
22: 15 But if the owner thereof be with it, he shall not make it good: if it be an hired thing, it came for his hire.
22: 16 And if a man entice a maid that is not betrothed, and lie with her, he shall surely endow her to be his wife.
22: 17 If her father utterly refuse to give her unto him, he shall pay money according to the dowry of virgins.
22: 18 Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.
22: 19 Whosoever lieth with a beast shall surely be put to death.
22: 20 He that sacrificeth unto any god, save unto the LORD only, he shall be utterly destroyed.
22: 21 Thou shalt neither vex a stranger, nor oppress him: for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt.
22: 22 Ye shall not afflict any widow, or fatherless child.
22: 23 If thou afflict them in any wise, and they cry at all unto me, I will surely hear their cry; 22: 24 And my wrath shall wax hot, and I will kill you with the sword; and your wives shall be widows, and your children fatherless.
22: 25 If thou lend money to any of my people that is poor by thee, thou shalt not be to him as an usurer, neither shalt thou lay upon him usury.
22: 26 If thou at all take thy neighbour's raiment to pledge, thou shalt deliver it unto him by that the sun goeth down: 22: 27 For that is his covering only, it is his raiment for his skin: wherein shall he sleep?
and it shall come to pass, when he crieth unto me, that I will hear; for I am gracious.
22: 28 Thou shalt not revile the gods, nor curse the ruler of thy people.
22: 29 Thou shalt not delay to offer the first of thy ripe fruits, and of thy liquors: the firstborn of thy sons shalt thou give unto me.
22: 30 Likewise shalt thou do with thine oxen, and with thy sheep: seven days it shall be with his dam; on the eighth day thou shalt give it me.
22: 31 And ye shall be holy men unto me: neither shall ye eat any flesh that is torn of beasts in the field; ye shall cast it to the dogs.
23: 1 Thou shalt not raise a false report: put not thine hand with the wicked to be an unrighteous witness.
23: 2 Thou shalt not follow a multitude to do evil; neither shalt thou speak in a cause to decline after many to wrest judgment: 23: 3 Neither shalt thou countenance a poor man in his cause.
23: 4 If thou meet thine enemy's ox or his ass going astray, thou shalt surely bring it back to him again.
23: 5 If thou see the ass of him that hateth thee lying under his burden, and wouldest forbear to help him, thou shalt surely help with him.
23: 6 Thou shalt not wrest the judgment of thy poor in his cause.
23: 7 Keep thee far from a false matter; and the innocent and righteous slay thou not: for I will not justify the wicked.
23: 8 And thou shalt take no gift: for the gift blindeth the wise, and perverteth the words of the righteous.
23: 9 Also thou shalt not oppress a stranger: for ye know the heart of a stranger, seeing ye were strangers in the land of Egypt.
23: 10 And six years thou shalt sow thy land, and shalt gather in the fruits thereof: 23: 11 But the seventh year thou shalt let it rest and lie still; that the poor of thy people may eat: and what they leave the beasts of the field shall eat.
In like manner thou shalt deal with thy vineyard, and with thy oliveyard.
23: 12 Six days thou shalt do thy work, and on the seventh day thou shalt rest: that thine ox and thine ass may rest, and the son of thy handmaid, and the stranger, may be refreshed.
23: 13 And in all things that I have said unto you be circumspect: and make no mention of the name of other gods, neither let it be heard out of thy mouth.
23: 14 Three times thou shalt keep a feast unto me in the year.
23: 17 Three items in the year all thy males shall appear before the LORD God.
23: 18 Thou shalt not offer the blood of my sacrifice with leavened bread; neither shall the fat of my sacrifice remain until the morning.
23: 19 The first of the firstfruits of thy land thou shalt bring into the house of the LORD thy God.
Thou shalt not seethe a kid in his mother's milk.
23: 20 Behold, I send an Angel before thee, to keep thee in the way, and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared.
23: 21 Beware of him, and obey his voice, provoke him not; for he will not pardon your transgressions: for my name is in him.
23: 22 But if thou shalt indeed obey his voice, and do all that I speak; then I will be an enemy unto thine enemies, and an adversary unto thine adversaries.
23: 23 For mine Angel shall go before thee, and bring thee in unto the Amorites, and the Hittites, and the Perizzites, and the Canaanites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites: and I will cut them off.
23: 24 Thou shalt not bow down to their gods, nor serve them, nor do after their works: but thou shalt utterly overthrow them, and quite break down their images.
23: 25 And ye shall serve the LORD your God, and he shall bless thy bread, and thy water; and I will take sickness away from the midst of thee.
23: 26 There shall nothing cast their young, nor be barren, in thy land: the number of thy days I will fulfil.
23: 27 I will send my fear before thee, and will destroy all the people to whom thou shalt come, and I will make all thine enemies turn their backs unto thee.
23: 28 And I will send hornets before thee, which shall drive out the Hivite, the Canaanite, and the Hittite, from before thee.
23: 29 I will not drive them out from before thee in one year; lest the land become desolate, and the beast of the field multiply against thee.
23: 30 By little and little I will drive them out from before thee, until thou be increased, and inherit the land.
23: 31 And I will set thy bounds from the Red sea even unto the sea of the Philistines, and from the desert unto the river: for I will deliver the inhabitants of the land into your hand; and thou shalt drive them out before thee.
23: 32 Thou shalt make no covenant with them, nor with their gods.
23: 33 They shall not dwell in thy land, lest they make thee sin against me: for if thou serve their gods, it will surely be a snare unto thee.
24: 1 And he said unto Moses, Come up unto the LORD, thou, and Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu, and seventy of the elders of Israel; and worship ye afar off.
24: 2 And Moses alone shall come near the LORD: but they shall not come nigh; neither shall the people go up with him.
24: 3 And Moses came and told the people all the words of the LORD, and all the judgments: and all the people answered with one voice, and said, All the words which the LORD hath said will we do.
24: 4 And Moses wrote all the words of the LORD, and rose up early in the morning, and builded an altar under the hill, and twelve pillars, according to the twelve tribes of Israel.
24: 5 And he sent young men of the children of Israel, which offered burnt offerings, and sacrificed peace offerings of oxen unto the LORD.
24: 6 And Moses took half of the blood, and put it in basons; and half of the blood he sprinkled on the altar.
24: 7 And he took the book of the covenant, and read in the audience of the people: and they said, All that the LORD hath said will we do, and be obedient.
24: 8 And Moses took the blood, and sprinkled it on the people, and said, Behold the blood of the covenant, which the LORD hath made with you concerning all these words.
24: 9 Then went up Moses, and Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu, and seventy of the elders of Israel: 24: 10 And they saw the God of Israel: and there was under his feet as it were a paved work of a sapphire stone, and as it were the body of heaven in his clearness.
24: 11 And upon the nobles of the children of Israel he laid not his hand: also they saw God, and did eat and drink.
24: 12 And the LORD said unto Moses, Come up to me into the mount, and be there: and I will give thee tables of stone, and a law, and commandments which I have written; that thou mayest teach them.
24: 13 And Moses rose up, and his minister Joshua: and Moses went up into the mount of God.
24: 14 And he said unto the elders, Tarry ye here for us, until we come again unto you: and, behold, Aaron and Hur are with you: if any man have any matters to do, let him come unto them.
24: 15 And Moses went up into the mount, and a cloud covered the mount.
24: 16 And the glory of the LORD abode upon mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it six days: and the seventh day he called unto Moses out of the midst of the cloud.
24: 17 And the sight of the glory of the LORD was like devouring fire on the top of the mount in the eyes of the children of Israel.
24: 18 And Moses went into the midst of the cloud, and gat him up into the mount: and Moses was in the mount forty days and forty nights.
25: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 25: 2 Speak unto the children of Israel, that they bring me an offering: of every man that giveth it willingly with his heart ye shall take my offering.
25: 8 And let them make me a sanctuary; that I may dwell among them.
25: 9 According to all that I shew thee, after the pattern of the tabernacle, and the pattern of all the instruments thereof, even so shall ye make it.
25: 10 And they shall make an ark of shittim wood: two cubits and a half shall be the length thereof, and a cubit and a half the breadth thereof, and a cubit and a half the height thereof.
25: 11 And thou shalt overlay it with pure gold, within and without shalt thou overlay it, and shalt make upon it a crown of gold round about.
25: 12 And thou shalt cast four rings of gold for it, and put them in the four corners thereof; and two rings shall be in the one side of it, and two rings in the other side of it.
25: 13 And thou shalt make staves of shittim wood, and overlay them with gold.
25: 14 And thou shalt put the staves into the rings by the sides of the ark, that the ark may be borne with them.
25: 15 The staves shall be in the rings of the ark: they shall not be taken from it.
25: 16 And thou shalt put into the ark the testimony which I shall give thee.
25: 17 And thou shalt make a mercy seat of pure gold: two cubits and a half shall be the length thereof, and a cubit and a half the breadth thereof.
25: 18 And thou shalt make two cherubims of gold, of beaten work shalt thou make them, in the two ends of the mercy seat.
25: 19 And make one cherub on the one end, and the other cherub on the other end: even of the mercy seat shall ye make the cherubims on the two ends thereof.
25: 20 And the cherubims shall stretch forth their wings on high, covering the mercy seat with their wings, and their faces shall look one to another; toward the mercy seat shall the faces of the cherubims be.
25: 21 And thou shalt put the mercy seat above upon the ark; and in the ark thou shalt put the testimony that I shall give thee.
25: 22 And there I will meet with thee, and I will commune with thee from above the mercy seat, from between the two cherubims which are upon the ark of the testimony, of all things which I will give thee in commandment unto the children of Israel.
25: 23 Thou shalt also make a table of shittim wood: two cubits shall be the length thereof, and a cubit the breadth thereof, and a cubit and a half the height thereof.
25: 24 And thou shalt overlay it with pure gold, and make thereto a crown of gold round about.
25: 25 And thou shalt make unto it a border of an hand breadth round about, and thou shalt make a golden crown to the border thereof round about.
25: 26 And thou shalt make for it four rings of gold, and put the rings in the four corners that are on the four feet thereof.
25: 27 Over against the border shall the rings be for places of the staves to bear the table.
25: 28 And thou shalt make the staves of shittim wood, and overlay them with gold, that the table may be borne with them.
25: 29 And thou shalt make the dishes thereof, and spoons thereof, and covers thereof, and bowls thereof, to cover withal: of pure gold shalt thou make them.
25: 30 And thou shalt set upon the table shewbread before me alway.
25: 31 And thou shalt make a candlestick of pure gold: of beaten work shall the candlestick be made: his shaft, and his branches, his bowls, his knops, and his flowers, shall be of the same.
25: 34 And in the candlesticks shall be four bowls made like unto almonds, with their knops and their flowers.
25: 35 And there shall be a knop under two branches of the same, and a knop under two branches of the same, and a knop under two branches of the same, according to the six branches that proceed out of the candlestick.
25: 36 Their knops and their branches shall be of the same: all it shall be one beaten work of pure gold.
25: 37 And thou shalt make the seven lamps thereof: and they shall light the lamps thereof, that they may give light over against it.
25: 38 And the tongs thereof, and the snuffdishes thereof, shall be of pure gold.
25: 39 Of a talent of pure gold shall he make it, with all these vessels.
25: 40 And look that thou make them after their pattern, which was shewed thee in the mount.
26: 1 Moreover thou shalt make the tabernacle with ten curtains of fine twined linen, and blue, and purple, and scarlet: with cherubims of cunning work shalt thou make them.
26: 2 The length of one curtain shall be eight and twenty cubits, and the breadth of one curtain four cubits: and every one of the curtains shall have one measure.
26: 3 The five curtains shall be coupled together one to another; and other five curtains shall be coupled one to another.
26: 4 And thou shalt make loops of blue upon the edge of the one curtain from the selvedge in the coupling; and likewise shalt thou make in the uttermost edge of another curtain, in the coupling of the second.
26: 5 Fifty loops shalt thou make in the one curtain, and fifty loops shalt thou make in the edge of the curtain that is in the coupling of the second; that the loops may take hold one of another.
26: 6 And thou shalt make fifty taches of gold, and couple the curtains together with the taches: and it shall be one tabernacle.
26: 7 And thou shalt make curtains of goats'hair to be a covering upon the tabernacle: eleven curtains shalt thou make.
26: 8 The length of one curtain shall be thirty cubits, and the breadth of one curtain four cubits: and the eleven curtains shall be all of one measure.
26: 9 And thou shalt couple five curtains by themselves, and six curtains by themselves, and shalt double the sixth curtain in the forefront of the tabernacle.
26: 10 And thou shalt make fifty loops on the edge of the one curtain that is outmost in the coupling, and fifty loops in the edge of the curtain which coupleth the second.
26: 11 And thou shalt make fifty taches of brass, and put the taches into the loops, and couple the tent together, that it may be one.
26: 12 And the remnant that remaineth of the curtains of the tent, the half curtain that remaineth, shall hang over the backside of the tabernacle.
26: 13 And a cubit on the one side, and a cubit on the other side of that which remaineth in the length of the curtains of the tent, it shall hang over the sides of the tabernacle on this side and on that side, to cover it.
26: 14 And thou shalt make a covering for the tent of rams'skins dyed red, and a covering above of badgers'skins.
26: 15 And thou shalt make boards for the tabernacle of shittim wood standing up.
26: 16 Ten cubits shall be the length of a board, and a cubit and a half shall be the breadth of one board.
26: 17 Two tenons shall there be in one board, set in order one against another: thus shalt thou make for all the boards of the tabernacle.
26: 18 And thou shalt make the boards for the tabernacle, twenty boards on the south side southward.
26: 19 And thou shalt make forty sockets of silver under the twenty boards; two sockets under one board for his two tenons, and two sockets under another board for his two tenons.
26: 20 And for the second side of the tabernacle on the north side there shall be twenty boards: 26: 21 And their forty sockets of silver; two sockets under one board, and two sockets under another board.
26: 22 And for the sides of the tabernacle westward thou shalt make six boards.
26: 23 And two boards shalt thou make for the corners of the tabernacle in the two sides.
26: 24 And they shall be coupled together beneath, and they shall be coupled together above the head of it unto one ring: thus shall it be for them both; they shall be for the two corners.
26: 25 And they shall be eight boards, and their sockets of silver, sixteen sockets; two sockets under one board, and two sockets under another board.
26: 26 And thou shalt make bars of shittim wood; five for the boards of the one side of the tabernacle, 26: 27 And five bars for the boards of the other side of the tabernacle, and five bars for the boards of the side of the tabernacle, for the two sides westward.
26: 28 And the middle bar in the midst of the boards shall reach from end to end.
26: 29 And thou shalt overlay the boards with gold, and make their rings of gold for places for the bars: and thou shalt overlay the bars with gold.
26: 30 And thou shalt rear up the tabernacle according to the fashion thereof which was shewed thee in the mount.
26: 33 And thou shalt hang up the vail under the taches, that thou mayest bring in thither within the vail the ark of the testimony: and the vail shall divide unto you between the holy place and the most holy.
26: 34 And thou shalt put the mercy seat upon the ark of the testimony in the most holy place.
26: 35 And thou shalt set the table without the vail, and the candlestick over against the table on the side of the tabernacle toward the south: and thou shalt put the table on the north side.
26: 36 And thou shalt make an hanging for the door of the tent, of blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine twined linen, wrought with needlework.
26: 37 And thou shalt make for the hanging five pillars of shittim wood, and overlay them with gold, and their hooks shall be of gold: and thou shalt cast five sockets of brass for them.
27: 1 And thou shalt make an altar of shittim wood, five cubits long, and five cubits broad; the altar shall be foursquare: and the height thereof shall be three cubits.
27: 2 And thou shalt make the horns of it upon the four corners thereof: his horns shall be of the same: and thou shalt overlay it with brass.
27: 3 And thou shalt make his pans to receive his ashes, and his shovels, and his basons, and his fleshhooks, and his firepans: all the vessels thereof thou shalt make of brass.
27: 4 And thou shalt make for it a grate of network of brass; and upon the net shalt thou make four brasen rings in the four corners thereof.
27: 5 And thou shalt put it under the compass of the altar beneath, that the net may be even to the midst of the altar.
27: 6 And thou shalt make staves for the altar, staves of shittim wood, and overlay them with brass.
27: 7 And the staves shall be put into the rings, and the staves shall be upon the two sides of the altar, to bear it.
27: 8 Hollow with boards shalt thou make it: as it was shewed thee in the mount, so shall they make it.
27: 11 And likewise for the north side in length there shall be hangings of an hundred cubits long, and his twenty pillars and their twenty sockets of brass; the hooks of the pillars and their fillets of silver.
27: 12 And for the breadth of the court on the west side shall be hangings of fifty cubits: their pillars ten, and their sockets ten.
27: 13 And the breadth of the court on the east side eastward shall be fifty cubits.
27: 14 The hangings of one side of the gate shall be fifteen cubits: their pillars three, and their sockets three.
27: 15 And on the other side shall be hangings fifteen cubits: their pillars three, and their sockets three.
27: 16 And for the gate of the court shall be an hanging of twenty cubits, of blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine twined linen, wrought with needlework: and their pillars shall be four, and their sockets four.
27: 17 All the pillars round about the court shall be filleted with silver; their hooks shall be of silver, and their sockets of brass.
27: 18 The length of the court shall be an hundred cubits, and the breadth fifty every where, and the height five cubits of fine twined linen, and their sockets of brass.
27: 19 All the vessels of the tabernacle in all the service thereof, and all the pins thereof, and all the pins of the court, shall be of brass.
27: 20 And thou shalt command the children of Israel, that they bring thee pure oil olive beaten for the light, to cause the lamp to burn always.
27: 21 In the tabernacle of the congregation without the vail, which is before the testimony, Aaron and his sons shall order it from evening to morning before the LORD: it shall be a statute for ever unto their generations on the behalf of the children of Israel.
28: 1 And take thou unto thee Aaron thy brother, and his sons with him, from among the children of Israel, that he may minister unto me in the priest's office, even Aaron, Nadab and Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar, Aaron's sons.
28: 2 And thou shalt make holy garments for Aaron thy brother for glory and for beauty.
28: 3 And thou shalt speak unto all that are wise hearted, whom I have filled with the spirit of wisdom, that they may make Aaron's garments to consecrate him, that he may minister unto me in the priest's office.
28: 4 And these are the garments which they shall make; a breastplate, and an ephod, and a robe, and a broidered coat, a mitre, and a girdle: and they shall make holy garments for Aaron thy brother, and his sons, that he may minister unto me in the priest's office.
28: 5 And they shall take gold, and blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine linen.
28: 6 And they shall make the ephod of gold, of blue, and of purple, of scarlet, and fine twined linen, with cunning work.
28: 7 It shall have the two shoulderpieces thereof joined at the two edges thereof; and so it shall be joined together.
28: 8 And the curious girdle of the ephod, which is upon it, shall be of the same, according to the work thereof; even of gold, of blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine twined linen.
28: 9 And thou shalt take two onyx stones, and grave on them the names of the children of Israel: 28: 10 Six of their names on one stone, and the other six names of the rest on the other stone, according to their birth.
28: 11 With the work of an engraver in stone, like the engravings of a signet, shalt thou engrave the two stones with the names of the children of Israel: thou shalt make them to be set in ouches of gold.
28: 12 And thou shalt put the two stones upon the shoulders of the ephod for stones of memorial unto the children of Israel: and Aaron shall bear their names before the LORD upon his two shoulders for a memorial.
28: 13 And thou shalt make ouches of gold; 28: 14 And two chains of pure gold at the ends; of wreathen work shalt thou make them, and fasten the wreathen chains to the ouches.
28: 15 And thou shalt make the breastplate of judgment with cunning work; after the work of the ephod thou shalt make it; of gold, of blue, and of purple, and of scarlet, and of fine twined linen, shalt thou make it.
28: 16 Foursquare it shall be being doubled; a span shall be the length thereof, and a span shall be the breadth thereof.
28: 17 And thou shalt set in it settings of stones, even four rows of stones: the first row shall be a sardius, a topaz, and a carbuncle: this shall be the first row.
28: 18 And the second row shall be an emerald, a sapphire, and a diamond.
28: 19 And the third row a ligure, an agate, and an amethyst.
28: 20 And the fourth row a beryl, and an onyx, and a jasper: they shall be set in gold in their inclosings.
28: 21 And the stones shall be with the names of the children of Israel, twelve, according to their names, like the engravings of a signet; every one with his name shall they be according to the twelve tribes.
28: 22 And thou shalt make upon the breastplate chains at the ends of wreathen work of pure gold.
28: 23 And thou shalt make upon the breastplate two rings of gold, and shalt put the two rings on the two ends of the breastplate.
28: 24 And thou shalt put the two wreathen chains of gold in the two rings which are on the ends of the breastplate.
28: 25 And the other two ends of the two wreathen chains thou shalt fasten in the two ouches, and put them on the shoulderpieces of the ephod before it.
28: 26 And thou shalt make two rings of gold, and thou shalt put them upon the two ends of the breastplate in the border thereof, which is in the side of the ephod inward.
28: 27 And two other rings of gold thou shalt make, and shalt put them on the two sides of the ephod underneath, toward the forepart thereof, over against the other coupling thereof, above the curious girdle of the ephod.
28: 28 And they shall bind the breastplate by the rings thereof unto the rings of the ephod with a lace of blue, that it may be above the curious girdle of the ephod, and that the breastplate be not loosed from the ephod.
28: 29 And Aaron shall bear the names of the children of Israel in the breastplate of judgment upon his heart, when he goeth in unto the holy place, for a memorial before the LORD continually.
28: 30 And thou shalt put in the breastplate of judgment the Urim and the Thummim; and they shall be upon Aaron's heart, when he goeth in before the LORD: and Aaron shall bear the judgment of the children of Israel upon his heart before the LORD continually.
28: 31 And thou shalt make the robe of the ephod all of blue.
28: 32 And there shall be an hole in the top of it, in the midst thereof: it shall have a binding of woven work round about the hole of it, as it were the hole of an habergeon, that it be not rent.
28: 35 And it shall be upon Aaron to minister: and his sound shall be heard when he goeth in unto the holy place before the LORD, and when he cometh out, that he die not.
28: 36 And thou shalt make a plate of pure gold, and grave upon it, like the engravings of a signet, HOLINESS TO THE LORD.
28: 37 And thou shalt put it on a blue lace, that it may be upon the mitre; upon the forefront of the mitre it shall be.
28: 38 And it shall be upon Aaron's forehead, that Aaron may bear the iniquity of the holy things, which the children of Israel shall hallow in all their holy gifts; and it shall be always upon his forehead, that they may be accepted before the LORD.
28: 39 And thou shalt embroider the coat of fine linen, and thou shalt make the mitre of fine linen, and thou shalt make the girdle of needlework.
28: 40 And for Aaron's sons thou shalt make coats, and thou shalt make for them girdles, and bonnets shalt thou make for them, for glory and for beauty.
28: 41 And thou shalt put them upon Aaron thy brother, and his sons with him; and shalt anoint them, and consecrate them, and sanctify them, that they may minister unto me in the priest's office.
29: 3 And thou shalt put them into one basket, and bring them in the basket, with the bullock and the two rams.
29: 4 And Aaron and his sons thou shalt bring unto the door of the tabernacle of the congregation, and shalt wash them with water.
29: 5 And thou shalt take the garments, and put upon Aaron the coat, and the robe of the ephod, and the ephod, and the breastplate, and gird him with the curious girdle of the ephod: 29: 6 And thou shalt put the mitre upon his head, and put the holy crown upon the mitre.
29: 7 Then shalt thou take the anointing oil, and pour it upon his head, and anoint him.
29: 8 And thou shalt bring his sons, and put coats upon them.
29: 9 And thou shalt gird them with girdles, Aaron and his sons, and put the bonnets on them: and the priest's office shall be theirs for a perpetual statute: and thou shalt consecrate Aaron and his sons.
29: 10 And thou shalt cause a bullock to be brought before the tabernacle of the congregation: and Aaron and his sons shall put their hands upon the head of the bullock.
29: 11 And thou shalt kill the bullock before the LORD, by the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
29: 12 And thou shalt take of the blood of the bullock, and put it upon the horns of the altar with thy finger, and pour all the blood beside the bottom of the altar.
29: 13 And thou shalt take all the fat that covereth the inwards, and the caul that is above the liver, and the two kidneys, and the fat that is upon them, and burn them upon the altar.
29: 14 But the flesh of the bullock, and his skin, and his dung, shalt thou burn with fire without the camp: it is a sin offering.
29: 15 Thou shalt also take one ram; and Aaron and his sons shall put their hands upon the head of the ram.
29: 16 And thou shalt slay the ram, and thou shalt take his blood, and sprinkle it round about upon the altar.
29: 17 And thou shalt cut the ram in pieces, and wash the inwards of him, and his legs, and put them unto his pieces, and unto his head.
29: 18 And thou shalt burn the whole ram upon the altar: it is a burnt offering unto the LORD: it is a sweet savour, an offering made by fire unto the LORD.
29: 19 And thou shalt take the other ram; and Aaron and his sons shall put their hands upon the head of the ram.
29: 25 And thou shalt receive them of their hands, and burn them upon the altar for a burnt offering, for a sweet savour before the LORD: it is an offering made by fire unto the LORD.
29: 26 And thou shalt take the breast of the ram of Aaron's consecration, and wave it for a wave offering before the LORD: and it shall be thy part.
29: 29 And the holy garments of Aaron shall be his sons'after him, to be anointed therein, and to be consecrated in them.
29: 30 And that son that is priest in his stead shall put them on seven days, when he cometh into the tabernacle of the congregation to minister in the holy place.
29: 31 And thou shalt take the ram of the consecration, and seethe his flesh in the holy place.
29: 32 And Aaron and his sons shall eat the flesh of the ram, and the bread that is in the basket by the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
29: 33 And they shall eat those things wherewith the atonement was made, to consecrate and to sanctify them: but a stranger shall not eat thereof, because they are holy.
29: 34 And if ought of the flesh of the consecrations, or of the bread, remain unto the morning, then thou shalt burn the remainder with fire: it shall not be eaten, because it is holy.
29: 35 And thus shalt thou do unto Aaron, and to his sons, according to all things which I have commanded thee: seven days shalt thou consecrate them.
29: 36 And thou shalt offer every day a bullock for a sin offering for atonement: and thou shalt cleanse the altar, when thou hast made an atonement for it, and thou shalt anoint it, to sanctify it.
29: 37 Seven days thou shalt make an atonement for the altar, and sanctify it; and it shall be an altar most holy: whatsoever toucheth the altar shall be holy.
29: 38 Now this is that which thou shalt offer upon the altar; two lambs of the first year day by day continually.
29: 39 The one lamb thou shalt offer in the morning; and the other lamb thou shalt offer at even: 29: 40 And with the one lamb a tenth deal of flour mingled with the fourth part of an hin of beaten oil; and the fourth part of an hin of wine for a drink offering.
29: 41 And the other lamb thou shalt offer at even, and shalt do thereto according to the meat offering of the morning, and according to the drink offering thereof, for a sweet savour, an offering made by fire unto the LORD.
29: 42 This shall be a continual burnt offering throughout your generations at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation before the LORD: where I will meet you, to speak there unto thee.
29: 43 And there I will meet with the children of Israel, and the tabernacle shall be sanctified by my glory.
29: 44 And I will sanctify the tabernacle of the congregation, and the altar: I will sanctify also both Aaron and his sons, to minister to me in the priest's office.
29: 45 And I will dwell among the children of Israel, and will be their God.
29: 46 And they shall know that I am the LORD their God, that brought them forth out of the land of Egypt, that I may dwell among them: I am the LORD their God.
30: 1 And thou shalt make an altar to burn incense upon: of shittim wood shalt thou make it.
30: 2 A cubit shall be the length thereof, and a cubit the breadth thereof; foursquare shall it be: and two cubits shall be the height thereof: the horns thereof shall be of the same.
30: 3 And thou shalt overlay it with pure gold, the top thereof, and the sides thereof round about, and the horns thereof; and thou shalt make unto it a crown of gold round about.
30: 4 And two golden rings shalt thou make to it under the crown of it, by the two corners thereof, upon the two sides of it shalt thou make it; and they shall be for places for the staves to bear it withal.
30: 5 And thou shalt make the staves of shittim wood, and overlay them with gold.
30: 6 And thou shalt put it before the vail that is by the ark of the testimony, before the mercy seat that is over the testimony, where I will meet with thee.
30: 7 And Aaron shall burn thereon sweet incense every morning: when he dresseth the lamps, he shall burn incense upon it.
30: 8 And when Aaron lighteth the lamps at even, he shall burn incense upon it, a perpetual incense before the LORD throughout your generations.
30: 9 Ye shall offer no strange incense thereon, nor burnt sacrifice, nor meat offering; neither shall ye pour drink offering thereon.
30: 10 And Aaron shall make an atonement upon the horns of it once in a year with the blood of the sin offering of atonements: once in the year shall he make atonement upon it throughout your generations: it is most holy unto the LORD.
30: 13 This they shall give, every one that passeth among them that are numbered, half a shekel after the shekel of the sanctuary: (a shekel is twenty gerahs:) an half shekel shall be the offering of the LORD.
30: 14 Every one that passeth among them that are numbered, from twenty years old and above, shall give an offering unto the LORD.
30: 15 The rich shall not give more, and the poor shall not give less than half a shekel, when they give an offering unto the LORD, to make an atonement for your souls.
30: 16 And thou shalt take the atonement money of the children of Israel, and shalt appoint it for the service of the tabernacle of the congregation; that it may be a memorial unto the children of Israel before the LORD, to make an atonement for your souls.
30: 17 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 30: 18 Thou shalt also make a laver of brass, and his foot also of brass, to wash withal: and thou shalt put it between the tabernacle of the congregation and the altar, and thou shalt put water therein.
30: 29 And thou shalt sanctify them, that they may be most holy: whatsoever toucheth them shall be holy.
30: 30 And thou shalt anoint Aaron and his sons, and consecrate them, that they may minister unto me in the priest's office.
30: 31 And thou shalt speak unto the children of Israel, saying, This shall be an holy anointing oil unto me throughout your generations.
30: 32 Upon man's flesh shall it not be poured, neither shall ye make any other like it, after the composition of it: it is holy, and it shall be holy unto you.
30: 33 Whosoever compoundeth any like it, or whosoever putteth any of it upon a stranger, shall even be cut off from his people.
30: 37 And as for the perfume which thou shalt make, ye shall not make to yourselves according to the composition thereof: it shall be unto thee holy for the LORD.
30: 38 Whosoever shall make like unto that, to smell thereto, shall even be cut off from his people.
31: 12 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 31: 13 Speak thou also unto the children of Israel, saying, Verily my sabbaths ye shall keep: for it is a sign between me and you throughout your generations; that ye may know that I am the LORD that doth sanctify you.
31: 14 Ye shall keep the sabbath therefore; for it is holy unto you: every one that defileth it shall surely be put to death: for whosoever doeth any work therein, that soul shall be cut off from among his people.
31: 15 Six days may work be done; but in the seventh is the sabbath of rest, holy to the LORD: whosoever doeth any work in the sabbath day, he shall surely be put to death.
31: 16 Wherefore the children of Israel shall keep the sabbath, to observe the sabbath throughout their generations, for a perpetual covenant.
31: 17 It is a sign between me and the children of Israel for ever: for in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day he rested, and was refreshed.
31: 18 And he gave unto Moses, when he had made an end of communing with him upon mount Sinai, two tables of testimony, tables of stone, written with the finger of God.
32: 2 And Aaron said unto them, Break off the golden earrings, which are in the ears of your wives, of your sons, and of your daughters, and bring them unto me.
32: 3 And all the people brake off the golden earrings which were in their ears, and brought them unto Aaron.
32: 4 And he received them at their hand, and fashioned it with a graving tool, after he had made it a molten calf: and they said, These be thy gods, O Israel, which brought thee up out of the land of Egypt.
32: 5 And when Aaron saw it, he built an altar before it; and Aaron made proclamation, and said, To morrow is a feast to the LORD.
32: 6 And they rose up early on the morrow, and offered burnt offerings, and brought peace offerings; and the people sat down to eat and to drink, and rose up to play.
32: 9 And the LORD said unto Moses, I have seen this people, and, behold, it is a stiffnecked people: 32: 10 Now therefore let me alone, that my wrath may wax hot against them, and that I may consume them: and I will make of thee a great nation.
32: 11 And Moses besought the LORD his God, and said, LORD, why doth thy wrath wax hot against thy people, which thou hast brought forth out of the land of Egypt with great power, and with a mighty hand?
32: 12 Wherefore should the Egyptians speak, and say, For mischief did he bring them out, to slay them in the mountains, and to consume them from the face of the earth?
Turn from thy fierce wrath, and repent of this evil against thy people.
32: 13 Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, thy servants, to whom thou swarest by thine own self, and saidst unto them, I will multiply your seed as the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have spoken of will I give unto your seed, and they shall inherit it for ever.
32: 14 And the LORD repented of the evil which he thought to do unto his people.
32: 15 And Moses turned, and went down from the mount, and the two tables of the testimony were in his hand: the tables were written on both their sides; on the one side and on the other were they written.
32: 16 And the tables were the work of God, and the writing was the writing of God, graven upon the tables.
32: 17 And when Joshua heard the noise of the people as they shouted, he said unto Moses, There is a noise of war in the camp.
32: 18 And he said, It is not the voice of them that shout for mastery, neither is it the voice of them that cry for being overcome: but the noise of them that sing do I hear.
32: 19 And it came to pass, as soon as he came nigh unto the camp, that he saw the calf, and the dancing: and Moses'anger waxed hot, and he cast the tables out of his hands, and brake them beneath the mount.
32: 20 And he took the calf which they had made, and burnt it in the fire, and ground it to powder, and strawed it upon the water, and made the children of Israel drink of it.
32: 21 And Moses said unto Aaron, What did this people unto thee, that thou hast brought so great a sin upon them?
32: 22 And Aaron said, Let not the anger of my lord wax hot: thou knowest the people, that they are set on mischief.
32: 23 For they said unto me, Make us gods, which shall go before us: for as for this Moses, the man that brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we wot not what is become of him.
32: 24 And I said unto them, Whosoever hath any gold, let them break it off.
So they gave it me: then I cast it into the fire, and there came out this calf.
32: 25 And when Moses saw that the people were naked; (for Aaron had made them naked unto their shame among their enemies:) 32: 26 Then Moses stood in the gate of the camp, and said, Who is on the LORD's side?
let him come unto me.
And all the sons of Levi gathered themselves together unto him.
32: 27 And he said unto them, Thus saith the LORD God of Israel, Put every man his sword by his side, and go in and out from gate to gate throughout the camp, and slay every man his brother, and every man his companion, and every man his neighbour.
32: 28 And the children of Levi did according to the word of Moses: and there fell of the people that day about three thousand men.
32: 29 For Moses had said, Consecrate yourselves today to the LORD, even every man upon his son, and upon his brother; that he may bestow upon you a blessing this day.
32: 30 And it came to pass on the morrow, that Moses said unto the people, Ye have sinned a great sin: and now I will go up unto the LORD; peradventure I shall make an atonement for your sin.
32: 31 And Moses returned unto the LORD, and said, Oh, this people have sinned a great sin, and have made them gods of gold.
32: 32 Yet now, if thou wilt forgive their sin --; and if not, blot me, I pray thee, out of thy book which thou hast written.
32: 33 And the LORD said unto Moses, Whosoever hath sinned against me, him will I blot out of my book.
32: 34 Therefore now go, lead the people unto the place of which I have spoken unto thee: behold, mine Angel shall go before thee: nevertheless in the day when I visit I will visit their sin upon them.
32: 35 And the LORD plagued the people, because they made the calf, which Aaron made.
33: 4 And when the people heard these evil tidings, they mourned: and no man did put on him his ornaments.
33: 5 For the LORD had said unto Moses, Say unto the children of Israel, Ye are a stiffnecked people: I will come up into the midst of thee in a moment, and consume thee: therefore now put off thy ornaments from thee, that I may know what to do unto thee.
33: 6 And the children of Israel stripped themselves of their ornaments by the mount Horeb.
33: 7 And Moses took the tabernacle, and pitched it without the camp, afar off from the camp, and called it the Tabernacle of the congregation.
And it came to pass, that every one which sought the LORD went out unto the tabernacle of the congregation, which was without the camp.
33: 8 And it came to pass, when Moses went out unto the tabernacle, that all the people rose up, and stood every man at his tent door, and looked after Moses, until he was gone into the tabernacle.
33: 9 And it came to pass, as Moses entered into the tabernacle, the cloudy pillar descended, and stood at the door of the tabernacle, and the Lord talked with Moses.
33: 10 And all the people saw the cloudy pillar stand at the tabernacle door: and all the people rose up and worshipped, every man in his tent door.
33: 11 And the LORD spake unto Moses face to face, as a man speaketh unto his friend.
And he turned again into the camp: but his servant Joshua, the son of Nun, a young man, departed not out of the tabernacle.
33: 12 And Moses said unto the LORD, See, thou sayest unto me, Bring up this people: and thou hast not let me know whom thou wilt send with me.
Yet thou hast said, I know thee by name, and thou hast also found grace in my sight.
33: 13 Now therefore, I pray thee, if I have found grace in thy sight, shew me now thy way, that I may know thee, that I may find grace in thy sight: and consider that this nation is thy people.
33: 14 And he said, My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest.
33: 15 And he said unto him, If thy presence go not with me, carry us not up hence.
33: 16 For wherein shall it be known here that I and thy people have found grace in thy sight?
is it not in that thou goest with us?
so shall we be separated, I and thy people, from all the people that are upon the face of the earth.
33: 17 And the LORD said unto Moses, I will do this thing also that thou hast spoken: for thou hast found grace in my sight, and I know thee by name.
33: 18 And he said, I beseech thee, shew me thy glory.
33: 19 And he said, I will make all my goodness pass before thee, and I will proclaim the name of the LORD before thee; and will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will shew mercy on whom I will shew mercy.
33: 20 And he said, Thou canst not see my face: for there shall no man see me, and live.
34: 1 And the LORD said unto Moses, Hew thee two tables of stone like unto the first: and I will write upon these tables the words that were in the first tables, which thou brakest.
34: 2 And be ready in the morning, and come up in the morning unto mount Sinai, and present thyself there to me in the top of the mount.
34: 3 And no man shall come up with thee, neither let any man be seen throughout all the mount; neither let the flocks nor herds feed before that mount.
34: 4 And he hewed two tables of stone like unto the first; and Moses rose up early in the morning, and went up unto mount Sinai, as the LORD had commanded him, and took in his hand the two tables of stone.
34: 5 And the LORD descended in the cloud, and stood with him there, and proclaimed the name of the LORD.
34: 8 And Moses made haste, and bowed his head toward the earth, and worshipped.
34: 9 And he said, If now I have found grace in thy sight, O LORD, let my LORD, I pray thee, go among us; for it is a stiffnecked people; and pardon our iniquity and our sin, and take us for thine inheritance.
34: 11 Observe thou that which I command thee this day: behold, I drive out before thee the Amorite, and the Canaanite, and the Hittite, and the Perizzite, and the Hivite, and the Jebusite.
34: 17 Thou shalt make thee no molten gods.
34: 18 The feast of unleavened bread shalt thou keep.
Seven days thou shalt eat unleavened bread, as I commanded thee, in the time of the month Abib: for in the month Abib thou camest out from Egypt.
34: 19 All that openeth the matrix is mine; and every firstling among thy cattle, whether ox or sheep, that is male.
34: 20 But the firstling of an ass thou shalt redeem with a lamb: and if thou redeem him not, then shalt thou break his neck.
All the firstborn of thy sons thou shalt redeem.
And none shall appear before me empty.
34: 21 Six days thou shalt work, but on the seventh day thou shalt rest: in earing time and in harvest thou shalt rest.
34: 22 And thou shalt observe the feast of weeks, of the firstfruits of wheat harvest, and the feast of ingathering at the year's end.
34: 23 Thrice in the year shall all your menchildren appear before the LORD God, the God of Israel.
34: 24 For I will cast out the nations before thee, and enlarge thy borders: neither shall any man desire thy land, when thou shalt go up to appear before the LORD thy God thrice in the year.
34: 25 Thou shalt not offer the blood of my sacrifice with leaven; neither shall the sacrifice of the feast of the passover be left unto the morning.
34: 26 The first of the firstfruits of thy land thou shalt bring unto the house of the LORD thy God.
Thou shalt not seethe a kid in his mother's milk.
34: 27 And the LORD said unto Moses, Write thou these words: for after the tenor of these words I have made a covenant with thee and with Israel.
34: 28 And he was there with the LORD forty days and forty nights; he did neither eat bread, nor drink water.
And he wrote upon the tables the words of the covenant, the ten commandments.
34: 29 And it came to pass, when Moses came down from mount Sinai with the two tables of testimony in Moses'hand, when he came down from the mount, that Moses wist not that the skin of his face shone while he talked with him.
34: 30 And when Aaron and all the children of Israel saw Moses, behold, the skin of his face shone; and they were afraid to come nigh him.
34: 31 And Moses called unto them; and Aaron and all the rulers of the congregation returned unto him: and Moses talked with them.
34: 32 And afterward all the children of Israel came nigh: and he gave them in commandment all that the LORD had spoken with him in mount Sinai.
34: 33 And till Moses had done speaking with them, he put a vail on his face.
34: 34 But when Moses went in before the LORD to speak with him, he took the vail off, until he came out.
And he came out, and spake unto the children of Israel that which he was commanded.
34: 35 And the children of Israel saw the face of Moses, that the skin of Moses'face shone: and Moses put the vail upon his face again, until he went in to speak with him.
35: 1 And Moses gathered all the congregation of the children of Israel together, and said unto them, These are the words which the LORD hath commanded, that ye should do them.
35: 2 Six days shall work be done, but on the seventh day there shall be to you an holy day, a sabbath of rest to the LORD: whosoever doeth work therein shall be put to death.
35: 3 Ye shall kindle no fire throughout your habitations upon the sabbath day.
35: 20 And all the congregation of the children of Israel departed from the presence of Moses.
35: 21 And they came, every one whose heart stirred him up, and every one whom his spirit made willing, and they brought the LORD's offering to the work of the tabernacle of the congregation, and for all his service, and for the holy garments.
35: 22 And they came, both men and women, as many as were willing hearted, and brought bracelets, and earrings, and rings, and tablets, all jewels of gold: and every man that offered offered an offering of gold unto the LORD.
35: 23 And every man, with whom was found blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine linen, and goats'hair, and red skins of rams, and badgers'skins, brought them.
35: 24 Every one that did offer an offering of silver and brass brought the LORD's offering: and every man, with whom was found shittim wood for any work of the service, brought it.
35: 25 And all the women that were wise hearted did spin with their hands, and brought that which they had spun, both of blue, and of purple, and of scarlet, and of fine linen.
35: 26 And all the women whose heart stirred them up in wisdom spun goats'hair.
35: 27 And the rulers brought onyx stones, and stones to be set, for the ephod, and for the breastplate; 35: 28 And spice, and oil for the light, and for the anointing oil, and for the sweet incense.
35: 29 The children of Israel brought a willing offering unto the LORD, every man and woman, whose heart made them willing to bring for all manner of work, which the LORD had commanded to be made by the hand of Moses.
35: 34 And he hath put in his heart that he may teach, both he, and Aholiab, the son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan.
36: 1 Then wrought Bezaleel and Aholiab, and every wise hearted man, in whom the LORD put wisdom and understanding to know how to work all manner of work for the service of the sanctuary, according to all that the LORD had commanded.
And they brought yet unto him free offerings every morning.
36: 4 And all the wise men, that wrought all the work of the sanctuary, came every man from his work which they made; 36: 5 And they spake unto Moses, saying, The people bring much more than enough for the service of the work, which the LORD commanded to make.
36: 6 And Moses gave commandment, and they caused it to be proclaimed throughout the camp, saying, Let neither man nor woman make any more work for the offering of the sanctuary.
So the people were restrained from bringing.
36: 7 For the stuff they had was sufficient for all the work to make it, and too much.
36: 8 And every wise hearted man among them that wrought the work of the tabernacle made ten curtains of fine twined linen, and blue, and purple, and scarlet: with cherubims of cunning work made he them.
36: 9 The length of one curtain was twenty and eight cubits, and the breadth of one curtain four cubits: the curtains were all of one size.
36: 10 And he coupled the five curtains one unto another: and the other five curtains he coupled one unto another.
36: 11 And he made loops of blue on the edge of one curtain from the selvedge in the coupling: likewise he made in the uttermost side of another curtain, in the coupling of the second.
36: 12 Fifty loops made he in one curtain, and fifty loops made he in the edge of the curtain which was in the coupling of the second: the loops held one curtain to another.
36: 13 And he made fifty taches of gold, and coupled the curtains one unto another with the taches: so it became one tabernacle.
36: 14 And he made curtains of goats'hair for the tent over the tabernacle: eleven curtains he made them.
36: 15 The length of one curtain was thirty cubits, and four cubits was the breadth of one curtain: the eleven curtains were of one size.
36: 16 And he coupled five curtains by themselves, and six curtains by themselves.
36: 17 And he made fifty loops upon the uttermost edge of the curtain in the coupling, and fifty loops made he upon the edge of the curtain which coupleth the second.
36: 18 And he made fifty taches of brass to couple the tent together, that it might be one.
36: 19 And he made a covering for the tent of rams'skins dyed red, and a covering of badgers'skins above that.
36: 20 And he made boards for the tabernacle of shittim wood, standing up.
36: 21 The length of a board was ten cubits, and the breadth of a board one cubit and a half.
36: 22 One board had two tenons, equally distant one from another: thus did he make for all the boards of the tabernacle.
36: 23 And he made boards for the tabernacle; twenty boards for the south side southward: 36: 24 And forty sockets of silver he made under the twenty boards; two sockets under one board for his two tenons, and two sockets under another board for his two tenons.
36: 25 And for the other side of the tabernacle, which is toward the north corner, he made twenty boards, 36: 26 And their forty sockets of silver; two sockets under one board, and two sockets under another board.
36: 27 And for the sides of the tabernacle westward he made six boards.
36: 28 And two boards made he for the corners of the tabernacle in the two sides.
36: 29 And they were coupled beneath, and coupled together at the head thereof, to one ring: thus he did to both of them in both the corners.
36: 30 And there were eight boards; and their sockets were sixteen sockets of silver, under every board two sockets.
36: 31 And he made bars of shittim wood; five for the boards of the one side of the tabernacle, 36: 32 And five bars for the boards of the other side of the tabernacle, and five bars for the boards of the tabernacle for the sides westward.
36: 33 And he made the middle bar to shoot through the boards from the one end to the other.
36: 34 And he overlaid the boards with gold, and made their rings of gold to be places for the bars, and overlaid the bars with gold.
36: 35 And he made a vail of blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine twined linen: with cherubims made he it of cunning work.
36: 36 And he made thereunto four pillars of shittim wood, and overlaid them with gold: their hooks were of gold; and he cast for them four sockets of silver.
37: 3 And he cast for it four rings of gold, to be set by the four corners of it; even two rings upon the one side of it, and two rings upon the other side of it.
37: 4 And he made staves of shittim wood, and overlaid them with gold.
37: 5 And he put the staves into the rings by the sides of the ark, to bear the ark.
37: 6 And he made the mercy seat of pure gold: two cubits and a half was the length thereof, and one cubit and a half the breadth thereof.
37: 7 And he made two cherubims of gold, beaten out of one piece made he them, on the two ends of the mercy seat; 37: 8 One cherub on the end on this side, and another cherub on the other end on that side: out of the mercy seat made he the cherubims on the two ends thereof.
37: 9 And the cherubims spread out their wings on high, and covered with their wings over the mercy seat, with their faces one to another; even to the mercy seatward were the faces of the cherubims.
37: 10 And he made the table of shittim wood: two cubits was the length thereof, and a cubit the breadth thereof, and a cubit and a half the height thereof: 37: 11 And he overlaid it with pure gold, and made thereunto a crown of gold round about.
37: 12 Also he made thereunto a border of an handbreadth round about; and made a crown of gold for the border thereof round about.
37: 13 And he cast for it four rings of gold, and put the rings upon the four corners that were in the four feet thereof.
37: 14 Over against the border were the rings, the places for the staves to bear the table.
37: 15 And he made the staves of shittim wood, and overlaid them with gold, to bear the table.
37: 16 And he made the vessels which were upon the table, his dishes, and his spoons, and his bowls, and his covers to cover withal, of pure gold.
37: 22 Their knops and their branches were of the same: all of it was one beaten work of pure gold.
37: 23 And he made his seven lamps, and his snuffers, and his snuffdishes, of pure gold.
37: 24 Of a talent of pure gold made he it, and all the vessels thereof.
37: 25 And he made the incense altar of shittim wood: the length of it was a cubit, and the breadth of it a cubit; it was foursquare; and two cubits was the height of it; the horns thereof were of the same.
37: 26 And he overlaid it with pure gold, both the top of it, and the sides thereof round about, and the horns of it: also he made unto it a crown of gold round about.
37: 27 And he made two rings of gold for it under the crown thereof, by the two corners of it, upon the two sides thereof, to be places for the staves to bear it withal.
37: 28 And he made the staves of shittim wood, and overlaid them with gold.
37: 29 And he made the holy anointing oil, and the pure incense of sweet spices, according to the work of the apothecary.
38: 1 And he made the altar of burnt offering of shittim wood: five cubits was the length thereof, and five cubits the breadth thereof; it was foursquare; and three cubits the height thereof.
38: 2 And he made the horns thereof on the four corners of it; the horns thereof were of the same: and he overlaid it with brass.
38: 3 And he made all the vessels of the altar, the pots, and the shovels, and the basons, and the fleshhooks, and the firepans: all the vessels thereof made he of brass.
38: 4 And he made for the altar a brasen grate of network under the compass thereof beneath unto the midst of it.
38: 5 And he cast four rings for the four ends of the grate of brass, to be places for the staves.
38: 6 And he made the staves of shittim wood, and overlaid them with brass.
38: 7 And he put the staves into the rings on the sides of the altar, to bear it withal; he made the altar hollow with boards.
38: 8 And he made the laver of brass, and the foot of it of brass, of the lookingglasses of the women assembling, which assembled at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
38: 9 And he made the court: on the south side southward the hangings of the court were of fine twined linen, an hundred cubits: 38: 10 Their pillars were twenty, and their brasen sockets twenty; the hooks of the pillars and their fillets were of silver.
38: 11 And for the north side the hangings were an hundred cubits, their pillars were twenty, and their sockets of brass twenty; the hooks of the pillars and their fillets of silver.
38: 12 And for the west side were hangings of fifty cubits, their pillars ten, and their sockets ten; the hooks of the pillars and their fillets of silver.
38: 13 And for the east side eastward fifty cubits.
38: 14 The hangings of the one side of the gate were fifteen cubits; their pillars three, and their sockets three.
38: 15 And for the other side of the court gate, on this hand and that hand, were hangings of fifteen cubits; their pillars three, and their sockets three.
38: 16 All the hangings of the court round about were of fine twined linen.
38: 17 And the sockets for the pillars were of brass; the hooks of the pillars and their fillets of silver; and the overlaying of their chapiters of silver; and all the pillars of the court were filleted with silver.
38: 18 And the hanging for the gate of the court was needlework, of blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine twined linen: and twenty cubits was the length, and the height in the breadth was five cubits, answerable to the hangings of the court.
38: 19 And their pillars were four, and their sockets of brass four; their hooks of silver, and the overlaying of their chapiters and their fillets of silver.
38: 20 And all the pins of the tabernacle, and of the court round about, were of brass.
38: 21 This is the sum of the tabernacle, even of the tabernacle of testimony, as it was counted, according to the commandment of Moses, for the service of the Levites, by the hand of Ithamar, son to Aaron the priest.
38: 22 And Bezaleel the son Uri, the son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah, made all that the LORD commanded Moses.
38: 23 And with him was Aholiab, son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan, an engraver, and a cunning workman, and an embroiderer in blue, and in purple, and in scarlet, and fine linen.
38: 24 All the gold that was occupied for the work in all the work of the holy place, even the gold of the offering, was twenty and nine talents, and seven hundred and thirty shekels, after the shekel of the sanctuary.
38: 27 And of the hundred talents of silver were cast the sockets of the sanctuary, and the sockets of the vail; an hundred sockets of the hundred talents, a talent for a socket.
38: 28 And of the thousand seven hundred seventy and five shekels he made hooks for the pillars, and overlaid their chapiters, and filleted them.
38: 29 And the brass of the offering was seventy talents, and two thousand and four hundred shekels.
39: 1 And of the blue, and purple, and scarlet, they made cloths of service, to do service in the holy place, and made the holy garments for Aaron; as the LORD commanded Moses.
39: 2 And he made the ephod of gold, blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine twined linen.
39: 3 And they did beat the gold into thin plates, and cut it into wires, to work it in the blue, and in the purple, and in the scarlet, and in the fine linen, with cunning work.
39: 4 They made shoulderpieces for it, to couple it together: by the two edges was it coupled together.
39: 5 And the curious girdle of his ephod, that was upon it, was of the same, according to the work thereof; of gold, blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine twined linen; as the LORD commanded Moses.
39: 6 And they wrought onyx stones inclosed in ouches of gold, graven, as signets are graven, with the names of the children of Israel.
39: 7 And he put them on the shoulders of the ephod, that they should be stones for a memorial to the children of Israel; as the LORD commanded Moses.
39: 8 And he made the breastplate of cunning work, like the work of the ephod; of gold, blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine twined linen.
39: 9 It was foursquare; they made the breastplate double: a span was the length thereof, and a span the breadth thereof, being doubled.
39: 10 And they set in it four rows of stones: the first row was a sardius, a topaz, and a carbuncle: this was the first row.
39: 11 And the second row, an emerald, a sapphire, and a diamond.
39: 12 And the third row, a ligure, an agate, and an amethyst.
39: 13 And the fourth row, a beryl, an onyx, and a jasper: they were inclosed in ouches of gold in their inclosings.
39: 14 And the stones were according to the names of the children of Israel, twelve, according to their names, like the engravings of a signet, every one with his name, according to the twelve tribes.
39: 15 And they made upon the breastplate chains at the ends, of wreathen work of pure gold.
39: 16 And they made two ouches of gold, and two gold rings; and put the two rings in the two ends of the breastplate.
39: 17 And they put the two wreathen chains of gold in the two rings on the ends of the breastplate.
39: 18 And the two ends of the two wreathen chains they fastened in the two ouches, and put them on the shoulderpieces of the ephod, before it.
39: 19 And they made two rings of gold, and put them on the two ends of the breastplate, upon the border of it, which was on the side of the ephod inward.
39: 20 And they made two other golden rings, and put them on the two sides of the ephod underneath, toward the forepart of it, over against the other coupling thereof, above the curious girdle of the ephod.
39: 21 And they did bind the breastplate by his rings unto the rings of the ephod with a lace of blue, that it might be above the curious girdle of the ephod, and that the breastplate might not be loosed from the ephod; as the LORD commanded Moses.
39: 22 And he made the robe of the ephod of woven work, all of blue.
39: 23 And there was an hole in the midst of the robe, as the hole of an habergeon, with a band round about the hole, that it should not rend.
39: 24 And they made upon the hems of the robe pomegranates of blue, and purple, and scarlet, and twined linen.
39: 30 And they made the plate of the holy crown of pure gold, and wrote upon it a writing, like to the engravings of a signet, HOLINESS TO THE LORD.
39: 31 And they tied unto it a lace of blue, to fasten it on high upon the mitre; as the LORD commanded Moses.
39: 32 Thus was all the work of the tabernacle of the tent of the congregation finished: and the children of Israel did according to all that the LORD commanded Moses, so did they.
39: 42 According to all that the LORD commanded Moses, so the children of Israel made all the work.
39: 43 And Moses did look upon all the work, and, behold, they had done it as the LORD had commanded, even so had they done it: and Moses blessed them.
40: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 40: 2 On the first day of the first month shalt thou set up the tabernacle of the tent of the congregation.
40: 3 And thou shalt put therein the ark of the testimony, and cover the ark with the vail.
40: 4 And thou shalt bring in the table, and set in order the things that are to be set in order upon it; and thou shalt bring in the candlestick, and light the lamps thereof.
40: 5 And thou shalt set the altar of gold for the incense before the ark of the testimony, and put the hanging of the door to the tabernacle.
40: 6 And thou shalt set the altar of the burnt offering before the door of the tabernacle of the tent of the congregation.
40: 7 And thou shalt set the laver between the tent of the congregation and the altar, and shalt put water therein.
40: 8 And thou shalt set up the court round about, and hang up the hanging at the court gate.
40: 9 And thou shalt take the anointing oil, and anoint the tabernacle, and all that is therein, and shalt hallow it, and all the vessels thereof: and it shall be holy.
40: 10 And thou shalt anoint the altar of the burnt offering, and all his vessels, and sanctify the altar: and it shall be an altar most holy.
40: 11 And thou shalt anoint the laver and his foot, and sanctify it.
40: 12 And thou shalt bring Aaron and his sons unto the door of the tabernacle of the congregation, and wash them with water.
40: 13 And thou shalt put upon Aaron the holy garments, and anoint him, and sanctify him; that he may minister unto me in the priest's office.
40: 16 Thus did Moses: according to all that the LORD commanded him, so did he.
40: 17 And it came to pass in the first month in the second year, on the first day of the month, that the tabernacle was reared up.
40: 18 And Moses reared up the tabernacle, and fastened his sockets, and set up the boards thereof, and put in the bars thereof, and reared up his pillars.
40: 19 And he spread abroad the tent over the tabernacle, and put the covering of the tent above upon it; as the LORD commanded Moses.
40: 22 And he put the table in the tent of the congregation, upon the side of the tabernacle northward, without the vail.
40: 23 And he set the bread in order upon it before the LORD; as the LORD had commanded Moses.
40: 24 And he put the candlestick in the tent of the congregation, over against the table, on the side of the tabernacle southward.
40: 25 And he lighted the lamps before the LORD; as the LORD commanded Moses.
40: 26 And he put the golden altar in the tent of the congregation before the vail: 40: 27 And he burnt sweet incense thereon; as the LORD commanded Moses.
40: 28 And he set up the hanging at the door of the tabernacle.
40: 29 And he put the altar of burnt offering by the door of the tabernacle of the tent of the congregation, and offered upon it the burnt offering and the meat offering; as the LORD commanded Moses.
40: 30 And he set the laver between the tent of the congregation and the altar, and put water there, to wash withal.
40: 31 And Moses and Aaron and his sons washed their hands and their feet thereat: 40: 32 When they went into the tent of the congregation, and when they came near unto the altar, they washed; as the LORD commanded Moses.
40: 33 And he reared up the court round about the tabernacle and the altar, and set up the hanging of the court gate.
So Moses finished the work.
40: 34 Then a cloud covered the tent of the congregation, and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle.
40: 35 And Moses was not able to enter into the tent of the congregation, because the cloud abode thereon, and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle.
40: 36 And when the cloud was taken up from over the tabernacle, the children of Israel went onward in all their journeys: 40: 37 But if the cloud were not taken up, then they journeyed not till the day that it was taken up.
40: 38 For the cloud of the LORD was upon the tabernacle by day, and fire was on it by night, in the sight of all the house of Israel, throughout all their journeys.
The Third Book of Moses: Called Leviticus
1: 3 If his offering be a burnt sacrifice of the herd, let him offer a male without blemish: he shall offer it of his own voluntary will at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation before the LORD.
1: 4 And he shall put his hand upon the head of the burnt offering; and it shall be accepted for him to make atonement for him.
1: 5 And he shall kill the bullock before the LORD: and the priests, Aaron's sons, shall bring the blood, and sprinkle the blood round about upon the altar that is by the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
1: 6 And he shall flay the burnt offering, and cut it into his pieces.
1: 10 And if his offering be of the flocks, namely, of the sheep, or of the goats, for a burnt sacrifice; he shall bring it a male without blemish.
1: 11 And he shall kill it on the side of the altar northward before the LORD: and the priests, Aaron's sons, shall sprinkle his blood round about upon the altar.
1: 14 And if the burnt sacrifice for his offering to the LORD be of fowls, then he shall bring his offering of turtledoves, or of young pigeons.
2: 4 And if thou bring an oblation of a meat offering baken in the oven, it shall be unleavened cakes of fine flour mingled with oil, or unleavened wafers anointed with oil.
2: 5 And if thy oblation be a meat offering baken in a pan, it shall be of fine flour unleavened, mingled with oil.
2: 6 Thou shalt part it in pieces, and pour oil thereon: it is a meat offering.
2: 7 And if thy oblation be a meat offering baken in the fryingpan, it shall be made of fine flour with oil.
2: 8 And thou shalt bring the meat offering that is made of these things unto the LORD: and when it is presented unto the priest, he shall bring it unto the altar.
2: 9 And the priest shall take from the meat offering a memorial thereof, and shall burn it upon the altar: it is an offering made by fire, of a sweet savour unto the LORD.
2: 10 And that which is left of the meat offering shall be Aaron's and his sons ': it is a thing most holy of the offerings of the LORD made by fire.
2: 11 No meat offering, which ye shall bring unto the LORD, shall be made with leaven: for ye shall burn no leaven, nor any honey, in any offering of the LORD made by fire.
2: 12 As for the oblation of the firstfruits, ye shall offer them unto the LORD: but they shall not be burnt on the altar for a sweet savour.
2: 13 And every oblation of thy meat offering shalt thou season with salt; neither shalt thou suffer the salt of the covenant of thy God to be lacking from thy meat offering: with all thine offerings thou shalt offer salt.
2: 14 And if thou offer a meat offering of thy firstfruits unto the LORD, thou shalt offer for the meat offering of thy firstfruits green ears of corn dried by the fire, even corn beaten out of full ears.
2: 15 And thou shalt put oil upon it, and lay frankincense thereon: it is a meat offering.
2: 16 And the priest shall burn the memorial of it, part of the beaten corn thereof, and part of the oil thereof, with all the frankincense thereof: it is an offering made by fire unto the LORD.
3: 1 And if his oblation be a sacrifice of peace offering, if he offer it of the herd; whether it be a male or female, he shall offer it without blemish before the LORD.
3: 2 And he shall lay his hand upon the head of his offering, and kill it at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation: and Aaron's sons the priests shall sprinkle the blood upon the altar round about.
3: 5 And Aaron's sons shall burn it on the altar upon the burnt sacrifice, which is upon the wood that is on the fire: it is an offering made by fire, of a sweet savour unto the LORD.
3: 6 And if his offering for a sacrifice of peace offering unto the LORD be of the flock; male or female, he shall offer it without blemish.
3: 7 If he offer a lamb for his offering, then shall he offer it before the LORD.
3: 8 And he shall lay his hand upon the head of his offering, and kill it before the tabernacle of the congregation: and Aaron's sons shall sprinkle the blood thereof round about upon the altar.
3: 11 And the priest shall burn it upon the altar: it is the food of the offering made by fire unto the LORD.
3: 12 And if his offering be a goat, then he shall offer it before the LORD.
3: 13 And he shall lay his hand upon the head of it, and kill it before the tabernacle of the congregation: and the sons of Aaron shall sprinkle the blood thereof upon the altar round about.
3: 16 And the priest shall burn them upon the altar: it is the food of the offering made by fire for a sweet savour: all the fat is the LORD's.
3: 17 It shall be a perpetual statute for your generations throughout all your dwellings, that ye eat neither fat nor blood.
4: 4 And he shall bring the bullock unto the door of the tabernacle of the congregation before the LORD; and shall lay his hand upon the bullock's head, and kill the bullock before the LORD.
4: 5 And the priest that is anointed shall take of the bullock's blood, and bring it to the tabernacle of the congregation: 4: 6 And the priest shall dip his finger in the blood, and sprinkle of the blood seven times before the LORD, before the vail of the sanctuary.
4: 15 And the elders of the congregation shall lay their hands upon the head of the bullock before the LORD: and the bullock shall be killed before the LORD.
4: 16 And the priest that is anointed shall bring of the bullock's blood to the tabernacle of the congregation: 4: 17 And the priest shall dip his finger in some of the blood, and sprinkle it seven times before the LORD, even before the vail.
4: 19 And he shall take all his fat from him, and burn it upon the altar.
4: 20 And he shall do with the bullock as he did with the bullock for a sin offering, so shall he do with this: and the priest shall make an atonement for them, and it shall be forgiven them.
4: 21 And he shall carry forth the bullock without the camp, and burn him as he burned the first bullock: it is a sin offering for the congregation.
4: 25 And the priest shall take of the blood of the sin offering with his finger, and put it upon the horns of the altar of burnt offering, and shall pour out his blood at the bottom of the altar of burnt offering.
4: 26 And he shall burn all his fat upon the altar, as the fat of the sacrifice of peace offerings: and the priest shall make an atonement for him as concerning his sin, and it shall be forgiven him.
4: 29 And he shall lay his hand upon the head of the sin offering, and slay the sin offering in the place of the burnt offering.
4: 30 And the priest shall take of the blood thereof with his finger, and put it upon the horns of the altar of burnt offering, and shall pour out all the blood thereof at the bottom of the altar.
4: 31 And he shall take away all the fat thereof, as the fat is taken away from off the sacrifice of peace offerings; and the priest shall burn it upon the altar for a sweet savour unto the LORD; and the priest shall make an atonement for him, and it shall be forgiven him.
4: 32 And if he bring a lamb for a sin offering, he shall bring it a female without blemish.
4: 33 And he shall lay his hand upon the head of the sin offering, and slay it for a sin offering in the place where they kill the burnt offering.
5: 1 And if a soul sin, and hear the voice of swearing, and is a witness, whether he hath seen or known of it; if he do not utter it, then he shall bear his iniquity.
5: 2 Or if a soul touch any unclean thing, whether it be a carcase of an unclean beast, or a carcase of unclean cattle, or the carcase of unclean creeping things, and if it be hidden from him; he also shall be unclean, and guilty.
5: 3 Or if he touch the uncleanness of man, whatsoever uncleanness it be that a man shall be defiled withal, and it be hid from him; when he knoweth of it, then he shall be guilty.
5: 4 Or if a soul swear, pronouncing with his lips to do evil, or to do good, whatsoever it be that a man shall pronounce with an oath, and it be hid from him; when he knoweth of it, then he shall be guilty in one of these.
5: 7 And if he be not able to bring a lamb, then he shall bring for his trespass, which he hath committed, two turtledoves, or two young pigeons, unto the LORD; one for a sin offering, and the other for a burnt offering.
5: 10 And he shall offer the second for a burnt offering, according to the manner: and the priest shall make an atonement for him for his sin which he hath sinned, and it shall be forgiven him.
5: 12 Then shall he bring it to the priest, and the priest shall take his handful of it, even a memorial thereof, and burn it on the altar, according to the offerings made by fire unto the LORD: it is a sin offering.
5: 13 And the priest shall make an atonement for him as touching his sin that he hath sinned in one of these, and it shall be forgiven him: and the remnant shall be the priest's, as a meat offering.
5: 16 And he shall make amends for the harm that he hath done in the holy thing, and shall add the fifth part thereto, and give it unto the priest: and the priest shall make an atonement for him with the ram of the trespass offering, and it shall be forgiven him.
5: 17 And if a soul sin, and commit any of these things which are forbidden to be done by the commandments of the LORD; though he wist it not, yet is he guilty, and shall bear his iniquity.
5: 18 And he shall bring a ram without blemish out of the flock, with thy estimation, for a trespass offering, unto the priest: and the priest shall make an atonement for him concerning his ignorance wherein he erred and wist it not, and it shall be forgiven him.
5: 19 It is a trespass offering: he hath certainly trespassed against the LORD.
6: 8 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 6: 9 Command Aaron and his sons, saying, This is the law of the burnt offering: It is the burnt offering, because of the burning upon the altar all night unto the morning, and the fire of the altar shall be burning in it.
6: 10 And the priest shall put on his linen garment, and his linen breeches shall he put upon his flesh, and take up the ashes which the fire hath consumed with the burnt offering on the altar, and he shall put them beside the altar.
6: 11 And he shall put off his garments, and put on other garments, and carry forth the ashes without the camp unto a clean place.
6: 12 And the fire upon the altar shall be burning in it; it shall not be put out: and the priest shall burn wood on it every morning, and lay the burnt offering in order upon it; and he shall burn thereon the fat of the peace offerings.
6: 13 The fire shall ever be burning upon the altar; it shall never go out.
6: 14 And this is the law of the meat offering: the sons of Aaron shall offer it before the LORD, before the altar.
6: 15 And he shall take of it his handful, of the flour of the meat offering, and of the oil thereof, and all the frankincense which is upon the meat offering, and shall burn it upon the altar for a sweet savour, even the memorial of it, unto the LORD.
6: 16 And the remainder thereof shall Aaron and his sons eat: with unleavened bread shall it be eaten in the holy place; in the court of the tabernacle of the congregation they shall eat it.
6: 17 It shall not be baken with leaven.
I have given it unto them for their portion of my offerings made by fire; it is most holy, as is the sin offering, and as the trespass offering.
6: 18 All the males among the children of Aaron shall eat of it.
It shall be a statute for ever in your generations concerning the offerings of the LORD made by fire: every one that toucheth them shall be holy.
6: 21 In a pan it shall be made with oil; and when it is baken, thou shalt bring it in: and the baken pieces of the meat offering shalt thou offer for a sweet savour unto the LORD.
6: 22 And the priest of his sons that is anointed in his stead shall offer it: it is a statute for ever unto the LORD; it shall be wholly burnt.
6: 23 For every meat offering for the priest shall be wholly burnt: it shall not be eaten.
6: 24 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 6: 25 Speak unto Aaron and to his sons, saying, This is the law of the sin offering: In the place where the burnt offering is killed shall the sin offering be killed before the LORD: it is most holy.
6: 26 The priest that offereth it for sin shall eat it: in the holy place shall it be eaten, in the court of the tabernacle of the congregation.
6: 27 Whatsoever shall touch the flesh thereof shall be holy: and when there is sprinkled of the blood thereof upon any garment, thou shalt wash that whereon it was sprinkled in the holy place.
6: 28 But the earthen vessel wherein it is sodden shall be broken: and if it be sodden in a brasen pot, it shall be both scoured, and rinsed in water.
6: 29 All the males among the priests shall eat thereof: it is most holy.
6: 30 And no sin offering, whereof any of the blood is brought into the tabernacle of the congregation to reconcile withal in the holy place, shall be eaten: it shall be burnt in the fire.
7: 1 Likewise this is the law of the trespass offering: it is most holy.
7: 2 In the place where they kill the burnt offering shall they kill the trespass offering: and the blood thereof shall he sprinkle round about upon the altar.
7: 6 Every male among the priests shall eat thereof: it shall be eaten in the holy place: it is most holy.
7: 7 As the sin offering is, so is the trespass offering: there is one law for them: the priest that maketh atonement therewith shall have it.
7: 8 And the priest that offereth any man's burnt offering, even the priest shall have to himself the skin of the burnt offering which he hath offered.
7: 9 And all the meat offering that is baken in the oven, and all that is dressed in the fryingpan, and in the pan, shall be the priest's that offereth it.
7: 10 And every meat offering, mingled with oil, and dry, shall all the sons of Aaron have, one as much as another.
7: 11 And this is the law of the sacrifice of peace offerings, which he shall offer unto the LORD.
7: 12 If he offer it for a thanksgiving, then he shall offer with the sacrifice of thanksgiving unleavened cakes mingled with oil, and unleavened wafers anointed with oil, and cakes mingled with oil, of fine flour, fried.
7: 13 Besides the cakes, he shall offer for his offering leavened bread with the sacrifice of thanksgiving of his peace offerings.
7: 14 And of it he shall offer one out of the whole oblation for an heave offering unto the LORD, and it shall be the priest's that sprinkleth the blood of the peace offerings.
7: 15 And the flesh of the sacrifice of his peace offerings for thanksgiving shall be eaten the same day that it is offered; he shall not leave any of it until the morning.
7: 18 And if any of the flesh of the sacrifice of his peace offerings be eaten at all on the third day, it shall not be accepted, neither shall it be imputed unto him that offereth it: it shall be an abomination, and the soul that eateth of it shall bear his iniquity.
7: 19 And the flesh that toucheth any unclean thing shall not be eaten; it shall be burnt with fire: and as for the flesh, all that be clean shall eat thereof.
7: 20 But the soul that eateth of the flesh of the sacrifice of peace offerings, that pertain unto the LORD, having his uncleanness upon him, even that soul shall be cut off from his people.
7: 22 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 7: 23 Speak unto the children of Israel, saying, Ye shall eat no manner of fat, of ox, or of sheep, or of goat.
7: 24 And the fat of the beast that dieth of itself, and the fat of that which is torn with beasts, may be used in any other use: but ye shall in no wise eat of it.
7: 25 For whosoever eateth the fat of the beast, of which men offer an offering made by fire unto the LORD, even the soul that eateth it shall be cut off from his people.
7: 26 Moreover ye shall eat no manner of blood, whether it be of fowl or of beast, in any of your dwellings.
7: 27 Whatsoever soul it be that eateth any manner of blood, even that soul shall be cut off from his people.
7: 28 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 7: 29 Speak unto the children of Israel, saying, He that offereth the sacrifice of his peace offerings unto the LORD shall bring his oblation unto the LORD of the sacrifice of his peace offerings.
7: 30 His own hands shall bring the offerings of the LORD made by fire, the fat with the breast, it shall he bring, that the breast may be waved for a wave offering before the LORD.
7: 31 And the priest shall burn the fat upon the altar: but the breast shall be Aaron's and his sons '.
7: 32 And the right shoulder shall ye give unto the priest for an heave offering of the sacrifices of your peace offerings.
7: 33 He among the sons of Aaron, that offereth the blood of the peace offerings, and the fat, shall have the right shoulder for his part.
7: 34 For the wave breast and the heave shoulder have I taken of the children of Israel from off the sacrifices of their peace offerings, and have given them unto Aaron the priest and unto his sons by a statute for ever from among the children of Israel.
8: 4 And Moses did as the LORD commanded him; and the assembly was gathered together unto the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
8: 5 And Moses said unto the congregation, This is the thing which the LORD commanded to be done.
8: 6 And Moses brought Aaron and his sons, and washed them with water.
8: 7 And he put upon him the coat, and girded him with the girdle, and clothed him with the robe, and put the ephod upon him, and he girded him with the curious girdle of the ephod, and bound it unto him therewith.
8: 8 And he put the breastplate upon him: also he put in the breastplate the Urim and the Thummim.
8: 9 And he put the mitre upon his head; also upon the mitre, even upon his forefront, did he put the golden plate, the holy crown; as the LORD commanded Moses.
8: 10 And Moses took the anointing oil, and anointed the tabernacle and all that was therein, and sanctified them.
8: 11 And he sprinkled thereof upon the altar seven times, and anointed the altar and all his vessels, both the laver and his foot, to sanctify them.
8: 12 And he poured of the anointing oil upon Aaron's head, and anointed him, to sanctify him.
8: 13 And Moses brought Aaron's sons, and put coats upon them, and girded them with girdles, and put bonnets upon them; as the LORD commanded Moses.
8: 14 And he brought the bullock for the sin offering: and Aaron and his sons laid their hands upon the head of the bullock for the sin offering.
8: 15 And he slew it; and Moses took the blood, and put it upon the horns of the altar round about with his finger, and purified the altar, and poured the blood at the bottom of the altar, and sanctified it, to make reconciliation upon it.
8: 16 And he took all the fat that was upon the inwards, and the caul above the liver, and the two kidneys, and their fat, and Moses burned it upon the altar.
8: 17 But the bullock, and his hide, his flesh, and his dung, he burnt with fire without the camp; as the LORD commanded Moses.
8: 18 And he brought the ram for the burnt offering: and Aaron and his sons laid their hands upon the head of the ram.
8: 19 And he killed it; and Moses sprinkled the blood upon the altar round about.
8: 20 And he cut the ram into pieces; and Moses burnt the head, and the pieces, and the fat.
8: 21 And he washed the inwards and the legs in water; and Moses burnt the whole ram upon the altar: it was a burnt sacrifice for a sweet savour, and an offering made by fire unto the LORD; as the LORD commanded Moses.
8: 22 And he brought the other ram, the ram of consecration: and Aaron and his sons laid their hands upon the head of the ram.
8: 23 And he slew it; and Moses took of the blood of it, and put it upon the tip of Aaron's right ear, and upon the thumb of his right hand, and upon the great toe of his right foot.
8: 24 And he brought Aaron's sons, and Moses put of the blood upon the tip of their right ear, and upon the thumbs of their right hands, and upon the great toes of their right feet: and Moses sprinkled the blood upon the altar round about.
8: 28 And Moses took them from off their hands, and burnt them on the altar upon the burnt offering: they were consecrations for a sweet savour: it is an offering made by fire unto the LORD.
8: 29 And Moses took the breast, and waved it for a wave offering before the LORD: for of the ram of consecration it was Moses'part; as the LORD commanded Moses.
8: 31 And Moses said unto Aaron and to his sons, Boil the flesh at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation: and there eat it with the bread that is in the basket of consecrations, as I commanded, saying, Aaron and his sons shall eat it.
8: 32 And that which remaineth of the flesh and of the bread shall ye burn with fire.
8: 33 And ye shall not go out of the door of the tabernacle of the congregation in seven days, until the days of your consecration be at an end: for seven days shall he consecrate you.
8: 34 As he hath done this day, so the LORD hath commanded to do, to make an atonement for you.
8: 35 Therefore shall ye abide at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation day and night seven days, and keep the charge of the LORD, that ye die not: for so I am commanded.
8: 36 So Aaron and his sons did all things which the LORD commanded by the hand of Moses.
9: 1 And it came to pass on the eighth day, that Moses called Aaron and his sons, and the elders of Israel; 9: 2 And he said unto Aaron, Take thee a young calf for a sin offering, and a ram for a burnt offering, without blemish, and offer them before the LORD.
9: 5 And they brought that which Moses commanded before the tabernacle of the congregation: and all the congregation drew near and stood before the LORD.
9: 6 And Moses said, This is the thing which the LORD commanded that ye should do: and the glory of the LORD shall appear unto you.
9: 7 And Moses said unto Aaron, Go unto the altar, and offer thy sin offering, and thy burnt offering, and make an atonement for thyself, and for the people: and offer the offering of the people, and make an atonement for them; as the LORD commanded.
9: 8 Aaron therefore went unto the altar, and slew the calf of the sin offering, which was for himself.
9: 11 And the flesh and the hide he burnt with fire without the camp.
9: 12 And he slew the burnt offering; and Aaron's sons presented unto him the blood, which he sprinkled round about upon the altar.
9: 13 And they presented the burnt offering unto him, with the pieces thereof, and the head: and he burnt them upon the altar.
9: 14 And he did wash the inwards and the legs, and burnt them upon the burnt offering on the altar.
9: 15 And he brought the people's offering, and took the goat, which was the sin offering for the people, and slew it, and offered it for sin, as the first.
9: 16 And he brought the burnt offering, and offered it according to the manner.
9: 17 And he brought the meat offering, and took an handful thereof, and burnt it upon the altar, beside the burnt sacrifice of the morning.
9: 22 And Aaron lifted up his hand toward the people, and blessed them, and came down from offering of the sin offering, and the burnt offering, and peace offerings.
9: 23 And Moses and Aaron went into the tabernacle of the congregation, and came out, and blessed the people: and the glory of the LORD appeared unto all the people.
9: 24 And there came a fire out from before the LORD, and consumed upon the altar the burnt offering and the fat: which when all the people saw, they shouted, and fell on their faces.
10: 1 And Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, took either of them his censer, and put fire therein, and put incense thereon, and offered strange fire before the LORD, which he commanded them not.
10: 2 And there went out fire from the LORD, and devoured them, and they died before the LORD.
10: 3 Then Moses said unto Aaron, This is it that the LORD spake, saying, I will be sanctified in them that come nigh me, and before all the people I will be glorified.
And Aaron held his peace.
10: 4 And Moses called Mishael and Elzaphan, the sons of Uzziel the uncle of Aaron, and said unto them, Come near, carry your brethren from before the sanctuary out of the camp.
10: 5 So they went near, and carried them in their coats out of the camp; as Moses had said.
10: 7 And ye shall not go out from the door of the tabernacle of the congregation, lest ye die: for the anointing oil of the LORD is upon you.
And they did according to the word of Moses.
10: 14 And the wave breast and heave shoulder shall ye eat in a clean place; thou, and thy sons, and thy daughters with thee: for they be thy due, and thy sons'due, which are given out of the sacrifices of peace offerings of the children of Israel.
10: 15 The heave shoulder and the wave breast shall they bring with the offerings made by fire of the fat, to wave it for a wave offering before the LORD; and it shall be thine, and thy sons'with thee, by a statute for ever; as the LORD hath commanded.
10: 18 Behold, the blood of it was not brought in within the holy place: ye should indeed have eaten it in the holy place, as I commanded.
10: 19 And Aaron said unto Moses, Behold, this day have they offered their sin offering and their burnt offering before the LORD; and such things have befallen me: and if I had eaten the sin offering to day, should it have been accepted in the sight of the LORD?
10: 20 And when Moses heard that, he was content.
11: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses and to Aaron, saying unto them, 11: 2 Speak unto the children of Israel, saying, These are the beasts which ye shall eat among all the beasts that are on the earth.
11: 3 Whatsoever parteth the hoof, and is clovenfooted, and cheweth the cud, among the beasts, that shall ye eat.
11: 4 Nevertheless these shall ye not eat of them that chew the cud, or of them that divide the hoof: as the camel, because he cheweth the cud, but divideth not the hoof; he is unclean unto you.
11: 5 And the coney, because he cheweth the cud, but divideth not the hoof; he is unclean unto you.
11: 6 And the hare, because he cheweth the cud, but divideth not the hoof; he is unclean unto you.
11: 7 And the swine, though he divide the hoof, and be clovenfooted, yet he cheweth not the cud; he is unclean to you.
11: 8 Of their flesh shall ye not eat, and their carcase shall ye not touch; they are unclean to you.
11: 9 These shall ye eat of all that are in the waters: whatsoever hath fins and scales in the waters, in the seas, and in the rivers, them shall ye eat.
11: 12 Whatsoever hath no fins nor scales in the waters, that shall be an abomination unto you.
11: 20 All fowls that creep, going upon all four, shall be an abomination unto you.
11: 23 But all other flying creeping things, which have four feet, shall be an abomination unto you.
11: 24 And for these ye shall be unclean: whosoever toucheth the carcase of them shall be unclean until the even.
11: 25 And whosoever beareth ought of the carcase of them shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even.
11: 26 The carcases of every beast which divideth the hoof, and is not clovenfooted, nor cheweth the cud, are unclean unto you: every one that toucheth them shall be unclean.
11: 27 And whatsoever goeth upon his paws, among all manner of beasts that go on all four, those are unclean unto you: whoso toucheth their carcase shall be unclean until the even.
11: 28 And he that beareth the carcase of them shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even: they are unclean unto you.
11: 29 These also shall be unclean unto you among the creeping things that creep upon the earth; the weasel, and the mouse, and the tortoise after his kind, 11: 30 And the ferret, and the chameleon, and the lizard, and the snail, and the mole.
11: 31 These are unclean to you among all that creep: whosoever doth touch them, when they be dead, shall be unclean until the even.
11: 33 And every earthen vessel, whereinto any of them falleth, whatsoever is in it shall be unclean; and ye shall break it.
11: 34 Of all meat which may be eaten, that on which such water cometh shall be unclean: and all drink that may be drunk in every such vessel shall be unclean.
11: 35 And every thing whereupon any part of their carcase falleth shall be unclean; whether it be oven, or ranges for pots, they shall be broken down: for they are unclean and shall be unclean unto you.
11: 36 Nevertheless a fountain or pit, wherein there is plenty of water, shall be clean: but that which toucheth their carcase shall be unclean.
11: 37 And if any part of their carcase fall upon any sowing seed which is to be sown, it shall be clean.
11: 38 But if any water be put upon the seed, and any part of their carcase fall thereon, it shall be unclean unto you.
11: 39 And if any beast, of which ye may eat, die; he that toucheth the carcase thereof shall be unclean until the even.
11: 40 And he that eateth of the carcase of it shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even: he also that beareth the carcase of it shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even.
11: 41 And every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth shall be an abomination; it shall not be eaten.
11: 42 Whatsoever goeth upon the belly, and whatsoever goeth upon all four, or whatsoever hath more feet among all creeping things that creep upon the earth, them ye shall not eat; for they are an abomination.
11: 43 Ye shall not make yourselves abominable with any creeping thing that creepeth, neither shall ye make yourselves unclean with them, that ye should be defiled thereby.
11: 44 For I am the LORD your God: ye shall therefore sanctify yourselves, and ye shall be holy; for I am holy: neither shall ye defile yourselves with any manner of creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.
11: 45 For I am the LORD that bringeth you up out of the land of Egypt, to be your God: ye shall therefore be holy, for I am holy.
12: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 12: 2 Speak unto the children of Israel, saying, If a woman have conceived seed, and born a man child: then she shall be unclean seven days; according to the days of the separation for her infirmity shall she be unclean.
12: 3 And in the eighth day the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised.
12: 4 And she shall then continue in the blood of her purifying three and thirty days; she shall touch no hallowed thing, nor come into the sanctuary, until the days of her purifying be fulfilled.
12: 5 But if she bear a maid child, then she shall be unclean two weeks, as in her separation: and she shall continue in the blood of her purifying threescore and six days.
This is the law for her that hath born a male or a female.
12: 8 And if she be not able to bring a lamb, then she shall bring two turtles, or two young pigeons; the one for the burnt offering, and the other for a sin offering: and the priest shall make an atonement for her, and she shall be clean.
13: 7 But if the scab spread much abroad in the skin, after that he hath been seen of the priest for his cleansing, he shall be seen of the priest again.
13: 8 And if the priest see that, behold, the scab spreadeth in the skin, then the priest shall pronounce him unclean: it is a leprosy.
13: 14 But when raw flesh appeareth in him, he shall be unclean.
13: 15 And the priest shall see the raw flesh, and pronounce him to be unclean: for the raw flesh is unclean: it is a leprosy.
13: 16 Or if the raw flesh turn again, and be changed unto white, he shall come unto the priest; 13: 17 And the priest shall see him: and, behold, if the plague be turned into white; then the priest shall pronounce him clean that hath the plague: he is clean.
13: 23 But if the bright spot stay in his place, and spread not, it is a burning boil; and the priest shall pronounce him clean.
13: 28 And if the bright spot stay in his place, and spread not in the skin, but it be somewhat dark; it is a rising of the burning, and the priest shall pronounce him clean: for it is an inflammation of the burning.
13: 35 But if the scall spread much in the skin after his cleansing; 13: 36 Then the priest shall look on him: and, behold, if the scall be spread in the skin, the priest shall not seek for yellow hair; he is unclean.
13: 37 But if the scall be in his sight at a stay, and that there is black hair grown up therein; the scall is healed, he is clean: and the priest shall pronounce him clean.
13: 40 And the man whose hair is fallen off his head, he is bald; yet is he clean.
13: 41 And he that hath his hair fallen off from the part of his head toward his face, he is forehead bald: yet is he clean.
13: 42 And if there be in the bald head, or bald forehead, a white reddish sore; it is a leprosy sprung up in his bald head, or his bald forehead.
13: 45 And the leper in whom the plague is, his clothes shall be rent, and his head bare, and he shall put a covering upon his upper lip, and shall cry, Unclean, unclean.
13: 46 All the days wherein the plague shall be in him he shall be defiled; he is unclean: he shall dwell alone; without the camp shall his habitation be.
13: 52 He shall therefore burn that garment, whether warp or woof, in woollen or in linen, or any thing of skin, wherein the plague is: for it is a fretting leprosy; it shall be burnt in the fire.
13: 58 And the garment, either warp, or woof, or whatsoever thing of skin it be, which thou shalt wash, if the plague be departed from them, then it shall be washed the second time, and shall be clean.
13: 59 This is the law of the plague of leprosy in a garment of woollen or linen, either in the warp, or woof, or any thing of skins, to pronounce it clean, or to pronounce it unclean.
14: 8 And he that is to be cleansed shall wash his clothes, and shave off all his hair, and wash himself in water, that he may be clean: and after that he shall come into the camp, and shall tarry abroad out of his tent seven days.
14: 9 But it shall be on the seventh day, that he shall shave all his hair off his head and his beard and his eyebrows, even all his hair he shall shave off: and he shall wash his clothes, also he shall wash his flesh in water, and he shall be clean.
14: 10 And on the eighth day he shall take two he lambs without blemish, and one ewe lamb of the first year without blemish, and three tenth deals of fine flour for a meat offering, mingled with oil, and one log of oil.
14: 23 And he shall bring them on the eighth day for his cleansing unto the priest, unto the door of the tabernacle of the congregation, before the LORD.
14: 32 This is the law of him in whom is the plague of leprosy, whose hand is not able to get that which pertaineth to his cleansing.
14: 45 And he shall break down the house, the stones of it, and the timber thereof, and all the morter of the house; and he shall carry them forth out of the city into an unclean place.
14: 46 Moreover he that goeth into the house all the while that it is shut up shall be unclean until the even.
14: 47 And he that lieth in the house shall wash his clothes; and he that eateth in the house shall wash his clothes.
14: 48 And if the priest shall come in, and look upon it, and, behold, the plague hath not spread in the house, after the house was plaistered: then the priest shall pronounce the house clean, because the plague is healed.
15: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses and to Aaron, saying, 15: 2 Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them, When any man hath a running issue out of his flesh, because of his issue he is unclean.
15: 3 And this shall be his uncleanness in his issue: whether his flesh run with his issue, or his flesh be stopped from his issue, it is his uncleanness.
15: 4 Every bed, whereon he lieth that hath the issue, is unclean: and every thing, whereon he sitteth, shall be unclean.
15: 5 And whosoever toucheth his bed shall wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the even.
15: 6 And he that sitteth on any thing whereon he sat that hath the issue shall wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the even.
15: 7 And he that toucheth the flesh of him that hath the issue shall wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the even.
15: 8 And if he that hath the issue spit upon him that is clean; then he shall wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the even.
15: 9 And what saddle soever he rideth upon that hath the issue shall be unclean.
15: 10 And whosoever toucheth any thing that was under him shall be unclean until the even: and he that beareth any of those things shall wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the even.
15: 11 And whomsoever he toucheth that hath the issue, and hath not rinsed his hands in water, he shall wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the even.
15: 12 And the vessel of earth, that he toucheth which hath the issue, shall be broken: and every vessel of wood shall be rinsed in water.
15: 13 And when he that hath an issue is cleansed of his issue; then he shall number to himself seven days for his cleansing, and wash his clothes, and bathe his flesh in running water, and shall be clean.
15: 16 And if any man's seed of copulation go out from him, then he shall wash all his flesh in water, and be unclean until the even.
15: 17 And every garment, and every skin, whereon is the seed of copulation, shall be washed with water, and be unclean until the even.
15: 18 The woman also with whom man shall lie with seed of copulation, they shall both bathe themselves in water, and be unclean until the even.
15: 19 And if a woman have an issue, and her issue in her flesh be blood, she shall be put apart seven days: and whosoever toucheth her shall be unclean until the even.
15: 20 And every thing that she lieth upon in her separation shall be unclean: every thing also that she sitteth upon shall be unclean.
15: 21 And whosoever toucheth her bed shall wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the even.
15: 22 And whosoever toucheth any thing that she sat upon shall wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the even.
15: 23 And if it be on her bed, or on any thing whereon she sitteth, when he toucheth it, he shall be unclean until the even.
15: 24 And if any man lie with her at all, and her flowers be upon him, he shall be unclean seven days; and all the bed whereon he lieth shall be unclean.
15: 25 And if a woman have an issue of her blood many days out of the time of her separation, or if it run beyond the time of her separation; all the days of the issue of her uncleanness shall be as the days of her separation: she shall be unclean.
15: 26 Every bed whereon she lieth all the days of her issue shall be unto her as the bed of her separation: and whatsoever she sitteth upon shall be unclean, as the uncleanness of her separation.
15: 27 And whosoever toucheth those things shall be unclean, and shall wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the even.
15: 28 But if she be cleansed of her issue, then she shall number to herself seven days, and after that she shall be clean.
15: 29 And on the eighth day she shall take unto her two turtles, or two young pigeons, and bring them unto the priest, to the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
15: 30 And the priest shall offer the one for a sin offering, and the other for a burnt offering; and the priest shall make an atonement for her before the LORD for the issue of her uncleanness.
15: 31 Thus shall ye separate the children of Israel from their uncleanness; that they die not in their uncleanness, when they defile my tabernacle that is among them.
15: 32 This is the law of him that hath an issue, and of him whose seed goeth from him, and is defiled therewith; 15: 33 And of her that is sick of her flowers, and of him that hath an issue, of the man, and of the woman, and of him that lieth with her that is unclean.
16: 3 Thus shall Aaron come into the holy place: with a young bullock for a sin offering, and a ram for a burnt offering.
16: 4 He shall put on the holy linen coat, and he shall have the linen breeches upon his flesh, and shall be girded with a linen girdle, and with the linen mitre shall he be attired: these are holy garments; therefore shall he wash his flesh in water, and so put them on.
16: 5 And he shall take of the congregation of the children of Israel two kids of the goats for a sin offering, and one ram for a burnt offering.
16: 6 And Aaron shall offer his bullock of the sin offering, which is for himself, and make an atonement for himself, and for his house.
16: 7 And he shall take the two goats, and present them before the LORD at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
16: 8 And Aaron shall cast lots upon the two goats; one lot for the LORD, and the other lot for the scapegoat.
16: 9 And Aaron shall bring the goat upon which the LORD's lot fell, and offer him for a sin offering.
16: 10 But the goat, on which the lot fell to be the scapegoat, shall be presented alive before the LORD, to make an atonement with him, and to let him go for a scapegoat into the wilderness.
16: 17 And there shall be no man in the tabernacle of the congregation when he goeth in to make an atonement in the holy place, until he come out, and have made an atonement for himself, and for his household, and for all the congregation of Israel.
16: 18 And he shall go out unto the altar that is before the LORD, and make an atonement for it; and shall take of the blood of the bullock, and of the blood of the goat, and put it upon the horns of the altar round about.
16: 19 And he shall sprinkle of the blood upon it with his finger seven times, and cleanse it, and hallow it from the uncleanness of the children of Israel.
16: 25 And the fat of the sin offering shall he burn upon the altar.
16: 26 And he that let go the goat for the scapegoat shall wash his clothes, and bathe his flesh in water, and afterward come into the camp.
16: 27 And the bullock for the sin offering, and the goat for the sin offering, whose blood was brought in to make atonement in the holy place, shall one carry forth without the camp; and they shall burn in the fire their skins, and their flesh, and their dung.
16: 28 And he that burneth them shall wash his clothes, and bathe his flesh in water, and afterward he shall come into the camp.
16: 31 It shall be a sabbath of rest unto you, and ye shall afflict your souls, by a statute for ever.
16: 34 And this shall be an everlasting statute unto you, to make an atonement for the children of Israel for all their sins once a year.
And he did as the LORD commanded Moses.
17: 6 And the priest shall sprinkle the blood upon the altar of the LORD at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation, and burn the fat for a sweet savour unto the LORD.
17: 7 And they shall no more offer their sacrifices unto devils, after whom they have gone a whoring.
This shall be a statute for ever unto them throughout their generations.
17: 10 And whatsoever man there be of the house of Israel, or of the strangers that sojourn among you, that eateth any manner of blood; I will even set my face against that soul that eateth blood, and will cut him off from among his people.
17: 11 For the life of the flesh is in the blood: and I have given it to you upon the altar to make an atonement for your souls: for it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul.
17: 12 Therefore I said unto the children of Israel, No soul of you shall eat blood, neither shall any stranger that sojourneth among you eat blood.
17: 13 And whatsoever man there be of the children of Israel, or of the strangers that sojourn among you, which hunteth and catcheth any beast or fowl that may be eaten; he shall even pour out the blood thereof, and cover it with dust.
17: 14 For it is the life of all flesh; the blood of it is for the life thereof: therefore I said unto the children of Israel, Ye shall eat the blood of no manner of flesh: for the life of all flesh is the blood thereof: whosoever eateth it shall be cut off.
17: 15 And every soul that eateth that which died of itself, or that which was torn with beasts, whether it be one of your own country, or a stranger, he shall both wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the even: then shall he be clean.
17: 16 But if he wash them not, nor bathe his flesh; then he shall bear his iniquity.
18: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 18: 2 Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them, I am the LORD your God.
18: 3 After the doings of the land of Egypt, wherein ye dwelt, shall ye not do: and after the doings of the land of Canaan, whither I bring you, shall ye not do: neither shall ye walk in their ordinances.
18: 4 Ye shall do my judgments, and keep mine ordinances, to walk therein: I am the LORD your God.
18: 5 Ye shall therefore keep my statutes, and my judgments: which if a man do, he shall live in them: I am the LORD.
18: 6 None of you shall approach to any that is near of kin to him, to uncover their nakedness: I am the LORD.
18: 7 The nakedness of thy father, or the nakedness of thy mother, shalt thou not uncover: she is thy mother; thou shalt not uncover her nakedness.
18: 8 The nakedness of thy father's wife shalt thou not uncover: it is thy father's nakedness.
18: 9 The nakedness of thy sister, the daughter of thy father, or daughter of thy mother, whether she be born at home, or born abroad, even their nakedness thou shalt not uncover.
18: 10 The nakedness of thy son's daughter, or of thy daughter's daughter, even their nakedness thou shalt not uncover: for theirs is thine own nakedness.
18: 11 The nakedness of thy father's wife's daughter, begotten of thy father, she is thy sister, thou shalt not uncover her nakedness.
18: 12 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy father's sister: she is thy father's near kinswoman.
18: 13 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy mother's sister: for she is thy mother's near kinswoman.
18: 14 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy father's brother, thou shalt not approach to his wife: she is thine aunt.
18: 15 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy daughter in law: she is thy son's wife; thou shalt not uncover her nakedness.
18: 16 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy brother's wife: it is thy brother's nakedness.
18: 17 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of a woman and her daughter, neither shalt thou take her son's daughter, or her daughter's daughter, to uncover her nakedness; for they are her near kinswomen: it is wickedness.
18: 18 Neither shalt thou take a wife to her sister, to vex her, to uncover her nakedness, beside the other in her life time.
18: 19 Also thou shalt not approach unto a woman to uncover her nakedness, as long as she is put apart for her uncleanness.
18: 20 Moreover thou shalt not lie carnally with thy neighbour's wife, to defile thyself with her.
18: 21 And thou shalt not let any of thy seed pass through the fire to Molech, neither shalt thou profane the name of thy God: I am the LORD.
18: 22 Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.
18: 23 Neither shalt thou lie with any beast to defile thyself therewith: neither shall any woman stand before a beast to lie down thereto: it is confusion.
18: 24 Defile not ye yourselves in any of these things: for in all these the nations are defiled which I cast out before you: 18: 25 And the land is defiled: therefore I do visit the iniquity thereof upon it, and the land itself vomiteth out her inhabitants.
18: 29 For whosoever shall commit any of these abominations, even the souls that commit them shall be cut off from among their people.
18: 30 Therefore shall ye keep mine ordinance, that ye commit not any one of these abominable customs, which were committed before you, and that ye defile not yourselves therein: I am the LORD your God.
19: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 19: 2 Speak unto all the congregation of the children of Israel, and say unto them, Ye shall be holy: for I the LORD your God am holy.
19: 3 Ye shall fear every man his mother, and his father, and keep my sabbaths: I am the LORD your God.
19: 4 Turn ye not unto idols, nor make to yourselves molten gods: I am the LORD your God.
19: 5 And if ye offer a sacrifice of peace offerings unto the LORD, ye shall offer it at your own will.
19: 6 It shall be eaten the same day ye offer it, and on the morrow: and if ought remain until the third day, it shall be burnt in the fire.
19: 7 And if it be eaten at all on the third day, it is abominable; it shall not be accepted.
19: 8 Therefore every one that eateth it shall bear his iniquity, because he hath profaned the hallowed thing of the LORD: and that soul shall be cut off from among his people.
19: 9 And when ye reap the harvest of your land, thou shalt not wholly reap the corners of thy field, neither shalt thou gather the gleanings of thy harvest.
19: 10 And thou shalt not glean thy vineyard, neither shalt thou gather every grape of thy vineyard; thou shalt leave them for the poor and stranger: I am the LORD your God.
19: 11 Ye shall not steal, neither deal falsely, neither lie one to another.
19: 12 And ye shall not swear by my name falsely, neither shalt thou profane the name of thy God: I am the LORD.
19: 13 Thou shalt not defraud thy neighbour, neither rob him: the wages of him that is hired shall not abide with thee all night until the morning.
19: 14 Thou shalt not curse the deaf, nor put a stumblingblock before the blind, but shalt fear thy God: I am the LORD.
19: 15 Ye shall do no unrighteousness in judgment: thou shalt not respect the person of the poor, nor honor the person of the mighty: but in righteousness shalt thou judge thy neighbour.
19: 16 Thou shalt not go up and down as a talebearer among thy people: neither shalt thou stand against the blood of thy neighbour; I am the LORD.
19: 17 Thou shalt not hate thy brother in thine heart: thou shalt in any wise rebuke thy neighbour, and not suffer sin upon him.
19: 18 Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself: I am the LORD.
19: 19 Ye shall keep my statutes.
Thou shalt not let thy cattle gender with a diverse kind: thou shalt not sow thy field with mingled seed: neither shall a garment mingled of linen and woollen come upon thee.
19: 20 And whosoever lieth carnally with a woman, that is a bondmaid, betrothed to an husband, and not at all redeemed, nor freedom given her; she shall be scourged; they shall not be put to death, because she was not free.
19: 21 And he shall bring his trespass offering unto the LORD, unto the door of the tabernacle of the congregation, even a ram for a trespass offering.
19: 22 And the priest shall make an atonement for him with the ram of the trespass offering before the LORD for his sin which he hath done: and the sin which he hath done shall be forgiven him.
19: 23 And when ye shall come into the land, and shall have planted all manner of trees for food, then ye shall count the fruit thereof as uncircumcised: three years shall it be as uncircumcised unto you: it shall not be eaten of.
19: 24 But in the fourth year all the fruit thereof shall be holy to praise the LORD withal.
19: 25 And in the fifth year shall ye eat of the fruit thereof, that it may yield unto you the increase thereof: I am the LORD your God.
19: 26 Ye shall not eat any thing with the blood: neither shall ye use enchantment, nor observe times.
19: 27 Ye shall not round the corners of your heads, neither shalt thou mar the corners of thy beard.
19: 28 Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you: I am the LORD.
19: 29 Do not prostitute thy daughter, to cause her to be a whore; lest the land fall to whoredom, and the land become full of wickedness.
19: 30 Ye shall keep my sabbaths, and reverence my sanctuary: I am the LORD.
19: 31 Regard not them that have familiar spirits, neither seek after wizards, to be defiled by them: I am the LORD your God.
19: 32 Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honour the face of the old man, and fear thy God: I am the LORD.
19: 33 And if a stranger sojourn with thee in your land, ye shall not vex him.
19: 34 But the stranger that dwelleth with you shall be unto you as one born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself; for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God.
19: 35 Ye shall do no unrighteousness in judgment, in meteyard, in weight, or in measure.
19: 36 Just balances, just weights, a just ephah, and a just hin, shall ye have: I am the LORD your God, which brought you out of the land of Egypt.
19: 37 Therefore shall ye observe all my statutes, and all my judgments, and do them: I am the LORD.
20: 3 And I will set my face against that man, and will cut him off from among his people; because he hath given of his seed unto Molech, to defile my sanctuary, and to profane my holy name.
20: 6 And the soul that turneth after such as have familiar spirits, and after wizards, to go a whoring after them, I will even set my face against that soul, and will cut him off from among his people.
20: 7 Sanctify yourselves therefore, and be ye holy: for I am the LORD your God.
20: 8 And ye shall keep my statutes, and do them: I am the LORD which sanctify you.
20: 9 For every one that curseth his father or his mother shall be surely put to death: he hath cursed his father or his mother; his blood shall be upon him.
20: 10 And the man that committeth adultery with another man's wife, even he that committeth adultery with his neighbour's wife, the adulterer and the adulteress shall surely be put to death.
20: 11 And the man that lieth with his father's wife hath uncovered his father's nakedness: both of them shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.
20: 12 And if a man lie with his daughter in law, both of them shall surely be put to death: they have wrought confusion; their blood shall be upon them.
20: 13 If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.
20: 14 And if a man take a wife and her mother, it is wickedness: they shall be burnt with fire, both he and they; that there be no wickedness among you.
20: 15 And if a man lie with a beast, he shall surely be put to death: and ye shall slay the beast.
20: 16 And if a woman approach unto any beast, and lie down thereto, thou shalt kill the woman, and the beast: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.
20: 18 And if a man shall lie with a woman having her sickness, and shall uncover her nakedness; he hath discovered her fountain, and she hath uncovered the fountain of her blood: and both of them shall be cut off from among their people.
20: 19 And thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy mother's sister, nor of thy father's sister: for he uncovereth his near kin: they shall bear their iniquity.
20: 20 And if a man shall lie with his uncle's wife, he hath uncovered his uncle's nakedness: they shall bear their sin; they shall die childless.
20: 21 And if a man shall take his brother's wife, it is an unclean thing: he hath uncovered his brother's nakedness; they shall be childless.
20: 22 Ye shall therefore keep all my statutes, and all my judgments, and do them: that the land, whither I bring you to dwell therein, spue you not out.
20: 23 And ye shall not walk in the manners of the nation, which I cast out before you: for they committed all these things, and therefore I abhorred them.
20: 24 But I have said unto you, Ye shall inherit their land, and I will give it unto you to possess it, a land that floweth with milk and honey: I am the LORD your God, which have separated you from other people.
20: 26 And ye shall be holy unto me: for I the LORD am holy, and have severed you from other people, that ye should be mine.
20: 27 A man also or woman that hath a familiar spirit, or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death: they shall stone them with stones: their blood shall be upon them.
21: 3 And for his sister a virgin, that is nigh unto him, which hath had no husband; for her may he be defiled.
21: 4 But he shall not defile himself, being a chief man among his people, to profane himself.
21: 5 They shall not make baldness upon their head, neither shall they shave off the corner of their beard, nor make any cuttings in their flesh.
21: 6 They shall be holy unto their God, and not profane the name of their God: for the offerings of the LORD made by fire, and the bread of their God, they do offer: therefore they shall be holy.
21: 7 They shall not take a wife that is a whore, or profane; neither shall they take a woman put away from her husband: for he is holy unto his God.
21: 8 Thou shalt sanctify him therefore; for he offereth the bread of thy God: he shall be holy unto thee: for I the LORD, which sanctify you, am holy.
21: 9 And the daughter of any priest, if she profane herself by playing the whore, she profaneth her father: she shall be burnt with fire.
21: 13 And he shall take a wife in her virginity.
21: 14 A widow, or a divorced woman, or profane, or an harlot, these shall he not take: but he shall take a virgin of his own people to wife.
21: 15 Neither shall he profane his seed among his people: for I the LORD do sanctify him.
21: 16 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 21: 17 Speak unto Aaron, saying, Whosoever he be of thy seed in their generations that hath any blemish, let him not approach to offer the bread of his God.
21: 22 He shall eat the bread of his God, both of the most holy, and of the holy.
21: 23 Only he shall not go in unto the vail, nor come nigh unto the altar, because he hath a blemish; that he profane not my sanctuaries: for I the LORD do sanctify them.
21: 24 And Moses told it unto Aaron, and to his sons, and unto all the children of Israel.
22: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 22: 2 Speak unto Aaron and to his sons, that they separate themselves from the holy things of the children of Israel, and that they profane not my holy name in those things which they hallow unto me: I am the LORD.
22: 3 Say unto them, Whosoever he be of all your seed among your generations, that goeth unto the holy things, which the children of Israel hallow unto the LORD, having his uncleanness upon him, that soul shall be cut off from my presence: I am the LORD.
22: 4 What man soever of the seed of Aaron is a leper, or hath a running issue; he shall not eat of the holy things, until he be clean.
22: 7 And when the sun is down, he shall be clean, and shall afterward eat of the holy things; because it is his food.
22: 8 That which dieth of itself, or is torn with beasts, he shall not eat to defile himself therewith; I am the LORD.
22: 9 They shall therefore keep mine ordinance, lest they bear sin for it, and die therefore, if they profane it: I the LORD do sanctify them.
22: 10 There shall no stranger eat of the holy thing: a sojourner of the priest, or an hired servant, shall not eat of the holy thing.
22: 11 But if the priest buy any soul with his money, he shall eat of it, and he that is born in his house: they shall eat of his meat.
22: 12 If the priest's daughter also be married unto a stranger, she may not eat of an offering of the holy things.
22: 13 But if the priest's daughter be a widow, or divorced, and have no child, and is returned unto her father's house, as in her youth, she shall eat of her father's meat: but there shall be no stranger eat thereof.
22: 14 And if a man eat of the holy thing unwittingly, then he shall put the fifth part thereof unto it, and shall give it unto the priest with the holy thing.
22: 15 And they shall not profane the holy things of the children of Israel, which they offer unto the LORD; 22: 16 Or suffer them to bear the iniquity of trespass, when they eat their holy things: for I the LORD do sanctify them.
22: 20 But whatsoever hath a blemish, that shall ye not offer: for it shall not be acceptable for you.
22: 21 And whosoever offereth a sacrifice of peace offerings unto the LORD to accomplish his vow, or a freewill offering in beeves or sheep, it shall be perfect to be accepted; there shall be no blemish therein.
22: 22 Blind, or broken, or maimed, or having a wen, or scurvy, or scabbed, ye shall not offer these unto the LORD, nor make an offering by fire of them upon the altar unto the LORD.
22: 23 Either a bullock or a lamb that hath any thing superfluous or lacking in his parts, that mayest thou offer for a freewill offering; but for a vow it shall not be accepted.
22: 24 Ye shall not offer unto the LORD that which is bruised, or crushed, or broken, or cut; neither shall ye make any offering thereof in your land.
22: 25 Neither from a stranger's hand shall ye offer the bread of your God of any of these; because their corruption is in them, and blemishes be in them: they shall not be accepted for you.
22: 26 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 22: 27 When a bullock, or a sheep, or a goat, is brought forth, then it shall be seven days under the dam; and from the eighth day and thenceforth it shall be accepted for an offering made by fire unto the LORD.
22: 28 And whether it be cow, or ewe, ye shall not kill it and her young both in one day.
22: 29 And when ye will offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving unto the LORD, offer it at your own will.
22: 30 On the same day it shall be eaten up; ye shall leave none of it until the morrow: I am the LORD.
22: 31 Therefore shall ye keep my commandments, and do them: I am the LORD.
22: 32 Neither shall ye profane my holy name; but I will be hallowed among the children of Israel: I am the LORD which hallow you, 22: 33 That brought you out of the land of Egypt, to be your God: I am the LORD.
23: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 23: 2 Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them, Concerning the feasts of the LORD, which ye shall proclaim to be holy convocations, even these are my feasts.
23: 3 Six days shall work be done: but the seventh day is the sabbath of rest, an holy convocation; ye shall do no work therein: it is the sabbath of the LORD in all your dwellings.
23: 4 These are the feasts of the LORD, even holy convocations, which ye shall proclaim in their seasons.
23: 5 In the fourteenth day of the first month at even is the LORD's passover.
23: 6 And on the fifteenth day of the same month is the feast of unleavened bread unto the LORD: seven days ye must eat unleavened bread.
23: 7 In the first day ye shall have an holy convocation: ye shall do no servile work therein.
23: 8 But ye shall offer an offering made by fire unto the LORD seven days: in the seventh day is an holy convocation: ye shall do no servile work therein.
23: 12 And ye shall offer that day when ye wave the sheaf an he lamb without blemish of the first year for a burnt offering unto the LORD.
23: 13 And the meat offering thereof shall be two tenth deals of fine flour mingled with oil, an offering made by fire unto the LORD for a sweet savour: and the drink offering thereof shall be of wine, the fourth part of an hin.
23: 14 And ye shall eat neither bread, nor parched corn, nor green ears, until the selfsame day that ye have brought an offering unto your God: it shall be a statute for ever throughout your generations in all your dwellings.
23: 17 Ye shall bring out of your habitations two wave loaves of two tenth deals; they shall be of fine flour; they shall be baken with leaven; they are the firstfruits unto the LORD.
23: 19 Then ye shall sacrifice one kid of the goats for a sin offering, and two lambs of the first year for a sacrifice of peace offerings.
23: 20 And the priest shall wave them with the bread of the firstfruits for a wave offering before the LORD, with the two lambs: they shall be holy to the LORD for the priest.
23: 21 And ye shall proclaim on the selfsame day, that it may be an holy convocation unto you: ye shall do no servile work therein: it shall be a statute for ever in all your dwellings throughout your generations.
23: 22 And when ye reap the harvest of your land, thou shalt not make clean riddance of the corners of thy field when thou reapest, neither shalt thou gather any gleaning of thy harvest: thou shalt leave them unto the poor, and to the stranger: I am the LORD your God.
23: 23 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 23: 24 Speak unto the children of Israel, saying, In the seventh month, in the first day of the month, shall ye have a sabbath, a memorial of blowing of trumpets, an holy convocation.
23: 25 Ye shall do no servile work therein: but ye shall offer an offering made by fire unto the LORD.
23: 26 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 23: 27 Also on the tenth day of this seventh month there shall be a day of atonement: it shall be an holy convocation unto you; and ye shall afflict your souls, and offer an offering made by fire unto the LORD.
23: 28 And ye shall do no work in that same day: for it is a day of atonement, to make an atonement for you before the LORD your God.
23: 29 For whatsoever soul it be that shall not be afflicted in that same day, he shall be cut off from among his people.
23: 30 And whatsoever soul it be that doeth any work in that same day, the same soul will I destroy from among his people.
23: 31 Ye shall do no manner of work: it shall be a statute for ever throughout your generations in all your dwellings.
23: 32 It shall be unto you a sabbath of rest, and ye shall afflict your souls: in the ninth day of the month at even, from even unto even, shall ye celebrate your sabbath.
23: 33 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 23: 34 Speak unto the children of Israel, saying, The fifteenth day of this seventh month shall be the feast of tabernacles for seven days unto the LORD.
23: 35 On the first day shall be an holy convocation: ye shall do no servile work therein.
23: 36 Seven days ye shall offer an offering made by fire unto the LORD: on the eighth day shall be an holy convocation unto you; and ye shall offer an offering made by fire unto the LORD: it is a solemn assembly; and ye shall do no servile work therein.
23: 39 Also in the fifteenth day of the seventh month, when ye have gathered in the fruit of the land, ye shall keep a feast unto the LORD seven days: on the first day shall be a sabbath, and on the eighth day shall be a sabbath.
23: 40 And ye shall take you on the first day the boughs of goodly trees, branches of palm trees, and the boughs of thick trees, and willows of the brook; and ye shall rejoice before the LORD your God seven days.
23: 41 And ye shall keep it a feast unto the LORD seven days in the year.
It shall be a statute for ever in your generations: ye shall celebrate it in the seventh month.
23: 42 Ye shall dwell in booths seven days; all that are Israelites born shall dwell in booths: 23: 43 That your generations may know that I made the children of Israel to dwell in booths, when I brought them out of the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God.
23: 44 And Moses declared unto the children of Israel the feasts of the LORD.
24: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 24: 2 Command the children of Israel, that they bring unto thee pure oil olive beaten for the light, to cause the lamps to burn continually.
24: 3 Without the vail of the testimony, in the tabernacle of the congregation, shall Aaron order it from the evening unto the morning before the LORD continually: it shall be a statute for ever in your generations.
24: 4 He shall order the lamps upon the pure candlestick before the LORD continually.
24: 5 And thou shalt take fine flour, and bake twelve cakes thereof: two tenth deals shall be in one cake.
24: 6 And thou shalt set them in two rows, six on a row, upon the pure table before the LORD.
24: 7 And thou shalt put pure frankincense upon each row, that it may be on the bread for a memorial, even an offering made by fire unto the LORD.
24: 8 Every sabbath he shall set it in order before the LORD continually, being taken from the children of Israel by an everlasting covenant.
24: 9 And it shall be Aaron's and his sons '; and they shall eat it in the holy place: for it is most holy unto him of the offerings of the LORD made by fire by a perpetual statute.
And they brought him unto Moses: (and his mother's name was Shelomith, the daughter of Dibri, of the tribe of Dan:) 24: 12 And they put him in ward, that the mind of the LORD might be shewed them.
24: 13 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 24: 14 Bring forth him that hath cursed without the camp; and let all that heard him lay their hands upon his head, and let all the congregation stone him.
24: 15 And thou shalt speak unto the children of Israel, saying, Whosoever curseth his God shall bear his sin.
24: 16 And he that blasphemeth the name of the LORD, he shall surely be put to death, and all the congregation shall certainly stone him: as well the stranger, as he that is born in the land, when he blasphemeth the name of the Lord, shall be put to death.
24: 17 And he that killeth any man shall surely be put to death.
24: 18 And he that killeth a beast shall make it good; beast for beast.
24: 19 And if a man cause a blemish in his neighbour; as he hath done, so shall it be done to him; 24: 20 Breach for breach, eye for eye, tooth for tooth: as he hath caused a blemish in a man, so shall it be done to him again.
24: 21 And he that killeth a beast, he shall restore it: and he that killeth a man, he shall be put to death.
24: 22 Ye shall have one manner of law, as well for the stranger, as for one of your own country: for I am the LORD your God.
24: 23 And Moses spake to the children of Israel, that they should bring forth him that had cursed out of the camp, and stone him with stones.
And the children of Israel did as the LORD commanded Moses.
25: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses in mount Sinai, saying, 25: 2 Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them, When ye come into the land which I give you, then shall the land keep a sabbath unto the LORD.
25: 3 Six years thou shalt sow thy field, and six years thou shalt prune thy vineyard, and gather in the fruit thereof; 25: 4 But in the seventh year shall be a sabbath of rest unto the land, a sabbath for the LORD: thou shalt neither sow thy field, nor prune thy vineyard.
25: 5 That which groweth of its own accord of thy harvest thou shalt not reap, neither gather the grapes of thy vine undressed: for it is a year of rest unto the land.
25: 6 And the sabbath of the land shall be meat for you; for thee, and for thy servant, and for thy maid, and for thy hired servant, and for thy stranger that sojourneth with thee.
25: 7 And for thy cattle, and for the beast that are in thy land, shall all the increase thereof be meat.
25: 8 And thou shalt number seven sabbaths of years unto thee, seven times seven years; and the space of the seven sabbaths of years shall be unto thee forty and nine years.
25: 9 Then shalt thou cause the trumpet of the jubile to sound on the tenth day of the seventh month, in the day of atonement shall ye make the trumpet sound throughout all your land.
25: 10 And ye shall hallow the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof: it shall be a jubile unto you; and ye shall return every man unto his possession, and ye shall return every man unto his family.
25: 11 A jubile shall that fiftieth year be unto you: ye shall not sow, neither reap that which groweth of itself in it, nor gather the grapes in it of thy vine undressed.
25: 12 For it is the jubile; it shall be holy unto you: ye shall eat the increase thereof out of the field.
25: 13 In the year of this jubile ye shall return every man unto his possession.
25: 17 Ye shall not therefore oppress one another; but thou shalt fear thy God: for I am the LORD your God.
25: 18 Wherefore ye shall do my statutes, and keep my judgments, and do them; and ye shall dwell in the land in safety.
25: 19 And the land shall yield her fruit, and ye shall eat your fill, and dwell therein in safety.
25: 20 And if ye shall say, What shall we eat the seventh year?
behold, we shall not sow, nor gather in our increase: 25: 21 Then I will command my blessing upon you in the sixth year, and it shall bring forth fruit for three years.
25: 22 And ye shall sow the eighth year, and eat yet of old fruit until the ninth year; until her fruits come in ye shall eat of the old store.
25: 23 The land shall not be sold for ever: for the land is mine, for ye are strangers and sojourners with me.
25: 24 And in all the land of your possession ye shall grant a redemption for the land.
25: 25 If thy brother be waxen poor, and hath sold away some of his possession, and if any of his kin come to redeem it, then shall he redeem that which his brother sold.
25: 26 And if the man have none to redeem it, and himself be able to redeem it; 25: 27 Then let him count the years of the sale thereof, and restore the overplus unto the man to whom he sold it; that he may return unto his possession.
25: 28 But if he be not able to restore it to him, then that which is sold shall remain in the hand of him that hath bought it until the year of jubile: and in the jubile it shall go out, and he shall return unto his possession.
25: 29 And if a man sell a dwelling house in a walled city, then he may redeem it within a whole year after it is sold; within a full year may he redeem it.
25: 30 And if it be not redeemed within the space of a full year, then the house that is in the walled city shall be established for ever to him that bought it throughout his generations: it shall not go out in the jubile.
25: 31 But the houses of the villages which have no wall round about them shall be counted as the fields of the country: they may be redeemed, and they shall go out in the jubile.
25: 32 Notwithstanding the cities of the Levites, and the houses of the cities of their possession, may the Levites redeem at any time.
25: 33 And if a man purchase of the Levites, then the house that was sold, and the city of his possession, shall go out in the year of jubile: for the houses of the cities of the Levites are their possession among the children of Israel.
25: 34 But the field of the suburbs of their cities may not be sold; for it is their perpetual possession.
25: 35 And if thy brother be waxen poor, and fallen in decay with thee; then thou shalt relieve him: yea, though he be a stranger, or a sojourner; that he may live with thee.
25: 36 Take thou no usury of him, or increase: but fear thy God; that thy brother may live with thee.
25: 37 Thou shalt not give him thy money upon usury, nor lend him thy victuals for increase.
25: 38 I am the LORD your God, which brought you forth out of the land of Egypt, to give you the land of Canaan, and to be your God.
25: 39 And if thy brother that dwelleth by thee be waxen poor, and be sold unto thee; thou shalt not compel him to serve as a bondservant: 25: 40 But as an hired servant, and as a sojourner, he shall be with thee, and shall serve thee unto the year of jubile.
25: 41 And then shall he depart from thee, both he and his children with him, and shall return unto his own family, and unto the possession of his fathers shall he return.
25: 42 For they are my servants, which I brought forth out of the land of Egypt: they shall not be sold as bondmen.
25: 43 Thou shalt not rule over him with rigour; but shalt fear thy God.
25: 44 Both thy bondmen, and thy bondmaids, which thou shalt have, shall be of the heathen that are round about you; of them shall ye buy bondmen and bondmaids.
25: 45 Moreover of the children of the strangers that do sojourn among you, of them shall ye buy, and of their families that are with you, which they begat in your land: and they shall be your possession.
25: 46 And ye shall take them as an inheritance for your children after you, to inherit them for a possession; they shall be your bondmen for ever: but over your brethren the children of Israel, ye shall not rule one over another with rigour.
25: 50 And he shall reckon with him that bought him from the year that he was sold to him unto the year of jubile: and the price of his sale shall be according unto the number of years, according to the time of an hired servant shall it be with him.
25: 51 If there be yet many years behind, according unto them he shall give again the price of his redemption out of the money that he was bought for.
25: 52 And if there remain but few years unto the year of jubile, then he shall count with him, and according unto his years shall he give him again the price of his redemption.
25: 53 And as a yearly hired servant shall he be with him: and the other shall not rule with rigour over him in thy sight.
25: 54 And if he be not redeemed in these years, then he shall go out in the year of jubile, both he, and his children with him.
25: 55 For unto me the children of Israel are servants; they are my servants whom I brought forth out of the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God.
26: 1 Ye shall make you no idols nor graven image, neither rear you up a standing image, neither shall ye set up any image of stone in your land, to bow down unto it: for I am the LORD your God.
26: 2 Ye shall keep my sabbaths, and reverence my sanctuary: I am the LORD.
26: 3 If ye walk in my statutes, and keep my commandments, and do them; 26: 4 Then I will give you rain in due season, and the land shall yield her increase, and the trees of the field shall yield their fruit.
26: 5 And your threshing shall reach unto the vintage, and the vintage shall reach unto the sowing time: and ye shall eat your bread to the full, and dwell in your land safely.
26: 6 And I will give peace in the land, and ye shall lie down, and none shall make you afraid: and I will rid evil beasts out of the land, neither shall the sword go through your land.
26: 7 And ye shall chase your enemies, and they shall fall before you by the sword.
26: 8 And five of you shall chase an hundred, and an hundred of you shall put ten thousand to flight: and your enemies shall fall before you by the sword.
26: 9 For I will have respect unto you, and make you fruitful, and multiply you, and establish my covenant with you.
26: 10 And ye shall eat old store, and bring forth the old because of the new.
26: 11 And I set my tabernacle among you: and my soul shall not abhor you.
26: 12 And I will walk among you, and will be your God, and ye shall be my people.
26: 13 I am the LORD your God, which brought you forth out of the land of Egypt, that ye should not be their bondmen; and I have broken the bands of your yoke, and made you go upright.
26: 17 And I will set my face against you, and ye shall be slain before your enemies: they that hate you shall reign over you; and ye shall flee when none pursueth you.
26: 18 And if ye will not yet for all this hearken unto me, then I will punish you seven times more for your sins.
26: 19 And I will break the pride of your power; and I will make your heaven as iron, and your earth as brass: 26: 20 And your strength shall be spent in vain: for your land shall not yield her increase, neither shall the trees of the land yield their fruits.
26: 21 And if ye walk contrary unto me, and will not hearken unto me; I will bring seven times more plagues upon you according to your sins.
26: 22 I will also send wild beasts among you, which shall rob you of your children, and destroy your cattle, and make you few in number; and your high ways shall be desolate.
26: 23 And if ye will not be reformed by me by these things, but will walk contrary unto me; 26: 24 Then will I also walk contrary unto you, and will punish you yet seven times for your sins.
26: 25 And I will bring a sword upon you, that shall avenge the quarrel of my covenant: and when ye are gathered together within your cities, I will send the pestilence among you; and ye shall be delivered into the hand of the enemy.
26: 26 And when I have broken the staff of your bread, ten women shall bake your bread in one oven, and they shall deliver you your bread again by weight: and ye shall eat, and not be satisfied.
26: 27 And if ye will not for all this hearken unto me, but walk contrary unto me; 26: 28 Then I will walk contrary unto you also in fury; and I, even I, will chastise you seven times for your sins.
26: 29 And ye shall eat the flesh of your sons, and the flesh of your daughters shall ye eat.
26: 30 And I will destroy your high places, and cut down your images, and cast your carcases upon the carcases of your idols, and my soul shall abhor you.
26: 31 And I will make your cities waste, and bring your sanctuaries unto desolation, and I will not smell the savour of your sweet odours.
26: 32 And I will bring the land into desolation: and your enemies which dwell therein shall be astonished at it.
26: 33 And I will scatter you among the heathen, and will draw out a sword after you: and your land shall be desolate, and your cities waste.
26: 34 Then shall the land enjoy her sabbaths, as long as it lieth desolate, and ye be in your enemies'land; even then shall the land rest, and enjoy her sabbaths.
26: 35 As long as it lieth desolate it shall rest; because it did not rest in your sabbaths, when ye dwelt upon it.
26: 36 And upon them that are left alive of you I will send a faintness into their hearts in the lands of their enemies; and the sound of a shaken leaf shall chase them; and they shall flee, as fleeing from a sword; and they shall fall when none pursueth.
26: 37 And they shall fall one upon another, as it were before a sword, when none pursueth: and ye shall have no power to stand before your enemies.
26: 38 And ye shall perish among the heathen, and the land of your enemies shall eat you up.
26: 39 And they that are left of you shall pine away in their iniquity in your enemies'lands; and also in the iniquities of their fathers shall they pine away with them.
26: 43 The land also shall be left of them, and shall enjoy her sabbaths, while she lieth desolate without them: and they shall accept of the punishment of their iniquity: because, even because they despised my judgments, and because their soul abhorred my statutes.
26: 44 And yet for all that, when they be in the land of their enemies, I will not cast them away, neither will I abhor them, to destroy them utterly, and to break my covenant with them: for I am the LORD their God.
26: 45 But I will for their sakes remember the covenant of their ancestors, whom I brought forth out of the land of Egypt in the sight of the heathen, that I might be their God: I am the LORD.
26: 46 These are the statutes and judgments and laws, which the LORD made between him and the children of Israel in mount Sinai by the hand of Moses.
27: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 27: 2 Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them, When a man shall make a singular vow, the persons shall be for the LORD by thy estimation.
27: 3 And thy estimation shall be of the male from twenty years old even unto sixty years old, even thy estimation shall be fifty shekels of silver, after the shekel of the sanctuary.
27: 4 And if it be a female, then thy estimation shall be thirty shekels.
27: 5 And if it be from five years old even unto twenty years old, then thy estimation shall be of the male twenty shekels, and for the female ten shekels.
27: 6 And if it be from a month old even unto five years old, then thy estimation shall be of the male five shekels of silver, and for the female thy estimation shall be three shekels of silver.
27: 7 And if it be from sixty years old and above; if it be a male, then thy estimation shall be fifteen shekels, and for the female ten shekels.
27: 8 But if he be poorer than thy estimation, then he shall present himself before the priest, and the priest shall value him; according to his ability that vowed shall the priest value him.
27: 9 And if it be a beast, whereof men bring an offering unto the LORD, all that any man giveth of such unto the LORD shall be holy.
27: 10 He shall not alter it, nor change it, a good for a bad, or a bad for a good: and if he shall at all change beast for beast, then it and the exchange thereof shall be holy.
27: 11 And if it be any unclean beast, of which they do not offer a sacrifice unto the LORD, then he shall present the beast before the priest: 27: 12 And the priest shall value it, whether it be good or bad: as thou valuest it, who art the priest, so shall it be.
27: 13 But if he will at all redeem it, then he shall add a fifth part thereof unto thy estimation.
27: 14 And when a man shall sanctify his house to be holy unto the LORD, then the priest shall estimate it, whether it be good or bad: as the priest shall estimate it, so shall it stand.
27: 15 And if he that sanctified it will redeem his house, then he shall add the fifth part of the money of thy estimation unto it, and it shall be his.
27: 16 And if a man shall sanctify unto the LORD some part of a field of his possession, then thy estimation shall be according to the seed thereof: an homer of barley seed shall be valued at fifty shekels of silver.
27: 17 If he sanctify his field from the year of jubile, according to thy estimation it shall stand.
27: 18 But if he sanctify his field after the jubile, then the priest shall reckon unto him the money according to the years that remain, even unto the year of the jubile, and it shall be abated from thy estimation.
27: 19 And if he that sanctified the field will in any wise redeem it, then he shall add the fifth part of the money of thy estimation unto it, and it shall be assured to him.
27: 20 And if he will not redeem the field, or if he have sold the field to another man, it shall not be redeemed any more.
27: 21 But the field, when it goeth out in the jubile, shall be holy unto the LORD, as a field devoted; the possession thereof shall be the priest's.
27: 24 In the year of the jubile the field shall return unto him of whom it was bought, even to him to whom the possession of the land did belong.
27: 25 And all thy estimations shall be according to the shekel of the sanctuary: twenty gerahs shall be the shekel.
27: 26 Only the firstling of the beasts, which should be the LORD's firstling, no man shall sanctify it; whether it be ox, or sheep: it is the LORD's.
27: 27 And if it be of an unclean beast, then he shall redeem it according to thine estimation, and shall add a fifth part of it thereto: or if it be not redeemed, then it shall be sold according to thy estimation.
27: 28 Notwithstanding no devoted thing, that a man shall devote unto the LORD of all that he hath, both of man and beast, and of the field of his possession, shall be sold or redeemed: every devoted thing is most holy unto the LORD.
27: 29 None devoted, which shall be devoted of men, shall be redeemed; but shall surely be put to death.
27: 30 And all the tithe of the land, whether of the seed of the land, or of the fruit of the tree, is the LORD's: it is holy unto the LORD.
27: 31 And if a man will at all redeem ought of his tithes, he shall add thereto the fifth part thereof.
27: 32 And concerning the tithe of the herd, or of the flock, even of whatsoever passeth under the rod, the tenth shall be holy unto the LORD.
27: 33 He shall not search whether it be good or bad, neither shall he change it: and if he change it at all, then both it and the change thereof shall be holy; it shall not be redeemed.
27: 34 These are the commandments, which the LORD commanded Moses for the children of Israel in mount Sinai.
The Fourth Book of Moses: Called Numbers
1: 4 And with you there shall be a man of every tribe; every one head of the house of his fathers.
1: 5 And these are the names of the men that shall stand with you: of the tribe of Reuben; Elizur the son of Shedeur.
1: 6 Of Simeon; Shelumiel the son of Zurishaddai.
1: 7 Of Judah; Nahshon the son of Amminadab.
1: 8 Of Issachar; Nethaneel the son of Zuar.
1: 9 Of Zebulun; Eliab the son of Helon.
1: 10 Of the children of Joseph: of Ephraim; Elishama the son of Ammihud: of Manasseh; Gamaliel the son of Pedahzur.
1: 11 Of Benjamin; Abidan the son of Gideoni.
1: 12 Of Dan; Ahiezer the son of Ammishaddai.
1: 13 Of Asher; Pagiel the son of Ocran.
1: 14 Of Gad; Eliasaph the son of Deuel.
1: 15 Of Naphtali; Ahira the son of Enan.
1: 16 These were the renowned of the congregation, princes of the tribes of their fathers, heads of thousands in Israel.
1: 19 As the LORD commanded Moses, so he numbered them in the wilderness of Sinai.
1: 44 These are those that were numbered, which Moses and Aaron numbered, and the princes of Israel, being twelve men: each one was for the house of his fathers.
1: 47 But the Levites after the tribe of their fathers were not numbered among them.
1: 51 And when the tabernacle setteth forward, the Levites shall take it down: and when the tabernacle is to be pitched, the Levites shall set it up: and the stranger that cometh nigh shall be put to death.
1: 52 And the children of Israel shall pitch their tents, every man by his own camp, and every man by his own standard, throughout their hosts.
1: 53 But the Levites shall pitch round about the tabernacle of testimony, that there be no wrath upon the congregation of the children of Israel: and the Levites shall keep the charge of the tabernacle of testimony.
1: 54 And the children of Israel did according to all that the LORD commanded Moses, so did they.
2: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses and unto Aaron, saying, 2: 2 Every man of the children of Israel shall pitch by his own standard, with the ensign of their father's house: far off about the tabernacle of the congregation shall they pitch.
2: 3 And on the east side toward the rising of the sun shall they of the standard of the camp of Judah pitch throughout their armies: and Nahshon the son of Amminadab shall be captain of the children of Judah.
2: 4 And his host, and those that were numbered of them, were threescore and fourteen thousand and six hundred.
2: 5 And those that do pitch next unto him shall be the tribe of Issachar: and Nethaneel the son of Zuar shall be captain of the children of Issachar.
2: 6 And his host, and those that were numbered thereof, were fifty and four thousand and four hundred.
2: 7 Then the tribe of Zebulun: and Eliab the son of Helon shall be captain of the children of Zebulun.
2: 8 And his host, and those that were numbered thereof, were fifty and seven thousand and four hundred.
2: 9 All that were numbered in the camp of Judah were an hundred thousand and fourscore thousand and six thousand and four hundred, throughout their armies.
These shall first set forth.
2: 10 On the south side shall be the standard of the camp of Reuben according to their armies: and the captain of the children of Reuben shall be Elizur the son of Shedeur.
2: 11 And his host, and those that were numbered thereof, were forty and six thousand and five hundred.
2: 12 And those which pitch by him shall be the tribe of Simeon: and the captain of the children of Simeon shall be Shelumiel the son of Zurishaddai.
2: 13 And his host, and those that were numbered of them, were fifty and nine thousand and three hundred.
2: 14 Then the tribe of Gad: and the captain of the sons of Gad shall be Eliasaph the son of Reuel.
2: 15 And his host, and those that were numbered of them, were forty and five thousand and six hundred and fifty.
2: 16 All that were numbered in the camp of Reuben were an hundred thousand and fifty and one thousand and four hundred and fifty, throughout their armies.
And they shall set forth in the second rank.
2: 17 Then the tabernacle of the congregation shall set forward with the camp of the Levites in the midst of the camp: as they encamp, so shall they set forward, every man in his place by their standards.
2: 18 On the west side shall be the standard of the camp of Ephraim according to their armies: and the captain of the sons of Ephraim shall be Elishama the son of Ammihud.
2: 19 And his host, and those that were numbered of them, were forty thousand and five hundred.
2: 20 And by him shall be the tribe of Manasseh: and the captain of the children of Manasseh shall be Gamaliel the son of Pedahzur.
2: 21 And his host, and those that were numbered of them, were thirty and two thousand and two hundred.
2: 22 Then the tribe of Benjamin: and the captain of the sons of Benjamin shall be Abidan the son of Gideoni.
2: 23 And his host, and those that were numbered of them, were thirty and five thousand and four hundred.
2: 24 All that were numbered of the camp of Ephraim were an hundred thousand and eight thousand and an hundred, throughout their armies.
And they shall go forward in the third rank.
2: 25 The standard of the camp of Dan shall be on the north side by their armies: and the captain of the children of Dan shall be Ahiezer the son of Ammishaddai.
2: 26 And his host, and those that were numbered of them, were threescore and two thousand and seven hundred.
2: 27 And those that encamp by him shall be the tribe of Asher: and the captain of the children of Asher shall be Pagiel the son of Ocran.
2: 28 And his host, and those that were numbered of them, were forty and one thousand and five hundred.
2: 29 Then the tribe of Naphtali: and the captain of the children of Naphtali shall be Ahira the son of Enan.
2: 30 And his host, and those that were numbered of them, were fifty and three thousand and four hundred.
2: 31 All they that were numbered in the camp of Dan were an hundred thousand and fifty and seven thousand and six hundred.
They shall go hindmost with their standards.
2: 32 These are those which were numbered of the children of Israel by the house of their fathers: all those that were numbered of the camps throughout their hosts were six hundred thousand and three thousand and five hundred and fifty.
2: 33 But the Levites were not numbered among the children of Israel; as the LORD commanded Moses.
2: 34 And the children of Israel did according to all that the LORD commanded Moses: so they pitched by their standards, and so they set forward, every one after their families, according to the house of their fathers.
3: 1 These also are the generations of Aaron and Moses in the day that the LORD spake with Moses in mount Sinai.
3: 2 And these are the names of the sons of Aaron; Nadab the firstborn, and Abihu, Eleazar, and Ithamar.
3: 3 These are the names of the sons of Aaron, the priests which were anointed, whom he consecrated to minister in the priest's office.
3: 4 And Nadab and Abihu died before the LORD, when they offered strange fire before the LORD, in the wilderness of Sinai, and they had no children: and Eleazar and Ithamar ministered in the priest's office in the sight of Aaron their father.
3: 5 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 3: 6 Bring the tribe of Levi near, and present them before Aaron the priest, that they may minister unto him.
3: 7 And they shall keep his charge, and the charge of the whole congregation before the tabernacle of the congregation, to do the service of the tabernacle.
3: 8 And they shall keep all the instruments of the tabernacle of the congregation, and the charge of the children of Israel, to do the service of the tabernacle.
3: 9 And thou shalt give the Levites unto Aaron and to his sons: they are wholly given unto him out of the children of Israel.
3: 10 And thou shalt appoint Aaron and his sons, and they shall wait on their priest's office: and the stranger that cometh nigh shall be put to death.
3: 14 And the LORD spake unto Moses in the wilderness of Sinai, saying, 3: 15 Number the children of Levi after the house of their fathers, by their families: every male from a month old and upward shalt thou number them.
3: 16 And Moses numbered them according to the word of the LORD, as he was commanded.
3: 17 And these were the sons of Levi by their names; Gershon, and Kohath, and Merari.
3: 18 And these are the names of the sons of Gershon by their families; Libni, and Shimei.
3: 19 And the sons of Kohath by their families; Amram, and Izehar, Hebron, and Uzziel.
3: 20 And the sons of Merari by their families; Mahli, and Mushi.
These are the families of the Levites according to the house of their fathers.
3: 21 Of Gershon was the family of the Libnites, and the family of the Shimites: these are the families of the Gershonites.
3: 22 Those that were numbered of them, according to the number of all the males, from a month old and upward, even those that were numbered of them were seven thousand and five hundred.
3: 23 The families of the Gershonites shall pitch behind the tabernacle westward.
3: 24 And the chief of the house of the father of the Gershonites shall be Eliasaph the son of Lael.
3: 27 And of Kohath was the family of the Amramites, and the family of the Izeharites, and the family of the Hebronites, and the family of the Uzzielites: these are the families of the Kohathites.
3: 28 In the number of all the males, from a month old and upward, were eight thousand and six hundred, keeping the charge of the sanctuary.
3: 29 The families of the sons of Kohath shall pitch on the side of the tabernacle southward.
3: 30 And the chief of the house of the father of the families of the Kohathites shall be Elizaphan the son of Uzziel.
3: 31 And their charge shall be the ark, and the table, and the candlestick, and the altars, and the vessels of the sanctuary wherewith they minister, and the hanging, and all the service thereof.
3: 32 And Eleazar the son of Aaron the priest shall be chief over the chief of the Levites, and have the oversight of them that keep the charge of the sanctuary.
3: 33 Of Merari was the family of the Mahlites, and the family of the Mushites: these are the families of Merari.
3: 34 And those that were numbered of them, according to the number of all the males, from a month old and upward, were six thousand and two hundred.
3: 35 And the chief of the house of the father of the families of Merari was Zuriel the son of Abihail: these shall pitch on the side of the tabernacle northward.
3: 39 All that were numbered of the Levites, which Moses and Aaron numbered at the commandment of the LORD, throughout their families, all the males from a month old and upward, were twenty and two thousand.
3: 40 And the LORD said unto Moses, Number all the firstborn of the males of the children of Israel from a month old and upward, and take the number of their names.
3: 41 And thou shalt take the Levites for me (I am the LORD) instead of all the firstborn among the children of Israel; and the cattle of the Levites instead of all the firstlings among the cattle of the children of Israel.
3: 42 And Moses numbered, as the LORD commanded him, all the firstborn among the children of Israel.
3: 43 And all the firstborn males by the number of names, from a month old and upward, of those that were numbered of them, were twenty and two thousand two hundred and threescore and thirteen.
3: 44 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 3: 45 Take the Levites instead of all the firstborn among the children of Israel, and the cattle of the Levites instead of their cattle; and the Levites shall be mine: I am the LORD.
4: 15 And when Aaron and his sons have made an end of covering the sanctuary, and all the vessels of the sanctuary, as the camp is to set forward; after that, the sons of Kohath shall come to bear it: but they shall not touch any holy thing, lest they die.
These things are the burden of the sons of Kohath in the tabernacle of the congregation.
4: 27 At the appointment of Aaron and his sons shall be all the service of the sons of the Gershonites, in all their burdens, and in all their service: and ye shall appoint unto them in charge all their burdens.
4: 28 This is the service of the families of the sons of Gershon in the tabernacle of the congregation: and their charge shall be under the hand of Ithamar the son of Aaron the priest.
4: 33 This is the service of the families of the sons of Merari, according to all their service, in the tabernacle of the congregation, under the hand of Ithamar the son of Aaron the priest.
4: 37 These were they that were numbered of the families of the Kohathites, all that might do service in the tabernacle of the congregation, which Moses and Aaron did number according to the commandment of the LORD by the hand of Moses.
4: 41 These are they that were numbered of the families of the sons of Gershon, of all that might do service in the tabernacle of the congregation, whom Moses and Aaron did number according to the commandment of the LORD.
4: 45 These be those that were numbered of the families of the sons of Merari, whom Moses and Aaron numbered according to the word of the LORD by the hand of Moses.
5: 4 And the children of Israel did so, and put them out without the camp: as the LORD spake unto Moses, so did the children of Israel.
5: 8 But if the man have no kinsman to recompense the trespass unto, let the trespass be recompensed unto the LORD, even to the priest; beside the ram of the atonement, whereby an atonement shall be made for him.
5: 9 And every offering of all the holy things of the children of Israel, which they bring unto the priest, shall be his.
5: 10 And every man's hallowed things shall be his: whatsoever any man giveth the priest, it shall be his.
5: 23 And the priest shall write these curses in a book, and he shall blot them out with the bitter water: 5: 24 And he shall cause the woman to drink the bitter water that causeth the curse: and the water that causeth the curse shall enter into her, and become bitter.
5: 28 And if the woman be not defiled, but be clean; then she shall be free, and shall conceive seed.
5: 31 Then shall the man be guiltless from iniquity, and this woman shall bear her iniquity.
6: 4 All the days of his separation shall he eat nothing that is made of the vine tree, from the kernels even to the husk.
6: 5 All the days of the vow of his separation there shall no razor come upon his head: until the days be fulfilled, in the which he separateth himself unto the LORD, he shall be holy, and shall let the locks of the hair of his head grow.
6: 6 All the days that he separateth himself unto the LORD he shall come at no dead body.
6: 7 He shall not make himself unclean for his father, or for his mother, for his brother, or for his sister, when they die: because the consecration of his God is upon his head.
6: 8 All the days of his separation he is holy unto the LORD.
6: 9 And if any man die very suddenly by him, and he hath defiled the head of his consecration; then he shall shave his head in the day of his cleansing, on the seventh day shall he shave it.
6: 12 And he shall consecrate unto the LORD the days of his separation, and shall bring a lamb of the first year for a trespass offering: but the days that were before shall be lost, because his separation was defiled.
6: 18 And the Nazarite shall shave the head of his separation at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation, and shall take the hair of the head of his separation, and put it in the fire which is under the sacrifice of the peace offerings.
6: 21 This is the law of the Nazarite who hath vowed, and of his offering unto the LORD for his separation, beside that that his hand shall get: according to the vow which he vowed, so he must do after the law of his separation.
6: 27 And they shall put my name upon the children of Israel, and I will bless them.
7: 4 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 7: 5 Take it of them, that they may be to do the service of the tabernacle of the congregation; and thou shalt give them unto the Levites, to every man according to his service.
7: 6 And Moses took the wagons and the oxen, and gave them unto the Levites.
7: 7 Two wagons and four oxen he gave unto the sons of Gershon, according to their service: 7: 8 And four wagons and eight oxen he gave unto the sons of Merari, according unto their service, under the hand of Ithamar the son of Aaron the priest.
7: 9 But unto the sons of Kohath he gave none: because the service of the sanctuary belonging unto them was that they should bear upon their shoulders.
7: 10 And the princes offered for dedicating of the altar in the day that it was anointed, even the princes offered their offering before the altar.
7: 11 And the LORD said unto Moses, They shall offer their offering, each prince on his day, for the dedicating of the altar.
7: 87 All the oxen for the burnt offering were twelve bullocks, the rams twelve, the lambs of the first year twelve, with their meat offering: and the kids of the goats for sin offering twelve.
7: 88 And all the oxen for the sacrifice of the peace offerings were twenty and four bullocks, the rams sixty, the he goats sixty, the lambs of the first year sixty.
This was the dedication of the altar, after that it was anointed.
7: 89 And when Moses was gone into the tabernacle of the congregation to speak with him, then he heard the voice of one speaking unto him from off the mercy seat that was upon the ark of testimony, from between the two cherubims: and he spake unto him.
8: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 8: 2 Speak unto Aaron and say unto him, When thou lightest the lamps, the seven lamps shall give light over against the candlestick.
8: 3 And Aaron did so; he lighted the lamps thereof over against the candlestick, as the LORD commanded Moses.
8: 4 And this work of the candlestick was of beaten gold, unto the shaft thereof, unto the flowers thereof, was beaten work: according unto the pattern which the LORD had shewed Moses, so he made the candlestick.
8: 5 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 8: 6 Take the Levites from among the children of Israel, and cleanse them.
8: 7 And thus shalt thou do unto them, to cleanse them: Sprinkle water of purifying upon them, and let them shave all their flesh, and let them wash their clothes, and so make themselves clean.
8: 8 Then let them take a young bullock with his meat offering, even fine flour mingled with oil, and another young bullock shalt thou take for a sin offering.
8: 12 And the Levites shall lay their hands upon the heads of the bullocks: and thou shalt offer the one for a sin offering, and the other for a burnt offering, unto the LORD, to make an atonement for the Levites.
8: 13 And thou shalt set the Levites before Aaron, and before his sons, and offer them for an offering unto the LORD.
8: 14 Thus shalt thou separate the Levites from among the children of Israel: and the Levites shall be mine.
8: 15 And after that shall the Levites go in to do the service of the tabernacle of the congregation: and thou shalt cleanse them, and offer them for an offering.
8: 16 For they are wholly given unto me from among the children of Israel; instead of such as open every womb, even instead of the firstborn of all the children of Israel, have I taken them unto me.
8: 17 For all the firstborn of the children of Israel are mine, both man and beast: on the day that I smote every firstborn in the land of Egypt I sanctified them for myself.
8: 18 And I have taken the Levites for all the firstborn of the children of Israel.
8: 20 And Moses, and Aaron, and all the congregation of the children of Israel, did to the Levites according unto all that the LORD commanded Moses concerning the Levites, so did the children of Israel unto them.
8: 21 And the Levites were purified, and they washed their clothes; and Aaron offered them as an offering before the LORD; and Aaron made an atonement for them to cleanse them.
8: 22 And after that went the Levites in to do their service in the tabernacle of the congregation before Aaron, and before his sons: as the LORD had commanded Moses concerning the Levites, so did they unto them.
Thus shalt thou do unto the Levites touching their charge.
9: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses in the wilderness of Sinai, in the first month of the second year after they were come out of the land of Egypt, saying, 9: 2 Let the children of Israel also keep the passover at his appointed season.
9: 3 In the fourteenth day of this month, at even, ye shall keep it in his appointed season: according to all the rites of it, and according to all the ceremonies thereof, shall ye keep it.
9: 4 And Moses spake unto the children of Israel, that they should keep the passover.
9: 5 And they kept the passover on the fourteenth day of the first month at even in the wilderness of Sinai: according to all that the LORD commanded Moses, so did the children of Israel.
9: 8 And Moses said unto them, Stand still, and I will hear what the LORD will command concerning you.
9: 9 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 9: 10 Speak unto the children of Israel, saying, If any man of you or of your posterity shall be unclean by reason of a dead body, or be in a journey afar off, yet he shall keep the passover unto the LORD.
9: 11 The fourteenth day of the second month at even they shall keep it, and eat it with unleavened bread and bitter herbs.
9: 12 They shall leave none of it unto the morning, nor break any bone of it: according to all the ordinances of the passover they shall keep it.
9: 13 But the man that is clean, and is not in a journey, and forbeareth to keep the passover, even the same soul shall be cut off from among his people: because he brought not the offering of the LORD in his appointed season, that man shall bear his sin.
9: 15 And on the day that the tabernacle was reared up the cloud covered the tabernacle, namely, the tent of the testimony: and at even there was upon the tabernacle as it were the appearance of fire, until the morning.
9: 16 So it was alway: the cloud covered it by day, and the appearance of fire by night.
9: 17 And when the cloud was taken up from the tabernacle, then after that the children of Israel journeyed: and in the place where the cloud abode, there the children of Israel pitched their tents.
9: 18 At the commandment of the LORD the children of Israel journeyed, and at the commandment of the LORD they pitched: as long as the cloud abode upon the tabernacle they rested in their tents.
9: 19 And when the cloud tarried long upon the tabernacle many days, then the children of Israel kept the charge of the LORD, and journeyed not.
9: 20 And so it was, when the cloud was a few days upon the tabernacle; according to the commandment of the LORD they abode in their tents, and according to the commandment of the LORD they journeyed.
9: 21 And so it was, when the cloud abode from even unto the morning, and that the cloud was taken up in the morning, then they journeyed: whether it was by day or by night that the cloud was taken up, they journeyed.
9: 22 Or whether it were two days, or a month, or a year, that the cloud tarried upon the tabernacle, remaining thereon, the children of Israel abode in their tents, and journeyed not: but when it was taken up, they journeyed.
9: 23 At the commandment of the LORD they rested in the tents, and at the commandment of the LORD they journeyed: they kept the charge of the LORD, at the commandment of the LORD by the hand of Moses.
10: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 10: 2 Make thee two trumpets of silver; of a whole piece shalt thou make them: that thou mayest use them for the calling of the assembly, and for the journeying of the camps.
10: 3 And when they shall blow with them, all the assembly shall assemble themselves to thee at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
10: 4 And if they blow but with one trumpet, then the princes, which are heads of the thousands of Israel, shall gather themselves unto thee.
10: 5 When ye blow an alarm, then the camps that lie on the east parts shall go forward.
10: 6 When ye blow an alarm the second time, then the camps that lie on the south side shall take their journey: they shall blow an alarm for their journeys.
10: 7 But when the congregation is to be gathered together, ye shall blow, but ye shall not sound an alarm.
10: 8 And the sons of Aaron, the priests, shall blow with the trumpets; and they shall be to you for an ordinance for ever throughout your generations.
10: 9 And if ye go to war in your land against the enemy that oppresseth you, then ye shall blow an alarm with the trumpets; and ye shall be remembered before the LORD your God, and ye shall be saved from your enemies.
10: 11 And it came to pass on the twentieth day of the second month, in the second year, that the cloud was taken up from off the tabernacle of the testimony.
10: 12 And the children of Israel took their journeys out of the wilderness of Sinai; and the cloud rested in the wilderness of Paran.
10: 13 And they first took their journey according to the commandment of the LORD by the hand of Moses.
10: 14 In the first place went the standard of the camp of the children of Judah according to their armies: and over his host was Nahshon the son of Amminadab.
10: 15 And over the host of the tribe of the children of Issachar was Nethaneel the son of Zuar.
10: 16 And over the host of the tribe of the children of Zebulun was Eliab the son of Helon.
10: 17 And the tabernacle was taken down; and the sons of Gershon and the sons of Merari set forward, bearing the tabernacle.
10: 18 And the standard of the camp of Reuben set forward according to their armies: and over his host was Elizur the son of Shedeur.
10: 19 And over the host of the tribe of the children of Simeon was Shelumiel the son of Zurishaddai.
10: 20 And over the host of the tribe of the children of Gad was Eliasaph the son of Deuel.
10: 21 And the Kohathites set forward, bearing the sanctuary: and the other did set up the tabernacle against they came.
10: 22 And the standard of the camp of the children of Ephraim set forward according to their armies: and over his host was Elishama the son of Ammihud.
10: 23 And over the host of the tribe of the children of Manasseh was Gamaliel the son of Pedahzur.
10: 24 And over the host of the tribe of the children of Benjamin was Abidan the son of Gideoni.
10: 25 And the standard of the camp of the children of Dan set forward, which was the rereward of all the camps throughout their hosts: and over his host was Ahiezer the son of Ammishaddai.
10: 26 And over the host of the tribe of the children of Asher was Pagiel the son of Ocran.
10: 27 And over the host of the tribe of the children of Naphtali was Ahira the son of Enan.
10: 28 Thus were the journeyings of the children of Israel according to their armies, when they set forward.
10: 29 And Moses said unto Hobab, the son of Raguel the Midianite, Moses'father in law, We are journeying unto the place of which the LORD said, I will give it you: come thou with us, and we will do thee good: for the LORD hath spoken good concerning Israel.
10: 30 And he said unto him, I will not go; but I will depart to mine own land, and to my kindred.
10: 31 And he said, Leave us not, I pray thee; forasmuch as thou knowest how we are to encamp in the wilderness, and thou mayest be to us instead of eyes.
10: 32 And it shall be, if thou go with us, yea, it shall be, that what goodness the LORD shall do unto us, the same will we do unto thee.
10: 33 And they departed from the mount of the LORD three days'journey: and the ark of the covenant of the LORD went before them in the three days'journey, to search out a resting place for them.
10: 34 And the cloud of the LORD was upon them by day, when they went out of the camp.
10: 35 And it came to pass, when the ark set forward, that Moses said, Rise up, LORD, and let thine enemies be scattered; and let them that hate thee flee before thee.
10: 36 And when it rested, he said, Return, O LORD, unto the many thousands of Israel.
11: 1 And when the people complained, it displeased the LORD: and the LORD heard it; and his anger was kindled; and the fire of the LORD burnt among them, and consumed them that were in the uttermost parts of the camp.
11: 2 And the people cried unto Moses; and when Moses prayed unto the LORD, the fire was quenched.
11: 3 And he called the name of the place Taberah: because the fire of the LORD burnt among them.
11: 4 And the mixt multitude that was among them fell a lusting: and the children of Israel also wept again, and said, Who shall give us flesh to eat?
11: 5 We remember the fish, which we did eat in Egypt freely; the cucumbers, and the melons, and the leeks, and the onions, and the garlick: 11: 6 But now our soul is dried away: there is nothing at all, beside this manna, before our eyes.
11: 7 And the manna was as coriander seed, and the colour thereof as the colour of bdellium.
11: 8 And the people went about, and gathered it, and ground it in mills, or beat it in a mortar, and baked it in pans, and made cakes of it: and the taste of it was as the taste of fresh oil.
11: 9 And when the dew fell upon the camp in the night, the manna fell upon it.
11: 10 Then Moses heard the people weep throughout their families, every man in the door of his tent: and the anger of the LORD was kindled greatly; Moses also was displeased.
11: 11 And Moses said unto the LORD, Wherefore hast thou afflicted thy servant?
and wherefore have I not found favour in thy sight, that thou layest the burden of all this people upon me?
11: 12 Have I conceived all this people?
have I begotten them, that thou shouldest say unto me, Carry them in thy bosom, as a nursing father beareth the sucking child, unto the land which thou swarest unto their fathers?
11: 13 Whence should I have flesh to give unto all this people?
for they weep unto me, saying, Give us flesh, that we may eat.
11: 14 I am not able to bear all this people alone, because it is too heavy for me.
11: 15 And if thou deal thus with me, kill me, I pray thee, out of hand, if I have found favour in thy sight; and let me not see my wretchedness.
11: 16 And the LORD said unto Moses, Gather unto me seventy men of the elders of Israel, whom thou knowest to be the elders of the people, and officers over them; and bring them unto the tabernacle of the congregation, that they may stand there with thee.
11: 17 And I will come down and talk with thee there: and I will take of the spirit which is upon thee, and will put it upon them; and they shall bear the burden of the people with thee, that thou bear it not thyself alone.
11: 18 And say thou unto the people, Sanctify yourselves against to morrow, and ye shall eat flesh: for ye have wept in the ears of the LORD, saying, Who shall give us flesh to eat?
for it was well with us in Egypt: therefore the LORD will give you flesh, and ye shall eat.
11: 21 And Moses said, The people, among whom I am, are six hundred thousand footmen; and thou hast said, I will give them flesh, that they may eat a whole month.
11: 22 Shall the flocks and the herds be slain for them, to suffice them?
or shall all the fish of the sea be gathered together for them, to suffice them?
11: 23 And the LORD said unto Moses, Is the LORD's hand waxed short?
thou shalt see now whether my word shall come to pass unto thee or not.
11: 24 And Moses went out, and told the people the words of the LORD, and gathered the seventy men of the elders of the people, and set them round about the tabernacle.
11: 25 And the LORD came down in a cloud, and spake unto him, and took of the spirit that was upon him, and gave it unto the seventy elders: and it came to pass, that, when the spirit rested upon them, they prophesied, and did not cease.
11: 26 But there remained two of the men in the camp, the name of the one was Eldad, and the name of the other Medad: and the spirit rested upon them; and they were of them that were written, but went not out unto the tabernacle: and they prophesied in the camp.
11: 27 And there ran a young man, and told Moses, and said, Eldad and Medad do prophesy in the camp.
11: 28 And Joshua the son of Nun, the servant of Moses, one of his young men, answered and said, My lord Moses, forbid them.
11: 29 And Moses said unto him, Enviest thou for my sake?
would God that all the LORD's people were prophets, and that the LORD would put his spirit upon them!
11: 30 And Moses gat him into the camp, he and the elders of Israel.
11: 32 And the people stood up all that day, and all that night, and all the next day, and they gathered the quails: he that gathered least gathered ten homers: and they spread them all abroad for themselves round about the camp.
11: 33 And while the flesh was yet between their teeth, ere it was chewed, the wrath of the LORD was kindled against the people, and the LORD smote the people with a very great plague.
11: 34 And he called the name of that place Kibrothhattaavah: because there they buried the people that lusted.
11: 35 And the people journeyed from Kibrothhattaavah unto Hazeroth; and abode at Hazeroth.
12: 1 And Miriam and Aaron spake against Moses because of the Ethiopian woman whom he had married: for he had married an Ethiopian woman.
12: 2 And they said, Hath the LORD indeed spoken only by Moses?
hath he not spoken also by us?
And the LORD heard it.
12: 3 (Now the man Moses was very meek, above all the men which were upon the face of the earth.)
12: 4 And the LORD spake suddenly unto Moses, and unto Aaron, and unto Miriam, Come out ye three unto the tabernacle of the congregation.
And they three came out.
12: 5 And the LORD came down in the pillar of the cloud, and stood in the door of the tabernacle, and called Aaron and Miriam: and they both came forth.
12: 6 And he said, Hear now my words: If there be a prophet among you, I the LORD will make myself known unto him in a vision, and will speak unto him in a dream.
12: 7 My servant Moses is not so, who is faithful in all mine house.
12: 8 With him will I speak mouth to mouth, even apparently, and not in dark speeches; and the similitude of the LORD shall he behold: wherefore then were ye not afraid to speak against my servant Moses?
12: 9 And the anger of the LORD was kindled against them; and he departed.
12: 10 And the cloud departed from off the tabernacle; and, behold, Miriam became leprous, white as snow: and Aaron looked upon Miriam, and, behold, she was leprous.
12: 11 And Aaron said unto Moses, Alas, my lord, I beseech thee, lay not the sin upon us, wherein we have done foolishly, and wherein we have sinned.
12: 12 Let her not be as one dead, of whom the flesh is half consumed when he cometh out of his mother's womb.
12: 13 And Moses cried unto the LORD, saying, Heal her now, O God, I beseech thee.
12: 14 And the LORD said unto Moses, If her father had but spit in her face, should she not be ashamed seven days?
let her be shut out from the camp seven days, and after that let her be received in again.
12: 15 And Miriam was shut out from the camp seven days: and the people journeyed not till Miriam was brought in again.
12: 16 And afterward the people removed from Hazeroth, and pitched in the wilderness of Paran.
13: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 13: 2 Send thou men, that they may search the land of Canaan, which I give unto the children of Israel: of every tribe of their fathers shall ye send a man, every one a ruler among them.
13: 3 And Moses by the commandment of the LORD sent them from the wilderness of Paran: all those men were heads of the children of Israel.
13: 4 And these were their names: of the tribe of Reuben, Shammua the son of Zaccur.
13: 5 Of the tribe of Simeon, Shaphat the son of Hori.
13: 6 Of the tribe of Judah, Caleb the son of Jephunneh.
13: 7 Of the tribe of Issachar, Igal the son of Joseph.
13: 8 Of the tribe of Ephraim, Oshea the son of Nun.
13: 9 Of the tribe of Benjamin, Palti the son of Raphu.
13: 10 Of the tribe of Zebulun, Gaddiel the son of Sodi.
13: 11 Of the tribe of Joseph, namely, of the tribe of Manasseh, Gaddi the son of Susi.
13: 12 Of the tribe of Dan, Ammiel the son of Gemalli.
13: 13 Of the tribe of Asher, Sethur the son of Michael.
13: 14 Of the tribe of Naphtali, Nahbi the son of Vophsi.
13: 15 Of the tribe of Gad, Geuel the son of Machi.
13: 16 These are the names of the men which Moses sent to spy out the land.
And Moses called Oshea the son of Nun Jehoshua.
And be ye of good courage, and bring of the fruit of the land.
Now the time was the time of the firstripe grapes.
13: 21 So they went up, and searched the land from the wilderness of Zin unto Rehob, as men come to Hamath.
13: 22 And they ascended by the south, and came unto Hebron; where Ahiman, Sheshai, and Talmai, the children of Anak, were.
(Now Hebron was built seven years before Zoan in Egypt.)
13: 23 And they came unto the brook of Eshcol, and cut down from thence a branch with one cluster of grapes, and they bare it between two upon a staff; and they brought of the pomegranates, and of the figs.
13: 24 The place was called the brook Eshcol, because of the cluster of grapes which the children of Israel cut down from thence.
13: 25 And they returned from searching of the land after forty days.
13: 26 And they went and came to Moses, and to Aaron, and to all the congregation of the children of Israel, unto the wilderness of Paran, to Kadesh; and brought back word unto them, and unto all the congregation, and shewed them the fruit of the land.
13: 27 And they told him, and said, We came unto the land whither thou sentest us, and surely it floweth with milk and honey; and this is the fruit of it.
13: 28 Nevertheless the people be strong that dwell in the land, and the cities are walled, and very great: and moreover we saw the children of Anak there.
13: 29 The Amalekites dwell in the land of the south: and the Hittites, and the Jebusites, and the Amorites, dwell in the mountains: and the Canaanites dwell by the sea, and by the coast of Jordan.
13: 30 And Caleb stilled the people before Moses, and said, Let us go up at once, and possess it; for we are well able to overcome it.
13: 31 But the men that went up with him said, We be not able to go up against the people; for they are stronger than we.
13: 33 And there we saw the giants, the sons of Anak, which come of the giants: and we were in our own sight as grasshoppers, and so we were in their sight.
14: 1 And all the congregation lifted up their voice, and cried; and the people wept that night.
14: 2 And all the children of Israel murmured against Moses and against Aaron: and the whole congregation said unto them, Would God that we had died in the land of Egypt!
or would God we had died in this wilderness!
14: 3 And wherefore hath the LORD brought us unto this land, to fall by the sword, that our wives and our children should be a prey?
were it not better for us to return into Egypt?
14: 4 And they said one to another, Let us make a captain, and let us return into Egypt.
14: 5 Then Moses and Aaron fell on their faces before all the assembly of the congregation of the children of Israel.
14: 8 If the LORD delight in us, then he will bring us into this land, and give it us; a land which floweth with milk and honey.
14: 9 Only rebel not ye against the LORD, neither fear ye the people of the land; for they are bread for us: their defence is departed from them, and the LORD is with us: fear them not.
14: 10 But all the congregation bade stone them with stones.
And the glory of the LORD appeared in the tabernacle of the congregation before all the children of Israel.
14: 11 And the LORD said unto Moses, How long will this people provoke me?
and how long will it be ere they believe me, for all the signs which I have shewed among them?
14: 12 I will smite them with the pestilence, and disinherit them, and will make of thee a greater nation and mightier than they.
14: 15 Now if thou shalt kill all this people as one man, then the nations which have heard the fame of thee will speak, saying, 14: 16 Because the LORD was not able to bring this people into the land which he sware unto them, therefore he hath slain them in the wilderness.
14: 19 Pardon, I beseech thee, the iniquity of this people according unto the greatness of thy mercy, and as thou hast forgiven this people, from Egypt even until now.
14: 20 And the LORD said, I have pardoned according to thy word: 14: 21 But as truly as I live, all the earth shall be filled with the glory of the LORD.
14: 25 (Now the Amalekites and the Canaanites dwelt in the valley.)
Tomorrow turn you, and get you into the wilderness by the way of the Red sea.
14: 26 And the LORD spake unto Moses and unto Aaron, saying, 14: 27 How long shall I bear with this evil congregation, which murmur against me?
I have heard the murmurings of the children of Israel, which they murmur against me.
14: 30 Doubtless ye shall not come into the land, concerning which I sware to make you dwell therein, save Caleb the son of Jephunneh, and Joshua the son of Nun.
14: 31 But your little ones, which ye said should be a prey, them will I bring in, and they shall know the land which ye have despised.
14: 32 But as for you, your carcases, they shall fall in this wilderness.
14: 33 And your children shall wander in the wilderness forty years, and bear your whoredoms, until your carcases be wasted in the wilderness.
14: 34 After the number of the days in which ye searched the land, even forty days, each day for a year, shall ye bear your iniquities, even forty years, and ye shall know my breach of promise.
14: 35 I the LORD have said, I will surely do it unto all this evil congregation, that are gathered together against me: in this wilderness they shall be consumed, and there they shall die.
14: 36 And the men, which Moses sent to search the land, who returned, and made all the congregation to murmur against him, by bringing up a slander upon the land, 14: 37 Even those men that did bring up the evil report upon the land, died by the plague before the LORD.
14: 38 But Joshua the son of Nun, and Caleb the son of Jephunneh, which were of the men that went to search the land, lived still.
14: 39 And Moses told these sayings unto all the children of Israel: and the people mourned greatly.
14: 40 And they rose up early in the morning, and gat them up into the top of the mountain, saying, Lo, we be here, and will go up unto the place which the LORD hath promised: for we have sinned.
14: 41 And Moses said, Wherefore now do ye transgress the commandment of the LORD?
but it shall not prosper.
14: 42 Go not up, for the LORD is not among you; that ye be not smitten before your enemies.
14: 43 For the Amalekites and the Canaanites are there before you, and ye shall fall by the sword: because ye are turned away from the LORD, therefore the LORD will not be with you.
14: 44 But they presumed to go up unto the hill top: nevertheless the ark of the covenant of the LORD, and Moses, departed not out of the camp.
14: 45 Then the Amalekites came down, and the Canaanites which dwelt in that hill, and smote them, and discomfited them, even unto Hormah.
15: 5 And the fourth part of an hin of wine for a drink offering shalt thou prepare with the burnt offering or sacrifice, for one lamb.
15: 6 Or for a ram, thou shalt prepare for a meat offering two tenth deals of flour mingled with the third part of an hin of oil.
15: 7 And for a drink offering thou shalt offer the third part of an hin of wine, for a sweet savour unto the LORD.
15: 8 And when thou preparest a bullock for a burnt offering, or for a sacrifice in performing a vow, or peace offerings unto the LORD: 15: 9 Then shall he bring with a bullock a meat offering of three tenth deals of flour mingled with half an hin of oil.
15: 10 And thou shalt bring for a drink offering half an hin of wine, for an offering made by fire, of a sweet savour unto the LORD.
15: 11 Thus shall it be done for one bullock, or for one ram, or for a lamb, or a kid.
15: 12 According to the number that ye shall prepare, so shall ye do to every one according to their number.
15: 13 All that are born of the country shall do these things after this manner, in offering an offering made by fire, of a sweet savour unto the LORD.
15: 14 And if a stranger sojourn with you, or whosoever be among you in your generations, and will offer an offering made by fire, of a sweet savour unto the LORD; as ye do, so he shall do.
15: 15 One ordinance shall be both for you of the congregation, and also for the stranger that sojourneth with you, an ordinance for ever in your generations: as ye are, so shall the stranger be before the LORD.
15: 16 One law and one manner shall be for you, and for the stranger that sojourneth with you.
15: 17 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 15: 18 Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them, When ye come into the land whither I bring you, 15: 19 Then it shall be, that, when ye eat of the bread of the land, ye shall offer up an heave offering unto the LORD.
15: 20 Ye shall offer up a cake of the first of your dough for an heave offering: as ye do the heave offering of the threshingfloor, so shall ye heave it.
15: 21 Of the first of your dough ye shall give unto the LORD an heave offering in your generations.
15: 27 And if any soul sin through ignorance, then he shall bring a she goat of the first year for a sin offering.
15: 28 And the priest shall make an atonement for the soul that sinneth ignorantly, when he sinneth by ignorance before the LORD, to make an atonement for him; and it shall be forgiven him.
15: 29 Ye shall have one law for him that sinneth through ignorance, both for him that is born among the children of Israel, and for the stranger that sojourneth among them.
15: 30 But the soul that doeth ought presumptuously, whether he be born in the land, or a stranger, the same reproacheth the LORD; and that soul shall be cut off from among his people.
15: 31 Because he hath despised the word of the LORD, and hath broken his commandment, that soul shall utterly be cut off; his iniquity shall be upon him.
15: 32 And while the children of Israel were in the wilderness, they found a man that gathered sticks upon the sabbath day.
15: 33 And they that found him gathering sticks brought him unto Moses and Aaron, and unto all the congregation.
15: 34 And they put him in ward, because it was not declared what should be done to him.
15: 35 And the LORD said unto Moses, The man shall be surely put to death: all the congregation shall stone him with stones without the camp.
15: 36 And all the congregation brought him without the camp, and stoned him with stones, and he died; as the LORD commanded Moses.
15: 41 I am the LORD your God, which brought you out of the land of Egypt, to be your God: I am the LORD your God.
16: 6 This do; Take you censers, Korah, and all his company; 16: 7 And put fire therein, and put incense in them before the LORD to morrow: and it shall be that the man whom the LORD doth choose, he shall be holy: ye take too much upon you, ye sons of Levi.
16: 10 And he hath brought thee near to him, and all thy brethren the sons of Levi with thee: and seek ye the priesthood also?
16: 11 For which cause both thou and all thy company are gathered together against the LORD: and what is Aaron, that ye murmur against him?
16: 14 Moreover thou hast not brought us into a land that floweth with milk and honey, or given us inheritance of fields and vineyards: wilt thou put out the eyes of these men?
we will not come up.
16: 15 And Moses was very wroth, and said unto the LORD, Respect not thou their offering: I have not taken one ass from them, neither have I hurt one of them.
16: 18 And they took every man his censer, and put fire in them, and laid incense thereon, and stood in the door of the tabernacle of the congregation with Moses and Aaron.
16: 19 And Korah gathered all the congregation against them unto the door of the tabernacle of the congregation: and the glory of the LORD appeared unto all the congregation.
16: 20 And the LORD spake unto Moses and unto Aaron, saying, 16: 21 Separate yourselves from among this congregation, that I may consume them in a moment.
16: 22 And they fell upon their faces, and said, O God, the God of the spirits of all flesh, shall one man sin, and wilt thou be wroth with all the congregation?
16: 23 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 16: 24 Speak unto the congregation, saying, Get you up from about the tabernacle of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram.
16: 25 And Moses rose up and went unto Dathan and Abiram; and the elders of Israel followed him.
16: 26 And he spake unto the congregation, saying, Depart, I pray you, from the tents of these wicked men, and touch nothing of their's, lest ye be consumed in all their sins.
16: 27 So they gat up from the tabernacle of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, on every side: and Dathan and Abiram came out, and stood in the door of their tents, and their wives, and their sons, and their little children.
16: 28 And Moses said, Hereby ye shall know that the LORD hath sent me to do all these works; for I have not done them of mine own mind.
16: 29 If these men die the common death of all men, or if they be visited after the visitation of all men; then the LORD hath not sent me.
16: 30 But if the LORD make a new thing, and the earth open her mouth, and swallow them up, with all that appertain unto them, and they go down quick into the pit; then ye shall understand that these men have provoked the LORD.
16: 33 They, and all that appertained to them, went down alive into the pit, and the earth closed upon them: and they perished from among the congregation.
16: 34 And all Israel that were round about them fled at the cry of them: for they said, Lest the earth swallow us up also.
16: 35 And there came out a fire from the LORD, and consumed the two hundred and fifty men that offered incense.
16: 36 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 16: 37 Speak unto Eleazar the son of Aaron the priest, that he take up the censers out of the burning, and scatter thou the fire yonder; for they are hallowed.
16: 38 The censers of these sinners against their own souls, let them make them broad plates for a covering of the altar: for they offered them before the LORD, therefore they are hallowed: and they shall be a sign unto the children of Israel.
16: 41 But on the morrow all the congregation of the children of Israel murmured against Moses and against Aaron, saying, Ye have killed the people of the LORD.
16: 42 And it came to pass, when the congregation was gathered against Moses and against Aaron, that they looked toward the tabernacle of the congregation: and, behold, the cloud covered it, and the glory of the LORD appeared.
16: 43 And Moses and Aaron came before the tabernacle of the congregation.
16: 44 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 16: 45 Get you up from among this congregation, that I may consume them as in a moment.
And they fell upon their faces.
16: 46 And Moses said unto Aaron, Take a censer, and put fire therein from off the altar, and put on incense, and go quickly unto the congregation, and make an atonement for them: for there is wrath gone out from the LORD; the plague is begun.
16: 47 And Aaron took as Moses commanded, and ran into the midst of the congregation; and, behold, the plague was begun among the people: and he put on incense, and made an atonement for the people.
16: 48 And he stood between the dead and the living; and the plague was stayed.
16: 49 Now they that died in the plague were fourteen thousand and seven hundred, beside them that died about the matter of Korah.
16: 50 And Aaron returned unto Moses unto the door of the tabernacle of the congregation: and the plague was stayed.
17: 3 And thou shalt write Aaron's name upon the rod of Levi: for one rod shall be for the head of the house of their fathers.
17: 4 And thou shalt lay them up in the tabernacle of the congregation before the testimony, where I will meet with you.
17: 5 And it shall come to pass, that the man's rod, whom I shall choose, shall blossom: and I will make to cease from me the murmurings of the children of Israel, whereby they murmur against you.
17: 6 And Moses spake unto the children of Israel, and every one of their princes gave him a rod apiece, for each prince one, according to their fathers'houses, even twelve rods: and the rod of Aaron was among their rods.
17: 7 And Moses laid up the rods before the LORD in the tabernacle of witness.
17: 8 And it came to pass, that on the morrow Moses went into the tabernacle of witness; and, behold, the rod of Aaron for the house of Levi was budded, and brought forth buds, and bloomed blossoms, and yielded almonds.
17: 9 And Moses brought out all the rods from before the LORD unto all the children of Israel: and they looked, and took every man his rod.
17: 10 And the LORD said unto Moses, Bring Aaron's rod again before the testimony, to be kept for a token against the rebels; and thou shalt quite take away their murmurings from me, that they die not.
17: 11 And Moses did so: as the LORD commanded him, so did he.
17: 12 And the children of Israel spake unto Moses, saying, Behold, we die, we perish, we all perish.
17: 13 Whosoever cometh any thing near unto the tabernacle of the LORD shall die: shall we be consumed with dying?
18: 1 And the LORD said unto Aaron, Thou and thy sons and thy father's house with thee shall bear the iniquity of the sanctuary: and thou and thy sons with thee shall bear the iniquity of your priesthood.
18: 2 And thy brethren also of the tribe of Levi, the tribe of thy father, bring thou with thee, that they may be joined unto thee, and minister unto thee: but thou and thy sons with thee shall minister before the tabernacle of witness.
18: 3 And they shall keep thy charge, and the charge of all the tabernacle: only they shall not come nigh the vessels of the sanctuary and the altar, that neither they, nor ye also, die.
18: 4 And they shall be joined unto thee, and keep the charge of the tabernacle of the congregation, for all the service of the tabernacle: and a stranger shall not come nigh unto you.
18: 5 And ye shall keep the charge of the sanctuary, and the charge of the altar: that there be no wrath any more upon the children of Israel.
18: 6 And I, behold, I have taken your brethren the Levites from among the children of Israel: to you they are given as a gift for the LORD, to do the service of the tabernacle of the congregation.
18: 7 Therefore thou and thy sons with thee shall keep your priest's office for everything of the altar, and within the vail; and ye shall serve: I have given your priest's office unto you as a service of gift: and the stranger that cometh nigh shall be put to death.
18: 8 And the LORD spake unto Aaron, Behold, I also have given thee the charge of mine heave offerings of all the hallowed things of the children of Israel; unto thee have I given them by reason of the anointing, and to thy sons, by an ordinance for ever.
18: 10 In the most holy place shalt thou eat it; every male shall eat it: it shall be holy unto thee.
18: 11 And this is thine; the heave offering of their gift, with all the wave offerings of the children of Israel: I have given them unto thee, and to thy sons and to thy daughters with thee, by a statute for ever: every one that is clean in thy house shall eat of it.
18: 12 All the best of the oil, and all the best of the wine, and of the wheat, the firstfruits of them which they shall offer unto the LORD, them have I given thee.
18: 13 And whatsoever is first ripe in the land, which they shall bring unto the LORD, shall be thine; every one that is clean in thine house shall eat of it.
18: 14 Every thing devoted in Israel shall be thine.
18: 15 Every thing that openeth the matrix in all flesh, which they bring unto the LORD, whether it be of men or beasts, shall be thine: nevertheless the firstborn of man shalt thou surely redeem, and the firstling of unclean beasts shalt thou redeem.
18: 16 And those that are to be redeemed from a month old shalt thou redeem, according to thine estimation, for the money of five shekels, after the shekel of the sanctuary, which is twenty gerahs.
18: 17 But the firstling of a cow, or the firstling of a sheep, or the firstling of a goat, thou shalt not redeem; they are holy: thou shalt sprinkle their blood upon the altar, and shalt burn their fat for an offering made by fire, for a sweet savour unto the LORD.
18: 18 And the flesh of them shall be thine, as the wave breast and as the right shoulder are thine.
18: 19 All the heave offerings of the holy things, which the children of Israel offer unto the LORD, have I given thee, and thy sons and thy daughters with thee, by a statute for ever: it is a covenant of salt for ever before the LORD unto thee and to thy seed with thee.
18: 20 And the LORD spake unto Aaron, Thou shalt have no inheritance in their land, neither shalt thou have any part among them: I am thy part and thine inheritance among the children of Israel.
18: 21 And, behold, I have given the children of Levi all the tenth in Israel for an inheritance, for their service which they serve, even the service of the tabernacle of the congregation.
18: 22 Neither must the children of Israel henceforth come nigh the tabernacle of the congregation, lest they bear sin, and die.
18: 23 But the Levites shall do the service of the tabernacle of the congregation, and they shall bear their iniquity: it shall be a statute for ever throughout your generations, that among the children of Israel they have no inheritance.
18: 24 But the tithes of the children of Israel, which they offer as an heave offering unto the LORD, I have given to the Levites to inherit: therefore I have said unto them, Among the children of Israel they shall have no inheritance.
18: 27 And this your heave offering shall be reckoned unto you, as though it were the corn of the threshingfloor, and as the fulness of the winepress.
18: 28 Thus ye also shall offer an heave offering unto the LORD of all your tithes, which ye receive of the children of Israel; and ye shall give thereof the LORD's heave offering to Aaron the priest.
18: 29 Out of all your gifts ye shall offer every heave offering of the LORD, of all the best thereof, even the hallowed part thereof out of it.
18: 30 Therefore thou shalt say unto them, When ye have heaved the best thereof from it, then it shall be counted unto the Levites as the increase of the threshingfloor, and as the increase of the winepress.
18: 31 And ye shall eat it in every place, ye and your households: for it is your reward for your service in the tabernacle of the congregation.
18: 32 And ye shall bear no sin by reason of it, when ye have heaved from it the best of it: neither shall ye pollute the holy things of the children of Israel, lest ye die.
19: 7 Then the priest shall wash his clothes, and he shall bathe his flesh in water, and afterward he shall come into the camp, and the priest shall be unclean until the even.
19: 8 And he that burneth her shall wash his clothes in water, and bathe his flesh in water, and shall be unclean until the even.
19: 9 And a man that is clean shall gather up the ashes of the heifer, and lay them up without the camp in a clean place, and it shall be kept for the congregation of the children of Israel for a water of separation: it is a purification for sin.
19: 10 And he that gathereth the ashes of the heifer shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even: and it shall be unto the children of Israel, and unto the stranger that sojourneth among them, for a statute for ever.
19: 11 He that toucheth the dead body of any man shall be unclean seven days.
19: 12 He shall purify himself with it on the third day, and on the seventh day he shall be clean: but if he purify not himself the third day, then the seventh day he shall not be clean.
19: 14 This is the law, when a man dieth in a tent: all that come into the tent, and all that is in the tent, shall be unclean seven days.
19: 15 And every open vessel, which hath no covering bound upon it, is unclean.
19: 16 And whosoever toucheth one that is slain with a sword in the open fields, or a dead body, or a bone of a man, or a grave, shall be unclean seven days.
19: 20 But the man that shall be unclean, and shall not purify himself, that soul shall be cut off from among the congregation, because he hath defiled the sanctuary of the LORD: the water of separation hath not been sprinkled upon him; he is unclean.
19: 21 And it shall be a perpetual statute unto them, that he that sprinkleth the water of separation shall wash his clothes; and he that toucheth the water of separation shall be unclean until even.
19: 22 And whatsoever the unclean person toucheth shall be unclean; and the soul that toucheth it shall be unclean until even.
20: 1 Then came the children of Israel, even the whole congregation, into the desert of Zin in the first month: and the people abode in Kadesh; and Miriam died there, and was buried there.
20: 2 And there was no water for the congregation: and they gathered themselves together against Moses and against Aaron.
20: 3 And the people chode with Moses, and spake, saying, Would God that we had died when our brethren died before the LORD!
20: 4 And why have ye brought up the congregation of the LORD into this wilderness, that we and our cattle should die there?
20: 5 And wherefore have ye made us to come up out of Egypt, to bring us in unto this evil place?
it is no place of seed, or of figs, or of vines, or of pomegranates; neither is there any water to drink.
20: 6 And Moses and Aaron went from the presence of the assembly unto the door of the tabernacle of the congregation, and they fell upon their faces: and the glory of the LORD appeared unto them.
20: 9 And Moses took the rod from before the LORD, as he commanded him.
20: 10 And Moses and Aaron gathered the congregation together before the rock, and he said unto them, Hear now, ye rebels; must we fetch you water out of this rock?
20: 11 And Moses lifted up his hand, and with his rod he smote the rock twice: and the water came out abundantly, and the congregation drank, and their beasts also.
20: 12 And the LORD spake unto Moses and Aaron, Because ye believed me not, to sanctify me in the eyes of the children of Israel, therefore ye shall not bring this congregation into the land which I have given them.
20: 13 This is the water of Meribah; because the children of Israel strove with the LORD, and he was sanctified in them.
20: 18 And Edom said unto him, Thou shalt not pass by me, lest I come out against thee with the sword.
20: 19 And the children of Israel said unto him, We will go by the high way: and if I and my cattle drink of thy water, then I will pay for it: I will only, without doing anything else, go through on my feet.
20: 20 And he said, Thou shalt not go through.
And Edom came out against him with much people, and with a strong hand.
20: 21 Thus Edom refused to give Israel passage through his border: wherefore Israel turned away from him.
20: 22 And the children of Israel, even the whole congregation, journeyed from Kadesh, and came unto mount Hor.
20: 25 Take Aaron and Eleazar his son, and bring them up unto mount Hor: 20: 26 And strip Aaron of his garments, and put them upon Eleazar his son: and Aaron shall be gathered unto his people, and shall die there.
20: 27 And Moses did as the LORD commanded: and they went up into mount Hor in the sight of all the congregation.
20: 28 And Moses stripped Aaron of his garments, and put them upon Eleazar his son; and Aaron died there in the top of the mount: and Moses and Eleazar came down from the mount.
20: 29 And when all the congregation saw that Aaron was dead, they mourned for Aaron thirty days, even all the house of Israel.
21: 1 And when king Arad the Canaanite, which dwelt in the south, heard tell that Israel came by the way of the spies; then he fought against Israel, and took some of them prisoners.
21: 2 And Israel vowed a vow unto the LORD, and said, If thou wilt indeed deliver this people into my hand, then I will utterly destroy their cities.
21: 3 And the LORD hearkened to the voice of Israel, and delivered up the Canaanites; and they utterly destroyed them and their cities: and he called the name of the place Hormah.
21: 4 And they journeyed from mount Hor by the way of the Red sea, to compass the land of Edom: and the soul of the people was much discouraged because of the way.
21: 5 And the people spake against God, and against Moses, Wherefore have ye brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?
for there is no bread, neither is there any water; and our soul loatheth this light bread.
21: 6 And the LORD sent fiery serpents among the people, and they bit the people; and much people of Israel died.
21: 7 Therefore the people came to Moses, and said, We have sinned, for we have spoken against the LORD, and against thee; pray unto the LORD, that he take away the serpents from us.
And Moses prayed for the people.
21: 8 And the LORD said unto Moses, Make thee a fiery serpent, and set it upon a pole: and it shall come to pass, that every one that is bitten, when he looketh upon it, shall live.
21: 9 And Moses made a serpent of brass, and put it upon a pole, and it came to pass, that if a serpent had bitten any man, when he beheld the serpent of brass, he lived.
21: 10 And the children of Israel set forward, and pitched in Oboth.
21: 11 And they journeyed from Oboth, and pitched at Ijeabarim, in the wilderness which is before Moab, toward the sunrising.
21: 12 From thence they removed, and pitched in the valley of Zared.
21: 13 From thence they removed, and pitched on the other side of Arnon, which is in the wilderness that cometh out of the coasts of the Amorites: for Arnon is the border of Moab, between Moab and the Amorites.
21: 14 Wherefore it is said in the book of the wars of the LORD, What he did in the Red sea, and in the brooks of Arnon, 21: 15 And at the stream of the brooks that goeth down to the dwelling of Ar, and lieth upon the border of Moab.
21: 16 And from thence they went to Beer: that is the well whereof the LORD spake unto Moses, Gather the people together, and I will give them water.
21: 17 Then Israel sang this song, Spring up, O well; sing ye unto it: 21: 18 The princes digged the well, the nobles of the people digged it, by the direction of the lawgiver, with their staves.
And from the wilderness they went to Mattanah: 21: 19 And from Mattanah to Nahaliel: and from Nahaliel to Bamoth: 21: 20 And from Bamoth in the valley, that is in the country of Moab, to the top of Pisgah, which looketh toward Jeshimon.
21: 23 And Sihon would not suffer Israel to pass through his border: but Sihon gathered all his people together, and went out against Israel into the wilderness: and he came to Jahaz, and fought against Israel.
21: 24 And Israel smote him with the edge of the sword, and possessed his land from Arnon unto Jabbok, even unto the children of Ammon: for the border of the children of Ammon was strong.
21: 25 And Israel took all these cities: and Israel dwelt in all the cities of the Amorites, in Heshbon, and in all the villages thereof.
21: 26 For Heshbon was the city of Sihon the king of the Amorites, who had fought against the former king of Moab, and taken all his land out of his hand, even unto Arnon.
21: 27 Wherefore they that speak in proverbs say, Come into Heshbon, let the city of Sihon be built and prepared: 21: 28 For there is a fire gone out of Heshbon, a flame from the city of Sihon: it hath consumed Ar of Moab, and the lords of the high places of Arnon.
21: 29 Woe to thee, Moab!
thou art undone, O people of Chemosh: he hath given his sons that escaped, and his daughters, into captivity unto Sihon king of the Amorites.
21: 30 We have shot at them; Heshbon is perished even unto Dibon, and we have laid them waste even unto Nophah, which reacheth unto Medeba.
21: 31 Thus Israel dwelt in the land of the Amorites.
21: 32 And Moses sent to spy out Jaazer, and they took the villages thereof, and drove out the Amorites that were there.
21: 33 And they turned and went up by the way of Bashan: and Og the king of Bashan went out against them, he, and all his people, to the battle at Edrei.
21: 34 And the LORD said unto Moses, Fear him not: for I have delivered him into thy hand, and all his people, and his land; and thou shalt do to him as thou didst unto Sihon king of the Amorites, which dwelt at Heshbon.
21: 35 So they smote him, and his sons, and all his people, until there was none left him alive: and they possessed his land.
22: 1 And the children of Israel set forward, and pitched in the plains of Moab on this side Jordan by Jericho.
22: 2 And Balak the son of Zippor saw all that Israel had done to the Amorites.
22: 3 And Moab was sore afraid of the people, because they were many: and Moab was distressed because of the children of Israel.
22: 4 And Moab said unto the elders of Midian, Now shall this company lick up all that are round about us, as the ox licketh up the grass of the field.
And Balak the son of Zippor was king of the Moabites at that time.
22: 7 And the elders of Moab and the elders of Midian departed with the rewards of divination in their hand; and they came unto Balaam, and spake unto him the words of Balak.
22: 8 And he said unto them, Lodge here this night, and I will bring you word again, as the LORD shall speak unto me: and the princes of Moab abode with Balaam.
22: 9 And God came unto Balaam, and said, What men are these with thee?
22: 12 And God said unto Balaam, Thou shalt not go with them; thou shalt not curse the people: for they are blessed.
22: 13 And Balaam rose up in the morning, and said unto the princes of Balak, Get you into your land: for the LORD refuseth to give me leave to go with you.
22: 14 And the princes of Moab rose up, and they went unto Balak, and said, Balaam refuseth to come with us.
22: 15 And Balak sent yet again princes, more, and more honourable than they.
22: 18 And Balaam answered and said unto the servants of Balak, If Balak would give me his house full of silver and gold, I cannot go beyond the word of the LORD my God, to do less or more.
22: 19 Now therefore, I pray you, tarry ye also here this night, that I may know what the LORD will say unto me more.
22: 20 And God came unto Balaam at night, and said unto him, If the men come to call thee, rise up, and go with them; but yet the word which I shall say unto thee, that shalt thou do.
22: 21 And Balaam rose up in the morning, and saddled his ass, and went with the princes of Moab.
22: 22 And God's anger was kindled because he went: and the angel of the LORD stood in the way for an adversary against him.
Now he was riding upon his ass, and his two servants were with him.
22: 23 And the ass saw the angel of the LORD standing in the way, and his sword drawn in his hand: and the ass turned aside out of the way, and went into the field: and Balaam smote the ass, to turn her into the way.
22: 24 But the angel of the LORD stood in a path of the vineyards, a wall being on this side, and a wall on that side.
22: 25 And when the ass saw the angel of the LORD, she thrust herself unto the wall, and crushed Balaam's foot against the wall: and he smote her again.
22: 26 And the angel of the LORD went further, and stood in a narrow place, where was no way to turn either to the right hand or to the left.
22: 27 And when the ass saw the angel of the LORD, she fell down under Balaam: and Balaam's anger was kindled, and he smote the ass with a staff.
22: 28 And the LORD opened the mouth of the ass, and she said unto Balaam, What have I done unto thee, that thou hast smitten me these three times?
22: 29 And Balaam said unto the ass, Because thou hast mocked me: I would there were a sword in mine hand, for now would I kill thee.
22: 30 And the ass said unto Balaam, Am not I thine ass, upon which thou hast ridden ever since I was thine unto this day?
was I ever wont to do so unto thee?
And he said, Nay.
22: 31 Then the LORD opened the eyes of Balaam, and he saw the angel of the LORD standing in the way, and his sword drawn in his hand: and he bowed down his head, and fell flat on his face.
22: 32 And the angel of the LORD said unto him, Wherefore hast thou smitten thine ass these three times?
behold, I went out to withstand thee, because thy way is perverse before me: 22: 33 And the ass saw me, and turned from me these three times: unless she had turned from me, surely now also I had slain thee, and saved her alive.
22: 34 And Balaam said unto the angel of the LORD, I have sinned; for I knew not that thou stoodest in the way against me: now therefore, if it displease thee, I will get me back again.
22: 35 And the angel of the LORD said unto Balaam, Go with the men: but only the word that I shall speak unto thee, that thou shalt speak.
So Balaam went with the princes of Balak.
22: 36 And when Balak heard that Balaam was come, he went out to meet him unto a city of Moab, which is in the border of Arnon, which is in the utmost coast.
22: 37 And Balak said unto Balaam, Did I not earnestly send unto thee to call thee?
wherefore camest thou not unto me?
am I not able indeed to promote thee to honour?
22: 38 And Balaam said unto Balak, Lo, I am come unto thee: have I now any power at all to say any thing?
the word that God putteth in my mouth, that shall I speak.
22: 39 And Balaam went with Balak, and they came unto Kirjathhuzoth.
22: 40 And Balak offered oxen and sheep, and sent to Balaam, and to the princes that were with him.
22: 41 And it came to pass on the morrow, that Balak took Balaam, and brought him up into the high places of Baal, that thence he might see the utmost part of the people.
23: 1 And Balaam said unto Balak, Build me here seven altars, and prepare me here seven oxen and seven rams.
23: 2 And Balak did as Balaam had spoken; and Balak and Balaam offered on every altar a bullock and a ram.
23: 3 And Balaam said unto Balak, Stand by thy burnt offering, and I will go: peradventure the LORD will come to meet me: and whatsoever he sheweth me I will tell thee.
And he went to an high place.
23: 4 And God met Balaam: and he said unto him, I have prepared seven altars, and I have offered upon every altar a bullock and a ram.
23: 5 And the LORD put a word in Balaam's mouth, and said, Return unto Balak, and thus thou shalt speak.
23: 6 And he returned unto him, and, lo, he stood by his burnt sacrifice, he, and all the princes of Moab.
23: 7 And he took up his parable, and said, Balak the king of Moab hath brought me from Aram, out of the mountains of the east, saying, Come, curse me Jacob, and come, defy Israel.
23: 8 How shall I curse, whom God hath not cursed?
or how shall I defy, whom the LORD hath not defied?
23: 9 For from the top of the rocks I see him, and from the hills I behold him: lo, the people shall dwell alone, and shall not be reckoned among the nations.
23: 10 Who can count the dust of Jacob, and the number of the fourth part of Israel?
Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his!
23: 11 And Balak said unto Balaam, What hast thou done unto me?
I took thee to curse mine enemies, and, behold, thou hast blessed them altogether.
23: 12 And he answered and said, Must I not take heed to speak that which the LORD hath put in my mouth?
23: 13 And Balak said unto him, Come, I pray thee, with me unto another place, from whence thou mayest see them: thou shalt see but the utmost part of them, and shalt not see them all: and curse me them from thence.
23: 14 And he brought him into the field of Zophim, to the top of Pisgah, and built seven altars, and offered a bullock and a ram on every altar.
23: 15 And he said unto Balak, Stand here by thy burnt offering, while I meet the LORD yonder.
23: 16 And the LORD met Balaam, and put a word in his mouth, and said, Go again unto Balak, and say thus.
23: 17 And when he came to him, behold, he stood by his burnt offering, and the princes of Moab with him.
And Balak said unto him, What hath the LORD spoken?
23: 18 And he took up his parable, and said, Rise up, Balak, and hear; hearken unto me, thou son of Zippor: 23: 19 God is not a man, that he should lie; neither the son of man, that he should repent: hath he said, and shall he not do it?
or hath he spoken, and shall he not make it good?
23: 20 Behold, I have received commandment to bless: and he hath blessed; and I cannot reverse it.
23: 21 He hath not beheld iniquity in Jacob, neither hath he seen perverseness in Israel: the LORD his God is with him, and the shout of a king is among them.
23: 22 God brought them out of Egypt; he hath as it were the strength of an unicorn.
23: 23 Surely there is no enchantment against Jacob, neither is there any divination against Israel: according to this time it shall be said of Jacob and of Israel, What hath God wrought!
23: 24 Behold, the people shall rise up as a great lion, and lift up himself as a young lion: he shall not lie down until he eat of the prey, and drink the blood of the slain.
23: 25 And Balak said unto Balaam, Neither curse them at all, nor bless them at all.
23: 26 But Balaam answered and said unto Balak, Told not I thee, saying, All that the LORD speaketh, that I must do?
23: 27 And Balak said unto Balaam, Come, I pray thee, I will bring thee unto another place; peradventure it will please God that thou mayest curse me them from thence.
23: 28 And Balak brought Balaam unto the top of Peor, that looketh toward Jeshimon.
23: 29 And Balaam said unto Balak, Build me here seven altars, and prepare me here seven bullocks and seven rams.
23: 30 And Balak did as Balaam had said, and offered a bullock and a ram on every altar.
24: 1 And when Balaam saw that it pleased the LORD to bless Israel, he went not, as at other times, to seek for enchantments, but he set his face toward the wilderness.
24: 2 And Balaam lifted up his eyes, and he saw Israel abiding in his tents according to their tribes; and the spirit of God came upon him.
24: 6 As the valleys are they spread forth, as gardens by the river's side, as the trees of lign aloes which the LORD hath planted, and as cedar trees beside the waters.
24: 7 He shall pour the water out of his buckets, and his seed shall be in many waters, and his king shall be higher than Agag, and his kingdom shall be exalted.
24: 8 God brought him forth out of Egypt; he hath as it were the strength of an unicorn: he shall eat up the nations his enemies, and shall break their bones, and pierce them through with his arrows.
24: 9 He couched, he lay down as a lion, and as a great lion: who shall stir him up?
Blessed is he that blesseth thee, and cursed is he that curseth thee.
24: 10 And Balak's anger was kindled against Balaam, and he smote his hands together: and Balak said unto Balaam, I called thee to curse mine enemies, and, behold, thou hast altogether blessed them these three times.
24: 11 Therefore now flee thou to thy place: I thought to promote thee unto great honour; but, lo, the LORD hath kept thee back from honour.
24: 14 And now, behold, I go unto my people: come therefore, and I will advertise thee what this people shall do to thy people in the latter days.
24: 18 And Edom shall be a possession, Seir also shall be a possession for his enemies; and Israel shall do valiantly.
24: 19 Out of Jacob shall come he that shall have dominion, and shall destroy him that remaineth of the city.
24: 20 And when he looked on Amalek, he took up his parable, and said, Amalek was the first of the nations; but his latter end shall be that he perish for ever.
24: 21 And he looked on the Kenites, and took up his parable, and said, Strong is thy dwellingplace, and thou puttest thy nest in a rock.
24: 22 Nevertheless the Kenite shall be wasted, until Asshur shall carry thee away captive.
24: 23 And he took up his parable, and said, Alas, who shall live when God doeth this!
24: 24 And ships shall come from the coast of Chittim, and shall afflict Asshur, and shall afflict Eber, and he also shall perish for ever.
24: 25 And Balaam rose up, and went and returned to his place: and Balak also went his way.
25: 1 And Israel abode in Shittim, and the people began to commit whoredom with the daughters of Moab.
25: 2 And they called the people unto the sacrifices of their gods: and the people did eat, and bowed down to their gods.
25: 3 And Israel joined himself unto Baalpeor: and the anger of the LORD was kindled against Israel.
25: 4 And the LORD said unto Moses, Take all the heads of the people, and hang them up before the LORD against the sun, that the fierce anger of the LORD may be turned away from Israel.
25: 5 And Moses said unto the judges of Israel, Slay ye every one his men that were joined unto Baalpeor.
25: 6 And, behold, one of the children of Israel came and brought unto his brethren a Midianitish woman in the sight of Moses, and in the sight of all the congregation of the children of Israel, who were weeping before the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
So the plague was stayed from the children of Israel.
25: 9 And those that died in the plague were twenty and four thousand.
25: 10 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 25: 11 Phinehas, the son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron the priest, hath turned my wrath away from the children of Israel, while he was zealous for my sake among them, that I consumed not the children of Israel in my jealousy.
25: 12 Wherefore say, Behold, I give unto him my covenant of peace: 25: 13 And he shall have it, and his seed after him, even the covenant of an everlasting priesthood; because he was zealous for his God, and made an atonement for the children of Israel.
25: 14 Now the name of the Israelite that was slain, even that was slain with the Midianitish woman, was Zimri, the son of Salu, a prince of a chief house among the Simeonites.
25: 15 And the name of the Midianitish woman that was slain was Cozbi, the daughter of Zur; he was head over a people, and of a chief house in Midian.
26: 5 Reuben, the eldest son of Israel: the children of Reuben; Hanoch, of whom cometh the family of the Hanochites: of Pallu, the family of the Palluites: 26: 6 Of Hezron, the family of the Hezronites: of Carmi, the family of the Carmites.
26: 7 These are the families of the Reubenites: and they that were numbered of them were forty and three thousand and seven hundred and thirty.
26: 8 And the sons of Pallu; Eliab.
26: 9 And the sons of Eliab; Nemuel, and Dathan, and Abiram.
26: 11 Notwithstanding the children of Korah died not.
26: 12 The sons of Simeon after their families: of Nemuel, the family of the Nemuelites: of Jamin, the family of the Jaminites: of Jachin, the family of the Jachinites: 26: 13 Of Zerah, the family of the Zarhites: of Shaul, the family of the Shaulites.
26: 14 These are the families of the Simeonites, twenty and two thousand and two hundred.
26: 18 These are the families of the children of Gad according to those that were numbered of them, forty thousand and five hundred.
26: 19 The sons of Judah were Er and Onan: and Er and Onan died in the land of Canaan.
26: 20 And the sons of Judah after their families were; of Shelah, the family of the Shelanites: of Pharez, the family of the Pharzites: of Zerah, the family of the Zarhites.
26: 21 And the sons of Pharez were; of Hezron, the family of the Hezronites: of Hamul, the family of the Hamulites.
26: 22 These are the families of Judah according to those that were numbered of them, threescore and sixteen thousand and five hundred.
26: 23 Of the sons of Issachar after their families: of Tola, the family of the Tolaites: of Pua, the family of the Punites: 26: 24 Of Jashub, the family of the Jashubites: of Shimron, the family of the Shimronites.
26: 25 These are the families of Issachar according to those that were numbered of them, threescore and four thousand and three hundred.
26: 26 Of the sons of Zebulun after their families: of Sered, the family of the Sardites: of Elon, the family of the Elonites: of Jahleel, the family of the Jahleelites.
26: 27 These are the families of the Zebulunites according to those that were numbered of them, threescore thousand and five hundred.
26: 28 The sons of Joseph after their families were Manasseh and Ephraim.
26: 29 Of the sons of Manasseh: of Machir, the family of the Machirites: and Machir begat Gilead: of Gilead come the family of the Gileadites.
26: 33 And Zelophehad the son of Hepher had no sons, but daughters: and the names of the daughters of Zelophehad were Mahlah, and Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah.
26: 34 These are the families of Manasseh, and those that were numbered of them, fifty and two thousand and seven hundred.
26: 35 These are the sons of Ephraim after their families: of Shuthelah, the family of the Shuthalhites: of Becher, the family of the Bachrites: of Tahan, the family of the Tahanites.
26: 36 And these are the sons of Shuthelah: of Eran, the family of the Eranites.
26: 37 These are the families of the sons of Ephraim according to those that were numbered of them, thirty and two thousand and five hundred.
These are the sons of Joseph after their families.
26: 38 The sons of Benjamin after their families: of Bela, the family of the Belaites: of Ashbel, the family of the Ashbelites: of Ahiram, the family of the Ahiramites: 26: 39 Of Shupham, the family of the Shuphamites: of Hupham, the family of the Huphamites.
26: 40 And the sons of Bela were Ard and Naaman: of Ard, the family of the Ardites: and of Naaman, the family of the Naamites.
26: 41 These are the sons of Benjamin after their families: and they that were numbered of them were forty and five thousand and six hundred.
26: 42 These are the sons of Dan after their families: of Shuham, the family of the Shuhamites.
These are the families of Dan after their families.
26: 43 All the families of the Shuhamites, according to those that were numbered of them, were threescore and four thousand and four hundred.
26: 44 Of the children of Asher after their families: of Jimna, the family of the Jimnites: of Jesui, the family of the Jesuites: of Beriah, the family of the Beriites.
26: 45 Of the sons of Beriah: of Heber, the family of the Heberites: of Malchiel, the family of the Malchielites.
26: 46 And the name of the daughter of Asher was Sarah.
26: 47 These are the families of the sons of Asher according to those that were numbered of them; who were fifty and three thousand and four hundred.
26: 48 Of the sons of Naphtali after their families: of Jahzeel, the family of the Jahzeelites: of Guni, the family of the Gunites: 26: 49 Of Jezer, the family of the Jezerites: of Shillem, the family of the Shillemites.
26: 50 These are the families of Naphtali according to their families: and they that were numbered of them were forty and five thousand and four hundred.
26: 51 These were the numbered of the children of Israel, six hundred thousand and a thousand seven hundred and thirty.
26: 52 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 26: 53 Unto these the land shall be divided for an inheritance according to the number of names.
26: 54 To many thou shalt give the more inheritance, and to few thou shalt give the less inheritance: to every one shall his inheritance be given according to those that were numbered of him.
26: 55 Notwithstanding the land shall be divided by lot: according to the names of the tribes of their fathers they shall inherit.
26: 56 According to the lot shall the possession thereof be divided between many and few.
26: 57 And these are they that were numbered of the Levites after their families: of Gershon, the family of the Gershonites: of Kohath, the family of the Kohathites: of Merari, the family of the Merarites.
26: 58 These are the families of the Levites: the family of the Libnites, the family of the Hebronites, the family of the Mahlites, the family of the Mushites, the family of the Korathites.
And Kohath begat Amram.
26: 59 And the name of Amram's wife was Jochebed, the daughter of Levi, whom her mother bare to Levi in Egypt: and she bare unto Amram Aaron and Moses, and Miriam their sister.
26: 60 And unto Aaron was born Nadab, and Abihu, Eleazar, and Ithamar.
26: 61 And Nadab and Abihu died, when they offered strange fire before the LORD.
26: 62 And those that were numbered of them were twenty and three thousand, all males from a month old and upward: for they were not numbered among the children of Israel, because there was no inheritance given them among the children of Israel.
26: 63 These are they that were numbered by Moses and Eleazar the priest, who numbered the children of Israel in the plains of Moab by Jordan near Jericho.
26: 64 But among these there was not a man of them whom Moses and Aaron the priest numbered, when they numbered the children of Israel in the wilderness of Sinai.
26: 65 For the LORD had said of them, They shall surely die in the wilderness.
And there was not left a man of them, save Caleb the son of Jephunneh, and Joshua the son of Nun.
27: 1 Then came the daughters of Zelophehad, the son of Hepher, the son of Gilead, the son of Machir, the son of Manasseh, of the families of Manasseh the son of Joseph: and these are the names of his daughters; Mahlah, Noah, and Hoglah, and Milcah, and Tirzah.
27: 4 Why should the name of our father be done away from among his family, because he hath no son?
Give unto us therefore a possession among the brethren of our father.
27: 5 And Moses brought their cause before the LORD.
27: 6 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 27: 7 The daughters of Zelophehad speak right: thou shalt surely give them a possession of an inheritance among their father's brethren; and thou shalt cause the inheritance of their father to pass unto them.
27: 8 And thou shalt speak unto the children of Israel, saying, If a man die, and have no son, then ye shall cause his inheritance to pass unto his daughter.
27: 9 And if he have no daughter, then ye shall give his inheritance unto his brethren.
27: 10 And if he have no brethren, then ye shall give his inheritance unto his father's brethren.
27: 11 And if his father have no brethren, then ye shall give his inheritance unto his kinsman that is next to him of his family, and he shall possess it: and it shall be unto the children of Israel a statute of judgment, as the LORD commanded Moses.
27: 12 And the LORD said unto Moses, Get thee up into this mount Abarim, and see the land which I have given unto the children of Israel.
27: 13 And when thou hast seen it, thou also shalt be gathered unto thy people, as Aaron thy brother was gathered.
27: 14 For ye rebelled against my commandment in the desert of Zin, in the strife of the congregation, to sanctify me at the water before their eyes: that is the water of Meribah in Kadesh in the wilderness of Zin.
27: 18 And the LORD said unto Moses, Take thee Joshua the son of Nun, a man in whom is the spirit, and lay thine hand upon him; 27: 19 And set him before Eleazar the priest, and before all the congregation; and give him a charge in their sight.
27: 20 And thou shalt put some of thine honour upon him, that all the congregation of the children of Israel may be obedient.
27: 21 And he shall stand before Eleazar the priest, who shall ask counsel for him after the judgment of Urim before the LORD: at his word shall they go out, and at his word they shall come in, both he, and all the children of Israel with him, even all the congregation.
27: 22 And Moses did as the LORD commanded him: and he took Joshua, and set him before Eleazar the priest, and before all the congregation: 27: 23 And he laid his hands upon him, and gave him a charge, as the LORD commanded by the hand of Moses.
28: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 28: 2 Command the children of Israel, and say unto them, My offering, and my bread for my sacrifices made by fire, for a sweet savour unto me, shall ye observe to offer unto me in their due season.
28: 3 And thou shalt say unto them, This is the offering made by fire which ye shall offer unto the LORD; two lambs of the first year without spot day by day, for a continual burnt offering.
28: 4 The one lamb shalt thou offer in the morning, and the other lamb shalt thou offer at even; 28: 5 And a tenth part of an ephah of flour for a meat offering, mingled with the fourth part of an hin of beaten oil.
28: 6 It is a continual burnt offering, which was ordained in mount Sinai for a sweet savour, a sacrifice made by fire unto the LORD.
28: 7 And the drink offering thereof shall be the fourth part of an hin for the one lamb: in the holy place shalt thou cause the strong wine to be poured unto the LORD for a drink offering.
28: 8 And the other lamb shalt thou offer at even: as the meat offering of the morning, and as the drink offering thereof, thou shalt offer it, a sacrifice made by fire, of a sweet savour unto the LORD.
28: 14 And their drink offerings shall be half an hin of wine unto a bullock, and the third part of an hin unto a ram, and a fourth part of an hin unto a lamb: this is the burnt offering of every month throughout the months of the year.
28: 15 And one kid of the goats for a sin offering unto the LORD shall be offered, beside the continual burnt offering, and his drink offering.
28: 16 And in the fourteenth day of the first month is the passover of the LORD.
28: 17 And in the fifteenth day of this month is the feast: seven days shall unleavened bread be eaten.
28: 23 Ye shall offer these beside the burnt offering in the morning, which is for a continual burnt offering.
28: 24 After this manner ye shall offer daily, throughout the seven days, the meat of the sacrifice made by fire, of a sweet savour unto the LORD: it shall be offered beside the continual burnt offering, and his drink offering.
28: 25 And on the seventh day ye shall have an holy convocation; ye shall do no servile work.
28: 31 Ye shall offer them beside the continual burnt offering, and his meat offering, (they shall be unto you without blemish) and their drink offerings.
29: 1 And in the seventh month, on the first day of the month, ye shall have an holy convocation; ye shall do no servile work: it is a day of blowing the trumpets unto you.
29: 39 These things ye shall do unto the LORD in your set feasts, beside your vows, and your freewill offerings, for your burnt offerings, and for your meat offerings, and for your drink offerings, and for your peace offerings.
29: 40 And Moses told the children of Israel according to all that the LORD commanded Moses.
30: 1 And Moses spake unto the heads of the tribes concerning the children of Israel, saying, This is the thing which the LORD hath commanded.
30: 2 If a man vow a vow unto the LORD, or swear an oath to bind his soul with a bond; he shall not break his word, he shall do according to all that proceedeth out of his mouth.
30: 5 But if her father disallow her in the day that he heareth; not any of her vows, or of her bonds wherewith she hath bound her soul, shall stand: and the LORD shall forgive her, because her father disallowed her.
30: 8 But if her husband disallowed her on the day that he heard it; then he shall make her vow which she vowed, and that which she uttered with her lips, wherewith she bound her soul, of none effect: and the LORD shall forgive her.
30: 9 But every vow of a widow, and of her that is divorced, wherewith they have bound their souls, shall stand against her.
30: 10 And if she vowed in her husband's house, or bound her soul by a bond with an oath; 30: 11 And her husband heard it, and held his peace at her, and disallowed her not: then all her vows shall stand, and every bond wherewith she bound her soul shall stand.
30: 12 But if her husband hath utterly made them void on the day he heard them; then whatsoever proceeded out of her lips concerning her vows, or concerning the bond of her soul, shall not stand: her husband hath made them void; and the LORD shall forgive her.
30: 13 Every vow, and every binding oath to afflict the soul, her husband may establish it, or her husband may make it void.
30: 14 But if her husband altogether hold his peace at her from day to day; then he establisheth all her vows, or all her bonds, which are upon her: he confirmeth them, because he held his peace at her in the day that he heard them.
30: 15 But if he shall any ways make them void after that he hath heard them; then he shall bear her iniquity.
30: 16 These are the statutes, which the LORD commanded Moses, between a man and his wife, between the father and his daughter, being yet in her youth in her father's house.
31: 1 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 31: 2 Avenge the children of Israel of the Midianites: afterward shalt thou be gathered unto thy people.
31: 3 And Moses spake unto the people, saying, Arm some of yourselves unto the war, and let them go against the Midianites, and avenge the LORD of Midian.
31: 4 Of every tribe a thousand, throughout all the tribes of Israel, shall ye send to the war.
31: 5 So there were delivered out of the thousands of Israel, a thousand of every tribe, twelve thousand armed for war.
31: 6 And Moses sent them to the war, a thousand of every tribe, them and Phinehas the son of Eleazar the priest, to the war, with the holy instruments, and the trumpets to blow in his hand.
31: 7 And they warred against the Midianites, as the LORD commanded Moses; and they slew all the males.
31: 8 And they slew the kings of Midian, beside the rest of them that were slain; namely, Evi, and Rekem, and Zur, and Hur, and Reba, five kings of Midian: Balaam also the son of Beor they slew with the sword.
31: 9 And the children of Israel took all the women of Midian captives, and their little ones, and took the spoil of all their cattle, and all their flocks, and all their goods.
31: 10 And they burnt all their cities wherein they dwelt, and all their goodly castles, with fire.
31: 11 And they took all the spoil, and all the prey, both of men and of beasts.
31: 12 And they brought the captives, and the prey, and the spoil, unto Moses, and Eleazar the priest, and unto the congregation of the children of Israel, unto the camp at the plains of Moab, which are by Jordan near Jericho.
31: 13 And Moses, and Eleazar the priest, and all the princes of the congregation, went forth to meet them without the camp.
31: 14 And Moses was wroth with the officers of the host, with the captains over thousands, and captains over hundreds, which came from the battle.
31: 15 And Moses said unto them, Have ye saved all the women alive?
31: 16 Behold, these caused the children of Israel, through the counsel of Balaam, to commit trespass against the LORD in the matter of Peor, and there was a plague among the congregation of the LORD.
31: 17 Now therefore kill every male among the little ones, and kill every woman that hath known man by lying with him.
31: 18 But all the women children, that have not known a man by lying with him, keep alive for yourselves.
31: 19 And do ye abide without the camp seven days: whosoever hath killed any person, and whosoever hath touched any slain, purify both yourselves and your captives on the third day, and on the seventh day.
31: 20 And purify all your raiment, and all that is made of skins, and all work of goats'hair, and all things made of wood.
31: 24 And ye shall wash your clothes on the seventh day, and ye shall be clean, and afterward ye shall come into the camp.
31: 30 And of the children of Israel's half, thou shalt take one portion of fifty, of the persons, of the beeves, of the asses, and of the flocks, of all manner of beasts, and give them unto the Levites, which keep the charge of the tabernacle of the LORD.
31: 31 And Moses and Eleazar the priest did as the LORD commanded Moses.
31: 36 And the half, which was the portion of them that went out to war, was in number three hundred thousand and seven and thirty thousand and five hundred sheep: 31: 37 And the LORD's tribute of the sheep was six hundred and threescore and fifteen.
31: 38 And the beeves were thirty and six thousand; of which the LORD's tribute was threescore and twelve.
31: 39 And the asses were thirty thousand and five hundred; of which the LORD's tribute was threescore and one.
31: 40 And the persons were sixteen thousand; of which the LORD's tribute was thirty and two persons.
31: 41 And Moses gave the tribute, which was the LORD's heave offering, unto Eleazar the priest, as the LORD commanded Moses.
31: 50 We have therefore brought an oblation for the LORD, what every man hath gotten, of jewels of gold, chains, and bracelets, rings, earrings, and tablets, to make an atonement for our souls before the LORD.
31: 51 And Moses and Eleazar the priest took the gold of them, even all wrought jewels.
31: 52 And all the gold of the offering that they offered up to the LORD, of the captains of thousands, and of the captains of hundreds, was sixteen thousand seven hundred and fifty shekels.
31: 53 (For the men of war had taken spoil, every man for himself.)
31: 54 And Moses and Eleazar the priest took the gold of the captains of thousands and of hundreds, and brought it into the tabernacle of the congregation, for a memorial for the children of Israel before the LORD.
32: 6 And Moses said unto the children of Gad and to the children of Reuben, Shall your brethren go to war, and shall ye sit here?
32: 7 And wherefore discourage ye the heart of the children of Israel from going over into the land which the LORD hath given them?
32: 8 Thus did your fathers, when I sent them from Kadeshbarnea to see the land.
32: 9 For when they went up unto the valley of Eshcol, and saw the land, they discouraged the heart of the children of Israel, that they should not go into the land which the LORD had given them.
32: 13 And the LORD's anger was kindled against Israel, and he made them wander in the wilderness forty years, until all the generation, that had done evil in the sight of the LORD, was consumed.
32: 14 And, behold, ye are risen up in your fathers'stead, an increase of sinful men, to augment yet the fierce anger of the LORD toward Israel.
32: 15 For if ye turn away from after him, he will yet again leave them in the wilderness; and ye shall destroy all this people.
32: 18 We will not return unto our houses, until the children of Israel have inherited every man his inheritance.
32: 19 For we will not inherit with them on yonder side Jordan, or forward; because our inheritance is fallen to us on this side Jordan eastward.
32: 23 But if ye will not do so, behold, ye have sinned against the LORD: and be sure your sin will find you out.
32: 24 Build you cities for your little ones, and folds for your sheep; and do that which hath proceeded out of your mouth.
32: 25 And the children of Gad and the children of Reuben spake unto Moses, saying, Thy servants will do as my lord commandeth.
32: 26 Our little ones, our wives, our flocks, and all our cattle, shall be there in the cities of Gilead: 32: 27 But thy servants will pass over, every man armed for war, before the LORD to battle, as my lord saith.
32: 31 And the children of Gad and the children of Reuben answered, saying, As the LORD hath said unto thy servants, so will we do.
32: 32 We will pass over armed before the LORD into the land of Canaan, that the possession of our inheritance on this side Jordan may be ours.
32: 34 And the children of Gad built Dibon, and Ataroth, and Aroer, 32: 35 And Atroth, Shophan, and Jaazer, and Jogbehah, 32: 36 And Bethnimrah, and Bethharan, fenced cities: and folds for sheep.
32: 37 And the children of Reuben built Heshbon, and Elealeh, and Kirjathaim, 32: 38 And Nebo, and Baalmeon, (their names being changed,) and Shibmah: and gave other names unto the cities which they builded.
32: 39 And the children of Machir the son of Manasseh went to Gilead, and took it, and dispossessed the Amorite which was in it.
32: 40 And Moses gave Gilead unto Machir the son of Manasseh; and he dwelt therein.
32: 41 And Jair the son of Manasseh went and took the small towns thereof, and called them Havothjair.
32: 42 And Nobah went and took Kenath, and the villages thereof, and called it Nobah, after his own name.
33: 1 These are the journeys of the children of Israel, which went forth out of the land of Egypt with their armies under the hand of Moses and Aaron.
33: 2 And Moses wrote their goings out according to their journeys by the commandment of the LORD: and these are their journeys according to their goings out.
33: 3 And they departed from Rameses in the first month, on the fifteenth day of the first month; on the morrow after the passover the children of Israel went out with an high hand in the sight of all the Egyptians.
33: 4 For the Egyptians buried all their firstborn, which the LORD had smitten among them: upon their gods also the LORD executed judgments.
33: 5 And the children of Israel removed from Rameses, and pitched in Succoth.
33: 6 And they departed from Succoth, and pitched in Etham, which is in the edge of the wilderness.
33: 7 And they removed from Etham, and turned again unto Pihahiroth, which is before Baalzephon: and they pitched before Migdol.
33: 8 And they departed from before Pihahiroth, and passed through the midst of the sea into the wilderness, and went three days'journey in the wilderness of Etham, and pitched in Marah.
33: 9 And they removed from Marah, and came unto Elim: and in Elim were twelve fountains of water, and threescore and ten palm trees; and they pitched there.
33: 10 And they removed from Elim, and encamped by the Red sea.
33: 11 And they removed from the Red sea, and encamped in the wilderness of Sin.
33: 12 And they took their journey out of the wilderness of Sin, and encamped in Dophkah.
33: 13 And they departed from Dophkah, and encamped in Alush.
33: 14 And they removed from Alush, and encamped at Rephidim, where was no water for the people to drink.
33: 15 And they departed from Rephidim, and pitched in the wilderness of Sinai.
33: 16 And they removed from the desert of Sinai, and pitched at Kibrothhattaavah.
33: 17 And they departed from Kibrothhattaavah, and encamped at Hazeroth.
33: 18 And they departed from Hazeroth, and pitched in Rithmah.
33: 19 And they departed from Rithmah, and pitched at Rimmonparez.
33: 20 And they departed from Rimmonparez, and pitched in Libnah.
33: 21 And they removed from Libnah, and pitched at Rissah.
33: 22 And they journeyed from Rissah, and pitched in Kehelathah.
33: 23 And they went from Kehelathah, and pitched in mount Shapher.
33: 24 And they removed from mount Shapher, and encamped in Haradah.
33: 25 And they removed from Haradah, and pitched in Makheloth.
33: 26 And they removed from Makheloth, and encamped at Tahath.
33: 27 And they departed from Tahath, and pitched at Tarah.
33: 28 And they removed from Tarah, and pitched in Mithcah.
33: 29 And they went from Mithcah, and pitched in Hashmonah.
33: 30 And they departed from Hashmonah, and encamped at Moseroth.
33: 31 And they departed from Moseroth, and pitched in Benejaakan.
33: 32 And they removed from Benejaakan, and encamped at Horhagidgad.
33: 33 And they went from Horhagidgad, and pitched in Jotbathah.
33: 34 And they removed from Jotbathah, and encamped at Ebronah.
33: 35 And they departed from Ebronah, and encamped at Eziongaber.
33: 36 And they removed from Eziongaber, and pitched in the wilderness of Zin, which is Kadesh.
33: 37 And they removed from Kadesh, and pitched in mount Hor, in the edge of the land of Edom.
33: 38 And Aaron the priest went up into mount Hor at the commandment of the LORD, and died there, in the fortieth year after the children of Israel were come out of the land of Egypt, in the first day of the fifth month.
33: 39 And Aaron was an hundred and twenty and three years old when he died in mount Hor.
33: 40 And king Arad the Canaanite, which dwelt in the south in the land of Canaan, heard of the coming of the children of Israel.
33: 41 And they departed from mount Hor, and pitched in Zalmonah.
33: 42 And they departed from Zalmonah, and pitched in Punon.
33: 43 And they departed from Punon, and pitched in Oboth.
33: 44 And they departed from Oboth, and pitched in Ijeabarim, in the border of Moab.
33: 45 And they departed from Iim, and pitched in Dibongad.
33: 46 And they removed from Dibongad, and encamped in Almondiblathaim.
33: 47 And they removed from Almondiblathaim, and pitched in the mountains of Abarim, before Nebo.
33: 48 And they departed from the mountains of Abarim, and pitched in the plains of Moab by Jordan near Jericho.
33: 49 And they pitched by Jordan, from Bethjesimoth even unto Abelshittim in the plains of Moab.
33: 55 But if ye will not drive out the inhabitants of the land from before you; then it shall come to pass, that those which ye let remain of them shall be pricks in your eyes, and thorns in your sides, and shall vex you in the land wherein ye dwell.
33: 56 Moreover it shall come to pass, that I shall do unto you, as I thought to do unto them.
34: 6 And as for the western border, ye shall even have the great sea for a border: this shall be your west border.
34: 16 And the LORD spake unto Moses, saying, 34: 17 These are the names of the men which shall divide the land unto you: Eleazar the priest, and Joshua the son of Nun.
34: 18 And ye shall take one prince of every tribe, to divide the land by inheritance.
34: 19 And the names of the men are these: Of the tribe of Judah, Caleb the son of Jephunneh.
34: 20 And of the tribe of the children of Simeon, Shemuel the son of Ammihud.
34: 21 Of the tribe of Benjamin, Elidad the son of Chislon.
34: 22 And the prince of the tribe of the children of Dan, Bukki the son of Jogli.
34: 23 The prince of the children of Joseph, for the tribe of the children of Manasseh, Hanniel the son of Ephod.
34: 24 And the prince of the tribe of the children of Ephraim, Kemuel the son of Shiphtan.
34: 25 And the prince of the tribe of the children of Zebulun, Elizaphan the son of Parnach.
34: 26 And the prince of the tribe of the children of Issachar, Paltiel the son of Azzan.
34: 27 And the prince of the tribe of the children of Asher, Ahihud the son of Shelomi.
34: 28 And the prince of the tribe of the children of Naphtali, Pedahel the son of Ammihud.
34: 29 These are they whom the LORD commanded to divide the inheritance unto the children of Israel in the land of Canaan.
35: 3 And the cities shall they have to dwell in; and the suburbs of them shall be for their cattle, and for their goods, and for all their beasts.
35: 4 And the suburbs of the cities, which ye shall give unto the Levites, shall reach from the wall of the city and outward a thousand cubits round about.
35: 6 And among the cities which ye shall give unto the Levites there shall be six cities for refuge, which ye shall appoint for the manslayer, that he may flee thither: and to them ye shall add forty and two cities.
35: 7 So all the cities which ye shall give to the Levites shall be forty and eight cities: them shall ye give with their suburbs.
35: 12 And they shall be unto you cities for refuge from the avenger; that the manslayer die not, until he stand before the congregation in judgment.
35: 13 And of these cities which ye shall give six cities shall ye have for refuge.
35: 14 Ye shall give three cities on this side Jordan, and three cities shall ye give in the land of Canaan, which shall be cities of refuge.
35: 15 These six cities shall be a refuge, both for the children of Israel, and for the stranger, and for the sojourner among them: that every one that killeth any person unawares may flee thither.
35: 16 And if he smite him with an instrument of iron, so that he die, he is a murderer: the murderer shall surely be put to death.
35: 17 And if he smite him with throwing a stone, wherewith he may die, and he die, he is a murderer: the murderer shall surely be put to death.
35: 18 Or if he smite him with an hand weapon of wood, wherewith he may die, and he die, he is a murderer: the murderer shall surely be put to death.
35: 19 The revenger of blood himself shall slay the murderer: when he meeteth him, he shall slay him.
35: 29 So these things shall be for a statute of judgment unto you throughout your generations in all your dwellings.
35: 30 Whoso killeth any person, the murderer shall be put to death by the mouth of witnesses: but one witness shall not testify against any person to cause him to die.
35: 31 Moreover ye shall take no satisfaction for the life of a murderer, which is guilty of death: but he shall be surely put to death.
35: 32 And ye shall take no satisfaction for him that is fled to the city of his refuge, that he should come again to dwell in the land, until the death of the priest.
35: 33 So ye shall not pollute the land wherein ye are: for blood it defileth the land: and the land cannot be cleansed of the blood that is shed therein, but by the blood of him that shed it.
35: 34 Defile not therefore the land which ye shall inhabit, wherein I dwell: for I the LORD dwell among the children of Israel.
36: 4 And when the jubile of the children of Israel shall be, then shall their inheritance be put unto the inheritance of the tribe whereunto they are received: so shall their inheritance be taken away from the inheritance of the tribe of our fathers.
36: 5 And Moses commanded the children of Israel according to the word of the LORD, saying, The tribe of the sons of Joseph hath said well.
36: 6 This is the thing which the LORD doth command concerning the daughters of Zelophehad, saying, Let them marry to whom they think best; only to the family of the tribe of their father shall they marry.
36: 7 So shall not the inheritance of the children of Israel remove from tribe to tribe: for every one of the children of Israel shall keep himself to the inheritance of the tribe of his fathers.
36: 8 And every daughter, that possesseth an inheritance in any tribe of the children of Israel, shall be wife unto one of the family of the tribe of her father, that the children of Israel may enjoy every man the inheritance of his fathers.
36: 9 Neither shall the inheritance remove from one tribe to another tribe; but every one of the tribes of the children of Israel shall keep himself to his own inheritance.
36: 13 These are the commandments and the judgments, which the LORD commanded by the hand of Moses unto the children of Israel in the plains of Moab by Jordan near Jericho.
The Fifth Book of Moses: Called Deuteronomy
1: 1 These be the words which Moses spake unto all Israel on this side Jordan in the wilderness, in the plain over against the Red sea, between Paran, and Tophel, and Laban, and Hazeroth, and Dizahab.
1: 2 (There are eleven days'journey from Horeb by the way of mount Seir unto Kadeshbarnea.)
1: 8 Behold, I have set the land before you: go in and possess the land which the LORD sware unto your fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to give unto them and to their seed after them.
1: 9 And I spake unto you at that time, saying, I am not able to bear you myself alone: 1: 10 The LORD your God hath multiplied you, and, behold, ye are this day as the stars of heaven for multitude.
1: 11 (The LORD God of your fathers make you a thousand times so many more as ye are, and bless you, as he hath promised you!)
1: 12 How can I myself alone bear your cumbrance, and your burden, and your strife?
1: 13 Take you wise men, and understanding, and known among your tribes, and I will make them rulers over you.
1: 14 And ye answered me, and said, The thing which thou hast spoken is good for us to do.
1: 15 So I took the chief of your tribes, wise men, and known, and made them heads over you, captains over thousands, and captains over hundreds, and captains over fifties, and captains over tens, and officers among your tribes.
1: 16 And I charged your judges at that time, saying, Hear the causes between your brethren, and judge righteously between every man and his brother, and the stranger that is with him.
1: 17 Ye shall not respect persons in judgment; but ye shall hear the small as well as the great; ye shall not be afraid of the face of man; for the judgment is God's: and the cause that is too hard for you, bring it unto me, and I will hear it.
1: 18 And I commanded you at that time all the things which ye should do.
1: 19 And when we departed from Horeb, we went through all that great and terrible wilderness, which ye saw by the way of the mountain of the Amorites, as the LORD our God commanded us; and we came to Kadeshbarnea.
1: 20 And I said unto you, Ye are come unto the mountain of the Amorites, which the LORD our God doth give unto us.
1: 21 Behold, the LORD thy God hath set the land before thee: go up and possess it, as the LORD God of thy fathers hath said unto thee; fear not, neither be discouraged.
1: 22 And ye came near unto me every one of you, and said, We will send men before us, and they shall search us out the land, and bring us word again by what way we must go up, and into what cities we shall come.
1: 23 And the saying pleased me well: and I took twelve men of you, one of a tribe: 1: 24 And they turned and went up into the mountain, and came unto the valley of Eshcol, and searched it out.
1: 25 And they took of the fruit of the land in their hands, and brought it down unto us, and brought us word again, and said, It is a good land which the LORD our God doth give us.
1: 28 Whither shall we go up?
our brethren have discouraged our heart, saying, The people is greater and taller than we; the cities are great and walled up to heaven; and moreover we have seen the sons of the Anakims there.
1: 29 Then I said unto you, Dread not, neither be afraid of them.
1: 32 Yet in this thing ye did not believe the LORD your God, 1: 33 Who went in the way before you, to search you out a place to pitch your tents in, in fire by night, to shew you by what way ye should go, and in a cloud by day.
1: 34 And the LORD heard the voice of your words, and was wroth, and sware, saying, 1: 35 Surely there shall not one of these men of this evil generation see that good land, which I sware to give unto your fathers.
1: 36 Save Caleb the son of Jephunneh; he shall see it, and to him will I give the land that he hath trodden upon, and to his children, because he hath wholly followed the LORD.
1: 37 Also the LORD was angry with me for your sakes, saying, Thou also shalt not go in thither.
1: 38 But Joshua the son of Nun, which standeth before thee, he shall go in thither: encourage him: for he shall cause Israel to inherit it.
1: 39 Moreover your little ones, which ye said should be a prey, and your children, which in that day had no knowledge between good and evil, they shall go in thither, and unto them will I give it, and they shall possess it.
1: 40 But as for you, turn you, and take your journey into the wilderness by the way of the Red sea.
1: 41 Then ye answered and said unto me, We have sinned against the LORD, we will go up and fight, according to all that the LORD our God commanded us.
And when ye had girded on every man his weapons of war, ye were ready to go up into the hill.
1: 42 And the LORD said unto me, Say unto them.
Go not up, neither fight; for I am not among you; lest ye be smitten before your enemies.
1: 43 So I spake unto you; and ye would not hear, but rebelled against the commandment of the LORD, and went presumptuously up into the hill.
1: 44 And the Amorites, which dwelt in that mountain, came out against you, and chased you, as bees do, and destroyed you in Seir, even unto Hormah.
1: 45 And ye returned and wept before the LORD; but the LORD would not hearken to your voice, nor give ear unto you.
1: 46 So ye abode in Kadesh many days, according unto the days that ye abode there.
2: 1 Then we turned, and took our journey into the wilderness by the way of the Red sea, as the LORD spake unto me: and we compassed mount Seir many days.
2: 2 And the LORD spake unto me, saying, 2: 3 Ye have compassed this mountain long enough: turn you northward.
2: 6 Ye shall buy meat of them for money, that ye may eat; and ye shall also buy water of them for money, that ye may drink.
2: 7 For the LORD thy God hath blessed thee in all the works of thy hand: he knoweth thy walking through this great wilderness: these forty years the LORD thy God hath been with thee; thou hast lacked nothing.
2: 8 And when we passed by from our brethren the children of Esau, which dwelt in Seir, through the way of the plain from Elath, and from Eziongaber, we turned and passed by the way of the wilderness of Moab.
2: 9 And the LORD said unto me, Distress not the Moabites, neither contend with them in battle: for I will not give thee of their land for a possession; because I have given Ar unto the children of Lot for a possession.
2: 10 The Emims dwelt therein in times past, a people great, and many, and tall, as the Anakims; 2: 11 Which also were accounted giants, as the Anakims; but the Moabites called them Emims.
2: 12 The Horims also dwelt in Seir beforetime; but the children of Esau succeeded them, when they had destroyed them from before them, and dwelt in their stead; as Israel did unto the land of his possession, which the LORD gave unto them.
2: 13 Now rise up, said I, and get you over the brook Zered.
And we went over the brook Zered.
2: 14 And the space in which we came from Kadeshbarnea, until we were come over the brook Zered, was thirty and eight years; until all the generation of the men of war were wasted out from among the host, as the LORD sware unto them.
2: 15 For indeed the hand of the LORD was against them, to destroy them from among the host, until they were consumed.
2: 24 Rise ye up, take your journey, and pass over the river Arnon: behold, I have given into thine hand Sihon the Amorite, king of Heshbon, and his land: begin to possess it, and contend with him in battle.
2: 25 This day will I begin to put the dread of thee and the fear of thee upon the nations that are under the whole heaven, who shall hear report of thee, and shall tremble, and be in anguish because of thee.
2: 26 And I sent messengers out of the wilderness of Kedemoth unto Sihon king of Heshbon with words of peace, saying, 2: 27 Let me pass through thy land: I will go along by the high way, I will neither turn unto the right hand nor to the left.
2: 30 But Sihon king of Heshbon would not let us pass by him: for the LORD thy God hardened his spirit, and made his heart obstinate, that he might deliver him into thy hand, as appeareth this day.
2: 31 And the LORD said unto me, Behold, I have begun to give Sihon and his land before thee: begin to possess, that thou mayest inherit his land.
2: 32 Then Sihon came out against us, he and all his people, to fight at Jahaz.
2: 33 And the LORD our God delivered him before us; and we smote him, and his sons, and all his people.
2: 34 And we took all his cities at that time, and utterly destroyed the men, and the women, and the little ones, of every city, we left none to remain: 2: 35 Only the cattle we took for a prey unto ourselves, and the spoil of the cities which we took.
3: 1 Then we turned, and went up the way to Bashan: and Og the king of Bashan came out against us, he and all his people, to battle at Edrei.
3: 2 And the LORD said unto me, Fear him not: for I will deliver him, and all his people, and his land, into thy hand; and thou shalt do unto him as thou didst unto Sihon king of the Amorites, which dwelt at Heshbon.
3: 3 So the LORD our God delivered into our hands Og also, the king of Bashan, and all his people: and we smote him until none was left to him remaining.
3: 4 And we took all his cities at that time, there was not a city which we took not from them, threescore cities, all the region of Argob, the kingdom of Og in Bashan.
3: 5 All these cities were fenced with high walls, gates, and bars; beside unwalled towns a great many.
3: 6 And we utterly destroyed them, as we did unto Sihon king of Heshbon, utterly destroying the men, women, and children, of every city.
3: 7 But all the cattle, and the spoil of the cities, we took for a prey to ourselves.
3: 11 For only Og king of Bashan remained of the remnant of giants; behold his bedstead was a bedstead of iron; is it not in Rabbath of the children of Ammon?
nine cubits was the length thereof, and four cubits the breadth of it, after the cubit of a man.
3: 12 And this land, which we possessed at that time, from Aroer, which is by the river Arnon, and half mount Gilead, and the cities thereof, gave I unto the Reubenites and to the Gadites.
3: 13 And the rest of Gilead, and all Bashan, being the kingdom of Og, gave I unto the half tribe of Manasseh; all the region of Argob, with all Bashan, which was called the land of giants.
3: 14 Jair the son of Manasseh took all the country of Argob unto the coasts of Geshuri and Maachathi; and called them after his own name, Bashanhavothjair, unto this day.
3: 15 And I gave Gilead unto Machir.
3: 18 And I commanded you at that time, saying, The LORD your God hath given you this land to possess it: ye shall pass over armed before your brethren the children of Israel, all that are meet for the war.
3: 21 And I commanded Joshua at that time, saying, Thine eyes have seen all that the LORD your God hath done unto these two kings: so shall the LORD do unto all the kingdoms whither thou passest.
3: 22 Ye shall not fear them: for the LORD your God he shall fight for you.
3: 23 And I besought the LORD at that time, saying, 3: 24 O Lord GOD, thou hast begun to shew thy servant thy greatness, and thy mighty hand: for what God is there in heaven or in earth, that can do according to thy works, and according to thy might?
3: 25 I pray thee, let me go over, and see the good land that is beyond Jordan, that goodly mountain, and Lebanon.
3: 26 But the LORD was wroth with me for your sakes, and would not hear me: and the LORD said unto me, Let it suffice thee; speak no more unto me of this matter.
3: 27 Get thee up into the top of Pisgah, and lift up thine eyes westward, and northward, and southward, and eastward, and behold it with thine eyes: for thou shalt not go over this Jordan.
3: 28 But charge Joshua, and encourage him, and strengthen him: for he shall go over before this people, and he shall cause them to inherit the land which thou shalt see.
3: 29 So we abode in the valley over against Bethpeor.
4: 1 Now therefore hearken, O Israel, unto the statutes and unto the judgments, which I teach you, for to do them, that ye may live, and go in and possess the land which the LORD God of your fathers giveth you.
4: 2 Ye shall not add unto the word which I command you, neither shall ye diminish ought from it, that ye may keep the commandments of the LORD your God which I command you.
4: 3 Your eyes have seen what the LORD did because of Baalpeor: for all the men that followed Baalpeor, the LORD thy God hath destroyed them from among you.
4: 4 But ye that did cleave unto the LORD your God are alive every one of you this day.
4: 5 Behold, I have taught you statutes and judgments, even as the LORD my God commanded me, that ye should do so in the land whither ye go to possess it.
4: 6 Keep therefore and do them; for this is your wisdom and your understanding in the sight of the nations, which shall hear all these statutes, and say, Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people.
4: 7 For what nation is there so great, who hath God so nigh unto them, as the LORD our God is in all things that we call upon him for?
4: 8 And what nation is there so great, that hath statutes and judgments so righteous as all this law, which I set before you this day?
4: 11 And ye came near and stood under the mountain; and the mountain burned with fire unto the midst of heaven, with darkness, clouds, and thick darkness.
4: 12 And the LORD spake unto you out of the midst of the fire: ye heard the voice of the words, but saw no similitude; only ye heard a voice.
4: 13 And he declared unto you his covenant, which he commanded you to perform, even ten commandments; and he wrote them upon two tables of stone.
4: 14 And the LORD commanded me at that time to teach you statutes and judgments, that ye might do them in the land whither ye go over to possess it.
4: 20 But the LORD hath taken you, and brought you forth out of the iron furnace, even out of Egypt, to be unto him a people of inheritance, as ye are this day.
4: 23 Take heed unto yourselves, lest ye forget the covenant of the LORD your God, which he made with you, and make you a graven image, or the likeness of any thing, which the LORD thy God hath forbidden thee.
4: 24 For the LORD thy God is a consuming fire, even a jealous God.
4: 27 And the LORD shall scatter you among the nations, and ye shall be left few in number among the heathen, whither the LORD shall lead you.
4: 28 And there ye shall serve gods, the work of men's hands, wood and stone, which neither see, nor hear, nor eat, nor smell.
4: 29 But if from thence thou shalt seek the LORD thy God, thou shalt find him, if thou seek him with all thy heart and with all thy soul.
4: 32 For ask now of the days that are past, which were before thee, since the day that God created man upon the earth, and ask from the one side of heaven unto the other, whether there hath been any such thing as this great thing is, or hath been heard like it?
4: 33 Did ever people hear the voice of God speaking out of the midst of the fire, as thou hast heard, and live?
4: 35 Unto thee it was shewed, that thou mightest know that the LORD he is God; there is none else beside him.
4: 36 Out of heaven he made thee to hear his voice, that he might instruct thee: and upon earth he shewed thee his great fire; and thou heardest his words out of the midst of the fire.
4: 39 Know therefore this day, and consider it in thine heart, that the LORD he is God in heaven above, and upon the earth beneath: there is none else.
4: 40 Thou shalt keep therefore his statutes, and his commandments, which I command thee this day, that it may go well with thee, and with thy children after thee, and that thou mayest prolong thy days upon the earth, which the LORD thy God giveth thee, for ever.
4: 44 And this is the law which Moses set before the children of Israel: 4: 45 These are the testimonies, and the statutes, and the judgments, which Moses spake unto the children of Israel, after they came forth out of Egypt.
5: 1 And Moses called all Israel, and said unto them, Hear, O Israel, the statutes and judgments which I speak in your ears this day, that ye may learn them, and keep, and do them.
5: 2 The LORD our God made a covenant with us in Horeb.
5: 3 The LORD made not this covenant with our fathers, but with us, even us, who are all of us here alive this day.
5: 7 Thou shalt have none other gods before me.
5: 11 Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy God in vain: for the LORD will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.
5: 12 Keep the sabbath day to sanctify it, as the LORD thy God hath commanded thee.
5: 15 And remember that thou wast a servant in the land of Egypt, and that the LORD thy God brought thee out thence through a mighty hand and by a stretched out arm: therefore the LORD thy God commanded thee to keep the sabbath day.
5: 16 Honour thy father and thy mother, as the LORD thy God hath commanded thee; that thy days may be prolonged, and that it may go well with thee, in the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee.
5: 17 Thou shalt not kill.
5: 18 Neither shalt thou commit adultery.
5: 19 Neither shalt thou steal.
5: 20 Neither shalt thou bear false witness against thy neighbour.
5: 21 Neither shalt thou desire thy neighbour's wife, neither shalt thou covet thy neighbour's house, his field, or his manservant, or his maidservant, his ox, or his ass, or any thing that is thy neighbour's.
5: 22 These words the LORD spake unto all your assembly in the mount out of the midst of the fire, of the cloud, and of the thick darkness, with a great voice: and he added no more.
And he wrote them in two tables of stone, and delivered them unto me.
5: 25 Now therefore why should we die?
for this great fire will consume us: if we hear the voice of the LORD our God any more, then we shall die.
5: 26 For who is there of all flesh, that hath heard the voice of the living God speaking out of the midst of the fire, as we have, and lived?
5: 27 Go thou near, and hear all that the LORD our God shall say: and speak thou unto us all that the LORD our God shall speak unto thee; and we will hear it, and do it.
5: 28 And the LORD heard the voice of your words, when ye spake unto me; and the LORD said unto me, I have heard the voice of the words of this people, which they have spoken unto thee: they have well said all that they have spoken.
5: 29 O that there were such an heart in them, that they would fear me, and keep all my commandments always, that it might be well with them, and with their children for ever!
5: 30 Go say to them, Get you into your tents again.
5: 31 But as for thee, stand thou here by me, and I will speak unto thee all the commandments, and the statutes, and the judgments, which thou shalt teach them, that they may do them in the land which I give them to possess it.
5: 32 Ye shall observe to do therefore as the LORD your God hath commanded you: ye shall not turn aside to the right hand or to the left.
5: 33 Ye shall walk in all the ways which the LORD your God hath commanded you, that ye may live, and that it may be well with you, and that ye may prolong your days in the land which ye shall possess.
6: 3 Hear therefore, O Israel, and observe to do it; that it may be well with thee, and that ye may increase mightily, as the LORD God of thy fathers hath promised thee, in the land that floweth with milk and honey.
6: 4 Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God is one LORD: 6: 5 And thou shalt love the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might.
6: 8 And thou shalt bind them for a sign upon thine hand, and they shall be as frontlets between thine eyes.
6: 9 And thou shalt write them upon the posts of thy house, and on thy gates.
6: 13 Thou shalt fear the LORD thy God, and serve him, and shalt swear by his name.
6: 14 Ye shall not go after other gods, of the gods of the people which are round about you; 6: 15 (For the LORD thy God is a jealous God among you) lest the anger of the LORD thy God be kindled against thee, and destroy thee from off the face of the earth.
6: 16 Ye shall not tempt the LORD your God, as ye tempted him in Massah.
6: 17 Ye shall diligently keep the commandments of the LORD your God, and his testimonies, and his statutes, which he hath commanded thee.
6: 18 And thou shalt do that which is right and good in the sight of the LORD: that it may be well with thee, and that thou mayest go in and possess the good land which the LORD sware unto thy fathers.
6: 19 To cast out all thine enemies from before thee, as the LORD hath spoken.
6: 20 And when thy son asketh thee in time to come, saying, What mean the testimonies, and the statutes, and the judgments, which the LORD our God hath commanded you?
6: 24 And the LORD commanded us to do all these statutes, to fear the LORD our God, for our good always, that he might preserve us alive, as it is at this day.
6: 25 And it shall be our righteousness, if we observe to do all these commandments before the LORD our God, as he hath commanded us.
7: 4 For they will turn away thy son from following me, that they may serve other gods: so will the anger of the LORD be kindled against you, and destroy thee suddenly.
7: 5 But thus shall ye deal with them; ye shall destroy their altars, and break down their images, and cut down their groves, and burn their graven images with fire.
7: 6 For thou art an holy people unto the LORD thy God: the LORD thy God hath chosen thee to be a special people unto himself, above all people that are upon the face of the earth.
7: 11 Thou shalt therefore keep the commandments, and the statutes, and the judgments, which I command thee this day, to do them.
7: 14 Thou shalt be blessed above all people: there shall not be male or female barren among you, or among your cattle.
7: 15 And the LORD will take away from thee all sickness, and will put none of the evil diseases of Egypt, which thou knowest, upon thee; but will lay them upon all them that hate thee.
7: 16 And thou shalt consume all the people which the LORD thy God shall deliver thee; thine eye shall have no pity upon them: neither shalt thou serve their gods; for that will be a snare unto thee.
7: 17 If thou shalt say in thine heart, These nations are more than I; how can I dispossess them?
7: 20 Moreover the LORD thy God will send the hornet among them, until they that are left, and hide themselves from thee, be destroyed.
7: 21 Thou shalt not be affrighted at them: for the LORD thy God is among you, a mighty God and terrible.
7: 22 And the LORD thy God will put out those nations before thee by little and little: thou mayest not consume them at once, lest the beasts of the field increase upon thee.
7: 23 But the LORD thy God shall deliver them unto thee, and shall destroy them with a mighty destruction, until they be destroyed.
7: 24 And he shall deliver their kings into thine hand, and thou shalt destroy their name from under heaven: there shall no man be able to stand before thee, until thou have destroyed them.
7: 25 The graven images of their gods shall ye burn with fire: thou shalt not desire the silver or gold that is on them, nor take it unto thee, lest thou be snared therin: for it is an abomination to the LORD thy God.
7: 26 Neither shalt thou bring an abomination into thine house, lest thou be a cursed thing like it: but thou shalt utterly detest it, and thou shalt utterly abhor it; for it is a cursed thing.
8: 1 All the commandments which I command thee this day shall ye observe to do, that ye may live, and multiply, and go in and possess the land which the LORD sware unto your fathers.
8: 2 And thou shalt remember all the way which the LORD thy God led thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee, and to prove thee, to know what was in thine heart, whether thou wouldest keep his commandments, or no.
8: 4 Thy raiment waxed not old upon thee, neither did thy foot swell, these forty years.
8: 5 Thou shalt also consider in thine heart, that, as a man chasteneth his son, so the LORD thy God chasteneth thee.
8: 6 Therefore thou shalt keep the commandments of the LORD thy God, to walk in his ways, and to fear him.
8: 10 When thou hast eaten and art full, then thou shalt bless the LORD thy God for the good land which he hath given thee.
8: 18 But thou shalt remember the LORD thy God: for it is he that giveth thee power to get wealth, that he may establish his covenant which he sware unto thy fathers, as it is this day.
8: 19 And it shall be, if thou do at all forget the LORD thy God, and walk after other gods, and serve them, and worship them, I testify against you this day that ye shall surely perish.
8: 20 As the nations which the LORD destroyeth before your face, so shall ye perish; because ye would not be obedient unto the voice of the LORD your God.
9: 3 Understand therefore this day, that the LORD thy God is he which goeth over before thee; as a consuming fire he shall destroy them, and he shall bring them down before thy face: so shalt thou drive them out, and destroy them quickly, as the LORD hath said unto thee.
9: 4 Speak not thou in thine heart, after that the LORD thy God hath cast them out from before thee, saying, For my righteousness the LORD hath brought me in to possess this land: but for the wickedness of these nations the LORD doth drive them out from before thee.
9: 6 Understand therefore, that the LORD thy God giveth thee not this good land to possess it for thy righteousness; for thou art a stiffnecked people.
9: 7 Remember, and forget not, how thou provokedst the LORD thy God to wrath in the wilderness: from the day that thou didst depart out of the land of Egypt, until ye came unto this place, ye have been rebellious against the LORD.
9: 8 Also in Horeb ye provoked the LORD to wrath, so that the LORD was angry with you to have destroyed you.
9: 11 And it came to pass at the end of forty days and forty nights, that the LORD gave me the two tables of stone, even the tables of the covenant.
9: 12 And the LORD said unto me, Arise, get thee down quickly from hence; for thy people which thou hast brought forth out of Egypt have corrupted themselves; they are quickly turned aside out of the way which I commanded them; they have made them a molten image.
9: 13 Furthermore the LORD spake unto me, saying, I have seen this people, and, behold, it is a stiffnecked people: 9: 14 Let me alone, that I may destroy them, and blot out their name from under heaven: and I will make of thee a nation mightier and greater than they.
9: 15 So I turned and came down from the mount, and the mount burned with fire: and the two tables of the covenant were in my two hands.
9: 16 And I looked, and, behold, ye had sinned against the LORD your God, and had made you a molten calf: ye had turned aside quickly out of the way which the LORD had commanded you.
9: 17 And I took the two tables, and cast them out of my two hands, and brake them before your eyes.
9: 18 And I fell down before the LORD, as at the first, forty days and forty nights: I did neither eat bread, nor drink water, because of all your sins which ye sinned, in doing wickedly in the sight of the LORD, to provoke him to anger.
9: 19 For I was afraid of the anger and hot displeasure, wherewith the LORD was wroth against you to destroy you.
But the LORD hearkened unto me at that time also.
9: 20 And the LORD was very angry with Aaron to have destroyed him: and I prayed for Aaron also the same time.
9: 21 And I took your sin, the calf which ye had made, and burnt it with fire, and stamped it, and ground it very small, even until it was as small as dust: and I cast the dust thereof into the brook that descended out of the mount.
9: 22 And at Taberah, and at Massah, and at Kibrothhattaavah, ye provoked the LORD to wrath.
9: 23 Likewise when the LORD sent you from Kadeshbarnea, saying, Go up and possess the land which I have given you; then ye rebelled against the commandment of the LORD your God, and ye believed him not, nor hearkened to his voice.
9: 24 Ye have been rebellious against the LORD from the day that I knew you.
9: 25 Thus I fell down before the LORD forty days and forty nights, as I fell down at the first; because the LORD had said he would destroy you.
9: 26 I prayed therefore unto the LORD, and said, O Lord GOD, destroy not thy people and thine inheritance, which thou hast redeemed through thy greatness, which thou hast brought forth out of Egypt with a mighty hand.
9: 29 Yet they are thy people and thine inheritance, which thou broughtest out by thy mighty power and by thy stretched out arm.
10: 1 At that time the LORD said unto me, Hew thee two tables of stone like unto the first, and come up unto me into the mount, and make thee an ark of wood.
10: 2 And I will write on the tables the words that were in the first tables which thou brakest, and thou shalt put them in the ark.
10: 3 And I made an ark of shittim wood, and hewed two tables of stone like unto the first, and went up into the mount, having the two tables in mine hand.
10: 4 And he wrote on the tables, according to the first writing, the ten commandments, which the LORD spake unto you in the mount out of the midst of the fire in the day of the assembly: and the LORD gave them unto me.
10: 5 And I turned myself and came down from the mount, and put the tables in the ark which I had made; and there they be, as the LORD commanded me.
10: 6 And the children of Israel took their journey from Beeroth of the children of Jaakan to Mosera: there Aaron died, and there he was buried; and Eleazar his son ministered in the priest's office in his stead.
10: 7 From thence they journeyed unto Gudgodah; and from Gudgodah to Jotbath, a land of rivers of waters.
10: 8 At that time the LORD separated the tribe of Levi, to bear the ark of the covenant of the LORD, to stand before the LORD to minister unto him, and to bless in his name, unto this day.
10: 9 Wherefore Levi hath no part nor inheritance with his brethren; the LORD is his inheritance, according as the LORD thy God promised him.
10: 10 And I stayed in the mount, according to the first time, forty days and forty nights; and the LORD hearkened unto me at that time also, and the LORD would not destroy thee.
10: 11 And the LORD said unto me, Arise, take thy journey before the people, that they may go in and possess the land, which I sware unto their fathers to give unto them.
10: 14 Behold, the heaven and the heaven of heavens is the LORD's thy God, the earth also, with all that therein is.
10: 15 Only the LORD had a delight in thy fathers to love them, and he chose their seed after them, even you above all people, as it is this day.
10: 16 Circumcise therefore the foreskin of your heart, and be no more stiffnecked.
10: 17 For the LORD your God is God of gods, and Lord of lords, a great God, a mighty, and a terrible, which regardeth not persons, nor taketh reward: 10: 18 He doth execute the judgment of the fatherless and widow, and loveth the stranger, in giving him food and raiment.
10: 19 Love ye therefore the stranger: for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt.
10: 20 Thou shalt fear the LORD thy God; him shalt thou serve, and to him shalt thou cleave, and swear by his name.
10: 21 He is thy praise, and he is thy God, that hath done for thee these great and terrible things, which thine eyes have seen.
10: 22 Thy fathers went down into Egypt with threescore and ten persons; and now the LORD thy God hath made thee as the stars of heaven for multitude.
11: 1 Therefore thou shalt love the LORD thy God, and keep his charge, and his statutes, and his judgments, and his commandments, alway.
11: 15 And I will send grass in thy fields for thy cattle, that thou mayest eat and be full.
11: 18 Therefore shall ye lay up these my words in your heart and in your soul, and bind them for a sign upon your hand, that they may be as frontlets between your eyes.
11: 19 And ye shall teach them your children, speaking of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, when thou liest down, and when thou risest up.
11: 20 And thou shalt write them upon the door posts of thine house, and upon thy gates: 11: 21 That your days may be multiplied, and the days of your children, in the land which the LORD sware unto your fathers to give them, as the days of heaven upon the earth.
11: 24 Every place whereon the soles of your feet shall tread shall be yours: from the wilderness and Lebanon, from the river, the river Euphrates, even unto the uttermost sea shall your coast be.
11: 25 There shall no man be able to stand before you: for the LORD your God shall lay the fear of you and the dread of you upon all the land that ye shall tread upon, as he hath said unto you.
11: 29 And it shall come to pass, when the LORD thy God hath brought thee in unto the land whither thou goest to possess it, that thou shalt put the blessing upon mount Gerizim, and the curse upon mount Ebal.
11: 30 Are they not on the other side Jordan, by the way where the sun goeth down, in the land of the Canaanites, which dwell in the champaign over against Gilgal, beside the plains of Moreh?
11: 31 For ye shall pass over Jordan to go in to possess the land which the LORD your God giveth you, and ye shall possess it, and dwell therein.
11: 32 And ye shall observe to do all the statutes and judgments which I set before you this day.
12: 1 These are the statutes and judgments, which ye shall observe to do in the land, which the LORD God of thy fathers giveth thee to possess it, all the days that ye live upon the earth.
12: 4 Ye shall not do so unto the LORD your God.
12: 8 Ye shall not do after all the things that we do here this day, every man whatsoever is right in his own eyes.
12: 9 For ye are not as yet come to the rest and to the inheritance, which the LORD your God giveth you.
12: 13 Take heed to thyself that thou offer not thy burnt offerings in every place that thou seest: 12: 14 But in the place which the LORD shall choose in one of thy tribes, there thou shalt offer thy burnt offerings, and there thou shalt do all that I command thee.
12: 15 Notwithstanding thou mayest kill and eat flesh in all thy gates, whatsoever thy soul lusteth after, according to the blessing of the LORD thy God which he hath given thee: the unclean and the clean may eat thereof, as of the roebuck, and as of the hart.
12: 16 Only ye shall not eat the blood; ye shall pour it upon the earth as water.
12: 19 Take heed to thyself that thou forsake not the Levite as long as thou livest upon the earth.
12: 20 When the LORD thy God shall enlarge thy border, as he hath promised thee, and thou shalt say, I will eat flesh, because thy soul longeth to eat flesh; thou mayest eat flesh, whatsoever thy soul lusteth after.
12: 21 If the place which the LORD thy God hath chosen to put his name there be too far from thee, then thou shalt kill of thy herd and of thy flock, which the LORD hath given thee, as I have commanded thee, and thou shalt eat in thy gates whatsoever thy soul lusteth after.
12: 22 Even as the roebuck and the hart is eaten, so thou shalt eat them: the unclean and the clean shall eat of them alike.
12: 23 Only be sure that thou eat not the blood: for the blood is the life; and thou mayest not eat the life with the flesh.
12: 24 Thou shalt not eat it; thou shalt pour it upon the earth as water.
12: 25 Thou shalt not eat it; that it may go well with thee, and with thy children after thee, when thou shalt do that which is right in the sight of the LORD.
12: 28 Observe and hear all these words which I command thee, that it may go well with thee, and with thy children after thee for ever, when thou doest that which is good and right in the sight of the LORD thy God.
even so will I do likewise.
12: 31 Thou shalt not do so unto the LORD thy God: for every abomination to the LORD, which he hateth, have they done unto their gods; for even their sons and their daughters they have burnt in the fire to their gods.
12: 32 What thing soever I command you, observe to do it: thou shalt not add thereto, nor diminish from it.
13: 4 Ye shall walk after the LORD your God, and fear him, and keep his commandments, and obey his voice, and ye shall serve him, and cleave unto him.
So shalt thou put the evil away from the midst of thee.
13: 10 And thou shalt stone him with stones, that he die; because he hath sought to thrust thee away from the LORD thy God, which brought thee out of the land of Egypt, from the house of bondage.
13: 11 And all Israel shall hear, and fear, and shall do no more any such wickedness as this is among you.
13: 16 And thou shalt gather all the spoil of it into the midst of the street thereof, and shalt burn with fire the city, and all the spoil thereof every whit, for the LORD thy God: and it shall be an heap for ever; it shall not be built again.
14: 1 Ye are the children of the LORD your God: ye shall not cut yourselves, nor make any baldness between your eyes for the dead.
14: 2 For thou art an holy people unto the LORD thy God, and the LORD hath chosen thee to be a peculiar people unto himself, above all the nations that are upon the earth.
14: 3 Thou shalt not eat any abominable thing.
14: 4 These are the beasts which ye shall eat: the ox, the sheep, and the goat, 14: 5 The hart, and the roebuck, and the fallow deer, and the wild goat, and the pygarg, and the wild ox, and the chamois.
14: 6 And every beast that parteth the hoof, and cleaveth the cleft into two claws, and cheweth the cud among the beasts, that ye shall eat.
14: 7 Nevertheless these ye shall not eat of them that chew the cud, or of them that divide the cloven hoof; as the camel, and the hare, and the coney: for they chew the cud, but divide not the hoof; therefore they are unclean unto you.
14: 8 And the swine, because it divideth the hoof, yet cheweth not the cud, it is unclean unto you: ye shall not eat of their flesh, nor touch their dead carcase.
14: 9 These ye shall eat of all that are in the waters: all that have fins and scales shall ye eat: 14: 10 And whatsoever hath not fins and scales ye may not eat; it is unclean unto you.
14: 11 Of all clean birds ye shall eat.
14: 19 And every creeping thing that flieth is unclean unto you: they shall not be eaten.
14: 20 But of all clean fowls ye may eat.
14: 21 Ye shall not eat of anything that dieth of itself: thou shalt give it unto the stranger that is in thy gates, that he may eat it; or thou mayest sell it unto an alien: for thou art an holy people unto the LORD thy God.
Thou shalt not seethe a kid in his mother's milk.
14: 22 Thou shalt truly tithe all the increase of thy seed, that the field bringeth forth year by year.
14: 23 And thou shalt eat before the LORD thy God, in the place which he shall choose to place his name there, the tithe of thy corn, of thy wine, and of thine oil, and the firstlings of thy herds and of thy flocks; that thou mayest learn to fear the LORD thy God always.
15: 1 At the end of every seven years thou shalt make a release.
15: 2 And this is the manner of the release: Every creditor that lendeth ought unto his neighbour shall release it; he shall not exact it of his neighbour, or of his brother; because it is called the LORD's release.
15: 6 For the LORD thy God blesseth thee, as he promised thee: and thou shalt lend unto many nations, but thou shalt not borrow; and thou shalt reign over many nations, but they shall not reign over thee.
15: 9 Beware that there be not a thought in thy wicked heart, saying, The seventh year, the year of release, is at hand; and thine eye be evil against thy poor brother, and thou givest him nought; and he cry unto the LORD against thee, and it be sin unto thee.
15: 10 Thou shalt surely give him, and thine heart shall not be grieved when thou givest unto him: because that for this thing the LORD thy God shall bless thee in all thy works, and in all that thou puttest thine hand unto.
15: 11 For the poor shall never cease out of the land: therefore I command thee, saying, Thou shalt open thine hand wide unto thy brother, to thy poor, and to thy needy, in thy land.
15: 12 And if thy brother, an Hebrew man, or an Hebrew woman, be sold unto thee, and serve thee six years; then in the seventh year thou shalt let him go free from thee.
15: 15 And thou shalt remember that thou wast a bondman in the land of Egypt, and the LORD thy God redeemed thee: therefore I command thee this thing to day.
15: 16 And it shall be, if he say unto thee, I will not go away from thee; because he loveth thee and thine house, because he is well with thee; 15: 17 Then thou shalt take an aul, and thrust it through his ear unto the door, and he shall be thy servant for ever.
And also unto thy maidservant thou shalt do likewise.
15: 18 It shall not seem hard unto thee, when thou sendest him away free from thee; for he hath been worth a double hired servant to thee, in serving thee six years: and the LORD thy God shall bless thee in all that thou doest.
15: 19 All the firstling males that come of thy herd and of thy flock thou shalt sanctify unto the LORD thy God: thou shalt do no work with the firstling of thy bullock, nor shear the firstling of thy sheep.
15: 20 Thou shalt eat it before the LORD thy God year by year in the place which the LORD shall choose, thou and thy household.
15: 21 And if there be any blemish therein, as if it be lame, or blind, or have any ill blemish, thou shalt not sacrifice it unto the LORD thy God.
15: 22 Thou shalt eat it within thy gates: the unclean and the clean person shall eat it alike, as the roebuck, and as the hart.
15: 23 Only thou shalt not eat the blood thereof; thou shalt pour it upon the ground as water.
16: 1 Observe the month of Abib, and keep the passover unto the LORD thy God: for in the month of Abib the LORD thy God brought thee forth out of Egypt by night.
16: 2 Thou shalt therefore sacrifice the passover unto the LORD thy God, of the flock and the herd, in the place which the LORD shall choose to place his name there.
16: 4 And there shall be no leavened bread seen with thee in all thy coast seven days; neither shall there any thing of the flesh, which thou sacrificedst the first day at even, remain all night until the morning.
16: 7 And thou shalt roast and eat it in the place which the LORD thy God shall choose: and thou shalt turn in the morning, and go unto thy tents.
16: 8 Six days thou shalt eat unleavened bread: and on the seventh day shall be a solemn assembly to the LORD thy God: thou shalt do no work therein.
16: 9 Seven weeks shalt thou number unto thee: begin to number the seven weeks from such time as thou beginnest to put the sickle to the corn.
16: 12 And thou shalt remember that thou wast a bondman in Egypt: and thou shalt observe and do these statutes.
16: 15 Seven days shalt thou keep a solemn feast unto the LORD thy God in the place which the LORD shall choose: because the LORD thy God shall bless thee in all thine increase, and in all the works of thine hands, therefore thou shalt surely rejoice.
16: 18 Judges and officers shalt thou make thee in all thy gates, which the LORD thy God giveth thee, throughout thy tribes: and they shall judge the people with just judgment.
16: 19 Thou shalt not wrest judgment; thou shalt not respect persons, neither take a gift: for a gift doth blind the eyes of the wise, and pervert the words of the righteous.
16: 20 That which is altogether just shalt thou follow, that thou mayest live, and inherit the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee.
16: 21 Thou shalt not plant thee a grove of any trees near unto the altar of the LORD thy God, which thou shalt make thee.
16: 22 Neither shalt thou set thee up any image; which the LORD thy God hateth.
17: 1 Thou shalt not sacrifice unto the LORD thy God any bullock, or sheep, wherein is blemish, or any evilfavouredness: for that is an abomination unto the LORD thy God.
17: 6 At the mouth of two witnesses, or three witnesses, shall he that is worthy of death be put to death; but at the mouth of one witness he shall not be put to death.
17: 7 The hands of the witnesses shall be first upon him to put him to death, and afterward the hands of all the people.
So thou shalt put the evil away from among you.
17: 12 And the man that will do presumptuously, and will not hearken unto the priest that standeth to minister there before the LORD thy God, or unto the judge, even that man shall die: and thou shalt put away the evil from Israel.
17: 13 And all the people shall hear, and fear, and do no more presumptuously.
17: 16 But he shall not multiply horses to himself, nor cause the people to return to Egypt, to the end that he should multiply horses: forasmuch as the LORD hath said unto you, Ye shall henceforth return no more that way.
17: 17 Neither shall he multiply wives to himself, that his heart turn not away: neither shall he greatly multiply to himself silver and gold.
18: 1 The priests the Levites, and all the tribe of Levi, shall have no part nor inheritance with Israel: they shall eat the offerings of the LORD made by fire, and his inheritance.
18: 2 Therefore shall they have no inheritance among their brethren: the LORD is their inheritance, as he hath said unto them.
18: 3 And this shall be the priest's due from the people, from them that offer a sacrifice, whether it be ox or sheep; and they shall give unto the priest the shoulder, and the two cheeks, and the maw.
18: 4 The firstfruit also of thy corn, of thy wine, and of thine oil, and the first of the fleece of thy sheep, shalt thou give him.
18: 5 For the LORD thy God hath chosen him out of all thy tribes, to stand to minister in the name of the LORD, him and his sons for ever.
18: 8 They shall have like portions to eat, beside that which cometh of the sale of his patrimony.
18: 9 When thou art come into the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee, thou shalt not learn to do after the abominations of those nations.
18: 10 There shall not be found among you any one that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, or that useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch.
18: 11 Or a charmer, or a consulter with familiar spirits, or a wizard, or a necromancer.
18: 12 For all that do these things are an abomination unto the LORD: and because of these abominations the LORD thy God doth drive them out from before thee.
18: 13 Thou shalt be perfect with the LORD thy God.
18: 14 For these nations, which thou shalt possess, hearkened unto observers of times, and unto diviners: but as for thee, the LORD thy God hath not suffered thee so to do.
18: 17 And the LORD said unto me, They have well spoken that which they have spoken.
18: 18 I will raise them up a Prophet from among their brethren, like unto thee, and will put my words in his mouth; and he shall speak unto them all that I shall command him.
18: 19 And it shall come to pass, that whosoever will not hearken unto my words which he shall speak in my name, I will require it of him.
18: 20 But the prophet, which shall presume to speak a word in my name, which I have not commanded him to speak, or that shall speak in the name of other gods, even that prophet shall die.
18: 21 And if thou say in thine heart, How shall we know the word which the LORD hath not spoken?
18: 22 When a prophet speaketh in the name of the LORD, if the thing follow not, nor come to pass, that is the thing which the LORD hath not spoken, but the prophet hath spoken it presumptuously: thou shalt not be afraid of him.
19: 3 Thou shalt prepare thee a way, and divide the coasts of thy land, which the LORD thy God giveth thee to inherit, into three parts, that every slayer may flee thither.
19: 7 Wherefore I command thee, saying, Thou shalt separate three cities for thee.
19: 13 Thine eye shall not pity him, but thou shalt put away the guilt of innocent blood from Israel, that it may go well with thee.
19: 14 Thou shalt not remove thy neighbour's landmark, which they of old time have set in thine inheritance, which thou shalt inherit in the land that the LORD thy God giveth thee to possess it.
19: 15 One witness shall not rise up against a man for any iniquity, or for any sin, in any sin that he sinneth: at the mouth of two witnesses, or at the mouth of three witnesses, shall the matter be established.
19: 20 And those which remain shall hear, and fear, and shall henceforth commit no more any such evil among you.
19: 21 And thine eye shall not pity; but life shall go for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.
20: 1 When thou goest out to battle against thine enemies, and seest horses, and chariots, and a people more than thou, be not afraid of them: for the LORD thy God is with thee, which brought thee up out of the land of Egypt.
20: 5 And the officers shall speak unto the people, saying, What man is there that hath built a new house, and hath not dedicated it?
let him go and return to his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man dedicate it.
20: 6 And what man is he that hath planted a vineyard, and hath not yet eaten of it?
let him also go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man eat of it.
20: 7 And what man is there that hath betrothed a wife, and hath not taken her?
let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.
20: 8 And the officers shall speak further unto the people, and they shall say, What man is there that is fearful and fainthearted?
let him go and return unto his house, lest his brethren's heart faint as well as his heart.
20: 9 And it shall be, when the officers have made an end of speaking unto the people that they shall make captains of the armies to lead the people.
20: 10 When thou comest nigh unto a city to fight against it, then proclaim peace unto it.
20: 11 And it shall be, if it make thee answer of peace, and open unto thee, then it shall be, that all the people that is found therein shall be tributaries unto thee, and they shall serve thee.
20: 15 Thus shalt thou do unto all the cities which are very far off from thee, which are not of the cities of these nations.
21: 8 Be merciful, O LORD, unto thy people Israel, whom thou hast redeemed, and lay not innocent blood unto thy people of Israel's charge.
And the blood shall be forgiven them.
21: 9 So shalt thou put away the guilt of innocent blood from among you, when thou shalt do that which is right in the sight of the LORD.
21: 14 And it shall be, if thou have no delight in her, then thou shalt let her go whither she will; but thou shalt not sell her at all for money, thou shalt not make merchandise of her, because thou hast humbled her.
21: 21 And all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die: so shalt thou put evil away from among you; and all Israel shall hear, and fear.
22: 1 Thou shalt not see thy brother's ox or his sheep go astray, and hide thyself from them: thou shalt in any case bring them again unto thy brother.
22: 2 And if thy brother be not nigh unto thee, or if thou know him not, then thou shalt bring it unto thine own house, and it shall be with thee until thy brother seek after it, and thou shalt restore it to him again.
22: 3 In like manner shalt thou do with his ass; and so shalt thou do with his raiment; and with all lost thing of thy brother's, which he hath lost, and thou hast found, shalt thou do likewise: thou mayest not hide thyself.
22: 4 Thou shalt not see thy brother's ass or his ox fall down by the way, and hide thyself from them: thou shalt surely help him to lift them up again.
22: 5 The woman shall not wear that which pertaineth unto a man, neither shall a man put on a woman's garment: for all that do so are abomination unto the LORD thy God.
22: 8 When thou buildest a new house, then thou shalt make a battlement for thy roof, that thou bring not blood upon thine house, if any man fall from thence.
22: 9 Thou shalt not sow thy vineyard with divers seeds: lest the fruit of thy seed which thou hast sown, and the fruit of thy vineyard, be defiled.
22: 10 Thou shalt not plow with an ox and an ass together.
22: 11 Thou shalt not wear a garment of divers sorts, as of woollen and linen together.
22: 12 Thou shalt make thee fringes upon the four quarters of thy vesture, wherewith thou coverest thyself.
And they shall spread the cloth before the elders of the city.
22: 22 If a man be found lying with a woman married to an husband, then they shall both of them die, both the man that lay with the woman, and the woman: so shalt thou put away evil from Israel.
22: 25 But if a man find a betrothed damsel in the field, and the man force her, and lie with her: then the man only that lay with her shall die.
22: 30 A man shall not take his father's wife, nor discover his father's skirt.
23: 1 He that is wounded in the stones, or hath his privy member cut off, shall not enter into the congregation of the LORD.
23: 2 A bastard shall not enter into the congregation of the LORD; even to his tenth generation shall he not enter into the congregation of the LORD.
23: 5 Nevertheless the LORD thy God would not hearken unto Balaam; but the LORD thy God turned the curse into a blessing unto thee, because the LORD thy God loved thee.
23: 6 Thou shalt not seek their peace nor their prosperity all thy days for ever.
23: 7 Thou shalt not abhor an Edomite; for he is thy brother: thou shalt not abhor an Egyptian; because thou wast a stranger in his land.
23: 8 The children that are begotten of them shall enter into the congregation of the LORD in their third generation.
23: 9 When the host goeth forth against thine enemies, then keep thee from every wicked thing.
23: 15 Thou shalt not deliver unto his master the servant which is escaped from his master unto thee: 23: 16 He shall dwell with thee, even among you, in that place which he shall choose in one of thy gates, where it liketh him best: thou shalt not oppress him.
23: 17 There shall be no whore of the daughters of Israel, nor a sodomite of the sons of Israel.
23: 18 Thou shalt not bring the hire of a whore, or the price of a dog, into the house of the LORD thy God for any vow: for even both these are abomination unto the LORD thy God.
23: 21 When thou shalt vow a vow unto the LORD thy God, thou shalt not slack to pay it: for the LORD thy God will surely require it of thee; and it would be sin in thee.
23: 22 But if thou shalt forbear to vow, it shall be no sin in thee.
23: 23 That which is gone out of thy lips thou shalt keep and perform; even a freewill offering, according as thou hast vowed unto the LORD thy God, which thou hast promised with thy mouth.
23: 24 When thou comest into thy neighbour's vineyard, then thou mayest eat grapes thy fill at thine own pleasure; but thou shalt not put any in thy vessel.
23: 25 When thou comest into the standing corn of thy neighbour, then thou mayest pluck the ears with thine hand; but thou shalt not move a sickle unto thy neighbour's standing corn.
24: 1 When a man hath taken a wife, and married her, and it come to pass that she find no favour in his eyes, because he hath found some uncleanness in her: then let him write her a bill of divorcement, and give it in her hand, and send her out of his house.
24: 2 And when she is departed out of his house, she may go and be another man's wife.
24: 5 When a man hath taken a new wife, he shall not go out to war, neither shall he be charged with any business: but he shall be free at home one year, and shall cheer up his wife which he hath taken.
24: 6 No man shall take the nether or the upper millstone to pledge: for he taketh a man's life to pledge.
24: 7 If a man be found stealing any of his brethren of the children of Israel, and maketh merchandise of him, or selleth him; then that thief shall die; and thou shalt put evil away from among you.
24: 8 Take heed in the plague of leprosy, that thou observe diligently, and do according to all that the priests the Levites shall teach you: as I commanded them, so ye shall observe to do.
24: 9 Remember what the LORD thy God did unto Miriam by the way, after that ye were come forth out of Egypt.
24: 10 When thou dost lend thy brother any thing, thou shalt not go into his house to fetch his pledge.
24: 11 Thou shalt stand abroad, and the man to whom thou dost lend shall bring out the pledge abroad unto thee.
24: 12 And if the man be poor, thou shalt not sleep with his pledge: 24: 13 In any case thou shalt deliver him the pledge again when the sun goeth down, that he may sleep in his own raiment, and bless thee: and it shall be righteousness unto thee before the LORD thy God.
24: 16 The fathers shall not be put to death for the children, neither shall the children be put to death for the fathers: every man shall be put to death for his own sin.
24: 17 Thou shalt not pervert the judgment of the stranger, nor of the fatherless; nor take a widow's raiment to pledge: 24: 18 But thou shalt remember that thou wast a bondman in Egypt, and the LORD thy God redeemed thee thence: therefore I command thee to do this thing.
24: 19 When thou cuttest down thine harvest in thy field, and hast forgot a sheaf in the field, thou shalt not go again to fetch it: it shall be for the stranger, for the fatherless, and for the widow: that the LORD thy God may bless thee in all the work of thine hands.
24: 20 When thou beatest thine olive tree, thou shalt not go over the boughs again: it shall be for the stranger, for the fatherless, and for the widow.
24: 21 When thou gatherest the grapes of thy vineyard, thou shalt not glean it afterward: it shall be for the stranger, for the fatherless, and for the widow.
24: 22 And thou shalt remember that thou wast a bondman in the land of Egypt: therefore I command thee to do this thing.
25: 1 If there be a controversy between men, and they come unto judgment, that the judges may judge them; then they shall justify the righteous, and condemn the wicked.
25: 2 And it shall be, if the wicked man be worthy to be beaten, that the judge shall cause him to lie down, and to be beaten before his face, according to his fault, by a certain number.
25: 3 Forty stripes he may give him, and not exceed: lest, if he should exceed, and beat him above these with many stripes, then thy brother should seem vile unto thee.
25: 4 Thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn.
25: 5 If brethren dwell together, and one of them die, and have no child, the wife of the dead shall not marry without unto a stranger: her husband's brother shall go in unto her, and take her to him to wife, and perform the duty of an husband's brother unto her.
25: 6 And it shall be, that the firstborn which she beareth shall succeed in the name of his brother which is dead, that his name be not put out of Israel.
25: 7 And if the man like not to take his brother's wife, then let his brother's wife go up to the gate unto the elders, and say, My husband's brother refuseth to raise up unto his brother a name in Israel, he will not perform the duty of my husband's brother.
25: 10 And his name shall be called in Israel, The house of him that hath his shoe loosed.
25: 13 Thou shalt not have in thy bag divers weights, a great and a small.
25: 14 Thou shalt not have in thine house divers measures, a great and a small.
25: 15 But thou shalt have a perfect and just weight, a perfect and just measure shalt thou have: that thy days may be lengthened in the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee.
25: 16 For all that do such things, and all that do unrighteously, are an abomination unto the LORD thy God.
25: 17 Remember what Amalek did unto thee by the way, when ye were come forth out of Egypt; 25: 18 How he met thee by the way, and smote the hindmost of thee, even all that were feeble behind thee, when thou wast faint and weary; and he feared not God.
26: 3 And thou shalt go unto the priest that shall be in those days, and say unto him, I profess this day unto the LORD thy God, that I am come unto the country which the LORD sware unto our fathers for to give us.
26: 4 And the priest shall take the basket out of thine hand, and set it down before the altar of the LORD thy God.
26: 10 And now, behold, I have brought the firstfruits of the land, which thou, O LORD, hast given me.
And thou shalt set it before the LORD thy God, and worship before the LORD thy God: 26: 11 And thou shalt rejoice in every good thing which the LORD thy God hath given unto thee, and unto thine house, thou, and the Levite, and the stranger that is among you.
26: 14 I have not eaten thereof in my mourning, neither have I taken away ought thereof for any unclean use, nor given ought thereof for the dead: but I have hearkened to the voice of the LORD my God, and have done according to all that thou hast commanded me.
26: 15 Look down from thy holy habitation, from heaven, and bless thy people Israel, and the land which thou hast given us, as thou swarest unto our fathers, a land that floweth with milk and honey.
26: 16 This day the LORD thy God hath commanded thee to do these statutes and judgments: thou shalt therefore keep and do them with all thine heart, and with all thy soul.
27: 1 And Moses with the elders of Israel commanded the people, saying, Keep all the commandments which I command you this day.
27: 4 Therefore it shall be when ye be gone over Jordan, that ye shall set up these stones, which I command you this day, in mount Ebal, and thou shalt plaister them with plaister.
27: 5 And there shalt thou build an altar unto the LORD thy God, an altar of stones: thou shalt not lift up any iron tool upon them.
27: 6 Thou shalt build the altar of the LORD thy God of whole stones: and thou shalt offer burnt offerings thereon unto the LORD thy God: 27: 7 And thou shalt offer peace offerings, and shalt eat there, and rejoice before the LORD thy God.
27: 8 And thou shalt write upon the stones all the words of this law very plainly.
27: 9 And Moses and the priests the Levites spake unto all Israel, saying, Take heed, and hearken, O Israel; this day thou art become the people of the LORD thy God.
27: 10 Thou shalt therefore obey the voice of the LORD thy God, and do his commandments and his statutes, which I command thee this day.
27: 14 And the Levites shall speak, and say unto all the men of Israel with a loud voice, 27: 15 Cursed be the man that maketh any graven or molten image, an abomination unto the LORD, the work of the hands of the craftsman, and putteth it in a secret place.
And all the people shall answer and say, Amen.
27: 16 Cursed be he that setteth light by his father or his mother.
And all the people shall say, Amen.
27: 17 Cursed be he that removeth his neighbour's landmark.
And all the people shall say, Amen.
27: 18 Cursed be he that maketh the blind to wander out of the way.
And all the people shall say, Amen.
27: 19 Cursed be he that perverteth the judgment of the stranger, fatherless, and widow.
And all the people shall say, Amen.
27: 20 Cursed be he that lieth with his father's wife; because he uncovereth his father's skirt.
And all the people shall say, Amen.
27: 21 Cursed be he that lieth with any manner of beast.
And all the people shall say, Amen.
27: 22 Cursed be he that lieth with his sister, the daughter of his father, or the daughter of his mother.
And all the people shall say, Amen.
27: 23 Cursed be he that lieth with his mother in law.
And all the people shall say, Amen.
27: 24 Cursed be he that smiteth his neighbour secretly.
And all the people shall say, Amen.
27: 25 Cursed be he that taketh reward to slay an innocent person.
And all the people shall say, Amen.
27: 26 Cursed be he that confirmeth not all the words of this law to do them.
And all the people shall say, Amen.
28: 3 Blessed shalt thou be in the city, and blessed shalt thou be in the field.
28: 4 Blessed shall be the fruit of thy body, and the fruit of thy ground, and the fruit of thy cattle, the increase of thy kine, and the flocks of thy sheep.
28: 5 Blessed shall be thy basket and thy store.
28: 6 Blessed shalt thou be when thou comest in, and blessed shalt thou be when thou goest out.
28: 7 The LORD shall cause thine enemies that rise up against thee to be smitten before thy face: they shall come out against thee one way, and flee before thee seven ways.
28: 8 The LORD shall command the blessing upon thee in thy storehouses, and in all that thou settest thine hand unto; and he shall bless thee in the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee.
28: 9 The LORD shall establish thee an holy people unto himself, as he hath sworn unto thee, if thou shalt keep the commandments of the LORD thy God, and walk in his ways.
28: 10 And all people of the earth shall see that thou art called by the name of the LORD; and they shall be afraid of thee.
28: 11 And the LORD shall make thee plenteous in goods, in the fruit of thy body, and in the fruit of thy cattle, and in the fruit of thy ground, in the land which the LORD sware unto thy fathers to give thee.
28: 12 The LORD shall open unto thee his good treasure, the heaven to give the rain unto thy land in his season, and to bless all the work of thine hand: and thou shalt lend unto many nations, and thou shalt not borrow.
28: 17 Cursed shall be thy basket and thy store.
28: 18 Cursed shall be the fruit of thy body, and the fruit of thy land, the increase of thy kine, and the flocks of thy sheep.
28: 19 Cursed shalt thou be when thou comest in, and cursed shalt thou be when thou goest out.
28: 20 The LORD shall send upon thee cursing, vexation, and rebuke, in all that thou settest thine hand unto for to do, until thou be destroyed, and until thou perish quickly; because of the wickedness of thy doings, whereby thou hast forsaken me.
28: 21 The LORD shall make the pestilence cleave unto thee, until he have consumed thee from off the land, whither thou goest to possess it.
28: 22 The LORD shall smite thee with a consumption, and with a fever, and with an inflammation, and with an extreme burning, and with the sword, and with blasting, and with mildew; and they shall pursue thee until thou perish.
28: 23 And thy heaven that is over thy head shall be brass, and the earth that is under thee shall be iron.
28: 24 The LORD shall make the rain of thy land powder and dust: from heaven shall it come down upon thee, until thou be destroyed.
28: 25 The LORD shall cause thee to be smitten before thine enemies: thou shalt go out one way against them, and flee seven ways before them: and shalt be removed into all the kingdoms of the earth.
28: 26 And thy carcase shall be meat unto all fowls of the air, and unto the beasts of the earth, and no man shall fray them away.
28: 27 The LORD will smite thee with the botch of Egypt, and with the emerods, and with the scab, and with the itch, whereof thou canst not be healed.
28: 30 Thou shalt betroth a wife, and another man shall lie with her: thou shalt build an house, and thou shalt not dwell therein: thou shalt plant a vineyard, and shalt not gather the grapes thereof.
28: 31 Thine ox shall be slain before thine eyes, and thou shalt not eat thereof: thine ass shall be violently taken away from before thy face, and shall not be restored to thee: thy sheep shall be given unto thine enemies, and thou shalt have none to rescue them.
28: 32 Thy sons and thy daughters shall be given unto another people, and thine eyes shall look, and fail with longing for them all the day long; and there shall be no might in thine hand.
28: 33 The fruit of thy land, and all thy labours, shall a nation which thou knowest not eat up; and thou shalt be only oppressed and crushed alway: 28: 34 So that thou shalt be mad for the sight of thine eyes which thou shalt see.
28: 35 The LORD shall smite thee in the knees, and in the legs, with a sore botch that cannot be healed, from the sole of thy foot unto the top of thy head.
28: 36 The LORD shall bring thee, and thy king which thou shalt set over thee, unto a nation which neither thou nor thy fathers have known; and there shalt thou serve other gods, wood and stone.
28: 37 And thou shalt become an astonishment, a proverb, and a byword, among all nations whither the LORD shall lead thee.
28: 38 Thou shalt carry much seed out into the field, and shalt gather but little in; for the locust shall consume it.
28: 39 Thou shalt plant vineyards, and dress them, but shalt neither drink of the wine, nor gather the grapes; for the worms shall eat them.
28: 40 Thou shalt have olive trees throughout all thy coasts, but thou shalt not anoint thyself with the oil; for thine olive shall cast his fruit.
28: 41 Thou shalt beget sons and daughters, but thou shalt not enjoy them; for they shall go into captivity.
28: 42 All thy trees and fruit of thy land shall the locust consume.
28: 43 The stranger that is within thee shall get up above thee very high; and thou shalt come down very low.
28: 44 He shall lend to thee, and thou shalt not lend to him: he shall be the head, and thou shalt be the tail.
28: 52 And he shall besiege thee in all thy gates, until thy high and fenced walls come down, wherein thou trustedst, throughout all thy land: and he shall besiege thee in all thy gates throughout all thy land, which the LORD thy God hath given thee.
28: 60 Moreover he will bring upon thee all the diseases of Egypt, which thou wast afraid of; and they shall cleave unto thee.
28: 61 Also every sickness, and every plague, which is not written in the book of this law, them will the LORD bring upon thee, until thou be destroyed.
28: 62 And ye shall be left few in number, whereas ye were as the stars of heaven for multitude; because thou wouldest not obey the voice of the LORD thy God.
28: 63 And it shall come to pass, that as the LORD rejoiced over you to do you good, and to multiply you; so the LORD will rejoice over you to destroy you, and to bring you to nought; and ye shall be plucked from off the land whither thou goest to possess it.
28: 64 And the LORD shall scatter thee among all people, from the one end of the earth even unto the other; and there thou shalt serve other gods, which neither thou nor thy fathers have known, even wood and stone.
and at even thou shalt say, Would God it were morning!
for the fear of thine heart wherewith thou shalt fear, and for the sight of thine eyes which thou shalt see.
28: 68 And the LORD shall bring thee into Egypt again with ships, by the way whereof I spake unto thee, Thou shalt see it no more again: and there ye shall be sold unto your enemies for bondmen and bondwomen, and no man shall buy you.
29: 1 These are the words of the covenant, which the LORD commanded Moses to make with the children of Israel in the land of Moab, beside the covenant which he made with them in Horeb.
29: 5 And I have led you forty years in the wilderness: your clothes are not waxen old upon you, and thy shoe is not waxen old upon thy foot.
29: 6 Ye have not eaten bread, neither have ye drunk wine or strong drink: that ye might know that I am the LORD your God.
29: 9 Keep therefore the words of this covenant, and do them, that ye may prosper in all that ye do.
what meaneth the heat of this great anger?
29: 29 The secret things belong unto the LORD our God: but those things which are revealed belong unto us and to our children for ever, that we may do all the words of this law.
30: 6 And the LORD thy God will circumcise thine heart, and the heart of thy seed, to love the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, that thou mayest live.
30: 7 And the LORD thy God will put all these curses upon thine enemies, and on them that hate thee, which persecuted thee.
30: 8 And thou shalt return and obey the voice of the LORD, and do all his commandments which I command thee this day.
30: 11 For this commandment which I command thee this day, it is not hidden from thee, neither is it far off.
30: 12 It is not in heaven, that thou shouldest say, Who shall go up for us to heaven, and bring it unto us, that we may hear it, and do it?
30: 13 Neither is it beyond the sea, that thou shouldest say, Who shall go over the sea for us, and bring it unto us, that we may hear it, and do it?
30: 14 But the word is very nigh unto thee, in thy mouth, and in thy heart, that thou mayest do it.
31: 1 And Moses went and spake these words unto all Israel.
31: 2 And he said unto them, I am an hundred and twenty years old this day; I can no more go out and come in: also the LORD hath said unto me, Thou shalt not go over this Jordan.
31: 3 The LORD thy God, he will go over before thee, and he will destroy these nations from before thee, and thou shalt possess them: and Joshua, he shall go over before thee, as the LORD hath said.
31: 4 And the LORD shall do unto them as he did to Sihon and to Og, kings of the Amorites, and unto the land of them, whom he destroyed.
31: 5 And the LORD shall give them up before your face, that ye may do unto them according unto all the commandments which I have commanded you.
31: 6 Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the LORD thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.
31: 7 And Moses called unto Joshua, and said unto him in the sight of all Israel, Be strong and of a good courage: for thou must go with this people unto the land which the LORD hath sworn unto their fathers to give them; and thou shalt cause them to inherit it.
31: 8 And the LORD, he it is that doth go before thee; he will be with thee, he will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed.
31: 9 And Moses wrote this law, and delivered it unto the priests the sons of Levi, which bare the ark of the covenant of the LORD, and unto all the elders of Israel.
31: 14 And the LORD said unto Moses, Behold, thy days approach that thou must die: call Joshua, and present yourselves in the tabernacle of the congregation, that I may give him a charge.
And Moses and Joshua went, and presented themselves in the tabernacle of the congregation.
31: 15 And the LORD appeared in the tabernacle in a pillar of a cloud: and the pillar of the cloud stood over the door of the tabernacle.
31: 18 And I will surely hide my face in that day for all the evils which they shall have wrought, in that they are turned unto other gods.
31: 19 Now therefore write ye this song for you, and teach it the children of Israel: put it in their mouths, that this song may be a witness for me against the children of Israel.
31: 22 Moses therefore wrote this song the same day, and taught it the children of Israel.
31: 23 And he gave Joshua the son of Nun a charge, and said, Be strong and of a good courage: for thou shalt bring the children of Israel into the land which I sware unto them: and I will be with thee.
31: 27 For I know thy rebellion, and thy stiff neck: behold, while I am yet alive with you this day, ye have been rebellious against the LORD; and how much more after my death?
31: 28 Gather unto me all the elders of your tribes, and your officers, that I may speak these words in their ears, and call heaven and earth to record against them.
31: 30 And Moses spake in the ears of all the congregation of Israel the words of this song, until they were ended.
32: 1 Give ear, O ye heavens, and I will speak; and hear, O earth, the words of my mouth.
32: 2 My doctrine shall drop as the rain, my speech shall distil as the dew, as the small rain upon the tender herb, and as the showers upon the grass: 32: 3 Because I will publish the name of the LORD: ascribe ye greatness unto our God.
32: 4 He is the Rock, his work is perfect: for all his ways are judgment: a God of truth and without iniquity, just and right is he.
32: 5 They have corrupted themselves, their spot is not the spot of his children: they are a perverse and crooked generation.
32: 6 Do ye thus requite the LORD, O foolish people and unwise?
is not he thy father that hath bought thee?
hath he not made thee, and established thee?
32: 7 Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations: ask thy father, and he will shew thee; thy elders, and they will tell thee.
32: 8 When the Most High divided to the nations their inheritance, when he separated the sons of Adam, he set the bounds of the people according to the number of the children of Israel.
32: 9 For the LORD's portion is his people; Jacob is the lot of his inheritance.
32: 10 He found him in a desert land, and in the waste howling wilderness; he led him about, he instructed him, he kept him as the apple of his eye.
32: 11 As an eagle stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over her young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth them on her wings: 32: 12 So the LORD alone did lead him, and there was no strange god with him.
32: 15 But Jeshurun waxed fat, and kicked: thou art waxen fat, thou art grown thick, thou art covered with fatness; then he forsook God which made him, and lightly esteemed the Rock of his salvation.
32: 16 They provoked him to jealousy with strange gods, with abominations provoked they him to anger.
32: 17 They sacrificed unto devils, not to God; to gods whom they knew not, to new gods that came newly up, whom your fathers feared not.
32: 18 Of the Rock that begat thee thou art unmindful, and hast forgotten God that formed thee.
32: 19 And when the LORD saw it, he abhorred them, because of the provoking of his sons, and of his daughters.
32: 20 And he said, I will hide my face from them, I will see what their end shall be: for they are a very froward generation, children in whom is no faith.
32: 21 They have moved me to jealousy with that which is not God; they have provoked me to anger with their vanities: and I will move them to jealousy with those which are not a people; I will provoke them to anger with a foolish nation.
32: 22 For a fire is kindled in mine anger, and shall burn unto the lowest hell, and shall consume the earth with her increase, and set on fire the foundations of the mountains.
32: 23 I will heap mischiefs upon them; I will spend mine arrows upon them.
32: 24 They shall be burnt with hunger, and devoured with burning heat, and with bitter destruction: I will also send the teeth of beasts upon them, with the poison of serpents of the dust.
32: 25 The sword without, and terror within, shall destroy both the young man and the virgin, the suckling also with the man of gray hairs.
32: 28 For they are a nation void of counsel, neither is there any understanding in them.
32: 29 O that they were wise, that they understood this, that they would consider their latter end!
32: 30 How should one chase a thousand, and two put ten thousand to flight, except their Rock had sold them, and the LORD had shut them up?
32: 31 For their rock is not as our Rock, even our enemies themselves being judges.
32: 32 For their vine is of the vine of Sodom, and of the fields of Gomorrah: their grapes are grapes of gall, their clusters are bitter: 32: 33 Their wine is the poison of dragons, and the cruel venom of asps.
32: 34 Is not this laid up in store with me, and sealed up among my treasures?
32: 35 To me belongeth vengeance and recompence; their foot shall slide in due time: for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste.
32: 36 For the LORD shall judge his people, and repent himself for his servants, when he seeth that their power is gone, and there is none shut up, or left.
32: 37 And he shall say, Where are their gods, their rock in whom they trusted, 32: 38 Which did eat the fat of their sacrifices, and drank the wine of their drink offerings?
let them rise up and help you, and be your protection.
32: 39 See now that I, even I, am he, and there is no god with me: I kill, and I make alive; I wound, and I heal: neither is there any that can deliver out of my hand.
32: 40 For I lift up my hand to heaven, and say, I live for ever.
32: 41 If I whet my glittering sword, and mine hand take hold on judgment; I will render vengeance to mine enemies, and will reward them that hate me.
32: 42 I will make mine arrows drunk with blood, and my sword shall devour flesh; and that with the blood of the slain and of the captives, from the beginning of revenges upon the enemy.
32: 43 Rejoice, O ye nations, with his people: for he will avenge the blood of his servants, and will render vengeance to his adversaries, and will be merciful unto his land, and to his people.
32: 44 And Moses came and spake all the words of this song in the ears of the people, he, and Hoshea the son of Nun.
32: 45 And Moses made an end of speaking all these words to all Israel: 32: 46 And he said unto them, Set your hearts unto all the words which I testify among you this day, which ye shall command your children to observe to do, all the words of this law.
32: 47 For it is not a vain thing for you; because it is your life: and through this thing ye shall prolong your days in the land, whither ye go over Jordan to possess it.
32: 52 Yet thou shalt see the land before thee; but thou shalt not go thither unto the land which I give the children of Israel.
33: 1 And this is the blessing, wherewith Moses the man of God blessed the children of Israel before his death.
33: 2 And he said, The LORD came from Sinai, and rose up from Seir unto them; he shined forth from mount Paran, and he came with ten thousands of saints: from his right hand went a fiery law for them.
33: 3 Yea, he loved the people; all his saints are in thy hand: and they sat down at thy feet; every one shall receive of thy words.
33: 4 Moses commanded us a law, even the inheritance of the congregation of Jacob.
33: 5 And he was king in Jeshurun, when the heads of the people and the tribes of Israel were gathered together.
33: 6 Let Reuben live, and not die; and let not his men be few.
33: 7 And this is the blessing of Judah: and he said, Hear, LORD, the voice of Judah, and bring him unto his people: let his hands be sufficient for him; and be thou an help to him from his enemies.
33: 10 They shall teach Jacob thy judgments, and Israel thy law: they shall put incense before thee, and whole burnt sacrifice upon thine altar.
33: 11 Bless, LORD, his substance, and accept the work of his hands; smite through the loins of them that rise against him, and of them that hate him, that they rise not again.
33: 12 And of Benjamin he said, The beloved of the LORD shall dwell in safety by him; and the Lord shall cover him all the day long, and he shall dwell between his shoulders.
33: 17 His glory is like the firstling of his bullock, and his horns are like the horns of unicorns: with them he shall push the people together to the ends of the earth: and they are the ten thousands of Ephraim, and they are the thousands of Manasseh.
33: 18 And of Zebulun he said, Rejoice, Zebulun, in thy going out; and, Issachar, in thy tents.
33: 19 They shall call the people unto the mountain; there they shall offer sacrifices of righteousness: for they shall suck of the abundance of the seas, and of treasures hid in the sand.
33: 20 And of Gad he said, Blessed be he that enlargeth Gad: he dwelleth as a lion, and teareth the arm with the crown of the head.
33: 21 And he provided the first part for himself, because there, in a portion of the lawgiver, was he seated; and he came with the heads of the people, he executed the justice of the LORD, and his judgments with Israel.
33: 22 And of Dan he said, Dan is a lion's whelp: he shall leap from Bashan.
33: 23 And of Naphtali he said, O Naphtali, satisfied with favour, and full with the blessing of the LORD: possess thou the west and the south.
33: 24 And of Asher he said, Let Asher be blessed with children; let him be acceptable to his brethren, and let him dip his foot in oil.
33: 25 Thy shoes shall be iron and brass; and as thy days, so shall thy strength be.
33: 26 There is none like unto the God of Jeshurun, who rideth upon the heaven in thy help, and in his excellency on the sky.
33: 27 The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms: and he shall thrust out the enemy from before thee; and shall say, Destroy them.
33: 28 Israel then shall dwell in safety alone: the fountain of Jacob shall be upon a land of corn and wine; also his heavens shall drop down dew.
33: 29 Happy art thou, O Israel: who is like unto thee, O people saved by the LORD, the shield of thy help, and who is the sword of thy excellency!
and thine enemies shall be found liars unto thee; and thou shalt tread upon their high places.
34: 1 And Moses went up from the plains of Moab unto the mountain of Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, that is over against Jericho.
And the LORD shewed him all the land of Gilead, unto Dan, 34: 2 And all Naphtali, and the land of Ephraim, and Manasseh, and all the land of Judah, unto the utmost sea, 34: 3 And the south, and the plain of the valley of Jericho, the city of palm trees, unto Zoar.
34: 4 And the LORD said unto him, This is the land which I sware unto Abraham, unto Isaac, and unto Jacob, saying, I will give it unto thy seed: I have caused thee to see it with thine eyes, but thou shalt not go over thither.
34: 5 So Moses the servant of the LORD died there in the land of Moab, according to the word of the LORD.
34: 6 And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Bethpeor: but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day.
34: 7 And Moses was an hundred and twenty years old when he died: his eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated.
34: 8 And the children of Israel wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty days: so the days of weeping and mourning for Moses were ended.
34: 9 And Joshua the son of Nun was full of the spirit of wisdom; for Moses had laid his hands upon him: and the children of Israel hearkened unto him, and did as the LORD commanded Moses.
The Book of Joshua
1: 3 Every place that the sole of your foot shall tread upon, that have I given unto you, as I said unto Moses.
1: 4 From the wilderness and this Lebanon even unto the great river, the river Euphrates, all the land of the Hittites, and unto the great sea toward the going down of the sun, shall be your coast.
1: 5 There shall not any man be able to stand before thee all the days of thy life: as I was with Moses, so I will be with thee: I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.
1: 6 Be strong and of a good courage: for unto this people shalt thou divide for an inheritance the land, which I sware unto their fathers to give them.
1: 7 Only be thou strong and very courageous, that thou mayest observe to do according to all the law, which Moses my servant commanded thee: turn not from it to the right hand or to the left, that thou mayest prosper withersoever thou goest.
1: 8 This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe to do according to all that is written therein: for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success.
1: 9 Have not I commanded thee?
Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.
1: 12 And to the Reubenites, and to the Gadites, and to half the tribe of Manasseh, spake Joshua, saying, 1: 13 Remember the word which Moses the servant of the LORD commanded you, saying, The LORD your God hath given you rest, and hath given you this land.
1: 16 And they answered Joshua, saying, All that thou commandest us we will do, and whithersoever thou sendest us, we will go.
1: 17 According as we hearkened unto Moses in all things, so will we hearken unto thee: only the LORD thy God be with thee, as he was with Moses.
1: 18 Whosoever he be that doth rebel against thy commandment, and will not hearken unto thy words in all that thou commandest him, he shall be put to death: only be strong and of a good courage.
2: 1 And Joshua the son of Nun sent out of Shittim two men to spy secretly, saying, Go view the land, even Jericho.
And they went, and came into an harlot's house, named Rahab, and lodged there.
2: 2 And it was told the king of Jericho, saying, Behold, there came men in hither to night of the children of Israel to search out the country.
2: 3 And the king of Jericho sent unto Rahab, saying, Bring forth the men that are come to thee, which are entered into thine house: for they be come to search out all the country.
2: 6 But she had brought them up to the roof of the house, and hid them with the stalks of flax, which she had laid in order upon the roof.
2: 7 And the men pursued after them the way to Jordan unto the fords: and as soon as they which pursued after them were gone out, they shut the gate.
2: 8 And before they were laid down, she came up unto them upon the roof; 2: 9 And she said unto the men, I know that the LORD hath given you the land, and that your terror is fallen upon us, and that all the inhabitants of the land faint because of you.
2: 10 For we have heard how the LORD dried up the water of the Red sea for you, when ye came out of Egypt; and what ye did unto the two kings of the Amorites, that were on the other side Jordan, Sihon and Og, whom ye utterly destroyed.
2: 11 And as soon as we had heard these things, our hearts did melt, neither did there remain any more courage in any man, because of you: for the LORD your God, he is God in heaven above, and in earth beneath.
2: 14 And the men answered her, Our life for yours, if ye utter not this our business.
And it shall be, when the LORD hath given us the land, that we will deal kindly and truly with thee.
2: 15 Then she let them down by a cord through the window: for her house was upon the town wall, and she dwelt upon the wall.
2: 16 And she said unto them, Get you to the mountain, lest the pursuers meet you; and hide yourselves there three days, until the pursuers be returned: and afterward may ye go your way.
2: 17 And the men said unto her, We will be blameless of this thine oath which thou hast made us swear.
2: 18 Behold, when we come into the land, thou shalt bind this line of scarlet thread in the window which thou didst let us down by: and thou shalt bring thy father, and thy mother, and thy brethren, and all thy father's household, home unto thee.
2: 19 And it shall be, that whosoever shall go out of the doors of thy house into the street, his blood shall be upon his head, and we will be guiltless: and whosoever shall be with thee in the house, his blood shall be on our head, if any hand be upon him.
2: 20 And if thou utter this our business, then we will be quit of thine oath which thou hast made us to swear.
2: 21 And she said, According unto your words, so be it.
And she sent them away, and they departed: and she bound the scarlet line in the window.
2: 22 And they went, and came unto the mountain, and abode there three days, until the pursuers were returned: and the pursuers sought them throughout all the way, but found them not.
3: 1 And Joshua rose early in the morning; and they removed from Shittim, and came to Jordan, he and all the children of Israel, and lodged there before they passed over.
3: 4 Yet there shall be a space between you and it, about two thousand cubits by measure: come not near unto it, that ye may know the way by which ye must go: for ye have not passed this way heretofore.
3: 5 And Joshua said unto the people, Sanctify yourselves: for to morrow the LORD will do wonders among you.
3: 6 And Joshua spake unto the priests, saying, Take up the ark of the covenant, and pass over before the people.
And they took up the ark of the covenant, and went before the people.
3: 7 And the LORD said unto Joshua, This day will I begin to magnify thee in the sight of all Israel, that they may know that, as I was with Moses, so I will be with thee.
3: 8 And thou shalt command the priests that bear the ark of the covenant, saying, When ye are come to the brink of the water of Jordan, ye shall stand still in Jordan.
3: 9 And Joshua said unto the children of Israel, Come hither, and hear the words of the LORD your God.
3: 10 And Joshua said, Hereby ye shall know that the living God is among you, and that he will without fail drive out from before you the Canaanites, and the Hittites, and the Hivites, and the Perizzites, and the Girgashites, and the Amorites, and the Jebusites.
3: 11 Behold, the ark of the covenant of the LORD of all the earth passeth over before you into Jordan.
3: 12 Now therefore take you twelve men out of the tribes of Israel, out of every tribe a man.
3: 17 And the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of the LORD stood firm on dry ground in the midst of Jordan, and all the Israelites passed over on dry ground, until all the people were passed clean over Jordan.
4: 7 Then ye shall answer them, That the waters of Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the LORD; when it passed over Jordan, the waters of Jordan were cut off: and these stones shall be for a memorial unto the children of Israel for ever.
4: 9 And Joshua set up twelve stones in the midst of Jordan, in the place where the feet of the priests which bare the ark of the covenant stood: and they are there unto this day.
4: 10 For the priests which bare the ark stood in the midst of Jordan, until everything was finished that the LORD commanded Joshua to speak unto the people, according to all that Moses commanded Joshua: and the people hasted and passed over.
4: 11 And it came to pass, when all the people were clean passed over, that the ark of the LORD passed over, and the priests, in the presence of the people.
4: 14 On that day the LORD magnified Joshua in the sight of all Israel; and they feared him, as they feared Moses, all the days of his life.
4: 15 And the LORD spake unto Joshua, saying, 4: 16 Command the priests that bear the ark of the testimony, that they come up out of Jordan.
4: 17 Joshua therefore commanded the priests, saying, Come ye up out of Jordan.
4: 19 And the people came up out of Jordan on the tenth day of the first month, and encamped in Gilgal, in the east border of Jericho.
4: 20 And those twelve stones, which they took out of Jordan, did Joshua pitch in Gilgal.
4: 21 And he spake unto the children of Israel, saying, When your children shall ask their fathers in time to come, saying, What mean these stones?
4: 22 Then ye shall let your children know, saying, Israel came over this Jordan on dry land.
5: 2 At that time the LORD said unto Joshua, Make thee sharp knives, and circumcise again the children of Israel the second time.
5: 3 And Joshua made him sharp knives, and circumcised the children of Israel at the hill of the foreskins.
5: 4 And this is the cause why Joshua did circumcise: All the people that came out of Egypt, that were males, even all the men of war, died in the wilderness by the way, after they came out of Egypt.
5: 5 Now all the people that came out were circumcised: but all the people that were born in the wilderness by the way as they came forth out of Egypt, them they had not circumcised.
5: 7 And their children, whom he raised up in their stead, them Joshua circumcised: for they were uncircumcised, because they had not circumcised them by the way.
5: 8 And it came to pass, when they had done circumcising all the people, that they abode in their places in the camp, till they were whole.
5: 9 And the LORD said unto Joshua, This day have I rolled away the reproach of Egypt from off you.
Wherefore the name of the place is called Gilgal unto this day.
5: 10 And the children of Israel encamped in Gilgal, and kept the passover on the fourteenth day of the month at even in the plains of Jericho.
5: 11 And they did eat of the old corn of the land on the morrow after the passover, unleavened cakes, and parched corn in the selfsame day.
5: 12 And the manna ceased on the morrow after they had eaten of the old corn of the land; neither had the children of Israel manna any more; but they did eat of the fruit of the land of Canaan that year.
5: 13 And it came to pass, when Joshua was by Jericho, that he lifted up his eyes and looked, and, behold, there stood a man over against him with his sword drawn in his hand: and Joshua went unto him, and said unto him, Art thou for us, or for our adversaries?
5: 14 And he said, Nay; but as captain of the host of the LORD am I now come.
And Joshua fell on his face to the earth, and did worship, and said unto him, What saith my Lord unto his servant?
5: 15 And the captain of the LORD's host said unto Joshua, Loose thy shoe from off thy foot; for the place whereon thou standest is holy.
And Joshua did so.
6: 1 Now Jericho was straitly shut up because of the children of Israel: none went out, and none came in.
6: 2 And the LORD said unto Joshua, See, I have given into thine hand Jericho, and the king thereof, and the mighty men of valour.
6: 3 And ye shall compass the city, all ye men of war, and go round about the city once.
Thus shalt thou do six days.
6: 4 And seven priests shall bear before the ark seven trumpets of rams'horns: and the seventh day ye shall compass the city seven times, and the priests shall blow with the trumpets.
6: 6 And Joshua the son of Nun called the priests, and said unto them, Take up the ark of the covenant, and let seven priests bear seven trumpets of rams'horns before the ark of the LORD.
6: 7 And he said unto the people, Pass on, and compass the city, and let him that is armed pass on before the ark of the LORD.
6: 8 And it came to pass, when Joshua had spoken unto the people, that the seven priests bearing the seven trumpets of rams'horns passed on before the LORD, and blew with the trumpets: and the ark of the covenant of the LORD followed them.
6: 9 And the armed men went before the priests that blew with the trumpets, and the rereward came after the ark, the priests going on, and blowing with the trumpets.
6: 10 And Joshua had commanded the people, saying, Ye shall not shout, nor make any noise with your voice, neither shall any word proceed out of your mouth, until the day I bid you shout; then shall ye shout.
6: 11 So the ark of the LORD compassed the city, going about it once: and they came into the camp, and lodged in the camp.
6: 12 And Joshua rose early in the morning, and the priests took up the ark of the LORD.
6: 13 And seven priests bearing seven trumpets of rams'horns before the ark of the LORD went on continually, and blew with the trumpets: and the armed men went before them; but the rereward came after the ark of the LORD, the priests going on, and blowing with the trumpets.
6: 14 And the second day they compassed the city once, and returned into the camp: so they did six days.
6: 15 And it came to pass on the seventh day, that they rose early about the dawning of the day, and compassed the city after the same manner seven times: only on that day they compassed the city seven times.
6: 16 And it came to pass at the seventh time, when the priests blew with the trumpets, Joshua said unto the people, Shout; for the LORD hath given you the city.
6: 17 And the city shall be accursed, even it, and all that are therein, to the LORD: only Rahab the harlot shall live, she and all that are with her in the house, because she hid the messengers that we sent.
6: 18 And ye, in any wise keep yourselves from the accursed thing, lest ye make yourselves accursed, when ye take of the accursed thing, and make the camp of Israel a curse, and trouble it.
6: 19 But all the silver, and gold, and vessels of brass and iron, are consecrated unto the LORD: they shall come into the treasury of the LORD.
6: 21 And they utterly destroyed all that was in the city, both man and woman, young and old, and ox, and sheep, and ass, with the edge of the sword.
6: 22 But Joshua had said unto the two men that had spied out the country, Go into the harlot's house, and bring out thence the woman, and all that she hath, as ye sware unto her.
6: 23 And the young men that were spies went in, and brought out Rahab, and her father, and her mother, and her brethren, and all that she had; and they brought out all her kindred, and left them without the camp of Israel.
6: 24 And they burnt the city with fire, and all that was therein: only the silver, and the gold, and the vessels of brass and of iron, they put into the treasury of the house of the LORD.
6: 25 And Joshua saved Rahab the harlot alive, and her father's household, and all that she had; and she dwelleth in Israel even unto this day; because she hid the messengers, which Joshua sent to spy out Jericho.
6: 26 And Joshua adjured them at that time, saying, Cursed be the man before the LORD, that riseth up and buildeth this city Jericho: he shall lay the foundation thereof in his firstborn, and in his youngest son shall he set up the gates of it.
6: 27 So the LORD was with Joshua; and his fame was noised throughout all the country.
7: 1 But the children of Israel committed a trespass in the accursed thing: for Achan, the son of Carmi, the son of Zabdi, the son of Zerah, of the tribe of Judah, took of the accursed thing: and the anger of the LORD was kindled against the children of Israel.
7: 2 And Joshua sent men from Jericho to Ai, which is beside Bethaven, on the east of Bethel, and spake unto them, saying, Go up and view the country.
And the men went up and viewed Ai.
7: 3 And they returned to Joshua, and said unto him, Let not all the people go up; but let about two or three thousand men go up and smite Ai; and make not all the people to labour thither; for they are but few.
7: 4 So there went up thither of the people about three thousand men: and they fled before the men of Ai.
7: 5 And the men of Ai smote of them about thirty and six men: for they chased them from before the gate even unto Shebarim, and smote them in the going down: wherefore the hearts of the people melted, and became as water.
7: 6 And Joshua rent his clothes, and fell to the earth upon his face before the ark of the LORD until the eventide, he and the elders of Israel, and put dust upon their heads.
7: 7 And Joshua said, Alas, O LORD God, wherefore hast thou at all brought this people over Jordan, to deliver us into the hand of the Amorites, to destroy us?
would to God we had been content, and dwelt on the other side Jordan!
7: 8 O LORD, what shall I say, when Israel turneth their backs before their enemies!
7: 9 For the Canaanites and all the inhabitants of the land shall hear of it, and shall environ us round, and cut off our name from the earth: and what wilt thou do unto thy great name?
7: 10 And the LORD said unto Joshua, Get thee up; wherefore liest thou thus upon thy face?
7: 11 Israel hath sinned, and they have also transgressed my covenant which I commanded them: for they have even taken of the accursed thing, and have also stolen, and dissembled also, and they have put it even among their own stuff.
7: 12 Therefore the children of Israel could not stand before their enemies, but turned their backs before their enemies, because they were accursed: neither will I be with you any more, except ye destroy the accursed from among you.
7: 13 Up, sanctify the people, and say, Sanctify yourselves against to morrow: for thus saith the LORD God of Israel, There is an accursed thing in the midst of thee, O Israel: thou canst not stand before thine enemies, until ye take away the accursed thing from among you.
7: 15 And it shall be, that he that is taken with the accursed thing shall be burnt with fire, he and all that he hath: because he hath transgressed the covenant of the LORD, and because he hath wrought folly in Israel.
7: 19 And Joshua said unto Achan, My son, give, I pray thee, glory to the LORD God of Israel, and make confession unto him; and tell me now what thou hast done; hide it not from me.
7: 22 So Joshua sent messengers, and they ran unto the tent; and, behold, it was hid in his tent, and the silver under it.
7: 23 And they took them out of the midst of the tent, and brought them unto Joshua, and unto all the children of Israel, and laid them out before the LORD.
7: 25 And Joshua said, Why hast thou troubled us?
the LORD shall trouble thee this day.
And all Israel stoned him with stones, and burned them with fire, after they had stoned them with stones.
7: 26 And they raised over him a great heap of stones unto this day.
So the LORD turned from the fierceness of his anger.
Wherefore the name of that place was called, The valley of Achor, unto this day.
8: 3 So Joshua arose, and all the people of war, to go up against Ai: and Joshua chose out thirty thousand mighty men of valour, and sent them away by night.
8: 7 Then ye shall rise up from the ambush, and seize upon the city: for the LORD your God will deliver it into your hand.
8: 8 And it shall be, when ye have taken the city, that ye shall set the city on fire: according to the commandment of the LORD shall ye do.
See, I have commanded you.
8: 9 Joshua therefore sent them forth: and they went to lie in ambush, and abode between Bethel and Ai, on the west side of Ai: but Joshua lodged that night among the people.
8: 10 And Joshua rose up early in the morning, and numbered the people, and went up, he and the elders of Israel, before the people to Ai.
8: 11 And all the people, even the people of war that were with him, went up, and drew nigh, and came before the city, and pitched on the north side of Ai: now there was a valley between them and Ai.
8: 12 And he took about five thousand men, and set them to lie in ambush between Bethel and Ai, on the west side of the city.
8: 13 And when they had set the people, even all the host that was on the north of the city, and their liers in wait on the west of the city, Joshua went that night into the midst of the valley.
8: 15 And Joshua and all Israel made as if they were beaten before them, and fled by the way of the wilderness.
8: 16 And all the people that were in Ai were called together to pursue after them: and they pursued after Joshua, and were drawn away from the city.
8: 17 And there was not a man left in Ai or Bethel, that went not out after Israel: and they left the city open, and pursued after Israel.
8: 18 And the LORD said unto Joshua, Stretch out the spear that is in thy hand toward Ai; for I will give it into thine hand.
And Joshua stretched out the spear that he had in his hand toward the city.
8: 19 And the ambush arose quickly out of their place, and they ran as soon as he had stretched out his hand: and they entered into the city, and took it, and hasted and set the city on fire.
8: 20 And when the men of Ai looked behind them, they saw, and, behold, the smoke of the city ascended up to heaven, and they had no power to flee this way or that way: and the people that fled to the wilderness turned back upon the pursuers.
8: 21 And when Joshua and all Israel saw that the ambush had taken the city, and that the smoke of the city ascended, then they turned again, and slew the men of Ai.
8: 22 And the other issued out of the city against them; so they were in the midst of Israel, some on this side, and some on that side: and they smote them, so that they let none of them remain or escape.
8: 23 And the king of Ai they took alive, and brought him to Joshua.
8: 25 And so it was, that all that fell that day, both of men and women, were twelve thousand, even all the men of Ai.
8: 26 For Joshua drew not his hand back, wherewith he stretched out the spear, until he had utterly destroyed all the inhabitants of Ai.
8: 27 Only the cattle and the spoil of that city Israel took for a prey unto themselves, according unto the word of the LORD which he commanded Joshua.
8: 28 And Joshua burnt Ai, and made it an heap for ever, even a desolation unto this day.
8: 32 And he wrote there upon the stones a copy of the law of Moses, which he wrote in the presence of the children of Israel.
8: 34 And afterward he read all the words of the law, the blessings and cursings, according to all that is written in the book of the law.
8: 35 There was not a word of all that Moses commanded, which Joshua read not before all the congregation of Israel, with the women, and the little ones, and the strangers that were conversant among them.
9: 6 And they went to Joshua unto the camp at Gilgal, and said unto him, and to the men of Israel, We be come from a far country: now therefore make ye a league with us.
9: 7 And the men of Israel said unto the Hivites, Peradventure ye dwell among us; and how shall we make a league with you?
9: 8 And they said unto Joshua, We are thy servants.
And Joshua said unto them, Who are ye?
and from whence come ye?
9: 11 Wherefore our elders and all the inhabitants of our country spake to us, saying, Take victuals with you for the journey, and go to meet them, and say unto them, We are your servants: therefore now make ye a league with us.
9: 14 And the men took of their victuals, and asked not counsel at the mouth of the LORD.
9: 15 And Joshua made peace with them, and made a league with them, to let them live: and the princes of the congregation sware unto them.
9: 16 And it came to pass at the end of three days after they had made a league with them, that they heard that they were their neighbours, and that they dwelt among them.
9: 17 And the children of Israel journeyed, and came unto their cities on the third day.
Now their cities were Gibeon, and Chephirah, and Beeroth, and Kirjathjearim.
9: 18 And the children of Israel smote them not, because the princes of the congregation had sworn unto them by the LORD God of Israel.
And all the congregation murmured against the princes.
9: 19 But all the princes said unto all the congregation, We have sworn unto them by the LORD God of Israel: now therefore we may not touch them.
9: 20 This we will do to them; we will even let them live, lest wrath be upon us, because of the oath which we sware unto them.
9: 21 And the princes said unto them, Let them live; but let them be hewers of wood and drawers of water unto all the congregation; as the princes had promised them.
9: 22 And Joshua called for them, and he spake unto them, saying, Wherefore have ye beguiled us, saying, We are very far from you; when ye dwell among us?
9: 23 Now therefore ye are cursed, and there shall none of you be freed from being bondmen, and hewers of wood and drawers of water for the house of my God.
9: 25 And now, behold, we are in thine hand: as it seemeth good and right unto thee to do unto us, do.
9: 26 And so did he unto them, and delivered them out of the hand of the children of Israel, that they slew them not.
9: 27 And Joshua made them that day hewers of wood and drawers of water for the congregation, and for the altar of the LORD, even unto this day, in the place which he should choose.
10: 5 Therefore the five kings of the Amorites, the king of Jerusalem, the king of Hebron, the king of Jarmuth, the king of Lachish, the king of Eglon, gathered themselves together, and went up, they and all their hosts, and encamped before Gibeon, and made war against it.
10: 6 And the men of Gibeon sent unto Joshua to the camp to Gilgal, saying, Slack not thy hand from thy servants; come up to us quickly, and save us, and help us: for all the kings of the Amorites that dwell in the mountains are gathered together against us.
10: 7 So Joshua ascended from Gilgal, he, and all the people of war with him, and all the mighty men of valour.
10: 8 And the LORD said unto Joshua, Fear them not: for I have delivered them into thine hand; there shall not a man of them stand before thee.
10: 9 Joshua therefore came unto them suddenly, and went up from Gilgal all night.
10: 10 And the LORD discomfited them before Israel, and slew them with a great slaughter at Gibeon, and chased them along the way that goeth up to Bethhoron, and smote them to Azekah, and unto Makkedah.
10: 12 Then spake Joshua to the LORD in the day when the LORD delivered up the Amorites before the children of Israel, and he said in the sight of Israel, Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon.
10: 13 And the sun stood still, and the moon stayed, until the people had avenged themselves upon their enemies.
Is not this written in the book of Jasher?
So the sun stood still in the midst of heaven, and hasted not to go down about a whole day.
10: 14 And there was no day like that before it or after it, that the LORD hearkened unto the voice of a man: for the LORD fought for Israel.
10: 15 And Joshua returned, and all Israel with him, unto the camp to Gilgal.
10: 16 But these five kings fled, and hid themselves in a cave at Makkedah.
10: 17 And it was told Joshua, saying, The five kings are found hid in a cave at Makkedah.
10: 20 And it came to pass, when Joshua and the children of Israel had made an end of slaying them with a very great slaughter, till they were consumed, that the rest which remained of them entered into fenced cities.
10: 21 And all the people returned to the camp to Joshua at Makkedah in peace: none moved his tongue against any of the children of Israel.
10: 22 Then said Joshua, Open the mouth of the cave, and bring out those five kings unto me out of the cave.
10: 23 And they did so, and brought forth those five kings unto him out of the cave, the king of Jerusalem, the king of Hebron, the king of Jarmuth, the king of Lachish, and the king of Eglon.
10: 24 And it came to pass, when they brought out those kings unto Joshua, that Joshua called for all the men of Israel, and said unto the captains of the men of war which went with him, Come near, put your feet upon the necks of these kings.
And they came near, and put their feet upon the necks of them.
10: 25 And Joshua said unto them, Fear not, nor be dismayed, be strong and of good courage: for thus shall the LORD do to all your enemies against whom ye fight.
10: 26 And afterward Joshua smote them, and slew them, and hanged them on five trees: and they were hanging upon the trees until the evening.
10: 27 And it came to pass at the time of the going down of the sun, that Joshua commanded, and they took them down off the trees, and cast them into the cave wherein they had been hid, and laid great stones in the cave's mouth, which remain until this very day.
10: 28 And that day Joshua took Makkedah, and smote it with the edge of the sword, and the king thereof he utterly destroyed, them, and all the souls that were therein; he let none remain: and he did to the king of Makkedah as he did unto the king of Jericho.
10: 33 Then Horam king of Gezer came up to help Lachish; and Joshua smote him and his people, until he had left him none remaining.
10: 40 So Joshua smote all the country of the hills, and of the south, and of the vale, and of the springs, and all their kings: he left none remaining, but utterly destroyed all that breathed, as the LORD God of Israel commanded.
10: 41 And Joshua smote them from Kadeshbarnea even unto Gaza, and all the country of Goshen, even unto Gibeon.
10: 42 And all these kings and their land did Joshua take at one time, because the LORD God of Israel fought for Israel.
10: 43 And Joshua returned, and all Israel with him, unto the camp to Gilgal.
11: 4 And they went out, they and all their hosts with them, much people, even as the sand that is upon the sea shore in multitude, with horses and chariots very many.
11: 5 And when all these kings were met together, they came and pitched together at the waters of Merom, to fight against Israel.
11: 6 And the LORD said unto Joshua, Be not afraid because of them: for to morrow about this time will I deliver them up all slain before Israel: thou shalt hough their horses, and burn their chariots with fire.
11: 7 So Joshua came, and all the people of war with him, against them by the waters of Merom suddenly; and they fell upon them.
11: 8 And the LORD delivered them into the hand of Israel, who smote them, and chased them unto great Zidon, and unto Misrephothmaim, and unto the valley of Mizpeh eastward; and they smote them, until they left them none remaining.
11: 9 And Joshua did unto them as the LORD bade him: he houghed their horses, and burnt their chariots with fire.
11: 10 And Joshua at that time turned back, and took Hazor, and smote the king thereof with the sword: for Hazor beforetime was the head of all those kingdoms.
11: 11 And they smote all the souls that were therein with the edge of the sword, utterly destroying them: there was not any left to breathe: and he burnt Hazor with fire.
11: 12 And all the cities of those kings, and all the kings of them, did Joshua take, and smote them with the edge of the sword, and he utterly destroyed them, as Moses the servant of the LORD commanded.
11: 13 But as for the cities that stood still in their strength, Israel burned none of them, save Hazor only; that did Joshua burn.
11: 14 And all the spoil of these cities, and the cattle, the children of Israel took for a prey unto themselves; but every man they smote with the edge of the sword, until they had destroyed them, neither left they any to breathe.
11: 15 As the LORD commanded Moses his servant, so did Moses command Joshua, and so did Joshua; he left nothing undone of all that the LORD commanded Moses.
11: 18 Joshua made war a long time with all those kings.
11: 19 There was not a city that made peace with the children of Israel, save the Hivites the inhabitants of Gibeon: all other they took in battle.
11: 20 For it was of the LORD to harden their hearts, that they should come against Israel in battle, that he might destroy them utterly, and that they might have no favour, but that he might destroy them, as the LORD commanded Moses.
11: 21 And at that time came Joshua, and cut off the Anakims from the mountains, from Hebron, from Debir, from Anab, and from all the mountains of Judah, and from all the mountains of Israel: Joshua destroyed them utterly with their cities.
11: 22 There was none of the Anakims left in the land of the children of Israel: only in Gaza, in Gath, and in Ashdod, there remained.
11: 23 So Joshua took the whole land, according to all that the LORD said unto Moses; and Joshua gave it for an inheritance unto Israel according to their divisions by their tribes.
And the land rested from war.
12: 6 Them did Moses the servant of the LORD and the children of Israel smite: and Moses the servant of the LORD gave it for a possession unto the Reubenites, and the Gadites, and the half tribe of Manasseh.
13: 1 Now Joshua was old and stricken in years; and the LORD said unto him, Thou art old and stricken in years, and there remaineth yet very much land to be possessed.
13: 6 All the inhabitants of the hill country from Lebanon unto Misrephothmaim, and all the Sidonians, them will I drive out from before the children of Israel: only divide thou it by lot unto the Israelites for an inheritance, as I have commanded thee.
13: 13 Nevertheless the children of Israel expelled not the Geshurites, nor the Maachathites: but the Geshurites and the Maachathites dwell among the Israelites until this day.
13: 14 Only unto the tribes of Levi he gave none inheritance; the sacrifices of the LORD God of Israel made by fire are their inheritance, as he said unto them.
13: 15 And Moses gave unto the tribe of the children of Reuben inheritance according to their families.
13: 22 Balaam also the son of Beor, the soothsayer, did the children of Israel slay with the sword among them that were slain by them.
13: 23 And the border of the children of Reuben was Jordan, and the border thereof.
This was the inheritance of the children of Reuben after their families, the cities and the villages thereof.
13: 24 And Moses gave inheritance unto the tribe of Gad, even unto the children of Gad according to their families.
13: 28 This is the inheritance of the children of Gad after their families, the cities, and their villages.
13: 29 And Moses gave inheritance unto the half tribe of Manasseh: and this was the possession of the half tribe of the children of Manasseh by their families.
13: 32 These are the countries which Moses did distribute for inheritance in the plains of Moab, on the other side Jordan, by Jericho, eastward.
13: 33 But unto the tribe of Levi Moses gave not any inheritance: the LORD God of Israel was their inheritance, as he said unto them.
14: 1 And these are the countries which the children of Israel inherited in the land of Canaan, which Eleazar the priest, and Joshua the son of Nun, and the heads of the fathers of the tribes of the children of Israel, distributed for inheritance to them.
14: 2 By lot was their inheritance, as the LORD commanded by the hand of Moses, for the nine tribes, and for the half tribe.
14: 3 For Moses had given the inheritance of two tribes and an half tribe on the other side Jordan: but unto the Levites he gave none inheritance among them.
14: 4 For the children of Joseph were two tribes, Manasseh and Ephraim: therefore they gave no part unto the Levites in the land, save cities to dwell in, with their suburbs for their cattle and for their substance.
14: 5 As the LORD commanded Moses, so the children of Israel did, and they divided the land.
14: 6 Then the children of Judah came unto Joshua in Gilgal: and Caleb the son of Jephunneh the Kenezite said unto him, Thou knowest the thing that the LORD said unto Moses the man of God concerning me and thee in Kadeshbarnea.
14: 7 Forty years old was I when Moses the servant of the LORD sent me from Kadeshbarnea to espy out the land; and I brought him word again as it was in mine heart.
14: 8 Nevertheless my brethren that went up with me made the heart of the people melt: but I wholly followed the LORD my God.
14: 9 And Moses sware on that day, saying, Surely the land whereon thy feet have trodden shall be thine inheritance, and thy children's for ever, because thou hast wholly followed the LORD my God.
14: 10 And now, behold, the LORD hath kept me alive, as he said, these forty and five years, even since the LORD spake this word unto Moses, while the children of Israel wandered in the wilderness: and now, lo, I am this day fourscore and five years old.
14: 11 As yet I am as strong this day as I was in the day that Moses sent me: as my strength was then, even so is my strength now, for war, both to go out, and to come in.
14: 12 Now therefore give me this mountain, whereof the LORD spake in that day; for thou heardest in that day how the Anakims were there, and that the cities were great and fenced: if so be the LORD will be with me, then I shall be able to drive them out, as the LORD said.
14: 13 And Joshua blessed him, and gave unto Caleb the son of Jephunneh Hebron for an inheritance.
14: 14 Hebron therefore became the inheritance of Caleb the son of Jephunneh the Kenezite unto this day, because that he wholly followed the LORD God of Israel.
14: 15 And the name of Hebron before was Kirjatharba; which Arba was a great man among the Anakims.
And the land had rest from war.
15: 1 This then was the lot of the tribe of the children of Judah by their families; even to the border of Edom the wilderness of Zin southward was the uttermost part of the south coast.
15: 5 And the east border was the salt sea, even unto the end of Jordan.
15: 12 And the west border was to the great sea, and the coast thereof.
This is the coast of the children of Judah round about according to their families.
15: 13 And unto Caleb the son of Jephunneh he gave a part among the children of Judah, according to the commandment of the LORD to Joshua, even the city of Arba the father of Anak, which city is Hebron.
15: 14 And Caleb drove thence the three sons of Anak, Sheshai, and Ahiman, and Talmai, the children of Anak.
15: 15 And he went up thence to the inhabitants of Debir: and the name of Debir before was Kirjathsepher.
15: 16 And Caleb said, He that smiteth Kirjathsepher, and taketh it, to him will I give Achsah my daughter to wife.
15: 17 And Othniel the son of Kenaz, the brother of Caleb, took it: and he gave him Achsah his daughter to wife.
15: 18 And it came to pass, as she came unto him, that she moved him to ask of her father a field: and she lighted off her ass; and Caleb said unto her, What wouldest thou?
15: 19 Who answered, Give me a blessing; for thou hast given me a south land; give me also springs of water.
And he gave her the upper springs, and the nether springs.
15: 20 This is the inheritance of the tribe of the children of Judah according to their families.
15: 63 As for the Jebusites the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the children of Judah could not drive them out; but the Jebusites dwell with the children of Judah at Jerusalem unto this day.
16: 4 So the children of Joseph, Manasseh and Ephraim, took their inheritance.
16: 8 The border went out from Tappuah westward unto the river Kanah; and the goings out thereof were at the sea.
This is the inheritance of the tribe of the children of Ephraim by their families.
16: 9 And the separate cities for the children of Ephraim were among the inheritance of the children of Manasseh, all the cities with their villages.
16: 10 And they drave not out the Canaanites that dwelt in Gezer: but the Canaanites dwell among the Ephraimites unto this day, and serve under tribute.
17: 1 There was also a lot for the tribe of Manasseh; for he was the firstborn of Joseph; to wit, for Machir the firstborn of Manasseh, the father of Gilead: because he was a man of war, therefore he had Gilead and Bashan.
17: 3 But Zelophehad, the son of Hepher, the son of Gilead, the son of Machir, the son of Manasseh, had no sons, but daughters: and these are the names of his daughters, Mahlah, and Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah.
17: 4 And they came near before Eleazar the priest, and before Joshua the son of Nun, and before the princes, saying, The LORD commanded Moses to give us an inheritance among our brethren.
Therefore according to the commandment of the LORD he gave them an inheritance among the brethren of their father.
17: 5 And there fell ten portions to Manasseh, beside the land of Gilead and Bashan, which were on the other side Jordan; 17: 6 Because the daughters of Manasseh had an inheritance among his sons: and the rest of Manasseh's sons had the land of Gilead.
17: 7 And the coast of Manasseh was from Asher to Michmethah, that lieth before Shechem; and the border went along on the right hand unto the inhabitants of Entappuah.
17: 12 Yet the children of Manasseh could not drive out the inhabitants of those cities; but the Canaanites would dwell in that land.
17: 13 Yet it came to pass, when the children of Israel were waxen strong, that they put the Canaanites to tribute, but did not utterly drive them out.
17: 14 And the children of Joseph spake unto Joshua, saying, Why hast thou given me but one lot and one portion to inherit, seeing I am a great people, forasmuch as the LORD hath blessed me hitherto?
17: 15 And Joshua answered them, If thou be a great people, then get thee up to the wood country, and cut down for thyself there in the land of the Perizzites and of the giants, if mount Ephraim be too narrow for thee.
17: 16 And the children of Joseph said, The hill is not enough for us: and all the Canaanites that dwell in the land of the valley have chariots of iron, both they who are of Bethshean and her towns, and they who are of the valley of Jezreel.
18: 1 And the whole congregation of the children of Israel assembled together at Shiloh, and set up the tabernacle of the congregation there.
And the land was subdued before them.
18: 2 And there remained among the children of Israel seven tribes, which had not yet received their inheritance.
18: 3 And Joshua said unto the children of Israel, How long are ye slack to go to possess the land, which the LORD God of your fathers hath given you?
18: 4 Give out from among you three men for each tribe: and I will send them, and they shall rise, and go through the land, and describe it according to the inheritance of them; and they shall come again to me.
18: 5 And they shall divide it into seven parts: Judah shall abide in their coast on the south, and the house of Joseph shall abide in their coasts on the north.
18: 6 Ye shall therefore describe the land into seven parts, and bring the description hither to me, that I may cast lots for you here before the LORD our God.
18: 7 But the Levites have no part among you; for the priesthood of the LORD is their inheritance: and Gad, and Reuben, and half the tribe of Manasseh, have received their inheritance beyond Jordan on the east, which Moses the servant of the LORD gave them.
18: 8 And the men arose, and went away: and Joshua charged them that went to describe the land, saying, Go and walk through the land, and describe it, and come again to me, that I may here cast lots for you before the LORD in Shiloh.
18: 9 And the men went and passed through the land, and described it by cities into seven parts in a book, and came again to Joshua to the host at Shiloh.
18: 10 And Joshua cast lots for them in Shiloh before the LORD: and there Joshua divided the land unto the children of Israel according to their divisions.
18: 11 And the lot of the tribe of the children of Benjamin came up according to their families: and the coast of their lot came forth between the children of Judah and the children of Joseph.
18: 12 And their border on the north side was from Jordan; and the border went up to the side of Jericho on the north side, and went up through the mountains westward; and the goings out thereof were at the wilderness of Bethaven.
18: 13 And the border went over from thence toward Luz, to the side of Luz, which is Bethel, southward; and the border descended to Atarothadar, near the hill that lieth on the south side of the nether Bethhoron.
18: 14 And the border was drawn thence, and compassed the corner of the sea southward, from the hill that lieth before Bethhoron southward; and the goings out thereof were at Kirjathbaal, which is Kirjathjearim, a city of the children of Judah: this was the west quarter.
18: 20 And Jordan was the border of it on the east side.
This was the inheritance of the children of Benjamin, by the coasts thereof round about, according to their families.
This is the inheritance of the children of Benjamin according to their families.
19: 1 And the second lot came forth to Simeon, even for the tribe of the children of Simeon according to their families: and their inheritance was within the inheritance of the children of Judah.
This is the inheritance of the tribe of the children of Simeon according to their families.
19: 9 Out of the portion of the children of Judah was the inheritance of the children of Simeon: for the part of the children of Judah was too much for them: therefore the children of Simeon had their inheritance within the inheritance of them.
19: 16 This is the inheritance of the children of Zebulun according to their families, these cities with their villages.
19: 17 And the fourth lot came out to Issachar, for the children of Issachar according to their families.
19: 23 This is the inheritance of the tribe of the children of Issachar according to their families, the cities and their villages.
19: 24 And the fifth lot came out for the tribe of the children of Asher according to their families.
19: 31 This is the inheritance of the tribe of the children of Asher according to their families, these cities with their villages.
19: 32 The sixth lot came out to the children of Naphtali, even for the children of Naphtali according to their families.
19: 35 And the fenced cities are Ziddim, Zer, and Hammath, Rakkath, and Chinnereth, 19: 36 And Adamah, and Ramah, and Hazor, 19: 37 And Kedesh, and Edrei, and Enhazor, 19: 38 And Iron, and Migdalel, Horem, and Bethanath, and Bethshemesh; nineteen cities with their villages.
19: 39 This is the inheritance of the tribe of the children of Naphtali according to their families, the cities and their villages.
19: 40 And the seventh lot came out for the tribe of the children of Dan according to their families.
19: 48 This is the inheritance of the tribe of the children of Dan according to their families, these cities with their villages.
19: 51 These are the inheritances, which Eleazar the priest, and Joshua the son of Nun, and the heads of the fathers of the tribes of the children of Israel, divided for an inheritance by lot in Shiloh before the LORD, at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
So they made an end of dividing the country.
20: 5 And if the avenger of blood pursue after him, then they shall not deliver the slayer up into his hand; because he smote his neighbour unwittingly, and hated him not beforetime.
20: 7 And they appointed Kedesh in Galilee in mount Naphtali, and Shechem in mount Ephraim, and Kirjatharba, which is Hebron, in the mountain of Judah.
20: 8 And on the other side Jordan by Jericho eastward, they assigned Bezer in the wilderness upon the plain out of the tribe of Reuben, and Ramoth in Gilead out of the tribe of Gad, and Golan in Bashan out of the tribe of Manasseh.
20: 9 These were the cities appointed for all the children of Israel, and for the stranger that sojourneth among them, that whosoever killeth any person at unawares might flee thither, and not die by the hand of the avenger of blood, until he stood before the congregation.
21: 3 And the children of Israel gave unto the Levites out of their inheritance, at the commandment of the LORD, these cities and their suburbs.
21: 4 And the lot came out for the families of the Kohathites: and the children of Aaron the priest, which were of the Levites, had by lot out of the tribe of Judah, and out of the tribe of Simeon, and out of the tribe of Benjamin, thirteen cities.
21: 5 And the rest of the children of Kohath had by lot out of the families of the tribe of Ephraim, and out of the tribe of Dan, and out of the half tribe of Manasseh, ten cities.
21: 6 And the children of Gershon had by lot out of the families of the tribe of Issachar, and out of the tribe of Asher, and out of the tribe of Naphtali, and out of the half tribe of Manasseh in Bashan, thirteen cities.
21: 7 The children of Merari by their families had out of the tribe of Reuben, and out of the tribe of Gad, and out of the tribe of Zebulun, twelve cities.
21: 8 And the children of Israel gave by lot unto the Levites these cities with their suburbs, as the LORD commanded by the hand of Moses.
21: 9 And they gave out of the tribe of the children of Judah, and out of the tribe of the children of Simeon, these cities which are here mentioned by name.
21: 10 Which the children of Aaron, being of the families of the Kohathites, who were of the children of Levi, had: for theirs was the first lot.
21: 11 And they gave them the city of Arba the father of Anak, which city is Hebron, in the hill country of Judah, with the suburbs thereof round about it.
21: 12 But the fields of the city, and the villages thereof, gave they to Caleb the son of Jephunneh for his possession.
21: 17 And out of the tribe of Benjamin, Gibeon with her suburbs, Geba with her suburbs, 21: 18 Anathoth with her suburbs, and Almon with her suburbs; four cities.
21: 19 All the cities of the children of Aaron, the priests, were thirteen cities with their suburbs.
21: 20 And the families of the children of Kohath, the Levites which remained of the children of Kohath, even they had the cities of their lot out of the tribe of Ephraim.
21: 21 For they gave them Shechem with her suburbs in mount Ephraim, to be a city of refuge for the slayer; and Gezer with her suburbs, 21: 22 And Kibzaim with her suburbs, and Bethhoron with her suburbs; four cities.
21: 23 And out of the tribe of Dan, Eltekeh with her suburbs, Gibbethon with her suburbs, 21: 24 Aijalon with her suburbs, Gathrimmon with her suburbs; four cities.
21: 25 And out of the half tribe of Manasseh, Tanach with her suburbs, and Gathrimmon with her suburbs; two cities.
21: 26 All the cities were ten with their suburbs for the families of the children of Kohath that remained.
21: 27 And unto the children of Gershon, of the families of the Levites, out of the other half tribe of Manasseh they gave Golan in Bashan with her suburbs, to be a city of refuge for the slayer; and Beeshterah with her suburbs; two cities.
21: 28 And out of the tribe of Issachar, Kishon with her suburbs, Dabareh with her suburbs, 21: 29 Jarmuth with her suburbs, Engannim with her suburbs; four cities.
21: 30 And out of the tribe of Asher, Mishal with her suburbs, Abdon with her suburbs, 21: 31 Helkath with her suburbs, and Rehob with her suburbs; four cities.
21: 32 And out of the tribe of Naphtali, Kedesh in Galilee with her suburbs, to be a city of refuge for the slayer; and Hammothdor with her suburbs, and Kartan with her suburbs; three cities.
21: 33 All the cities of the Gershonites according to their families were thirteen cities with their suburbs.
21: 34 And unto the families of the children of Merari, the rest of the Levites, out of the tribe of Zebulun, Jokneam with her suburbs, and Kartah with her suburbs, 21: 35 Dimnah with her suburbs, Nahalal with her suburbs; four cities.
21: 36 And out of the tribe of Reuben, Bezer with her suburbs, and Jahazah with her suburbs, 21: 37 Kedemoth with her suburbs, and Mephaath with her suburbs; four cities.
21: 38 And out of the tribe of Gad, Ramoth in Gilead with her suburbs, to be a city of refuge for the slayer; and Mahanaim with her suburbs, 21: 39 Heshbon with her suburbs, Jazer with her suburbs; four cities in all.
21: 40 So all the cities for the children of Merari by their families, which were remaining of the families of the Levites, were by their lot twelve cities.
21: 41 All the cities of the Levites within the possession of the children of Israel were forty and eight cities with their suburbs.
21: 42 These cities were every one with their suburbs round about them: thus were all these cities.
21: 43 And the LORD gave unto Israel all the land which he sware to give unto their fathers; and they possessed it, and dwelt therein.
21: 44 And the LORD gave them rest round about, according to all that he sware unto their fathers: and there stood not a man of all their enemies before them; the LORD delivered all their enemies into their hand.
21: 45 There failed not ought of any good thing which the LORD had spoken unto the house of Israel; all came to pass.
22: 4 And now the LORD your God hath given rest unto your brethren, as he promised them: therefore now return ye, and get you unto your tents, and unto the land of your possession, which Moses the servant of the LORD gave you on the other side Jordan.
22: 6 So Joshua blessed them, and sent them away: and they went unto their tents.
22: 7 Now to the one half of the tribe of Manasseh Moses had given possession in Bashan: but unto the other half thereof gave Joshua among their brethren on this side Jordan westward.
22: 10 And when they came unto the borders of Jordan, that are in the land of Canaan, the children of Reuben and the children of Gad and the half tribe of Manasseh built there an altar by Jordan, a great altar to see to.
22: 11 And the children of Israel heard say, Behold, the children of Reuben and the children of Gad and the half tribe of Manasseh have built an altar over against the land of Canaan, in the borders of Jordan, at the passage of the children of Israel.
22: 12 And when the children of Israel heard of it, the whole congregation of the children of Israel gathered themselves together at Shiloh, to go up to war against them.
22: 17 Is the iniquity of Peor too little for us, from which we are not cleansed until this day, although there was a plague in the congregation of the LORD, 22: 18 But that ye must turn away this day from following the LORD?
and it will be, seeing ye rebel to day against the LORD, that to morrow he will be wroth with the whole congregation of Israel.
22: 20 Did not Achan the son of Zerah commit a trespass in the accursed thing, and wrath fell on all the congregation of Israel?
and that man perished not alone in his iniquity.
22: 25 For the LORD hath made Jordan a border between us and you, ye children of Reuben and children of Gad; ye have no part in the LORD: so shall your children make our children cease from fearing the LORD.
22: 29 God forbid that we should rebel against the LORD, and turn this day from following the LORD, to build an altar for burnt offerings, for meat offerings, or for sacrifices, beside the altar of the LORD our God that is before his tabernacle.
22: 30 And when Phinehas the priest, and the princes of the congregation and heads of the thousands of Israel which were with him, heard the words that the children of Reuben and the children of Gad and the children of Manasseh spake, it pleased them.
22: 32 And Phinehas the son of Eleazar the priest, and the princes, returned from the children of Reuben, and from the children of Gad, out of the land of Gilead, unto the land of Canaan, to the children of Israel, and brought them word again.
22: 33 And the thing pleased the children of Israel; and the children of Israel blessed God, and did not intend to go up against them in battle, to destroy the land wherein the children of Reuben and Gad dwelt.
22: 34 And the children of Reuben and the children of Gad called the altar Ed: for it shall be a witness between us that the LORD is God.
23: 1 And it came to pass a long time after that the LORD had given rest unto Israel from all their enemies round about, that Joshua waxed old and stricken in age.
23: 4 Behold, I have divided unto you by lot these nations that remain, to be an inheritance for your tribes, from Jordan, with all the nations that I have cut off, even unto the great sea westward.
23: 5 And the LORD your God, he shall expel them from before you, and drive them from out of your sight; and ye shall possess their land, as the LORD your God hath promised unto you.
23: 9 For the LORD hath driven out from before you great nations and strong: but as for you, no man hath been able to stand before you unto this day.
23: 10 One man of you shall chase a thousand: for the LORD your God, he it is that fighteth for you, as he hath promised you.
23: 11 Take good heed therefore unto yourselves, that ye love the LORD your God.
23: 15 Therefore it shall come to pass, that as all good things are come upon you, which the LORD your God promised you; so shall the LORD bring upon you all evil things, until he have destroyed you from off this good land which the LORD your God hath given you.
24: 1 And Joshua gathered all the tribes of Israel to Shechem, and called for the elders of Israel, and for their heads, and for their judges, and for their officers; and they presented themselves before God.
24: 2 And Joshua said unto all the people, Thus saith the LORD God of Israel, Your fathers dwelt on the other side of the flood in old time, even Terah, the father of Abraham, and the father of Nachor: and they served other gods.
24: 3 And I took your father Abraham from the other side of the flood, and led him throughout all the land of Canaan, and multiplied his seed, and gave him Isaac.
24: 4 And I gave unto Isaac Jacob and Esau: and I gave unto Esau mount Seir, to possess it; but Jacob and his children went down into Egypt.
24: 5 I sent Moses also and Aaron, and I plagued Egypt, according to that which I did among them: and afterward I brought you out.
24: 6 And I brought your fathers out of Egypt: and ye came unto the sea; and the Egyptians pursued after your fathers with chariots and horsemen unto the Red sea.
24: 7 And when they cried unto the LORD, he put darkness between you and the Egyptians, and brought the sea upon them, and covered them; and your eyes have seen what I have done in Egypt: and ye dwelt in the wilderness a long season.
24: 8 And I brought you into the land of the Amorites, which dwelt on the other side Jordan; and they fought with you: and I gave them into your hand, that ye might possess their land; and I destroyed them from before you.
24: 9 Then Balak the son of Zippor, king of Moab, arose and warred against Israel, and sent and called Balaam the son of Beor to curse you: 24: 10 But I would not hearken unto Balaam; therefore he blessed you still: so I delivered you out of his hand.
24: 11 And you went over Jordan, and came unto Jericho: and the men of Jericho fought against you, the Amorites, and the Perizzites, and the Canaanites, and the Hittites, and the Girgashites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites; and I delivered them into your hand.
24: 12 And I sent the hornet before you, which drave them out from before you, even the two kings of the Amorites; but not with thy sword, nor with thy bow.
24: 13 And I have given you a land for which ye did not labour, and cities which ye built not, and ye dwell in them; of the vineyards and oliveyards which ye planted not do ye eat.
24: 14 Now therefore fear the LORD, and serve him in sincerity and in truth: and put away the gods which your fathers served on the other side of the flood, and in Egypt; and serve ye the LORD.
24: 19 And Joshua said unto the people, Ye cannot serve the LORD: for he is an holy God; he is a jealous God; he will not forgive your transgressions nor your sins.
24: 20 If ye forsake the LORD, and serve strange gods, then he will turn and do you hurt, and consume you, after that he hath done you good.
24: 21 And the people said unto Joshua, Nay; but we will serve the LORD.
24: 22 And Joshua said unto the people, Ye are witnesses against yourselves that ye have chosen you the LORD, to serve him.
And they said, We are witnesses.
24: 23 Now therefore put away, said he, the strange gods which are among you, and incline your heart unto the LORD God of Israel.
24: 24 And the people said unto Joshua, The LORD our God will we serve, and his voice will we obey.
24: 25 So Joshua made a covenant with the people that day, and set them a statute and an ordinance in Shechem.
24: 26 And Joshua wrote these words in the book of the law of God, and took a great stone, and set it up there under an oak, that was by the sanctuary of the LORD.
24: 27 And Joshua said unto all the people, Behold, this stone shall be a witness unto us; for it hath heard all the words of the LORD which he spake unto us: it shall be therefore a witness unto you, lest ye deny your God.
24: 28 So Joshua let the people depart, every man unto his inheritance.
24: 29 And it came to pass after these things, that Joshua the son of Nun, the servant of the LORD, died, being an hundred and ten years old.
24: 30 And they buried him in the border of his inheritance in Timnathserah, which is in mount Ephraim, on the north side of the hill of Gaash.
24: 31 And Israel served the LORD all the days of Joshua, and all the days of the elders that overlived Joshua, and which had known all the works of the LORD, that he had done for Israel.
24: 33 And Eleazar the son of Aaron died; and they buried him in a hill that pertained to Phinehas his son, which was given him in mount Ephraim.
The Book of Judges
1: 1 Now after the death of Joshua it came to pass, that the children of Israel asked the LORD, saying, Who shall go up for us against the Canaanites first, to fight against them?
1: 2 And the LORD said, Judah shall go up: behold, I have delivered the land into his hand.
1: 3 And Judah said unto Simeon his brother, Come up with me into my lot, that we may fight against the Canaanites; and I likewise will go with thee into thy lot.
So Simeon went with him.
1: 4 And Judah went up; and the LORD delivered the Canaanites and the Perizzites into their hand: and they slew of them in Bezek ten thousand men.
1: 5 And they found Adonibezek in Bezek: and they fought against him, and they slew the Canaanites and the Perizzites.
1: 6 But Adonibezek fled; and they pursued after him, and caught him, and cut off his thumbs and his great toes.
1: 7 And Adonibezek said, Threescore and ten kings, having their thumbs and their great toes cut off, gathered their meat under my table: as I have done, so God hath requited me.
And they brought him to Jerusalem, and there he died.
1: 8 Now the children of Judah had fought against Jerusalem, and had taken it, and smitten it with the edge of the sword, and set the city on fire.
1: 9 And afterward the children of Judah went down to fight against the Canaanites, that dwelt in the mountain, and in the south, and in the valley.
1: 10 And Judah went against the Canaanites that dwelt in Hebron: (now the name of Hebron before was Kirjatharba:) and they slew Sheshai, and Ahiman, and Talmai.
1: 11 And from thence he went against the inhabitants of Debir: and the name of Debir before was Kirjathsepher: 1: 12 And Caleb said, He that smiteth Kirjathsepher, and taketh it, to him will I give Achsah my daughter to wife.
1: 13 And Othniel the son of Kenaz, Caleb's younger brother, took it: and he gave him Achsah his daughter to wife.
1: 14 And it came to pass, when she came to him, that she moved him to ask of her father a field: and she lighted from off her ass; and Caleb said unto her, What wilt thou?
1: 15 And she said unto him, Give me a blessing: for thou hast given me a south land; give me also springs of water.
And Caleb gave her the upper springs and the nether springs.
1: 16 And the children of the Kenite, Moses'father in law, went up out of the city of palm trees with the children of Judah into the wilderness of Judah, which lieth in the south of Arad; and they went and dwelt among the people.
1: 17 And Judah went with Simeon his brother, and they slew the Canaanites that inhabited Zephath, and utterly destroyed it.
And the name of the city was called Hormah.
1: 18 Also Judah took Gaza with the coast thereof, and Askelon with the coast thereof, and Ekron with the coast thereof.
1: 19 And the LORD was with Judah; and he drave out the inhabitants of the mountain; but could not drive out the inhabitants of the valley, because they had chariots of iron.
1: 20 And they gave Hebron unto Caleb, as Moses said: and he expelled thence the three sons of Anak.
1: 21 And the children of Benjamin did not drive out the Jebusites that inhabited Jerusalem; but the Jebusites dwell with the children of Benjamin in Jerusalem unto this day.
1: 22 And the house of Joseph, they also went up against Bethel: and the LORD was with them.
1: 23 And the house of Joseph sent to descry Bethel.
(Now the name of the city before was Luz.)
1: 24 And the spies saw a man come forth out of the city, and they said unto him, Shew us, we pray thee, the entrance into the city, and we will shew thee mercy.
1: 25 And when he shewed them the entrance into the city, they smote the city with the edge of the sword; but they let go the man and all his family.
1: 26 And the man went into the land of the Hittites, and built a city, and called the name thereof Luz: which is the name thereof unto this day.
1: 28 And it came to pass, when Israel was strong, that they put the Canaanites to tribute, and did not utterly drive them out.
1: 29 Neither did Ephraim drive out the Canaanites that dwelt in Gezer; but the Canaanites dwelt in Gezer among them.
1: 30 Neither did Zebulun drive out the inhabitants of Kitron, nor the inhabitants of Nahalol; but the Canaanites dwelt among them, and became tributaries.
1: 33 Neither did Naphtali drive out the inhabitants of Bethshemesh, nor the inhabitants of Bethanath; but he dwelt among the Canaanites, the inhabitants of the land: nevertheless the inhabitants of Bethshemesh and of Bethanath became tributaries unto them.
1: 36 And the coast of the Amorites was from the going up to Akrabbim, from the rock, and upward.
2: 1 And an angel of the LORD came up from Gilgal to Bochim, and said, I made you to go up out of Egypt, and have brought you unto the land which I sware unto your fathers; and I said, I will never break my covenant with you.
2: 2 And ye shall make no league with the inhabitants of this land; ye shall throw down their altars: but ye have not obeyed my voice: why have ye done this?
2: 3 Wherefore I also said, I will not drive them out from before you; but they shall be as thorns in your sides, and their gods shall be a snare unto you.
2: 4 And it came to pass, when the angel of the LORD spake these words unto all the children of Israel, that the people lifted up their voice, and wept.
2: 5 And they called the name of that place Bochim: and they sacrificed there unto the LORD.
2: 6 And when Joshua had let the people go, the children of Israel went every man unto his inheritance to possess the land.
2: 7 And the people served the LORD all the days of Joshua, and all the days of the elders that outlived Joshua, who had seen all the great works of the LORD, that he did for Israel.
2: 8 And Joshua the son of Nun, the servant of the LORD, died, being an hundred and ten years old.
2: 9 And they buried him in the border of his inheritance in Timnathheres, in the mount of Ephraim, on the north side of the hill Gaash.
2: 10 And also all that generation were gathered unto their fathers: and there arose another generation after them, which knew not the LORD, nor yet the works which he had done for Israel.
2: 13 And they forsook the LORD, and served Baal and Ashtaroth.
2: 14 And the anger of the LORD was hot against Israel, and he delivered them into the hands of spoilers that spoiled them, and he sold them into the hands of their enemies round about, so that they could not any longer stand before their enemies.
2: 15 Whithersoever they went out, the hand of the LORD was against them for evil, as the LORD had said, and as the LORD had sworn unto them: and they were greatly distressed.
2: 16 Nevertheless the LORD raised up judges, which delivered them out of the hand of those that spoiled them.
2: 17 And yet they would not hearken unto their judges, but they went a whoring after other gods, and bowed themselves unto them: they turned quickly out of the way which their fathers walked in, obeying the commandments of the LORD; but they did not so.
2: 18 And when the LORD raised them up judges, then the LORD was with the judge, and delivered them out of the hand of their enemies all the days of the judge: for it repented the LORD because of their groanings by reason of them that oppressed them and vexed them.
2: 19 And it came to pass, when the judge was dead, that they returned, and corrupted themselves more than their fathers, in following other gods to serve them, and to bow down unto them; they ceased not from their own doings, nor from their stubborn way.
2: 23 Therefore the LORD left those nations, without driving them out hastily; neither delivered he them into the hand of Joshua.
3: 4 And they were to prove Israel by them, to know whether they would hearken unto the commandments of the LORD, which he commanded their fathers by the hand of Moses.
3: 5 And the children of Israel dwelt among the Canaanites, Hittites, and Amorites, and Perizzites, and Hivites, and Jebusites: 3: 6 And they took their daughters to be their wives, and gave their daughters to their sons, and served their gods.
3: 7 And the children of Israel did evil in the sight of the LORD, and forgat the LORD their God, and served Baalim and the groves.
3: 8 Therefore the anger of the LORD was hot against Israel, and he sold them into the hand of Chushanrishathaim king of Mesopotamia: and the children of Israel served Chushanrishathaim eight years.
3: 9 And when the children of Israel cried unto the LORD, the LORD raised up a deliverer to the children of Israel, who delivered them, even Othniel the son of Kenaz, Caleb's younger brother.
3: 10 And the Spirit of the LORD came upon him, and he judged Israel, and went out to war: and the LORD delivered Chushanrishathaim king of Mesopotamia into his hand; and his hand prevailed against Chushanrishathaim.
3: 11 And the land had rest forty years.
And Othniel the son of Kenaz died.
3: 12 And the children of Israel did evil again in the sight of the LORD: and the LORD strengthened Eglon the king of Moab against Israel, because they had done evil in the sight of the LORD.
3: 13 And he gathered unto him the children of Ammon and Amalek, and went and smote Israel, and possessed the city of palm trees.
3: 14 So the children of Israel served Eglon the king of Moab eighteen years.
3: 15 But when the children of Israel cried unto the LORD, the LORD raised them up a deliverer, Ehud the son of Gera, a Benjamite, a man lefthanded: and by him the children of Israel sent a present unto Eglon the king of Moab.
3: 16 But Ehud made him a dagger which had two edges, of a cubit length; and he did gird it under his raiment upon his right thigh.
3: 17 And he brought the present unto Eglon king of Moab: and Eglon was a very fat man.
3: 18 And when he had made an end to offer the present, he sent away the people that bare the present.
3: 19 But he himself turned again from the quarries that were by Gilgal, and said, I have a secret errand unto thee, O king: who said, Keep silence.
And all that stood by him went out from him.
3: 20 And Ehud came unto him; and he was sitting in a summer parlour, which he had for himself alone.
And Ehud said, I have a message from God unto thee.
And he arose out of his seat.
3: 21 And Ehud put forth his left hand, and took the dagger from his right thigh, and thrust it into his belly: 3: 22 And the haft also went in after the blade; and the fat closed upon the blade, so that he could not draw the dagger out of his belly; and the dirt came out.
3: 23 Then Ehud went forth through the porch, and shut the doors of the parlour upon him, and locked them.
3: 24 When he was gone out, his servants came; and when they saw that, behold, the doors of the parlour were locked, they said, Surely he covereth his feet in his summer chamber.
3: 25 And they tarried till they were ashamed: and, behold, he opened not the doors of the parlour; therefore they took a key, and opened them: and, behold, their lord was fallen down dead on the earth.
3: 26 And Ehud escaped while they tarried, and passed beyond the quarries, and escaped unto Seirath.
3: 27 And it came to pass, when he was come, that he blew a trumpet in the mountain of Ephraim, and the children of Israel went down with him from the mount, and he before them.
3: 28 And he said unto them, Follow after me: for the LORD hath delivered your enemies the Moabites into your hand.
And they went down after him, and took the fords of Jordan toward Moab, and suffered not a man to pass over.
3: 29 And they slew of Moab at that time about ten thousand men, all lusty, and all men of valour; and there escaped not a man.
3: 30 So Moab was subdued that day under the hand of Israel.
And the land had rest fourscore years.
3: 31 And after him was Shamgar the son of Anath, which slew of the Philistines six hundred men with an ox goad: and he also delivered Israel.
4: 1 And the children of Israel again did evil in the sight of the LORD, when Ehud was dead.
4: 2 And the LORD sold them into the hand of Jabin king of Canaan, that reigned in Hazor; the captain of whose host was Sisera, which dwelt in Harosheth of the Gentiles.
4: 3 And the children of Israel cried unto the LORD: for he had nine hundred chariots of iron; and twenty years he mightily oppressed the children of Israel.
4: 4 And Deborah, a prophetess, the wife of Lapidoth, she judged Israel at that time.
4: 5 And she dwelt under the palm tree of Deborah between Ramah and Bethel in mount Ephraim: and the children of Israel came up to her for judgment.
4: 6 And she sent and called Barak the son of Abinoam out of Kedeshnaphtali, and said unto him, Hath not the LORD God of Israel commanded, saying, Go and draw toward mount Tabor, and take with thee ten thousand men of the children of Naphtali and of the children of Zebulun?
4: 7 And I will draw unto thee to the river Kishon Sisera, the captain of Jabin's army, with his chariots and his multitude; and I will deliver him into thine hand.
4: 8 And Barak said unto her, If thou wilt go with me, then I will go: but if thou wilt not go with me, then I will not go.
4: 9 And she said, I will surely go with thee: notwithstanding the journey that thou takest shall not be for thine honour; for the LORD shall sell Sisera into the hand of a woman.
And Deborah arose, and went with Barak to Kedesh.
4: 10 And Barak called Zebulun and Naphtali to Kedesh; and he went up with ten thousand men at his feet: and Deborah went up with him.
4: 11 Now Heber the Kenite, which was of the children of Hobab the father in law of Moses, had severed himself from the Kenites, and pitched his tent unto the plain of Zaanaim, which is by Kedesh.
4: 12 And they shewed Sisera that Barak the son of Abinoam was gone up to mount Tabor.
4: 13 And Sisera gathered together all his chariots, even nine hundred chariots of iron, and all the people that were with him, from Harosheth of the Gentiles unto the river of Kishon.
4: 14 And Deborah said unto Barak, Up; for this is the day in which the LORD hath delivered Sisera into thine hand: is not the LORD gone out before thee?
So Barak went down from mount Tabor, and ten thousand men after him.
4: 15 And the LORD discomfited Sisera, and all his chariots, and all his host, with the edge of the sword before Barak; so that Sisera lighted down off his chariot, and fled away on his feet.
4: 16 But Barak pursued after the chariots, and after the host, unto Harosheth of the Gentiles: and all the host of Sisera fell upon the edge of the sword; and there was not a man left.
4: 17 Howbeit Sisera fled away on his feet to the tent of Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite: for there was peace between Jabin the king of Hazor and the house of Heber the Kenite.
4: 18 And Jael went out to meet Sisera, and said unto him, Turn in, my lord, turn in to me; fear not.
And when he had turned in unto her into the tent, she covered him with a mantle.
4: 19 And he said unto her, Give me, I pray thee, a little water to drink; for I am thirsty.
And she opened a bottle of milk, and gave him drink, and covered him.
4: 20 Again he said unto her, Stand in the door of the tent, and it shall be, when any man doth come and enquire of thee, and say, Is there any man here?
that thou shalt say, No.
4: 21 Then Jael Heber's wife took a nail of the tent, and took an hammer in her hand, and went softly unto him, and smote the nail into his temples, and fastened it into the ground: for he was fast asleep and weary.
So he died.
4: 22 And, behold, as Barak pursued Sisera, Jael came out to meet him, and said unto him, Come, and I will shew thee the man whom thou seekest.
And when he came into her tent, behold, Sisera lay dead, and the nail was in his temples.
4: 23 So God subdued on that day Jabin the king of Canaan before the children of Israel.
4: 24 And the hand of the children of Israel prospered, and prevailed against Jabin the king of Canaan, until they had destroyed Jabin king of Canaan.
5: 1 Then sang Deborah and Barak the son of Abinoam on that day, saying, 5: 2 Praise ye the LORD for the avenging of Israel, when the people willingly offered themselves.
5: 3 Hear, O ye kings; give ear, O ye princes; I, even I, will sing unto the LORD; I will sing praise to the LORD God of Israel.
5: 4 LORD, when thou wentest out of Seir, when thou marchedst out of the field of Edom, the earth trembled, and the heavens dropped, the clouds also dropped water.
5: 5 The mountains melted from before the LORD, even that Sinai from before the LORD God of Israel.
5: 6 In the days of Shamgar the son of Anath, in the days of Jael, the highways were unoccupied, and the travellers walked through byways.
5: 7 The inhabitants of the villages ceased, they ceased in Israel, until that I Deborah arose, that I arose a mother in Israel.
5: 8 They chose new gods; then was war in the gates: was there a shield or spear seen among forty thousand in Israel?
5: 9 My heart is toward the governors of Israel, that offered themselves willingly among the people.
Bless ye the LORD.
5: 10 Speak, ye that ride on white asses, ye that sit in judgment, and walk by the way.
5: 12 Awake, awake, Deborah: awake, awake, utter a song: arise, Barak, and lead thy captivity captive, thou son of Abinoam.
5: 13 Then he made him that remaineth have dominion over the nobles among the people: the LORD made me have dominion over the mighty.
5: 14 Out of Ephraim was there a root of them against Amalek; after thee, Benjamin, among thy people; out of Machir came down governors, and out of Zebulun they that handle the pen of the writer.
5: 15 And the princes of Issachar were with Deborah; even Issachar, and also Barak: he was sent on foot into the valley.
For the divisions of Reuben there were great thoughts of heart.
5: 16 Why abodest thou among the sheepfolds, to hear the bleatings of the flocks?
For the divisions of Reuben there were great searchings of heart.
5: 17 Gilead abode beyond Jordan: and why did Dan remain in ships?
Asher continued on the sea shore, and abode in his breaches.
5: 18 Zebulun and Naphtali were a people that jeoparded their lives unto the death in the high places of the field.
5: 19 The kings came and fought, then fought the kings of Canaan in Taanach by the waters of Megiddo; they took no gain of money.
5: 20 They fought from heaven; the stars in their courses fought against Sisera.
5: 21 The river of Kishon swept them away, that ancient river, the river Kishon.
O my soul, thou hast trodden down strength.
5: 22 Then were the horsehoofs broken by the means of the pransings, the pransings of their mighty ones.
5: 23 Curse ye Meroz, said the angel of the LORD, curse ye bitterly the inhabitants thereof; because they came not to the help of the LORD, to the help of the LORD against the mighty.
5: 24 Blessed above women shall Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite be, blessed shall she be above women in the tent.
5: 25 He asked water, and she gave him milk; she brought forth butter in a lordly dish.
5: 26 She put her hand to the nail, and her right hand to the workmen's hammer; and with the hammer she smote Sisera, she smote off his head, when she had pierced and stricken through his temples.
5: 27 At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay down: at her feet he bowed, he fell: where he bowed, there he fell down dead.
5: 28 The mother of Sisera looked out at a window, and cried through the lattice, Why is his chariot so long in coming?
why tarry the wheels of his chariots?
5: 29 Her wise ladies answered her, yea, she returned answer to herself, 5: 30 Have they not sped?
have they not divided the prey; to every man a damsel or two; to Sisera a prey of divers colours, a prey of divers colours of needlework, of divers colours of needlework on both sides, meet for the necks of them that take the spoil?
5: 31 So let all thine enemies perish, O LORD: but let them that love him be as the sun when he goeth forth in his might.
And the land had rest forty years.
6: 1 And the children of Israel did evil in the sight of the LORD: and the LORD delivered them into the hand of Midian seven years.
6: 2 And the hand of Midian prevailed against Israel: and because of the Midianites the children of Israel made them the dens which are in the mountains, and caves, and strong holds.
6: 5 For they came up with their cattle and their tents, and they came as grasshoppers for multitude; for both they and their camels were without number: and they entered into the land to destroy it.
6: 6 And Israel was greatly impoverished because of the Midianites; and the children of Israel cried unto the LORD.
6: 11 And there came an angel of the LORD, and sat under an oak which was in Ophrah, that pertained unto Joash the Abiezrite: and his son Gideon threshed wheat by the winepress, to hide it from the Midianites.
6: 12 And the angel of the LORD appeared unto him, and said unto him, The LORD is with thee, thou mighty man of valour.
6: 13 And Gideon said unto him, Oh my Lord, if the LORD be with us, why then is all this befallen us?
and where be all his miracles which our fathers told us of, saying, Did not the LORD bring us up from Egypt?
but now the LORD hath forsaken us, and delivered us into the hands of the Midianites.
6: 14 And the LORD looked upon him, and said, Go in this thy might, and thou shalt save Israel from the hand of the Midianites: have not I sent thee?
6: 15 And he said unto him, Oh my Lord, wherewith shall I save Israel?
behold, my family is poor in Manasseh, and I am the least in my father's house.
6: 16 And the LORD said unto him, Surely I will be with thee, and thou shalt smite the Midianites as one man.
6: 17 And he said unto him, If now I have found grace in thy sight, then shew me a sign that thou talkest with me.
6: 18 Depart not hence, I pray thee, until I come unto thee, and bring forth my present, and set it before thee.
And he said, I will tarry until thou come again.
6: 19 And Gideon went in, and made ready a kid, and unleavened cakes of an ephah of flour: the flesh he put in a basket, and he put the broth in a pot, and brought it out unto him under the oak, and presented it.
6: 20 And the angel of God said unto him, Take the flesh and the unleavened cakes, and lay them upon this rock, and pour out the broth.
And he did so.
6: 21 Then the angel of the LORD put forth the end of the staff that was in his hand, and touched the flesh and the unleavened cakes; and there rose up fire out of the rock, and consumed the flesh and the unleavened cakes.
Then the angel of the LORD departed out of his sight.
6: 22 And when Gideon perceived that he was an angel of the LORD, Gideon said, Alas, O LORD God!
for because I have seen an angel of the LORD face to face.
6: 23 And the LORD said unto him, Peace be unto thee; fear not: thou shalt not die.
6: 24 Then Gideon built an altar there unto the LORD, and called it Jehovahshalom: unto this day it is yet in Ophrah of the Abiezrites.
6: 27 Then Gideon took ten men of his servants, and did as the LORD had said unto him: and so it was, because he feared his father's household, and the men of the city, that he could not do it by day, that he did it by night.
6: 28 And when the men of the city arose early in the morning, behold, the altar of Baal was cast down, and the grove was cut down that was by it, and the second bullock was offered upon the altar that was built.
6: 29 And they said one to another, Who hath done this thing?
And when they enquired and asked, they said, Gideon the son of Joash hath done this thing.
6: 30 Then the men of the city said unto Joash, Bring out thy son, that he may die: because he hath cast down the altar of Baal, and because he hath cut down the grove that was by it.
6: 31 And Joash said unto all that stood against him, Will ye plead for Baal?
will ye save him?
he that will plead for him, let him be put to death whilst it is yet morning: if he be a god, let him plead for himself, because one hath cast down his altar.
6: 32 Therefore on that day he called him Jerubbaal, saying, Let Baal plead against him, because he hath thrown down his altar.
6: 33 Then all the Midianites and the Amalekites and the children of the east were gathered together, and went over, and pitched in the valley of Jezreel.
6: 34 But the Spirit of the LORD came upon Gideon, and he blew a trumpet; and Abiezer was gathered after him.
6: 35 And he sent messengers throughout all Manasseh; who also was gathered after him: and he sent messengers unto Asher, and unto Zebulun, and unto Naphtali; and they came up to meet them.
6: 38 And it was so: for he rose up early on the morrow, and thrust the fleece together, and wringed the dew out of the fleece, a bowl full of water.
6: 39 And Gideon said unto God, Let not thine anger be hot against me, and I will speak but this once: let me prove, I pray thee, but this once with the fleece; let it now be dry only upon the fleece, and upon all the ground let there be dew.
6: 40 And God did so that night: for it was dry upon the fleece only, and there was dew on all the ground.
7: 1 Then Jerubbaal, who is Gideon, and all the people that were with him, rose up early, and pitched beside the well of Harod: so that the host of the Midianites were on the north side of them, by the hill of Moreh, in the valley.
7: 2 And the LORD said unto Gideon, The people that are with thee are too many for me to give the Midianites into their hands, lest Israel vaunt themselves against me, saying, Mine own hand hath saved me.
7: 3 Now therefore go to, proclaim in the ears of the people, saying, Whosoever is fearful and afraid, let him return and depart early from mount Gilead.
And there returned of the people twenty and two thousand; and there remained ten thousand.
7: 5 So he brought down the people unto the water: and the LORD said unto Gideon, Every one that lappeth of the water with his tongue, as a dog lappeth, him shalt thou set by himself; likewise every one that boweth down upon his knees to drink.
7: 6 And the number of them that lapped, putting their hand to their mouth, were three hundred men: but all the rest of the people bowed down upon their knees to drink water.
7: 7 And the LORD said unto Gideon, By the three hundred men that lapped will I save you, and deliver the Midianites into thine hand: and let all the other people go every man unto his place.
7: 8 So the people took victuals in their hand, and their trumpets: and he sent all the rest of Israel every man unto his tent, and retained those three hundred men: and the host of Midian was beneath him in the valley.
7: 9 And it came to pass the same night, that the LORD said unto him, Arise, get thee down unto the host; for I have delivered it into thine hand.
7: 10 But if thou fear to go down, go thou with Phurah thy servant down to the host: 7: 11 And thou shalt hear what they say; and afterward shall thine hands be strengthened to go down unto the host.
Then went he down with Phurah his servant unto the outside of the armed men that were in the host.
7: 12 And the Midianites and the Amalekites and all the children of the east lay along in the valley like grasshoppers for multitude; and their camels were without number, as the sand by the sea side for multitude.
7: 14 And his fellow answered and said, This is nothing else save the sword of Gideon the son of Joash, a man of Israel: for into his hand hath God delivered Midian, and all the host.
7: 15 And it was so, when Gideon heard the telling of the dream, and the interpretation thereof, that he worshipped, and returned into the host of Israel, and said, Arise; for the LORD hath delivered into your hand the host of Midian.
7: 16 And he divided the three hundred men into three companies, and he put a trumpet in every man's hand, with empty pitchers, and lamps within the pitchers.
7: 17 And he said unto them, Look on me, and do likewise: and, behold, when I come to the outside of the camp, it shall be that, as I do, so shall ye do.
7: 18 When I blow with a trumpet, I and all that are with me, then blow ye the trumpets also on every side of all the camp, and say, The sword of the LORD, and of Gideon.
7: 19 So Gideon, and the hundred men that were with him, came unto the outside of the camp in the beginning of the middle watch; and they had but newly set the watch: and they blew the trumpets, and brake the pitchers that were in their hands.
7: 20 And the three companies blew the trumpets, and brake the pitchers, and held the lamps in their left hands, and the trumpets in their right hands to blow withal: and they cried, The sword of the LORD, and of Gideon.
7: 21 And they stood every man in his place round about the camp; and all the host ran, and cried, and fled.
7: 22 And the three hundred blew the trumpets, and the LORD set every man's sword against his fellow, even throughout all the host: and the host fled to Bethshittah in Zererath, and to the border of Abelmeholah, unto Tabbath.
7: 23 And the men of Israel gathered themselves together out of Naphtali, and out of Asher, and out of all Manasseh, and pursued after the Midianites.
7: 24 And Gideon sent messengers throughout all mount Ephraim, saying, come down against the Midianites, and take before them the waters unto Bethbarah and Jordan.
Then all the men of Ephraim gathered themselves together, and took the waters unto Bethbarah and Jordan.
7: 25 And they took two princes of the Midianites, Oreb and Zeeb; and they slew Oreb upon the rock Oreb, and Zeeb they slew at the winepress of Zeeb, and pursued Midian, and brought the heads of Oreb and Zeeb to Gideon on the other side Jordan.
8: 1 And the men of Ephraim said unto him, Why hast thou served us thus, that thou calledst us not, when thou wentest to fight with the Midianites?
And they did chide with him sharply.
8: 2 And he said unto them, What have I done now in comparison of you?
Is not the gleaning of the grapes of Ephraim better than the vintage of Abiezer?
8: 3 God hath delivered into your hands the princes of Midian, Oreb and Zeeb: and what was I able to do in comparison of you?
Then their anger was abated toward him, when he had said that.
8: 4 And Gideon came to Jordan, and passed over, he, and the three hundred men that were with him, faint, yet pursuing them.
8: 5 And he said unto the men of Succoth, Give, I pray you, loaves of bread unto the people that follow me; for they be faint, and I am pursuing after Zebah and Zalmunna, kings of Midian.
8: 6 And the princes of Succoth said, Are the hands of Zebah and Zalmunna now in thine hand, that we should give bread unto thine army?
8: 7 And Gideon said, Therefore when the LORD hath delivered Zebah and Zalmunna into mine hand, then I will tear your flesh with the thorns of the wilderness and with briers.
8: 8 And he went up thence to Penuel, and spake unto them likewise: and the men of Penuel answered him as the men of Succoth had answered him.
8: 9 And he spake also unto the men of Penuel, saying, When I come again in peace, I will break down this tower.
8: 10 Now Zebah and Zalmunna were in Karkor, and their hosts with them, about fifteen thousand men, all that were left of all the hosts of the children of the east: for there fell an hundred and twenty thousand men that drew sword.
8: 11 And Gideon went up by the way of them that dwelt in tents on the east of Nobah and Jogbehah, and smote the host; for the host was secure.
8: 12 And when Zebah and Zalmunna fled, he pursued after them, and took the two kings of Midian, Zebah and Zalmunna, and discomfited all the host.
8: 13 And Gideon the son of Joash returned from battle before the sun was up, 8: 14 And caught a young man of the men of Succoth, and enquired of him: and he described unto him the princes of Succoth, and the elders thereof, even threescore and seventeen men.
8: 15 And he came unto the men of Succoth, and said, Behold Zebah and Zalmunna, with whom ye did upbraid me, saying, Are the hands of Zebah and Zalmunna now in thine hand, that we should give bread unto thy men that are weary?
8: 16 And he took the elders of the city, and thorns of the wilderness and briers, and with them he taught the men of Succoth.
8: 17 And he beat down the tower of Penuel, and slew the men of the city.
8: 18 Then said he unto Zebah and Zalmunna, What manner of men were they whom ye slew at Tabor?
And they answered, As thou art, so were they; each one resembled the children of a king.
8: 19 And he said, They were my brethren, even the sons of my mother: as the LORD liveth, if ye had saved them alive, I would not slay you.
8: 20 And he said unto Jether his firstborn, Up, and slay them.
But the youth drew not his sword: for he feared, because he was yet a youth.
8: 21 Then Zebah and Zalmunna said, Rise thou, and fall upon us: for as the man is, so is his strength.
And Gideon arose, and slew Zebah and Zalmunna, and took away the ornaments that were on their camels'necks.
8: 22 Then the men of Israel said unto Gideon, Rule thou over us, both thou, and thy son, and thy son's son also: for thou hast delivered us from the hand of Midian.
8: 23 And Gideon said unto them, I will not rule over you, neither shall my son rule over you: the LORD shall rule over you.
8: 24 And Gideon said unto them, I would desire a request of you, that ye would give me every man the earrings of his prey.
(For they had golden earrings, because they were Ishmaelites.)
8: 25 And they answered, We will willingly give them.
And they spread a garment, and did cast therein every man the earrings of his prey.
8: 26 And the weight of the golden earrings that he requested was a thousand and seven hundred shekels of gold; beside ornaments, and collars, and purple raiment that was on the kings of Midian, and beside the chains that were about their camels'necks.
8: 27 And Gideon made an ephod thereof, and put it in his city, even in Ophrah: and all Israel went thither a whoring after it: which thing became a snare unto Gideon, and to his house.
8: 28 Thus was Midian subdued before the children of Israel, so that they lifted up their heads no more.
And the country was in quietness forty years in the days of Gideon.
8: 29 And Jerubbaal the son of Joash went and dwelt in his own house.
8: 30 And Gideon had threescore and ten sons of his body begotten: for he had many wives.
8: 31 And his concubine that was in Shechem, she also bare him a son, whose name he called Abimelech.
8: 32 And Gideon the son of Joash died in a good old age, and was buried in the sepulchre of Joash his father, in Ophrah of the Abiezrites.
8: 33 And it came to pass, as soon as Gideon was dead, that the children of Israel turned again, and went a whoring after Baalim, and made Baalberith their god.
remember also that I am your bone and your flesh.
9: 3 And his mother's brethren spake of him in the ears of all the men of Shechem all these words: and their hearts inclined to follow Abimelech; for they said, He is our brother.
9: 4 And they gave him threescore and ten pieces of silver out of the house of Baalberith, wherewith Abimelech hired vain and light persons, which followed him.
9: 5 And he went unto his father's house at Ophrah, and slew his brethren the sons of Jerubbaal, being threescore and ten persons, upon one stone: notwithstanding yet Jotham the youngest son of Jerubbaal was left; for he hid himself.
9: 6 And all the men of Shechem gathered together, and all the house of Millo, and went, and made Abimelech king, by the plain of the pillar that was in Shechem.
9: 7 And when they told it to Jotham, he went and stood in the top of mount Gerizim, and lifted up his voice, and cried, and said unto them, Hearken unto me, ye men of Shechem, that God may hearken unto you.
9: 8 The trees went forth on a time to anoint a king over them; and they said unto the olive tree, Reign thou over us.
9: 9 But the olive tree said unto them, Should I leave my fatness, wherewith by me they honour God and man, and go to be promoted over the trees?
9: 10 And the trees said to the fig tree, Come thou, and reign over us.
9: 11 But the fig tree said unto them, Should I forsake my sweetness, and my good fruit, and go to be promoted over the trees?
9: 12 Then said the trees unto the vine, Come thou, and reign over us.
9: 13 And the vine said unto them, Should I leave my wine, which cheereth God and man, and go to be promoted over the trees?
9: 14 Then said all the trees unto the bramble, Come thou, and reign over us.
9: 15 And the bramble said unto the trees, If in truth ye anoint me king over you, then come and put your trust in my shadow: and if not, let fire come out of the bramble, and devour the cedars of Lebanon.
9: 21 And Jotham ran away, and fled, and went to Beer, and dwelt there, for fear of Abimelech his brother.
9: 25 And the men of Shechem set liers in wait for him in the top of the mountains, and they robbed all that came along that way by them: and it was told Abimelech.
9: 26 And Gaal the son of Ebed came with his brethren, and went over to Shechem: and the men of Shechem put their confidence in him.
9: 27 And they went out into the fields, and gathered their vineyards, and trode the grapes, and made merry, and went into the house of their god, and did eat and drink, and cursed Abimelech.
9: 28 And Gaal the son of Ebed said, Who is Abimelech, and who is Shechem, that we should serve him?
is not he the son of Jerubbaal?
and Zebul his officer?
serve the men of Hamor the father of Shechem: for why should we serve him?
9: 29 And would to God this people were under my hand!
then would I remove Abimelech.
And he said to Abimelech, Increase thine army, and come out.
9: 30 And when Zebul the ruler of the city heard the words of Gaal the son of Ebed, his anger was kindled.
9: 31 And he sent messengers unto Abimelech privily, saying, Behold, Gaal the son of Ebed and his brethren be come to Shechem; and, behold, they fortify the city against thee.
9: 34 And Abimelech rose up, and all the people that were with him, by night, and they laid wait against Shechem in four companies.
9: 35 And Gaal the son of Ebed went out, and stood in the entering of the gate of the city: and Abimelech rose up, and the people that were with him, from lying in wait.
9: 36 And when Gaal saw the people, he said to Zebul, Behold, there come people down from the top of the mountains.
And Zebul said unto him, Thou seest the shadow of the mountains as if they were men.
9: 37 And Gaal spake again, and said, See there come people down by the middle of the land, and another company come along by the plain of Meonenim.
9: 38 Then said Zebul unto him, Where is now thy mouth, wherewith thou saidst, Who is Abimelech, that we should serve him?
is not this the people that thou hast despised?
go out, I pray now, and fight with them.
9: 39 And Gaal went out before the men of Shechem, and fought with Abimelech.
9: 40 And Abimelech chased him, and he fled before him, and many were overthrown and wounded, even unto the entering of the gate.
9: 41 And Abimelech dwelt at Arumah: and Zebul thrust out Gaal and his brethren, that they should not dwell in Shechem.
9: 42 And it came to pass on the morrow, that the people went out into the field; and they told Abimelech.
9: 43 And he took the people, and divided them into three companies, and laid wait in the field, and looked, and, behold, the people were come forth out of the city; and he rose up against them, and smote them.
9: 44 And Abimelech, and the company that was with him, rushed forward, and stood in the entering of the gate of the city: and the two other companies ran upon all the people that were in the fields, and slew them.
9: 45 And Abimelech fought against the city all that day; and he took the city, and slew the people that was therein, and beat down the city, and sowed it with salt.
9: 46 And when all the men of the tower of Shechem heard that, they entered into an hold of the house of the god Berith.
9: 47 And it was told Abimelech, that all the men of the tower of Shechem were gathered together.
9: 49 And all the people likewise cut down every man his bough, and followed Abimelech, and put them to the hold, and set the hold on fire upon them; so that all the men of the tower of Shechem died also, about a thousand men and women.
9: 50 Then went Abimelech to Thebez, and encamped against Thebez, and took it.
9: 51 But there was a strong tower within the city, and thither fled all the men and women, and all they of the city, and shut it to them, and gat them up to the top of the tower.
9: 52 And Abimelech came unto the tower, and fought against it, and went hard unto the door of the tower to burn it with fire.
9: 53 And a certain woman cast a piece of a millstone upon Abimelech's head, and all to brake his skull.
9: 54 Then he called hastily unto the young man his armourbearer, and said unto him, Draw thy sword, and slay me, that men say not of me, A women slew him.
And his young man thrust him through, and he died.
9: 55 And when the men of Israel saw that Abimelech was dead, they departed every man unto his place.
9: 56 Thus God rendered the wickedness of Abimelech, which he did unto his father, in slaying his seventy brethren: 9: 57 And all the evil of the men of Shechem did God render upon their heads: and upon them came the curse of Jotham the son of Jerubbaal.
10: 1 And after Abimelech there arose to defend Israel Tola the son of Puah, the son of Dodo, a man of Issachar; and he dwelt in Shamir in mount Ephraim.
10: 2 And he judged Israel twenty and three years, and died, and was buried in Shamir.
10: 3 And after him arose Jair, a Gileadite, and judged Israel twenty and two years.
10: 4 And he had thirty sons that rode on thirty ass colts, and they had thirty cities, which are called Havothjair unto this day, which are in the land of Gilead.
10: 5 And Jair died, and was buried in Camon.
10: 7 And the anger of the LORD was hot against Israel, and he sold them into the hands of the Philistines, and into the hands of the children of Ammon.
10: 8 And that year they vexed and oppressed the children of Israel: eighteen years, all the children of Israel that were on the other side Jordan in the land of the Amorites, which is in Gilead.
10: 9 Moreover the children of Ammon passed over Jordan to fight also against Judah, and against Benjamin, and against the house of Ephraim; so that Israel was sore distressed.
10: 10 And the children of Israel cried unto the LORD, saying, We have sinned against thee, both because we have forsaken our God, and also served Baalim.
10: 11 And the LORD said unto the children of Israel, Did not I deliver you from the Egyptians, and from the Amorites, from the children of Ammon, and from the Philistines?
10: 12 The Zidonians also, and the Amalekites, and the Maonites, did oppress you; and ye cried to me, and I delivered you out of their hand.
10: 13 Yet ye have forsaken me, and served other gods: wherefore I will deliver you no more.
10: 14 Go and cry unto the gods which ye have chosen; let them deliver you in the time of your tribulation.
10: 15 And the children of Israel said unto the LORD, We have sinned: do thou unto us whatsoever seemeth good unto thee; deliver us only, we pray thee, this day.
10: 16 And they put away the strange gods from among them, and served the LORD: and his soul was grieved for the misery of Israel.
10: 17 Then the children of Ammon were gathered together, and encamped in Gilead.
And the children of Israel assembled themselves together, and encamped in Mizpeh.
10: 18 And the people and princes of Gilead said one to another, What man is he that will begin to fight against the children of Ammon?
he shall be head over all the inhabitants of Gilead.
11: 1 Now Jephthah the Gileadite was a mighty man of valour, and he was the son of an harlot: and Gilead begat Jephthah.
11: 2 And Gilead's wife bare him sons; and his wife's sons grew up, and they thrust out Jephthah, and said unto him, Thou shalt not inherit in our father's house; for thou art the son of a strange woman.
11: 3 Then Jephthah fled from his brethren, and dwelt in the land of Tob: and there were gathered vain men to Jephthah, and went out with him.
11: 4 And it came to pass in process of time, that the children of Ammon made war against Israel.
11: 5 And it was so, that when the children of Ammon made war against Israel, the elders of Gilead went to fetch Jephthah out of the land of Tob: 11: 6 And they said unto Jephthah, Come, and be our captain, that we may fight with the children of Ammon.
11: 7 And Jephthah said unto the elders of Gilead, Did not ye hate me, and expel me out of my father's house?
and why are ye come unto me now when ye are in distress?
11: 8 And the elders of Gilead said unto Jephthah, Therefore we turn again to thee now, that thou mayest go with us, and fight against the children of Ammon, and be our head over all the inhabitants of Gilead.
11: 9 And Jephthah said unto the elders of Gilead, If ye bring me home again to fight against the children of Ammon, and the LORD deliver them before me, shall I be your head?
11: 10 And the elders of Gilead said unto Jephthah, The LORD be witness between us, if we do not so according to thy words.
11: 11 Then Jephthah went with the elders of Gilead, and the people made him head and captain over them: and Jephthah uttered all his words before the LORD in Mizpeh.
11: 12 And Jephthah sent messengers unto the king of the children of Ammon, saying, What hast thou to do with me, that thou art come against me to fight in my land?
11: 13 And the king of the children of Ammon answered unto the messengers of Jephthah, Because Israel took away my land, when they came up out of Egypt, from Arnon even unto Jabbok, and unto Jordan: now therefore restore those lands again peaceably.
And in like manner they sent unto the king of Moab: but he would not consent: and Israel abode in Kadesh.
11: 18 Then they went along through the wilderness, and compassed the land of Edom, and the land of Moab, and came by the east side of the land of Moab, and pitched on the other side of Arnon, but came not within the border of Moab: for Arnon was the border of Moab.
11: 19 And Israel sent messengers unto Sihon king of the Amorites, the king of Heshbon; and Israel said unto him, Let us pass, we pray thee, through thy land into my place.
11: 20 But Sihon trusted not Israel to pass through his coast: but Sihon gathered all his people together, and pitched in Jahaz, and fought against Israel.
11: 21 And the LORD God of Israel delivered Sihon and all his people into the hand of Israel, and they smote them: so Israel possessed all the land of the Amorites, the inhabitants of that country.
11: 22 And they possessed all the coasts of the Amorites, from Arnon even unto Jabbok, and from the wilderness even unto Jordan.
11: 23 So now the LORD God of Israel hath dispossessed the Amorites from before his people Israel, and shouldest thou possess it?
11: 24 Wilt not thou possess that which Chemosh thy god giveth thee to possess?
So whomsoever the LORD our God shall drive out from before us, them will we possess.
11: 25 And now art thou any thing better than Balak the son of Zippor, king of Moab?
did he ever strive against Israel, or did he ever fight against them, 11: 26 While Israel dwelt in Heshbon and her towns, and in Aroer and her towns, and in all the cities that be along by the coasts of Arnon, three hundred years?
why therefore did ye not recover them within that time?
11: 27 Wherefore I have not sinned against thee, but thou doest me wrong to war against me: the LORD the Judge be judge this day between the children of Israel and the children of Ammon.
11: 28 Howbeit the king of the children of Ammon hearkened not unto the words of Jephthah which he sent him.
11: 29 Then the Spirit of the LORD came upon Jephthah, and he passed over Gilead, and Manasseh, and passed over Mizpeh of Gilead, and from Mizpeh of Gilead he passed over unto the children of Ammon.
11: 32 So Jephthah passed over unto the children of Ammon to fight against them; and the LORD delivered them into his hands.
11: 33 And he smote them from Aroer, even till thou come to Minnith, even twenty cities, and unto the plain of the vineyards, with a very great slaughter.
Thus the children of Ammon were subdued before the children of Israel.
11: 34 And Jephthah came to Mizpeh unto his house, and, behold, his daughter came out to meet him with timbrels and with dances: and she was his only child; beside her he had neither son nor daughter.
11: 35 And it came to pass, when he saw her, that he rent his clothes, and said, Alas, my daughter!
thou hast brought me very low, and thou art one of them that trouble me: for I have opened my mouth unto the LORD, and I cannot go back.
11: 36 And she said unto him, My father, if thou hast opened thy mouth unto the LORD, do to me according to that which hath proceeded out of thy mouth; forasmuch as the LORD hath taken vengeance for thee of thine enemies, even of the children of Ammon.
11: 37 And she said unto her father, Let this thing be done for me: let me alone two months, that I may go up and down upon the mountains, and bewail my virginity, I and my fellows.
11: 38 And he said, Go.
And he sent her away for two months: and she went with her companions, and bewailed her virginity upon the mountains.
11: 39 And it came to pass at the end of two months, that she returned unto her father, who did with her according to his vow which he had vowed: and she knew no man.
And it was a custom in Israel, 11: 40 That the daughters of Israel went yearly to lament the daughter of Jephthah the Gileadite four days in a year.
12: 1 And the men of Ephraim gathered themselves together, and went northward, and said unto Jephthah, Wherefore passedst thou over to fight against the children of Ammon, and didst not call us to go with thee?
we will burn thine house upon thee with fire.
12: 2 And Jephthah said unto them, I and my people were at great strife with the children of Ammon; and when I called you, ye delivered me not out of their hands.
12: 3 And when I saw that ye delivered me not, I put my life in my hands, and passed over against the children of Ammon, and the LORD delivered them into my hand: wherefore then are ye come up unto me this day, to fight against me?
12: 4 Then Jephthah gathered together all the men of Gilead, and fought with Ephraim: and the men of Gilead smote Ephraim, because they said, Ye Gileadites are fugitives of Ephraim among the Ephraimites, and among the Manassites.
12: 5 And the Gileadites took the passages of Jordan before the Ephraimites: and it was so, that when those Ephraimites which were escaped said, Let me go over; that the men of Gilead said unto him, Art thou an Ephraimite?
If he said, Nay; 12: 6 Then said they unto him, Say now Shibboleth: and he said Sibboleth: for he could not frame to pronounce it right.
Then they took him, and slew him at the passages of Jordan: and there fell at that time of the Ephraimites forty and two thousand.
12: 7 And Jephthah judged Israel six years.
Then died Jephthah the Gileadite, and was buried in one of the cities of Gilead.
12: 8 And after him Ibzan of Bethlehem judged Israel.
12: 9 And he had thirty sons, and thirty daughters, whom he sent abroad, and took in thirty daughters from abroad for his sons.
And he judged Israel seven years.
12: 10 Then died Ibzan, and was buried at Bethlehem.
12: 11 And after him Elon, a Zebulonite, judged Israel; and he judged Israel ten years.
12: 12 And Elon the Zebulonite died, and was buried in Aijalon in the country of Zebulun.
12: 13 And after him Abdon the son of Hillel, a Pirathonite, judged Israel.
12: 14 And he had forty sons and thirty nephews, that rode on threescore and ten ass colts: and he judged Israel eight years.
12: 15 And Abdon the son of Hillel the Pirathonite died, and was buried in Pirathon in the land of Ephraim, in the mount of the Amalekites.
13: 1 And the children of Israel did evil again in the sight of the LORD; and the LORD delivered them into the hand of the Philistines forty years.
13: 2 And there was a certain man of Zorah, of the family of the Danites, whose name was Manoah; and his wife was barren, and bare not.
13: 3 And the angel of the LORD appeared unto the woman, and said unto her, Behold now, thou art barren, and bearest not: but thou shalt conceive, and bear a son.
13: 8 Then Manoah intreated the LORD, and said, O my Lord, let the man of God which thou didst send come again unto us, and teach us what we shall do unto the child that shall be born.
13: 9 And God hearkened to the voice of Manoah; and the angel of God came again unto the woman as she sat in the field: but Manoah her husband was not with her.
13: 10 And the woman made haste, and ran, and shewed her husband, and said unto him, Behold, the man hath appeared unto me, that came unto me the other day.
13: 11 And Manoah arose, and went after his wife, and came to the man, and said unto him, Art thou the man that spakest unto the woman?
And he said, I am.
13: 12 And Manoah said, Now let thy words come to pass.
How shall we order the child, and how shall we do unto him?
13: 13 And the angel of the LORD said unto Manoah, Of all that I said unto the woman let her beware.
13: 14 She may not eat of any thing that cometh of the vine, neither let her drink wine or strong drink, nor eat any unclean thing: all that I commanded her let her observe.
13: 15 And Manoah said unto the angel of the LORD, I pray thee, let us detain thee, until we shall have made ready a kid for thee.
13: 16 And the angel of the LORD said unto Manoah, Though thou detain me, I will not eat of thy bread: and if thou wilt offer a burnt offering, thou must offer it unto the LORD.
For Manoah knew not that he was an angel of the LORD.
13: 17 And Manoah said unto the angel of the LORD, What is thy name, that when thy sayings come to pass we may do thee honour?
13: 18 And the angel of the LORD said unto him, Why askest thou thus after my name, seeing it is secret?
13: 19 So Manoah took a kid with a meat offering, and offered it upon a rock unto the LORD: and the angel did wonderously; and Manoah and his wife looked on.
13: 20 For it came to pass, when the flame went up toward heaven from off the altar, that the angel of the LORD ascended in the flame of the altar.
And Manoah and his wife looked on it, and fell on their faces to the ground.
13: 21 But the angel of the LORD did no more appear to Manoah and to his wife.
Then Manoah knew that he was an angel of the LORD.
13: 22 And Manoah said unto his wife, We shall surely die, because we have seen God.
13: 23 But his wife said unto him, If the LORD were pleased to kill us, he would not have received a burnt offering and a meat offering at our hands, neither would he have shewed us all these things, nor would as at this time have told us such things as these.
13: 24 And the woman bare a son, and called his name Samson: and the child grew, and the LORD blessed him.
13: 25 And the Spirit of the LORD began to move him at times in the camp of Dan between Zorah and Eshtaol.
14: 1 And Samson went down to Timnath, and saw a woman in Timnath of the daughters of the Philistines.
14: 2 And he came up, and told his father and his mother, and said, I have seen a woman in Timnath of the daughters of the Philistines: now therefore get her for me to wife.
14: 3 Then his father and his mother said unto him, Is there never a woman among the daughters of thy brethren, or among all my people, that thou goest to take a wife of the uncircumcised Philistines?
And Samson said unto his father, Get her for me; for she pleaseth me well.
14: 4 But his father and his mother knew not that it was of the LORD, that he sought an occasion against the Philistines: for at that time the Philistines had dominion over Israel.
14: 5 Then went Samson down, and his father and his mother, to Timnath, and came to the vineyards of Timnath: and, behold, a young lion roared against him.
14: 6 And the Spirit of the LORD came mightily upon him, and he rent him as he would have rent a kid, and he had nothing in his hand: but he told not his father or his mother what he had done.
14: 7 And he went down, and talked with the woman; and she pleased Samson well.
14: 8 And after a time he returned to take her, and he turned aside to see the carcase of the lion: and, behold, there was a swarm of bees and honey in the carcase of the lion.
14: 9 And he took thereof in his hands, and went on eating, and came to his father and mother, and he gave them, and they did eat: but he told not them that he had taken the honey out of the carcase of the lion.
14: 10 So his father went down unto the woman: and Samson made there a feast; for so used the young men to do.
14: 11 And it came to pass, when they saw him, that they brought thirty companions to be with him.
And they said unto him, Put forth thy riddle, that we may hear it.
14: 14 And he said unto them, Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness.
And they could not in three days expound the riddle.
14: 15 And it came to pass on the seventh day, that they said unto Samson's wife, Entice thy husband, that he may declare unto us the riddle, lest we burn thee and thy father's house with fire: have ye called us to take that we have?
is it not so?
14: 16 And Samson's wife wept before him, and said, Thou dost but hate me, and lovest me not: thou hast put forth a riddle unto the children of my people, and hast not told it me.
And he said unto her, Behold, I have not told it my father nor my mother, and shall I tell it thee?
14: 17 And she wept before him the seven days, while their feast lasted: and it came to pass on the seventh day, that he told her, because she lay sore upon him: and she told the riddle to the children of her people.
14: 18 And the men of the city said unto him on the seventh day before the sun went down, What is sweeter than honey?
And what is stronger than a lion?
and he said unto them, If ye had not plowed with my heifer, ye had not found out my riddle.
14: 19 And the Spirit of the LORD came upon him, and he went down to Ashkelon, and slew thirty men of them, and took their spoil, and gave change of garments unto them which expounded the riddle.
And his anger was kindled, and he went up to his father's house.
14: 20 But Samson's wife was given to his companion, whom he had used as his friend.
15: 1 But it came to pass within a while after, in the time of wheat harvest, that Samson visited his wife with a kid; and he said, I will go in to my wife into the chamber.
But her father would not suffer him to go in.
15: 2 And her father said, I verily thought that thou hadst utterly hated her; therefore I gave her to thy companion: is not her younger sister fairer than she?
take her, I pray thee, instead of her.
15: 3 And Samson said concerning them, Now shall I be more blameless than the Philistines, though I do them a displeasure.
15: 4 And Samson went and caught three hundred foxes, and took firebrands, and turned tail to tail, and put a firebrand in the midst between two tails.
15: 5 And when he had set the brands on fire, he let them go into the standing corn of the Philistines, and burnt up both the shocks, and also the standing corn, with the vineyards and olives.
15: 6 Then the Philistines said, Who hath done this?
And they answered, Samson, the son in law of the Timnite, because he had taken his wife, and given her to his companion.
And the Philistines came up, and burnt her and her father with fire.
15: 7 And Samson said unto them, Though ye have done this, yet will I be avenged of you, and after that I will cease.
15: 8 And he smote them hip and thigh with a great slaughter: and he went down and dwelt in the top of the rock Etam.
15: 9 Then the Philistines went up, and pitched in Judah, and spread themselves in Lehi.
15: 10 And the men of Judah said, Why are ye come up against us?
And they answered, To bind Samson are we come up, to do to him as he hath done to us.
15: 11 Then three thousand men of Judah went to the top of the rock Etam, and said to Samson, Knowest thou not that the Philistines are rulers over us?
what is this that thou hast done unto us?
And he said unto them, As they did unto me, so have I done unto them.
15: 12 And they said unto him, We are come down to bind thee, that we may deliver thee into the hand of the Philistines.
And Samson said unto them, Swear unto me, that ye will not fall upon me yourselves.
15: 13 And they spake unto him, saying, No; but we will bind thee fast, and deliver thee into their hand: but surely we will not kill thee.
And they bound him with two new cords, and brought him up from the rock.
15: 14 And when he came unto Lehi, the Philistines shouted against him: and the Spirit of the LORD came mightily upon him, and the cords that were upon his arms became as flax that was burnt with fire, and his bands loosed from off his hands.
15: 15 And he found a new jawbone of an ass, and put forth his hand, and took it, and slew a thousand men therewith.
15: 16 And Samson said, With the jawbone of an ass, heaps upon heaps, with the jaw of an ass have I slain a thousand men.
15: 17 And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speaking, that he cast away the jawbone out of his hand, and called that place Ramathlehi.
15: 18 And he was sore athirst, and called on the LORD, and said, Thou hast given this great deliverance into the hand of thy servant: and now shall I die for thirst, and fall into the hand of the uncircumcised?
15: 19 But God clave an hollow place that was in the jaw, and there came water thereout; and when he had drunk, his spirit came again, and he revived: wherefore he called the name thereof Enhakkore, which is in Lehi unto this day.
15: 20 And he judged Israel in the days of the Philistines twenty years.
16: 1 Then went Samson to Gaza, and saw there an harlot, and went in unto her.
16: 2 And it was told the Gazites, saying, Samson is come hither.
And they compassed him in, and laid wait for him all night in the gate of the city, and were quiet all the night, saying, In the morning, when it is day, we shall kill him.
16: 3 And Samson lay till midnight, and arose at midnight, and took the doors of the gate of the city, and the two posts, and went away with them, bar and all, and put them upon his shoulders, and carried them up to the top of an hill that is before Hebron.
16: 4 And it came to pass afterward, that he loved a woman in the valley of Sorek, whose name was Delilah.
16: 6 And Delilah said to Samson, Tell me, I pray thee, wherein thy great strength lieth, and wherewith thou mightest be bound to afflict thee.
16: 7 And Samson said unto her, If they bind me with seven green withs that were never dried, then shall I be weak, and be as another man.
16: 8 Then the lords of the Philistines brought up to her seven green withs which had not been dried, and she bound him with them.
16: 9 Now there were men lying in wait, abiding with her in the chamber.
And she said unto him, The Philistines be upon thee, Samson.
And he brake the withs, as a thread of tow is broken when it toucheth the fire.
So his strength was not known.
16: 10 And Delilah said unto Samson, Behold, thou hast mocked me, and told me lies: now tell me, I pray thee, wherewith thou mightest be bound.
16: 11 And he said unto her, If they bind me fast with new ropes that never were occupied, then shall I be weak, and be as another man.
16: 12 Delilah therefore took new ropes, and bound him therewith, and said unto him, The Philistines be upon thee, Samson.
And there were liers in wait abiding in the chamber.
And he brake them from off his arms like a thread.
16: 13 And Delilah said unto Samson, Hitherto thou hast mocked me, and told me lies: tell me wherewith thou mightest be bound.
And he said unto her, If thou weavest the seven locks of my head with the web.
16: 14 And she fastened it with the pin, and said unto him, The Philistines be upon thee, Samson.
And he awaked out of his sleep, and went away with the pin of the beam, and with the web.
16: 15 And she said unto him, How canst thou say, I love thee, when thine heart is not with me?
thou hast mocked me these three times, and hast not told me wherein thy great strength lieth.
16: 18 And when Delilah saw that he had told her all his heart, she sent and called for the lords of the Philistines, saying, Come up this once, for he hath shewed me all his heart.
Then the lords of the Philistines came up unto her, and brought money in their hand.
16: 19 And she made him sleep upon her knees; and she called for a man, and she caused him to shave off the seven locks of his head; and she began to afflict him, and his strength went from him.
16: 20 And she said, The Philistines be upon thee, Samson.
And he awoke out of his sleep, and said, I will go out as at other times before, and shake myself.
And he wist not that the LORD was departed from him.
16: 21 But the Philistines took him, and put out his eyes, and brought him down to Gaza, and bound him with fetters of brass; and he did grind in the prison house.
16: 22 Howbeit the hair of his head began to grow again after he was shaven.
16: 23 Then the lords of the Philistines gathered them together for to offer a great sacrifice unto Dagon their god, and to rejoice: for they said, Our god hath delivered Samson our enemy into our hand.
16: 24 And when the people saw him, they praised their god: for they said, Our god hath delivered into our hands our enemy, and the destroyer of our country, which slew many of us.
16: 25 And it came to pass, when their hearts were merry, that they said, Call for Samson, that he may make us sport.
And they called for Samson out of the prison house; and he made them sport: and they set him between the pillars.
16: 26 And Samson said unto the lad that held him by the hand, Suffer me that I may feel the pillars whereupon the house standeth, that I may lean upon them.
16: 27 Now the house was full of men and women; and all the lords of the Philistines were there; and there were upon the roof about three thousand men and women, that beheld while Samson made sport.
16: 28 And Samson called unto the LORD, and said, O Lord God, remember me, I pray thee, and strengthen me, I pray thee, only this once, O God, that I may be at once avenged of the Philistines for my two eyes.
16: 29 And Samson took hold of the two middle pillars upon which the house stood, and on which it was borne up, of the one with his right hand, and of the other with his left.
16: 30 And Samson said, Let me die with the Philistines.
And he bowed himself with all his might; and the house fell upon the lords, and upon all the people that were therein.
So the dead which he slew at his death were more than they which he slew in his life.
16: 31 Then his brethren and all the house of his father came down, and took him, and brought him up, and buried him between Zorah and Eshtaol in the buryingplace of Manoah his father.
And he judged Israel twenty years.
17: 1 And there was a man of mount Ephraim, whose name was Micah.
17: 2 And he said unto his mother, The eleven hundred shekels of silver that were taken from thee, about which thou cursedst, and spakest of also in mine ears, behold, the silver is with me; I took it.
And his mother said, Blessed be thou of the LORD, my son.
17: 3 And when he had restored the eleven hundred shekels of silver to his mother, his mother said, I had wholly dedicated the silver unto the LORD from my hand for my son, to make a graven image and a molten image: now therefore I will restore it unto thee.
17: 4 Yet he restored the money unto his mother; and his mother took two hundred shekels of silver, and gave them to the founder, who made thereof a graven image and a molten image: and they were in the house of Micah.
17: 5 And the man Micah had an house of gods, and made an ephod, and teraphim, and consecrated one of his sons, who became his priest.
17: 6 In those days there was no king in Israel, but every man did that which was right in his own eyes.
17: 7 And there was a young man out of Bethlehemjudah of the family of Judah, who was a Levite, and he sojourned there.
17: 8 And the man departed out of the city from Bethlehemjudah to sojourn where he could find a place: and he came to mount Ephraim to the house of Micah, as he journeyed.
17: 9 And Micah said unto him, Whence comest thou?
And he said unto him, I am a Levite of Bethlehemjudah, and I go to sojourn where I may find a place.
17: 10 And Micah said unto him, Dwell with me, and be unto me a father and a priest, and I will give thee ten shekels of silver by the year, and a suit of apparel, and thy victuals.
So the Levite went in.
17: 11 And the Levite was content to dwell with the man; and the young man was unto him as one of his sons.
17: 12 And Micah consecrated the Levite; and the young man became his priest, and was in the house of Micah.
17: 13 Then said Micah, Now know I that the LORD will do me good, seeing I have a Levite to my priest.
18: 1 In those days there was no king in Israel: and in those days the tribe of the Danites sought them an inheritance to dwell in; for unto that day all their inheritance had not fallen unto them among the tribes of Israel.
18: 3 When they were by the house of Micah, they knew the voice of the young man the Levite: and they turned in thither, and said unto him, Who brought thee hither?
and what makest thou in this place?
and what hast thou here?
18: 4 And he said unto them, Thus and thus dealeth Micah with me, and hath hired me, and I am his priest.
18: 5 And they said unto him, Ask counsel, we pray thee, of God, that we may know whether our way which we go shall be prosperous.
18: 6 And the priest said unto them, Go in peace: before the LORD is your way wherein ye go.
18: 8 And they came unto their brethren to Zorah and Eshtaol: and their brethren said unto them, What say ye?
18: 9 And they said, Arise, that we may go up against them: for we have seen the land, and, behold, it is very good: and are ye still?
be not slothful to go, and to enter to possess the land.
18: 10 When ye go, ye shall come unto a people secure, and to a large land: for God hath given it into your hands; a place where there is no want of any thing that is in the earth.
18: 11 And there went from thence of the family of the Danites, out of Zorah and out of Eshtaol, six hundred men appointed with weapons of war.
18: 12 And they went up, and pitched in Kirjathjearim, in Judah: wherefore they called that place Mahanehdan unto this day: behold, it is behind Kirjathjearim.
18: 13 And they passed thence unto mount Ephraim, and came unto the house of Micah.
18: 14 Then answered the five men that went to spy out the country of Laish, and said unto their brethren, Do ye know that there is in these houses an ephod, and teraphim, and a graven image, and a molten image?
now therefore consider what ye have to do.
18: 15 And they turned thitherward, and came to the house of the young man the Levite, even unto the house of Micah, and saluted him.
18: 16 And the six hundred men appointed with their weapons of war, which were of the children of Dan, stood by the entering of the gate.
18: 18 And these went into Micah's house, and fetched the carved image, the ephod, and the teraphim, and the molten image.
Then said the priest unto them, What do ye?
18: 19 And they said unto him, Hold thy peace, lay thine hand upon thy mouth, and go with us, and be to us a father and a priest: is it better for thee to be a priest unto the house of one man, or that thou be a priest unto a tribe and a family in Israel?
18: 20 And the priest's heart was glad, and he took the ephod, and the teraphim, and the graven image, and went in the midst of the people.
18: 21 So they turned and departed, and put the little ones and the cattle and the carriage before them.
18: 22 And when they were a good way from the house of Micah, the men that were in the houses near to Micah's house were gathered together, and overtook the children of Dan.
18: 23 And they cried unto the children of Dan.
And they turned their faces, and said unto Micah, What aileth thee, that thou comest with such a company?
18: 24 And he said, Ye have taken away my gods which I made, and the priest, and ye are gone away: and what have I more?
and what is this that ye say unto me, What aileth thee?
18: 25 And the children of Dan said unto him, Let not thy voice be heard among us, lest angry fellows run upon thee, and thou lose thy life, with the lives of thy household.
18: 26 And the children of Dan went their way: and when Micah saw that they were too strong for him, he turned and went back unto his house.
18: 27 And they took the things which Micah had made, and the priest which he had, and came unto Laish, unto a people that were at quiet and secure: and they smote them with the edge of the sword, and burnt the city with fire.
18: 28 And there was no deliverer, because it was far from Zidon, and they had no business with any man; and it was in the valley that lieth by Bethrehob.
And they built a city, and dwelt therein.
18: 29 And they called the name of the city Dan, after the name of Dan their father, who was born unto Israel: howbeit the name of the city was Laish at the first.
18: 30 And the children of Dan set up the graven image: and Jonathan, the son of Gershom, the son of Manasseh, he and his sons were priests to the tribe of Dan until the day of the captivity of the land.
18: 31 And they set them up Micah's graven image, which he made, all the time that the house of God was in Shiloh.
19: 1 And it came to pass in those days, when there was no king in Israel, that there was a certain Levite sojourning on the side of mount Ephraim, who took to him a concubine out of Bethlehemjudah.
19: 2 And his concubine played the whore against him, and went away from him unto her father's house to Bethlehemjudah, and was there four whole months.
19: 3 And her husband arose, and went after her, to speak friendly unto her, and to bring her again, having his servant with him, and a couple of asses: and she brought him into her father's house: and when the father of the damsel saw him, he rejoiced to meet him.
19: 4 And his father in law, the damsel's father, retained him; and he abode with him three days: so they did eat and drink, and lodged there.
19: 5 And it came to pass on the fourth day, when they arose early in the morning, that he rose up to depart: and the damsel's father said unto his son in law, Comfort thine heart with a morsel of bread, and afterward go your way.
19: 6 And they sat down, and did eat and drink both of them together: for the damsel's father had said unto the man, Be content, I pray thee, and tarry all night, and let thine heart be merry.
19: 7 And when the man rose up to depart, his father in law urged him: therefore he lodged there again.
19: 8 And he arose early in the morning on the fifth day to depart; and the damsel's father said, Comfort thine heart, I pray thee.
And they tarried until afternoon, and they did eat both of them.
19: 10 But the man would not tarry that night, but he rose up and departed, and came over against Jebus, which is Jerusalem; and there were with him two asses saddled, his concubine also was with him.
19: 11 And when they were by Jebus, the day was far spent; and the servant said unto his master, Come, I pray thee, and let us turn in into this city of the Jebusites, and lodge in it.
19: 12 And his master said unto him, We will not turn aside hither into the city of a stranger, that is not of the children of Israel; we will pass over to Gibeah.
19: 13 And he said unto his servant, Come, and let us draw near to one of these places to lodge all night, in Gibeah, or in Ramah.
19: 14 And they passed on and went their way; and the sun went down upon them when they were by Gibeah, which belongeth to Benjamin.
19: 15 And they turned aside thither, to go in and to lodge in Gibeah: and when he went in, he sat him down in a street of the city: for there was no man that took them into his house to lodging.
19: 16 And, behold, there came an old man from his work out of the field at even, which was also of mount Ephraim; and he sojourned in Gibeah: but the men of the place were Benjamites.
19: 17 And when he had lifted up his eyes, he saw a wayfaring man in the street of the city: and the old man said, Whither goest thou?
and whence comest thou?
19: 18 And he said unto him, We are passing from Bethlehemjudah toward the side of mount Ephraim; from thence am I: and I went to Bethlehemjudah, but I am now going to the house of the LORD; and there is no man that receiveth me to house.
19: 19 Yet there is both straw and provender for our asses; and there is bread and wine also for me, and for thy handmaid, and for the young man which is with thy servants: there is no want of any thing.
19: 20 And the old man said, Peace be with thee; howsoever let all thy wants lie upon me; only lodge not in the street.
19: 21 So he brought him into his house, and gave provender unto the asses: and they washed their feet, and did eat and drink.
19: 23 And the man, the master of the house, went out unto them, and said unto them, Nay, my brethren, nay, I pray you, do not so wickedly; seeing that this man is come into mine house, do not this folly.
19: 24 Behold, here is my daughter a maiden, and his concubine; them I will bring out now, and humble ye them, and do with them what seemeth good unto you: but unto this man do not so vile a thing.
19: 25 But the men would not hearken to him: so the man took his concubine, and brought her forth unto them; and they knew her, and abused her all the night until the morning: and when the day began to spring, they let her go.
19: 26 Then came the woman in the dawning of the day, and fell down at the door of the man's house where her lord was, till it was light.
19: 27 And her lord rose up in the morning, and opened the doors of the house, and went out to go his way: and, behold, the woman his concubine was fallen down at the door of the house, and her hands were upon the threshold.
19: 28 And he said unto her, Up, and let us be going.
But none answered.
Then the man took her up upon an ass, and the man rose up, and gat him unto his place.
19: 29 And when he was come into his house, he took a knife, and laid hold on his concubine, and divided her, together with her bones, into twelve pieces, and sent her into all the coasts of Israel.
19: 30 And it was so, that all that saw it said, There was no such deed done nor seen from the day that the children of Israel came up out of the land of Egypt unto this day: consider of it, take advice, and speak your minds.
20: 1 Then all the children of Israel went out, and the congregation was gathered together as one man, from Dan even to Beersheba, with the land of Gilead, unto the LORD in Mizpeh.
20: 2 And the chief of all the people, even of all the tribes of Israel, presented themselves in the assembly of the people of God, four hundred thousand footmen that drew sword.
20: 3 (Now the children of Benjamin heard that the children of Israel were gone up to Mizpeh.)
Then said the children of Israel, Tell us, how was this wickedness?
20: 4 And the Levite, the husband of the woman that was slain, answered and said, I came into Gibeah that belongeth to Benjamin, I and my concubine, to lodge.
20: 5 And the men of Gibeah rose against me, and beset the house round about upon me by night, and thought to have slain me: and my concubine have they forced, that she is dead.
20: 6 And I took my concubine, and cut her in pieces, and sent her throughout all the country of the inheritance of Israel: for they have committed lewdness and folly in Israel.
20: 7 Behold, ye are all children of Israel; give here your advice and counsel.
20: 8 And all the people arose as one man, saying, We will not any of us go to his tent, neither will we any of us turn into his house.
20: 11 So all the men of Israel were gathered against the city, knit together as one man.
20: 12 And the tribes of Israel sent men through all the tribe of Benjamin, saying, What wickedness is this that is done among you?
20: 13 Now therefore deliver us the men, the children of Belial, which are in Gibeah, that we may put them to death, and put away evil from Israel.
But the children of Benjamin would not hearken to the voice of their brethren the children of Israel.
20: 14 But the children of Benjamin gathered themselves together out of the cities unto Gibeah, to go out to battle against the children of Israel.
20: 15 And the children of Benjamin were numbered at that time out of the cities twenty and six thousand men that drew sword, beside the inhabitants of Gibeah, which were numbered seven hundred chosen men.
20: 16 Among all this people there were seven hundred chosen men lefthanded; every one could sling stones at an hair breadth, and not miss.
20: 17 And the men of Israel, beside Benjamin, were numbered four hundred thousand men that drew sword: all these were men of war.
20: 18 And the children of Israel arose, and went up to the house of God, and asked counsel of God, and said, Which of us shall go up first to the battle against the children of Benjamin?
And the LORD said, Judah shall go up first.
20: 19 And the children of Israel rose up in the morning, and encamped against Gibeah.
20: 20 And the men of Israel went out to battle against Benjamin; and the men of Israel put themselves in array to fight against them at Gibeah.
20: 21 And the children of Benjamin came forth out of Gibeah, and destroyed down to the ground of the Israelites that day twenty and two thousand men.
20: 22 And the people the men of Israel encouraged themselves, and set their battle again in array in the place where they put themselves in array the first day.
20: 23 (And the children of Israel went up and wept before the LORD until even, and asked counsel of the LORD, saying, Shall I go up again to battle against the children of Benjamin my brother?
And the LORD said, Go up against him.)
20: 24 And the children of Israel came near against the children of Benjamin the second day.
20: 25 And Benjamin went forth against them out of Gibeah the second day, and destroyed down to the ground of the children of Israel again eighteen thousand men; all these drew the sword.
20: 26 Then all the children of Israel, and all the people, went up, and came unto the house of God, and wept, and sat there before the LORD, and fasted that day until even, and offered burnt offerings and peace offerings before the LORD.
And the LORD said, Go up; for to morrow I will deliver them into thine hand.
20: 29 And Israel set liers in wait round about Gibeah.
20: 30 And the children of Israel went up against the children of Benjamin on the third day, and put themselves in array against Gibeah, as at other times.
20: 32 And the children of Benjamin said, They are smitten down before us, as at the first.
But the children of Israel said, Let us flee, and draw them from the city unto the highways.
20: 33 And all the men of Israel rose up out of their place, and put themselves in array at Baaltamar: and the liers in wait of Israel came forth out of their places, even out of the meadows of Gibeah.
20: 34 And there came against Gibeah ten thousand chosen men out of all Israel, and the battle was sore: but they knew not that evil was near them.
20: 35 And the LORD smote Benjamin before Israel: and the children of Israel destroyed of the Benjamites that day twenty and five thousand and an hundred men: all these drew the sword.
20: 36 So the children of Benjamin saw that they were smitten: for the men of Israel gave place to the Benjamites, because they trusted unto the liers in wait which they had set beside Gibeah.
20: 37 And the liers in wait hasted, and rushed upon Gibeah; and the liers in wait drew themselves along, and smote all the city with the edge of the sword.
20: 38 Now there was an appointed sign between the men of Israel and the liers in wait, that they should make a great flame with smoke rise up out of the city.
20: 39 And when the men of Israel retired in the battle, Benjamin began to smite and kill of the men of Israel about thirty persons: for they said, Surely they are smitten down before us, as in the first battle.
20: 40 But when the flame began to arise up out of the city with a pillar of smoke, the Benjamites looked behind them, and, behold, the flame of the city ascended up to heaven.
20: 41 And when the men of Israel turned again, the men of Benjamin were amazed: for they saw that evil was come upon them.
20: 42 Therefore they turned their backs before the men of Israel unto the way of the wilderness; but the battle overtook them; and them which came out of the cities they destroyed in the midst of them.
20: 43 Thus they inclosed the Benjamites round about, and chased them, and trode them down with ease over against Gibeah toward the sunrising.
20: 44 And there fell of Benjamin eighteen thousand men; all these were men of valour.
20: 45 And they turned and fled toward the wilderness unto the rock of Rimmon: and they gleaned of them in the highways five thousand men; and pursued hard after them unto Gidom, and slew two thousand men of them.
20: 46 So that all which fell that day of Benjamin were twenty and five thousand men that drew the sword; all these were men of valour.
20: 47 But six hundred men turned and fled to the wilderness unto the rock Rimmon, and abode in the rock Rimmon four months.
20: 48 And the men of Israel turned again upon the children of Benjamin, and smote them with the edge of the sword, as well the men of every city, as the beast, and all that came to hand: also they set on fire all the cities that they came to.
21: 1 Now the men of Israel had sworn in Mizpeh, saying, There shall not any of us give his daughter unto Benjamin to wife.
21: 2 And the people came to the house of God, and abode there till even before God, and lifted up their voices, and wept sore; 21: 3 And said, O LORD God of Israel, why is this come to pass in Israel, that there should be to day one tribe lacking in Israel?
21: 4 And it came to pass on the morrow, that the people rose early, and built there an altar, and offered burnt offerings and peace offerings.
21: 5 And the children of Israel said, Who is there among all the tribes of Israel that came not up with the congregation unto the LORD?
For they had made a great oath concerning him that came not up to the LORD to Mizpeh, saying, He shall surely be put to death.
21: 6 And the children of Israel repented them for Benjamin their brother, and said, There is one tribe cut off from Israel this day.
21: 7 How shall we do for wives for them that remain, seeing we have sworn by the LORD that we will not give them of our daughters to wives?
21: 8 And they said, What one is there of the tribes of Israel that came not up to Mizpeh to the LORD?
And, behold, there came none to the camp from Jabeshgilead to the assembly.
21: 9 For the people were numbered, and, behold, there were none of the inhabitants of Jabeshgilead there.
21: 10 And the congregation sent thither twelve thousand men of the valiantest, and commanded them, saying, Go and smite the inhabitants of Jabeshgilead with the edge of the sword, with the women and the children.
21: 11 And this is the thing that ye shall do, Ye shall utterly destroy every male, and every woman that hath lain by man.
21: 12 And they found among the inhabitants of Jabeshgilead four hundred young virgins, that had known no man by lying with any male: and they brought them unto the camp to Shiloh, which is in the land of Canaan.
21: 13 And the whole congregation sent some to speak to the children of Benjamin that were in the rock Rimmon, and to call peaceably unto them.
21: 14 And Benjamin came again at that time; and they gave them wives which they had saved alive of the women of Jabeshgilead: and yet so they sufficed them not.
21: 15 And the people repented them for Benjamin, because that the LORD had made a breach in the tribes of Israel.
21: 16 Then the elders of the congregation said, How shall we do for wives for them that remain, seeing the women are destroyed out of Benjamin?
21: 17 And they said, There must be an inheritance for them that be escaped of Benjamin, that a tribe be not destroyed out of Israel.
21: 18 Howbeit we may not give them wives of our daughters: for the children of Israel have sworn, saying, Cursed be he that giveth a wife to Benjamin.
21: 19 Then they said, Behold, there is a feast of the LORD in Shiloh yearly in a place which is on the north side of Bethel, on the east side of the highway that goeth up from Bethel to Shechem, and on the south of Lebonah.
21: 23 And the children of Benjamin did so, and took them wives, according to their number, of them that danced, whom they caught: and they went and returned unto their inheritance, and repaired the cities, and dwelt in them.
21: 24 And the children of Israel departed thence at that time, every man to his tribe and to his family, and they went out from thence every man to his inheritance.
21: 25 In those days there was no king in Israel: every man did that which was right in his own eyes.
The Book of Ruth
1: 1 Now it came to pass in the days when the judges ruled, that there was a famine in the land.
And a certain man of Bethlehemjudah went to sojourn in the country of Moab, he, and his wife, and his two sons.
1: 2 And the name of the man was Elimelech, and the name of his wife Naomi, and the name of his two sons Mahlon and Chilion, Ephrathites of Bethlehemjudah.
And they came into the country of Moab, and continued there.
1: 3 And Elimelech Naomi's husband died; and she was left, and her two sons.
1: 4 And they took them wives of the women of Moab; the name of the one was Orpah, and the name of the other Ruth: and they dwelled there about ten years.
1: 5 And Mahlon and Chilion died also both of them; and the woman was left of her two sons and her husband.
1: 6 Then she arose with her daughters in law, that she might return from the country of Moab: for she had heard in the country of Moab how that the LORD had visited his people in giving them bread.
1: 7 Wherefore she went forth out of the place where she was, and her two daughters in law with her; and they went on the way to return unto the land of Judah.
1: 8 And Naomi said unto her two daughters in law, Go, return each to her mother's house: the LORD deal kindly with you, as ye have dealt with the dead, and with me.
1: 9 The LORD grant you that ye may find rest, each of you in the house of her husband.
Then she kissed them; and they lifted up their voice, and wept.
1: 10 And they said unto her, Surely we will return with thee unto thy people.
1: 11 And Naomi said, Turn again, my daughters: why will ye go with me?
are there yet any more sons in my womb, that they may be your husbands?
1: 12 Turn again, my daughters, go your way; for I am too old to have an husband.
If I should say, I have hope, if I should have an husband also to night, and should also bear sons; 1: 13 Would ye tarry for them till they were grown?
would ye stay for them from having husbands?
nay, my daughters; for it grieveth me much for your sakes that the hand of the LORD is gone out against me.
1: 14 And they lifted up their voice, and wept again: and Orpah kissed her mother in law; but Ruth clave unto her.
1: 15 And she said, Behold, thy sister in law is gone back unto her people, and unto her gods: return thou after thy sister in law.
1: 18 When she saw that she was stedfastly minded to go with her, then she left speaking unto her.
1: 19 So they two went until they came to Bethlehem.
And it came to pass, when they were come to Bethlehem, that all the city was moved about them, and they said, Is this Naomi?
1: 20 And she said unto them, Call me not Naomi, call me Mara: for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me.
1: 21 I went out full and the LORD hath brought me home again empty: why then call ye me Naomi, seeing the LORD hath testified against me, and the Almighty hath afflicted me?
1: 22 So Naomi returned, and Ruth the Moabitess, her daughter in law, with her, which returned out of the country of Moab: and they came to Bethlehem in the beginning of barley harvest.
2: 1 And Naomi had a kinsman of her husband's, a mighty man of wealth, of the family of Elimelech; and his name was Boaz.
2: 2 And Ruth the Moabitess said unto Naomi, Let me now go to the field, and glean ears of corn after him in whose sight I shall find grace.
And she said unto her, Go, my daughter.
2: 3 And she went, and came, and gleaned in the field after the reapers: and her hap was to light on a part of the field belonging unto Boaz, who was of the kindred of Elimelech.
2: 4 And, behold, Boaz came from Bethlehem, and said unto the reapers, The LORD be with you.
And they answered him, The LORD bless thee.
2: 5 Then said Boaz unto his servant that was set over the reapers, Whose damsel is this?
2: 8 Then said Boaz unto Ruth, Hearest thou not, my daughter?
Go not to glean in another field, neither go from hence, but abide here fast by my maidens: 2: 9 Let thine eyes be on the field that they do reap, and go thou after them: have I not charged the young men that they shall not touch thee?
and when thou art athirst, go unto the vessels, and drink of that which the young men have drawn.
2: 10 Then she fell on her face, and bowed herself to the ground, and said unto him, Why have I found grace in thine eyes, that thou shouldest take knowledge of me, seeing I am a stranger?
2: 12 The LORD recompense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the LORD God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to trust.
2: 13 Then she said, Let me find favour in thy sight, my lord; for that thou hast comforted me, and for that thou hast spoken friendly unto thine handmaid, though I be not like unto one of thine handmaidens.
2: 14 And Boaz said unto her, At mealtime come thou hither, and eat of the bread, and dip thy morsel in the vinegar.
And she sat beside the reapers: and he reached her parched corn, and she did eat, and was sufficed, and left.
2: 15 And when she was risen up to glean, Boaz commanded his young men, saying, Let her glean even among the sheaves, and reproach her not: 2: 16 And let fall also some of the handfuls of purpose for her, and leave them, that she may glean them, and rebuke her not.
2: 17 So she gleaned in the field until even, and beat out that she had gleaned: and it was about an ephah of barley.
2: 18 And she took it up, and went into the city: and her mother in law saw what she had gleaned: and she brought forth, and gave to her that she had reserved after she was sufficed.
2: 19 And her mother in law said unto her, Where hast thou gleaned to day?
and where wroughtest thou?
blessed be he that did take knowledge of thee.
And she shewed her mother in law with whom she had wrought, and said, The man's name with whom I wrought to day is Boaz.
2: 20 And Naomi said unto her daughter in law, Blessed be he of the LORD, who hath not left off his kindness to the living and to the dead.
And Naomi said unto her, The man is near of kin unto us, one of our next kinsmen.
2: 21 And Ruth the Moabitess said, He said unto me also, Thou shalt keep fast by my young men, until they have ended all my harvest.
2: 22 And Naomi said unto Ruth her daughter in law, It is good, my daughter, that thou go out with his maidens, that they meet thee not in any other field.
2: 23 So she kept fast by the maidens of Boaz to glean unto the end of barley harvest and of wheat harvest; and dwelt with her mother in law.
3: 1 Then Naomi her mother in law said unto her, My daughter, shall I not seek rest for thee, that it may be well with thee?
3: 2 And now is not Boaz of our kindred, with whose maidens thou wast?
Behold, he winnoweth barley to night in the threshingfloor.
3: 3 Wash thyself therefore, and anoint thee, and put thy raiment upon thee, and get thee down to the floor: but make not thyself known unto the man, until he shall have done eating and drinking.
3: 4 And it shall be, when he lieth down, that thou shalt mark the place where he shall lie, and thou shalt go in, and uncover his feet, and lay thee down; and he will tell thee what thou shalt do.
3: 5 And she said unto her, All that thou sayest unto me I will do.
3: 6 And she went down unto the floor, and did according to all that her mother in law bade her.
3: 7 And when Boaz had eaten and drunk, and his heart was merry, he went to lie down at the end of the heap of corn: and she came softly, and uncovered his feet, and laid her down.
3: 8 And it came to pass at midnight, that the man was afraid, and turned himself: and, behold, a woman lay at his feet.
3: 9 And he said, Who art thou?
And she answered, I am Ruth thine handmaid: spread therefore thy skirt over thine handmaid; for thou art a near kinsman.
3: 10 And he said, Blessed be thou of the LORD, my daughter: for thou hast shewed more kindness in the latter end than at the beginning, inasmuch as thou followedst not young men, whether poor or rich.
3: 11 And now, my daughter, fear not; I will do to thee all that thou requirest: for all the city of my people doth know that thou art a virtuous woman.
3: 12 And now it is true that I am thy near kinsman: howbeit there is a kinsman nearer than I.
3: 14 And she lay at his feet until the morning: and she rose up before one could know another.
And he said, Let it not be known that a woman came into the floor.
3: 15 Also he said, Bring the vail that thou hast upon thee, and hold it.
And when she held it, he measured six measures of barley, and laid it on her: and she went into the city.
3: 16 And when she came to her mother in law, she said, Who art thou, my daughter?
And she told her all that the man had done to her.
3: 17 And she said, These six measures of barley gave he me; for he said to me, Go not empty unto thy mother in law.
3: 18 Then said she, Sit still, my daughter, until thou know how the matter will fall: for the man will not be in rest, until he have finished the thing this day.
4: 1 Then went Boaz up to the gate, and sat him down there: and, behold, the kinsman of whom Boaz spake came by; unto whom he said, Ho, such a one!
turn aside, sit down here.
And he turned aside, and sat down.
4: 2 And he took ten men of the elders of the city, and said, Sit ye down here.
And they sat down.
4: 3 And he said unto the kinsman, Naomi, that is come again out of the country of Moab, selleth a parcel of land, which was our brother Elimelech's: 4: 4 And I thought to advertise thee, saying, Buy it before the inhabitants, and before the elders of my people.
If thou wilt redeem it, redeem it: but if thou wilt not redeem it, then tell me, that I may know: for there is none to redeem it beside thee; and I am after thee.
And he said, I will redeem it.
4: 5 Then said Boaz, What day thou buyest the field of the hand of Naomi, thou must buy it also of Ruth the Moabitess, the wife of the dead, to raise up the name of the dead upon his inheritance.
4: 6 And the kinsman said, I cannot redeem it for myself, lest I mar mine own inheritance: redeem thou my right to thyself; for I cannot redeem it.
4: 7 Now this was the manner in former time in Israel concerning redeeming and concerning changing, for to confirm all things; a man plucked off his shoe, and gave it to his neighbour: and this was a testimony in Israel.
4: 8 Therefore the kinsman said unto Boaz, Buy it for thee.
So he drew off his shoe.
4: 9 And Boaz said unto the elders, and unto all the people, Ye are witnesses this day, that I have bought all that was Elimelech's, and all that was Chilion's and Mahlon's, of the hand of Naomi.
4: 10 Moreover Ruth the Moabitess, the wife of Mahlon, have I purchased to be my wife, to raise up the name of the dead upon his inheritance, that the name of the dead be not cut off from among his brethren, and from the gate of his place: ye are witnesses this day.
4: 11 And all the people that were in the gate, and the elders, said, We are witnesses.
4: 13 So Boaz took Ruth, and she was his wife: and when he went in unto her, the LORD gave her conception, and she bare a son.
4: 14 And the women said unto Naomi, Blessed be the LORD, which hath not left thee this day without a kinsman, that his name may be famous in Israel.
4: 15 And he shall be unto thee a restorer of thy life, and a nourisher of thine old age: for thy daughter in law, which loveth thee, which is better to thee than seven sons, hath born him.
4: 16 And Naomi took the child, and laid it in her bosom, and became nurse unto it.
4: 17 And the women her neighbours gave it a name, saying, There is a son born to Naomi; and they called his name Obed: he is the father of Jesse, the father of David.
The First Book of Samuel
Otherwise Called:
The First Book of the Kings
1: 3 And this man went up out of his city yearly to worship and to sacrifice unto the LORD of hosts in Shiloh.
And the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, the priests of the LORD, were there.
1: 4 And when the time was that Elkanah offered, he gave to Peninnah his wife, and to all her sons and her daughters, portions: 1: 5 But unto Hannah he gave a worthy portion; for he loved Hannah: but the LORD had shut up her womb.
1: 6 And her adversary also provoked her sore, for to make her fret, because the LORD had shut up her womb.
1: 7 And as he did so year by year, when she went up to the house of the LORD, so she provoked her; therefore she wept, and did not eat.
1: 8 Then said Elkanah her husband to her, Hannah, why weepest thou?
and why eatest thou not?
and why is thy heart grieved?
am not I better to thee than ten sons?
1: 9 So Hannah rose up after they had eaten in Shiloh, and after they had drunk.
Now Eli the priest sat upon a seat by a post of the temple of the LORD.
1: 10 And she was in bitterness of soul, and prayed unto the LORD, and wept sore.
1: 12 And it came to pass, as she continued praying before the LORD, that Eli marked her mouth.
1: 13 Now Hannah, she spake in her heart; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard: therefore Eli thought she had been drunken.
1: 14 And Eli said unto her, How long wilt thou be drunken?
put away thy wine from thee.
1: 15 And Hannah answered and said, No, my lord, I am a woman of a sorrowful spirit: I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but have poured out my soul before the LORD.
1: 16 Count not thine handmaid for a daughter of Belial: for out of the abundance of my complaint and grief have I spoken hitherto.
1: 17 Then Eli answered and said, Go in peace: and the God of Israel grant thee thy petition that thou hast asked of him.
1: 18 And she said, Let thine handmaid find grace in thy sight.
So the woman went her way, and did eat, and her countenance was no more sad.
1: 19 And they rose up in the morning early, and worshipped before the LORD, and returned, and came to their house to Ramah: and Elkanah knew Hannah his wife; and the LORD remembered her.
1: 20 Wherefore it came to pass, when the time was come about after Hannah had conceived, that she bare a son, and called his name Samuel, saying, Because I have asked him of the LORD.
1: 21 And the man Elkanah, and all his house, went up to offer unto the LORD the yearly sacrifice, and his vow.
1: 22 But Hannah went not up; for she said unto her husband, I will not go up until the child be weaned, and then I will bring him, that he may appear before the LORD, and there abide for ever.
1: 23 And Elkanah her husband said unto her, Do what seemeth thee good; tarry until thou have weaned him; only the LORD establish his word.
So the woman abode, and gave her son suck until she weaned him.
1: 24 And when she had weaned him, she took him up with her, with three bullocks, and one ephah of flour, and a bottle of wine, and brought him unto the house of the LORD in Shiloh: and the child was young.
1: 25 And they slew a bullock, and brought the child to Eli.
1: 26 And she said, Oh my lord, as thy soul liveth, my lord, I am the woman that stood by thee here, praying unto the LORD.
1: 27 For this child I prayed; and the LORD hath given me my petition which I asked of him: 1: 28 Therefore also I have lent him to the LORD; as long as he liveth he shall be lent to the LORD.
And he worshipped the LORD there.
2: 1 And Hannah prayed, and said, My heart rejoiceth in the LORD, mine horn is exalted in the LORD: my mouth is enlarged over mine enemies; because I rejoice in thy salvation.
2: 2 There is none holy as the LORD: for there is none beside thee: neither is there any rock like our God.
2: 3 Talk no more so exceeding proudly; let not arrogancy come out of your mouth: for the LORD is a God of knowledge, and by him actions are weighed.
2: 4 The bows of the mighty men are broken, and they that stumbled are girded with strength.
2: 5 They that were full have hired out themselves for bread; and they that were hungry ceased: so that the barren hath born seven; and she that hath many children is waxed feeble.
2: 6 The LORD killeth, and maketh alive: he bringeth down to the grave, and bringeth up.
2: 7 The LORD maketh poor, and maketh rich: he bringeth low, and lifteth up.
2: 8 He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, and lifteth up the beggar from the dunghill, to set them among princes, and to make them inherit the throne of glory: for the pillars of the earth are the LORD's, and he hath set the world upon them.
2: 9 He will keep the feet of his saints, and the wicked shall be silent in darkness; for by strength shall no man prevail.
2: 10 The adversaries of the LORD shall be broken to pieces; out of heaven shall he thunder upon them: the LORD shall judge the ends of the earth; and he shall give strength unto his king, and exalt the horn of his anointed.
2: 11 And Elkanah went to Ramah to his house.
And the child did minister unto the LORD before Eli the priest.
2: 12 Now the sons of Eli were sons of Belial; they knew not the LORD.
So they did in Shiloh unto all the Israelites that came thither.
2: 15 Also before they burnt the fat, the priest's servant came, and said to the man that sacrificed, Give flesh to roast for the priest; for he will not have sodden flesh of thee, but raw.
2: 16 And if any man said unto him, Let them not fail to burn the fat presently, and then take as much as thy soul desireth; then he would answer him, Nay; but thou shalt give it me now: and if not, I will take it by force.
2: 17 Wherefore the sin of the young men was very great before the LORD: for men abhorred the offering of the LORD.
2: 18 But Samuel ministered before the LORD, being a child, girded with a linen ephod.
2: 19 Moreover his mother made him a little coat, and brought it to him from year to year, when she came up with her husband to offer the yearly sacrifice.
2: 20 And Eli blessed Elkanah and his wife, and said, The LORD give thee seed of this woman for the loan which is lent to the LORD.
And they went unto their own home.
2: 21 And the LORD visited Hannah, so that she conceived, and bare three sons and two daughters.
And the child Samuel grew before the LORD.
2: 22 Now Eli was very old, and heard all that his sons did unto all Israel; and how they lay with the women that assembled at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
2: 23 And he said unto them, Why do ye such things?
for I hear of your evil dealings by all this people.
2: 24 Nay, my sons; for it is no good report that I hear: ye make the LORD's people to transgress.
2: 25 If one man sin against another, the judge shall judge him: but if a man sin against the LORD, who shall intreat for him?
Notwithstanding they hearkened not unto the voice of their father, because the LORD would slay them.
2: 26 And the child Samuel grew on, and was in favour both with the LORD, and also with men.
2: 27 And there came a man of God unto Eli, and said unto him, Thus saith the LORD, Did I plainly appear unto the house of thy father, when they were in Egypt in Pharaoh's house?
2: 28 And did I choose him out of all the tribes of Israel to be my priest, to offer upon mine altar, to burn incense, to wear an ephod before me?
and did I give unto the house of thy father all the offerings made by fire of the children of Israel?
2: 29 Wherefore kick ye at my sacrifice and at mine offering, which I have commanded in my habitation; and honourest thy sons above me, to make yourselves fat with the chiefest of all the offerings of Israel my people?
2: 30 Wherefore the LORD God of Israel saith, I said indeed that thy house, and the house of thy father, should walk before me for ever: but now the LORD saith, Be it far from me; for them that honour me I will honour, and they that despise me shall be lightly esteemed.
2: 31 Behold, the days come, that I will cut off thine arm, and the arm of thy father's house, that there shall not be an old man in thine house.
2: 32 And thou shalt see an enemy in my habitation, in all the wealth which God shall give Israel: and there shall not be an old man in thine house for ever.
2: 33 And the man of thine, whom I shall not cut off from mine altar, shall be to consume thine eyes, and to grieve thine heart: and all the increase of thine house shall die in the flower of their age.
2: 34 And this shall be a sign unto thee, that shall come upon thy two sons, on Hophni and Phinehas; in one day they shall die both of them.
2: 35 And I will raise me up a faithful priest, that shall do according to that which is in mine heart and in my mind: and I will build him a sure house; and he shall walk before mine anointed for ever.
2: 36 And it shall come to pass, that every one that is left in thine house shall come and crouch to him for a piece of silver and a morsel of bread, and shall say, Put me, I pray thee, into one of the priests'offices, that I may eat a piece of bread.
3: 1 And the child Samuel ministered unto the LORD before Eli.
And the word of the LORD was precious in those days; there was no open vision.
3: 5 And he ran unto Eli, and said, Here am I; for thou calledst me.
And he said, I called not; lie down again.
And he went and lay down.
3: 6 And the LORD called yet again, Samuel.
And Samuel arose and went to Eli, and said, Here am I; for thou didst call me.
And he answered, I called not, my son; lie down again.
3: 7 Now Samuel did not yet know the LORD, neither was the word of the LORD yet revealed unto him.
3: 8 And the LORD called Samuel again the third time.
And he arose and went to Eli, and said, Here am I; for thou didst call me.
And Eli perceived that the LORD had called the child.
3: 9 Therefore Eli said unto Samuel, Go, lie down: and it shall be, if he call thee, that thou shalt say, Speak, LORD; for thy servant heareth.
So Samuel went and lay down in his place.
3: 10 And the LORD came, and stood, and called as at other times, Samuel, Samuel.
Then Samuel answered, Speak; for thy servant heareth.
3: 11 And the LORD said to Samuel, Behold, I will do a thing in Israel, at which both the ears of every one that heareth it shall tingle.
3: 12 In that day I will perform against Eli all things which I have spoken concerning his house: when I begin, I will also make an end.
3: 13 For I have told him that I will judge his house for ever for the iniquity which he knoweth; because his sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not.
3: 14 And therefore I have sworn unto the house of Eli, that the iniquity of Eli's house shall not be purged with sacrifice nor offering for ever.
3: 15 And Samuel lay until the morning, and opened the doors of the house of the LORD.
And Samuel feared to shew Eli the vision.
3: 16 Then Eli called Samuel, and said, Samuel, my son.
And he answered, Here am I.
3: 17 And he said, What is the thing that the LORD hath said unto thee?
I pray thee hide it not from me: God do so to thee, and more also, if thou hide any thing from me of all the things that he said unto thee.
3: 18 And Samuel told him every whit, and hid nothing from him.
And he said, It is the LORD: let him do what seemeth him good.
3: 19 And Samuel grew, and the LORD was with him, and did let none of his words fall to the ground.
3: 20 And all Israel from Dan even to Beersheba knew that Samuel was established to be a prophet of the LORD.
3: 21 And the LORD appeared again in Shiloh: for the LORD revealed himself to Samuel in Shiloh by the word of the LORD.
4: 1 And the word of Samuel came to all Israel.
Now Israel went out against the Philistines to battle, and pitched beside Ebenezer: and the Philistines pitched in Aphek.
4: 2 And the Philistines put themselves in array against Israel: and when they joined battle, Israel was smitten before the Philistines: and they slew of the army in the field about four thousand men.
4: 3 And when the people were come into the camp, the elders of Israel said, Wherefore hath the LORD smitten us to day before the Philistines?
Let us fetch the ark of the covenant of the LORD out of Shiloh unto us, that, when it cometh among us, it may save us out of the hand of our enemies.
4: 4 So the people sent to Shiloh, that they might bring from thence the ark of the covenant of the LORD of hosts, which dwelleth between the cherubims: and the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were there with the ark of the covenant of God.
4: 5 And when the ark of the covenant of the LORD came into the camp, all Israel shouted with a great shout, so that the earth rang again.
4: 6 And when the Philistines heard the noise of the shout, they said, What meaneth the noise of this great shout in the camp of the Hebrews?
And they understood that the ark of the LORD was come into the camp.
4: 7 And the Philistines were afraid, for they said, God is come into the camp.
And they said, Woe unto us!
for there hath not been such a thing heretofore.
4: 8 Woe unto us!
who shall deliver us out of the hand of these mighty Gods?
these are the Gods that smote the Egyptians with all the plagues in the wilderness.
4: 9 Be strong and quit yourselves like men, O ye Philistines, that ye be not servants unto the Hebrews, as they have been to you: quit yourselves like men, and fight.
4: 10 And the Philistines fought, and Israel was smitten, and they fled every man into his tent: and there was a very great slaughter; for there fell of Israel thirty thousand footmen.
4: 11 And the ark of God was taken; and the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were slain.
4: 12 And there ran a man of Benjamin out of the army, and came to Shiloh the same day with his clothes rent, and with earth upon his head.
4: 13 And when he came, lo, Eli sat upon a seat by the wayside watching: for his heart trembled for the ark of God.
And when the man came into the city, and told it, all the city cried out.
4: 14 And when Eli heard the noise of the crying, he said, What meaneth the noise of this tumult?
And the man came in hastily, and told Eli.
4: 15 Now Eli was ninety and eight years old; and his eyes were dim, that he could not see.
4: 16 And the man said unto Eli, I am he that came out of the army, and I fled to day out of the army.
And he said, What is there done, my son?
4: 17 And the messenger answered and said, Israel is fled before the Philistines, and there hath been also a great slaughter among the people, and thy two sons also, Hophni and Phinehas, are dead, and the ark of God is taken.
4: 18 And it came to pass, when he made mention of the ark of God, that he fell from off the seat backward by the side of the gate, and his neck brake, and he died: for he was an old man, and heavy.
And he had judged Israel forty years.
4: 19 And his daughter in law, Phinehas'wife, was with child, near to be delivered: and when she heard the tidings that the ark of God was taken, and that her father in law and her husband were dead, she bowed herself and travailed; for her pains came upon her.
4: 20 And about the time of her death the women that stood by her said unto her, Fear not; for thou hast born a son.
But she answered not, neither did she regard it.
4: 21 And she named the child Ichabod, saying, The glory is departed from Israel: because the ark of God was taken, and because of her father in law and her husband.
4: 22 And she said, The glory is departed from Israel: for the ark of God is taken.
5: 1 And the Philistines took the ark of God, and brought it from Ebenezer unto Ashdod.
5: 2 When the Philistines took the ark of God, they brought it into the house of Dagon, and set it by Dagon.
5: 3 And when they of Ashdod arose early on the morrow, behold, Dagon was fallen upon his face to the earth before the ark of the LORD.
And they took Dagon, and set him in his place again.
5: 4 And when they arose early on the morrow morning, behold, Dagon was fallen upon his face to the ground before the ark of the LORD; and the head of Dagon and both the palms of his hands were cut off upon the threshold; only the stump of Dagon was left to him.
5: 5 Therefore neither the priests of Dagon, nor any that come into Dagon's house, tread on the threshold of Dagon in Ashdod unto this day.
5: 6 But the hand of the LORD was heavy upon them of Ashdod, and he destroyed them, and smote them with emerods, even Ashdod and the coasts thereof.
5: 7 And when the men of Ashdod saw that it was so, they said, The ark of the God of Israel shall not abide with us: for his hand is sore upon us, and upon Dagon our god.
5: 8 They sent therefore and gathered all the lords of the Philistines unto them, and said, What shall we do with the ark of the God of Israel?
And they answered, Let the ark of the God of Israel be carried about unto Gath.
And they carried the ark of the God of Israel about thither.
5: 9 And it was so, that, after they had carried it about, the hand of the LORD was against the city with a very great destruction: and he smote the men of the city, both small and great, and they had emerods in their secret parts.
5: 10 Therefore they sent the ark of God to Ekron.
And it came to pass, as the ark of God came to Ekron, that the Ekronites cried out, saying, They have brought about the ark of the God of Israel to us, to slay us and our people.
5: 12 And the men that died not were smitten with the emerods: and the cry of the city went up to heaven.
6: 1 And the ark of the LORD was in the country of the Philistines seven months.
6: 2 And the Philistines called for the priests and the diviners, saying, What shall we do to the ark of the LORD?
tell us wherewith we shall send it to his place.
6: 3 And they said, If ye send away the ark of the God of Israel, send it not empty; but in any wise return him a trespass offering: then ye shall be healed, and it shall be known to you why his hand is not removed from you.
6: 4 Then said they, What shall be the trespass offering which we shall return to him?
They answered, Five golden emerods, and five golden mice, according to the number of the lords of the Philistines: for one plague was on you all, and on your lords.
6: 5 Wherefore ye shall make images of your emerods, and images of your mice that mar the land; and ye shall give glory unto the God of Israel: peradventure he will lighten his hand from off you, and from off your gods, and from off your land.
6: 6 Wherefore then do ye harden your hearts, as the Egyptians and Pharaoh hardened their hearts?
when he had wrought wonderfully among them, did they not let the people go, and they departed?
6: 9 And see, if it goeth up by the way of his own coast to Bethshemesh, then he hath done us this great evil: but if not, then we shall know that it is not his hand that smote us: it was a chance that happened to us.
6: 10 And the men did so; and took two milch kine, and tied them to the cart, and shut up their calves at home: 6: 11 And they laid the ark of the LORD upon the cart, and the coffer with the mice of gold and the images of their emerods.
6: 12 And the kine took the straight way to the way of Bethshemesh, and went along the highway, lowing as they went, and turned not aside to the right hand or to the left; and the lords of the Philistines went after them unto the border of Bethshemesh.
6: 13 And they of Bethshemesh were reaping their wheat harvest in the valley: and they lifted up their eyes, and saw the ark, and rejoiced to see it.
6: 14 And the cart came into the field of Joshua, a Bethshemite, and stood there, where there was a great stone: and they clave the wood of the cart, and offered the kine a burnt offering unto the LORD.
6: 15 And the Levites took down the ark of the LORD, and the coffer that was with it, wherein the jewels of gold were, and put them on the great stone: and the men of Bethshemesh offered burnt offerings and sacrificed sacrifices the same day unto the LORD.
6: 16 And when the five lords of the Philistines had seen it, they returned to Ekron the same day.
6: 19 And he smote the men of Bethshemesh, because they had looked into the ark of the LORD, even he smote of the people fifty thousand and threescore and ten men: and the people lamented, because the LORD had smitten many of the people with a great slaughter.
6: 20 And the men of Bethshemesh said, Who is able to stand before this holy LORD God?
and to whom shall he go up from us?
6: 21 And they sent messengers to the inhabitants of Kirjathjearim, saying, The Philistines have brought again the ark of the LORD; come ye down, and fetch it up to you.
7: 1 And the men of Kirjathjearim came, and fetched up the ark of the LORD, and brought it into the house of Abinadab in the hill, and sanctified Eleazar his son to keep the ark of the LORD.
7: 2 And it came to pass, while the ark abode in Kirjathjearim, that the time was long; for it was twenty years: and all the house of Israel lamented after the LORD.
7: 4 Then the children of Israel did put away Baalim and Ashtaroth, and served the LORD only.
7: 5 And Samuel said, Gather all Israel to Mizpeh, and I will pray for you unto the LORD.
7: 6 And they gathered together to Mizpeh, and drew water, and poured it out before the LORD, and fasted on that day, and said there, We have sinned against the LORD.
And Samuel judged the children of Israel in Mizpeh.
7: 7 And when the Philistines heard that the children of Israel were gathered together to Mizpeh, the lords of the Philistines went up against Israel.
And when the children of Israel heard it, they were afraid of the Philistines.
7: 8 And the children of Israel said to Samuel, Cease not to cry unto the LORD our God for us, that he will save us out of the hand of the Philistines.
7: 9 And Samuel took a sucking lamb, and offered it for a burnt offering wholly unto the LORD: and Samuel cried unto the LORD for Israel; and the LORD heard him.
7: 10 And as Samuel was offering up the burnt offering, the Philistines drew near to battle against Israel: but the LORD thundered with a great thunder on that day upon the Philistines, and discomfited them; and they were smitten before Israel.
7: 11 And the men of Israel went out of Mizpeh, and pursued the Philistines, and smote them, until they came under Bethcar.
7: 12 Then Samuel took a stone, and set it between Mizpeh and Shen, and called the name of it Ebenezer, saying, Hitherto hath the LORD helped us.
7: 13 So the Philistines were subdued, and they came no more into the coast of Israel: and the hand of the LORD was against the Philistines all the days of Samuel.
7: 14 And the cities which the Philistines had taken from Israel were restored to Israel, from Ekron even unto Gath; and the coasts thereof did Israel deliver out of the hands of the Philistines.
And there was peace between Israel and the Amorites.
7: 15 And Samuel judged Israel all the days of his life.
7: 16 And he went from year to year in circuit to Bethel, and Gilgal, and Mizpeh, and judged Israel in all those places.
7: 17 And his return was to Ramah; for there was his house; and there he judged Israel; and there he built an altar unto the LORD.
8: 1 And it came to pass, when Samuel was old, that he made his sons judges over Israel.
8: 2 Now the name of his firstborn was Joel; and the name of his second, Abiah: they were judges in Beersheba.
8: 3 And his sons walked not in his ways, but turned aside after lucre, and took bribes, and perverted judgment.
8: 4 Then all the elders of Israel gathered themselves together, and came to Samuel unto Ramah, 8: 5 And said unto him, Behold, thou art old, and thy sons walk not in thy ways: now make us a king to judge us like all the nations.
8: 6 But the thing displeased Samuel, when they said, Give us a king to judge us.
And Samuel prayed unto the LORD.
8: 7 And the LORD said unto Samuel, Hearken unto the voice of the people in all that they say unto thee: for they have not rejected thee, but they have rejected me, that I should not reign over them.
8: 8 According to all the works which they have done since the day that I brought them up out of Egypt even unto this day, wherewith they have forsaken me, and served other gods, so do they also unto thee.
8: 9 Now therefore hearken unto their voice: howbeit yet protest solemnly unto them, and shew them the manner of the king that shall reign over them.
8: 10 And Samuel told all the words of the LORD unto the people that asked of him a king.
8: 11 And he said, This will be the manner of the king that shall reign over you: He will take your sons, and appoint them for himself, for his chariots, and to be his horsemen; and some shall run before his chariots.
8: 12 And he will appoint him captains over thousands, and captains over fifties; and will set them to ear his ground, and to reap his harvest, and to make his instruments of war, and instruments of his chariots.
8: 13 And he will take your daughters to be confectionaries, and to be cooks, and to be bakers.
8: 14 And he will take your fields, and your vineyards, and your oliveyards, even the best of them, and give them to his servants.
8: 15 And he will take the tenth of your seed, and of your vineyards, and give to his officers, and to his servants.
8: 16 And he will take your menservants, and your maidservants, and your goodliest young men, and your asses, and put them to his work.
8: 17 He will take the tenth of your sheep: and ye shall be his servants.
8: 18 And ye shall cry out in that day because of your king which ye shall have chosen you; and the LORD will not hear you in that day.
8: 19 Nevertheless the people refused to obey the voice of Samuel; and they said, Nay; but we will have a king over us; 8: 20 That we also may be like all the nations; and that our king may judge us, and go out before us, and fight our battles.
8: 21 And Samuel heard all the words of the people, and he rehearsed them in the ears of the LORD.
8: 22 And the LORD said to Samuel, Hearken unto their voice, and make them a king.
And Samuel said unto the men of Israel, Go ye every man unto his city.
9: 1 Now there was a man of Benjamin, whose name was Kish, the son of Abiel, the son of Zeror, the son of Bechorath, the son of Aphiah, a Benjamite, a mighty man of power.
9: 2 And he had a son, whose name was Saul, a choice young man, and a goodly: and there was not among the children of Israel a goodlier person than he: from his shoulders and upward he was higher than any of the people.
9: 3 And the asses of Kish Saul's father were lost.
And Kish said to Saul his son, Take now one of the servants with thee, and arise, go seek the asses.
9: 4 And he passed through mount Ephraim, and passed through the land of Shalisha, but they found them not: then they passed through the land of Shalim, and there they were not: and he passed through the land of the Benjamites, but they found them not.
9: 5 And when they were come to the land of Zuph, Saul said to his servant that was with him, Come, and let us return; lest my father leave caring for the asses, and take thought for us.
9: 6 And he said unto him, Behold now, there is in this city a man of God, and he is an honourable man; all that he saith cometh surely to pass: now let us go thither; peradventure he can shew us our way that we should go.
9: 7 Then said Saul to his servant, But, behold, if we go, what shall we bring the man?
for the bread is spent in our vessels, and there is not a present to bring to the man of God: what have we?
9: 8 And the servant answered Saul again, and said, Behold, I have here at hand the fourth part of a shekel of silver: that will I give to the man of God, to tell us our way.
9: 9 (Beforetime in Israel, when a man went to enquire of God, thus he spake, Come, and let us go to the seer: for he that is now called a Prophet was beforetime called a Seer.)
9: 10 Then said Saul to his servant, Well said; come, let us go.
So they went unto the city where the man of God was.
9: 11 And as they went up the hill to the city, they found young maidens going out to draw water, and said unto them, Is the seer here?
Now therefore get you up; for about this time ye shall find him.
9: 14 And they went up into the city: and when they were come into the city, behold, Samuel came out against them, for to go up to the high place.
9: 17 And when Samuel saw Saul, the LORD said unto him, Behold the man whom I spake to thee of!
this same shall reign over my people.
9: 18 Then Saul drew near to Samuel in the gate, and said, Tell me, I pray thee, where the seer's house is.
9: 19 And Samuel answered Saul, and said, I am the seer: go up before me unto the high place; for ye shall eat with me to day, and to morrow I will let thee go, and will tell thee all that is in thine heart.
9: 20 And as for thine asses that were lost three days ago, set not thy mind on them; for they are found.
And on whom is all the desire of Israel?
Is it not on thee, and on all thy father's house?
9: 21 And Saul answered and said, Am not I a Benjamite, of the smallest of the tribes of Israel?
and my family the least of all the families of the tribe of Benjamin?
wherefore then speakest thou so to me?
9: 22 And Samuel took Saul and his servant, and brought them into the parlour, and made them sit in the chiefest place among them that were bidden, which were about thirty persons.
9: 23 And Samuel said unto the cook, Bring the portion which I gave thee, of which I said unto thee, Set it by thee.
9: 24 And the cook took up the shoulder, and that which was upon it, and set it before Saul.
And Samuel said, Behold that which is left!
set it before thee, and eat: for unto this time hath it been kept for thee since I said, I have invited the people.
So Saul did eat with Samuel that day.
9: 25 And when they were come down from the high place into the city, Samuel communed with Saul upon the top of the house.
9: 26 And they arose early: and it came to pass about the spring of the day, that Samuel called Saul to the top of the house, saying, Up, that I may send thee away.
And Saul arose, and they went out both of them, he and Samuel, abroad.
9: 27 And as they were going down to the end of the city, Samuel said to Saul, Bid the servant pass on before us, (and he passed on), but stand thou still a while, that I may shew thee the word of God.
10: 1 Then Samuel took a vial of oil, and poured it upon his head, and kissed him, and said, Is it not because the LORD hath anointed thee to be captain over his inheritance?
10: 7 And let it be, when these signs are come unto thee, that thou do as occasion serve thee; for God is with thee.
10: 8 And thou shalt go down before me to Gilgal; and, behold, I will come down unto thee, to offer burnt offerings, and to sacrifice sacrifices of peace offerings: seven days shalt thou tarry, till I come to thee, and shew thee what thou shalt do.
10: 9 And it was so, that when he had turned his back to go from Samuel, God gave him another heart: and all those signs came to pass that day.
10: 10 And when they came thither to the hill, behold, a company of prophets met him; and the Spirit of God came upon him, and he prophesied among them.
10: 11 And it came to pass, when all that knew him beforetime saw that, behold, he prophesied among the prophets, then the people said one to another, What is this that is come unto the son of Kish?
Is Saul also among the prophets?
10: 12 And one of the same place answered and said, But who is their father?
Therefore it became a proverb, Is Saul also among the prophets?
10: 13 And when he had made an end of prophesying, he came to the high place.
10: 14 And Saul's uncle said unto him and to his servant, Whither went ye?
And he said, To seek the asses: and when we saw that they were no where, we came to Samuel.
10: 15 And Saul's uncle said, Tell me, I pray thee, what Samuel said unto you.
10: 16 And Saul said unto his uncle, He told us plainly that the asses were found.
But of the matter of the kingdom, whereof Samuel spake, he told him not.
Now therefore present yourselves before the LORD by your tribes, and by your thousands.
10: 20 And when Samuel had caused all the tribes of Israel to come near, the tribe of Benjamin was taken.
10: 21 When he had caused the tribe of Benjamin to come near by their families, the family of Matri was taken, and Saul the son of Kish was taken: and when they sought him, he could not be found.
10: 22 Therefore they enquired of the LORD further, if the man should yet come thither.
And the LORD answered, Behold he hath hid himself among the stuff.
10: 23 And they ran and fetched him thence: and when he stood among the people, he was higher than any of the people from his shoulders and upward.
10: 24 And Samuel said to all the people, See ye him whom the LORD hath chosen, that there is none like him among all the people?
And all the people shouted, and said, God save the king.
10: 25 Then Samuel told the people the manner of the kingdom, and wrote it in a book, and laid it up before the LORD.
And Samuel sent all the people away, every man to his house.
10: 26 And Saul also went home to Gibeah; and there went with him a band of men, whose hearts God had touched.
10: 27 But the children of Belial said, How shall this man save us?
And they despised him, and brought no presents.
But he held his peace.
11: 1 Then Nahash the Ammonite came up, and encamped against Jabeshgilead: and all the men of Jabesh said unto Nahash, Make a covenant with us, and we will serve thee.
11: 2 And Nahash the Ammonite answered them, On this condition will I make a covenant with you, that I may thrust out all your right eyes, and lay it for a reproach upon all Israel.
11: 3 And the elders of Jabesh said unto him, Give us seven days'respite, that we may send messengers unto all the coasts of Israel: and then, if there be no man to save us, we will come out to thee.
11: 4 Then came the messengers to Gibeah of Saul, and told the tidings in the ears of the people: and all the people lifted up their voices, and wept.
11: 5 And, behold, Saul came after the herd out of the field; and Saul said, What aileth the people that they weep?
And they told him the tidings of the men of Jabesh.
11: 6 And the Spirit of God came upon Saul when he heard those tidings, and his anger was kindled greatly.
11: 7 And he took a yoke of oxen, and hewed them in pieces, and sent them throughout all the coasts of Israel by the hands of messengers, saying, Whosoever cometh not forth after Saul and after Samuel, so shall it be done unto his oxen.
And the fear of the LORD fell on the people, and they came out with one consent.
11: 8 And when he numbered them in Bezek, the children of Israel were three hundred thousand, and the men of Judah thirty thousand.
11: 9 And they said unto the messengers that came, Thus shall ye say unto the men of Jabeshgilead, To morrow, by that time the sun be hot, ye shall have help.
And the messengers came and shewed it to the men of Jabesh; and they were glad.
11: 10 Therefore the men of Jabesh said, To morrow we will come out unto you, and ye shall do with us all that seemeth good unto you.
11: 12 And the people said unto Samuel, Who is he that said, Shall Saul reign over us?
bring the men, that we may put them to death.
11: 13 And Saul said, There shall not a man be put to death this day: for to day the LORD hath wrought salvation in Israel.
11: 14 Then said Samuel to the people, Come, and let us go to Gilgal, and renew the kingdom there.
11: 15 And all the people went to Gilgal; and there they made Saul king before the LORD in Gilgal; and there they sacrificed sacrifices of peace offerings before the LORD; and there Saul and all the men of Israel rejoiced greatly.
12: 1 And Samuel said unto all Israel, Behold, I have hearkened unto your voice in all that ye said unto me, and have made a king over you.
12: 2 And now, behold, the king walketh before you: and I am old and grayheaded; and, behold, my sons are with you: and I have walked before you from my childhood unto this day.
12: 3 Behold, here I am: witness against me before the LORD, and before his anointed: whose ox have I taken?
or whose ass have I taken?
or whom have I defrauded?
whom have I oppressed?
or of whose hand have I received any bribe to blind mine eyes therewith?
and I will restore it you.
12: 4 And they said, Thou hast not defrauded us, nor oppressed us, neither hast thou taken ought of any man's hand.
12: 5 And he said unto them, The LORD is witness against you, and his anointed is witness this day, that ye have not found ought in my hand.
And they answered, He is witness.
12: 6 And Samuel said unto the people, It is the LORD that advanced Moses and Aaron, and that brought your fathers up out of the land of Egypt.
12: 7 Now therefore stand still, that I may reason with you before the LORD of all the righteous acts of the LORD, which he did to you and to your fathers.
12: 8 When Jacob was come into Egypt, and your fathers cried unto the LORD, then the LORD sent Moses and Aaron, which brought forth your fathers out of Egypt, and made them dwell in this place.
12: 9 And when they forgat the LORD their God, he sold them into the hand of Sisera, captain of the host of Hazor, and into the hand of the Philistines, and into the hand of the king of Moab, and they fought against them.
12: 10 And they cried unto the LORD, and said, We have sinned, because we have forsaken the LORD, and have served Baalim and Ashtaroth: but now deliver us out of the hand of our enemies, and we will serve thee.
12: 11 And the LORD sent Jerubbaal, and Bedan, and Jephthah, and Samuel, and delivered you out of the hand of your enemies on every side, and ye dwelled safe.
12: 12 And when ye saw that Nahash the king of the children of Ammon came against you, ye said unto me, Nay; but a king shall reign over us: when the LORD your God was your king.
12: 13 Now therefore behold the king whom ye have chosen, and whom ye have desired!
and, behold, the LORD hath set a king over you.
12: 16 Now therefore stand and see this great thing, which the LORD will do before your eyes.
12: 17 Is it not wheat harvest to day?
I will call unto the LORD, and he shall send thunder and rain; that ye may perceive and see that your wickedness is great, which ye have done in the sight of the LORD, in asking you a king.
12: 18 So Samuel called unto the LORD; and the LORD sent thunder and rain that day: and all the people greatly feared the LORD and Samuel.
12: 19 And all the people said unto Samuel, Pray for thy servants unto the LORD thy God, that we die not: for we have added unto all our sins this evil, to ask us a king.
12: 22 For the LORD will not forsake his people for his great name's sake: because it hath pleased the LORD to make you his people.
12: 23 Moreover as for me, God forbid that I should sin against the LORD in ceasing to pray for you: but I will teach you the good and the right way: 12: 24 Only fear the LORD, and serve him in truth with all your heart: for consider how great things he hath done for you.
12: 25 But if ye shall still do wickedly, ye shall be consumed, both ye and your king.
13: 3 And Jonathan smote the garrison of the Philistines that was in Geba, and the Philistines heard of it.
And Saul blew the trumpet throughout all the land, saying, Let the Hebrews hear.
13: 4 And all Israel heard say that Saul had smitten a garrison of the Philistines, and that Israel also was had in abomination with the Philistines.
And the people were called together after Saul to Gilgal.
13: 5 And the Philistines gathered themselves together to fight with Israel, thirty thousand chariots, and six thousand horsemen, and people as the sand which is on the sea shore in multitude: and they came up, and pitched in Michmash, eastward from Bethaven.
13: 6 When the men of Israel saw that they were in a strait, (for the people were distressed,) then the people did hide themselves in caves, and in thickets, and in rocks, and in high places, and in pits.
13: 7 And some of the Hebrews went over Jordan to the land of Gad and Gilead.
As for Saul, he was yet in Gilgal, and all the people followed him trembling.
13: 8 And he tarried seven days, according to the set time that Samuel had appointed: but Samuel came not to Gilgal; and the people were scattered from him.
13: 9 And Saul said, Bring hither a burnt offering to me, and peace offerings.
And he offered the burnt offering.
13: 10 And it came to pass, that as soon as he had made an end of offering the burnt offering, behold, Samuel came; and Saul went out to meet him, that he might salute him.
13: 11 And Samuel said, What hast thou done?
13: 13 And Samuel said to Saul, Thou hast done foolishly: thou hast not kept the commandment of the LORD thy God, which he commanded thee: for now would the LORD have established thy kingdom upon Israel for ever.
13: 14 But now thy kingdom shall not continue: the LORD hath sought him a man after his own heart, and the LORD hath commanded him to be captain over his people, because thou hast not kept that which the LORD commanded thee.
13: 15 And Samuel arose, and gat him up from Gilgal unto Gibeah of Benjamin.
And Saul numbered the people that were present with him, about six hundred men.
13: 16 And Saul, and Jonathan his son, and the people that were present with them, abode in Gibeah of Benjamin: but the Philistines encamped in Michmash.
13: 21 Yet they had a file for the mattocks, and for the coulters, and for the forks, and for the axes, and to sharpen the goads.
13: 22 So it came to pass in the day of battle, that there was neither sword nor spear found in the hand of any of the people that were with Saul and Jonathan: but with Saul and with Jonathan his son was there found.
13: 23 And the garrison of the Philistines went out to the passage of Michmash.
14: 1 Now it came to pass upon a day, that Jonathan the son of Saul said unto the young man that bare his armour, Come, and let us go over to the Philistines'garrison, that is on the other side.
But he told not his father.
And the people knew not that Jonathan was gone.
14: 4 And between the passages, by which Jonathan sought to go over unto the Philistines'garrison, there was a sharp rock on the one side, and a sharp rock on the other side: and the name of the one was Bozez, and the name of the other Seneh.
14: 5 The forefront of the one was situate northward over against Michmash, and the other southward over against Gibeah.
14: 6 And Jonathan said to the young man that bare his armour, Come, and let us go over unto the garrison of these uncircumcised: it may be that the LORD will work for us: for there is no restraint to the LORD to save by many or by few.
14: 7 And his armourbearer said unto him, Do all that is in thine heart: turn thee; behold, I am with thee according to thy heart.
14: 8 Then said Jonathan, Behold, we will pass over unto these men, and we will discover ourselves unto them.
14: 9 If they say thus unto us, Tarry until we come to you; then we will stand still in our place, and will not go up unto them.
14: 10 But if they say thus, Come up unto us; then we will go up: for the LORD hath delivered them into our hand: and this shall be a sign unto us.
14: 11 And both of them discovered themselves unto the garrison of the Philistines: and the Philistines said, Behold, the Hebrews come forth out of the holes where they had hid themselves.
14: 12 And the men of the garrison answered Jonathan and his armourbearer, and said, Come up to us, and we will shew you a thing.
And Jonathan said unto his armourbearer, Come up after me: for the LORD hath delivered them into the hand of Israel.
14: 13 And Jonathan climbed up upon his hands and upon his feet, and his armourbearer after him: and they fell before Jonathan; and his armourbearer slew after him.
14: 14 And that first slaughter, which Jonathan and his armourbearer made, was about twenty men, within as it were an half acre of land, which a yoke of oxen might plow.
14: 15 And there was trembling in the host, in the field, and among all the people: the garrison, and the spoilers, they also trembled, and the earth quaked: so it was a very great trembling.
14: 16 And the watchmen of Saul in Gibeah of Benjamin looked; and, behold, the multitude melted away, and they went on beating down one another.
14: 17 Then said Saul unto the people that were with him, Number now, and see who is gone from us.
And when they had numbered, behold, Jonathan and his armourbearer were not there.
14: 18 And Saul said unto Ahiah, Bring hither the ark of God.
For the ark of God was at that time with the children of Israel.
14: 19 And it came to pass, while Saul talked unto the priest, that the noise that was in the host of the Philistines went on and increased: and Saul said unto the priest, Withdraw thine hand.
14: 20 And Saul and all the people that were with him assembled themselves, and they came to the battle: and, behold, every man's sword was against his fellow, and there was a very great discomfiture.
14: 21 Moreover the Hebrews that were with the Philistines before that time, which went up with them into the camp from the country round about, even they also turned to be with the Israelites that were with Saul and Jonathan.
14: 22 Likewise all the men of Israel which had hid themselves in mount Ephraim, when they heard that the Philistines fled, even they also followed hard after them in the battle.
14: 23 So the LORD saved Israel that day: and the battle passed over unto Bethaven.
14: 24 And the men of Israel were distressed that day: for Saul had adjured the people, saying, Cursed be the man that eateth any food until evening, that I may be avenged on mine enemies.
So none of the people tasted any food.
14: 25 And all they of the land came to a wood; and there was honey upon the ground.
14: 26 And when the people were come into the wood, behold, the honey dropped; but no man put his hand to his mouth: for the people feared the oath.
14: 27 But Jonathan heard not when his father charged the people with the oath: wherefore he put forth the end of the rod that was in his hand, and dipped it in an honeycomb, and put his hand to his mouth; and his eyes were enlightened.
14: 28 Then answered one of the people, and said, Thy father straitly charged the people with an oath, saying, Cursed be the man that eateth any food this day.
And the people were faint.
14: 29 Then said Jonathan, My father hath troubled the land: see, I pray you, how mine eyes have been enlightened, because I tasted a little of this honey.
14: 30 How much more, if haply the people had eaten freely to day of the spoil of their enemies which they found?
for had there not been now a much greater slaughter among the Philistines?
14: 31 And they smote the Philistines that day from Michmash to Aijalon: and the people were very faint.
14: 32 And the people flew upon the spoil, and took sheep, and oxen, and calves, and slew them on the ground: and the people did eat them with the blood.
14: 33 Then they told Saul, saying, Behold, the people sin against the LORD, in that they eat with the blood.
And he said, Ye have transgressed: roll a great stone unto me this day.
14: 34 And Saul said, Disperse yourselves among the people, and say unto them, Bring me hither every man his ox, and every man his sheep, and slay them here, and eat; and sin not against the LORD in eating with the blood.
And all the people brought every man his ox with him that night, and slew them there.
14: 35 And Saul built an altar unto the LORD: the same was the first altar that he built unto the LORD.
14: 36 And Saul said, Let us go down after the Philistines by night, and spoil them until the morning light, and let us not leave a man of them.
And they said, Do whatsoever seemeth good unto thee.
Then said the priest, Let us draw near hither unto God.
14: 37 And Saul asked counsel of God, Shall I go down after the Philistines?
wilt thou deliver them into the hand of Israel?
But he answered him not that day.
14: 38 And Saul said, Draw ye near hither, all the chief of the people: and know and see wherein this sin hath been this day.
14: 39 For, as the LORD liveth, which saveth Israel, though it be in Jonathan my son, he shall surely die.
But there was not a man among all the people that answered him.
14: 40 Then said he unto all Israel, Be ye on one side, and I and Jonathan my son will be on the other side.
And the people said unto Saul, Do what seemeth good unto thee.
14: 41 Therefore Saul said unto the LORD God of Israel, Give a perfect lot.
And Saul and Jonathan were taken: but the people escaped.
14: 42 And Saul said, Cast lots between me and Jonathan my son.
And Jonathan was taken.
14: 43 Then Saul said to Jonathan, Tell me what thou hast done.
And Jonathan told him, and said, I did but taste a little honey with the end of the rod that was in mine hand, and, lo, I must die.
14: 44 And Saul answered, God do so and more also: for thou shalt surely die, Jonathan.
14: 45 And the people said unto Saul, Shall Jonathan die, who hath wrought this great salvation in Israel?
God forbid: as the LORD liveth, there shall not one hair of his head fall to the ground; for he hath wrought with God this day.
So the people rescued Jonathan, that he died not.
14: 46 Then Saul went up from following the Philistines: and the Philistines went to their own place.
14: 47 So Saul took the kingdom over Israel, and fought against all his enemies on every side, against Moab, and against the children of Ammon, and against Edom, and against the kings of Zobah, and against the Philistines: and whithersoever he turned himself, he vexed them.
14: 48 And he gathered an host, and smote the Amalekites, and delivered Israel out of the hands of them that spoiled them.
14: 51 And Kish was the father of Saul; and Ner the father of Abner was the son of Abiel.
14: 52 And there was sore war against the Philistines all the days of Saul: and when Saul saw any strong man, or any valiant man, he took him unto him.
15: 1 Samuel also said unto Saul, The LORD sent me to anoint thee to be king over his people, over Israel: now therefore hearken thou unto the voice of the words of the LORD.
15: 2 Thus saith the LORD of hosts, I remember that which Amalek did to Israel, how he laid wait for him in the way, when he came up from Egypt.
15: 3 Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have, and spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass.
15: 4 And Saul gathered the people together, and numbered them in Telaim, two hundred thousand footmen, and ten thousand men of Judah.
15: 5 And Saul came to a city of Amalek, and laid wait in the valley.
15: 6 And Saul said unto the Kenites, Go, depart, get you down from among the Amalekites, lest I destroy you with them: for ye shewed kindness to all the children of Israel, when they came up out of Egypt.
So the Kenites departed from among the Amalekites.
15: 7 And Saul smote the Amalekites from Havilah until thou comest to Shur, that is over against Egypt.
15: 8 And he took Agag the king of the Amalekites alive, and utterly destroyed all the people with the edge of the sword.
15: 9 But Saul and the people spared Agag, and the best of the sheep, and of the oxen, and of the fatlings, and the lambs, and all that was good, and would not utterly destroy them: but every thing that was vile and refuse, that they destroyed utterly.
15: 10 Then came the word of the LORD unto Samuel, saying, 15: 11 It repenteth me that I have set up Saul to be king: for he is turned back from following me, and hath not performed my commandments.
And it grieved Samuel; and he cried unto the LORD all night.
15: 12 And when Samuel rose early to meet Saul in the morning, it was told Samuel, saying, Saul came to Carmel, and, behold, he set him up a place, and is gone about, and passed on, and gone down to Gilgal.
15: 13 And Samuel came to Saul: and Saul said unto him, Blessed be thou of the LORD: I have performed the commandment of the LORD.
15: 14 And Samuel said, What meaneth then this bleating of the sheep in mine ears, and the lowing of the oxen which I hear?
15: 15 And Saul said, They have brought them from the Amalekites: for the people spared the best of the sheep and of the oxen, to sacrifice unto the LORD thy God; and the rest we have utterly destroyed.
15: 16 Then Samuel said unto Saul, Stay, and I will tell thee what the LORD hath said to me this night.
And he said unto him, Say on.
15: 17 And Samuel said, When thou wast little in thine own sight, wast thou not made the head of the tribes of Israel, and the LORD anointed thee king over Israel?
15: 18 And the LORD sent thee on a journey, and said, Go and utterly destroy the sinners the Amalekites, and fight against them until they be consumed.
15: 19 Wherefore then didst thou not obey the voice of the LORD, but didst fly upon the spoil, and didst evil in the sight of the LORD?
15: 20 And Saul said unto Samuel, Yea, I have obeyed the voice of the LORD, and have gone the way which the LORD sent me, and have brought Agag the king of Amalek, and have utterly destroyed the Amalekites.
15: 21 But the people took of the spoil, sheep and oxen, the chief of the things which should have been utterly destroyed, to sacrifice unto the LORD thy God in Gilgal.
15: 22 And Samuel said, Hath the LORD as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the LORD?
Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams.
15: 23 For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry.
Because thou hast rejected the word of the LORD, he hath also rejected thee from being king.
15: 24 And Saul said unto Samuel, I have sinned: for I have transgressed the commandment of the LORD, and thy words: because I feared the people, and obeyed their voice.
15: 25 Now therefore, I pray thee, pardon my sin, and turn again with me, that I may worship the LORD.
15: 26 And Samuel said unto Saul, I will not return with thee: for thou hast rejected the word of the LORD, and the LORD hath rejected thee from being king over Israel.
15: 27 And as Samuel turned about to go away, he laid hold upon the skirt of his mantle, and it rent.
15: 28 And Samuel said unto him, The LORD hath rent the kingdom of Israel from thee this day, and hath given it to a neighbour of thine, that is better than thou.
15: 29 And also the Strength of Israel will not lie nor repent: for he is not a man, that he should repent.
15: 30 Then he said, I have sinned: yet honour me now, I pray thee, before the elders of my people, and before Israel, and turn again with me, that I may worship the LORD thy God.
15: 31 So Samuel turned again after Saul; and Saul worshipped the LORD.
15: 32 Then said Samuel, Bring ye hither to me Agag the king of the Amalekites.
And Agag came unto him delicately.
And Agag said, Surely the bitterness of death is past.
15: 33 And Samuel said, As the sword hath made women childless, so shall thy mother be childless among women.
And Samuel hewed Agag in pieces before the LORD in Gilgal.
15: 34 Then Samuel went to Ramah; and Saul went up to his house to Gibeah of Saul.
15: 35 And Samuel came no more to see Saul until the day of his death: nevertheless Samuel mourned for Saul: and the LORD repented that he had made Saul king over Israel.
16: 1 And the LORD said unto Samuel, How long wilt thou mourn for Saul, seeing I have rejected him from reigning over Israel?
fill thine horn with oil, and go, I will send thee to Jesse the Bethlehemite: for I have provided me a king among his sons.
16: 2 And Samuel said, How can I go?
if Saul hear it, he will kill me.
And the LORD said, Take an heifer with thee, and say, I am come to sacrifice to the LORD.
16: 3 And call Jesse to the sacrifice, and I will shew thee what thou shalt do: and thou shalt anoint unto me him whom I name unto thee.
16: 4 And Samuel did that which the LORD spake, and came to Bethlehem.
And the elders of the town trembled at his coming, and said, Comest thou peaceably?
16: 5 And he said, Peaceably: I am come to sacrifice unto the LORD: sanctify yourselves, and come with me to the sacrifice.
And he sanctified Jesse and his sons, and called them to the sacrifice.
16: 6 And it came to pass, when they were come, that he looked on Eliab, and said, Surely the LORD's anointed is before him.
16: 7 But the LORD said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart.
16: 8 Then Jesse called Abinadab, and made him pass before Samuel.
And he said, Neither hath the LORD chosen this.
16: 9 Then Jesse made Shammah to pass by.
And he said, Neither hath the LORD chosen this.
16: 10 Again, Jesse made seven of his sons to pass before Samuel.
And Samuel said unto Jesse, The LORD hath not chosen these.
16: 11 And Samuel said unto Jesse, Are here all thy children?
And he said, There remaineth yet the youngest, and, behold, he keepeth the sheep.
And Samuel said unto Jesse, Send and fetch him: for we will not sit down till he come hither.
16: 12 And he sent, and brought him in.
Now he was ruddy, and withal of a beautiful countenance, and goodly to look to.
And the LORD said, Arise, anoint him: for this is he.
16: 13 Then Samuel took the horn of oil, and anointed him in the midst of his brethren: and the Spirit of the LORD came upon David from that day forward.
So Samuel rose up, and went to Ramah.
16: 14 But the Spirit of the LORD departed from Saul, and an evil spirit from the LORD troubled him.
16: 15 And Saul's servants said unto him, Behold now, an evil spirit from God troubleth thee.
16: 16 Let our lord now command thy servants, which are before thee, to seek out a man, who is a cunning player on an harp: and it shall come to pass, when the evil spirit from God is upon thee, that he shall play with his hand, and thou shalt be well.
16: 17 And Saul said unto his servants, Provide me now a man that can play well, and bring him to me.
16: 18 Then answered one of the servants, and said, Behold, I have seen a son of Jesse the Bethlehemite, that is cunning in playing, and a mighty valiant man, and a man of war, and prudent in matters, and a comely person, and the LORD is with him.
16: 19 Wherefore Saul sent messengers unto Jesse, and said, Send me David thy son, which is with the sheep.
16: 20 And Jesse took an ass laden with bread, and a bottle of wine, and a kid, and sent them by David his son unto Saul.
16: 21 And David came to Saul, and stood before him: and he loved him greatly; and he became his armourbearer.
16: 22 And Saul sent to Jesse, saying, Let David, I pray thee, stand before me; for he hath found favour in my sight.
16: 23 And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand: so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him.
17: 1 Now the Philistines gathered together their armies to battle, and were gathered together at Shochoh, which belongeth to Judah, and pitched between Shochoh and Azekah, in Ephesdammim.
17: 2 And Saul and the men of Israel were gathered together, and pitched by the valley of Elah, and set the battle in array against the Philistines.
17: 3 And the Philistines stood on a mountain on the one side, and Israel stood on a mountain on the other side: and there was a valley between them.
17: 4 And there went out a champion out of the camp of the Philistines, named Goliath, of Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span.
17: 5 And he had an helmet of brass upon his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail; and the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of brass.
17: 6 And he had greaves of brass upon his legs, and a target of brass between his shoulders.
17: 7 And the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and his spear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron: and one bearing a shield went before him.
17: 8 And he stood and cried unto the armies of Israel, and said unto them, Why are ye come out to set your battle in array?
am not I a Philistine, and ye servants to Saul?
choose you a man for you, and let him come down to me.
17: 9 If he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then will we be your servants: but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then shall ye be our servants, and serve us.
17: 10 And the Philistine said, I defy the armies of Israel this day; give me a man, that we may fight together.
17: 11 When Saul and all Israel heard those words of the Philistine, they were dismayed, and greatly afraid.
17: 12 Now David was the son of that Ephrathite of Bethlehemjudah, whose name was Jesse; and he had eight sons: and the man went among men for an old man in the days of Saul.
17: 13 And the three eldest sons of Jesse went and followed Saul to the battle: and the names of his three sons that went to the battle were Eliab the firstborn, and next unto him Abinadab, and the third Shammah.
17: 14 And David was the youngest: and the three eldest followed Saul.
17: 15 But David went and returned from Saul to feed his father's sheep at Bethlehem.
17: 16 And the Philistine drew near morning and evening, and presented himself forty days.
17: 19 Now Saul, and they, and all the men of Israel, were in the valley of Elah, fighting with the Philistines.
17: 20 And David rose up early in the morning, and left the sheep with a keeper, and took, and went, as Jesse had commanded him; and he came to the trench, as the host was going forth to the fight, and shouted for the battle.
17: 21 For Israel and the Philistines had put the battle in array, army against army.
17: 22 And David left his carriage in the hand of the keeper of the carriage, and ran into the army, and came and saluted his brethren.
17: 23 And as he talked with them, behold, there came up the champion, the Philistine of Gath, Goliath by name, out of the armies of the Philistines, and spake according to the same words: and David heard them.
17: 24 And all the men of Israel, when they saw the man, fled from him, and were sore afraid.
17: 25 And the men of Israel said, Have ye seen this man that is come up?
surely to defy Israel is he come up: and it shall be, that the man who killeth him, the king will enrich him with great riches, and will give him his daughter, and make his father's house free in Israel.
17: 26 And David spake to the men that stood by him, saying, What shall be done to the man that killeth this Philistine, and taketh away the reproach from Israel?
for who is this uncircumcised Philistine, that he should defy the armies of the living God?
17: 27 And the people answered him after this manner, saying, So shall it be done to the man that killeth him.
17: 28 And Eliab his eldest brother heard when he spake unto the men; and Eliab's anger was kindled against David, and he said, Why camest thou down hither?
and with whom hast thou left those few sheep in the wilderness?
I know thy pride, and the naughtiness of thine heart; for thou art come down that thou mightest see the battle.
17: 29 And David said, What have I now done?
Is there not a cause?
17: 30 And he turned from him toward another, and spake after the same manner: and the people answered him again after the former manner.
17: 31 And when the words were heard which David spake, they rehearsed them before Saul: and he sent for him.
17: 32 And David said to Saul, Let no man's heart fail because of him; thy servant will go and fight with this Philistine.
17: 33 And Saul said to David, Thou art not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him: for thou art but a youth, and he a man of war from his youth.
17: 36 Thy servant slew both the lion and the bear: and this uncircumcised Philistine shall be as one of them, seeing he hath defied the armies of the living God.
17: 37 David said moreover, The LORD that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine.
And Saul said unto David, Go, and the LORD be with thee.
17: 38 And Saul armed David with his armour, and he put an helmet of brass upon his head; also he armed him with a coat of mail.
17: 39 And David girded his sword upon his armour, and he assayed to go; for he had not proved it.
And David said unto Saul, I cannot go with these; for I have not proved them.
And David put them off him.
17: 40 And he took his staff in his hand, and chose him five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in a shepherd's bag which he had, even in a scrip; and his sling was in his hand: and he drew near to the Philistine.
17: 41 And the Philistine came on and drew near unto David; and the man that bare the shield went before him.
17: 42 And when the Philistine looked about, and saw David, he disdained him: for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and of a fair countenance.
17: 43 And the Philistine said unto David, Am I a dog, that thou comest to me with staves?
And the Philistine cursed David by his gods.
17: 44 And the Philistine said to David, Come to me, and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the field.
17: 45 Then said David to the Philistine, Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of the LORD of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied.
17: 47 And all this assembly shall know that the LORD saveth not with sword and spear: for the battle is the LORD's, and he will give you into our hands.
17: 48 And it came to pass, when the Philistine arose, and came, and drew nigh to meet David, that David hastened, and ran toward the army to meet the Philistine.
17: 49 And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone sunk into his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth.
17: 50 So David prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and with a stone, and smote the Philistine, and slew him; but there was no sword in the hand of David.
17: 51 Therefore David ran, and stood upon the Philistine, and took his sword, and drew it out of the sheath thereof, and slew him, and cut off his head therewith.
And when the Philistines saw their champion was dead, they fled.
17: 52 And the men of Israel and of Judah arose, and shouted, and pursued the Philistines, until thou come to the valley, and to the gates of Ekron.
And the wounded of the Philistines fell down by the way to Shaaraim, even unto Gath, and unto Ekron.
17: 53 And the children of Israel returned from chasing after the Philistines, and they spoiled their tents.
17: 54 And David took the head of the Philistine, and brought it to Jerusalem; but he put his armour in his tent.
17: 55 And when Saul saw David go forth against the Philistine, he said unto Abner, the captain of the host, Abner, whose son is this youth?
And Abner said, As thy soul liveth, O king, I cannot tell.
17: 56 And the king said, Enquire thou whose son the stripling is.
17: 57 And as David returned from the slaughter of the Philistine, Abner took him, and brought him before Saul with the head of the Philistine in his hand.
17: 58 And Saul said to him, Whose son art thou, thou young man?
And David answered, I am the son of thy servant Jesse the Bethlehemite.
18: 1 And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speaking unto Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.
18: 2 And Saul took him that day, and would let him go no more home to his father's house.
18: 3 Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul.
18: 4 And Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to David, and his garments, even to his sword, and to his bow, and to his girdle.
18: 5 And David went out whithersoever Saul sent him, and behaved himself wisely: and Saul set him over the men of war, and he was accepted in the sight of all the people, and also in the sight of Saul's servants.
18: 6 And it came to pass as they came, when David was returned from the slaughter of the Philistine, that the women came out of all cities of Israel, singing and dancing, to meet king Saul, with tabrets, with joy, and with instruments of musick.
18: 7 And the women answered one another as they played, and said, Saul hath slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands.
18: 8 And Saul was very wroth, and the saying displeased him; and he said, They have ascribed unto David ten thousands, and to me they have ascribed but thousands: and what can he have more but the kingdom?
18: 9 And Saul eyed David from that day and forward.
18: 10 And it came to pass on the morrow, that the evil spirit from God came upon Saul, and he prophesied in the midst of the house: and David played with his hand, as at other times: and there was a javelin in Saul's hand.
18: 11 And Saul cast the javelin; for he said, I will smite David even to the wall with it.
And David avoided out of his presence twice.
18: 12 And Saul was afraid of David, because the LORD was with him, and was departed from Saul.
18: 13 Therefore Saul removed him from him, and made him his captain over a thousand; and he went out and came in before the people.
18: 14 And David behaved himself wisely in all his ways; and the LORD was with him.
18: 15 Wherefore when Saul saw that he behaved himself very wisely, he was afraid of him.
18: 16 But all Israel and Judah loved David, because he went out and came in before them.
18: 17 And Saul said to David, Behold my elder daughter Merab, her will I give thee to wife: only be thou valiant for me, and fight the LORD's battles.
For Saul said, Let not mine hand be upon him, but let the hand of the Philistines be upon him.
18: 18 And David said unto Saul, Who am I?
and what is my life, or my father's family in Israel, that I should be son in law to the king?
18: 19 But it came to pass at the time when Merab Saul's daughter should have been given to David, that she was given unto Adriel the Meholathite to wife.
18: 20 And Michal Saul's daughter loved David: and they told Saul, and the thing pleased him.
18: 21 And Saul said, I will give him her, that she may be a snare to him, and that the hand of the Philistines may be against him.
Wherefore Saul said to David, Thou shalt this day be my son in law in the one of the twain.
18: 22 And Saul commanded his servants, saying, Commune with David secretly, and say, Behold, the king hath delight in thee, and all his servants love thee: now therefore be the king's son in law.
18: 23 And Saul's servants spake those words in the ears of David.
And David said, Seemeth it to you a light thing to be a king's son in law, seeing that I am a poor man, and lightly esteemed?
18: 24 And the servants of Saul told him, saying, On this manner spake David.
18: 25 And Saul said, Thus shall ye say to David, The king desireth not any dowry, but an hundred foreskins of the Philistines, to be avenged of the king's enemies.
But Saul thought to make David fall by the hand of the Philistines.
18: 26 And when his servants told David these words, it pleased David well to be the king's son in law: and the days were not expired.
18: 27 Wherefore David arose and went, he and his men, and slew of the Philistines two hundred men; and David brought their foreskins, and they gave them in full tale to the king, that he might be the king's son in law.
And Saul gave him Michal his daughter to wife.
18: 28 And Saul saw and knew that the LORD was with David, and that Michal Saul's daughter loved him.
18: 29 And Saul was yet the more afraid of David; and Saul became David's enemy continually.
18: 30 Then the princes of the Philistines went forth: and it came to pass, after they went forth, that David behaved himself more wisely than all the servants of Saul; so that his name was much set by.
19: 1 And Saul spake to Jonathan his son, and to all his servants, that they should kill David.
19: 6 And Saul hearkened unto the voice of Jonathan: and Saul sware, As the LORD liveth, he shall not be slain.
19: 7 And Jonathan called David, and Jonathan shewed him all those things.
And Jonathan brought David to Saul, and he was in his presence, as in times past.
19: 8 And there was war again: and David went out, and fought with the Philistines, and slew them with a great slaughter; and they fled from him.
19: 9 And the evil spirit from the LORD was upon Saul, as he sat in his house with his javelin in his hand: and David played with his hand.
19: 10 And Saul sought to smite David even to the wall with the javelin: but he slipped away out of Saul's presence, and he smote the javelin into the wall: and David fled, and escaped that night.
19: 11 Saul also sent messengers unto David's house, to watch him, and to slay him in the morning: and Michal David's wife told him, saying, If thou save not thy life to night, to morrow thou shalt be slain.
19: 12 So Michal let David down through a window: and he went, and fled, and escaped.
19: 13 And Michal took an image, and laid it in the bed, and put a pillow of goats'hair for his bolster, and covered it with a cloth.
19: 14 And when Saul sent messengers to take David, she said, He is sick.
19: 15 And Saul sent the messengers again to see David, saying, Bring him up to me in the bed, that I may slay him.
19: 16 And when the messengers were come in, behold, there was an image in the bed, with a pillow of goats'hair for his bolster.
19: 17 And Saul said unto Michal, Why hast thou deceived me so, and sent away mine enemy, that he is escaped?
And Michal answered Saul, He said unto me, Let me go; why should I kill thee?
19: 18 So David fled, and escaped, and came to Samuel to Ramah, and told him all that Saul had done to him.
And he and Samuel went and dwelt in Naioth.
19: 19 And it was told Saul, saying, Behold, David is at Naioth in Ramah.
19: 20 And Saul sent messengers to take David: and when they saw the company of the prophets prophesying, and Samuel standing as appointed over them, the Spirit of God was upon the messengers of Saul, and they also prophesied.
19: 21 And when it was told Saul, he sent other messengers, and they prophesied likewise.
And Saul sent messengers again the third time, and they prophesied also.
19: 22 Then went he also to Ramah, and came to a great well that is in Sechu: and he asked and said, Where are Samuel and David?
And one said, Behold, they be at Naioth in Ramah.
19: 23 And he went thither to Naioth in Ramah: and the Spirit of God was upon him also, and he went on, and prophesied, until he came to Naioth in Ramah.
19: 24 And he stripped off his clothes also, and prophesied before Samuel in like manner, and lay down naked all that day and all that night.
Wherefore they say, Is Saul also among the prophets?
20: 1 And David fled from Naioth in Ramah, and came and said before Jonathan, What have I done?
what is mine iniquity?
and what is my sin before thy father, that he seeketh my life?
20: 2 And he said unto him, God forbid; thou shalt not die: behold, my father will do nothing either great or small, but that he will shew it me: and why should my father hide this thing from me?
it is not so.
20: 3 And David sware moreover, and said, Thy father certainly knoweth that I have found grace in thine eyes; and he saith, Let not Jonathan know this, lest he be grieved: but truly as the LORD liveth, and as thy soul liveth, there is but a step between me and death.
20: 4 Then said Jonathan unto David, Whatsoever thy soul desireth, I will even do it for thee.
20: 5 And David said unto Jonathan, Behold, to morrow is the new moon, and I should not fail to sit with the king at meat: but let me go, that I may hide myself in the field unto the third day at even.
20: 6 If thy father at all miss me, then say, David earnestly asked leave of me that he might run to Bethlehem his city: for there is a yearly sacrifice there for all the family.
20: 7 If he say thus, It is well; thy servant shall have peace: but if he be very wroth, then be sure that evil is determined by him.
20: 8 Therefore thou shalt deal kindly with thy servant; for thou hast brought thy servant into a covenant of the LORD with thee: notwithstanding, if there be in me iniquity, slay me thyself; for why shouldest thou bring me to thy father?
20: 9 And Jonathan said, Far be it from thee: for if I knew certainly that evil were determined by my father to come upon thee, then would not I tell it thee?
20: 10 Then said David to Jonathan, Who shall tell me?
or what if thy father answer thee roughly?
20: 11 And Jonathan said unto David, Come, and let us go out into the field.
And they went out both of them into the field.
20: 14 And thou shalt not only while yet I live shew me the kindness of the LORD, that I die not: 20: 15 But also thou shalt not cut off thy kindness from my house for ever: no, not when the LORD hath cut off the enemies of David every one from the face of the earth.
20: 16 So Jonathan made a covenant with the house of David, saying, Let the LORD even require it at the hand of David's enemies.
20: 17 And Jonathan caused David to swear again, because he loved him: for he loved him as he loved his own soul.
20: 18 Then Jonathan said to David, To morrow is the new moon: and thou shalt be missed, because thy seat will be empty.
20: 19 And when thou hast stayed three days, then thou shalt go down quickly, and come to the place where thou didst hide thyself when the business was in hand, and shalt remain by the stone Ezel.
20: 20 And I will shoot three arrows on the side thereof, as though I shot at a mark.
20: 21 And, behold, I will send a lad, saying, Go, find out the arrows.
If I expressly say unto the lad, Behold, the arrows are on this side of thee, take them; then come thou: for there is peace to thee, and no hurt; as the LORD liveth.
20: 22 But if I say thus unto the young man, Behold, the arrows are beyond thee; go thy way: for the LORD hath sent thee away.
20: 23 And as touching the matter which thou and I have spoken of, behold, the LORD be between thee and me for ever.
20: 24 So David hid himself in the field: and when the new moon was come, the king sat him down to eat meat.
20: 25 And the king sat upon his seat, as at other times, even upon a seat by the wall: and Jonathan arose, and Abner sat by Saul's side, and David's place was empty.
20: 26 Nevertheless Saul spake not any thing that day: for he thought, Something hath befallen him, he is not clean; surely he is not clean.
20: 27 And it came to pass on the morrow, which was the second day of the month, that David's place was empty: and Saul said unto Jonathan his son, Wherefore cometh not the son of Jesse to meat, neither yesterday, nor to day?
Therefore he cometh not unto the king's table.
20: 30 Then Saul's anger was kindled against Jonathan, and he said unto him, Thou son of the perverse rebellious woman, do not I know that thou hast chosen the son of Jesse to thine own confusion, and unto the confusion of thy mother's nakedness?
20: 31 For as long as the son of Jesse liveth upon the ground, thou shalt not be established, nor thy kingdom.
Wherefore now send and fetch him unto me, for he shall surely die.
20: 32 And Jonathan answered Saul his father, and said unto him, Wherefore shall he be slain?
what hath he done?
20: 33 And Saul cast a javelin at him to smite him: whereby Jonathan knew that it was determined of his father to slay David.
20: 34 So Jonathan arose from the table in fierce anger, and did eat no meat the second day of the month: for he was grieved for David, because his father had done him shame.
20: 35 And it came to pass in the morning, that Jonathan went out into the field at the time appointed with David, and a little lad with him.
20: 36 And he said unto his lad, Run, find out now the arrows which I shoot.
And as the lad ran, he shot an arrow beyond him.
20: 37 And when the lad was come to the place of the arrow which Jonathan had shot, Jonathan cried after the lad, and said, Is not the arrow beyond thee?
20: 38 And Jonathan cried after the lad, Make speed, haste, stay not.
And Jonathan's lad gathered up the arrows, and came to his master.
20: 39 But the lad knew not any thing: only Jonathan and David knew the matter.
20: 40 And Jonathan gave his artillery unto his lad, and said unto him, Go, carry them to the city.
20: 41 And as soon as the lad was gone, David arose out of a place toward the south, and fell on his face to the ground, and bowed himself three times: and they kissed one another, and wept one with another, until David exceeded.
20: 42 And Jonathan said to David, Go in peace, forasmuch as we have sworn both of us in the name of the LORD, saying, The LORD be between me and thee, and between my seed and thy seed for ever.
And he arose and departed: and Jonathan went into the city.
21: 1 Then came David to Nob to Ahimelech the priest: and Ahimelech was afraid at the meeting of David, and said unto him, Why art thou alone, and no man with thee?
21: 2 And David said unto Ahimelech the priest, The king hath commanded me a business, and hath said unto me, Let no man know any thing of the business whereabout I send thee, and what I have commanded thee: and I have appointed my servants to such and such a place.
21: 3 Now therefore what is under thine hand?
give me five loaves of bread in mine hand, or what there is present.
21: 4 And the priest answered David, and said, There is no common bread under mine hand, but there is hallowed bread; if the young men have kept themselves at least from women.
21: 5 And David answered the priest, and said unto him, Of a truth women have been kept from us about these three days, since I came out, and the vessels of the young men are holy, and the bread is in a manner common, yea, though it were sanctified this day in the vessel.
21: 6 So the priest gave him hallowed bread: for there was no bread there but the shewbread, that was taken from before the LORD, to put hot bread in the day when it was taken away.
21: 7 Now a certain man of the servants of Saul was there that day, detained before the LORD; and his name was Doeg, an Edomite, the chiefest of the herdmen that belonged to Saul.
21: 8 And David said unto Ahimelech, And is there not here under thine hand spear or sword?
for I have neither brought my sword nor my weapons with me, because the king's business required haste.
21: 9 And the priest said, The sword of Goliath the Philistine, whom thou slewest in the valley of Elah, behold, it is here wrapped in a cloth behind the ephod: if thou wilt take that, take it: for there is no other save that here.
And David said, There is none like that; give it me.
21: 10 And David arose and fled that day for fear of Saul, and went to Achish the king of Gath.
21: 11 And the servants of Achish said unto him, Is not this David the king of the land?
did they not sing one to another of him in dances, saying, Saul hath slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands?
21: 12 And David laid up these words in his heart, and was sore afraid of Achish the king of Gath.
21: 13 And he changed his behaviour before them, and feigned himself mad in their hands, and scrabbled on the doors of the gate, and let his spittle fall down upon his beard.
21: 14 Then said Achish unto his servants, Lo, ye see the man is mad: wherefore then have ye brought him to me?
21: 15 Have I need of mad men, that ye have brought this fellow to play the mad man in my presence?
shall this fellow come into my house?
22: 1 David therefore departed thence, and escaped to the cave Adullam: and when his brethren and all his father's house heard it, they went down thither to him.
22: 2 And every one that was in distress, and every one that was in debt, and every one that was discontented, gathered themselves unto him; and he became a captain over them: and there were with him about four hundred men.
22: 3 And David went thence to Mizpeh of Moab: and he said unto the king of Moab, Let my father and my mother, I pray thee, come forth, and be with you, till I know what God will do for me.
22: 4 And he brought them before the king of Moab: and they dwelt with him all the while that David was in the hold.
22: 5 And the prophet Gad said unto David, Abide not in the hold; depart, and get thee into the land of Judah.
Then David departed, and came into the forest of Hareth.
22: 9 Then answered Doeg the Edomite, which was set over the servants of Saul, and said, I saw the son of Jesse coming to Nob, to Ahimelech the son of Ahitub.
22: 10 And he enquired of the LORD for him, and gave him victuals, and gave him the sword of Goliath the Philistine.
22: 11 Then the king sent to call Ahimelech the priest, the son of Ahitub, and all his father's house, the priests that were in Nob: and they came all of them to the king.
22: 12 And Saul said, Hear now, thou son of Ahitub.
And he answered, Here I am, my lord.
22: 13 And Saul said unto him, Why have ye conspired against me, thou and the son of Jesse, in that thou hast given him bread, and a sword, and hast enquired of God for him, that he should rise against me, to lie in wait, as at this day?
22: 14 Then Ahimelech answered the king, and said, And who is so faithful among all thy servants as David, which is the king's son in law, and goeth at thy bidding, and is honourable in thine house?
22: 15 Did I then begin to enquire of God for him?
be it far from me: let not the king impute any thing unto his servant, nor to all the house of my father: for thy servant knew nothing of all this, less or more.
22: 16 And the king said, Thou shalt surely die, Ahimelech, thou, and all thy father's house.
22: 17 And the king said unto the footmen that stood about him, Turn, and slay the priests of the LORD: because their hand also is with David, and because they knew when he fled, and did not shew it to me.
But the servants of the king would not put forth their hand to fall upon the priests of the LORD.
22: 18 And the king said to Doeg, Turn thou, and fall upon the priests.
And Doeg the Edomite turned, and he fell upon the priests, and slew on that day fourscore and five persons that did wear a linen ephod.
22: 19 And Nob, the city of the priests, smote he with the edge of the sword, both men and women, children and sucklings, and oxen, and asses, and sheep, with the edge of the sword.
22: 20 And one of the sons of Ahimelech the son of Ahitub, named Abiathar, escaped, and fled after David.
22: 21 And Abiathar shewed David that Saul had slain the LORD's priests.
22: 22 And David said unto Abiathar, I knew it that day, when Doeg the Edomite was there, that he would surely tell Saul: I have occasioned the death of all the persons of thy father's house.
22: 23 Abide thou with me, fear not: for he that seeketh my life seeketh thy life: but with me thou shalt be in safeguard.
23: 1 Then they told David, saying, Behold, the Philistines fight against Keilah, and they rob the threshingfloors.
23: 2 Therefore David enquired of the LORD, saying, Shall I go and smite these Philistines?
And the LORD said unto David, Go, and smite the Philistines, and save Keilah.
23: 3 And David's men said unto him, Behold, we be afraid here in Judah: how much more then if we come to Keilah against the armies of the Philistines?
23: 4 Then David enquired of the LORD yet again.
And the LORD answered him and said, Arise, go down to Keilah; for I will deliver the Philistines into thine hand.
23: 5 So David and his men went to Keilah, and fought with the Philistines, and brought away their cattle, and smote them with a great slaughter.
So David saved the inhabitants of Keilah.
23: 6 And it came to pass, when Abiathar the son of Ahimelech fled to David to Keilah, that he came down with an ephod in his hand.
23: 7 And it was told Saul that David was come to Keilah.
And Saul said, God hath delivered him into mine hand; for he is shut in, by entering into a town that hath gates and bars.
23: 8 And Saul called all the people together to war, to go down to Keilah, to besiege David and his men.
23: 9 And David knew that Saul secretly practised mischief against him; and he said to Abiathar the priest, Bring hither the ephod.
23: 10 Then said David, O LORD God of Israel, thy servant hath certainly heard that Saul seeketh to come to Keilah, to destroy the city for my sake.
23: 11 Will the men of Keilah deliver me up into his hand?
will Saul come down, as thy servant hath heard?
O LORD God of Israel, I beseech thee, tell thy servant.
And the LORD said, He will come down.
23: 12 Then said David, Will the men of Keilah deliver me and my men into the hand of Saul?
And the LORD said, They will deliver thee up.
23: 13 Then David and his men, which were about six hundred, arose and departed out of Keilah, and went whithersoever they could go.
And it was told Saul that David was escaped from Keilah; and he forbare to go forth.
23: 14 And David abode in the wilderness in strong holds, and remained in a mountain in the wilderness of Ziph.
And Saul sought him every day, but God delivered him not into his hand.
23: 15 And David saw that Saul was come out to seek his life: and David was in the wilderness of Ziph in a wood.
23: 16 And Jonathan Saul's son arose, and went to David into the wood, and strengthened his hand in God.
23: 17 And he said unto him, Fear not: for the hand of Saul my father shall not find thee; and thou shalt be king over Israel, and I shall be next unto thee; and that also Saul my father knoweth.
23: 18 And they two made a covenant before the LORD: and David abode in the wood, and Jonathan went to his house.
23: 19 Then came up the Ziphites to Saul to Gibeah, saying, Doth not David hide himself with us in strong holds in the wood, in the hill of Hachilah, which is on the south of Jeshimon?
23: 20 Now therefore, O king, come down according to all the desire of thy soul to come down; and our part shall be to deliver him into the king's hand.
23: 21 And Saul said, Blessed be ye of the LORD; for ye have compassion on me.
23: 22 Go, I pray you, prepare yet, and know and see his place where his haunt is, and who hath seen him there: for it is told me that he dealeth very subtilly.
23: 23 See therefore, and take knowledge of all the lurking places where he hideth himself, and come ye again to me with the certainty, and I will go with you: and it shall come to pass, if he be in the land, that I will search him out throughout all the thousands of Judah.
23: 24 And they arose, and went to Ziph before Saul: but David and his men were in the wilderness of Maon, in the plain on the south of Jeshimon.
23: 25 Saul also and his men went to seek him.
And they told David; wherefore he came down into a rock, and abode in the wilderness of Maon.
And when Saul heard that, he pursued after David in the wilderness of Maon.
23: 26 And Saul went on this side of the mountain, and David and his men on that side of the mountain: and David made haste to get away for fear of Saul; for Saul and his men compassed David and his men round about to take them.
23: 27 But there came a messenger unto Saul, saying, Haste thee, and come; for the Philistines have invaded the land.
23: 28 Wherefore Saul returned from pursuing after David, and went against the Philistines: therefore they called that place Selahammahlekoth.
23: 29 And David went up from thence, and dwelt in strong holds at Engedi.
24: 1 And it came to pass, when Saul was returned from following the Philistines, that it was told him, saying, Behold, David is in the wilderness of Engedi.
24: 2 Then Saul took three thousand chosen men out of all Israel, and went to seek David and his men upon the rocks of the wild goats.
24: 3 And he came to the sheepcotes by the way, where was a cave; and Saul went in to cover his feet: and David and his men remained in the sides of the cave.
24: 4 And the men of David said unto him, Behold the day of which the LORD said unto thee, Behold, I will deliver thine enemy into thine hand, that thou mayest do to him as it shall seem good unto thee.
Then David arose, and cut off the skirt of Saul's robe privily.
24: 5 And it came to pass afterward, that David's heart smote him, because he had cut off Saul's skirt.
24: 6 And he said unto his men, The LORD forbid that I should do this thing unto my master, the LORD's anointed, to stretch forth mine hand against him, seeing he is the anointed of the LORD.
24: 7 So David stayed his servants with these words, and suffered them not to rise against Saul.
But Saul rose up out of the cave, and went on his way.
24: 8 David also arose afterward, and went out of the cave, and cried after Saul, saying, My lord the king.
And when Saul looked behind him, David stooped with his face to the earth, and bowed himself.
24: 9 And David said to Saul, Wherefore hearest thou men's words, saying, Behold, David seeketh thy hurt?
24: 10 Behold, this day thine eyes have seen how that the LORD had delivered thee to day into mine hand in the cave: and some bade me kill thee: but mine eye spared thee; and I said, I will not put forth mine hand against my lord; for he is the LORD's anointed.
24: 12 The LORD judge between me and thee, and the LORD avenge me of thee: but mine hand shall not be upon thee.
24: 13 As saith the proverb of the ancients, Wickedness proceedeth from the wicked: but mine hand shall not be upon thee.
24: 14 After whom is the king of Israel come out?
after whom dost thou pursue?
after a dead dog, after a flea.
24: 15 The LORD therefore be judge, and judge between me and thee, and see, and plead my cause, and deliver me out of thine hand.
24: 16 And it came to pass, when David had made an end of speaking these words unto Saul, that Saul said, Is this thy voice, my son David?
And Saul lifted up his voice, and wept.
24: 17 And he said to David, Thou art more righteous than I: for thou hast rewarded me good, whereas I have rewarded thee evil.
24: 18 And thou hast shewed this day how that thou hast dealt well with me: forasmuch as when the LORD had delivered me into thine hand, thou killedst me not.
24: 19 For if a man find his enemy, will he let him go well away?
wherefore the LORD reward thee good for that thou hast done unto me this day.
24: 20 And now, behold, I know well that thou shalt surely be king, and that the kingdom of Israel shall be established in thine hand.
24: 21 Swear now therefore unto me by the LORD, that thou wilt not cut off my seed after me, and that thou wilt not destroy my name out of my father's house.
24: 22 And David sware unto Saul.
And Saul went home; but David and his men gat them up unto the hold.
25: 1 And Samuel died; and all the Israelites were gathered together, and lamented him, and buried him in his house at Ramah.
And David arose, and went down to the wilderness of Paran.
25: 2 And there was a man in Maon, whose possessions were in Carmel; and the man was very great, and he had three thousand sheep, and a thousand goats: and he was shearing his sheep in Carmel.
25: 3 Now the name of the man was Nabal; and the name of his wife Abigail: and she was a woman of good understanding, and of a beautiful countenance: but the man was churlish and evil in his doings; and he was of the house of Caleb.
25: 4 And David heard in the wilderness that Nabal did shear his sheep.
25: 7 And now I have heard that thou hast shearers: now thy shepherds which were with us, we hurt them not, neither was there ought missing unto them, all the while they were in Carmel.
25: 8 Ask thy young men, and they will shew thee.
Wherefore let the young men find favour in thine eyes: for we come in a good day: give, I pray thee, whatsoever cometh to thine hand unto thy servants, and to thy son David.
25: 9 And when David's young men came, they spake to Nabal according to all those words in the name of David, and ceased.
25: 10 And Nabal answered David's servants, and said, Who is David?
and who is the son of Jesse?
there be many servants now a days that break away every man from his master.
25: 11 Shall I then take my bread, and my water, and my flesh that I have killed for my shearers, and give it unto men, whom I know not whence they be?
25: 12 So David's young men turned their way, and went again, and came and told him all those sayings.
25: 13 And David said unto his men, Gird ye on every man his sword.
And they girded on every man his sword; and David also girded on his sword: and there went up after David about four hundred men; and two hundred abode by the stuff.
25: 14 But one of the young men told Abigail, Nabal's wife, saying, Behold, David sent messengers out of the wilderness to salute our master; and he railed on them.
25: 15 But the men were very good unto us, and we were not hurt, neither missed we any thing, as long as we were conversant with them, when we were in the fields: 25: 16 They were a wall unto us both by night and day, all the while we were with them keeping the sheep.
25: 17 Now therefore know and consider what thou wilt do; for evil is determined against our master, and against all his household: for he is such a son of Belial, that a man cannot speak to him.
25: 18 Then Abigail made haste, and took two hundred loaves, and two bottles of wine, and five sheep ready dressed, and five measures of parched corn, and an hundred clusters of raisins, and two hundred cakes of figs, and laid them on asses.
25: 19 And she said unto her servants, Go on before me; behold, I come after you.
But she told not her husband Nabal.
25: 20 And it was so, as she rode on the ass, that she came down by the covert on the hill, and, behold, David and his men came down against her; and she met them.
25: 21 Now David had said, Surely in vain have I kept all that this fellow hath in the wilderness, so that nothing was missed of all that pertained unto him: and he hath requited me evil for good.
25: 22 So and more also do God unto the enemies of David, if I leave of all that pertain to him by the morning light any that pisseth against the wall.
25: 25 Let not my lord, I pray thee, regard this man of Belial, even Nabal: for as his name is, so is he; Nabal is his name, and folly is with him: but I thine handmaid saw not the young men of my lord, whom thou didst send.
25: 26 Now therefore, my lord, as the LORD liveth, and as thy soul liveth, seeing the LORD hath withholden thee from coming to shed blood, and from avenging thyself with thine own hand, now let thine enemies, and they that seek evil to my lord, be as Nabal.
25: 27 And now this blessing which thine handmaid hath brought unto my lord, let it even be given unto the young men that follow my lord.
25: 28 I pray thee, forgive the trespass of thine handmaid: for the LORD will certainly make my lord a sure house; because my lord fighteth the battles of the LORD, and evil hath not been found in thee all thy days.
25: 29 Yet a man is risen to pursue thee, and to seek thy soul: but the soul of my lord shall be bound in the bundle of life with the LORD thy God; and the souls of thine enemies, them shall he sling out, as out of the middle of a sling.
25: 32 And David said to Abigail, Blessed be the LORD God of Israel, which sent thee this day to meet me: 25: 33 And blessed be thy advice, and blessed be thou, which hast kept me this day from coming to shed blood, and from avenging myself with mine own hand.
25: 34 For in very deed, as the LORD God of Israel liveth, which hath kept me back from hurting thee, except thou hadst hasted and come to meet me, surely there had not been left unto Nabal by the morning light any that pisseth against the wall.
25: 35 So David received of her hand that which she had brought him, and said unto her, Go up in peace to thine house; see, I have hearkened to thy voice, and have accepted thy person.
25: 36 And Abigail came to Nabal; and, behold, he held a feast in his house, like the feast of a king; and Nabal's heart was merry within him, for he was very drunken: wherefore she told him nothing, less or more, until the morning light.
25: 37 But it came to pass in the morning, when the wine was gone out of Nabal, and his wife had told him these things, that his heart died within him, and he became as a stone.
25: 38 And it came to pass about ten days after, that the LORD smote Nabal, that he died.
25: 39 And when David heard that Nabal was dead, he said, Blessed be the LORD, that hath pleaded the cause of my reproach from the hand of Nabal, and hath kept his servant from evil: for the LORD hath returned the wickedness of Nabal upon his own head.
And David sent and communed with Abigail, to take her to him to wife.
25: 40 And when the servants of David were come to Abigail to Carmel, they spake unto her, saying, David sent us unto thee, to take thee to him to wife.
25: 41 And she arose, and bowed herself on her face to the earth, and said, Behold, let thine handmaid be a servant to wash the feet of the servants of my lord.
25: 42 And Abigail hasted, and arose and rode upon an ass, with five damsels of hers that went after her; and she went after the messengers of David, and became his wife.
25: 43 David also took Ahinoam of Jezreel; and they were also both of them his wives.
25: 44 But Saul had given Michal his daughter, David's wife, to Phalti the son of Laish, which was of Gallim.
26: 1 And the Ziphites came unto Saul to Gibeah, saying, Doth not David hide himself in the hill of Hachilah, which is before Jeshimon?
26: 2 Then Saul arose, and went down to the wilderness of Ziph, having three thousand chosen men of Israel with him, to seek David in the wilderness of Ziph.
26: 3 And Saul pitched in the hill of Hachilah, which is before Jeshimon, by the way.
But David abode in the wilderness, and he saw that Saul came after him into the wilderness.
26: 4 David therefore sent out spies, and understood that Saul was come in very deed.
26: 5 And David arose, and came to the place where Saul had pitched: and David beheld the place where Saul lay, and Abner the son of Ner, the captain of his host: and Saul lay in the trench, and the people pitched round about him.
26: 6 Then answered David and said to Ahimelech the Hittite, and to Abishai the son of Zeruiah, brother to Joab, saying, Who will go down with me to Saul to the camp?
And Abishai said, I will go down with thee.
26: 7 So David and Abishai came to the people by night: and, behold, Saul lay sleeping within the trench, and his spear stuck in the ground at his bolster: but Abner and the people lay round about him.
26: 8 Then said Abishai to David, God hath delivered thine enemy into thine hand this day: now therefore let me smite him, I pray thee, with the spear even to the earth at once, and I will not smite him the second time.
26: 9 And David said to Abishai, Destroy him not: for who can stretch forth his hand against the LORD's anointed, and be guiltless?
26: 10 David said furthermore, As the LORD liveth, the LORD shall smite him; or his day shall come to die; or he shall descend into battle, and perish.
26: 11 The LORD forbid that I should stretch forth mine hand against the LORD's anointed: but, I pray thee, take thou now the spear that is at his bolster, and the cruse of water, and let us go.
26: 12 So David took the spear and the cruse of water from Saul's bolster; and they gat them away, and no man saw it, nor knew it, neither awaked: for they were all asleep; because a deep sleep from the LORD was fallen upon them.
26: 13 Then David went over to the other side, and stood on the top of an hill afar off; a great space being between them: 26: 14 And David cried to the people, and to Abner the son of Ner, saying, Answerest thou not, Abner?
Then Abner answered and said, Who art thou that criest to the king?
26: 15 And David said to Abner, Art not thou a valiant man?
and who is like to thee in Israel?
wherefore then hast thou not kept thy lord the king?
for there came one of the people in to destroy the king thy lord.
26: 16 This thing is not good that thou hast done.
As the LORD liveth, ye are worthy to die, because ye have not kept your master, the LORD's anointed.
And now see where the king's spear is, and the cruse of water that was at his bolster.
26: 17 And Saul knew David's voice, and said, Is this thy voice, my son David?
And David said, It is my voice, my lord, O king.
26: 18 And he said, Wherefore doth my lord thus pursue after his servant?
for what have I done?
or what evil is in mine hand?
26: 19 Now therefore, I pray thee, let my lord the king hear the words of his servant.
If the LORD have stirred thee up against me, let him accept an offering: but if they be the children of men, cursed be they before the LORD; for they have driven me out this day from abiding in the inheritance of the LORD, saying, Go, serve other gods.
26: 20 Now therefore, let not my blood fall to the earth before the face of the LORD: for the king of Israel is come out to seek a flea, as when one doth hunt a partridge in the mountains.
26: 21 Then said Saul, I have sinned: return, my son David: for I will no more do thee harm, because my soul was precious in thine eyes this day: behold, I have played the fool, and have erred exceedingly.
26: 22 And David answered and said, Behold the king's spear!
and let one of the young men come over and fetch it.
26: 23 The LORD render to every man his righteousness and his faithfulness; for the LORD delivered thee into my hand to day, but I would not stretch forth mine hand against the LORD's anointed.
26: 24 And, behold, as thy life was much set by this day in mine eyes, so let my life be much set by in the eyes of the LORD, and let him deliver me out of all tribulation.
26: 25 Then Saul said to David, Blessed be thou, my son David: thou shalt both do great things, and also shalt still prevail.
So David went on his way, and Saul returned to his place.
27: 2 And David arose, and he passed over with the six hundred men that were with him unto Achish, the son of Maoch, king of Gath.
27: 3 And David dwelt with Achish at Gath, he and his men, every man with his household, even David with his two wives, Ahinoam the Jezreelitess, and Abigail the Carmelitess, Nabal's wife.
27: 4 And it was told Saul that David was fled to Gath: and he sought no more again for him.
27: 5 And David said unto Achish, If I have now found grace in thine eyes, let them give me a place in some town in the country, that I may dwell there: for why should thy servant dwell in the royal city with thee?
27: 6 Then Achish gave him Ziklag that day: wherefore Ziklag pertaineth unto the kings of Judah unto this day.
27: 7 And the time that David dwelt in the country of the Philistines was a full year and four months.
27: 8 And David and his men went up, and invaded the Geshurites, and the Gezrites, and the Amalekites: for those nations were of old the inhabitants of the land, as thou goest to Shur, even unto the land of Egypt.
27: 9 And David smote the land, and left neither man nor woman alive, and took away the sheep, and the oxen, and the asses, and the camels, and the apparel, and returned, and came to Achish.
27: 10 And Achish said, Whither have ye made a road to day?
And David said, Against the south of Judah, and against the south of the Jerahmeelites, and against the south of the Kenites.
27: 11 And David saved neither man nor woman alive, to bring tidings to Gath, saying, Lest they should tell on us, saying, So did David, and so will be his manner all the while he dwelleth in the country of the Philistines.
27: 12 And Achish believed David, saying, He hath made his people Israel utterly to abhor him; therefore he shall be my servant for ever.
28: 1 And it came to pass in those days, that the Philistines gathered their armies together for warfare, to fight with Israel.
And Achish said unto David, Know thou assuredly, that thou shalt go out with me to battle, thou and thy men.
28: 2 And David said to Achish, Surely thou shalt know what thy servant can do.
And Achish said to David, Therefore will I make thee keeper of mine head for ever.
28: 3 Now Samuel was dead, and all Israel had lamented him, and buried him in Ramah, even in his own city.
And Saul had put away those that had familiar spirits, and the wizards, out of the land.
28: 4 And the Philistines gathered themselves together, and came and pitched in Shunem: and Saul gathered all Israel together, and they pitched in Gilboa.
28: 5 And when Saul saw the host of the Philistines, he was afraid, and his heart greatly trembled.
28: 6 And when Saul enquired of the LORD, the LORD answered him not, neither by dreams, nor by Urim, nor by prophets.
28: 7 Then said Saul unto his servants, Seek me a woman that hath a familiar spirit, that I may go to her, and enquire of her.
And his servants said to him, Behold, there is a woman that hath a familiar spirit at Endor.
28: 8 And Saul disguised himself, and put on other raiment, and he went, and two men with him, and they came to the woman by night: and he said, I pray thee, divine unto me by the familiar spirit, and bring me him up, whom I shall name unto thee.
28: 9 And the woman said unto him, Behold, thou knowest what Saul hath done, how he hath cut off those that have familiar spirits, and the wizards, out of the land: wherefore then layest thou a snare for my life, to cause me to die?
28: 10 And Saul sware to her by the LORD, saying, As the LORD liveth, there shall no punishment happen to thee for this thing.
28: 11 Then said the woman, Whom shall I bring up unto thee?
And he said, Bring me up Samuel.
28: 12 And when the woman saw Samuel, she cried with a loud voice: and the woman spake to Saul, saying, Why hast thou deceived me?
for thou art Saul.
28: 13 And the king said unto her, Be not afraid: for what sawest thou?
And the woman said unto Saul, I saw gods ascending out of the earth.
28: 14 And he said unto her, What form is he of?
And she said, An old man cometh up; and he is covered with a mantle.
And Saul perceived that it was Samuel, and he stooped with his face to the ground, and bowed himself.
28: 15 And Samuel said to Saul, Why hast thou disquieted me, to bring me up?
And Saul answered, I am sore distressed; for the Philistines make war against me, and God is departed from me, and answereth me no more, neither by prophets, nor by dreams: therefore I have called thee, that thou mayest make known unto me what I shall do.
28: 16 Then said Samuel, Wherefore then dost thou ask of me, seeing the LORD is departed from thee, and is become thine enemy?
28: 19 Moreover the LORD will also deliver Israel with thee into the hand of the Philistines: and to morrow shalt thou and thy sons be with me: the LORD also shall deliver the host of Israel into the hand of the Philistines.
28: 20 Then Saul fell straightway all along on the earth, and was sore afraid, because of the words of Samuel: and there was no strength in him; for he had eaten no bread all the day, nor all the night.
28: 21 And the woman came unto Saul, and saw that he was sore troubled, and said unto him, Behold, thine handmaid hath obeyed thy voice, and I have put my life in my hand, and have hearkened unto thy words which thou spakest unto me.
28: 22 Now therefore, I pray thee, hearken thou also unto the voice of thine handmaid, and let me set a morsel of bread before thee; and eat, that thou mayest have strength, when thou goest on thy way.
28: 23 But he refused, and said, I will not eat.
But his servants, together with the woman, compelled him; and he hearkened unto their voice.
So he arose from the earth, and sat upon the bed.
28: 24 And the woman had a fat calf in the house; and she hasted, and killed it, and took flour, and kneaded it, and did bake unleavened bread thereof: 28: 25 And she brought it before Saul, and before his servants; and they did eat.
Then they rose up, and went away that night.
29: 1 Now the Philistines gathered together all their armies to Aphek: and the Israelites pitched by a fountain which is in Jezreel.
29: 2 And the lords of the Philistines passed on by hundreds, and by thousands: but David and his men passed on in the rereward with Achish.
29: 3 Then said the princes of the Philistines, What do these Hebrews here?
And Achish said unto the princes of the Philistines, Is not this David, the servant of Saul the king of Israel, which hath been with me these days, or these years, and I have found no fault in him since he fell unto me unto this day?
should it not be with the heads of these men?
29: 5 Is not this David, of whom they sang one to another in dances, saying, Saul slew his thousands, and David his ten thousands?
29: 7 Wherefore now return, and go in peace, that thou displease not the lords of the Philistines.
29: 8 And David said unto Achish, But what have I done?
and what hast thou found in thy servant so long as I have been with thee unto this day, that I may not go fight against the enemies of my lord the king?
29: 9 And Achish answered and said to David, I know that thou art good in my sight, as an angel of God: notwithstanding the princes of the Philistines have said, He shall not go up with us to the battle.
29: 10 Wherefore now rise up early in the morning with thy master's servants that are come with thee: and as soon as ye be up early in the morning, and have light, depart.
29: 11 So David and his men rose up early to depart in the morning, to return into the land of the Philistines.
And the Philistines went up to Jezreel.
30: 3 So David and his men came to the city, and, behold, it was burned with fire; and their wives, and their sons, and their daughters, were taken captives.
30: 4 Then David and the people that were with him lifted up their voice and wept, until they had no more power to weep.
30: 5 And David's two wives were taken captives, Ahinoam the Jezreelitess, and Abigail the wife of Nabal the Carmelite.
30: 6 And David was greatly distressed; for the people spake of stoning him, because the soul of all the people was grieved, every man for his sons and for his daughters: but David encouraged himself in the LORD his God.
30: 7 And David said to Abiathar the priest, Ahimelech's son, I pray thee, bring me hither the ephod.
And Abiathar brought thither the ephod to David.
30: 8 And David enquired at the LORD, saying, Shall I pursue after this troop?
shall I overtake them?
And he answered him, Pursue: for thou shalt surely overtake them, and without fail recover all.
30: 9 So David went, he and the six hundred men that were with him, and came to the brook Besor, where those that were left behind stayed.
30: 10 But David pursued, he and four hundred men: for two hundred abode behind, which were so faint that they could not go over the brook Besor.
30: 13 And David said unto him, To whom belongest thou?
and whence art thou?
And he said, I am a young man of Egypt, servant to an Amalekite; and my master left me, because three days agone I fell sick.
30: 14 We made an invasion upon the south of the Cherethites, and upon the coast which belongeth to Judah, and upon the south of Caleb; and we burned Ziklag with fire.
30: 15 And David said to him, Canst thou bring me down to this company?
And he said, Swear unto me by God, that thou wilt neither kill me, nor deliver me into the hands of my master, and I will bring thee down to this company.
30: 16 And when he had brought him down, behold, they were spread abroad upon all the earth, eating and drinking, and dancing, because of all the great spoil that they had taken out of the land of the Philistines, and out of the land of Judah.
30: 17 And David smote them from the twilight even unto the evening of the next day: and there escaped not a man of them, save four hundred young men, which rode upon camels, and fled.
30: 18 And David recovered all that the Amalekites had carried away: and David rescued his two wives.
30: 19 And there was nothing lacking to them, neither small nor great, neither sons nor daughters, neither spoil, nor any thing that they had taken to them: David recovered all.
30: 20 And David took all the flocks and the herds, which they drave before those other cattle, and said, This is David's spoil.
30: 23 Then said David, Ye shall not do so, my brethren, with that which the LORD hath given us, who hath preserved us, and delivered the company that came against us into our hand.
30: 24 For who will hearken unto you in this matter?
but as his part is that goeth down to the battle, so shall his part be that tarrieth by the stuff: they shall part alike.
30: 25 And it was so from that day forward, that he made it a statute and an ordinance for Israel unto this day.
31: 1 Now the Philistines fought against Israel: and the men of Israel fled from before the Philistines, and fell down slain in mount Gilboa.
31: 2 And the Philistines followed hard upon Saul and upon his sons; and the Philistines slew Jonathan, and Abinadab, and Melchishua, Saul's sons.
31: 3 And the battle went sore against Saul, and the archers hit him; and he was sore wounded of the archers.
31: 4 Then said Saul unto his armourbearer, Draw thy sword, and thrust me through therewith; lest these uncircumcised come and thrust me through, and abuse me.
But his armourbearer would not; for he was sore afraid.
Therefore Saul took a sword, and fell upon it.
31: 5 And when his armourbearer saw that Saul was dead, he fell likewise upon his sword, and died with him.
31: 6 So Saul died, and his three sons, and his armourbearer, and all his men, that same day together.
31: 7 And when the men of Israel that were on the other side of the valley, and they that were on the other side Jordan, saw that the men of Israel fled, and that Saul and his sons were dead, they forsook the cities, and fled; and the Philistines came and dwelt in them.
31: 8 And it came to pass on the morrow, when the Philistines came to strip the slain, that they found Saul and his three sons fallen in mount Gilboa.
31: 9 And they cut off his head, and stripped off his armour, and sent into the land of the Philistines round about, to publish it in the house of their idols, and among the people.
31: 10 And they put his armour in the house of Ashtaroth: and they fastened his body to the wall of Bethshan.
31: 13 And they took their bones, and buried them under a tree at Jabesh, and fasted seven days.
The Second Book of Samuel
Otherwise Called:
The Second Book of the Kings
1: 3 And David said unto him, From whence comest thou?
And he said unto him, Out of the camp of Israel am I escaped.
1: 4 And David said unto him, How went the matter?
I pray thee, tell me.
And he answered, That the people are fled from the battle, and many of the people also are fallen and dead; and Saul and Jonathan his son are dead also.
1: 5 And David said unto the young man that told him, How knowest thou that Saul and Jonathan his son be dead?
1: 6 And the young man that told him said, As I happened by chance upon mount Gilboa, behold, Saul leaned upon his spear; and, lo, the chariots and horsemen followed hard after him.
1: 7 And when he looked behind him, he saw me, and called unto me.
And I answered, Here am I.
1: 8 And he said unto me, Who art thou?
And I answered him, I am an Amalekite.
1: 9 He said unto me again, Stand, I pray thee, upon me, and slay me: for anguish is come upon me, because my life is yet whole in me.
1: 10 So I stood upon him, and slew him, because I was sure that he could not live after that he was fallen: and I took the crown that was upon his head, and the bracelet that was on his arm, and have brought them hither unto my lord.
1: 13 And David said unto the young man that told him, Whence art thou?
And he answered, I am the son of a stranger, an Amalekite.
1: 14 And David said unto him, How wast thou not afraid to stretch forth thine hand to destroy the LORD's anointed?
1: 15 And David called one of the young men, and said, Go near, and fall upon him.
And he smote him that he died.
1: 16 And David said unto him, Thy blood be upon thy head; for thy mouth hath testified against thee, saying, I have slain the LORD's anointed.
1: 17 And David lamented with this lamentation over Saul and over Jonathan his son: 1: 18 (Also he bade them teach the children of Judah the use of the bow: behold, it is written in the book of Jasher.)
1: 19 The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places: how are the mighty fallen!
1: 20 Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Askelon; lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice, lest the daughters of the uncircumcised triumph.
1: 21 Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew, neither let there be rain, upon you, nor fields of offerings: for there the shield of the mighty is vilely cast away, the shield of Saul, as though he had not been anointed with oil.
1: 22 From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, the bow of Jonathan turned not back, and the sword of Saul returned not empty.
1: 23 Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided: they were swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions.
1: 24 Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, who clothed you in scarlet, with other delights, who put on ornaments of gold upon your apparel.
1: 25 How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle!
O Jonathan, thou wast slain in thine high places.
1: 26 I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.
1: 27 How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished!
2: 1 And it came to pass after this, that David enquired of the LORD, saying, Shall I go up into any of the cities of Judah?
And the LORD said unto him, Go up.
And David said, Whither shall I go up?
And he said, Unto Hebron.
2: 2 So David went up thither, and his two wives also, Ahinoam the Jezreelitess, and Abigail Nabal's wife the Carmelite.
2: 3 And his men that were with him did David bring up, every man with his household: and they dwelt in the cities of Hebron.
2: 4 And the men of Judah came, and there they anointed David king over the house of Judah.
And they told David, saying, That the men of Jabeshgilead were they that buried Saul.
2: 5 And David sent messengers unto the men of Jabeshgilead, and said unto them, Blessed be ye of the LORD, that ye have shewed this kindness unto your lord, even unto Saul, and have buried him.
2: 6 And now the LORD shew kindness and truth unto you: and I also will requite you this kindness, because ye have done this thing.
2: 7 Therefore now let your hands be strengthened, and be ye valiant: for your master Saul is dead, and also the house of Judah have anointed me king over them.
2: 8 But Abner the son of Ner, captain of Saul's host, took Ishbosheth the son of Saul, and brought him over to Mahanaim; 2: 9 And made him king over Gilead, and over the Ashurites, and over Jezreel, and over Ephraim, and over Benjamin, and over all Israel.
2: 10 Ishbosheth Saul's son was forty years old when he began to reign over Israel, and reigned two years.
But the house of Judah followed David.
2: 11 And the time that David was king in Hebron over the house of Judah was seven years and six months.
2: 12 And Abner the son of Ner, and the servants of Ishbosheth the son of Saul, went out from Mahanaim to Gibeon.
2: 13 And Joab the son of Zeruiah, and the servants of David, went out, and met together by the pool of Gibeon: and they sat down, the one on the one side of the pool, and the other on the other side of the pool.
2: 14 And Abner said to Joab, Let the young men now arise, and play before us.
And Joab said, Let them arise.
2: 15 Then there arose and went over by number twelve of Benjamin, which pertained to Ishbosheth the son of Saul, and twelve of the servants of David.
2: 16 And they caught every one his fellow by the head, and thrust his sword in his fellow's side; so they fell down together: wherefore that place was called Helkathhazzurim, which is in Gibeon.
2: 17 And there was a very sore battle that day; and Abner was beaten, and the men of Israel, before the servants of David.
2: 18 And there were three sons of Zeruiah there, Joab, and Abishai, and Asahel: and Asahel was as light of foot as a wild roe.
2: 19 And Asahel pursued after Abner; and in going he turned not to the right hand nor to the left from following Abner.
2: 20 Then Abner looked behind him, and said, Art thou Asahel?
And he answered, I am.
2: 21 And Abner said to him, Turn thee aside to thy right hand or to thy left, and lay thee hold on one of the young men, and take thee his armour.
But Asahel would not turn aside from following of him.
2: 22 And Abner said again to Asahel, Turn thee aside from following me: wherefore should I smite thee to the ground?
how then should I hold up my face to Joab thy brother?
2: 24 Joab also and Abishai pursued after Abner: and the sun went down when they were come to the hill of Ammah, that lieth before Giah by the way of the wilderness of Gibeon.
2: 25 And the children of Benjamin gathered themselves together after Abner, and became one troop, and stood on the top of an hill.
2: 26 Then Abner called to Joab, and said, Shall the sword devour for ever?
knowest thou not that it will be bitterness in the latter end?
how long shall it be then, ere thou bid the people return from following their brethren?
2: 27 And Joab said, As God liveth, unless thou hadst spoken, surely then in the morning the people had gone up every one from following his brother.
2: 28 So Joab blew a trumpet, and all the people stood still, and pursued after Israel no more, neither fought they any more.
2: 29 And Abner and his men walked all that night through the plain, and passed over Jordan, and went through all Bithron, and they came to Mahanaim.
2: 30 And Joab returned from following Abner: and when he had gathered all the people together, there lacked of David's servants nineteen men and Asahel.
2: 31 But the servants of David had smitten of Benjamin, and of Abner's men, so that three hundred and threescore men died.
2: 32 And they took up Asahel, and buried him in the sepulchre of his father, which was in Bethlehem.
And Joab and his men went all night, and they came to Hebron at break of day.
3: 1 Now there was long war between the house of Saul and the house of David: but David waxed stronger and stronger, and the house of Saul waxed weaker and weaker.
These were born to David in Hebron.
3: 6 And it came to pass, while there was war between the house of Saul and the house of David, that Abner made himself strong for the house of Saul.
3: 7 And Saul had a concubine, whose name was Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah: and Ishbosheth said to Abner, Wherefore hast thou gone in unto my father's concubine?
3: 9 So do God to Abner, and more also, except, as the LORD hath sworn to David, even so I do to him; 3: 10 To translate the kingdom from the house of Saul, and to set up the throne of David over Israel and over Judah, from Dan even to Beersheba.
3: 11 And he could not answer Abner a word again, because he feared him.
3: 12 And Abner sent messengers to David on his behalf, saying, Whose is the land?
saying also, Make thy league with me, and, behold, my hand shall be with thee, to bring about all Israel unto thee.
3: 13 And he said, Well; I will make a league with thee: but one thing I require of thee, that is, Thou shalt not see my face, except thou first bring Michal Saul's daughter, when thou comest to see my face.
3: 14 And David sent messengers to Ishbosheth Saul's son, saying, Deliver me my wife Michal, which I espoused to me for an hundred foreskins of the Philistines.
3: 15 And Ishbosheth sent, and took her from her husband, even from Phaltiel the son of Laish.
3: 16 And her husband went with her along weeping behind her to Bahurim.
Then said Abner unto him, Go, return.
And he returned.
3: 19 And Abner also spake in the ears of Benjamin: and Abner went also to speak in the ears of David in Hebron all that seemed good to Israel, and that seemed good to the whole house of Benjamin.
3: 20 So Abner came to David to Hebron, and twenty men with him.
And David made Abner and the men that were with him a feast.
3: 21 And Abner said unto David, I will arise and go, and will gather all Israel unto my lord the king, that they may make a league with thee, and that thou mayest reign over all that thine heart desireth.
And David sent Abner away; and he went in peace.
3: 22 And, behold, the servants of David and Joab came from pursuing a troop, and brought in a great spoil with them: but Abner was not with David in Hebron; for he had sent him away, and he was gone in peace.
3: 23 When Joab and all the host that was with him were come, they told Joab, saying, Abner the son of Ner came to the king, and he hath sent him away, and he is gone in peace.
3: 24 Then Joab came to the king, and said, What hast thou done?
behold, Abner came unto thee; why is it that thou hast sent him away, and he is quite gone?
3: 25 Thou knowest Abner the son of Ner, that he came to deceive thee, and to know thy going out and thy coming in, and to know all that thou doest.
3: 26 And when Joab was come out from David, he sent messengers after Abner, which brought him again from the well of Sirah: but David knew it not.
3: 27 And when Abner was returned to Hebron, Joab took him aside in the gate to speak with him quietly, and smote him there under the fifth rib, that he died, for the blood of Asahel his brother.
3: 30 So Joab, and Abishai his brother slew Abner, because he had slain their brother Asahel at Gibeon in the battle.
3: 31 And David said to Joab, and to all the people that were with him, Rend your clothes, and gird you with sackcloth, and mourn before Abner.
And king David himself followed the bier.
3: 32 And they buried Abner in Hebron: and the king lifted up his voice, and wept at the grave of Abner; and all the people wept.
3: 33 And the king lamented over Abner, and said, Died Abner as a fool dieth?
3: 34 Thy hands were not bound, nor thy feet put into fetters: as a man falleth before wicked men, so fellest thou.
And all the people wept again over him.
3: 35 And when all the people came to cause David to eat meat while it was yet day, David sware, saying, So do God to me, and more also, if I taste bread, or ought else, till the sun be down.
3: 36 And all the people took notice of it, and it pleased them: as whatsoever the king did pleased all the people.
3: 37 For all the people and all Israel understood that day that it was not of the king to slay Abner the son of Ner.
3: 38 And the king said unto his servants, Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?
3: 39 And I am this day weak, though anointed king; and these men the sons of Zeruiah be too hard for me: the LORD shall reward the doer of evil according to his wickedness.
4: 1 And when Saul's son heard that Abner was dead in Hebron, his hands were feeble, and all the Israelites were troubled.
4: 2 And Saul's son had two men that were captains of bands: the name of the one was Baanah, and the name of the other Rechab, the sons of Rimmon a Beerothite, of the children of Benjamin: (for Beeroth also was reckoned to Benjamin.
4: 3 And the Beerothites fled to Gittaim, and were sojourners there until this day.)
4: 4 And Jonathan, Saul's son, had a son that was lame of his feet.
He was five years old when the tidings came of Saul and Jonathan out of Jezreel, and his nurse took him up, and fled: and it came to pass, as she made haste to flee, that he fell, and became lame.
And his name was Mephibosheth.
4: 5 And the sons of Rimmon the Beerothite, Rechab and Baanah, went, and came about the heat of the day to the house of Ishbosheth, who lay on a bed at noon.
4: 6 And they came thither into the midst of the house, as though they would have fetched wheat; and they smote him under the fifth rib: and Rechab and Baanah his brother escaped.
4: 7 For when they came into the house, he lay on his bed in his bedchamber, and they smote him, and slew him, and beheaded him, and took his head, and gat them away through the plain all night.
4: 8 And they brought the head of Ishbosheth unto David to Hebron, and said to the king, Behold the head of Ishbosheth the son of Saul thine enemy, which sought thy life; and the LORD hath avenged my lord the king this day of Saul, and of his seed.
shall I not therefore now require his blood of your hand, and take you away from the earth?
4: 12 And David commanded his young men, and they slew them, and cut off their hands and their feet, and hanged them up over the pool in Hebron.
But they took the head of Ishbosheth, and buried it in the sepulchre of Abner in Hebron.
5: 1 Then came all the tribes of Israel to David unto Hebron, and spake, saying, Behold, we are thy bone and thy flesh.
5: 2 Also in time past, when Saul was king over us, thou wast he that leddest out and broughtest in Israel: and the LORD said to thee, Thou shalt feed my people Israel, and thou shalt be a captain over Israel.
5: 3 So all the elders of Israel came to the king to Hebron; and king David made a league with them in Hebron before the LORD: and they anointed David king over Israel.
5: 4 David was thirty years old when he began to reign, and he reigned forty years.
5: 5 In Hebron he reigned over Judah seven years and six months: and in Jerusalem he reigned thirty and three years over all Israel and Judah.
5: 6 And the king and his men went to Jerusalem unto the Jebusites, the inhabitants of the land: which spake unto David, saying, Except thou take away the blind and the lame, thou shalt not come in hither: thinking, David cannot come in hither.
5: 7 Nevertheless David took the strong hold of Zion: the same is the city of David.
5: 8 And David said on that day, Whosoever getteth up to the gutter, and smiteth the Jebusites, and the lame and the blind that are hated of David's soul, he shall be chief and captain.
Wherefore they said, The blind and the lame shall not come into the house.
5: 9 So David dwelt in the fort, and called it the city of David.
And David built round about from Millo and inward.
5: 10 And David went on, and grew great, and the LORD God of hosts was with him.
5: 11 And Hiram king of Tyre sent messengers to David, and cedar trees, and carpenters, and masons: and they built David an house.
5: 12 And David perceived that the LORD had established him king over Israel, and that he had exalted his kingdom for his people Israel's sake.
5: 13 And David took him more concubines and wives out of Jerusalem, after he was come from Hebron: and there were yet sons and daughters born to David.
5: 14 And these be the names of those that were born unto him in Jerusalem; Shammuah, and Shobab, and Nathan, and Solomon, 5: 15 Ibhar also, and Elishua, and Nepheg, and Japhia, 5: 16 And Elishama, and Eliada, and Eliphalet.
5: 17 But when the Philistines heard that they had anointed David king over Israel, all the Philistines came up to seek David; and David heard of it, and went down to the hold.
5: 18 The Philistines also came and spread themselves in the valley of Rephaim.
5: 19 And David enquired of the LORD, saying, Shall I go up to the Philistines?
wilt thou deliver them into mine hand?
And the LORD said unto David, Go up: for I will doubtless deliver the Philistines into thine hand.
5: 20 And David came to Baalperazim, and David smote them there, and said, The LORD hath broken forth upon mine enemies before me, as the breach of waters.
Therefore he called the name of that place Baalperazim.
5: 21 And there they left their images, and David and his men burned them.
5: 22 And the Philistines came up yet again, and spread themselves in the valley of Rephaim.
5: 23 And when David enquired of the LORD, he said, Thou shalt not go up; but fetch a compass behind them, and come upon them over against the mulberry trees.
5: 24 And let it be, when thou hearest the sound of a going in the tops of the mulberry trees, that then thou shalt bestir thyself: for then shall the LORD go out before thee, to smite the host of the Philistines.
5: 25 And David did so, as the LORD had commanded him; and smote the Philistines from Geba until thou come to Gazer.
6: 1 Again, David gathered together all the chosen men of Israel, thirty thousand.
6: 2 And David arose, and went with all the people that were with him from Baale of Judah, to bring up from thence the ark of God, whose name is called by the name of the LORD of hosts that dwelleth between the cherubims.
6: 3 And they set the ark of God upon a new cart, and brought it out of the house of Abinadab that was in Gibeah: and Uzzah and Ahio, the sons of Abinadab, drave the new cart.
6: 4 And they brought it out of the house of Abinadab which was at Gibeah, accompanying the ark of God: and Ahio went before the ark.
6: 5 And David and all the house of Israel played before the LORD on all manner of instruments made of fir wood, even on harps, and on psalteries, and on timbrels, and on cornets, and on cymbals.
6: 6 And when they came to Nachon's threshingfloor, Uzzah put forth his hand to the ark of God, and took hold of it; for the oxen shook it.
6: 7 And the anger of the LORD was kindled against Uzzah; and God smote him there for his error; and there he died by the ark of God.
6: 8 And David was displeased, because the LORD had made a breach upon Uzzah: and he called the name of the place Perezuzzah to this day.
6: 9 And David was afraid of the LORD that day, and said, How shall the ark of the LORD come to me?
6: 10 So David would not remove the ark of the LORD unto him into the city of David: but David carried it aside into the house of Obededom the Gittite.
6: 11 And the ark of the LORD continued in the house of Obededom the Gittite three months: and the LORD blessed Obededom, and all his household.
6: 12 And it was told king David, saying, The LORD hath blessed the house of Obededom, and all that pertaineth unto him, because of the ark of God.
So David went and brought up the ark of God from the house of Obededom into the city of David with gladness.
6: 13 And it was so, that when they that bare the ark of the LORD had gone six paces, he sacrificed oxen and fatlings.
6: 14 And David danced before the LORD with all his might; and David was girded with a linen ephod.
6: 15 So David and all the house of Israel brought up the ark of the LORD with shouting, and with the sound of the trumpet.
6: 16 And as the ark of the LORD came into the city of David, Michal Saul's daughter looked through a window, and saw king David leaping and dancing before the LORD; and she despised him in her heart.
6: 17 And they brought in the ark of the LORD, and set it in his place, in the midst of the tabernacle that David had pitched for it: and David offered burnt offerings and peace offerings before the LORD.
6: 18 And as soon as David had made an end of offering burnt offerings and peace offerings, he blessed the people in the name of the LORD of hosts.
6: 19 And he dealt among all the people, even among the whole multitude of Israel, as well to the women as men, to every one a cake of bread, and a good piece of flesh, and a flagon of wine.
So all the people departed every one to his house.
6: 20 Then David returned to bless his household.
And Michal the daughter of Saul came out to meet David, and said, How glorious was the king of Israel to day, who uncovered himself to day in the eyes of the handmaids of his servants, as one of the vain fellows shamelessly uncovereth himself!
6: 21 And David said unto Michal, It was before the LORD, which chose me before thy father, and before all his house, to appoint me ruler over the people of the LORD, over Israel: therefore will I play before the LORD.
6: 22 And I will yet be more vile than thus, and will be base in mine own sight: and of the maidservants which thou hast spoken of, of them shall I be had in honour.
6: 23 Therefore Michal the daughter of Saul had no child unto the day of her death.
7: 1 And it came to pass, when the king sat in his house, and the LORD had given him rest round about from all his enemies; 7: 2 That the king said unto Nathan the prophet, See now, I dwell in an house of cedar, but the ark of God dwelleth within curtains.
7: 3 And Nathan said to the king, Go, do all that is in thine heart; for the LORD is with thee.
7: 4 And it came to pass that night, that the word of the LORD came unto Nathan, saying, 7: 5 Go and tell my servant David, Thus saith the LORD, Shalt thou build me an house for me to dwell in?
7: 6 Whereas I have not dwelt in any house since the time that I brought up the children of Israel out of Egypt, even to this day, but have walked in a tent and in a tabernacle.
7: 7 In all the places wherein I have walked with all the children of Israel spake I a word with any of the tribes of Israel, whom I commanded to feed my people Israel, saying, Why build ye not me an house of cedar?
Also the LORD telleth thee that he will make thee an house.
7: 12 And when thy days be fulfilled, and thou shalt sleep with thy fathers, I will set up thy seed after thee, which shall proceed out of thy bowels, and I will establish his kingdom.
7: 13 He shall build an house for my name, and I will stablish the throne of his kingdom for ever.
7: 14 I will be his father, and he shall be my son.
If he commit iniquity, I will chasten him with the rod of men, and with the stripes of the children of men: 7: 15 But my mercy shall not depart away from him, as I took it from Saul, whom I put away before thee.
7: 16 And thine house and thy kingdom shall be established for ever before thee: thy throne shall be established for ever.
7: 17 According to all these words, and according to all this vision, so did Nathan speak unto David.
7: 18 Then went king David in, and sat before the LORD, and he said, Who am I, O Lord GOD?
and what is my house, that thou hast brought me hitherto?
7: 19 And this was yet a small thing in thy sight, O Lord GOD; but thou hast spoken also of thy servant's house for a great while to come.
And is this the manner of man, O Lord GOD?
7: 20 And what can David say more unto thee?
for thou, Lord GOD, knowest thy servant.
7: 21 For thy word's sake, and according to thine own heart, hast thou done all these great things, to make thy servant know them.
7: 22 Wherefore thou art great, O LORD God: for there is none like thee, neither is there any God beside thee, according to all that we have heard with our ears.
7: 24 For thou hast confirmed to thyself thy people Israel to be a people unto thee for ever: and thou, LORD, art become their God.
7: 25 And now, O LORD God, the word that thou hast spoken concerning thy servant, and concerning his house, establish it for ever, and do as thou hast said.
7: 26 And let thy name be magnified for ever, saying, The LORD of hosts is the God over Israel: and let the house of thy servant David be established before thee.
7: 27 For thou, O LORD of hosts, God of Israel, hast revealed to thy servant, saying, I will build thee an house: therefore hath thy servant found in his heart to pray this prayer unto thee.
8: 1 And after this it came to pass that David smote the Philistines, and subdued them: and David took Methegammah out of the hand of the Philistines.
8: 2 And he smote Moab, and measured them with a line, casting them down to the ground; even with two lines measured he to put to death, and with one full line to keep alive.
And so the Moabites became David's servants, and brought gifts.
8: 3 David smote also Hadadezer, the son of Rehob, king of Zobah, as he went to recover his border at the river Euphrates.
8: 4 And David took from him a thousand chariots, and seven hundred horsemen, and twenty thousand footmen: and David houghed all the chariot horses, but reserved of them for an hundred chariots.
8: 5 And when the Syrians of Damascus came to succour Hadadezer king of Zobah, David slew of the Syrians two and twenty thousand men.
8: 6 Then David put garrisons in Syria of Damascus: and the Syrians became servants to David, and brought gifts.
And the LORD preserved David whithersoever he went.
8: 7 And David took the shields of gold that were on the servants of Hadadezer, and brought them to Jerusalem.
8: 8 And from Betah, and from Berothai, cities of Hadadezer, king David took exceeding much brass.
8: 9 When Toi king of Hamath heard that David had smitten all the host of Hadadezer, 8: 10 Then Toi sent Joram his son unto king David, to salute him, and to bless him, because he had fought against Hadadezer, and smitten him: for Hadadezer had wars with Toi.
8: 13 And David gat him a name when he returned from smiting of the Syrians in the valley of salt, being eighteen thousand men.
8: 14 And he put garrisons in Edom; throughout all Edom put he garrisons, and all they of Edom became David's servants.
And the LORD preserved David whithersoever he went.
8: 15 And David reigned over all Israel; and David executed judgment and justice unto all his people.
9: 1 And David said, Is there yet any that is left of the house of Saul, that I may shew him kindness for Jonathan's sake?
9: 2 And there was of the house of Saul a servant whose name was Ziba.
And when they had called him unto David, the king said unto him, Art thou Ziba?
And he said, Thy servant is he.
9: 3 And the king said, Is there not yet any of the house of Saul, that I may shew the kindness of God unto him?
And Ziba said unto the king, Jonathan hath yet a son, which is lame on his feet.
9: 4 And the king said unto him, Where is he?
And Ziba said unto the king, Behold, he is in the house of Machir, the son of Ammiel, in Lodebar.
9: 5 Then king David sent, and fetched him out of the house of Machir, the son of Ammiel, from Lodebar.
9: 6 Now when Mephibosheth, the son of Jonathan, the son of Saul, was come unto David, he fell on his face, and did reverence.
And David said, Mephibosheth.
And he answered, Behold thy servant!
9: 7 And David said unto him, Fear not: for I will surely shew thee kindness for Jonathan thy father's sake, and will restore thee all the land of Saul thy father; and thou shalt eat bread at my table continually.
9: 8 And he bowed himself, and said, What is thy servant, that thou shouldest look upon such a dead dog as I am?
9: 9 Then the king called to Ziba, Saul's servant, and said unto him, I have given unto thy master's son all that pertained to Saul and to all his house.
9: 10 Thou therefore, and thy sons, and thy servants, shall till the land for him, and thou shalt bring in the fruits, that thy master's son may have food to eat: but Mephibosheth thy master's son shall eat bread alway at my table.
Now Ziba had fifteen sons and twenty servants.
9: 11 Then said Ziba unto the king, According to all that my lord the king hath commanded his servant, so shall thy servant do.
As for Mephibosheth, said the king, he shall eat at my table, as one of the king's sons.
9: 12 And Mephibosheth had a young son, whose name was Micha.
And all that dwelt in the house of Ziba were servants unto Mephibosheth.
9: 13 So Mephibosheth dwelt in Jerusalem: for he did eat continually at the king's table; and was lame on both his feet.
10: 1 And it came to pass after this, that the king of the children of Ammon died, and Hanun his son reigned in his stead.
10: 2 Then said David, I will shew kindness unto Hanun the son of Nahash, as his father shewed kindness unto me.
And David sent to comfort him by the hand of his servants for his father.
And David's servants came into the land of the children of Ammon.
10: 3 And the princes of the children of Ammon said unto Hanun their lord, Thinkest thou that David doth honour thy father, that he hath sent comforters unto thee?
hath not David rather sent his servants unto thee, to search the city, and to spy it out, and to overthrow it?
10: 4 Wherefore Hanun took David's servants, and shaved off the one half of their beards, and cut off their garments in the middle, even to their buttocks, and sent them away.
10: 5 When they told it unto David, he sent to meet them, because the men were greatly ashamed: and the king said, Tarry at Jericho until your beards be grown, and then return.
10: 6 And when the children of Ammon saw that they stank before David, the children of Ammon sent and hired the Syrians of Bethrehob and the Syrians of Zoba, twenty thousand footmen, and of king Maacah a thousand men, and of Ishtob twelve thousand men.
10: 7 And when David heard of it, he sent Joab, and all the host of the mighty men.
10: 8 And the children of Ammon came out, and put the battle in array at the entering in of the gate: and the Syrians of Zoba, and of Rehob, and Ishtob, and Maacah, were by themselves in the field.
10: 11 And he said, If the Syrians be too strong for me, then thou shalt help me: but if the children of Ammon be too strong for thee, then I will come and help thee.
10: 12 Be of good courage, and let us play the men for our people, and for the cities of our God: and the LORD do that which seemeth him good.
10: 13 And Joab drew nigh, and the people that were with him, unto the battle against the Syrians: and they fled before him.
10: 14 And when the children of Ammon saw that the Syrians were fled, then fled they also before Abishai, and entered into the city.
So Joab returned from the children of Ammon, and came to Jerusalem.
10: 15 And when the Syrians saw that they were smitten before Israel, they gathered themselves together.
10: 16 And Hadarezer sent, and brought out the Syrians that were beyond the river: and they came to Helam; and Shobach the captain of the host of Hadarezer went before them.
10: 17 And when it was told David, he gathered all Israel together, and passed over Jordan, and came to Helam.
And the Syrians set themselves in array against David, and fought with him.
10: 18 And the Syrians fled before Israel; and David slew the men of seven hundred chariots of the Syrians, and forty thousand horsemen, and smote Shobach the captain of their host, who died there.
10: 19 And when all the kings that were servants to Hadarezer saw that they were smitten before Israel, they made peace with Israel, and served them.
So the Syrians feared to help the children of Ammon any more.
11: 1 And it came to pass, after the year was expired, at the time when kings go forth to battle, that David sent Joab, and his servants with him, and all Israel; and they destroyed the children of Ammon, and besieged Rabbah.
But David tarried still at Jerusalem.
11: 2 And it came to pass in an eveningtide, that David arose from off his bed, and walked upon the roof of the king's house: and from the roof he saw a woman washing herself; and the woman was very beautiful to look upon.
11: 3 And David sent and enquired after the woman.
And one said, Is not this Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?
11: 4 And David sent messengers, and took her; and she came in unto him, and he lay with her; for she was purified from her uncleanness: and she returned unto her house.
11: 5 And the woman conceived, and sent and told David, and said, I am with child.
11: 6 And David sent to Joab, saying, Send me Uriah the Hittite.
And Joab sent Uriah to David.
11: 7 And when Uriah was come unto him, David demanded of him how Joab did, and how the people did, and how the war prospered.
11: 8 And David said to Uriah, Go down to thy house, and wash thy feet.
And Uriah departed out of the king's house, and there followed him a mess of meat from the king.
11: 9 But Uriah slept at the door of the king's house with all the servants of his lord, and went not down to his house.
11: 10 And when they had told David, saying, Uriah went not down unto his house, David said unto Uriah, Camest thou not from thy journey?
why then didst thou not go down unto thine house?
11: 11 And Uriah said unto David, The ark, and Israel, and Judah, abide in tents; and my lord Joab, and the servants of my lord, are encamped in the open fields; shall I then go into mine house, to eat and to drink, and to lie with my wife?
as thou livest, and as thy soul liveth, I will not do this thing.
11: 12 And David said to Uriah, Tarry here to day also, and to morrow I will let thee depart.
So Uriah abode in Jerusalem that day, and the morrow.
11: 13 And when David had called him, he did eat and drink before him; and he made him drunk: and at even he went out to lie on his bed with the servants of his lord, but went not down to his house.
11: 14 And it came to pass in the morning, that David wrote a letter to Joab, and sent it by the hand of Uriah.
11: 15 And he wrote in the letter, saying, Set ye Uriah in the forefront of the hottest battle, and retire ye from him, that he may be smitten, and die.
11: 16 And it came to pass, when Joab observed the city, that he assigned Uriah unto a place where he knew that valiant men were.
11: 17 And the men of the city went out, and fought with Joab: and there fell some of the people of the servants of David; and Uriah the Hittite died also.
knew ye not that they would shoot from the wall?
11: 21 Who smote Abimelech the son of Jerubbesheth?
did not a woman cast a piece of a millstone upon him from the wall, that he died in Thebez?
why went ye nigh the wall?
then say thou, Thy servant Uriah the Hittite is dead also.
11: 22 So the messenger went, and came and shewed David all that Joab had sent him for.
11: 23 And the messenger said unto David, Surely the men prevailed against us, and came out unto us into the field, and we were upon them even unto the entering of the gate.
11: 24 And the shooters shot from off the wall upon thy servants; and some of the king's servants be dead, and thy servant Uriah the Hittite is dead also.
11: 25 Then David said unto the messenger, Thus shalt thou say unto Joab, Let not this thing displease thee, for the sword devoureth one as well as another: make thy battle more strong against the city, and overthrow it: and encourage thou him.
11: 26 And when the wife of Uriah heard that Uriah her husband was dead, she mourned for her husband.
11: 27 And when the mourning was past, David sent and fetched her to his house, and she became his wife, and bare him a son.
But the thing that David had done displeased the LORD.
12: 1 And the LORD sent Nathan unto David.
And he came unto him, and said unto him, There were two men in one city; the one rich, and the other poor.
12: 4 And there came a traveller unto the rich man, and he spared to take of his own flock and of his own herd, to dress for the wayfaring man that was come unto him; but took the poor man's lamb, and dressed it for the man that was come to him.
12: 5 And David's anger was greatly kindled against the man; and he said to Nathan, As the LORD liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die: 12: 6 And he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity.
12: 7 And Nathan said to David, Thou art the man.
12: 9 Wherefore hast thou despised the commandment of the LORD, to do evil in his sight?
thou hast killed Uriah the Hittite with the sword, and hast taken his wife to be thy wife, and hast slain him with the sword of the children of Ammon.
12: 10 Now therefore the sword shall never depart from thine house; because thou hast despised me, and hast taken the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be thy wife.
12: 11 Thus saith the LORD, Behold, I will raise up evil against thee out of thine own house, and I will take thy wives before thine eyes, and give them unto thy neighbour, and he shall lie with thy wives in the sight of this sun.
12: 12 For thou didst it secretly: but I will do this thing before all Israel, and before the sun.
12: 13 And David said unto Nathan, I have sinned against the LORD.
And Nathan said unto David, The LORD also hath put away thy sin; thou shalt not die.
12: 14 Howbeit, because by this deed thou hast given great occasion to the enemies of the LORD to blaspheme, the child also that is born unto thee shall surely die.
12: 15 And Nathan departed unto his house.
And the LORD struck the child that Uriah's wife bare unto David, and it was very sick.
12: 16 David therefore besought God for the child; and David fasted, and went in, and lay all night upon the earth.
12: 17 And the elders of his house arose, and went to him, to raise him up from the earth: but he would not, neither did he eat bread with them.
12: 18 And it came to pass on the seventh day, that the child died.
And the servants of David feared to tell him that the child was dead: for they said, Behold, while the child was yet alive, we spake unto him, and he would not hearken unto our voice: how will he then vex himself, if we tell him that the child is dead?
12: 19 But when David saw that his servants whispered, David perceived that the child was dead: therefore David said unto his servants, Is the child dead?
And they said, He is dead.
12: 20 Then David arose from the earth, and washed, and anointed himself, and changed his apparel, and came into the house of the LORD, and worshipped: then he came to his own house; and when he required, they set bread before him, and he did eat.
12: 21 Then said his servants unto him, What thing is this that thou hast done?
thou didst fast and weep for the child, while it was alive; but when the child was dead, thou didst rise and eat bread.
12: 22 And he said, While the child was yet alive, I fasted and wept: for I said, Who can tell whether GOD will be gracious to me, that the child may live?
12: 23 But now he is dead, wherefore should I fast?
can I bring him back again?
I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.
12: 24 And David comforted Bathsheba his wife, and went in unto her, and lay with her: and she bare a son, and he called his name Solomon: and the LORD loved him.
12: 25 And he sent by the hand of Nathan the prophet; and he called his name Jedidiah, because of the LORD.
12: 26 And Joab fought against Rabbah of the children of Ammon, and took the royal city.
12: 27 And Joab sent messengers to David, and said, I have fought against Rabbah, and have taken the city of waters.
12: 28 Now therefore gather the rest of the people together, and encamp against the city, and take it: lest I take the city, and it be called after my name.
12: 29 And David gathered all the people together, and went to Rabbah, and fought against it, and took it.
12: 30 And he took their king's crown from off his head, the weight whereof was a talent of gold with the precious stones: and it was set on David's head.
And he brought forth the spoil of the city in great abundance.
12: 31 And he brought forth the people that were therein, and put them under saws, and under harrows of iron, and under axes of iron, and made them pass through the brick - kiln: and thus did he unto all the cities of the children of Ammon.
So David and all the people returned unto Jerusalem.
13: 1 And it came to pass after this, that Absalom the son of David had a fair sister, whose name was Tamar; and Amnon the son of David loved her.
13: 2 And Amnon was so vexed, that he fell sick for his sister Tamar; for she was a virgin; and Amnon thought it hard for him to do anything to her.
13: 3 But Amnon had a friend, whose name was Jonadab, the son of Shimeah David's brother: and Jonadab was a very subtil man.
13: 4 And he said unto him, Why art thou, being the king's son, lean from day to day?
wilt thou not tell me?
And Amnon said unto him, I love Tamar, my brother Absalom's sister.
13: 5 And Jonadab said unto him, Lay thee down on thy bed, and make thyself sick: and when thy father cometh to see thee, say unto him, I pray thee, let my sister Tamar come, and give me meat, and dress the meat in my sight, that I may see it, and eat it at her hand.
13: 6 So Amnon lay down, and made himself sick: and when the king was come to see him, Amnon said unto the king, I pray thee, let Tamar my sister come, and make me a couple of cakes in my sight, that I may eat at her hand.
13: 7 Then David sent home to Tamar, saying, Go now to thy brother Amnon's house, and dress him meat.
13: 8 So Tamar went to her brother Amnon's house; and he was laid down.
And she took flour, and kneaded it, and made cakes in his sight, and did bake the cakes.
13: 9 And she took a pan, and poured them out before him; but he refused to eat.
And Amnon said, Have out all men from me.
And they went out every man from him.
13: 10 And Amnon said unto Tamar, Bring the meat into the chamber, that I may eat of thine hand.
And Tamar took the cakes which she had made, and brought them into the chamber to Amnon her brother.
13: 11 And when she had brought them unto him to eat, he took hold of her, and said unto her, Come lie with me, my sister.
13: 12 And she answered him, Nay, my brother, do not force me; for no such thing ought to be done in Israel: do not thou this folly.
13: 13 And I, whither shall I cause my shame to go?
and as for thee, thou shalt be as one of the fools in Israel.
Now therefore, I pray thee, speak unto the king; for he will not withhold me from thee.
13: 14 Howbeit he would not hearken unto her voice: but, being stronger than she, forced her, and lay with her.
13: 15 Then Amnon hated her exceedingly; so that the hatred wherewith he hated her was greater than the love wherewith he had loved her.
And Amnon said unto her, Arise, be gone.
13: 16 And she said unto him, There is no cause: this evil in sending me away is greater than the other that thou didst unto me.
But he would not hearken unto her.
13: 17 Then he called his servant that ministered unto him, and said, Put now this woman out from me, and bolt the door after her.
13: 18 And she had a garment of divers colours upon her: for with such robes were the king's daughters that were virgins apparelled.
Then his servant brought her out, and bolted the door after her.
13: 19 And Tamar put ashes on her head, and rent her garment of divers colours that was on her, and laid her hand on her head, and went on crying.
13: 20 And Absalom her brother said unto her, Hath Amnon thy brother been with thee?
but hold now thy peace, my sister: he is thy brother; regard not this thing.
So Tamar remained desolate in her brother Absalom's house.
13: 21 But when king David heard of all these things, he was very wroth.
13: 22 And Absalom spake unto his brother Amnon neither good nor bad: for Absalom hated Amnon, because he had forced his sister Tamar.
13: 23 And it came to pass after two full years, that Absalom had sheepshearers in Baalhazor, which is beside Ephraim: and Absalom invited all the king's sons.
13: 24 And Absalom came to the king, and said, Behold now, thy servant hath sheepshearers; let the king, I beseech thee, and his servants go with thy servant.
13: 25 And the king said to Absalom, Nay, my son, let us not all now go, lest we be chargeable unto thee.
And he pressed him: howbeit he would not go, but blessed him.
13: 26 Then said Absalom, If not, I pray thee, let my brother Amnon go with us.
And the king said unto him, Why should he go with thee?
13: 27 But Absalom pressed him, that he let Amnon and all the king's sons go with him.
13: 28 Now Absalom had commanded his servants, saying, Mark ye now when Amnon's heart is merry with wine, and when I say unto you, Smite Amnon; then kill him, fear not: have not I commanded you?
be courageous, and be valiant.
13: 29 And the servants of Absalom did unto Amnon as Absalom had commanded.
Then all the king's sons arose, and every man gat him up upon his mule, and fled.
13: 30 And it came to pass, while they were in the way, that tidings came to David, saying, Absalom hath slain all the king's sons, and there is not one of them left.
13: 31 Then the king arose, and tare his garments, and lay on the earth; and all his servants stood by with their clothes rent.
13: 33 Now therefore let not my lord the king take the thing to his heart, to think that all the king's sons are dead: for Amnon only is dead.
13: 34 But Absalom fled.
And the young man that kept the watch lifted up his eyes, and looked, and, behold, there came much people by the way of the hill side behind him.
13: 35 And Jonadab said unto the king, Behold, the king's sons come: as thy servant said, so it is.
13: 36 And it came to pass, as soon as he had made an end of speaking, that, behold, the king's sons came, and lifted up their voice and wept: and the king also and all his servants wept very sore.
13: 37 But Absalom fled, and went to Talmai, the son of Ammihud, king of Geshur.
And David mourned for his son every day.
13: 38 So Absalom fled, and went to Geshur, and was there three years.
13: 39 And the soul of king David longed to go forth unto Absalom: for he was comforted concerning Amnon, seeing he was dead.
14: 1 Now Joab the son of Zeruiah perceived that the king's heart was toward Absalom.
So Joab put the words in her mouth.
14: 4 And when the woman of Tekoah spake to the king, she fell on her face to the ground, and did obeisance, and said, Help, O king.
14: 5 And the king said unto her, What aileth thee?
And she answered, I am indeed a widow woman, and mine husband is dead.
14: 6 And thy handmaid had two sons, and they two strove together in the field, and there was none to part them, but the one smote the other, and slew him.
14: 8 And the king said unto the woman, Go to thine house, and I will give charge concerning thee.
14: 9 And the woman of Tekoah said unto the king, My lord, O king, the iniquity be on me, and on my father's house: and the king and his throne be guiltless.
14: 10 And the king said, Whoever saith ought unto thee, bring him to me, and he shall not touch thee any more.
14: 11 Then said she, I pray thee, let the king remember the LORD thy God, that thou wouldest not suffer the revengers of blood to destroy any more, lest they destroy my son.
And he said, As the LORD liveth, there shall not one hair of thy son fall to the earth.
14: 12 Then the woman said, Let thine handmaid, I pray thee, speak one word unto my lord the king.
And he said, Say on.
14: 13 And the woman said, Wherefore then hast thou thought such a thing against the people of God?
for the king doth speak this thing as one which is faulty, in that the king doth not fetch home again his banished.
14: 14 For we must needs die, and are as water spilt on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again; neither doth God respect any person: yet doth he devise means, that his banished be not expelled from him.
14: 15 Now therefore that I am come to speak of this thing unto my lord the king, it is because the people have made me afraid: and thy handmaid said, I will now speak unto the king; it may be that the king will perform the request of his handmaid.
14: 16 For the king will hear, to deliver his handmaid out of the hand of the man that would destroy me and my son together out of the inheritance of God.
14: 17 Then thine handmaid said, The word of my lord the king shall now be comfortable: for as an angel of God, so is my lord the king to discern good and bad: therefore the LORD thy God will be with thee.
14: 18 Then the king answered and said unto the woman, Hide not from me, I pray thee, the thing that I shall ask thee.
And the woman said, Let my lord the king now speak.
14: 19 And the king said, Is not the hand of Joab with thee in all this?
14: 21 And the king said unto Joab, Behold now, I have done this thing: go therefore, bring the young man Absalom again.
14: 22 And Joab fell to the ground on his face, and bowed himself, and thanked the king: and Joab said, To day thy servant knoweth that I have found grace in thy sight, my lord, O king, in that the king hath fulfilled the request of his servant.
14: 23 So Joab arose and went to Geshur, and brought Absalom to Jerusalem.
14: 24 And the king said, Let him turn to his own house, and let him not see my face.
So Absalom returned to his own house, and saw not the king's face.
14: 25 But in all Israel there was none to be so much praised as Absalom for his beauty: from the sole of his foot even to the crown of his head there was no blemish in him.
14: 26 And when he polled his head, (for it was at every year's end that he polled it: because the hair was heavy on him, therefore he polled it:) he weighed the hair of his head at two hundred shekels after the king's weight.
14: 27 And unto Absalom there were born three sons, and one daughter, whose name was Tamar: she was a woman of a fair countenance.
14: 28 So Absalom dwelt two full years in Jerusalem, and saw not the king's face.
14: 29 Therefore Absalom sent for Joab, to have sent him to the king; but he would not come to him: and when he sent again the second time, he would not come.
14: 30 Therefore he said unto his servants, See, Joab's field is near mine, and he hath barley there; go and set it on fire.
And Absalom's servants set the field on fire.
14: 31 Then Joab arose, and came to Absalom unto his house, and said unto him, Wherefore have thy servants set my field on fire?
14: 32 And Absalom answered Joab, Behold, I sent unto thee, saying, Come hither, that I may send thee to the king, to say, Wherefore am I come from Geshur?
it had been good for me to have been there still: now therefore let me see the king's face; and if there be any iniquity in me, let him kill me.
14: 33 So Joab came to the king, and told him: and when he had called for Absalom, he came to the king, and bowed himself on his face to the ground before the king: and the king kissed Absalom.
15: 1 And it came to pass after this, that Absalom prepared him chariots and horses, and fifty men to run before him.
15: 2 And Absalom rose up early, and stood beside the way of the gate: and it was so, that when any man that had a controversy came to the king for judgment, then Absalom called unto him, and said, Of what city art thou?
And he said, Thy servant is of one of the tribes of Israel.
15: 3 And Absalom said unto him, See, thy matters are good and right; but there is no man deputed of the king to hear thee.
15: 4 Absalom said moreover, Oh that I were made judge in the land, that every man which hath any suit or cause might come unto me, and I would do him justice!
15: 5 And it was so, that when any man came nigh to him to do him obeisance, he put forth his hand, and took him, and kissed him.
15: 6 And on this manner did Absalom to all Israel that came to the king for judgment: so Absalom stole the hearts of the men of Israel.
15: 7 And it came to pass after forty years, that Absalom said unto the king, I pray thee, let me go and pay my vow, which I have vowed unto the LORD, in Hebron.
15: 8 For thy servant vowed a vow while I abode at Geshur in Syria, saying, If the LORD shall bring me again indeed to Jerusalem, then I will serve the LORD.
15: 9 And the king said unto him, Go in peace.
So he arose, and went to Hebron.
15: 10 But Absalom sent spies throughout all the tribes of Israel, saying, As soon as ye hear the sound of the trumpet, then ye shall say, Absalom reigneth in Hebron.
15: 11 And with Absalom went two hundred men out of Jerusalem, that were called; and they went in their simplicity, and they knew not any thing.
15: 12 And Absalom sent for Ahithophel the Gilonite, David's counsellor, from his city, even from Giloh, while he offered sacrifices.
And the conspiracy was strong; for the people increased continually with Absalom.
15: 13 And there came a messenger to David, saying, The hearts of the men of Israel are after Absalom.
15: 14 And David said unto all his servants that were with him at Jerusalem, Arise, and let us flee; for we shall not else escape from Absalom: make speed to depart, lest he overtake us suddenly, and bring evil upon us, and smite the city with the edge of the sword.
15: 15 And the king's servants said unto the king, Behold, thy servants are ready to do whatsoever my lord the king shall appoint.
15: 16 And the king went forth, and all his household after him.
And the king left ten women, which were concubines, to keep the house.
15: 17 And the king went forth, and all the people after him, and tarried in a place that was far off.
15: 18 And all his servants passed on beside him; and all the Cherethites, and all the Pelethites, and all the Gittites, six hundred men which came after him from Gath, passed on before the king.
15: 19 Then said the king to Ittai the Gittite, Wherefore goest thou also with us?
return to thy place, and abide with the king: for thou art a stranger, and also an exile.
15: 20 Whereas thou camest but yesterday, should I this day make thee go up and down with us?
seeing I go whither I may, return thou, and take back thy brethren: mercy and truth be with thee.
15: 21 And Ittai answered the king, and said, As the LORD liveth, and as my lord the king liveth, surely in what place my lord the king shall be, whether in death or life, even there also will thy servant be.
15: 22 And David said to Ittai, Go and pass over.
And Ittai the Gittite passed over, and all his men, and all the little ones that were with him.
15: 23 And all the country wept with a loud voice, and all the people passed over: the king also himself passed over the brook Kidron, and all the people passed over, toward the way of the wilderness.
15: 24 And lo Zadok also, and all the Levites were with him, bearing the ark of the covenant of God: and they set down the ark of God; and Abiathar went up, until all the people had done passing out of the city.
15: 27 The king said also unto Zadok the priest, Art not thou a seer?
return into the city in peace, and your two sons with you, Ahimaaz thy son, and Jonathan the son of Abiathar.
15: 28 See, I will tarry in the plain of the wilderness, until there come word from you to certify me.
15: 29 Zadok therefore and Abiathar carried the ark of God again to Jerusalem: and they tarried there.
15: 30 And David went up by the ascent of mount Olivet, and wept as he went up, and had his head covered, and he went barefoot: and all the people that was with him covered every man his head, and they went up, weeping as they went up.
15: 31 And one told David, saying, Ahithophel is among the conspirators with Absalom.
And David said, O LORD, I pray thee, turn the counsel of Ahithophel into foolishness.
15: 35 And hast thou not there with thee Zadok and Abiathar the priests?
therefore it shall be, that what thing soever thou shalt hear out of the king's house, thou shalt tell it to Zadok and Abiathar the priests.
15: 36 Behold, they have there with them their two sons, Ahimaaz Zadok's son, and Jonathan Abiathar's son; and by them ye shall send unto me every thing that ye can hear.
15: 37 So Hushai David's friend came into the city, and Absalom came into Jerusalem.
16: 1 And when David was a little past the top of the hill, behold, Ziba the servant of Mephibosheth met him, with a couple of asses saddled, and upon them two hundred loaves of bread, and an hundred bunches of raisins, and an hundred of summer fruits, and a bottle of wine.
16: 2 And the king said unto Ziba, What meanest thou by these?
And Ziba said, The asses be for the king's household to ride on; and the bread and summer fruit for the young men to eat; and the wine, that such as be faint in the wilderness may drink.
16: 3 And the king said, And where is thy master's son?
And Ziba said unto the king, Behold, he abideth at Jerusalem: for he said, To day shall the house of Israel restore me the kingdom of my father.
16: 4 Then said the king to Ziba, Behold, thine are all that pertained unto Mephibosheth.
And Ziba said, I humbly beseech thee that I may find grace in thy sight, my lord, O king.
16: 5 And when king David came to Bahurim, behold, thence came out a man of the family of the house of Saul, whose name was Shimei, the son of Gera: he came forth, and cursed still as he came.
16: 6 And he cast stones at David, and at all the servants of king David: and all the people and all the mighty men were on his right hand and on his left.
16: 9 Then said Abishai the son of Zeruiah unto the king, Why should this dead dog curse my lord the king?
let me go over, I pray thee, and take off his head.
16: 10 And the king said, What have I to do with you, ye sons of Zeruiah?
so let him curse, because the LORD hath said unto him, Curse David.
Who shall then say, Wherefore hast thou done so?
16: 11 And David said to Abishai, and to all his servants, Behold, my son, which came forth of my bowels, seeketh my life: how much more now may this Benjamite do it?
let him alone, and let him curse; for the LORD hath bidden him.
16: 12 It may be that the LORD will look on mine affliction, and that the LORD will requite me good for his cursing this day.
16: 13 And as David and his men went by the way, Shimei went along on the hill's side over against him, and cursed as he went, and threw stones at him, and cast dust.
16: 14 And the king, and all the people that were with him, came weary, and refreshed themselves there.
16: 15 And Absalom, and all the people the men of Israel, came to Jerusalem, and Ahithophel with him.
16: 16 And it came to pass, when Hushai the Archite, David's friend, was come unto Absalom, that Hushai said unto Absalom, God save the king, God save the king.
16: 17 And Absalom said to Hushai, Is this thy kindness to thy friend?
why wentest thou not with thy friend?
16: 18 And Hushai said unto Absalom, Nay; but whom the LORD, and this people, and all the men of Israel, choose, his will I be, and with him will I abide.
16: 19 And again, whom should I serve?
should I not serve in the presence of his son?
as I have served in thy father's presence, so will I be in thy presence.
16: 20 Then said Absalom to Ahithophel, Give counsel among you what we shall do.
16: 21 And Ahithophel said unto Absalom, Go in unto thy father's concubines, which he hath left to keep the house; and all Israel shall hear that thou art abhorred of thy father: then shall the hands of all that are with thee be strong.
16: 22 So they spread Absalom a tent upon the top of the house; and Absalom went in unto his father's concubines in the sight of all Israel.
16: 23 And the counsel of Ahithophel, which he counselled in those days, was as if a man had enquired at the oracle of God: so was all the counsel of Ahithophel both with David and with Absalom.
17: 4 And the saying pleased Absalom well, and all the elders of Israel.
17: 5 Then said Absalom, Call now Hushai the Archite also, and let us hear likewise what he saith.
17: 6 And when Hushai was come to Absalom, Absalom spake unto him, saying, Ahithophel hath spoken after this manner: shall we do after his saying?
if not; speak thou.
17: 7 And Hushai said unto Absalom, The counsel that Ahithophel hath given is not good at this time.
17: 8 For, said Hushai, thou knowest thy father and his men, that they be mighty men, and they be chafed in their minds, as a bear robbed of her whelps in the field: and thy father is a man of war, and will not lodge with the people.
17: 9 Behold, he is hid now in some pit, or in some other place: and it will come to pass, when some of them be overthrown at the first, that whosoever heareth it will say, There is a slaughter among the people that follow Absalom.
17: 10 And he also that is valiant, whose heart is as the heart of a lion, shall utterly melt: for all Israel knoweth that thy father is a mighty man, and they which be with him are valiant men.
17: 11 Therefore I counsel that all Israel be generally gathered unto thee, from Dan even to Beersheba, as the sand that is by the sea for multitude; and that thou go to battle in thine own person.
17: 12 So shall we come upon him in some place where he shall be found, and we will light upon him as the dew falleth on the ground: and of him and of all the men that are with him there shall not be left so much as one.
17: 13 Moreover, if he be gotten into a city, then shall all Israel bring ropes to that city, and we will draw it into the river, until there be not one small stone found there.
17: 14 And Absalom and all the men of Israel said, The counsel of Hushai the Archite is better than the counsel of Ahithophel.
For the LORD had appointed to defeat the good counsel of Ahithophel, to the intent that the LORD might bring evil upon Absalom.
17: 15 Then said Hushai unto Zadok and to Abiathar the priests, Thus and thus did Ahithophel counsel Absalom and the elders of Israel; and thus and thus have I counselled.
17: 16 Now therefore send quickly, and tell David, saying, Lodge not this night in the plains of the wilderness, but speedily pass over; lest the king be swallowed up, and all the people that are with him.
17: 17 Now Jonathan and Ahimaaz stayed by Enrogel; for they might not be seen to come into the city: and a wench went and told them; and they went and told king David.
17: 18 Nevertheless a lad saw them, and told Absalom: but they went both of them away quickly, and came to a man's house in Bahurim, which had a well in his court; whither they went down.
17: 19 And the woman took and spread a covering over the well's mouth, and spread ground corn thereon; and the thing was not known.
17: 20 And when Absalom's servants came to the woman to the house, they said, Where is Ahimaaz and Jonathan?
And the woman said unto them, They be gone over the brook of water.
And when they had sought and could not find them, they returned to Jerusalem.
17: 21 And it came to pass, after they were departed, that they came up out of the well, and went and told king David, and said unto David, Arise, and pass quickly over the water: for thus hath Ahithophel counselled against you.
17: 22 Then David arose, and all the people that were with him, and they passed over Jordan: by the morning light there lacked not one of them that was not gone over Jordan.
17: 23 And when Ahithophel saw that his counsel was not followed, he saddled his ass, and arose, and gat him home to his house, to his city, and put his household in order, and hanged himself, and died, and was buried in the sepulchre of his father.
17: 24 Then David came to Mahanaim.
And Absalom passed over Jordan, he and all the men of Israel with him.
17: 25 And Absalom made Amasa captain of the host instead of Joab: which Amasa was a man's son, whose name was Ithra an Israelite, that went in to Abigail the daughter of Nahash, sister to Zeruiah Joab's mother.
17: 26 So Israel and Absalom pitched in the land of Gilead.
18: 1 And David numbered the people that were with him, and set captains of thousands, and captains of hundreds over them.
18: 2 And David sent forth a third part of the people under the hand of Joab, and a third part under the hand of Abishai the son of Zeruiah, Joab's brother, and a third part under the hand of Ittai the Gittite.
And the king said unto the people, I will surely go forth with you myself also.
18: 3 But the people answered, Thou shalt not go forth: for if we flee away, they will not care for us; neither if half of us die, will they care for us: but now thou art worth ten thousand of us: therefore now it is better that thou succour us out of the city.
18: 4 And the king said unto them, What seemeth you best I will do.
And the king stood by the gate side, and all the people came out by hundreds and by thousands.
18: 5 And the king commanded Joab and Abishai and Ittai, saying, Deal gently for my sake with the young man, even with Absalom.
And all the people heard when the king gave all the captains charge concerning Absalom.
18: 6 So the people went out into the field against Israel: and the battle was in the wood of Ephraim; 18: 7 Where the people of Israel were slain before the servants of David, and there was there a great slaughter that day of twenty thousand men.
18: 8 For the battle was there scattered over the face of all the country: and the wood devoured more people that day than the sword devoured.
18: 9 And Absalom met the servants of David.
And Absalom rode upon a mule, and the mule went under the thick boughs of a great oak, and his head caught hold of the oak, and he was taken up between the heaven and the earth; and the mule that was under him went away.
18: 10 And a certain man saw it, and told Joab, and said, Behold, I saw Absalom hanged in an oak.
18: 11 And Joab said unto the man that told him, And, behold, thou sawest him, and why didst thou not smite him there to the ground?
and I would have given thee ten shekels of silver, and a girdle.
18: 13 Otherwise I should have wrought falsehood against mine own life: for there is no matter hid from the king, and thou thyself wouldest have set thyself against me.
18: 14 Then said Joab, I may not tarry thus with thee.
And he took three darts in his hand, and thrust them through the heart of Absalom, while he was yet alive in the midst of the oak.
18: 15 And ten young men that bare Joab's armour compassed about and smote Absalom, and slew him.
18: 16 And Joab blew the trumpet, and the people returned from pursuing after Israel: for Joab held back the people.
18: 17 And they took Absalom, and cast him into a great pit in the wood, and laid a very great heap of stones upon him: and all Israel fled every one to his tent.
18: 18 Now Absalom in his lifetime had taken and reared up for himself a pillar, which is in the king's dale: for he said, I have no son to keep my name in remembrance: and he called the pillar after his own name: and it is called unto this day, Absalom's place.
18: 19 Then said Ahimaaz the son of Zadok, Let me now run, and bear the king tidings, how that the LORD hath avenged him of his enemies.
18: 20 And Joab said unto him, Thou shalt not bear tidings this day, but thou shalt bear tidings another day: but this day thou shalt bear no tidings, because the king's son is dead.
18: 21 Then said Joab to Cushi, Go tell the king what thou hast seen.
And Cushi bowed himself unto Joab, and ran.
18: 22 Then said Ahimaaz the son of Zadok yet again to Joab, But howsoever, let me, I pray thee, also run after Cushi.
And Joab said, Wherefore wilt thou run, my son, seeing that thou hast no tidings ready?
18: 23 But howsoever, said he, let me run.
And he said unto him, Run.
Then Ahimaaz ran by the way of the plain, and overran Cushi.
18: 24 And David sat between the two gates: and the watchman went up to the roof over the gate unto the wall, and lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold a man running alone.
18: 25 And the watchman cried, and told the king.
And the king said, If he be alone, there is tidings in his mouth.
And he came apace, and drew near.
18: 26 And the watchman saw another man running: and the watchman called unto the porter, and said, Behold another man running alone.
And the king said, He also bringeth tidings.
18: 27 And the watchman said, Me thinketh the running of the foremost is like the running of Ahimaaz the son of Zadok.
And the king said, He is a good man, and cometh with good tidings.
18: 28 And Ahimaaz called, and said unto the king, All is well.
And he fell down to the earth upon his face before the king, and said, Blessed be the LORD thy God, which hath delivered up the men that lifted up their hand against my lord the king.
18: 29 And the king said, Is the young man Absalom safe?
And Ahimaaz answered, When Joab sent the king's servant, and me thy servant, I saw a great tumult, but I knew not what it was.
18: 30 And the king said unto him, Turn aside, and stand here.
And he turned aside, and stood still.
18: 31 And, behold, Cushi came; and Cushi said, Tidings, my lord the king: for the LORD hath avenged thee this day of all them that rose up against thee.
18: 32 And the king said unto Cushi, Is the young man Absalom safe?
And Cushi answered, The enemies of my lord the king, and all that rise against thee to do thee hurt, be as that young man is.
18: 33 And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept: and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom!
would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!
19: 1 And it was told Joab, Behold, the king weepeth and mourneth for Absalom.
19: 2 And the victory that day was turned into mourning unto all the people: for the people heard say that day how the king was grieved for his son.
19: 3 And the people gat them by stealth that day into the city, as people being ashamed steal away when they flee in battle.
19: 4 But the king covered his face, and the king cried with a loud voice, O my son Absalom, O Absalom, my son, my son!
For thou hast declared this day, that thou regardest neither princes nor servants: for this day I perceive, that if Absalom had lived, and all we had died this day, then it had pleased thee well.
19: 7 Now therefore arise, go forth, and speak comfortably unto thy servants: for I swear by the LORD, if thou go not forth, there will not tarry one with thee this night: and that will be worse unto thee than all the evil that befell thee from thy youth until now.
19: 8 Then the king arose, and sat in the gate.
And they told unto all the people, saying, Behold, the king doth sit in the gate.
And all the people came before the king: for Israel had fled every man to his tent.
19: 9 And all the people were at strife throughout all the tribes of Israel, saying, The king saved us out of the hand of our enemies, and he delivered us out of the hand of the Philistines; and now he is fled out of the land for Absalom.
19: 10 And Absalom, whom we anointed over us, is dead in battle.
Now therefore why speak ye not a word of bringing the king back?
19: 11 And king David sent to Zadok and to Abiathar the priests, saying, Speak unto the elders of Judah, saying, Why are ye the last to bring the king back to his house?
seeing the speech of all Israel is come to the king, even to his house.
19: 12 Ye are my brethren, ye are my bones and my flesh: wherefore then are ye the last to bring back the king?
19: 13 And say ye to Amasa, Art thou not of my bone, and of my flesh?
God do so to me, and more also, if thou be not captain of the host before me continually in the room of Joab.
19: 14 And he bowed the heart of all the men of Judah, even as the heart of one man; so that they sent this word unto the king, Return thou, and all thy servants.
19: 15 So the king returned, and came to Jordan.
And Judah came to Gilgal, to go to meet the king, to conduct the king over Jordan.
19: 16 And Shimei the son of Gera, a Benjamite, which was of Bahurim, hasted and came down with the men of Judah to meet king David.
19: 17 And there were a thousand men of Benjamin with him, and Ziba the servant of the house of Saul, and his fifteen sons and his twenty servants with him; and they went over Jordan before the king.
19: 18 And there went over a ferry boat to carry over the king's household, and to do what he thought good.
19: 20 For thy servant doth know that I have sinned: therefore, behold, I am come the first this day of all the house of Joseph to go down to meet my lord the king.
19: 21 But Abishai the son of Zeruiah answered and said, Shall not Shimei be put to death for this, because he cursed the LORD's anointed?
19: 22 And David said, What have I to do with you, ye sons of Zeruiah, that ye should this day be adversaries unto me?
shall there any man be put to death this day in Israel?
for do not I know that I am this day king over Israel?
19: 23 Therefore the king said unto Shimei, Thou shalt not die.
And the king sware unto him.
19: 24 And Mephibosheth the son of Saul came down to meet the king, and had neither dressed his feet, nor trimmed his beard, nor washed his clothes, from the day the king departed until the day he came again in peace.
19: 25 And it came to pass, when he was come to Jerusalem to meet the king, that the king said unto him, Wherefore wentest not thou with me, Mephibosheth?
19: 26 And he answered, My lord, O king, my servant deceived me: for thy servant said, I will saddle me an ass, that I may ride thereon, and go to the king; because thy servant is lame.
19: 27 And he hath slandered thy servant unto my lord the king; but my lord the king is as an angel of God: do therefore what is good in thine eyes.
19: 28 For all of my father's house were but dead men before my lord the king: yet didst thou set thy servant among them that did eat at thine own table.
What right therefore have I yet to cry any more unto the king?
19: 29 And the king said unto him, Why speakest thou any more of thy matters?
I have said, Thou and Ziba divide the land.
19: 30 And Mephibosheth said unto the king, Yea, let him take all, forasmuch as my lord the king is come again in peace unto his own house.
19: 31 And Barzillai the Gileadite came down from Rogelim, and went over Jordan with the king, to conduct him over Jordan.
19: 32 Now Barzillai was a very aged man, even fourscore years old: and he had provided the king of sustenance while he lay at Mahanaim; for he was a very great man.
19: 33 And the king said unto Barzillai, Come thou over with me, and I will feed thee with me in Jerusalem.
19: 34 And Barzillai said unto the king, How long have I to live, that I should go up with the king unto Jerusalem?
19: 35 I am this day fourscore years old: and can I discern between good and evil?
can thy servant taste what I eat or what I drink?
can I hear any more the voice of singing men and singing women?
wherefore then should thy servant be yet a burden unto my lord the king?
19: 36 Thy servant will go a little way over Jordan with the king: and why should the king recompense it me with such a reward?
19: 37 Let thy servant, I pray thee, turn back again, that I may die in mine own city, and be buried by the grave of my father and of my mother.
But behold thy servant Chimham; let him go over with my lord the king; and do to him what shall seem good unto thee.
19: 38 And the king answered, Chimham shall go over with me, and I will do to him that which shall seem good unto thee: and whatsoever thou shalt require of me, that will I do for thee.
19: 39 And all the people went over Jordan.
And when the king was come over, the king kissed Barzillai, and blessed him; and he returned unto his own place.
19: 40 Then the king went on to Gilgal, and Chimham went on with him: and all the people of Judah conducted the king, and also half the people of Israel.
19: 41 And, behold, all the men of Israel came to the king, and said unto the king, Why have our brethren the men of Judah stolen thee away, and have brought the king, and his household, and all David's men with him, over Jordan?
19: 42 And all the men of Judah answered the men of Israel, Because the king is near of kin to us: wherefore then be ye angry for this matter?
have we eaten at all of the king's cost?
or hath he given us any gift?
19: 43 And the men of Israel answered the men of Judah, and said, We have ten parts in the king, and we have also more right in David than ye: why then did ye despise us, that our advice should not be first had in bringing back our king?
And the words of the men of Judah were fiercer than the words of the men of Israel.
20: 1 And there happened to be there a man of Belial, whose name was Sheba, the son of Bichri, a Benjamite: and he blew a trumpet, and said, We have no part in David, neither have we inheritance in the son of Jesse: every man to his tents, O Israel.
20: 2 So every man of Israel went up from after David, and followed Sheba the son of Bichri: but the men of Judah clave unto their king, from Jordan even to Jerusalem.
20: 3 And David came to his house at Jerusalem; and the king took the ten women his concubines, whom he had left to keep the house, and put them in ward, and fed them, but went not in unto them.
So they were shut up unto the day of their death, living in widowhood.
20: 4 Then said the king to Amasa, Assemble me the men of Judah within three days, and be thou here present.
20: 5 So Amasa went to assemble the men of Judah: but he tarried longer than the set time which he had appointed him.
20: 6 And David said to Abishai, Now shall Sheba the son of Bichri do us more harm than did Absalom: take thou thy lord's servants, and pursue after him, lest he get him fenced cities, and escape us.
20: 7 And there went out after him Joab's men, and the Cherethites, and the Pelethites, and all the mighty men: and they went out of Jerusalem, to pursue after Sheba the son of Bichri.
20: 8 When they were at the great stone which is in Gibeon, Amasa went before them.
And Joab's garment that he had put on was girded unto him, and upon it a girdle with a sword fastened upon his loins in the sheath thereof; and as he went forth it fell out.
20: 9 And Joab said to Amasa, Art thou in health, my brother?
And Joab took Amasa by the beard with the right hand to kiss him.
20: 10 But Amasa took no heed to the sword that was in Joab's hand: so he smote him therewith in the fifth rib, and shed out his bowels to the ground, and struck him not again; and he died.
So Joab and Abishai his brother pursued after Sheba the son of Bichri.
20: 11 And one of Joab's men stood by him, and said, He that favoureth Joab, and he that is for David, let him go after Joab.
20: 12 And Amasa wallowed in blood in the midst of the highway.
And when the man saw that all the people stood still, he removed Amasa out of the highway into the field, and cast a cloth upon him, when he saw that every one that came by him stood still.
20: 13 When he was removed out of the highway, all the people went on after Joab, to pursue after Sheba the son of Bichri.
20: 14 And he went through all the tribes of Israel unto Abel, and to Bethmaachah, and all the Berites: and they were gathered together, and went also after him.
20: 15 And they came and besieged him in Abel of Bethmaachah, and they cast up a bank against the city, and it stood in the trench: and all the people that were with Joab battered the wall, to throw it down.
20: 16 Then cried a wise woman out of the city, Hear, hear; say, I pray you, unto Joab, Come near hither, that I may speak with thee.
20: 17 And when he was come near unto her, the woman said, Art thou Joab?
And he answered, I am he.
Then she said unto him, Hear the words of thine handmaid.
And he answered, I do hear.
20: 18 Then she spake, saying, They were wont to speak in old time, saying, They shall surely ask counsel at Abel: and so they ended the matter.
20: 19 I am one of them that are peaceable and faithful in Israel: thou seekest to destroy a city and a mother in Israel: why wilt thou swallow up the inheritance of the LORD?
20: 20 And Joab answered and said, Far be it, far be it from me, that I should swallow up or destroy.
20: 21 The matter is not so: but a man of mount Ephraim, Sheba the son of Bichri by name, hath lifted up his hand against the king, even against David: deliver him only, and I will depart from the city.
And the woman said unto Joab, Behold, his head shall be thrown to thee over the wall.
20: 22 Then the woman went unto all the people in her wisdom.
And they cut off the head of Sheba the son of Bichri, and cast it out to Joab.
And he blew a trumpet, and they retired from the city, every man to his tent.
And Joab returned to Jerusalem unto the king.
21: 1 Then there was a famine in the days of David three years, year after year; and David enquired of the LORD.
And the LORD answered, It is for Saul, and for his bloody house, because he slew the Gibeonites.
21: 3 Wherefore David said unto the Gibeonites, What shall I do for you?
and wherewith shall I make the atonement, that ye may bless the inheritance of the LORD?
21: 4 And the Gibeonites said unto him, We will have no silver nor gold of Saul, nor of his house; neither for us shalt thou kill any man in Israel.
And he said, What ye shall say, that will I do for you.
And the king said, I will give them.
21: 7 But the king spared Mephibosheth, the son of Jonathan the son of Saul, because of the LORD's oath that was between them, between David and Jonathan the son of Saul.
21: 10 And Rizpah the daughter of Aiah took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night.
21: 11 And it was told David what Rizpah the daughter of Aiah, the concubine of Saul, had done.
21: 14 And the bones of Saul and Jonathan his son buried they in the country of Benjamin in Zelah, in the sepulchre of Kish his father: and they performed all that the king commanded.
And after that God was intreated for the land.
21: 15 Moreover the Philistines had yet war again with Israel; and David went down, and his servants with him, and fought against the Philistines: and David waxed faint.
21: 16 And Ishbibenob, which was of the sons of the giant, the weight of whose spear weighed three hundred shekels of brass in weight, he being girded with a new sword, thought to have slain David.
21: 17 But Abishai the son of Zeruiah succoured him, and smote the Philistine, and killed him.
Then the men of David sware unto him, saying, Thou shalt go no more out with us to battle, that thou quench not the light of Israel.
21: 18 And it came to pass after this, that there was again a battle with the Philistines at Gob: then Sibbechai the Hushathite slew Saph, which was of the sons of the giant.
21: 19 And there was again a battle in Gob with the Philistines, where Elhanan the son of Jaareoregim, a Bethlehemite, slew the brother of Goliath the Gittite, the staff of whose spear was like a weaver's beam.
21: 20 And there was yet a battle in Gath, where was a man of great stature, that had on every hand six fingers, and on every foot six toes, four and twenty in number; and he also was born to the giant.
21: 21 And when he defied Israel, Jonathan the son of Shimeah the brother of David slew him.
21: 22 These four were born to the giant in Gath, and fell by the hand of David, and by the hand of his servants.
22: 4 I will call on the LORD, who is worthy to be praised: so shall I be saved from mine enemies.
22: 8 Then the earth shook and trembled; the foundations of heaven moved and shook, because he was wroth.
22: 9 There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, and fire out of his mouth devoured: coals were kindled by it.
22: 10 He bowed the heavens also, and came down; and darkness was under his feet.
22: 11 And he rode upon a cherub, and did fly: and he was seen upon the wings of the wind.
22: 12 And he made darkness pavilions round about him, dark waters, and thick clouds of the skies.
22: 13 Through the brightness before him were coals of fire kindled.
22: 14 The LORD thundered from heaven, and the most High uttered his voice.
22: 15 And he sent out arrows, and scattered them; lightning, and discomfited them.
22: 16 And the channels of the sea appeared, the foundations of the world were discovered, at the rebuking of the LORD, at the blast of the breath of his nostrils.
22: 17 He sent from above, he took me; he drew me out of many waters; 22: 18 He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from them that hated me: for they were too strong for me.
22: 19 They prevented me in the day of my calamity: but the LORD was my stay.
22: 20 He brought me forth also into a large place: he delivered me, because he delighted in me.
22: 21 The LORD rewarded me according to my righteousness: according to the cleanness of my hands hath he recompensed me.
22: 22 For I have kept the ways of the LORD, and have not wickedly departed from my God.
22: 23 For all his judgments were before me: and as for his statutes, I did not depart from them.
22: 24 I was also upright before him, and have kept myself from mine iniquity.
22: 25 Therefore the LORD hath recompensed me according to my righteousness; according to my cleanness in his eye sight.
22: 26 With the merciful thou wilt shew thyself merciful, and with the upright man thou wilt shew thyself upright.
22: 27 With the pure thou wilt shew thyself pure; and with the froward thou wilt shew thyself unsavoury.
22: 28 And the afflicted people thou wilt save: but thine eyes are upon the haughty, that thou mayest bring them down.
22: 29 For thou art my lamp, O LORD: and the LORD will lighten my darkness.
22: 30 For by thee I have run through a troop: by my God have I leaped over a wall.
22: 31 As for God, his way is perfect; the word of the LORD is tried: he is a buckler to all them that trust in him.
22: 32 For who is God, save the LORD?
and who is a rock, save our God?
22: 33 God is my strength and power: and he maketh my way perfect.
22: 34 He maketh my feet like hinds'feet: and setteth me upon my high places.
22: 35 He teacheth my hands to war; so that a bow of steel is broken by mine arms.
22: 36 Thou hast also given me the shield of thy salvation: and thy gentleness hath made me great.
22: 37 Thou hast enlarged my steps under me; so that my feet did not slip.
22: 38 I have pursued mine enemies, and destroyed them; and turned not again until I had consumed them.
22: 39 And I have consumed them, and wounded them, that they could not arise: yea, they are fallen under my feet.
22: 40 For thou hast girded me with strength to battle: them that rose up against me hast thou subdued under me.
22: 41 Thou hast also given me the necks of mine enemies, that I might destroy them that hate me.
22: 42 They looked, but there was none to save; even unto the LORD, but he answered them not.
22: 43 Then did I beat them as small as the dust of the earth, I did stamp them as the mire of the street, and did spread them abroad.
22: 44 Thou also hast delivered me from the strivings of my people, thou hast kept me to be head of the heathen: a people which I knew not shall serve me.
22: 45 Strangers shall submit themselves unto me: as soon as they hear, they shall be obedient unto me.
22: 46 Strangers shall fade away, and they shall be afraid out of their close places.
22: 47 The LORD liveth; and blessed be my rock; and exalted be the God of the rock of my salvation.
22: 48 It is God that avengeth me, and that bringeth down the people under me.
22: 49 And that bringeth me forth from mine enemies: thou also hast lifted me up on high above them that rose up against me: thou hast delivered me from the violent man.
22: 50 Therefore I will give thanks unto thee, O LORD, among the heathen, and I will sing praises unto thy name.
22: 51 He is the tower of salvation for his king: and sheweth mercy to his anointed, unto David, and to his seed for evermore.
23: 1 Now these be the last words of David.
David the son of Jesse said, and the man who was raised up on high, the anointed of the God of Jacob, and the sweet psalmist of Israel, said, 23: 2 The Spirit of the LORD spake by me, and his word was in my tongue.
23: 3 The God of Israel said, the Rock of Israel spake to me, He that ruleth over men must be just, ruling in the fear of God.
23: 4 And he shall be as the light of the morning, when the sun riseth, even a morning without clouds; as the tender grass springing out of the earth by clear shining after rain.
23: 5 Although my house be not so with God; yet he hath made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things, and sure: for this is all my salvation, and all my desire, although he make it not to grow.
23: 6 But the sons of Belial shall be all of them as thorns thrust away, because they cannot be taken with hands: 23: 7 But the man that shall touch them must be fenced with iron and the staff of a spear; and they shall be utterly burned with fire in the same place.
23: 8 These be the names of the mighty men whom David had: The Tachmonite that sat in the seat, chief among the captains; the same was Adino the Eznite: he lift up his spear against eight hundred, whom he slew at one time.
23: 11 And after him was Shammah the son of Agee the Hararite.
And the Philistines were gathered together into a troop, where was a piece of ground full of lentiles: and the people fled from the Philistines.
23: 12 But he stood in the midst of the ground, and defended it, and slew the Philistines: and the LORD wrought a great victory.
23: 13 And three of the thirty chief went down, and came to David in the harvest time unto the cave of Adullam: and the troop of the Philistines pitched in the valley of Rephaim.
23: 14 And David was then in an hold, and the garrison of the Philistines was then in Bethlehem.
23: 15 And David longed, and said, Oh that one would give me drink of the water of the well of Bethlehem, which is by the gate!
23: 16 And the three mighty men brake through the host of the Philistines, and drew water out of the well of Bethlehem, that was by the gate, and took it, and brought it to David: nevertheless he would not drink thereof, but poured it out unto the LORD.
23: 17 And he said, Be it far from me, O LORD, that I should do this: is not this the blood of the men that went in jeopardy of their lives?
therefore he would not drink it.
These things did these three mighty men.
23: 18 And Abishai, the brother of Joab, the son of Zeruiah, was chief among three.
And he lifted up his spear against three hundred, and slew them, and had the name among three.
23: 19 Was he not most honourable of three?
therefore he was their captain: howbeit he attained not unto the first three.
23: 22 These things did Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, and had the name among three mighty men.
23: 23 He was more honourable than the thirty, but he attained not to the first three.
And David set him over his guard.
24: 1 And again the anger of the LORD was kindled against Israel, and he moved David against them to say, Go, number Israel and Judah.
24: 2 For the king said to Joab the captain of the host, which was with him, Go now through all the tribes of Israel, from Dan even to Beersheba, and number ye the people, that I may know the number of the people.
24: 3 And Joab said unto the king, Now the LORD thy God add unto the people, how many soever they be, an hundredfold, and that the eyes of my lord the king may see it: but why doth my lord the king delight in this thing?
24: 4 Notwithstanding the king's word prevailed against Joab, and against the captains of the host.
And Joab and the captains of the host went out from the presence of the king, to number the people of Israel.
24: 8 So when they had gone through all the land, they came to Jerusalem at the end of nine months and twenty days.
24: 9 And Joab gave up the sum of the number of the people unto the king: and there were in Israel eight hundred thousand valiant men that drew the sword; and the men of Judah were five hundred thousand men.
24: 10 And David's heart smote him after that he had numbered the people.
And David said unto the LORD, I have sinned greatly in that I have done: and now, I beseech thee, O LORD, take away the iniquity of thy servant; for I have done very foolishly.
24: 11 For when David was up in the morning, the word of the LORD came unto the prophet Gad, David's seer, saying, 24: 12 Go and say unto David, Thus saith the LORD, I offer thee three things; choose thee one of them, that I may do it unto thee.
24: 13 So Gad came to David, and told him, and said unto him, Shall seven years of famine come unto thee in thy land?
or wilt thou flee three months before thine enemies, while they pursue thee?
or that there be three days'pestilence in thy land?
now advise, and see what answer I shall return to him that sent me.
24: 14 And David said unto Gad, I am in a great strait: let us fall now into the hand of the LORD; for his mercies are great: and let me not fall into the hand of man.
24: 15 So the LORD sent a pestilence upon Israel from the morning even to the time appointed: and there died of the people from Dan even to Beersheba seventy thousand men.
24: 16 And when the angel stretched out his hand upon Jerusalem to destroy it, the LORD repented him of the evil, and said to the angel that destroyed the people, It is enough: stay now thine hand.
And the angel of the LORD was by the threshingplace of Araunah the Jebusite.
24: 17 And David spake unto the LORD when he saw the angel that smote the people, and said, Lo, I have sinned, and I have done wickedly: but these sheep, what have they done?
let thine hand, I pray thee, be against me, and against my father's house.
24: 18 And Gad came that day to David, and said unto him, Go up, rear an altar unto the LORD in the threshingfloor of Araunah the Jebusite.
24: 19 And David, according to the saying of Gad, went up as the LORD commanded.
24: 20 And Araunah looked, and saw the king and his servants coming on toward him: and Araunah went out, and bowed himself before the king on his face upon the ground.
24: 21 And Araunah said, Wherefore is my lord the king come to his servant?
And David said, To buy the threshingfloor of thee, to build an altar unto the LORD, that the plague may be stayed from the people.
24: 22 And Araunah said unto David, Let my lord the king take and offer up what seemeth good unto him: behold, here be oxen for burnt sacrifice, and threshing instruments and other instruments of the oxen for wood.
24: 23 All these things did Araunah, as a king, give unto the king.
And Araunah said unto the king, The LORD thy God accept thee.
24: 24 And the king said unto Araunah, Nay; but I will surely buy it of thee at a price: neither will I offer burnt offerings unto the LORD my God of that which doth cost me nothing.
So David bought the threshingfloor and the oxen for fifty shekels of silver.
24: 25 And David built there an altar unto the LORD, and offered burnt offerings and peace offerings.
So the LORD was intreated for the land, and the plague was stayed from Israel.
The First Book of the Kings
Commonly Called:
The Third Book of the Kings
1: 1 Now king David was old and stricken in years; and they covered him with clothes, but he gat no heat.
1: 2 Wherefore his servants said unto him, Let there be sought for my lord the king a young virgin: and let her stand before the king, and let her cherish him, and let her lie in thy bosom, that my lord the king may get heat.
1: 3 So they sought for a fair damsel throughout all the coasts of Israel, and found Abishag a Shunammite, and brought her to the king.
1: 4 And the damsel was very fair, and cherished the king, and ministered to him: but the king knew her not.
1: 5 Then Adonijah the son of Haggith exalted himself, saying, I will be king: and he prepared him chariots and horsemen, and fifty men to run before him.
1: 6 And his father had not displeased him at any time in saying, Why hast thou done so?
and he also was a very goodly man; and his mother bare him after Absalom.
1: 7 And he conferred with Joab the son of Zeruiah, and with Abiathar the priest: and they following Adonijah helped him.
1: 8 But Zadok the priest, and Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, and Nathan the prophet, and Shimei, and Rei, and the mighty men which belonged to David, were not with Adonijah.
1: 11 Wherefore Nathan spake unto Bathsheba the mother of Solomon, saying, Hast thou not heard that Adonijah the son of Haggith doth reign, and David our lord knoweth it not?
1: 12 Now therefore come, let me, I pray thee, give thee counsel, that thou mayest save thine own life, and the life of thy son Solomon.
1: 13 Go and get thee in unto king David, and say unto him, Didst not thou, my lord, O king, swear unto thine handmaid, saying, Assuredly Solomon thy son shall reign after me, and he shall sit upon my throne?
why then doth Adonijah reign?
1: 14 Behold, while thou yet talkest there with the king, I also will come in after thee, and confirm thy words.
1: 15 And Bathsheba went in unto the king into the chamber: and the king was very old; and Abishag the Shunammite ministered unto the king.
1: 16 And Bathsheba bowed, and did obeisance unto the king.
And the king said, What wouldest thou?
1: 17 And she said unto him, My lord, thou swarest by the LORD thy God unto thine handmaid, saying, Assuredly Solomon thy son shall reign after me, and he shall sit upon my throne.
1: 20 And thou, my lord, O king, the eyes of all Israel are upon thee, that thou shouldest tell them who shall sit on the throne of my lord the king after him.
1: 21 Otherwise it shall come to pass, when my lord the king shall sleep with his fathers, that I and my son Solomon shall be counted offenders.
1: 22 And, lo, while she yet talked with the king, Nathan the prophet also came in.
1: 23 And they told the king, saying, Behold Nathan the prophet.
And when he was come in before the king, he bowed himself before the king with his face to the ground.
1: 24 And Nathan said, My lord, O king, hast thou said, Adonijah shall reign after me, and he shall sit upon my throne?
1: 25 For he is gone down this day, and hath slain oxen and fat cattle and sheep in abundance, and hath called all the king's sons, and the captains of the host, and Abiathar the priest; and, behold, they eat and drink before him, and say, God save king Adonijah.
1: 26 But me, even me thy servant, and Zadok the priest, and Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, and thy servant Solomon, hath he not called.
1: 27 Is this thing done by my lord the king, and thou hast not shewed it unto thy servant, who should sit on the throne of my lord the king after him?
1: 28 Then king David answered and said, Call me Bathsheba.
And she came into the king's presence, and stood before the king.
1: 31 Then Bathsheba bowed with her face to the earth, and did reverence to the king, and said, Let my lord king David live for ever.
1: 32 And king David said, Call me Zadok the priest, and Nathan the prophet, and Benaiah the son of Jehoiada.
And they came before the king.
1: 35 Then ye shall come up after him, that he may come and sit upon my throne; for he shall be king in my stead: and I have appointed him to be ruler over Israel and over Judah.
1: 36 And Benaiah the son of Jehoiada answered the king, and said, Amen: the LORD God of my lord the king say so too.
1: 37 As the LORD hath been with my lord the king, even so be he with Solomon, and make his throne greater than the throne of my lord king David.
1: 38 So Zadok the priest, and Nathan the prophet, and Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, and the Cherethites, and the Pelethites, went down, and caused Solomon to ride upon king David's mule, and brought him to Gihon.
1: 39 And Zadok the priest took an horn of oil out of the tabernacle, and anointed Solomon.
And they blew the trumpet; and all the people said, God save king Solomon.
1: 40 And all the people came up after him, and the people piped with pipes, and rejoiced with great joy, so that the earth rent with the sound of them.
1: 41 And Adonijah and all the guests that were with him heard it as they had made an end of eating.
And when Joab heard the sound of the trumpet, he said, Wherefore is this noise of the city being in an uproar?
1: 42 And while he yet spake, behold, Jonathan the son of Abiathar the priest came; and Adonijah said unto him, Come in; for thou art a valiant man, and bringest good tidings.
1: 43 And Jonathan answered and said to Adonijah, Verily our lord king David hath made Solomon king.
This is the noise that ye have heard.
1: 46 And also Solomon sitteth on the throne of the kingdom.
1: 47 And moreover the king's servants came to bless our lord king David, saying, God make the name of Solomon better than thy name, and make his throne greater than thy throne.
And the king bowed himself upon the bed.
1: 48 And also thus said the king, Blessed be the LORD God of Israel, which hath given one to sit on my throne this day, mine eyes even seeing it.
1: 49 And all the guests that were with Adonijah were afraid, and rose up, and went every man his way.
1: 50 And Adonijah feared because of Solomon, and arose, and went, and caught hold on the horns of the altar.
1: 51 And it was told Solomon, saying, Behold, Adonijah feareth king Solomon: for, lo, he hath caught hold on the horns of the altar, saying, Let king Solomon swear unto me today that he will not slay his servant with the sword.
1: 52 And Solomon said, If he will shew himself a worthy man, there shall not an hair of him fall to the earth: but if wickedness shall be found in him, he shall die.
1: 53 So king Solomon sent, and they brought him down from the altar.
And he came and bowed himself to king Solomon: and Solomon said unto him, Go to thine house.
2: 6 Do therefore according to thy wisdom, and let not his hoar head go down to the grave in peace.
2: 7 But shew kindness unto the sons of Barzillai the Gileadite, and let them be of those that eat at thy table: for so they came to me when I fled because of Absalom thy brother.
2: 9 Now therefore hold him not guiltless: for thou art a wise man, and knowest what thou oughtest to do unto him; but his hoar head bring thou down to the grave with blood.
2: 10 So David slept with his fathers, and was buried in the city of David.
2: 11 And the days that David reigned over Israel were forty years: seven years reigned he in Hebron, and thirty and three years reigned he in Jerusalem.
2: 12 Then sat Solomon upon the throne of David his father; and his kingdom was established greatly.
2: 13 And Adonijah the son of Haggith came to Bathsheba the mother of Solomon.
And she said, Comest thou peaceably?
And he said, Peaceably.
2: 14 He said moreover, I have somewhat to say unto thee.
And she said, Say on.
2: 15 And he said, Thou knowest that the kingdom was mine, and that all Israel set their faces on me, that I should reign: howbeit the kingdom is turned about, and is become my brother's: for it was his from the LORD.
2: 16 And now I ask one petition of thee, deny me not.
And she said unto him, Say on.
2: 17 And he said, Speak, I pray thee, unto Solomon the king, (for he will not say thee nay,) that he give me Abishag the Shunammite to wife.
2: 18 And Bathsheba said, Well; I will speak for thee unto the king.
2: 19 Bathsheba therefore went unto king Solomon, to speak unto him for Adonijah.
And the king rose up to meet her, and bowed himself unto her, and sat down on his throne, and caused a seat to be set for the king's mother; and she sat on his right hand.
2: 20 Then she said, I desire one small petition of thee; I pray thee, say me not nay.
And the king said unto her, Ask on, my mother: for I will not say thee nay.
2: 21 And she said, Let Abishag the Shunammite be given to Adonijah thy brother to wife.
2: 22 And king Solomon answered and said unto his mother, And why dost thou ask Abishag the Shunammite for Adonijah?
ask for him the kingdom also; for he is mine elder brother; even for him, and for Abiathar the priest, and for Joab the son of Zeruiah.
2: 23 Then king Solomon sware by the LORD, saying, God do so to me, and more also, if Adonijah have not spoken this word against his own life.
2: 24 Now therefore, as the LORD liveth, which hath established me, and set me on the throne of David my father, and who hath made me an house, as he promised, Adonijah shall be put to death this day.
2: 25 And king Solomon sent by the hand of Benaiah the son of Jehoiada; and he fell upon him that he died.
2: 27 So Solomon thrust out Abiathar from being priest unto the LORD; that he might fulfil the word of the LORD, which he spake concerning the house of Eli in Shiloh.
2: 28 Then tidings came to Joab: for Joab had turned after Adonijah, though he turned not after Absalom.
And Joab fled unto the tabernacle of the LORD, and caught hold on the horns of the altar.
2: 29 And it was told king Solomon that Joab was fled unto the tabernacle of the LORD; and, behold, he is by the altar.
Then Solomon sent Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, saying, Go, fall upon him.
2: 30 And Benaiah came to the tabernacle of the LORD, and said unto him, Thus saith the king, Come forth.
And he said, Nay; but I will die here.
And Benaiah brought the king word again, saying, Thus said Joab, and thus he answered me.
2: 31 And the king said unto him, Do as he hath said, and fall upon him, and bury him; that thou mayest take away the innocent blood, which Joab shed, from me, and from the house of my father.
2: 33 Their blood shall therefore return upon the head of Joab, and upon the head of his seed for ever: but upon David, and upon his seed, and upon his house, and upon his throne, shall there be peace for ever from the LORD.
2: 34 So Benaiah the son of Jehoiada went up, and fell upon him, and slew him: and he was buried in his own house in the wilderness.
2: 35 And the king put Benaiah the son of Jehoiada in his room over the host: and Zadok the priest did the king put in the room of Abiathar.
2: 36 And the king sent and called for Shimei, and said unto him, Build thee an house in Jerusalem, and dwell there, and go not forth thence any whither.
2: 37 For it shall be, that on the day thou goest out, and passest over the brook Kidron, thou shalt know for certain that thou shalt surely die: thy blood shall be upon thine own head.
2: 38 And Shimei said unto the king, The saying is good: as my lord the king hath said, so will thy servant do.
And Shimei dwelt in Jerusalem many days.
2: 39 And it came to pass at the end of three years, that two of the servants of Shimei ran away unto Achish son of Maachah king of Gath.
And they told Shimei, saying, Behold, thy servants be in Gath.
2: 40 And Shimei arose, and saddled his ass, and went to Gath to Achish to seek his servants: and Shimei went, and brought his servants from Gath.
2: 41 And it was told Solomon that Shimei had gone from Jerusalem to Gath, and was come again.
2: 42 And the king sent and called for Shimei, and said unto him, Did I not make thee to swear by the LORD, and protested unto thee, saying, Know for a certain, on the day thou goest out, and walkest abroad any whither, that thou shalt surely die?
and thou saidst unto me, The word that I have heard is good.
2: 43 Why then hast thou not kept the oath of the LORD, and the commandment that I have charged thee with?
2: 46 So the king commanded Benaiah the son of Jehoiada; which went out, and fell upon him, that he died.
And the kingdom was established in the hand of Solomon.
3: 1 And Solomon made affinity with Pharaoh king of Egypt, and took Pharaoh's daughter, and brought her into the city of David, until he had made an end of building his own house, and the house of the LORD, and the wall of Jerusalem round about.
3: 2 Only the people sacrificed in high places, because there was no house built unto the name of the LORD, until those days.
3: 3 And Solomon loved the LORD, walking in the statutes of David his father: only he sacrificed and burnt incense in high places.
3: 4 And the king went to Gibeon to sacrifice there; for that was the great high place: a thousand burnt offerings did Solomon offer upon that altar.
3: 5 In Gibeon the LORD appeared to Solomon in a dream by night: and God said, Ask what I shall give thee.
3: 7 And now, O LORD my God, thou hast made thy servant king instead of David my father: and I am but a little child: I know not how to go out or come in.
3: 8 And thy servant is in the midst of thy people which thou hast chosen, a great people, that cannot be numbered nor counted for multitude.
3: 9 Give therefore thy servant an understanding heart to judge thy people, that I may discern between good and bad: for who is able to judge this thy so great a people?
3: 10 And the speech pleased the LORD, that Solomon had asked this thing.
3: 13 And I have also given thee that which thou hast not asked, both riches, and honour: so that there shall not be any among the kings like unto thee all thy days.
3: 14 And if thou wilt walk in my ways, to keep my statutes and my commandments, as thy father David did walk, then I will lengthen thy days.
3: 15 And Solomon awoke; and, behold, it was a dream.
And he came to Jerusalem, and stood before the ark of the covenant of the LORD, and offered up burnt offerings, and offered peace offerings, and made a feast to all his servants.
3: 16 Then came there two women, that were harlots, unto the king, and stood before him.
3: 17 And the one woman said, O my lord, I and this woman dwell in one house; and I was delivered of a child with her in the house.
3: 18 And it came to pass the third day after that I was delivered, that this woman was delivered also: and we were together; there was no stranger with us in the house, save we two in the house.
3: 19 And this woman's child died in the night; because she overlaid it.
3: 20 And she arose at midnight, and took my son from beside me, while thine handmaid slept, and laid it in her bosom, and laid her dead child in my bosom.
3: 21 And when I rose in the morning to give my child suck, behold, it was dead: but when I had considered it in the morning, behold, it was not my son, which I did bear.
3: 22 And the other woman said, Nay; but the living is my son, and the dead is thy son.
And this said, No; but the dead is thy son, and the living is my son.
Thus they spake before the king.
3: 23 Then said the king, The one saith, This is my son that liveth, and thy son is the dead: and the other saith, Nay; but thy son is the dead, and my son is the living.
3: 24 And the king said, Bring me a sword.
And they brought a sword before the king.
3: 25 And the king said, Divide the living child in two, and give half to the one, and half to the other.
3: 26 Then spake the woman whose the living child was unto the king, for her bowels yearned upon her son, and she said, O my lord, give her the living child, and in no wise slay it.
But the other said, Let it be neither mine nor thine, but divide it.
3: 27 Then the king answered and said, Give her the living child, and in no wise slay it: she is the mother thereof.
3: 28 And all Israel heard of the judgment which the king had judged; and they feared the king: for they saw that the wisdom of God was in him, to do judgment.
4: 1 So king Solomon was king over all Israel.
4: 2 And these were the princes which he had; Azariah the son of Zadok the priest, 4: 3 Elihoreph and Ahiah, the sons of Shisha, scribes; Jehoshaphat the son of Ahilud, the recorder.
4: 7 And Solomon had twelve officers over all Israel, which provided victuals for the king and his household: each man his month in a year made provision.
4: 20 Judah and Israel were many, as the sand which is by the sea in multitude, eating and drinking, and making merry.
4: 21 And Solomon reigned over all kingdoms from the river unto the land of the Philistines, and unto the border of Egypt: they brought presents, and served Solomon all the days of his life.
4: 22 And Solomon's provision for one day was thirty measures of fine flour, and threescore measures of meal, 4: 23 Ten fat oxen, and twenty oxen out of the pastures, and an hundred sheep, beside harts, and roebucks, and fallowdeer, and fatted fowl.
4: 24 For he had dominion over all the region on this side the river, from Tiphsah even to Azzah, over all the kings on this side the river: and he had peace on all sides round about him.
4: 25 And Judah and Israel dwelt safely, every man under his vine and under his fig tree, from Dan even to Beersheba, all the days of Solomon.
4: 26 And Solomon had forty thousand stalls of horses for his chariots, and twelve thousand horsemen.
4: 27 And those officers provided victual for king Solomon, and for all that came unto king Solomon's table, every man in his month: they lacked nothing.
4: 28 Barley also and straw for the horses and dromedaries brought they unto the place where the officers were, every man according to his charge.
4: 29 And God gave Solomon wisdom and understanding exceeding much, and largeness of heart, even as the sand that is on the sea shore.
4: 30 And Solomon's wisdom excelled the wisdom of all the children of the east country, and all the wisdom of Egypt.
4: 31 For he was wiser than all men; than Ethan the Ezrahite, and Heman, and Chalcol, and Darda, the sons of Mahol: and his fame was in all nations round about.
4: 32 And he spake three thousand proverbs: and his songs were a thousand and five.
4: 33 And he spake of trees, from the cedar tree that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall: he spake also of beasts, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes.
4: 34 And there came of all people to hear the wisdom of Solomon, from all kings of the earth, which had heard of his wisdom.
5: 1 And Hiram king of Tyre sent his servants unto Solomon; for he had heard that they had anointed him king in the room of his father: for Hiram was ever a lover of David.
5: 2 And Solomon sent to Hiram, saying, 5: 3 Thou knowest how that David my father could not build an house unto the name of the LORD his God for the wars which were about him on every side, until the LORD put them under the soles of his feet.
5: 4 But now the LORD my God hath given me rest on every side, so that there is neither adversary nor evil occurrent.
5: 5 And, behold, I purpose to build an house unto the name of the LORD my God, as the LORD spake unto David my father, saying, Thy son, whom I will set upon thy throne in thy room, he shall build an house unto my name.
5: 7 And it came to pass, when Hiram heard the words of Solomon, that he rejoiced greatly, and said, Blessed be the LORD this day, which hath given unto David a wise son over this great people.
5: 8 And Hiram sent to Solomon, saying, I have considered the things which thou sentest to me for: and I will do all thy desire concerning timber of cedar, and concerning timber of fir.
5: 10 So Hiram gave Solomon cedar trees and fir trees according to all his desire.
5: 11 And Solomon gave Hiram twenty thousand measures of wheat for food to his household, and twenty measures of pure oil: thus gave Solomon to Hiram year by year.
5: 12 And the LORD gave Solomon wisdom, as he promised him: and there was peace between Hiram and Solomon; and they two made a league together.
5: 13 And king Solomon raised a levy out of all Israel; and the levy was thirty thousand men.
5: 14 And he sent them to Lebanon, ten thousand a month by courses: a month they were in Lebanon, and two months at home: and Adoniram was over the levy.
5: 17 And the king commanded, and they brought great stones, costly stones, and hewed stones, to lay the foundation of the house.
5: 18 And Solomon's builders and Hiram's builders did hew them, and the stonesquarers: so they prepared timber and stones to build the house.
6: 1 And it came to pass in the four hundred and eightieth year after the children of Israel were come out of the land of Egypt, in the fourth year of Solomon's reign over Israel, in the month Zif, which is the second month, that he began to build the house of the LORD.
6: 2 And the house which king Solomon built for the LORD, the length thereof was threescore cubits, and the breadth thereof twenty cubits, and the height thereof thirty cubits.
6: 3 And the porch before the temple of the house, twenty cubits was the length thereof, according to the breadth of the house; and ten cubits was the breadth thereof before the house.
6: 4 And for the house he made windows of narrow lights.
6: 7 And the house, when it was in building, was built of stone made ready before it was brought thither: so that there was neither hammer nor axe nor any tool of iron heard in the house, while it was in building.
6: 8 The door for the middle chamber was in the right side of the house: and they went up with winding stairs into the middle chamber, and out of the middle into the third.
6: 9 So he built the house, and finished it; and covered the house with beams and boards of cedar.
6: 10 And then he built chambers against all the house, five cubits high: and they rested on the house with timber of cedar.
6: 14 So Solomon built the house, and finished it.
6: 15 And he built the walls of the house within with boards of cedar, both the floor of the house, and the walls of the ceiling: and he covered them on the inside with wood, and covered the floor of the house with planks of fir.
6: 16 And he built twenty cubits on the sides of the house, both the floor and the walls with boards of cedar: he even built them for it within, even for the oracle, even for the most holy place.
6: 17 And the house, that is, the temple before it, was forty cubits long.
6: 18 And the cedar of the house within was carved with knops and open flowers: all was cedar; there was no stone seen.
6: 19 And the oracle he prepared in the house within, to set there the ark of the covenant of the LORD.
6: 20 And the oracle in the forepart was twenty cubits in length, and twenty cubits in breadth, and twenty cubits in the height thereof: and he overlaid it with pure gold; and so covered the altar which was of cedar.
6: 21 So Solomon overlaid the house within with pure gold: and he made a partition by the chains of gold before the oracle; and he overlaid it with gold.
6: 22 And the whole house he overlaid with gold, until he had finished all the house: also the whole altar that was by the oracle he overlaid with gold.
6: 23 And within the oracle he made two cherubims of olive tree, each ten cubits high.
6: 24 And five cubits was the one wing of the cherub, and five cubits the other wing of the cherub: from the uttermost part of the one wing unto the uttermost part of the other were ten cubits.
6: 25 And the other cherub was ten cubits: both the cherubims were of one measure and one size.
6: 26 The height of the one cherub was ten cubits, and so was it of the other cherub.
6: 28 And he overlaid the cherubims with gold.
6: 29 And he carved all the walls of the house round about with carved figures of cherubims and palm trees and open flowers, within and without.
6: 30 And the floors of the house he overlaid with gold, within and without.
6: 31 And for the entering of the oracle he made doors of olive tree: the lintel and side posts were a fifth part of the wall.
6: 32 The two doors also were of olive tree; and he carved upon them carvings of cherubims and palm trees and open flowers, and overlaid them with gold, and spread gold upon the cherubims, and upon the palm trees.
6: 33 So also made he for the door of the temple posts of olive tree, a fourth part of the wall.
6: 34 And the two doors were of fir tree: the two leaves of the one door were folding, and the two leaves of the other door were folding.
6: 35 And he carved thereon cherubims and palm trees and open flowers: and covered them with gold fitted upon the carved work.
6: 36 And he built the inner court with three rows of hewed stone, and a row of cedar beams.
6: 37 In the fourth year was the foundation of the house of the LORD laid, in the month Zif: 6: 38 And in the eleventh year, in the month Bul, which is the eighth month, was the house finished throughout all the parts thereof, and according to all the fashion of it.
So was he seven years in building it.
7: 1 But Solomon was building his own house thirteen years, and he finished all his house.
7: 2 He built also the house of the forest of Lebanon; the length thereof was an hundred cubits, and the breadth thereof fifty cubits, and the height thereof thirty cubits, upon four rows of cedar pillars, with cedar beams upon the pillars.
7: 3 And it was covered with cedar above upon the beams, that lay on forty five pillars, fifteen in a row.
7: 4 And there were windows in three rows, and light was against light in three ranks.
7: 5 And all the doors and posts were square, with the windows: and light was against light in three ranks.
7: 6 And he made a porch of pillars; the length thereof was fifty cubits, and the breadth thereof thirty cubits: and the porch was before them: and the other pillars and the thick beam were before them.
7: 7 Then he made a porch for the throne where he might judge, even the porch of judgment: and it was covered with cedar from one side of the floor to the other.
7: 8 And his house where he dwelt had another court within the porch, which was of the like work.
Solomon made also an house for Pharaoh's daughter, whom he had taken to wife, like unto this porch.
7: 9 All these were of costly stones, according to the measures of hewed stones, sawed with saws, within and without, even from the foundation unto the coping, and so on the outside toward the great court.
7: 10 And the foundation was of costly stones, even great stones, stones of ten cubits, and stones of eight cubits.
7: 11 And above were costly stones, after the measures of hewed stones, and cedars.
7: 12 And the great court round about was with three rows of hewed stones, and a row of cedar beams, both for the inner court of the house of the LORD, and for the porch of the house.
7: 13 And king Solomon sent and fetched Hiram out of Tyre.
7: 14 He was a widow's son of the tribe of Naphtali, and his father was a man of Tyre, a worker in brass: and he was filled with wisdom, and understanding, and cunning to work all works in brass.
And he came to king Solomon, and wrought all his work.
7: 15 For he cast two pillars of brass, of eighteen cubits high apiece: and a line of twelve cubits did compass either of them about.
7: 18 And he made the pillars, and two rows round about upon the one network, to cover the chapiters that were upon the top, with pomegranates: and so did he for the other chapiter.
7: 19 And the chapiters that were upon the top of the pillars were of lily work in the porch, four cubits.
7: 20 And the chapiters upon the two pillars had pomegranates also above, over against the belly which was by the network: and the pomegranates were two hundred in rows round about upon the other chapiter.
7: 21 And he set up the pillars in the porch of the temple: and he set up the right pillar, and called the name thereof Jachin: and he set up the left pillar, and called the name thereof Boaz.
7: 22 And upon the top of the pillars was lily work: so was the work of the pillars finished.
7: 23 And he made a molten sea, ten cubits from the one brim to the other: it was round all about, and his height was five cubits: and a line of thirty cubits did compass it round about.
7: 24 And under the brim of it round about there were knops compassing it, ten in a cubit, compassing the sea round about: the knops were cast in two rows, when it was cast.
7: 25 It stood upon twelve oxen, three looking toward the north, and three looking toward the west, and three looking toward the south, and three looking toward the east: and the sea was set above upon them, and all their hinder parts were inward.
7: 26 And it was an hand breadth thick, and the brim thereof was wrought like the brim of a cup, with flowers of lilies: it contained two thousand baths.
7: 27 And he made ten bases of brass; four cubits was the length of one base, and four cubits the breadth thereof, and three cubits the height of it.
7: 30 And every base had four brasen wheels, and plates of brass: and the four corners thereof had undersetters: under the laver were undersetters molten, at the side of every addition.
7: 31 And the mouth of it within the chapiter and above was a cubit: but the mouth thereof was round after the work of the base, a cubit and an half: and also upon the mouth of it were gravings with their borders, foursquare, not round.
7: 32 And under the borders were four wheels; and the axletrees of the wheels were joined to the base: and the height of a wheel was a cubit and half a cubit.
7: 33 And the work of the wheels was like the work of a chariot wheel: their axletrees, and their naves, and their felloes, and their spokes, were all molten.
7: 34 And there were four undersetters to the four corners of one base: and the undersetters were of the very base itself.
7: 35 And in the top of the base was there a round compass of half a cubit high: and on the top of the base the ledges thereof and the borders thereof were of the same.
7: 36 For on the plates of the ledges thereof, and on the borders thereof, he graved cherubims, lions, and palm trees, according to the proportion of every one, and additions round about.
7: 37 After this manner he made the ten bases: all of them had one casting, one measure, and one size.
7: 38 Then made he ten lavers of brass: one laver contained forty baths: and every laver was four cubits: and upon every one of the ten bases one laver.
7: 39 And he put five bases on the right side of the house, and five on the left side of the house: and he set the sea on the right side of the house eastward over against the south.
7: 40 And Hiram made the lavers, and the shovels, and the basons.
7: 46 In the plain of Jordan did the king cast them, in the clay ground between Succoth and Zarthan.
7: 47 And Solomon left all the vessels unweighed, because they were exceeding many: neither was the weight of the brass found out.
7: 51 So was ended all the work that king Solomon made for the house of the LORD.
And Solomon brought in the things which David his father had dedicated; even the silver, and the gold, and the vessels, did he put among the treasures of the house of the LORD.
8: 1 Then Solomon assembled the elders of Israel, and all the heads of the tribes, the chief of the fathers of the children of Israel, unto king Solomon in Jerusalem, that they might bring up the ark of the covenant of the LORD out of the city of David, which is Zion.
8: 2 And all the men of Israel assembled themselves unto king Solomon at the feast in the month Ethanim, which is the seventh month.
8: 3 And all the elders of Israel came, and the priests took up the ark.
8: 4 And they brought up the ark of the LORD, and the tabernacle of the congregation, and all the holy vessels that were in the tabernacle, even those did the priests and the Levites bring up.
8: 5 And king Solomon, and all the congregation of Israel, that were assembled unto him, were with him before the ark, sacrificing sheep and oxen, that could not be told nor numbered for multitude.
8: 6 And the priests brought in the ark of the covenant of the LORD unto his place, into the oracle of the house, to the most holy place, even under the wings of the cherubims.
8: 7 For the cherubims spread forth their two wings over the place of the ark, and the cherubims covered the ark and the staves thereof above.
8: 8 And they drew out the staves, that the ends of the staves were seen out in the holy place before the oracle, and they were not seen without: and there they are unto this day.
8: 9 There was nothing in the ark save the two tables of stone, which Moses put there at Horeb, when the LORD made a covenant with the children of Israel, when they came out of the land of Egypt.
8: 10 And it came to pass, when the priests were come out of the holy place, that the cloud filled the house of the LORD, 8: 11 So that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud: for the glory of the LORD had filled the house of the LORD.
8: 12 Then spake Solomon, The LORD said that he would dwell in the thick darkness.
8: 13 I have surely built thee an house to dwell in, a settled place for thee to abide in for ever.
8: 17 And it was in the heart of David my father to build an house for the name of the LORD God of Israel.
8: 18 And the LORD said unto David my father, Whereas it was in thine heart to build an house unto my name, thou didst well that it was in thine heart.
8: 19 Nevertheless thou shalt not build the house; but thy son that shall come forth out of thy loins, he shall build the house unto my name.
8: 20 And the LORD hath performed his word that he spake, and I am risen up in the room of David my father, and sit on the throne of Israel, as the LORD promised, and have built an house for the name of the LORD God of Israel.
8: 21 And I have set there a place for the ark, wherein is the covenant of the LORD, which he made with our fathers, when he brought them out of the land of Egypt.
8: 26 And now, O God of Israel, let thy word, I pray thee, be verified, which thou spakest unto thy servant David my father.
8: 27 But will God indeed dwell on the earth?
behold, the heaven and heaven of heavens cannot contain thee; how much less this house that I have builded?
8: 30 And hearken thou to the supplication of thy servant, and of thy people Israel, when they shall pray toward this place: and hear thou in heaven thy dwelling place: and when thou hearest, forgive.
8: 53 For thou didst separate them from among all the people of the earth, to be thine inheritance, as thou spakest by the hand of Moses thy servant, when thou broughtest our fathers out of Egypt, O LORD God.
8: 54 And it was so, that when Solomon had made an end of praying all this prayer and supplication unto the LORD, he arose from before the altar of the LORD, from kneeling on his knees with his hands spread up to heaven.
8: 57 The LORD our God be with us, as he was with our fathers: let him not leave us, nor forsake us: 8: 58 That he may incline our hearts unto him, to walk in all his ways, and to keep his commandments, and his statutes, and his judgments, which he commanded our fathers.
8: 61 Let your heart therefore be perfect with the LORD our God, to walk in his statutes, and to keep his commandments, as at this day.
8: 62 And the king, and all Israel with him, offered sacrifice before the LORD.
8: 63 And Solomon offered a sacrifice of peace offerings, which he offered unto the LORD, two and twenty thousand oxen, and an hundred and twenty thousand sheep.
So the king and all the children of Israel dedicated the house of the LORD.
8: 65 And at that time Solomon held a feast, and all Israel with him, a great congregation, from the entering in of Hamath unto the river of Egypt, before the LORD our God, seven days and seven days, even fourteen days.
8: 66 On the eighth day he sent the people away: and they blessed the king, and went unto their tents joyful and glad of heart for all the goodness that the LORD had done for David his servant, and for Israel his people.
9: 1 And it came to pass, when Solomon had finished the building of the house of the LORD, and the king's house, and all Solomon's desire which he was pleased to do, 9: 2 That the LORD appeared to Solomon the second time, as he had appeared unto him at Gibeon.
9: 3 And the LORD said unto him, I have heard thy prayer and thy supplication, that thou hast made before me: I have hallowed this house, which thou hast built, to put my name there for ever; and mine eyes and mine heart shall be there perpetually.
9: 9 And they shall answer, Because they forsook the LORD their God, who brought forth their fathers out of the land of Egypt, and have taken hold upon other gods, and have worshipped them, and served them: therefore hath the LORD brought upon them all this evil.
9: 12 And Hiram came out from Tyre to see the cities which Solomon had given him; and they pleased him not.
9: 13 And he said, What cities are these which thou hast given me, my brother?
And he called them the land of Cabul unto this day.
9: 14 And Hiram sent to the king sixscore talents of gold.
9: 15 And this is the reason of the levy which king Solomon raised; for to build the house of the LORD, and his own house, and Millo, and the wall of Jerusalem, and Hazor, and Megiddo, and Gezer.
9: 16 For Pharaoh king of Egypt had gone up, and taken Gezer, and burnt it with fire, and slain the Canaanites that dwelt in the city, and given it for a present unto his daughter, Solomon's wife.
9: 22 But of the children of Israel did Solomon make no bondmen: but they were men of war, and his servants, and his princes, and his captains, and rulers of his chariots, and his horsemen.
9: 23 These were the chief of the officers that were over Solomon's work, five hundred and fifty, which bare rule over the people that wrought in the work.
9: 24 But Pharaoh's daughter came up out of the city of David unto her house which Solomon had built for her: then did he build Millo.
9: 25 And three times in a year did Solomon offer burnt offerings and peace offerings upon the altar which he built unto the LORD, and he burnt incense upon the altar that was before the LORD.
So he finished the house.
9: 26 And king Solomon made a navy of ships in Eziongeber, which is beside Eloth, on the shore of the Red sea, in the land of Edom.
9: 27 And Hiram sent in the navy his servants, shipmen that had knowledge of the sea, with the servants of Solomon.
9: 28 And they came to Ophir, and fetched from thence gold, four hundred and twenty talents, and brought it to king Solomon.
10: 1 And when the queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon concerning the name of the LORD, she came to prove him with hard questions.
10: 2 And she came to Jerusalem with a very great train, with camels that bare spices, and very much gold, and precious stones: and when she was come to Solomon, she communed with him of all that was in her heart.
10: 3 And Solomon told her all her questions: there was not any thing hid from the king, which he told her not.
10: 6 And she said to the king, It was a true report that I heard in mine own land of thy acts and of thy wisdom.
10: 7 Howbeit I believed not the words, until I came, and mine eyes had seen it: and, behold, the half was not told me: thy wisdom and prosperity exceedeth the fame which I heard.
10: 8 Happy are thy men, happy are these thy servants, which stand continually before thee, and that hear thy wisdom.
10: 9 Blessed be the LORD thy God, which delighted in thee, to set thee on the throne of Israel: because the LORD loved Israel for ever, therefore made he thee king, to do judgment and justice.
10: 10 And she gave the king an hundred and twenty talents of gold, and of spices very great store, and precious stones: there came no more such abundance of spices as these which the queen of Sheba gave to king Solomon.
10: 11 And the navy also of Hiram, that brought gold from Ophir, brought in from Ophir great plenty of almug trees, and precious stones.
10: 12 And the king made of the almug trees pillars for the house of the LORD, and for the king's house, harps also and psalteries for singers: there came no such almug trees, nor were seen unto this day.
10: 13 And king Solomon gave unto the queen of Sheba all her desire, whatsoever she asked, beside that which Solomon gave her of his royal bounty.
So she turned and went to her own country, she and her servants.
10: 14 Now the weight of gold that came to Solomon in one year was six hundred threescore and six talents of gold, 10: 15 Beside that he had of the merchantmen, and of the traffick of the spice merchants, and of all the kings of Arabia, and of the governors of the country.
10: 16 And king Solomon made two hundred targets of beaten gold: six hundred shekels of gold went to one target.
10: 17 And he made three hundred shields of beaten gold; three pound of gold went to one shield: and the king put them in the house of the forest of Lebanon.
10: 18 Moreover the king made a great throne of ivory, and overlaid it with the best gold.
10: 19 The throne had six steps, and the top of the throne was round behind: and there were stays on either side on the place of the seat, and two lions stood beside the stays.
10: 20 And twelve lions stood there on the one side and on the other upon the six steps: there was not the like made in any kingdom.
10: 21 And all king Solomon's drinking vessels were of gold, and all the vessels of the house of the forest of Lebanon were of pure gold; none were of silver: it was nothing accounted of in the days of Solomon.
10: 22 For the king had at sea a navy of Tharshish with the navy of Hiram: once in three years came the navy of Tharshish, bringing gold, and silver, ivory, and apes, and peacocks.
10: 23 So king Solomon exceeded all the kings of the earth for riches and for wisdom.
10: 24 And all the earth sought to Solomon, to hear his wisdom, which God had put in his heart.
10: 25 And they brought every man his present, vessels of silver, and vessels of gold, and garments, and armour, and spices, horses, and mules, a rate year by year.
10: 26 And Solomon gathered together chariots and horsemen: and he had a thousand and four hundred chariots, and twelve thousand horsemen, whom he bestowed in the cities for chariots, and with the king at Jerusalem.
10: 27 And the king made silver to be in Jerusalem as stones, and cedars made he to be as the sycomore trees that are in the vale, for abundance.
10: 28 And Solomon had horses brought out of Egypt, and linen yarn: the king's merchants received the linen yarn at a price.
10: 29 And a chariot came up and went out of Egypt for six hundred shekels of silver, and an horse for an hundred and fifty: and so for all the kings of the Hittites, and for the kings of Syria, did they bring them out by their means.
11: 3 And he had seven hundred wives, princesses, and three hundred concubines: and his wives turned away his heart.
11: 4 For it came to pass, when Solomon was old, that his wives turned away his heart after other gods: and his heart was not perfect with the LORD his God, as was the heart of David his father.
11: 5 For Solomon went after Ashtoreth the goddess of the Zidonians, and after Milcom the abomination of the Ammonites.
11: 6 And Solomon did evil in the sight of the LORD, and went not fully after the LORD, as did David his father.
11: 7 Then did Solomon build an high place for Chemosh, the abomination of Moab, in the hill that is before Jerusalem, and for Molech, the abomination of the children of Ammon.
11: 8 And likewise did he for all his strange wives, which burnt incense and sacrificed unto their gods.
11: 9 And the LORD was angry with Solomon, because his heart was turned from the LORD God of Israel, which had appeared unto him twice, 11: 10 And had commanded him concerning this thing, that he should not go after other gods: but he kept not that which the LORD commanded.
11: 11 Wherefore the LORD said unto Solomon, Forasmuch as this is done of thee, and thou hast not kept my covenant and my statutes, which I have commanded thee, I will surely rend the kingdom from thee, and will give it to thy servant.
11: 12 Notwithstanding in thy days I will not do it for David thy father's sake: but I will rend it out of the hand of thy son.
11: 13 Howbeit I will not rend away all the kingdom; but will give one tribe to thy son for David my servant's sake, and for Jerusalem's sake which I have chosen.
11: 14 And the LORD stirred up an adversary unto Solomon, Hadad the Edomite: he was of the king's seed in Edom.
11: 18 And they arose out of Midian, and came to Paran: and they took men with them out of Paran, and they came to Egypt, unto Pharaoh king of Egypt; which gave him an house, and appointed him victuals, and gave him land.
11: 19 And Hadad found great favour in the sight of Pharaoh, so that he gave him to wife the sister of his own wife, the sister of Tahpenes the queen.
11: 20 And the sister of Tahpenes bare him Genubath his son, whom Tahpenes weaned in Pharaoh's house: and Genubath was in Pharaoh's household among the sons of Pharaoh.
11: 21 And when Hadad heard in Egypt that David slept with his fathers, and that Joab the captain of the host was dead, Hadad said to Pharaoh, Let me depart, that I may go to mine own country.
11: 22 Then Pharaoh said unto him, But what hast thou lacked with me, that, behold, thou seekest to go to thine own country?
And he answered, Nothing: howbeit let me go in any wise.
11: 25 And he was an adversary to Israel all the days of Solomon, beside the mischief that Hadad did: and he abhorred Israel, and reigned over Syria.
11: 26 And Jeroboam the son of Nebat, an Ephrathite of Zereda, Solomon's servant, whose mother's name was Zeruah, a widow woman, even he lifted up his hand against the king.
11: 27 And this was the cause that he lifted up his hand against the king: Solomon built Millo, and repaired the breaches of the city of David his father.
11: 28 And the man Jeroboam was a mighty man of valour: and Solomon seeing the young man that he was industrious, he made him ruler over all the charge of the house of Joseph.
11: 36 And unto his son will I give one tribe, that David my servant may have a light alway before me in Jerusalem, the city which I have chosen me to put my name there.
11: 37 And I will take thee, and thou shalt reign according to all that thy soul desireth, and shalt be king over Israel.
11: 39 And I will for this afflict the seed of David, but not for ever.
11: 40 Solomon sought therefore to kill Jeroboam.
And Jeroboam arose, and fled into Egypt, unto Shishak king of Egypt, and was in Egypt until the death of Solomon.
11: 41 And the rest of the acts of Solomon, and all that he did, and his wisdom, are they not written in the book of the acts of Solomon?
11: 42 And the time that Solomon reigned in Jerusalem over all Israel was forty years.
11: 43 And Solomon slept with his fathers, and was buried in the city of David his father: and Rehoboam his son reigned in his stead.
12: 1 And Rehoboam went to Shechem: for all Israel were come to Shechem to make him king.
12: 2 And it came to pass, when Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who was yet in Egypt, heard of it, (for he was fled from the presence of king Solomon, and Jeroboam dwelt in Egypt;) 12: 3 That they sent and called him.
And Jeroboam and all the congregation of Israel came, and spake unto Rehoboam, saying, 12: 4 Thy father made our yoke grievous: now therefore make thou the grievous service of thy father, and his heavy yoke which he put upon us, lighter, and we will serve thee.
12: 5 And he said unto them, Depart yet for three days, then come again to me.
And the people departed.
12: 6 And king Rehoboam consulted with the old men, that stood before Solomon his father while he yet lived, and said, How do ye advise that I may answer this people?
12: 7 And they spake unto him, saying, If thou wilt be a servant unto this people this day, and wilt serve them, and answer them, and speak good words to them, then they will be thy servants for ever.
12: 11 And now whereas my father did lade you with a heavy yoke, I will add to your yoke: my father hath chastised you with whips, but I will chastise you with scorpions.
12: 12 So Jeroboam and all the people came to Rehoboam the third day, as the king had appointed, saying, Come to me again the third day.
12: 15 Wherefore the king hearkened not unto the people; for the cause was from the LORD, that he might perform his saying, which the LORD spake by Ahijah the Shilonite unto Jeroboam the son of Nebat.
12: 16 So when all Israel saw that the king hearkened not unto them, the people answered the king, saying, What portion have we in David?
neither have we inheritance in the son of Jesse: to your tents, O Israel: now see to thine own house, David.
So Israel departed unto their tents.
12: 17 But as for the children of Israel which dwelt in the cities of Judah, Rehoboam reigned over them.
12: 18 Then king Rehoboam sent Adoram, who was over the tribute; and all Israel stoned him with stones, that he died.
Therefore king Rehoboam made speed to get him up to his chariot, to flee to Jerusalem.
12: 19 So Israel rebelled against the house of David unto this day.
12: 20 And it came to pass, when all Israel heard that Jeroboam was come again, that they sent and called him unto the congregation, and made him king over all Israel: there was none that followed the house of David, but the tribe of Judah only.
They hearkened therefore to the word of the LORD, and returned to depart, according to the word of the LORD.
12: 25 Then Jeroboam built Shechem in mount Ephraim, and dwelt therein; and went out from thence, and built Penuel.
12: 28 Whereupon the king took counsel, and made two calves of gold, and said unto them, It is too much for you to go up to Jerusalem: behold thy gods, O Israel, which brought thee up out of the land of Egypt.
12: 29 And he set the one in Bethel, and the other put he in Dan.
12: 30 And this thing became a sin: for the people went to worship before the one, even unto Dan.
12: 31 And he made an house of high places, and made priests of the lowest of the people, which were not of the sons of Levi.
12: 32 And Jeroboam ordained a feast in the eighth month, on the fifteenth day of the month, like unto the feast that is in Judah, and he offered upon the altar.
So did he in Bethel, sacrificing unto the calves that he had made: and he placed in Bethel the priests of the high places which he had made.
12: 33 So he offered upon the altar which he had made in Bethel the fifteenth day of the eighth month, even in the month which he had devised of his own heart; and ordained a feast unto the children of Israel: and he offered upon the altar, and burnt incense.
13: 1 And, behold, there came a man of God out of Judah by the word of the LORD unto Bethel: and Jeroboam stood by the altar to burn incense.
13: 3 And he gave a sign the same day, saying, This is the sign which the LORD hath spoken; Behold, the altar shall be rent, and the ashes that are upon it shall be poured out.
13: 4 And it came to pass, when king Jeroboam heard the saying of the man of God, which had cried against the altar in Bethel, that he put forth his hand from the altar, saying, Lay hold on him.
And his hand, which he put forth against him, dried up, so that he could not pull it in again to him.
13: 5 The altar also was rent, and the ashes poured out from the altar, according to the sign which the man of God had given by the word of the LORD.
13: 6 And the king answered and said unto the man of God, Intreat now the face of the LORD thy God, and pray for me, that my hand may be restored me again.
And the man of God besought the LORD, and the king's hand was restored him again, and became as it was before.
13: 7 And the king said unto the man of God, Come home with me, and refresh thyself, and I will give thee a reward.
13: 10 So he went another way, and returned not by the way that he came to Bethel.
13: 11 Now there dwelt an old prophet in Bethel; and his sons came and told him all the works that the man of God had done that day in Bethel: the words which he had spoken unto the king, them they told also to their father.
13: 12 And their father said unto them, What way went he?
For his sons had seen what way the man of God went, which came from Judah.
13: 13 And he said unto his sons, Saddle me the ass.
So they saddled him the ass: and he rode thereon, 13: 14 And went after the man of God, and found him sitting under an oak: and he said unto him, Art thou the man of God that camest from Judah?
And he said, I am.
13: 15 Then he said unto him, Come home with me, and eat bread.
13: 18 He said unto him, I am a prophet also as thou art; and an angel spake unto me by the word of the LORD, saying, Bring him back with thee into thine house, that he may eat bread and drink water.
But he lied unto him.
13: 19 So he went back with him, and did eat bread in his house, and drank water.
13: 23 And it came to pass, after he had eaten bread, and after he had drunk, that he saddled for him the ass, to wit, for the prophet whom he had brought back.
13: 24 And when he was gone, a lion met him by the way, and slew him: and his carcase was cast in the way, and the ass stood by it, the lion also stood by the carcase.
13: 25 And, behold, men passed by, and saw the carcase cast in the way, and the lion standing by the carcase: and they came and told it in the city where the old prophet dwelt.
13: 27 And he spake to his sons, saying, Saddle me the ass.
And they saddled him.
13: 28 And he went and found his carcase cast in the way, and the ass and the lion standing by the carcase: the lion had not eaten the carcase, nor torn the ass.
13: 29 And the prophet took up the carcase of the man of God, and laid it upon the ass, and brought it back: and the old prophet came to the city, to mourn and to bury him.
13: 30 And he laid his carcase in his own grave; and they mourned over him, saying, Alas, my brother!
13: 33 After this thing Jeroboam returned not from his evil way, but made again of the lowest of the people priests of the high places: whosoever would, he consecrated him, and he became one of the priests of the high places.
13: 34 And this thing became sin unto the house of Jeroboam, even to cut it off, and to destroy it from off the face of the earth.
14: 1 At that time Abijah the son of Jeroboam fell sick.
14: 2 And Jeroboam said to his wife, Arise, I pray thee, and disguise thyself, that thou be not known to be the wife of Jeroboam; and get thee to Shiloh: behold, there is Ahijah the prophet, which told me that I should be king over this people.
14: 3 And take with thee ten loaves, and cracknels, and a cruse of honey, and go to him: he shall tell thee what shall become of the child.
14: 4 And Jeroboam's wife did so, and arose, and went to Shiloh, and came to the house of Ahijah.
But Ahijah could not see; for his eyes were set by reason of his age.
14: 5 And the LORD said unto Ahijah, Behold, the wife of Jeroboam cometh to ask a thing of thee for her son; for he is sick: thus and thus shalt thou say unto her: for it shall be, when she cometh in, that she shall feign herself to be another woman.
14: 6 And it was so, when Ahijah heard the sound of her feet, as she came in at the door, that he said, Come in, thou wife of Jeroboam; why feignest thou thyself to be another?
for I am sent to thee with heavy tidings.
14: 11 Him that dieth of Jeroboam in the city shall the dogs eat; and him that dieth in the field shall the fowls of the air eat: for the LORD hath spoken it.
14: 12 Arise thou therefore, get thee to thine own house: and when thy feet enter into the city, the child shall die.
14: 13 And all Israel shall mourn for him, and bury him: for he only of Jeroboam shall come to the grave, because in him there is found some good thing toward the LORD God of Israel in the house of Jeroboam.
14: 14 Moreover the LORD shall raise him up a king over Israel, who shall cut off the house of Jeroboam that day: but what?
even now.
14: 15 For the LORD shall smite Israel, as a reed is shaken in the water, and he shall root up Israel out of this good land, which he gave to their fathers, and shall scatter them beyond the river, because they have made their groves, provoking the LORD to anger.
14: 16 And he shall give Israel up because of the sins of Jeroboam, who did sin, and who made Israel to sin.
14: 19 And the rest of the acts of Jeroboam, how he warred, and how he reigned, behold, they are written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel.
14: 20 And the days which Jeroboam reigned were two and twenty years: and he slept with his fathers, and Nadab his son reigned in his stead.
14: 21 And Rehoboam the son of Solomon reigned in Judah.
Rehoboam was forty and one years old when he began to reign, and he reigned seventeen years in Jerusalem, the city which the LORD did choose out of all the tribes of Israel, to put his name there.
And his mother's name was Naamah an Ammonitess.
14: 22 And Judah did evil in the sight of the LORD, and they provoked him to jealousy with their sins which they had committed, above all that their fathers had done.
14: 23 For they also built them high places, and images, and groves, on every high hill, and under every green tree.
14: 24 And there were also sodomites in the land: and they did according to all the abominations of the nations which the LORD cast out before the children of Israel.
14: 27 And king Rehoboam made in their stead brasen shields, and committed them unto the hands of the chief of the guard, which kept the door of the king's house.
14: 28 And it was so, when the king went into the house of the LORD, that the guard bare them, and brought them back into the guard chamber.
14: 29 Now the rest of the acts of Rehoboam, and all that he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
14: 30 And there was war between Rehoboam and Jeroboam all their days.
14: 31 And Rehoboam slept with his fathers, and was buried with his fathers in the city of David.
And his mother's name was Naamah an Ammonitess.
And Abijam his son reigned in his stead.
15: 1 Now in the eighteenth year of king Jeroboam the son of Nebat reigned Abijam over Judah.
15: 2 Three years reigned he in Jerusalem.
and his mother's name was Maachah, the daughter of Abishalom.
15: 3 And he walked in all the sins of his father, which he had done before him: and his heart was not perfect with the LORD his God, as the heart of David his father.
15: 6 And there was war between Rehoboam and Jeroboam all the days of his life.
15: 7 Now the rest of the acts of Abijam, and all that he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
And there was war between Abijam and Jeroboam.
15: 8 And Abijam slept with his fathers; and they buried him in the city of David: and Asa his son reigned in his stead.
15: 9 And in the twentieth year of Jeroboam king of Israel reigned Asa over Judah.
15: 10 And forty and one years reigned he in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Maachah, the daughter of Abishalom.
15: 11 And Asa did that which was right in the eyes of the LORD, as did David his father.
15: 12 And he took away the sodomites out of the land, and removed all the idols that his fathers had made.
15: 13 And also Maachah his mother, even her he removed from being queen, because she had made an idol in a grove; and Asa destroyed her idol, and burnt it by the brook Kidron.
15: 14 But the high places were not removed: nevertheless Asa's heart was perfect with the LORD all his days.
15: 15 And he brought in the things which his father had dedicated, and the things which himself had dedicated, into the house of the LORD, silver, and gold, and vessels.
15: 16 And there was war between Asa and Baasha king of Israel all their days.
15: 17 And Baasha king of Israel went up against Judah, and built Ramah, that he might not suffer any to go out or come in to Asa king of Judah.
15: 20 So Benhadad hearkened unto king Asa, and sent the captains of the hosts which he had against the cities of Israel, and smote Ijon, and Dan, and Abelbethmaachah, and all Cinneroth, with all the land of Naphtali.
15: 21 And it came to pass, when Baasha heard thereof, that he left off building of Ramah, and dwelt in Tirzah.
15: 22 Then king Asa made a proclamation throughout all Judah; none was exempted: and they took away the stones of Ramah, and the timber thereof, wherewith Baasha had builded; and king Asa built with them Geba of Benjamin, and Mizpah.
15: 23 The rest of all the acts of Asa, and all his might, and all that he did, and the cities which he built, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
Nevertheless in the time of his old age he was diseased in his feet.
15: 24 And Asa slept with his fathers, and was buried with his fathers in the city of David his father: and Jehoshaphat his son reigned in his stead.
15: 25 And Nadab the son of Jeroboam began to reign over Israel in the second year of Asa king of Judah, and reigned over Israel two years.
15: 26 And he did evil in the sight of the LORD, and walked in the way of his father, and in his sin wherewith he made Israel to sin.
15: 27 And Baasha the son of Ahijah, of the house of Issachar, conspired against him; and Baasha smote him at Gibbethon, which belonged to the Philistines; for Nadab and all Israel laid siege to Gibbethon.
15: 28 Even in the third year of Asa king of Judah did Baasha slay him, and reigned in his stead.
15: 31 Now the rest of the acts of Nadab, and all that he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
15: 32 And there was war between Asa and Baasha king of Israel all their days.
15: 33 In the third year of Asa king of Judah began Baasha the son of Ahijah to reign over all Israel in Tirzah, twenty and four years.
15: 34 And he did evil in the sight of the LORD, and walked in the way of Jeroboam, and in his sin wherewith he made Israel to sin.
16: 4 Him that dieth of Baasha in the city shall the dogs eat; and him that dieth of his in the fields shall the fowls of the air eat.
16: 5 Now the rest of the acts of Baasha, and what he did, and his might, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
16: 6 So Baasha slept with his fathers, and was buried in Tirzah: and Elah his son reigned in his stead.
16: 8 In the twenty and sixth year of Asa king of Judah began Elah the son of Baasha to reign over Israel in Tirzah, two years.
16: 9 And his servant Zimri, captain of half his chariots, conspired against him, as he was in Tirzah, drinking himself drunk in the house of Arza steward of his house in Tirzah.
16: 10 And Zimri went in and smote him, and killed him, in the twenty and seventh year of Asa king of Judah, and reigned in his stead.
16: 11 And it came to pass, when he began to reign, as soon as he sat on his throne, that he slew all the house of Baasha: he left him not one that pisseth against a wall, neither of his kinsfolks, nor of his friends.
16: 12 Thus did Zimri destroy all the house of Baasha, according to the word of the LORD, which he spake against Baasha by Jehu the prophet.
16: 13 For all the sins of Baasha, and the sins of Elah his son, by which they sinned, and by which they made Israel to sin, in provoking the LORD God of Israel to anger with their vanities.
16: 14 Now the rest of the acts of Elah, and all that he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
16: 15 In the twenty and seventh year of Asa king of Judah did Zimri reign seven days in Tirzah.
And the people were encamped against Gibbethon, which belonged to the Philistines.
16: 16 And the people that were encamped heard say, Zimri hath conspired, and hath also slain the king: wherefore all Israel made Omri, the captain of the host, king over Israel that day in the camp.
16: 17 And Omri went up from Gibbethon, and all Israel with him, and they besieged Tirzah.
16: 18 And it came to pass, when Zimri saw that the city was taken, that he went into the palace of the king's house, and burnt the king's house over him with fire, and died.
16: 19 For his sins which he sinned in doing evil in the sight of the LORD, in walking in the way of Jeroboam, and in his sin which he did, to make Israel to sin.
16: 20 Now the rest of the acts of Zimri, and his treason that he wrought, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
16: 21 Then were the people of Israel divided into two parts: half of the people followed Tibni the son of Ginath, to make him king; and half followed Omri.
16: 22 But the people that followed Omri prevailed against the people that followed Tibni the son of Ginath: so Tibni died, and Omri reigned.
16: 23 In the thirty and first year of Asa king of Judah began Omri to reign over Israel, twelve years: six years reigned he in Tirzah.
16: 24 And he bought the hill Samaria of Shemer for two talents of silver, and built on the hill, and called the name of the city which he built, after the name of Shemer, owner of the hill, Samaria.
16: 25 But Omri wrought evil in the eyes of the LORD, and did worse than all that were before him.
16: 26 For he walked in all the way of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, and in his sin wherewith he made Israel to sin, to provoke the LORD God of Israel to anger with their vanities.
16: 27 Now the rest of the acts of Omri which he did, and his might that he shewed, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
16: 28 So Omri slept with his fathers, and was buried in Samaria: and Ahab his son reigned in his stead.
16: 29 And in the thirty and eighth year of Asa king of Judah began Ahab the son of Omri to reign over Israel: and Ahab the son of Omri reigned over Israel in Samaria twenty and two years.
16: 30 And Ahab the son of Omri did evil in the sight of the LORD above all that were before him.
16: 31 And it came to pass, as if it had been a light thing for him to walk in the sins of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, that he took to wife Jezebel the daughter of Ethbaal king of the Zidonians, and went and served Baal, and worshipped him.
16: 32 And he reared up an altar for Baal in the house of Baal, which he had built in Samaria.
16: 33 And Ahab made a grove; and Ahab did more to provoke the LORD God of Israel to anger than all the kings of Israel that were before him.
16: 34 In his days did Hiel the Bethelite build Jericho: he laid the foundation thereof in Abiram his firstborn, and set up the gates thereof in his youngest son Segub, according to the word of the LORD, which he spake by Joshua the son of Nun.
17: 1 And Elijah the Tishbite, who was of the inhabitants of Gilead, said unto Ahab, As the LORD God of Israel liveth, before whom I stand, there shall not be dew nor rain these years, but according to my word.
17: 2 And the word of the LORD came unto him, saying, 17: 3 Get thee hence, and turn thee eastward, and hide thyself by the brook Cherith, that is before Jordan.
17: 4 And it shall be, that thou shalt drink of the brook; and I have commanded the ravens to feed thee there.
17: 5 So he went and did according unto the word of the LORD: for he went and dwelt by the brook Cherith, that is before Jordan.
17: 6 And the ravens brought him bread and flesh in the morning, and bread and flesh in the evening; and he drank of the brook.
17: 7 And it came to pass after a while, that the brook dried up, because there had been no rain in the land.
17: 8 And the word of the LORD came unto him, saying, 17: 9 Arise, get thee to Zarephath, which belongeth to Zidon, and dwell there: behold, I have commanded a widow woman there to sustain thee.
17: 10 So he arose and went to Zarephath.
And when he came to the gate of the city, behold, the widow woman was there gathering of sticks: and he called to her, and said, Fetch me, I pray thee, a little water in a vessel, that I may drink.
17: 11 And as she was going to fetch it, he called to her, and said, Bring me, I pray thee, a morsel of bread in thine hand.
17: 12 And she said, As the LORD thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but an handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse: and, behold, I am gathering two sticks, that I may go in and dress it for me and my son, that we may eat it, and die.
17: 13 And Elijah said unto her, Fear not; go and do as thou hast said: but make me thereof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son.
17: 14 For thus saith the LORD God of Israel, The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the LORD sendeth rain upon the earth.
17: 15 And she went and did according to the saying of Elijah: and she, and he, and her house, did eat many days.
17: 16 And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, according to the word of the LORD, which he spake by Elijah.
17: 17 And it came to pass after these things, that the son of the woman, the mistress of the house, fell sick; and his sickness was so sore, that there was no breath left in him.
17: 18 And she said unto Elijah, What have I to do with thee, O thou man of God?
art thou come unto me to call my sin to remembrance, and to slay my son?
17: 19 And he said unto her, Give me thy son.
And he took him out of her bosom, and carried him up into a loft, where he abode, and laid him upon his own bed.
17: 20 And he cried unto the LORD, and said, O LORD my God, hast thou also brought evil upon the widow with whom I sojourn, by slaying her son?
17: 21 And he stretched himself upon the child three times, and cried unto the LORD, and said, O LORD my God, I pray thee, let this child's soul come into him again.
17: 22 And the LORD heard the voice of Elijah; and the soul of the child came into him again, and he revived.
17: 23 And Elijah took the child, and brought him down out of the chamber into the house, and delivered him unto his mother: and Elijah said, See, thy son liveth.
17: 24 And the woman said to Elijah, Now by this I know that thou art a man of God, and that the word of the LORD in thy mouth is truth.
18: 1 And it came to pass after many days, that the word of the LORD came to Elijah in the third year, saying, Go, shew thyself unto Ahab; and I will send rain upon the earth.
18: 2 And Elijah went to shew himself unto Ahab.
And there was a sore famine in Samaria.
18: 3 And Ahab called Obadiah, which was the governor of his house.
(Now Obadiah feared the LORD greatly: 18: 4 For it was so, when Jezebel cut off the prophets of the LORD, that Obadiah took an hundred prophets, and hid them by fifty in a cave, and fed them with bread and water.)
18: 5 And Ahab said unto Obadiah, Go into the land, unto all fountains of water, and unto all brooks: peradventure we may find grass to save the horses and mules alive, that we lose not all the beasts.
18: 6 So they divided the land between them to pass throughout it: Ahab went one way by himself, and Obadiah went another way by himself.
18: 7 And as Obadiah was in the way, behold, Elijah met him: and he knew him, and fell on his face, and said, Art thou that my lord Elijah?
18: 8 And he answered him, I am: go, tell thy lord, Behold, Elijah is here.
18: 9 And he said, What have I sinned, that thou wouldest deliver thy servant into the hand of Ahab, to slay me?
18: 10 As the LORD thy God liveth, there is no nation or kingdom, whither my lord hath not sent to seek thee: and when they said, He is not there; he took an oath of the kingdom and nation, that they found thee not.
18: 11 And now thou sayest, Go, tell thy lord, Behold, Elijah is here.
18: 12 And it shall come to pass, as soon as I am gone from thee, that the Spirit of the LORD shall carry thee whither I know not; and so when I come and tell Ahab, and he cannot find thee, he shall slay me: but I thy servant fear the LORD from my youth.
18: 13 Was it not told my lord what I did when Jezebel slew the prophets of the LORD, how I hid an hundred men of the LORD's prophets by fifty in a cave, and fed them with bread and water?
18: 14 And now thou sayest, Go, tell thy lord, Behold, Elijah is here: and he shall slay me.
18: 15 And Elijah said, As the LORD of hosts liveth, before whom I stand, I will surely shew myself unto him to day.
18: 16 So Obadiah went to meet Ahab, and told him: and Ahab went to meet Elijah.
18: 17 And it came to pass, when Ahab saw Elijah, that Ahab said unto him, Art thou he that troubleth Israel?
18: 18 And he answered, I have not troubled Israel; but thou, and thy father's house, in that ye have forsaken the commandments of the LORD, and thou hast followed Baalim.
18: 19 Now therefore send, and gather to me all Israel unto mount Carmel, and the prophets of Baal four hundred and fifty, and the prophets of the groves four hundred, which eat at Jezebel's table.
18: 20 So Ahab sent unto all the children of Israel, and gathered the prophets together unto mount Carmel.
18: 21 And Elijah came unto all the people, and said, How long halt ye between two opinions?
if the LORD be God, follow him: but if Baal, then follow him.
And the people answered him not a word.
18: 22 Then said Elijah unto the people, I, even I only, remain a prophet of the LORD; but Baal's prophets are four hundred and fifty men.
And all the people answered and said, It is well spoken.
18: 25 And Elijah said unto the prophets of Baal, Choose you one bullock for yourselves, and dress it first; for ye are many; and call on the name of your gods, but put no fire under.
18: 26 And they took the bullock which was given them, and they dressed it, and called on the name of Baal from morning even until noon, saying, O Baal, hear us.
But there was no voice, nor any that answered.
And they leaped upon the altar which was made.
18: 27 And it came to pass at noon, that Elijah mocked them, and said, Cry aloud: for he is a god; either he is talking, or he is pursuing, or he is in a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth, and must be awaked.
18: 28 And they cried aloud, and cut themselves after their manner with knives and lancets, till the blood gushed out upon them.
18: 29 And it came to pass, when midday was past, and they prophesied until the time of the offering of the evening sacrifice, that there was neither voice, nor any to answer, nor any that regarded.
18: 30 And Elijah said unto all the people, Come near unto me.
And all the people came near unto him.
And he repaired the altar of the LORD that was broken down.
18: 33 And he put the wood in order, and cut the bullock in pieces, and laid him on the wood, and said, Fill four barrels with water, and pour it on the burnt sacrifice, and on the wood.
18: 34 And he said, Do it the second time.
And they did it the second time.
And he said, Do it the third time.
And they did it the third time.
18: 35 And the water ran round about the altar; and he filled the trench also with water.
18: 37 Hear me, O LORD, hear me, that this people may know that thou art the LORD God, and that thou hast turned their heart back again.
18: 38 Then the fire of the LORD fell, and consumed the burnt sacrifice, and the wood, and the stones, and the dust, and licked up the water that was in the trench.
18: 39 And when all the people saw it, they fell on their faces: and they said, The LORD, he is the God; the LORD, he is the God.
18: 40 And Elijah said unto them, Take the prophets of Baal; let not one of them escape.
And they took them: and Elijah brought them down to the brook Kishon, and slew them there.
18: 41 And Elijah said unto Ahab, Get thee up, eat and drink; for there is a sound of abundance of rain.
18: 42 So Ahab went up to eat and to drink.
And Elijah went up to the top of Carmel; and he cast himself down upon the earth, and put his face between his knees, 18: 43 And said to his servant, Go up now, look toward the sea.
And he went up, and looked, and said, There is nothing.
And he said, Go again seven times.
18: 44 And it came to pass at the seventh time, that he said, Behold, there ariseth a little cloud out of the sea, like a man's hand.
And he said, Go up, say unto Ahab, Prepare thy chariot, and get thee down that the rain stop thee not.
18: 45 And it came to pass in the mean while, that the heaven was black with clouds and wind, and there was a great rain.
And Ahab rode, and went to Jezreel.
18: 46 And the hand of the LORD was on Elijah; and he girded up his loins, and ran before Ahab to the entrance of Jezreel.
19: 1 And Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and withal how he had slain all the prophets with the sword.
19: 2 Then Jezebel sent a messenger unto Elijah, saying, So let the gods do to me, and more also, if I make not thy life as the life of one of them by to morrow about this time.
19: 3 And when he saw that, he arose, and went for his life, and came to Beersheba, which belongeth to Judah, and left his servant there.
19: 4 But he himself went a day's journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a juniper tree: and he requested for himself that he might die; and said, It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life; for I am not better than my fathers.
19: 5 And as he lay and slept under a juniper tree, behold, then an angel touched him, and said unto him, Arise and eat.
19: 6 And he looked, and, behold, there was a cake baken on the coals, and a cruse of water at his head.
And he did eat and drink, and laid him down again.
19: 7 And the angel of the LORD came again the second time, and touched him, and said, Arise and eat; because the journey is too great for thee.
19: 8 And he arose, and did eat and drink, and went in the strength of that meat forty days and forty nights unto Horeb the mount of God.
19: 9 And he came thither unto a cave, and lodged there; and, behold, the word of the LORD came to him, and he said unto him, What doest thou here, Elijah?
19: 10 And he said, I have been very jealous for the LORD God of hosts: for the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword; and I, even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away.
19: 11 And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD.
19: 13 And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave.
And, behold, there came a voice unto him, and said, What doest thou here, Elijah?
19: 14 And he said, I have been very jealous for the LORD God of hosts: because the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword; and I, even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away.
19: 17 And it shall come to pass, that him that escapeth the sword of Hazael shall Jehu slay: and him that escapeth from the sword of Jehu shall Elisha slay.
19: 18 Yet I have left me seven thousand in Israel, all the knees which have not bowed unto Baal, and every mouth which hath not kissed him.
19: 19 So he departed thence, and found Elisha the son of Shaphat, who was plowing with twelve yoke of oxen before him, and he with the twelfth: and Elijah passed by him, and cast his mantle upon him.
19: 20 And he left the oxen, and ran after Elijah, and said, Let me, I pray thee, kiss my father and my mother, and then I will follow thee.
And he said unto him, Go back again: for what have I done to thee?
19: 21 And he returned back from him, and took a yoke of oxen, and slew them, and boiled their flesh with the instruments of the oxen, and gave unto the people, and they did eat.
Then he arose, and went after Elijah, and ministered unto him.
20: 1 And Benhadad the king of Syria gathered all his host together: and there were thirty and two kings with him, and horses, and chariots; and he went up and besieged Samaria, and warred against it.
20: 2 And he sent messengers to Ahab king of Israel into the city, and said unto him, Thus saith Benhadad, 20: 3 Thy silver and thy gold is mine; thy wives also and thy children, even the goodliest, are mine.
20: 4 And the king of Israel answered and said, My lord, O king, according to thy saying, I am thine, and all that I have.
20: 7 Then the king of Israel called all the elders of the land, and said, Mark, I pray you, and see how this man seeketh mischief: for he sent unto me for my wives, and for my children, and for my silver, and for my gold; and I denied him not.
20: 8 And all the elders and all the people said unto him, Hearken not unto him, nor consent.
20: 9 Wherefore he said unto the messengers of Benhadad, Tell my lord the king, All that thou didst send for to thy servant at the first I will do: but this thing I may not do.
And the messengers departed, and brought him word again.
20: 10 And Benhadad sent unto him, and said, The gods do so unto me, and more also, if the dust of Samaria shall suffice for handfuls for all the people that follow me.
20: 11 And the king of Israel answered and said, Tell him, Let not him that girdeth on his harness boast himself as he that putteth it off.
20: 12 And it came to pass, when Ben - hadad heard this message, as he was drinking, he and the kings in the pavilions, that he said unto his servants, Set yourselves in array.
And they set themselves in array against the city.
20: 13 And, behold, there came a prophet unto Ahab king of Israel, saying, Thus saith the LORD, Hast thou seen all this great multitude?
behold, I will deliver it into thine hand this day; and thou shalt know that I am the LORD.
20: 14 And Ahab said, By whom?
And he said, Thus saith the LORD, Even by the young men of the princes of the provinces.
Then he said, Who shall order the battle?
And he answered, Thou.
20: 15 Then he numbered the young men of the princes of the provinces, and they were two hundred and thirty two: and after them he numbered all the people, even all the children of Israel, being seven thousand.
20: 16 And they went out at noon.
But Benhadad was drinking himself drunk in the pavilions, he and the kings, the thirty and two kings that helped him.
20: 17 And the young men of the princes of the provinces went out first; and Benhadad sent out, and they told him, saying, There are men come out of Samaria.
20: 18 And he said, Whether they be come out for peace, take them alive; or whether they be come out for war, take them alive.
20: 19 So these young men of the princes of the provinces came out of the city, and the army which followed them.
20: 20 And they slew every one his man: and the Syrians fled; and Israel pursued them: and Benhadad the king of Syria escaped on an horse with the horsemen.
20: 21 And the king of Israel went out, and smote the horses and chariots, and slew the Syrians with a great slaughter.
20: 22 And the prophet came to the king of Israel, and said unto him, Go, strengthen thyself, and mark, and see what thou doest: for at the return of the year the king of Syria will come up against thee.
20: 23 And the servants of the king of Syria said unto him, Their gods are gods of the hills; therefore they were stronger than we; but let us fight against them in the plain, and surely we shall be stronger than they.
And he hearkened unto their voice, and did so.
20: 26 And it came to pass at the return of the year, that Benhadad numbered the Syrians, and went up to Aphek, to fight against Israel.
20: 27 And the children of Israel were numbered, and were all present, and went against them: and the children of Israel pitched before them like two little flocks of kids; but the Syrians filled the country.
20: 29 And they pitched one over against the other seven days.
And so it was, that in the seventh day the battle was joined: and the children of Israel slew of the Syrians an hundred thousand footmen in one day.
20: 30 But the rest fled to Aphek, into the city; and there a wall fell upon twenty and seven thousand of the men that were left.
And Benhadad fled, and came into the city, into an inner chamber.
20: 31 And his servants said unto him, Behold now, we have heard that the kings of the house of Israel are merciful kings: let us, I pray thee, put sackcloth on our loins, and ropes upon our heads, and go out to the king of Israel: peradventure he will save thy life.
20: 32 So they girded sackcloth on their loins, and put ropes on their heads, and came to the king of Israel, and said, Thy servant Benhadad saith, I pray thee, let me live.
And he said, Is he yet alive?
he is my brother.
20: 33 Now the men did diligently observe whether any thing would come from him, and did hastily catch it: and they said, Thy brother Benhadad.
Then he said, Go ye, bring him.
Then Benhadad came forth to him; and he caused him to come up into the chariot.
20: 34 And Ben - hadad said unto him, The cities, which my father took from thy father, I will restore; and thou shalt make streets for thee in Damascus, as my father made in Samaria.
Then said Ahab, I will send thee away with this covenant.
So he made a covenant with him, and sent him away.
20: 35 And a certain man of the sons of the prophets said unto his neighbour in the word of the LORD, Smite me, I pray thee.
And the man refused to smite him.
20: 36 Then said he unto him, Because thou hast not obeyed the voice of the LORD, behold, as soon as thou art departed from me, a lion shall slay thee.
And as soon as he was departed from him, a lion found him, and slew him.
20: 37 Then he found another man, and said, Smite me, I pray thee.
And the man smote him, so that in smiting he wounded him.
20: 38 So the prophet departed, and waited for the king by the way, and disguised himself with ashes upon his face.
20: 40 And as thy servant was busy here and there, he was gone.
And the king of Israel said unto him, So shall thy judgment be; thyself hast decided it.
20: 41 And he hasted, and took the ashes away from his face; and the king of Israel discerned him that he was of the prophets.
20: 42 And he said unto him, Thus saith the LORD, Because thou hast let go out of thy hand a man whom I appointed to utter destruction, therefore thy life shall go for his life, and thy people for his people.
20: 43 And the king of Israel went to his house heavy and displeased, and came to Samaria.
21: 1 And it came to pass after these things, that Naboth the Jezreelite had a vineyard, which was in Jezreel, hard by the palace of Ahab king of Samaria.
21: 2 And Ahab spake unto Naboth, saying, Give me thy vineyard, that I may have it for a garden of herbs, because it is near unto my house: and I will give thee for it a better vineyard than it; or, if it seem good to thee, I will give thee the worth of it in money.
21: 3 And Naboth said to Ahab, The LORD forbid it me, that I should give the inheritance of my fathers unto thee.
21: 4 And Ahab came into his house heavy and displeased because of the word which Naboth the Jezreelite had spoken to him: for he had said, I will not give thee the inheritance of my fathers.
And he laid him down upon his bed, and turned away his face, and would eat no bread.
21: 5 But Jezebel his wife came to him, and said unto him, Why is thy spirit so sad, that thou eatest no bread?
21: 6 And he said unto her, Because I spake unto Naboth the Jezreelite, and said unto him, Give me thy vineyard for money; or else, if it please thee, I will give thee another vineyard for it: and he answered, I will not give thee my vineyard.
21: 7 And Jezebel his wife said unto him, Dost thou now govern the kingdom of Israel?
arise, and eat bread, and let thine heart be merry: I will give thee the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite.
21: 8 So she wrote letters in Ahab's name, and sealed them with his seal, and sent the letters unto the elders and to the nobles that were in his city, dwelling with Naboth.
21: 9 And she wrote in the letters, saying, Proclaim a fast, and set Naboth on high among the people: 21: 10 And set two men, sons of Belial, before him, to bear witness against him, saying, Thou didst blaspheme God and the king.
And then carry him out, and stone him, that he may die.
21: 11 And the men of his city, even the elders and the nobles who were the inhabitants in his city, did as Jezebel had sent unto them, and as it was written in the letters which she had sent unto them.
21: 12 They proclaimed a fast, and set Naboth on high among the people.
21: 13 And there came in two men, children of Belial, and sat before him: and the men of Belial witnessed against him, even against Naboth, in the presence of the people, saying, Naboth did blaspheme God and the king.
Then they carried him forth out of the city, and stoned him with stones, that he died.
21: 14 Then they sent to Jezebel, saying, Naboth is stoned, and is dead.
21: 15 And it came to pass, when Jezebel heard that Naboth was stoned, and was dead, that Jezebel said to Ahab, Arise, take possession of the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite, which he refused to give thee for money: for Naboth is not alive, but dead.
21: 16 And it came to pass, when Ahab heard that Naboth was dead, that Ahab rose up to go down to the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite, to take possession of it.
21: 17 And the word of the LORD came to Elijah the Tishbite, saying, 21: 18 Arise, go down to meet Ahab king of Israel, which is in Samaria: behold, he is in the vineyard of Naboth, whither he is gone down to possess it.
21: 19 And thou shalt speak unto him, saying, Thus saith the LORD, Hast thou killed, and also taken possession?
And thou shalt speak unto him, saying, Thus saith the LORD, In the place where dogs licked the blood of Naboth shall dogs lick thy blood, even thine.
21: 20 And Ahab said to Elijah, Hast thou found me, O mine enemy?
And he answered, I have found thee: because thou hast sold thyself to work evil in the sight of the LORD.
21: 23 And of Jezebel also spake the LORD, saying, The dogs shall eat Jezebel by the wall of Jezreel.
21: 24 Him that dieth of Ahab in the city the dogs shall eat; and him that dieth in the field shall the fowls of the air eat.
21: 25 But there was none like unto Ahab, which did sell himself to work wickedness in the sight of the LORD, whom Jezebel his wife stirred up.
21: 26 And he did very abominably in following idols, according to all things as did the Amorites, whom the LORD cast out before the children of Israel.
21: 27 And it came to pass, when Ahab heard those words, that he rent his clothes, and put sackcloth upon his flesh, and fasted, and lay in sackcloth, and went softly.
21: 28 And the word of the LORD came to Elijah the Tishbite, saying, 21: 29 Seest thou how Ahab humbleth himself before me?
because he humbleth himself before me, I will not bring the evil in his days: but in his son's days will I bring the evil upon his house.
22: 1 And they continued three years without war between Syria and Israel.
22: 2 And it came to pass in the third year, that Jehoshaphat the king of Judah came down to the king of Israel.
22: 3 And the king of Israel said unto his servants, Know ye that Ramoth in Gilead is ours, and we be still, and take it not out of the hand of the king of Syria?
22: 4 And he said unto Jehoshaphat, Wilt thou go with me to battle to Ramothgilead?
And Jehoshaphat said to the king of Israel, I am as thou art, my people as thy people, my horses as thy horses.
22: 5 And Jehoshaphat said unto the king of Israel, Enquire, I pray thee, at the word of the LORD to day.
22: 6 Then the king of Israel gathered the prophets together, about four hundred men, and said unto them, Shall I go against Ramothgilead to battle, or shall I forbear?
And they said, Go up; for the LORD shall deliver it into the hand of the king.
22: 7 And Jehoshaphat said, Is there not here a prophet of the LORD besides, that we might enquire of him?
22: 8 And the king of Israel said unto Jehoshaphat, There is yet one man, Micaiah the son of Imlah, by whom we may enquire of the LORD: but I hate him; for he doth not prophesy good concerning me, but evil.
And Jehoshaphat said, Let not the king say so.
22: 9 Then the king of Israel called an officer, and said, Hasten hither Micaiah the son of Imlah.
22: 10 And the king of Israel and Jehoshaphat the king of Judah sat each on his throne, having put on their robes, in a void place in the entrance of the gate of Samaria; and all the prophets prophesied before them.
22: 11 And Zedekiah the son of Chenaanah made him horns of iron: and he said, Thus saith the LORD, With these shalt thou push the Syrians, until thou have consumed them.
22: 12 And all the prophets prophesied so, saying, Go up to Ramothgilead, and prosper: for the LORD shall deliver it into the king's hand.
22: 13 And the messenger that was gone to call Micaiah spake unto him, saying, Behold now, the words of the prophets declare good unto the king with one mouth: let thy word, I pray thee, be like the word of one of them, and speak that which is good.
22: 14 And Micaiah said, As the LORD liveth, what the LORD saith unto me, that will I speak.
22: 15 So he came to the king.
And the king said unto him, Micaiah, shall we go against Ramothgilead to battle, or shall we forbear?
And he answered him, Go, and prosper: for the LORD shall deliver it into the hand of the king.
22: 16 And the king said unto him, How many times shall I adjure thee that thou tell me nothing but that which is true in the name of the LORD?
22: 17 And he said, I saw all Israel scattered upon the hills, as sheep that have not a shepherd: and the LORD said, These have no master: let them return every man to his house in peace.
22: 18 And the king of Israel said unto Jehoshaphat, Did I not tell thee that he would prophesy no good concerning me, but evil?
22: 19 And he said, Hear thou therefore the word of the LORD: I saw the LORD sitting on his throne, and all the host of heaven standing by him on his right hand and on his left.
22: 20 And the LORD said, Who shall persuade Ahab, that he may go up and fall at Ramothgilead?
And one said on this manner, and another said on that manner.
22: 21 And there came forth a spirit, and stood before the LORD, and said, I will persuade him.
22: 22 And the LORD said unto him, Wherewith?
And he said, I will go forth, and I will be a lying spirit in the mouth of all his prophets.
And he said, Thou shalt persude him, and prevail also: go forth, and do so.
22: 23 Now therefore, behold, the LORD hath put a lying spirit in the mouth of all these thy prophets, and the LORD hath spoken evil concerning thee.
22: 24 But Zedekiah the son of Chenaanah went near, and smote Micaiah on the cheek, and said, Which way went the Spirit of the LORD from me to speak unto thee?
22: 25 And Micaiah said, Behold, thou shalt see in that day, when thou shalt go into an inner chamber to hide thyself.
22: 28 And Micaiah said, If thou return at all in peace, the LORD hath not spoken by me.
And he said, Hearken, O people, every one of you.
22: 29 So the king of Israel and Jehoshaphat the king of Judah went up to Ramothgilead.
22: 30 And the king of Israel said unto Jehoshaphat, I will disguise myself, and enter into the battle; but put thou on thy robes.
And the king of Israel disguised himself, and went into the battle.
22: 31 But the king of Syria commanded his thirty and two captains that had rule over his chariots, saying, Fight neither with small nor great, save only with the king of Israel.
22: 32 And it came to pass, when the captains of the chariots saw Jehoshaphat, that they said, Surely it is the king of Israel.
And they turned aside to fight against him: and Jehoshaphat cried out.
22: 33 And it came to pass, when the captains of the chariots perceived that it was not the king of Israel, that they turned back from pursuing him.
22: 34 And a certain man drew a bow at a venture, and smote the king of Israel between the joints of the harness: wherefore he said unto the driver of his chariot, Turn thine hand, and carry me out of the host; for I am wounded.
22: 35 And the battle increased that day: and the king was stayed up in his chariot against the Syrians, and died at even: and the blood ran out of the wound into the midst of the chariot.
22: 36 And there went a proclamation throughout the host about the going down of the sun, saying, Every man to his city, and every man to his own country.
22: 37 So the king died, and was brought to Samaria; and they buried the king in Samaria.
22: 38 And one washed the chariot in the pool of Samaria; and the dogs licked up his blood; and they washed his armour; according unto the word of the LORD which he spake.
22: 39 Now the rest of the acts of Ahab, and all that he did, and the ivory house which he made, and all the cities that he built, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
22: 40 So Ahab slept with his fathers; and Ahaziah his son reigned in his stead.
22: 41 And Jehoshaphat the son of Asa began to reign over Judah in the fourth year of Ahab king of Israel.
22: 42 Jehoshaphat was thirty and five years old when he began to reign; and he reigned twenty and five years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Azubah the daughter of Shilhi.
22: 43 And he walked in all the ways of Asa his father; he turned not aside from it, doing that which was right in the eyes of the LORD: nevertheless the high places were not taken away; for the people offered and burnt incense yet in the high places.
22: 44 And Jehoshaphat made peace with the king of Israel.
22: 45 Now the rest of the acts of Jehoshaphat, and his might that he shewed, and how he warred, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
22: 46 And the remnant of the sodomites, which remained in the days of his father Asa, he took out of the land.
22: 47 There was then no king in Edom: a deputy was king.
22: 48 Jehoshaphat made ships of Tharshish to go to Ophir for gold: but they went not; for the ships were broken at Eziongeber.
22: 49 Then said Ahaziah the son of Ahab unto Jehoshaphat, Let my servants go with thy servants in the ships.
But Jehoshaphat would not.
22: 50 And Jehoshaphat slept with his fathers, and was buried with his fathers in the city of David his father: and Jehoram his son reigned in his stead.
22: 51 Ahaziah the son of Ahab began to reign over Israel in Samaria the seventeenth year of Jehoshaphat king of Judah, and reigned two years over Israel.
The First Book of the Kings
Commonly Called:
The Fourth Book of the Kings
1: 1 Then Moab rebelled against Israel after the death of Ahab.
1: 2 And Ahaziah fell down through a lattice in his upper chamber that was in Samaria, and was sick: and he sent messengers, and said unto them, Go, enquire of Baalzebub the god of Ekron whether I shall recover of this disease.
1: 3 But the angel of the LORD said to Elijah the Tishbite, Arise, go up to meet the messengers of the king of Samaria, and say unto them, Is it not because there is not a God in Israel, that ye go to enquire of Baalzebub the god of Ekron?
1: 4 Now therefore thus saith the LORD, Thou shalt not come down from that bed on which thou art gone up, but shalt surely die.
And Elijah departed.
1: 5 And when the messengers turned back unto him, he said unto them, Why are ye now turned back?
1: 6 And they said unto him, There came a man up to meet us, and said unto us, Go, turn again unto the king that sent you, and say unto him, Thus saith the LORD, Is it not because there is not a God in Israel, that thou sendest to enquire of Baalzebub the god of Ekron?
therefore thou shalt not come down from that bed on which thou art gone up, but shalt surely die.
1: 7 And he said unto them, What manner of man was he which came up to meet you, and told you these words?
1: 8 And they answered him, He was an hairy man, and girt with a girdle of leather about his loins.
And he said, It is Elijah the Tishbite.
1: 9 Then the king sent unto him a captain of fifty with his fifty.
And he went up to him: and, behold, he sat on the top of an hill.
And he spake unto him, Thou man of God, the king hath said, Come down.
1: 10 And Elijah answered and said to the captain of fifty, If I be a man of God, then let fire come down from heaven, and consume thee and thy fifty.
And there came down fire from heaven, and consumed him and his fifty.
1: 11 Again also he sent unto him another captain of fifty with his fifty.
And he answered and said unto him, O man of God, thus hath the king said, Come down quickly.
1: 12 And Elijah answered and said unto them, If I be a man of God, let fire come down from heaven, and consume thee and thy fifty.
And the fire of God came down from heaven, and consumed him and his fifty.
1: 13 And he sent again a captain of the third fifty with his fifty.
And the third captain of fifty went up, and came and fell on his knees before Elijah, and besought him, and said unto him, O man of God, I pray thee, let my life, and the life of these fifty thy servants, be precious in thy sight.
1: 14 Behold, there came fire down from heaven, and burnt up the two captains of the former fifties with their fifties: therefore let my life now be precious in thy sight.
1: 15 And the angel of the LORD said unto Elijah, Go down with him: be not afraid of him.
And he arose, and went down with him unto the king.
1: 16 And he said unto him, Thus saith the LORD, Forasmuch as thou hast sent messengers to enquire of Baalzebub the god of Ekron, is it not because there is no God in Israel to enquire of his word?
therefore thou shalt not come down off that bed on which thou art gone up, but shalt surely die.
1: 17 So he died according to the word of the LORD which Elijah had spoken.
And Jehoram reigned in his stead in the second year of Jehoram the son of Jehoshaphat king of Judah; because he had no son.
1: 18 Now the rest of the acts of Ahaziah which he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
2: 1 And it came to pass, when the LORD would take up Elijah into heaven by a whirlwind, that Elijah went with Elisha from Gilgal.
2: 2 And Elijah said unto Elisha, Tarry here, I pray thee; for the LORD hath sent me to Bethel.
And Elisha said unto him, As the LORD liveth, and as thy soul liveth, I will not leave thee.
So they went down to Bethel.
2: 3 And the sons of the prophets that were at Bethel came forth to Elisha, and said unto him, Knowest thou that the LORD will take away thy master from thy head to day?
And he said, Yea, I know it; hold ye your peace.
2: 4 And Elijah said unto him, Elisha, tarry here, I pray thee; for the LORD hath sent me to Jericho.
And he said, As the LORD liveth, and as thy soul liveth, I will not leave thee.
So they came to Jericho.
2: 5 And the sons of the prophets that were at Jericho came to Elisha, and said unto him, Knowest thou that the LORD will take away thy master from thy head to day?
And he answered, Yea, I know it; hold ye your peace.
2: 6 And Elijah said unto him, Tarry, I pray thee, here; for the LORD hath sent me to Jordan.
And he said, As the LORD liveth, and as thy soul liveth, I will not leave thee.
And they two went on.
2: 7 And fifty men of the sons of the prophets went, and stood to view afar off: and they two stood by Jordan.
2: 8 And Elijah took his mantle, and wrapped it together, and smote the waters, and they were divided hither and thither, so that they two went over on dry ground.
2: 9 And it came to pass, when they were gone over, that Elijah said unto Elisha, Ask what I shall do for thee, before I be taken away from thee.
And Elisha said, I pray thee, let a double portion of thy spirit be upon me.
2: 10 And he said, Thou hast asked a hard thing: nevertheless, if thou see me when I am taken from thee, it shall be so unto thee; but if not, it shall not be so.
2: 11 And it came to pass, as they still went on, and talked, that, behold, there appeared a chariot of fire, and horses of fire, and parted them both asunder; and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven.
2: 12 And Elisha saw it, and he cried, My father, my father, the chariot of Israel, and the horsemen thereof.
And he saw him no more: and he took hold of his own clothes, and rent them in two pieces.
2: 13 He took up also the mantle of Elijah that fell from him, and went back, and stood by the bank of Jordan; 2: 14 And he took the mantle of Elijah that fell from him, and smote the waters, and said, Where is the LORD God of Elijah?
and when he also had smitten the waters, they parted hither and thither: and Elisha went over.
2: 15 And when the sons of the prophets which were to view at Jericho saw him, they said, The spirit of Elijah doth rest on Elisha.
And they came to meet him, and bowed themselves to the ground before him.
2: 16 And they said unto him, Behold now, there be with thy servants fifty strong men; let them go, we pray thee, and seek thy master: lest peradventure the Spirit of the LORD hath taken him up, and cast him upon some mountain, or into some valley.
And he said, Ye shall not send.
2: 17 And when they urged him till he was ashamed, he said, Send.
They sent therefore fifty men; and they sought three days, but found him not.
2: 18 And when they came again to him, (for he tarried at Jericho,) he said unto them, Did I not say unto you, Go not?
2: 19 And the men of the city said unto Elisha, Behold, I pray thee, the situation of this city is pleasant, as my lord seeth: but the water is naught, and the ground barren.
2: 20 And he said, Bring me a new cruse, and put salt therein.
And they brought it to him.
2: 21 And he went forth unto the spring of the waters, and cast the salt in there, and said, Thus saith the LORD, I have healed these waters; there shall not be from thence any more death or barren land.
2: 22 So the waters were healed unto this day, according to the saying of Elisha which he spake.
2: 23 And he went up from thence unto Bethel: and as he was going up by the way, there came forth little children out of the city, and mocked him, and said unto him, Go up, thou bald head; go up, thou bald head.
2: 24 And he turned back, and looked on them, and cursed them in the name of the LORD.
And there came forth two she bears out of the wood, and tare forty and two children of them.
2: 25 And he went from thence to mount Carmel, and from thence he returned to Samaria.
3: 1 Now Jehoram the son of Ahab began to reign over Israel in Samaria the eighteenth year of Jehoshaphat king of Judah, and reigned twelve years.
3: 2 And he wrought evil in the sight of the LORD; but not like his father, and like his mother: for he put away the image of Baal that his father had made.
3: 3 Nevertheless he cleaved unto the sins of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, which made Israel to sin; he departed not therefrom.
3: 4 And Mesha king of Moab was a sheepmaster, and rendered unto the king of Israel an hundred thousand lambs, and an hundred thousand rams, with the wool.
3: 5 But it came to pass, when Ahab was dead, that the king of Moab rebelled against the king of Israel.
3: 6 And king Jehoram went out of Samaria the same time, and numbered all Israel.
3: 7 And he went and sent to Jehoshaphat the king of Judah, saying, The king of Moab hath rebelled against me: wilt thou go with me against Moab to battle?
And he said, I will go up: I am as thou art, my people as thy people, and my horses as thy horses.
3: 8 And he said, Which way shall we go up?
And he answered, The way through the wilderness of Edom.
3: 9 So the king of Israel went, and the king of Judah, and the king of Edom: and they fetched a compass of seven days'journey: and there was no water for the host, and for the cattle that followed them.
3: 10 And the king of Israel said, Alas!
that the LORD hath called these three kings together, to deliver them into the hand of Moab!
3: 11 But Jehoshaphat said, Is there not here a prophet of the LORD, that we may enquire of the LORD by him?
And one of the king of Israel's servants answered and said, Here is Elisha the son of Shaphat, which poured water on the hands of Elijah.
3: 12 And Jehoshaphat said, The word of the LORD is with him.
So the king of Israel and Jehoshaphat and the king of Edom went down to him.
3: 13 And Elisha said unto the king of Israel, What have I to do with thee?
get thee to the prophets of thy father, and to the prophets of thy mother.
And the king of Israel said unto him, Nay: for the LORD hath called these three kings together, to deliver them into the hand of Moab.
3: 14 And Elisha said, As the LORD of hosts liveth, before whom I stand, surely, were it not that I regard the presence of Jehoshaphat the king of Judah, I would not look toward thee, nor see thee.
3: 15 But now bring me a minstrel.
And it came to pass, when the minstrel played, that the hand of the LORD came upon him.
3: 16 And he said, Thus saith the LORD, Make this valley full of ditches.
3: 17 For thus saith the LORD, Ye shall not see wind, neither shall ye see rain; yet that valley shall be filled with water, that ye may drink, both ye, and your cattle, and your beasts.
3: 18 And this is but a light thing in the sight of the LORD: he will deliver the Moabites also into your hand.
3: 19 And ye shall smite every fenced city, and every choice city, and shall fell every good tree, and stop all wells of water, and mar every good piece of land with stones.
3: 20 And it came to pass in the morning, when the meat offering was offered, that, behold, there came water by the way of Edom, and the country was filled with water.
3: 21 And when all the Moabites heard that the kings were come up to fight against them, they gathered all that were able to put on armour, and upward, and stood in the border.
3: 24 And when they came to the camp of Israel, the Israelites rose up and smote the Moabites, so that they fled before them: but they went forward smiting the Moabites, even in their country.
3: 26 And when the king of Moab saw that the battle was too sore for him, he took with him seven hundred men that drew swords, to break through even unto the king of Edom: but they could not.
3: 27 Then he took his eldest son that should have reigned in his stead, and offered him for a burnt offering upon the wall.
And there was great indignation against Israel: and they departed from him, and returned to their own land.
4: 1 Now there cried a certain woman of the wives of the sons of the prophets unto Elisha, saying, Thy servant my husband is dead; and thou knowest that thy servant did fear the LORD: and the creditor is come to take unto him my two sons to be bondmen.
4: 2 And Elisha said unto her, What shall I do for thee?
tell me, what hast thou in the house?
And she said, Thine handmaid hath not any thing in the house, save a pot of oil.
4: 3 Then he said, Go, borrow thee vessels abroad of all thy neighbours, even empty vessels; borrow not a few.
4: 4 And when thou art come in, thou shalt shut the door upon thee and upon thy sons, and shalt pour out into all those vessels, and thou shalt set aside that which is full.
4: 5 So she went from him, and shut the door upon her and upon her sons, who brought the vessels to her; and she poured out.
4: 6 And it came to pass, when the vessels were full, that she said unto her son, Bring me yet a vessel.
And he said unto her, There is not a vessel more.
And the oil stayed.
4: 7 Then she came and told the man of God.
And he said, Go, sell the oil, and pay thy debt, and live thou and thy children of the rest.
4: 8 And it fell on a day, that Elisha passed to Shunem, where was a great woman; and she constrained him to eat bread.
And so it was, that as oft as he passed by, he turned in thither to eat bread.
4: 9 And she said unto her husband, Behold now, I perceive that this is an holy man of God, which passeth by us continually.
4: 10 Let us make a little chamber, I pray thee, on the wall; and let us set for him there a bed, and a table, and a stool, and a candlestick: and it shall be, when he cometh to us, that he shall turn in thither.
4: 11 And it fell on a day, that he came thither, and he turned into the chamber, and lay there.
4: 12 And he said to Gehazi his servant, Call this Shunammite.
And when he had called her, she stood before him.
4: 13 And he said unto him, Say now unto her, Behold, thou hast been careful for us with all this care; what is to be done for thee?
wouldest thou be spoken for to the king, or to the captain of the host?
And she answered, I dwell among mine own people.
4: 14 And he said, What then is to be done for her?
And Gehazi answered, Verily she hath no child, and her husband is old.
4: 15 And he said, Call her.
And when he had called her, she stood in the door.
4: 16 And he said, About this season, according to the time of life, thou shalt embrace a son.
And she said, Nay, my lord, thou man of God, do not lie unto thine handmaid.
4: 17 And the woman conceived, and bare a son at that season that Elisha had said unto her, according to the time of life.
4: 18 And when the child was grown, it fell on a day, that he went out to his father to the reapers.
4: 19 And he said unto his father, My head, my head.
And he said to a lad, Carry him to his mother.
4: 20 And when he had taken him, and brought him to his mother, he sat on her knees till noon, and then died.
4: 21 And she went up, and laid him on the bed of the man of God, and shut the door upon him, and went out.
4: 22 And she called unto her husband, and said, Send me, I pray thee, one of the young men, and one of the asses, that I may run to the man of God, and come again.
4: 23 And he said, Wherefore wilt thou go to him to day?
it is neither new moon, nor sabbath.
And she said, It shall be well.
4: 24 Then she saddled an ass, and said to her servant, Drive, and go forward; slack not thy riding for me, except I bid thee.
4: 25 So she went and came unto the man of God to mount Carmel.
And it came to pass, when the man of God saw her afar off, that he said to Gehazi his servant, Behold, yonder is that Shunammite: 4: 26 Run now, I pray thee, to meet her, and say unto her, Is it well with thee?
is it well with thy husband?
is it well with the child?
And she answered, It is well: 4: 27 And when she came to the man of God to the hill, she caught him by the feet: but Gehazi came near to thrust her away.
And the man of God said, Let her alone; for her soul is vexed within her: and the LORD hath hid it from me, and hath not told me.
4: 28 Then she said, Did I desire a son of my lord?
did I not say, Do not deceive me?
4: 29 Then he said to Gehazi, Gird up thy loins, and take my staff in thine hand, and go thy way: if thou meet any man, salute him not; and if any salute thee, answer him not again: and lay my staff upon the face of the child.
4: 30 And the mother of the child said, As the LORD liveth, and as thy soul liveth, I will not leave thee.
And he arose, and followed her.
4: 31 And Gehazi passed on before them, and laid the staff upon the face of the child; but there was neither voice, nor hearing.
Wherefore he went again to meet him, and told him, saying, The child is not awaked.
4: 32 And when Elisha was come into the house, behold, the child was dead, and laid upon his bed.
4: 33 He went in therefore, and shut the door upon them twain, and prayed unto the LORD.
4: 34 And he went up, and lay upon the child, and put his mouth upon his mouth, and his eyes upon his eyes, and his hands upon his hands: and stretched himself upon the child; and the flesh of the child waxed warm.
4: 35 Then he returned, and walked in the house to and fro; and went up, and stretched himself upon him: and the child sneezed seven times, and the child opened his eyes.
4: 36 And he called Gehazi, and said, Call this Shunammite.
So he called her.
And when she was come in unto him, he said, Take up thy son.
4: 37 Then she went in, and fell at his feet, and bowed herself to the ground, and took up her son, and went out.
4: 38 And Elisha came again to Gilgal: and there was a dearth in the land; and the sons of the prophets were sitting before him: and he said unto his servant, Set on the great pot, and seethe pottage for the sons of the prophets.
4: 39 And one went out into the field to gather herbs, and found a wild vine, and gathered thereof wild gourds his lap full, and came and shred them into the pot of pottage: for they knew them not.
4: 40 So they poured out for the men to eat.
And it came to pass, as they were eating of the pottage, that they cried out, and said, O thou man of God, there is death in the pot.
And they could not eat thereof.
4: 41 But he said, Then bring meal.
And he cast it into the pot; and he said, Pour out for the people, that they may eat.
And there was no harm in the pot.
4: 42 And there came a man from Baalshalisha, and brought the man of God bread of the firstfruits, twenty loaves of barley, and full ears of corn in the husk thereof.
And he said, Give unto the people, that they may eat.
4: 43 And his servitor said, What, should I set this before an hundred men?
He said again, Give the people, that they may eat: for thus saith the LORD, They shall eat, and shall leave thereof.
4: 44 So he set it before them, and they did eat, and left thereof, according to the word of the LORD.
5: 1 Now Naaman, captain of the host of the king of Syria, was a great man with his master, and honourable, because by him the LORD had given deliverance unto Syria: he was also a mighty man in valour, but he was a leper.
5: 2 And the Syrians had gone out by companies, and had brought away captive out of the land of Israel a little maid; and she waited on Naaman's wife.
5: 3 And she said unto her mistress, Would God my lord were with the prophet that is in Samaria!
for he would recover him of his leprosy.
5: 4 And one went in, and told his lord, saying, Thus and thus said the maid that is of the land of Israel.
5: 5 And the king of Syria said, Go to, go, and I will send a letter unto the king of Israel.
And he departed, and took with him ten talents of silver, and six thousand pieces of gold, and ten changes of raiment.
5: 6 And he brought the letter to the king of Israel, saying, Now when this letter is come unto thee, behold, I have therewith sent Naaman my servant to thee, that thou mayest recover him of his leprosy.
5: 7 And it came to pass, when the king of Israel had read the letter, that he rent his clothes, and said, Am I God, to kill and to make alive, that this man doth send unto me to recover a man of his leprosy?
wherefore consider, I pray you, and see how he seeketh a quarrel against me.
5: 8 And it was so, when Elisha the man of God had heard that the king of Israel had rent his clothes, that he sent to the king, saying, Wherefore hast thou rent thy clothes?
let him come now to me, and he shall know that there is a prophet in Israel.
5: 9 So Naaman came with his horses and with his chariot, and stood at the door of the house of Elisha.
5: 10 And Elisha sent a messenger unto him, saying, Go and wash in Jordan seven times, and thy flesh shall come again to thee, and thou shalt be clean.
5: 11 But Naaman was wroth, and went away, and said, Behold, I thought, He will surely come out to me, and stand, and call on the name of the LORD his God, and strike his hand over the place, and recover the leper.
5: 12 Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel?
may I not wash in them, and be clean?
So he turned and went away in a rage.
5: 13 And his servants came near, and spake unto him, and said, My father, if the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou not have done it?
how much rather then, when he saith to thee, Wash, and be clean?
5: 14 Then went he down, and dipped himself seven times in Jordan, according to the saying of the man of God: and his flesh came again like unto the flesh of a little child, and he was clean.
5: 15 And he returned to the man of God, he and all his company, and came, and stood before him: and he said, Behold, now I know that there is no God in all the earth, but in Israel: now therefore, I pray thee, take a blessing of thy servant.
5: 16 But he said, As the LORD liveth, before whom I stand, I will receive none.
And he urged him to take it; but he refused.
5: 17 And Naaman said, Shall there not then, I pray thee, be given to thy servant two mules'burden of earth?
for thy servant will henceforth offer neither burnt offering nor sacrifice unto other gods, but unto the LORD.
5: 19 And he said unto him, Go in peace.
So he departed from him a little way.
5: 20 But Gehazi, the servant of Elisha the man of God, said, Behold, my master hath spared Naaman this Syrian, in not receiving at his hands that which he brought: but, as the LORD liveth, I will run after him, and take somewhat of him.
5: 21 So Gehazi followed after Naaman.
And when Naaman saw him running after him, he lighted down from the chariot to meet him, and said, Is all well?
5: 22 And he said, All is well.
My master hath sent me, saying, Behold, even now there be come to me from mount Ephraim two young men of the sons of the prophets: give them, I pray thee, a talent of silver, and two changes of garments.
5: 23 And Naaman said, Be content, take two talents.
And he urged him, and bound two talents of silver in two bags, with two changes of garments, and laid them upon two of his servants; and they bare them before him.
5: 24 And when he came to the tower, he took them from their hand, and bestowed them in the house: and he let the men go, and they departed.
5: 25 But he went in, and stood before his master.
And Elisha said unto him, Whence comest thou, Gehazi?
And he said, Thy servant went no whither.
5: 26 And he said unto him, Went not mine heart with thee, when the man turned again from his chariot to meet thee?
Is it a time to receive money, and to receive garments, and oliveyards, and vineyards, and sheep, and oxen, and menservants, and maidservants?
5: 27 The leprosy therefore of Naaman shall cleave unto thee, and unto thy seed for ever.
And he went out from his presence a leper as white as snow.
6: 1 And the sons of the prophets said unto Elisha, Behold now, the place where we dwell with thee is too strait for us.
6: 2 Let us go, we pray thee, unto Jordan, and take thence every man a beam, and let us make us a place there, where we may dwell.
And he answered, Go ye.
6: 3 And one said, Be content, I pray thee, and go with thy servants.
And he answered, I will go.
6: 4 So he went with them.
And when they came to Jordan, they cut down wood.
6: 5 But as one was felling a beam, the axe head fell into the water: and he cried, and said, Alas, master!
for it was borrowed.
6: 6 And the man of God said, Where fell it?
And he shewed him the place.
And he cut down a stick, and cast it in thither; and the iron did swim.
6: 7 Therefore said he, Take it up to thee.
And he put out his hand, and took it.
6: 8 Then the king of Syria warred against Israel, and took counsel with his servants, saying, In such and such a place shall be my camp.
6: 9 And the man of God sent unto the king of Israel, saying, Beware that thou pass not such a place; for thither the Syrians are come down.
6: 10 And the king of Israel sent to the place which the man of God told him and warned him of, and saved himself there, not once nor twice.
6: 11 Therefore the heart of the king of Syria was sore troubled for this thing; and he called his servants, and said unto them, Will ye not shew me which of us is for the king of Israel?
6: 12 And one of his servants said, None, my lord, O king: but Elisha, the prophet that is in Israel, telleth the king of Israel the words that thou speakest in thy bedchamber.
6: 13 And he said, Go and spy where he is, that I may send and fetch him.
And it was told him, saying, Behold, he is in Dothan.
6: 14 Therefore sent he thither horses, and chariots, and a great host: and they came by night, and compassed the city about.
6: 15 And when the servant of the man of God was risen early, and gone forth, behold, an host compassed the city both with horses and chariots.
And his servant said unto him, Alas, my master!
how shall we do?
6: 16 And he answered, Fear not: for they that be with us are more than they that be with them.
6: 17 And Elisha prayed, and said, LORD, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see.
And the LORD opened the eyes of the young man; and he saw: and, behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha.
6: 18 And when they came down to him, Elisha prayed unto the LORD, and said, Smite this people, I pray thee, with blindness.
And he smote them with blindness according to the word of Elisha.
6: 19 And Elisha said unto them, This is not the way, neither is this the city: follow me, and I will bring you to the man whom ye seek.
But he led them to Samaria.
6: 20 And it came to pass, when they were come into Samaria, that Elisha said, LORD, open the eyes of these men, that they may see.
And the LORD opened their eyes, and they saw; and, behold, they were in the midst of Samaria.
6: 21 And the king of Israel said unto Elisha, when he saw them, My father, shall I smite them?
shall I smite them?
6: 22 And he answered, Thou shalt not smite them: wouldest thou smite those whom thou hast taken captive with thy sword and with thy bow?
set bread and water before them, that they may eat and drink, and go to their master.
6: 23 And he prepared great provision for them: and when they had eaten and drunk, he sent them away, and they went to their master.
So the bands of Syria came no more into the land of Israel.
6: 24 And it came to pass after this, that Benhadad king of Syria gathered all his host, and went up, and besieged Samaria.
6: 25 And there was a great famine in Samaria: and, behold, they besieged it, until an ass's head was sold for fourscore pieces of silver, and the fourth part of a cab of dove's dung for five pieces of silver.
6: 26 And as the king of Israel was passing by upon the wall, there cried a woman unto him, saying, Help, my lord, O king.
6: 27 And he said, If the LORD do not help thee, whence shall I help thee?
out of the barnfloor, or out of the winepress?
6: 28 And the king said unto her, What aileth thee?
And she answered, This woman said unto me, Give thy son, that we may eat him to day, and we will eat my son to morrow.
6: 29 So we boiled my son, and did eat him: and I said unto her on the next day, Give thy son, that we may eat him: and she hath hid her son.
6: 30 And it came to pass, when the king heard the words of the woman, that he rent his clothes; and he passed by upon the wall, and the people looked, and, behold, he had sackcloth within upon his flesh.
6: 31 Then he said, God do so and more also to me, if the head of Elisha the son of Shaphat shall stand on him this day.
6: 32 But Elisha sat in his house, and the elders sat with him; and the king sent a man from before him: but ere the messenger came to him, he said to the elders, See ye how this son of a murderer hath sent to take away mine head?
look, when the messenger cometh, shut the door, and hold him fast at the door: is not the sound of his master's feet behind him?
6: 33 And while he yet talked with them, behold, the messenger came down unto him: and he said, Behold, this evil is of the LORD; what should I wait for the LORD any longer?
7: 1 Then Elisha said, Hear ye the word of the LORD; Thus saith the LORD, To morrow about this time shall a measure of fine flour be sold for a shekel, and two measures of barley for a shekel, in the gate of Samaria.
7: 2 Then a lord on whose hand the king leaned answered the man of God, and said, Behold, if the LORD would make windows in heaven, might this thing be?
And he said, Behold, thou shalt see it with thine eyes, but shalt not eat thereof.
7: 3 And there were four leprous men at the entering in of the gate: and they said one to another, Why sit we here until we die?
7: 4 If we say, We will enter into the city, then the famine is in the city, and we shall die there: and if we sit still here, we die also.
Now therefore come, and let us fall unto the host of the Syrians: if they save us alive, we shall live; and if they kill us, we shall but die.
7: 5 And they rose up in the twilight, to go unto the camp of the Syrians: and when they were come to the uttermost part of the camp of Syria, behold, there was no man there.
7: 7 Wherefore they arose and fled in the twilight, and left their tents, and their horses, and their asses, even the camp as it was, and fled for their life.
7: 9 Then they said one to another, We do not well: this day is a day of good tidings, and we hold our peace: if we tarry till the morning light, some mischief will come upon us: now therefore come, that we may go and tell the king's household.
7: 10 So they came and called unto the porter of the city: and they told them, saying, We came to the camp of the Syrians, and, behold, there was no man there, neither voice of man, but horses tied, and asses tied, and the tents as they were.
7: 11 And he called the porters; and they told it to the king's house within.
7: 12 And the king arose in the night, and said unto his servants, I will now shew you what the Syrians have done to us.
They know that we be hungry; therefore are they gone out of the camp to hide themselves in the field, saying, When they come out of the city, we shall catch them alive, and get into the city.
7: 14 They took therefore two chariot horses; and the king sent after the host of the Syrians, saying, Go and see.
7: 15 And they went after them unto Jordan: and, lo, all the way was full of garments and vessels, which the Syrians had cast away in their haste.
And the messengers returned, and told the king.
7: 16 And the people went out, and spoiled the tents of the Syrians.
So a measure of fine flour was sold for a shekel, and two measures of barley for a shekel, according to the word of the LORD.
7: 17 And the king appointed the lord on whose hand he leaned to have the charge of the gate: and the people trode upon him in the gate, and he died, as the man of God had said, who spake when the king came down to him.
And he said, Behold, thou shalt see it with thine eyes, but shalt not eat thereof.
7: 20 And so it fell out unto him: for the people trode upon him in the gate, and he died.
8: 1 Then spake Elisha unto the woman, whose son he had restored to life, saying, Arise, and go thou and thine household, and sojourn wheresoever thou canst sojourn: for the LORD hath called for a famine; and it shall also come upon the land seven years.
8: 2 And the woman arose, and did after the saying of the man of God: and she went with her household, and sojourned in the land of the Philistines seven years.
8: 3 And it came to pass at the seven years'end, that the woman returned out of the land of the Philistines: and she went forth to cry unto the king for her house and for her land.
8: 4 And the king talked with Gehazi the servant of the man of God, saying, Tell me, I pray thee, all the great things that Elisha hath done.
8: 5 And it came to pass, as he was telling the king how he had restored a dead body to life, that, behold, the woman, whose son he had restored to life, cried to the king for her house and for her land.
And Gehazi said, My lord, O king, this is the woman, and this is her son, whom Elisha restored to life.
8: 6 And when the king asked the woman, she told him.
So the king appointed unto her a certain officer, saying, Restore all that was hers, and all the fruits of the field since the day that she left the land, even until now.
8: 7 And Elisha came to Damascus; and Benhadad the king of Syria was sick; and it was told him, saying, The man of God is come hither.
8: 8 And the king said unto Hazael, Take a present in thine hand, and go, meet the man of God, and enquire of the LORD by him, saying, Shall I recover of this disease?
8: 9 So Hazael went to meet him, and took a present with him, even of every good thing of Damascus, forty camels'burden, and came and stood before him, and said, Thy son Benhadad king of Syria hath sent me to thee, saying, Shall I recover of this disease?
8: 10 And Elisha said unto him, Go, say unto him, Thou mayest certainly recover: howbeit the LORD hath shewed me that he shall surely die.
8: 11 And he settled his countenance stedfastly, until he was ashamed: and the man of God wept.
8: 12 And Hazael said, Why weepeth my lord?
And he answered, Because I know the evil that thou wilt do unto the children of Israel: their strong holds wilt thou set on fire, and their young men wilt thou slay with the sword, and wilt dash their children, and rip up their women with child.
8: 13 And Hazael said, But what, is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing?
And Elisha answered, The LORD hath shewed me that thou shalt be king over Syria.
8: 14 So he departed from Elisha, and came to his master; who said to him, What said Elisha to thee?
And he answered, He told me that thou shouldest surely recover.
8: 15 And it came to pass on the morrow, that he took a thick cloth, and dipped it in water, and spread it on his face, so that he died: and Hazael reigned in his stead.
8: 16 And in the fifth year of Joram the son of Ahab king of Israel, Jehoshaphat being then king of Judah, Jehoram the son of Je hoshaphat king of Judah began to reign.
8: 17 Thirty and two years old was he when he began to reign; and he reigned eight years in Jerusalem.
8: 18 And he walked in the way of the kings of Israel, as did the house of Ahab: for the daughter of Ahab was his wife: and he did evil in the sight of the LORD.
8: 19 Yet the LORD would not destroy Judah for David his servant's sake, as he promised him to give him alway a light, and to his children.
8: 20 In his days Edom revolted from under the hand of Judah, and made a king over themselves.
8: 21 So Joram went over to Zair, and all the chariots with him: and he rose by night, and smote the Edomites which compassed him about, and the captains of the chariots: and the people fled into their tents.
8: 22 Yet Edom revolted from under the hand of Judah unto this day.
Then Libnah revolted at the same time.
8: 23 And the rest of the acts of Joram, and all that he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
8: 24 And Joram slept with his fathers, and was buried with his fathers in the city of David: and Ahaziah his son reigned in his stead.
8: 25 In the twelfth year of Joram the son of Ahab king of Israel did Ahaziah the son of Jehoram king of Judah begin to reign.
8: 26 Two and twenty years old was Ahaziah when he began to reign; and he reigned one year in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Athaliah, the daughter of Omri king of Israel.
8: 27 And he walked in the way of the house of Ahab, and did evil in the sight of the LORD, as did the house of Ahab: for he was the son in law of the house of Ahab.
8: 28 And he went with Joram the son of Ahab to the war against Hazael king of Syria in Ramothgilead; and the Syrians wounded Joram.
8: 29 And king Joram went back to be healed in Jezreel of the wounds which the Syrians had given him at Ramah, when he fought against Hazael king of Syria.
And Ahaziah the son of Jehoram king of Judah went down to see Joram the son of Ahab in Jezreel, because he was sick.
Then open the door, and flee, and tarry not.
9: 4 So the young man, even the young man the prophet, went to Ramothgilead.
9: 5 And when he came, behold, the captains of the host were sitting; and he said, I have an errand to thee, O captain.
And Jehu said, Unto which of all us?
And he said, To thee, O captain.
9: 6 And he arose, and went into the house; and he poured the oil on his head, and said unto him, Thus saith the LORD God of Israel, I have anointed thee king over the people of the LORD, even over Israel.
9: 7 And thou shalt smite the house of Ahab thy master, that I may avenge the blood of my servants the prophets, and the blood of all the servants of the LORD, at the hand of Jezebel.
And he opened the door, and fled.
9: 11 Then Jehu came forth to the servants of his lord: and one said unto him, Is all well?
wherefore came this mad fellow to thee?
And he said unto them, Ye know the man, and his communication.
9: 12 And they said, It is false; tell us now.
And he said, Thus and thus spake he to me, saying, Thus saith the LORD, I have anointed thee king over Israel.
9: 13 Then they hasted, and took every man his garment, and put it under him on the top of the stairs, and blew with trumpets, saying, Jehu is king.
9: 14 So Jehu the son of Jehoshaphat the son of Nimshi conspired against Joram.
(Now Joram had kept Ramothgilead, he and all Israel, because of Hazael king of Syria.
9: 15 But king Joram was returned to be healed in Jezreel of the wounds which the Syrians had given him, when he fought with Hazael king of Syria.)
And Jehu said, If it be your minds, then let none go forth nor escape out of the city to go to tell it in Jezreel.
9: 16 So Jehu rode in a chariot, and went to Jezreel; for Joram lay there.
And Ahaziah king of Judah was come down to see Joram.
9: 17 And there stood a watchman on the tower in Jezreel, and he spied the company of Jehu as he came, and said, I see a company.
And Joram said, Take an horseman, and send to meet them, and let him say, Is it peace?
9: 18 So there went one on horseback to meet him, and said, Thus saith the king, Is it peace?
And Jehu said, What hast thou to do with peace?
turn thee behind me.
And the watchman told, saying, The messenger came to them, but he cometh not again.
9: 19 Then he sent out a second on horseback, which came to them, and said, Thus saith the king, Is it peace?
And Jehu answered, What hast thou to do with peace?
turn thee behind me.
9: 20 And the watchman told, saying, He came even unto them, and cometh not again: and the driving is like the driving of Jehu the son of Nimshi; for he driveth furiously.
9: 21 And Joram said, Make ready.
And his chariot was made ready.
And Joram king of Israel and Ahaziah king of Judah went out, each in his chariot, and they went out against Jehu, and met him in the portion of Naboth the Jezreelite.
9: 22 And it came to pass, when Joram saw Jehu, that he said, Is it peace, Jehu?
And he answered, What peace, so long as the whoredoms of thy mother Jezebel and her witchcrafts are so many?
9: 23 And Joram turned his hands, and fled, and said to Ahaziah, There is treachery, O Ahaziah.
9: 24 And Jehu drew a bow with his full strength, and smote Jehoram between his arms, and the arrow went out at his heart, and he sunk down in his chariot.
Now therefore take and cast him into the plat of ground, according to the word of the LORD.
9: 27 But when Ahaziah the king of Judah saw this, he fled by the way of the garden house.
And Jehu followed after him, and said, Smite him also in the chariot.
And they did so at the going up to Gur, which is by Ibleam.
And he fled to Megiddo, and died there.
9: 28 And his servants carried him in a chariot to Jerusalem, and buried him in his sepulchre with his fathers in the city of David.
9: 29 And in the eleventh year of Joram the son of Ahab began Ahaziah to reign over Judah.
9: 30 And when Jehu was come to Jezreel, Jezebel heard of it; and she painted her face, and tired her head, and looked out at a window.
9: 31 And as Jehu entered in at the gate, she said, Had Zimri peace, who slew his master?
9: 32 And he lifted up his face to the window, and said, Who is on my side?
who?
And there looked out to him two or three eunuchs.
9: 33 And he said, Throw her down.
So they threw her down: and some of her blood was sprinkled on the wall, and on the horses: and he trode her under foot.
9: 34 And when he was come in, he did eat and drink, and said, Go, see now this cursed woman, and bury her: for she is a king's daughter.
9: 35 And they went to bury her: but they found no more of her than the skull, and the feet, and the palms of her hands.
9: 36 Wherefore they came again, and told him.
10: 1 And Ahab had seventy sons in Samaria.
10: 4 But they were exceedingly afraid, and said, Behold, two kings stood not before him: how then shall we stand?
10: 5 And he that was over the house, and he that was over the city, the elders also, and the bringers up of the children, sent to Jehu, saying, We are thy servants, and will do all that thou shalt bid us; we will not make any king: do thou that which is good in thine eyes.
10: 6 Then he wrote a letter the second time to them, saying, If ye be mine, and if ye will hearken unto my voice, take ye the heads of the men your master's sons, and come to me to Jezreel by to morrow this time.
Now the king's sons, being seventy persons, were with the great men of the city, which brought them up.
10: 7 And it came to pass, when the letter came to them, that they took the king's sons, and slew seventy persons, and put their heads in baskets, and sent him them to Jezreel.
10: 8 And there came a messenger, and told him, saying, They have brought the heads of the king's sons.
And he said, Lay ye them in two heaps at the entering in of the gate until the morning.
10: 9 And it came to pass in the morning, that he went out, and stood, and said to all the people, Ye be righteous: behold, I conspired against my master, and slew him: but who slew all these?
10: 10 Know now that there shall fall unto the earth nothing of the word of the LORD, which the LORD spake concerning the house of Ahab: for the LORD hath done that which he spake by his servant Elijah.
10: 11 So Jehu slew all that remained of the house of Ahab in Jezreel, and all his great men, and his kinsfolks, and his priests, until he left him none remaining.
10: 12 And he arose and departed, and came to Samaria.
And as he was at the shearing house in the way, 10: 13 Jehu met with the brethren of Ahaziah king of Judah, and said, Who are ye?
And they answered, We are the brethren of Ahaziah; and we go down to salute the children of the king and the children of the queen.
10: 14 And he said, Take them alive.
And they took them alive, and slew them at the pit of the shearing house, even two and forty men; neither left he any of them.
10: 15 And when he was departed thence, he lighted on Jehonadab the son of Rechab coming to meet him: and he saluted him, and said to him, Is thine heart right, as my heart is with thy heart?
And Jehonadab answered, It is.
If it be, give me thine hand.
And he gave him his hand; and he took him up to him into the chariot.
10: 16 And he said, Come with me, and see my zeal for the LORD.
So they made him ride in his chariot.
10: 17 And when he came to Samaria, he slew all that remained unto Ahab in Samaria, till he had destroyed him, according to the saying of the LORD, which he spake to Elijah.
10: 18 And Jehu gathered all the people together, and said unto them, Ahab served Baal a little; but Jehu shall serve him much.
10: 19 Now therefore call unto me all the prophets of Baal, all his servants, and all his priests; let none be wanting: for I have a great sacrifice to do to Baal; whosoever shall be wanting, he shall not live.
But Jehu did it in subtilty, to the intent that he might destroy the worshippers of Baal.
10: 20 And Jehu said, Proclaim a solemn assembly for Baal.
And they proclaimed it.
10: 21 And Jehu sent through all Israel: and all the worshippers of Baal came, so that there was not a man left that came not.
And they came into the house of Baal; and the house of Baal was full from one end to another.
10: 22 And he said unto him that was over the vestry, Bring forth vestments for all the worshippers of Baal.
And he brought them forth vestments.
10: 23 And Jehu went, and Jehonadab the son of Rechab, into the house of Baal, and said unto the worshippers of Baal, Search, and look that there be here with you none of the servants of the LORD, but the worshippers of Baal only.
10: 24 And when they went in to offer sacrifices and burnt offerings, Jehu appointed fourscore men without, and said, If any of the men whom I have brought into your hands escape, he that letteth him go, his life shall be for the life of him.
10: 25 And it came to pass, as soon as he had made an end of offering the burnt offering, that Jehu said to the guard and to the captains, Go in, and slay them; let none come forth.
And they smote them with the edge of the sword; and the guard and the captains cast them out, and went to the city of the house of Baal.
10: 26 And they brought forth the images out of the house of Baal, and burned them.
10: 27 And they brake down the image of Baal, and brake down the house of Baal, and made it a draught house unto this day.
10: 28 Thus Jehu destroyed Baal out of Israel.
10: 29 Howbeit from the sins of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin, Jehu departed not from after them, to wit, the golden calves that were in Bethel, and that were in Dan.
10: 30 And the LORD said unto Jehu, Because thou hast done well in executing that which is right in mine eyes, and hast done unto the house of Ahab according to all that was in mine heart, thy children of the fourth generation shall sit on the throne of Israel.
10: 31 But Jehu took no heed to walk in the law of the LORD God of Israel with all his heart: for he departed not from the sins of Jeroboam, which made Israel to sin.
10: 34 Now the rest of the acts of Jehu, and all that he did, and all his might, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
10: 35 And Jehu slept with his fathers: and they buried him in Samaria.
And Jehoahaz his son reigned in his stead.
10: 36 And the time that Jehu reigned over Israel in Samaria was twenty and eight years.
11: 1 And when Athaliah the mother of Ahaziah saw that her son was dead, she arose and destroyed all the seed royal.
11: 2 But Jehosheba, the daughter of king Joram, sister of Ahaziah, took Joash the son of Ahaziah, and stole him from among the king's sons which were slain; and they hid him, even him and his nurse, in the bedchamber from Athaliah, so that he was not slain.
11: 3 And he was with her hid in the house of the LORD six years.
And Athaliah did reign over the land.
11: 7 And two parts of all you that go forth on the sabbath, even they shall keep the watch of the house of the LORD about the king.
11: 8 And ye shall compass the king round about, every man with his weapons in his hand: and he that cometh within the ranges, let him be slain: and be ye with the king as he goeth out and as he cometh in.
11: 9 And the captains over the hundreds did according to all things that Jehoiada the priest commanded: and they took every man his men that were to come in on the sabbath, with them that should go out on the sabbath, and came to Jehoiada the priest.
11: 10 And to the captains over hundreds did the priest give king David's spears and shields, that were in the temple of the LORD.
11: 11 And the guard stood, every man with his weapons in his hand, round about the king, from the right corner of the temple to the left corner of the temple, along by the altar and the temple.
11: 12 And he brought forth the king's son, and put the crown upon him, and gave him the testimony; and they made him king, and anointed him; and they clapped their hands, and said, God save the king.
11: 13 And when Athaliah heard the noise of the guard and of the people, she came to the people into the temple of the LORD.
11: 14 And when she looked, behold, the king stood by a pillar, as the manner was, and the princes and the trumpeters by the king, and all the people of the land rejoiced, and blew with trumpets: and Athaliah rent her clothes, and cried, Treason, Treason.
11: 15 But Jehoiada the priest commanded the captains of the hundreds, the officers of the host, and said unto them, Have her forth without the ranges: and him that followeth her kill with the sword.
For the priest had said, Let her not be slain in the house of the LORD.
11: 16 And they laid hands on her; and she went by the way by the which the horses came into the king's house: and there was she slain.
11: 17 And Jehoiada made a covenant between the LORD and the king and the people, that they should be the LORD's people; between the king also and the people.
11: 18 And all the people of the land went into the house of Baal, and brake it down; his altars and his images brake they in pieces thoroughly, and slew Mattan the priest of Baal before the altars.
And the priest appointed officers over the house of the LORD.
11: 19 And he took the rulers over hundreds, and the captains, and the guard, and all the people of the land; and they brought down the king from the house of the LORD, and came by the way of the gate of the guard to the king's house.
And he sat on the throne of the kings.
11: 20 And all the people of the land rejoiced, and the city was in quiet: and they slew Athaliah with the sword beside the king's house.
11: 21 Seven years old was Jehoash when he began to reign.
12: 1 In the seventh year of Jehu Jehoash began to reign; and forty years reigned he in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Zibiah of Beersheba.
12: 2 And Jehoash did that which was right in the sight of the LORD all his days wherein Jehoiada the priest instructed him.
12: 3 But the high places were not taken away: the people still sacrificed and burnt incense in the high places.
12: 6 But it was so, that in the three and twentieth year of king Jehoash the priests had not repaired the breaches of the house.
12: 7 Then king Jehoash called for Jehoiada the priest, and the other priests, and said unto them, Why repair ye not the breaches of the house?
now therefore receive no more money of your acquaintance, but deliver it for the breaches of the house.
12: 8 And the priests consented to receive no more money of the people, neither to repair the breaches of the house.
12: 9 But Jehoiada the priest took a chest, and bored a hole in the lid of it, and set it beside the altar, on the right side as one cometh into the house of the LORD: and the priests that kept the door put therein all the money that was brought into the house of the LORD.
12: 10 And it was so, when they saw that there was much money in the chest, that the king's scribe and the high priest came up, and they put up in bags, and told the money that was found in the house of the LORD.
12: 15 Moreover they reckoned not with the men, into whose hand they delivered the money to be bestowed on workmen: for they dealt faithfully.
12: 16 The trespass money and sin money was not brought into the house of the LORD: it was the priests '.
12: 17 Then Hazael king of Syria went up, and fought against Gath, and took it: and Hazael set his face to go up to Jerusalem.
12: 19 And the rest of the acts of Joash, and all that he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
12: 20 And his servants arose, and made a conspiracy, and slew Joash in the house of Millo, which goeth down to Silla.
12: 21 For Jozachar the son of Shimeath, and Jehozabad the son of Shomer, his servants, smote him, and he died; and they buried him with his fathers in the city of David: and Amaziah his son reigned in his stead.
13: 1 In the three and twentieth year of Joash the son of Ahaziah king of Judah Jehoahaz the son of Jehu began to reign over Israel in Samaria, and reigned seventeen years.
13: 2 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD, and followed the sins of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, which made Israel to sin; he departed not therefrom.
13: 3 And the anger of the LORD was kindled against Israel, and he delivered them into the hand of Hazael king of Syria, and into the hand of Benhadad the son of Hazael, all their days.
13: 4 And Jehoahaz besought the LORD, and the LORD hearkened unto him: for he saw the oppression of Israel, because the king of Syria oppressed them.
13: 5 (And the LORD gave Israel a saviour, so that they went out from under the hand of the Syrians: and the children of Israel dwelt in their tents, as beforetime.
13: 6 Nevertheless they departed not from the sins of the house of Jeroboam, who made Israel sin, but walked therein: and there remained the grove also in Samaria.)
13: 7 Neither did he leave of the people to Jehoahaz but fifty horsemen, and ten chariots, and ten thousand footmen; for the king of Syria had destroyed them, and had made them like the dust by threshing.
13: 8 Now the rest of the acts of Jehoahaz, and all that he did, and his might, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
13: 9 And Jehoahaz slept with his fathers; and they buried him in Samaria: and Joash his son reigned in his stead.
13: 10 In the thirty and seventh year of Joash king of Judah began Jehoash the son of Jehoahaz to reign over Israel in Samaria, and reigned sixteen years.
13: 11 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD; he departed not from all the sins of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who made Israel sin: but he walked therein.
13: 12 And the rest of the acts of Joash, and all that he did, and his might wherewith he fought against Amaziah king of Judah, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
13: 13 And Joash slept with his fathers; and Jeroboam sat upon his throne: and Joash was buried in Samaria with the kings of Israel.
13: 14 Now Elisha was fallen sick of his sickness whereof he died.
And Joash the king of Israel came down unto him, and wept over his face, and said, O my father, my father, the chariot of Israel, and the horsemen thereof.
13: 15 And Elisha said unto him, Take bow and arrows.
And he took unto him bow and arrows.
13: 16 And he said to the king of Israel, Put thine hand upon the bow.
And he put his hand upon it: and Elisha put his hands upon the king's hands.
13: 17 And he said, Open the window eastward.
And he opened it.
Then Elisha said, Shoot.
And he shot.
And he said, The arrow of the LORD's deliverance, and the arrow of deliverance from Syria: for thou shalt smite the Syrians in Aphek, till thou have consumed them.
13: 18 And he said, Take the arrows.
And he took them.
And he said unto the king of Israel, Smite upon the ground.
And he smote thrice, and stayed.
13: 19 And the man of God was wroth with him, and said, Thou shouldest have smitten five or six times; then hadst thou smitten Syria till thou hadst consumed it: whereas now thou shalt smite Syria but thrice.
13: 20 And Elisha died, and they buried him.
And the bands of the Moabites invaded the land at the coming in of the year.
13: 21 And it came to pass, as they were burying a man, that, behold, they spied a band of men; and they cast the man into the sepulchre of Elisha: and when the man was let down, and touched the bones of Elisha, he revived, and stood up on his feet.
13: 22 But Hazael king of Syria oppressed Israel all the days of Jehoahaz.
13: 23 And the LORD was gracious unto them, and had compassion on them, and had respect unto them, because of his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and would not destroy them, neither cast he them from his presence as yet.
13: 24 So Hazael king of Syria died; and Benhadad his son reigned in his stead.
13: 25 And Jehoash the son of Jehoahaz took again out of the hand of Benhadad the son of Hazael the cities, which he had taken out of the hand of Jehoahaz his father by war.
Three times did Joash beat him, and recovered the cities of Israel.
14: 1 In the second year of Joash son of Jehoahaz king of Israel reigned Amaziah the son of Joash king of Judah.
14: 2 He was twenty and five years old when he began to reign, and reigned twenty and nine years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Jehoaddan of Jerusalem.
14: 3 And he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, yet not like David his father: he did according to all things as Joash his father did.
14: 4 Howbeit the high places were not taken away: as yet the people did sacrifice and burnt incense on the high places.
14: 5 And it came to pass, as soon as the kingdom was confirmed in his hand, that he slew his servants which had slain the king his father.
14: 7 He slew of Edom in the valley of salt ten thousand, and took Selah by war, and called the name of it Joktheel unto this day.
14: 8 Then Amaziah sent messengers to Jehoash, the son of Jehoahaz son of Jehu, king of Israel, saying, Come, let us look one another in the face.
14: 9 And Jehoash the king of Israel sent to Amaziah king of Judah, saying, The thistle that was in Lebanon sent to the cedar that was in Lebanon, saying, Give thy daughter to my son to wife: and there passed by a wild beast that was in Lebanon, and trode down the thistle.
14: 10 Thou hast indeed smitten Edom, and thine heart hath lifted thee up: glory of this, and tarry at home: for why shouldest thou meddle to thy hurt, that thou shouldest fall, even thou, and Judah with thee?
14: 11 But Amaziah would not hear.
Therefore Jehoash king of Israel went up; and he and Amaziah king of Judah looked one another in the face at Bethshemesh, which belongeth to Judah.
14: 12 And Judah was put to the worse before Israel; and they fled every man to their tents.
14: 13 And Jehoash king of Israel took Amaziah king of Judah, the son of Jehoash the son of Ahaziah, at Bethshemesh, and came to Jerusalem, and brake down the wall of Jerusalem from the gate of Ephraim unto the corner gate, four hundred cubits.
14: 14 And he took all the gold and silver, and all the vessels that were found in the house of the LORD, and in the treasures of the king's house, and hostages, and returned to Samaria.
14: 15 Now the rest of the acts of Jehoash which he did, and his might, and how he fought with Amaziah king of Judah, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
14: 16 And Jehoash slept with his fathers, and was buried in Samaria with the kings of Israel; and Jeroboam his son reigned in his stead.
14: 17 And Amaziah the son of Joash king of Judah lived after the death of Jehoash son of Jehoahaz king of Israel fifteen years.
14: 18 And the rest of the acts of Amaziah, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
14: 19 Now they made a conspiracy against him in Jerusalem: and he fled to Lachish; but they sent after him to Lachish, and slew him there.
14: 20 And they brought him on horses: and he was buried at Jerusalem with his fathers in the city of David.
14: 21 And all the people of Judah took Azariah, which was sixteen years old, and made him king instead of his father Amaziah.
14: 22 He built Elath, and restored it to Judah, after that the king slept with his fathers.
14: 23 In the fifteenth year of Amaziah the son of Joash king of Judah Jeroboam the son of Joash king of Israel began to reign in Samaria, and reigned forty and one years.
14: 24 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD: he departed not from all the sins of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin.
14: 25 He restored the coast of Israel from the entering of Hamath unto the sea of the plain, according to the word of the LORD God of Israel, which he spake by the hand of his servant Jonah, the son of Amittai, the prophet, which was of Gathhepher.
14: 26 For the LORD saw the affliction of Israel, that it was very bitter: for there was not any shut up, nor any left, nor any helper for Israel.
14: 27 And the LORD said not that he would blot out the name of Israel from under heaven: but he saved them by the hand of Jeroboam the son of Joash.
14: 28 Now the rest of the acts of Jeroboam, and all that he did, and his might, how he warred, and how he recovered Damascus, and Hamath, which belonged to Judah, for Israel, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
14: 29 And Jeroboam slept with his fathers, even with the kings of Israel; and Zachariah his son reigned in his stead.
15: 1 In the twenty and seventh year of Jeroboam king of Israel began Azariah son of Amaziah king of Judah to reign.
15: 2 Sixteen years old was he when he began to reign, and he reigned two and fifty years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Jecholiah of Jerusalem.
15: 3 And he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, according to all that his father Amaziah had done; 15: 4 Save that the high places were not removed: the people sacrificed and burnt incense still on the high places.
15: 5 And the LORD smote the king, so that he was a leper unto the day of his death, and dwelt in a several house.
And Jotham the king's son was over the house, judging the people of the land.
15: 6 And the rest of the acts of Azariah, and all that he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
15: 7 So Azariah slept with his fathers; and they buried him with his fathers in the city of David: and Jotham his son reigned in his stead.
15: 8 In the thirty and eighth year of Azariah king of Judah did Zachariah the son of Jeroboam reign over Israel in Samaria six months.
15: 9 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD, as his fathers had done: he departed not from the sins of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin.
15: 10 And Shallum the son of Jabesh conspired against him, and smote him before the people, and slew him, and reigned in his stead.
15: 11 And the rest of the acts of Zachariah, behold, they are written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel.
15: 12 This was the word of the LORD which he spake unto Jehu, saying, Thy sons shall sit on the throne of Israel unto the fourth generation.
And so it came to pass.
15: 13 Shallum the son of Jabesh began to reign in the nine and thirtieth year of Uzziah king of Judah; and he reigned a full month in Samaria.
15: 14 For Menahem the son of Gadi went up from Tirzah, and came to Samaria, and smote Shallum the son of Jabesh in Samaria, and slew him, and reigned in his stead.
15: 15 And the rest of the acts of Shallum, and his conspiracy which he made, behold, they are written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel.
15: 16 Then Menahem smote Tiphsah, and all that were therein, and the coasts thereof from Tirzah: because they opened not to him, therefore he smote it; and all the women therein that were with child he ripped up.
15: 17 In the nine and thirtieth year of Azariah king of Judah began Menahem the son of Gadi to reign over Israel, and reigned ten years in Samaria.
15: 18 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD: he departed not all his days from the sins of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin.
15: 19 And Pul the king of Assyria came against the land: and Menahem gave Pul a thousand talents of silver, that his hand might be with him to confirm the kingdom in his hand.
15: 20 And Menahem exacted the money of Israel, even of all the mighty men of wealth, of each man fifty shekels of silver, to give to the king of Assyria.
So the king of Assyria turned back, and stayed not there in the land.
15: 21 And the rest of the acts of Menahem, and all that he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel?
15: 22 And Menahem slept with his fathers; and Pekahiah his son reigned in his stead.
15: 23 In the fiftieth year of Azariah king of Judah Pekahiah the son of Menahem began to reign over Israel in Samaria, and reigned two years.
15: 24 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD: he departed not from the sins of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin.
15: 25 But Pekah the son of Remaliah, a captain of his, conspired against him, and smote him in Samaria, in the palace of the king's house, with Argob and Arieh, and with him fifty men of the Gileadites: and he killed him, and reigned in his room.
15: 26 And the rest of the acts of Pekahiah, and all that he did, behold, they are written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel.
15: 27 In the two and fiftieth year of Azariah king of Judah Pekah the son of Remaliah began to reign over Israel in Samaria, and reigned twenty years.
15: 28 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD: he departed not from the sins of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin.
15: 29 In the days of Pekah king of Israel came Tiglathpileser king of Assyria, and took Ijon, and Abelbethmaachah, and Janoah, and Kedesh, and Hazor, and Gilead, and Galilee, all the land of Naphtali, and carried them captive to Assyria.
15: 30 And Hoshea the son of Elah made a conspiracy against Pekah the son of Remaliah, and smote him, and slew him, and reigned in his stead, in the twentieth year of Jotham the son of Uzziah.
15: 31 And the rest of the acts of Pekah, and all that he did, behold, they are written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Israel.
15: 32 In the second year of Pekah the son of Remaliah king of Israel began Jotham the son of Uzziah king of Judah to reign.
15: 33 Five and twenty years old was he when he began to reign, and he reigned sixteen years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Jerusha, the daughter of Zadok.
15: 34 And he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD: he did according to all that his father Uzziah had done.
15: 35 Howbeit the high places were not removed: the people sacrificed and burned incense still in the high places.
He built the higher gate of the house of the LORD.
15: 36 Now the rest of the acts of Jotham, and all that he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
15: 37 In those days the LORD began to send against Judah Rezin the king of Syria, and Pekah the son of Remaliah.
15: 38 And Jotham slept with his fathers, and was buried with his fathers in the city of David his father: and Ahaz his son reigned in his stead.
16: 1 In the seventeenth year of Pekah the son of Remaliah Ahaz the son of Jotham king of Judah began to reign.
16: 2 Twenty years old was Ahaz when he began to reign, and reigned sixteen years in Jerusalem, and did not that which was right in the sight of the LORD his God, like David his father.
16: 3 But he walked in the way of the kings of Israel, yea, and made his son to pass through the fire, according to the abominations of the heathen, whom the LORD cast out from before the children of Israel.
16: 4 And he sacrificed and burnt incense in the high places, and on the hills, and under every green tree.
16: 5 Then Rezin king of Syria and Pekah son of Remaliah king of Israel came up to Jerusalem to war: and they besieged Ahaz, but could not overcome him.
16: 6 At that time Rezin king of Syria recovered Elath to Syria, and drave the Jews from Elath: and the Syrians came to Elath, and dwelt there unto this day.
16: 7 So Ahaz sent messengers to Tiglathpileser king of Assyria, saying, I am thy servant and thy son: come up, and save me out of the hand of the king of Syria, and out of the hand of the king of Israel, which rise up against me.
16: 8 And Ahaz took the silver and gold that was found in the house of the LORD, and in the treasures of the king's house, and sent it for a present to the king of Assyria.
16: 9 And the king of Assyria hearkened unto him: for the king of Assyria went up against Damascus, and took it, and carried the people of it captive to Kir, and slew Rezin.
16: 10 And king Ahaz went to Damascus to meet Tiglathpileser king of Assyria, and saw an altar that was at Damascus: and king Ahaz sent to Urijah the priest the fashion of the altar, and the pattern of it, according to all the workmanship thereof.
16: 11 And Urijah the priest built an altar according to all that king Ahaz had sent from Damascus: so Urijah the priest made it against king Ahaz came from Damascus.
16: 12 And when the king was come from Damascus, the king saw the altar: and the king approached to the altar, and offered thereon.
16: 13 And he burnt his burnt offering and his meat offering, and poured his drink offering, and sprinkled the blood of his peace offerings, upon the altar.
16: 14 And he brought also the brasen altar, which was before the LORD, from the forefront of the house, from between the altar and the house of the LORD, and put it on the north side of the altar.
16: 16 Thus did Urijah the priest, according to all that king Ahaz commanded.
16: 17 And king Ahaz cut off the borders of the bases, and removed the laver from off them; and took down the sea from off the brasen oxen that were under it, and put it upon the pavement of stones.
16: 18 And the covert for the sabbath that they had built in the house, and the king's entry without, turned he from the house of the LORD for the king of Assyria.
16: 19 Now the rest of the acts of Ahaz which he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
16: 20 And Ahaz slept with his fathers, and was buried with his fathers in the city of David: and Hezekiah his son reigned in his stead.
17: 1 In the twelfth year of Ahaz king of Judah began Hoshea the son of Elah to reign in Samaria over Israel nine years.
17: 2 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD, but not as the kings of Israel that were before him.
17: 3 Against him came up Shalmaneser king of Assyria; and Hoshea became his servant, and gave him presents.
17: 4 And the king of Assyria found conspiracy in Hoshea: for he had sent messengers to So king of Egypt, and brought no present to the king of Assyria, as he had done year by year: therefore the king of Assyria shut him up, and bound him in prison.
17: 5 Then the king of Assyria came up throughout all the land, and went up to Samaria, and besieged it three years.
17: 6 In the ninth year of Hoshea the king of Assyria took Samaria, and carried Israel away into Assyria, and placed them in Halah and in Habor by the river of Gozan, and in the cities of the Medes.
17: 9 And the children of Israel did secretly those things that were not right against the LORD their God, and they built them high places in all their cities, from the tower of the watchmen to the fenced city.
17: 14 Notwithstanding they would not hear, but hardened their necks, like to the neck of their fathers, that did not believe in the LORD their God.
17: 16 And they left all the commandments of the LORD their God, and made them molten images, even two calves, and made a grove, and worshipped all the host of heaven, and served Baal.
17: 17 And they caused their sons and their daughters to pass through the fire, and used divination and enchantments, and sold themselves to do evil in the sight of the LORD, to provoke him to anger.
17: 18 Therefore the LORD was very angry with Israel, and removed them out of his sight: there was none left but the tribe of Judah only.
17: 19 Also Judah kept not the commandments of the LORD their God, but walked in the statutes of Israel which they made.
17: 20 And the LORD rejected all the seed of Israel, and afflicted them, and delivered them into the hand of spoilers, until he had cast them out of his sight.
17: 21 For he rent Israel from the house of David; and they made Jeroboam the son of Nebat king: and Jeroboam drave Israel from following the LORD, and made them sin a great sin.
17: 22 For the children of Israel walked in all the sins of Jeroboam which he did; they departed not from them; 17: 23 Until the LORD removed Israel out of his sight, as he had said by all his servants the prophets.
So was Israel carried away out of their own land to Assyria unto this day.
17: 24 And the king of Assyria brought men from Babylon, and from Cuthah, and from Ava, and from Hamath, and from Sepharvaim, and placed them in the cities of Samaria instead of the children of Israel: and they possessed Samaria, and dwelt in the cities thereof.
17: 25 And so it was at the beginning of their dwelling there, that they feared not the LORD: therefore the LORD sent lions among them, which slew some of them.
17: 27 Then the king of Assyria commanded, saying, Carry thither one of the priests whom ye brought from thence; and let them go and dwell there, and let him teach them the manner of the God of the land.
17: 28 Then one of the priests whom they had carried away from Samaria came and dwelt in Bethel, and taught them how they should fear the LORD.
17: 29 Howbeit every nation made gods of their own, and put them in the houses of the high places which the Samaritans had made, every nation in their cities wherein they dwelt.
17: 30 And the men of Babylon made Succothbenoth, and the men of Cuth made Nergal, and the men of Hamath made Ashima, 17: 31 And the Avites made Nibhaz and Tartak, and the Sepharvites burnt their children in fire to Adrammelech and Anammelech, the gods of Sepharvaim.
17: 32 So they feared the LORD, and made unto themselves of the lowest of them priests of the high places, which sacrificed for them in the houses of the high places.
17: 33 They feared the LORD, and served their own gods, after the manner of the nations whom they carried away from thence.
17: 37 And the statutes, and the ordinances, and the law, and the commandment, which he wrote for you, ye shall observe to do for evermore; and ye shall not fear other gods.
17: 38 And the covenant that I have made with you ye shall not forget; neither shall ye fear other gods.
17: 39 But the LORD your God ye shall fear; and he shall deliver you out of the hand of all your enemies.
17: 40 Howbeit they did not hearken, but they did after their former manner.
17: 41 So these nations feared the LORD, and served their graven images, both their children, and their children's children: as did their fathers, so do they unto this day.
18: 1 Now it came to pass in the third year of Hoshea son of Elah king of Israel, that Hezekiah the son of Ahaz king of Judah began to reign.
18: 2 Twenty and five years old was he when he began to reign; and he reigned twenty and nine years in Jerusalem.
His mother's name also was Abi, the daughter of Zachariah.
18: 3 And he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, according to all that David his father did.
18: 4 He removed the high places, and brake the images, and cut down the groves, and brake in pieces the brasen serpent that Moses had made: for unto those days the children of Israel did burn incense to it: and he called it Nehushtan.
18: 5 He trusted in the LORD God of Israel; so that after him was none like him among all the kings of Judah, nor any that were before him.
18: 6 For he clave to the LORD, and departed not from following him, but kept his commandments, which the LORD commanded Moses.
18: 7 And the LORD was with him; and he prospered whithersoever he went forth: and he rebelled against the king of Assyria, and served him not.
18: 8 He smote the Philistines, even unto Gaza, and the borders thereof, from the tower of the watchmen to the fenced city.
18: 9 And it came to pass in the fourth year of king Hezekiah, which was the seventh year of Hoshea son of Elah king of Israel, that Shalmaneser king of Assyria came up against Samaria, and besieged it.
18: 10 And at the end of three years they took it: even in the sixth year of Hezekiah, that is in the ninth year of Hoshea king of Israel, Samaria was taken.
18: 13 Now in the fourteenth year of king Hezekiah did Sennacherib king of Assyria come up against all the fenced cities of Judah, and took them.
18: 14 And Hezekiah king of Judah sent to the king of Assyria to Lachish, saying, I have offended; return from me: that which thou puttest on me will I bear.
And the king of Assyria appointed unto Hezekiah king of Judah three hundred talents of silver and thirty talents of gold.
18: 15 And Hezekiah gave him all the silver that was found in the house of the LORD, and in the treasures of the king's house.
18: 16 At that time did Hezekiah cut off the gold from the doors of the temple of the LORD, and from the pillars which Hezekiah king of Judah had overlaid, and gave it to the king of Assyria.
18: 17 And the king of Assyria sent Tartan and Rabsaris and Rabshakeh from Lachish to king Hezekiah with a great host against Jerusalem.
And they went up and came to Jerusalem.
And when they were come up, they came and stood by the conduit of the upper pool, which is in the highway of the fuller's field.
18: 18 And when they had called to the king, there came out to them Eliakim the son of Hilkiah, which was over the household, and Shebna the scribe, and Joah the son of Asaph the recorder.
18: 19 And Rabshakeh said unto them, Speak ye now to Hezekiah, Thus saith the great king, the king of Assyria, What confidence is this wherein thou trustest?
18: 20 Thou sayest, (but they are but vain words,) I have counsel and strength for the war.
Now on whom dost thou trust, that thou rebellest against me?
18: 21 Now, behold, thou trustest upon the staff of this bruised reed, even upon Egypt, on which if a man lean, it will go into his hand, and pierce it: so is Pharaoh king of Egypt unto all that trust on him.
18: 22 But if ye say unto me, We trust in the LORD our God: is not that he, whose high places and whose altars Hezekiah hath taken away, and hath said to Judah and Jerusalem, Ye shall worship before this altar in Jerusalem?
18: 23 Now therefore, I pray thee, give pledges to my lord the king of Assyria, and I will deliver thee two thousand horses, if thou be able on thy part to set riders upon them.
18: 24 How then wilt thou turn away the face of one captain of the least of my master's servants, and put thy trust on Egypt for chariots and for horsemen?
18: 25 Am I now come up without the LORD against this place to destroy it?
The LORD said to me, Go up against this land, and destroy it.
18: 26 Then said Eliakim the son of Hilkiah, and Shebna, and Joah, unto Rabshakeh, Speak, I pray thee, to thy servants in the Syrian language; for we understand it: and talk not with us in the Jews'language in the ears of the people that are on the wall.
18: 27 But Rabshakeh said unto them, Hath my master sent me to thy master, and to thee, to speak these words?
hath he not sent me to the men which sit on the wall, that they may eat their own dung, and drink their own piss with you?
18: 33 Hath any of the gods of the nations delivered at all his land out of the hand of the king of Assyria?
18: 34 Where are the gods of Hamath, and of Arpad?
where are the gods of Sepharvaim, Hena, and Ivah?
have they delivered Samaria out of mine hand?
18: 35 Who are they among all the gods of the countries, that have delivered their country out of mine hand, that the LORD should deliver Jerusalem out of mine hand?
18: 36 But the people held their peace, and answered him not a word: for the king's commandment was, saying, Answer him not.
18: 37 Then came Eliakim the son of Hilkiah, which was over the household, and Shebna the scribe, and Joah the son of Asaph the recorder, to Hezekiah with their clothes rent, and told him the words of Rabshakeh.
19: 1 And it came to pass, when king Hezekiah heard it, that he rent his clothes, and covered himself with sackcloth, and went into the house of the LORD.
19: 2 And he sent Eliakim, which was over the household, and Shebna the scribe, and the elders of the priests, covered with sackcloth, to Isaiah the prophet the son of Amoz.
19: 3 And they said unto him, Thus saith Hezekiah, This day is a day of trouble, and of rebuke, and blasphemy; for the children are come to the birth, and there is not strength to bring forth.
19: 4 It may be the LORD thy God will hear all the words of Rabshakeh, whom the king of Assyria his master hath sent to reproach the living God; and will reprove the words which the LORD thy God hath heard: wherefore lift up thy prayer for the remnant that are left.
19: 5 So the servants of king Hezekiah came to Isaiah.
19: 6 And Isaiah said unto them, Thus shall ye say to your master, Thus saith the LORD, Be not afraid of the words which thou hast heard, with which the servants of the king of Assyria have blasphemed me.
19: 7 Behold, I will send a blast upon him, and he shall hear a rumour, and shall return to his own land; and I will cause him to fall by the sword in his own land.
19: 8 So Rabshakeh returned, and found the king of Assyria warring against Libnah: for he had heard that he was departed from Lachish.
19: 11 Behold, thou hast heard what the kings of Assyria have done to all lands, by destroying them utterly: and shalt thou be delivered?
19: 12 Have the gods of the nations delivered them which my fathers have destroyed; as Gozan, and Haran, and Rezeph, and the children of Eden which were in Thelasar?
19: 13 Where is the king of Hamath, and the king of Arpad, and the king of the city of Sepharvaim, of Hena, and Ivah?
19: 14 And Hezekiah received the letter of the hand of the messengers, and read it: and Hezekiah went up into the house of the LORD, and spread it before the LORD.
19: 15 And Hezekiah prayed before the LORD, and said, O LORD God of Israel, which dwellest between the cherubims, thou art the God, even thou alone, of all the kingdoms of the earth; thou hast made heaven and earth.
19: 16 LORD, bow down thine ear, and hear: open, LORD, thine eyes, and see: and hear the words of Sennacherib, which hath sent him to reproach the living God.
19: 17 Of a truth, LORD, the kings of Assyria have destroyed the nations and their lands, 19: 18 And have cast their gods into the fire: for they were no gods, but the work of men's hands, wood and stone: therefore they have destroyed them.
19: 19 Now therefore, O LORD our God, I beseech thee, save thou us out of his hand, that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that thou art the LORD God, even thou only.
19: 20 Then Isaiah the son of Amoz sent to Hezekiah, saying, Thus saith the LORD God of Israel, That which thou hast prayed to me against Sennacherib king of Assyria I have heard.
19: 21 This is the word that the LORD hath spoken concerning him; The virgin the daughter of Zion hath despised thee, and laughed thee to scorn; the daughter of Jerusalem hath shaken her head at thee.
19: 22 Whom hast thou reproached and blasphemed?
and against whom hast thou exalted thy voice, and lifted up thine eyes on high?
even against the Holy One of Israel.
19: 24 I have digged and drunk strange waters, and with the sole of my feet have I dried up all the rivers of besieged places.
19: 25 Hast thou not heard long ago how I have done it, and of ancient times that I have formed it?
now have I brought it to pass, that thou shouldest be to lay waste fenced cities into ruinous heaps.
19: 26 Therefore their inhabitants were of small power, they were dismayed and confounded; they were as the grass of the field, and as the green herb, as the grass on the house tops, and as corn blasted before it be grown up.
19: 27 But I know thy abode, and thy going out, and thy coming in, and thy rage against me.
19: 28 Because thy rage against me and thy tumult is come up into mine ears, therefore I will put my hook in thy nose, and my bridle in thy lips, and I will turn thee back by the way by which thou camest.
19: 29 And this shall be a sign unto thee, Ye shall eat this year such things as grow of themselves, and in the second year that which springeth of the same; and in the third year sow ye, and reap, and plant vineyards, and eat the fruits thereof.
19: 30 And the remnant that is escaped of the house of Judah shall yet again take root downward, and bear fruit upward.
19: 31 For out of Jerusalem shall go forth a remnant, and they that escape out of mount Zion: the zeal of the LORD of hosts shall do this.
19: 32 Therefore thus saith the LORD concerning the king of Assyria, He shall not come into this city, nor shoot an arrow there, nor come before it with shield, nor cast a bank against it.
19: 33 By the way that he came, by the same shall he return, and shall not come into this city, saith the LORD.
19: 34 For I will defend this city, to save it, for mine own sake, and for my servant David's sake.
19: 35 And it came to pass that night, that the angel of the LORD went out, and smote in the camp of the Assyrians an hundred fourscore and five thousand: and when they arose early in the morning, behold, they were all dead corpses.
19: 36 So Sennacherib king of Assyria departed, and went and returned, and dwelt at Nineveh.
19: 37 And it came to pass, as he was worshipping in the house of Nisroch his god, that Adrammelech and Sharezer his sons smote him with the sword: and they escaped into the land of Armenia.
And Esarhaddon his son reigned in his stead.
20: 1 In those days was Hezekiah sick unto death.
And the prophet Isaiah the son of Amoz came to him, and said unto him, Thus saith the LORD, Set thine house in order; for thou shalt die, and not live.
20: 2 Then he turned his face to the wall, and prayed unto the LORD, saying, 20: 3 I beseech thee, O LORD, remember now how I have walked before thee in truth and with a perfect heart, and have done that which is good in thy sight.
And Hezekiah wept sore.
20: 6 And I will add unto thy days fifteen years; and I will deliver thee and this city out of the hand of the king of Assyria; and I will defend this city for mine own sake, and for my servant David's sake.
20: 7 And Isaiah said, Take a lump of figs.
And they took and laid it on the boil, and he recovered.
20: 8 And Hezekiah said unto Isaiah, What shall be the sign that the LORD will heal me, and that I shall go up into the house of the LORD the third day?
20: 9 And Isaiah said, This sign shalt thou have of the LORD, that the LORD will do the thing that he hath spoken: shall the shadow go forward ten degrees, or go back ten degrees?
20: 10 And Hezekiah answered, It is a light thing for the shadow to go down ten degrees: nay, but let the shadow return backward ten degrees.
20: 11 And Isaiah the prophet cried unto the LORD: and he brought the shadow ten degrees backward, by which it had gone down in the dial of Ahaz.
20: 12 At that time Berodachbaladan, the son of Baladan, king of Babylon, sent letters and a present unto Hezekiah: for he had heard that Hezekiah had been sick.
20: 14 Then came Isaiah the prophet unto king Hezekiah, and said unto him, What said these men?
and from whence came they unto thee?
And Hezekiah said, They are come from a far country, even from Babylon.
20: 15 And he said, What have they seen in thine house?
And Hezekiah answered, All the things that are in mine house have they seen: there is nothing among my treasures that I have not shewed them.
20: 16 And Isaiah said unto Hezekiah, Hear the word of the LORD.
20: 17 Behold, the days come, that all that is in thine house, and that which thy fathers have laid up in store unto this day, shall be carried into Babylon: nothing shall be left, saith the LORD.
20: 18 And of thy sons that shall issue from thee, which thou shalt beget, shall they take away; and they shall be eunuchs in the palace of the king of Babylon.
20: 19 Then said Hezekiah unto Isaiah, Good is the word of the LORD which thou hast spoken.
And he said, Is it not good, if peace and truth be in my days?
20: 20 And the rest of the acts of Hezekiah, and all his might, and how he made a pool, and a conduit, and brought water into the city, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
20: 21 And Hezekiah slept with his fathers: and Manasseh his son reigned in his stead.
21: 1 Manasseh was twelve years old when he began to reign, and reigned fifty and five years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Hephzibah.
21: 2 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD, after the abominations of the heathen, whom the LORD cast out before the children of Israel.
21: 3 For he built up again the high places which Hezekiah his father had destroyed; and he reared up altars for Baal, and made a grove, as did Ahab king of Israel; and worshipped all the host of heaven, and served them.
21: 4 And he built altars in the house of the LORD, of which the LORD said, In Jerusalem will I put my name.
21: 5 And he built altars for all the host of heaven in the two courts of the house of the LORD.
21: 6 And he made his son pass through the fire, and observed times, and used enchantments, and dealt with familiar spirits and wizards: he wrought much wickedness in the sight of the LORD, to provoke him to anger.
21: 9 But they hearkened not: and Manasseh seduced them to do more evil than did the nations whom the LORD destroyed before the children of Israel.
21: 13 And I will stretch over Jerusalem the line of Samaria, and the plummet of the house of Ahab: and I will wipe Jerusalem as a man wipeth a dish, wiping it, and turning it upside down.
21: 16 Moreover Manasseh shed innocent blood very much, till he had filled Jerusalem from one end to another; beside his sin wherewith he made Judah to sin, in doing that which was evil in the sight of the LORD.
21: 17 Now the rest of the acts of Manasseh, and all that he did, and his sin that he sinned, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
21: 18 And Manasseh slept with his fathers, and was buried in the garden of his own house, in the garden of Uzza: and Amon his son reigned in his stead.
21: 19 Amon was twenty and two years old when he began to reign, and he reigned two years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Meshullemeth, the daughter of Haruz of Jotbah.
21: 20 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD, as his father Manasseh did.
21: 21 And he walked in all the way that his father walked in, and served the idols that his father served, and worshipped them: 21: 22 And he forsook the LORD God of his fathers, and walked not in the way of the LORD.
21: 23 And the servants of Amon conspired against him, and slew the king in his own house.
21: 24 And the people of the land slew all them that had conspired against king Amon; and the people of the land made Josiah his son king in his stead.
21: 25 Now the rest of the acts of Amon which he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
21: 26 And he was buried in his sepulchre in the garden of Uzza: and Josiah his son reigned in his stead.
22: 1 Josiah was eight years old when he began to reign, and he reigned thirty and one years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Jedidah, the daughter of Adaiah of Boscath.
22: 2 And he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, and walked in all the way of David his father, and turned not aside to the right hand or to the left.
22: 7 Howbeit there was no reckoning made with them of the money that was delivered into their hand, because they dealt faithfully.
22: 8 And Hilkiah the high priest said unto Shaphan the scribe, I have found the book of the law in the house of the LORD.
And Hilkiah gave the book to Shaphan, and he read it.
22: 9 And Shaphan the scribe came to the king, and brought the king word again, and said, Thy servants have gathered the money that was found in the house, and have delivered it into the hand of them that do the work, that have the oversight of the house of the LORD.
22: 10 And Shaphan the scribe shewed the king, saying, Hilkiah the priest hath delivered me a book.
And Shaphan read it before the king.
22: 11 And it came to pass, when the king had heard the words of the book of the law, that he rent his clothes.
22: 14 So Hilkiah the priest, and Ahikam, and Achbor, and Shaphan, and Asahiah, went unto Huldah the prophetess, the wife of Shallum the son of Tikvah, the son of Harhas, keeper of the wardrobe; (now she dwelt in Jerusalem in the college;) and they communed with her.
22: 20 Behold therefore, I will gather thee unto thy fathers, and thou shalt be gathered into thy grave in peace; and thine eyes shall not see all the evil which I will bring upon this place.
And they brought the king word again.
23: 1 And the king sent, and they gathered unto him all the elders of Judah and of Jerusalem.
And all the people stood to the covenant.
23: 6 And he brought out the grove from the house of the LORD, without Jerusalem, unto the brook Kidron, and burned it at the brook Kidron, and stamped it small to powder, and cast the powder thereof upon the graves of the children of the people.
23: 7 And he brake down the houses of the sodomites, that were by the house of the LORD, where the women wove hangings for the grove.
23: 9 Nevertheless the priests of the high places came not up to the altar of the LORD in Jerusalem, but they did eat of the unleavened bread among their brethren.
23: 10 And he defiled Topheth, which is in the valley of the children of Hinnom, that no man might make his son or his daughter to pass through the fire to Molech.
23: 11 And he took away the horses that the kings of Judah had given to the sun, at the entering in of the house of the LORD, by the chamber of Nathanmelech the chamberlain, which was in the suburbs, and burned the chariots of the sun with fire.
23: 14 And he brake in pieces the images, and cut down the groves, and filled their places with the bones of men.
23: 15 Moreover the altar that was at Bethel, and the high place which Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin, had made, both that altar and the high place he brake down, and burned the high place, and stamped it small to powder, and burned the grove.
23: 17 Then he said, What title is that that I see?
And the men of the city told him, It is the sepulchre of the man of God, which came from Judah, and proclaimed these things that thou hast done against the altar of Bethel.
23: 18 And he said, Let him alone; let no man move his bones.
So they let his bones alone, with the bones of the prophet that came out of Samaria.
23: 19 And all the houses also of the high places that were in the cities of Samaria, which the kings of Israel had made to provoke the Lord to anger, Josiah took away, and did to them according to all the acts that he had done in Bethel.
23: 20 And he slew all the priests of the high places that were there upon the altars, and burned men's bones upon them, and returned to Jerusalem.
23: 21 And the king commanded all the people, saying, Keep the passover unto the LORD your God, as it is written in the book of this covenant.
23: 25 And like unto him was there no king before him, that turned to the LORD with all his heart, and with all his soul, and with all his might, according to all the law of Moses; neither after him arose there any like him.
23: 26 Notwithstanding the LORD turned not from the fierceness of his great wrath, wherewith his anger was kindled against Judah, because of all the provocations that Manasseh had provoked him withal.
23: 27 And the LORD said, I will remove Judah also out of my sight, as I have removed Israel, and will cast off this city Jerusalem which I have chosen, and the house of which I said, My name shall be there.
23: 28 Now the rest of the acts of Josiah, and all that he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
23: 29 In his days Pharaohnechoh king of Egypt went up against the king of Assyria to the river Euphrates: and king Josiah went against him; and he slew him at Megiddo, when he had seen him.
23: 30 And his servants carried him in a chariot dead from Megiddo, and brought him to Jerusalem, and buried him in his own sepulchre.
And the people of the land took Jehoahaz the son of Josiah, and anointed him, and made him king in his father's stead.
23: 31 Jehoahaz was twenty and three years old when he began to reign; and he reigned three months in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Hamutal, the daughter of Jeremiah of Libnah.
23: 32 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD, according to all that his fathers had done.
23: 33 And Pharaohnechoh put him in bands at Riblah in the land of Hamath, that he might not reign in Jerusalem; and put the land to a tribute of an hundred talents of silver, and a talent of gold.
23: 34 And Pharaohnechoh made Eliakim the son of Josiah king in the room of Josiah his father, and turned his name to Jehoiakim, and took Jehoahaz away: and he came to Egypt, and died there.
23: 36 Jehoiakim was twenty and five years old when he began to reign; and he reigned eleven years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Zebudah, the daughter of Pedaiah of Rumah.
23: 37 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD, according to all that his fathers had done.
24: 1 In his days Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came up, and Jehoiakim became his servant three years: then he turned and rebelled against him.
24: 2 And the LORD sent against him bands of the Chaldees, and bands of the Syrians, and bands of the Moabites, and bands of the children of Ammon, and sent them against Judah to destroy it, according to the word of the LORD, which he spake by his servants the prophets.
24: 5 Now the rest of the acts of Jehoiakim, and all that he did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?
24: 6 So Jehoiakim slept with his fathers: and Jehoiachin his son reigned in his stead.
24: 7 And the king of Egypt came not again any more out of his land: for the king of Babylon had taken from the river of Egypt unto the river Euphrates all that pertained to the king of Egypt.
24: 8 Jehoiachin was eighteen years old when he began to reign, and he reigned in Jerusalem three months.
And his mother's name was Nehushta, the daughter of Elnathan of Jerusalem.
24: 9 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD, according to all that his father had done.
24: 10 At that time the servants of Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came up against Jerusalem, and the city was besieged.
24: 11 And Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came against the city, and his servants did besiege it.
24: 12 And Jehoiachin the king of Judah went out to the king of Babylon, he, and his mother, and his servants, and his princes, and his officers: and the king of Babylon took him in the eighth year of his reign.
24: 13 And he carried out thence all the treasures of the house of the LORD, and the treasures of the king's house, and cut in pieces all the vessels of gold which Solomon king of Israel had made in the temple of the LORD, as the LORD had said.
24: 14 And he carried away all Jerusalem, and all the princes, and all the mighty men of valour, even ten thousand captives, and all the craftsmen and smiths: none remained, save the poorest sort of the people of the land.
24: 15 And he carried away Jehoiachin to Babylon, and the king's mother, and the king's wives, and his officers, and the mighty of the land, those carried he into captivity from Jerusalem to Babylon.
24: 16 And all the men of might, even seven thousand, and craftsmen and smiths a thousand, all that were strong and apt for war, even them the king of Babylon brought captive to Babylon.
24: 17 And the king of Babylon made Mattaniah his father's brother king in his stead, and changed his name to Zedekiah.
24: 18 Zedekiah was twenty and one years old when he began to reign, and he reigned eleven years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Hamutal, the daughter of Jeremiah of Libnah.
24: 19 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD, according to all that Jehoiakim had done.
24: 20 For through the anger of the LORD it came to pass in Jerusalem and Judah, until he had cast them out from his presence, that Zedekiah rebelled against the king of Babylon.
25: 1 And it came to pass in the ninth year of his reign, in the tenth month, in the tenth day of the month, that Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came, he, and all his host, against Jerusalem, and pitched against it; and they built forts against it round about.
25: 2 And the city was besieged unto the eleventh year of king Zedekiah.
25: 3 And on the ninth day of the fourth month the famine prevailed in the city, and there was no bread for the people of the land.
25: 4 And the city was broken up, and all the men of war fled by night by the way of the gate between two walls, which is by the king's garden: (now the Chaldees were against the city round about:) and the king went the way toward the plain.
25: 5 And the army of the Chaldees pursued after the king, and overtook him in the plains of Jericho: and all his army were scattered from him.
25: 6 So they took the king, and brought him up to the king of Babylon to Riblah; and they gave judgment upon him.
25: 7 And they slew the sons of Zedekiah before his eyes, and put out the eyes of Zedekiah, and bound him with fetters of brass, and carried him to Babylon.
25: 10 And all the army of the Chaldees, that were with the captain of the guard, brake down the walls of Jerusalem round about.
25: 11 Now the rest of the people that were left in the city, and the fugitives that fell away to the king of Babylon, with the remnant of the multitude, did Nebuzaradan the captain of the guard carry away.
25: 12 But the captain of the guard left of the door of the poor of the land to be vinedressers and husbandmen.
25: 13 And the pillars of brass that were in the house of the LORD, and the bases, and the brasen sea that was in the house of the LORD, did the Chaldees break in pieces, and carried the brass of them to Babylon.
25: 14 And the pots, and the shovels, and the snuffers, and the spoons, and all the vessels of brass wherewith they ministered, took they away.
25: 15 And the firepans, and the bowls, and such things as were of gold, in gold, and of silver, in silver, the captain of the guard took away.
25: 16 The two pillars, one sea, and the bases which Solomon had made for the house of the LORD; the brass of all these vessels was without weight.
So Judah was carried away out of their land.
25: 22 And as for the people that remained in the land of Judah, whom Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon had left, even over them he made Gedaliah the son of Ahikam, the son of Shaphan, ruler.
25: 24 And Gedaliah sware to them, and to their men, and said unto them, Fear not to be the servants of the Chaldees: dwell in the land, and serve the king of Babylon; and it shall be well with you.
25: 25 But it came to pass in the seventh month, that Ishmael the son of Nethaniah, the son of Elishama, of the seed royal, came, and ten men with him, and smote Gedaliah, that he died, and the Jews and the Chaldees that were with him at Mizpah.
25: 26 And all the people, both small and great, and the captains of the armies, arose, and came to Egypt: for they were afraid of the Chaldees.
25: 30 And his allowance was a continual allowance given him of the king, a daily rate for every day, all the days of his life.
The First Book of the Chronicles
1: 1 Adam, Sheth, Enosh, 1: 2 Kenan, Mahalaleel, Jered, 1: 3 Henoch, Methuselah, Lamech, 1: 4 Noah, Shem, Ham, and Japheth.
1: 5 The sons of Japheth; Gomer, and Magog, and Madai, and Javan, and Tubal, and Meshech, and Tiras.
1: 6 And the sons of Gomer; Ashchenaz, and Riphath, and Togarmah.
1: 7 And the sons of Javan; Elishah, and Tarshish, Kittim, and Dodanim.
1: 8 The sons of Ham; Cush, and Mizraim, Put, and Canaan.
1: 9 And the sons of Cush; Seba, and Havilah, and Sabta, and Raamah, and Sabtecha.
And the sons of Raamah; Sheba, and Dedan.
1: 10 And Cush begat Nimrod: he began to be mighty upon the earth.
1: 11 And Mizraim begat Ludim, and Anamim, and Lehabim, and Naphtuhim, 1: 12 And Pathrusim, and Casluhim, (of whom came the Philistines,) and Caphthorim.
1: 13 And Canaan begat Zidon his firstborn, and Heth, 1: 14 The Jebusite also, and the Amorite, and the Girgashite, 1: 15 And the Hivite, and the Arkite, and the Sinite, 1: 16 And the Arvadite, and the Zemarite, and the Hamathite.
1: 17 The sons of Shem; Elam, and Asshur, and Arphaxad, and Lud, and Aram, and Uz, and Hul, and Gether, and Meshech.
1: 18 And Arphaxad begat Shelah, and Shelah begat Eber.
1: 19 And unto Eber were born two sons: the name of the one was Peleg; because in his days the earth was divided: and his brother's name was Joktan.
1: 20 And Joktan begat Almodad, and Sheleph, and Hazarmaveth, and Jerah, 1: 21 Hadoram also, and Uzal, and Diklah, 1: 22 And Ebal, and Abimael, and Sheba, 1: 23 And Ophir, and Havilah, and Jobab.
All these were the sons of Joktan.
1: 24 Shem, Arphaxad, Shelah, 1: 25 Eber, Peleg, Reu, 1: 26 Serug, Nahor, Terah, 1: 27 Abram; the same is Abraham.
1: 28 The sons of Abraham; Isaac, and Ishmael.
1: 29 These are their generations: The firstborn of Ishmael, Nebaioth; then Kedar, and Adbeel, and Mibsam, 1: 30 Mishma, and Dumah, Massa, Hadad, and Tema, 1: 31 Jetur, Naphish, and Kedemah.
These are the sons of Ishmael.
1: 32 Now the sons of Keturah, Abraham's concubine: she bare Zimran, and Jokshan, and Medan, and Midian, and Ishbak, and Shuah.
And the sons of Jokshan; Sheba, and Dedan.
1: 33 And the sons of Midian; Ephah, and Epher, and Henoch, and Abida, and Eldaah.
All these are the sons of Keturah.
1: 34 And Abraham begat Isaac.
The sons of Isaac; Esau and Israel.
1: 35 The sons of Esau; Eliphaz, Reuel, and Jeush, and Jaalam, and Korah.
1: 36 The sons of Eliphaz; Teman, and Omar, Zephi, and Gatam, Kenaz, and Timna, and Amalek.
1: 37 The sons of Reuel; Nahath, Zerah, Shammah, and Mizzah.
1: 38 And the sons of Seir; Lotan, and Shobal, and Zibeon, and Anah, and Dishon, and Ezar, and Dishan.
1: 39 And the sons of Lotan; Hori, and Homam: and Timna was Lotan's sister.
1: 40 The sons of Shobal; Alian, and Manahath, and Ebal, Shephi, and Onam.
and the sons of Zibeon; Aiah, and Anah.
1: 41 The sons of Anah; Dishon.
And the sons of Dishon; Amram, and Eshban, and Ithran, and Cheran.
1: 42 The sons of Ezer; Bilhan, and Zavan, and Jakan.
The sons of Dishan; Uz, and Aran.
1: 43 Now these are the kings that reigned in the land of Edom before any king reigned over the children of Israel; Bela the son of Beor: and the name of his city was Dinhabah.
1: 44 And when Bela was dead, Jobab the son of Zerah of Bozrah reigned in his stead.
1: 45 And when Jobab was dead, Husham of the land of the Temanites reigned in his stead.
1: 46 And when Husham was dead, Hadad the son of Bedad, which smote Midian in the field of Moab, reigned in his stead: and the name of his city was Avith.
1: 47 And when Hadad was dead, Samlah of Masrekah reigned in his stead.
1: 48 And when Samlah was dead, Shaul of Rehoboth by the river reigned in his stead.
1: 49 And when Shaul was dead, Baalhanan the son of Achbor reigned in his stead.
1: 50 And when Baalhanan was dead, Hadad reigned in his stead: and the name of his city was Pai; and his wife's name was Mehetabel, the daughter of Matred, the daughter of Mezahab.
1: 51 Hadad died also.
And the dukes of Edom were; duke Timnah, duke Aliah, duke Jetheth, 1: 52 Duke Aholibamah, duke Elah, duke Pinon, 1: 53 Duke Kenaz, duke Teman, duke Mibzar, 1: 54 Duke Magdiel, duke Iram.
These are the dukes of Edom.
2: 1 These are the sons of Israel; Reuben, Simeon, Levi, and Judah, Issachar, and Zebulun, 2: 2 Dan, Joseph, and Benjamin, Naphtali, Gad, and Asher.
2: 3 The sons of Judah; Er, and Onan, and Shelah: which three were born unto him of the daughter of Shua the Canaanitess.
And Er, the firstborn of Judah, was evil in the sight of the LORD; and he slew him.
2: 4 And Tamar his daughter in law bore him Pharez and Zerah.
All the sons of Judah were five.
2: 5 The sons of Pharez; Hezron, and Hamul.
2: 6 And the sons of Zerah; Zimri, and Ethan, and Heman, and Calcol, and Dara: five of them in all.
2: 7 And the sons of Carmi; Achar, the troubler of Israel, who transgressed in the thing accursed.
2: 8 And the sons of Ethan; Azariah.
2: 9 The sons also of Hezron, that were born unto him; Jerahmeel, and Ram, and Chelubai.
And the sons of Zeruiah; Abishai, and Joab, and Asahel, three.
2: 17 And Abigail bare Amasa: and the father of Amasa was Jether the Ishmeelite.
2: 18 And Caleb the son of Hezron begat children of Azubah his wife, and of Jerioth: her sons are these; Jesher, and Shobab, and Ardon.
2: 19 And when Azubah was dead, Caleb took unto him Ephrath, which bare him Hur.
2: 20 And Hur begat Uri, and Uri begat Bezaleel.
2: 21 And afterward Hezron went in to the daughter of Machir the father of Gilead, whom he married when he was threescore years old; and she bare him Segub.
2: 22 And Segub begat Jair, who had three and twenty cities in the land of Gilead.
2: 23 And he took Geshur, and Aram, with the towns of Jair, from them, with Kenath, and the towns thereof, even threescore cities.
All these belonged to the sons of Machir the father of Gilead.
2: 24 And after that Hezron was dead in Calebephratah, then Abiah Hezron's wife bare him Ashur the father of Tekoa.
2: 25 And the sons of Jerahmeel the firstborn of Hezron were, Ram the firstborn, and Bunah, and Oren, and Ozem, and Ahijah.
2: 26 Jerahmeel had also another wife, whose name was Atarah; she was the mother of Onam.
2: 27 And the sons of Ram the firstborn of Jerahmeel were, Maaz, and Jamin, and Eker.
2: 28 And the sons of Onam were, Shammai, and Jada.
And the sons of Shammai; Nadab and Abishur.
2: 29 And the name of the wife of Abishur was Abihail, and she bare him Ahban, and Molid.
2: 30 And the sons of Nadab; Seled, and Appaim: but Seled died without children.
2: 31 And the sons of Appaim; Ishi.
And the sons of Ishi; Sheshan.
And the children of Sheshan; Ahlai.
2: 32 And the sons of Jada the brother of Shammai; Jether, and Jonathan: and Jether died without children.
2: 33 And the sons of Jonathan; Peleth, and Zaza.
These were the sons of Jerahmeel.
2: 34 Now Sheshan had no sons, but daughters.
And Sheshan had a servant, an Egyptian, whose name was Jarha.
2: 35 And Sheshan gave his daughter to Jarha his servant to wife; and she bare him Attai.
2: 42 Now the sons of Caleb the brother of Jerahmeel were, Mesha his firstborn, which was the father of Ziph; and the sons of Mareshah the father of Hebron.
2: 43 And the sons of Hebron; Korah, and Tappuah, and Rekem, and Shema.
2: 44 And Shema begat Raham, the father of Jorkoam: and Rekem begat Shammai.
2: 45 And the son of Shammai was Maon: and Maon was the father of Bethzur.
2: 46 And Ephah, Caleb's concubine, bare Haran, and Moza, and Gazez: and Haran begat Gazez.
2: 47 And the sons of Jahdai; Regem, and Jotham, and Gesham, and Pelet, and Ephah, and Shaaph.
2: 48 Maachah, Caleb's concubine, bare Sheber, and Tirhanah.
2: 49 She bare also Shaaph the father of Madmannah, Sheva the father of Machbenah, and the father of Gibea: and the daughter of Caleb was Achsa.
2: 50 These were the sons of Caleb the son of Hur, the firstborn of Ephratah; Shobal the father of Kirjathjearim.
2: 51 Salma the father of Bethlehem, Hareph the father of Bethgader.
2: 52 And Shobal the father of Kirjathjearim had sons; Haroeh, and half of the Manahethites.
2: 55 And the families of the scribes which dwelt at Jabez; the Tirathites, the Shimeathites, and Suchathites.
These are the Kenites that came of Hemath, the father of the house of Rechab.
3: 4 These six were born unto him in Hebron; and there he reigned seven years and six months: and in Jerusalem he reigned thirty and three years.
3: 5 And these were born unto him in Jerusalem; Shimea, and Shobab, and Nathan, and Solomon, four, of Bathshua the daughter of Ammiel: 3: 6 Ibhar also, and Elishama, and Eliphelet, 3: 7 And Nogah, and Nepheg, and Japhia, 3: 8 And Elishama, and Eliada, and Eliphelet, nine.
3: 9 These were all the sons of David, beside the sons of the concubines, and Tamar their sister.
3: 15 And the sons of Josiah were, the firstborn Johanan, the second Jehoiakim, the third Zedekiah, the fourth Shallum.
3: 16 And the sons of Jehoiakim: Jeconiah his son, Zedekiah his son.
3: 17 And the sons of Jeconiah; Assir, Salathiel his son, 3: 18 Malchiram also, and Pedaiah, and Shenazar, Jecamiah, Hoshama, and Nedabiah.
3: 19 And the sons of Pedaiah were, Zerubbabel, and Shimei: and the sons of Zerubbabel; Meshullam, and Hananiah, and Shelomith their sister: 3: 20 And Hashubah, and Ohel, and Berechiah, and Hasadiah, Jushabhesed, five.
3: 21 And the sons of Hananiah; Pelatiah, and Jesaiah: the sons of Rephaiah, the sons of Arnan, the sons of Obadiah, the sons of Shechaniah.
3: 22 And the sons of Shechaniah; Shemaiah: and the sons of Shemaiah; Hattush, and Igeal, and Bariah, and Neariah, and Shaphat, six.
3: 23 And the sons of Neariah; Elioenai, and Hezekiah, and Azrikam, three.
3: 24 And the sons of Elioenai were, Hodaiah, and Eliashib, and Pelaiah, and Akkub, and Johanan, and Dalaiah, and Anani, seven.
4: 1 The sons of Judah; Pharez, Hezron, and Carmi, and Hur, and Shobal.
4: 2 And Reaiah the son of Shobal begat Jahath; and Jahath begat Ahumai, and Lahad.
These are the families of the Zorathites.
4: 3 And these were of the father of Etam; Jezreel, and Ishma, and Idbash: and the name of their sister was Hazelelponi: 4: 4 And Penuel the father of Gedor, and Ezer the father of Hushah.
These are the sons of Hur, the firstborn of Ephratah, the father of Bethlehem.
4: 5 And Ashur the father of Tekoa had two wives, Helah and Naarah.
4: 6 And Naarah bare him Ahuzam, and Hepher, and Temeni, and Haahashtari.
These were the sons of Naarah.
4: 7 And the sons of Helah were, Zereth, and Jezoar, and Ethnan.
4: 8 And Coz begat Anub, and Zobebah, and the families of Aharhel the son of Harum.
4: 9 And Jabez was more honourable than his brethren: and his mother called his name Jabez, saying, Because I bare him with sorrow.
4: 10 And Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, Oh that thou wouldest bless me indeed, and enlarge my coast, and that thine hand might be with me, and that thou wouldest keep me from evil, that it may not grieve me!
And God granted him that which he requested.
4: 11 And Chelub the brother of Shuah begat Mehir, which was the father of Eshton.
4: 12 And Eshton begat Bethrapha, and Paseah, and Tehinnah the father of Irnahash.
These are the men of Rechah.
4: 13 And the sons of Kenaz; Othniel, and Seraiah: and the sons of Othniel; Hathath.
4: 14 And Meonothai begat Ophrah: and Seraiah begat Joab, the father of the valley of Charashim; for they were craftsmen.
4: 15 And the sons of Caleb the son of Jephunneh; Iru, Elah, and Naam: and the sons of Elah, even Kenaz.
4: 16 And the sons of Jehaleleel; Ziph, and Ziphah, Tiria, and Asareel.
4: 17 And the sons of Ezra were, Jether, and Mered, and Epher, and Jalon: and she bare Miriam, and Shammai, and Ishbah the father of Eshtemoa.
4: 18 And his wife Jehudijah bare Jered the father of Gedor, and Heber the father of Socho, and Jekuthiel the father of Zanoah.
And these are the sons of Bithiah the daughter of Pharaoh, which Mered took.
4: 19 And the sons of his wife Hodiah the sister of Naham, the father of Keilah the Garmite, and Eshtemoa the Maachathite.
4: 20 And the sons of Shimon were, Amnon, and Rinnah, Benhanan, and Tilon.
And the sons of Ishi were, Zoheth, and Benzoheth.
And these are ancient things.
4: 23 These were the potters, and those that dwelt among plants and hedges: there they dwelt with the king for his work.
4: 24 The sons of Simeon were, Nemuel, and Jamin, Jarib, Zerah, and Shaul: 4: 25 Shallum his son, Mibsam his son, Mishma his son.
4: 26 And the sons of Mishma; Hamuel his son, Zacchur his son, Shimei his son.
4: 27 And Shimei had sixteen sons and six daughters: but his brethren had not many children, neither did all their family multiply, like to the children of Judah.
4: 28 And they dwelt at Beersheba, and Moladah, and Hazarshual, 4: 29 And at Bilhah, and at Ezem, and at Tolad, 4: 30 And at Bethuel, and at Hormah, and at Ziklag, 4: 31 And at Bethmarcaboth, and Hazarsusim, and at Bethbirei, and at Shaaraim.
These were their cities unto the reign of David.
4: 32 And their villages were, Etam, and Ain, Rimmon, and Tochen, and Ashan, five cities: 4: 33 And all their villages that were round about the same cities, unto Baal.
These were their habitations, and their genealogy.
4: 39 And they went to the entrance of Gedor, even unto the east side of the valley, to seek pasture for their flocks.
4: 40 And they found fat pasture and good, and the land was wide, and quiet, and peaceable; for they of Ham had dwelt there of old.
4: 41 And these written by name came in the days of Hezekiah king of Judah, and smote their tents, and the habitations that were found there, and destroyed them utterly unto this day, and dwelt in their rooms: because there was pasture there for their flocks.
4: 42 And some of them, even of the sons of Simeon, five hundred men, went to mount Seir, having for their captains Pelatiah, and Neariah, and Rephaiah, and Uzziel, the sons of Ishi.
4: 43 And they smote the rest of the Amalekites that were escaped, and dwelt there unto this day.
5: 1 Now the sons of Reuben the firstborn of Israel, (for he was the firstborn; but forasmuch as he defiled his father's bed, his birthright was given unto the sons of Joseph the son of Israel: and the genealogy is not to be reckoned after the birthright.
5: 2 For Judah prevailed above his brethren, and of him came the chief ruler; but the birthright was Joseph's:) 5: 3 The sons, I say, of Reuben the firstborn of Israel were, Hanoch, and Pallu, Hezron, and Carmi.
5: 4 The sons of Joel; Shemaiah his son, Gog his son, Shimei his son, 5: 5 Micah his son, Reaia his son, Baal his son, 5: 6 Beerah his son, whom Tilgathpilneser king of Assyria carried away captive: he was prince of the Reubenites.
5: 10 And in the days of Saul they made war with the Hagarites, who fell by their hand: and they dwelt in their tents throughout all the east land of Gilead.
5: 11 And the children of Gad dwelt over against them, in the land of Bashan unto Salcah: 5: 12 Joel the chief, and Shapham the next, and Jaanai, and Shaphat in Bashan.
5: 13 And their brethren of the house of their fathers were, Michael, and Meshullam, and Sheba, and Jorai, and Jachan, and Zia, and Heber, seven.
5: 14 These are the children of Abihail the son of Huri, the son of Jaroah, the son of Gilead, the son of Michael, the son of Jeshishai, the son of Jahdo, the son of Buz; 5: 15 Ahi the son of Abdiel, the son of Guni, chief of the house of their fathers.
5: 16 And they dwelt in Gilead in Bashan, and in her towns, and in all the suburbs of Sharon, upon their borders.
5: 17 All these were reckoned by genealogies in the days of Jotham king of Judah, and in the days of Jeroboam king of Israel.
5: 18 The sons of Reuben, and the Gadites, and half the tribe of Manasseh, of valiant men, men able to bear buckler and sword, and to shoot with bow, and skilful in war, were four and forty thousand seven hundred and threescore, that went out to the war.
5: 19 And they made war with the Hagarites, with Jetur, and Nephish, and Nodab.
5: 20 And they were helped against them, and the Hagarites were delivered into their hand, and all that were with them: for they cried to God in the battle, and he was intreated of them; because they put their trust in him.
5: 21 And they took away their cattle; of their camels fifty thousand, and of sheep two hundred and fifty thousand, and of asses two thousand, and of men an hundred thousand.
5: 22 For there fell down many slain, because the war was of God.
And they dwelt in their steads until the captivity.
5: 23 And the children of the half tribe of Manasseh dwelt in the land: they increased from Bashan unto Baalhermon and Senir, and unto mount Hermon.
5: 24 And these were the heads of the house of their fathers, even Epher, and Ishi, and Eliel, and Azriel, and Jeremiah, and Hodaviah, and Jahdiel, mighty men of valour, famous men, and heads of the house of their fathers.
5: 25 And they transgressed against the God of their fathers, and went a whoring after the gods of the people of the land, whom God destroyed before them.
6: 1 The sons of Levi; Gershon, Kohath, and Merari.
6: 2 And the sons of Kohath; Amram, Izhar, and Hebron, and Uzziel.
6: 3 And the children of Amram; Aaron, and Moses, and Miriam.
The sons also of Aaron; Nadab, and Abihu, Eleazar, and Ithamar.
6: 16 The sons of Levi; Gershom, Kohath, and Merari.
6: 17 And these be the names of the sons of Gershom; Libni, and Shimei.
6: 18 And the sons of Kohath were, Amram, and Izhar, and Hebron, and Uzziel.
6: 19 The sons of Merari; Mahli, and Mushi.
And these are the families of the Levites according to their fathers.
6: 20 Of Gershom; Libni his son, Jahath his son, Zimmah his son, 6: 21 Joah his son, Iddo his son, Zerah his son, Jeaterai his son.
6: 22 The sons of Kohath; Amminadab his son, Korah his son, Assir his son, 6: 23 Elkanah his son, and Ebiasaph his son, and Assir his son, 6: 24 Tahath his son, Uriel his son, Uzziah his son, and Shaul his son.
6: 25 And the sons of Elkanah; Amasai, and Ahimoth.
6: 26 As for Elkanah: the sons of Elkanah; Zophai his son, and Nahath his son, 6: 27 Eliab his son, Jeroham his son, Elkanah his son.
6: 28 And the sons of Samuel; the firstborn Vashni, and Abiah.
6: 29 The sons of Merari; Mahli, Libni his son, Shimei his son, Uzza his son, 6: 30 Shimea his son, Haggiah his son, Asaiah his son.
6: 31 And these are they whom David set over the service of song in the house of the LORD, after that the ark had rest.
6: 32 And they ministered before the dwelling place of the tabernacle of the congregation with singing, until Solomon had built the house of the LORD in Jerusalem: and then they waited on their office according to their order.
6: 33 And these are they that waited with their children.
6: 48 Their brethren also the Levites were appointed unto all manner of service of the tabernacle of the house of God.
6: 49 But Aaron and his sons offered upon the altar of the burnt offering, and on the altar of incense, and were appointed for all the work of the place most holy, and to make an atonement for Israel, according to all that Moses the servant of God had commanded.
6: 50 And these are the sons of Aaron; Eleazar his son, Phinehas his son, Abishua his son, 6: 51 Bukki his son, Uzzi his son, Zerahiah his son, 6: 52 Meraioth his son, Amariah his son, Ahitub his son, 6: 53 Zadok his son, Ahimaaz his son.
6: 54 Now these are their dwelling places throughout their castles in their coasts, of the sons of Aaron, of the families of the Kohathites: for theirs was the lot.
6: 55 And they gave them Hebron in the land of Judah, and the suburbs thereof round about it.
6: 56 But the fields of the city, and the villages thereof, they gave to Caleb the son of Jephunneh.
All their cities throughout their families were thirteen cities.
6: 61 And unto the sons of Kohath, which were left of the family of that tribe, were cities given out of the half tribe, namely, out of the half tribe of Manasseh, by lot, ten cities.
6: 62 And to the sons of Gershom throughout their families out of the tribe of Issachar, and out of the tribe of Asher, and out of the tribe of Naphtali, and out of the tribe of Manasseh in Bashan, thirteen cities.
6: 63 Unto the sons of Merari were given by lot, throughout their families, out of the tribe of Reuben, and out of the tribe of Gad, and out of the tribe of Zebulun, twelve cities.
6: 64 And the children of Israel gave to the Levites these cities with their suburbs.
6: 65 And they gave by lot out of the tribe of the children of Judah, and out of the tribe of the children of Simeon, and out of the tribe of the children of Benjamin, these cities, which are called by their names.
6: 66 And the residue of the families of the sons of Kohath had cities of their coasts out of the tribe of Ephraim.
7: 1 Now the sons of Issachar were, Tola, and Puah, Jashub, and Shimrom, four.
7: 3 And the sons of Uzzi; Izrahiah: and the sons of Izrahiah; Michael, and Obadiah, and Joel, Ishiah, five: all of them chief men.
7: 4 And with them, by their generations, after the house of their fathers, were bands of soldiers for war, six and thirty thousand men: for they had many wives and sons.
7: 5 And their brethren among all the families of Issachar were valiant men of might, reckoned in all by their genealogies fourscore and seven thousand.
7: 6 The sons of Benjamin; Bela, and Becher, and Jediael, three.
7: 7 And the sons of Bela; Ezbon, and Uzzi, and Uzziel, and Jerimoth, and Iri, five; heads of the house of their fathers, mighty men of valour; and were reckoned by their genealogies twenty and two thousand and thirty and four.
7: 8 And the sons of Becher; Zemira, and Joash, and Eliezer, and Elioenai, and Omri, and Jerimoth, and Abiah, and Anathoth, and Alameth.
All these are the sons of Becher.
7: 9 And the number of them, after their genealogy by their generations, heads of the house of their fathers, mighty men of valour, was twenty thousand and two hundred.
7: 10 The sons also of Jediael; Bilhan: and the sons of Bilhan; Jeush, and Benjamin, and Ehud, and Chenaanah, and Zethan, and Tharshish, and Ahishahar.
7: 11 All these the sons of Jediael, by the heads of their fathers, mighty men of valour, were seventeen thousand and two hundred soldiers, fit to go out for war and battle.
7: 12 Shuppim also, and Huppim, the children of Ir, and Hushim, the sons of Aher.
7: 13 The sons of Naphtali; Jahziel, and Guni, and Jezer, and Shallum, the sons of Bilhah.
7: 16 And Maachah the wife of Machir bare a son, and she called his name Peresh; and the name of his brother was Sheresh; and his sons were Ulam and Rakem.
7: 17 And the sons of Ulam; Bedan.
These were the sons of Gilead, the son of Machir, the son of Manasseh.
7: 18 And his sister Hammoleketh bare Ishod, and Abiezer, and Mahalah.
7: 19 And the sons of Shemidah were, Ahian, and Shechem, and Likhi, and Aniam.
7: 22 And Ephraim their father mourned many days, and his brethren came to comfort him.
7: 23 And when he went in to his wife, she conceived, and bare a son, and he called his name Beriah, because it went evil with his house.
7: 24 (And his daughter was Sherah, who built Bethhoron the nether, and the upper, and Uzzensherah.)
7: 25 And Rephah was his son, also Resheph, and Telah his son, and Tahan his son.
7: 26 Laadan his son, Ammihud his son, Elishama his son.
7: 27 Non his son, Jehoshuah his son.
In these dwelt the children of Joseph the son of Israel.
7: 30 The sons of Asher; Imnah, and Isuah, and Ishuai, and Beriah, and Serah their sister.
7: 31 And the sons of Beriah; Heber, and Malchiel, who is the father of Birzavith.
7: 32 And Heber begat Japhlet, and Shomer, and Hotham, and Shua their sister.
7: 33 And the sons of Japhlet; Pasach, and Bimhal, and Ashvath.
These are the children of Japhlet.
7: 34 And the sons of Shamer; Ahi, and Rohgah, Jehubbah, and Aram.
7: 35 And the sons of his brother Helem; Zophah, and Imna, and Shelesh, and Amal.
7: 36 The sons of Zophah; Suah, and Harnepher, and Shual, and Beri, and Imrah, 7: 37 Bezer, and Hod, and Shamma, and Shilshah, and Ithran, and Beera.
7: 38 And the sons of Jether; Jephunneh, and Pispah, and Ara.
7: 39 And the sons of Ulla; Arah, and Haniel, and Rezia.
7: 40 All these were the children of Asher, heads of their father's house, choice and mighty men of valour, chief of the princes.
And the number throughout the genealogy of them that were apt to the war and to battle was twenty and six thousand men.
8: 1 Now Benjamin begat Bela his firstborn, Ashbel the second, and Aharah the third, 8: 2 Nohah the fourth, and Rapha the fifth.
8: 3 And the sons of Bela were, Addar, and Gera, and Abihud, 8: 4 And Abishua, and Naaman, and Ahoah, 8: 5 And Gera, and Shephuphan, and Huram.
8: 6 And these are the sons of Ehud: these are the heads of the fathers of the inhabitants of Geba, and they removed them to Manahath: 8: 7 And Naaman, and Ahiah, and Gera, he removed them, and begat Uzza, and Ahihud.
8: 8 And Shaharaim begat children in the country of Moab, after he had sent them away; Hushim and Baara were his wives.
8: 9 And he begat of Hodesh his wife, Jobab, and Zibia, and Mesha, and Malcham, 8: 10 And Jeuz, and Shachia, and Mirma.
These were his sons, heads of the fathers.
8: 11 And of Hushim he begat Abitub, and Elpaal.
8: 28 These were heads of the fathers, by their generations, chief men.
These dwelt in Jerusalem.
8: 29 And at Gibeon dwelt the father of Gibeon; whose wife's name was Maachah: 8: 30 And his firstborn son Abdon, and Zur, and Kish, and Baal, and Nadab, 8: 31 And Gedor, and Ahio, and Zacher.
8: 32 And Mikloth begat Shimeah.
And these also dwelt with their brethren in Jerusalem, over against them.
8: 33 And Ner begat Kish, and Kish begat Saul, and Saul begat Jonathan, and Malchishua, and Abinadab, and Eshbaal.
8: 34 And the son of Jonathan was Meribbaal; and Meribbaal begat Micah.
8: 35 And the sons of Micah were, Pithon, and Melech, and Tarea, and Ahaz.
All these were the sons of Azel.
8: 39 And the sons of Eshek his brother were, Ulam his firstborn, Jehush the second, and Eliphelet the third.
8: 40 And the sons of Ulam were mighty men of valour, archers, and had many sons, and sons'sons, an hundred and fifty.
All these are of the sons of Benjamin.
9: 1 So all Israel were reckoned by genealogies; and, behold, they were written in the book of the kings of Israel and Judah, who were carried away to Babylon for their transgression.
9: 2 Now the first inhabitants that dwelt in their possessions in their cities were, the Israelites, the priests, Levites, and the Nethinims.
9: 3 And in Jerusalem dwelt of the children of Judah, and of the children of Benjamin, and of the children of Ephraim, and Manasseh; 9: 4 Uthai the son of Ammihud, the son of Omri, the son of Imri, the son of Bani, of the children of Pharez the son of Judah.
9: 5 And of the Shilonites; Asaiah the firstborn, and his sons.
9: 6 And of the sons of Zerah; Jeuel, and their brethren, six hundred and ninety.
All these men were chief of the fathers in the house of their fathers.
9: 17 And the porters were, Shallum, and Akkub, and Talmon, and Ahiman, and their brethren: Shallum was the chief; 9: 18 Who hitherto waited in the king's gate eastward: they were porters in the companies of the children of Levi.
9: 20 And Phinehas the son of Eleazar was the ruler over them in time past, and the LORD was with him.
9: 21 And Zechariah the son of Meshelemiah was porter of the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.
9: 22 All these which were chosen to be porters in the gates were two hundred and twelve.
These were reckoned by their genealogy in their villages, whom David and Samuel the seer did ordain in their set office.
9: 23 So they and their children had the oversight of the gates of the house of the LORD, namely, the house of the tabernacle, by wards.
9: 24 In four quarters were the porters, toward the east, west, north, and south.
9: 25 And their brethren, which were in their villages, were to come after seven days from time to time with them.
9: 26 For these Levites, the four chief porters, were in their set office, and were over the chambers and treasuries of the house of God.
9: 27 And they lodged round about the house of God, because the charge was upon them, and the opening thereof every morning pertained to them.
9: 28 And certain of them had the charge of the ministering vessels, that they should bring them in and out by tale.
9: 29 Some of them also were appointed to oversee the vessels, and all the instruments of the sanctuary, and the fine flour, and the wine, and the oil, and the frankincense, and the spices.
9: 30 And some of the sons of the priests made the ointment of the spices.
9: 31 And Mattithiah, one of the Levites, who was the firstborn of Shallum the Korahite, had the set office over the things that were made in the pans.
9: 32 And other of their brethren, of the sons of the Kohathites, were over the shewbread, to prepare it every sabbath.
9: 33 And these are the singers, chief of the fathers of the Levites, who remaining in the chambers were free: for they were employed in that work day and night.
9: 34 These chief fathers of the Levites were chief throughout their generations; these dwelt at Jerusalem.
9: 35 And in Gibeon dwelt the father of Gibeon, Jehiel, whose wife's name was Maachah: 9: 36 And his firstborn son Abdon, then Zur, and Kish, and Baal, and Ner, and Nadab.
9: 37 And Gedor, and Ahio, and Zechariah, and Mikloth.
9: 38 And Mikloth begat Shimeam.
And they also dwelt with their brethren at Jerusalem, over against their brethren.
9: 39 And Ner begat Kish; and Kish begat Saul; and Saul begat Jonathan, and Malchishua, and Abinadab, and Eshbaal.
9: 40 And the son of Jonathan was Meribbaal: and Meribbaal begat Micah.
9: 41 And the sons of Micah were, Pithon, and Melech, and Tahrea, and Ahaz.
9: 42 And Ahaz begat Jarah; and Jarah begat Alemeth, and Azmaveth, and Zimri; and Zimri begat Moza; 9: 43 And Moza begat Binea; and Rephaiah his son, Eleasah his son, Azel his son.
9: 44 And Azel had six sons, whose names are these, Azrikam, Bocheru, and Ishmael, and Sheariah, and Obadiah, and Hanan: these were the sons of Azel.
10: 1 Now the Philistines fought against Israel; and the men of Israel fled from before the Philistines, and fell down slain in mount Gilboa.
10: 2 And the Philistines followed hard after Saul, and after his sons; and the Philistines slew Jonathan, and Abinadab, and Malchishua, the sons of Saul.
10: 3 And the battle went sore against Saul, and the archers hit him, and he was wounded of the archers.
10: 4 Then said Saul to his armourbearer, Draw thy sword, and thrust me through therewith; lest these uncircumcised come and abuse me.
But his armourbearer would not; for he was sore afraid.
So Saul took a sword, and fell upon it.
10: 5 And when his armourbearer saw that Saul was dead, he fell likewise on the sword, and died.
10: 6 So Saul died, and his three sons, and all his house died together.
10: 7 And when all the men of Israel that were in the valley saw that they fled, and that Saul and his sons were dead, then they forsook their cities, and fled: and the Philistines came and dwelt in them.
10: 8 And it came to pass on the morrow, when the Philistines came to strip the slain, that they found Saul and his sons fallen in mount Gilboa.
10: 9 And when they had stripped him, they took his head, and his armour, and sent into the land of the Philistines round about, to carry tidings unto their idols, and to the people.
10: 10 And they put his armour in the house of their gods, and fastened his head in the temple of Dagon.
11: 1 Then all Israel gathered themselves to David unto Hebron, saying, Behold, we are thy bone and thy flesh.
11: 2 And moreover in time past, even when Saul was king, thou wast he that leddest out and broughtest in Israel: and the LORD thy God said unto thee, Thou shalt feed my people Israel, and thou shalt be ruler over my people Israel.
11: 3 Therefore came all the elders of Israel to the king to Hebron; and David made a covenant with them in Hebron before the LORD; and they anointed David king over Israel, according to the word of the LORD by Samuel.
11: 4 And David and all Israel went to Jerusalem, which is Jebus; where the Jebusites were, the inhabitants of the land.
11: 5 And the inhabitants of Jebus said to David, Thou shalt not come hither.
Nevertheless David took the castle of Zion, which is the city of David.
11: 6 And David said, Whosoever smiteth the Jebusites first shall be chief and captain.
So Joab the son of Zeruiah went first up, and was chief.
11: 7 And David dwelt in the castle; therefore they called it the city of David.
11: 8 And he built the city round about, even from Millo round about: and Joab repaired the rest of the city.
11: 9 So David waxed greater and greater: for the LORD of hosts was with him.
11: 10 These also are the chief of the mighty men whom David had, who strengthened themselves with him in his kingdom, and with all Israel, to make him king, according to the word of the LORD concerning Israel.
11: 11 And this is the number of the mighty men whom David had; Jashobeam, an Hachmonite, the chief of the captains: he lifted up his spear against three hundred slain by him at one time.
11: 12 And after him was Eleazar the son of Dodo, the Ahohite, who was one of the three mighties.
11: 13 He was with David at Pasdammim, and there the Philistines were gathered together to battle, where was a parcel of ground full of barley; and the people fled from before the Philistines.
11: 14 And they set themselves in the midst of that parcel, and delivered it, and slew the Philistines; and the LORD saved them by a great deliverance.
11: 15 Now three of the thirty captains went down to the rock to David, into the cave of Adullam; and the host of the Philistines encamped in the valley of Rephaim.
11: 16 And David was then in the hold, and the Philistines'garrison was then at Bethlehem.
11: 17 And David longed, and said, Oh that one would give me drink of the water of the well of Bethlehem, that is at the gate!
11: 18 And the three brake through the host of the Philistines, and drew water out of the well of Bethlehem, that was by the gate, and took it, and brought it to David: but David would not drink of it, but poured it out to the LORD.
11: 19 And said, My God forbid it me, that I should do this thing: shall I drink the blood of these men that have put their lives in jeopardy?
for with the jeopardy of their lives they brought it.
Therefore he would not drink it.
These things did these three mightiest.
11: 20 And Abishai the brother of Joab, he was chief of the three: for lifting up his spear against three hundred, he slew them, and had a name among the three.
11: 21 Of the three, he was more honourable than the two; for he was their captain: howbeit he attained not to the first three.
11: 22 Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, the son of a valiant man of Kabzeel, who had done many acts; he slew two lionlike men of Moab: also he went down and slew a lion in a pit in a snowy day.
11: 23 And he slew an Egyptian, a man of great stature, five cubits high; and in the Egyptian's hand was a spear like a weaver's beam; and he went down to him with a staff, and plucked the spear out of the Egyptian's hand, and slew him with his own spear.
11: 24 These things did Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, and had the name among the three mighties.
11: 25 Behold, he was honourable among the thirty, but attained not to the first three: and David set him over his guard.
12: 1 Now these are they that came to David to Ziklag, while he yet kept himself close because of Saul the son of Kish: and they were among the mighty men, helpers of the war.
12: 2 They were armed with bows, and could use both the right hand and the left in hurling stones and shooting arrows out of a bow, even of Saul's brethren of Benjamin.
12: 3 The chief was Ahiezer, then Joash, the sons of Shemaah the Gibeathite; and Jeziel, and Pelet, the sons of Azmaveth; and Berachah, and Jehu the Antothite.
12: 14 These were of the sons of Gad, captains of the host: one of the least was over an hundred, and the greatest over a thousand.
12: 15 These are they that went over Jordan in the first month, when it had overflown all his banks; and they put to flight all them of the valleys, both toward the east, and toward the west.
12: 16 And there came of the children of Benjamin and Judah to the hold unto David.
12: 18 Then the spirit came upon Amasai, who was chief of the captains, and he said, Thine are we, David, and on thy side, thou son of Jesse: peace, peace be unto thee, and peace be to thine helpers; for thy God helpeth thee.
Then David received them, and made them captains of the band.
12: 19 And there fell some of Manasseh to David, when he came with the Philistines against Saul to battle: but they helped them not: for the lords of the Philistines upon advisement sent him away, saying, He will fall to his master Saul to the jeopardy of our heads.
12: 20 As he went to Ziklag, there fell to him of Manasseh, Adnah, and Jozabad, and Jediael, and Michael, and Jozabad, and Elihu, and Zilthai, captains of the thousands that were of Manasseh.
12: 21 And they helped David against the band of the rovers: for they were all mighty men of valour, and were captains in the host.
12: 22 For at that time day by day there came to David to help him, until it was a great host, like the host of God.
12: 23 And these are the numbers of the bands that were ready armed to the war, and came to David to Hebron, to turn the kingdom of Saul to him, according to the word of the LORD.
12: 24 The children of Judah that bare shield and spear were six thousand and eight hundred, ready armed to the war.
12: 25 Of the children of Simeon, mighty men of valour for the war, seven thousand and one hundred.
12: 26 Of the children of Levi four thousand and six hundred.
12: 27 And Jehoiada was the leader of the Aaronites, and with him were three thousand and seven hundred; 12: 28 And Zadok, a young man mighty of valour, and of his father's house twenty and two captains.
12: 29 And of the children of Benjamin, the kindred of Saul, three thousand: for hitherto the greatest part of them had kept the ward of the house of Saul.
12: 30 And of the children of Ephraim twenty thousand and eight hundred, mighty men of valour, famous throughout the house of their fathers.
12: 31 And of the half tribe of Manasseh eighteen thousand, which were expressed by name, to come and make David king.
12: 32 And of the children of Issachar, which were men that had understanding of the times, to know what Israel ought to do; the heads of them were two hundred; and all their brethren were at their commandment.
12: 33 Of Zebulun, such as went forth to battle, expert in war, with all instruments of war, fifty thousand, which could keep rank: they were not of double heart.
12: 34 And of Naphtali a thousand captains, and with them with shield and spear thirty and seven thousand.
12: 35 And of the Danites expert in war twenty and eight thousand and six hundred.
12: 36 And of Asher, such as went forth to battle, expert in war, forty thousand.
12: 37 And on the other side of Jordan, of the Reubenites, and the Gadites, and of the half tribe of Manasseh, with all manner of instruments of war for the battle, an hundred and twenty thousand.
12: 38 All these men of war, that could keep rank, came with a perfect heart to Hebron, to make David king over all Israel: and all the rest also of Israel were of one heart to make David king.
12: 39 And there they were with David three days, eating and drinking: for their brethren had prepared for them.
13: 1 And David consulted with the captains of thousands and hundreds, and with every leader.
13: 4 And all the congregation said that they would do so: for the thing was right in the eyes of all the people.
13: 5 So David gathered all Israel together, from Shihor of Egypt even unto the entering of Hemath, to bring the ark of God from Kirjathjearim.
13: 6 And David went up, and all Israel, to Baalah, that is, to Kirjathjearim, which belonged to Judah, to bring up thence the ark of God the LORD, that dwelleth between the cherubims, whose name is called on it.
13: 7 And they carried the ark of God in a new cart out of the house of Abinadab: and Uzza and Ahio drave the cart.
13: 8 And David and all Israel played before God with all their might, and with singing, and with harps, and with psalteries, and with timbrels, and with cymbals, and with trumpets.
13: 9 And when they came unto the threshingfloor of Chidon, Uzza put forth his hand to hold the ark; for the oxen stumbled.
13: 10 And the anger of the LORD was kindled against Uzza, and he smote him, because he put his hand to the ark: and there he died before God.
13: 11 And David was displeased, because the LORD had made a breach upon Uzza: wherefore that place is called Perezuzza to this day.
13: 12 And David was afraid of God that day, saying, How shall I bring the ark of God home to me?
13: 13 So David brought not the ark home to himself to the city of David, but carried it aside into the house of Obededom the Gittite.
13: 14 And the ark of God remained with the family of Obededom in his house three months.
And the LORD blessed the house of Obededom, and all that he had.
14: 1 Now Hiram king of Tyre sent messengers to David, and timber of cedars, with masons and carpenters, to build him an house.
14: 2 And David perceived that the LORD had confirmed him king over Israel, for his kingdom was lifted up on high, because of his people Israel.
14: 3 And David took more wives at Jerusalem: and David begat more sons and daughters.
14: 4 Now these are the names of his children which he had in Jerusalem; Shammua, and Shobab, Nathan, and Solomon, 14: 5 And Ibhar, and Elishua, and Elpalet, 14: 6 And Nogah, and Nepheg, and Japhia, 14: 7 And Elishama, and Beeliada, and Eliphalet.
14: 8 And when the Philistines heard that David was anointed king over all Israel, all the Philistines went up to seek David.
And David heard of it, and went out against them.
14: 9 And the Philistines came and spread themselves in the valley of Rephaim.
14: 10 And David enquired of God, saying, Shall I go up against the Philistines?
And wilt thou deliver them into mine hand?
And the LORD said unto him, Go up; for I will deliver them into thine hand.
14: 11 So they came up to Baalperazim; and David smote them there.
Then David said, God hath broken in upon mine enemies by mine hand like the breaking forth of waters: therefore they called the name of that place Baalperazim.
14: 12 And when they had left their gods there, David gave a commandment, and they were burned with fire.
14: 13 And the Philistines yet again spread themselves abroad in the valley.
14: 14 Therefore David enquired again of God; and God said unto him, Go not up after them; turn away from them, and come upon them over against the mulberry trees.
14: 15 And it shall be, when thou shalt hear a sound of going in the tops of the mulberry trees, that then thou shalt go out to battle: for God is gone forth before thee to smite the host of the Philistines.
14: 16 David therefore did as God commanded him: and they smote the host of the Philistines from Gibeon even to Gazer.
14: 17 And the fame of David went out into all lands; and the LORD brought the fear of him upon all nations.
15: 1 And David made him houses in the city of David, and prepared a place for the ark of God, and pitched for it a tent.
15: 2 Then David said, None ought to carry the ark of God but the Levites: for them hath the LORD chosen to carry the ark of God, and to minister unto him for ever.
15: 3 And David gathered all Israel together to Jerusalem, to bring up the ark of the LORD unto his place, which he had prepared for it.
15: 13 For because ye did it not at the first, the LORD our God made a breach upon us, for that we sought him not after the due order.
15: 14 So the priests and the Levites sanctified themselves to bring up the ark of the LORD God of Israel.
15: 15 And the children of the Levites bare the ark of God upon their shoulders with the staves thereon, as Moses commanded according to the word of the LORD.
15: 16 And David spake to the chief of the Levites to appoint their brethren to be the singers with instruments of musick, psalteries and harps and cymbals, sounding, by lifting up the voice with joy.
15: 22 And Chenaniah, chief of the Levites, was for song: he instructed about the song, because he was skilful.
15: 23 And Berechiah and Elkanah were doorkeepers for the ark.
15: 24 And Shebaniah, and Jehoshaphat, and Nethaneel, and Amasai, and Zechariah, and Benaiah, and Eliezer, the priests, did blow with the trumpets before the ark of God: and Obededom and Jehiah were doorkeepers for the ark.
15: 25 So David, and the elders of Israel, and the captains over thousands, went to bring up the ark of the covenant of the LORD out of the house of Obededom with joy.
15: 26 And it came to pass, when God helped the Levites that bare the ark of the covenant of the LORD, that they offered seven bullocks and seven rams.
15: 27 And David was clothed with a robe of fine linen, and all the Levites that bare the ark, and the singers, and Chenaniah the master of the song with the singers: David also had upon him an ephod of linen.
15: 28 Thus all Israel brought up the ark of the covenant of the LORD with shouting, and with sound of the cornet, and with trumpets, and with cymbals, making a noise with psalteries and harps.
15: 29 And it came to pass, as the ark of the covenant of the LORD came to the city of David, that Michal, the daughter of Saul looking out at a window saw king David dancing and playing: and she despised him in her heart.
16: 1 So they brought the ark of God, and set it in the midst of the tent that David had pitched for it: and they offered burnt sacrifices and peace offerings before God.
16: 2 And when David had made an end of offering the burnt offerings and the peace offerings, he blessed the people in the name of the LORD.
16: 3 And he dealt to every one of Israel, both man and woman, to every one a loaf of bread, and a good piece of flesh, and a flagon of wine.
16: 7 Then on that day David delivered first this psalm to thank the LORD into the hand of Asaph and his brethren.
16: 8 Give thanks unto the LORD, call upon his name, make known his deeds among the people.
16: 9 Sing unto him, sing psalms unto him, talk ye of all his wondrous works.
16: 10 Glory ye in his holy name: let the heart of them rejoice that seek the LORD.
16: 11 Seek the LORD and his strength, seek his face continually.
16: 12 Remember his marvellous works that he hath done, his wonders, and the judgments of his mouth; 16: 13 O ye seed of Israel his servant, ye children of Jacob, his chosen ones.
16: 14 He is the LORD our God; his judgments are in all the earth.
16: 20 And when they went from nation to nation, and from one kingdom to another people; 16: 21 He suffered no man to do them wrong: yea, he reproved kings for their sakes, 16: 22 Saying, Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm.
16: 23 Sing unto the LORD, all the earth; shew forth from day to day his salvation.
16: 24 Declare his glory among the heathen; his marvellous works among all nations.
16: 25 For great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised: he also is to be feared above all gods.
16: 26 For all the gods of the people are idols: but the LORD made the heavens.
16: 27 Glory and honour are in his presence; strength and gladness are in his place.
16: 28 Give unto the LORD, ye kindreds of the people, give unto the LORD glory and strength.
16: 29 Give unto the LORD the glory due unto his name: bring an offering, and come before him: worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness.
16: 30 Fear before him, all the earth: the world also shall be stable, that it be not moved.
16: 31 Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice: and let men say among the nations, The LORD reigneth.
16: 32 Let the sea roar, and the fulness thereof: let the fields rejoice, and all that is therein.
16: 33 Then shall the trees of the wood sing out at the presence of the LORD, because he cometh to judge the earth.
16: 34 O give thanks unto the LORD; for he is good; for his mercy endureth for ever.
16: 35 And say ye, Save us, O God of our salvation, and gather us together, and deliver us from the heathen, that we may give thanks to thy holy name, and glory in thy praise.
16: 36 Blessed be the LORD God of Israel for ever and ever.
And all the people said, Amen, and praised the LORD.
And the sons of Jeduthun were porters.
16: 43 And all the people departed every man to his house: and David returned to bless his house.
17: 1 Now it came to pass, as David sat in his house, that David said to Nathan the prophet, Lo, I dwell in an house of cedars, but the ark of the covenant of the LORD remaineth under curtains.
17: 2 Then Nathan said unto David, Do all that is in thine heart; for God is with thee.
17: 6 Wheresoever I have walked with all Israel, spake I a word to any of the judges of Israel, whom I commanded to feed my people, saying, Why have ye not built me an house of cedars?
Moreover I will subdue all thine enemies.
Furthermore I tell thee that the LORD will build thee an house.
17: 11 And it shall come to pass, when thy days be expired that thou must go to be with thy fathers, that I will raise up thy seed after thee, which shall be of thy sons; and I will establish his kingdom.
17: 12 He shall build me an house, and I will stablish his throne for ever.
17: 13 I will be his father, and he shall be my son: and I will not take my mercy away from him, as I took it from him that was before thee: 17: 14 But I will settle him in mine house and in my kingdom for ever: and his throne shall be established for evermore.
17: 15 According to all these words, and according to all this vision, so did Nathan speak unto David.
17: 16 And David the king came and sat before the LORD, and said, Who am I, O LORD God, and what is mine house, that thou hast brought me hitherto?
17: 17 And yet this was a small thing in thine eyes, O God; for thou hast also spoken of thy servant's house for a great while to come, and hast regarded me according to the estate of a man of high degree, O LORD God.
17: 18 What can David speak more to thee for the honour of thy servant?
for thou knowest thy servant.
17: 19 O LORD, for thy servant's sake, and according to thine own heart, hast thou done all this greatness, in making known all these great things.
17: 20 O LORD, there is none like thee, neither is there any God beside thee, according to all that we have heard with our ears.
17: 21 And what one nation in the earth is like thy people Israel, whom God went to redeem to be his own people, to make thee a name of greatness and terribleness, by driving out nations from before thy people whom thou hast redeemed out of Egypt?
17: 22 For thy people Israel didst thou make thine own people for ever; and thou, LORD, becamest their God.
17: 23 Therefore now, LORD, let the thing that thou hast spoken concerning thy servant and concerning his house be established for ever, and do as thou hast said.
17: 24 Let it even be established, that thy name may be magnified for ever, saying, The LORD of hosts is the God of Israel, even a God to Israel: and let the house of David thy servant be established before thee.
17: 25 For thou, O my God, hast told thy servant that thou wilt build him an house: therefore thy servant hath found in his heart to pray before thee.
17: 26 And now, LORD, thou art God, and hast promised this goodness unto thy servant: 17: 27 Now therefore let it please thee to bless the house of thy servant, that it may be before thee for ever: for thou blessest, O LORD, and it shall be blessed for ever.
18: 1 Now after this it came to pass, that David smote the Philistines, and subdued them, and took Gath and her towns out of the hand of the Philistines.
18: 2 And he smote Moab; and the Moabites became David's servants, and brought gifts.
18: 3 And David smote Hadarezer king of Zobah unto Hamath, as he went to stablish his dominion by the river Euphrates.
18: 4 And David took from him a thousand chariots, and seven thousand horsemen, and twenty thousand footmen: David also houghed all the chariot horses, but reserved of them an hundred chariots.
18: 5 And when the Syrians of Damascus came to help Hadarezer king of Zobah, David slew of the Syrians two and twenty thousand men.
18: 6 Then David put garrisons in Syriadamascus; and the Syrians became David's servants, and brought gifts.
Thus the LORD preserved David whithersoever he went.
18: 7 And David took the shields of gold that were on the servants of Hadarezer, and brought them to Jerusalem.
18: 8 Likewise from Tibhath, and from Chun, cities of Hadarezer, brought David very much brass, wherewith Solomon made the brasen sea, and the pillars, and the vessels of brass.
18: 11 Them also king David dedicated unto the LORD, with the silver and the gold that he brought from all these nations; from Edom, and from Moab, and from the children of Ammon, and from the Philistines, and from Amalek.
18: 12 Moreover Abishai the son of Zeruiah slew of the Edomites in the valley of salt eighteen thousand.
18: 13 And he put garrisons in Edom; and all the Edomites became David's servants.
Thus the LORD preserved David whithersoever he went.
18: 14 So David reigned over all Israel, and executed judgment and justice among all his people.
18: 15 And Joab the son of Zeruiah was over the host; and Jehoshaphat the son of Ahilud, recorder.
18: 16 And Zadok the son of Ahitub, and Abimelech the son of Abiathar, were the priests; and Shavsha was scribe; 18: 17 And Benaiah the son of Jehoiada was over the Cherethites and the Pelethites; and the sons of David were chief about the king.
19: 1 Now it came to pass after this, that Nahash the king of the children of Ammon died, and his son reigned in his stead.
19: 2 And David said, I will shew kindness unto Hanun the son of Nahash, because his father shewed kindness to me.
And David sent messengers to comfort him concerning his father.
So the servants of David came into the land of the children of Ammon to Hanun, to comfort him.
19: 3 But the princes of the children of Ammon said to Hanun, Thinkest thou that David doth honour thy father, that he hath sent comforters unto thee?
are not his servants come unto thee for to search, and to overthrow, and to spy out the land?
19: 4 Wherefore Hanun took David's servants, and shaved them, and cut off their garments in the midst hard by their buttocks, and sent them away.
19: 5 Then there went certain, and told David how the men were served.
And he sent to meet them: for the men were greatly ashamed.
And the king said, Tarry at Jericho until your beards be grown, and then return.
19: 6 And when the children of Ammon saw that they had made themselves odious to David, Hanun and the children of Ammon sent a thousand talents of silver to hire them chariots and horsemen out of Mesopotamia, and out of Syriamaachah, and out of Zobah.
19: 7 So they hired thirty and two thousand chariots, and the king of Maachah and his people; who came and pitched before Medeba.
And the children of Ammon gathered themselves together from their cities, and came to battle.
19: 8 And when David heard of it, he sent Joab, and all the host of the mighty men.
19: 9 And the children of Ammon came out, and put the battle in array before the gate of the city: and the kings that were come were by themselves in the field.
19: 10 Now when Joab saw that the battle was set against him before and behind, he chose out of all the choice of Israel, and put them in array against the Syrians.
19: 11 And the rest of the people he delivered unto the hand of Abishai his brother, and they set themselves in array against the children of Ammon.
19: 12 And he said, If the Syrians be too strong for me, then thou shalt help me: but if the children of Ammon be too strong for thee, then I will help thee.
19: 13 Be of good courage, and let us behave ourselves valiantly for our people, and for the cities of our God: and let the LORD do that which is good in his sight.
19: 14 So Joab and the people that were with him drew nigh before the Syrians unto the battle; and they fled before him.
19: 15 And when the children of Ammon saw that the Syrians were fled, they likewise fled before Abishai his brother, and entered into the city.
Then Joab came to Jerusalem.
19: 16 And when the Syrians saw that they were put to the worse before Israel, they sent messengers, and drew forth the Syrians that were beyond the river: and Shophach the captain of the host of Hadarezer went before them.
19: 17 And it was told David; and he gathered all Israel, and passed over Jordan, and came upon them, and set the battle in array against them.
So when David had put the battle in array against the Syrians, they fought with him.
19: 18 But the Syrians fled before Israel; and David slew of the Syrians seven thousand men which fought in chariots, and forty thousand footmen, and killed Shophach the captain of the host.
19: 19 And when the servants of Hadarezer saw that they were put to the worse before Israel, they made peace with David, and became his servants: neither would the Syrians help the children of Ammon any more.
20: 1 And it came to pass, that after the year was expired, at the time that kings go out to battle, Joab led forth the power of the army, and wasted the country of the children of Ammon, and came and besieged Rabbah.
But David tarried at Jerusalem.
And Joab smote Rabbah, and destroyed it.
20: 2 And David took the crown of their king from off his head, and found it to weigh a talent of gold, and there were precious stones in it; and it was set upon David's head: and he brought also exceeding much spoil out of the city.
20: 3 And he brought out the people that were in it, and cut them with saws, and with harrows of iron, and with axes.
Even so dealt David with all the cities of the children of Ammon.
And David and all the people returned to Jerusalem.
20: 4 And it came to pass after this, that there arose war at Gezer with the Philistines; at which time Sibbechai the Hushathite slew Sippai, that was of the children of the giant: and they were subdued.
20: 5 And there was war again with the Philistines; and Elhanan the son of Jair slew Lahmi the brother of Goliath the Gittite, whose spear staff was like a weaver's beam.
20: 6 And yet again there was war at Gath, where was a man of great stature, whose fingers and toes were four and twenty, six on each hand, and six on each foot and he also was the son of the giant.
20: 7 But when he defied Israel, Jonathan the son of Shimea David's brother slew him.
20: 8 These were born unto the giant in Gath; and they fell by the hand of David, and by the hand of his servants.
21: 1 And Satan stood up against Israel, and provoked David to number Israel.
21: 2 And David said to Joab and to the rulers of the people, Go, number Israel from Beersheba even to Dan; and bring the number of them to me, that I may know it.
21: 3 And Joab answered, The LORD make his people an hundred times so many more as they be: but, my lord the king, are they not all my lord's servants?
why then doth my lord require this thing?
why will he be a cause of trespass to Israel?
21: 4 Nevertheless the king's word prevailed against Joab.
Wherefore Joab departed, and went throughout all Israel, and came to Jerusalem.
21: 5 And Joab gave the sum of the number of the people unto David.
And all they of Israel were a thousand thousand and an hundred thousand men that drew sword: and Judah was four hundred threescore and ten thousand men that drew sword.
21: 6 But Levi and Benjamin counted he not among them: for the king's word was abominable to Joab.
21: 7 And God was displeased with this thing; therefore he smote Israel.
21: 8 And David said unto God, I have sinned greatly, because I have done this thing: but now, I beseech thee, do away the iniquity of thy servant; for I have done very foolishly.
21: 9 And the LORD spake unto Gad, David's seer, saying, 21: 10 Go and tell David, saying, Thus saith the LORD, I offer thee three things: choose thee one of them, that I may do it unto thee.
Now therefore advise thyself what word I shall bring again to him that sent me.
21: 13 And David said unto Gad, I am in a great strait: let me fall now into the hand of the LORD; for very great are his mercies: but let me not fall into the hand of man.
21: 14 So the LORD sent pestilence upon Israel: and there fell of Israel seventy thousand men.
21: 15 And God sent an angel unto Jerusalem to destroy it: and as he was destroying, the LORD beheld, and he repented him of the evil, and said to the angel that destroyed, It is enough, stay now thine hand.
And the angel of the LORD stood by the threshingfloor of Ornan the Jebusite.
21: 16 And David lifted up his eyes, and saw the angel of the LORD stand between the earth and the heaven, having a drawn sword in his hand stretched out over Jerusalem.
Then David and the elders of Israel, who were clothed in sackcloth, fell upon their faces.
21: 17 And David said unto God, Is it not I that commanded the people to be numbered?
even I it is that have sinned and done evil indeed; but as for these sheep, what have they done?
let thine hand, I pray thee, O LORD my God, be on me, and on my father's house; but not on thy people, that they should be plagued.
21: 18 Then the angel of the LORD commanded Gad to say to David, that David should go up, and set up an altar unto the LORD in the threshingfloor of Ornan the Jebusite.
21: 19 And David went up at the saying of Gad, which he spake in the name of the LORD.
21: 20 And Ornan turned back, and saw the angel; and his four sons with him hid themselves.
Now Ornan was threshing wheat.
21: 21 And as David came to Ornan, Ornan looked and saw David, and went out of the threshingfloor, and bowed himself to David with his face to the ground.
21: 22 Then David said to Ornan, Grant me the place of this threshingfloor, that I may build an altar therein unto the LORD: thou shalt grant it me for the full price: that the plague may be stayed from the people.
21: 23 And Ornan said unto David, Take it to thee, and let my lord the king do that which is good in his eyes: lo, I give thee the oxen also for burnt offerings, and the threshing instruments for wood, and the wheat for the meat offering; I give it all.
21: 24 And king David said to Ornan, Nay; but I will verily buy it for the full price: for I will not take that which is thine for the LORD, nor offer burnt offerings without cost.
21: 25 So David gave to Ornan for the place six hundred shekels of gold by weight.
21: 26 And David built there an altar unto the LORD, and offered burnt offerings and peace offerings, and called upon the LORD; and he answered him from heaven by fire upon the altar of burnt offering.
21: 27 And the LORD commanded the angel; and he put up his sword again into the sheath thereof.
21: 28 At that time when David saw that the LORD had answered him in the threshingfloor of Ornan the Jebusite, then he sacrificed there.
21: 29 For the tabernacle of the LORD, which Moses made in the wilderness, and the altar of the burnt offering, were at that season in the high place at Gibeon.
21: 30 But David could not go before it to enquire of God: for he was afraid because of the sword of the angel of the LORD.
22: 1 Then David said, This is the house of the LORD God, and this is the altar of the burnt offering for Israel.
22: 2 And David commanded to gather together the strangers that were in the land of Israel; and he set masons to hew wrought stones to build the house of God.
22: 3 And David prepared iron in abundance for the nails for the doors of the gates, and for the joinings; and brass in abundance without weight; 22: 4 Also cedar trees in abundance: for the Zidonians and they of Tyre brought much cedar wood to David.
22: 5 And David said, Solomon my son is young and tender, and the house that is to be builded for the LORD must be exceeding magnifical, of fame and of glory throughout all countries: I will therefore now make preparation for it.
So David prepared abundantly before his death.
22: 6 Then he called for Solomon his son, and charged him to build an house for the LORD God of Israel.
22: 9 Behold, a son shall be born to thee, who shall be a man of rest; and I will give him rest from all his enemies round about: for his name shall be Solomon, and I will give peace and quietness unto Israel in his days.
22: 10 He shall build an house for my name; and he shall be my son, and I will be his father; and I will establish the throne of his kingdom over Israel for ever.
22: 11 Now, my son, the LORD be with thee; and prosper thou, and build the house of the LORD thy God, as he hath said of thee.
22: 12 Only the LORD give thee wisdom and understanding, and give thee charge concerning Israel, that thou mayest keep the law of the LORD thy God.
22: 13 Then shalt thou prosper, if thou takest heed to fulfil the statutes and judgments which the LORD charged Moses with concerning Israel: be strong, and of good courage; dread not, nor be dismayed.
22: 15 Moreover there are workmen with thee in abundance, hewers and workers of stone and timber, and all manner of cunning men for every manner of work.
22: 16 Of the gold, the silver, and the brass, and the iron, there is no number.
Arise therefore, and be doing, and the LORD be with thee.
22: 17 David also commanded all the princes of Israel to help Solomon his son, saying, 22: 18 Is not the LORD your God with you?
and hath he not given you rest on every side?
for he hath given the inhabitants of the land into mine hand; and the land is subdued before the LORD, and before his people.
22: 19 Now set your heart and your soul to seek the LORD your God; arise therefore, and build ye the sanctuary of the LORD God, to bring the ark of the covenant of the LORD, and the holy vessels of God, into the house that is to be built to the name of the LORD.
23: 1 So when David was old and full of days, he made Solomon his son king over Israel.
23: 2 And he gathered together all the princes of Israel, with the priests and the Levites.
23: 3 Now the Levites were numbered from the age of thirty years and upward: and their number by their polls, man by man, was thirty and eight thousand.
23: 6 And David divided them into courses among the sons of Levi, namely, Gershon, Kohath, and Merari.
23: 7 Of the Gershonites were, Laadan, and Shimei.
23: 8 The sons of Laadan; the chief was Jehiel, and Zetham, and Joel, three.
23: 9 The sons of Shimei; Shelomith, and Haziel, and Haran, three.
These were the chief of the fathers of Laadan.
23: 10 And the sons of Shimei were, Jahath, Zina, and Jeush, and Beriah.
These four were the sons of Shimei.
23: 11 And Jahath was the chief, and Zizah the second: but Jeush and Beriah had not many sons; therefore they were in one reckoning, according to their father's house.
23: 12 The sons of Kohath; Amram, Izhar, Hebron, and Uzziel, four.
23: 13 The sons of Amram; Aaron and Moses: and Aaron was separated, that he should sanctify the most holy things, he and his sons for ever, to burn incense before the LORD, to minister unto him, and to bless in his name for ever.
23: 14 Now concerning Moses the man of God, his sons were named of the tribe of Levi.
23: 15 The sons of Moses were, Gershom, and Eliezer.
23: 16 Of the sons of Gershom, Shebuel was the chief.
23: 17 And the sons of Eliezer were, Rehabiah the chief.
And Eliezer had none other sons; but the sons of Rehabiah were very many.
23: 18 Of the sons of Izhar; Shelomith the chief.
23: 19 Of the sons of Hebron; Jeriah the first, Amariah the second, Jahaziel the third, and Jekameam the fourth.
23: 20 Of the sons of Uzziel; Micah the first and Jesiah the second.
23: 21 The sons of Merari; Mahli, and Mushi.
The sons of Mahli; Eleazar, and Kish.
23: 22 And Eleazar died, and had no sons, but daughters: and their brethren the sons of Kish took them.
23: 23 The sons of Mushi; Mahli, and Eder, and Jeremoth, three.
23: 24 These were the sons of Levi after the house of their fathers; even the chief of the fathers, as they were counted by number of names by their polls, that did the work for the service of the house of the LORD, from the age of twenty years and upward.
23: 25 For David said, The LORD God of Israel hath given rest unto his people, that they may dwell in Jerusalem for ever: 23: 26 And also unto the Levites; they shall no more carry the tabernacle, nor any vessels of it for the service thereof.
24: 1 Now these are the divisions of the sons of Aaron.
The sons of Aaron; Nadab, and Abihu, Eleazar, and Ithamar.
24: 2 But Nadab and Abihu died before their father, and had no children: therefore Eleazar and Ithamar executed the priest's office.
24: 3 And David distributed them, both Zadok of the sons of Eleazar, and Ahimelech of the sons of Ithamar, according to their offices in their service.
24: 4 And there were more chief men found of the sons of Eleazar than of the sons of Ithamar, and thus were they divided.
Among the sons of Eleazar there were sixteen chief men of the house of their fathers, and eight among the sons of Ithamar according to the house of their fathers.
24: 5 Thus were they divided by lot, one sort with another; for the governors of the sanctuary, and governors of the house of God, were of the sons of Eleazar, and of the sons of Ithamar.
24: 19 These were the orderings of them in their service to come into the house of the LORD, according to their manner, under Aaron their father, as the LORD God of Israel had commanded him.
24: 20 And the rest of the sons of Levi were these: Of the sons of Amram; Shubael: of the sons of Shubael; Jehdeiah.
24: 21 Concerning Rehabiah: of the sons of Rehabiah, the first was Isshiah.
24: 22 Of the Izharites; Shelomoth: of the sons of Shelomoth; Jahath.
24: 23 And the sons of Hebron; Jeriah the first, Amariah the second, Jahaziel the third, Jekameam the fourth.
24: 24 Of the sons of Uzziel; Michah: of the sons of Michah; Shamir.
24: 25 The brother of Michah was Isshiah: of the sons of Isshiah; Zechariah.
24: 26 The sons of Merari were Mahli and Mushi: the sons of Jaaziah; Beno.
24: 27 The sons of Merari by Jaaziah; Beno, and Shoham, and Zaccur, and Ibri.
24: 28 Of Mahli came Eleazar, who had no sons.
24: 29 Concerning Kish: the son of Kish was Jerahmeel.
24: 30 The sons also of Mushi; Mahli, and Eder, and Jerimoth.
These were the sons of the Levites after the house of their fathers.
24: 31 These likewise cast lots over against their brethren the sons of Aaron in the presence of David the king, and Zadok, and Ahimelech, and the chief of the fathers of the priests and Levites, even the principal fathers over against their younger brethren.
25: 3 Of Jeduthun: the sons of Jeduthun; Gedaliah, and Zeri, and Jeshaiah, Hashabiah, and Mattithiah, six, under the hands of their father Jeduthun, who prophesied with a harp, to give thanks and to praise the LORD.
And God gave to Heman fourteen sons and three daughters.
25: 6 All these were under the hands of their father for song in the house of the LORD, with cymbals, psalteries, and harps, for the service of the house of God, according to the king's order to Asaph, Jeduthun, and Heman.
25: 7 So the number of them, with their brethren that were instructed in the songs of the LORD, even all that were cunning, was two hundred fourscore and eight.
25: 8 And they cast lots, ward against ward, as well the small as the great, the teacher as the scholar.
26: 1 Concerning the divisions of the porters: Of the Korhites was Meshelemiah the son of Kore, of the sons of Asaph.
26: 2 And the sons of Meshelemiah were, Zechariah the firstborn, Jediael the second, Zebadiah the third, Jathniel the fourth, 26: 3 Elam the fifth, Jehohanan the sixth, Elioenai the seventh.
26: 4 Moreover the sons of Obededom were, Shemaiah the firstborn, Jehozabad the second, Joah the third, and Sacar the fourth, and Nethaneel the fifth.
26: 5 Ammiel the sixth, Issachar the seventh, Peulthai the eighth: for God blessed him.
26: 6 Also unto Shemaiah his son were sons born, that ruled throughout the house of their father: for they were mighty men of valour.
26: 7 The sons of Shemaiah; Othni, and Rephael, and Obed, Elzabad, whose brethren were strong men, Elihu, and Semachiah.
26: 8 All these of the sons of Obededom: they and their sons and their brethren, able men for strength for the service, were threescore and two of Obededom.
26: 9 And Meshelemiah had sons and brethren, strong men, eighteen.
26: 10 Also Hosah, of the children of Merari, had sons; Simri the chief, (for though he was not the firstborn, yet his father made him the chief;) 26: 11 Hilkiah the second, Tebaliah the third, Zechariah the fourth: all the sons and brethren of Hosah were thirteen.
26: 12 Among these were the divisions of the porters, even among the chief men, having wards one against another, to minister in the house of the LORD.
26: 13 And they cast lots, as well the small as the great, according to the house of their fathers, for every gate.
26: 14 And the lot eastward fell to Shelemiah.
Then for Zechariah his son, a wise counsellor, they cast lots; and his lot came out northward.
26: 15 To Obededom southward; and to his sons the house of Asuppim.
26: 16 To Shuppim and Hosah the lot came forth westward, with the gate Shallecheth, by the causeway of the going up, ward against ward.
26: 17 Eastward were six Levites, northward four a day, southward four a day, and toward Asuppim two and two.
26: 18 At Parbar westward, four at the causeway, and two at Parbar.
26: 19 These are the divisions of the porters among the sons of Kore, and among the sons of Merari.
26: 20 And of the Levites, Ahijah was over the treasures of the house of God, and over the treasures of the dedicated things.
26: 21 As concerning the sons of Laadan; the sons of the Gershonite Laadan, chief fathers, even of Laadan the Gershonite, were Jehieli.
26: 22 The sons of Jehieli; Zetham, and Joel his brother, which were over the treasures of the house of the LORD.
26: 23 Of the Amramites, and the Izharites, the Hebronites, and the Uzzielites: 26: 24 And Shebuel the son of Gershom, the son of Moses, was ruler of the treasures.
26: 25 And his brethren by Eliezer; Rehabiah his son, and Jeshaiah his son, and Joram his son, and Zichri his son, and Shelomith his son.
26: 26 Which Shelomith and his brethren were over all the treasures of the dedicated things, which David the king, and the chief fathers, the captains over thousands and hundreds, and the captains of the host, had dedicated.
26: 27 Out of the spoils won in battles did they dedicate to maintain the house of the LORD.
26: 28 And all that Samuel the seer, and Saul the son of Kish, and Abner the son of Ner, and Joab the son of Zeruiah, had dedicated; and whosoever had dedicated any thing, it was under the hand of Shelomith, and of his brethren.
26: 29 Of the Izharites, Chenaniah and his sons were for the outward business over Israel, for officers and judges.
26: 30 And of the Hebronites, Hashabiah and his brethren, men of valour, a thousand and seven hundred, were officers among them of Israel on this side Jordan westward in all the business of the LORD, and in the service of the king.
26: 31 Among the Hebronites was Jerijah the chief, even among the Hebronites, according to the generations of his fathers.
In the fortieth year of the reign of David they were sought for, and there were found among them mighty men of valour at Jazer of Gilead.
26: 32 And his brethren, men of valour, were two thousand and seven hundred chief fathers, whom king David made rulers over the Reubenites, the Gadites, and the half tribe of Manasseh, for every matter pertaining to God, and affairs of the king.
27: 2 Over the first course for the first month was Jashobeam the son of Zabdiel: and in his course were twenty and four thousand.
27: 3 Of the children of Perez was the chief of all the captains of the host for the first month.
27: 4 And over the course of the second month was Dodai an Ahohite, and of his course was Mikloth also the ruler: in his course likewise were twenty and four thousand.
27: 5 The third captain of the host for the third month was Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, a chief priest: and in his course were twenty and four thousand.
27: 6 This is that Benaiah, who was mighty among the thirty, and above the thirty: and in his course was Ammizabad his son.
27: 7 The fourth captain for the fourth month was Asahel the brother of Joab, and Zebadiah his son after him: and in his course were twenty and four thousand.
27: 8 The fifth captain for the fifth month was Shamhuth the Izrahite: and in his course were twenty and four thousand.
27: 9 The sixth captain for the sixth month was Ira the son of Ikkesh the Tekoite: and in his course were twenty and four thousand.
27: 10 The seventh captain for the seventh month was Helez the Pelonite, of the children of Ephraim: and in his course were twenty and four thousand.
27: 11 The eighth captain for the eighth month was Sibbecai the Hushathite, of the Zarhites: and in his course were twenty and four thousand.
27: 12 The ninth captain for the ninth month was Abiezer the Anetothite, of the Benjamites: and in his course were twenty and four thousand.
27: 13 The tenth captain for the tenth month was Maharai the Netophathite, of the Zarhites: and in his course were twenty and four thousand.
27: 14 The eleventh captain for the eleventh month was Benaiah the Pirathonite, of the children of Ephraim: and in his course were twenty and four thousand.
27: 15 The twelfth captain for the twelfth month was Heldai the Netophathite, of Othniel: and in his course were twenty and four thousand.
These were the princes of the tribes of Israel.
27: 23 But David took not the number of them from twenty years old and under: because the LORD had said he would increase Israel like to the stars of the heavens.
27: 24 Joab the son of Zeruiah began to number, but he finished not, because there fell wrath for it against Israel; neither was the number put in the account of the chronicles of king David.
All these were the rulers of the substance which was king David's.
28: 6 And he said unto me, Solomon thy son, he shall build my house and my courts: for I have chosen him to be my son, and I will be his father.
28: 7 Moreover I will establish his kingdom for ever, if he be constant to do my commandments and my judgments, as at this day.
28: 10 Take heed now; for the LORD hath chosen thee to build an house for the sanctuary: be strong, and do it.
28: 19 All this, said David, the LORD made me understand in writing by his hand upon me, even all the works of this pattern.
29: 1 Furthermore David the king said unto all the congregation, Solomon my son, whom alone God hath chosen, is yet young and tender, and the work is great: for the palace is not for man, but for the LORD God.
29: 3 Moreover, because I have set my affection to the house of my God, I have of mine own proper good, of gold and silver, which I have given to the house of my God, over and above all that I have prepared for the holy house.
And who then is willing to consecrate his service this day unto the LORD?
29: 8 And they with whom precious stones were found gave them to the treasure of the house of the LORD, by the hand of Jehiel the Gershonite.
29: 9 Then the people rejoiced, for that they offered willingly, because with perfect heart they offered willingly to the LORD: and David the king also rejoiced with great joy.
29: 10 Wherefore David blessed the LORD before all the congregation: and David said, Blessed be thou, LORD God of Israel our father, for ever and ever.
29: 11 Thine, O LORD is the greatness, and the power, and the glory, and the victory, and the majesty: for all that is in the heaven and in the earth is thine; thine is the kingdom, O LORD, and thou art exalted as head above all.
29: 12 Both riches and honour come of thee, and thou reignest over all; and in thine hand is power and might; and in thine hand it is to make great, and to give strength unto all.
29: 13 Now therefore, our God, we thank thee, and praise thy glorious name.
29: 14 But who am I, and what is my people, that we should be able to offer so willingly after this sort?
for all things come of thee, and of thine own have we given thee.
29: 15 For we are strangers before thee, and sojourners, as were all our fathers: our days on the earth are as a shadow, and there is none abiding.
29: 16 O LORD our God, all this store that we have prepared to build thee an house for thine holy name cometh of thine hand, and is all thine own.
29: 17 I know also, my God, that thou triest the heart, and hast pleasure in uprightness.
As for me, in the uprightness of mine heart I have willingly offered all these things: and now have I seen with joy thy people, which are present here, to offer willingly unto thee.
29: 20 And David said to all the congregation, Now bless the LORD your God.
And all the congregation blessed the LORD God of their fathers, and bowed down their heads, and worshipped the LORD, and the king.
And they made Solomon the son of David king the second time, and anointed him unto the LORD to be the chief governor, and Zadok to be priest.
29: 23 Then Solomon sat on the throne of the LORD as king instead of David his father, and prospered; and all Israel obeyed him.
29: 24 And all the princes, and the mighty men, and all the sons likewise of king David, submitted themselves unto Solomon the king.
29: 25 And the LORD magnified Solomon exceedingly in the sight of all Israel, and bestowed upon him such royal majesty as had not been on any king before him in Israel.
29: 26 Thus David the son of Jesse reigned over all Israel.
29: 27 And the time that he reigned over Israel was forty years; seven years reigned he in Hebron, and thirty and three years reigned he in Jerusalem.
29: 28 And he died in a good old age, full of days, riches, and honour: and Solomon his son reigned in his stead.
The Second Book of the Chronicles
1: 1 And Solomon the son of David was strengthened in his kingdom, and the LORD his God was with him, and magnified him exceedingly.
1: 2 Then Solomon spake unto all Israel, to the captains of thousands and of hundreds, and to the judges, and to every governor in all Israel, the chief of the fathers.
1: 3 So Solomon, and all the congregation with him, went to the high place that was at Gibeon; for there was the tabernacle of the congregation of God, which Moses the servant of the LORD had made in the wilderness.
1: 4 But the ark of God had David brought up from Kirjathjearim to the place which David had prepared for it: for he had pitched a tent for it at Jerusalem.
1: 5 Moreover the brasen altar, that Bezaleel the son of Uri, the son of Hur, had made, he put before the tabernacle of the LORD: and Solomon and the congregation sought unto it.
1: 6 And Solomon went up thither to the brasen altar before the LORD, which was at the tabernacle of the congregation, and offered a thousand burnt offerings upon it.
1: 7 In that night did God appear unto Solomon, and said unto him, Ask what I shall give thee.
1: 8 And Solomon said unto God, Thou hast shewed great mercy unto David my father, and hast made me to reign in his stead.
1: 9 Now, O LORD God, let thy promise unto David my father be established: for thou hast made me king over a people like the dust of the earth in multitude.
1: 10 Give me now wisdom and knowledge, that I may go out and come in before this people: for who can judge this thy people, that is so great?
1: 13 Then Solomon came from his journey to the high place that was at Gibeon to Jerusalem, from before the tabernacle of the congregation, and reigned over Israel.
1: 14 And Solomon gathered chariots and horsemen: and he had a thousand and four hundred chariots, and twelve thousand horsemen, which he placed in the chariot cities, and with the king at Jerusalem.
1: 15 And the king made silver and gold at Jerusalem as plenteous as stones, and cedar trees made he as the sycomore trees that are in the vale for abundance.
1: 16 And Solomon had horses brought out of Egypt, and linen yarn: the king's merchants received the linen yarn at a price.
1: 17 And they fetched up, and brought forth out of Egypt a chariot for six hundred shekels of silver, and an horse for an hundred and fifty: and so brought they out horses for all the kings of the Hittites, and for the kings of Syria, by their means.
2: 1 And Solomon determined to build an house for the name of the LORD, and an house for his kingdom.
2: 2 And Solomon told out threescore and ten thousand men to bear burdens, and fourscore thousand to hew in the mountain, and three thousand and six hundred to oversee them.
2: 3 And Solomon sent to Huram the king of Tyre, saying, As thou didst deal with David my father, and didst send him cedars to build him an house to dwell therein, even so deal with me.
This is an ordinance for ever to Israel.
2: 5 And the house which I build is great: for great is our God above all gods.
2: 6 But who is able to build him an house, seeing the heaven and heaven of heavens cannot contain him?
who am I then, that I should build him an house, save only to burn sacrifice before him?
2: 7 Send me now therefore a man cunning to work in gold, and in silver, and in brass, and in iron, and in purple, and crimson, and blue, and that can skill to grave with the cunning men that are with me in Judah and in Jerusalem, whom David my father did provide.
2: 10 And, behold, I will give to thy servants, the hewers that cut timber, twenty thousand measures of beaten wheat, and twenty thousand measures of barley, and twenty thousand baths of wine, and twenty thousand baths of oil.
2: 11 Then Huram the king of Tyre answered in writing, which he sent to Solomon, Because the LORD hath loved his people, he hath made thee king over them.
2: 12 Huram said moreover, Blessed be the LORD God of Israel, that made heaven and earth, who hath given to David the king a wise son, endued with prudence and understanding, that might build an house for the LORD, and an house for his kingdom.
2: 17 And Solomon numbered all the strangers that were in the land of Israel, after the numbering wherewith David his father had numbered them; and they were found an hundred and fifty thousand and three thousand and six hundred.
2: 18 And he set threescore and ten thousand of them to be bearers of burdens, and fourscore thousand to be hewers in the mountain, and three thousand and six hundred overseers to set the people a work.
3: 1 Then Solomon began to build the house of the LORD at Jerusalem in mount Moriah, where the Lord appeared unto David his father, in the place that David had prepared in the threshingfloor of Ornan the Jebusite.
3: 2 And he began to build in the second day of the second month, in the fourth year of his reign.
3: 3 Now these are the things wherein Solomon was instructed for the building of the house of God.
The length by cubits after the first measure was threescore cubits, and the breadth twenty cubits.
3: 4 And the porch that was in the front of the house, the length of it was according to the breadth of the house, twenty cubits, and the height was an hundred and twenty: and he overlaid it within with pure gold.
3: 5 And the greater house he cieled with fir tree, which he overlaid with fine gold, and set thereon palm trees and chains.
3: 6 And he garnished the house with precious stones for beauty: and the gold was gold of Parvaim.
3: 7 He overlaid also the house, the beams, the posts, and the walls thereof, and the doors thereof, with gold; and graved cherubims on the walls.
3: 8 And he made the most holy house, the length whereof was according to the breadth of the house, twenty cubits, and the breadth thereof twenty cubits: and he overlaid it with fine gold, amounting to six hundred talents.
3: 9 And the weight of the nails was fifty shekels of gold.
And he overlaid the upper chambers with gold.
3: 10 And in the most holy house he made two cherubims of image work, and overlaid them with gold.
3: 11 And the wings of the cherubims were twenty cubits long: one wing of the one cherub was five cubits, reaching to the wall of the house: and the other wing was likewise five cubits, reaching to the wing of the other cherub.
3: 12 And one wing of the other cherub was five cubits, reaching to the wall of the house: and the other wing was five cubits also, joining to the wing of the other cherub.
3: 13 The wings of these cherubims spread themselves forth twenty cubits: and they stood on their feet, and their faces were inward.
3: 14 And he made the vail of blue, and purple, and crimson, and fine linen, and wrought cherubims thereon.
3: 15 Also he made before the house two pillars of thirty and five cubits high, and the chapiter that was on the top of each of them was five cubits.
3: 16 And he made chains, as in the oracle, and put them on the heads of the pillars; and made an hundred pomegranates, and put them on the chains.
3: 17 And he reared up the pillars before the temple, one on the right hand, and the other on the left; and called the name of that on the right hand Jachin, and the name of that on the left Boaz.
4: 1 Moreover he made an altar of brass, twenty cubits the length thereof, and twenty cubits the breadth thereof, and ten cubits the height thereof.
4: 2 Also he made a molten sea of ten cubits from brim to brim, round in compass, and five cubits the height thereof; and a line of thirty cubits did compass it round about.
4: 3 And under it was the similitude of oxen, which did compass it round about: ten in a cubit, compassing the sea round about.
Two rows of oxen were cast, when it was cast.
4: 4 It stood upon twelve oxen, three looking toward the north, and three looking toward the west, and three looking toward the south, and three looking toward the east: and the sea was set above upon them, and all their hinder parts were inward.
4: 5 And the thickness of it was an handbreadth, and the brim of it like the work of the brim of a cup, with flowers of lilies; and it received and held three thousand baths.
4: 6 He made also ten lavers, and put five on the right hand, and five on the left, to wash in them: such things as they offered for the burnt offering they washed in them; but the sea was for the priests to wash in.
4: 7 And he made ten candlesticks of gold according to their form, and set them in the temple, five on the right hand, and five on the left.
4: 8 He made also ten tables, and placed them in the temple, five on the right side, and five on the left.
And he made an hundred basons of gold.
4: 9 Furthermore he made the court of the priests, and the great court, and doors for the court, and overlaid the doors of them with brass.
4: 10 And he set the sea on the right side of the east end, over against the south.
4: 11 And Huram made the pots, and the shovels, and the basons.
4: 14 He made also bases, and lavers made he upon the bases; 4: 15 One sea, and twelve oxen under it.
4: 16 The pots also, and the shovels, and the fleshhooks, and all their instruments, did Huram his father make to king Solomon for the house of the LORD of bright brass.
4: 17 In the plain of Jordan did the king cast them, in the clay ground between Succoth and Zeredathah.
4: 18 Thus Solomon made all these vessels in great abundance: for the weight of the brass could not be found out.
5: 1 Thus all the work that Solomon made for the house of the LORD was finished: and Solomon brought in all the things that David his father had dedicated; and the silver, and the gold, and all the instruments, put he among the treasures of the house of God.
5: 2 Then Solomon assembled the elders of Israel, and all the heads of the tribes, the chief of the fathers of the children of Israel, unto Jerusalem, to bring up the ark of the covenant of the LORD out of the city of David, which is Zion.
5: 3 Wherefore all the men of Israel assembled themselves unto the king in the feast which was in the seventh month.
5: 4 And all the elders of Israel came; and the Levites took up the ark.
5: 5 And they brought up the ark, and the tabernacle of the congregation, and all the holy vessels that were in the tabernacle, these did the priests and the Levites bring up.
5: 6 Also king Solomon, and all the congregation of Israel that were assembled unto him before the ark, sacrificed sheep and oxen, which could not be told nor numbered for multitude.
5: 9 And they drew out the staves of the ark, that the ends of the staves were seen from the ark before the oracle; but they were not seen without.
And there it is unto this day.
5: 10 There was nothing in the ark save the two tables which Moses put therein at Horeb, when the LORD made a covenant with the children of Israel, when they came out of Egypt.
6: 1 Then said Solomon, The LORD hath said that he would dwell in the thick darkness.
6: 2 But I have built an house of habitation for thee, and a place for thy dwelling for ever.
6: 3 And the king turned his face, and blessed the whole congregation of Israel: and all the congregation of Israel stood.
6: 7 Now it was in the heart of David my father to build an house for the name of the LORD God of Israel.
6: 10 The LORD therefore hath performed his word that he hath spoken: for I am risen up in the room of David my father, and am set on the throne of Israel, as the LORD promised, and have built the house for the name of the LORD God of Israel.
6: 11 And in it have I put the ark, wherein is the covenant of the LORD, that he made with the children of Israel.
6: 17 Now then, O LORD God of Israel, let thy word be verified, which thou hast spoken unto thy servant David.
6: 18 But will God in very deed dwell with men on the earth?
behold, heaven and the heaven of heavens cannot contain thee; how much less this house which I have built!
6: 21 Hearken therefore unto the supplications of thy servant, and of thy people Israel, which they shall make toward this place: hear thou from thy dwelling place, even from heaven; and when thou hearest, forgive.
6: 40 Now, my God, let, I beseech thee, thine eyes be open, and let thine ears be attent unto the prayer that is made in this place.
6: 41 Now therefore arise, O LORD God, into thy resting place, thou, and the ark of thy strength: let thy priests, O LORD God, be clothed with salvation, and let thy saints rejoice in goodness.
6: 42 O LORD God, turn not away the face of thine anointed: remember the mercies of David thy servant.
7: 1 Now when Solomon had made an end of praying, the fire came down from heaven, and consumed the burnt offering and the sacrifices; and the glory of the LORD filled the house.
7: 2 And the priests could not enter into the house of the LORD, because the glory of the LORD had filled the LORD's house.
7: 4 Then the king and all the people offered sacrifices before the LORD.
7: 5 And king Solomon offered a sacrifice of twenty and two thousand oxen, and an hundred and twenty thousand sheep: so the king and all the people dedicated the house of God.
7: 8 Also at the same time Solomon kept the feast seven days, and all Israel with him, a very great congregation, from the entering in of Hamath unto the river of Egypt.
7: 9 And in the eighth day they made a solemn assembly: for they kept the dedication of the altar seven days, and the feast seven days.
7: 10 And on the three and twentieth day of the seventh month he sent the people away into their tents, glad and merry in heart for the goodness that the LORD had shewed unto David, and to Solomon, and to Israel his people.
7: 11 Thus Solomon finished the house of the LORD, and the king's house: and all that came into Solomon's heart to make in the house of the LORD, and in his own house, he prosperously effected.
7: 12 And the LORD appeared to Solomon by night, and said unto him, I have heard thy prayer, and have chosen this place to myself for an house of sacrifice.
7: 15 Now mine eyes shall be open, and mine ears attent unto the prayer that is made in this place.
7: 16 For now have I chosen and sanctified this house, that my name may be there for ever: and mine eyes and mine heart shall be there perpetually.
7: 21 And this house, which is high, shall be an astonishment to every one that passeth by it; so that he shall say, Why hath the LORD done thus unto this land, and unto this house?
7: 22 And it shall be answered, Because they forsook the LORD God of their fathers, which brought them forth out of the land of Egypt, and laid hold on other gods, and worshipped them, and served them: therefore hath he brought all this evil upon them.
8: 1 And it came to pass at the end of twenty years, wherein Solomon had built the house of the LORD, and his own house, 8: 2 That the cities which Huram had restored to Solomon, Solomon built them, and caused the children of Israel to dwell there.
8: 3 And Solomon went to Hamathzobah, and prevailed against it.
8: 4 And he built Tadmor in the wilderness, and all the store cities, which he built in Hamath.
8: 9 But of the children of Israel did Solomon make no servants for his work; but they were men of war, and chief of his captains, and captains of his chariots and horsemen.
8: 10 And these were the chief of king Solomon's officers, even two hundred and fifty, that bare rule over the people.
8: 11 And Solomon brought up the daughter of Pharaoh out of the city of David unto the house that he had built for her: for he said, My wife shall not dwell in the house of David king of Israel, because the places are holy, whereunto the ark of the LORD hath come.
8: 15 And they departed not from the commandment of the king unto the priests and Levites concerning any matter, or concerning the treasures.
8: 16 Now all the work of Solomon was prepared unto the day of the foundation of the house of the LORD, and until it was finished.
So the house of the LORD was perfected.
8: 17 Then went Solomon to Eziongeber, and to Eloth, at the sea side in the land of Edom.
8: 18 And Huram sent him by the hands of his servants ships, and servants that had knowledge of the sea; and they went with the servants of Solomon to Ophir, and took thence four hundred and fifty talents of gold, and brought them to king Solomon.
9: 2 And Solomon told her all her questions: and there was nothing hid from Solomon which he told her not.
9: 7 Happy are thy men, and happy are these thy servants, which stand continually before thee, and hear thy wisdom.
9: 8 Blessed be the LORD thy God, which delighted in thee to set thee on his throne, to be king for the LORD thy God: because thy God loved Israel, to establish them for ever, therefore made he thee king over them, to do judgment and justice.
9: 9 And she gave the king an hundred and twenty talents of gold, and of spices great abundance, and precious stones: neither was there any such spice as the queen of Sheba gave king Solomon.
9: 10 And the servants also of Huram, and the servants of Solomon, which brought gold from Ophir, brought algum trees and precious stones.
9: 11 And the king made of the algum trees terraces to the house of the LORD, and to the king's palace, and harps and psalteries for singers: and there were none such seen before in the land of Judah.
9: 12 And king Solomon gave to the queen of Sheba all her desire, whatsoever she asked, beside that which she had brought unto the king.
So she turned, and went away to her own land, she and her servants.
9: 13 Now the weight of gold that came to Solomon in one year was six hundred and threescore and six talents of gold; 9: 14 Beside that which chapmen and merchants brought.
And all the kings of Arabia and governors of the country brought gold and silver to Solomon.
9: 15 And king Solomon made two hundred targets of beaten gold: six hundred shekels of beaten gold went to one target.
9: 16 And three hundred shields made he of beaten gold: three hundred shekels of gold went to one shield.
And the king put them in the house of the forest of Lebanon.
9: 17 Moreover the king made a great throne of ivory, and overlaid it with pure gold.
There was not the like made in any kingdom.
9: 20 And all the drinking vessels of king Solomon were of gold, and all the vessels of the house of the forest of Lebanon were of pure gold: none were of silver; it was not any thing accounted of in the days of Solomon.
9: 21 For the king's ships went to Tarshish with the servants of Huram: every three years once came the ships of Tarshish bringing gold, and silver, ivory, and apes, and peacocks.
9: 22 And king Solomon passed all the kings of the earth in riches and wisdom.
9: 23 And all the kings of the earth sought the presence of Solomon, to hear his wisdom, that God had put in his heart.
9: 24 And they brought every man his present, vessels of silver, and vessels of gold, and raiment, harness, and spices, horses, and mules, a rate year by year.
9: 25 And Solomon had four thousand stalls for horses and chariots, and twelve thousand horsemen; whom he bestowed in the chariot cities, and with the king at Jerusalem.
9: 26 And he reigned over all the kings from the river even unto the land of the Philistines, and to the border of Egypt.
9: 27 And the king made silver in Jerusalem as stones, and cedar trees made he as the sycomore trees that are in the low plains in abundance.
9: 28 And they brought unto Solomon horses out of Egypt, and out of all lands.
9: 29 Now the rest of the acts of Solomon, first and last, are they not written in the book of Nathan the prophet, and in the prophecy of Ahijah the Shilonite, and in the visions of Iddo the seer against Jeroboam the son of Nebat?
9: 30 And Solomon reigned in Jerusalem over all Israel forty years.
9: 31 And Solomon slept with his fathers, and he was buried in the city of David his father: and Rehoboam his son reigned in his stead.
10: 1 And Rehoboam went to Shechem: for to Shechem were all Israel come to make him king.
10: 2 And it came to pass, when Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who was in Egypt, whither he fled from the presence of Solomon the king, heard it, that Jeroboam returned out of Egypt.
10: 3 And they sent and called him.
So Jeroboam and all Israel came and spake to Rehoboam, saying, 10: 4 Thy father made our yoke grievous: now therefore ease thou somewhat the grievous servitude of thy father, and his heavy yoke that he put upon us, and we will serve thee.
10: 5 And he said unto them, Come again unto me after three days.
And the people departed.
10: 6 And king Rehoboam took counsel with the old men that had stood before Solomon his father while he yet lived, saying, What counsel give ye me to return answer to this people?
10: 7 And they spake unto him, saying, If thou be kind to this people, and please them, and speak good words to them, they will be thy servants for ever.
10: 8 But he forsook the counsel which the old men gave him, and took counsel with the young men that were brought up with him, that stood before him.
10: 9 And he said unto them, What advice give ye that we may return answer to this people, which have spoken to me, saying, Ease somewhat the yoke that thy father did put upon us?
10: 11 For whereas my father put a heavy yoke upon you, I will put more to your yoke: my father chastised you with whips, but I will chastise you with scorpions.
10: 12 So Jeroboam and all the people came to Rehoboam on the third day, as the king bade, saying, Come again to me on the third day.
10: 15 So the king hearkened not unto the people: for the cause was of God, that the LORD might perform his word, which he spake by the hand of Ahijah the Shilonite to Jeroboam the son of Nebat.
10: 16 And when all Israel saw that the king would not hearken unto them, the people answered the king, saying, What portion have we in David?
and we have none inheritance in the son of Jesse: every man to your tents, O Israel: and now, David, see to thine own house.
So all Israel went to their tents.
10: 17 But as for the children of Israel that dwelt in the cities of Judah, Rehoboam reigned over them.
10: 18 Then king Rehoboam sent Hadoram that was over the tribute; and the children of Israel stoned him with stones, that he died.
But king Rehoboam made speed to get him up to his chariot, to flee to Jerusalem.
10: 19 And Israel rebelled against the house of David unto this day.
11: 1 And when Rehoboam was come to Jerusalem, he gathered of the house of Judah and Benjamin an hundred and fourscore thousand chosen men, which were warriors, to fight against Israel, that he might bring the kingdom again to Rehoboam.
And they obeyed the words of the LORD, and returned from going against Jeroboam.
11: 5 And Rehoboam dwelt in Jerusalem, and built cities for defence in Judah.
11: 6 He built even Bethlehem, and Etam, and Tekoa, 11: 7 And Bethzur, and Shoco, and Adullam, 11: 8 And Gath, and Mareshah, and Ziph, 11: 9 And Adoraim, and Lachish, and Azekah, 11: 10 And Zorah, and Aijalon, and Hebron, which are in Judah and in Benjamin fenced cities.
11: 11 And he fortified the strong holds, and put captains in them, and store of victual, and of oil and wine.
11: 12 And in every several city he put shields and spears, and made them exceeding strong, having Judah and Benjamin on his side.
11: 13 And the priests and the Levites that were in all Israel resorted to him out of all their coasts.
11: 16 And after them out of all the tribes of Israel such as set their hearts to seek the LORD God of Israel came to Jerusalem, to sacrifice unto the LORD God of their fathers.
11: 17 So they strengthened the kingdom of Judah, and made Rehoboam the son of Solomon strong, three years: for three years they walked in the way of David and Solomon.
11: 18 And Rehoboam took him Mahalath the daughter of Jerimoth the son of David to wife, and Abihail the daughter of Eliab the son of Jesse; 11: 19 Which bare him children; Jeush, and Shamariah, and Zaham.
11: 20 And after her he took Maachah the daughter of Absalom; which bare him Abijah, and Attai, and Ziza, and Shelomith.
11: 21 And Rehoboam loved Maachah the daughter of Absalom above all his wives and his concubines: (for he took eighteen wives, and threescore concubines; and begat twenty and eight sons, and threescore daughters.)
11: 22 And Rehoboam made Abijah the son of Maachah the chief, to be ruler among his brethren: for he thought to make him king.
11: 23 And he dealt wisely, and dispersed of all his children throughout all the countries of Judah and Benjamin, unto every fenced city: and he gave them victual in abundance.
And he desired many wives.
12: 1 And it came to pass, when Rehoboam had established the kingdom, and had strengthened himself, he forsook the law of the LORD, and all Israel with him.
12: 4 And he took the fenced cities which pertained to Judah, and came to Jerusalem.
12: 5 Then came Shemaiah the prophet to Rehoboam, and to the princes of Judah, that were gathered together to Jerusalem because of Shishak, and said unto them, Thus saith the LORD, Ye have forsaken me, and therefore have I also left you in the hand of Shishak.
12: 6 Whereupon the princes of Israel and the king humbled themselves; and they said, The LORD is righteous.
12: 8 Nevertheless they shall be his servants; that they may know my service, and the service of the kingdoms of the countries.
12: 9 So Shishak king of Egypt came up against Jerusalem, and took away the treasures of the house of the LORD, and the treasures of the king's house; he took all: he carried away also the shields of gold which Solomon had made.
12: 10 Instead of which king Rehoboam made shields of brass, and committed them to the hands of the chief of the guard, that kept the entrance of the king's house.
12: 11 And when the king entered into the house of the LORD, the guard came and fetched them, and brought them again into the guard chamber.
12: 12 And when he humbled himself, the wrath of the LORD turned from him, that he would not destroy him altogether: and also in Judah things went well.
12: 13 So king Rehoboam strengthened himself in Jerusalem, and reigned: for Rehoboam was one and forty years old when he began to reign, and he reigned seventeen years in Jerusalem, the city which the LORD had chosen out of all the tribes of Israel, to put his name there.
And his mother's name was Naamah an Ammonitess.
12: 14 And he did evil, because he prepared not his heart to seek the LORD.
12: 15 Now the acts of Rehoboam, first and last, are they not written in the book of Shemaiah the prophet, and of Iddo the seer concerning genealogies?
And there were wars between Rehoboam and Jeroboam continually.
12: 16 And Rehoboam slept with his fathers, and was buried in the city of David: and Abijah his son reigned in his stead.
13: 1 Now in the eighteenth year of king Jeroboam began Abijah to reign over Judah.
13: 2 He reigned three years in Jerusalem.
His mother's name also was Michaiah the daughter of Uriel of Gibeah.
And there was war between Abijah and Jeroboam.
13: 3 And Abijah set the battle in array with an army of valiant men of war, even four hundred thousand chosen men: Jeroboam also set the battle in array against him with eight hundred thousand chosen men, being mighty men of valour.
13: 6 Yet Jeroboam the son of Nebat, the servant of Solomon the son of David, is risen up, and hath rebelled against his lord.
13: 7 And there are gathered unto him vain men, the children of Belial, and have strengthened themselves against Rehoboam the son of Solomon, when Rehoboam was young and tenderhearted, and could not withstand them.
13: 8 And now ye think to withstand the kingdom of the LORD in the hand of the sons of David; and ye be a great multitude, and there are with your golden calves, which Jeroboam made you for gods.
13: 9 Have ye not cast out the priests of the LORD, the sons of Aaron, and the Levites, and have made you priests after the manner of the nations of other lands?
so that whosoever cometh to consecrate himself with a young bullock and seven rams, the same may be a priest of them that are no gods.
13: 12 And, behold, God himself is with us for our captain, and his priests with sounding trumpets to cry alarm against you.
O children of Israel, fight ye not against the LORD God of your fathers; for ye shall not prosper.
13: 13 But Jeroboam caused an ambushment to come about behind them: so they were before Judah, and the ambushment was behind them.
13: 14 And when Judah looked back, behold, the battle was before and behind: and they cried unto the LORD, and the priests sounded with the trumpets.
13: 15 Then the men of Judah gave a shout: and as the men of Judah shouted, it came to pass, that God smote Jeroboam and all Israel before Abijah and Judah.
13: 16 And the children of Israel fled before Judah: and God delivered them into their hand.
13: 17 And Abijah and his people slew them with a great slaughter: so there fell down slain of Israel five hundred thousand chosen men.
13: 18 Thus the children of Israel were brought under at that time, and the children of Judah prevailed, because they relied upon the LORD God of their fathers.
13: 19 And Abijah pursued after Jeroboam, and took cities from him, Bethel with the towns thereof, and Jeshanah with the towns thereof, and Ephraim with the towns thereof.
13: 20 Neither did Jeroboam recover strength again in the days of Abijah: and the LORD struck him, and he died.
13: 21 But Abijah waxed mighty, and married fourteen wives, and begat twenty and two sons, and sixteen daughters.
13: 22 And the rest of the acts of Abijah, and his ways, and his sayings, are written in the story of the prophet Iddo.
14: 1 So Abijah slept with his fathers, and they buried him in the city of David: and Asa his son reigned in his stead.
In his days the land was quiet ten years.
14: 5 Also he took away out of all the cities of Judah the high places and the images: and the kingdom was quiet before him.
14: 6 And he built fenced cities in Judah: for the land had rest, and he had no war in those years; because the LORD had given him rest.
14: 7 Therefore he said unto Judah, Let us build these cities, and make about them walls, and towers, gates, and bars, while the land is yet before us; because we have sought the LORD our God, we have sought him, and he hath given us rest on every side.
So they built and prospered.
14: 8 And Asa had an army of men that bare targets and spears, out of Judah three hundred thousand; and out of Benjamin, that bare shields and drew bows, two hundred and fourscore thousand: all these were mighty men of valour.
14: 9 And there came out against them Zerah the Ethiopian with an host of a thousand thousand, and three hundred chariots; and came unto Mareshah.
14: 10 Then Asa went out against him, and they set the battle in array in the valley of Zephathah at Mareshah.
14: 11 And Asa cried unto the LORD his God, and said, LORD, it is nothing with thee to help, whether with many, or with them that have no power: help us, O LORD our God; for we rest on thee, and in thy name we go against this multitude.
O LORD, thou art our God; let no man prevail against thee.
14: 12 So the LORD smote the Ethiopians before Asa, and before Judah; and the Ethiopians fled.
14: 13 And Asa and the people that were with him pursued them unto Gerar: and the Ethiopians were overthrown, that they could not recover themselves; for they were destroyed before the LORD, and before his host; and they carried away very much spoil.
14: 14 And they smote all the cities round about Gerar; for the fear of the LORD came upon them: and they spoiled all the cities; for there was exceeding much spoil in them.
14: 15 They smote also the tents of cattle, and carried away sheep and camels in abundance, and returned to Jerusalem.
15: 3 Now for a long season Israel hath been without the true God, and without a teaching priest, and without law.
15: 4 But when they in their trouble did turn unto the LORD God of Israel, and sought him, he was found of them.
15: 5 And in those times there was no peace to him that went out, nor to him that came in, but great vexations were upon all the inhabitants of the countries.
15: 6 And nation was destroyed of nation, and city of city: for God did vex them with all adversity.
15: 7 Be ye strong therefore, and let not your hands be weak: for your work shall be rewarded.
15: 9 And he gathered all Judah and Benjamin, and the strangers with them out of Ephraim and Manasseh, and out of Simeon: for they fell to him out of Israel in abundance, when they saw that the LORD his God was with him.
15: 10 So they gathered themselves together at Jerusalem in the third month, in the fifteenth year of the reign of Asa.
15: 11 And they offered unto the LORD the same time, of the spoil which they had brought, seven hundred oxen and seven thousand sheep.
15: 12 And they entered into a covenant to seek the LORD God of their fathers with all their heart and with all their soul; 15: 13 That whosoever would not seek the LORD God of Israel should be put to death, whether small or great, whether man or woman.
15: 14 And they sware unto the LORD with a loud voice, and with shouting, and with trumpets, and with cornets.
15: 15 And all Judah rejoiced at the oath: for they had sworn with all their heart, and sought him with their whole desire; and he was found of them: and the LORD gave them rest round about.
15: 16 And also concerning Maachah the mother of Asa the king, he removed her from being queen, because she had made an idol in a grove: and Asa cut down her idol, and stamped it, and burnt it at the brook Kidron.
15: 17 But the high places were not taken away out of Israel: nevertheless the heart of Asa was perfect all his days.
15: 18 And he brought into the house of God the things that his father had dedicated, and that he himself had dedicated, silver, and gold, and vessels.
15: 19 And there was no more war unto the five and thirtieth year of the reign of Asa.
16: 1 In the six and thirtieth year of the reign of Asa Baasha king of Israel came up against Judah, and built Ramah, to the intent that he might let none go out or come in to Asa king of Judah.
16: 4 And Benhadad hearkened unto king Asa, and sent the captains of his armies against the cities of Israel; and they smote Ijon, and Dan, and Abelmaim, and all the store cities of Naphtali.
16: 5 And it came to pass, when Baasha heard it, that he left off building of Ramah, and let his work cease.
16: 6 Then Asa the king took all Judah; and they carried away the stones of Ramah, and the timber thereof, wherewith Baasha was building; and he built therewith Geba and Mizpah.
16: 7 And at that time Hanani the seer came to Asa king of Judah, and said unto him, Because thou hast relied on the king of Syria, and not relied on the LORD thy God, therefore is the host of the king of Syria escaped out of thine hand.
16: 8 Were not the Ethiopians and the Lubims a huge host, with very many chariots and horsemen?
yet, because thou didst rely on the LORD, he delivered them into thine hand.
16: 9 For the eyes of the LORD run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to shew himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward him.
Herein thou hast done foolishly: therefore from henceforth thou shalt have wars.
16: 10 Then Asa was wroth with the seer, and put him in a prison house; for he was in a rage with him because of this thing.
And Asa oppressed some of the people the same time.
16: 11 And, behold, the acts of Asa, first and last, lo, they are written in the book of the kings of Judah and Israel.
16: 12 And Asa in the thirty and ninth year of his reign was diseased in his feet, until his disease was exceeding great: yet in his disease he sought not to the LORD, but to the physicians.
16: 13 And Asa slept with his fathers, and died in the one and fortieth year of his reign.
16: 14 And they buried him in his own sepulchres, which he had made for himself in the city of David, and laid him in the bed which was filled with sweet odours and divers kinds of spices prepared by the apothecaries'art: and they made a very great burning for him.
17: 1 And Jehoshaphat his son reigned in his stead, and strengthened himself against Israel.
17: 2 And he placed forces in all the fenced cities of Judah, and set garrisons in the land of Judah, and in the cities of Ephraim, which Asa his father had taken.
17: 3 And the LORD was with Jehoshaphat, because he walked in the first ways of his father David, and sought not unto Baalim; 17: 4 But sought to the Lord God of his father, and walked in his commandments, and not after the doings of Israel.
17: 5 Therefore the LORD stablished the kingdom in his hand; and all Judah brought to Jehoshaphat presents; and he had riches and honour in abundance.
17: 6 And his heart was lifted up in the ways of the LORD: moreover he took away the high places and groves out of Judah.
17: 7 Also in the third year of his reign he sent to his princes, even to Benhail, and to Obadiah, and to Zechariah, and to Nethaneel, and to Michaiah, to teach in the cities of Judah.
17: 8 And with them he sent Levites, even Shemaiah, and Nethaniah, and Zebadiah, and Asahel, and Shemiramoth, and Jehonathan, and Adonijah, and Tobijah, and Tobadonijah, Levites; and with them Elishama and Jehoram, priests.
17: 9 And they taught in Judah, and had the book of the law of the LORD with them, and went about throughout all the cities of Judah, and taught the people.
17: 10 And the fear of the LORD fell upon all the kingdoms of the lands that were round about Judah, so that they made no war against Jehoshaphat.
17: 11 Also some of the Philistines brought Jehoshaphat presents, and tribute silver; and the Arabians brought him flocks, seven thousand and seven hundred rams, and seven thousand and seven hundred he goats.
17: 12 And Jehoshaphat waxed great exceedingly; and he built in Judah castles, and cities of store.
17: 13 And he had much business in the cities of Judah: and the men of war, mighty men of valour, were in Jerusalem.
17: 14 And these are the numbers of them according to the house of their fathers: Of Judah, the captains of thousands; Adnah the chief, and with him mighty men of valour three hundred thousand.
17: 15 And next to him was Jehohanan the captain, and with him two hundred and fourscore thousand.
17: 16 And next him was Amasiah the son of Zichri, who willingly offered himself unto the LORD; and with him two hundred thousand mighty men of valour.
17: 17 And of Benjamin; Eliada a mighty man of valour, and with him armed men with bow and shield two hundred thousand.
17: 18 And next him was Jehozabad, and with him an hundred and fourscore thousand ready prepared for the war.
17: 19 These waited on the king, beside those whom the king put in the fenced cities throughout all Judah.
18: 1 Now Jehoshaphat had riches and honour in abundance, and joined affinity with Ahab.
18: 2 And after certain years he went down to Ahab to Samaria.
And Ahab killed sheep and oxen for him in abundance, and for the people that he had with him, and persuaded him to go up with him to Ramothgilead.
18: 3 And Ahab king of Israel said unto Jehoshaphat king of Judah, Wilt thou go with me to Ramothgilead?
And he answered him, I am as thou art, and my people as thy people; and we will be with thee in the war.
18: 4 And Jehoshaphat said unto the king of Israel, Enquire, I pray thee, at the word of the LORD to day.
18: 5 Therefore the king of Israel gathered together of prophets four hundred men, and said unto them, Shall we go to Ramothgilead to battle, or shall I forbear?
And they said, Go up; for God will deliver it into the king's hand.
18: 6 But Jehoshaphat said, Is there not here a prophet of the LORD besides, that we might enquire of him?
18: 7 And the king of Israel said unto Jehoshaphat, There is yet one man, by whom we may enquire of the LORD: but I hate him; for he never prophesied good unto me, but always evil: the same is Micaiah the son of Imla.
And Jehoshaphat said, Let not the king say so.
18: 8 And the king of Israel called for one of his officers, and said, Fetch quickly Micaiah the son of Imla.
18: 9 And the king of Israel and Jehoshaphat king of Judah sat either of them on his throne, clothed in their robes, and they sat in a void place at the entering in of the gate of Samaria; and all the prophets prophesied before them.
18: 10 And Zedekiah the son of Chenaanah had made him horns of iron, and said, Thus saith the LORD, With these thou shalt push Syria until they be consumed.
18: 11 And all the prophets prophesied so, saying, Go up to Ramothgilead, and prosper: for the LORD shall deliver it into the hand of the king.
18: 12 And the messenger that went to call Micaiah spake to him, saying, Behold, the words of the prophets declare good to the king with one assent; let thy word therefore, I pray thee, be like one of their's, and speak thou good.
18: 13 And Micaiah said, As the LORD liveth, even what my God saith, that will I speak.
18: 14 And when he was come to the king, the king said unto him, Micaiah, shall we go to Ramothgilead to battle, or shall I forbear?
And he said, Go ye up, and prosper, and they shall be delivered into your hand.
18: 15 And the king said to him, How many times shall I adjure thee that thou say nothing but the truth to me in the name of the LORD?
18: 16 Then he said, I did see all Israel scattered upon the mountains, as sheep that have no shepherd: and the LORD said, These have no master; let them return therefore every man to his house in peace.
18: 17 And the king of Israel said to Jehoshaphat, Did I not tell thee that he would not prophesy good unto me, but evil?
18: 18 Again he said, Therefore hear the word of the LORD; I saw the LORD sitting upon his throne, and all the host of heaven standing on his right hand and on his left.
18: 19 And the LORD said, Who shall entice Ahab king of Israel, that he may go up and fall at Ramothgilead?
And one spake saying after this manner, and another saying after that manner.
18: 20 Then there came out a spirit, and stood before the LORD, and said, I will entice him.
And the LORD said unto him, Wherewith?
18: 21 And he said, I will go out, and be a lying spirit in the mouth of all his prophets.
And the Lord said, Thou shalt entice him, and thou shalt also prevail: go out, and do even so.
18: 22 Now therefore, behold, the LORD hath put a lying spirit in the mouth of these thy prophets, and the LORD hath spoken evil against thee.
18: 23 Then Zedekiah the son of Chenaanah came near, and smote Micaiah upon the cheek, and said, Which way went the Spirit of the LORD from me to speak unto thee?
18: 24 And Micaiah said, Behold, thou shalt see on that day when thou shalt go into an inner chamber to hide thyself.
18: 27 And Micaiah said, If thou certainly return in peace, then hath not the LORD spoken by me.
And he said, Hearken, all ye people.
18: 28 So the king of Israel and Jehoshaphat the king of Judah went up to Ramothgilead.
18: 29 And the king of Israel said unto Jehoshaphat, I will disguise myself, and I will go to the battle; but put thou on thy robes.
So the king of Israel disguised himself; and they went to the battle.
18: 30 Now the king of Syria had commanded the captains of the chariots that were with him, saying, Fight ye not with small or great, save only with the king of Israel.
18: 31 And it came to pass, when the captains of the chariots saw Jehoshaphat, that they said, It is the king of Israel.
Therefore they compassed about him to fight: but Jehoshaphat cried out, and the LORD helped him; and God moved them to depart from him.
18: 32 For it came to pass, that, when the captains of the chariots perceived that it was not the king of Israel, they turned back again from pursuing him.
18: 33 And a certain man drew a bow at a venture, and smote the king of Israel between the joints of the harness: therefore he said to his chariot man, Turn thine hand, that thou mayest carry me out of the host; for I am wounded.
18: 34 And the battle increased that day: howbeit the king of Israel stayed himself up in his chariot against the Syrians until the even: and about the time of the sun going down he died.
19: 1 And Jehoshaphat the king of Judah returned to his house in peace to Jerusalem.
19: 2 And Jehu the son of Hanani the seer went out to meet him, and said to king Jehoshaphat, Shouldest thou help the ungodly, and love them that hate the LORD?
therefore is wrath upon thee from before the LORD.
19: 3 Nevertheless there are good things found in thee, in that thou hast taken away the groves out of the land, and hast prepared thine heart to seek God.
19: 4 And Jehoshaphat dwelt at Jerusalem: and he went out again through the people from Beersheba to mount Ephraim, and brought them back unto the LORD God of their fathers.
19: 5 And he set judges in the land throughout all the fenced cities of Judah, city by city, 19: 6 And said to the judges, Take heed what ye do: for ye judge not for man, but for the LORD, who is with you in the judgment.
19: 7 Wherefore now let the fear of the LORD be upon you; take heed and do it: for there is no iniquity with the LORD our God, nor respect of persons, nor taking of gifts.
19: 8 Moreover in Jerusalem did Jehoshaphat set of the Levites, and of the priests, and of the chief of the fathers of Israel, for the judgment of the LORD, and for controversies, when they returned to Jerusalem.
19: 9 And he charged them, saying, Thus shall ye do in the fear of the LORD, faithfully, and with a perfect heart.
19: 11 And, behold, Amariah the chief priest is over you in all matters of the LORD; and Zebadiah the son of Ishmael, the ruler of the house of Judah, for all the king's matters: also the Levites shall be officers before you.
Deal courageously, and the LORD shall be with the good.
20: 1 It came to pass after this also, that the children of Moab, and the children of Ammon, and with them other beside the Ammonites, came against Jehoshaphat to battle.
20: 2 Then there came some that told Jehoshaphat, saying, There cometh a great multitude against thee from beyond the sea on this side Syria; and, behold, they be in Hazazontamar, which is Engedi.
20: 3 And Jehoshaphat feared, and set himself to seek the LORD, and proclaimed a fast throughout all Judah.
20: 4 And Judah gathered themselves together, to ask help of the LORD: even out of all the cities of Judah they came to seek the LORD.
20: 5 And Jehoshaphat stood in the congregation of Judah and Jerusalem, in the house of the LORD, before the new court, 20: 6 And said, O LORD God of our fathers, art not thou God in heaven?
and rulest not thou over all the kingdoms of the heathen?
and in thine hand is there not power and might, so that none is able to withstand thee?
20: 7 Art not thou our God, who didst drive out the inhabitants of this land before thy people Israel, and gavest it to the seed of Abraham thy friend for ever?
20: 12 O our God, wilt thou not judge them?
for we have no might against this great company that cometh against us; neither know we what to do: but our eyes are upon thee.
20: 13 And all Judah stood before the LORD, with their little ones, their wives, and their children.
20: 16 To morrow go ye down against them: behold, they come up by the cliff of Ziz; and ye shall find them at the end of the brook, before the wilderness of Jeruel.
20: 17 Ye shall not need to fight in this battle: set yourselves, stand ye still, and see the salvation of the LORD with you, O Judah and Jerusalem: fear not, nor be dismayed; to morrow go out against them: for the LORD will be with you.
20: 18 And Jehoshaphat bowed his head with his face to the ground: and all Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem fell before the LORD, worshipping the LORD.
20: 19 And the Levites, of the children of the Kohathites, and of the children of the Korhites, stood up to praise the LORD God of Israel with a loud voice on high.
20: 21 And when he had consulted with the people, he appointed singers unto the LORD, and that should praise the beauty of holiness, as they went out before the army, and to say, Praise the LORD; for his mercy endureth for ever.
20: 22 And when they began to sing and to praise, the LORD set ambushments against the children of Ammon, Moab, and mount Seir, which were come against Judah; and they were smitten.
20: 23 For the children of Ammon and Moab stood up against the inhabitants of mount Seir, utterly to slay and destroy them: and when they had made an end of the inhabitants of Seir, every one helped to destroy another.
20: 24 And when Judah came toward the watch tower in the wilderness, they looked unto the multitude, and, behold, they were dead bodies fallen to the earth, and none escaped.
20: 26 And on the fourth day they assembled themselves in the valley of Berachah; for there they blessed the LORD: therefore the name of the same place was called, The valley of Berachah, unto this day.
20: 27 Then they returned, every man of Judah and Jerusalem, and Jehoshaphat in the forefront of them, to go again to Jerusalem with joy; for the LORD had made them to rejoice over their enemies.
20: 28 And they came to Jerusalem with psalteries and harps and trumpets unto the house of the LORD.
20: 29 And the fear of God was on all the kingdoms of those countries, when they had heard that the LORD fought against the enemies of Israel.
20: 30 So the realm of Jehoshaphat was quiet: for his God gave him rest round about.
20: 31 And Jehoshaphat reigned over Judah: he was thirty and five years old when he began to reign, and he reigned twenty and five years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Azubah the daughter of Shilhi.
20: 32 And he walked in the way of Asa his father, and departed not from it, doing that which was right in the sight of the LORD.
20: 33 Howbeit the high places were not taken away: for as yet the people had not prepared their hearts unto the God of their fathers.
20: 34 Now the rest of the acts of Jehoshaphat, first and last, behold, they are written in the book of Jehu the son of Hanani, who is mentioned in the book of the kings of Israel.
20: 35 And after this did Jehoshaphat king of Judah join himself with Ahaziah king of Israel, who did very wickedly: 20: 36 And he joined himself with him to make ships to go to Tarshish: and they made the ships in Eziongaber.
20: 37 Then Eliezer the son of Dodavah of Mareshah prophesied against Jehoshaphat, saying, Because thou hast joined thyself with Ahaziah, the LORD hath broken thy works.
And the ships were broken, that they were not able to go to Tarshish.
21: 1 Now Jehoshaphat slept with his fathers, and was buried with his fathers in the city of David.
And Jehoram his son reigned in his stead.
21: 2 And he had brethren the sons of Jehoshaphat, Azariah, and Jehiel, and Zechariah, and Azariah, and Michael, and Shephatiah: all these were the sons of Jehoshaphat king of Israel.
21: 3 And their father gave them great gifts of silver, and of gold, and of precious things, with fenced cities in Judah: but the kingdom gave he to Jehoram; because he was the firstborn.
21: 4 Now when Jehoram was risen up to the kingdom of his father, he strengthened himself, and slew all his brethren with the sword, and divers also of the princes of Israel.
21: 5 Jehoram was thirty and two years old when he began to reign, and he reigned eight years in Jerusalem.
21: 6 And he walked in the way of the kings of Israel, like as did the house of Ahab: for he had the daughter of Ahab to wife: and he wrought that which was evil in the eyes of the LORD.
21: 7 Howbeit the LORD would not destroy the house of David, because of the covenant that he had made with David, and as he promised to give a light to him and to his sons for ever.
21: 8 In his days the Edomites revolted from under the dominion of Judah, and made themselves a king.
21: 9 Then Jehoram went forth with his princes, and all his chariots with him: and he rose up by night, and smote the Edomites which compassed him in, and the captains of the chariots.
21: 10 So the Edomites revolted from under the hand of Judah unto this day.
The same time also did Libnah revolt from under his hand; because he had forsaken the LORD God of his fathers.
21: 11 Moreover he made high places in the mountains of Judah and caused the inhabitants of Jerusalem to commit fornication, and compelled Judah thereto.
21: 18 And after all this the LORD smote him in his bowels with an incurable disease.
21: 19 And it came to pass, that in process of time, after the end of two years, his bowels fell out by reason of his sickness: so he died of sore diseases.
And his people made no burning for him, like the burning of his fathers.
21: 20 Thirty and two years old was he when he began to reign, and he reigned in Jerusalem eight years, and departed without being desired.
Howbeit they buried him in the city of David, but not in the sepulchres of the kings.
22: 1 And the inhabitants of Jerusalem made Ahaziah his youngest son king in his stead: for the band of men that came with the Arabians to the camp had slain all the eldest.
So Ahaziah the son of Jehoram king of Judah reigned.
22: 2 Forty and two years old was Ahaziah when he began to reign, and he reigned one year in Jerusalem.
His mother's name also was Athaliah the daughter of Omri.
22: 3 He also walked in the ways of the house of Ahab: for his mother was his counsellor to do wickedly.
22: 4 Wherefore he did evil in the sight of the LORD like the house of Ahab: for they were his counsellors after the death of his father to his destruction.
22: 5 He walked also after their counsel, and went with Jehoram the son of Ahab king of Israel to war against Hazael king of Syria at Ramothgilead: and the Syrians smote Joram.
22: 6 And he returned to be healed in Jezreel because of the wounds which were given him at Ramah, when he fought with Hazael king of Syria.
And Azariah the son of Jehoram king of Judah went down to see Jehoram the son of Ahab at Jezreel, because he was sick.
22: 7 And the destruction of Ahaziah was of God by coming to Joram: for when he was come, he went out with Jehoram against Jehu the son of Nimshi, whom the LORD had anointed to cut off the house of Ahab.
22: 8 And it came to pass, that, when Jehu was executing judgment upon the house of Ahab, and found the princes of Judah, and the sons of the brethren of Ahaziah, that ministered to Ahaziah, he slew them.
22: 9 And he sought Ahaziah: and they caught him, (for he was hid in Samaria,) and brought him to Jehu: and when they had slain him, they buried him: Because, said they, he is the son of Jehoshaphat, who sought the LORD with all his heart.
So the house of Ahaziah had no power to keep still the kingdom.
22: 10 But when Athaliah the mother of Ahaziah saw that her son was dead, she arose and destroyed all the seed royal of the house of Judah.
22: 11 But Jehoshabeath, the daughter of the king, took Joash the son of Ahaziah, and stole him from among the king's sons that were slain, and put him and his nurse in a bedchamber.
So Jehoshabeath, the daughter of king Jehoram, the wife of Jehoiada the priest, (for she was the sister of Ahaziah,) hid him from Athaliah, so that she slew him not.
22: 12 And he was with them hid in the house of God six years: and Athaliah reigned over the land.
23: 2 And they went about in Judah, and gathered the Levites out of all the cities of Judah, and the chief of the fathers of Israel, and they came to Jerusalem.
23: 3 And all the congregation made a covenant with the king in the house of God.
And he said unto them, Behold, the king's son shall reign, as the LORD hath said of the sons of David.
23: 6 But let none come into the house of the LORD, save the priests, and they that minister of the Levites; they shall go in, for they are holy: but all the people shall keep the watch of the LORD.
23: 7 And the Levites shall compass the king round about, every man with his weapons in his hand; and whosoever else cometh into the house, he shall be put to death: but be ye with the king when he cometh in, and when he goeth out.
23: 8 So the Levites and all Judah did according to all things that Jehoiada the priest had commanded, and took every man his men that were to come in on the sabbath, with them that were to go out on the sabbath: for Jehoiada the priest dismissed not the courses.
23: 9 Moreover Jehoiada the priest delivered to the captains of hundreds spears, and bucklers, and shields, that had been king David's, which were in the house of God.
23: 10 And he set all the people, every man having his weapon in his hand, from the right side of the temple to the left side of the temple, along by the altar and the temple, by the king round about.
23: 11 Then they brought out the king's son, and put upon him the crown, and gave him the testimony, and made him king.
And Jehoiada and his sons anointed him, and said, God save the king.
Then Athaliah rent her clothes, and said, Treason, Treason.
23: 14 Then Jehoiada the priest brought out the captains of hundreds that were set over the host, and said unto them, Have her forth of the ranges: and whoso followeth her, let him be slain with the sword.
For the priest said, Slay her not in the house of the LORD.
23: 15 So they laid hands on her; and when she was come to the entering of the horse gate by the king's house, they slew her there.
23: 16 And Jehoiada made a covenant between him, and between all the people, and between the king, that they should be the LORD's people.
23: 17 Then all the people went to the house of Baal, and brake it down, and brake his altars and his images in pieces, and slew Mattan the priest of Baal before the altars.
23: 19 And he set the porters at the gates of the house of the LORD, that none which was unclean in any thing should enter in.
23: 21 And all the people of the land rejoiced: and the city was quiet, after that they had slain Athaliah with the sword.
24: 1 Joash was seven years old when he began to reign, and he reigned forty years in Jerusalem.
His mother's name also was Zibiah of Beersheba.
24: 2 And Joash did that which was right in the sight of the LORD all the days of Jehoiada the priest.
24: 3 And Jehoiada took for him two wives; and he begat sons and daughters.
24: 4 And it came to pass after this, that Joash was minded to repair the house of the LORD.
24: 5 And he gathered together the priests and the Levites, and said to them, Go out unto the cities of Judah, and gather of all Israel money to repair the house of your God from year to year, and see that ye hasten the matter.
Howbeit the Levites hastened it not.
24: 7 For the sons of Athaliah, that wicked woman, had broken up the house of God; and also all the dedicated things of the house of the LORD did they bestow upon Baalim.
24: 8 And at the king's commandment they made a chest, and set it without at the gate of the house of the LORD.
24: 9 And they made a proclamation through Judah and Jerusalem, to bring in to the LORD the collection that Moses the servant of God laid upon Israel in the wilderness.
24: 10 And all the princes and all the people rejoiced, and brought in, and cast into the chest, until they had made an end.
Thus they did day by day, and gathered money in abundance.
24: 12 And the king and Jehoiada gave it to such as did the work of the service of the house of the LORD, and hired masons and carpenters to repair the house of the LORD, and also such as wrought iron and brass to mend the house of the LORD.
24: 13 So the workmen wrought, and the work was perfected by them, and they set the house of God in his state, and strengthened it.
24: 14 And when they had finished it, they brought the rest of the money before the king and Jehoiada, whereof were made vessels for the house of the LORD, even vessels to minister, and to offer withal, and spoons, and vessels of gold and silver.
And they offered burnt offerings in the house of the LORD continually all the days of Jehoiada.
24: 15 But Jehoiada waxed old, and was full of days when he died; an hundred and thirty years old was he when he died.
24: 16 And they buried him in the city of David among the kings, because he had done good in Israel, both toward God, and toward his house.
24: 17 Now after the death of Jehoiada came the princes of Judah, and made obeisance to the king.
Then the king hearkened unto them.
24: 18 And they left the house of the LORD God of their fathers, and served groves and idols: and wrath came upon Judah and Jerusalem for this their trespass.
24: 19 Yet he sent prophets to them, to bring them again unto the LORD; and they testified against them: but they would not give ear.
24: 20 And the Spirit of God came upon Zechariah the son of Jehoiada the priest, which stood above the people, and said unto them, Thus saith God, Why transgress ye the commandments of the LORD, that ye cannot prosper?
because ye have forsaken the LORD, he hath also forsaken you.
24: 21 And they conspired against him, and stoned him with stones at the commandment of the king in the court of the house of the LORD.
24: 22 Thus Joash the king remembered not the kindness which Jehoiada his father had done to him, but slew his son.
And when he died, he said, The LORD look upon it, and require it.
24: 23 And it came to pass at the end of the year, that the host of Syria came up against him: and they came to Judah and Jerusalem, and destroyed all the princes of the people from among the people, and sent all the spoil of them unto the king of Damascus.
24: 24 For the army of the Syrians came with a small company of men, and the LORD delivered a very great host into their hand, because they had forsaken the LORD God of their fathers.
So they executed judgment against Joash.
24: 26 And these are they that conspired against him; Zabad the son of Shimeath an Ammonitess, and Jehozabad the son of Shimrith a Moabitess.
24: 27 Now concerning his sons, and the greatness of the burdens laid upon him, and the repairing of the house of God, behold, they are written in the story of the book of the kings.
And Amaziah his son reigned in his stead.
25: 1 Amaziah was twenty and five years old when he began to reign, and he reigned twenty and nine years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Jehoaddan of Jerusalem.
25: 2 And he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, but not with a perfect heart.
25: 3 Now it came to pass, when the kingdom was established to him, that he slew his servants that had killed the king his father.
25: 4 But he slew not their children, but did as it is written in the law in the book of Moses, where the LORD commanded, saying, The fathers shall not die for the children, neither shall the children die for the fathers, but every man shall die for his own sin.
25: 6 He hired also an hundred thousand mighty men of valour out of Israel for an hundred talents of silver.
25: 7 But there came a man of God to him, saying, O king, let not the army of Israel go with thee; for the LORD is not with Israel, to wit, with all the children of Ephraim.
25: 8 But if thou wilt go, do it; be strong for the battle: God shall make thee fall before the enemy: for God hath power to help, and to cast down.
25: 9 And Amaziah said to the man of God, But what shall we do for the hundred talents which I have given to the army of Israel?
And the man of God answered, The LORD is able to give thee much more than this.
25: 10 Then Amaziah separated them, to wit, the army that was come to him out of Ephraim, to go home again: wherefore their anger was greatly kindled against Judah, and they returned home in great anger.
25: 11 And Amaziah strengthened himself, and led forth his people, and went to the valley of salt, and smote of the children of Seir ten thousand.
25: 12 And other ten thousand left alive did the children of Judah carry away captive, and brought them unto the top of the rock, and cast them down from the top of the rock, that they all were broken in pieces.
25: 13 But the soldiers of the army which Amaziah sent back, that they should not go with him to battle, fell upon the cities of Judah, from Samaria even unto Bethhoron, and smote three thousand of them, and took much spoil.
25: 14 Now it came to pass, after that Amaziah was come from the slaughter of the Edomites, that he brought the gods of the children of Seir, and set them up to be his gods, and bowed down himself before them, and burned incense unto them.
25: 15 Wherefore the anger of the LORD was kindled against Amaziah, and he sent unto him a prophet, which said unto him, Why hast thou sought after the gods of the people, which could not deliver their own people out of thine hand?
25: 16 And it came to pass, as he talked with him, that the king said unto him, Art thou made of the king's counsel?
forbear; why shouldest thou be smitten?
Then the prophet forbare, and said, I know that God hath determined to destroy thee, because thou hast done this, and hast not hearkened unto my counsel.
25: 17 Then Amaziah king of Judah took advice, and sent to Joash, the son of Jehoahaz, the son of Jehu, king of Israel, saying, Come, let us see one another in the face.
25: 18 And Joash king of Israel sent to Amaziah king of Judah, saying, The thistle that was in Lebanon sent to the cedar that was in Lebanon, saying, Give thy daughter to my son to wife: and there passed by a wild beast that was in Lebanon, and trode down the thistle.
25: 19 Thou sayest, Lo, thou hast smitten the Edomites; and thine heart lifteth thee up to boast: abide now at home; why shouldest thou meddle to thine hurt, that thou shouldest fall, even thou, and Judah with thee?
25: 20 But Amaziah would not hear; for it came of God, that he might deliver them into the hand of their enemies, because they sought after the gods of Edom.
25: 21 So Joash the king of Israel went up; and they saw one another in the face, both he and Amaziah king of Judah, at Bethshemesh, which belongeth to Judah.
25: 22 And Judah was put to the worse before Israel, and they fled every man to his tent.
25: 23 And Joash the king of Israel took Amaziah king of Judah, the son of Joash, the son of Jehoahaz, at Bethshemesh, and brought him to Jerusalem, and brake down the wall of Jerusalem from the gate of Ephraim to the corner gate, four hundred cubits.
25: 24 And he took all the gold and the silver, and all the vessels that were found in the house of God with Obededom, and the treasures of the king's house, the hostages also, and returned to Samaria.
25: 25 And Amaziah the son of Joash king of Judah lived after the death of Joash son of Jehoahaz king of Israel fifteen years.
25: 26 Now the rest of the acts of Amaziah, first and last, behold, are they not written in the book of the kings of Judah and Israel?
25: 27 Now after the time that Amaziah did turn away from following the LORD they made a conspiracy against him in Jerusalem; and he fled to Lachish: but they sent to Lachish after him, and slew him there.
25: 28 And they brought him upon horses, and buried him with his fathers in the city of Judah.
26: 1 Then all the people of Judah took Uzziah, who was sixteen years old, and made him king in the room of his father Amaziah.
26: 2 He built Eloth, and restored it to Judah, after that the king slept with his fathers.
26: 3 Sixteen years old was Uzziah when he began to reign, and he reigned fifty and two years in Jerusalem.
His mother's name also was Jecoliah of Jerusalem.
26: 4 And he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, according to all that his father Amaziah did.
26: 5 And he sought God in the days of Zechariah, who had understanding in the visions of God: and as long as he sought the LORD, God made him to prosper.
26: 6 And he went forth and warred against the Philistines, and brake down the wall of Gath, and the wall of Jabneh, and the wall of Ashdod, and built cities about Ashdod, and among the Philistines.
26: 7 And God helped him against the Philistines, and against the Arabians that dwelt in Gurbaal, and the Mehunims.
26: 8 And the Ammonites gave gifts to Uzziah: and his name spread abroad even to the entering in of Egypt; for he strengthened himself exceedingly.
26: 9 Moreover Uzziah built towers in Jerusalem at the corner gate, and at the valley gate, and at the turning of the wall, and fortified them.
26: 10 Also he built towers in the desert, and digged many wells: for he had much cattle, both in the low country, and in the plains: husbandmen also, and vine dressers in the mountains, and in Carmel: for he loved husbandry.
26: 11 Moreover Uzziah had an host of fighting men, that went out to war by bands, according to the number of their account by the hand of Jeiel the scribe and Maaseiah the ruler, under the hand of Hananiah, one of the king's captains.
26: 12 The whole number of the chief of the fathers of the mighty men of valour were two thousand and six hundred.
26: 13 And under their hand was an army, three hundred thousand and seven thousand and five hundred, that made war with mighty power, to help the king against the enemy.
26: 14 And Uzziah prepared for them throughout all the host shields, and spears, and helmets, and habergeons, and bows, and slings to cast stones.
26: 15 And he made in Jerusalem engines, invented by cunning men, to be on the towers and upon the bulwarks, to shoot arrows and great stones withal.
And his name spread far abroad; for he was marvellously helped, till he was strong.
26: 16 But when he was strong, his heart was lifted up to his destruction: for he transgressed against the LORD his God, and went into the temple of the LORD to burn incense upon the altar of incense.
26: 19 Then Uzziah was wroth, and had a censer in his hand to burn incense: and while he was wroth with the priests, the leprosy even rose up in his forehead before the priests in the house of the LORD, from beside the incense altar.
26: 20 And Azariah the chief priest, and all the priests, looked upon him, and, behold, he was leprous in his forehead, and they thrust him out from thence; yea, himself hasted also to go out, because the LORD had smitten him.
26: 21 And Uzziah the king was a leper unto the day of his death, and dwelt in a several house, being a leper; for he was cut off from the house of the LORD: and Jotham his son was over the king's house, judging the people of the land.
26: 22 Now the rest of the acts of Uzziah, first and last, did Isaiah the prophet, the son of Amoz, write.
26: 23 So Uzziah slept with his fathers, and they buried him with his fathers in the field of the burial which belonged to the kings; for they said, He is a leper: and Jotham his son reigned in his stead.
27: 1 Jotham was twenty and five years old when he began to reign, and he reigned sixteen years in Jerusalem.
His mother's name also was Jerushah, the daughter of Zadok.
27: 2 And he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, according to all that his father Uzziah did: howbeit he entered not into the temple of the LORD.
And the people did yet corruptly.
27: 3 He built the high gate of the house of the LORD, and on the wall of Ophel he built much.
27: 4 Moreover he built cities in the mountains of Judah, and in the forests he built castles and towers.
27: 5 He fought also with the king of the Ammonites, and prevailed against them.
And the children of Ammon gave him the same year an hundred talents of silver, and ten thousand measures of wheat, and ten thousand of barley.
So much did the children of Ammon pay unto him, both the second year, and the third.
27: 6 So Jotham became mighty, because he prepared his ways before the LORD his God.
27: 7 Now the rest of the acts of Jotham, and all his wars, and his ways, lo, they are written in the book of the kings of Israel and Judah.
27: 8 He was five and twenty years old when he began to reign, and reigned sixteen years in Jerusalem.
27: 9 And Jotham slept with his fathers, and they buried him in the city of David: and Ahaz his son reigned in his stead.
28: 3 Moreover he burnt incense in the valley of the son of Hinnom, and burnt his children in the fire, after the abominations of the heathen whom the LORD had cast out before the children of Israel.
28: 4 He sacrificed also and burnt incense in the high places, and on the hills, and under every green tree.
28: 5 Wherefore the LORD his God delivered him into the hand of the king of Syria; and they smote him, and carried away a great multitude of them captives, and brought them to Damascus.
And he was also delivered into the hand of the king of Israel, who smote him with a great slaughter.
28: 6 For Pekah the son of Remaliah slew in Judah an hundred and twenty thousand in one day, which were all valiant men; because they had forsaken the LORD God of their fathers.
28: 7 And Zichri, a mighty man of Ephraim, slew Maaseiah the king's son, and Azrikam the governor of the house, and Elkanah that was next to the king.
28: 8 And the children of Israel carried away captive of their brethren two hundred thousand, women, sons, and daughters, and took also away much spoil from them, and brought the spoil to Samaria.
28: 10 And now ye purpose to keep under the children of Judah and Jerusalem for bondmen and bondwomen unto you: but are there not with you, even with you, sins against the LORD your God?
28: 11 Now hear me therefore, and deliver the captives again, which ye have taken captive of your brethren: for the fierce wrath of the LORD is upon you.
28: 14 So the armed men left the captives and the spoil before the princes and all the congregation.
28: 16 At that time did king Ahaz send unto the kings of Assyria to help him.
28: 17 For again the Edomites had come and smitten Judah, and carried away captives.
28: 19 For the LORD brought Judah low because of Ahaz king of Israel; for he made Judah naked, and transgressed sore against the LORD.
28: 20 And Tilgathpilneser king of Assyria came unto him, and distressed him, but strengthened him not.
28: 21 For Ahaz took away a portion out of the house of the LORD, and out of the house of the king, and of the princes, and gave it unto the king of Assyria: but he helped him not.
28: 22 And in the time of his distress did he trespass yet more against the LORD: this is that king Ahaz.
28: 23 For he sacrificed unto the gods of Damascus, which smote him: and he said, Because the gods of the kings of Syria help them, therefore will I sacrifice to them, that they may help me.
But they were the ruin of him, and of all Israel.
28: 24 And Ahaz gathered together the vessels of the house of God, and cut in pieces the vessels of the house of God, and shut up the doors of the house of the LORD, and he made him altars in every corner of Jerusalem.
28: 25 And in every several city of Judah he made high places to burn incense unto other gods, and provoked to anger the LORD God of his fathers.
28: 26 Now the rest of his acts and of all his ways, first and last, behold, they are written in the book of the kings of Judah and Israel.
28: 27 And Ahaz slept with his fathers, and they buried him in the city, even in Jerusalem: but they brought him not into the sepulchres of the kings of Israel: and Hezekiah his son reigned in his stead.
29: 1 Hezekiah began to reign when he was five and twenty years old, and he reigned nine and twenty years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Abijah, the daughter of Zechariah.
29: 2 And he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, according to all that David his father had done.
29: 3 He in the first year of his reign, in the first month, opened the doors of the house of the LORD, and repaired them.
29: 6 For our fathers have trespassed, and done that which was evil in the eyes of the LORD our God, and have forsaken him, and have turned away their faces from the habitation of the LORD, and turned their backs.
29: 7 Also they have shut up the doors of the porch, and put out the lamps, and have not burned incense nor offered burnt offerings in the holy place unto the God of Israel.
29: 8 Wherefore the wrath of the LORD was upon Judah and Jerusalem, and he hath delivered them to trouble, to astonishment, and to hissing, as ye see with your eyes.
29: 9 For, lo, our fathers have fallen by the sword, and our sons and our daughters and our wives are in captivity for this.
29: 10 Now it is in mine heart to make a covenant with the LORD God of Israel, that his fierce wrath may turn away from us.
29: 11 My sons, be not now negligent: for the LORD hath chosen you to stand before him, to serve him, and that ye should minister unto him, and burn incense.
29: 15 And they gathered their brethren, and sanctified themselves, and came, according to the commandment of the king, by the words of the LORD, to cleanse the house of the LORD.
29: 16 And the priests went into the inner part of the house of the LORD, to cleanse it, and brought out all the uncleanness that they found in the temple of the LORD into the court of the house of the LORD.
And the Levites took it, to carry it out abroad into the brook Kidron.
29: 17 Now they began on the first day of the first month to sanctify, and on the eighth day of the month came they to the porch of the LORD: so they sanctified the house of the LORD in eight days; and in the sixteenth day of the first month they made an end.
29: 18 Then they went in to Hezekiah the king, and said, We have cleansed all the house of the LORD, and the altar of burnt offering, with all the vessels thereof, and the shewbread table, with all the vessels thereof.
29: 19 Moreover all the vessels, which king Ahaz in his reign did cast away in his transgression, have we prepared and sanctified, and, behold, they are before the altar of the LORD.
29: 20 Then Hezekiah the king rose early, and gathered the rulers of the city, and went up to the house of the LORD.
29: 21 And they brought seven bullocks, and seven rams, and seven lambs, and seven he goats, for a sin offering for the kingdom, and for the sanctuary, and for Judah.
And he commanded the priests the sons of Aaron to offer them on the altar of the LORD.
29: 22 So they killed the bullocks, and the priests received the blood, and sprinkled it on the altar: likewise, when they had killed the rams, they sprinkled the blood upon the altar: they killed also the lambs, and they sprinkled the blood upon the altar.
29: 25 And he set the Levites in the house of the LORD with cymbals, with psalteries, and with harps, according to the commandment of David, and of Gad the king's seer, and Nathan the prophet: for so was the commandment of the LORD by his prophets.
29: 26 And the Levites stood with the instruments of David, and the priests with the trumpets.
29: 27 And Hezekiah commanded to offer the burnt offering upon the altar.
And when the burnt offering began, the song of the LORD began also with the trumpets, and with the instruments ordained by David king of Israel.
29: 28 And all the congregation worshipped, and the singers sang, and the trumpeters sounded: and all this continued until the burnt offering was finished.
29: 29 And when they had made an end of offering, the king and all that were present with him bowed themselves, and worshipped.
29: 30 Moreover Hezekiah the king and the princes commanded the Levites to sing praise unto the LORD with the words of David, and of Asaph the seer.
And they sang praises with gladness, and they bowed their heads and worshipped.
29: 31 Then Hezekiah answered and said, Now ye have consecrated yourselves unto the LORD, come near and bring sacrifices and thank offerings into the house of the LORD.
And the congregation brought in sacrifices and thank offerings; and as many as were of a free heart burnt offerings.
29: 32 And the number of the burnt offerings, which the congregation brought, was threescore and ten bullocks, an hundred rams, and two hundred lambs: all these were for a burnt offering to the LORD.
29: 33 And the consecrated things were six hundred oxen and three thousand sheep.
29: 35 And also the burnt offerings were in abundance, with the fat of the peace offerings, and the drink offerings for every burnt offering.
So the service of the house of the LORD was set in order.
29: 36 And Hezekiah rejoiced, and all the people, that God had prepared the people: for the thing was done suddenly.
30: 1 And Hezekiah sent to all Israel and Judah, and wrote letters also to Ephraim and Manasseh, that they should come to the house of the LORD at Jerusalem, to keep the passover unto the LORD God of Israel.
30: 2 For the king had taken counsel, and his princes, and all the congregation in Jerusalem, to keep the passover in the second month.
30: 3 For they could not keep it at that time, because the priests had not sanctified themselves sufficiently, neither had the people gathered themselves together to Jerusalem.
30: 4 And the thing pleased the king and all the congregation.
30: 5 So they established a decree to make proclamation throughout all Israel, from Beersheba even to Dan, that they should come to keep the passover unto the LORD God of Israel at Jerusalem: for they had not done it of a long time in such sort as it was written.
30: 7 And be not ye like your fathers, and like your brethren, which trespassed against the LORD God of their fathers, who therefore gave them up to desolation, as ye see.
30: 8 Now be ye not stiffnecked, as your fathers were, but yield yourselves unto the LORD, and enter into his sanctuary, which he hath sanctified for ever: and serve the LORD your God, that the fierceness of his wrath may turn away from you.
30: 10 So the posts passed from city to city through the country of Ephraim and Manasseh even unto Zebulun: but they laughed them to scorn, and mocked them.
30: 11 Nevertheless divers of Asher and Manasseh and of Zebulun humbled themselves, and came to Jerusalem.
30: 12 Also in Judah the hand of God was to give them one heart to do the commandment of the king and of the princes, by the word of the LORD.
30: 13 And there assembled at Jerusalem much people to keep the feast of unleavened bread in the second month, a very great congregation.
30: 14 And they arose and took away the altars that were in Jerusalem, and all the altars for incense took they away, and cast them into the brook Kidron.
30: 15 Then they killed the passover on the fourteenth day of the second month: and the priests and the Levites were ashamed, and sanctified themselves, and brought in the burnt offerings into the house of the LORD.
30: 16 And they stood in their place after their manner, according to the law of Moses the man of God: the priests sprinkled the blood, which they received of the hand of the Levites.
30: 17 For there were many in the congregation that were not sanctified: therefore the Levites had the charge of the killing of the passovers for every one that was not clean, to sanctify them unto the LORD.
30: 18 For a multitude of the people, even many of Ephraim, and Manasseh, Issachar, and Zebulun, had not cleansed themselves, yet did they eat the passover otherwise than it was written.
But Hezekiah prayed for them, saying, The good LORD pardon every one 30: 19 That prepareth his heart to seek God, the LORD God of his fathers, though he be not cleansed according to the purification of the sanctuary.
30: 20 And the LORD hearkened to Hezekiah, and healed the people.
30: 21 And the children of Israel that were present at Jerusalem kept the feast of unleavened bread seven days with great gladness: and the Levites and the priests praised the LORD day by day, singing with loud instruments unto the LORD.
30: 22 And Hezekiah spake comfortably unto all the Levites that taught the good knowledge of the LORD: and they did eat throughout the feast seven days, offering peace offerings, and making confession to the LORD God of their fathers.
30: 23 And the whole assembly took counsel to keep other seven days: and they kept other seven days with gladness.
30: 24 For Hezekiah king of Judah did give to the congregation a thousand bullocks and seven thousand sheep; and the princes gave to the congregation a thousand bullocks and ten thousand sheep: and a great number of priests sanctified themselves.
30: 25 And all the congregation of Judah, with the priests and the Levites, and all the congregation that came out of Israel, and the strangers that came out of the land of Israel, and that dwelt in Judah, rejoiced.
30: 26 So there was great joy in Jerusalem: for since the time of Solomon the son of David king of Israel there was not the like in Jerusalem.
30: 27 Then the priests the Levites arose and blessed the people: and their voice was heard, and their prayer came up to his holy dwelling place, even unto heaven.
Then all the children of Israel returned, every man to his possession, into their own cities.
31: 3 He appointed also the king's portion of his substance for the burnt offerings, to wit, for the morning and evening burnt offerings, and the burnt offerings for the sabbaths, and for the new moons, and for the set feasts, as it is written in the law of the LORD.
31: 4 Moreover he commanded the people that dwelt in Jerusalem to give the portion of the priests and the Levites, that they might be encouraged in the law of the LORD.
31: 5 And as soon as the commandment came abroad, the children of Israel brought in abundance the firstfruits of corn, wine, and oil, and honey, and of all the increase of the field; and the tithe of all things brought they in abundantly.
31: 6 And concerning the children of Israel and Judah, that dwelt in the cities of Judah, they also brought in the tithe of oxen and sheep, and the tithe of holy things which were consecrated unto the LORD their God, and laid them by heaps.
31: 7 In the third month they began to lay the foundation of the heaps, and finished them in the seventh month.
31: 8 And when Hezekiah and the princes came and saw the heaps, they blessed the LORD, and his people Israel.
31: 9 Then Hezekiah questioned with the priests and the Levites concerning the heaps.
31: 11 Then Hezekiah commanded to prepare chambers in the house of the LORD; and they prepared them, 31: 12 And brought in the offerings and the tithes and the dedicated things faithfully: over which Cononiah the Levite was ruler, and Shimei his brother was the next.
31: 14 And Kore the son of Imnah the Levite, the porter toward the east, was over the freewill offerings of God, to distribute the oblations of the LORD, and the most holy things.
31: 20 And thus did Hezekiah throughout all Judah, and wrought that which was good and right and truth before the LORD his God.
31: 21 And in every work that he began in the service of the house of God, and in the law, and in the commandments, to seek his God, he did it with all his heart, and prospered.
32: 1 After these things, and the establishment thereof, Sennacherib king of Assyria came, and entered into Judah, and encamped against the fenced cities, and thought to win them for himself.
32: 2 And when Hezekiah saw that Sennacherib was come, and that he was purposed to fight against Jerusalem, 32: 3 He took counsel with his princes and his mighty men to stop the waters of the fountains which were without the city: and they did help him.
32: 4 So there was gathered much people together, who stopped all the fountains, and the brook that ran through the midst of the land, saying, Why should the kings of Assyria come, and find much water?
32: 5 Also he strengthened himself, and built up all the wall that was broken, and raised it up to the towers, and another wall without, and repaired Millo in the city of David, and made darts and shields in abundance.
And the people rested themselves upon the words of Hezekiah king of Judah.
32: 11 Doth not Hezekiah persuade you to give over yourselves to die by famine and by thirst, saying, The LORD our God shall deliver us out of the hand of the king of Assyria?
32: 12 Hath not the same Hezekiah taken away his high places and his altars, and commanded Judah and Jerusalem, saying, Ye shall worship before one altar, and burn incense upon it?
32: 13 Know ye not what I and my fathers have done unto all the people of other lands?
were the gods of the nations of those lands any ways able to deliver their lands out of mine hand?
32: 14 Who was there among all the gods of those nations that my fathers utterly destroyed, that could deliver his people out of mine hand, that your God should be able to deliver you out of mine hand?
32: 16 And his servants spake yet more against the LORD God, and against his servant Hezekiah.
32: 17 He wrote also letters to rail on the LORD God of Israel, and to speak against him, saying, As the gods of the nations of other lands have not delivered their people out of mine hand, so shall not the God of Hezekiah deliver his people out of mine hand.
32: 18 Then they cried with a loud voice in the Jews'speech unto the people of Jerusalem that were on the wall, to affright them, and to trouble them; that they might take the city.
32: 19 And they spake against the God of Jerusalem, as against the gods of the people of the earth, which were the work of the hands of man.
32: 20 And for this cause Hezekiah the king, and the prophet Isaiah the son of Amoz, prayed and cried to heaven.
32: 21 And the LORD sent an angel, which cut off all the mighty men of valour, and the leaders and captains in the camp of the king of Assyria.
So he returned with shame of face to his own land.
And when he was come into the house of his god, they that came forth of his own bowels slew him there with the sword.
32: 22 Thus the LORD saved Hezekiah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem from the hand of Sennacherib the king of Assyria, and from the hand of all other, and guided them on every side.
32: 23 And many brought gifts unto the LORD to Jerusalem, and presents to Hezekiah king of Judah: so that he was magnified in the sight of all nations from thenceforth.
32: 24 In those days Hezekiah was sick to the death, and prayed unto the LORD: and he spake unto him, and he gave him a sign.
32: 25 But Hezekiah rendered not again according to the benefit done unto him; for his heart was lifted up: therefore there was wrath upon him, and upon Judah and Jerusalem.
32: 26 Notwithstanding Hezekiah humbled himself for the pride of his heart, both he and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, so that the wrath of the LORD came not upon them in the days of Hezekiah.
32: 29 Moreover he provided him cities, and possessions of flocks and herds in abundance: for God had given him substance very much.
32: 30 This same Hezekiah also stopped the upper watercourse of Gihon, and brought it straight down to the west side of the city of David.
And Hezekiah prospered in all his works.
32: 31 Howbeit in the business of the ambassadors of the princes of Babylon, who sent unto him to enquire of the wonder that was done in the land, God left him, to try him, that he might know all that was in his heart.
32: 32 Now the rest of the acts of Hezekiah, and his goodness, behold, they are written in the vision of Isaiah the prophet, the son of Amoz, and in the book of the kings of Judah and Israel.
32: 33 And Hezekiah slept with his fathers, and they buried him in the chiefest of the sepulchres of the sons of David: and all Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem did him honour at his death.
And Manasseh his son reigned in his stead.
33: 1 Manasseh was twelve years old when he began to reign, and he reigned fifty and five years in Jerusalem: 33: 2 But did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD, like unto the abominations of the heathen, whom the LORD had cast out before the children of Israel.
33: 3 For he built again the high places which Hezekiah his father had broken down, and he reared up altars for Baalim, and made groves, and worshipped all the host of heaven, and served them.
33: 4 Also he built altars in the house of the LORD, whereof the LORD had said, In Jerusalem shall my name be for ever.
33: 5 And he built altars for all the host of heaven in the two courts of the house of the LORD.
33: 9 So Manasseh made Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem to err, and to do worse than the heathen, whom the LORD had destroyed before the children of Israel.
33: 10 And the LORD spake to Manasseh, and to his people: but they would not hearken.
33: 11 Wherefore the LORD brought upon them the captains of the host of the king of Assyria, which took Manasseh among the thorns, and bound him with fetters, and carried him to Babylon.
33: 12 And when he was in affliction, he besought the LORD his God, and humbled himself greatly before the God of his fathers, 33: 13 And prayed unto him: and he was intreated of him, and heard his supplication, and brought him again to Jerusalem into his kingdom.
Then Manasseh knew that the LORD he was God.
33: 14 Now after this he built a wall without the city of David, on the west side of Gihon, in the valley, even to the entering in at the fish gate, and compassed about Ophel, and raised it up a very great height, and put captains of war in all the fenced cities of Judah.
33: 15 And he took away the strange gods, and the idol out of the house of the LORD, and all the altars that he had built in the mount of the house of the LORD, and in Jerusalem, and cast them out of the city.
33: 16 And he repaired the altar of the LORD, and sacrificed thereon peace offerings and thank offerings, and commanded Judah to serve the LORD God of Israel.
33: 17 Nevertheless the people did sacrifice still in the high places, yet unto the LORD their God only.
33: 18 Now the rest of the acts of Manasseh, and his prayer unto his God, and the words of the seers that spake to him in the name of the LORD God of Israel, behold, they are written in the book of the kings of Israel.
33: 19 His prayer also, and how God was intreated of him, and all his sins, and his trespass, and the places wherein he built high places, and set up groves and graven images, before he was humbled: behold, they are written among the sayings of the seers.
33: 20 So Manasseh slept with his fathers, and they buried him in his own house: and Amon his son reigned in his stead.
33: 21 Amon was two and twenty years old when he began to reign, and reigned two years in Jerusalem.
33: 24 And his servants conspired against him, and slew him in his own house.
33: 25 But the people of the land slew all them that had conspired against king Amon; and the people of the land made Josiah his son king in his stead.
34: 1 Josiah was eight years old when he began to reign, and he reigned in Jerusalem one and thirty years.
34: 2 And he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, and walked in the ways of David his father, and declined neither to the right hand, nor to the left.
34: 3 For in the eighth year of his reign, while he was yet young, he began to seek after the God of David his father: and in the twelfth year he began to purge Judah and Jerusalem from the high places, and the groves, and the carved images, and the molten images.
34: 5 And he burnt the bones of the priests upon their altars, and cleansed Judah and Jerusalem.
34: 6 And so did he in the cities of Manasseh, and Ephraim, and Simeon, even unto Naphtali, with their mattocks round about.
34: 7 And when he had broken down the altars and the groves, and had beaten the graven images into powder, and cut down all the idols throughout all the land of Israel, he returned to Jerusalem.
34: 8 Now in the eighteenth year of his reign, when he had purged the land, and the house, he sent Shaphan the son of Azaliah, and Maaseiah the governor of the city, and Joah the son of Joahaz the recorder, to repair the house of the LORD his God.
34: 13 Also they were over the bearers of burdens, and were overseers of all that wrought the work in any manner of service: and of the Levites there were scribes, and officers, and porters.
34: 14 And when they brought out the money that was brought into the house of the LORD, Hilkiah the priest found a book of the law of the LORD given by Moses.
34: 15 And Hilkiah answered and said to Shaphan the scribe, I have found the book of the law in the house of the LORD.
And Hilkiah delivered the book to Shaphan.
34: 16 And Shaphan carried the book to the king, and brought the king word back again, saying, All that was committed to thy servants, they do it.
34: 17 And they have gathered together the money that was found in the house of the LORD, and have delivered it into the hand of the overseers, and to the hand of the workmen.
34: 18 Then Shaphan the scribe told the king, saying, Hilkiah the priest hath given me a book.
And Shaphan read it before the king.
34: 19 And it came to pass, when the king had heard the words of the law, that he rent his clothes.
34: 22 And Hilkiah, and they that the king had appointed, went to Huldah the prophetess, the wife of Shallum the son of Tikvath, the son of Hasrah, keeper of the wardrobe; (now she dwelt in Jerusalem in the college:) and they spake to her to that effect.
34: 28 Behold, I will gather thee to thy fathers, and thou shalt be gathered to thy grave in peace, neither shall thine eyes see all the evil that I will bring upon this place, and upon the inhabitants of the same.
So they brought the king word again.
34: 29 Then the king sent and gathered together all the elders of Judah and Jerusalem.
34: 32 And he caused all that were present in Jerusalem and Benjamin to stand to it.
And the inhabitants of Jerusalem did according to the covenant of God, the God of their fathers.
34: 33 And Josiah took away all the abominations out of all the countries that pertained to the children of Israel, and made all that were present in Israel to serve, even to serve the LORD their God.
And all his days they departed not from following the LORD, the God of their fathers.
35: 1 Moreover Josiah kept a passover unto the LORD in Jerusalem: and they killed the passover on the fourteenth day of the first month.
35: 5 And stand in the holy place according to the divisions of the families of the fathers of your brethren the people, and after the division of the families of the Levites.
35: 6 So kill the passover, and sanctify yourselves, and prepare your brethren, that they may do according to the word of the LORD by the hand of Moses.
35: 7 And Josiah gave to the people, of the flock, lambs and kids, all for the passover offerings, for all that were present, to the number of thirty thousand, and three thousand bullocks: these were of the king's substance.
35: 8 And his princes gave willingly unto the people, to the priests, and to the Levites: Hilkiah and Zechariah and Jehiel, rulers of the house of God, gave unto the priests for the passover offerings two thousand and six hundred small cattle and three hundred oxen.
35: 9 Conaniah also, and Shemaiah and Nethaneel, his brethren, and Hashabiah and Jeiel and Jozabad, chief of the Levites, gave unto the Levites for passover offerings five thousand small cattle, and five hundred oxen.
35: 10 So the service was prepared, and the priests stood in their place, and the Levites in their courses, according to the king's commandment.
35: 11 And they killed the passover, and the priests sprinkled the blood from their hands, and the Levites flayed them.
35: 12 And they removed the burnt offerings, that they might give according to the divisions of the families of the people, to offer unto the LORD, as it is written in the book of Moses.
And so did they with the oxen.
35: 13 And they roasted the passover with fire according to the ordinance: but the other holy offerings sod they in pots, and in caldrons, and in pans, and divided them speedily among all the people.
35: 14 And afterward they made ready for themselves, and for the priests: because the priests the sons of Aaron were busied in offering of burnt offerings and the fat until night; therefore the Levites prepared for themselves, and for the priests the sons of Aaron.
35: 16 So all the service of the LORD was prepared the same day, to keep the passover, and to offer burnt offerings upon the altar of the LORD, according to the commandment of king Josiah.
35: 17 And the children of Israel that were present kept the passover at that time, and the feast of unleavened bread seven days.
35: 19 In the eighteenth year of the reign of Josiah was this passover kept.
35: 20 After all this, when Josiah had prepared the temple, Necho king of Egypt came up to fight against Charchemish by Euphrates: and Josiah went out against him.
35: 21 But he sent ambassadors to him, saying, What have I to do with thee, thou king of Judah?
I come not against thee this day, but against the house wherewith I have war: for God commanded me to make haste: forbear thee from meddling with God, who is with me, that he destroy thee not.
35: 22 Nevertheless Josiah would not turn his face from him, but disguised himself, that he might fight with him, and hearkened not unto the words of Necho from the mouth of God, and came to fight in the valley of Megiddo.
35: 23 And the archers shot at king Josiah; and the king said to his servants, Have me away; for I am sore wounded.
35: 24 His servants therefore took him out of that chariot, and put him in the second chariot that he had; and they brought him to Jerusalem, and he died, and was buried in one of the sepulchres of his fathers.
And all Judah and Jerusalem mourned for Josiah.
35: 25 And Jeremiah lamented for Josiah: and all the singing men and the singing women spake of Josiah in their lamentations to this day, and made them an ordinance in Israel: and, behold, they are written in the lamentations.
35: 26 Now the rest of the acts of Josiah, and his goodness, according to that which was written in the law of the LORD, 35: 27 And his deeds, first and last, behold, they are written in the book of the kings of Israel and Judah.
36: 1 Then the people of the land took Jehoahaz the son of Josiah, and made him king in his father's stead in Jerusalem.
36: 2 Jehoahaz was twenty and three years old when he began to reign, and he reigned three months in Jerusalem.
36: 3 And the king of Egypt put him down at Jerusalem, and condemned the land in an hundred talents of silver and a talent of gold.
36: 4 And the king of Egypt made Eliakim his brother king over Judah and Jerusalem, and turned his name to Jehoiakim.
And Necho took Jehoahaz his brother, and carried him to Egypt.
36: 5 Jehoiakim was twenty and five years old when he began to reign, and he reigned eleven years in Jerusalem: and he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD his God.
36: 6 Against him came up Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon, and bound him in fetters, to carry him to Babylon.
36: 7 Nebuchadnezzar also carried of the vessels of the house of the LORD to Babylon, and put them in his temple at Babylon.
36: 8 Now the rest of the acts of Jehoiakim, and his abominations which he did, and that which was found in him, behold, they are written in the book of the kings of Israel and Judah: and Jehoiachin his son reigned in his stead.
36: 9 Jehoiachin was eight years old when he began to reign, and he reigned three months and ten days in Jerusalem: and he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD.
36: 10 And when the year was expired, king Nebuchadnezzar sent, and brought him to Babylon, with the goodly vessels of the house of the LORD, and made Zedekiah his brother king over Judah and Jerusalem.
36: 11 Zedekiah was one and twenty years old when he began to reign, and reigned eleven years in Jerusalem.
36: 12 And he did that which was evil in the sight of the LORD his God, and humbled not himself before Jeremiah the prophet speaking from the mouth of the LORD.
36: 13 And he also rebelled against king Nebuchadnezzar, who had made him swear by God: but he stiffened his neck, and hardened his heart from turning unto the LORD God of Israel.
36: 14 Moreover all the chief of the priests, and the people, transgressed very much after all the abominations of the heathen; and polluted the house of the LORD which he had hallowed in Jerusalem.
36: 17 Therefore he brought upon them the king of the Chaldees, who slew their young men with the sword in the house of their sanctuary, and had no compassion upon young man or maiden, old man, or him that stooped for age: he gave them all into his hand.
36: 18 And all the vessels of the house of God, great and small, and the treasures of the house of the LORD, and the treasures of the king, and of his princes; all these he brought to Babylon.
36: 19 And they burnt the house of God, and brake down the wall of Jerusalem, and burnt all the palaces thereof with fire, and destroyed all the goodly vessels thereof.
Who is there among you of all his people?
The LORD his God be with him, and let him go up.
Ezra
1: 3 Who is there among you of all his people?
his God be with him, and let him go up to Jerusalem, which is in Judah, and build the house of the LORD God of Israel, (he is the God,) which is in Jerusalem.
1: 4 And whosoever remaineth in any place where he sojourneth, let the men of his place help him with silver, and with gold, and with goods, and with beasts, beside the freewill offering for the house of God that is in Jerusalem.
1: 5 Then rose up the chief of the fathers of Judah and Benjamin, and the priests, and the Levites, with all them whose spirit God had raised, to go up to build the house of the LORD which is in Jerusalem.
1: 6 And all they that were about them strengthened their hands with vessels of silver, with gold, with goods, and with beasts, and with precious things, beside all that was willingly offered.
1: 9 And this is the number of them: thirty chargers of gold, a thousand chargers of silver, nine and twenty knives, 1: 10 Thirty basons of gold, silver basons of a second sort four hundred and ten, and other vessels a thousand.
1: 11 All the vessels of gold and of silver were five thousand and four hundred.
All these did Sheshbazzar bring up with them of the captivity that were brought up from Babylon unto Jerusalem.
The number of the men of the people of Israel: 2: 3 The children of Parosh, two thousand an hundred seventy and two.
2: 4 The children of Shephatiah, three hundred seventy and two.
2: 5 The children of Arah, seven hundred seventy and five.
2: 6 The children of Pahathmoab, of the children of Jeshua and Joab, two thousand eight hundred and twelve.
2: 7 The children of Elam, a thousand two hundred fifty and four.
2: 8 The children of Zattu, nine hundred forty and five.
2: 9 The children of Zaccai, seven hundred and threescore.
2: 10 The children of Bani, six hundred forty and two.
2: 11 The children of Bebai, six hundred twenty and three.
2: 12 The children of Azgad, a thousand two hundred twenty and two.
2: 13 The children of Adonikam, six hundred sixty and six.
2: 14 The children of Bigvai, two thousand fifty and six.
2: 15 The children of Adin, four hundred fifty and four.
2: 16 The children of Ater of Hezekiah, ninety and eight.
2: 17 The children of Bezai, three hundred twenty and three.
2: 18 The children of Jorah, an hundred and twelve.
2: 19 The children of Hashum, two hundred twenty and three.
2: 20 The children of Gibbar, ninety and five.
2: 21 The children of Bethlehem, an hundred twenty and three.
2: 22 The men of Netophah, fifty and six.
2: 23 The men of Anathoth, an hundred twenty and eight.
2: 24 The children of Azmaveth, forty and two.
2: 25 The children of Kirjatharim, Chephirah, and Beeroth, seven hundred and forty and three.
2: 26 The children of Ramah and Gaba, six hundred twenty and one.
2: 27 The men of Michmas, an hundred twenty and two.
2: 28 The men of Bethel and Ai, two hundred twenty and three.
2: 29 The children of Nebo, fifty and two.
2: 30 The children of Magbish, an hundred fifty and six.
2: 31 The children of the other Elam, a thousand two hundred fifty and four.
2: 32 The children of Harim, three hundred and twenty.
2: 33 The children of Lod, Hadid, and Ono, seven hundred twenty and five.
2: 34 The children of Jericho, three hundred forty and five.
2: 35 The children of Senaah, three thousand and six hundred and thirty.
2: 36 The priests: the children of Jedaiah, of the house of Jeshua, nine hundred seventy and three.
2: 37 The children of Immer, a thousand fifty and two.
2: 38 The children of Pashur, a thousand two hundred forty and seven.
2: 39 The children of Harim, a thousand and seventeen.
2: 40 The Levites: the children of Jeshua and Kadmiel, of the children of Hodaviah, seventy and four.
2: 41 The singers: the children of Asaph, an hundred twenty and eight.
2: 42 The children of the porters: the children of Shallum, the children of Ater, the children of Talmon, the children of Akkub, the children of Hatita, the children of Shobai, in all an hundred thirty and nine.
2: 58 All the Nethinims, and the children of Solomon's servants, were three hundred ninety and two.
2: 63 And the Tirshatha said unto them, that they should not eat of the most holy things, till there stood up a priest with Urim and with Thummim.
2: 64 The whole congregation together was forty and two thousand three hundred and threescore, 2: 65 Beside their servants and their maids, of whom there were seven thousand three hundred thirty and seven: and there were among them two hundred singing men and singing women.
2: 66 Their horses were seven hundred thirty and six; their mules, two hundred forty and five; 2: 67 Their camels, four hundred thirty and five; their asses, six thousand seven hundred and twenty.
2: 70 So the priests, and the Levites, and some of the people, and the singers, and the porters, and the Nethinims, dwelt in their cities, and all Israel in their cities.
3: 1 And when the seventh month was come, and the children of Israel were in the cities, the people gathered themselves together as one man to Jerusalem.
3: 2 Then stood up Jeshua the son of Jozadak, and his brethren the priests, and Zerubbabel the son of Shealtiel, and his brethren, and builded the altar of the God of Israel, to offer burnt offerings thereon, as it is written in the law of Moses the man of God.
3: 3 And they set the altar upon his bases; for fear was upon them because of the people of those countries: and they offered burnt offerings thereon unto the LORD, even burnt offerings morning and evening.
3: 6 From the first day of the seventh month began they to offer burnt offerings unto the LORD.
But the foundation of the temple of the LORD was not yet laid.
3: 7 They gave money also unto the masons, and to the carpenters; and meat, and drink, and oil, unto them of Zidon, and to them of Tyre, to bring cedar trees from Lebanon to the sea of Joppa, according to the grant that they had of Cyrus king of Persia.
3: 9 Then stood Jeshua with his sons and his brethren, Kadmiel and his sons, the sons of Judah, together, to set forward the workmen in the house of God: the sons of Henadad, with their sons and their brethren the Levites.
3: 10 And when the builders laid the foundation of the temple of the LORD, they set the priests in their apparel with trumpets, and the Levites the sons of Asaph with cymbals, to praise the LORD, after the ordinance of David king of Israel.
3: 11 And they sang together by course in praising and giving thanks unto the LORD; because he is good, for his mercy endureth for ever toward Israel.
And all the people shouted with a great shout, when they praised the LORD, because the foundation of the house of the LORD was laid.
4: 4 Then the people of the land weakened the hands of the people of Judah, and troubled them in building, 4: 5 And hired counsellors against them, to frustrate their purpose, all the days of Cyrus king of Persia, even until the reign of Darius king of Persia.
4: 6 And in the reign of Ahasuerus, in the beginning of his reign, wrote they unto him an accusation against the inhabitants of Judah and Jerusalem.
4: 7 And in the days of Artaxerxes wrote Bishlam, Mithredath, Tabeel, and the rest of their companions, unto Artaxerxes king of Persia; and the writing of the letter was written in the Syrian tongue, and interpreted in the Syrian tongue.
4: 11 This is the copy of the letter that they sent unto him, even unto Artaxerxes the king; Thy servants the men on this side the river, and at such a time.
4: 12 Be it known unto the king, that the Jews which came up from thee to us are come unto Jerusalem, building the rebellious and the bad city, and have set up the walls thereof, and joined the foundations.
4: 13 Be it known now unto the king, that, if this city be builded, and the walls set up again, then will they not pay toll, tribute, and custom, and so thou shalt endamage the revenue of the kings.
4: 16 We certify the king that, if this city be builded again, and the walls thereof set up, by this means thou shalt have no portion on this side the river.
4: 17 Then sent the king an answer unto Rehum the chancellor, and to Shimshai the scribe, and to the rest of their companions that dwell in Samaria, and unto the rest beyond the river, Peace, and at such a time.
4: 18 The letter which ye sent unto us hath been plainly read before me.
4: 19 And I commanded, and search hath been made, and it is found that this city of old time hath made insurrection against kings, and that rebellion and sedition have been made therein.
4: 20 There have been mighty kings also over Jerusalem, which have ruled over all countries beyond the river; and toll, tribute, and custom, was paid unto them.
4: 21 Give ye now commandment to cause these men to cease, and that this city be not builded, until another commandment shall be given from me.
4: 22 Take heed now that ye fail not to do this: why should damage grow to the hurt of the kings?
4: 23 Now when the copy of king Artaxerxes'letter was read before Rehum, and Shimshai the scribe, and their companions, they went up in haste to Jerusalem unto the Jews, and made them to cease by force and power.
4: 24 Then ceased the work of the house of God which is at Jerusalem.
So it ceased unto the second year of the reign of Darius king of Persia.
5: 1 Then the prophets, Haggai the prophet, and Zechariah the son of Iddo, prophesied unto the Jews that were in Judah and Jerusalem in the name of the God of Israel, even unto them.
5: 2 Then rose up Zerubbabel the son of Shealtiel, and Jeshua the son of Jozadak, and began to build the house of God which is at Jerusalem: and with them were the prophets of God helping them.
5: 3 At the same time came to them Tatnai, governor on this side the river, and Shetharboznai and their companions, and said thus unto them, Who hath commanded you to build this house, and to make up this wall?
5: 4 Then said we unto them after this manner, What are the names of the men that make this building?
5: 5 But the eye of their God was upon the elders of the Jews, that they could not cause them to cease, till the matter came to Darius: and then they returned answer by letter concerning this matter.
5: 8 Be it known unto the king, that we went into the province of Judea, to the house of the great God, which is builded with great stones, and timber is laid in the walls, and this work goeth fast on, and prospereth in their hands.
5: 9 Then asked we those elders, and said unto them thus, Who commanded you to build this house, and to make up these walls?
5: 10 We asked their names also, to certify thee, that we might write the names of the men that were the chief of them.
5: 11 And thus they returned us answer, saying, We are the servants of the God of heaven and earth, and build the house that was builded these many years ago, which a great king of Israel builded and set up.
5: 12 But after that our fathers had provoked the God of heaven unto wrath, he gave them into the hand of Nebuchadnezzar the king of Babylon, the Chaldean, who destroyed this house, and carried the people away into Babylon.
5: 13 But in the first year of Cyrus the king of Babylon the same king Cyrus made a decree to build this house of God.
5: 16 Then came the same Sheshbazzar, and laid the foundation of the house of God which is in Jerusalem: and since that time even until now hath it been in building, and yet it is not finished.
6: 1 Then Darius the king made a decree, and search was made in the house of the rolls, where the treasures were laid up in Babylon.
6: 8 Moreover I make a decree what ye shall do to the elders of these Jews for the building of this house of God: that of the king's goods, even of the tribute beyond the river, forthwith expenses be given unto these men, that they be not hindered.
6: 11 Also I have made a decree, that whosoever shall alter this word, let timber be pulled down from his house, and being set up, let him be hanged thereon; and let his house be made a dunghill for this.
6: 12 And the God that hath caused his name to dwell there destroy all kings and people, that shall put to their hand to alter and to destroy this house of God which is at Jerusalem.
I Darius have made a decree; let it be done with speed.
6: 13 Then Tatnai, governor on this side the river, Shetharboznai, and their companions, according to that which Darius the king had sent, so they did speedily.
6: 14 And the elders of the Jews builded, and they prospered through the prophesying of Haggai the prophet and Zechariah the son of Iddo.
And they builded, and finished it, according to the commandment of the God of Israel, and according to the commandment of Cyrus, and Darius, and Artaxerxes king of Persia.
6: 15 And this house was finished on the third day of the month Adar, which was in the sixth year of the reign of Darius the king.
6: 16 And the children of Israel, the priests, and the Levites, and the rest of the children of the captivity, kept the dedication of this house of God with joy.
6: 17 And offered at the dedication of this house of God an hundred bullocks, two hundred rams, four hundred lambs; and for a sin offering for all Israel, twelve he goats, according to the number of the tribes of Israel.
6: 18 And they set the priests in their divisions, and the Levites in their courses, for the service of God, which is at Jerusalem; as it is written in the book of Moses.
6: 19 And the children of the captivity kept the passover upon the fourteenth day of the first month.
6: 20 For the priests and the Levites were purified together, all of them were pure, and killed the passover for all the children of the captivity, and for their brethren the priests, and for themselves.
7: 7 And there went up some of the children of Israel, and of the priests, and the Levites, and the singers, and the porters, and the Nethinims, unto Jerusalem, in the seventh year of Artaxerxes the king.
7: 8 And he came to Jerusalem in the fifth month, which was in the seventh year of the king.
7: 9 For upon the first day of the first month began he to go up from Babylon, and on the first day of the fifth month came he to Jerusalem, according to the good hand of his God upon him.
7: 10 For Ezra had prepared his heart to seek the law of the LORD, and to do it, and to teach in Israel statutes and judgments.
7: 11 Now this is the copy of the letter that the king Artaxerxes gave unto Ezra the priest, the scribe, even a scribe of the words of the commandments of the LORD, and of his statutes to Israel.
7: 12 Artaxerxes, king of kings, unto Ezra the priest, a scribe of the law of the God of heaven, perfect peace, and at such a time.
7: 13 I make a decree, that all they of the people of Israel, and of his priests and Levites, in my realm, which are minded of their own freewill to go up to Jerusalem, go with thee.
7: 18 And whatsoever shall seem good to thee, and to thy brethren, to do with the rest of the silver and the gold, that do after the will of your God.
7: 19 The vessels also that are given thee for the service of the house of thy God, those deliver thou before the God of Jerusalem.
7: 20 And whatsoever more shall be needful for the house of thy God, which thou shalt have occasion to bestow, bestow it out of the king's treasure house.
7: 23 Whatsoever is commanded by the God of heaven, let it be diligently done for the house of the God of heaven: for why should there be wrath against the realm of the king and his sons?
7: 24 Also we certify you, that touching any of the priests and Levites, singers, porters, Nethinims, or ministers of this house of God, it shall not be lawful to impose toll, tribute, or custom, upon them.
7: 25 And thou, Ezra, after the wisdom of thy God, that is in thine hand, set magistrates and judges, which may judge all the people that are beyond the river, all such as know the laws of thy God; and teach ye them that know them not.
7: 26 And whosoever will not do the law of thy God, and the law of the king, let judgment be executed speedily upon him, whether it be unto death, or to banishment, or to confiscation of goods, or to imprisonment.
And I was strengthened as the hand of the LORD my God was upon me, and I gathered together out of Israel chief men to go up with me.
8: 1 These are now the chief of their fathers, and this is the genealogy of them that went up with me from Babylon, in the reign of Artaxerxes the king.
8: 2 Of the sons of Phinehas; Gershom: of the sons of Ithamar; Daniel: of the sons of David; Hattush.
8: 3 Of the sons of Shechaniah, of the sons of Pharosh; Zechariah: and with him were reckoned by genealogy of the males an hundred and fifty.
8: 4 Of the sons of Pahathmoab; Elihoenai the son of Zerahiah, and with him two hundred males.
8: 5 Of the sons of Shechaniah; the son of Jahaziel, and with him three hundred males.
8: 6 Of the sons also of Adin; Ebed the son of Jonathan, and with him fifty males.
8: 7 And of the sons of Elam; Jeshaiah the son of Athaliah, and with him seventy males.
8: 8 And of the sons of Shephatiah; Zebadiah the son of Michael, and with him fourscore males.
8: 9 Of the sons of Joab; Obadiah the son of Jehiel, and with him two hundred and eighteen males.
8: 10 And of the sons of Shelomith; the son of Josiphiah, and with him an hundred and threescore males.
8: 11 And of the sons of Bebai; Zechariah the son of Bebai, and with him twenty and eight males.
8: 12 And of the sons of Azgad; Johanan the son of Hakkatan, and with him an hundred and ten males.
8: 13 And of the last sons of Adonikam, whose names are these, Eliphelet, Jeiel, and Shemaiah, and with them threescore males.
8: 14 Of the sons also of Bigvai; Uthai, and Zabbud, and with them seventy males.
8: 15 And I gathered them together to the river that runneth to Ahava; and there abode we in tents three days: and I viewed the people, and the priests, and found there none of the sons of Levi.
8: 16 Then sent I for Eliezer, for Ariel, for Shemaiah, and for Elnathan, and for Jarib, and for Elnathan, and for Nathan, and for Zechariah, and for Meshullam, chief men; also for Joiarib, and for Elnathan, men of understanding.
8: 17 And I sent them with commandment unto Iddo the chief at the place Casiphia, and I told them what they should say unto Iddo, and to his brethren the Nethinims, at the place Casiphia, that they should bring unto us ministers for the house of our God.
8: 21 Then I proclaimed a fast there, at the river of Ahava, that we might afflict ourselves before our God, to seek of him a right way for us, and for our little ones, and for all our substance.
8: 23 So we fasted and besought our God for this: and he was intreated of us.
8: 28 And I said unto them, Ye are holy unto the LORD; the vessels are holy also; and the silver and the gold are a freewill offering unto the LORD God of your fathers.
8: 29 Watch ye, and keep them, until ye weigh them before the chief of the priests and the Levites, and chief of the fathers of Israel, at Jerusalem, in the chambers of the house of the LORD.
8: 30 So took the priests and the Levites the weight of the silver, and the gold, and the vessels, to bring them to Jerusalem unto the house of our God.
8: 31 Then we departed from the river of Ahava on the twelfth day of the first month, to go unto Jerusalem: and the hand of our God was upon us, and he delivered us from the hand of the enemy, and of such as lay in wait by the way.
8: 32 And we came to Jerusalem, and abode there three days.
8: 36 And they delivered the king's commissions unto the king's lieutenants, and to the governors on this side the river: and they furthered the people, and the house of God.
9: 2 For they have taken of their daughters for themselves, and for their sons: so that the holy seed have mingled themselves with the people of those lands: yea, the hand of the princes and rulers hath been chief in this trespass.
9: 3 And when I heard this thing, I rent my garment and my mantle, and plucked off the hair of my head and of my beard, and sat down astonied.
9: 4 Then were assembled unto me every one that trembled at the words of the God of Israel, because of the transgression of those that had been carried away; and I sat astonied until the evening sacrifice.
9: 8 And now for a little space grace hath been shewed from the LORD our God, to leave us a remnant to escape, and to give us a nail in his holy place, that our God may lighten our eyes, and give us a little reviving in our bondage.
9: 10 And now, O our God, what shall we say after this?
9: 12 Now therefore give not your daughters unto their sons, neither take their daughters unto your sons, nor seek their peace or their wealth for ever: that ye may be strong, and eat the good of the land, and leave it for an inheritance to your children for ever.
wouldest not thou be angry with us till thou hadst consumed us, so that there should be no remnant nor escaping?
9: 15 O LORD God of Israel, thou art righteous: for we remain yet escaped, as it is this day: behold, we are before thee in our trespasses: for we cannot stand before thee because of this.
10: 1 Now when Ezra had prayed, and when he had confessed, weeping and casting himself down before the house of God, there assembled unto him out of Israel a very great congregation of men and women and children: for the people wept very sore.
10: 2 And Shechaniah the son of Jehiel, one of the sons of Elam, answered and said unto Ezra, We have trespassed against our God, and have taken strange wives of the people of the land: yet now there is hope in Israel concerning this thing.
10: 3 Now therefore let us make a covenant with our God to put away all the wives, and such as are born of them, according to the counsel of my lord, and of those that tremble at the commandment of our God; and let it be done according to the law.
10: 4 Arise; for this matter belongeth unto thee: we also will be with thee: be of good courage, and do it.
10: 5 Then arose Ezra, and made the chief priests, the Levites, and all Israel, to swear that they should do according to this word.
And they sware.
10: 6 Then Ezra rose up from before the house of God, and went into the chamber of Johanan the son of Eliashib: and when he came thither, he did eat no bread, nor drink water: for he mourned because of the transgression of them that had been carried away.
10: 9 Then all the men of Judah and Benjamin gathered themselves together unto Jerusalem within three days.
It was the ninth month, on the twentieth day of the month; and all the people sat in the street of the house of God, trembling because of this matter, and for the great rain.
10: 10 And Ezra the priest stood up, and said unto them, Ye have transgressed, and have taken strange wives, to increase the trespass of Israel.
10: 11 Now therefore make confession unto the LORD God of your fathers, and do his pleasure: and separate yourselves from the people of the land, and from the strange wives.
10: 12 Then all the congregation answered and said with a loud voice, As thou hast said, so must we do.
10: 13 But the people are many, and it is a time of much rain, and we are not able to stand without, neither is this a work of one day or two: for we are many that have transgressed in this thing.
10: 15 Only Jonathan the son of Asahel and Jahaziah the son of Tikvah were employed about this matter: and Meshullam and Shabbethai the Levite helped them.
10: 16 And the children of the captivity did so.
And Ezra the priest, with certain chief of the fathers, after the house of their fathers, and all of them by their names, were separated, and sat down in the first day of the tenth month to examine the matter.
10: 17 And they made an end with all the men that had taken strange wives by the first day of the first month.
10: 18 And among the sons of the priests there were found that had taken strange wives: namely, of the sons of Jeshua the son of Jozadak, and his brethren; Maaseiah, and Eliezer, and Jarib, and Gedaliah.
10: 19 And they gave their hands that they would put away their wives; and being guilty, they offered a ram of the flock for their trespass.
10: 20 And of the sons of Immer; Hanani, and Zebadiah.
10: 21 And of the sons of Harim; Maaseiah, and Elijah, and Shemaiah, and Jehiel, and Uzziah.
10: 22 And of the sons of Pashur; Elioenai, Maaseiah, Ishmael, Nethaneel, Jozabad, and Elasah.
10: 23 Also of the Levites; Jozabad, and Shimei, and Kelaiah, (the same is Kelita,) Pethahiah, Judah, and Eliezer.
10: 24 Of the singers also; Eliashib: and of the porters; Shallum, and Telem, and Uri.
10: 25 Moreover of Israel: of the sons of Parosh; Ramiah, and Jeziah, and Malchiah, and Miamin, and Eleazar, and Malchijah, and Benaiah.
10: 26 And of the sons of Elam; Mattaniah, Zechariah, and Jehiel, and Abdi, and Jeremoth, and Eliah.
10: 27 And of the sons of Zattu; Elioenai, Eliashib, Mattaniah, and Jeremoth, and Zabad, and Aziza.
10: 28 Of the sons also of Bebai; Jehohanan, Hananiah, Zabbai, and Athlai.
10: 29 And of the sons of Bani; Meshullam, Malluch, and Adaiah, Jashub, and Sheal, and Ramoth.
10: 30 And of the sons of Pahathmoab; Adna, and Chelal, Benaiah, Maaseiah, Mattaniah, Bezaleel, and Binnui, and Manasseh.
10: 31 And of the sons of Harim; Eliezer, Ishijah, Malchiah, Shemaiah, Shimeon, 10: 32 Benjamin, Malluch, and Shemariah.
10: 33 Of the sons of Hashum; Mattenai, Mattathah, Zabad, Eliphelet, Jeremai, Manasseh, and Shimei.
10: 43 Of the sons of Nebo; Jeiel, Mattithiah, Zabad, Zebina, Jadau, and Joel, Benaiah.
10: 44 All these had taken strange wives: and some of them had wives by whom they had children.
The Book of Nehemiah
1: 1 The words of Nehemiah the son of Hachaliah.
1: 3 And they said unto me, The remnant that are left of the captivity there in the province are in great affliction and reproach: the wall of Jerusalem also is broken down, and the gates thereof are burned with fire.
1: 7 We have dealt very corruptly against thee, and have not kept the commandments, nor the statutes, nor the judgments, which thou commandedst thy servant Moses.
1: 10 Now these are thy servants and thy people, whom thou hast redeemed by thy great power, and by thy strong hand.
1: 11 O LORD, I beseech thee, let now thine ear be attentive to the prayer of thy servant, and to the prayer of thy servants, who desire to fear thy name: and prosper, I pray thee, thy servant this day, and grant him mercy in the sight of this man.
For I was the king's cupbearer.
2: 1 And it came to pass in the month Nisan, in the twentieth year of Artaxerxes the king, that wine was before him: and I took up the wine, and gave it unto the king.
Now I had not been beforetime sad in his presence.
2: 2 Wherefore the king said unto me, Why is thy countenance sad, seeing thou art not sick?
this is nothing else but sorrow of heart.
Then I was very sore afraid, 2: 3 And said unto the king, Let the king live for ever: why should not my countenance be sad, when the city, the place of my fathers'sepulchres, lieth waste, and the gates thereof are consumed with fire?
2: 4 Then the king said unto me, For what dost thou make request?
So I prayed to the God of heaven.
2: 5 And I said unto the king, If it please the king, and if thy servant have found favour in thy sight, that thou wouldest send me unto Judah, unto the city of my fathers'sepulchres, that I may build it.
2: 6 And the king said unto me, (the queen also sitting by him,) For how long shall thy journey be?
and when wilt thou return?
So it pleased the king to send me; and I set him a time.
And the king granted me, according to the good hand of my God upon me.
2: 9 Then I came to the governors beyond the river, and gave them the king's letters.
Now the king had sent captains of the army and horsemen with me.
2: 10 When Sanballat the Horonite, and Tobiah the servant, the Ammonite, heard of it, it grieved them exceedingly that there was come a man to seek the welfare of the children of Israel.
2: 11 So I came to Jerusalem, and was there three days.
2: 12 And I arose in the night, I and some few men with me; neither told I any man what my God had put in my heart to do at Jerusalem: neither was there any beast with me, save the beast that I rode upon.
2: 13 And I went out by night by the gate of the valley, even before the dragon well, and to the dung port, and viewed the walls of Jerusalem, which were broken down, and the gates thereof were consumed with fire.
2: 14 Then I went on to the gate of the fountain, and to the king's pool: but there was no place for the beast that was under me to pass.
2: 15 Then went I up in the night by the brook, and viewed the wall, and turned back, and entered by the gate of the valley, and so returned.
2: 16 And the rulers knew not whither I went, or what I did; neither had I as yet told it to the Jews, nor to the priests, nor to the nobles, nor to the rulers, nor to the rest that did the work.
2: 17 Then said I unto them, Ye see the distress that we are in, how Jerusalem lieth waste, and the gates thereof are burned with fire: come, and let us build up the wall of Jerusalem, that we be no more a reproach.
2: 18 Then I told them of the hand of my God which was good upon me; as also the king's words that he had spoken unto me.
And they said, Let us rise up and build.
So they strengthened their hands for this good work.
2: 19 But when Sanballat the Horonite, and Tobiah the servant, the Ammonite, and Geshem the Arabian, heard it, they laughed us to scorn, and despised us, and said, What is this thing that ye do?
will ye rebel against the king?
2: 20 Then answered I them, and said unto them, The God of heaven, he will prosper us; therefore we his servants will arise and build: but ye have no portion, nor right, nor memorial, in Jerusalem.
3: 1 Then Eliashib the high priest rose up with his brethren the priests, and they builded the sheep gate; they sanctified it, and set up the doors of it; even unto the tower of Meah they sanctified it, unto the tower of Hananeel.
3: 2 And next unto him builded the men of Jericho.
And next to them builded Zaccur the son of Imri.
3: 3 But the fish gate did the sons of Hassenaah build, who also laid the beams thereof, and set up the doors thereof, the locks thereof, and the bars thereof.
3: 4 And next unto them repaired Meremoth the son of Urijah, the son of Koz.
And next unto them repaired Meshullam the son of Berechiah, the son of Meshezabeel.
And next unto them repaired Zadok the son of Baana.
3: 5 And next unto them the Tekoites repaired; but their nobles put not their necks to the work of their LORD.
3: 6 Moreover the old gate repaired Jehoiada the son of Paseah, and Meshullam the son of Besodeiah; they laid the beams thereof, and set up the doors thereof, and the locks thereof, and the bars thereof.
3: 7 And next unto them repaired Melatiah the Gibeonite, and Jadon the Meronothite, the men of Gibeon, and of Mizpah, unto the throne of the governor on this side the river.
3: 8 Next unto him repaired Uzziel the son of Harhaiah, of the goldsmiths.
Next unto him also repaired Hananiah the son of one of the apothecaries, and they fortified Jerusalem unto the broad wall.
3: 9 And next unto them repaired Rephaiah the son of Hur, the ruler of the half part of Jerusalem.
3: 10 And next unto them repaired Jedaiah the son of Harumaph, even over against his house.
And next unto him repaired Hattush the son of Hashabniah.
3: 11 Malchijah the son of Harim, and Hashub the son of Pahathmoab, repaired the other piece, and the tower of the furnaces.
3: 12 And next unto him repaired Shallum the son of Halohesh, the ruler of the half part of Jerusalem, he and his daughters.
3: 13 The valley gate repaired Hanun, and the inhabitants of Zanoah; they built it, and set up the doors thereof, the locks thereof, and the bars thereof, and a thousand cubits on the wall unto the dung gate.
3: 14 But the dung gate repaired Malchiah the son of Rechab, the ruler of part of Bethhaccerem; he built it, and set up the doors thereof, the locks thereof, and the bars thereof.
3: 16 After him repaired Nehemiah the son of Azbuk, the ruler of the half part of Bethzur, unto the place over against the sepulchres of David, and to the pool that was made, and unto the house of the mighty.
3: 17 After him repaired the Levites, Rehum the son of Bani.
Next unto him repaired Hashabiah, the ruler of the half part of Keilah, in his part.
3: 18 After him repaired their brethren, Bavai the son of Henadad, the ruler of the half part of Keilah.
3: 19 And next to him repaired Ezer the son of Jeshua, the ruler of Mizpah, another piece over against the going up to the armoury at the turning of the wall.
3: 20 After him Baruch the son of Zabbai earnestly repaired the other piece, from the turning of the wall unto the door of the house of Eliashib the high priest.
3: 21 After him repaired Meremoth the son of Urijah the son of Koz another piece, from the door of the house of Eliashib even to the end of the house of Eliashib.
3: 22 And after him repaired the priests, the men of the plain.
3: 23 After him repaired Benjamin and Hashub over against their house.
After him repaired Azariah the son of Maaseiah the son of Ananiah by his house.
3: 24 After him repaired Binnui the son of Henadad another piece, from the house of Azariah unto the turning of the wall, even unto the corner.
3: 25 Palal the son of Uzai, over against the turning of the wall, and the tower which lieth out from the king's high house, that was by the court of the prison.
After him Pedaiah the son of Parosh.
3: 26 Moreover the Nethinims dwelt in Ophel, unto the place over against the water gate toward the east, and the tower that lieth out.
3: 27 After them the Tekoites repaired another piece, over against the great tower that lieth out, even unto the wall of Ophel.
3: 28 From above the horse gate repaired the priests, every one over against his house.
3: 29 After them repaired Zadok the son of Immer over against his house.
After him repaired also Shemaiah the son of Shechaniah, the keeper of the east gate.
3: 30 After him repaired Hananiah the son of Shelemiah, and Hanun the sixth son of Zalaph, another piece.
After him repaired Meshullam the son of Berechiah over against his chamber.
3: 31 After him repaired Malchiah the goldsmith's son unto the place of the Nethinims, and of the merchants, over against the gate Miphkad, and to the going up of the corner.
3: 32 And between the going up of the corner unto the sheep gate repaired the goldsmiths and the merchants.
4: 1 But it came to pass, that when Sanballat heard that we builded the wall, he was wroth, and took great indignation, and mocked the Jews.
4: 2 And he spake before his brethren and the army of Samaria, and said, What do these feeble Jews?
will they fortify themselves?
will they sacrifice?
will they make an end in a day?
will they revive the stones out of the heaps of the rubbish which are burned?
4: 3 Now Tobiah the Ammonite was by him, and he said, Even that which they build, if a fox go up, he shall even break down their stone wall.
4: 6 So built we the wall; and all the wall was joined together unto the half thereof: for the people had a mind to work.
4: 9 Nevertheless we made our prayer unto our God, and set a watch against them day and night, because of them.
4: 10 And Judah said, The strength of the bearers of burdens is decayed, and there is much rubbish; so that we are not able to build the wall.
4: 11 And our adversaries said, They shall not know, neither see, till we come in the midst among them, and slay them, and cause the work to cease.
4: 12 And it came to pass, that when the Jews which dwelt by them came, they said unto us ten times, From all places whence ye shall return unto us they will be upon you.
4: 13 Therefore set I in the lower places behind the wall, and on the higher places, I even set the people after their families with their swords, their spears, and their bows.
4: 14 And I looked, and rose up, and said unto the nobles, and to the rulers, and to the rest of the people, Be not ye afraid of them: remember the LORD, which is great and terrible, and fight for your brethren, your sons, and your daughters, your wives, and your houses.
4: 15 And it came to pass, when our enemies heard that it was known unto us, and God had brought their counsel to nought, that we returned all of us to the wall, every one unto his work.
4: 16 And it came to pass from that time forth, that the half of my servants wrought in the work, and the other half of them held both the spears, the shields, and the bows, and the habergeons; and the rulers were behind all the house of Judah.
4: 17 They which builded on the wall, and they that bare burdens, with those that laded, every one with one of his hands wrought in the work, and with the other hand held a weapon.
4: 18 For the builders, every one had his sword girded by his side, and so builded.
And he that sounded the trumpet was by me.
4: 19 And I said unto the nobles, and to the rulers, and to the rest of the people, The work is great and large, and we are separated upon the wall, one far from another.
4: 20 In what place therefore ye hear the sound of the trumpet, resort ye thither unto us: our God shall fight for us.
4: 21 So we laboured in the work: and half of them held the spears from the rising of the morning till the stars appeared.
4: 22 Likewise at the same time said I unto the people, Let every one with his servant lodge within Jerusalem, that in the night they may be a guard to us, and labour on the day.
4: 23 So neither I, nor my brethren, nor my servants, nor the men of the guard which followed me, none of us put off our clothes, saving that every one put them off for washing.
5: 1 And there was a great cry of the people and of their wives against their brethren the Jews.
5: 2 For there were that said, We, our sons, and our daughters, are many: therefore we take up corn for them, that we may eat, and live.
5: 3 Some also there were that said, We have mortgaged our lands, vineyards, and houses, that we might buy corn, because of the dearth.
5: 4 There were also that said, We have borrowed money for the king's tribute, and that upon our lands and vineyards.
5: 6 And I was very angry when I heard their cry and these words.
5: 7 Then I consulted with myself, and I rebuked the nobles, and the rulers, and said unto them, Ye exact usury, every one of his brother.
And I set a great assembly against them.
5: 8 And I said unto them, We after our ability have redeemed our brethren the Jews, which were sold unto the heathen; and will ye even sell your brethren?
or shall they be sold unto us?
Then held they their peace, and found nothing to answer.
5: 9 Also I said, It is not good that ye do: ought ye not to walk in the fear of our God because of the reproach of the heathen our enemies?
5: 10 I likewise, and my brethren, and my servants, might exact of them money and corn: I pray you, let us leave off this usury.
5: 11 Restore, I pray you, to them, even this day, their lands, their vineyards, their oliveyards, and their houses, also the hundredth part of the money, and of the corn, the wine, and the oil, that ye exact of them.
5: 12 Then said they, We will restore them, and will require nothing of them; so will we do as thou sayest.
Then I called the priests, and took an oath of them, that they should do according to this promise.
5: 13 Also I shook my lap, and said, So God shake out every man from his house, and from his labour, that performeth not this promise, even thus be he shaken out, and emptied.
And all the congregation said, Amen, and praised the LORD.
And the people did according to this promise.
5: 14 Moreover from the time that I was appointed to be their governor in the land of Judah, from the twentieth year even unto the two and thirtieth year of Artaxerxes the king, that is, twelve years, I and my brethren have not eaten the bread of the governor.
5: 15 But the former governors that had been before me were chargeable unto the people, and had taken of them bread and wine, beside forty shekels of silver; yea, even their servants bare rule over the people: but so did not I, because of the fear of God.
5: 16 Yea, also I continued in the work of this wall, neither bought we any land: and all my servants were gathered thither unto the work.
5: 17 Moreover there were at my table an hundred and fifty of the Jews and rulers, beside those that came unto us from among the heathen that are about us.
5: 18 Now that which was prepared for me daily was one ox and six choice sheep; also fowls were prepared for me, and once in ten days store of all sorts of wine: yet for all this required not I the bread of the governor, because the bondage was heavy upon this people.
5: 19 Think upon me, my God, for good, according to all that I have done for this people.
But they thought to do me mischief.
6: 3 And I sent messengers unto them, saying, I am doing a great work, so that I cannot come down: why should the work cease, whilst I leave it, and come down to you?
6: 4 Yet they sent unto me four times after this sort; and I answered them after the same manner.
6: 7 And thou hast also appointed prophets to preach of thee at Jerusalem, saying, There is a king in Judah: and now shall it be reported to the king according to these words.
Come now therefore, and let us take counsel together.
6: 8 Then I sent unto him, saying, There are no such things done as thou sayest, but thou feignest them out of thine own heart.
6: 9 For they all made us afraid, saying, Their hands shall be weakened from the work, that it be not done.
Now therefore, O God, strengthen my hands.
6: 11 And I said, Should such a man as I flee?
and who is there, that, being as I am, would go into the temple to save his life?
I will not go in.
6: 12 And, lo, I perceived that God had not sent him; but that he pronounced this prophecy against me: for Tobiah and Sanballat had hired him.
6: 13 Therefore was he hired, that I should be afraid, and do so, and sin, and that they might have matter for an evil report, that they might reproach me.
6: 14 My God, think thou upon Tobiah and Sanballat according to these their works, and on the prophetess Noadiah, and the rest of the prophets, that would have put me in fear.
6: 15 So the wall was finished in the twenty and fifth day of the month Elul, in fifty and two days.
6: 16 And it came to pass, that when all our enemies heard thereof, and all the heathen that were about us saw these things, they were much cast down in their own eyes: for they perceived that this work was wrought of our God.
6: 17 Moreover in those days the nobles of Judah sent many letters unto Tobiah, and the letters of Tobiah came unto them.
6: 18 For there were many in Judah sworn unto him, because he was the son in law of Shechaniah the son of Arah; and his son Johanan had taken the daughter of Meshullam the son of Berechiah.
6: 19 Also they reported his good deeds before me, and uttered my words to him.
And Tobiah sent letters to put me in fear.
7: 3 And I said unto them, Let not the gates of Jerusalem be opened until the sun be hot; and while they stand by, let them shut the doors, and bar them: and appoint watches of the inhabitants of Jerusalem, every one in his watch, and every one to be over against his house.
7: 4 Now the city was large and great: but the people were few therein, and the houses were not builded.
7: 5 And my God put into mine heart to gather together the nobles, and the rulers, and the people, that they might be reckoned by genealogy.
The number, I say, of the men of the people of Israel was this; 7: 8 The children of Parosh, two thousand an hundred seventy and two.
7: 9 The children of Shephatiah, three hundred seventy and two.
7: 10 The children of Arah, six hundred fifty and two.
7: 11 The children of Pahathmoab, of the children of Jeshua and Joab, two thousand and eight hundred and eighteen.
7: 12 The children of Elam, a thousand two hundred fifty and four.
7: 13 The children of Zattu, eight hundred forty and five.
7: 14 The children of Zaccai, seven hundred and threescore.
7: 15 The children of Binnui, six hundred forty and eight.
7: 16 The children of Bebai, six hundred twenty and eight.
7: 17 The children of Azgad, two thousand three hundred twenty and two.
7: 18 The children of Adonikam, six hundred threescore and seven.
7: 19 The children of Bigvai, two thousand threescore and seven.
7: 20 The children of Adin, six hundred fifty and five.
7: 21 The children of Ater of Hezekiah, ninety and eight.
7: 22 The children of Hashum, three hundred twenty and eight.
7: 23 The children of Bezai, three hundred twenty and four.
7: 24 The children of Hariph, an hundred and twelve.
7: 25 The children of Gibeon, ninety and five.
7: 26 The men of Bethlehem and Netophah, an hundred fourscore and eight.
7: 27 The men of Anathoth, an hundred twenty and eight.
7: 28 The men of Bethazmaveth, forty and two.
7: 29 The men of Kirjathjearim, Chephirah, and Beeroth, seven hundred forty and three.
7: 30 The men of Ramah and Gaba, six hundred twenty and one.
7: 31 The men of Michmas, an hundred and twenty and two.
7: 32 The men of Bethel and Ai, an hundred twenty and three.
7: 33 The men of the other Nebo, fifty and two.
7: 34 The children of the other Elam, a thousand two hundred fifty and four.
7: 35 The children of Harim, three hundred and twenty.
7: 36 The children of Jericho, three hundred forty and five.
7: 37 The children of Lod, Hadid, and Ono, seven hundred twenty and one.
7: 38 The children of Senaah, three thousand nine hundred and thirty.
7: 39 The priests: the children of Jedaiah, of the house of Jeshua, nine hundred seventy and three.
7: 40 The children of Immer, a thousand fifty and two.
7: 41 The children of Pashur, a thousand two hundred forty and seven.
7: 42 The children of Harim, a thousand and seventeen.
7: 43 The Levites: the children of Jeshua, of Kadmiel, and of the children of Hodevah, seventy and four.
7: 44 The singers: the children of Asaph, an hundred forty and eight.
7: 45 The porters: the children of Shallum, the children of Ater, the children of Talmon, the children of Akkub, the children of Hatita, the children of Shobai, an hundred thirty and eight.
7: 60 All the Nethinims, and the children of Solomon's servants, were three hundred ninety and two.
7: 61 And these were they which went up also from Telmelah, Telharesha, Cherub, Addon, and Immer: but they could not shew their father's house, nor their seed, whether they were of Israel.
7: 62 The children of Delaiah, the children of Tobiah, the children of Nekoda, six hundred forty and two.
7: 63 And of the priests: the children of Habaiah, the children of Koz, the children of Barzillai, which took one of the daughters of Barzillai the Gileadite to wife, and was called after their name.
7: 64 These sought their register among those that were reckoned by genealogy, but it was not found: therefore were they, as polluted, put from the priesthood.
7: 65 And the Tirshatha said unto them, that they should not eat of the most holy things, till there stood up a priest with Urim and Thummim.
7: 68 Their horses, seven hundred thirty and six: their mules, two hundred forty and five: 7: 69 Their camels, four hundred thirty and five: six thousand seven hundred and twenty asses.
7: 70 And some of the chief of the fathers gave unto the work.
The Tirshatha gave to the treasure a thousand drams of gold, fifty basons, five hundred and thirty priests'garments.
7: 71 And some of the chief of the fathers gave to the treasure of the work twenty thousand drams of gold, and two thousand and two hundred pound of silver.
7: 72 And that which the rest of the people gave was twenty thousand drams of gold, and two thousand pound of silver, and threescore and seven priests'garments.
7: 73 So the priests, and the Levites, and the porters, and the singers, and some of the people, and the Nethinims, and all Israel, dwelt in their cities; and when the seventh month came, the children of Israel were in their cities.
8: 1 And all the people gathered themselves together as one man into the street that was before the water gate; and they spake unto Ezra the scribe to bring the book of the law of Moses, which the LORD had commanded to Israel.
8: 2 And Ezra the priest brought the law before the congregation both of men and women, and all that could hear with understanding, upon the first day of the seventh month.
8: 3 And he read therein before the street that was before the water gate from the morning until midday, before the men and the women, and those that could understand; and the ears of all the people were attentive unto the book of the law.
8: 5 And Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people; (for he was above all the people;) and when he opened it, all the people stood up: 8: 6 And Ezra blessed the LORD, the great God.
And all the people answered, Amen, Amen, with lifting up their hands: and they bowed their heads, and worshipped the LORD with their faces to the ground.
8: 7 Also Jeshua, and Bani, and Sherebiah, Jamin, Akkub, Shabbethai, Hodijah, Maaseiah, Kelita, Azariah, Jozabad, Hanan, Pelaiah, and the Levites, caused the people to understand the law: and the people stood in their place.
8: 8 So they read in the book in the law of God distinctly, and gave the sense, and caused them to understand the reading.
8: 9 And Nehemiah, which is the Tirshatha, and Ezra the priest the scribe, and the Levites that taught the people, said unto all the people, This day is holy unto the LORD your God; mourn not, nor weep.
For all the people wept, when they heard the words of the law.
8: 10 Then he said unto them, Go your way, eat the fat, and drink the sweet, and send portions unto them for whom nothing is prepared: for this day is holy unto our LORD: neither be ye sorry; for the joy of the LORD is your strength.
8: 11 So the Levites stilled all the people, saying, Hold your peace, for the day is holy; neither be ye grieved.
8: 12 And all the people went their way to eat, and to drink, and to send portions, and to make great mirth, because they had understood the words that were declared unto them.
8: 13 And on the second day were gathered together the chief of the fathers of all the people, the priests, and the Levites, unto Ezra the scribe, even to understand the words of the law.
8: 16 So the people went forth, and brought them, and made themselves booths, every one upon the roof of his house, and in their courts, and in the courts of the house of God, and in the street of the water gate, and in the street of the gate of Ephraim.
8: 17 And all the congregation of them that were come again out of the captivity made booths, and sat under the booths: for since the days of Jeshua the son of Nun unto that day had not the children of Israel done so.
And there was very great gladness.
8: 18 Also day by day, from the first day unto the last day, he read in the book of the law of God.
And they kept the feast seven days; and on the eighth day was a solemn assembly, according unto the manner.
9: 1 Now in the twenty and fourth day of this month the children of Israel were assembled with fasting, and with sackclothes, and earth upon them.
9: 2 And the seed of Israel separated themselves from all strangers, and stood and confessed their sins, and the iniquities of their fathers.
9: 3 And they stood up in their place, and read in the book of the law of the LORD their God one fourth part of the day; and another fourth part they confessed, and worshipped the LORD their God.
9: 4 Then stood up upon the stairs, of the Levites, Jeshua, and Bani, Kadmiel, Shebaniah, Bunni, Sherebiah, Bani, and Chenani, and cried with a loud voice unto the LORD their God.
9: 5 Then the Levites, Jeshua, and Kadmiel, Bani, Hashabniah, Sherebiah, Hodijah, Shebaniah, and Pethahiah, said, Stand up and bless the LORD your God for ever and ever: and blessed be thy glorious name, which is exalted above all blessing and praise.
9: 6 Thou, even thou, art LORD alone; thou hast made heaven, the heaven of heavens, with all their host, the earth, and all things that are therein, the seas, and all that is therein, and thou preservest them all; and the host of heaven worshippeth thee.
So didst thou get thee a name, as it is this day.
9: 11 And thou didst divide the sea before them, so that they went through the midst of the sea on the dry land; and their persecutors thou threwest into the deeps, as a stone into the mighty waters.
9: 12 Moreover thou leddest them in the day by a cloudy pillar; and in the night by a pillar of fire, to give them light in the way wherein they should go.
9: 20 Thou gavest also thy good spirit to instruct them, and withheldest not thy manna from their mouth, and gavest them water for their thirst.
9: 21 Yea, forty years didst thou sustain them in the wilderness, so that they lacked nothing; their clothes waxed not old, and their feet swelled not.
9: 22 Moreover thou gavest them kingdoms and nations, and didst divide them into corners: so they possessed the land of Sihon, and the land of the king of Heshbon, and the land of Og king of Bashan.
9: 23 Their children also multipliedst thou as the stars of heaven, and broughtest them into the land, concerning which thou hadst promised to their fathers, that they should go in to possess it.
9: 24 So the children went in and possessed the land, and thou subduedst before them the inhabitants of the land, the Canaanites, and gavest them into their hands, with their kings, and the people of the land, that they might do with them as they would.
9: 25 And they took strong cities, and a fat land, and possessed houses full of all goods, wells digged, vineyards, and oliveyards, and fruit trees in abundance: so they did eat, and were filled, and became fat, and delighted themselves in thy great goodness.
9: 26 Nevertheless they were disobedient, and rebelled against thee, and cast thy law behind their backs, and slew thy prophets which testified against them to turn them to thee, and they wrought great provocations.
9: 30 Yet many years didst thou forbear them, and testifiedst against them by thy spirit in thy prophets: yet would they not give ear: therefore gavest thou them into the hand of the people of the lands.
9: 31 Nevertheless for thy great mercies'sake thou didst not utterly consume them, nor forsake them; for thou art a gracious and merciful God.
9: 35 For they have not served thee in their kingdom, and in thy great goodness that thou gavest them, and in the large and fat land which thou gavest before them, neither turned they from their wicked works.
9: 38 And because of all this we make a sure covenant, and write it; and our princes, Levites, and priests, seal unto it.
10: 9 And the Levites: both Jeshua the son of Azaniah, Binnui of the sons of Henadad, Kadmiel; 10: 10 And their brethren, Shebaniah, Hodijah, Kelita, Pelaiah, Hanan, 10: 11 Micha, Rehob, Hashabiah, 10: 12 Zaccur, Sherebiah, Shebaniah, 10: 13 Hodijah, Bani, Beninu.
10: 38 And the priest the son of Aaron shall be with the Levites, when the Levites take tithes: and the Levites shall bring up the tithe of the tithes unto the house of our God, to the chambers, into the treasure house.
11: 1 And the rulers of the people dwelt at Jerusalem: the rest of the people also cast lots, to bring one of ten to dwell in Jerusalem the holy city, and nine parts to dwell in other cities.
11: 2 And the people blessed all the men, that willingly offered themselves to dwell at Jerusalem.
11: 3 Now these are the chief of the province that dwelt in Jerusalem: but in the cities of Judah dwelt every one in his possession in their cities, to wit, Israel, the priests, and the Levites, and the Nethinims, and the children of Solomon's servants.
11: 4 And at Jerusalem dwelt certain of the children of Judah, and of the children of Benjamin.
11: 6 All the sons of Perez that dwelt at Jerusalem were four hundred threescore and eight valiant men.
11: 7 And these are the sons of Benjamin; Sallu the son of Meshullam, the son of Joed, the son of Pedaiah, the son of Kolaiah, the son of Maaseiah, the son of Ithiel, the son of Jesaiah.
11: 8 And after him Gabbai, Sallai, nine hundred twenty and eight.
11: 9 And Joel the son of Zichri was their overseer: and Judah the son of Senuah was second over the city.
11: 10 Of the priests: Jedaiah the son of Joiarib, Jachin.
11: 11 Seraiah the son of Hilkiah, the son of Meshullam, the son of Zadok, the son of Meraioth, the son of Ahitub, was the ruler of the house of God.
11: 12 And their brethren that did the work of the house were eight hundred twenty and two: and Adaiah the son of Jeroham, the son of Pelaliah, the son of Amzi, the son of Zechariah, the son of Pashur, the son of Malchiah.
11: 15 Also of the Levites: Shemaiah the son of Hashub, the son of Azrikam, the son of Hashabiah, the son of Bunni; 11: 16 And Shabbethai and Jozabad, of the chief of the Levites, had the oversight of the outward business of the house of God.
11: 17 And Mattaniah the son of Micha, the son of Zabdi, the son of Asaph, was the principal to begin the thanksgiving in prayer: and Bakbukiah the second among his brethren, and Abda the son of Shammua, the son of Galal, the son of Jeduthun.
11: 18 All the Levites in the holy city were two hundred fourscore and four.
11: 19 Moreover the porters, Akkub, Talmon, and their brethren that kept the gates, were an hundred seventy and two.
11: 20 And the residue of Israel, of the priests, and the Levites, were in all the cities of Judah, every one in his inheritance.
11: 21 But the Nethinims dwelt in Ophel: and Ziha and Gispa were over the Nethinims.
11: 22 The overseer also of the Levites at Jerusalem was Uzzi the son of Bani, the son of Hashabiah, the son of Mattaniah, the son of Micha.
Of the sons of Asaph, the singers were over the business of the house of God.
11: 23 For it was the king's commandment concerning them, that a certain portion should be for the singers, due for every day.
11: 24 And Pethahiah the son of Meshezabeel, of the children of Zerah the son of Judah, was at the king's hand in all matters concerning the people.
And they dwelt from Beersheba unto the valley of Hinnom.
11: 31 The children also of Benjamin from Geba dwelt at Michmash, and Aija, and Bethel, and in their villages.
11: 32 And at Anathoth, Nob, Ananiah, 11: 33 Hazor, Ramah, Gittaim, 11: 34 Hadid, Zeboim, Neballat, 11: 35 Lod, and Ono, the valley of craftsmen.
11: 36 And of the Levites were divisions in Judah, and in Benjamin.
These were the chief of the priests and of their brethren in the days of Jeshua.
12: 8 Moreover the Levites: Jeshua, Binnui, Kadmiel, Sherebiah, Judah, and Mattaniah, which was over the thanksgiving, he and his brethren.
12: 9 Also Bakbukiah and Unni, their brethren, were over against them in the watches.
12: 10 And Jeshua begat Joiakim, Joiakim also begat Eliashib, and Eliashib begat Joiada, 12: 11 And Joiada begat Jonathan, and Jonathan begat Jaddua.
12: 22 The Levites in the days of Eliashib, Joiada, and Johanan, and Jaddua, were recorded chief of the fathers: also the priests, to the reign of Darius the Persian.
12: 23 The sons of Levi, the chief of the fathers, were written in the book of the chronicles, even until the days of Johanan the son of Eliashib.
12: 24 And the chief of the Levites: Hashabiah, Sherebiah, and Jeshua the son of Kadmiel, with their brethren over against them, to praise and to give thanks, according to the commandment of David the man of God, ward over against ward.
12: 25 Mattaniah, and Bakbukiah, Obadiah, Meshullam, Talmon, Akkub, were porters keeping the ward at the thresholds of the gates.
12: 26 These were in the days of Joiakim the son of Jeshua, the son of Jozadak, and in the days of Nehemiah the governor, and of Ezra the priest, the scribe.
12: 27 And at the dedication of the wall of Jerusalem they sought the Levites out of all their places, to bring them to Jerusalem, to keep the dedication with gladness, both with thanksgivings, and with singing, with cymbals, psalteries, and with harps.
12: 30 And the priests and the Levites purified themselves, and purified the people, and the gates, and the wall.
12: 37 And at the fountain gate, which was over against them, they went up by the stairs of the city of David, at the going up of the wall, above the house of David, even unto the water gate eastward.
And the singers sang loud, with Jezrahiah their overseer.
12: 43 Also that day they offered great sacrifices, and rejoiced: for God had made them rejoice with great joy: the wives also and the children rejoiced: so that the joy of Jerusalem was heard even afar off.
12: 45 And both the singers and the porters kept the ward of their God, and the ward of the purification, according to the commandment of David, and of Solomon his son.
12: 46 For in the days of David and Asaph of old there were chief of the singers, and songs of praise and thanksgiving unto God.
12: 47 And all Israel in the days of Zerubbabel, and in the days of Nehemiah, gave the portions of the singers and the porters, every day his portion: and they sanctified holy things unto the Levites; and the Levites sanctified them unto the children of Aaron.
13: 3 Now it came to pass, when they had heard the law, that they separated from Israel all the mixed multitude.
13: 8 And it grieved me sore: therefore I cast forth all the household stuff to Tobiah out of the chamber.
13: 9 Then I commanded, and they cleansed the chambers: and thither brought I again the vessels of the house of God, with the meat offering and the frankincense.
13: 10 And I perceived that the portions of the Levites had not been given them: for the Levites and the singers, that did the work, were fled every one to his field.
13: 11 Then contended I with the rulers, and said, Why is the house of God forsaken?
And I gathered them together, and set them in their place.
13: 12 Then brought all Judah the tithe of the corn and the new wine and the oil unto the treasuries.
13: 14 Remember me, O my God, concerning this, and wipe not out my good deeds that I have done for the house of my God, and for the offices thereof.
13: 16 There dwelt men of Tyre also therein, which brought fish, and all manner of ware, and sold on the sabbath unto the children of Judah, and in Jerusalem.
13: 17 Then I contended with the nobles of Judah, and said unto them, What evil thing is this that ye do, and profane the sabbath day?
13: 18 Did not your fathers thus, and did not our God bring all this evil upon us, and upon this city?
yet ye bring more wrath upon Israel by profaning the sabbath.
13: 20 So the merchants and sellers of all kind of ware lodged without Jerusalem once or twice.
13: 21 Then I testified against them, and said unto them, Why lodge ye about the wall?
if ye do so again, I will lay hands on you.
From that time forth came they no more on the sabbath.
13: 22 And I commanded the Levites that they should cleanse themselves, and that they should come and keep the gates, to sanctify the sabbath day.
Remember me, O my God, concerning this also, and spare me according to the greatness of thy mercy.
13: 23 In those days also saw I Jews that had married wives of Ashdod, of Ammon, and of Moab: 13: 24 And their children spake half in the speech of Ashdod, and could not speak in the Jews'language, but according to the language of each people.
13: 25 And I contended with them, and cursed them, and smote certain of them, and plucked off their hair, and made them swear by God, saying, Ye shall not give your daughters unto their sons, nor take their daughters unto your sons, or for yourselves.
13: 26 Did not Solomon king of Israel sin by these things?
yet among many nations was there no king like him, who was beloved of his God, and God made him king over all Israel: nevertheless even him did outlandish women cause to sin.
13: 27 Shall we then hearken unto you to do all this great evil, to transgress against our God in marrying strange wives?
13: 28 And one of the sons of Joiada, the son of Eliashib the high priest, was son in law to Sanballat the Horonite: therefore I chased him from me.
13: 29 Remember them, O my God, because they have defiled the priesthood, and the covenant of the priesthood, and of the Levites.
13: 30 Thus cleansed I them from all strangers, and appointed the wards of the priests and the Levites, every one in his business; 13: 31 And for the wood offering, at times appointed, and for the firstfruits.
Remember me, O my God, for good.
The Book of Esther
1: 7 And they gave them drink in vessels of gold, (the vessels being diverse one from another,) and royal wine in abundance, according to the state of the king.
1: 8 And the drinking was according to the law; none did compel: for so the king had appointed to all the officers of his house, that they should do according to every man's pleasure.
1: 9 Also Vashti the queen made a feast for the women in the royal house which belonged to king Ahasuerus.
1: 12 But the queen Vashti refused to come at the king's commandment by his chamberlains: therefore was the king very wroth, and his anger burned in him.
1: 16 And Memucan answered before the king and the princes, Vashti the queen hath not done wrong to the king only, but also to all the princes, and to all the people that are in all the provinces of the king Ahasuerus.
1: 17 For this deed of the queen shall come abroad unto all women, so that they shall despise their husbands in their eyes, when it shall be reported, The king Ahasuerus commanded Vashti the queen to be brought in before him, but she came not.
1: 18 Likewise shall the ladies of Persia and Media say this day unto all the king's princes, which have heard of the deed of the queen.
Thus shall there arise too much contempt and wrath.
1: 20 And when the king's decree which he shall make shall be published throughout all his empire, (for it is great,) all the wives shall give to their husbands honour, both to great and small.
2: 1 After these things, when the wrath of king Ahasuerus was appeased, he remembered Vashti, and what she had done, and what was decreed against her.
And the thing pleased the king; and he did so.
2: 7 And he brought up Hadassah, that is, Esther, his uncle's daughter: for she had neither father nor mother, and the maid was fair and beautiful; whom Mordecai, when her father and mother were dead, took for his own daughter.
2: 8 So it came to pass, when the king's commandment and his decree was heard, and when many maidens were gathered together unto Shushan the palace, to the custody of Hegai, that Esther was brought also unto the king's house, to the custody of Hegai, keeper of the women.
2: 10 Esther had not shewed her people nor her kindred: for Mordecai had charged her that she should not shew it.
2: 11 And Mordecai walked every day before the court of the women's house, to know how Esther did, and what should become of her.
2: 15 Now when the turn of Esther, the daughter of Abihail the uncle of Mordecai, who had taken her for his daughter, was come to go in unto the king, she required nothing but what Hegai the king's chamberlain, the keeper of the women, appointed.
And Esther obtained favour in the sight of all them that looked upon her.
2: 16 So Esther was taken unto king Ahasuerus into his house royal in the tenth month, which is the month Tebeth, in the seventh year of his reign.
2: 17 And the king loved Esther above all the women, and she obtained grace and favour in his sight more than all the virgins; so that he set the royal crown upon her head, and made her queen instead of Vashti.
2: 18 Then the king made a great feast unto all his princes and his servants, even Esther's feast; and he made a release to the provinces, and gave gifts, according to the state of the king.
2: 19 And when the virgins were gathered together the second time, then Mordecai sat in the king's gate.
2: 20 Esther had not yet shewed her kindred nor her people; as Mordecai had charged her: for Esther did the commandment of Mordecai, like as when she was brought up with him.
2: 21 In those days, while Mordecai sat in the king's gate, two of the king's chamberlains, Bigthan and Teresh, of those which kept the door, were wroth, and sought to lay hands on the king Ahasuerus.
2: 22 And the thing was known to Mordecai, who told it unto Esther the queen; and Esther certified the king thereof in Mordecai's name.
2: 23 And when inquisition was made of the matter, it was found out; therefore they were both hanged on a tree: and it was written in the book of the chronicles before the king.
3: 1 After these things did king Ahasuerus promote Haman the son of Hammedatha the Agagite, and advanced him, and set his seat above all the princes that were with him.
3: 2 And all the king's servants, that were in the king's gate, bowed, and reverenced Haman: for the king had so commanded concerning him.
But Mordecai bowed not, nor did him reverence.
3: 3 Then the king's servants, which were in the king's gate, said unto Mordecai, Why transgressest thou the king's commandment?
3: 4 Now it came to pass, when they spake daily unto him, and he hearkened not unto them, that they told Haman, to see whether Mordecai's matters would stand: for he had told them that he was a Jew.
3: 5 And when Haman saw that Mordecai bowed not, nor did him reverence, then was Haman full of wrath.
3: 6 And he thought scorn to lay hands on Mordecai alone; for they had shewed him the people of Mordecai: wherefore Haman sought to destroy all the Jews that were throughout the whole kingdom of Ahasuerus, even the people of Mordecai.
3: 7 In the first month, that is, the month Nisan, in the twelfth year of king Ahasuerus, they cast Pur, that is, the lot, before Haman from day to day, and from month to month, to the twelfth month, that is, the month Adar.
3: 9 If it please the king, let it be written that they may be destroyed: and I will pay ten thousand talents of silver to the hands of those that have the charge of the business, to bring it into the king's treasuries.
3: 10 And the king took his ring from his hand, and gave it unto Haman the son of Hammedatha the Agagite, the Jews'enemy.
3: 11 And the king said unto Haman, The silver is given to thee, the people also, to do with them as it seemeth good to thee.
3: 14 The copy of the writing for a commandment to be given in every province was published unto all people, that they should be ready against that day.
3: 15 The posts went out, being hastened by the king's commandment, and the decree was given in Shushan the palace.
And the king and Haman sat down to drink; but the city Shushan was perplexed.
4: 3 And in every province, whithersoever the king's commandment and his decree came, there was great mourning among the Jews, and fasting, and weeping, and wailing; and many lay in sackcloth and ashes.
4: 4 So Esther's maids and her chamberlains came and told it her.
Then was the queen exceedingly grieved; and she sent raiment to clothe Mordecai, and to take away his sackcloth from him: but he received it not.
4: 5 Then called Esther for Hatach, one of the king's chamberlains, whom he had appointed to attend upon her, and gave him a commandment to Mordecai, to know what it was, and why it was.
4: 6 So Hatach went forth to Mordecai unto the street of the city, which was before the king's gate.
4: 7 And Mordecai told him of all that had happened unto him, and of the sum of the money that Haman had promised to pay to the king's treasuries for the Jews, to destroy them.
4: 9 And Hatach came and told Esther the words of Mordecai.
4: 12 And they told to Mordecai Esther's words.
4: 13 Then Mordecai commanded to answer Esther, Think not with thyself that thou shalt escape in the king's house, more than all the Jews.
4: 14 For if thou altogether holdest thy peace at this time, then shall there enlargement and deliverance arise to the Jews from another place; but thou and thy father's house shall be destroyed: and who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?
4: 17 So Mordecai went his way, and did according to all that Esther had commanded him.
5: 1 Now it came to pass on the third day, that Esther put on her royal apparel, and stood in the inner court of the king's house, over against the king's house: and the king sat upon his royal throne in the royal house, over against the gate of the house.
5: 2 And it was so, when the king saw Esther the queen standing in the court, that she obtained favour in his sight: and the king held out to Esther the golden sceptre that was in his hand.
So Esther drew near, and touched the top of the sceptre.
5: 3 Then said the king unto her, What wilt thou, queen Esther?
and what is thy request?
it shall be even given thee to the half of the kingdom.
5: 4 And Esther answered, If it seem good unto the king, let the king and Haman come this day unto the banquet that I have prepared for him.
5: 5 Then the king said, Cause Haman to make haste, that he may do as Esther hath said.
So the king and Haman came to the banquet that Esther had prepared.
5: 6 And the king said unto Esther at the banquet of wine, What is thy petition?
and it shall be granted thee: and what is thy request?
even to the half of the kingdom it shall be performed.
5: 9 Then went Haman forth that day joyful and with a glad heart: but when Haman saw Mordecai in the king's gate, that he stood not up, nor moved for him, he was full of indignation against Mordecai.
5: 10 Nevertheless Haman refrained himself: and when he came home, he sent and called for his friends, and Zeresh his wife.
5: 11 And Haman told them of the glory of his riches, and the multitude of his children, and all the things wherein the king had promoted him, and how he had advanced him above the princes and servants of the king.
5: 12 Haman said moreover, Yea, Esther the queen did let no man come in with the king unto the banquet that she had prepared but myself; and to morrow am I invited unto her also with the king.
5: 13 Yet all this availeth me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew sitting at the king's gate.
5: 14 Then said Zeresh his wife and all his friends unto him, Let a gallows be made of fifty cubits high, and to morrow speak thou unto the king that Mordecai may be hanged thereon: then go thou in merrily with the king unto the banquet.
And the thing pleased Haman; and he caused the gallows to be made.
6: 1 On that night could not the king sleep, and he commanded to bring the book of records of the chronicles; and they were read before the king.
6: 2 And it was found written, that Mordecai had told of Bigthana and Teresh, two of the king's chamberlains, the keepers of the door, who sought to lay hand on the king Ahasuerus.
6: 3 And the king said, What honour and dignity hath been done to Mordecai for this?
Then said the king's servants that ministered unto him, There is nothing done for him.
6: 4 And the king said, Who is in the court?
Now Haman was come into the outward court of the king's house, to speak unto the king to hang Mordecai on the gallows that he had prepared for him.
6: 5 And the king's servants said unto him, Behold, Haman standeth in the court.
And the king said, Let him come in.
6: 6 So Haman came in.
And the king said unto him, What shall be done unto the man whom the king delighteth to honour?
Now Haman thought in his heart, To whom would the king delight to do honour more than to myself?
6: 10 Then the king said to Haman, Make haste, and take the apparel and the horse, as thou hast said, and do even so to Mordecai the Jew, that sitteth at the king's gate: let nothing fail of all that thou hast spoken.
6: 11 Then took Haman the apparel and the horse, and arrayed Mordecai, and brought him on horseback through the street of the city, and proclaimed before him, Thus shall it be done unto the man whom the king delighteth to honour.
6: 12 And Mordecai came again to the king's gate.
But Haman hasted to his house mourning, and having his head covered.
6: 13 And Haman told Zeresh his wife and all his friends every thing that had befallen him.
Then said his wise men and Zeresh his wife unto him, If Mordecai be of the seed of the Jews, before whom thou hast begun to fall, thou shalt not prevail against him, but shalt surely fall before him.
6: 14 And while they were yet talking with him, came the king's chamberlains, and hasted to bring Haman unto the banquet that Esther had prepared.
7: 1 So the king and Haman came to banquet with Esther the queen.
7: 2 And the king said again unto Esther on the second day at the banquet of wine, What is thy petition, queen Esther?
and it shall be granted thee: and what is thy request?
and it shall be performed, even to the half of the kingdom.
7: 3 Then Esther the queen answered and said, If I have found favour in thy sight, O king, and if it please the king, let my life be given me at my petition, and my people at my request: 7: 4 For we are sold, I and my people, to be destroyed, to be slain, and to perish.
But if we had been sold for bondmen and bondwomen, I had held my tongue, although the enemy could not countervail the king's damage.
7: 5 Then the king Ahasuerus answered and said unto Esther the queen, Who is he, and where is he, that durst presume in his heart to do so?
7: 6 And Esther said, The adversary and enemy is this wicked Haman.
Then Haman was afraid before the king and the queen.
7: 7 And the king arising from the banquet of wine in his wrath went into the palace garden: and Haman stood up to make request for his life to Esther the queen; for he saw that there was evil determined against him by the king.
7: 8 Then the king returned out of the palace garden into the place of the banquet of wine; and Haman was fallen upon the bed whereon Esther was.
Then said the king, Will he force the queen also before me in the house?
As the word went out of king's mouth, they covered Haman's face.
7: 9 And Harbonah, one of the chamberlains, said before the king, Behold also, the gallows fifty cubits high, which Haman had made for Mordecai, who spoken good for the king, standeth in the house of Haman.
Then the king said, Hang him thereon.
7: 10 So they hanged Haman on the gallows that he had prepared for Mordecai.
Then was the king's wrath pacified.
8: 1 On that day did the king Ahasuerus give the house of Haman the Jews'enemy unto Esther the queen.
And Mordecai came before the king; for Esther had told what he was unto her.
8: 2 And the king took off his ring, which he had taken from Haman, and gave it unto Mordecai.
And Esther set Mordecai over the house of Haman.
8: 3 And Esther spake yet again before the king, and fell down at his feet, and besought him with tears to put away the mischief of Haman the Agagite, and his device that he had devised against the Jews.
8: 4 Then the king held out the golden sceptre toward Esther.
or how can I endure to see the destruction of my kindred?
8: 7 Then the king Ahasuerus said unto Esther the queen and to Mordecai the Jew, Behold, I have given Esther the house of Haman, and him they have hanged upon the gallows, because he laid his hand upon the Jews.
8: 8 Write ye also for the Jews, as it liketh you, in the king's name, and seal it with the king's ring: for the writing which is written in the king's name, and sealed with the king's ring, may no man reverse.
8: 13 The copy of the writing for a commandment to be given in every province was published unto all people, and that the Jews should be ready against that day to avenge themselves on their enemies.
8: 14 So the posts that rode upon mules and camels went out, being hastened and pressed on by the king's commandment.
And the decree was given at Shushan the palace.
8: 15 And Mordecai went out from the presence of the king in royal apparel of blue and white, and with a great crown of gold, and with a garment of fine linen and purple: and the city of Shushan rejoiced and was glad.
8: 16 The Jews had light, and gladness, and joy, and honour.
8: 17 And in every province, and in every city, whithersoever the king's commandment and his decree came, the Jews had joy and gladness, a feast and a good day.
And many of the people of the land became Jews; for the fear of the Jews fell upon them.
9: 3 And all the rulers of the provinces, and the lieutenants, and the deputies, and officers of the king, helped the Jews; because the fear of Mordecai fell upon them.
9: 4 For Mordecai was great in the king's house, and his fame went out throughout all the provinces: for this man Mordecai waxed greater and greater.
9: 5 Thus the Jews smote all their enemies with the stroke of the sword, and slaughter, and destruction, and did what they would unto those that hated them.
9: 6 And in Shushan the palace the Jews slew and destroyed five hundred men.
9: 11 On that day the number of those that were slain in Shushan the palace was brought before the king.
9: 12 And the king said unto Esther the queen, The Jews have slain and destroyed five hundred men in Shushan the palace, and the ten sons of Haman; what have they done in the rest of the king's provinces?
now what is thy petition?
and it shall be granted thee: or what is thy request further?
and it shall be done.
9: 13 Then said Esther, If it please the king, let it be granted to the Jews which are in Shushan to do to morrow also according unto this day's decree, and let Haman's ten sons be hanged upon the gallows.
9: 14 And the king commanded it so to be done: and the decree was given at Shushan; and they hanged Haman's ten sons.
9: 15 For the Jews that were in Shushan gathered themselves together on the fourteenth day also of the month Adar, and slew three hundred men at Shushan; but on the prey they laid not their hand.
9: 18 But the Jews that were at Shushan assembled together on the thirteenth day thereof, and on the fourteenth thereof; and on the fifteenth day of the same they rested, and made it a day of feasting and gladness.
9: 19 Therefore the Jews of the villages, that dwelt in the unwalled towns, made the fourteenth day of the month Adar a day of gladness and feasting, and a good day, and of sending portions one to another.
9: 26 Wherefore they called these days Purim after the name of Pur.
9: 29 Then Esther the queen, the daughter of Abihail, and Mordecai the Jew, wrote with all authority, to confirm this second letter of Purim.
9: 32 And the decree of Esther confirmed these matters of Purim; and it was written in the book.
10: 1 And the king Ahasuerus laid a tribute upon the land, and upon the isles of the sea.
10: 2 And all the acts of his power and of his might, and the declaration of the greatness of Mordecai, whereunto the king advanced him, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Media and Persia?
10: 3 For Mordecai the Jew was next unto king Ahasuerus, and great among the Jews, and accepted of the multitude of his brethren, seeking the wealth of his people, and speaking peace to all his seed.
The Book of Job
1: 1 There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job; and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil.
1: 2 And there were born unto him seven sons and three daughters.
1: 3 His substance also was seven thousand sheep, and three thousand camels, and five hundred yoke of oxen, and five hundred she asses, and a very great household; so that this man was the greatest of all the men of the east.
1: 4 And his sons went and feasted in their houses, every one his day; and sent and called for their three sisters to eat and to drink with them.
Thus did Job continually.
1: 6 Now there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the LORD, and Satan came also among them.
1: 7 And the LORD said unto Satan, Whence comest thou?
Then Satan answered the LORD, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.
1: 8 And the LORD said unto Satan, Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil?
1: 9 Then Satan answered the LORD, and said, Doth Job fear God for nought?
1: 10 Hast not thou made an hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he hath on every side?
thou hast blessed the work of his hands, and his substance is increased in the land.
1: 11 But put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face.
1: 12 And the LORD said unto Satan, Behold, all that he hath is in thy power; only upon himself put not forth thine hand.
So Satan went forth from the presence of the LORD.
1: 16 While he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, The fire of God is fallen from heaven, and hath burned up the sheep, and the servants, and consumed them; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee.
1: 17 While he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, The Chaldeans made out three bands, and fell upon the camels, and have carried them away, yea, and slain the servants with the edge of the sword; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee.
1: 22 In all this Job sinned not, nor charged God foolishly.
2: 1 Again there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the LORD, and Satan came also among them to present himself before the LORD.
2: 2 And the LORD said unto Satan, From whence comest thou?
And Satan answered the LORD, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.
2: 3 And the LORD said unto Satan, Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil?
and still he holdeth fast his integrity, although thou movedst me against him, to destroy him without cause.
2: 4 And Satan answered the LORD, and said, Skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath will he give for his life.
2: 5 But put forth thine hand now, and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse thee to thy face.
2: 6 And the LORD said unto Satan, Behold, he is in thine hand; but save his life.
2: 7 So went Satan forth from the presence of the LORD, and smote Job with sore boils from the sole of his foot unto his crown.
2: 8 And he took him a potsherd to scrape himself withal; and he sat down among the ashes.
2: 9 Then said his wife unto him, Dost thou still retain thine integrity?
curse God, and die.
2: 10 But he said unto her, Thou speakest as one of the foolish women speaketh.
What?
shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?
In all this did not Job sin with his lips.
2: 12 And when they lifted up their eyes afar off, and knew him not, they lifted up their voice, and wept; and they rent every one his mantle, and sprinkled dust upon their heads toward heaven.
2: 13 So they sat down with him upon the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a word unto him: for they saw that his grief was very great.
3: 1 After this opened Job his mouth, and cursed his day.
3: 2 And Job spake, and said, 3: 3 Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived.
3: 4 Let that day be darkness; let not God regard it from above, neither let the light shine upon it.
3: 5 Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it; let a cloud dwell upon it; let the blackness of the day terrify it.
3: 6 As for that night, let darkness seize upon it; let it not be joined unto the days of the year, let it not come into the number of the months.
3: 7 Lo, let that night be solitary, let no joyful voice come therein.
3: 8 Let them curse it that curse the day, who are ready to raise up their mourning.
3: 9 Let the stars of the twilight thereof be dark; let it look for light, but have none; neither let it see the dawning of the day: 3: 10 Because it shut not up the doors of my mother's womb, nor hid sorrow from mine eyes.
3: 11 Why died I not from the womb?
why did I not give up the ghost when I came out of the belly?
3: 12 Why did the knees prevent me?
or why the breasts that I should suck?
3: 17 There the wicked cease from troubling; and there the weary be at rest.
3: 18 There the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor.
3: 19 The small and great are there; and the servant is free from his master.
3: 20 Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul; 3: 21 Which long for death, but it cometh not; and dig for it more than for hid treasures; 3: 22 Which rejoice exceedingly, and are glad, when they can find the grave?
3: 23 Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?
3: 24 For my sighing cometh before I eat, and my roarings are poured out like the waters.
3: 25 For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me.
3: 26 I was not in safety, neither had I rest, neither was I quiet; yet trouble came.
4: 1 Then Eliphaz the Temanite answered and said, 4: 2 If we assay to commune with thee, wilt thou be grieved?
but who can withhold himself from speaking?
4: 3 Behold, thou hast instructed many, and thou hast strengthened the weak hands.
4: 4 Thy words have upholden him that was falling, and thou hast strengthened the feeble knees.
4: 5 But now it is come upon thee, and thou faintest; it toucheth thee, and thou art troubled.
4: 6 Is not this thy fear, thy confidence, thy hope, and the uprightness of thy ways?
4: 7 Remember, I pray thee, who ever perished, being innocent?
or where were the righteous cut off?
4: 8 Even as I have seen, they that plow iniquity, and sow wickedness, reap the same.
4: 9 By the blast of God they perish, and by the breath of his nostrils are they consumed.
4: 10 The roaring of the lion, and the voice of the fierce lion, and the teeth of the young lions, are broken.
4: 11 The old lion perisheth for lack of prey, and the stout lion's whelps are scattered abroad.
4: 12 Now a thing was secretly brought to me, and mine ear received a little thereof.
4: 13 In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on men, 4: 14 Fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to shake.
4: 15 Then a spirit passed before my face; the hair of my flesh stood up: 4: 16 It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof: an image was before mine eyes, there was silence, and I heard a voice, saying, 4: 17 Shall mortal man be more just than God?
shall a man be more pure than his maker?
4: 18 Behold, he put no trust in his servants; and his angels he charged with folly: 4: 19 How much less in them that dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is in the dust, which are crushed before the moth?
4: 20 They are destroyed from morning to evening: they perish for ever without any regarding it.
4: 21 Doth not their excellency which is in them go away?
they die, even without wisdom.
5: 1 Call now, if there be any that will answer thee; and to which of the saints wilt thou turn?
5: 2 For wrath killeth the foolish man, and envy slayeth the silly one.
5: 3 I have seen the foolish taking root: but suddenly I cursed his habitation.
5: 4 His children are far from safety, and they are crushed in the gate, neither is there any to deliver them.
5: 5 Whose harvest the hungry eateth up, and taketh it even out of the thorns, and the robber swalloweth up their substance.
5: 6 Although affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground; 5: 7 Yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.
5: 12 He disappointeth the devices of the crafty, so that their hands cannot perform their enterprise.
5: 13 He taketh the wise in their own craftiness: and the counsel of the froward is carried headlong.
5: 14 They meet with darkness in the day time, and grope in the noonday as in the night.
5: 15 But he saveth the poor from the sword, from their mouth, and from the hand of the mighty.
5: 16 So the poor hath hope, and iniquity stoppeth her mouth.
5: 17 Behold, happy is the man whom God correcteth: therefore despise not thou the chastening of the Almighty: 5: 18 For he maketh sore, and bindeth up: he woundeth, and his hands make whole.
5: 19 He shall deliver thee in six troubles: yea, in seven there shall no evil touch thee.
5: 20 In famine he shall redeem thee from death: and in war from the power of the sword.
5: 21 Thou shalt be hid from the scourge of the tongue: neither shalt thou be afraid of destruction when it cometh.
5: 22 At destruction and famine thou shalt laugh: neither shalt thou be afraid of the beasts of the earth.
5: 23 For thou shalt be in league with the stones of the field: and the beasts of the field shall be at peace with thee.
5: 24 And thou shalt know that thy tabernacle shall be in peace; and thou shalt visit thy habitation, and shalt not sin.
5: 25 Thou shalt know also that thy seed shall be great, and thine offspring as the grass of the earth.
5: 26 Thou shalt come to thy grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in in his season.
5: 27 Lo this, we have searched it, so it is; hear it, and know thou it for thy good.
6: 1 But Job answered and said, 6: 2 Oh that my grief were throughly weighed, and my calamity laid in the balances together!
6: 3 For now it would be heavier than the sand of the sea: therefore my words are swallowed up.
6: 4 For the arrows of the Almighty are within me, the poison whereof drinketh up my spirit: the terrors of God do set themselves in array against me.
6: 5 Doth the wild ass bray when he hath grass?
or loweth the ox over his fodder?
6: 6 Can that which is unsavoury be eaten without salt?
or is there any taste in the white of an egg?
6: 7 The things that my soul refused to touch are as my sorrowful meat.
6: 8 Oh that I might have my request; and that God would grant me the thing that I long for!
6: 9 Even that it would please God to destroy me; that he would let loose his hand, and cut me off!
6: 10 Then should I yet have comfort; yea, I would harden myself in sorrow: let him not spare; for I have not concealed the words of the Holy One.
6: 11 What is my strength, that I should hope?
and what is mine end, that I should prolong my life?
6: 12 Is my strength the strength of stones?
or is my flesh of brass?
6: 13 Is not my help in me?
and is wisdom driven quite from me?
6: 14 To him that is afflicted pity should be shewed from his friend; but he forsaketh the fear of the Almighty.
6: 15 My brethren have dealt deceitfully as a brook, and as the stream of brooks they pass away; 6: 16 Which are blackish by reason of the ice, and wherein the snow is hid: 6: 17 What time they wax warm, they vanish: when it is hot, they are consumed out of their place.
6: 18 The paths of their way are turned aside; they go to nothing, and perish.
6: 19 The troops of Tema looked, the companies of Sheba waited for them.
6: 20 They were confounded because they had hoped; they came thither, and were ashamed.
6: 21 For now ye are nothing; ye see my casting down, and are afraid.
6: 22 Did I say, Bring unto me?
or, Give a reward for me of your substance?
6: 23 Or, Deliver me from the enemy's hand?
or, Redeem me from the hand of the mighty?
6: 24 Teach me, and I will hold my tongue: and cause me to understand wherein I have erred.
6: 25 How forcible are right words!
but what doth your arguing reprove?
6: 26 Do ye imagine to reprove words, and the speeches of one that is desperate, which are as wind?
6: 27 Yea, ye overwhelm the fatherless, and ye dig a pit for your friend.
6: 28 Now therefore be content, look upon me; for it is evident unto you if I lie.
6: 29 Return, I pray you, let it not be iniquity; yea, return again, my righteousness is in it.
6: 30 Is there iniquity in my tongue?
cannot my taste discern perverse things?
7: 1 Is there not an appointed time to man upon earth?
are not his days also like the days of an hireling?
7: 2 As a servant earnestly desireth the shadow, and as an hireling looketh for the reward of his work: 7: 3 So am I made to possess months of vanity, and wearisome nights are appointed to me.
7: 4 When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night be gone?
and I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day.
7: 5 My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust; my skin is broken, and become loathsome.
7: 6 My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without hope.
7: 7 O remember that my life is wind: mine eye shall no more see good.
7: 8 The eye of him that hath seen me shall see me no more: thine eyes are upon me, and I am not.
7: 9 As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away: so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more.
7: 10 He shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more.
7: 11 Therefore I will not refrain my mouth; I will speak in the anguish of my spirit; I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.
7: 12 Am I a sea, or a whale, that thou settest a watch over me?
7: 13 When I say, My bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaints; 7: 14 Then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions: 7: 15 So that my soul chooseth strangling, and death rather than my life.
7: 16 I loathe it; I would not live alway: let me alone; for my days are vanity.
7: 17 What is man, that thou shouldest magnify him?
and that thou shouldest set thine heart upon him?
7: 18 And that thou shouldest visit him every morning, and try him every moment?
7: 19 How long wilt thou not depart from me, nor let me alone till I swallow down my spittle?
7: 20 I have sinned; what shall I do unto thee, O thou preserver of men?
why hast thou set me as a mark against thee, so that I am a burden to myself?
7: 21 And why dost thou not pardon my transgression, and take away my iniquity?
for now shall I sleep in the dust; and thou shalt seek me in the morning, but I shall not be.
8: 1 Then answered Bildad the Shuhite, and said, 8: 2 How long wilt thou speak these things?
and how long shall the words of thy mouth be like a strong wind?
8: 3 Doth God pervert judgment?
or doth the Almighty pervert justice?
8: 7 Though thy beginning was small, yet thy latter end should greatly increase.
8: 11 Can the rush grow up without mire?
can the flag grow without water?
8: 12 Whilst it is yet in his greenness, and not cut down, it withereth before any other herb.
8: 13 So are the paths of all that forget God; and the hypocrite's hope shall perish: 8: 14 Whose hope shall be cut off, and whose trust shall be a spider's web.
8: 15 He shall lean upon his house, but it shall not stand: he shall hold it fast, but it shall not endure.
8: 16 He is green before the sun, and his branch shooteth forth in his garden.
8: 17 His roots are wrapped about the heap, and seeth the place of stones.
8: 18 If he destroy him from his place, then it shall deny him, saying, I have not seen thee.
8: 19 Behold, this is the joy of his way, and out of the earth shall others grow.
8: 20 Behold, God will not cast away a perfect man, neither will he help the evil doers: 8: 21 Till he fill thy mouth with laughing, and thy lips with rejoicing.
8: 22 They that hate thee shall be clothed with shame; and the dwelling place of the wicked shall come to nought.
9: 1 Then Job answered and said, 9: 2 I know it is so of a truth: but how should man be just with God?
9: 3 If he will contend with him, he cannot answer him one of a thousand.
9: 4 He is wise in heart, and mighty in strength: who hath hardened himself against him, and hath prospered?
9: 5 Which removeth the mountains, and they know not: which overturneth them in his anger.
9: 6 Which shaketh the earth out of her place, and the pillars thereof tremble.
9: 7 Which commandeth the sun, and it riseth not; and sealeth up the stars.
9: 8 Which alone spreadeth out the heavens, and treadeth upon the waves of the sea.
9: 9 Which maketh Arcturus, Orion, and Pleiades, and the chambers of the south.
9: 10 Which doeth great things past finding out; yea, and wonders without number.
9: 11 Lo, he goeth by me, and I see him not: he passeth on also, but I perceive him not.
9: 12 Behold, he taketh away, who can hinder him?
who will say unto him, What doest thou?
9: 13 If God will not withdraw his anger, the proud helpers do stoop under him.
9: 14 How much less shall I answer him, and choose out my words to reason with him?
9: 15 Whom, though I were righteous, yet would I not answer, but I would make supplication to my judge.
9: 16 If I had called, and he had answered me; yet would I not believe that he had hearkened unto my voice.
9: 17 For he breaketh me with a tempest, and multiplieth my wounds without cause.
9: 18 He will not suffer me to take my breath, but filleth me with bitterness.
9: 19 If I speak of strength, lo, he is strong: and if of judgment, who shall set me a time to plead?
9: 20 If I justify myself, mine own mouth shall condemn me: if I say, I am perfect, it shall also prove me perverse.
9: 21 Though I were perfect, yet would I not know my soul: I would despise my life.
9: 22 This is one thing, therefore I said it, He destroyeth the perfect and the wicked.
9: 23 If the scourge slay suddenly, he will laugh at the trial of the innocent.
9: 24 The earth is given into the hand of the wicked: he covereth the faces of the judges thereof; if not, where, and who is he?
9: 25 Now my days are swifter than a post: they flee away, they see no good.
9: 26 They are passed away as the swift ships: as the eagle that hasteth to the prey.
9: 27 If I say, I will forget my complaint, I will leave off my heaviness, and comfort myself: 9: 28 I am afraid of all my sorrows, I know that thou wilt not hold me innocent.
9: 29 If I be wicked, why then labour I in vain?
9: 30 If I wash myself with snow water, and make my hands never so clean; 9: 31 Yet shalt thou plunge me in the ditch, and mine own clothes shall abhor me.
9: 32 For he is not a man, as I am, that I should answer him, and we should come together in judgment.
9: 33 Neither is there any daysman betwixt us, that might lay his hand upon us both.
9: 34 Let him take his rod away from me, and let not his fear terrify me: 9: 35 Then would I speak, and not fear him; but it is not so with me.
10: 1 My soul is weary of my life; I will leave my complaint upon myself; I will speak in the bitterness of my soul.
10: 2 I will say unto God, Do not condemn me; shew me wherefore thou contendest with me.
10: 3 Is it good unto thee that thou shouldest oppress, that thou shouldest despise the work of thine hands, and shine upon the counsel of the wicked?
10: 4 Hast thou eyes of flesh?
or seest thou as man seeth?
10: 5 Are thy days as the days of man?
are thy years as man's days, 10: 6 That thou enquirest after mine iniquity, and searchest after my sin?
10: 7 Thou knowest that I am not wicked; and there is none that can deliver out of thine hand.
10: 8 Thine hands have made me and fashioned me together round about; yet thou dost destroy me.
10: 9 Remember, I beseech thee, that thou hast made me as the clay; and wilt thou bring me into dust again?
10: 10 Hast thou not poured me out as milk, and curdled me like cheese?
10: 11 Thou hast clothed me with skin and flesh, and hast fenced me with bones and sinews.
10: 12 Thou hast granted me life and favour, and thy visitation hath preserved my spirit.
10: 13 And these things hast thou hid in thine heart: I know that this is with thee.
10: 14 If I sin, then thou markest me, and thou wilt not acquit me from mine iniquity.
10: 15 If I be wicked, woe unto me; and if I be righteous, yet will I not lift up my head.
I am full of confusion; therefore see thou mine affliction; 10: 16 For it increaseth.
Thou huntest me as a fierce lion: and again thou shewest thyself marvellous upon me.
10: 17 Thou renewest thy witnesses against me, and increasest thine indignation upon me; changes and war are against me.
10: 18 Wherefore then hast thou brought me forth out of the womb?
Oh that I had given up the ghost, and no eye had seen me!
10: 19 I should have been as though I had not been; I should have been carried from the womb to the grave.
10: 20 Are not my days few?
11: 1 Then answered Zophar the Naamathite, and said, 11: 2 Should not the multitude of words be answered?
and should a man full of talk be justified?
11: 3 Should thy lies make men hold their peace?
and when thou mockest, shall no man make thee ashamed?
11: 4 For thou hast said, My doctrine is pure, and I am clean in thine eyes.
11: 5 But oh that God would speak, and open his lips against thee; 11: 6 And that he would shew thee the secrets of wisdom, that they are double to that which is!
Know therefore that God exacteth of thee less than thine iniquity deserveth.
11: 7 Canst thou by searching find out God?
canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection?
11: 8 It is as high as heaven; what canst thou do?
deeper than hell; what canst thou know?
11: 9 The measure thereof is longer than the earth, and broader than the sea.
11: 10 If he cut off, and shut up, or gather together, then who can hinder him?
11: 11 For he knoweth vain men: he seeth wickedness also; will he not then consider it?
11: 12 For vain men would be wise, though man be born like a wild ass's colt.
11: 13 If thou prepare thine heart, and stretch out thine hands toward him; 11: 14 If iniquity be in thine hand, put it far away, and let not wickedness dwell in thy tabernacles.
11: 18 And thou shalt be secure, because there is hope; yea, thou shalt dig about thee, and thou shalt take thy rest in safety.
11: 19 Also thou shalt lie down, and none shall make thee afraid; yea, many shall make suit unto thee.
11: 20 But the eyes of the wicked shall fail, and they shall not escape, and their hope shall be as the giving up of the ghost.
12: 1 And Job answered and said, 12: 2 No doubt but ye are the people, and wisdom shall die with you.
12: 3 But I have understanding as well as you; I am not inferior to you: yea, who knoweth not such things as these?
12: 4 I am as one mocked of his neighbour, who calleth upon God, and he answereth him: the just upright man is laughed to scorn.
12: 5 He that is ready to slip with his feet is as a lamp despised in the thought of him that is at ease.
12: 6 The tabernacles of robbers prosper, and they that provoke God are secure; into whose hand God bringeth abundantly.
12: 7 But ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee; and the fowls of the air, and they shall tell thee: 12: 8 Or speak to the earth, and it shall teach thee: and the fishes of the sea shall declare unto thee.
12: 9 Who knoweth not in all these that the hand of the LORD hath wrought this?
12: 10 In whose hand is the soul of every living thing, and the breath of all mankind.
12: 11 Doth not the ear try words?
and the mouth taste his meat?
12: 12 With the ancient is wisdom; and in length of days understanding.
12: 13 With him is wisdom and strength, he hath counsel and understanding.
12: 14 Behold, he breaketh down, and it cannot be built again: he shutteth up a man, and there can be no opening.
12: 15 Behold, he withholdeth the waters, and they dry up: also he sendeth them out, and they overturn the earth.
12: 16 With him is strength and wisdom: the deceived and the deceiver are his.
12: 17 He leadeth counsellors away spoiled, and maketh the judges fools.
12: 18 He looseth the bond of kings, and girdeth their loins with a girdle.
12: 19 He leadeth princes away spoiled, and overthroweth the mighty.
12: 20 He removeth away the speech of the trusty, and taketh away the understanding of the aged.
12: 21 He poureth contempt upon princes, and weakeneth the strength of the mighty.
12: 22 He discovereth deep things out of darkness, and bringeth out to light the shadow of death.
12: 23 He increaseth the nations, and destroyeth them: he enlargeth the nations, and straiteneth them again.
12: 24 He taketh away the heart of the chief of the people of the earth, and causeth them to wander in a wilderness where there is no way.
12: 25 They grope in the dark without light, and he maketh them to stagger like a drunken man.
13: 1 Lo, mine eye hath seen all this, mine ear hath heard and understood it.
13: 2 What ye know, the same do I know also: I am not inferior unto you.
13: 3 Surely I would speak to the Almighty, and I desire to reason with God.
13: 4 But ye are forgers of lies, ye are all physicians of no value.
13: 5 O that ye would altogether hold your peace!
and it should be your wisdom.
13: 6 Hear now my reasoning, and hearken to the pleadings of my lips.
13: 7 Will ye speak wickedly for God?
and talk deceitfully for him?
13: 8 Will ye accept his person?
will ye contend for God?
13: 9 Is it good that he should search you out?
or as one man mocketh another, do ye so mock him?
13: 10 He will surely reprove you, if ye do secretly accept persons.
13: 11 Shall not his excellency make you afraid?
and his dread fall upon you?
13: 12 Your remembrances are like unto ashes, your bodies to bodies of clay.
13: 13 Hold your peace, let me alone, that I may speak, and let come on me what will.
13: 14 Wherefore do I take my flesh in my teeth, and put my life in mine hand?
13: 15 Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him: but I will maintain mine own ways before him.
13: 16 He also shall be my salvation: for an hypocrite shall not come before him.
13: 17 Hear diligently my speech, and my declaration with your ears.
13: 18 Behold now, I have ordered my cause; I know that I shall be justified.
13: 19 Who is he that will plead with me?
for now, if I hold my tongue, I shall give up the ghost.
13: 20 Only do not two things unto me: then will I not hide myself from thee.
13: 21 Withdraw thine hand far from me: and let not thy dread make me afraid.
13: 22 Then call thou, and I will answer: or let me speak, and answer thou me.
13: 23 How many are mine iniquities and sins?
make me to know my transgression and my sin.
13: 24 Wherefore hidest thou thy face, and holdest me for thine enemy?
13: 25 Wilt thou break a leaf driven to and fro?
and wilt thou pursue the dry stubble?
13: 26 For thou writest bitter things against me, and makest me to possess the iniquities of my youth.
13: 27 Thou puttest my feet also in the stocks, and lookest narrowly unto all my paths; thou settest a print upon the heels of my feet.
13: 28 And he, as a rotten thing, consumeth, as a garment that is moth eaten.
14: 1 Man that is born of a woman is of few days and full of trouble.
14: 2 He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down: he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not.
14: 3 And doth thou open thine eyes upon such an one, and bringest me into judgment with thee?
14: 4 Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean?
not one.
14: 5 Seeing his days are determined, the number of his months are with thee, thou hast appointed his bounds that he cannot pass; 14: 6 Turn from him, that he may rest, till he shall accomplish, as an hireling, his day.
14: 7 For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease.
14: 8 Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground; 14: 9 Yet through the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant.
14: 10 But man dieth, and wasteth away: yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he?
14: 11 As the waters fail from the sea, and the flood decayeth and drieth up: 14: 12 So man lieth down, and riseth not: till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake, nor be raised out of their sleep.
14: 13 O that thou wouldest hide me in the grave, that thou wouldest keep me secret, until thy wrath be past, that thou wouldest appoint me a set time, and remember me!
14: 14 If a man die, shall he live again?
all the days of my appointed time will I wait, till my change come.
14: 15 Thou shalt call, and I will answer thee: thou wilt have a desire to the work of thine hands.
14: 16 For now thou numberest my steps: dost thou not watch over my sin?
14: 17 My transgression is sealed up in a bag, and thou sewest up mine iniquity.
14: 18 And surely the mountains falling cometh to nought, and the rock is removed out of his place.
14: 19 The waters wear the stones: thou washest away the things which grow out of the dust of the earth; and thou destroyest the hope of man.
14: 20 Thou prevailest for ever against him, and he passeth: thou changest his countenance, and sendest him away.
14: 21 His sons come to honour, and he knoweth it not; and they are brought low, but he perceiveth it not of them.
14: 22 But his flesh upon him shall have pain, and his soul within him shall mourn.
15: 1 Then answered Eliphaz the Temanite, and said, 15: 2 Should a wise man utter vain knowledge, and fill his belly with the east wind?
15: 3 Should he reason with unprofitable talk?
or with speeches wherewith he can do no good?
15: 4 Yea, thou castest off fear, and restrainest prayer before God.
15: 5 For thy mouth uttereth thine iniquity, and thou choosest the tongue of the crafty.
15: 6 Thine own mouth condemneth thee, and not I: yea, thine own lips testify against thee.
15: 7 Art thou the first man that was born?
or wast thou made before the hills?
15: 8 Hast thou heard the secret of God?
and dost thou restrain wisdom to thyself?
15: 9 What knowest thou, that we know not?
what understandest thou, which is not in us?
15: 10 With us are both the grayheaded and very aged men, much elder than thy father.
15: 11 Are the consolations of God small with thee?
is there any secret thing with thee?
15: 12 Why doth thine heart carry thee away?
and what do thy eyes wink at, 15: 13 That thou turnest thy spirit against God, and lettest such words go out of thy mouth?
15: 14 What is man, that he should be clean?
and he which is born of a woman, that he should be righteous?
15: 15 Behold, he putteth no trust in his saints; yea, the heavens are not clean in his sight.
15: 16 How much more abominable and filthy is man, which drinketh iniquity like water?
15: 17 I will shew thee, hear me; and that which I have seen I will declare; 15: 18 Which wise men have told from their fathers, and have not hid it: 15: 19 Unto whom alone the earth was given, and no stranger passed among them.
15: 20 The wicked man travaileth with pain all his days, and the number of years is hidden to the oppressor.
15: 21 A dreadful sound is in his ears: in prosperity the destroyer shall come upon him.
15: 22 He believeth not that he shall return out of darkness, and he is waited for of the sword.
15: 23 He wandereth abroad for bread, saying, Where is it?
he knoweth that the day of darkness is ready at his hand.
15: 24 Trouble and anguish shall make him afraid; they shall prevail against him, as a king ready to the battle.
15: 25 For he stretcheth out his hand against God, and strengtheneth himself against the Almighty.
15: 26 He runneth upon him, even on his neck, upon the thick bosses of his bucklers: 15: 27 Because he covereth his face with his fatness, and maketh collops of fat on his flanks.
15: 28 And he dwelleth in desolate cities, and in houses which no man inhabiteth, which are ready to become heaps.
15: 29 He shall not be rich, neither shall his substance continue, neither shall he prolong the perfection thereof upon the earth.
15: 30 He shall not depart out of darkness; the flame shall dry up his branches, and by the breath of his mouth shall he go away.
15: 31 Let not him that is deceived trust in vanity: for vanity shall be his recompence.
15: 32 It shall be accomplished before his time, and his branch shall not be green.
15: 33 He shall shake off his unripe grape as the vine, and shall cast off his flower as the olive.
15: 34 For the congregation of hypocrites shall be desolate, and fire shall consume the tabernacles of bribery.
15: 35 They conceive mischief, and bring forth vanity, and their belly prepareth deceit.
16: 1 Then Job answered and said, 16: 2 I have heard many such things: miserable comforters are ye all.
16: 3 Shall vain words have an end?
or what emboldeneth thee that thou answerest?
16: 4 I also could speak as ye do: if your soul were in my soul's stead, I could heap up words against you, and shake mine head at you.
16: 5 But I would strengthen you with my mouth, and the moving of my lips should asswage your grief.
16: 6 Though I speak, my grief is not asswaged: and though I forbear, what am I eased?
16: 7 But now he hath made me weary: thou hast made desolate all my company.
16: 8 And thou hast filled me with wrinkles, which is a witness against me: and my leanness rising up in me beareth witness to my face.
16: 9 He teareth me in his wrath, who hateth me: he gnasheth upon me with his teeth; mine enemy sharpeneth his eyes upon me.
16: 10 They have gaped upon me with their mouth; they have smitten me upon the cheek reproachfully; they have gathered themselves together against me.
16: 11 God hath delivered me to the ungodly, and turned me over into the hands of the wicked.
16: 12 I was at ease, but he hath broken me asunder: he hath also taken me by my neck, and shaken me to pieces, and set me up for his mark.
16: 13 His archers compass me round about, he cleaveth my reins asunder, and doth not spare; he poureth out my gall upon the ground.
16: 14 He breaketh me with breach upon breach, he runneth upon me like a giant.
16: 15 I have sewed sackcloth upon my skin, and defiled my horn in the dust.
16: 16 My face is foul with weeping, and on my eyelids is the shadow of death; 16: 17 Not for any injustice in mine hands: also my prayer is pure.
16: 18 O earth, cover not thou my blood, and let my cry have no place.
16: 19 Also now, behold, my witness is in heaven, and my record is on high.
16: 20 My friends scorn me: but mine eye poureth out tears unto God.
16: 21 O that one might plead for a man with God, as a man pleadeth for his neighbour!
16: 22 When a few years are come, then I shall go the way whence I shall not return.
17: 1 My breath is corrupt, my days are extinct, the graves are ready for me.
17: 2 Are there not mockers with me?
and doth not mine eye continue in their provocation?
17: 3 Lay down now, put me in a surety with thee; who is he that will strike hands with me?
17: 4 For thou hast hid their heart from understanding: therefore shalt thou not exalt them.
17: 5 He that speaketh flattery to his friends, even the eyes of his children shall fail.
17: 6 He hath made me also a byword of the people; and aforetime I was as a tabret.
17: 7 Mine eye also is dim by reason of sorrow, and all my members are as a shadow.
17: 8 Upright men shall be astonied at this, and the innocent shall stir up himself against the hypocrite.
17: 9 The righteous also shall hold on his way, and he that hath clean hands shall be stronger and stronger.
17: 10 But as for you all, do ye return, and come now: for I cannot find one wise man among you.
17: 11 My days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts of my heart.
17: 12 They change the night into day: the light is short because of darkness.
17: 13 If I wait, the grave is mine house: I have made my bed in the darkness.
17: 14 I have said to corruption, Thou art my father: to the worm, Thou art my mother, and my sister.
17: 15 And where is now my hope?
as for my hope, who shall see it?
17: 16 They shall go down to the bars of the pit, when our rest together is in the dust.
18: 1 Then answered Bildad the Shuhite, and said, 18: 2 How long will it be ere ye make an end of words?
mark, and afterwards we will speak.
18: 3 Wherefore are we counted as beasts, and reputed vile in your sight?
18: 4 He teareth himself in his anger: shall the earth be forsaken for thee?
and shall the rock be removed out of his place?
18: 5 Yea, the light of the wicked shall be put out, and the spark of his fire shall not shine.
18: 6 The light shall be dark in his tabernacle, and his candle shall be put out with him.
18: 7 The steps of his strength shall be straitened, and his own counsel shall cast him down.
18: 8 For he is cast into a net by his own feet, and he walketh upon a snare.
18: 9 The gin shall take him by the heel, and the robber shall prevail against him.
18: 10 The snare is laid for him in the ground, and a trap for him in the way.
18: 11 Terrors shall make him afraid on every side, and shall drive him to his feet.
18: 12 His strength shall be hungerbitten, and destruction shall be ready at his side.
18: 13 It shall devour the strength of his skin: even the firstborn of death shall devour his strength.
18: 14 His confidence shall be rooted out of his tabernacle, and it shall bring him to the king of terrors.
18: 15 It shall dwell in his tabernacle, because it is none of his: brimstone shall be scattered upon his habitation.
18: 16 His roots shall be dried up beneath, and above shall his branch be cut off.
18: 17 His remembrance shall perish from the earth, and he shall have no name in the street.
18: 18 He shall be driven from light into darkness, and chased out of the world.
18: 19 He shall neither have son nor nephew among his people, nor any remaining in his dwellings.
18: 20 They that come after him shall be astonied at his day, as they that went before were affrighted.
18: 21 Surely such are the dwellings of the wicked, and this is the place of him that knoweth not God.
19: 1 Then Job answered and said, 19: 2 How long will ye vex my soul, and break me in pieces with words?
19: 3 These ten times have ye reproached me: ye are not ashamed that ye make yourselves strange to me.
19: 4 And be it indeed that I have erred, mine error remaineth with myself.
19: 5 If indeed ye will magnify yourselves against me, and plead against me my reproach: 19: 6 Know now that God hath overthrown me, and hath compassed me with his net.
19: 7 Behold, I cry out of wrong, but I am not heard: I cry aloud, but there is no judgment.
19: 8 He hath fenced up my way that I cannot pass, and he hath set darkness in my paths.
19: 9 He hath stripped me of my glory, and taken the crown from my head.
19: 10 He hath destroyed me on every side, and I am gone: and mine hope hath he removed like a tree.
19: 11 He hath also kindled his wrath against me, and he counteth me unto him as one of his enemies.
19: 12 His troops come together, and raise up their way against me, and encamp round about my tabernacle.
19: 13 He hath put my brethren far from me, and mine acquaintance are verily estranged from me.
19: 14 My kinsfolk have failed, and my familiar friends have forgotten me.
19: 15 They that dwell in mine house, and my maids, count me for a stranger: I am an alien in their sight.
19: 16 I called my servant, and he gave me no answer; I intreated him with my mouth.
19: 17 My breath is strange to my wife, though I intreated for the children's sake of mine own body.
19: 18 Yea, young children despised me; I arose, and they spake against me.
19: 19 All my inward friends abhorred me: and they whom I loved are turned against me.
19: 20 My bone cleaveth to my skin and to my flesh, and I am escaped with the skin of my teeth.
19: 21 Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my friends; for the hand of God hath touched me.
19: 22 Why do ye persecute me as God, and are not satisfied with my flesh?
19: 23 Oh that my words were now written!
oh that they were printed in a book!
19: 24 That they were graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock for ever!
19: 28 But ye should say, Why persecute we him, seeing the root of the matter is found in me?
19: 29 Be ye afraid of the sword: for wrath bringeth the punishments of the sword, that ye may know there is a judgment.
20: 1 Then answered Zophar the Naamathite, and said, 20: 2 Therefore do my thoughts cause me to answer, and for this I make haste.
20: 3 I have heard the check of my reproach, and the spirit of my understanding causeth me to answer.
20: 4 Knowest thou not this of old, since man was placed upon earth, 20: 5 That the triumphing of the wicked is short, and the joy of the hypocrite but for a moment?
20: 6 Though his excellency mount up to the heavens, and his head reach unto the clouds; 20: 7 Yet he shall perish for ever like his own dung: they which have seen him shall say, Where is he?
20: 8 He shall fly away as a dream, and shall not be found: yea, he shall be chased away as a vision of the night.
20: 9 The eye also which saw him shall see him no more; neither shall his place any more behold him.
20: 10 His children shall seek to please the poor, and his hands shall restore their goods.
20: 11 His bones are full of the sin of his youth, which shall lie down with him in the dust.
20: 12 Though wickedness be sweet in his mouth, though he hide it under his tongue; 20: 13 Though he spare it, and forsake it not; but keep it still within his mouth: 20: 14 Yet his meat in his bowels is turned, it is the gall of asps within him.
20: 15 He hath swallowed down riches, and he shall vomit them up again: God shall cast them out of his belly.
20: 16 He shall suck the poison of asps: the viper's tongue shall slay him.
20: 17 He shall not see the rivers, the floods, the brooks of honey and butter.
20: 18 That which he laboured for shall he restore, and shall not swallow it down: according to his substance shall the restitution be, and he shall not rejoice therein.
20: 19 Because he hath oppressed and hath forsaken the poor; because he hath violently taken away an house which he builded not; 20: 20 Surely he shall not feel quietness in his belly, he shall not save of that which he desired.
20: 21 There shall none of his meat be left; therefore shall no man look for his goods.
20: 22 In the fulness of his sufficiency he shall be in straits: every hand of the wicked shall come upon him.
20: 23 When he is about to fill his belly, God shall cast the fury of his wrath upon him, and shall rain it upon him while he is eating.
20: 24 He shall flee from the iron weapon, and the bow of steel shall strike him through.
20: 25 It is drawn, and cometh out of the body; yea, the glittering sword cometh out of his gall: terrors are upon him.
20: 26 All darkness shall be hid in his secret places: a fire not blown shall consume him; it shall go ill with him that is left in his tabernacle.
20: 27 The heaven shall reveal his iniquity; and the earth shall rise up against him.
20: 28 The increase of his house shall depart, and his goods shall flow away in the day of his wrath.
20: 29 This is the portion of a wicked man from God, and the heritage appointed unto him by God.
21: 1 But Job answered and said, 21: 2 Hear diligently my speech, and let this be your consolations.
21: 3 Suffer me that I may speak; and after that I have spoken, mock on.
21: 4 As for me, is my complaint to man?
and if it were so, why should not my spirit be troubled?
21: 5 Mark me, and be astonished, and lay your hand upon your mouth.
21: 6 Even when I remember I am afraid, and trembling taketh hold on my flesh.
21: 7 Wherefore do the wicked live, become old, yea, are mighty in power?
21: 8 Their seed is established in their sight with them, and their offspring before their eyes.
21: 9 Their houses are safe from fear, neither is the rod of God upon them.
21: 10 Their bull gendereth, and faileth not; their cow calveth, and casteth not her calf.
21: 11 They send forth their little ones like a flock, and their children dance.
21: 12 They take the timbrel and harp, and rejoice at the sound of the organ.
21: 13 They spend their days in wealth, and in a moment go down to the grave.
21: 14 Therefore they say unto God, Depart from us; for we desire not the knowledge of thy ways.
21: 15 What is the Almighty, that we should serve him?
and what profit should we have, if we pray unto him?
21: 16 Lo, their good is not in their hand: the counsel of the wicked is far from me.
21: 17 How oft is the candle of the wicked put out!
and how oft cometh their destruction upon them!
God distributeth sorrows in his anger.
21: 18 They are as stubble before the wind, and as chaff that the storm carrieth away.
21: 19 God layeth up his iniquity for his children: he rewardeth him, and he shall know it.
21: 20 His eyes shall see his destruction, and he shall drink of the wrath of the Almighty.
21: 21 For what pleasure hath he in his house after him, when the number of his months is cut off in the midst?
21: 22 Shall any teach God knowledge?
seeing he judgeth those that are high.
21: 23 One dieth in his full strength, being wholly at ease and quiet.
21: 24 His breasts are full of milk, and his bones are moistened with marrow.
21: 25 And another dieth in the bitterness of his soul, and never eateth with pleasure.
21: 26 They shall lie down alike in the dust, and the worms shall cover them.
21: 27 Behold, I know your thoughts, and the devices which ye wrongfully imagine against me.
21: 28 For ye say, Where is the house of the prince?
and where are the dwelling places of the wicked?
21: 29 Have ye not asked them that go by the way?
and do ye not know their tokens, 21: 30 That the wicked is reserved to the day of destruction?
they shall be brought forth to the day of wrath.
21: 31 Who shall declare his way to his face?
and who shall repay him what he hath done?
21: 32 Yet shall he be brought to the grave, and shall remain in the tomb.
21: 33 The clods of the valley shall be sweet unto him, and every man shall draw after him, as there are innumerable before him.
21: 34 How then comfort ye me in vain, seeing in your answers there remaineth falsehood?
22: 1 Then Eliphaz the Temanite answered and said, 22: 2 Can a man be profitable unto God, as he that is wise may be profitable unto himself?
22: 3 Is it any pleasure to the Almighty, that thou art righteous?
or is it gain to him, that thou makest thy ways perfect?
22: 4 Will he reprove thee for fear of thee?
will he enter with thee into judgment?
22: 5 Is not thy wickedness great?
and thine iniquities infinite?
22: 6 For thou hast taken a pledge from thy brother for nought, and stripped the naked of their clothing.
22: 7 Thou hast not given water to the weary to drink, and thou hast withholden bread from the hungry.
22: 8 But as for the mighty man, he had the earth; and the honourable man dwelt in it.
22: 9 Thou hast sent widows away empty, and the arms of the fatherless have been broken.
22: 10 Therefore snares are round about thee, and sudden fear troubleth thee; 22: 11 Or darkness, that thou canst not see; and abundance of waters cover thee.
22: 12 Is not God in the height of heaven?
and behold the height of the stars, how high they are!
22: 13 And thou sayest, How doth God know?
can he judge through the dark cloud?
22: 14 Thick clouds are a covering to him, that he seeth not; and he walketh in the circuit of heaven.
22: 15 Hast thou marked the old way which wicked men have trodden?
22: 16 Which were cut down out of time, whose foundation was overflown with a flood: 22: 17 Which said unto God, Depart from us: and what can the Almighty do for them?
22: 18 Yet he filled their houses with good things: but the counsel of the wicked is far from me.
22: 19 The righteous see it, and are glad: and the innocent laugh them to scorn.
22: 20 Whereas our substance is not cut down, but the remnant of them the fire consumeth.
22: 21 Acquaint now thyself with him, and be at peace: thereby good shall come unto thee.
22: 22 Receive, I pray thee, the law from his mouth, and lay up his words in thine heart.
22: 23 If thou return to the Almighty, thou shalt be built up, thou shalt put away iniquity far from thy tabernacles.
22: 24 Then shalt thou lay up gold as dust, and the gold of Ophir as the stones of the brooks.
22: 25 Yea, the Almighty shall be thy defence, and thou shalt have plenty of silver.
22: 26 For then shalt thou have thy delight in the Almighty, and shalt lift up thy face unto God.
22: 27 Thou shalt make thy prayer unto him, and he shall hear thee, and thou shalt pay thy vows.
22: 28 Thou shalt also decree a thing, and it shall be established unto thee: and the light shall shine upon thy ways.
22: 29 When men are cast down, then thou shalt say, There is lifting up; and he shall save the humble person.
22: 30 He shall deliver the island of the innocent: and it is delivered by the pureness of thine hands.
23: 1 Then Job answered and said, 23: 2 Even to day is my complaint bitter: my stroke is heavier than my groaning.
23: 3 Oh that I knew where I might find him!
that I might come even to his seat!
23: 4 I would order my cause before him, and fill my mouth with arguments.
23: 5 I would know the words which he would answer me, and understand what he would say unto me.
23: 6 Will he plead against me with his great power?
No; but he would put strength in me.
23: 7 There the righteous might dispute with him; so should I be delivered for ever from my judge.
23: 11 My foot hath held his steps, his way have I kept, and not declined.
23: 12 Neither have I gone back from the commandment of his lips; I have esteemed the words of his mouth more than my necessary food.
23: 13 But he is in one mind, and who can turn him?
and what his soul desireth, even that he doeth.
23: 14 For he performeth the thing that is appointed for me: and many such things are with him.
23: 15 Therefore am I troubled at his presence: when I consider, I am afraid of him.
23: 16 For God maketh my heart soft, and the Almighty troubleth me: 23: 17 Because I was not cut off before the darkness, neither hath he covered the darkness from my face.
24: 1 Why, seeing times are not hidden from the Almighty, do they that know him not see his days?
24: 2 Some remove the landmarks; they violently take away flocks, and feed thereof.
24: 3 They drive away the ass of the fatherless, they take the widow's ox for a pledge.
24: 4 They turn the needy out of the way: the poor of the earth hide themselves together.
24: 5 Behold, as wild asses in the desert, go they forth to their work; rising betimes for a prey: the wilderness yieldeth food for them and for their children.
24: 6 They reap every one his corn in the field: and they gather the vintage of the wicked.
24: 7 They cause the naked to lodge without clothing, that they have no covering in the cold.
24: 8 They are wet with the showers of the mountains, and embrace the rock for want of a shelter.
24: 9 They pluck the fatherless from the breast, and take a pledge of the poor.
24: 10 They cause him to go naked without clothing, and they take away the sheaf from the hungry; 24: 11 Which make oil within their walls, and tread their winepresses, and suffer thirst.
24: 12 Men groan from out of the city, and the soul of the wounded crieth out: yet God layeth not folly to them.
24: 13 They are of those that rebel against the light; they know not the ways thereof, nor abide in the paths thereof.
24: 14 The murderer rising with the light killeth the poor and needy, and in the night is as a thief.
24: 15 The eye also of the adulterer waiteth for the twilight, saying, No eye shall see me: and disguiseth his face.
24: 16 In the dark they dig through houses, which they had marked for themselves in the daytime: they know not the light.
24: 17 For the morning is to them even as the shadow of death: if one know them, they are in the terrors of the shadow of death.
24: 18 He is swift as the waters; their portion is cursed in the earth: he beholdeth not the way of the vineyards.
24: 19 Drought and heat consume the snow waters: so doth the grave those which have sinned.
24: 20 The womb shall forget him; the worm shall feed sweetly on him; he shall be no more remembered; and wickedness shall be broken as a tree.
24: 21 He evil entreateth the barren that beareth not: and doeth not good to the widow.
24: 22 He draweth also the mighty with his power: he riseth up, and no man is sure of life.
24: 23 Though it be given him to be in safety, whereon he resteth; yet his eyes are upon their ways.
24: 24 They are exalted for a little while, but are gone and brought low; they are taken out of the way as all other, and cut off as the tops of the ears of corn.
24: 25 And if it be not so now, who will make me a liar, and make my speech nothing worth?
25: 1 Then answered Bildad the Shuhite, and said, 25: 2 Dominion and fear are with him, he maketh peace in his high places.
25: 3 Is there any number of his armies?
and upon whom doth not his light arise?
25: 4 How then can man be justified with God?
or how can he be clean that is born of a woman?
25: 5 Behold even to the moon, and it shineth not; yea, the stars are not pure in his sight.
25: 6 How much less man, that is a worm?
and the son of man, which is a worm?
26: 1 But Job answered and said, 26: 2 How hast thou helped him that is without power?
how savest thou the arm that hath no strength?
26: 3 How hast thou counselled him that hath no wisdom?
and how hast thou plentifully declared the thing as it is?
26: 4 To whom hast thou uttered words?
and whose spirit came from thee?
26: 5 Dead things are formed from under the waters, and the inhabitants thereof.
26: 6 Hell is naked before him, and destruction hath no covering.
26: 7 He stretcheth out the north over the empty place, and hangeth the earth upon nothing.
26: 8 He bindeth up the waters in his thick clouds; and the cloud is not rent under them.
26: 9 He holdeth back the face of his throne, and spreadeth his cloud upon it.
26: 10 He hath compassed the waters with bounds, until the day and night come to an end.
26: 11 The pillars of heaven tremble and are astonished at his reproof.
26: 12 He divideth the sea with his power, and by his understanding he smiteth through the proud.
26: 13 By his spirit he hath garnished the heavens; his hand hath formed the crooked serpent.
26: 14 Lo, these are parts of his ways: but how little a portion is heard of him?
but the thunder of his power who can understand?
27: 5 God forbid that I should justify you: till I die I will not remove mine integrity from me.
27: 6 My righteousness I hold fast, and will not let it go: my heart shall not reproach me so long as I live.
27: 7 Let mine enemy be as the wicked, and he that riseth up against me as the unrighteous.
27: 8 For what is the hope of the hypocrite, though he hath gained, when God taketh away his soul?
27: 9 Will God hear his cry when trouble cometh upon him?
27: 10 Will he delight himself in the Almighty?
will he always call upon God?
27: 11 I will teach you by the hand of God: that which is with the Almighty will I not conceal.
27: 12 Behold, all ye yourselves have seen it; why then are ye thus altogether vain?
27: 13 This is the portion of a wicked man with God, and the heritage of oppressors, which they shall receive of the Almighty.
27: 14 If his children be multiplied, it is for the sword: and his offspring shall not be satisfied with bread.
27: 15 Those that remain of him shall be buried in death: and his widows shall not weep.
27: 16 Though he heap up silver as the dust, and prepare raiment as the clay; 27: 17 He may prepare it, but the just shall put it on, and the innocent shall divide the silver.
27: 18 He buildeth his house as a moth, and as a booth that the keeper maketh.
27: 19 The rich man shall lie down, but he shall not be gathered: he openeth his eyes, and he is not.
27: 20 Terrors take hold on him as waters, a tempest stealeth him away in the night.
27: 21 The east wind carrieth him away, and he departeth: and as a storm hurleth him out of his place.
27: 22 For God shall cast upon him, and not spare: he would fain flee out of his hand.
27: 23 Men shall clap their hands at him, and shall hiss him out of his place.
28: 1 Surely there is a vein for the silver, and a place for gold where they fine it.
28: 2 Iron is taken out of the earth, and brass is molten out of the stone.
28: 3 He setteth an end to darkness, and searcheth out all perfection: the stones of darkness, and the shadow of death.
28: 4 The flood breaketh out from the inhabitant; even the waters forgotten of the foot: they are dried up, they are gone away from men.
28: 5 As for the earth, out of it cometh bread: and under it is turned up as it were fire.
28: 6 The stones of it are the place of sapphires: and it hath dust of gold.
28: 7 There is a path which no fowl knoweth, and which the vulture's eye hath not seen: 28: 8 The lion's whelps have not trodden it, nor the fierce lion passed by it.
28: 9 He putteth forth his hand upon the rock; he overturneth the mountains by the roots.
28: 10 He cutteth out rivers among the rocks; and his eye seeth every precious thing.
28: 11 He bindeth the floods from overflowing; and the thing that is hid bringeth he forth to light.
28: 12 But where shall wisdom be found?
and where is the place of understanding?
28: 13 Man knoweth not the price thereof; neither is it found in the land of the living.
28: 14 The depth saith, It is not in me: and the sea saith, It is not with me.
28: 15 It cannot be gotten for gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the price thereof.
28: 16 It cannot be valued with the gold of Ophir, with the precious onyx, or the sapphire.
28: 17 The gold and the crystal cannot equal it: and the exchange of it shall not be for jewels of fine gold.
28: 18 No mention shall be made of coral, or of pearls: for the price of wisdom is above rubies.
28: 19 The topaz of Ethiopia shall not equal it, neither shall it be valued with pure gold.
28: 20 Whence then cometh wisdom?
and where is the place of understanding?
28: 21 Seeing it is hid from the eyes of all living, and kept close from the fowls of the air.
28: 22 Destruction and death say, We have heard the fame thereof with our ears.
28: 23 God understandeth the way thereof, and he knoweth the place thereof.
28: 24 For he looketh to the ends of the earth, and seeth under the whole heaven; 28: 25 To make the weight for the winds; and he weigheth the waters by measure.
28: 26 When he made a decree for the rain, and a way for the lightning of the thunder: 28: 27 Then did he see it, and declare it; he prepared it, yea, and searched it out.
28: 28 And unto man he said, Behold, the fear of the LORD, that is wisdom; and to depart from evil is understanding.
29: 8 The young men saw me, and hid themselves: and the aged arose, and stood up.
29: 9 The princes refrained talking, and laid their hand on their mouth.
29: 10 The nobles held their peace, and their tongue cleaved to the roof of their mouth.
29: 11 When the ear heard me, then it blessed me; and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me: 29: 12 Because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him.
29: 13 The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me: and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.
29: 14 I put on righteousness, and it clothed me: my judgment was as a robe and a diadem.
29: 15 I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame.
29: 16 I was a father to the poor: and the cause which I knew not I searched out.
29: 17 And I brake the jaws of the wicked, and plucked the spoil out of his teeth.
29: 18 Then I said, I shall die in my nest, and I shall multiply my days as the sand.
29: 19 My root was spread out by the waters, and the dew lay all night upon my branch.
29: 20 My glory was fresh in me, and my bow was renewed in my hand.
29: 21 Unto me men gave ear, and waited, and kept silence at my counsel.
29: 22 After my words they spake not again; and my speech dropped upon them.
29: 23 And they waited for me as for the rain; and they opened their mouth wide as for the latter rain.
29: 24 If I laughed on them, they believed it not; and the light of my countenance they cast not down.
29: 25 I chose out their way, and sat chief, and dwelt as a king in the army, as one that comforteth the mourners.
30: 1 But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of my flock.
30: 2 Yea, whereto might the strength of their hands profit me, in whom old age was perished?
30: 3 For want and famine they were solitary; fleeing into the wilderness in former time desolate and waste.
30: 4 Who cut up mallows by the bushes, and juniper roots for their meat.
30: 5 They were driven forth from among men, (they cried after them as after a thief;) 30: 6 To dwell in the cliffs of the valleys, in caves of the earth, and in the rocks.
30: 7 Among the bushes they brayed; under the nettles they were gathered together.
30: 8 They were children of fools, yea, children of base men: they were viler than the earth.
30: 9 And now am I their song, yea, I am their byword.
30: 10 They abhor me, they flee far from me, and spare not to spit in my face.
30: 11 Because he hath loosed my cord, and afflicted me, they have also let loose the bridle before me.
30: 12 Upon my right hand rise the youth; they push away my feet, and they raise up against me the ways of their destruction.
30: 13 They mar my path, they set forward my calamity, they have no helper.
30: 14 They came upon me as a wide breaking in of waters: in the desolation they rolled themselves upon me.
30: 15 Terrors are turned upon me: they pursue my soul as the wind: and my welfare passeth away as a cloud.
30: 16 And now my soul is poured out upon me; the days of affliction have taken hold upon me.
30: 17 My bones are pierced in me in the night season: and my sinews take no rest.
30: 18 By the great force of my disease is my garment changed: it bindeth me about as the collar of my coat.
30: 19 He hath cast me into the mire, and I am become like dust and ashes.
30: 20 I cry unto thee, and thou dost not hear me: I stand up, and thou regardest me not.
30: 21 Thou art become cruel to me: with thy strong hand thou opposest thyself against me.
30: 22 Thou liftest me up to the wind; thou causest me to ride upon it, and dissolvest my substance.
30: 23 For I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living.
30: 24 Howbeit he will not stretch out his hand to the grave, though they cry in his destruction.
30: 25 Did not I weep for him that was in trouble?
was not my soul grieved for the poor?
30: 26 When I looked for good, then evil came unto me: and when I waited for light, there came darkness.
30: 27 My bowels boiled, and rested not: the days of affliction prevented me.
30: 28 I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation.
30: 29 I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls.
30: 30 My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat.
30: 31 My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep.
31: 1 I made a covenant with mine eyes; why then should I think upon a maid?
31: 2 For what portion of God is there from above?
and what inheritance of the Almighty from on high?
31: 3 Is not destruction to the wicked?
and a strange punishment to the workers of iniquity?
31: 4 Doth not he see my ways, and count all my steps?
31: 5 If I have walked with vanity, or if my foot hath hasted to deceit; 31: 6 Let me be weighed in an even balance that God may know mine integrity.
31: 7 If my step hath turned out of the way, and mine heart walked after mine eyes, and if any blot hath cleaved to mine hands; 31: 8 Then let me sow, and let another eat; yea, let my offspring be rooted out.
31: 9 If mine heart have been deceived by a woman, or if I have laid wait at my neighbour's door; 31: 10 Then let my wife grind unto another, and let others bow down upon her.
31: 11 For this is an heinous crime; yea, it is an iniquity to be punished by the judges.
31: 12 For it is a fire that consumeth to destruction, and would root out all mine increase.
31: 13 If I did despise the cause of my manservant or of my maidservant, when they contended with me; 31: 14 What then shall I do when God riseth up?
and when he visiteth, what shall I answer him?
31: 15 Did not he that made me in the womb make him?
and did not one fashion us in the womb?
31: 23 For destruction from God was a terror to me, and by reason of his highness I could not endure.
31: 29 If I rejoice at the destruction of him that hated me, or lifted up myself when evil found him: 31: 30 Neither have I suffered my mouth to sin by wishing a curse to his soul.
31: 31 If the men of my tabernacle said not, Oh that we had of his flesh!
we cannot be satisfied.
31: 32 The stranger did not lodge in the street: but I opened my doors to the traveller.
31: 33 If I covered my transgressions as Adam, by hiding mine iniquity in my bosom: 31: 34 Did I fear a great multitude, or did the contempt of families terrify me, that I kept silence, and went not out of the door?
31: 35 Oh that one would hear me!
behold, my desire is, that the Almighty would answer me, and that mine adversary had written a book.
31: 36 Surely I would take it upon my shoulder, and bind it as a crown to me.
31: 37 I would declare unto him the number of my steps; as a prince would I go near unto him.
31: 38 If my land cry against me, or that the furrows likewise thereof complain; 31: 39 If I have eaten the fruits thereof without money, or have caused the owners thereof to lose their life: 31: 40 Let thistles grow instead of wheat, and cockle instead of barley.
The words of Job are ended.
32: 1 So these three men ceased to answer Job, because he was righteous in his own eyes.
32: 2 Then was kindled the wrath of Elihu the son of Barachel the Buzite, of the kindred of Ram: against Job was his wrath kindled, because he justified himself rather than God.
32: 3 Also against his three friends was his wrath kindled, because they had found no answer, and yet had condemned Job.
32: 4 Now Elihu had waited till Job had spoken, because they were elder than he.
32: 5 When Elihu saw that there was no answer in the mouth of these three men, then his wrath was kindled.
32: 6 And Elihu the son of Barachel the Buzite answered and said, I am young, and ye are very old; wherefore I was afraid, and durst not shew you mine opinion.
32: 7 I said, Days should speak, and multitude of years should teach wisdom.
32: 8 But there is a spirit in man: and the inspiration of the Almighty giveth them understanding.
32: 9 Great men are not always wise: neither do the aged understand judgment.
32: 10 Therefore I said, Hearken to me; I also will shew mine opinion.
32: 11 Behold, I waited for your words; I gave ear to your reasons, whilst ye searched out what to say.
32: 12 Yea, I attended unto you, and, behold, there was none of you that convinced Job, or that answered his words: 32: 13 Lest ye should say, We have found out wisdom: God thrusteth him down, not man.
32: 14 Now he hath not directed his words against me: neither will I answer him with your speeches.
32: 15 They were amazed, they answered no more: they left off speaking.
32: 16 When I had waited, (for they spake not, but stood still, and answered no more;) 32: 17 I said, I will answer also my part, I also will shew mine opinion.
32: 18 For I am full of matter, the spirit within me constraineth me.
32: 19 Behold, my belly is as wine which hath no vent; it is ready to burst like new bottles.
32: 20 I will speak, that I may be refreshed: I will open my lips and answer.
32: 21 Let me not, I pray you, accept any man's person, neither let me give flattering titles unto man.
32: 22 For I know not to give flattering titles; in so doing my maker would soon take me away.
33: 1 Wherefore, Job, I pray thee, hear my speeches, and hearken to all my words.
33: 2 Behold, now I have opened my mouth, my tongue hath spoken in my mouth.
33: 3 My words shall be of the uprightness of my heart: and my lips shall utter knowledge clearly.
33: 4 The spirit of God hath made me, and the breath of the Almighty hath given me life.
33: 5 If thou canst answer me, set thy words in order before me, stand up.
33: 6 Behold, I am according to thy wish in God's stead: I also am formed out of the clay.
33: 7 Behold, my terror shall not make thee afraid, neither shall my hand be heavy upon thee.
33: 8 Surely thou hast spoken in mine hearing, and I have heard the voice of thy words, saying, 33: 9 I am clean without transgression, I am innocent; neither is there iniquity in me.
33: 10 Behold, he findeth occasions against me, he counteth me for his enemy, 33: 11 He putteth my feet in the stocks, he marketh all my paths.
33: 12 Behold, in this thou art not just: I will answer thee, that God is greater than man.
33: 13 Why dost thou strive against him?
for he giveth not account of any of his matters.
33: 14 For God speaketh once, yea twice, yet man perceiveth it not.
33: 15 In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, in slumberings upon the bed; 33: 16 Then he openeth the ears of men, and sealeth their instruction, 33: 17 That he may withdraw man from his purpose, and hide pride from man.
33: 18 He keepeth back his soul from the pit, and his life from perishing by the sword.
33: 19 He is chastened also with pain upon his bed, and the multitude of his bones with strong pain: 33: 20 So that his life abhorreth bread, and his soul dainty meat.
33: 21 His flesh is consumed away, that it cannot be seen; and his bones that were not seen stick out.
33: 22 Yea, his soul draweth near unto the grave, and his life to the destroyers.
33: 23 If there be a messenger with him, an interpreter, one among a thousand, to shew unto man his uprightness: 33: 24 Then he is gracious unto him, and saith, Deliver him from going down to the pit: I have found a ransom.
33: 25 His flesh shall be fresher than a child's: he shall return to the days of his youth: 33: 26 He shall pray unto God, and he will be favourable unto him: and he shall see his face with joy: for he will render unto man his righteousness.
33: 27 He looketh upon men, and if any say, I have sinned, and perverted that which was right, and it profited me not; 33: 28 He will deliver his soul from going into the pit, and his life shall see the light.
33: 29 Lo, all these things worketh God oftentimes with man, 33: 30 To bring back his soul from the pit, to be enlightened with the light of the living.
33: 31 Mark well, O Job, hearken unto me: hold thy peace, and I will speak.
33: 32 If thou hast anything to say, answer me: speak, for I desire to justify thee.
33: 33 If not, hearken unto me: hold thy peace, and I shall teach thee wisdom.
34: 1 Furthermore Elihu answered and said, 34: 2 Hear my words, O ye wise men; and give ear unto me, ye that have knowledge.
34: 3 For the ear trieth words, as the mouth tasteth meat.
34: 4 Let us choose to us judgment: let us know among ourselves what is good.
34: 5 For Job hath said, I am righteous: and God hath taken away my judgment.
34: 6 Should I lie against my right?
my wound is incurable without transgression.
34: 7 What man is like Job, who drinketh up scorning like water?
34: 8 Which goeth in company with the workers of iniquity, and walketh with wicked men.
34: 9 For he hath said, It profiteth a man nothing that he should delight himself with God.
34: 10 Therefore hearken unto me ye men of understanding: far be it from God, that he should do wickedness; and from the Almighty, that he should commit iniquity.
34: 11 For the work of a man shall he render unto him, and cause every man to find according to his ways.
34: 12 Yea, surely God will not do wickedly, neither will the Almighty pervert judgment.
34: 13 Who hath given him a charge over the earth?
or who hath disposed the whole world?
34: 14 If he set his heart upon man, if he gather unto himself his spirit and his breath; 34: 15 All flesh shall perish together, and man shall turn again unto dust.
34: 16 If now thou hast understanding, hear this: hearken to the voice of my words.
34: 17 Shall even he that hateth right govern?
and wilt thou condemn him that is most just?
34: 18 Is it fit to say to a king, Thou art wicked?
and to princes, Ye are ungodly?
34: 19 How much less to him that accepteth not the persons of princes, nor regardeth the rich more than the poor?
for they all are the work of his hands.
34: 20 In a moment shall they die, and the people shall be troubled at midnight, and pass away: and the mighty shall be taken away without hand.
34: 21 For his eyes are upon the ways of man, and he seeth all his goings.
34: 22 There is no darkness, nor shadow of death, where the workers of iniquity may hide themselves.
34: 23 For he will not lay upon man more than right; that he should enter into judgment with God.
34: 24 He shall break in pieces mighty men without number, and set others in their stead.
34: 25 Therefore he knoweth their works, and he overturneth them in the night, so that they are destroyed.
34: 26 He striketh them as wicked men in the open sight of others; 34: 27 Because they turned back from him, and would not consider any of his ways: 34: 28 So that they cause the cry of the poor to come unto him, and he heareth the cry of the afflicted.
34: 29 When he giveth quietness, who then can make trouble?
and when he hideth his face, who then can behold him?
whether it be done against a nation, or against a man only: 34: 30 That the hypocrite reign not, lest the people be ensnared.
34: 31 Surely it is meet to be said unto God, I have borne chastisement, I will not offend any more: 34: 32 That which I see not teach thou me: if I have done iniquity, I will do no more.
34: 33 Should it be according to thy mind?
he will recompense it, whether thou refuse, or whether thou choose; and not I: therefore speak what thou knowest.
34: 34 Let men of understanding tell me, and let a wise man hearken unto me.
34: 35 Job hath spoken without knowledge, and his words were without wisdom.
34: 36 My desire is that Job may be tried unto the end because of his answers for wicked men.
34: 37 For he addeth rebellion unto his sin, he clappeth his hands among us, and multiplieth his words against God.
35: 1 Elihu spake moreover, and said, 35: 2 Thinkest thou this to be right, that thou saidst, My righteousness is more than God's?
35: 3 For thou saidst, What advantage will it be unto thee?
and, What profit shall I have, if I be cleansed from my sin?
35: 4 I will answer thee, and thy companions with thee.
35: 5 Look unto the heavens, and see; and behold the clouds which are higher than thou.
35: 6 If thou sinnest, what doest thou against him?
or if thy transgressions be multiplied, what doest thou unto him?
35: 7 If thou be righteous, what givest thou him?
or what receiveth he of thine hand?
35: 8 Thy wickedness may hurt a man as thou art; and thy righteousness may profit the son of man.
35: 9 By reason of the multitude of oppressions they make the oppressed to cry: they cry out by reason of the arm of the mighty.
35: 10 But none saith, Where is God my maker, who giveth songs in the night; 35: 11 Who teacheth us more than the beasts of the earth, and maketh us wiser than the fowls of heaven?
35: 12 There they cry, but none giveth answer, because of the pride of evil men.
35: 13 Surely God will not hear vanity, neither will the Almighty regard it.
35: 14 Although thou sayest thou shalt not see him, yet judgment is before him; therefore trust thou in him.
35: 15 But now, because it is not so, he hath visited in his anger; yet he knoweth it not in great extremity: 35: 16 Therefore doth Job open his mouth in vain; he multiplieth words without knowledge.
36: 1 Elihu also proceeded, and said, 36: 2 Suffer me a little, and I will shew thee that I have yet to speak on God's behalf.
36: 3 I will fetch my knowledge from afar, and will ascribe righteousness to my Maker.
36: 4 For truly my words shall not be false: he that is perfect in knowledge is with thee.
36: 5 Behold, God is mighty, and despiseth not any: he is mighty in strength and wisdom.
36: 6 He preserveth not the life of the wicked: but giveth right to the poor.
36: 7 He withdraweth not his eyes from the righteous: but with kings are they on the throne; yea, he doth establish them for ever, and they are exalted.
36: 8 And if they be bound in fetters, and be holden in cords of affliction; 36: 9 Then he sheweth them their work, and their transgressions that they have exceeded.
36: 10 He openeth also their ear to discipline, and commandeth that they return from iniquity.
36: 11 If they obey and serve him, they shall spend their days in prosperity, and their years in pleasures.
36: 12 But if they obey not, they shall perish by the sword, and they shall die without knowledge.
36: 13 But the hypocrites in heart heap up wrath: they cry not when he bindeth them.
36: 14 They die in youth, and their life is among the unclean.
36: 15 He delivereth the poor in his affliction, and openeth their ears in oppression.
36: 16 Even so would he have removed thee out of the strait into a broad place, where there is no straitness; and that which should be set on thy table should be full of fatness.
36: 17 But thou hast fulfilled the judgment of the wicked: judgment and justice take hold on thee.
36: 18 Because there is wrath, beware lest he take thee away with his stroke: then a great ransom cannot deliver thee.
36: 19 Will he esteem thy riches?
no, not gold, nor all the forces of strength.
36: 20 Desire not the night, when people are cut off in their place.
36: 21 Take heed, regard not iniquity: for this hast thou chosen rather than affliction.
36: 22 Behold, God exalteth by his power: who teacheth like him?
36: 23 Who hath enjoined him his way?
or who can say, Thou hast wrought iniquity?
36: 24 Remember that thou magnify his work, which men behold.
36: 25 Every man may see it; man may behold it afar off.
36: 26 Behold, God is great, and we know him not, neither can the number of his years be searched out.
36: 27 For he maketh small the drops of water: they pour down rain according to the vapour thereof: 36: 28 Which the clouds do drop and distil upon man abundantly.
36: 29 Also can any understand the spreadings of the clouds, or the noise of his tabernacle?
36: 30 Behold, he spreadeth his light upon it, and covereth the bottom of the sea.
36: 31 For by them judgeth he the people; he giveth meat in abundance.
36: 32 With clouds he covereth the light; and commandeth it not to shine by the cloud that cometh betwixt.
36: 33 The noise thereof sheweth concerning it, the cattle also concerning the vapour.
37: 1 At this also my heart trembleth, and is moved out of his place.
37: 2 Hear attentively the noise of his voice, and the sound that goeth out of his mouth.
37: 3 He directeth it under the whole heaven, and his lightning unto the ends of the earth.
37: 4 After it a voice roareth: he thundereth with the voice of his excellency; and he will not stay them when his voice is heard.
37: 5 God thundereth marvellously with his voice; great things doeth he, which we cannot comprehend.
37: 6 For he saith to the snow, Be thou on the earth; likewise to the small rain, and to the great rain of his strength.
37: 7 He sealeth up the hand of every man; that all men may know his work.
37: 8 Then the beasts go into dens, and remain in their places.
37: 9 Out of the south cometh the whirlwind: and cold out of the north.
37: 10 By the breath of God frost is given: and the breadth of the waters is straitened.
37: 11 Also by watering he wearieth the thick cloud: he scattereth his bright cloud: 37: 12 And it is turned round about by his counsels: that they may do whatsoever he commandeth them upon the face of the world in the earth.
37: 13 He causeth it to come, whether for correction, or for his land, or for mercy.
37: 14 Hearken unto this, O Job: stand still, and consider the wondrous works of God.
37: 15 Dost thou know when God disposed them, and caused the light of his cloud to shine?
37: 16 Dost thou know the balancings of the clouds, the wondrous works of him which is perfect in knowledge?
37: 17 How thy garments are warm, when he quieteth the earth by the south wind?
37: 18 Hast thou with him spread out the sky, which is strong, and as a molten looking glass?
37: 19 Teach us what we shall say unto him; for we cannot order our speech by reason of darkness.
37: 20 Shall it be told him that I speak?
if a man speak, surely he shall be swallowed up.
37: 21 And now men see not the bright light which is in the clouds: but the wind passeth, and cleanseth them.
37: 22 Fair weather cometh out of the north: with God is terrible majesty.
37: 23 Touching the Almighty, we cannot find him out: he is excellent in power, and in judgment, and in plenty of justice: he will not afflict.
37: 24 Men do therefore fear him: he respecteth not any that are wise of heart.
38: 1 Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said, 38: 2 Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge?
38: 3 Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me.
38: 4 Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?
declare, if thou hast understanding.
38: 5 Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest?
or who hath stretched the line upon it?
38: 6 Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened?
or who laid the corner stone thereof; 38: 7 When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?
38: 8 Or who shut up the sea with doors, when it brake forth, as if it had issued out of the womb?
38: 9 When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick darkness a swaddlingband for it, 38: 10 And brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors, 38: 11 And said, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?
38: 12 Hast thou commanded the morning since thy days; and caused the dayspring to know his place; 38: 13 That it might take hold of the ends of the earth, that the wicked might be shaken out of it?
38: 14 It is turned as clay to the seal; and they stand as a garment.
38: 15 And from the wicked their light is withholden, and the high arm shall be broken.
38: 16 Hast thou entered into the springs of the sea?
or hast thou walked in the search of the depth?
38: 17 Have the gates of death been opened unto thee?
or hast thou seen the doors of the shadow of death?
38: 18 Hast thou perceived the breadth of the earth?
declare if thou knowest it all.
38: 19 Where is the way where light dwelleth?
and as for darkness, where is the place thereof, 38: 20 That thou shouldest take it to the bound thereof, and that thou shouldest know the paths to the house thereof?
38: 21 Knowest thou it, because thou wast then born?
or because the number of thy days is great?
38: 22 Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow?
or hast thou seen the treasures of the hail, 38: 23 Which I have reserved against the time of trouble, against the day of battle and war?
38: 24 By what way is the light parted, which scattereth the east wind upon the earth?
38: 28 Hath the rain a father?
or who hath begotten the drops of dew?
38: 29 Out of whose womb came the ice?
and the hoary frost of heaven, who hath gendered it?
38: 30 The waters are hid as with a stone, and the face of the deep is frozen.
38: 31 Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion?
38: 32 Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season?
or canst thou guide Arcturus with his sons?
38: 33 Knowest thou the ordinances of heaven?
canst thou set the dominion thereof in the earth?
38: 34 Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clouds, that abundance of waters may cover thee?
38: 35 Canst thou send lightnings, that they may go and say unto thee, Here we are?
38: 36 Who hath put wisdom in the inward parts?
or who hath given understanding to the heart?
38: 37 Who can number the clouds in wisdom?
or who can stay the bottles of heaven, 38: 38 When the dust groweth into hardness, and the clods cleave fast together?
38: 39 Wilt thou hunt the prey for the lion?
or fill the appetite of the young lions, 38: 40 When they couch in their dens, and abide in the covert to lie in wait?
38: 41 Who provideth for the raven his food?
when his young ones cry unto God, they wander for lack of meat.
39: 1 Knowest thou the time when the wild goats of the rock bring forth?
or canst thou mark when the hinds do calve?
39: 2 Canst thou number the months that they fulfil?
or knowest thou the time when they bring forth?
39: 3 They bow themselves, they bring forth their young ones, they cast out their sorrows.
39: 4 Their young ones are in good liking, they grow up with corn; they go forth, and return not unto them.
39: 5 Who hath sent out the wild ass free?
or who hath loosed the bands of the wild ass?
39: 6 Whose house I have made the wilderness, and the barren land his dwellings.
39: 7 He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying of the driver.
39: 8 The range of the mountains is his pasture, and he searcheth after every green thing.
39: 9 Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, or abide by thy crib?
39: 10 Canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow?
or will he harrow the valleys after thee?
39: 11 Wilt thou trust him, because his strength is great?
or wilt thou leave thy labour to him?
39: 12 Wilt thou believe him, that he will bring home thy seed, and gather it into thy barn?
39: 13 Gavest thou the goodly wings unto the peacocks?
or wings and feathers unto the ostrich?
39: 14 Which leaveth her eggs in the earth, and warmeth them in dust, 39: 15 And forgetteth that the foot may crush them, or that the wild beast may break them.
39: 16 She is hardened against her young ones, as though they were not her's: her labour is in vain without fear; 39: 17 Because God hath deprived her of wisdom, neither hath he imparted to her understanding.
39: 18 What time she lifteth up herself on high, she scorneth the horse and his rider.
39: 19 Hast thou given the horse strength?
hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?
39: 20 Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper?
the glory of his nostrils is terrible.
39: 21 He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men.
39: 22 He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted; neither turneth he back from the sword.
39: 23 The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield.
39: 24 He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage: neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet.
39: 25 He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.
39: 26 Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, and stretch her wings toward the south?
39: 27 Doth the eagle mount up at thy command, and make her nest on high?
39: 28 She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, upon the crag of the rock, and the strong place.
39: 29 From thence she seeketh the prey, and her eyes behold afar off.
39: 30 Her young ones also suck up blood: and where the slain are, there is she.
40: 1 Moreover the LORD answered Job, and said, 40: 2 Shall he that contendeth with the Almighty instruct him?
he that reproveth God, let him answer it.
40: 3 Then Job answered the LORD, and said, 40: 4 Behold, I am vile; what shall I answer thee?
I will lay mine hand upon my mouth.
40: 5 Once have I spoken; but I will not answer: yea, twice; but I will proceed no further.
40: 6 Then answered the LORD unto Job out of the whirlwind, and said, 40: 7 Gird up thy loins now like a man: I will demand of thee, and declare thou unto me.
40: 8 Wilt thou also disannul my judgment?
wilt thou condemn me, that thou mayest be righteous?
40: 9 Hast thou an arm like God?
or canst thou thunder with a voice like him?
40: 10 Deck thyself now with majesty and excellency; and array thyself with glory and beauty.
40: 11 Cast abroad the rage of thy wrath: and behold every one that is proud, and abase him.
40: 12 Look on every one that is proud, and bring him low; and tread down the wicked in their place.
40: 13 Hide them in the dust together; and bind their faces in secret.
40: 14 Then will I also confess unto thee that thine own right hand can save thee.
40: 15 Behold now behemoth, which I made with thee; he eateth grass as an ox.
40: 16 Lo now, his strength is in his loins, and his force is in the navel of his belly.
40: 17 He moveth his tail like a cedar: the sinews of his stones are wrapped together.
40: 18 His bones are as strong pieces of brass; his bones are like bars of iron.
40: 19 He is the chief of the ways of God: he that made him can make his sword to approach unto him.
40: 20 Surely the mountains bring him forth food, where all the beasts of the field play.
40: 21 He lieth under the shady trees, in the covert of the reed, and fens.
40: 22 The shady trees cover him with their shadow; the willows of the brook compass him about.
40: 23 Behold, he drinketh up a river, and hasteth not: he trusteth that he can draw up Jordan into his mouth.
40: 24 He taketh it with his eyes: his nose pierceth through snares.
41: 1 Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook?
or his tongue with a cord which thou lettest down?
41: 2 Canst thou put an hook into his nose?
or bore his jaw through with a thorn?
41: 3 Will he make many supplications unto thee?
will he speak soft words unto thee?
41: 4 Will he make a covenant with thee?
wilt thou take him for a servant for ever?
41: 5 Wilt thou play with him as with a bird?
or wilt thou bind him for thy maidens?
41: 6 Shall the companions make a banquet of him?
shall they part him among the merchants?
41: 7 Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons?
or his head with fish spears?
41: 8 Lay thine hand upon him, remember the battle, do no more.
41: 9 Behold, the hope of him is in vain: shall not one be cast down even at the sight of him?
41: 10 None is so fierce that dare stir him up: who then is able to stand before me?
41: 11 Who hath prevented me, that I should repay him?
whatsoever is under the whole heaven is mine.
41: 12 I will not conceal his parts, nor his power, nor his comely proportion.
41: 13 Who can discover the face of his garment?
or who can come to him with his double bridle?
41: 14 Who can open the doors of his face?
his teeth are terrible round about.
41: 15 His scales are his pride, shut up together as with a close seal.
41: 16 One is so near to another, that no air can come between them.
41: 17 They are joined one to another, they stick together, that they cannot be sundered.
41: 18 By his neesings a light doth shine, and his eyes are like the eyelids of the morning.
41: 19 Out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out.
41: 20 Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a seething pot or caldron.
41: 21 His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth.
41: 22 In his neck remaineth strength, and sorrow is turned into joy before him.
41: 23 The flakes of his flesh are joined together: they are firm in themselves; they cannot be moved.
41: 24 His heart is as firm as a stone; yea, as hard as a piece of the nether millstone.
41: 25 When he raiseth up himself, the mighty are afraid: by reason of breakings they purify themselves.
41: 26 The sword of him that layeth at him cannot hold: the spear, the dart, nor the habergeon.
41: 27 He esteemeth iron as straw, and brass as rotten wood.
41: 28 The arrow cannot make him flee: slingstones are turned with him into stubble.
41: 29 Darts are counted as stubble: he laugheth at the shaking of a spear.
41: 30 Sharp stones are under him: he spreadeth sharp pointed things upon the mire.
41: 31 He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: he maketh the sea like a pot of ointment.
41: 32 He maketh a path to shine after him; one would think the deep to be hoary.
41: 33 Upon earth there is not his like, who is made without fear.
41: 34 He beholdeth all high things: he is a king over all the children of pride.
42: 1 Then Job answered the LORD, and said, 42: 2 I know that thou canst do every thing, and that no thought can be withholden from thee.
42: 3 Who is he that hideth counsel without knowledge?
therefore have I uttered that I understood not; things too wonderful for me, which I knew not.
42: 4 Hear, I beseech thee, and I will speak: I will demand of thee, and declare thou unto me.
42: 5 I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth thee.
42: 6 Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.
42: 7 And it was so, that after the LORD had spoken these words unto Job, the LORD said to Eliphaz the Temanite, My wrath is kindled against thee, and against thy two friends: for ye have not spoken of me the thing that is right, as my servant Job hath.
42: 9 So Eliphaz the Temanite and Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite went, and did according as the LORD commanded them: the LORD also accepted Job.
42: 10 And the LORD turned the captivity of Job, when he prayed for his friends: also the LORD gave Job twice as much as he had before.
42: 12 So the LORD blessed the latter end of Job more than his beginning: for he had fourteen thousand sheep, and six thousand camels, and a thousand yoke of oxen, and a thousand she asses.
42: 13 He had also seven sons and three daughters.
42: 14 And he called the name of the first, Jemima; and the name of the second, Kezia; and the name of the third, Kerenhappuch.
42: 15 And in all the land were no women found so fair as the daughters of Job: and their father gave them inheritance among their brethren.
42: 16 After this lived Job an hundred and forty years, and saw his sons, and his sons'sons, even four generations.
42: 17 So Job died, being old and full of days.
The Book of Psalms
1: 1 Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.
1: 2 But his delight is in the law of the LORD; and in his law doth he meditate day and night.
1: 3 And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.
1: 4 The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away.
1: 5 Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous.
1: 6 For the LORD knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish.
2: 1 Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing?
2: 2 The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the LORD, and against his anointed, saying,
2: 3 Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us.
2: 4 He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh: the LORD shall have them in derision.
2: 5 Then shall he speak unto them in his wrath, and vex them in his sore displeasure.
2: 6 Yet have I set my king upon my holy hill of Zion.
2: 7 I will declare the decree: the LORD hath said unto me, Thou art my Son; this day have I begotten thee.
2: 8 Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession.
2: 9 Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter's vessel.
2: 10 Be wise now therefore, O ye kings: be instructed, ye judges of the earth.
2: 11 Serve the LORD with fear, and rejoice with trembling.
2: 12 Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little.
Blessed are all they that put their trust in him.
3: 1 Lord, how are they increased that trouble me!
many are they that rise up against me.
3: 2 Many there be which say of my soul, There is no help for him in God.
Selah.
3: 3 But thou, O LORD, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head.
3: 4 I cried unto the LORD with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill.
Selah.
3: 5 I laid me down and slept; I awaked; for the LORD sustained me.
3: 6 I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people, that have set themselves against me round about.
3: 7 Arise, O LORD; save me, O my God: for thou hast smitten all mine enemies upon the cheek bone; thou hast broken the teeth of the ungodly.
3: 8 Salvation belongeth unto the LORD: thy blessing is upon thy people.
Selah.
4: 1 Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness: thou hast enlarged me when I was in distress; have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer.
4: 2 O ye sons of men, how long will ye turn my glory into shame?
how long will ye love vanity, and seek after leasing?
Selah.
4: 3 But know that the LORD hath set apart him that is godly for himself: the LORD will hear when I call unto him.
4: 4 Stand in awe, and sin not: commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still.
Selah.
4: 5 Offer the sacrifices of righteousness, and put your trust in the LORD.
4: 6 There be many that say, Who will shew us any good?
LORD, lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us.
4: 7 Thou hast put gladness in my heart, more than in the time that their corn and their wine increased.
4: 8 I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, LORD, only makest me dwell in safety.
5: 1 Give ear to my words, O LORD, consider my meditation.
5: 2 Hearken unto the voice of my cry, my King, and my God: for unto thee will I pray.
5: 3 My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O LORD; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up.
5: 4 For thou art not a God that hath pleasure in wickedness: neither shall evil dwell with thee.
5: 5 The foolish shall not stand in thy sight: thou hatest all workers of iniquity.
5: 6 Thou shalt destroy them that speak leasing: the LORD will abhor the bloody and deceitful man.
5: 7 But as for me, I will come into thy house in the multitude of thy mercy: and in thy fear will I worship toward thy holy temple.
5: 8 Lead me, O LORD, in thy righteousness because of mine enemies; make thy way straight before my face.
5: 9 For there is no faithfulness in their mouth; their inward part is very wickedness; their throat is an open sepulchre; they flatter with their tongue.
5: 10 Destroy thou them, O God; let them fall by their own counsels; cast them out in the multitude of their transgressions; for they have rebelled against thee.
5: 11 But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice: let them ever shout for joy, because thou defendest them: let them also that love thy name be joyful in thee.
5: 12 For thou, LORD, wilt bless the righteous; with favour wilt thou compass him as with a shield.
6: 1 O LORD, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure.
6: 2 Have mercy upon me, O LORD; for I am weak: O LORD, heal me; for my bones are vexed.
6: 3 My soul is also sore vexed: but thou, O LORD, how long?
6: 4 Return, O LORD, deliver my soul: oh save me for thy mercies'sake.
6: 5 For in death there is no remembrance of thee: in the grave who shall give thee thanks?
6: 6 I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.
6: 7 Mine eye is consumed because of grief; it waxeth old because of all mine enemies.
6: 8 Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity; for the LORD hath heard the voice of my weeping.
6: 9 The LORD hath heard my supplication; the LORD will receive my prayer.
6: 10 Let all mine enemies be ashamed and sore vexed: let them return and be ashamed suddenly.
7: 1 O LORD my God, in thee do I put my trust: save me from all them that persecute me, and deliver me:
7: 2 Lest he tear my soul like a lion, rending it in pieces, while there is none to deliver.
7: 3 O LORD my God, If I have done this; if there be iniquity in my hands;
7: 4 If I have rewarded evil unto him that was at peace with me; (yea, I have delivered him that without cause is mine enemy:)
7: 5 Let the enemy persecute my soul, and take it; yea, let him tread down my life upon the earth, and lay mine honour in the dust.
Selah.
7: 6 Arise, O LORD, in thine anger, lift up thyself because of the rage of mine enemies: and awake for me to the judgment that thou hast commanded.
7: 7 So shall the congregation of the people compass thee about: for their sakes therefore return thou on high.
7: 8 The LORD shall judge the people: judge me, O LORD, according to my righteousness, and according to mine integrity that is in me.
7: 9 Oh let the wickedness of the wicked come to an end; but establish the just: for the righteous God trieth the hearts and reins.
7: 10 My defence is of God, which saveth the upright in heart.
7: 11 God judgeth the righteous, and God is angry with the wicked every day.
7: 12 If he turn not, he will whet his sword; he hath bent his bow, and made it ready.
7: 13 He hath also prepared for him the instruments of death; he ordaineth his arrows against the persecutors.
7: 14 Behold, he travaileth with iniquity, and hath conceived mischief, and brought forth falsehood.
7: 15 He made a pit, and digged it, and is fallen into the ditch which he made.
7: 16 His mischief shall return upon his own head, and his violent dealing shall come down upon his own pate.
7: 17 I will praise the LORD according to his righteousness: and will sing praise to the name of the LORD most high.
8: 1 O LORD, our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!
who hast set thy glory above the heavens.
8: 2 Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.
8: 3 When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;
8: 4 What is man, that thou art mindful of him?
and the son of man, that thou visitest him?
8: 5 For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.
8: 6 Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet:
8: 7 All sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field;
8: 8 The fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas.
8: 9 O LORD our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!
9: 1 I will praise thee, O LORD, with my whole heart; I will shew forth all thy marvellous works.
9: 2 I will be glad and rejoice in thee: I will sing praise to thy name, O thou most High.
9: 3 When mine enemies are turned back, they shall fall and perish at thy presence.
9: 4 For thou hast maintained my right and my cause; thou satest in the throne judging right.
9: 5 Thou hast rebuked the heathen, thou hast destroyed the wicked, thou hast put out their name for ever and ever.
9: 6 O thou enemy, destructions are come to a perpetual end: and thou hast destroyed cities; their memorial is perished with them.
9: 7 But the LORD shall endure for ever: he hath prepared his throne for judgment.
9: 8 And he shall judge the world in righteousness, he shall minister judgment to the people in uprightness.
9: 9 The LORD also will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble.
9: 10 And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee: for thou, LORD, hast not forsaken them that seek thee.
9: 11 Sing praises to the LORD, which dwelleth in Zion: declare among the people his doings.
9: 12 When he maketh inquisition for blood, he remembereth them: he forgetteth not the cry of the humble.
9: 13 Have mercy upon me, O LORD; consider my trouble which I suffer of them that hate me, thou that liftest me up from the gates of death:
9: 14 That I may shew forth all thy praise in the gates of the daughter of Zion: I will rejoice in thy salvation.
9: 15 The heathen are sunk down in the pit that they made: in the net which they hid is their own foot taken.
9: 16 The LORD is known by the judgment which he executeth: the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands.
Higgaion.
Selah.
9: 17 The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.
9: 18 For the needy shall not alway be forgotten: the expectation of the poor shall not perish for ever.
9: 19 Arise, O LORD; let not man prevail: let the heathen be judged in thy sight.
9: 20 Put them in fear, O LORD: that the nations may know themselves to be but men.
Selah.
10: 1 Why standest thou afar off, O LORD?
why hidest thou thyself in times of trouble?
10: 2 The wicked in his pride doth persecute the poor: let them be taken in the devices that they have imagined.
10: 3 For the wicked boasteth of his heart's desire, and blesseth the covetous, whom the LORD abhorreth.
10: 4 The wicked, through the pride of his countenance, will not seek after God: God is not in all his thoughts.
10: 5 His ways are always grievous; thy judgments are far above out of his sight: as for all his enemies, he puffeth at them.
10: 6 He hath said in his heart, I shall not be moved: for I shall never be in adversity.
10: 7 His mouth is full of cursing and deceit and fraud: under his tongue is mischief and vanity.
10: 8 He sitteth in the lurking places of the villages: in the secret places doth he murder the innocent: his eyes are privily set against the poor.
10: 9 He lieth in wait secretly as a lion in his den: he lieth in wait to catch the poor: he doth catch the poor, when he draweth him into his net.
10: 10 He croucheth, and humbleth himself, that the poor may fall by his strong ones.
10: 11 He hath said in his heart, God hath forgotten: he hideth his face; he will never see it.
10: 12 Arise, O LORD; O God, lift up thine hand: forget not the humble.
10: 13 Wherefore doth the wicked contemn God?
he hath said in his heart, Thou wilt not require it.
10: 14 Thou hast seen it; for thou beholdest mischief and spite, to requite it with thy hand: the poor committeth himself unto thee; thou art the helper of the fatherless.
10: 15 Break thou the arm of the wicked and the evil man: seek out his wickedness till thou find none.
10: 16 The LORD is King for ever and ever: the heathen are perished out of his land.
10: 17 LORD, thou hast heard the desire of the humble: thou wilt prepare their heart, thou wilt cause thine ear to hear:
10: 18 To judge the fatherless and the oppressed, that the man of the earth may no more oppress.
11: 1 In the LORD put I my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain?
11: 2 For, lo, the wicked bend their bow, they make ready their arrow upon the string, that they may privily shoot at the upright in heart.
11: 3 If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?
11: 4 The LORD is in his holy temple, the LORD's throne is in heaven: his eyes behold, his eyelids try, the children of men.
11: 5 The LORD trieth the righteous: but the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth.
11: 6 Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.
11: 7 For the righteous LORD loveth righteousness; his countenance doth behold the upright.
12: 1 Help, LORD; for the godly man ceaseth; for the faithful fail from among the children of men.
12: 2 They speak vanity every one with his neighbour: with flattering lips and with a double heart do they speak.
12: 3 The LORD shall cut off all flattering lips, and the tongue that speaketh proud things:
12: 4 Who have said, With our tongue will we prevail; our lips are our own: who is lord over us?
12: 5 For the oppression of the poor, for the sighing of the needy, now will I arise, saith the LORD; I will set him in safety from him that puffeth at him.
12: 6 The words of the LORD are pure words: as silver tried in a furnace of earth, purified seven times.
12: 7 Thou shalt keep them, O LORD, thou shalt preserve them from this generation for ever.
12: 8 The wicked walk on every side, when the vilest men are exalted.
13: 1 How long wilt thou forget me, O LORD?
for ever?
how long wilt thou hide thy face from me?
13: 2 How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily?
how long shall mine enemy be exalted over me?
13: 3 Consider and hear me, O LORD my God: lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death;
13: 4 Lest mine enemy say, I have prevailed against him; and those that trouble me rejoice when I am moved.
13: 5 But I have trusted in thy mercy; my heart shall rejoice in thy salvation.
13: 6 I will sing unto the LORD, because he hath dealt bountifully with me.
14: 1 The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God.
They are corrupt, they have done abominable works, there is none that doeth good.
14: 2 The LORD looked down from heaven upon the children of men, to see if there were any that did understand, and seek God.
14: 3 They are all gone aside, they are all together become filthy: there is none that doeth good, no, not one.
14: 4 Have all the workers of iniquity no knowledge?
who eat up my people as they eat bread, and call not upon the LORD.
14: 5 There were they in great fear: for God is in the generation of the righteous.
14: 6 Ye have shamed the counsel of the poor, because the LORD is his refuge.
14: 7 Oh that the salvation of Israel were come out of Zion!
when the LORD bringeth back the captivity of his people, Jacob shall rejoice, and Israel shall be glad.
15: 1 Lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle?
who shall dwell in thy holy hill?
15: 2 He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart.
15: 3 He that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbour, nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour.
15: 4 In whose eyes a vile person is contemned; but he honoureth them that fear the LORD.
He that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not.
15: 5 He that putteth not out his money to usury, nor taketh reward against the innocent.
He that doeth these things shall never be moved.
16: 1 Preserve me, O God: for in thee do I put my trust.
16: 2 O my soul, thou hast said unto the LORD, Thou art my Lord: my goodness extendeth not to thee;
16: 3 But to the saints that are in the earth, and to the excellent, in whom is all my delight.
16: 4 Their sorrows shall be multiplied that hasten after another god: their drink offerings of blood will I not offer, nor take up their names into my lips.
16: 5 The LORD is the portion of mine inheritance and of my cup: thou maintainest my lot.
16: 6 The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage.
16: 7 I will bless the LORD, who hath given me counsel: my reins also instruct me in the night seasons.
16: 8 I have set the LORD always before me: because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.
16: 9 Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth: my flesh also shall rest in hope.
16: 10 For thou wilt not leave my soul in hell; neither wilt thou suffer thine Holy One to see corruption.
16: 11 Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.
17: 1 Hear the right, O LORD, attend unto my cry, give ear unto my prayer, that goeth not out of feigned lips.
17: 2 Let my sentence come forth from thy presence; let thine eyes behold the things that are equal.
17: 3 Thou hast proved mine heart; thou hast visited me in the night; thou hast tried me, and shalt find nothing; I am purposed that my mouth shall not transgress.
17: 4 Concerning the works of men, by the word of thy lips I have kept me from the paths of the destroyer.
17: 5 Hold up my goings in thy paths, that my footsteps slip not.
17: 6 I have called upon thee, for thou wilt hear me, O God: incline thine ear unto me, and hear my speech.
17: 7 Shew thy marvellous lovingkindness, O thou that savest by thy right hand them which put their trust in thee from those that rise up against them.
17: 8 Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings,
17: 9 From the wicked that oppress me, from my deadly enemies, who compass me about.
17: 10 They are inclosed in their own fat: with their mouth they speak proudly.
17: 11 They have now compassed us in our steps: they have set their eyes bowing down to the earth;
17: 12 Like as a lion that is greedy of his prey, and as it were a young lion lurking in secret places.
17: 13 Arise, O LORD, disappoint him, cast him down: deliver my soul from the wicked, which is thy sword:
17: 14 From men which are thy hand, O LORD, from men of the world, which have their portion in this life, and whose belly thou fillest with thy hid treasure: they are full of children, and leave the rest of their substance to their babes.
17: 15 As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness: I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness.
18: 1 I will love thee, O LORD, my strength.
18: 2 The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.
18: 3 I will call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised: so shall I be saved from mine enemies.
18: 4 The sorrows of death compassed me, and the floods of ungodly men made me afraid.
18: 5 The sorrows of hell compassed me about: the snares of death prevented me.
18: 6 In my distress I called upon the LORD, and cried unto my God: he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him, even into his ears.
18: 7 Then the earth shook and trembled; the foundations also of the hills moved and were shaken, because he was wroth.
18: 8 There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, and fire out of his mouth devoured: coals were kindled by it.
18: 9 He bowed the heavens also, and came down: and darkness was under his feet.
18: 10 And he rode upon a cherub, and did fly: yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind.
18: 11 He made darkness his secret place; his pavilion round about him were dark waters and thick clouds of the skies.
18: 12 At the brightness that was before him his thick clouds passed, hail stones and coals of fire.
18: 13 The LORD also thundered in the heavens, and the Highest gave his voice; hail stones and coals of fire.
18: 14 Yea, he sent out his arrows, and scattered them; and he shot out lightnings, and discomfited them.
18: 15 Then the channels of waters were seen, and the foundations of the world were discovered at thy rebuke, O LORD, at the blast of the breath of thy nostrils.
18: 16 He sent from above, he took me, he drew me out of many waters.
18: 17 He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from them which hated me: for they were too strong for me.
18: 18 They prevented me in the day of my calamity: but the LORD was my stay.
18: 19 He brought me forth also into a large place; he delivered me, because he delighted in me.
18: 20 The LORD rewarded me according to my righteousness; according to the cleanness of my hands hath he recompensed me.
18: 21 For I have kept the ways of the LORD, and have not wickedly departed from my God.
18: 22 For all his judgments were before me, and I did not put away his statutes from me.
18: 23 I was also upright before him, and I kept myself from mine iniquity.
18: 24 Therefore hath the LORD recompensed me according to my righteousness, according to the cleanness of my hands in his eyesight.
18: 25 With the merciful thou wilt shew thyself merciful; with an upright man thou wilt shew thyself upright;
18: 26 With the pure thou wilt shew thyself pure; and with the froward thou wilt shew thyself froward.
18: 27 For thou wilt save the afflicted people; but wilt bring down high looks.
18: 28 For thou wilt light my candle: the LORD my God will enlighten my darkness.
18: 29 For by thee I have run through a troop; and by my God have I leaped over a wall.
18: 30 As for God, his way is perfect: the word of the LORD is tried: he is a buckler to all those that trust in him.
18: 31 For who is God save the LORD?
or who is a rock save our God?
18: 32 It is God that girdeth me with strength, and maketh my way perfect.
18: 33 He maketh my feet like hinds'feet, and setteth me upon my high places.
18: 34 He teacheth my hands to war, so that a bow of steel is broken by mine arms.
18: 35 Thou hast also given me the shield of thy salvation: and thy right hand hath holden me up, and thy gentleness hath made me great.
18: 36 Thou hast enlarged my steps under me, that my feet did not slip.
18: 37 I have pursued mine enemies, and overtaken them: neither did I turn again till they were consumed.
18: 38 I have wounded them that they were not able to rise: they are fallen under my feet.
18: 39 For thou hast girded me with strength unto the battle: thou hast subdued under me those that rose up against me.
18: 40 Thou hast also given me the necks of mine enemies; that I might destroy them that hate me.
18: 41 They cried, but there was none to save them: even unto the LORD, but he answered them not.
18: 42 Then did I beat them small as the dust before the wind: I did cast them out as the dirt in the streets.
18: 43 Thou hast delivered me from the strivings of the people; and thou hast made me the head of the heathen: a people whom I have not known shall serve me.
18: 44 As soon as they hear of me, they shall obey me: the strangers shall submit themselves unto me.
18: 45 The strangers shall fade away, and be afraid out of their close places.
18: 46 The LORD liveth; and blessed be my rock; and let the God of my salvation be exalted.
18: 47 It is God that avengeth me, and subdueth the people under me.
18: 48 He delivereth me from mine enemies: yea, thou liftest me up above those that rise up against me: thou hast delivered me from the violent man.
18: 49 Therefore will I give thanks unto thee, O LORD, among the heathen, and sing praises unto thy name.
18: 50 Great deliverance giveth he to his king; and sheweth mercy to his anointed, to David, and to his seed for evermore.
19: 1 The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.
19: 2 Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge.
19: 3 There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard.
19: 4 Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world.
In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun,
19: 5 Which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race.
19: 6 His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it: and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.
19: 7 The law of the LORD is perfect, converting the soul: the testimony of the LORD is sure, making wise the simple.
19: 8 The statutes of the LORD are right, rejoicing the heart: the commandment of the LORD is pure, enlightening the eyes.
19: 9 The fear of the LORD is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of the LORD are true and righteous altogether.
19: 10 More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.
19: 11 Moreover by them is thy servant warned: and in keeping of them there is great reward.
19: 12 Who can understand his errors?
cleanse thou me from secret faults.
19: 13 Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins; let them not have dominion over me: then shall I be upright, and I shall be innocent from the great transgression.
19: 14 Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O LORD, my strength, and my redeemer.
20: 1 The LORD hear thee in the day of trouble; the name of the God of Jacob defend thee;
20: 2 Send thee help from the sanctuary, and strengthen thee out of Zion;
20: 3 Remember all thy offerings, and accept thy burnt sacrifice; Selah.
20: 4 Grant thee according to thine own heart, and fulfil all thy counsel.
20: 5 We will rejoice in thy salvation, and in the name of our God we will set up our banners: the LORD fulfil all thy petitions.
20: 6 Now know I that the LORD saveth his anointed; he will hear him from his holy heaven with the saving strength of his right hand.
20: 7 Some trust in chariots, and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the LORD our God.
20: 8 They are brought down and fallen: but we are risen, and stand upright.
20: 9 Save, LORD: let the king hear us when we call.
21: 1 The king shall joy in thy strength, O LORD; and in thy salvation how greatly shall he rejoice!
21: 2 Thou hast given him his heart's desire, and hast not withholden the request of his lips.
Selah.
21: 3 For thou preventest him with the blessings of goodness: thou settest a crown of pure gold on his head.
21: 4 He asked life of thee, and thou gavest it him, even length of days for ever and ever.
21: 5 His glory is great in thy salvation: honour and majesty hast thou laid upon him.
21: 6 For thou hast made him most blessed for ever: thou hast made him exceeding glad with thy countenance.
21: 7 For the king trusteth in the LORD, and through the mercy of the most High he shall not be moved.
21: 8 Thine hand shall find out all thine enemies: thy right hand shall find out those that hate thee.
21: 9 Thou shalt make them as a fiery oven in the time of thine anger: the LORD shall swallow them up in his wrath, and the fire shall devour them.
21: 10 Their fruit shalt thou destroy from the earth, and their seed from among the children of men.
21: 11 For they intended evil against thee: they imagined a mischievous device, which they are not able to perform.
21: 12 Therefore shalt thou make them turn their back, when thou shalt make ready thine arrows upon thy strings against the face of them.
21: 13 Be thou exalted, LORD, in thine own strength: so will we sing and praise thy power.
22: 1 My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?
22: 2 O my God, I cry in the day time, but thou hearest not; and in the night season, and am not silent.
22: 3 But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel.
22: 4 Our fathers trusted in thee: they trusted, and thou didst deliver them.
22: 5 They cried unto thee, and were delivered: they trusted in thee, and were not confounded.
22: 6 But I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men, and despised of the people.
22: 7 All they that see me laugh me to scorn: they shoot out the lip, they shake the head, saying,
22: 8 He trusted on the LORD that he would deliver him: let him deliver him, seeing he delighted in him.
22: 9 But thou art he that took me out of the womb: thou didst make me hope when I was upon my mother's breasts.
22: 10 I was cast upon thee from the womb: thou art my God from my mother's belly.
22: 11 Be not far from me; for trouble is near; for there is none to help.
22: 12 Many bulls have compassed me: strong bulls of Bashan have beset me round.
22: 13 They gaped upon me with their mouths, as a ravening and a roaring lion.
22: 14 I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels.
22: 15 My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death.
22: 16 For dogs have compassed me: the assembly of the wicked have inclosed me: they pierced my hands and my feet.
22: 17 I may tell all my bones: they look and stare upon me.
22: 18 They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture.
22: 19 But be not thou far from me, O LORD: O my strength, haste thee to help me.
22: 20 Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog.
22: 21 Save me from the lion's mouth: for thou hast heard me from the horns of the unicorns.
22: 22 I will declare thy name unto my brethren: in the midst of the congregation will I praise thee.
22: 23 Ye that fear the LORD, praise him; all ye the seed of Jacob, glorify him; and fear him, all ye the seed of Israel.
22: 24 For he hath not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; neither hath he hid his face from him; but when he cried unto him, he heard.
22: 25 My praise shall be of thee in the great congregation: I will pay my vows before them that fear him.
22: 26 The meek shall eat and be satisfied: they shall praise the LORD that seek him: your heart shall live for ever.
22: 27 All the ends of the world shall remember and turn unto the LORD: and all the kindreds of the nations shall worship before thee.
22: 28 For the kingdom is the LORD's: and he is the governor among the nations.
22: 29 All they that be fat upon earth shall eat and worship: all they that go down to the dust shall bow before him: and none can keep alive his own soul.
22: 30 A seed shall serve him; it shall be accounted to the Lord for a generation.
22: 31 They shall come, and shall declare his righteousness unto a people that shall be born, that he hath done this.
23: 1 The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
23: 2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
23: 3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
23: 4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
23: 5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
23: 6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.
24: 1 The earth is the LORD's, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.
24: 2 For he hath founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the floods.
24: 3 Who shall ascend into the hill of the LORD?
or who shall stand in his holy place?
24: 4 He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully.
24: 5 He shall receive the blessing from the LORD, and righteousness from the God of his salvation.
24: 6 This is the generation of them that seek him, that seek thy face, O Jacob.
Selah.
24: 7 Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in.
24: 8 Who is this King of glory?
The LORD strong and mighty, the LORD mighty in battle.
24: 9 Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in.
24: 10 Who is this King of glory?
The LORD of hosts, he is the King of glory.
Selah.
25: 1 Unto thee, O LORD, do I lift up my soul.
25: 2 O my God, I trust in thee: let me not be ashamed, let not mine enemies triumph over me.
25: 3 Yea, let none that wait on thee be ashamed: let them be ashamed which transgress without cause.
25: 4 Shew me thy ways, O LORD; teach me thy paths.
25: 5 Lead me in thy truth, and teach me: for thou art the God of my salvation; on thee do I wait all the day.
25: 6 Remember, O LORD, thy tender mercies and thy lovingkindnesses; for they have been ever of old.
25: 7 Remember not the sins of my youth, nor my transgressions: according to thy mercy remember thou me for thy goodness'sake, O LORD.
25: 8 Good and upright is the LORD: therefore will he teach sinners in the way.
25: 9 The meek will he guide in judgment: and the meek will he teach his way.
25: 10 All the paths of the LORD are mercy and truth unto such as keep his covenant and his testimonies.
25: 11 For thy name's sake, O LORD, pardon mine iniquity; for it is great.
25: 12 What man is he that feareth the LORD?
him shall he teach in the way that he shall choose.
25: 13 His soul shall dwell at ease; and his seed shall inherit the earth.
25: 14 The secret of the LORD is with them that fear him; and he will shew them his covenant.
25: 15 Mine eyes are ever toward the LORD; for he shall pluck my feet out of the net.
25: 16 Turn thee unto me, and have mercy upon me; for I am desolate and afflicted.
25: 17 The troubles of my heart are enlarged: O bring thou me out of my distresses.
25: 18 Look upon mine affliction and my pain; and forgive all my sins.
25: 19 Consider mine enemies; for they are many; and they hate me with cruel hatred.
25: 20 O keep my soul, and deliver me: let me not be ashamed; for I put my trust in thee.
25: 21 Let integrity and uprightness preserve me; for I wait on thee.
25: 22 Redeem Israel, O God, out of all his troubles.
26: 1 Judge me, O LORD; for I have walked in mine integrity: I have trusted also in the LORD; therefore I shall not slide.
26: 2 Examine me, O LORD, and prove me; try my reins and my heart.
26: 3 For thy lovingkindness is before mine eyes: and I have walked in thy truth.
26: 4 I have not sat with vain persons, neither will I go in with dissemblers.
26: 5 I have hated the congregation of evil doers; and will not sit with the wicked.
26: 6 I will wash mine hands in innocency: so will I compass thine altar, O LORD:
26: 7 That I may publish with the voice of thanksgiving, and tell of all thy wondrous works.
26: 8 LORD, I have loved the habitation of thy house, and the place where thine honour dwelleth.
26: 9 Gather not my soul with sinners, nor my life with bloody men:
26: 10 In whose hands is mischief, and their right hand is full of bribes.
26: 11 But as for me, I will walk in mine integrity: redeem me, and be merciful unto me.
26: 12 My foot standeth in an even place: in the congregations will I bless the LORD.
27: 1 The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?
the LORD is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
27: 2 When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell.
27: 3 Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident.
27: 4 One thing have I desired of the LORD, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the LORD, and to enquire in his temple.
27: 5 For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me; he shall set me up upon a rock.
27: 6 And now shall mine head be lifted up above mine enemies round about me: therefore will I offer in his tabernacle sacrifices of joy; I will sing, yea, I will sing praises unto the LORD.
27: 7 Hear, O LORD, when I cry with my voice: have mercy also upon me, and answer me.
27: 8 When thou saidst, Seek ye my face; my heart said unto thee, Thy face, LORD, will I seek.
27: 9 Hide not thy face far from me; put not thy servant away in anger: thou hast been my help; leave me not, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation.
27: 10 When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up.
27: 11 Teach me thy way, O LORD, and lead me in a plain path, because of mine enemies.
27: 12 Deliver me not over unto the will of mine enemies: for false witnesses are risen up against me, and such as breathe out cruelty.
27: 13 I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.
27: 14 Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.
28: 1 Unto thee will I cry, O LORD my rock; be not silent to me: lest, if thou be silent to me, I become like them that go down into the pit.
28: 2 Hear the voice of my supplications, when I cry unto thee, when I lift up my hands toward thy holy oracle.
28: 3 Draw me not away with the wicked, and with the workers of iniquity, which speak peace to their neighbours, but mischief is in their hearts.
28: 4 Give them according to their deeds, and according to the wickedness of their endeavours: give them after the work of their hands; render to them their desert.
28: 5 Because they regard not the works of the LORD, nor the operation of his hands, he shall destroy them, and not build them up.
28: 6 Blessed be the LORD, because he hath heard the voice of my supplications.
28: 7 The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth; and with my song will I praise him.
28: 8 The LORD is their strength, and he is the saving strength of his anointed.
28: 9 Save thy people, and bless thine inheritance: feed them also, and lift them up for ever.
29: 1 Give unto the LORD, O ye mighty, give unto the LORD glory and strength.
29: 2 Give unto the LORD the glory due unto his name; worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness.
29: 3 The voice of the LORD is upon the waters: the God of glory thundereth: the LORD is upon many waters.
29: 4 The voice of the LORD is powerful; the voice of the LORD is full of majesty.
29: 5 The voice of the LORD breaketh the cedars; yea, the LORD breaketh the cedars of Lebanon.
29: 6 He maketh them also to skip like a calf; Lebanon and Sirion like a young unicorn.
29: 7 The voice of the LORD divideth the flames of fire.
29: 8 The voice of the LORD shaketh the wilderness; the LORD shaketh the wilderness of Kadesh.
29: 9 The voice of the LORD maketh the hinds to calve, and discovereth the forests: and in his temple doth every one speak of his glory.
29: 10 The LORD sitteth upon the flood; yea, the LORD sitteth King for ever.
29: 11 The LORD will give strength unto his people; the LORD will bless his people with peace.
30: 1 I will extol thee, O LORD; for thou hast lifted me up, and hast not made my foes to rejoice over me.
30: 2 O LORD my God, I cried unto thee, and thou hast healed me.
30: 3 O LORD, thou hast brought up my soul from the grave: thou hast kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit.
30: 4 Sing unto the LORD, O ye saints of his, and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness.
30: 5 For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favour is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.
30: 6 And in my prosperity I said, I shall never be moved.
30: 7 LORD, by thy favour thou hast made my mountain to stand strong: thou didst hide thy face, and I was troubled.
30: 8 I cried to thee, O LORD; and unto the LORD I made supplication.
30: 9 What profit is there in my blood, when I go down to the pit?
Shall the dust praise thee?
shall it declare thy truth?
30: 10 Hear, O LORD, and have mercy upon me: LORD, be thou my helper.
30: 11 Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness;
30: 12 To the end that my glory may sing praise to thee, and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give thanks unto thee for ever.
31: 1 In thee, O LORD, do I put my trust; let me never be ashamed: deliver me in thy righteousness.
31: 2 Bow down thine ear to me; deliver me speedily: be thou my strong rock, for an house of defence to save me.
31: 3 For thou art my rock and my fortress; therefore for thy name's sake lead me, and guide me.
31: 4 Pull me out of the net that they have laid privily for me: for thou art my strength.
31: 5 Into thine hand I commit my spirit: thou hast redeemed me, O LORD God of truth.
31: 6 I have hated them that regard lying vanities: but I trust in the LORD.
31: 7 I will be glad and rejoice in thy mercy: for thou hast considered my trouble; thou hast known my soul in adversities;
31: 8 And hast not shut me up into the hand of the enemy: thou hast set my feet in a large room.
31: 9 Have mercy upon me, O LORD, for I am in trouble: mine eye is consumed with grief, yea, my soul and my belly.
31: 10 For my life is spent with grief, and my years with sighing: my strength faileth because of mine iniquity, and my bones are consumed.
31: 11 I was a reproach among all mine enemies, but especially among my neighbours, and a fear to mine acquaintance: they that did see me without fled from me.
31: 12 I am forgotten as a dead man out of mind: I am like a broken vessel.
31: 13 For I have heard the slander of many: fear was on every side: while they took counsel together against me, they devised to take away my life.
31: 14 But I trusted in thee, O LORD: I said, Thou art my God.
31: 15 My times are in thy hand: deliver me from the hand of mine enemies, and from them that persecute me.
31: 16 Make thy face to shine upon thy servant: save me for thy mercies'sake.
31: 17 Let me not be ashamed, O LORD; for I have called upon thee: let the wicked be ashamed, and let them be silent in the grave.
31: 18 Let the lying lips be put to silence; which speak grievous things proudly and contemptuously against the righteous.
31: 19 Oh how great is thy goodness, which thou hast laid up for them that fear thee; which thou hast wrought for them that trust in thee before the sons of men!
31: 20 Thou shalt hide them in the secret of thy presence from the pride of man: thou shalt keep them secretly in a pavilion from the strife of tongues.
31: 21 Blessed be the LORD: for he hath shewed me his marvellous kindness in a strong city.
31: 22 For I said in my haste, I am cut off from before thine eyes: nevertheless thou heardest the voice of my supplications when I cried unto thee.
31: 23 O love the LORD, all ye his saints: for the LORD preserveth the faithful, and plentifully rewardeth the proud doer.
31: 24 Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the LORD.
32: 1 Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.
32: 2 Blessed is the man unto whom the LORD imputeth not iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no guile.
32: 3 When I kept silence, my bones waxed old through my roaring all the day long.
32: 4 For day and night thy hand was heavy upon me: my moisture is turned into the drought of summer.
Selah.
32: 5 I acknowledge my sin unto thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid.
I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the LORD; and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin.
Selah.
32: 6 For this shall every one that is godly pray unto thee in a time when thou mayest be found: surely in the floods of great waters they shall not come nigh unto him.
32: 7 Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance.
Selah.
32: 8 I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye.
32: 9 Be ye not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding: whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle, lest they come near unto thee.
32: 10 Many sorrows shall be to the wicked: but he that trusteth in the LORD, mercy shall compass him about.
32: 11 Be glad in the LORD, and rejoice, ye righteous: and shout for joy, all ye that are upright in heart.
33: 1 Rejoice in the LORD, O ye righteous: for praise is comely for the upright.
33: 2 Praise the LORD with harp: sing unto him with the psaltery and an instrument of ten strings.
33: 3 Sing unto him a new song; play skilfully with a loud noise.
33: 4 For the word of the LORD is right; and all his works are done in truth.
33: 5 He loveth righteousness and judgment: the earth is full of the goodness of the LORD.
33: 6 By the word of the LORD were the heavens made; and all the host of them by the breath of his mouth.
33: 7 He gathereth the waters of the sea together as an heap: he layeth up the depth in storehouses.
33: 8 Let all the earth fear the LORD: let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of him.
33: 9 For he spake, and it was done; he commanded, and it stood fast.
33: 10 The LORD bringeth the counsel of the heathen to nought: he maketh the devices of the people of none effect.
33: 11 The counsel of the LORD standeth for ever, the thoughts of his heart to all generations.
33: 12 Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD; and the people whom he hath chosen for his own inheritance.
33: 13 The LORD looketh from heaven; he beholdeth all the sons of men.
33: 14 From the place of his habitation he looketh upon all the inhabitants of the earth.
33: 15 He fashioneth their hearts alike; he considereth all their works.
33: 16 There is no king saved by the multitude of an host: a mighty man is not delivered by much strength.
33: 17 An horse is a vain thing for safety: neither shall he deliver any by his great strength.
33: 18 Behold, the eye of the LORD is upon them that fear him, upon them that hope in his mercy;
33: 19 To deliver their soul from death, and to keep them alive in famine.
33: 20 Our soul waiteth for the LORD: he is our help and our shield.
33: 21 For our heart shall rejoice in him, because we have trusted in his holy name.
33: 22 Let thy mercy, O LORD, be upon us, according as we hope in thee.
34: 1 I will bless the LORD at all times: his praise shall continually be in my mouth.
34: 2 My soul shall make her boast in the LORD: the humble shall hear thereof, and be glad.
34: 3 O magnify the LORD with me, and let us exalt his name together.
34: 4 I sought the LORD, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears.
34: 5 They looked unto him, and were lightened: and their faces were not ashamed.
34: 6 This poor man cried, and the LORD heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.
34: 7 The angel of the LORD encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.
34: 8 O taste and see that the LORD is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in him.
34: 9 O fear the LORD, ye his saints: for there is no want to them that fear him.
34: 10 The young lions do lack, and suffer hunger: but they that seek the LORD shall not want any good thing.
34: 11 Come, ye children, hearken unto me: I will teach you the fear of the LORD.
34: 12 What man is he that desireth life, and loveth many days, that he may see good?
34: 13 Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips from speaking guile.
34: 14 Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it.
34: 15 The eyes of the LORD are upon the righteous, and his ears are open unto their cry.
34: 16 The face of the LORD is against them that do evil, to cut off the remembrance of them from the earth.
34: 17 The righteous cry, and the LORD heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles.
34: 18 The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.
34: 19 Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the LORD delivereth him out of them all.
34: 20 He keepeth all his bones: not one of them is broken.
34: 21 Evil shall slay the wicked: and they that hate the righteous shall be desolate.
34: 22 The LORD redeemeth the soul of his servants: and none of them that trust in him shall be desolate.
35: 1 Plead my cause, O LORD, with them that strive with me: fight against them that fight against me.
35: 2 Take hold of shield and buckler, and stand up for mine help.
35: 3 Draw out also the spear, and stop the way against them that persecute me: say unto my soul, I am thy salvation.
35: 4 Let them be confounded and put to shame that seek after my soul: let them be turned back and brought to confusion that devise my hurt.
35: 5 Let them be as chaff before the wind: and let the angel of the LORD chase them.
35: 6 Let their way be dark and slippery: and let the angel of the LORD persecute them.
35: 7 For without cause have they hid for me their net in a pit, which without cause they have digged for my soul.
35: 8 Let destruction come upon him at unawares; and let his net that he hath hid catch himself: into that very destruction let him fall.
35: 9 And my soul shall be joyful in the LORD: it shall rejoice in his salvation.
35: 10 All my bones shall say, LORD, who is like unto thee, which deliverest the poor from him that is too strong for him, yea, the poor and the needy from him that spoileth him?
35: 11 False witnesses did rise up; they laid to my charge things that I knew not.
35: 12 They rewarded me evil for good to the spoiling of my soul.
35: 13 But as for me, when they were sick, my clothing was sackcloth: I humbled my soul with fasting; and my prayer returned into mine own bosom.
35: 14 I behaved myself as though he had been my friend or brother: I bowed down heavily, as one that mourneth for his mother.
35: 15 But in mine adversity they rejoiced, and gathered themselves together: yea, the abjects gathered themselves together against me, and I knew it not; they did tear me, and ceased not:
35: 16 With hypocritical mockers in feasts, they gnashed upon me with their teeth.
35: 17 Lord, how long wilt thou look on?
rescue my soul from their destructions, my darling from the lions.
35: 18 I will give thee thanks in the great congregation: I will praise thee among much people.
35: 19 Let not them that are mine enemies wrongfully rejoice over me: neither let them wink with the eye that hate me without a cause.
35: 20 For they speak not peace: but they devise deceitful matters against them that are quiet in the land.
35: 21 Yea, they opened their mouth wide against me, and said, Aha, aha, our eye hath seen it.
35: 22 This thou hast seen, O LORD: keep not silence: O Lord, be not far from me.
35: 23 Stir up thyself, and awake to my judgment, even unto my cause, my God and my Lord.
35: 24 Judge me, O LORD my God, according to thy righteousness; and let them not rejoice over me.
35: 25 Let them not say in their hearts, Ah, so would we have it: let them not say, We have swallowed him up.
35: 26 Let them be ashamed and brought to confusion together that rejoice at mine hurt: let them be clothed with shame and dishonour that magnify themselves against me.
35: 27 Let them shout for joy, and be glad, that favour my righteous cause: yea, let them say continually, Let the LORD be magnified, which hath pleasure in the prosperity of his servant.
35: 28 And my tongue shall speak of thy righteousness and of thy praise all the day long.
36: 1 The transgression of the wicked saith within my heart, that there is no fear of God before his eyes.
36: 2 For he flattereth himself in his own eyes, until his iniquity be found to be hateful.
36: 3 The words of his mouth are iniquity and deceit: he hath left off to be wise, and to do good.
36: 4 He deviseth mischief upon his bed; he setteth himself in a way that is not good; he abhorreth not evil.
36: 5 Thy mercy, O LORD, is in the heavens; and thy faithfulness reacheth unto the clouds.
36: 6 Thy righteousness is like the great mountains; thy judgments are a great deep: O LORD, thou preservest man and beast.
36: 7 How excellent is thy lovingkindness, O God!
therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of thy wings.
36: 8 They shall be abundantly satisfied with the fatness of thy house; and thou shalt make them drink of the river of thy pleasures.
36: 9 For with thee is the fountain of life: in thy light shall we see light.
36: 10 O continue thy lovingkindness unto them that know thee; and thy righteousness to the upright in heart.
36: 11 Let not the foot of pride come against me, and let not the hand of the wicked remove me.
36: 12 There are the workers of iniquity fallen: they are cast down, and shall not be able to rise.
37: 1 Fret not thyself because of evildoers, neither be thou envious against the workers of iniquity.
37: 2 For they shall soon be cut down like the grass, and wither as the green herb.
37: 3 Trust in the LORD, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.
37: 4 Delight thyself also in the LORD: and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.
37: 5 Commit thy way unto the LORD; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass.
37: 6 And he shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as the noonday.
37: 7 Rest in the LORD, and wait patiently for him: fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass.
37: 8 Cease from anger, and forsake wrath: fret not thyself in any wise to do evil.
37: 9 For evildoers shall be cut off: but those that wait upon the LORD, they shall inherit the earth.
37: 10 For yet a little while, and the wicked shall not be: yea, thou shalt diligently consider his place, and it shall not be.
37: 11 But the meek shall inherit the earth; and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace.
37: 12 The wicked plotteth against the just, and gnasheth upon him with his teeth.
37: 13 The LORD shall laugh at him: for he seeth that his day is coming.
37: 14 The wicked have drawn out the sword, and have bent their bow, to cast down the poor and needy, and to slay such as be of upright conversation.
37: 15 Their sword shall enter into their own heart, and their bows shall be broken.
37: 16 A little that a righteous man hath is better than the riches of many wicked.
37: 17 For the arms of the wicked shall be broken: but the LORD upholdeth the righteous.
37: 18 The LORD knoweth the days of the upright: and their inheritance shall be for ever.
37: 19 They shall not be ashamed in the evil time: and in the days of famine they shall be satisfied.
37: 20 But the wicked shall perish, and the enemies of the LORD shall be as the fat of lambs: they shall consume; into smoke shall they consume away.
37: 21 The wicked borroweth, and payeth not again: but the righteous sheweth mercy, and giveth.
37: 22 For such as be blessed of him shall inherit the earth; and they that be cursed of him shall be cut off.
37: 23 The steps of a good man are ordered by the LORD: and he delighteth in his way.
37: 24 Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down: for the LORD upholdeth him with his hand.
37: 25 I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.
37: 26 He is ever merciful, and lendeth; and his seed is blessed.
37: 27 Depart from evil, and do good; and dwell for evermore.
37: 28 For the LORD loveth judgment, and forsaketh not his saints; they are preserved for ever: but the seed of the wicked shall be cut off.
37: 29 The righteous shall inherit the land, and dwell therein for ever.
37: 30 The mouth of the righteous speaketh wisdom, and his tongue talketh of judgment.
37: 31 The law of his God is in his heart; none of his steps shall slide.
37: 32 The wicked watcheth the righteous, and seeketh to slay him.
37: 33 The LORD will not leave him in his hand, nor condemn him when he is judged.
37: 34 Wait on the LORD, and keep his way, and he shall exalt thee to inherit the land: when the wicked are cut off, thou shalt see it.
37: 35 I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a green bay tree.
37: 36 Yet he passed away, and, lo, he was not: yea, I sought him, but he could not be found.
37: 37 Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright: for the end of that man is peace.
37: 38 But the transgressors shall be destroyed together: the end of the wicked shall be cut off.
37: 39 But the salvation of the righteous is of the LORD: he is their strength in the time of trouble.
37: 40 And the LORD shall help them, and deliver them: he shall deliver them from the wicked, and save them, because they trust in him.
38: 1 O lord, rebuke me not in thy wrath: neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure.
38: 2 For thine arrows stick fast in me, and thy hand presseth me sore.
38: 3 There is no soundness in my flesh because of thine anger; neither is there any rest in my bones because of my sin.
38: 4 For mine iniquities are gone over mine head: as an heavy burden they are too heavy for me.
38: 5 My wounds stink and are corrupt because of my foolishness.
38: 6 I am troubled; I am bowed down greatly; I go mourning all the day long.
38: 7 For my loins are filled with a loathsome disease: and there is no soundness in my flesh.
38: 8 I am feeble and sore broken: I have roared by reason of the disquietness of my heart.
38: 9 Lord, all my desire is before thee; and my groaning is not hid from thee.
38: 10 My heart panteth, my strength faileth me: as for the light of mine eyes, it also is gone from me.
38: 11 My lovers and my friends stand aloof from my sore; and my kinsmen stand afar off.
38: 12 They also that seek after my life lay snares for me: and they that seek my hurt speak mischievous things, and imagine deceits all the day long.
38: 13 But I, as a deaf man, heard not; and I was as a dumb man that openeth not his mouth.
38: 14 Thus I was as a man that heareth not, and in whose mouth are no reproofs.
38: 15 For in thee, O LORD, do I hope: thou wilt hear, O Lord my God.
38: 16 For I said, Hear me, lest otherwise they should rejoice over me: when my foot slippeth, they magnify themselves against me.
38: 17 For I am ready to halt, and my sorrow is continually before me.
38: 18 For I will declare mine iniquity; I will be sorry for my sin.
38: 19 But mine enemies are lively, and they are strong: and they that hate me wrongfully are multiplied.
38: 20 They also that render evil for good are mine adversaries; because I follow the thing that good is.
38: 21 Forsake me not, O LORD: O my God, be not far from me.
38: 22 Make haste to help me, O Lord my salvation.
39: 1 I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with my tongue: I will keep my mouth with a bridle, while the wicked is before me.
39: 2 I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred.
39: 3 My heart was hot within me, while I was musing the fire burned: then spake I with my tongue,
39: 4 LORD, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is: that I may know how frail I am.
39: 5 Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee: verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity.
Selah.
39: 6 Surely every man walketh in a vain shew: surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them.
39: 7 And now, Lord, what wait I for?
my hope is in thee.
39: 8 Deliver me from all my transgressions: make me not the reproach of the foolish.
39: 9 I was dumb, I opened not my mouth; because thou didst it.
39: 10 Remove thy stroke away from me: I am consumed by the blow of thine hand.
39: 11 When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity, thou makest his beauty to consume away like a moth: surely every man is vanity.
Selah.
39: 12 Hear my prayer, O LORD, and give ear unto my cry; hold not thy peace at my tears: for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.
39: 13 O spare me, that I may recover strength, before I go hence, and be no more.
40: 1 I waited patiently for the LORD; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry.
40: 2 He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings.
40: 3 And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the LORD.
40: 4 Blessed is that man that maketh the LORD his trust, and respecteth not the proud, nor such as turn aside to lies.
40: 5 Many, O LORD my God, are thy wonderful works which thou hast done, and thy thoughts which are to us - ward: they cannot be reckoned up in order unto thee: if I would declare and speak of them, they are more than can be numbered.
40: 6 Sacrifice and offering thou didst not desire; mine ears hast thou opened: burnt offering and sin offering hast thou not required.
40: 7 Then said I, Lo, I come: in the volume of the book it is written of me,
40: 8 I delight to do thy will, O my God: yea, thy law is within my heart.
40: 9 I have preached righteousness in the great congregation: lo, I have not refrained my lips, O LORD, thou knowest.
40: 10 I have not hid thy righteousness within my heart; I have declared thy faithfulness and thy salvation: I have not concealed thy lovingkindness and thy truth from the great congregation.
40: 11 Withhold not thou thy tender mercies from me, O LORD: let thy lovingkindness and thy truth continually preserve me.
40: 12 For innumerable evils have compassed me about: mine iniquities have taken hold upon me, so that I am not able to look up; they are more than the hairs of mine head: therefore my heart faileth me.
40: 13 Be pleased, O LORD, to deliver me: O LORD, make haste to help me.
40: 14 Let them be ashamed and confounded together that seek after my soul to destroy it; let them be driven backward and put to shame that wish me evil.
40: 15 Let them be desolate for a reward of their shame that say unto me, Aha, aha.
40: 16 Let all those that seek thee rejoice and be glad in thee: let such as love thy salvation say continually, The LORD be magnified.
40: 17 But I am poor and needy; yet the Lord thinketh upon me: thou art my help and my deliverer; make no tarrying, O my God.
41: 1 Blessed is he that considereth the poor: the LORD will deliver him in time of trouble.
41: 2 The LORD will preserve him, and keep him alive; and he shall be blessed upon the earth: and thou wilt not deliver him unto the will of his enemies.
41: 3 The LORD will strengthen him upon the bed of languishing: thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness.
41: 4 I said, LORD, be merciful unto me: heal my soul; for I have sinned against thee.
41: 5 Mine enemies speak evil of me, When shall he die, and his name perish?
41: 6 And if he come to see me, he speaketh vanity: his heart gathereth iniquity to itself; when he goeth abroad, he telleth it.
41: 7 All that hate me whisper together against me: against me do they devise my hurt.
41: 8 An evil disease, say they, cleaveth fast unto him: and now that he lieth he shall rise up no more.
41: 9 Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me.
41: 10 But thou, O LORD, be merciful unto me, and raise me up, that I may requite them.
41: 11 By this I know that thou favourest me, because mine enemy doth not triumph over me.
41: 12 And as for me, thou upholdest me in mine integrity, and settest me before thy face for ever.
41: 13 Blessed be the LORD God of Israel from everlasting, and to everlasting.
Amen, and Amen.
42: 1 As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God.
42: 2 My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God?
42: 3 My tears have been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is thy God?
42: 4 When I remember these things, I pour out my soul in me: for I had gone with the multitude, I went with them to the house of God, with the voice of joy and praise, with a multitude that kept holyday.
42: 5 Why art thou cast down, O my soul?
and why art thou disquieted in me?
hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance.
42: 6 O my God, my soul is cast down within me: therefore will I remember thee from the land of Jordan, and of the Hermonites, from the hill Mizar.
42: 7 Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.
42: 8 Yet the LORD will command his lovingkindness in the day time, and in the night his song shall be with me, and my prayer unto the God of my life.
42: 9 I will say unto God my rock, Why hast thou forgotten me?
why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?
42: 10 As with a sword in my bones, mine enemies reproach me; while they say daily unto me, Where is thy God?
42: 11 Why art thou cast down, O my soul?
and why art thou disquieted within me?
hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.
43: 1 Judge me, O God, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation: O deliver me from the deceitful and unjust man.
43: 2 For thou art the God of my strength: why dost thou cast me off?
why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?
43: 3 O send out thy light and thy truth: let them lead me; let them bring me unto thy holy hill, and to thy tabernacles.
43: 4 Then will I go unto the altar of God, unto God my exceeding joy: yea, upon the harp will I praise thee, O God my God.
43: 5 Why art thou cast down, O my soul?
and why art thou disquieted within me?
hope in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.
44: 1 We have heard with our ears, O God, our fathers have told us, what work thou didst in their days, in the times of old.
44: 2 How thou didst drive out the heathen with thy hand, and plantedst them; how thou didst afflict the people, and cast them out.
44: 3 For they got not the land in possession by their own sword, neither did their own arm save them: but thy right hand, and thine arm, and the light of thy countenance, because thou hadst a favour unto them.
44: 4 Thou art my King, O God: command deliverances for Jacob.
44: 5 Through thee will we push down our enemies: through thy name will we tread them under that rise up against us.
44: 6 For I will not trust in my bow, neither shall my sword save me.
44: 7 But thou hast saved us from our enemies, and hast put them to shame that hated us.
44: 8 In God we boast all the day long, and praise thy name for ever.
Selah.
44: 9 But thou hast cast off, and put us to shame; and goest not forth with our armies.
44: 10 Thou makest us to turn back from the enemy: and they which hate us spoil for themselves.
44: 11 Thou hast given us like sheep appointed for meat; and hast scattered us among the heathen.
44: 12 Thou sellest thy people for nought, and dost not increase thy wealth by their price.
44: 13 Thou makest us a reproach to our neighbours, a scorn and a derision to them that are round about us.
44: 14 Thou makest us a byword among the heathen, a shaking of the head among the people.
44: 15 My confusion is continually before me, and the shame of my face hath covered me,
44: 16 For the voice of him that reproacheth and blasphemeth; by reason of the enemy and avenger.
44: 17 All this is come upon us; yet have we not forgotten thee, neither have we dealt falsely in thy covenant.
44: 18 Our heart is not turned back, neither have our steps declined from thy way;
44: 19 Though thou hast sore broken us in the place of dragons, and covered us with the shadow of death.
44: 20 If we have forgotten the name of our God, or stretched out our hands to a strange god;
44: 21 Shall not God search this out?
for he knoweth the secrets of the heart.
44: 22 Yea, for thy sake are we killed all the day long; we are counted as sheep for the slaughter.
44: 23 Awake, why sleepest thou, O Lord?
arise, cast us not off for ever.
44: 24 Wherefore hidest thou thy face, and forgettest our affliction and our oppression?
44: 25 For our soul is bowed down to the dust: our belly cleaveth unto the earth.
44: 26 Arise for our help, and redeem us for thy mercies'sake.
45: 1 My heart is inditing a good matter: I speak of the things which I have made touching the king: my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.
45: 2 Thou art fairer than the children of men: grace is poured into thy lips: therefore God hath blessed thee for ever.
45: 3 Gird thy sword upon thy thigh, O most mighty, with thy glory and thy majesty.
45: 4 And in thy majesty ride prosperously because of truth and meekness and righteousness; and thy right hand shall teach thee terrible things.
45: 5 Thine arrows are sharp in the heart of the king's enemies; whereby the people fall under thee.
45: 6 Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever: the sceptre of thy kingdom is a right sceptre.
45: 7 Thou lovest righteousness, and hatest wickedness: therefore God, thy God, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows.
45: 8 All thy garments smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia, out of the ivory palaces, whereby they have made thee glad.
45: 9 Kings'daughters were among thy honourable women: upon thy right hand did stand the queen in gold of Ophir.
45: 10 Hearken, O daughter, and consider, and incline thine ear; forget also thine own people, and thy father's house;
45: 11 So shall the king greatly desire thy beauty: for he is thy Lord; and worship thou him.
45: 12 And the daughter of Tyre shall be there with a gift; even the rich among the people shall intreat thy favour.
45: 13 The king's daughter is all glorious within: her clothing is of wrought gold.
45: 14 She shall be brought unto the king in raiment of needlework: the virgins her companions that follow her shall be brought unto thee.
45: 15 With gladness and rejoicing shall they be brought: they shall enter into the king's palace.
45: 16 Instead of thy fathers shall be thy children, whom thou mayest make princes in all the earth.
45: 17 I will make thy name to be remembered in all generations: therefore shall the people praise thee for ever and ever.
46: 1 God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
46: 2 Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea;
46: 3 Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof.
Selah.
46: 4 There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High.
46: 5 God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early.
46: 6 The heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved: he uttered his voice, the earth melted.
46: 7 The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.
Selah.
46: 8 Come, behold the works of the LORD, what desolations he hath made in the earth.
46: 9 He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire.
46: 10 Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth.
46: 11 The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.
Selah.
47: 1 O clap your hands, all ye people; shout unto God with the voice of triumph.
47: 2 For the LORD most high is terrible; he is a great King over all the earth.
47: 3 He shall subdue the people under us, and the nations under our feet.
47: 4 He shall choose our inheritance for us, the excellency of Jacob whom he loved.
Selah.
47: 5 God is gone up with a shout, the LORD with the sound of a trumpet.
47: 6 Sing praises to God, sing praises: sing praises unto our King, sing praises.
47: 7 For God is the King of all the earth: sing ye praises with understanding.
47: 8 God reigneth over the heathen: God sitteth upon the throne of his holiness.
47: 9 The princes of the people are gathered together, even the people of the God of Abraham: for the shields of the earth belong unto God: he is greatly exalted.
48: 1 Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised in the city of our God, in the mountain of his holiness.
48: 2 Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is mount Zion, on the sides of the north, the city of the great King.
48: 3 God is known in her palaces for a refuge.
48: 4 For, lo, the kings were assembled, they passed by together.
48: 5 They saw it, and so they marvelled; they were troubled, and hasted away.
48: 6 Fear took hold upon them there, and pain, as of a woman in travail.
48: 7 Thou breakest the ships of Tarshish with an east wind.
48: 8 As we have heard, so have we seen in the city of the LORD of hosts, in the city of our God: God will establish it for ever.
Selah.
48: 9 We have thought of thy lovingkindness, O God, in the midst of thy temple.
48: 10 According to thy name, O God, so is thy praise unto the ends of the earth: thy right hand is full of righteousness.
48: 11 Let mount Zion rejoice, let the daughters of Judah be glad, because of thy judgments.
48: 12 Walk about Zion, and go round about her: tell the towers thereof.
48: 13 Mark ye well her bulwarks, consider her palaces; that ye may tell it to the generation following.
48: 14 For this God is our God for ever and ever: he will be our guide even unto death.
49: 1 Hear this, all ye people; give ear, all ye inhabitants of the world:
49: 2 Both low and high, rich and poor, together.
49: 3 My mouth shall speak of wisdom; and the meditation of my heart shall be of understanding.
49: 4 I will incline mine ear to a parable: I will open my dark saying upon the harp.
49: 5 Wherefore should I fear in the days of evil, when the iniquity of my heels shall compass me about?
49: 6 They that trust in their wealth, and boast themselves in the multitude of their riches;
49: 7 None of them can by any means redeem his brother, nor give to God a ransom for him:
49: 8 (For the redemption of their soul is precious, and it ceaseth for ever:)
49: 9 That he should still live for ever, and not see corruption.
49: 10 For he seeth that wise men die, likewise the fool and the brutish person perish, and leave their wealth to others.
49: 11 Their inward thought is, that their houses shall continue for ever, and their dwelling places to all generations; they call their lands after their own names.
49: 12 Nevertheless man being in honour abideth not: he is like the beasts that perish.
49: 13 This their way is their folly: yet their posterity approve their sayings.
Selah.
49: 14 Like sheep they are laid in the grave; death shall feed on them; and the upright shall have dominion over them in the morning; and their beauty shall consume in the grave from their dwelling.
49: 15 But God will redeem my soul from the power of the grave: for he shall receive me.
Selah.
49: 16 Be not thou afraid when one is made rich, when the glory of his house is increased;
49: 17 For when he dieth he shall carry nothing away: his glory shall not descend after him.
49: 18 Though while he lived he blessed his soul: and men will praise thee, when thou doest well to thyself.
49: 19 He shall go to the generation of his fathers; they shall never see light.
49: 20 Man that is in honour, and understandeth not, is like the beasts that perish.
50: 1 The mighty God, even the LORD, hath spoken, and called the earth from the rising of the sun unto the going down thereof.
50: 2 Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty, God hath shined.
50: 3 Our God shall come, and shall not keep silence: a fire shall devour before him, and it shall be very tempestuous round about him.
50: 4 He shall call to the heavens from above, and to the earth, that he may judge his people.
50: 5 Gather my saints together unto me; those that have made a covenant with me by sacrifice.
50: 6 And the heavens shall declare his righteousness: for God is judge himself.
Selah.
50: 7 Hear, O my people, and I will speak; O Israel, and I will testify against thee: I am God, even thy God.
50: 8 I will not reprove thee for thy sacrifices or thy burnt offerings, to have been continually before me.
50: 9 I will take no bullock out of thy house, nor he goats out of thy folds.
50: 10 For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills.
50: 11 I know all the fowls of the mountains: and the wild beasts of the field are mine.
50: 12 If I were hungry, I would not tell thee: for the world is mine, and the fulness thereof.
50: 13 Will I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats?
50: 14 Offer unto God thanksgiving; and pay thy vows unto the most High:
50: 15 And call upon me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.
50: 16 But unto the wicked God saith, What hast thou to do to declare my statutes, or that thou shouldest take my covenant in thy mouth?
50: 17 Seeing thou hatest instruction, and casteth my words behind thee.
50: 18 When thou sawest a thief, then thou consentedst with him, and hast been partaker with adulterers.
50: 19 Thou givest thy mouth to evil, and thy tongue frameth deceit.
50: 20 Thou sittest and speakest against thy brother; thou slanderest thine own mother's son.
50: 21 These things hast thou done, and I kept silence; thou thoughtest that I was altogether such an one as thyself: but I will reprove thee, and set them in order before thine eyes.
50: 22 Now consider this, ye that forget God, lest I tear you in pieces, and there be none to deliver.
50: 23 Whoso offereth praise glorifieth me: and to him that ordereth his conversation aright will I shew the salvation of God.
51: 1 Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.
51: 2 Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.
51: 3 For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.
51: 4 Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest.
51: 5 Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me.
51: 6 Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts: and in the hidden part thou shalt make me to know wisdom.
51: 7 Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
51: 8 Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.
51: 9 Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities.
51: 10 Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.
51: 11 Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.
51: 12 Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit.
51: 13 Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee.
51: 14 Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, thou God of my salvation: and my tongue shall sing aloud of thy righteousness.
51: 15 O Lord, open thou my lips; and my mouth shall shew forth thy praise.
51: 16 For thou desirest not sacrifice; else would I give it: thou delightest not in burnt offering.
51: 17 The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.
51: 18 Do good in thy good pleasure unto Zion: build thou the walls of Jerusalem.
51: 19 Then shalt thou be pleased with the sacrifices of righteousness, with burnt offering and whole burnt offering: then shall they offer bullocks upon thine altar.
52: 1 Why boastest thou thyself in mischief, O mighty man?
the goodness of God endureth continually.
52: 2 The tongue deviseth mischiefs; like a sharp razor, working deceitfully.
52: 3 Thou lovest evil more than good; and lying rather than to speak righteousness.
Selah.
52: 4 Thou lovest all devouring words, O thou deceitful tongue.
52: 5 God shall likewise destroy thee for ever, he shall take thee away, and pluck thee out of thy dwelling place, and root thee out of the land of the living.
Selah.
52: 6 The righteous also shall see, and fear, and shall laugh at him:
52: 7 Lo, this is the man that made not God his strength; but trusted in the abundance of his riches, and strengthened himself in his wickedness.
52: 8 But I am like a green olive tree in the house of God: I trust in the mercy of God for ever and ever.
52: 9 I will praise thee for ever, because thou hast done it: and I will wait on thy name; for it is good before thy saints.
53: 1 The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God.
Corrupt are they, and have done abominable iniquity: there is none that doeth good.
53: 2 God looked down from heaven upon the children of men, to see if there were any that did understand, that did seek God.
53: 3 Every one of them is gone back: they are altogether become filthy; there is none that doeth good, no, not one.
53: 4 Have the workers of iniquity no knowledge?
who eat up my people as they eat bread: they have not called upon God.
53: 5 There were they in great fear, where no fear was: for God hath scattered the bones of him that encampeth against thee: thou hast put them to shame, because God hath despised them.
53: 6 Oh that the salvation of Israel were come out of Zion!
When God bringeth back the captivity of his people, Jacob shall rejoice, and Israel shall be glad.
54: 1 Save me, O God, by thy name, and judge me by thy strength.
54: 2 Hear my prayer, O God; give ear to the words of my mouth.
54: 3 For strangers are risen up against me, and oppressors seek after my soul: they have not set God before them.
Selah.
54: 4 Behold, God is mine helper: the Lord is with them that uphold my soul.
54: 5 He shall reward evil unto mine enemies: cut them off in thy truth.
54: 6 I will freely sacrifice unto thee: I will praise thy name, O LORD; for it is good.
54: 7 For he hath delivered me out of all trouble: and mine eye hath seen his desire upon mine enemies.
55: 1 Give ear to my prayer, O God; and hide not thyself from my supplication.
55: 2 Attend unto me, and hear me: I mourn in my complaint, and make a noise;
55: 3 Because of the voice of the enemy, because of the oppression of the wicked: for they cast iniquity upon me, and in wrath they hate me.
55: 4 My heart is sore pained within me: and the terrors of death are fallen upon me.
55: 5 Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror hath overwhelmed me.
55: 6 And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove!
for then would I fly away, and be at rest.
55: 7 Lo, then would I wander far off, and remain in the wilderness.
Selah.
55: 8 I would hasten my escape from the windy storm and tempest.
55: 9 Destroy, O Lord, and divide their tongues: for I have seen violence and strife in the city.
55: 10 Day and night they go about it upon the walls thereof: mischief also and sorrow are in the midst of it.
55: 11 Wickedness is in the midst thereof: deceit and guile depart not from her streets.
55: 12 For it was not an enemy that reproached me; then I could have borne it: neither was it he that hated me that did magnify himself against me; then I would have hid myself from him:
55: 13 But it was thou, a man mine equal, my guide, and mine acquaintance.
55: 14 We took sweet counsel together, and walked unto the house of God in company.
55: 15 Let death seize upon them, and let them go down quick into hell: for wickedness is in their dwellings, and among them.
55: 16 As for me, I will call upon God; and the LORD shall save me.
55: 17 Evening, and morning, and at noon, will I pray, and cry aloud: and he shall hear my voice.
55: 18 He hath delivered my soul in peace from the battle that was against me: for there were many with me.
55: 19 God shall hear, and afflict them, even he that abideth of old.
Selah.
Because they have no changes, therefore they fear not God.
55: 20 He hath put forth his hands against such as be at peace with him: he hath broken his covenant.
55: 21 The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, but war was in his heart: his words were softer than oil, yet were they drawn swords.
55: 22 Cast thy burden upon the LORD, and he shall sustain thee: he shall never suffer the righteous to be moved.
55: 23 But thou, O God, shalt bring them down into the pit of destruction: bloody and deceitful men shall not live out half their days; but I will trust in thee.
56: 1 Be merciful unto me, O God: for man would swallow me up; he fighting daily oppresseth me.
56: 2 Mine enemies would daily swallow me up: for they be many that fight against me, O thou most High.
56: 3 What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.
56: 4 In God I will praise his word, in God I have put my trust; I will not fear what flesh can do unto me.
56: 5 Every day they wrest my words: all their thoughts are against me for evil.
56: 6 They gather themselves together, they hide themselves, they mark my steps, when they wait for my soul.
56: 7 Shall they escape by iniquity?
in thine anger cast down the people, O God.
56: 8 Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?
56: 9 When I cry unto thee, then shall mine enemies turn back: this I know; for God is for me.
56: 10 In God will I praise his word: in the LORD will I praise his word.
56: 11 In God have I put my trust: I will not be afraid what man can do unto me.
56: 12 Thy vows are upon me, O God: I will render praises unto thee.
56: 13 For thou hast delivered my soul from death: wilt not thou deliver my feet from falling, that I may walk before God in the light of the living?
57: 1 Be merciful unto me, O God, be merciful unto me: for my soul trusteth in thee: yea, in the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast.
57: 2 I will cry unto God most high; unto God that performeth all things for me.
57: 3 He shall send from heaven, and save me from the reproach of him that would swallow me up.
Selah.
God shall send forth his mercy and his truth.
57: 4 My soul is among lions: and I lie even among them that are set on fire, even the sons of men, whose teeth are spears and arrows, and their tongue a sharp sword.
57: 5 Be thou exalted, O God, above the heavens; let thy glory be above all the earth.
57: 6 They have prepared a net for my steps; my soul is bowed down: they have digged a pit before me, into the midst whereof they are fallen themselves.
Selah.
57: 7 My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed: I will sing and give praise.
57: 8 Awake up, my glory; awake, psaltery and harp: I myself will awake early.
57: 9 I will praise thee, O Lord, among the people: I will sing unto thee among the nations.
57: 10 For thy mercy is great unto the heavens, and thy truth unto the clouds.
57: 11 Be thou exalted, O God, above the heavens: let thy glory be above all the earth.
58: 1 Do ye indeed speak righteousness, O congregation?
do ye judge uprightly, O ye sons of men?
58: 2 Yea, in heart ye work wickedness; ye weigh the violence of your hands in the earth.
58: 3 The wicked are estranged from the womb: they go astray as soon as they be born, speaking lies.
58: 4 Their poison is like the poison of a serpent: they are like the deaf adder that stoppeth her ear;
58: 5 Which will not hearken to the voice of charmers, charming never so wisely.
58: 6 Break their teeth, O God, in their mouth: break out the great teeth of the young lions, O LORD.
58: 7 Let them melt away as waters which run continually: when he bendeth his bow to shoot his arrows, let them be as cut in pieces.
58: 8 As a snail which melteth, let every one of them pass away: like the untimely birth of a woman, that they may not see the sun.
58: 9 Before your pots can feel the thorns, he shall take them away as with a whirlwind, both living, and in his wrath.
58: 10 The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance: he shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked.
58: 11 So that a man shall say, Verily there is a reward for the righteous: verily he is a God that judgeth in the earth.
59: 1 Deliver me from mine enemies, O my God: defend me from them that rise up against me.
59: 2 Deliver me from the workers of iniquity, and save me from bloody men.
59: 3 For, lo, they lie in wait for my soul: the mighty are gathered against me; not for my transgression, nor for my sin, O LORD.
59: 4 They run and prepare themselves without my fault: awake to help me, and behold.
59: 5 Thou therefore, O LORD God of hosts, the God of Israel, awake to visit all the heathen: be not merciful to any wicked transgressors.
Selah.
59: 6 They return at evening: they make a noise like a dog, and go round about the city.
59: 7 Behold, they belch out with their mouth: swords are in their lips: for who, say they, doth hear?
59: 8 But thou, O LORD, shalt laugh at them; thou shalt have all the heathen in derision.
59: 9 Because of his strength will I wait upon thee: for God is my defence.
59: 10 The God of my mercy shall prevent me: God shall let me see my desire upon mine enemies.
59: 11 Slay them not, lest my people forget: scatter them by thy power; and bring them down, O Lord our shield.
59: 12 For the sin of their mouth and the words of their lips let them even be taken in their pride: and for cursing and lying which they speak.
59: 13 Consume them in wrath, consume them, that they may not be: and let them know that God ruleth in Jacob unto the ends of the earth.
Selah.
59: 14 And at evening let them return; and let them make a noise like a dog, and go round about the city.
59: 15 Let them wander up and down for meat, and grudge if they be not satisfied.
59: 16 But I will sing of thy power; yea, I will sing aloud of thy mercy in the morning: for thou hast been my defence and refuge in the day of my trouble.
59: 17 Unto thee, O my strength, will I sing: for God is my defence, and the God of my mercy.
60: 1 O God, thou hast cast us off, thou hast scattered us, thou hast been displeased; O turn thyself to us again.
60: 2 Thou hast made the earth to tremble; thou hast broken it: heal the breaches thereof; for it shaketh.
60: 3 Thou hast shewed thy people hard things: thou hast made us to drink the wine of astonishment.
60: 4 Thou hast given a banner to them that fear thee, that it may be displayed because of the truth.
Selah.
60: 5 That thy beloved may be delivered; save with thy right hand, and hear me.
60: 6 God hath spoken in his holiness; I will rejoice, I will divide Shechem, and mete out the valley of Succoth.
60: 7 Gilead is mine, and Manasseh is mine; Ephraim also is the strength of mine head; Judah is my lawgiver;
60: 8 Moab is my washpot; over Edom will I cast out my shoe: Philistia, triumph thou because of me.
60: 9 Who will bring me into the strong city?
who will lead me into Edom?
60: 10 Wilt not thou, O God, which hadst cast us off?
and thou, O God, which didst not go out with our armies?
60: 11 Give us help from trouble: for vain is the help of man.
60: 12 Through God we shall do valiantly: for he it is that shall tread down our enemies.
61: 1 Hear my cry, O God; attend unto my prayer.
61: 2 From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
61: 3 For thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy.
61: 4 I will abide in thy tabernacle for ever: I will trust in the covert of thy wings.
Selah.
61: 5 For thou, O God, hast heard my vows: thou hast given me the heritage of those that fear thy name.
61: 6 Thou wilt prolong the king's life: and his years as many generations.
61: 7 He shall abide before God for ever: O prepare mercy and truth, which may preserve him.
61: 8 So will I sing praise unto thy name for ever, that I may daily perform my vows.
62: 1 Truly my soul waiteth upon God: from him cometh my salvation.
62: 2 He only is my rock and my salvation; he is my defence; I shall not be greatly moved.
62: 3 How long will ye imagine mischief against a man?
ye shall be slain all of you: as a bowing wall shall ye be, and as a tottering fence.
62: 4 They only consult to cast him down from his excellency: they delight in lies: they bless with their mouth, but they curse inwardly.
Selah.
62: 5 My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him.
62: 6 He only is my rock and my salvation: he is my defence; I shall not be moved.
62: 7 In God is my salvation and my glory: the rock of my strength, and my refuge, is in God.
62: 8 Trust in him at all times; ye people, pour out your heart before him: God is a refuge for us.
Selah.
62: 9 Surely men of low degree are vanity, and men of high degree are a lie: to be laid in the balance, they are altogether lighter than vanity.
62: 10 Trust not in oppression, and become not vain in robbery: if riches increase, set not your heart upon them.
62: 11 God hath spoken once; twice have I heard this; that power belongeth unto God.
62: 12 Also unto thee, O Lord, belongeth mercy: for thou renderest to every man according to his work.
63: 1 O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is;
63: 2 To see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary.
63: 3 Because thy lovingkindness is better than life, my lips shall praise thee.
63: 4 Thus will I bless thee while I live: I will lift up my hands in thy name.
63: 5 My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness; and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips:
63: 6 When I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the night watches.
63: 7 Because thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.
63: 8 My soul followeth hard after thee: thy right hand upholdeth me.
63: 9 But those that seek my soul, to destroy it, shall go into the lower parts of the earth.
63: 10 They shall fall by the sword: they shall be a portion for foxes.
63: 11 But the king shall rejoice in God; every one that sweareth by him shall glory: but the mouth of them that speak lies shall be stopped.
64: 1 Hear my voice, O God, in my prayer: preserve my life from fear of the enemy.
64: 2 Hide me from the secret counsel of the wicked; from the insurrection of the workers of iniquity:
64: 3 Who whet their tongue like a sword, and bend their bows to shoot their arrows, even bitter words:
64: 4 That they may shoot in secret at the perfect: suddenly do they shoot at him, and fear not.
64: 5 They encourage themselves in an evil matter: they commune of laying snares privily; they say, Who shall see them?
64: 6 They search out iniquities; they accomplish a diligent search: both the inward thought of every one of them, and the heart, is deep.
64: 7 But God shall shoot at them with an arrow; suddenly shall they be wounded.
64: 8 So they shall make their own tongue to fall upon themselves: all that see them shall flee away.
64: 9 And all men shall fear, and shall declare the work of God; for they shall wisely consider of his doing.
64: 10 The righteous shall be glad in the LORD, and shall trust in him; and all the upright in heart shall glory.
65: 1 Praise waiteth for thee, O God, in Sion: and unto thee shall the vow be performed.
65: 2 O thou that hearest prayer, unto thee shall all flesh come.
65: 3 Iniquities prevail against me: as for our transgressions, thou shalt purge them away.
65: 4 Blessed is the man whom thou choosest, and causest to approach unto thee, that he may dwell in thy courts: we shall be satisfied with the goodness of thy house, even of thy holy temple.
65: 5 By terrible things in righteousness wilt thou answer us, O God of our salvation; who art the confidence of all the ends of the earth, and of them that are afar off upon the sea:
65: 6 Which by his strength setteth fast the mountains; being girded with power:
65: 7 Which stilleth the noise of the seas, the noise of their waves, and the tumult of the people.
65: 8 They also that dwell in the uttermost parts are afraid at thy tokens: thou makest the outgoings of the morning and evening to rejoice.
65: 9 Thou visitest the earth, and waterest it: thou greatly enrichest it with the river of God, which is full of water: thou preparest them corn, when thou hast so provided for it.
65: 10 Thou waterest the ridges thereof abundantly: thou settlest the furrows thereof: thou makest it soft with showers: thou blessest the springing thereof.
65: 11 Thou crownest the year with thy goodness; and thy paths drop fatness.
65: 12 They drop upon the pastures of the wilderness: and the little hills rejoice on every side.
65: 13 The pastures are clothed with flocks; the valleys also are covered over with corn; they shout for joy, they also sing.
66: 1 Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands:
66: 2 Sing forth the honour of his name: make his praise glorious.
66: 3 Say unto God, How terrible art thou in thy works!
through the greatness of thy power shall thine enemies submit themselves unto thee.
66: 4 All the earth shall worship thee, and shall sing unto thee; they shall sing to thy name.
Selah.
66: 5 Come and see the works of God: he is terrible in his doing toward the children of men.
66: 6 He turned the sea into dry land: they went through the flood on foot: there did we rejoice in him.
66: 7 He ruleth by his power for ever; his eyes behold the nations: let not the rebellious exalt themselves.
Selah.
66: 8 O bless our God, ye people, and make the voice of his praise to be heard:
66: 9 Which holdeth our soul in life, and suffereth not our feet to be moved.
66: 10 For thou, O God, hast proved us: thou hast tried us, as silver is tried.
66: 11 Thou broughtest us into the net; thou laidst affliction upon our loins.
66: 12 Thou hast caused men to ride over our heads; we went through fire and through water: but thou broughtest us out into a wealthy place.
66: 13 I will go into thy house with burnt offerings: I will pay thee my vows,
66: 14 Which my lips have uttered, and my mouth hath spoken, when I was in trouble.
66: 15 I will offer unto thee burnt sacrifices of fatlings, with the incense of rams; I will offer bullocks with goats.
Selah.
66: 16 Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for my soul.
66: 17 I cried unto him with my mouth, and he was extolled with my tongue.
66: 18 If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me:
66: 19 But verily God hath heard me; he hath attended to the voice of my prayer.
66: 20 Blessed be God, which hath not turned away my prayer, nor his mercy from me.
67: 1 God be merciful unto us, and bless us; and cause his face to shine upon us; Selah.
67: 2 That thy way may be known upon earth, thy saving health among all nations.
67: 3 Let the people praise thee, O God; let all the people praise thee.
67: 4 O let the nations be glad and sing for joy: for thou shalt judge the people righteously, and govern the nations upon earth.
Selah.
67: 5 Let the people praise thee, O God; let all the people praise thee.
67: 6 Then shall the earth yield her increase; and God, even our own God, shall bless us.
67: 7 God shall bless us; and all the ends of the earth shall fear him.
68: 1 Let God arise, let his enemies be scattered: let them also that hate him flee before him.
68: 2 As smoke is driven away, so drive them away: as wax melteth before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God.
68: 3 But let the righteous be glad; let them rejoice before God: yea, let them exceedingly rejoice.
68: 4 Sing unto God, sing praises to his name: extol him that rideth upon the heavens by his name JAH, and rejoice before him.
68: 5 A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation.
68: 6 God setteth the solitary in families: he bringeth out those which are bound with chains: but the rebellious dwell in a dry land.
68: 7 O God, when thou wentest forth before thy people, when thou didst march through the wilderness; Selah:
68: 8 The earth shook, the heavens also dropped at the presence of God: even Sinai itself was moved at the presence of God, the God of Israel.
68: 9 Thou, O God, didst send a plentiful rain, whereby thou didst confirm thine inheritance, when it was weary.
68: 10 Thy congregation hath dwelt therein: thou, O God, hast prepared of thy goodness for the poor.
68: 11 The Lord gave the word: great was the company of those that published it.
68: 12 Kings of armies did flee apace: and she that tarried at home divided the spoil.
68: 13 Though ye have lien among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold.
68: 14 When the Almighty scattered kings in it, it was white as snow in Salmon.
68: 15 The hill of God is as the hill of Bashan; an high hill as the hill of Bashan.
68: 16 Why leap ye, ye high hills?
this is the hill which God desireth to dwell in; yea, the LORD will dwell in it for ever.
68: 17 The chariots of God are twenty thousand, even thousands of angels: the Lord is among them, as in Sinai, in the holy place.
68: 18 Thou hast ascended on high, thou hast led captivity captive: thou hast received gifts for men; yea, for the rebellious also, that the LORD God might dwell among them.
68: 19 Blessed be the Lord, who daily loadeth us with benefits, even the God of our salvation.
Selah.
68: 20 He that is our God is the God of salvation; and unto GOD the Lord belong the issues from death.
68: 21 But God shall wound the head of his enemies, and the hairy scalp of such an one as goeth on still in his trespasses.
68: 22 The Lord said, I will bring again from Bashan, I will bring my people again from the depths of the sea:
68: 23 That thy foot may be dipped in the blood of thine enemies, and the tongue of thy dogs in the same.
68: 24 They have seen thy goings, O God; even the goings of my God, my King, in the sanctuary.
68: 25 The singers went before, the players on instruments followed after; among them were the damsels playing with timbrels.
68: 26 Bless ye God in the congregations, even the Lord, from the fountain of Israel.
68: 27 There is little Benjamin with their ruler, the princes of Judah and their council, the princes of Zebulun, and the princes of Naphtali.
68: 28 Thy God hath commanded thy strength: strengthen, O God, that which thou hast wrought for us.
68: 29 Because of thy temple at Jerusalem shall kings bring presents unto thee.
68: 30 Rebuke the company of spearmen, the multitude of the bulls, with the calves of the people, till every one submit himself with pieces of silver: scatter thou the people that delight in war.
68: 31 Princes shall come out of Egypt; Ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands unto God.
68: 32 Sing unto God, ye kingdoms of the earth; O sing praises unto the Lord; Selah:
68: 33 To him that rideth upon the heavens of heavens, which were of old; lo, he doth send out his voice, and that a mighty voice.
68: 34 Ascribe ye strength unto God: his excellency is over Israel, and his strength is in the clouds.
68: 35 O God, thou art terrible out of thy holy places: the God of Israel is he that giveth strength and power unto his people.
Blessed be God.
69: 1 Save me, O God; for the waters are come in unto my soul.
69: 2 I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing: I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.
69: 3 I am weary of my crying: my throat is dried: mine eyes fail while I wait for my God.
69: 4 They that hate me without a cause are more than the hairs of mine head: they that would destroy me, being mine enemies wrongfully, are mighty: then I restored that which I took not away.
69: 5 O God, thou knowest my foolishness; and my sins are not hid from thee.
69: 6 Let not them that wait on thee, O Lord GOD of hosts, be ashamed for my sake: let not those that seek thee be confounded for my sake, O God of Israel.
69: 7 Because for thy sake I have borne reproach; shame hath covered my face.
69: 8 I am become a stranger unto my brethren, and an alien unto my mother's children.
69: 9 For the zeal of thine house hath eaten me up; and the reproaches of them that reproached thee are fallen upon me.
69: 10 When I wept, and chastened my soul with fasting, that was to my reproach.
69: 11 I made sackcloth also my garment; and I became a proverb to them.
69: 12 They that sit in the gate speak against me; and I was the song of the drunkards.
69: 13 But as for me, my prayer is unto thee, O LORD, in an acceptable time: O God, in the multitude of thy mercy hear me, in the truth of thy salvation.
69: 14 Deliver me out of the mire, and let me not sink: let me be delivered from them that hate me, and out of the deep waters.
69: 15 Let not the waterflood overflow me, neither let the deep swallow me up, and let not the pit shut her mouth upon me.
69: 16 Hear me, O LORD; for thy lovingkindness is good: turn unto me according to the multitude of thy tender mercies.
69: 17 And hide not thy face from thy servant; for I am in trouble: hear me speedily.
69: 18 Draw nigh unto my soul, and redeem it: deliver me because of mine enemies.
69: 19 Thou hast known my reproach, and my shame, and my dishonour: mine adversaries are all before thee.
69: 20 Reproach hath broken my heart; and I am full of heaviness: and I looked for some to take pity, but there was none; and for comforters, but I found none.
69: 21 They gave me also gall for my meat; and in my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink.
69: 22 Let their table become a snare before them: and that which should have been for their welfare, let it become a trap.
69: 23 Let their eyes be darkened, that they see not; and make their loins continually to shake.
69: 24 Pour out thine indignation upon them, and let thy wrathful anger take hold of them.
69: 25 Let their habitation be desolate; and let none dwell in their tents.
69: 26 For they persecute him whom thou hast smitten; and they talk to the grief of those whom thou hast wounded.
69: 27 Add iniquity unto their iniquity: and let them not come into thy righteousness.
69: 28 Let them be blotted out of the book of the living, and not be written with the righteous.
69: 29 But I am poor and sorrowful: let thy salvation, O God, set me up on high.
69: 30 I will praise the name of God with a song, and will magnify him with thanksgiving.
69: 31 This also shall please the LORD better than an ox or bullock that hath horns and hoofs.
69: 32 The humble shall see this, and be glad: and your heart shall live that seek God.
69: 33 For the LORD heareth the poor, and despiseth not his prisoners.
69: 34 Let the heaven and earth praise him, the seas, and every thing that moveth therein.
69: 35 For God will save Zion, and will build the cities of Judah: that they may dwell there, and have it in possession.
69: 36 The seed also of his servants shall inherit it: and they that love his name shall dwell therein.
70: 1 MAKE HASTE, O GOD, TO DELIVER ME; MAKE HASTE TO HELP ME, O LORD.
70: 2 Let them be ashamed and confounded that seek after my soul: let them be turned backward, and put to confusion, that desire my hurt.
70: 3 Let them be turned back for a reward of their shame that say, Aha, aha.
70: 4 Let all those that seek thee rejoice and be glad in thee: and let such as love thy salvation say continually, Let God be magnified.
70: 5 But I am poor and needy: make haste unto me, O God: thou art my help and my deliverer; O LORD, make no tarrying.
71: 1 In thee, O LORD, do I put my trust: let me never be put to confusion.
71: 2 Deliver me in thy righteousness, and cause me to escape: incline thine ear unto me, and save me.
71: 3 Be thou my strong habitation, whereunto I may continually resort: thou hast given commandment to save me; for thou art my rock and my fortress.
71: 4 Deliver me, O my God, out of the hand of the wicked, out of the hand of the unrighteous and cruel man.
71: 5 For thou art my hope, O Lord GOD: thou art my trust from my youth.
71: 6 By thee have I been holden up from the womb: thou art he that took me out of my mother's bowels: my praise shall be continually of thee.
71: 7 I am as a wonder unto many; but thou art my strong refuge.
71: 8 Let my mouth be filled with thy praise and with thy honour all the day.
71: 9 Cast me not off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength faileth.
71: 10 For mine enemies speak against me; and they that lay wait for my soul take counsel together,
71: 11 Saying, God hath forsaken him: persecute and take him; for there is none to deliver him.
71: 12 O God, be not far from me: O my God, make haste for my help.
71: 13 Let them be confounded and consumed that are adversaries to my soul; let them be covered with reproach and dishonour that seek my hurt.
71: 14 But I will hope continually, and will yet praise thee more and more.
71: 15 My mouth shall shew forth thy righteousness and thy salvation all the day; for I know not the numbers thereof.
71: 16 I will go in the strength of the Lord GOD: I will make mention of thy righteousness, even of thine only.
71: 17 O God, thou hast taught me from my youth: and hitherto have I declared thy wondrous works.
71: 18 Now also when I am old and greyheaded, O God, forsake me not; until I have shewed thy strength unto this generation, and thy power to every one that is to come.
71: 19 Thy righteousness also, O God, is very high, who hast done great things: O God, who is like unto thee!
71: 20 Thou, which hast shewed me great and sore troubles, shalt quicken me again, and shalt bring me up again from the depths of the earth.
71: 21 Thou shalt increase my greatness, and comfort me on every side.
71: 22 I will also praise thee with the psaltery, even thy truth, O my God: unto thee will I sing with the harp, O thou Holy One of Israel.
71: 23 My lips shall greatly rejoice when I sing unto thee; and my soul, which thou hast redeemed.
71: 24 My tongue also shall talk of thy righteousness all the day long: for they are confounded, for they are brought unto shame, that seek my hurt.
72: 1 Give the king thy judgments, O God, and thy righteousness unto the king's son.
72: 2 He shall judge thy people with righteousness, and thy poor with judgment.
72: 3 The mountains shall bring peace to the people, and the little hills, by righteousness.
72: 4 He shall judge the poor of the people, he shall save the children of the needy, and shall break in pieces the oppressor.
72: 5 They shall fear thee as long as the sun and moon endure, throughout all generations.
72: 6 He shall come down like rain upon the mown grass: as showers that water the earth.
72: 7 In his days shall the righteous flourish; and abundance of peace so long as the moon endureth.
72: 8 He shall have dominion also from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth.
72: 9 They that dwell in the wilderness shall bow before him; and his enemies shall lick the dust.
72: 10 The kings of Tarshish and of the isles shall bring presents: the kings of Sheba and Seba shall offer gifts.
72: 11 Yea, all kings shall fall down before him: all nations shall serve him.
72: 12 For he shall deliver the needy when he crieth; the poor also, and him that hath no helper.
72: 13 He shall spare the poor and needy, and shall save the souls of the needy.
72: 14 He shall redeem their soul from deceit and violence: and precious shall their blood be in his sight.
72: 15 And he shall live, and to him shall be given of the gold of Sheba: prayer also shall be made for him continually; and daily shall he be praised.
72: 16 There shall be an handful of corn in the earth upon the top of the mountains; the fruit thereof shall shake like Lebanon: and they of the city shall flourish like grass of the earth.
72: 17 His name shall endure for ever: his name shall be continued as long as the sun: and men shall be blessed in him: all nations shall call him blessed.
72: 18 Blessed be the LORD God, the God of Israel, who only doeth wondrous things.
72: 19 And blessed be his glorious name for ever: and let the whole earth be filled with his glory; Amen, and Amen.
72: 20 The prayers of David the son of Jesse are ended.
73: 1 Truly God is good to Israel, even to such as are of a clean heart.
73: 2 But as for me, my feet were almost gone; my steps had well nigh slipped.
73: 3 For I was envious at the foolish, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.
73: 4 For there are no bands in their death: but their strength is firm.
73: 5 They are not in trouble as other men; neither are they plagued like other men.
73: 6 Therefore pride compasseth them about as a chain; violence covereth them as a garment.
73: 7 Their eyes stand out with fatness: they have more than heart could wish.
73: 8 They are corrupt, and speak wickedly concerning oppression: they speak loftily.
73: 9 They set their mouth against the heavens, and their tongue walketh through the earth.
73: 10 Therefore his people return hither: and waters of a full cup are wrung out to them.
73: 11 And they say, How doth God know?
and is there knowledge in the most High?
73: 12 Behold, these are the ungodly, who prosper in the world; they increase in riches.
73: 13 Verily I have cleansed my heart in vain, and washed my hands in innocency.
73: 14 For all the day long have I been plagued, and chastened every morning.
73: 15 If I say, I will speak thus; behold, I should offend against the generation of thy children.
73: 16 When I thought to know this, it was too painful for me;
73: 17 Until I went into the sanctuary of God; then understood I their end.
73: 18 Surely thou didst set them in slippery places: thou castedst them down into destruction.
73: 19 How are they brought into desolation, as in a moment!
they are utterly consumed with terrors.
73: 20 As a dream when one awaketh; so, O Lord, when thou awakest, thou shalt despise their image.
73: 21 Thus my heart was grieved, and I was pricked in my reins.
73: 22 So foolish was I, and ignorant: I was as a beast before thee.
73: 23 Nevertheless I am continually with thee: thou hast holden me by my right hand.
73: 24 Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory.
73: 25 Whom have I in heaven but thee?
and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee.
73: 26 My flesh and my heart faileth: but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever.
73: 27 For, lo, they that are far from thee shall perish: thou hast destroyed all them that go a whoring from thee.
73: 28 But it is good for me to draw near to God: I have put my trust in the Lord GOD, that I may declare all thy works.
74: 1 O God, why hast thou cast us off for ever?
why doth thine anger smoke against the sheep of thy pasture?
74: 2 Remember thy congregation, which thou hast purchased of old; the rod of thine inheritance, which thou hast redeemed; this mount Zion, wherein thou hast dwelt.
74: 3 Lift up thy feet unto the perpetual desolations; even all that the enemy hath done wickedly in the sanctuary.
74: 4 Thine enemies roar in the midst of thy congregations; they set up their ensigns for signs.
74: 5 A man was famous according as he had lifted up axes upon the thick trees.
74: 6 But now they break down the carved work thereof at once with axes and hammers.
74: 7 They have cast fire into thy sanctuary, they have defiled by casting down the dwelling place of thy name to the ground.
74: 8 They said in their hearts, Let us destroy them together: they have burned up all the synagogues of God in the land.
74: 9 We see not our signs: there is no more any prophet: neither is there among us any that knoweth how long.
74: 10 O God, how long shall the adversary reproach?
shall the enemy blaspheme thy name for ever?
74: 11 Why withdrawest thou thy hand, even thy right hand?
pluck it out of thy bosom.
74: 12 For God is my King of old, working salvation in the midst of the earth.
74: 13 Thou didst divide the sea by thy strength: thou brakest the heads of the dragons in the waters.
74: 14 Thou brakest the heads of leviathan in pieces, and gavest him to be meat to the people inhabiting the wilderness.
74: 15 Thou didst cleave the fountain and the flood: thou driedst up mighty rivers.
74: 16 The day is thine, the night also is thine: thou hast prepared the light and the sun.
74: 17 Thou hast set all the borders of the earth: thou hast made summer and winter.
74: 18 Remember this, that the enemy hath reproached, O LORD, and that the foolish people have blasphemed thy name.
74: 19 O deliver not the soul of thy turtledove unto the multitude of the wicked: forget not the congregation of thy poor for ever.
74: 20 Have respect unto the covenant: for the dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of cruelty.
74: 21 O let not the oppressed return ashamed: let the poor and needy praise thy name.
74: 22 Arise, O God, plead thine own cause: remember how the foolish man reproacheth thee daily.
74: 23 Forget not the voice of thine enemies: the tumult of those that rise up against thee increaseth continually.
75: 1 Unto thee, O God, do we give thanks, unto thee do we give thanks: for that thy name is near thy wondrous works declare.
75: 2 When I shall receive the congregation I will judge uprightly.
75: 3 The earth and all the inhabitants thereof are dissolved: I bear up the pillars of it.
Selah.
75: 4 I said unto the fools, Deal not foolishly: and to the wicked, Lift not up the horn:
75: 5 Lift not up your horn on high: speak not with a stiff neck.
75: 6 For promotion cometh neither from the east, nor from the west, nor from the south.
75: 7 But God is the judge: he putteth down one, and setteth up another.
75: 8 For in the hand of the LORD there is a cup, and the wine is red; it is full of mixture; and he poureth out of the same: but the dregs thereof, all the wicked of the earth shall wring them out, and drink them.
75: 9 But I will declare for ever; I will sing praises to the God of Jacob.
75: 10 All the horns of the wicked also will I cut off; but the horns of the righteous shall be exalted.
76: 1 In Judah is God known: his name is great in Israel.
76: 2 In Salem also is his tabernacle, and his dwelling place in Zion.
76: 3 There brake he the arrows of the bow, the shield, and the sword, and the battle.
Selah.
76: 4 Thou art more glorious and excellent than the mountains of prey.
76: 5 The stouthearted are spoiled, they have slept their sleep: and none of the men of might have found their hands.
76: 6 At thy rebuke, O God of Jacob, both the chariot and horse are cast into a dead sleep.
76: 7 Thou, even thou, art to be feared: and who may stand in thy sight when once thou art angry?
76: 8 Thou didst cause judgment to be heard from heaven; the earth feared, and was still,
76: 9 When God arose to judgment, to save all the meek of the earth.
Selah.
76: 10 Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee: the remainder of wrath shalt thou restrain.
76: 11 Vow, and pay unto the LORD your God: let all that be round about him bring presents unto him that ought to be feared.
76: 12 He shall cut off the spirit of princes: he is terrible to the kings of the earth.
77: 1 I cried unto God with my voice, even unto God with my voice; and he gave ear unto me.
77: 2 In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord: my sore ran in the night, and ceased not: my soul refused to be comforted.
77: 3 I remembered God, and was troubled: I complained, and my spirit was overwhelmed.
Selah.
77: 4 Thou holdest mine eyes waking: I am so troubled that I cannot speak.
77: 5 I have considered the days of old, the years of ancient times.
77: 6 I call to remembrance my song in the night: I commune with mine own heart: and my spirit made diligent search.
77: 7 Will the Lord cast off for ever?
and will he be favourable no more?
77: 8 Is his mercy clean gone for ever?
doth his promise fail for evermore?
77: 9 Hath God forgotten to be gracious?
hath he in anger shut up his tender mercies?
Selah.
77: 10 And I said, This is my infirmity: but I will remember the years of the right hand of the most High.
77: 11 I will remember the works of the LORD: surely I will remember thy wonders of old.
77: 12 I will meditate also of all thy work, and talk of thy doings.
77: 13 Thy way, O God, is in the sanctuary: who is so great a God as our God?
77: 14 Thou art the God that doest wonders: thou hast declared thy strength among the people.
77: 15 Thou hast with thine arm redeemed thy people, the sons of Jacob and Joseph.
Selah.
77: 16 The waters saw thee, O God, the waters saw thee; they were afraid: the depths also were troubled.
77: 17 The clouds poured out water: the skies sent out a sound: thine arrows also went abroad.
77: 18 The voice of thy thunder was in the heaven: the lightnings lightened the world: the earth trembled and shook.
77: 19 Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters, and thy footsteps are not known.
77: 20 Thou leddest thy people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron.
78: 1 Give ear, O my people, to my law: incline your ears to the words of my mouth.
78: 2 I will open my mouth in a parable: I will utter dark sayings of old:
78: 3 Which we have heard and known, and our fathers have told us.
78: 4 We will not hide them from their children, shewing to the generation to come the praises of the LORD, and his strength, and his wonderful works that he hath done.
78: 5 For he established a testimony in Jacob, and appointed a law in Israel, which he commanded our fathers, that they should make them known to their children:
78: 6 That the generation to come might know them, even the children which should be born; who should arise and declare them to their children:
78: 7 That they might set their hope in God, and not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments:
78: 8 And might not be as their fathers, a stubborn and rebellious generation; a generation that set not their heart aright, and whose spirit was not stedfast with God.
78: 9 The children of Ephraim, being armed, and carrying bows, turned back in the day of battle.
78: 10 They kept not the covenant of God, and refused to walk in his law;
78: 11 And forgat his works, and his wonders that he had shewed them.
78: 12 Marvellous things did he in the sight of their fathers, in the land of Egypt, in the field of Zoan.
78: 13 He divided the sea, and caused them to pass through; and he made the waters to stand as an heap.
78: 14 In the daytime also he led them with a cloud, and all the night with a light of fire.
78: 15 He clave the rocks in the wilderness, and gave them drink as out of the great depths.
78: 16 He brought streams also out of the rock, and caused waters to run down like rivers.
78: 17 And they sinned yet more against him by provoking the most High in the wilderness.
78: 18 And they tempted God in their heart by asking meat for their lust.
78: 19 Yea, they spake against God; they said, Can God furnish a table in the wilderness?
78: 20 Behold, he smote the rock, that the waters gushed out, and the streams overflowed; can he give bread also?
can he provide flesh for his people?
78: 21 Therefore the LORD heard this, and was wroth: so a fire was kindled against Jacob, and anger also came up against Israel;
78: 22 Because they believed not in God, and trusted not in his salvation:
78: 23 Though he had commanded the clouds from above, and opened the doors of heaven,
78: 24 And had rained down manna upon them to eat, and had given them of the corn of heaven.
78: 25 Man did eat angels'food: he sent them meat to the full.
78: 26 He caused an east wind to blow in the heaven: and by his power he brought in the south wind.
78: 27 He rained flesh also upon them as dust, and feathered fowls like as the sand of the sea:
78: 28 And he let it fall in the midst of their camp, round about their habitations.
78: 29 So they did eat, and were well filled: for he gave them their own desire;
78: 30 They were not estranged from their lust.
But while their meat was yet in their mouths,
78: 31 The wrath of God came upon them, and slew the fattest of them, and smote down the chosen men of Israel.
78: 32 For all this they sinned still, and believed not for his wondrous works.
78: 33 Therefore their days did he consume in vanity, and their years in trouble.
78: 34 When he slew them, then they sought him: and they returned and enquired early after God.
78: 35 And they remembered that God was their rock, and the high God their redeemer.
78: 36 Nevertheless they did flatter him with their mouth, and they lied unto him with their tongues.
78: 37 For their heart was not right with him, neither were they stedfast in his covenant.
78: 38 But he, being full of compassion, forgave their iniquity, and destroyed them not: yea, many a time turned he his anger away, and did not stir up all his wrath.
78: 39 For he remembered that they were but flesh; a wind that passeth away, and cometh not again.
78: 40 How oft did they provoke him in the wilderness, and grieve him in the desert!
78: 41 Yea, they turned back and tempted God, and limited the Holy One of Israel.
78: 42 They remembered not his hand, nor the day when he delivered them from the enemy.
78: 43 How he had wrought his signs in Egypt, and his wonders in the field of Zoan.
78: 44 And had turned their rivers into blood; and their floods, that they could not drink.
78: 45 He sent divers sorts of flies among them, which devoured them; and frogs, which destroyed them.
78: 46 He gave also their increase unto the caterpiller, and their labour unto the locust.
78: 47 He destroyed their vines with hail, and their sycomore trees with frost.
78: 48 He gave up their cattle also to the hail, and their flocks to hot thunderbolts.
78: 49 He cast upon them the fierceness of his anger, wrath, and indignation, and trouble, by sending evil angels among them.
78: 50 He made a way to his anger; he spared not their soul from death, but gave their life over to the pestilence;
78: 51 And smote all the firstborn in Egypt; the chief of their strength in the tabernacles of Ham:
78: 52 But made his own people to go forth like sheep, and guided them in the wilderness like a flock.
78: 53 And he led them on safely, so that they feared not: but the sea overwhelmed their enemies.
78: 54 And he brought them to the border of his sanctuary, even to this mountain, which his right hand had purchased.
78: 55 He cast out the heathen also before them, and divided them an inheritance by line, and made the tribes of Israel to dwell in their tents.
78: 56 Yet they tempted and provoked the most high God, and kept not his testimonies:
78: 57 But turned back, and dealt unfaithfully like their fathers: they were turned aside like a deceitful bow.
78: 58 For they provoked him to anger with their high places, and moved him to jealousy with their graven images.
78: 59 When God heard this, he was wroth, and greatly abhorred Israel:
78: 60 So that he forsook the tabernacle of Shiloh, the tent which he placed among men;
78: 61 And delivered his strength into captivity, and his glory into the enemy's hand.
78: 62 He gave his people over also unto the sword; and was wroth with his inheritance.
78: 63 The fire consumed their young men; and their maidens were not given to marriage.
78: 64 Their priests fell by the sword; and their widows made no lamentation.
78: 65 Then the LORD awaked as one out of sleep, and like a mighty man that shouteth by reason of wine.
78: 66 And he smote his enemies in the hinder parts: he put them to a perpetual reproach.
78: 67 Moreover he refused the tabernacle of Joseph, and chose not the tribe of Ephraim:
78: 68 But chose the tribe of Judah, the mount Zion which he loved.
78: 69 And he built his sanctuary like high palaces, like the earth which he hath established for ever.
78: 70 He chose David also his servant, and took him from the sheepfolds:
78: 71 From following the ewes great with young he brought him to feed Jacob his people, and Israel his inheritance.
78: 72 So he fed them according to the integrity of his heart; and guided them by the skilfulness of his hands.
79: 1 O God, the heathen are come into thine inheritance; thy holy temple have they defiled; they have laid Jerusalem on heaps.
79: 2 The dead bodies of thy servants have they given to be meat unto the fowls of the heaven, the flesh of thy saints unto the beasts of the earth.
79: 3 Their blood have they shed like water round about Jerusalem; and there was none to bury them.
79: 4 We are become a reproach to our neighbours, a scorn and derision to them that are round about us.
79: 5 How long, LORD?
wilt thou be angry for ever?
shall thy jealousy burn like fire?
79: 6 Pour out thy wrath upon the heathen that have not known thee, and upon the kingdoms that have not called upon thy name.
79: 7 For they have devoured Jacob, and laid waste his dwelling place.
79: 8 O remember not against us former iniquities: let thy tender mercies speedily prevent us: for we are brought very low.
79: 9 Help us, O God of our salvation, for the glory of thy name: and deliver us, and purge away our sins, for thy name's sake.
79: 10 Wherefore should the heathen say, Where is their God?
let him be known among the heathen in our sight by the revenging of the blood of thy servants which is shed.
79: 11 Let the sighing of the prisoner come before thee; according to the greatness of thy power preserve thou those that are appointed to die;
79: 12 And render unto our neighbours sevenfold into their bosom their reproach, wherewith they have reproached thee, O Lord.
79: 13 So we thy people and sheep of thy pasture will give thee thanks for ever: we will shew forth thy praise to all generations.
80: 1 Give ear, O Shepherd of Israel, thou that leadest Joseph like a flock; thou that dwellest between the cherubims, shine forth.
80: 2 Before Ephraim and Benjamin and Manasseh stir up thy strength, and come and save us.
80: 3 Turn us again, O God, and cause thy face to shine; and we shall be saved.
80: 4 O LORD God of hosts, how long wilt thou be angry against the prayer of thy people?
80: 5 Thou feedest them with the bread of tears; and givest them tears to drink in great measure.
80: 6 Thou makest us a strife unto our neighbours: and our enemies laugh among themselves.
80: 7 Turn us again, O God of hosts, and cause thy face to shine; and we shall be saved.
80: 8 Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt: thou hast cast out the heathen, and planted it.
80: 9 Thou preparedst room before it, and didst cause it to take deep root, and it filled the land.
80: 10 The hills were covered with the shadow of it, and the boughs thereof were like the goodly cedars.
80: 11 She sent out her boughs unto the sea, and her branches unto the river.
80: 12 Why hast thou then broken down her hedges, so that all they which pass by the way do pluck her?
80: 13 The boar out of the wood doth waste it, and the wild beast of the field doth devour it.
80: 14 Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts: look down from heaven, and behold, and visit this vine;
80: 15 And the vineyard which thy right hand hath planted, and the branch that thou madest strong for thyself.
80: 16 It is burned with fire, it is cut down: they perish at the rebuke of thy countenance.
80: 17 Let thy hand be upon the man of thy right hand, upon the son of man whom thou madest strong for thyself.
80: 18 So will not we go back from thee: quicken us, and we will call upon thy name.
80: 19 Turn us again, O LORD God of hosts, cause thy face to shine; and we shall be saved.
81: 1 Sing aloud unto God our strength: make a joyful noise unto the God of Jacob.
81: 2 Take a psalm, and bring hither the timbrel, the pleasant harp with the psaltery.
81: 3 Blow up the trumpet in the new moon, in the time appointed, on our solemn feast day.
81: 4 For this was a statute for Israel, and a law of the God of Jacob.
81: 5 This he ordained in Joseph for a testimony, when he went out through the land of Egypt: where I heard a language that I understood not.
81: 6 I removed his shoulder from the burden: his hands were delivered from the pots.
81: 7 Thou calledst in trouble, and I delivered thee; I answered thee in the secret place of thunder: I proved thee at the waters of Meribah.
Selah.
81: 8 Hear, O my people, and I will testify unto thee: O Israel, if thou wilt hearken unto me;
81: 9 There shall no strange god be in thee; neither shalt thou worship any strange god.
81: 10 I am the LORD thy God, which brought thee out of the land of Egypt: open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it.
81: 11 But my people would not hearken to my voice; and Israel would none of me.
81: 12 So I gave them up unto their own hearts'lust: and they walked in their own counsels.
81: 13 Oh that my people had hearkened unto me, and Israel had walked in my ways!
81: 14 I should soon have subdued their enemies, and turned my hand against their adversaries.
81: 15 The haters of the LORD should have submitted themselves unto him: but their time should have endured for ever.
81: 16 He should have fed them also with the finest of the wheat: and with honey out of the rock should I have satisfied thee.
82: 1 God standeth in the congregation of the mighty; he judgeth among the gods.
82: 2 How long will ye judge unjustly, and accept the persons of the wicked?
Selah.
82: 3 Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy.
82: 4 Deliver the poor and needy: rid them out of the hand of the wicked.
82: 5 They know not, neither will they understand; they walk on in darkness: all the foundations of the earth are out of course.
82: 6 I have said, Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the most High.
82: 7 But ye shall die like men, and fall like one of the princes.
82: 8 Arise, O God, judge the earth: for thou shalt inherit all nations.
83: 1 Keep not thou silence, O God: hold not thy peace, and be not still, O God.
83: 2 For, lo, thine enemies make a tumult: and they that hate thee have lifted up the head.
83: 3 They have taken crafty counsel against thy people, and consulted against thy hidden ones.
83: 4 They have said, Come, and let us cut them off from being a nation; that the name of Israel may be no more in remembrance.
83: 5 For they have consulted together with one consent: they are confederate against thee:
83: 6 The tabernacles of Edom, and the Ishmaelites; of Moab, and the Hagarenes;
83: 7 Gebal, and Ammon, and Amalek; the Philistines with the inhabitants of Tyre;
83: 8 Assur also is joined with them: they have holpen the children of Lot.
Selah.
83: 9 Do unto them as unto the Midianites; as to Sisera, as to Jabin, at the brook of Kison:
83: 10 Which perished at Endor: they became as dung for the earth.
83: 11 Make their nobles like Oreb, and like Zeeb: yea, all their princes as Zebah, and as Zalmunna:
83: 12 Who said, Let us take to ourselves the houses of God in possession.
83: 13 O my God, make them like a wheel; as the stubble before the wind.
83: 14 As the fire burneth a wood, and as the flame setteth the mountains on fire;
83: 15 So persecute them with thy tempest, and make them afraid with thy storm.
83: 16 Fill their faces with shame; that they may seek thy name, O LORD.
83: 17 Let them be confounded and troubled for ever; yea, let them be put to shame, and perish:
83: 18 That men may know that thou, whose name alone is JEHOVAH, art the most high over all the earth.
84: 1 How amiable are thy tabernacles, O LORD of hosts!
84: 2 My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for the courts of the LORD: my heart and my flesh crieth out for the living God.
84: 3 Yea, the sparrow hath found an house, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even thine altars, O LORD of hosts, my King, and my God.
84: 4 Blessed are they that dwell in thy house: they will be still praising thee.
Selah.
84: 5 Blessed is the man whose strength is in thee; in whose heart are the ways of them.
84: 6 Who passing through the valley of Baca make it a well; the rain also filleth the pools.
84: 7 They go from strength to strength, every one of them in Zion appeareth before God.
84: 8 O LORD God of hosts, hear my prayer: give ear, O God of Jacob.
Selah.
84: 9 Behold, O God our shield, and look upon the face of thine anointed.
84: 10 For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand.
I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness.
84: 11 For the LORD God is a sun and shield: the LORD will give grace and glory: no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.
84: 12 O LORD of hosts, blessed is the man that trusteth in thee.
85: 1 Lord, thou hast been favourable unto thy land: thou hast brought back the captivity of Jacob.
85: 2 Thou hast forgiven the iniquity of thy people, thou hast covered all their sin.
Selah.
85: 3 Thou hast taken away all thy wrath: thou hast turned thyself from the fierceness of thine anger.
85: 4 Turn us, O God of our salvation, and cause thine anger toward us to cease.
85: 5 Wilt thou be angry with us for ever?
wilt thou draw out thine anger to all generations?
85: 6 Wilt thou not revive us again: that thy people may rejoice in thee?
85: 7 Shew us thy mercy, O LORD, and grant us thy salvation.
85: 8 I will hear what God the LORD will speak: for he will speak peace unto his people, and to his saints: but let them not turn again to folly.
85: 9 Surely his salvation is nigh them that fear him; that glory may dwell in our land.
85: 10 Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other.
85: 11 Truth shall spring out of the earth; and righteousness shall look down from heaven.
85: 12 Yea, the LORD shall give that which is good; and our land shall yield her increase.
85: 13 Righteousness shall go before him; and shall set us in the way of his steps.
86: 1 Bow down thine ear, O LORD, hear me: for I am poor and needy.
86: 2 Preserve my soul; for I am holy: O thou my God, save thy servant that trusteth in thee.
86: 3 Be merciful unto me, O Lord: for I cry unto thee daily.
86: 4 Rejoice the soul of thy servant: for unto thee, O Lord, do I lift up my soul.
86: 5 For thou, Lord, art good, and ready to forgive; and plenteous in mercy unto all them that call upon thee.
86: 6 Give ear, O LORD, unto my prayer; and attend to the voice of my supplications.
86: 7 In the day of my trouble I will call upon thee: for thou wilt answer me.
86: 8 Among the gods there is none like unto thee, O Lord; neither are there any works like unto thy works.
86: 9 All nations whom thou hast made shall come and worship before thee, O Lord; and shall glorify thy name.
86: 10 For thou art great, and doest wondrous things: thou art God alone.
86: 11 Teach me thy way, O LORD; I will walk in thy truth: unite my heart to fear thy name.
86: 12 I will praise thee, O Lord my God, with all my heart: and I will glorify thy name for evermore.
86: 13 For great is thy mercy toward me: and thou hast delivered my soul from the lowest hell.
86: 14 O God, the proud are risen against me, and the assemblies of violent men have sought after my soul; and have not set thee before them.
86: 15 But thou, O Lord, art a God full of compassion, and gracious, long suffering, and plenteous in mercy and truth.
86: 16 O turn unto me, and have mercy upon me; give thy strength unto thy servant, and save the son of thine handmaid.
86: 17 Shew me a token for good; that they which hate me may see it, and be ashamed: because thou, LORD, hast holpen me, and comforted me.
87: 1 His foundation is in the holy mountains.
87: 2 The LORD loveth the gates of Zion more than all the dwellings of Jacob.
87: 3 Glorious things are spoken of thee, O city of God.
Selah.
87: 4 I will make mention of Rahab and Babylon to them that know me: behold Philistia, and Tyre, with Ethiopia; this man was born there.
87: 5 And of Zion it shall be said, This and that man was born in her: and the highest himself shall establish her.
87: 6 The LORD shall count, when he writeth up the people, that this man was born there.
Selah.
87: 7 As well the singers as the players on instruments shall be there: all my springs are in thee.
88: 1 O lord God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before thee:
88: 2 Let my prayer come before thee: incline thine ear unto my cry;
88: 3 For my soul is full of troubles: and my life draweth nigh unto the grave.
88: 4 I am counted with them that go down into the pit: I am as a man that hath no strength:
88: 5 Free among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, whom thou rememberest no more: and they are cut off from thy hand.
88: 6 Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, in darkness, in the deeps.
88: 7 Thy wrath lieth hard upon me, and thou hast afflicted me with all thy waves.
Selah.
88: 8 Thou hast put away mine acquaintance far from me; thou hast made me an abomination unto them: I am shut up, and I cannot come forth.
88: 9 Mine eye mourneth by reason of affliction: LORD, I have called daily upon thee, I have stretched out my hands unto thee.
88: 10 Wilt thou shew wonders to the dead?
shall the dead arise and praise thee?
Selah.
88: 11 Shall thy lovingkindness be declared in the grave?
or thy faithfulness in destruction?
88: 12 Shall thy wonders be known in the dark?
and thy righteousness in the land of forgetfulness?
88: 13 But unto thee have I cried, O LORD; and in the morning shall my prayer prevent thee.
88: 14 LORD, why castest thou off my soul?
why hidest thou thy face from me?
88: 15 I am afflicted and ready to die from my youth up: while I suffer thy terrors I am distracted.
88: 16 Thy fierce wrath goeth over me; thy terrors have cut me off.
88: 17 They came round about me daily like water; they compassed me about together.
88: 18 Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness.
89: 1 I will sing of the mercies of the LORD for ever: with my mouth will I make known thy faithfulness to all generations.
89: 2 For I have said, Mercy shall be built up for ever: thy faithfulness shalt thou establish in the very heavens.
89: 3 I have made a covenant with my chosen, I have sworn unto David my servant,
89: 4 Thy seed will I establish for ever, and build up thy throne to all generations.
Selah.
89: 5 And the heavens shall praise thy wonders, O LORD: thy faithfulness also in the congregation of the saints.
89: 6 For who in the heaven can be compared unto the LORD?
who among the sons of the mighty can be likened unto the LORD?
89: 7 God is greatly to be feared in the assembly of the saints, and to be had in reverence of all them that are about him.
89: 8 O LORD God of hosts, who is a strong LORD like unto thee?
or to thy faithfulness round about thee?
89: 9 Thou rulest the raging of the sea: when the waves thereof arise, thou stillest them.
89: 10 Thou hast broken Rahab in pieces, as one that is slain; thou hast scattered thine enemies with thy strong arm.
89: 11 The heavens are thine, the earth also is thine: as for the world and the fulness thereof, thou hast founded them.
89: 12 The north and the south thou hast created them: Tabor and Hermon shall rejoice in thy name.
89: 13 Thou hast a mighty arm: strong is thy hand, and high is thy right hand.
89: 14 Justice and judgment are the habitation of thy throne: mercy and truth shall go before thy face.
89: 15 Blessed is the people that know the joyful sound: they shall walk, O LORD, in the light of thy countenance.
89: 16 In thy name shall they rejoice all the day: and in thy righteousness shall they be exalted.
89: 17 For thou art the glory of their strength: and in thy favour our horn shall be exalted.
89: 18 For the LORD is our defence; and the Holy One of Israel is our king.
89: 19 Then thou spakest in vision to thy holy one, and saidst, I have laid help upon one that is mighty; I have exalted one chosen out of the people.
89: 20 I have found David my servant; with my holy oil have I anointed him:
89: 21 With whom my hand shall be established: mine arm also shall strengthen him.
89: 22 The enemy shall not exact upon him; nor the son of wickedness afflict him.
89: 23 And I will beat down his foes before his face, and plague them that hate him.
89: 24 But my faithfulness and my mercy shall be with him: and in my name shall his horn be exalted.
89: 25 I will set his hand also in the sea, and his right hand in the rivers.
89: 26 He shall cry unto me, Thou art my father, my God, and the rock of my salvation.
89: 27 Also I will make him my firstborn, higher than the kings of the earth.
89: 28 My mercy will I keep for him for evermore, and my covenant shall stand fast with him.
89: 29 His seed also will I make to endure for ever, and his throne as the days of heaven.
89: 30 If his children forsake my law, and walk not in my judgments;
89: 31 If they break my statutes, and keep not my commandments;
89: 32 Then will I visit their transgression with the rod, and their iniquity with stripes.
89: 33 Nevertheless my lovingkindness will I not utterly take from him, nor suffer my faithfulness to fail.
89: 34 My covenant will I not break, nor alter the thing that is gone out of my lips.
89: 35 Once have I sworn by my holiness that I will not lie unto David.
89: 36 His seed shall endure for ever, and his throne as the sun before me.
89: 37 It shall be established for ever as the moon, and as a faithful witness in heaven.
Selah.
89: 38 But thou hast cast off and abhorred, thou hast been wroth with thine anointed.
89: 39 Thou hast made void the covenant of thy servant: thou hast profaned his crown by casting it to the ground.
89: 40 Thou hast broken down all his hedges; thou hast brought his strong holds to ruin.
89: 41 All that pass by the way spoil him: he is a reproach to his neighbours.
89: 42 Thou hast set up the right hand of his adversaries; thou hast made all his enemies to rejoice.
89: 43 Thou hast also turned the edge of his sword, and hast not made him to stand in the battle.
89: 44 Thou hast made his glory to cease, and cast his throne down to the ground.
89: 45 The days of his youth hast thou shortened: thou hast covered him with shame.
Selah.
89: 46 How long, LORD?
wilt thou hide thyself for ever?
shall thy wrath burn like fire?
89: 47 Remember how short my time is: wherefore hast thou made all men in vain?
89: 48 What man is he that liveth, and shall not see death?
shall he deliver his soul from the hand of the grave?
Selah.
89: 49 Lord, where are thy former lovingkindnesses, which thou swarest unto David in thy truth?
89: 50 Remember, Lord, the reproach of thy servants; how I do bear in my bosom the reproach of all the mighty people;
89: 51 Wherewith thine enemies have reproached, O LORD; wherewith they have reproached the footsteps of thine anointed.
89: 52 Blessed be the LORD for evermore.
Amen, and Amen.
90: 1 Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations.
90: 2 Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God.
90: 3 Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men.
90: 4 For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night.
90: 5 Thou carriest them away as with a flood; they are as a sleep: in the morning they are like grass which groweth up.
90: 6 In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up; in the evening it is cut down, and withereth.
90: 7 For we are consumed by thine anger, and by thy wrath are we troubled.
90: 8 Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.
90: 9 For all our days are passed away in thy wrath: we spend our years as a tale that is told.
90: 10 The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.
90: 11 Who knoweth the power of thine anger?
even according to thy fear, so is thy wrath.
90: 12 So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.
90: 13 Return, O LORD, how long?
and let it repent thee concerning thy servants.
90: 14 O satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
90: 15 Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil.
90: 16 Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children.
90: 17 And let the beauty of the LORD our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it.
91: 1 He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
91: 2 I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.
91: 3 Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence.
91: 4 He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.
91: 5 Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day;
91: 6 Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.
91: 7 A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.
91: 8 Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked.
91: 9 Because thou hast made the LORD, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation;
91: 10 There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.
91: 11 For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.
91: 12 They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.
91: 13 Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder: the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet.
91: 14 Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name.
91: 15 He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him.
91: 16 With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation.
92: 1 IT IS A GOOD THING TO GIVE THANKS UNTO THE LORD, AND TO SING PRAISES UNTO THY NAME, O MOST HIGH:
92: 2 To shew forth thy lovingkindness in the morning, and thy faithfulness every night,
92: 3 Upon an instrument of ten strings, and upon the psaltery; upon the harp with a solemn sound.
92: 4 For thou, LORD, hast made me glad through thy work: I will triumph in the works of thy hands.
92: 5 O LORD, how great are thy works!
and thy thoughts are very deep.
92: 6 A brutish man knoweth not; neither doth a fool understand this.
92: 7 When the wicked spring as the grass, and when all the workers of iniquity do flourish; it is that they shall be destroyed for ever:
92: 8 But thou, LORD, art most high for evermore.
92: 9 For, lo, thine enemies, O LORD, for, lo, thine enemies shall perish; all the workers of iniquity shall be scattered.
92: 10 But my horn shalt thou exalt like the horn of an unicorn: I shall be anointed with fresh oil.
92: 11 Mine eye also shall see my desire on mine enemies, and mine ears shall hear my desire of the wicked that rise up against me.
92: 12 The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree: he shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon.
92: 13 Those that be planted in the house of the LORD shall flourish in the courts of our God.
92: 14 They shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing;
92: 15 To shew that the LORD is upright: he is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in him.
93: 1 The LORD reigneth, he is clothed with majesty; the LORD is clothed with strength, wherewith he hath girded himself: the world also is stablished, that it cannot be moved.
93: 2 Thy throne is established of old: thou art from everlasting.
93: 3 The floods have lifted up, O LORD, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their waves.
93: 4 The LORD on high is mightier than the noise of many waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea.
93: 5 Thy testimonies are very sure: holiness becometh thine house, O LORD, for ever.
94: 1 O Lord God, to whom vengeance belongeth; O God, to whom vengeance belongeth, shew thyself.
94: 2 Lift up thyself, thou judge of the earth: render a reward to the proud.
94: 3 LORD, how long shall the wicked, how long shall the wicked triumph?
94: 4 How long shall they utter and speak hard things?
and all the workers of iniquity boast themselves?
94: 5 They break in pieces thy people, O LORD, and afflict thine heritage.
94: 6 They slay the widow and the stranger, and murder the fatherless.
94: 7 Yet they say, The LORD shall not see, neither shall the God of Jacob regard it.
94: 8 Understand, ye brutish among the people: and ye fools, when will ye be wise?
94: 9 He that planted the ear, shall he not hear?
he that formed the eye, shall he not see?
94: 10 He that chastiseth the heathen, shall not he correct?
he that teacheth man knowledge, shall not he know?
94: 11 The LORD knoweth the thoughts of man, that they are vanity.
94: 12 Blessed is the man whom thou chastenest, O LORD, and teachest him out of thy law;
94: 13 That thou mayest give him rest from the days of adversity, until the pit be digged for the wicked.
94: 14 For the LORD will not cast off his people, neither will he forsake his inheritance.
94: 15 But judgment shall return unto righteousness: and all the upright in heart shall follow it.
94: 16 Who will rise up for me against the evildoers?
or who will stand up for me against the workers of iniquity?
94: 17 Unless the LORD had been my help, my soul had almost dwelt in silence.
94: 18 When I said, My foot slippeth; thy mercy, O LORD, held me up.
94: 19 In the multitude of my thoughts within me thy comforts delight my soul.
94: 20 Shall the throne of iniquity have fellowship with thee, which frameth mischief by a law?
94: 21 They gather themselves together against the soul of the righteous, and condemn the innocent blood.
94: 22 But the LORD is my defence; and my God is the rock of my refuge.
94: 23 And he shall bring upon them their own iniquity, and shall cut them off in their own wickedness; yea, the LORD our God shall cut them off.
95: 1 O come, let us sing unto the LORD: let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation.
95: 2 Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving, and make a joyful noise unto him with psalms.
95: 3 For the LORD is a great God, and a great King above all gods.
95: 4 In his hand are the deep places of the earth: the strength of the hills is his also.
95: 5 The sea is his, and he made it: and his hands formed the dry land.
95: 6 O come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the LORD our maker.
95: 7 For he is our God; and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand.
To day if ye will hear his voice,
95: 8 Harden not your heart, as in the provocation, and as in the day of temptation in the wilderness:
95: 9 When your fathers tempted me, proved me, and saw my work.
95: 10 Forty years long was I grieved with this generation, and said, It is a people that do err in their heart, and they have not known my ways:
95: 11 Unto whom I sware in my wrath that they should not enter into my rest.
96: 1 O sing unto the LORD a new song: sing unto the LORD, all the earth.
96: 2 Sing unto the LORD, bless his name; shew forth his salvation from day to day.
96: 3 Declare his glory among the heathen, his wonders among all people.
96: 4 For the LORD is great, and greatly to be praised: he is to be feared above all gods.
96: 5 For all the gods of the nations are idols: but the LORD made the heavens.
96: 6 Honour and majesty are before him: strength and beauty are in his sanctuary.
96: 7 Give unto the LORD, O ye kindreds of the people, give unto the LORD glory and strength.
96: 8 Give unto the LORD the glory due unto his name: bring an offering, and come into his courts.
96: 9 O worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness: fear before him, all the earth.
96: 10 Say among the heathen that the LORD reigneth: the world also shall be established that it shall not be moved: he shall judge the people righteously.
96: 11 Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea roar, and the fulness thereof.
96: 12 Let the field be joyful, and all that is therein: then shall all the trees of the wood rejoice
96: 13 Before the LORD: for he cometh, for he cometh to judge the earth: he shall judge the world with righteousness, and the people with his truth.
97: 1 The LORD reigneth; let the earth rejoice; let the multitude of isles be glad thereof.
97: 2 Clouds and darkness are round about him: righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his throne.
97: 3 A fire goeth before him, and burneth up his enemies round about.
97: 4 His lightnings enlightened the world: the earth saw, and trembled.
97: 5 The hills melted like wax at the presence of the LORD, at the presence of the Lord of the whole earth.
97: 6 The heavens declare his righteousness, and all the people see his glory.
97: 7 Confounded be all they that serve graven images, that boast themselves of idols: worship him, all ye gods.
97: 8 Zion heard, and was glad; and the daughters of Judah rejoiced because of thy judgments, O LORD.
97: 9 For thou, LORD, art high above all the earth: thou art exalted far above all gods.
97: 10 Ye that love the LORD, hate evil: he preserveth the souls of his saints; he delivereth them out of the hand of the wicked.
97: 11 Light is sown for the righteous, and gladness for the upright in heart.
97: 12 Rejoice in the LORD, ye righteous; and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness.
98: 1 O sing unto the LORD a new song; for he hath done marvellous things: his right hand, and his holy arm, hath gotten him the victory.
98: 2 The LORD hath made known his salvation: his righteousness hath he openly shewed in the sight of the heathen.
98: 3 He hath remembered his mercy and his truth toward the house of Israel: all the ends of the earth have seen the salvation of our God.
98: 4 Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise.
98: 5 Sing unto the LORD with the harp; with the harp, and the voice of a psalm.
98: 6 With trumpets and sound of cornet make a joyful noise before the LORD, the King.
98: 7 Let the sea roar, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.
98: 8 Let the floods clap their hands: let the hills be joyful together
98: 9 Before the LORD; for he cometh to judge the earth: with righteousness shall he judge the world, and the people with equity.
99: 1 The LORD reigneth; let the people tremble: he sitteth between the cherubims; let the earth be moved.
99: 2 The LORD is great in Zion; and he is high above all the people.
99: 3 Let them praise thy great and terrible name; for it is holy.
99: 4 The king's strength also loveth judgment; thou dost establish equity, thou executest judgment and righteousness in Jacob.
99: 5 Exalt ye the LORD our God, and worship at his footstool; for he is holy.
99: 6 Moses and Aaron among his priests, and Samuel among them that call upon his name; they called upon the LORD, and he answered them.
99: 7 He spake unto them in the cloudy pillar: they kept his testimonies, and the ordinance that he gave them.
99: 8 Thou answeredst them, O LORD our God: thou wast a God that forgavest them, though thou tookest vengeance of their inventions.
99: 9 Exalt the LORD our God, and worship at his holy hill; for the LORD our God is holy.
100: 1 Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all ye lands.
100: 2 Serve the LORD with gladness: come before his presence with singing.
100: 3 Know ye that the LORD he is God: it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.
100: 4 Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name.
100: 5 For the LORD is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations.
101: 1 I will sing of mercy and judgment: unto thee, O LORD, will I sing.
101: 2 I will behave myself wisely in a perfect way.
O when wilt thou come unto me?
I will walk within my house with a perfect heart.
101: 3 I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes: I hate the work of them that turn aside; it shall not cleave to me.
101: 4 A froward heart shall depart from me: I will not know a wicked person.
101: 5 Whoso privily slandereth his neighbour, him will I cut off: him that hath an high look and a proud heart will not I suffer.
101: 6 Mine eyes shall be upon the faithful of the land, that they may dwell with me: he that walketh in a perfect way, he shall serve me.
101: 7 He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house: he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight.
101: 8 I will early destroy all the wicked of the land; that I may cut off all wicked doers from the city of the LORD.
102: 1 Hear my prayer, O LORD, and let my cry come unto thee.
102: 2 Hide not thy face from me in the day when I am in trouble; incline thine ear unto me: in the day when I call answer me speedily.
102: 3 For my days are consumed like smoke, and my bones are burned as an hearth.
102: 4 My heart is smitten, and withered like grass; so that I forget to eat my bread.
102: 5 By reason of the voice of my groaning my bones cleave to my skin.
102: 6 I am like a pelican of the wilderness: I am like an owl of the desert.
102: 7 I watch, and am as a sparrow alone upon the house top.
102: 8 Mine enemies reproach me all the day; and they that are mad against me are sworn against me.
102: 9 For I have eaten ashes like bread, and mingled my drink with weeping.
102: 10 Because of thine indignation and thy wrath: for thou hast lifted me up, and cast me down.
102: 11 My days are like a shadow that declineth; and I am withered like grass.
102: 12 But thou, O LORD, shall endure for ever; and thy remembrance unto all generations.
102: 13 Thou shalt arise, and have mercy upon Zion: for the time to favour her, yea, the set time, is come.
102: 14 For thy servants take pleasure in her stones, and favour the dust thereof.
102: 15 So the heathen shall fear the name of the LORD, and all the kings of the earth thy glory.
102: 16 When the LORD shall build up Zion, he shall appear in his glory.
102: 17 He will regard the prayer of the destitute, and not despise their prayer.
102: 18 This shall be written for the generation to come: and the people which shall be created shall praise the LORD.
102: 19 For he hath looked down from the height of his sanctuary; from heaven did the LORD behold the earth;
102: 20 To hear the groaning of the prisoner; to loose those that are appointed to death;
102: 21 To declare the name of the LORD in Zion, and his praise in Jerusalem;
102: 22 When the people are gathered together, and the kingdoms, to serve the LORD.
102: 23 He weakened my strength in the way; he shortened my days.
102: 24 I said, O my God, take me not away in the midst of my days: thy years are throughout all generations.
102: 25 Of old hast thou laid the foundation of the earth: and the heavens are the work of thy hands.
102: 26 They shall perish, but thou shalt endure: yea, all of them shall wax old like a garment; as a vesture shalt thou change them, and they shall be changed:
102: 27 But thou art the same, and thy years shall have no end.
102: 28 The children of thy servants shall continue, and their seed shall be established before thee.
103: 1 Bless the LORD, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name.
103: 2 Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits:
103: 3 Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases;
103: 4 Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies;
103: 5 Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.
103: 6 The LORD executeth righteousness and judgment for all that are oppressed.
103: 7 He made known his ways unto Moses, his acts unto the children of Israel.
103: 8 The LORD is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy.
103: 9 He will not always chide: neither will he keep his anger for ever.
103: 10 He hath not dealt with us after our sins; nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.
103: 11 For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great is his mercy toward them that fear him.
103: 12 As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.
103: 13 Like as a father pitieth his children, so the LORD pitieth them that fear him.
103: 14 For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.
103: 15 As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth.
103: 16 For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more.
103: 17 But the mercy of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him, and his righteousness unto children's children;
103: 18 To such as keep his covenant, and to those that remember his commandments to do them.
103: 19 The LORD hath prepared his throne in the heavens; and his kingdom ruleth over all.
103: 20 Bless the LORD, ye his angels, that excel in strength, that do his commandments, hearkening unto the voice of his word.
103: 21 Bless ye the LORD, all ye his hosts; ye ministers of his, that do his pleasure.
103: 22 Bless the LORD, all his works in all places of his dominion: bless the LORD, O my soul.
104: 1 Bless the LORD, O my soul.
O LORD my God, thou art very great; thou art clothed with honour and majesty.
104: 2 Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment: who stretchest out the heavens like a curtain:
104: 3 Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters: who maketh the clouds his chariot: who walketh upon the wings of the wind:
104: 4 Who maketh his angels spirits; his ministers a flaming fire:
104: 5 Who laid the foundations of the earth, that it should not be removed for ever.
104: 6 Thou coveredst it with the deep as with a garment: the waters stood above the mountains.
104: 7 At thy rebuke they fled; at the voice of thy thunder they hasted away.
104: 8 They go up by the mountains; they go down by the valleys unto the place which thou hast founded for them.
104: 9 Thou hast set a bound that they may not pass over; that they turn not again to cover the earth.
104: 10 He sendeth the springs into the valleys, which run among the hills.
104: 11 They give drink to every beast of the field: the wild asses quench their thirst.
104: 12 By them shall the fowls of the heaven have their habitation, which sing among the branches.
104: 13 He watereth the hills from his chambers: the earth is satisfied with the fruit of thy works.
104: 14 He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man: that he may bring forth food out of the earth;
104: 15 And wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and oil to make his face to shine, and bread which strengtheneth man's heart.
104: 16 The trees of the LORD are full of sap; the cedars of Lebanon, which he hath planted;
104: 17 Where the birds make their nests: as for the stork, the fir trees are her house.
104: 18 The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats; and the rocks for the conies.
104: 19 He appointed the moon for seasons: the sun knoweth his going down.
104: 20 Thou makest darkness, and it is night: wherein all the beasts of the forest do creep forth.
104: 21 The young lions roar after their prey, and seek their meat from God.
104: 22 The sun ariseth, they gather themselves together, and lay them down in their dens.
104: 23 Man goeth forth unto his work and to his labour until the evening.
104: 24 O LORD, how manifold are thy works!
in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches.
104: 25 So is this great and wide sea, wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts.
104: 26 There go the ships: there is that leviathan, whom thou hast made to play therein.
104: 27 These wait all upon thee; that thou mayest give them their meat in due season.
104: 28 That thou givest them they gather: thou openest thine hand, they are filled with good.
104: 29 Thou hidest thy face, they are troubled: thou takest away their breath, they die, and return to their dust.
104: 30 Thou sendest forth thy spirit, they are created: and thou renewest the face of the earth.
104: 31 The glory of the LORD shall endure for ever: the LORD shall rejoice in his works.
104: 32 He looketh on the earth, and it trembleth: he toucheth the hills, and they smoke.
104: 33 I will sing unto the LORD as long as I live: I will sing praise to my God while I have my being.
104: 34 My meditation of him shall be sweet: I will be glad in the LORD.
104: 35 Let the sinners be consumed out of the earth, and let the wicked be no more.
Bless thou the LORD, O my soul.
Praise ye the LORD.
105: 1 O give thanks unto the LORD; call upon his name: make known his deeds among the people.
105: 2 Sing unto him, sing psalms unto him: talk ye of all his wondrous works.
105: 3 Glory ye in his holy name: let the heart of them rejoice that seek the LORD.
105: 4 Seek the LORD, and his strength: seek his face evermore.
105: 5 Remember his marvellous works that he hath done; his wonders, and the judgments of his mouth;
105: 6 O ye seed of Abraham his servant, ye children of Jacob his chosen.
105: 7 He is the LORD our God: his judgments are in all the earth.
105: 8 He hath remembered his covenant for ever, the word which he commanded to a thousand generations.
105: 9 Which covenant he made with Abraham, and his oath unto Isaac;
105: 10 And confirmed the same unto Jacob for a law, and to Israel for an everlasting covenant:
105: 11 Saying, Unto thee will I give the land of Canaan, the lot of your inheritance:
105: 12 When they were but a few men in number; yea, very few, and strangers in it.
105: 13 When they went from one nation to another, from one kingdom to another people;
105: 14 He suffered no man to do them wrong: yea, he reproved kings for their sakes;
105: 15 Saying, Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm.
105: 16 Moreover he called for a famine upon the land: he brake the whole staff of bread.
105: 17 He sent a man before them, even Joseph, who was sold for a servant:
105: 18 Whose feet they hurt with fetters: he was laid in iron:
105: 19 Until the time that his word came: the word of the LORD tried him.
105: 20 The king sent and loosed him; even the ruler of the people, and let him go free.
105: 21 He made him lord of his house, and ruler of all his substance:
105: 22 To bind his princes at his pleasure; and teach his senators wisdom.
105: 23 Israel also came into Egypt; and Jacob sojourned in the land of Ham.
105: 24 And he increased his people greatly; and made them stronger than their enemies.
105: 25 He turned their heart to hate his people, to deal subtilly with his servants.
105: 26 He sent Moses his servant; and Aaron whom he had chosen.
105: 27 They shewed his signs among them, and wonders in the land of Ham.
105: 28 He sent darkness, and made it dark; and they rebelled not against his word.
105: 29 He turned their waters into blood, and slew their fish.
105: 30 Their land brought forth frogs in abundance, in the chambers of their kings.
105: 31 He spake, and there came divers sorts of flies, and lice in all their coasts.
105: 32 He gave them hail for rain, and flaming fire in their land.
105: 33 He smote their vines also and their fig trees; and brake the trees of their coasts.
105: 34 He spake, and the locusts came, and caterpillers, and that without number,
105: 35 And did eat up all the herbs in their land, and devoured the fruit of their ground.
105: 36 He smote also all the firstborn in their land, the chief of all their strength.
105: 37 He brought them forth also with silver and gold: and there was not one feeble person among their tribes.
105: 38 Egypt was glad when they departed: for the fear of them fell upon them.
105: 39 He spread a cloud for a covering; and fire to give light in the night.
105: 40 The people asked, and he brought quails, and satisfied them with the bread of heaven.
105: 41 He opened the rock, and the waters gushed out; they ran in the dry places like a river.
105: 42 For he remembered his holy promise, and Abraham his servant.
105: 43 And he brought forth his people with joy, and his chosen with gladness:
105: 44 And gave them the lands of the heathen: and they inherited the labour of the people;
105: 45 That they might observe his statutes, and keep his laws.
Praise ye the LORD.
106: 1 Praise ye the LORD.
O give thanks unto the LORD; for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever.
106: 2 Who can utter the mighty acts of the LORD?
who can shew forth all his praise?
106: 3 Blessed are they that keep judgment, and he that doeth righteousness at all times.
106: 4 Remember me, O LORD, with the favour that thou bearest unto thy people: O visit me with thy salvation;
106: 5 That I may see the good of thy chosen, that I may rejoice in the gladness of thy nation, that I may glory with thine inheritance.
106: 6 We have sinned with our fathers, we have committed iniquity, we have done wickedly.
106: 7 Our fathers understood not thy wonders in Egypt; they remembered not the multitude of thy mercies; but provoked him at the sea, even at the Red sea.
106: 8 Nevertheless he saved them for his name's sake, that he might make his mighty power to be known.
106: 9 He rebuked the Red sea also, and it was dried up: so he led them through the depths, as through the wilderness.
106: 10 And he saved them from the hand of him that hated them, and redeemed them from the hand of the enemy.
106: 11 And the waters covered their enemies: there was not one of them left.
106: 12 Then believed they his words; they sang his praise.
106: 13 They soon forgat his works; they waited not for his counsel:
106: 14 But lusted exceedingly in the wilderness, and tempted God in the desert.
106: 15 And he gave them their request; but sent leanness into their soul.
106: 16 They envied Moses also in the camp, and Aaron the saint of the LORD.
106: 17 The earth opened and swallowed up Dathan and covered the company of Abiram.
106: 18 And a fire was kindled in their company; the flame burned up the wicked.
106: 19 They made a calf in Horeb, and worshipped the molten image.
106: 20 Thus they changed their glory into the similitude of an ox that eateth grass.
106: 21 They forgat God their saviour, which had done great things in Egypt;
106: 22 Wondrous works in the land of Ham, and terrible things by the Red sea.
106: 23 Therefore he said that he would destroy them, had not Moses his chosen stood before him in the breach, to turn away his wrath, lest he should destroy them.
106: 24 Yea, they despised the pleasant land, they believed not his word:
106: 25 But murmured in their tents, and hearkened not unto the voice of the LORD.
106: 26 Therefore he lifted up his hand against them, to overthrow them in the wilderness:
106: 27 To overthrow their seed also among the nations, and to scatter them in the lands.
106: 28 They joined themselves also unto Baalpeor, and ate the sacrifices of the dead.
106: 29 Thus they provoked him to anger with their inventions: and the plague brake in upon them.
106: 30 Then stood up Phinehas, and executed judgment: and so the plague was stayed.
106: 31 And that was counted unto him for righteousness unto all generations for evermore.
106: 32 They angered him also at the waters of strife, so that it went ill with Moses for their sakes:
106: 33 Because they provoked his spirit, so that he spake unadvisedly with his lips.
106: 34 They did not destroy the nations, concerning whom the LORD commanded them:
106: 35 But were mingled among the heathen, and learned their works.
106: 36 And they served their idols: which were a snare unto them.
106: 37 Yea, they sacrificed their sons and their daughters unto devils,
106: 38 And shed innocent blood, even the blood of their sons and of their daughters, whom they sacrificed unto the idols of Canaan: and the land was polluted with blood.
106: 39 Thus were they defiled with their own works, and went a whoring with their own inventions.
106: 40 Therefore was the wrath of the LORD kindled against his people, insomuch that he abhorred his own inheritance.
106: 41 And he gave them into the hand of the heathen; and they that hated them ruled over them.
106: 42 Their enemies also oppressed them, and they were brought into subjection under their hand.
106: 43 Many times did he deliver them; but they provoked him with their counsel, and were brought low for their iniquity.
106: 44 Nevertheless he regarded their affliction, when he heard their cry:
106: 45 And he remembered for them his covenant, and repented according to the multitude of his mercies.
106: 46 He made them also to be pitied of all those that carried them captives.
106: 47 Save us, O LORD our God, and gather us from among the heathen, to give thanks unto thy holy name, and to triumph in thy praise.
106: 48 Blessed be the LORD God of Israel from everlasting to everlasting: and let all the people say, Amen.
Praise ye the LORD.
107: 1 O give thanks unto the LORD, for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever.
107: 2 Let the redeemed of the LORD say so, whom he hath redeemed from the hand of the enemy;
107: 3 And gathered them out of the lands, from the east, and from the west, from the north, and from the south.
107: 4 They wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way; they found no city to dwell in.
107: 5 Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted in them.
107: 6 Then they cried unto the LORD in their trouble, and he delivered them out of their distresses.
107: 7 And he led them forth by the right way, that they might go to a city of habitation.
107: 8 Oh that men would praise the LORD for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!
107: 9 For he satisfieth the longing soul, and filleth the hungry soul with goodness.
107: 10 Such as sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, being bound in affliction and iron;
107: 11 Because they rebelled against the words of God, and contemned the counsel of the most High:
107: 12 Therefore he brought down their heart with labour; they fell down, and there was none to help.
107: 13 Then they cried unto the LORD in their trouble, and he saved them out of their distresses.
107: 14 He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death, and brake their bands in sunder.
107: 15 Oh that men would praise the LORD for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!
107: 16 For he hath broken the gates of brass, and cut the bars of iron in sunder.
107: 17 Fools because of their transgression, and because of their iniquities, are afflicted.
107: 18 Their soul abhorreth all manner of meat; and they draw near unto the gates of death.
107: 19 Then they cry unto the LORD in their trouble, and he saveth them out of their distresses.
107: 20 He sent his word, and healed them, and delivered them from their destructions.
107: 21 Oh that men would praise the LORD for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!
107: 22 And let them sacrifice the sacrifices of thanksgiving, and declare his works with rejoicing.
107: 23 They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters;
107: 24 These see the works of the LORD, and his wonders in the deep.
107: 25 For he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof.
107: 26 They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because of trouble.
107: 27 They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end.
107: 28 Then they cry unto the LORD in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses.
107: 29 He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.
107: 30 Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven.
107: 31 Oh that men would praise the LORD for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!
107: 32 Let them exalt him also in the congregation of the people, and praise him in the assembly of the elders.
107: 33 He turneth rivers into a wilderness, and the watersprings into dry ground;
107: 34 A fruitful land into barrenness, for the wickedness of them that dwell therein.
107: 35 He turneth the wilderness into a standing water, and dry ground into watersprings.
107: 36 And there he maketh the hungry to dwell, that they may prepare a city for habitation;
107: 37 And sow the fields, and plant vineyards, which may yield fruits of increase.
107: 38 He blesseth them also, so that they are multiplied greatly; and suffereth not their cattle to decrease.
107: 39 Again, they are minished and brought low through oppression, affliction, and sorrow.
107: 40 He poureth contempt upon princes, and causeth them to wander in the wilderness, where there is no way.
107: 41 Yet setteth he the poor on high from affliction, and maketh him families like a flock.
107: 42 The righteous shall see it, and rejoice: and all iniquity shall stop her mouth.
107: 43 Whoso is wise, and will observe these things, even they shall understand the lovingkindness of the LORD.
108: 1 O god, my heart is fixed; I will sing and give praise, even with my glory.
108: 2 Awake, psaltery and harp: I myself will awake early.
108: 3 I will praise thee, O LORD, among the people: and I will sing praises unto thee among the nations.
108: 4 For thy mercy is great above the heavens: and thy truth reacheth unto the clouds.
108: 5 Be thou exalted, O God, above the heavens: and thy glory above all the earth;
108: 6 That thy beloved may be delivered: save with thy right hand, and answer me.
108: 7 God hath spoken in his holiness; I will rejoice, I will divide Shechem, and mete out the valley of Succoth.
108: 8 Gilead is mine; Manasseh is mine; Ephraim also is the strength of mine head; Judah is my lawgiver;
108: 9 Moab is my washpot; over Edom will I cast out my shoe; over Philistia will I triumph.
108: 10 Who will bring me into the strong city?
who will lead me into Edom?
108: 11 Wilt not thou, O God, who hast cast us off?
and wilt not thou, O God, go forth with our hosts?
108: 12 Give us help from trouble: for vain is the help of man.
108: 13 Through God we shall do valiantly: for he it is that shall tread down our enemies.
109: 1 Hold not thy peace, O God of my praise;
109: 2 For the mouth of the wicked and the mouth of the deceitful are opened against me: they have spoken against me with a lying tongue.
109: 3 They compassed me about also with words of hatred; and fought against me without a cause.
109: 4 For my love they are my adversaries: but I give myself unto prayer.
109: 5 And they have rewarded me evil for good, and hatred for my love.
109: 6 Set thou a wicked man over him: and let Satan stand at his right hand.
109: 7 When he shall be judged, let him be condemned: and let his prayer become sin.
109: 8 Let his days be few; and let another take his office.
109: 9 Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow.
109: 10 Let his children be continually vagabonds, and beg: let them seek their bread also out of their desolate places.
109: 11 Let the extortioner catch all that he hath; and let the strangers spoil his labour.
109: 12 Let there be none to extend mercy unto him: neither let there be any to favour his fatherless children.
109: 13 Let his posterity be cut off; and in the generation following let their name be blotted out.
109: 14 Let the iniquity of his fathers be remembered with the LORD; and let not the sin of his mother be blotted out.
109: 15 Let them be before the LORD continually, that he may cut off the memory of them from the earth.
109: 16 Because that he remembered not to shew mercy, but persecuted the poor and needy man, that he might even slay the broken in heart.
109: 17 As he loved cursing, so let it come unto him: as he delighted not in blessing, so let it be far from him.
109: 18 As he clothed himself with cursing like as with his garment, so let it come into his bowels like water, and like oil into his bones.
109: 19 Let it be unto him as the garment which covereth him, and for a girdle wherewith he is girded continually.
109: 20 Let this be the reward of mine adversaries from the LORD, and of them that speak evil against my soul.
109: 21 But do thou for me, O GOD the Lord, for thy name's sake: because thy mercy is good, deliver thou me.
109: 22 For I am poor and needy, and my heart is wounded within me.
109: 23 I am gone like the shadow when it declineth: I am tossed up and down as the locust.
109: 24 My knees are weak through fasting; and my flesh faileth of fatness.
109: 25 I became also a reproach unto them: when they looked upon me they shaked their heads.
109: 26 Help me, O LORD my God: O save me according to thy mercy:
109: 27 That they may know that this is thy hand; that thou, LORD, hast done it.
109: 28 Let them curse, but bless thou: when they arise, let them be ashamed; but let thy servant rejoice.
109: 29 Let mine adversaries be clothed with shame, and let them cover themselves with their own confusion, as with a mantle.
109: 30 I will greatly praise the LORD with my mouth; yea, I will praise him among the multitude.
109: 31 For he shall stand at the right hand of the poor, to save him from those that condemn his soul.
110: 1 The LORD said unto my Lord, Sit thou at my right hand, until I make thine enemies thy footstool.
110: 2 The LORD shall send the rod of thy strength out of Zion: rule thou in the midst of thine enemies.
110: 3 Thy people shall be willing in the day of thy power, in the beauties of holiness from the womb of the morning: thou hast the dew of thy youth.
110: 4 The LORD hath sworn, and will not repent, Thou art a priest for ever after the order of Melchizedek.
110: 5 The Lord at thy right hand shall strike through kings in the day of his wrath.
110: 6 He shall judge among the heathen, he shall fill the places with the dead bodies; he shall wound the heads over many countries.
110: 7 He shall drink of the brook in the way: therefore shall he lift up the head.
111: 1 Praise ye the LORD.
I will praise the LORD with my whole heart, in the assembly of the upright, and in the congregation.
111: 2 The works of the LORD are great, sought out of all them that have pleasure therein.
111: 3 His work is honourable and glorious: and his righteousness endureth for ever.
111: 4 He hath made his wonderful works to be remembered: the LORD is gracious and full of compassion.
111: 5 He hath given meat unto them that fear him: he will ever be mindful of his covenant.
111: 6 He hath shewed his people the power of his works, that he may give them the heritage of the heathen.
111: 7 The works of his hands are verity and judgment; all his commandments are sure.
111: 8 They stand fast for ever and ever, and are done in truth and uprightness.
111: 9 He sent redemption unto his people: he hath commanded his covenant for ever: holy and reverend is his name.
111: 10 The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom: a good understanding have all they that do his commandments: his praise endureth for ever.
112: 1 Praise ye the LORD.
Blessed is the man that feareth the LORD, that delighteth greatly in his commandments.
112: 2 His seed shall be mighty upon earth: the generation of the upright shall be blessed.
112: 3 Wealth and riches shall be in his house: and his righteousness endureth for ever.
112: 4 Unto the upright there ariseth light in the darkness: he is gracious, and full of compassion, and righteous.
112: 5 A good man sheweth favour, and lendeth: he will guide his affairs with discretion.
112: 6 Surely he shall not be moved for ever: the righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance.
112: 7 He shall not be afraid of evil tidings: his heart is fixed, trusting in the LORD.
112: 8 His heart is established, he shall not be afraid, until he see his desire upon his enemies.
112: 9 He hath dispersed, he hath given to the poor; his righteousness endureth for ever; his horn shall be exalted with honour.
112: 10 The wicked shall see it, and be grieved; he shall gnash with his teeth, and melt away: the desire of the wicked shall perish.
113: 1 Praise ye the LORD.
Praise, O ye servants of the LORD, praise the name of the LORD.
113: 2 Blessed be the name of the LORD from this time forth and for evermore.
113: 3 From the rising of the sun unto the going down of the same the LORD's name is to be praised.
113: 4 The LORD is high above all nations, and his glory above the heavens.
113: 5 Who is like unto the LORD our God, who dwelleth on high,
113: 6 Who humbleth himself to behold the things that are in heaven, and in the earth!
113: 7 He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, and lifteth the needy out of the dunghill;
113: 8 That he may set him with princes, even with the princes of his people.
113: 9 He maketh the barren woman to keep house, and to be a joyful mother of children.
Praise ye the LORD.
114: 1 When Israel went out of Egypt, the house of Jacob from a people of strange language;
114: 2 Judah was his sanctuary, and Israel his dominion.
114: 3 The sea saw it, and fled: Jordan was driven back.
114: 4 The mountains skipped like rams, and the little hills like lambs.
114: 5 What ailed thee, O thou sea, that thou fleddest?
thou Jordan, that thou wast driven back?
114: 6 Ye mountains, that ye skipped like rams; and ye little hills, like lambs?
114: 7 Tremble, thou earth, at the presence of the Lord, at the presence of the God of Jacob;
114: 8 Which turned the rock into a standing water, the flint into a fountain of waters.
115: 1 Not unto us, O LORD, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory, for thy mercy, and for thy truth's sake.
115: 2 Wherefore should the heathen say, Where is now their God?
115: 3 But our God is in the heavens: he hath done whatsoever he hath pleased.
115: 4 Their idols are silver and gold, the work of men's hands.
115: 5 They have mouths, but they speak not: eyes have they, but they see not:
115: 6 They have ears, but they hear not: noses have they, but they smell not:
115: 7 They have hands, but they handle not: feet have they, but they walk not: neither speak they through their throat.
115: 8 They that make them are like unto them; so is every one that trusteth in them.
115: 9 O Israel, trust thou in the LORD: he is their help and their shield.
115: 10 O house of Aaron, trust in the LORD: he is their help and their shield.
115: 11 Ye that fear the LORD, trust in the LORD: he is their help and their shield.
115: 12 The LORD hath been mindful of us: he will bless us; he will bless the house of Israel; he will bless the house of Aaron.
115: 13 He will bless them that fear the LORD, both small and great.
115: 14 The LORD shall increase you more and more, you and your children.
115: 15 Ye are blessed of the LORD which made heaven and earth.
115: 16 The heaven, even the heavens, are the LORD's: but the earth hath he given to the children of men.
115: 17 The dead praise not the LORD, neither any that go down into silence.
115: 18 But we will bless the LORD from this time forth and for evermore.
Praise the LORD.
116: 1 I love the LORD, because he hath heard my voice and my supplications.
116: 2 Because he hath inclined his ear unto me, therefore will I call upon him as long as I live.
116: 3 The sorrows of death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat hold upon me: I found trouble and sorrow.
116: 4 Then called I upon the name of the LORD; O LORD, I beseech thee, deliver my soul.
116: 5 Gracious is the LORD, and righteous; yea, our God is merciful.
116: 6 The LORD preserveth the simple: I was brought low, and he helped me.
116: 7 Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the LORD hath dealt bountifully with thee.
116: 8 For thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling.
116: 9 I will walk before the LORD in the land of the living.
116: 10 I believed, therefore have I spoken: I was greatly afflicted:
116: 11 I said in my haste, All men are liars.
116: 12 What shall I render unto the LORD for all his benefits toward me?
116: 13 I will take the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of the LORD.
116: 14 I will pay my vows unto the LORD now in the presence of all his people.
116: 15 Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.
116: 16 O LORD, truly I am thy servant; I am thy servant, and the son of thine handmaid: thou hast loosed my bonds.
116: 17 I will offer to thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving, and will call upon the name of the LORD.
116: 18 I will pay my vows unto the LORD now in the presence of all his people.
116: 19 In the courts of the LORD's house, in the midst of thee, O Jerusalem.
Praise ye the LORD.
117: 1 O praise the LORD, all ye nations: praise him, all ye people.
117: 2 For his merciful kindness is great toward us: and the truth of the LORD endureth for ever.
Praise ye the LORD.
118: 1 O give thanks unto the LORD; for he is good: because his mercy endureth for ever.
118: 2 Let Israel now say, that his mercy endureth for ever.
118: 3 Let the house of Aaron now say, that his mercy endureth for ever.
118: 4 Let them now that fear the LORD say, that his mercy endureth for ever.
118: 5 I called upon the LORD in distress: the LORD answered me, and set me in a large place.
118: 6 The LORD is on my side; I will not fear: what can man do unto me?
118: 7 The LORD taketh my part with them that help me: therefore shall I see my desire upon them that hate me.
118: 8 It is better to trust in the LORD than to put confidence in man.
118: 9 It is better to trust in the LORD than to put confidence in princes.
118: 10 All nations compassed me about: but in the name of the LORD will I destroy them.
118: 11 They compassed me about; yea, they compassed me about: but in the name of the LORD I will destroy them.
118: 12 They compassed me about like bees: they are quenched as the fire of thorns: for in the name of the LORD I will destroy them.
118: 13 Thou hast thrust sore at me that I might fall: but the LORD helped me.
118: 14 The LORD is my strength and song, and is become my salvation.
118: 15 The voice of rejoicing and salvation is in the tabernacles of the righteous: the right hand of the LORD doeth valiantly.
118: 16 The right hand of the LORD is exalted: the right hand of the LORD doeth valiantly.
118: 17 I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the LORD.
118: 18 The LORD hath chastened me sore: but he hath not given me over unto death.
118: 19 Open to me the gates of righteousness: I will go into them, and I will praise the LORD:
118: 20 This gate of the LORD, into which the righteous shall enter.
118: 21 I will praise thee: for thou hast heard me, and art become my salvation.
118: 22 The stone which the builders refused is become the head stone of the corner.
118: 23 This is the LORD's doing; it is marvellous in our eyes.
118: 24 This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.
118: 25 Save now, I beseech thee, O LORD: O LORD, I beseech thee, send now prosperity.
118: 26 Blessed be he that cometh in the name of the LORD: we have blessed you out of the house of the LORD.
118: 27 God is the LORD, which hath shewed us light: bind the sacrifice with cords, even unto the horns of the altar.
118: 28 Thou art my God, and I will praise thee: thou art my God, I will exalt thee.
118: 29 O give thanks unto the LORD; for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever.
119: 1 Blessed are the undefiled in the way, who walk in the law of the LORD.
119: 2 Blessed are they that keep his testimonies, and that seek him with the whole heart.
119: 3 They also do no iniquity: they walk in his ways.
119: 4 Thou hast commanded us to keep thy precepts diligently.
119: 5 O that my ways were directed to keep thy statutes!
119: 6 Then shall I not be ashamed, when I have respect unto all thy commandments.
119: 7 I will praise thee with uprightness of heart, when I shall have learned thy righteous judgments.
119: 8 I will keep thy statutes: O forsake me not utterly.
119: 9 Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way?
by taking heed thereto according to thy word.
119: 10 With my whole heart have I sought thee: O let me not wander from thy commandments.
119: 11 Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee.
119: 12 Blessed art thou, O LORD: teach me thy statutes.
119: 13 With my lips have I declared all the judgments of thy mouth.
119: 14 I have rejoiced in the way of thy testimonies, as much as in all riches.
119: 15 I will meditate in thy precepts, and have respect unto thy ways.
119: 16 I will delight myself in thy statutes: I will not forget thy word.
119: 17 Deal bountifully with thy servant, that I may live, and keep thy word.
119: 18 Open thou mine eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of thy law.
119: 19 I am a stranger in the earth: hide not thy commandments from me.
119: 20 My soul breaketh for the longing that it hath unto thy judgments at all times.
119: 21 Thou hast rebuked the proud that are cursed, which do err from thy commandments.
119: 22 Remove from me reproach and contempt; for I have kept thy testimonies.
119: 23 Princes also did sit and speak against me: but thy servant did meditate in thy statutes.
119: 24 Thy testimonies also are my delight and my counsellors. leth.
119: 25 My soul cleaveth unto the dust: quicken thou me according to thy word.
119: 26 I have declared my ways, and thou heardest me: teach me thy statutes.
119: 27 Make me to understand the way of thy precepts: so shall I talk of thy wondrous works.
119: 28 My soul melteth for heaviness: strengthen thou me according unto thy word.
119: 29 Remove from me the way of lying: and grant me thy law graciously.
119: 30 I have chosen the way of truth: thy judgments have I laid before me.
119: 31 I have stuck unto thy testimonies: O LORD, put me not to shame.
119: 32 I will run the way of thy commandments, when thou shalt enlarge my heart.
119: 33 Teach me, O LORD, the way of thy statutes; and I shall keep it unto the end.
119: 34 Give me understanding, and I shall keep thy law; yea, I shall observe it with my whole heart.
119: 35 Make me to go in the path of thy commandments; for therein do I delight.
119: 36 Incline my heart unto thy testimonies, and not to covetousness.
119: 37 Turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity; and quicken thou me in thy way.
119: 38 Stablish thy word unto thy servant, who is devoted to thy fear.
119: 39 Turn away my reproach which I fear: for thy judgments are good.
119: 40 Behold, I have longed after thy precepts: quicken me in thy righteousness.
119: 41 Let thy mercies come also unto me, O LORD, even thy salvation, according to thy word.
119: 42 So shall I have wherewith to answer him that reproacheth me: for I trust in thy word.
119: 43 And take not the word of truth utterly out of my mouth; for I have hoped in thy judgments.
119: 44 So shall I keep thy law continually for ever and ever.
119: 45 And I will walk at liberty: for I seek thy precepts.
119: 46 I will speak of thy testimonies also before kings, and will not be ashamed.
119: 47 And I will delight myself in thy commandments, which I have loved.
119: 48 My hands also will I lift up unto thy commandments, which I have loved; and I will meditate in thy statutes.
119: 49 Remember the word unto thy servant, upon which thou hast caused me to hope.
119: 50 This is my comfort in my affliction: for thy word hath quickened me.
119: 51 The proud have had me greatly in derision: yet have I not declined from thy law.
119: 52 I remembered thy judgments of old, O LORD; and have comforted myself.
119: 53 Horror hath taken hold upon me because of the wicked that forsake thy law.
119: 54 Thy statutes have been my songs in the house of my pilgrimage.
119: 55 I have remembered thy name, O LORD, in the night, and have kept thy law.
119: 56 This I had, because I kept thy precepts.
119: 57 Thou art my portion, O LORD: I have said that I would keep thy words.
119: 58 I intreated thy favour with my whole heart: be merciful unto me according to thy word.
119: 59 I thought on my ways, and turned my feet unto thy testimonies.
119: 60 I made haste, and delayed not to keep thy commandments.
119: 61 The bands of the wicked have robbed me: but I have not forgotten thy law.
119: 62 At midnight I will rise to give thanks unto thee because of thy righteous judgments.
119: 63 I am a companion of all them that fear thee, and of them that keep thy precepts.
119: 64 The earth, O LORD, is full of thy mercy: teach me thy statutes.
119: 65 Thou hast dealt well with thy servant, O LORD, according unto thy word.
119: 66 Teach me good judgment and knowledge: for I have believed thy commandments.
119: 67 Before I was afflicted I went astray: but now have I kept thy word.
119: 68 Thou art good, and doest good; teach me thy statutes.
119: 69 The proud have forged a lie against me: but I will keep thy precepts with my whole heart.
119: 70 Their heart is as fat as grease; but I delight in thy law.
119: 71 It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes.
119: 72 The law of thy mouth is better unto me than thousands of gold and silver.
119: 73 Thy hands have made me and fashioned me: give me understanding, that I may learn thy commandments.
119: 74 They that fear thee will be glad when they see me; because I have hoped in thy word.
119: 75 I know, O LORD, that thy judgments are right, and that thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me.
119: 76 Let, I pray thee, thy merciful kindness be for my comfort, according to thy word unto thy servant.
119: 77 Let thy tender mercies come unto me, that I may live: for thy law is my delight.
119: 78 Let the proud be ashamed; for they dealt perversely with me without a cause: but I will meditate in thy precepts.
119: 79 Let those that fear thee turn unto me, and those that have known thy testimonies.
119: 80 Let my heart be sound in thy statutes; that I be not ashamed.
119: 81 My soul fainteth for thy salvation: but I hope in thy word.
119: 82 Mine eyes fail for thy word, saying, When wilt thou comfort me?
119: 83 For I am become like a bottle in the smoke; yet do I not forget thy statutes.
119: 84 How many are the days of thy servant?
when wilt thou execute judgment on them that persecute me?
119: 85 The proud have digged pits for me, which are not after thy law.
119: 86 All thy commandments are faithful: they persecute me wrongfully; help thou me.
119: 87 They had almost consumed me upon earth; but I forsook not thy precepts.
119: 88 Quicken me after thy lovingkindness; so shall I keep the testimony of thy mouth.
119: 89 For ever, O LORD, thy word is settled in heaven.
119: 90 Thy faithfulness is unto all generations: thou hast established the earth, and it abideth.
119: 91 They continue this day according to thine ordinances: for all are thy servants.
119: 92 Unless thy law had been my delights, I should then have perished in mine affliction.
119: 93 I will never forget thy precepts: for with them thou hast quickened me.
119: 94 I am thine, save me: for I have sought thy precepts.
119: 95 The wicked have waited for me to destroy me: but I will consider thy testimonies.
119: 96 I have seen an end of all perfection: but thy commandment is exceeding broad.
119: 97 O how I love thy law!
it is my meditation all the day.
119: 98 Thou through thy commandments hast made me wiser than mine enemies: for they are ever with me.
119: 99 I have more understanding than all my teachers: for thy testimonies are my meditation.
119: 100 I understand more than the ancients, because I keep thy precepts.
119: 101 I have refrained my feet from every evil way, that I might keep thy word.
119: 102 I have not departed from thy judgments: for thou hast taught me.
119: 103 How sweet are thy words unto my taste!
yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth!
119: 104 Through thy precepts I get understanding: therefore I hate every false way.
119: 105 Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.
119: 106 I have sworn, and I will perform it, that I will keep thy righteous judgments.
119: 107 I am afflicted very much: quicken me, O LORD, according unto thy word.
119: 108 Accept, I beseech thee, the freewill offerings of my mouth, O LORD, and teach me thy judgments.
119: 109 My soul is continually in my hand: yet do I not forget thy law.
119: 110 The wicked have laid a snare for me: yet I erred not from thy precepts.
119: 111 Thy testimonies have I taken as an heritage for ever: for they are the rejoicing of my heart.
119: 112 I have inclined mine heart to perform thy statutes alway, even unto the end.
119: 113 I hate vain thoughts: but thy law do I love.
119: 114 Thou art my hiding place and my shield: I hope in thy word.
119: 115 Depart from me, ye evildoers: for I will keep the commandments of my God.
119: 116 Uphold me according unto thy word, that I may live: and let me not be ashamed of my hope.
119: 117 Hold thou me up, and I shall be safe: and I will have respect unto thy statutes continually.
119: 118 Thou hast trodden down all them that err from thy statutes: for their deceit is falsehood.
119: 119 Thou puttest away all the wicked of the earth like dross: therefore I love thy testimonies.
119: 120 My flesh trembleth for fear of thee; and I am afraid of thy judgments.
119: 121 I have done judgment and justice: leave me not to mine oppressors.
119: 122 Be surety for thy servant for good: let not the proud oppress me.
119: 123 Mine eyes fail for thy salvation, and for the word of thy righteousness.
119: 124 Deal with thy servant according unto thy mercy, and teach me thy statutes.
119: 125 I am thy servant; give me understanding, that I may know thy testimonies.
119: 126 It is time for thee, LORD, to work: for they have made void thy law.
119: 127 Therefore I love thy commandments above gold; yea, above fine gold.
119: 128 Therefore I esteem all thy precepts concerning all things to be right; and I hate every false way.
119: 129 Thy testimonies are wonderful: therefore doth my soul keep them.
119: 130 The entrance of thy words giveth light; it giveth understanding unto the simple.
119: 131 I opened my mouth, and panted: for I longed for thy commandments.
119: 132 Look thou upon me, and be merciful unto me, as thou usest to do unto those that love thy name.
119: 133 Order my steps in thy word: and let not any iniquity have dominion over me.
119: 134 Deliver me from the oppression of man: so will I keep thy precepts.
119: 135 Make thy face to shine upon thy servant; and teach me thy statutes.
119: 136 Rivers of waters run down mine eyes, because they keep not thy law.
119: 137 Righteous art thou, O LORD, and upright are thy judgments.
119: 138 Thy testimonies that thou hast commanded are righteous and very faithful.
119: 139 My zeal hath consumed me, because mine enemies have forgotten thy words.
119: 140 Thy word is very pure: therefore thy servant loveth it.
119: 141 I am small and despised: yet do not I forget thy precepts.
119: 142 Thy righteousness is an everlasting righteousness, and thy law is the truth.
119: 143 Trouble and anguish have taken hold on me: yet thy commandments are my delights.
119: 144 The righteousness of thy testimonies is everlasting: give me understanding, and I shall live.
119: 145 I cried with my whole heart; hear me, O LORD: I will keep thy statutes.
119: 146 I cried unto thee; save me, and I shall keep thy testimonies.
119: 147 I prevented the dawning of the morning, and cried: I hoped in thy word.
119: 148 Mine eyes prevent the night watches, that I might meditate in thy word.
119: 149 Hear my voice according unto thy lovingkindness: O LORD, quicken me according to thy judgment.
119: 150 They draw nigh that follow after mischief: they are far from thy law.
119: 151 Thou art near, O LORD; and all thy commandments are truth.
119: 152 Concerning thy testimonies, I have known of old that thou hast founded them for ever.
119: 153 Consider mine affliction, and deliver me: for I do not forget thy law.
119: 154 Plead my cause, and deliver me: quicken me according to thy word.
119: 155 Salvation is far from the wicked: for they seek not thy statutes.
119: 156 Great are thy tender mercies, O LORD: quicken me according to thy judgments.
119: 157 Many are my persecutors and mine enemies; yet do I not decline from thy testimonies.
119: 158 I beheld the transgressors, and was grieved; because they kept not thy word.
119: 159 Consider how I love thy precepts: quicken me, O LORD, according to thy lovingkindness.
119: 160 Thy word is true from the beginning: and every one of thy righteous judgments endureth for ever.
119: 161 Princes have persecuted me without a cause: but my heart standeth in awe of thy word.
119: 162 I rejoice at thy word, as one that findeth great spoil.
119: 163 I hate and abhor lying: but thy law do I love.
119: 164 Seven times a day do I praise thee because of thy righteous judgments.
119: 165 Great peace have they which love thy law: and nothing shall offend them.
119: 166 LORD, I have hoped for thy salvation, and done thy commandments.
119: 167 My soul hath kept thy testimonies; and I love them exceedingly.
119: 168 I have kept thy precepts and thy testimonies: for all my ways are before thee.
119: 169 Let my cry come near before thee, O LORD: give me understanding according to thy word.
119: 170 Let my supplication come before thee: deliver me according to thy word.
119: 171 My lips shall utter praise, when thou hast taught me thy statutes.
119: 172 My tongue shall speak of thy word: for all thy commandments are righteousness.
119: 173 Let thine hand help me; for I have chosen thy precepts.
119: 174 I have longed for thy salvation, O LORD; and thy law is my delight.
119: 175 Let my soul live, and it shall praise thee; and let thy judgments help me.
119: 176 I have gone astray like a lost sheep; seek thy servant; for I do not forget thy commandments.
120: 1 In my distress I cried unto the LORD, and he heard me.
120: 2 Deliver my soul, O LORD, from lying lips, and from a deceitful tongue.
120: 3 What shall be given unto thee?
or what shall be done unto thee, thou false tongue?
120: 4 Sharp arrows of the mighty, with coals of juniper.
120: 5 Woe is me, that I sojourn in Mesech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar!
120: 6 My soul hath long dwelt with him that hateth peace.
120: 7 I am for peace: but when I speak, they are for war.
121: 1 I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.
121: 2 My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth.
121: 3 He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber.
121: 4 Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.
121: 5 The LORD is thy keeper: the LORD is thy shade upon thy right hand.
121: 6 The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.
121: 7 The LORD shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.
121: 8 The LORD shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.
122: 1 I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the LORD.
122: 2 Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem.
122: 3 Jerusalem is builded as a city that is compact together:
122: 4 Whither the tribes go up, the tribes of the LORD, unto the testimony of Israel, to give thanks unto the name of the LORD.
122: 5 For there are set thrones of judgment, the thrones of the house of David.
122: 6 Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: they shall prosper that love thee.
122: 7 Peace be within thy walls, and prosperity within thy palaces.
122: 8 For my brethren and companions'sakes, I will now say, Peace be within thee.
122: 9 Because of the house of the LORD our God I will seek thy good.
123: 1 Unto thee lift I up mine eyes, O thou that dwellest in the heavens.
123: 2 Behold, as the eyes of servants look unto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of a maiden unto the hand of her mistress; so our eyes wait upon the LORD our God, until that he have mercy upon us.
123: 3 Have mercy upon us, O LORD, have mercy upon us: for we are exceedingly filled with contempt.
123: 4 Our soul is exceedingly filled with the scorning of those that are at ease, and with the contempt of the proud.
124: 1 If it had not been the LORD who was on our side, now may Israel say;
124: 2 If it had not been the LORD who was on our side, when men rose up against us:
124: 3 Then they had swallowed us up quick, when their wrath was kindled against us:
124: 4 Then the waters had overwhelmed us, the stream had gone over our soul:
124: 5 Then the proud waters had gone over our soul.
124: 6 Blessed be the LORD, who hath not given us as a prey to their teeth.
124: 7 Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers: the snare is broken, and we are escaped.
124: 8 Our help is in the name of the LORD, who made heaven and earth.
125: 1 They that trust in the LORD shall be as mount Zion, which cannot be removed, but abideth for ever.
125: 2 As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the LORD is round about his people from henceforth even for ever.
125: 3 For the rod of the wicked shall not rest upon the lot of the righteous; lest the righteous put forth their hands unto iniquity.
125: 4 Do good, O LORD, unto those that be good, and to them that are upright in their hearts.
125: 5 As for such as turn aside unto their crooked ways, the LORD shall lead them forth with the workers of iniquity: but peace shall be upon Israel.
126: 1 When the LORD turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like them that dream.
126: 2 Then was our mouth filled with laughter, and our tongue with singing: then said they among the heathen, The LORD hath done great things for them.
126: 3 The LORD hath done great things for us; whereof we are glad.
126: 4 Turn again our captivity, O LORD, as the streams in the south.
126: 5 They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.
126: 6 He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.
127: 1 Except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the LORD keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.
127: 2 It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep.
127: 3 Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.
127: 4 As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.
127: 5 Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.
128: 1 Blessed is every one that feareth the LORD; that walketh in his ways.
128: 2 For thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands: happy shalt thou be, and it shall be well with thee.
128: 3 Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house: thy children like olive plants round about thy table.
128: 4 Behold, that thus shall the man be blessed that feareth the LORD.
128: 5 The LORD shall bless thee out of Zion: and thou shalt see the good of Jerusalem all the days of thy life.
128: 6 Yea, thou shalt see thy children's children, and peace upon Israel.
129: 1 Many a time have they afflicted me from my youth, may Israel now say:
129: 2 Many a time have they afflicted me from my youth: yet they have not prevailed against me.
129: 3 The plowers plowed upon my back: they made long their furrows.
129: 4 The LORD is righteous: he hath cut asunder the cords of the wicked.
129: 5 Let them all be confounded and turned back that hate Zion.
129: 6 Let them be as the grass upon the housetops, which withereth afore it groweth up:
129: 7 Wherewith the mower filleth not his hand; nor he that bindeth sheaves his bosom.
129: 8 Neither do they which go by say, The blessing of the LORD be upon you: we bless you in the name of the LORD.
130: 1 Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O LORD.
130: 2 Lord, hear my voice: let thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications.
130: 3 If thou, LORD, shouldest mark iniquities, O Lord, who shall stand?
130: 4 But there is forgiveness with thee, that thou mayest be feared.
130: 5 I wait for the LORD, my soul doth wait, and in his word do I hope.
130: 6 My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning: I say, more than they that watch for the morning.
130: 7 Let Israel hope in the LORD: for with the LORD there is mercy, and with him is plenteous redemption.
130: 8 And he shall redeem Israel from all his iniquities.
131: 1 Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty: neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me.
131: 2 Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child.
131: 3 Let Israel hope in the LORD from henceforth and for ever.
132: 1 Lord, remember David, and all his afflictions:
132: 2 How he sware unto the LORD, and vowed unto the mighty God of Jacob;
132: 3 Surely I will not come into the tabernacle of my house, nor go up into my bed;
132: 4 I will not give sleep to mine eyes, or slumber to mine eyelids,
132: 5 Until I find out a place for the LORD, an habitation for the mighty God of Jacob.
132: 6 Lo, we heard of it at Ephratah: we found it in the fields of the wood.
132: 7 We will go into his tabernacles: we will worship at his footstool.
132: 8 Arise, O LORD, into thy rest; thou, and the ark of thy strength.
132: 9 Let thy priests be clothed with righteousness; and let thy saints shout for joy.
132: 10 For thy servant David's sake turn not away the face of thine anointed.
132: 11 The LORD hath sworn in truth unto David; he will not turn from it; Of the fruit of thy body will I set upon thy throne.
132: 12 If thy children will keep my covenant and my testimony that I shall teach them, their children shall also sit upon thy throne for evermore.
132: 13 For the LORD hath chosen Zion; he hath desired it for his habitation.
132: 14 This is my rest for ever: here will I dwell; for I have desired it.
132: 15 I will abundantly bless her provision: I will satisfy her poor with bread.
132: 16 I will also clothe her priests with salvation: and her saints shall shout aloud for joy.
132: 17 There will I make the horn of David to bud: I have ordained a lamp for mine anointed.
132: 18 His enemies will I clothe with shame: but upon himself shall his crown flourish.
133: 1 Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!
133: 2 It is like the precious ointment upon the head, that ran down upon the beard, even Aaron's beard: that went down to the skirts of his garments;
133: 3 As the dew of Hermon, and as the dew that descended upon the mountains of Zion: for there the LORD commanded the blessing, even life for evermore.
134: 1 Behold, bless ye the LORD, all ye servants of the LORD, which by night stand in the house of the LORD.
134: 2 Lift up your hands in the sanctuary, and bless the LORD.
134: 3 The LORD that made heaven and earth bless thee out of Zion.
135: 1 Praise ye the LORD.
Praise ye the name of the LORD; praise him, O ye servants of the LORD.
135: 2 Ye that stand in the house of the LORD, in the courts of the house of our God.
135: 3 Praise the LORD; for the LORD is good: sing praises unto his name; for it is pleasant.
135: 4 For the LORD hath chosen Jacob unto himself, and Israel for his peculiar treasure.
135: 5 For I know that the LORD is great, and that our Lord is above all gods.
135: 6 Whatsoever the LORD pleased, that did he in heaven, and in earth, in the seas, and all deep places.
135: 7 He causeth the vapours to ascend from the ends of the earth; he maketh lightnings for the rain; he bringeth the wind out of his treasuries.
135: 8 Who smote the firstborn of Egypt, both of man and beast.
135: 9 Who sent tokens and wonders into the midst of thee, O Egypt, upon Pharaoh, and upon all his servants.
135: 10 Who smote great nations, and slew mighty kings;
135: 11 Sihon king of the Amorites, and Og king of Bashan, and all the kingdoms of Canaan:
135: 12 And gave their land for an heritage, an heritage unto Israel his people.
135: 13 Thy name, O LORD, endureth for ever; and thy memorial, O LORD, throughout all generations.
135: 14 For the LORD will judge his people, and he will repent himself concerning his servants.
135: 15 The idols of the heathen are silver and gold, the work of men's hands.
135: 16 They have mouths, but they speak not; eyes have they, but they see not;
135: 17 They have ears, but they hear not; neither is there any breath in their mouths.
135: 18 They that make them are like unto them: so is every one that trusteth in them.
135: 19 Bless the LORD, O house of Israel: bless the LORD, O house of Aaron:
135: 20 Bless the LORD, O house of Levi: ye that fear the LORD, bless the LORD.
135: 21 Blessed be the LORD out of Zion, which dwelleth at Jerusalem.
Praise ye the LORD.
136: 1 O give thanks unto the LORD; for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 2 O give thanks unto the God of gods: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 3 O give thanks to the Lord of lords: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 4 To him who alone doeth great wonders: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 5 To him that by wisdom made the heavens: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 6 To him that stretched out the earth above the waters: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 7 To him that made great lights: for his mercy endureth for ever:
136: 8 The sun to rule by day: for his mercy endureth for ever:
136: 9 The moon and stars to rule by night: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 10 To him that smote Egypt in their firstborn: for his mercy endureth for ever:
136: 11 And brought out Israel from among them: for his mercy endureth for ever:
136: 12 With a strong hand, and with a stretched out arm: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 13 To him which divided the Red sea into parts: for his mercy endureth for ever:
136: 14 And made Israel to pass through the midst of it: for his mercy endureth for ever:
136: 15 But overthrew Pharaoh and his host in the Red sea: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 16 To him which led his people through the wilderness: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 17 To him which smote great kings: for his mercy endureth for ever:
136: 18 And slew famous kings: for his mercy endureth for ever:
136: 19 Sihon king of the Amorites: for his mercy endureth for ever:
136: 20 And Og the king of Bashan: for his mercy endureth for ever:
136: 21 And gave their land for an heritage: for his mercy endureth for ever:
136: 22 Even an heritage unto Israel his servant: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 23 Who remembered us in our low estate: for his mercy endureth for ever:
136: 24 And hath redeemed us from our enemies: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 25 Who giveth food to all flesh: for his mercy endureth for ever.
136: 26 O give thanks unto the God of heaven: for his mercy endureth for ever.
137: 1 By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.
137: 2 We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.
137: 3 For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion.
137: 4 How shall we sing the LORD's song in a strange land?
137: 5 If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning.
137: 6 If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy.
137: 7 Remember, O LORD, the children of Edom in the day of Jerusalem; who said, Rase it, rase it, even to the foundation thereof.
137: 8 O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed; happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us.
137: 9 Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones.
138: 1 I will praise thee with my whole heart: before the gods will I sing praise unto thee.
138: 2 I will worship toward thy holy temple, and praise thy name for thy lovingkindness and for thy truth: for thou hast magnified thy word above all thy name.
138: 3 In the day when I cried thou answeredst me, and strengthenedst me with strength in my soul.
138: 4 All the kings of the earth shall praise thee, O LORD, when they hear the words of thy mouth.
138: 5 Yea, they shall sing in the ways of the LORD: for great is the glory of the LORD.
138: 6 Though the LORD be high, yet hath he respect unto the lowly: but the proud he knoweth afar off.
138: 7 Though I walk in the midst of trouble, thou wilt revive me: thou shalt stretch forth thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies, and thy right hand shall save me.
138: 8 The LORD will perfect that which concerneth me: thy mercy, O LORD, endureth for ever: forsake not the works of thine own hands.
139: 1 O lord, thou hast searched me, and known me.
139: 2 Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off.
139: 3 Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways.
139: 4 For there is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O LORD, thou knowest it altogether.
139: 5 Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me.
139: 6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it.
139: 7 Whither shall I go from thy spirit?
or whither shall I flee from thy presence?
139: 8 If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.
139: 9 If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
139: 10 Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.
139: 11 If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me.
139: 12 Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.
139: 13 For thou hast possessed my reins: thou hast covered me in my mother's womb.
139: 14 I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.
139: 15 My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.
139: 16 Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.
139: 17 How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God!
how great is the sum of them!
139: 18 If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand: when I awake, I am still with thee.
139: 19 Surely thou wilt slay the wicked, O God: depart from me therefore, ye bloody men.
139: 20 For they speak against thee wickedly, and thine enemies take thy name in vain.
139: 21 Do not I hate them, O LORD, that hate thee?
and am not I grieved with those that rise up against thee?
139: 22 I hate them with perfect hatred: I count them mine enemies.
139: 23 Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts:
139: 24 And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.
140: 1 Deliver me, O LORD, from the evil man: preserve me from the violent man;
140: 2 Which imagine mischiefs in their heart; continually are they gathered together for war.
140: 3 They have sharpened their tongues like a serpent; adders'poison is under their lips.
Selah.
140: 4 Keep me, O LORD, from the hands of the wicked; preserve me from the violent man; who have purposed to overthrow my goings.
140: 5 The proud have hid a snare for me, and cords; they have spread a net by the wayside; they have set gins for me.
Selah.
140: 6 I said unto the LORD, Thou art my God: hear the voice of my supplications, O LORD.
140: 7 O GOD the Lord, the strength of my salvation, thou hast covered my head in the day of battle.
140: 8 Grant not, O LORD, the desires of the wicked: further not his wicked device; lest they exalt themselves.
Selah.
140: 9 As for the head of those that compass me about, let the mischief of their own lips cover them.
140: 10 Let burning coals fall upon them: let them be cast into the fire; into deep pits, that they rise not up again.
140: 11 Let not an evil speaker be established in the earth: evil shall hunt the violent man to overthrow him.
140: 12 I know that the LORD will maintain the cause of the afflicted, and the right of the poor.
140: 13 Surely the righteous shall give thanks unto thy name: the upright shall dwell in thy presence.
141: 1 Lord, I cry unto thee: make haste unto me; give ear unto my voice, when I cry unto thee.
141: 2 Let my prayer be set forth before thee as incense; and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.
141: 3 Set a watch, O LORD, before my mouth; keep the door of my lips.
141: 4 Incline not my heart to any evil thing, to practise wicked works with men that work iniquity: and let me not eat of their dainties.
141: 5 Let the righteous smite me; it shall be a kindness: and let him reprove me; it shall be an excellent oil, which shall not break my head: for yet my prayer also shall be in their calamities.
141: 6 When their judges are overthrown in stony places, they shall hear my words; for they are sweet.
141: 7 Our bones are scattered at the grave's mouth, as when one cutteth and cleaveth wood upon the earth.
141: 8 But mine eyes are unto thee, O GOD the Lord: in thee is my trust; leave not my soul destitute.
141: 9 Keep me from the snares which they have laid for me, and the gins of the workers of iniquity.
141: 10 Let the wicked fall into their own nets, whilst that I withal escape.
142: 1 I cried unto the LORD with my voice; with my voice unto the LORD did I make my supplication.
142: 2 I poured out my complaint before him; I shewed before him my trouble.
142: 3 When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest my path.
In the way wherein I walked have they privily laid a snare for me.
142: 4 I looked on my right hand, and beheld, but there was no man that would know me: refuge failed me; no man cared for my soul.
142: 5 I cried unto thee, O LORD: I said, Thou art my refuge and my portion in the land of the living.
142: 6 Attend unto my cry; for I am brought very low: deliver me from my persecutors; for they are stronger than I.
142: 7 Bring my soul out of prison, that I may praise thy name: the righteous shall compass me about; for thou shalt deal bountifully with me.
143: 1 Hear my prayer, O LORD, give ear to my supplications: in thy faithfulness answer me, and in thy righteousness.
143: 2 And enter not into judgment with thy servant: for in thy sight shall no man living be justified.
143: 3 For the enemy hath persecuted my soul; he hath smitten my life down to the ground; he hath made me to dwell in darkness, as those that have been long dead.
143: 4 Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me; my heart within me is desolate.
143: 5 I remember the days of old; I meditate on all thy works; I muse on the work of thy hands.
143: 6 I stretch forth my hands unto thee: my soul thirsteth after thee, as a thirsty land.
Selah.
143: 7 Hear me speedily, O LORD: my spirit faileth: hide not thy face from me, lest I be like unto them that go down into the pit.
143: 8 Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning; for in thee do I trust: cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee.
143: 9 Deliver me, O LORD, from mine enemies: I flee unto thee to hide me.
143: 10 Teach me to do thy will; for thou art my God: thy spirit is good; lead me into the land of uprightness.
143: 11 Quicken me, O LORD, for thy name's sake: for thy righteousness'sake bring my soul out of trouble.
143: 12 And of thy mercy cut off mine enemies, and destroy all them that afflict my soul: for I am thy servant.
144: 1 Blessed be the LORD my strength which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight:
144: 2 My goodness, and my fortress; my high tower, and my deliverer; my shield, and he in whom I trust; who subdueth my people under me.
144: 3 LORD, what is man, that thou takest knowledge of him!
or the son of man, that thou makest account of him!
144: 4 Man is like to vanity: his days are as a shadow that passeth away.
144: 5 Bow thy heavens, O LORD, and come down: touch the mountains, and they shall smoke.
144: 6 Cast forth lightning, and scatter them: shoot out thine arrows, and destroy them.
144: 7 Send thine hand from above; rid me, and deliver me out of great waters, from the hand of strange children;
144: 8 Whose mouth speaketh vanity, and their right hand is a right hand of falsehood.
144: 9 I will sing a new song unto thee, O God: upon a psaltery and an instrument of ten strings will I sing praises unto thee.
144: 10 It is he that giveth salvation unto kings: who delivereth David his servant from the hurtful sword.
144: 11 Rid me, and deliver me from the hand of strange children, whose mouth speaketh vanity, and their right hand is a right hand of falsehood:
144: 12 That our sons may be as plants grown up in their youth; that our daughters may be as corner stones, polished after the similitude of a palace:
144: 13 That our garners may be full, affording all manner of store: that our sheep may bring forth thousands and ten thousands in our streets:
144: 14 That our oxen may be strong to labour; that there be no breaking in, nor going out; that there be no complaining in our streets.
144: 15 Happy is that people, that is in such a case: yea, happy is that people, whose God is the LORD.
145: 1 I will extol thee, my God, O king; and I will bless thy name for ever and ever.
145: 2 Every day will I bless thee; and I will praise thy name for ever and ever.
145: 3 Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised; and his greatness is unsearchable.
145: 4 One generation shall praise thy works to another, and shall declare thy mighty acts.
145: 5 I will speak of the glorious honour of thy majesty, and of thy wondrous works.
145: 6 And men shall speak of the might of thy terrible acts: and I will declare thy greatness.
145: 7 They shall abundantly utter the memory of thy great goodness, and shall sing of thy righteousness.
145: 8 The LORD is gracious, and full of compassion; slow to anger, and of great mercy.
145: 9 The LORD is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works.
145: 10 All thy works shall praise thee, O LORD; and thy saints shall bless thee.
145: 11 They shall speak of the glory of thy kingdom, and talk of thy power;
145: 12 To make known to the sons of men his mighty acts, and the glorious majesty of his kingdom.
145: 13 Thy kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and thy dominion endureth throughout all generations.
145: 14 The LORD upholdeth all that fall, and raiseth up all those that be bowed down.
145: 15 The eyes of all wait upon thee; and thou givest them their meat in due season.
145: 16 Thou openest thine hand, and satisfiest the desire of every living thing.
145: 17 The LORD is righteous in all his ways, and holy in all his works.
145: 18 The LORD is nigh unto all them that call upon him, to all that call upon him in truth.
145: 19 He will fulfil the desire of them that fear him: he also will hear their cry, and will save them.
145: 20 The LORD preserveth all them that love him: but all the wicked will he destroy.
145: 21 My mouth shall speak the praise of the LORD: and let all flesh bless his holy name for ever and ever.
146: 1 Praise ye the LORD.
Praise the LORD, O my soul.
146: 2 While I live will I praise the LORD: I will sing praises unto my God while I have any being.
146: 3 Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help.
146: 4 His breath goeth forth, he returneth to his earth; in that very day his thoughts perish.
146: 5 Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose hope is in the LORD his God:
146: 6 Which made heaven, and earth, the sea, and all that therein is: which keepeth truth for ever:
146: 7 Which executeth judgment for the oppressed: which giveth food to the hungry.
The LORD looseth the prisoners:
146: 8 The LORD openeth the eyes of the blind: the LORD raiseth them that are bowed down: the LORD loveth the righteous:
146: 9 The LORD preserveth the strangers; he relieveth the fatherless and widow: but the way of the wicked he turneth upside down.
146: 10 The LORD shall reign for ever, even thy God, O Zion, unto all generations.
Praise ye the LORD.
147: 1 Praise ye the LORD: for it is good to sing praises unto our God; for it is pleasant; and praise is comely.
147: 2 The LORD doth build up Jerusalem: he gathereth together the outcasts of Israel.
147: 3 He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.
147: 4 He telleth the number of the stars; he calleth them all by their names.
147: 5 Great is our Lord, and of great power: his understanding is infinite.
147: 6 The LORD lifteth up the meek: he casteth the wicked down to the ground.
147: 7 Sing unto the LORD with thanksgiving; sing praise upon the harp unto our God:
147: 8 Who covereth the heaven with clouds, who prepareth rain for the earth, who maketh grass to grow upon the mountains.
147: 9 He giveth to the beast his food, and to the young ravens which cry.
147: 10 He delighteth not in the strength of the horse: he taketh not pleasure in the legs of a man.
147: 11 The LORD taketh pleasure in them that fear him, in those that hope in his mercy.
147: 12 Praise the LORD, O Jerusalem; praise thy God, O Zion.
147: 13 For he hath strengthened the bars of thy gates; he hath blessed thy children within thee.
147: 14 He maketh peace in thy borders, and filleth thee with the finest of the wheat.
147: 15 He sendeth forth his commandment upon earth: his word runneth very swiftly.
147: 16 He giveth snow like wool: he scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes.
147: 17 He casteth forth his ice like morsels: who can stand before his cold?
147: 18 He sendeth out his word, and melteth them: he causeth his wind to blow, and the waters flow.
147: 19 He sheweth his word unto Jacob, his statutes and his judgments unto Israel.
147: 20 He hath not dealt so with any nation: and as for his judgments, they have not known them.
Praise ye the LORD.
148: 1 Praise ye the LORD.
Praise ye the LORD from the heavens: praise him in the heights.
148: 2 Praise ye him, all his angels: praise ye him, all his hosts.
148: 3 Praise ye him, sun and moon: praise him, all ye stars of light.
148: 4 Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, and ye waters that be above the heavens.
148: 5 Let them praise the name of the LORD: for he commanded, and they were created.
148: 6 He hath also stablished them for ever and ever: he hath made a decree which shall not pass.
148: 7 Praise the LORD from the earth, ye dragons, and all deeps:
148: 8 Fire, and hail; snow, and vapours; stormy wind fulfilling his word:
148: 9 Mountains, and all hills; fruitful trees, and all cedars:
148: 10 Beasts, and all cattle; creeping things, and flying fowl:
148: 11 Kings of the earth, and all people; princes, and all judges of the earth:
148: 12 Both young men, and maidens; old men, and children:
148: 13 Let them praise the name of the LORD: for his name alone is excellent; his glory is above the earth and heaven.
148: 14 He also exalteth the horn of his people, the praise of all his saints; even of the children of Israel, a people near unto him.
Praise ye the LORD.
149: 1 Praise ye the LORD.
Sing unto the LORD a new song, and his praise in the congregation of saints.
149: 2 Let Israel rejoice in him that made him: let the children of Zion be joyful in their King.
149: 3 Let them praise his name in the dance: let them sing praises unto him with the timbrel and harp.
149: 4 For the LORD taketh pleasure in his people: he will beautify the meek with salvation.
149: 5 Let the saints be joyful in glory: let them sing aloud upon their beds.
149: 6 Let the high praises of God be in their mouth, and a two - edged sword in their hand;
149: 7 To execute vengeance upon the heathen, and punishments upon the people;
149: 8 To bind their kings with chains, and their nobles with fetters of iron;
149: 9 To execute upon them the judgment written: this honour have all his saints.
Praise ye the LORD.
150: 1 Praise ye the LORD.
Praise God in his sanctuary: praise him in the firmament of his power.
150: 2 Praise him for his mighty acts: praise him according to his excellent greatness.
150: 3 Praise him with the sound of the trumpet: praise him with the psaltery and harp.
150: 4 Praise him with the timbrel and dance: praise him with stringed instruments and organs.
150: 5 Praise him upon the loud cymbals: praise him upon the high sounding cymbals.
150: 6 Let every thing that hath breath praise the LORD.
Praise ye the LORD.
The Proverbs
1: 5 A wise man will hear, and will increase learning; and a man of understanding shall attain unto wise counsels: 1: 6 To understand a proverb, and the interpretation; the words of the wise, and their dark sayings.
1: 7 The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge: but fools despise wisdom and instruction.
1: 8 My son, hear the instruction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother: 1: 9 For they shall be an ornament of grace unto thy head, and chains about thy neck.
1: 10 My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not.
1: 17 Surely in vain the net is spread in the sight of any bird.
1: 18 And they lay wait for their own blood; they lurk privily for their own lives.
1: 19 So are the ways of every one that is greedy of gain; which taketh away the life of the owners thereof.
1: 20 Wisdom crieth without; she uttereth her voice in the streets: 1: 21 She crieth in the chief place of concourse, in the openings of the gates: in the city she uttereth her words, saying, 1: 22 How long, ye simple ones, will ye love simplicity?
and the scorners delight in their scorning, and fools hate knowledge?
1: 23 Turn you at my reproof: behold, I will pour out my spirit unto you, I will make known my words unto you.
1: 28 Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer; they shall seek me early, but they shall not find me: 1: 29 For that they hated knowledge, and did not choose the fear of the LORD: 1: 30 They would none of my counsel: they despised all my reproof.
1: 31 Therefore shall they eat of the fruit of their own way, and be filled with their own devices.
1: 32 For the turning away of the simple shall slay them, and the prosperity of fools shall destroy them.
1: 33 But whoso hearkeneth unto me shall dwell safely, and shall be quiet from fear of evil.
2: 6 For the LORD giveth wisdom: out of his mouth cometh knowledge and understanding.
2: 7 He layeth up sound wisdom for the righteous: he is a buckler to them that walk uprightly.
2: 8 He keepeth the paths of judgment, and preserveth the way of his saints.
2: 9 Then shalt thou understand righteousness, and judgment, and equity; yea, every good path.
2: 18 For her house inclineth unto death, and her paths unto the dead.
2: 19 None that go unto her return again, neither take they hold of the paths of life.
2: 20 That thou mayest walk in the way of good men, and keep the paths of the righteous.
2: 21 For the upright shall dwell in the land, and the perfect shall remain in it.
2: 22 But the wicked shall be cut off from the earth, and the transgressors shall be rooted out of it.
3: 1 My son, forget not my law; but let thine heart keep my commandments: 3: 2 For length of days, and long life, and peace, shall they add to thee.
3: 3 Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart: 3: 4 So shalt thou find favour and good understanding in the sight of God and man.
3: 5 Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
3: 6 In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.
3: 7 Be not wise in thine own eyes: fear the LORD, and depart from evil.
3: 8 It shall be health to thy navel, and marrow to thy bones.
3: 9 Honour the LORD with thy substance, and with the firstfruits of all thine increase: 3: 10 So shall thy barns be filled with plenty, and thy presses shall burst out with new wine.
3: 11 My son, despise not the chastening of the LORD; neither be weary of his correction: 3: 12 For whom the LORD loveth he correcteth; even as a father the son in whom he delighteth.
3: 13 Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, and the man that getteth understanding.
3: 14 For the merchandise of it is better than the merchandise of silver, and the gain thereof than fine gold.
3: 15 She is more precious than rubies: and all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her.
3: 16 Length of days is in her right hand; and in her left hand riches and honour.
3: 17 Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.
3: 18 She is a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her: and happy is every one that retaineth her.
3: 19 The LORD by wisdom hath founded the earth; by understanding hath he established the heavens.
3: 20 By his knowledge the depths are broken up, and the clouds drop down the dew.
3: 21 My son, let not them depart from thine eyes: keep sound wisdom and discretion: 3: 22 So shall they be life unto thy soul, and grace to thy neck.
3: 23 Then shalt thou walk in thy way safely, and thy foot shall not stumble.
3: 24 When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid: yea, thou shalt lie down, and thy sleep shall be sweet.
3: 25 Be not afraid of sudden fear, neither of the desolation of the wicked, when it cometh.
3: 26 For the LORD shall be thy confidence, and shall keep thy foot from being taken.
3: 27 Withhold not good from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thine hand to do it.
3: 28 Say not unto thy neighbour, Go, and come again, and to morrow I will give; when thou hast it by thee.
3: 29 Devise not evil against thy neighbour, seeing he dwelleth securely by thee.
3: 30 Strive not with a man without cause, if he have done thee no harm.
3: 31 Envy thou not the oppressor, and choose none of his ways.
3: 32 For the froward is abomination to the LORD: but his secret is with the righteous.
3: 33 The curse of the LORD is in the house of the wicked: but he blesseth the habitation of the just.
3: 34 Surely he scorneth the scorners: but he giveth grace unto the lowly.
3: 35 The wise shall inherit glory: but shame shall be the promotion of fools.
4: 1 Hear, ye children, the instruction of a father, and attend to know understanding.
4: 2 For I give you good doctrine, forsake ye not my law.
4: 3 For I was my father's son, tender and only beloved in the sight of my mother.
4: 4 He taught me also, and said unto me, Let thine heart retain my words: keep my commandments, and live.
4: 5 Get wisdom, get understanding: forget it not; neither decline from the words of my mouth.
4: 6 Forsake her not, and she shall preserve thee: love her, and she shall keep thee.
4: 7 Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding.
4: 8 Exalt her, and she shall promote thee: she shall bring thee to honour, when thou dost embrace her.
4: 9 She shall give to thine head an ornament of grace: a crown of glory shall she deliver to thee.
4: 10 Hear, O my son, and receive my sayings; and the years of thy life shall be many.
4: 11 I have taught thee in the way of wisdom; I have led thee in right paths.
4: 12 When thou goest, thy steps shall not be straitened; and when thou runnest, thou shalt not stumble.
4: 13 Take fast hold of instruction; let her not go: keep her; for she is thy life.
4: 14 Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men.
4: 15 Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away.
4: 16 For they sleep not, except they have done mischief; and their sleep is taken away, unless they cause some to fall.
4: 17 For they eat the bread of wickedness, and drink the wine of violence.
4: 18 But the path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.
4: 19 The way of the wicked is as darkness: they know not at what they stumble.
4: 20 My son, attend to my words; incline thine ear unto my sayings.
4: 21 Let them not depart from thine eyes; keep them in the midst of thine heart.
4: 22 For they are life unto those that find them, and health to all their flesh.
4: 23 Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.
4: 24 Put away from thee a froward mouth, and perverse lips put far from thee.
4: 25 Let thine eyes look right on, and let thine eyelids look straight before thee.
4: 26 Ponder the path of thy feet, and let all thy ways be established.
4: 27 Turn not to the right hand nor to the left: remove thy foot from evil.
5: 1 My son, attend unto my wisdom, and bow thine ear to my understanding: 5: 2 That thou mayest regard discretion, and that thy lips may keep knowledge.
5: 3 For the lips of a strange woman drop as an honeycomb, and her mouth is smoother than oil: 5: 4 But her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two - edged sword.
5: 5 Her feet go down to death; her steps take hold on hell.
5: 6 Lest thou shouldest ponder the path of life, her ways are moveable, that thou canst not know them.
5: 7 Hear me now therefore, O ye children, and depart not from the words of my mouth.
5: 14 I was almost in all evil in the midst of the congregation and assembly.
5: 15 Drink waters out of thine own cistern, and running waters out of thine own well.
5: 16 Let thy fountains be dispersed abroad, and rivers of waters in the streets.
5: 17 Let them be only thine own, and not strangers'with thee.
5: 18 Let thy fountain be blessed: and rejoice with the wife of thy youth.
5: 19 Let her be as the loving hind and pleasant roe; let her breasts satisfy thee at all times; and be thou ravished always with her love.
5: 20 And why wilt thou, my son, be ravished with a strange woman, and embrace the bosom of a stranger?
5: 21 For the ways of man are before the eyes of the LORD, and he pondereth all his goings.
5: 22 His own iniquities shall take the wicked himself, and he shall be holden with the cords of his sins.
5: 23 He shall die without instruction; and in the greatness of his folly he shall go astray.
6: 1 My son, if thou be surety for thy friend, if thou hast stricken thy hand with a stranger, 6: 2 Thou art snared with the words of thy mouth, thou art taken with the words of thy mouth.
6: 3 Do this now, my son, and deliver thyself, when thou art come into the hand of thy friend; go, humble thyself, and make sure thy friend.
6: 4 Give not sleep to thine eyes, nor slumber to thine eyelids.
6: 5 Deliver thyself as a roe from the hand of the hunter, and as a bird from the hand of the fowler.
6: 6 Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise: 6: 7 Which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, 6: 8 Provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest.
6: 9 How long wilt thou sleep, O sluggard?
when wilt thou arise out of thy sleep?
6: 10 Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep: 6: 11 So shall thy poverty come as one that travelleth, and thy want as an armed man.
6: 12 A naughty person, a wicked man, walketh with a froward mouth.
6: 13 He winketh with his eyes, he speaketh with his feet, he teacheth with his fingers; 6: 14 Frowardness is in his heart, he deviseth mischief continually; he soweth discord.
6: 15 Therefore shall his calamity come suddenly; suddenly shall he be broken without remedy.
6: 20 My son, keep thy father's commandment, and forsake not the law of thy mother: 6: 21 Bind them continually upon thine heart, and tie them about thy neck.
6: 22 When thou goest, it shall lead thee; when thou sleepest, it shall keep thee; and when thou awakest, it shall talk with thee.
6: 23 For the commandment is a lamp; and the law is light; and reproofs of instruction are the way of life: 6: 24 To keep thee from the evil woman, from the flattery of the tongue of a strange woman.
6: 25 Lust not after her beauty in thine heart; neither let her take thee with her eyelids.
6: 26 For by means of a whorish woman a man is brought to a piece of bread: and the adultress will hunt for the precious life.
6: 27 Can a man take fire in his bosom, and his clothes not be burned?
6: 28 Can one go upon hot coals, and his feet not be burned?
6: 29 So he that goeth in to his neighbour's wife; whosoever toucheth her shall not be innocent.
6: 30 Men do not despise a thief, if he steal to satisfy his soul when he is hungry; 6: 31 But if he be found, he shall restore sevenfold; he shall give all the substance of his house.
6: 32 But whoso committeth adultery with a woman lacketh understanding: he that doeth it destroyeth his own soul.
6: 33 A wound and dishonour shall he get; and his reproach shall not be wiped away.
6: 34 For jealousy is the rage of a man: therefore he will not spare in the day of vengeance.
6: 35 He will not regard any ransom; neither will he rest content, though thou givest many gifts.
7: 1 My son, keep my words, and lay up my commandments with thee.
7: 2 Keep my commandments, and live; and my law as the apple of thine eye.
7: 3 Bind them upon thy fingers, write them upon the table of thine heart.
7: 4 Say unto wisdom, Thou art my sister; and call understanding thy kinswoman: 7: 5 That they may keep thee from the strange woman, from the stranger which flattereth with her words.
7: 11 (She is loud and stubborn; her feet abide not in her house: 7: 12 Now is she without, now in the streets, and lieth in wait at every corner.)
7: 13 So she caught him, and kissed him, and with an impudent face said unto him, 7: 14 I have peace offerings with me; this day have I payed my vows.
7: 15 Therefore came I forth to meet thee, diligently to seek thy face, and I have found thee.
7: 16 I have decked my bed with coverings of tapestry, with carved works, with fine linen of Egypt.
7: 17 I have perfumed my bed with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon.
7: 18 Come, let us take our fill of love until the morning: let us solace ourselves with loves.
7: 19 For the goodman is not at home, he is gone a long journey: 7: 20 He hath taken a bag of money with him, and will come home at the day appointed.
7: 21 With her much fair speech she caused him to yield, with the flattering of her lips she forced him.
7: 22 He goeth after her straightway, as an ox goeth to the slaughter, or as a fool to the correction of the stocks; 7: 23 Till a dart strike through his liver; as a bird hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his life.
7: 24 Hearken unto me now therefore, O ye children, and attend to the words of my mouth.
7: 25 Let not thine heart decline to her ways, go not astray in her paths.
7: 26 For she hath cast down many wounded: yea, many strong men have been slain by her.
7: 27 Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.
8: 1 Doth not wisdom cry?
and understanding put forth her voice?
8: 2 She standeth in the top of high places, by the way in the places of the paths.
8: 3 She crieth at the gates, at the entry of the city, at the coming in at the doors.
8: 4 Unto you, O men, I call; and my voice is to the sons of man.
8: 5 O ye simple, understand wisdom: and, ye fools, be ye of an understanding heart.
8: 6 Hear; for I will speak of excellent things; and the opening of my lips shall be right things.
8: 7 For my mouth shall speak truth; and wickedness is an abomination to my lips.
8: 8 All the words of my mouth are in righteousness; there is nothing froward or perverse in them.
8: 9 They are all plain to him that understandeth, and right to them that find knowledge.
8: 10 Receive my instruction, and not silver; and knowledge rather than choice gold.
8: 11 For wisdom is better than rubies; and all the things that may be desired are not to be compared to it.
8: 12 I wisdom dwell with prudence, and find out knowledge of witty inventions.
8: 13 The fear of the LORD is to hate evil: pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth, do I hate.
8: 14 Counsel is mine, and sound wisdom: I am understanding; I have strength.
8: 15 By me kings reign, and princes decree justice.
8: 16 By me princes rule, and nobles, even all the judges of the earth.
8: 17 I love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me.
8: 18 Riches and honour are with me; yea, durable riches and righteousness.
8: 19 My fruit is better than gold, yea, than fine gold; and my revenue than choice silver.
8: 20 I lead in the way of righteousness, in the midst of the paths of judgment: 8: 21 That I may cause those that love me to inherit substance; and I will fill their treasures.
8: 22 The LORD possessed me in the beginning of his way, before his works of old.
8: 23 I was set up from everlasting, from the beginning, or ever the earth was.
8: 24 When there were no depths, I was brought forth; when there were no fountains abounding with water.
8: 25 Before the mountains were settled, before the hills was I brought forth: 8: 26 While as yet he had not made the earth, nor the fields, nor the highest part of the dust of the world.
8: 32 Now therefore hearken unto me, O ye children: for blessed are they that keep my ways.
8: 33 Hear instruction, and be wise, and refuse it not.
8: 34 Blessed is the man that heareth me, watching daily at my gates, waiting at the posts of my doors.
8: 35 For whoso findeth me findeth life, and shall obtain favour of the LORD.
8: 36 But he that sinneth against me wrongeth his own soul: all they that hate me love death.
9: 1 Wisdom hath builded her house, she hath hewn out her seven pillars: 9: 2 She hath killed her beasts; she hath mingled her wine; she hath also furnished her table.
9: 3 She hath sent forth her maidens: she crieth upon the highest places of the city, 9: 4 Whoso is simple, let him turn in hither: as for him that wanteth understanding, she saith to him, 9: 5 Come, eat of my bread, and drink of the wine which I have mingled.
9: 6 Forsake the foolish, and live; and go in the way of understanding.
9: 7 He that reproveth a scorner getteth to himself shame: and he that rebuketh a wicked man getteth himself a blot.
9: 8 Reprove not a scorner, lest he hate thee: rebuke a wise man, and he will love thee.
9: 9 Give instruction to a wise man, and he will be yet wiser: teach a just man, and he will increase in learning.
9: 10 The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom: and the knowledge of the holy is understanding.
9: 11 For by me thy days shall be multiplied, and the years of thy life shall be increased.
9: 12 If thou be wise, thou shalt be wise for thyself: but if thou scornest, thou alone shalt bear it.
9: 13 A foolish woman is clamorous: she is simple, and knoweth nothing.
9: 18 But he knoweth not that the dead are there; and that her guests are in the depths of hell.
10: 1 The proverbs of Solomon.
A wise son maketh a glad father: but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother.
10: 2 Treasures of wickedness profit nothing: but righteousness delivereth from death.
10: 3 The LORD will not suffer the soul of the righteous to famish: but he casteth away the substance of the wicked.
10: 4 He becometh poor that dealeth with a slack hand: but the hand of the diligent maketh rich.
10: 5 He that gathereth in summer is a wise son: but he that sleepeth in harvest is a son that causeth shame.
10: 6 Blessings are upon the head of the just: but violence covereth the mouth of the wicked.
10: 7 The memory of the just is blessed: but the name of the wicked shall rot.
10: 8 The wise in heart will receive commandments: but a prating fool shall fall.
10: 9 He that walketh uprightly walketh surely: but he that perverteth his ways shall be known.
10: 10 He that winketh with the eye causeth sorrow: but a prating fool shall fall.
10: 11 The mouth of a righteous man is a well of life: but violence covereth the mouth of the wicked.
10: 12 Hatred stirreth up strifes: but love covereth all sins.
10: 13 In the lips of him that hath understanding wisdom is found: but a rod is for the back of him that is void of understanding.
10: 14 Wise men lay up knowledge: but the mouth of the foolish is near destruction.
10: 15 The rich man's wealth is his strong city: the destruction of the poor is their poverty.
10: 16 The labour of the righteous tendeth to life: the fruit of the wicked to sin.
10: 17 He is in the way of life that keepeth instruction: but he that refuseth reproof erreth.
10: 18 He that hideth hatred with lying lips, and he that uttereth a slander, is a fool.
10: 19 In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin: but he that refraineth his lips is wise.
10: 20 The tongue of the just is as choice silver: the heart of the wicked is little worth.
10: 21 The lips of the righteous feed many: but fools die for want of wisdom.
10: 22 The blessing of the LORD, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it.
10: 23 It is as sport to a fool to do mischief: but a man of understanding hath wisdom.
10: 24 The fear of the wicked, it shall come upon him: but the desire of the righteous shall be granted.
10: 25 As the whirlwind passeth, so is the wicked no more: but the righteous is an everlasting foundation.
10: 26 As vinegar to the teeth, and as smoke to the eyes, so is the sluggard to them that send him.
10: 27 The fear of the LORD prolongeth days: but the years of the wicked shall be shortened.
10: 28 The hope of the righteous shall be gladness: but the expectation of the wicked shall perish.
10: 29 The way of the LORD is strength to the upright: but destruction shall be to the workers of iniquity.
10: 30 The righteous shall never be removed: but the wicked shall not inhabit the earth.
10: 31 The mouth of the just bringeth forth wisdom: but the froward tongue shall be cut out.
10: 32 The lips of the righteous know what is acceptable: but the mouth of the wicked speaketh frowardness.
11: 1 A false balance is abomination to the LORD: but a just weight is his delight.
11: 2 When pride cometh, then cometh shame: but with the lowly is wisdom.
11: 3 The integrity of the upright shall guide them: but the perverseness of transgressors shall destroy them.
11: 4 Riches profit not in the day of wrath: but righteousness delivereth from death.
11: 5 The righteousness of the perfect shall direct his way: but the wicked shall fall by his own wickedness.
11: 6 The righteousness of the upright shall deliver them: but transgressors shall be taken in their own naughtiness.
11: 7 When a wicked man dieth, his expectation shall perish: and the hope of unjust men perisheth.
11: 8 The righteous is delivered out of trouble, and the wicked cometh in his stead.
11: 9 An hypocrite with his mouth destroyeth his neighbour: but through knowledge shall the just be delivered.
11: 10 When it goeth well with the righteous, the city rejoiceth: and when the wicked perish, there is shouting.
11: 11 By the blessing of the upright the city is exalted: but it is overthrown by the mouth of the wicked.
11: 12 He that is void of wisdom despiseth his neighbour: but a man of understanding holdeth his peace.
11: 13 A talebearer revealeth secrets: but he that is of a faithful spirit concealeth the matter.
11: 14 Where no counsel is, the people fall: but in the multitude of counsellors there is safety.
11: 15 He that is surety for a stranger shall smart for it: and he that hateth suretiship is sure.
11: 16 A gracious woman retaineth honour: and strong men retain riches.
11: 17 The merciful man doeth good to his own soul: but he that is cruel troubleth his own flesh.
11: 18 The wicked worketh a deceitful work: but to him that soweth righteousness shall be a sure reward.
11: 19 As righteousness tendeth to life: so he that pursueth evil pursueth it to his own death.
11: 20 They that are of a froward heart are abomination to the LORD: but such as are upright in their way are his delight.
11: 21 Though hand join in hand, the wicked shall not be unpunished: but the seed of the righteous shall be delivered.
11: 22 As a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion.
11: 23 The desire of the righteous is only good: but the expectation of the wicked is wrath.
11: 24 There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty.
11: 25 The liberal soul shall be made fat: and he that watereth shall be watered also himself.
11: 26 He that withholdeth corn, the people shall curse him: but blessing shall be upon the head of him that selleth it.
11: 27 He that diligently seeketh good procureth favour: but he that seeketh mischief, it shall come unto him.
11: 28 He that trusteth in his riches shall fall; but the righteous shall flourish as a branch.
11: 29 He that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind: and the fool shall be servant to the wise of heart.
11: 30 The fruit of the righteous is a tree of life; and he that winneth souls is wise.
11: 31 Behold, the righteous shall be recompensed in the earth: much more the wicked and the sinner.
12: 1 Whoso loveth instruction loveth knowledge: but he that hateth reproof is brutish.
12: 2 A good man obtaineth favour of the LORD: but a man of wicked devices will he condemn.
12: 3 A man shall not be established by wickedness: but the root of the righteous shall not be moved.
12: 4 A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband: but she that maketh ashamed is as rottenness in his bones.
12: 5 The thoughts of the righteous are right: but the counsels of the wicked are deceit.
12: 6 The words of the wicked are to lie in wait for blood: but the mouth of the upright shall deliver them.
12: 7 The wicked are overthrown, and are not: but the house of the righteous shall stand.
12: 8 A man shall be commended according to his wisdom: but he that is of a perverse heart shall be despised.
12: 9 He that is despised, and hath a servant, is better than he that honoureth himself, and lacketh bread.
12: 10 A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast: but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.
12: 11 He that tilleth his land shall be satisfied with bread: but he that followeth vain persons is void of understanding.
12: 12 The wicked desireth the net of evil men: but the root of the righteous yieldeth fruit.
12: 13 The wicked is snared by the transgression of his lips: but the just shall come out of trouble.
12: 14 A man shall be satisfied with good by the fruit of his mouth: and the recompence of a man's hands shall be rendered unto him.
12: 15 The way of a fool is right in his own eyes: but he that hearkeneth unto counsel is wise.
12: 16 A fool's wrath is presently known: but a prudent man covereth shame.
12: 17 He that speaketh truth sheweth forth righteousness: but a false witness deceit.
12: 18 There is that speaketh like the piercings of a sword: but the tongue of the wise is health.
12: 19 The lip of truth shall be established for ever: but a lying tongue is but for a moment.
12: 20 Deceit is in the heart of them that imagine evil: but to the counsellors of peace is joy.
12: 21 There shall no evil happen to the just: but the wicked shall be filled with mischief.
12: 22 Lying lips are abomination to the LORD: but they that deal truly are his delight.
12: 23 A prudent man concealeth knowledge: but the heart of fools proclaimeth foolishness.
12: 24 The hand of the diligent shall bear rule: but the slothful shall be under tribute.
12: 25 Heaviness in the heart of man maketh it stoop: but a good word maketh it glad.
12: 26 The righteous is more excellent than his neighbour: but the way of the wicked seduceth them.
12: 27 The slothful man roasteth not that which he took in hunting: but the substance of a diligent man is precious.
12: 28 In the way of righteousness is life: and in the pathway thereof there is no death.
13: 1 A wise son heareth his father's instruction: but a scorner heareth not rebuke.
13: 2 A man shall eat good by the fruit of his mouth: but the soul of the transgressors shall eat violence.
13: 3 He that keepeth his mouth keepeth his life: but he that openeth wide his lips shall have destruction.
13: 4 The soul of the sluggard desireth, and hath nothing: but the soul of the diligent shall be made fat.
13: 5 A righteous man hateth lying: but a wicked man is loathsome, and cometh to shame.
13: 6 Righteousness keepeth him that is upright in the way: but wickedness overthroweth the sinner.
13: 7 There is that maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing: there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches.
13: 8 The ransom of a man's life are his riches: but the poor heareth not rebuke.
13: 9 The light of the righteous rejoiceth: but the lamp of the wicked shall be put out.
13: 10 Only by pride cometh contention: but with the well advised is wisdom.
13: 11 Wealth gotten by vanity shall be diminished: but he that gathereth by labour shall increase.
13: 12 Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.
13: 13 Whoso despiseth the word shall be destroyed: but he that feareth the commandment shall be rewarded.
13: 14 The law of the wise is a fountain of life, to depart from the snares of death.
13: 15 Good understanding giveth favour: but the way of transgressors is hard.
13: 16 Every prudent man dealeth with knowledge: but a fool layeth open his folly.
13: 17 A wicked messenger falleth into mischief: but a faithful ambassador is health.
13: 18 Poverty and shame shall be to him that refuseth instruction: but he that regardeth reproof shall be honoured.
13: 19 The desire accomplished is sweet to the soul: but it is abomination to fools to depart from evil.
13: 20 He that walketh with wise men shall be wise: but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.
13: 21 Evil pursueth sinners: but to the righteous good shall be repayed.
13: 22 A good man leaveth an inheritance to his children's children: and the wealth of the sinner is laid up for the just.
13: 23 Much food is in the tillage of the poor: but there is that is destroyed for want of judgment.
13: 24 He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.
13: 25 The righteous eateth to the satisfying of his soul: but the belly of the wicked shall want.
14: 1 Every wise woman buildeth her house: but the foolish plucketh it down with her hands.
14: 2 He that walketh in his uprightness feareth the LORD: but he that is perverse in his ways despiseth him.
14: 3 In the mouth of the foolish is a rod of pride: but the lips of the wise shall preserve them.
14: 4 Where no oxen are, the crib is clean: but much increase is by the strength of the ox.
14: 5 A faithful witness will not lie: but a false witness will utter lies.
14: 6 A scorner seeketh wisdom, and findeth it not: but knowledge is easy unto him that understandeth.
14: 7 Go from the presence of a foolish man, when thou perceivest not in him the lips of knowledge.
14: 8 The wisdom of the prudent is to understand his way: but the folly of fools is deceit.
14: 9 Fools make a mock at sin: but among the righteous there is favour.
14: 10 The heart knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy.
14: 11 The house of the wicked shall be overthrown: but the tabernacle of the upright shall flourish.
14: 12 There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.
14: 13 Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is heaviness.
14: 14 The backslider in heart shall be filled with his own ways: and a good man shall be satisfied from himself.
14: 15 The simple believeth every word: but the prudent man looketh well to his going.
14: 16 A wise man feareth, and departeth from evil: but the fool rageth, and is confident.
14: 17 He that is soon angry dealeth foolishly: and a man of wicked devices is hated.
14: 18 The simple inherit folly: but the prudent are crowned with knowledge.
14: 19 The evil bow before the good; and the wicked at the gates of the righteous.
14: 20 The poor is hated even of his own neighbour: but the rich hath many friends.
14: 21 He that despiseth his neighbour sinneth: but he that hath mercy on the poor, happy is he.
14: 22 Do they not err that devise evil?
but mercy and truth shall be to them that devise good.
14: 23 In all labour there is profit: but the talk of the lips tendeth only to penury.
14: 24 The crown of the wise is their riches: but the foolishness of fools is folly.
14: 25 A true witness delivereth souls: but a deceitful witness speaketh lies.
14: 26 In the fear of the LORD is strong confidence: and his children shall have a place of refuge.
14: 27 The fear of the LORD is a fountain of life, to depart from the snares of death.
14: 28 In the multitude of people is the king's honour: but in the want of people is the destruction of the prince.
14: 29 He that is slow to wrath is of great understanding: but he that is hasty of spirit exalteth folly.
14: 30 A sound heart is the life of the flesh: but envy the rottenness of the bones.
14: 31 He that oppresseth the poor reproacheth his Maker: but he that honoureth him hath mercy on the poor.
14: 32 The wicked is driven away in his wickedness: but the righteous hath hope in his death.
14: 33 Wisdom resteth in the heart of him that hath understanding: but that which is in the midst of fools is made known.
14: 34 Righteousness exalteth a nation: but sin is a reproach to any people.
14: 35 The king's favour is toward a wise servant: but his wrath is against him that causeth shame.
15: 1 A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.
15: 2 The tongue of the wise useth knowledge aright: but the mouth of fools poureth out foolishness.
15: 3 The eyes of the LORD are in every place, beholding the evil and the good.
15: 4 A wholesome tongue is a tree of life: but perverseness therein is a breach in the spirit.
15: 5 A fool despiseth his father's instruction: but he that regardeth reproof is prudent.
15: 6 In the house of the righteous is much treasure: but in the revenues of the wicked is trouble.
15: 7 The lips of the wise disperse knowledge: but the heart of the foolish doeth not so.
15: 8 The sacrifice of the wicked is an abomination to the LORD: but the prayer of the upright is his delight.
15: 9 The way of the wicked is an abomination unto the LORD: but he loveth him that followeth after righteousness.
15: 10 Correction is grievous unto him that forsaketh the way: and he that hateth reproof shall die.
15: 11 Hell and destruction are before the LORD: how much more then the hearts of the children of men?
15: 12 A scorner loveth not one that reproveth him: neither will he go unto the wise.
15: 13 A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance: but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken.
15: 14 The heart of him that hath understanding seeketh knowledge: but the mouth of fools feedeth on foolishness.
15: 15 All the days of the afflicted are evil: but he that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast.
15: 16 Better is little with the fear of the LORD than great treasure and trouble therewith.
15: 17 Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.
15: 18 A wrathful man stirreth up strife: but he that is slow to anger appeaseth strife.
15: 19 The way of the slothful man is as an hedge of thorns: but the way of the righteous is made plain.
15: 20 A wise son maketh a glad father: but a foolish man despiseth his mother.
15: 21 Folly is joy to him that is destitute of wisdom: but a man of understanding walketh uprightly.
15: 22 Without counsel purposes are disappointed: but in the multitude of counsellors they are established.
15: 23 A man hath joy by the answer of his mouth: and a word spoken in due season, how good is it!
15: 24 The way of life is above to the wise, that he may depart from hell beneath.
15: 25 The LORD will destroy the house of the proud: but he will establish the border of the widow.
15: 26 The thoughts of the wicked are an abomination to the LORD: but the words of the pure are pleasant words.
15: 27 He that is greedy of gain troubleth his own house; but he that hateth gifts shall live.
15: 28 The heart of the righteous studieth to answer: but the mouth of the wicked poureth out evil things.
15: 29 The LORD is far from the wicked: but he heareth the prayer of the righteous.
15: 30 The light of the eyes rejoiceth the heart: and a good report maketh the bones fat.
15: 31 The ear that heareth the reproof of life abideth among the wise.
15: 32 He that refuseth instruction despiseth his own soul: but he that heareth reproof getteth understanding.
15: 33 The fear of the LORD is the instruction of wisdom; and before honour is humility.
16: 1 The preparations of the heart in man, and the answer of the tongue, is from the LORD.
16: 2 All the ways of a man are clean in his own eyes; but the LORD weigheth the spirits.
16: 3 Commit thy works unto the LORD, and thy thoughts shall be established.
16: 4 The LORD hath made all things for himself: yea, even the wicked for the day of evil.
16: 5 Every one that is proud in heart is an abomination to the LORD: though hand join in hand, he shall not be unpunished.
16: 6 By mercy and truth iniquity is purged: and by the fear of the LORD men depart from evil.
16: 7 When a man's ways please the LORD, he maketh even his enemies to be at peace with him.
16: 8 Better is a little with righteousness than great revenues without right.
16: 9 A man's heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps.
16: 10 A divine sentence is in the lips of the king: his mouth transgresseth not in judgment.
16: 11 A just weight and balance are the LORD's: all the weights of the bag are his work.
16: 12 It is an abomination to kings to commit wickedness: for the throne is established by righteousness.
16: 13 Righteous lips are the delight of kings; and they love him that speaketh right.
16: 14 The wrath of a king is as messengers of death: but a wise man will pacify it.
16: 15 In the light of the king's countenance is life; and his favour is as a cloud of the latter rain.
16: 16 How much better is it to get wisdom than gold!
and to get understanding rather to be chosen than silver!
16: 17 The highway of the upright is to depart from evil: he that keepeth his way preserveth his soul.
16: 18 Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.
16: 19 Better it is to be of an humble spirit with the lowly, than to divide the spoil with the proud.
16: 20 He that handleth a matter wisely shall find good: and whoso trusteth in the LORD, happy is he.
16: 21 The wise in heart shall be called prudent: and the sweetness of the lips increaseth learning.
16: 22 Understanding is a wellspring of life unto him that hath it: but the instruction of fools is folly.
16: 23 The heart of the wise teacheth his mouth, and addeth learning to his lips.
16: 24 Pleasant words are as an honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones.
16: 25 There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.
16: 26 He that laboureth laboureth for himself; for his mouth craveth it of him.
16: 27 An ungodly man diggeth up evil: and in his lips there is as a burning fire.
16: 28 A froward man soweth strife: and a whisperer separateth chief friends.
16: 29 A violent man enticeth his neighbour, and leadeth him into the way that is not good.
16: 30 He shutteth his eyes to devise froward things: moving his lips he bringeth evil to pass.
16: 31 The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.
16: 32 He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.
16: 33 The lot is cast into the lap; but the whole disposing thereof is of the LORD.
17: 1 Better is a dry morsel, and quietness therewith, than an house full of sacrifices with strife.
17: 2 A wise servant shall have rule over a son that causeth shame, and shall have part of the inheritance among the brethren.
17: 3 The fining pot is for silver, and the furnace for gold: but the LORD trieth the hearts.
17: 4 A wicked doer giveth heed to false lips; and a liar giveth ear to a naughty tongue.
17: 5 Whoso mocketh the poor reproacheth his Maker: and he that is glad at calamities shall not be unpunished.
17: 6 Children's children are the crown of old men; and the glory of children are their fathers.
17: 7 Excellent speech becometh not a fool: much less do lying lips a prince.
17: 8 A gift is as a precious stone in the eyes of him that hath it: whithersoever it turneth, it prospereth.
17: 9 He that covereth a transgression seeketh love; but he that repeateth a matter separateth very friends.
17: 10 A reproof entereth more into a wise man than an hundred stripes into a fool.
17: 11 An evil man seeketh only rebellion: therefore a cruel messenger shall be sent against him.
17: 12 Let a bear robbed of her whelps meet a man, rather than a fool in his folly.
17: 13 Whoso rewardeth evil for good, evil shall not depart from his house.
17: 14 The beginning of strife is as when one letteth out water: therefore leave off contention, before it be meddled with.
17: 15 He that justifieth the wicked, and he that condemneth the just, even they both are abomination to the LORD.
17: 16 Wherefore is there a price in the hand of a fool to get wisdom, seeing he hath no heart to it?
17: 17 A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.
17: 18 A man void of understanding striketh hands, and becometh surety in the presence of his friend.
17: 19 He loveth transgression that loveth strife: and he that exalteth his gate seeketh destruction.
17: 20 He that hath a froward heart findeth no good: and he that hath a perverse tongue falleth into mischief.
17: 21 He that begetteth a fool doeth it to his sorrow: and the father of a fool hath no joy.
17: 22 A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.
17: 23 A wicked man taketh a gift out of the bosom to pervert the ways of judgment.
17: 24 Wisdom is before him that hath understanding; but the eyes of a fool are in the ends of the earth.
17: 25 A foolish son is a grief to his father, and bitterness to her that bare him.
17: 26 Also to punish the just is not good, nor to strike princes for equity.
17: 27 He that hath knowledge spareth his words: and a man of understanding is of an excellent spirit.
17: 28 Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.
18: 1 Through desire a man, having separated himself, seeketh and intermeddleth with all wisdom.
18: 2 A fool hath no delight in understanding, but that his heart may discover itself.
18: 3 When the wicked cometh, then cometh also contempt, and with ignominy reproach.
18: 4 The words of a man's mouth are as deep waters, and the wellspring of wisdom as a flowing brook.
18: 5 It is not good to accept the person of the wicked, to overthrow the righteous in judgment.
18: 6 A fool's lips enter into contention, and his mouth calleth for strokes.
18: 7 A fool's mouth is his destruction, and his lips are the snare of his soul.
18: 8 The words of a talebearer are as wounds, and they go down into the innermost parts of the belly.
18: 9 He also that is slothful in his work is brother to him that is a great waster.
18: 10 The name of the LORD is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.
18: 11 The rich man's wealth is his strong city, and as an high wall in his own conceit.
18: 12 Before destruction the heart of man is haughty, and before honour is humility.
18: 13 He that answereth a matter before he heareth it, it is folly and shame unto him.
18: 14 The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity; but a wounded spirit who can bear?
18: 15 The heart of the prudent getteth knowledge; and the ear of the wise seeketh knowledge.
18: 16 A man's gift maketh room for him, and bringeth him before great men.
18: 17 He that is first in his own cause seemeth just; but his neighbour cometh and searcheth him.
18: 18 The lot causeth contentions to cease, and parteth between the mighty.
18: 19 A brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city: and their contentions are like the bars of a castle.
18: 20 A man's belly shall be satisfied with the fruit of his mouth; and with the increase of his lips shall he be filled.
18: 21 Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.
18: 22 Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the LORD.
18: 23 The poor useth intreaties; but the rich answereth roughly.
18: 24 A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.
19: 1 Better is the poor that walketh in his integrity, than he that is perverse in his lips, and is a fool.
19: 2 Also, that the soul be without knowledge, it is not good; and he that hasteth with his feet sinneth.
19: 3 The foolishness of man perverteth his way: and his heart fretteth against the LORD.
19: 4 Wealth maketh many friends; but the poor is separated from his neighbour.
19: 5 A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall not escape.
19: 6 Many will intreat the favour of the prince: and every man is a friend to him that giveth gifts.
19: 7 All the brethren of the poor do hate him: how much more do his friends go far from him?
he pursueth them with words, yet they are wanting to him.
19: 8 He that getteth wisdom loveth his own soul: he that keepeth understanding shall find good.
19: 9 A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall perish.
19: 10 Delight is not seemly for a fool; much less for a servant to have rule over princes.
19: 11 The discretion of a man deferreth his anger; and it is his glory to pass over a transgression.
19: 12 The king's wrath is as the roaring of a lion; but his favour is as dew upon the grass.
19: 13 A foolish son is the calamity of his father: and the contentions of a wife are a continual dropping.
19: 14 House and riches are the inheritance of fathers: and a prudent wife is from the LORD.
19: 15 Slothfulness casteth into a deep sleep; and an idle soul shall suffer hunger.
19: 16 He that keepeth the commandment keepeth his own soul; but he that despiseth his ways shall die.
19: 17 He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the LORD; and that which he hath given will he pay him again.
19: 18 Chasten thy son while there is hope, and let not thy soul spare for his crying.
19: 19 A man of great wrath shall suffer punishment: for if thou deliver him, yet thou must do it again.
19: 20 Hear counsel, and receive instruction, that thou mayest be wise in thy latter end.
19: 21 There are many devices in a man's heart; nevertheless the counsel of the LORD, that shall stand.
19: 22 The desire of a man is his kindness: and a poor man is better than a liar.
19: 23 The fear of the LORD tendeth to life: and he that hath it shall abide satisfied; he shall not be visited with evil.
19: 24 A slothful man hideth his hand in his bosom, and will not so much as bring it to his mouth again.
19: 25 Smite a scorner, and the simple will beware: and reprove one that hath understanding, and he will understand knowledge.
19: 26 He that wasteth his father, and chaseth away his mother, is a son that causeth shame, and bringeth reproach.
19: 27 Cease, my son, to hear the instruction that causeth to err from the words of knowledge.
19: 28 An ungodly witness scorneth judgment: and the mouth of the wicked devoureth iniquity.
19: 29 Judgments are prepared for scorners, and stripes for the back of fools.
20: 1 Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise.
20: 2 The fear of a king is as the roaring of a lion: whoso provoketh him to anger sinneth against his own soul.
20: 3 It is an honour for a man to cease from strife: but every fool will be meddling.
20: 4 The sluggard will not plow by reason of the cold; therefore shall he beg in harvest, and have nothing.
20: 5 Counsel in the heart of man is like deep water; but a man of understanding will draw it out.
20: 6 Most men will proclaim every one his own goodness: but a faithful man who can find?
20: 7 The just man walketh in his integrity: his children are blessed after him.
20: 8 A king that sitteth in the throne of judgment scattereth away all evil with his eyes.
20: 9 Who can say, I have made my heart clean, I am pure from my sin?
20: 10 Divers weights, and divers measures, both of them are alike abomination to the LORD.
20: 11 Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right.
20: 12 The hearing ear, and the seeing eye, the LORD hath made even both of them.
20: 13 Love not sleep, lest thou come to poverty; open thine eyes, and thou shalt be satisfied with bread.
20: 14 It is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer: but when he is gone his way, then he boasteth.
20: 15 There is gold, and a multitude of rubies: but the lips of knowledge are a precious jewel.
20: 16 Take his garment that is surety for a stranger: and take a pledge of him for a strange woman.
20: 17 Bread of deceit is sweet to a man; but afterwards his mouth shall be filled with gravel.
20: 18 Every purpose is established by counsel: and with good advice make war.
20: 19 He that goeth about as a talebearer revealeth secrets: therefore meddle not with him that flattereth with his lips.
20: 20 Whoso curseth his father or his mother, his lamp shall be put out in obscure darkness.
20: 21 An inheritance may be gotten hastily at the beginning; but the end thereof shall not be blessed.
20: 22 Say not thou, I will recompense evil; but wait on the LORD, and he shall save thee.
20: 23 Divers weights are an abomination unto the LORD; and a false balance is not good.
20: 24 Man's goings are of the LORD; how can a man then understand his own way?
20: 25 It is a snare to the man who devoureth that which is holy, and after vows to make enquiry.
20: 26 A wise king scattereth the wicked, and bringeth the wheel over them.
20: 27 The spirit of man is the candle of the LORD, searching all the inward parts of the belly.
20: 28 Mercy and truth preserve the king: and his throne is upholden by mercy.
20: 29 The glory of young men is their strength: and the beauty of old men is the grey head.
20: 30 The blueness of a wound cleanseth away evil: so do stripes the inward parts of the belly.
21: 1 The king's heart is in the hand of the LORD, as the rivers of water: he turneth it whithersoever he will.
21: 2 Every way of a man is right in his own eyes: but the LORD pondereth the hearts.
21: 3 To do justice and judgment is more acceptable to the LORD than sacrifice.
21: 4 An high look, and a proud heart, and the plowing of the wicked, is sin.
21: 5 The thoughts of the diligent tend only to plenteousness; but of every one that is hasty only to want.
21: 6 The getting of treasures by a lying tongue is a vanity tossed to and fro of them that seek death.
21: 7 The robbery of the wicked shall destroy them; because they refuse to do judgment.
21: 8 The way of man is froward and strange: but as for the pure, his work is right.
21: 9 It is better to dwell in a corner of the housetop, than with a brawling woman in a wide house.
21: 10 The soul of the wicked desireth evil: his neighbour findeth no favour in his eyes.
21: 11 When the scorner is punished, the simple is made wise: and when the wise is instructed, he receiveth knowledge.
21: 12 The righteous man wisely considereth the house of the wicked: but God overthroweth the wicked for their wickedness.
21: 13 Whoso stoppeth his ears at the cry of the poor, he also shall cry himself, but shall not be heard.
21: 14 A gift in secret pacifieth anger: and a reward in the bosom strong wrath.
21: 15 It is joy to the just to do judgment: but destruction shall be to the workers of iniquity.
21: 16 The man that wandereth out of the way of understanding shall remain in the congregation of the dead.
21: 17 He that loveth pleasure shall be a poor man: he that loveth wine and oil shall not be rich.
21: 18 The wicked shall be a ransom for the righteous, and the transgressor for the upright.
21: 19 It is better to dwell in the wilderness, than with a contentious and an angry woman.
21: 20 There is treasure to be desired and oil in the dwelling of the wise; but a foolish man spendeth it up.
21: 21 He that followeth after righteousness and mercy findeth life, righteousness, and honour.
21: 22 A wise man scaleth the city of the mighty, and casteth down the strength of the confidence thereof.
21: 23 Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth his soul from troubles.
21: 24 Proud and haughty scorner is his name, who dealeth in proud wrath.
21: 25 The desire of the slothful killeth him; for his hands refuse to labour.
21: 26 He coveteth greedily all the day long: but the righteous giveth and spareth not.
21: 27 The sacrifice of the wicked is abomination: how much more, when he bringeth it with a wicked mind?
21: 28 A false witness shall perish: but the man that heareth speaketh constantly.
21: 29 A wicked man hardeneth his face: but as for the upright, he directeth his way.
21: 30 There is no wisdom nor understanding nor counsel against the LORD.
21: 31 The horse is prepared against the day of battle: but safety is of the LORD.
22: 1 A GOOD name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold.
22: 2 The rich and poor meet together: the LORD is the maker of them all.
22: 3 A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself: but the simple pass on, and are punished.
22: 4 By humility and the fear of the LORD are riches, and honour, and life.
22: 5 Thorns and snares are in the way of the froward: he that doth keep his soul shall be far from them.
22: 6 Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.
22: 7 The rich ruleth over the poor, and the borrower is servant to the lender.
22: 8 He that soweth iniquity shall reap vanity: and the rod of his anger shall fail.
22: 9 He that hath a bountiful eye shall be blessed; for he giveth of his bread to the poor.
22: 10 Cast out the scorner, and contention shall go out; yea, strife and reproach shall cease.
22: 11 He that loveth pureness of heart, for the grace of his lips the king shall be his friend.
22: 12 The eyes of the LORD preserve knowledge, and he overthroweth the words of the transgressor.
22: 13 The slothful man saith, There is a lion without, I shall be slain in the streets.
22: 14 The mouth of strange women is a deep pit: he that is abhorred of the LORD shall fall therein.
22: 15 Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him.
22: 16 He that oppresseth the poor to increase his riches, and he that giveth to the rich, shall surely come to want.
22: 17 Bow down thine ear, and hear the words of the wise, and apply thine heart unto my knowledge.
22: 18 For it is a pleasant thing if thou keep them within thee; they shall withal be fitted in thy lips.
22: 19 That thy trust may be in the LORD, I have made known to thee this day, even to thee.
22: 20 Have not I written to thee excellent things in counsels and knowledge, 22: 21 That I might make thee know the certainty of the words of truth; that thou mightest answer the words of truth to them that send unto thee?
22: 22 Rob not the poor, because he is poor: neither oppress the afflicted in the gate: 22: 23 For the LORD will plead their cause, and spoil the soul of those that spoiled them.
22: 24 Make no friendship with an angry man; and with a furious man thou shalt not go: 22: 25 Lest thou learn his ways, and get a snare to thy soul.
22: 26 Be not thou one of them that strike hands, or of them that are sureties for debts.
22: 27 If thou hast nothing to pay, why should he take away thy bed from under thee?
22: 28 Remove not the ancient landmark, which thy fathers have set.
22: 29 Seest thou a man diligent in his business?
he shall stand before kings; he shall not stand before mean men.
23: 1 When thou sittest to eat with a ruler, consider diligently what is before thee: 23: 2 And put a knife to thy throat, if thou be a man given to appetite.
23: 3 Be not desirous of his dainties: for they are deceitful meat.
23: 4 Labour not to be rich: cease from thine own wisdom.
23: 5 Wilt thou set thine eyes upon that which is not?
for riches certainly make themselves wings; they fly away as an eagle toward heaven.
23: 6 Eat thou not the bread of him that hath an evil eye, neither desire thou his dainty meats: 23: 7 For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he: Eat and drink, saith he to thee; but his heart is not with thee.
23: 8 The morsel which thou hast eaten shalt thou vomit up, and lose thy sweet words.
23: 9 Speak not in the ears of a fool: for he will despise the wisdom of thy words.
23: 10 Remove not the old landmark; and enter not into the fields of the fatherless: 23: 11 For their redeemer is mighty; he shall plead their cause with thee.
23: 12 Apply thine heart unto instruction, and thine ears to the words of knowledge.
23: 13 Withhold not correction from the child: for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die.
23: 14 Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell.
23: 15 My son, if thine heart be wise, my heart shall rejoice, even mine.
23: 16 Yea, my reins shall rejoice, when thy lips speak right things.
23: 17 Let not thine heart envy sinners: but be thou in the fear of the LORD all the day long.
23: 18 For surely there is an end; and thine expectation shall not be cut off.
23: 19 Hear thou, my son, and be wise, and guide thine heart in the way.
23: 20 Be not among winebibbers; among riotous eaters of flesh: 23: 21 For the drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty: and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags.
23: 22 Hearken unto thy father that begat thee, and despise not thy mother when she is old.
23: 23 Buy the truth, and sell it not; also wisdom, and instruction, and understanding.
23: 24 The father of the righteous shall greatly rejoice: and he that begetteth a wise child shall have joy of him.
23: 25 Thy father and thy mother shall be glad, and she that bare thee shall rejoice.
23: 26 My son, give me thine heart, and let thine eyes observe my ways.
23: 27 For a whore is a deep ditch; and a strange woman is a narrow pit.
23: 28 She also lieth in wait as for a prey, and increaseth the transgressors among men.
23: 29 Who hath woe?
who hath sorrow?
who hath contentions?
who hath babbling?
who hath wounds without cause?
who hath redness of eyes?
23: 30 They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine.
23: 31 Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright.
23: 32 At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.
23: 33 Thine eyes shall behold strange women, and thine heart shall utter perverse things.
23: 34 Yea, thou shalt be as he that lieth down in the midst of the sea, or as he that lieth upon the top of a mast.
23: 35 They have stricken me, shalt thou say, and I was not sick; they have beaten me, and I felt it not: when shall I awake?
I will seek it yet again.
24: 1 Be not thou envious against evil men, neither desire to be with them.
24: 2 For their heart studieth destruction, and their lips talk of mischief.
24: 3 Through wisdom is an house builded; and by understanding it is established: 24: 4 And by knowledge shall the chambers be filled with all precious and pleasant riches.
24: 5 A wise man is strong; yea, a man of knowledge increaseth strength.
24: 6 For by wise counsel thou shalt make thy war: and in multitude of counsellors there is safety.
24: 7 Wisdom is too high for a fool: he openeth not his mouth in the gate.
24: 8 He that deviseth to do evil shall be called a mischievous person.
24: 9 The thought of foolishness is sin: and the scorner is an abomination to men.
24: 10 If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small.
24: 11 If thou forbear to deliver them that are drawn unto death, and those that are ready to be slain; 24: 12 If thou sayest, Behold, we knew it not; doth not he that pondereth the heart consider it?
and he that keepeth thy soul, doth not he know it?
and shall not he render to every man according to his works?
24: 13 My son, eat thou honey, because it is good; and the honeycomb, which is sweet to thy taste: 24: 14 So shall the knowledge of wisdom be unto thy soul: when thou hast found it, then there shall be a reward, and thy expectation shall not be cut off.
24: 15 Lay not wait, O wicked man, against the dwelling of the righteous; spoil not his resting place: 24: 16 For a just man falleth seven times, and riseth up again: but the wicked shall fall into mischief.
24: 17 Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth, and let not thine heart be glad when he stumbleth: 24: 18 Lest the LORD see it, and it displease him, and he turn away his wrath from him.
24: 19 Fret not thyself because of evil men, neither be thou envious at the wicked: 24: 20 For there shall be no reward to the evil man; the candle of the wicked shall be put out.
24: 21 My son, fear thou the LORD and the king: and meddle not with them that are given to change: 24: 22 For their calamity shall rise suddenly; and who knoweth the ruin of them both?
24: 23 These things also belong to the wise.
It is not good to have respect of persons in judgment.
24: 24 He that saith unto the wicked, Thou are righteous; him shall the people curse, nations shall abhor him: 24: 25 But to them that rebuke him shall be delight, and a good blessing shall come upon them.
24: 26 Every man shall kiss his lips that giveth a right answer.
24: 27 Prepare thy work without, and make it fit for thyself in the field; and afterwards build thine house.
24: 28 Be not a witness against thy neighbour without cause; and deceive not with thy lips.
24: 29 Say not, I will do so to him as he hath done to me: I will render to the man according to his work.
24: 30 I went by the field of the slothful, and by the vineyard of the man void of understanding; 24: 31 And, lo, it was all grown over with thorns, and nettles had covered the face thereof, and the stone wall thereof was broken down.
24: 32 Then I saw, and considered it well: I looked upon it, and received instruction.
24: 33 Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep: 24: 34 So shall thy poverty come as one that travelleth; and thy want as an armed man.
25: 1 These are also proverbs of Solomon, which the men of Hezekiah king of Judah copied out.
25: 2 It is the glory of God to conceal a thing: but the honour of kings is to search out a matter.
25: 3 The heaven for height, and the earth for depth, and the heart of kings is unsearchable.
25: 4 Take away the dross from the silver, and there shall come forth a vessel for the finer.
25: 5 Take away the wicked from before the king, and his throne shall be established in righteousness.
25: 6 Put not forth thyself in the presence of the king, and stand not in the place of great men: 25: 7 For better it is that it be said unto thee, Come up hither; than that thou shouldest be put lower in the presence of the prince whom thine eyes have seen.
25: 8 Go not forth hastily to strive, lest thou know not what to do in the end thereof, when thy neighbour hath put thee to shame.
25: 9 Debate thy cause with thy neighbour himself; and discover not a secret to another: 25: 10 Lest he that heareth it put thee to shame, and thine infamy turn not away.
25: 11 A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.
25: 12 As an earring of gold, and an ornament of fine gold, so is a wise reprover upon an obedient ear.
25: 13 As the cold of snow in the time of harvest, so is a faithful messenger to them that send him: for he refresheth the soul of his masters.
25: 14 Whoso boasteth himself of a false gift is like clouds and wind without rain.
25: 15 By long forbearing is a prince persuaded, and a soft tongue breaketh the bone.
25: 16 Hast thou found honey?
eat so much as is sufficient for thee, lest thou be filled therewith, and vomit it.
25: 17 Withdraw thy foot from thy neighbour's house; lest he be weary of thee, and so hate thee.
25: 18 A man that beareth false witness against his neighbour is a maul, and a sword, and a sharp arrow.
25: 19 Confidence in an unfaithful man in time of trouble is like a broken tooth, and a foot out of joint.
25: 20 As he that taketh away a garment in cold weather, and as vinegar upon nitre, so is he that singeth songs to an heavy heart.
25: 21 If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink: 25: 22 For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the LORD shall reward thee.
25: 23 The north wind driveth away rain: so doth an angry countenance a backbiting tongue.
25: 24 It is better to dwell in the corner of the housetop, than with a brawling woman and in a wide house.
25: 25 As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.
25: 26 A righteous man falling down before the wicked is as a troubled fountain, and a corrupt spring.
25: 27 It is not good to eat much honey: so for men to search their own glory is not glory.
25: 28 He that hath no rule over his own spirit is like a city that is broken down, and without walls.
26: 1 As snow in summer, and as rain in harvest, so honour is not seemly for a fool.
26: 2 As the bird by wandering, as the swallow by flying, so the curse causeless shall not come.
26: 3 A whip for the horse, a bridle for the ass, and a rod for the fool's back.
26: 4 Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest thou also be like unto him.
26: 5 Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own conceit.
26: 6 He that sendeth a message by the hand of a fool cutteth off the feet, and drinketh damage.
26: 7 The legs of the lame are not equal: so is a parable in the mouth of fools.
26: 8 As he that bindeth a stone in a sling, so is he that giveth honour to a fool.
26: 9 As a thorn goeth up into the hand of a drunkard, so is a parable in the mouths of fools.
26: 10 The great God that formed all things both rewardeth the fool, and rewardeth transgressors.
26: 11 As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly.
26: 12 Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit?
there is more hope of a fool than of him.
26: 13 The slothful man saith, There is a lion in the way; a lion is in the streets.
26: 14 As the door turneth upon his hinges, so doth the slothful upon his bed.
26: 15 The slothful hideth his hand in his bosom; it grieveth him to bring it again to his mouth.
26: 16 The sluggard is wiser in his own conceit than seven men that can render a reason.
26: 17 He that passeth by, and meddleth with strife belonging not to him, is like one that taketh a dog by the ears.
26: 18 As a mad man who casteth firebrands, arrows, and death, 26: 19 So is the man that deceiveth his neighbour, and saith, Am not I in sport?
26: 20 Where no wood is, there the fire goeth out: so where there is no talebearer, the strife ceaseth.
26: 21 As coals are to burning coals, and wood to fire; so is a contentious man to kindle strife.
26: 22 The words of a talebearer are as wounds, and they go down into the innermost parts of the belly.
26: 23 Burning lips and a wicked heart are like a potsherd covered with silver dross.
26: 24 He that hateth dissembleth with his lips, and layeth up deceit within him; 26: 25 When he speaketh fair, believe him not: for there are seven abominations in his heart.
26: 26 Whose hatred is covered by deceit, his wickedness shall be shewed before the whole congregation.
26: 27 Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein: and he that rolleth a stone, it will return upon him.
26: 28 A lying tongue hateth those that are afflicted by it; and a flattering mouth worketh ruin.
27: 1 Boast not thyself of to morrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.
27: 2 Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth; a stranger, and not thine own lips.
27: 3 A stone is heavy, and the sand weighty; but a fool's wrath is heavier than them both.
27: 4 Wrath is cruel, and anger is outrageous; but who is able to stand before envy?
27: 5 Open rebuke is better than secret love.
27: 6 Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.
27: 7 The full soul loatheth an honeycomb; but to the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet.
27: 8 As a bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place.
27: 9 Ointment and perfume rejoice the heart: so doth the sweetness of a man's friend by hearty counsel.
27: 10 Thine own friend, and thy father's friend, forsake not; neither go into thy brother's house in the day of thy calamity: for better is a neighbour that is near than a brother far off.
27: 11 My son, be wise, and make my heart glad, that I may answer him that reproacheth me.
27: 12 A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself; but the simple pass on, and are punished.
27: 13 Take his garment that is surety for a stranger, and take a pledge of him for a strange woman.
27: 14 He that blesseth his friend with a loud voice, rising early in the morning, it shall be counted a curse to him.
27: 15 A continual dropping in a very rainy day and a contentious woman are alike.
27: 16 Whosoever hideth her hideth the wind, and the ointment of his right hand, which bewrayeth itself.
27: 17 Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.
27: 18 Whoso keepeth the fig tree shall eat the fruit thereof: so he that waiteth on his master shall be honoured.
27: 19 As in water face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man.
27: 20 Hell and destruction are never full; so the eyes of man are never satisfied.
27: 21 As the fining pot for silver, and the furnace for gold; so is a man to his praise.
27: 22 Though thou shouldest bray a fool in a mortar among wheat with a pestle, yet will not his foolishness depart from him.
27: 23 Be thou diligent to know the state of thy flocks, and look well to thy herds.
27: 24 For riches are not for ever: and doth the crown endure to every generation?
27: 25 The hay appeareth, and the tender grass sheweth itself, and herbs of the mountains are gathered.
27: 26 The lambs are for thy clothing, and the goats are the price of the field.
27: 27 And thou shalt have goats'milk enough for thy food, for the food of thy household, and for the maintenance for thy maidens.
28: 1 The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion.
28: 2 For the transgression of a land many are the princes thereof: but by a man of understanding and knowledge the state thereof shall be prolonged.
28: 3 A poor man that oppresseth the poor is like a sweeping rain which leaveth no food.
28: 4 They that forsake the law praise the wicked: but such as keep the law contend with them.
28: 5 Evil men understand not judgment: but they that seek the LORD understand all things.
28: 6 Better is the poor that walketh in his uprightness, than he that is perverse in his ways, though he be rich.
28: 7 Whoso keepeth the law is a wise son: but he that is a companion of riotous men shameth his father.
28: 8 He that by usury and unjust gain increaseth his substance, he shall gather it for him that will pity the poor.
28: 9 He that turneth away his ear from hearing the law, even his prayer shall be abomination.
28: 10 Whoso causeth the righteous to go astray in an evil way, he shall fall himself into his own pit: but the upright shall have good things in possession.
28: 11 The rich man is wise in his own conceit; but the poor that hath understanding searcheth him out.
28: 12 When righteous men do rejoice, there is great glory: but when the wicked rise, a man is hidden.
28: 13 He that covereth his sins shall not prosper: but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy.
28: 14 Happy is the man that feareth alway: but he that hardeneth his heart shall fall into mischief.
28: 15 As a roaring lion, and a ranging bear; so is a wicked ruler over the poor people.
28: 16 The prince that wanteth understanding is also a great oppressor: but he that hateth covetousness shall prolong his days.
28: 17 A man that doeth violence to the blood of any person shall flee to the pit; let no man stay him.
28: 18 Whoso walketh uprightly shall be saved: but he that is perverse in his ways shall fall at once.
28: 19 He that tilleth his land shall have plenty of bread: but he that followeth after vain persons shall have poverty enough.
28: 20 A faithful man shall abound with blessings: but he that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent.
28: 21 To have respect of persons is not good: for for a piece of bread that man will transgress.
28: 22 He that hasteth to be rich hath an evil eye, and considereth not that poverty shall come upon him.
28: 23 He that rebuketh a man afterwards shall find more favour than he that flattereth with the tongue.
28: 24 Whoso robbeth his father or his mother, and saith, It is no transgression; the same is the companion of a destroyer.
28: 25 He that is of a proud heart stirreth up strife: but he that putteth his trust in the LORD shall be made fat.
28: 26 He that trusteth in his own heart is a fool: but whoso walketh wisely, he shall be delivered.
28: 27 He that giveth unto the poor shall not lack: but he that hideth his eyes shall have many a curse.
28: 28 When the wicked rise, men hide themselves: but when they perish, the righteous increase.
29: 1 He, that being often reproved hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy.
29: 2 When the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice: but when the wicked beareth rule, the people mourn.
29: 3 Whoso loveth wisdom rejoiceth his father: but he that keepeth company with harlots spendeth his substance.
29: 4 The king by judgment establisheth the land: but he that receiveth gifts overthroweth it.
29: 5 A man that flattereth his neighbour spreadeth a net for his feet.
29: 6 In the transgression of an evil man there is a snare: but the righteous doth sing and rejoice.
29: 7 The righteous considereth the cause of the poor: but the wicked regardeth not to know it.
29: 8 Scornful men bring a city into a snare: but wise men turn away wrath.
29: 9 If a wise man contendeth with a foolish man, whether he rage or laugh, there is no rest.
29: 10 The bloodthirsty hate the upright: but the just seek his soul.
29: 11 A fool uttereth all his mind: but a wise man keepeth it in till afterwards.
29: 12 If a ruler hearken to lies, all his servants are wicked.
29: 13 The poor and the deceitful man meet together: the LORD lighteneth both their eyes.
29: 14 The king that faithfully judgeth the poor, his throne shall be established for ever.
29: 15 The rod and reproof give wisdom: but a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame.
29: 16 When the wicked are multiplied, transgression increaseth: but the righteous shall see their fall.
29: 17 Correct thy son, and he shall give thee rest; yea, he shall give delight unto thy soul.
29: 18 Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he.
29: 19 A servant will not be corrected by words: for though he understand he will not answer.
29: 20 Seest thou a man that is hasty in his words?
there is more hope of a fool than of him.
29: 21 He that delicately bringeth up his servant from a child shall have him become his son at the length.
29: 22 An angry man stirreth up strife, and a furious man aboundeth in transgression.
29: 23 A man's pride shall bring him low: but honour shall uphold the humble in spirit.
29: 24 Whoso is partner with a thief hateth his own soul: he heareth cursing, and bewrayeth it not.
29: 25 The fear of man bringeth a snare: but whoso putteth his trust in the LORD shall be safe.
29: 26 Many seek the ruler's favour; but every man's judgment cometh from the LORD.
29: 27 An unjust man is an abomination to the just: and he that is upright in the way is abomination to the wicked.
30: 1 The words of Agur the son of Jakeh, even the prophecy: the man spake unto Ithiel, even unto Ithiel and Ucal, 30: 2 Surely I am more brutish than any man, and have not the understanding of a man.
30: 3 I neither learned wisdom, nor have the knowledge of the holy.
30: 4 Who hath ascended up into heaven, or descended?
who hath gathered the wind in his fists?
who hath bound the waters in a garment?
who hath established all the ends of the earth?
what is his name, and what is his son's name, if thou canst tell?
30: 5 Every word of God is pure: he is a shield unto them that put their trust in him.
30: 6 Add thou not unto his words, lest he reprove thee, and thou be found a liar.
30: 7 Two things have I required of thee; deny me them not before I die: 30: 8 Remove far from me vanity and lies: give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me: 30: 9 Lest I be full, and deny thee, and say, Who is the LORD?
or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain.
30: 10 Accuse not a servant unto his master, lest he curse thee, and thou be found guilty.
30: 11 There is a generation that curseth their father, and doth not bless their mother.
30: 12 There is a generation that are pure in their own eyes, and yet is not washed from their filthiness.
30: 13 There is a generation, O how lofty are their eyes!
and their eyelids are lifted up.
30: 14 There is a generation, whose teeth are as swords, and their jaw teeth as knives, to devour the poor from off the earth, and the needy from among men.
30: 15 The horseleach hath two daughters, crying, Give, give.
There are three things that are never satisfied, yea, four things say not, It is enough: 30: 16 The grave; and the barren womb; the earth that is not filled with water; and the fire that saith not, It is enough.
30: 17 The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it.
30: 18 There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: 30: 19 The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.
30: 20 Such is the way of an adulterous woman; she eateth, and wipeth her mouth, and saith, I have done no wickedness.
30: 21 For three things the earth is disquieted, and for four which it cannot bear: 30: 22 For a servant when he reigneth; and a fool when he is filled with meat; 30: 23 For an odious woman when she is married; and an handmaid that is heir to her mistress.
30: 29 There be three things which go well, yea, four are comely in going: 30: 30 A lion which is strongest among beasts, and turneth not away for any; 30: 31 A greyhound; an he goat also; and a king, against whom there is no rising up.
30: 32 If thou hast done foolishly in lifting up thyself, or if thou hast thought evil, lay thine hand upon thy mouth.
30: 33 Surely the churning of milk bringeth forth butter, and the wringing of the nose bringeth forth blood: so the forcing of wrath bringeth forth strife.
31: 1 The words of king Lemuel, the prophecy that his mother taught him.
31: 2 What, my son?
and what, the son of my womb?
and what, the son of my vows?
31: 3 Give not thy strength unto women, nor thy ways to that which destroyeth kings.
31: 4 It is not for kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink wine; nor for princes strong drink: 31: 5 Lest they drink, and forget the law, and pervert the judgment of any of the afflicted.
31: 6 Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts.
31: 7 Let him drink, and forget his poverty, and remember his misery no more.
31: 8 Open thy mouth for the dumb in the cause of all such as are appointed to destruction.
31: 9 Open thy mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy.
31: 10 Who can find a virtuous woman?
for her price is far above rubies.
31: 11 The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.
31: 12 She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.
31: 13 She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands.
31: 14 She is like the merchants'ships; she bringeth her food from afar.
31: 15 She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens.
31: 16 She considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard.
31: 17 She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms.
31: 18 She perceiveth that her merchandise is good: her candle goeth not out by night.
31: 19 She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff.
31: 20 She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy.
31: 21 She is not afraid of the snow for her household: for all her household are clothed with scarlet.
31: 22 She maketh herself coverings of tapestry; her clothing is silk and purple.
31: 23 Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land.
31: 24 She maketh fine linen, and selleth it; and delivereth girdles unto the merchant.
31: 25 Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come.
31: 26 She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.
31: 27 She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.
31: 28 Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her.
31: 29 Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.
31: 30 Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the LORD, she shall be praised.
31: 31 Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.
Ecclesiastes
The Preacher
1: 1 The words of the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.
1: 2 Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.
1: 3 What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?
1: 4 One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever.
1: 5 The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose.
1: 6 The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits.
1: 7 All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again.
1: 8 All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.
1: 9 The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.
1: 10 Is there any thing whereof it may be said, See, this is new?
it hath been already of old time, which was before us.
1: 11 There is no remembrance of former things; neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after.
1: 12 I the Preacher was king over Israel in Jerusalem.
1: 13 And I gave my heart to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under heaven: this sore travail hath God given to the sons of man to be exercised therewith.
1: 14 I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.
1: 15 That which is crooked cannot be made straight: and that which is wanting cannot be numbered.
1: 16 I communed with mine own heart, saying, Lo, I am come to great estate, and have gotten more wisdom than all they that have been before me in Jerusalem: yea, my heart had great experience of wisdom and knowledge.
1: 17 And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly: I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit.
1: 18 For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.
2: 1 I said in mine heart, Go to now, I will prove thee with mirth, therefore enjoy pleasure: and, behold, this also is vanity.
2: 2 I said of laughter, It is mad: and of mirth, What doeth it?
2: 3 I sought in mine heart to give myself unto wine, yet acquainting mine heart with wisdom; and to lay hold on folly, till I might see what was that good for the sons of men, which they should do under the heaven all the days of their life.
2: 9 So I was great, and increased more than all that were before me in Jerusalem: also my wisdom remained with me.
2: 10 And whatsoever mine eyes desired I kept not from them, I withheld not my heart from any joy; for my heart rejoiced in all my labour: and this was my portion of all my labour.
2: 11 Then I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labour that I had laboured to do: and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun.
2: 12 And I turned myself to behold wisdom, and madness, and folly: for what can the man do that cometh after the king?
even that which hath been already done.
2: 13 Then I saw that wisdom excelleth folly, as far as light excelleth darkness.
2: 14 The wise man's eyes are in his head; but the fool walketh in darkness: and I myself perceived also that one event happeneth to them all.
2: 15 Then said I in my heart, As it happeneth to the fool, so it happeneth even to me; and why was I then more wise?
Then I said in my heart, that this also is vanity.
2: 16 For there is no remembrance of the wise more than of the fool for ever; seeing that which now is in the days to come shall all be forgotten.
And how dieth the wise man?
as the fool.
2: 17 Therefore I hated life; because the work that is wrought under the sun is grievous unto me: for all is vanity and vexation of spirit.
2: 18 Yea, I hated all my labour which I had taken under the sun: because I should leave it unto the man that shall be after me.
2: 19 And who knoweth whether he shall be a wise man or a fool?
yet shall he have rule over all my labour wherein I have laboured, and wherein I have shewed myself wise under the sun.
This is also vanity.
2: 20 Therefore I went about to cause my heart to despair of all the labour which I took under the sun.
2: 21 For there is a man whose labour is in wisdom, and in knowledge, and in equity; yet to a man that hath not laboured therein shall he leave it for his portion.
This also is vanity and a great evil.
2: 22 For what hath man of all his labour, and of the vexation of his heart, wherein he hath laboured under the sun?
2: 23 For all his days are sorrows, and his travail grief; yea, his heart taketh not rest in the night.
This is also vanity.
2: 24 There is nothing better for a man, than that he should eat and drink, and that he should make his soul enjoy good in his labour.
This also I saw, that it was from the hand of God.
2: 25 For who can eat, or who else can hasten hereunto, more than I?
2: 26 For God giveth to a man that is good in his sight wisdom, and knowledge, and joy: but to the sinner he giveth travail, to gather and to heap up, that he may give to him that is good before God.
This also is vanity and vexation of spirit.
3: 9 What profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he laboureth?
3: 10 I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it.
3: 11 He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.
3: 12 I know that there is no good in them, but for a man to rejoice, and to do good in his life.
3: 13 And also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of God.
3: 14 I know that, whatsoever God doeth, it shall be for ever: nothing can be put to it, nor any thing taken from it: and God doeth it, that men should fear before him.
3: 15 That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is past.
3: 16 And moreover I saw under the sun the place of judgment, that wickedness was there; and the place of righteousness, that iniquity was there.
3: 17 I said in mine heart, God shall judge the righteous and the wicked: for there is a time there for every purpose and for every work.
3: 18 I said in mine heart concerning the estate of the sons of men, that God might manifest them, and that they might see that they themselves are beasts.
3: 19 For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast: for all is vanity.
3: 20 All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.
3: 21 Who knoweth the spirit of man that goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast that goeth downward to the earth?
3: 22 Wherefore I perceive that there is nothing better, than that a man should rejoice in his own works; for that is his portion: for who shall bring him to see what shall be after him?
4: 1 So I returned, and considered all the oppressions that are done under the sun: and behold the tears of such as were oppressed, and they had no comforter; and on the side of their oppressors there was power; but they had no comforter.
4: 2 Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive.
4: 3 Yea, better is he than both they, which hath not yet been, who hath not seen the evil work that is done under the sun.
4: 4 Again, I considered all travail, and every right work, that for this a man is envied of his neighbour.
This is also vanity and vexation of spirit.
4: 5 The fool foldeth his hands together, and eateth his own flesh.
4: 6 Better is an handful with quietness, than both the hands full with travail and vexation of spirit.
4: 7 Then I returned, and I saw vanity under the sun.
4: 8 There is one alone, and there is not a second; yea, he hath neither child nor brother: yet is there no end of all his labour; neither is his eye satisfied with riches; neither saith he, For whom do I labour, and bereave my soul of good?
This is also vanity, yea, it is a sore travail.
4: 9 Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour.
4: 10 For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up.
4: 11 Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone?
4: 12 And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.
4: 13 Better is a poor and a wise child than an old and foolish king, who will no more be admonished.
4: 14 For out of prison he cometh to reign; whereas also he that is born in his kingdom becometh poor.
4: 15 I considered all the living which walk under the sun, with the second child that shall stand up in his stead.
4: 16 There is no end of all the people, even of all that have been before them: they also that come after shall not rejoice in him.
Surely this also is vanity and vexation of spirit.
5: 1 Keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of God, and be more ready to hear, than to give the sacrifice of fools: for they consider not that they do evil.
5: 2 Be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be hasty to utter any thing before God: for God is in heaven, and thou upon earth: therefore let thy words be few.
5: 3 For a dream cometh through the multitude of business; and a fool's voice is known by multitude of words.
5: 4 When thou vowest a vow unto God, defer not to pay it; for he hath no pleasure in fools: pay that which thou hast vowed.
5: 5 Better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou shouldest vow and not pay.
5: 6 Suffer not thy mouth to cause thy flesh to sin; neither say thou before the angel, that it was an error: wherefore should God be angry at thy voice, and destroy the work of thine hands?
5: 7 For in the multitude of dreams and many words there are also divers vanities: but fear thou God.
5: 8 If thou seest the oppression of the poor, and violent perverting of judgment and justice in a province, marvel not at the matter: for he that is higher than the highest regardeth; and there be higher than they.
5: 9 Moreover the profit of the earth is for all: the king himself is served by the field.
5: 10 He that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver; nor he that loveth abundance with increase: this is also vanity.
5: 11 When goods increase, they are increased that eat them: and what good is there to the owners thereof, saving the beholding of them with their eyes?
5: 12 The sleep of a labouring man is sweet, whether he eat little or much: but the abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep.
5: 13 There is a sore evil which I have seen under the sun, namely, riches kept for the owners thereof to their hurt.
5: 14 But those riches perish by evil travail: and he begetteth a son, and there is nothing in his hand.
5: 15 As he came forth of his mother's womb, naked shall he return to go as he came, and shall take nothing of his labour, which he may carry away in his hand.
5: 16 And this also is a sore evil, that in all points as he came, so shall he go: and what profit hath he that hath laboured for the wind?
5: 17 All his days also he eateth in darkness, and he hath much sorrow and wrath with his sickness.
5: 18 Behold that which I have seen: it is good and comely for one to eat and to drink, and to enjoy the good of all his labour that he taketh under the sun all the days of his life, which God giveth him: for it is his portion.
5: 19 Every man also to whom God hath given riches and wealth, and hath given him power to eat thereof, and to take his portion, and to rejoice in his labour; this is the gift of God.
5: 20 For he shall not much remember the days of his life; because God answereth him in the joy of his heart.
6: 3 If a man beget an hundred children, and live many years, so that the days of his years be many, and his soul be not filled with good, and also that he have no burial; I say, that an untimely birth is better than he.
6: 4 For he cometh in with vanity, and departeth in darkness, and his name shall be covered with darkness.
6: 5 Moreover he hath not seen the sun, nor known any thing: this hath more rest than the other.
6: 6 Yea, though he live a thousand years twice told, yet hath he seen no good: do not all go to one place?
6: 7 All the labour of man is for his mouth, and yet the appetite is not filled.
6: 8 For what hath the wise more than the fool?
what hath the poor, that knoweth to walk before the living?
6: 9 Better is the sight of the eyes than the wandering of the desire: this is also vanity and vexation of spirit.
6: 10 That which hath been is named already, and it is known that it is man: neither may he contend with him that is mightier than he.
6: 11 Seeing there be many things that increase vanity, what is man the better?
6: 12 For who knoweth what is good for man in this life, all the days of his vain life which he spendeth as a shadow?
for who can tell a man what shall be after him under the sun?
7: 1 A good name is better than precious ointment; and the day of death than the day of one's birth.
7: 2 It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart.
7: 3 Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better.
7: 4 The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.
7: 5 It is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than for a man to hear the song of fools.
7: 6 For as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of the fool: this also is vanity.
7: 7 Surely oppression maketh a wise man mad; and a gift destroyeth the heart.
7: 8 Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof: and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit.
7: 9 Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry: for anger resteth in the bosom of fools.
7: 10 Say not thou, What is the cause that the former days were better than these?
for thou dost not enquire wisely concerning this.
7: 11 Wisdom is good with an inheritance: and by it there is profit to them that see the sun.
7: 12 For wisdom is a defence, and money is a defence: but the excellency of knowledge is, that wisdom giveth life to them that have it.
7: 13 Consider the work of God: for who can make that straight, which he hath made crooked?
7: 14 In the day of prosperity be joyful, but in the day of adversity consider: God also hath set the one over against the other, to the end that man should find nothing after him.
7: 15 All things have I seen in the days of my vanity: there is a just man that perisheth in his righteousness, and there is a wicked man that prolongeth his life in his wickedness.
7: 16 Be not righteous over much; neither make thyself over wise: why shouldest thou destroy thyself?
7: 17 Be not over much wicked, neither be thou foolish: why shouldest thou die before thy time?
7: 18 It is good that thou shouldest take hold of this; yea, also from this withdraw not thine hand: for he that feareth God shall come forth of them all.
7: 19 Wisdom strengtheneth the wise more than ten mighty men which are in the city.
7: 20 For there is not a just man upon earth, that doeth good, and sinneth not.
7: 21 Also take no heed unto all words that are spoken; lest thou hear thy servant curse thee: 7: 22 For oftentimes also thine own heart knoweth that thou thyself likewise hast cursed others.
7: 23 All this have I proved by wisdom: I said, I will be wise; but it was far from me.
7: 24 That which is far off, and exceeding deep, who can find it out?
7: 27 Behold, this have I found, saith the preacher, counting one by one, to find out the account: 7: 28 Which yet my soul seeketh, but I find not: one man among a thousand have I found; but a woman among all those have I not found.
7: 29 Lo, this only have I found, that God hath made man upright; but they have sought out many inventions.
8: 1 Who is as the wise man?
and who knoweth the interpretation of a thing?
a man's wisdom maketh his face to shine, and the boldness of his face shall be changed.
8: 2 I counsel thee to keep the king's commandment, and that in regard of the oath of God.
8: 3 Be not hasty to go out of his sight: stand not in an evil thing; for he doeth whatsoever pleaseth him.
8: 4 Where the word of a king is, there is power: and who may say unto him, What doest thou?
8: 5 Whoso keepeth the commandment shall feel no evil thing: and a wise man's heart discerneth both time and judgment.
8: 6 Because to every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore the misery of man is great upon him.
8: 7 For he knoweth not that which shall be: for who can tell him when it shall be?
8: 8 There is no man that hath power over the spirit to retain the spirit; neither hath he power in the day of death: and there is no discharge in that war; neither shall wickedness deliver those that are given to it.
8: 9 All this have I seen, and applied my heart unto every work that is done under the sun: there is a time wherein one man ruleth over another to his own hurt.
8: 10 And so I saw the wicked buried, who had come and gone from the place of the holy, and they were forgotten in the city where they had so done: this is also vanity.
8: 11 Because sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil.
8: 14 There is a vanity which is done upon the earth; that there be just men, unto whom it happeneth according to the work of the wicked; again, there be wicked men, to whom it happeneth according to the work of the righteous: I said that this also is vanity.
8: 15 Then I commended mirth, because a man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry: for that shall abide with him of his labour the days of his life, which God giveth him under the sun.
9: 1 For all this I considered in my heart even to declare all this, that the righteous, and the wise, and their works, are in the hand of God: no man knoweth either love or hatred by all that is before them.
9: 3 This is an evil among all things that are done under the sun, that there is one event unto all: yea, also the heart of the sons of men is full of evil, and madness is in their heart while they live, and after that they go to the dead.
9: 4 For to him that is joined to all the living there is hope: for a living dog is better than a dead lion.
9: 5 For the living know that they shall die: but the dead know not any thing, neither have they any more a reward; for the memory of them is forgotten.
9: 6 Also their love, and their hatred, and their envy, is now perished; neither have they any more a portion for ever in any thing that is done under the sun.
9: 7 Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart; for God now accepteth thy works.
9: 8 Let thy garments be always white; and let thy head lack no ointment.
9: 9 Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity, which he hath given thee under the sun, all the days of thy vanity: for that is thy portion in this life, and in thy labour which thou takest under the sun.
9: 10 Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.
9: 11 I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.
9: 12 For man also knoweth not his time: as the fishes that are taken in an evil net, and as the birds that are caught in the snare; so are the sons of men snared in an evil time, when it falleth suddenly upon them.
9: 16 Then said I, Wisdom is better than strength: nevertheless the poor man's wisdom is despised, and his words are not heard.
9: 17 The words of wise men are heard in quiet more than the cry of him that ruleth among fools.
9: 18 Wisdom is better than weapons of war: but one sinner destroyeth much good.
10: 1 Dead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking savour: so doth a little folly him that is in reputation for wisdom and honour.
10: 2 A wise man's heart is at his right hand; but a fool's heart at his left.
10: 3 Yea also, when he that is a fool walketh by the way, his wisdom faileth him, and he saith to every one that he is a fool.
10: 4 If the spirit of the ruler rise up against thee, leave not thy place; for yielding pacifieth great offences.
10: 5 There is an evil which I have seen under the sun, as an error which proceedeth from the ruler: 10: 6 Folly is set in great dignity, and the rich sit in low place.
10: 7 I have seen servants upon horses, and princes walking as servants upon the earth.
10: 8 He that diggeth a pit shall fall into it; and whoso breaketh an hedge, a serpent shall bite him.
10: 9 Whoso removeth stones shall be hurt therewith; and he that cleaveth wood shall be endangered thereby.
10: 10 If the iron be blunt, and he do not whet the edge, then must he put to more strength: but wisdom is profitable to direct.
10: 11 Surely the serpent will bite without enchantment; and a babbler is no better.
10: 12 The words of a wise man's mouth are gracious; but the lips of a fool will swallow up himself.
10: 13 The beginning of the words of his mouth is foolishness: and the end of his talk is mischievous madness.
10: 14 A fool also is full of words: a man cannot tell what shall be; and what shall be after him, who can tell him?
10: 15 The labour of the foolish wearieth every one of them, because he knoweth not how to go to the city.
10: 16 Woe to thee, O land, when thy king is a child, and thy princes eat in the morning!
10: 17 Blessed art thou, O land, when thy king is the son of nobles, and thy princes eat in due season, for strength, and not for drunkenness!
10: 18 By much slothfulness the building decayeth; and through idleness of the hands the house droppeth through.
10: 19 A feast is made for laughter, and wine maketh merry: but money answereth all things.
10: 20 Curse not the king, no not in thy thought; and curse not the rich in thy bedchamber: for a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.
11: 1 Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days.
11: 2 Give a portion to seven, and also to eight; for thou knowest not what evil shall be upon the earth.
11: 3 If the clouds be full of rain, they empty themselves upon the earth: and if the tree fall toward the south, or toward the north, in the place where the tree falleth, there it shall be.
11: 4 He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap.
11: 5 As thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the bones do grow in the womb of her that is with child: even so thou knowest not the works of God who maketh all.
11: 6 In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand: for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good.
11: 7 Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun: 11: 8 But if a man live many years, and rejoice in them all; yet let him remember the days of darkness; for they shall be many.
All that cometh is vanity.
11: 9 Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.
11: 10 Therefore remove sorrow from thy heart, and put away evil from thy flesh: for childhood and youth are vanity.
12: 7 Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.
12: 8 Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher; all is vanity.
12: 9 And moreover, because the preacher was wise, he still taught the people knowledge; yea, he gave good heed, and sought out, and set in order many proverbs.
12: 10 The preacher sought to find out acceptable words: and that which was written was upright, even words of truth.
12: 11 The words of the wise are as goads, and as nails fastened by the masters of assemblies, which are given from one shepherd.
12: 12 And further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh.
12: 13 Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.
12: 14 For God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil.
The Song of Solomon
1: 1 The song of songs, which is Solomon's.
1: 2 Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine.
1: 3 Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee.
1: 4 Draw me, we will run after thee: the king hath brought me into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy love more than wine: the upright love thee.
1: 5 I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon.
1: 6 Look not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me: my mother's children were angry with me; they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I not kept.
1: 7 Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where thou makest thy flock to rest at noon: for why should I be as one that turneth aside by the flocks of thy companions?
1: 8 If thou know not, O thou fairest among women, go thy way forth by the footsteps of the flock, and feed thy kids beside the shepherds'tents.
1: 9 I have compared thee, O my love, to a company of horses in Pharaoh's chariots.
1: 10 Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels, thy neck with chains of gold.
1: 11 We will make thee borders of gold with studs of silver.
1: 12 While the king sitteth at his table, my spikenard sendeth forth the smell thereof.
1: 13 A bundle of myrrh is my well - beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.
1: 14 My beloved is unto me as a cluster of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi.
1: 15 Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves'eyes.
1: 16 Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant: also our bed is green.
1: 17 The beams of our house are cedar, and our rafters of fir.
2: 1 I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.
2: 2 As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.
2: 3 As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons.
I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
2: 4 He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.
2: 5 Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.
2: 6 His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.
2: 7 I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.
2: 8 The voice of my beloved!
behold, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.
2: 9 My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice.
2: 10 My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
2: 14 O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.
2: 15 Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.
2: 16 My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.
2: 17 Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.
3: 1 By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.
3: 2 I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.
3: 3 The watchmen that go about the city found me: to whom I said, Saw ye him whom my soul loveth?
3: 4 It was but a little that I passed from them, but I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mother's house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me.
3: 5 I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.
3: 6 Who is this that cometh out of the wilderness like pillars of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, with all powders of the merchant?
3: 7 Behold his bed, which is Solomon's; threescore valiant men are about it, of the valiant of Israel.
3: 8 They all hold swords, being expert in war: every man hath his sword upon his thigh because of fear in the night.
3: 9 King Solomon made himself a chariot of the wood of Lebanon.
3: 10 He made the pillars thereof of silver, the bottom thereof of gold, the covering of it of purple, the midst thereof being paved with love, for the daughters of Jerusalem.
3: 11 Go forth, O ye daughters of Zion, and behold king Solomon with the crown wherewith his mother crowned him in the day of his espousals, and in the day of the gladness of his heart.
4: 1 Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves'eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.
4: 2 Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them.
4: 3 Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks.
4: 4 Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men.
4: 5 Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.
4: 6 Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense.
4: 7 Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.
4: 8 Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, with me from Lebanon: look from the top of Amana, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, from the lions'dens, from the mountains of the leopards.
4: 9 Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.
4: 10 How fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse!
how much better is thy love than wine!
and the smell of thine ointments than all spices!
4: 11 Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.
4: 12 A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.
4: 16 Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out.
Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.
5: 1 I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse: I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk: eat, O friends; drink, yea, drink abundantly, O beloved.
5: 2 I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.
5: 3 I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on?
I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?
5: 4 My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, and my bowels were moved for him.
5: 5 I rose up to open to my beloved; and my hands dropped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.
5: 6 I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone: my soul failed when he spake: I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.
5: 7 The watchmen that went about the city found me, they smote me, they wounded me; the keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.
5: 8 I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love.
5: 9 What is thy beloved more than another beloved, O thou fairest among women?
what is thy beloved more than another beloved, that thou dost so charge us?
5: 10 My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.
5: 11 His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.
5: 12 His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.
5: 13 His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dropping sweet smelling myrrh.
5: 14 His hands are as gold rings set with the beryl: his belly is as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires.
5: 15 His legs are as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold: his countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.
5: 16 His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely.
This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.
6: 1 Whither is thy beloved gone, O thou fairest among women?
whither is thy beloved turned aside?
that we may seek him with thee.
6: 2 My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies.
6: 3 I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine: he feedeth among the lilies.
6: 4 Thou art beautiful, O my love, as Tirzah, comely as Jerusalem, terrible as an army with banners.
6: 5 Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome me: thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from Gilead.
6: 6 Thy teeth are as a flock of sheep which go up from the washing, whereof every one beareth twins, and there is not one barren among them.
6: 7 As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples within thy locks.
6: 8 There are threescore queens, and fourscore concubines, and virgins without number.
6: 9 My dove, my undefiled is but one; she is the only one of her mother, she is the choice one of her that bare her.
The daughters saw her, and blessed her; yea, the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.
6: 10 Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners?
6: 11 I went down into the garden of nuts to see the fruits of the valley, and to see whether the vine flourished and the pomegranates budded.
6: 12 Or ever I was aware, my soul made me like the chariots of Amminadib.
6: 13 Return, return, O Shulamite; return, return, that we may look upon thee.
What will ye see in the Shulamite?
As it were the company of two armies.
7: 1 How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince's daughter!
the joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman.
7: 2 Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor: thy belly is like an heap of wheat set about with lilies.
7: 3 Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins.
7: 4 Thy neck is as a tower of ivory; thine eyes like the fishpools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bathrabbim: thy nose is as the tower of Lebanon which looketh toward Damascus.
7: 5 Thine head upon thee is like Carmel, and the hair of thine head like purple; the king is held in the galleries.
7: 6 How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights!
7: 7 This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.
7: 10 I am my beloved's, and his desire is toward me.
7: 11 Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; let us lodge in the villages.
7: 12 Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth: there will I give thee my loves.
7: 13 The mandrakes give a smell, and at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved.
8: 1 O that thou wert as my brother, that sucked the breasts of my mother!
when I should find thee without, I would kiss thee; yea, I should not be despised.
8: 2 I would lead thee, and bring thee into my mother's house, who would instruct me: I would cause thee to drink of spiced wine of the juice of my pomegranate.
8: 3 His left hand should be under my head, and his right hand should embrace me.
8: 4 I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, until he please.
8: 5 Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved?
I raised thee up under the apple tree: there thy mother brought thee forth: there she brought thee forth that bare thee.
8: 6 Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.
8: 7 Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned.
8: 8 We have a little sister, and she hath no breasts: what shall we do for our sister in the day when she shall be spoken for?
8: 9 If she be a wall, we will build upon her a palace of silver: and if she be a door, we will inclose her with boards of cedar.
8: 10 I am a wall, and my breasts like towers: then was I in his eyes as one that found favour.
8: 11 Solomon had a vineyard at Baalhamon; he let out the vineyard unto keepers; every one for the fruit thereof was to bring a thousand pieces of silver.
8: 12 My vineyard, which is mine, is before me: thou, O Solomon, must have a thousand, and those that keep the fruit thereof two hundred.
8: 13 Thou that dwellest in the gardens, the companions hearken to thy voice: cause me to hear it.
8: 14 Make haste, my beloved, and be thou like to a roe or to a young hart upon the mountains of spices.
The Book of the Prophet Isaiah
1: 1 The vision of Isaiah the son of Amoz, which he saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem in the days of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah, kings of Judah.
1: 2 Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth: for the LORD hath spoken, I have nourished and brought up children, and they have rebelled against me.
1: 3 The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master's crib: but Israel doth not know, my people doth not consider.
1: 4 Ah sinful nation, a people laden with iniquity, a seed of evildoers, children that are corrupters: they have forsaken the LORD, they have provoked the Holy One of Israel unto anger, they are gone away backward.
1: 5 Why should ye be stricken any more?
ye will revolt more and more: the whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint.
1: 6 From the sole of the foot even unto the head there is no soundness in it; but wounds, and bruises, and putrifying sores: they have not been closed, neither bound up, neither mollified with ointment.
1: 7 Your country is desolate, your cities are burned with fire: your land, strangers devour it in your presence, and it is desolate, as overthrown by strangers.
1: 8 And the daughter of Zion is left as a cottage in a vineyard, as a lodge in a garden of cucumbers, as a besieged city.
1: 9 Except the LORD of hosts had left unto us a very small remnant, we should have been as Sodom, and we should have been like unto Gomorrah.
1: 10 Hear the word of the LORD, ye rulers of Sodom; give ear unto the law of our God, ye people of Gomorrah.
1: 11 To what purpose is the multitude of your sacrifices unto me?
saith the LORD: I am full of the burnt offerings of rams, and the fat of fed beasts; and I delight not in the blood of bullocks, or of lambs, or of he goats.
1: 12 When ye come to appear before me, who hath required this at your hand, to tread my courts?
1: 13 Bring no more vain oblations; incense is an abomination unto me; the new moons and sabbaths, the calling of assemblies, I cannot away with; it is iniquity, even the solemn meeting.
1: 14 Your new moons and your appointed feasts my soul hateth: they are a trouble unto me; I am weary to bear them.
1: 15 And when ye spread forth your hands, I will hide mine eyes from you: yea, when ye make many prayers, I will not hear: your hands are full of blood.
1: 16 Wash you, make you clean; put away the evil of your doings from before mine eyes; cease to do evil; 1: 17 Learn to do well; seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.
1: 18 Come now, and let us reason together, saith the LORD: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.
1: 19 If ye be willing and obedient, ye shall eat the good of the land: 1: 20 But if ye refuse and rebel, ye shall be devoured with the sword: for the mouth of the LORD hath spoken it.
1: 21 How is the faithful city become an harlot!
it was full of judgment; righteousness lodged in it; but now murderers.
1: 22 Thy silver is become dross, thy wine mixed with water: 1: 23 Thy princes are rebellious, and companions of thieves: every one loveth gifts, and followeth after rewards: they judge not the fatherless, neither doth the cause of the widow come unto them.
1: 27 Zion shall be redeemed with judgment, and her converts with righteousness.
1: 28 And the destruction of the transgressors and of the sinners shall be together, and they that forsake the LORD shall be consumed.
1: 29 For they shall be ashamed of the oaks which ye have desired, and ye shall be confounded for the gardens that ye have chosen.
1: 30 For ye shall be as an oak whose leaf fadeth, and as a garden that hath no water.
1: 31 And the strong shall be as tow, and the maker of it as a spark, and they shall both burn together, and none shall quench them.
2: 1 The word that Isaiah the son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem.
2: 2 And it shall come to pass in the last days, that the mountain of the LORD's house shall be established in the top of the mountains, and shall be exalted above the hills; and all nations shall flow unto it.
2: 3 And many people shall go and say, Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob; and he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his paths: for out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.
2: 4 And he shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.
2: 5 O house of Jacob, come ye, and let us walk in the light of the LORD.
2: 6 Therefore thou hast forsaken thy people the house of Jacob, because they be replenished from the east, and are soothsayers like the Philistines, and they please themselves in the children of strangers.
2: 10 Enter into the rock, and hide thee in the dust, for fear of the LORD, and for the glory of his majesty.
2: 11 The lofty looks of man shall be humbled, and the haughtiness of men shall be bowed down, and the LORD alone shall be exalted in that day.
2: 17 And the loftiness of man shall be bowed down, and the haughtiness of men shall be made low: and the LORD alone shall be exalted in that day.
2: 18 And the idols he shall utterly abolish.
2: 19 And they shall go into the holes of the rocks, and into the caves of the earth, for fear of the LORD, and for the glory of his majesty, when he ariseth to shake terribly the earth.
2: 22 Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils: for wherein is he to be accounted of?
3: 1 For, behold, the Lord, the LORD of hosts, doth take away from Jerusalem and from Judah the stay and the staff, the whole stay of bread, and the whole stay of water.
3: 2 The mighty man, and the man of war, the judge, and the prophet, and the prudent, and the ancient, 3: 3 The captain of fifty, and the honourable man, and the counsellor, and the cunning artificer, and the eloquent orator.
3: 4 And I will give children to be their princes, and babes shall rule over them.
3: 5 And the people shall be oppressed, every one by another, and every one by his neighbour: the child shall behave himself proudly against the ancient, and the base against the honourable.
3: 8 For Jerusalem is ruined, and Judah is fallen: because their tongue and their doings are against the LORD, to provoke the eyes of his glory.
3: 9 The shew of their countenance doth witness against them; and they declare their sin as Sodom, they hide it not.
Woe unto their soul!
for they have rewarded evil unto themselves.
3: 10 Say ye to the righteous, that it shall be well with him: for they shall eat the fruit of their doings.
3: 11 Woe unto the wicked!
it shall be ill with him: for the reward of his hands shall be given him.
3: 12 As for my people, children are their oppressors, and women rule over them.
O my people, they which lead thee cause thee to err, and destroy the way of thy paths.
3: 13 The LORD standeth up to plead, and standeth to judge the people.
3: 14 The LORD will enter into judgment with the ancients of his people, and the princes thereof: for ye have eaten up the vineyard; the spoil of the poor is in your houses.
3: 15 What mean ye that ye beat my people to pieces, and grind the faces of the poor?
saith the Lord GOD of hosts.
3: 24 And it shall come to pass, that instead of sweet smell there shall be stink; and instead of a girdle a rent; and instead of well set hair baldness; and instead of a stomacher a girding of sackcloth; and burning instead of beauty.
3: 25 Thy men shall fall by the sword, and thy mighty in the war.
3: 26 And her gates shall lament and mourn; and she being desolate shall sit upon the ground.
4: 1 And in that day seven women shall take hold of one man, saying, We will eat our own bread, and wear our own apparel: only let us be called by thy name, to take away our reproach.
4: 2 In that day shall the branch of the LORD be beautiful and glorious, and the fruit of the earth shall be excellent and comely for them that are escaped of Israel.
4: 5 And the LORD will create upon every dwelling place of mount Zion, and upon her assemblies, a cloud and smoke by day, and the shining of a flaming fire by night: for upon all the glory shall be a defence.
4: 6 And there shall be a tabernacle for a shadow in the day time from the heat, and for a place of refuge, and for a covert from storm and from rain.
5: 1 Now will I sing to my wellbeloved a song of my beloved touching his vineyard.
5: 3 And now, O inhabitants of Jerusalem, and men of Judah, judge, I pray you, betwixt me and my vineyard.
5: 4 What could have been done more to my vineyard, that I have not done in it?
wherefore, when I looked that it should bring forth grapes, brought it forth wild grapes?
5: 7 For the vineyard of the LORD of hosts is the house of Israel, and the men of Judah his pleasant plant: and he looked for judgment, but behold oppression; for righteousness, but behold a cry.
5: 8 Woe unto them that join house to house, that lay field to field, till there be no place, that they may be placed alone in the midst of the earth!
5: 9 In mine ears said the LORD of hosts, Of a truth many houses shall be desolate, even great and fair, without inhabitant.
5: 10 Yea, ten acres of vineyard shall yield one bath, and the seed of an homer shall yield an ephah.
5: 11 Woe unto them that rise up early in the morning, that they may follow strong drink; that continue until night, till wine inflame them!
5: 12 And the harp, and the viol, the tabret, and pipe, and wine, are in their feasts: but they regard not the work of the LORD, neither consider the operation of his hands.
5: 13 Therefore my people are gone into captivity, because they have no knowledge: and their honourable men are famished, and their multitude dried up with thirst.
5: 14 Therefore hell hath enlarged herself, and opened her mouth without measure: and their glory, and their multitude, and their pomp, and he that rejoiceth, shall descend into it.
5: 15 And the mean man shall be brought down, and the mighty man shall be humbled, and the eyes of the lofty shall be humbled: 5: 16 But the LORD of hosts shall be exalted in judgment, and God that is holy shall be sanctified in righteousness.
5: 17 Then shall the lambs feed after their manner, and the waste places of the fat ones shall strangers eat.
5: 18 Woe unto them that draw iniquity with cords of vanity, and sin as it were with a cart rope: 5: 19 That say, Let him make speed, and hasten his work, that we may see it: and let the counsel of the Holy One of Israel draw nigh and come, that we may know it!
5: 20 Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!
5: 21 Woe unto them that are wise in their own eyes, and prudent in their own sight!
5: 22 Woe unto them that are mighty to drink wine, and men of strength to mingle strong drink: 5: 23 Which justify the wicked for reward, and take away the righteousness of the righteous from him!
5: 24 Therefore as the fire devoureth the stubble, and the flame consumeth the chaff, so their root shall be as rottenness, and their blossom shall go up as dust: because they have cast away the law of the LORD of hosts, and despised the word of the Holy One of Israel.
5: 25 Therefore is the anger of the LORD kindled against his people, and he hath stretched forth his hand against them, and hath smitten them: and the hills did tremble, and their carcases were torn in the midst of the streets.
For all this his anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still.
5: 30 And in that day they shall roar against them like the roaring of the sea: and if one look unto the land, behold darkness and sorrow, and the light is darkened in the heavens thereof.
6: 1 In the year that king Uzziah died I saw also the LORD sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple.
6: 2 Above it stood the seraphims: each one had six wings; with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly.
6: 3 And one cried unto another, and said, Holy, holy, holy, is the LORD of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory.
6: 4 And the posts of the door moved at the voice of him that cried, and the house was filled with smoke.
6: 5 Then said I, Woe is me!
for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts.
6: 6 Then flew one of the seraphims unto me, having a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with the tongs from off the altar: 6: 7 And he laid it upon my mouth, and said, Lo, this hath touched thy lips; and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged.
6: 8 Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?
Then said I, Here am I; send me.
6: 9 And he said, Go, and tell this people, Hear ye indeed, but understand not; and see ye indeed, but perceive not.
6: 10 Make the heart of this people fat, and make their ears heavy, and shut their eyes; lest they see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and convert, and be healed.
6: 11 Then said I, Lord, how long?
And he answered, Until the cities be wasted without inhabitant, and the houses without man, and the land be utterly desolate, 6: 12 And the LORD have removed men far away, and there be a great forsaking in the midst of the land.
6: 13 But yet in it shall be a tenth, and it shall return, and shall be eaten: as a teil tree, and as an oak, whose substance is in them, when they cast their leaves: so the holy seed shall be the substance thereof.
7: 1 And it came to pass in the days of Ahaz the son of Jotham, the son of Uzziah, king of Judah, that Rezin the king of Syria, and Pekah the son of Remaliah, king of Israel, went up toward Jerusalem to war against it, but could not prevail against it.
7: 2 And it was told the house of David, saying, Syria is confederate with Ephraim.
And his heart was moved, and the heart of his people, as the trees of the wood are moved with the wind.
7: 8 For the head of Syria is Damascus, and the head of Damascus is Rezin; and within threescore and five years shall Ephraim be broken, that it be not a people.
7: 9 And the head of Ephraim is Samaria, and the head of Samaria is Remaliah's son.
If ye will not believe, surely ye shall not be established.
7: 10 Moreover the LORD spake again unto Ahaz, saying, 7: 11 Ask thee a sign of the LORD thy God; ask it either in the depth, or in the height above.
7: 12 But Ahaz said, I will not ask, neither will I tempt the LORD.
7: 13 And he said, Hear ye now, O house of David; Is it a small thing for you to weary men, but will ye weary my God also?
7: 14 Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.
7: 15 Butter and honey shall he eat, that he may know to refuse the evil, and choose the good.
7: 16 For before the child shall know to refuse the evil, and choose the good, the land that thou abhorrest shall be forsaken of both her kings.
7: 17 The LORD shall bring upon thee, and upon thy people, and upon thy father's house, days that have not come, from the day that Ephraim departed from Judah; even the king of Assyria.
7: 18 And it shall come to pass in that day, that the LORD shall hiss for the fly that is in the uttermost part of the rivers of Egypt, and for the bee that is in the land of Assyria.
7: 19 And they shall come, and shall rest all of them in the desolate valleys, and in the holes of the rocks, and upon all thorns, and upon all bushes.
7: 20 In the same day shall the Lord shave with a razor that is hired, namely, by them beyond the river, by the king of Assyria, the head, and the hair of the feet: and it shall also consume the beard.
7: 21 And it shall come to pass in that day, that a man shall nourish a young cow, and two sheep; 7: 22 And it shall come to pass, for the abundance of milk that they shall give he shall eat butter: for butter and honey shall every one eat that is left in the land.
7: 23 And it shall come to pass in that day, that every place shall be, where there were a thousand vines at a thousand silverlings, it shall even be for briers and thorns.
7: 24 With arrows and with bows shall men come thither; because all the land shall become briers and thorns.
7: 25 And on all hills that shall be digged with the mattock, there shall not come thither the fear of briers and thorns: but it shall be for the sending forth of oxen, and for the treading of lesser cattle.
8: 1 Moreover the LORD said unto me, Take thee a great roll, and write in it with a man's pen concerning Mahershalalhashbaz.
8: 2 And I took unto me faithful witnesses to record, Uriah the priest, and Zechariah the son of Jeberechiah.
8: 3 And I went unto the prophetess; and she conceived, and bare a son.
Then said the LORD to me, Call his name Mahershalalhashbaz.
8: 4 For before the child shall have knowledge to cry, My father, and my mother, the riches of Damascus and the spoil of Samaria shall be taken away before the king of Assyria.
8: 9 Associate yourselves, O ye people, and ye shall be broken in pieces; and give ear, all ye of far countries: gird yourselves, and ye shall be broken in pieces; gird yourselves, and ye shall be broken in pieces.
8: 10 Take counsel together, and it shall come to nought; speak the word, and it shall not stand: for God is with us.
8: 11 For the LORD spake thus to me with a strong hand, and instructed me that I should not walk in the way of this people, saying, 8: 12 Say ye not, A confederacy, to all them to whom this people shall say, A confederacy; neither fear ye their fear, nor be afraid.
8: 13 Sanctify the LORD of hosts himself; and let him be your fear, and let him be your dread.
8: 14 And he shall be for a sanctuary; but for a stone of stumbling and for a rock of offence to both the houses of Israel, for a gin and for a snare to the inhabitants of Jerusalem.
8: 15 And many among them shall stumble, and fall, and be broken, and be snared, and be taken.
8: 16 Bind up the testimony, seal the law among my disciples.
8: 17 And I will wait upon the LORD, that hideth his face from the house of Jacob, and I will look for him.
8: 18 Behold, I and the children whom the LORD hath given me are for signs and for wonders in Israel from the LORD of hosts, which dwelleth in mount Zion.
8: 19 And when they shall say unto you, Seek unto them that have familiar spirits, and unto wizards that peep, and that mutter: should not a people seek unto their God?
for the living to the dead?
8: 20 To the law and to the testimony: if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them.
8: 21 And they shall pass through it, hardly bestead and hungry: and it shall come to pass, that when they shall be hungry, they shall fret themselves, and curse their king and their God, and look upward.
8: 22 And they shall look unto the earth; and behold trouble and darkness, dimness of anguish; and they shall be driven to darkness.
9: 1 Nevertheless the dimness shall not be such as was in her vexation, when at the first he lightly afflicted the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, and afterward did more grievously afflict her by the way of the sea, beyond Jordan, in Galilee of the nations.
9: 2 The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.
9: 3 Thou hast multiplied the nation, and not increased the joy: they joy before thee according to the joy in harvest, and as men rejoice when they divide the spoil.
9: 4 For thou hast broken the yoke of his burden, and the staff of his shoulder, the rod of his oppressor, as in the day of Midian.
9: 5 For every battle of the warrior is with confused noise, and garments rolled in blood; but this shall be with burning and fuel of fire.
9: 6 For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.
9: 7 Of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and upon his kingdom, to order it, and to establish it with judgment and with justice from henceforth even for ever.
The zeal of the LORD of hosts will perform this.
9: 8 The Lord sent a word into Jacob, and it hath lighted upon Israel.
9: 9 And all the people shall know, even Ephraim and the inhabitant of Samaria, that say in the pride and stoutness of heart, 9: 10 The bricks are fallen down, but we will build with hewn stones: the sycomores are cut down, but we will change them into cedars.
9: 11 Therefore the LORD shall set up the adversaries of Rezin against him, and join his enemies together; 9: 12 The Syrians before, and the Philistines behind; and they shall devour Israel with open mouth.
For all this his anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still.
9: 13 For the people turneth not unto him that smiteth them, neither do they seek the LORD of hosts.
9: 14 Therefore the LORD will cut off from Israel head and tail, branch and rush, in one day.
9: 15 The ancient and honourable, he is the head; and the prophet that teacheth lies, he is the tail.
9: 16 For the leaders of this people cause them to err; and they that are led of them are destroyed.
9: 17 Therefore the LORD shall have no joy in their young men, neither shall have mercy on their fatherless and widows: for every one is an hypocrite and an evildoer, and every mouth speaketh folly.
For all this his anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still.
9: 18 For wickedness burneth as the fire: it shall devour the briers and thorns, and shall kindle in the thickets of the forest, and they shall mount up like the lifting up of smoke.
9: 19 Through the wrath of the LORD of hosts is the land darkened, and the people shall be as the fuel of the fire: no man shall spare his brother.
9: 20 And he shall snatch on the right hand, and be hungry; and he shall eat on the left hand, and they shall not be satisfied: they shall eat every man the flesh of his own arm: 9: 21 Manasseh, Ephraim; and Ephraim, Manasseh: and they together shall be against Judah.
For all this his anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still.
10: 3 And what will ye do in the day of visitation, and in the desolation which shall come from far?
to whom will ye flee for help?
and where will ye leave your glory?
10: 4 Without me they shall bow down under the prisoners, and they shall fall under the slain.
For all this his anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still.
10: 5 O Assyrian, the rod of mine anger, and the staff in their hand is mine indignation.
10: 6 I will send him against an hypocritical nation, and against the people of my wrath will I give him a charge, to take the spoil, and to take the prey, and to tread them down like the mire of the streets.
10: 7 Howbeit he meaneth not so, neither doth his heart think so; but it is in his heart to destroy and cut off nations not a few.
10: 8 For he saith, Are not my princes altogether kings?
10: 9 Is not Calno as Carchemish?
is not Hamath as Arpad?
is not Samaria as Damascus?
10: 10 As my hand hath found the kingdoms of the idols, and whose graven images did excel them of Jerusalem and of Samaria; 10: 11 Shall I not, as I have done unto Samaria and her idols, so do to Jerusalem and her idols?
10: 12 Wherefore it shall come to pass, that when the Lord hath performed his whole work upon mount Zion and on Jerusalem, I will punish the fruit of the stout heart of the king of Assyria, and the glory of his high looks.
10: 15 Shall the axe boast itself against him that heweth therewith?
or shall the saw magnify itself against him that shaketh it?
as if the rod should shake itself against them that lift it up, or as if the staff should lift up itself, as if it were no wood.
10: 16 Therefore shall the Lord, the Lord of hosts, send among his fat ones leanness; and under his glory he shall kindle a burning like the burning of a fire.
10: 19 And the rest of the trees of his forest shall be few, that a child may write them.
10: 20 And it shall come to pass in that day, that the remnant of Israel, and such as are escaped of the house of Jacob, shall no more again stay upon him that smote them; but shall stay upon the LORD, the Holy One of Israel, in truth.
10: 21 The remnant shall return, even the remnant of Jacob, unto the mighty God.
10: 22 For though thy people Israel be as the sand of the sea, yet a remnant of them shall return: the consumption decreed shall overflow with righteousness.
10: 23 For the Lord GOD of hosts shall make a consumption, even determined, in the midst of all the land.
10: 24 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD of hosts, O my people that dwellest in Zion, be not afraid of the Assyrian: he shall smite thee with a rod, and shall lift up his staff against thee, after the manner of Egypt.
10: 25 For yet a very little while, and the indignation shall cease, and mine anger in their destruction.
10: 26 And the LORD of hosts shall stir up a scourge for him according to the slaughter of Midian at the rock of Oreb: and as his rod was upon the sea, so shall he lift it up after the manner of Egypt.
10: 27 And it shall come to pass in that day, that his burden shall be taken away from off thy shoulder, and his yoke from off thy neck, and the yoke shall be destroyed because of the anointing.
10: 28 He is come to Aiath, he is passed to Migron; at Michmash he hath laid up his carriages: 10: 29 They are gone over the passage: they have taken up their lodging at Geba; Ramah is afraid; Gibeah of Saul is fled.
10: 30 Lift up thy voice, O daughter of Gallim: cause it to be heard unto Laish, O poor Anathoth.
10: 31 Madmenah is removed; the inhabitants of Gebim gather themselves to flee.
10: 32 As yet shall he remain at Nob that day: he shall shake his hand against the mount of the daughter of Zion, the hill of Jerusalem.
10: 33 Behold, the Lord, the LORD of hosts, shall lop the bough with terror: and the high ones of stature shall be hewn down, and the haughty shall be humbled.
10: 34 And he shall cut down the thickets of the forest with iron, and Lebanon shall fall by a mighty one.
11: 5 And righteousness shall be the girdle of his loins, and faithfulness the girdle of his reins.
11: 6 The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.
11: 7 And the cow and the bear shall feed; their young ones shall lie down together: and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
11: 8 And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice'den.
11: 9 They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain: for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD, as the waters cover the sea.
11: 10 And in that day there shall be a root of Jesse, which shall stand for an ensign of the people; to it shall the Gentiles seek: and his rest shall be glorious.
11: 12 And he shall set up an ensign for the nations, and shall assemble the outcasts of Israel, and gather together the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth.
11: 13 The envy also of Ephraim shall depart, and the adversaries of Judah shall be cut off: Ephraim shall not envy Judah, and Judah shall not vex Ephraim.
11: 14 But they shall fly upon the shoulders of the Philistines toward the west; they shall spoil them of the east together: they shall lay their hand upon Edom and Moab; and the children of Ammon shall obey them.
11: 15 And the LORD shall utterly destroy the tongue of the Egyptian sea; and with his mighty wind shall he shake his hand over the river, and shall smite it in the seven streams, and make men go over dryshod.
11: 16 And there shall be an highway for the remnant of his people, which shall be left, from Assyria; like as it was to Israel in the day that he came up out of the land of Egypt.
12: 1 And in that day thou shalt say, O LORD, I will praise thee: though thou wast angry with me, thine anger is turned away, and thou comfortedst me.
12: 2 Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and not be afraid: for the LORD JEHOVAH is my strength and my song; he also is become my salvation.
12: 3 Therefore with joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of salvation.
12: 4 And in that day shall ye say, Praise the LORD, call upon his name, declare his doings among the people, make mention that his name is exalted.
12: 5 Sing unto the LORD; for he hath done excellent things: this is known in all the earth.
12: 6 Cry out and shout, thou inhabitant of Zion: for great is the Holy One of Israel in the midst of thee.
13: 1 The burden of Babylon, which Isaiah the son of Amoz did see.
13: 2 Lift ye up a banner upon the high mountain, exalt the voice unto them, shake the hand, that they may go into the gates of the nobles.
13: 3 I have commanded my sanctified ones, I have also called my mighty ones for mine anger, even them that rejoice in my highness.
13: 4 The noise of a multitude in the mountains, like as of a great people; a tumultuous noise of the kingdoms of nations gathered together: the LORD of hosts mustereth the host of the battle.
13: 5 They come from a far country, from the end of heaven, even the LORD, and the weapons of his indignation, to destroy the whole land.
13: 6 Howl ye; for the day of the LORD is at hand; it shall come as a destruction from the Almighty.
13: 7 Therefore shall all hands be faint, and every man's heart shall melt: 13: 8 And they shall be afraid: pangs and sorrows shall take hold of them; they shall be in pain as a woman that travaileth: they shall be amazed one at another; their faces shall be as flames.
13: 9 Behold, the day of the LORD cometh, cruel both with wrath and fierce anger, to lay the land desolate: and he shall destroy the sinners thereof out of it.
13: 10 For the stars of heaven and the constellations thereof shall not give their light: the sun shall be darkened in his going forth, and the moon shall not cause her light to shine.
13: 11 And I will punish the world for their evil, and the wicked for their iniquity; and I will cause the arrogancy of the proud to cease, and will lay low the haughtiness of the terrible.
13: 12 I will make a man more precious than fine gold; even a man than the golden wedge of Ophir.
13: 13 Therefore I will shake the heavens, and the earth shall remove out of her place, in the wrath of the LORD of hosts, and in the day of his fierce anger.
13: 14 And it shall be as the chased roe, and as a sheep that no man taketh up: they shall every man turn to his own people, and flee every one into his own land.
13: 15 Every one that is found shall be thrust through; and every one that is joined unto them shall fall by the sword.
13: 16 Their children also shall be dashed to pieces before their eyes; their houses shall be spoiled, and their wives ravished.
13: 17 Behold, I will stir up the Medes against them, which shall not regard silver; and as for gold, they shall not delight in it.
13: 18 Their bows also shall dash the young men to pieces; and they shall have no pity on the fruit of the womb; their eyes shall not spare children.
13: 19 And Babylon, the glory of kingdoms, the beauty of the Chaldees'excellency, shall be as when God overthrew Sodom and Gomorrah.
13: 20 It shall never be inhabited, neither shall it be dwelt in from generation to generation: neither shall the Arabian pitch tent there; neither shall the shepherds make their fold there.
13: 21 But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there.
13: 22 And the wild beasts of the islands shall cry in their desolate houses, and dragons in their pleasant palaces: and her time is near to come, and her days shall not be prolonged.
14: 1 For the LORD will have mercy on Jacob, and will yet choose Israel, and set them in their own land: and the strangers shall be joined with them, and they shall cleave to the house of Jacob.
14: 2 And the people shall take them, and bring them to their place: and the house of Israel shall possess them in the land of the LORD for servants and handmaids: and they shall take them captives, whose captives they were; and they shall rule over their oppressors.
the golden city ceased!
14: 5 The LORD hath broken the staff of the wicked, and the sceptre of the rulers.
14: 6 He who smote the people in wrath with a continual stroke, he that ruled the nations in anger, is persecuted, and none hindereth.
14: 7 The whole earth is at rest, and is quiet: they break forth into singing.
14: 8 Yea, the fir trees rejoice at thee, and the cedars of Lebanon, saying, Since thou art laid down, no feller is come up against us.
14: 9 Hell from beneath is moved for thee to meet thee at thy coming: it stirreth up the dead for thee, even all the chief ones of the earth; it hath raised up from their thrones all the kings of the nations.
14: 10 All they shall speak and say unto thee, Art thou also become weak as we?
art thou become like unto us?
14: 11 Thy pomp is brought down to the grave, and the noise of thy viols: the worm is spread under thee, and the worms cover thee.
14: 12 How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!
how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations!
14: 15 Yet thou shalt be brought down to hell, to the sides of the pit.
14: 18 All the kings of the nations, even all of them, lie in glory, every one in his own house.
14: 19 But thou art cast out of thy grave like an abominable branch, and as the raiment of those that are slain, thrust through with a sword, that go down to the stones of the pit; as a carcase trodden under feet.
14: 20 Thou shalt not be joined with them in burial, because thou hast destroyed thy land, and slain thy people: the seed of evildoers shall never be renowned.
14: 21 Prepare slaughter for his children for the iniquity of their fathers; that they do not rise, nor possess the land, nor fill the face of the world with cities.
14: 22 For I will rise up against them, saith the LORD of hosts, and cut off from Babylon the name, and remnant, and son, and nephew, saith the LORD.
14: 23 I will also make it a possession for the bittern, and pools of water: and I will sweep it with the besom of destruction, saith the LORD of hosts.
14: 26 This is the purpose that is purposed upon the whole earth: and this is the hand that is stretched out upon all the nations.
14: 27 For the LORD of hosts hath purposed, and who shall disannul it?
and his hand is stretched out, and who shall turn it back?
14: 28 In the year that king Ahaz died was this burden.
14: 29 Rejoice not thou, whole Palestina, because the rod of him that smote thee is broken: for out of the serpent's root shall come forth a cockatrice, and his fruit shall be a fiery flying serpent.
14: 30 And the firstborn of the poor shall feed, and the needy shall lie down in safety: and I will kill thy root with famine, and he shall slay thy remnant.
14: 31 Howl, O gate; cry, O city; thou, whole Palestina, art dissolved: for there shall come from the north a smoke, and none shall be alone in his appointed times.
14: 32 What shall one then answer the messengers of the nation?
That the LORD hath founded Zion, and the poor of his people shall trust in it.
15: 1 The burden of Moab.
15: 3 In their streets they shall gird themselves with sackcloth: on the tops of their houses, and in their streets, every one shall howl, weeping abundantly.
15: 4 And Heshbon shall cry, and Elealeh: their voice shall be heard even unto Jahaz: therefore the armed soldiers of Moab shall cry out; his life shall be grievous unto him.
15: 5 My heart shall cry out for Moab; his fugitives shall flee unto Zoar, an heifer of three years old: for by the mounting up of Luhith with weeping shall they go it up; for in the way of Horonaim they shall raise up a cry of destruction.
15: 6 For the waters of Nimrim shall be desolate: for the hay is withered away, the grass faileth, there is no green thing.
15: 7 Therefore the abundance they have gotten, and that which they have laid up, shall they carry away to the brook of the willows.
15: 8 For the cry is gone round about the borders of Moab; the howling thereof unto Eglaim, and the howling thereof unto Beerelim.
15: 9 For the waters of Dimon shall be full of blood: for I will bring more upon Dimon, lions upon him that escapeth of Moab, and upon the remnant of the land.
16: 1 Send ye the lamb to the ruler of the land from Sela to the wilderness, unto the mount of the daughter of Zion.
16: 2 For it shall be, that, as a wandering bird cast out of the nest, so the daughters of Moab shall be at the fords of Arnon.
16: 3 Take counsel, execute judgment; make thy shadow as the night in the midst of the noonday; hide the outcasts; bewray not him that wandereth.
16: 4 Let mine outcasts dwell with thee, Moab; be thou a covert to them from the face of the spoiler: for the extortioner is at an end, the spoiler ceaseth, the oppressors are consumed out of the land.
16: 5 And in mercy shall the throne be established: and he shall sit upon it in truth in the tabernacle of David, judging, and seeking judgment, and hasting righteousness.
16: 6 We have heard of the pride of Moab; he is very proud: even of his haughtiness, and his pride, and his wrath: but his lies shall not be so.
16: 7 Therefore shall Moab howl for Moab, every one shall howl: for the foundations of Kirhareseth shall ye mourn; surely they are stricken.
16: 8 For the fields of Heshbon languish, and the vine of Sibmah: the lords of the heathen have broken down the principal plants thereof, they are come even unto Jazer, they wandered through the wilderness: her branches are stretched out, they are gone over the sea.
16: 9 Therefore I will bewail with the weeping of Jazer the vine of Sibmah: I will water thee with my tears, O Heshbon, and Elealeh: for the shouting for thy summer fruits and for thy harvest is fallen.
16: 10 And gladness is taken away, and joy out of the plentiful field; and in the vineyards there shall be no singing, neither shall there be shouting: the treaders shall tread out no wine in their presses; I have made their vintage shouting to cease.
16: 11 Wherefore my bowels shall sound like an harp for Moab, and mine inward parts for Kirharesh.
16: 12 And it shall come to pass, when it is seen that Moab is weary on the high place, that he shall come to his sanctuary to pray; but he shall not prevail.
16: 13 This is the word that the LORD hath spoken concerning Moab since that time.
16: 14 But now the LORD hath spoken, saying, Within three years, as the years of an hireling, and the glory of Moab shall be contemned, with all that great multitude; and the remnant shall be very small and feeble.
17: 1 The burden of Damascus.
Behold, Damascus is taken away from being a city, and it shall be a ruinous heap.
17: 2 The cities of Aroer are forsaken: they shall be for flocks, which shall lie down, and none shall make them afraid.
17: 3 The fortress also shall cease from Ephraim, and the kingdom from Damascus, and the remnant of Syria: they shall be as the glory of the children of Israel, saith the LORD of hosts.
17: 4 And in that day it shall come to pass, that the glory of Jacob shall be made thin, and the fatness of his flesh shall wax lean.
17: 5 And it shall be as when the harvestman gathereth the corn, and reapeth the ears with his arm; and it shall be as he that gathereth ears in the valley of Rephaim.
17: 6 Yet gleaning grapes shall be left in it, as the shaking of an olive tree, two or three berries in the top of the uppermost bough, four or five in the outmost fruitful branches thereof, saith the LORD God of Israel.
17: 7 At that day shall a man look to his Maker, and his eyes shall have respect to the Holy One of Israel.
17: 8 And he shall not look to the altars, the work of his hands, neither shall respect that which his fingers have made, either the groves, or the images.
17: 9 In that day shall his strong cities be as a forsaken bough, and an uppermost branch, which they left because of the children of Israel: and there shall be desolation.
17: 12 Woe to the multitude of many people, which make a noise like the noise of the seas; and to the rushing of nations, that make a rushing like the rushing of mighty waters!
17: 13 The nations shall rush like the rushing of many waters: but God shall rebuke them, and they shall flee far off, and shall be chased as the chaff of the mountains before the wind, and like a rolling thing before the whirlwind.
17: 14 And behold at eveningtide trouble; and before the morning he is not.
This is the portion of them that spoil us, and the lot of them that rob us.
18: 3 All ye inhabitants of the world, and dwellers on the earth, see ye, when he lifteth up an ensign on the mountains; and when he bloweth a trumpet, hear ye.
18: 4 For so the LORD said unto me, I will take my rest, and I will consider in my dwelling place like a clear heat upon herbs, and like a cloud of dew in the heat of harvest.
18: 5 For afore the harvest, when the bud is perfect, and the sour grape is ripening in the flower, he shall both cut off the sprigs with pruning hooks, and take away and cut down the branches.
18: 6 They shall be left together unto the fowls of the mountains, and to the beasts of the earth: and the fowls shall summer upon them, and all the beasts of the earth shall winter upon them.
19: 1 The burden of Egypt.
Behold, the LORD rideth upon a swift cloud, and shall come into Egypt: and the idols of Egypt shall be moved at his presence, and the heart of Egypt shall melt in the midst of it.
19: 2 And I will set the Egyptians against the Egyptians: and they shall fight every one against his brother, and every one against his neighbour; city against city, and kingdom against kingdom.
19: 3 And the spirit of Egypt shall fail in the midst thereof; and I will destroy the counsel thereof: and they shall seek to the idols, and to the charmers, and to them that have familiar spirits, and to the wizards.
19: 4 And the Egyptians will I give over into the hand of a cruel lord; and a fierce king shall rule over them, saith the Lord, the LORD of hosts.
19: 5 And the waters shall fail from the sea, and the river shall be wasted and dried up.
19: 6 And they shall turn the rivers far away; and the brooks of defence shall be emptied and dried up: the reeds and flags shall wither.
19: 7 The paper reeds by the brooks, by the mouth of the brooks, and every thing sown by the brooks, shall wither, be driven away, and be no more.
19: 8 The fishers also shall mourn, and all they that cast angle into the brooks shall lament, and they that spread nets upon the waters shall languish.
19: 9 Moreover they that work in fine flax, and they that weave networks, shall be confounded.
19: 10 And they shall be broken in the purposes thereof, all that make sluices and ponds for fish.
19: 11 Surely the princes of Zoan are fools, the counsel of the wise counsellors of Pharaoh is become brutish: how say ye unto Pharaoh, I am the son of the wise, the son of ancient kings?
19: 12 Where are they?
where are thy wise men?
and let them tell thee now, and let them know what the LORD of hosts hath purposed upon Egypt.
19: 13 The princes of Zoan are become fools, the princes of Noph are deceived; they have also seduced Egypt, even they that are the stay of the tribes thereof.
19: 14 The LORD hath mingled a perverse spirit in the midst thereof: and they have caused Egypt to err in every work thereof, as a drunken man staggereth in his vomit.
19: 15 Neither shall there be any work for Egypt, which the head or tail, branch or rush, may do.
19: 16 In that day shall Egypt be like unto women: and it shall be afraid and fear because of the shaking of the hand of the LORD of hosts, which he shaketh over it.
19: 17 And the land of Judah shall be a terror unto Egypt, every one that maketh mention thereof shall be afraid in himself, because of the counsel of the LORD of hosts, which he hath determined against it.
19: 18 In that day shall five cities in the land of Egypt speak the language of Canaan, and swear to the LORD of hosts; one shall be called, The city of destruction.
19: 19 In that day shall there be an altar to the LORD in the midst of the land of Egypt, and a pillar at the border thereof to the LORD.
19: 20 And it shall be for a sign and for a witness unto the LORD of hosts in the land of Egypt: for they shall cry unto the LORD because of the oppressors, and he shall send them a saviour, and a great one, and he shall deliver them.
19: 21 And the LORD shall be known to Egypt, and the Egyptians shall know the LORD in that day, and shall do sacrifice and oblation; yea, they shall vow a vow unto the LORD, and perform it.
19: 22 And the LORD shall smite Egypt: he shall smite and heal it: and they shall return even to the LORD, and he shall be intreated of them, and shall heal them.
19: 23 In that day shall there be a highway out of Egypt to Assyria, and the Assyrian shall come into Egypt, and the Egyptian into Assyria, and the Egyptians shall serve with the Assyrians.
19: 24 In that day shall Israel be the third with Egypt and with Assyria, even a blessing in the midst of the land: 19: 25 Whom the LORD of hosts shall bless, saying, Blessed be Egypt my people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel mine inheritance.
And he did so, walking naked and barefoot.
20: 5 And they shall be afraid and ashamed of Ethiopia their expectation, and of Egypt their glory.
20: 6 And the inhabitant of this isle shall say in that day, Behold, such is our expectation, whither we flee for help to be delivered from the king of Assyria: and how shall we escape?
21: 1 The burden of the desert of the sea.
As whirlwinds in the south pass through; so it cometh from the desert, from a terrible land.
21: 2 A grievous vision is declared unto me; the treacherous dealer dealeth treacherously, and the spoiler spoileth.
Go up, O Elam: besiege, O Media; all the sighing thereof have I made to cease.
21: 3 Therefore are my loins filled with pain: pangs have taken hold upon me, as the pangs of a woman that travaileth: I was bowed down at the hearing of it; I was dismayed at the seeing of it.
21: 4 My heart panted, fearfulness affrighted me: the night of my pleasure hath he turned into fear unto me.
21: 5 Prepare the table, watch in the watchtower, eat, drink: arise, ye princes, and anoint the shield.
21: 6 For thus hath the LORD said unto me, Go, set a watchman, let him declare what he seeth.
And he answered and said, Babylon is fallen, is fallen; and all the graven images of her gods he hath broken unto the ground.
21: 10 O my threshing, and the corn of my floor: that which I have heard of the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, have I declared unto you.
21: 11 The burden of Dumah.
He calleth to me out of Seir, Watchman, what of the night?
Watchman, what of the night?
21: 12 The watchman said, The morning cometh, and also the night: if ye will enquire, enquire ye: return, come.
21: 13 The burden upon Arabia.
In the forest in Arabia shall ye lodge, O ye travelling companies of Dedanim.
21: 14 The inhabitants of the land of Tema brought water to him that was thirsty, they prevented with their bread him that fled.
21: 15 For they fled from the swords, from the drawn sword, and from the bent bow, and from the grievousness of war.
22: 1 The burden of the valley of vision.
What aileth thee now, that thou art wholly gone up to the housetops?
22: 2 Thou that art full of stirs, a tumultuous city, joyous city: thy slain men are not slain with the sword, nor dead in battle.
22: 3 All thy rulers are fled together, they are bound by the archers: all that are found in thee are bound together, which have fled from far.
22: 4 Therefore said I, Look away from me; I will weep bitterly, labour not to comfort me, because of the spoiling of the daughter of my people.
22: 5 For it is a day of trouble, and of treading down, and of perplexity by the Lord GOD of hosts in the valley of vision, breaking down the walls, and of crying to the mountains.
22: 6 And Elam bare the quiver with chariots of men and horsemen, and Kir uncovered the shield.
22: 7 And it shall come to pass, that thy choicest valleys shall be full of chariots, and the horsemen shall set themselves in array at the gate.
22: 8 And he discovered the covering of Judah, and thou didst look in that day to the armour of the house of the forest.
22: 9 Ye have seen also the breaches of the city of David, that they are many: and ye gathered together the waters of the lower pool.
22: 10 And ye have numbered the houses of Jerusalem, and the houses have ye broken down to fortify the wall.
22: 11 Ye made also a ditch between the two walls for the water of the old pool: but ye have not looked unto the maker thereof, neither had respect unto him that fashioned it long ago.
22: 14 And it was revealed in mine ears by the LORD of hosts, Surely this iniquity shall not be purged from you till ye die, saith the Lord GOD of hosts.
22: 15 Thus saith the Lord GOD of hosts, Go, get thee unto this treasurer, even unto Shebna, which is over the house, and say, 22: 16 What hast thou here?
and whom hast thou here, that thou hast hewed thee out a sepulchre here, as he that heweth him out a sepulchre on high, and that graveth an habitation for himself in a rock?
22: 17 Behold, the LORD will carry thee away with a mighty captivity, and will surely cover thee.
22: 18 He will surely violently turn and toss thee like a ball into a large country: there shalt thou die, and there the chariots of thy glory shall be the shame of thy lord's house.
22: 19 And I will drive thee from thy station, and from thy state shall he pull thee down.
22: 22 And the key of the house of David will I lay upon his shoulder; so he shall open, and none shall shut; and he shall shut, and none shall open.
22: 23 And I will fasten him as a nail in a sure place; and he shall be for a glorious throne to his father's house.
22: 24 And they shall hang upon him all the glory of his father's house, the offspring and the issue, all vessels of small quantity, from the vessels of cups, even to all the vessels of flagons.
22: 25 In that day, saith the LORD of hosts, shall the nail that is fastened in the sure place be removed, and be cut down, and fall; and the burden that was upon it shall be cut off: for the LORD hath spoken it.
23: 1 The burden of Tyre.
Howl, ye ships of Tarshish; for it is laid waste, so that there is no house, no entering in: from the land of Chittim it is revealed to them.
23: 2 Be still, ye inhabitants of the isle; thou whom the merchants of Zidon, that pass over the sea, have replenished.
23: 3 And by great waters the seed of Sihor, the harvest of the river, is her revenue; and she is a mart of nations.
23: 4 Be thou ashamed, O Zidon: for the sea hath spoken, even the strength of the sea, saying, I travail not, nor bring forth children, neither do I nourish up young men, nor bring up virgins.
23: 5 As at the report concerning Egypt, so shall they be sorely pained at the report of Tyre.
23: 6 Pass ye over to Tarshish; howl, ye inhabitants of the isle.
23: 7 Is this your joyous city, whose antiquity is of ancient days?
her own feet shall carry her afar off to sojourn.
23: 8 Who hath taken this counsel against Tyre, the crowning city, whose merchants are princes, whose traffickers are the honourable of the earth?
23: 9 The LORD of hosts hath purposed it, to stain the pride of all glory, and to bring into contempt all the honourable of the earth.
23: 10 Pass through thy land as a river, O daughter of Tarshish: there is no more strength.
23: 11 He stretched out his hand over the sea, he shook the kingdoms: the LORD hath given a commandment against the merchant city, to destroy the strong holds thereof.
23: 12 And he said, Thou shalt no more rejoice, O thou oppressed virgin, daughter of Zidon: arise, pass over to Chittim; there also shalt thou have no rest.
23: 13 Behold the land of the Chaldeans; this people was not, till the Assyrian founded it for them that dwell in the wilderness: they set up the towers thereof, they raised up the palaces thereof; and he brought it to ruin.
23: 14 Howl, ye ships of Tarshish: for your strength is laid waste.
23: 15 And it shall come to pass in that day, that Tyre shall be forgotten seventy years, according to the days of one king: after the end of seventy years shall Tyre sing as an harlot.
23: 16 Take an harp, go about the city, thou harlot that hast been forgotten; make sweet melody, sing many songs, that thou mayest be remembered.
23: 17 And it shall come to pass after the end of seventy years, that the LORD will visit Tyre, and she shall turn to her hire, and shall commit fornication with all the kingdoms of the world upon the face of the earth.
23: 18 And her merchandise and her hire shall be holiness to the LORD: it shall not be treasured nor laid up; for her merchandise shall be for them that dwell before the LORD, to eat sufficiently, and for durable clothing.
24: 1 Behold, the LORD maketh the earth empty, and maketh it waste, and turneth it upside down, and scattereth abroad the inhabitants thereof.
24: 3 The land shall be utterly emptied, and utterly spoiled: for the LORD hath spoken this word.
24: 4 The earth mourneth and fadeth away, the world languisheth and fadeth away, the haughty people of the earth do languish.
24: 5 The earth also is defiled under the inhabitants thereof; because they have transgressed the laws, changed the ordinance, broken the everlasting covenant.
24: 6 Therefore hath the curse devoured the earth, and they that dwell therein are desolate: therefore the inhabitants of the earth are burned, and few men left.
24: 7 The new wine mourneth, the vine languisheth, all the merryhearted do sigh.
24: 8 The mirth of tabrets ceaseth, the noise of them that rejoice endeth, the joy of the harp ceaseth.
24: 9 They shall not drink wine with a song; strong drink shall be bitter to them that drink it.
24: 10 The city of confusion is broken down: every house is shut up, that no man may come in.
24: 11 There is a crying for wine in the streets; all joy is darkened, the mirth of the land is gone.
24: 12 In the city is left desolation, and the gate is smitten with destruction.
24: 13 When thus it shall be in the midst of the land among the people, there shall be as the shaking of an olive tree, and as the gleaning grapes when the vintage is done.
24: 14 They shall lift up their voice, they shall sing for the majesty of the LORD, they shall cry aloud from the sea.
24: 15 Wherefore glorify ye the LORD in the fires, even the name of the LORD God of Israel in the isles of the sea.
24: 16 From the uttermost part of the earth have we heard songs, even glory to the righteous.
But I said, My leanness, my leanness, woe unto me!
the treacherous dealers have dealt treacherously; yea, the treacherous dealers have dealt very treacherously.
24: 17 Fear, and the pit, and the snare, are upon thee, O inhabitant of the earth.
24: 18 And it shall come to pass, that he who fleeth from the noise of the fear shall fall into the pit; and he that cometh up out of the midst of the pit shall be taken in the snare: for the windows from on high are open, and the foundations of the earth do shake.
24: 19 The earth is utterly broken down, the earth is clean dissolved, the earth is moved exceedingly.
24: 20 The earth shall reel to and fro like a drunkard, and shall be removed like a cottage; and the transgression thereof shall be heavy upon it; and it shall fall, and not rise again.
24: 21 And it shall come to pass in that day, that the LORD shall punish the host of the high ones that are on high, and the kings of the earth upon the earth.
24: 22 And they shall be gathered together, as prisoners are gathered in the pit, and shall be shut up in the prison, and after many days shall they be visited.
24: 23 Then the moon shall be confounded, and the sun ashamed, when the LORD of hosts shall reign in mount Zion, and in Jerusalem, and before his ancients gloriously.
25: 1 O Lord, thou art my God; I will exalt thee, I will praise thy name; for thou hast done wonderful things; thy counsels of old are faithfulness and truth.
25: 2 For thou hast made of a city an heap; of a defenced city a ruin: a palace of strangers to be no city; it shall never be built.
25: 3 Therefore shall the strong people glorify thee, the city of the terrible nations shall fear thee.
25: 4 For thou hast been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against the wall.
25: 5 Thou shalt bring down the noise of strangers, as the heat in a dry place; even the heat with the shadow of a cloud: the branch of the terrible ones shall be brought low.
25: 6 And in this mountain shall the LORD of hosts make unto all people a feast of fat things, a feast of wines on the lees, of fat things full of marrow, of wines on the lees well refined.
25: 7 And he will destroy in this mountain the face of the covering cast over all people, and the vail that is spread over all nations.
25: 8 He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord GOD will wipe away tears from off all faces; and the rebuke of his people shall he take away from off all the earth: for the LORD hath spoken it.
25: 9 And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, and he will save us: this is the LORD; we have waited for him, we will be glad and rejoice in his salvation.
25: 10 For in this mountain shall the hand of the LORD rest, and Moab shall be trodden down under him, even as straw is trodden down for the dunghill.
25: 11 And he shall spread forth his hands in the midst of them, as he that swimmeth spreadeth forth his hands to swim: and he shall bring down their pride together with the spoils of their hands.
25: 12 And the fortress of the high fort of thy walls shall he bring down, lay low, and bring to the ground, even to the dust.
26: 1 In that day shall this song be sung in the land of Judah; We have a strong city; salvation will God appoint for walls and bulwarks.
26: 2 Open ye the gates, that the righteous nation which keepeth the truth may enter in.
26: 3 Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.
26: 4 Trust ye in the LORD for ever: for in the LORD JEHOVAH is everlasting strength: 26: 5 For he bringeth down them that dwell on high; the lofty city, he layeth it low; he layeth it low, even to the ground; he bringeth it even to the dust.
26: 6 The foot shall tread it down, even the feet of the poor, and the steps of the needy.
26: 7 The way of the just is uprightness: thou, most upright, dost weigh the path of the just.
26: 8 Yea, in the way of thy judgments, O LORD, have we waited for thee; the desire of our soul is to thy name, and to the remembrance of thee.
26: 9 With my soul have I desired thee in the night; yea, with my spirit within me will I seek thee early: for when thy judgments are in the earth, the inhabitants of the world will learn righteousness.
26: 10 Let favour be shewed to the wicked, yet will he not learn righteousness: in the land of uprightness will he deal unjustly, and will not behold the majesty of the LORD.
26: 11 LORD, when thy hand is lifted up, they will not see: but they shall see, and be ashamed for their envy at the people; yea, the fire of thine enemies shall devour them.
26: 12 LORD, thou wilt ordain peace for us: for thou also hast wrought all our works in us.
26: 13 O LORD our God, other lords beside thee have had dominion over us: but by thee only will we make mention of thy name.
26: 14 They are dead, they shall not live; they are deceased, they shall not rise: therefore hast thou visited and destroyed them, and made all their memory to perish.
26: 15 Thou hast increased the nation, O LORD, thou hast increased the nation: thou art glorified: thou hadst removed it far unto all the ends of the earth.
26: 16 LORD, in trouble have they visited thee, they poured out a prayer when thy chastening was upon them.
26: 17 Like as a woman with child, that draweth near the time of her delivery, is in pain, and crieth out in her pangs; so have we been in thy sight, O LORD.
26: 18 We have been with child, we have been in pain, we have as it were brought forth wind; we have not wrought any deliverance in the earth; neither have the inhabitants of the world fallen.
26: 19 Thy dead men shall live, together with my dead body shall they arise.
Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust: for thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the earth shall cast out the dead.
26: 20 Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors about thee: hide thyself as it were for a little moment, until the indignation be overpast.
26: 21 For, behold, the LORD cometh out of his place to punish the inhabitants of the earth for their iniquity: the earth also shall disclose her blood, and shall no more cover her slain.
27: 1 In that day the LORD with his sore and great and strong sword shall punish leviathan the piercing serpent, even leviathan that crooked serpent; and he shall slay the dragon that is in the sea.
27: 2 In that day sing ye unto her, A vineyard of red wine.
27: 3 I the LORD do keep it; I will water it every moment: lest any hurt it, I will keep it night and day.
27: 4 Fury is not in me: who would set the briers and thorns against me in battle?
I would go through them, I would burn them together.
27: 5 Or let him take hold of my strength, that he may make peace with me; and he shall make peace with me.
27: 6 He shall cause them that come of Jacob to take root: Israel shall blossom and bud, and fill the face of the world with fruit.
27: 7 Hath he smitten him, as he smote those that smote him?
or is he slain according to the slaughter of them that are slain by him?
27: 8 In measure, when it shooteth forth, thou wilt debate with it: he stayeth his rough wind in the day of the east wind.
27: 9 By this therefore shall the iniquity of Jacob be purged; and this is all the fruit to take away his sin; when he maketh all the stones of the altar as chalkstones that are beaten in sunder, the groves and images shall not stand up.
27: 10 Yet the defenced city shall be desolate, and the habitation forsaken, and left like a wilderness: there shall the calf feed, and there shall he lie down, and consume the branches thereof.
27: 11 When the boughs thereof are withered, they shall be broken off: the women come, and set them on fire: for it is a people of no understanding: therefore he that made them will not have mercy on them, and he that formed them will shew them no favour.
27: 12 And it shall come to pass in that day, that the LORD shall beat off from the channel of the river unto the stream of Egypt, and ye shall be gathered one by one, O ye children of Israel.
27: 13 And it shall come to pass in that day, that the great trumpet shall be blown, and they shall come which were ready to perish in the land of Assyria, and the outcasts in the land of Egypt, and shall worship the LORD in the holy mount at Jerusalem.
28: 1 Woe to the crown of pride, to the drunkards of Ephraim, whose glorious beauty is a fading flower, which are on the head of the fat valleys of them that are overcome with wine!
28: 2 Behold, the Lord hath a mighty and strong one, which as a tempest of hail and a destroying storm, as a flood of mighty waters overflowing, shall cast down to the earth with the hand.
28: 5 In that day shall the LORD of hosts be for a crown of glory, and for a diadem of beauty, unto the residue of his people, 28: 6 And for a spirit of judgment to him that sitteth in judgment, and for strength to them that turn the battle to the gate.
28: 7 But they also have erred through wine, and through strong drink are out of the way; the priest and the prophet have erred through strong drink, they are swallowed up of wine, they are out of the way through strong drink; they err in vision, they stumble in judgment.
28: 8 For all tables are full of vomit and filthiness, so that there is no place clean.
28: 9 Whom shall he teach knowledge?
and whom shall he make to understand doctrine?
them that are weaned from the milk, and drawn from the breasts.
28: 10 For precept must be upon precept, precept upon precept; line upon line, line upon line; here a little, and there a little: 28: 11 For with stammering lips and another tongue will he speak to this people.
28: 12 To whom he said, This is the rest wherewith ye may cause the weary to rest; and this is the refreshing: yet they would not hear.
28: 13 But the word of the LORD was unto them precept upon precept, precept upon precept; line upon line, line upon line; here a little, and there a little; that they might go, and fall backward, and be broken, and snared, and taken.
28: 14 Wherefore hear the word of the LORD, ye scornful men, that rule this people which is in Jerusalem.
28: 17 Judgment also will I lay to the line, and righteousness to the plummet: and the hail shall sweep away the refuge of lies, and the waters shall overflow the hiding place.
28: 18 And your covenant with death shall be disannulled, and your agreement with hell shall not stand; when the overflowing scourge shall pass through, then ye shall be trodden down by it.
28: 19 From the time that it goeth forth it shall take you: for morning by morning shall it pass over, by day and by night: and it shall be a vexation only to understand the report.
28: 20 For the bed is shorter than that a man can stretch himself on it: and the covering narrower than that he can wrap himself in it.
28: 21 For the LORD shall rise up as in mount Perazim, he shall be wroth as in the valley of Gibeon, that he may do his work, his strange work; and bring to pass his act, his strange act.
28: 22 Now therefore be ye not mockers, lest your bands be made strong: for I have heard from the Lord GOD of hosts a consumption, even determined upon the whole earth.
28: 23 Give ye ear, and hear my voice; hearken, and hear my speech.
28: 24 Doth the plowman plow all day to sow?
doth he open and break the clods of his ground?
28: 25 When he hath made plain the face thereof, doth he not cast abroad the fitches, and scatter the cummin, and cast in the principal wheat and the appointed barley and the rie in their place?
28: 26 For his God doth instruct him to discretion, and doth teach him.
28: 27 For the fitches are not threshed with a threshing instrument, neither is a cart wheel turned about upon the cummin; but the fitches are beaten out with a staff, and the cummin with a rod.
28: 28 Bread corn is bruised; because he will not ever be threshing it, nor break it with the wheel of his cart, nor bruise it with his horsemen.
28: 29 This also cometh forth from the LORD of hosts, which is wonderful in counsel, and excellent in working.
29: 1 Woe to Ariel, to Ariel, the city where David dwelt!
add ye year to year; let them kill sacrifices.
29: 2 Yet I will distress Ariel, and there shall be heaviness and sorrow: and it shall be unto me as Ariel.
29: 3 And I will camp against thee round about, and will lay siege against thee with a mount, and I will raise forts against thee.
29: 4 And thou shalt be brought down, and shalt speak out of the ground, and thy speech shall be low out of the dust, and thy voice shall be, as of one that hath a familiar spirit, out of the ground, and thy speech shall whisper out of the dust.
29: 5 Moreover the multitude of thy strangers shall be like small dust, and the multitude of the terrible ones shall be as chaff that passeth away: yea, it shall be at an instant suddenly.
29: 6 Thou shalt be visited of the LORD of hosts with thunder, and with earthquake, and great noise, with storm and tempest, and the flame of devouring fire.
29: 7 And the multitude of all the nations that fight against Ariel, even all that fight against her and her munition, and that distress her, shall be as a dream of a night vision.
29: 9 Stay yourselves, and wonder; cry ye out, and cry: they are drunken, but not with wine; they stagger, but not with strong drink.
29: 10 For the LORD hath poured out upon you the spirit of deep sleep, and hath closed your eyes: the prophets and your rulers, the seers hath he covered.
29: 15 Woe unto them that seek deep to hide their counsel from the LORD, and their works are in the dark, and they say, Who seeth us?
and who knoweth us?
29: 16 Surely your turning of things upside down shall be esteemed as the potter's clay: for shall the work say of him that made it, He made me not?
or shall the thing framed say of him that framed it, He had no understanding?
29: 17 Is it not yet a very little while, and Lebanon shall be turned into a fruitful field, and the fruitful field shall be esteemed as a forest?
29: 18 And in that day shall the deaf hear the words of the book, and the eyes of the blind shall see out of obscurity, and out of darkness.
29: 19 The meek also shall increase their joy in the LORD, and the poor among men shall rejoice in the Holy One of Israel.
29: 20 For the terrible one is brought to nought, and the scorner is consumed, and all that watch for iniquity are cut off: 29: 21 That make a man an offender for a word, and lay a snare for him that reproveth in the gate, and turn aside the just for a thing of nought.
29: 22 Therefore thus saith the LORD, who redeemed Abraham, concerning the house of Jacob, Jacob shall not now be ashamed, neither shall his face now wax pale.
29: 23 But when he seeth his children, the work of mine hands, in the midst of him, they shall sanctify my name, and sanctify the Holy One of Jacob, and shall fear the God of Israel.
29: 24 They also that erred in spirit shall come to understanding, and they that murmured shall learn doctrine.
30: 3 Therefore shall the strength of Pharaoh be your shame, and the trust in the shadow of Egypt your confusion.
30: 4 For his princes were at Zoan, and his ambassadors came to Hanes.
30: 5 They were all ashamed of a people that could not profit them, nor be an help nor profit, but a shame, and also a reproach.
30: 7 For the Egyptians shall help in vain, and to no purpose: therefore have I cried concerning this, Their strength is to sit still.
30: 14 And he shall break it as the breaking of the potters'vessel that is broken in pieces; he shall not spare: so that there shall not be found in the bursting of it a sherd to take fire from the hearth, or to take water withal out of the pit.
30: 15 For thus saith the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel; In returning and rest shall ye be saved; in quietness and in confidence shall be your strength: and ye would not.
30: 16 But ye said, No; for we will flee upon horses; therefore shall ye flee: and, We will ride upon the swift; therefore shall they that pursue you be swift.
30: 17 One thousand shall flee at the rebuke of one; at the rebuke of five shall ye flee: till ye be left as a beacon upon the top of a mountain, and as an ensign on an hill.
30: 18 And therefore will the LORD wait, that he may be gracious unto you, and therefore will he be exalted, that he may have mercy upon you: for the LORD is a God of judgment: blessed are all they that wait for him.
30: 19 For the people shall dwell in Zion at Jerusalem: thou shalt weep no more: he will be very gracious unto thee at the voice of thy cry; when he shall hear it, he will answer thee.
30: 22 Ye shall defile also the covering of thy graven images of silver, and the ornament of thy molten images of gold: thou shalt cast them away as a menstruous cloth; thou shalt say unto it, Get thee hence.
30: 23 Then shall he give the rain of thy seed, that thou shalt sow the ground withal; and bread of the increase of the earth, and it shall be fat and plenteous: in that day shall thy cattle feed in large pastures.
30: 24 The oxen likewise and the young asses that ear the ground shall eat clean provender, which hath been winnowed with the shovel and with the fan.
30: 25 And there shall be upon every high mountain, and upon every high hill, rivers and streams of waters in the day of the great slaughter, when the towers fall.
30: 26 Moreover the light of the moon shall be as the light of the sun, and the light of the sun shall be sevenfold, as the light of seven days, in the day that the LORD bindeth up the breach of his people, and healeth the stroke of their wound.
30: 29 Ye shall have a song, as in the night when a holy solemnity is kept; and gladness of heart, as when one goeth with a pipe to come into the mountain of the LORD, to the mighty One of Israel.
30: 30 And the LORD shall cause his glorious voice to be heard, and shall shew the lighting down of his arm, with the indignation of his anger, and with the flame of a devouring fire, with scattering, and tempest, and hailstones.
30: 31 For through the voice of the LORD shall the Assyrian be beaten down, which smote with a rod.
30: 32 And in every place where the grounded staff shall pass, which the LORD shall lay upon him, it shall be with tabrets and harps: and in battles of shaking will he fight with it.
30: 33 For Tophet is ordained of old; yea, for the king it is prepared; he hath made it deep and large: the pile thereof is fire and much wood; the breath of the LORD, like a stream of brimstone, doth kindle it.
31: 1 Woe to them that go down to Egypt for help; and stay on horses, and trust in chariots, because they are many; and in horsemen, because they are very strong; but they look not unto the Holy One of Israel, neither seek the LORD!
31: 2 Yet he also is wise, and will bring evil, and will not call back his words: but will arise against the house of the evildoers, and against the help of them that work iniquity.
31: 3 Now the Egyptians are men, and not God; and their horses flesh, and not spirit.
When the LORD shall stretch out his hand, both he that helpeth shall fall, and he that is holpen shall fall down, and they all shall fail together.
31: 5 As birds flying, so will the LORD of hosts defend Jerusalem; defending also he will deliver it; and passing over he will preserve it.
31: 6 Turn ye unto him from whom the children of Israel have deeply revolted.
31: 7 For in that day every man shall cast away his idols of silver, and his idols of gold, which your own hands have made unto you for a sin.
31: 8 Then shall the Assyrian fall with the sword, not of a mighty man; and the sword, not of a mean man, shall devour him: but he shall flee from the sword, and his young men shall be discomfited.
31: 9 And he shall pass over to his strong hold for fear, and his princes shall be afraid of the ensign, saith the LORD, whose fire is in Zion, and his furnace in Jerusalem.
32: 1 Behold, a king shall reign in righteousness, and princes shall rule in judgment.
32: 2 And a man shall be as an hiding place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest; as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.
32: 3 And the eyes of them that see shall not be dim, and the ears of them that hear shall hearken.
32: 4 The heart also of the rash shall understand knowledge, and the tongue of the stammerers shall be ready to speak plainly.
32: 5 The vile person shall be no more called liberal, nor the churl said to be bountiful.
32: 6 For the vile person will speak villany, and his heart will work iniquity, to practise hypocrisy, and to utter error against the LORD, to make empty the soul of the hungry, and he will cause the drink of the thirsty to fail.
32: 7 The instruments also of the churl are evil: he deviseth wicked devices to destroy the poor with lying words, even when the needy speaketh right.
32: 8 But the liberal deviseth liberal things; and by liberal things shall he stand.
32: 9 Rise up, ye women that are at ease; hear my voice, ye careless daughters; give ear unto my speech.
32: 10 Many days and years shall ye be troubled, ye careless women: for the vintage shall fail, the gathering shall not come.
32: 11 Tremble, ye women that are at ease; be troubled, ye careless ones: strip you, and make you bare, and gird sackcloth upon your loins.
32: 12 They shall lament for the teats, for the pleasant fields, for the fruitful vine.
32: 16 Then judgment shall dwell in the wilderness, and righteousness remain in the fruitful field.
32: 17 And the work of righteousness shall be peace; and the effect of righteousness quietness and assurance for ever.
32: 18 And my people shall dwell in a peaceable habitation, and in sure dwellings, and in quiet resting places; 32: 19 When it shall hail, coming down on the forest; and the city shall be low in a low place.
32: 20 Blessed are ye that sow beside all waters, that send forth thither the feet of the ox and the ass.
33: 1 Woe to thee that spoilest, and thou wast not spoiled; and dealest treacherously, and they dealt not treacherously with thee!
when thou shalt cease to spoil, thou shalt be spoiled; and when thou shalt make an end to deal treacherously, they shall deal treacherously with thee.
33: 2 O LORD, be gracious unto us; we have waited for thee: be thou their arm every morning, our salvation also in the time of trouble.
33: 3 At the noise of the tumult the people fled; at the lifting up of thyself the nations were scattered.
33: 4 And your spoil shall be gathered like the gathering of the caterpiller: as the running to and fro of locusts shall he run upon them.
33: 5 The LORD is exalted; for he dwelleth on high: he hath filled Zion with judgment and righteousness.
33: 6 And wisdom and knowledge shall be the stability of thy times, and strength of salvation: the fear of the LORD is his treasure.
33: 7 Behold, their valiant ones shall cry without: the ambassadors of peace shall weep bitterly.
33: 8 The highways lie waste, the wayfaring man ceaseth: he hath broken the covenant, he hath despised the cities, he regardeth no man.
33: 9 The earth mourneth and languisheth: Lebanon is ashamed and hewn down: Sharon is like a wilderness; and Bashan and Carmel shake off their fruits.
33: 10 Now will I rise, saith the LORD; now will I be exalted; now will I lift up myself.
33: 11 Ye shall conceive chaff, ye shall bring forth stubble: your breath, as fire, shall devour you.
33: 12 And the people shall be as the burnings of lime: as thorns cut up shall they be burned in the fire.
33: 13 Hear, ye that are far off, what I have done; and, ye that are near, acknowledge my might.
33: 14 The sinners in Zion are afraid; fearfulness hath surprised the hypocrites.
Who among us shall dwell with the devouring fire?
who among us shall dwell with everlasting burnings?
33: 17 Thine eyes shall see the king in his beauty: they shall behold the land that is very far off.
33: 18 Thine heart shall meditate terror.
Where is the scribe?
where is the receiver?
where is he that counted the towers?
33: 19 Thou shalt not see a fierce people, a people of a deeper speech than thou canst perceive; of a stammering tongue, that thou canst not understand.
33: 20 Look upon Zion, the city of our solemnities: thine eyes shall see Jerusalem a quiet habitation, a tabernacle that shall not be taken down; not one of the stakes thereof shall ever be removed, neither shall any of the cords thereof be broken.
33: 21 But there the glorious LORD will be unto us a place of broad rivers and streams; wherein shall go no galley with oars, neither shall gallant ship pass thereby.
33: 22 For the LORD is our judge, the LORD is our lawgiver, the LORD is our king; he will save us.
33: 23 Thy tacklings are loosed; they could not well strengthen their mast, they could not spread the sail: then is the prey of a great spoil divided; the lame take the prey.
33: 24 And the inhabitant shall not say, I am sick: the people that dwell therein shall be forgiven their iniquity.
34: 1 Come near, ye nations, to hear; and hearken, ye people: let the earth hear, and all that is therein; the world, and all things that come forth of it.
34: 2 For the indignation of the LORD is upon all nations, and his fury upon all their armies: he hath utterly destroyed them, he hath delivered them to the slaughter.
34: 3 Their slain also shall be cast out, and their stink shall come up out of their carcases, and the mountains shall be melted with their blood.
34: 4 And all the host of heaven shall be dissolved, and the heavens shall be rolled together as a scroll: and all their host shall fall down, as the leaf falleth off from the vine, and as a falling fig from the fig tree.
34: 5 For my sword shall be bathed in heaven: behold, it shall come down upon Idumea, and upon the people of my curse, to judgment.
34: 6 The sword of the LORD is filled with blood, it is made fat with fatness, and with the blood of lambs and goats, with the fat of the kidneys of rams: for the LORD hath a sacrifice in Bozrah, and a great slaughter in the land of Idumea.
34: 7 And the unicorns shall come down with them, and the bullocks with the bulls; and their land shall be soaked with blood, and their dust made fat with fatness.
34: 8 For it is the day of the LORD's vengeance, and the year of recompences for the controversy of Zion.
34: 9 And the streams thereof shall be turned into pitch, and the dust thereof into brimstone, and the land thereof shall become burning pitch.
34: 10 It shall not be quenched night nor day; the smoke thereof shall go up for ever: from generation to generation it shall lie waste; none shall pass through it for ever and ever.
34: 11 But the cormorant and the bittern shall possess it; the owl also and the raven shall dwell in it: and he shall stretch out upon it the line of confusion, and the stones of emptiness.
34: 12 They shall call the nobles thereof to the kingdom, but none shall be there, and all her princes shall be nothing.
34: 13 And thorns shall come up in her palaces, nettles and brambles in the fortresses thereof: and it shall be an habitation of dragons, and a court for owls.
34: 14 The wild beasts of the desert shall also meet with the wild beasts of the island, and the satyr shall cry to his fellow; the screech owl also shall rest there, and find for herself a place of rest.
34: 15 There shall the great owl make her nest, and lay, and hatch, and gather under her shadow: there shall the vultures also be gathered, every one with her mate.
34: 16 Seek ye out of the book of the LORD, and read: no one of these shall fail, none shall want her mate: for my mouth it hath commanded, and his spirit it hath gathered them.
34: 17 And he hath cast the lot for them, and his hand hath divided it unto them by line: they shall possess it for ever, from generation to generation shall they dwell therein.
35: 1 The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose.
35: 2 It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and singing: the glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and Sharon, they shall see the glory of the LORD, and the excellency of our God.
35: 3 Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees.
35: 4 Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not: behold, your God will come with vengeance, even God with a recompence; he will come and save you.
35: 5 Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped.
35: 6 Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing: for in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert.
35: 7 And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water: in the habitation of dragons, where each lay, shall be grass with reeds and rushes.
35: 8 And an highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called The way of holiness; the unclean shall not pass over it; but it shall be for those: the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein.
36: 1 Now it came to pass in the fourteenth year of king Hezekiah, that Sennacherib king of Assyria came up against all the defenced cities of Judah, and took them.
36: 2 And the king of Assyria sent Rabshakeh from Lachish to Jerusalem unto king Hezekiah with a great army.
And he stood by the conduit of the upper pool in the highway of the fuller's field.
36: 3 Then came forth unto him Eliakim, Hilkiah's son, which was over the house, and Shebna the scribe, and Joah, Asaph's son, the recorder.
36: 4 And Rabshakeh said unto them, Say ye now to Hezekiah, Thus saith the great king, the king of Assyria, What confidence is this wherein thou trustest?
36: 5 I say, sayest thou, (but they are but vain words) I have counsel and strength for war: now on whom dost thou trust, that thou rebellest against me?
36: 6 Lo, thou trustest in the staff of this broken reed, on Egypt; whereon if a man lean, it will go into his hand, and pierce it: so is Pharaoh king of Egypt to all that trust in him.
36: 7 But if thou say to me, We trust in the LORD our God: is it not he, whose high places and whose altars Hezekiah hath taken away, and said to Judah and to Jerusalem, Ye shall worship before this altar?
36: 8 Now therefore give pledges, I pray thee, to my master the king of Assyria, and I will give thee two thousand horses, if thou be able on thy part to set riders upon them.
36: 9 How then wilt thou turn away the face of one captain of the least of my master's servants, and put thy trust on Egypt for chariots and for horsemen?
36: 10 And am I now come up without the LORD against this land to destroy it?
the LORD said unto me, Go up against this land, and destroy it.
36: 11 Then said Eliakim and Shebna and Joah unto Rabshakeh, Speak, I pray thee, unto thy servants in the Syrian language; for we understand it: and speak not to us in the Jews'language, in the ears of the people that are on the wall.
36: 12 But Rabshakeh said, Hath my master sent me to thy master and to thee to speak these words?
hath he not sent me to the men that sit upon the wall, that they may eat their own dung, and drink their own piss with you?
36: 13 Then Rabshakeh stood, and cried with a loud voice in the Jews'language, and said, Hear ye the words of the great king, the king of Assyria.
36: 14 Thus saith the king, Let not Hezekiah deceive you: for he shall not be able to deliver you.
36: 15 Neither let Hezekiah make you trust in the LORD, saying, The LORD will surely deliver us: this city shall not be delivered into the hand of the king of Assyria.
36: 18 Beware lest Hezekiah persuade you, saying, the LORD will deliver us.
Hath any of the gods of the nations delivered his land out of the hand of the king of Assyria?
36: 19 Where are the gods of Hamath and Arphad?
where are the gods of Sepharvaim?
and have they delivered Samaria out of my hand?
36: 20 Who are they among all the gods of these lands, that have delivered their land out of my hand, that the LORD should deliver Jerusalem out of my hand?
36: 21 But they held their peace, and answered him not a word: for the king's commandment was, saying, Answer him not.
36: 22 Then came Eliakim, the son of Hilkiah, that was over the household, and Shebna the scribe, and Joah, the son of Asaph, the recorder, to Hezekiah with their clothes rent, and told him the words of Rabshakeh.
37: 1 And it came to pass, when king Hezekiah heard it, that he rent his clothes, and covered himself with sackcloth, and went into the house of the LORD.
37: 2 And he sent Eliakim, who was over the household, and Shebna the scribe, and the elders of the priests covered with sackcloth, unto Isaiah the prophet the son of Amoz.
37: 3 And they said unto him, Thus saith Hezekiah, This day is a day of trouble, and of rebuke, and of blasphemy: for the children are come to the birth, and there is not strength to bring forth.
37: 4 It may be the LORD thy God will hear the words of Rabshakeh, whom the king of Assyria his master hath sent to reproach the living God, and will reprove the words which the LORD thy God hath heard: wherefore lift up thy prayer for the remnant that is left.
37: 5 So the servants of king Hezekiah came to Isaiah.
37: 6 And Isaiah said unto them, Thus shall ye say unto your master, Thus saith the LORD, Be not afraid of the words that thou hast heard, wherewith the servants of the king of Assyria have blasphemed me.
37: 7 Behold, I will send a blast upon him, and he shall hear a rumour, and return to his own land; and I will cause him to fall by the sword in his own land.
37: 8 So Rabshakeh returned, and found the king of Assyria warring against Libnah: for he had heard that he was departed from Lachish.
37: 9 And he heard say concerning Tirhakah king of Ethiopia, He is come forth to make war with thee.
And when he heard it, he sent messengers to Hezekiah, saying, 37: 10 Thus shall ye speak to Hezekiah king of Judah, saying, Let not thy God, in whom thou trustest, deceive thee, saying, Jerusalem shall not be given into the hand of the king of Assyria.
37: 11 Behold, thou hast heard what the kings of Assyria have done to all lands by destroying them utterly; and shalt thou be delivered?
37: 12 Have the gods of the nations delivered them which my fathers have destroyed, as Gozan, and Haran, and Rezeph, and the children of Eden which were in Telassar?
37: 13 Where is the king of Hamath, and the king of Arphad, and the king of the city of Sepharvaim, Hena, and Ivah?
37: 14 And Hezekiah received the letter from the hand of the messengers, and read it: and Hezekiah went up unto the house of the LORD, and spread it before the LORD.
37: 15 And Hezekiah prayed unto the LORD, saying, 37: 16 O LORD of hosts, God of Israel, that dwellest between the cherubims, thou art the God, even thou alone, of all the kingdoms of the earth: thou hast made heaven and earth.
37: 17 Incline thine ear, O LORD, and hear; open thine eyes, O LORD, and see: and hear all the words of Sennacherib, which hath sent to reproach the living God.
37: 18 Of a truth, LORD, the kings of Assyria have laid waste all the nations, and their countries, 37: 19 And have cast their gods into the fire: for they were no gods, but the work of men's hands, wood and stone: therefore they have destroyed them.
37: 20 Now therefore, O LORD our God, save us from his hand, that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that thou art the LORD, even thou only.
37: 23 Whom hast thou reproached and blasphemed?
and against whom hast thou exalted thy voice, and lifted up thine eyes on high?
even against the Holy One of Israel.
37: 25 I have digged, and drunk water; and with the sole of my feet have I dried up all the rivers of the besieged places.
37: 26 Hast thou not heard long ago, how I have done it; and of ancient times, that I have formed it?
now have I brought it to pass, that thou shouldest be to lay waste defenced cities into ruinous heaps.
37: 27 Therefore their inhabitants were of small power, they were dismayed and confounded: they were as the grass of the field, and as the green herb, as the grass on the housetops, and as corn blasted before it be grown up.
37: 28 But I know thy abode, and thy going out, and thy coming in, and thy rage against me.
37: 29 Because thy rage against me, and thy tumult, is come up into mine ears, therefore will I put my hook in thy nose, and my bridle in thy lips, and I will turn thee back by the way by which thou camest.
37: 30 And this shall be a sign unto thee, Ye shall eat this year such as groweth of itself; and the second year that which springeth of the same: and in the third year sow ye, and reap, and plant vineyards, and eat the fruit thereof.
37: 31 And the remnant that is escaped of the house of Judah shall again take root downward, and bear fruit upward: 37: 32 For out of Jerusalem shall go forth a remnant, and they that escape out of mount Zion: the zeal of the LORD of hosts shall do this.
37: 33 Therefore thus saith the LORD concerning the king of Assyria, He shall not come into this city, nor shoot an arrow there, nor come before it with shields, nor cast a bank against it.
37: 34 By the way that he came, by the same shall he return, and shall not come into this city, saith the LORD.
37: 35 For I will defend this city to save it for mine own sake, and for my servant David's sake.
37: 36 Then the angel of the LORD went forth, and smote in the camp of the Assyrians a hundred and fourscore and five thousand: and when they arose early in the morning, behold, they were all dead corpses.
37: 37 So Sennacherib king of Assyria departed, and went and returned, and dwelt at Nineveh.
37: 38 And it came to pass, as he was worshipping in the house of Nisroch his god, that Adrammelech and Sharezer his sons smote him with the sword; and they escaped into the land of Armenia: and Esarhaddon his son reigned in his stead.
38: 1 In those days was Hezekiah sick unto death.
And Isaiah the prophet the son of Amoz came unto him, and said unto him, Thus saith the LORD, Set thine house in order: for thou shalt die, and not live.
38: 2 Then Hezekiah turned his face toward the wall, and prayed unto the LORD, 38: 3 And said, Remember now, O LORD, I beseech thee, how I have walked before thee in truth and with a perfect heart, and have done that which is good in thy sight.
And Hezekiah wept sore.
38: 4 Then came the word of the LORD to Isaiah, saying, 38: 5 Go, and say to Hezekiah, Thus saith the LORD, the God of David thy father, I have heard thy prayer, I have seen thy tears: behold, I will add unto thy days fifteen years.
38: 6 And I will deliver thee and this city out of the hand of the king of Assyria: and I will defend this city.
38: 7 And this shall be a sign unto thee from the LORD, that the LORD will do this thing that he hath spoken; 38: 8 Behold, I will bring again the shadow of the degrees, which is gone down in the sun dial of Ahaz, ten degrees backward.
So the sun returned ten degrees, by which degrees it was gone down.
38: 9 The writing of Hezekiah king of Judah, when he had been sick, and was recovered of his sickness: 38: 10 I said in the cutting off of my days, I shall go to the gates of the grave: I am deprived of the residue of my years.
38: 11 I said, I shall not see the LORD, even the LORD, in the land of the living: I shall behold man no more with the inhabitants of the world.
38: 12 Mine age is departed, and is removed from me as a shepherd's tent: I have cut off like a weaver my life: he will cut me off with pining sickness: from day even to night wilt thou make an end of me.
38: 13 I reckoned till morning, that, as a lion, so will he break all my bones: from day even to night wilt thou make an end of me.
38: 14 Like a crane or a swallow, so did I chatter: I did mourn as a dove: mine eyes fail with looking upward: O LORD, I am oppressed; undertake for me.
38: 15 What shall I say?
he hath both spoken unto me, and himself hath done it: I shall go softly all my years in the bitterness of my soul.
38: 16 O LORD, by these things men live, and in all these things is the life of my spirit: so wilt thou recover me, and make me to live.
38: 17 Behold, for peace I had great bitterness: but thou hast in love to my soul delivered it from the pit of corruption: for thou hast cast all my sins behind thy back.
38: 18 For the grave cannot praise thee, death can not celebrate thee: they that go down into the pit cannot hope for thy truth.
38: 19 The living, the living, he shall praise thee, as I do this day: the father to the children shall make known thy truth.
38: 20 The LORD was ready to save me: therefore we will sing my songs to the stringed instruments all the days of our life in the house of the LORD.
38: 21 For Isaiah had said, Let them take a lump of figs, and lay it for a plaister upon the boil, and he shall recover.
38: 22 Hezekiah also had said, What is the sign that I shall go up to the house of the LORD?
39: 1 At that time Merodachbaladan, the son of Baladan, king of Babylon, sent letters and a present to Hezekiah: for he had heard that he had been sick, and was recovered.
39: 3 Then came Isaiah the prophet unto king Hezekiah, and said unto him, What said these men?
and from whence came they unto thee?
And Hezekiah said, They are come from a far country unto me, even from Babylon.
39: 4 Then said he, What have they seen in thine house?
And Hezekiah answered, All that is in mine house have they seen: there is nothing among my treasures that I have not shewed them.
39: 5 Then said Isaiah to Hezekiah, Hear the word of the LORD of hosts: 39: 6 Behold, the days come, that all that is in thine house, and that which thy fathers have laid up in store until this day, shall be carried to Babylon: nothing shall be left, saith the LORD.
39: 7 And of thy sons that shall issue from thee, which thou shalt beget, shall they take away; and they shall be eunuchs in the palace of the king of Babylon.
39: 8 Then said Hezekiah to Isaiah, Good is the word of the LORD which thou hast spoken.
He said moreover, For there shall be peace and truth in my days.
40: 1 Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God.
40: 2 Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned: for she hath received of the LORD's hand double for all her sins.
40: 3 The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the LORD, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
40: 6 The voice said, Cry.
And he said, What shall I cry?
All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field: 40: 7 The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: because the spirit of the LORD bloweth upon it: surely the people is grass.
40: 8 The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever.
40: 9 O Zion, that bringest good tidings, get thee up into the high mountain; O Jerusalem, that bringest good tidings, lift up thy voice with strength; lift it up, be not afraid; say unto the cities of Judah, Behold your God!
40: 10 Behold, the Lord GOD will come with strong hand, and his arm shall rule for him: behold, his reward is with him, and his work before him.
40: 11 He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young.
40: 12 Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, and meted out heaven with the span, and comprehended the dust of the earth in a measure, and weighed the mountains in scales, and the hills in a balance?
40: 13 Who hath directed the Spirit of the LORD, or being his counsellor hath taught him?
40: 14 With whom took he counsel, and who instructed him, and taught him in the path of judgment, and taught him knowledge, and shewed to him the way of understanding?
40: 15 Behold, the nations are as a drop of a bucket, and are counted as the small dust of the balance: behold, he taketh up the isles as a very little thing.
40: 16 And Lebanon is not sufficient to burn, nor the beasts thereof sufficient for a burnt offering.
40: 17 All nations before him are as nothing; and they are counted to him less than nothing, and vanity.
40: 18 To whom then will ye liken God?
or what likeness will ye compare unto him?
40: 19 The workman melteth a graven image, and the goldsmith spreadeth it over with gold, and casteth silver chains.
40: 20 He that is so impoverished that he hath no oblation chooseth a tree that will not rot; he seeketh unto him a cunning workman to prepare a graven image, that shall not be moved.
40: 21 Have ye not known?
have ye not heard?
hath it not been told you from the beginning?
have ye not understood from the foundations of the earth?
40: 24 Yea, they shall not be planted; yea, they shall not be sown: yea, their stock shall not take root in the earth: and he shall also blow upon them, and they shall wither, and the whirlwind shall take them away as stubble.
40: 25 To whom then will ye liken me, or shall I be equal?
saith the Holy One.
40: 26 Lift up your eyes on high, and behold who hath created these things, that bringeth out their host by number: he calleth them all by names by the greatness of his might, for that he is strong in power; not one faileth.
40: 27 Why sayest thou, O Jacob, and speakest, O Israel, My way is hid from the LORD, and my judgment is passed over from my God?
40: 28 Hast thou not known?
hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the LORD, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary?
there is no searching of his understanding.
40: 29 He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.
40: 30 Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall: 40: 31 But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.
41: 1 Keep silence before me, O islands; and let the people renew their strength: let them come near; then let them speak: let us come near together to judgment.
41: 2 Who raised up the righteous man from the east, called him to his foot, gave the nations before him, and made him rule over kings?
he gave them as the dust to his sword, and as driven stubble to his bow.
41: 3 He pursued them, and passed safely; even by the way that he had not gone with his feet.
41: 4 Who hath wrought and done it, calling the generations from the beginning?
I the LORD, the first, and with the last; I am he.
41: 5 The isles saw it, and feared; the ends of the earth were afraid, drew near, and came.
41: 6 They helped every one his neighbour; and every one said to his brother, Be of good courage.
41: 7 So the carpenter encouraged the goldsmith, and he that smootheth with the hammer him that smote the anvil, saying, It is ready for the sodering: and he fastened it with nails, that it should not be moved.
41: 8 But thou, Israel, art my servant, Jacob whom I have chosen, the seed of Abraham my friend.
41: 9 Thou whom I have taken from the ends of the earth, and called thee from the chief men thereof, and said unto thee, Thou art my servant; I have chosen thee, and not cast thee away.
41: 10 Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.
41: 11 Behold, all they that were incensed against thee shall be ashamed and confounded: they shall be as nothing; and they that strive with thee shall perish.
41: 12 Thou shalt seek them, and shalt not find them, even them that contended with thee: they that war against thee shall be as nothing, and as a thing of nought.
41: 13 For I the LORD thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.
41: 14 Fear not, thou worm Jacob, and ye men of Israel; I will help thee, saith the LORD, and thy redeemer, the Holy One of Israel.
41: 15 Behold, I will make thee a new sharp threshing instrument having teeth: thou shalt thresh the mountains, and beat them small, and shalt make the hills as chaff.
41: 16 Thou shalt fan them, and the wind shall carry them away, and the whirlwind shall scatter them: and thou shalt rejoice in the LORD, and shalt glory in the Holy One of Israel.
41: 17 When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I the LORD will hear them, I the God of Israel will not forsake them.
41: 18 I will open rivers in high places, and fountains in the midst of the valleys: I will make the wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water.
41: 21 Produce your cause, saith the LORD; bring forth your strong reasons, saith the King of Jacob.
41: 22 Let them bring them forth, and shew us what shall happen: let them shew the former things, what they be, that we may consider them, and know the latter end of them; or declare us things for to come.
41: 23 Shew the things that are to come hereafter, that we may know that ye are gods: yea, do good, or do evil, that we may be dismayed, and behold it together.
41: 24 Behold, ye are of nothing, and your work of nought: an abomination is he that chooseth you.
41: 25 I have raised up one from the north, and he shall come: from the rising of the sun shall he call upon my name: and he shall come upon princes as upon morter, and as the potter treadeth clay.
41: 26 Who hath declared from the beginning, that we may know?
and beforetime, that we may say, He is righteous?
yea, there is none that sheweth, yea, there is none that declareth, yea, there is none that heareth your words.
41: 27 The first shall say to Zion, Behold, behold them: and I will give to Jerusalem one that bringeth good tidings.
41: 28 For I beheld, and there was no man; even among them, and there was no counsellor, that, when I asked of them, could answer a word.
41: 29 Behold, they are all vanity; their works are nothing: their molten images are wind and confusion.
42: 1 Behold my servant, whom I uphold; mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth; I have put my spirit upon him: he shall bring forth judgment to the Gentiles.
42: 2 He shall not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the street.
42: 3 A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judgment unto truth.
42: 4 He shall not fail nor be discouraged, till he have set judgment in the earth: and the isles shall wait for his law.
42: 8 I am the LORD: that is my name: and my glory will I not give to another, neither my praise to graven images.
42: 9 Behold, the former things are come to pass, and new things do I declare: before they spring forth I tell you of them.
42: 10 Sing unto the LORD a new song, and his praise from the end of the earth, ye that go down to the sea, and all that is therein; the isles, and the inhabitants thereof.
42: 11 Let the wilderness and the cities thereof lift up their voice, the villages that Kedar doth inhabit: let the inhabitants of the rock sing, let them shout from the top of the mountains.
42: 12 Let them give glory unto the LORD, and declare his praise in the islands.
42: 13 The LORD shall go forth as a mighty man, he shall stir up jealousy like a man of war: he shall cry, yea, roar; he shall prevail against his enemies.
42: 14 I have long time holden my peace; I have been still, and refrained myself: now will I cry like a travailing woman; I will destroy and devour at once.
42: 15 I will make waste mountains and hills, and dry up all their herbs; and I will make the rivers islands, and I will dry up the pools.
42: 16 And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight.
These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.
42: 17 They shall be turned back, they shall be greatly ashamed, that trust in graven images, that say to the molten images, Ye are our gods.
42: 18 Hear, ye deaf; and look, ye blind, that ye may see.
42: 19 Who is blind, but my servant?
or deaf, as my messenger that I sent?
who is blind as he that is perfect, and blind as the LORD's servant?
42: 20 Seeing many things, but thou observest not; opening the ears, but he heareth not.
42: 21 The LORD is well pleased for his righteousness'sake; he will magnify the law, and make it honourable.
42: 22 But this is a people robbed and spoiled; they are all of them snared in holes, and they are hid in prison houses: they are for a prey, and none delivereth; for a spoil, and none saith, Restore.
42: 23 Who among you will give ear to this?
who will hearken and hear for the time to come?
42: 24 Who gave Jacob for a spoil, and Israel to the robbers?
did not the LORD, he against whom we have sinned?
for they would not walk in his ways, neither were they obedient unto his law.
42: 25 Therefore he hath poured upon him the fury of his anger, and the strength of battle: and it hath set him on fire round about, yet he knew not; and it burned him, yet he laid it not to heart.
43: 1 But now thus saith the LORD that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.
43: 2 When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.
43: 3 For I am the LORD thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour: I gave Egypt for thy ransom, Ethiopia and Seba for thee.
43: 4 Since thou wast precious in my sight, thou hast been honourable, and I have loved thee: therefore will I give men for thee, and people for thy life.
43: 8 Bring forth the blind people that have eyes, and the deaf that have ears.
43: 9 Let all the nations be gathered together, and let the people be assembled: who among them can declare this, and shew us former things?
let them bring forth their witnesses, that they may be justified: or let them hear, and say, It is truth.
43: 10 Ye are my witnesses, saith the LORD, and my servant whom I have chosen: that ye may know and believe me, and understand that I am he: before me there was no God formed, neither shall there be after me.
43: 11 I, even I, am the LORD; and beside me there is no saviour.
43: 12 I have declared, and have saved, and I have shewed, when there was no strange god among you: therefore ye are my witnesses, saith the LORD, that I am God.
43: 13 Yea, before the day was I am he; and there is none that can deliver out of my hand: I will work, and who shall let it?
43: 14 Thus saith the LORD, your redeemer, the Holy One of Israel; For your sake I have sent to Babylon, and have brought down all their nobles, and the Chaldeans, whose cry is in the ships.
43: 15 I am the LORD, your Holy One, the creator of Israel, your King.
43: 16 Thus saith the LORD, which maketh a way in the sea, and a path in the mighty waters; 43: 17 Which bringeth forth the chariot and horse, the army and the power; they shall lie down together, they shall not rise: they are extinct, they are quenched as tow.
43: 18 Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old.
43: 19 Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it?
I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.
43: 20 The beast of the field shall honour me, the dragons and the owls: because I give waters in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert, to give drink to my people, my chosen.
43: 21 This people have I formed for myself; they shall shew forth my praise.
43: 22 But thou hast not called upon me, O Jacob; but thou hast been weary of me, O Israel.
43: 23 Thou hast not brought me the small cattle of thy burnt offerings; neither hast thou honoured me with thy sacrifices.
I have not caused thee to serve with an offering, nor wearied thee with incense.
43: 24 Thou hast bought me no sweet cane with money, neither hast thou filled me with the fat of thy sacrifices: but thou hast made me to serve with thy sins, thou hast wearied me with thine iniquities.
43: 25 I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins.
43: 26 Put me in remembrance: let us plead together: declare thou, that thou mayest be justified.
43: 27 Thy first father hath sinned, and thy teachers have transgressed against me.
43: 28 Therefore I have profaned the princes of the sanctuary, and have given Jacob to the curse, and Israel to reproaches.
44: 1 Yet now hear, O Jacob my servant; and Israel, whom I have chosen: 44: 2 Thus saith the LORD that made thee, and formed thee from the womb, which will help thee; Fear not, O Jacob, my servant; and thou, Jesurun, whom I have chosen.
44: 3 For I will pour water upon him that is thirsty, and floods upon the dry ground: I will pour my spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing upon thine offspring: 44: 4 And they shall spring up as among the grass, as willows by the water courses.
44: 5 One shall say, I am the LORD's; and another shall call himself by the name of Jacob; and another shall subscribe with his hand unto the LORD, and surname himself by the name of Israel.
44: 6 Thus saith the LORD the King of Israel, and his redeemer the LORD of hosts; I am the first, and I am the last; and beside me there is no God.
44: 7 And who, as I, shall call, and shall declare it, and set it in order for me, since I appointed the ancient people?
and the things that are coming, and shall come, let them shew unto them.
44: 8 Fear ye not, neither be afraid: have not I told thee from that time, and have declared it?
ye are even my witnesses.
Is there a God beside me?
yea, there is no God; I know not any.
44: 9 They that make a graven image are all of them vanity; and their delectable things shall not profit; and they are their own witnesses; they see not, nor know; that they may be ashamed.
44: 10 Who hath formed a god, or molten a graven image that is profitable for nothing?
44: 11 Behold, all his fellows shall be ashamed: and the workmen, they are of men: let them all be gathered together, let them stand up; yet they shall fear, and they shall be ashamed together.
44: 12 The smith with the tongs both worketh in the coals, and fashioneth it with hammers, and worketh it with the strength of his arms: yea, he is hungry, and his strength faileth: he drinketh no water, and is faint.
44: 13 The carpenter stretcheth out his rule; he marketh it out with a line; he fitteth it with planes, and he marketh it out with the compass, and maketh it after the figure of a man, according to the beauty of a man; that it may remain in the house.
44: 14 He heweth him down cedars, and taketh the cypress and the oak, which he strengtheneth for himself among the trees of the forest: he planteth an ash, and the rain doth nourish it.
44: 15 Then shall it be for a man to burn: for he will take thereof, and warm himself; yea, he kindleth it, and baketh bread; yea, he maketh a god, and worshippeth it; he maketh it a graven image, and falleth down thereto.
44: 18 They have not known nor understood: for he hath shut their eyes, that they cannot see; and their hearts, that they cannot understand.
44: 19 And none considereth in his heart, neither is there knowledge nor understanding to say, I have burned part of it in the fire; yea, also I have baked bread upon the coals thereof; I have roasted flesh, and eaten it: and shall I make the residue thereof an abomination?
shall I fall down to the stock of a tree?
44: 20 He feedeth on ashes: a deceived heart hath turned him aside, that he cannot deliver his soul, nor say, Is there not a lie in my right hand?
44: 21 Remember these, O Jacob and Israel; for thou art my servant: I have formed thee; thou art my servant: O Israel, thou shalt not be forgotten of me.
44: 22 I have blotted out, as a thick cloud, thy transgressions, and, as a cloud, thy sins: return unto me; for I have redeemed thee.
44: 23 Sing, O ye heavens; for the LORD hath done it: shout, ye lower parts of the earth: break forth into singing, ye mountains, O forest, and every tree therein: for the LORD hath redeemed Jacob, and glorified himself in Israel.
45: 4 For Jacob my servant's sake, and Israel mine elect, I have even called thee by thy name: I have surnamed thee, though thou hast not known me.
45: 5 I am the LORD, and there is none else, there is no God beside me: I girded thee, though thou hast not known me: 45: 6 That they may know from the rising of the sun, and from the west, that there is none beside me.
I am the LORD, and there is none else.
45: 7 I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the LORD do all these things.
45: 8 Drop down, ye heavens, from above, and let the skies pour down righteousness: let the earth open, and let them bring forth salvation, and let righteousness spring up together; I the LORD have created it.
45: 9 Woe unto him that striveth with his Maker!
Let the potsherd strive with the potsherds of the earth.
Shall the clay say to him that fashioneth it, What makest thou?
or thy work, He hath no hands?
45: 10 Woe unto him that saith unto his father, What begettest thou?
or to the woman, What hast thou brought forth?
45: 11 Thus saith the LORD, the Holy One of Israel, and his Maker, Ask me of things to come concerning my sons, and concerning the work of my hands command ye me.
45: 12 I have made the earth, and created man upon it: I, even my hands, have stretched out the heavens, and all their host have I commanded.
45: 13 I have raised him up in righteousness, and I will direct all his ways: he shall build my city, and he shall let go my captives, not for price nor reward, saith the LORD of hosts.
45: 15 Verily thou art a God that hidest thyself, O God of Israel, the Saviour.
45: 16 They shall be ashamed, and also confounded, all of them: they shall go to confusion together that are makers of idols.
45: 17 But Israel shall be saved in the LORD with an everlasting salvation: ye shall not be ashamed nor confounded world without end.
45: 18 For thus saith the LORD that created the heavens; God himself that formed the earth and made it; he hath established it, he created it not in vain, he formed it to be inhabited: I am the LORD; and there is none else.
45: 19 I have not spoken in secret, in a dark place of the earth: I said not unto the seed of Jacob, Seek ye me in vain: I the LORD speak righteousness, I declare things that are right.
45: 20 Assemble yourselves and come; draw near together, ye that are escaped of the nations: they have no knowledge that set up the wood of their graven image, and pray unto a god that cannot save.
45: 21 Tell ye, and bring them near; yea, let them take counsel together: who hath declared this from ancient time?
who hath told it from that time?
have not I the LORD?
and there is no God else beside me; a just God and a Saviour; there is none beside me.
45: 22 Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth: for I am God, and there is none else.
45: 23 I have sworn by myself, the word is gone out of my mouth in righteousness, and shall not return, That unto me every knee shall bow, every tongue shall swear.
45: 24 Surely, shall one say, in the LORD have I righteousness and strength: even to him shall men come; and all that are incensed against him shall be ashamed.
45: 25 In the LORD shall all the seed of Israel be justified, and shall glory.
46: 1 Bel boweth down, Nebo stoopeth, their idols were upon the beasts, and upon the cattle: your carriages were heavy loaden; they are a burden to the weary beast.
46: 2 They stoop, they bow down together; they could not deliver the burden, but themselves are gone into captivity.
46: 5 To whom will ye liken me, and make me equal, and compare me, that we may be like?
46: 6 They lavish gold out of the bag, and weigh silver in the balance, and hire a goldsmith; and he maketh it a god: they fall down, yea, they worship.
46: 7 They bear him upon the shoulder, they carry him, and set him in his place, and he standeth; from his place shall he not remove: yea, one shall cry unto him, yet can he not answer, nor save him out of his trouble.
46: 8 Remember this, and shew yourselves men: bring it again to mind, O ye transgressors.
46: 12 Hearken unto me, ye stouthearted, that are far from righteousness: 46: 13 I bring near my righteousness; it shall not be far off, and my salvation shall not tarry: and I will place salvation in Zion for Israel my glory.
47: 1 Come down, and sit in the dust, O virgin daughter of Babylon, sit on the ground: there is no throne, O daughter of the Chaldeans: for thou shalt no more be called tender and delicate.
47: 2 Take the millstones, and grind meal: uncover thy locks, make bare the leg, uncover the thigh, pass over the rivers.
47: 3 Thy nakedness shall be uncovered, yea, thy shame shall be seen: I will take vengeance, and I will not meet thee as a man.
47: 4 As for our redeemer, the LORD of hosts is his name, the Holy One of Israel.
47: 5 Sit thou silent, and get thee into darkness, O daughter of the Chaldeans: for thou shalt no more be called, The lady of kingdoms.
47: 6 I was wroth with my people, I have polluted mine inheritance, and given them into thine hand: thou didst shew them no mercy; upon the ancient hast thou very heavily laid thy yoke.
47: 7 And thou saidst, I shall be a lady for ever: so that thou didst not lay these things to thy heart, neither didst remember the latter end of it.
47: 10 For thou hast trusted in thy wickedness: thou hast said, None seeth me.
Thy wisdom and thy knowledge, it hath perverted thee; and thou hast said in thine heart, I am, and none else beside me.
47: 11 Therefore shall evil come upon thee; thou shalt not know from whence it riseth: and mischief shall fall upon thee; thou shalt not be able to put it off: and desolation shall come upon thee suddenly, which thou shalt not know.
47: 12 Stand now with thine enchantments, and with the multitude of thy sorceries, wherein thou hast laboured from thy youth; if so be thou shalt be able to profit, if so be thou mayest prevail.
47: 13 Thou art wearied in the multitude of thy counsels.
Let now the astrologers, the stargazers, the monthly prognosticators, stand up, and save thee from these things that shall come upon thee.
47: 14 Behold, they shall be as stubble; the fire shall burn them; they shall not deliver themselves from the power of the flame: there shall not be a coal to warm at, nor fire to sit before it.
47: 15 Thus shall they be unto thee with whom thou hast laboured, even thy merchants, from thy youth: they shall wander every one to his quarter; none shall save thee.
48: 1 Hear ye this, O house of Jacob, which are called by the name of Israel, and are come forth out of the waters of Judah, which swear by the name of the LORD, and make mention of the God of Israel, but not in truth, nor in righteousness.
48: 2 For they call themselves of the holy city, and stay themselves upon the God of Israel; The LORD of hosts is his name.
48: 3 I have declared the former things from the beginning; and they went forth out of my mouth, and I shewed them; I did them suddenly, and they came to pass.
48: 6 Thou hast heard, see all this; and will not ye declare it?
I have shewed thee new things from this time, even hidden things, and thou didst not know them.
48: 7 They are created now, and not from the beginning; even before the day when thou heardest them not; lest thou shouldest say, Behold, I knew them.
48: 8 Yea, thou heardest not; yea, thou knewest not; yea, from that time that thine ear was not opened: for I knew that thou wouldest deal very treacherously, and wast called a transgressor from the womb.
48: 9 For my name's sake will I defer mine anger, and for my praise will I refrain for thee, that I cut thee not off.
48: 10 Behold, I have refined thee, but not with silver; I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.
48: 11 For mine own sake, even for mine own sake, will I do it: for how should my name be polluted?
and I will not give my glory unto another.
48: 12 Hearken unto me, O Jacob and Israel, my called; I am he; I am the first, I also am the last.
48: 13 Mine hand also hath laid the foundation of the earth, and my right hand hath spanned the heavens: when I call unto them, they stand up together.
48: 14 All ye, assemble yourselves, and hear; which among them hath declared these things?
The LORD hath loved him: he will do his pleasure on Babylon, and his arm shall be on the Chaldeans.
48: 15 I, even I, have spoken; yea, I have called him: I have brought him, and he shall make his way prosperous.
48: 16 Come ye near unto me, hear ye this; I have not spoken in secret from the beginning; from the time that it was, there am I: and now the Lord GOD, and his Spirit, hath sent me.
48: 17 Thus saith the LORD, thy Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel; I am the LORD thy God which teacheth thee to profit, which leadeth thee by the way that thou shouldest go.
48: 18 O that thou hadst hearkened to my commandments!
then had thy peace been as a river, and thy righteousness as the waves of the sea: 48: 19 Thy seed also had been as the sand, and the offspring of thy bowels like the gravel thereof; his name should not have been cut off nor destroyed from before me.
48: 20 Go ye forth of Babylon, flee ye from the Chaldeans, with a voice of singing declare ye, tell this, utter it even to the end of the earth; say ye, The LORD hath redeemed his servant Jacob.
48: 21 And they thirsted not when he led them through the deserts: he caused the waters to flow out of the rock for them: he clave the rock also, and the waters gushed out.
48: 22 There is no peace, saith the LORD, unto the wicked.
49: 1 Listen, O isles, unto me; and hearken, ye people, from far; The LORD hath called me from the womb; from the bowels of my mother hath he made mention of my name.
49: 2 And he hath made my mouth like a sharp sword; in the shadow of his hand hath he hid me, and made me a polished shaft; in his quiver hath he hid me; 49: 3 And said unto me, Thou art my servant, O Israel, in whom I will be glorified.
49: 4 Then I said, I have laboured in vain, I have spent my strength for nought, and in vain: yet surely my judgment is with the LORD, and my work with my God.
49: 5 And now, saith the LORD that formed me from the womb to be his servant, to bring Jacob again to him, Though Israel be not gathered, yet shall I be glorious in the eyes of the LORD, and my God shall be my strength.
49: 6 And he said, It is a light thing that thou shouldest be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob, and to restore the preserved of Israel: I will also give thee for a light to the Gentiles, that thou mayest be my salvation unto the end of the earth.
They shall feed in the ways, and their pastures shall be in all high places.
49: 10 They shall not hunger nor thirst; neither shall the heat nor sun smite them: for he that hath mercy on them shall lead them, even by the springs of water shall he guide them.
49: 11 And I will make all my mountains a way, and my highways shall be exalted.
49: 12 Behold, these shall come from far: and, lo, these from the north and from the west; and these from the land of Sinim.
49: 13 Sing, O heavens; and be joyful, O earth; and break forth into singing, O mountains: for the LORD hath comforted his people, and will have mercy upon his afflicted.
49: 14 But Zion said, The LORD hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me.
49: 15 Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb?
yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.
49: 16 Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.
49: 17 Thy children shall make haste; thy destroyers and they that made thee waste shall go forth of thee.
49: 18 Lift up thine eyes round about, and behold: all these gather themselves together, and come to thee.
As I live, saith the LORD, thou shalt surely clothe thee with them all, as with an ornament, and bind them on thee, as a bride doeth.
49: 19 For thy waste and thy desolate places, and the land of thy destruction, shall even now be too narrow by reason of the inhabitants, and they that swallowed thee up shall be far away.
49: 20 The children which thou shalt have, after thou hast lost the other, shall say again in thine ears, The place is too strait for me: give place to me that I may dwell.
49: 21 Then shalt thou say in thine heart, Who hath begotten me these, seeing I have lost my children, and am desolate, a captive, and removing to and fro?
and who hath brought up these?
Behold, I was left alone; these, where had they been?
49: 22 Thus saith the Lord GOD, Behold, I will lift up mine hand to the Gentiles, and set up my standard to the people: and they shall bring thy sons in their arms, and thy daughters shall be carried upon their shoulders.
49: 23 And kings shall be thy nursing fathers, and their queens thy nursing mothers: they shall bow down to thee with their face toward the earth, and lick up the dust of thy feet; and thou shalt know that I am the LORD: for they shall not be ashamed that wait for me.
49: 24 Shall the prey be taken from the mighty, or the lawful captive delivered?
49: 25 But thus saith the LORD, Even the captives of the mighty shall be taken away, and the prey of the terrible shall be delivered: for I will contend with him that contendeth with thee, and I will save thy children.
49: 26 And I will feed them that oppress thee with their own flesh; and they shall be drunken with their own blood, as with sweet wine: and all flesh shall know that I the LORD am thy Saviour and thy Redeemer, the mighty One of Jacob.
50: 1 Thus saith the LORD, Where is the bill of your mother's divorcement, whom I have put away?
or which of my creditors is it to whom I have sold you?
Behold, for your iniquities have ye sold yourselves, and for your transgressions is your mother put away.
50: 2 Wherefore, when I came, was there no man?
when I called, was there none to answer?
Is my hand shortened at all, that it cannot redeem?
or have I no power to deliver?
behold, at my rebuke I dry up the sea, I make the rivers a wilderness: their fish stinketh, because there is no water, and dieth for thirst.
50: 3 I clothe the heavens with blackness, and I make sackcloth their covering.
50: 4 The Lord GOD hath given me the tongue of the learned, that I should know how to speak a word in season to him that is weary: he wakeneth morning by morning, he wakeneth mine ear to hear as the learned.
50: 5 The Lord GOD hath opened mine ear, and I was not rebellious, neither turned away back.
50: 6 I gave my back to the smiters, and my cheeks to them that plucked off the hair: I hid not my face from shame and spitting.
50: 7 For the Lord GOD will help me; therefore shall I not be confounded: therefore have I set my face like a flint, and I know that I shall not be ashamed.
50: 8 He is near that justifieth me; who will contend with me?
let us stand together: who is mine adversary?
let him come near to me.
50: 9 Behold, the Lord GOD will help me; who is he that shall condemn me?
lo, they all shall wax old as a garment; the moth shall eat them up.
50: 10 Who is among you that feareth the LORD, that obeyeth the voice of his servant, that walketh in darkness, and hath no light?
let him trust in the name of the LORD, and stay upon his God.
50: 11 Behold, all ye that kindle a fire, that compass yourselves about with sparks: walk in the light of your fire, and in the sparks that ye have kindled.
This shall ye have of mine hand; ye shall lie down in sorrow.
51: 1 Hearken to me, ye that follow after righteousness, ye that seek the LORD: look unto the rock whence ye are hewn, and to the hole of the pit whence ye are digged.
51: 2 Look unto Abraham your father, and unto Sarah that bare you: for I called him alone, and blessed him, and increased him.
51: 3 For the LORD shall comfort Zion: he will comfort all her waste places; and he will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the LORD; joy and gladness shall be found therein, thanksgiving, and the voice of melody.
51: 4 Hearken unto me, my people; and give ear unto me, O my nation: for a law shall proceed from me, and I will make my judgment to rest for a light of the people.
51: 5 My righteousness is near; my salvation is gone forth, and mine arms shall judge the people; the isles shall wait upon me, and on mine arm shall they trust.
51: 7 Hearken unto me, ye that know righteousness, the people in whose heart is my law; fear ye not the reproach of men, neither be ye afraid of their revilings.
51: 8 For the moth shall eat them up like a garment, and the worm shall eat them like wool: but my righteousness shall be for ever, and my salvation from generation to generation.
51: 9 Awake, awake, put on strength, O arm of the LORD; awake, as in the ancient days, in the generations of old.
Art thou not it that hath cut Rahab, and wounded the dragon?
51: 10 Art thou not it which hath dried the sea, the waters of the great deep; that hath made the depths of the sea a way for the ransomed to pass over?
51: 11 Therefore the redeemed of the LORD shall return, and come with singing unto Zion; and everlasting joy shall be upon their head: they shall obtain gladness and joy; and sorrow and mourning shall flee away.
and where is the fury of the oppressor?
51: 14 The captive exile hasteneth that he may be loosed, and that he should not die in the pit, nor that his bread should fail.
51: 15 But I am the LORD thy God, that divided the sea, whose waves roared: The LORD of hosts is his name.
51: 16 And I have put my words in thy mouth, and I have covered thee in the shadow of mine hand, that I may plant the heavens, and lay the foundations of the earth, and say unto Zion, Thou art my people.
51: 17 Awake, awake, stand up, O Jerusalem, which hast drunk at the hand of the LORD the cup of his fury; thou hast drunken the dregs of the cup of trembling, and wrung them out.
51: 18 There is none to guide her among all the sons whom she hath brought forth; neither is there any that taketh her by the hand of all the sons that she hath brought up.
51: 19 These two things are come unto thee; who shall be sorry for thee?
desolation, and destruction, and the famine, and the sword: by whom shall I comfort thee?
51: 20 Thy sons have fainted, they lie at the head of all the streets, as a wild bull in a net: they are full of the fury of the LORD, the rebuke of thy God.
52: 1 Awake, awake; put on thy strength, O Zion; put on thy beautiful garments, O Jerusalem, the holy city: for henceforth there shall no more come into thee the uncircumcised and the unclean.
52: 2 Shake thyself from the dust; arise, and sit down, O Jerusalem: loose thyself from the bands of thy neck, O captive daughter of Zion.
52: 3 For thus saith the LORD, Ye have sold yourselves for nought; and ye shall be redeemed without money.
52: 4 For thus saith the Lord GOD, My people went down aforetime into Egypt to sojourn there; and the Assyrian oppressed them without cause.
52: 5 Now therefore, what have I here, saith the LORD, that my people is taken away for nought?
they that rule over them make them to howl, saith the LORD; and my name continually every day is blasphemed.
52: 6 Therefore my people shall know my name: therefore they shall know in that day that I am he that doth speak: behold, it is I.
52: 7 How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!
52: 8 Thy watchmen shall lift up the voice; with the voice together shall they sing: for they shall see eye to eye, when the LORD shall bring again Zion.
52: 9 Break forth into joy, sing together, ye waste places of Jerusalem: for the LORD hath comforted his people, he hath redeemed Jerusalem.
52: 10 The LORD hath made bare his holy arm in the eyes of all the nations; and all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God.
52: 11 Depart ye, depart ye, go ye out from thence, touch no unclean thing; go ye out of the midst of her; be ye clean, that bear the vessels of the LORD.
52: 12 For ye shall not go out with haste, nor go by flight: for the LORD will go before you; and the God of Israel will be your rereward.
52: 13 Behold, my servant shall deal prudently, he shall be exalted and extolled, and be very high.
53: 1 Who hath believed our report?
and to whom is the arm of the LORD revealed?
53: 2 For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.
53: 3 He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
53: 4 Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.
53: 5 But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.
53: 6 All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.
53: 7 He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth: he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth.
53: 8 He was taken from prison and from judgment: and who shall declare his generation?
for he was cut off out of the land of the living: for the transgression of my people was he stricken.
53: 9 And he made his grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death; because he had done no violence, neither was any deceit in his mouth.
53: 10 Yet it pleased the LORD to bruise him; he hath put him to grief: when thou shalt make his soul an offering for sin, he shall see his seed, he shall prolong his days, and the pleasure of the LORD shall prosper in his hand.
53: 11 He shall see of the travail of his soul, and shall be satisfied: by his knowledge shall my righteous servant justify many; for he shall bear their iniquities.
53: 12 Therefore will I divide him a portion with the great, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong; because he hath poured out his soul unto death: and he was numbered with the transgressors; and he bare the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors.
54: 1 Sing, O barren, thou that didst not bear; break forth into singing, and cry aloud, thou that didst not travail with child: for more are the children of the desolate than the children of the married wife, saith the LORD.
54: 4 Fear not; for thou shalt not be ashamed: neither be thou confounded; for thou shalt not be put to shame: for thou shalt forget the shame of thy youth, and shalt not remember the reproach of thy widowhood any more.
54: 5 For thy Maker is thine husband; the LORD of hosts is his name; and thy Redeemer the Holy One of Israel; The God of the whole earth shall he be called.
54: 6 For the LORD hath called thee as a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit, and a wife of youth, when thou wast refused, saith thy God.
54: 7 For a small moment have I forsaken thee; but with great mercies will I gather thee.
54: 8 In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the LORD thy Redeemer.
54: 9 For this is as the waters of Noah unto me: for as I have sworn that the waters of Noah should no more go over the earth; so have I sworn that I would not be wroth with thee, nor rebuke thee.
54: 10 For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the LORD that hath mercy on thee.
54: 11 O thou afflicted, tossed with tempest, and not comforted, behold, I will lay thy stones with fair colours, and lay thy foundations with sapphires.
54: 12 And I will make thy windows of agates, and thy gates of carbuncles, and all thy borders of pleasant stones.
54: 13 And all thy children shall be taught of the LORD; and great shall be the peace of thy children.
54: 14 In righteousness shalt thou be established: thou shalt be far from oppression; for thou shalt not fear: and from terror; for it shall not come near thee.
54: 15 Behold, they shall surely gather together, but not by me: whosoever shall gather together against thee shall fall for thy sake.
54: 16 Behold, I have created the smith that bloweth the coals in the fire, and that bringeth forth an instrument for his work; and I have created the waster to destroy.
54: 17 No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn.
This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, and their righteousness is of me, saith the LORD.
55: 1 Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.
55: 2 Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread?
and your labour for that which satisfieth not?
hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness.
55: 3 Incline your ear, and come unto me: hear, and your soul shall live; and I will make an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure mercies of David.
55: 4 Behold, I have given him for a witness to the people, a leader and commander to the people.
55: 5 Behold, thou shalt call a nation that thou knowest not, and nations that knew not thee shall run unto thee because of the LORD thy God, and for the Holy One of Israel; for he hath glorified thee.
55: 6 Seek ye the LORD while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near: 55: 7 Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts: and let him return unto the LORD, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.
55: 8 For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the LORD.
55: 9 For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.
55: 12 For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
55: 13 Instead of the thorn shall come up the fir tree, and instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle tree: and it shall be to the LORD for a name, for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.
56: 1 Thus saith the LORD, Keep ye judgment, and do justice: for my salvation is near to come, and my righteousness to be revealed.
56: 2 Blessed is the man that doeth this, and the son of man that layeth hold on it; that keepeth the sabbath from polluting it, and keepeth his hand from doing any evil.
56: 3 Neither let the son of the stranger, that hath joined himself to the LORD, speak, saying, The LORD hath utterly separated me from his people: neither let the eunuch say, Behold, I am a dry tree.
56: 8 The Lord GOD, which gathereth the outcasts of Israel saith, Yet will I gather others to him, beside those that are gathered unto him.
56: 9 All ye beasts of the field, come to devour, yea, all ye beasts in the forest.
56: 10 His watchmen are blind: they are all ignorant, they are all dumb dogs, they cannot bark; sleeping, lying down, loving to slumber.
56: 11 Yea, they are greedy dogs which can never have enough, and they are shepherds that cannot understand: they all look to their own way, every one for his gain, from his quarter.
56: 12 Come ye, say they, I will fetch wine, and we will fill ourselves with strong drink; and to morrow shall be as this day, and much more abundant.
57: 1 The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart: and merciful men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come.
57: 2 He shall enter into peace: they shall rest in their beds, each one walking in his uprightness.
57: 3 But draw near hither, ye sons of the sorceress, the seed of the adulterer and the whore.
57: 4 Against whom do ye sport yourselves?
against whom make ye a wide mouth, and draw out the tongue?
are ye not children of transgression, a seed of falsehood.
57: 5 Enflaming yourselves with idols under every green tree, slaying the children in the valleys under the clifts of the rocks?
57: 6 Among the smooth stones of the stream is thy portion; they, they are thy lot: even to them hast thou poured a drink offering, thou hast offered a meat offering.
Should I receive comfort in these?
57: 7 Upon a lofty and high mountain hast thou set thy bed: even thither wentest thou up to offer sacrifice.
57: 8 Behind the doors also and the posts hast thou set up thy remembrance: for thou hast discovered thyself to another than me, and art gone up; thou hast enlarged thy bed, and made thee a covenant with them; thou lovedst their bed where thou sawest it.
57: 9 And thou wentest to the king with ointment, and didst increase thy perfumes, and didst send thy messengers far off, and didst debase thyself even unto hell.
57: 10 Thou art wearied in the greatness of thy way; yet saidst thou not, There is no hope: thou hast found the life of thine hand; therefore thou wast not grieved.
57: 11 And of whom hast thou been afraid or feared, that thou hast lied, and hast not remembered me, nor laid it to thy heart?
have not I held my peace even of old, and thou fearest me not?
57: 12 I will declare thy righteousness, and thy works; for they shall not profit thee.
57: 15 For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones.
57: 16 For I will not contend for ever, neither will I be always wroth: for the spirit should fail before me, and the souls which I have made.
57: 17 For the iniquity of his covetousness was I wroth, and smote him: I hid me, and was wroth, and he went on frowardly in the way of his heart.
57: 18 I have seen his ways, and will heal him: I will lead him also, and restore comforts unto him and to his mourners.
57: 19 I create the fruit of the lips; Peace, peace to him that is far off, and to him that is near, saith the LORD; and I will heal him.
57: 20 But the wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt.
57: 21 There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked.
58: 1 Cry aloud, spare not, lift up thy voice like a trumpet, and shew my people their transgression, and the house of Jacob their sins.
58: 2 Yet they seek me daily, and delight to know my ways, as a nation that did righteousness, and forsook not the ordinance of their God: they ask of me the ordinances of justice; they take delight in approaching to God.
58: 3 Wherefore have we fasted, say they, and thou seest not?
wherefore have we afflicted our soul, and thou takest no knowledge?
Behold, in the day of your fast ye find pleasure, and exact all your labours.
58: 4 Behold, ye fast for strife and debate, and to smite with the fist of wickedness: ye shall not fast as ye do this day, to make your voice to be heard on high.
58: 5 Is it such a fast that I have chosen?
a day for a man to afflict his soul?
is it to bow down his head as a bulrush, and to spread sackcloth and ashes under him?
wilt thou call this a fast, and an acceptable day to the LORD?
58: 6 Is not this the fast that I have chosen?
to loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke?
58: 7 Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house?
when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh?
58: 8 Then shall thy light break forth as the morning, and thine health shall spring forth speedily: and thy righteousness shall go before thee; the glory of the LORD shall be thy rereward.
58: 9 Then shalt thou call, and the LORD shall answer; thou shalt cry, and he shall say, Here I am.
58: 12 And they that shall be of thee shall build the old waste places: thou shalt raise up the foundations of many generations; and thou shalt be called, The repairer of the breach, The restorer of paths to dwell in.
59: 1 Behold, the LORD's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save; neither his ear heavy, that it cannot hear: 59: 2 But your iniquities have separated between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you, that he will not hear.
59: 3 For your hands are defiled with blood, and your fingers with iniquity; your lips have spoken lies, your tongue hath muttered perverseness.
59: 4 None calleth for justice, nor any pleadeth for truth: they trust in vanity, and speak lies; they conceive mischief, and bring forth iniquity.
59: 5 They hatch cockatrice'eggs, and weave the spider's web: he that eateth of their eggs dieth, and that which is crushed breaketh out into a viper.
59: 6 Their webs shall not become garments, neither shall they cover themselves with their works: their works are works of iniquity, and the act of violence is in their hands.
59: 7 Their feet run to evil, and they make haste to shed innocent blood: their thoughts are thoughts of iniquity; wasting and destruction are in their paths.
59: 8 The way of peace they know not; and there is no judgment in their goings: they have made them crooked paths: whosoever goeth therein shall not know peace.
59: 9 Therefore is judgment far from us, neither doth justice overtake us: we wait for light, but behold obscurity; for brightness, but we walk in darkness.
59: 10 We grope for the wall like the blind, and we grope as if we had no eyes: we stumble at noon day as in the night; we are in desolate places as dead men.
59: 11 We roar all like bears, and mourn sore like doves: we look for judgment, but there is none; for salvation, but it is far off from us.
59: 14 And judgment is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off: for truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter.
59: 15 Yea, truth faileth; and he that departeth from evil maketh himself a prey: and the LORD saw it, and it displeased him that there was no judgment.
59: 16 And he saw that there was no man, and wondered that there was no intercessor: therefore his arm brought salvation unto him; and his righteousness, it sustained him.
59: 17 For he put on righteousness as a breastplate, and an helmet of salvation upon his head; and he put on the garments of vengeance for clothing, and was clad with zeal as a cloak.
59: 18 According to their deeds, accordingly he will repay, fury to his adversaries, recompence to his enemies; to the islands he will repay recompence.
59: 19 So shall they fear the name of the LORD from the west, and his glory from the rising of the sun.
When the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the LORD shall lift up a standard against him.
59: 20 And the Redeemer shall come to Zion, and unto them that turn from transgression in Jacob, saith the LORD.
60: 1 Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the LORD is risen upon thee.
60: 2 For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people: but the LORD shall arise upon thee, and his glory shall be seen upon thee.
60: 3 And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising.
60: 4 Lift up thine eyes round about, and see: all they gather themselves together, they come to thee: thy sons shall come from far, and thy daughters shall be nursed at thy side.
60: 5 Then thou shalt see, and flow together, and thine heart shall fear, and be enlarged; because the abundance of the sea shall be converted unto thee, the forces of the Gentiles shall come unto thee.
60: 6 The multitude of camels shall cover thee, the dromedaries of Midian and Ephah; all they from Sheba shall come: they shall bring gold and incense; and they shall shew forth the praises of the LORD.
60: 7 All the flocks of Kedar shall be gathered together unto thee, the rams of Nebaioth shall minister unto thee: they shall come up with acceptance on mine altar, and I will glorify the house of my glory.
60: 8 Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as the doves to their windows?
60: 9 Surely the isles shall wait for me, and the ships of Tarshish first, to bring thy sons from far, their silver and their gold with them, unto the name of the LORD thy God, and to the Holy One of Israel, because he hath glorified thee.
60: 10 And the sons of strangers shall build up thy walls, and their kings shall minister unto thee: for in my wrath I smote thee, but in my favour have I had mercy on thee.
60: 11 Therefore thy gates shall be open continually; they shall not be shut day nor night; that men may bring unto thee the forces of the Gentiles, and that their kings may be brought.
60: 12 For the nation and kingdom that will not serve thee shall perish; yea, those nations shall be utterly wasted.
60: 13 The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the fir tree, the pine tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary; and I will make the place of my feet glorious.
60: 14 The sons also of them that afflicted thee shall come bending unto thee; and all they that despised thee shall bow themselves down at the soles of thy feet; and they shall call thee; The city of the LORD, The Zion of the Holy One of Israel.
60: 15 Whereas thou has been forsaken and hated, so that no man went through thee, I will make thee an eternal excellency, a joy of many generations.
60: 16 Thou shalt also suck the milk of the Gentiles, and shalt suck the breast of kings: and thou shalt know that I the LORD am thy Saviour and thy Redeemer, the mighty One of Jacob.
60: 17 For brass I will bring gold, and for iron I will bring silver, and for wood brass, and for stones iron: I will also make thy officers peace, and thine exactors righteousness.
60: 18 Violence shall no more be heard in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thy borders; but thou shalt call thy walls Salvation, and thy gates Praise.
60: 19 The sun shall be no more thy light by day; neither for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee: but the LORD shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thy God thy glory.
60: 20 Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: for the LORD shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended.
60: 21 Thy people also shall be all righteous: they shall inherit the land for ever, the branch of my planting, the work of my hands, that I may be glorified.
60: 22 A little one shall become a thousand, and a small one a strong nation: I the LORD will hasten it in his time.
61: 4 And they shall build the old wastes, they shall raise up the former desolations, and they shall repair the waste cities, the desolations of many generations.
61: 5 And strangers shall stand and feed your flocks, and the sons of the alien shall be your plowmen and your vinedressers.
61: 6 But ye shall be named the Priests of the LORD: men shall call you the Ministers of our God: ye shall eat the riches of the Gentiles, and in their glory shall ye boast yourselves.
61: 7 For your shame ye shall have double; and for confusion they shall rejoice in their portion: therefore in their land they shall possess the double: everlasting joy shall be unto them.
61: 8 For I the LORD love judgment, I hate robbery for burnt offering; and I will direct their work in truth, and I will make an everlasting covenant with them.
61: 9 And their seed shall be known among the Gentiles, and their offspring among the people: all that see them shall acknowledge them, that they are the seed which the LORD hath blessed.
61: 11 For as the earth bringeth forth her bud, and as the garden causeth the things that are sown in it to spring forth; so the Lord GOD will cause righteousness and praise to spring forth before all the nations.
62: 1 For Zion's sake will I not hold my peace, and for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest, until the righteousness thereof go forth as brightness, and the salvation thereof as a lamp that burneth.
62: 2 And the Gentiles shall see thy righteousness, and all kings thy glory: and thou shalt be called by a new name, which the mouth of the LORD shall name.
62: 3 Thou shalt also be a crown of glory in the hand of the LORD, and a royal diadem in the hand of thy God.
62: 4 Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken; neither shall thy land any more be termed Desolate: but thou shalt be called Hephzibah, and thy land Beulah: for the LORD delighteth in thee, and thy land shall be married.
62: 5 For as a young man marrieth a virgin, so shall thy sons marry thee: and as the bridegroom rejoiceth over the bride, so shall thy God rejoice over thee.
62: 6 I have set watchmen upon thy walls, O Jerusalem, which shall never hold their peace day nor night: ye that make mention of the LORD, keep not silence, 62: 7 And give him no rest, till he establish, and till he make Jerusalem a praise in the earth.
62: 10 Go through, go through the gates; prepare ye the way of the people; cast up, cast up the highway; gather out the stones; lift up a standard for the people.
62: 11 Behold, the LORD hath proclaimed unto the end of the world, Say ye to the daughter of Zion, Behold, thy salvation cometh; behold, his reward is with him, and his work before him.
62: 12 And they shall call them, The holy people, The redeemed of the LORD: and thou shalt be called, Sought out, A city not forsaken.
63: 1 Who is this that cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Bozrah?
this that is glorious in his apparel, travelling in the greatness of his strength?
I that speak in righteousness, mighty to save.
63: 2 Wherefore art thou red in thine apparel, and thy garments like him that treadeth in the winefat?
63: 3 I have trodden the winepress alone; and of the people there was none with me: for I will tread them in mine anger, and trample them in my fury; and their blood shall be sprinkled upon my garments, and I will stain all my raiment.
63: 4 For the day of vengeance is in mine heart, and the year of my redeemed is come.
63: 5 And I looked, and there was none to help; and I wondered that there was none to uphold: therefore mine own arm brought salvation unto me; and my fury, it upheld me.
63: 6 And I will tread down the people in mine anger, and make them drunk in my fury, and I will bring down their strength to the earth.
63: 8 For he said, Surely they are my people, children that will not lie: so he was their Saviour.
63: 9 In all their affliction he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them: in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; and he bare them, and carried them all the days of old.
63: 10 But they rebelled, and vexed his holy Spirit: therefore he was turned to be their enemy, and he fought against them.
63: 11 Then he remembered the days of old, Moses, and his people, saying, Where is he that brought them up out of the sea with the shepherd of his flock?
where is he that put his holy Spirit within him?
63: 12 That led them by the right hand of Moses with his glorious arm, dividing the water before them, to make himself an everlasting name?
63: 13 That led them through the deep, as an horse in the wilderness, that they should not stumble?
63: 14 As a beast goeth down into the valley, the Spirit of the LORD caused him to rest: so didst thou lead thy people, to make thyself a glorious name.
63: 15 Look down from heaven, and behold from the habitation of thy holiness and of thy glory: where is thy zeal and thy strength, the sounding of thy bowels and of thy mercies toward me?
are they restrained?
63: 16 Doubtless thou art our father, though Abraham be ignorant of us, and Israel acknowledge us not: thou, O LORD, art our father, our redeemer; thy name is from everlasting.
63: 17 O LORD, why hast thou made us to err from thy ways, and hardened our heart from thy fear?
Return for thy servants'sake, the tribes of thine inheritance.
63: 18 The people of thy holiness have possessed it but a little while: our adversaries have trodden down thy sanctuary.
63: 19 We are thine: thou never barest rule over them; they were not called by thy name.
64: 3 When thou didst terrible things which we looked not for, thou camest down, the mountains flowed down at thy presence.
64: 4 For since the beginning of the world men have not heard, nor perceived by the ear, neither hath the eye seen, O God, beside thee, what he hath prepared for him that waiteth for him.
64: 5 Thou meetest him that rejoiceth and worketh righteousness, those that remember thee in thy ways: behold, thou art wroth; for we have sinned: in those is continuance, and we shall be saved.
64: 6 But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away.
64: 7 And there is none that calleth upon thy name, that stirreth up himself to take hold of thee: for thou hast hid thy face from us, and hast consumed us, because of our iniquities.
64: 8 But now, O LORD, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand.
64: 9 Be not wroth very sore, O LORD, neither remember iniquity for ever: behold, see, we beseech thee, we are all thy people.
64: 10 Thy holy cities are a wilderness, Zion is a wilderness, Jerusalem a desolation.
64: 11 Our holy and our beautiful house, where our fathers praised thee, is burned up with fire: and all our pleasant things are laid waste.
64: 12 Wilt thou refrain thyself for these things, O LORD?
wilt thou hold thy peace, and afflict us very sore?
65: 1 I am sought of them that asked not for me; I am found of them that sought me not: I said, Behold me, behold me, unto a nation that was not called by my name.
These are a smoke in my nose, a fire that burneth all the day.
65: 8 Thus saith the LORD, As the new wine is found in the cluster, and one saith, Destroy it not; for a blessing is in it: so will I do for my servants'sakes, that I may not destroy them all.
65: 9 And I will bring forth a seed out of Jacob, and out of Judah an inheritor of my mountains: and mine elect shall inherit it, and my servants shall dwell there.
65: 10 And Sharon shall be a fold of flocks, and the valley of Achor a place for the herds to lie down in, for my people that have sought me.
65: 11 But ye are they that forsake the LORD, that forget my holy mountain, that prepare a table for that troop, and that furnish the drink offering unto that number.
65: 12 Therefore will I number you to the sword, and ye shall all bow down to the slaughter: because when I called, ye did not answer; when I spake, ye did not hear; but did evil before mine eyes, and did choose that wherein I delighted not.
65: 17 For, behold, I create new heavens and a new earth: and the former shall not be remembered, nor come into mind.
65: 18 But be ye glad and rejoice for ever in that which I create: for, behold, I create Jerusalem a rejoicing, and her people a joy.
65: 19 And I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and joy in my people: and the voice of weeping shall be no more heard in her, nor the voice of crying.
65: 20 There shall be no more thence an infant of days, nor an old man that hath not filled his days: for the child shall die an hundred years old; but the sinner being an hundred years old shall be accursed.
65: 21 And they shall build houses, and inhabit them; and they shall plant vineyards, and eat the fruit of them.
65: 22 They shall not build, and another inhabit; they shall not plant, and another eat: for as the days of a tree are the days of my people, and mine elect shall long enjoy the work of their hands.
65: 23 They shall not labour in vain, nor bring forth for trouble; for they are the seed of the blessed of the LORD, and their offspring with them.
65: 24 And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.
65: 25 The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, and the lion shall eat straw like the bullock: and dust shall be the serpent's meat.
They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain, saith the LORD.
66: 1 Thus saith the LORD, The heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool: where is the house that ye build unto me?
and where is the place of my rest?
66: 2 For all those things hath mine hand made, and all those things have been, saith the LORD: but to this man will I look, even to him that is poor and of a contrite spirit, and trembleth at my word.
66: 3 He that killeth an ox is as if he slew a man; he that sacrificeth a lamb, as if he cut off a dog's neck; he that offereth an oblation, as if he offered swine's blood; he that burneth incense, as if he blessed an idol.
Yea, they have chosen their own ways, and their soul delighteth in their abominations.
66: 4 I also will choose their delusions, and will bring their fears upon them; because when I called, none did answer; when I spake, they did not hear: but they did evil before mine eyes, and chose that in which I delighted not.
66: 5 Hear the word of the LORD, ye that tremble at his word; Your brethren that hated you, that cast you out for my name's sake, said, Let the LORD be glorified: but he shall appear to your joy, and they shall be ashamed.
66: 6 A voice of noise from the city, a voice from the temple, a voice of the LORD that rendereth recompence to his enemies.
66: 7 Before she travailed, she brought forth; before her pain came, she was delivered of a man child.
66: 8 Who hath heard such a thing?
who hath seen such things?
Shall the earth be made to bring forth in one day?
or shall a nation be born at once?
for as soon as Zion travailed, she brought forth her children.
66: 9 Shall I bring to the birth, and not cause to bring forth?
saith the LORD: shall I cause to bring forth, and shut the womb?
saith thy God.
66: 12 For thus saith the LORD, Behold, I will extend peace to her like a river, and the glory of the Gentiles like a flowing stream: then shall ye suck, ye shall be borne upon her sides, and be dandled upon her knees.
66: 13 As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you; and ye shall be comforted in Jerusalem.
66: 14 And when ye see this, your heart shall rejoice, and your bones shall flourish like an herb: and the hand of the LORD shall be known toward his servants, and his indignation toward his enemies.
66: 15 For, behold, the LORD will come with fire, and with his chariots like a whirlwind, to render his anger with fury, and his rebuke with flames of fire.
66: 16 For by fire and by his sword will the LORD plead with all flesh: and the slain of the LORD shall be many.
66: 17 They that sanctify themselves, and purify themselves in the gardens behind one tree in the midst, eating swine's flesh, and the abomination, and the mouse, shall be consumed together, saith the LORD.
66: 18 For I know their works and their thoughts: it shall come, that I will gather all nations and tongues; and they shall come, and see my glory.
66: 21 And I will also take of them for priests and for Levites, saith the LORD.
66: 22 For as the new heavens and the new earth, which I will make, shall remain before me, saith the LORD, so shall your seed and your name remain.
66: 23 And it shall come to pass, that from one new moon to another, and from one sabbath to another, shall all flesh come to worship before me, saith the LORD.
66: 24 And they shall go forth, and look upon the carcases of the men that have transgressed against me: for their worm shall not die, neither shall their fire be quenched; and they shall be an abhorring unto all flesh.
The Book of the Prophet Jeremiah
1: 1 The words of Jeremiah the son of Hilkiah, of the priests that were in Anathoth in the land of Benjamin: 1: 2 To whom the word of the LORD came in the days of Josiah the son of Amon king of Judah, in the thirteenth year of his reign.
1: 3 It came also in the days of Jehoiakim the son of Josiah king of Judah, unto the end of the eleventh year of Zedekiah the son of Josiah king of Judah, unto the carrying away of Jerusalem captive in the fifth month.
1: 4 Then the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 1: 5 Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.
1: 6 Then said I, Ah, Lord GOD!
behold, I cannot speak: for I am a child.
1: 7 But the LORD said unto me, Say not, I am a child: for thou shalt go to all that I shall send thee, and whatsoever I command thee thou shalt speak.
1: 8 Be not afraid of their faces: for I am with thee to deliver thee, saith the LORD.
1: 9 Then the LORD put forth his hand, and touched my mouth.
And the LORD said unto me, Behold, I have put my words in thy mouth.
1: 10 See, I have this day set thee over the nations and over the kingdoms, to root out, and to pull down, and to destroy, and to throw down, to build, and to plant.
1: 11 Moreover the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, Jeremiah, what seest thou?
And I said, I see a rod of an almond tree.
1: 12 Then said the LORD unto me, Thou hast well seen: for I will hasten my word to perform it.
1: 13 And the word of the LORD came unto me the second time, saying, What seest thou?
And I said, I see a seething pot; and the face thereof is toward the north.
1: 14 Then the LORD said unto me, Out of the north an evil shall break forth upon all the inhabitants of the land.
1: 16 And I will utter my judgments against them touching all their wickedness, who have forsaken me, and have burned incense unto other gods, and worshipped the works of their own hands.
1: 17 Thou therefore gird up thy loins, and arise, and speak unto them all that I command thee: be not dismayed at their faces, lest I confound thee before them.
1: 18 For, behold, I have made thee this day a defenced city, and an iron pillar, and brasen walls against the whole land, against the kings of Judah, against the princes thereof, against the priests thereof, and against the people of the land.
1: 19 And they shall fight against thee; but they shall not prevail against thee; for I am with thee, saith the LORD, to deliver thee.
2: 1 Moreover the word of the LORD came to me, saying, 2: 2 Go and cry in the ears of Jerusalem, saying, Thus saith the LORD; I remember thee, the kindness of thy youth, the love of thine espousals, when thou wentest after me in the wilderness, in a land that was not sown.
2: 3 Israel was holiness unto the LORD, and the firstfruits of his increase: all that devour him shall offend; evil shall come upon them, saith the LORD.
2: 4 Hear ye the word of the LORD, O house of Jacob, and all the families of the house of Israel: 2: 5 Thus saith the LORD, What iniquity have your fathers found in me, that they are gone far from me, and have walked after vanity, and are become vain?
2: 7 And I brought you into a plentiful country, to eat the fruit thereof and the goodness thereof; but when ye entered, ye defiled my land, and made mine heritage an abomination.
2: 8 The priests said not, Where is the LORD?
and they that handle the law knew me not: the pastors also transgressed against me, and the prophets prophesied by Baal, and walked after things that do not profit.
2: 9 Wherefore I will yet plead with you, saith the LORD, and with your children's children will I plead.
2: 10 For pass over the isles of Chittim, and see; and send unto Kedar, and consider diligently, and see if there be such a thing.
2: 11 Hath a nation changed their gods, which are yet no gods?
but my people have changed their glory for that which doth not profit.
2: 12 Be astonished, O ye heavens, at this, and be horribly afraid, be ye very desolate, saith the LORD.
2: 13 For my people have committed two evils; they have forsaken me the fountain of living waters, and hewed them out cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water.
2: 14 Is Israel a servant?
is he a homeborn slave?
why is he spoiled?
2: 15 The young lions roared upon him, and yelled, and they made his land waste: his cities are burned without inhabitant.
2: 16 Also the children of Noph and Tahapanes have broken the crown of thy head.
2: 17 Hast thou not procured this unto thyself, in that thou hast forsaken the LORD thy God, when he led thee by the way?
2: 18 And now what hast thou to do in the way of Egypt, to drink the waters of Sihor?
or what hast thou to do in the way of Assyria, to drink the waters of the river?
2: 19 Thine own wickedness shall correct thee, and thy backslidings shall reprove thee: know therefore and see that it is an evil thing and bitter, that thou hast forsaken the LORD thy God, and that my fear is not in thee, saith the Lord GOD of hosts.
2: 20 For of old time I have broken thy yoke, and burst thy bands; and thou saidst, I will not transgress; when upon every high hill and under every green tree thou wanderest, playing the harlot.
2: 21 Yet I had planted thee a noble vine, wholly a right seed: how then art thou turned into the degenerate plant of a strange vine unto me?
2: 22 For though thou wash thee with nitre, and take thee much soap, yet thine iniquity is marked before me, saith the Lord GOD.
2: 23 How canst thou say, I am not polluted, I have not gone after Baalim?
see thy way in the valley, know what thou hast done: thou art a swift dromedary traversing her ways; 2: 24 A wild ass used to the wilderness, that snuffeth up the wind at her pleasure; in her occasion who can turn her away?
all they that seek her will not weary themselves; in her month they shall find her.
2: 25 Withhold thy foot from being unshod, and thy throat from thirst: but thou saidst, There is no hope: no; for I have loved strangers, and after them will I go.
2: 26 As the thief is ashamed when he is found, so is the house of Israel ashamed; they, their kings, their princes, and their priests, and their prophets.
2: 27 Saying to a stock, Thou art my father; and to a stone, Thou hast brought me forth: for they have turned their back unto me, and not their face: but in the time of their trouble they will say, Arise, and save us.
2: 28 But where are thy gods that thou hast made thee?
let them arise, if they can save thee in the time of thy trouble: for according to the number of thy cities are thy gods, O Judah.
2: 29 Wherefore will ye plead with me?
ye all have transgressed against me, saith the LORD.
2: 30 In vain have I smitten your children; they received no correction: your own sword hath devoured your prophets, like a destroying lion.
2: 31 O generation, see ye the word of the LORD.
Have I been a wilderness unto Israel?
a land of darkness?
wherefore say my people, We are lords; we will come no more unto thee?
2: 32 Can a maid forget her ornaments, or a bride her attire?
yet my people have forgotten me days without number.
2: 33 Why trimmest thou thy way to seek love?
therefore hast thou also taught the wicked ones thy ways.
2: 34 Also in thy skirts is found the blood of the souls of the poor innocents: I have not found it by secret search, but upon all these.
2: 35 Yet thou sayest, Because I am innocent, surely his anger shall turn from me.
Behold, I will plead with thee, because thou sayest, I have not sinned.
2: 36 Why gaddest thou about so much to change thy way?
thou also shalt be ashamed of Egypt, as thou wast ashamed of Assyria.
2: 37 Yea, thou shalt go forth from him, and thine hands upon thine head: for the LORD hath rejected thy confidences, and thou shalt not prosper in them.
3: 1 They say, If a man put away his wife, and she go from him, and become another man's, shall he return unto her again?
shall not that land be greatly polluted?
but thou hast played the harlot with many lovers; yet return again to me, saith the LORD.
3: 2 Lift up thine eyes unto the high places, and see where thou hast not been lien with.
In the ways hast thou sat for them, as the Arabian in the wilderness; and thou hast polluted the land with thy whoredoms and with thy wickedness.
3: 3 Therefore the showers have been withholden, and there hath been no latter rain; and thou hadst a whore's forehead, thou refusedst to be ashamed.
3: 4 Wilt thou not from this time cry unto me, My father, thou art the guide of my youth?
3: 5 Will he reserve his anger for ever?
will he keep it to the end?
Behold, thou hast spoken and done evil things as thou couldest.
3: 6 The LORD said also unto me in the days of Josiah the king, Hast thou seen that which backsliding Israel hath done?
she is gone up upon every high mountain and under every green tree, and there hath played the harlot.
3: 7 And I said after she had done all these things, Turn thou unto me.
But she returned not.
And her treacherous sister Judah saw it.
3: 8 And I saw, when for all the causes whereby backsliding Israel committed adultery I had put her away, and given her a bill of divorce; yet her treacherous sister Judah feared not, but went and played the harlot also.
3: 9 And it came to pass through the lightness of her whoredom, that she defiled the land, and committed adultery with stones and with stocks.
3: 10 And yet for all this her treacherous sister Judah hath not turned unto me with her whole heart, but feignedly, saith the LORD.
3: 11 And the LORD said unto me, The backsliding Israel hath justified herself more than treacherous Judah.
3: 12 Go and proclaim these words toward the north, and say, Return, thou backsliding Israel, saith the LORD; and I will not cause mine anger to fall upon you: for I am merciful, saith the LORD, and I will not keep anger for ever.
3: 13 Only acknowledge thine iniquity, that thou hast transgressed against the LORD thy God, and hast scattered thy ways to the strangers under every green tree, and ye have not obeyed my voice, saith the LORD.
3: 17 At that time they shall call Jerusalem the throne of the LORD; and all the nations shall be gathered unto it, to the name of the LORD, to Jerusalem: neither shall they walk any more after the imagination of their evil heart.
3: 18 In those days the house of Judah shall walk with the house of Israel, and they shall come together out of the land of the north to the land that I have given for an inheritance unto your fathers.
3: 19 But I said, How shall I put thee among the children, and give thee a pleasant land, a goodly heritage of the hosts of nations?
and I said, Thou shalt call me, My father; and shalt not turn away from me.
3: 20 Surely as a wife treacherously departeth from her husband, so have ye dealt treacherously with me, O house of Israel, saith the LORD.
3: 21 A voice was heard upon the high places, weeping and supplications of the children of Israel: for they have perverted their way, and they have forgotten the LORD their God.
3: 22 Return, ye backsliding children, and I will heal your backslidings.
Behold, we come unto thee; for thou art the LORD our God.
3: 23 Truly in vain is salvation hoped for from the hills, and from the multitude of mountains: truly in the LORD our God is the salvation of Israel.
3: 24 For shame hath devoured the labour of our fathers from our youth; their flocks and their herds, their sons and their daughters.
3: 25 We lie down in our shame, and our confusion covereth us: for we have sinned against the LORD our God, we and our fathers, from our youth even unto this day, and have not obeyed the voice of the LORD our God.
4: 1 If thou wilt return, O Israel, saith the LORD, return unto me: and if thou wilt put away thine abominations out of my sight, then shalt thou not remove.
4: 2 And thou shalt swear, The LORD liveth, in truth, in judgment, and in righteousness; and the nations shall bless themselves in him, and in him shall they glory.
4: 3 For thus saith the LORD to the men of Judah and Jerusalem, Break up your fallow ground, and sow not among thorns.
4: 4 Circumcise yourselves to the LORD, and take away the foreskins of your heart, ye men of Judah and inhabitants of Jerusalem: lest my fury come forth like fire, and burn that none can quench it, because of the evil of your doings.
4: 5 Declare ye in Judah, and publish in Jerusalem; and say, Blow ye the trumpet in the land: cry, gather together, and say, Assemble yourselves, and let us go into the defenced cities.
4: 6 Set up the standard toward Zion: retire, stay not: for I will bring evil from the north, and a great destruction.
4: 7 The lion is come up from his thicket, and the destroyer of the Gentiles is on his way; he is gone forth from his place to make thy land desolate; and thy cities shall be laid waste, without an inhabitant.
4: 8 For this gird you with sackcloth, lament and howl: for the fierce anger of the LORD is not turned back from us.
4: 9 And it shall come to pass at that day, saith the LORD, that the heart of the king shall perish, and the heart of the princes; and the priests shall be astonished, and the prophets shall wonder.
4: 10 Then said I, Ah, Lord GOD!
surely thou hast greatly deceived this people and Jerusalem, saying, Ye shall have peace; whereas the sword reacheth unto the soul.
4: 13 Behold, he shall come up as clouds, and his chariots shall be as a whirlwind: his horses are swifter than eagles.
Woe unto us!
for we are spoiled.
4: 14 O Jerusalem, wash thine heart from wickedness, that thou mayest be saved.
How long shall thy vain thoughts lodge within thee?
4: 15 For a voice declareth from Dan, and publisheth affliction from mount Ephraim.
4: 16 Make ye mention to the nations; behold, publish against Jerusalem, that watchers come from a far country, and give out their voice against the cities of Judah.
4: 17 As keepers of a field, are they against her round about; because she hath been rebellious against me, saith the LORD.
4: 18 Thy way and thy doings have procured these things unto thee; this is thy wickedness, because it is bitter, because it reacheth unto thine heart.
4: 19 My bowels, my bowels!
I am pained at my very heart; my heart maketh a noise in me; I cannot hold my peace, because thou hast heard, O my soul, the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war.
4: 20 Destruction upon destruction is cried; for the whole land is spoiled: suddenly are my tents spoiled, and my curtains in a moment.
4: 21 How long shall I see the standard, and hear the sound of the trumpet?
4: 22 For my people is foolish, they have not known me; they are sottish children, and they have none understanding: they are wise to do evil, but to do good they have no knowledge.
4: 23 I beheld the earth, and, lo, it was without form, and void; and the heavens, and they had no light.
4: 24 I beheld the mountains, and, lo, they trembled, and all the hills moved lightly.
4: 25 I beheld, and, lo, there was no man, and all the birds of the heavens were fled.
4: 26 I beheld, and, lo, the fruitful place was a wilderness, and all the cities thereof were broken down at the presence of the LORD, and by his fierce anger.
4: 27 For thus hath the LORD said, The whole land shall be desolate; yet will I not make a full end.
4: 28 For this shall the earth mourn, and the heavens above be black; because I have spoken it, I have purposed it, and will not repent, neither will I turn back from it.
4: 29 The whole city shall flee for the noise of the horsemen and bowmen; they shall go into thickets, and climb up upon the rocks: every city shall be forsaken, and not a man dwell therein.
4: 30 And when thou art spoiled, what wilt thou do?
Though thou clothest thyself with crimson, though thou deckest thee with ornaments of gold, though thou rentest thy face with painting, in vain shalt thou make thyself fair; thy lovers will despise thee, they will seek thy life.
4: 31 For I have heard a voice as of a woman in travail, and the anguish as of her that bringeth forth her first child, the voice of the daughter of Zion, that bewaileth herself, that spreadeth her hands, saying, Woe is me now!
for my soul is wearied because of murderers.
5: 1 Run ye to and fro through the streets of Jerusalem, and see now, and know, and seek in the broad places thereof, if ye can find a man, if there be any that executeth judgment, that seeketh the truth; and I will pardon it.
5: 2 And though they say, The LORD liveth; surely they swear falsely.
5: 3 O LORD, are not thine eyes upon the truth?
thou hast stricken them, but they have not grieved; thou hast consumed them, but they have refused to receive correction: they have made their faces harder than a rock; they have refused to return.
5: 4 Therefore I said, Surely these are poor; they are foolish: for they know not the way of the LORD, nor the judgment of their God.
5: 5 I will get me unto the great men, and will speak unto them; for they have known the way of the LORD, and the judgment of their God: but these have altogether broken the yoke, and burst the bonds.
5: 7 How shall I pardon thee for this?
thy children have forsaken me, and sworn by them that are no gods: when I had fed them to the full, they then committed adultery, and assembled themselves by troops in the harlots'houses.
5: 8 They were as fed horses in the morning: every one neighed after his neighbour's wife.
5: 9 Shall I not visit for these things?
saith the LORD: and shall not my soul be avenged on such a nation as this?
5: 10 Go ye up upon her walls, and destroy; but make not a full end: take away her battlements; for they are not the LORD's.
5: 11 For the house of Israel and the house of Judah have dealt very treacherously against me, saith the LORD.
5: 12 They have belied the LORD, and said, It is not he; neither shall evil come upon us; neither shall we see sword nor famine: 5: 13 And the prophets shall become wind, and the word is not in them: thus shall it be done unto them.
5: 14 Wherefore thus saith the LORD God of hosts, Because ye speak this word, behold, I will make my words in thy mouth fire, and this people wood, and it shall devour them.
5: 15 Lo, I will bring a nation upon you from far, O house of Israel, saith the LORD: it is a mighty nation, it is an ancient nation, a nation whose language thou knowest not, neither understandest what they say.
5: 16 Their quiver is as an open sepulchre, they are all mighty men.
5: 18 Nevertheless in those days, saith the LORD, I will not make a full end with you.
5: 19 And it shall come to pass, when ye shall say, Wherefore doeth the LORD our God all these things unto us?
then shalt thou answer them, Like as ye have forsaken me, and served strange gods in your land, so shall ye serve strangers in a land that is not your's.
5: 20 Declare this in the house of Jacob, and publish it in Judah, saying, 5: 21 Hear now this, O foolish people, and without understanding; which have eyes, and see not; which have ears, and hear not: 5: 22 Fear ye not me?
saith the LORD: will ye not tremble at my presence, which have placed the sand for the bound of the sea by a perpetual decree, that it cannot pass it: and though the waves thereof toss themselves, yet can they not prevail; though they roar, yet can they not pass over it?
5: 23 But this people hath a revolting and a rebellious heart; they are revolted and gone.
5: 24 Neither say they in their heart, Let us now fear the LORD our God, that giveth rain, both the former and the latter, in his season: he reserveth unto us the appointed weeks of the harvest.
5: 25 Your iniquities have turned away these things, and your sins have withholden good things from you.
5: 26 For among my people are found wicked men: they lay wait, as he that setteth snares; they set a trap, they catch men.
5: 27 As a cage is full of birds, so are their houses full of deceit: therefore they are become great, and waxen rich.
5: 28 They are waxen fat, they shine: yea, they overpass the deeds of the wicked: they judge not the cause, the cause of the fatherless, yet they prosper; and the right of the needy do they not judge.
5: 29 Shall I not visit for these things?
saith the LORD: shall not my soul be avenged on such a nation as this?
5: 30 A wonderful and horrible thing is committed in the land; 5: 31 The prophets prophesy falsely, and the priests bear rule by their means; and my people love to have it so: and what will ye do in the end thereof?
6: 1 O ye children of Benjamin, gather yourselves to flee out of the midst of Jerusalem, and blow the trumpet in Tekoa, and set up a sign of fire in Bethhaccerem: for evil appeareth out of the north, and great destruction.
6: 2 I have likened the daughter of Zion to a comely and delicate woman.
6: 3 The shepherds with their flocks shall come unto her; they shall pitch their tents against her round about; they shall feed every one in his place.
6: 4 Prepare ye war against her; arise, and let us go up at noon.
Woe unto us!
for the day goeth away, for the shadows of the evening are stretched out.
6: 5 Arise, and let us go by night, and let us destroy her palaces.
6: 6 For thus hath the LORD of hosts said, Hew ye down trees, and cast a mount against Jerusalem: this is the city to be visited; she is wholly oppression in the midst of her.
6: 7 As a fountain casteth out her waters, so she casteth out her wickedness: violence and spoil is heard in her; before me continually is grief and wounds.
6: 8 Be thou instructed, O Jerusalem, lest my soul depart from thee; lest I make thee desolate, a land not inhabited.
6: 9 Thus saith the LORD of hosts, They shall throughly glean the remnant of Israel as a vine: turn back thine hand as a grapegatherer into the baskets.
6: 10 To whom shall I speak, and give warning, that they may hear?
behold, their ear is uncircumcised, and they cannot hearken: behold, the word of the LORD is unto them a reproach; they have no delight in it.
6: 11 Therefore I am full of the fury of the LORD; I am weary with holding in: I will pour it out upon the children abroad, and upon the assembly of young men together: for even the husband with the wife shall be taken, the aged with him that is full of days.
6: 12 And their houses shall be turned unto others, with their fields and wives together: for I will stretch out my hand upon the inhabitants of the land, saith the LORD.
6: 13 For from the least of them even unto the greatest of them every one is given to covetousness; and from the prophet even unto the priest every one dealeth falsely.
6: 14 They have healed also the hurt of the daughter of my people slightly, saying, Peace, peace; when there is no peace.
6: 15 Were they ashamed when they had committed abomination?
nay, they were not at all ashamed, neither could they blush: therefore they shall fall among them that fall: at the time that I visit them they shall be cast down, saith the LORD.
6: 16 Thus saith the LORD, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls.
But they said, We will not walk therein.
6: 17 Also I set watchmen over you, saying, Hearken to the sound of the trumpet.
But they said, We will not hearken.
6: 18 Therefore hear, ye nations, and know, O congregation, what is among them.
6: 19 Hear, O earth: behold, I will bring evil upon this people, even the fruit of their thoughts, because they have not hearkened unto my words, nor to my law, but rejected it.
6: 20 To what purpose cometh there to me incense from Sheba, and the sweet cane from a far country?
your burnt offerings are not acceptable, nor your sacrifices sweet unto me.
6: 21 Therefore thus saith the LORD, Behold, I will lay stumblingblocks before this people, and the fathers and the sons together shall fall upon them; the neighbour and his friend shall perish.
6: 22 Thus saith the LORD, Behold, a people cometh from the north country, and a great nation shall be raised from the sides of the earth.
6: 23 They shall lay hold on bow and spear; they are cruel, and have no mercy; their voice roareth like the sea; and they ride upon horses, set in array as men for war against thee, O daughter of Zion.
6: 24 We have heard the fame thereof: our hands wax feeble: anguish hath taken hold of us, and pain, as of a woman in travail.
6: 25 Go not forth into the field, nor walk by the way; for the sword of the enemy and fear is on every side.
6: 26 O daughter of my people, gird thee with sackcloth, and wallow thyself in ashes: make thee mourning, as for an only son, most bitter lamentation: for the spoiler shall suddenly come upon us.
6: 27 I have set thee for a tower and a fortress among my people, that thou mayest know and try their way.
6: 28 They are all grievous revolters, walking with slanders: they are brass and iron; they are all corrupters.
6: 29 The bellows are burned, the lead is consumed of the fire; the founder melteth in vain: for the wicked are not plucked away.
6: 30 Reprobate silver shall men call them, because the LORD hath rejected them.
7: 1 The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD, saying, 7: 2 Stand in the gate of the LORD's house, and proclaim there this word, and say, Hear the word of the LORD, all ye of Judah, that enter in at these gates to worship the LORD.
7: 3 Thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, Amend your ways and your doings, and I will cause you to dwell in this place.
7: 4 Trust ye not in lying words, saying, The temple of the LORD, The temple of the LORD, The temple of the LORD, are these.
7: 8 Behold, ye trust in lying words, that cannot profit.
7: 9 Will ye steal, murder, and commit adultery, and swear falsely, and burn incense unto Baal, and walk after other gods whom ye know not; 7: 10 And come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say, We are delivered to do all these abominations?
7: 11 Is this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your eyes?
Behold, even I have seen it, saith the LORD.
7: 12 But go ye now unto my place which was in Shiloh, where I set my name at the first, and see what I did to it for the wickedness of my people Israel.
7: 15 And I will cast you out of my sight, as I have cast out all your brethren, even the whole seed of Ephraim.
7: 16 Therefore pray not thou for this people, neither lift up cry nor prayer for them, neither make intercession to me: for I will not hear thee.
7: 17 Seest thou not what they do in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem?
7: 18 The children gather wood, and the fathers kindle the fire, and the women knead their dough, to make cakes to the queen of heaven, and to pour out drink offerings unto other gods, that they may provoke me to anger.
7: 19 Do they provoke me to anger?
saith the LORD: do they not provoke themselves to the confusion of their own faces?
7: 20 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; Behold, mine anger and my fury shall be poured out upon this place, upon man, and upon beast, and upon the trees of the field, and upon the fruit of the ground; and it shall burn, and shall not be quenched.
7: 21 Thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; Put your burnt offerings unto your sacrifices, and eat flesh.
7: 24 But they hearkened not, nor inclined their ear, but walked in the counsels and in the imagination of their evil heart, and went backward, and not forward.
7: 27 Therefore thou shalt speak all these words unto them; but they will not hearken to thee: thou shalt also call unto them; but they will not answer thee.
7: 28 But thou shalt say unto them, This is a nation that obeyeth not the voice of the LORD their God, nor receiveth correction: truth is perished, and is cut off from their mouth.
7: 29 Cut off thine hair, O Jerusalem, and cast it away, and take up a lamentation on high places; for the LORD hath rejected and forsaken the generation of his wrath.
7: 30 For the children of Judah have done evil in my sight, saith the LORD: they have set their abominations in the house which is called by my name, to pollute it.
7: 31 And they have built the high places of Tophet, which is in the valley of the son of Hinnom, to burn their sons and their daughters in the fire; which I commanded them not, neither came it into my heart.
7: 32 Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the LORD, that it shall no more be called Tophet, nor the valley of the son of Hinnom, but the valley of slaughter: for they shall bury in Tophet, till there be no place.
7: 33 And the carcases of this people shall be meat for the fowls of the heaven, and for the beasts of the earth; and none shall fray them away.
7: 34 Then will I cause to cease from the cities of Judah, and from the streets of Jerusalem, the voice of mirth, and the voice of gladness, the voice of the bridegroom, and the voice of the bride: for the land shall be desolate.
8: 3 And death shall be chosen rather than life by all the residue of them that remain of this evil family, which remain in all the places whither I have driven them, saith the LORD of hosts.
8: 4 Moreover thou shalt say unto them, Thus saith the LORD; Shall they fall, and not arise?
shall he turn away, and not return?
8: 5 Why then is this people of Jerusalem slidden back by a perpetual backsliding?
they hold fast deceit, they refuse to return.
8: 6 I hearkened and heard, but they spake not aright: no man repented him of his wickedness, saying, What have I done?
every one turned to his course, as the horse rusheth into the battle.
8: 7 Yea, the stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times; and the turtle and the crane and the swallow observe the time of their coming; but my people know not the judgment of the LORD.
8: 8 How do ye say, We are wise, and the law of the LORD is with us?
Lo, certainly in vain made he it; the pen of the scribes is in vain.
8: 9 The wise men are ashamed, they are dismayed and taken: lo, they have rejected the word of the LORD; and what wisdom is in them?
8: 10 Therefore will I give their wives unto others, and their fields to them that shall inherit them: for every one from the least even unto the greatest is given to covetousness, from the prophet even unto the priest every one dealeth falsely.
8: 11 For they have healed the hurt of the daughter of my people slightly, saying, Peace, peace; when there is no peace.
8: 12 Were they ashamed when they had committed abomination?
nay, they were not at all ashamed, neither could they blush: therefore shall they fall among them that fall: in the time of their visitation they shall be cast down, saith the LORD.
8: 13 I will surely consume them, saith the LORD: there shall be no grapes on the vine, nor figs on the fig tree, and the leaf shall fade; and the things that I have given them shall pass away from them.
8: 14 Why do we sit still?
assemble yourselves, and let us enter into the defenced cities, and let us be silent there: for the LORD our God hath put us to silence, and given us water of gall to drink, because we have sinned against the LORD.
8: 15 We looked for peace, but no good came; and for a time of health, and behold trouble!
8: 16 The snorting of his horses was heard from Dan: the whole land trembled at the sound of the neighing of his strong ones; for they are come, and have devoured the land, and all that is in it; the city, and those that dwell therein.
8: 17 For, behold, I will send serpents, cockatrices, among you, which will not be charmed, and they shall bite you, saith the LORD.
8: 18 When I would comfort myself against sorrow, my heart is faint in me.
8: 19 Behold the voice of the cry of the daughter of my people because of them that dwell in a far country: Is not the LORD in Zion?
is not her king in her?
Why have they provoked me to anger with their graven images, and with strange vanities?
8: 20 The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.
8: 21 For the hurt of the daughter of my people am I hurt; I am black; astonishment hath taken hold on me.
8: 22 Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there?
why then is not the health of the daughter of my people recovered?
9: 1 Oh that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people!
9: 2 Oh that I had in the wilderness a lodging place of wayfaring men; that I might leave my people, and go from them!
for they be all adulterers, an assembly of treacherous men.
9: 3 And they bend their tongues like their bow for lies: but they are not valiant for the truth upon the earth; for they proceed from evil to evil, and they know not me, saith the LORD.
9: 4 Take ye heed every one of his neighbour, and trust ye not in any brother: for every brother will utterly supplant, and every neighbour will walk with slanders.
9: 5 And they will deceive every one his neighbour, and will not speak the truth: they have taught their tongue to speak lies, and weary themselves to commit iniquity.
9: 6 Thine habitation is in the midst of deceit; through deceit they refuse to know me, saith the LORD.
9: 7 Therefore thus saith the LORD of hosts, Behold, I will melt them, and try them; for how shall I do for the daughter of my people?
9: 8 Their tongue is as an arrow shot out; it speaketh deceit: one speaketh peaceably to his neighbour with his mouth, but in heart he layeth his wait.
9: 9 Shall I not visit them for these things?
saith the LORD: shall not my soul be avenged on such a nation as this?
9: 11 And I will make Jerusalem heaps, and a den of dragons; and I will make the cities of Judah desolate, without an inhabitant.
9: 12 Who is the wise man, that may understand this?
and who is he to whom the mouth of the LORD hath spoken, that he may declare it, for what the land perisheth and is burned up like a wilderness, that none passeth through?
9: 16 I will scatter them also among the heathen, whom neither they nor their fathers have known: and I will send a sword after them, till I have consumed them.
9: 19 For a voice of wailing is heard out of Zion, How are we spoiled!
we are greatly confounded, because we have forsaken the land, because our dwellings have cast us out.
9: 20 Yet hear the word of the LORD, O ye women, and let your ear receive the word of his mouth, and teach your daughters wailing, and every one her neighbour lamentation.
9: 21 For death is come up into our windows, and is entered into our palaces, to cut off the children from without, and the young men from the streets.
9: 22 Speak, Thus saith the LORD, Even the carcases of men shall fall as dung upon the open field, and as the handful after the harvestman, and none shall gather them.
10: 1 Hear ye the word which the LORD speaketh unto you, O house of Israel: 10: 2 Thus saith the LORD, Learn not the way of the heathen, and be not dismayed at the signs of heaven; for the heathen are dismayed at them.
10: 3 For the customs of the people are vain: for one cutteth a tree out of the forest, the work of the hands of the workman, with the axe.
10: 4 They deck it with silver and with gold; they fasten it with nails and with hammers, that it move not.
10: 5 They are upright as the palm tree, but speak not: they must needs be borne, because they cannot go.
Be not afraid of them; for they cannot do evil, neither also is it in them to do good.
10: 6 Forasmuch as there is none like unto thee, O LORD; thou art great, and thy name is great in might.
10: 7 Who would not fear thee, O King of nations?
for to thee doth it appertain: forasmuch as among all the wise men of the nations, and in all their kingdoms, there is none like unto thee.
10: 8 But they are altogether brutish and foolish: the stock is a doctrine of vanities.
10: 9 Silver spread into plates is brought from Tarshish, and gold from Uphaz, the work of the workman, and of the hands of the founder: blue and purple is their clothing: they are all the work of cunning men.
10: 10 But the LORD is the true God, he is the living God, and an everlasting king: at his wrath the earth shall tremble, and the nations shall not be able to abide his indignation.
10: 11 Thus shall ye say unto them, The gods that have not made the heavens and the earth, even they shall perish from the earth, and from under these heavens.
10: 12 He hath made the earth by his power, he hath established the world by his wisdom, and hath stretched out the heavens by his discretion.
10: 13 When he uttereth his voice, there is a multitude of waters in the heavens, and he causeth the vapours to ascend from the ends of the earth; he maketh lightnings with rain, and bringeth forth the wind out of his treasures.
10: 14 Every man is brutish in his knowledge: every founder is confounded by the graven image: for his molten image is falsehood, and there is no breath in them.
10: 15 They are vanity, and the work of errors: in the time of their visitation they shall perish.
10: 16 The portion of Jacob is not like them: for he is the former of all things; and Israel is the rod of his inheritance: The LORD of hosts is his name.
10: 17 Gather up thy wares out of the land, O inhabitant of the fortress.
10: 18 For thus saith the LORD, Behold, I will sling out the inhabitants of the land at this once, and will distress them, that they may find it so.
10: 19 Woe is me for my hurt!
my wound is grievous; but I said, Truly this is a grief, and I must bear it.
10: 20 My tabernacle is spoiled, and all my cords are broken: my children are gone forth of me, and they are not: there is none to stretch forth my tent any more, and to set up my curtains.
10: 21 For the pastors are become brutish, and have not sought the LORD: therefore they shall not prosper, and all their flocks shall be scattered.
10: 22 Behold, the noise of the bruit is come, and a great commotion out of the north country, to make the cities of Judah desolate, and a den of dragons.
10: 23 O LORD, I know that the way of man is not in himself: it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.
10: 24 O LORD, correct me, but with judgment; not in thine anger, lest thou bring me to nothing.
10: 25 Pour out thy fury upon the heathen that know thee not, and upon the families that call not on thy name: for they have eaten up Jacob, and devoured him, and consumed him, and have made his habitation desolate.
Then answered I, and said, So be it, O LORD.
11: 6 Then the LORD said unto me, Proclaim all these words in the cities of Judah, and in the streets of Jerusalem, saying, Hear ye the words of this covenant, and do them.
11: 7 For I earnestly protested unto your fathers in the day that I brought them up out of the land of Egypt, even unto this day, rising early and protesting, saying, Obey my voice.
11: 8 Yet they obeyed not, nor inclined their ear, but walked every one in the imagination of their evil heart: therefore I will bring upon them all the words of this covenant, which I commanded them to do: but they did them not.
11: 9 And the LORD said unto me, A conspiracy is found among the men of Judah, and among the inhabitants of Jerusalem.
11: 10 They are turned back to the iniquities of their forefathers, which refused to hear my words; and they went after other gods to serve them: the house of Israel and the house of Judah have broken my covenant which I made with their fathers.
11: 11 Therefore thus saith the LORD, Behold, I will bring evil upon them, which they shall not be able to escape; and though they shall cry unto me, I will not hearken unto them.
11: 12 Then shall the cities of Judah and inhabitants of Jerusalem go, and cry unto the gods unto whom they offer incense: but they shall not save them at all in the time of their trouble.
11: 13 For according to the number of thy cities were thy gods, O Judah; and according to the number of the streets of Jerusalem have ye set up altars to that shameful thing, even altars to burn incense unto Baal.
11: 14 Therefore pray not thou for this people, neither lift up a cry or prayer for them: for I will not hear them in the time that they cry unto me for their trouble.
11: 15 What hath my beloved to do in mine house, seeing she hath wrought lewdness with many, and the holy flesh is passed from thee?
when thou doest evil, then thou rejoicest.
11: 16 The LORD called thy name, A green olive tree, fair, and of goodly fruit: with the noise of a great tumult he hath kindled fire upon it, and the branches of it are broken.
11: 17 For the LORD of hosts, that planted thee, hath pronounced evil against thee, for the evil of the house of Israel and of the house of Judah, which they have done against themselves to provoke me to anger in offering incense unto Baal.
11: 18 And the LORD hath given me knowledge of it, and I know it: then thou shewedst me their doings.
11: 20 But, O LORD of hosts, that judgest righteously, that triest the reins and the heart, let me see thy vengeance on them: for unto thee have I revealed my cause.
12: 1 Righteous art thou, O LORD, when I plead with thee: yet let me talk with thee of thy judgments: Wherefore doth the way of the wicked prosper?
wherefore are all they happy that deal very treacherously?
12: 2 Thou hast planted them, yea, they have taken root: they grow, yea, they bring forth fruit: thou art near in their mouth, and far from their reins.
12: 3 But thou, O LORD, knowest me: thou hast seen me, and tried mine heart toward thee: pull them out like sheep for the slaughter, and prepare them for the day of slaughter.
12: 4 How long shall the land mourn, and the herbs of every field wither, for the wickedness of them that dwell therein?
the beasts are consumed, and the birds; because they said, He shall not see our last end.
12: 5 If thou hast run with the footmen, and they have wearied thee, then how canst thou contend with horses?
and if in the land of peace, wherein thou trustedst, they wearied thee, then how wilt thou do in the swelling of Jordan?
12: 6 For even thy brethren, and the house of thy father, even they have dealt treacherously with thee; yea, they have called a multitude after thee: believe them not, though they speak fair words unto thee.
12: 7 I have forsaken mine house, I have left mine heritage; I have given the dearly beloved of my soul into the hand of her enemies.
12: 8 Mine heritage is unto me as a lion in the forest; it crieth out against me: therefore have I hated it.
12: 9 Mine heritage is unto me as a speckled bird, the birds round about are against her; come ye, assemble all the beasts of the field, come to devour.
12: 10 Many pastors have destroyed my vineyard, they have trodden my portion under foot, they have made my pleasant portion a desolate wilderness.
12: 11 They have made it desolate, and being desolate it mourneth unto me; the whole land is made desolate, because no man layeth it to heart.
12: 12 The spoilers are come upon all high places through the wilderness: for the sword of the LORD shall devour from the one end of the land even to the other end of the land: no flesh shall have peace.
12: 13 They have sown wheat, but shall reap thorns: they have put themselves to pain, but shall not profit: and they shall be ashamed of your revenues because of the fierce anger of the LORD.
12: 14 Thus saith the LORD against all mine evil neighbours, that touch the inheritance which I have caused my people Israel to inherit; Behold, I will pluck them out of their land, and pluck out the house of Judah from among them.
12: 15 And it shall come to pass, after that I have plucked them out I will return, and have compassion on them, and will bring them again, every man to his heritage, and every man to his land.
12: 16 And it shall come to pass, if they will diligently learn the ways of my people, to swear by my name, The LORD liveth; as they taught my people to swear by Baal; then shall they be built in the midst of my people.
12: 17 But if they will not obey, I will utterly pluck up and destroy that nation, saith the LORD.
13: 1 Thus saith the LORD unto me, Go and get thee a linen girdle, and put it upon thy loins, and put it not in water.
13: 2 So I got a girdle according to the word of the LORD, and put it on my loins.
13: 3 And the word of the LORD came unto me the second time, saying, 13: 4 Take the girdle that thou hast got, which is upon thy loins, and arise, go to Euphrates, and hide it there in a hole of the rock.
13: 5 So I went, and hid it by Euphrates, as the LORD commanded me.
13: 6 And it came to pass after many days, that the LORD said unto me, Arise, go to Euphrates, and take the girdle from thence, which I commanded thee to hide there.
13: 7 Then I went to Euphrates, and digged, and took the girdle from the place where I had hid it: and, behold, the girdle was marred, it was profitable for nothing.
13: 8 Then the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 13: 9 Thus saith the LORD, After this manner will I mar the pride of Judah, and the great pride of Jerusalem.
13: 10 This evil people, which refuse to hear my words, which walk in the imagination of their heart, and walk after other gods, to serve them, and to worship them, shall even be as this girdle, which is good for nothing.
13: 12 Therefore thou shalt speak unto them this word; Thus saith the LORD God of Israel, Every bottle shall be filled with wine: and they shall say unto thee, Do we not certainly know that every bottle shall be filled with wine?
13: 13 Then shalt thou say unto them, Thus saith the LORD, Behold, I will fill all the inhabitants of this land, even the kings that sit upon David's throne, and the priests, and the prophets, and all the inhabitants of Jerusalem, with drunkenness.
13: 14 And I will dash them one against another, even the fathers and the sons together, saith the LORD: I will not pity, nor spare, nor have mercy, but destroy them.
13: 15 Hear ye, and give ear; be not proud: for the LORD hath spoken.
13: 16 Give glory to the LORD your God, before he cause darkness, and before your feet stumble upon the dark mountains, and, while ye look for light, he turn it into the shadow of death, and make it gross darkness.
13: 17 But if ye will not hear it, my soul shall weep in secret places for your pride; and mine eye shall weep sore, and run down with tears, because the LORD's flock is carried away captive.
13: 18 Say unto the king and to the queen, Humble yourselves, sit down: for your principalities shall come down, even the crown of your glory.
13: 19 The cities of the south shall be shut up, and none shall open them: Judah shall be carried away captive all of it, it shall be wholly carried away captive.
13: 20 Lift up your eyes, and behold them that come from the north: where is the flock that was given thee, thy beautiful flock?
13: 21 What wilt thou say when he shall punish thee?
for thou hast taught them to be captains, and as chief over thee: shall not sorrows take thee, as a woman in travail?
13: 22 And if thou say in thine heart, Wherefore come these things upon me?
For the greatness of thine iniquity are thy skirts discovered, and thy heels made bare.
13: 23 Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?
then may ye also do good, that are accustomed to do evil.
13: 24 Therefore will I scatter them as the stubble that passeth away by the wind of the wilderness.
13: 25 This is thy lot, the portion of thy measures from me, saith the LORD; because thou hast forgotten me, and trusted in falsehood.
13: 26 Therefore will I discover thy skirts upon thy face, that thy shame may appear.
13: 27 I have seen thine adulteries, and thy neighings, the lewdness of thy whoredom, and thine abominations on the hills in the fields.
Woe unto thee, O Jerusalem!
wilt thou not be made clean?
when shall it once be?
14: 1 The word of the LORD that came to Jeremiah concerning the dearth.
14: 2 Judah mourneth, and the gates thereof languish; they are black unto the ground; and the cry of Jerusalem is gone up.
14: 3 And their nobles have sent their little ones to the waters: they came to the pits, and found no water; they returned with their vessels empty; they were ashamed and confounded, and covered their heads.
14: 4 Because the ground is chapt, for there was no rain in the earth, the plowmen were ashamed, they covered their heads.
14: 5 Yea, the hind also calved in the field, and forsook it, because there was no grass.
14: 6 And the wild asses did stand in the high places, they snuffed up the wind like dragons; their eyes did fail, because there was no grass.
14: 7 O LORD, though our iniquities testify against us, do thou it for thy name's sake: for our backslidings are many; we have sinned against thee.
14: 8 O the hope of Israel, the saviour thereof in time of trouble, why shouldest thou be as a stranger in the land, and as a wayfaring man that turneth aside to tarry for a night?
14: 9 Why shouldest thou be as a man astonied, as a mighty man that cannot save?
yet thou, O LORD, art in the midst of us, and we are called by thy name; leave us not.
14: 10 Thus saith the LORD unto this people, Thus have they loved to wander, they have not refrained their feet, therefore the LORD doth not accept them; he will now remember their iniquity, and visit their sins.
14: 11 Then said the LORD unto me, Pray not for this people for their good.
14: 12 When they fast, I will not hear their cry; and when they offer burnt offering and an oblation, I will not accept them: but I will consume them by the sword, and by the famine, and by the pestilence.
14: 13 Then said I, Ah, Lord GOD!
behold, the prophets say unto them, Ye shall not see the sword, neither shall ye have famine; but I will give you assured peace in this place.
14: 14 Then the LORD said unto me, The prophets prophesy lies in my name: I sent them not, neither have I commanded them, neither spake unto them: they prophesy unto you a false vision and divination, and a thing of nought, and the deceit of their heart.
14: 15 Therefore thus saith the LORD concerning the prophets that prophesy in my name, and I sent them not, yet they say, Sword and famine shall not be in this land; By sword and famine shall those prophets be consumed.
14: 16 And the people to whom they prophesy shall be cast out in the streets of Jerusalem because of the famine and the sword; and they shall have none to bury them, them, their wives, nor their sons, nor their daughters: for I will pour their wickedness upon them.
14: 17 Therefore thou shalt say this word unto them; Let mine eyes run down with tears night and day, and let them not cease: for the virgin daughter of my people is broken with a great breach, with a very grievous blow.
14: 18 If I go forth into the field, then behold the slain with the sword!
and if I enter into the city, then behold them that are sick with famine!
yea, both the prophet and the priest go about into a land that they know not.
14: 19 Hast thou utterly rejected Judah?
hath thy soul lothed Zion?
why hast thou smitten us, and there is no healing for us?
we looked for peace, and there is no good; and for the time of healing, and behold trouble!
14: 20 We acknowledge, O LORD, our wickedness, and the iniquity of our fathers: for we have sinned against thee.
14: 21 Do not abhor us, for thy name's sake, do not disgrace the throne of thy glory: remember, break not thy covenant with us.
14: 22 Are there any among the vanities of the Gentiles that can cause rain?
or can the heavens give showers?
art not thou he, O LORD our God?
therefore we will wait upon thee: for thou hast made all these things.
15: 1 Then said the LORD unto me, Though Moses and Samuel stood before me, yet my mind could not be toward this people: cast them out of my sight, and let them go forth.
15: 2 And it shall come to pass, if they say unto thee, Whither shall we go forth?
then thou shalt tell them, Thus saith the LORD; Such as are for death, to death; and such as are for the sword, to the sword; and such as are for the famine, to the famine; and such as are for the captivity, to the captivity.
15: 3 And I will appoint over them four kinds, saith the LORD: the sword to slay, and the dogs to tear, and the fowls of the heaven, and the beasts of the earth, to devour and destroy.
15: 4 And I will cause them to be removed into all kingdoms of the earth, because of Manasseh the son of Hezekiah king of Judah, for that which he did in Jerusalem.
15: 5 For who shall have pity upon thee, O Jerusalem?
or who shall bemoan thee?
or who shall go aside to ask how thou doest?
15: 6 Thou hast forsaken me, saith the LORD, thou art gone backward: therefore will I stretch out my hand against thee, and destroy thee; I am weary with repenting.
15: 7 And I will fan them with a fan in the gates of the land; I will bereave them of children, I will destroy my people since they return not from their ways.
15: 8 Their widows are increased to me above the sand of the seas: I have brought upon them against the mother of the young men a spoiler at noonday: I have caused him to fall upon it suddenly, and terrors upon the city.
15: 9 She that hath borne seven languisheth: she hath given up the ghost; her sun is gone down while it was yet day: she hath been ashamed and confounded: and the residue of them will I deliver to the sword before their enemies, saith the LORD.
15: 10 Woe is me, my mother, that thou hast borne me a man of strife and a man of contention to the whole earth!
I have neither lent on usury, nor men have lent to me on usury; yet every one of them doth curse me.
15: 11 The LORD said, Verily it shall be well with thy remnant; verily I will cause the enemy to entreat thee well in the time of evil and in the time of affliction.
15: 12 Shall iron break the northern iron and the steel?
15: 13 Thy substance and thy treasures will I give to the spoil without price, and that for all thy sins, even in all thy borders.
15: 14 And I will make thee to pass with thine enemies into a land which thou knowest not: for a fire is kindled in mine anger, which shall burn upon you.
15: 15 O LORD, thou knowest: remember me, and visit me, and revenge me of my persecutors; take me not away in thy longsuffering: know that for thy sake I have suffered rebuke.
15: 16 Thy words were found, and I did eat them; and thy word was unto me the joy and rejoicing of mine heart: for I am called by thy name, O LORD God of hosts.
15: 17 I sat not in the assembly of the mockers, nor rejoiced; I sat alone because of thy hand: for thou hast filled me with indignation.
15: 18 Why is my pain perpetual, and my wound incurable, which refuseth to be healed?
wilt thou be altogether unto me as a liar, and as waters that fail?
15: 19 Therefore thus saith the LORD, If thou return, then will I bring thee again, and thou shalt stand before me: and if thou take forth the precious from the vile, thou shalt be as my mouth: let them return unto thee; but return not thou unto them.
15: 20 And I will make thee unto this people a fenced brasen wall: and they shall fight against thee, but they shall not prevail against thee: for I am with thee to save thee and to deliver thee, saith the LORD.
15: 21 And I will deliver thee out of the hand of the wicked, and I will redeem thee out of the hand of the terrible.
16: 1 The word of the LORD came also unto me, saying, 16: 2 Thou shalt not take thee a wife, neither shalt thou have sons or daughters in this place.
16: 5 For thus saith the LORD, Enter not into the house of mourning, neither go to lament nor bemoan them: for I have taken away my peace from this people, saith the LORD, even lovingkindness and mercies.
16: 8 Thou shalt not also go into the house of feasting, to sit with them to eat and to drink.
16: 9 For thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; Behold, I will cause to cease out of this place in your eyes, and in your days, the voice of mirth, and the voice of gladness, the voice of the bridegroom, and the voice of the bride.
16: 10 And it shall come to pass, when thou shalt shew this people all these words, and they shall say unto thee, Wherefore hath the LORD pronounced all this great evil against us?
or what is our iniquity?
or what is our sin that we have committed against the LORD our God?
16: 16 Behold, I will send for many fishers, saith the LORD, and they shall fish them; and after will I send for many hunters, and they shall hunt them from every mountain, and from every hill, and out of the holes of the rocks.
16: 17 For mine eyes are upon all their ways: they are not hid from my face, neither is their iniquity hid from mine eyes.
16: 18 And first I will recompense their iniquity and their sin double; because they have defiled my land, they have filled mine inheritance with the carcases of their detestable and abominable things.
16: 19 O LORD, my strength, and my fortress, and my refuge in the day of affliction, the Gentiles shall come unto thee from the ends of the earth, and shall say, Surely our fathers have inherited lies, vanity, and things wherein there is no profit.
16: 20 Shall a man make gods unto himself, and they are no gods?
16: 21 Therefore, behold, I will this once cause them to know, I will cause them to know mine hand and my might; and they shall know that my name is The LORD.
17: 1 The sin of Judah is written with a pen of iron, and with the point of a diamond: it is graven upon the table of their heart, and upon the horns of your altars; 17: 2 Whilst their children remember their altars and their groves by the green trees upon the high hills.
17: 3 O my mountain in the field, I will give thy substance and all thy treasures to the spoil, and thy high places for sin, throughout all thy borders.
17: 4 And thou, even thyself, shalt discontinue from thine heritage that I gave thee; and I will cause thee to serve thine enemies in the land which thou knowest not: for ye have kindled a fire in mine anger, which shall burn for ever.
17: 5 Thus saith the LORD; Cursed be the man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm, and whose heart departeth from the LORD.
17: 6 For he shall be like the heath in the desert, and shall not see when good cometh; but shall inhabit the parched places in the wilderness, in a salt land and not inhabited.
17: 7 Blessed is the man that trusteth in the LORD, and whose hope the LORD is.
17: 8 For he shall be as a tree planted by the waters, and that spreadeth out her roots by the river, and shall not see when heat cometh, but her leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit.
17: 9 The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?
17: 10 I the LORD search the heart, I try the reins, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings.
17: 11 As the partridge sitteth on eggs, and hatcheth them not; so he that getteth riches, and not by right, shall leave them in the midst of his days, and at his end shall be a fool.
17: 12 A glorious high throne from the beginning is the place of our sanctuary.
17: 13 O LORD, the hope of Israel, all that forsake thee shall be ashamed, and they that depart from me shall be written in the earth, because they have forsaken the LORD, the fountain of living waters.
17: 14 Heal me, O LORD, and I shall be healed; save me, and I shall be saved: for thou art my praise.
17: 15 Behold, they say unto me, Where is the word of the LORD?
let it come now.
17: 16 As for me, I have not hastened from being a pastor to follow thee: neither have I desired the woeful day; thou knowest: that which came out of my lips was right before thee.
17: 17 Be not a terror unto me: thou art my hope in the day of evil.
17: 18 Let them be confounded that persecute me, but let not me be confounded: let them be dismayed, but let not me be dismayed: bring upon them the day of evil, and destroy them with double destruction.
17: 23 But they obeyed not, neither inclined their ear, but made their neck stiff, that they might not hear, nor receive instruction.
18: 1 The word which came to Jeremiah from the LORD, saying, 18: 2 Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will cause thee to hear my words.
18: 3 Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels.
18: 4 And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it.
18: 5 Then the word of the LORD came to me, saying, 18: 6 O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as this potter?
saith the LORD.
Behold, as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel.
18: 7 At what instant I shall speak concerning a nation, and concerning a kingdom, to pluck up, and to pull down, and to destroy it; 18: 8 If that nation, against whom I have pronounced, turn from their evil, I will repent of the evil that I thought to do unto them.
18: 9 And at what instant I shall speak concerning a nation, and concerning a kingdom, to build and to plant it; 18: 10 If it do evil in my sight, that it obey not my voice, then I will repent of the good, wherewith I said I would benefit them.
18: 11 Now therefore go to, speak to the men of Judah, and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, saying, Thus saith the LORD; Behold, I frame evil against you, and devise a device against you: return ye now every one from his evil way, and make your ways and your doings good.
18: 12 And they said, There is no hope: but we will walk after our own devices, and we will every one do the imagination of his evil heart.
18: 13 Therefore thus saith the LORD; Ask ye now among the heathen, who hath heard such things: the virgin of Israel hath done a very horrible thing.
18: 14 Will a man leave the snow of Lebanon which cometh from the rock of the field?
or shall the cold flowing waters that come from another place be forsaken?
18: 17 I will scatter them as with an east wind before the enemy; I will shew them the back, and not the face, in the day of their calamity.
18: 18 Then said they, Come and let us devise devices against Jeremiah; for the law shall not perish from the priest, nor counsel from the wise, nor the word from the prophet.
Come, and let us smite him with the tongue, and let us not give heed to any of his words.
18: 19 Give heed to me, O LORD, and hearken to the voice of them that contend with me.
18: 20 Shall evil be recompensed for good?
for they have digged a pit for my soul.
Remember that I stood before thee to speak good for them, and to turn away thy wrath from them.
18: 21 Therefore deliver up their children to the famine, and pour out their blood by the force of the sword; and let their wives be bereaved of their children, and be widows; and let their men be put to death; let their young men be slain by the sword in battle.
18: 22 Let a cry be heard from their houses, when thou shalt bring a troop suddenly upon them: for they have digged a pit to take me, and hid snares for my feet.
18: 23 Yet, LORD, thou knowest all their counsel against me to slay me: forgive not their iniquity, neither blot out their sin from thy sight, but let them be overthrown before thee; deal thus with them in the time of thine anger.
19: 8 And I will make this city desolate, and an hissing; every one that passeth thereby shall be astonished and hiss because of all the plagues thereof.
19: 9 And I will cause them to eat the flesh of their sons and the flesh of their daughters, and they shall eat every one the flesh of his friend in the siege and straitness, wherewith their enemies, and they that seek their lives, shall straiten them.
20: 1 Now Pashur the son of Immer the priest, who was also chief governor in the house of the LORD, heard that Jeremiah prophesied these things.
20: 2 Then Pashur smote Jeremiah the prophet, and put him in the stocks that were in the high gate of Benjamin, which was by the house of the LORD.
20: 3 And it came to pass on the morrow, that Pashur brought forth Jeremiah out of the stocks.
Then said Jeremiah unto him, The LORD hath not called thy name Pashur, but Magormissabib.
20: 6 And thou, Pashur, and all that dwell in thine house shall go into captivity: and thou shalt come to Babylon, and there thou shalt die, and shalt be buried there, thou, and all thy friends, to whom thou hast prophesied lies.
20: 7 O LORD, thou hast deceived me, and I was deceived; thou art stronger than I, and hast prevailed: I am in derision daily, every one mocketh me.
20: 8 For since I spake, I cried out, I cried violence and spoil; because the word of the LORD was made a reproach unto me, and a derision, daily.
20: 9 Then I said, I will not make mention of him, nor speak any more in his name.
But his word was in mine heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I was weary with forbearing, and I could not stay.
20: 10 For I heard the defaming of many, fear on every side.
Report, say they, and we will report it.
All my familiars watched for my halting, saying, Peradventure he will be enticed, and we shall prevail against him, and we shall take our revenge on him.
20: 11 But the LORD is with me as a mighty terrible one: therefore my persecutors shall stumble, and they shall not prevail: they shall be greatly ashamed; for they shall not prosper: their everlasting confusion shall never be forgotten.
20: 12 But, O LORD of hosts, that triest the righteous, and seest the reins and the heart, let me see thy vengeance on them: for unto thee have I opened my cause.
20: 13 Sing unto the LORD, praise ye the LORD: for he hath delivered the soul of the poor from the hand of evildoers.
20: 14 Cursed be the day wherein I was born: let not the day wherein my mother bare me be blessed.
20: 15 Cursed be the man who brought tidings to my father, saying, A man child is born unto thee; making him very glad.
20: 18 Wherefore came I forth out of the womb to see labour and sorrow, that my days should be consumed with shame?
21: 5 And I myself will fight against you with an outstretched hand and with a strong arm, even in anger, and in fury, and in great wrath.
21: 6 And I will smite the inhabitants of this city, both man and beast: they shall die of a great pestilence.
21: 8 And unto this people thou shalt say, Thus saith the LORD; Behold, I set before you the way of life, and the way of death.
21: 9 He that abideth in this city shall die by the sword, and by the famine, and by the pestilence: but he that goeth out, and falleth to the Chaldeans that besiege you, he shall live, and his life shall be unto him for a prey.
21: 10 For I have set my face against this city for evil, and not for good, saith the LORD: it shall be given into the hand of the king of Babylon, and he shall burn it with fire.
21: 13 Behold, I am against thee, O inhabitant of the valley, and rock of the plain, saith the LORD; which say, Who shall come down against us?
or who shall enter into our habitations?
21: 14 But I will punish you according to the fruit of your doings, saith the LORD: and I will kindle a fire in the forest thereof, and it shall devour all things round about it.
22: 4 For if ye do this thing indeed, then shall there enter in by the gates of this house kings sitting upon the throne of David, riding in chariots and on horses, he, and his servants, and his people.
22: 5 But if ye will not hear these words, I swear by myself, saith the LORD, that this house shall become a desolation.
22: 6 For thus saith the LORD unto the king's house of Judah; Thou art Gilead unto me, and the head of Lebanon: yet surely I will make thee a wilderness, and cities which are not inhabited.
22: 7 And I will prepare destroyers against thee, every one with his weapons: and they shall cut down thy choice cedars, and cast them into the fire.
22: 8 And many nations shall pass by this city, and they shall say every man to his neighbour, Wherefore hath the LORD done thus unto this great city?
22: 9 Then they shall answer, Because they have forsaken the covenant of the LORD their God, and worshipped other gods, and served them.
22: 10 Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him: but weep sore for him that goeth away: for he shall return no more, nor see his native country.
22: 15 Shalt thou reign, because thou closest thyself in cedar?
did not thy father eat and drink, and do judgment and justice, and then it was well with him?
22: 16 He judged the cause of the poor and needy; then it was well with him: was not this to know me?
saith the LORD.
22: 17 But thine eyes and thine heart are not but for thy covetousness, and for to shed innocent blood, and for oppression, and for violence, to do it.
22: 18 Therefore thus saith the LORD concerning Jehoiakim the son of Josiah king of Judah; They shall not lament for him, saying, Ah my brother!
or, Ah sister!
they shall not lament for him, saying, Ah lord!
or, Ah his glory!
22: 19 He shall be buried with the burial of an ass, drawn and cast forth beyond the gates of Jerusalem.
22: 20 Go up to Lebanon, and cry; and lift up thy voice in Bashan, and cry from the passages: for all thy lovers are destroyed.
22: 21 I spake unto thee in thy prosperity; but thou saidst, I will not hear.
This hath been thy manner from thy youth, that thou obeyedst not my voice.
22: 22 The wind shall eat up all thy pastors, and thy lovers shall go into captivity: surely then shalt thou be ashamed and confounded for all thy wickedness.
22: 23 O inhabitant of Lebanon, that makest thy nest in the cedars, how gracious shalt thou be when pangs come upon thee, the pain as of a woman in travail!
22: 26 And I will cast thee out, and thy mother that bare thee, into another country, where ye were not born; and there shall ye die.
22: 27 But to the land whereunto they desire to return, thither shall they not return.
22: 28 Is this man Coniah a despised broken idol?
is he a vessel wherein is no pleasure?
wherefore are they cast out, he and his seed, and are cast into a land which they know not?
22: 29 O earth, earth, earth, hear the word of the LORD.
22: 30 Thus saith the LORD, Write ye this man childless, a man that shall not prosper in his days: for no man of his seed shall prosper, sitting upon the throne of David, and ruling any more in Judah.
23: 1 Woe be unto the pastors that destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture!
saith the LORD.
23: 2 Therefore thus saith the LORD God of Israel against the pastors that feed my people; Ye have scattered my flock, and driven them away, and have not visited them: behold, I will visit upon you the evil of your doings, saith the LORD.
23: 3 And I will gather the remnant of my flock out of all countries whither I have driven them, and will bring them again to their folds; and they shall be fruitful and increase.
23: 4 And I will set up shepherds over them which shall feed them: and they shall fear no more, nor be dismayed, neither shall they be lacking, saith the LORD.
23: 5 Behold, the days come, saith the LORD, that I will raise unto David a righteous Branch, and a King shall reign and prosper, and shall execute judgment and justice in the earth.
23: 6 In his days Judah shall be saved, and Israel shall dwell safely: and this is his name whereby he shall be called, THE LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS.
23: 9 Mine heart within me is broken because of the prophets; all my bones shake; I am like a drunken man, and like a man whom wine hath overcome, because of the LORD, and because of the words of his holiness.
23: 10 For the land is full of adulterers; for because of swearing the land mourneth; the pleasant places of the wilderness are dried up, and their course is evil, and their force is not right.
23: 11 For both prophet and priest are profane; yea, in my house have I found their wickedness, saith the LORD.
23: 12 Wherefore their way shall be unto them as slippery ways in the darkness: they shall be driven on, and fall therein: for I will bring evil upon them, even the year of their visitation, saith the LORD.
23: 13 And I have seen folly in the prophets of Samaria; they prophesied in Baal, and caused my people Israel to err.
23: 15 Therefore thus saith the LORD of hosts concerning the prophets; Behold, I will feed them with wormwood, and make them drink the water of gall: for from the prophets of Jerusalem is profaneness gone forth into all the land.
23: 16 Thus saith the LORD of hosts, Hearken not unto the words of the prophets that prophesy unto you: they make you vain: they speak a vision of their own heart, and not out of the mouth of the LORD.
23: 17 They say still unto them that despise me, The LORD hath said, Ye shall have peace; and they say unto every one that walketh after the imagination of his own heart, No evil shall come upon you.
23: 18 For who hath stood in the counsel of the LORD, and hath perceived and heard his word?
who hath marked his word, and heard it?
23: 19 Behold, a whirlwind of the LORD is gone forth in fury, even a grievous whirlwind: it shall fall grievously upon the head of the wicked.
23: 20 The anger of the LORD shall not return, until he have executed, and till he have performed the thoughts of his heart: in the latter days ye shall consider it perfectly.
23: 21 I have not sent these prophets, yet they ran: I have not spoken to them, yet they prophesied.
23: 22 But if they had stood in my counsel, and had caused my people to hear my words, then they should have turned them from their evil way, and from the evil of their doings.
23: 23 Am I a God at hand, saith the LORD, and not a God afar off?
23: 24 Can any hide himself in secret places that I shall not see him?
saith the LORD.
Do not I fill heaven and earth?
saith the LORD.
23: 25 I have heard what the prophets said, that prophesy lies in my name, saying, I have dreamed, I have dreamed.
23: 26 How long shall this be in the heart of the prophets that prophesy lies?
yea, they are prophets of the deceit of their own heart; 23: 27 Which think to cause my people to forget my name by their dreams which they tell every man to his neighbour, as their fathers have forgotten my name for Baal.
23: 28 The prophet that hath a dream, let him tell a dream; and he that hath my word, let him speak my word faithfully.
What is the chaff to the wheat?
saith the LORD.
23: 29 Is not my word like as a fire?
saith the LORD; and like a hammer that breaketh the rock in pieces?
23: 30 Therefore, behold, I am against the prophets, saith the LORD, that steal my words every one from his neighbour.
23: 31 Behold, I am against the prophets, saith the LORD, that use their tongues, and say, He saith.
23: 32 Behold, I am against them that prophesy false dreams, saith the LORD, and do tell them, and cause my people to err by their lies, and by their lightness; yet I sent them not, nor commanded them: therefore they shall not profit this people at all, saith the LORD.
23: 33 And when this people, or the prophet, or a priest, shall ask thee, saying, What is the burden of the LORD?
thou shalt then say unto them, What burden?
I will even forsake you, saith the LORD.
23: 34 And as for the prophet, and the priest, and the people, that shall say, The burden of the LORD, I will even punish that man and his house.
23: 35 Thus shall ye say every one to his neighbour, and every one to his brother, What hath the LORD answered?
and, What hath the LORD spoken?
23: 36 And the burden of the LORD shall ye mention no more: for every man's word shall be his burden; for ye have perverted the words of the living God, of the LORD of hosts our God.
23: 37 Thus shalt thou say to the prophet, What hath the LORD answered thee?
and, What hath the LORD spoken?
24: 2 One basket had very good figs, even like the figs that are first ripe: and the other basket had very naughty figs, which could not be eaten, they were so bad.
24: 3 Then said the LORD unto me, What seest thou, Jeremiah?
And I said, Figs; the good figs, very good; and the evil, very evil, that cannot be eaten, they are so evil.
24: 4 Again the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 24: 5 Thus saith the LORD, the God of Israel; Like these good figs, so will I acknowledge them that are carried away captive of Judah, whom I have sent out of this place into the land of the Chaldeans for their good.
24: 6 For I will set mine eyes upon them for good, and I will bring them again to this land: and I will build them, and not pull them down; and I will plant them, and not pluck them up.
24: 7 And I will give them an heart to know me, that I am the LORD: and they shall be my people, and I will be their God: for they shall return unto me with their whole heart.
24: 10 And I will send the sword, the famine, and the pestilence, among them, till they be consumed from off the land that I gave unto them and to their fathers.
25: 4 And the LORD hath sent unto you all his servants the prophets, rising early and sending them; but ye have not hearkened, nor inclined your ear to hear.
25: 7 Yet ye have not hearkened unto me, saith the LORD; that ye might provoke me to anger with the works of your hands to your own hurt.
25: 10 Moreover I will take from them the voice of mirth, and the voice of gladness, the voice of the bridegroom, and the voice of the bride, the sound of the millstones, and the light of the candle.
25: 11 And this whole land shall be a desolation, and an astonishment; and these nations shall serve the king of Babylon seventy years.
25: 12 And it shall come to pass, when seventy years are accomplished, that I will punish the king of Babylon, and that nation, saith the LORD, for their iniquity, and the land of the Chaldeans, and will make it perpetual desolations.
25: 13 And I will bring upon that land all my words which I have pronounced against it, even all that is written in this book, which Jeremiah hath prophesied against all the nations.
25: 14 For many nations and great kings shall serve themselves of them also: and I will recompense them according to their deeds, and according to the works of their own hands.
25: 15 For thus saith the LORD God of Israel unto me; Take the wine cup of this fury at my hand, and cause all the nations, to whom I send thee, to drink it.
25: 16 And they shall drink, and be moved, and be mad, because of the sword that I will send among them.
25: 27 Therefore thou shalt say unto them, Thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; Drink ye, and be drunken, and spue, and fall, and rise no more, because of the sword which I will send among you.
25: 28 And it shall be, if they refuse to take the cup at thine hand to drink, then shalt thou say unto them, Thus saith the LORD of hosts; Ye shall certainly drink.
25: 29 For, lo, I begin to bring evil on the city which is called by my name, and should ye be utterly unpunished?
Ye shall not be unpunished: for I will call for a sword upon all the inhabitants of the earth, saith the LORD of hosts.
25: 31 A noise shall come even to the ends of the earth; for the LORD hath a controversy with the nations, he will plead with all flesh; he will give them that are wicked to the sword, saith the LORD.
25: 32 Thus saith the LORD of hosts, Behold, evil shall go forth from nation to nation, and a great whirlwind shall be raised up from the coasts of the earth.
25: 33 And the slain of the LORD shall be at that day from one end of the earth even unto the other end of the earth: they shall not be lamented, neither gathered, nor buried; they shall be dung upon the ground.
25: 34 Howl, ye shepherds, and cry; and wallow yourselves in the ashes, ye principal of the flock: for the days of your slaughter and of your dispersions are accomplished; and ye shall fall like a pleasant vessel.
25: 35 And the shepherds shall have no way to flee, nor the principal of the flock to escape.
25: 36 A voice of the cry of the shepherds, and an howling of the principal of the flock, shall be heard: for the LORD hath spoiled their pasture.
25: 37 And the peaceable habitations are cut down because of the fierce anger of the LORD.
25: 38 He hath forsaken his covert, as the lion: for their land is desolate because of the fierceness of the oppressor, and because of his fierce anger.
26: 7 So the priests and the prophets and all the people heard Jeremiah speaking these words in the house of the LORD.
26: 8 Now it came to pass, when Jeremiah had made an end of speaking all that the LORD had commanded him to speak unto all the people, that the priests and the prophets and all the people took him, saying, Thou shalt surely die.
26: 9 Why hast thou prophesied in the name of the LORD, saying, This house shall be like Shiloh, and this city shall be desolate without an inhabitant?
And all the people were gathered against Jeremiah in the house of the LORD.
26: 10 When the princes of Judah heard these things, then they came up from the king's house unto the house of the LORD, and sat down in the entry of the new gate of the LORD's house.
26: 11 Then spake the priests and the prophets unto the princes and to all the people, saying, This man is worthy to die; for he hath prophesied against this city, as ye have heard with your ears.
26: 12 Then spake Jeremiah unto all the princes and to all the people, saying, The LORD sent me to prophesy against this house and against this city all the words that ye have heard.
26: 13 Therefore now amend your ways and your doings, and obey the voice of the LORD your God; and the LORD will repent him of the evil that he hath pronounced against you.
26: 14 As for me, behold, I am in your hand: do with me as seemeth good and meet unto you.
26: 15 But know ye for certain, that if ye put me to death, ye shall surely bring innocent blood upon yourselves, and upon this city, and upon the inhabitants thereof: for of a truth the LORD hath sent me unto you to speak all these words in your ears.
26: 16 Then said the princes and all the people unto the priests and to the prophets; This man is not worthy to die: for he hath spoken to us in the name of the LORD our God.
26: 19 Did Hezekiah king of Judah and all Judah put him at all to death?
did he not fear the LORD, and besought the LORD, and the LORD repented him of the evil which he had pronounced against them?
Thus might we procure great evil against our souls.
26: 20 And there was also a man that prophesied in the name of the LORD, Urijah the son of Shemaiah of Kirjathjearim, who prophesied against this city and against this land according to all the words of Jeremiah.
26: 23 And they fetched forth Urijah out of Egypt, and brought him unto Jehoiakim the king; who slew him with the sword, and cast his dead body into the graves of the common people.
26: 24 Nevertheless the hand of Ahikam the son of Shaphan was with Jeremiah, that they should not give him into the hand of the people to put him to death.
27: 6 And now have I given all these lands into the hand of Nebuchadnezzar the king of Babylon, my servant; and the beasts of the field have I given him also to serve him.
27: 7 And all nations shall serve him, and his son, and his son's son, until the very time of his land come: and then many nations and great kings shall serve themselves of him.
27: 11 But the nations that bring their neck under the yoke of the king of Babylon, and serve him, those will I let remain still in their own land, saith the LORD; and they shall till it, and dwell therein.
27: 12 I spake also to Zedekiah king of Judah according to all these words, saying, Bring your necks under the yoke of the king of Babylon, and serve him and his people, and live.
27: 13 Why will ye die, thou and thy people, by the sword, by the famine, and by the pestilence, as the LORD hath spoken against the nation that will not serve the king of Babylon?
27: 14 Therefore hearken not unto the words of the prophets that speak unto you, saying, Ye shall not serve the king of Babylon: for they prophesy a lie unto you.
27: 15 For I have not sent them, saith the LORD, yet they prophesy a lie in my name; that I might drive you out, and that ye might perish, ye, and the prophets that prophesy unto you.
27: 17 Hearken not unto them; serve the king of Babylon, and live: wherefore should this city be laid waste?
27: 18 But if they be prophets, and if the word of the LORD be with them, let them now make intercession to the LORD of hosts, that the vessels which are left in the house of the LORD, and in the house of the king of Judah, and at Jerusalem, go not to Babylon.
27: 19 For thus saith the LORD of hosts concerning the pillars, and concerning the sea, and concerning the bases, and concerning the residue of the vessels that remain in this city.
28: 9 The prophet which prophesieth of peace, when the word of the prophet shall come to pass, then shall the prophet be known, that the LORD hath truly sent him.
28: 10 Then Hananiah the prophet took the yoke from off the prophet Jeremiah's neck, and brake it.
28: 11 And Hananiah spake in the presence of all the people, saying, Thus saith the LORD; Even so will I break the yoke of Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon from the neck of all nations within the space of two full years.
And the prophet Jeremiah went his way.
28: 14 For thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; I have put a yoke of iron upon the neck of all these nations, that they may serve Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon; and they shall serve him: and I have given him the beasts of the field also.
28: 15 Then said the prophet Jeremiah unto Hananiah the prophet, Hear now, Hananiah; The LORD hath not sent thee; but thou makest this people to trust in a lie.
28: 16 Therefore thus saith the LORD; Behold, I will cast thee from off the face of the earth: this year thou shalt die, because thou hast taught rebellion against the LORD.
28: 17 So Hananiah the prophet died the same year in the seventh month.
29: 7 And seek the peace of the city whither I have caused you to be carried away captives, and pray unto the LORD for it: for in the peace thereof shall ye have peace.
29: 8 For thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; Let not your prophets and your diviners, that be in the midst of you, deceive you, neither hearken to your dreams which ye cause to be dreamed.
29: 9 For they prophesy falsely unto you in my name: I have not sent them, saith the LORD.
29: 10 For thus saith the LORD, That after seventy years be accomplished at Babylon I will visit you, and perform my good word toward you, in causing you to return to this place.
29: 11 For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.
29: 12 Then shall ye call upon me, and ye shall go and pray unto me, and I will hearken unto you.
29: 13 And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.
29: 27 Now therefore why hast thou not reproved Jeremiah of Anathoth, which maketh himself a prophet to you?
29: 28 For therefore he sent unto us in Babylon, saying, This captivity is long: build ye houses, and dwell in them; and plant gardens, and eat the fruit of them.
29: 29 And Zephaniah the priest read this letter in the ears of Jeremiah the prophet.
30: 1 The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD, saying, 30: 2 Thus speaketh the LORD God of Israel, saying, Write thee all the words that I have spoken unto thee in a book.
30: 3 For, lo, the days come, saith the LORD, that I will bring again the captivity of my people Israel and Judah, saith the LORD: and I will cause them to return to the land that I gave to their fathers, and they shall possess it.
30: 4 And these are the words that the LORD spake concerning Israel and concerning Judah.
30: 5 For thus saith the LORD; We have heard a voice of trembling, of fear, and not of peace.
30: 6 Ask ye now, and see whether a man doth travail with child?
wherefore do I see every man with his hands on his loins, as a woman in travail, and all faces are turned into paleness?
30: 7 Alas!
for that day is great, so that none is like it: it is even the time of Jacob's trouble, but he shall be saved out of it.
30: 10 Therefore fear thou not, O my servant Jacob, saith the LORD; neither be dismayed, O Israel: for, lo, I will save thee from afar, and thy seed from the land of their captivity; and Jacob shall return, and shall be in rest, and be quiet, and none shall make him afraid.
30: 11 For I am with thee, saith the LORD, to save thee: though I make a full end of all nations whither I have scattered thee, yet I will not make a full end of thee: but I will correct thee in measure, and will not leave thee altogether unpunished.
30: 12 For thus saith the LORD, Thy bruise is incurable, and thy wound is grievous.
30: 13 There is none to plead thy cause, that thou mayest be bound up: thou hast no healing medicines.
30: 14 All thy lovers have forgotten thee; they seek thee not; for I have wounded thee with the wound of an enemy, with the chastisement of a cruel one, for the multitude of thine iniquity; because thy sins were increased.
30: 15 Why criest thou for thine affliction?
thy sorrow is incurable for the multitude of thine iniquity: because thy sins were increased, I have done these things unto thee.
30: 16 Therefore all they that devour thee shall be devoured; and all thine adversaries, every one of them, shall go into captivity; and they that spoil thee shall be a spoil, and all that prey upon thee will I give for a prey.
30: 17 For I will restore health unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy wounds, saith the LORD; because they called thee an Outcast, saying, This is Zion, whom no man seeketh after.
30: 18 Thus saith the LORD; Behold, I will bring again the captivity of Jacob's tents, and have mercy on his dwellingplaces; and the city shall be builded upon her own heap, and the palace shall remain after the manner thereof.
30: 19 And out of them shall proceed thanksgiving and the voice of them that make merry: and I will multiply them, and they shall not be few; I will also glorify them, and they shall not be small.
30: 20 Their children also shall be as aforetime, and their congregation shall be established before me, and I will punish all that oppress them.
30: 21 And their nobles shall be of themselves, and their governor shall proceed from the midst of them; and I will cause him to draw near, and he shall approach unto me: for who is this that engaged his heart to approach unto me?
saith the LORD.
30: 22 And ye shall be my people, and I will be your God.
30: 23 Behold, the whirlwind of the LORD goeth forth with fury, a continuing whirlwind: it shall fall with pain upon the head of the wicked.
30: 24 The fierce anger of the LORD shall not return, until he hath done it, and until he have performed the intents of his heart: in the latter days ye shall consider it.
31: 1 At the same time, saith the LORD, will I be the God of all the families of Israel, and they shall be my people.
31: 2 Thus saith the LORD, The people which were left of the sword found grace in the wilderness; even Israel, when I went to cause him to rest.
31: 3 The LORD hath appeared of old unto me, saying, Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn thee.
31: 4 Again I will build thee, and thou shalt be built, O virgin of Israel: thou shalt again be adorned with thy tabrets, and shalt go forth in the dances of them that make merry.
31: 5 Thou shalt yet plant vines upon the mountains of Samaria: the planters shall plant, and shall eat them as common things.
31: 6 For there shall be a day, that the watchmen upon the mount Ephraim shall cry, Arise ye, and let us go up to Zion unto the LORD our God.
31: 7 For thus saith the LORD; Sing with gladness for Jacob, and shout among the chief of the nations: publish ye, praise ye, and say, O LORD, save thy people, the remnant of Israel.
31: 8 Behold, I will bring them from the north country, and gather them from the coasts of the earth, and with them the blind and the lame, the woman with child and her that travaileth with child together: a great company shall return thither.
31: 9 They shall come with weeping, and with supplications will I lead them: I will cause them to walk by the rivers of waters in a straight way, wherein they shall not stumble: for I am a father to Israel, and Ephraim is my firstborn.
31: 10 Hear the word of the LORD, O ye nations, and declare it in the isles afar off, and say, He that scattered Israel will gather him, and keep him, as a shepherd doth his flock.
31: 11 For the LORD hath redeemed Jacob, and ransomed him from the hand of him that was stronger than he.
31: 13 Then shall the virgin rejoice in the dance, both young men and old together: for I will turn their mourning into joy, and will comfort them, and make them rejoice from their sorrow.
31: 14 And I will satiate the soul of the priests with fatness, and my people shall be satisfied with my goodness, saith the LORD.
31: 15 Thus saith the LORD; A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, and bitter weeping; Rahel weeping for her children refused to be comforted for her children, because they were not.
31: 16 Thus saith the LORD; Refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears: for thy work shall be rewarded, saith the LORD; and they shall come again from the land of the enemy.
31: 17 And there is hope in thine end, saith the LORD, that thy children shall come again to their own border.
31: 18 I have surely heard Ephraim bemoaning himself thus; Thou hast chastised me, and I was chastised, as a bullock unaccustomed to the yoke: turn thou me, and I shall be turned; for thou art the LORD my God.
31: 19 Surely after that I was turned, I repented; and after that I was instructed, I smote upon my thigh: I was ashamed, yea, even confounded, because I did bear the reproach of my youth.
31: 20 Is Ephraim my dear son?
is he a pleasant child?
for since I spake against him, I do earnestly remember him still: therefore my bowels are troubled for him; I will surely have mercy upon him, saith the LORD.
31: 21 Set thee up waymarks, make thee high heaps: set thine heart toward the highway, even the way which thou wentest: turn again, O virgin of Israel, turn again to these thy cities.
31: 22 How long wilt thou go about, O thou backsliding daughter?
for the LORD hath created a new thing in the earth, A woman shall compass a man.
31: 23 Thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; As yet they shall use this speech in the land of Judah and in the cities thereof, when I shall bring again their captivity; The LORD bless thee, O habitation of justice, and mountain of holiness.
31: 24 And there shall dwell in Judah itself, and in all the cities thereof together, husbandmen, and they that go forth with flocks.
31: 25 For I have satiated the weary soul, and I have replenished every sorrowful soul.
31: 26 Upon this I awaked, and beheld; and my sleep was sweet unto me.
31: 27 Behold, the days come, saith the LORD, that I will sow the house of Israel and the house of Judah with the seed of man, and with the seed of beast.
31: 28 And it shall come to pass, that like as I have watched over them, to pluck up, and to break down, and to throw down, and to destroy, and to afflict; so will I watch over them, to build, and to plant, saith the LORD.
31: 29 In those days they shall say no more, The fathers have eaten a sour grape, and the children's teeth are set on edge.
31: 30 But every one shall die for his own iniquity: every man that eateth the sour grape, his teeth shall be set on edge.
31: 37 Thus saith the LORD; If heaven above can be measured, and the foundations of the earth searched out beneath, I will also cast off all the seed of Israel for all that they have done, saith the LORD.
31: 38 Behold, the days come, saith the LORD, that the city shall be built to the LORD from the tower of Hananeel unto the gate of the corner.
31: 39 And the measuring line shall yet go forth over against it upon the hill Gareb, and shall compass about to Goath.
31: 40 And the whole valley of the dead bodies, and of the ashes, and all the fields unto the brook of Kidron, unto the corner of the horse gate toward the east, shall be holy unto the LORD; it shall not be plucked up, nor thrown down any more for ever.
32: 1 The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD in the tenth year of Zedekiah king of Judah, which was the eighteenth year of Nebuchadrezzar.
32: 2 For then the king of Babylon's army besieged Jerusalem: and Jeremiah the prophet was shut up in the court of the prison, which was in the king of Judah's house.
32: 6 And Jeremiah said, The word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 32: 7 Behold, Hanameel the son of Shallum thine uncle shall come unto thee saying, Buy thee my field that is in Anathoth: for the right of redemption is thine to buy it.
Then I knew that this was the word of the LORD.
32: 9 And I bought the field of Hanameel my uncle's son, that was in Anathoth, and weighed him the money, even seventeen shekels of silver.
32: 10 And I subscribed the evidence, and sealed it, and took witnesses, and weighed him the money in the balances.
32: 15 For thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; Houses and fields and vineyards shall be possessed again in this land.
32: 16 Now when I had delivered the evidence of the purchase unto Baruch the son of Neriah, I prayed unto the LORD, saying, 32: 17 Ah Lord GOD!
32: 25 And thou hast said unto me, O Lord GOD, Buy thee the field for money, and take witnesses; for the city is given into the hand of the Chaldeans.
32: 26 Then came the word of the LORD unto Jeremiah, saying, 32: 27 Behold, I am the LORD, the God of all flesh: is there any thing too hard for me?
32: 30 For the children of Israel and the children of Judah have only done evil before me from their youth: for the children of Israel have only provoked me to anger with the work of their hands, saith the LORD.
32: 33 And they have turned unto me the back, and not the face: though I taught them, rising up early and teaching them, yet they have not hearkened to receive instruction.
32: 34 But they set their abominations in the house, which is called by my name, to defile it.
32: 41 Yea, I will rejoice over them to do them good, and I will plant them in this land assuredly with my whole heart and with my whole soul.
32: 42 For thus saith the LORD; Like as I have brought all this great evil upon this people, so will I bring upon them all the good that I have promised them.
32: 43 And fields shall be bought in this land, whereof ye say, It is desolate without man or beast; it is given into the hand of the Chaldeans.
33: 6 Behold, I will bring it health and cure, and I will cure them, and will reveal unto them the abundance of peace and truth.
33: 7 And I will cause the captivity of Judah and the captivity of Israel to return, and will build them, as at the first.
33: 8 And I will cleanse them from all their iniquity, whereby they have sinned against me; and I will pardon all their iniquities, whereby they have sinned, and whereby they have transgressed against me.
33: 9 And it shall be to me a name of joy, a praise and an honour before all the nations of the earth, which shall hear all the good that I do unto them: and they shall fear and tremble for all the goodness and for all the prosperity that I procure unto it.
For I will cause to return the captivity of the land, as at the first, saith the LORD.
33: 12 Thus saith the LORD of hosts; Again in this place, which is desolate without man and without beast, and in all the cities thereof, shall be an habitation of shepherds causing their flocks to lie down.
33: 14 Behold, the days come, saith the LORD, that I will perform that good thing which I have promised unto the house of Israel and to the house of Judah.
33: 15 In those days, and at that time, will I cause the Branch of righteousness to grow up unto David; and he shall execute judgment and righteousness in the land.
33: 16 In those days shall Judah be saved, and Jerusalem shall dwell safely: and this is the name wherewith she shall be called, The LORD our righteousness.
33: 17 For thus saith the LORD; David shall never want a man to sit upon the throne of the house of Israel; 33: 18 Neither shall the priests the Levites want a man before me to offer burnt offerings, and to kindle meat offerings, and to do sacrifice continually.
33: 22 As the host of heaven cannot be numbered, neither the sand of the sea measured: so will I multiply the seed of David my servant, and the Levites that minister unto me.
33: 23 Moreover the word of the LORD came to Jeremiah, saying, 33: 24 Considerest thou not what this people have spoken, saying, The two families which the LORD hath chosen, he hath even cast them off?
thus they have despised my people, that they should be no more a nation before them.
for I have pronounced the word, saith the LORD.
34: 10 Now when all the princes, and all the people, which had entered into the covenant, heard that every one should let his manservant, and every one his maidservant, go free, that none should serve themselves of them any more, then they obeyed, and let them go.
34: 11 But afterward they turned, and caused the servants and the handmaids, whom they had let go free, to return, and brought them into subjection for servants and for handmaids.
34: 21 And Zedekiah king of Judah and his princes will I give into the hand of their enemies, and into the hand of them that seek their life, and into the hand of the king of Babylon's army, which are gone up from you.
34: 22 Behold, I will command, saith the LORD, and cause them to return to this city; and they shall fight against it, and take it, and burn it with fire: and I will make the cities of Judah a desolation without an inhabitant.
35: 11 But it came to pass, when Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon came up into the land, that we said, Come, and let us go to Jerusalem for fear of the army of the Chaldeans, and for fear of the army of the Syrians: so we dwell at Jerusalem.
35: 12 Then came the word of the LORD unto Jeremiah, saying, 35: 13 Thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; Go and tell the men of Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, Will ye not receive instruction to hearken to my words?
saith the LORD.
36: 3 It may be that the house of Judah will hear all the evil which I purpose to do unto them; that they may return every man from his evil way; that I may forgive their iniquity and their sin.
36: 4 Then Jeremiah called Baruch the son of Neriah: and Baruch wrote from the mouth of Jeremiah all the words of the LORD, which he had spoken unto him, upon a roll of a book.
36: 7 It may be they will present their supplication before the LORD, and will return every one from his evil way: for great is the anger and the fury that the LORD hath pronounced against this people.
36: 8 And Baruch the son of Neriah did according to all that Jeremiah the prophet commanded him, reading in the book the words of the LORD in the LORD's house.
36: 9 And it came to pass in the fifth year of Jehoiakim the son of Josiah king of Judah, in the ninth month, that they proclaimed a fast before the LORD to all the people in Jerusalem, and to all the people that came from the cities of Judah unto Jerusalem.
36: 10 Then read Baruch in the book the words of Jeremiah in the house of the LORD, in the chamber of Gemariah the son of Shaphan the scribe, in the higher court, at the entry of the new gate of the LORD's house, in the ears of all the people.
36: 13 Then Michaiah declared unto them all the words that he had heard, when Baruch read the book in the ears of the people.
36: 14 Therefore all the princes sent Jehudi the son of Nethaniah, the son of Shelemiah, the son of Cushi, unto Baruch, saying, Take in thine hand the roll wherein thou hast read in the ears of the people, and come.
So Baruch the son of Neriah took the roll in his hand, and came unto them.
36: 15 And they said unto him, Sit down now, and read it in our ears.
So Baruch read it in their ears.
36: 16 Now it came to pass, when they had heard all the words, they were afraid both one and other, and said unto Baruch, We will surely tell the king of all these words.
36: 17 And they asked Baruch, saying, Tell us now, How didst thou write all these words at his mouth?
36: 18 Then Baruch answered them, He pronounced all these words unto me with his mouth, and I wrote them with ink in the book.
36: 19 Then said the princes unto Baruch, Go, hide thee, thou and Jeremiah; and let no man know where ye be.
36: 20 And they went in to the king into the court, but they laid up the roll in the chamber of Elishama the scribe, and told all the words in the ears of the king.
36: 21 So the king sent Jehudi to fetch the roll: and he took it out of Elishama the scribe's chamber.
And Jehudi read it in the ears of the king, and in the ears of all the princes which stood beside the king.
36: 22 Now the king sat in the winterhouse in the ninth month: and there was a fire on the hearth burning before him.
36: 23 And it came to pass, that when Jehudi had read three or four leaves, he cut it with the penknife, and cast it into the fire that was on the hearth, until all the roll was consumed in the fire that was on the hearth.
36: 24 Yet they were not afraid, nor rent their garments, neither the king, nor any of his servants that heard all these words.
36: 25 Nevertheless Elnathan and Delaiah and Gemariah had made intercession to the king that he would not burn the roll: but he would not hear them.
36: 26 But the king commanded Jerahmeel the son of Hammelech, and Seraiah the son of Azriel, and Shelemiah the son of Abdeel, to take Baruch the scribe and Jeremiah the prophet: but the LORD hid them.
36: 29 And thou shalt say to Jehoiakim king of Judah, Thus saith the LORD; Thou hast burned this roll, saying, Why hast thou written therein, saying, The king of Babylon shall certainly come and destroy this land, and shall cause to cease from thence man and beast?
36: 30 Therefore thus saith the LORD of Jehoiakim king of Judah; He shall have none to sit upon the throne of David: and his dead body shall be cast out in the day to the heat, and in the night to the frost.
36: 31 And I will punish him and his seed and his servants for their iniquity; and I will bring upon them, and upon the inhabitants of Jerusalem, and upon the men of Judah, all the evil that I have pronounced against them; but they hearkened not.
36: 32 Then took Jeremiah another roll, and gave it to Baruch the scribe, the son of Neriah; who wrote therein from the mouth of Jeremiah all the words of the book which Jehoiakim king of Judah had burned in the fire: and there were added besides unto them many like words.
37: 1 And king Zedekiah the son of Josiah reigned instead of Coniah the son of Jehoiakim, whom Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon made king in the land of Judah.
37: 2 But neither he, nor his servants, nor the people of the land, did hearken unto the words of the LORD, which he spake by the prophet Jeremiah.
37: 3 And Zedekiah the king sent Jehucal the son of Shelemiah and Zephaniah the son of Maaseiah the priest to the prophet Jeremiah, saying, Pray now unto the LORD our God for us.
37: 4 Now Jeremiah came in and went out among the people: for they had not put him into prison.
37: 5 Then Pharaoh's army was come forth out of Egypt: and when the Chaldeans that besieged Jerusalem heard tidings of them, they departed from Jerusalem.
37: 8 And the Chaldeans shall come again, and fight against this city, and take it, and burn it with fire.
37: 9 Thus saith the LORD; Deceive not yourselves, saying, The Chaldeans shall surely depart from us: for they shall not depart.
37: 10 For though ye had smitten the whole army of the Chaldeans that fight against you, and there remained but wounded men among them, yet should they rise up every man in his tent, and burn this city with fire.
37: 11 And it came to pass, that when the army of the Chaldeans was broken up from Jerusalem for fear of Pharaoh's army, 37: 12 Then Jeremiah went forth out of Jerusalem to go into the land of Benjamin, to separate himself thence in the midst of the people.
37: 13 And when he was in the gate of Benjamin, a captain of the ward was there, whose name was Irijah, the son of Shelemiah, the son of Hananiah; and he took Jeremiah the prophet, saying, Thou fallest away to the Chaldeans.
37: 14 Then said Jeremiah, It is false; I fall not away to the Chaldeans.
But he hearkened not to him: so Irijah took Jeremiah, and brought him to the princes.
37: 15 Wherefore the princes were wroth with Jeremiah, and smote him, and put him in prison in the house of Jonathan the scribe: for they had made that the prison.
37: 16 When Jeremiah was entered into the dungeon, and into the cabins, and Jeremiah had remained there many days; 37: 17 Then Zedekiah the king sent, and took him out: and the king asked him secretly in his house, and said, Is there any word from the LORD?
And Jeremiah said, There is: for, said he, thou shalt be delivered into the hand of the king of Babylon.
37: 18 Moreover Jeremiah said unto king Zedekiah, What have I offended against thee, or against thy servants, or against this people, that ye have put me in prison?
37: 19 Where are now your prophets which prophesied unto you, saying, The king of Babylon shall not come against you, nor against this land?
37: 20 Therefore hear now, I pray thee, O my lord the king: let my supplication, I pray thee, be accepted before thee; that thou cause me not to return to the house of Jonathan the scribe, lest I die there.
37: 21 Then Zedekiah the king commanded that they should commit Jeremiah into the court of the prison, and that they should give him daily a piece of bread out of the bakers'street, until all the bread in the city were spent.
Thus Jeremiah remained in the court of the prison.
38: 3 Thus saith the LORD, This city shall surely be given into the hand of the king of Babylon's army, which shall take it.
38: 5 Then Zedekiah the king said, Behold, he is in your hand: for the king is not he that can do any thing against you.
38: 6 Then took they Jeremiah, and cast him into the dungeon of Malchiah the son of Hammelech, that was in the court of the prison: and they let down Jeremiah with cords.
And in the dungeon there was no water, but mire: so Jeremiah sunk in the mire.
38: 10 Then the king commanded Ebedmelech the Ethiopian, saying, Take from hence thirty men with thee, and take up Jeremiah the prophet out of the dungeon, before he die.
38: 11 So Ebedmelech took the men with him, and went into the house of the king under the treasury, and took thence old cast clouts and old rotten rags, and let them down by cords into the dungeon to Jeremiah.
38: 12 And Ebedmelech the Ethiopian said unto Jeremiah, Put now these old cast clouts and rotten rags under thine armholes under the cords.
And Jeremiah did so.
38: 13 So they drew up Jeremiah with cords, and took him up out of the dungeon: and Jeremiah remained in the court of the prison.
38: 14 Then Zedekiah the king sent, and took Jeremiah the prophet unto him into the third entry that is in the house of the LORD: and the king said unto Jeremiah, I will ask thee a thing; hide nothing from me.
38: 15 Then Jeremiah said unto Zedekiah, If I declare it unto thee, wilt thou not surely put me to death?
and if I give thee counsel, wilt thou not hearken unto me?
38: 16 So Zedekiah the king sware secretly unto Jeremiah, saying, As the LORD liveth, that made us this soul, I will not put thee to death, neither will I give thee into the hand of these men that seek thy life.
38: 19 And Zedekiah the king said unto Jeremiah, I am afraid of the Jews that are fallen to the Chaldeans, lest they deliver me into their hand, and they mock me.
38: 20 But Jeremiah said, They shall not deliver thee.
Obey, I beseech thee, the voice of the LORD, which I speak unto thee: so it shall be well unto thee, and thy soul shall live.
38: 23 So they shall bring out all thy wives and thy children to the Chaldeans: and thou shalt not escape out of their hand, but shalt be taken by the hand of the king of Babylon: and thou shalt cause this city to be burned with fire.
38: 24 Then said Zedekiah unto Jeremiah, Let no man know of these words, and thou shalt not die.
38: 27 Then came all the princes unto Jeremiah, and asked him: and he told them according to all these words that the king had commanded.
So they left off speaking with him; for the matter was not perceived.
38: 28 So Jeremiah abode in the court of the prison until the day that Jerusalem was taken: and he was there when Jerusalem was taken.
39: 1 In the ninth year of Zedekiah king of Judah, in the tenth month, came Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon and all his army against Jerusalem, and they besieged it.
39: 2 And in the eleventh year of Zedekiah, in the fourth month, the ninth day of the month, the city was broken up.
39: 3 And all the princes of the king of Babylon came in, and sat in the middle gate, even Nergalsharezer, Samgarnebo, Sarsechim, Rabsaris, Nergalsharezer, Rabmag, with all the residue of the princes of the king of Babylon.
39: 4 And it came to pass, that when Zedekiah the king of Judah saw them, and all the men of war, then they fled, and went forth out of the city by night, by the way of the king's garden, by the gate betwixt the two walls: and he went out the way of the plain.
39: 5 But the Chaldeans'army pursued after them, and overtook Zedekiah in the plains of Jericho: and when they had taken him, they brought him up to Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon to Riblah in the land of Hamath, where he gave judgment upon him.
39: 6 Then the king of Babylon slew the sons of Zedekiah in Riblah before his eyes: also the king of Babylon slew all the nobles of Judah.
39: 7 Moreover he put out Zedekiah's eyes, and bound him with chains, to carry him to Babylon.
39: 8 And the Chaldeans burned the king's house, and the houses of the people, with fire, and brake down the walls of Jerusalem.
39: 9 Then Nebuzaradan the captain of the guard carried away captive into Babylon the remnant of the people that remained in the city, and those that fell away, that fell to him, with the rest of the people that remained.
39: 10 But Nebuzaradan the captain of the guard left of the poor of the people, which had nothing, in the land of Judah, and gave them vineyards and fields at the same time.
39: 11 Now Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon gave charge concerning Jeremiah to Nebuzaradan the captain of the guard, saying, 39: 12 Take him, and look well to him, and do him no harm; but do unto him even as he shall say unto thee.
39: 17 But I will deliver thee in that day, saith the LORD: and thou shalt not be given into the hand of the men of whom thou art afraid.
39: 18 For I will surely deliver thee, and thou shalt not fall by the sword, but thy life shall be for a prey unto thee: because thou hast put thy trust in me, saith the LORD.
40: 2 And the captain of the guard took Jeremiah, and said unto him, The LORD thy God hath pronounced this evil upon this place.
40: 3 Now the LORD hath brought it, and done according as he hath said: because ye have sinned against the LORD, and have not obeyed his voice, therefore this thing is come upon you.
40: 4 And now, behold, I loose thee this day from the chains which were upon thine hand.
If it seem good unto thee to come with me into Babylon, come; and I will look well unto thee: but if it seem ill unto thee to come with me into Babylon, forbear: behold, all the land is before thee: whither it seemeth good and convenient for thee to go, thither go.
So the captain of the guard gave him victuals and a reward, and let him go.
40: 6 Then went Jeremiah unto Gedaliah the son of Ahikam to Mizpah; and dwelt with him among the people that were left in the land.
40: 9 And Gedaliah the son of Ahikam the son of Shaphan sware unto them and to their men, saying, Fear not to serve the Chaldeans: dwell in the land, and serve the king of Babylon, and it shall be well with you.
40: 10 As for me, behold, I will dwell at Mizpah, to serve the Chaldeans, which will come unto us: but ye, gather ye wine, and summer fruits, and oil, and put them in your vessels, and dwell in your cities that ye have taken.
40: 13 Moreover Johanan the son of Kareah, and all the captains of the forces that were in the fields, came to Gedaliah to Mizpah, 40: 14 And said unto him, Dost thou certainly know that Baalis the king of the Ammonites hath sent Ishmael the son of Nethaniah to slay thee?
But Gedaliah the son of Ahikam believed them not.
40: 16 But Gedaliah the son of Ahikam said unto Johanan the son of Kareah, Thou shalt not do this thing: for thou speakest falsely of Ishmael.
41: 1 Now it came to pass in the seventh month, that Ishmael the son of Nethaniah the son of Elishama, of the seed royal, and the princes of the king, even ten men with him, came unto Gedaliah the son of Ahikam to Mizpah; and there they did eat bread together in Mizpah.
41: 2 Then arose Ishmael the son of Nethaniah, and the ten men that were with him, and smote Gedaliah the son of Ahikam the son of Shaphan with the sword, and slew him, whom the king of Babylon had made governor over the land.
41: 3 Ishmael also slew all the Jews that were with him, even with Gedaliah, at Mizpah, and the Chaldeans that were found there, and the men of war.
41: 6 And Ishmael the son of Nethaniah went forth from Mizpah to meet them, weeping all along as he went: and it came to pass, as he met them, he said unto them, Come to Gedaliah the son of Ahikam.
41: 7 And it was so, when they came into the midst of the city, that Ishmael the son of Nethaniah slew them, and cast them into the midst of the pit, he, and the men that were with him.
41: 8 But ten men were found among them that said unto Ishmael, Slay us not: for we have treasures in the field, of wheat, and of barley, and of oil, and of honey.
So he forbare, and slew them not among their brethren.
41: 9 Now the pit wherein Ishmael had cast all the dead bodies of the men, whom he had slain because of Gedaliah, was it which Asa the king had made for fear of Baasha king of Israel: and Ishmael the son of Nethaniah filled it with them that were slain.
41: 13 Now it came to pass, that when all the people which were with Ishmael saw Johanan the son of Kareah, and all the captains of the forces that were with him, then they were glad.
41: 14 So all the people that Ishmael had carried away captive from Mizpah cast about and returned, and went unto Johanan the son of Kareah.
41: 15 But Ishmael the son of Nethaniah escaped from Johanan with eight men, and went to the Ammonites.
42: 4 Then Jeremiah the prophet said unto them, I have heard you; behold, I will pray unto the LORD your God according to your words; and it shall come to pass, that whatsoever thing the LORD shall answer you, I will declare it unto you; I will keep nothing back from you.
42: 5 Then they said to Jeremiah, The LORD be a true and faithful witness between us, if we do not even according to all things for the which the LORD thy God shall send thee to us.
42: 6 Whether it be good, or whether it be evil, we will obey the voice of the LORD our God, to whom we send thee; that it may be well with us, when we obey the voice of the LORD our God.
42: 7 And it came to pass after ten days, that the word of the LORD came unto Jeremiah.
42: 11 Be not afraid of the king of Babylon, of whom ye are afraid; be not afraid of him, saith the LORD: for I am with you to save you, and to deliver you from his hand.
42: 12 And I will shew mercies unto you, that he may have mercy upon you, and cause you to return to your own land.
42: 17 So shall it be with all the men that set their faces to go into Egypt to sojourn there; they shall die by the sword, by the famine, and by the pestilence: and none of them shall remain or escape from the evil that I will bring upon them.
42: 19 The LORD hath said concerning you, O ye remnant of Judah; Go ye not into Egypt: know certainly that I have admonished you this day.
42: 20 For ye dissembled in your hearts, when ye sent me unto the LORD your God, saying, Pray for us unto the LORD our God; and according unto all that the LORD our God shall say, so declare unto us, and we will do it.
42: 21 And now I have this day declared it to you; but ye have not obeyed the voice of the LORD your God, nor any thing for the which he hath sent me unto you.
42: 22 Now therefore know certainly that ye shall die by the sword, by the famine, and by the pestilence, in the place whither ye desire to go and to sojourn.
43: 4 So Johanan the son of Kareah, and all the captains of the forces, and all the people, obeyed not the voice of the LORD, to dwell in the land of Judah.
43: 7 So they came into the land of Egypt: for they obeyed not the voice of the LORD: thus came they even to Tahpanhes.
43: 11 And when he cometh, he shall smite the land of Egypt, and deliver such as are for death to death; and such as are for captivity to captivity; and such as are for the sword to the sword.
43: 12 And I will kindle a fire in the houses of the gods of Egypt; and he shall burn them, and carry them away captives: and he shall array himself with the land of Egypt, as a shepherd putteth on his garment; and he shall go forth from thence in peace.
43: 13 He shall break also the images of Bethshemesh, that is in the land of Egypt; and the houses of the gods of the Egyptians shall he burn with fire.
44: 4 Howbeit I sent unto you all my servants the prophets, rising early and sending them, saying, Oh, do not this abominable thing that I hate.
44: 5 But they hearkened not, nor inclined their ear to turn from their wickedness, to burn no incense unto other gods.
44: 6 Wherefore my fury and mine anger was poured forth, and was kindled in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem; and they are wasted and desolate, as at this day.
44: 9 Have ye forgotten the wickedness of your fathers, and the wickedness of the kings of Judah, and the wickedness of their wives, and your own wickedness, and the wickedness of your wives, which they have committed in the land of Judah, and in the streets of Jerusalem?
44: 10 They are not humbled even unto this day, neither have they feared, nor walked in my law, nor in my statutes, that I set before you and before your fathers.
44: 11 Therefore thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; Behold, I will set my face against you for evil, and to cut off all Judah.
44: 18 But since we left off to burn incense to the queen of heaven, and to pour out drink offerings unto her, we have wanted all things, and have been consumed by the sword and by the famine.
44: 19 And when we burned incense to the queen of heaven, and poured out drink offerings unto her, did we make her cakes to worship her, and pour out drink offerings unto her, without our men?
44: 22 So that the LORD could no longer bear, because of the evil of your doings, and because of the abominations which ye have committed; therefore is your land a desolation, and an astonishment, and a curse, without an inhabitant, as at this day.
44: 23 Because ye have burned incense, and because ye have sinned against the LORD, and have not obeyed the voice of the LORD, nor walked in his law, nor in his statutes, nor in his testimonies; therefore this evil is happened unto you, as at this day.
44: 26 Therefore hear ye the word of the LORD, all Judah that dwell in the land of Egypt; Behold, I have sworn by my great name, saith the LORD, that my name shall no more be named in the mouth of any man of Judah in all the land of Egypt, saying, The Lord GOD liveth.
44: 27 Behold, I will watch over them for evil, and not for good: and all the men of Judah that are in the land of Egypt shall be consumed by the sword and by the famine, until there be an end of them.
44: 28 Yet a small number that escape the sword shall return out of the land of Egypt into the land of Judah, and all the remnant of Judah, that are gone into the land of Egypt to sojourn there, shall know whose words shall stand, mine, or their's.
for the LORD hath added grief to my sorrow; I fainted in my sighing, and I find no rest.
45: 4 Thus shalt thou say unto him, The LORD saith thus; Behold, that which I have built will I break down, and that which I have planted I will pluck up, even this whole land.
45: 5 And seekest thou great things for thyself?
seek them not: for, behold, I will bring evil upon all flesh, saith the LORD: but thy life will I give unto thee for a prey in all places whither thou goest.
46: 3 Order ye the buckler and shield, and draw near to battle.
46: 4 Harness the horses; and get up, ye horsemen, and stand forth with your helmets; furbish the spears, and put on the brigandines.
46: 5 Wherefore have I seen them dismayed and turned away back?
and their mighty ones are beaten down, and are fled apace, and look not back: for fear was round about, saith the LORD.
46: 6 Let not the swift flee away, nor the mighty man escape; they shall stumble, and fall toward the north by the river Euphrates.
46: 7 Who is this that cometh up as a flood, whose waters are moved as the rivers?
46: 8 Egypt riseth up like a flood, and his waters are moved like the rivers; and he saith, I will go up, and will cover the earth; I will destroy the city and the inhabitants thereof.
46: 9 Come up, ye horses; and rage, ye chariots; and let the mighty men come forth; the Ethiopians and the Libyans, that handle the shield; and the Lydians, that handle and bend the bow.
46: 11 Go up into Gilead, and take balm, O virgin, the daughter of Egypt: in vain shalt thou use many medicines; for thou shalt not be cured.
46: 12 The nations have heard of thy shame, and thy cry hath filled the land: for the mighty man hath stumbled against the mighty, and they are fallen both together.
46: 13 The word that the LORD spake to Jeremiah the prophet, how Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon should come and smite the land of Egypt.
46: 14 Declare ye in Egypt, and publish in Migdol, and publish in Noph and in Tahpanhes: say ye, Stand fast, and prepare thee; for the sword shall devour round about thee.
46: 15 Why are thy valiant men swept away?
they stood not, because the LORD did drive them.
46: 16 He made many to fall, yea, one fell upon another: and they said, Arise, and let us go again to our own people, and to the land of our nativity, from the oppressing sword.
46: 17 They did cry there, Pharaoh king of Egypt is but a noise; he hath passed the time appointed.
46: 18 As I live, saith the King, whose name is the LORD of hosts, Surely as Tabor is among the mountains, and as Carmel by the sea, so shall he come.
46: 19 O thou daughter dwelling in Egypt, furnish thyself to go into captivity: for Noph shall be waste and desolate without an inhabitant.
46: 20 Egypt is like a very fair heifer, but destruction cometh; it cometh out of the north.
46: 21 Also her hired men are in the midst of her like fatted bullocks; for they also are turned back, and are fled away together: they did not stand, because the day of their calamity was come upon them, and the time of their visitation.
46: 22 The voice thereof shall go like a serpent; for they shall march with an army, and come against her with axes, as hewers of wood.
46: 23 They shall cut down her forest, saith the LORD, though it cannot be searched; because they are more than the grasshoppers, and are innumerable.
46: 24 The daughter of Egypt shall be confounded; she shall be delivered into the hand of the people of the north.
46: 27 But fear not thou, O my servant Jacob, and be not dismayed, O Israel: for, behold, I will save thee from afar off, and thy seed from the land of their captivity; and Jacob shall return, and be in rest and at ease, and none shall make him afraid.
46: 28 Fear thou not, O Jacob my servant, saith the LORD: for I am with thee; for I will make a full end of all the nations whither I have driven thee: but I will not make a full end of thee, but correct thee in measure; yet will I not leave thee wholly unpunished.
47: 1 The word of the LORD that came to Jeremiah the prophet against the Philistines, before that Pharaoh smote Gaza.
47: 2 Thus saith the LORD; Behold, waters rise up out of the north, and shall be an overflowing flood, and shall overflow the land, and all that is therein; the city, and them that dwell therein: then the men shall cry, and all the inhabitants of the land shall howl.
47: 5 Baldness is come upon Gaza; Ashkelon is cut off with the remnant of their valley: how long wilt thou cut thyself?
47: 6 O thou sword of the LORD, how long will it be ere thou be quiet?
put up thyself into thy scabbard, rest, and be still.
47: 7 How can it be quiet, seeing the LORD hath given it a charge against Ashkelon, and against the sea shore?
there hath he appointed it.
48: 1 Against Moab thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; Woe unto Nebo!
for it is spoiled: Kiriathaim is confounded and taken: Misgab is confounded and dismayed.
48: 2 There shall be no more praise of Moab: in Heshbon they have devised evil against it; come, and let us cut it off from being a nation.
Also thou shalt be cut down, O Madmen; the sword shall pursue thee.
48: 3 A voice of crying shall be from Horonaim, spoiling and great destruction.
48: 4 Moab is destroyed; her little ones have caused a cry to be heard.
48: 5 For in the going up of Luhith continual weeping shall go up; for in the going down of Horonaim the enemies have heard a cry of destruction.
48: 6 Flee, save your lives, and be like the heath in the wilderness.
48: 7 For because thou hast trusted in thy works and in thy treasures, thou shalt also be taken: and Chemosh shall go forth into captivity with his priests and his princes together.
48: 8 And the spoiler shall come upon every city, and no city shall escape: the valley also shall perish, and the plain shall be destroyed, as the LORD hath spoken.
48: 9 Give wings unto Moab, that it may flee and get away: for the cities thereof shall be desolate, without any to dwell therein.
48: 10 Cursed be he that doeth the work of the LORD deceitfully, and cursed be he that keepeth back his sword from blood.
48: 11 Moab hath been at ease from his youth, and he hath settled on his lees, and hath not been emptied from vessel to vessel, neither hath he gone into captivity: therefore his taste remained in him, and his scent is not changed.
48: 12 Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the LORD, that I will send unto him wanderers, that shall cause him to wander, and shall empty his vessels, and break their bottles.
48: 13 And Moab shall be ashamed of Chemosh, as the house of Israel was ashamed of Bethel their confidence.
48: 14 How say ye, We are mighty and strong men for the war?
48: 15 Moab is spoiled, and gone up out of her cities, and his chosen young men are gone down to the slaughter, saith the King, whose name is the LORD of hosts.
48: 16 The calamity of Moab is near to come, and his affliction hasteth fast.
48: 17 All ye that are about him, bemoan him; and all ye that know his name, say, How is the strong staff broken, and the beautiful rod!
48: 18 Thou daughter that dost inhabit Dibon, come down from thy glory, and sit in thirst; for the spoiler of Moab shall come upon thee, and he shall destroy thy strong holds.
48: 19 O inhabitant of Aroer, stand by the way, and espy; ask him that fleeth, and her that escapeth, and say, What is done?
48: 25 The horn of Moab is cut off, and his arm is broken, saith the LORD.
48: 26 Make ye him drunken: for he magnified himself against the LORD: Moab also shall wallow in his vomit, and he also shall be in derision.
48: 27 For was not Israel a derision unto thee?
was he found among thieves?
for since thou spakest of him, thou skippedst for joy.
48: 28 O ye that dwell in Moab, leave the cities, and dwell in the rock, and be like the dove that maketh her nest in the sides of the hole's mouth.
48: 29 We have heard the pride of Moab, (he is exceeding proud) his loftiness, and his arrogancy, and his pride, and the haughtiness of his heart.
48: 30 I know his wrath, saith the LORD; but it shall not be so; his lies shall not so effect it.
48: 31 Therefore will I howl for Moab, and I will cry out for all Moab; mine heart shall mourn for the men of Kirheres.
48: 32 O vine of Sibmah, I will weep for thee with the weeping of Jazer: thy plants are gone over the sea, they reach even to the sea of Jazer: the spoiler is fallen upon thy summer fruits and upon thy vintage.
48: 33 And joy and gladness is taken from the plentiful field, and from the land of Moab, and I have caused wine to fail from the winepresses: none shall tread with shouting; their shouting shall be no shouting.
48: 34 From the cry of Heshbon even unto Elealeh, and even unto Jahaz, have they uttered their voice, from Zoar even unto Horonaim, as an heifer of three years old: for the waters also of Nimrim shall be desolate.
48: 35 Moreover I will cause to cease in Moab, saith the LORD, him that offereth in the high places, and him that burneth incense to his gods.
48: 36 Therefore mine heart shall sound for Moab like pipes, and mine heart shall sound like pipes for the men of Kirheres: because the riches that he hath gotten are perished.
48: 37 For every head shall be bald, and every beard clipped: upon all the hands shall be cuttings, and upon the loins sackcloth.
48: 38 There shall be lamentation generally upon all the housetops of Moab, and in the streets thereof: for I have broken Moab like a vessel wherein is no pleasure, saith the LORD.
48: 39 They shall howl, saying, How is it broken down!
how hath Moab turned the back with shame!
so shall Moab be a derision and a dismaying to all them about him.
48: 40 For thus saith the LORD; Behold, he shall fly as an eagle, and shall spread his wings over Moab.
48: 41 Kerioth is taken, and the strong holds are surprised, and the mighty men's hearts in Moab at that day shall be as the heart of a woman in her pangs.
48: 42 And Moab shall be destroyed from being a people, because he hath magnified himself against the LORD.
48: 43 Fear, and the pit, and the snare, shall be upon thee, O inhabitant of Moab, saith the LORD.
48: 44 He that fleeth from the fear shall fall into the pit; and he that getteth up out of the pit shall be taken in the snare: for I will bring upon it, even upon Moab, the year of their visitation, saith the LORD.
48: 45 They that fled stood under the shadow of Heshbon because of the force: but a fire shall come forth out of Heshbon, and a flame from the midst of Sihon, and shall devour the corner of Moab, and the crown of the head of the tumultuous ones.
48: 46 Woe be unto thee, O Moab!
the people of Chemosh perisheth: for thy sons are taken captives, and thy daughters captives.
48: 47 Yet will I bring again the captivity of Moab in the latter days, saith the LORD.
Thus far is the judgment of Moab.
49: 1 Concerning the Ammonites, thus saith the LORD; Hath Israel no sons?
hath he no heir?
why then doth their king inherit Gad, and his people dwell in his cities?
49: 3 Howl, O Heshbon, for Ai is spoiled: cry, ye daughters of Rabbah, gird you with sackcloth; lament, and run to and fro by the hedges; for their king shall go into captivity, and his priests and his princes together.
49: 4 Wherefore gloriest thou in the valleys, thy flowing valley, O backsliding daughter?
that trusted in her treasures, saying, Who shall come unto me?
49: 5 Behold, I will bring a fear upon thee, saith the Lord GOD of hosts, from all those that be about thee; and ye shall be driven out every man right forth; and none shall gather up him that wandereth.
49: 6 And afterward I will bring again the captivity of the children of Ammon, saith the LORD.
49: 7 Concerning Edom, thus saith the LORD of hosts; Is wisdom no more in Teman?
is counsel perished from the prudent?
is their wisdom vanished?
49: 8 Flee ye, turn back, dwell deep, O inhabitants of Dedan; for I will bring the calamity of Esau upon him, the time that I will visit him.
49: 9 If grapegatherers come to thee, would they not leave some gleaning grapes?
if thieves by night, they will destroy till they have enough.
49: 10 But I have made Esau bare, I have uncovered his secret places, and he shall not be able to hide himself: his seed is spoiled, and his brethren, and his neighbours, and he is not.
49: 11 Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me.
49: 12 For thus saith the LORD; Behold, they whose judgment was not to drink of the cup have assuredly drunken; and art thou he that shall altogether go unpunished?
thou shalt not go unpunished, but thou shalt surely drink of it.
49: 13 For I have sworn by myself, saith the LORD, that Bozrah shall become a desolation, a reproach, a waste, and a curse; and all the cities thereof shall be perpetual wastes.
49: 14 I have heard a rumour from the LORD, and an ambassador is sent unto the heathen, saying, Gather ye together, and come against her, and rise up to the battle.
49: 15 For, lo, I will make thee small among the heathen, and despised among men.
49: 16 Thy terribleness hath deceived thee, and the pride of thine heart, O thou that dwellest in the clefts of the rock, that holdest the height of the hill: though thou shouldest make thy nest as high as the eagle, I will bring thee down from thence, saith the LORD.
49: 17 Also Edom shall be a desolation: every one that goeth by it shall be astonished, and shall hiss at all the plagues thereof.
49: 18 As in the overthrow of Sodom and Gomorrah and the neighbour cities thereof, saith the LORD, no man shall abide there, neither shall a son of man dwell in it.
49: 19 Behold, he shall come up like a lion from the swelling of Jordan against the habitation of the strong: but I will suddenly make him run away from her: and who is a chosen man, that I may appoint over her?
for who is like me?
and who will appoint me the time?
and who is that shepherd that will stand before me?
49: 20 Therefore hear the counsel of the LORD, that he hath taken against Edom; and his purposes, that he hath purposed against the inhabitants of Teman: Surely the least of the flock shall draw them out: surely he shall make their habitations desolate with them.
49: 21 The earth is moved at the noise of their fall, at the cry the noise thereof was heard in the Red sea.
49: 22 Behold, he shall come up and fly as the eagle, and spread his wings over Bozrah: and at that day shall the heart of the mighty men of Edom be as the heart of a woman in her pangs.
49: 23 Concerning Damascus.
Hamath is confounded, and Arpad: for they have heard evil tidings: they are fainthearted; there is sorrow on the sea; it cannot be quiet.
49: 24 Damascus is waxed feeble, and turneth herself to flee, and fear hath seized on her: anguish and sorrows have taken her, as a woman in travail.
49: 25 How is the city of praise not left, the city of my joy!
49: 26 Therefore her young men shall fall in her streets, and all the men of war shall be cut off in that day, saith the LORD of hosts.
49: 27 And I will kindle a fire in the wall of Damascus, and it shall consume the palaces of Benhadad.
49: 28 Concerning Kedar, and concerning the kingdoms of Hazor, which Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon shall smite, thus saith the LORD; Arise ye, go up to Kedar, and spoil the men of the east.
49: 29 Their tents and their flocks shall they take away: they shall take to themselves their curtains, and all their vessels, and their camels; and they shall cry unto them, Fear is on every side.
49: 30 Flee, get you far off, dwell deep, O ye inhabitants of Hazor, saith the LORD; for Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon hath taken counsel against you, and hath conceived a purpose against you.
49: 31 Arise, get you up unto the wealthy nation, that dwelleth without care, saith the LORD, which have neither gates nor bars, which dwell alone.
49: 32 And their camels shall be a booty, and the multitude of their cattle a spoil: and I will scatter into all winds them that are in the utmost corners; and I will bring their calamity from all sides thereof, saith the LORD.
49: 33 And Hazor shall be a dwelling for dragons, and a desolation for ever: there shall no man abide there, nor any son of man dwell in it.
49: 34 The word of the LORD that came to Jeremiah the prophet against Elam in the beginning of the reign of Zedekiah king of Judah, saying, 49: 35 Thus saith the LORD of hosts; Behold, I will break the bow of Elam, the chief of their might.
49: 36 And upon Elam will I bring the four winds from the four quarters of heaven, and will scatter them toward all those winds; and there shall be no nation whither the outcasts of Elam shall not come.
49: 39 But it shall come to pass in the latter days, that I will bring again the captivity of Elam, saith the LORD.
50: 1 The word that the LORD spake against Babylon and against the land of the Chaldeans by Jeremiah the prophet.
50: 2 Declare ye among the nations, and publish, and set up a standard; publish, and conceal not: say, Babylon is taken, Bel is confounded, Merodach is broken in pieces; her idols are confounded, her images are broken in pieces.
50: 3 For out of the north there cometh up a nation against her, which shall make her land desolate, and none shall dwell therein: they shall remove, they shall depart, both man and beast.
50: 4 In those days, and in that time, saith the LORD, the children of Israel shall come, they and the children of Judah together, going and weeping: they shall go, and seek the LORD their God.
50: 5 They shall ask the way to Zion with their faces thitherward, saying, Come, and let us join ourselves to the LORD in a perpetual covenant that shall not be forgotten.
50: 6 My people hath been lost sheep: their shepherds have caused them to go astray, they have turned them away on the mountains: they have gone from mountain to hill, they have forgotten their restingplace.
50: 7 All that found them have devoured them: and their adversaries said, We offend not, because they have sinned against the LORD, the habitation of justice, even the LORD, the hope of their fathers.
50: 8 Remove out of the midst of Babylon, and go forth out of the land of the Chaldeans, and be as the he goats before the flocks.
50: 10 And Chaldea shall be a spoil: all that spoil her shall be satisfied, saith the LORD.
50: 13 Because of the wrath of the LORD it shall not be inhabited, but it shall be wholly desolate: every one that goeth by Babylon shall be astonished, and hiss at all her plagues.
50: 14 Put yourselves in array against Babylon round about: all ye that bend the bow, shoot at her, spare no arrows: for she hath sinned against the LORD.
50: 15 Shout against her round about: she hath given her hand: her foundations are fallen, her walls are thrown down: for it is the vengeance of the LORD: take vengeance upon her; as she hath done, do unto her.
50: 16 Cut off the sower from Babylon, and him that handleth the sickle in the time of harvest: for fear of the oppressing sword they shall turn every one to his people, and they shall flee every one to his own land.
50: 17 Israel is a scattered sheep; the lions have driven him away: first the king of Assyria hath devoured him; and last this Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon hath broken his bones.
50: 18 Therefore thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; Behold, I will punish the king of Babylon and his land, as I have punished the king of Assyria.
50: 19 And I will bring Israel again to his habitation, and he shall feed on Carmel and Bashan, and his soul shall be satisfied upon mount Ephraim and Gilead.
50: 20 In those days, and in that time, saith the LORD, the iniquity of Israel shall be sought for, and there shall be none; and the sins of Judah, and they shall not be found: for I will pardon them whom I reserve.
50: 21 Go up against the land of Merathaim, even against it, and against the inhabitants of Pekod: waste and utterly destroy after them, saith the LORD, and do according to all that I have commanded thee.
50: 22 A sound of battle is in the land, and of great destruction.
50: 23 How is the hammer of the whole earth cut asunder and broken!
how is Babylon become a desolation among the nations!
50: 24 I have laid a snare for thee, and thou art also taken, O Babylon, and thou wast not aware: thou art found, and also caught, because thou hast striven against the LORD.
50: 25 The LORD hath opened his armoury, and hath brought forth the weapons of his indignation: for this is the work of the Lord GOD of hosts in the land of the Chaldeans.
50: 26 Come against her from the utmost border, open her storehouses: cast her up as heaps, and destroy her utterly: let nothing of her be left.
50: 27 Slay all her bullocks; let them go down to the slaughter: woe unto them!
for their day is come, the time of their visitation.
50: 28 The voice of them that flee and escape out of the land of Babylon, to declare in Zion the vengeance of the LORD our God, the vengeance of his temple.
50: 30 Therefore shall her young men fall in the streets, and all her men of war shall be cut off in that day, saith the LORD.
50: 31 Behold, I am against thee, O thou most proud, saith the Lord GOD of hosts: for thy day is come, the time that I will visit thee.
50: 32 And the most proud shall stumble and fall, and none shall raise him up: and I will kindle a fire in his cities, and it shall devour all round about him.
50: 33 Thus saith the LORD of hosts; The children of Israel and the children of Judah were oppressed together: and all that took them captives held them fast; they refused to let them go.
50: 34 Their Redeemer is strong; the LORD of hosts is his name: he shall throughly plead their cause, that he may give rest to the land, and disquiet the inhabitants of Babylon.
50: 35 A sword is upon the Chaldeans, saith the LORD, and upon the inhabitants of Babylon, and upon her princes, and upon her wise men.
50: 36 A sword is upon the liars; and they shall dote: a sword is upon her mighty men; and they shall be dismayed.
50: 37 A sword is upon their horses, and upon their chariots, and upon all the mingled people that are in the midst of her; and they shall become as women: a sword is upon her treasures; and they shall be robbed.
50: 38 A drought is upon her waters; and they shall be dried up: for it is the land of graven images, and they are mad upon their idols.
50: 39 Therefore the wild beasts of the desert with the wild beasts of the islands shall dwell there, and the owls shall dwell therein: and it shall be no more inhabited for ever; neither shall it be dwelt in from generation to generation.
50: 40 As God overthrew Sodom and Gomorrah and the neighbour cities thereof, saith the LORD; so shall no man abide there, neither shall any son of man dwell therein.
50: 41 Behold, a people shall come from the north, and a great nation, and many kings shall be raised up from the coasts of the earth.
50: 42 They shall hold the bow and the lance: they are cruel, and will not shew mercy: their voice shall roar like the sea, and they shall ride upon horses, every one put in array, like a man to the battle, against thee, O daughter of Babylon.
50: 43 The king of Babylon hath heard the report of them, and his hands waxed feeble: anguish took hold of him, and pangs as of a woman in travail.
50: 44 Behold, he shall come up like a lion from the swelling of Jordan unto the habitation of the strong: but I will make them suddenly run away from her: and who is a chosen man, that I may appoint over her?
for who is like me?
and who will appoint me the time?
and who is that shepherd that will stand before me?
50: 45 Therefore hear ye the counsel of the LORD, that he hath taken against Babylon; and his purposes, that he hath purposed against the land of the Chaldeans: Surely the least of the flock shall draw them out: surely he shall make their habitation desolate with them.
50: 46 At the noise of the taking of Babylon the earth is moved, and the cry is heard among the nations.
51: 3 Against him that bendeth let the archer bend his bow, and against him that lifteth himself up in his brigandine: and spare ye not her young men; destroy ye utterly all her host.
51: 4 Thus the slain shall fall in the land of the Chaldeans, and they that are thrust through in her streets.
51: 5 For Israel hath not been forsaken, nor Judah of his God, of the LORD of hosts; though their land was filled with sin against the Holy One of Israel.
51: 6 Flee out of the midst of Babylon, and deliver every man his soul: be not cut off in her iniquity; for this is the time of the LORD's vengeance; he will render unto her a recompence.
51: 7 Babylon hath been a golden cup in the LORD's hand, that made all the earth drunken: the nations have drunken of her wine; therefore the nations are mad.
51: 8 Babylon is suddenly fallen and destroyed: howl for her; take balm for her pain, if so be she may be healed.
51: 9 We would have healed Babylon, but she is not healed: forsake her, and let us go every one into his own country: for her judgment reacheth unto heaven, and is lifted up even to the skies.
51: 10 The LORD hath brought forth our righteousness: come, and let us declare in Zion the work of the LORD our God.
51: 11 Make bright the arrows; gather the shields: the LORD hath raised up the spirit of the kings of the Medes: for his device is against Babylon, to destroy it; because it is the vengeance of the LORD, the vengeance of his temple.
51: 12 Set up the standard upon the walls of Babylon, make the watch strong, set up the watchmen, prepare the ambushes: for the LORD hath both devised and done that which he spake against the inhabitants of Babylon.
51: 13 O thou that dwellest upon many waters, abundant in treasures, thine end is come, and the measure of thy covetousness.
51: 14 The LORD of hosts hath sworn by himself, saying, Surely I will fill thee with men, as with caterpillers; and they shall lift up a shout against thee.
51: 15 He hath made the earth by his power, he hath established the world by his wisdom, and hath stretched out the heaven by his understanding.
51: 16 When he uttereth his voice, there is a multitude of waters in the heavens; and he causeth the vapours to ascend from the ends of the earth: he maketh lightnings with rain, and bringeth forth the wind out of his treasures.
51: 17 Every man is brutish by his knowledge; every founder is confounded by the graven image: for his molten image is falsehood, and there is no breath in them.
51: 18 They are vanity, the work of errors: in the time of their visitation they shall perish.
51: 19 The portion of Jacob is not like them; for he is the former of all things: and Israel is the rod of his inheritance: the LORD of hosts is his name.
51: 24 And I will render unto Babylon and to all the inhabitants of Chaldea all their evil that they have done in Zion in your sight, saith the LORD.
51: 25 Behold, I am against thee, O destroying mountain, saith the LORD, which destroyest all the earth: and I will stretch out mine hand upon thee, and roll thee down from the rocks, and will make thee a burnt mountain.
51: 26 And they shall not take of thee a stone for a corner, nor a stone for foundations; but thou shalt be desolate for ever, saith the LORD.
51: 27 Set ye up a standard in the land, blow the trumpet among the nations, prepare the nations against her, call together against her the kingdoms of Ararat, Minni, and Ashchenaz; appoint a captain against her; cause the horses to come up as the rough caterpillers.
51: 28 Prepare against her the nations with the kings of the Medes, the captains thereof, and all the rulers thereof, and all the land of his dominion.
51: 29 And the land shall tremble and sorrow: for every purpose of the LORD shall be performed against Babylon, to make the land of Babylon a desolation without an inhabitant.
51: 30 The mighty men of Babylon have forborn to fight, they have remained in their holds: their might hath failed; they became as women: they have burned her dwellingplaces; her bars are broken.
51: 31 One post shall run to meet another, and one messenger to meet another, to shew the king of Babylon that his city is taken at one end, 51: 32 And that the passages are stopped, and the reeds they have burned with fire, and the men of war are affrighted.
51: 33 For thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; The daughter of Babylon is like a threshingfloor, it is time to thresh her: yet a little while, and the time of her harvest shall come.
51: 34 Nebuchadrezzar the king of Babylon hath devoured me, he hath crushed me, he hath made me an empty vessel, he hath swallowed me up like a dragon, he hath filled his belly with my delicates, he hath cast me out.
51: 35 The violence done to me and to my flesh be upon Babylon, shall the inhabitant of Zion say; and my blood upon the inhabitants of Chaldea, shall Jerusalem say.
51: 36 Therefore thus saith the LORD; Behold, I will plead thy cause, and take vengeance for thee; and I will dry up her sea, and make her springs dry.
51: 37 And Babylon shall become heaps, a dwellingplace for dragons, an astonishment, and an hissing, without an inhabitant.
51: 38 They shall roar together like lions: they shall yell as lions'whelps.
51: 39 In their heat I will make their feasts, and I will make them drunken, that they may rejoice, and sleep a perpetual sleep, and not wake, saith the LORD.
51: 40 I will bring them down like lambs to the slaughter, like rams with he goats.
51: 41 How is Sheshach taken!
and how is the praise of the whole earth surprised!
how is Babylon become an astonishment among the nations!
51: 42 The sea is come up upon Babylon: she is covered with the multitude of the waves thereof.
51: 43 Her cities are a desolation, a dry land, and a wilderness, a land wherein no man dwelleth, neither doth any son of man pass thereby.
51: 44 And I will punish Bel in Babylon, and I will bring forth out of his mouth that which he hath swallowed up: and the nations shall not flow together any more unto him: yea, the wall of Babylon shall fall.
51: 45 My people, go ye out of the midst of her, and deliver ye every man his soul from the fierce anger of the LORD.
51: 46 And lest your heart faint, and ye fear for the rumour that shall be heard in the land; a rumour shall both come one year, and after that in another year shall come a rumour, and violence in the land, ruler against ruler.
51: 47 Therefore, behold, the days come, that I will do judgment upon the graven images of Babylon: and her whole land shall be confounded, and all her slain shall fall in the midst of her.
51: 48 Then the heaven and the earth, and all that is therein, shall sing for Babylon: for the spoilers shall come unto her from the north, saith the LORD.
51: 49 As Babylon hath caused the slain of Israel to fall, so at Babylon shall fall the slain of all the earth.
51: 50 Ye that have escaped the sword, go away, stand not still: remember the LORD afar off, and let Jerusalem come into your mind.
51: 51 We are confounded, because we have heard reproach: shame hath covered our faces: for strangers are come into the sanctuaries of the LORD's house.
51: 52 Wherefore, behold, the days come, saith the LORD, that I will do judgment upon her graven images: and through all her land the wounded shall groan.
51: 53 Though Babylon should mount up to heaven, and though she should fortify the height of her strength, yet from me shall spoilers come unto her, saith the LORD.
51: 57 And I will make drunk her princes, and her wise men, her captains, and her rulers, and her mighty men: and they shall sleep a perpetual sleep, and not wake, saith the King, whose name is the LORD of hosts.
51: 58 Thus saith the LORD of hosts; The broad walls of Babylon shall be utterly broken, and her high gates shall be burned with fire; and the people shall labour in vain, and the folk in the fire, and they shall be weary.
51: 59 The word which Jeremiah the prophet commanded Seraiah the son of Neriah, the son of Maaseiah, when he went with Zedekiah the king of Judah into Babylon in the fourth year of his reign.
And this Seraiah was a quiet prince.
51: 60 So Jeremiah wrote in a book all the evil that should come upon Babylon, even all these words that are written against Babylon.
Thus far are the words of Jeremiah.
52: 1 Zedekiah was one and twenty years old when he began to reign, and he reigned eleven years in Jerusalem.
And his mother's name was Hamutal the daughter of Jeremiah of Libnah.
52: 2 And he did that which was evil in the eyes of the LORD, according to all that Jehoiakim had done.
52: 3 For through the anger of the LORD it came to pass in Jerusalem and Judah, till he had cast them out from his presence, that Zedekiah rebelled against the king of Babylon.
52: 4 And it came to pass in the ninth year of his reign, in the tenth month, in the tenth day of the month, that Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon came, he and all his army, against Jerusalem, and pitched against it, and built forts against it round about.
52: 5 So the city was besieged unto the eleventh year of king Zedekiah.
52: 6 And in the fourth month, in the ninth day of the month, the famine was sore in the city, so that there was no bread for the people of the land.
52: 7 Then the city was broken up, and all the men of war fled, and went forth out of the city by night by the way of the gate between the two walls, which was by the king's garden; (now the Chaldeans were by the city round about:) and they went by the way of the plain.
52: 8 But the army of the Chaldeans pursued after the king, and overtook Zedekiah in the plains of Jericho; and all his army was scattered from him.
52: 9 Then they took the king, and carried him up unto the king of Babylon to Riblah in the land of Hamath; where he gave judgment upon him.
52: 10 And the king of Babylon slew the sons of Zedekiah before his eyes: he slew also all the princes of Judah in Riblah.
52: 11 Then he put out the eyes of Zedekiah; and the king of Babylon bound him in chains, and carried him to Babylon, and put him in prison till the day of his death.
52: 15 Then Nebuzaradan the captain of the guard carried away captive certain of the poor of the people, and the residue of the people that remained in the city, and those that fell away, that fell to the king of Babylon, and the rest of the multitude.
52: 16 But Nebuzaradan the captain of the guard left certain of the poor of the land for vinedressers and for husbandmen.
52: 17 Also the pillars of brass that were in the house of the LORD, and the bases, and the brasen sea that was in the house of the LORD, the Chaldeans brake, and carried all the brass of them to Babylon.
52: 18 The caldrons also, and the shovels, and the snuffers, and the bowls, and the spoons, and all the vessels of brass wherewith they ministered, took they away.
52: 19 And the basons, and the firepans, and the bowls, and the caldrons, and the candlesticks, and the spoons, and the cups; that which was of gold in gold, and that which was of silver in silver, took the captain of the guard away.
52: 20 The two pillars, one sea, and twelve brasen bulls that were under the bases, which king Solomon had made in the house of the LORD: the brass of all these vessels was without weight.
52: 21 And concerning the pillars, the height of one pillar was eighteen cubits; and a fillet of twelve cubits did compass it; and the thickness thereof was four fingers: it was hollow.
52: 22 And a chapiter of brass was upon it; and the height of one chapiter was five cubits, with network and pomegranates upon the chapiters round about, all of brass.
The second pillar also and the pomegranates were like unto these.
52: 23 And there were ninety and six pomegranates on a side; and all the pomegranates upon the network were an hundred round about.
52: 26 So Nebuzaradan the captain of the guard took them, and brought them to the king of Babylon to Riblah.
52: 27 And the king of Babylon smote them, and put them to death in Riblah in the land of Hamath.
Thus Judah was carried away captive out of his own land.
52: 32 And spake kindly unto him, and set his throne above the throne of the kings that were with him in Babylon, 52: 33 And changed his prison garments: and he did continually eat bread before him all the days of his life.
52: 34 And for his diet, there was a continual diet given him of the king of Babylon, every day a portion until the day of his death, all the days of his life.
The Lamentations of Jeremiah
1: 1 How doth the city sit solitary, that was full of people!
how is she become as a widow!
she that was great among the nations, and princess among the provinces, how is she become tributary!
1: 2 She weepeth sore in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks: among all her lovers she hath none to comfort her: all her friends have dealt treacherously with her, they are become her enemies.
1: 3 Judah is gone into captivity because of affliction, and because of great servitude: she dwelleth among the heathen, she findeth no rest: all her persecutors overtook her between the straits.
1: 4 The ways of Zion do mourn, because none come to the solemn feasts: all her gates are desolate: her priests sigh, her virgins are afflicted, and she is in bitterness.
1: 5 Her adversaries are the chief, her enemies prosper; for the LORD hath afflicted her for the multitude of her transgressions: her children are gone into captivity before the enemy.
1: 6 And from the daughter of Zion all her beauty is departed: her princes are become like harts that find no pasture, and they are gone without strength before the pursuer.
1: 7 Jerusalem remembered in the days of her affliction and of her miseries all her pleasant things that she had in the days of old, when her people fell into the hand of the enemy, and none did help her: the adversaries saw her, and did mock at her sabbaths.
1: 8 Jerusalem hath grievously sinned; therefore she is removed: all that honoured her despise her, because they have seen her nakedness: yea, she sigheth, and turneth backward.
1: 9 Her filthiness is in her skirts; she remembereth not her last end; therefore she came down wonderfully: she had no comforter.
O LORD, behold my affliction: for the enemy hath magnified himself.
1: 10 The adversary hath spread out his hand upon all her pleasant things: for she hath seen that the heathen entered into her sanctuary, whom thou didst command that they should not enter into thy congregation.
1: 11 All her people sigh, they seek bread; they have given their pleasant things for meat to relieve the soul: see, O LORD, and consider; for I am become vile.
1: 12 Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by?
behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow, which is done unto me, wherewith the LORD hath afflicted me in the day of his fierce anger.
1: 13 From above hath he sent fire into my bones, and it prevaileth against them: he hath spread a net for my feet, he hath turned me back: he hath made me desolate and faint all the day.
1: 14 The yoke of my transgressions is bound by his hand: they are wreathed, and come up upon my neck: he hath made my strength to fall, the LORD hath delivered me into their hands, from whom I am not able to rise up.
1: 15 The LORD hath trodden under foot all my mighty men in the midst of me: he hath called an assembly against me to crush my young men: the LORD hath trodden the virgin, the daughter of Judah, as in a winepress.
1: 16 For these things I weep; mine eye, mine eye runneth down with water, because the comforter that should relieve my soul is far from me: my children are desolate, because the enemy prevailed.
1: 17 Zion spreadeth forth her hands, and there is none to comfort her: the LORD hath commanded concerning Jacob, that his adversaries should be round about him: Jerusalem is as a menstruous woman among them.
1: 18 The LORD is righteous; for I have rebelled against his commandment: hear, I pray you, all people, and behold my sorrow: my virgins and my young men are gone into captivity.
1: 19 I called for my lovers, but they deceived me: my priests and mine elders gave up the ghost in the city, while they sought their meat to relieve their souls.
1: 20 Behold, O LORD; for I am in distress: my bowels are troubled; mine heart is turned within me; for I have grievously rebelled: abroad the sword bereaveth, at home there is as death.
1: 21 They have heard that I sigh: there is none to comfort me: all mine enemies have heard of my trouble; they are glad that thou hast done it: thou wilt bring the day that thou hast called, and they shall be like unto me.
1: 22 Let all their wickedness come before thee; and do unto them, as thou hast done unto me for all my transgressions: for my sighs are many, and my heart is faint.
2: 1 How hath the LORD covered the daughter of Zion with a cloud in his anger, and cast down from heaven unto the earth the beauty of Israel, and remembered not his footstool in the day of his anger!
2: 2 The LORD hath swallowed up all the habitations of Jacob, and hath not pitied: he hath thrown down in his wrath the strong holds of the daughter of Judah; he hath brought them down to the ground: he hath polluted the kingdom and the princes thereof.
2: 3 He hath cut off in his fierce anger all the horn of Israel: he hath drawn back his right hand from before the enemy, and he burned against Jacob like a flaming fire, which devoureth round about.
2: 4 He hath bent his bow like an enemy: he stood with his right hand as an adversary, and slew all that were pleasant to the eye in the tabernacle of the daughter of Zion: he poured out his fury like fire.
2: 5 The LORD was as an enemy: he hath swallowed up Israel, he hath swallowed up all her palaces: he hath destroyed his strong holds, and hath increased in the daughter of Judah mourning and lamentation.
2: 7 The LORD hath cast off his altar, he hath abhorred his sanctuary, he hath given up into the hand of the enemy the walls of her palaces; they have made a noise in the house of the LORD, as in the day of a solemn feast.
2: 8 The LORD hath purposed to destroy the wall of the daughter of Zion: he hath stretched out a line, he hath not withdrawn his hand from destroying: therefore he made the rampart and the wall to lament; they languished together.
2: 9 Her gates are sunk into the ground; he hath destroyed and broken her bars: her king and her princes are among the Gentiles: the law is no more; her prophets also find no vision from the LORD.
2: 10 The elders of the daughter of Zion sit upon the ground, and keep silence: they have cast up dust upon their heads; they have girded themselves with sackcloth: the virgins of Jerusalem hang down their heads to the ground.
2: 11 Mine eyes do fail with tears, my bowels are troubled, my liver is poured upon the earth, for the destruction of the daughter of my people; because the children and the sucklings swoon in the streets of the city.
2: 12 They say to their mothers, Where is corn and wine?
when they swooned as the wounded in the streets of the city, when their soul was poured out into their mothers'bosom.
2: 13 What thing shall I take to witness for thee?
what thing shall I liken to thee, O daughter of Jerusalem?
what shall I equal to thee, that I may comfort thee, O virgin daughter of Zion?
for thy breach is great like the sea: who can heal thee?
2: 14 Thy prophets have seen vain and foolish things for thee: and they have not discovered thine iniquity, to turn away thy captivity; but have seen for thee false burdens and causes of banishment.
2: 15 All that pass by clap their hands at thee; they hiss and wag their head at the daughter of Jerusalem, saying, Is this the city that men call The perfection of beauty, The joy of the whole earth?
2: 16 All thine enemies have opened their mouth against thee: they hiss and gnash the teeth: they say, We have swallowed her up: certainly this is the day that we looked for; we have found, we have seen it.
2: 17 The LORD hath done that which he had devised; he hath fulfilled his word that he had commanded in the days of old: he hath thrown down, and hath not pitied: and he hath caused thine enemy to rejoice over thee, he hath set up the horn of thine adversaries.
2: 18 Their heart cried unto the LORD, O wall of the daughter of Zion, let tears run down like a river day and night: give thyself no rest; let not the apple of thine eye cease.
2: 19 Arise, cry out in the night: in the beginning of the watches pour out thine heart like water before the face of the LORD: lift up thy hands toward him for the life of thy young children, that faint for hunger in the top of every street.
2: 20 Behold, O LORD, and consider to whom thou hast done this.
Shall the women eat their fruit, and children of a span long?
shall the priest and the prophet be slain in the sanctuary of the Lord?
2: 21 The young and the old lie on the ground in the streets: my virgins and my young men are fallen by the sword; thou hast slain them in the day of thine anger; thou hast killed, and not pitied.
2: 22 Thou hast called as in a solemn day my terrors round about, so that in the day of the LORD's anger none escaped nor remained: those that I have swaddled and brought up hath mine enemy consumed.
3: 1 I AM the man that hath seen affliction by the rod of his wrath.
3: 2 He hath led me, and brought me into darkness, but not into light.
3: 3 Surely against me is he turned; he turneth his hand against me all the day.
3: 4 My flesh and my skin hath he made old; he hath broken my bones.
3: 5 He hath builded against me, and compassed me with gall and travail.
3: 6 He hath set me in dark places, as they that be dead of old.
3: 7 He hath hedged me about, that I cannot get out: he hath made my chain heavy.
3: 8 Also when I cry and shout, he shutteth out my prayer.
3: 9 He hath inclosed my ways with hewn stone, he hath made my paths crooked.
3: 10 He was unto me as a bear lying in wait, and as a lion in secret places.
3: 11 He hath turned aside my ways, and pulled me in pieces: he hath made me desolate.
3: 12 He hath bent his bow, and set me as a mark for the arrow.
3: 13 He hath caused the arrows of his quiver to enter into my reins.
3: 14 I was a derision to all my people; and their song all the day.
3: 15 He hath filled me with bitterness, he hath made me drunken with wormwood.
3: 16 He hath also broken my teeth with gravel stones, he hath covered me with ashes.
3: 17 And thou hast removed my soul far off from peace: I forgat prosperity.
3: 18 And I said, My strength and my hope is perished from the LORD: 3: 19 Remembering mine affliction and my misery, the wormwood and the gall.
3: 20 My soul hath them still in remembrance, and is humbled in me.
3: 21 This I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope.
3: 22 It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.
3: 23 They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.
3: 24 The LORD is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him.
3: 25 The LORD is good unto them that wait for him, to the soul that seeketh him.
3: 26 It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the LORD.
3: 27 It is good for a man that he bear the yoke of his youth.
3: 28 He sitteth alone and keepeth silence, because he hath borne it upon him.
3: 29 He putteth his mouth in the dust; if so be there may be hope.
3: 30 He giveth his cheek to him that smiteth him: he is filled full with reproach.
3: 31 For the LORD will not cast off for ever: 3: 32 But though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies.
3: 33 For he doth not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men.
3: 34 To crush under his feet all the prisoners of the earth.
3: 35 To turn aside the right of a man before the face of the most High, 3: 36 To subvert a man in his cause, the LORD approveth not.
3: 37 Who is he that saith, and it cometh to pass, when the Lord commandeth it not?
3: 38 Out of the mouth of the most High proceedeth not evil and good?
3: 39 Wherefore doth a living man complain, a man for the punishment of his sins?
3: 40 Let us search and try our ways, and turn again to the LORD.
3: 41 Let us lift up our heart with our hands unto God in the heavens.
3: 42 We have transgressed and have rebelled: thou hast not pardoned.
3: 43 Thou hast covered with anger, and persecuted us: thou hast slain, thou hast not pitied.
3: 44 Thou hast covered thyself with a cloud, that our prayer should not pass through.
3: 45 Thou hast made us as the offscouring and refuse in the midst of the people.
3: 46 All our enemies have opened their mouths against us.
3: 47 Fear and a snare is come upon us, desolation and destruction.
3: 48 Mine eye runneth down with rivers of water for the destruction of the daughter of my people.
3: 49 Mine eye trickleth down, and ceaseth not, without any intermission.
3: 50 Till the LORD look down, and behold from heaven.
3: 51 Mine eye affecteth mine heart because of all the daughters of my city.
3: 52 Mine enemies chased me sore, like a bird, without cause.
3: 53 They have cut off my life in the dungeon, and cast a stone upon me.
3: 54 Waters flowed over mine head; then I said, I am cut off.
3: 55 I called upon thy name, O LORD, out of the low dungeon.
3: 56 Thou hast heard my voice: hide not thine ear at my breathing, at my cry.
3: 57 Thou drewest near in the day that I called upon thee: thou saidst, Fear not.
3: 58 O LORD, thou hast pleaded the causes of my soul; thou hast redeemed my life.
3: 59 O LORD, thou hast seen my wrong: judge thou my cause.
3: 60 Thou hast seen all their vengeance and all their imaginations against me.
3: 61 Thou hast heard their reproach, O LORD, and all their imaginations against me; 3: 62 The lips of those that rose up against me, and their device against me all the day.
3: 63 Behold their sitting down, and their rising up; I am their musick.
3: 64 Render unto them a recompence, O LORD, according to the work of their hands.
3: 65 Give them sorrow of heart, thy curse unto them.
3: 66 Persecute and destroy them in anger from under the heavens of the LORD.
4: 1 How is the gold become dim!
how is the most fine gold changed!
the stones of the sanctuary are poured out in the top of every street.
4: 2 The precious sons of Zion, comparable to fine gold, how are they esteemed as earthen pitchers, the work of the hands of the potter!
4: 3 Even the sea monsters draw out the breast, they give suck to their young ones: the daughter of my people is become cruel, like the ostriches in the wilderness.
4: 4 The tongue of the sucking child cleaveth to the roof of his mouth for thirst: the young children ask bread, and no man breaketh it unto them.
4: 5 They that did feed delicately are desolate in the streets: they that were brought up in scarlet embrace dunghills.
4: 6 For the punishment of the iniquity of the daughter of my people is greater than the punishment of the sin of Sodom, that was overthrown as in a moment, and no hands stayed on her.
4: 9 They that be slain with the sword are better than they that be slain with hunger: for these pine away, stricken through for want of the fruits of the field.
4: 10 The hands of the pitiful women have sodden their own children: they were their meat in the destruction of the daughter of my people.
4: 11 The LORD hath accomplished his fury; he hath poured out his fierce anger, and hath kindled a fire in Zion, and it hath devoured the foundations thereof.
4: 12 The kings of the earth, and all the inhabitants of the world, would not have believed that the adversary and the enemy should have entered into the gates of Jerusalem.
4: 13 For the sins of her prophets, and the iniquities of her priests, that have shed the blood of the just in the midst of her, 4: 14 They have wandered as blind men in the streets, they have polluted themselves with blood, so that men could not touch their garments.
4: 15 They cried unto them, Depart ye; it is unclean; depart, depart, touch not: when they fled away and wandered, they said among the heathen, They shall no more sojourn there.
4: 16 The anger of the LORD hath divided them; he will no more regard them: they respected not the persons of the priests, they favoured not the elders.
4: 17 As for us, our eyes as yet failed for our vain help: in our watching we have watched for a nation that could not save us.
4: 18 They hunt our steps, that we cannot go in our streets: our end is near, our days are fulfilled; for our end is come.
4: 19 Our persecutors are swifter than the eagles of the heaven: they pursued us upon the mountains, they laid wait for us in the wilderness.
4: 20 The breath of our nostrils, the anointed of the LORD, was taken in their pits, of whom we said, Under his shadow we shall live among the heathen.
4: 21 Rejoice and be glad, O daughter of Edom, that dwellest in the land of Uz; the cup also shall pass through unto thee: thou shalt be drunken, and shalt make thyself naked.
4: 22 The punishment of thine iniquity is accomplished, O daughter of Zion; he will no more carry thee away into captivity: he will visit thine iniquity, O daughter of Edom; he will discover thy sins.
5: 1 Remember, O LORD, what is come upon us: consider, and behold our reproach.
5: 2 Our inheritance is turned to strangers, our houses to aliens.
5: 3 We are orphans and fatherless, our mothers are as widows.
5: 4 We have drunken our water for money; our wood is sold unto us.
5: 5 Our necks are under persecution: we labour, and have no rest.
5: 6 We have given the hand to the Egyptians, and to the Assyrians, to be satisfied with bread.
5: 7 Our fathers have sinned, and are not; and we have borne their iniquities.
5: 8 Servants have ruled over us: there is none that doth deliver us out of their hand.
5: 9 We gat our bread with the peril of our lives because of the sword of the wilderness.
5: 10 Our skin was black like an oven because of the terrible famine.
5: 11 They ravished the women in Zion, and the maids in the cities of Judah.
5: 12 Princes are hanged up by their hand: the faces of elders were not honoured.
5: 13 They took the young men to grind, and the children fell under the wood.
5: 14 The elders have ceased from the gate, the young men from their musick.
5: 15 The joy of our heart is ceased; our dance is turned into mourning.
5: 16 The crown is fallen from our head: woe unto us, that we have sinned!
5: 17 For this our heart is faint; for these things our eyes are dim.
5: 18 Because of the mountain of Zion, which is desolate, the foxes walk upon it.
5: 19 Thou, O LORD, remainest for ever; thy throne from generation to generation.
5: 20 Wherefore dost thou forget us for ever, and forsake us so long time?
5: 21 Turn thou us unto thee, O LORD, and we shall be turned; renew our days as of old.
5: 22 But thou hast utterly rejected us; thou art very wroth against us.
The Book of the Prophet Ezekiel
1: 1 Now it came to pass in the thirtieth year, in the fourth month, in the fifth day of the month, as I was among the captives by the river of Chebar, that the heavens were opened, and I saw visions of God.
1: 2 In the fifth day of the month, which was the fifth year of king Jehoiachin's captivity, 1: 3 The word of the LORD came expressly unto Ezekiel the priest, the son of Buzi, in the land of the Chaldeans by the river Chebar; and the hand of the LORD was there upon him.
1: 4 And I looked, and, behold, a whirlwind came out of the north, a great cloud, and a fire infolding itself, and a brightness was about it, and out of the midst thereof as the colour of amber, out of the midst of the fire.
1: 5 Also out of the midst thereof came the likeness of four living creatures.
And this was their appearance; they had the likeness of a man.
1: 6 And every one had four faces, and every one had four wings.
1: 7 And their feet were straight feet; and the sole of their feet was like the sole of a calf's foot: and they sparkled like the colour of burnished brass.
1: 8 And they had the hands of a man under their wings on their four sides; and they four had their faces and their wings.
1: 9 Their wings were joined one to another; they turned not when they went; they went every one straight forward.
1: 10 As for the likeness of their faces, they four had the face of a man, and the face of a lion, on the right side: and they four had the face of an ox on the left side; they four also had the face of an eagle.
1: 11 Thus were their faces: and their wings were stretched upward; two wings of every one were joined one to another, and two covered their bodies.
1: 12 And they went every one straight forward: whither the spirit was to go, they went; and they turned not when they went.
1: 13 As for the likeness of the living creatures, their appearance was like burning coals of fire, and like the appearance of lamps: it went up and down among the living creatures; and the fire was bright, and out of the fire went forth lightning.
1: 14 And the living creatures ran and returned as the appearance of a flash of lightning.
1: 15 Now as I beheld the living creatures, behold one wheel upon the earth by the living creatures, with his four faces.
1: 16 The appearance of the wheels and their work was like unto the colour of a beryl: and they four had one likeness: and their appearance and their work was as it were a wheel in the middle of a wheel.
1: 17 When they went, they went upon their four sides: and they turned not when they went.
1: 18 As for their rings, they were so high that they were dreadful; and their rings were full of eyes round about them four.
1: 19 And when the living creatures went, the wheels went by them: and when the living creatures were lifted up from the earth, the wheels were lifted up.
1: 20 Whithersoever the spirit was to go, they went, thither was their spirit to go; and the wheels were lifted up over against them: for the spirit of the living creature was in the wheels.
1: 21 When those went, these went; and when those stood, these stood; and when those were lifted up from the earth, the wheels were lifted up over against them: for the spirit of the living creature was in the wheels.
1: 22 And the likeness of the firmament upon the heads of the living creature was as the colour of the terrible crystal, stretched forth over their heads above.
1: 23 And under the firmament were their wings straight, the one toward the other: every one had two, which covered on this side, and every one had two, which covered on that side, their bodies.
1: 24 And when they went, I heard the noise of their wings, like the noise of great waters, as the voice of the Almighty, the voice of speech, as the noise of an host: when they stood, they let down their wings.
1: 25 And there was a voice from the firmament that was over their heads, when they stood, and had let down their wings.
1: 26 And above the firmament that was over their heads was the likeness of a throne, as the appearance of a sapphire stone: and upon the likeness of the throne was the likeness as the appearance of a man above upon it.
1: 27 And I saw as the colour of amber, as the appearance of fire round about within it, from the appearance of his loins even upward, and from the appearance of his loins even downward, I saw as it were the appearance of fire, and it had brightness round about.
1: 28 As the appearance of the bow that is in the cloud in the day of rain, so was the appearance of the brightness round about.
This was the appearance of the likeness of the glory of the LORD.
And when I saw it, I fell upon my face, and I heard a voice of one that spake.
2: 1 And he said unto me, Son of man, stand upon thy feet, and I will speak unto thee.
2: 2 And the spirit entered into me when he spake unto me, and set me upon my feet, that I heard him that spake unto me.
2: 3 And he said unto me, Son of man, I send thee to the children of Israel, to a rebellious nation that hath rebelled against me: they and their fathers have transgressed against me, even unto this very day.
2: 4 For they are impudent children and stiffhearted.
I do send thee unto them; and thou shalt say unto them, Thus saith the Lord GOD.
2: 5 And they, whether they will hear, or whether they will forbear, (for they are a rebellious house,) yet shall know that there hath been a prophet among them.
2: 6 And thou, son of man, be not afraid of them, neither be afraid of their words, though briers and thorns be with thee, and thou dost dwell among scorpions: be not afraid of their words, nor be dismayed at their looks, though they be a rebellious house.
2: 7 And thou shalt speak my words unto them, whether they will hear, or whether they will forbear: for they are most rebellious.
2: 8 But thou, son of man, hear what I say unto thee; Be not thou rebellious like that rebellious house: open thy mouth, and eat that I give thee.
2: 9 And when I looked, behold, an hand was sent unto me; and, lo, a roll of a book was therein; 2: 10 And he spread it before me; and it was written within and without: and there was written therein lamentations, and mourning, and woe.
3: 1 Moreover he said unto me, Son of man, eat that thou findest; eat this roll, and go speak unto the house of Israel.
3: 2 So I opened my mouth, and he caused me to eat that roll.
3: 3 And he said unto me, Son of man, cause thy belly to eat, and fill thy bowels with this roll that I give thee.
Then did I eat it; and it was in my mouth as honey for sweetness.
3: 4 And he said unto me, Son of man, go, get thee unto the house of Israel, and speak with my words unto them.
3: 5 For thou art not sent to a people of a strange speech and of an hard language, but to the house of Israel; 3: 6 Not to many people of a strange speech and of an hard language, whose words thou canst not understand.
Surely, had I sent thee to them, they would have hearkened unto thee.
3: 7 But the house of Israel will not hearken unto thee; for they will not hearken unto me: for all the house of Israel are impudent and hardhearted.
3: 8 Behold, I have made thy face strong against their faces, and thy forehead strong against their foreheads.
3: 9 As an adamant harder than flint have I made thy forehead: fear them not, neither be dismayed at their looks, though they be a rebellious house.
3: 10 Moreover he said unto me, Son of man, all my words that I shall speak unto thee receive in thine heart, and hear with thine ears.
3: 11 And go, get thee to them of the captivity, unto the children of thy people, and speak unto them, and tell them, Thus saith the Lord GOD; whether they will hear, or whether they will forbear.
3: 12 Then the spirit took me up, and I heard behind me a voice of a great rushing, saying, Blessed be the glory of the LORD from his place.
3: 13 I heard also the noise of the wings of the living creatures that touched one another, and the noise of the wheels over against them, and a noise of a great rushing.
3: 14 So the spirit lifted me up, and took me away, and I went in bitterness, in the heat of my spirit; but the hand of the LORD was strong upon me.
3: 15 Then I came to them of the captivity at Telabib, that dwelt by the river of Chebar, and I sat where they sat, and remained there astonished among them seven days.
3: 16 And it came to pass at the end of seven days, that the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 3: 17 Son of man, I have made thee a watchman unto the house of Israel: therefore hear the word at my mouth, and give them warning from me.
3: 18 When I say unto the wicked, Thou shalt surely die; and thou givest him not warning, nor speakest to warn the wicked from his wicked way, to save his life; the same wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at thine hand.
3: 19 Yet if thou warn the wicked, and he turn not from his wickedness, nor from his wicked way, he shall die in his iniquity; but thou hast delivered thy soul.
3: 21 Nevertheless if thou warn the righteous man, that the righteous sin not, and he doth not sin, he shall surely live, because he is warned; also thou hast delivered thy soul.
3: 22 And the hand of the LORD was there upon me; and he said unto me, Arise, go forth into the plain, and I will there talk with thee.
3: 23 Then I arose, and went forth into the plain: and, behold, the glory of the LORD stood there, as the glory which I saw by the river of Chebar: and I fell on my face.
3: 24 Then the spirit entered into me, and set me upon my feet, and spake with me, and said unto me, Go, shut thyself within thine house.
3: 27 But when I speak with thee, I will open thy mouth, and thou shalt say unto them, Thus saith the Lord GOD; He that heareth, let him hear; and he that forbeareth, let him forbear: for they are a rebellious house.
4: 3 Moreover take thou unto thee an iron pan, and set it for a wall of iron between thee and the city: and set thy face against it, and it shall be besieged, and thou shalt lay siege against it.
This shall be a sign to the house of Israel.
4: 4 Lie thou also upon thy left side, and lay the iniquity of the house of Israel upon it: according to the number of the days that thou shalt lie upon it thou shalt bear their iniquity.
4: 5 For I have laid upon thee the years of their iniquity, according to the number of the days, three hundred and ninety days: so shalt thou bear the iniquity of the house of Israel.
4: 6 And when thou hast accomplished them, lie again on thy right side, and thou shalt bear the iniquity of the house of Judah forty days: I have appointed thee each day for a year.
4: 7 Therefore thou shalt set thy face toward the siege of Jerusalem, and thine arm shall be uncovered, and thou shalt prophesy against it.
4: 8 And, behold, I will lay bands upon thee, and thou shalt not turn thee from one side to another, till thou hast ended the days of thy siege.
4: 10 And thy meat which thou shalt eat shall be by weight, twenty shekels a day: from time to time shalt thou eat it.
4: 11 Thou shalt drink also water by measure, the sixth part of an hin: from time to time shalt thou drink.
4: 12 And thou shalt eat it as barley cakes, and thou shalt bake it with dung that cometh out of man, in their sight.
4: 13 And the LORD said, Even thus shall the children of Israel eat their defiled bread among the Gentiles, whither I will drive them.
4: 14 Then said I, Ah Lord GOD!
behold, my soul hath not been polluted: for from my youth up even till now have I not eaten of that which dieth of itself, or is torn in pieces; neither came there abominable flesh into my mouth.
4: 15 Then he said unto me, Lo, I have given thee cow's dung for man's dung, and thou shalt prepare thy bread therewith.
5: 1 And thou, son of man, take thee a sharp knife, take thee a barber's razor, and cause it to pass upon thine head and upon thy beard: then take thee balances to weigh, and divide the hair.
5: 2 Thou shalt burn with fire a third part in the midst of the city, when the days of the siege are fulfilled: and thou shalt take a third part, and smite about it with a knife: and a third part thou shalt scatter in the wind; and I will draw out a sword after them.
5: 3 Thou shalt also take thereof a few in number, and bind them in thy skirts.
5: 4 Then take of them again, and cast them into the midst of the fire, and burn them in the fire; for thereof shall a fire come forth into all the house of Israel.
5: 5 Thus saith the Lord GOD; This is Jerusalem: I have set it in the midst of the nations and countries that are round about her.
5: 6 And she hath changed my judgments into wickedness more than the nations, and my statutes more than the countries that are round about her: for they have refused my judgments and my statutes, they have not walked in them.
5: 9 And I will do in thee that which I have not done, and whereunto I will not do any more the like, because of all thine abominations.
5: 10 Therefore the fathers shall eat the sons in the midst of thee, and the sons shall eat their fathers; and I will execute judgments in thee, and the whole remnant of thee will I scatter into all the winds.
5: 11 Wherefore, as I live, saith the Lord GOD; Surely, because thou hast defiled my sanctuary with all thy detestable things, and with all thine abominations, therefore will I also diminish thee; neither shall mine eye spare, neither will I have any pity.
5: 12 A third part of thee shall die with the pestilence, and with famine shall they be consumed in the midst of thee: and a third part shall fall by the sword round about thee; and I will scatter a third part into all the winds, and I will draw out a sword after them.
5: 13 Thus shall mine anger be accomplished, and I will cause my fury to rest upon them, and I will be comforted: and they shall know that I the LORD have spoken it in my zeal, when I have accomplished my fury in them.
5: 14 Moreover I will make thee waste, and a reproach among the nations that are round about thee, in the sight of all that pass by.
5: 15 So it shall be a reproach and a taunt, an instruction and an astonishment unto the nations that are round about thee, when I shall execute judgments in thee in anger and in fury and in furious rebukes.
I the LORD have spoken it.
I the LORD have spoken it.
6: 4 And your altars shall be desolate, and your images shall be broken: and I will cast down your slain men before your idols.
6: 5 And I will lay the dead carcases of the children of Israel before their idols; and I will scatter your bones round about your altars.
6: 6 In all your dwellingplaces the cities shall be laid waste, and the high places shall be desolate; that your altars may be laid waste and made desolate, and your idols may be broken and cease, and your images may be cut down, and your works may be abolished.
6: 7 And the slain shall fall in the midst of you, and ye shall know that I am the LORD.
6: 8 Yet will I leave a remnant, that ye may have some that shall escape the sword among the nations, when ye shall be scattered through the countries.
6: 10 And they shall know that I am the LORD, and that I have not said in vain that I would do this evil unto them.
6: 11 Thus saith the Lord GOD; Smite with thine hand, and stamp with thy foot, and say, Alas for all the evil abominations of the house of Israel!
for they shall fall by the sword, by the famine, and by the pestilence.
6: 12 He that is far off shall die of the pestilence; and he that is near shall fall by the sword; and he that remaineth and is besieged shall die by the famine: thus will I accomplish my fury upon them.
6: 14 So will I stretch out my hand upon them, and make the land desolate, yea, more desolate than the wilderness toward Diblath, in all their habitations: and they shall know that I am the LORD.
7: 1 Moreover the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 7: 2 Also, thou son of man, thus saith the Lord GOD unto the land of Israel; An end, the end is come upon the four corners of the land.
7: 3 Now is the end come upon thee, and I will send mine anger upon thee, and will judge thee according to thy ways, and will recompense upon thee all thine abominations.
7: 4 And mine eye shall not spare thee, neither will I have pity: but I will recompense thy ways upon thee, and thine abominations shall be in the midst of thee: and ye shall know that I am the LORD.
7: 5 Thus saith the Lord GOD; An evil, an only evil, behold, is come.
7: 6 An end is come, the end is come: it watcheth for thee; behold, it is come.
7: 7 The morning is come unto thee, O thou that dwellest in the land: the time is come, the day of trouble is near, and not the sounding again of the mountains.
7: 8 Now will I shortly pour out my fury upon thee, and accomplish mine anger upon thee: and I will judge thee according to thy ways, and will recompense thee for all thine abominations.
7: 9 And mine eye shall not spare, neither will I have pity: I will recompense thee according to thy ways and thine abominations that are in the midst of thee; and ye shall know that I am the LORD that smiteth.
7: 10 Behold the day, behold, it is come: the morning is gone forth; the rod hath blossomed, pride hath budded.
7: 11 Violence is risen up into a rod of wickedness: none of them shall remain, nor of their multitude, nor of any of their's: neither shall there be wailing for them.
7: 12 The time is come, the day draweth near: let not the buyer rejoice, nor the seller mourn: for wrath is upon all the multitude thereof.
7: 13 For the seller shall not return to that which is sold, although they were yet alive: for the vision is touching the whole multitude thereof, which shall not return; neither shall any strengthen himself in the iniquity of his life.
7: 14 They have blown the trumpet, even to make all ready; but none goeth to the battle: for my wrath is upon all the multitude thereof.
7: 15 The sword is without, and the pestilence and the famine within: he that is in the field shall die with the sword; and he that is in the city, famine and pestilence shall devour him.
7: 16 But they that escape of them shall escape, and shall be on the mountains like doves of the valleys, all of them mourning, every one for his iniquity.
7: 17 All hands shall be feeble, and all knees shall be weak as water.
7: 18 They shall also gird themselves with sackcloth, and horror shall cover them; and shame shall be upon all faces, and baldness upon all their heads.
7: 20 As for the beauty of his ornament, he set it in majesty: but they made the images of their abominations and of their detestable things therein: therefore have I set it far from them.
7: 21 And I will give it into the hands of the strangers for a prey, and to the wicked of the earth for a spoil; and they shall pollute it.
7: 22 My face will I turn also from them, and they shall pollute my secret place: for the robbers shall enter into it, and defile it.
7: 23 Make a chain: for the land is full of bloody crimes, and the city is full of violence.
7: 24 Wherefore I will bring the worst of the heathen, and they shall possess their houses: I will also make the pomp of the strong to cease; and their holy places shall be defiled.
7: 25 Destruction cometh; and they shall seek peace, and there shall be none.
7: 26 Mischief shall come upon mischief, and rumour shall be upon rumour; then shall they seek a vision of the prophet; but the law shall perish from the priest, and counsel from the ancients.
7: 27 The king shall mourn, and the prince shall be clothed with desolation, and the hands of the people of the land shall be troubled: I will do unto them after their way, and according to their deserts will I judge them; and they shall know that I am the LORD.
8: 1 And it came to pass in the sixth year, in the sixth month, in the fifth day of the month, as I sat in mine house, and the elders of Judah sat before me, that the hand of the Lord GOD fell there upon me.
8: 2 Then I beheld, and lo a likeness as the appearance of fire: from the appearance of his loins even downward, fire; and from his loins even upward, as the appearance of brightness, as the colour of amber.
8: 4 And, behold, the glory of the God of Israel was there, according to the vision that I saw in the plain.
8: 5 Then said he unto me, Son of man, lift up thine eyes now the way toward the north.
So I lifted up mine eyes the way toward the north, and behold northward at the gate of the altar this image of jealousy in the entry.
8: 6 He said furthermore unto me, Son of man, seest thou what they do?
even the great abominations that the house of Israel committeth here, that I should go far off from my sanctuary?
but turn thee yet again, and thou shalt see greater abominations.
8: 7 And he brought me to the door of the court; and when I looked, behold a hole in the wall.
8: 8 Then said he unto me, Son of man, dig now in the wall: and when I had digged in the wall, behold a door.
8: 9 And he said unto me, Go in, and behold the wicked abominations that they do here.
8: 10 So I went in and saw; and behold every form of creeping things, and abominable beasts, and all the idols of the house of Israel, pourtrayed upon the wall round about.
8: 11 And there stood before them seventy men of the ancients of the house of Israel, and in the midst of them stood Jaazaniah the son of Shaphan, with every man his censer in his hand; and a thick cloud of incense went up.
8: 12 Then said he unto me, Son of man, hast thou seen what the ancients of the house of Israel do in the dark, every man in the chambers of his imagery?
for they say, the LORD seeth us not; the LORD hath forsaken the earth.
8: 13 He said also unto me, Turn thee yet again, and thou shalt see greater abominations that they do.
8: 14 Then he brought me to the door of the gate of the LORD's house which was toward the north; and, behold, there sat women weeping for Tammuz.
8: 15 Then said he unto me, Hast thou seen this, O son of man?
turn thee yet again, and thou shalt see greater abominations than these.
8: 17 Then he said unto me, Hast thou seen this, O son of man?
Is it a light thing to the house of Judah that they commit the abominations which they commit here?
for they have filled the land with violence, and have returned to provoke me to anger: and, lo, they put the branch to their nose.
8: 18 Therefore will I also deal in fury: mine eye shall not spare, neither will I have pity: and though they cry in mine ears with a loud voice, yet will I not hear them.
9: 1 He cried also in mine ears with a loud voice, saying, Cause them that have charge over the city to draw near, even every man with his destroying weapon in his hand.
9: 3 And the glory of the God of Israel was gone up from the cherub, whereupon he was, to the threshold of the house.
Then they began at the ancient men which were before the house.
9: 7 And he said unto them, Defile the house, and fill the courts with the slain: go ye forth.
And they went forth, and slew in the city.
9: 8 And it came to pass, while they were slaying them, and I was left, that I fell upon my face, and cried, and said, Ah Lord GOD!
wilt thou destroy all the residue of Israel in thy pouring out of thy fury upon Jerusalem?
9: 9 Then said he unto me, The iniquity of the house of Israel and Judah is exceeding great, and the land is full of blood, and the city full of perverseness: for they say, The LORD hath forsaken the earth, and the LORD seeth not.
9: 10 And as for me also, mine eye shall not spare, neither will I have pity, but I will recompense their way upon their head.
9: 11 And, behold, the man clothed with linen, which had the inkhorn by his side, reported the matter, saying, I have done as thou hast commanded me.
10: 1 Then I looked, and, behold, in the firmament that was above the head of the cherubims there appeared over them as it were a sapphire stone, as the appearance of the likeness of a throne.
10: 2 And he spake unto the man clothed with linen, and said, Go in between the wheels, even under the cherub, and fill thine hand with coals of fire from between the cherubims, and scatter them over the city.
And he went in in my sight.
10: 3 Now the cherubims stood on the right side of the house, when the man went in; and the cloud filled the inner court.
10: 4 Then the glory of the LORD went up from the cherub, and stood over the threshold of the house; and the house was filled with the cloud, and the court was full of the brightness of the LORD's glory.
10: 5 And the sound of the cherubims'wings was heard even to the outer court, as the voice of the Almighty God when he speaketh.
10: 6 And it came to pass, that when he had commanded the man clothed with linen, saying, Take fire from between the wheels, from between the cherubims; then he went in, and stood beside the wheels.
10: 7 And one cherub stretched forth his hand from between the cherubims unto the fire that was between the cherubims, and took thereof, and put it into the hands of him that was clothed with linen: who took it, and went out.
10: 8 And there appeared in the cherubims the form of a man's hand under their wings.
10: 9 And when I looked, behold the four wheels by the cherubims, one wheel by one cherub, and another wheel by another cherub: and the appearance of the wheels was as the colour of a beryl stone.
10: 10 And as for their appearances, they four had one likeness, as if a wheel had been in the midst of a wheel.
10: 11 When they went, they went upon their four sides; they turned not as they went, but to the place whither the head looked they followed it; they turned not as they went.
10: 12 And their whole body, and their backs, and their hands, and their wings, and the wheels, were full of eyes round about, even the wheels that they four had.
10: 13 As for the wheels, it was cried unto them in my hearing, O wheel.
10: 14 And every one had four faces: the first face was the face of a cherub, and the second face was the face of a man, and the third the face of a lion, and the fourth the face of an eagle.
10: 15 And the cherubims were lifted up.
This is the living creature that I saw by the river of Chebar.
10: 16 And when the cherubims went, the wheels went by them: and when the cherubims lifted up their wings to mount up from the earth, the same wheels also turned not from beside them.
10: 17 When they stood, these stood; and when they were lifted up, these lifted up themselves also: for the spirit of the living creature was in them.
10: 18 Then the glory of the LORD departed from off the threshold of the house, and stood over the cherubims.
10: 19 And the cherubims lifted up their wings, and mounted up from the earth in my sight: when they went out, the wheels also were beside them, and every one stood at the door of the east gate of the LORD's house; and the glory of the God of Israel was over them above.
10: 20 This is the living creature that I saw under the God of Israel by the river of Chebar; and I knew that they were the cherubims.
10: 21 Every one had four faces apiece, and every one four wings; and the likeness of the hands of a man was under their wings.
10: 22 And the likeness of their faces was the same faces which I saw by the river of Chebar, their appearances and themselves: they went every one straight forward.
11: 1 Moreover the spirit lifted me up, and brought me unto the east gate of the LORD's house, which looketh eastward: and behold at the door of the gate five and twenty men; among whom I saw Jaazaniah the son of Azur, and Pelatiah the son of Benaiah, princes of the people.
11: 2 Then said he unto me, Son of man, these are the men that devise mischief, and give wicked counsel in this city: 11: 3 Which say, It is not near; let us build houses: this city is the caldron, and we be the flesh.
11: 4 Therefore prophesy against them, prophesy, O son of man.
11: 5 And the Spirit of the LORD fell upon me, and said unto me, Speak; Thus saith the LORD; Thus have ye said, O house of Israel: for I know the things that come into your mind, every one of them.
11: 6 Ye have multiplied your slain in this city, and ye have filled the streets thereof with the slain.
11: 7 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; Your slain whom ye have laid in the midst of it, they are the flesh, and this city is the caldron: but I will bring you forth out of the midst of it.
11: 8 Ye have feared the sword; and I will bring a sword upon you, saith the Lord GOD.
11: 9 And I will bring you out of the midst thereof, and deliver you into the hands of strangers, and will execute judgments among you.
11: 10 Ye shall fall by the sword; I will judge you in the border of Israel; and ye shall know that I am the LORD.
11: 13 And it came to pass, when I prophesied, that Pelatiah the son of Benaiah died.
Then fell I down upon my face, and cried with a loud voice, and said, Ah Lord GOD!
wilt thou make a full end of the remnant of Israel?
11: 16 Therefore say, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Although I have cast them far off among the heathen, and although I have scattered them among the countries, yet will I be to them as a little sanctuary in the countries where they shall come.
11: 17 Therefore say, Thus saith the Lord GOD; I will even gather you from the people, and assemble you out of the countries where ye have been scattered, and I will give you the land of Israel.
11: 18 And they shall come thither, and they shall take away all the detestable things thereof and all the abominations thereof from thence.
11: 21 But as for them whose heart walketh after the heart of their detestable things and their abominations, I will recompense their way upon their own heads, saith the Lord GOD.
11: 22 Then did the cherubims lift up their wings, and the wheels beside them; and the glory of the God of Israel was over them above.
11: 23 And the glory of the LORD went up from the midst of the city, and stood upon the mountain which is on the east side of the city.
11: 24 Afterwards the spirit took me up, and brought me in a vision by the Spirit of God into Chaldea, to them of the captivity.
So the vision that I had seen went up from me.
11: 25 Then I spake unto them of the captivity all the things that the LORD had shewed me.
12: 1 The word of the LORD also came unto me, saying, 12: 2 Son of man, thou dwellest in the midst of a rebellious house, which have eyes to see, and see not; they have ears to hear, and hear not: for they are a rebellious house.
12: 3 Therefore, thou son of man, prepare thee stuff for removing, and remove by day in their sight; and thou shalt remove from thy place to another place in their sight: it may be they will consider, though they be a rebellious house.
12: 4 Then shalt thou bring forth thy stuff by day in their sight, as stuff for removing: and thou shalt go forth at even in their sight, as they that go forth into captivity.
12: 5 Dig thou through the wall in their sight, and carry out thereby.
12: 6 In their sight shalt thou bear it upon thy shoulders, and carry it forth in the twilight: thou shalt cover thy face, that thou see not the ground: for I have set thee for a sign unto the house of Israel.
12: 7 And I did so as I was commanded: I brought forth my stuff by day, as stuff for captivity, and in the even I digged through the wall with mine hand; I brought it forth in the twilight, and I bare it upon my shoulder in their sight.
12: 8 And in the morning came the word of the LORD unto me, saying, 12: 9 Son of man, hath not the house of Israel, the rebellious house, said unto thee, What doest thou?
12: 10 Say thou unto them, Thus saith the Lord GOD; This burden concerneth the prince in Jerusalem, and all the house of Israel that are among them.
12: 11 Say, I am your sign: like as I have done, so shall it be done unto them: they shall remove and go into captivity.
12: 12 And the prince that is among them shall bear upon his shoulder in the twilight, and shall go forth: they shall dig through the wall to carry out thereby: he shall cover his face, that he see not the ground with his eyes.
12: 13 My net also will I spread upon him, and he shall be taken in my snare: and I will bring him to Babylon to the land of the Chaldeans; yet shall he not see it, though he shall die there.
12: 14 And I will scatter toward every wind all that are about him to help him, and all his bands; and I will draw out the sword after them.
12: 15 And they shall know that I am the LORD, when I shall scatter them among the nations, and disperse them in the countries.
12: 16 But I will leave a few men of them from the sword, from the famine, and from the pestilence; that they may declare all their abominations among the heathen whither they come; and they shall know that I am the LORD.
12: 20 And the cities that are inhabited shall be laid waste, and the land shall be desolate; and ye shall know that I am the LORD.
12: 21 And the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 12: 22 Son of man, what is that proverb that ye have in the land of Israel, saying, The days are prolonged, and every vision faileth?
12: 23 Tell them therefore, Thus saith the Lord GOD; I will make this proverb to cease, and they shall no more use it as a proverb in Israel; but say unto them, The days are at hand, and the effect of every vision.
12: 24 For there shall be no more any vain vision nor flattering divination within the house of Israel.
12: 25 For I am the LORD: I will speak, and the word that I shall speak shall come to pass; it shall be no more prolonged: for in your days, O rebellious house, will I say the word, and will perform it, saith the Lord GOD.
12: 26 Again the word of the LORD came to me, saying.
12: 27 Son of man, behold, they of the house of Israel say, The vision that he seeth is for many days to come, and he prophesieth of the times that are far off.
12: 28 Therefore say unto them, Thus saith the Lord GOD; There shall none of my words be prolonged any more, but the word which I have spoken shall be done, saith the Lord GOD.
13: 4 O Israel, thy prophets are like the foxes in the deserts.
13: 5 Ye have not gone up into the gaps, neither made up the hedge for the house of Israel to stand in the battle in the day of the LORD.
13: 6 They have seen vanity and lying divination, saying, The LORD saith: and the LORD hath not sent them: and they have made others to hope that they would confirm the word.
13: 7 Have ye not seen a vain vision, and have ye not spoken a lying divination, whereas ye say, The LORD saith it; albeit I have not spoken?
13: 8 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; Because ye have spoken vanity, and seen lies, therefore, behold, I am against you, saith the Lord GOD.
13: 12 Lo, when the wall is fallen, shall it not be said unto you, Where is the daubing wherewith ye have daubed it?
13: 13 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; I will even rend it with a stormy wind in my fury; and there shall be an overflowing shower in mine anger, and great hailstones in my fury to consume it.
13: 14 So will I break down the wall that ye have daubed with untempered morter, and bring it down to the ground, so that the foundation thereof shall be discovered, and it shall fall, and ye shall be consumed in the midst thereof: and ye shall know that I am the LORD.
Will ye hunt the souls of my people, and will ye save the souls alive that come unto you?
13: 19 And will ye pollute me among my people for handfuls of barley and for pieces of bread, to slay the souls that should not die, and to save the souls alive that should not live, by your lying to my people that hear your lies?
13: 20 Wherefore thus saith the Lord GOD; Behold, I am against your pillows, wherewith ye there hunt the souls to make them fly, and I will tear them from your arms, and will let the souls go, even the souls that ye hunt to make them fly.
13: 21 Your kerchiefs also will I tear, and deliver my people out of your hand, and they shall be no more in your hand to be hunted; and ye shall know that I am the LORD.
14: 1 Then came certain of the elders of Israel unto me, and sat before me.
14: 2 And the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 14: 3 Son of man, these men have set up their idols in their heart, and put the stumblingblock of their iniquity before their face: should I be enquired of at all by them?
14: 6 Therefore say unto the house of Israel, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Repent, and turn yourselves from your idols; and turn away your faces from all your abominations.
14: 9 And if the prophet be deceived when he hath spoken a thing, I the LORD have deceived that prophet, and I will stretch out my hand upon him, and will destroy him from the midst of my people Israel.
14: 21 For thus saith the Lord GOD; How much more when I send my four sore judgments upon Jerusalem, the sword, and the famine, and the noisome beast, and the pestilence, to cut off from it man and beast?
14: 23 And they shall comfort you, when ye see their ways and their doings: and ye shall know that I have not done without cause all that I have done in it, saith the Lord GOD.
15: 1 And the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 15: 2 Son of man, what is the vine tree more than any tree, or than a branch which is among the trees of the forest?
15: 3 Shall wood be taken thereof to do any work?
or will men take a pin of it to hang any vessel thereon?
15: 4 Behold, it is cast into the fire for fuel; the fire devoureth both the ends of it, and the midst of it is burned.
Is it meet for any work?
15: 5 Behold, when it was whole, it was meet for no work: how much less shall it be meet yet for any work, when the fire hath devoured it, and it is burned?
15: 6 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; As the vine tree among the trees of the forest, which I have given to the fire for fuel, so will I give the inhabitants of Jerusalem.
15: 7 And I will set my face against them; they shall go out from one fire, and another fire shall devour them; and ye shall know that I am the LORD, when I set my face against them.
15: 8 And I will make the land desolate, because they have committed a trespass, saith the Lord GOD.
16: 4 And as for thy nativity, in the day thou wast born thy navel was not cut, neither wast thou washed in water to supple thee; thou wast not salted at all, nor swaddled at all.
16: 5 None eye pitied thee, to do any of these unto thee, to have compassion upon thee; but thou wast cast out in the open field, to the lothing of thy person, in the day that thou wast born.
16: 6 And when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live; yea, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live.
16: 7 I have caused thee to multiply as the bud of the field, and thou hast increased and waxen great, and thou art come to excellent ornaments: thy breasts are fashioned, and thine hair is grown, whereas thou wast naked and bare.
16: 8 Now when I passed by thee, and looked upon thee, behold, thy time was the time of love; and I spread my skirt over thee, and covered thy nakedness: yea, I sware unto thee, and entered into a covenant with thee, saith the Lord GOD, and thou becamest mine.
16: 9 Then washed I thee with water; yea, I throughly washed away thy blood from thee, and I anointed thee with oil.
16: 10 I clothed thee also with broidered work, and shod thee with badgers'skin, and I girded thee about with fine linen, and I covered thee with silk.
16: 11 I decked thee also with ornaments, and I put bracelets upon thy hands, and a chain on thy neck.
16: 12 And I put a jewel on thy forehead, and earrings in thine ears, and a beautiful crown upon thine head.
16: 13 Thus wast thou decked with gold and silver; and thy raiment was of fine linen, and silk, and broidered work; thou didst eat fine flour, and honey, and oil: and thou wast exceeding beautiful, and thou didst prosper into a kingdom.
16: 14 And thy renown went forth among the heathen for thy beauty: for it was perfect through my comeliness, which I had put upon thee, saith the Lord GOD.
16: 15 But thou didst trust in thine own beauty, and playedst the harlot because of thy renown, and pouredst out thy fornications on every one that passed by; his it was.
16: 16 And of thy garments thou didst take, and deckedst thy high places with divers colours, and playedst the harlot thereupon: the like things shall not come, neither shall it be so.
16: 19 My meat also which I gave thee, fine flour, and oil, and honey, wherewith I fed thee, thou hast even set it before them for a sweet savour: and thus it was, saith the Lord GOD.
16: 20 Moreover thou hast taken thy sons and thy daughters, whom thou hast borne unto me, and these hast thou sacrificed unto them to be devoured.
Is this of thy whoredoms a small matter, 16: 21 That thou hast slain my children, and delivered them to cause them to pass through the fire for them?
16: 22 And in all thine abominations and thy whoredoms thou hast not remembered the days of thy youth, when thou wast naked and bare, and wast polluted in thy blood.
16: 23 And it came to pass after all thy wickedness, (woe, woe unto thee!
saith the LORD GOD;) 16: 24 That thou hast also built unto thee an eminent place, and hast made thee an high place in every street.
16: 25 Thou hast built thy high place at every head of the way, and hast made thy beauty to be abhorred, and hast opened thy feet to every one that passed by, and multiplied thy whoredoms.
16: 26 Thou hast also committed fornication with the Egyptians thy neighbours, great of flesh; and hast increased thy whoredoms, to provoke me to anger.
16: 27 Behold, therefore I have stretched out my hand over thee, and have diminished thine ordinary food, and delivered thee unto the will of them that hate thee, the daughters of the Philistines, which are ashamed of thy lewd way.
16: 28 Thou hast played the whore also with the Assyrians, because thou wast unsatiable; yea, thou hast played the harlot with them, and yet couldest not be satisfied.
16: 29 Thou hast moreover multiplied thy fornication in the land of Canaan unto Chaldea; and yet thou wast not satisfied therewith.
16: 33 They give gifts to all whores: but thou givest thy gifts to all thy lovers, and hirest them, that they may come unto thee on every side for thy whoredom.
16: 34 And the contrary is in thee from other women in thy whoredoms, whereas none followeth thee to commit whoredoms: and in that thou givest a reward, and no reward is given unto thee, therefore thou art contrary.
16: 38 And I will judge thee, as women that break wedlock and shed blood are judged; and I will give thee blood in fury and jealousy.
16: 39 And I will also give thee into their hand, and they shall throw down thine eminent place, and shall break down thy high places: they shall strip thee also of thy clothes, and shall take thy fair jewels, and leave thee naked and bare.
16: 40 They shall also bring up a company against thee, and they shall stone thee with stones, and thrust thee through with their swords.
16: 41 And they shall burn thine houses with fire, and execute judgments upon thee in the sight of many women: and I will cause thee to cease from playing the harlot, and thou also shalt give no hire any more.
16: 42 So will I make my fury toward thee to rest, and my jealousy shall depart from thee, and I will be quiet, and will be no more angry.
16: 43 Because thou hast not remembered the days of thy youth, but hast fretted me in all these things; behold, therefore I also will recompense thy way upon thine head, saith the Lord GOD: and thou shalt not commit this lewdness above all thine abominations.
16: 44 Behold, every one that useth proverbs shall use this proverb against thee, saying, As is the mother, so is her daughter.
16: 45 Thou art thy mother's daughter, that lotheth her husband and her children; and thou art the sister of thy sisters, which lothed their husbands and their children: your mother was an Hittite, and your father an Amorite.
16: 46 And thine elder sister is Samaria, she and her daughters that dwell at thy left hand: and thy younger sister, that dwelleth at thy right hand, is Sodom and her daughters.
16: 47 Yet hast thou not walked after their ways, nor done after their abominations: but, as if that were a very little thing, thou wast corrupted more than they in all thy ways.
16: 48 As I live, saith the Lord GOD, Sodom thy sister hath not done, she nor her daughters, as thou hast done, thou and thy daughters.
16: 49 Behold, this was the iniquity of thy sister Sodom, pride, fulness of bread, and abundance of idleness was in her and in her daughters, neither did she strengthen the hand of the poor and needy.
16: 50 And they were haughty, and committed abomination before me: therefore I took them away as I saw good.
16: 51 Neither hath Samaria committed half of thy sins; but thou hast multiplied thine abominations more than they, and hast justified thy sisters in all thine abominations which thou hast done.
16: 52 Thou also, which hast judged thy sisters, bear thine own shame for thy sins that thou hast committed more abominable than they: they are more righteous than thou: yea, be thou confounded also, and bear thy shame, in that thou hast justified thy sisters.
16: 55 When thy sisters, Sodom and her daughters, shall return to their former estate, and Samaria and her daughters shall return to their former estate, then thou and thy daughters shall return to your former estate.
16: 58 Thou hast borne thy lewdness and thine abominations, saith the LORD.
16: 59 For thus saith the Lord GOD; I will even deal with thee as thou hast done, which hast despised the oath in breaking the covenant.
16: 60 Nevertheless I will remember my covenant with thee in the days of thy youth, and I will establish unto thee an everlasting covenant.
16: 61 Then thou shalt remember thy ways, and be ashamed, when thou shalt receive thy sisters, thine elder and thy younger: and I will give them unto thee for daughters, but not by thy covenant.
17: 5 He took also of the seed of the land, and planted it in a fruitful field; he placed it by great waters, and set it as a willow tree.
17: 6 And it grew, and became a spreading vine of low stature, whose branches turned toward him, and the roots thereof were under him: so it became a vine, and brought forth branches, and shot forth sprigs.
17: 7 There was also another great eagle with great wings and many feathers: and, behold, this vine did bend her roots toward him, and shot forth her branches toward him, that he might water it by the furrows of her plantation.
17: 8 It was planted in a good soil by great waters, that it might bring forth branches, and that it might bear fruit, that it might be a goodly vine.
17: 9 Say thou, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Shall it prosper?
shall he not pull up the roots thereof, and cut off the fruit thereof, that it wither?
it shall wither in all the leaves of her spring, even without great power or many people to pluck it up by the roots thereof.
17: 10 Yea, behold, being planted, shall it prosper?
shall it not utterly wither, when the east wind toucheth it?
it shall wither in the furrows where it grew.
17: 11 Moreover the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 17: 12 Say now to the rebellious house, Know ye not what these things mean?
17: 15 But he rebelled against him in sending his ambassadors into Egypt, that they might give him horses and much people.
Shall he prosper?
shall he escape that doeth such things?
or shall he break the covenant, and be delivered?
17: 16 As I live, saith the Lord GOD, surely in the place where the king dwelleth that made him king, whose oath he despised, and whose covenant he brake, even with him in the midst of Babylon he shall die.
17: 19 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; As I live, surely mine oath that he hath despised, and my covenant that he hath broken, even it will I recompense upon his own head.
17: 20 And I will spread my net upon him, and he shall be taken in my snare, and I will bring him to Babylon, and will plead with him there for his trespass that he hath trespassed against me.
17: 21 And all his fugitives with all his bands shall fall by the sword, and they that remain shall be scattered toward all winds: and ye shall know that I the LORD have spoken it.
17: 24 And all the trees of the field shall know that I the LORD have brought down the high tree, have exalted the low tree, have dried up the green tree, and have made the dry tree to flourish: I the LORD have spoken and have done it.
18: 1 The word of the LORD came unto me again, saying, 18: 2 What mean ye, that ye use this proverb concerning the land of Israel, saying, The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge?
18: 3 As I live, saith the Lord GOD, ye shall not have occasion any more to use this proverb in Israel.
18: 4 Behold, all souls are mine; as the soul of the father, so also the soul of the son is mine: the soul that sinneth, it shall die.
he shall not live: he hath done all these abominations; he shall surely die; his blood shall be upon him.
18: 18 As for his father, because he cruelly oppressed, spoiled his brother by violence, and did that which is not good among his people, lo, even he shall die in his iniquity.
18: 19 Yet say ye, Why?
doth not the son bear the iniquity of the father?
When the son hath done that which is lawful and right, and hath kept all my statutes, and hath done them, he shall surely live.
18: 20 The soul that sinneth, it shall die.
The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son: the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon him.
18: 21 But if the wicked will turn from all his sins that he hath committed, and keep all my statutes, and do that which is lawful and right, he shall surely live, he shall not die.
18: 22 All his transgressions that he hath committed, they shall not be mentioned unto him: in his righteousness that he hath done he shall live.
18: 23 Have I any pleasure at all that the wicked should die?
saith the Lord GOD: and not that he should return from his ways, and live?
18: 24 But when the righteous turneth away from his righteousness, and committeth iniquity, and doeth according to all the abominations that the wicked man doeth, shall he live?
All his righteousness that he hath done shall not be mentioned: in his trespass that he hath trespassed, and in his sin that he hath sinned, in them shall he die.
18: 25 Yet ye say, The way of the LORD is not equal.
Hear now, O house of Israel; Is not my way equal?
are not your ways unequal?
18: 26 When a righteous man turneth away from his righteousness, and committeth iniquity, and dieth in them; for his iniquity that he hath done shall he die.
18: 27 Again, when the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive.
18: 28 Because he considereth, and turneth away from all his transgressions that he hath committed, he shall surely live, he shall not die.
18: 29 Yet saith the house of Israel, The way of the LORD is not equal.
O house of Israel, are not my ways equal?
are not your ways unequal?
18: 30 Therefore I will judge you, O house of Israel, every one according to his ways, saith the Lord GOD.
Repent, and turn yourselves from all your transgressions; so iniquity shall not be your ruin.
18: 31 Cast away from you all your transgressions, whereby ye have transgressed; and make you a new heart and a new spirit: for why will ye die, O house of Israel?
18: 32 For I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth, saith the Lord GOD: wherefore turn yourselves, and live ye.
19: 1 Moreover take thou up a lamentation for the princes of Israel, 19: 2 And say, What is thy mother?
A lioness: she lay down among lions, she nourished her whelps among young lions.
19: 3 And she brought up one of her whelps: it became a young lion, and it learned to catch the prey; it devoured men.
19: 4 The nations also heard of him; he was taken in their pit, and they brought him with chains unto the land of Egypt.
19: 5 Now when she saw that she had waited, and her hope was lost, then she took another of her whelps, and made him a young lion.
19: 6 And he went up and down among the lions, he became a young lion, and learned to catch the prey, and devoured men.
19: 7 And he knew their desolate palaces, and he laid waste their cities; and the land was desolate, and the fulness thereof, by the noise of his roaring.
19: 8 Then the nations set against him on every side from the provinces, and spread their net over him: he was taken in their pit.
19: 9 And they put him in ward in chains, and brought him to the king of Babylon: they brought him into holds, that his voice should no more be heard upon the mountains of Israel.
19: 10 Thy mother is like a vine in thy blood, planted by the waters: she was fruitful and full of branches by reason of many waters.
19: 11 And she had strong rods for the sceptres of them that bare rule, and her stature was exalted among the thick branches, and she appeared in her height with the multitude of her branches.
19: 12 But she was plucked up in fury, she was cast down to the ground, and the east wind dried up her fruit: her strong rods were broken and withered; the fire consumed them.
19: 13 And now she is planted in the wilderness, in a dry and thirsty ground.
19: 14 And fire is gone out of a rod of her branches, which hath devoured her fruit, so that she hath no strong rod to be a sceptre to rule.
This is a lamentation, and shall be for a lamentation.
20: 1 And it came to pass in the seventh year, in the fifth month, the tenth day of the month, that certain of the elders of Israel came to enquire of the LORD, and sat before me.
20: 2 Then came the word of the LORD unto me, saying, 20: 3 Son of man, speak unto the elders of Israel, and say unto them, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Are ye come to enquire of me?
As I live, saith the Lord GOD, I will not be enquired of by you.
20: 4 Wilt thou judge them, son of man, wilt thou judge them?
20: 9 But I wrought for my name's sake, that it should not be polluted before the heathen, among whom they were, in whose sight I made myself known unto them, in bringing them forth out of the land of Egypt.
20: 10 Wherefore I caused them to go forth out of the land of Egypt, and brought them into the wilderness.
20: 11 And I gave them my statutes, and shewed them my judgments, which if a man do, he shall even live in them.
20: 12 Moreover also I gave them my sabbaths, to be a sign between me and them, that they might know that I am the LORD that sanctify them.
20: 14 But I wrought for my name's sake, that it should not be polluted before the heathen, in whose sight I brought them out.
20: 17 Nevertheless mine eye spared them from destroying them, neither did I make an end of them in the wilderness.
20: 22 Nevertheless I withdrew mine hand, and wrought for my name's sake, that it should not be polluted in the sight of the heathen, in whose sight I brought them forth.
20: 27 Therefore, son of man, speak unto the house of Israel, and say unto them, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Yet in this your fathers have blasphemed me, in that they have committed a trespass against me.
20: 29 Then I said unto them, What is the high place whereunto ye go?
And the name whereof is called Bamah unto this day.
20: 30 Wherefore say unto the house of Israel, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Are ye polluted after the manner of your fathers?
and commit ye whoredom after their abominations?
20: 31 For when ye offer your gifts, when ye make your sons to pass through the fire, ye pollute yourselves with all your idols, even unto this day: and shall I be enquired of by you, O house of Israel?
As I live, saith the Lord GOD, I will not be enquired of by you.
20: 32 And that which cometh into your mind shall not be at all, that ye say, We will be as the heathen, as the families of the countries, to serve wood and stone.
20: 35 And I will bring you into the wilderness of the people, and there will I plead with you face to face.
20: 36 Like as I pleaded with your fathers in the wilderness of the land of Egypt, so will I plead with you, saith the Lord GOD.
20: 39 As for you, O house of Israel, thus saith the Lord GOD; Go ye, serve ye every one his idols, and hereafter also, if ye will not hearken unto me: but pollute ye my holy name no more with your gifts, and with your idols.
20: 41 I will accept you with your sweet savour, when I bring you out from the people, and gather you out of the countries wherein ye have been scattered; and I will be sanctified in you before the heathen.
20: 42 And ye shall know that I am the LORD, when I shall bring you into the land of Israel, into the country for the which I lifted up mine hand to give it to your fathers.
20: 43 And there shall ye remember your ways, and all your doings, wherein ye have been defiled; and ye shall lothe yourselves in your own sight for all your evils that ye have committed.
20: 44 And ye shall know that I am the LORD when I have wrought with you for my name's sake, not according to your wicked ways, nor according to your corrupt doings, O ye house of Israel, saith the Lord GOD.
20: 48 And all flesh shall see that I the LORD have kindled it: it shall not be quenched.
20: 49 Then said I, Ah Lord GOD!
they say of me, Doth he not speak parables?
21: 6 Sigh therefore, thou son of man, with the breaking of thy loins; and with bitterness sigh before their eyes.
21: 7 And it shall be, when they say unto thee, Wherefore sighest thou?
that thou shalt answer, For the tidings; because it cometh: and every heart shall melt, and all hands shall be feeble, and every spirit shall faint, and all knees shall be weak as water: behold, it cometh, and shall be brought to pass, saith the Lord GOD.
it contemneth the rod of my son, as every tree.
21: 11 And he hath given it to be furbished, that it may be handled: this sword is sharpened, and it is furbished, to give it into the hand of the slayer.
21: 12 Cry and howl, son of man: for it shall be upon my people, it shall be upon all the princes of Israel: terrors by reason of the sword shall be upon my people: smite therefore upon thy thigh.
21: 13 Because it is a trial, and what if the sword contemn even the rod?
it shall be no more, saith the Lord GOD.
21: 14 Thou therefore, son of man, prophesy, and smite thine hands together.
and let the sword be doubled the third time, the sword of the slain: it is the sword of the great men that are slain, which entereth into their privy chambers.
21: 15 I have set the point of the sword against all their gates, that their heart may faint, and their ruins be multiplied: ah!
it is made bright, it is wrapped up for the slaughter.
21: 16 Go thee one way or other, either on the right hand, or on the left, whithersoever thy face is set.
21: 17 I will also smite mine hands together, and I will cause my fury to rest: I the LORD have said it.
21: 18 The word of the LORD came unto me again, saying, 21: 19 Also, thou son of man, appoint thee two ways, that the sword of the king of Babylon may come: both twain shall come forth out of one land: and choose thou a place, choose it at the head of the way to the city.
21: 20 Appoint a way, that the sword may come to Rabbath of the Ammonites, and to Judah in Jerusalem the defenced.
21: 21 For the king of Babylon stood at the parting of the way, at the head of the two ways, to use divination: he made his arrows bright, he consulted with images, he looked in the liver.
21: 22 At his right hand was the divination for Jerusalem, to appoint captains, to open the mouth in the slaughter, to lift up the voice with shouting, to appoint battering rams against the gates, to cast a mount, and to build a fort.
21: 23 And it shall be unto them as a false divination in their sight, to them that have sworn oaths: but he will call to remembrance the iniquity, that they may be taken.
21: 24 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; Because ye have made your iniquity to be remembered, in that your transgressions are discovered, so that in all your doings your sins do appear; because, I say, that ye are come to remembrance, ye shall be taken with the hand.
21: 25 And thou, profane wicked prince of Israel, whose day is come, when iniquity shall have an end, 21: 26 Thus saith the Lord GOD; Remove the diadem, and take off the crown: this shall not be the same: exalt him that is low, and abase him that is high.
21: 27 I will overturn, overturn, overturn, it: and it shall be no more, until he come whose right it is; and I will give it him.
21: 30 Shall I cause it to return into his sheath?
I will judge thee in the place where thou wast created, in the land of thy nativity.
21: 31 And I will pour out mine indignation upon thee, I will blow against thee in the fire of my wrath, and deliver thee into the hand of brutish men, and skilful to destroy.
21: 32 Thou shalt be for fuel to the fire; thy blood shall be in the midst of the land; thou shalt be no more remembered: for I the LORD have spoken it.
22: 1 Moreover the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 22: 2 Now, thou son of man, wilt thou judge, wilt thou judge the bloody city?
yea, thou shalt shew her all her abominations.
22: 3 Then say thou, Thus saith the Lord GOD, The city sheddeth blood in the midst of it, that her time may come, and maketh idols against herself to defile herself.
22: 5 Those that be near, and those that be far from thee, shall mock thee, which art infamous and much vexed.
22: 6 Behold, the princes of Israel, every one were in thee to their power to shed blood.
22: 7 In thee have they set light by father and mother: in the midst of thee have they dealt by oppression with the stranger: in thee have they vexed the fatherless and the widow.
22: 8 Thou hast despised mine holy things, and hast profaned my sabbaths.
22: 9 In thee are men that carry tales to shed blood: and in thee they eat upon the mountains: in the midst of thee they commit lewdness.
22: 10 In thee have they discovered their fathers'nakedness: in thee have they humbled her that was set apart for pollution.
22: 11 And one hath committed abomination with his neighbour's wife; and another hath lewdly defiled his daughter in law; and another in thee hath humbled his sister, his father's daughter.
22: 12 In thee have they taken gifts to shed blood; thou hast taken usury and increase, and thou hast greedily gained of thy neighbours by extortion, and hast forgotten me, saith the Lord GOD.
22: 13 Behold, therefore I have smitten mine hand at thy dishonest gain which thou hast made, and at thy blood which hath been in the midst of thee.
22: 14 Can thine heart endure, or can thine hands be strong, in the days that I shall deal with thee?
I the LORD have spoken it, and will do it.
22: 15 And I will scatter thee among the heathen, and disperse thee in the countries, and will consume thy filthiness out of thee.
22: 16 And thou shalt take thine inheritance in thyself in the sight of the heathen, and thou shalt know that I am the LORD.
22: 17 And the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 22: 18 Son of man, the house of Israel is to me become dross: all they are brass, and tin, and iron, and lead, in the midst of the furnace; they are even the dross of silver.
22: 19 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; Because ye are all become dross, behold, therefore I will gather you into the midst of Jerusalem.
22: 20 As they gather silver, and brass, and iron, and lead, and tin, into the midst of the furnace, to blow the fire upon it, to melt it; so will I gather you in mine anger and in my fury, and I will leave you there, and melt you.
22: 21 Yea, I will gather you, and blow upon you in the fire of my wrath, and ye shall be melted in the midst therof.
22: 22 As silver is melted in the midst of the furnace, so shall ye be melted in the midst thereof; and ye shall know that I the LORD have poured out my fury upon you.
22: 23 And the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 22: 24 Son of man, say unto her, Thou art the land that is not cleansed, nor rained upon in the day of indignation.
22: 25 There is a conspiracy of her prophets in the midst thereof, like a roaring lion ravening the prey; they have devoured souls; they have taken the treasure and precious things; they have made her many widows in the midst thereof.
22: 27 Her princes in the midst thereof are like wolves ravening the prey, to shed blood, and to destroy souls, to get dishonest gain.
22: 28 And her prophets have daubed them with untempered morter, seeing vanity, and divining lies unto them, saying, Thus saith the Lord GOD, when the LORD hath not spoken.
22: 29 The people of the land have used oppression, and exercised robbery, and have vexed the poor and needy: yea, they have oppressed the stranger wrongfully.
22: 30 And I sought for a man among them, that should make up the hedge, and stand in the gap before me for the land, that I should not destroy it: but I found none.
22: 31 Therefore have I poured out mine indignation upon them; I have consumed them with the fire of my wrath: their own way have I recompensed upon their heads, saith the Lord GOD.
23: 4 And the names of them were Aholah the elder, and Aholibah her sister: and they were mine, and they bare sons and daughters.
Thus were their names; Samaria is Aholah, and Jerusalem Aholibah.
23: 5 And Aholah played the harlot when she was mine; and she doted on her lovers, on the Assyrians her neighbours, 23: 6 Which were clothed with blue, captains and rulers, all of them desirable young men, horsemen riding upon horses.
23: 7 Thus she committed her whoredoms with them, with all them that were the chosen men of Assyria, and with all on whom she doted: with all their idols she defiled herself.
23: 8 Neither left she her whoredoms brought from Egypt: for in her youth they lay with her, and they bruised the breasts of her virginity, and poured their whoredom upon her.
23: 9 Wherefore I have delivered her into the hand of her lovers, into the hand of the Assyrians, upon whom she doted.
23: 10 These discovered her nakedness: they took her sons and her daughters, and slew her with the sword: and she became famous among women; for they had executed judgment upon her.
23: 11 And when her sister Aholibah saw this, she was more corrupt in her inordinate love than she, and in her whoredoms more than her sister in her whoredoms.
23: 12 She doted upon the Assyrians her neighbours, captains and rulers clothed most gorgeously, horsemen riding upon horses, all of them desirable young men.
23: 17 And the Babylonians came to her into the bed of love, and they defiled her with their whoredom, and she was polluted with them, and her mind was alienated from them.
23: 18 So she discovered her whoredoms, and discovered her nakedness: then my mind was alienated from her, like as my mind was alienated from her sister.
23: 19 Yet she multiplied her whoredoms, in calling to remembrance the days of her youth, wherein she had played the harlot in the land of Egypt.
23: 20 For she doted upon their paramours, whose flesh is as the flesh of asses, and whose issue is like the issue of horses.
23: 21 Thus thou calledst to remembrance the lewdness of thy youth, in bruising thy teats by the Egyptians for the paps of thy youth.
23: 24 And they shall come against thee with chariots, wagons, and wheels, and with an assembly of people, which shall set against thee buckler and shield and helmet round about: and I will set judgment before them, and they shall judge thee according to their judgments.
23: 25 And I will set my jealousy against thee, and they shall deal furiously with thee: they shall take away thy nose and thine ears; and thy remnant shall fall by the sword: they shall take thy sons and thy daughters; and thy residue shall be devoured by the fire.
23: 26 They shall also strip thee out of thy clothes, and take away thy fair jewels.
23: 27 Thus will I make thy lewdness to cease from thee, and thy whoredom brought from the land of Egypt: so that thou shalt not lift up thine eyes unto them, nor remember Egypt any more.
23: 30 I will do these things unto thee, because thou hast gone a whoring after the heathen, and because thou art polluted with their idols.
23: 31 Thou hast walked in the way of thy sister; therefore will I give her cup into thine hand.
23: 32 Thus saith the Lord GOD; Thou shalt drink of thy sister's cup deep and large: thou shalt be laughed to scorn and had in derision; it containeth much.
23: 33 Thou shalt be filled with drunkenness and sorrow, with the cup of astonishment and desolation, with the cup of thy sister Samaria.
23: 34 Thou shalt even drink it and suck it out, and thou shalt break the sherds thereof, and pluck off thine own breasts: for I have spoken it, saith the Lord GOD.
23: 35 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; Because thou hast forgotten me, and cast me behind thy back, therefore bear thou also thy lewdness and thy whoredoms.
23: 36 The LORD said moreover unto me; Son of man, wilt thou judge Aholah and Aholibah?
yea, declare unto them their abominations; 23: 37 That they have committed adultery, and blood is in their hands, and with their idols have they committed adultery, and have also caused their sons, whom they bare unto me, to pass for them through the fire, to devour them.
23: 38 Moreover this they have done unto me: they have defiled my sanctuary in the same day, and have profaned my sabbaths.
23: 39 For when they had slain their children to their idols, then they came the same day into my sanctuary to profane it; and, lo, thus have they done in the midst of mine house.
23: 42 And a voice of a multitude being at ease was with her: and with the men of the common sort were brought Sabeans from the wilderness, which put bracelets upon their hands, and beautiful crowns upon their heads.
23: 43 Then said I unto her that was old in adulteries, Will they now commit whoredoms with her, and she with them?
23: 44 Yet they went in unto her, as they go in unto a woman that playeth the harlot: so went they in unto Aholah and unto Aholibah, the lewd women.
23: 45 And the righteous men, they shall judge them after the manner of adulteresses, and after the manner of women that shed blood; because they are adulteresses, and blood is in their hands.
23: 46 For thus saith the Lord GOD; I will bring up a company upon them, and will give them to be removed and spoiled.
23: 47 And the company shall stone them with stones, and dispatch them with their swords; they shall slay their sons and their daughters, and burn up their houses with fire.
23: 48 Thus will I cause lewdness to cease out of the land, that all women may be taught not to do after your lewdness.
23: 49 And they shall recompense your lewdness upon you, and ye shall bear the sins of your idols: and ye shall know that I am the Lord GOD.
24: 1 Again in the ninth year, in the tenth month, in the tenth day of the month, the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 24: 2 Son of man, write thee the name of the day, even of this same day: the king of Babylon set himself against Jerusalem this same day.
24: 3 And utter a parable unto the rebellious house, and say unto them, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Set on a pot, set it on, and also pour water into it: 24: 4 Gather the pieces thereof into it, even every good piece, the thigh, and the shoulder; fill it with the choice bones.
24: 5 Take the choice of the flock, and burn also the bones under it, and make it boil well, and let them seethe the bones of it therein.
24: 6 Wherefore thus saith the Lord GOD; Woe to the bloody city, to the pot whose scum is therein, and whose scum is not gone out of it!
bring it out piece by piece; let no lot fall upon it.
24: 7 For her blood is in the midst of her; she set it upon the top of a rock; she poured it not upon the ground, to cover it with dust; 24: 8 That it might cause fury to come up to take vengeance; I have set her blood upon the top of a rock, that it should not be covered.
24: 9 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; Woe to the bloody city!
I will even make the pile for fire great.
24: 10 Heap on wood, kindle the fire, consume the flesh, and spice it well, and let the bones be burned.
24: 11 Then set it empty upon the coals thereof, that the brass of it may be hot, and may burn, and that the filthiness of it may be molten in it, that the scum of it may be consumed.
24: 12 She hath wearied herself with lies, and her great scum went not forth out of her: her scum shall be in the fire.
24: 13 In thy filthiness is lewdness: because I have purged thee, and thou wast not purged, thou shalt not be purged from thy filthiness any more, till I have caused my fury to rest upon thee.
24: 14 I the LORD have spoken it: it shall come to pass, and I will do it; I will not go back, neither will I spare, neither will I repent; according to thy ways, and according to thy doings, shall they judge thee, saith the Lord GOD.
24: 15 Also the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 24: 16 Son of man, behold, I take away from thee the desire of thine eyes with a stroke: yet neither shalt thou mourn nor weep, neither shall thy tears run down.
24: 17 Forbear to cry, make no mourning for the dead, bind the tire of thine head upon thee, and put on thy shoes upon thy feet, and cover not thy lips, and eat not the bread of men.
24: 18 So I spake unto the people in the morning: and at even my wife died; and I did in the morning as I was commanded.
24: 19 And the people said unto me, Wilt thou not tell us what these things are to us, that thou doest so?
24: 22 And ye shall do as I have done: ye shall not cover your lips, nor eat the bread of men.
24: 23 And your tires shall be upon your heads, and your shoes upon your feet: ye shall not mourn nor weep; but ye shall pine away for your iniquities, and mourn one toward another.
24: 24 Thus Ezekiel is unto you a sign: according to all that he hath done shall ye do: and when this cometh, ye shall know that I am the Lord GOD.
24: 27 In that day shall thy mouth be opened to him which is escaped, and thou shalt speak, and be no more dumb: and thou shalt be a sign unto them; and they shall know that I am the LORD.
25: 5 And I will make Rabbah a stable for camels, and the Ammonites a couching place for flocks: and ye shall know that I am the LORD.
25: 11 And I will execute judgments upon Moab; and they shall know that I am the LORD.
25: 14 And I will lay my vengeance upon Edom by the hand of my people Israel: and they shall do in Edom according to mine anger and according to my fury; and they shall know my vengeance, saith the Lord GOD.
25: 17 And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the LORD, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them.
26: 4 And they shall destroy the walls of Tyrus, and break down her towers: I will also scrape her dust from her, and make her like the top of a rock.
26: 5 It shall be a place for the spreading of nets in the midst of the sea: for I have spoken it, saith the Lord GOD: and it shall become a spoil to the nations.
26: 6 And her daughters which are in the field shall be slain by the sword; and they shall know that I am the LORD.
26: 7 For thus saith the Lord GOD; Behold, I will bring upon Tyrus Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon, a king of kings, from the north, with horses, and with chariots, and with horsemen, and companies, and much people.
26: 8 He shall slay with the sword thy daughters in the field: and he shall make a fort against thee, and cast a mount against thee, and lift up the buckler against thee.
26: 9 And he shall set engines of war against thy walls, and with his axes he shall break down thy towers.
26: 10 By reason of the abundance of his horses their dust shall cover thee: thy walls shall shake at the noise of the horsemen, and of the wheels, and of the chariots, when he shall enter into thy gates, as men enter into a city wherein is made a breach.
26: 11 With the hoofs of his horses shall he tread down all thy streets: he shall slay thy people by the sword, and thy strong garrisons shall go down to the ground.
26: 12 And they shall make a spoil of thy riches, and make a prey of thy merchandise: and they shall break down thy walls, and destroy thy pleasant houses: and they shall lay thy stones and thy timber and thy dust in the midst of the water.
26: 13 And I will cause the noise of thy songs to cease; and the sound of thy harps shall be no more heard.
26: 14 And I will make thee like the top of a rock: thou shalt be a place to spread nets upon; thou shalt be built no more: for I the LORD have spoken it, saith the Lord GOD.
26: 15 Thus saith the Lord GOD to Tyrus; Shall not the isles shake at the sound of thy fall, when the wounded cry, when the slaughter is made in the midst of thee?
26: 17 And they shall take up a lamentation for thee, and say to thee, How art thou destroyed, that wast inhabited of seafaring men, the renowned city, which wast strong in the sea, she and her inhabitants, which cause their terror to be on all that haunt it!
26: 18 Now shall the isles tremble in the day of thy fall; yea, the isles that are in the sea shall be troubled at thy departure.
27: 4 Thy borders are in the midst of the seas, thy builders have perfected thy beauty.
27: 5 They have made all thy ship boards of fir trees of Senir: they have taken cedars from Lebanon to make masts for thee.
27: 6 Of the oaks of Bashan have they made thine oars; the company of the Ashurites have made thy benches of ivory, brought out of the isles of Chittim.
27: 7 Fine linen with broidered work from Egypt was that which thou spreadest forth to be thy sail; blue and purple from the isles of Elishah was that which covered thee.
27: 8 The inhabitants of Zidon and Arvad were thy mariners: thy wise men, O Tyrus, that were in thee, were thy pilots.
27: 9 The ancients of Gebal and the wise men thereof were in thee thy calkers: all the ships of the sea with their mariners were in thee to occupy thy merchandise.
27: 10 They of Persia and of Lud and of Phut were in thine army, thy men of war: they hanged the shield and helmet in thee; they set forth thy comeliness.
27: 11 The men of Arvad with thine army were upon thy walls round about, and the Gammadims were in thy towers: they hanged their shields upon thy walls round about; they have made thy beauty perfect.
27: 12 Tarshish was thy merchant by reason of the multitude of all kind of riches; with silver, iron, tin, and lead, they traded in thy fairs.
27: 13 Javan, Tubal, and Meshech, they were thy merchants: they traded the persons of men and vessels of brass in thy market.
27: 14 They of the house of Togarmah traded in thy fairs with horses and horsemen and mules.
27: 15 The men of Dedan were thy merchants; many isles were the merchandise of thine hand: they brought thee for a present horns of ivory and ebony.
27: 16 Syria was thy merchant by reason of the multitude of the wares of thy making: they occupied in thy fairs with emeralds, purple, and broidered work, and fine linen, and coral, and agate.
27: 17 Judah, and the land of Israel, they were thy merchants: they traded in thy market wheat of Minnith, and Pannag, and honey, and oil, and balm.
27: 18 Damascus was thy merchant in the multitude of the wares of thy making, for the multitude of all riches; in the wine of Helbon, and white wool.
27: 19 Dan also and Javan going to and fro occupied in thy fairs: bright iron, cassia, and calamus, were in thy market.
27: 20 Dedan was thy merchant in precious clothes for chariots.
27: 21 Arabia, and all the princes of Kedar, they occupied with thee in lambs, and rams, and goats: in these were they thy merchants.
27: 22 The merchants of Sheba and Raamah, they were thy merchants: they occupied in thy fairs with chief of all spices, and with all precious stones, and gold.
27: 23 Haran, and Canneh, and Eden, the merchants of Sheba, Asshur, and Chilmad, were thy merchants.
27: 24 These were thy merchants in all sorts of things, in blue clothes, and broidered work, and in chests of rich apparel, bound with cords, and made of cedar, among thy merchandise.
27: 25 The ships of Tarshish did sing of thee in thy market: and thou wast replenished, and made very glorious in the midst of the seas.
27: 26 Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters: the east wind hath broken thee in the midst of the seas.
27: 28 The suburbs shall shake at the sound of the cry of thy pilots.
27: 32 And in their wailing they shall take up a lamentation for thee, and lament over thee, saying, What city is like Tyrus, like the destroyed in the midst of the sea?
27: 33 When thy wares went forth out of the seas, thou filledst many people; thou didst enrich the kings of the earth with the multitude of thy riches and of thy merchandise.
27: 34 In the time when thou shalt be broken by the seas in the depths of the waters thy merchandise and all thy company in the midst of thee shall fall.
27: 35 All the inhabitants of the isles shall be astonished at thee, and their kings shall be sore afraid, they shall be troubled in their countenance.
27: 36 The merchants among the people shall hiss at thee; thou shalt be a terror, and never shalt be any more.
28: 8 They shall bring thee down to the pit, and thou shalt die the deaths of them that are slain in the midst of the seas.
28: 9 Wilt thou yet say before him that slayeth thee, I am God?
but thou shalt be a man, and no God, in the hand of him that slayeth thee.
28: 10 Thou shalt die the deaths of the uncircumcised by the hand of strangers: for I have spoken it, saith the Lord GOD.
28: 11 Moreover the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 28: 12 Son of man, take up a lamentation upon the king of Tyrus, and say unto him, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Thou sealest up the sum, full of wisdom, and perfect in beauty.
28: 14 Thou art the anointed cherub that covereth; and I have set thee so: thou wast upon the holy mountain of God; thou hast walked up and down in the midst of the stones of fire.
28: 15 Thou wast perfect in thy ways from the day that thou wast created, till iniquity was found in thee.
28: 16 By the multitude of thy merchandise they have filled the midst of thee with violence, and thou hast sinned: therefore I will cast thee as profane out of the mountain of God: and I will destroy thee, O covering cherub, from the midst of the stones of fire.
28: 17 Thine heart was lifted up because of thy beauty, thou hast corrupted thy wisdom by reason of thy brightness: I will cast thee to the ground, I will lay thee before kings, that they may behold thee.
28: 19 All they that know thee among the people shall be astonished at thee: thou shalt be a terror, and never shalt thou be any more.
28: 23 For I will send into her pestilence, and blood into her streets; and the wounded shall be judged in the midst of her by the sword upon her on every side; and they shall know that I am the LORD.
28: 24 And there shall be no more a pricking brier unto the house of Israel, nor any grieving thorn of all that are round about them, that despised them; and they shall know that I am the Lord GOD.
28: 25 Thus saith the Lord GOD; When I shall have gathered the house of Israel from the people among whom they are scattered, and shall be sanctified in them in the sight of the heathen, then shall they dwell in their land that I have given to my servant Jacob.
28: 26 And they shall dwell safely therein, and shall build houses, and plant vineyards; yea, they shall dwell with confidence, when I have executed judgments upon all those that despise them round about them; and they shall know that I am the LORD their God.
29: 4 But I will put hooks in thy jaws, and I will cause the fish of thy rivers to stick unto thy scales, and I will bring thee up out of the midst of thy rivers, and all the fish of thy rivers shall stick unto thy scales.
29: 5 And I will leave thee thrown into the wilderness, thee and all the fish of thy rivers: thou shalt fall upon the open fields; thou shalt not be brought together, nor gathered: I have given thee for meat to the beasts of the field and to the fowls of the heaven.
29: 6 And all the inhabitants of Egypt shall know that I am the LORD, because they have been a staff of reed to the house of Israel.
29: 7 When they took hold of thee by thy hand, thou didst break, and rend all their shoulder: and when they leaned upon thee, thou brakest, and madest all their loins to be at a stand.
29: 8 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; Behold, I will bring a sword upon thee, and cut off man and beast out of thee.
29: 9 And the land of Egypt shall be desolate and waste; and they shall know that I am the LORD: because he hath said, The river is mine, and I have made it.
29: 10 Behold, therefore I am against thee, and against thy rivers, and I will make the land of Egypt utterly waste and desolate, from the tower of Syene even unto the border of Ethiopia.
29: 11 No foot of man shall pass through it, nor foot of beast shall pass through it, neither shall it be inhabited forty years.
29: 15 It shall be the basest of the kingdoms; neither shall it exalt itself any more above the nations: for I will diminish them, that they shall no more rule over the nations.
29: 16 And it shall be no more the confidence of the house of Israel, which bringeth their iniquity to remembrance, when they shall look after them: but they shall know that I am the Lord GOD.
29: 20 I have given him the land of Egypt for his labour wherewith he served against it, because they wrought for me, saith the Lord GOD.
29: 21 In that day will I cause the horn of the house of Israel to bud forth, and I will give thee the opening of the mouth in the midst of them; and they shall know that I am the LORD.
30: 1 The word of the LORD came again unto me, saying, 30: 2 Son of man, prophesy and say, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Howl ye, Woe worth the day!
30: 3 For the day is near, even the day of the LORD is near, a cloudy day; it shall be the time of the heathen.
30: 4 And the sword shall come upon Egypt, and great pain shall be in Ethiopia, when the slain shall fall in Egypt, and they shall take away her multitude, and her foundations shall be broken down.
30: 5 Ethiopia, and Libya, and Lydia, and all the mingled people, and Chub, and the men of the land that is in league, shall fall with them by the sword.
30: 6 Thus saith the LORD; They also that uphold Egypt shall fall; and the pride of her power shall come down: from the tower of Syene shall they fall in it by the sword, saith the Lord GOD.
30: 7 And they shall be desolate in the midst of the countries that are desolate, and her cities shall be in the midst of the cities that are wasted.
30: 8 And they shall know that I am the LORD, when I have set a fire in Egypt, and when all her helpers shall be destroyed.
30: 9 In that day shall messengers go forth from me in ships to make the careless Ethiopians afraid, and great pain shall come upon them, as in the day of Egypt: for, lo, it cometh.
30: 10 Thus saith the Lord GOD; I will also make the multitude of Egypt to cease by the hand of Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon.
30: 11 He and his people with him, the terrible of the nations, shall be brought to destroy the land: and they shall draw their swords against Egypt, and fill the land with the slain.
30: 12 And I will make the rivers dry, and sell the land into the hand of the wicked: and I will make the land waste, and all that is therein, by the hand of strangers: I the LORD have spoken it.
30: 13 Thus saith the Lord GOD; I will also destroy the idols, and I will cause their images to cease out of Noph; and there shall be no more a prince of the land of Egypt: and I will put a fear in the land of Egypt.
30: 14 And I will make Pathros desolate, and will set fire in Zoan, and will execute judgments in No.
30: 15 And I will pour my fury upon Sin, the strength of Egypt; and I will cut off the multitude of No.
30: 16 And I will set fire in Egypt: Sin shall have great pain, and No shall be rent asunder, and Noph shall have distresses daily.
30: 17 The young men of Aven and of Pibeseth shall fall by the sword: and these cities shall go into captivity.
30: 18 At Tehaphnehes also the day shall be darkened, when I shall break there the yokes of Egypt: and the pomp of her strength shall cease in her: as for her, a cloud shall cover her, and her daughters shall go into captivity.
30: 19 Thus will I execute judgments in Egypt: and they shall know that I am the LORD.
30: 22 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; Behold, I am against Pharaoh king of Egypt, and will break his arms, the strong, and that which was broken; and I will cause the sword to fall out of his hand.
30: 23 And I will scatter the Egyptians among the nations, and will disperse them through the countries.
30: 24 And I will strengthen the arms of the king of Babylon, and put my sword in his hand: but I will break Pharaoh's arms, and he shall groan before him with the groanings of a deadly wounded man.
30: 25 But I will strengthen the arms of the king of Babylon, and the arms of Pharaoh shall fall down; and they shall know that I am the LORD, when I shall put my sword into the hand of the king of Babylon, and he shall stretch it out upon the land of Egypt.
30: 26 And I will scatter the Egyptians among the nations, and disperse them among the countries; and they shall know that I am the LORD.
31: 1 And it came to pass in the eleventh year, in the third month, in the first day of the month, that the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 31: 2 Son of man, speak unto Pharaoh king of Egypt, and to his multitude; Whom art thou like in thy greatness?
31: 3 Behold, the Assyrian was a cedar in Lebanon with fair branches, and with a shadowing shroud, and of an high stature; and his top was among the thick boughs.
31: 4 The waters made him great, the deep set him up on high with her rivers running round about his plants, and sent her little rivers unto all the trees of the field.
31: 5 Therefore his height was exalted above all the trees of the field, and his boughs were multiplied, and his branches became long because of the multitude of waters, when he shot forth.
31: 6 All the fowls of heaven made their nests in his boughs, and under his branches did all the beasts of the field bring forth their young, and under his shadow dwelt all great nations.
31: 7 Thus was he fair in his greatness, in the length of his branches: for his root was by great waters.
31: 8 The cedars in the garden of God could not hide him: the fir trees were not like his boughs, and the chestnut trees were not like his branches; nor any tree in the garden of God was like unto him in his beauty.
31: 9 I have made him fair by the multitude of his branches: so that all the trees of Eden, that were in the garden of God, envied him.
31: 16 I made the nations to shake at the sound of his fall, when I cast him down to hell with them that descend into the pit: and all the trees of Eden, the choice and best of Lebanon, all that drink water, shall be comforted in the nether parts of the earth.
31: 17 They also went down into hell with him unto them that be slain with the sword; and they that were his arm, that dwelt under his shadow in the midst of the heathen.
31: 18 To whom art thou thus like in glory and in greatness among the trees of Eden?
yet shalt thou be brought down with the trees of Eden unto the nether parts of the earth: thou shalt lie in the midst of the uncircumcised with them that be slain by the sword.
This is Pharaoh and all his multitude, saith the Lord GOD.
32: 3 Thus saith the Lord GOD; I will therefore spread out my net over thee with a company of many people; and they shall bring thee up in my net.
32: 4 Then will I leave thee upon the land, I will cast thee forth upon the open field, and will cause all the fowls of the heaven to remain upon thee, and I will fill the beasts of the whole earth with thee.
32: 5 And I will lay thy flesh upon the mountains, and fill the valleys with thy height.
32: 6 I will also water with thy blood the land wherein thou swimmest, even to the mountains; and the rivers shall be full of thee.
32: 7 And when I shall put thee out, I will cover the heaven, and make the stars thereof dark; I will cover the sun with a cloud, and the moon shall not give her light.
32: 8 All the bright lights of heaven will I make dark over thee, and set darkness upon thy land, saith the Lord GOD.
32: 9 I will also vex the hearts of many people, when I shall bring thy destruction among the nations, into the countries which thou hast not known.
32: 10 Yea, I will make many people amazed at thee, and their kings shall be horribly afraid for thee, when I shall brandish my sword before them; and they shall tremble at every moment, every man for his own life, in the day of thy fall.
32: 11 For thus saith the Lord GOD; The sword of the king of Babylon shall come upon thee.
32: 12 By the swords of the mighty will I cause thy multitude to fall, the terrible of the nations, all of them: and they shall spoil the pomp of Egypt, and all the multitude thereof shall be destroyed.
32: 13 I will destroy also all the beasts thereof from beside the great waters; neither shall the foot of man trouble them any more, nor the hoofs of beasts trouble them.
32: 14 Then will I make their waters deep, and cause their rivers to run like oil, saith the Lord GOD.
32: 15 When I shall make the land of Egypt desolate, and the country shall be destitute of that whereof it was full, when I shall smite all them that dwell therein, then shall they know that I am the LORD.
32: 16 This is the lamentation wherewith they shall lament her: the daughters of the nations shall lament her: they shall lament for her, even for Egypt, and for all her multitude, saith the Lord GOD.
32: 19 Whom dost thou pass in beauty?
go down, and be thou laid with the uncircumcised.
32: 20 They shall fall in the midst of them that are slain by the sword: she is delivered to the sword: draw her and all her multitudes.
32: 21 The strong among the mighty shall speak to him out of the midst of hell with them that help him: they are gone down, they lie uncircumcised, slain by the sword.
32: 26 There is Meshech, Tubal, and all her multitude: her graves are round about him: all of them uncircumcised, slain by the sword, though they caused their terror in the land of the living.
32: 28 Yea, thou shalt be broken in the midst of the uncircumcised, and shalt lie with them that are slain with the sword.
32: 29 There is Edom, her kings, and all her princes, which with their might are laid by them that were slain by the sword: they shall lie with the uncircumcised, and with them that go down to the pit.
32: 31 Pharaoh shall see them, and shall be comforted over all his multitude, even Pharaoh and all his army slain by the sword, saith the Lord GOD.
32: 32 For I have caused my terror in the land of the living: and he shall be laid in the midst of the uncircumcised with them that are slain with the sword, even Pharaoh and all his multitude, saith the Lord GOD.
33: 5 He heard the sound of the trumpet, and took not warning; his blood shall be upon him.
But he that taketh warning shall deliver his soul.
33: 6 But if the watchman see the sword come, and blow not the trumpet, and the people be not warned; if the sword come, and take any person from among them, he is taken away in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at the watchman's hand.
33: 7 So thou, O son of man, I have set thee a watchman unto the house of Israel; therefore thou shalt hear the word at my mouth, and warn them from me.
33: 8 When I say unto the wicked, O wicked man, thou shalt surely die; if thou dost not speak to warn the wicked from his way, that wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at thine hand.
33: 9 Nevertheless, if thou warn the wicked of his way to turn from it; if he do not turn from his way, he shall die in his iniquity; but thou hast delivered thy soul.
33: 10 Therefore, O thou son of man, speak unto the house of Israel; Thus ye speak, saying, If our transgressions and our sins be upon us, and we pine away in them, how should we then live?
33: 11 Say unto them, As I live, saith the Lord GOD, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live: turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways; for why will ye die, O house of Israel?
33: 13 When I shall say to the righteous, that he shall surely live; if he trust to his own righteousness, and commit iniquity, all his righteousnesses shall not be remembered; but for his iniquity that he hath committed, he shall die for it.
33: 16 None of his sins that he hath committed shall be mentioned unto him: he hath done that which is lawful and right; he shall surely live.
33: 17 Yet the children of thy people say, The way of the Lord is not equal: but as for them, their way is not equal.
33: 18 When the righteous turneth from his righteousness, and committeth iniquity, he shall even die thereby.
33: 19 But if the wicked turn from his wickedness, and do that which is lawful and right, he shall live thereby.
33: 20 Yet ye say, The way of the Lord is not equal.
O ye house of Israel, I will judge you every one after his ways.
33: 21 And it came to pass in the twelfth year of our captivity, in the tenth month, in the fifth day of the month, that one that had escaped out of Jerusalem came unto me, saying, The city is smitten.
33: 22 Now the hand of the LORD was upon me in the evening, afore he that was escaped came; and had opened my mouth, until he came to me in the morning; and my mouth was opened, and I was no more dumb.
33: 23 Then the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 33: 24 Son of man, they that inhabit those wastes of the land of Israel speak, saying, Abraham was one, and he inherited the land: but we are many; the land is given us for inheritance.
33: 25 Wherefore say unto them, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Ye eat with the blood, and lift up your eyes toward your idols, and shed blood: and shall ye possess the land?
33: 26 Ye stand upon your sword, ye work abomination, and ye defile every one his neighbour's wife: and shall ye possess the land?
33: 28 For I will lay the land most desolate, and the pomp of her strength shall cease; and the mountains of Israel shall be desolate, that none shall pass through.
33: 29 Then shall they know that I am the LORD, when I have laid the land most desolate because of all their abominations which they have committed.
33: 30 Also, thou son of man, the children of thy people still are talking against thee by the walls and in the doors of the houses, and speak one to another, every one to his brother, saying, Come, I pray you, and hear what is the word that cometh forth from the LORD.
33: 31 And they come unto thee as the people cometh, and they sit before thee as my people, and they hear thy words, but they will not do them: for with their mouth they shew much love, but their heart goeth after their covetousness.
33: 32 And, lo, thou art unto them as a very lovely song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and can play well on an instrument: for they hear thy words, but they do them not.
33: 33 And when this cometh to pass, (lo, it will come,) then shall they know that a prophet hath been among them.
34: 1 And the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 34: 2 Son of man, prophesy against the shepherds of Israel, prophesy, and say unto them, Thus saith the Lord GOD unto the shepherds; Woe be to the shepherds of Israel that do feed themselves!
should not the shepherds feed the flocks?
34: 3 Ye eat the fat, and ye clothe you with the wool, ye kill them that are fed: but ye feed not the flock.
34: 5 And they were scattered, because there is no shepherd: and they became meat to all the beasts of the field, when they were scattered.
34: 6 My sheep wandered through all the mountains, and upon every high hill: yea, my flock was scattered upon all the face of the earth, and none did search or seek after them.
34: 11 For thus saith the Lord GOD; Behold, I, even I, will both search my sheep, and seek them out.
34: 12 As a shepherd seeketh out his flock in the day that he is among his sheep that are scattered; so will I seek out my sheep, and will deliver them out of all places where they have been scattered in the cloudy and dark day.
34: 13 And I will bring them out from the people, and gather them from the countries, and will bring them to their own land, and feed them upon the mountains of Israel by the rivers, and in all the inhabited places of the country.
34: 14 I will feed them in a good pasture, and upon the high mountains of Israel shall their fold be: there shall they lie in a good fold, and in a fat pasture shall they feed upon the mountains of Israel.
34: 15 I will feed my flock, and I will cause them to lie down, saith the Lord GOD.
34: 16 I will seek that which was lost, and bring again that which was driven away, and will bind up that which was broken, and will strengthen that which was sick: but I will destroy the fat and the strong; I will feed them with judgment.
34: 17 And as for you, O my flock, thus saith the Lord GOD; Behold, I judge between cattle and cattle, between the rams and the he goats.
34: 18 Seemeth it a small thing unto you to have eaten up the good pasture, but ye must tread down with your feet the residue of your pastures?
and to have drunk of the deep waters, but ye must foul the residue with your feet?
34: 19 And as for my flock, they eat that which ye have trodden with your feet; and they drink that which ye have fouled with your feet.
34: 20 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD unto them; Behold, I, even I, will judge between the fat cattle and between the lean cattle.
34: 21 Because ye have thrust with side and with shoulder, and pushed all the diseased with your horns, till ye have scattered them abroad; 34: 22 Therefore will I save my flock, and they shall no more be a prey; and I will judge between cattle and cattle.
34: 23 And I will set up one shepherd over them, and he shall feed them, even my servant David; he shall feed them, and he shall be their shepherd.
34: 24 And I the LORD will be their God, and my servant David a prince among them; I the LORD have spoken it.
34: 25 And I will make with them a covenant of peace, and will cause the evil beasts to cease out of the land: and they shall dwell safely in the wilderness, and sleep in the woods.
34: 26 And I will make them and the places round about my hill a blessing; and I will cause the shower to come down in his season; there shall be showers of blessing.
34: 28 And they shall no more be a prey to the heathen, neither shall the beast of the land devour them; but they shall dwell safely, and none shall make them afraid.
34: 29 And I will raise up for them a plant of renown, and they shall be no more consumed with hunger in the land, neither bear the shame of the heathen any more.
34: 30 Thus shall they know that I the LORD their God am with them, and that they, even the house of Israel, are my people, saith the Lord GOD.
34: 31 And ye my flock, the flock of my pasture, are men, and I am your God, saith the Lord GOD.
35: 4 I will lay thy cities waste, and thou shalt be desolate, and thou shalt know that I am the LORD.
35: 7 Thus will I make mount Seir most desolate, and cut off from it him that passeth out and him that returneth.
35: 8 And I will fill his mountains with his slain men: in thy hills, and in thy valleys, and in all thy rivers, shall they fall that are slain with the sword.
35: 9 I will make thee perpetual desolations, and thy cities shall not return: and ye shall know that I am the LORD.
35: 12 And thou shalt know that I am the LORD, and that I have heard all thy blasphemies which thou hast spoken against the mountains of Israel, saying, They are laid desolate, they are given us to consume.
35: 13 Thus with your mouth ye have boasted against me, and have multiplied your words against me: I have heard them.
35: 14 Thus saith the Lord GOD; When the whole earth rejoiceth, I will make thee desolate.
35: 15 As thou didst rejoice at the inheritance of the house of Israel, because it was desolate, so will I do unto thee: thou shalt be desolate, O mount Seir, and all Idumea, even all of it: and they shall know that I am the LORD.
36: 8 But ye, O mountains of Israel, ye shall shoot forth your branches, and yield your fruit to my people of Israel; for they are at hand to come.
36: 12 Yea, I will cause men to walk upon you, even my people Israel; and they shall possess thee, and thou shalt be their inheritance, and thou shalt no more henceforth bereave them of men.
36: 13 Thus saith the Lord GOD; Because they say unto you, Thou land devourest up men, and hast bereaved thy nations: 36: 14 Therefore thou shalt devour men no more, neither bereave thy nations any more, saith the Lord GOD.
36: 15 Neither will I cause men to hear in thee the shame of the heathen any more, neither shalt thou bear the reproach of the people any more, neither shalt thou cause thy nations to fall any more, saith the Lord GOD.
36: 16 Moreover the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 36: 17 Son of man, when the house of Israel dwelt in their own land, they defiled it by their own way and by their doings: their way was before me as the uncleanness of a removed woman.
36: 20 And when they entered unto the heathen, whither they went, they profaned my holy name, when they said to them, These are the people of the LORD, and are gone forth out of his land.
36: 21 But I had pity for mine holy name, which the house of Israel had profaned among the heathen, whither they went.
36: 22 Therefore say unto the house of Israel, thus saith the Lord GOD; I do not this for your sakes, O house of Israel, but for mine holy name's sake, which ye have profaned among the heathen, whither ye went.
36: 23 And I will sanctify my great name, which was profaned among the heathen, which ye have profaned in the midst of them; and the heathen shall know that I am the LORD, saith the Lord GOD, when I shall be sanctified in you before their eyes.
36: 24 For I will take you from among the heathen, and gather you out of all countries, and will bring you into your own land.
36: 25 Then will I sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall be clean: from all your filthiness, and from all your idols, will I cleanse you.
36: 26 A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh.
36: 27 And I will put my spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and ye shall keep my judgments, and do them.
36: 28 And ye shall dwell in the land that I gave to your fathers; and ye shall be my people, and I will be your God.
36: 29 I will also save you from all your uncleannesses: and I will call for the corn, and will increase it, and lay no famine upon you.
36: 30 And I will multiply the fruit of the tree, and the increase of the field, that ye shall receive no more reproach of famine among the heathen.
36: 31 Then shall ye remember your own evil ways, and your doings that were not good, and shall lothe yourselves in your own sight for your iniquities and for your abominations.
36: 32 Not for your sakes do I this, saith the Lord GOD, be it known unto you: be ashamed and confounded for your own ways, O house of Israel.
36: 33 Thus saith the Lord GOD; In the day that I shall have cleansed you from all your iniquities I will also cause you to dwell in the cities, and the wastes shall be builded.
36: 34 And the desolate land shall be tilled, whereas it lay desolate in the sight of all that passed by.
36: 35 And they shall say, This land that was desolate is become like the garden of Eden; and the waste and desolate and ruined cities are become fenced, and are inhabited.
36: 36 Then the heathen that are left round about you shall know that I the LORD build the ruined places, and plant that that was desolate: I the LORD have spoken it, and I will do it.
36: 37 Thus saith the Lord GOD; I will yet for this be enquired of by the house of Israel, to do it for them; I will increase them with men like a flock.
36: 38 As the holy flock, as the flock of Jerusalem in her solemn feasts; so shall the waste cities be filled with flocks of men: and they shall know that I am the LORD.
37: 3 And he said unto me, Son of man, can these bones live?
And I answered, O Lord GOD, thou knowest.
37: 4 Again he said unto me, Prophesy upon these bones, and say unto them, O ye dry bones, hear the word of the LORD.
37: 7 So I prophesied as I was commanded: and as I prophesied, there was a noise, and behold a shaking, and the bones came together, bone to his bone.
37: 8 And when I beheld, lo, the sinews and the flesh came up upon them, and the skin covered them above: but there was no breath in them.
37: 9 Then said he unto me, Prophesy unto the wind, prophesy, son of man, and say to the wind, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.
37: 10 So I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood up upon their feet, an exceeding great army.
37: 11 Then he said unto me, Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel: behold, they say, Our bones are dried, and our hope is lost: we are cut off for our parts.
37: 12 Therefore prophesy and say unto them, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Behold, O my people, I will open your graves, and cause you to come up out of your graves, and bring you into the land of Israel.
37: 18 And when the children of thy people shall speak unto thee, saying, Wilt thou not shew us what thou meanest by these?
37: 20 And the sticks whereon thou writest shall be in thine hand before their eyes.
37: 24 And David my servant shall be king over them; and they all shall have one shepherd: they shall also walk in my judgments, and observe my statutes, and do them.
37: 25 And they shall dwell in the land that I have given unto Jacob my servant, wherein your fathers have dwelt; and they shall dwell therein, even they, and their children, and their children's children for ever: and my servant David shall be their prince for ever.
37: 26 Moreover I will make a covenant of peace with them; it shall be an everlasting covenant with them: and I will place them, and multiply them, and will set my sanctuary in the midst of them for evermore.
37: 27 My tabernacle also shall be with them: yea, I will be their God, and they shall be my people.
37: 28 And the heathen shall know that I the LORD do sanctify Israel, when my sanctuary shall be in the midst of them for evermore.
38: 7 Be thou prepared, and prepare for thyself, thou, and all thy company that are assembled unto thee, and be thou a guard unto them.
38: 9 Thou shalt ascend and come like a storm, thou shalt be like a cloud to cover the land, thou, and all thy bands, and many people with thee.
38: 13 Sheba, and Dedan, and the merchants of Tarshish, with all the young lions thereof, shall say unto thee, Art thou come to take a spoil?
hast thou gathered thy company to take a prey?
to carry away silver and gold, to take away cattle and goods, to take a great spoil?
38: 14 Therefore, son of man, prophesy and say unto Gog, Thus saith the Lord GOD; In that day when my people of Israel dwelleth safely, shalt thou not know it?
38: 17 Thus saith the Lord GOD; Art thou he of whom I have spoken in old time by my servants the prophets of Israel, which prophesied in those days many years that I would bring thee against them?
38: 18 And it shall come to pass at the same time when Gog shall come against the land of Israel, saith the Lord GOD, that my fury shall come up in my face.
38: 21 And I will call for a sword against him throughout all my mountains, saith the Lord GOD: every man's sword shall be against his brother.
38: 22 And I will plead against him with pestilence and with blood; and I will rain upon him, and upon his bands, and upon the many people that are with him, an overflowing rain, and great hailstones, fire, and brimstone.
38: 23 Thus will I magnify myself, and sanctify myself; and I will be known in the eyes of many nations, and they shall know that I am the LORD.
39: 4 Thou shalt fall upon the mountains of Israel, thou, and all thy bands, and the people that is with thee: I will give thee unto the ravenous birds of every sort, and to the beasts of the field to be devoured.
39: 5 Thou shalt fall upon the open field: for I have spoken it, saith the Lord GOD.
39: 6 And I will send a fire on Magog, and among them that dwell carelessly in the isles: and they shall know that I am the LORD.
39: 7 So will I make my holy name known in the midst of my people Israel; and I will not let them pollute my holy name any more: and the heathen shall know that I am the LORD, the Holy One in Israel.
39: 8 Behold, it is come, and it is done, saith the Lord GOD; this is the day whereof I have spoken.
39: 12 And seven months shall the house of Israel be burying of them, that they may cleanse the land.
39: 13 Yea, all the people of the land shall bury them; and it shall be to them a renown the day that I shall be glorified, saith the Lord GOD.
39: 14 And they shall sever out men of continual employment, passing through the land to bury with the passengers those that remain upon the face of the earth, to cleanse it: after the end of seven months shall they search.
39: 15 And the passengers that pass through the land, when any seeth a man's bone, then shall he set up a sign by it, till the buriers have buried it in the valley of Hamongog.
39: 16 And also the name of the city shall be Hamonah.
Thus shall they cleanse the land.
39: 18 Ye shall eat the flesh of the mighty, and drink the blood of the princes of the earth, of rams, of lambs, and of goats, of bullocks, all of them fatlings of Bashan.
39: 19 And ye shall eat fat till ye be full, and drink blood till ye be drunken, of my sacrifice which I have sacrificed for you.
39: 20 Thus ye shall be filled at my table with horses and chariots, with mighty men, and with all men of war, saith the Lord GOD.
39: 21 And I will set my glory among the heathen, and all the heathen shall see my judgment that I have executed, and my hand that I have laid upon them.
39: 22 So the house of Israel shall know that I am the LORD their God from that day and forward.
39: 23 And the heathen shall know that the house of Israel went into captivity for their iniquity: because they trespassed against me, therefore hid I my face from them, and gave them into the hand of their enemies: so fell they all by the sword.
39: 24 According to their uncleanness and according to their transgressions have I done unto them, and hid my face from them.
39: 29 Neither will I hide my face any more from them: for I have poured out my spirit upon the house of Israel, saith the Lord GOD.
40: 1 In the five and twentieth year of our captivity, in the beginning of the year, in the tenth day of the month, in the fourteenth year after that the city was smitten, in the selfsame day the hand of the LORD was upon me, and brought me thither.
40: 2 In the visions of God brought he me into the land of Israel, and set me upon a very high mountain, by which was as the frame of a city on the south.
40: 3 And he brought me thither, and, behold, there was a man, whose appearance was like the appearance of brass, with a line of flax in his hand, and a measuring reed; and he stood in the gate.
40: 4 And the man said unto me, Son of man, behold with thine eyes, and hear with thine ears, and set thine heart upon all that I shall shew thee; for to the intent that I might shew them unto thee art thou brought hither: declare all that thou seest to the house of Israel.
40: 5 And behold a wall on the outside of the house round about, and in the man's hand a measuring reed of six cubits long by the cubit and an hand breadth: so he measured the breadth of the building, one reed; and the height, one reed.
40: 6 Then came he unto the gate which looketh toward the east, and went up the stairs thereof, and measured the threshold of the gate, which was one reed broad; and the other threshold of the gate, which was one reed broad.
40: 7 And every little chamber was one reed long, and one reed broad; and between the little chambers were five cubits; and the threshold of the gate by the porch of the gate within was one reed.
40: 8 He measured also the porch of the gate within, one reed.
40: 9 Then measured he the porch of the gate, eight cubits; and the posts thereof, two cubits; and the porch of the gate was inward.
40: 10 And the little chambers of the gate eastward were three on this side, and three on that side; they three were of one measure: and the posts had one measure on this side and on that side.
40: 11 And he measured the breadth of the entry of the gate, ten cubits; and the length of the gate, thirteen cubits.
40: 12 The space also before the little chambers was one cubit on this side, and the space was one cubit on that side: and the little chambers were six cubits on this side, and six cubits on that side.
40: 13 He measured then the gate from the roof of one little chamber to the roof of another: the breadth was five and twenty cubits, door against door.
40: 14 He made also posts of threescore cubits, even unto the post of the court round about the gate.
40: 15 And from the face of the gate of the entrance unto the face of the porch of the inner gate were fifty cubits.
40: 16 And there were narrow windows to the little chambers, and to their posts within the gate round about, and likewise to the arches: and windows were round about inward: and upon each post were palm trees.
40: 17 Then brought he me into the outward court, and, lo, there were chambers, and a pavement made for the court round about: thirty chambers were upon the pavement.
40: 18 And the pavement by the side of the gates over against the length of the gates was the lower pavement.
40: 19 Then he measured the breadth from the forefront of the lower gate unto the forefront of the inner court without, an hundred cubits eastward and northward.
40: 20 And the gate of the outward court that looked toward the north, he measured the length thereof, and the breadth thereof.
40: 21 And the little chambers thereof were three on this side and three on that side; and the posts thereof and the arches thereof were after the measure of the first gate: the length thereof was fifty cubits, and the breadth five and twenty cubits.
40: 22 And their windows, and their arches, and their palm trees, were after the measure of the gate that looketh toward the east; and they went up unto it by seven steps; and the arches thereof were before them.
40: 23 And the gate of the inner court was over against the gate toward the north, and toward the east; and he measured from gate to gate an hundred cubits.
40: 24 After that he brought me toward the south, and behold a gate toward the south: and he measured the posts thereof and the arches thereof according to these measures.
40: 25 And there were windows in it and in the arches thereof round about, like those windows: the length was fifty cubits, and the breadth five and twenty cubits.
40: 26 And there were seven steps to go up to it, and the arches thereof were before them: and it had palm trees, one on this side, and another on that side, upon the posts thereof.
40: 27 And there was a gate in the inner court toward the south: and he measured from gate to gate toward the south an hundred cubits.
40: 30 And the arches round about were five and twenty cubits long, and five cubits broad.
40: 31 And the arches thereof were toward the utter court; and palm trees were upon the posts thereof: and the going up to it had eight steps.
40: 32 And he brought me into the inner court toward the east: and he measured the gate according to these measures.
40: 33 And the little chambers thereof, and the posts thereof, and the arches thereof, were according to these measures: and there were windows therein and in the arches thereof round about: it was fifty cubits long, and five and twenty cubits broad.
40: 34 And the arches thereof were toward the outward court; and palm trees were upon the posts thereof, on this side, and on that side: and the going up to it had eight steps.
40: 35 And he brought me to the north gate, and measured it according to these measures; 40: 36 The little chambers thereof, the posts thereof, and the arches thereof, and the windows to it round about: the length was fifty cubits, and the breadth five and twenty cubits.
40: 37 And the posts thereof were toward the utter court; and palm trees were upon the posts thereof, on this side, and on that side: and the going up to it had eight steps.
40: 38 And the chambers and the entries thereof were by the posts of the gates, where they washed the burnt offering.
40: 39 And in the porch of the gate were two tables on this side, and two tables on that side, to slay thereon the burnt offering and the sin offering and the trespass offering.
40: 40 And at the side without, as one goeth up to the entry of the north gate, were two tables; and on the other side, which was at the porch of the gate, were two tables.
40: 41 Four tables were on this side, and four tables on that side, by the side of the gate; eight tables, whereupon they slew their sacrifices.
40: 42 And the four tables were of hewn stone for the burnt offering, of a cubit and an half long, and a cubit and an half broad, and one cubit high: whereupon also they laid the instruments wherewith they slew the burnt offering and the sacrifice.
40: 43 And within were hooks, an hand broad, fastened round about: and upon the tables was the flesh of the offering.
40: 44 And without the inner gate were the chambers of the singers in the inner court, which was at the side of the north gate; and their prospect was toward the south: one at the side of the east gate having the prospect toward the north.
40: 45 And he said unto me, This chamber, whose prospect is toward the south, is for the priests, the keepers of the charge of the house.
40: 46 And the chamber whose prospect is toward the north is for the priests, the keepers of the charge of the altar: these are the sons of Zadok among the sons of Levi, which come near to the LORD to minister unto him.
40: 47 So he measured the court, an hundred cubits long, and an hundred cubits broad, foursquare; and the altar that was before the house.
40: 48 And he brought me to the porch of the house, and measured each post of the porch, five cubits on this side, and five cubits on that side: and the breadth of the gate was three cubits on this side, and three cubits on that side.
40: 49 The length of the porch was twenty cubits, and the breadth eleven cubits, and he brought me by the steps whereby they went up to it: and there were pillars by the posts, one on this side, and another on that side.
41: 1 Afterward he brought me to the temple, and measured the posts, six cubits broad on the one side, and six cubits broad on the other side, which was the breadth of the tabernacle.
41: 2 And the breadth of the door was ten cubits; and the sides of the door were five cubits on the one side, and five cubits on the other side: and he measured the length thereof, forty cubits: and the breadth, twenty cubits.
41: 3 Then went he inward, and measured the post of the door, two cubits; and the door, six cubits; and the breadth of the door, seven cubits.
41: 4 So he measured the length thereof, twenty cubits; and the breadth, twenty cubits, before the temple: and he said unto me, This is the most holy place.
41: 5 After he measured the wall of the house, six cubits; and the breadth of every side chamber, four cubits, round about the house on every side.
41: 6 And the side chambers were three, one over another, and thirty in order; and they entered into the wall which was of the house for the side chambers round about, that they might have hold, but they had not hold in the wall of the house.
41: 8 I saw also the height of the house round about: the foundations of the side chambers were a full reed of six great cubits.
41: 9 The thickness of the wall, which was for the side chamber without, was five cubits: and that which was left was the place of the side chambers that were within.
41: 10 And between the chambers was the wideness of twenty cubits round about the house on every side.
41: 11 And the doors of the side chambers were toward the place that was left, one door toward the north, and another door toward the south: and the breadth of the place that was left was five cubits round about.
41: 12 Now the building that was before the separate place at the end toward the west was seventy cubits broad; and the wall of the building was five cubits thick round about, and the length thereof ninety cubits.
41: 13 So he measured the house, an hundred cubits long; and the separate place, and the building, with the walls thereof, an hundred cubits long; 41: 14 Also the breadth of the face of the house, and of the separate place toward the east, an hundred cubits.
41: 20 From the ground unto above the door were cherubims and palm trees made, and on the wall of the temple.
41: 21 The posts of the temple were squared, and the face of the sanctuary; the appearance of the one as the appearance of the other.
41: 22 The altar of wood was three cubits high, and the length thereof two cubits; and the corners thereof, and the length thereof, and the walls thereof, were of wood: and he said unto me, This is the table that is before the LORD.
41: 23 And the temple and the sanctuary had two doors.
41: 24 And the doors had two leaves apiece, two turning leaves; two leaves for the one door, and two leaves for the other door.
41: 25 And there were made on them, on the doors of the temple, cherubims and palm trees, like as were made upon the walls; and there were thick planks upon the face of the porch without.
41: 26 And there were narrow windows and palm trees on the one side and on the other side, on the sides of the porch, and upon the side chambers of the house, and thick planks.
42: 1 Then he brought me forth into the utter court, the way toward the north: and he brought me into the chamber that was over against the separate place, and which was before the building toward the north.
42: 2 Before the length of an hundred cubits was the north door, and the breadth was fifty cubits.
42: 3 Over against the twenty cubits which were for the inner court, and over against the pavement which was for the utter court, was gallery against gallery in three stories.
42: 4 And before the chambers was a walk to ten cubits breadth inward, a way of one cubit; and their doors toward the north.
42: 5 Now the upper chambers were shorter: for the galleries were higher than these, than the lower, and than the middlemost of the building.
42: 6 For they were in three stories, but had not pillars as the pillars of the courts: therefore the building was straitened more than the lowest and the middlemost from the ground.
42: 7 And the wall that was without over against the chambers, toward the utter court on the forepart of the chambers, the length thereof was fifty cubits.
42: 8 For the length of the chambers that were in the utter court was fifty cubits: and, lo, before the temple were an hundred cubits.
42: 9 And from under these chambers was the entry on the east side, as one goeth into them from the utter court.
42: 10 The chambers were in the thickness of the wall of the court toward the east, over against the separate place, and over against the building.
42: 11 And the way before them was like the appearance of the chambers which were toward the north, as long as they, and as broad as they: and all their goings out were both according to their fashions, and according to their doors.
42: 12 And according to the doors of the chambers that were toward the south was a door in the head of the way, even the way directly before the wall toward the east, as one entereth into them.
42: 15 Now when he had made an end of measuring the inner house, he brought me forth toward the gate whose prospect is toward the east, and measured it round about.
42: 16 He measured the east side with the measuring reed, five hundred reeds, with the measuring reed round about.
42: 17 He measured the north side, five hundred reeds, with the measuring reed round about.
42: 18 He measured the south side, five hundred reeds, with the measuring reed.
42: 19 He turned about to the west side, and measured five hundred reeds with the measuring reed.
42: 20 He measured it by the four sides: it had a wall round about, five hundred reeds long, and five hundred broad, to make a separation between the sanctuary and the profane place.
43: 1 Afterward he brought me to the gate, even the gate that looketh toward the east: 43: 2 And, behold, the glory of the God of Israel came from the way of the east: and his voice was like a noise of many waters: and the earth shined with his glory.
43: 3 And it was according to the appearance of the vision which I saw, even according to the vision that I saw when I came to destroy the city: and the visions were like the vision that I saw by the river Chebar; and I fell upon my face.
43: 4 And the glory of the LORD came into the house by the way of the gate whose prospect is toward the east.
43: 5 So the spirit took me up, and brought me into the inner court; and, behold, the glory of the LORD filled the house.
43: 6 And I heard him speaking unto me out of the house; and the man stood by me.
43: 8 In their setting of their threshold by my thresholds, and their post by my posts, and the wall between me and them, they have even defiled my holy name by their abominations that they have committed: wherefore I have consumed them in mine anger.
43: 9 Now let them put away their whoredom, and the carcases of their kings, far from me, and I will dwell in the midst of them for ever.
43: 10 Thou son of man, shew the house to the house of Israel, that they may be ashamed of their iniquities: and let them measure the pattern.
43: 12 This is the law of the house; Upon the top of the mountain the whole limit thereof round about shall be most holy.
Behold, this is the law of the house.
43: 14 And from the bottom upon the ground even to the lower settle shall be two cubits, and the breadth one cubit; and from the lesser settle even to the greater settle shall be four cubits, and the breadth one cubit.
43: 15 So the altar shall be four cubits; and from the altar and upward shall be four horns.
43: 16 And the altar shall be twelve cubits long, twelve broad, square in the four squares thereof.
43: 17 And the settle shall be fourteen cubits long and fourteen broad in the four squares thereof; and the border about it shall be half a cubit; and the bottom thereof shall be a cubit about; and his stairs shall look toward the east.
43: 18 And he said unto me, Son of man, thus saith the Lord GOD; These are the ordinances of the altar in the day when they shall make it, to offer burnt offerings thereon, and to sprinkle blood thereon.
43: 19 And thou shalt give to the priests the Levites that be of the seed of Zadok, which approach unto me, to minister unto me, saith the Lord GOD, a young bullock for a sin offering.
43: 20 And thou shalt take of the blood thereof, and put it on the four horns of it, and on the four corners of the settle, and upon the border round about: thus shalt thou cleanse and purge it.
43: 21 Thou shalt take the bullock also of the sin offering, and he shall burn it in the appointed place of the house, without the sanctuary.
43: 22 And on the second day thou shalt offer a kid of the goats without blemish for a sin offering; and they shall cleanse the altar, as they did cleanse it with the bullock.
43: 23 When thou hast made an end of cleansing it, thou shalt offer a young bullock without blemish, and a ram out of the flock without blemish.
43: 24 And thou shalt offer them before the LORD, and the priests shall cast salt upon them, and they shall offer them up for a burnt offering unto the LORD.
43: 25 Seven days shalt thou prepare every day a goat for a sin offering: they shall also prepare a young bullock, and a ram out of the flock, without blemish.
43: 26 Seven days shall they purge the altar and purify it; and they shall consecrate themselves.
43: 27 And when these days are expired, it shall be, that upon the eighth day, and so forward, the priests shall make your burnt offerings upon the altar, and your peace offerings; and I will accept you, saith the Lord GOD.
44: 1 Then he brought me back the way of the gate of the outward sanctuary which looketh toward the east; and it was shut.
44: 2 Then said the LORD unto me; This gate shall be shut, it shall not be opened, and no man shall enter in by it; because the LORD, the God of Israel, hath entered in by it, therefore it shall be shut.
44: 3 It is for the prince; the prince, he shall sit in it to eat bread before the LORD; he shall enter by the way of the porch of that gate, and shall go out by the way of the same.
44: 4 Then brought he me the way of the north gate before the house: and I looked, and, behold, the glory of the LORD filled the house of the LORD: and I fell upon my face.
44: 8 And ye have not kept the charge of mine holy things: but ye have set keepers of my charge in my sanctuary for yourselves.
44: 9 Thus saith the Lord GOD; No stranger, uncircumcised in heart, nor uncircumcised in flesh, shall enter into my sanctuary, of any stranger that is among the children of Israel.
44: 10 And the Levites that are gone away far from me, when Israel went astray, which went astray away from me after their idols; they shall even bear their iniquity.
44: 11 Yet they shall be ministers in my sanctuary, having charge at the gates of the house, and ministering to the house: they shall slay the burnt offering and the sacrifice for the people, and they shall stand before them to minister unto them.
44: 12 Because they ministered unto them before their idols, and caused the house of Israel to fall into iniquity; therefore have I lifted up mine hand against them, saith the Lord GOD, and they shall bear their iniquity.
44: 13 And they shall not come near unto me, to do the office of a priest unto me, nor to come near to any of my holy things, in the most holy place: but they shall bear their shame, and their abominations which they have committed.
44: 14 But I will make them keepers of the charge of the house, for all the service thereof, and for all that shall be done therein.
44: 17 And it shall come to pass, that when they enter in at the gates of the inner court, they shall be clothed with linen garments; and no wool shall come upon them, whiles they minister in the gates of the inner court, and within.
44: 18 They shall have linen bonnets upon their heads, and shall have linen breeches upon their loins; they shall not gird themselves with any thing that causeth sweat.
44: 20 Neither shall they shave their heads, nor suffer their locks to grow long; they shall only poll their heads.
44: 21 Neither shall any priest drink wine, when they enter into the inner court.
44: 22 Neither shall they take for their wives a widow, nor her that is put away: but they shall take maidens of the seed of the house of Israel, or a widow that had a priest before.
44: 23 And they shall teach my people the difference between the holy and profane, and cause them to discern between the unclean and the clean.
44: 24 And in controversy they shall stand in judgment; and they shall judge it according to my judgments: and they shall keep my laws and my statutes in all mine assemblies; and they shall hallow my sabbaths.
44: 25 And they shall come at no dead person to defile themselves: but for father, or for mother, or for son, or for daughter, for brother, or for sister that hath had no husband, they may defile themselves.
44: 26 And after he is cleansed, they shall reckon unto him seven days.
44: 27 And in the day that he goeth into the sanctuary, unto the inner court, to minister in the sanctuary, he shall offer his sin offering, saith the Lord GOD.
44: 28 And it shall be unto them for an inheritance: I am their inheritance: and ye shall give them no possession in Israel: I am their possession.
44: 29 They shall eat the meat offering, and the sin offering, and the trespass offering: and every dedicated thing in Israel shall be theirs.
44: 30 And the first of all the firstfruits of all things, and every oblation of all, of every sort of your oblations, shall be the priest's: ye shall also give unto the priest the first of your dough, that he may cause the blessing to rest in thine house.
44: 31 The priests shall not eat of any thing that is dead of itself, or torn, whether it be fowl or beast.
45: 1 Moreover, when ye shall divide by lot the land for inheritance, ye shall offer an oblation unto the LORD, an holy portion of the land: the length shall be the length of five and twenty thousand reeds, and the breadth shall be ten thousand.
This shall be holy in all the borders thereof round about.
45: 2 Of this there shall be for the sanctuary five hundred in length, with five hundred in breadth, square round about; and fifty cubits round about for the suburbs thereof.
45: 3 And of this measure shalt thou measure the length of five and twenty thousand, and the breadth of ten thousand: and in it shall be the sanctuary and the most holy place.
45: 4 The holy portion of the land shall be for the priests the ministers of the sanctuary, which shall come near to minister unto the LORD: and it shall be a place for their houses, and an holy place for the sanctuary.
45: 5 And the five and twenty thousand of length, and the ten thousand of breadth shall also the Levites, the ministers of the house, have for themselves, for a possession for twenty chambers.
45: 6 And ye shall appoint the possession of the city five thousand broad, and five and twenty thousand long, over against the oblation of the holy portion: it shall be for the whole house of Israel.
45: 8 In the land shall be his possession in Israel: and my princes shall no more oppress my people; and the rest of the land shall they give to the house of Israel according to their tribes.
45: 9 Thus saith the Lord GOD; Let it suffice you, O princes of Israel: remove violence and spoil, and execute judgment and justice, take away your exactions from my people, saith the Lord GOD.
45: 10 Ye shall have just balances, and a just ephah, and a just bath.
45: 11 The ephah and the bath shall be of one measure, that the bath may contain the tenth part of an homer, and the ephah the tenth part of an homer: the measure thereof shall be after the homer.
45: 12 And the shekel shall be twenty gerahs: twenty shekels, five and twenty shekels, fifteen shekels, shall be your maneh.
45: 16 All the people of the land shall give this oblation for the prince in Israel.
45: 20 And so thou shalt do the seventh day of the month for every one that erreth, and for him that is simple: so shall ye reconcile the house.
45: 21 In the first month, in the fourteenth day of the month, ye shall have the passover, a feast of seven days; unleavened bread shall be eaten.
45: 22 And upon that day shall the prince prepare for himself and for all the people of the land a bullock for a sin offering.
45: 23 And seven days of the feast he shall prepare a burnt offering to the LORD, seven bullocks and seven rams without blemish daily the seven days; and a kid of the goats daily for a sin offering.
45: 24 And he shall prepare a meat offering of an ephah for a bullock, and an ephah for a ram, and an hin of oil for an ephah.
45: 25 In the seventh month, in the fifteenth day of the month, shall he do the like in the feast of the seven days, according to the sin offering, according to the burnt offering, and according to the meat offering, and according to the oil.
46: 1 Thus saith the Lord GOD; The gate of the inner court that looketh toward the east shall be shut the six working days; but on the sabbath it shall be opened, and in the day of the new moon it shall be opened.
46: 3 Likewise the people of the land shall worship at the door of this gate before the LORD in the sabbaths and in the new moons.
46: 4 And the burnt offering that the prince shall offer unto the LORD in the sabbath day shall be six lambs without blemish, and a ram without blemish.
46: 5 And the meat offering shall be an ephah for a ram, and the meat offering for the lambs as he shall be able to give, and an hin of oil to an ephah.
46: 6 And in the day of the new moon it shall be a young bullock without blemish, and six lambs, and a ram: they shall be without blemish.
46: 7 And he shall prepare a meat offering, an ephah for a bullock, and an ephah for a ram, and for the lambs according as his hand shall attain unto, and an hin of oil to an ephah.
46: 8 And when the prince shall enter, he shall go in by the way of the porch of that gate, and he shall go forth by the way thereof.
46: 10 And the prince in the midst of them, when they go in, shall go in; and when they go forth, shall go forth.
46: 11 And in the feasts and in the solemnities the meat offering shall be an ephah to a bullock, and an ephah to a ram, and to the lambs as he is able to give, and an hin of oil to an ephah.
46: 13 Thou shalt daily prepare a burnt offering unto the LORD of a lamb of the first year without blemish: thou shalt prepare it every morning.
46: 14 And thou shalt prepare a meat offering for it every morning, the sixth part of an ephah, and the third part of an hin of oil, to temper with the fine flour; a meat offering continually by a perpetual ordinance unto the LORD.
46: 15 Thus shall they prepare the lamb, and the meat offering, and the oil, every morning for a continual burnt offering.
46: 16 Thus saith the Lord GOD; If the prince give a gift unto any of his sons, the inheritance thereof shall be his sons '; it shall be their possession by inheritance.
46: 17 But if he give a gift of his inheritance to one of his servants, then it shall be his to the year of liberty; after it shall return to the prince: but his inheritance shall be his sons'for them.
46: 18 Moreover the prince shall not take of the people's inheritance by oppression, to thrust them out of their possession; but he shall give his sons inheritance out of his own possession: that my people be not scattered every man from his possession.
46: 19 After he brought me through the entry, which was at the side of the gate, into the holy chambers of the priests, which looked toward the north: and, behold, there was a place on the two sides westward.
46: 20 Then said he unto me, This is the place where the priests shall boil the trespass offering and the sin offering, where they shall bake the meat offering; that they bear them not out into the utter court, to sanctify the people.
46: 21 Then he brought me forth into the utter court, and caused me to pass by the four corners of the court; and, behold, in every corner of the court there was a court.
46: 22 In the four corners of the court there were courts joined of forty cubits long and thirty broad: these four corners were of one measure.
46: 23 And there was a row of building round about in them, round about them four, and it was made with boiling places under the rows round about.
46: 24 Then said he unto me, These are the places of them that boil, where the ministers of the house shall boil the sacrifice of the people.
47: 2 Then brought he me out of the way of the gate northward, and led me about the way without unto the utter gate by the way that looketh eastward; and, behold, there ran out waters on the right side.
47: 3 And when the man that had the line in his hand went forth eastward, he measured a thousand cubits, and he brought me through the waters; the waters were to the ankles.
47: 4 Again he measured a thousand, and brought me through the waters; the waters were to the knees.
Again he measured a thousand, and brought me through; the waters were to the loins.
47: 5 Afterward he measured a thousand; and it was a river that I could not pass over: for the waters were risen, waters to swim in, a river that could not be passed over.
47: 6 And he said unto me, Son of man, hast thou seen this?
Then he brought me, and caused me to return to the brink of the river.
47: 7 Now when I had returned, behold, at the bank of the river were very many trees on the one side and on the other.
47: 8 Then said he unto me, These waters issue out toward the east country, and go down into the desert, and go into the sea: which being brought forth into the sea, the waters shall be healed.
47: 10 And it shall come to pass, that the fishers shall stand upon it from Engedi even unto Eneglaim; they shall be a place to spread forth nets; their fish shall be according to their kinds, as the fish of the great sea, exceeding many.
47: 11 But the miry places thereof and the marishes thereof shall not be healed; they shall be given to salt.
47: 13 Thus saith the Lord GOD; This shall be the border, whereby ye shall inherit the land according to the twelve tribes of Israel: Joseph shall have two portions.
47: 14 And ye shall inherit it, one as well as another: concerning the which I lifted up mine hand to give it unto your fathers: and this land shall fall unto you for inheritance.
47: 17 And the border from the sea shall be Hazarenan, the border of Damascus, and the north northward, and the border of Hamath.
And this is the north side.
47: 18 And the east side ye shall measure from Hauran, and from Damascus, and from Gilead, and from the land of Israel by Jordan, from the border unto the east sea.
And this is the east side.
47: 19 And the south side southward, from Tamar even to the waters of strife in Kadesh, the river to the great sea.
And this is the south side southward.
47: 20 The west side also shall be the great sea from the border, till a man come over against Hamath.
This is the west side.
47: 21 So shall ye divide this land unto you according to the tribes of Israel.
47: 23 And it shall come to pass, that in what tribe the stranger sojourneth, there shall ye give him his inheritance, saith the Lord GOD.
48: 1 Now these are the names of the tribes.
From the north end to the coast of the way of Hethlon, as one goeth to Hamath, Hazarenan, the border of Damascus northward, to the coast of Hamath; for these are his sides east and west; a portion for Dan.
48: 2 And by the border of Dan, from the east side unto the west side, a portion for Asher.
48: 3 And by the border of Asher, from the east side even unto the west side, a portion for Naphtali.
48: 4 And by the border of Naphtali, from the east side unto the west side, a portion for Manasseh.
48: 5 And by the border of Manasseh, from the east side unto the west side, a portion for Ephraim.
48: 6 And by the border of Ephraim, from the east side even unto the west side, a portion for Reuben.
48: 7 And by the border of Reuben, from the east side unto the west side, a portion for Judah.
48: 9 The oblation that ye shall offer unto the LORD shall be of five and twenty thousand in length, and of ten thousand in breadth.
48: 11 It shall be for the priests that are sanctified of the sons of Zadok; which have kept my charge, which went not astray when the children of Israel went astray, as the Levites went astray.
48: 12 And this oblation of the land that is offered shall be unto them a thing most holy by the border of the Levites.
48: 13 And over against the border of the priests the Levites shall have five and twenty thousand in length, and ten thousand in breadth: all the length shall be five and twenty thousand, and the breadth ten thousand.
48: 14 And they shall not sell of it, neither exchange, nor alienate the firstfruits of the land: for it is holy unto the LORD.
48: 15 And the five thousand, that are left in the breadth over against the five and twenty thousand, shall be a profane place for the city, for dwelling, and for suburbs: and the city shall be in the midst thereof.
48: 16 And these shall be the measures thereof; the north side four thousand and five hundred, and the south side four thousand and five hundred, and on the east side four thousand and five hundred, and the west side four thousand and five hundred.
48: 17 And the suburbs of the city shall be toward the north two hundred and fifty, and toward the south two hundred and fifty, and toward the east two hundred and fifty, and toward the west two hundred and fifty.
48: 18 And the residue in length over against the oblation of the holy portion shall be ten thousand eastward, and ten thousand westward: and it shall be over against the oblation of the holy portion; and the increase thereof shall be for food unto them that serve the city.
48: 19 And they that serve the city shall serve it out of all the tribes of Israel.
48: 20 All the oblation shall be five and twenty thousand by five and twenty thousand: ye shall offer the holy oblation foursquare, with the possession of the city.
48: 22 Moreover from the possession of the Levites, and from the possession of the city, being in the midst of that which is the prince's, between the border of Judah and the border of Benjamin, shall be for the prince.
48: 23 As for the rest of the tribes, from the east side unto the west side, Benjamin shall have a portion.
48: 24 And by the border of Benjamin, from the east side unto the west side, Simeon shall have a portion.
48: 25 And by the border of Simeon, from the east side unto the west side, Issachar a portion.
48: 26 And by the border of Issachar, from the east side unto the west side, Zebulun a portion.
48: 27 And by the border of Zebulun, from the east side unto the west side, Gad a portion.
48: 28 And by the border of Gad, at the south side southward, the border shall be even from Tamar unto the waters of strife in Kadesh, and to the river toward the great sea.
48: 29 This is the land which ye shall divide by lot unto the tribes of Israel for inheritance, and these are their portions, saith the Lord GOD.
48: 30 And these are the goings out of the city on the north side, four thousand and five hundred measures.
48: 31 And the gates of the city shall be after the names of the tribes of Israel: three gates northward; one gate of Reuben, one gate of Judah, one gate of Levi.
48: 32 And at the east side four thousand and five hundred: and three gates; and one gate of Joseph, one gate of Benjamin, one gate of Dan.
48: 33 And at the south side four thousand and five hundred measures: and three gates; one gate of Simeon, one gate of Issachar, one gate of Zebulun.
48: 34 At the west side four thousand and five hundred, with their three gates; one gate of Gad, one gate of Asher, one gate of Naphtali.
48: 35 It was round about eighteen thousand measures: and the name of the city from that day shall be, The LORD is there.
The Book of Daniel
1: 1 In the third year of the reign of Jehoiakim king of Judah came Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon unto Jerusalem, and besieged it.
1: 2 And the Lord gave Jehoiakim king of Judah into his hand, with part of the vessels of the house of God: which he carried into the land of Shinar to the house of his god; and he brought the vessels into the treasure house of his god.
1: 5 And the king appointed them a daily provision of the king's meat, and of the wine which he drank: so nourishing them three years, that at the end thereof they might stand before the king.
1: 8 But Daniel purposed in his heart that he would not defile himself with the portion of the king's meat, nor with the wine which he drank: therefore he requested of the prince of the eunuchs that he might not defile himself.
1: 9 Now God had brought Daniel into favour and tender love with the prince of the eunuchs.
1: 10 And the prince of the eunuchs said unto Daniel, I fear my lord the king, who hath appointed your meat and your drink: for why should he see your faces worse liking than the children which are of your sort?
then shall ye make me endanger my head to the king.
1: 11 Then said Daniel to Melzar, whom the prince of the eunuchs had set over Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, 1: 12 Prove thy servants, I beseech thee, ten days; and let them give us pulse to eat, and water to drink.
1: 13 Then let our countenances be looked upon before thee, and the countenance of the children that eat of the portion of the king's meat: and as thou seest, deal with thy servants.
1: 14 So he consented to them in this matter, and proved them ten days.
1: 15 And at the end of ten days their countenances appeared fairer and fatter in flesh than all the children which did eat the portion of the king's meat.
1: 16 Thus Melzar took away the portion of their meat, and the wine that they should drink; and gave them pulse.
1: 17 As for these four children, God gave them knowledge and skill in all learning and wisdom: and Daniel had understanding in all visions and dreams.
1: 18 Now at the end of the days that the king had said he should bring them in, then the prince of the eunuchs brought them in before Nebuchadnezzar.
1: 19 And the king communed with them; and among them all was found none like Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah: therefore stood they before the king.
1: 20 And in all matters of wisdom and understanding, that the king enquired of them, he found them ten times better than all the magicians and astrologers that were in all his realm.
1: 21 And Daniel continued even unto the first year of king Cyrus.
2: 1 And in the second year of the reign of Nebuchadnezzar Nebuchadnezzar dreamed dreams, wherewith his spirit was troubled, and his sleep brake from him.
2: 2 Then the king commanded to call the magicians, and the astrologers, and the sorcerers, and the Chaldeans, for to shew the king his dreams.
So they came and stood before the king.
2: 3 And the king said unto them, I have dreamed a dream, and my spirit was troubled to know the dream.
2: 4 Then spake the Chaldeans to the king in Syriack, O king, live for ever: tell thy servants the dream, and we will shew the interpretation.
2: 5 The king answered and said to the Chaldeans, The thing is gone from me: if ye will not make known unto me the dream, with the interpretation thereof, ye shall be cut in pieces, and your houses shall be made a dunghill.
2: 6 But if ye shew the dream, and the interpretation thereof, ye shall receive of me gifts and rewards and great honour: therefore shew me the dream, and the interpretation thereof.
2: 7 They answered again and said, Let the king tell his servants the dream, and we will shew the interpretation of it.
2: 8 The king answered and said, I know of certainty that ye would gain the time, because ye see the thing is gone from me.
2: 9 But if ye will not make known unto me the dream, there is but one decree for you: for ye have prepared lying and corrupt words to speak before me, till the time be changed: therefore tell me the dream, and I shall know that ye can shew me the interpretation thereof.
2: 10 The Chaldeans answered before the king, and said, There is not a man upon the earth that can shew the king's matter: therefore there is no king, lord, nor ruler, that asked such things at any magician, or astrologer, or Chaldean.
2: 11 And it is a rare thing that the king requireth, and there is none other that can shew it before the king, except the gods, whose dwelling is not with flesh.
2: 12 For this cause the king was angry and very furious, and commanded to destroy all the wise men of Babylon.
2: 13 And the decree went forth that the wise men should be slain; and they sought Daniel and his fellows to be slain.
2: 14 Then Daniel answered with counsel and wisdom to Arioch the captain of the king's guard, which was gone forth to slay the wise men of Babylon: 2: 15 He answered and said to Arioch the king's captain, Why is the decree so hasty from the king?
Then Arioch made the thing known to Daniel.
2: 16 Then Daniel went in, and desired of the king that he would give him time, and that he would shew the king the interpretation.
2: 19 Then was the secret revealed unto Daniel in a night vision.
Then Daniel blessed the God of heaven.
2: 23 I thank thee, and praise thee, O thou God of my fathers, who hast given me wisdom and might, and hast made known unto me now what we desired of thee: for thou hast now made known unto us the king's matter.
2: 24 Therefore Daniel went in unto Arioch, whom the king had ordained to destroy the wise men of Babylon: he went and said thus unto him; Destroy not the wise men of Babylon: bring me in before the king, and I will shew unto the king the interpretation.
2: 25 Then Arioch brought in Daniel before the king in haste, and said thus unto him, I have found a man of the captives of Judah, that will make known unto the king the interpretation.
2: 26 The king answered and said to Daniel, whose name was Belteshazzar, Art thou able to make known unto me the dream which I have seen, and the interpretation thereof?
Thy dream, and the visions of thy head upon thy bed, are these; 2: 29 As for thee, O king, thy thoughts came into thy mind upon thy bed, what should come to pass hereafter: and he that revealeth secrets maketh known to thee what shall come to pass.
2: 30 But as for me, this secret is not revealed to me for any wisdom that I have more than any living, but for their sakes that shall make known the interpretation to the king, and that thou mightest know the thoughts of thy heart.
2: 31 Thou, O king, sawest, and behold a great image.
This great image, whose brightness was excellent, stood before thee; and the form thereof was terrible.
2: 32 This image's head was of fine gold, his breast and his arms of silver, his belly and his thighs of brass, 2: 33 His legs of iron, his feet part of iron and part of clay.
2: 34 Thou sawest till that a stone was cut out without hands, which smote the image upon his feet that were of iron and clay, and brake them to pieces.
2: 36 This is the dream; and we will tell the interpretation thereof before the king.
2: 37 Thou, O king, art a king of kings: for the God of heaven hath given thee a kingdom, power, and strength, and glory.
2: 38 And wheresoever the children of men dwell, the beasts of the field and the fowls of the heaven hath he given into thine hand, and hath made thee ruler over them all.
Thou art this head of gold.
2: 39 And after thee shall arise another kingdom inferior to thee, and another third kingdom of brass, which shall bear rule over all the earth.
2: 40 And the fourth kingdom shall be strong as iron: forasmuch as iron breaketh in pieces and subdueth all things: and as iron that breaketh all these, shall it break in pieces and bruise.
2: 41 And whereas thou sawest the feet and toes, part of potters'clay, and part of iron, the kingdom shall be divided; but there shall be in it of the strength of the iron, forasmuch as thou sawest the iron mixed with miry clay.
2: 42 And as the toes of the feet were part of iron, and part of clay, so the kingdom shall be partly strong, and partly broken.
2: 43 And whereas thou sawest iron mixed with miry clay, they shall mingle themselves with the seed of men: but they shall not cleave one to another, even as iron is not mixed with clay.
2: 44 And in the days of these kings shall the God of heaven set up a kingdom, which shall never be destroyed: and the kingdom shall not be left to other people, but it shall break in pieces and consume all these kingdoms, and it shall stand for ever.
2: 46 Then the king Nebuchadnezzar fell upon his face, and worshipped Daniel, and commanded that they should offer an oblation and sweet odours unto him.
2: 47 The king answered unto Daniel, and said, Of a truth it is, that your God is a God of gods, and a Lord of kings, and a revealer of secrets, seeing thou couldest reveal this secret.
2: 48 Then the king made Daniel a great man, and gave him many great gifts, and made him ruler over the whole province of Babylon, and chief of the governors over all the wise men of Babylon.
2: 49 Then Daniel requested of the king, and he set Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, over the affairs of the province of Babylon: but Daniel sat in the gate of the king.
3: 1 Nebuchadnezzar the king made an image of gold, whose height was threescore cubits, and the breadth thereof six cubits: he set it up in the plain of Dura, in the province of Babylon.
3: 7 Therefore at that time, when all the people heard the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, and all kinds of musick, all the people, the nations, and the languages, fell down and worshipped the golden image that Nebuchadnezzar the king had set up.
3: 8 Wherefore at that time certain Chaldeans came near, and accused the Jews.
3: 9 They spake and said to the king Nebuchadnezzar, O king, live for ever.
3: 12 There are certain Jews whom thou hast set over the affairs of the province of Babylon, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego; these men, O king, have not regarded thee: they serve not thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.
3: 13 Then Nebuchadnezzar in his rage and fury commanded to bring Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
Then they brought these men before the king.
3: 14 Nebuchadnezzar spake and said unto them, Is it true, O Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, do not ye serve my gods, nor worship the golden image which I have set up?
3: 16 Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, answered and said to the king, O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this matter.
3: 17 If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king.
3: 18 But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.
3: 19 Then was Nebuchadnezzar full of fury, and the form of his visage was changed against Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego: therefore he spake, and commanded that they should heat the furnace one seven times more than it was wont to be heated.
3: 20 And he commanded the most mighty men that were in his army to bind Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and to cast them into the burning fiery furnace.
3: 21 Then these men were bound in their coats, their hosen, and their hats, and their other garments, and were cast into the midst of the burning fiery furnace.
3: 22 Therefore because the king's commandment was urgent, and the furnace exceeding hot, the flames of the fire slew those men that took up Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
3: 23 And these three men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, fell down bound into the midst of the burning fiery furnace.
3: 24 Then Nebuchadnezzar the king was astonied, and rose up in haste, and spake, and said unto his counsellors, Did not we cast three men bound into the midst of the fire?
They answered and said unto the king, True, O king.
3: 25 He answered and said, Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt; and the form of the fourth is like the Son of God.
3: 26 Then Nebuchadnezzar came near to the mouth of the burning fiery furnace, and spake, and said, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, ye servants of the most high God, come forth, and come hither.
Then Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, came forth of the midst of the fire.
3: 27 And the princes, governors, and captains, and the king's counsellors, being gathered together, saw these men, upon whose bodies the fire had no power, nor was an hair of their head singed, neither were their coats changed, nor the smell of fire had passed on them.
3: 30 Then the king promoted Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, in the province of Babylon.
4: 1 Nebuchadnezzar the king, unto all people, nations, and languages, that dwell in all the earth; Peace be multiplied unto you.
4: 2 I thought it good to shew the signs and wonders that the high God hath wrought toward me.
4: 3 How great are his signs!
and how mighty are his wonders!
his kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and his dominion is from generation to generation.
4: 4 I Nebuchadnezzar was at rest in mine house, and flourishing in my palace: 4: 5 I saw a dream which made me afraid, and the thoughts upon my bed and the visions of my head troubled me.
4: 6 Therefore made I a decree to bring in all the wise men of Babylon before me, that they might make known unto me the interpretation of the dream.
4: 7 Then came in the magicians, the astrologers, the Chaldeans, and the soothsayers: and I told the dream before them; but they did not make known unto me the interpretation thereof.
4: 10 Thus were the visions of mine head in my bed; I saw, and behold a tree in the midst of the earth, and the height thereof was great.
4: 17 This matter is by the decree of the watchers, and the demand by the word of the holy ones: to the intent that the living may know that the most High ruleth in the kingdom of men, and giveth it to whomsoever he will, and setteth up over it the basest of men.
4: 18 This dream I king Nebuchadnezzar have seen.
Now thou, O Belteshazzar, declare the interpretation thereof, forasmuch as all the wise men of my kingdom are not able to make known unto me the interpretation: but thou art able; for the spirit of the holy gods is in thee.
4: 19 Then Daniel, whose name was Belteshazzar, was astonied for one hour, and his thoughts troubled him.
The king spake, and said, Belteshazzar, let not the dream, or the interpretation thereof, trouble thee.
Belteshazzar answered and said, My lord, the dream be to them that hate thee, and the interpretation thereof to thine enemies.
4: 26 And whereas they commanded to leave the stump of the tree roots; thy kingdom shall be sure unto thee, after that thou shalt have known that the heavens do rule.
4: 27 Wherefore, O king, let my counsel be acceptable unto thee, and break off thy sins by righteousness, and thine iniquities by shewing mercy to the poor; if it may be a lengthening of thy tranquillity.
4: 28 All this came upon the king Nebuchadnezzar.
4: 29 At the end of twelve months he walked in the palace of the kingdom of Babylon.
4: 30 The king spake, and said, Is not this great Babylon, that I have built for the house of the kingdom by the might of my power, and for the honour of my majesty?
4: 31 While the word was in the king's mouth, there fell a voice from heaven, saying, O king Nebuchadnezzar, to thee it is spoken; The kingdom is departed from thee.
4: 33 The same hour was the thing fulfilled upon Nebuchadnezzar: and he was driven from men, and did eat grass as oxen, and his body was wet with the dew of heaven, till his hairs were grown like eagles'feathers, and his nails like birds'claws.
4: 36 At the same time my reason returned unto me; and for the glory of my kingdom, mine honour and brightness returned unto me; and my counsellors and my lords sought unto me; and I was established in my kingdom, and excellent majesty was added unto me.
4: 37 Now I Nebuchadnezzar praise and extol and honour the King of heaven, all whose works are truth, and his ways judgment: and those that walk in pride he is able to abase.
5: 1 Belshazzar the king made a great feast to a thousand of his lords, and drank wine before the thousand.
5: 2 Belshazzar, whiles he tasted the wine, commanded to bring the golden and silver vessels which his father Nebuchadnezzar had taken out of the temple which was in Jerusalem; that the king, and his princes, his wives, and his concubines, might drink therein.
5: 3 Then they brought the golden vessels that were taken out of the temple of the house of God which was at Jerusalem; and the king, and his princes, his wives, and his concubines, drank in them.
5: 4 They drank wine, and praised the gods of gold, and of silver, of brass, of iron, of wood, and of stone.
5: 5 In the same hour came forth fingers of a man's hand, and wrote over against the candlestick upon the plaister of the wall of the king's palace: and the king saw the part of the hand that wrote.
5: 6 Then the king's countenance was changed, and his thoughts troubled him, so that the joints of his loins were loosed, and his knees smote one against another.
5: 7 The king cried aloud to bring in the astrologers, the Chaldeans, and the soothsayers.
And the king spake, and said to the wise men of Babylon, Whosoever shall read this writing, and shew me the interpretation thereof, shall be clothed with scarlet, and have a chain of gold about his neck, and shall be the third ruler in the kingdom.
5: 8 Then came in all the king's wise men: but they could not read the writing, nor make known to the king the interpretation thereof.
5: 9 Then was king Belshazzar greatly troubled, and his countenance was changed in him, and his lords were astonied.
5: 13 Then was Daniel brought in before the king.
And the king spake and said unto Daniel, Art thou that Daniel, which art of the children of the captivity of Judah, whom the king my father brought out of Jewry?
5: 14 I have even heard of thee, that the spirit of the gods is in thee, and that light and understanding and excellent wisdom is found in thee.
5: 17 Then Daniel answered and said before the king, Let thy gifts be to thyself, and give thy rewards to another; yet I will read the writing unto the king, and make known to him the interpretation.
5: 25 And this is the writing that was written, MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN.
5: 26 This is the interpretation of the thing: MENE; God hath numbered thy kingdom, and finished it.
5: 27 TEKEL; Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting.
5: 28 PERES; Thy kingdom is divided, and given to the Medes and Persians.
5: 29 Then commanded Belshazzar, and they clothed Daniel with scarlet, and put a chain of gold about his neck, and made a proclamation concerning him, that he should be the third ruler in the kingdom.
5: 30 In that night was Belshazzar the king of the Chaldeans slain.
5: 31 And Darius the Median took the kingdom, being about threescore and two years old.
6: 1 It pleased Darius to set over the kingdom an hundred and twenty princes, which should be over the whole kingdom; 6: 2 And over these three presidents; of whom Daniel was first: that the princes might give accounts unto them, and the king should have no damage.
6: 3 Then this Daniel was preferred above the presidents and princes, because an excellent spirit was in him; and the king thought to set him over the whole realm.
6: 4 Then the presidents and princes sought to find occasion against Daniel concerning the kingdom; but they could find none occasion nor fault; forasmuch as he was faithful, neither was there any error or fault found in him.
6: 5 Then said these men, We shall not find any occasion against this Daniel, except we find it against him concerning the law of his God.
6: 6 Then these presidents and princes assembled together to the king, and said thus unto him, King Darius, live for ever.
6: 8 Now, O king, establish the decree, and sign the writing, that it be not changed, according to the law of the Medes and Persians, which altereth not.
6: 9 Wherefore king Darius signed the writing and the decree.
6: 10 Now when Daniel knew that the writing was signed, he went into his house; and his windows being open in his chamber toward Jerusalem, he kneeled upon his knees three times a day, and prayed, and gave thanks before his God, as he did aforetime.
6: 11 Then these men assembled, and found Daniel praying and making supplication before his God.
6: 12 Then they came near, and spake before the king concerning the king's decree; Hast thou not signed a decree, that every man that shall ask a petition of any God or man within thirty days, save of thee, O king, shall be cast into the den of lions?
The king answered and said, The thing is true, according to the law of the Medes and Persians, which altereth not.
6: 13 Then answered they and said before the king, That Daniel, which is of the children of the captivity of Judah, regardeth not thee, O king, nor the decree that thou hast signed, but maketh his petition three times a day.
6: 14 Then the king, when he heard these words, was sore displeased with himself, and set his heart on Daniel to deliver him: and he laboured till the going down of the sun to deliver him.
6: 15 Then these men assembled unto the king, and said unto the king, Know, O king, that the law of the Medes and Persians is, That no decree nor statute which the king establisheth may be changed.
6: 16 Then the king commanded, and they brought Daniel, and cast him into the den of lions.
Now the king spake and said unto Daniel, Thy God whom thou servest continually, he will deliver thee.
6: 17 And a stone was brought, and laid upon the mouth of the den; and the king sealed it with his own signet, and with the signet of his lords; that the purpose might not be changed concerning Daniel.
6: 18 Then the king went to his palace, and passed the night fasting: neither were instruments of musick brought before him: and his sleep went from him.
6: 19 Then the king arose very early in the morning, and went in haste unto the den of lions.
6: 20 And when he came to the den, he cried with a lamentable voice unto Daniel: and the king spake and said to Daniel, O Daniel, servant of the living God, is thy God, whom thou servest continually, able to deliver thee from the lions?
6: 21 Then said Daniel unto the king, O king, live for ever.
6: 22 My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions'mouths, that they have not hurt me: forasmuch as before him innocency was found in me; and also before thee, O king, have I done no hurt.
6: 23 Then was the king exceedingly glad for him, and commanded that they should take Daniel up out of the den.
So Daniel was taken up out of the den, and no manner of hurt was found upon him, because he believed in his God.
6: 25 Then king Darius wrote unto all people, nations, and languages, that dwell in all the earth; Peace be multiplied unto you.
6: 26 I make a decree, That in every dominion of my kingdom men tremble and fear before the God of Daniel: for he is the living God, and stedfast for ever, and his kingdom that which shall not be destroyed, and his dominion shall be even unto the end.
6: 27 He delivereth and rescueth, and he worketh signs and wonders in heaven and in earth, who hath delivered Daniel from the power of the lions.
6: 28 So this Daniel prospered in the reign of Darius, and in the reign of Cyrus the Persian.
7: 1 In the first year of Belshazzar king of Babylon Daniel had a dream and visions of his head upon his bed: then he wrote the dream, and told the sum of the matters.
7: 2 Daniel spake and said, I saw in my vision by night, and, behold, the four winds of the heaven strove upon the great sea.
7: 3 And four great beasts came up from the sea, diverse one from another.
7: 4 The first was like a lion, and had eagle's wings: I beheld till the wings thereof were plucked, and it was lifted up from the earth, and made stand upon the feet as a man, and a man's heart was given to it.
7: 5 And behold another beast, a second, like to a bear, and it raised up itself on one side, and it had three ribs in the mouth of it between the teeth of it: and they said thus unto it, Arise, devour much flesh.
7: 6 After this I beheld, and lo another, like a leopard, which had upon the back of it four wings of a fowl; the beast had also four heads; and dominion was given to it.
7: 8 I considered the horns, and, behold, there came up among them another little horn, before whom there were three of the first horns plucked up by the roots: and, behold, in this horn were eyes like the eyes of man, and a mouth speaking great things.
7: 9 I beheld till the thrones were cast down, and the Ancient of days did sit, whose garment was white as snow, and the hair of his head like the pure wool: his throne was like the fiery flame, and his wheels as burning fire.
7: 10 A fiery stream issued and came forth from before him: thousand thousands ministered unto him, and ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him: the judgment was set, and the books were opened.
7: 11 I beheld then because of the voice of the great words which the horn spake: I beheld even till the beast was slain, and his body destroyed, and given to the burning flame.
7: 12 As concerning the rest of the beasts, they had their dominion taken away: yet their lives were prolonged for a season and time.
7: 13 I saw in the night visions, and, behold, one like the Son of man came with the clouds of heaven, and came to the Ancient of days, and they brought him near before him.
7: 14 And there was given him dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, that all people, nations, and languages, should serve him: his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom that which shall not be destroyed.
7: 15 I Daniel was grieved in my spirit in the midst of my body, and the visions of my head troubled me.
7: 16 I came near unto one of them that stood by, and asked him the truth of all this.
So he told me, and made me know the interpretation of the things.
7: 17 These great beasts, which are four, are four kings, which shall arise out of the earth.
7: 18 But the saints of the most High shall take the kingdom, and possess the kingdom for ever, even for ever and ever.
7: 21 I beheld, and the same horn made war with the saints, and prevailed against them; 7: 22 Until the Ancient of days came, and judgment was given to the saints of the most High; and the time came that the saints possessed the kingdom.
7: 23 Thus he said, The fourth beast shall be the fourth kingdom upon earth, which shall be diverse from all kingdoms, and shall devour the whole earth, and shall tread it down, and break it in pieces.
7: 24 And the ten horns out of this kingdom are ten kings that shall arise: and another shall rise after them; and he shall be diverse from the first, and he shall subdue three kings.
7: 25 And he shall speak great words against the most High, and shall wear out the saints of the most High, and think to change times and laws: and they shall be given into his hand until a time and times and the dividing of time.
7: 26 But the judgment shall sit, and they shall take away his dominion, to consume and to destroy it unto the end.
7: 27 And the kingdom and dominion, and the greatness of the kingdom under the whole heaven, shall be given to the people of the saints of the most High, whose kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and all dominions shall serve and obey him.
7: 28 Hitherto is the end of the matter.
As for me Daniel, my cogitations much troubled me, and my countenance changed in me: but I kept the matter in my heart.
8: 1 In the third year of the reign of king Belshazzar a vision appeared unto me, even unto me Daniel, after that which appeared unto me at the first.
8: 2 And I saw in a vision; and it came to pass, when I saw, that I was at Shushan in the palace, which is in the province of Elam; and I saw in a vision, and I was by the river of Ulai.
8: 3 Then I lifted up mine eyes, and saw, and, behold, there stood before the river a ram which had two horns: and the two horns were high; but one was higher than the other, and the higher came up last.
8: 4 I saw the ram pushing westward, and northward, and southward; so that no beasts might stand before him, neither was there any that could deliver out of his hand; but he did according to his will, and became great.
8: 5 And as I was considering, behold, an he goat came from the west on the face of the whole earth, and touched not the ground: and the goat had a notable horn between his eyes.
8: 6 And he came to the ram that had two horns, which I had seen standing before the river, and ran unto him in the fury of his power.
8: 8 Therefore the he goat waxed very great: and when he was strong, the great horn was broken; and for it came up four notable ones toward the four winds of heaven.
8: 9 And out of one of them came forth a little horn, which waxed exceeding great, toward the south, and toward the east, and toward the pleasant land.
8: 10 And it waxed great, even to the host of heaven; and it cast down some of the host and of the stars to the ground, and stamped upon them.
8: 11 Yea, he magnified himself even to the prince of the host, and by him the daily sacrifice was taken away, and the place of the sanctuary was cast down.
8: 12 And an host was given him against the daily sacrifice by reason of transgression, and it cast down the truth to the ground; and it practised, and prospered.
8: 13 Then I heard one saint speaking, and another saint said unto that certain saint which spake, How long shall be the vision concerning the daily sacrifice, and the transgression of desolation, to give both the sanctuary and the host to be trodden under foot?
8: 14 And he said unto me, Unto two thousand and three hundred days; then shall the sanctuary be cleansed.
8: 15 And it came to pass, when I, even I Daniel, had seen the vision, and sought for the meaning, then, behold, there stood before me as the appearance of a man.
8: 16 And I heard a man's voice between the banks of Ulai, which called, and said, Gabriel, make this man to understand the vision.
8: 17 So he came near where I stood: and when he came, I was afraid, and fell upon my face: but he said unto me, Understand, O son of man: for at the time of the end shall be the vision.
8: 18 Now as he was speaking with me, I was in a deep sleep on my face toward the ground: but he touched me, and set me upright.
8: 19 And he said, Behold, I will make thee know what shall be in the last end of the indignation: for at the time appointed the end shall be.
8: 20 The ram which thou sawest having two horns are the kings of Media and Persia.
8: 21 And the rough goat is the king of Grecia: and the great horn that is between his eyes is the first king.
8: 22 Now that being broken, whereas four stood up for it, four kingdoms shall stand up out of the nation, but not in his power.
8: 23 And in the latter time of their kingdom, when the transgressors are come to the full, a king of fierce countenance, and understanding dark sentences, shall stand up.
8: 24 And his power shall be mighty, but not by his own power: and he shall destroy wonderfully, and shall prosper, and practise, and shall destroy the mighty and the holy people.
8: 25 And through his policy also he shall cause craft to prosper in his hand; and he shall magnify himself in his heart, and by peace shall destroy many: he shall also stand up against the Prince of princes; but he shall be broken without hand.
8: 26 And the vision of the evening and the morning which was told is true: wherefore shut thou up the vision; for it shall be for many days.
8: 27 And I Daniel fainted, and was sick certain days; afterward I rose up, and did the king's business; and I was astonished at the vision, but none understood it.
9: 8 O Lord, to us belongeth confusion of face, to our kings, to our princes, and to our fathers, because we have sinned against thee.
9: 9 To the Lord our God belong mercies and forgivenesses, though we have rebelled against him; 9: 10 Neither have we obeyed the voice of the LORD our God, to walk in his laws, which he set before us by his servants the prophets.
9: 11 Yea, all Israel have transgressed thy law, even by departing, that they might not obey thy voice; therefore the curse is poured upon us, and the oath that is written in the law of Moses the servant of God, because we have sinned against him.
9: 12 And he hath confirmed his words, which he spake against us, and against our judges that judged us, by bringing upon us a great evil: for under the whole heaven hath not been done as hath been done upon Jerusalem.
9: 13 As it is written in the law of Moses, all this evil is come upon us: yet made we not our prayer before the LORD our God, that we might turn from our iniquities, and understand thy truth.
9: 14 Therefore hath the LORD watched upon the evil, and brought it upon us: for the LORD our God is righteous in all his works which he doeth: for we obeyed not his voice.
9: 15 And now, O Lord our God, that hast brought thy people forth out of the land of Egypt with a mighty hand, and hast gotten thee renown, as at this day; we have sinned, we have done wickedly.
9: 17 Now therefore, O our God, hear the prayer of thy servant, and his supplications, and cause thy face to shine upon thy sanctuary that is desolate, for the Lord's sake.
9: 18 O my God, incline thine ear, and hear; open thine eyes, and behold our desolations, and the city which is called by thy name: for we do not present our supplications before thee for our righteousnesses, but for thy great mercies.
9: 19 O Lord, hear; O Lord, forgive; O Lord, hearken and do; defer not, for thine own sake, O my God: for thy city and thy people are called by thy name.
9: 22 And he informed me, and talked with me, and said, O Daniel, I am now come forth to give thee skill and understanding.
9: 23 At the beginning of thy supplications the commandment came forth, and I am come to shew thee; for thou art greatly beloved: therefore understand the matter, and consider the vision.
9: 25 Know therefore and understand, that from the going forth of the commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem unto the Messiah the Prince shall be seven weeks, and threescore and two weeks: the street shall be built again, and the wall, even in troublous times.
9: 26 And after threescore and two weeks shall Messiah be cut off, but not for himself: and the people of the prince that shall come shall destroy the city and the sanctuary; and the end thereof shall be with a flood, and unto the end of the war desolations are determined.
10: 1 In the third year of Cyrus king of Persia a thing was revealed unto Daniel, whose name was called Belteshazzar; and the thing was true, but the time appointed was long: and he understood the thing, and had understanding of the vision.
10: 2 In those days I Daniel was mourning three full weeks.
10: 3 I ate no pleasant bread, neither came flesh nor wine in my mouth, neither did I anoint myself at all, till three whole weeks were fulfilled.
10: 7 And I Daniel alone saw the vision: for the men that were with me saw not the vision; but a great quaking fell upon them, so that they fled to hide themselves.
10: 8 Therefore I was left alone, and saw this great vision, and there remained no strength in me: for my comeliness was turned in me into corruption, and I retained no strength.
10: 9 Yet heard I the voice of his words: and when I heard the voice of his words, then was I in a deep sleep on my face, and my face toward the ground.
10: 10 And, behold, an hand touched me, which set me upon my knees and upon the palms of my hands.
10: 11 And he said unto me, O Daniel, a man greatly beloved, understand the words that I speak unto thee, and stand upright: for unto thee am I now sent.
And when he had spoken this word unto me, I stood trembling.
10: 12 Then said he unto me, Fear not, Daniel: for from the first day that thou didst set thine heart to understand, and to chasten thyself before thy God, thy words were heard, and I am come for thy words.
10: 13 But the prince of the kingdom of Persia withstood me one and twenty days: but, lo, Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me; and I remained there with the kings of Persia.
10: 14 Now I am come to make thee understand what shall befall thy people in the latter days: for yet the vision is for many days.
10: 15 And when he had spoken such words unto me, I set my face toward the ground, and I became dumb.
10: 16 And, behold, one like the similitude of the sons of men touched my lips: then I opened my mouth, and spake, and said unto him that stood before me, O my lord, by the vision my sorrows are turned upon me, and I have retained no strength.
10: 17 For how can the servant of this my lord talk with this my lord?
for as for me, straightway there remained no strength in me, neither is there breath left in me.
10: 18 Then there came again and touched me one like the appearance of a man, and he strengthened me, 10: 19 And said, O man greatly beloved, fear not: peace be unto thee, be strong, yea, be strong.
And when he had spoken unto me, I was strengthened, and said, Let my lord speak; for thou hast strengthened me.
10: 20 Then said he, Knowest thou wherefore I come unto thee?
and now will I return to fight with the prince of Persia: and when I am gone forth, lo, the prince of Grecia shall come.
10: 21 But I will shew thee that which is noted in the scripture of truth: and there is none that holdeth with me in these things, but Michael your prince.
11: 1 Also I in the first year of Darius the Mede, even I, stood to confirm and to strengthen him.
11: 2 And now will I shew thee the truth.
Behold, there shall stand up yet three kings in Persia; and the fourth shall be far richer than they all: and by his strength through his riches he shall stir up all against the realm of Grecia.
11: 3 And a mighty king shall stand up, that shall rule with great dominion, and do according to his will.
11: 4 And when he shall stand up, his kingdom shall be broken, and shall be divided toward the four winds of heaven; and not to his posterity, nor according to his dominion which he ruled: for his kingdom shall be plucked up, even for others beside those.
11: 5 And the king of the south shall be strong, and one of his princes; and he shall be strong above him, and have dominion; his dominion shall be a great dominion.
11: 9 So the king of the south shall come into his kingdom, and shall return into his own land.
11: 10 But his sons shall be stirred up, and shall assemble a multitude of great forces: and one shall certainly come, and overflow, and pass through: then shall he return, and be stirred up, even to his fortress.
11: 11 And the king of the south shall be moved with choler, and shall come forth and fight with him, even with the king of the north: and he shall set forth a great multitude; but the multitude shall be given into his hand.
11: 12 And when he hath taken away the multitude, his heart shall be lifted up; and he shall cast down many ten thousands: but he shall not be strengthened by it.
11: 13 For the king of the north shall return, and shall set forth a multitude greater than the former, and shall certainly come after certain years with a great army and with much riches.
11: 14 And in those times there shall many stand up against the king of the south: also the robbers of thy people shall exalt themselves to establish the vision; but they shall fall.
11: 15 So the king of the north shall come, and cast up a mount, and take the most fenced cities: and the arms of the south shall not withstand, neither his chosen people, neither shall there be any strength to withstand.
11: 16 But he that cometh against him shall do according to his own will, and none shall stand before him: and he shall stand in the glorious land, which by his hand shall be consumed.
11: 17 He shall also set his face to enter with the strength of his whole kingdom, and upright ones with him; thus shall he do: and he shall give him the daughter of women, corrupting her: but she shall not stand on his side, neither be for him.
11: 18 After this shall he turn his face unto the isles, and shall take many: but a prince for his own behalf shall cause the reproach offered by him to cease; without his own reproach he shall cause it to turn upon him.
11: 19 Then he shall turn his face toward the fort of his own land: but he shall stumble and fall, and not be found.
11: 20 Then shall stand up in his estate a raiser of taxes in the glory of the kingdom: but within few days he shall be destroyed, neither in anger, nor in battle.
11: 21 And in his estate shall stand up a vile person, to whom they shall not give the honour of the kingdom: but he shall come in peaceably, and obtain the kingdom by flatteries.
11: 22 And with the arms of a flood shall they be overflown from before him, and shall be broken; yea, also the prince of the covenant.
11: 23 And after the league made with him he shall work deceitfully: for he shall come up, and shall become strong with a small people.
11: 25 And he shall stir up his power and his courage against the king of the south with a great army; and the king of the south shall be stirred up to battle with a very great and mighty army; but he shall not stand: for they shall forecast devices against him.
11: 26 Yea, they that feed of the portion of his meat shall destroy him, and his army shall overflow: and many shall fall down slain.
11: 27 And both of these kings'hearts shall be to do mischief, and they shall speak lies at one table; but it shall not prosper: for yet the end shall be at the time appointed.
11: 28 Then shall he return into his land with great riches; and his heart shall be against the holy covenant; and he shall do exploits, and return to his own land.
11: 29 At the time appointed he shall return, and come toward the south; but it shall not be as the former, or as the latter.
11: 30 For the ships of Chittim shall come against him: therefore he shall be grieved, and return, and have indignation against the holy covenant: so shall he do; he shall even return, and have intelligence with them that forsake the holy covenant.
11: 31 And arms shall stand on his part, and they shall pollute the sanctuary of strength, and shall take away the daily sacrifice, and they shall place the abomination that maketh desolate.
11: 32 And such as do wickedly against the covenant shall he corrupt by flatteries: but the people that do know their God shall be strong, and do exploits.
11: 33 And they that understand among the people shall instruct many: yet they shall fall by the sword, and by flame, by captivity, and by spoil, many days.
11: 34 Now when they shall fall, they shall be holpen with a little help: but many shall cleave to them with flatteries.
11: 35 And some of them of understanding shall fall, to try them, and to purge, and to make them white, even to the time of the end: because it is yet for a time appointed.
11: 36 And the king shall do according to his will; and he shall exalt himself, and magnify himself above every god, and shall speak marvellous things against the God of gods, and shall prosper till the indignation be accomplished: for that that is determined shall be done.
11: 37 Neither shall he regard the God of his fathers, nor the desire of women, nor regard any god: for he shall magnify himself above all.
11: 38 But in his estate shall he honour the God of forces: and a god whom his fathers knew not shall he honour with gold, and silver, and with precious stones, and pleasant things.
11: 39 Thus shall he do in the most strong holds with a strange god, whom he shall acknowledge and increase with glory: and he shall cause them to rule over many, and shall divide the land for gain.
11: 40 And at the time of the end shall the king of the south push at him: and the king of the north shall come against him like a whirlwind, with chariots, and with horsemen, and with many ships; and he shall enter into the countries, and shall overflow and pass over.
11: 41 He shall enter also into the glorious land, and many countries shall be overthrown: but these shall escape out of his hand, even Edom, and Moab, and the chief of the children of Ammon.
11: 42 He shall stretch forth his hand also upon the countries: and the land of Egypt shall not escape.
11: 43 But he shall have power over the treasures of gold and of silver, and over all the precious things of Egypt: and the Libyans and the Ethiopians shall be at his steps.
11: 44 But tidings out of the east and out of the north shall trouble him: therefore he shall go forth with great fury to destroy, and utterly to make away many.
11: 45 And he shall plant the tabernacles of his palace between the seas in the glorious holy mountain; yet he shall come to his end, and none shall help him.
12: 2 And many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt.
12: 3 And they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever.
12: 4 But thou, O Daniel, shut up the words, and seal the book, even to the time of the end: many shall run to and fro, and knowledge shall be increased.
12: 5 Then I Daniel looked, and, behold, there stood other two, the one on this side of the bank of the river, and the other on that side of the bank of the river.
12: 6 And one said to the man clothed in linen, which was upon the waters of the river, How long shall it be to the end of these wonders?
12: 8 And I heard, but I understood not: then said I, O my Lord, what shall be the end of these things?
12: 9 And he said, Go thy way, Daniel: for the words are closed up and sealed till the time of the end.
12: 10 Many shall be purified, and made white, and tried; but the wicked shall do wickedly: and none of the wicked shall understand; but the wise shall understand.
12: 11 And from the time that the daily sacrifice shall be taken away, and the abomination that maketh desolate set up, there shall be a thousand two hundred and ninety days.
12: 12 Blessed is he that waiteth, and cometh to the thousand three hundred and five and thirty days.
12: 13 But go thou thy way till the end be: for thou shalt rest, and stand in thy lot at the end of the days.
Hosea
1: 1 The word of the LORD that came unto Hosea, the son of Beeri, in the days of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah, kings of Judah, and in the days of Jeroboam the son of Joash, king of Israel.
1: 2 The beginning of the word of the LORD by Hosea.
And the LORD said to Hosea, Go, take unto thee a wife of whoredoms and children of whoredoms: for the land hath committed great whoredom, departing from the LORD.
1: 3 So he went and took Gomer the daughter of Diblaim; which conceived, and bare him a son.
1: 4 And the LORD said unto him, Call his name Jezreel; for yet a little while, and I will avenge the blood of Jezreel upon the house of Jehu, and will cause to cease the kingdom of the house of Israel.
1: 5 And it shall come to pass at that day, that I will break the bow of Israel, in the valley of Jezreel.
1: 6 And she conceived again, and bare a daughter.
And God said unto him, Call her name Loruhamah: for I will no more have mercy upon the house of Israel; but I will utterly take them away.
1: 7 But I will have mercy upon the house of Judah, and will save them by the LORD their God, and will not save them by bow, nor by sword, nor by battle, by horses, nor by horsemen.
1: 8 Now when she had weaned Loruhamah, she conceived, and bare a son.
1: 9 Then said God, Call his name Loammi: for ye are not my people, and I will not be your God.
1: 11 Then shall the children of Judah and the children of Israel be gathered together, and appoint themselves one head, and they shall come up out of the land: for great shall be the day of Jezreel.
2: 1 Say ye unto your brethren, Ammi; and to your sisters, Ruhamah.
2: 4 And I will not have mercy upon her children; for they be the children of whoredoms.
2: 5 For their mother hath played the harlot: she that conceived them hath done shamefully: for she said, I will go after my lovers, that give me my bread and my water, my wool and my flax, mine oil and my drink.
2: 6 Therefore, behold, I will hedge up thy way with thorns, and make a wall, that she shall not find her paths.
2: 7 And she shall follow after her lovers, but she shall not overtake them; and she shall seek them, but shall not find them: then shall she say, I will go and return to my first husband; for then was it better with me than now.
2: 8 For she did not know that I gave her corn, and wine, and oil, and multiplied her silver and gold, which they prepared for Baal.
2: 9 Therefore will I return, and take away my corn in the time thereof, and my wine in the season thereof, and will recover my wool and my flax given to cover her nakedness.
2: 10 And now will I discover her lewdness in the sight of her lovers, and none shall deliver her out of mine hand.
2: 11 I will also cause all her mirth to cease, her feast days, her new moons, and her sabbaths, and all her solemn feasts.
2: 12 And I will destroy her vines and her fig trees, whereof she hath said, These are my rewards that my lovers have given me: and I will make them a forest, and the beasts of the field shall eat them.
2: 13 And I will visit upon her the days of Baalim, wherein she burned incense to them, and she decked herself with her earrings and her jewels, and she went after her lovers, and forgat me, saith the LORD.
2: 14 Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak comfortably unto her.
2: 15 And I will give her her vineyards from thence, and the valley of Achor for a door of hope: and she shall sing there, as in the days of her youth, and as in the day when she came up out of the land of Egypt.
2: 16 And it shall be at that day, saith the LORD, that thou shalt call me Ishi; and shalt call me no more Baali.
2: 17 For I will take away the names of Baalim out of her mouth, and they shall no more be remembered by their name.
2: 18 And in that day will I make a covenant for them with the beasts of the field and with the fowls of heaven, and with the creeping things of the ground: and I will break the bow and the sword and the battle out of the earth, and will make them to lie down safely.
2: 19 And I will betroth thee unto me for ever; yea, I will betroth thee unto me in righteousness, and in judgment, and in lovingkindness, and in mercies.
2: 20 I will even betroth thee unto me in faithfulness: and thou shalt know the LORD.
2: 21 And it shall come to pass in that day, I will hear, saith the LORD, I will hear the heavens, and they shall hear the earth; 2: 22 And the earth shall hear the corn, and the wine, and the oil; and they shall hear Jezreel.
2: 23 And I will sow her unto me in the earth; and I will have mercy upon her that had not obtained mercy; and I will say to them which were not my people, Thou art my people; and they shall say, Thou art my God.
3: 1 Then said the LORD unto me, Go yet, love a woman beloved of her friend, yet an adulteress, according to the love of the LORD toward the children of Israel, who look to other gods, and love flagons of wine.
3: 2 So I bought her to me for fifteen pieces of silver, and for an homer of barley, and an half homer of barley: 3: 3 And I said unto her, Thou shalt abide for me many days; thou shalt not play the harlot, and thou shalt not be for another man: so will I also be for thee.
4: 1 Hear the word of the LORD, ye children of Israel: for the LORD hath a controversy with the inhabitants of the land, because there is no truth, nor mercy, nor knowledge of God in the land.
4: 2 By swearing, and lying, and killing, and stealing, and committing adultery, they break out, and blood toucheth blood.
4: 3 Therefore shall the land mourn, and every one that dwelleth therein shall languish, with the beasts of the field, and with the fowls of heaven; yea, the fishes of the sea also shall be taken away.
4: 4 Yet let no man strive, nor reprove another: for thy people are as they that strive with the priest.
4: 5 Therefore shalt thou fall in the day, and the prophet also shall fall with thee in the night, and I will destroy thy mother.
4: 6 My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge: because thou hast rejected knowledge, I will also reject thee, that thou shalt be no priest to me: seeing thou hast forgotten the law of thy God, I will also forget thy children.
4: 7 As they were increased, so they sinned against me: therefore will I change their glory into shame.
4: 8 They eat up the sin of my people, and they set their heart on their iniquity.
4: 9 And there shall be, like people, like priest: and I will punish them for their ways, and reward them their doings.
4: 10 For they shall eat, and not have enough: they shall commit whoredom, and shall not increase: because they have left off to take heed to the LORD.
4: 11 Whoredom and wine and new wine take away the heart.
4: 12 My people ask counsel at their stocks, and their staff declareth unto them: for the spirit of whoredoms hath caused them to err, and they have gone a whoring from under their God.
4: 13 They sacrifice upon the tops of the mountains, and burn incense upon the hills, under oaks and poplars and elms, because the shadow thereof is good: therefore your daughters shall commit whoredom, and your spouses shall commit adultery.
4: 14 I will not punish your daughters when they commit whoredom, nor your spouses when they commit adultery: for themselves are separated with whores, and they sacrifice with harlots: therefore the people that doth not understand shall fall.
4: 15 Though thou, Israel, play the harlot, yet let not Judah offend; and come not ye unto Gilgal, neither go ye up to Bethaven, nor swear, The LORD liveth.
4: 16 For Israel slideth back as a backsliding heifer: now the LORD will feed them as a lamb in a large place.
4: 17 Ephraim is joined to idols: let him alone.
4: 18 Their drink is sour: they have committed whoredom continually: her rulers with shame do love, Give ye.
4: 19 The wind hath bound her up in her wings, and they shall be ashamed because of their sacrifices.
5: 1 Hear ye this, O priests; and hearken, ye house of Israel; and give ye ear, O house of the king; for judgment is toward you, because ye have been a snare on Mizpah, and a net spread upon Tabor.
5: 2 And the revolters are profound to make slaughter, though I have been a rebuker of them all.
5: 3 I know Ephraim, and Israel is not hid from me: for now, O Ephraim, thou committest whoredom, and Israel is defiled.
5: 4 They will not frame their doings to turn unto their God: for the spirit of whoredoms is in the midst of them, and they have not known the LORD.
5: 5 And the pride of Israel doth testify to his face: therefore shall Israel and Ephraim fall in their iniquity: Judah also shall fall with them.
5: 6 They shall go with their flocks and with their herds to seek the LORD; but they shall not find him; he hath withdrawn himself from them.
5: 7 They have dealt treacherously against the LORD: for they have begotten strange children: now shall a month devour them with their portions.
5: 8 Blow ye the cornet in Gibeah, and the trumpet in Ramah: cry aloud at Bethaven, after thee, O Benjamin.
5: 9 Ephraim shall be desolate in the day of rebuke: among the tribes of Israel have I made known that which shall surely be.
5: 10 The princes of Judah were like them that remove the bound: therefore I will pour out my wrath upon them like water.
5: 11 Ephraim is oppressed and broken in judgment, because he willingly walked after the commandment.
5: 12 Therefore will I be unto Ephraim as a moth, and to the house of Judah as rottenness.
5: 13 When Ephraim saw his sickness, and Judah saw his wound, then went Ephraim to the Assyrian, and sent to king Jareb: yet could he not heal you, nor cure you of your wound.
5: 14 For I will be unto Ephraim as a lion, and as a young lion to the house of Judah: I, even I, will tear and go away; I will take away, and none shall rescue him.
5: 15 I will go and return to my place, till they acknowledge their offence, and seek my face: in their affliction they will seek me early.
6: 1 Come, and let us return unto the LORD: for he hath torn, and he will heal us; he hath smitten, and he will bind us up.
6: 2 After two days will he revive us: in the third day he will raise us up, and we shall live in his sight.
6: 3 Then shall we know, if we follow on to know the LORD: his going forth is prepared as the morning; and he shall come unto us as the rain, as the latter and former rain unto the earth.
6: 4 O Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee?
O Judah, what shall I do unto thee?
for your goodness is as a morning cloud, and as the early dew it goeth away.
6: 5 Therefore have I hewed them by the prophets; I have slain them by the words of my mouth: and thy judgments are as the light that goeth forth.
6: 6 For I desired mercy, and not sacrifice; and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings.
6: 7 But they like men have transgressed the covenant: there have they dealt treacherously against me.
6: 8 Gilead is a city of them that work iniquity, and is polluted with blood.
6: 9 And as troops of robbers wait for a man, so the company of priests murder in the way by consent: for they commit lewdness.
6: 10 I have seen an horrible thing in the house of Israel: there is the whoredom of Ephraim, Israel is defiled.
6: 11 Also, O Judah, he hath set an harvest for thee, when I returned the captivity of my people.
7: 1 When I would have healed Israel, then the iniquity of Ephraim was discovered, and the wickedness of Samaria: for they commit falsehood; and the thief cometh in, and the troop of robbers spoileth without.
7: 2 And they consider not in their hearts that I remember all their wickedness: now their own doings have beset them about; they are before my face.
7: 3 They make the king glad with their wickedness, and the princes with their lies.
7: 4 They are all adulterers, as an oven heated by the baker, who ceaseth from raising after he hath kneaded the dough, until it be leavened.
7: 5 In the day of our king the princes have made him sick with bottles of wine; he stretched out his hand with scorners.
7: 6 For they have made ready their heart like an oven, whiles they lie in wait: their baker sleepeth all the night; in the morning it burneth as a flaming fire.
7: 7 They are all hot as an oven, and have devoured their judges; all their kings are fallen: there is none among them that calleth unto me.
7: 8 Ephraim, he hath mixed himself among the people; Ephraim is a cake not turned.
7: 9 Strangers have devoured his strength, and he knoweth it not: yea, gray hairs are here and there upon him, yet he knoweth not.
7: 10 And the pride of Israel testifieth to his face: and they do not return to the LORD their God, nor seek him for all this.
7: 11 Ephraim also is like a silly dove without heart: they call to Egypt, they go to Assyria.
7: 12 When they shall go, I will spread my net upon them; I will bring them down as the fowls of the heaven; I will chastise them, as their congregation hath heard.
7: 13 Woe unto them!
for they have fled from me: destruction unto them!
because they have transgressed against me: though I have redeemed them, yet they have spoken lies against me.
7: 14 And they have not cried unto me with their heart, when they howled upon their beds: they assemble themselves for corn and wine, and they rebel against me.
7: 15 Though I have bound and strengthened their arms, yet do they imagine mischief against me.
7: 16 They return, but not to the most High: they are like a deceitful bow: their princes shall fall by the sword for the rage of their tongue: this shall be their derision in the land of Egypt.
8: 1 Set the trumpet to thy mouth.
He shall come as an eagle against the house of the LORD, because they have transgressed my covenant, and trespassed against my law.
8: 2 Israel shall cry unto me, My God, we know thee.
8: 3 Israel hath cast off the thing that is good: the enemy shall pursue him.
8: 4 They have set up kings, but not by me: they have made princes, and I knew it not: of their silver and their gold have they made them idols, that they may be cut off.
8: 5 Thy calf, O Samaria, hath cast thee off; mine anger is kindled against them: how long will it be ere they attain to innocency?
8: 6 For from Israel was it also: the workman made it; therefore it is not God: but the calf of Samaria shall be broken in pieces.
8: 7 For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind: it hath no stalk; the bud shall yield no meal: if so be it yield, the strangers shall swallow it up.
8: 8 Israel is swallowed up: now shall they be among the Gentiles as a vessel wherein is no pleasure.
8: 9 For they are gone up to Assyria, a wild ass alone by himself: Ephraim hath hired lovers.
8: 10 Yea, though they have hired among the nations, now will I gather them, and they shall sorrow a little for the burden of the king of princes.
8: 11 Because Ephraim hath made many altars to sin, altars shall be unto him to sin.
8: 12 I have written to him the great things of my law, but they were counted as a strange thing.
8: 13 They sacrifice flesh for the sacrifices of mine offerings, and eat it; but the LORD accepteth them not; now will he remember their iniquity, and visit their sins: they shall return to Egypt.
8: 14 For Israel hath forgotten his Maker, and buildeth temples; and Judah hath multiplied fenced cities: but I will send a fire upon his cities, and it shall devour the palaces thereof.
9: 1 Rejoice not, O Israel, for joy, as other people: for thou hast gone a whoring from thy God, thou hast loved a reward upon every cornfloor.
9: 2 The floor and the winepress shall not feed them, and the new wine shall fail in her.
9: 3 They shall not dwell in the LORD's land; but Ephraim shall return to Egypt, and they shall eat unclean things in Assyria.
9: 4 They shall not offer wine offerings to the LORD, neither shall they be pleasing unto him: their sacrifices shall be unto them as the bread of mourners; all that eat thereof shall be polluted: for their bread for their soul shall not come into the house of the LORD.
9: 5 What will ye do in the solemn day, and in the day of the feast of the LORD?
9: 6 For, lo, they are gone because of destruction: Egypt shall gather them up, Memphis shall bury them: the pleasant places for their silver, nettles shall possess them: thorns shall be in their tabernacles.
9: 7 The days of visitation are come, the days of recompence are come; Israel shall know it: the prophet is a fool, the spiritual man is mad, for the multitude of thine iniquity, and the great hatred.
9: 8 The watchman of Ephraim was with my God: but the prophet is a snare of a fowler in all his ways, and hatred in the house of his God.
9: 9 They have deeply corrupted themselves, as in the days of Gibeah: therefore he will remember their iniquity, he will visit their sins.
9: 10 I found Israel like grapes in the wilderness; I saw your fathers as the firstripe in the fig tree at her first time: but they went to Baalpeor, and separated themselves unto that shame; and their abominations were according as they loved.
9: 11 As for Ephraim, their glory shall fly away like a bird, from the birth, and from the womb, and from the conception.
9: 12 Though they bring up their children, yet will I bereave them, that there shall not be a man left: yea, woe also to them when I depart from them!
9: 13 Ephraim, as I saw Tyrus, is planted in a pleasant place: but Ephraim shall bring forth his children to the murderer.
9: 14 Give them, O LORD: what wilt thou give?
give them a miscarrying womb and dry breasts.
9: 15 All their wickedness is in Gilgal: for there I hated them: for the wickedness of their doings I will drive them out of mine house, I will love them no more: all their princes are revolters.
9: 16 Ephraim is smitten, their root is dried up, they shall bear no fruit: yea, though they bring forth, yet will I slay even the beloved fruit of their womb.
9: 17 My God will cast them away, because they did not hearken unto him: and they shall be wanderers among the nations.
10: 1 Israel is an empty vine, he bringeth forth fruit unto himself: according to the multitude of his fruit he hath increased the altars; according to the goodness of his land they have made goodly images.
10: 2 Their heart is divided; now shall they be found faulty: he shall break down their altars, he shall spoil their images.
10: 3 For now they shall say, We have no king, because we feared not the LORD; what then should a king do to us?
10: 4 They have spoken words, swearing falsely in making a covenant: thus judgment springeth up as hemlock in the furrows of the field.
10: 5 The inhabitants of Samaria shall fear because of the calves of Bethaven: for the people thereof shall mourn over it, and the priests thereof that rejoiced on it, for the glory thereof, because it is departed from it.
10: 6 It shall be also carried unto Assyria for a present to king Jareb: Ephraim shall receive shame, and Israel shall be ashamed of his own counsel.
10: 7 As for Samaria, her king is cut off as the foam upon the water.
10: 8 The high places also of Aven, the sin of Israel, shall be destroyed: the thorn and the thistle shall come up on their altars; and they shall say to the mountains, Cover us; and to the hills, Fall on us.
10: 9 O Israel, thou hast sinned from the days of Gibeah: there they stood: the battle in Gibeah against the children of iniquity did not overtake them.
10: 10 It is in my desire that I should chastise them; and the people shall be gathered against them, when they shall bind themselves in their two furrows.
10: 11 And Ephraim is as an heifer that is taught, and loveth to tread out the corn; but I passed over upon her fair neck: I will make Ephraim to ride; Judah shall plow, and Jacob shall break his clods.
10: 12 Sow to yourselves in righteousness, reap in mercy; break up your fallow ground: for it is time to seek the LORD, till he come and rain righteousness upon you.
10: 13 Ye have plowed wickedness, ye have reaped iniquity; ye have eaten the fruit of lies: because thou didst trust in thy way, in the multitude of thy mighty men.
10: 14 Therefore shall a tumult arise among thy people, and all thy fortresses shall be spoiled, as Shalman spoiled Betharbel in the day of battle: the mother was dashed in pieces upon her children.
10: 15 So shall Bethel do unto you because of your great wickedness: in a morning shall the king of Israel utterly be cut off.
11: 1 When Israel was a child, then I loved him, and called my son out of Egypt.
11: 2 As they called them, so they went from them: they sacrificed unto Baalim, and burned incense to graven images.
11: 3 I taught Ephraim also to go, taking them by their arms; but they knew not that I healed them.
11: 4 I drew them with cords of a man, with bands of love: and I was to them as they that take off the yoke on their jaws, and I laid meat unto them.
11: 5 He shall not return into the land of Egypt, and the Assyrian shall be his king, because they refused to return.
11: 6 And the sword shall abide on his cities, and shall consume his branches, and devour them, because of their own counsels.
11: 7 And my people are bent to backsliding from me: though they called them to the most High, none at all would exalt him.
11: 8 How shall I give thee up, Ephraim?
how shall I deliver thee, Israel?
how shall I make thee as Admah?
how shall I set thee as Zeboim?
mine heart is turned within me, my repentings are kindled together.
11: 9 I will not execute the fierceness of mine anger, I will not return to destroy Ephraim: for I am God, and not man; the Holy One in the midst of thee: and I will not enter into the city.
11: 10 They shall walk after the LORD: he shall roar like a lion: when he shall roar, then the children shall tremble from the west.
11: 11 They shall tremble as a bird out of Egypt, and as a dove out of the land of Assyria: and I will place them in their houses, saith the LORD.
11: 12 Ephraim compasseth me about with lies, and the house of Israel with deceit: but Judah yet ruleth with God, and is faithful with the saints.
12: 1 Ephraim feedeth on wind, and followeth after the east wind: he daily increaseth lies and desolation; and they do make a covenant with the Assyrians, and oil is carried into Egypt.
12: 2 The LORD hath also a controversy with Judah, and will punish Jacob according to his ways; according to his doings will he recompense him.
12: 6 Therefore turn thou to thy God: keep mercy and judgment and wait on thy God continually.
12: 7 He is a merchant, the balances of deceit are in his hand: he loveth to oppress.
12: 8 And Ephraim said, Yet I am become rich, I have found me out substance: in all my labours they shall find none iniquity in me that were sin.
12: 9 And I that am the LORD thy God from the land of Egypt will yet make thee to dwell in tabernacles, as in the days of the solemn feast.
12: 10 I have also spoken by the prophets, and I have multiplied visions, and used similitudes, by the ministry of the prophets.
12: 11 Is there iniquity in Gilead?
surely they are vanity: they sacrifice bullocks in Gilgal; yea, their altars are as heaps in the furrows of the fields.
12: 12 And Jacob fled into the country of Syria, and Israel served for a wife, and for a wife he kept sheep.
12: 13 And by a prophet the LORD brought Israel out of Egypt, and by a prophet was he preserved.
12: 14 Ephraim provoked him to anger most bitterly: therefore shall he leave his blood upon him, and his reproach shall his LORD return unto him.
13: 1 When Ephraim spake trembling, he exalted himself in Israel; but when he offended in Baal, he died.
13: 2 And now they sin more and more, and have made them molten images of their silver, and idols according to their own understanding, all of it the work of the craftsmen: they say of them, Let the men that sacrifice kiss the calves.
13: 3 Therefore they shall be as the morning cloud and as the early dew that passeth away, as the chaff that is driven with the whirlwind out of the floor, and as the smoke out of the chimney.
13: 4 Yet I am the LORD thy God from the land of Egypt, and thou shalt know no god but me: for there is no saviour beside me.
13: 5 I did know thee in the wilderness, in the land of great drought.
13: 6 According to their pasture, so were they filled; they were filled, and their heart was exalted; therefore have they forgotten me.
13: 7 Therefore I will be unto them as a lion: as a leopard by the way will I observe them: 13: 8 I will meet them as a bear that is bereaved of her whelps, and will rend the caul of their heart, and there will I devour them like a lion: the wild beast shall tear them.
13: 9 O Israel, thou hast destroyed thyself; but in me is thine help.
13: 10 I will be thy king: where is any other that may save thee in all thy cities?
and thy judges of whom thou saidst, Give me a king and princes?
13: 11 I gave thee a king in mine anger, and took him away in my wrath.
13: 12 The iniquity of Ephraim is bound up; his sin is hid.
13: 13 The sorrows of a travailing woman shall come upon him: he is an unwise son; for he should not stay long in the place of the breaking forth of children.
13: 14 I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death: O death, I will be thy plagues; O grave, I will be thy destruction: repentance shall be hid from mine eyes.
13: 15 Though he be fruitful among his brethren, an east wind shall come, the wind of the LORD shall come up from the wilderness, and his spring shall become dry, and his fountain shall be dried up: he shall spoil the treasure of all pleasant vessels.
13: 16 Samaria shall become desolate; for she hath rebelled against her God: they shall fall by the sword: their infants shall be dashed in pieces, and their women with child shall be ripped up.
14: 1 O israel, return unto the LORD thy God; for thou hast fallen by thine iniquity.
14: 2 Take with you words, and turn to the LORD: say unto him, Take away all iniquity, and receive us graciously: so will we render the calves of our lips.
14: 3 Asshur shall not save us; we will not ride upon horses: neither will we say any more to the work of our hands, Ye are our gods: for in thee the fatherless findeth mercy.
14: 4 I will heal their backsliding, I will love them freely: for mine anger is turned away from him.
14: 5 I will be as the dew unto Israel: he shall grow as the lily, and cast forth his roots as Lebanon.
14: 6 His branches shall spread, and his beauty shall be as the olive tree, and his smell as Lebanon.
14: 7 They that dwell under his shadow shall return; they shall revive as the corn, and grow as the vine: the scent thereof shall be as the wine of Lebanon.
14: 8 Ephraim shall say, What have I to do any more with idols?
I have heard him, and observed him: I am like a green fir tree.
From me is thy fruit found.
14: 9 Who is wise, and he shall understand these things?
prudent, and he shall know them?
for the ways of the LORD are right, and the just shall walk in them: but the transgressors shall fall therein.
Joel
1: 1 The word of the LORD that came to Joel the son of Pethuel.
1: 2 Hear this, ye old men, and give ear, all ye inhabitants of the land.
Hath this been in your days, or even in the days of your fathers?
1: 3 Tell ye your children of it, and let your children tell their children, and their children another generation.
1: 4 That which the palmerworm hath left hath the locust eaten; and that which the locust hath left hath the cankerworm eaten; and that which the cankerworm hath left hath the caterpiller eaten.
1: 5 Awake, ye drunkards, and weep; and howl, all ye drinkers of wine, because of the new wine; for it is cut off from your mouth.
1: 6 For a nation is come up upon my land, strong, and without number, whose teeth are the teeth of a lion, and he hath the cheek teeth of a great lion.
1: 7 He hath laid my vine waste, and barked my fig tree: he hath made it clean bare, and cast it away; the branches thereof are made white.
1: 8 Lament like a virgin girded with sackcloth for the husband of her youth.
1: 9 The meat offering and the drink offering is cut off from the house of the LORD; the priests, the LORD's ministers, mourn.
1: 10 The field is wasted, the land mourneth; for the corn is wasted: the new wine is dried up, the oil languisheth.
1: 11 Be ye ashamed, O ye husbandmen; howl, O ye vinedressers, for the wheat and for the barley; because the harvest of the field is perished.
1: 12 The vine is dried up, and the fig tree languisheth; the pomegranate tree, the palm tree also, and the apple tree, even all the trees of the field, are withered: because joy is withered away from the sons of men.
1: 13 Gird yourselves, and lament, ye priests: howl, ye ministers of the altar: come, lie all night in sackcloth, ye ministers of my God: for the meat offering and the drink offering is withholden from the house of your God.
1: 14 Sanctify ye a fast, call a solemn assembly, gather the elders and all the inhabitants of the land into the house of the LORD your God, and cry unto the LORD, 1: 15 Alas for the day!
for the day of the LORD is at hand, and as a destruction from the Almighty shall it come.
1: 16 Is not the meat cut off before our eyes, yea, joy and gladness from the house of our God?
1: 17 The seed is rotten under their clods, the garners are laid desolate, the barns are broken down; for the corn is withered.
1: 18 How do the beasts groan!
the herds of cattle are perplexed, because they have no pasture; yea, the flocks of sheep are made desolate.
1: 19 O LORD, to thee will I cry: for the fire hath devoured the pastures of the wilderness, and the flame hath burned all the trees of the field.
1: 20 The beasts of the field cry also unto thee: for the rivers of waters are dried up, and the fire hath devoured the pastures of the wilderness.
2: 3 A fire devoureth before them; and behind them a flame burneth: the land is as the garden of Eden before them, and behind them a desolate wilderness; yea, and nothing shall escape them.
2: 4 The appearance of them is as the appearance of horses; and as horsemen, so shall they run.
2: 5 Like the noise of chariots on the tops of mountains shall they leap, like the noise of a flame of fire that devoureth the stubble, as a strong people set in battle array.
2: 6 Before their face the people shall be much pained: all faces shall gather blackness.
2: 9 They shall run to and fro in the city; they shall run upon the wall, they shall climb up upon the houses; they shall enter in at the windows like a thief.
2: 14 Who knoweth if he will return and repent, and leave a blessing behind him; even a meat offering and a drink offering unto the LORD your God?
2: 18 Then will the LORD be jealous for his land, and pity his people.
2: 21 Fear not, O land; be glad and rejoice: for the LORD will do great things.
2: 22 Be not afraid, ye beasts of the field: for the pastures of the wilderness do spring, for the tree beareth her fruit, the fig tree and the vine do yield their strength.
2: 23 Be glad then, ye children of Zion, and rejoice in the LORD your God: for he hath given you the former rain moderately, and he will cause to come down for you the rain, the former rain, and the latter rain in the first month.
2: 24 And the floors shall be full of wheat, and the vats shall overflow with wine and oil.
2: 25 And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpiller, and the palmerworm, my great army which I sent among you.
2: 26 And ye shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied, and praise the name of the LORD your God, that hath dealt wondrously with you: and my people shall never be ashamed.
2: 27 And ye shall know that I am in the midst of Israel, and that I am the LORD your God, and none else: and my people shall never be ashamed.
2: 30 And I will shew wonders in the heavens and in the earth, blood, and fire, and pillars of smoke.
2: 31 The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the great and terrible day of the LORD come.
2: 32 And it shall come to pass, that whosoever shall call on the name of the LORD shall be delivered: for in mount Zion and in Jerusalem shall be deliverance, as the LORD hath said, and in the remnant whom the LORD shall call.
3: 3 And they have cast lots for my people; and have given a boy for an harlot, and sold a girl for wine, that they might drink.
3: 4 Yea, and what have ye to do with me, O Tyre, and Zidon, and all the coasts of Palestine?
will ye render me a recompence?
3: 9 Proclaim ye this among the Gentiles; Prepare war, wake up the mighty men, let all the men of war draw near; let them come up: 3: 10 Beat your plowshares into swords and your pruninghooks into spears: let the weak say, I am strong.
3: 11 Assemble yourselves, and come, all ye heathen, and gather yourselves together round about: thither cause thy mighty ones to come down, O LORD.
3: 12 Let the heathen be wakened, and come up to the valley of Jehoshaphat: for there will I sit to judge all the heathen round about.
3: 13 Put ye in the sickle, for the harvest is ripe: come, get you down; for the press is full, the fats overflow; for their wickedness is great.
3: 14 Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision: for the day of the LORD is near in the valley of decision.
3: 15 The sun and the moon shall be darkened, and the stars shall withdraw their shining.
3: 16 The LORD also shall roar out of Zion, and utter his voice from Jerusalem; and the heavens and the earth shall shake: but the LORD will be the hope of his people, and the strength of the children of Israel.
3: 17 So shall ye know that I am the LORD your God dwelling in Zion, my holy mountain: then shall Jerusalem be holy, and there shall no strangers pass through her any more.
3: 19 Egypt shall be a desolation, and Edom shall be a desolate wilderness, for the violence against the children of Judah, because they have shed innocent blood in their land.
3: 20 But Judah shall dwell for ever, and Jerusalem from generation to generation.
3: 21 For I will cleanse their blood that I have not cleansed: for the LORD dwelleth in Zion.
Amos
1: 1 The words of Amos, who was among the herdmen of Tekoa, which he saw concerning Israel in the days of Uzziah king of Judah, and in the days of Jeroboam the son of Joash king of Israel, two years before the earthquake.
1: 2 And he said, The LORD will roar from Zion, and utter his voice from Jerusalem; and the habitations of the shepherds shall mourn, and the top of Carmel shall wither.
1: 5 I will break also the bar of Damascus, and cut off the inhabitant from the plain of Aven, and him that holdeth the sceptre from the house of Eden: and the people of Syria shall go into captivity unto Kir, saith the LORD.
2: 9 Yet destroyed I the Amorite before them, whose height was like the height of the cedars, and he was strong as the oaks; yet I destroyed his fruit from above, and his roots from beneath.
2: 10 Also I brought you up from the land of Egypt, and led you forty years through the wilderness, to possess the land of the Amorite.
2: 11 And I raised up of your sons for prophets, and of your young men for Nazarites.
Is it not even thus, O ye children of Israel?
saith the LORD.
2: 12 But ye gave the Nazarites wine to drink; and commanded the prophets, saying, Prophesy not.
2: 13 Behold, I am pressed under you, as a cart is pressed that is full of sheaves.
2: 16 And he that is courageous among the mighty shall flee away naked in that day, saith the LORD.
3: 1 Hear this word that the LORD hath spoken against you, O children of Israel, against the whole family which I brought up from the land of Egypt, saying, 3: 2 You only have I known of all the families of the earth: therefore I will punish you for all your iniquities.
3: 3 Can two walk together, except they be agreed?
3: 4 Will a lion roar in the forest, when he hath no prey?
will a young lion cry out of his den, if he have taken nothing?
3: 5 Can a bird fall in a snare upon the earth, where no gin is for him?
shall one take up a snare from the earth, and have taken nothing at all?
3: 6 Shall a trumpet be blown in the city, and the people not be afraid?
shall there be evil in a city, and the LORD hath not done it?
3: 7 Surely the Lord GOD will do nothing, but he revealeth his secret unto his servants the prophets.
3: 8 The lion hath roared, who will not fear?
the Lord GOD hath spoken, who can but prophesy?
3: 9 Publish in the palaces at Ashdod, and in the palaces in the land of Egypt, and say, Assemble yourselves upon the mountains of Samaria, and behold the great tumults in the midst thereof, and the oppressed in the midst thereof.
3: 10 For they know not to do right, saith the LORD, who store up violence and robbery in their palaces.
3: 11 Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD; An adversary there shall be even round about the land; and he shall bring down thy strength from thee, and thy palaces shall be spoiled.
3: 12 Thus saith the LORD; As the shepherd taketh out of the mouth of the lion two legs, or a piece of an ear; so shall the children of Israel be taken out that dwell in Samaria in the corner of a bed, and in Damascus in a couch.
3: 15 And I will smite the winter house with the summer house; and the houses of ivory shall perish, and the great houses shall have an end, saith the LORD.
4: 1 Hear this word, ye kine of Bashan, that are in the mountain of Samaria, which oppress the poor, which crush the needy, which say to their masters, Bring, and let us drink.
4: 2 The Lord GOD hath sworn by his holiness, that, lo, the days shall come upon you, that he will take you away with hooks, and your posterity with fishhooks.
4: 3 And ye shall go out at the breaches, every cow at that which is before her; and ye shall cast them into the palace, saith the LORD.
4: 6 And I also have given you cleanness of teeth in all your cities, and want of bread in all your places: yet have ye not returned unto me, saith the LORD.
4: 7 And also I have withholden the rain from you, when there were yet three months to the harvest: and I caused it to rain upon one city, and caused it not to rain upon another city: one piece was rained upon, and the piece whereupon it rained not withered.
4: 8 So two or three cities wandered unto one city, to drink water; but they were not satisfied: yet have ye not returned unto me, saith the LORD.
4: 9 I have smitten you with blasting and mildew: when your gardens and your vineyards and your fig trees and your olive trees increased, the palmerworm devoured them: yet have ye not returned unto me, saith the LORD.
4: 10 I have sent among you the pestilence after the manner of Egypt: your young men have I slain with the sword, and have taken away your horses; and I have made the stink of your camps to come up unto your nostrils: yet have ye not returned unto me, saith the LORD.
4: 11 I have overthrown some of you, as God overthrew Sodom and Gomorrah, and ye were as a firebrand plucked out of the burning: yet have ye not returned unto me, saith the LORD.
4: 12 Therefore thus will I do unto thee, O Israel: and because I will do this unto thee, prepare to meet thy God, O Israel.
4: 13 For, lo, he that formeth the mountains, and createth the wind, and declareth unto man what is his thought, that maketh the morning darkness, and treadeth upon the high places of the earth, The LORD, The God of hosts, is his name.
5: 1 Hear ye this word which I take up against you, even a lamentation, O house of Israel.
5: 2 The virgin of Israel is fallen; she shall no more rise: she is forsaken upon her land; there is none to raise her up.
5: 3 For thus saith the Lord GOD; The city that went out by a thousand shall leave an hundred, and that which went forth by an hundred shall leave ten, to the house of Israel.
5: 4 For thus saith the LORD unto the house of Israel, Seek ye me, and ye shall live: 5: 5 But seek not Bethel, nor enter into Gilgal, and pass not to Beersheba: for Gilgal shall surely go into captivity, and Bethel shall come to nought.
5: 6 Seek the LORD, and ye shall live; lest he break out like fire in the house of Joseph, and devour it, and there be none to quench it in Bethel.
5: 10 They hate him that rebuketh in the gate, and they abhor him that speaketh uprightly.
5: 11 Forasmuch therefore as your treading is upon the poor, and ye take from him burdens of wheat: ye have built houses of hewn stone, but ye shall not dwell in them; ye have planted pleasant vineyards, but ye shall not drink wine of them.
5: 12 For I know your manifold transgressions and your mighty sins: they afflict the just, they take a bribe, and they turn aside the poor in the gate from their right.
5: 13 Therefore the prudent shall keep silence in that time; for it is an evil time.
5: 14 Seek good, and not evil, that ye may live: and so the LORD, the God of hosts, shall be with you, as ye have spoken.
5: 15 Hate the evil, and love the good, and establish judgment in the gate: it may be that the LORD God of hosts will be gracious unto the remnant of Joseph.
5: 16 Therefore the LORD, the God of hosts, the LORD, saith thus; Wailing shall be in all streets; and they shall say in all the highways, Alas!
alas!
and they shall call the husbandman to mourning, and such as are skilful of lamentation to wailing.
5: 17 And in all vineyards shall be wailing: for I will pass through thee, saith the LORD.
5: 18 Woe unto you that desire the day of the LORD!
to what end is it for you?
the day of the LORD is darkness, and not light.
5: 19 As if a man did flee from a lion, and a bear met him; or went into the house, and leaned his hand on the wall, and a serpent bit him.
5: 20 Shall not the day of the LORD be darkness, and not light?
even very dark, and no brightness in it?
5: 21 I hate, I despise your feast days, and I will not smell in your solemn assemblies.
5: 22 Though ye offer me burnt offerings and your meat offerings, I will not accept them: neither will I regard the peace offerings of your fat beasts.
5: 23 Take thou away from me the noise of thy songs; for I will not hear the melody of thy viols.
5: 24 But let judgment run down as waters, and righteousness as a mighty stream.
5: 25 Have ye offered unto me sacrifices and offerings in the wilderness forty years, O house of Israel?
5: 26 But ye have borne the tabernacle of your Moloch and Chiun your images, the star of your god, which ye made to yourselves.
5: 27 Therefore will I cause you to go into captivity beyond Damascus, saith the LORD, whose name is The God of hosts.
6: 1 Woe to them that are at ease in Zion, and trust in the mountain of Samaria, which are named chief of the nations, to whom the house of Israel came!
6: 2 Pass ye unto Calneh, and see; and from thence go ye to Hamath the great: then go down to Gath of the Philistines: be they better than these kingdoms?
or their border greater than your border?
6: 7 Therefore now shall they go captive with the first that go captive, and the banquet of them that stretched themselves shall be removed.
6: 8 The Lord GOD hath sworn by himself, saith the LORD the God of hosts, I abhor the excellency of Jacob, and hate his palaces: therefore will I deliver up the city with all that is therein.
6: 9 And it shall come to pass, if there remain ten men in one house, that they shall die.
6: 10 And a man's uncle shall take him up, and he that burneth him, to bring out the bones out of the house, and shall say unto him that is by the sides of the house, Is there yet any with thee?
and he shall say, No.
Then shall he say, Hold thy tongue: for we may not make mention of the name of the LORD.
6: 11 For, behold, the LORD commandeth, and he will smite the great house with breaches, and the little house with clefts.
6: 12 Shall horses run upon the rock?
will one plow there with oxen?
for ye have turned judgment into gall, and the fruit of righteousness into hemlock: 6: 13 Ye which rejoice in a thing of nought, which say, Have we not taken to us horns by our own strength?
6: 14 But, behold, I will raise up against you a nation, O house of Israel, saith the LORD the God of hosts; and they shall afflict you from the entering in of Hemath unto the river of the wilderness.
7: 1 Thus hath the Lord GOD shewed unto me; and, behold, he formed grasshoppers in the beginning of the shooting up of the latter growth; and, lo, it was the latter growth after the king's mowings.
7: 2 And it came to pass, that when they had made an end of eating the grass of the land, then I said, O Lord GOD, forgive, I beseech thee: by whom shall Jacob arise?
for he is small.
7: 3 The LORD repented for this: It shall not be, saith the LORD.
7: 4 Thus hath the Lord GOD shewed unto me: and, behold, the Lord GOD called to contend by fire, and it devoured the great deep, and did eat up a part.
7: 5 Then said I, O Lord GOD, cease, I beseech thee: by whom shall Jacob arise?
for he is small.
7: 6 The LORD repented for this: This also shall not be, saith the Lord GOD.
7: 7 Thus he shewed me: and, behold, the LORD stood upon a wall made by a plumbline, with a plumbline in his hand.
7: 8 And the LORD said unto me, Amos, what seest thou?
And I said, A plumbline.
7: 10 Then Amaziah the priest of Bethel sent to Jeroboam king of Israel, saying, Amos hath conspired against thee in the midst of the house of Israel: the land is not able to bear all his words.
7: 11 For thus Amos saith, Jeroboam shall die by the sword, and Israel shall surely be led away captive out of their own land.
7: 12 Also Amaziah said unto Amos, O thou seer, go, flee thee away into the land of Judah, and there eat bread, and prophesy there: 7: 13 But prophesy not again any more at Bethel: for it is the king's chapel, and it is the king's court.
7: 14 Then answered Amos, and said to Amaziah, I was no prophet, neither was I a prophet's son; but I was an herdman, and a gatherer of sycomore fruit: 7: 15 And the LORD took me as I followed the flock, and the LORD said unto me, Go, prophesy unto my people Israel.
7: 16 Now therefore hear thou the word of the LORD: Thou sayest, Prophesy not against Israel, and drop not thy word against the house of Isaac.
7: 17 Therefore thus saith the LORD; Thy wife shall be an harlot in the city, and thy sons and thy daughters shall fall by the sword, and thy land shall be divided by line; and thou shalt die in a polluted land: and Israel shall surely go into captivity forth of his land.
8: 1 Thus hath the Lord GOD shewed unto me: and behold a basket of summer fruit.
8: 2 And he said, Amos, what seest thou?
And I said, A basket of summer fruit.
Then said the LORD unto me, The end is come upon my people of Israel; I will not again pass by them any more.
8: 3 And the songs of the temple shall be howlings in that day, saith the Lord GOD: there shall be many dead bodies in every place; they shall cast them forth with silence.
8: 4 Hear this, O ye that swallow up the needy, even to make the poor of the land to fail, 8: 5 Saying, When will the new moon be gone, that we may sell corn?
and the sabbath, that we may set forth wheat, making the ephah small, and the shekel great, and falsifying the balances by deceit?
8: 6 That we may buy the poor for silver, and the needy for a pair of shoes; yea, and sell the refuse of the wheat?
8: 7 The LORD hath sworn by the excellency of Jacob, Surely I will never forget any of their works.
8: 8 Shall not the land tremble for this, and every one mourn that dwelleth therein?
and it shall rise up wholly as a flood; and it shall be cast out and drowned, as by the flood of Egypt.
8: 13 In that day shall the fair virgins and young men faint for thirst.
8: 14 They that swear by the sin of Samaria, and say, Thy god, O Dan, liveth; and, The manner of Beersheba liveth; even they shall fall, and never rise up again.
9: 5 And the Lord GOD of hosts is he that toucheth the land, and it shall melt, and all that dwell therein shall mourn: and it shall rise up wholly like a flood; and shall be drowned, as by the flood of Egypt.
9: 6 It is he that buildeth his stories in the heaven, and hath founded his troop in the earth; he that calleth for the waters of the sea, and poureth them out upon the face of the earth: The LORD is his name.
9: 7 Are ye not as children of the Ethiopians unto me, O children of Israel?
saith the LORD.
Have not I brought up Israel out of the land of Egypt?
and the Philistines from Caphtor, and the Syrians from Kir?
9: 8 Behold, the eyes of the Lord GOD are upon the sinful kingdom, and I will destroy it from off the face of the earth; saving that I will not utterly destroy the house of Jacob, saith the LORD.
9: 9 For, lo, I will command, and I will sift the house of Israel among all nations, like as corn is sifted in a sieve, yet shall not the least grain fall upon the earth.
9: 10 All the sinners of my people shall die by the sword, which say, The evil shall not overtake nor prevent us.
9: 13 Behold, the days come, saith the LORD, that the plowman shall overtake the reaper, and the treader of grapes him that soweth seed; and the mountains shall drop sweet wine, and all the hills shall melt.
9: 14 And I will bring again the captivity of my people of Israel, and they shall build the waste cities, and inhabit them; and they shall plant vineyards, and drink the wine thereof; they shall also make gardens, and eat the fruit of them.
9: 15 And I will plant them upon their land, and they shall no more be pulled up out of their land which I have given them, saith the LORD thy God.
Obadiah
1: 1 The vision of Obadiah.
Thus saith the Lord GOD concerning Edom; We have heard a rumour from the LORD, and an ambassador is sent among the heathen, Arise ye, and let us rise up against her in battle.
1: 2 Behold, I have made thee small among the heathen: thou art greatly despised.
1: 3 The pride of thine heart hath deceived thee, thou that dwellest in the clefts of the rock, whose habitation is high; that saith in his heart, Who shall bring me down to the ground?
1: 4 Though thou exalt thyself as the eagle, and though thou set thy nest among the stars, thence will I bring thee down, saith the LORD.
1: 5 If thieves came to thee, if robbers by night, (how art thou cut off!)
would they not have stolen till they had enough?
if the grapegatherers came to thee, would they not leave some grapes?
1: 6 How are the things of Esau searched out!
how are his hidden things sought up!
1: 7 All the men of thy confederacy have brought thee even to the border: the men that were at peace with thee have deceived thee, and prevailed against thee; that they eat thy bread have laid a wound under thee: there is none understanding in him.
1: 8 Shall I not in that day, saith the LORD, even destroy the wise men out of Edom, and understanding out of the mount of Esau?
1: 9 And thy mighty men, O Teman, shall be dismayed, to the end that every one of the mount of Esau may be cut off by slaughter.
1: 10 For thy violence against thy brother Jacob shame shall cover thee, and thou shalt be cut off for ever.
1: 11 In the day that thou stoodest on the other side, in the day that the strangers carried away captive his forces, and foreigners entered into his gates, and cast lots upon Jerusalem, even thou wast as one of them.
1: 12 But thou shouldest not have looked on the day of thy brother in the day that he became a stranger; neither shouldest thou have rejoiced over the children of Judah in the day of their destruction; neither shouldest thou have spoken proudly in the day of distress.
1: 15 For the day of the LORD is near upon all the heathen: as thou hast done, it shall be done unto thee: thy reward shall return upon thine own head.
1: 16 For as ye have drunk upon my holy mountain, so shall all the heathen drink continually, yea, they shall drink, and they shall swallow down, and they shall be as though they had not been.
1: 17 But upon mount Zion shall be deliverance, and there shall be holiness; and the house of Jacob shall possess their possessions.
1: 18 And the house of Jacob shall be a fire, and the house of Joseph a flame, and the house of Esau for stubble, and they shall kindle in them, and devour them; and there shall not be any remaining of the house of Esau; for the LORD hath spoken it.
1: 19 And they of the south shall possess the mount of Esau; and they of the plain the Philistines: and they shall possess the fields of Ephraim, and the fields of Samaria: and Benjamin shall possess Gilead.
1: 20 And the captivity of this host of the children of Israel shall possess that of the Canaanites, even unto Zarephath; and the captivity of Jerusalem, which is in Sepharad, shall possess the cities of the south.
1: 21 And saviours shall come up on mount Zion to judge the mount of Esau; and the kingdom shall be the LORD's.
Jonah
1: 1 Now the word of the LORD came unto Jonah the son of Amittai, saying, 1: 2 Arise, go to Nineveh, that great city, and cry against it; for their wickedness is come up before me.
1: 3 But Jonah rose up to flee unto Tarshish from the presence of the LORD, and went down to Joppa; and he found a ship going to Tarshish: so he paid the fare thereof, and went down into it, to go with them unto Tarshish from the presence of the LORD.
1: 4 But the LORD sent out a great wind into the sea, and there was a mighty tempest in the sea, so that the ship was like to be broken.
1: 5 Then the mariners were afraid, and cried every man unto his god, and cast forth the wares that were in the ship into the sea, to lighten it of them.
But Jonah was gone down into the sides of the ship; and he lay, and was fast asleep.
1: 6 So the shipmaster came to him, and said unto him, What meanest thou, O sleeper?
arise, call upon thy God, if so be that God will think upon us, that we perish not.
1: 7 And they said every one to his fellow, Come, and let us cast lots, that we may know for whose cause this evil is upon us.
So they cast lots, and the lot fell upon Jonah.
1: 8 Then said they unto him, Tell us, we pray thee, for whose cause this evil is upon us; What is thine occupation?
and whence comest thou?
what is thy country?
and of what people art thou?
1: 9 And he said unto them, I am an Hebrew; and I fear the LORD, the God of heaven, which hath made the sea and the dry land.
1: 10 Then were the men exceedingly afraid, and said unto him.
Why hast thou done this?
For the men knew that he fled from the presence of the LORD, because he had told them.
1: 11 Then said they unto him, What shall we do unto thee, that the sea may be calm unto us?
for the sea wrought, and was tempestuous.
1: 12 And he said unto them, Take me up, and cast me forth into the sea; so shall the sea be calm unto you: for I know that for my sake this great tempest is upon you.
1: 13 Nevertheless the men rowed hard to bring it to the land; but they could not: for the sea wrought, and was tempestuous against them.
1: 14 Wherefore they cried unto the LORD, and said, We beseech thee, O LORD, we beseech thee, let us not perish for this man's life, and lay not upon us innocent blood: for thou, O LORD, hast done as it pleased thee.
1: 15 So they look up Jonah, and cast him forth into the sea: and the sea ceased from her raging.
1: 16 Then the men feared the LORD exceedingly, and offered a sacrifice unto the LORD, and made vows.
1: 17 Now the LORD had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah.
And Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights.
2: 1 Then Jonah prayed unto the LORD his God out of the fish's belly, 2: 2 And said, I cried by reason of mine affliction unto the LORD, and he heard me; out of the belly of hell cried I, and thou heardest my voice.
2: 3 For thou hadst cast me into the deep, in the midst of the seas; and the floods compassed me about: all thy billows and thy waves passed over me.
2: 4 Then I said, I am cast out of thy sight; yet I will look again toward thy holy temple.
2: 5 The waters compassed me about, even to the soul: the depth closed me round about, the weeds were wrapped about my head.
2: 6 I went down to the bottoms of the mountains; the earth with her bars was about me for ever: yet hast thou brought up my life from corruption, O LORD my God.
2: 7 When my soul fainted within me I remembered the LORD: and my prayer came in unto thee, into thine holy temple.
2: 8 They that observe lying vanities forsake their own mercy.
2: 9 But I will sacrifice unto thee with the voice of thanksgiving; I will pay that that I have vowed.
Salvation is of the LORD.
2: 10 And the LORD spake unto the fish, and it vomited out Jonah upon the dry land.
3: 1 And the word of the LORD came unto Jonah the second time, saying, 3: 2 Arise, go unto Nineveh, that great city, and preach unto it the preaching that I bid thee.
3: 3 So Jonah arose, and went unto Nineveh, according to the word of the LORD.
Now Nineveh was an exceeding great city of three days'journey.
3: 4 And Jonah began to enter into the city a day's journey, and he cried, and said, Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown.
3: 5 So the people of Nineveh believed God, and proclaimed a fast, and put on sackcloth, from the greatest of them even to the least of them.
3: 6 For word came unto the king of Nineveh, and he arose from his throne, and he laid his robe from him, and covered him with sackcloth, and sat in ashes.
3: 9 Who can tell if God will turn and repent, and turn away from his fierce anger, that we perish not?
3: 10 And God saw their works, that they turned from their evil way; and God repented of the evil, that he had said that he would do unto them; and he did it not.
4: 1 But it displeased Jonah exceedingly, and he was very angry.
4: 2 And he prayed unto the LORD, and said, I pray thee, O LORD, was not this my saying, when I was yet in my country?
Therefore I fled before unto Tarshish: for I knew that thou art a gracious God, and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repentest thee of the evil.
4: 3 Therefore now, O LORD, take, I beseech thee, my life from me; for it is better for me to die than to live.
4: 4 Then said the LORD, Doest thou well to be angry?
4: 5 So Jonah went out of the city, and sat on the east side of the city, and there made him a booth, and sat under it in the shadow, till he might see what would become of the city.
4: 6 And the LORD God prepared a gourd, and made it to come up over Jonah, that it might be a shadow over his head, to deliver him from his grief.
So Jonah was exceeding glad of the gourd.
4: 7 But God prepared a worm when the morning rose the next day, and it smote the gourd that it withered.
4: 8 And it came to pass, when the sun did arise, that God prepared a vehement east wind; and the sun beat upon the head of Jonah, that he fainted, and wished in himself to die, and said, It is better for me to die than to live.
4: 9 And God said to Jonah, Doest thou well to be angry for the gourd?
And he said, I do well to be angry, even unto death.
Micah
1: 1 The word of the LORD that came to Micah the Morasthite in the days of Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah, kings of Judah, which he saw concerning Samaria and Jerusalem.
1: 2 Hear, all ye people; hearken, O earth, and all that therein is: and let the Lord GOD be witness against you, the LORD from his holy temple.
1: 3 For, behold, the LORD cometh forth out of his place, and will come down, and tread upon the high places of the earth.
1: 4 And the mountains shall be molten under him, and the valleys shall be cleft, as wax before the fire, and as the waters that are poured down a steep place.
1: 5 For the transgression of Jacob is all this, and for the sins of the house of Israel.
What is the transgression of Jacob?
is it not Samaria?
and what are the high places of Judah?
are they not Jerusalem?
1: 6 Therefore I will make Samaria as an heap of the field, and as plantings of a vineyard: and I will pour down the stones thereof into the valley, and I will discover the foundations thereof.
1: 7 And all the graven images thereof shall be beaten to pieces, and all the hires thereof shall be burned with the fire, and all the idols thereof will I lay desolate: for she gathered it of the hire of an harlot, and they shall return to the hire of an harlot.
1: 8 Therefore I will wail and howl, I will go stripped and naked: I will make a wailing like the dragons, and mourning as the owls.
1: 9 For her wound is incurable; for it is come unto Judah; he is come unto the gate of my people, even to Jerusalem.
1: 10 Declare ye it not at Gath, weep ye not at all: in the house of Aphrah roll thyself in the dust.
1: 11 Pass ye away, thou inhabitant of Saphir, having thy shame naked: the inhabitant of Zaanan came not forth in the mourning of Bethezel; he shall receive of you his standing.
1: 12 For the inhabitant of Maroth waited carefully for good: but evil came down from the LORD unto the gate of Jerusalem.
1: 13 O thou inhabitant of Lachish, bind the chariot to the swift beast: she is the beginning of the sin to the daughter of Zion: for the transgressions of Israel were found in thee.
1: 14 Therefore shalt thou give presents to Moreshethgath: the houses of Achzib shall be a lie to the kings of Israel.
1: 15 Yet will I bring an heir unto thee, O inhabitant of Mareshah: he shall come unto Adullam the glory of Israel.
1: 16 Make thee bald, and poll thee for thy delicate children; enlarge thy baldness as the eagle; for they are gone into captivity from thee.
2: 1 Woe to them that devise iniquity, and work evil upon their beds!
when the morning is light, they practise it, because it is in the power of their hand.
2: 2 And they covet fields, and take them by violence; and houses, and take them away: so they oppress a man and his house, even a man and his heritage.
2: 3 Therefore thus saith the LORD; Behold, against this family do I devise an evil, from which ye shall not remove your necks; neither shall ye go haughtily: for this time is evil.
2: 4 In that day shall one take up a parable against you, and lament with a doleful lamentation, and say, We be utterly spoiled: he hath changed the portion of my people: how hath he removed it from me!
turning away he hath divided our fields.
2: 5 Therefore thou shalt have none that shall cast a cord by lot in the congregation of the LORD.
2: 6 Prophesy ye not, say they to them that prophesy: they shall not prophesy to them, that they shall not take shame.
2: 7 O thou that art named the house of Jacob, is the spirit of the LORD straitened?
are these his doings?
do not my words do good to him that walketh uprightly?
2: 8 Even of late my people is risen up as an enemy: ye pull off the robe with the garment from them that pass by securely as men averse from war.
2: 9 The women of my people have ye cast out from their pleasant houses; from their children have ye taken away my glory for ever.
2: 10 Arise ye, and depart; for this is not your rest: because it is polluted, it shall destroy you, even with a sore destruction.
2: 11 If a man walking in the spirit and falsehood do lie, saying, I will prophesy unto thee of wine and of strong drink; he shall even be the prophet of this people.
2: 12 I will surely assemble, O Jacob, all of thee; I will surely gather the remnant of Israel; I will put them together as the sheep of Bozrah, as the flock in the midst of their fold: they shall make great noise by reason of the multitude of men.
2: 13 The breaker is come up before them: they have broken up, and have passed through the gate, and are gone out by it: and their king shall pass before them, and the LORD on the head of them.
3: 1 And I said, Hear, I pray you, O heads of Jacob, and ye princes of the house of Israel; Is it not for you to know judgment?
3: 4 Then shall they cry unto the LORD, but he will not hear them: he will even hide his face from them at that time, as they have behaved themselves ill in their doings.
3: 5 Thus saith the LORD concerning the prophets that make my people err, that bite with their teeth, and cry, Peace; and he that putteth not into their mouths, they even prepare war against him.
3: 6 Therefore night shall be unto you, that ye shall not have a vision; and it shall be dark unto you, that ye shall not divine; and the sun shall go down over the prophets, and the day shall be dark over them.
3: 7 Then shall the seers be ashamed, and the diviners confounded: yea, they shall all cover their lips; for there is no answer of God.
3: 8 But truly I am full of power by the spirit of the LORD, and of judgment, and of might, to declare unto Jacob his transgression, and to Israel his sin.
3: 9 Hear this, I pray you, ye heads of the house of Jacob, and princes of the house of Israel, that abhor judgment, and pervert all equity.
3: 10 They build up Zion with blood, and Jerusalem with iniquity.
3: 11 The heads thereof judge for reward, and the priests thereof teach for hire, and the prophets thereof divine for money: yet will they lean upon the LORD, and say, Is not the LORD among us?
none evil can come upon us.
3: 12 Therefore shall Zion for your sake be plowed as a field, and Jerusalem shall become heaps, and the mountain of the house as the high places of the forest.
4: 1 But in the last days it shall come to pass, that the mountain of the house of the LORD shall be established in the top of the mountains, and it shall be exalted above the hills; and people shall flow unto it.
4: 2 And many nations shall come, and say, Come, and let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, and to the house of the God of Jacob; and he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his paths: for the law shall go forth of Zion, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.
4: 3 And he shall judge among many people, and rebuke strong nations afar off; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks: nation shall not lift up a sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.
4: 4 But they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree; and none shall make them afraid: for the mouth of the LORD of hosts hath spoken it.
4: 5 For all people will walk every one in the name of his god, and we will walk in the name of the LORD our God for ever and ever.
4: 8 And thou, O tower of the flock, the strong hold of the daughter of Zion, unto thee shall it come, even the first dominion; the kingdom shall come to the daughter of Jerusalem.
4: 9 Now why dost thou cry out aloud?
is there no king in thee?
is thy counsellor perished?
for pangs have taken thee as a woman in travail.
4: 11 Now also many nations are gathered against thee, that say, Let her be defiled, and let our eye look upon Zion.
4: 12 But they know not the thoughts of the LORD, neither understand they his counsel: for he shall gather them as the sheaves into the floor.
4: 13 Arise and thresh, O daughter of Zion: for I will make thine horn iron, and I will make thy hoofs brass: and thou shalt beat in pieces many people: and I will consecrate their gain unto the LORD, and their substance unto the Lord of the whole earth.
5: 1 Now gather thyself in troops, O daughter of troops: he hath laid siege against us: they shall smite the judge of Israel with a rod upon the cheek.
5: 2 But thou, Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting.
5: 3 Therefore will he give them up, until the time that she which travaileth hath brought forth: then the remnant of his brethren shall return unto the children of Israel.
5: 4 And he shall stand and feed in the strength of the LORD, in the majesty of the name of the LORD his God; and they shall abide: for now shall he be great unto the ends of the earth.
5: 5 And this man shall be the peace, when the Assyrian shall come into our land: and when he shall tread in our palaces, then shall we raise against him seven shepherds, and eight principal men.
5: 6 And they shall waste the land of Assyria with the sword, and the land of Nimrod in the entrances thereof: thus shall he deliver us from the Assyrian, when he cometh into our land, and when he treadeth within our borders.
5: 7 And the remnant of Jacob shall be in the midst of many people as a dew from the LORD, as the showers upon the grass, that tarrieth not for man, nor waiteth for the sons of men.
5: 8 And the remnant of Jacob shall be among the Gentiles in the midst of many people as a lion among the beasts of the forest, as a young lion among the flocks of sheep: who, if he go through, both treadeth down, and teareth in pieces, and none can deliver.
5: 9 Thine hand shall be lifted up upon thine adversaries, and all thine enemies shall be cut off.
5: 14 And I will pluck up thy groves out of the midst of thee: so will I destroy thy cities.
5: 15 And I will execute vengeance in anger and fury upon the heathen, such as they have not heard.
6: 1 Hear ye now what the LORD saith; Arise, contend thou before the mountains, and let the hills hear thy voice.
6: 2 Hear ye, O mountains, the LORD's controversy, and ye strong foundations of the earth: for the LORD hath a controversy with his people, and he will plead with Israel.
6: 3 O my people, what have I done unto thee?
and wherein have I wearied thee?
testify against me.
6: 4 For I brought thee up out of the land of Egypt, and redeemed thee out of the house of servants; and I sent before thee Moses, Aaron, and Miriam.
6: 5 O my people, remember now what Balak king of Moab consulted, and what Balaam the son of Beor answered him from Shittim unto Gilgal; that ye may know the righteousness of the LORD.
6: 6 Wherewith shall I come before the LORD, and bow myself before the high God?
shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves of a year old?
6: 7 Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams, or with ten thousands of rivers of oil?
shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?
6: 8 He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?
6: 9 The LORD's voice crieth unto the city, and the man of wisdom shall see thy name: hear ye the rod, and who hath appointed it.
6: 10 Are there yet the treasures of wickedness in the house of the wicked, and the scant measure that is abominable?
6: 11 Shall I count them pure with the wicked balances, and with the bag of deceitful weights?
6: 12 For the rich men thereof are full of violence, and the inhabitants thereof have spoken lies, and their tongue is deceitful in their mouth.
6: 13 Therefore also will I make thee sick in smiting thee, in making thee desolate because of thy sins.
6: 14 Thou shalt eat, but not be satisfied; and thy casting down shall be in the midst of thee; and thou shalt take hold, but shalt not deliver; and that which thou deliverest will I give up to the sword.
6: 15 Thou shalt sow, but thou shalt not reap; thou shalt tread the olives, but thou shalt not anoint thee with oil; and sweet wine, but shalt not drink wine.
6: 16 For the statutes of Omri are kept, and all the works of the house of Ahab, and ye walk in their counsels; that I should make thee a desolation, and the inhabitants thereof an hissing: therefore ye shall bear the reproach of my people.
7: 1 Woe is me!
for I am as when they have gathered the summer fruits, as the grapegleanings of the vintage: there is no cluster to eat: my soul desired the firstripe fruit.
7: 2 The good man is perished out of the earth: and there is none upright among men: they all lie in wait for blood; they hunt every man his brother with a net.
7: 3 That they may do evil with both hands earnestly, the prince asketh, and the judge asketh for a reward; and the great man, he uttereth his mischievous desire: so they wrap it up.
7: 4 The best of them is as a brier: the most upright is sharper than a thorn hedge: the day of thy watchmen and thy visitation cometh; now shall be their perplexity.
7: 5 Trust ye not in a friend, put ye not confidence in a guide: keep the doors of thy mouth from her that lieth in thy bosom.
7: 6 For the son dishonoureth the father, the daughter riseth up against her mother, the daughter in law against her mother in law; a man's enemies are the men of his own house.
7: 7 Therefore I will look unto the LORD; I will wait for the God of my salvation: my God will hear me.
7: 8 Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy: when I fall, I shall arise; when I sit in darkness, the LORD shall be a light unto me.
7: 9 I will bear the indignation of the LORD, because I have sinned against him, until he plead my cause, and execute judgment for me: he will bring me forth to the light, and I shall behold his righteousness.
7: 10 Then she that is mine enemy shall see it, and shame shall cover her which said unto me, Where is the LORD thy God?
mine eyes shall behold her: now shall she be trodden down as the mire of the streets.
7: 11 In the day that thy walls are to be built, in that day shall the decree be far removed.
7: 12 In that day also he shall come even to thee from Assyria, and from the fortified cities, and from the fortress even to the river, and from sea to sea, and from mountain to mountain.
7: 13 Notwithstanding the land shall be desolate because of them that dwell therein, for the fruit of their doings.
7: 14 Feed thy people with thy rod, the flock of thine heritage, which dwell solitarily in the wood, in the midst of Carmel: let them feed in Bashan and Gilead, as in the days of old.
7: 15 According to the days of thy coming out of the land of Egypt will I shew unto him marvellous things.
7: 16 The nations shall see and be confounded at all their might: they shall lay their hand upon their mouth, their ears shall be deaf.
7: 17 They shall lick the dust like a serpent, they shall move out of their holes like worms of the earth: they shall be afraid of the LORD our God, and shall fear because of thee.
7: 18 Who is a God like unto thee, that pardoneth iniquity, and passeth by the transgression of the remnant of his heritage?
he retaineth not his anger for ever, because he delighteth in mercy.
7: 19 He will turn again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities; and thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea.
7: 20 Thou wilt perform the truth to Jacob, and the mercy to Abraham, which thou hast sworn unto our fathers from the days of old.
Nahum
1: 1 The burden of Nineveh.
The book of the vision of Nahum the Elkoshite.
1: 2 God is jealous, and the LORD revengeth; the LORD revengeth, and is furious; the LORD will take vengeance on his adversaries, and he reserveth wrath for his enemies.
1: 3 The LORD is slow to anger, and great in power, and will not at all acquit the wicked: the LORD hath his way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet.
1: 4 He rebuketh the sea, and maketh it dry, and drieth up all the rivers: Bashan languisheth, and Carmel, and the flower of Lebanon languisheth.
1: 5 The mountains quake at him, and the hills melt, and the earth is burned at his presence, yea, the world, and all that dwell therein.
1: 6 Who can stand before his indignation?
and who can abide in the fierceness of his anger?
his fury is poured out like fire, and the rocks are thrown down by him.
1: 7 The LORD is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him.
1: 8 But with an overrunning flood he will make an utter end of the place thereof, and darkness shall pursue his enemies.
1: 9 What do ye imagine against the LORD?
he will make an utter end: affliction shall not rise up the second time.
1: 10 For while they be folden together as thorns, and while they are drunken as drunkards, they shall be devoured as stubble fully dry.
1: 11 There is one come out of thee, that imagineth evil against the LORD, a wicked counsellor.
1: 12 Thus saith the LORD; Though they be quiet, and likewise many, yet thus shall they be cut down, when he shall pass through.
Though I have afflicted thee, I will afflict thee no more.
1: 13 For now will I break his yoke from off thee, and will burst thy bonds in sunder.
1: 14 And the LORD hath given a commandment concerning thee, that no more of thy name be sown: out of the house of thy gods will I cut off the graven image and the molten image: I will make thy grave; for thou art vile.
1: 15 Behold upon the mountains the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace!
O Judah, keep thy solemn feasts, perform thy vows: for the wicked shall no more pass through thee; he is utterly cut off.
2: 1 He that dasheth in pieces is come up before thy face: keep the munition, watch the way, make thy loins strong, fortify thy power mightily.
2: 2 For the LORD hath turned away the excellency of Jacob, as the excellency of Israel: for the emptiers have emptied them out, and marred their vine branches.
2: 3 The shield of his mighty men is made red, the valiant men are in scarlet: the chariots shall be with flaming torches in the day of his preparation, and the fir trees shall be terribly shaken.
2: 4 The chariots shall rage in the streets, they shall justle one against another in the broad ways: they shall seem like torches, they shall run like the lightnings.
2: 5 He shall recount his worthies: they shall stumble in their walk; they shall make haste to the wall thereof, and the defence shall be prepared.
2: 6 The gates of the rivers shall be opened, and the palace shall be dissolved.
2: 7 And Huzzab shall be led away captive, she shall be brought up, and her maids shall lead her as with the voice of doves, tabering upon their breasts.
2: 8 But Nineveh is of old like a pool of water: yet they shall flee away.
Stand, stand, shall they cry; but none shall look back.
2: 9 Take ye the spoil of silver, take the spoil of gold: for there is none end of the store and glory out of all the pleasant furniture.
2: 10 She is empty, and void, and waste: and the heart melteth, and the knees smite together, and much pain is in all loins, and the faces of them all gather blackness.
2: 11 Where is the dwelling of the lions, and the feedingplace of the young lions, where the lion, even the old lion, walked, and the lion's whelp, and none made them afraid?
2: 12 The lion did tear in pieces enough for his whelps, and strangled for his lionesses, and filled his holes with prey, and his dens with ravin.
2: 13 Behold, I am against thee, saith the LORD of hosts, and I will burn her chariots in the smoke, and the sword shall devour thy young lions: and I will cut off thy prey from the earth, and the voice of thy messengers shall no more be heard.
3: 1 Woe to the bloody city!
it is all full of lies and robbery; the prey departeth not; 3: 2 The noise of a whip, and the noise of the rattling of the wheels, and of the pransing horses, and of the jumping chariots.
3: 5 Behold, I am against thee, saith the LORD of hosts; and I will discover thy skirts upon thy face, and I will shew the nations thy nakedness, and the kingdoms thy shame.
3: 6 And I will cast abominable filth upon thee, and make thee vile, and will set thee as a gazingstock.
3: 7 And it shall come to pass, that all they that look upon thee shall flee from thee, and say, Nineveh is laid waste: who will bemoan her?
whence shall I seek comforters for thee?
3: 8 Art thou better than populous No, that was situate among the rivers, that had the waters round about it, whose rampart was the sea, and her wall was from the sea?
3: 9 Ethiopia and Egypt were her strength, and it was infinite; Put and Lubim were thy helpers.
3: 10 Yet was she carried away, she went into captivity: her young children also were dashed in pieces at the top of all the streets: and they cast lots for her honourable men, and all her great men were bound in chains.
3: 11 Thou also shalt be drunken: thou shalt be hid, thou also shalt seek strength because of the enemy.
3: 12 All thy strong holds shall be like fig trees with the firstripe figs: if they be shaken, they shall even fall into the mouth of the eater.
3: 13 Behold, thy people in the midst of thee are women: the gates of thy land shall be set wide open unto thine enemies: the fire shall devour thy bars.
3: 14 Draw thee waters for the siege, fortify thy strong holds: go into clay, and tread the morter, make strong the brickkiln.
3: 15 There shall the fire devour thee; the sword shall cut thee off, it shall eat thee up like the cankerworm: make thyself many as the cankerworm, make thyself many as the locusts.
3: 16 Thou hast multiplied thy merchants above the stars of heaven: the cankerworm spoileth, and fleeth away.
3: 17 Thy crowned are as the locusts, and thy captains as the great grasshoppers, which camp in the hedges in the cold day, but when the sun ariseth they flee away, and their place is not known where they are.
3: 18 Thy shepherds slumber, O king of Assyria: thy nobles shall dwell in the dust: thy people is scattered upon the mountains, and no man gathereth them.
3: 19 There is no healing of thy bruise; thy wound is grievous: all that hear the bruit of thee shall clap the hands over thee: for upon whom hath not thy wickedness passed continually?
Habakkuk
1: 1 The burden which Habakkuk the prophet did see.
1: 2 O LORD, how long shall I cry, and thou wilt not hear!
even cry out unto thee of violence, and thou wilt not save!
1: 3 Why dost thou shew me iniquity, and cause me to behold grievance?
for spoiling and violence are before me: and there are that raise up strife and contention.
1: 4 Therefore the law is slacked, and judgment doth never go forth: for the wicked doth compass about the righteous; therefore wrong judgment proceedeth.
1: 5 Behold ye among the heathen, and regard, and wonder marvelously: for I will work a work in your days which ye will not believe, though it be told you.
1: 6 For, lo, I raise up the Chaldeans, that bitter and hasty nation, which shall march through the breadth of the land, to possess the dwellingplaces that are not their's.
1: 7 They are terrible and dreadful: their judgment and their dignity shall proceed of themselves.
1: 8 Their horses also are swifter than the leopards, and are more fierce than the evening wolves: and their horsemen shall spread themselves, and their horsemen shall come from far; they shall fly as the eagle that hasteth to eat.
1: 9 They shall come all for violence: their faces shall sup up as the east wind, and they shall gather the captivity as the sand.
1: 10 And they shall scoff at the kings, and the princes shall be a scorn unto them: they shall deride every strong hold; for they shall heap dust, and take it.
1: 11 Then shall his mind change, and he shall pass over, and offend, imputing this his power unto his god.
1: 12 Art thou not from everlasting, O LORD my God, mine Holy One?
we shall not die.
O LORD, thou hast ordained them for judgment; and, O mighty God, thou hast established them for correction.
1: 13 Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look on iniquity: wherefore lookest thou upon them that deal treacherously, and holdest thy tongue when the wicked devoureth the man that is more righteous than he?
1: 14 And makest men as the fishes of the sea, as the creeping things, that have no ruler over them?
1: 15 They take up all of them with the angle, they catch them in their net, and gather them in their drag: therefore they rejoice and are glad.
1: 16 Therefore they sacrifice unto their net, and burn incense unto their drag; because by them their portion is fat, and their meat plenteous.
1: 17 Shall they therefore empty their net, and not spare continually to slay the nations?
2: 1 I will stand upon my watch, and set me upon the tower, and will watch to see what he will say unto me, and what I shall answer when I am reproved.
2: 2 And the LORD answered me, and said, Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables, that he may run that readeth it.
2: 3 For the vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry.
2: 4 Behold, his soul which is lifted up is not upright in him: but the just shall live by his faith.
how long?
and to him that ladeth himself with thick clay!
2: 7 Shall they not rise up suddenly that shall bite thee, and awake that shall vex thee, and thou shalt be for booties unto them?
2: 8 Because thou hast spoiled many nations, all the remnant of the people shall spoil thee; because of men's blood, and for the violence of the land, of the city, and of all that dwell therein.
2: 9 Woe to him that coveteth an evil covetousness to his house, that he may set his nest on high, that he may be delivered from the power of evil!
2: 10 Thou hast consulted shame to thy house by cutting off many people, and hast sinned against thy soul.
2: 11 For the stone shall cry out of the wall, and the beam out of the timber shall answer it.
2: 12 Woe to him that buildeth a town with blood, and stablisheth a city by iniquity!
2: 13 Behold, is it not of the LORD of hosts that the people shall labour in the very fire, and the people shall weary themselves for very vanity?
2: 14 For the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the LORD, as the waters cover the sea.
2: 15 Woe unto him that giveth his neighbour drink, that puttest thy bottle to him, and makest him drunken also, that thou mayest look on their nakedness!
2: 16 Thou art filled with shame for glory: drink thou also, and let thy foreskin be uncovered: the cup of the LORD's right hand shall be turned unto thee, and shameful spewing shall be on thy glory.
2: 17 For the violence of Lebanon shall cover thee, and the spoil of beasts, which made them afraid, because of men's blood, and for the violence of the land, of the city, and of all that dwell therein.
2: 18 What profiteth the graven image that the maker thereof hath graven it; the molten image, and a teacher of lies, that the maker of his work trusteth therein, to make dumb idols?
2: 19 Woe unto him that saith to the wood, Awake; to the dumb stone, Arise, it shall teach!
Behold, it is laid over with gold and silver, and there is no breath at all in the midst of it.
2: 20 But the LORD is in his holy temple: let all the earth keep silence before him.
3: 1 A prayer of Habakkuk the prophet upon Shigionoth.
3: 2 O LORD, I have heard thy speech, and was afraid: O LORD, revive thy work in the midst of the years, in the midst of the years make known; in wrath remember mercy.
3: 3 God came from Teman, and the Holy One from mount Paran.
Selah.
His glory covered the heavens, and the earth was full of his praise.
3: 4 And his brightness was as the light; he had horns coming out of his hand: and there was the hiding of his power.
3: 5 Before him went the pestilence, and burning coals went forth at his feet.
3: 6 He stood, and measured the earth: he beheld, and drove asunder the nations; and the everlasting mountains were scattered, the perpetual hills did bow: his ways are everlasting.
3: 7 I saw the tents of Cushan in affliction: and the curtains of the land of Midian did tremble.
3: 8 Was the LORD displeased against the rivers?
was thine anger against the rivers?
was thy wrath against the sea, that thou didst ride upon thine horses and thy chariots of salvation?
3: 9 Thy bow was made quite naked, according to the oaths of the tribes, even thy word.
Selah.
Thou didst cleave the earth with rivers.
3: 10 The mountains saw thee, and they trembled: the overflowing of the water passed by: the deep uttered his voice, and lifted up his hands on high.
3: 11 The sun and moon stood still in their habitation: at the light of thine arrows they went, and at the shining of thy glittering spear.
3: 12 Thou didst march through the land in indignation, thou didst thresh the heathen in anger.
3: 13 Thou wentest forth for the salvation of thy people, even for salvation with thine anointed; thou woundedst the head out of the house of the wicked, by discovering the foundation unto the neck.
Selah.
3: 14 Thou didst strike through with his staves the head of his villages: they came out as a whirlwind to scatter me: their rejoicing was as to devour the poor secretly.
3: 15 Thou didst walk through the sea with thine horses, through the heap of great waters.
3: 16 When I heard, my belly trembled; my lips quivered at the voice: rottenness entered into my bones, and I trembled in myself, that I might rest in the day of trouble: when he cometh up unto the people, he will invade them with his troops.
3: 19 The LORD God is my strength, and he will make my feet like hinds'feet, and he will make me to walk upon mine high places.
To the chief singer on my stringed instruments.
Zephaniah
1: 1 The word of the LORD which came unto Zephaniah the son of Cushi, the son of Gedaliah, the son of Amariah, the son of Hizkiah, in the days of Josiah the son of Amon, king of Judah.
1: 2 I will utterly consume all things from off the land, saith the LORD.
1: 3 I will consume man and beast; I will consume the fowls of the heaven, and the fishes of the sea, and the stumbling blocks with the wicked: and I will cut off man from off the land, saith the LORD.
1: 7 Hold thy peace at the presence of the Lord GOD: for the day of the LORD is at hand: for the LORD hath prepared a sacrifice, he hath bid his guests.
1: 8 And it shall come to pass in the day of the LORD's sacrifice, that I will punish the princes, and the king's children, and all such as are clothed with strange apparel.
1: 9 In the same day also will I punish all those that leap on the threshold, which fill their masters'houses with violence and deceit.
1: 10 And it shall come to pass in that day, saith the LORD, that there shall be the noise of a cry from the fish gate, and an howling from the second, and a great crashing from the hills.
1: 11 Howl, ye inhabitants of Maktesh, for all the merchant people are cut down; all they that bear silver are cut off.
1: 12 And it shall come to pass at that time, that I will search Jerusalem with candles, and punish the men that are settled on their lees: that say in their heart, The LORD will not do good, neither will he do evil.
1: 13 Therefore their goods shall become a booty, and their houses a desolation: they shall also build houses, but not inhabit them; and they shall plant vineyards, but not drink the wine thereof.
1: 14 The great day of the LORD is near, it is near, and hasteth greatly, even the voice of the day of the LORD: the mighty man shall cry there bitterly.
1: 15 That day is a day of wrath, a day of trouble and distress, a day of wasteness and desolation, a day of darkness and gloominess, a day of clouds and thick darkness, 1: 16 A day of the trumpet and alarm against the fenced cities, and against the high towers.
1: 17 And I will bring distress upon men, that they shall walk like blind men, because they have sinned against the LORD: and their blood shall be poured out as dust, and their flesh as the dung.
1: 18 Neither their silver nor their gold shall be able to deliver them in the day of the LORD's wrath; but the whole land shall be devoured by the fire of his jealousy: for he shall make even a speedy riddance of all them that dwell in the land.
2: 1 Gather yourselves together, yea, gather together, O nation not desired; 2: 2 Before the decree bring forth, before the day pass as the chaff, before the fierce anger of the LORD come upon you, before the day of the LORD's anger come upon you.
2: 3 Seek ye the LORD, all ye meek of the earth, which have wrought his judgment; seek righteousness, seek meekness: it may be ye shall be hid in the day of the LORD's anger.
2: 4 For Gaza shall be forsaken, and Ashkelon a desolation: they shall drive out Ashdod at the noon day, and Ekron shall be rooted up.
2: 5 Woe unto the inhabitants of the sea coast, the nation of the Cherethites!
the word of the LORD is against you; O Canaan, the land of the Philistines, I will even destroy thee, that there shall be no inhabitant.
2: 6 And the sea coast shall be dwellings and cottages for shepherds, and folds for flocks.
2: 7 And the coast shall be for the remnant of the house of Judah; they shall feed thereupon: in the houses of Ashkelon shall they lie down in the evening: for the LORD their God shall visit them, and turn away their captivity.
2: 8 I have heard the reproach of Moab, and the revilings of the children of Ammon, whereby they have reproached my people, and magnified themselves against their border.
2: 10 This shall they have for their pride, because they have reproached and magnified themselves against the people of the LORD of hosts.
2: 11 The LORD will be terrible unto them: for he will famish all the gods of the earth; and men shall worship him, every one from his place, even all the isles of the heathen.
2: 12 Ye Ethiopians also, ye shall be slain by my sword.
2: 13 And he will stretch out his hand against the north, and destroy Assyria; and will make Nineveh a desolation, and dry like a wilderness.
2: 14 And flocks shall lie down in the midst of her, all the beasts of the nations: both the cormorant and the bittern shall lodge in the upper lintels of it; their voice shall sing in the windows; desolation shall be in the thresholds; for he shall uncover the cedar work.
2: 15 This is the rejoicing city that dwelt carelessly, that said in her heart, I am, and there is none beside me: how is she become a desolation, a place for beasts to lie down in!
every one that passeth by her shall hiss, and wag his hand.
3: 1 Woe to her that is filthy and polluted, to the oppressing city!
3: 2 She obeyed not the voice; she received not correction; she trusted not in the LORD; she drew not near to her God.
3: 3 Her princes within her are roaring lions; her judges are evening wolves; they gnaw not the bones till the morrow.
3: 4 Her prophets are light and treacherous persons: her priests have polluted the sanctuary, they have done violence to the law.
3: 5 The just LORD is in the midst thereof; he will not do iniquity: every morning doth he bring his judgment to light, he faileth not; but the unjust knoweth no shame.
3: 6 I have cut off the nations: their towers are desolate; I made their streets waste, that none passeth by: their cities are destroyed, so that there is no man, that there is none inhabitant.
3: 7 I said, Surely thou wilt fear me, thou wilt receive instruction; so their dwelling should not be cut off, howsoever I punished them: but they rose early, and corrupted all their doings.
3: 9 For then will I turn to the people a pure language, that they may all call upon the name of the LORD, to serve him with one consent.
3: 10 From beyond the rivers of Ethiopia my suppliants, even the daughter of my dispersed, shall bring mine offering.
3: 11 In that day shalt thou not be ashamed for all thy doings, wherein thou hast transgressed against me: for then I will take away out of the midst of thee them that rejoice in thy pride, and thou shalt no more be haughty because of my holy mountain.
3: 12 I will also leave in the midst of thee an afflicted and poor people, and they shall trust in the name of the LORD.
3: 13 The remnant of Israel shall not do iniquity, nor speak lies; neither shall a deceitful tongue be found in their mouth: for they shall feed and lie down, and none shall make them afraid.
3: 14 Sing, O daughter of Zion; shout, O Israel; be glad and rejoice with all the heart, O daughter of Jerusalem.
3: 15 The LORD hath taken away thy judgments, he hath cast out thine enemy: the king of Israel, even the LORD, is in the midst of thee: thou shalt not see evil any more.
3: 16 In that day it shall be said to Jerusalem, Fear thou not: and to Zion, Let not thine hands be slack.
3: 17 The LORD thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing.
3: 18 I will gather them that are sorrowful for the solemn assembly, who are of thee, to whom the reproach of it was a burden.
3: 19 Behold, at that time I will undo all that afflict thee: and I will save her that halteth, and gather her that was driven out; and I will get them praise and fame in every land where they have been put to shame.
3: 20 At that time will I bring you again, even in the time that I gather you: for I will make you a name and a praise among all people of the earth, when I turn back your captivity before your eyes, saith the LORD.
Haggai
1: 3 Then came the word of the LORD by Haggai the prophet, saying, 1: 4 Is it time for you, O ye, to dwell in your cieled houses, and this house lie waste?
1: 5 Now therefore thus saith the LORD of hosts; Consider your ways.
1: 6 Ye have sown much, and bring in little; ye eat, but ye have not enough; ye drink, but ye are not filled with drink; ye clothe you, but there is none warm; and he that earneth wages earneth wages to put it into a bag with holes.
1: 7 Thus saith the LORD of hosts; Consider your ways.
1: 8 Go up to the mountain, and bring wood, and build the house; and I will take pleasure in it, and I will be glorified, saith the LORD.
1: 9 Ye looked for much, and, lo it came to little; and when ye brought it home, I did blow upon it.
Why?
saith the LORD of hosts.
Because of mine house that is waste, and ye run every man unto his own house.
1: 10 Therefore the heaven over you is stayed from dew, and the earth is stayed from her fruit.
1: 11 And I called for a drought upon the land, and upon the mountains, and upon the corn, and upon the new wine, and upon the oil, and upon that which the ground bringeth forth, and upon men, and upon cattle, and upon all the labour of the hands.
1: 13 Then spake Haggai the LORD's messenger in the LORD's message unto the people, saying, I am with you, saith the LORD.
and how do ye see it now?
is it not in your eyes in comparison of it as nothing?
2: 8 The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, saith the LORD of hosts.
2: 9 The glory of this latter house shall be greater than of the former, saith the LORD of hosts: and in this place will I give peace, saith the LORD of hosts.
And the priests answered and said, No.
2: 13 Then said Haggai, If one that is unclean by a dead body touch any of these, shall it be unclean?
And the priests answered and said, It shall be unclean.
2: 14 Then answered Haggai, and said, So is this people, and so is this nation before me, saith the LORD; and so is every work of their hands; and that which they offer there is unclean.
2: 17 I smote you with blasting and with mildew and with hail in all the labours of your hands; yet ye turned not to me, saith the LORD.
2: 18 Consider now from this day and upward, from the four and twentieth day of the ninth month, even from the day that the foundation of the LORD's temple was laid, consider it.
2: 19 Is the seed yet in the barn?
yea, as yet the vine, and the fig tree, and the pomegranate, and the olive tree, hath not brought forth: from this day will I bless you.
2: 23 In that day, saith the LORD of hosts, will I take thee, O Zerubbabel, my servant, the son of Shealtiel, saith the LORD, and will make thee as a signet: for I have chosen thee, saith the LORD of hosts.
Zechariah
1: 1 In the eighth month, in the second year of Darius, came the word of the LORD unto Zechariah, the son of Berechiah, the son of Iddo the prophet, saying, 1: 2 The LORD hath been sore displeased with your fathers.
1: 3 Therefore say thou unto them, Thus saith the LORD of hosts; Turn ye unto me, saith the LORD of hosts, and I will turn unto you, saith the LORD of hosts.
1: 4 Be ye not as your fathers, unto whom the former prophets have cried, saying, Thus saith the LORD of hosts; Turn ye now from your evil ways, and from your evil doings: but they did not hear, nor hearken unto me, saith the LORD.
1: 5 Your fathers, where are they?
and the prophets, do they live for ever?
1: 6 But my words and my statutes, which I commanded my servants the prophets, did they not take hold of your fathers?
and they returned and said, Like as the LORD of hosts thought to do unto us, according to our ways, and according to our doings, so hath he dealt with us.
1: 9 Then said I, O my lord, what are these?
And the angel that talked with me said unto me, I will shew thee what these be.
1: 10 And the man that stood among the myrtle trees answered and said, These are they whom the LORD hath sent to walk to and fro through the earth.
1: 11 And they answered the angel of the LORD that stood among the myrtle trees, and said, We have walked to and fro through the earth, and, behold, all the earth sitteth still, and is at rest.
1: 12 Then the angel of the LORD answered and said, O LORD of hosts, how long wilt thou not have mercy on Jerusalem and on the cities of Judah, against which thou hast had indignation these threescore and ten years?
1: 13 And the LORD answered the angel that talked with me with good words and comfortable words.
1: 14 So the angel that communed with me said unto me, Cry thou, saying, Thus saith the LORD of hosts; I am jealous for Jerusalem and for Zion with a great jealousy.
1: 15 And I am very sore displeased with the heathen that are at ease: for I was but a little displeased, and they helped forward the affliction.
1: 16 Therefore thus saith the LORD; I am returned to Jerusalem with mercies: my house shall be built in it, saith the LORD of hosts, and a line shall be stretched forth upon Jerusalem.
1: 17 Cry yet, saying, Thus saith the LORD of hosts; My cities through prosperity shall yet be spread abroad; and the LORD shall yet comfort Zion, and shall yet choose Jerusalem.
1: 18 Then lifted I up mine eyes, and saw, and behold four horns.
1: 19 And I said unto the angel that talked with me, What be these?
And he answered me, These are the horns which have scattered Judah, Israel, and Jerusalem.
1: 20 And the LORD shewed me four carpenters.
1: 21 Then said I, What come these to do?
And he spake, saying, These are the horns which have scattered Judah, so that no man did lift up his head: but these are come to fray them, to cast out the horns of the Gentiles, which lifted up their horn over the land of Judah to scatter it.
2: 1 I lifted up mine eyes again, and looked, and behold a man with a measuring line in his hand.
2: 2 Then said I, Whither goest thou?
And he said unto me, To measure Jerusalem, to see what is the breadth thereof, and what is the length thereof.
2: 6 Ho, ho, come forth, and flee from the land of the north, saith the LORD: for I have spread you abroad as the four winds of the heaven, saith the LORD.
2: 7 Deliver thyself, O Zion, that dwellest with the daughter of Babylon.
2: 8 For thus saith the LORD of hosts; After the glory hath he sent me unto the nations which spoiled you: for he that toucheth you toucheth the apple of his eye.
2: 9 For, behold, I will shake mine hand upon them, and they shall be a spoil to their servants: and ye shall know that the LORD of hosts hath sent me.
2: 10 Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion: for, lo, I come, and I will dwell in the midst of thee, saith the LORD.
2: 11 And many nations shall be joined to the LORD in that day, and shall be my people: and I will dwell in the midst of thee, and thou shalt know that the LORD of hosts hath sent me unto thee.
2: 12 And the LORD shall inherit Judah his portion in the holy land, and shall choose Jerusalem again.
2: 13 Be silent, O all flesh, before the LORD: for he is raised up out of his holy habitation.
3: 1 And he shewed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the LORD, and Satan standing at his right hand to resist him.
3: 2 And the LORD said unto Satan, The LORD rebuke thee, O Satan; even the LORD that hath chosen Jerusalem rebuke thee: is not this a brand plucked out of the fire?
3: 3 Now Joshua was clothed with filthy garments, and stood before the angel.
3: 4 And he answered and spake unto those that stood before him, saying, Take away the filthy garments from him.
And unto him he said, Behold, I have caused thine iniquity to pass from thee, and I will clothe thee with change of raiment.
3: 5 And I said, Let them set a fair mitre upon his head.
So they set a fair mitre upon his head, and clothed him with garments.
And the angel of the LORD stood by.
3: 8 Hear now, O Joshua the high priest, thou, and thy fellows that sit before thee: for they are men wondered at: for, behold, I will bring forth my servant the BRANCH.
3: 9 For behold the stone that I have laid before Joshua; upon one stone shall be seven eyes: behold, I will engrave the graving thereof, saith the LORD of hosts, and I will remove the iniquity of that land in one day.
3: 10 In that day, saith the LORD of hosts, shall ye call every man his neighbour under the vine and under the fig tree.
4: 1 And the angel that talked with me came again, and waked me, as a man that is wakened out of his sleep.
4: 2 And said unto me, What seest thou?
4: 4 So I answered and spake to the angel that talked with me, saying, What are these, my lord?
4: 5 Then the angel that talked with me answered and said unto me, Knowest thou not what these be?
And I said, No, my lord.
4: 6 Then he answered and spake unto me, saying, This is the word of the LORD unto Zerubbabel, saying, Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, saith the LORD of hosts.
4: 7 Who art thou, O great mountain?
before Zerubbabel thou shalt become a plain: and he shall bring forth the headstone thereof with shoutings, crying, Grace, grace unto it.
4: 8 Moreover the word of the LORD came unto me, saying, 4: 9 The hands of Zerubbabel have laid the foundation of this house; his hands shall also finish it; and thou shalt know that the LORD of hosts hath sent me unto you.
4: 10 For who hath despised the day of small things?
for they shall rejoice, and shall see the plummet in the hand of Zerubbabel with those seven; they are the eyes of the LORD, which run to and fro through the whole earth.
4: 11 Then answered I, and said unto him, What are these two olive trees upon the right side of the candlestick and upon the left side thereof?
4: 12 And I answered again, and said unto him, What be these two olive branches which through the two golden pipes empty the golden oil out of themselves?
4: 13 And he answered me and said, Knowest thou not what these be?
And I said, No, my lord.
4: 14 Then said he, These are the two anointed ones, that stand by the LORD of the whole earth.
5: 1 Then I turned, and lifted up mine eyes, and looked, and behold a flying roll.
5: 2 And he said unto me, What seest thou?
And I answered, I see a flying roll; the length thereof is twenty cubits, and the breadth thereof ten cubits.
5: 3 Then said he unto me, This is the curse that goeth forth over the face of the whole earth: for every one that stealeth shall be cut off as on this side according to it; and every one that sweareth shall be cut off as on that side according to it.
5: 5 Then the angel that talked with me went forth, and said unto me, Lift up now thine eyes, and see what is this that goeth forth.
5: 6 And I said, What is it?
And he said, This is an ephah that goeth forth.
He said moreover, This is their resemblance through all the earth.
5: 7 And, behold, there was lifted up a talent of lead: and this is a woman that sitteth in the midst of the ephah.
5: 8 And he said, This is wickedness.
And he cast it into the midst of the ephah; and he cast the weight of lead upon the mouth thereof.
5: 9 Then lifted I up mine eyes, and looked, and, behold, there came out two women, and the wind was in their wings; for they had wings like the wings of a stork: and they lifted up the ephah between the earth and the heaven.
5: 10 Then said I to the angel that talked with me, Whither do these bear the ephah?
5: 11 And he said unto me, To build it an house in the land of Shinar: and it shall be established, and set there upon her own base.
6: 1 And I turned, and lifted up mine eyes, and looked, and, behold, there came four chariots out from between two mountains; and the mountains were mountains of brass.
6: 2 In the first chariot were red horses; and in the second chariot black horses; 6: 3 And in the third chariot white horses; and in the fourth chariot grisled and bay horses.
6: 4 Then I answered and said unto the angel that talked with me, What are these, my lord?
6: 5 And the angel answered and said unto me, These are the four spirits of the heavens, which go forth from standing before the LORD of all the earth.
6: 6 The black horses which are therein go forth into the north country; and the white go forth after them; and the grisled go forth toward the south country.
6: 7 And the bay went forth, and sought to go that they might walk to and fro through the earth: and he said, Get you hence, walk to and fro through the earth.
So they walked to and fro through the earth.
6: 8 Then cried he upon me, and spake unto me, saying, Behold, these that go toward the north country have quieted my spirit in the north country.
6: 14 And the crowns shall be to Helem, and to Tobijah, and to Jedaiah, and to Hen the son of Zephaniah, for a memorial in the temple of the LORD.
6: 15 And they that are far off shall come and build in the temple of the LORD, and ye shall know that the LORD of hosts hath sent me unto you.
And this shall come to pass, if ye will diligently obey the voice of the LORD your God.
7: 4 Then came the word of the LORD of hosts unto me, saying, 7: 5 Speak unto all the people of the land, and to the priests, saying, When ye fasted and mourned in the fifth and seventh month, even those seventy years, did ye at all fast unto me, even to me?
7: 6 And when ye did eat, and when ye did drink, did not ye eat for yourselves, and drink for yourselves?
7: 7 Should ye not hear the words which the LORD hath cried by the former prophets, when Jerusalem was inhabited and in prosperity, and the cities thereof round about her, when men inhabited the south and the plain?
7: 11 But they refused to hearken, and pulled away the shoulder, and stopped their ears, that they should not hear.
7: 12 Yea, they made their hearts as an adamant stone, lest they should hear the law, and the words which the LORD of hosts hath sent in his spirit by the former prophets: therefore came a great wrath from the LORD of hosts.
7: 13 Therefore it is come to pass, that as he cried, and they would not hear; so they cried, and I would not hear, saith the LORD of hosts: 7: 14 But I scattered them with a whirlwind among all the nations whom they knew not.
Thus the land was desolate after them, that no man passed through nor returned: for they laid the pleasant land desolate.
8: 1 Again the word of the LORD of hosts came to me, saying, 8: 2 Thus saith the LORD of hosts; I was jealous for Zion with great jealousy, and I was jealous for her with great fury.
8: 3 Thus saith the LORD; I am returned unto Zion, and will dwell in the midst of Jerusalem: and Jerusalem shall be called a city of truth; and the mountain of the LORD of hosts the holy mountain.
8: 4 Thus saith the LORD of hosts; There shall yet old men and old women dwell in the streets of Jerusalem, and every man with his staff in his hand for very age.
8: 5 And the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in the streets thereof.
8: 6 Thus saith the LORD of hosts; If it be marvellous in the eyes of the remnant of this people in these days, should it also be marvellous in mine eyes?
saith the LORD of hosts.
8: 9 Thus saith the LORD of hosts; Let your hands be strong, ye that hear in these days these words by the mouth of the prophets, which were in the day that the foundation of the house of the LORD of hosts was laid, that the temple might be built.
8: 10 For before these days there was no hire for man, nor any hire for beast; neither was there any peace to him that went out or came in because of the affliction: for I set all men every one against his neighbour.
8: 11 But now I will not be unto the residue of this people as in the former days, saith the LORD of hosts.
8: 12 For the seed shall be prosperous; the vine shall give her fruit, and the ground shall give her increase, and the heavens shall give their dew; and I will cause the remnant of this people to possess all these things.
8: 13 And it shall come to pass, that as ye were a curse among the heathen, O house of Judah, and house of Israel; so will I save you, and ye shall be a blessing: fear not, but let your hands be strong.
8: 14 For thus saith the LORD of hosts; As I thought to punish you, when your fathers provoked me to wrath, saith the LORD of hosts, and I repented not: 8: 15 So again have I thought in these days to do well unto Jerusalem and to the house of Judah: fear ye not.
8: 22 Yea, many people and strong nations shall come to seek the LORD of hosts in Jerusalem, and to pray before the LORD.
8: 23 Thus saith the LORD of hosts; In those days it shall come to pass, that ten men shall take hold out of all languages of the nations, even shall take hold of the skirt of him that is a Jew, saying, We will go with you: for we have heard that God is with you.
9: 1 The burden of the word of the LORD in the land of Hadrach, and Damascus shall be the rest thereof: when the eyes of man, as of all the tribes of Israel, shall be toward the LORD.
9: 2 And Hamath also shall border thereby; Tyrus, and Zidon, though it be very wise.
9: 3 And Tyrus did build herself a strong hold, and heaped up silver as the dust, and fine gold as the mire of the streets.
9: 4 Behold, the LORD will cast her out, and he will smite her power in the sea; and she shall be devoured with fire.
9: 5 Ashkelon shall see it, and fear; Gaza also shall see it, and be very sorrowful, and Ekron; for her expectation shall be ashamed; and the king shall perish from Gaza, and Ashkelon shall not be inhabited.
9: 6 And a bastard shall dwell in Ashdod, and I will cut off the pride of the Philistines.
9: 7 And I will take away his blood out of his mouth, and his abominations from between his teeth: but he that remaineth, even he, shall be for our God, and he shall be as a governor in Judah, and Ekron as a Jebusite.
9: 8 And I will encamp about mine house because of the army, because of him that passeth by, and because of him that returneth: and no oppressor shall pass through them any more: for now have I seen with mine eyes.
9: 9 Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion; shout, O daughter of Jerusalem: behold, thy King cometh unto thee: he is just, and having salvation; lowly, and riding upon an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass.
9: 10 And I will cut off the chariot from Ephraim, and the horse from Jerusalem, and the battle bow shall be cut off: and he shall speak peace unto the heathen: and his dominion shall be from sea even to sea, and from the river even to the ends of the earth.
9: 11 As for thee also, by the blood of thy covenant I have sent forth thy prisoners out of the pit wherein is no water.
9: 14 And the LORD shall be seen over them, and his arrow shall go forth as the lightning: and the LORD God shall blow the trumpet, and shall go with whirlwinds of the south.
9: 15 The LORD of hosts shall defend them; and they shall devour, and subdue with sling stones; and they shall drink, and make a noise as through wine; and they shall be filled like bowls, and as the corners of the altar.
9: 16 And the LORD their God shall save them in that day as the flock of his people: for they shall be as the stones of a crown, lifted up as an ensign upon his land.
9: 17 For how great is his goodness, and how great is his beauty!
corn shall make the young men cheerful, and new wine the maids.
10: 1 Ask ye of the LORD rain in the time of the latter rain; so the LORD shall make bright clouds, and give them showers of rain, to every one grass in the field.
10: 2 For the idols have spoken vanity, and the diviners have seen a lie, and have told false dreams; they comfort in vain: therefore they went their way as a flock, they were troubled, because there was no shepherd.
10: 3 Mine anger was kindled against the shepherds, and I punished the goats: for the LORD of hosts hath visited his flock the house of Judah, and hath made them as his goodly horse in the battle.
10: 4 Out of him came forth the corner, out of him the nail, out of him the battle bow, out of him every oppressor together.
10: 5 And they shall be as mighty men, which tread down their enemies in the mire of the streets in the battle: and they shall fight, because the LORD is with them, and the riders on horses shall be confounded.
10: 6 And I will strengthen the house of Judah, and I will save the house of Joseph, and I will bring them again to place them; for I have mercy upon them: and they shall be as though I had not cast them off: for I am the LORD their God, and will hear them.
10: 7 And they of Ephraim shall be like a mighty man, and their heart shall rejoice as through wine: yea, their children shall see it, and be glad; their heart shall rejoice in the LORD.
10: 8 I will hiss for them, and gather them; for I have redeemed them: and they shall increase as they have increased.
10: 9 And I will sow them among the people: and they shall remember me in far countries; and they shall live with their children, and turn again.
10: 10 I will bring them again also out of the land of Egypt, and gather them out of Assyria; and I will bring them into the land of Gilead and Lebanon; and place shall not be found for them.
10: 11 And he shall pass through the sea with affliction, and shall smite the waves in the sea, and all the deeps of the river shall dry up: and the pride of Assyria shall be brought down, and the sceptre of Egypt shall depart away.
10: 12 And I will strengthen them in the LORD; and they shall walk up and down in his name, saith the LORD.
11: 1 Open thy doors, O Lebanon, that the fire may devour thy cedars.
11: 2 Howl, fir tree; for the cedar is fallen; because the mighty are spoiled: howl, O ye oaks of Bashan; for the forest of the vintage is come down.
11: 3 There is a voice of the howling of the shepherds; for their glory is spoiled: a voice of the roaring of young lions; for the pride of Jordan is spoiled.
11: 4 Thus saith the LORD my God; Feed the flock of the slaughter; 11: 5 Whose possessors slay them, and hold themselves not guilty: and they that sell them say, Blessed be the LORD; for I am rich: and their own shepherds pity them not.
11: 6 For I will no more pity the inhabitants of the land, saith the LORD: but, lo, I will deliver the men every one into his neighbour's hand, and into the hand of his king: and they shall smite the land, and out of their hand I will not deliver them.
11: 7 And I will feed the flock of slaughter, even you, O poor of the flock.
And I took unto me two staves; the one I called Beauty, and the other I called Bands; and I fed the flock.
11: 8 Three shepherds also I cut off in one month; and my soul lothed them, and their soul also abhorred me.
11: 9 Then said I, I will not feed you: that that dieth, let it die; and that that is to be cut off, let it be cut off; and let the rest eat every one the flesh of another.
11: 10 And I took my staff, even Beauty, and cut it asunder, that I might break my covenant which I had made with all the people.
11: 11 And it was broken in that day: and so the poor of the flock that waited upon me knew that it was the word of the LORD.
11: 12 And I said unto them, If ye think good, give me my price; and if not, forbear.
So they weighed for my price thirty pieces of silver.
11: 13 And the LORD said unto me, Cast it unto the potter: a goodly price that I was prised at of them.
And I took the thirty pieces of silver, and cast them to the potter in the house of the LORD.
11: 14 Then I cut asunder mine other staff, even Bands, that I might break the brotherhood between Judah and Israel.
11: 15 And the LORD said unto me, Take unto thee yet the instruments of a foolish shepherd.
11: 16 For, lo, I will raise up a shepherd in the land, which shall not visit those that be cut off, neither shall seek the young one, nor heal that that is broken, nor feed that that standeth still: but he shall eat the flesh of the fat, and tear their claws in pieces.
11: 17 Woe to the idol shepherd that leaveth the flock!
the sword shall be upon his arm, and upon his right eye: his arm shall be clean dried up, and his right eye shall be utterly darkened.
12: 1 The burden of the word of the LORD for Israel, saith the LORD, which stretcheth forth the heavens, and layeth the foundation of the earth, and formeth the spirit of man within him.
12: 2 Behold, I will make Jerusalem a cup of trembling unto all the people round about, when they shall be in the siege both against Judah and against Jerusalem.
12: 3 And in that day will I make Jerusalem a burdensome stone for all people: all that burden themselves with it shall be cut in pieces, though all the people of the earth be gathered together against it.
12: 4 In that day, saith the LORD, I will smite every horse with astonishment, and his rider with madness: and I will open mine eyes upon the house of Judah, and will smite every horse of the people with blindness.
12: 5 And the governors of Judah shall say in their heart, The inhabitants of Jerusalem shall be my strength in the LORD of hosts their God.
12: 7 The LORD also shall save the tents of Judah first, that the glory of the house of David and the glory of the inhabitants of Jerusalem do not magnify themselves against Judah.
12: 8 In that day shall the LORD defend the inhabitants of Jerusalem; and he that is feeble among them at that day shall be as David; and the house of David shall be as God, as the angel of the LORD before them.
12: 9 And it shall come to pass in that day, that I will seek to destroy all the nations that come against Jerusalem.
12: 11 In that day shall there be a great mourning in Jerusalem, as the mourning of Hadadrimmon in the valley of Megiddon.
13: 1 In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house of David and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for uncleanness.
13: 2 And it shall come to pass in that day, saith the LORD of hosts, that I will cut off the names of the idols out of the land, and they shall no more be remembered: and also I will cause the prophets and the unclean spirit to pass out of the land.
13: 6 And one shall say unto him, What are these wounds in thine hands?
Then he shall answer, Those with which I was wounded in the house of my friends.
13: 7 Awake, O sword, against my shepherd, and against the man that is my fellow, saith the LORD of hosts: smite the shepherd, and the sheep shall be scattered: and I will turn mine hand upon the little ones.
13: 8 And it shall come to pass, that in all the land, saith the LORD, two parts therein shall be cut off and die; but the third shall be left therein.
13: 9 And I will bring the third part through the fire, and will refine them as silver is refined, and will try them as gold is tried: they shall call on my name, and I will hear them: I will say, It is my people: and they shall say, The LORD is my God.
14: 1 Behold, the day of the LORD cometh, and thy spoil shall be divided in the midst of thee.
14: 2 For I will gather all nations against Jerusalem to battle; and the city shall be taken, and the houses rifled, and the women ravished; and half of the city shall go forth into captivity, and the residue of the people shall not be cut off from the city.
14: 3 Then shall the LORD go forth, and fight against those nations, as when he fought in the day of battle.
14: 5 And ye shall flee to the valley of the mountains; for the valley of the mountains shall reach unto Azal: yea, ye shall flee, like as ye fled from before the earthquake in the days of Uzziah king of Judah: and the LORD my God shall come, and all the saints with thee.
14: 6 And it shall come to pass in that day, that the light shall not be clear, nor dark: 14: 7 But it shall be one day which shall be known to the LORD, not day, nor night: but it shall come to pass, that at evening time it shall be light.
14: 8 And it shall be in that day, that living waters shall go out from Jerusalem; half of them toward the former sea, and half of them toward the hinder sea: in summer and in winter shall it be.
14: 9 And the LORD shall be king over all the earth: in that day shall there be one LORD, and his name one.
14: 11 And men shall dwell in it, and there shall be no more utter destruction; but Jerusalem shall be safely inhabited.
14: 13 And it shall come to pass in that day, that a great tumult from the LORD shall be among them; and they shall lay hold every one on the hand of his neighbour, and his hand shall rise up against the hand of his neighbour.
14: 14 And Judah also shall fight at Jerusalem; and the wealth of all the heathen round about shall be gathered together, gold, and silver, and apparel, in great abundance.
14: 15 And so shall be the plague of the horse, of the mule, of the camel, and of the ass, and of all the beasts that shall be in these tents, as this plague.
14: 16 And it shall come to pass, that every one that is left of all the nations which came against Jerusalem shall even go up from year to year to worship the King, the LORD of hosts, and to keep the feast of tabernacles.
14: 17 And it shall be, that whoso will not come up of all the families of the earth unto Jerusalem to worship the King, the LORD of hosts, even upon them shall be no rain.
14: 18 And if the family of Egypt go not up, and come not, that have no rain; there shall be the plague, wherewith the LORD will smite the heathen that come not up to keep the feast of tabernacles.
14: 19 This shall be the punishment of Egypt, and the punishment of all nations that come not up to keep the feast of tabernacles.
14: 20 In that day shall there be upon the bells of the horses, HOLINESS UNTO THE LORD; and the pots in the LORD's house shall be like the bowls before the altar.
14: 21 Yea, every pot in Jerusalem and in Judah shall be holiness unto the LORD of hosts: and all they that sacrifice shall come and take of them, and seethe therein: and in that day there shall be no more the Canaanite in the house of the LORD of hosts.
Malachi
1: 1 The burden of the word of the LORD to Israel by Malachi.
1: 2 I have loved you, saith the LORD.
Yet ye say, Wherein hast thou loved us?
Was not Esau Jacob's brother?
saith the LORD: yet I loved Jacob, 1: 3 And I hated Esau, and laid his mountains and his heritage waste for the dragons of the wilderness.
1: 5 And your eyes shall see, and ye shall say, The LORD will be magnified from the border of Israel.
1: 6 A son honoureth his father, and a servant his master: if then I be a father, where is mine honour?
and if I be a master, where is my fear?
saith the LORD of hosts unto you, O priests, that despise my name.
And ye say, Wherein have we despised thy name?
1: 7 Ye offer polluted bread upon mine altar; and ye say, Wherein have we polluted thee?
In that ye say, The table of the LORD is contemptible.
1: 8 And if ye offer the blind for sacrifice, is it not evil?
and if ye offer the lame and sick, is it not evil?
offer it now unto thy governor; will he be pleased with thee, or accept thy person?
saith the LORD of hosts.
1: 9 And now, I pray you, beseech God that he will be gracious unto us: this hath been by your means: will he regard your persons?
saith the LORD of hosts.
1: 10 Who is there even among you that would shut the doors for nought?
neither do ye kindle fire on mine altar for nought.
I have no pleasure in you, saith the LORD of hosts, neither will I accept an offering at your hand.
1: 11 For from the rising of the sun even unto the going down of the same my name shall be great among the Gentiles; and in every place incense shall be offered unto my name, and a pure offering: for my name shall be great among the heathen, saith the LORD of hosts.
1: 12 But ye have profaned it, in that ye say, The table of the LORD is polluted; and the fruit thereof, even his meat, is contemptible.
1: 13 Ye said also, Behold, what a weariness is it!
and ye have snuffed at it, saith the LORD of hosts; and ye brought that which was torn, and the lame, and the sick; thus ye brought an offering: should I accept this of your hand?
saith the LORD.
1: 14 But cursed be the deceiver, which hath in his flock a male, and voweth, and sacrificeth unto the LORD a corrupt thing: for I am a great King, saith the LORD of hosts, and my name is dreadful among the heathen.
2: 1 And now, O ye priests, this commandment is for you.
2: 2 If ye will not hear, and if ye will not lay it to heart, to give glory unto my name, saith the LORD of hosts, I will even send a curse upon you, and I will curse your blessings: yea, I have cursed them already, because ye do not lay it to heart.
2: 3 Behold, I will corrupt your seed, and spread dung upon your faces, even the dung of your solemn feasts; and one shall take you away with it.
2: 4 And ye shall know that I have sent this commandment unto you, that my covenant might be with Levi, saith the LORD of hosts.
2: 5 My covenant was with him of life and peace; and I gave them to him for the fear wherewith he feared me, and was afraid before my name.
2: 6 The law of truth was in his mouth, and iniquity was not found in his lips: he walked with me in peace and equity, and did turn many away from iniquity.
2: 7 For the priest's lips should keep knowledge, and they should seek the law at his mouth: for he is the messenger of the LORD of hosts.
2: 8 But ye are departed out of the way; ye have caused many to stumble at the law; ye have corrupted the covenant of Levi, saith the LORD of hosts.
2: 9 Therefore have I also made you contemptible and base before all the people, according as ye have not kept my ways, but have been partial in the law.
2: 10 Have we not all one father?
hath not one God created us?
why do we deal treacherously every man against his brother, by profaning the covenant of our fathers?
2: 11 Judah hath dealt treacherously, and an abomination is committed in Israel and in Jerusalem; for Judah hath profaned the holiness of the LORD which he loved, and hath married the daughter of a strange god.
2: 12 The LORD will cut off the man that doeth this, the master and the scholar, out of the tabernacles of Jacob, and him that offereth an offering unto the LORD of hosts.
2: 13 And this have ye done again, covering the altar of the LORD with tears, with weeping, and with crying out, insomuch that he regardeth not the offering any more, or receiveth it with good will at your hand.
2: 14 Yet ye say, Wherefore?
Because the LORD hath been witness between thee and the wife of thy youth, against whom thou hast dealt treacherously: yet is she thy companion, and the wife of thy covenant.
2: 15 And did not he make one?
Yet had he the residue of the spirit.
And wherefore one?
That he might seek a godly seed.
Therefore take heed to your spirit, and let none deal treacherously against the wife of his youth.
2: 16 For the LORD, the God of Israel, saith that he hateth putting away: for one covereth violence with his garment, saith the LORD of hosts: therefore take heed to your spirit, that ye deal not treacherously.
2: 17 Ye have wearied the LORD with your words.
Yet ye say, Wherein have we wearied him?
When ye say, Every one that doeth evil is good in the sight of the LORD, and he delighteth in them; or, Where is the God of judgment?
3: 1 Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me: and the LORD, whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple, even the messenger of the covenant, whom ye delight in: behold, he shall come, saith the LORD of hosts.
3: 2 But who may abide the day of his coming?
and who shall stand when he appeareth?
for he is like a refiner's fire, and like fullers'soap: 3: 3 And he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver: and he shall purify the sons of Levi, and purge them as gold and silver, that they may offer unto the LORD an offering in righteousness.
3: 4 Then shall the offering of Judah and Jerusalem be pleasant unto the LORD, as in the days of old, and as in former years.
3: 6 For I am the LORD, I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed.
3: 7 Even from the days of your fathers ye are gone away from mine ordinances, and have not kept them.
Return unto me, and I will return unto you, saith the LORD of hosts.
But ye said, Wherein shall we return?
3: 8 Will a man rob God?
Yet ye have robbed me.
But ye say, Wherein have we robbed thee?
In tithes and offerings.
3: 9 Ye are cursed with a curse: for ye have robbed me, even this whole nation.
3: 10 Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the LORD of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.
3: 11 And I will rebuke the devourer for your sakes, and he shall not destroy the fruits of your ground; neither shall your vine cast her fruit before the time in the field, saith the LORD of hosts.
3: 12 And all nations shall call you blessed: for ye shall be a delightsome land, saith the LORD of hosts.
3: 13 Your words have been stout against me, saith the LORD.
Yet ye say, What have we spoken so much against thee?
3: 14 Ye have said, It is vain to serve God: and what profit is it that we have kept his ordinance, and that we have walked mournfully before the LORD of hosts?
3: 15 And now we call the proud happy; yea, they that work wickedness are set up; yea, they that tempt God are even delivered.
3: 16 Then they that feared the LORD spake often one to another: and the LORD hearkened, and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before him for them that feared the LORD, and that thought upon his name.
3: 17 And they shall be mine, saith the LORD of hosts, in that day when I make up my jewels; and I will spare them, as a man spareth his own son that serveth him.
3: 18 Then shall ye return, and discern between the righteous and the wicked, between him that serveth God and him that serveth him not.
4: 1 For, behold, the day cometh, that shall burn as an oven; and all the proud, yea, and all that do wickedly, shall be stubble: and the day that cometh shall burn them up, saith the LORD of hosts, that it shall leave them neither root nor branch.
4: 2 But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings; and ye shall go forth, and grow up as calves of the stall.
4: 3 And ye shall tread down the wicked; for they shall be ashes under the soles of your feet in the day that I shall do this, saith the LORD of hosts.
4: 4 Remember ye the law of Moses my servant, which I commanded unto him in Horeb for all Israel, with the statutes and judgments.
4: 5 Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the LORD: 4: 6 And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.
The New Testament of the King James Bible
The Gospel According to Saint Matthew
1: 1 The book of the generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.
1: 17 So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations; and from David until the carrying away into Babylon are fourteen generations; and from the carrying away into Babylon unto Christ are fourteen generations.
1: 18 Now the birth of Jesus Christ was on this wise: When as his mother Mary was espoused to Joseph, before they came together, she was found with child of the Holy Ghost.
1: 19 Then Joseph her husband, being a just man, and not willing to make her a publick example, was minded to put her away privily.
1: 20 But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the LORD appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost.
1: 21 And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name JESUS: for he shall save his people from their sins.
1: 22 Now all this was done, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken of the Lord by the prophet, saying, 1: 23 Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us.
1: 24 Then Joseph being raised from sleep did as the angel of the Lord had bidden him, and took unto him his wife: 1: 25 And knew her not till she had brought forth her firstborn son: and he called his name JESUS.
2: 1 Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judaea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, 2: 2 Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews?
for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.
2: 3 When Herod the king had heard these things, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him.
2: 4 And when he had gathered all the chief priests and scribes of the people together, he demanded of them where Christ should be born.
2: 5 And they said unto him, In Bethlehem of Judaea: for thus it is written by the prophet, 2: 6 And thou Bethlehem, in the land of Juda, art not the least among the princes of Juda: for out of thee shall come a Governor, that shall rule my people Israel.
2: 7 Then Herod, when he had privily called the wise men, enquired of them diligently what time the star appeared.
2: 8 And he sent them to Bethlehem, and said, Go and search diligently for the young child; and when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may come and worship him also.
2: 9 When they had heard the king, they departed; and, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was.
2: 10 When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.
2: 11 And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense and myrrh.
2: 12 And being warned of God in a dream that they should not return to Herod, they departed into their own country another way.
2: 13 And when they were departed, behold, the angel of the Lord appeareth to Joseph in a dream, saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word: for Herod will seek the young child to destroy him.
2: 14 When he arose, he took the young child and his mother by night, and departed into Egypt: 2: 15 And was there until the death of Herod: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken of the Lord by the prophet, saying, Out of Egypt have I called my son.
2: 17 Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by Jeremy the prophet, saying, 2: 18 In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they are not.
2: 19 But when Herod was dead, behold, an angel of the Lord appeareth in a dream to Joseph in Egypt, 2: 20 Saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and go into the land of Israel: for they are dead which sought the young child's life.
2: 21 And he arose, and took the young child and his mother, and came into the land of Israel.
3: 1 In those days came John the Baptist, preaching in the wilderness of Judaea, 3: 2 And saying, Repent ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.
3: 3 For this is he that was spoken of by the prophet Esaias, saying, The voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.
3: 4 And the same John had his raiment of camel's hair, and a leathern girdle about his loins; and his meat was locusts and wild honey.
3: 5 Then went out to him Jerusalem, and all Judaea, and all the region round about Jordan, 3: 6 And were baptized of him in Jordan, confessing their sins.
3: 7 But when he saw many of the Pharisees and Sadducees come to his baptism, he said unto them, O generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come?
3: 8 Bring forth therefore fruits meet for repentance: 3: 9 And think not to say within yourselves, We have Abraham to our father: for I say unto you, that God is able of these stones to raise up children unto Abraham.
3: 10 And now also the axe is laid unto the root of the trees: therefore every tree which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.
3: 11 I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance.
3: 13 Then cometh Jesus from Galilee to Jordan unto John, to be baptized of him.
3: 14 But John forbad him, saying, I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me?
3: 15 And Jesus answering said unto him, Suffer it to be so now: for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness.
Then he suffered him.
4: 1 Then was Jesus led up of the spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of the devil.
4: 2 And when he had fasted forty days and forty nights, he was afterward an hungred.
4: 3 And when the tempter came to him, he said, If thou be the Son of God, command that these stones be made bread.
4: 4 But he answered and said, It is written, Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.
4: 7 Jesus said unto him, It is written again, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.
4: 8 Again, the devil taketh him up into an exceeding high mountain, and sheweth him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them; 4: 9 And saith unto him, All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.
4: 10 Then saith Jesus unto him, Get thee hence, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.
4: 11 Then the devil leaveth him, and, behold, angels came and ministered unto him.
4: 17 From that time Jesus began to preach, and to say, Repent: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.
4: 18 And Jesus, walking by the sea of Galilee, saw two brethren, Simon called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea: for they were fishers.
4: 19 And he saith unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.
4: 20 And they straightway left their nets, and followed him.
4: 21 And going on from thence, he saw other two brethren, James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother, in a ship with Zebedee their father, mending their nets; and he called them.
4: 22 And they immediately left the ship and their father, and followed him.
4: 23 And Jesus went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people.
4: 24 And his fame went throughout all Syria: and they brought unto him all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and torments, and those which were possessed with devils, and those which were lunatick, and those that had the palsy; and he healed them.
4: 25 And there followed him great multitudes of people from Galilee, and from Decapolis, and from Jerusalem, and from Judaea, and from beyond Jordan.
5: 1 And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain: and when he was set, his disciples came unto him: 5: 2 And he opened his mouth, and taught them, saying, 5: 3 Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
5: 4 Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.
5: 5 Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.
5: 6 Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.
5: 7 Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.
5: 8 Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.
5: 9 Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.
5: 10 Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness'sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
5: 11 Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.
5: 12 Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.
5: 13 Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted?
it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.
5: 14 Ye are the light of the world.
A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid.
5: 15 Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.
5: 16 Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.
5: 17 Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil.
5: 18 For verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.
5: 19 Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments, and shall teach men so, he shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven: but whosoever shall do and teach them, the same shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven.
5: 20 For I say unto you, That except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven.
5: 23 Therefore if thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath ought against thee; 5: 24 Leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift.
5: 25 Agree with thine adversary quickly, whiles thou art in the way with him; lest at any time the adversary deliver thee to the judge, and the judge deliver thee to the officer, and thou be cast into prison.
5: 26 Verily I say unto thee, Thou shalt by no means come out thence, till thou hast paid the uttermost farthing.
5: 27 Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not commit adultery: 5: 28 But I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.
5: 29 And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.
5: 30 And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.
5: 36 Neither shalt thou swear by thy head, because thou canst not make one hair white or black.
5: 37 But let your communication be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay: for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil.
5: 38 Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: 5: 39 But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.
5: 40 And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also.
5: 41 And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain.
5: 42 Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away.
5: 43 Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.
5: 46 For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye?
do not even the publicans the same?
5: 47 And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than others?
do not even the publicans so?
5: 48 Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.
6: 1 Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven.
6: 2 Therefore when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory of men.
Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.
6: 3 But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth: 6: 4 That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret himself shall reward thee openly.
6: 5 And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men.
Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.
6: 6 But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly.
6: 7 But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking.
6: 8 Be not ye therefore like unto them: for your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him.
6: 9 After this manner therefore pray ye: Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.
6: 10 Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.
6: 11 Give us this day our daily bread.
6: 12 And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
6: 13 And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever.
Amen.
6: 14 For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: 6: 15 But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.
6: 16 Moreover when ye fast, be not, as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance: for they disfigure their faces, that they may appear unto men to fast.
Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.
6: 17 But thou, when thou fastest, anoint thine head, and wash thy face; 6: 18 That thou appear not unto men to fast, but unto thy Father which is in secret: and thy Father, which seeth in secret, shall reward thee openly.
6: 22 The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light.
6: 23 But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness.
If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness!
6: 24 No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other.
Ye cannot serve God and mammon.
6: 25 Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on.
Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment?
6: 26 Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them.
Are ye not much better than they?
6: 27 Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature?
6: 28 And why take ye thought for raiment?
Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: 6: 29 And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
6: 30 Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?
6: 31 Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat?
or, What shall we drink?
or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?
6: 32 (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.
6: 33 But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.
6: 34 Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.
Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
7: 1 Judge not, that ye be not judged.
7: 2 For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.
7: 3 And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
7: 4 Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?
7: 5 Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.
7: 6 Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.
7: 7 Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: 7: 8 For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.
7: 9 Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?
7: 10 Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?
7: 11 If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?
7: 12 Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.
7: 13 Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat: 7: 14 Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.
7: 15 Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.
7: 16 Ye shall know them by their fruits.
Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?
7: 17 Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit.
7: 18 A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.
7: 19 Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.
7: 20 Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.
7: 21 Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven.
7: 22 Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name?
and in thy name have cast out devils?
and in thy name done many wonderful works?
7: 23 And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.
7: 28 And it came to pass, when Jesus had ended these sayings, the people were astonished at his doctrine: 7: 29 For he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.
8: 1 When he was come down from the mountain, great multitudes followed him.
8: 2 And, behold, there came a leper and worshipped him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.
8: 3 And Jesus put forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I will; be thou clean.
And immediately his leprosy was cleansed.
8: 4 And Jesus saith unto him, See thou tell no man; but go thy way, shew thyself to the priest, and offer the gift that Moses commanded, for a testimony unto them.
8: 5 And when Jesus was entered into Capernaum, there came unto him a centurion, beseeching him, 8: 6 And saying, Lord, my servant lieth at home sick of the palsy, grievously tormented.
8: 7 And Jesus saith unto him, I will come and heal him.
8: 8 The centurion answered and said, Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof: but speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed.
8: 9 For I am a man under authority, having soldiers under me: and I say to this man, Go, and he goeth; and to another, Come, and he cometh; and to my servant, Do this, and he doeth it.
8: 10 When Jesus heard it, he marvelled, and said to them that followed, Verily I say unto you, I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel.
8: 11 And I say unto you, That many shall come from the east and west, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven.
8: 12 But the children of the kingdom shall be cast out into outer darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
8: 13 And Jesus said unto the centurion, Go thy way; and as thou hast believed, so be it done unto thee.
And his servant was healed in the selfsame hour.
8: 14 And when Jesus was come into Peter's house, he saw his wife's mother laid, and sick of a fever.
8: 15 And he touched her hand, and the fever left her: and she arose, and ministered unto them.
8: 18 Now when Jesus saw great multitudes about him, he gave commandment to depart unto the other side.
8: 19 And a certain scribe came, and said unto him, Master, I will follow thee whithersoever thou goest.
8: 20 And Jesus saith unto him, The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.
8: 21 And another of his disciples said unto him, Lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father.
8: 22 But Jesus said unto him, Follow me; and let the dead bury their dead.
8: 23 And when he was entered into a ship, his disciples followed him.
8: 24 And, behold, there arose a great tempest in the sea, insomuch that the ship was covered with the waves: but he was asleep.
8: 25 And his disciples came to him, and awoke him, saying, Lord, save us: we perish.
8: 26 And he saith unto them, Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith?
Then he arose, and rebuked the winds and the sea; and there was a great calm.
8: 27 But the men marvelled, saying, What manner of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him!
8: 28 And when he was come to the other side into the country of the Gergesenes, there met him two possessed with devils, coming out of the tombs, exceeding fierce, so that no man might pass by that way.
8: 29 And, behold, they cried out, saying, What have we to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of God?
art thou come hither to torment us before the time?
8: 30 And there was a good way off from them an herd of many swine feeding.
8: 31 So the devils besought him, saying, If thou cast us out, suffer us to go away into the herd of swine.
8: 32 And he said unto them, Go.
And when they were come out, they went into the herd of swine: and, behold, the whole herd of swine ran violently down a steep place into the sea, and perished in the waters.
8: 33 And they that kept them fled, and went their ways into the city, and told every thing, and what was befallen to the possessed of the devils.
8: 34 And, behold, the whole city came out to meet Jesus: and when they saw him, they besought him that he would depart out of their coasts.
9: 1 And he entered into a ship, and passed over, and came into his own city.
9: 2 And, behold, they brought to him a man sick of the palsy, lying on a bed: and Jesus seeing their faith said unto the sick of the palsy; Son, be of good cheer; thy sins be forgiven thee.
9: 3 And, behold, certain of the scribes said within themselves, This man blasphemeth.
9: 4 And Jesus knowing their thoughts said, Wherefore think ye evil in your hearts?
9: 5 For whether is easier, to say, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and walk?
9: 6 But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (then saith he to the sick of the palsy,) Arise, take up thy bed, and go unto thine house.
9: 7 And he arose, and departed to his house.
9: 8 But when the multitudes saw it, they marvelled, and glorified God, which had given such power unto men.
9: 9 And as Jesus passed forth from thence, he saw a man, named Matthew, sitting at the receipt of custom: and he saith unto him, Follow me.
And he arose, and followed him.
9: 10 And it came to pass, as Jesus sat at meat in the house, behold, many publicans and sinners came and sat down with him and his disciples.
9: 11 And when the Pharisees saw it, they said unto his disciples, Why eateth your Master with publicans and sinners?
9: 12 But when Jesus heard that, he said unto them, They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick.
9: 13 But go ye and learn what that meaneth, I will have mercy, and not sacrifice: for I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.
9: 14 Then came to him the disciples of John, saying, Why do we and the Pharisees fast oft, but thy disciples fast not?
9: 15 And Jesus said unto them, Can the children of the bridechamber mourn, as long as the bridegroom is with them?
but the days will come, when the bridegroom shall be taken from them, and then shall they fast.
9: 16 No man putteth a piece of new cloth unto an old garment, for that which is put in to fill it up taketh from the garment, and the rent is made worse.
9: 17 Neither do men put new wine into old bottles: else the bottles break, and the wine runneth out, and the bottles perish: but they put new wine into new bottles, and both are preserved.
9: 18 While he spake these things unto them, behold, there came a certain ruler, and worshipped him, saying, My daughter is even now dead: but come and lay thy hand upon her, and she shall live.
9: 19 And Jesus arose, and followed him, and so did his disciples.
9: 20 And, behold, a woman, which was diseased with an issue of blood twelve years, came behind him, and touched the hem of his garment: 9: 21 For she said within herself, If I may but touch his garment, I shall be whole.
9: 22 But Jesus turned him about, and when he saw her, he said, Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole.
And the woman was made whole from that hour.
9: 23 And when Jesus came into the ruler's house, and saw the minstrels and the people making a noise, 9: 24 He said unto them, Give place: for the maid is not dead, but sleepeth.
And they laughed him to scorn.
9: 25 But when the people were put forth, he went in, and took her by the hand, and the maid arose.
9: 26 And the fame hereof went abroad into all that land.
9: 27 And when Jesus departed thence, two blind men followed him, crying, and saying, Thou son of David, have mercy on us.
9: 28 And when he was come into the house, the blind men came to him: and Jesus saith unto them, Believe ye that I am able to do this?
They said unto him, Yea, Lord.
9: 29 Then touched he their eyes, saying, According to your faith be it unto you.
9: 30 And their eyes were opened; and Jesus straitly charged them, saying, See that no man know it.
9: 31 But they, when they were departed, spread abroad his fame in all that country.
9: 32 As they went out, behold, they brought to him a dumb man possessed with a devil.
9: 33 And when the devil was cast out, the dumb spake: and the multitudes marvelled, saying, It was never so seen in Israel.
9: 34 But the Pharisees said, He casteth out devils through the prince of the devils.
9: 35 And Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing every sickness and every disease among the people.
9: 36 But when he saw the multitudes, he was moved with compassion on them, because they fainted, and were scattered abroad, as sheep having no shepherd.
9: 37 Then saith he unto his disciples, The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few; 9: 38 Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he will send forth labourers into his harvest.
10: 1 And when he had called unto him his twelve disciples, he gave them power against unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal all manner of sickness and all manner of disease.
10: 5 These twelve Jesus sent forth, and commanded them, saying, Go not into the way of the Gentiles, and into any city of the Samaritans enter ye not: 10: 6 But go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.
10: 7 And as ye go, preach, saying, The kingdom of heaven is at hand.
10: 8 Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely ye have received, freely give.
10: 9 Provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass in your purses, 10: 10 Nor scrip for your journey, neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet staves: for the workman is worthy of his meat.
10: 11 And into whatsoever city or town ye shall enter, enquire who in it is worthy; and there abide till ye go thence.
10: 12 And when ye come into an house, salute it.
10: 13 And if the house be worthy, let your peace come upon it: but if it be not worthy, let your peace return to you.
10: 14 And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet.
10: 15 Verily I say unto you, It shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrha in the day of judgment, than for that city.
10: 16 Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.
10: 17 But beware of men: for they will deliver you up to the councils, and they will scourge you in their synagogues; 10: 18 And ye shall be brought before governors and kings for my sake, for a testimony against them and the Gentiles.
10: 19 But when they deliver you up, take no thought how or what ye shall speak: for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall speak.
10: 20 For it is not ye that speak, but the Spirit of your Father which speaketh in you.
10: 21 And the brother shall deliver up the brother to death, and the father the child: and the children shall rise up against their parents, and cause them to be put to death.
10: 22 And ye shall be hated of all men for my name's sake: but he that endureth to the end shall be saved.
10: 23 But when they persecute you in this city, flee ye into another: for verily I say unto you, Ye shall not have gone over the cities of Israel, till the Son of man be come.
10: 24 The disciple is not above his master, nor the servant above his lord.
10: 25 It is enough for the disciple that he be as his master, and the servant as his lord.
If they have called the master of the house Beelzebub, how much more shall they call them of his household?
10: 26 Fear them not therefore: for there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; and hid, that shall not be known.
10: 27 What I tell you in darkness, that speak ye in light: and what ye hear in the ear, that preach ye upon the housetops.
10: 28 And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.
10: 29 Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing?
and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.
10: 30 But the very hairs of your head are all numbered.
10: 31 Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.
10: 32 Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven.
10: 33 But whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven.
10: 34 Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword.
10: 35 For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law.
10: 36 And a man's foes shall be they of his own household.
10: 37 He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.
10: 38 And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me.
10: 39 He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.
10: 40 He that receiveth you receiveth me, and he that receiveth me receiveth him that sent me.
10: 41 He that receiveth a prophet in the name of a prophet shall receive a prophet's reward; and he that receiveth a righteous man in the name of a righteous man shall receive a righteous man's reward.
10: 42 And whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward.
11: 1 And it came to pass, when Jesus had made an end of commanding his twelve disciples, he departed thence to teach and to preach in their cities.
11: 2 Now when John had heard in the prison the works of Christ, he sent two of his disciples, 11: 3 And said unto him, Art thou he that should come, or do we look for another?
11: 4 Jesus answered and said unto them, Go and shew John again those things which ye do hear and see: 11: 5 The blind receive their sight, and the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, and the poor have the gospel preached to them.
11: 6 And blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me.
11: 7 And as they departed, Jesus began to say unto the multitudes concerning John, What went ye out into the wilderness to see?
A reed shaken with the wind?
11: 8 But what went ye out for to see?
A man clothed in soft raiment?
behold, they that wear soft clothing are in kings'houses.
11: 9 But what went ye out for to see?
A prophet?
yea, I say unto you, and more than a prophet.
11: 10 For this is he, of whom it is written, Behold, I send my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare thy way before thee.
11: 11 Verily I say unto you, Among them that are born of women there hath not risen a greater than John the Baptist: notwithstanding he that is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.
11: 12 And from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.
11: 13 For all the prophets and the law prophesied until John.
11: 14 And if ye will receive it, this is Elias, which was for to come.
11: 15 He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.
11: 16 But whereunto shall I liken this generation?
It is like unto children sitting in the markets, and calling unto their fellows, 11: 17 And saying, We have piped unto you, and ye have not danced; we have mourned unto you, and ye have not lamented.
11: 18 For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, He hath a devil.
11: 19 The Son of man came eating and drinking, and they say, Behold a man gluttonous, and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners.
But wisdom is justified of her children.
11: 20 Then began he to upbraid the cities wherein most of his mighty works were done, because they repented not: 11: 21 Woe unto thee, Chorazin!
woe unto thee, Bethsaida!
for if the mighty works, which were done in you, had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes.
11: 22 But I say unto you, It shall be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon at the day of judgment, than for you.
11: 23 And thou, Capernaum, which art exalted unto heaven, shalt be brought down to hell: for if the mighty works, which have been done in thee, had been done in Sodom, it would have remained until this day.
11: 24 But I say unto you, That it shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom in the day of judgment, than for thee.
11: 25 At that time Jesus answered and said, I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes.
11: 26 Even so, Father: for so it seemed good in thy sight.
11: 27 All things are delivered unto me of my Father: and no man knoweth the Son, but the Father; neither knoweth any man the Father, save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son will reveal him.
11: 28 Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
11: 29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
11: 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
12: 1 At that time Jesus went on the sabbath day through the corn; and his disciples were an hungred, and began to pluck the ears of corn and to eat.
12: 2 But when the Pharisees saw it, they said unto him, Behold, thy disciples do that which is not lawful to do upon the sabbath day.
12: 5 Or have ye not read in the law, how that on the sabbath days the priests in the temple profane the sabbath, and are blameless?
12: 6 But I say unto you, That in this place is one greater than the temple.
12: 7 But if ye had known what this meaneth, I will have mercy, and not sacrifice, ye would not have condemned the guiltless.
12: 8 For the Son of man is Lord even of the sabbath day.
12: 9 And when he was departed thence, he went into their synagogue: 12: 10 And, behold, there was a man which had his hand withered.
And they asked him, saying, Is it lawful to heal on the sabbath days?
that they might accuse him.
12: 11 And he said unto them, What man shall there be among you, that shall have one sheep, and if it fall into a pit on the sabbath day, will he not lay hold on it, and lift it out?
12: 12 How much then is a man better than a sheep?
Wherefore it is lawful to do well on the sabbath days.
12: 13 Then saith he to the man, Stretch forth thine hand.
And he stretched it forth; and it was restored whole, like as the other.
12: 14 Then the Pharisees went out, and held a council against him, how they might destroy him.
12: 19 He shall not strive, nor cry; neither shall any man hear his voice in the streets.
12: 20 A bruised reed shall he not break, and smoking flax shall he not quench, till he send forth judgment unto victory.
12: 21 And in his name shall the Gentiles trust.
12: 22 Then was brought unto him one possessed with a devil, blind, and dumb: and he healed him, insomuch that the blind and dumb both spake and saw.
12: 23 And all the people were amazed, and said, Is not this the son of David?
12: 24 But when the Pharisees heard it, they said, This fellow doth not cast out devils, but by Beelzebub the prince of the devils.
12: 27 And if I by Beelzebub cast out devils, by whom do your children cast them out?
therefore they shall be your judges.
12: 28 But if I cast out devils by the Spirit of God, then the kingdom of God is come unto you.
12: 29 Or else how can one enter into a strong man's house, and spoil his goods, except he first bind the strong man?
and then he will spoil his house.
12: 30 He that is not with me is against me; and he that gathereth not with me scattereth abroad.
12: 31 Wherefore I say unto you, All manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men: but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto men.
12: 32 And whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him: but whosoever speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, neither in the world to come.
12: 33 Either make the tree good, and his fruit good; or else make the tree corrupt, and his fruit corrupt: for the tree is known by his fruit.
12: 34 O generation of vipers, how can ye, being evil, speak good things?
for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.
12: 35 A good man out of the good treasure of the heart bringeth forth good things: and an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth evil things.
12: 36 But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.
12: 37 For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.
12: 38 Then certain of the scribes and of the Pharisees answered, saying, Master, we would see a sign from thee.
12: 41 The men of Nineveh shall rise in judgment with this generation, and shall condemn it: because they repented at the preaching of Jonas; and, behold, a greater than Jonas is here.
12: 42 The queen of the south shall rise up in the judgment with this generation, and shall condemn it: for she came from the uttermost parts of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon; and, behold, a greater than Solomon is here.
12: 43 When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest, and findeth none.
12: 44 Then he saith, I will return into my house from whence I came out; and when he is come, he findeth it empty, swept, and garnished.
12: 45 Then goeth he, and taketh with himself seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first.
Even so shall it be also unto this wicked generation.
12: 46 While he yet talked to the people, behold, his mother and his brethren stood without, desiring to speak with him.
12: 47 Then one said unto him, Behold, thy mother and thy brethren stand without, desiring to speak with thee.
12: 48 But he answered and said unto him that told him, Who is my mother?
and who are my brethren?
12: 49 And he stretched forth his hand toward his disciples, and said, Behold my mother and my brethren!
12: 50 For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother.
13: 1 The same day went Jesus out of the house, and sat by the sea side.
13: 2 And great multitudes were gathered together unto him, so that he went into a ship, and sat; and the whole multitude stood on the shore.
13: 7 And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up, and choked them: 13: 8 But other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit, some an hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold.
13: 9 Who hath ears to hear, let him hear.
13: 10 And the disciples came, and said unto him, Why speakest thou unto them in parables?
13: 11 He answered and said unto them, Because it is given unto you to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it is not given.
13: 12 For whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance: but whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath.
13: 13 Therefore speak I to them in parables: because they seeing see not; and hearing they hear not, neither do they understand.
13: 16 But blessed are your eyes, for they see: and your ears, for they hear.
13: 17 For verily I say unto you, That many prophets and righteous men have desired to see those things which ye see, and have not seen them; and to hear those things which ye hear, and have not heard them.
13: 18 Hear ye therefore the parable of the sower.
13: 19 When any one heareth the word of the kingdom, and understandeth it not, then cometh the wicked one, and catcheth away that which was sown in his heart.
This is he which received seed by the way side.
13: 22 He also that received seed among the thorns is he that heareth the word; and the care of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches, choke the word, and he becometh unfruitful.
13: 23 But he that received seed into the good ground is he that heareth the word, and understandeth it; which also beareth fruit, and bringeth forth, some an hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.
13: 24 Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field: 13: 25 But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way.
13: 26 But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also.
13: 27 So the servants of the householder came and said unto him, Sir, didst not thou sow good seed in thy field?
from whence then hath it tares?
13: 28 He said unto them, An enemy hath done this.
The servants said unto him, Wilt thou then that we go and gather them up?
13: 29 But he said, Nay; lest while ye gather up the tares, ye root up also the wheat with them.
13: 30 Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn.
13: 33 Another parable spake he unto them; The kingdom of heaven is like unto leaven, which a woman took, and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leavened.
13: 36 Then Jesus sent the multitude away, and went into the house: and his disciples came unto him, saying, Declare unto us the parable of the tares of the field.
13: 40 As therefore the tares are gathered and burned in the fire; so shall it be in the end of this world.
13: 41 The Son of man shall send forth his angels, and they shall gather out of his kingdom all things that offend, and them which do iniquity; 13: 42 And shall cast them into a furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.
13: 43 Then shall the righteous shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father.
Who hath ears to hear, let him hear.
13: 44 Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field; the which when a man hath found, he hideth, and for joy thereof goeth and selleth all that he hath, and buyeth that field.
13: 45 Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man, seeking goodly pearls: 13: 46 Who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it.
13: 47 Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a net, that was cast into the sea, and gathered of every kind: 13: 48 Which, when it was full, they drew to shore, and sat down, and gathered the good into vessels, but cast the bad away.
13: 49 So shall it be at the end of the world: the angels shall come forth, and sever the wicked from among the just, 13: 50 And shall cast them into the furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.
13: 51 Jesus saith unto them, Have ye understood all these things?
They say unto him, Yea, Lord.
13: 52 Then said he unto them, Therefore every scribe which is instructed unto the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that is an householder, which bringeth forth out of his treasure things new and old.
13: 53 And it came to pass, that when Jesus had finished these parables, he departed thence.
13: 54 And when he was come into his own country, he taught them in their synagogue, insomuch that they were astonished, and said, Whence hath this man this wisdom, and these mighty works?
13: 55 Is not this the carpenter's son?
is not his mother called Mary?
and his brethren, James, and Joses, and Simon, and Judas?
13: 56 And his sisters, are they not all with us?
Whence then hath this man all these things?
13: 57 And they were offended in him.
But Jesus said unto them, A prophet is not without honour, save in his own country, and in his own house.
13: 58 And he did not many mighty works there because of their unbelief.
14: 1 At that time Herod the tetrarch heard of the fame of Jesus, 14: 2 And said unto his servants, This is John the Baptist; he is risen from the dead; and therefore mighty works do shew forth themselves in him.
14: 3 For Herod had laid hold on John, and bound him, and put him in prison for Herodias'sake, his brother Philip's wife.
14: 4 For John said unto him, It is not lawful for thee to have her.
14: 5 And when he would have put him to death, he feared the multitude, because they counted him as a prophet.
14: 6 But when Herod's birthday was kept, the daughter of Herodias danced before them, and pleased Herod.
14: 7 Whereupon he promised with an oath to give her whatsoever she would ask.
14: 8 And she, being before instructed of her mother, said, Give me here John Baptist's head in a charger.
14: 9 And the king was sorry: nevertheless for the oath's sake, and them which sat with him at meat, he commanded it to be given her.
14: 10 And he sent, and beheaded John in the prison.
14: 11 And his head was brought in a charger, and given to the damsel: and she brought it to her mother.
14: 12 And his disciples came, and took up the body, and buried it, and went and told Jesus.
14: 13 When Jesus heard of it, he departed thence by ship into a desert place apart: and when the people had heard thereof, they followed him on foot out of the cities.
14: 14 And Jesus went forth, and saw a great multitude, and was moved with compassion toward them, and he healed their sick.
14: 15 And when it was evening, his disciples came to him, saying, This is a desert place, and the time is now past; send the multitude away, that they may go into the villages, and buy themselves victuals.
14: 16 But Jesus said unto them, They need not depart; give ye them to eat.
14: 17 And they say unto him, We have here but five loaves, and two fishes.
14: 18 He said, Bring them hither to me.
14: 19 And he commanded the multitude to sit down on the grass, and took the five loaves, and the two fishes, and looking up to heaven, he blessed, and brake, and gave the loaves to his disciples, and the disciples to the multitude.
14: 20 And they did all eat, and were filled: and they took up of the fragments that remained twelve baskets full.
14: 21 And they that had eaten were about five thousand men, beside women and children.
14: 22 And straightway Jesus constrained his disciples to get into a ship, and to go before him unto the other side, while he sent the multitudes away.
14: 23 And when he had sent the multitudes away, he went up into a mountain apart to pray: and when the evening was come, he was there alone.
14: 24 But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves: for the wind was contrary.
14: 25 And in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea.
14: 26 And when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear.
14: 27 But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.
14: 28 And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water.
14: 29 And he said, Come.
And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus.
14: 30 But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.
14: 31 And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?
14: 32 And when they were come into the ship, the wind ceased.
14: 33 Then they that were in the ship came and worshipped him, saying, Of a truth thou art the Son of God.
14: 34 And when they were gone over, they came into the land of Gennesaret.
15: 1 Then came to Jesus scribes and Pharisees, which were of Jerusalem, saying, 15: 2 Why do thy disciples transgress the tradition of the elders?
for they wash not their hands when they eat bread.
15: 3 But he answered and said unto them, Why do ye also transgress the commandment of God by your tradition?
15: 4 For God commanded, saying, Honour thy father and mother: and, He that curseth father or mother, let him die the death.
15: 5 But ye say, Whosoever shall say to his father or his mother, It is a gift, by whatsoever thou mightest be profited by me; 15: 6 And honour not his father or his mother, he shall be free.
Thus have ye made the commandment of God of none effect by your tradition.
15: 7 Ye hypocrites, well did Esaias prophesy of you, saying, 15: 8 This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me.
15: 9 But in vain they do worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.
15: 10 And he called the multitude, and said unto them, Hear, and understand: 15: 11 Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a man; but that which cometh out of the mouth, this defileth a man.
15: 12 Then came his disciples, and said unto him, Knowest thou that the Pharisees were offended, after they heard this saying?
15: 13 But he answered and said, Every plant, which my heavenly Father hath not planted, shall be rooted up.
15: 14 Let them alone: they be blind leaders of the blind.
And if the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch.
15: 15 Then answered Peter and said unto him, Declare unto us this parable.
15: 16 And Jesus said, Are ye also yet without understanding?
15: 17 Do not ye yet understand, that whatsoever entereth in at the mouth goeth into the belly, and is cast out into the draught?
15: 18 But those things which proceed out of the mouth come forth from the heart; and they defile the man.
15: 19 For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies: 15: 20 These are the things which defile a man: but to eat with unwashen hands defileth not a man.
15: 21 Then Jesus went thence, and departed into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon.
15: 22 And, behold, a woman of Canaan came out of the same coasts, and cried unto him, saying, Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou son of David; my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil.
15: 23 But he answered her not a word.
And his disciples came and besought him, saying, Send her away; for she crieth after us.
15: 24 But he answered and said, I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel.
15: 25 Then came she and worshipped him, saying, Lord, help me.
15: 26 But he answered and said, It is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to dogs.
15: 27 And she said, Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters'table.
15: 28 Then Jesus answered and said unto her, O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt.
And her daughter was made whole from that very hour.
15: 29 And Jesus departed from thence, and came nigh unto the sea of Galilee; and went up into a mountain, and sat down there.
15: 32 Then Jesus called his disciples unto him, and said, I have compassion on the multitude, because they continue with me now three days, and have nothing to eat: and I will not send them away fasting, lest they faint in the way.
15: 33 And his disciples say unto him, Whence should we have so much bread in the wilderness, as to fill so great a multitude?
15: 34 And Jesus saith unto them, How many loaves have ye?
And they said, Seven, and a few little fishes.
15: 35 And he commanded the multitude to sit down on the ground.
15: 36 And he took the seven loaves and the fishes, and gave thanks, and brake them, and gave to his disciples, and the disciples to the multitude.
15: 37 And they did all eat, and were filled: and they took up of the broken meat that was left seven baskets full.
15: 38 And they that did eat were four thousand men, beside women and children.
15: 39 And he sent away the multitude, and took ship, and came into the coasts of Magdala.
16: 1 The Pharisees also with the Sadducees came, and tempting desired him that he would shew them a sign from heaven.
16: 2 He answered and said unto them, When it is evening, ye say, It will be fair weather: for the sky is red.
16: 3 And in the morning, It will be foul weather to day: for the sky is red and lowering.
O ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times?
16: 4 A wicked and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign; and there shall no sign be given unto it, but the sign of the prophet Jonas.
And he left them, and departed.
16: 5 And when his disciples were come to the other side, they had forgotten to take bread.
16: 6 Then Jesus said unto them, Take heed and beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and of the Sadducees.
16: 7 And they reasoned among themselves, saying, It is because we have taken no bread.
16: 8 Which when Jesus perceived, he said unto them, O ye of little faith, why reason ye among yourselves, because ye have brought no bread?
16: 9 Do ye not yet understand, neither remember the five loaves of the five thousand, and how many baskets ye took up?
16: 10 Neither the seven loaves of the four thousand, and how many baskets ye took up?
16: 11 How is it that ye do not understand that I spake it not to you concerning bread, that ye should beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and of the Sadducees?
16: 12 Then understood they how that he bade them not beware of the leaven of bread, but of the doctrine of the Pharisees and of the Sadducees.
16: 13 When Jesus came into the coasts of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?
16: 14 And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist: some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets.
16: 15 He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?
16: 16 And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.
16: 17 And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven.
16: 18 And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.
16: 19 And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.
16: 20 Then charged he his disciples that they should tell no man that he was Jesus the Christ.
16: 21 From that time forth began Jesus to shew unto his disciples, how that he must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and be raised again the third day.
16: 22 Then Peter took him, and began to rebuke him, saying, Be it far from thee, Lord: this shall not be unto thee.
16: 23 But he turned, and said unto Peter, Get thee behind me, Satan: thou art an offence unto me: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men.
16: 24 Then said Jesus unto his disciples, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.
16: 25 For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.
16: 26 For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?
or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?
16: 27 For the Son of man shall come in the glory of his Father with his angels; and then he shall reward every man according to his works.
16: 28 Verily I say unto you, There be some standing here, which shall not taste of death, till they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom.
17: 1 And after six days Jesus taketh Peter, James, and John his brother, and bringeth them up into an high mountain apart, 17: 2 And was transfigured before them: and his face did shine as the sun, and his raiment was white as the light.
17: 3 And, behold, there appeared unto them Moses and Elias talking with him.
17: 4 Then answered Peter, and said unto Jesus, Lord, it is good for us to be here: if thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles; one for thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias.
17: 5 While he yet spake, behold, a bright cloud overshadowed them: and behold a voice out of the cloud, which said, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased; hear ye him.
17: 6 And when the disciples heard it, they fell on their face, and were sore afraid.
17: 7 And Jesus came and touched them, and said, Arise, and be not afraid.
17: 8 And when they had lifted up their eyes, they saw no man, save Jesus only.
17: 9 And as they came down from the mountain, Jesus charged them, saying, Tell the vision to no man, until the Son of man be risen again from the dead.
17: 10 And his disciples asked him, saying, Why then say the scribes that Elias must first come?
17: 11 And Jesus answered and said unto them, Elias truly shall first come, and restore all things.
17: 12 But I say unto you, That Elias is come already, and they knew him not, but have done unto him whatsoever they listed.
Likewise shall also the Son of man suffer of them.
17: 13 Then the disciples understood that he spake unto them of John the Baptist.
17: 14 And when they were come to the multitude, there came to him a certain man, kneeling down to him, and saying, 17: 15 Lord, have mercy on my son: for he is lunatick, and sore vexed: for ofttimes he falleth into the fire, and oft into the water.
17: 16 And I brought him to thy disciples, and they could not cure him.
17: 17 Then Jesus answered and said, O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you?
how long shall I suffer you?
bring him hither to me.
17: 18 And Jesus rebuked the devil; and he departed out of him: and the child was cured from that very hour.
17: 19 Then came the disciples to Jesus apart, and said, Why could not we cast him out?
17: 20 And Jesus said unto them, Because of your unbelief: for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.
17: 21 Howbeit this kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting.
17: 22 And while they abode in Galilee, Jesus said unto them, The Son of man shall be betrayed into the hands of men: 17: 23 And they shall kill him, and the third day he shall be raised again.
And they were exceeding sorry.
17: 24 And when they were come to Capernaum, they that received tribute money came to Peter, and said, Doth not your master pay tribute?
17: 25 He saith, Yes.
And when he was come into the house, Jesus prevented him, saying, What thinkest thou, Simon?
of whom do the kings of the earth take custom or tribute?
of their own children, or of strangers?
17: 26 Peter saith unto him, Of strangers.
Jesus saith unto him, Then are the children free.
17: 27 Notwithstanding, lest we should offend them, go thou to the sea, and cast an hook, and take up the fish that first cometh up; and when thou hast opened his mouth, thou shalt find a piece of money: that take, and give unto them for me and thee.
18: 1 At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?
18: 2 And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, 18: 3 And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.
18: 4 Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
18: 5 And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.
18: 6 But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.
18: 7 Woe unto the world because of offences!
for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh!
18: 8 Wherefore if thy hand or thy foot offend thee, cut them off, and cast them from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life halt or maimed, rather than having two hands or two feet to be cast into everlasting fire.
18: 9 And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life with one eye, rather than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire.
18: 10 Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.
18: 11 For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost.
18: 12 How think ye?
if a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray?
18: 13 And if so be that he find it, verily I say unto you, he rejoiceth more of that sheep, than of the ninety and nine which went not astray.
18: 14 Even so it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish.
18: 15 Moreover if thy brother shall trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and him alone: if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother.
18: 16 But if he will not hear thee, then take with thee one or two more, that in the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established.
18: 17 And if he shall neglect to hear them, tell it unto the church: but if he neglect to hear the church, let him be unto thee as an heathen man and a publican.
18: 18 Verily I say unto you, Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever ye shall loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.
18: 19 Again I say unto you, That if two of you shall agree on earth as touching any thing that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven.
18: 20 For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.
18: 21 Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him?
till seven times?
18: 22 Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven.
18: 23 Therefore is the kingdom of heaven likened unto a certain king, which would take account of his servants.
18: 24 And when he had begun to reckon, one was brought unto him, which owed him ten thousand talents.
18: 25 But forasmuch as he had not to pay, his lord commanded him to be sold, and his wife, and children, and all that he had, and payment to be made.
18: 26 The servant therefore fell down, and worshipped him, saying, Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay thee all.
18: 27 Then the lord of that servant was moved with compassion, and loosed him, and forgave him the debt.
18: 28 But the same servant went out, and found one of his fellowservants, which owed him an hundred pence: and he laid hands on him, and took him by the throat, saying, Pay me that thou owest.
18: 29 And his fellowservant fell down at his feet, and besought him, saying, Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all.
18: 30 And he would not: but went and cast him into prison, till he should pay the debt.
18: 31 So when his fellowservants saw what was done, they were very sorry, and came and told unto their lord all that was done.
18: 32 Then his lord, after that he had called him, said unto him, O thou wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt, because thou desiredst me: 18: 33 Shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellowservant, even as I had pity on thee?
18: 34 And his lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due unto him.
18: 35 So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses.
19: 1 And it came to pass, that when Jesus had finished these sayings, he departed from Galilee, and came into the coasts of Judaea beyond Jordan; 19: 2 And great multitudes followed him; and he healed them there.
19: 3 The Pharisees also came unto him, tempting him, and saying unto him, Is it lawful for a man to put away his wife for every cause?
19: 4 And he answered and said unto them, Have ye not read, that he which made them at the beginning made them male and female, 19: 5 And said, For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife: and they twain shall be one flesh?
19: 6 Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh.
What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.
19: 7 They say unto him, Why did Moses then command to give a writing of divorcement, and to put her away?
19: 8 He saith unto them, Moses because of the hardness of your hearts suffered you to put away your wives: but from the beginning it was not so.
19: 9 And I say unto you, Whosoever shall put away his wife, except it be for fornication, and shall marry another, committeth adultery: and whoso marrieth her which is put away doth commit adultery.
19: 10 His disciples say unto him, If the case of the man be so with his wife, it is not good to marry.
19: 11 But he said unto them, All men cannot receive this saying, save they to whom it is given.
19: 12 For there are some eunuchs, which were so born from their mother's womb: and there are some eunuchs, which were made eunuchs of men: and there be eunuchs, which have made themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven's sake.
He that is able to receive it, let him receive it.
19: 13 Then were there brought unto him little children, that he should put his hands on them, and pray: and the disciples rebuked them.
19: 14 But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.
19: 15 And he laid his hands on them, and departed thence.
19: 16 And, behold, one came and said unto him, Good Master, what good thing shall I do, that I may have eternal life?
19: 17 And he said unto him, Why callest thou me good?
there is none good but one, that is, God: but if thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments.
19: 18 He saith unto him, Which?
Jesus said, Thou shalt do no murder, Thou shalt not commit adultery, Thou shalt not steal, Thou shalt not bear false witness, 19: 19 Honour thy father and thy mother: and, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.
19: 20 The young man saith unto him, All these things have I kept from my youth up: what lack I yet?
19: 21 Jesus said unto him, If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me.
19: 22 But when the young man heard that saying, he went away sorrowful: for he had great possessions.
19: 23 Then said Jesus unto his disciples, Verily I say unto you, That a rich man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of heaven.
19: 24 And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.
19: 25 When his disciples heard it, they were exceedingly amazed, saying, Who then can be saved?
19: 26 But Jesus beheld them, and said unto them, With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.
19: 27 Then answered Peter and said unto him, Behold, we have forsaken all, and followed thee; what shall we have therefore?
19: 28 And Jesus said unto them, Verily I say unto you, That ye which have followed me, in the regeneration when the Son of man shall sit in the throne of his glory, ye also shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.
19: 29 And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.
19: 30 But many that are first shall be last; and the last shall be first.
20: 1 For the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that is an householder, which went out early in the morning to hire labourers into his vineyard.
20: 2 And when he had agreed with the labourers for a penny a day, he sent them into his vineyard.
20: 3 And he went out about the third hour, and saw others standing idle in the marketplace, 20: 4 And said unto them; Go ye also into the vineyard, and whatsoever is right I will give you.
And they went their way.
20: 5 Again he went out about the sixth and ninth hour, and did likewise.
20: 6 And about the eleventh hour he went out, and found others standing idle, and saith unto them, Why stand ye here all the day idle?
20: 7 They say unto him, Because no man hath hired us.
He saith unto them, Go ye also into the vineyard; and whatsoever is right, that shall ye receive.
20: 8 So when even was come, the lord of the vineyard saith unto his steward, Call the labourers, and give them their hire, beginning from the last unto the first.
20: 9 And when they came that were hired about the eleventh hour, they received every man a penny.
20: 10 But when the first came, they supposed that they should have received more; and they likewise received every man a penny.
20: 11 And when they had received it, they murmured against the goodman of the house, 20: 12 Saying, These last have wrought but one hour, and thou hast made them equal unto us, which have borne the burden and heat of the day.
20: 13 But he answered one of them, and said, Friend, I do thee no wrong: didst not thou agree with me for a penny?
20: 14 Take that thine is, and go thy way: I will give unto this last, even as unto thee.
20: 15 Is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own?
Is thine eye evil, because I am good?
20: 16 So the last shall be first, and the first last: for many be called, but few chosen.
20: 20 Then came to him the mother of Zebedees children with her sons, worshipping him, and desiring a certain thing of him.
20: 21 And he said unto her, What wilt thou?
She saith unto him, Grant that these my two sons may sit, the one on thy right hand, and the other on the left, in thy kingdom.
20: 22 But Jesus answered and said, Ye know not what ye ask.
Are ye able to drink of the cup that I shall drink of, and to be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?
They say unto him, We are able.
20: 23 And he saith unto them, Ye shall drink indeed of my cup, and be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with: but to sit on my right hand, and on my left, is not mine to give, but it shall be given to them for whom it is prepared of my Father.
20: 24 And when the ten heard it, they were moved with indignation against the two brethren.
20: 25 But Jesus called them unto him, and said, Ye know that the princes of the Gentiles exercise dominion over them, and they that are great exercise authority upon them.
20: 29 And as they departed from Jericho, a great multitude followed him.
20: 30 And, behold, two blind men sitting by the way side, when they heard that Jesus passed by, cried out, saying, Have mercy on us, O Lord, thou son of David.
20: 31 And the multitude rebuked them, because they should hold their peace: but they cried the more, saying, Have mercy on us, O Lord, thou son of David.
20: 32 And Jesus stood still, and called them, and said, What will ye that I shall do unto you?
20: 33 They say unto him, Lord, that our eyes may be opened.
20: 34 So Jesus had compassion on them, and touched their eyes: and immediately their eyes received sight, and they followed him.
21: 3 And if any man say ought unto you, ye shall say, The Lord hath need of them; and straightway he will send them.
21: 4 All this was done, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet, saying, 21: 5 Tell ye the daughter of Sion, Behold, thy King cometh unto thee, meek, and sitting upon an ass, and a colt the foal of an ass.
21: 6 And the disciples went, and did as Jesus commanded them, 21: 7 And brought the ass, and the colt, and put on them their clothes, and they set him thereon.
21: 8 And a very great multitude spread their garments in the way; others cut down branches from the trees, and strawed them in the way.
21: 9 And the multitudes that went before, and that followed, cried, saying, Hosanna to the son of David: Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest.
21: 10 And when he was come into Jerusalem, all the city was moved, saying, Who is this?
21: 11 And the multitude said, This is Jesus the prophet of Nazareth of Galilee.
21: 14 And the blind and the lame came to him in the temple; and he healed them.
21: 15 And when the chief priests and scribes saw the wonderful things that he did, and the children crying in the temple, and saying, Hosanna to the son of David; they were sore displeased, 21: 16 And said unto him, Hearest thou what these say?
And Jesus saith unto them, Yea; have ye never read, Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise?
21: 17 And he left them, and went out of the city into Bethany; and he lodged there.
21: 18 Now in the morning as he returned into the city, he hungered.
21: 19 And when he saw a fig tree in the way, he came to it, and found nothing thereon, but leaves only, and said unto it, Let no fruit grow on thee henceforward for ever.
And presently the fig tree withered away.
21: 20 And when the disciples saw it, they marvelled, saying, How soon is the fig tree withered away!
21: 21 Jesus answered and said unto them, Verily I say unto you, If ye have faith, and doubt not, ye shall not only do this which is done to the fig tree, but also if ye shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; it shall be done.
21: 22 And all things, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive.
21: 23 And when he was come into the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came unto him as he was teaching, and said, By what authority doest thou these things?
and who gave thee this authority?
21: 24 And Jesus answered and said unto them, I also will ask you one thing, which if ye tell me, I in like wise will tell you by what authority I do these things.
21: 25 The baptism of John, whence was it?
from heaven, or of men?
And they reasoned with themselves, saying, If we shall say, From heaven; he will say unto us, Why did ye not then believe him?
21: 26 But if we shall say, Of men; we fear the people; for all hold John as a prophet.
21: 27 And they answered Jesus, and said, We cannot tell.
And he said unto them, Neither tell I you by what authority I do these things.
21: 28 But what think ye?
A certain man had two sons; and he came to the first, and said, Son, go work to day in my vineyard.
21: 29 He answered and said, I will not: but afterward he repented, and went.
21: 30 And he came to the second, and said likewise.
And he answered and said, I go, sir: and went not.
21: 31 Whether of them twain did the will of his father?
They say unto him, The first.
Jesus saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That the publicans and the harlots go into the kingdom of God before you.
21: 32 For John came unto you in the way of righteousness, and ye believed him not: but the publicans and the harlots believed him: and ye, when ye had seen it, repented not afterward, that ye might believe him.
21: 35 And the husbandmen took his servants, and beat one, and killed another, and stoned another.
21: 36 Again, he sent other servants more than the first: and they did unto them likewise.
21: 37 But last of all he sent unto them his son, saying, They will reverence my son.
21: 38 But when the husbandmen saw the son, they said among themselves, This is the heir; come, let us kill him, and let us seize on his inheritance.
21: 39 And they caught him, and cast him out of the vineyard, and slew him.
21: 40 When the lord therefore of the vineyard cometh, what will he do unto those husbandmen?
21: 41 They say unto him, He will miserably destroy those wicked men, and will let out his vineyard unto other husbandmen, which shall render him the fruits in their seasons.
21: 42 Jesus saith unto them, Did ye never read in the scriptures, The stone which the builders rejected, the same is become the head of the corner: this is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes?
21: 43 Therefore say I unto you, The kingdom of God shall be taken from you, and given to a nation bringing forth the fruits thereof.
21: 44 And whosoever shall fall on this stone shall be broken: but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder.
21: 45 And when the chief priests and Pharisees had heard his parables, they perceived that he spake of them.
21: 46 But when they sought to lay hands on him, they feared the multitude, because they took him for a prophet.
22: 1 And Jesus answered and spake unto them again by parables, and said, 22: 2 The kingdom of heaven is like unto a certain king, which made a marriage for his son, 22: 3 And sent forth his servants to call them that were bidden to the wedding: and they would not come.
22: 4 Again, he sent forth other servants, saying, Tell them which are bidden, Behold, I have prepared my dinner: my oxen and my fatlings are killed, and all things are ready: come unto the marriage.
22: 5 But they made light of it, and went their ways, one to his farm, another to his merchandise: 22: 6 And the remnant took his servants, and entreated them spitefully, and slew them.
22: 7 But when the king heard thereof, he was wroth: and he sent forth his armies, and destroyed those murderers, and burned up their city.
22: 8 Then saith he to his servants, The wedding is ready, but they which were bidden were not worthy.
22: 9 Go ye therefore into the highways, and as many as ye shall find, bid to the marriage.
22: 10 So those servants went out into the highways, and gathered together all as many as they found, both bad and good: and the wedding was furnished with guests.
22: 11 And when the king came in to see the guests, he saw there a man which had not on a wedding garment: 22: 12 And he saith unto him, Friend, how camest thou in hither not having a wedding garment?
And he was speechless.
22: 13 Then said the king to the servants, Bind him hand and foot, and take him away, and cast him into outer darkness, there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
22: 14 For many are called, but few are chosen.
22: 15 Then went the Pharisees, and took counsel how they might entangle him in his talk.
22: 16 And they sent out unto him their disciples with the Herodians, saying, Master, we know that thou art true, and teachest the way of God in truth, neither carest thou for any man: for thou regardest not the person of men.
22: 17 Tell us therefore, What thinkest thou?
Is it lawful to give tribute unto Caesar, or not?
22: 18 But Jesus perceived their wickedness, and said, Why tempt ye me, ye hypocrites?
22: 19 Shew me the tribute money.
And they brought unto him a penny.
22: 20 And he saith unto them, Whose is this image and superscription?
22: 21 They say unto him, Caesar's.
Then saith he unto them, Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's; and unto God the things that are God's.
22: 22 When they had heard these words, they marvelled, and left him, and went their way.
22: 23 The same day came to him the Sadducees, which say that there is no resurrection, and asked him, 22: 24 Saying, Master, Moses said, If a man die, having no children, his brother shall marry his wife, and raise up seed unto his brother.
22: 25 Now there were with us seven brethren: and the first, when he had married a wife, deceased, and, having no issue, left his wife unto his brother: 22: 26 Likewise the second also, and the third, unto the seventh.
22: 27 And last of all the woman died also.
22: 28 Therefore in the resurrection whose wife shall she be of the seven?
for they all had her.
22: 29 Jesus answered and said unto them, Ye do err, not knowing the scriptures, nor the power of God.
22: 30 For in the resurrection they neither marry, nor are given in marriage, but are as the angels of God in heaven.
22: 31 But as touching the resurrection of the dead, have ye not read that which was spoken unto you by God, saying, 22: 32 I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob?
God is not the God of the dead, but of the living.
22: 33 And when the multitude heard this, they were astonished at his doctrine.
22: 34 But when the Pharisees had heard that he had put the Sadducees to silence, they were gathered together.
22: 35 Then one of them, which was a lawyer, asked him a question, tempting him, and saying, 22: 36 Master, which is the great commandment in the law?
22: 37 Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
22: 38 This is the first and great commandment.
22: 39 And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.
22: 40 On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.
22: 41 While the Pharisees were gathered together, Jesus asked them, 22: 42 Saying, What think ye of Christ?
whose son is he?
They say unto him, The son of David.
22: 43 He saith unto them, How then doth David in spirit call him Lord, saying, 22: 44 The LORD said unto my Lord, Sit thou on my right hand, till I make thine enemies thy footstool?
22: 45 If David then call him Lord, how is he his son?
22: 46 And no man was able to answer him a word, neither durst any man from that day forth ask him any more questions.
23: 1 Then spake Jesus to the multitude, and to his disciples, 23: 2 Saying The scribes and the Pharisees sit in Moses'seat: 23: 3 All therefore whatsoever they bid you observe, that observe and do; but do not ye after their works: for they say, and do not.
23: 4 For they bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men's shoulders; but they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers.
23: 8 But be not ye called Rabbi: for one is your Master, even Christ; and all ye are brethren.
23: 9 And call no man your father upon the earth: for one is your Father, which is in heaven.
23: 10 Neither be ye called masters: for one is your Master, even Christ.
23: 11 But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.
23: 12 And whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased; and he that shall humble himself shall be exalted.
23: 13 But woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!
for ye shut up the kingdom of heaven against men: for ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye them that are entering to go in.
23: 14 Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!
for ye devour widows'houses, and for a pretence make long prayer: therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation.
23: 15 Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!
for ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte, and when he is made, ye make him twofold more the child of hell than yourselves.
23: 16 Woe unto you, ye blind guides, which say, Whosoever shall swear by the temple, it is nothing; but whosoever shall swear by the gold of the temple, he is a debtor!
23: 17 Ye fools and blind: for whether is greater, the gold, or the temple that sanctifieth the gold?
23: 18 And, Whosoever shall swear by the altar, it is nothing; but whosoever sweareth by the gift that is upon it, he is guilty.
23: 19 Ye fools and blind: for whether is greater, the gift, or the altar that sanctifieth the gift?
23: 20 Whoso therefore shall swear by the altar, sweareth by it, and by all things thereon.
23: 21 And whoso shall swear by the temple, sweareth by it, and by him that dwelleth therein.
23: 22 And he that shall swear by heaven, sweareth by the throne of God, and by him that sitteth thereon.
23: 23 Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!
for ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith: these ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone.
23: 24 Ye blind guides, which strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel.
23: 25 Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!
for ye make clean the outside of the cup and of the platter, but within they are full of extortion and excess.
23: 26 Thou blind Pharisee, cleanse first that which is within the cup and platter, that the outside of them may be clean also.
23: 27 Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!
for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of all uncleanness.
23: 28 Even so ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity.
23: 29 Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!
because ye build the tombs of the prophets, and garnish the sepulchres of the righteous, 23: 30 And say, If we had been in the days of our fathers, we would not have been partakers with them in the blood of the prophets.
23: 31 Wherefore ye be witnesses unto yourselves, that ye are the children of them which killed the prophets.
23: 32 Fill ye up then the measure of your fathers.
23: 33 Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell?
23: 36 Verily I say unto you, All these things shall come upon this generation.
23: 37 O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!
23: 38 Behold, your house is left unto you desolate.
23: 39 For I say unto you, Ye shall not see me henceforth, till ye shall say, Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.
24: 1 And Jesus went out, and departed from the temple: and his disciples came to him for to shew him the buildings of the temple.
24: 2 And Jesus said unto them, See ye not all these things?
verily I say unto you, There shall not be left here one stone upon another, that shall not be thrown down.
24: 3 And as he sat upon the mount of Olives, the disciples came unto him privately, saying, Tell us, when shall these things be?
and what shall be the sign of thy coming, and of the end of the world?
24: 4 And Jesus answered and said unto them, Take heed that no man deceive you.
24: 5 For many shall come in my name, saying, I am Christ; and shall deceive many.
24: 6 And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.
24: 7 For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places.
24: 8 All these are the beginning of sorrows.
24: 9 Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted, and shall kill you: and ye shall be hated of all nations for my name's sake.
24: 10 And then shall many be offended, and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another.
24: 11 And many false prophets shall rise, and shall deceive many.
24: 12 And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold.
24: 13 But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.
24: 14 And this gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come.
24: 19 And woe unto them that are with child, and to them that give suck in those days!
24: 20 But pray ye that your flight be not in the winter, neither on the sabbath day: 24: 21 For then shall be great tribulation, such as was not since the beginning of the world to this time, no, nor ever shall be.
24: 22 And except those days should be shortened, there should no flesh be saved: but for the elect's sake those days shall be shortened.
24: 23 Then if any man shall say unto you, Lo, here is Christ, or there; believe it not.
24: 24 For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect.
24: 25 Behold, I have told you before.
24: 26 Wherefore if they shall say unto you, Behold, he is in the desert; go not forth: behold, he is in the secret chambers; believe it not.
24: 27 For as the lightning cometh out of the east, and shineth even unto the west; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be.
24: 28 For wheresoever the carcase is, there will the eagles be gathered together.
24: 31 And he shall send his angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather together his elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other.
24: 32 Now learn a parable of the fig tree; When his branch is yet tender, and putteth forth leaves, ye know that summer is nigh: 24: 33 So likewise ye, when ye shall see all these things, know that it is near, even at the doors.
24: 34 Verily I say unto you, This generation shall not pass, till all these things be fulfilled.
24: 35 Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away.
24: 36 But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only.
24: 37 But as the days of Noe were, so shall also the coming of the Son of man be.
24: 38 For as in the days that were before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noe entered into the ark, 24: 39 And knew not until the flood came, and took them all away; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be.
24: 40 Then shall two be in the field; the one shall be taken, and the other left.
24: 41 Two women shall be grinding at the mill; the one shall be taken, and the other left.
24: 42 Watch therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come.
24: 43 But know this, that if the goodman of the house had known in what watch the thief would come, he would have watched, and would not have suffered his house to be broken up.
24: 44 Therefore be ye also ready: for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.
24: 45 Who then is a faithful and wise servant, whom his lord hath made ruler over his household, to give them meat in due season?
24: 46 Blessed is that servant, whom his lord when he cometh shall find so doing.
24: 47 Verily I say unto you, That he shall make him ruler over all his goods.
25: 1 Then shall the kingdom of heaven be likened unto ten virgins, which took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom.
25: 2 And five of them were wise, and five were foolish.
25: 3 They that were foolish took their lamps, and took no oil with them: 25: 4 But the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps.
25: 5 While the bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept.
25: 6 And at midnight there was a cry made, Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him.
25: 7 Then all those virgins arose, and trimmed their lamps.
25: 8 And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out.
25: 9 But the wise answered, saying, Not so; lest there be not enough for us and you: but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves.
25: 10 And while they went to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that were ready went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut.
25: 11 Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to us.
25: 12 But he answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you not.
25: 13 Watch therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh.
25: 14 For the kingdom of heaven is as a man travelling into a far country, who called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods.
25: 15 And unto one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one; to every man according to his several ability; and straightway took his journey.
25: 16 Then he that had received the five talents went and traded with the same, and made them other five talents.
25: 17 And likewise he that had received two, he also gained other two.
25: 18 But he that had received one went and digged in the earth, and hid his lord's money.
25: 19 After a long time the lord of those servants cometh, and reckoneth with them.
25: 20 And so he that had received five talents came and brought other five talents, saying, Lord, thou deliveredst unto me five talents: behold, I have gained beside them five talents more.
25: 21 His lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.
25: 22 He also that had received two talents came and said, Lord, thou deliveredst unto me two talents: behold, I have gained two other talents beside them.
25: 23 His lord said unto him, Well done, good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.
25: 28 Take therefore the talent from him, and give it unto him which hath ten talents.
25: 29 For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath.
25: 30 And cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
25: 37 Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee?
or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
25: 38 When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in?
or naked, and clothed thee?
25: 39 Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
25: 40 And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
25: 44 Then shall they also answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee?
25: 45 Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.
25: 46 And these shall go away into everlasting punishment: but the righteous into life eternal.
26: 1 And it came to pass, when Jesus had finished all these sayings, he said unto his disciples, 26: 2 Ye know that after two days is the feast of the passover, and the Son of man is betrayed to be crucified.
26: 3 Then assembled together the chief priests, and the scribes, and the elders of the people, unto the palace of the high priest, who was called Caiaphas, 26: 4 And consulted that they might take Jesus by subtilty, and kill him.
26: 5 But they said, Not on the feast day, lest there be an uproar among the people.
26: 6 Now when Jesus was in Bethany, in the house of Simon the leper, 26: 7 There came unto him a woman having an alabaster box of very precious ointment, and poured it on his head, as he sat at meat.
26: 8 But when his disciples saw it, they had indignation, saying, To what purpose is this waste?
26: 9 For this ointment might have been sold for much, and given to the poor.
26: 10 When Jesus understood it, he said unto them, Why trouble ye the woman?
for she hath wrought a good work upon me.
26: 11 For ye have the poor always with you; but me ye have not always.
26: 12 For in that she hath poured this ointment on my body, she did it for my burial.
26: 13 Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done, be told for a memorial of her.
26: 14 Then one of the twelve, called Judas Iscariot, went unto the chief priests, 26: 15 And said unto them, What will ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you?
And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver.
26: 16 And from that time he sought opportunity to betray him.
26: 17 Now the first day of the feast of unleavened bread the disciples came to Jesus, saying unto him, Where wilt thou that we prepare for thee to eat the passover?
26: 18 And he said, Go into the city to such a man, and say unto him, The Master saith, My time is at hand; I will keep the passover at thy house with my disciples.
26: 19 And the disciples did as Jesus had appointed them; and they made ready the passover.
26: 20 Now when the even was come, he sat down with the twelve.
26: 21 And as they did eat, he said, Verily I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me.
26: 22 And they were exceeding sorrowful, and began every one of them to say unto him, Lord, is it I?
26: 23 And he answered and said, He that dippeth his hand with me in the dish, the same shall betray me.
26: 24 The Son of man goeth as it is written of him: but woe unto that man by whom the Son of man is betrayed!
it had been good for that man if he had not been born.
26: 25 Then Judas, which betrayed him, answered and said, Master, is it I?
He said unto him, Thou hast said.
26: 26 And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body.
26: 27 And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it; 26: 28 For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.
26: 29 But I say unto you, I will not drink henceforth of this fruit of the vine, until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father's kingdom.
26: 30 And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the mount of Olives.
26: 31 Then saith Jesus unto them, All ye shall be offended because of me this night: for it is written, I will smite the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock shall be scattered abroad.
26: 32 But after I am risen again, I will go before you into Galilee.
26: 33 Peter answered and said unto him, Though all men shall be offended because of thee, yet will I never be offended.
26: 34 Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, That this night, before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice.
26: 35 Peter said unto him, Though I should die with thee, yet will I not deny thee.
Likewise also said all the disciples.
26: 36 Then cometh Jesus with them unto a place called Gethsemane, and saith unto the disciples, Sit ye here, while I go and pray yonder.
26: 37 And he took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and very heavy.
26: 38 Then saith he unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me.
26: 39 And he went a little farther, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.
26: 40 And he cometh unto the disciples, and findeth them asleep, and saith unto Peter, What, could ye not watch with me one hour?
26: 41 Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.
26: 42 He went away again the second time, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done.
26: 43 And he came and found them asleep again: for their eyes were heavy.
26: 44 And he left them, and went away again, and prayed the third time, saying the same words.
26: 45 Then cometh he to his disciples, and saith unto them, Sleep on now, and take your rest: behold, the hour is at hand, and the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners.
26: 46 Rise, let us be going: behold, he is at hand that doth betray me.
26: 47 And while he yet spake, lo, Judas, one of the twelve, came, and with him a great multitude with swords and staves, from the chief priests and elders of the people.
26: 48 Now he that betrayed him gave them a sign, saying, Whomsoever I shall kiss, that same is he: hold him fast.
26: 49 And forthwith he came to Jesus, and said, Hail, master; and kissed him.
26: 50 And Jesus said unto him, Friend, wherefore art thou come?
Then came they, and laid hands on Jesus and took him.
26: 51 And, behold, one of them which were with Jesus stretched out his hand, and drew his sword, and struck a servant of the high priest's, and smote off his ear.
26: 52 Then said Jesus unto him, Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.
26: 53 Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels?
26: 54 But how then shall the scriptures be fulfilled, that thus it must be?
26: 55 In that same hour said Jesus to the multitudes, Are ye come out as against a thief with swords and staves for to take me?
I sat daily with you teaching in the temple, and ye laid no hold on me.
26: 56 But all this was done, that the scriptures of the prophets might be fulfilled.
Then all the disciples forsook him, and fled.
26: 57 And they that had laid hold on Jesus led him away to Caiaphas the high priest, where the scribes and the elders were assembled.
26: 58 But Peter followed him afar off unto the high priest's palace, and went in, and sat with the servants, to see the end.
26: 59 Now the chief priests, and elders, and all the council, sought false witness against Jesus, to put him to death; 26: 60 But found none: yea, though many false witnesses came, yet found they none.
At the last came two false witnesses, 26: 61 And said, This fellow said, I am able to destroy the temple of God, and to build it in three days.
26: 62 And the high priest arose, and said unto him, Answerest thou nothing?
what is it which these witness against thee?
26: 63 But Jesus held his peace, And the high priest answered and said unto him, I adjure thee by the living God, that thou tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of God.
26: 64 Jesus saith unto him, Thou hast said: nevertheless I say unto you, Hereafter shall ye see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven.
26: 65 Then the high priest rent his clothes, saying, He hath spoken blasphemy; what further need have we of witnesses?
behold, now ye have heard his blasphemy.
26: 66 What think ye?
They answered and said, He is guilty of death.
26: 67 Then did they spit in his face, and buffeted him; and others smote him with the palms of their hands, 26: 68 Saying, Prophesy unto us, thou Christ, Who is he that smote thee?
26: 69 Now Peter sat without in the palace: and a damsel came unto him, saying, Thou also wast with Jesus of Galilee.
26: 70 But he denied before them all, saying, I know not what thou sayest.
26: 71 And when he was gone out into the porch, another maid saw him, and said unto them that were there, This fellow was also with Jesus of Nazareth.
26: 72 And again he denied with an oath, I do not know the man.
26: 73 And after a while came unto him they that stood by, and said to Peter, Surely thou also art one of them; for thy speech bewrayeth thee.
26: 74 Then began he to curse and to swear, saying, I know not the man.
And immediately the cock crew.
26: 75 And Peter remembered the word of Jesus, which said unto him, Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice.
And he went out, and wept bitterly.
27: 1 When the morning was come, all the chief priests and elders of the people took counsel against Jesus to put him to death: 27: 2 And when they had bound him, they led him away, and delivered him to Pontius Pilate the governor.
27: 3 Then Judas, which had betrayed him, when he saw that he was condemned, repented himself, and brought again the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders, 27: 4 Saying, I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood.
And they said, What is that to us?
see thou to that.
27: 5 And he cast down the pieces of silver in the temple, and departed, and went and hanged himself.
27: 6 And the chief priests took the silver pieces, and said, It is not lawful for to put them into the treasury, because it is the price of blood.
27: 7 And they took counsel, and bought with them the potter's field, to bury strangers in.
27: 8 Wherefore that field was called, The field of blood, unto this day.
27: 9 Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by Jeremy the prophet, saying, And they took the thirty pieces of silver, the price of him that was valued, whom they of the children of Israel did value; 27: 10 And gave them for the potter's field, as the Lord appointed me.
27: 11 And Jesus stood before the governor: and the governor asked him, saying, Art thou the King of the Jews?
And Jesus said unto him, Thou sayest.
27: 12 And when he was accused of the chief priests and elders, he answered nothing.
27: 13 Then said Pilate unto him, Hearest thou not how many things they witness against thee?
27: 14 And he answered him to never a word; insomuch that the governor marvelled greatly.
27: 15 Now at that feast the governor was wont to release unto the people a prisoner, whom they would.
27: 16 And they had then a notable prisoner, called Barabbas.
27: 17 Therefore when they were gathered together, Pilate said unto them, Whom will ye that I release unto you?
Barabbas, or Jesus which is called Christ?
27: 18 For he knew that for envy they had delivered him.
27: 19 When he was set down on the judgment seat, his wife sent unto him, saying, Have thou nothing to do with that just man: for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him.
27: 20 But the chief priests and elders persuaded the multitude that they should ask Barabbas, and destroy Jesus.
27: 21 The governor answered and said unto them, Whether of the twain will ye that I release unto you?
They said, Barabbas.
27: 22 Pilate saith unto them, What shall I do then with Jesus which is called Christ?
They all say unto him, Let him be crucified.
27: 23 And the governor said, Why, what evil hath he done?
But they cried out the more, saying, Let him be crucified.
27: 24 When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it.
27: 25 Then answered all the people, and said, His blood be on us, and on our children.
27: 26 Then released he Barabbas unto them: and when he had scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified.
27: 27 Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the common hall, and gathered unto him the whole band of soldiers.
27: 28 And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe.
27: 29 And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews!
27: 30 And they spit upon him, and took the reed, and smote him on the head.
27: 31 And after that they had mocked him, they took the robe off from him, and put his own raiment on him, and led him away to crucify him.
27: 32 And as they came out, they found a man of Cyrene, Simon by name: him they compelled to bear his cross.
27: 33 And when they were come unto a place called Golgotha, that is to say, a place of a skull, 27: 34 They gave him vinegar to drink mingled with gall: and when he had tasted thereof, he would not drink.
27: 35 And they crucified him, and parted his garments, casting lots: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet, They parted my garments among them, and upon my vesture did they cast lots.
27: 36 And sitting down they watched him there; 27: 37 And set up over his head his accusation written, THIS IS JESUS THE KING OF THE JEWS.
27: 38 Then were there two thieves crucified with him, one on the right hand, and another on the left.
27: 39 And they that passed by reviled him, wagging their heads, 27: 40 And saying, Thou that destroyest the temple, and buildest it in three days, save thyself.
If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross.
27: 41 Likewise also the chief priests mocking him, with the scribes and elders, said, 27: 42 He saved others; himself he cannot save.
If he be the King of Israel, let him now come down from the cross, and we will believe him.
27: 43 He trusted in God; let him deliver him now, if he will have him: for he said, I am the Son of God.
27: 44 The thieves also, which were crucified with him, cast the same in his teeth.
27: 45 Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land unto the ninth hour.
27: 46 And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?
that is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
27: 47 Some of them that stood there, when they heard that, said, This man calleth for Elias.
27: 48 And straightway one of them ran, and took a spunge, and filled it with vinegar, and put it on a reed, and gave him to drink.
27: 49 The rest said, Let be, let us see whether Elias will come to save him.
27: 50 Jesus, when he had cried again with a loud voice, yielded up the ghost.
27: 54 Now when the centurion, and they that were with him, watching Jesus, saw the earthquake, and those things that were done, they feared greatly, saying, Truly this was the Son of God.
27: 55 And many women were there beholding afar off, which followed Jesus from Galilee, ministering unto him: 27: 56 Among which was Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of Zebedees children.
27: 57 When the even was come, there came a rich man of Arimathaea, named Joseph, who also himself was Jesus'disciple: 27: 58 He went to Pilate, and begged the body of Jesus.
Then Pilate commanded the body to be delivered.
27: 59 And when Joseph had taken the body, he wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, 27: 60 And laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock: and he rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulchre, and departed.
27: 61 And there was Mary Magdalene, and the other Mary, sitting over against the sepulchre.
27: 62 Now the next day, that followed the day of the preparation, the chief priests and Pharisees came together unto Pilate, 27: 63 Saying, Sir, we remember that that deceiver said, while he was yet alive, After three days I will rise again.
27: 64 Command therefore that the sepulchre be made sure until the third day, lest his disciples come by night, and steal him away, and say unto the people, He is risen from the dead: so the last error shall be worse than the first.
27: 65 Pilate said unto them, Ye have a watch: go your way, make it as sure as ye can.
27: 66 So they went, and made the sepulchre sure, sealing the stone, and setting a watch.
28: 1 In the end of the sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulchre.
28: 2 And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it.
28: 3 His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow: 28: 4 And for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as dead men.
28: 5 And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified.
28: 6 He is not here: for he is risen, as he said.
Come, see the place where the Lord lay.
28: 7 And go quickly, and tell his disciples that he is risen from the dead; and, behold, he goeth before you into Galilee; there shall ye see him: lo, I have told you.
28: 8 And they departed quickly from the sepulchre with fear and great joy; and did run to bring his disciples word.
28: 9 And as they went to tell his disciples, behold, Jesus met them, saying, All hail.
And they came and held him by the feet, and worshipped him.
28: 10 Then said Jesus unto them, Be not afraid: go tell my brethren that they go into Galilee, and there shall they see me.
28: 11 Now when they were going, behold, some of the watch came into the city, and shewed unto the chief priests all the things that were done.
28: 12 And when they were assembled with the elders, and had taken counsel, they gave large money unto the soldiers, 28: 13 Saying, Say ye, His disciples came by night, and stole him away while we slept.
28: 14 And if this come to the governor's ears, we will persuade him, and secure you.
28: 15 So they took the money, and did as they were taught: and this saying is commonly reported among the Jews until this day.
28: 16 Then the eleven disciples went away into Galilee, into a mountain where Jesus had appointed them.
28: 17 And when they saw him, they worshipped him: but some doubted.
28: 18 And Jesus came and spake unto them, saying, All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth.
28: 19 Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: 28: 20 Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.
Amen.
The Gospel According to Saint Mark
1: 1 The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God; 1: 2 As it is written in the prophets, Behold, I send my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare thy way before thee.
1: 3 The voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.
1: 4 John did baptize in the wilderness, and preach the baptism of repentance for the remission of sins.
1: 5 And there went out unto him all the land of Judaea, and they of Jerusalem, and were all baptized of him in the river of Jordan, confessing their sins.
1: 6 And John was clothed with camel's hair, and with a girdle of a skin about his loins; and he did eat locusts and wild honey; 1: 7 And preached, saying, There cometh one mightier than I after me, the latchet of whose shoes I am not worthy to stoop down and unloose.
1: 8 I indeed have baptized you with water: but he shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost.
1: 9 And it came to pass in those days, that Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee, and was baptized of John in Jordan.
1: 10 And straightway coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens opened, and the Spirit like a dove descending upon him: 1: 11 And there came a voice from heaven, saying, Thou art my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.
1: 12 And immediately the spirit driveth him into the wilderness.
1: 13 And he was there in the wilderness forty days, tempted of Satan; and was with the wild beasts; and the angels ministered unto him.
1: 14 Now after that John was put in prison, Jesus came into Galilee, preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God, 1: 15 And saying, The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand: repent ye, and believe the gospel.
1: 16 Now as he walked by the sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and Andrew his brother casting a net into the sea: for they were fishers.
1: 17 And Jesus said unto them, Come ye after me, and I will make you to become fishers of men.
1: 18 And straightway they forsook their nets, and followed him.
1: 19 And when he had gone a little farther thence, he saw James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother, who also were in the ship mending their nets.
1: 20 And straightway he called them: and they left their father Zebedee in the ship with the hired servants, and went after him.
1: 21 And they went into Capernaum; and straightway on the sabbath day he entered into the synagogue, and taught.
1: 22 And they were astonished at his doctrine: for he taught them as one that had authority, and not as the scribes.
1: 23 And there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit; and he cried out, 1: 24 Saying, Let us alone; what have we to do with thee, thou Jesus of Nazareth?
art thou come to destroy us?
I know thee who thou art, the Holy One of God.
1: 25 And Jesus rebuked him, saying, Hold thy peace, and come out of him.
1: 26 And when the unclean spirit had torn him, and cried with a loud voice, he came out of him.
1: 27 And they were all amazed, insomuch that they questioned among themselves, saying, What thing is this?
what new doctrine is this?
for with authority commandeth he even the unclean spirits, and they do obey him.
1: 28 And immediately his fame spread abroad throughout all the region round about Galilee.
1: 29 And forthwith, when they were come out of the synagogue, they entered into the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John.
1: 30 But Simon's wife's mother lay sick of a fever, and anon they tell him of her.
1: 31 And he came and took her by the hand, and lifted her up; and immediately the fever left her, and she ministered unto them.
1: 32 And at even, when the sun did set, they brought unto him all that were diseased, and them that were possessed with devils.
1: 33 And all the city was gathered together at the door.
1: 34 And he healed many that were sick of divers diseases, and cast out many devils; and suffered not the devils to speak, because they knew him.
1: 35 And in the morning, rising up a great while before day, he went out, and departed into a solitary place, and there prayed.
1: 36 And Simon and they that were with him followed after him.
1: 37 And when they had found him, they said unto him, All men seek for thee.
1: 38 And he said unto them, Let us go into the next towns, that I may preach there also: for therefore came I forth.
1: 39 And he preached in their synagogues throughout all Galilee, and cast out devils.
1: 40 And there came a leper to him, beseeching him, and kneeling down to him, and saying unto him, If thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.
1: 41 And Jesus, moved with compassion, put forth his hand, and touched him, and saith unto him, I will; be thou clean.
1: 42 And as soon as he had spoken, immediately the leprosy departed from him, and he was cleansed.
1: 43 And he straitly charged him, and forthwith sent him away; 1: 44 And saith unto him, See thou say nothing to any man: but go thy way, shew thyself to the priest, and offer for thy cleansing those things which Moses commanded, for a testimony unto them.
1: 45 But he went out, and began to publish it much, and to blaze abroad the matter, insomuch that Jesus could no more openly enter into the city, but was without in desert places: and they came to him from every quarter.
2: 1 And again he entered into Capernaum after some days; and it was noised that he was in the house.
2: 2 And straightway many were gathered together, insomuch that there was no room to receive them, no, not so much as about the door: and he preached the word unto them.
2: 3 And they come unto him, bringing one sick of the palsy, which was borne of four.
2: 4 And when they could not come nigh unto him for the press, they uncovered the roof where he was: and when they had broken it up, they let down the bed wherein the sick of the palsy lay.
2: 5 When Jesus saw their faith, he said unto the sick of the palsy, Son, thy sins be forgiven thee.
2: 6 But there was certain of the scribes sitting there, and reasoning in their hearts, 2: 7 Why doth this man thus speak blasphemies?
who can forgive sins but God only?
2: 8 And immediately when Jesus perceived in his spirit that they so reasoned within themselves, he said unto them, Why reason ye these things in your hearts?
2: 9 Whether is it easier to say to the sick of the palsy, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and take up thy bed, and walk?
2: 10 But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (he saith to the sick of the palsy,) 2: 11 I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy bed, and go thy way into thine house.
2: 12 And immediately he arose, took up the bed, and went forth before them all; insomuch that they were all amazed, and glorified God, saying, We never saw it on this fashion.
2: 13 And he went forth again by the sea side; and all the multitude resorted unto him, and he taught them.
2: 14 And as he passed by, he saw Levi the son of Alphaeus sitting at the receipt of custom, and said unto him, Follow me.
And he arose and followed him.
2: 15 And it came to pass, that, as Jesus sat at meat in his house, many publicans and sinners sat also together with Jesus and his disciples: for there were many, and they followed him.
2: 16 And when the scribes and Pharisees saw him eat with publicans and sinners, they said unto his disciples, How is it that he eateth and drinketh with publicans and sinners?
2: 17 When Jesus heard it, he saith unto them, They that are whole have no need of the physician, but they that are sick: I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.
2: 18 And the disciples of John and of the Pharisees used to fast: and they come and say unto him, Why do the disciples of John and of the Pharisees fast, but thy disciples fast not?
2: 19 And Jesus said unto them, Can the children of the bridechamber fast, while the bridegroom is with them?
as long as they have the bridegroom with them, they cannot fast.
2: 20 But the days will come, when the bridegroom shall be taken away from them, and then shall they fast in those days.
2: 21 No man also seweth a piece of new cloth on an old garment: else the new piece that filled it up taketh away from the old, and the rent is made worse.
2: 22 And no man putteth new wine into old bottles: else the new wine doth burst the bottles, and the wine is spilled, and the bottles will be marred: but new wine must be put into new bottles.
2: 23 And it came to pass, that he went through the corn fields on the sabbath day; and his disciples began, as they went, to pluck the ears of corn.
2: 24 And the Pharisees said unto him, Behold, why do they on the sabbath day that which is not lawful?
2: 25 And he said unto them, Have ye never read what David did, when he had need, and was an hungred, he, and they that were with him?
2: 26 How he went into the house of God in the days of Abiathar the high priest, and did eat the shewbread, which is not lawful to eat but for the priests, and gave also to them which were with him?
2: 27 And he said unto them, The sabbath was made for man, and not man for the sabbath: 2: 28 Therefore the Son of man is Lord also of the sabbath.
3: 1 And he entered again into the synagogue; and there was a man there which had a withered hand.
3: 2 And they watched him, whether he would heal him on the sabbath day; that they might accuse him.
3: 3 And he saith unto the man which had the withered hand, Stand forth.
3: 4 And he saith unto them, Is it lawful to do good on the sabbath days, or to do evil?
to save life, or to kill?
But they held their peace.
3: 5 And when he had looked round about on them with anger, being grieved for the hardness of their hearts, he saith unto the man, Stretch forth thine hand.
And he stretched it out: and his hand was restored whole as the other.
3: 6 And the Pharisees went forth, and straightway took counsel with the Herodians against him, how they might destroy him.
3: 9 And he spake to his disciples, that a small ship should wait on him because of the multitude, lest they should throng him.
3: 10 For he had healed many; insomuch that they pressed upon him for to touch him, as many as had plagues.
3: 11 And unclean spirits, when they saw him, fell down before him, and cried, saying, Thou art the Son of God.
3: 12 And he straitly charged them that they should not make him known.
3: 13 And he goeth up into a mountain, and calleth unto him whom he would: and they came unto him.
3: 20 And the multitude cometh together again, so that they could not so much as eat bread.
3: 21 And when his friends heard of it, they went out to lay hold on him: for they said, He is beside himself.
3: 22 And the scribes which came down from Jerusalem said, He hath Beelzebub, and by the prince of the devils casteth he out devils.
3: 23 And he called them unto him, and said unto them in parables, How can Satan cast out Satan?
3: 24 And if a kingdom be divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand.
3: 25 And if a house be divided against itself, that house cannot stand.
3: 26 And if Satan rise up against himself, and be divided, he cannot stand, but hath an end.
3: 27 No man can enter into a strong man's house, and spoil his goods, except he will first bind the strong man; and then he will spoil his house.
3: 28 Verily I say unto you, All sins shall be forgiven unto the sons of men, and blasphemies wherewith soever they shall blaspheme: 3: 29 But he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation.
3: 30 Because they said, He hath an unclean spirit.
3: 31 There came then his brethren and his mother, and, standing without, sent unto him, calling him.
3: 32 And the multitude sat about him, and they said unto him, Behold, thy mother and thy brethren without seek for thee.
3: 33 And he answered them, saying, Who is my mother, or my brethren?
3: 34 And he looked round about on them which sat about him, and said, Behold my mother and my brethren!
3: 35 For whosoever shall do the will of God, the same is my brother, and my sister, and mother.
4: 1 And he began again to teach by the sea side: and there was gathered unto him a great multitude, so that he entered into a ship, and sat in the sea; and the whole multitude was by the sea on the land.
4: 2 And he taught them many things by parables, and said unto them in his doctrine, 4: 3 Hearken; Behold, there went out a sower to sow: 4: 4 And it came to pass, as he sowed, some fell by the way side, and the fowls of the air came and devoured it up.
4: 5 And some fell on stony ground, where it had not much earth; and immediately it sprang up, because it had no depth of earth: 4: 6 But when the sun was up, it was scorched; and because it had no root, it withered away.
4: 7 And some fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up, and choked it, and it yielded no fruit.
4: 8 And other fell on good ground, and did yield fruit that sprang up and increased; and brought forth, some thirty, and some sixty, and some an hundred.
4: 9 And he said unto them, He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.
4: 10 And when he was alone, they that were about him with the twelve asked of him the parable.
4: 13 And he said unto them, Know ye not this parable?
and how then will ye know all parables?
4: 14 The sower soweth the word.
4: 15 And these are they by the way side, where the word is sown; but when they have heard, Satan cometh immediately, and taketh away the word that was sown in their hearts.
4: 18 And these are they which are sown among thorns; such as hear the word, 4: 19 And the cares of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches, and the lusts of other things entering in, choke the word, and it becometh unfruitful.
4: 20 And these are they which are sown on good ground; such as hear the word, and receive it, and bring forth fruit, some thirtyfold, some sixty, and some an hundred.
4: 21 And he said unto them, Is a candle brought to be put under a bushel, or under a bed?
and not to be set on a candlestick?
4: 22 For there is nothing hid, which shall not be manifested; neither was any thing kept secret, but that it should come abroad.
4: 23 If any man have ears to hear, let him hear.
4: 24 And he said unto them, Take heed what ye hear: with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you: and unto you that hear shall more be given.
4: 25 For he that hath, to him shall be given: and he that hath not, from him shall be taken even that which he hath.
4: 26 And he said, So is the kingdom of God, as if a man should cast seed into the ground; 4: 27 And should sleep, and rise night and day, and the seed should spring and grow up, he knoweth not how.
4: 28 For the earth bringeth forth fruit of herself; first the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear.
4: 29 But when the fruit is brought forth, immediately he putteth in the sickle, because the harvest is come.
4: 30 And he said, Whereunto shall we liken the kingdom of God?
or with what comparison shall we compare it?
4: 33 And with many such parables spake he the word unto them, as they were able to hear it.
4: 34 But without a parable spake he not unto them: and when they were alone, he expounded all things to his disciples.
4: 35 And the same day, when the even was come, he saith unto them, Let us pass over unto the other side.
4: 36 And when they had sent away the multitude, they took him even as he was in the ship.
And there were also with him other little ships.
4: 37 And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full.
4: 38 And he was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow: and they awake him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not that we perish?
4: 39 And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still.
And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.
4: 40 And he said unto them, Why are ye so fearful?
how is it that ye have no faith?
4: 41 And they feared exceedingly, and said one to another, What manner of man is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?
5: 1 And they came over unto the other side of the sea, into the country of the Gadarenes.
5: 5 And always, night and day, he was in the mountains, and in the tombs, crying, and cutting himself with stones.
5: 6 But when he saw Jesus afar off, he ran and worshipped him, 5: 7 And cried with a loud voice, and said, What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of the most high God?
I adjure thee by God, that thou torment me not.
5: 8 For he said unto him, Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit.
5: 9 And he asked him, What is thy name?
And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many.
5: 10 And he besought him much that he would not send them away out of the country.
5: 11 Now there was there nigh unto the mountains a great herd of swine feeding.
5: 12 And all the devils besought him, saying, Send us into the swine, that we may enter into them.
5: 13 And forthwith Jesus gave them leave.
And the unclean spirits went out, and entered into the swine: and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea, (they were about two thousand;) and were choked in the sea.
5: 14 And they that fed the swine fled, and told it in the city, and in the country.
And they went out to see what it was that was done.
5: 15 And they come to Jesus, and see him that was possessed with the devil, and had the legion, sitting, and clothed, and in his right mind: and they were afraid.
5: 16 And they that saw it told them how it befell to him that was possessed with the devil, and also concerning the swine.
5: 17 And they began to pray him to depart out of their coasts.
5: 18 And when he was come into the ship, he that had been possessed with the devil prayed him that he might be with him.
5: 19 Howbeit Jesus suffered him not, but saith unto him, Go home to thy friends, and tell them how great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion on thee.
5: 20 And he departed, and began to publish in Decapolis how great things Jesus had done for him: and all men did marvel.
5: 21 And when Jesus was passed over again by ship unto the other side, much people gathered unto him: and he was nigh unto the sea.
5: 24 And Jesus went with him; and much people followed him, and thronged him.
5: 28 For she said, If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole.
5: 29 And straightway the fountain of her blood was dried up; and she felt in her body that she was healed of that plague.
5: 30 And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him, turned him about in the press, and said, Who touched my clothes?
5: 31 And his disciples said unto him, Thou seest the multitude thronging thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me?
5: 32 And he looked round about to see her that had done this thing.
5: 33 But the woman fearing and trembling, knowing what was done in her, came and fell down before him, and told him all the truth.
5: 34 And he said unto her, Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague.
5: 35 While he yet spake, there came from the ruler of the synagogue's house certain which said, Thy daughter is dead: why troublest thou the Master any further?
5: 36 As soon as Jesus heard the word that was spoken, he saith unto the ruler of the synagogue, Be not afraid, only believe.
5: 37 And he suffered no man to follow him, save Peter, and James, and John the brother of James.
5: 38 And he cometh to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and seeth the tumult, and them that wept and wailed greatly.
5: 39 And when he was come in, he saith unto them, Why make ye this ado, and weep?
the damsel is not dead, but sleepeth.
5: 40 And they laughed him to scorn.
But when he had put them all out, he taketh the father and the mother of the damsel, and them that were with him, and entereth in where the damsel was lying.
5: 41 And he took the damsel by the hand, and said unto her, Talitha cumi; which is, being interpreted, Damsel, I say unto thee, arise.
5: 42 And straightway the damsel arose, and walked; for she was of the age of twelve years.
And they were astonished with a great astonishment.
5: 43 And he charged them straitly that no man should know it; and commanded that something should be given her to eat.
6: 1 And he went out from thence, and came into his own country; and his disciples follow him.
6: 2 And when the sabbath day was come, he began to teach in the synagogue: and many hearing him were astonished, saying, From whence hath this man these things?
and what wisdom is this which is given unto him, that even such mighty works are wrought by his hands?
6: 3 Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary, the brother of James, and Joses, and of Juda, and Simon?
and are not his sisters here with us?
And they were offended at him.
6: 4 But Jesus, said unto them, A prophet is not without honour, but in his own country, and among his own kin, and in his own house.
6: 5 And he could there do no mighty work, save that he laid his hands upon a few sick folk, and healed them.
6: 6 And he marvelled because of their unbelief.
And he went round about the villages, teaching.
6: 10 And he said unto them, In what place soever ye enter into an house, there abide till ye depart from that place.
6: 11 And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear you, when ye depart thence, shake off the dust under your feet for a testimony against them.
Verily I say unto you, It shall be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrha in the day of judgment, than for that city.
6: 12 And they went out, and preached that men should repent.
6: 13 And they cast out many devils, and anointed with oil many that were sick, and healed them.
6: 14 And king Herod heard of him; (for his name was spread abroad:) and he said, That John the Baptist was risen from the dead, and therefore mighty works do shew forth themselves in him.
6: 15 Others said, That it is Elias.
And others said, That it is a prophet, or as one of the prophets.
6: 16 But when Herod heard thereof, he said, It is John, whom I beheaded: he is risen from the dead.
6: 17 For Herod himself had sent forth and laid hold upon John, and bound him in prison for Herodias'sake, his brother Philip's wife: for he had married her.
6: 18 For John had said unto Herod, It is not lawful for thee to have thy brother's wife.
6: 19 Therefore Herodias had a quarrel against him, and would have killed him; but she could not: 6: 20 For Herod feared John, knowing that he was a just man and an holy, and observed him; and when he heard him, he did many things, and heard him gladly.
6: 23 And he sware unto her, Whatsoever thou shalt ask of me, I will give it thee, unto the half of my kingdom.
6: 24 And she went forth, and said unto her mother, What shall I ask?
And she said, The head of John the Baptist.
6: 25 And she came in straightway with haste unto the king, and asked, saying, I will that thou give me by and by in a charger the head of John the Baptist.
6: 26 And the king was exceeding sorry; yet for his oath's sake, and for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her.
6: 27 And immediately the king sent an executioner, and commanded his head to be brought: and he went and beheaded him in the prison, 6: 28 And brought his head in a charger, and gave it to the damsel: and the damsel gave it to her mother.
6: 29 And when his disciples heard of it, they came and took up his corpse, and laid it in a tomb.
6: 30 And the apostles gathered themselves together unto Jesus, and told him all things, both what they had done, and what they had taught.
6: 31 And he said unto them, Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while: for there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat.
6: 32 And they departed into a desert place by ship privately.
6: 33 And the people saw them departing, and many knew him, and ran afoot thither out of all cities, and outwent them, and came together unto him.
6: 34 And Jesus, when he came out, saw much people, and was moved with compassion toward them, because they were as sheep not having a shepherd: and he began to teach them many things.
6: 37 He answered and said unto them, Give ye them to eat.
And they say unto him, Shall we go and buy two hundred pennyworth of bread, and give them to eat?
6: 38 He saith unto them, How many loaves have ye?
go and see.
And when they knew, they say, Five, and two fishes.
6: 39 And he commanded them to make all sit down by companies upon the green grass.
6: 40 And they sat down in ranks, by hundreds, and by fifties.
6: 41 And when he had taken the five loaves and the two fishes, he looked up to heaven, and blessed, and brake the loaves, and gave them to his disciples to set before them; and the two fishes divided he among them all.
6: 42 And they did all eat, and were filled.
6: 43 And they took up twelve baskets full of the fragments, and of the fishes.
6: 44 And they that did eat of the loaves were about five thousand men.
6: 45 And straightway he constrained his disciples to get into the ship, and to go to the other side before unto Bethsaida, while he sent away the people.
6: 46 And when he had sent them away, he departed into a mountain to pray.
6: 47 And when even was come, the ship was in the midst of the sea, and he alone on the land.
6: 48 And he saw them toiling in rowing; for the wind was contrary unto them: and about the fourth watch of the night he cometh unto them, walking upon the sea, and would have passed by them.
6: 49 But when they saw him walking upon the sea, they supposed it had been a spirit, and cried out: 6: 50 For they all saw him, and were troubled.
And immediately he talked with them, and saith unto them, Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid.
6: 51 And he went up unto them into the ship; and the wind ceased: and they were sore amazed in themselves beyond measure, and wondered.
6: 52 For they considered not the miracle of the loaves: for their heart was hardened.
6: 53 And when they had passed over, they came into the land of Gennesaret, and drew to the shore.
6: 54 And when they were come out of the ship, straightway they knew him, 6: 55 And ran through that whole region round about, and began to carry about in beds those that were sick, where they heard he was.
6: 56 And whithersoever he entered, into villages, or cities, or country, they laid the sick in the streets, and besought him that they might touch if it were but the border of his garment: and as many as touched him were made whole.
7: 1 Then came together unto him the Pharisees, and certain of the scribes, which came from Jerusalem.
7: 2 And when they saw some of his disciples eat bread with defiled, that is to say, with unwashen, hands, they found fault.
7: 3 For the Pharisees, and all the Jews, except they wash their hands oft, eat not, holding the tradition of the elders.
7: 4 And when they come from the market, except they wash, they eat not.
And many other things there be, which they have received to hold, as the washing of cups, and pots, brasen vessels, and of tables.
7: 5 Then the Pharisees and scribes asked him, Why walk not thy disciples according to the tradition of the elders, but eat bread with unwashen hands?
7: 6 He answered and said unto them, Well hath Esaias prophesied of you hypocrites, as it is written, This people honoureth me with their lips, but their heart is far from me.
7: 7 Howbeit in vain do they worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.
7: 8 For laying aside the commandment of God, ye hold the tradition of men, as the washing of pots and cups: and many other such like things ye do.
7: 9 And he said unto them, Full well ye reject the commandment of God, that ye may keep your own tradition.
7: 12 And ye suffer him no more to do ought for his father or his mother; 7: 13 Making the word of God of none effect through your tradition, which ye have delivered: and many such like things do ye.
7: 16 If any man have ears to hear, let him hear.
7: 17 And when he was entered into the house from the people, his disciples asked him concerning the parable.
7: 18 And he saith unto them, Are ye so without understanding also?
Do ye not perceive, that whatsoever thing from without entereth into the man, it cannot defile him; 7: 19 Because it entereth not into his heart, but into the belly, and goeth out into the draught, purging all meats?
7: 20 And he said, That which cometh out of the man, that defileth the man.
7: 24 And from thence he arose, and went into the borders of Tyre and Sidon, and entered into an house, and would have no man know it: but he could not be hid.
7: 25 For a certain woman, whose young daughter had an unclean spirit, heard of him, and came and fell at his feet: 7: 26 The woman was a Greek, a Syrophenician by nation; and she besought him that he would cast forth the devil out of her daughter.
7: 27 But Jesus said unto her, Let the children first be filled: for it is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it unto the dogs.
7: 28 And she answered and said unto him, Yes, Lord: yet the dogs under the table eat of the children's crumbs.
7: 29 And he said unto her, For this saying go thy way; the devil is gone out of thy daughter.
7: 30 And when she was come to her house, she found the devil gone out, and her daughter laid upon the bed.
7: 31 And again, departing from the coasts of Tyre and Sidon, he came unto the sea of Galilee, through the midst of the coasts of Decapolis.
7: 32 And they bring unto him one that was deaf, and had an impediment in his speech; and they beseech him to put his hand upon him.
7: 33 And he took him aside from the multitude, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spit, and touched his tongue; 7: 34 And looking up to heaven, he sighed, and saith unto him, Ephphatha, that is, Be opened.
7: 35 And straightway his ears were opened, and the string of his tongue was loosed, and he spake plain.
7: 36 And he charged them that they should tell no man: but the more he charged them, so much the more a great deal they published it; 7: 37 And were beyond measure astonished, saying, He hath done all things well: he maketh both the deaf to hear, and the dumb to speak.
8: 4 And his disciples answered him, From whence can a man satisfy these men with bread here in the wilderness?
8: 5 And he asked them, How many loaves have ye?
And they said, Seven.
8: 6 And he commanded the people to sit down on the ground: and he took the seven loaves, and gave thanks, and brake, and gave to his disciples to set before them; and they did set them before the people.
8: 7 And they had a few small fishes: and he blessed, and commanded to set them also before them.
8: 8 So they did eat, and were filled: and they took up of the broken meat that was left seven baskets.
8: 9 And they that had eaten were about four thousand: and he sent them away.
8: 10 And straightway he entered into a ship with his disciples, and came into the parts of Dalmanutha.
8: 11 And the Pharisees came forth, and began to question with him, seeking of him a sign from heaven, tempting him.
8: 12 And he sighed deeply in his spirit, and saith, Why doth this generation seek after a sign?
verily I say unto you, There shall no sign be given unto this generation.
8: 13 And he left them, and entering into the ship again departed to the other side.
8: 14 Now the disciples had forgotten to take bread, neither had they in the ship with them more than one loaf.
8: 15 And he charged them, saying, Take heed, beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, and of the leaven of Herod.
8: 16 And they reasoned among themselves, saying, It is because we have no bread.
8: 17 And when Jesus knew it, he saith unto them, Why reason ye, because ye have no bread?
perceive ye not yet, neither understand?
have ye your heart yet hardened?
8: 18 Having eyes, see ye not?
and having ears, hear ye not?
and do ye not remember?
8: 19 When I brake the five loaves among five thousand, how many baskets full of fragments took ye up?
They say unto him, Twelve.
8: 20 And when the seven among four thousand, how many baskets full of fragments took ye up?
And they said, Seven.
8: 21 And he said unto them, How is it that ye do not understand?
8: 22 And he cometh to Bethsaida; and they bring a blind man unto him, and besought him to touch him.
8: 23 And he took the blind man by the hand, and led him out of the town; and when he had spit on his eyes, and put his hands upon him, he asked him if he saw ought.
8: 24 And he looked up, and said, I see men as trees, walking.
8: 25 After that he put his hands again upon his eyes, and made him look up: and he was restored, and saw every man clearly.
8: 26 And he sent him away to his house, saying, Neither go into the town, nor tell it to any in the town.
8: 27 And Jesus went out, and his disciples, into the towns of Caesarea Philippi: and by the way he asked his disciples, saying unto them, Whom do men say that I am?
8: 28 And they answered, John the Baptist; but some say, Elias; and others, One of the prophets.
8: 29 And he saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?
And Peter answereth and saith unto him, Thou art the Christ.
8: 30 And he charged them that they should tell no man of him.
8: 31 And he began to teach them, that the Son of man must suffer many things, and be rejected of the elders, and of the chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.
8: 32 And he spake that saying openly.
And Peter took him, and began to rebuke him.
8: 33 But when he had turned about and looked on his disciples, he rebuked Peter, saying, Get thee behind me, Satan: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but the things that be of men.
8: 34 And when he had called the people unto him with his disciples also, he said unto them, Whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.
8: 35 For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel's, the same shall save it.
8: 36 For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?
8: 37 Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?
8: 38 Whosoever therefore shall be ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation; of him also shall the Son of man be ashamed, when he cometh in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.
9: 1 And he said unto them, Verily I say unto you, That there be some of them that stand here, which shall not taste of death, till they have seen the kingdom of God come with power.
9: 2 And after six days Jesus taketh with him Peter, and James, and John, and leadeth them up into an high mountain apart by themselves: and he was transfigured before them.
9: 3 And his raiment became shining, exceeding white as snow; so as no fuller on earth can white them.
9: 4 And there appeared unto them Elias with Moses: and they were talking with Jesus.
9: 5 And Peter answered and said to Jesus, Master, it is good for us to be here: and let us make three tabernacles; one for thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias.
9: 6 For he wist not what to say; for they were sore afraid.
9: 7 And there was a cloud that overshadowed them: and a voice came out of the cloud, saying, This is my beloved Son: hear him.
9: 8 And suddenly, when they had looked round about, they saw no man any more, save Jesus only with themselves.
9: 9 And as they came down from the mountain, he charged them that they should tell no man what things they had seen, till the Son of man were risen from the dead.
9: 10 And they kept that saying with themselves, questioning one with another what the rising from the dead should mean.
9: 11 And they asked him, saying, Why say the scribes that Elias must first come?
9: 12 And he answered and told them, Elias verily cometh first, and restoreth all things; and how it is written of the Son of man, that he must suffer many things, and be set at nought.
9: 13 But I say unto you, That Elias is indeed come, and they have done unto him whatsoever they listed, as it is written of him.
9: 14 And when he came to his disciples, he saw a great multitude about them, and the scribes questioning with them.
9: 15 And straightway all the people, when they beheld him, were greatly amazed, and running to him saluted him.
9: 16 And he asked the scribes, What question ye with them?
9: 19 He answereth him, and saith, O faithless generation, how long shall I be with you?
how long shall I suffer you?
bring him unto me.
9: 20 And they brought him unto him: and when he saw him, straightway the spirit tare him; and he fell on the ground, and wallowed foaming.
9: 21 And he asked his father, How long is it ago since this came unto him?
And he said, Of a child.
9: 22 And ofttimes it hath cast him into the fire, and into the waters, to destroy him: but if thou canst do any thing, have compassion on us, and help us.
9: 23 Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.
9: 24 And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.
9: 25 When Jesus saw that the people came running together, he rebuked the foul spirit, saying unto him, Thou dumb and deaf spirit, I charge thee, come out of him, and enter no more into him.
9: 26 And the spirit cried, and rent him sore, and came out of him: and he was as one dead; insomuch that many said, He is dead.
9: 27 But Jesus took him by the hand, and lifted him up; and he arose.
9: 28 And when he was come into the house, his disciples asked him privately, Why could not we cast him out?
9: 29 And he said unto them, This kind can come forth by nothing, but by prayer and fasting.
9: 30 And they departed thence, and passed through Galilee; and he would not that any man should know it.
9: 31 For he taught his disciples, and said unto them, The Son of man is delivered into the hands of men, and they shall kill him; and after that he is killed, he shall rise the third day.
9: 32 But they understood not that saying, and were afraid to ask him.
9: 33 And he came to Capernaum: and being in the house he asked them, What was it that ye disputed among yourselves by the way?
9: 34 But they held their peace: for by the way they had disputed among themselves, who should be the greatest.
9: 35 And he sat down, and called the twelve, and saith unto them, If any man desire to be first, the same shall be last of all, and servant of all.
9: 36 And he took a child, and set him in the midst of them: and when he had taken him in his arms, he said unto them, 9: 37 Whosoever shall receive one of such children in my name, receiveth me: and whosoever shall receive me, receiveth not me, but him that sent me.
9: 38 And John answered him, saying, Master, we saw one casting out devils in thy name, and he followeth not us: and we forbad him, because he followeth not us.
9: 39 But Jesus said, Forbid him not: for there is no man which shall do a miracle in my name, that can lightly speak evil of me.
9: 40 For he that is not against us is on our part.
9: 41 For whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in my name, because ye belong to Christ, verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward.
9: 42 And whosoever shall offend one of these little ones that believe in me, it is better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the sea.
9: 43 And if thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched: 9: 44 Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.
9: 45 And if thy foot offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter halt into life, than having two feet to be cast into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched: 9: 46 Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.
9: 47 And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out: it is better for thee to enter into the kingdom of God with one eye, than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire: 9: 48 Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.
9: 49 For every one shall be salted with fire, and every sacrifice shall be salted with salt.
9: 50 Salt is good: but if the salt have lost his saltness, wherewith will ye season it?
Have salt in yourselves, and have peace one with another.
10: 1 And he arose from thence, and cometh into the coasts of Judaea by the farther side of Jordan: and the people resort unto him again; and, as he was wont, he taught them again.
10: 2 And the Pharisees came to him, and asked him, Is it lawful for a man to put away his wife?
tempting him.
10: 3 And he answered and said unto them, What did Moses command you?
10: 4 And they said, Moses suffered to write a bill of divorcement, and to put her away.
10: 5 And Jesus answered and said unto them, For the hardness of your heart he wrote you this precept.
10: 6 But from the beginning of the creation God made them male and female.
10: 7 For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and cleave to his wife; 10: 8 And they twain shall be one flesh: so then they are no more twain, but one flesh.
10: 9 What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.
10: 10 And in the house his disciples asked him again of the same matter.
10: 11 And he saith unto them, Whosoever shall put away his wife, and marry another, committeth adultery against her.
10: 12 And if a woman shall put away her husband, and be married to another, she committeth adultery.
10: 13 And they brought young children to him, that he should touch them: and his disciples rebuked those that brought them.
10: 14 But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.
10: 15 Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein.
10: 16 And he took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them.
10: 17 And when he was gone forth into the way, there came one running, and kneeled to him, and asked him, Good Master, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?
10: 18 And Jesus said unto him, Why callest thou me good?
there is none good but one, that is, God.
10: 19 Thou knowest the commandments, Do not commit adultery, Do not kill, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Defraud not, Honour thy father and mother.
10: 20 And he answered and said unto him, Master, all these have I observed from my youth.
10: 21 Then Jesus beholding him loved him, and said unto him, One thing thou lackest: go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, take up the cross, and follow me.
10: 22 And he was sad at that saying, and went away grieved: for he had great possessions.
10: 23 And Jesus looked round about, and saith unto his disciples, How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God!
10: 24 And the disciples were astonished at his words.
But Jesus answereth again, and saith unto them, Children, how hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the kingdom of God!
10: 25 It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.
10: 26 And they were astonished out of measure, saying among themselves, Who then can be saved?
10: 27 And Jesus looking upon them saith, With men it is impossible, but not with God: for with God all things are possible.
10: 28 Then Peter began to say unto him, Lo, we have left all, and have followed thee.
10: 31 But many that are first shall be last; and the last first.
10: 32 And they were in the way going up to Jerusalem; and Jesus went before them: and they were amazed; and as they followed, they were afraid.
10: 35 And James and John, the sons of Zebedee, come unto him, saying, Master, we would that thou shouldest do for us whatsoever we shall desire.
10: 36 And he said unto them, What would ye that I should do for you?
10: 37 They said unto him, Grant unto us that we may sit, one on thy right hand, and the other on thy left hand, in thy glory.
10: 38 But Jesus said unto them, Ye know not what ye ask: can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?
and be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?
10: 39 And they said unto him, We can.
10: 41 And when the ten heard it, they began to be much displeased with James and John.
10: 42 But Jesus called them to him, and saith unto them, Ye know that they which are accounted to rule over the Gentiles exercise lordship over them; and their great ones exercise authority upon them.
10: 43 But so shall it not be among you: but whosoever will be great among you, shall be your minister: 10: 44 And whosoever of you will be the chiefest, shall be servant of all.
10: 45 For even the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many.
10: 46 And they came to Jericho: and as he went out of Jericho with his disciples and a great number of people, blind Bartimaeus, the son of Timaeus, sat by the highway side begging.
10: 47 And when he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out, and say, Jesus, thou son of David, have mercy on me.
10: 48 And many charged him that he should hold his peace: but he cried the more a great deal, Thou son of David, have mercy on me.
10: 49 And Jesus stood still, and commanded him to be called.
And they call the blind man, saying unto him, Be of good comfort, rise; he calleth thee.
10: 50 And he, casting away his garment, rose, and came to Jesus.
10: 51 And Jesus answered and said unto him, What wilt thou that I should do unto thee?
The blind man said unto him, Lord, that I might receive my sight.
10: 52 And Jesus said unto him, Go thy way; thy faith hath made thee whole.
And immediately he received his sight, and followed Jesus in the way.
11: 3 And if any man say unto you, Why do ye this?
say ye that the Lord hath need of him; and straightway he will send him hither.
11: 4 And they went their way, and found the colt tied by the door without in a place where two ways met; and they loose him.
11: 5 And certain of them that stood there said unto them, What do ye, loosing the colt?
11: 6 And they said unto them even as Jesus had commanded: and they let them go.
11: 7 And they brought the colt to Jesus, and cast their garments on him; and he sat upon him.
11: 8 And many spread their garments in the way: and others cut down branches off the trees, and strawed them in the way.
11: 9 And they that went before, and they that followed, cried, saying, Hosanna; Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord: 11: 10 Blessed be the kingdom of our father David, that cometh in the name of the Lord: Hosanna in the highest.
11: 11 And Jesus entered into Jerusalem, and into the temple: and when he had looked round about upon all things, and now the eventide was come, he went out unto Bethany with the twelve.
11: 12 And on the morrow, when they were come from Bethany, he was hungry: 11: 13 And seeing a fig tree afar off having leaves, he came, if haply he might find any thing thereon: and when he came to it, he found nothing but leaves; for the time of figs was not yet.
11: 14 And Jesus answered and said unto it, No man eat fruit of thee hereafter for ever.
And his disciples heard it.
11: 17 And he taught, saying unto them, Is it not written, My house shall be called of all nations the house of prayer?
but ye have made it a den of thieves.
11: 18 And the scribes and chief priests heard it, and sought how they might destroy him: for they feared him, because all the people was astonished at his doctrine.
11: 19 And when even was come, he went out of the city.
11: 20 And in the morning, as they passed by, they saw the fig tree dried up from the roots.
11: 21 And Peter calling to remembrance saith unto him, Master, behold, the fig tree which thou cursedst is withered away.
11: 22 And Jesus answering saith unto them, Have faith in God.
11: 23 For verily I say unto you, That whosoever shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall believe that those things which he saith shall come to pass; he shall have whatsoever he saith.
11: 24 Therefore I say unto you, What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.
11: 25 And when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have ought against any: that your Father also which is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.
11: 26 But if ye do not forgive, neither will your Father which is in heaven forgive your trespasses.
11: 27 And they come again to Jerusalem: and as he was walking in the temple, there come to him the chief priests, and the scribes, and the elders, 11: 28 And say unto him, By what authority doest thou these things?
and who gave thee this authority to do these things?
11: 29 And Jesus answered and said unto them, I will also ask of you one question, and answer me, and I will tell you by what authority I do these things.
11: 30 The baptism of John, was it from heaven, or of men?
answer me.
11: 31 And they reasoned with themselves, saying, If we shall say, From heaven; he will say, Why then did ye not believe him?
11: 32 But if we shall say, Of men; they feared the people: for all men counted John, that he was a prophet indeed.
11: 33 And they answered and said unto Jesus, We cannot tell.
And Jesus answering saith unto them, Neither do I tell you by what authority I do these things.
12: 1 And he began to speak unto them by parables.
A certain man planted a vineyard, and set an hedge about it, and digged a place for the winefat, and built a tower, and let it out to husbandmen, and went into a far country.
12: 2 And at the season he sent to the husbandmen a servant, that he might receive from the husbandmen of the fruit of the vineyard.
12: 3 And they caught him, and beat him, and sent him away empty.
12: 4 And again he sent unto them another servant; and at him they cast stones, and wounded him in the head, and sent him away shamefully handled.
12: 5 And again he sent another; and him they killed, and many others; beating some, and killing some.
12: 6 Having yet therefore one son, his wellbeloved, he sent him also last unto them, saying, They will reverence my son.
12: 7 But those husbandmen said among themselves, This is the heir; come, let us kill him, and the inheritance shall be our's.
12: 8 And they took him, and killed him, and cast him out of the vineyard.
12: 9 What shall therefore the lord of the vineyard do?
he will come and destroy the husbandmen, and will give the vineyard unto others.
12: 10 And have ye not read this scripture; The stone which the builders rejected is become the head of the corner: 12: 11 This was the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes?
12: 12 And they sought to lay hold on him, but feared the people: for they knew that he had spoken the parable against them: and they left him, and went their way.
12: 13 And they send unto him certain of the Pharisees and of the Herodians, to catch him in his words.
12: 14 And when they were come, they say unto him, Master, we know that thou art true, and carest for no man: for thou regardest not the person of men, but teachest the way of God in truth: Is it lawful to give tribute to Caesar, or not?
12: 15 Shall we give, or shall we not give?
But he, knowing their hypocrisy, said unto them, Why tempt ye me?
bring me a penny, that I may see it.
12: 16 And they brought it.
And he saith unto them, Whose is this image and superscription?
And they said unto him, Caesar's.
12: 17 And Jesus answering said unto them, Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's.
And they marvelled at him.
12: 20 Now there were seven brethren: and the first took a wife, and dying left no seed.
12: 21 And the second took her, and died, neither left he any seed: and the third likewise.
12: 22 And the seven had her, and left no seed: last of all the woman died also.
12: 23 In the resurrection therefore, when they shall rise, whose wife shall she be of them?
for the seven had her to wife.
12: 24 And Jesus answering said unto them, Do ye not therefore err, because ye know not the scriptures, neither the power of God?
12: 25 For when they shall rise from the dead, they neither marry, nor are given in marriage; but are as the angels which are in heaven.
12: 26 And as touching the dead, that they rise: have ye not read in the book of Moses, how in the bush God spake unto him, saying, I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob?
12: 27 He is not the God of the dead, but the God of the living: ye therefore do greatly err.
12: 28 And one of the scribes came, and having heard them reasoning together, and perceiving that he had answered them well, asked him, Which is the first commandment of all?
12: 31 And the second is like, namely this, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.
There is none other commandment greater than these.
12: 34 And when Jesus saw that he answered discreetly, he said unto him, Thou art not far from the kingdom of God.
And no man after that durst ask him any question.
12: 35 And Jesus answered and said, while he taught in the temple, How say the scribes that Christ is the son of David?
12: 36 For David himself said by the Holy Ghost, The LORD said to my Lord, Sit thou on my right hand, till I make thine enemies thy footstool.
12: 37 David therefore himself calleth him Lord; and whence is he then his son?
And the common people heard him gladly.
12: 41 And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much.
12: 42 And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing.
13: 1 And as he went out of the temple, one of his disciples saith unto him, Master, see what manner of stones and what buildings are here!
13: 2 And Jesus answering said unto him, Seest thou these great buildings?
there shall not be left one stone upon another, that shall not be thrown down.
13: 3 And as he sat upon the mount of Olives over against the temple, Peter and James and John and Andrew asked him privately, 13: 4 Tell us, when shall these things be?
and what shall be the sign when all these things shall be fulfilled?
13: 5 And Jesus answering them began to say, Take heed lest any man deceive you: 13: 6 For many shall come in my name, saying, I am Christ; and shall deceive many.
13: 7 And when ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars, be ye not troubled: for such things must needs be; but the end shall not be yet.
13: 8 For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be earthquakes in divers places, and there shall be famines and troubles: these are the beginnings of sorrows.
13: 9 But take heed to yourselves: for they shall deliver you up to councils; and in the synagogues ye shall be beaten: and ye shall be brought before rulers and kings for my sake, for a testimony against them.
13: 10 And the gospel must first be published among all nations.
13: 11 But when they shall lead you, and deliver you up, take no thought beforehand what ye shall speak, neither do ye premeditate: but whatsoever shall be given you in that hour, that speak ye: for it is not ye that speak, but the Holy Ghost.
13: 12 Now the brother shall betray the brother to death, and the father the son; and children shall rise up against their parents, and shall cause them to be put to death.
13: 13 And ye shall be hated of all men for my name's sake: but he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.
13: 17 But woe to them that are with child, and to them that give suck in those days!
13: 18 And pray ye that your flight be not in the winter.
13: 19 For in those days shall be affliction, such as was not from the beginning of the creation which God created unto this time, neither shall be.
13: 20 And except that the Lord had shortened those days, no flesh should be saved: but for the elect's sake, whom he hath chosen, he hath shortened the days.
13: 21 And then if any man shall say to you, Lo, here is Christ; or, lo, he is there; believe him not: 13: 22 For false Christs and false prophets shall rise, and shall shew signs and wonders, to seduce, if it were possible, even the elect.
13: 23 But take ye heed: behold, I have foretold you all things.
13: 24 But in those days, after that tribulation, the sun shall be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, 13: 25 And the stars of heaven shall fall, and the powers that are in heaven shall be shaken.
13: 26 And then shall they see the Son of man coming in the clouds with great power and glory.
13: 27 And then shall he send his angels, and shall gather together his elect from the four winds, from the uttermost part of the earth to the uttermost part of heaven.
13: 28 Now learn a parable of the fig tree; When her branch is yet tender, and putteth forth leaves, ye know that summer is near: 13: 29 So ye in like manner, when ye shall see these things come to pass, know that it is nigh, even at the doors.
13: 30 Verily I say unto you, that this generation shall not pass, till all these things be done.
13: 31 Heaven and earth shall pass away: but my words shall not pass away.
13: 32 But of that day and that hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels which are in heaven, neither the Son, but the Father.
13: 33 Take ye heed, watch and pray: for ye know not when the time is.
13: 34 For the Son of Man is as a man taking a far journey, who left his house, and gave authority to his servants, and to every man his work, and commanded the porter to watch.
13: 35 Watch ye therefore: for ye know not when the master of the house cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cockcrowing, or in the morning: 13: 36 Lest coming suddenly he find you sleeping.
13: 37 And what I say unto you I say unto all, Watch.
14: 1 After two days was the feast of the passover, and of unleavened bread: and the chief priests and the scribes sought how they might take him by craft, and put him to death.
14: 2 But they said, Not on the feast day, lest there be an uproar of the people.
14: 3 And being in Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at meat, there came a woman having an alabaster box of ointment of spikenard very precious; and she brake the box, and poured it on his head.
14: 4 And there were some that had indignation within themselves, and said, Why was this waste of the ointment made?
14: 5 For it might have been sold for more than three hundred pence, and have been given to the poor.
And they murmured against her.
14: 6 And Jesus said, Let her alone; why trouble ye her?
she hath wrought a good work on me.
14: 7 For ye have the poor with you always, and whensoever ye will ye may do them good: but me ye have not always.
14: 8 She hath done what she could: she is come aforehand to anoint my body to the burying.
14: 9 Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached throughout the whole world, this also that she hath done shall be spoken of for a memorial of her.
14: 10 And Judas Iscariot, one of the twelve, went unto the chief priests, to betray him unto them.
14: 11 And when they heard it, they were glad, and promised to give him money.
And he sought how he might conveniently betray him.
14: 12 And the first day of unleavened bread, when they killed the passover, his disciples said unto him, Where wilt thou that we go and prepare that thou mayest eat the passover?
14: 13 And he sendeth forth two of his disciples, and saith unto them, Go ye into the city, and there shall meet you a man bearing a pitcher of water: follow him.
14: 14 And wheresoever he shall go in, say ye to the goodman of the house, The Master saith, Where is the guestchamber, where I shall eat the passover with my disciples?
14: 15 And he will shew you a large upper room furnished and prepared: there make ready for us.
14: 16 And his disciples went forth, and came into the city, and found as he had said unto them: and they made ready the passover.
14: 17 And in the evening he cometh with the twelve.
14: 18 And as they sat and did eat, Jesus said, Verily I say unto you, One of you which eateth with me shall betray me.
14: 19 And they began to be sorrowful, and to say unto him one by one, Is it I?
and another said, Is it I?
14: 20 And he answered and said unto them, It is one of the twelve, that dippeth with me in the dish.
14: 21 The Son of man indeed goeth, as it is written of him: but woe to that man by whom the Son of man is betrayed!
good were it for that man if he had never been born.
14: 22 And as they did eat, Jesus took bread, and blessed, and brake it, and gave to them, and said, Take, eat: this is my body.
14: 23 And he took the cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them: and they all drank of it.
14: 24 And he said unto them, This is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many.
14: 25 Verily I say unto you, I will drink no more of the fruit of the vine, until that day that I drink it new in the kingdom of God.
14: 26 And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the mount of Olives.
14: 27 And Jesus saith unto them, All ye shall be offended because of me this night: for it is written, I will smite the shepherd, and the sheep shall be scattered.
14: 28 But after that I am risen, I will go before you into Galilee.
14: 29 But Peter said unto him, Although all shall be offended, yet will not I.
14: 30 And Jesus saith unto him, Verily I say unto thee, That this day, even in this night, before the cock crow twice, thou shalt deny me thrice.
14: 31 But he spake the more vehemently, If I should die with thee, I will not deny thee in any wise.
Likewise also said they all.
14: 32 And they came to a place which was named Gethsemane: and he saith to his disciples, Sit ye here, while I shall pray.
14: 33 And he taketh with him Peter and James and John, and began to be sore amazed, and to be very heavy; 14: 34 And saith unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful unto death: tarry ye here, and watch.
14: 35 And he went forward a little, and fell on the ground, and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him.
14: 36 And he said, Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee; take away this cup from me: nevertheless not what I will, but what thou wilt.
14: 37 And he cometh, and findeth them sleeping, and saith unto Peter, Simon, sleepest thou?
couldest not thou watch one hour?
14: 38 Watch ye and pray, lest ye enter into temptation.
The spirit truly is ready, but the flesh is weak.
14: 39 And again he went away, and prayed, and spake the same words.
14: 40 And when he returned, he found them asleep again, (for their eyes were heavy,) neither wist they what to answer him.
14: 41 And he cometh the third time, and saith unto them, Sleep on now, and take your rest: it is enough, the hour is come; behold, the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners.
14: 42 Rise up, let us go; lo, he that betrayeth me is at hand.
14: 43 And immediately, while he yet spake, cometh Judas, one of the twelve, and with him a great multitude with swords and staves, from the chief priests and the scribes and the elders.
14: 44 And he that betrayed him had given them a token, saying, Whomsoever I shall kiss, that same is he; take him, and lead him away safely.
14: 45 And as soon as he was come, he goeth straightway to him, and saith, Master, master; and kissed him.
14: 46 And they laid their hands on him, and took him.
14: 47 And one of them that stood by drew a sword, and smote a servant of the high priest, and cut off his ear.
14: 48 And Jesus answered and said unto them, Are ye come out, as against a thief, with swords and with staves to take me?
14: 49 I was daily with you in the temple teaching, and ye took me not: but the scriptures must be fulfilled.
14: 50 And they all forsook him, and fled.
14: 51 And there followed him a certain young man, having a linen cloth cast about his naked body; and the young men laid hold on him: 14: 52 And he left the linen cloth, and fled from them naked.
14: 53 And they led Jesus away to the high priest: and with him were assembled all the chief priests and the elders and the scribes.
14: 54 And Peter followed him afar off, even into the palace of the high priest: and he sat with the servants, and warmed himself at the fire.
14: 55 And the chief priests and all the council sought for witness against Jesus to put him to death; and found none.
14: 56 For many bare false witness against him, but their witness agreed not together.
14: 57 And there arose certain, and bare false witness against him, saying, 14: 58 We heard him say, I will destroy this temple that is made with hands, and within three days I will build another made without hands.
14: 59 But neither so did their witness agree together.
14: 60 And the high priest stood up in the midst, and asked Jesus, saying, Answerest thou nothing?
what is it which these witness against thee?
14: 61 But he held his peace, and answered nothing.
Again the high priest asked him, and said unto him, Art thou the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?
14: 62 And Jesus said, I am: and ye shall see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven.
14: 63 Then the high priest rent his clothes, and saith, What need we any further witnesses?
14: 64 Ye have heard the blasphemy: what think ye?
And they all condemned him to be guilty of death.
14: 65 And some began to spit on him, and to cover his face, and to buffet him, and to say unto him, Prophesy: and the servants did strike him with the palms of their hands.
14: 66 And as Peter was beneath in the palace, there cometh one of the maids of the high priest: 14: 67 And when she saw Peter warming himself, she looked upon him, and said, And thou also wast with Jesus of Nazareth.
14: 68 But he denied, saying, I know not, neither understand I what thou sayest.
And he went out into the porch; and the cock crew.
14: 69 And a maid saw him again, and began to say to them that stood by, This is one of them.
14: 70 And he denied it again.
And a little after, they that stood by said again to Peter, Surely thou art one of them: for thou art a Galilaean, and thy speech agreeth thereto.
14: 71 But he began to curse and to swear, saying, I know not this man of whom ye speak.
14: 72 And the second time the cock crew.
And Peter called to mind the word that Jesus said unto him, Before the cock crow twice, thou shalt deny me thrice.
And when he thought thereon, he wept.
15: 1 And straightway in the morning the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes and the whole council, and bound Jesus, and carried him away, and delivered him to Pilate.
15: 2 And Pilate asked him, Art thou the King of the Jews?
And he answering said unto them, Thou sayest it.
15: 3 And the chief priests accused him of many things: but he answered nothing.
15: 4 And Pilate asked him again, saying, Answerest thou nothing?
behold how many things they witness against thee.
15: 5 But Jesus yet answered nothing; so that Pilate marvelled.
15: 6 Now at that feast he released unto them one prisoner, whomsoever they desired.
15: 7 And there was one named Barabbas, which lay bound with them that had made insurrection with him, who had committed murder in the insurrection.
15: 8 And the multitude crying aloud began to desire him to do as he had ever done unto them.
15: 9 But Pilate answered them, saying, Will ye that I release unto you the King of the Jews?
15: 10 For he knew that the chief priests had delivered him for envy.
15: 11 But the chief priests moved the people, that he should rather release Barabbas unto them.
15: 12 And Pilate answered and said again unto them, What will ye then that I shall do unto him whom ye call the King of the Jews?
15: 13 And they cried out again, Crucify him.
15: 14 Then Pilate said unto them, Why, what evil hath he done?
And they cried out the more exceedingly, Crucify him.
15: 15 And so Pilate, willing to content the people, released Barabbas unto them, and delivered Jesus, when he had scourged him, to be crucified.
15: 16 And the soldiers led him away into the hall, called Praetorium; and they call together the whole band.
15: 17 And they clothed him with purple, and platted a crown of thorns, and put it about his head, 15: 18 And began to salute him, Hail, King of the Jews!
15: 19 And they smote him on the head with a reed, and did spit upon him, and bowing their knees worshipped him.
15: 20 And when they had mocked him, they took off the purple from him, and put his own clothes on him, and led him out to crucify him.
15: 21 And they compel one Simon a Cyrenian, who passed by, coming out of the country, the father of Alexander and Rufus, to bear his cross.
15: 22 And they bring him unto the place Golgotha, which is, being interpreted, The place of a skull.
15: 23 And they gave him to drink wine mingled with myrrh: but he received it not.
15: 24 And when they had crucified him, they parted his garments, casting lots upon them, what every man should take.
15: 25 And it was the third hour, and they crucified him.
15: 26 And the superscription of his accusation was written over, THE KING OF THE JEWS.
15: 27 And with him they crucify two thieves; the one on his right hand, and the other on his left.
15: 28 And the scripture was fulfilled, which saith, And he was numbered with the transgressors.
15: 29 And they that passed by railed on him, wagging their heads, and saying, Ah, thou that destroyest the temple, and buildest it in three days, 15: 30 Save thyself, and come down from the cross.
15: 31 Likewise also the chief priests mocking said among themselves with the scribes, He saved others; himself he cannot save.
15: 32 Let Christ the King of Israel descend now from the cross, that we may see and believe.
And they that were crucified with him reviled him.
15: 33 And when the sixth hour was come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour.
15: 34 And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?
which is, being interpreted, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
15: 35 And some of them that stood by, when they heard it, said, Behold, he calleth Elias.
15: 36 And one ran and filled a spunge full of vinegar, and put it on a reed, and gave him to drink, saying, Let alone; let us see whether Elias will come to take him down.
15: 37 And Jesus cried with a loud voice, and gave up the ghost.
15: 38 And the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom.
15: 39 And when the centurion, which stood over against him, saw that he so cried out, and gave up the ghost, he said, Truly this man was the Son of God.
15: 42 And now when the even was come, because it was the preparation, that is, the day before the sabbath, 15: 43 Joseph of Arimathaea, an honourable counsellor, which also waited for the kingdom of God, came, and went in boldly unto Pilate, and craved the body of Jesus.
15: 44 And Pilate marvelled if he were already dead: and calling unto him the centurion, he asked him whether he had been any while dead.
15: 45 And when he knew it of the centurion, he gave the body to Joseph.
15: 46 And he bought fine linen, and took him down, and wrapped him in the linen, and laid him in a sepulchre which was hewn out of a rock, and rolled a stone unto the door of the sepulchre.
15: 47 And Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses beheld where he was laid.
16: 1 And when the sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome, had bought sweet spices, that they might come and anoint him.
16: 2 And very early in the morning the first day of the week, they came unto the sepulchre at the rising of the sun.
16: 3 And they said among themselves, Who shall roll us away the stone from the door of the sepulchre?
16: 4 And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away: for it was very great.
16: 5 And entering into the sepulchre, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed in a long white garment; and they were affrighted.
16: 6 And he saith unto them, Be not affrighted: Ye seek Jesus of Nazareth, which was crucified: he is risen; he is not here: behold the place where they laid him.
16: 7 But go your way, tell his disciples and Peter that he goeth before you into Galilee: there shall ye see him, as he said unto you.
16: 8 And they went out quickly, and fled from the sepulchre; for they trembled and were amazed: neither said they any thing to any man; for they were afraid.
16: 9 Now when Jesus was risen early the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had cast seven devils.
16: 10 And she went and told them that had been with him, as they mourned and wept.
16: 11 And they, when they had heard that he was alive, and had been seen of her, believed not.
16: 12 After that he appeared in another form unto two of them, as they walked, and went into the country.
16: 13 And they went and told it unto the residue: neither believed they them.
16: 14 Afterward he appeared unto the eleven as they sat at meat, and upbraided them with their unbelief and hardness of heart, because they believed not them which had seen him after he was risen.
16: 15 And he said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.
16: 16 He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned.
16: 19 So then after the Lord had spoken unto them, he was received up into heaven, and sat on the right hand of God.
16: 20 And they went forth, and preached every where, the Lord working with them, and confirming the word with signs following.
Amen.
The Gospel According to Saint Luke
1: 5 THERE was in the days of Herod, the king of Judaea, a certain priest named Zacharias, of the course of Abia: and his wife was of the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elisabeth.
1: 6 And they were both righteous before God, walking in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord blameless.
1: 7 And they had no child, because that Elisabeth was barren, and they both were now well stricken in years.
1: 8 And it came to pass, that while he executed the priest's office before God in the order of his course, 1: 9 According to the custom of the priest's office, his lot was to burn incense when he went into the temple of the Lord.
1: 10 And the whole multitude of the people were praying without at the time of incense.
1: 11 And there appeared unto him an angel of the Lord standing on the right side of the altar of incense.
1: 12 And when Zacharias saw him, he was troubled, and fear fell upon him.
1: 13 But the angel said unto him, Fear not, Zacharias: for thy prayer is heard; and thy wife Elisabeth shall bear thee a son, and thou shalt call his name John.
1: 14 And thou shalt have joy and gladness; and many shall rejoice at his birth.
1: 15 For he shall be great in the sight of the Lord, and shall drink neither wine nor strong drink; and he shall be filled with the Holy Ghost, even from his mother's womb.
1: 16 And many of the children of Israel shall he turn to the Lord their God.
1: 17 And he shall go before him in the spirit and power of Elias, to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the just; to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.
1: 18 And Zacharias said unto the angel, Whereby shall I know this?
for I am an old man, and my wife well stricken in years.
1: 19 And the angel answering said unto him, I am Gabriel, that stand in the presence of God; and am sent to speak unto thee, and to shew thee these glad tidings.
1: 20 And, behold, thou shalt be dumb, and not able to speak, until the day that these things shall be performed, because thou believest not my words, which shall be fulfilled in their season.
1: 21 And the people waited for Zacharias, and marvelled that he tarried so long in the temple.
1: 22 And when he came out, he could not speak unto them: and they perceived that he had seen a vision in the temple: for he beckoned unto them, and remained speechless.
1: 23 And it came to pass, that, as soon as the days of his ministration were accomplished, he departed to his own house.
1: 24 And after those days his wife Elisabeth conceived, and hid herself five months, saying, 1: 25 Thus hath the Lord dealt with me in the days wherein he looked on me, to take away my reproach among men.
1: 26 And in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, 1: 27 To a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary.
1: 28 And the angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.
1: 29 And when she saw him, she was troubled at his saying, and cast in her mind what manner of salutation this should be.
1: 30 And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God.
1: 31 And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS.
1: 32 He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David: 1: 33 And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.
1: 34 Then said Mary unto the angel, How shall this be, seeing I know not a man?
1: 35 And the angel answered and said unto her, The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee: therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God.
1: 36 And, behold, thy cousin Elisabeth, she hath also conceived a son in her old age: and this is the sixth month with her, who was called barren.
1: 37 For with God nothing shall be impossible.
1: 38 And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word.
And the angel departed from her.
1: 39 And Mary arose in those days, and went into the hill country with haste, into a city of Juda; 1: 40 And entered into the house of Zacharias, and saluted Elisabeth.
1: 41 And it came to pass, that, when Elisabeth heard the salutation of Mary, the babe leaped in her womb; and Elisabeth was filled with the Holy Ghost: 1: 42 And she spake out with a loud voice, and said, Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb.
1: 43 And whence is this to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?
1: 44 For, lo, as soon as the voice of thy salutation sounded in mine ears, the babe leaped in my womb for joy.
1: 45 And blessed is she that believed: for there shall be a performance of those things which were told her from the Lord.
1: 46 And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord, 1: 47 And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.
1: 48 For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.
1: 49 For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name.
1: 50 And his mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation.
1: 51 He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
1: 52 He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree.
1: 53 He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away.
1: 54 He hath holpen his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy; 1: 55 As he spake to our fathers, to Abraham, and to his seed for ever.
1: 56 And Mary abode with her about three months, and returned to her own house.
1: 57 Now Elisabeth's full time came that she should be delivered; and she brought forth a son.
1: 58 And her neighbours and her cousins heard how the Lord had shewed great mercy upon her; and they rejoiced with her.
1: 59 And it came to pass, that on the eighth day they came to circumcise the child; and they called him Zacharias, after the name of his father.
1: 60 And his mother answered and said, Not so; but he shall be called John.
1: 61 And they said unto her, There is none of thy kindred that is called by this name.
1: 62 And they made signs to his father, how he would have him called.
1: 63 And he asked for a writing table, and wrote, saying, His name is John.
And they marvelled all.
1: 64 And his mouth was opened immediately, and his tongue loosed, and he spake, and praised God.
1: 65 And fear came on all that dwelt round about them: and all these sayings were noised abroad throughout all the hill country of Judaea.
1: 66 And all they that heard them laid them up in their hearts, saying, What manner of child shall this be!
And the hand of the Lord was with him.
1: 80 And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, and was in the deserts till the day of his shewing unto Israel.
2: 1 And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.
2: 2 (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.)
2: 3 And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.
2: 4 And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) 2: 5 To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.
2: 6 And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.
2: 7 And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.
2: 8 And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
2: 9 And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
2: 10 And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
2: 11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
2: 12 And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
2: 13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, 2: 14 Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
2: 15 And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.
2: 16 And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.
2: 17 And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.
2: 18 And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.
2: 19 But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.
2: 20 And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.
2: 21 And when eight days were accomplished for the circumcising of the child, his name was called JESUS, which was so named of the angel before he was conceived in the womb.
2: 25 And, behold, there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon; and the same man was just and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel: and the Holy Ghost was upon him.
2: 26 And it was revealed unto him by the Holy Ghost, that he should not see death, before he had seen the Lord's Christ.
2: 33 And Joseph and his mother marvelled at those things which were spoken of him.
2: 38 And she coming in that instant gave thanks likewise unto the Lord, and spake of him to all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem.
2: 39 And when they had performed all things according to the law of the Lord, they returned into Galilee, to their own city Nazareth.
2: 40 And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wisdom: and the grace of God was upon him.
2: 41 Now his parents went to Jerusalem every year at the feast of the passover.
2: 42 And when he was twelve years old, they went up to Jerusalem after the custom of the feast.
2: 43 And when they had fulfilled the days, as they returned, the child Jesus tarried behind in Jerusalem; and Joseph and his mother knew not of it.
2: 44 But they, supposing him to have been in the company, went a day's journey; and they sought him among their kinsfolk and acquaintance.
2: 45 And when they found him not, they turned back again to Jerusalem, seeking him.
2: 46 And it came to pass, that after three days they found him in the temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them, and asking them questions.
2: 47 And all that heard him were astonished at his understanding and answers.
2: 48 And when they saw him, they were amazed: and his mother said unto him, Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us?
behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing.
2: 49 And he said unto them, How is it that ye sought me?
wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business?
2: 50 And they understood not the saying which he spake unto them.
2: 51 And he went down with them, and came to Nazareth, and was subject unto them: but his mother kept all these sayings in her heart.
2: 52 And Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.
3: 5 Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be brought low; and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways shall be made smooth; 3: 6 And all flesh shall see the salvation of God.
3: 7 Then said he to the multitude that came forth to be baptized of him, O generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come?
3: 8 Bring forth therefore fruits worthy of repentance, and begin not to say within yourselves, We have Abraham to our father: for I say unto you, That God is able of these stones to raise up children unto Abraham.
3: 9 And now also the axe is laid unto the root of the trees: every tree therefore which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.
3: 10 And the people asked him, saying, What shall we do then?
3: 11 He answereth and saith unto them, He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat, let him do likewise.
3: 12 Then came also publicans to be baptized, and said unto him, Master, what shall we do?
3: 13 And he said unto them, Exact no more than that which is appointed you.
3: 14 And the soldiers likewise demanded of him, saying, And what shall we do?
And he said unto them, Do violence to no man, neither accuse any falsely; and be content with your wages.
3: 18 And many other things in his exhortation preached he unto the people.
3: 19 But Herod the tetrarch, being reproved by him for Herodias his brother Philip's wife, and for all the evils which Herod had done, 3: 20 Added yet this above all, that he shut up John in prison.
4: 1 And Jesus being full of the Holy Ghost returned from Jordan, and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness, 4: 2 Being forty days tempted of the devil.
And in those days he did eat nothing: and when they were ended, he afterward hungered.
4: 3 And the devil said unto him, If thou be the Son of God, command this stone that it be made bread.
4: 4 And Jesus answered him, saying, It is written, That man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word of God.
4: 5 And the devil, taking him up into an high mountain, shewed unto him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time.
4: 6 And the devil said unto him, All this power will I give thee, and the glory of them: for that is delivered unto me; and to whomsoever I will I give it.
4: 7 If thou therefore wilt worship me, all shall be thine.
4: 8 And Jesus answered and said unto him, Get thee behind me, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.
4: 12 And Jesus answering said unto him, It is said, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.
4: 13 And when the devil had ended all the temptation, he departed from him for a season.
4: 14 And Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit into Galilee: and there went out a fame of him through all the region round about.
4: 15 And he taught in their synagogues, being glorified of all.
4: 16 And he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up: and, as his custom was, he went into the synagogue on the sabbath day, and stood up for to read.
4: 17 And there was delivered unto him the book of the prophet Esaias.
4: 20 And he closed the book, and he gave it again to the minister, and sat down.
And the eyes of all them that were in the synagogue were fastened on him.
4: 21 And he began to say unto them, This day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears.
4: 22 And all bare him witness, and wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth.
And they said, Is not this Joseph's son?
4: 23 And he said unto them, Ye will surely say unto me this proverb, Physician, heal thyself: whatsoever we have heard done in Capernaum, do also here in thy country.
4: 24 And he said, Verily I say unto you, No prophet is accepted in his own country.
4: 27 And many lepers were in Israel in the time of Eliseus the prophet; and none of them was cleansed, saving Naaman the Syrian.
4: 28 And all they in the synagogue, when they heard these things, were filled with wrath, 4: 29 And rose up, and thrust him out of the city, and led him unto the brow of the hill whereon their city was built, that they might cast him down headlong.
4: 30 But he passing through the midst of them went his way, 4: 31 And came down to Capernaum, a city of Galilee, and taught them on the sabbath days.
4: 32 And they were astonished at his doctrine: for his word was with power.
4: 33 And in the synagogue there was a man, which had a spirit of an unclean devil, and cried out with a loud voice, 4: 34 Saying, Let us alone; what have we to do with thee, thou Jesus of Nazareth?
art thou come to destroy us?
I know thee who thou art; the Holy One of God.
4: 35 And Jesus rebuked him, saying, Hold thy peace, and come out of him.
And when the devil had thrown him in the midst, he came out of him, and hurt him not.
4: 36 And they were all amazed, and spake among themselves, saying, What a word is this!
for with authority and power he commandeth the unclean spirits, and they come out.
4: 37 And the fame of him went out into every place of the country round about.
4: 38 And he arose out of the synagogue, and entered into Simon's house.
And Simon's wife's mother was taken with a great fever; and they besought him for her.
4: 39 And he stood over her, and rebuked the fever; and it left her: and immediately she arose and ministered unto them.
4: 40 Now when the sun was setting, all they that had any sick with divers diseases brought them unto him; and he laid his hands on every one of them, and healed them.
4: 41 And devils also came out of many, crying out, and saying, Thou art Christ the Son of God.
And he rebuking them suffered them not to speak: for they knew that he was Christ.
4: 42 And when it was day, he departed and went into a desert place: and the people sought him, and came unto him, and stayed him, that he should not depart from them.
4: 43 And he said unto them, I must preach the kingdom of God to other cities also: for therefore am I sent.
4: 44 And he preached in the synagogues of Galilee.
5: 1 And it came to pass, that, as the people pressed upon him to hear the word of God, he stood by the lake of Gennesaret, 5: 2 And saw two ships standing by the lake: but the fishermen were gone out of them, and were washing their nets.
5: 3 And he entered into one of the ships, which was Simon's, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land.
And he sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.
5: 4 Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
5: 5 And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.
5: 6 And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net brake.
5: 7 And they beckoned unto their partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them.
And they came, and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink.
5: 8 When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus'knees, saying, Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.
5: 9 For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken: 5: 10 And so was also James, and John, the sons of Zebedee, which were partners with Simon.
And Jesus said unto Simon, Fear not; from henceforth thou shalt catch men.
5: 11 And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all, and followed him.
5: 12 And it came to pass, when he was in a certain city, behold a man full of leprosy: who seeing Jesus fell on his face, and besought him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.
5: 13 And he put forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I will: be thou clean.
And immediately the leprosy departed from him.
5: 14 And he charged him to tell no man: but go, and shew thyself to the priest, and offer for thy cleansing, according as Moses commanded, for a testimony unto them.
5: 15 But so much the more went there a fame abroad of him: and great multitudes came together to hear, and to be healed by him of their infirmities.
5: 16 And he withdrew himself into the wilderness, and prayed.
5: 17 And it came to pass on a certain day, as he was teaching, that there were Pharisees and doctors of the law sitting by, which were come out of every town of Galilee, and Judaea, and Jerusalem: and the power of the Lord was present to heal them.
5: 18 And, behold, men brought in a bed a man which was taken with a palsy: and they sought means to bring him in, and to lay him before him.
5: 19 And when they could not find by what way they might bring him in because of the multitude, they went upon the housetop, and let him down through the tiling with his couch into the midst before Jesus.
5: 20 And when he saw their faith, he said unto him, Man, thy sins are forgiven thee.
5: 21 And the scribes and the Pharisees began to reason, saying, Who is this which speaketh blasphemies?
Who can forgive sins, but God alone?
5: 22 But when Jesus perceived their thoughts, he answering said unto them, What reason ye in your hearts?
5: 23 Whether is easier, to say, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Rise up and walk?
5: 24 But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power upon earth to forgive sins, (he said unto the sick of the palsy,) I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy couch, and go into thine house.
5: 25 And immediately he rose up before them, and took up that whereon he lay, and departed to his own house, glorifying God.
5: 26 And they were all amazed, and they glorified God, and were filled with fear, saying, We have seen strange things to day.
5: 27 And after these things he went forth, and saw a publican, named Levi, sitting at the receipt of custom: and he said unto him, Follow me.
5: 28 And he left all, rose up, and followed him.
5: 29 And Levi made him a great feast in his own house: and there was a great company of publicans and of others that sat down with them.
5: 30 But their scribes and Pharisees murmured against his disciples, saying, Why do ye eat and drink with publicans and sinners?
5: 31 And Jesus answering said unto them, They that are whole need not a physician; but they that are sick.
5: 32 I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.
5: 33 And they said unto him, Why do the disciples of John fast often, and make prayers, and likewise the disciples of the Pharisees; but thine eat and drink?
5: 34 And he said unto them, Can ye make the children of the bridechamber fast, while the bridegroom is with them?
5: 35 But the days will come, when the bridegroom shall be taken away from them, and then shall they fast in those days.
5: 36 And he spake also a parable unto them; No man putteth a piece of a new garment upon an old; if otherwise, then both the new maketh a rent, and the piece that was taken out of the new agreeth not with the old.
5: 37 And no man putteth new wine into old bottles; else the new wine will burst the bottles, and be spilled, and the bottles shall perish.
5: 38 But new wine must be put into new bottles; and both are preserved.
5: 39 No man also having drunk old wine straightway desireth new: for he saith, The old is better.
6: 1 And it came to pass on the second sabbath after the first, that he went through the corn fields; and his disciples plucked the ears of corn, and did eat, rubbing them in their hands.
6: 2 And certain of the Pharisees said unto them, Why do ye that which is not lawful to do on the sabbath days?
6: 5 And he said unto them, That the Son of man is Lord also of the sabbath.
6: 6 And it came to pass also on another sabbath, that he entered into the synagogue and taught: and there was a man whose right hand was withered.
6: 7 And the scribes and Pharisees watched him, whether he would heal on the sabbath day; that they might find an accusation against him.
6: 8 But he knew their thoughts, and said to the man which had the withered hand, Rise up, and stand forth in the midst.
And he arose and stood forth.
6: 9 Then said Jesus unto them, I will ask you one thing; Is it lawful on the sabbath days to do good, or to do evil?
to save life, or to destroy it?
6: 10 And looking round about upon them all, he said unto the man, Stretch forth thy hand.
And he did so: and his hand was restored whole as the other.
6: 11 And they were filled with madness; and communed one with another what they might do to Jesus.
6: 12 And it came to pass in those days, that he went out into a mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to God.
6: 19 And the whole multitude sought to touch him: for there went virtue out of him, and healed them all.
6: 20 And he lifted up his eyes on his disciples, and said, Blessed be ye poor: for yours is the kingdom of God.
6: 21 Blessed are ye that hunger now: for ye shall be filled.
Blessed are ye that weep now: for ye shall laugh.
6: 22 Blessed are ye, when men shall hate you, and when they shall separate you from their company, and shall reproach you, and cast out your name as evil, for the Son of man's sake.
6: 23 Rejoice ye in that day, and leap for joy: for, behold, your reward is great in heaven: for in the like manner did their fathers unto the prophets.
6: 24 But woe unto you that are rich!
for ye have received your consolation.
6: 25 Woe unto you that are full!
for ye shall hunger.
Woe unto you that laugh now!
for ye shall mourn and weep.
6: 26 Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you!
for so did their fathers to the false prophets.
6: 27 But I say unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you, 6: 28 Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.
6: 29 And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and him that taketh away thy cloak forbid not to take thy coat also.
6: 30 Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again.
6: 31 And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.
6: 32 For if ye love them which love you, what thank have ye?
for sinners also love those that love them.
6: 33 And if ye do good to them which do good to you, what thank have ye?
for sinners also do even the same.
6: 34 And if ye lend to them of whom ye hope to receive, what thank have ye?
for sinners also lend to sinners, to receive as much again.
6: 35 But love ye your enemies, and do good, and lend, hoping for nothing again; and your reward shall be great, and ye shall be the children of the Highest: for he is kind unto the unthankful and to the evil.
6: 36 Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful.
6: 37 Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven: 6: 38 Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom.
For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.
6: 39 And he spake a parable unto them, Can the blind lead the blind?
shall they not both fall into the ditch?
6: 40 The disciple is not above his master: but every one that is perfect shall be as his master.
6: 41 And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but perceivest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
6: 42 Either how canst thou say to thy brother, Brother, let me pull out the mote that is in thine eye, when thou thyself beholdest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
Thou hypocrite, cast out first the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt thou see clearly to pull out the mote that is in thy brother's eye.
6: 43 For a good tree bringeth not forth corrupt fruit; neither doth a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.
6: 44 For every tree is known by his own fruit.
For of thorns men do not gather figs, nor of a bramble bush gather they grapes.
6: 45 A good man out of the good treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is evil: for of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaketh.
6: 46 And why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?
6: 49 But he that heareth, and doeth not, is like a man that without a foundation built an house upon the earth; against which the stream did beat vehemently, and immediately it fell; and the ruin of that house was great.
7: 1 Now when he had ended all his sayings in the audience of the people, he entered into Capernaum.
7: 2 And a certain centurion's servant, who was dear unto him, was sick, and ready to die.
7: 3 And when he heard of Jesus, he sent unto him the elders of the Jews, beseeching him that he would come and heal his servant.
7: 4 And when they came to Jesus, they besought him instantly, saying, That he was worthy for whom he should do this: 7: 5 For he loveth our nation, and he hath built us a synagogue.
7: 6 Then Jesus went with them.
7: 8 For I also am a man set under authority, having under me soldiers, and I say unto one, Go, and he goeth; and to another, Come, and he cometh; and to my servant, Do this, and he doeth it.
7: 9 When Jesus heard these things, he marvelled at him, and turned him about, and said unto the people that followed him, I say unto you, I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel.
7: 10 And they that were sent, returning to the house, found the servant whole that had been sick.
7: 11 And it came to pass the day after, that he went into a city called Nain; and many of his disciples went with him, and much people.
7: 12 Now when he came nigh to the gate of the city, behold, there was a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow: and much people of the city was with her.
7: 13 And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not.
7: 14 And he came and touched the bier: and they that bare him stood still.
And he said, Young man, I say unto thee, Arise.
7: 15 And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak.
And he delivered him to his mother.
7: 16 And there came a fear on all: and they glorified God, saying, That a great prophet is risen up among us; and, That God hath visited his people.
7: 17 And this rumour of him went forth throughout all Judaea, and throughout all the region round about.
7: 18 And the disciples of John shewed him of all these things.
7: 19 And John calling unto him two of his disciples sent them to Jesus, saying, Art thou he that should come?
or look we for another?
7: 20 When the men were come unto him, they said, John Baptist hath sent us unto thee, saying, Art thou he that should come?
or look we for another?
7: 21 And in that same hour he cured many of their infirmities and plagues, and of evil spirits; and unto many that were blind he gave sight.
7: 22 Then Jesus answering said unto them, Go your way, and tell John what things ye have seen and heard; how that the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, to the poor the gospel is preached.
7: 23 And blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me.
7: 24 And when the messengers of John were departed, he began to speak unto the people concerning John, What went ye out into the wilderness for to see?
A reed shaken with the wind?
7: 25 But what went ye out for to see?
A man clothed in soft raiment?
Behold, they which are gorgeously apparelled, and live delicately, are in kings'courts.
7: 26 But what went ye out for to see?
A prophet?
Yea, I say unto you, and much more than a prophet.
7: 27 This is he, of whom it is written, Behold, I send my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare thy way before thee.
7: 28 For I say unto you, Among those that are born of women there is not a greater prophet than John the Baptist: but he that is least in the kingdom of God is greater than he.
7: 29 And all the people that heard him, and the publicans, justified God, being baptized with the baptism of John.
7: 30 But the Pharisees and lawyers rejected the counsel of God against themselves, being not baptized of him.
7: 31 And the Lord said, Whereunto then shall I liken the men of this generation?
and to what are they like?
7: 32 They are like unto children sitting in the marketplace, and calling one to another, and saying, We have piped unto you, and ye have not danced; we have mourned to you, and ye have not wept.
7: 33 For John the Baptist came neither eating bread nor drinking wine; and ye say, He hath a devil.
7: 34 The Son of man is come eating and drinking; and ye say, Behold a gluttonous man, and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners!
7: 35 But wisdom is justified of all her children.
7: 36 And one of the Pharisees desired him that he would eat with him.
And he went into the Pharisee's house, and sat down to meat.
7: 39 Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner.
7: 40 And Jesus answering said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee.
And he saith, Master, say on.
7: 41 There was a certain creditor which had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty.
7: 42 And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both.
Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most?
7: 43 Simon answered and said, I suppose that he, to whom he forgave most.
And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged.
7: 44 And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman?
I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head.
7: 45 Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet.
7: 46 My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment.
7: 47 Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little.
7: 48 And he said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven.
7: 49 And they that sat at meat with him began to say within themselves, Who is this that forgiveth sins also?
7: 50 And he said to the woman, Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace.
8: 4 And when much people were gathered together, and were come to him out of every city, he spake by a parable: 8: 5 A sower went out to sow his seed: and as he sowed, some fell by the way side; and it was trodden down, and the fowls of the air devoured it.
8: 6 And some fell upon a rock; and as soon as it was sprung up, it withered away, because it lacked moisture.
8: 7 And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprang up with it, and choked it.
8: 8 And other fell on good ground, and sprang up, and bare fruit an hundredfold.
And when he had said these things, he cried, He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.
8: 9 And his disciples asked him, saying, What might this parable be?
8: 10 And he said, Unto you it is given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of God: but to others in parables; that seeing they might not see, and hearing they might not understand.
8: 11 Now the parable is this: The seed is the word of God.
8: 12 Those by the way side are they that hear; then cometh the devil, and taketh away the word out of their hearts, lest they should believe and be saved.
8: 13 They on the rock are they, which, when they hear, receive the word with joy; and these have no root, which for a while believe, and in time of temptation fall away.
8: 14 And that which fell among thorns are they, which, when they have heard, go forth, and are choked with cares and riches and pleasures of this life, and bring no fruit to perfection.
8: 15 But that on the good ground are they, which in an honest and good heart, having heard the word, keep it, and bring forth fruit with patience.
8: 16 No man, when he hath lighted a candle, covereth it with a vessel, or putteth it under a bed; but setteth it on a candlestick, that they which enter in may see the light.
8: 17 For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest; neither any thing hid, that shall not be known and come abroad.
8: 18 Take heed therefore how ye hear: for whosoever hath, to him shall be given; and whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken even that which he seemeth to have.
8: 19 Then came to him his mother and his brethren, and could not come at him for the press.
8: 20 And it was told him by certain which said, Thy mother and thy brethren stand without, desiring to see thee.
8: 21 And he answered and said unto them, My mother and my brethren are these which hear the word of God, and do it.
8: 22 Now it came to pass on a certain day, that he went into a ship with his disciples: and he said unto them, Let us go over unto the other side of the lake.
And they launched forth.
8: 23 But as they sailed he fell asleep: and there came down a storm of wind on the lake; and they were filled with water, and were in jeopardy.
8: 24 And they came to him, and awoke him, saying, Master, master, we perish.
Then he arose, and rebuked the wind and the raging of the water: and they ceased, and there was a calm.
8: 25 And he said unto them, Where is your faith?
And they being afraid wondered, saying one to another, What manner of man is this!
for he commandeth even the winds and water, and they obey him.
8: 26 And they arrived at the country of the Gadarenes, which is over against Galilee.
8: 27 And when he went forth to land, there met him out of the city a certain man, which had devils long time, and ware no clothes, neither abode in any house, but in the tombs.
8: 28 When he saw Jesus, he cried out, and fell down before him, and with a loud voice said, What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of God most high?
I beseech thee, torment me not.
8: 29 (For he had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man.
For oftentimes it had caught him: and he was kept bound with chains and in fetters; and he brake the bands, and was driven of the devil into the wilderness.)
8: 30 And Jesus asked him, saying, What is thy name?
And he said, Legion: because many devils were entered into him.
8: 31 And they besought him that he would not command them to go out into the deep.
8: 32 And there was there an herd of many swine feeding on the mountain: and they besought him that he would suffer them to enter into them.
And he suffered them.
8: 33 Then went the devils out of the man, and entered into the swine: and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the lake, and were choked.
8: 34 When they that fed them saw what was done, they fled, and went and told it in the city and in the country.
8: 35 Then they went out to see what was done; and came to Jesus, and found the man, out of whom the devils were departed, sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed, and in his right mind: and they were afraid.
8: 36 They also which saw it told them by what means he that was possessed of the devils was healed.
8: 37 Then the whole multitude of the country of the Gadarenes round about besought him to depart from them; for they were taken with great fear: and he went up into the ship, and returned back again.
8: 38 Now the man out of whom the devils were departed besought him that he might be with him: but Jesus sent him away, saying, 8: 39 Return to thine own house, and shew how great things God hath done unto thee.
And he went his way, and published throughout the whole city how great things Jesus had done unto him.
8: 40 And it came to pass, that, when Jesus was returned, the people gladly received him: for they were all waiting for him.
8: 41 And, behold, there came a man named Jairus, and he was a ruler of the synagogue: and he fell down at Jesus'feet, and besought him that he would come into his house: 8: 42 For he had one only daughter, about twelve years of age, and she lay a dying.
But as he went the people thronged him.
8: 43 And a woman having an issue of blood twelve years, which had spent all her living upon physicians, neither could be healed of any, 8: 44 Came behind him, and touched the border of his garment: and immediately her issue of blood stanched.
8: 45 And Jesus said, Who touched me?
When all denied, Peter and they that were with him said, Master, the multitude throng thee and press thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me?
8: 46 And Jesus said, Somebody hath touched me: for I perceive that virtue is gone out of me.
8: 47 And when the woman saw that she was not hid, she came trembling, and falling down before him, she declared unto him before all the people for what cause she had touched him, and how she was healed immediately.
8: 48 And he said unto her, Daughter, be of good comfort: thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace.
8: 49 While he yet spake, there cometh one from the ruler of the synagogue's house, saying to him, Thy daughter is dead; trouble not the Master.
8: 50 But when Jesus heard it, he answered him, saying, Fear not: believe only, and she shall be made whole.
8: 51 And when he came into the house, he suffered no man to go in, save Peter, and James, and John, and the father and the mother of the maiden.
8: 52 And all wept, and bewailed her: but he said, Weep not; she is not dead, but sleepeth.
8: 53 And they laughed him to scorn, knowing that she was dead.
8: 54 And he put them all out, and took her by the hand, and called, saying, Maid, arise.
8: 55 And her spirit came again, and she arose straightway: and he commanded to give her meat.
8: 56 And her parents were astonished: but he charged them that they should tell no man what was done.
9: 1 Then he called his twelve disciples together, and gave them power and authority over all devils, and to cure diseases.
9: 2 And he sent them to preach the kingdom of God, and to heal the sick.
9: 3 And he said unto them, Take nothing for your journey, neither staves, nor scrip, neither bread, neither money; neither have two coats apiece.
9: 4 And whatsoever house ye enter into, there abide, and thence depart.
9: 5 And whosoever will not receive you, when ye go out of that city, shake off the very dust from your feet for a testimony against them.
9: 6 And they departed, and went through the towns, preaching the gospel, and healing every where.
9: 7 Now Herod the tetrarch heard of all that was done by him: and he was perplexed, because that it was said of some, that John was risen from the dead; 9: 8 And of some, that Elias had appeared; and of others, that one of the old prophets was risen again.
9: 9 And Herod said, John have I beheaded: but who is this, of whom I hear such things?
And he desired to see him.
9: 10 And the apostles, when they were returned, told him all that they had done.
And he took them, and went aside privately into a desert place belonging to the city called Bethsaida.
9: 11 And the people, when they knew it, followed him: and he received them, and spake unto them of the kingdom of God, and healed them that had need of healing.
9: 12 And when the day began to wear away, then came the twelve, and said unto him, Send the multitude away, that they may go into the towns and country round about, and lodge, and get victuals: for we are here in a desert place.
9: 13 But he said unto them, Give ye them to eat.
And they said, We have no more but five loaves and two fishes; except we should go and buy meat for all this people.
9: 14 For they were about five thousand men.
And he said to his disciples, Make them sit down by fifties in a company.
9: 15 And they did so, and made them all sit down.
9: 16 Then he took the five loaves and the two fishes, and looking up to heaven, he blessed them, and brake, and gave to the disciples to set before the multitude.
9: 17 And they did eat, and were all filled: and there was taken up of fragments that remained to them twelve baskets.
9: 18 And it came to pass, as he was alone praying, his disciples were with him: and he asked them, saying, Whom say the people that I am?
9: 19 They answering said, John the Baptist; but some say, Elias; and others say, that one of the old prophets is risen again.
9: 20 He said unto them, But whom say ye that I am?
Peter answering said, The Christ of God.
9: 21 And he straitly charged them, and commanded them to tell no man that thing; 9: 22 Saying, The Son of man must suffer many things, and be rejected of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be slain, and be raised the third day.
9: 23 And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.
9: 24 For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: but whosoever will lose his life for my sake, the same shall save it.
9: 25 For what is a man advantaged, if he gain the whole world, and lose himself, or be cast away?
9: 26 For whosoever shall be ashamed of me and of my words, of him shall the Son of man be ashamed, when he shall come in his own glory, and in his Father's, and of the holy angels.
9: 27 But I tell you of a truth, there be some standing here, which shall not taste of death, till they see the kingdom of God.
9: 28 And it came to pass about an eight days after these sayings, he took Peter and John and James, and went up into a mountain to pray.
9: 29 And as he prayed, the fashion of his countenance was altered, and his raiment was white and glistering.
9: 30 And, behold, there talked with him two men, which were Moses and Elias: 9: 31 Who appeared in glory, and spake of his decease which he should accomplish at Jerusalem.
9: 32 But Peter and they that were with him were heavy with sleep: and when they were awake, they saw his glory, and the two men that stood with him.
9: 33 And it came to pass, as they departed from him, Peter said unto Jesus, Master, it is good for us to be here: and let us make three tabernacles; one for thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias: not knowing what he said.
9: 34 While he thus spake, there came a cloud, and overshadowed them: and they feared as they entered into the cloud.
9: 35 And there came a voice out of the cloud, saying, This is my beloved Son: hear him.
9: 36 And when the voice was past, Jesus was found alone.
And they kept it close, and told no man in those days any of those things which they had seen.
9: 37 And it came to pass, that on the next day, when they were come down from the hill, much people met him.
9: 38 And, behold, a man of the company cried out, saying, Master, I beseech thee, look upon my son: for he is mine only child.
9: 39 And, lo, a spirit taketh him, and he suddenly crieth out; and it teareth him that he foameth again, and bruising him hardly departeth from him.
9: 40 And I besought thy disciples to cast him out; and they could not.
9: 41 And Jesus answering said, O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you, and suffer you?
Bring thy son hither.
9: 42 And as he was yet a coming, the devil threw him down, and tare him.
And Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, and healed the child, and delivered him again to his father.
9: 43 And they were all amazed at the mighty power of God.
But while they wondered every one at all things which Jesus did, he said unto his disciples, 9: 44 Let these sayings sink down into your ears: for the Son of man shall be delivered into the hands of men.
9: 45 But they understood not this saying, and it was hid from them, that they perceived it not: and they feared to ask him of that saying.
9: 46 Then there arose a reasoning among them, which of them should be greatest.
9: 49 And John answered and said, Master, we saw one casting out devils in thy name; and we forbad him, because he followeth not with us.
9: 50 And Jesus said unto him, Forbid him not: for he that is not against us is for us.
9: 51 And it came to pass, when the time was come that he should be received up, he stedfastly set his face to go to Jerusalem, 9: 52 And sent messengers before his face: and they went, and entered into a village of the Samaritans, to make ready for him.
9: 53 And they did not receive him, because his face was as though he would go to Jerusalem.
9: 54 And when his disciples James and John saw this, they said, Lord, wilt thou that we command fire to come down from heaven, and consume them, even as Elias did?
9: 55 But he turned, and rebuked them, and said, Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of.
9: 56 For the Son of man is not come to destroy men's lives, but to save them.
And they went to another village.
9: 57 And it came to pass, that, as they went in the way, a certain man said unto him, Lord, I will follow thee whithersoever thou goest.
9: 58 And Jesus said unto him, Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.
9: 59 And he said unto another, Follow me.
But he said, Lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father.
9: 60 Jesus said unto him, Let the dead bury their dead: but go thou and preach the kingdom of God.
9: 61 And another also said, Lord, I will follow thee; but let me first go bid them farewell, which are at home at my house.
9: 62 And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.
10: 1 After these things the LORD appointed other seventy also, and sent them two and two before his face into every city and place, whither he himself would come.
10: 2 Therefore said he unto them, The harvest truly is great, but the labourers are few: pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he would send forth labourers into his harvest.
10: 3 Go your ways: behold, I send you forth as lambs among wolves.
10: 4 Carry neither purse, nor scrip, nor shoes: and salute no man by the way.
10: 5 And into whatsoever house ye enter, first say, Peace be to this house.
10: 6 And if the son of peace be there, your peace shall rest upon it: if not, it shall turn to you again.
10: 7 And in the same house remain, eating and drinking such things as they give: for the labourer is worthy of his hire.
Go not from house to house.
10: 8 And into whatsoever city ye enter, and they receive you, eat such things as are set before you: 10: 9 And heal the sick that are therein, and say unto them, The kingdom of God is come nigh unto you.
10: 12 But I say unto you, that it shall be more tolerable in that day for Sodom, than for that city.
10: 13 Woe unto thee, Chorazin!
woe unto thee, Bethsaida!
for if the mighty works had been done in Tyre and Sidon, which have been done in you, they had a great while ago repented, sitting in sackcloth and ashes.
10: 14 But it shall be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon at the judgment, than for you.
10: 15 And thou, Capernaum, which art exalted to heaven, shalt be thrust down to hell.
10: 16 He that heareth you heareth me; and he that despiseth you despiseth me; and he that despiseth me despiseth him that sent me.
10: 17 And the seventy returned again with joy, saying, Lord, even the devils are subject unto us through thy name.
10: 18 And he said unto them, I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven.
10: 19 Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy: and nothing shall by any means hurt you.
10: 20 Notwithstanding in this rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you; but rather rejoice, because your names are written in heaven.
10: 21 In that hour Jesus rejoiced in spirit, and said, I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes: even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight.
10: 22 All things are delivered to me of my Father: and no man knoweth who the Son is, but the Father; and who the Father is, but the Son, and he to whom the Son will reveal him.
10: 25 And, behold, a certain lawyer stood up, and tempted him, saying, Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?
10: 26 He said unto him, What is written in the law?
how readest thou?
10: 27 And he answering said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself.
10: 28 And he said unto him, Thou hast answered right: this do, and thou shalt live.
10: 29 But he, willing to justify himself, said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbour?
10: 30 And Jesus answering said, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead.
10: 31 And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.
10: 32 And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side.
10: 33 But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him, 10: 34 And went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him.
10: 35 And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee.
10: 36 Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves?
10: 37 And he said, He that shewed mercy on him.
Then said Jesus unto him, Go, and do thou likewise.
10: 38 Now it came to pass, as they went, that he entered into a certain village: and a certain woman named Martha received him into her house.
10: 39 And she had a sister called Mary, which also sat at Jesus'feet, and heard his word.
10: 40 But Martha was cumbered about much serving, and came to him, and said, Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone?
bid her therefore that she help me.
10: 41 And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: 10: 42 But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her.
11: 1 And it came to pass, that, as he was praying in a certain place, when he ceased, one of his disciples said unto him, Lord, teach us to pray, as John also taught his disciples.
11: 2 And he said unto them, When ye pray, say, Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done, as in heaven, so in earth.
11: 3 Give us day by day our daily bread.
11: 4 And forgive us our sins; for we also forgive every one that is indebted to us.
And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil.
11: 5 And he said unto them, Which of you shall have a friend, and shall go unto him at midnight, and say unto him, Friend, lend me three loaves; 11: 6 For a friend of mine in his journey is come to me, and I have nothing to set before him?
11: 7 And he from within shall answer and say, Trouble me not: the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot rise and give thee.
11: 8 I say unto you, Though he will not rise and give him, because he is his friend, yet because of his importunity he will rise and give him as many as he needeth.
11: 9 And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.
11: 10 For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.
11: 11 If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone?
or if he ask a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent?
11: 12 Or if he shall ask an egg, will he offer him a scorpion?
11: 13 If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him?
11: 14 And he was casting out a devil, and it was dumb.
And it came to pass, when the devil was gone out, the dumb spake; and the people wondered.
11: 15 But some of them said, He casteth out devils through Beelzebub the chief of the devils.
11: 16 And others, tempting him, sought of him a sign from heaven.
11: 17 But he, knowing their thoughts, said unto them, Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation; and a house divided against a house falleth.
11: 18 If Satan also be divided against himself, how shall his kingdom stand?
because ye say that I cast out devils through Beelzebub.
11: 19 And if I by Beelzebub cast out devils, by whom do your sons cast them out?
therefore shall they be your judges.
11: 20 But if I with the finger of God cast out devils, no doubt the kingdom of God is come upon you.
11: 21 When a strong man armed keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace: 11: 22 But when a stronger than he shall come upon him, and overcome him, he taketh from him all his armour wherein he trusted, and divideth his spoils.
11: 23 He that is not with me is against me: and he that gathereth not with me scattereth.
11: 24 When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest; and finding none, he saith, I will return unto my house whence I came out.
11: 25 And when he cometh, he findeth it swept and garnished.
11: 26 Then goeth he, and taketh to him seven other spirits more wicked than himself; and they enter in, and dwell there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first.
11: 27 And it came to pass, as he spake these things, a certain woman of the company lifted up her voice, and said unto him, Blessed is the womb that bare thee, and the paps which thou hast sucked.
11: 28 But he said, Yea rather, blessed are they that hear the word of God, and keep it.
11: 29 And when the people were gathered thick together, he began to say, This is an evil generation: they seek a sign; and there shall no sign be given it, but the sign of Jonas the prophet.
11: 30 For as Jonas was a sign unto the Ninevites, so shall also the Son of man be to this generation.
11: 31 The queen of the south shall rise up in the judgment with the men of this generation, and condemn them: for she came from the utmost parts of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon; and, behold, a greater than Solomon is here.
11: 32 The men of Nineve shall rise up in the judgment with this generation, and shall condemn it: for they repented at the preaching of Jonas; and, behold, a greater than Jonas is here.
11: 33 No man, when he hath lighted a candle, putteth it in a secret place, neither under a bushel, but on a candlestick, that they which come in may see the light.
11: 34 The light of the body is the eye: therefore when thine eye is single, thy whole body also is full of light; but when thine eye is evil, thy body also is full of darkness.
11: 35 Take heed therefore that the light which is in thee be not darkness.
11: 36 If thy whole body therefore be full of light, having no part dark, the whole shall be full of light, as when the bright shining of a candle doth give thee light.
11: 37 And as he spake, a certain Pharisee besought him to dine with him: and he went in, and sat down to meat.
11: 38 And when the Pharisee saw it, he marvelled that he had not first washed before dinner.
11: 39 And the Lord said unto him, Now do ye Pharisees make clean the outside of the cup and the platter; but your inward part is full of ravening and wickedness.
11: 40 Ye fools, did not he that made that which is without make that which is within also?
11: 41 But rather give alms of such things as ye have; and, behold, all things are clean unto you.
11: 42 But woe unto you, Pharisees!
for ye tithe mint and rue and all manner of herbs, and pass over judgment and the love of God: these ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone.
11: 43 Woe unto you, Pharisees!
for ye love the uppermost seats in the synagogues, and greetings in the markets.
11: 44 Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!
for ye are as graves which appear not, and the men that walk over them are not aware of them.
11: 45 Then answered one of the lawyers, and said unto him, Master, thus saying thou reproachest us also.
11: 46 And he said, Woe unto you also, ye lawyers!
for ye lade men with burdens grievous to be borne, and ye yourselves touch not the burdens with one of your fingers.
11: 47 Woe unto you!
for ye build the sepulchres of the prophets, and your fathers killed them.
11: 48 Truly ye bear witness that ye allow the deeds of your fathers: for they indeed killed them, and ye build their sepulchres.
11: 52 Woe unto you, lawyers!
for ye have taken away the key of knowledge: ye entered not in yourselves, and them that were entering in ye hindered.
11: 53 And as he said these things unto them, the scribes and the Pharisees began to urge him vehemently, and to provoke him to speak of many things: 11: 54 Laying wait for him, and seeking to catch something out of his mouth, that they might accuse him.
12: 1 In the mean time, when there were gathered together an innumerable multitude of people, insomuch that they trode one upon another, he began to say unto his disciples first of all, Beware ye of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy.
12: 2 For there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; neither hid, that shall not be known.
12: 3 Therefore whatsoever ye have spoken in darkness shall be heard in the light; and that which ye have spoken in the ear in closets shall be proclaimed upon the housetops.
12: 4 And I say unto you my friends, Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do.
12: 5 But I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear him, which after he hath killed hath power to cast into hell; yea, I say unto you, Fear him.
12: 6 Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God?
12: 7 But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.
Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.
12: 8 Also I say unto you, Whosoever shall confess me before men, him shall the Son of man also confess before the angels of God: 12: 9 But he that denieth me before men shall be denied before the angels of God.
12: 10 And whosoever shall speak a word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him: but unto him that blasphemeth against the Holy Ghost it shall not be forgiven.
12: 11 And when they bring you unto the synagogues, and unto magistrates, and powers, take ye no thought how or what thing ye shall answer, or what ye shall say: 12: 12 For the Holy Ghost shall teach you in the same hour what ye ought to say.
12: 13 And one of the company said unto him, Master, speak to my brother, that he divide the inheritance with me.
12: 14 And he said unto him, Man, who made me a judge or a divider over you?
12: 15 And he said unto them, Take heed, and beware of covetousness: for a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.
12: 16 And he spake a parable unto them, saying, The ground of a certain rich man brought forth plentifully: 12: 17 And he thought within himself, saying, What shall I do, because I have no room where to bestow my fruits?
12: 18 And he said, This will I do: I will pull down my barns, and build greater; and there will I bestow all my fruits and my goods.
12: 19 And I will say to my soul, Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry.
12: 20 But God said unto him, Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee: then whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided?
12: 21 So is he that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God.
12: 22 And he said unto his disciples, Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat; neither for the body, what ye shall put on.
12: 23 The life is more than meat, and the body is more than raiment.
12: 24 Consider the ravens: for they neither sow nor reap; which neither have storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them: how much more are ye better than the fowls?
12: 25 And which of you with taking thought can add to his stature one cubit?
12: 26 If ye then be not able to do that thing which is least, why take ye thought for the rest?
12: 27 Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
12: 28 If then God so clothe the grass, which is to day in the field, and to morrow is cast into the oven; how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little faith?
12: 29 And seek not ye what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, neither be ye of doubtful mind.
12: 30 For all these things do the nations of the world seek after: and your Father knoweth that ye have need of these things.
12: 31 But rather seek ye the kingdom of God; and all these things shall be added unto you.
12: 32 Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom.
12: 33 Sell that ye have, and give alms; provide yourselves bags which wax not old, a treasure in the heavens that faileth not, where no thief approacheth, neither moth corrupteth.
12: 34 For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
12: 35 Let your loins be girded about, and your lights burning; 12: 36 And ye yourselves like unto men that wait for their lord, when he will return from the wedding; that when he cometh and knocketh, they may open unto him immediately.
12: 37 Blessed are those servants, whom the lord when he cometh shall find watching: verily I say unto you, that he shall gird himself, and make them to sit down to meat, and will come forth and serve them.
12: 38 And if he shall come in the second watch, or come in the third watch, and find them so, blessed are those servants.
12: 39 And this know, that if the goodman of the house had known what hour the thief would come, he would have watched, and not have suffered his house to be broken through.
12: 40 Be ye therefore ready also: for the Son of man cometh at an hour when ye think not.
12: 41 Then Peter said unto him, Lord, speakest thou this parable unto us, or even to all?
12: 42 And the Lord said, Who then is that faithful and wise steward, whom his lord shall make ruler over his household, to give them their portion of meat in due season?
12: 43 Blessed is that servant, whom his lord when he cometh shall find so doing.
12: 44 Of a truth I say unto you, that he will make him ruler over all that he hath.
12: 47 And that servant, which knew his lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes.
12: 48 But he that knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes.
For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.
12: 49 I am come to send fire on the earth; and what will I, if it be already kindled?
12: 50 But I have a baptism to be baptized with; and how am I straitened till it be accomplished!
12: 51 Suppose ye that I am come to give peace on earth?
I tell you, Nay; but rather division: 12: 52 For from henceforth there shall be five in one house divided, three against two, and two against three.
12: 53 The father shall be divided against the son, and the son against the father; the mother against the daughter, and the daughter against the mother; the mother in law against her daughter in law, and the daughter in law against her mother in law.
12: 54 And he said also to the people, When ye see a cloud rise out of the west, straightway ye say, There cometh a shower; and so it is.
12: 55 And when ye see the south wind blow, ye say, There will be heat; and it cometh to pass.
12: 56 Ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky and of the earth; but how is it that ye do not discern this time?
12: 57 Yea, and why even of yourselves judge ye not what is right?
12: 58 When thou goest with thine adversary to the magistrate, as thou art in the way, give diligence that thou mayest be delivered from him; lest he hale thee to the judge, and the judge deliver thee to the officer, and the officer cast thee into prison.
12: 59 I tell thee, thou shalt not depart thence, till thou hast paid the very last mite.
13: 1 There were present at that season some that told him of the Galilaeans, whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices.
13: 2 And Jesus answering said unto them, Suppose ye that these Galilaeans were sinners above all the Galilaeans, because they suffered such things?
13: 3 I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish.
13: 4 Or those eighteen, upon whom the tower in Siloam fell, and slew them, think ye that they were sinners above all men that dwelt in Jerusalem?
13: 5 I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish.
13: 6 He spake also this parable; A certain man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came and sought fruit thereon, and found none.
13: 7 Then said he unto the dresser of his vineyard, Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and find none: cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground?
13: 8 And he answering said unto him, Lord, let it alone this year also, till I shall dig about it, and dung it: 13: 9 And if it bear fruit, well: and if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down.
13: 10 And he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath.
13: 11 And, behold, there was a woman which had a spirit of infirmity eighteen years, and was bowed together, and could in no wise lift up herself.
13: 12 And when Jesus saw her, he called her to him, and said unto her, Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity.
13: 13 And he laid his hands on her: and immediately she was made straight, and glorified God.
13: 14 And the ruler of the synagogue answered with indignation, because that Jesus had healed on the sabbath day, and said unto the people, There are six days in which men ought to work: in them therefore come and be healed, and not on the sabbath day.
13: 15 The Lord then answered him, and said, Thou hypocrite, doth not each one of you on the sabbath loose his ox or his ass from the stall, and lead him away to watering?
13: 16 And ought not this woman, being a daughter of Abraham, whom Satan hath bound, lo, these eighteen years, be loosed from this bond on the sabbath day?
13: 17 And when he had said these things, all his adversaries were ashamed: and all the people rejoiced for all the glorious things that were done by him.
13: 18 Then said he, Unto what is the kingdom of God like?
and whereunto shall I resemble it?
13: 19 It is like a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and cast into his garden; and it grew, and waxed a great tree; and the fowls of the air lodged in the branches of it.
13: 20 And again he said, Whereunto shall I liken the kingdom of God?
13: 21 It is like leaven, which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leavened.
13: 22 And he went through the cities and villages, teaching, and journeying toward Jerusalem.
13: 23 Then said one unto him, Lord, are there few that be saved?
And he said unto them, 13: 24 Strive to enter in at the strait gate: for many, I say unto you, will seek to enter in, and shall not be able.
13: 27 But he shall say, I tell you, I know you not whence ye are; depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity.
13: 28 There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth, when ye shall see Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets, in the kingdom of God, and you yourselves thrust out.
13: 29 And they shall come from the east, and from the west, and from the north, and from the south, and shall sit down in the kingdom of God.
13: 30 And, behold, there are last which shall be first, and there are first which shall be last.
13: 31 The same day there came certain of the Pharisees, saying unto him, Get thee out, and depart hence: for Herod will kill thee.
13: 32 And he said unto them, Go ye, and tell that fox, Behold, I cast out devils, and I do cures to day and to morrow, and the third day I shall be perfected.
13: 33 Nevertheless I must walk to day, and to morrow, and the day following: for it cannot be that a prophet perish out of Jerusalem.
13: 34 O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee; how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings, and ye would not!
13: 35 Behold, your house is left unto you desolate: and verily I say unto you, Ye shall not see me, until the time come when ye shall say, Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.
14: 1 And it came to pass, as he went into the house of one of the chief Pharisees to eat bread on the sabbath day, that they watched him.
14: 2 And, behold, there was a certain man before him which had the dropsy.
14: 3 And Jesus answering spake unto the lawyers and Pharisees, saying, Is it lawful to heal on the sabbath day?
14: 4 And they held their peace.
And he took him, and healed him, and let him go; 14: 5 And answered them, saying, Which of you shall have an ass or an ox fallen into a pit, and will not straightway pull him out on the sabbath day?
14: 6 And they could not answer him again to these things.
14: 7 And he put forth a parable to those which were bidden, when he marked how they chose out the chief rooms; saying unto them.
14: 8 When thou art bidden of any man to a wedding, sit not down in the highest room; lest a more honourable man than thou be bidden of him; 14: 9 And he that bade thee and him come and say to thee, Give this man place; and thou begin with shame to take the lowest room.
14: 10 But when thou art bidden, go and sit down in the lowest room; that when he that bade thee cometh, he may say unto thee, Friend, go up higher: then shalt thou have worship in the presence of them that sit at meat with thee.
14: 11 For whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.
14: 12 Then said he also to him that bade him, When thou makest a dinner or a supper, call not thy friends, nor thy brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbours; lest they also bid thee again, and a recompence be made thee.
14: 13 But when thou makest a feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind: 14: 14 And thou shalt be blessed; for they cannot recompense thee: for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just.
14: 15 And when one of them that sat at meat with him heard these things, he said unto him, Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom of God.
14: 16 Then said he unto him, A certain man made a great supper, and bade many: 14: 17 And sent his servant at supper time to say to them that were bidden, Come; for all things are now ready.
14: 18 And they all with one consent began to make excuse.
The first said unto him, I have bought a piece of ground, and I must needs go and see it: I pray thee have me excused.
14: 19 And another said, I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I go to prove them: I pray thee have me excused.
14: 20 And another said, I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.
14: 21 So that servant came, and shewed his lord these things.
Then the master of the house being angry said to his servant, Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in hither the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind.
14: 22 And the servant said, Lord, it is done as thou hast commanded, and yet there is room.
14: 23 And the lord said unto the servant, Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled.
14: 24 For I say unto you, That none of those men which were bidden shall taste of my supper.
14: 25 And there went great multitudes with him: and he turned, and said unto them, 14: 26 If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.
14: 27 And whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after me, cannot be my disciple.
14: 28 For which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth not down first, and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it?
14: 29 Lest haply, after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it begin to mock him, 14: 30 Saying, This man began to build, and was not able to finish.
14: 31 Or what king, going to make war against another king, sitteth not down first, and consulteth whether he be able with ten thousand to meet him that cometh against him with twenty thousand?
14: 32 Or else, while the other is yet a great way off, he sendeth an ambassage, and desireth conditions of peace.
14: 33 So likewise, whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple.
14: 34 Salt is good: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be seasoned?
14: 35 It is neither fit for the land, nor yet for the dunghill; but men cast it out.
He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.
15: 1 Then drew near unto him all the publicans and sinners for to hear him.
15: 2 And the Pharisees and scribes murmured, saying, This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.
15: 3 And he spake this parable unto them, saying, 15: 4 What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?
15: 5 And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing.
15: 6 And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.
15: 7 I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance.
15: 8 Either what woman having ten pieces of silver, if she lose one piece, doth not light a candle, and sweep the house, and seek diligently till she find it?
15: 9 And when she hath found it, she calleth her friends and her neighbours together, saying, Rejoice with me; for I have found the piece which I had lost.
15: 10 Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.
15: 11 And he said, A certain man had two sons: 15: 12 And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me.
And he divided unto them his living.
15: 13 And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living.
15: 14 And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want.
15: 15 And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine.
15: 16 And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him.
15: 17 And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!
15: 18 I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, 15: 19 And am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.
15: 20 And he arose, and came to his father.
But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.
15: 21 And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.
And they began to be merry.
15: 25 Now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing.
15: 26 And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant.
15: 27 And he said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound.
15: 28 And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and intreated him.
15: 31 And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine.
15: 32 It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.
16: 1 And he said also unto his disciples, There was a certain rich man, which had a steward; and the same was accused unto him that he had wasted his goods.
16: 2 And he called him, and said unto him, How is it that I hear this of thee?
give an account of thy stewardship; for thou mayest be no longer steward.
16: 3 Then the steward said within himself, What shall I do?
for my lord taketh away from me the stewardship: I cannot dig; to beg I am ashamed.
16: 4 I am resolved what to do, that, when I am put out of the stewardship, they may receive me into their houses.
16: 5 So he called every one of his lord's debtors unto him, and said unto the first, How much owest thou unto my lord?
16: 6 And he said, An hundred measures of oil.
And he said unto him, Take thy bill, and sit down quickly, and write fifty.
16: 7 Then said he to another, And how much owest thou?
And he said, An hundred measures of wheat.
And he said unto him, Take thy bill, and write fourscore.
16: 8 And the lord commended the unjust steward, because he had done wisely: for the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light.
16: 9 And I say unto you, Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness; that, when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting habitations.
16: 10 He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much: and he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much.
16: 11 If therefore ye have not been faithful in the unrighteous mammon, who will commit to your trust the true riches?
16: 12 And if ye have not been faithful in that which is another man's, who shall give you that which is your own?
16: 13 No servant can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other.
Ye cannot serve God and mammon.
16: 14 And the Pharisees also, who were covetous, heard all these things: and they derided him.
16: 15 And he said unto them, Ye are they which justify yourselves before men; but God knoweth your hearts: for that which is highly esteemed among men is abomination in the sight of God.
16: 16 The law and the prophets were until John: since that time the kingdom of God is preached, and every man presseth into it.
16: 17 And it is easier for heaven and earth to pass, than one tittle of the law to fail.
16: 18 Whosoever putteth away his wife, and marrieth another, committeth adultery: and whosoever marrieth her that is put away from her husband committeth adultery.
16: 22 And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom: the rich man also died, and was buried; 16: 23 And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom.
16: 24 And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame.
16: 25 But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented.
16: 26 And beside all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed: so that they which would pass from hence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us, that would come from thence.
16: 27 Then he said, I pray thee therefore, father, that thou wouldest send him to my father's house: 16: 28 For I have five brethren; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come into this place of torment.
16: 29 Abraham saith unto him, They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them.
16: 30 And he said, Nay, father Abraham: but if one went unto them from the dead, they will repent.
16: 31 And he said unto him, If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.
17: 1 Then said he unto the disciples, It is impossible but that offences will come: but woe unto him, through whom they come!
17: 2 It were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones.
17: 3 Take heed to yourselves: If thy brother trespass against thee, rebuke him; and if he repent, forgive him.
17: 4 And if he trespass against thee seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn again to thee, saying, I repent; thou shalt forgive him.
17: 5 And the apostles said unto the Lord, Increase our faith.
17: 6 And the Lord said, If ye had faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye might say unto this sycamine tree, Be thou plucked up by the root, and be thou planted in the sea; and it should obey you.
17: 7 But which of you, having a servant plowing or feeding cattle, will say unto him by and by, when he is come from the field, Go and sit down to meat?
17: 8 And will not rather say unto him, Make ready wherewith I may sup, and gird thyself, and serve me, till I have eaten and drunken; and afterward thou shalt eat and drink?
17: 9 Doth he thank that servant because he did the things that were commanded him?
I trow not.
17: 10 So likewise ye, when ye shall have done all those things which are commanded you, say, We are unprofitable servants: we have done that which was our duty to do.
17: 11 And it came to pass, as he went to Jerusalem, that he passed through the midst of Samaria and Galilee.
17: 12 And as he entered into a certain village, there met him ten men that were lepers, which stood afar off: 17: 13 And they lifted up their voices, and said, Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.
17: 14 And when he saw them, he said unto them, Go shew yourselves unto the priests.
And it came to pass, that, as they went, they were cleansed.
17: 15 And one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, and with a loud voice glorified God, 17: 16 And fell down on his face at his feet, giving him thanks: and he was a Samaritan.
17: 17 And Jesus answering said, Were there not ten cleansed?
but where are the nine?
17: 18 There are not found that returned to give glory to God, save this stranger.
17: 19 And he said unto him, Arise, go thy way: thy faith hath made thee whole.
17: 20 And when he was demanded of the Pharisees, when the kingdom of God should come, he answered them and said, The kingdom of God cometh not with observation: 17: 21 Neither shall they say, Lo here!
or, lo there!
for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.
17: 22 And he said unto the disciples, The days will come, when ye shall desire to see one of the days of the Son of man, and ye shall not see it.
17: 23 And they shall say to you, See here; or, see there: go not after them, nor follow them.
17: 24 For as the lightning, that lighteneth out of the one part under heaven, shineth unto the other part under heaven; so shall also the Son of man be in his day.
17: 25 But first must he suffer many things, and be rejected of this generation.
17: 26 And as it was in the days of Noe, so shall it be also in the days of the Son of man.
17: 27 They did eat, they drank, they married wives, they were given in marriage, until the day that Noe entered into the ark, and the flood came, and destroyed them all.
17: 28 Likewise also as it was in the days of Lot; they did eat, they drank, they bought, they sold, they planted, they builded; 17: 29 But the same day that Lot went out of Sodom it rained fire and brimstone from heaven, and destroyed them all.
17: 30 Even thus shall it be in the day when the Son of man is revealed.
17: 31 In that day, he which shall be upon the housetop, and his stuff in the house, let him not come down to take it away: and he that is in the field, let him likewise not return back.
17: 32 Remember Lot's wife.
17: 33 Whosoever shall seek to save his life shall lose it; and whosoever shall lose his life shall preserve it.
17: 34 I tell you, in that night there shall be two men in one bed; the one shall be taken, and the other shall be left.
17: 35 Two women shall be grinding together; the one shall be taken, and the other left.
17: 36 Two men shall be in the field; the one shall be taken, and the other left.
17: 37 And they answered and said unto him, Where, Lord?
And he said unto them, Wheresoever the body is, thither will the eagles be gathered together.
18: 4 And he would not for a while: but afterward he said within himself, Though I fear not God, nor regard man; 18: 5 Yet because this widow troubleth me, I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she weary me.
18: 6 And the Lord said, Hear what the unjust judge saith.
18: 7 And shall not God avenge his own elect, which cry day and night unto him, though he bear long with them?
18: 8 I tell you that he will avenge them speedily.
Nevertheless when the Son of man cometh, shall he find faith on the earth?
18: 9 And he spake this parable unto certain which trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others: 18: 10 Two men went up into the temple to pray; the one a Pharisee, and the other a publican.
18: 11 The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this publican.
18: 12 I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess.
18: 13 And the publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a sinner.
18: 14 I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other: for every one that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.
18: 15 And they brought unto him also infants, that he would touch them: but when his disciples saw it, they rebuked them.
18: 16 But Jesus called them unto him, and said, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.
18: 17 Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall in no wise enter therein.
18: 18 And a certain ruler asked him, saying, Good Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?
18: 19 And Jesus said unto him, Why callest thou me good?
none is good, save one, that is, God.
18: 20 Thou knowest the commandments, Do not commit adultery, Do not kill, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Honour thy father and thy mother.
18: 21 And he said, All these have I kept from my youth up.
18: 22 Now when Jesus heard these things, he said unto him, Yet lackest thou one thing: sell all that thou hast, and distribute unto the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me.
18: 23 And when he heard this, he was very sorrowful: for he was very rich.
18: 24 And when Jesus saw that he was very sorrowful, he said, How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God!
18: 25 For it is easier for a camel to go through a needle's eye, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.
18: 26 And they that heard it said, Who then can be saved?
18: 27 And he said, The things which are impossible with men are possible with God.
18: 28 Then Peter said, Lo, we have left all, and followed thee.
18: 31 Then he took unto him the twelve, and said unto them, Behold, we go up to Jerusalem, and all things that are written by the prophets concerning the Son of man shall be accomplished.
18: 32 For he shall be delivered unto the Gentiles, and shall be mocked, and spitefully entreated, and spitted on: 18: 33 And they shall scourge him, and put him to death: and the third day he shall rise again.
18: 34 And they understood none of these things: and this saying was hid from them, neither knew they the things which were spoken.
18: 35 And it came to pass, that as he was come nigh unto Jericho, a certain blind man sat by the way side begging: 18: 36 And hearing the multitude pass by, he asked what it meant.
18: 37 And they told him, that Jesus of Nazareth passeth by.
18: 38 And he cried, saying, Jesus, thou son of David, have mercy on me.
18: 39 And they which went before rebuked him, that he should hold his peace: but he cried so much the more, Thou son of David, have mercy on me.
18: 40 And Jesus stood, and commanded him to be brought unto him: and when he was come near, he asked him, 18: 41 Saying, What wilt thou that I shall do unto thee?
And he said, Lord, that I may receive my sight.
18: 42 And Jesus said unto him, Receive thy sight: thy faith hath saved thee.
18: 43 And immediately he received his sight, and followed him, glorifying God: and all the people, when they saw it, gave praise unto God.
19: 1 And Jesus entered and passed through Jericho.
19: 2 And, behold, there was a man named Zacchaeus, which was the chief among the publicans, and he was rich.
19: 3 And he sought to see Jesus who he was; and could not for the press, because he was little of stature.
19: 4 And he ran before, and climbed up into a sycomore tree to see him: for he was to pass that way.
19: 5 And when Jesus came to the place, he looked up, and saw him, and said unto him, Zacchaeus, make haste, and come down; for to day I must abide at thy house.
19: 6 And he made haste, and came down, and received him joyfully.
19: 7 And when they saw it, they all murmured, saying, That he was gone to be guest with a man that is a sinner.
19: 8 And Zacchaeus stood, and said unto the Lord: Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have taken any thing from any man by false accusation, I restore him fourfold.
19: 9 And Jesus said unto him, This day is salvation come to this house, forsomuch as he also is a son of Abraham.
19: 10 For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.
19: 11 And as they heard these things, he added and spake a parable, because he was nigh to Jerusalem, and because they thought that the kingdom of God should immediately appear.
19: 12 He said therefore, A certain nobleman went into a far country to receive for himself a kingdom, and to return.
19: 13 And he called his ten servants, and delivered them ten pounds, and said unto them, Occupy till I come.
19: 14 But his citizens hated him, and sent a message after him, saying, We will not have this man to reign over us.
19: 15 And it came to pass, that when he was returned, having received the kingdom, then he commanded these servants to be called unto him, to whom he had given the money, that he might know how much every man had gained by trading.
19: 16 Then came the first, saying, Lord, thy pound hath gained ten pounds.
19: 17 And he said unto him, Well, thou good servant: because thou hast been faithful in a very little, have thou authority over ten cities.
19: 18 And the second came, saying, Lord, thy pound hath gained five pounds.
19: 19 And he said likewise to him, Be thou also over five cities.
19: 20 And another came, saying, Lord, behold, here is thy pound, which I have kept laid up in a napkin: 19: 21 For I feared thee, because thou art an austere man: thou takest up that thou layedst not down, and reapest that thou didst not sow.
19: 22 And he saith unto him, Out of thine own mouth will I judge thee, thou wicked servant.
Thou knewest that I was an austere man, taking up that I laid not down, and reaping that I did not sow: 19: 23 Wherefore then gavest not thou my money into the bank, that at my coming I might have required mine own with usury?
19: 24 And he said unto them that stood by, Take from him the pound, and give it to him that hath ten pounds.
19: 25 (And they said unto him, Lord, he hath ten pounds.)
19: 26 For I say unto you, That unto every one which hath shall be given; and from him that hath not, even that he hath shall be taken away from him.
19: 27 But those mine enemies, which would not that I should reign over them, bring hither, and slay them before me.
19: 28 And when he had thus spoken, he went before, ascending up to Jerusalem.
19: 31 And if any man ask you, Why do ye loose him?
thus shall ye say unto him, Because the Lord hath need of him.
19: 32 And they that were sent went their way, and found even as he had said unto them.
19: 33 And as they were loosing the colt, the owners thereof said unto them, Why loose ye the colt?
19: 34 And they said, The Lord hath need of him.
19: 35 And they brought him to Jesus: and they cast their garments upon the colt, and they set Jesus thereon.
19: 36 And as he went, they spread their clothes in the way.
19: 39 And some of the Pharisees from among the multitude said unto him, Master, rebuke thy disciples.
19: 40 And he answered and said unto them, I tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.
19: 41 And when he was come near, he beheld the city, and wept over it, 19: 42 Saying, If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace!
but now they are hid from thine eyes.
19: 45 And he went into the temple, and began to cast out them that sold therein, and them that bought; 19: 46 Saying unto them, It is written, My house is the house of prayer: but ye have made it a den of thieves.
19: 47 And he taught daily in the temple.
But the chief priests and the scribes and the chief of the people sought to destroy him, 19: 48 And could not find what they might do: for all the people were very attentive to hear him.
20: 1 And it came to pass, that on one of those days, as he taught the people in the temple, and preached the gospel, the chief priests and the scribes came upon him with the elders, 20: 2 And spake unto him, saying, Tell us, by what authority doest thou these things?
or who is he that gave thee this authority?
20: 3 And he answered and said unto them, I will also ask you one thing; and answer me: 20: 4 The baptism of John, was it from heaven, or of men?
20: 5 And they reasoned with themselves, saying, If we shall say, From heaven; he will say, Why then believed ye him not?
20: 6 But and if we say, Of men; all the people will stone us: for they be persuaded that John was a prophet.
20: 7 And they answered, that they could not tell whence it was.
20: 8 And Jesus said unto them, Neither tell I you by what authority I do these things.
20: 9 Then began he to speak to the people this parable; A certain man planted a vineyard, and let it forth to husbandmen, and went into a far country for a long time.
20: 10 And at the season he sent a servant to the husbandmen, that they should give him of the fruit of the vineyard: but the husbandmen beat him, and sent him away empty.
20: 11 And again he sent another servant: and they beat him also, and entreated him shamefully, and sent him away empty.
20: 12 And again he sent a third: and they wounded him also, and cast him out.
20: 13 Then said the lord of the vineyard, What shall I do?
I will send my beloved son: it may be they will reverence him when they see him.
20: 14 But when the husbandmen saw him, they reasoned among themselves, saying, This is the heir: come, let us kill him, that the inheritance may be ours.
20: 15 So they cast him out of the vineyard, and killed him.
What therefore shall the lord of the vineyard do unto them?
20: 16 He shall come and destroy these husbandmen, and shall give the vineyard to others.
And when they heard it, they said, God forbid.
20: 17 And he beheld them, and said, What is this then that is written, The stone which the builders rejected, the same is become the head of the corner?
20: 18 Whosoever shall fall upon that stone shall be broken; but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder.
20: 19 And the chief priests and the scribes the same hour sought to lay hands on him; and they feared the people: for they perceived that he had spoken this parable against them.
20: 20 And they watched him, and sent forth spies, which should feign themselves just men, that they might take hold of his words, that so they might deliver him unto the power and authority of the governor.
20: 21 And they asked him, saying, Master, we know that thou sayest and teachest rightly, neither acceptest thou the person of any, but teachest the way of God truly: 20: 22 Is it lawful for us to give tribute unto Caesar, or no?
20: 23 But he perceived their craftiness, and said unto them, Why tempt ye me?
20: 24 Shew me a penny.
Whose image and superscription hath it?
They answered and said, Caesar's.
20: 25 And he said unto them, Render therefore unto Caesar the things which be Caesar's, and unto God the things which be God's.
20: 26 And they could not take hold of his words before the people: and they marvelled at his answer, and held their peace.
20: 29 There were therefore seven brethren: and the first took a wife, and died without children.
20: 30 And the second took her to wife, and he died childless.
20: 31 And the third took her; and in like manner the seven also: and they left no children, and died.
20: 32 Last of all the woman died also.
20: 33 Therefore in the resurrection whose wife of them is she?
for seven had her to wife.
20: 37 Now that the dead are raised, even Moses shewed at the bush, when he calleth the Lord the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.
20: 38 For he is not a God of the dead, but of the living: for all live unto him.
20: 39 Then certain of the scribes answering said, Master, thou hast well said.
20: 40 And after that they durst not ask him any question at all.
20: 41 And he said unto them, How say they that Christ is David's son?
20: 42 And David himself saith in the book of Psalms, The LORD said unto my Lord, Sit thou on my right hand, 20: 43 Till I make thine enemies thy footstool.
20: 44 David therefore calleth him Lord, how is he then his son?
21: 1 And he looked up, and saw the rich men casting their gifts into the treasury.
21: 2 And he saw also a certain poor widow casting in thither two mites.
21: 3 And he said, Of a truth I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast in more than they all: 21: 4 For all these have of their abundance cast in unto the offerings of God: but she of her penury hath cast in all the living that she had.
21: 5 And as some spake of the temple, how it was adorned with goodly stones and gifts, he said, 21: 6 As for these things which ye behold, the days will come, in the which there shall not be left one stone upon another, that shall not be thrown down.
21: 7 And they asked him, saying, Master, but when shall these things be?
and what sign will there be when these things shall come to pass?
21: 8 And he said, Take heed that ye be not deceived: for many shall come in my name, saying, I am Christ; and the time draweth near: go ye not therefore after them.
21: 9 But when ye shall hear of wars and commotions, be not terrified: for these things must first come to pass; but the end is not by and by.
21: 10 Then said he unto them, Nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: 21: 11 And great earthquakes shall be in divers places, and famines, and pestilences; and fearful sights and great signs shall there be from heaven.
21: 12 But before all these, they shall lay their hands on you, and persecute you, delivering you up to the synagogues, and into prisons, being brought before kings and rulers for my name's sake.
21: 13 And it shall turn to you for a testimony.
21: 14 Settle it therefore in your hearts, not to meditate before what ye shall answer: 21: 15 For I will give you a mouth and wisdom, which all your adversaries shall not be able to gainsay nor resist.
21: 16 And ye shall be betrayed both by parents, and brethren, and kinsfolks, and friends; and some of you shall they cause to be put to death.
21: 17 And ye shall be hated of all men for my name's sake.
21: 18 But there shall not an hair of your head perish.
21: 19 In your patience possess ye your souls.
21: 20 And when ye shall see Jerusalem compassed with armies, then know that the desolation thereof is nigh.
21: 21 Then let them which are in Judaea flee to the mountains; and let them which are in the midst of it depart out; and let not them that are in the countries enter thereinto.
21: 22 For these be the days of vengeance, that all things which are written may be fulfilled.
21: 23 But woe unto them that are with child, and to them that give suck, in those days!
for there shall be great distress in the land, and wrath upon this people.
21: 24 And they shall fall by the edge of the sword, and shall be led away captive into all nations: and Jerusalem shall be trodden down of the Gentiles, until the times of the Gentiles be fulfilled.
21: 27 And then shall they see the Son of man coming in a cloud with power and great glory.
21: 28 And when these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh.
21: 29 And he spake to them a parable; Behold the fig tree, and all the trees; 21: 30 When they now shoot forth, ye see and know of your own selves that summer is now nigh at hand.
21: 31 So likewise ye, when ye see these things come to pass, know ye that the kingdom of God is nigh at hand.
21: 32 Verily I say unto you, This generation shall not pass away, till all be fulfilled.
21: 33 Heaven and earth shall pass away: but my words shall not pass away.
21: 34 And take heed to yourselves, lest at any time your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting, and drunkenness, and cares of this life, and so that day come upon you unawares.
21: 35 For as a snare shall it come on all them that dwell on the face of the whole earth.
21: 36 Watch ye therefore, and pray always, that ye may be accounted worthy to escape all these things that shall come to pass, and to stand before the Son of man.
21: 37 And in the day time he was teaching in the temple; and at night he went out, and abode in the mount that is called the mount of Olives.
21: 38 And all the people came early in the morning to him in the temple, for to hear him.
22: 1 Now the feast of unleavened bread drew nigh, which is called the Passover.
22: 2 And the chief priests and scribes sought how they might kill him; for they feared the people.
22: 3 Then entered Satan into Judas surnamed Iscariot, being of the number of the twelve.
22: 4 And he went his way, and communed with the chief priests and captains, how he might betray him unto them.
22: 5 And they were glad, and covenanted to give him money.
22: 6 And he promised, and sought opportunity to betray him unto them in the absence of the multitude.
22: 7 Then came the day of unleavened bread, when the passover must be killed.
22: 8 And he sent Peter and John, saying, Go and prepare us the passover, that we may eat.
22: 9 And they said unto him, Where wilt thou that we prepare?
22: 10 And he said unto them, Behold, when ye are entered into the city, there shall a man meet you, bearing a pitcher of water; follow him into the house where he entereth in.
22: 11 And ye shall say unto the goodman of the house, The Master saith unto thee, Where is the guestchamber, where I shall eat the passover with my disciples?
22: 12 And he shall shew you a large upper room furnished: there make ready.
22: 13 And they went, and found as he had said unto them: and they made ready the passover.
22: 14 And when the hour was come, he sat down, and the twelve apostles with him.
22: 15 And he said unto them, With desire I have desired to eat this passover with you before I suffer: 22: 16 For I say unto you, I will not any more eat thereof, until it be fulfilled in the kingdom of God.
22: 17 And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and said, Take this, and divide it among yourselves: 22: 18 For I say unto you, I will not drink of the fruit of the vine, until the kingdom of God shall come.
22: 19 And he took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, and gave unto them, saying, This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me.
22: 20 Likewise also the cup after supper, saying, This cup is the new testament in my blood, which is shed for you.
22: 21 But, behold, the hand of him that betrayeth me is with me on the table.
22: 22 And truly the Son of man goeth, as it was determined: but woe unto that man by whom he is betrayed!
22: 23 And they began to enquire among themselves, which of them it was that should do this thing.
22: 24 And there was also a strife among them, which of them should be accounted the greatest.
22: 25 And he said unto them, The kings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over them; and they that exercise authority upon them are called benefactors.
22: 26 But ye shall not be so: but he that is greatest among you, let him be as the younger; and he that is chief, as he that doth serve.
22: 27 For whether is greater, he that sitteth at meat, or he that serveth?
is not he that sitteth at meat?
but I am among you as he that serveth.
22: 28 Ye are they which have continued with me in my temptations.
22: 29 And I appoint unto you a kingdom, as my Father hath appointed unto me; 22: 30 That ye may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel.
22: 31 And the Lord said, Simon, Simon, behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat: 22: 32 But I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.
22: 33 And he said unto him, Lord, I am ready to go with thee, both into prison, and to death.
22: 34 And he said, I tell thee, Peter, the cock shall not crow this day, before that thou shalt thrice deny that thou knowest me.
22: 35 And he said unto them, When I sent you without purse, and scrip, and shoes, lacked ye any thing?
And they said, Nothing.
22: 36 Then said he unto them, But now, he that hath a purse, let him take it, and likewise his scrip: and he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one.
22: 37 For I say unto you, that this that is written must yet be accomplished in me, And he was reckoned among the transgressors: for the things concerning me have an end.
22: 38 And they said, Lord, behold, here are two swords.
And he said unto them, It is enough.
22: 39 And he came out, and went, as he was wont, to the mount of Olives; and his disciples also followed him.
22: 40 And when he was at the place, he said unto them, Pray that ye enter not into temptation.
22: 41 And he was withdrawn from them about a stone's cast, and kneeled down, and prayed, 22: 42 Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.
22: 43 And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.
22: 44 And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.
22: 45 And when he rose up from prayer, and was come to his disciples, he found them sleeping for sorrow, 22: 46 And said unto them, Why sleep ye?
rise and pray, lest ye enter into temptation.
22: 47 And while he yet spake, behold a multitude, and he that was called Judas, one of the twelve, went before them, and drew near unto Jesus to kiss him.
22: 48 But Jesus said unto him, Judas, betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss?
22: 49 When they which were about him saw what would follow, they said unto him, Lord, shall we smite with the sword?
22: 50 And one of them smote the servant of the high priest, and cut off his right ear.
22: 51 And Jesus answered and said, Suffer ye thus far.
And he touched his ear, and healed him.
22: 52 Then Jesus said unto the chief priests, and captains of the temple, and the elders, which were come to him, Be ye come out, as against a thief, with swords and staves?
22: 53 When I was daily with you in the temple, ye stretched forth no hands against me: but this is your hour, and the power of darkness.
22: 54 Then took they him, and led him, and brought him into the high priest's house.
And Peter followed afar off.
22: 55 And when they had kindled a fire in the midst of the hall, and were set down together, Peter sat down among them.
22: 56 But a certain maid beheld him as he sat by the fire, and earnestly looked upon him, and said, This man was also with him.
22: 57 And he denied him, saying, Woman, I know him not.
22: 58 And after a little while another saw him, and said, Thou art also of them.
And Peter said, Man, I am not.
22: 59 And about the space of one hour after another confidently affirmed, saying, Of a truth this fellow also was with him: for he is a Galilaean.
22: 60 And Peter said, Man, I know not what thou sayest.
And immediately, while he yet spake, the cock crew.
22: 61 And the Lord turned, and looked upon Peter.
And Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said unto him, Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice.
22: 62 And Peter went out, and wept bitterly.
22: 63 And the men that held Jesus mocked him, and smote him.
22: 64 And when they had blindfolded him, they struck him on the face, and asked him, saying, Prophesy, who is it that smote thee?
22: 65 And many other things blasphemously spake they against him.
22: 66 And as soon as it was day, the elders of the people and the chief priests and the scribes came together, and led him into their council, saying, 22: 67 Art thou the Christ?
tell us.
And he said unto them, If I tell you, ye will not believe: 22: 68 And if I also ask you, ye will not answer me, nor let me go.
22: 69 Hereafter shall the Son of man sit on the right hand of the power of God.
22: 70 Then said they all, Art thou then the Son of God?
And he said unto them, Ye say that I am.
22: 71 And they said, What need we any further witness?
for we ourselves have heard of his own mouth.
23: 1 And the whole multitude of them arose, and led him unto Pilate.
23: 2 And they began to accuse him, saying, We found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Caesar, saying that he himself is Christ a King.
23: 3 And Pilate asked him, saying, Art thou the King of the Jews?
And he answered him and said, Thou sayest it.
23: 4 Then said Pilate to the chief priests and to the people, I find no fault in this man.
23: 5 And they were the more fierce, saying, He stirreth up the people, teaching throughout all Jewry, beginning from Galilee to this place.
23: 6 When Pilate heard of Galilee, he asked whether the man were a Galilaean.
23: 7 And as soon as he knew that he belonged unto Herod's jurisdiction, he sent him to Herod, who himself also was at Jerusalem at that time.
23: 8 And when Herod saw Jesus, he was exceeding glad: for he was desirous to see him of a long season, because he had heard many things of him; and he hoped to have seen some miracle done by him.
23: 9 Then he questioned with him in many words; but he answered him nothing.
23: 10 And the chief priests and scribes stood and vehemently accused him.
23: 11 And Herod with his men of war set him at nought, and mocked him, and arrayed him in a gorgeous robe, and sent him again to Pilate.
23: 12 And the same day Pilate and Herod were made friends together: for before they were at enmity between themselves.
23: 16 I will therefore chastise him, and release him.
23: 17 (For of necessity he must release one unto them at the feast.)
23: 18 And they cried out all at once, saying, Away with this man, and release unto us Barabbas: 23: 19 (Who for a certain sedition made in the city, and for murder, was cast into prison.)
23: 20 Pilate therefore, willing to release Jesus, spake again to them.
23: 21 But they cried, saying, Crucify him, crucify him.
23: 22 And he said unto them the third time, Why, what evil hath he done?
I have found no cause of death in him: I will therefore chastise him, and let him go.
23: 23 And they were instant with loud voices, requiring that he might be crucified.
And the voices of them and of the chief priests prevailed.
23: 24 And Pilate gave sentence that it should be as they required.
23: 25 And he released unto them him that for sedition and murder was cast into prison, whom they had desired; but he delivered Jesus to their will.
23: 26 And as they led him away, they laid hold upon one Simon, a Cyrenian, coming out of the country, and on him they laid the cross, that he might bear it after Jesus.
23: 27 And there followed him a great company of people, and of women, which also bewailed and lamented him.
23: 28 But Jesus turning unto them said, Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves, and for your children.
23: 29 For, behold, the days are coming, in the which they shall say, Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bare, and the paps which never gave suck.
23: 30 Then shall they begin to say to the mountains, Fall on us; and to the hills, Cover us.
23: 31 For if they do these things in a green tree, what shall be done in the dry?
23: 32 And there were also two other, malefactors, led with him to be put to death.
23: 33 And when they were come to the place, which is called Calvary, there they crucified him, and the malefactors, one on the right hand, and the other on the left.
23: 34 Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.
And they parted his raiment, and cast lots.
23: 35 And the people stood beholding.
And the rulers also with them derided him, saying, He saved others; let him save himself, if he be Christ, the chosen of God.
23: 36 And the soldiers also mocked him, coming to him, and offering him vinegar, 23: 37 And saying, If thou be the king of the Jews, save thyself.
23: 38 And a superscription also was written over him in letters of Greek, and Latin, and Hebrew, THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS.
23: 39 And one of the malefactors which were hanged railed on him, saying, If thou be Christ, save thyself and us.
23: 40 But the other answering rebuked him, saying, Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation?
23: 41 And we indeed justly; for we receive the due reward of our deeds: but this man hath done nothing amiss.
23: 42 And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.
23: 43 And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, To day shalt thou be with me in paradise.
23: 44 And it was about the sixth hour, and there was a darkness over all the earth until the ninth hour.
23: 45 And the sun was darkened, and the veil of the temple was rent in the midst.
23: 46 And when Jesus had cried with a loud voice, he said, Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit: and having said thus, he gave up the ghost.
23: 47 Now when the centurion saw what was done, he glorified God, saying, Certainly this was a righteous man.
23: 48 And all the people that came together to that sight, beholding the things which were done, smote their breasts, and returned.
23: 49 And all his acquaintance, and the women that followed him from Galilee, stood afar off, beholding these things.
23: 50 And, behold, there was a man named Joseph, a counsellor; and he was a good man, and a just: 23: 51 (The same had not consented to the counsel and deed of them;) he was of Arimathaea, a city of the Jews: who also himself waited for the kingdom of God.
23: 52 This man went unto Pilate, and begged the body of Jesus.
23: 53 And he took it down, and wrapped it in linen, and laid it in a sepulchre that was hewn in stone, wherein never man before was laid.
23: 54 And that day was the preparation, and the sabbath drew on.
23: 55 And the women also, which came with him from Galilee, followed after, and beheld the sepulchre, and how his body was laid.
23: 56 And they returned, and prepared spices and ointments; and rested the sabbath day according to the commandment.
24: 1 Now upon the first day of the week, very early in the morning, they came unto the sepulchre, bringing the spices which they had prepared, and certain others with them.
24: 2 And they found the stone rolled away from the sepulchre.
24: 3 And they entered in, and found not the body of the Lord Jesus.
24: 4 And it came to pass, as they were much perplexed thereabout, behold, two men stood by them in shining garments: 24: 5 And as they were afraid, and bowed down their faces to the earth, they said unto them, Why seek ye the living among the dead?
24: 6 He is not here, but is risen: remember how he spake unto you when he was yet in Galilee, 24: 7 Saying, The Son of man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men, and be crucified, and the third day rise again.
24: 8 And they remembered his words, 24: 9 And returned from the sepulchre, and told all these things unto the eleven, and to all the rest.
24: 10 It was Mary Magdalene and Joanna, and Mary the mother of James, and other women that were with them, which told these things unto the apostles.
24: 11 And their words seemed to them as idle tales, and they believed them not.
24: 12 Then arose Peter, and ran unto the sepulchre; and stooping down, he beheld the linen clothes laid by themselves, and departed, wondering in himself at that which was come to pass.
24: 13 And, behold, two of them went that same day to a village called Emmaus, which was from Jerusalem about threescore furlongs.
24: 14 And they talked together of all these things which had happened.
24: 15 And it came to pass, that, while they communed together and reasoned, Jesus himself drew near, and went with them.
24: 16 But their eyes were holden that they should not know him.
24: 17 And he said unto them, What manner of communications are these that ye have one to another, as ye walk, and are sad?
24: 18 And the one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answering said unto him, Art thou only a stranger in Jerusalem, and hast not known the things which are come to pass there in these days?
24: 19 And he said unto them, What things?
And they said unto him, Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, which was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people: 24: 20 And how the chief priests and our rulers delivered him to be condemned to death, and have crucified him.
24: 21 But we trusted that it had been he which should have redeemed Israel: and beside all this, to day is the third day since these things were done.
24: 22 Yea, and certain women also of our company made us astonished, which were early at the sepulchre; 24: 23 And when they found not his body, they came, saying, that they had also seen a vision of angels, which said that he was alive.
24: 24 And certain of them which were with us went to the sepulchre, and found it even so as the women had said: but him they saw not.
24: 25 Then he said unto them, O fools, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken: 24: 26 Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and to enter into his glory?
24: 27 And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself.
24: 28 And they drew nigh unto the village, whither they went: and he made as though he would have gone further.
24: 29 But they constrained him, saying, Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent.
And he went in to tarry with them.
24: 30 And it came to pass, as he sat at meat with them, he took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them.
24: 31 And their eyes were opened, and they knew him; and he vanished out of their sight.
24: 32 And they said one to another, Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures?
24: 33 And they rose up the same hour, and returned to Jerusalem, and found the eleven gathered together, and them that were with them, 24: 34 Saying, The Lord is risen indeed, and hath appeared to Simon.
24: 35 And they told what things were done in the way, and how he was known of them in breaking of bread.
24: 36 And as they thus spake, Jesus himself stood in the midst of them, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you.
24: 37 But they were terrified and affrighted, and supposed that they had seen a spirit.
24: 38 And he said unto them, Why are ye troubled?
and why do thoughts arise in your hearts?
24: 39 Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself: handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have.
24: 40 And when he had thus spoken, he shewed them his hands and his feet.
24: 41 And while they yet believed not for joy, and wondered, he said unto them, Have ye here any meat?
24: 42 And they gave him a piece of a broiled fish, and of an honeycomb.
24: 43 And he took it, and did eat before them.
24: 44 And he said unto them, These are the words which I spake unto you, while I was yet with you, that all things must be fulfilled, which were written in the law of Moses, and in the prophets, and in the psalms, concerning me.
24: 48 And ye are witnesses of these things.
24: 49 And, behold, I send the promise of my Father upon you: but tarry ye in the city of Jerusalem, until ye be endued with power from on high.
24: 50 And he led them out as far as to Bethany, and he lifted up his hands, and blessed them.
24: 51 And it came to pass, while he blessed them, he was parted from them, and carried up into heaven.
24: 52 And they worshipped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy: 24: 53 And were continually in the temple, praising and blessing God.
Amen.
The Gospel According to Saint John
1: 1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
1: 2 The same was in the beginning with God.
1: 3 All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.
1: 4 In him was life; and the life was the light of men.
1: 5 And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.
1: 6 There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.
1: 7 The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe.
1: 8 He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.
1: 9 That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.
1: 10 He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.
1: 11 He came unto his own, and his own received him not.
1: 12 But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: 1: 13 Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.
1: 14 And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.
1: 15 John bare witness of him, and cried, saying, This was he of whom I spake, He that cometh after me is preferred before me: for he was before me.
1: 16 And of his fulness have all we received, and grace for grace.
1: 17 For the law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ.
1: 18 No man hath seen God at any time, the only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of the Father, he hath declared him.
1: 19 And this is the record of John, when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, Who art thou?
1: 20 And he confessed, and denied not; but confessed, I am not the Christ.
1: 21 And they asked him, What then?
Art thou Elias?
And he saith, I am not.
Art thou that prophet?
And he answered, No.
1: 22 Then said they unto him, Who art thou?
that we may give an answer to them that sent us.
What sayest thou of thyself?
1: 23 He said, I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, Make straight the way of the Lord, as said the prophet Esaias.
1: 24 And they which were sent were of the Pharisees.
1: 25 And they asked him, and said unto him, Why baptizest thou then, if thou be not that Christ, nor Elias, neither that prophet?
1: 26 John answered them, saying, I baptize with water: but there standeth one among you, whom ye know not; 1: 27 He it is, who coming after me is preferred before me, whose shoe's latchet I am not worthy to unloose.
1: 28 These things were done in Bethabara beyond Jordan, where John was baptizing.
1: 29 The next day John seeth Jesus coming unto him, and saith, Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.
1: 30 This is he of whom I said, After me cometh a man which is preferred before me: for he was before me.
1: 31 And I knew him not: but that he should be made manifest to Israel, therefore am I come baptizing with water.
1: 32 And John bare record, saying, I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it abode upon him.
1: 33 And I knew him not: but he that sent me to baptize with water, the same said unto me, Upon whom thou shalt see the Spirit descending, and remaining on him, the same is he which baptizeth with the Holy Ghost.
1: 34 And I saw, and bare record that this is the Son of God.
1: 35 Again the next day after John stood, and two of his disciples; 1: 36 And looking upon Jesus as he walked, he saith, Behold the Lamb of God!
1: 37 And the two disciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus.
1: 38 Then Jesus turned, and saw them following, and saith unto them, What seek ye?
They said unto him, Rabbi, (which is to say, being interpreted, Master,) where dwellest thou?
1: 39 He saith unto them, Come and see.
They came and saw where he dwelt, and abode with him that day: for it was about the tenth hour.
1: 40 One of the two which heard John speak, and followed him, was Andrew, Simon Peter's brother.
1: 41 He first findeth his own brother Simon, and saith unto him, We have found the Messias, which is, being interpreted, the Christ.
1: 42 And he brought him to Jesus.
And when Jesus beheld him, he said, Thou art Simon the son of Jona: thou shalt be called Cephas, which is by interpretation, A stone.
1: 43 The day following Jesus would go forth into Galilee, and findeth Philip, and saith unto him, Follow me.
1: 44 Now Philip was of Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter.
1: 45 Philip findeth Nathanael, and saith unto him, We have found him, of whom Moses in the law, and the prophets, did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.
1: 46 And Nathanael said unto him, Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth?
Philip saith unto him, Come and see.
1: 47 Jesus saw Nathanael coming to him, and saith of him, Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile!
1: 48 Nathanael saith unto him, Whence knowest thou me?
Jesus answered and said unto him, Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast under the fig tree, I saw thee.
1: 49 Nathanael answered and saith unto him, Rabbi, thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel.
1: 50 Jesus answered and said unto him, Because I said unto thee, I saw thee under the fig tree, believest thou?
thou shalt see greater things than these.
1: 51 And he saith unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Hereafter ye shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man.
2: 1 And the third day there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee; and the mother of Jesus was there: 2: 2 And both Jesus was called, and his disciples, to the marriage.
2: 3 And when they wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith unto him, They have no wine.
2: 4 Jesus saith unto her, Woman, what have I to do with thee?
mine hour is not yet come.
2: 5 His mother saith unto the servants, Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.
2: 6 And there were set there six waterpots of stone, after the manner of the purifying of the Jews, containing two or three firkins apiece.
2: 7 Jesus saith unto them, Fill the waterpots with water.
And they filled them up to the brim.
2: 8 And he saith unto them, Draw out now, and bear unto the governor of the feast.
And they bare it.
2: 11 This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and manifested forth his glory; and his disciples believed on him.
2: 12 After this he went down to Capernaum, he, and his mother, and his brethren, and his disciples: and they continued there not many days.
2: 13 And the Jews'passover was at hand, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.
2: 17 And his disciples remembered that it was written, The zeal of thine house hath eaten me up.
2: 18 Then answered the Jews and said unto him, What sign shewest thou unto us, seeing that thou doest these things?
2: 19 Jesus answered and said unto them, Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.
2: 20 Then said the Jews, Forty and six years was this temple in building, and wilt thou rear it up in three days?
2: 21 But he spake of the temple of his body.
2: 22 When therefore he was risen from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this unto them; and they believed the scripture, and the word which Jesus had said.
2: 23 Now when he was in Jerusalem at the passover, in the feast day, many believed in his name, when they saw the miracles which he did.
2: 24 But Jesus did not commit himself unto them, because he knew all men, 2: 25 And needed not that any should testify of man: for he knew what was in man.
3: 1 There was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews: 3: 2 The same came to Jesus by night, and said unto him, Rabbi, we know that thou art a teacher come from God: for no man can do these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him.
3: 3 Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.
3: 4 Nicodemus saith unto him, How can a man be born when he is old?
can he enter the second time into his mother's womb, and be born?
3: 5 Jesus answered, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.
3: 6 That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit.
3: 7 Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again.
3: 8 The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.
3: 9 Nicodemus answered and said unto him, How can these things be?
3: 10 Jesus answered and said unto him, Art thou a master of Israel, and knowest not these things?
3: 11 Verily, verily, I say unto thee, We speak that we do know, and testify that we have seen; and ye receive not our witness.
3: 12 If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things?
3: 13 And no man hath ascended up to heaven, but he that came down from heaven, even the Son of man which is in heaven.
3: 14 And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up: 3: 15 That whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.
3: 16 For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
3: 17 For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.
3: 18 He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.
3: 19 And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.
3: 20 For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.
3: 21 But he that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God.
3: 22 After these things came Jesus and his disciples into the land of Judaea; and there he tarried with them, and baptized.
3: 23 And John also was baptizing in Aenon near to Salim, because there was much water there: and they came, and were baptized.
3: 24 For John was not yet cast into prison.
3: 25 Then there arose a question between some of John's disciples and the Jews about purifying.
3: 26 And they came unto John, and said unto him, Rabbi, he that was with thee beyond Jordan, to whom thou barest witness, behold, the same baptizeth, and all men come to him.
3: 27 John answered and said, A man can receive nothing, except it be given him from heaven.
3: 28 Ye yourselves bear me witness, that I said, I am not the Christ, but that I am sent before him.
3: 29 He that hath the bride is the bridegroom: but the friend of the bridegroom, which standeth and heareth him, rejoiceth greatly because of the bridegroom's voice: this my joy therefore is fulfilled.
3: 30 He must increase, but I must decrease.
3: 31 He that cometh from above is above all: he that is of the earth is earthly, and speaketh of the earth: he that cometh from heaven is above all.
3: 32 And what he hath seen and heard, that he testifieth; and no man receiveth his testimony.
3: 33 He that hath received his testimony hath set to his seal that God is true.
3: 34 For he whom God hath sent speaketh the words of God: for God giveth not the Spirit by measure unto him.
3: 35 The Father loveth the Son, and hath given all things into his hand.
3: 36 He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him.
4: 1 When therefore the LORD knew how the Pharisees had heard that Jesus made and baptized more disciples than John, 4: 2 (Though Jesus himself baptized not, but his disciples,) 4: 3 He left Judaea, and departed again into Galilee.
4: 4 And he must needs go through Samaria.
4: 5 Then cometh he to a city of Samaria, which is called Sychar, near to the parcel of ground that Jacob gave to his son Joseph.
4: 6 Now Jacob's well was there.
Jesus therefore, being wearied with his journey, sat thus on the well: and it was about the sixth hour.
4: 7 There cometh a woman of Samaria to draw water: Jesus saith unto her, Give me to drink.
4: 8 (For his disciples were gone away unto the city to buy meat.)
4: 9 Then saith the woman of Samaria unto him, How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria?
for the Jews have no dealings with the Samaritans.
4: 10 Jesus answered and said unto her, If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water.
4: 11 The woman saith unto him, Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep: from whence then hast thou that living water?
4: 12 Art thou greater than our father Jacob, which gave us the well, and drank thereof himself, and his children, and his cattle?
4: 15 The woman saith unto him, Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to draw.
4: 16 Jesus saith unto her, Go, call thy husband, and come hither.
4: 17 The woman answered and said, I have no husband.
Jesus said unto her, Thou hast well said, I have no husband: 4: 18 For thou hast had five husbands; and he whom thou now hast is not thy husband: in that saidst thou truly.
4: 19 The woman saith unto him, Sir, I perceive that thou art a prophet.
4: 20 Our fathers worshipped in this mountain; and ye say, that in Jerusalem is the place where men ought to worship.
4: 21 Jesus saith unto her, Woman, believe me, the hour cometh, when ye shall neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father.
4: 22 Ye worship ye know not what: we know what we worship: for salvation is of the Jews.
4: 23 But the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship him.
4: 24 God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.
4: 25 The woman saith unto him, I know that Messias cometh, which is called Christ: when he is come, he will tell us all things.
4: 26 Jesus saith unto her, I that speak unto thee am he.
4: 27 And upon this came his disciples, and marvelled that he talked with the woman: yet no man said, What seekest thou?
or, Why talkest thou with her?
4: 28 The woman then left her waterpot, and went her way into the city, and saith to the men, 4: 29 Come, see a man, which told me all things that ever I did: is not this the Christ?
4: 30 Then they went out of the city, and came unto him.
4: 31 In the mean while his disciples prayed him, saying, Master, eat.
4: 32 But he said unto them, I have meat to eat that ye know not of.
4: 33 Therefore said the disciples one to another, Hath any man brought him ought to eat?
4: 34 Jesus saith unto them, My meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work.
4: 35 Say not ye, There are yet four months, and then cometh harvest?
behold, I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest.
4: 36 And he that reapeth receiveth wages, and gathereth fruit unto life eternal: that both he that soweth and he that reapeth may rejoice together.
4: 37 And herein is that saying true, One soweth, and another reapeth.
4: 38 I sent you to reap that whereon ye bestowed no labour: other men laboured, and ye are entered into their labours.
4: 39 And many of the Samaritans of that city believed on him for the saying of the woman, which testified, He told me all that ever I did.
4: 40 So when the Samaritans were come unto him, they besought him that he would tarry with them: and he abode there two days.
4: 41 And many more believed because of his own word; 4: 42 And said unto the woman, Now we believe, not because of thy saying: for we have heard him ourselves, and know that this is indeed the Christ, the Saviour of the world.
4: 43 Now after two days he departed thence, and went into Galilee.
4: 44 For Jesus himself testified, that a prophet hath no honour in his own country.
4: 45 Then when he was come into Galilee, the Galilaeans received him, having seen all the things that he did at Jerusalem at the feast: for they also went unto the feast.
4: 46 So Jesus came again into Cana of Galilee, where he made the water wine.
And there was a certain nobleman, whose son was sick at Capernaum.
4: 47 When he heard that Jesus was come out of Judaea into Galilee, he went unto him, and besought him that he would come down, and heal his son: for he was at the point of death.
4: 48 Then said Jesus unto him, Except ye see signs and wonders, ye will not believe.
4: 49 The nobleman saith unto him, Sir, come down ere my child die.
4: 50 Jesus saith unto him, Go thy way; thy son liveth.
And the man believed the word that Jesus had spoken unto him, and he went his way.
4: 51 And as he was now going down, his servants met him, and told him, saying, Thy son liveth.
4: 52 Then enquired he of them the hour when he began to amend.
And they said unto him, Yesterday at the seventh hour the fever left him.
4: 53 So the father knew that it was at the same hour, in the which Jesus said unto him, Thy son liveth: and himself believed, and his whole house.
4: 54 This is again the second miracle that Jesus did, when he was come out of Judaea into Galilee.
5: 1 After this there was a feast of the Jews; and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.
5: 2 Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep market a pool, which is called in the Hebrew tongue Bethesda, having five porches.
5: 3 In these lay a great multitude of impotent folk, of blind, halt, withered, waiting for the moving of the water.
5: 4 For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool, and troubled the water: whosoever then first after the troubling of the water stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had.
5: 5 And a certain man was there, which had an infirmity thirty and eight years.
5: 6 When Jesus saw him lie, and knew that he had been now a long time in that case, he saith unto him, Wilt thou be made whole?
5: 7 The impotent man answered him, Sir, I have no man, when the water is troubled, to put me into the pool: but while I am coming, another steppeth down before me.
5: 8 Jesus saith unto him, Rise, take up thy bed, and walk.
5: 9 And immediately the man was made whole, and took up his bed, and walked: and on the same day was the sabbath.
5: 10 The Jews therefore said unto him that was cured, It is the sabbath day: it is not lawful for thee to carry thy bed.
5: 11 He answered them, He that made me whole, the same said unto me, Take up thy bed, and walk.
5: 12 Then asked they him, What man is that which said unto thee, Take up thy bed, and walk?
5: 13 And he that was healed wist not who it was: for Jesus had conveyed himself away, a multitude being in that place.
5: 14 Afterward Jesus findeth him in the temple, and said unto him, Behold, thou art made whole: sin no more, lest a worse thing come unto thee.
5: 15 The man departed, and told the Jews that it was Jesus, which had made him whole.
5: 16 And therefore did the Jews persecute Jesus, and sought to slay him, because he had done these things on the sabbath day.
5: 17 But Jesus answered them, My Father worketh hitherto, and I work.
5: 18 Therefore the Jews sought the more to kill him, because he not only had broken the sabbath, but said also that God was his Father, making himself equal with God.
5: 19 Then answered Jesus and said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do: for what things soever he doeth, these also doeth the Son likewise.
5: 20 For the Father loveth the Son, and sheweth him all things that himself doeth: and he will shew him greater works than these, that ye may marvel.
5: 21 For as the Father raiseth up the dead, and quickeneth them; even so the Son quickeneth whom he will.
5: 22 For the Father judgeth no man, but hath committed all judgment unto the Son: 5: 23 That all men should honour the Son, even as they honour the Father.
He that honoureth not the Son honoureth not the Father which hath sent him.
5: 24 Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life.
5: 25 Verily, verily, I say unto you, The hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God: and they that hear shall live.
5: 26 For as the Father hath life in himself; so hath he given to the Son to have life in himself; 5: 27 And hath given him authority to execute judgment also, because he is the Son of man.
5: 28 Marvel not at this: for the hour is coming, in the which all that are in the graves shall hear his voice, 5: 29 And shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation.
5: 30 I can of mine own self do nothing: as I hear, I judge: and my judgment is just; because I seek not mine own will, but the will of the Father which hath sent me.
5: 31 If I bear witness of myself, my witness is not true.
5: 32 There is another that beareth witness of me; and I know that the witness which he witnesseth of me is true.
5: 33 Ye sent unto John, and he bare witness unto the truth.
5: 34 But I receive not testimony from man: but these things I say, that ye might be saved.
5: 35 He was a burning and a shining light: and ye were willing for a season to rejoice in his light.
5: 36 But I have greater witness than that of John: for the works which the Father hath given me to finish, the same works that I do, bear witness of me, that the Father hath sent me.
5: 37 And the Father himself, which hath sent me, hath borne witness of me.
Ye have neither heard his voice at any time, nor seen his shape.
5: 38 And ye have not his word abiding in you: for whom he hath sent, him ye believe not.
5: 39 Search the scriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are they which testify of me.
5: 40 And ye will not come to me, that ye might have life.
5: 41 I receive not honour from men.
5: 42 But I know you, that ye have not the love of God in you.
5: 43 I am come in my Father's name, and ye receive me not: if another shall come in his own name, him ye will receive.
5: 44 How can ye believe, which receive honour one of another, and seek not the honour that cometh from God only?
5: 45 Do not think that I will accuse you to the Father: there is one that accuseth you, even Moses, in whom ye trust.
5: 46 For had ye believed Moses, ye would have believed me; for he wrote of me.
5: 47 But if ye believe not his writings, how shall ye believe my words?
6: 1 After these things Jesus went over the sea of Galilee, which is the sea of Tiberias.
6: 2 And a great multitude followed him, because they saw his miracles which he did on them that were diseased.
6: 3 And Jesus went up into a mountain, and there he sat with his disciples.
6: 4 And the passover, a feast of the Jews, was nigh.
6: 5 When Jesus then lifted up his eyes, and saw a great company come unto him, he saith unto Philip, Whence shall we buy bread, that these may eat?
6: 6 And this he said to prove him: for he himself knew what he would do.
6: 7 Philip answered him, Two hundred pennyworth of bread is not sufficient for them, that every one of them may take a little.
6: 8 One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter's brother, saith unto him, 6: 9 There is a lad here, which hath five barley loaves, and two small fishes: but what are they among so many?
6: 10 And Jesus said, Make the men sit down.
Now there was much grass in the place.
So the men sat down, in number about five thousand.
6: 11 And Jesus took the loaves; and when he had given thanks, he distributed to the disciples, and the disciples to them that were set down; and likewise of the fishes as much as they would.
6: 12 When they were filled, he said unto his disciples, Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost.
6: 13 Therefore they gathered them together, and filled twelve baskets with the fragments of the five barley loaves, which remained over and above unto them that had eaten.
6: 14 Then those men, when they had seen the miracle that Jesus did, said, This is of a truth that prophet that should come into the world.
6: 15 When Jesus therefore perceived that they would come and take him by force, to make him a king, he departed again into a mountain himself alone.
6: 16 And when even was now come, his disciples went down unto the sea, 6: 17 And entered into a ship, and went over the sea toward Capernaum.
And it was now dark, and Jesus was not come to them.
6: 18 And the sea arose by reason of a great wind that blew.
6: 19 So when they had rowed about five and twenty or thirty furlongs, they see Jesus walking on the sea, and drawing nigh unto the ship: and they were afraid.
6: 20 But he saith unto them, It is I; be not afraid.
6: 21 Then they willingly received him into the ship: and immediately the ship was at the land whither they went.
6: 25 And when they had found him on the other side of the sea, they said unto him, Rabbi, when camest thou hither?
6: 26 Jesus answered them and said, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Ye seek me, not because ye saw the miracles, but because ye did eat of the loaves, and were filled.
6: 27 Labour not for the meat which perisheth, but for that meat which endureth unto everlasting life, which the Son of man shall give unto you: for him hath God the Father sealed.
6: 28 Then said they unto him, What shall we do, that we might work the works of God?
6: 29 Jesus answered and said unto them, This is the work of God, that ye believe on him whom he hath sent.
6: 30 They said therefore unto him, What sign shewest thou then, that we may see, and believe thee?
what dost thou work?
6: 31 Our fathers did eat manna in the desert; as it is written, He gave them bread from heaven to eat.
6: 32 Then Jesus said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Moses gave you not that bread from heaven; but my Father giveth you the true bread from heaven.
6: 33 For the bread of God is he which cometh down from heaven, and giveth life unto the world.
6: 34 Then said they unto him, Lord, evermore give us this bread.
6: 35 And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst.
6: 36 But I said unto you, That ye also have seen me, and believe not.
6: 37 All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.
6: 38 For I came down from heaven, not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me.
6: 39 And this is the Father's will which hath sent me, that of all which he hath given me I should lose nothing, but should raise it up again at the last day.
6: 40 And this is the will of him that sent me, that every one which seeth the Son, and believeth on him, may have everlasting life: and I will raise him up at the last day.
6: 41 The Jews then murmured at him, because he said, I am the bread which came down from heaven.
6: 42 And they said, Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know?
how is it then that he saith, I came down from heaven?
6: 43 Jesus therefore answered and said unto them, Murmur not among yourselves.
6: 44 No man can come to me, except the Father which hath sent me draw him: and I will raise him up at the last day.
6: 45 It is written in the prophets, And they shall be all taught of God.
Every man therefore that hath heard, and hath learned of the Father, cometh unto me.
6: 46 Not that any man hath seen the Father, save he which is of God, he hath seen the Father.
6: 47 Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on me hath everlasting life.
6: 48 I am that bread of life.
6: 49 Your fathers did eat manna in the wilderness, and are dead.
6: 50 This is the bread which cometh down from heaven, that a man may eat thereof, and not die.
6: 51 I am the living bread which came down from heaven: if any man eat of this bread, he shall live for ever: and the bread that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.
6: 52 The Jews therefore strove among themselves, saying, How can this man give us his flesh to eat?
6: 53 Then Jesus said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man, and drink his blood, ye have no life in you.
6: 54 Whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day.
6: 55 For my flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed.
6: 56 He that eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, dwelleth in me, and I in him.
6: 57 As the living Father hath sent me, and I live by the Father: so he that eateth me, even he shall live by me.
6: 58 This is that bread which came down from heaven: not as your fathers did eat manna, and are dead: he that eateth of this bread shall live for ever.
6: 59 These things said he in the synagogue, as he taught in Capernaum.
6: 60 Many therefore of his disciples, when they had heard this, said, This is an hard saying; who can hear it?
6: 61 When Jesus knew in himself that his disciples murmured at it, he said unto them, Doth this offend you?
6: 62 What and if ye shall see the Son of man ascend up where he was before?
6: 63 It is the spirit that quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing: the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life.
6: 64 But there are some of you that believe not.
For Jesus knew from the beginning who they were that believed not, and who should betray him.
6: 65 And he said, Therefore said I unto you, that no man can come unto me, except it were given unto him of my Father.
6: 66 From that time many of his disciples went back, and walked no more with him.
6: 67 Then said Jesus unto the twelve, Will ye also go away?
6: 68 Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go?
thou hast the words of eternal life.
6: 69 And we believe and are sure that thou art that Christ, the Son of the living God.
6: 70 Jesus answered them, Have not I chosen you twelve, and one of you is a devil?
6: 71 He spake of Judas Iscariot the son of Simon: for he it was that should betray him, being one of the twelve.
7: 1 After these things Jesus walked in Galilee: for he would not walk in Jewry, because the Jews sought to kill him.
7: 2 Now the Jew's feast of tabernacles was at hand.
7: 3 His brethren therefore said unto him, Depart hence, and go into Judaea, that thy disciples also may see the works that thou doest.
7: 4 For there is no man that doeth any thing in secret, and he himself seeketh to be known openly.
If thou do these things, shew thyself to the world.
7: 5 For neither did his brethren believe in him.
7: 6 Then Jesus said unto them, My time is not yet come: but your time is alway ready.
7: 7 The world cannot hate you; but me it hateth, because I testify of it, that the works thereof are evil.
7: 8 Go ye up unto this feast: I go not up yet unto this feast: for my time is not yet full come.
7: 9 When he had said these words unto them, he abode still in Galilee.
7: 10 But when his brethren were gone up, then went he also up unto the feast, not openly, but as it were in secret.
7: 11 Then the Jews sought him at the feast, and said, Where is he?
7: 12 And there was much murmuring among the people concerning him: for some said, He is a good man: others said, Nay; but he deceiveth the people.
7: 13 Howbeit no man spake openly of him for fear of the Jews.
7: 14 Now about the midst of the feast Jesus went up into the temple, and taught.
7: 15 And the Jews marvelled, saying, How knoweth this man letters, having never learned?
7: 16 Jesus answered them, and said, My doctrine is not mine, but his that sent me.
7: 17 If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself.
7: 18 He that speaketh of himself seeketh his own glory: but he that seeketh his glory that sent him, the same is true, and no unrighteousness is in him.
7: 19 Did not Moses give you the law, and yet none of you keepeth the law?
Why go ye about to kill me?
7: 20 The people answered and said, Thou hast a devil: who goeth about to kill thee?
7: 21 Jesus answered and said unto them, I have done one work, and ye all marvel.
7: 22 Moses therefore gave unto you circumcision; (not because it is of Moses, but of the fathers;) and ye on the sabbath day circumcise a man.
7: 23 If a man on the sabbath day receive circumcision, that the law of Moses should not be broken; are ye angry at me, because I have made a man every whit whole on the sabbath day?
7: 24 Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment.
7: 25 Then said some of them of Jerusalem, Is not this he, whom they seek to kill?
7: 26 But, lo, he speaketh boldly, and they say nothing unto him.
Do the rulers know indeed that this is the very Christ?
7: 27 Howbeit we know this man whence he is: but when Christ cometh, no man knoweth whence he is.
7: 28 Then cried Jesus in the temple as he taught, saying, Ye both know me, and ye know whence I am: and I am not come of myself, but he that sent me is true, whom ye know not.
7: 29 But I know him: for I am from him, and he hath sent me.
7: 30 Then they sought to take him: but no man laid hands on him, because his hour was not yet come.
7: 31 And many of the people believed on him, and said, When Christ cometh, will he do more miracles than these which this man hath done?
7: 32 The Pharisees heard that the people murmured such things concerning him; and the Pharisees and the chief priests sent officers to take him.
7: 33 Then said Jesus unto them, Yet a little while am I with you, and then I go unto him that sent me.
7: 34 Ye shall seek me, and shall not find me: and where I am, thither ye cannot come.
7: 35 Then said the Jews among themselves, Whither will he go, that we shall not find him?
will he go unto the dispersed among the Gentiles, and teach the Gentiles?
7: 36 What manner of saying is this that he said, Ye shall seek me, and shall not find me: and where I am, thither ye cannot come?
7: 37 In the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried, saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink.
7: 38 He that believeth on me, as the scripture hath said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water.
7: 39 (But this spake he of the Spirit, which they that believe on him should receive: for the Holy Ghost was not yet given; because that Jesus was not yet glorified.)
7: 40 Many of the people therefore, when they heard this saying, said, Of a truth this is the Prophet.
7: 41 Others said, This is the Christ.
But some said, Shall Christ come out of Galilee?
7: 42 Hath not the scripture said, That Christ cometh of the seed of David, and out of the town of Bethlehem, where David was?
7: 43 So there was a division among the people because of him.
7: 44 And some of them would have taken him; but no man laid hands on him.
7: 45 Then came the officers to the chief priests and Pharisees; and they said unto them, Why have ye not brought him?
7: 46 The officers answered, Never man spake like this man.
7: 47 Then answered them the Pharisees, Are ye also deceived?
7: 48 Have any of the rulers or of the Pharisees believed on him?
7: 49 But this people who knoweth not the law are cursed.
7: 50 Nicodemus saith unto them, (he that came to Jesus by night, being one of them,) 7: 51 Doth our law judge any man, before it hear him, and know what he doeth?
7: 52 They answered and said unto him, Art thou also of Galilee?
Search, and look: for out of Galilee ariseth no prophet.
7: 53 And every man went unto his own house.
8: 1 Jesus went unto the mount of Olives.
8: 2 And early in the morning he came again into the temple, and all the people came unto him; and he sat down, and taught them.
8: 3 And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst, 8: 4 They say unto him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act.
8: 5 Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?
8: 6 This they said, tempting him, that they might have to accuse him.
But Jesus stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he heard them not.
8: 7 So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.
8: 8 And again he stooped down, and wrote on the ground.
8: 9 And they which heard it, being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto the last: and Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst.
8: 10 When Jesus had lifted up himself, and saw none but the woman, he said unto her, Woman, where are those thine accusers?
hath no man condemned thee?
8: 11 She said, No man, Lord.
And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.
8: 12 Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.
8: 13 The Pharisees therefore said unto him, Thou bearest record of thyself; thy record is not true.
8: 14 Jesus answered and said unto them, Though I bear record of myself, yet my record is true: for I know whence I came, and whither I go; but ye cannot tell whence I come, and whither I go.
8: 15 Ye judge after the flesh; I judge no man.
8: 16 And yet if I judge, my judgment is true: for I am not alone, but I and the Father that sent me.
8: 17 It is also written in your law, that the testimony of two men is true.
8: 18 I am one that bear witness of myself, and the Father that sent me beareth witness of me.
8: 19 Then said they unto him, Where is thy Father?
Jesus answered, Ye neither know me, nor my Father: if ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also.
8: 20 These words spake Jesus in the treasury, as he taught in the temple: and no man laid hands on him; for his hour was not yet come.
8: 21 Then said Jesus again unto them, I go my way, and ye shall seek me, and shall die in your sins: whither I go, ye cannot come.
8: 22 Then said the Jews, Will he kill himself?
because he saith, Whither I go, ye cannot come.
8: 23 And he said unto them, Ye are from beneath; I am from above: ye are of this world; I am not of this world.
8: 24 I said therefore unto you, that ye shall die in your sins: for if ye believe not that I am he, ye shall die in your sins.
8: 25 Then said they unto him, Who art thou?
And Jesus saith unto them, Even the same that I said unto you from the beginning.
8: 26 I have many things to say and to judge of you: but he that sent me is true; and I speak to the world those things which I have heard of him.
8: 27 They understood not that he spake to them of the Father.
8: 28 Then said Jesus unto them, When ye have lifted up the Son of man, then shall ye know that I am he, and that I do nothing of myself; but as my Father hath taught me, I speak these things.
8: 29 And he that sent me is with me: the Father hath not left me alone; for I do always those things that please him.
8: 30 As he spake these words, many believed on him.
8: 31 Then said Jesus to those Jews which believed on him, If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; 8: 32 And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.
8: 33 They answered him, We be Abraham's seed, and were never in bondage to any man: how sayest thou, Ye shall be made free?
8: 34 Jesus answered them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin.
8: 35 And the servant abideth not in the house for ever: but the Son abideth ever.
8: 36 If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.
8: 37 I know that ye are Abraham's seed; but ye seek to kill me, because my word hath no place in you.
8: 38 I speak that which I have seen with my Father: and ye do that which ye have seen with your father.
8: 39 They answered and said unto him, Abraham is our father.
Jesus saith unto them, If ye were Abraham's children, ye would do the works of Abraham.
8: 40 But now ye seek to kill me, a man that hath told you the truth, which I have heard of God: this did not Abraham.
8: 41 Ye do the deeds of your father.
Then said they to him, We be not born of fornication; we have one Father, even God.
8: 42 Jesus said unto them, If God were your Father, ye would love me: for I proceeded forth and came from God; neither came I of myself, but he sent me.
8: 43 Why do ye not understand my speech?
even because ye cannot hear my word.
8: 44 Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do.
He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him.
When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it.
8: 45 And because I tell you the truth, ye believe me not.
8: 46 Which of you convinceth me of sin?
And if I say the truth, why do ye not believe me?
8: 47 He that is of God heareth God's words: ye therefore hear them not, because ye are not of God.
8: 48 Then answered the Jews, and said unto him, Say we not well that thou art a Samaritan, and hast a devil?
8: 49 Jesus answered, I have not a devil; but I honour my Father, and ye do dishonour me.
8: 50 And I seek not mine own glory: there is one that seeketh and judgeth.
8: 51 Verily, verily, I say unto you, If a man keep my saying, he shall never see death.
8: 52 Then said the Jews unto him, Now we know that thou hast a devil.
Abraham is dead, and the prophets; and thou sayest, If a man keep my saying, he shall never taste of death.
8: 53 Art thou greater than our father Abraham, which is dead?
and the prophets are dead: whom makest thou thyself?
8: 56 Your father Abraham rejoiced to see my day: and he saw it, and was glad.
8: 57 Then said the Jews unto him, Thou art not yet fifty years old, and hast thou seen Abraham?
8: 58 Jesus said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Before Abraham was, I am.
8: 59 Then took they up stones to cast at him: but Jesus hid himself, and went out of the temple, going through the midst of them, and so passed by.
9: 1 And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man which was blind from his birth.
9: 2 And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?
9: 3 Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him.
9: 4 I must work the works of him that sent me, while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
9: 5 As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.
9: 6 When he had thus spoken, he spat on the ground, and made clay of the spittle, and he anointed the eyes of the blind man with the clay, 9: 7 And said unto him, Go, wash in the pool of Siloam, (which is by interpretation, Sent.)
He went his way therefore, and washed, and came seeing.
9: 8 The neighbours therefore, and they which before had seen him that he was blind, said, Is not this he that sat and begged?
9: 9 Some said, This is he: others said, He is like him: but he said, I am he.
9: 10 Therefore said they unto him, How were thine eyes opened?
9: 11 He answered and said, A man that is called Jesus made clay, and anointed mine eyes, and said unto me, Go to the pool of Siloam, and wash: and I went and washed, and I received sight.
9: 12 Then said they unto him, Where is he?
He said, I know not.
9: 13 They brought to the Pharisees him that aforetime was blind.
9: 14 And it was the sabbath day when Jesus made the clay, and opened his eyes.
9: 15 Then again the Pharisees also asked him how he had received his sight.
He said unto them, He put clay upon mine eyes, and I washed, and do see.
9: 16 Therefore said some of the Pharisees, This man is not of God, because he keepeth not the sabbath day.
Others said, How can a man that is a sinner do such miracles?
And there was a division among them.
9: 17 They say unto the blind man again, What sayest thou of him, that he hath opened thine eyes?
He said, He is a prophet.
9: 18 But the Jews did not believe concerning him, that he had been blind, and received his sight, until they called the parents of him that had received his sight.
9: 19 And they asked them, saying, Is this your son, who ye say was born blind?
how then doth he now see?
9: 20 His parents answered them and said, We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind: 9: 21 But by what means he now seeth, we know not; or who hath opened his eyes, we know not: he is of age; ask him: he shall speak for himself.
9: 22 These words spake his parents, because they feared the Jews: for the Jews had agreed already, that if any man did confess that he was Christ, he should be put out of the synagogue.
9: 23 Therefore said his parents, He is of age; ask him.
9: 24 Then again called they the man that was blind, and said unto him, Give God the praise: we know that this man is a sinner.
9: 25 He answered and said, Whether he be a sinner or no, I know not: one thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.
9: 26 Then said they to him again, What did he to thee?
how opened he thine eyes?
9: 27 He answered them, I have told you already, and ye did not hear: wherefore would ye hear it again?
will ye also be his disciples?
9: 28 Then they reviled him, and said, Thou art his disciple; but we are Moses'disciples.
9: 29 We know that God spake unto Moses: as for this fellow, we know not from whence he is.
9: 30 The man answered and said unto them, Why herein is a marvellous thing, that ye know not from whence he is, and yet he hath opened mine eyes.
9: 31 Now we know that God heareth not sinners: but if any man be a worshipper of God, and doeth his will, him he heareth.
9: 32 Since the world began was it not heard that any man opened the eyes of one that was born blind.
9: 33 If this man were not of God, he could do nothing.
9: 34 They answered and said unto him, Thou wast altogether born in sins, and dost thou teach us?
And they cast him out.
9: 35 Jesus heard that they had cast him out; and when he had found him, he said unto him, Dost thou believe on the Son of God?
9: 36 He answered and said, Who is he, Lord, that I might believe on him?
9: 37 And Jesus said unto him, Thou hast both seen him, and it is he that talketh with thee.
9: 38 And he said, Lord, I believe.
And he worshipped him.
9: 39 And Jesus said, For judgment I am come into this world, that they which see not might see; and that they which see might be made blind.
9: 40 And some of the Pharisees which were with him heard these words, and said unto him, Are we blind also?
9: 41 Jesus said unto them, If ye were blind, ye should have no sin: but now ye say, We see; therefore your sin remaineth.
10: 1 Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that entereth not by the door into the sheepfold, but climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief and a robber.
10: 2 But he that entereth in by the door is the shepherd of the sheep.
10: 3 To him the porter openeth; and the sheep hear his voice: and he calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth them out.
10: 4 And when he putteth forth his own sheep, he goeth before them, and the sheep follow him: for they know his voice.
10: 5 And a stranger will they not follow, but will flee from him: for they know not the voice of strangers.
10: 6 This parable spake Jesus unto them: but they understood not what things they were which he spake unto them.
10: 7 Then said Jesus unto them again, Verily, verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep.
10: 8 All that ever came before me are thieves and robbers: but the sheep did not hear them.
10: 9 I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture.
10: 10 The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.
10: 11 I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep.
10: 12 But he that is an hireling, and not the shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep, and fleeth: and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep.
10: 13 The hireling fleeth, because he is an hireling, and careth not for the sheep.
10: 14 I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine.
10: 15 As the Father knoweth me, even so know I the Father: and I lay down my life for the sheep.
10: 16 And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.
10: 17 Therefore doth my Father love me, because I lay down my life, that I might take it again.
10: 18 No man taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself.
I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again.
This commandment have I received of my Father.
10: 19 There was a division therefore again among the Jews for these sayings.
10: 20 And many of them said, He hath a devil, and is mad; why hear ye him?
10: 21 Others said, These are not the words of him that hath a devil.
Can a devil open the eyes of the blind?
10: 22 And it was at Jerusalem the feast of the dedication, and it was winter.
10: 23 And Jesus walked in the temple in Solomon's porch.
10: 24 Then came the Jews round about him, and said unto him, How long dost thou make us to doubt?
If thou be the Christ, tell us plainly.
10: 25 Jesus answered them, I told you, and ye believed not: the works that I do in my Father's name, they bear witness of me.
10: 26 But ye believe not, because ye are not of my sheep, as I said unto you.
10: 27 My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: 10: 28 And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.
10: 29 My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father's hand.
10: 30 I and my Father are one.
10: 31 Then the Jews took up stones again to stone him.
10: 32 Jesus answered them, Many good works have I shewed you from my Father; for which of those works do ye stone me?
10: 33 The Jews answered him, saying, For a good work we stone thee not; but for blasphemy; and because that thou, being a man, makest thyself God.
10: 34 Jesus answered them, Is it not written in your law, I said, Ye are gods?
10: 35 If he called them gods, unto whom the word of God came, and the scripture cannot be broken; 10: 36 Say ye of him, whom the Father hath sanctified, and sent into the world, Thou blasphemest; because I said, I am the Son of God?
10: 37 If I do not the works of my Father, believe me not.
10: 38 But if I do, though ye believe not me, believe the works: that ye may know, and believe, that the Father is in me, and I in him.
10: 39 Therefore they sought again to take him: but he escaped out of their hand, 10: 40 And went away again beyond Jordan into the place where John at first baptized; and there he abode.
10: 41 And many resorted unto him, and said, John did no miracle: but all things that John spake of this man were true.
10: 42 And many believed on him there.
11: 1 Now a certain man was sick, named Lazarus, of Bethany, the town of Mary and her sister Martha.
11: 2 (It was that Mary which anointed the Lord with ointment, and wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was sick.)
11: 3 Therefore his sisters sent unto him, saying, Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick.
11: 4 When Jesus heard that, he said, This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby.
11: 5 Now Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus.
11: 6 When he had heard therefore that he was sick, he abode two days still in the same place where he was.
11: 7 Then after that saith he to his disciples, Let us go into Judaea again.
11: 8 His disciples say unto him, Master, the Jews of late sought to stone thee; and goest thou thither again?
11: 9 Jesus answered, Are there not twelve hours in the day?
If any man walk in the day, he stumbleth not, because he seeth the light of this world.
11: 10 But if a man walk in the night, he stumbleth, because there is no light in him.
11: 11 These things said he: and after that he saith unto them, Our friend Lazarus sleepeth; but I go, that I may awake him out of sleep.
11: 12 Then said his disciples, Lord, if he sleep, he shall do well.
11: 13 Howbeit Jesus spake of his death: but they thought that he had spoken of taking of rest in sleep.
11: 14 Then said Jesus unto them plainly, Lazarus is dead.
11: 15 And I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, to the intent ye may believe; nevertheless let us go unto him.
11: 16 Then said Thomas, which is called Didymus, unto his fellowdisciples, Let us also go, that we may die with him.
11: 17 Then when Jesus came, he found that he had lain in the grave four days already.
11: 18 Now Bethany was nigh unto Jerusalem, about fifteen furlongs off: 11: 19 And many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary, to comfort them concerning their brother.
11: 20 Then Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him: but Mary sat still in the house.
11: 21 Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.
11: 22 But I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee.
11: 23 Jesus saith unto her, Thy brother shall rise again.
11: 24 Martha saith unto him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day.
11: 25 Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: 11: 26 And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.
Believest thou this?
11: 27 She saith unto him, Yea, Lord: I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world.
11: 28 And when she had so said, she went her way, and called Mary her sister secretly, saying, The Master is come, and calleth for thee.
11: 29 As soon as she heard that, she arose quickly, and came unto him.
11: 30 Now Jesus was not yet come into the town, but was in that place where Martha met him.
11: 31 The Jews then which were with her in the house, and comforted her, when they saw Mary, that she rose up hastily and went out, followed her, saying, She goeth unto the grave to weep there.
11: 32 Then when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw him, she fell down at his feet, saying unto him, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.
11: 33 When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her, he groaned in the spirit, and was troubled.
11: 34 And said, Where have ye laid him?
They said unto him, Lord, come and see.
11: 35 Jesus wept.
11: 36 Then said the Jews, Behold how he loved him!
11: 37 And some of them said, Could not this man, which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should not have died?
11: 38 Jesus therefore again groaning in himself cometh to the grave.
It was a cave, and a stone lay upon it.
11: 39 Jesus said, Take ye away the stone.
Martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto him, Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.
11: 40 Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee, that, if thou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God?
11: 41 Then they took away the stone from the place where the dead was laid.
And Jesus lifted up his eyes, and said, Father, I thank thee that thou hast heard me.
11: 42 And I knew that thou hearest me always: but because of the people which stand by I said it, that they may believe that thou hast sent me.
11: 43 And when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth.
11: 44 And he that was dead came forth, bound hand and foot with graveclothes: and his face was bound about with a napkin.
Jesus saith unto them, Loose him, and let him go.
11: 45 Then many of the Jews which came to Mary, and had seen the things which Jesus did, believed on him.
11: 46 But some of them went their ways to the Pharisees, and told them what things Jesus had done.
11: 47 Then gathered the chief priests and the Pharisees a council, and said, What do we?
for this man doeth many miracles.
11: 48 If we let him thus alone, all men will believe on him: and the Romans shall come and take away both our place and nation.
11: 49 And one of them, named Caiaphas, being the high priest that same year, said unto them, Ye know nothing at all, 11: 50 Nor consider that it is expedient for us, that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation perish not.
11: 51 And this spake he not of himself: but being high priest that year, he prophesied that Jesus should die for that nation; 11: 52 And not for that nation only, but that also he should gather together in one the children of God that were scattered abroad.
11: 53 Then from that day forth they took counsel together for to put him to death.
11: 54 Jesus therefore walked no more openly among the Jews; but went thence unto a country near to the wilderness, into a city called Ephraim, and there continued with his disciples.
11: 55 And the Jews'passover was nigh at hand: and many went out of the country up to Jerusalem before the passover, to purify themselves.
11: 56 Then sought they for Jesus, and spake among themselves, as they stood in the temple, What think ye, that he will not come to the feast?
11: 57 Now both the chief priests and the Pharisees had given a commandment, that, if any man knew where he were, he should shew it, that they might take him.
12: 1 Then Jesus six days before the passover came to Bethany, where Lazarus was, which had been dead, whom he raised from the dead.
12: 2 There they made him a supper; and Martha served: but Lazarus was one of them that sat at the table with him.
12: 3 Then took Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard, very costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped his feet with her hair: and the house was filled with the odour of the ointment.
12: 4 Then saith one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, which should betray him, 12: 5 Why was not this ointment sold for three hundred pence, and given to the poor?
12: 6 This he said, not that he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and had the bag, and bare what was put therein.
12: 7 Then said Jesus, Let her alone: against the day of my burying hath she kept this.
12: 8 For the poor always ye have with you; but me ye have not always.
12: 9 Much people of the Jews therefore knew that he was there: and they came not for Jesus'sake only, but that they might see Lazarus also, whom he had raised from the dead.
12: 10 But the chief priests consulted that they might put Lazarus also to death; 12: 11 Because that by reason of him many of the Jews went away, and believed on Jesus.
12: 12 On the next day much people that were come to the feast, when they heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem, 12: 13 Took branches of palm trees, and went forth to meet him, and cried, Hosanna: Blessed is the King of Israel that cometh in the name of the Lord.
12: 14 And Jesus, when he had found a young ass, sat thereon; as it is written, 12: 15 Fear not, daughter of Sion: behold, thy King cometh, sitting on an ass's colt.
12: 16 These things understood not his disciples at the first: but when Jesus was glorified, then remembered they that these things were written of him, and that they had done these things unto him.
12: 17 The people therefore that was with him when he called Lazarus out of his grave, and raised him from the dead, bare record.
12: 18 For this cause the people also met him, for that they heard that he had done this miracle.
12: 19 The Pharisees therefore said among themselves, Perceive ye how ye prevail nothing?
behold, the world is gone after him.
12: 20 And there were certain Greeks among them that came up to worship at the feast: 12: 21 The same came therefore to Philip, which was of Bethsaida of Galilee, and desired him, saying, Sir, we would see Jesus.
12: 22 Philip cometh and telleth Andrew: and again Andrew and Philip tell Jesus.
12: 23 And Jesus answered them, saying, The hour is come, that the Son of man should be glorified.
12: 24 Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.
12: 25 He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.
12: 26 If any man serve me, let him follow me; and where I am, there shall also my servant be: if any man serve me, him will my Father honour.
12: 27 Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say?
Father, save me from this hour: but for this cause came I unto this hour.
12: 28 Father, glorify thy name.
Then came there a voice from heaven, saying, I have both glorified it, and will glorify it again.
12: 29 The people therefore, that stood by, and heard it, said that it thundered: others said, An angel spake to him.
12: 30 Jesus answered and said, This voice came not because of me, but for your sakes.
12: 31 Now is the judgment of this world: now shall the prince of this world be cast out.
12: 32 And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.
12: 33 This he said, signifying what death he should die.
12: 34 The people answered him, We have heard out of the law that Christ abideth for ever: and how sayest thou, The Son of man must be lifted up?
who is this Son of man?
12: 35 Then Jesus said unto them, Yet a little while is the light with you.
Walk while ye have the light, lest darkness come upon you: for he that walketh in darkness knoweth not whither he goeth.
12: 36 While ye have light, believe in the light, that ye may be the children of light.
These things spake Jesus, and departed, and did hide himself from them.
12: 37 But though he had done so many miracles before them, yet they believed not on him: 12: 38 That the saying of Esaias the prophet might be fulfilled, which he spake, Lord, who hath believed our report?
and to whom hath the arm of the Lord been revealed?
12: 39 Therefore they could not believe, because that Esaias said again, 12: 40 He hath blinded their eyes, and hardened their heart; that they should not see with their eyes, nor understand with their heart, and be converted, and I should heal them.
12: 41 These things said Esaias, when he saw his glory, and spake of him.
12: 42 Nevertheless among the chief rulers also many believed on him; but because of the Pharisees they did not confess him, lest they should be put out of the synagogue: 12: 43 For they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God.
12: 44 Jesus cried and said, He that believeth on me, believeth not on me, but on him that sent me.
12: 45 And he that seeth me seeth him that sent me.
12: 46 I am come a light into the world, that whosoever believeth on me should not abide in darkness.
12: 47 And if any man hear my words, and believe not, I judge him not: for I came not to judge the world, but to save the world.
12: 48 He that rejecteth me, and receiveth not my words, hath one that judgeth him: the word that I have spoken, the same shall judge him in the last day.
12: 49 For I have not spoken of myself; but the Father which sent me, he gave me a commandment, what I should say, and what I should speak.
12: 50 And I know that his commandment is life everlasting: whatsoever I speak therefore, even as the Father said unto me, so I speak.
13: 1 Now before the feast of the passover, when Jesus knew that his hour was come that he should depart out of this world unto the Father, having loved his own which were in the world, he loved them unto the end.
13: 5 After that he poureth water into a bason, and began to wash the disciples'feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith he was girded.
13: 6 Then cometh he to Simon Peter: and Peter saith unto him, Lord, dost thou wash my feet?
13: 7 Jesus answered and said unto him, What I do thou knowest not now; but thou shalt know hereafter.
13: 8 Peter saith unto him, Thou shalt never wash my feet.
Jesus answered him, If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me.
13: 9 Simon Peter saith unto him, Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head.
13: 10 Jesus saith to him, He that is washed needeth not save to wash his feet, but is clean every whit: and ye are clean, but not all.
13: 11 For he knew who should betray him; therefore said he, Ye are not all clean.
13: 12 So after he had washed their feet, and had taken his garments, and was set down again, he said unto them, Know ye what I have done to you?
13: 13 Ye call me Master and Lord: and ye say well; for so I am.
13: 14 If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet; ye also ought to wash one another's feet.
13: 15 For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you.
13: 16 Verily, verily, I say unto you, The servant is not greater than his lord; neither he that is sent greater than he that sent him.
13: 17 If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them.
13: 18 I speak not of you all: I know whom I have chosen: but that the scripture may be fulfilled, He that eateth bread with me hath lifted up his heel against me.
13: 19 Now I tell you before it come, that, when it is come to pass, ye may believe that I am he.
13: 20 Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that receiveth whomsoever I send receiveth me; and he that receiveth me receiveth him that sent me.
13: 21 When Jesus had thus said, he was troubled in spirit, and testified, and said, Verily, verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me.
13: 22 Then the disciples looked one on another, doubting of whom he spake.
13: 23 Now there was leaning on Jesus'bosom one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved.
13: 24 Simon Peter therefore beckoned to him, that he should ask who it should be of whom he spake.
13: 25 He then lying on Jesus'breast saith unto him, Lord, who is it?
13: 26 Jesus answered, He it is, to whom I shall give a sop, when I have dipped it.
And when he had dipped the sop, he gave it to Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon.
13: 27 And after the sop Satan entered into him.
Then said Jesus unto him, That thou doest, do quickly.
13: 28 Now no man at the table knew for what intent he spake this unto him.
13: 29 For some of them thought, because Judas had the bag, that Jesus had said unto him, Buy those things that we have need of against the feast; or, that he should give something to the poor.
13: 30 He then having received the sop went immediately out: and it was night.
13: 31 Therefore, when he was gone out, Jesus said, Now is the Son of man glorified, and God is glorified in him.
13: 32 If God be glorified in him, God shall also glorify him in himself, and shall straightway glorify him.
13: 33 Little children, yet a little while I am with you.
Ye shall seek me: and as I said unto the Jews, Whither I go, ye cannot come; so now I say to you.
13: 34 A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.
13: 35 By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.
13: 36 Simon Peter said unto him, Lord, whither goest thou?
Jesus answered him, Whither I go, thou canst not follow me now; but thou shalt follow me afterwards.
13: 37 Peter said unto him, Lord, why cannot I follow thee now?
I will lay down my life for thy sake.
13: 38 Jesus answered him, Wilt thou lay down thy life for my sake?
Verily, verily, I say unto thee, The cock shall not crow, till thou hast denied me thrice.
14: 1 Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.
14: 2 In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you.
I go to prepare a place for you.
14: 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.
14: 4 And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.
14: 5 Thomas saith unto him, Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way?
14: 6 Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.
14: 7 If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also: and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen him.
14: 8 Philip saith unto him, Lord, shew us the Father, and it sufficeth us.
14: 9 Jesus saith unto him, Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip?
he that hath seen me hath seen the Father; and how sayest thou then, Shew us the Father?
14: 10 Believest thou not that I am in the Father, and the Father in me?
the words that I speak unto you I speak not of myself: but the Father that dwelleth in me, he doeth the works.
14: 11 Believe me that I am in the Father, and the Father in me: or else believe me for the very works'sake.
14: 12 Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also; and greater works than these shall he do; because I go unto my Father.
14: 13 And whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.
14: 14 If ye shall ask any thing in my name, I will do it.
14: 15 If ye love me, keep my commandments.
14: 18 I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.
14: 19 Yet a little while, and the world seeth me no more; but ye see me: because I live, ye shall live also.
14: 20 At that day ye shall know that I am in my Father, and ye in me, and I in you.
14: 21 He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me: and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and will manifest myself to him.
14: 22 Judas saith unto him, not Iscariot, Lord, how is it that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the world?
14: 23 Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.
14: 24 He that loveth me not keepeth not my sayings: and the word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father's which sent me.
14: 25 These things have I spoken unto you, being yet present with you.
14: 26 But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.
14: 27 Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you.
Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
14: 28 Ye have heard how I said unto you, I go away, and come again unto you.
If ye loved me, ye would rejoice, because I said, I go unto the Father: for my Father is greater than I.
14: 29 And now I have told you before it come to pass, that, when it is come to pass, ye might believe.
14: 30 Hereafter I will not talk much with you: for the prince of this world cometh, and hath nothing in me.
14: 31 But that the world may know that I love the Father; and as the Father gave me commandment, even so I do.
Arise, let us go hence.
15: 1 I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman.
15: 2 Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit.
15: 3 Now ye are clean through the word which I have spoken unto you.
15: 4 Abide in me, and I in you.
As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me.
15: 5 I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.
15: 6 If a man abide not in me, he is cast forth as a branch, and is withered; and men gather them, and cast them into the fire, and they are burned.
15: 7 If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.
15: 8 Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples.
15: 9 As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you: continue ye in my love.
15: 10 If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father's commandments, and abide in his love.
15: 11 These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.
15: 12 This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you.
15: 13 Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
15: 14 Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you.
15: 15 Henceforth I call you not servants; for the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth: but I have called you friends; for all things that I have heard of my Father I have made known unto you.
15: 16 Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, and ordained you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain: that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it you.
15: 17 These things I command you, that ye love one another.
15: 18 If the world hate you, ye know that it hated me before it hated you.
15: 19 If ye were of the world, the world would love his own: but because ye are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you.
15: 20 Remember the word that I said unto you, The servant is not greater than his lord.
If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you; if they have kept my saying, they will keep yours also.
15: 21 But all these things will they do unto you for my name's sake, because they know not him that sent me.
15: 22 If I had not come and spoken unto them, they had not had sin: but now they have no cloak for their sin.
15: 23 He that hateth me hateth my Father also.
15: 24 If I had not done among them the works which none other man did, they had not had sin: but now have they both seen and hated both me and my Father.
15: 25 But this cometh to pass, that the word might be fulfilled that is written in their law, They hated me without a cause.
15: 26 But when the Comforter is come, whom I will send unto you from the Father, even the Spirit of truth, which proceedeth from the Father, he shall testify of me: 15: 27 And ye also shall bear witness, because ye have been with me from the beginning.
16: 1 These things have I spoken unto you, that ye should not be offended.
16: 2 They shall put you out of the synagogues: yea, the time cometh, that whosoever killeth you will think that he doeth God service.
16: 3 And these things will they do unto you, because they have not known the Father, nor me.
16: 4 But these things have I told you, that when the time shall come, ye may remember that I told you of them.
And these things I said not unto you at the beginning, because I was with you.
16: 5 But now I go my way to him that sent me; and none of you asketh me, Whither goest thou?
16: 6 But because I have said these things unto you, sorrow hath filled your heart.
16: 7 Nevertheless I tell you the truth; It is expedient for you that I go away: for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come unto you; but if I depart, I will send him unto you.
16: 12 I have yet many things to say unto you, but ye cannot bear them now.
16: 13 Howbeit when he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall not speak of himself; but whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he speak: and he will shew you things to come.
16: 14 He shall glorify me: for he shall receive of mine, and shall shew it unto you.
16: 15 All things that the Father hath are mine: therefore said I, that he shall take of mine, and shall shew it unto you.
16: 16 A little while, and ye shall not see me: and again, a little while, and ye shall see me, because I go to the Father.
16: 17 Then said some of his disciples among themselves, What is this that he saith unto us, A little while, and ye shall not see me: and again, a little while, and ye shall see me: and, Because I go to the Father?
16: 18 They said therefore, What is this that he saith, A little while?
we cannot tell what he saith.
16: 19 Now Jesus knew that they were desirous to ask him, and said unto them, Do ye enquire among yourselves of that I said, A little while, and ye shall not see me: and again, a little while, and ye shall see me?
16: 20 Verily, verily, I say unto you, That ye shall weep and lament, but the world shall rejoice: and ye shall be sorrowful, but your sorrow shall be turned into joy.
16: 21 A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow, because her hour is come: but as soon as she is delivered of the child, she remembereth no more the anguish, for joy that a man is born into the world.
16: 22 And ye now therefore have sorrow: but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you.
16: 23 And in that day ye shall ask me nothing.
Verily, verily, I say unto you, Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, he will give it you.
16: 24 Hitherto have ye asked nothing in my name: ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full.
16: 25 These things have I spoken unto you in proverbs: but the time cometh, when I shall no more speak unto you in proverbs, but I shall shew you plainly of the Father.
16: 26 At that day ye shall ask in my name: and I say not unto you, that I will pray the Father for you: 16: 27 For the Father himself loveth you, because ye have loved me, and have believed that I came out from God.
16: 28 I came forth from the Father, and am come into the world: again, I leave the world, and go to the Father.
16: 29 His disciples said unto him, Lo, now speakest thou plainly, and speakest no proverb.
16: 30 Now are we sure that thou knowest all things, and needest not that any man should ask thee: by this we believe that thou camest forth from God.
16: 31 Jesus answered them, Do ye now believe?
16: 32 Behold, the hour cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall be scattered, every man to his own, and shall leave me alone: and yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me.
16: 33 These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace.
In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.
17: 1 These words spake Jesus, and lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said, Father, the hour is come; glorify thy Son, that thy Son also may glorify thee: 17: 2 As thou hast given him power over all flesh, that he should give eternal life to as many as thou hast given him.
17: 3 And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.
17: 4 I have glorified thee on the earth: I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do.
17: 5 And now, O Father, glorify thou me with thine own self with the glory which I had with thee before the world was.
17: 6 I have manifested thy name unto the men which thou gavest me out of the world: thine they were, and thou gavest them me; and they have kept thy word.
17: 7 Now they have known that all things whatsoever thou hast given me are of thee.
17: 8 For I have given unto them the words which thou gavest me; and they have received them, and have known surely that I came out from thee, and they have believed that thou didst send me.
17: 9 I pray for them: I pray not for the world, but for them which thou hast given me; for they are thine.
17: 10 And all mine are thine, and thine are mine; and I am glorified in them.
17: 11 And now I am no more in the world, but these are in the world, and I come to thee.
Holy Father, keep through thine own name those whom thou hast given me, that they may be one, as we are.
17: 12 While I was with them in the world, I kept them in thy name: those that thou gavest me I have kept, and none of them is lost, but the son of perdition; that the scripture might be fulfilled.
17: 13 And now come I to thee; and these things I speak in the world, that they might have my joy fulfilled in themselves.
17: 14 I have given them thy word; and the world hath hated them, because they are not of the world, even as I am not of the world.
17: 15 I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that thou shouldest keep them from the evil.
17: 16 They are not of the world, even as I am not of the world.
17: 17 Sanctify them through thy truth: thy word is truth.
17: 18 As thou hast sent me into the world, even so have I also sent them into the world.
17: 19 And for their sakes I sanctify myself, that they also might be sanctified through the truth.
17: 20 Neither pray I for these alone, but for them also which shall believe on me through their word; 17: 21 That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us: that the world may believe that thou hast sent me.
17: 22 And the glory which thou gavest me I have given them; that they may be one, even as we are one: 17: 23 I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one; and that the world may know that thou hast sent me, and hast loved them, as thou hast loved me.
17: 24 Father, I will that they also, whom thou hast given me, be with me where I am; that they may behold my glory, which thou hast given me: for thou lovedst me before the foundation of the world.
17: 25 O righteous Father, the world hath not known thee: but I have known thee, and these have known that thou hast sent me.
17: 26 And I have declared unto them thy name, and will declare it: that the love wherewith thou hast loved me may be in them, and I in them.
18: 1 When Jesus had spoken these words, he went forth with his disciples over the brook Cedron, where was a garden, into the which he entered, and his disciples.
18: 2 And Judas also, which betrayed him, knew the place: for Jesus ofttimes resorted thither with his disciples.
18: 3 Judas then, having received a band of men and officers from the chief priests and Pharisees, cometh thither with lanterns and torches and weapons.
18: 4 Jesus therefore, knowing all things that should come upon him, went forth, and said unto them, Whom seek ye?
18: 5 They answered him, Jesus of Nazareth.
Jesus saith unto them, I am he.
And Judas also, which betrayed him, stood with them.
18: 6 As soon then as he had said unto them, I am he, they went backward, and fell to the ground.
18: 7 Then asked he them again, Whom seek ye?
And they said, Jesus of Nazareth.
18: 8 Jesus answered, I have told you that I am he: if therefore ye seek me, let these go their way: 18: 9 That the saying might be fulfilled, which he spake, Of them which thou gavest me have I lost none.
18: 10 Then Simon Peter having a sword drew it, and smote the high priest's servant, and cut off his right ear.
The servant's name was Malchus.
18: 11 Then said Jesus unto Peter, Put up thy sword into the sheath: the cup which my Father hath given me, shall I not drink it?
18: 12 Then the band and the captain and officers of the Jews took Jesus, and bound him, 18: 13 And led him away to Annas first; for he was father in law to Caiaphas, which was the high priest that same year.
18: 14 Now Caiaphas was he, which gave counsel to the Jews, that it was expedient that one man should die for the people.
18: 15 And Simon Peter followed Jesus, and so did another disciple: that disciple was known unto the high priest, and went in with Jesus into the palace of the high priest.
18: 16 But Peter stood at the door without.
Then went out that other disciple, which was known unto the high priest, and spake unto her that kept the door, and brought in Peter.
18: 17 Then saith the damsel that kept the door unto Peter, Art not thou also one of this man's disciples?
He saith, I am not.
18: 18 And the servants and officers stood there, who had made a fire of coals; for it was cold: and they warmed themselves: and Peter stood with them, and warmed himself.
18: 19 The high priest then asked Jesus of his disciples, and of his doctrine.
18: 20 Jesus answered him, I spake openly to the world; I ever taught in the synagogue, and in the temple, whither the Jews always resort; and in secret have I said nothing.
18: 21 Why askest thou me?
ask them which heard me, what I have said unto them: behold, they know what I said.
18: 22 And when he had thus spoken, one of the officers which stood by struck Jesus with the palm of his hand, saying, Answerest thou the high priest so?
18: 23 Jesus answered him, If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil: but if well, why smitest thou me?
18: 24 Now Annas had sent him bound unto Caiaphas the high priest.
18: 25 And Simon Peter stood and warmed himself.
They said therefore unto him, Art not thou also one of his disciples?
He denied it, and said, I am not.
18: 26 One of the servants of the high priest, being his kinsman whose ear Peter cut off, saith, Did not I see thee in the garden with him?
18: 27 Peter then denied again: and immediately the cock crew.
18: 28 Then led they Jesus from Caiaphas unto the hall of judgment: and it was early; and they themselves went not into the judgment hall, lest they should be defiled; but that they might eat the passover.
18: 29 Pilate then went out unto them, and said, What accusation bring ye against this man?
18: 30 They answered and said unto him, If he were not a malefactor, we would not have delivered him up unto thee.
18: 31 Then said Pilate unto them, Take ye him, and judge him according to your law.
The Jews therefore said unto him, It is not lawful for us to put any man to death: 18: 32 That the saying of Jesus might be fulfilled, which he spake, signifying what death he should die.
18: 33 Then Pilate entered into the judgment hall again, and called Jesus, and said unto him, Art thou the King of the Jews?
18: 34 Jesus answered him, Sayest thou this thing of thyself, or did others tell it thee of me?
18: 35 Pilate answered, Am I a Jew?
Thine own nation and the chief priests have delivered thee unto me: what hast thou done?
18: 36 Jesus answered, My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence.
18: 37 Pilate therefore said unto him, Art thou a king then?
Jesus answered, Thou sayest that I am a king.
To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth.
Every one that is of the truth heareth my voice.
18: 38 Pilate saith unto him, What is truth?
And when he had said this, he went out again unto the Jews, and saith unto them, I find in him no fault at all.
18: 39 But ye have a custom, that I should release unto you one at the passover: will ye therefore that I release unto you the King of the Jews?
18: 40 Then cried they all again, saying, Not this man, but Barabbas.
Now Barabbas was a robber.
19: 1 Then Pilate therefore took Jesus, and scourged him.
19: 2 And the soldiers platted a crown of thorns, and put it on his head, and they put on him a purple robe, 19: 3 And said, Hail, King of the Jews!
and they smote him with their hands.
19: 4 Pilate therefore went forth again, and saith unto them, Behold, I bring him forth to you, that ye may know that I find no fault in him.
19: 5 Then came Jesus forth, wearing the crown of thorns, and the purple robe.
And Pilate saith unto them, Behold the man!
19: 6 When the chief priests therefore and officers saw him, they cried out, saying, Crucify him, crucify him.
Pilate saith unto them, Take ye him, and crucify him: for I find no fault in him.
19: 7 The Jews answered him, We have a law, and by our law he ought to die, because he made himself the Son of God.
19: 8 When Pilate therefore heard that saying, he was the more afraid; 19: 9 And went again into the judgment hall, and saith unto Jesus, Whence art thou?
But Jesus gave him no answer.
19: 10 Then saith Pilate unto him, Speakest thou not unto me?
knowest thou not that I have power to crucify thee, and have power to release thee?
19: 11 Jesus answered, Thou couldest have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above: therefore he that delivered me unto thee hath the greater sin.
19: 12 And from thenceforth Pilate sought to release him: but the Jews cried out, saying, If thou let this man go, thou art not Caesar's friend: whosoever maketh himself a king speaketh against Caesar.
19: 13 When Pilate therefore heard that saying, he brought Jesus forth, and sat down in the judgment seat in a place that is called the Pavement, but in the Hebrew, Gabbatha.
19: 14 And it was the preparation of the passover, and about the sixth hour: and he saith unto the Jews, Behold your King!
19: 15 But they cried out, Away with him, away with him, crucify him.
Pilate saith unto them, Shall I crucify your King?
The chief priests answered, We have no king but Caesar.
19: 16 Then delivered he him therefore unto them to be crucified.
And they took Jesus, and led him away.
19: 17 And he bearing his cross went forth into a place called the place of a skull, which is called in the Hebrew Golgotha: 19: 18 Where they crucified him, and two other with him, on either side one, and Jesus in the midst.
19: 19 And Pilate wrote a title, and put it on the cross.
And the writing was JESUS OF NAZARETH THE KING OF THE JEWS.
19: 20 This title then read many of the Jews: for the place where Jesus was crucified was nigh to the city: and it was written in Hebrew, and Greek, and Latin.
19: 21 Then said the chief priests of the Jews to Pilate, Write not, The King of the Jews; but that he said, I am King of the Jews.
19: 22 Pilate answered, What I have written I have written.
19: 23 Then the soldiers, when they had crucified Jesus, took his garments, and made four parts, to every soldier a part; and also his coat: now the coat was without seam, woven from the top throughout.
19: 24 They said therefore among themselves, Let us not rend it, but cast lots for it, whose it shall be: that the scripture might be fulfilled, which saith, They parted my raiment among them, and for my vesture they did cast lots.
These things therefore the soldiers did.
19: 25 Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene.
19: 26 When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son!
19: 27 Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother!
And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home.
19: 28 After this, Jesus knowing that all things were now accomplished, that the scripture might be fulfilled, saith, I thirst.
19: 29 Now there was set a vessel full of vinegar: and they filled a spunge with vinegar, and put it upon hyssop, and put it to his mouth.
19: 30 When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar, he said, It is finished: and he bowed his head, and gave up the ghost.
19: 31 The Jews therefore, because it was the preparation, that the bodies should not remain upon the cross on the sabbath day, (for that sabbath day was an high day,) besought Pilate that their legs might be broken, and that they might be taken away.
19: 32 Then came the soldiers, and brake the legs of the first, and of the other which was crucified with him.
19: 33 But when they came to Jesus, and saw that he was dead already, they brake not his legs: 19: 34 But one of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and forthwith came there out blood and water.
19: 35 And he that saw it bare record, and his record is true: and he knoweth that he saith true, that ye might believe.
19: 36 For these things were done, that the scripture should be fulfilled, A bone of him shall not be broken.
19: 37 And again another scripture saith, They shall look on him whom they pierced.
19: 38 And after this Joseph of Arimathaea, being a disciple of Jesus, but secretly for fear of the Jews, besought Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus: and Pilate gave him leave.
He came therefore, and took the body of Jesus.
19: 39 And there came also Nicodemus, which at the first came to Jesus by night, and brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about an hundred pound weight.
19: 40 Then took they the body of Jesus, and wound it in linen clothes with the spices, as the manner of the Jews is to bury.
19: 41 Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden; and in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid.
19: 42 There laid they Jesus therefore because of the Jews'preparation day; for the sepulchre was nigh at hand.
20: 1 The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark, unto the sepulchre, and seeth the stone taken away from the sepulchre.
20: 2 Then she runneth, and cometh to Simon Peter, and to the other disciple, whom Jesus loved, and saith unto them, They have taken away the LORD out of the sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid him.
20: 3 Peter therefore went forth, and that other disciple, and came to the sepulchre.
20: 4 So they ran both together: and the other disciple did outrun Peter, and came first to the sepulchre.
20: 5 And he stooping down, and looking in, saw the linen clothes lying; yet went he not in.
20: 6 Then cometh Simon Peter following him, and went into the sepulchre, and seeth the linen clothes lie, 20: 7 And the napkin, that was about his head, not lying with the linen clothes, but wrapped together in a place by itself.
20: 8 Then went in also that other disciple, which came first to the sepulchre, and he saw, and believed.
20: 9 For as yet they knew not the scripture, that he must rise again from the dead.
20: 10 Then the disciples went away again unto their own home.
20: 11 But Mary stood without at the sepulchre weeping: and as she wept, she stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre, 20: 12 And seeth two angels in white sitting, the one at the head, and the other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain.
20: 13 And they say unto her, Woman, why weepest thou?
She saith unto them, Because they have taken away my LORD, and I know not where they have laid him.
20: 14 And when she had thus said, she turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus.
20: 15 Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou?
whom seekest thou?
She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.
20: 16 Jesus saith unto her, Mary.
She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rabboni; which is to say, Master.
20: 17 Jesus saith unto her, Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father: but go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God.
20: 18 Mary Magdalene came and told the disciples that she had seen the LORD, and that he had spoken these things unto her.
20: 19 Then the same day at evening, being the first day of the week, when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled for fear of the Jews, came Jesus and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you.
20: 20 And when he had so said, he shewed unto them his hands and his side.
Then were the disciples glad, when they saw the LORD.
20: 21 Then said Jesus to them again, Peace be unto you: as my Father hath sent me, even so send I you.
20: 22 And when he had said this, he breathed on them, and saith unto them, Receive ye the Holy Ghost: 20: 23 Whose soever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them; and whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained.
20: 24 But Thomas, one of the twelve, called Didymus, was not with them when Jesus came.
20: 25 The other disciples therefore said unto him, We have seen the LORD.
But he said unto them, Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe.
20: 26 And after eight days again his disciples were within, and Thomas with them: then came Jesus, the doors being shut, and stood in the midst, and said, Peace be unto you.
20: 27 Then saith he to Thomas, Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing.
20: 28 And Thomas answered and said unto him, My LORD and my God.
20: 29 Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.
20: 30 And many other signs truly did Jesus in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book: 20: 31 But these are written, that ye might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing ye might have life through his name.
21: 1 After these things Jesus shewed himself again to the disciples at the sea of Tiberias; and on this wise shewed he himself.
21: 2 There were together Simon Peter, and Thomas called Didymus, and Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, and the sons of Zebedee, and two other of his disciples.
21: 3 Simon Peter saith unto them, I go a fishing.
They say unto him, We also go with thee.
They went forth, and entered into a ship immediately; and that night they caught nothing.
21: 4 But when the morning was now come, Jesus stood on the shore: but the disciples knew not that it was Jesus.
21: 5 Then Jesus saith unto them, Children, have ye any meat?
They answered him, No.
21: 6 And he said unto them, Cast the net on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find.
They cast therefore, and now they were not able to draw it for the multitude of fishes.
21: 7 Therefore that disciple whom Jesus loved saith unto Peter, It is the Lord.
Now when Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he girt his fisher's coat unto him, (for he was naked,) and did cast himself into the sea.
21: 8 And the other disciples came in a little ship; (for they were not far from land, but as it were two hundred cubits,) dragging the net with fishes.
21: 9 As soon then as they were come to land, they saw a fire of coals there, and fish laid thereon, and bread.
21: 10 Jesus saith unto them, Bring of the fish which ye have now caught.
21: 11 Simon Peter went up, and drew the net to land full of great fishes, an hundred and fifty and three: and for all there were so many, yet was not the net broken.
21: 12 Jesus saith unto them, Come and dine.
And none of the disciples durst ask him, Who art thou?
knowing that it was the Lord.
21: 13 Jesus then cometh, and taketh bread, and giveth them, and fish likewise.
21: 14 This is now the third time that Jesus shewed himself to his disciples, after that he was risen from the dead.
21: 15 So when they had dined, Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these?
He saith unto him, Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee.
He saith unto him, Feed my lambs.
21: 16 He saith to him again the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?
He saith unto him, Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee.
He saith unto him, Feed my sheep.
21: 17 He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?
Peter was grieved because he said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me?
And he said unto him, Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee.
Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep.
21: 18 Verily, verily, I say unto thee, When thou wast young, thou girdest thyself, and walkedst whither thou wouldest: but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldest not.
21: 19 This spake he, signifying by what death he should glorify God.
And when he had spoken this, he saith unto him, Follow me.
21: 20 Then Peter, turning about, seeth the disciple whom Jesus loved following; which also leaned on his breast at supper, and said, Lord, which is he that betrayeth thee?
21: 21 Peter seeing him saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do?
21: 22 Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee?
follow thou me.
21: 23 Then went this saying abroad among the brethren, that that disciple should not die: yet Jesus said not unto him, He shall not die; but, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee?
21: 24 This is the disciple which testifieth of these things, and wrote these things: and we know that his testimony is true.
21: 25 And there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written.
Amen.
The Acts of the Apostles
1: 5 For John truly baptized with water; but ye shall be baptized with the Holy Ghost not many days hence.
1: 6 When they therefore were come together, they asked of him, saying, Lord, wilt thou at this time restore again the kingdom to Israel?
1: 7 And he said unto them, It is not for you to know the times or the seasons, which the Father hath put in his own power.
1: 8 But ye shall receive power, after that the Holy Ghost is come upon you: and ye shall be witnesses unto me both in Jerusalem, and in all Judaea, and in Samaria, and unto the uttermost part of the earth.
1: 9 And when he had spoken these things, while they beheld, he was taken up; and a cloud received him out of their sight.
1: 10 And while they looked stedfastly toward heaven as he went up, behold, two men stood by them in white apparel; 1: 11 Which also said, Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven?
this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven.
1: 12 Then returned they unto Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is from Jerusalem a sabbath day's journey.
1: 13 And when they were come in, they went up into an upper room, where abode both Peter, and James, and John, and Andrew, Philip, and Thomas, Bartholomew, and Matthew, James the son of Alphaeus, and Simon Zelotes, and Judas the brother of James.
1: 14 These all continued with one accord in prayer and supplication, with the women, and Mary the mother of Jesus, and with his brethren.
1: 17 For he was numbered with us, and had obtained part of this ministry.
1: 18 Now this man purchased a field with the reward of iniquity; and falling headlong, he burst asunder in the midst, and all his bowels gushed out.
1: 19 And it was known unto all the dwellers at Jerusalem; insomuch as that field is called in their proper tongue, Aceldama, that is to say, The field of blood.
1: 20 For it is written in the book of Psalms, Let his habitation be desolate, and let no man dwell therein: and his bishoprick let another take.
1: 21 Wherefore of these men which have companied with us all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, 1: 22 Beginning from the baptism of John, unto that same day that he was taken up from us, must one be ordained to be a witness with us of his resurrection.
1: 23 And they appointed two, Joseph called Barsabas, who was surnamed Justus, and Matthias.
1: 24 And they prayed, and said, Thou, Lord, which knowest the hearts of all men, shew whether of these two thou hast chosen, 1: 25 That he may take part of this ministry and apostleship, from which Judas by transgression fell, that he might go to his own place.
1: 26 And they gave forth their lots; and the lot fell upon Matthias; and he was numbered with the eleven apostles.
2: 1 And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place.
2: 2 And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting.
2: 3 And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them.
2: 4 And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance.
2: 5 And there were dwelling at Jerusalem Jews, devout men, out of every nation under heaven.
2: 6 Now when this was noised abroad, the multitude came together, and were confounded, because that every man heard them speak in his own language.
2: 7 And they were all amazed and marvelled, saying one to another, Behold, are not all these which speak Galilaeans?
2: 8 And how hear we every man in our own tongue, wherein we were born?
2: 12 And they were all amazed, and were in doubt, saying one to another, What meaneth this?
2: 13 Others mocking said, These men are full of new wine.
2: 28 Thou hast made known to me the ways of life; thou shalt make me full of joy with thy countenance.
2: 29 Men and brethren, let me freely speak unto you of the patriarch David, that he is both dead and buried, and his sepulchre is with us unto this day.
2: 32 This Jesus hath God raised up, whereof we all are witnesses.
2: 33 Therefore being by the right hand of God exalted, and having received of the Father the promise of the Holy Ghost, he hath shed forth this, which ye now see and hear.
2: 34 For David is not ascended into the heavens: but he saith himself, The Lord said unto my Lord, Sit thou on my right hand, 2: 35 Until I make thy foes thy footstool.
2: 36 Therefore let all the house of Israel know assuredly, that God hath made the same Jesus, whom ye have crucified, both Lord and Christ.
2: 37 Now when they heard this, they were pricked in their heart, and said unto Peter and to the rest of the apostles, Men and brethren, what shall we do?
2: 38 Then Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.
2: 39 For the promise is unto you, and to your children, and to all that are afar off, even as many as the LORD our God shall call.
2: 40 And with many other words did he testify and exhort, saying, Save yourselves from this untoward generation.
2: 41 Then they that gladly received his word were baptized: and the same day there were added unto them about three thousand souls.
2: 42 And they continued stedfastly in the apostles'doctrine and fellowship, and in breaking of bread, and in prayers.
2: 43 And fear came upon every soul: and many wonders and signs were done by the apostles.
2: 44 And all that believed were together, and had all things common; 2: 45 And sold their possessions and goods, and parted them to all men, as every man had need.
2: 46 And they, continuing daily with one accord in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, did eat their meat with gladness and singleness of heart, 2: 47 Praising God, and having favour with all the people.
And the Lord added to the church daily such as should be saved.
3: 1 Now Peter and John went up together into the temple at the hour of prayer, being the ninth hour.
3: 2 And a certain man lame from his mother's womb was carried, whom they laid daily at the gate of the temple which is called Beautiful, to ask alms of them that entered into the temple; 3: 3 Who seeing Peter and John about to go into the temple asked an alms.
3: 4 And Peter, fastening his eyes upon him with John, said, Look on us.
3: 5 And he gave heed unto them, expecting to receive something of them.
3: 6 Then Peter said, Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk.
3: 7 And he took him by the right hand, and lifted him up: and immediately his feet and ankle bones received strength.
3: 8 And he leaping up stood, and walked, and entered with them into the temple, walking, and leaping, and praising God.
3: 9 And all the people saw him walking and praising God: 3: 10 And they knew that it was he which sat for alms at the Beautiful gate of the temple: and they were filled with wonder and amazement at that which had happened unto him.
3: 11 And as the lame man which was healed held Peter and John, all the people ran together unto them in the porch that is called Solomon's, greatly wondering.
3: 12 And when Peter saw it, he answered unto the people, Ye men of Israel, why marvel ye at this?
or why look ye so earnestly on us, as though by our own power or holiness we had made this man to walk?
3: 13 The God of Abraham, and of Isaac, and of Jacob, the God of our fathers, hath glorified his Son Jesus; whom ye delivered up, and denied him in the presence of Pilate, when he was determined to let him go.
3: 14 But ye denied the Holy One and the Just, and desired a murderer to be granted unto you; 3: 15 And killed the Prince of life, whom God hath raised from the dead; whereof we are witnesses.
3: 16 And his name through faith in his name hath made this man strong, whom ye see and know: yea, the faith which is by him hath given him this perfect soundness in the presence of you all.
3: 17 And now, brethren, I wot that through ignorance ye did it, as did also your rulers.
3: 18 But those things, which God before had shewed by the mouth of all his prophets, that Christ should suffer, he hath so fulfilled.
3: 19 Repent ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out, when the times of refreshing shall come from the presence of the Lord.
3: 20 And he shall send Jesus Christ, which before was preached unto you: 3: 21 Whom the heaven must receive until the times of restitution of all things, which God hath spoken by the mouth of all his holy prophets since the world began.
3: 22 For Moses truly said unto the fathers, A prophet shall the Lord your God raise up unto you of your brethren, like unto me; him shall ye hear in all things whatsoever he shall say unto you.
3: 23 And it shall come to pass, that every soul, which will not hear that prophet, shall be destroyed from among the people.
3: 24 Yea, and all the prophets from Samuel and those that follow after, as many as have spoken, have likewise foretold of these days.
3: 25 Ye are the children of the prophets, and of the covenant which God made with our fathers, saying unto Abraham, And in thy seed shall all the kindreds of the earth be blessed.
3: 26 Unto you first God, having raised up his Son Jesus, sent him to bless you, in turning away every one of you from his iniquities.
4: 1 And as they spake unto the people, the priests, and the captain of the temple, and the Sadducees, came upon them, 4: 2 Being grieved that they taught the people, and preached through Jesus the resurrection from the dead.
4: 3 And they laid hands on them, and put them in hold unto the next day: for it was now eventide.
4: 4 Howbeit many of them which heard the word believed; and the number of the men was about five thousand.
4: 5 And it came to pass on the morrow, that their rulers, and elders, and scribes, 4: 6 And Annas the high priest, and Caiaphas, and John, and Alexander, and as many as were of the kindred of the high priest, were gathered together at Jerusalem.
4: 7 And when they had set them in the midst, they asked, By what power, or by what name, have ye done this?
4: 11 This is the stone which was set at nought of you builders, which is become the head of the corner.
4: 12 Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.
4: 13 Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were unlearned and ignorant men, they marvelled; and they took knowledge of them, that they had been with Jesus.
4: 14 And beholding the man which was healed standing with them, they could say nothing against it.
4: 15 But when they had commanded them to go aside out of the council, they conferred among themselves, 4: 16 Saying, What shall we do to these men?
for that indeed a notable miracle hath been done by them is manifest to all them that dwell in Jerusalem; and we cannot deny it.
4: 17 But that it spread no further among the people, let us straitly threaten them, that they speak henceforth to no man in this name.
4: 18 And they called them, and commanded them not to speak at all nor teach in the name of Jesus.
4: 19 But Peter and John answered and said unto them, Whether it be right in the sight of God to hearken unto you more than unto God, judge ye.
4: 20 For we cannot but speak the things which we have seen and heard.
4: 21 So when they had further threatened them, they let them go, finding nothing how they might punish them, because of the people: for all men glorified God for that which was done.
4: 22 For the man was above forty years old, on whom this miracle of healing was shewed.
4: 23 And being let go, they went to their own company, and reported all that the chief priests and elders had said unto them.
4: 26 The kings of the earth stood up, and the rulers were gathered together against the Lord, and against his Christ.
4: 27 For of a truth against thy holy child Jesus, whom thou hast anointed, both Herod, and Pontius Pilate, with the Gentiles, and the people of Israel, were gathered together, 4: 28 For to do whatsoever thy hand and thy counsel determined before to be done.
4: 29 And now, Lord, behold their threatenings: and grant unto thy servants, that with all boldness they may speak thy word, 4: 30 By stretching forth thine hand to heal; and that signs and wonders may be done by the name of thy holy child Jesus.
4: 31 And when they had prayed, the place was shaken where they were assembled together; and they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and they spake the word of God with boldness.
4: 32 And the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and of one soul: neither said any of them that ought of the things which he possessed was his own; but they had all things common.
4: 33 And with great power gave the apostles witness of the resurrection of the Lord Jesus: and great grace was upon them all.
4: 36 And Joses, who by the apostles was surnamed Barnabas, (which is, being interpreted, The son of consolation,) a Levite, and of the country of Cyprus, 4: 37 Having land, sold it, and brought the money, and laid it at the apostles'feet.
5: 1 But a certain man named Ananias, with Sapphira his wife, sold a possession, 5: 2 And kept back part of the price, his wife also being privy to it, and brought a certain part, and laid it at the apostles'feet.
5: 3 But Peter said, Ananias, why hath Satan filled thine heart to lie to the Holy Ghost, and to keep back part of the price of the land?
5: 4 Whiles it remained, was it not thine own?
and after it was sold, was it not in thine own power?
why hast thou conceived this thing in thine heart?
thou hast not lied unto men, but unto God.
5: 5 And Ananias hearing these words fell down, and gave up the ghost: and great fear came on all them that heard these things.
5: 6 And the young men arose, wound him up, and carried him out, and buried him.
5: 7 And it was about the space of three hours after, when his wife, not knowing what was done, came in.
5: 8 And Peter answered unto her, Tell me whether ye sold the land for so much?
And she said, Yea, for so much.
5: 9 Then Peter said unto her, How is it that ye have agreed together to tempt the Spirit of the Lord?
behold, the feet of them which have buried thy husband are at the door, and shall carry thee out.
5: 10 Then fell she down straightway at his feet, and yielded up the ghost: and the young men came in, and found her dead, and, carrying her forth, buried her by her husband.
5: 11 And great fear came upon all the church, and upon as many as heard these things.
5: 12 And by the hands of the apostles were many signs and wonders wrought among the people; (and they were all with one accord in Solomon's porch.
5: 13 And of the rest durst no man join himself to them: but the people magnified them.
5: 14 And believers were the more added to the Lord, multitudes both of men and women.)
5: 15 Insomuch that they brought forth the sick into the streets, and laid them on beds and couches, that at the least the shadow of Peter passing by might overshadow some of them.
5: 16 There came also a multitude out of the cities round about unto Jerusalem, bringing sick folks, and them which were vexed with unclean spirits: and they were healed every one.
5: 17 Then the high priest rose up, and all they that were with him, (which is the sect of the Sadducees,) and were filled with indignation, 5: 18 And laid their hands on the apostles, and put them in the common prison.
5: 19 But the angel of the Lord by night opened the prison doors, and brought them forth, and said, 5: 20 Go, stand and speak in the temple to the people all the words of this life.
5: 21 And when they heard that, they entered into the temple early in the morning, and taught.
But the high priest came, and they that were with him, and called the council together, and all the senate of the children of Israel, and sent to the prison to have them brought.
5: 22 But when the officers came, and found them not in the prison, they returned and told, 5: 23 Saying, The prison truly found we shut with all safety, and the keepers standing without before the doors: but when we had opened, we found no man within.
5: 24 Now when the high priest and the captain of the temple and the chief priests heard these things, they doubted of them whereunto this would grow.
5: 25 Then came one and told them, saying, Behold, the men whom ye put in prison are standing in the temple, and teaching the people.
5: 26 Then went the captain with the officers, and brought them without violence: for they feared the people, lest they should have been stoned.
5: 27 And when they had brought them, they set them before the council: and the high priest asked them, 5: 28 Saying, Did not we straitly command you that ye should not teach in this name?
and, behold, ye have filled Jerusalem with your doctrine, and intend to bring this man's blood upon us.
5: 29 Then Peter and the other apostles answered and said, We ought to obey God rather than men.
5: 30 The God of our fathers raised up Jesus, whom ye slew and hanged on a tree.
5: 31 Him hath God exalted with his right hand to be a Prince and a Saviour, for to give repentance to Israel, and forgiveness of sins.
5: 32 And we are his witnesses of these things; and so is also the Holy Ghost, whom God hath given to them that obey him.
5: 33 When they heard that, they were cut to the heart, and took counsel to slay them.
5: 36 For before these days rose up Theudas, boasting himself to be somebody; to whom a number of men, about four hundred, joined themselves: who was slain; and all, as many as obeyed him, were scattered, and brought to nought.
5: 37 After this man rose up Judas of Galilee in the days of the taxing, and drew away much people after him: he also perished; and all, even as many as obeyed him, were dispersed.
5: 38 And now I say unto you, Refrain from these men, and let them alone: for if this counsel or this work be of men, it will come to nought: 5: 39 But if it be of God, ye cannot overthrow it; lest haply ye be found even to fight against God.
5: 40 And to him they agreed: and when they had called the apostles, and beaten them, they commanded that they should not speak in the name of Jesus, and let them go.
5: 41 And they departed from the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for his name.
5: 42 And daily in the temple, and in every house, they ceased not to teach and preach Jesus Christ.
6: 1 And in those days, when the number of the disciples was multiplied, there arose a murmuring of the Grecians against the Hebrews, because their widows were neglected in the daily ministration.
6: 2 Then the twelve called the multitude of the disciples unto them, and said, It is not reason that we should leave the word of God, and serve tables.
6: 3 Wherefore, brethren, look ye out among you seven men of honest report, full of the Holy Ghost and wisdom, whom we may appoint over this business.
6: 4 But we will give ourselves continually to prayer, and to the ministry of the word.
6: 7 And the word of God increased; and the number of the disciples multiplied in Jerusalem greatly; and a great company of the priests were obedient to the faith.
6: 8 And Stephen, full of faith and power, did great wonders and miracles among the people.
6: 9 Then there arose certain of the synagogue, which is called the synagogue of the Libertines, and Cyrenians, and Alexandrians, and of them of Cilicia and of Asia, disputing with Stephen.
6: 10 And they were not able to resist the wisdom and the spirit by which he spake.
6: 11 Then they suborned men, which said, We have heard him speak blasphemous words against Moses, and against God.
6: 15 And all that sat in the council, looking stedfastly on him, saw his face as it had been the face of an angel.
7: 1 Then said the high priest, Are these things so?
7: 4 Then came he out of the land of the Chaldaeans, and dwelt in Charran: and from thence, when his father was dead, he removed him into this land, wherein ye now dwell.
7: 5 And he gave him none inheritance in it, no, not so much as to set his foot on: yet he promised that he would give it to him for a possession, and to his seed after him, when as yet he had no child.
7: 6 And God spake on this wise, That his seed should sojourn in a strange land; and that they should bring them into bondage, and entreat them evil four hundred years.
7: 7 And the nation to whom they shall be in bondage will I judge, said God: and after that shall they come forth, and serve me in this place.
7: 8 And he gave him the covenant of circumcision: and so Abraham begat Isaac, and circumcised him the eighth day; and Isaac begat Jacob; and Jacob begat the twelve patriarchs.
7: 9 And the patriarchs, moved with envy, sold Joseph into Egypt: but God was with him, 7: 10 And delivered him out of all his afflictions, and gave him favour and wisdom in the sight of Pharaoh king of Egypt; and he made him governor over Egypt and all his house.
7: 11 Now there came a dearth over all the land of Egypt and Chanaan, and great affliction: and our fathers found no sustenance.
7: 12 But when Jacob heard that there was corn in Egypt, he sent out our fathers first.
7: 13 And at the second time Joseph was made known to his brethren; and Joseph's kindred was made known unto Pharaoh.
7: 14 Then sent Joseph, and called his father Jacob to him, and all his kindred, threescore and fifteen souls.
7: 15 So Jacob went down into Egypt, and died, he, and our fathers, 7: 16 And were carried over into Sychem, and laid in the sepulchre that Abraham bought for a sum of money of the sons of Emmor the father of Sychem.
7: 17 But when the time of the promise drew nigh, which God had sworn to Abraham, the people grew and multiplied in Egypt, 7: 18 Till another king arose, which knew not Joseph.
7: 19 The same dealt subtilly with our kindred, and evil entreated our fathers, so that they cast out their young children, to the end they might not live.
7: 20 In which time Moses was born, and was exceeding fair, and nourished up in his father's house three months: 7: 21 And when he was cast out, Pharaoh's daughter took him up, and nourished him for her own son.
7: 22 And Moses was learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians, and was mighty in words and in deeds.
7: 23 And when he was full forty years old, it came into his heart to visit his brethren the children of Israel.
7: 24 And seeing one of them suffer wrong, he defended him, and avenged him that was oppressed, and smote the Egyptian: 7: 25 For he supposed his brethren would have understood how that God by his hand would deliver them: but they understood not.
7: 26 And the next day he shewed himself unto them as they strove, and would have set them at one again, saying, Sirs, ye are brethren; why do ye wrong one to another?
7: 27 But he that did his neighbour wrong thrust him away, saying, Who made thee a ruler and a judge over us?
7: 28 Wilt thou kill me, as thou diddest the Egyptian yesterday?
7: 29 Then fled Moses at this saying, and was a stranger in the land of Madian, where he begat two sons.
7: 30 And when forty years were expired, there appeared to him in the wilderness of mount Sina an angel of the Lord in a flame of fire in a bush.
7: 31 When Moses saw it, he wondered at the sight: and as he drew near to behold it, the voice of the LORD came unto him, 7: 32 Saying, I am the God of thy fathers, the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.
Then Moses trembled, and durst not behold.
7: 33 Then said the Lord to him, Put off thy shoes from thy feet: for the place where thou standest is holy ground.
7: 34 I have seen, I have seen the affliction of my people which is in Egypt, and I have heard their groaning, and am come down to deliver them.
And now come, I will send thee into Egypt.
7: 35 This Moses whom they refused, saying, Who made thee a ruler and a judge?
the same did God send to be a ruler and a deliverer by the hand of the angel which appeared to him in the bush.
7: 36 He brought them out, after that he had shewed wonders and signs in the land of Egypt, and in the Red sea, and in the wilderness forty years.
7: 37 This is that Moses, which said unto the children of Israel, A prophet shall the Lord your God raise up unto you of your brethren, like unto me; him shall ye hear.
7: 41 And they made a calf in those days, and offered sacrifice unto the idol, and rejoiced in the works of their own hands.
7: 42 Then God turned, and gave them up to worship the host of heaven; as it is written in the book of the prophets, O ye house of Israel, have ye offered to me slain beasts and sacrifices by the space of forty years in the wilderness?
7: 43 Yea, ye took up the tabernacle of Moloch, and the star of your god Remphan, figures which ye made to worship them: and I will carry you away beyond Babylon.
7: 44 Our fathers had the tabernacle of witness in the wilderness, as he had appointed, speaking unto Moses, that he should make it according to the fashion that he had seen.
7: 45 Which also our fathers that came after brought in with Jesus into the possession of the Gentiles, whom God drave out before the face of our fathers, unto the days of David; 7: 46 Who found favour before God, and desired to find a tabernacle for the God of Jacob.
7: 47 But Solomon built him an house.
7: 48 Howbeit the most High dwelleth not in temples made with hands; as saith the prophet, 7: 49 Heaven is my throne, and earth is my footstool: what house will ye build me?
saith the Lord: or what is the place of my rest?
7: 50 Hath not my hand made all these things?
7: 51 Ye stiffnecked and uncircumcised in heart and ears, ye do always resist the Holy Ghost: as your fathers did, so do ye.
7: 52 Which of the prophets have not your fathers persecuted?
and they have slain them which shewed before of the coming of the Just One; of whom ye have been now the betrayers and murderers: 7: 53 Who have received the law by the disposition of angels, and have not kept it.
7: 54 When they heard these things, they were cut to the heart, and they gnashed on him with their teeth.
7: 55 But he, being full of the Holy Ghost, looked up stedfastly into heaven, and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of God, 7: 56 And said, Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man standing on the right hand of God.
7: 57 Then they cried out with a loud voice, and stopped their ears, and ran upon him with one accord, 7: 58 And cast him out of the city, and stoned him: and the witnesses laid down their clothes at a young man's feet, whose name was Saul.
7: 59 And they stoned Stephen, calling upon God, and saying, Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.
7: 60 And he kneeled down, and cried with a loud voice, Lord, lay not this sin to their charge.
And when he had said this, he fell asleep.
8: 1 And Saul was consenting unto his death.
And at that time there was a great persecution against the church which was at Jerusalem; and they were all scattered abroad throughout the regions of Judaea and Samaria, except the apostles.
8: 2 And devout men carried Stephen to his burial, and made great lamentation over him.
8: 3 As for Saul, he made havock of the church, entering into every house, and haling men and women committed them to prison.
8: 4 Therefore they that were scattered abroad went every where preaching the word.
8: 5 Then Philip went down to the city of Samaria, and preached Christ unto them.
8: 6 And the people with one accord gave heed unto those things which Philip spake, hearing and seeing the miracles which he did.
8: 7 For unclean spirits, crying with loud voice, came out of many that were possessed with them: and many taken with palsies, and that were lame, were healed.
8: 8 And there was great joy in that city.
8: 11 And to him they had regard, because that of long time he had bewitched them with sorceries.
8: 12 But when they believed Philip preaching the things concerning the kingdom of God, and the name of Jesus Christ, they were baptized, both men and women.
8: 13 Then Simon himself believed also: and when he was baptized, he continued with Philip, and wondered, beholding the miracles and signs which were done.
8: 17 Then laid they their hands on them, and they received the Holy Ghost.
8: 18 And when Simon saw that through laying on of the apostles'hands the Holy Ghost was given, he offered them money, 8: 19 Saying, Give me also this power, that on whomsoever I lay hands, he may receive the Holy Ghost.
8: 20 But Peter said unto him, Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money.
8: 21 Thou hast neither part nor lot in this matter: for thy heart is not right in the sight of God.
8: 22 Repent therefore of this thy wickedness, and pray God, if perhaps the thought of thine heart may be forgiven thee.
8: 23 For I perceive that thou art in the gall of bitterness, and in the bond of iniquity.
8: 24 Then answered Simon, and said, Pray ye to the LORD for me, that none of these things which ye have spoken come upon me.
8: 25 And they, when they had testified and preached the word of the Lord, returned to Jerusalem, and preached the gospel in many villages of the Samaritans.
8: 26 And the angel of the Lord spake unto Philip, saying, Arise, and go toward the south unto the way that goeth down from Jerusalem unto Gaza, which is desert.
8: 29 Then the Spirit said unto Philip, Go near, and join thyself to this chariot.
8: 30 And Philip ran thither to him, and heard him read the prophet Esaias, and said, Understandest thou what thou readest?
8: 31 And he said, How can I, except some man should guide me?
And he desired Philip that he would come up and sit with him.
8: 32 The place of the scripture which he read was this, He was led as a sheep to the slaughter; and like a lamb dumb before his shearer, so opened he not his mouth: 8: 33 In his humiliation his judgment was taken away: and who shall declare his generation?
for his life is taken from the earth.
8: 34 And the eunuch answered Philip, and said, I pray thee, of whom speaketh the prophet this?
of himself, or of some other man?
8: 35 Then Philip opened his mouth, and began at the same scripture, and preached unto him Jesus.
8: 36 And as they went on their way, they came unto a certain water: and the eunuch said, See, here is water; what doth hinder me to be baptized?
8: 37 And Philip said, If thou believest with all thine heart, thou mayest.
And he answered and said, I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God.
8: 38 And he commanded the chariot to stand still: and they went down both into the water, both Philip and the eunuch; and he baptized him.
8: 39 And when they were come up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord caught away Philip, that the eunuch saw him no more: and he went on his way rejoicing.
8: 40 But Philip was found at Azotus: and passing through he preached in all the cities, till he came to Caesarea.
9: 3 And as he journeyed, he came near Damascus: and suddenly there shined round about him a light from heaven: 9: 4 And he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?
9: 5 And he said, Who art thou, Lord?
And the Lord said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest: it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.
9: 6 And he trembling and astonished said, Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?
And the Lord said unto him, Arise, and go into the city, and it shall be told thee what thou must do.
9: 7 And the men which journeyed with him stood speechless, hearing a voice, but seeing no man.
9: 8 And Saul arose from the earth; and when his eyes were opened, he saw no man: but they led him by the hand, and brought him into Damascus.
9: 9 And he was three days without sight, and neither did eat nor drink.
9: 10 And there was a certain disciple at Damascus, named Ananias; and to him said the Lord in a vision, Ananias.
And he said, Behold, I am here, Lord.
9: 13 Then Ananias answered, Lord, I have heard by many of this man, how much evil he hath done to thy saints at Jerusalem: 9: 14 And here he hath authority from the chief priests to bind all that call on thy name.
9: 15 But the Lord said unto him, Go thy way: for he is a chosen vessel unto me, to bear my name before the Gentiles, and kings, and the children of Israel: 9: 16 For I will shew him how great things he must suffer for my name's sake.
9: 17 And Ananias went his way, and entered into the house; and putting his hands on him said, Brother Saul, the Lord, even Jesus, that appeared unto thee in the way as thou camest, hath sent me, that thou mightest receive thy sight, and be filled with the Holy Ghost.
9: 18 And immediately there fell from his eyes as it had been scales: and he received sight forthwith, and arose, and was baptized.
9: 19 And when he had received meat, he was strengthened.
Then was Saul certain days with the disciples which were at Damascus.
9: 20 And straightway he preached Christ in the synagogues, that he is the Son of God.
9: 21 But all that heard him were amazed, and said; Is not this he that destroyed them which called on this name in Jerusalem, and came hither for that intent, that he might bring them bound unto the chief priests?
9: 22 But Saul increased the more in strength, and confounded the Jews which dwelt at Damascus, proving that this is very Christ.
9: 23 And after that many days were fulfilled, the Jews took counsel to kill him: 9: 24 But their laying await was known of Saul.
And they watched the gates day and night to kill him.
9: 25 Then the disciples took him by night, and let him down by the wall in a basket.
9: 26 And when Saul was come to Jerusalem, he assayed to join himself to the disciples: but they were all afraid of him, and believed not that he was a disciple.
9: 27 But Barnabas took him, and brought him to the apostles, and declared unto them how he had seen the Lord in the way, and that he had spoken to him, and how he had preached boldly at Damascus in the name of Jesus.
9: 28 And he was with them coming in and going out at Jerusalem.
9: 29 And he spake boldly in the name of the Lord Jesus, and disputed against the Grecians: but they went about to slay him.
9: 30 Which when the brethren knew, they brought him down to Caesarea, and sent him forth to Tarsus.
9: 31 Then had the churches rest throughout all Judaea and Galilee and Samaria, and were edified; and walking in the fear of the Lord, and in the comfort of the Holy Ghost, were multiplied.
9: 32 And it came to pass, as Peter passed throughout all quarters, he came down also to the saints which dwelt at Lydda.
9: 33 And there he found a certain man named Aeneas, which had kept his bed eight years, and was sick of the palsy.
9: 34 And Peter said unto him, Aeneas, Jesus Christ maketh thee whole: arise, and make thy bed.
And he arose immediately.
9: 35 And all that dwelt at Lydda and Saron saw him, and turned to the Lord.
9: 36 Now there was at Joppa a certain disciple named Tabitha, which by interpretation is called Dorcas: this woman was full of good works and almsdeeds which she did.
9: 37 And it came to pass in those days, that she was sick, and died: whom when they had washed, they laid her in an upper chamber.
9: 38 And forasmuch as Lydda was nigh to Joppa, and the disciples had heard that Peter was there, they sent unto him two men, desiring him that he would not delay to come to them.
9: 39 Then Peter arose and went with them.
When he was come, they brought him into the upper chamber: and all the widows stood by him weeping, and shewing the coats and garments which Dorcas made, while she was with them.
9: 40 But Peter put them all forth, and kneeled down, and prayed; and turning him to the body said, Tabitha, arise.
And she opened her eyes: and when she saw Peter, she sat up.
9: 41 And he gave her his hand, and lifted her up, and when he had called the saints and widows, presented her alive.
9: 42 And it was known throughout all Joppa; and many believed in the Lord.
9: 43 And it came to pass, that he tarried many days in Joppa with one Simon a tanner.
10: 1 There was a certain man in Caesarea called Cornelius, a centurion of the band called the Italian band, 10: 2 A devout man, and one that feared God with all his house, which gave much alms to the people, and prayed to God alway.
10: 3 He saw in a vision evidently about the ninth hour of the day an angel of God coming in to him, and saying unto him, Cornelius.
10: 4 And when he looked on him, he was afraid, and said, What is it, Lord?
And he said unto him, Thy prayers and thine alms are come up for a memorial before God.
10: 5 And now send men to Joppa, and call for one Simon, whose surname is Peter: 10: 6 He lodgeth with one Simon a tanner, whose house is by the sea side: he shall tell thee what thou oughtest to do.
10: 7 And when the angel which spake unto Cornelius was departed, he called two of his household servants, and a devout soldier of them that waited on him continually; 10: 8 And when he had declared all these things unto them, he sent them to Joppa.
10: 13 And there came a voice to him, Rise, Peter; kill, and eat.
10: 14 But Peter said, Not so, Lord; for I have never eaten any thing that is common or unclean.
10: 15 And the voice spake unto him again the second time, What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common.
10: 16 This was done thrice: and the vessel was received up again into heaven.
10: 19 While Peter thought on the vision, the Spirit said unto him, Behold, three men seek thee.
10: 20 Arise therefore, and get thee down, and go with them, doubting nothing: for I have sent them.
10: 21 Then Peter went down to the men which were sent unto him from Cornelius; and said, Behold, I am he whom ye seek: what is the cause wherefore ye are come?
10: 22 And they said, Cornelius the centurion, a just man, and one that feareth God, and of good report among all the nation of the Jews, was warned from God by an holy angel to send for thee into his house, and to hear words of thee.
10: 23 Then called he them in, and lodged them.
And on the morrow Peter went away with them, and certain brethren from Joppa accompanied him.
10: 24 And the morrow after they entered into Caesarea.
And Cornelius waited for them, and he had called together his kinsmen and near friends.
10: 25 And as Peter was coming in, Cornelius met him, and fell down at his feet, and worshipped him.
10: 26 But Peter took him up, saying, Stand up; I myself also am a man.
10: 27 And as he talked with him, he went in, and found many that were come together.
10: 28 And he said unto them, Ye know how that it is an unlawful thing for a man that is a Jew to keep company, or come unto one of another nation; but God hath shewed me that I should not call any man common or unclean.
10: 29 Therefore came I unto you without gainsaying, as soon as I was sent for: I ask therefore for what intent ye have sent for me?
10: 32 Send therefore to Joppa, and call hither Simon, whose surname is Peter; he is lodged in the house of one Simon a tanner by the sea side: who, when he cometh, shall speak unto thee.
10: 33 Immediately therefore I sent to thee; and thou hast well done that thou art come.
Now therefore are we all here present before God, to hear all things that are commanded thee of God.
10: 34 Then Peter opened his mouth, and said, Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: 10: 35 But in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him.
10: 42 And he commanded us to preach unto the people, and to testify that it is he which was ordained of God to be the Judge of quick and dead.
10: 43 To him give all the prophets witness, that through his name whosoever believeth in him shall receive remission of sins.
10: 44 While Peter yet spake these words, the Holy Ghost fell on all them which heard the word.
10: 45 And they of the circumcision which believed were astonished, as many as came with Peter, because that on the Gentiles also was poured out the gift of the Holy Ghost.
10: 46 For they heard them speak with tongues, and magnify God.
Then answered Peter, 10: 47 Can any man forbid water, that these should not be baptized, which have received the Holy Ghost as well as we?
10: 48 And he commanded them to be baptized in the name of the Lord.
Then prayed they him to tarry certain days.
11: 1 And the apostles and brethren that were in Judaea heard that the Gentiles had also received the word of God.
11: 2 And when Peter was come up to Jerusalem, they that were of the circumcision contended with him, 11: 3 Saying, Thou wentest in to men uncircumcised, and didst eat with them.
11: 7 And I heard a voice saying unto me, Arise, Peter; slay and eat.
11: 8 But I said, Not so, Lord: for nothing common or unclean hath at any time entered into my mouth.
11: 9 But the voice answered me again from heaven, What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common.
11: 10 And this was done three times: and all were drawn up again into heaven.
11: 11 And, behold, immediately there were three men already come unto the house where I was, sent from Caesarea unto me.
11: 12 And the Spirit bade me go with them, nothing doubting.
11: 15 And as I began to speak, the Holy Ghost fell on them, as on us at the beginning.
11: 16 Then remembered I the word of the Lord, how that he said, John indeed baptized with water; but ye shall be baptized with the Holy Ghost.
11: 17 Forasmuch then as God gave them the like gift as he did unto us, who believed on the Lord Jesus Christ; what was I, that I could withstand God?
11: 18 When they heard these things, they held their peace, and glorified God, saying, Then hath God also to the Gentiles granted repentance unto life.
11: 19 Now they which were scattered abroad upon the persecution that arose about Stephen travelled as far as Phenice, and Cyprus, and Antioch, preaching the word to none but unto the Jews only.
11: 20 And some of them were men of Cyprus and Cyrene, which, when they were come to Antioch, spake unto the Grecians, preaching the LORD Jesus.
11: 21 And the hand of the Lord was with them: and a great number believed, and turned unto the Lord.
11: 22 Then tidings of these things came unto the ears of the church which was in Jerusalem: and they sent forth Barnabas, that he should go as far as Antioch.
11: 23 Who, when he came, and had seen the grace of God, was glad, and exhorted them all, that with purpose of heart they would cleave unto the Lord.
11: 24 For he was a good man, and full of the Holy Ghost and of faith: and much people was added unto the Lord.
11: 25 Then departed Barnabas to Tarsus, for to seek Saul: 11: 26 And when he had found him, he brought him unto Antioch.
And it came to pass, that a whole year they assembled themselves with the church, and taught much people.
And the disciples were called Christians first in Antioch.
11: 27 And in these days came prophets from Jerusalem unto Antioch.
11: 28 And there stood up one of them named Agabus, and signified by the Spirit that there should be great dearth throughout all the world: which came to pass in the days of Claudius Caesar.
11: 29 Then the disciples, every man according to his ability, determined to send relief unto the brethren which dwelt in Judaea: 11: 30 Which also they did, and sent it to the elders by the hands of Barnabas and Saul.
12: 1 Now about that time Herod the king stretched forth his hands to vex certain of the church.
12: 2 And he killed James the brother of John with the sword.
12: 3 And because he saw it pleased the Jews, he proceeded further to take Peter also.
(Then were the days of unleavened bread.)
12: 4 And when he had apprehended him, he put him in prison, and delivered him to four quaternions of soldiers to keep him; intending after Easter to bring him forth to the people.
12: 5 Peter therefore was kept in prison: but prayer was made without ceasing of the church unto God for him.
12: 6 And when Herod would have brought him forth, the same night Peter was sleeping between two soldiers, bound with two chains: and the keepers before the door kept the prison.
12: 7 And, behold, the angel of the Lord came upon him, and a light shined in the prison: and he smote Peter on the side, and raised him up, saying, Arise up quickly.
And his chains fell off from his hands.
12: 8 And the angel said unto him, Gird thyself, and bind on thy sandals.
And so he did.
And he saith unto him, Cast thy garment about thee, and follow me.
12: 9 And he went out, and followed him; and wist not that it was true which was done by the angel; but thought he saw a vision.
12: 10 When they were past the first and the second ward, they came unto the iron gate that leadeth unto the city; which opened to them of his own accord: and they went out, and passed on through one street; and forthwith the angel departed from him.
12: 11 And when Peter was come to himself, he said, Now I know of a surety, that the LORD hath sent his angel, and hath delivered me out of the hand of Herod, and from all the expectation of the people of the Jews.
12: 12 And when he had considered the thing, he came to the house of Mary the mother of John, whose surname was Mark; where many were gathered together praying.
12: 13 And as Peter knocked at the door of the gate, a damsel came to hearken, named Rhoda.
12: 14 And when she knew Peter's voice, she opened not the gate for gladness, but ran in, and told how Peter stood before the gate.
12: 15 And they said unto her, Thou art mad.
But she constantly affirmed that it was even so.
Then said they, It is his angel.
12: 16 But Peter continued knocking: and when they had opened the door, and saw him, they were astonished.
12: 17 But he, beckoning unto them with the hand to hold their peace, declared unto them how the Lord had brought him out of the prison.
And he said, Go shew these things unto James, and to the brethren.
And he departed, and went into another place.
12: 18 Now as soon as it was day, there was no small stir among the soldiers, what was become of Peter.
12: 19 And when Herod had sought for him, and found him not, he examined the keepers, and commanded that they should be put to death.
And he went down from Judaea to Caesarea, and there abode.
12: 20 And Herod was highly displeased with them of Tyre and Sidon: but they came with one accord to him, and, having made Blastus the king's chamberlain their friend, desired peace; because their country was nourished by the king's country.
12: 21 And upon a set day Herod, arrayed in royal apparel, sat upon his throne, and made an oration unto them.
12: 22 And the people gave a shout, saying, It is the voice of a god, and not of a man.
12: 23 And immediately the angel of the Lord smote him, because he gave not God the glory: and he was eaten of worms, and gave up the ghost.
12: 24 But the word of God grew and multiplied.
12: 25 And Barnabas and Saul returned from Jerusalem, when they had fulfilled their ministry, and took with them John, whose surname was Mark.
13: 1 Now there were in the church that was at Antioch certain prophets and teachers; as Barnabas, and Simeon that was called Niger, and Lucius of Cyrene, and Manaen, which had been brought up with Herod the tetrarch, and Saul.
13: 2 As they ministered to the Lord, and fasted, the Holy Ghost said, Separate me Barnabas and Saul for the work whereunto I have called them.
13: 3 And when they had fasted and prayed, and laid their hands on them, they sent them away.
13: 4 So they, being sent forth by the Holy Ghost, departed unto Seleucia; and from thence they sailed to Cyprus.
13: 5 And when they were at Salamis, they preached the word of God in the synagogues of the Jews: and they had also John to their minister.
13: 8 But Elymas the sorcerer (for so is his name by interpretation) withstood them, seeking to turn away the deputy from the faith.
13: 9 Then Saul, (who also is called Paul,) filled with the Holy Ghost, set his eyes on him.
13: 10 And said, O full of all subtilty and all mischief, thou child of the devil, thou enemy of all righteousness, wilt thou not cease to pervert the right ways of the Lord?
13: 11 And now, behold, the hand of the Lord is upon thee, and thou shalt be blind, not seeing the sun for a season.
And immediately there fell on him a mist and a darkness; and he went about seeking some to lead him by the hand.
13: 12 Then the deputy, when he saw what was done, believed, being astonished at the doctrine of the Lord.
13: 13 Now when Paul and his company loosed from Paphos, they came to Perga in Pamphylia: and John departing from them returned to Jerusalem.
13: 14 But when they departed from Perga, they came to Antioch in Pisidia, and went into the synagogue on the sabbath day, and sat down.
13: 15 And after the reading of the law and the prophets the rulers of the synagogue sent unto them, saying, Ye men and brethren, if ye have any word of exhortation for the people, say on.
13: 16 Then Paul stood up, and beckoning with his hand said, Men of Israel, and ye that fear God, give audience.
13: 17 The God of this people of Israel chose our fathers, and exalted the people when they dwelt as strangers in the land of Egypt, and with an high arm brought he them out of it.
13: 18 And about the time of forty years suffered he their manners in the wilderness.
13: 19 And when he had destroyed seven nations in the land of Chanaan, he divided their land to them by lot.
13: 20 And after that he gave unto them judges about the space of four hundred and fifty years, until Samuel the prophet.
13: 21 And afterward they desired a king: and God gave unto them Saul the son of Cis, a man of the tribe of Benjamin, by the space of forty years.
13: 22 And when he had removed him, he raised up unto them David to be their king; to whom also he gave their testimony, and said, I have found David the son of Jesse, a man after mine own heart, which shall fulfil all my will.
13: 23 Of this man's seed hath God according to his promise raised unto Israel a Saviour, Jesus: 13: 24 When John had first preached before his coming the baptism of repentance to all the people of Israel.
13: 25 And as John fulfilled his course, he said, Whom think ye that I am?
I am not he.
But, behold, there cometh one after me, whose shoes of his feet I am not worthy to loose.
13: 26 Men and brethren, children of the stock of Abraham, and whosoever among you feareth God, to you is the word of this salvation sent.
13: 27 For they that dwell at Jerusalem, and their rulers, because they knew him not, nor yet the voices of the prophets which are read every sabbath day, they have fulfilled them in condemning him.
13: 28 And though they found no cause of death in him, yet desired they Pilate that he should be slain.
13: 29 And when they had fulfilled all that was written of him, they took him down from the tree, and laid him in a sepulchre.
13: 30 But God raised him from the dead: 13: 31 And he was seen many days of them which came up with him from Galilee to Jerusalem, who are his witnesses unto the people.
13: 34 And as concerning that he raised him up from the dead, now no more to return to corruption, he said on this wise, I will give you the sure mercies of David.
13: 35 Wherefore he saith also in another psalm, Thou shalt not suffer thine Holy One to see corruption.
13: 36 For David, after he had served his own generation by the will of God, fell on sleep, and was laid unto his fathers, and saw corruption: 13: 37 But he, whom God raised again, saw no corruption.
13: 38 Be it known unto you therefore, men and brethren, that through this man is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins: 13: 39 And by him all that believe are justified from all things, from which ye could not be justified by the law of Moses.
13: 40 Beware therefore, lest that come upon you, which is spoken of in the prophets; 13: 41 Behold, ye despisers, and wonder, and perish: for I work a work in your days, a work which ye shall in no wise believe, though a man declare it unto you.
13: 42 And when the Jews were gone out of the synagogue, the Gentiles besought that these words might be preached to them the next sabbath.
13: 43 Now when the congregation was broken up, many of the Jews and religious proselytes followed Paul and Barnabas: who, speaking to them, persuaded them to continue in the grace of God.
13: 44 And the next sabbath day came almost the whole city together to hear the word of God.
13: 45 But when the Jews saw the multitudes, they were filled with envy, and spake against those things which were spoken by Paul, contradicting and blaspheming.
13: 46 Then Paul and Barnabas waxed bold, and said, It was necessary that the word of God should first have been spoken to you: but seeing ye put it from you, and judge yourselves unworthy of everlasting life, lo, we turn to the Gentiles.
13: 47 For so hath the Lord commanded us, saying, I have set thee to be a light of the Gentiles, that thou shouldest be for salvation unto the ends of the earth.
13: 48 And when the Gentiles heard this, they were glad, and glorified the word of the Lord: and as many as were ordained to eternal life believed.
13: 49 And the word of the Lord was published throughout all the region.
13: 50 But the Jews stirred up the devout and honourable women, and the chief men of the city, and raised persecution against Paul and Barnabas, and expelled them out of their coasts.
13: 51 But they shook off the dust of their feet against them, and came unto Iconium.
13: 52 And the disciples were filled with joy, and with the Holy Ghost.
14: 1 And it came to pass in Iconium, that they went both together into the synagogue of the Jews, and so spake, that a great multitude both of the Jews and also of the Greeks believed.
14: 2 But the unbelieving Jews stirred up the Gentiles, and made their minds evil affected against the brethren.
14: 3 Long time therefore abode they speaking boldly in the Lord, which gave testimony unto the word of his grace, and granted signs and wonders to be done by their hands.
14: 4 But the multitude of the city was divided: and part held with the Jews, and part with the apostles.
And he leaped and walked.
14: 11 And when the people saw what Paul had done, they lifted up their voices, saying in the speech of Lycaonia, The gods are come down to us in the likeness of men.
14: 12 And they called Barnabas, Jupiter; and Paul, Mercurius, because he was the chief speaker.
14: 13 Then the priest of Jupiter, which was before their city, brought oxen and garlands unto the gates, and would have done sacrifice with the people.
14: 14 Which when the apostles, Barnabas and Paul, heard of, they rent their clothes, and ran in among the people, crying out, 14: 15 And saying, Sirs, why do ye these things?
We also are men of like passions with you, and preach unto you that ye should turn from these vanities unto the living God, which made heaven, and earth, and the sea, and all things that are therein: 14: 16 Who in times past suffered all nations to walk in their own ways.
14: 17 Nevertheless he left not himself without witness, in that he did good, and gave us rain from heaven, and fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with food and gladness.
14: 18 And with these sayings scarce restrained they the people, that they had not done sacrifice unto them.
14: 19 And there came thither certain Jews from Antioch and Iconium, who persuaded the people, and having stoned Paul, drew him out of the city, supposing he had been dead.
14: 20 Howbeit, as the disciples stood round about him, he rose up, and came into the city: and the next day he departed with Barnabas to Derbe.
14: 23 And when they had ordained them elders in every church, and had prayed with fasting, they commended them to the Lord, on whom they believed.
14: 24 And after they had passed throughout Pisidia, they came to Pamphylia.
14: 25 And when they had preached the word in Perga, they went down into Attalia: 14: 26 And thence sailed to Antioch, from whence they had been recommended to the grace of God for the work which they fulfilled.
14: 27 And when they were come, and had gathered the church together, they rehearsed all that God had done with them, and how he had opened the door of faith unto the Gentiles.
14: 28 And there they abode long time with the disciples.
15: 1 And certain men which came down from Judaea taught the brethren, and said, Except ye be circumcised after the manner of Moses, ye cannot be saved.
15: 2 When therefore Paul and Barnabas had no small dissension and disputation with them, they determined that Paul and Barnabas, and certain other of them, should go up to Jerusalem unto the apostles and elders about this question.
15: 3 And being brought on their way by the church, they passed through Phenice and Samaria, declaring the conversion of the Gentiles: and they caused great joy unto all the brethren.
15: 4 And when they were come to Jerusalem, they were received of the church, and of the apostles and elders, and they declared all things that God had done with them.
15: 5 But there rose up certain of the sect of the Pharisees which believed, saying, That it was needful to circumcise them, and to command them to keep the law of Moses.
15: 6 And the apostles and elders came together for to consider of this matter.
15: 7 And when there had been much disputing, Peter rose up, and said unto them, Men and brethren, ye know how that a good while ago God made choice among us, that the Gentiles by my mouth should hear the word of the gospel, and believe.
15: 8 And God, which knoweth the hearts, bare them witness, giving them the Holy Ghost, even as he did unto us; 15: 9 And put no difference between us and them, purifying their hearts by faith.
15: 10 Now therefore why tempt ye God, to put a yoke upon the neck of the disciples, which neither our fathers nor we were able to bear?
15: 11 But we believe that through the grace of the LORD Jesus Christ we shall be saved, even as they.
15: 12 Then all the multitude kept silence, and gave audience to Barnabas and Paul, declaring what miracles and wonders God had wrought among the Gentiles by them.
15: 13 And after they had held their peace, James answered, saying, Men and brethren, hearken unto me: 15: 14 Simeon hath declared how God at the first did visit the Gentiles, to take out of them a people for his name.
15: 18 Known unto God are all his works from the beginning of the world.
15: 19 Wherefore my sentence is, that we trouble not them, which from among the Gentiles are turned to God: 15: 20 But that we write unto them, that they abstain from pollutions of idols, and from fornication, and from things strangled, and from blood.
15: 21 For Moses of old time hath in every city them that preach him, being read in the synagogues every sabbath day.
15: 27 We have sent therefore Judas and Silas, who shall also tell you the same things by mouth.
Fare ye well.
15: 30 So when they were dismissed, they came to Antioch: and when they had gathered the multitude together, they delivered the epistle: 15: 31 Which when they had read, they rejoiced for the consolation.
15: 32 And Judas and Silas, being prophets also themselves, exhorted the brethren with many words, and confirmed them.
15: 33 And after they had tarried there a space, they were let go in peace from the brethren unto the apostles.
15: 34 Notwithstanding it pleased Silas to abide there still.
15: 35 Paul also and Barnabas continued in Antioch, teaching and preaching the word of the Lord, with many others also.
15: 36 And some days after Paul said unto Barnabas, Let us go again and visit our brethren in every city where we have preached the word of the LORD, and see how they do.
15: 37 And Barnabas determined to take with them John, whose surname was Mark.
15: 38 But Paul thought not good to take him with them, who departed from them from Pamphylia, and went not with them to the work.
15: 39 And the contention was so sharp between them, that they departed asunder one from the other: and so Barnabas took Mark, and sailed unto Cyprus; 15: 40 And Paul chose Silas, and departed, being recommended by the brethren unto the grace of God.
15: 41 And he went through Syria and Cilicia, confirming the churches.
16: 1 Then came he to Derbe and Lystra: and, behold, a certain disciple was there, named Timotheus, the son of a certain woman, which was a Jewess, and believed; but his father was a Greek: 16: 2 Which was well reported of by the brethren that were at Lystra and Iconium.
16: 3 Him would Paul have to go forth with him; and took and circumcised him because of the Jews which were in those quarters: for they knew all that his father was a Greek.
16: 4 And as they went through the cities, they delivered them the decrees for to keep, that were ordained of the apostles and elders which were at Jerusalem.
16: 5 And so were the churches established in the faith, and increased in number daily.
16: 6 Now when they had gone throughout Phrygia and the region of Galatia, and were forbidden of the Holy Ghost to preach the word in Asia, 16: 7 After they were come to Mysia, they assayed to go into Bithynia: but the Spirit suffered them not.
16: 8 And they passing by Mysia came down to Troas.
16: 9 And a vision appeared to Paul in the night; There stood a man of Macedonia, and prayed him, saying, Come over into Macedonia, and help us.
16: 10 And after he had seen the vision, immediately we endeavoured to go into Macedonia, assuredly gathering that the Lord had called us for to preach the gospel unto them.
16: 11 Therefore loosing from Troas, we came with a straight course to Samothracia, and the next day to Neapolis; 16: 12 And from thence to Philippi, which is the chief city of that part of Macedonia, and a colony: and we were in that city abiding certain days.
16: 13 And on the sabbath we went out of the city by a river side, where prayer was wont to be made; and we sat down, and spake unto the women which resorted thither.
16: 14 And a certain woman named Lydia, a seller of purple, of the city of Thyatira, which worshipped God, heard us: whose heart the Lord opened, that she attended unto the things which were spoken of Paul.
16: 15 And when she was baptized, and her household, she besought us, saying, If ye have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come into my house, and abide there.
And she constrained us.
16: 18 And this did she many days.
But Paul, being grieved, turned and said to the spirit, I command thee in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.
And he came out the same hour.
16: 22 And the multitude rose up together against them: and the magistrates rent off their clothes, and commanded to beat them.
16: 23 And when they had laid many stripes upon them, they cast them into prison, charging the jailor to keep them safely: 16: 24 Who, having received such a charge, thrust them into the inner prison, and made their feet fast in the stocks.
16: 25 And at midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God: and the prisoners heard them.
16: 26 And suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken: and immediately all the doors were opened, and every one's bands were loosed.
16: 27 And the keeper of the prison awaking out of his sleep, and seeing the prison doors open, he drew out his sword, and would have killed himself, supposing that the prisoners had been fled.
16: 28 But Paul cried with a loud voice, saying, Do thyself no harm: for we are all here.
16: 29 Then he called for a light, and sprang in, and came trembling, and fell down before Paul and Silas, 16: 30 And brought them out, and said, Sirs, what must I do to be saved?
16: 31 And they said, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house.
16: 32 And they spake unto him the word of the Lord, and to all that were in his house.
16: 33 And he took them the same hour of the night, and washed their stripes; and was baptized, he and all his, straightway.
16: 34 And when he had brought them into his house, he set meat before them, and rejoiced, believing in God with all his house.
16: 35 And when it was day, the magistrates sent the serjeants, saying, Let those men go.
16: 36 And the keeper of the prison told this saying to Paul, The magistrates have sent to let you go: now therefore depart, and go in peace.
16: 37 But Paul said unto them, They have beaten us openly uncondemned, being Romans, and have cast us into prison; and now do they thrust us out privily?
nay verily; but let them come themselves and fetch us out.
16: 38 And the serjeants told these words unto the magistrates: and they feared, when they heard that they were Romans.
16: 39 And they came and besought them, and brought them out, and desired them to depart out of the city.
16: 40 And they went out of the prison, and entered into the house of Lydia: and when they had seen the brethren, they comforted them, and departed.
17: 4 And some of them believed, and consorted with Paul and Silas; and of the devout Greeks a great multitude, and of the chief women not a few.
17: 5 But the Jews which believed not, moved with envy, took unto them certain lewd fellows of the baser sort, and gathered a company, and set all the city on an uproar, and assaulted the house of Jason, and sought to bring them out to the people.
17: 8 And they troubled the people and the rulers of the city, when they heard these things.
17: 9 And when they had taken security of Jason, and of the other, they let them go.
17: 10 And the brethren immediately sent away Paul and Silas by night unto Berea: who coming thither went into the synagogue of the Jews.
17: 11 These were more noble than those in Thessalonica, in that they received the word with all readiness of mind, and searched the scriptures daily, whether those things were so.
17: 12 Therefore many of them believed; also of honourable women which were Greeks, and of men, not a few.
17: 13 But when the Jews of Thessalonica had knowledge that the word of God was preached of Paul at Berea, they came thither also, and stirred up the people.
17: 14 And then immediately the brethren sent away Paul to go as it were to the sea: but Silas and Timotheus abode there still.
17: 15 And they that conducted Paul brought him unto Athens: and receiving a commandment unto Silas and Timotheus for to come to him with all speed, they departed.
17: 16 Now while Paul waited for them at Athens, his spirit was stirred in him, when he saw the city wholly given to idolatry.
17: 17 Therefore disputed he in the synagogue with the Jews, and with the devout persons, and in the market daily with them that met with him.
17: 18 Then certain philosophers of the Epicureans, and of the Stoicks, encountered him.
And some said, What will this babbler say?
other some, He seemeth to be a setter forth of strange gods: because he preached unto them Jesus, and the resurrection.
17: 19 And they took him, and brought him unto Areopagus, saying, May we know what this new doctrine, whereof thou speakest, is?
17: 20 For thou bringest certain strange things to our ears: we would know therefore what these things mean.
17: 21 (For all the Athenians and strangers which were there spent their time in nothing else, but either to tell, or to hear some new thing.)
17: 22 Then Paul stood in the midst of Mars'hill, and said, Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too superstitious.
17: 23 For as I passed by, and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this inscription, TO THE UNKNOWN GOD.
Whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you.
17: 29 Forasmuch then as we are the offspring of God, we ought not to think that the Godhead is like unto gold, or silver, or stone, graven by art and man's device.
17: 32 And when they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some mocked: and others said, We will hear thee again of this matter.
17: 33 So Paul departed from among them.
17: 34 Howbeit certain men clave unto him, and believed: among the which was Dionysius the Areopagite, and a woman named Damaris, and others with them.
18: 1 After these things Paul departed from Athens, and came to Corinth; 18: 2 And found a certain Jew named Aquila, born in Pontus, lately come from Italy, with his wife Priscilla; (because that Claudius had commanded all Jews to depart from Rome:) and came unto them.
18: 3 And because he was of the same craft, he abode with them, and wrought: for by their occupation they were tentmakers.
18: 4 And he reasoned in the synagogue every sabbath, and persuaded the Jews and the Greeks.
18: 5 And when Silas and Timotheus were come from Macedonia, Paul was pressed in the spirit, and testified to the Jews that Jesus was Christ.
18: 6 And when they opposed themselves, and blasphemed, he shook his raiment, and said unto them, Your blood be upon your own heads; I am clean; from henceforth I will go unto the Gentiles.
18: 7 And he departed thence, and entered into a certain man's house, named Justus, one that worshipped God, whose house joined hard to the synagogue.
18: 8 And Crispus, the chief ruler of the synagogue, believed on the Lord with all his house; and many of the Corinthians hearing believed, and were baptized.
18: 9 Then spake the Lord to Paul in the night by a vision, Be not afraid, but speak, and hold not thy peace: 18: 10 For I am with thee, and no man shall set on thee to hurt thee: for I have much people in this city.
18: 11 And he continued there a year and six months, teaching the word of God among them.
18: 12 And when Gallio was the deputy of Achaia, the Jews made insurrection with one accord against Paul, and brought him to the judgment seat, 18: 13 Saying, This fellow persuadeth men to worship God contrary to the law.
18: 16 And he drave them from the judgment seat.
18: 17 Then all the Greeks took Sosthenes, the chief ruler of the synagogue, and beat him before the judgment seat.
And Gallio cared for none of those things.
18: 18 And Paul after this tarried there yet a good while, and then took his leave of the brethren, and sailed thence into Syria, and with him Priscilla and Aquila; having shorn his head in Cenchrea: for he had a vow.
18: 19 And he came to Ephesus, and left them there: but he himself entered into the synagogue, and reasoned with the Jews.
18: 20 When they desired him to tarry longer time with them, he consented not; 18: 21 But bade them farewell, saying, I must by all means keep this feast that cometh in Jerusalem: but I will return again unto you, if God will.
And he sailed from Ephesus.
18: 22 And when he had landed at Caesarea, and gone up, and saluted the church, he went down to Antioch.
18: 23 And after he had spent some time there, he departed, and went over all the country of Galatia and Phrygia in order, strengthening all the disciples.
18: 24 And a certain Jew named Apollos, born at Alexandria, an eloquent man, and mighty in the scriptures, came to Ephesus.
18: 25 This man was instructed in the way of the Lord; and being fervent in the spirit, he spake and taught diligently the things of the Lord, knowing only the baptism of John.
18: 26 And he began to speak boldly in the synagogue: whom when Aquila and Priscilla had heard, they took him unto them, and expounded unto him the way of God more perfectly.
19: 1 And it came to pass, that, while Apollos was at Corinth, Paul having passed through the upper coasts came to Ephesus: and finding certain disciples, 19: 2 He said unto them, Have ye received the Holy Ghost since ye believed?
And they said unto him, We have not so much as heard whether there be any Holy Ghost.
19: 3 And he said unto them, Unto what then were ye baptized?
And they said, Unto John's baptism.
19: 4 Then said Paul, John verily baptized with the baptism of repentance, saying unto the people, that they should believe on him which should come after him, that is, on Christ Jesus.
19: 5 When they heard this, they were baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus.
19: 6 And when Paul had laid his hands upon them, the Holy Ghost came on them; and they spake with tongues, and prophesied.
19: 7 And all the men were about twelve.
19: 8 And he went into the synagogue, and spake boldly for the space of three months, disputing and persuading the things concerning the kingdom of God.
19: 9 But when divers were hardened, and believed not, but spake evil of that way before the multitude, he departed from them, and separated the disciples, disputing daily in the school of one Tyrannus.
19: 10 And this continued by the space of two years; so that all they which dwelt in Asia heard the word of the Lord Jesus, both Jews and Greeks.
19: 11 And God wrought special miracles by the hands of Paul: 19: 12 So that from his body were brought unto the sick handkerchiefs or aprons, and the diseases departed from them, and the evil spirits went out of them.
19: 13 Then certain of the vagabond Jews, exorcists, took upon them to call over them which had evil spirits the name of the LORD Jesus, saying, We adjure you by Jesus whom Paul preacheth.
19: 14 And there were seven sons of one Sceva, a Jew, and chief of the priests, which did so.
19: 15 And the evil spirit answered and said, Jesus I know, and Paul I know; but who are ye?
19: 16 And the man in whom the evil spirit was leaped on them, and overcame them, and prevailed against them, so that they fled out of that house naked and wounded.
19: 17 And this was known to all the Jews and Greeks also dwelling at Ephesus; and fear fell on them all, and the name of the Lord Jesus was magnified.
19: 18 And many that believed came, and confessed, and shewed their deeds.
19: 19 Many of them also which used curious arts brought their books together, and burned them before all men: and they counted the price of them, and found it fifty thousand pieces of silver.
19: 20 So mightily grew the word of God and prevailed.
19: 21 After these things were ended, Paul purposed in the spirit, when he had passed through Macedonia and Achaia, to go to Jerusalem, saying, After I have been there, I must also see Rome.
19: 22 So he sent into Macedonia two of them that ministered unto him, Timotheus and Erastus; but he himself stayed in Asia for a season.
19: 23 And the same time there arose no small stir about that way.
19: 24 For a certain man named Demetrius, a silversmith, which made silver shrines for Diana, brought no small gain unto the craftsmen; 19: 25 Whom he called together with the workmen of like occupation, and said, Sirs, ye know that by this craft we have our wealth.
19: 28 And when they heard these sayings, they were full of wrath, and cried out, saying, Great is Diana of the Ephesians.
19: 29 And the whole city was filled with confusion: and having caught Gaius and Aristarchus, men of Macedonia, Paul's companions in travel, they rushed with one accord into the theatre.
19: 30 And when Paul would have entered in unto the people, the disciples suffered him not.
19: 31 And certain of the chief of Asia, which were his friends, sent unto him, desiring him that he would not adventure himself into the theatre.
19: 32 Some therefore cried one thing, and some another: for the assembly was confused: and the more part knew not wherefore they were come together.
19: 33 And they drew Alexander out of the multitude, the Jews putting him forward.
And Alexander beckoned with the hand, and would have made his defence unto the people.
19: 34 But when they knew that he was a Jew, all with one voice about the space of two hours cried out, Great is Diana of the Ephesians.
19: 35 And when the townclerk had appeased the people, he said, Ye men of Ephesus, what man is there that knoweth not how that the city of the Ephesians is a worshipper of the great goddess Diana, and of the image which fell down from Jupiter?
19: 36 Seeing then that these things cannot be spoken against, ye ought to be quiet, and to do nothing rashly.
19: 37 For ye have brought hither these men, which are neither robbers of churches, nor yet blasphemers of your goddess.
19: 38 Wherefore if Demetrius, and the craftsmen which are with him, have a matter against any man, the law is open, and there are deputies: let them implead one another.
19: 39 But if ye enquire any thing concerning other matters, it shall be determined in a lawful assembly.
19: 40 For we are in danger to be called in question for this day's uproar, there being no cause whereby we may give an account of this concourse.
19: 41 And when he had thus spoken, he dismissed the assembly.
20: 1 And after the uproar was ceased, Paul called unto him the disciples, and embraced them, and departed for to go into Macedonia.
20: 2 And when he had gone over those parts, and had given them much exhortation, he came into Greece, 20: 3 And there abode three months.
And when the Jews laid wait for him, as he was about to sail into Syria, he purposed to return through Macedonia.
20: 4 And there accompanied him into Asia Sopater of Berea; and of the Thessalonians, Aristarchus and Secundus; and Gaius of Derbe, and Timotheus; and of Asia, Tychicus and Trophimus.
20: 5 These going before tarried for us at Troas.
20: 6 And we sailed away from Philippi after the days of unleavened bread, and came unto them to Troas in five days; where we abode seven days.
20: 7 And upon the first day of the week, when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul preached unto them, ready to depart on the morrow; and continued his speech until midnight.
20: 8 And there were many lights in the upper chamber, where they were gathered together.
20: 9 And there sat in a window a certain young man named Eutychus, being fallen into a deep sleep: and as Paul was long preaching, he sunk down with sleep, and fell down from the third loft, and was taken up dead.
20: 10 And Paul went down, and fell on him, and embracing him said, Trouble not yourselves; for his life is in him.
20: 11 When he therefore was come up again, and had broken bread, and eaten, and talked a long while, even till break of day, so he departed.
20: 12 And they brought the young man alive, and were not a little comforted.
20: 13 And we went before to ship, and sailed unto Assos, there intending to take in Paul: for so had he appointed, minding himself to go afoot.
20: 14 And when he met with us at Assos, we took him in, and came to Mitylene.
20: 15 And we sailed thence, and came the next day over against Chios; and the next day we arrived at Samos, and tarried at Trogyllium; and the next day we came to Miletus.
20: 16 For Paul had determined to sail by Ephesus, because he would not spend the time in Asia: for he hasted, if it were possible for him, to be at Jerusalem the day of Pentecost.
20: 17 And from Miletus he sent to Ephesus, and called the elders of the church.
20: 22 And now, behold, I go bound in the spirit unto Jerusalem, not knowing the things that shall befall me there: 20: 23 Save that the Holy Ghost witnesseth in every city, saying that bonds and afflictions abide me.
20: 24 But none of these things move me, neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, and the ministry, which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of God.
20: 25 And now, behold, I know that ye all, among whom I have gone preaching the kingdom of God, shall see my face no more.
20: 26 Wherefore I take you to record this day, that I am pure from the blood of all men.
20: 27 For I have not shunned to declare unto you all the counsel of God.
20: 28 Take heed therefore unto yourselves, and to all the flock, over the which the Holy Ghost hath made you overseers, to feed the church of God, which he hath purchased with his own blood.
20: 29 For I know this, that after my departing shall grievous wolves enter in among you, not sparing the flock.
20: 30 Also of your own selves shall men arise, speaking perverse things, to draw away disciples after them.
20: 31 Therefore watch, and remember, that by the space of three years I ceased not to warn every one night and day with tears.
20: 32 And now, brethren, I commend you to God, and to the word of his grace, which is able to build you up, and to give you an inheritance among all them which are sanctified.
20: 33 I have coveted no man's silver, or gold, or apparel.
20: 34 Yea, ye yourselves know, that these hands have ministered unto my necessities, and to them that were with me.
20: 35 I have shewed you all things, how that so labouring ye ought to support the weak, and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.
20: 36 And when he had thus spoken, he kneeled down, and prayed with them all.
20: 37 And they all wept sore, and fell on Paul's neck, and kissed him, 20: 38 Sorrowing most of all for the words which he spake, that they should see his face no more.
And they accompanied him unto the ship.
21: 1 And it came to pass, that after we were gotten from them, and had launched, we came with a straight course unto Coos, and the day following unto Rhodes, and from thence unto Patara: 21: 2 And finding a ship sailing over unto Phenicia, we went aboard, and set forth.
21: 3 Now when we had discovered Cyprus, we left it on the left hand, and sailed into Syria, and landed at Tyre: for there the ship was to unlade her burden.
21: 4 And finding disciples, we tarried there seven days: who said to Paul through the Spirit, that he should not go up to Jerusalem.
21: 5 And when we had accomplished those days, we departed and went our way; and they all brought us on our way, with wives and children, till we were out of the city: and we kneeled down on the shore, and prayed.
21: 6 And when we had taken our leave one of another, we took ship; and they returned home again.
21: 7 And when we had finished our course from Tyre, we came to Ptolemais, and saluted the brethren, and abode with them one day.
21: 8 And the next day we that were of Paul's company departed, and came unto Caesarea: and we entered into the house of Philip the evangelist, which was one of the seven; and abode with him.
21: 9 And the same man had four daughters, virgins, which did prophesy.
21: 10 And as we tarried there many days, there came down from Judaea a certain prophet, named Agabus.
21: 11 And when he was come unto us, he took Paul's girdle, and bound his own hands and feet, and said, Thus saith the Holy Ghost, So shall the Jews at Jerusalem bind the man that owneth this girdle, and shall deliver him into the hands of the Gentiles.
21: 12 And when we heard these things, both we, and they of that place, besought him not to go up to Jerusalem.
21: 13 Then Paul answered, What mean ye to weep and to break mine heart?
for I am ready not to be bound only, but also to die at Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus.
21: 14 And when he would not be persuaded, we ceased, saying, The will of the Lord be done.
21: 15 And after those days we took up our carriages, and went up to Jerusalem.
21: 16 There went with us also certain of the disciples of Caesarea, and brought with them one Mnason of Cyprus, an old disciple, with whom we should lodge.
21: 17 And when we were come to Jerusalem, the brethren received us gladly.
21: 18 And the day following Paul went in with us unto James; and all the elders were present.
21: 19 And when he had saluted them, he declared particularly what things God had wrought among the Gentiles by his ministry.
21: 22 What is it therefore?
the multitude must needs come together: for they will hear that thou art come.
21: 25 As touching the Gentiles which believe, we have written and concluded that they observe no such thing, save only that they keep themselves from things offered to idols, and from blood, and from strangled, and from fornication.
21: 26 Then Paul took the men, and the next day purifying himself with them entered into the temple, to signify the accomplishment of the days of purification, until that an offering should be offered for every one of them.
21: 29 (For they had seen before with him in the city Trophimus an Ephesian, whom they supposed that Paul had brought into the temple.)
21: 30 And all the city was moved, and the people ran together: and they took Paul, and drew him out of the temple: and forthwith the doors were shut.
21: 31 And as they went about to kill him, tidings came unto the chief captain of the band, that all Jerusalem was in an uproar.
21: 32 Who immediately took soldiers and centurions, and ran down unto them: and when they saw the chief captain and the soldiers, they left beating of Paul.
21: 33 Then the chief captain came near, and took him, and commanded him to be bound with two chains; and demanded who he was, and what he had done.
21: 34 And some cried one thing, some another, among the multitude: and when he could not know the certainty for the tumult, he commanded him to be carried into the castle.
21: 35 And when he came upon the stairs, so it was, that he was borne of the soldiers for the violence of the people.
21: 36 For the multitude of the people followed after, crying, Away with him.
21: 37 And as Paul was to be led into the castle, he said unto the chief captain, May I speak unto thee?
Who said, Canst thou speak Greek?
21: 38 Art not thou that Egyptian, which before these days madest an uproar, and leddest out into the wilderness four thousand men that were murderers?
21: 39 But Paul said, I am a man which am a Jew of Tarsus, a city in Cilicia, a citizen of no mean city: and, I beseech thee, suffer me to speak unto the people.
21: 40 And when he had given him licence, Paul stood on the stairs, and beckoned with the hand unto the people.
And when there was made a great silence, he spake unto them in the Hebrew tongue, saying, 22: 1 Men, brethren, and fathers, hear ye my defence which I make now unto you.
22: 4 And I persecuted this way unto the death, binding and delivering into prisons both men and women.
22: 5 As also the high priest doth bear me witness, and all the estate of the elders: from whom also I received letters unto the brethren, and went to Damascus, to bring them which were there bound unto Jerusalem, for to be punished.
22: 6 And it came to pass, that, as I made my journey, and was come nigh unto Damascus about noon, suddenly there shone from heaven a great light round about me.
22: 7 And I fell unto the ground, and heard a voice saying unto me, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?
22: 8 And I answered, Who art thou, Lord?
And he said unto me, I am Jesus of Nazareth, whom thou persecutest.
22: 9 And they that were with me saw indeed the light, and were afraid; but they heard not the voice of him that spake to me.
22: 10 And I said, What shall I do, LORD?
And the Lord said unto me, Arise, and go into Damascus; and there it shall be told thee of all things which are appointed for thee to do.
22: 11 And when I could not see for the glory of that light, being led by the hand of them that were with me, I came into Damascus.
22: 12 And one Ananias, a devout man according to the law, having a good report of all the Jews which dwelt there, 22: 13 Came unto me, and stood, and said unto me, Brother Saul, receive thy sight.
And the same hour I looked up upon him.
22: 14 And he said, The God of our fathers hath chosen thee, that thou shouldest know his will, and see that Just One, and shouldest hear the voice of his mouth.
22: 15 For thou shalt be his witness unto all men of what thou hast seen and heard.
22: 16 And now why tarriest thou?
arise, and be baptized, and wash away thy sins, calling on the name of the Lord.
22: 17 And it came to pass, that, when I was come again to Jerusalem, even while I prayed in the temple, I was in a trance; 22: 18 And saw him saying unto me, Make haste, and get thee quickly out of Jerusalem: for they will not receive thy testimony concerning me.
22: 19 And I said, Lord, they know that I imprisoned and beat in every synagogue them that believed on thee: 22: 20 And when the blood of thy martyr Stephen was shed, I also was standing by, and consenting unto his death, and kept the raiment of them that slew him.
22: 21 And he said unto me, Depart: for I will send thee far hence unto the Gentiles.
22: 22 And they gave him audience unto this word, and then lifted up their voices, and said, Away with such a fellow from the earth: for it is not fit that he should live.
22: 23 And as they cried out, and cast off their clothes, and threw dust into the air, 22: 24 The chief captain commanded him to be brought into the castle, and bade that he should be examined by scourging; that he might know wherefore they cried so against him.
22: 25 And as they bound him with thongs, Paul said unto the centurion that stood by, Is it lawful for you to scourge a man that is a Roman, and uncondemned?
22: 26 When the centurion heard that, he went and told the chief captain, saying, Take heed what thou doest: for this man is a Roman.
22: 27 Then the chief captain came, and said unto him, Tell me, art thou a Roman?
He said, Yea.
22: 28 And the chief captain answered, With a great sum obtained I this freedom.
And Paul said, But I was free born.
22: 29 Then straightway they departed from him which should have examined him: and the chief captain also was afraid, after he knew that he was a Roman, and because he had bound him.
22: 30 On the morrow, because he would have known the certainty wherefore he was accused of the Jews, he loosed him from his bands, and commanded the chief priests and all their council to appear, and brought Paul down, and set him before them.
23: 1 And Paul, earnestly beholding the council, said, Men and brethren, I have lived in all good conscience before God until this day.
23: 2 And the high priest Ananias commanded them that stood by him to smite him on the mouth.
23: 3 Then said Paul unto him, God shall smite thee, thou whited wall: for sittest thou to judge me after the law, and commandest me to be smitten contrary to the law?
23: 4 And they that stood by said, Revilest thou God's high priest?
23: 5 Then said Paul, I wist not, brethren, that he was the high priest: for it is written, Thou shalt not speak evil of the ruler of thy people.
23: 6 But when Paul perceived that the one part were Sadducees, and the other Pharisees, he cried out in the council, Men and brethren, I am a Pharisee, the son of a Pharisee: of the hope and resurrection of the dead I am called in question.
23: 7 And when he had so said, there arose a dissension between the Pharisees and the Sadducees: and the multitude was divided.
23: 8 For the Sadducees say that there is no resurrection, neither angel, nor spirit: but the Pharisees confess both.
23: 9 And there arose a great cry: and the scribes that were of the Pharisees'part arose, and strove, saying, We find no evil in this man: but if a spirit or an angel hath spoken to him, let us not fight against God.
23: 10 And when there arose a great dissension, the chief captain, fearing lest Paul should have been pulled in pieces of them, commanded the soldiers to go down, and to take him by force from among them, and to bring him into the castle.
23: 11 And the night following the Lord stood by him, and said, Be of good cheer, Paul: for as thou hast testified of me in Jerusalem, so must thou bear witness also at Rome.
23: 12 And when it was day, certain of the Jews banded together, and bound themselves under a curse, saying that they would neither eat nor drink till they had killed Paul.
23: 13 And they were more than forty which had made this conspiracy.
23: 14 And they came to the chief priests and elders, and said, We have bound ourselves under a great curse, that we will eat nothing until we have slain Paul.
23: 15 Now therefore ye with the council signify to the chief captain that he bring him down unto you to morrow, as though ye would enquire something more perfectly concerning him: and we, or ever he come near, are ready to kill him.
23: 16 And when Paul's sister's son heard of their lying in wait, he went and entered into the castle, and told Paul.
23: 17 Then Paul called one of the centurions unto him, and said, Bring this young man unto the chief captain: for he hath a certain thing to tell him.
23: 18 So he took him, and brought him to the chief captain, and said, Paul the prisoner called me unto him, and prayed me to bring this young man unto thee, who hath something to say unto thee.
23: 19 Then the chief captain took him by the hand, and went with him aside privately, and asked him, What is that thou hast to tell me?
23: 20 And he said, The Jews have agreed to desire thee that thou wouldest bring down Paul to morrow into the council, as though they would enquire somewhat of him more perfectly.
23: 21 But do not thou yield unto them: for there lie in wait for him of them more than forty men, which have bound themselves with an oath, that they will neither eat nor drink till they have killed him: and now are they ready, looking for a promise from thee.
23: 22 So the chief captain then let the young man depart, and charged him, See thou tell no man that thou hast shewed these things to me.
23: 25 And he wrote a letter after this manner: 23: 26 Claudius Lysias unto the most excellent governor Felix sendeth greeting.
23: 27 This man was taken of the Jews, and should have been killed of them: then came I with an army, and rescued him, having understood that he was a Roman.
23: 28 And when I would have known the cause wherefore they accused him, I brought him forth into their council: 23: 29 Whom I perceived to be accused of questions of their law, but to have nothing laid to his charge worthy of death or of bonds.
23: 30 And when it was told me how that the Jews laid wait for the man, I sent straightway to thee, and gave commandment to his accusers also to say before thee what they had against him.
Farewell.
23: 31 Then the soldiers, as it was commanded them, took Paul, and brought him by night to Antipatris.
23: 32 On the morrow they left the horsemen to go with him, and returned to the castle: 23: 33 Who, when they came to Caesarea and delivered the epistle to the governor, presented Paul also before him.
23: 34 And when the governor had read the letter, he asked of what province he was.
And when he understood that he was of Cilicia; 23: 35 I will hear thee, said he, when thine accusers are also come.
And he commanded him to be kept in Herod's judgment hall.
24: 1 And after five days Ananias the high priest descended with the elders, and with a certain orator named Tertullus, who informed the governor against Paul.
24: 4 Notwithstanding, that I be not further tedious unto thee, I pray thee that thou wouldest hear us of thy clemency a few words.
24: 7 But the chief captain Lysias came upon us, and with great violence took him away out of our hands, 24: 8 Commanding his accusers to come unto thee: by examining of whom thyself mayest take knowledge of all these things, whereof we accuse him.
24: 9 And the Jews also assented, saying that these things were so.
24: 12 And they neither found me in the temple disputing with any man, neither raising up the people, neither in the synagogues, nor in the city: 24: 13 Neither can they prove the things whereof they now accuse me.
24: 16 And herein do I exercise myself, to have always a conscience void to offence toward God, and toward men.
24: 17 Now after many years I came to bring alms to my nation, and offerings.
24: 18 Whereupon certain Jews from Asia found me purified in the temple, neither with multitude, nor with tumult.
24: 19 Who ought to have been here before thee, and object, if they had ought against me.
24: 20 Or else let these same here say, if they have found any evil doing in me, while I stood before the council, 24: 21 Except it be for this one voice, that I cried standing among them, Touching the resurrection of the dead I am called in question by you this day.
24: 22 And when Felix heard these things, having more perfect knowledge of that way, he deferred them, and said, When Lysias the chief captain shall come down, I will know the uttermost of your matter.
24: 23 And he commanded a centurion to keep Paul, and to let him have liberty, and that he should forbid none of his acquaintance to minister or come unto him.
24: 24 And after certain days, when Felix came with his wife Drusilla, which was a Jewess, he sent for Paul, and heard him concerning the faith in Christ.
24: 25 And as he reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come, Felix trembled, and answered, Go thy way for this time; when I have a convenient season, I will call for thee.
24: 26 He hoped also that money should have been given him of Paul, that he might loose him: wherefore he sent for him the oftener, and communed with him.
24: 27 But after two years Porcius Festus came into Felix'room: and Felix, willing to shew the Jews a pleasure, left Paul bound.
25: 1 Now when Festus was come into the province, after three days he ascended from Caesarea to Jerusalem.
25: 2 Then the high priest and the chief of the Jews informed him against Paul, and besought him, 25: 3 And desired favour against him, that he would send for him to Jerusalem, laying wait in the way to kill him.
25: 4 But Festus answered, that Paul should be kept at Caesarea, and that he himself would depart shortly thither.
25: 5 Let them therefore, said he, which among you are able, go down with me, and accuse this man, if there be any wickedness in him.
25: 6 And when he had tarried among them more than ten days, he went down unto Caesarea; and the next day sitting on the judgment seat commanded Paul to be brought.
25: 7 And when he was come, the Jews which came down from Jerusalem stood round about, and laid many and grievous complaints against Paul, which they could not prove.
25: 8 While he answered for himself, Neither against the law of the Jews, neither against the temple, nor yet against Caesar, have I offended any thing at all.
25: 9 But Festus, willing to do the Jews a pleasure, answered Paul, and said, Wilt thou go up to Jerusalem, and there be judged of these things before me?
25: 10 Then said Paul, I stand at Caesar's judgment seat, where I ought to be judged: to the Jews have I done no wrong, as thou very well knowest.
25: 11 For if I be an offender, or have committed any thing worthy of death, I refuse not to die: but if there be none of these things whereof these accuse me, no man may deliver me unto them.
I appeal unto Caesar.
25: 12 Then Festus, when he had conferred with the council, answered, Hast thou appealed unto Caesar?
unto Caesar shalt thou go.
25: 13 And after certain days king Agrippa and Bernice came unto Caesarea to salute Festus.
25: 16 To whom I answered, It is not the manner of the Romans to deliver any man to die, before that he which is accused have the accusers face to face, and have licence to answer for himself concerning the crime laid against him.
25: 17 Therefore, when they were come hither, without any delay on the morrow I sat on the judgment seat, and commanded the man to be brought forth.
25: 18 Against whom when the accusers stood up, they brought none accusation of such things as I supposed: 25: 19 But had certain questions against him of their own superstition, and of one Jesus, which was dead, whom Paul affirmed to be alive.
25: 20 And because I doubted of such manner of questions, I asked him whether he would go to Jerusalem, and there be judged of these matters.
25: 21 But when Paul had appealed to be reserved unto the hearing of Augustus, I commanded him to be kept till I might send him to Caesar.
25: 22 Then Agrippa said unto Festus, I would also hear the man myself.
To morrow, said he, thou shalt hear him.
25: 23 And on the morrow, when Agrippa was come, and Bernice, with great pomp, and was entered into the place of hearing, with the chief captains, and principal men of the city, at Festus'commandment Paul was brought forth.
25: 24 And Festus said, King Agrippa, and all men which are here present with us, ye see this man, about whom all the multitude of the Jews have dealt with me, both at Jerusalem, and also here, crying that he ought not to live any longer.
25: 25 But when I found that he had committed nothing worthy of death, and that he himself hath appealed to Augustus, I have determined to send him.
25: 26 Of whom I have no certain thing to write unto my lord.
Wherefore I have brought him forth before you, and specially before thee, O king Agrippa, that, after examination had, I might have somewhat to write.
25: 27 For it seemeth to me unreasonable to send a prisoner, and not withal to signify the crimes laid against him.
26: 1 Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Thou art permitted to speak for thyself.
26: 4 My manner of life from my youth, which was at the first among mine own nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews; 26: 5 Which knew me from the beginning, if they would testify, that after the most straitest sect of our religion I lived a Pharisee.
26: 6 And now I stand and am judged for the hope of the promise made of God, unto our fathers: 26: 7 Unto which promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and night, hope to come.
For which hope's sake, king Agrippa, I am accused of the Jews.
26: 8 Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God should raise the dead?
26: 9 I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth.
26: 10 Which thing I also did in Jerusalem: and many of the saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority from the chief priests; and when they were put to death, I gave my voice against them.
26: 11 And I punished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme; and being exceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto strange cities.
26: 12 Whereupon as I went to Damascus with authority and commission from the chief priests, 26: 13 At midday, O king, I saw in the way a light from heaven, above the brightness of the sun, shining round about me and them which journeyed with me.
26: 14 And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a voice speaking unto me, and saying in the Hebrew tongue, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?
it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.
26: 15 And I said, Who art thou, Lord?
And he said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest.
26: 21 For these causes the Jews caught me in the temple, and went about to kill me.
26: 24 And as he thus spake for himself, Festus said with a loud voice, Paul, thou art beside thyself; much learning doth make thee mad.
26: 25 But he said, I am not mad, most noble Festus; but speak forth the words of truth and soberness.
26: 26 For the king knoweth of these things, before whom also I speak freely: for I am persuaded that none of these things are hidden from him; for this thing was not done in a corner.
26: 27 King Agrippa, believest thou the prophets?
I know that thou believest.
26: 28 Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.
26: 29 And Paul said, I would to God, that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost, and altogether such as I am, except these bonds.
26: 30 And when he had thus spoken, the king rose up, and the governor, and Bernice, and they that sat with them: 26: 31 And when they were gone aside, they talked between themselves, saying, This man doeth nothing worthy of death or of bonds.
26: 32 Then said Agrippa unto Festus, This man might have been set at liberty, if he had not appealed unto Caesar.
27: 1 And when it was determined that we should sail into Italy, they delivered Paul and certain other prisoners unto one named Julius, a centurion of Augustus'band.
27: 2 And entering into a ship of Adramyttium, we launched, meaning to sail by the coasts of Asia; one Aristarchus, a Macedonian of Thessalonica, being with us.
27: 3 And the next day we touched at Sidon.
And Julius courteously entreated Paul, and gave him liberty to go unto his friends to refresh himself.
27: 4 And when we had launched from thence, we sailed under Cyprus, because the winds were contrary.
27: 5 And when we had sailed over the sea of Cilicia and Pamphylia, we came to Myra, a city of Lycia.
27: 6 And there the centurion found a ship of Alexandria sailing into Italy; and he put us therein.
27: 11 Nevertheless the centurion believed the master and the owner of the ship, more than those things which were spoken by Paul.
27: 12 And because the haven was not commodious to winter in, the more part advised to depart thence also, if by any means they might attain to Phenice, and there to winter; which is an haven of Crete, and lieth toward the south west and north west.
27: 13 And when the south wind blew softly, supposing that they had obtained their purpose, loosing thence, they sailed close by Crete.
27: 14 But not long after there arose against it a tempestuous wind, called Euroclydon.
27: 15 And when the ship was caught, and could not bear up into the wind, we let her drive.
27: 16 And running under a certain island which is called Clauda, we had much work to come by the boat: 27: 17 Which when they had taken up, they used helps, undergirding the ship; and, fearing lest they should fall into the quicksands, strake sail, and so were driven.
27: 18 And we being exceedingly tossed with a tempest, the next day they lightened the ship; 27: 19 And the third day we cast out with our own hands the tackling of the ship.
27: 20 And when neither sun nor stars in many days appeared, and no small tempest lay on us, all hope that we should be saved was then taken away.
27: 21 But after long abstinence Paul stood forth in the midst of them, and said, Sirs, ye should have hearkened unto me, and not have loosed from Crete, and to have gained this harm and loss.
27: 22 And now I exhort you to be of good cheer: for there shall be no loss of any man's life among you, but of the ship.
27: 23 For there stood by me this night the angel of God, whose I am, and whom I serve, 27: 24 Saying, Fear not, Paul; thou must be brought before Caesar: and, lo, God hath given thee all them that sail with thee.
27: 25 Wherefore, sirs, be of good cheer: for I believe God, that it shall be even as it was told me.
27: 26 Howbeit we must be cast upon a certain island.
27: 29 Then fearing lest we should have fallen upon rocks, they cast four anchors out of the stern, and wished for the day.
27: 32 Then the soldiers cut off the ropes of the boat, and let her fall off.
27: 33 And while the day was coming on, Paul besought them all to take meat, saying, This day is the fourteenth day that ye have tarried and continued fasting, having taken nothing.
27: 34 Wherefore I pray you to take some meat: for this is for your health: for there shall not an hair fall from the head of any of you.
27: 35 And when he had thus spoken, he took bread, and gave thanks to God in presence of them all: and when he had broken it, he began to eat.
27: 36 Then were they all of good cheer, and they also took some meat.
27: 37 And we were in all in the ship two hundred threescore and sixteen souls.
27: 38 And when they had eaten enough, they lightened the ship, and cast out the wheat into the sea.
27: 39 And when it was day, they knew not the land: but they discovered a certain creek with a shore, into the which they were minded, if it were possible, to thrust in the ship.
27: 40 And when they had taken up the anchors, they committed themselves unto the sea, and loosed the rudder bands, and hoised up the mainsail to the wind, and made toward shore.
27: 41 And falling into a place where two seas met, they ran the ship aground; and the forepart stuck fast, and remained unmoveable, but the hinder part was broken with the violence of the waves.
27: 42 And the soldiers'counsel was to kill the prisoners, lest any of them should swim out, and escape.
27: 43 But the centurion, willing to save Paul, kept them from their purpose; and commanded that they which could swim should cast themselves first into the sea, and get to land: 27: 44 And the rest, some on boards, and some on broken pieces of the ship.
And so it came to pass, that they escaped all safe to land.
28: 1 And when they were escaped, then they knew that the island was called Melita.
28: 2 And the barbarous people shewed us no little kindness: for they kindled a fire, and received us every one, because of the present rain, and because of the cold.
28: 3 And when Paul had gathered a bundle of sticks, and laid them on the fire, there came a viper out of the heat, and fastened on his hand.
28: 4 And when the barbarians saw the venomous beast hang on his hand, they said among themselves, No doubt this man is a murderer, whom, though he hath escaped the sea, yet vengeance suffereth not to live.
28: 5 And he shook off the beast into the fire, and felt no harm.
28: 6 Howbeit they looked when he should have swollen, or fallen down dead suddenly: but after they had looked a great while, and saw no harm come to him, they changed their minds, and said that he was a god.
28: 7 In the same quarters were possessions of the chief man of the island, whose name was Publius; who received us, and lodged us three days courteously.
28: 8 And it came to pass, that the father of Publius lay sick of a fever and of a bloody flux: to whom Paul entered in, and prayed, and laid his hands on him, and healed him.
28: 9 So when this was done, others also, which had diseases in the island, came, and were healed: 28: 10 Who also honoured us with many honours; and when we departed, they laded us with such things as were necessary.
28: 11 And after three months we departed in a ship of Alexandria, which had wintered in the isle, whose sign was Castor and Pollux.
28: 12 And landing at Syracuse, we tarried there three days.
28: 13 And from thence we fetched a compass, and came to Rhegium: and after one day the south wind blew, and we came the next day to Puteoli: 28: 14 Where we found brethren, and were desired to tarry with them seven days: and so we went toward Rome.
28: 15 And from thence, when the brethren heard of us, they came to meet us as far as Appii forum, and The three taverns: whom when Paul saw, he thanked God, and took courage.
28: 16 And when we came to Rome, the centurion delivered the prisoners to the captain of the guard: but Paul was suffered to dwell by himself with a soldier that kept him.
28: 18 Who, when they had examined me, would have let me go, because there was no cause of death in me.
28: 19 But when the Jews spake against it, I was constrained to appeal unto Caesar; not that I had ought to accuse my nation of.
28: 20 For this cause therefore have I called for you, to see you, and to speak with you: because that for the hope of Israel I am bound with this chain.
28: 21 And they said unto him, We neither received letters out of Judaea concerning thee, neither any of the brethren that came shewed or spake any harm of thee.
28: 22 But we desire to hear of thee what thou thinkest: for as concerning this sect, we know that every where it is spoken against.
28: 23 And when they had appointed him a day, there came many to him into his lodging; to whom he expounded and testified the kingdom of God, persuading them concerning Jesus, both out of the law of Moses, and out of the prophets, from morning till evening.
28: 24 And some believed the things which were spoken, and some believed not.
28: 28 Be it known therefore unto you, that the salvation of God is sent unto the Gentiles, and that they will hear it.
28: 29 And when he had said these words, the Jews departed, and had great reasoning among themselves.
28: 30 And Paul dwelt two whole years in his own hired house, and received all that came in unto him, 28: 31 Preaching the kingdom of God, and teaching those things which concern the Lord Jesus Christ, with all confidence, no man forbidding him.
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Romans
1: 8 First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for you all, that your faith is spoken of throughout the whole world.
1: 9 For God is my witness, whom I serve with my spirit in the gospel of his Son, that without ceasing I make mention of you always in my prayers; 1: 10 Making request, if by any means now at length I might have a prosperous journey by the will of God to come unto you.
1: 11 For I long to see you, that I may impart unto you some spiritual gift, to the end ye may be established; 1: 12 That is, that I may be comforted together with you by the mutual faith both of you and me.
1: 13 Now I would not have you ignorant, brethren, that oftentimes I purposed to come unto you, (but was let hitherto,) that I might have some fruit among you also, even as among other Gentiles.
1: 14 I am debtor both to the Greeks, and to the Barbarians; both to the wise, and to the unwise.
1: 15 So, as much as in me is, I am ready to preach the gospel to you that are at Rome also.
1: 16 For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first, and also to the Greek.
1: 17 For therein is the righteousness of God revealed from faith to faith: as it is written, The just shall live by faith.
1: 18 For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who hold the truth in unrighteousness; 1: 19 Because that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God hath shewed it unto them.
1: 22 Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, 1: 23 And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and fourfooted beasts, and creeping things.
Amen.
2: 1 Therefore thou art inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art that judgest: for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself; for thou that judgest doest the same things.
2: 2 But we are sure that the judgment of God is according to truth against them which commit such things.
2: 3 And thinkest thou this, O man, that judgest them which do such things, and doest the same, that thou shalt escape the judgment of God?
2: 4 Or despisest thou the riches of his goodness and forbearance and longsuffering; not knowing that the goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance?
2: 12 For as many as have sinned without law shall also perish without law: and as many as have sinned in the law shall be judged by the law; 2: 13 (For not the hearers of the law are just before God, but the doers of the law shall be justified.
2: 21 Thou therefore which teachest another, teachest thou not thyself?
thou that preachest a man should not steal, dost thou steal?
2: 22 Thou that sayest a man should not commit adultery, dost thou commit adultery?
thou that abhorrest idols, dost thou commit sacrilege?
2: 23 Thou that makest thy boast of the law, through breaking the law dishonourest thou God?
2: 24 For the name of God is blasphemed among the Gentiles through you, as it is written.
2: 25 For circumcision verily profiteth, if thou keep the law: but if thou be a breaker of the law, thy circumcision is made uncircumcision.
2: 26 Therefore if the uncircumcision keep the righteousness of the law, shall not his uncircumcision be counted for circumcision?
2: 27 And shall not uncircumcision which is by nature, if it fulfil the law, judge thee, who by the letter and circumcision dost transgress the law?
2: 28 For he is not a Jew, which is one outwardly; neither is that circumcision, which is outward in the flesh: 2: 29 But he is a Jew, which is one inwardly; and circumcision is that of the heart, in the spirit, and not in the letter; whose praise is not of men, but of God.
3: 1 What advantage then hath the Jew?
or what profit is there of circumcision?
3: 2 Much every way: chiefly, because that unto them were committed the oracles of God.
3: 3 For what if some did not believe?
shall their unbelief make the faith of God without effect?
3: 4 God forbid: yea, let God be true, but every man a liar; as it is written, That thou mightest be justified in thy sayings, and mightest overcome when thou art judged.
3: 5 But if our unrighteousness commend the righteousness of God, what shall we say?
Is God unrighteous who taketh vengeance?
(I speak as a man) 3: 6 God forbid: for then how shall God judge the world?
3: 7 For if the truth of God hath more abounded through my lie unto his glory; why yet am I also judged as a sinner?
3: 8 And not rather, (as we be slanderously reported, and as some affirm that we say,) Let us do evil, that good may come?
whose damnation is just.
3: 9 What then?
are we better than they?
No, in no wise: for we have before proved both Jews and Gentiles, that they are all under sin; 3: 10 As it is written, There is none righteous, no, not one: 3: 11 There is none that understandeth, there is none that seeketh after God.
3: 12 They are all gone out of the way, they are together become unprofitable; there is none that doeth good, no, not one.
3: 19 Now we know that what things soever the law saith, it saith to them who are under the law: that every mouth may be stopped, and all the world may become guilty before God.
3: 20 Therefore by the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified in his sight: for by the law is the knowledge of sin.
3: 27 Where is boasting then?
It is excluded.
By what law?
of works?
Nay: but by the law of faith.
3: 28 Therefore we conclude that a man is justified by faith without the deeds of the law.
3: 29 Is he the God of the Jews only?
is he not also of the Gentiles?
Yes, of the Gentiles also: 3: 30 Seeing it is one God, which shall justify the circumcision by faith, and uncircumcision through faith.
3: 31 Do we then make void the law through faith?
God forbid: yea, we establish the law.
4: 1 What shall we say then that Abraham our father, as pertaining to the flesh, hath found?
4: 2 For if Abraham were justified by works, he hath whereof to glory; but not before God.
4: 3 For what saith the scripture?
Abraham believed God, and it was counted unto him for righteousness.
4: 4 Now to him that worketh is the reward not reckoned of grace, but of debt.
4: 5 But to him that worketh not, but believeth on him that justifieth the ungodly, his faith is counted for righteousness.
4: 6 Even as David also describeth the blessedness of the man, unto whom God imputeth righteousness without works, 4: 7 Saying, Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins are covered.
4: 8 Blessed is the man to whom the Lord will not impute sin.
4: 9 Cometh this blessedness then upon the circumcision only, or upon the uncircumcision also?
for we say that faith was reckoned to Abraham for righteousness.
4: 10 How was it then reckoned?
when he was in circumcision, or in uncircumcision?
Not in circumcision, but in uncircumcision.
4: 13 For the promise, that he should be the heir of the world, was not to Abraham, or to his seed, through the law, but through the righteousness of faith.
4: 14 For if they which are of the law be heirs, faith is made void, and the promise made of none effect: 4: 15 Because the law worketh wrath: for where no law is, there is no transgression.
4: 18 Who against hope believed in hope, that he might become the father of many nations, according to that which was spoken, So shall thy seed be.
4: 22 And therefore it was imputed to him for righteousness.
5: 1 Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ: 5: 2 By whom also we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.
5: 6 For when we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly.
5: 7 For scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die.
5: 8 But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.
5: 9 Much more then, being now justified by his blood, we shall be saved from wrath through him.
5: 10 For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by his life.
5: 11 And not only so, but we also joy in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom we have now received the atonement.
5: 12 Wherefore, as by one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin; and so death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned: 5: 13 (For until the law sin was in the world: but sin is not imputed when there is no law.
5: 14 Nevertheless death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over them that had not sinned after the similitude of Adam's transgression, who is the figure of him that was to come.
5: 15 But not as the offence, so also is the free gift.
For if through the offence of one many be dead, much more the grace of God, and the gift by grace, which is by one man, Jesus Christ, hath abounded unto many.
5: 16 And not as it was by one that sinned, so is the gift: for the judgment was by one to condemnation, but the free gift is of many offences unto justification.
5: 17 For if by one man's offence death reigned by one; much more they which receive abundance of grace and of the gift of righteousness shall reign in life by one, Jesus Christ.)
5: 18 Therefore as by the offence of one judgment came upon all men to condemnation; even so by the righteousness of one the free gift came upon all men unto justification of life.
5: 19 For as by one man's disobedience many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one shall many be made righteous.
5: 20 Moreover the law entered, that the offence might abound.
But where sin abounded, grace did much more abound: 5: 21 That as sin hath reigned unto death, even so might grace reign through righteousness unto eternal life by Jesus Christ our Lord.
6: 1 What shall we say then?
Shall we continue in sin, that grace may abound?
6: 2 God forbid.
How shall we, that are dead to sin, live any longer therein?
6: 3 Know ye not, that so many of us as were baptized into Jesus Christ were baptized into his death?
6: 4 Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.
6: 5 For if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection: 6: 6 Knowing this, that our old man is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin.
6: 7 For he that is dead is freed from sin.
6: 8 Now if we be dead with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him: 6: 9 Knowing that Christ being raised from the dead dieth no more; death hath no more dominion over him.
6: 10 For in that he died, he died unto sin once: but in that he liveth, he liveth unto God.
6: 11 Likewise reckon ye also yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord.
6: 12 Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body, that ye should obey it in the lusts thereof.
6: 13 Neither yield ye your members as instruments of unrighteousness unto sin: but yield yourselves unto God, as those that are alive from the dead, and your members as instruments of righteousness unto God.
6: 14 For sin shall not have dominion over you: for ye are not under the law, but under grace.
6: 15 What then?
shall we sin, because we are not under the law, but under grace?
God forbid.
6: 16 Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey; whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness?
6: 17 But God be thanked, that ye were the servants of sin, but ye have obeyed from the heart that form of doctrine which was delivered you.
6: 18 Being then made free from sin, ye became the servants of righteousness.
6: 19 I speak after the manner of men because of the infirmity of your flesh: for as ye have yielded your members servants to uncleanness and to iniquity unto iniquity; even so now yield your members servants to righteousness unto holiness.
6: 20 For when ye were the servants of sin, ye were free from righteousness.
6: 21 What fruit had ye then in those things whereof ye are now ashamed?
for the end of those things is death.
6: 22 But now being made free from sin, and become servants to God, ye have your fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting life.
6: 23 For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
7: 1 Know ye not, brethren, (for I speak to them that know the law,) how that the law hath dominion over a man as long as he liveth?
7: 2 For the woman which hath an husband is bound by the law to her husband so long as he liveth; but if the husband be dead, she is loosed from the law of her husband.
7: 3 So then if, while her husband liveth, she be married to another man, she shall be called an adulteress: but if her husband be dead, she is free from that law; so that she is no adulteress, though she be married to another man.
7: 4 Wherefore, my brethren, ye also are become dead to the law by the body of Christ; that ye should be married to another, even to him who is raised from the dead, that we should bring forth fruit unto God.
7: 5 For when we were in the flesh, the motions of sins, which were by the law, did work in our members to bring forth fruit unto death.
7: 6 But now we are delivered from the law, that being dead wherein we were held; that we should serve in newness of spirit, and not in the oldness of the letter.
7: 7 What shall we say then?
Is the law sin?
God forbid.
Nay, I had not known sin, but by the law: for I had not known lust, except the law had said, Thou shalt not covet.
7: 8 But sin, taking occasion by the commandment, wrought in me all manner of concupiscence.
For without the law sin was dead.
7: 9 For I was alive without the law once: but when the commandment came, sin revived, and I died.
7: 10 And the commandment, which was ordained to life, I found to be unto death.
7: 11 For sin, taking occasion by the commandment, deceived me, and by it slew me.
7: 12 Wherefore the law is holy, and the commandment holy, and just, and good.
7: 13 Was then that which is good made death unto me?
God forbid.
But sin, that it might appear sin, working death in me by that which is good; that sin by the commandment might become exceeding sinful.
7: 14 For we know that the law is spiritual: but I am carnal, sold under sin.
7: 15 For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I.
7: 16 If then I do that which I would not, I consent unto the law that it is good.
7: 17 Now then it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me.
7: 18 For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not.
7: 19 For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do.
7: 20 Now if I do that I would not, it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me.
7: 21 I find then a law, that, when I would do good, evil is present with me.
7: 22 For I delight in the law of God after the inward man: 7: 23 But I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members.
7: 24 O wretched man that I am!
who shall deliver me from the body of this death?
7: 25 I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord.
So then with the mind I myself serve the law of God; but with the flesh the law of sin.
8: 1 There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit.
8: 2 For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of sin and death.
8: 5 For they that are after the flesh do mind the things of the flesh; but they that are after the Spirit the things of the Spirit.
8: 6 For to be carnally minded is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and peace.
8: 7 Because the carnal mind is enmity against God: for it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be.
8: 8 So then they that are in the flesh cannot please God.
8: 9 But ye are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit, if so be that the Spirit of God dwell in you.
Now if any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of his.
8: 10 And if Christ be in you, the body is dead because of sin; but the Spirit is life because of righteousness.
8: 11 But if the Spirit of him that raised up Jesus from the dead dwell in you, he that raised up Christ from the dead shall also quicken your mortal bodies by his Spirit that dwelleth in you.
8: 12 Therefore, brethren, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live after the flesh.
8: 13 For if ye live after the flesh, ye shall die: but if ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live.
8: 14 For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God.
8: 15 For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father.
8: 16 The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God: 8: 17 And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint - heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together.
8: 18 For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.
8: 19 For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God.
8: 20 For the creature was made subject to vanity, not willingly, but by reason of him who hath subjected the same in hope, 8: 21 Because the creature itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God.
8: 22 For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now.
8: 23 And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body.
8: 24 For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for?
8: 25 But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.
8: 26 Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.
8: 27 And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God.
8: 28 And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.
8: 29 For whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren.
8: 30 Moreover whom he did predestinate, them he also called: and whom he called, them he also justified: and whom he justified, them he also glorified.
8: 31 What shall we then say to these things?
If God be for us, who can be against us?
8: 32 He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?
8: 33 Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God's elect?
It is God that justifieth.
8: 34 Who is he that condemneth?
It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us.
8: 35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?
shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?
8: 36 As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter.
8: 37 Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.
9: 1 I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, 9: 2 That I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart.
Amen.
9: 6 Not as though the word of God hath taken none effect.
For they are not all Israel, which are of Israel: 9: 7 Neither, because they are the seed of Abraham, are they all children: but, In Isaac shall thy seed be called.
9: 8 That is, They which are the children of the flesh, these are not the children of God: but the children of the promise are counted for the seed.
9: 9 For this is the word of promise, At this time will I come, and Sarah shall have a son.
9: 13 As it is written, Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated.
9: 14 What shall we say then?
Is there unrighteousness with God?
God forbid.
9: 15 For he saith to Moses, I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion.
9: 16 So then it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth mercy.
9: 17 For the scripture saith unto Pharaoh, Even for this same purpose have I raised thee up, that I might shew my power in thee, and that my name might be declared throughout all the earth.
9: 18 Therefore hath he mercy on whom he will have mercy, and whom he will he hardeneth.
9: 19 Thou wilt say then unto me, Why doth he yet find fault?
For who hath resisted his will?
9: 20 Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God?
Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus?
9: 21 Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?
9: 25 As he saith also in Osee, I will call them my people, which were not my people; and her beloved, which was not beloved.
9: 26 And it shall come to pass, that in the place where it was said unto them, Ye are not my people; there shall they be called the children of the living God.
9: 27 Esaias also crieth concerning Israel, Though the number of the children of Israel be as the sand of the sea, a remnant shall be saved: 9: 28 For he will finish the work, and cut it short in righteousness: because a short work will the Lord make upon the earth.
9: 29 And as Esaias said before, Except the Lord of Sabaoth had left us a seed, we had been as Sodoma, and been made like unto Gomorrha.
9: 30 What shall we say then?
That the Gentiles, which followed not after righteousness, have attained to righteousness, even the righteousness which is of faith.
9: 31 But Israel, which followed after the law of righteousness, hath not attained to the law of righteousness.
9: 32 Wherefore?
Because they sought it not by faith, but as it were by the works of the law.
For they stumbled at that stumblingstone; 9: 33 As it is written, Behold, I lay in Sion a stumblingstone and rock of offence: and whosoever believeth on him shall not be ashamed.
10: 1 Brethren, my heart's desire and prayer to God for Israel is, that they might be saved.
10: 2 For I bear them record that they have a zeal of God, but not according to knowledge.
10: 3 For they being ignorant of God's righteousness, and going about to establish their own righteousness, have not submitted themselves unto the righteousness of God.
10: 4 For Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to every one that believeth.
10: 5 For Moses describeth the righteousness which is of the law, That the man which doeth those things shall live by them.
10: 6 But the righteousness which is of faith speaketh on this wise, Say not in thine heart, Who shall ascend into heaven?
(that is, to bring Christ down from above:) 10: 7 Or, Who shall descend into the deep?
(that is, to bring up Christ again from the dead.)
10: 8 But what saith it?
The word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth, and in thy heart: that is, the word of faith, which we preach; 10: 9 That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.
10: 10 For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.
10: 11 For the scripture saith, Whosoever believeth on him shall not be ashamed.
10: 12 For there is no difference between the Jew and the Greek: for the same Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon him.
10: 13 For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.
10: 14 How then shall they call on him in whom they have not believed?
and how shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard?
and how shall they hear without a preacher?
10: 15 And how shall they preach, except they be sent?
as it is written, How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things!
10: 16 But they have not all obeyed the gospel.
For Esaias saith, Lord, who hath believed our report?
10: 17 So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.
10: 18 But I say, Have they not heard?
Yes verily, their sound went into all the earth, and their words unto the ends of the world.
10: 19 But I say, Did not Israel know?
First Moses saith, I will provoke you to jealousy by them that are no people, and by a foolish nation I will anger you.
10: 20 But Esaias is very bold, and saith, I was found of them that sought me not; I was made manifest unto them that asked not after me.
10: 21 But to Israel he saith, All day long I have stretched forth my hands unto a disobedient and gainsaying people.
11: 1 I say then, Hath God cast away his people?
God forbid.
For I also am an Israelite, of the seed of Abraham, of the tribe of Benjamin.
11: 2 God hath not cast away his people which he foreknew.
Wot ye not what the scripture saith of Elias?
how he maketh intercession to God against Israel saying, 11: 3 Lord, they have killed thy prophets, and digged down thine altars; and I am left alone, and they seek my life.
11: 4 But what saith the answer of God unto him?
I have reserved to myself seven thousand men, who have not bowed the knee to the image of Baal.
11: 5 Even so then at this present time also there is a remnant according to the election of grace.
11: 6 And if by grace, then is it no more of works: otherwise grace is no more grace.
But if it be of works, then it is no more grace: otherwise work is no more work.
11: 7 What then?
Israel hath not obtained that which he seeketh for; but the election hath obtained it, and the rest were blinded.
11: 8 (According as it is written, God hath given them the spirit of slumber, eyes that they should not see, and ears that they should not hear;) unto this day.
11: 9 And David saith, Let their table be made a snare, and a trap, and a stumblingblock, and a recompence unto them: 11: 10 Let their eyes be darkened, that they may not see, and bow down their back alway.
11: 11 I say then, Have they stumbled that they should fall?
God forbid: but rather through their fall salvation is come unto the Gentiles, for to provoke them to jealousy.
11: 12 Now if the fall of them be the riches of the world, and the diminishing of them the riches of the Gentiles; how much more their fulness?
11: 13 For I speak to you Gentiles, inasmuch as I am the apostle of the Gentiles, I magnify mine office: 11: 14 If by any means I may provoke to emulation them which are my flesh, and might save some of them.
11: 15 For if the casting away of them be the reconciling of the world, what shall the receiving of them be, but life from the dead?
11: 16 For if the firstfruit be holy, the lump is also holy: and if the root be holy, so are the branches.
11: 17 And if some of the branches be broken off, and thou, being a wild olive tree, wert graffed in among them, and with them partakest of the root and fatness of the olive tree; 11: 18 Boast not against the branches.
But if thou boast, thou bearest not the root, but the root thee.
11: 19 Thou wilt say then, The branches were broken off, that I might be graffed in.
11: 20 Well; because of unbelief they were broken off, and thou standest by faith.
Be not highminded, but fear: 11: 21 For if God spared not the natural branches, take heed lest he also spare not thee.
11: 22 Behold therefore the goodness and severity of God: on them which fell, severity; but toward thee, goodness, if thou continue in his goodness: otherwise thou also shalt be cut off.
11: 23 And they also, if they abide not still in unbelief, shall be graffed in: for God is able to graff them in again.
11: 24 For if thou wert cut out of the olive tree which is wild by nature, and wert graffed contrary to nature into a good olive tree: how much more shall these, which be the natural branches, be graffed into their own olive tree?
11: 25 For I would not, brethren, that ye should be ignorant of this mystery, lest ye should be wise in your own conceits; that blindness in part is happened to Israel, until the fulness of the Gentiles be come in.
11: 26 And so all Israel shall be saved: as it is written, There shall come out of Sion the Deliverer, and shall turn away ungodliness from Jacob: 11: 27 For this is my covenant unto them, when I shall take away their sins.
11: 28 As concerning the gospel, they are enemies for your sakes: but as touching the election, they are beloved for the father's sakes.
11: 29 For the gifts and calling of God are without repentance.
11: 30 For as ye in times past have not believed God, yet have now obtained mercy through their unbelief: 11: 31 Even so have these also now not believed, that through your mercy they also may obtain mercy.
11: 32 For God hath concluded them all in unbelief, that he might have mercy upon all.
11: 33 O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!
11: 34 For who hath known the mind of the Lord?
or who hath been his counsellor?
11: 35 Or who hath first given to him, and it shall be recompensed unto him again?
11: 36 For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory for ever.
Amen.
12: 1 I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.
12: 2 And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.
12: 3 For I say, through the grace given unto me, to every man that is among you, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think; but to think soberly, according as God hath dealt to every man the measure of faith.
12: 4 For as we have many members in one body, and all members have not the same office: 12: 5 So we, being many, are one body in Christ, and every one members one of another.
12: 9 Let love be without dissimulation.
Abhor that which is evil; cleave to that which is good.
12: 14 Bless them which persecute you: bless, and curse not.
12: 15 Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.
12: 16 Be of the same mind one toward another.
Mind not high things, but condescend to men of low estate.
Be not wise in your own conceits.
12: 17 Recompense to no man evil for evil.
Provide things honest in the sight of all men.
12: 18 If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men.
12: 19 Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.
12: 20 Therefore if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.
12: 21 Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.
13: 1 Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers.
For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God.
13: 2 Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation.
13: 3 For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to the evil.
Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power?
do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same: 13: 4 For he is the minister of God to thee for good.
But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.
13: 5 Wherefore ye must needs be subject, not only for wrath, but also for conscience sake.
13: 6 For for this cause pay ye tribute also: for they are God's ministers, attending continually upon this very thing.
13: 7 Render therefore to all their dues: tribute to whom tribute is due; custom to whom custom; fear to whom fear; honour to whom honour.
13: 8 Owe no man any thing, but to love one another: for he that loveth another hath fulfilled the law.
13: 10 Love worketh no ill to his neighbour: therefore love is the fulfilling of the law.
13: 11 And that, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed.
13: 12 The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light.
13: 13 Let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying.
13: 14 But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the lusts thereof.
14: 1 Him that is weak in the faith receive ye, but not to doubtful disputations.
14: 2 For one believeth that he may eat all things: another, who is weak, eateth herbs.
14: 3 Let not him that eateth despise him that eateth not; and let not him which eateth not judge him that eateth: for God hath received him.
14: 4 Who art thou that judgest another man's servant?
to his own master he standeth or falleth.
Yea, he shall be holden up: for God is able to make him stand.
14: 5 One man esteemeth one day above another: another esteemeth every day alike.
Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind.
14: 6 He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord; and he that regardeth not the day, to the Lord he doth not regard it.
He that eateth, eateth to the Lord, for he giveth God thanks; and he that eateth not, to the Lord he eateth not, and giveth God thanks.
14: 7 For none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself.
14: 8 For whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord: whether we live therefore, or die, we are the Lord's.
14: 9 For to this end Christ both died, and rose, and revived, that he might be Lord both of the dead and living.
14: 10 But why dost thou judge thy brother?
or why dost thou set at nought thy brother?
for we shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.
14: 11 For it is written, As I live, saith the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall confess to God.
14: 12 So then every one of us shall give account of himself to God.
14: 13 Let us not therefore judge one another any more: but judge this rather, that no man put a stumblingblock or an occasion to fall in his brother's way.
14: 14 I know, and am persuaded by the Lord Jesus, that there is nothing unclean of itself: but to him that esteemeth any thing to be unclean, to him it is unclean.
14: 15 But if thy brother be grieved with thy meat, now walkest thou not charitably.
Destroy not him with thy meat, for whom Christ died.
14: 16 Let not then your good be evil spoken of: 14: 17 For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink; but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.
14: 18 For he that in these things serveth Christ is acceptable to God, and approved of men.
14: 19 Let us therefore follow after the things which make for peace, and things wherewith one may edify another.
14: 20 For meat destroy not the work of God.
All things indeed are pure; but it is evil for that man who eateth with offence.
14: 21 It is good neither to eat flesh, nor to drink wine, nor any thing whereby thy brother stumbleth, or is offended, or is made weak.
14: 22 Hast thou faith?
have it to thyself before God.
Happy is he that condemneth not himself in that thing which he alloweth.
14: 23 And he that doubteth is damned if he eat, because he eateth not of faith: for whatsoever is not of faith is sin.
15: 1 We then that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves.
15: 2 Let every one of us please his neighbour for his good to edification.
15: 3 For even Christ pleased not himself; but, as it is written, The reproaches of them that reproached thee fell on me.
15: 4 For whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our learning, that we through patience and comfort of the scriptures might have hope.
15: 5 Now the God of patience and consolation grant you to be likeminded one toward another according to Christ Jesus: 15: 6 That ye may with one mind and one mouth glorify God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.
15: 7 Wherefore receive ye one another, as Christ also received us to the glory of God.
15: 10 And again he saith, Rejoice, ye Gentiles, with his people.
15: 11 And again, Praise the Lord, all ye Gentiles; and laud him, all ye people.
15: 12 And again, Esaias saith, There shall be a root of Jesse, and he that shall rise to reign over the Gentiles; in him shall the Gentiles trust.
15: 13 Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost.
15: 14 And I myself also am persuaded of you, my brethren, that ye also are full of goodness, filled with all knowledge, able also to admonish one another.
15: 17 I have therefore whereof I may glory through Jesus Christ in those things which pertain to God.
15: 20 Yea, so have I strived to preach the gospel, not where Christ was named, lest I should build upon another man's foundation: 15: 21 But as it is written, To whom he was not spoken of, they shall see: and they that have not heard shall understand.
15: 22 For which cause also I have been much hindered from coming to you.
15: 25 But now I go unto Jerusalem to minister unto the saints.
15: 26 For it hath pleased them of Macedonia and Achaia to make a certain contribution for the poor saints which are at Jerusalem.
15: 27 It hath pleased them verily; and their debtors they are.
For if the Gentiles have been made partakers of their spiritual things, their duty is also to minister unto them in carnal things.
15: 28 When therefore I have performed this, and have sealed to them this fruit, I will come by you into Spain.
15: 29 And I am sure that, when I come unto you, I shall come in the fulness of the blessing of the gospel of Christ.
15: 33 Now the God of peace be with you all.
Amen.
16: 3 Greet Priscilla and Aquila my helpers in Christ Jesus: 16: 4 Who have for my life laid down their own necks: unto whom not only I give thanks, but also all the churches of the Gentiles.
16: 5 Likewise greet the church that is in their house.
Salute my well - beloved Epaenetus, who is the firstfruits of Achaia unto Christ.
16: 6 Greet Mary, who bestowed much labour on us.
16: 7 Salute Andronicus and Junia, my kinsmen, and my fellow - prisoners, who are of note among the apostles, who also were in Christ before me.
16: 8 Greet Amplias my beloved in the Lord.
16: 9 Salute Urbane, our helper in Christ, and Stachys my beloved.
16: 10 Salute Apelles approved in Christ.
Salute them which are of Aristobulus'household.
16: 11 Salute Herodion my kinsman.
Greet them that be of the household of Narcissus, which are in the Lord.
16: 12 Salute Tryphena and Tryphosa, who labour in the Lord.
Salute the beloved Persis, which laboured much in the Lord.
16: 13 Salute Rufus chosen in the Lord, and his mother and mine.
16: 14 Salute Asyncritus, Phlegon, Hermas, Patrobas, Hermes, and the brethren which are with them.
16: 15 Salute Philologus, and Julia, Nereus, and his sister, and Olympas, and all the saints which are with them.
16: 16 Salute one another with an holy kiss.
The churches of Christ salute you.
16: 17 Now I beseech you, brethren, mark them which cause divisions and offences contrary to the doctrine which ye have learned; and avoid them.
16: 18 For they that are such serve not our Lord Jesus Christ, but their own belly; and by good words and fair speeches deceive the hearts of the simple.
16: 19 For your obedience is come abroad unto all men.
I am glad therefore on your behalf: but yet I would have you wise unto that which is good, and simple concerning evil.
16: 20 And the God of peace shall bruise Satan under your feet shortly.
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you.
Amen.
16: 21 Timotheus my workfellow, and Lucius, and Jason, and Sosipater, my kinsmen, salute you.
16: 22 I Tertius, who wrote this epistle, salute you in the Lord.
16: 23 Gaius mine host, and of the whole church, saluteth you.
Erastus the chamberlain of the city saluteth you, and Quartus a brother.
16: 24 The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.
Amen.
Amen.
The First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians
1: 9 God is faithful, by whom ye were called unto the fellowship of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord.
1: 10 Now I beseech you, brethren, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that ye all speak the same thing, and that there be no divisions among you; but that ye be perfectly joined together in the same mind and in the same judgment.
1: 11 For it hath been declared unto me of you, my brethren, by them which are of the house of Chloe, that there are contentions among you.
1: 12 Now this I say, that every one of you saith, I am of Paul; and I of Apollos; and I of Cephas; and I of Christ.
1: 13 Is Christ divided?
was Paul crucified for you?
or were ye baptized in the name of Paul?
1: 14 I thank God that I baptized none of you, but Crispus and Gaius; 1: 15 Lest any should say that I had baptized in mine own name.
1: 16 And I baptized also the household of Stephanas: besides, I know not whether I baptized any other.
1: 17 For Christ sent me not to baptize, but to preach the gospel: not with wisdom of words, lest the cross of Christ should be made of none effect.
1: 18 For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God.
1: 19 For it is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent.
1: 20 Where is the wise?
where is the scribe?
where is the disputer of this world?
hath not God made foolish the wisdom of this world?
1: 21 For after that in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom knew not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe.
1: 25 Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men.
1: 30 But of him are ye in Christ Jesus, who of God is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption: 1: 31 That, according as it is written, He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.
2: 1 And I, brethren, when I came to you, came not with excellency of speech or of wisdom, declaring unto you the testimony of God.
2: 2 For I determined not to know any thing among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified.
2: 3 And I was with you in weakness, and in fear, and in much trembling.
2: 4 And my speech and my preaching was not with enticing words of man's wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power: 2: 5 That your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God.
2: 9 But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.
2: 10 But God hath revealed them unto us by his Spirit: for the Spirit searcheth all things, yea, the deep things of God.
2: 11 For what man knoweth the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him?
even so the things of God knoweth no man, but the Spirit of God.
2: 12 Now we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the spirit which is of God; that we might know the things that are freely given to us of God.
2: 13 Which things also we speak, not in the words which man's wisdom teacheth, but which the Holy Ghost teacheth; comparing spiritual things with spiritual.
2: 14 But the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned.
2: 15 But he that is spiritual judgeth all things, yet he himself is judged of no man.
2: 16 For who hath known the mind of the Lord, that he may instruct him?
But we have the mind of Christ.
3: 1 And I, brethren, could not speak unto you as unto spiritual, but as unto carnal, even as unto babes in Christ.
3: 2 I have fed you with milk, and not with meat: for hitherto ye were not able to bear it, neither yet now are ye able.
3: 3 For ye are yet carnal: for whereas there is among you envying, and strife, and divisions, are ye not carnal, and walk as men?
3: 4 For while one saith, I am of Paul; and another, I am of Apollos; are ye not carnal?
3: 5 Who then is Paul, and who is Apollos, but ministers by whom ye believed, even as the Lord gave to every man?
3: 6 I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase.
3: 7 So then neither is he that planteth any thing, neither he that watereth; but God that giveth the increase.
3: 8 Now he that planteth and he that watereth are one: and every man shall receive his own reward according to his own labour.
3: 9 For we are labourers together with God: ye are God's husbandry, ye are God's building.
3: 10 According to the grace of God which is given unto me, as a wise masterbuilder, I have laid the foundation, and another buildeth thereon.
But let every man take heed how he buildeth thereupon.
3: 11 For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ.
3: 12 Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble; 3: 13 Every man's work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is.
3: 14 If any man's work abide which he hath built thereupon, he shall receive a reward.
3: 15 If any man's work shall be burned, he shall suffer loss: but he himself shall be saved; yet so as by fire.
3: 16 Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?
3: 17 If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy; for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are.
3: 18 Let no man deceive himself.
If any man among you seemeth to be wise in this world, let him become a fool, that he may be wise.
3: 19 For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God.
For it is written, He taketh the wise in their own craftiness.
3: 20 And again, The Lord knoweth the thoughts of the wise, that they are vain.
3: 21 Therefore let no man glory in men.
For all things are your's; 3: 22 Whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come; all are your's; 3: 23 And ye are Christ's; and Christ is God's.
4: 1 Let a man so account of us, as of the ministers of Christ, and stewards of the mysteries of God.
4: 2 Moreover it is required in stewards, that a man be found faithful.
4: 3 But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged of you, or of man's judgment: yea, I judge not mine own self.
4: 4 For I know nothing by myself; yet am I not hereby justified: but he that judgeth me is the Lord.
4: 5 Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord come, who both will bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and will make manifest the counsels of the hearts: and then shall every man have praise of God.
4: 6 And these things, brethren, I have in a figure transferred to myself and to Apollos for your sakes; that ye might learn in us not to think of men above that which is written, that no one of you be puffed up for one against another.
4: 7 For who maketh thee to differ from another?
and what hast thou that thou didst not receive?
now if thou didst receive it, why dost thou glory, as if thou hadst not received it?
4: 8 Now ye are full, now ye are rich, ye have reigned as kings without us: and I would to God ye did reign, that we also might reign with you.
4: 9 For I think that God hath set forth us the apostles last, as it were appointed to death: for we are made a spectacle unto the world, and to angels, and to men.
4: 10 We are fools for Christ's sake, but ye are wise in Christ; we are weak, but ye are strong; ye are honourable, but we are despised.
4: 14 I write not these things to shame you, but as my beloved sons I warn you.
4: 15 For though ye have ten thousand instructers in Christ, yet have ye not many fathers: for in Christ Jesus I have begotten you through the gospel.
4: 16 Wherefore I beseech you, be ye followers of me.
4: 17 For this cause have I sent unto you Timotheus, who is my beloved son, and faithful in the Lord, who shall bring you into remembrance of my ways which be in Christ, as I teach every where in every church.
4: 18 Now some are puffed up, as though I would not come to you.
4: 19 But I will come to you shortly, if the Lord will, and will know, not the speech of them which are puffed up, but the power.
4: 20 For the kingdom of God is not in word, but in power.
4: 21 What will ye?
shall I come unto you with a rod, or in love, and in the spirit of meekness?
5: 1 It is reported commonly that there is fornication among you, and such fornication as is not so much as named among the Gentiles, that one should have his father's wife.
5: 2 And ye are puffed up, and have not rather mourned, that he that hath done this deed might be taken away from among you.
5: 6 Your glorying is not good.
Know ye not that a little leaven leaveneth the whole lump?
5: 7 Purge out therefore the old leaven, that ye may be a new lump, as ye are unleavened.
For even Christ our passover is sacrificed for us: 5: 8 Therefore let us keep the feast, not with old leaven, neither with the leaven of malice and wickedness; but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth.
5: 9 I wrote unto you in an epistle not to company with fornicators: 5: 10 Yet not altogether with the fornicators of this world, or with the covetous, or extortioners, or with idolaters; for then must ye needs go out of the world.
5: 11 But now I have written unto you not to keep company, if any man that is called a brother be a fornicator, or covetous, or an idolater, or a railer, or a drunkard, or an extortioner; with such an one no not to eat.
5: 12 For what have I to do to judge them also that are without?
do not ye judge them that are within?
5: 13 But them that are without God judgeth.
Therefore put away from among yourselves that wicked person.
6: 1 Dare any of you, having a matter against another, go to law before the unjust, and not before the saints?
6: 2 Do ye not know that the saints shall judge the world?
and if the world shall be judged by you, are ye unworthy to judge the smallest matters?
6: 3 Know ye not that we shall judge angels?
how much more things that pertain to this life?
6: 4 If then ye have judgments of things pertaining to this life, set them to judge who are least esteemed in the church.
6: 5 I speak to your shame.
Is it so, that there is not a wise man among you?
no, not one that shall be able to judge between his brethren?
6: 6 But brother goeth to law with brother, and that before the unbelievers.
6: 7 Now therefore there is utterly a fault among you, because ye go to law one with another.
Why do ye not rather take wrong?
why do ye not rather suffer yourselves to be defrauded?
6: 8 Nay, ye do wrong, and defraud, and that your brethren.
6: 9 Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God?
Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind, 6: 10 Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.
6: 11 And such were some of you: but ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God.
6: 12 All things are lawful unto me, but all things are not expedient: all things are lawful for me, but I will not be brought under the power of any.
6: 13 Meats for the belly, and the belly for meats: but God shall destroy both it and them.
Now the body is not for fornication, but for the Lord; and the Lord for the body.
6: 14 And God hath both raised up the Lord, and will also raise up us by his own power.
6: 15 Know ye not that your bodies are the members of Christ?
shall I then take the members of Christ, and make them the members of an harlot?
God forbid.
6: 16 What?
know ye not that he which is joined to an harlot is one body?
for two, saith he, shall be one flesh.
6: 17 But he that is joined unto the Lord is one spirit.
6: 18 Flee fornication.
Every sin that a man doeth is without the body; but he that committeth fornication sinneth against his own body.
6: 19 What?
know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?
6: 20 For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God's.
7: 1 Now concerning the things whereof ye wrote unto me: It is good for a man not to touch a woman.
7: 2 Nevertheless, to avoid fornication, let every man have his own wife, and let every woman have her own husband.
7: 3 Let the husband render unto the wife due benevolence: and likewise also the wife unto the husband.
7: 4 The wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband: and likewise also the husband hath not power of his own body, but the wife.
7: 5 Defraud ye not one the other, except it be with consent for a time, that ye may give yourselves to fasting and prayer; and come together again, that Satan tempt you not for your incontinency.
7: 6 But I speak this by permission, and not of commandment.
7: 7 For I would that all men were even as I myself.
But every man hath his proper gift of God, one after this manner, and another after that.
7: 8 I say therefore to the unmarried and widows, It is good for them if they abide even as I.
7: 9 But if they cannot contain, let them marry: for it is better to marry than to burn.
7: 10 And unto the married I command, yet not I, but the Lord, Let not the wife depart from her husband: 7: 11 But and if she depart, let her remain unmarried or be reconciled to her husband: and let not the husband put away his wife.
7: 12 But to the rest speak I, not the Lord: If any brother hath a wife that believeth not, and she be pleased to dwell with him, let him not put her away.
7: 13 And the woman which hath an husband that believeth not, and if he be pleased to dwell with her, let her not leave him.
7: 14 For the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife, and the unbelieving wife is sanctified by the husband: else were your children unclean; but now are they holy.
7: 15 But if the unbelieving depart, let him depart.
A brother or a sister is not under bondage in such cases: but God hath called us to peace.
7: 16 For what knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thy husband?
or how knowest thou, O man, whether thou shalt save thy wife?
7: 17 But as God hath distributed to every man, as the Lord hath called every one, so let him walk.
And so ordain I in all churches.
7: 18 Is any man called being circumcised?
let him not become uncircumcised.
Is any called in uncircumcision?
let him not be circumcised.
7: 19 Circumcision is nothing, and uncircumcision is nothing, but the keeping of the commandments of God.
7: 20 Let every man abide in the same calling wherein he was called.
7: 21 Art thou called being a servant?
care not for it: but if thou mayest be made free, use it rather.
7: 22 For he that is called in the Lord, being a servant, is the Lord's freeman: likewise also he that is called, being free, is Christ's servant.
7: 23 Ye are bought with a price; be not ye the servants of men.
7: 24 Brethren, let every man, wherein he is called, therein abide with God.
7: 25 Now concerning virgins I have no commandment of the Lord: yet I give my judgment, as one that hath obtained mercy of the Lord to be faithful.
7: 26 I suppose therefore that this is good for the present distress, I say, that it is good for a man so to be.
7: 27 Art thou bound unto a wife?
seek not to be loosed.
Art thou loosed from a wife?
seek not a wife.
7: 28 But and if thou marry, thou hast not sinned; and if a virgin marry, she hath not sinned.
Nevertheless such shall have trouble in the flesh: but I spare you.
7: 32 But I would have you without carefulness.
He that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord: 7: 33 But he that is married careth for the things that are of the world, how he may please his wife.
7: 34 There is difference also between a wife and a virgin.
The unmarried woman careth for the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and in spirit: but she that is married careth for the things of the world, how she may please her husband.
7: 35 And this I speak for your own profit; not that I may cast a snare upon you, but for that which is comely, and that ye may attend upon the Lord without distraction.
7: 36 But if any man think that he behaveth himself uncomely toward his virgin, if she pass the flower of her age, and need so require, let him do what he will, he sinneth not: let them marry.
7: 37 Nevertheless he that standeth stedfast in his heart, having no necessity, but hath power over his own will, and hath so decreed in his heart that he will keep his virgin, doeth well.
7: 38 So then he that giveth her in marriage doeth well; but he that giveth her not in marriage doeth better.
7: 39 The wife is bound by the law as long as her husband liveth; but if her husband be dead, she is at liberty to be married to whom she will; only in the Lord.
7: 40 But she is happier if she so abide, after my judgment: and I think also that I have the Spirit of God.
8: 1 Now as touching things offered unto idols, we know that we all have knowledge.
Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth.
8: 2 And if any man think that he knoweth any thing, he knoweth nothing yet as he ought to know.
8: 3 But if any man love God, the same is known of him.
8: 4 As concerning therefore the eating of those things that are offered in sacrifice unto idols, we know that an idol is nothing in the world, and that there is none other God but one.
8: 5 For though there be that are called gods, whether in heaven or in earth, (as there be gods many, and lords many,) 8: 6 But to us there is but one God, the Father, of whom are all things, and we in him; and one Lord Jesus Christ, by whom are all things, and we by him.
8: 7 Howbeit there is not in every man that knowledge: for some with conscience of the idol unto this hour eat it as a thing offered unto an idol; and their conscience being weak is defiled.
8: 8 But meat commendeth us not to God: for neither, if we eat, are we the better; neither, if we eat not, are we the worse.
8: 9 But take heed lest by any means this liberty of your's become a stumblingblock to them that are weak.
8: 12 But when ye sin so against the brethren, and wound their weak conscience, ye sin against Christ.
8: 13 Wherefore, if meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh while the world standeth, lest I make my brother to offend.
9: 1 Am I not an apostle?
am I not free?
have I not seen Jesus Christ our Lord?
are not ye my work in the Lord?
9: 2 If I be not an apostle unto others, yet doubtless I am to you: for the seal of mine apostleship are ye in the Lord.
9: 3 Mine answer to them that do examine me is this, 9: 4 Have we not power to eat and to drink?
9: 5 Have we not power to lead about a sister, a wife, as well as other apostles, and as the brethren of the Lord, and Cephas?
9: 6 Or I only and Barnabas, have not we power to forbear working?
9: 7 Who goeth a warfare any time at his own charges?
who planteth a vineyard, and eateth not of the fruit thereof?
or who feedeth a flock, and eateth not of the milk of the flock?
9: 8 Say I these things as a man?
or saith not the law the same also?
9: 9 For it is written in the law of Moses, Thou shalt not muzzle the mouth of the ox that treadeth out the corn.
Doth God take care for oxen?
9: 10 Or saith he it altogether for our sakes?
For our sakes, no doubt, this is written: that he that ploweth should plow in hope; and that he that thresheth in hope should be partaker of his hope.
9: 11 If we have sown unto you spiritual things, is it a great thing if we shall reap your carnal things?
9: 12 If others be partakers of this power over you, are not we rather?
Nevertheless we have not used this power; but suffer all things, lest we should hinder the gospel of Christ.
9: 13 Do ye not know that they which minister about holy things live of the things of the temple?
and they which wait at the altar are partakers with the altar?
9: 14 Even so hath the Lord ordained that they which preach the gospel should live of the gospel.
9: 15 But I have used none of these things: neither have I written these things, that it should be so done unto me: for it were better for me to die, than that any man should make my glorying void.
9: 16 For though I preach the gospel, I have nothing to glory of: for necessity is laid upon me; yea, woe is unto me, if I preach not the gospel!
9: 17 For if I do this thing willingly, I have a reward: but if against my will, a dispensation of the gospel is committed unto me.
9: 18 What is my reward then?
Verily that, when I preach the gospel, I may make the gospel of Christ without charge, that I abuse not my power in the gospel.
9: 19 For though I be free from all men, yet have I made myself servant unto all, that I might gain the more.
9: 22 To the weak became I as weak, that I might gain the weak: I am made all things to all men, that I might by all means save some.
9: 23 And this I do for the gospel's sake, that I might be partaker thereof with you.
9: 24 Know ye not that they which run in a race run all, but one receiveth the prize?
So run, that ye may obtain.
9: 25 And every man that striveth for the mastery is temperate in all things.
Now they do it to obtain a corruptible crown; but we an incorruptible.
9: 26 I therefore so run, not as uncertainly; so fight I, not as one that beateth the air: 9: 27 But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection: lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway.
10: 5 But with many of them God was not well pleased: for they were overthrown in the wilderness.
10: 6 Now these things were our examples, to the intent we should not lust after evil things, as they also lusted.
10: 7 Neither be ye idolaters, as were some of them; as it is written, The people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to play.
10: 8 Neither let us commit fornication, as some of them committed, and fell in one day three and twenty thousand.
10: 9 Neither let us tempt Christ, as some of them also tempted, and were destroyed of serpents.
10: 10 Neither murmur ye, as some of them also murmured, and were destroyed of the destroyer.
10: 11 Now all these things happened unto them for ensamples: and they are written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the world are come.
10: 12 Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.
10: 13 There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.
10: 14 Wherefore, my dearly beloved, flee from idolatry.
10: 15 I speak as to wise men; judge ye what I say.
10: 16 The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ?
The bread which we break, is it not the communion of the body of Christ?
10: 17 For we being many are one bread, and one body: for we are all partakers of that one bread.
10: 18 Behold Israel after the flesh: are not they which eat of the sacrifices partakers of the altar?
10: 19 What say I then?
that the idol is any thing, or that which is offered in sacrifice to idols is any thing?
10: 20 But I say, that the things which the Gentiles sacrifice, they sacrifice to devils, and not to God: and I would not that ye should have fellowship with devils.
10: 21 Ye cannot drink the cup of the Lord, and the cup of devils: ye cannot be partakers of the Lord's table, and of the table of devils.
10: 22 Do we provoke the Lord to jealousy?
are we stronger than he?
10: 23 All things are lawful for me, but all things are not expedient: all things are lawful for me, but all things edify not.
10: 24 Let no man seek his own, but every man another's wealth.
10: 25 Whatsoever is sold in the shambles, that eat, asking no question for conscience sake: 10: 26 For the earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof.
10: 27 If any of them that believe not bid you to a feast, and ye be disposed to go; whatsoever is set before you, eat, asking no question for conscience sake.
10: 30 For if I by grace be a partaker, why am I evil spoken of for that for which I give thanks?
10: 31 Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.
10: 32 Give none offence, neither to the Jews, nor to the Gentiles, nor to the church of God: 10: 33 Even as I please all men in all things, not seeking mine own profit, but the profit of many, that they may be saved.
11: 1 Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ.
11: 2 Now I praise you, brethren, that ye remember me in all things, and keep the ordinances, as I delivered them to you.
11: 3 But I would have you know, that the head of every man is Christ; and the head of the woman is the man; and the head of Christ is God.
11: 4 Every man praying or prophesying, having his head covered, dishonoureth his head.
11: 5 But every woman that prayeth or prophesieth with her head uncovered dishonoureth her head: for that is even all one as if she were shaven.
11: 6 For if the woman be not covered, let her also be shorn: but if it be a shame for a woman to be shorn or shaven, let her be covered.
11: 7 For a man indeed ought not to cover his head, forasmuch as he is the image and glory of God: but the woman is the glory of the man.
11: 8 For the man is not of the woman: but the woman of the man.
11: 9 Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man.
11: 10 For this cause ought the woman to have power on her head because of the angels.
11: 11 Nevertheless neither is the man without the woman, neither the woman without the man, in the Lord.
11: 12 For as the woman is of the man, even so is the man also by the woman; but all things of God.
11: 13 Judge in yourselves: is it comely that a woman pray unto God uncovered?
11: 14 Doth not even nature itself teach you, that, if a man have long hair, it is a shame unto him?
11: 15 But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering.
11: 16 But if any man seem to be contentious, we have no such custom, neither the churches of God.
11: 17 Now in this that I declare unto you I praise you not, that ye come together not for the better, but for the worse.
11: 18 For first of all, when ye come together in the church, I hear that there be divisions among you; and I partly believe it.
11: 19 For there must be also heresies among you, that they which are approved may be made manifest among you.
11: 20 When ye come together therefore into one place, this is not to eat the Lord's supper.
11: 21 For in eating every one taketh before other his own supper: and one is hungry, and another is drunken.
11: 22 What?
have ye not houses to eat and to drink in?
or despise ye the church of God, and shame them that have not?
What shall I say to you?
shall I praise you in this?
I praise you not.
11: 25 After the same manner also he took the cup, when he had supped, saying, This cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me.
11: 26 For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do shew the Lord's death till he come.
11: 27 Wherefore whosoever shall eat this bread, and drink this cup of the Lord, unworthily, shall be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord.
11: 28 But let a man examine himself, and so let him eat of that bread, and drink of that cup.
11: 29 For he that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself, not discerning the Lord's body.
11: 30 For this cause many are weak and sickly among you, and many sleep.
11: 31 For if we would judge ourselves, we should not be judged.
11: 32 But when we are judged, we are chastened of the Lord, that we should not be condemned with the world.
11: 33 Wherefore, my brethren, when ye come together to eat, tarry one for another.
11: 34 And if any man hunger, let him eat at home; that ye come not together unto condemnation.
And the rest will I set in order when I come.
12: 1 Now concerning spiritual gifts, brethren, I would not have you ignorant.
12: 2 Ye know that ye were Gentiles, carried away unto these dumb idols, even as ye were led.
12: 3 Wherefore I give you to understand, that no man speaking by the Spirit of God calleth Jesus accursed: and that no man can say that Jesus is the Lord, but by the Holy Ghost.
12: 4 Now there are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit.
12: 5 And there are differences of administrations, but the same Lord.
12: 6 And there are diversities of operations, but it is the same God which worketh all in all.
12: 7 But the manifestation of the Spirit is given to every man to profit withal.
12: 12 For as the body is one, and hath many members, and all the members of that one body, being many, are one body: so also is Christ.
12: 13 For by one Spirit are we all baptized into one body, whether we be Jews or Gentiles, whether we be bond or free; and have been all made to drink into one Spirit.
12: 14 For the body is not one member, but many.
12: 15 If the foot shall say, Because I am not the hand, I am not of the body; is it therefore not of the body?
12: 16 And if the ear shall say, Because I am not the eye, I am not of the body; is it therefore not of the body?
12: 17 If the whole body were an eye, where were the hearing?
If the whole were hearing, where were the smelling?
12: 18 But now hath God set the members every one of them in the body, as it hath pleased him.
12: 19 And if they were all one member, where were the body?
12: 20 But now are they many members, yet but one body.
12: 21 And the eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee: nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of you.
12: 22 Nay, much more those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary: 12: 23 And those members of the body, which we think to be less honourable, upon these we bestow more abundant honour; and our uncomely parts have more abundant comeliness.
12: 24 For our comely parts have no need: but God hath tempered the body together, having given more abundant honour to that part which lacked.
12: 25 That there should be no schism in the body; but that the members should have the same care one for another.
12: 26 And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it; or one member be honoured, all the members rejoice with it.
12: 27 Now ye are the body of Christ, and members in particular.
12: 28 And God hath set some in the church, first apostles, secondarily prophets, thirdly teachers, after that miracles, then gifts of healings, helps, governments, diversities of tongues.
12: 29 Are all apostles?
are all prophets?
are all teachers?
are all workers of miracles?
12: 30 Have all the gifts of healing?
do all speak with tongues?
do all interpret?
12: 31 But covet earnestly the best gifts: and yet shew I unto you a more excellent way.
13: 1 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
13: 2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
13: 3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
13: 8 Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.
13: 9 For we know in part, and we prophesy in part.
13: 10 But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.
13: 11 When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
13: 12 For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.
13: 13 And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.
14: 1 Follow after charity, and desire spiritual gifts, but rather that ye may prophesy.
14: 2 For he that speaketh in an unknown tongue speaketh not unto men, but unto God: for no man understandeth him; howbeit in the spirit he speaketh mysteries.
14: 3 But he that prophesieth speaketh unto men to edification, and exhortation, and comfort.
14: 4 He that speaketh in an unknown tongue edifieth himself; but he that prophesieth edifieth the church.
14: 5 I would that ye all spake with tongues but rather that ye prophesied: for greater is he that prophesieth than he that speaketh with tongues, except he interpret, that the church may receive edifying.
14: 6 Now, brethren, if I come unto you speaking with tongues, what shall I profit you, except I shall speak to you either by revelation, or by knowledge, or by prophesying, or by doctrine?
14: 7 And even things without life giving sound, whether pipe or harp, except they give a distinction in the sounds, how shall it be known what is piped or harped?
14: 8 For if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?
14: 9 So likewise ye, except ye utter by the tongue words easy to be understood, how shall it be known what is spoken?
for ye shall speak into the air.
14: 10 There are, it may be, so many kinds of voices in the world, and none of them is without signification.
14: 11 Therefore if I know not the meaning of the voice, I shall be unto him that speaketh a barbarian, and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto me.
14: 12 Even so ye, forasmuch as ye are zealous of spiritual gifts, seek that ye may excel to the edifying of the church.
14: 13 Wherefore let him that speaketh in an unknown tongue pray that he may interpret.
14: 14 For if I pray in an unknown tongue, my spirit prayeth, but my understanding is unfruitful.
14: 15 What is it then?
I will pray with the spirit, and I will pray with the understanding also: I will sing with the spirit, and I will sing with the understanding also.
14: 16 Else when thou shalt bless with the spirit, how shall he that occupieth the room of the unlearned say Amen at thy giving of thanks, seeing he understandeth not what thou sayest?
14: 17 For thou verily givest thanks well, but the other is not edified.
14: 18 I thank my God, I speak with tongues more than ye all: 14: 19 Yet in the church I had rather speak five words with my understanding, that by my voice I might teach others also, than ten thousand words in an unknown tongue.
14: 20 Brethren, be not children in understanding: howbeit in malice be ye children, but in understanding be men.
14: 21 In the law it is written, With men of other tongues and other lips will I speak unto this people; and yet for all that will they not hear me, saith the LORD.
14: 22 Wherefore tongues are for a sign, not to them that believe, but to them that believe not: but prophesying serveth not for them that believe not, but for them which believe.
14: 23 If therefore the whole church be come together into one place, and all speak with tongues, and there come in those that are unlearned, or unbelievers, will they not say that ye are mad?
14: 26 How is it then, brethren?
when ye come together, every one of you hath a psalm, hath a doctrine, hath a tongue, hath a revelation, hath an interpretation.
Let all things be done unto edifying.
14: 27 If any man speak in an unknown tongue, let it be by two, or at the most by three, and that by course; and let one interpret.
14: 28 But if there be no interpreter, let him keep silence in the church; and let him speak to himself, and to God.
14: 29 Let the prophets speak two or three, and let the other judge.
14: 30 If any thing be revealed to another that sitteth by, let the first hold his peace.
14: 31 For ye may all prophesy one by one, that all may learn, and all may be comforted.
14: 32 And the spirits of the prophets are subject to the prophets.
14: 33 For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace, as in all churches of the saints.
14: 34 Let your women keep silence in the churches: for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience as also saith the law.
14: 35 And if they will learn any thing, let them ask their husbands at home: for it is a shame for women to speak in the church.
14: 36 What?
came the word of God out from you?
or came it unto you only?
14: 37 If any man think himself to be a prophet, or spiritual, let him acknowledge that the things that I write unto you are the commandments of the Lord.
14: 38 But if any man be ignorant, let him be ignorant.
14: 39 Wherefore, brethren, covet to prophesy, and forbid not to speak with tongues.
14: 40 Let all things be done decently and in order.
15: 1 Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel which I preached unto you, which also ye have received, and wherein ye stand; 15: 2 By which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have believed in vain.
15: 7 After that, he was seen of James; then of all the apostles.
15: 8 And last of all he was seen of me also, as of one born out of due time.
15: 9 For I am the least of the apostles, that am not meet to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.
15: 10 But by the grace of God I am what I am: and his grace which was bestowed upon me was not in vain; but I laboured more abundantly than they all: yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me.
15: 11 Therefore whether it were I or they, so we preach, and so ye believed.
15: 12 Now if Christ be preached that he rose from the dead, how say some among you that there is no resurrection of the dead?
15: 13 But if there be no resurrection of the dead, then is Christ not risen: 15: 14 And if Christ be not risen, then is our preaching vain, and your faith is also vain.
15: 15 Yea, and we are found false witnesses of God; because we have testified of God that he raised up Christ: whom he raised not up, if so be that the dead rise not.
15: 16 For if the dead rise not, then is not Christ raised: 15: 17 And if Christ be not raised, your faith is vain; ye are yet in your sins.
15: 18 Then they also which are fallen asleep in Christ are perished.
15: 19 If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.
15: 20 But now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the firstfruits of them that slept.
15: 21 For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead.
15: 22 For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.
15: 23 But every man in his own order: Christ the firstfruits; afterward they that are Christ's at his coming.
15: 24 Then cometh the end, when he shall have delivered up the kingdom to God, even the Father; when he shall have put down all rule and all authority and power.
15: 25 For he must reign, till he hath put all enemies under his feet.
15: 26 The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
15: 27 For he hath put all things under his feet.
But when he saith all things are put under him, it is manifest that he is excepted, which did put all things under him.
15: 28 And when all things shall be subdued unto him, then shall the Son also himself be subject unto him that put all things under him, that God may be all in all.
15: 29 Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all?
why are they then baptized for the dead?
15: 30 And why stand we in jeopardy every hour?
15: 31 I protest by your rejoicing which I have in Christ Jesus our LORD, I die daily.
15: 32 If after the manner of men I have fought with beasts at Ephesus, what advantageth it me, if the dead rise not?
let us eat and drink; for to morrow we die.
15: 33 Be not deceived: evil communications corrupt good manners.
15: 34 Awake to righteousness, and sin not; for some have not the knowledge of God: I speak this to your shame.
15: 35 But some man will say, How are the dead raised up?
and with what body do they come?
15: 39 All flesh is not the same flesh: but there is one kind of flesh of men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and another of birds.
15: 40 There are also celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial: but the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another.
15: 41 There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars: for one star differeth from another star in glory.
15: 42 So also is the resurrection of the dead.
It is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: 15: 43 It is sown in dishonour; it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power: 15: 44 It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body.
There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body.
15: 45 And so it is written, The first man Adam was made a living soul; the last Adam was made a quickening spirit.
15: 46 Howbeit that was not first which is spiritual, but that which is natural; and afterward that which is spiritual.
15: 47 The first man is of the earth, earthy; the second man is the Lord from heaven.
15: 48 As is the earthy, such are they also that are earthy: and as is the heavenly, such are they also that are heavenly.
15: 49 And as we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly.
15: 50 Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit incorruption.
15: 51 Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, 15: 52 In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.
15: 53 For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.
15: 54 So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory.
15: 55 O death, where is thy sting?
O grave, where is thy victory?
15: 56 The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law.
15: 57 But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
15: 58 Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.
16: 1 Now concerning the collection for the saints, as I have given order to the churches of Galatia, even so do ye.
16: 2 Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I come.
16: 3 And when I come, whomsoever ye shall approve by your letters, them will I send to bring your liberality unto Jerusalem.
16: 4 And if it be meet that I go also, they shall go with me.
16: 5 Now I will come unto you, when I shall pass through Macedonia: for I do pass through Macedonia.
16: 6 And it may be that I will abide, yea, and winter with you, that ye may bring me on my journey whithersoever I go.
16: 7 For I will not see you now by the way; but I trust to tarry a while with you, if the Lord permit.
16: 8 But I will tarry at Ephesus until Pentecost.
16: 9 For a great door and effectual is opened unto me, and there are many adversaries.
16: 10 Now if Timotheus come, see that he may be with you without fear: for he worketh the work of the Lord, as I also do.
16: 11 Let no man therefore despise him: but conduct him forth in peace, that he may come unto me: for I look for him with the brethren.
16: 12 As touching our brother Apollos, I greatly desired him to come unto you with the brethren: but his will was not at all to come at this time; but he will come when he shall have convenient time.
16: 13 Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong.
16: 14 Let all your things be done with charity.
16: 15 I beseech you, brethren, (ye know the house of Stephanas, that it is the firstfruits of Achaia, and that they have addicted themselves to the ministry of the saints,) 16: 16 That ye submit yourselves unto such, and to every one that helpeth with us, and laboureth.
16: 17 I am glad of the coming of Stephanas and Fortunatus and Achaicus: for that which was lacking on your part they have supplied.
16: 18 For they have refreshed my spirit and your's: therefore acknowledge ye them that are such.
16: 19 The churches of Asia salute you.
Aquila and Priscilla salute you much in the Lord, with the church that is in their house.
16: 20 All the brethren greet you.
Greet ye one another with an holy kiss.
16: 21 The salutation of me Paul with mine own hand.
16: 22 If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be Anathema Maranatha.
16: 23 The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you.
16: 24 My love be with you all in Christ Jesus.
Amen.
The Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians
1: 1 Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, and Timothy our brother, unto the church of God which is at Corinth, with all the saints which are in all Achaia: 1: 2 Grace be to you and peace from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.
1: 5 For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ.
1: 6 And whether we be afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation, which is effectual in the enduring of the same sufferings which we also suffer: or whether we be comforted, it is for your consolation and salvation.
1: 7 And our hope of you is stedfast, knowing, that as ye are partakers of the sufferings, so shall ye be also of the consolation.
1: 12 For our rejoicing is this, the testimony of our conscience, that in simplicity and godly sincerity, not with fleshly wisdom, but by the grace of God, we have had our conversation in the world, and more abundantly to you - ward.
1: 13 For we write none other things unto you, than what ye read or acknowledge; and I trust ye shall acknowledge even to the end; 1: 14 As also ye have acknowledged us in part, that we are your rejoicing, even as ye also are our's in the day of the Lord Jesus.
1: 15 And in this confidence I was minded to come unto you before, that ye might have a second benefit; 1: 16 And to pass by you into Macedonia, and to come again out of Macedonia unto you, and of you to be brought on my way toward Judaea.
1: 17 When I therefore was thus minded, did I use lightness?
or the things that I purpose, do I purpose according to the flesh, that with me there should be yea yea, and nay nay?
1: 18 But as God is true, our word toward you was not yea and nay.
1: 19 For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, who was preached among you by us, even by me and Silvanus and Timotheus, was not yea and nay, but in him was yea.
1: 20 For all the promises of God in him are yea, and in him Amen, unto the glory of God by us.
1: 21 Now he which stablisheth us with you in Christ, and hath anointed us, is God; 1: 22 Who hath also sealed us, and given the earnest of the Spirit in our hearts.
1: 23 Moreover I call God for a record upon my soul, that to spare you I came not as yet unto Corinth.
1: 24 Not for that we have dominion over your faith, but are helpers of your joy: for by faith ye stand.
2: 1 But I determined this with myself, that I would not come again to you in heaviness.
2: 2 For if I make you sorry, who is he then that maketh me glad, but the same which is made sorry by me?
2: 3 And I wrote this same unto you, lest, when I came, I should have sorrow from them of whom I ought to rejoice; having confidence in you all, that my joy is the joy of you all.
2: 4 For out of much affliction and anguish of heart I wrote unto you with many tears; not that ye should be grieved, but that ye might know the love which I have more abundantly unto you.
2: 5 But if any have caused grief, he hath not grieved me, but in part: that I may not overcharge you all.
2: 6 Sufficient to such a man is this punishment, which was inflicted of many.
2: 7 So that contrariwise ye ought rather to forgive him, and comfort him, lest perhaps such a one should be swallowed up with overmuch sorrow.
2: 8 Wherefore I beseech you that ye would confirm your love toward him.
2: 9 For to this end also did I write, that I might know the proof of you, whether ye be obedient in all things.
2: 10 To whom ye forgive any thing, I forgive also: for if I forgave any thing, to whom I forgave it, for your sakes forgave I it in the person of Christ; 2: 11 Lest Satan should get an advantage of us: for we are not ignorant of his devices.
2: 12 Furthermore, when I came to Troas to preach Christ's gospel, and a door was opened unto me of the Lord, 2: 13 I had no rest in my spirit, because I found not Titus my brother: but taking my leave of them, I went from thence into Macedonia.
2: 14 Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ, and maketh manifest the savour of his knowledge by us in every place.
2: 15 For we are unto God a sweet savour of Christ, in them that are saved, and in them that perish: 2: 16 To the one we are the savour of death unto death; and to the other the savour of life unto life.
And who is sufficient for these things?
2: 17 For we are not as many, which corrupt the word of God: but as of sincerity, but as of God, in the sight of God speak we in Christ.
3: 1 Do we begin again to commend ourselves?
or need we, as some others, epistles of commendation to you, or letters of commendation from you?
3: 9 For if the ministration of condemnation be glory, much more doth the ministration of righteousness exceed in glory.
3: 10 For even that which was made glorious had no glory in this respect, by reason of the glory that excelleth.
3: 11 For if that which is done away was glorious, much more that which remaineth is glorious.
3: 15 But even unto this day, when Moses is read, the vail is upon their heart.
3: 16 Nevertheless when it shall turn to the Lord, the vail shall be taken away.
3: 17 Now the Lord is that Spirit: and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.
3: 18 But we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the LORD.
4: 3 But if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost: 4: 4 In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them.
4: 5 For we preach not ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord; and ourselves your servants for Jesus'sake.
4: 6 For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.
4: 7 But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.
4: 11 For we which live are alway delivered unto death for Jesus'sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal flesh.
4: 12 So then death worketh in us, but life in you.
4: 13 We having the same spirit of faith, according as it is written, I believed, and therefore have I spoken; we also believe, and therefore speak; 4: 14 Knowing that he which raised up the Lord Jesus shall raise up us also by Jesus, and shall present us with you.
4: 15 For all things are for your sakes, that the abundant grace might through the thanksgiving of many redound to the glory of God.
4: 16 For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.
5: 1 For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
5: 2 For in this we groan, earnestly desiring to be clothed upon with our house which is from heaven: 5: 3 If so be that being clothed we shall not be found naked.
5: 4 For we that are in this tabernacle do groan, being burdened: not for that we would be unclothed, but clothed upon, that mortality might be swallowed up of life.
5: 5 Now he that hath wrought us for the selfsame thing is God, who also hath given unto us the earnest of the Spirit.
5: 6 Therefore we are always confident, knowing that, whilst we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord: 5: 7 (For we walk by faith, not by sight:) 5: 8 We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.
5: 9 Wherefore we labour, that, whether present or absent, we may be accepted of him.
5: 10 For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.
5: 11 Knowing therefore the terror of the Lord, we persuade men; but we are made manifest unto God; and I trust also are made manifest in your consciences.
5: 12 For we commend not ourselves again unto you, but give you occasion to glory on our behalf, that ye may have somewhat to answer them which glory in appearance, and not in heart.
5: 13 For whether we be beside ourselves, it is to God: or whether we be sober, it is for your cause.
5: 14 For the love of Christ constraineth us; because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were all dead: 5: 15 And that he died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him which died for them, and rose again.
5: 16 Wherefore henceforth know we no man after the flesh: yea, though we have known Christ after the flesh, yet now henceforth know we him no more.
5: 17 Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.
5: 20 Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God.
5: 21 For he hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in him.
6: 1 We then, as workers together with him, beseech you also that ye receive not the grace of God in vain.
6: 2 (For he saith, I have heard thee in a time accepted, and in the day of salvation have I succoured thee: behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.)
6: 11 O ye Corinthians, our mouth is open unto you, our heart is enlarged.
6: 12 Ye are not straitened in us, but ye are straitened in your own bowels.
6: 13 Now for a recompence in the same, (I speak as unto my children,) be ye also enlarged.
6: 14 Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness?
and what communion hath light with darkness?
6: 15 And what concord hath Christ with Belial?
or what part hath he that believeth with an infidel?
6: 16 And what agreement hath the temple of God with idols?
for ye are the temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them, and walk in them; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.
6: 17 Wherefore come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you.
6: 18 And will be a Father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the Lord Almighty.
7: 1 Having therefore these promises, dearly beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from all filthiness of the flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God.
7: 2 Receive us; we have wronged no man, we have corrupted no man, we have defrauded no man.
7: 3 I speak not this to condemn you: for I have said before, that ye are in our hearts to die and live with you.
7: 4 Great is my boldness of speech toward you, great is my glorying of you: I am filled with comfort, I am exceeding joyful in all our tribulation.
7: 5 For, when we were come into Macedonia, our flesh had no rest, but we were troubled on every side; without were fightings, within were fears.
7: 8 For though I made you sorry with a letter, I do not repent, though I did repent: for I perceive that the same epistle hath made you sorry, though it were but for a season.
7: 9 Now I rejoice, not that ye were made sorry, but that ye sorrowed to repentance: for ye were made sorry after a godly manner, that ye might receive damage by us in nothing.
7: 10 For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death.
7: 11 For behold this selfsame thing, that ye sorrowed after a godly sort, what carefulness it wrought in you, yea, what clearing of yourselves, yea, what indignation, yea, what fear, yea, what vehement desire, yea, what zeal, yea, what revenge!
In all things ye have approved yourselves to be clear in this matter.
7: 12 Wherefore, though I wrote unto you, I did it not for his cause that had done the wrong, nor for his cause that suffered wrong, but that our care for you in the sight of God might appear unto you.
7: 13 Therefore we were comforted in your comfort: yea, and exceedingly the more joyed we for the joy of Titus, because his spirit was refreshed by you all.
7: 14 For if I have boasted any thing to him of you, I am not ashamed; but as we spake all things to you in truth, even so our boasting, which I made before Titus, is found a truth.
7: 15 And his inward affection is more abundant toward you, whilst he remembereth the obedience of you all, how with fear and trembling ye received him.
7: 16 I rejoice therefore that I have confidence in you in all things.
8: 1 Moreover, brethren, we do you to wit of the grace of God bestowed on the churches of Macedonia; 8: 2 How that in a great trial of affliction the abundance of their joy and their deep poverty abounded unto the riches of their liberality.
8: 3 For to their power, I bear record, yea, and beyond their power they were willing of themselves; 8: 4 Praying us with much intreaty that we would receive the gift, and take upon us the fellowship of the ministering to the saints.
8: 5 And this they did, not as we hoped, but first gave their own selves to the Lord, and unto us by the will of God.
8: 6 Insomuch that we desired Titus, that as he had begun, so he would also finish in you the same grace also.
8: 7 Therefore, as ye abound in every thing, in faith, and utterance, and knowledge, and in all diligence, and in your love to us, see that ye abound in this grace also.
8: 8 I speak not by commandment, but by occasion of the forwardness of others, and to prove the sincerity of your love.
8: 9 For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty might be rich.
8: 10 And herein I give my advice: for this is expedient for you, who have begun before, not only to do, but also to be forward a year ago.
8: 11 Now therefore perform the doing of it; that as there was a readiness to will, so there may be a performance also out of that which ye have.
8: 12 For if there be first a willing mind, it is accepted according to that a man hath, and not according to that he hath not.
8: 16 But thanks be to God, which put the same earnest care into the heart of Titus for you.
8: 17 For indeed he accepted the exhortation; but being more forward, of his own accord he went unto you.
8: 22 And we have sent with them our brother, whom we have oftentimes proved diligent in many things, but now much more diligent, upon the great confidence which I have in you.
8: 23 Whether any do enquire of Titus, he is my partner and fellowhelper concerning you: or our brethren be enquired of, they are the messengers of the churches, and the glory of Christ.
8: 24 Wherefore shew ye to them, and before the churches, the proof of your love, and of our boasting on your behalf.
9: 1 For as touching the ministering to the saints, it is superfluous for me to write to you: 9: 2 For I know the forwardness of your mind, for which I boast of you to them of Macedonia, that Achaia was ready a year ago; and your zeal hath provoked very many.
9: 5 Therefore I thought it necessary to exhort the brethren, that they would go before unto you, and make up beforehand your bounty, whereof ye had notice before, that the same might be ready, as a matter of bounty, and not as of covetousness.
9: 6 But this I say, He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully.
9: 7 Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him give; not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a cheerful giver.
9: 8 And God is able to make all grace abound toward you; that ye, always having all sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work: 9: 9 (As it is written, He hath dispersed abroad; he hath given to the poor: his righteousness remaineth for ever.
9: 10 Now he that ministereth seed to the sower both minister bread for your food, and multiply your seed sown, and increase the fruits of your righteousness;) 9: 11 Being enriched in every thing to all bountifulness, which causeth through us thanksgiving to God.
9: 15 Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift.
10: 7 Do ye look on things after the outward appearance?
If any man trust to himself that he is Christ's, let him of himself think this again, that, as he is Christ's, even so are we Christ's.
10: 8 For though I should boast somewhat more of our authority, which the Lord hath given us for edification, and not for your destruction, I should not be ashamed: 10: 9 That I may not seem as if I would terrify you by letters.
10: 10 For his letters, say they, are weighty and powerful; but his bodily presence is weak, and his speech contemptible.
10: 11 Let such an one think this, that, such as we are in word by letters when we are absent, such will we be also in deed when we are present.
10: 12 For we dare not make ourselves of the number, or compare ourselves with some that commend themselves: but they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise.
10: 13 But we will not boast of things without our measure, but according to the measure of the rule which God hath distributed to us, a measure to reach even unto you.
10: 17 But he that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.
10: 18 For not he that commendeth himself is approved, but whom the Lord commendeth.
11: 1 Would to God ye could bear with me a little in my folly: and indeed bear with me.
11: 2 For I am jealous over you with godly jealousy: for I have espoused you to one husband, that I may present you as a chaste virgin to Christ.
11: 3 But I fear, lest by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtilty, so your minds should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ.
11: 4 For if he that cometh preacheth another Jesus, whom we have not preached, or if ye receive another spirit, which ye have not received, or another gospel, which ye have not accepted, ye might well bear with him.
11: 5 For I suppose I was not a whit behind the very chiefest apostles.
11: 6 But though I be rude in speech, yet not in knowledge; but we have been throughly made manifest among you in all things.
11: 7 Have I committed an offence in abasing myself that ye might be exalted, because I have preached to you the gospel of God freely?
11: 8 I robbed other churches, taking wages of them, to do you service.
11: 9 And when I was present with you, and wanted, I was chargeable to no man: for that which was lacking to me the brethren which came from Macedonia supplied: and in all things I have kept myself from being burdensome unto you, and so will I keep myself.
11: 10 As the truth of Christ is in me, no man shall stop me of this boasting in the regions of Achaia.
11: 11 Wherefore?
because I love you not?
God knoweth.
11: 12 But what I do, that I will do, that I may cut off occasion from them which desire occasion; that wherein they glory, they may be found even as we.
11: 13 For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ.
11: 14 And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.
11: 15 Therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also be transformed as the ministers of righteousness; whose end shall be according to their works.
11: 16 I say again, Let no man think me a fool; if otherwise, yet as a fool receive me, that I may boast myself a little.
11: 17 That which I speak, I speak it not after the Lord, but as it were foolishly, in this confidence of boasting.
11: 18 Seeing that many glory after the flesh, I will glory also.
11: 19 For ye suffer fools gladly, seeing ye yourselves are wise.
11: 20 For ye suffer, if a man bring you into bondage, if a man devour you, if a man take of you, if a man exalt himself, if a man smite you on the face.
11: 21 I speak as concerning reproach, as though we had been weak.
Howbeit whereinsoever any is bold, (I speak foolishly,) I am bold also.
11: 22 Are they Hebrews?
so am I.
Are they Israelites?
so am I.
Are they the seed of Abraham?
so am I.
11: 23 Are they ministers of Christ?
(I speak as a fool) I am more; in labours more abundant, in stripes above measure, in prisons more frequent, in deaths oft.
11: 24 Of the Jews five times received I forty stripes save one.
11: 28 Beside those things that are without, that which cometh upon me daily, the care of all the churches.
11: 29 Who is weak, and I am not weak?
who is offended, and I burn not?
11: 30 If I must needs glory, I will glory of the things which concern mine infirmities.
11: 31 The God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which is blessed for evermore, knoweth that I lie not.
11: 32 In Damascus the governor under Aretas the king kept the city of the Damascenes with a garrison, desirous to apprehend me: 11: 33 And through a window in a basket was I let down by the wall, and escaped his hands.
12: 1 It is not expedient for me doubtless to glory.
I will come to visions and revelations of the Lord.
12: 2 I knew a man in Christ above fourteen years ago, (whether in the body, I cannot tell; or whether out of the body, I cannot tell: God knoweth;) such an one caught up to the third heaven.
12: 3 And I knew such a man, (whether in the body, or out of the body, I cannot tell: God knoweth;) 12: 4 How that he was caught up into paradise, and heard unspeakable words, which it is not lawful for a man to utter.
12: 5 Of such an one will I glory: yet of myself I will not glory, but in mine infirmities.
12: 6 For though I would desire to glory, I shall not be a fool; for I will say the truth: but now I forbear, lest any man should think of me above that which he seeth me to be, or that he heareth of me.
12: 7 And lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure.
12: 8 For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me.
12: 9 And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.
Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
12: 10 Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.
12: 11 I am become a fool in glorying; ye have compelled me: for I ought to have been commended of you: for in nothing am I behind the very chiefest apostles, though I be nothing.
12: 12 Truly the signs of an apostle were wrought among you in all patience, in signs, and wonders, and mighty deeds.
12: 13 For what is it wherein ye were inferior to other churches, except it be that I myself was not burdensome to you?
forgive me this wrong.
12: 14 Behold, the third time I am ready to come to you; and I will not be burdensome to you: for I seek not your's but you: for the children ought not to lay up for the parents, but the parents for the children.
12: 15 And I will very gladly spend and be spent for you; though the more abundantly I love you, the less I be loved.
12: 16 But be it so, I did not burden you: nevertheless, being crafty, I caught you with guile.
12: 17 Did I make a gain of you by any of them whom I sent unto you?
12: 18 I desired Titus, and with him I sent a brother.
Did Titus make a gain of you?
walked we not in the same spirit?
walked we not in the same steps?
12: 19 Again, think ye that we excuse ourselves unto you?
we speak before God in Christ: but we do all things, dearly beloved, for your edifying.
13: 1 This is the third time I am coming to you.
In the mouth of two or three witnesses shall every word be established.
13: 4 For though he was crucified through weakness, yet he liveth by the power of God.
For we also are weak in him, but we shall live with him by the power of God toward you.
13: 5 Examine yourselves, whether ye be in the faith; prove your own selves.
Know ye not your own selves, how that Jesus Christ is in you, except ye be reprobates?
13: 6 But I trust that ye shall know that we are not reprobates.
13: 7 Now I pray to God that ye do no evil; not that we should appear approved, but that ye should do that which is honest, though we be as reprobates.
13: 8 For we can do nothing against the truth, but for the truth.
13: 9 For we are glad, when we are weak, and ye are strong: and this also we wish, even your perfection.
13: 10 Therefore I write these things being absent, lest being present I should use sharpness, according to the power which the Lord hath given me to edification, and not to destruction.
13: 11 Finally, brethren, farewell.
Be perfect, be of good comfort, be of one mind, live in peace; and the God of love and peace shall be with you.
13: 12 Greet one another with an holy kiss.
13: 13 All the saints salute you.
13: 14 The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Ghost, be with you all.
Amen.
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Galatians
Amen.
1: 6 I marvel that ye are so soon removed from him that called you into the grace of Christ unto another gospel: 1: 7 Which is not another; but there be some that trouble you, and would pervert the gospel of Christ.
1: 8 But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed.
1: 9 As we said before, so say I now again, if any man preach any other gospel unto you than that ye have received, let him be accursed.
1: 10 For do I now persuade men, or God?
or do I seek to please men?
for if I yet pleased men, I should not be the servant of Christ.
1: 11 But I certify you, brethren, that the gospel which was preached of me is not after man.
1: 12 For I neither received it of man, neither was I taught it, but by the revelation of Jesus Christ.
1: 18 Then after three years I went up to Jerusalem to see Peter, and abode with him fifteen days.
1: 19 But other of the apostles saw I none, save James the Lord's brother.
1: 20 Now the things which I write unto you, behold, before God, I lie not.
1: 21 Afterwards I came into the regions of Syria and Cilicia; 1: 22 And was unknown by face unto the churches of Judaea which were in Christ: 1: 23 But they had heard only, That he which persecuted us in times past now preacheth the faith which once he destroyed.
1: 24 And they glorified God in me.
2: 1 Then fourteen years after I went up again to Jerusalem with Barnabas, and took Titus with me also.
2: 2 And I went up by revelation, and communicated unto them that gospel which I preach among the Gentiles, but privately to them which were of reputation, lest by any means I should run, or had run, in vain.
2: 10 Only they would that we should remember the poor; the same which I also was forward to do.
2: 11 But when Peter was come to Antioch, I withstood him to the face, because he was to be blamed.
2: 12 For before that certain came from James, he did eat with the Gentiles: but when they were come, he withdrew and separated himself, fearing them which were of the circumcision.
2: 13 And the other Jews dissembled likewise with him; insomuch that Barnabas also was carried away with their dissimulation.
2: 14 But when I saw that they walked not uprightly according to the truth of the gospel, I said unto Peter before them all, If thou, being a Jew, livest after the manner of Gentiles, and not as do the Jews, why compellest thou the Gentiles to live as do the Jews?
2: 17 But if, while we seek to be justified by Christ, we ourselves also are found sinners, is therefore Christ the minister of sin?
God forbid.
2: 18 For if I build again the things which I destroyed, I make myself a transgressor.
2: 19 For I through the law am dead to the law, that I might live unto God.
2: 20 I am crucified with Christ: neverthless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.
2: 21 I do not frustrate the grace of God: for if righteousness come by the law, then Christ is dead in vain.
3: 1 O foolish Galatians, who hath bewitched you, that ye should not obey the truth, before whose eyes Jesus Christ hath been evidently set forth, crucified among you?
3: 2 This only would I learn of you, Received ye the Spirit by the works of the law, or by the hearing of faith?
3: 3 Are ye so foolish?
having begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh?
3: 4 Have ye suffered so many things in vain?
if it be yet in vain.
3: 5 He therefore that ministereth to you the Spirit, and worketh miracles among you, doeth he it by the works of the law, or by the hearing of faith?
3: 6 Even as Abraham believed God, and it was accounted to him for righteousness.
3: 7 Know ye therefore that they which are of faith, the same are the children of Abraham.
3: 8 And the scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the heathen through faith, preached before the gospel unto Abraham, saying, In thee shall all nations be blessed.
3: 9 So then they which be of faith are blessed with faithful Abraham.
3: 10 For as many as are of the works of the law are under the curse: for it is written, Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things which are written in the book of the law to do them.
3: 11 But that no man is justified by the law in the sight of God, it is evident: for, The just shall live by faith.
3: 12 And the law is not of faith: but, The man that doeth them shall live in them.
3: 15 Brethren, I speak after the manner of men; Though it be but a man's covenant, yet if it be confirmed, no man disannulleth, or addeth thereto.
3: 16 Now to Abraham and his seed were the promises made.
He saith not, And to seeds, as of many; but as of one, And to thy seed, which is Christ.
3: 17 And this I say, that the covenant, that was confirmed before of God in Christ, the law, which was four hundred and thirty years after, cannot disannul, that it should make the promise of none effect.
3: 18 For if the inheritance be of the law, it is no more of promise: but God gave it to Abraham by promise.
3: 19 Wherefore then serveth the law?
It was added because of transgressions, till the seed should come to whom the promise was made; and it was ordained by angels in the hand of a mediator.
3: 20 Now a mediator is not a mediator of one, but God is one.
3: 21 Is the law then against the promises of God?
God forbid: for if there had been a law given which could have given life, verily righteousness should have been by the law.
3: 22 But the scripture hath concluded all under sin, that the promise by faith of Jesus Christ might be given to them that believe.
3: 23 But before faith came, we were kept under the law, shut up unto the faith which should afterwards be revealed.
3: 24 Wherefore the law was our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ, that we might be justified by faith.
3: 25 But after that faith is come, we are no longer under a schoolmaster.
3: 26 For ye are all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus.
3: 27 For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ.
3: 28 There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.
3: 29 And if ye be Christ's, then are ye Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise.
4: 1 Now I say, That the heir, as long as he is a child, differeth nothing from a servant, though he be lord of all; 4: 2 But is under tutors and governors until the time appointed of the father.
4: 6 And because ye are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of his Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father.
4: 7 Wherefore thou art no more a servant, but a son; and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ.
4: 8 Howbeit then, when ye knew not God, ye did service unto them which by nature are no gods.
4: 9 But now, after that ye have known God, or rather are known of God, how turn ye again to the weak and beggarly elements, whereunto ye desire again to be in bondage?
4: 10 Ye observe days, and months, and times, and years.
4: 11 I am afraid of you, lest I have bestowed upon you labour in vain.
4: 12 Brethren, I beseech you, be as I am; for I am as ye are: ye have not injured me at all.
4: 13 Ye know how through infirmity of the flesh I preached the gospel unto you at the first.
4: 14 And my temptation which was in my flesh ye despised not, nor rejected; but received me as an angel of God, even as Christ Jesus.
4: 15 Where is then the blessedness ye spake of?
for I bear you record, that, if it had been possible, ye would have plucked out your own eyes, and have given them to me.
4: 16 Am I therefore become your enemy, because I tell you the truth?
4: 17 They zealously affect you, but not well; yea, they would exclude you, that ye might affect them.
4: 18 But it is good to be zealously affected always in a good thing, and not only when I am present with you.
4: 19 My little children, of whom I travail in birth again until Christ be formed in you, 4: 20 I desire to be present with you now, and to change my voice; for I stand in doubt of you.
4: 21 Tell me, ye that desire to be under the law, do ye not hear the law?
4: 22 For it is written, that Abraham had two sons, the one by a bondmaid, the other by a freewoman.
4: 23 But he who was of the bondwoman was born after the flesh; but he of the freewoman was by promise.
4: 24 Which things are an allegory: for these are the two covenants; the one from the mount Sinai, which gendereth to bondage, which is Agar.
4: 25 For this Agar is mount Sinai in Arabia, and answereth to Jerusalem which now is, and is in bondage with her children.
4: 26 But Jerusalem which is above is free, which is the mother of us all.
4: 27 For it is written, Rejoice, thou barren that bearest not; break forth and cry, thou that travailest not: for the desolate hath many more children than she which hath an husband.
4: 28 Now we, brethren, as Isaac was, are the children of promise.
4: 29 But as then he that was born after the flesh persecuted him that was born after the Spirit, even so it is now.
4: 30 Nevertheless what saith the scripture?
Cast out the bondwoman and her son: for the son of the bondwoman shall not be heir with the son of the freewoman.
4: 31 So then, brethren, we are not children of the bondwoman, but of the free.
5: 1 Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.
5: 2 Behold, I Paul say unto you, that if ye be circumcised, Christ shall profit you nothing.
5: 3 For I testify again to every man that is circumcised, that he is a debtor to do the whole law.
5: 4 Christ is become of no effect unto you, whosoever of you are justified by the law; ye are fallen from grace.
5: 5 For we through the Spirit wait for the hope of righteousness by faith.
5: 6 For in Jesus Christ neither circumcision availeth any thing, nor uncircumcision; but faith which worketh by love.
5: 7 Ye did run well; who did hinder you that ye should not obey the truth?
5: 8 This persuasion cometh not of him that calleth you.
5: 9 A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump.
5: 10 I have confidence in you through the Lord, that ye will be none otherwise minded: but he that troubleth you shall bear his judgment, whosoever he be.
5: 11 And I, brethren, if I yet preach circumcision, why do I yet suffer persecution?
then is the offence of the cross ceased.
5: 12 I would they were even cut off which trouble you.
5: 13 For, brethren, ye have been called unto liberty; only use not liberty for an occasion to the flesh, but by love serve one another.
5: 14 For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this; Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.
5: 15 But if ye bite and devour one another, take heed that ye be not consumed one of another.
5: 16 This I say then, Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh.
5: 17 For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.
5: 18 But if ye be led of the Spirit, ye are not under the law.
5: 22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, 5: 23 Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.
5: 24 And they that are Christ's have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts.
5: 25 If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit.
5: 26 Let us not be desirous of vain glory, provoking one another, envying one another.
6: 1 Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted.
6: 2 Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.
6: 3 For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself.
6: 4 But let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another.
6: 5 For every man shall bear his own burden.
6: 6 Let him that is taught in the word communicate unto him that teacheth in all good things.
6: 7 Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.
6: 8 For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.
6: 9 And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.
6: 10 As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith.
6: 11 Ye see how large a letter I have written unto you with mine own hand.
6: 12 As many as desire to make a fair shew in the flesh, they constrain you to be circumcised; only lest they should suffer persecution for the cross of Christ.
6: 13 For neither they themselves who are circumcised keep the law; but desire to have you circumcised, that they may glory in your flesh.
6: 14 But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world.
6: 15 For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision availeth any thing, nor uncircumcision, but a new creature.
6: 16 And as many as walk according to this rule, peace be on them, and mercy, and upon the Israel of God.
6: 17 From henceforth let no man trouble me: for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.
6: 18 Brethren, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit.
Amen.
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Ephesians
1: 1 Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, to the saints which are at Ephesus, and to the faithful in Christ Jesus: 1: 2 Grace be to you, and peace, from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.
2: 8 For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: 2: 9 Not of works, lest any man should boast.
2: 10 For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.
2: 18 For through him we both have access by one Spirit unto the Father.
3: 13 Wherefore I desire that ye faint not at my tribulations for you, which is your glory.
3: 20 Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, 3: 21 Unto him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end.
Amen.
4: 4 There is one body, and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your calling; 4: 5 One Lord, one faith, one baptism, 4: 6 One God and Father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in you all.
4: 7 But unto every one of us is given grace according to the measure of the gift of Christ.
4: 8 Wherefore he saith, When he ascended up on high, he led captivity captive, and gave gifts unto men.
4: 9 (Now that he ascended, what is it but that he also descended first into the lower parts of the earth?
4: 10 He that descended is the same also that ascended up far above all heavens, that he might fill all things.)
4: 25 Wherefore putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour: for we are members one of another.
4: 26 Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath: 4: 27 Neither give place to the devil.
4: 28 Let him that stole steal no more: but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that needeth.
4: 29 Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers.
4: 30 And grieve not the holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption.
4: 31 Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice: 4: 32 And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.
5: 1 Be ye therefore followers of God, as dear children; 5: 2 And walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweetsmelling savour.
5: 3 But fornication, and all uncleanness, or covetousness, let it not be once named among you, as becometh saints; 5: 4 Neither filthiness, nor foolish talking, nor jesting, which are not convenient: but rather giving of thanks.
5: 5 For this ye know, that no whoremonger, nor unclean person, nor covetous man, who is an idolater, hath any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God.
5: 6 Let no man deceive you with vain words: for because of these things cometh the wrath of God upon the children of disobedience.
5: 7 Be not ye therefore partakers with them.
5: 8 For ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord: walk as children of light: 5: 9 (For the fruit of the Spirit is in all goodness and righteousness and truth;) 5: 10 Proving what is acceptable unto the Lord.
5: 11 And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them.
5: 12 For it is a shame even to speak of those things which are done of them in secret.
5: 13 But all things that are reproved are made manifest by the light: for whatsoever doth make manifest is light.
5: 14 Wherefore he saith, Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light.
5: 15 See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise, 5: 16 Redeeming the time, because the days are evil.
5: 17 Wherefore be ye not unwise, but understanding what the will of the Lord is.
5: 22 Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.
5: 23 For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the saviour of the body.
5: 24 Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in every thing.
5: 28 So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies.
He that loveth his wife loveth himself.
5: 29 For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church: 5: 30 For we are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones.
5: 31 For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh.
5: 32 This is a great mystery: but I speak concerning Christ and the church.
5: 33 Nevertheless let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband.
6: 1 Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right.
6: 2 Honour thy father and mother; which is the first commandment with promise; 6: 3 That it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth.
6: 4 And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.
6: 9 And, ye masters, do the same things unto them, forbearing threatening: knowing that your Master also is in heaven; neither is there respect of persons with him.
6: 10 Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might.
6: 11 Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.
6: 12 For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.
6: 13 Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.
6: 23 Peace be to the brethren, and love with faith, from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
6: 24 Grace be with all them that love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity.
Amen.
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Philippians
1: 1 Paul and Timotheus, the servants of Jesus Christ, to all the saints in Christ Jesus which are at Philippi, with the bishops and deacons: 1: 2 Grace be unto you, and peace, from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.
1: 8 For God is my record, how greatly I long after you all in the bowels of Jesus Christ.
1: 9 And this I pray, that your love may abound yet more and more in knowledge and in all judgment; 1: 10 That ye may approve things that are excellent; that ye may be sincere and without offence till the day of Christ.
1: 11 Being filled with the fruits of righteousness, which are by Jesus Christ, unto the glory and praise of God.
1: 15 Some indeed preach Christ even of envy and strife; and some also of good will: 1: 16 The one preach Christ of contention, not sincerely, supposing to add affliction to my bonds: 1: 17 But the other of love, knowing that I am set for the defence of the gospel.
1: 18 What then?
notwithstanding, every way, whether in pretence, or in truth, Christ is preached; and I therein do rejoice, yea, and will rejoice.
1: 21 For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.
1: 22 But if I live in the flesh, this is the fruit of my labour: yet what I shall choose I wot not.
1: 23 For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better: 1: 24 Nevertheless to abide in the flesh is more needful for you.
1: 25 And having this confidence, I know that I shall abide and continue with you all for your furtherance and joy of faith; 1: 26 That your rejoicing may be more abundant in Jesus Christ for me by my coming to you again.
1: 29 For unto you it is given in the behalf of Christ, not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for his sake; 1: 30 Having the same conflict which ye saw in me, and now hear to be in me.
2: 1 If there be therefore any consolation in Christ, if any comfort of love, if any fellowship of the Spirit, if any bowels and mercies, 2: 2 Fulfil ye my joy, that ye be likeminded, having the same love, being of one accord, of one mind.
2: 3 Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.
2: 4 Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.
2: 12 Wherefore, my beloved, as ye have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.
2: 13 For it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure.
2: 17 Yea, and if I be offered upon the sacrifice and service of your faith, I joy, and rejoice with you all.
2: 18 For the same cause also do ye joy, and rejoice with me.
2: 19 But I trust in the Lord Jesus to send Timotheus shortly unto you, that I also may be of good comfort, when I know your state.
2: 20 For I have no man likeminded, who will naturally care for your state.
2: 21 For all seek their own, not the things which are Jesus Christ's.
2: 22 But ye know the proof of him, that, as a son with the father, he hath served with me in the gospel.
2: 23 Him therefore I hope to send presently, so soon as I shall see how it will go with me.
2: 24 But I trust in the Lord that I also myself shall come shortly.
2: 25 Yet I supposed it necessary to send to you Epaphroditus, my brother, and companion in labour, and fellowsoldier, but your messenger, and he that ministered to my wants.
2: 26 For he longed after you all, and was full of heaviness, because that ye had heard that he had been sick.
2: 27 For indeed he was sick nigh unto death: but God had mercy on him; and not on him only, but on me also, lest I should have sorrow upon sorrow.
2: 28 I sent him therefore the more carefully, that, when ye see him again, ye may rejoice, and that I may be the less sorrowful.
2: 29 Receive him therefore in the Lord with all gladness; and hold such in reputation: 2: 30 Because for the work of Christ he was nigh unto death, not regarding his life, to supply your lack of service toward me.
3: 1 Finally, my brethren, rejoice in the Lord.
To write the same things to you, to me indeed is not grievous, but for you it is safe.
3: 2 Beware of dogs, beware of evil workers, beware of the concision.
3: 3 For we are the circumcision, which worship God in the spirit, and rejoice in Christ Jesus, and have no confidence in the flesh.
3: 4 Though I might also have confidence in the flesh.
3: 7 But what things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ.
3: 12 Not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect: but I follow after, if that I may apprehend that for which also I am apprehended of Christ Jesus.
3: 13 Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, 3: 14 I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.
3: 15 Let us therefore, as many as be perfect, be thus minded: and if in any thing ye be otherwise minded, God shall reveal even this unto you.
3: 16 Nevertheless, whereto we have already attained, let us walk by the same rule, let us mind the same thing.
3: 17 Brethren, be followers together of me, and mark them which walk so as ye have us for an ensample.
3: 18 (For many walk, of whom I have told you often, and now tell you even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of Christ: 3: 19 Whose end is destruction, whose God is their belly, and whose glory is in their shame, who mind earthly things.)
4: 1 Therefore, my brethren dearly beloved and longed for, my joy and crown, so stand fast in the Lord, my dearly beloved.
4: 2 I beseech Euodias, and beseech Syntyche, that they be of the same mind in the Lord.
4: 3 And I intreat thee also, true yokefellow, help those women which laboured with me in the gospel, with Clement also, and with other my fellowlabourers, whose names are in the book of life.
4: 4 Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, Rejoice.
4: 5 Let your moderation be known unto all men.
The Lord is at hand.
4: 6 Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.
4: 7 And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
4: 9 Those things, which ye have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, do: and the God of peace shall be with you.
4: 10 But I rejoiced in the Lord greatly, that now at the last your care of me hath flourished again; wherein ye were also careful, but ye lacked opportunity.
4: 11 Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.
4: 12 I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.
4: 13 I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.
4: 14 Notwithstanding ye have well done, that ye did communicate with my affliction.
4: 15 Now ye Philippians know also, that in the beginning of the gospel, when I departed from Macedonia, no church communicated with me as concerning giving and receiving, but ye only.
4: 16 For even in Thessalonica ye sent once and again unto my necessity.
4: 17 Not because I desire a gift: but I desire fruit that may abound to your account.
4: 18 But I have all, and abound: I am full, having received of Epaphroditus the things which were sent from you, an odour of a sweet smell, a sacrifice acceptable, wellpleasing to God.
4: 19 But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.
4: 20 Now unto God and our Father be glory for ever and ever.
Amen.
4: 21 Salute every saint in Christ Jesus.
The brethren which are with me greet you.
4: 22 All the saints salute you, chiefly they that are of Caesar's household.
4: 23 The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.
Amen.
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Colossians
1: 1 Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, and Timotheus our brother, 1: 2 To the saints and faithful brethren in Christ which are at Colosse: Grace be unto you, and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
1: 18 And he is the head of the body, the church: who is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead; that in all things he might have the preeminence.
1: 19 For it pleased the Father that in him should all fulness dwell; 1: 20 And, having made peace through the blood of his cross, by him to reconcile all things unto himself; by him, I say, whether they be things in earth, or things in heaven.
2: 4 And this I say, lest any man should beguile you with enticing words.
2: 5 For though I be absent in the flesh, yet am I with you in the spirit, joying and beholding your order, and the stedfastness of your faith in Christ.
2: 6 As ye have therefore received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk ye in him: 2: 7 Rooted and built up in him, and stablished in the faith, as ye have been taught, abounding therein with thanksgiving.
2: 8 Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ.
2: 9 For in him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily.
2: 16 Let no man therefore judge you in meat, or in drink, or in respect of an holyday, or of the new moon, or of the sabbath days: 2: 17 Which are a shadow of things to come; but the body is of Christ.
2: 20 Wherefore if ye be dead with Christ from the rudiments of the world, why, as though living in the world, are ye subject to ordinances, 2: 21 (Touch not; taste not; handle not; 2: 22 Which all are to perish with the using;) after the commandments and doctrines of men?
2: 23 Which things have indeed a shew of wisdom in will worship, and humility, and neglecting of the body: not in any honour to the satisfying of the flesh.
3: 1 If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God.
3: 2 Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth.
3: 3 For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.
3: 4 When Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall ye also appear with him in glory.
3: 8 But now ye also put off all these; anger, wrath, malice, blasphemy, filthy communication out of your mouth.
3: 14 And above all these things put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness.
3: 15 And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to the which also ye are called in one body; and be ye thankful.
3: 16 Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord.
3: 17 And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by him.
3: 18 Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as it is fit in the Lord.
3: 19 Husbands, love your wives, and be not bitter against them.
3: 20 Children, obey your parents in all things: for this is well pleasing unto the Lord.
3: 21 Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged.
3: 25 But he that doeth wrong shall receive for the wrong which he hath done: and there is no respect of persons.
4: 1 Masters, give unto your servants that which is just and equal; knowing that ye also have a Master in heaven.
4: 2 Continue in prayer, and watch in the same with thanksgiving; 4: 3 Withal praying also for us, that God would open unto us a door of utterance, to speak the mystery of Christ, for which I am also in bonds: 4: 4 That I may make it manifest, as I ought to speak.
4: 5 Walk in wisdom toward them that are without, redeeming the time.
4: 6 Let your speech be alway with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man.
They shall make known unto you all things which are done here.
4: 10 Aristarchus my fellowprisoner saluteth you, and Marcus, sister's son to Barnabas, (touching whom ye received commandments: if he come unto you, receive him;) 4: 11 And Jesus, which is called Justus, who are of the circumcision.
These only are my fellowworkers unto the kingdom of God, which have been a comfort unto me.
4: 12 Epaphras, who is one of you, a servant of Christ, saluteth you, always labouring fervently for you in prayers, that ye may stand perfect and complete in all the will of God.
4: 13 For I bear him record, that he hath a great zeal for you, and them that are in Laodicea, and them in Hierapolis.
4: 14 Luke, the beloved physician, and Demas, greet you.
4: 15 Salute the brethren which are in Laodicea, and Nymphas, and the church which is in his house.
4: 16 And when this epistle is read among you, cause that it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans; and that ye likewise read the epistle from Laodicea.
4: 17 And say to Archippus, Take heed to the ministry which thou hast received in the Lord, that thou fulfil it.
4: 18 The salutation by the hand of me Paul.
Remember my bonds.
Grace be with you.
Amen.
The First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians
1: 1 Paul, and Silvanus, and Timotheus, unto the church of the Thessalonians which is in God the Father and in the Lord Jesus Christ: Grace be unto you, and peace, from God our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ.
1: 5 For our gospel came not unto you in word only, but also in power, and in the Holy Ghost, and in much assurance; as ye know what manner of men we were among you for your sake.
1: 6 And ye became followers of us, and of the Lord, having received the word in much affliction, with joy of the Holy Ghost.
1: 7 So that ye were ensamples to all that believe in Macedonia and Achaia.
1: 8 For from you sounded out the word of the Lord not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but also in every place your faith to God - ward is spread abroad; so that we need not to speak any thing.
2: 1 For yourselves, brethren, know our entrance in unto you, that it was not in vain: 2: 2 But even after that we had suffered before, and were shamefully entreated, as ye know, at Philippi, we were bold in our God to speak unto you the gospel of God with much contention.
2: 3 For our exhortation was not of deceit, nor of uncleanness, nor in guile: 2: 4 But as we were allowed of God to be put in trust with the gospel, even so we speak; not as pleasing men, but God, which trieth our hearts.
2: 5 For neither at any time used we flattering words, as ye know, nor a cloke of covetousness; God is witness: 2: 6 Nor of men sought we glory, neither of you, nor yet of others, when we might have been burdensome, as the apostles of Christ.
2: 7 But we were gentle among you, even as a nurse cherisheth her children: 2: 8 So being affectionately desirous of you, we were willing to have imparted unto you, not the gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because ye were dear unto us.
2: 9 For ye remember, brethren, our labour and travail: for labouring night and day, because we would not be chargeable unto any of you, we preached unto you the gospel of God.
2: 13 For this cause also thank we God without ceasing, because, when ye received the word of God which ye heard of us, ye received it not as the word of men, but as it is in truth, the word of God, which effectually worketh also in you that believe.
2: 17 But we, brethren, being taken from you for a short time in presence, not in heart, endeavoured the more abundantly to see your face with great desire.
2: 18 Wherefore we would have come unto you, even I Paul, once and again; but Satan hindered us.
2: 19 For what is our hope, or joy, or crown of rejoicing?
Are not even ye in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ at his coming?
2: 20 For ye are our glory and joy.
3: 4 For verily, when we were with you, we told you before that we should suffer tribulation; even as it came to pass, and ye know.
3: 5 For this cause, when I could no longer forbear, I sent to know your faith, lest by some means the tempter have tempted you, and our labour be in vain.
3: 9 For what thanks can we render to God again for you, for all the joy wherewith we joy for your sakes before our God; 3: 10 Night and day praying exceedingly that we might see your face, and might perfect that which is lacking in your faith?
3: 11 Now God himself and our Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, direct our way unto you.
4: 1 Furthermore then we beseech you, brethren, and exhort you by the Lord Jesus, that as ye have received of us how ye ought to walk and to please God, so ye would abound more and more.
4: 2 For ye know what commandments we gave you by the Lord Jesus.
4: 7 For God hath not called us unto uncleanness, but unto holiness.
4: 8 He therefore that despiseth, despiseth not man, but God, who hath also given unto us his holy Spirit.
4: 9 But as touching brotherly love ye need not that I write unto you: for ye yourselves are taught of God to love one another.
4: 13 But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.
4: 14 For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him.
4: 15 For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are alive and remain unto the coming of the Lord shall not prevent them which are asleep.
4: 18 Wherefore comfort one another with these words.
5: 1 But of the times and the seasons, brethren, ye have no need that I write unto you.
5: 2 For yourselves know perfectly that the day of the Lord so cometh as a thief in the night.
5: 3 For when they shall say, Peace and safety; then sudden destruction cometh upon them, as travail upon a woman with child; and they shall not escape.
5: 4 But ye, brethren, are not in darkness, that that day should overtake you as a thief.
5: 5 Ye are all the children of light, and the children of the day: we are not of the night, nor of darkness.
5: 6 Therefore let us not sleep, as do others; but let us watch and be sober.
5: 7 For they that sleep sleep in the night; and they that be drunken are drunken in the night.
5: 8 But let us, who are of the day, be sober, putting on the breastplate of faith and love; and for an helmet, the hope of salvation.
5: 9 For God hath not appointed us to wrath, but to obtain salvation by our Lord Jesus Christ, 5: 10 Who died for us, that, whether we wake or sleep, we should live together with him.
5: 11 Wherefore comfort yourselves together, and edify one another, even as also ye do.
5: 12 And we beseech you, brethren, to know them which labour among you, and are over you in the Lord, and admonish you; 5: 13 And to esteem them very highly in love for their work's sake.
And be at peace among yourselves.
5: 14 Now we exhort you, brethren, warn them that are unruly, comfort the feebleminded, support the weak, be patient toward all men.
5: 15 See that none render evil for evil unto any man; but ever follow that which is good, both among yourselves, and to all men.
5: 16 Rejoice evermore.
5: 17 Pray without ceasing.
5: 18 In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
5: 19 Quench not the Spirit.
5: 20 Despise not prophesyings.
5: 21 Prove all things; hold fast that which is good.
5: 22 Abstain from all appearance of evil.
5: 23 And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.
5: 24 Faithful is he that calleth you, who also will do it.
5: 25 Brethren, pray for us.
5: 26 Greet all the brethren with an holy kiss.
5: 27 I charge you by the Lord that this epistle be read unto all the holy brethren.
5: 28 The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you.
Amen.
The Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians
1: 1 Paul, and Silvanus, and Timotheus, unto the church of the Thessalonians in God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ: 1: 2 Grace unto you, and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
2: 1 Now we beseech you, brethren, by the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, and by our gathering together unto him, 2: 2 That ye be not soon shaken in mind, or be troubled, neither by spirit, nor by word, nor by letter as from us, as that the day of Christ is at hand.
2: 5 Remember ye not, that, when I was yet with you, I told you these things?
2: 6 And now ye know what withholdeth that he might be revealed in his time.
2: 7 For the mystery of iniquity doth already work: only he who now letteth will let, until he be taken out of the way.
2: 11 And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie: 2: 12 That they all might be damned who believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness.
2: 15 Therefore, brethren, stand fast, and hold the traditions which ye have been taught, whether by word, or our epistle.
2: 16 Now our Lord Jesus Christ himself, and God, even our Father, which hath loved us, and hath given us everlasting consolation and good hope through grace, 2: 17 Comfort your hearts, and stablish you in every good word and work.
3: 1 Finally, brethren, pray for us, that the word of the Lord may have free course, and be glorified, even as it is with you: 3: 2 And that we may be delivered from unreasonable and wicked men: for all men have not faith.
3: 3 But the Lord is faithful, who shall stablish you, and keep you from evil.
3: 4 And we have confidence in the Lord touching you, that ye both do and will do the things which we command you.
3: 5 And the Lord direct your hearts into the love of God, and into the patient waiting for Christ.
3: 6 Now we command you, brethren, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that ye withdraw yourselves from every brother that walketh disorderly, and not after the tradition which he received of us.
3: 10 For even when we were with you, this we commanded you, that if any would not work, neither should he eat.
3: 11 For we hear that there are some which walk among you disorderly, working not at all, but are busybodies.
3: 12 Now them that are such we command and exhort by our Lord Jesus Christ, that with quietness they work, and eat their own bread.
3: 13 But ye, brethren, be not weary in well doing.
3: 14 And if any man obey not our word by this epistle, note that man, and have no company with him, that he may be ashamed.
3: 15 Yet count him not as an enemy, but admonish him as a brother.
3: 16 Now the Lord of peace himself give you peace always by all means.
The Lord be with you all.
3: 17 The salutation of Paul with mine own hand, which is the token in every epistle: so I write.
3: 18 The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.
Amen.
The First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to Timothy
1: 1 Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the commandment of God our Saviour, and Lord Jesus Christ, which is our hope; 1: 2 Unto Timothy, my own son in the faith: Grace, mercy, and peace, from God our Father and Jesus Christ our Lord.
1: 12 And I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who hath enabled me, for that he counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry; 1: 13 Who was before a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and injurious: but I obtained mercy, because I did it ignorantly in unbelief.
1: 14 And the grace of our Lord was exceeding abundant with faith and love which is in Christ Jesus.
1: 15 This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief.
1: 16 Howbeit for this cause I obtained mercy, that in me first Jesus Christ might shew forth all longsuffering, for a pattern to them which should hereafter believe on him to life everlasting.
1: 17 Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only wise God, be honour and glory for ever and ever.
Amen.
2: 1 I exhort therefore, that, first of all, supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks, be made for all men; 2: 2 For kings, and for all that are in authority; that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty.
2: 3 For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Saviour; 2: 4 Who will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth.
2: 5 For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus; 2: 6 Who gave himself a ransom for all, to be testified in due time.
2: 7 Whereunto I am ordained a preacher, and an apostle, (I speak the truth in Christ, and lie not;) a teacher of the Gentiles in faith and verity.
2: 8 I will therefore that men pray every where, lifting up holy hands, without wrath and doubting.
2: 9 In like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with broided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array; 2: 10 But (which becometh women professing godliness) with good works.
2: 11 Let the woman learn in silence with all subjection.
2: 12 But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence.
2: 13 For Adam was first formed, then Eve.
2: 14 And Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression.
2: 15 Notwithstanding she shall be saved in childbearing, if they continue in faith and charity and holiness with sobriety.
3: 1 This is a true saying, If a man desire the office of a bishop, he desireth a good work.
3: 6 Not a novice, lest being lifted up with pride he fall into the condemnation of the devil.
3: 7 Moreover he must have a good report of them which are without; lest he fall into reproach and the snare of the devil.
3: 8 Likewise must the deacons be grave, not doubletongued, not given to much wine, not greedy of filthy lucre; 3: 9 Holding the mystery of the faith in a pure conscience.
3: 10 And let these also first be proved; then let them use the office of a deacon, being found blameless.
3: 11 Even so must their wives be grave, not slanderers, sober, faithful in all things.
3: 12 Let the deacons be the husbands of one wife, ruling their children and their own houses well.
3: 13 For they that have used the office of a deacon well purchase to themselves a good degree, and great boldness in the faith which is in Christ Jesus.
3: 14 These things write I unto thee, hoping to come unto thee shortly: 3: 15 But if I tarry long, that thou mayest know how thou oughtest to behave thyself in the house of God, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth.
3: 16 And without controversy great is the mystery of godliness: God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the Spirit, seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on in the world, received up into glory.
4: 4 For every creature of God is good, and nothing to be refused, if it be received with thanksgiving: 4: 5 For it is sanctified by the word of God and prayer.
4: 6 If thou put the brethren in remembrance of these things, thou shalt be a good minister of Jesus Christ, nourished up in the words of faith and of good doctrine, whereunto thou hast attained.
4: 7 But refuse profane and old wives'fables, and exercise thyself rather unto godliness.
4: 8 For bodily exercise profiteth little: but godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.
4: 9 This is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptation.
4: 10 For therefore we both labour and suffer reproach, because we trust in the living God, who is the Saviour of all men, specially of those that believe.
4: 11 These things command and teach.
4: 12 Let no man despise thy youth; but be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.
4: 13 Till I come, give attendance to reading, to exhortation, to doctrine.
4: 14 Neglect not the gift that is in thee, which was given thee by prophecy, with the laying on of the hands of the presbytery.
4: 15 Meditate upon these things; give thyself wholly to them; that thy profiting may appear to all.
4: 16 Take heed unto thyself, and unto the doctrine; continue in them: for in doing this thou shalt both save thyself, and them that hear thee.
5: 1 Rebuke not an elder, but intreat him as a father; and the younger men as brethren; 5: 2 The elder women as mothers; the younger as sisters, with all purity.
5: 3 Honour widows that are widows indeed.
5: 4 But if any widow have children or nephews, let them learn first to shew piety at home, and to requite their parents: for that is good and acceptable before God.
5: 5 Now she that is a widow indeed, and desolate, trusteth in God, and continueth in supplications and prayers night and day.
5: 6 But she that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth.
5: 7 And these things give in charge, that they may be blameless.
5: 8 But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.
5: 9 Let not a widow be taken into the number under threescore years old, having been the wife of one man.
5: 10 Well reported of for good works; if she have brought up children, if she have lodged strangers, if she have washed the saints'feet, if she have relieved the afflicted, if she have diligently followed every good work.
5: 11 But the younger widows refuse: for when they have begun to wax wanton against Christ, they will marry; 5: 12 Having damnation, because they have cast off their first faith.
5: 13 And withal they learn to be idle, wandering about from house to house; and not only idle, but tattlers also and busybodies, speaking things which they ought not.
5: 14 I will therefore that the younger women marry, bear children, guide the house, give none occasion to the adversary to speak reproachfully.
5: 15 For some are already turned aside after Satan.
5: 16 If any man or woman that believeth have widows, let them relieve them, and let not the church be charged; that it may relieve them that are widows indeed.
5: 17 Let the elders that rule well be counted worthy of double honour, especially they who labour in the word and doctrine.
5: 18 For the scripture saith, Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.
And, The labourer is worthy of his reward.
5: 19 Against an elder receive not an accusation, but before two or three witnesses.
5: 20 Them that sin rebuke before all, that others also may fear.
5: 21 I charge thee before God, and the Lord Jesus Christ, and the elect angels, that thou observe these things without preferring one before another, doing nothing by partiality.
5: 22 Lay hands suddenly on no man, neither be partaker of other men's sins: keep thyself pure.
5: 23 Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's sake and thine often infirmities.
5: 24 Some men's sins are open beforehand, going before to judgment; and some men they follow after.
5: 25 Likewise also the good works of some are manifest beforehand; and they that are otherwise cannot be hid.
6: 1 Let as many servants as are under the yoke count their own masters worthy of all honour, that the name of God and his doctrine be not blasphemed.
6: 2 And they that have believing masters, let them not despise them, because they are brethren; but rather do them service, because they are faithful and beloved, partakers of the benefit.
These things teach and exhort.
6: 6 But godliness with contentment is great gain.
6: 7 For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.
6: 8 And having food and raiment let us be therewith content.
6: 9 But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition.
6: 10 For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.
6: 11 But thou, O man of God, flee these things; and follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, meekness.
6: 12 Fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on eternal life, whereunto thou art also called, and hast professed a good profession before many witnesses.
Amen.
6: 20 O Timothy, keep that which is committed to thy trust, avoiding profane and vain babblings, and oppositions of science falsely so called: 6: 21 Which some professing have erred concerning the faith.
Grace be with thee.
Amen.
The Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle to Timothy
1: 1 Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, according to the promise of life which is in Christ Jesus, 1: 2 To Timothy, my dearly beloved son: Grace, mercy, and peace, from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord.
1: 6 Wherefore I put thee in remembrance that thou stir up the gift of God, which is in thee by the putting on of my hands.
1: 7 For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
1: 12 For the which cause I also suffer these things: nevertheless I am not ashamed: for I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day.
1: 13 Hold fast the form of sound words, which thou hast heard of me, in faith and love which is in Christ Jesus.
1: 14 That good thing which was committed unto thee keep by the Holy Ghost which dwelleth in us.
1: 15 This thou knowest, that all they which are in Asia be turned away from me; of whom are Phygellus and Hermogenes.
1: 16 The Lord give mercy unto the house of Onesiphorus; for he oft refreshed me, and was not ashamed of my chain: 1: 17 But, when he was in Rome, he sought me out very diligently, and found me.
1: 18 The Lord grant unto him that he may find mercy of the Lord in that day: and in how many things he ministered unto me at Ephesus, thou knowest very well.
2: 1 Thou therefore, my son, be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus.
2: 2 And the things that thou hast heard of me among many witnesses, the same commit thou to faithful men, who shall be able to teach others also.
2: 3 Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.
2: 4 No man that warreth entangleth himself with the affairs of this life; that he may please him who hath chosen him to be a soldier.
2: 5 And if a man also strive for masteries, yet is he not crowned, except he strive lawfully.
2: 6 The husbandman that laboureth must be first partaker of the fruits.
2: 7 Consider what I say; and the Lord give thee understanding in all things.
2: 8 Remember that Jesus Christ of the seed of David was raised from the dead according to my gospel: 2: 9 Wherein I suffer trouble, as an evil doer, even unto bonds; but the word of God is not bound.
2: 10 Therefore I endure all things for the elect's sakes, that they may also obtain the salvation which is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory.
2: 11 It is a faithful saying: For if we be dead with him, we shall also live with him: 2: 12 If we suffer, we shall also reign with him: if we deny him, he also will deny us: 2: 13 If we believe not, yet he abideth faithful: he cannot deny himself.
2: 14 Of these things put them in remembrance, charging them before the Lord that they strive not about words to no profit, but to the subverting of the hearers.
2: 15 Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth.
2: 16 But shun profane and vain babblings: for they will increase unto more ungodliness.
2: 17 And their word will eat as doth a canker: of whom is Hymenaeus and Philetus; 2: 18 Who concerning the truth have erred, saying that the resurrection is past already; and overthrow the faith of some.
2: 19 Nevertheless the foundation of God standeth sure, having this seal, The Lord knoweth them that are his.
And, Let every one that nameth the name of Christ depart from iniquity.
2: 20 But in a great house there are not only vessels of gold and of silver, but also of wood and of earth; and some to honour, and some to dishonour.
2: 21 If a man therefore purge himself from these, he shall be a vessel unto honour, sanctified, and meet for the master's use, and prepared unto every good work.
2: 22 Flee also youthful lusts: but follow righteousness, faith, charity, peace, with them that call on the Lord out of a pure heart.
2: 23 But foolish and unlearned questions avoid, knowing that they do gender strifes.
3: 1 This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come.
3: 6 For of this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead captive silly women laden with sins, led away with divers lusts, 3: 7 Ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth.
3: 8 Now as Jannes and Jambres withstood Moses, so do these also resist the truth: men of corrupt minds, reprobate concerning the faith.
3: 9 But they shall proceed no further: for their folly shall be manifest unto all men, as their's also was.
3: 10 But thou hast fully known my doctrine, manner of life, purpose, faith, longsuffering, charity, patience, 3: 11 Persecutions, afflictions, which came unto me at Antioch, at Iconium, at Lystra; what persecutions I endured: but out of them all the Lord delivered me.
3: 12 Yea, and all that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution.
3: 13 But evil men and seducers shall wax worse and worse, deceiving, and being deceived.
3: 16 All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness: 3: 17 That the man of God may be perfect, throughly furnished unto all good works.
4: 1 I charge thee therefore before God, and the Lord Jesus Christ, who shall judge the quick and the dead at his appearing and his kingdom; 4: 2 Preach the word; be instant in season, out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort with all longsuffering and doctrine.
4: 3 For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but after their own lusts shall they heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears; 4: 4 And they shall turn away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned unto fables.
4: 5 But watch thou in all things, endure afflictions, do the work of an evangelist, make full proof of thy ministry.
4: 6 For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand.
4: 9 Do thy diligence to come shortly unto me: 4: 10 For Demas hath forsaken me, having loved this present world, and is departed unto Thessalonica; Crescens to Galatia, Titus unto Dalmatia.
4: 11 Only Luke is with me.
Take Mark, and bring him with thee: for he is profitable to me for the ministry.
4: 12 And Tychicus have I sent to Ephesus.
4: 13 The cloke that I left at Troas with Carpus, when thou comest, bring with thee, and the books, but especially the parchments.
4: 14 Alexander the coppersmith did me much evil: the Lord reward him according to his works: 4: 15 Of whom be thou ware also; for he hath greatly withstood our words.
4: 16 At my first answer no man stood with me, but all men forsook me: I pray God that it may not be laid to their charge.
4: 17 Notwithstanding the Lord stood with me, and strengthened me; that by me the preaching might be fully known, and that all the Gentiles might hear: and I was delivered out of the mouth of the lion.
4: 18 And the Lord shall deliver me from every evil work, and will preserve me unto his heavenly kingdom: to whom be glory for ever and ever.
Amen.
4: 19 Salute Prisca and Aquila, and the household of Onesiphorus.
4: 20 Erastus abode at Corinth: but Trophimus have I left at Miletum sick.
4: 21 Do thy diligence to come before winter.
Eubulus greeteth thee, and Pudens, and Linus, and Claudia, and all the brethren.
4: 22 The Lord Jesus Christ be with thy spirit.
Grace be with you.
Amen.
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to Titus
1: 5 For this cause left I thee in Crete, that thou shouldest set in order the things that are wanting, and ordain elders in every city, as I had appointed thee: 1: 6 If any be blameless, the husband of one wife, having faithful children not accused of riot or unruly.
1: 10 For there are many unruly and vain talkers and deceivers, specially they of the circumcision: 1: 11 Whose mouths must be stopped, who subvert whole houses, teaching things which they ought not, for filthy lucre's sake.
1: 12 One of themselves, even a prophet of their own, said, The Cretians are alway liars, evil beasts, slow bellies.
1: 13 This witness is true.
Wherefore rebuke them sharply, that they may be sound in the faith; 1: 14 Not giving heed to Jewish fables, and commandments of men, that turn from the truth.
1: 15 Unto the pure all things are pure: but unto them that are defiled and unbelieving is nothing pure; but even their mind and conscience is defiled.
1: 16 They profess that they know God; but in works they deny him, being abominable, and disobedient, and unto every good work reprobate.
2: 1 But speak thou the things which become sound doctrine: 2: 2 That the aged men be sober, grave, temperate, sound in faith, in charity, in patience.
2: 6 Young men likewise exhort to be sober minded.
2: 7 In all things shewing thyself a pattern of good works: in doctrine shewing uncorruptness, gravity, sincerity, 2: 8 Sound speech, that cannot be condemned; that he that is of the contrary part may be ashamed, having no evil thing to say of you.
2: 9 Exhort servants to be obedient unto their own masters, and to please them well in all things; not answering again; 2: 10 Not purloining, but shewing all good fidelity; that they may adorn the doctrine of God our Saviour in all things.
2: 15 These things speak, and exhort, and rebuke with all authority.
Let no man despise thee.
3: 1 Put them in mind to be subject to principalities and powers, to obey magistrates, to be ready to every good work, 3: 2 To speak evil of no man, to be no brawlers, but gentle, shewing all meekness unto all men.
3: 3 For we ourselves also were sometimes foolish, disobedient, deceived, serving divers lusts and pleasures, living in malice and envy, hateful, and hating one another.
3: 8 This is a faithful saying, and these things I will that thou affirm constantly, that they which have believed in God might be careful to maintain good works.
These things are good and profitable unto men.
3: 9 But avoid foolish questions, and genealogies, and contentions, and strivings about the law; for they are unprofitable and vain.
3: 10 A man that is an heretick after the first and second admonition reject; 3: 11 Knowing that he that is such is subverted, and sinneth, being condemned of himself.
3: 12 When I shall send Artemas unto thee, or Tychicus, be diligent to come unto me to Nicopolis: for I have determined there to winter.
3: 13 Bring Zenas the lawyer and Apollos on their journey diligently, that nothing be wanting unto them.
3: 14 And let our's also learn to maintain good works for necessary uses, that they be not unfruitful.
3: 15 All that are with me salute thee.
Greet them that love us in the faith.
Grace be with you all.
Amen.
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to Philemon
1: 7 For we have great joy and consolation in thy love, because the bowels of the saints are refreshed by thee, brother.
1: 8 Wherefore, though I might be much bold in Christ to enjoin thee that which is convenient, 1: 9 Yet for love's sake I rather beseech thee, being such an one as Paul the aged, and now also a prisoner of Jesus Christ.
1: 15 For perhaps he therefore departed for a season, that thou shouldest receive him for ever; 1: 16 Not now as a servant, but above a servant, a brother beloved, specially to me, but how much more unto thee, both in the flesh, and in the Lord?
1: 17 If thou count me therefore a partner, receive him as myself.
1: 18 If he hath wronged thee, or oweth thee ought, put that on mine account; 1: 19 I Paul have written it with mine own hand, I will repay it: albeit I do not say to thee how thou owest unto me even thine own self besides.
1: 20 Yea, brother, let me have joy of thee in the Lord: refresh my bowels in the Lord.
1: 21 Having confidence in thy obedience I wrote unto thee, knowing that thou wilt also do more than I say.
1: 22 But withal prepare me also a lodging: for I trust that through your prayers I shall be given unto you.
1: 23 There salute thee Epaphras, my fellowprisoner in Christ Jesus; 1: 24 Marcus, Aristarchus, Demas, Lucas, my fellowlabourers.
1: 25 The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit.
Amen.
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Hebrews
1: 5 For unto which of the angels said he at any time, Thou art my Son, this day have I begotten thee?
And again, I will be to him a Father, and he shall be to me a Son?
1: 6 And again, when he bringeth in the firstbegotten into the world, he saith, And let all the angels of God worship him.
1: 7 And of the angels he saith, Who maketh his angels spirits, and his ministers a flame of fire.
1: 8 But unto the Son he saith, Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever: a sceptre of righteousness is the sceptre of thy kingdom.
1: 9 Thou hast loved righteousness, and hated iniquity; therefore God, even thy God, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows.
1: 13 But to which of the angels said he at any time, Sit on my right hand, until I make thine enemies thy footstool?
1: 14 Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?
2: 1 Therefore we ought to give the more earnest heed to the things which we have heard, lest at any time we should let them slip.
2: 5 For unto the angels hath he not put in subjection the world to come, whereof we speak.
2: 6 But one in a certain place testified, saying, What is man, that thou art mindful of him?
or the son of man that thou visitest him?
2: 7 Thou madest him a little lower than the angels; thou crownedst him with glory and honour, and didst set him over the works of thy hands: 2: 8 Thou hast put all things in subjection under his feet.
For in that he put all in subjection under him, he left nothing that is not put under him.
But now we see not yet all things put under him.
2: 9 But we see Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels for the suffering of death, crowned with glory and honour; that he by the grace of God should taste death for every man.
2: 10 For it became him, for whom are all things, and by whom are all things, in bringing many sons unto glory, to make the captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings.
2: 11 For both he that sanctifieth and they who are sanctified are all of one: for which cause he is not ashamed to call them brethren, 2: 12 Saying, I will declare thy name unto my brethren, in the midst of the church will I sing praise unto thee.
2: 13 And again, I will put my trust in him.
And again, Behold I and the children which God hath given me.
2: 16 For verily he took not on him the nature of angels; but he took on him the seed of Abraham.
2: 17 Wherefore in all things it behoved him to be made like unto his brethren, that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in things pertaining to God, to make reconciliation for the sins of the people.
2: 18 For in that he himself hath suffered being tempted, he is able to succour them that are tempted.
3: 1 Wherefore, holy brethren, partakers of the heavenly calling, consider the Apostle and High Priest of our profession, Christ Jesus; 3: 2 Who was faithful to him that appointed him, as also Moses was faithful in all his house.
3: 3 For this man was counted worthy of more glory than Moses, inasmuch as he who hath builded the house hath more honour than the house.
3: 4 For every house is builded by some man; but he that built all things is God.
3: 5 And Moses verily was faithful in all his house, as a servant, for a testimony of those things which were to be spoken after; 3: 6 But Christ as a son over his own house; whose house are we, if we hold fast the confidence and the rejoicing of the hope firm unto the end.
3: 7 Wherefore (as the Holy Ghost saith, To day if ye will hear his voice, 3: 8 Harden not your hearts, as in the provocation, in the day of temptation in the wilderness: 3: 9 When your fathers tempted me, proved me, and saw my works forty years.
3: 10 Wherefore I was grieved with that generation, and said, They do alway err in their heart; and they have not known my ways.
3: 11 So I sware in my wrath, They shall not enter into my rest.)
3: 12 Take heed, brethren, lest there be in any of you an evil heart of unbelief, in departing from the living God.
3: 13 But exhort one another daily, while it is called To day; lest any of you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin.
3: 14 For we are made partakers of Christ, if we hold the beginning of our confidence stedfast unto the end; 3: 15 While it is said, To day if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts, as in the provocation.
3: 16 For some, when they had heard, did provoke: howbeit not all that came out of Egypt by Moses.
3: 17 But with whom was he grieved forty years?
was it not with them that had sinned, whose carcases fell in the wilderness?
3: 18 And to whom sware he that they should not enter into his rest, but to them that believed not?
3: 19 So we see that they could not enter in because of unbelief.
4: 1 Let us therefore fear, lest, a promise being left us of entering into his rest, any of you should seem to come short of it.
4: 2 For unto us was the gospel preached, as well as unto them: but the word preached did not profit them, not being mixed with faith in them that heard it.
4: 3 For we which have believed do enter into rest, as he said, As I have sworn in my wrath, if they shall enter into my rest: although the works were finished from the foundation of the world.
4: 4 For he spake in a certain place of the seventh day on this wise, And God did rest the seventh day from all his works.
4: 5 And in this place again, If they shall enter into my rest.
4: 8 For if Jesus had given them rest, then would he not afterward have spoken of another day.
4: 9 There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God.
4: 10 For he that is entered into his rest, he also hath ceased from his own works, as God did from his.
4: 11 Let us labour therefore to enter into that rest, lest any man fall after the same example of unbelief.
4: 12 For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.
4: 13 Neither is there any creature that is not manifest in his sight: but all things are naked and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do.
4: 14 Seeing then that we have a great high priest, that is passed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our profession.
4: 15 For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.
4: 16 Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.
5: 3 And by reason hereof he ought, as for the people, so also for himself, to offer for sins.
5: 4 And no man taketh this honour unto himself, but he that is called of God, as was Aaron.
5: 5 So also Christ glorified not himself to be made an high priest; but he that said unto him, Thou art my Son, to day have I begotten thee.
5: 6 As he saith also in another place, Thou art a priest for ever after the order of Melchisedec.
5: 11 Of whom we have many things to say, and hard to be uttered, seeing ye are dull of hearing.
5: 12 For when for the time ye ought to be teachers, ye have need that one teach you again which be the first principles of the oracles of God; and are become such as have need of milk, and not of strong meat.
5: 13 For every one that useth milk is unskilful in the word of righteousness: for he is a babe.
5: 14 But strong meat belongeth to them that are of full age, even those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern both good and evil.
6: 3 And this will we do, if God permit.
6: 7 For the earth which drinketh in the rain that cometh oft upon it, and bringeth forth herbs meet for them by whom it is dressed, receiveth blessing from God: 6: 8 But that which beareth thorns and briers is rejected, and is nigh unto cursing; whose end is to be burned.
6: 9 But, beloved, we are persuaded better things of you, and things that accompany salvation, though we thus speak.
6: 10 For God is not unrighteous to forget your work and labour of love, which ye have shewed toward his name, in that ye have ministered to the saints, and do minister.
6: 11 And we desire that every one of you do shew the same diligence to the full assurance of hope unto the end: 6: 12 That ye be not slothful, but followers of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises.
6: 13 For when God made promise to Abraham, because he could swear by no greater, he sware by himself, 6: 14 Saying, Surely blessing I will bless thee, and multiplying I will multiply thee.
6: 15 And so, after he had patiently endured, he obtained the promise.
6: 16 For men verily swear by the greater: and an oath for confirmation is to them an end of all strife.
7: 4 Now consider how great this man was, unto whom even the patriarch Abraham gave the tenth of the spoils.
7: 7 And without all contradiction the less is blessed of the better.
7: 8 And here men that die receive tithes; but there he receiveth them, of whom it is witnessed that he liveth.
7: 9 And as I may so say, Levi also, who receiveth tithes, payed tithes in Abraham.
7: 10 For he was yet in the loins of his father, when Melchisedec met him.
7: 11 If therefore perfection were by the Levitical priesthood, (for under it the people received the law,) what further need was there that another priest should rise after the order of Melchisedec, and not be called after the order of Aaron?
7: 12 For the priesthood being changed, there is made of necessity a change also of the law.
7: 13 For he of whom these things are spoken pertaineth to another tribe, of which no man gave attendance at the altar.
7: 14 For it is evident that our Lord sprang out of Juda; of which tribe Moses spake nothing concerning priesthood.
7: 15 And it is yet far more evident: for that after the similitude of Melchisedec there ariseth another priest, 7: 16 Who is made, not after the law of a carnal commandment, but after the power of an endless life.
7: 17 For he testifieth, Thou art a priest for ever after the order of Melchisedec.
7: 18 For there is verily a disannulling of the commandment going before for the weakness and unprofitableness thereof.
7: 19 For the law made nothing perfect, but the bringing in of a better hope did; by the which we draw nigh unto God.
7: 23 And they truly were many priests, because they were not suffered to continue by reason of death: 7: 24 But this man, because he continueth ever, hath an unchangeable priesthood.
7: 25 Wherefore he is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them.
7: 28 For the law maketh men high priests which have infirmity; but the word of the oath, which was since the law, maketh the Son, who is consecrated for evermore.
8: 1 Now of the things which we have spoken this is the sum: We have such an high priest, who is set on the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens; 8: 2 A minister of the sanctuary, and of the true tabernacle, which the Lord pitched, and not man.
8: 3 For every high priest is ordained to offer gifts and sacrifices: wherefore it is of necessity that this man have somewhat also to offer.
8: 6 But now hath he obtained a more excellent ministry, by how much also he is the mediator of a better covenant, which was established upon better promises.
8: 7 For if that first covenant had been faultless, then should no place have been sought for the second.
8: 12 For I will be merciful to their unrighteousness, and their sins and their iniquities will I remember no more.
8: 13 In that he saith, A new covenant, he hath made the first old.
Now that which decayeth and waxeth old is ready to vanish away.
9: 1 Then verily the first covenant had also ordinances of divine service, and a worldly sanctuary.
9: 2 For there was a tabernacle made; the first, wherein was the candlestick, and the table, and the shewbread; which is called the sanctuary.
9: 6 Now when these things were thus ordained, the priests went always into the first tabernacle, accomplishing the service of God.
9: 15 And for this cause he is the mediator of the new testament, that by means of death, for the redemption of the transgressions that were under the first testament, they which are called might receive the promise of eternal inheritance.
9: 16 For where a testament is, there must also of necessity be the death of the testator.
9: 17 For a testament is of force after men are dead: otherwise it is of no strength at all while the testator liveth.
9: 18 Whereupon neither the first testament was dedicated without blood.
9: 21 Moreover he sprinkled with blood both the tabernacle, and all the vessels of the ministry.
9: 22 And almost all things are by the law purged with blood; and without shedding of blood is no remission.
9: 23 It was therefore necessary that the patterns of things in the heavens should be purified with these; but the heavenly things themselves with better sacrifices than these.
9: 27 And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment: 9: 28 So Christ was once offered to bear the sins of many; and unto them that look for him shall he appear the second time without sin unto salvation.
10: 1 For the law having a shadow of good things to come, and not the very image of the things, can never with those sacrifices which they offered year by year continually make the comers thereunto perfect.
10: 2 For then would they not have ceased to be offered?
because that the worshippers once purged should have had no more conscience of sins.
10: 3 But in those sacrifices there is a remembrance again made of sins every year.
10: 4 For it is not possible that the blood of bulls and of goats should take away sins.
10: 5 Wherefore when he cometh into the world, he saith, Sacrifice and offering thou wouldest not, but a body hast thou prepared me: 10: 6 In burnt offerings and sacrifices for sin thou hast had no pleasure.
10: 7 Then said I, Lo, I come (in the volume of the book it is written of me,) to do thy will, O God.
10: 8 Above when he said, Sacrifice and offering and burnt offerings and offering for sin thou wouldest not, neither hadst pleasure therein; which are offered by the law; 10: 9 Then said he, Lo, I come to do thy will, O God.
He taketh away the first, that he may establish the second.
10: 10 By the which will we are sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.
10: 14 For by one offering he hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified.
10: 18 Now where remission of these is, there is no more offering for sin.
10: 26 For if we sin wilfully after that we have received the knowledge of the truth, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sins, 10: 27 But a certain fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation, which shall devour the adversaries.
10: 30 For we know him that hath said, Vengeance belongeth unto me, I will recompense, saith the Lord.
And again, The Lord shall judge his people.
10: 31 It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.
10: 34 For ye had compassion of me in my bonds, and took joyfully the spoiling of your goods, knowing in yourselves that ye have in heaven a better and an enduring substance.
10: 35 Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hath great recompence of reward.
10: 36 For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise.
10: 37 For yet a little while, and he that shall come will come, and will not tarry.
10: 38 Now the just shall live by faith: but if any man draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him.
10: 39 But we are not of them who draw back unto perdition; but of them that believe to the saving of the soul.
11: 1 Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
11: 2 For by it the elders obtained a good report.
11: 3 Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear.
11: 4 By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain, by which he obtained witness that he was righteous, God testifying of his gifts: and by it he being dead yet speaketh.
11: 5 By faith Enoch was translated that he should not see death; and was not found, because God had translated him: for before his translation he had this testimony, that he pleased God.
11: 6 But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.
11: 7 By faith Noah, being warned of God of things not seen as yet, moved with fear, prepared an ark to the saving of his house; by the which he condemned the world, and became heir of the righteousness which is by faith.
11: 8 By faith Abraham, when he was called to go out into a place which he should after receive for an inheritance, obeyed; and he went out, not knowing whither he went.
11: 9 By faith he sojourned in the land of promise, as in a strange country, dwelling in tabernacles with Isaac and Jacob, the heirs with him of the same promise: 11: 10 For he looked for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God.
11: 11 Through faith also Sara herself received strength to conceive seed, and was delivered of a child when she was past age, because she judged him faithful who had promised.
11: 12 Therefore sprang there even of one, and him as good as dead, so many as the stars of the sky in multitude, and as the sand which is by the sea shore innumerable.
11: 13 These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth.
11: 14 For they that say such things declare plainly that they seek a country.
11: 15 And truly, if they had been mindful of that country from whence they came out, they might have had opportunity to have returned.
11: 16 But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly: wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God: for he hath prepared for them a city.
11: 20 By faith Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau concerning things to come.
11: 21 By faith Jacob, when he was a dying, blessed both the sons of Joseph; and worshipped, leaning upon the top of his staff.
11: 22 By faith Joseph, when he died, made mention of the departing of the children of Israel; and gave commandment concerning his bones.
11: 23 By faith Moses, when he was born, was hid three months of his parents, because they saw he was a proper child; and they were not afraid of the king's commandment.
11: 27 By faith he forsook Egypt, not fearing the wrath of the king: for he endured, as seeing him who is invisible.
11: 28 Through faith he kept the passover, and the sprinkling of blood, lest he that destroyed the firstborn should touch them.
11: 29 By faith they passed through the Red sea as by dry land: which the Egyptians assaying to do were drowned.
11: 30 By faith the walls of Jericho fell down, after they were compassed about seven days.
11: 31 By faith the harlot Rahab perished not with them that believed not, when she had received the spies with peace.
11: 32 And what shall I more say?
for the time would fail me to tell of Gedeon, and of Barak, and of Samson, and of Jephthae; of David also, and Samuel, and of the prophets: 11: 33 Who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions.
11: 34 Quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens.
11: 39 And these all, having obtained a good report through faith, received not the promise: 11: 40 God having provided some better thing for us, that they without us should not be made perfect.
12: 3 For consider him that endured such contradiction of sinners against himself, lest ye be wearied and faint in your minds.
12: 4 Ye have not yet resisted unto blood, striving against sin.
12: 5 And ye have forgotten the exhortation which speaketh unto you as unto children, My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of him: 12: 6 For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.
12: 7 If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not?
12: 8 But if ye be without chastisement, whereof all are partakers, then are ye bastards, and not sons.
12: 9 Furthermore we have had fathers of our flesh which corrected us, and we gave them reverence: shall we not much rather be in subjection unto the Father of spirits, and live?
12: 10 For they verily for a few days chastened us after their own pleasure; but he for our profit, that we might be partakers of his holiness.
12: 11 Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.
12: 12 Wherefore lift up the hands which hang down, and the feeble knees; 12: 13 And make straight paths for your feet, lest that which is lame be turned out of the way; but let it rather be healed.
12: 17 For ye know how that afterward, when he would have inherited the blessing, he was rejected: for he found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears.
12: 25 See that ye refuse not him that speaketh.
12: 27 And this word, Yet once more, signifieth the removing of those things that are shaken, as of things that are made, that those things which cannot be shaken may remain.
12: 28 Wherefore we receiving a kingdom which cannot be moved, let us have grace, whereby we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear: 12: 29 For our God is a consuming fire.
13: 1 Let brotherly love continue.
13: 2 Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.
13: 3 Remember them that are in bonds, as bound with them; and them which suffer adversity, as being yourselves also in the body.
13: 4 Marriage is honourable in all, and the bed undefiled: but whoremongers and adulterers God will judge.
13: 5 Let your conversation be without covetousness; and be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.
13: 6 So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.
13: 7 Remember them which have the rule over you, who have spoken unto you the word of God: whose faith follow, considering the end of their conversation.
13: 8 Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever.
13: 9 Be not carried about with divers and strange doctrines.
For it is a good thing that the heart be established with grace; not with meats, which have not profited them that have been occupied therein.
13: 10 We have an altar, whereof they have no right to eat which serve the tabernacle.
13: 11 For the bodies of those beasts, whose blood is brought into the sanctuary by the high priest for sin, are burned without the camp.
13: 12 Wherefore Jesus also, that he might sanctify the people with his own blood, suffered without the gate.
13: 13 Let us go forth therefore unto him without the camp, bearing his reproach.
13: 14 For here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come.
13: 15 By him therefore let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually, that is, the fruit of our lips giving thanks to his name.
13: 16 But to do good and to communicate forget not: for with such sacrifices God is well pleased.
13: 17 Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves: for they watch for your souls, as they that must give account, that they may do it with joy, and not with grief: for that is unprofitable for you.
13: 18 Pray for us: for we trust we have a good conscience, in all things willing to live honestly.
13: 19 But I beseech you the rather to do this, that I may be restored to you the sooner.
Amen.
13: 22 And I beseech you, brethren, suffer the word of exhortation: for I have written a letter unto you in few words.
13: 23 Know ye that our brother Timothy is set at liberty; with whom, if he come shortly, I will see you.
13: 24 Salute all them that have the rule over you, and all the saints.
They of Italy salute you.
13: 25 Grace be with you all.
Amen.
The General Epistle of James
1: 1 James, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ, to the twelve tribes which are scattered abroad, greeting.
1: 2 My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; 1: 3 Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.
1: 4 But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.
1: 5 If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.
1: 6 But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering.
For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.
1: 7 For let not that man think that he shall receive any thing of the Lord.
1: 8 A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.
1: 9 Let the brother of low degree rejoice in that he is exalted: 1: 10 But the rich, in that he is made low: because as the flower of the grass he shall pass away.
1: 11 For the sun is no sooner risen with a burning heat, but it withereth the grass, and the flower thereof falleth, and the grace of the fashion of it perisheth: so also shall the rich man fade away in his ways.
1: 12 Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him.
1: 13 Let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God: for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man: 1: 14 But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed.
1: 15 Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin: and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death.
1: 16 Do not err, my beloved brethren.
1: 17 Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.
1: 18 Of his own will begat he us with the word of truth, that we should be a kind of firstfruits of his creatures.
1: 19 Wherefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath: 1: 20 For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.
1: 21 Wherefore lay apart all filthiness and superfluity of naughtiness, and receive with meekness the engrafted word, which is able to save your souls.
1: 22 But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.
1: 23 For if any be a hearer of the word, and not a doer, he is like unto a man beholding his natural face in a glass: 1: 24 For he beholdeth himself, and goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he was.
1: 25 But whoso looketh into the perfect law of liberty, and continueth therein, he being not a forgetful hearer, but a doer of the work, this man shall be blessed in his deed.
1: 26 If any man among you seem to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this man's religion is vain.
1: 27 Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.
2: 1 My brethren, have not the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory, with respect of persons.
2: 5 Hearken, my beloved brethren, Hath not God chosen the poor of this world rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which he hath promised to them that love him?
2: 6 But ye have despised the poor.
Do not rich men oppress you, and draw you before the judgment seats?
2: 7 Do not they blaspheme that worthy name by the which ye are called?
2: 8 If ye fulfil the royal law according to the scripture, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself, ye do well: 2: 9 But if ye have respect to persons, ye commit sin, and are convinced of the law as transgressors.
2: 10 For whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all.
2: 11 For he that said, Do not commit adultery, said also, Do not kill.
Now if thou commit no adultery, yet if thou kill, thou art become a transgressor of the law.
2: 12 So speak ye, and so do, as they that shall be judged by the law of liberty.
2: 13 For he shall have judgment without mercy, that hath shewed no mercy; and mercy rejoiceth against judgment.
2: 14 What doth it profit, my brethren, though a man say he hath faith, and have not works?
can faith save him?
2: 15 If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, 2: 16 And one of you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled; notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to the body; what doth it profit?
2: 17 Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone.
2: 18 Yea, a man may say, Thou hast faith, and I have works: shew me thy faith without thy works, and I will shew thee my faith by my works.
2: 19 Thou believest that there is one God; thou doest well: the devils also believe, and tremble.
2: 20 But wilt thou know, O vain man, that faith without works is dead?
2: 21 Was not Abraham our father justified by works, when he had offered Isaac his son upon the altar?
2: 22 Seest thou how faith wrought with his works, and by works was faith made perfect?
2: 23 And the scripture was fulfilled which saith, Abraham believed God, and it was imputed unto him for righteousness: and he was called the Friend of God.
2: 24 Ye see then how that by works a man is justified, and not by faith only.
2: 25 Likewise also was not Rahab the harlot justified by works, when she had received the messengers, and had sent them out another way?
2: 26 For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also.
3: 1 My brethren, be not many masters, knowing that we shall receive the greater condemnation.
3: 2 For in many things we offend all.
If any man offend not in word, the same is a perfect man, and able also to bridle the whole body.
3: 3 Behold, we put bits in the horses'mouths, that they may obey us; and we turn about their whole body.
3: 4 Behold also the ships, which though they be so great, and are driven of fierce winds, yet are they turned about with a very small helm, whithersoever the governor listeth.
3: 5 Even so the tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things.
Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!
3: 6 And the tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity: so is the tongue among our members, that it defileth the whole body, and setteth on fire the course of nature; and it is set on fire of hell.
3: 7 For every kind of beasts, and of birds, and of serpents, and of things in the sea, is tamed, and hath been tamed of mankind: 3: 8 But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.
3: 9 Therewith bless we God, even the Father; and therewith curse we men, which are made after the similitude of God.
3: 10 Out of the same mouth proceedeth blessing and cursing.
My brethren, these things ought not so to be.
3: 11 Doth a fountain send forth at the same place sweet water and bitter?
3: 12 Can the fig tree, my brethren, bear olive berries?
either a vine, figs?
so can no fountain both yield salt water and fresh.
3: 13 Who is a wise man and endued with knowledge among you?
let him shew out of a good conversation his works with meekness of wisdom.
3: 14 But if ye have bitter envying and strife in your hearts, glory not, and lie not against the truth.
3: 15 This wisdom descendeth not from above, but is earthly, sensual, devilish.
3: 16 For where envying and strife is, there is confusion and every evil work.
3: 17 But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be intreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy.
3: 18 And the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace of them that make peace.
4: 1 From whence come wars and fightings among you?
come they not hence, even of your lusts that war in your members?
4: 2 Ye lust, and have not: ye kill, and desire to have, and cannot obtain: ye fight and war, yet ye have not, because ye ask not.
4: 3 Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts.
4: 4 Ye adulterers and adulteresses, know ye not that the friendship of the world is enmity with God?
whosoever therefore will be a friend of the world is the enemy of God.
4: 5 Do ye think that the scripture saith in vain, The spirit that dwelleth in us lusteth to envy?
4: 6 But he giveth more grace.
Wherefore he saith, God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble.
4: 7 Submit yourselves therefore to God.
Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.
4: 8 Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you.
Cleanse your hands, ye sinners; and purify your hearts, ye double minded.
4: 9 Be afflicted, and mourn, and weep: let your laughter be turned to mourning, and your joy to heaviness.
4: 10 Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up.
4: 11 Speak not evil one of another, brethren.
He that speaketh evil of his brother, and judgeth his brother, speaketh evil of the law, and judgeth the law: but if thou judge the law, thou art not a doer of the law, but a judge.
4: 12 There is one lawgiver, who is able to save and to destroy: who art thou that judgest another?
4: 13 Go to now, ye that say, To day or to morrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy and sell, and get gain: 4: 14 Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow.
For what is your life?
It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.
4: 15 For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that.
4: 16 But now ye rejoice in your boastings: all such rejoicing is evil.
4: 17 Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.
5: 1 Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you.
5: 2 Your riches are corrupted, and your garments are motheaten.
5: 3 Your gold and silver is cankered; and the rust of them shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire.
Ye have heaped treasure together for the last days.
5: 4 Behold, the hire of the labourers who have reaped down your fields, which is of you kept back by fraud, crieth: and the cries of them which have reaped are entered into the ears of the Lord of sabaoth.
5: 5 Ye have lived in pleasure on the earth, and been wanton; ye have nourished your hearts, as in a day of slaughter.
5: 6 Ye have condemned and killed the just; and he doth not resist you.
5: 7 Be patient therefore, brethren, unto the coming of the Lord.
Behold, the husbandman waiteth for the precious fruit of the earth, and hath long patience for it, until he receive the early and latter rain.
5: 8 Be ye also patient; stablish your hearts: for the coming of the Lord draweth nigh.
5: 9 Grudge not one against another, brethren, lest ye be condemned: behold, the judge standeth before the door.
5: 10 Take, my brethren, the prophets, who have spoken in the name of the Lord, for an example of suffering affliction, and of patience.
5: 11 Behold, we count them happy which endure.
Ye have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord; that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy.
5: 12 But above all things, my brethren, swear not, neither by heaven, neither by the earth, neither by any other oath: but let your yea be yea; and your nay, nay; lest ye fall into condemnation.
5: 13 Is any among you afflicted?
let him pray.
Is any merry?
let him sing psalms.
5: 14 Is any sick among you?
let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord: 5: 15 And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he have committed sins, they shall be forgiven him.
5: 16 Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed.
The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.
5: 17 Elias was a man subject to like passions as we are, and he prayed earnestly that it might not rain: and it rained not on the earth by the space of three years and six months.
5: 18 And he prayed again, and the heaven gave rain, and the earth brought forth her fruit.
5: 19 Brethren, if any of you do err from the truth, and one convert him; 5: 20 Let him know, that he which converteth the sinner from the error of his way shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins.
The First Epistle General of Peter
1: 12 Unto whom it was revealed, that not unto themselves, but unto us they did minister the things, which are now reported unto you by them that have preached the gospel unto you with the Holy Ghost sent down from heaven; which things the angels desire to look into.
1: 24 For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass.
The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away: 1: 25 But the word of the Lord endureth for ever.
And this is the word which by the gospel is preached unto you.
2: 1 Wherefore laying aside all malice, and all guile, and hypocrisies, and envies, all evil speakings, 2: 2 As newborn babes, desire the sincere milk of the word, that ye may grow thereby: 2: 3 If so be ye have tasted that the Lord is gracious.
2: 4 To whom coming, as unto a living stone, disallowed indeed of men, but chosen of God, and precious, 2: 5 Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house, an holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God by Jesus Christ.
2: 6 Wherefore also it is contained in the scripture, Behold, I lay in Sion a chief corner stone, elect, precious: and he that believeth on him shall not be confounded.
2: 13 Submit yourselves to every ordinance of man for the Lord's sake: whether it be to the king, as supreme; 2: 14 Or unto governors, as unto them that are sent by him for the punishment of evildoers, and for the praise of them that do well.
2: 15 For so is the will of God, that with well doing ye may put to silence the ignorance of foolish men: 2: 16 As free, and not using your liberty for a cloke of maliciousness, but as the servants of God.
2: 17 Honour all men.
Love the brotherhood.
Fear God.
Honour the king.
2: 18 Servants, be subject to your masters with all fear; not only to the good and gentle, but also to the froward.
2: 19 For this is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God endure grief, suffering wrongfully.
2: 20 For what glory is it, if, when ye be buffeted for your faults, ye shall take it patiently?
but if, when ye do well, and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable with God.
2: 25 For ye were as sheep going astray; but are now returned unto the Shepherd and Bishop of your souls.
3: 1 Likewise, ye wives, be in subjection to your own husbands; that, if any obey not the word, they also may without the word be won by the conversation of the wives; 3: 2 While they behold your chaste conversation coupled with fear.
3: 7 Likewise, ye husbands, dwell with them according to knowledge, giving honour unto the wife, as unto the weaker vessel, and as being heirs together of the grace of life; that your prayers be not hindered.
3: 8 Finally, be ye all of one mind, having compassion one of another, love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous: 3: 9 Not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing: but contrariwise blessing; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye should inherit a blessing.
3: 10 For he that will love life, and see good days, let him refrain his tongue from evil, and his lips that they speak no guile: 3: 11 Let him eschew evil, and do good; let him seek peace, and ensue it.
3: 12 For the eyes of the Lord are over the righteous, and his ears are open unto their prayers: but the face of the Lord is against them that do evil.
3: 13 And who is he that will harm you, if ye be followers of that which is good?
3: 17 For it is better, if the will of God be so, that ye suffer for well doing, than for evil doing.
4: 6 For for this cause was the gospel preached also to them that are dead, that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit.
4: 7 But the end of all things is at hand: be ye therefore sober, and watch unto prayer.
4: 8 And above all things have fervent charity among yourselves: for charity shall cover the multitude of sins.
4: 9 Use hospitality one to another without grudging.
4: 10 As every man hath received the gift, even so minister the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God.
4: 11 If any man speak, let him speak as the oracles of God; if any man minister, let him do it as of the ability which God giveth: that God in all things may be glorified through Jesus Christ, to whom be praise and dominion for ever and ever.
Amen.
4: 14 If ye be reproached for the name of Christ, happy are ye; for the spirit of glory and of God resteth upon you: on their part he is evil spoken of, but on your part he is glorified.
4: 15 But let none of you suffer as a murderer, or as a thief, or as an evildoer, or as a busybody in other men's matters.
4: 16 Yet if any man suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed; but let him glorify God on this behalf.
4: 17 For the time is come that judgment must begin at the house of God: and if it first begin at us, what shall the end be of them that obey not the gospel of God?
4: 18 And if the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?
4: 19 Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator.
5: 4 And when the chief Shepherd shall appear, ye shall receive a crown of glory that fadeth not away.
5: 5 Likewise, ye younger, submit yourselves unto the elder.
Yea, all of you be subject one to another, and be clothed with humility: for God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble.
5: 6 Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time: 5: 7 Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.
5: 8 Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour: 5: 9 Whom resist stedfast in the faith, knowing that the same afflictions are accomplished in your brethren that are in the world.
5: 10 But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.
5: 11 To him be glory and dominion for ever and ever.
Amen.
5: 12 By Silvanus, a faithful brother unto you, as I suppose, I have written briefly, exhorting, and testifying that this is the true grace of God wherein ye stand.
5: 13 The church that is at Babylon, elected together with you, saluteth you; and so doth Marcus my son.
5: 14 Greet ye one another with a kiss of charity.
Peace be with you all that are in Christ Jesus.
Amen.
The Second General Epistle of Peter
1: 5 And beside this, giving all diligence, add to your faith virtue; and to virtue knowledge; 1: 6 And to knowledge temperance; and to temperance patience; and to patience godliness; 1: 7 And to godliness brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness charity.
1: 8 For if these things be in you, and abound, they make you that ye shall neither be barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.
1: 9 But he that lacketh these things is blind, and cannot see afar off, and hath forgotten that he was purged from his old sins.
1: 10 Wherefore the rather, brethren, give diligence to make your calling and election sure: for if ye do these things, ye shall never fall: 1: 11 For so an entrance shall be ministered unto you abundantly into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
1: 12 Wherefore I will not be negligent to put you always in remembrance of these things, though ye know them, and be established in the present truth.
1: 13 Yea, I think it meet, as long as I am in this tabernacle, to stir you up by putting you in remembrance; 1: 14 Knowing that shortly I must put off this my tabernacle, even as our Lord Jesus Christ hath shewed me.
1: 15 Moreover I will endeavour that ye may be able after my decease to have these things always in remembrance.
1: 16 For we have not followed cunningly devised fables, when we made known unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eyewitnesses of his majesty.
1: 17 For he received from God the Father honour and glory, when there came such a voice to him from the excellent glory, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.
1: 18 And this voice which came from heaven we heard, when we were with him in the holy mount.
1: 21 For the prophecy came not in old time by the will of man: but holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.
2: 1 But there were false prophets also among the people, even as there shall be false teachers among you, who privily shall bring in damnable heresies, even denying the Lord that bought them, and bring upon themselves swift destruction.
2: 2 And many shall follow their pernicious ways; by reason of whom the way of truth shall be evil spoken of.
2: 3 And through covetousness shall they with feigned words make merchandise of you: whose judgment now of a long time lingereth not, and their damnation slumbereth not.
Presumptuous are they, selfwilled, they are not afraid to speak evil of dignities.
2: 11 Whereas angels, which are greater in power and might, bring not railing accusation against them before the Lord.
2: 17 These are wells without water, clouds that are carried with a tempest; to whom the mist of darkness is reserved for ever.
2: 18 For when they speak great swelling words of vanity, they allure through the lusts of the flesh, through much wantonness, those that were clean escaped from them who live in error.
2: 19 While they promise them liberty, they themselves are the servants of corruption: for of whom a man is overcome, of the same is he brought in bondage.
2: 20 For if after they have escaped the pollutions of the world through the knowledge of the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, they are again entangled therein, and overcome, the latter end is worse with them than the beginning.
2: 21 For it had been better for them not to have known the way of righteousness, than, after they have known it, to turn from the holy commandment delivered unto them.
2: 22 But it is happened unto them according to the true proverb, The dog is turned to his own vomit again; and the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire.
for since the fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the beginning of the creation.
3: 8 But, beloved, be not ignorant of this one thing, that one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.
3: 9 The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us - ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.
3: 10 But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night; in the which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up.
3: 13 Nevertheless we, according to his promise, look for new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness.
3: 14 Wherefore, beloved, seeing that ye look for such things, be diligent that ye may be found of him in peace, without spot, and blameless.
3: 17 Ye therefore, beloved, seeing ye know these things before, beware lest ye also, being led away with the error of the wicked, fall from your own stedfastness.
3: 18 But grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
To him be glory both now and for ever.
Amen.
The First Epistle General of John
1: 4 And these things write we unto you, that your joy may be full.
1: 5 This then is the message which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all.
1: 6 If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth: 1: 7 But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.
1: 8 If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.
1: 9 If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
1: 10 If we say that we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.
2: 1 My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not.
And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous: 2: 2 And he is the propitiation for our sins: and not for our's only, but also for the sins of the whole world.
2: 3 And hereby we do know that we know him, if we keep his commandments.
2: 4 He that saith, I know him, and keepeth not his commandments, is a liar, and the truth is not in him.
2: 5 But whoso keepeth his word, in him verily is the love of God perfected: hereby know we that we are in him.
2: 6 He that saith he abideth in him ought himself also so to walk, even as he walked.
2: 7 Brethren, I write no new commandment unto you, but an old commandment which ye had from the beginning.
The old commandment is the word which ye have heard from the beginning.
2: 8 Again, a new commandment I write unto you, which thing is true in him and in you: because the darkness is past, and the true light now shineth.
2: 9 He that saith he is in the light, and hateth his brother, is in darkness even until now.
2: 10 He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling in him.
2: 11 But he that hateth his brother is in darkness, and walketh in darkness, and knoweth not whither he goeth, because that darkness hath blinded his eyes.
2: 12 I write unto you, little children, because your sins are forgiven you for his name's sake.
2: 13 I write unto you, fathers, because ye have known him that is from the beginning.
I write unto you, young men, because ye have overcome the wicked one.
I write unto you, little children, because ye have known the Father.
2: 14 I have written unto you, fathers, because ye have known him that is from the beginning.
I have written unto you, young men, because ye are strong, and the word of God abideth in you, and ye have overcome the wicked one.
2: 15 Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world.
If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him.
2: 16 For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.
2: 17 And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever.
2: 18 Little children, it is the last time: and as ye have heard that antichrist shall come, even now are there many antichrists; whereby we know that it is the last time.
2: 19 They went out from us, but they were not of us; for if they had been of us, they would no doubt have continued with us: but they went out, that they might be made manifest that they were not all of us.
2: 20 But ye have an unction from the Holy One, and ye know all things.
2: 21 I have not written unto you because ye know not the truth, but because ye know it, and that no lie is of the truth.
2: 22 Who is a liar but he that denieth that Jesus is the Christ?
He is antichrist, that denieth the Father and the Son.
2: 23 Whosoever denieth the Son, the same hath not the Father: he that acknowledgeth the Son hath the Father also.
2: 24 Let that therefore abide in you, which ye have heard from the beginning.
If that which ye have heard from the beginning shall remain in you, ye also shall continue in the Son, and in the Father.
2: 25 And this is the promise that he hath promised us, even eternal life.
2: 26 These things have I written unto you concerning them that seduce you.
2: 27 But the anointing which ye have received of him abideth in you, and ye need not that any man teach you: but as the same anointing teacheth you of all things, and is truth, and is no lie, and even as it hath taught you, ye shall abide in him.
2: 28 And now, little children, abide in him; that, when he shall appear, we may have confidence, and not be ashamed before him at his coming.
2: 29 If ye know that he is righteous, ye know that every one that doeth righteousness is born of him.
3: 1 Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God: therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew him not.
3: 2 Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is.
3: 3 And every man that hath this hope in him purifieth himself, even as he is pure.
3: 4 Whosoever committeth sin transgresseth also the law: for sin is the transgression of the law.
3: 5 And ye know that he was manifested to take away our sins; and in him is no sin.
3: 6 Whosoever abideth in him sinneth not: whosoever sinneth hath not seen him, neither known him.
3: 7 Little children, let no man deceive you: he that doeth righteousness is righteous, even as he is righteous.
3: 8 He that committeth sin is of the devil; for the devil sinneth from the beginning.
For this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil.
3: 9 Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin; for his seed remaineth in him: and he cannot sin, because he is born of God.
3: 10 In this the children of God are manifest, and the children of the devil: whosoever doeth not righteousness is not of God, neither he that loveth not his brother.
3: 11 For this is the message that ye heard from the beginning, that we should love one another.
3: 12 Not as Cain, who was of that wicked one, and slew his brother.
And wherefore slew he him?
Because his own works were evil, and his brother's righteous.
3: 13 Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you.
3: 14 We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren.
He that loveth not his brother abideth in death.
3: 15 Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer: and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him.
3: 16 Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.
3: 17 But whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?
3: 18 My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth.
3: 19 And hereby we know that we are of the truth, and shall assure our hearts before him.
3: 20 For if our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things.
3: 21 Beloved, if our heart condemn us not, then have we confidence toward God.
3: 22 And whatsoever we ask, we receive of him, because we keep his commandments, and do those things that are pleasing in his sight.
3: 23 And this is his commandment, That we should believe on the name of his Son Jesus Christ, and love one another, as he gave us commandment.
3: 24 And he that keepeth his commandments dwelleth in him, and he in him.
And hereby we know that he abideth in us, by the Spirit which he hath given us.
4: 1 Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world.
4: 4 Ye are of God, little children, and have overcome them: because greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world.
4: 5 They are of the world: therefore speak they of the world, and the world heareth them.
4: 6 We are of God: he that knoweth God heareth us; he that is not of God heareth not us.
Hereby know we the spirit of truth, and the spirit of error.
4: 7 Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God.
4: 8 He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love.
4: 9 In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through him.
4: 10 Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.
4: 11 Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also to love one another.
4: 12 No man hath seen God at any time.
If we love one another, God dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us.
4: 13 Hereby know we that we dwell in him, and he in us, because he hath given us of his Spirit.
4: 14 And we have seen and do testify that the Father sent the Son to be the Saviour of the world.
4: 15 Whosoever shall confess that Jesus is the Son of God, God dwelleth in him, and he in God.
4: 16 And we have known and believed the love that God hath to us.
God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.
4: 17 Herein is our love made perfect, that we may have boldness in the day of judgment: because as he is, so are we in this world.
4: 18 There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment.
He that feareth is not made perfect in love.
4: 19 We love him, because he first loved us.
4: 20 If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?
4: 21 And this commandment have we from him, That he who loveth God love his brother also.
5: 1 Whosoever believeth that Jesus is the Christ is born of God: and every one that loveth him that begat loveth him also that is begotten of him.
5: 2 By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God, and keep his commandments.
5: 3 For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments: and his commandments are not grievous.
5: 4 For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world: and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith.
5: 5 Who is he that overcometh the world, but he that believeth that Jesus is the Son of God?
5: 6 This is he that came by water and blood, even Jesus Christ; not by water only, but by water and blood.
And it is the Spirit that beareth witness, because the Spirit is truth.
5: 7 For there are three that bear record in heaven, the Father, the Word, and the Holy Ghost: and these three are one.
5: 8 And there are three that bear witness in earth, the Spirit, and the water, and the blood: and these three agree in one.
5: 9 If we receive the witness of men, the witness of God is greater: for this is the witness of God which he hath testified of his Son.
5: 10 He that believeth on the Son of God hath the witness in himself: he that believeth not God hath made him a liar; because he believeth not the record that God gave of his Son.
5: 11 And this is the record, that God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in his Son.
5: 12 He that hath the Son hath life; and he that hath not the Son of God hath not life.
5: 13 These things have I written unto you that believe on the name of the Son of God; that ye may know that ye have eternal life, and that ye may believe on the name of the Son of God.
5: 14 And this is the confidence that we have in him, that, if we ask any thing according to his will, he heareth us: 5: 15 And if we know that he hear us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of him.
5: 16 If any man see his brother sin a sin which is not unto death, he shall ask, and he shall give him life for them that sin not unto death.
There is a sin unto death: I do not say that he shall pray for it.
5: 17 All unrighteousness is sin: and there is a sin not unto death.
5: 18 We know that whosoever is born of God sinneth not; but he that is begotten of God keepeth himself, and that wicked one toucheth him not.
5: 19 And we know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness.
5: 20 And we know that the Son of God is come, and hath given us an understanding, that we may know him that is true, and we are in him that is true, even in his Son Jesus Christ.
This is the true God, and eternal life.
5: 21 Little children, keep yourselves from idols.
Amen.
The Second Epistle General of John
1: 1 The elder unto the elect lady and her children, whom I love in the truth; and not I only, but also all they that have known the truth; 1: 2 For the truth's sake, which dwelleth in us, and shall be with us for ever.
1: 3 Grace be with you, mercy, and peace, from God the Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of the Father, in truth and love.
1: 4 I rejoiced greatly that I found of thy children walking in truth, as we have received a commandment from the Father.
1: 5 And now I beseech thee, lady, not as though I wrote a new commandment unto thee, but that which we had from the beginning, that we love one another.
1: 6 And this is love, that we walk after his commandments.
This is the commandment, That, as ye have heard from the beginning, ye should walk in it.
1: 7 For many deceivers are entered into the world, who confess not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh.
This is a deceiver and an antichrist.
1: 8 Look to yourselves, that we lose not those things which we have wrought, but that we receive a full reward.
1: 9 Whosoever transgresseth, and abideth not in the doctrine of Christ, hath not God.
He that abideth in the doctrine of Christ, he hath both the Father and the Son.
1: 10 If there come any unto you, and bring not this doctrine, receive him not into your house, neither bid him God speed: 1: 11 For he that biddeth him God speed is partaker of his evil deeds.
1: 12 Having many things to write unto you, I would not write with paper and ink: but I trust to come unto you, and speak face to face, that our joy may be full.
1: 13 The children of thy elect sister greet thee.
Amen.
The Third Epistle General of John
1: 1 The elder unto the wellbeloved Gaius, whom I love in the truth.
1: 2 Beloved, I wish above all things that thou mayest prosper and be in health, even as thy soul prospereth.
1: 3 For I rejoiced greatly, when the brethren came and testified of the truth that is in thee, even as thou walkest in the truth.
1: 4 I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth.
1: 8 We therefore ought to receive such, that we might be fellowhelpers to the truth.
1: 9 I wrote unto the church: but Diotrephes, who loveth to have the preeminence among them, receiveth us not.
1: 10 Wherefore, if I come, I will remember his deeds which he doeth, prating against us with malicious words: and not content therewith, neither doth he himself receive the brethren, and forbiddeth them that would, and casteth them out of the church.
1: 11 Beloved, follow not that which is evil, but that which is good.
He that doeth good is of God: but he that doeth evil hath not seen God.
1: 12 Demetrius hath good report of all men, and of the truth itself: yea, and we also bear record; and ye know that our record is true.
1: 13 I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee: 1: 14 But I trust I shall shortly see thee, and we shall speak face to face.
Peace be to thee.
Our friends salute thee.
Greet the friends by name.
The General Epistle of Jude
1: 1 Jude, the servant of Jesus Christ, and brother of James, to them that are sanctified by God the Father, and preserved in Jesus Christ, and called: 1: 2 Mercy unto you, and peace, and love, be multiplied.
1: 3 Beloved, when I gave all diligence to write unto you of the common salvation, it was needful for me to write unto you, and exhort you that ye should earnestly contend for the faith which was once delivered unto the saints.
1: 4 For there are certain men crept in unawares, who were before of old ordained to this condemnation, ungodly men, turning the grace of our God into lasciviousness, and denying the only Lord God, and our Lord Jesus Christ.
1: 5 I will therefore put you in remembrance, though ye once knew this, how that the Lord, having saved the people out of the land of Egypt, afterward destroyed them that believed not.
1: 6 And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day.
1: 7 Even as Sodom and Gomorrha, and the cities about them in like manner, giving themselves over to fornication, and going after strange flesh, are set forth for an example, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire.
1: 8 Likewise also these filthy dreamers defile the flesh, despise dominion, and speak evil of dignities.
1: 9 Yet Michael the archangel, when contending with the devil he disputed about the body of Moses, durst not bring against him a railing accusation, but said, The Lord rebuke thee.
1: 10 But these speak evil of those things which they know not: but what they know naturally, as brute beasts, in those things they corrupt themselves.
1: 11 Woe unto them!
for they have gone in the way of Cain, and ran greedily after the error of Balaam for reward, and perished in the gainsaying of Core.
1: 16 These are murmurers, complainers, walking after their own lusts; and their mouth speaketh great swelling words, having men's persons in admiration because of advantage.
1: 17 But, beloved, remember ye the words which were spoken before of the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ; 1: 18 How that they told you there should be mockers in the last time, who should walk after their own ungodly lusts.
1: 19 These be they who separate themselves, sensual, having not the Spirit.
1: 20 But ye, beloved, building up yourselves on your most holy faith, praying in the Holy Ghost, 1: 21 Keep yourselves in the love of God, looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life.
1: 22 And of some have compassion, making a difference: 1: 23 And others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire; hating even the garment spotted by the flesh.
1: 24 Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, 1: 25 To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever.
Amen.
The Revelation of Saint John the Devine
1: 3 Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written therein: for the time is at hand.
Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, 1: 6 And hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever.
Amen.
1: 7 Behold, he cometh with clouds; and every eye shall see him, and they also which pierced him: and all kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him.
Even so, Amen.
1: 8 I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, saith the Lord, which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty.
1: 9 I John, who also am your brother, and companion in tribulation, and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ, was in the isle that is called Patmos, for the word of God, and for the testimony of Jesus Christ.
1: 12 And I turned to see the voice that spake with me.
And being turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks; 1: 13 And in the midst of the seven candlesticks one like unto the Son of man, clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about the paps with a golden girdle.
1: 14 His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire; 1: 15 And his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters.
1: 16 And he had in his right hand seven stars: and out of his mouth went a sharp twoedged sword: and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength.
1: 17 And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead.
And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not; I am the first and the last: 1: 18 I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death.
1: 19 Write the things which thou hast seen, and the things which are, and the things which shall be hereafter; 1: 20 The mystery of the seven stars which thou sawest in my right hand, and the seven golden candlesticks.
The seven stars are the angels of the seven churches: and the seven candlesticks which thou sawest are the seven churches.
2: 4 Nevertheless I have somewhat against thee, because thou hast left thy first love.
2: 5 Remember therefore from whence thou art fallen, and repent, and do the first works; or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will remove thy candlestick out of his place, except thou repent.
2: 6 But this thou hast, that thou hatest the deeds of the Nicolaitanes, which I also hate.
2: 7 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God.
2: 10 Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer: behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried; and ye shall have tribulation ten days: be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.
2: 11 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; He that overcometh shall not be hurt of the second death.
2: 14 But I have a few things against thee, because thou hast there them that hold the doctrine of Balaam, who taught Balac to cast a stumblingblock before the children of Israel, to eat things sacrificed unto idols, and to commit fornication.
2: 15 So hast thou also them that hold the doctrine of the Nicolaitanes, which thing I hate.
2: 16 Repent; or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will fight against them with the sword of my mouth.
2: 17 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it.
2: 20 Notwithstanding I have a few things against thee, because thou sufferest that woman Jezebel, which calleth herself a prophetess, to teach and to seduce my servants to commit fornication, and to eat things sacrificed unto idols.
2: 21 And I gave her space to repent of her fornication; and she repented not.
2: 22 Behold, I will cast her into a bed, and them that commit adultery with her into great tribulation, except they repent of their deeds.
2: 23 And I will kill her children with death; and all the churches shall know that I am he which searcheth the reins and hearts: and I will give unto every one of you according to your works.
2: 24 But unto you I say, and unto the rest in Thyatira, as many as have not this doctrine, and which have not known the depths of Satan, as they speak; I will put upon you none other burden.
2: 25 But that which ye have already hold fast till I come.
2: 26 And he that overcometh, and keepeth my works unto the end, to him will I give power over the nations: 2: 27 And he shall rule them with a rod of iron; as the vessels of a potter shall they be broken to shivers: even as I received of my Father.
2: 28 And I will give him the morning star.
2: 29 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches.
3: 1 And unto the angel of the church in Sardis write; These things saith he that hath the seven Spirits of God, and the seven stars; I know thy works, that thou hast a name that thou livest, and art dead.
3: 2 Be watchful, and strengthen the things which remain, that are ready to die: for I have not found thy works perfect before God.
3: 3 Remember therefore how thou hast received and heard, and hold fast, and repent.
If therefore thou shalt not watch, I will come on thee as a thief, and thou shalt not know what hour I will come upon thee.
3: 4 Thou hast a few names even in Sardis which have not defiled their garments; and they shall walk with me in white: for they are worthy.
3: 5 He that overcometh, the same shall be clothed in white raiment; and I will not blot out his name out of the book of life, but I will confess his name before my Father, and before his angels.
3: 6 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches.
3: 9 Behold, I will make them of the synagogue of Satan, which say they are Jews, and are not, but do lie; behold, I will make them to come and worship before thy feet, and to know that I have loved thee.
3: 10 Because thou hast kept the word of my patience, I also will keep thee from the hour of temptation, which shall come upon all the world, to try them that dwell upon the earth.
3: 11 Behold, I come quickly: hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown.
3: 13 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches.
3: 14 And unto the angel of the church of the Laodiceans write; These things saith the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the beginning of the creation of God; 3: 15 I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot.
3: 16 So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.
3: 19 As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten: be zealous therefore, and repent.
3: 20 Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.
3: 21 To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne.
3: 22 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches.
4: 1 After this I looked, and, behold, a door was opened in heaven: and the first voice which I heard was as it were of a trumpet talking with me; which said, Come up hither, and I will shew thee things which must be hereafter.
4: 2 And immediately I was in the spirit: and, behold, a throne was set in heaven, and one sat on the throne.
4: 3 And he that sat was to look upon like a jasper and a sardine stone: and there was a rainbow round about the throne, in sight like unto an emerald.
4: 4 And round about the throne were four and twenty seats: and upon the seats I saw four and twenty elders sitting, clothed in white raiment; and they had on their heads crowns of gold.
4: 5 And out of the throne proceeded lightnings and thunderings and voices: and there were seven lamps of fire burning before the throne, which are the seven Spirits of God.
4: 6 And before the throne there was a sea of glass like unto crystal: and in the midst of the throne, and round about the throne, were four beasts full of eyes before and behind.
4: 7 And the first beast was like a lion, and the second beast like a calf, and the third beast had a face as a man, and the fourth beast was like a flying eagle.
4: 8 And the four beasts had each of them six wings about him; and they were full of eyes within: and they rest not day and night, saying, Holy, holy, holy, LORD God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come.
5: 1 And I saw in the right hand of him that sat on the throne a book written within and on the backside, sealed with seven seals.
5: 2 And I saw a strong angel proclaiming with a loud voice, Who is worthy to open the book, and to loose the seals thereof?
5: 3 And no man in heaven, nor in earth, neither under the earth, was able to open the book, neither to look thereon.
5: 4 And I wept much, because no man was found worthy to open and to read the book, neither to look thereon.
5: 5 And one of the elders saith unto me, Weep not: behold, the Lion of the tribe of Juda, the Root of David, hath prevailed to open the book, and to loose the seven seals thereof.
5: 6 And I beheld, and, lo, in the midst of the throne and of the four beasts, and in the midst of the elders, stood a Lamb as it had been slain, having seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven Spirits of God sent forth into all the earth.
5: 7 And he came and took the book out of the right hand of him that sat upon the throne.
5: 8 And when he had taken the book, the four beasts and four and twenty elders fell down before the Lamb, having every one of them harps, and golden vials full of odours, which are the prayers of saints.
5: 14 And the four beasts said, Amen.
And the four and twenty elders fell down and worshipped him that liveth for ever and ever.
6: 1 And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.
6: 2 And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.
6: 3 And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see.
6: 4 And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.
6: 5 And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see.
And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.
6: 6 And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine.
6: 7 And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.
6: 8 And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.
And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.
6: 11 And white robes were given unto every one of them; and it was said unto them, that they should rest yet for a little season, until their fellowservants also and their brethren, that should be killed as they were, should be fulfilled.
6: 14 And the heaven departed as a scroll when it is rolled together; and every mountain and island were moved out of their places.
7: 1 And after these things I saw four angels standing on the four corners of the earth, holding the four winds of the earth, that the wind should not blow on the earth, nor on the sea, nor on any tree.
7: 4 And I heard the number of them which were sealed: and there were sealed an hundred and forty and four thousand of all the tribes of the children of Israel.
7: 5 Of the tribe of Juda were sealed twelve thousand.
Of the tribe of Reuben were sealed twelve thousand.
Of the tribe of Gad were sealed twelve thousand.
7: 6 Of the tribe of Aser were sealed twelve thousand.
Of the tribe of Nephthalim were sealed twelve thousand.
Of the tribe of Manasses were sealed twelve thousand.
7: 7 Of the tribe of Simeon were sealed twelve thousand.
Of the tribe of Levi were sealed twelve thousand.
Of the tribe of Issachar were sealed twelve thousand.
7: 8 Of the tribe of Zabulon were sealed twelve thousand.
Of the tribe of Joseph were sealed twelve thousand.
Of the tribe of Benjamin were sealed twelve thousand.
Amen.
7: 13 And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, What are these which are arrayed in white robes?
and whence came they?
7: 14 And I said unto him, Sir, thou knowest.
And he said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
7: 15 Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them.
7: 16 They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat.
7: 17 For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.
8: 1 And when he had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour.
8: 2 And I saw the seven angels which stood before God; and to them were given seven trumpets.
8: 3 And another angel came and stood at the altar, having a golden censer; and there was given unto him much incense, that he should offer it with the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar which was before the throne.
8: 4 And the smoke of the incense, which came with the prayers of the saints, ascended up before God out of the angel's hand.
8: 5 And the angel took the censer, and filled it with fire of the altar, and cast it into the earth: and there were voices, and thunderings, and lightnings, and an earthquake.
8: 6 And the seven angels which had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound.
8: 7 The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood, and they were cast upon the earth: and the third part of trees was burnt up, and all green grass was burnt up.
8: 12 And the fourth angel sounded, and the third part of the sun was smitten, and the third part of the moon, and the third part of the stars; so as the third part of them was darkened, and the day shone not for a third part of it, and the night likewise.
8: 13 And I beheld, and heard an angel flying through the midst of heaven, saying with a loud voice, Woe, woe, woe, to the inhabiters of the earth by reason of the other voices of the trumpet of the three angels, which are yet to sound!
9: 1 And the fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth: and to him was given the key of the bottomless pit.
9: 2 And he opened the bottomless pit; and there arose a smoke out of the pit, as the smoke of a great furnace; and the sun and the air were darkened by reason of the smoke of the pit.
9: 3 And there came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth: and unto them was given power, as the scorpions of the earth have power.
9: 4 And it was commanded them that they should not hurt the grass of the earth, neither any green thing, neither any tree; but only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads.
9: 5 And to them it was given that they should not kill them, but that they should be tormented five months: and their torment was as the torment of a scorpion, when he striketh a man.
9: 6 And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.
9: 7 And the shapes of the locusts were like unto horses prepared unto battle; and on their heads were as it were crowns like gold, and their faces were as the faces of men.
9: 8 And they had hair as the hair of women, and their teeth were as the teeth of lions.
9: 9 And they had breastplates, as it were breastplates of iron; and the sound of their wings was as the sound of chariots of many horses running to battle.
9: 10 And they had tails like unto scorpions, and there were stings in their tails: and their power was to hurt men five months.
9: 11 And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon, but in the Greek tongue hath his name Apollyon.
9: 12 One woe is past; and, behold, there come two woes more hereafter.
9: 13 And the sixth angel sounded, and I heard a voice from the four horns of the golden altar which is before God, 9: 14 Saying to the sixth angel which had the trumpet, Loose the four angels which are bound in the great river Euphrates.
9: 15 And the four angels were loosed, which were prepared for an hour, and a day, and a month, and a year, for to slay the third part of men.
9: 16 And the number of the army of the horsemen were two hundred thousand thousand: and I heard the number of them.
9: 17 And thus I saw the horses in the vision, and them that sat on them, having breastplates of fire, and of jacinth, and brimstone: and the heads of the horses were as the heads of lions; and out of their mouths issued fire and smoke and brimstone.
9: 18 By these three was the third part of men killed, by the fire, and by the smoke, and by the brimstone, which issued out of their mouths.
9: 19 For their power is in their mouth, and in their tails: for their tails were like unto serpents, and had heads, and with them they do hurt.
10: 4 And when the seven thunders had uttered their voices, I was about to write: and I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Seal up those things which the seven thunders uttered, and write them not.
10: 8 And the voice which I heard from heaven spake unto me again, and said, Go and take the little book which is open in the hand of the angel which standeth upon the sea and upon the earth.
10: 9 And I went unto the angel, and said unto him, Give me the little book.
And he said unto me, Take it, and eat it up; and it shall make thy belly bitter, but it shall be in thy mouth sweet as honey.
10: 10 And I took the little book out of the angel's hand, and ate it up; and it was in my mouth sweet as honey: and as soon as I had eaten it, my belly was bitter.
10: 11 And he said unto me, Thou must prophesy again before many peoples, and nations, and tongues, and kings.
11: 1 And there was given me a reed like unto a rod: and the angel stood, saying, Rise, and measure the temple of God, and the altar, and them that worship therein.
11: 2 But the court which is without the temple leave out, and measure it not; for it is given unto the Gentiles: and the holy city shall they tread under foot forty and two months.
11: 3 And I will give power unto my two witnesses, and they shall prophesy a thousand two hundred and threescore days, clothed in sackcloth.
11: 4 These are the two olive trees, and the two candlesticks standing before the God of the earth.
11: 5 And if any man will hurt them, fire proceedeth out of their mouth, and devoureth their enemies: and if any man will hurt them, he must in this manner be killed.
11: 6 These have power to shut heaven, that it rain not in the days of their prophecy: and have power over waters to turn them to blood, and to smite the earth with all plagues, as often as they will.
11: 7 And when they shall have finished their testimony, the beast that ascendeth out of the bottomless pit shall make war against them, and shall overcome them, and kill them.
11: 8 And their dead bodies shall lie in the street of the great city, which spiritually is called Sodom and Egypt, where also our Lord was crucified.
11: 9 And they of the people and kindreds and tongues and nations shall see their dead bodies three days and an half, and shall not suffer their dead bodies to be put in graves.
11: 10 And they that dwell upon the earth shall rejoice over them, and make merry, and shall send gifts one to another; because these two prophets tormented them that dwelt on the earth.
11: 11 And after three days and an half the spirit of life from God entered into them, and they stood upon their feet; and great fear fell upon them which saw them.
11: 12 And they heard a great voice from heaven saying unto them, Come up hither.
And they ascended up to heaven in a cloud; and their enemies beheld them.
11: 13 And the same hour was there a great earthquake, and the tenth part of the city fell, and in the earthquake were slain of men seven thousand: and the remnant were affrighted, and gave glory to the God of heaven.
11: 14 The second woe is past; and, behold, the third woe cometh quickly.
11: 15 And the seventh angel sounded; and there were great voices in heaven, saying, The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ; and he shall reign for ever and ever.
11: 19 And the temple of God was opened in heaven, and there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament: and there were lightnings, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail.
12: 1 And there appeared a great wonder in heaven; a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars: 12: 2 And she being with child cried, travailing in birth, and pained to be delivered.
12: 3 And there appeared another wonder in heaven; and behold a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads.
12: 4 And his tail drew the third part of the stars of heaven, and did cast them to the earth: and the dragon stood before the woman which was ready to be delivered, for to devour her child as soon as it was born.
12: 5 And she brought forth a man child, who was to rule all nations with a rod of iron: and her child was caught up unto God, and to his throne.
12: 6 And the woman fled into the wilderness, where she hath a place prepared of God, that they should feed her there a thousand two hundred and threescore days.
12: 7 And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels, 12: 8 And prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven.
12: 9 And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.
12: 10 And I heard a loud voice saying in heaven, Now is come salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our God, and the power of his Christ: for the accuser of our brethren is cast down, which accused them before our God day and night.
12: 11 And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony; and they loved not their lives unto the death.
12: 12 Therefore rejoice, ye heavens, and ye that dwell in them.
Woe to the inhabiters of the earth and of the sea!
for the devil is come down unto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time.
12: 13 And when the dragon saw that he was cast unto the earth, he persecuted the woman which brought forth the man child.
12: 14 And to the woman were given two wings of a great eagle, that she might fly into the wilderness, into her place, where she is nourished for a time, and times, and half a time, from the face of the serpent.
12: 15 And the serpent cast out of his mouth water as a flood after the woman, that he might cause her to be carried away of the flood.
12: 16 And the earth helped the woman, and the earth opened her mouth, and swallowed up the flood which the dragon cast out of his mouth.
12: 17 And the dragon was wroth with the woman, and went to make war with the remnant of her seed, which keep the commandments of God, and have the testimony of Jesus Christ.
13: 1 And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.
13: 2 And the beast which I saw was like unto a leopard, and his feet were as the feet of a bear, and his mouth as the mouth of a lion: and the dragon gave him his power, and his seat, and great authority.
13: 3 And I saw one of his heads as it were wounded to death; and his deadly wound was healed: and all the world wondered after the beast.
13: 4 And they worshipped the dragon which gave power unto the beast: and they worshipped the beast, saying, Who is like unto the beast?
who is able to make war with him?
13: 5 And there was given unto him a mouth speaking great things and blasphemies; and power was given unto him to continue forty and two months.
13: 6 And he opened his mouth in blasphemy against God, to blaspheme his name, and his tabernacle, and them that dwell in heaven.
13: 7 And it was given unto him to make war with the saints, and to overcome them: and power was given him over all kindreds, and tongues, and nations.
13: 8 And all that dwell upon the earth shall worship him, whose names are not written in the book of life of the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world.
13: 9 If any man have an ear, let him hear.
13: 10 He that leadeth into captivity shall go into captivity: he that killeth with the sword must be killed with the sword.
Here is the patience and the faith of the saints.
13: 11 And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon.
13: 12 And he exerciseth all the power of the first beast before him, and causeth the earth and them which dwell therein to worship the first beast, whose deadly wound was healed.
13: 15 And he had power to give life unto the image of the beast, that the image of the beast should both speak, and cause that as many as would not worship the image of the beast should be killed.
13: 16 And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads: 13: 17 And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name.
13: 18 Here is wisdom.
Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.
14: 1 And I looked, and, lo, a Lamb stood on the mount Sion, and with him an hundred forty and four thousand, having his Father's name written in their foreheads.
14: 4 These are they which were not defiled with women; for they are virgins.
These are they which follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth.
These were redeemed from among men, being the firstfruits unto God and to the Lamb.
14: 5 And in their mouth was found no guile: for they are without fault before the throne of God.
14: 8 And there followed another angel, saying, Babylon is fallen, is fallen, that great city, because she made all nations drink of the wine of the wrath of her fornication.
14: 12 Here is the patience of the saints: here are they that keep the commandments of God, and the faith of Jesus.
14: 13 And I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them.
14: 14 And I looked, and behold a white cloud, and upon the cloud one sat like unto the Son of man, having on his head a golden crown, and in his hand a sharp sickle.
14: 15 And another angel came out of the temple, crying with a loud voice to him that sat on the cloud, Thrust in thy sickle, and reap: for the time is come for thee to reap; for the harvest of the earth is ripe.
14: 16 And he that sat on the cloud thrust in his sickle on the earth; and the earth was reaped.
14: 17 And another angel came out of the temple which is in heaven, he also having a sharp sickle.
14: 18 And another angel came out from the altar, which had power over fire; and cried with a loud cry to him that had the sharp sickle, saying, Thrust in thy sharp sickle, and gather the clusters of the vine of the earth; for her grapes are fully ripe.
14: 19 And the angel thrust in his sickle into the earth, and gathered the vine of the earth, and cast it into the great winepress of the wrath of God.
14: 20 And the winepress was trodden without the city, and blood came out of the winepress, even unto the horse bridles, by the space of a thousand and six hundred furlongs.
15: 1 And I saw another sign in heaven, great and marvellous, seven angels having the seven last plagues; for in them is filled up the wrath of God.
15: 2 And I saw as it were a sea of glass mingled with fire: and them that had gotten the victory over the beast, and over his image, and over his mark, and over the number of his name, stand on the sea of glass, having the harps of God.
15: 3 And they sing the song of Moses the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb, saying, Great and marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty; just and true are thy ways, thou King of saints.
15: 4 Who shall not fear thee, O Lord, and glorify thy name?
for thou only art holy: for all nations shall come and worship before thee; for thy judgments are made manifest.
15: 5 And after that I looked, and, behold, the temple of the tabernacle of the testimony in heaven was opened: 15: 6 And the seven angels came out of the temple, having the seven plagues, clothed in pure and white linen, and having their breasts girded with golden girdles.
15: 7 And one of the four beasts gave unto the seven angels seven golden vials full of the wrath of God, who liveth for ever and ever.
15: 8 And the temple was filled with smoke from the glory of God, and from his power; and no man was able to enter into the temple, till the seven plagues of the seven angels were fulfilled.
16: 1 And I heard a great voice out of the temple saying to the seven angels, Go your ways, and pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth.
16: 2 And the first went, and poured out his vial upon the earth; and there fell a noisome and grievous sore upon the men which had the mark of the beast, and upon them which worshipped his image.
16: 3 And the second angel poured out his vial upon the sea; and it became as the blood of a dead man: and every living soul died in the sea.
16: 4 And the third angel poured out his vial upon the rivers and fountains of waters; and they became blood.
16: 5 And I heard the angel of the waters say, Thou art righteous, O Lord, which art, and wast, and shalt be, because thou hast judged thus.
16: 6 For they have shed the blood of saints and prophets, and thou hast given them blood to drink; for they are worthy.
16: 7 And I heard another out of the altar say, Even so, Lord God Almighty, true and righteous are thy judgments.
16: 8 And the fourth angel poured out his vial upon the sun; and power was given unto him to scorch men with fire.
16: 9 And men were scorched with great heat, and blasphemed the name of God, which hath power over these plagues: and they repented not to give him glory.
16: 10 And the fifth angel poured out his vial upon the seat of the beast; and his kingdom was full of darkness; and they gnawed their tongues for pain, 16: 11 And blasphemed the God of heaven because of their pains and their sores, and repented not of their deeds.
16: 12 And the sixth angel poured out his vial upon the great river Euphrates; and the water thereof was dried up, that the way of the kings of the east might be prepared.
16: 13 And I saw three unclean spirits like frogs come out of the mouth of the dragon, and out of the mouth of the beast, and out of the mouth of the false prophet.
16: 14 For they are the spirits of devils, working miracles, which go forth unto the kings of the earth and of the whole world, to gather them to the battle of that great day of God Almighty.
16: 15 Behold, I come as a thief.
Blessed is he that watcheth, and keepeth his garments, lest he walk naked, and they see his shame.
16: 16 And he gathered them together into a place called in the Hebrew tongue Armageddon.
16: 17 And the seventh angel poured out his vial into the air; and there came a great voice out of the temple of heaven, from the throne, saying, It is done.
16: 18 And there were voices, and thunders, and lightnings; and there was a great earthquake, such as was not since men were upon the earth, so mighty an earthquake, and so great.
16: 19 And the great city was divided into three parts, and the cities of the nations fell: and great Babylon came in remembrance before God, to give unto her the cup of the wine of the fierceness of his wrath.
16: 20 And every island fled away, and the mountains were not found.
16: 21 And there fell upon men a great hail out of heaven, every stone about the weight of a talent: and men blasphemed God because of the plague of the hail; for the plague thereof was exceeding great.
17: 3 So he carried me away in the spirit into the wilderness: and I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet coloured beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns.
17: 6 And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: and when I saw her, I wondered with great admiration.
17: 7 And the angel said unto me, Wherefore didst thou marvel?
I will tell thee the mystery of the woman, and of the beast that carrieth her, which hath the seven heads and ten horns.
17: 9 And here is the mind which hath wisdom.
The seven heads are seven mountains, on which the woman sitteth.
17: 10 And there are seven kings: five are fallen, and one is, and the other is not yet come; and when he cometh, he must continue a short space.
17: 11 And the beast that was, and is not, even he is the eighth, and is of the seven, and goeth into perdition.
17: 12 And the ten horns which thou sawest are ten kings, which have received no kingdom as yet; but receive power as kings one hour with the beast.
17: 13 These have one mind, and shall give their power and strength unto the beast.
17: 14 These shall make war with the Lamb, and the Lamb shall overcome them: for he is Lord of lords, and King of kings: and they that are with him are called, and chosen, and faithful.
17: 15 And he saith unto me, The waters which thou sawest, where the whore sitteth, are peoples, and multitudes, and nations, and tongues.
17: 16 And the ten horns which thou sawest upon the beast, these shall hate the whore, and shall make her desolate and naked, and shall eat her flesh, and burn her with fire.
17: 17 For God hath put in their hearts to fulfil his will, and to agree, and give their kingdom unto the beast, until the words of God shall be fulfilled.
17: 18 And the woman which thou sawest is that great city, which reigneth over the kings of the earth.
18: 1 And after these things I saw another angel come down from heaven, having great power; and the earth was lightened with his glory.
18: 2 And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird.
18: 3 For all nations have drunk of the wine of the wrath of her fornication, and the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her, and the merchants of the earth are waxed rich through the abundance of her delicacies.
18: 4 And I heard another voice from heaven, saying, Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues.
18: 5 For her sins have reached unto heaven, and God hath remembered her iniquities.
18: 6 Reward her even as she rewarded you, and double unto her double according to her works: in the cup which she hath filled fill to her double.
18: 7 How much she hath glorified herself, and lived deliciously, so much torment and sorrow give her: for she saith in her heart, I sit a queen, and am no widow, and shall see no sorrow.
18: 8 Therefore shall her plagues come in one day, death, and mourning, and famine; and she shall be utterly burned with fire: for strong is the Lord God who judgeth her.
for in one hour is thy judgment come.
18: 14 And the fruits that thy soul lusted after are departed from thee, and all things which were dainty and goodly are departed from thee, and thou shalt find them no more at all.
18: 17 For in one hour so great riches is come to nought.
And every shipmaster, and all the company in ships, and sailors, and as many as trade by sea, stood afar off, 18: 18 And cried when they saw the smoke of her burning, saying, What city is like unto this great city!
18: 19 And they cast dust on their heads, and cried, weeping and wailing, saying, Alas, alas that great city, wherein were made rich all that had ships in the sea by reason of her costliness!
for in one hour is she made desolate.
18: 20 Rejoice over her, thou heaven, and ye holy apostles and prophets; for God hath avenged you on her.
18: 21 And a mighty angel took up a stone like a great millstone, and cast it into the sea, saying, Thus with violence shall that great city Babylon be thrown down, and shall be found no more at all.
18: 24 And in her was found the blood of prophets, and of saints, and of all that were slain upon the earth.
19: 3 And again they said, Alleluia And her smoke rose up for ever and ever.
19: 4 And the four and twenty elders and the four beasts fell down and worshipped God that sat on the throne, saying, Amen; Alleluia.
19: 5 And a voice came out of the throne, saying, Praise our God, all ye his servants, and ye that fear him, both small and great.
19: 6 And I heard as it were the voice of a great multitude, and as the voice of many waters, and as the voice of mighty thunderings, saying, Alleluia: for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.
19: 7 Let us be glad and rejoice, and give honour to him: for the marriage of the Lamb is come, and his wife hath made herself ready.
19: 8 And to her was granted that she should be arrayed in fine linen, clean and white: for the fine linen is the righteousness of saints.
19: 9 And he saith unto me, Write, Blessed are they which are called unto the marriage supper of the Lamb.
And he saith unto me, These are the true sayings of God.
19: 10 And I fell at his feet to worship him.
And he said unto me, See thou do it not: I am thy fellowservant, and of thy brethren that have the testimony of Jesus: worship God: for the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy.
19: 11 And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war.
19: 12 His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns; and he had a name written, that no man knew, but he himself.
19: 13 And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood: and his name is called The Word of God.
19: 14 And the armies which were in heaven followed him upon white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean.
19: 15 And out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword, that with it he should smite the nations: and he shall rule them with a rod of iron: and he treadeth the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God.
19: 16 And he hath on his vesture and on his thigh a name written, KING OF KINGS, AND LORD OF LORDS.
19: 19 And I saw the beast, and the kings of the earth, and their armies, gathered together to make war against him that sat on the horse, and against his army.
19: 20 And the beast was taken, and with him the false prophet that wrought miracles before him, with which he deceived them that had received the mark of the beast, and them that worshipped his image.
These both were cast alive into a lake of fire burning with brimstone.
19: 21 And the remnant were slain with the sword of him that sat upon the horse, which sword proceeded out of his mouth: and all the fowls were filled with their flesh.
20: 1 And I saw an angel come down from heaven, having the key of the bottomless pit and a great chain in his hand.
20: 5 But the rest of the dead lived not again until the thousand years were finished.
This is the first resurrection.
20: 6 Blessed and holy is he that hath part in the first resurrection: on such the second death hath no power, but they shall be priests of God and of Christ, and shall reign with him a thousand years.
20: 9 And they went up on the breadth of the earth, and compassed the camp of the saints about, and the beloved city: and fire came down from God out of heaven, and devoured them.
20: 10 And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are, and shall be tormented day and night for ever and ever.
20: 11 And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heaven fled away; and there was found no place for them.
20: 12 And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works.
20: 13 And the sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them: and they were judged every man according to their works.
20: 14 And death and hell were cast into the lake of fire.
This is the second death.
20: 15 And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.
21: 1 And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea.
21: 2 And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.
21: 3 And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God.
21: 4 And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.
21: 5 And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new.
And he said unto me, Write: for these words are true and faithful.
21: 6 And he said unto me, It is done.
I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.
I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely.
21: 7 He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God, and he shall be my son.
21: 8 But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.
21: 9 And there came unto me one of the seven angels which had the seven vials full of the seven last plagues, and talked with me, saying, Come hither, I will shew thee the bride, the Lamb's wife.
21: 14 And the wall of the city had twelve foundations, and in them the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb.
21: 15 And he that talked with me had a golden reed to measure the city, and the gates thereof, and the wall thereof.
21: 16 And the city lieth foursquare, and the length is as large as the breadth: and he measured the city with the reed, twelve thousand furlongs.
The length and the breadth and the height of it are equal.
21: 17 And he measured the wall thereof, an hundred and forty and four cubits, according to the measure of a man, that is, of the angel.
21: 18 And the building of the wall of it was of jasper: and the city was pure gold, like unto clear glass.
21: 19 And the foundations of the wall of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones.
21: 21 And the twelve gates were twelve pearls: every several gate was of one pearl: and the street of the city was pure gold, as it were transparent glass.
21: 22 And I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it.
21: 23 And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.
21: 24 And the nations of them which are saved shall walk in the light of it: and the kings of the earth do bring their glory and honour into it.
21: 25 And the gates of it shall not be shut at all by day: for there shall be no night there.
21: 26 And they shall bring the glory and honour of the nations into it.
21: 27 And there shall in no wise enter into it any thing that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, or maketh a lie: but they which are written in the Lamb's book of life.
22: 1 And he shewed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.
22: 2 In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.
22: 3 And there shall be no more curse: but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him: 22: 4 And they shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads.
22: 5 And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign for ever and ever.
22: 6 And he said unto me, These sayings are faithful and true: and the Lord God of the holy prophets sent his angel to shew unto his servants the things which must shortly be done.
22: 7 Behold, I come quickly: blessed is he that keepeth the sayings of the prophecy of this book.
22: 8 And I John saw these things, and heard them.
And when I had heard and seen, I fell down to worship before the feet of the angel which shewed me these things.
22: 9 Then saith he unto me, See thou do it not: for I am thy fellowservant, and of thy brethren the prophets, and of them which keep the sayings of this book: worship God.
22: 10 And he saith unto me, Seal not the sayings of the prophecy of this book: for the time is at hand.
22: 11 He that is unjust, let him be unjust still: and he which is filthy, let him be filthy still: and he that is righteous, let him be righteous still: and he that is holy, let him be holy still.
22: 12 And, behold, I come quickly; and my reward is with me, to give every man according as his work shall be.
22: 13 I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.
22: 14 Blessed are they that do his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city.
22: 15 For without are dogs, and sorcerers, and whoremongers, and murderers, and idolaters, and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.
22: 16 I Jesus have sent mine angel to testify unto you these things in the churches.
I am the root and the offspring of David, and the bright and morning star.
22: 17 And the Spirit and the bride say, Come.
And let him that heareth say, Come.
And let him that is athirst come.
And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.
22: 20 He which testifieth these things saith, Surely I come quickly.
Amen.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus.
22: 21 The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.
Amen.
[ Poems by William Blake 1789 ]
SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE and THE BOOK of THEL
SONGS OF INNOCENCE
INTRODUCTION
Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me:
" Pipe a song about a Lamb!"
So I piped with merry cheer.
" Piper, pipe that song again;" So I piped: he wept to hear.
" Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; Sing thy songs of happy cheer:!"
So I sang the same again, While he wept with joy to hear.
" Piper, sit thee down and write In a book, that all may read."
So he vanish'd from my sight; And I pluck'd a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen, And I stain'd the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear.
THE SHEPHERD
How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!
From the morn to the evening he stays; He shall follow his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
For he hears the lambs'innocent call, And he hears the ewes'tender reply; He is watching while they are in peace, For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.
THE ECHOING GREEN
The sun does arise, And make happy the skies; The merry bells ring To welcome the Spring; The skylark and thrush, The birds of the bush, Sing louder around To the bells'cheerful sound; While our sports shall be seen On the echoing Green.
Old John, with white hair, Does laugh away care, Sitting under the oak, Among the old folk.
They laugh at our play, And soon they all say, " Such, such were the joys When we all--girls and boys--In our youth - time were seen On the echoing Green."
Till the little ones, weary, No more can be merry: The sun does descend, And our sports have an end.
Round the laps of their mothers Many sisters and brothers, Like birds in their nest, Are ready for rest, And sport no more seen On the darkening green.
THE LAMB
Little Lamb, who make thee Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, wolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee; Little Lamb, I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb He is meek, and He is mild, He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY
My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but oh my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child, But I am black, as if bereaved of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree, And, sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And, pointed to the east, began to say:
" Look on the rising sun: there God does live, And gives His light, and gives His heat away, And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.
" And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
" For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear, The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice, Saying,'Come out from the grove, my love and care And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice ',"
Thus did my mother say, and kissed me; And thus I say to little English boy.
When I from black and he from white cloud free, And round the tent of God like lambs we joy
I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear To lean in joy upon our Father's knee; And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him, and he will then love me.
THE BLOSSOM
Merry, merry sparrow!
Under leaves so green A happy blossom Sees you, swift as arrow, Seek your cradle narrow, Near my bosom.
Pretty, pretty robin!
Under leaves so green A happy blossom Hears you sobbing, sobbing, Pretty, pretty robin, Near my bosom.
THE CHIMNEY - SWEEPER
When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry " Weep!
weep!
weep!
weep!"
So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.
There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved; so I said, " Hush, Tom!
never mind it, for, when your head's bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."
And so he was quiet, and that very night, As Tom was a - sleeping, he had such a sight!
-- That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, Were all of them locked up in coffins of black.
And by came an angel, who had a bright key, And he opened the coffins, and let them all free; Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they run, And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.
Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind; And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy, He'd have God for his father, and never want joy.
And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work.
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm: So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.
THE LITTLE BOY LOST
" Father, father, where are you going?
Oh do not walk so fast!
Speak, father, speak to you little boy, Or else I shall be lost."
The night was dark, no father was there, The child was wet with dew; The mire was deep, and the child did weep, And away the vapour flew.
THE LITTLE BOY FOUND
The little boy lost in the lonely fen, Led by the wandering light, Began to cry, but God, ever nigh, Appeared like his father, in white.
He kissed the child, and by the hand led, And to his mother brought, Who in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale, The little boy weeping sought.
LAUGHING SONG
When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;
when the meadows laugh with lively green, And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene, When Mary and Susan and Emily With their sweet round mouths sing " Ha, ha he!"
When the painted birds laugh in the shade, Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread: Come live, and be merry, and join with me, To sing the sweet chorus of " Ha, ha, he!"
A SONG
Sweet dreams, form a shade O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down Weave thy brows an infant crown Sweet Sleep, angel mild, Hover o'er my happy child!
Sweet smiles, in the night Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smile, All the livelong night beguile.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs, Chase not slumber from thine eyes!
Sweet moan, sweeter smile, All the dovelike moans beguile.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep, While o'er thee doth mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face Holy image I can trace; Sweet babe, once like thee Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all, When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see, Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all, Who became an infant small; Infant smiles are his own smiles; Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
DIVINE IMAGE
To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, All pray in their distress, And to these virtues of delight Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, Is God our Father dear; And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, Is man, his child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart Pity, a human face; And Love, the human form divine; And Peace, the human dress.
Then every man, of every clime, That prays in his distress, Prays to the human form divine: Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
And all must love the human form, In heathen, Turk, or Jew.
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell, There God is dwelling too.
HOLY THURSDAY
' Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, Came children walking two and two, in read, and blue, and green: Grey - headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow.
Oh what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!
Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.
Now like a mighty wild they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: Beneath them sit the aged man, wise guardians of the poor.
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
NIGHT
The sun descending in the west, The evening star does shine; The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower In heaven's high bower, With silent delight, Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy grove, Where flocks have ta'en delight.
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move The feet of angels bright; Unseen they pour blessing, And joy without ceasing, On each bud and blossom, And each sleeping bosom.
They look in every thoughtless nest Where birds are covered warm; They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm: If they see any weeping That should have been sleeping, They pour sleep on their head, And sit down by their bed.
When wolves and tigers howl for prey, They pitying stand and weep; Seeking to drive their thirst away, And keep them from the sheep.
But, if they rush dreadful, The angels, most heedful, Receive each mild spirit, New worlds to inherit.
And there the lion's ruddy eyes Shall flow with tears of gold: And pitying the tender cries, And walking round the fold: Saying: " Wrath by His meekness, And, by His health, sickness, Are driven away From our immortal day.
" And now beside thee, bleating lamb, I can lie down and sleep, Or think on Him who bore thy name, Graze after thee, and weep.
For, washed in life's river, My bright mane for ever Shall shine like the gold, As I guard o'er the fold."
SPRING
Sound the flute!
Now it's mute!
Bird's delight, Day and night, Nightingale, In the dale, Lark in sky,-- Merrily, Merrily merrily, to welcome in the year.
Little boy, Full of joy; Little girl, Sweet and small; Cock does crow, So do you; Merry voice, Infant noise; Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year.
Little lamb, Here I am; Come and lick My white neck; Let me pull Your soft wool; Let me kiss Your soft face; Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year.
NURSE'S SONG
When the voices of children are heard on the green, And laughing is heard on the hill, My heart is at rest within my breast, And everything else is still.
" Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise; Come, come, leave off play, and let us away, Till the morning appears in the skies."
" No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, And we cannot go to sleep; Besides, in the sky the little birds fly, And the hills are all covered with sheep."
" Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, And then go home to bed."
The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laughed, And all the hills echoed.
INFANT JOY
" I have no name; I am but two days old."
What shall I call thee?
" I happy am, Joy is my name."
Sweet joy befall thee!
Pretty joy!
Sweet joy, but two days old.
Sweet Joy I call thee: Thou dost smile, I sing the while; Sweet joy befall thee!
A DREAM
Once a dream did weave a shade O'er my angel - guarded bed, That an emmet lost its way Where on grass methought I lay.
Troubled, wildered, and forlorn, Dark, benighted, travel - worn, Over many a tangle spray, All heart - broke, I heard her say:
" Oh my children!
do they cry, Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see, Now return and weep for me."
Pitying, I dropped a tear: But I saw a glow - worm near, Who replied, " What wailing wight Calls the watchman of the night?
" I am set to light the ground, While the beetle goes his round: Follow now the beetle's hum; Little wanderer, hie thee home!"
ON ANOTHER'S SORROW
Can I see another's woe, And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief, And not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear, And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?
Can a mother sit and hear An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no!
never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
And can He who smiles on all Hear the wren with sorrows small, Hear the small bird's grief and care, Hear the woes that infants bear --
And not sit beside the next, Pouring pity in their breast, And not sit the cradle near, Weeping tear on infant's tear?
And not sit both night and day, Wiping all our tears away?
Oh no!
never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
He doth give his joy to all: He becomes an infant small, He becomes a man of woe, He doth feel the sorrow too.
Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, And thy Maker is not by: Think not thou canst weep a tear, And thy Maker is not year.
Oh He gives to us his joy, That our grief He may destroy: Till our grief is fled an gone He doth sit by us and moan.
SONGS OF EXPERIENCE
INTRODUCTION
Hear the voice of the Bard, Who present, past, and future, sees; Whose ears have heard The Holy Word That walked among the ancient tree;
Calling the lapsed soul, And weeping in the evening dew; That might control The starry pole, And fallen, fallen light renew!
" O Earth, O Earth, return!
Arise from out the dewy grass!
Night is worn, And the morn Rises from the slumbrous mass.
" Turn away no more; Why wilt thou turn away?
The starry floor, The watery shore, Are given thee till the break of day."
EARTH'S ANSWER
Earth raised up her head From the darkness dread and drear, Her light fled, Stony, dread, And her locks covered with grey despair.
" Prisoned on watery shore, Starry jealousy does keep my den Cold and hoar; Weeping o're, I hear the father of the ancient men.
" Selfish father of men!
Cruel, jealous, selfish fear!
Can delight, Chained in night, The virgins of youth and morning bear?
" Does spring hide its joy, When buds and blossoms grow?
Does the sower Sow by night, Or the plowman in darkness plough?
" Break this heavy chain, That does freeze my bones around!
Selfish, vain, Eternal bane, That free love with bondage bound."
THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE
" Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives it ease, And builds a heaven in hell's despair."
So sang a little clod of clay, Trodden with the cattle's feet, But a pebble of the brook Warbled out these metres meet:
" Love seeketh only Self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a hell in heaven's despite."
HOLY THURSDAY
Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land,--Babes reduced to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand?
Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!
And their son does never shine, And their fields are bleak and bare, And their ways are filled with thorns: It is eternal winter there.
For where'er the sun does shine, And where'er the rain does fall, Babes should never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appall.
THE LITTLE GIRL LOST
In futurity I prophetic see That the earth from sleep (Grave the sentence deep)
Shall arise, and seek for her Maker meek; And the desert wild Become a garden mild.
In the southern clime, Where the summer's prime Never fades away, Lovely Lyca lay.
Seven summers old Lovely Lyca told.
She had wandered long, Hearing wild birds'song.
" Sweet sleep, come to me Underneath this tree; Do father, mother, weep?
Where can Lyca sleep?
" Lost in desert wild Is your little child.
How can Lyca sleep If her mother weep?
" If her heart does ache, Then let Lyca wake; If my mother sleep, Lyca shall not weep.
" Frowning, frowning night, O'er this desert bright Let thy moon arise, While I close my eyes."
Sleeping Lyca lay While the beasts of prey, Come from caverns deep, Viewed the maid asleep.
The kingly lion stood, And the virgin viewed: Then he gambolled round O'er the hallowed ground.
Leopards, tigers, play Round her as she lay; While the lion old Bowed his mane of gold,
And her breast did lick And upon her neck, From his eyes of flame, Ruby tears there came;
While the lioness Loosed her slender dress, And naked they conveyed To caves the sleeping maid.
THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND
All the night in woe Lyca's parents go Over valleys deep, While the deserts weep.
Tired and woe - begone, Hoarse with making moan, Arm in arm, seven days They traced the desert ways.
Seven nights they sleep Among shadows deep, And dream they see their child Starved in desert wild.
Pale through pathless ways The fancied image strays, Famished, weeping, weak, With hollow piteous shriek.
Rising from unrest, The trembling woman presse With feet of weary woe; She could no further go.
In his arms he bore Her, armed with sorrow sore; Till before their way A couching lion lay.
Turning back was vain: Soon his heavy mane Bore them to the ground, Then he stalked around,
Smelling to his prey; But their fears allay When he licks their hands, And silent by them stands.
They look upon his eyes, Filled with deep surprise; And wondering behold A spirit armed in gold.
On his head a crown, On his shoulders down Flowed his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.
" Follow me," he said; " Weep not for the maid; In my palace deep, Lyca lies asleep."
Then they followed Where the vision led, And saw their sleeping child Among tigers wild.
To this day they dwell In a lonely dell, Nor fear the wolvish howl Nor the lion's growl.
THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER
A little black thing in the snow, Crying " weep!
weep!"
in notes of woe!
" Where are thy father and mother?
Say!"
-- " They are both gone up to the church to pray.
" Because I was happy upon the heath, And smiled among the winter's snow, They clothed me in the clothes of death, And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
" And because I am happy and dance and sing, They think they have done me no injury, And are gone to praise God and his priest and king, Who make up a heaven of our misery."
NURSE'S SONG
When voices of children are heard on the green, And whisperings are in the dale, The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, My face turns green and pale.
Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise; Your spring and your day are wasted in play, And your winter and night in disguise.
THE SICK ROSE
O rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm, That flies in the night, In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.
THE FLY
Little Fly, Thy summer's play My thoughtless hand Has brushed away.
Am not I A fly like thee?
Or art not thou A man like me?
For I dance And drink, and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life And strength and breath And the want Of thought is death;
Then am I A happy fly, If I live, Or if I die.
THE ANGEL
I dreamt a dream!
What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen Guarded by an Angel mild: Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!
And I wept both night and day, And he wiped my tears away; And I wept both day and night, And hid from him my heart's delight.
So he took his wings, and fled; Then the morn blushed rosy red.
I dried my tears, and armed my fears With ten - thousand shields and spears.
Soon my Angel came again; I was armed, he came in vain; For the time of youth was fled, And grey hairs were on my head.
THE TIGER
Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forest of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could Frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer?
what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil?
what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
MY PRETTY ROSE TREE
A flower was offered to me, Such a flower as May never bore; But I said " I've a pretty rose tree," And I passed the sweet flower o'er.
Then I went to my pretty rose tree, To tend her by day and by night; But my rose turned away with jealousy, And her thorns were my only delight.
AH SUNFLOWER
Ah Sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun; Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done;
Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale virgin shrouded in snow, Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my Sunflower wishes to go!
THE LILY
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn, The humble sheep a threat'ning horn: While the Lily white shall in love delight, Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.
THE GARDEN OF LOVE
I laid me down upon a bank, Where Love lay sleeping; I heard among the rushes dank Weeping, weeping.
Then I went to the heath and the wild, To the thistles and thorns of the waste; And they told me how they were beguiled, Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.
I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen; A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut And " Thou shalt not," writ over the door; So I turned to the Garden of Love That so many sweet flowers bore.
And I saw it was filled with graves, And tombstones where flowers should be; And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, And binding with briars my joys and desires.
THE LITTLE VAGABOND
Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold; But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm.
Besides, I can tell where I am used well; The poor parsons with wind like a blown bladder swell.
But, if at the Church they would give us some ale, And a pleasant fire our souls to regale, We'd sing and we'd pray all the livelong day, Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.
Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing, And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring; And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church, Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.
And God, like a father, rejoicing to see His children as pleasant and happy as he, Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel, But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.
LONDON
I wandered through each chartered street, Near where the chartered Thames does flow, A mark in every face I meet, Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every man, In every infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind - forged manacles I hear:
How the chimney - sweeper's cry Every blackening church appals, And the hapless soldier's sigh Runs in blood down palace - walls.
But most, through midnight streets I hear How the youthful harlot's curse Blasts the new - born infant's tear, And blights with plagues the marriage - hearse.
THE HUMAN ABSTRACT
Pity would be no more If we did not make somebody poor, And Mercy no more could be If all were as happy as we.
And mutual fear brings Peace, Till the selfish loves increase Then Cruelty knits a snare, And spreads his baits with care.
He sits down with his holy fears, And waters the ground with tears; Then Humility takes its root Underneath his foot.
Soon spreads the dismal shade Of Mystery over his head, And the caterpillar and fly Feed on the Mystery.
And it bears the fruit of Deceit, Ruddy and sweet to eat, And the raven his nest has made In its thickest shade.
The gods of the earth and sea Sought through nature to find this tree, But their search was all in vain: There grows one in the human Brain.
INFANT SORROW
My mother groaned, my father wept: Into the dangerous world I leapt, Helpless, naked, piping loud, Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my father's hands, Striving against my swaddling - bands, Bound and weary, I thought best To sulk upon my mother's breast.
A POISON TREE
I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears Night and morning with my tears, And I sunned it with smiles And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright, And my foe beheld it shine, and he knew that it was mine, --
And into my garden stole When the night had veiled the pole; In the morning, glad, I see My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
A LITTLE BOY LOST
" Nought loves another as itself, Nor venerates another so, Nor is it possible to thought A greater than itself to know.
" And, father, how can I love you Or any of my brothers more?
I love you like the little bird That picks up crumbs around the door."
The Priest sat by and heard the child; In trembling zeal he seized his hair, He led him by his little coat, And all admired the priestly care.
And standing on the altar high, " Lo, what a fiend is here!
said he: " One who sets reason up for judge Of our most holy mystery."
The weeping child could not be heard, The weeping parents wept in vain: They stripped him to his little shirt, And bound him in an iron chain,
And burned him in a holy place Where many had been burned before; The weeping parents wept in vain.
Are such thing done on Albion's shore?
A LITTLE GIRL LOST
Children of the future age, Reading this indignant page, Know that in a former time Love, sweet love, was thought a crime.
In the age of gold, Free from winter's cold, Youth and maiden bright, To the holy light, Naked in the sunny beams delight.
Once a youthful pair, Filled with softest care, Met in garden bright Where the holy light Had just removed the curtains of the night.
Then, in rising day, On the grass they play; Parents were afar, Strangers came not near, And the maiden soon forgot her fear.
Tired with kisses sweet, They agree to meet When the silent sleep Waves o'er heaven's deep, And the weary tired wanderers weep.
To her father white Came the maiden bright; But his loving look, Like the holy book All her tender limbs with terror shook.
" Ona, pale and weak, To thy father speak!
Oh the trembling fear!
Oh the dismal care That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!"
THE SCHOOLBOY
I love to rise on a summer morn, When birds are singing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me: Oh what sweet company!
But to go to school in a summer morn,--Oh it drives all joy away!
Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day In sighing and dismay.
Ah then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour; Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learning's bower, Worn through with the dreary shower.
How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing?
How can a child, when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring?
Oh father and mother, if buds are nipped, And blossoms blown away; And if the tender plants are stripped Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and care's dismay, --
How shall the summer arise in joy, Or the summer fruits appear?
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy, Or bless the mellowing year, When the blasts of winter appear?
TO TERZAH
Whate'er is born of mortal birth Must be consumed with the earth, To rise from generation free: Then what have I to do with thee?
The sexes sprang from shame and pride, Blown in the morn, in evening died; But mercy changed death into sleep; The sexes rose to work and weep.
Thou, mother of my mortal part, With cruelty didst mould my heart, And with false self - deceiving tears Didst bind my nostrils, eyes, and ears,
Didst close my tongue in senseless clay, And me to mortal life betray.
The death of Jesus set me free: Then what have I to do with thee?
THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD
Youth of delight!
come hither And see the opening morn, Image of Truth new - born.
Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason, Dark disputes and artful teazing.
Folly is an endless maze; Tangled roots perplex her ways; How many have fallen there!
They stumble all night over bones of the dead; And feel--they know not what but care; And wish to lead others, when they should be led.
APPENDIX
A DIVINE IMAGE
Cruelty has a human heart, And Jealousy a human face; Terror the human form divine, And Secresy the human dress.
The human dress is forged iron, The human form a fiery forge, The human face a furnace sealed, The human heart its hungry gorge.
NOTE: Though written and engraved by Blake, " A DIVINE IMAGE " was never included in the SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE.
William Blake's
THE BOOK of THEL
THEL'S Motto
Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole: Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
Or Love in a golden bowl?
THE BOOK of THEL
The Author & Printer Willm.
Blake.
1780
THEL
The daughters of Mne Seraphim led round their sunny flocks, All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air.
To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day: Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard; And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew.
O life of this our spring!
why fades the lotus of the water?
Why fade these children of the spring?
born but to smile & fall.
Ah!
Thel is like a watry bow, and like a parting cloud, Like a reflection in a glass: like shadows in the water Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infants face.
Like the doves voice, like transient day, like music in the air: Ah!
gentle may I lay me down and gentle rest my head.
And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gently hear the voice Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.
Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks: For thou shall be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna: Till summers heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs To flourish in eternal vales: they why should Thel complain.
Why should the mistress of the vales of Har, utter a sigh.
She ceasd & smild in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.
Thel answerd, O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley.
Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'er tired The breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells the milky garments He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face, Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints.
Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume.
Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs Revives the milked cow, & tames the fire - breathing steed.
But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun: I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place.
Queen of the vales the Lily answered, ask the tender cloud, And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky.
And why it scatters its bright beauty thro the humid air.
Descend O little cloud & hover before the eyes of Thel.
The Cloud descended and the Lily bowd her modest head: And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
II.
O little Cloud the virgin said, I charge thee to tell me Why thou complainest now when in one hour thou fade away: Then we shall seek thee but not find: ah Thel is like to thee.
I pass away, yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.
The Cloud then shewd his golden head & his bright form emerg'd.
Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.
O virgin know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs Where Luvah doth renew his horses: lookst thou on my youth.
And fearest thou because I vanish and am seen no more.
Nothing remains; O maid I tell thee, when I pass away.
It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace, and raptures holy: Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers: And court the fair eyed dew, to take me to her shining tent The weeping virgin, trembling kneels before the risen sun.
Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part: But walk united bearing food to all our tender flowers.
Dost thou O little cloud?
The Cloud reclind upon his airy throne and answerd thus.
Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies, How great thy use, how great thy blessing, every thing that lives.
Lives not alone nor or itself: fear not and I will call, The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice.
Come forth worm and the silent valley, to thy pensive queen.
The helpless worm arose and sat upon the Lillys leaf, And the bright Cloud saild on, to find his partner in the vale.
III.
Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed.
Art thou a Worm?
image of weakness.
art thou but a Worm?
I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lillys leaf; Ah weep not little voice, thou can'st not speak, but thou can'st weep: Is this a Worm?
I see they lay helpless & naked: weeping And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mothers smiles.
The Clod of Clay heard the Worms voice & rais'd her pitying head: She bowd over the weeping infant, and her life exhald In milky fondness, then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes
O beauty of the vales of Har, we live not for ourselves, Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed: My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark,
But he that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast.
And says; Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.
But how this is sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love.
The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil, And said, Alas!
And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot.
Queen of the vales, the matron Clay answered: I heard thy sighs.
And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down: Wilt thou O Queen enter my house, tis given thee to enter, And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet.
IV.
She wandered in the land of clouds thro'valleys dark, listning Dolors & lamentations: waiting oft beside the dewy grave She stood in silence, listning to the voices of the ground, Till to her own grave plot she came, & there she sat down.
And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
Or the glistening Eye to the poison of a smile!
Why are Eyelids stord with arrows ready drawn, Where a thousand fighting men in ambush lie!
Or an Eye of gifts & graces showring fruits & coined gold!
Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind?
Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror trembling & affright Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy?
Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?
The Virgin started from her seat, & with a shriek, Fled back unhinderd till she came into the vales of Har
[ Stories to Tell to Children by Sara Cone Bryant 1918 ]
TWO LITTLE RIDDLES IN RHYME
There's a garden that I ken, Full of little gentlemen; Little caps of blue they wear, And green ribbons, very fair.
(Flax.)
From house to house he goes, A messenger small and slight, And whether it rains or snows, He sleeps outside in the night.
(The path.)
THE LITTLE YELLOW TULIP
Once there was a little yellow Tulip, and she lived down in a little dark house under the ground.
One day she was sitting there, all by herself, and it was very still.
Suddenly, she heard a little _tap, tap, tap_, at the door.
" Who is that?"
she said.
" It's the Rain, and I want to come in," said a soft, sad, little voice.
" No, you can't come in," the little Tulip said.
By and by she heard another little _tap, tap, tap_ on the window - pane.
" Who is there?"
she said.
The same soft little voice answered, " It's the Rain, and I want to come in!"
" No, you can't come in," said the little Tulip.
Then it was very still for a long time.
At last, there came a little rustling, whispering sound, all round the window: _rustle, whisper, whisper_.
" Who is there?"
said the little Tulip.
" It's the Sunshine," said a little, soft, cheery voice, " and I want to come in!"
" N--no," said the little Tulip, " you can't come in."
And she sat still again.
Pretty soon she heard the sweet little rustling noise at the keyhole.
" Who is there?"
she said.
" It's the Sunshine," said the cheery little voice, " and I want to come in, I want to come in!"
" No, no," said the little Tulip, " you cannot come in."
By and by, as she sat so still, she heard _tap, tap, tap_, and _rustle, whisper, rustle_, up and down the window - pane, and on the door and at the keyhole.
" _Who is there? _ " she said.
" It's the Rain and the Sun, the Rain and the Sun," said two little voices, together, " and we want to come in!
We want to come in!
We want to come in!"
" Dear, dear!"
said the little Tulip, " if there are two of you, I s'pose I shall have to let you in."
So she opened the door a little wee crack, and in they came.
And one took one of her little hands, and the other took her other little hand, and they ran, ran, ran with her right up to the top of the ground.
Then they said,--
" Poke your head through!"
So she poked her head through; and she was in the midst of a beautiful garden.
It was early springtime, and few other flowers were to be seen; but she had the birds to sing to her and the sun to shine upon her pretty yellow head.
She was so pleased, too, when the children exclaimed with pleasure that now they knew that the beautiful spring had come!
THE COCK - A - DOO - DLE - DOO
A very little boy made this story up " out of his head," and told it to his papa.
I think you littlest ones will like it; I do.
Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he wanted to be a cock - a - doo - dle - doo.
So he was a cock - a - doo - dle - doo.
And he wanted to fly up into the sky.
So he did fly up into the sky.
And he wanted to get wings and a tail So he did get some wings and a tail.
THE CLOUD
One hot summer morning a little Cloud rose out of the sea and floated lightly and happily across the blue sky.
Far below lay the earth, brown, dry, and desolate, from drought.
The little Cloud could see the poor people of the earth working and suffering in the hot fields, while she herself floated on the morning breeze, hither and thither, without a care.
" Oh, if I could only help the poor people down there!"
she thought.
" If I could but make their work easier, or give the hungry ones food, or the thirsty a drink!"
And as the day passed, and the Cloud became larger, this wish to do something for the people of earth was ever greater in her heart.
On earth it grew hotter and hotter; the sun burned down so fiercely that the people were fainting in its rays; it seemed as if they must die of heat, and yet they were obliged to go on with their work, for they were very poor.
Sometimes they stood and looked up at the Cloud, as if they were praying, and saying, " Ah, if you could help us!"
" I will help you; I will!"
said the Cloud.
And she began to sink softly down toward the earth.
But suddenly, as she floated down, she remembered something which had been told her when she was a tiny Cloud - child, in the lap of Mother Ocean: it had been whispered that if the Clouds go too near the earth they die.
When she remembered this she held herself from sinking, and swayed here and there on the breeze, thinking,-- thinking.
But at last she stood quite still, and spoke boldly and proudly.
She said, " Men of earth, I will help you, come what may!"
The thought made her suddenly marvellously big and strong and powerful.
Never had she dreamed that she could be so big.
Like a mighty angel of blessing she stood above the earth, and lifted her head and spread her wings far over the fields and woods.
She was so great, so majestic, that men and animals were awe - struck at the sight; the trees and the grasses bowed before her; yet all the earth - creatures felt that she meant them well.
" Yes, I will help you," cried the Cloud once more.
" Take me to yourselves; I will give my life for you!"
As she said the words a wonderful light glowed from her heart, the sound of thunder rolled through the sky, and a love greater than words can tell filled the Cloud; down, down, close to the earth she swept, and gave up her life in a blessed, healing shower of rain.
That rain was the Cloud's great deed; it was her death, too; but it was also her glory.
Over the whole country - side, as far as the rain fell, a lovely rainbow sprang its arch, and all the brightest rays of heaven made its colours; it was the last greeting of a love so great that it sacrificed itself.
Soon that, too, was gone, but long, long afterward the men and animals who were saved by the Cloud kept her blessing in their hearts.
THE LITTLE RED HEN
The little Red Hen was in the farmyard with her chickens, when she found a grain of wheat.
" Who will plant this wheat?"
she said.
" Not I," said the Goose.
" Not I," said the Duck.
" I will, then," said the little Red Hen, and she planted the grain of wheat.
When the wheat was ripe she said, " Who will take this wheat to the mill?"
" Not I," said the Goose.
" Not I," said the Duck.
" I will, then," said the little Red Hen, and she took the wheat to the mill.
When she brought the flour home she said, " Who will make some bread with this flour?"
" Not I," said the Goose.
" Not I," said the Duck.
" I will, then," said the little Red Hen.
When the bread was baked, she said, " Who will eat this bread?"
" I will," said the Goose.
" I will," said the Duck.
" No, you won't," said the little Red Hen.
" I shall eat it myself.
Cluck!
cluck!"
And she called her chickens to help her.
THE GINGERBREAD MAN
Once upon a time there was a little old woman and a little old man, and they lived all alone in a little old house.
They hadn't any little girls or any little boys, at all.
So one day, the little old woman made a boy out of gingerbread; she made him a chocolate jacket, and put raisins on it for buttons; his eyes were made of fine, fat currants; his mouth was made of rose - coloured sugar; and he had a gay little cap of orange sugar - candy.
When the little old woman had rolled him out, and dressed him up, and pinched his gingerbread shoes into shape, she put him in a pan; then she put the pan in the oven and shut the door; and she thought, " Now I shall have a little boy of my own."
When it was time for the Gingerbread Boy to be done she opened the oven door and pulled out the pan.
Out jumped the little Gingerbread Boy on to the floor, and away he ran, out of the door and down the street!
The little old woman and the little old man ran after him as fast as they could, but he just laughed, and shouted,--
" Run!
run!
as fast as you can!
" You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"
And they couldn't catch him.
The little Gingerbread Boy ran on and on, until he came to a cow, by the roadside.
" Stop, little Gingerbread Boy," said the cow; " I want to eat you."
The little Gingerbread Boy laughed and said,--
" I have run away from a little old woman,
" And a little old man,
" And I can run away from you, I can!"
And, as the cow chased him, he looked over his shoulder and cried,--
" Run!
run!
as fast as you can!
" You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"
And the cow couldn't catch him.
The little Gingerbread Boy ran on, and on, and on, till he came to a horse, in the pasture.
" Please stop, little Gingerbread Boy," said the horse, " you look very good to eat."
But the little Gingerbread Boy laughed out loud.
" Oho!
oho!"
he said,--
" I have run away from a little old woman,
" A little old man,
" A cow,
" And I can run away from you, I can!"
And, as the horse chased him, he looked over his shoulder and cried,--
" Run!
run!
as fast as you can!
" You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"
And the horse couldn't catch him.
By and by the little Gingerbread Boy came to a barn full of threshers.
When the threshers smelt the Gingerbread Boy, they tried to pick him up, and said, " Don't run so fast, little Gingerbread Boy; you look very good to eat."
But the little Gingerbread Boy ran harder than ever, and as he ran he cried out,--
" I have run away from a little old woman,
" A little old man,
" A cow,
" A horse,
" And I can run away from you, I can!"
And when he found that he was ahead of the threshers, he turned and shouted back to them,--
" Run!
run!
as fast as you can!
" You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"
And the threshers couldn't catch him.
Then the little Gingerbread Boy ran faster than ever.
He ran and ran until he came to a field full of mowers.
When the mowers saw how fine he looked, they ran after him, calling out, " Wait a bit!
wait a bit, little Gingerbread Boy, we wish to eat you!"
But the little Gingerbread Boy laughed harder than ever, and ran like the wind.
" Oho!
oho!"
he said,--
" I have run away from a little old woman,
" A little old man,
" A cow,
" A horse,
" A barn full of threshers,
" And I can run away from you, I can!"
And when he found that he was ahead of the mowers, he turned and shouted back to them,--
" Run!
run!
as fast as you can!
" You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"
And the mowers couldn't catch him.
By this time the little Gingerbread Boy was so proud that he didn't think anybody could catch him.
Pretty soon he saw a fox coming across a field.
The fox looked at him and began to run.
But the little Gingerbread Boy shouted across to him, " You can't catch me!"
The fox began to run faster, and the little Gingerbread Boy ran faster, and as he ran he chuckled,--
" I have run away from a little old woman,
" A little old man,
" A cow,
" A horse,
" A barn full of threshers,
" A field full of mowers,
" And I can run away from you, I can!
" Run!
run!
as fast as you can!
" You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"
" Why," said the fox, " I would not catch you if I could.
I would not think of disturbing you."
Just then, the little Gingerbread Boy came to a river.
He could not swim across, and he wanted to keep running away from the cow and the horse and the people.
" Jump on my tail, and I will take you across," said the fox.
So the little Gingerbread Boy jumped on the fox's tail, and the fox began to swim the river.
When he was a little way from the bank he turned his head, and said, " You are too heavy on my tail, little Gingerbread Boy, I fear I shall let you get wet; jump on my back."
The little Gingerbread Boy jumped on his back.
A little farther out, the fox said, " I am afraid the water will cover you, there; jump on my shoulder."
The little Gingerbread Boy jumped on his shoulder.
In the middle of the stream the fox said, " Oh, dear!
little Gingerbread Boy, my shoulder is sinking; jump on my nose, and I can hold you out of water."
So the little Gingerbread Boy jumped on his nose.
The minute the fox reached the bank he threw back his head, and gave a snap!
" Dear me!"
said the little Gingerbread Boy, " I am a quarter gone!"
The next minute he said, " Why, I am half gone!"
The next minute he said, " My goodness gracious, I am three quarters gone!"
And after that, the little Gingerbread Boy never said anything more at all.
THE LITTLE JACKALS AND THE LION
Once there was a great big jungle; and in the jungle there was a great big Lion; and the Lion was king of the jungle.
Whenever he wanted anything to eat, all he had to do was to come up out of his cave in the stones and earth and _roar_.
When he had roared a few times all the little people of the jungle were so frightened that they came out of their holes and hiding - places and ran, this way and that, to get away.
Then, of course, the Lion could see where they were.
And he pounced on them, killed them, and gobbled them up.
He did this so often that at last there was not a single thing left alive in the jungle besides the Lion, except two little Jackals,-- a little father Jackal and a little mother Jackal.
They had run away so many times that they were quite thin and very tired, and they could not run so fast any more.
And one day the Lion was so near that the little mother Jackal grew frightened; she said,--
" Oh, Father Jackal, Father Jackal!
I b'lieve our time has come!
the Lion will surely catch us this time!"
" Pooh!
nonsense, mother!"
said the little father Jackal.
" Come, we'll run on a bit!"
And they ran, ran, ran very fast, and the Lion did not catch them that time.
But at last a day came when the Lion was nearer still and the little mother Jackal was frightened almost to death.
" Oh, Father Jackal, Father Jackal!"
she cried; " I'm sure our time has come!
The Lion's going to eat us this time!"
" Now, mother, don't you fret," said the little father Jackal; " you do just as I tell you, and it will be all right."
Then what did those cunning little Jackals do but take hold of hands and run up towards the Lion, as if they had meant to come all the time.
When he saw them coming he stood up, and roared in a terrible voice,--
" You miserable little wretches, come here and be eaten, at once!
Why didn't you come before?"
The father Jackal bowed very low.
" Indeed, Father Lion," he said, " we meant to come before; we knew we ought to come before; and we wanted to come before; but every time we started to come, a dreadful great lion came out of the woods and roared at us, and frightened us so that we ran away."
" What do you mean?"
roared the Lion.
" There's no other lion in this jungle, and you know it!"
" Indeed, indeed, Father Lion," said the little Jackal, " I know that is what everybody thinks; but indeed and indeed there is another lion!
And he is as much bigger than you as you are bigger than I!
His face is much more terrible, and his roar far, far more dreadful.
Oh, he is far more fearful than you!"
At that the Lion stood up and roared so that the jungle shook.
" Take me to this Lion," he said; " I'll eat him up and then I'll eat you up."
The little Jackals danced on ahead, and the Lion stalked behind.
They led him to a place where there was a round, deep well of clear water.
They went round on one side of it, and the Lion stalked up to the other.
" He lives down there, Father Lion!"
said the little Jackal.
" He lives down there!"
The Lion came close and looked down into the water,-- and a lion's face looked back at him out of the water!
When he saw that, the Lion roared and shook his mane and showed his teeth.
And the lion in the water shook his mane and showed his teeth.
The Lion above shook his mane again and growled again, and made a terrible face.
But the lion in the water made just as terrible a one, back.
The Lion above couldn't stand that.
He leaped down into the well after the other lion.
But, of course, as you know very well, there wasn't any other lion!
It was only the reflection in the water!
So the poor old Lion floundered about and floundered about, and as he couldn't get up the steep sides of the well, he was at last drowned.
And when he was drowned, the little Jackals took hold of hands and danced round the well, and sang,--
" The Lion is dead!
The Lion is dead!
" We have killed the great Lion who would have killed us!
" The Lion is dead!
The Lion is dead!
" Ao!
Ao!
Ao!"
THE COUNTRY MOUSE AND THE CITY MOUSE
Once a little mouse who lived in the country invited a little mouse from the city to visit him.
When the little City Mouse sat down to dinner he was surprised to find that the Country Mouse had nothing to eat except barley and grain.
" Really," he said, " you do not live well at all; you should see how I live!
I have all sorts of fine things to eat every day.
You must come to visit me and see how nice it is to live in the city."
The little Country Mouse was glad to do this, and after a while he went to the city to visit his friend.
The very first place that the City Mouse took the Country Mouse to see was the kitchen cupboard of the house where he lived.
There, on the lowest shelf, behind some stone jars, stood a big paper bag of brown sugar.
The little City Mouse gnawed a hole in the bag and invited his friend to nibble for himself.
The two little mice nibbled and nibbled, and the Country Mouse thought he had never tasted anything so delicious in his life.
He was just thinking how lucky the City Mouse was, when suddenly the door opened with a bang, and in came the cook to get some flour.
" Run!"
whispered the City Mouse.
And they ran as fast as they could to the little hole where they had come in.
The little Country Mouse was shaking all over when they got safely away, but the little City Mouse said, " That is nothing; she will soon go away and then we can go back."
After the cook had gone away and shut the door they stole softly back, and this time the City Mouse had something new to show: he took the little Country Mouse into a corner on the top shelf, where a big jar of dried prunes stood open.
After much tugging and pulling they got a large dried prune out of the jar on to the shelf and began to nibble at it.
This was even better than the brown sugar.
The little Country Mouse liked the taste so much that he could hardly nibble fast enough.
But all at once, in the midst of their eating, there came a scratching at the door and a sharp, loud _miaouw_!
" What is that?"
said the Country Mouse.
The City Mouse just whispered, " Sh!"
and ran as fast as he could to the hole.
The Country Mouse ran after, you may be sure, as fast as _he_ could.
As soon as they were out of danger the City Mouse said, " That was the old Cat; she is the best mouser in town,-- if she once gets you, you are lost."
" This is very terrible," said the little Country Mouse; " let us not go back to the cupboard again."
" No," said the City Mouse, " I will take you to the cellar; there is something specially fine there."
So the City Mouse took his little friend down the cellar stairs and into a big cupboard where there were many shelves.
On the shelves were jars of butter, and cheeses in bags and out of bags.
Overhead hung bunches of sausages, and there were spicy apples in barrels standing about.
It smelt so good that it went to the little Country Mouse's head.
He ran along the shelf and nibbled at a cheese here, and a bit of butter there, until he saw an especially rich, very delicious - smelling piece of cheese on a queer little stand in a corner.
He was just on the point of putting his teeth into the cheese when the City Mouse saw him.
" Stop!
stop!"
cried the City Mouse.
" That is a trap!"
The little Country Mouse stopped and said, " What is a trap?"
" That thing is a trap," said the little City Mouse.
" The minute you touch the cheese with your teeth something comes down on your head hard, and you're dead."
The little Country Mouse looked at the trap, and he looked at the cheese, and he looked at the little City Mouse.
" If you'll excuse me," he said, " I think I will go home.
I'd rather have barley and grain to eat and eat it in peace and comfort, than have brown sugar and dried prunes and cheese,-- and be frightened to death all the time!"
So the little Country Mouse went back to his home, and there he stayed all the rest of his life.
LITTLE JACK ROLLAROUND
Once upon a time there was a wee little boy who slept in a tiny trundle - bed near his mother's great bed.
The trundle - bed had castors on it so that it could be rolled about, and there was nothing in the world the little boy liked so much as to have it rolled.
When his mother came to bed he would cry, " Roll me around!
roll me around!"
And his mother would put out her hand from the big bed and push the little bed back and forth till she was tired.
The little boy could never get enough; so for this he was called " Little Jack Rollaround."
One night he had made his mother roll him about, till she fell asleep, and even then he kept crying, " Roll me around!
roll me around!"
His mother pushed him about in her sleep, until her slumber became too sound; then she stopped.
But Little Jack Rollaround kept on crying, " Roll around!
roll around!"
By and by the Moon peeped in at the window.
He saw a funny sight: Little Jack Rollaround was lying in his trundle - bed, and he had put up one little fat leg for a mast, and fastened the corner of his wee shirt to it for a sail; and he was blowing at it with all his might, and saying, " Roll around!
roll around!"
Slowly, slowly, the little trundle - bed boat began to move; it sailed along the floor and up the wall and across the ceiling and down again!
" More!
more!"
cried Little Jack Rollaround; and the little boat sailed faster up the wall, across the ceiling, down the wall, and over the floor.
The Moon laughed at the sight; but when Little Jack Rollaround saw the Moon, he called out, " Open the door, old Moon!
I want to roll through the town, so that the people can see me!"
The Moon could not open the door, but he shone in through the keyhole, in a broad band.
And Little Jack Rollaround sailed his trundle - bed boat up the beam, through the keyhole, and into the street.
" Make a light, old Moon," he said; " I want the people to see me!"
So the good Moon made a light and went along with him, and the little trundle - bed boat went sailing down the streets into the main street of the village.
They rolled past the town hall and the schoolhouse and the church; but nobody saw little Jack Rollaround, because everybody was in bed, asleep.
" Why don't the people come to see me?"
he shouted.
High up on the church steeple, the Weather - vane answered, " It is no time for people to be in the streets; decent folk are in their beds."
" Then I'll go to the woods, so that the animals may see me," said Little Jack.
" Come along, old Moon, and make a light!"
The good Moon went along and made a light, and they came to the forest.
" Roll!
roll!"
cried the little boy; and the trundle - bed went trundling among the trees in the great wood, scaring up the squirrels and startling the little leaves on the trees.
The poor old Moon began to have a bad time of it, for the tree - trunks got in his way so that he could not go so fast as the bed, and every time he got behind, the little boy called, " Hurry up, old Moon, I want the beasts to see me!"
But all the animals were asleep, and nobody at all looked at Little Jack Rollaround except an old White Owl; and all she said was, " Who are you?"
The little boy did not like her, so he blew harder, and the trundle - bed boat went sailing through the forest till it came to the end of the world.
" I must go home now; it is late," said the Moon.
" I will go with you; make a path!"
said Little Jack Rollaround.
The kind Moon made a path up to the sky, and up sailed the little bed into the midst of the sky.
All the little bright Stars were there with their nice little lamps.
And when he saw them, that naughty Little Jack Rollaround began to tease.
" Out of the way, there!
I am coming!"
he shouted, and sailed the trundle - bed boat straight at them.
He bumped the little Stars right and left, all over the sky, until every one of them put his little lamp out and left it dark.
" Do not treat the little Stars so," said the good Moon.
But Jack Rollaround only behaved the worse: " Get out of the way, old Moon!"
he shouted, " I am coming!"
And he steered the little trundle - bed boat straight into the old Moon's face, and bumped his nose!
This was too much for the good Moon; he put out his big light, all at once, and left the sky pitch - black.
" Make a light, old Moon!
Make a light!"
shouted the little boy.
But the Moon answered never a word, and Jack Rollaround could not see where to steer.
He went rolling criss - cross, up and down, all over the sky, knocking into the planets and stumbling into the clouds, till he did not know where he was.
Suddenly he saw a big yellow light at the very edge of the sky.
He thought it was the Moon.
" Look out, I am coming!"
he cried, and steered for the light.
But it was not the kind old Moon at all; it was the great mother Sun, just coming up out of her home in the sea, to begin her day's work.
" Aha, youngster, what are you doing in my sky?"
she said.
And she picked Little Jack Rollaround up and threw him, trundle - bed boat and all, into the middle of the sea!
And I suppose he is there yet, unless somebody picked him out again.
HOW BROTHER RABBIT FOOLED THE WHALE AND THE ELEPHANT
One day little Brother Rabbit was running along on the sand, lippety, lippety, when he saw the Whale and the Elephant talking together.
Little Brother Rabbit crouched down and listened to what they were saying.
This was what they were saying:--
" You are the biggest thing on the land, Brother Elephant," said the Whale, " and I am the biggest thing in the sea; if we join together we can rule all the animals in the world, and have our way about everything."
" Very good, very good," trumpeted the Elephant; " that suits me; we will do it."
" They won't rule me," he said.
He ran away and got a very long, very strong rope, and he got his big drum, and hid the drum a long way off in the bushes.
Then he went along the beach till he came to the Whale.
" Oh, please, dear, strong Mr Whale," he said, " will you have the great kindness to do me a favour?
My cow is stuck in the mud, a quarter of a mile from here.
And I can't pull her out.
But you are so strong and so obliging, that I venture to trust you will help me out."
The Whale was so pleased with the compliment that he said, " Yes," at once.
" Then," said the Rabbit, " I will tie this end of my long rope to you, and I will run away and tie the other end round my cow, and when I am ready I will beat my big drum.
When you hear that, pull very, very hard, for the cow is stuck very deep in the mud."
" Huh!"
grunted the Whale, " I'll pull her out, if she is stuck to the horns."
Little Brother Rabbit tied the rope - end to the Whale, and ran off, lippety, lippety, till he came to the place where the Elephant was.
" Oh, please, mighty and kindly Elephant," he said, making a very low bow, " will you do me a favour?"
" What is it?"
asked the Elephant.
" My cow is stuck in the mud, about a quarter of a mile from here," said little Brother Rabbit, " and I cannot pull her out.
Of course you could.
If you will be so very obliging as to help me ----"
" Certainly," said the Elephant grandly, " certainly."
" Then," said little Brother Rabbit, " I will tie one end of this long rope to your trunk, and the other to my cow, and as soon as I have tied her tightly I will beat my big drum.
When you hear that, pull; pull as hard as you can, for my cow is very heavy."
" Never fear," said the Elephant, " I could pull twenty cows."
" I am sure you could," said the Rabbit, politely, " only be sure to begin gently, and pull harder and harder till you get her."
Then he tied the end of the rope tightly round the Elephant's trunk, and ran away into the bushes.
There he sat down and beat the big drum.
The Whale began to pull, and the Elephant began to pull, and in a jiffy the rope tightened till it was stretched as hard as could be.
" This is a remarkably heavy cow," said the Elephant; " but I'll fetch her!"
And he braced his forefeet in the earth, and gave a tremendous pull.
" Dear me!"
said the Whale.
" That cow must be stuck mighty tight "; and he drove his tail deep in the water, and gave a marvellous pull.
He pulled harder; the Elephant pulled harder.
Pretty soon the Whale found himself sliding toward the land.
The reason was, of course, that the Elephant had something solid to brace against, and, beside, as fast as he pulled the rope in a little, he took a turn with it round his trunk!
But when the Whale found himself sliding toward the land he was so provoked with the cow that he dived head first, down to the bottom of the sea.
That was a pull!
The Elephant was jerked off his feet, and came slipping and sliding to the beach, and into the surf.
He was terribly angry.
He braced himself with all his might, and pulled his best.
At the jerk, up came the Whale out of the water.
" Who is pulling me?"
spouted the Whale.
" Who is pulling me?"
trumpeted the Elephant.
And then each saw the rope in the other's hold.
" I'll teach you to play cow!"
roared the Elephant.
" I'll show you how to fool me!"
fumed the Whale.
And they began to pull again.
But this time the rope broke, the Whale turned a somersault, and the Elephant fell over backward.
At that, they were both so ashamed that neither would speak to the other.
So that broke up the bargain between them.
And little Brother Rabbit sat in the bushes and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
THE LITTLE HALF - CHICK
There was once upon a time a Spanish Hen, who hatched out some nice little chickens.
She was much pleased with their looks as they came from the shell.
One, two, three, came out plump and fluffy; but when the fourth shell broke, out came a little half - chick!
It had only one leg and one wing and one eye!
It was just half a chicken.
The Hen - mother did not know what in the world to do with the queer little Half - Chick.
She was afraid something would happen to it, and she tried hard to protect it and keep it from harm.
But as soon as it could walk the little Half - Chick showed a most headstrong spirit, worse than any of its brothers.
It would not mind, and it would go wherever it wanted to; it walked with a funny little hoppity - kick, hoppity - kick, and got along pretty fast.
One day the little Half - Chick said, " Mother, I am off to Madrid, to see the King!
Good - bye."
The poor Hen - mother did everything she could think of to keep him from doing so foolish a thing, but the little Half - Chick laughed at her naughtily.
" I'm for seeing the King," he said; " this life is too quiet for me."
And away he went, hoppity - kick, hoppity - kick, over the fields.
When he had gone some distance the little Half - Chick came to a little brook that was caught in the weeds and in much trouble.
" Little Half - Chick," whispered the Water, " I am so choked with these weeds that I cannot move; I am almost lost, for want of room; please push the sticks and weeds away with your bill and help me."
" The idea!"
said the little Half - Chick.
" I cannot be bothered with you; I am off to Madrid, to see the King!"
And in spite of the brook's begging, he went away, hoppity - kick, hoppity - kick.
A bit farther on, the Half - Chick came to a Fire, which was smothered in damp sticks and in great distress.
" Oh, little Half - Chick," said the Fire, " you are just in time to save me.
I am almost dead for want of air.
Fan me a little with your wing, I beg."
" The idea!"
said the little Half - Chick.
" I cannot be bothered with you; I am off to Madrid, to see the King!"
And he went laughing off, hoppity - kick, hoppity - kick.
When he had hoppity - kicked a good way, and was near Madrid, he came to a clump of bushes, where the Wind was caught fast.
The Wind was whimpering, and begging to be set free.
" Little Half - Chick," said the Wind, " you are just in time to help me; if you will brush aside these twigs and leaves, I can get my breath; help me, quickly!"
" Ho!
the idea!"
said the little Half - Chick " I have no time to bother with you.
I am going to Madrid, to see the King."
And he went off, hoppity - kick, hoppity - kick, leaving the Wind to smother.
After a while he came to Madrid and to the palace of the King.
Hoppity - kick, hoppity - kick, the little Half - Chick skipped past the sentry at the gate, and hoppity - kick, hoppity - kick, he crossed the court.
But as he was passing the windows of the kitchen the Cook looked out and saw him.
" The very thing for the King's dinner!"
she said.
" I was needing a chicken!"
And she seized the little Half - Chick by his one wing and threw him into a kettle of water on the fire.
The Water came over the little Half - Chick's feathers, over his head, into his eyes.
It was terribly uncomfortable.
The little Half - Chick cried out,--
" Water, don't drown me!
Stay down, don't come so high!"
" But," the Water said, " Little Half - Chick, little Half - Chick, when I was in trouble you would not help me," and came higher than ever.
Now the Water grew warm, hot, hotter, frightfully hot; the little Half - Chick cried out, " Do not burn so hot, Fire!
You are burning me to death!
Stop!"
But the Fire said, " Little Half - Chick, little Half - Chick, when I was in trouble you would not help me," and burned hotter than ever.
Just as the little Half - Chick thought he must suffocate, the Cook took the cover off, to look at the dinner.
" Dear me," she said, " this chicken is no good; it is burned to a cinder."
And she picked the little Half - Chick up by one leg and threw him out of the window.
In the air he was caught by a breeze and taken up higher than the trees.
Round and round he was twirled till he was so dizzy he thought he must perish.
" Don't blow me so, Wind," he cried, " let me down!"
" Little Half - Chick, little Half - Chick," said the Wind, " when I was in trouble you would not help me!"
And the Wind blew him straight up to the top of the church steeple, and stuck him there, fast!
There he stands to this day, with his one eye, his one wing, and his one leg.
He cannot hoppity - kick any more, but he turns slowly round when the wind blows, and keeps his head toward it, to hear what it says.
THE BLACKBERRY - BUSH
A little boy sat at his mother's knees, by the long western window, looking out into the garden.
It was autumn, and the wind was sad; and the golden elm leaves lay scattered about among the grass, and on the gravel path.
The mother was knitting a little stocking; her fingers moved the bright needles; but her eyes were fixed on the clear evening sky.
As the darkness gathered, the wee boy laid his head on her lap and kept so still that, at last, she leaned forward to look into his dear round face.
He was not asleep, but was watching very earnestly a blackberry - bush, that waved its one tall, dark - red spray in the wind outside the fence.
" What are you thinking about, my darling?"
she said, smoothing his soft, honey - coloured hair.
" The blackberry - bush, mamma; what does it say?
It keeps nodding, nodding to me behind the fence; what does it say, mamma?"
" It says," she answered, ' I see a happy little boy in the warm, fire - lighted room.
The wind blows cold, and here it is dark and lonely; but that little boy is warm and happy and safe at his mother's knees.
I nod to him, and he looks at me.
I wonder if he knows how happy he is!
' See, all my leaves are dark crimson.
Every day they dry and wither more and more; by and by they will be so weak they can scarcely cling to my branches, and the north wind will tear them all away, and nobody will remember them any more.
Then the snow will sink down and wrap me close.
Then the snow will melt again and icy rain will clothe me, and the bitter wind will rattle my bare twigs up and down.
' I nod my head to all who pass, and dreary nights and dreary days go by; but in the happy house, so warm and bright, the little boy plays all day with books and toys.
His mother and his father cherish him; he nestles on their knees in the red firelight at night, while they read to him lovely stories, or sing sweet old songs to him,-- the happy little boy!
And outside I peep over the snow and see a stream of ruddy light from a crack in the window - shutter, and I nod out here alone in the dark, thinking how beautiful it is.
' And here I wait patiently.
I take the snow and the rain and the cold, and I am not sorry, but glad; for in my roots I feel warmth and life, and I know that a store of greenness and beauty is shut up safe in my small brown buds.
Day and night go again and again; little by little the snow melts all away; the ground grows soft; the sky is blue; the little birds fly over, crying, " It is spring!
it is spring!"
Ah!
then through all my twigs I feel the slow sap stirring.
' Warmer grow the sunbeams, and softer the air.
The small blades of grass creep thick about my feet; the sweet rain helps to swell my shining buds.
More and more I push forth my leaves, till out I burst in a gay green dress, and nod in joy and pride.
The little boy comes running to look at me, and cries, " Oh, mamma!
the little blackberry - bush is alive and beautiful and green.
Oh, come and see!"
And I hear; and I bow my head in the summer wind; and every day they watch me grow more beautiful, till at last I shake out blossoms, fair and fragrant.
' A few days more, and I drop the white petals down among the grass, and, lo!
there are the green tiny berries!
Carefully I hold them up to the sun; carefully I gather the dew in the summer nights; slowly they ripen; they grow larger and redder and darker, and at last they are black, shining, delicious.
I hold them as high as I can for the little boy, who comes dancing out.
He shouts with joy, and gathers them in his dear hand; and he runs to share them with his mother, saying, " Here is what the patient blackberry - bush bore for us: see how nice, mamma!"
' Ah!
then indeed I am glad, and would say, if I could, " Yes, take them, dear little boy; I kept them for you, held them long up to the sun and rain to make them sweet and ripe for you "; and I nod and nod in full content, for my work is done.
From the window he watches me and thinks, " There is the little blackberry - bush that was so kind to me.
I see it and I love it.
I know it is safe out there nodding all alone, and next summer it will hold ripe berries up for me to gather again.'"
* * * * *
Then the wee boy smiled, and said he liked the little story.
His mother took him up in her arms, and they went out to supper and left the blackberry - bush nodding up and down in the wind; and there it is nodding yet.
THE FAIRIES
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a - hunting For fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!
Down along the rocky shore Some make their home--They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide - foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain - lake, With frogs for their watch - dogs, All night awake.
High on the hilltop The old King sits; He is now so old and gray, He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses, On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow; They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since Deep within the lake, On a bed of flag - leaves, Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hillside, Through the mosses bare, They have planted thorn - trees, For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring As dig them up in spite, He shall find their sharpest thorns In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a - hunting For fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!
THE ADVENTURES OF THE LITTLE FIELD MOUSE
Once upon a time, there was a little brown Field Mouse; and one day he was out in the fields to see what he could find.
He was running along in the grass, poking his nose into everything and looking with his two eyes all about, when he saw a smooth, shiny acorn, lying in the grass.
It was such a fine shiny little acorn that he thought he would take it home with him; so he put out his paw to touch it, but the little acorn rolled away from him.
He ran after it, but it kept rolling on, just ahead of him, till it came to a place where a big oak - tree had its roots spread all over the ground.
Then it rolled under a big round root.
Little Mr Field Mouse ran to the root and poked his nose under after the acorn, and there he saw a small round hole in the ground.
He slipped through and saw some stairs going down into the earth.
The acorn was rolling down, with a soft tapping sound, ahead of him, so down he went too.
Down, down, down, rolled the acorn, and down, down, down, went the Field Mouse, until suddenly he saw a tiny door at the foot of the stairs.
The shiny acorn rolled to the door and struck against it with a tap.
Quickly the little door opened and the acorn rolled inside.
The Field Mouse hurried as fast as he could down the last stairs, and pushed through just as the door was closing.
It shut behind him, and he was in a little room.
And there, before him, stood a queer little Red Man!
He had a little red cap, and a little red jacket, and odd little red shoes with points at the toes.
" You are my prisoner," he said to the Field Mouse.
" What for?"
said the Field Mouse.
" Because you tried to steal my acorn," said the little Red Man.
" It is my acorn," said the Field Mouse; " I found it."
" No, it isn't," said the little Red Man, " I have it; you will never see it again."
The little Field Mouse looked all about the room as fast as he could, but he could not see any acorn.
Then he thought he would go back up the tiny stairs to his own home.
But the little door was locked, and the little Red Man had the key.
And he said to the poor mouse,--
" You shall be my servant; you shall make my bed and sweep my room and cook my broth."
So the little brown Mouse was the little Red Man's servant, and every day he made the little Red Man's bed and swept the little Red Man's room and cooked the little Red Man's broth.
And every day the little Red Man went away through the tiny door, and did not come back till afternoon.
But he always locked the door after him, and carried away the key.
At last, one day he was in such a hurry that he turned the key before the door was quite latched, which, of course, didn't lock it at all.
He went away without noticing,-- he was in such a hurry.
The little Field Mouse knew that his chance had come to run away home.
But he didn't want to go without the pretty, shiny acorn.
Where it was he didn't know, so he looked everywhere.
He opened every little drawer and looked in, but it wasn't in any of the drawers; he peeped on every shelf, but it wasn't on a shelf; he hunted in every closet, but it wasn't in there.
Finally, he climbed up on a chair and opened a wee, wee door in the chimney - piece,-- and there it was!
He took it quickly in his forepaws, and then he took it in his mouth, and then he ran away.
He pushed open the little door; he climbed up, up, up the little stairs; he came out through the hole under the root; he ran and ran through the fields; and at last he came to his own house.
When he was in his own house he set the shiny acorn on the table.
I expect he set it down hard, for all at once, with a little snap, it opened!-- exactly like a little box.
And what do you think!
There was a tiny necklace inside!
It was a most beautiful tiny necklace, all made of jewels, and it was just big enough for a lady mouse.
So the little Field Mouse gave the tiny necklace to his little Mouse - sister.
She thought it was perfectly lovely.
And when she wasn't wearing it she kept it in the shiny acorn box.
And the little Red Man never knew what had become of it, because he didn't know where the little Field Mouse lived.
ANOTHER LITTLE RED HEN
Once upon a time there was a little Red Hen, who lived on a farm all by herself.
An old Fox, crafty and sly, had a den in the rocks, on a hill near her house.
Many and many a night this old Fox used to lie awake and think to himself how good that little Red Hen would taste if he could once get her in his big kettle and boil her for dinner.
But he couldn't catch the little Red Hen, because she was too wise for him.
Every time she went out to market she locked the door of the house behind her, and as soon as she came in again she locked the door behind her and put the key in her apron pocket, where she kept her scissors and some sugar candy.
At last the old Fox thought out a way to catch the little Red Hen.
Early in the morning he said to his old mother, " Have the kettle boiling when I come home to - night, for I'll be bringing the little Red Hen for supper."
Then he took a big bag and slung it over his shoulder, and walked till he came to the little Red Hen's house.
The little Red Hen was just coming out of her door to pick up a few sticks for firewood.
So the old Fox hid behind the wood - pile, and as soon as she bent down to get a stick, into the house he slipped, and scurried behind the door.
In a minute the little Red Hen came quickly in, and shut the door and locked it.
" I'm glad I'm safely in," she said.
Just as she said it, she turned round, and there stood the ugly old Fox, with his big bag over his shoulder.
Whiff!
how scared the little Red Hen was!
She dropped her apronful of sticks, and flew up to the big beam across the ceiling.
There she perched, and she said to the old Fox, down below, " You may as well go home, for you can't get me."
" Can't I, though!"
said the Fox.
And what do you think he did?
He stood on the floor underneath the little Red Hen and twirled round in a circle after his own tail.
And as he spun, and spun, and spun, faster, and faster, and faster, the poor little Red Hen got so dizzy watching him that she couldn't hold on to the perch.
She dropped off, and the old Fox picked her up and put her in his bag, slung the bag over his shoulder, and started for home, where the kettle was boiling.
He had a very long way to go, up hill, and the little Red Hen was still so dizzy that she didn't know where she was.
But when the dizziness began to go off, she whisked her little scissors out of her apron pocket, and snip!
she cut a little hole in the bag; then she poked her head out and saw where she was, and as soon as they came to a good spot she cut the hole bigger and jumped out herself.
There was a great big stone lying there, and the little Red Hen picked it up and put it in the bag as quick as a wink.
Then she ran as fast as she could till she came to her own little farmhouse, and she went in and locked the door with the big key.
The old Fox went on carrying the stone and never knew the difference.
My, but it bumped him well!
He was pretty tired when he got home.
But he was so pleased to think of the supper he was going to have that he did not mind that at all.
As soon as his mother opened the door he said, " Is the kettle boiling?"
" Yes," said his mother; " have you got the little Red Hen?"
" I have," said the old Fox.
" When I open the bag you hold the cover off the kettle and I'll shake the bag so that the Hen will fall in, and then you pop the cover on, before she can jump out."
" All right," said his mean old mother; and she stood close by the boiling kettle, ready to put the cover on.
The Fox lifted the big, heavy bag up till it was over the open kettle, and gave it a shake.
Splash!
thump!
splash!
In went the stone and out came the boiling water, all over the old Fox and the old Fox's mother!
And they were scalded to death.
But the little Red Hen lived happily ever after, in her own little farmhouse.
THE STORY OF THE LITTLE RID HIN
There was once't upon a time A little small Rid Hin, Off in the good ould country Where yees ha'nivir bin.
Nice and quiet shure she was, And nivir did any harrum; She lived alane all be herself, And worked upon her farrum.
There lived out o'er the hill, In a great din o'rocks, A crafty, shly, and wicked Ould folly iv a Fox.
This rashkill iv a Fox, He tuk it in his head He'd have the little Rid Hin: So, whin he wint to bed,
He laid awake and thaught What a foine thing'twad be To fetch her home and bile her up For his ould marm and he.
And so he thaught and thaught, Until he grew so thin That there was nothin'left of him But jist his bones and shkin.
But the small Rid Hin was wise, She always locked her door, And in her pocket pit the key, To keep the Fox out shure.
But at last there came a schame Intil his wicked head, And he tuk a great big bag And to his mither said,--
" Now have the pot all bilin'Agin the time I come; We'll ate the small Rid Hin to - night, For shure I'll bring her home."
And so away he wint Wid the bag upon his back, An'up the hill and through the woods Saftly he made his track.
An'thin he came alang, Craping as shtill's a mouse, To where the little small Rid Hin Lived in her shnug ould house.
An'out she comes hersel ', Jist as he got in sight, To pick up shticks to make her fire: " Aha!"
says Fox, " all right.
" Begorra, now, I'll have yees Widout much throuble more "; An'in he shlips quite unbeknownst, An'hides be'ind the door.
An'thin, a minute afther, In comes the small Rid Hin, An'shuts the door, and locks it, too, An'thinks, " I'm safely in."
An'thin she tarns around An'looks be'ind the door; There shtands the Fox wid his big tail Shpread out upon the floor.
Dear me!
she was so schared Wid such a wondrous sight, She dropped her apronful of shticks, An'flew up in a fright,
An'lighted on the bame Across on top the room; " Aha!"
says she, " ye don't have me; Ye may as well go home."
" Aha!"
says Fox, " we'll see; I'll bring yees down from that."
So out he marched upon the floor Right under where she sat.
An'thin he whiruled around, An'round an'round an'round, Fashter an'fashter an'fashter, Afther his tail on the ground.
Until the small Rid Hin She got so dizzy, shure, Wid lookin'at the Fox's tail, She jist dropped on the floor.
An'Fox he whipped her up, An'pit her in his bag, An'off he started all alone, Him and his little dag.
All day he tracked the wood Up hill an'down again; An'wid him, shmotherin'in the bag, The little small Rid Hin.
Sorra a know she knowed Awhere she was that day; Says she, " I'm biled an'ate up, shure An'what'll be to pay?"
Thin she betho't hersel ', An'tuk her schissors out, An'shnipped a big hole in the bag, So she could look about.
Anfore ould Fox could think She lept right out--she did, An'thin picked up a great big shtone, An'popped it in instid.
An'thin she rins off home, Her outside door she locks; Thinks she, " You see you don't have me, You crafty, shly ould Fox."
An'Fox he tugged away Wid the great big hivy shtone, Thimpin'his shoulders very bad As he wint in alone.
An'whin he came in sight O'his great din o'rocks, Jist watchin'for him at the door He shpied ould mither Fox.
" Have ye the pot a - bilin '?"
Says he to ould Fox thin; " Shure an'it is, me child," says she; " Have ye the small Rid Hin?"
" Yes, jist here in me bag, As shure as I shtand here; Open the lid till I pit her in: Open it--nivir fear."
So the rashkill cut the shtring, An'hild the big bag over; " Now when I shake it in," says he, " Do ye pit on the cover."
" Yis, that I will "; an'thin The shtone wint in wid a dash, An'the pot o'bilin'wather Came over them ker - splash.
An'schalted'em both to death, So they couldn't brathe no more; An'the little small Rid Hin lived safe, Jist where she lived before.
THE STORY OF EPAMINONDAS AND HIS AUNTIE
Epaminondas used to go to see his Auntie'most every day, and she nearly always gave him something to take home to his Mammy.
One day she gave him a big piece of cake; nice, yellow, rich gold - cake.
Epaminondas took it in his fist and held it all crunched up tight, like this, and came along home.
By the time he got home there wasn't anything left but a fistful of crumbs.
His Mammy said,--
" What you got there, Epaminondas?"
" Cake, Mammy," said Epaminondas.
" Cake!"
said his Mammy.
" Epaminondas, you ain't got the sense you was born with!
That's no way to carry cake.
The way to carry cake is to wrap it all up nice in some leaves and put it in your hat, and put your hat on your head, and come along home.
You hear me, Epaminondas?"
" Yes, Mammy," said Epaminondas.
Next day Epaminondas went to see his Auntie, and she gave him a pound of butter for his Mammy; fine, fresh, sweet butter.
Epaminondas wrapped it up in leaves and put it in his hat, and put his hat on his head, and came along home.
It was a very hot day.
Pretty soon the butter began to melt.
It melted, and melted, and as it melted it ran down Epaminondas'forehead; then it ran over his face, and in his ears, and down his neck.
When he got home, all the butter Epaminondas had was _on him_.
His Mammy looked at him, and then she said,--
" Law's sake!
Epaminondas, what you got in your hat?"
" Butter, Mammy," said Epaminondas; " Auntie gave it to me."
" Butter!"
said his Mammy.
" Epaminondas, you ain't got the sense you was born with!
Don't you know that's no way to carry butter?
The way to carry butter is to wrap it up in some leaves and take it down to the brook, and cool it in the water, and cool it in the water, and cool it in the water, and then take it on your hands, careful, and bring it along home."
" Yes, Mammy," said Epaminondas.
By and by, another day, Epaminondas went to see his Auntie again, and; this time she gave him a little new puppy - dog to take home.
Epaminondas put it in some leaves and took it down to the brook; and there he cooled it in the water, and cooled it in the water, and cooled it in the water; then he took it in his hands and came along home.
When he got home, the puppy - dog was dead.
His Mammy looked at it, and she said,--
" Law's sake!
Epaminondas, what you got there?"
" A puppy - dog, Mammy," said Epaminondas.
" A _puppy - dog_!"
said his Mammy.
" My gracious sakes alive, Epaminondas, you ain't got the sense you was born with!
That ain't the way to carry a puppy - dog!
The way to carry a puppy - dog is to take a long piece of string and tie one end of it round the puppy - dog's neck and put the puppy - dog on the ground, and take hold of the other end of the string and come along home, like this."
" All right, Mammy," said Epaminondas.
Next day Epaminondas went to see his Auntie again, and when he came to go home she gave him a loaf of bread to carry to his Mammy; a brown, fresh, crusty loaf of bread.
So Epaminondas tied a string around the end of the loaf and took hold of the end of the string and came along home, like this.
(Imitate dragging something along the ground.)
When he got home his Mammy looked at the thing on the end of the string, and she said,--
" My laws a - massy!
Epaminondas, what you got on the end of that string?"
" Bread, Mammy," said Epaminondas; " Auntie gave it to me."
" Bread!!"
said his Mammy.
" O Epaminondas, Epaminondas, you ain't got the sense you was born with; you never did have the sense you was born with; you never will have the sense you was born with!
Now I ain't gwine tell you any more ways to bring truck home.
And don't you go see your Auntie, neither.
I'll go see her my own self.
But I'll just tell you one thing, Epaminondas!
You see these here six mince pies I done make?
You see how I done set'em on the doorstep to cool?
Well, now, you hear me, Epaminondas, _you be careful how you step on those pies_!"
" Yes, Mammy," said Epaminondas.
Then Epaminondas'Mammy put on her bonnet and her shawl and took a basket in her hand and went away to see Auntie.
The six mince pies sat cooling in a row on the doorstep.
And then,-- and then,-- Epaminondas _was_ careful how he stepped on those pies!
He stepped (imitate)-- right--in--the--middle--of--every--one.
* * * * *
And, do you know, children, nobody knows what happened next!
The person who told me the story didn't know; nobody knows.
But you can guess.
THE BOY WHO CRIED " WOLF!"
There was once a shepherd - boy who kept his flock at a little distance from the village.
Once he thought he would play a trick on the villagers and have some fun at their expense.
So he ran toward the village crying out, with all his might,--
" Wolf!
Wolf!
Come and help!
The wolves are at my lambs!"
The kind villagers left their work and ran to the field to help him.
But when they got there the boy laughed at them for their pains; there was no wolf there.
Still another day the boy tried the same trick, and the villagers came running to help and got laughed at again.
Then one day a wolf did break into the fold and began killing the lambs.
In great fright, the boy ran for help.
" Wolf!
Wolf!"
he screamed.
" There is a wolf in the flock!
Help!"
The villagers heard him, but they thought it was another mean trick; no one paid the least attention, or went near him.
And the shepherd - boy lost all his sheep.
That is the kind of thing that happens to people who lie: even when they tell the truth no one believes them.
THE FROG KING
Did you ever hear the old story about the foolish Frogs?
The Frogs in a certain swamp decided that they needed a king; they had always got along perfectly well without one, but they suddenly made up their minds that a king they must have.
They sent a messenger to Jove and begged him to send a king to rule over them.
Jove saw how stupid they were, and sent a king who could not harm them: he tossed a big log into the middle of the pond.
At the splash the Frogs were terribly frightened, and dived into their holes to hide from King Log.
But after a while, when they saw that the king never moved, they got over their fright and went and sat on him.
And as soon as they found he really could not hurt them they began to despise him; and finally they sent another messenger to Jove to ask for a new king.
Jove sent an eel.
The Frogs were much pleased and a good deal frightened when King Eel came wriggling and swimming among them.
But as the days went on, and the eel was perfectly harmless, they stopped being afraid; and as soon as they stopped fearing King Eel they stopped respecting him.
Soon they sent a third messenger to Jove, and begged that they might have a better king,-- a king who was worth while.
It was too much; Jove was angry at their stupidity at last.
" I will give you a king such as you deserve!"
he said; and he sent them a Stork.
As soon as the Frogs came to the surface to greet the new king, King Stork caught them in his long bill and gobbled them up.
One after another they came bobbing up, and one after another the stork ate them.
He was indeed a king worthy of them!
THE SUN AND THE WIND
The Sun and the Wind once had a quarrel as to which was the stronger.
Each believed himself to be the more powerful.
While they were arguing they saw a traveller walking along the country highway, wearing a great cloak.
" Here is a chance to test our strength," said the Wind; " let us see which of us is strong enough to make that traveller take off his cloak; the one who can do that shall be acknowledged the more powerful."
" Agreed," said the Sun.
Instantly the Wind began to blow; he puffed and tugged at the man's cloak, and raised a storm of hail and rain, to beat at it.
But the colder it grew and the more it stormed, the tighter the traveller held his cloak around him.
The Wind could not get it off.
Now it was the Sun's turn.
He shone with all his beams on the man's shoulders.
As it grew hotter and hotter, the man unfastened his cloak; then he threw it back; at last he took it off!
The Sun had won.
THE LITTLE JACKAL AND THE ALLIGATOR
The little Jackal was very fond of shell - fish.
He used to go down by the river and hunt along the edges for crabs and such things.
And once, when he was hunting for crabs, he was so hungry that he put his paw into the water after a crab without looking first,-- which you never should do!
The minute he put in his paw, _snap_!-- the big Alligator who lives in the mud down there had it in his jaws.
" Oh, dear!"
thought the little Jackal; " the big Alligator has my paw in his mouth!
In another minute he will pull me down and gobble me up!
What shall I do?
what shall I do?"
Then he thought, suddenly, " I'll deceive him!"
So he put on a very cheerful voice, as if nothing at all were the matter, and he said,--
" Ho!
ho!
Clever Mr Alligator!
Smart Mr Alligator, to take that old bulrush root for my paw!
I hope you'll find it very tender!"
The old Alligator was hidden away beneath the mud and bulrush leaves, and he couldn't see anything.
He thought, " Pshaw!
I've made a mistake."
So he opened his mouth and let the little Jackal go.
The little Jackal ran away as fast as he could, and as he ran he called out,--
" Thank you, Mr Alligator!
Kind Mr Alligator!
_So_ kind of you to let me go!"
The old Alligator lashed with his tail and snapped with his jaws, but it was too late; the little Jackal was out of reach.
After this the little Jackal kept away from the river, out of danger.
But after about a week he got such an appetite for crabs that nothing else would do at all; he felt that he must have a crab.
So he went down by the river and looked all around, very carefully.
He didn't see the old Alligator, but he thought to himself, " I think I'll not take any chances."
So he stood still and began to talk out loud to himself.
He said,--
" When I don't see any little crabs on the land I generally see them sticking out of the water, and then I put my paw in and catch them.
I wonder if there are any fat little crabs in the water to - day?"
The old Alligator was hidden down in the mud at the bottom of the river, and when he heard what the little Jackal said, he thought, " Aha!
I'll pretend to be a little crab, and when he puts his paw in, I'll make my dinner of him."
So he stuck the black end of his snout above the water and waited.
The little Jackal took one look, and then he said,--
" Thank you, Mr Alligator!
Kind Mr Alligator!
You are _exceedingly_ kind to show me where you are!
I will have dinner elsewhere."
And he ran away like the wind.
The old Alligator foamed at the mouth, he was so angry, but the little Jackal was gone.
For two whole weeks the little Jackal kept away from the river.
Then, one day he got a feeling inside him that nothing but crabs could satisfy: he felt that he must have at least one crab.
Very cautiously, he went down to the river and looked all around.
He saw no sign of the old Alligator.
Still, he did not mean to take any chances.
So he stood quite still and began to talk to himself,-- it was a little way he had.
He said,--
I wonder if I shall see any little bubbles to - day?"
The old Alligator, lying low in the mud and weeds, heard this, and he thought, " Pooh!
_That's_ easy enough; I'll just blow some little crab - bubbles, and then he will put his paw in where I can get it."
So he blew, and he blew, a mighty blast, and the bubbles rose in a perfect whirlpool, fizzing and swirling.
The little Jackal didn't have to be told who was underneath those bubbles: he took one quick look, and off he ran.
But as he went, he sang,--
" Thank you, Mr Alligator!
Kind Mr Alligator!
You are the kindest Alligator in the world, to show me where you are, so nicely!
I'll breakfast at another part of the river."
The old Alligator was so furious that he crawled up on the bank and went after the little Jackal; but, dear, dear, he couldn't catch the little Jackal; he ran far too fast.
After this, the little Jackal did not like to risk going near the water, so he ate no more crabs.
But he found a garden of wild figs, which were so good that he went there every day, and ate them instead of shell - fish.
Now the old Alligator found this out, and he made up his mind to have the little Jackal for supper, or to die trying.
So he crept, and crawled, and dragged himself over the ground to the garden of wild figs.
There he made a huge pile of figs under the biggest of the wild fig trees, and hid himself in the pile.
After a while the little Jackal came dancing into the garden, very happy and free from care,-- _but_ looking all around.
He saw the huge pile of figs under the big fig tree.
" H - m," he thought, " that looks singularly like my friend, the Alligator.
I'll investigate a bit."
He stood quite still and began to talk to himself,-- it was a little way he had.
He said,--
" The little figs I like best are the fat, ripe, juicy ones that drop off when the breeze blows; and then the wind blows them about on the ground, this way and that; the great heap of figs over there is so still that I think they must be all bad figs."
The old Alligator, underneath his fig pile, thought,--
" Bother the suspicious little Jackal!
I shall have to make these figs roll about, so that he will think the wind moves them."
And straight - way he humped himself up and moved, and sent the little figs flying,-- and his back showed through.
The little Jackal did not wait for a second look.
He ran out of the garden like the wind.
But as he ran he called back,--
" Thank you, again, Mr Alligator; very sweet of you to show me where you are; I can't stay to thank you as I should like: good - bye!"
At this the old Alligator was beside himself with rage.
He vowed that he would have the little Jackal for supper this time, come what might.
So he crept and crawled over the ground till he came to the little Jackal's house.
Then he crept and crawled inside, and hid himself there in the house, to wait till the little Jackal should come home.
By and by the little Jackal came dancing home, happy and free from care,-- _but_ looking all around.
Presently, as he came along, he saw that the ground was all raked up as if something very heavy had been dragged over it.
The little Jackal stopped and looked.
" What's this?
what's this?"
he said.
Then he saw that the door of his house was crushed at the sides and broken, as if something very big had gone through it.
" What's this?
What's this?"
the little Jackal said.
" I think I'll investigate a little!"
So he stood quite still and began to talk to himself (you remember, it was a little way he had), but loudly.
He said,--
" How strange that my little House doesn't speak to me!
Why don't you speak to me, little House?
You always speak to me, if everything is all right, when I come home.
I wonder if anything is wrong with my little House?"
The old Alligator thought to himself that he must certainly pretend to be the little House, or the little Jackal would never come in.
So he put on as pleasant a voice as he could (which is not saying much) and said,--
" Hullo, little Jackal!"
Oh!
When the little Jackal heard that, he was frightened enough, for once.
" It's the old Alligator," he said, " and if I don't make an end of him this time he will certainly make an end of me.
What shall I do?"
He thought very fast.
Then he spoke out pleasantly.
" Thank you, little House," he said, " it's good to hear your pretty voice, dear little House, and I will be in with you in a minute; only first I must gather some firewood for dinner."
Then he went and gathered firewood, and more firewood, and more firewood; and he piled it all up solid against the door and round the house; and then he set fire to it!
And it smoked and burned till it smoked that old Alligator to smoked herring!
THE LARKS IN THE CORNFIELD
There was once a family of little Larks who lived with their mother in a nest in a cornfield.
When the corn was ripe the mother Lark watched very carefully to see if there were any sign of the reapers'coming, for she knew that when they came their sharp knives would cut down the nest and hurt the baby Larks.
So every day, when she went out for food, she told the little Larks to look and listen very closely to everything that went on, and to tell her all they saw and heard when she came home.
One day when she came home the little Larks were much frightened.
" Oh, Mother, dear Mother," they said, " you must move us away to - night!
The farmer was in the field to - day, and he said,'The corn is ready to cut; we must call in the neighbours to help.'
And then he told his son to go out to - night and ask all the neighbours to come and reap the corn to - morrow."
The mother Lark laughed.
" Don't be frightened," she said; " if he waits for his neighbours to reap the corn we shall have plenty of time to move; tell me what he says to - morrow."
The next night the little Larks were quite trembling with fear; the moment their mother got home they cried out, " Mother, you must surely move us to - night!
The farmer came to - day and said,'The corn is getting too ripe; we cannot wait for our neighbours; we must ask our relatives to help us.'
And then he called his son and told him to ask all the uncles and cousins to come to - morrow and cut the corn.
Shall we not move to - night?"
" Don't worry," said the mother Lark; " the uncles and cousins have plenty of reaping to do for themselves; we'll not move yet."
The third night, when the mother Lark came home, the baby Larks said, " Mother, dear, the farmer came to the field to - day, and when he looked at the corn he was quite angry; he said,'This will never do!
The corn is getting too ripe; it's no use to wait for our relatives, we shall have to cut this corn ourselves.'
And then he called his son and said,'Go out to - night and hire reapers, and to - morrow we will begin to cut.'"
" Well," said the mother, " that is another story; when a man begins to do his own business, instead of asking somebody else to do it, things get done.
I will move you out to - night."
A TRUE STORY ABOUT A GIRL
Once there were four little girls who lived in a big, bare house, in the country.
They were very poor, but they had the happiest times you ever heard of, because they were very rich in everything except money.
There were dark, shadowy woods, and fields of flowers, and a river.
And there was a big barn.
One of the little girls was named Louisa.
She was very pretty, and ever so strong; she could run for miles through the woods and not get tired.
She had a splendid brain in her little head; it liked study, and it thought interesting thoughts all day long.
Louisa liked to sit in a corner by herself, sometimes, and write thoughts in her diary; all the little girls kept diaries.
She liked to make up stories out of her own head, and sometimes she made verses.
When the four little sisters had finished their lessons, and had helped their mother wash up and sew, they used to go to the big barn to play; and the best play of all was theatricals.
Louisa liked theatricals better than anything.
They made the barn into a theatre, and the grown - up people came to see the plays they acted.
They used to climb up on the hay - loft for a stage, and the grown people sat in chairs on the floor.
It was great fun.
One of the plays they acted was _Jack and the Beanstalk_.
They had a ladder from the floor to the loft, and on the ladder they tied a vine all the way up to the loft, to look like the wonderful beanstalk.
One of the little girls was dressed up to look like Jack, and she acted that part.
When it came to the place in the story where the giant tried to follow Jack, the little girl cut down the beanstalk, and down came the giant tumbling from the loft.
The giant was made out of pillows, with a great, fierce head of paper, and funny clothes.
Another story that they acted was _Cinderella_.
They made a wonderful big pumpkin out of the wheelbarrow, trimmed with yellow paper, and Cinderella rolled away in it, when the fairy godmother waved her wand.
One other beautiful story they used to play.
It was the story of _Pilgrim's Progress_; if you have never heard it, you must be sure to read it as soon as you can read well enough to understand the old - fashioned words.
Louisa loved all these plays, and she made some of her own and wrote them down so that the children could act them.
But better than fun or writing Louisa loved her mother, and by and by, as the little girl began to grow into a big girl, she felt very sad to see her dear mother work so hard.
She helped all she could with the housework, but nothing could really help the tired mother except money; she needed money for food and clothes, and someone grown up, to help in the house.
But there never was enough money for these things, and Louisa's mother grew more and more weary, and sometimes ill.
I cannot tell you how much Louisa suffered over this.
At last, as Louisa thought about it, she came to care more about helping her mother and her father and her sisters than about anything else in all the world.
And she began to work very hard to earn money.
She sewed for people, and when she was a little older she taught some little girls their lessons, and then she wrote stories for the papers.
Every bit of money she earned, except what she had to use, she gave to her dear family.
It helped very much, but it was so little that Louisa never felt as if she were doing anything.
Every year she grew more unselfish, and every year she worked harder.
She liked writing stories best of all her work, but she did not get much money for them, and some people told her she was wasting her time.
At last, one day, a publisher asked Louisa, who was now a woman, to write a book for girls.
Louisa was not very well, and she was very tired, but she always said, " I'll try," when she had a chance to work; so she said, " I'll try," to the publisher.
When she thought about the book she remembered the good times she used to have with her sisters in the big, bare house in the country.
And so she wrote a story and put all that in it; she put her dear mother and her wise father in it, and all the little sisters, and besides the jolly times and the plays, she put the sad, hard times in,-- the work and worry and going without things.
When the book was written, she called it _Little Women_, and sent it to the publisher.
And, children, the little book made Louisa famous.
It was so sweet and funny and sad and real,-- like our own lives,-- that everybody wanted to read it.
Everybody bought it, and much money came from it.
Never again did the dear mother have to do any hard work, and she had pretty things about her all the rest of her life.
Louisa Alcott, for that was Louisa's name, wrote many beautiful books after this, and she became one of the most famous women of America.
But I think the most beautiful thing about her is what I have been telling you: that she loved her mother so well that she gave her whole life to make her happy.
MY KINGDOM
The little Louisa I told you about, who wrote verses and stories in her diary, used to like to play that she was a princess, and that her kingdom was her own mind.
When she had unkind or dissatisfied thoughts, she tried to get rid of them by playing they were enemies of the kingdom; and she drove them out with soldiers; the soldiers were patience, duty, and love.
It used to help Louisa to be good to play this, and I think it may have helped make her the splendid woman she was afterward.
Maybe you would like to hear a poem she wrote about it, when she was only fourteen years old.
It will help you, too, to think the same thoughts.
A little kingdom I possess, Where thoughts and feelings dwell, And very hard I find the task Of governing it well; For passion tempts and troubles me, A wayward will misleads, And selfishness its shadow casts On all my words and deeds.
How can I learn to rule myself, To be the child I should, Honest and brave, nor ever tire Of trying to be good?
How can I keep a sunny soul To shine along life's way?
How can I tune my little heart To sweetly sing all day?
Dear Father, help me with the love That casteth out my fear, Teach me to lean on Thee, and feel That Thou art very near, That no temptation is unseen, No childish grief too small, Since Thou, with patience infinite, Doth soothe and comfort all.
I do not ask for any crown But that which all may win, Nor seek to conquer any world, Except the one within.
Be Thou my Guide until I find, Led by a tender hand, Thy happy kingdom in _myself_, And dare to take command.
PICCOLA
Poor, sweet Piccola!
Did you hear What happened to Piccola, children dear?
' Tis seldom Fortune such favour grants As fell to this little maid of France.
' Twas Christmas - time, and her parents poor Could hardly drive the wolf from the door, Striving with poverty's patient pain Only to live till summer again.
No gifts for Piccola!
Sad were they When dawned the morning of Christmas - day; Their little darling no joy might stir, St Nicholas nothing would bring to her!
But Piccola never doubted at all That something beautiful must befall Every child upon Christmas - day, And so she slept till the dawn was gray.
And full of faith, when at last she woke, She stole to her shoe as the morning broke; Such sounds of gladness filled all the air, Twas plain St Nicholas had been there!
In rushed Piccola sweet, half wild: Never was seen such a joyful child.
" See what the good saint brought!"
she cried, And mother and father must peep inside.
Now such a story who ever heard?
There was a little shivering bird!
A sparrow, that in at the window flew, Had crept into Piccola's tiny shoe!
" How good poor Piccola must have been!"
She cried, as happy as any queen, While the starving sparrow she fed and warmed, And danced with rapture, she was so charmed.
Children, this story I tell to you, Of Piccola sweet and her bird, is true.
In the far - off land of France, they say, Still do they live to this very day.
THE LITTLE FIR TREE
When I was a very little girl some one, probably my mother, read to me Hans Christian Andersen's story of the Little Fir Tree.
It happened that I did not read it for myself or hear it again during my childhood.
One Christmas Day, when I was grown up, I found myself at a loss for the " one more " story called for by some little children with whom I was spending the holiday.
In the mental search for buried treasure which ensued, I came upon one or two word - impressions of the experiences of the Little Fir Tree, and forthwith wove them into what I supposed to be something of a reproduction of the original.
The latter part of the story had wholly faded from my memory, so that I " made up " to suit the tastes of my audience.
Afterward I told the story to a good many children, at one time or another, and it gradually took the shape it has here.
It was not until several years later that, in rereading Andersen for other purposes, I came upon the real story of the Little Fir Tree, and read it for myself.
Then indeed I was amused, and somewhat distressed, to find how far I had wandered from the text.
I give this explanation that the reader may know I do not presume to offer the little tale which follows as an " adaptation " of Andersen's famous story.
I offer it plainly as a story which children have liked, and which grew out of my early memories of Andersen's _The Little Fir Tree_.
Once there was a Little Fir Tree, slim and pointed, and shiny, which stood in the great forest in the midst of some big fir trees, broad, and tall, and shadowy green.
The Little Fir Tree was very unhappy because he was not big like the others.
When the birds came flying into the woods and lit on the branches of the big trees and built their nests there, he used to call up to them,--
" Come down, come down, rest in my branches!"
But they always said,--
" Oh, no, no; you are too little!"
When the splendid wind came blowing and singing through the forest, it bent and rocked and swung the tops of the big trees, and murmured to them.
Then the Little Fir Tree looked up, and called,--
" Oh, please, dear wind, come down and play with me!"
But he always said,--
" Oh, no; you are too little, you are too little!"
In the winter the white snow fell softly, softly, and covered the great trees all over with wonderful caps and coats of white.
The Little Fir Tree, close down in the cover of the others, would call up,--
" Oh, please, dear snow, give me a cap, too!
I want to play, too!"
But the snow always said,--
" Oh no, no, no; you are too little, you are too little!"
The worst of all was when men came into the wood, with sledges and teams of horses.
They came to cut the big trees down and carry them away.
The Little Fir Tree wanted greatly to see life, but he was always too little; the men passed him by.
But by and by, one cold winter's morning, men came with a sledge and horses, and after they had cut here and there they came to the circle of trees round the Little Fir Tree, and looked all about.
" There are none little enough," they said.
Oh!
how the Little Fir Tree pricked up his needles!
" Here is one," said one of the men, " it is just little enough."
And he touched the Little Fir Tree.
The Little Fir Tree was happy as a bird, because he knew they were about to cut him down.
And when he was being carried away on the sledge he lay wondering, _so_ contentedly, whether he should be the mast of a ship or part of a fine city house.
But when they came to the town he was taken out and set upright in a tub and placed on the edge of a path in a row of other fir trees, all small, but none so little as he.
And then the Little Fir Tree began to see life.
People kept coming to look at the trees and to take them away.
But always when they saw the Little Fir Tree they shook their heads and said,--
" It is too little, too little."
Until, finally, two children came along, hand in hand, looking carefully at all the small trees.
When they saw the Little Fir Tree they cried out,--
" We'll take this one; it is just little enough!"
They took him out of his tub and carried him away, between them.
And the happy Little Fir Tree spent all his time wondering what it could be that he was just little enough for; he knew it could hardly be a mast or a house, since he was going away with children.
He kept wondering, while they took him in through some big doors, and set him up in another tub, on the table, in a bare little room.
Very soon they went away, and came back again with a big basket, which they carried between them.
Then some pretty ladies, with white caps on their heads and white aprons over their blue dresses, came bringing little parcels.
The children took things out of the basket and began to play with the Little Fir Tree, just as he had often begged the wind and the snow and the birds to do.
He felt their soft little touches on his head and his twigs and his branches.
When he looked down at himself, as far as he could look, he saw that he was all hung with gold and silver chains!
The Little Fir Tree could not breathe, for joy and wonder.
What was it that he was, now?
Why was this glory for him?
After a time every one went away and left him.
It grew dusk, and the Little Fir Tree began to hear strange sounds through the closed doors.
Sometimes he heard a child crying.
He was beginning to be lonely.
It grew more and more shadowy.
All at once, the doors opened and the two children came in.
Two of the pretty ladies were with them.
They came up to the Little Fir Tree and quickly lighted all the little pink and white candles.
Then the two pretty ladies took hold of the table with the Little Fir Tree on it and pushed it, very smoothly and quickly, out of the doors, across a hall, and in at another door.
The Little Fir Tree had a sudden sight of a long room with many little white beds in it, of children propped up on pillows in the beds, and of other children in great wheeled chairs, and others hobbling about or sitting in little chairs.
He wondered why all the little children looked so white and tired; he did not know that he was in a hospital.
But before he could wonder any more his breath was quite taken away by the shout those little white children gave.
" Oh!
oh!
m - m!
m - m!"
they cried.
" How pretty!
How beautiful!
Oh, isn't it lovely!"
He knew they must mean him, for all their shining eyes were looking straight at him.
He stood as straight as a mast, and quivered in every needle, for joy.
Presently one little weak child - voice called out,--
" It's the nicest Christmas tree I ever saw!"
And then, at last, the Little Fir Tree knew what he was; he was a Christmas tree!
And from his shiny head to his feet he was glad, through and through, because he was just little enough to be the nicest kind of tree in the world!
HOW MOSES WAS SAVED
Thousands of years ago, many years before David lived, there was a very wise and good man of his people who was a friend and adviser of the king of Egypt.
And for love of this friend, the king of Egypt had let numbers of the Israelites settle in his land.
But after the king and his Israelitish friend were dead, there was a new king, who hated the Israelites.
When he saw how strong they were, and how many there were of them, he began to be afraid that some day they might number more than the Egyptians, and might take his land from him.
Then he and his rulers did a wicked thing.
They made the Israelites slaves.
And they gave them terrible tasks to do, without proper rest, or food, or clothes.
For they hoped that the hardship would kill off the Israelites.
They thought the old men would die and the young men be so ill and weary that they could not bring up families, and so the race would dwindle away.
But in spite of the work and suffering, the Israelites remained strong, and more and more boys grew up, to make the king afraid.
Then he did the most wicked thing of all.
He ordered his soldiers to kill every boy baby that should be born in an Israelitish family; he did not care about the girls, because they could not grow up to fight.
Very soon after this wicked order, a boy baby was born in a certain Israelitish family.
When his mother first looked at him her heart was nearly broken, for he was even more beautiful than most babies are,-- so strong and fair and sweet.
But he was a boy!
How could she save him from death?
Somehow, she contrived to keep him hidden for three whole months.
But at the end of that time, she saw that it would not be possible to keep him safe any longer.
She had been thinking all this time about what she should do, and now she carried out her plan.
First, she took a basket made of bulrushes and daubed it all over with pitch, so that it was water - tight, and then she laid the baby in it; then she carried it to the edge of the river and laid it in the flags by the river's brink.
It did not show at all, unless one were quite near it.
Then she kissed her little son and left him there.
But his sister stood far off, not seeming to watch, but really watching carefully to see what would happen to the baby.
Soon there was the sound of talk and laughter, and a train of beautiful women came down to the water's edge.
It was the king's daughter, come down to bathe in the river, with her maidens.
The maidens walked along by the river side.
As the king's daughter came near to the water, she saw the strange little basket lying in the flags, and she sent her maid to bring it to her.
And when she had opened it, she saw the child; the poor baby was crying.
When she saw him, so helpless and so beautiful, crying for his mother, the king's daughter pitied him and loved him.
She knew the cruel order of her father, and she said at once, " This is one of the Hebrews'children."
At that moment the baby's sister came to the princess and said, " Shall I go and find thee a nurse from the Hebrew women, so that she may nurse the child for thee?"
Not a word did she say about whose child it was, but perhaps the princess guessed; I don't know.
At all events, she told the little girl to go.
So the maiden went, and brought her mother!
Then the king's daughter said to the baby's mother, " Take this child away and nurse it for me, and I will give thee wages."
Was not that a strange thing?
And can you think how happy the baby's mother was?
For now the baby would be known only as the princess's adopted child, and would be safe.
And it was so.
The mother kept him until he was old enough to be taken to the princess's palace.
Then he was brought and given to the king's daughter, and he became her son.
And she named him Moses.
But the strangest part of the whole story is, that when Moses grew to be a man he became so strong and wise that it was he who at last saved his people from the king and rescued them from the Egyptians.
The one child saved by the king's own daughter was the very one the king would most have wanted to kill, if he had known.
THE TEN FAIRIES
Once upon a time there was a dear little girl, whose name was Elsa.
Elsa's father and mother worked very hard and became rich.
But they loved Elsa so much that they did not like her to do any work; very foolishly, they let her play all the time.
So when Elsa grew up, she did not know how to do anything; she could not make bread, she could not sweep a room, she could not sew a seam; she could only laugh and sing.
But she was so sweet and merry that everybody loved her.
And by and by, she married one of the people who loved her, and had a house of her own to take care of.
Then, then, my dears, came hard times for Elsa!
There were so many things to be done in the house, and she did not know how to do any of them!
And because she had never worked at all it made her very tired even to try; she was tired before the morning was over, every day.
The maid would come and say, " How shall I do this?"
or " How shall I do that?"
and Elsa would have to say, " I don't know."
Then the maid would pretend that she did not know, either; and when she saw her mistress sitting about doing nothing, she, too, sat about, idle.
Elsa's husband had a hard time of it; he had only poor food to eat, and it was not ready at the right time, and the house looked all in a muddle.
It made him sad, and that made Elsa sad, for she wanted to do everything just right.
At last, one day, Elsa's husband went away quite cross; he said to her, as he went out of the door, " It is no wonder that the house looks so, when you sit all day with your hands in your lap!"
Little Elsa cried bitterly when he was gone, for she did not want to make her husband unhappy and cross, and she wanted the house to look nice.
" Oh, dear," she sobbed, " I wish I could do things right!
I wish I could work!
I wish--I wish I had ten good fairies to work for me!
Then I could keep the house!"
As she said the words, a great grey man stood before her; he was wrapped in a strange grey cloak that covered him from head to foot; and he smiled at Elsa.
" What is the matter, dear?"
he said.
" Why do you cry?"
" Oh, I am crying because I do not know how to keep the house," said Elsa.
" I cannot make bread, I cannot sweep, I cannot sew a seam; when I was a little girl I never learned to work, and now I cannot do anything right.
I wish I had ten good fairies to help me!"
" You shall have them, dear," said the grey man, and he shook his strange grey cloak.
Pouf!
Out hopped ten tiny fairies, no bigger than that!
" These shall be your servants, Elsa," said the grey man; " they are faithful and clever, and they will do everything you want them to, just right.
But the neighbours might stare and ask questions if they saw these little chaps running about your house, so I will hide them away for you.
Give me your little useless hands."
Wondering, Elsa stretched out her pretty, little, white hands.
" Now stretch out your little useless fingers, dear!"
Elsa stretched out her pretty pink fingers.
The grey man touched each one of the ten little fingers, and as he touched them he said their names: " Little Thumb; Forefinger; Thimble - finger; Ring - finger; Little Finger; Little Thumb; Forefinger; Thimble - finger; Ring - finger; Little Finger!"
And as he named the fingers, one after another, the tiny fairies bowed their tiny heads; there was a fairy for every name.
" Hop!
hide yourselves away!"
said the grey man.
Hop, hop!
The fairies sprang to Elsa's knee, then to the palms of her hands, and then--whisk!
they were all hidden away in her little pink fingers, a fairy in every finger!
And the grey man was gone.
Elsa sat and looked with wonder at her little white hands and the ten useless fingers.
But suddenly the little fingers began to stir.
The tiny fairies who were hidden away there were not used to remaining still, and they were getting restless.
They stirred so that Elsa jumped up and ran to the cooking table, and took hold of the bread board.
No sooner had she touched the bread board than the little fairies began to work: they measured the flour, mixed the bread, kneaded the loaves, and set them to rise, quicker than you could wink; and when the bread was done, it was as nice as you could wish.
Then the little fairy - fingers seized the broom, and in a twinkling they were making the house clean.
And so it went, all day.
Elsa flew about from one thing to another, and the ten fairies did the work, just right.
When the maid saw her mistress working, she began to work, too; and when she saw how beautifully everything was done, she was ashamed to do anything badly herself.
In a little while the housework was going smoothly, and Elsa could laugh and sing again.
There was no more crossness in that house.
Elsa's husband grew so proud of her that he went about saying to everybody, " My grandmother was a fine housekeeper, and my mother was a fine housekeeper, but neither of them could hold a candle to my wife.
She has only one maid, but, to see the work done, you would think she had as many servants as she has fingers on her hands!"
When Elsa heard that, she used to laugh, but she never, never told.
THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER
Once upon a time there was an honest shoemaker, who was very poor.
He worked as hard as he could, and still he could not earn enough to keep himself and his wife.
At last there came a day when he had nothing left but one piece of leather, big enough to make one pair of shoes.
He cut out the shoes, ready to stitch, and left them on the bench; then he said his prayers and went to bed, trusting that he could finish the shoes on the next day and sell them.
Bright and early the next morning, he rose and went to his work bench.
There lay a pair of shoes, beautifully made, and the leather was gone!
There was no sign of anyone having been there.
The shoemaker and his wife did not know what to make of it.
But the first customer who came was so pleased with the beautiful shoes that he bought them, and paid so much that the shoemaker was able to buy leather enough for two pairs.
Happily, he cut them out, and then, as it was late, he left the pieces on the bench, ready to sew in the morning.
But when morning came, two pairs of shoes lay on the bench, most beautifully made, and no sign of anyone who had been there.
The shoemaker and his wife were quite at a loss.
That day a customer came and bought both pairs, and paid so much for them that the shoemaker bought leather for four pairs, with the money.
Once more he cut out the shoes and left them on the bench.
And in the morning all four pairs were made.
It went on like this until the shoemaker and his wife were prosperous people.
But they could not be satisfied to have so much done for them and not know to whom they should be grateful.
So one night, after the shoemaker had left the pieces of leather on the bench, he and his wife hid themselves behind a curtain, and left a light in the room.
Just as the clock struck twelve the door opened softly, and two tiny elves came dancing into the room, hopped on to the bench, and began to put the pieces together.
They were quite naked, but they had wee little scissors and hammers and thread.
Tap!
tap!
went the little hammers; stitch, stitch, went the thread, and the little elves were hard at work.
No one ever worked so fast as they.
In almost no time all the shoes were stitched and finished.
Then the tiny elves took hold of each other's hands and danced round the shoes on the bench, till the shoemaker and his wife had hard work not to laugh aloud.
But as the clock struck two, the little creatures whisked away out of the window, and left the room all as it was before.
The shoemaker and his wife looked at each other, and said, " How can we thank the little elves who have made us happy and prosperous?"
" I should like to make them some pretty clothes," said the wife, " they are quite naked."
" I will make the shoes if you will make the coats," said her husband.
That very day they commenced their task.
They made the wee clothes as dainty as could be, with nice little stitches and pretty buttons; and by Christmas time, they were finished.
On Christmas eve, the shoemaker cleaned his bench, and on it, instead of leather, he laid the two sets of gay little fairy - clothes.
Then he and his wife hid away as before, to watch.
Promptly at midnight, the little naked elves came in.
They hopped upon the bench; but when they saw the little clothes there, they laughed and danced for joy.
Each one caught up his little coat and things and began to put them on.
Then they looked at each other and made all kinds of funny motions in their delight.
At last they began to dance, and when the clock struck two, they danced quite away, out of the window.
They never came back any more, but from that day they gave the shoemaker and his wife good luck, so that they never needed any more help.
WHO KILLED THE OTTER'S BABIES?
Once the Otter came to the Mouse - deer and said, " Friend Mouse - deer, will you please take care of my babies while I go to the river, to catch fish?"
" Certainly," said the Mouse - deer, " go along."
But when the Otter came back from the river, with a string of fish, he found his babies crushed flat.
" What does this mean, Friend Mouse - deer?"
he said.
" Who killed my children while you were taking care of them?"
" I am very sorry," said the Mouse - deer, " but you know I am Chief Dancer of the War - dance, and the Woodpecker came and sounded the war - gong, so I danced.
I forgot your children, and trod on them."
" I shall go to King Solomon," said the Otter, " and you shall be punished."
Soon the Mouse - deer was called before King Solomon.
" Did you kill the Otter's babies?"
said the king.
" Yes, your Majesty," said the Mouse - deer, " but I did not mean to."
" How did it happen?"
said the king.
" Your Majesty knows," said the Mouse - deer, " that I am Chief Dancer of the War - dance.
The Woodpecker came and sounded the war - gong, and I had to dance; and as I danced I trod on the Otter's children."
" Send for the Woodpecker," said King Solomon.
When the Woodpecker came, he said to him, " Was it you who sounded the war - gong?"
" Yes, your Majesty," said the Woodpecker, " but I had to."
" Why?"
said the king.
" Your Majesty knows," said the Woodpecker, " that I am Chief Beater of the War - gong, and I sounded the gong because I saw the Great Lizard wearing his sword."
" Send for the Great Lizard," said King Solomon.
When the Great Lizard came, he asked him, " Was it you who were wearing your sword?"
" Yes, your Majesty," said the Great Lizard; " but I had to."
" Why?"
said the king.
" Your Majesty knows," said the Great Lizard, " that I am Chief Protector of the Sword.
I wore my sword because the Tortoise came wearing his coat of mail."
So the Tortoise was sent for.
" Why did you wear your coat of mail?"
said the king.
" I put it on, your Majesty," said the Tortoise, " because I saw the King - crab trailing his three - edged pike."
Then the King - crab was sent for.
" Why were you trailing your three - edged pike?"
said King Solomon.
" Because, your Majesty," said the King - crab, " I saw that the Crayfish had shouldered his lance."
Immediately the Crayfish was sent for.
" Why did you shoulder your lance?"
said the king.
" Because, your Majesty," said the Crayfish, " I saw the Otter coming down to the river to kill my children."
" Oh," said King Solomon, " if that is the case, the Otter killed the Otter's children.
And the Mouse - deer cannot be blamed, by the law of the land!"
EARLY
I like to lie and wait to see My mother braid her hair.
It is as long as it can be, And yet she doesn't care.
I love my mother's hair.
And then the way her fingers go; They look so quick and white,-- In and out, and to and fro, And braiding in the light, And it is always right.
So then she winds it, shiny brown, Around her head into a crown, Just like the day before.
And then she looks and pats it down, And looks a minute more; While I stay here all still and cool.
Oh, isn't morning beautiful?
THE BRAHMIN, THE TIGER, AND THE JACKAL
Do you know what a Brahmin is?
A Brahmin is a very good and gentle kind of man who lives in India, and who treats all the beasts as if they were his brothers.
There is a great deal more to know about Brahmins, but that is enough for the story.
One day a Brahmin was walking along a country road when he came upon a Tiger, shut up in a strong iron cage.
The villagers had caught him and shut him up there for his wickedness.
" Oh, Brother Brahmin, Brother Brahmin," said the Tiger, " please let me out, to get a little drink!
I am so thirsty, and there is no water here."
" But Brother Tiger," said the Brahmin, " you know if I should let you out, you would spring on me and eat me up."
" Never, Brother Brahmin!"
said the Tiger.
" Never in the world would I do such an ungrateful thing!
Just let me out a little minute, to get a little, little drink of water, Brother Brahmin!"
So the Brahmin unlocked the door and let the Tiger out.
The moment he was out he sprang on the Brahmin, and was about to eat him up.
" But, Brother Tiger," said the Brahmin, " you promised you would not.
It is not fair or just that you should eat me, when I set you free."
" It is perfectly right and just," said the Tiger, " and I shall eat you up."
However, the Brahmin argued so hard that at last the Tiger agreed to wait and ask the first five whom they should meet, whether it was fair for him to eat the Brahmin, and to abide by their decision.
The first thing they came to, to ask, was an old Banyan Tree, by the wayside.
(A banyan tree is a kind of fruit tree.)
" Brother Banyan," said the Brahmin, eagerly, " does it seem to you right or just that this Tiger should eat me, when I set him free from his cage?"
The Banyan Tree looked down at them and spoke in a tired voice.
" In the summer," he said, " when the sun is hot, men come and sit in the cool of my shade and refresh themselves with the fruit of my branches.
But when evening falls, and they are rested, they break my twigs and scatter my leaves, and stone my boughs for more fruit.
Men are an ungrateful race.
Let the Tiger eat the Brahmin."
The Tiger sprang to eat the Brahmin, but the Brahmin said,--
" Wait, wait; we have asked only one.
We have still four to ask."
Presently they came to a place where an old Bullock was lying by the road.
The Brahmin went up to him and said,--
" Brother Bullock, oh, Brother Bullock, does it seem to you a fair thing that this Tiger should eat me up, after I have just freed him from a cage?"
The Bullock looked up, and answered in a deep, grumbling voice,--
" When I was young and strong my master used me hard, and I served him well.
I carried heavy loads and carried them far.
Now that I am old and weak and cannot work, he leaves me without food or water, to die by the wayside.
Men are a thankless lot.
Let the Tiger eat the Brahmin."
The Tiger sprang, but the Brahmin spoke very quickly,--
" Oh, but this is only the second, Brother Tiger; you promised to ask five."
The Tiger grumbled a good deal, but at last he went on again with the Brahmin.
And after a time they saw an Eagle, high overhead.
The Brahmin called up to him imploringly,--
" Oh, Brother Eagle, Brother Eagle!
Tell us if it seems to you fair that this Tiger should eat me up, when I have just saved him from a frightful cage?"
The Eagle soared slowly overhead a moment, then he came lower, and spoke in a thin, clear voice.
" I live high in the air," he said, " and I do no man any harm.
Yet as often as they find my eyrie, men stone my young and rob my nest and shoot at me with arrows.
Men are a cruel breed.
Let the Tiger eat the Brahmin!"
The Tiger sprang upon the Brahmin, to eat him up; and this time the Brahmin had very hard work to persuade him to wait.
At last he did persuade him, however, and they walked on together.
And in a little while they saw an old Alligator, lying half buried in mud and slime, at the river's edge.
" Brother Alligator, oh, Brother Alligator!"
said the Brahmin, " does it seem at all right or fair to you that this Tiger should eat me up, when I have just now let him out of a cage?"
The old Alligator turned in the mud, and grunted, and snorted; then he said,--
" I lie here in the mud all day, as harmless as a pigeon; I hunt no man, yet every time a man sees me, he throws stones at me, and pokes me with sharp sticks, and jeers at me.
Men are a worthless lot.
Let the Tiger eat the Brahmin!"
At this the Tiger was going to eat the Brahmin at once.
The poor Brahmin had to remind him, again and again, that they had asked only four.
" Wait till we've asked one more!
Wait until we see a fifth!"
he begged.
Finally, the Tiger walked on with him.
After a time, they met the little Jackal, coming gaily down the road toward them.
" Oh, Brother Jackal, dear Brother Jackal," said the Brahmin, " give us your opinion!
Do you think it right or fair that this Tiger should eat me, when I set him free from a terrible cage?"
" Beg pardon?"
said the little Jackal.
" I said," said the Brahmin, raising his voice, " do you think it is fair that the Tiger should eat me, when I set him free from his cage?"
" Cage?"
said the little Jackal, vacantly.
" Yes, yes, his cage," said the Brahmin.
" We want your opinion.
Do you think ----"
" Oh," said the little Jackal, " you want my opinion?
Then may I beg you to speak a little more loudly, and make the matter quite clear?
I am a little slow of understanding.
Now what was it?"
" Do you think," said the Brahmin, " it is right for this Tiger to eat me, when I set him free from his cage?"
" What cage?"
said the little Jackal.
" Why, the cage he was in," said the Brahmin.
" You see ----"
" But I don't altogether understand," said the little Jackal.
" You'set him free,' you say?"
" Yes, yes, yes!"
said the Brahmin.
" It was this way: I was walking along, and I saw the Tiger ----"
" Oh, dear, dear!"
interrupted the little Jackal; " I never can see through it, if you go on like that, with a long story.
If you really want my opinion you must make the matter clear.
What sort of cage was it?"
" Why, a big, ordinary cage, an iron cage," said the Brahmin.
" That gives me no idea at all," said the little Jackal.
" See here, my friends, if we are to get on with this matter you'd best show me the spot.
Then I can understand in a jiffy.
Show me the cage."
So the Brahmin, the Tiger, and the little Jackal walked back together to the spot where the cage was.
" Now, let us understand the situation," said the little Jackal.
" Friend Brahmin, where were you?"
" I stood just here by the roadside," said the Brahmin.
" Tiger, and where were you?"
said the little Jackal.
" Why, in the cage, of course," roared the Tiger.
" Oh, I beg your pardon, Father Tiger," said the little Jackal, " I really am _so_ stupid; I cannot _quite_ understand what happened.
If you will have a little patience,-- _how_ were you in the cage?
What position were you in?"
" I stood here," said the Tiger, leaping into the cage, " with my head over my shoulder, so."
" Oh, thank you, thank you," said the little Jackal, " that makes it _much_ clearer; but I still don't _quite_ understand--forgive my slow mind--why did you not come out, by yourself?"
" Can't you see that the door shut me in?"
said the Tiger.
" Oh, I do beg your pardon," said the little Jackal.
" I know I am very slow; I can never understand things well unless I see just how they were; if you could show me now exactly how that door works I am sure I could understand.
How does it shut?"
" It shuts like this," said the Brahmin, pushing it to.
" Yes; but I don't see any lock," said the little Jackal, " does it lock on the outside?"
" It locks like this," said the Brahmin.
And he shut and bolted the door!
" Oh, does it, indeed?"
said the little Jackal.
" Does it, _indeed_!
Well, Brother Brahmin, now that it is locked, I should advise you to let it stay locked!
As for you, my friend," he said to the Tiger, " I think you will wait a good while before you'll find anyone to let you out again!"
Then he made a very low bow to the Brahmin.
" Good - bye, Brother," he said.
" Your way lies that way, and mine lies this; good - bye!"
THE LITTLE JACKAL AND THE CAMEL
All these stories about the little Jackal that I have told you, show how clever the little Jackal was.
But you know--if you don't, you will when you are grown up--that no matter how clever you are, sooner or later you surely meet some one who is more clever.
It is always so in life.
And it was so with the little Jackal.
This is what happened.
The little Jackal was, as you know, exceedingly fond of shell - fish, especially of river crabs.
Now there came a time when he had eaten all the crabs to be found on his own side of the river.
He knew there must be plenty on the other side, if he could only get to them, but he could not swim.
One day he thought of a plan.
He went to his friend the Camel, and said,--
" Friend Camel, I know a spot where the sugar - cane grows thick; I'll show you the way, if you will take me there."
" Indeed I will," said the Camel, who was very fond of sugar - cane.
" Where is it?"
" It is on the other side of the river," said the little Jackal; " but we can manage it nicely, if you will take me on your back and swim over."
The Camel was perfectly willing, so the little Jackal jumped on his back, and the Camel swam across the river, carrying him.
When they were safely over, the little Jackal jumped down and showed the Camel the sugar - cane field; then he ran swiftly along the river bank, to hunt for crabs; the Camel began to eat sugar - cane.
He ate happily, and noticed nothing around him.
Now, you know, a Camel is very big, and a Jackal is very little.
Consequently, the little Jackal had eaten his fill by the time the Camel had barely taken a mouthful.
The little Jackal had no mind to wait for his slow friend; he wanted to be off home again, about his business.
So he ran round and round the sugar - cane field, and as he ran he sang and shouted, and made a great hullabaloo.
Of course, the villagers heard him at once.
" There is a Jackal in the sugar - cane," they said; " he will dig holes and destroy the roots; we must go down and drive him out."
So they came down, with sticks and stones.
When they got there, there was no Jackal to be seen; but they saw the great Camel, eating away at the juicy sugar - cane.
They ran at him and beat him, and stoned him, and drove him away half dead.
When they had gone, leaving the poor Camel half killed, the little Jackal came dancing back from somewhere or other.
" I think it's time to go home, now," he said; " don't you?"
" Well, you _are_ a pretty friend!"
said the Camel.
" The idea of your making such a noise, with your shouting and singing!
You brought this upon me.
What in the world made you do it?
Why did you shout and sing?"
" Oh, I don't know _why_ " said the little Jackal,--" I always sing after dinner!"
" So?"
said the Camel.
" Ah, very well, let us go home now."
He took the little Jackal kindly on his back and started into the water.
When he began to swim he swam out to where the river was the very deepest.
There he stopped, and said,--
" Oh, Jackal!"
" Yes," said the little Jackal.
" I have the strangest feeling," said the Camel,--" I feel as if I must roll over."
' Roll over '!"
cried the Jackal.
" My goodness, don't do that!
If you do that, you'll drown me!
What in the world makes you want to do such a crazy thing?
Why should you want to roll over?"
" Oh, I don't know _why_," said the Camel slowly, " but I always roll over after dinner!"
So he rolled over.
And the little Jackal was drowned, for his sins, but the Camel came safely home.
THE GULLS OF SALT LAKE
The story I am going to tell you is about something that really happened, many years ago.
So the pioneers settled there and built themselves huts and cabins for the first winter.
All their lives now depended on the crops of grain and vegetables which they could raise in the valley.
They made the barren land fertile by spreading water from the little streams over it,-- what we call " irrigating "; and they planted enough corn and grain and vegetables for all the people.
Every one helped, and every one watched for the sprouting, with hopes, and prayers, and careful eyes.
In good time the seeds sprouted, and the dry, brown earth was covered with a carpet of tender, green, growing things.
No farmer's garden could have looked better than the great garden of the desert valley.
And from day to day the little shoots grew and flourished till they were all well above the ground.
Then a terrible thing happened.
One day, the men who were watering the crops saw a great number of crickets swarming over the ground at the edge of the gardens nearest the mountains.
They were hopping from the barren places into the young, green crops, and as they settled down they ate the tiny shoots and leaves to the ground.
More came, and more, and ever more, and as they came they spread out till they covered a big corner of the grain field.
And still more and more, till it was like an army of black, hopping, crawling crickets, streaming down the side of the mountain to kill the crops.
The men tried to kill the crickets by beating them down, but the numbers were so great that it was like beating at the sea.
Then they ran and told the terrible news, and all the village came to help.
They started fires; they dug trenches and filled them with water; they ran wildly about in the fields, killing what they could.
But while they fought in one place new armies of crickets marched down the mountain - sides and attacked the fields in other places.
And at last the people fell on their knees and wept and cried in despair, for they saw starvation and death in the fields.
A few knelt to pray.
Others gathered round and joined them, weeping.
More left their useless struggles and knelt beside their neighbours.
At last nearly all the people were kneeling on the desolate fields praying for deliverance from the plague of crickets.
Suddenly, from far off in the air toward the great salt lake, there was the sound of flapping wings.
It grew louder.
Some of the people looked up, startled.
They saw, like a white cloud rising from the lake, a flock of sea gulls flying toward them.
Snow - white in the sun, with great wings beating and soaring, in hundreds and hundreds, they rose and circled and came on.
" The gulls!
the gulls!"
was the cry.
" What does it mean?"
The gulls flew overhead, with a shrill chorus of whimpering cries, and then, in a marvellous white cloud of outspread wings and hovering breasts, they settled down over the cultivated ground.
" Oh!
woe!
woe!"
cried the people.
" The gulls are eating what the crickets have left!
they will strip root and branch!"
But all at once, someone called out,--
" No, no!
See!
they are eating the crickets!
They are eating only the crickets!"
It was true.
The gulls devoured the crickets in dozens, in hundreds, in swarms.
They ate until they were gorged, and then they flew heavily back to the lake, only to come again with new appetite.
And when at last they finished, they had stripped the fields of the army of crickets; and the people were saved.
To this day, in the beautiful city of Salt Lake, which grew out of that pioneer village, the little children are taught to love the sea gulls.
And when they learn drawing and weaving in the schools, their first design is often a picture of a cricket and a gull.
THE NIGHTINGALE
A long, long time ago, as long ago as when there were fairies, there lived an emperor in China, who had a most beautiful palace, all made of crystal.
Outside the palace was the loveliest garden in the whole world, and farther away was a forest where the trees were taller than any other trees in the world, and farther away, still, was a deep wood.
And in this wood lived a little Nightingale.
The Nightingale sang so beautifully that everybody who heard her remembered her song better than anything else that he heard or saw.
People came from all over the world to see the crystal palace and the wonderful garden and the great forest; but when they went home and wrote books about these things they always wrote, " But the Nightingale is the best of all."
At last it happened that the Emperor came upon a book which said this, and he at once sent for his Chamberlain.
" Who is this Nightingale?"
said the Emperor.
" Why have I never heard him sing?"
The Chamberlain, who was a very important person, said, " There cannot be any such person; I have never heard his name."
" The book says there is a Nightingale," said the Emperor.
" I command that the Nightingale be brought here to sing for me this evening."
The Chamberlain went out and asked all the great lords and ladies and pages where the Nightingale could be found, but not one of them had ever heard of him.
So the Chamberlain went back to the Emperor and said, " There is no such person."
" The book says there is a Nightingale," said the Emperor; " if the Nightingale is not here to sing for me this evening I will have the court trampled upon, immediately after supper."
The Chamberlain did not want to be trampled upon, so he ran out and asked everybody in the palace about the Nightingale.
At last, a little girl who worked in the kitchen to help the cook, said, " Oh, yes, I know the Nightingale very well.
Every night, when I go to carry scraps from the kitchen to my mother, who lives in the wood beyond the forest, I hear the Nightingale sing."
The Chamberlain asked the maid to take him to the Nightingale's home, and many of the lords and ladies followed after.
When they had gone a little way, they heard a cow moo.
" Ah!"
said the lords and ladies, " that must be the Nightingale; what a large voice for so small a creature!"
" Oh, no," said the little girl, " that is just a cow, mooing."
A little farther on they heard some bullfrogs, in a swamp.
" Surely that is the Nightingale," said the courtiers; " it really sounds like church - bells!"
" Oh, no," said the little girl, " those are bullfrogs, croaking."
At last they came to the wood where the Nightingale was.
" Hush!"
said the little girl, " she is going to sing."
And, sure enough, the little Nightingale began to sing.
She sang so beautifully that you have never in all your life heard anything like it.
" Dear, dear," said the courtiers, " that is very pleasant; does that little grey bird really make all that noise?
She is so pale that I think she has lost her colour for fear of us."
The Chamberlain asked the little Nightingale to come and sing for the Emperor.
The little Nightingale said she could sing better in her own greenwood, but she was so sweet and kind that she came with them.
That evening the palace was all trimmed with the most beautiful flowers you can imagine, and rows and rows of little silver bells, that tinkled when the wind blew in, and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of wax candles, that shone like tiny stars.
In the great hall there was a gold perch for the Nightingale, beside the Emperor's throne.
When all the people were there, the Emperor asked the Nightingale to sing.
Then the little grey Nightingale filled her throat full, and sang.
And, my dears, she sang so beautifully that the Emperor's eyes filled up with tears!
And, you know, emperors do not cry at all easily.
So he asked her to sing again, and this time she sang so marvellously that the tears came out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks.
That was a great success.
They asked the little Nightingale to sing, over and over again, and when they had listened enough the Emperor said that she should be made " Singer in Chief to the Court."
She was to have a golden perch near the Emperor's bed, and a little golden cage, and was to be allowed to go out twice every day.
But there were twelve servants appointed to wait on her, and those twelve servants went with her every time she went out, and each of the twelve had hold of the end of a silken string which was tied to the little Nightingale's leg!
It was not so very much fun to go out that way!
For a long, long time the Nightingale sang every evening to the Emperor and his court, and they liked her so much that the ladies all tried to sing like her; they used to put water in their mouths and then make little sounds like this: _glu - glu - glug_.
And when the courtiers met each other in the halls, one would say " Night," and the other would say " ingale," and that was supposed to be conversation.
At last, one day, there came a little package to the Emperor, on the outside of which was written, " The Nightingale."
Inside was an artificial bird, something like a Nightingale, only it was made of gold, and silver, and rubies, and emeralds, and diamonds.
When it was wound up it played a waltz tune, and as it played it moved its little tail up and down.
Everybody in the court was filled with delight at the music of the new nightingale.
They made it sing that same tune thirty - three times, and still they had not had enough.
They would have made it sing the tune thirty - four times, but the Emperor said, " I should like to hear the real Nightingale sing, now."
But when they looked about for the real little Nightingale, they could not find her anywhere!
She had taken the chance, while everybody was listening to the waltz tunes, to fly away through the window to her own greenwood.
" What a very ungrateful bird!"
said the lords and ladies.
" But it does not matter; the new nightingale is just as good."
So the artificial nightingale was given the real Nightingale's little gold perch, and every night the Emperor wound her up, and she sang waltz tunes to him.
The people in the court liked her even better than the old Nightingale, because they could all whistle her tunes,-- which you can't do with real nightingales.
About a year after the artificial nightingale came, the Emperor was listening to her waltz tune, when there was a _snap_ and _whir - r - r_ inside the bird, and the music stopped.
The Emperor ran to his doctor, but he could not do anything.
Then he ran to his clock - maker, but he could not do much.
Nobody could do much.
The best they could do was to patch the gold nightingale up so that it could sing once a year; even that was almost too much, and the tune was very shaky.
Still, the Emperor kept the gold nightingale on the perch in his own room.
A long time went by, and then, at last, the Emperor grew very ill, and was about to die.
When it was sure that he could not live much longer, the people chose a new emperor and waited for the old one to die.
The poor Emperor lay, quite cold and pale, in his great big bed, with velvet curtains and tall candlesticks all about.
He was quite alone, for all the courtiers had gone to congratulate the new emperor, and all the servants had gone to talk it over.
When the Emperor woke up, he felt a terrible weight on his chest.
He opened his eyes, and there was Death, sitting on his heart.
Death had put on the Emperor's gold crown, and he had the gold sceptre in one hand, and the silken banner in the other; and he looked at the Emperor with his great hollow eyes.
The room was full of shadows, and the shadows were full of faces.
Everywhere the Emperor looked, there were faces.
Some were very, very ugly, and some were sweet and lovely; they were all the things the Emperor had done in his life, good and bad.
And as he looked at them they began to whisper.
They whispered, " _Do you remember this? _ " " _Do you remember that? _ " The Emperor remembered so much that he cried out loud, " Oh, bring the great drum!
Make music, so that I may not hear these dreadful whispers!"
But there was nobody there to bring the drum.
Then the Emperor cried, " You little gold nightingale, can you not sing something for me?
I have given you gifts of gold and jewels, and kept you always by my side; will you not help me now?"
But there was nobody to wind the little gold nightingale up, and of course it could not sing.
The Emperor's heart grew colder and colder where Death crouched upon it, and the dreadful whispers grew louder and louder, and the Emperor's life was almost gone.
Suddenly, through the open window, there came a most lovely song.
It was so sweet and so loud that the whispers died quite away.
Presently the Emperor felt his heart grow warm, then he felt the blood flow through his limbs again; he listened to the song until the tears ran down his cheeks; he knew that it was the little real Nightingale who had flown away from him when the gold nightingale came.
Death was listening to the song, too; and when it was done and the Emperor begged for more, Death, too, said, " Please sing again, little Nightingale!"
" Will you give me the Emperor's gold crown for a song?"
said the little Nightingale.
" Yes," said Death; and the little Nightingale bought the Emperor's crown for a song.
" Oh, sing again, little Nightingale," begged Death.
" Will you give me the Emperor's sceptre for another song?"
said the little grey Nightingale.
" Yes," said Death; and the little Nightingale bought the Emperor's sceptre for another song.
Once more Death begged for a song, and this time the little Nightingale obtained the banner for her singing.
Then she sang one more song, so sweet and so sad that it made Death think of his garden in the churchyard, where he always liked best to be.
And he rose from the Emperor's heart and floated away through the window.
When Death was gone, the Emperor said to the little Nightingale, " Oh, dear little Nightingale, you have saved me from Death!
Do not leave me again.
Stay with me on this little gold perch, and sing to me always!"
" No, dear Emperor," said the little Nightingale, " I sing best when I am free; I cannot live in a palace.
But every night when you are quite alone, I will come and sit in the window and sing to you, and tell you everything that goes on in your kingdom: I will tell you where the poor people are who ought to be helped, and where the wicked people are who ought to be punished.
Only, dear Emperor, be sure that you never let anybody know that you have a little bird who tells you everything."
After the little Nightingale had flown away, the Emperor felt so well and strong that he dressed himself in his royal robes and took his gold sceptre in his hand.
And when the courtiers came in to see if he were dead, there stood the Emperor with his sword in one hand and his sceptre in the other, and said, " Good - morning!"
MARGERY'S GARDEN
There was once a little girl named Margery, who had always lived in the city.
The flat where her mother and father lived was at the top of a big building, and you couldn't see a great deal from the windows, except chimney - pots on other people's roofs.
Margery did not know much about trees and flowers, but she loved them dearly; whenever it was a fine Sunday she used to go with her mother and father to the park and look at the lovely flower - beds.
They seemed always to be finished, though, and Margery was always wishing she could see them grow.
One spring, when Margery was nine, her father obtained a new situation and they removed to a little house with a nice big piece of ground a short distance outside the town where his new position was.
Margery was delighted.
And the very first thing she said, when her father told her about it, was, " Oh, may I have a garden?
_May_ I have a garden?"
Margery's mother was almost as eager for a garden as she was, and Margery's father said he expected to live on their vegetables all the rest of his life!
So it was soon agreed that the garden should be the first thing attended to.
Behind the cottage were apple trees, a plum tree, and two or three pear trees; then came a stretch of rough grass, and then a stone wall, with a gate leading into the fields.
It was on the grass plot that the garden was to be.
A big piece was to be used for wheat and peas and beans, and a little piece at the end was to be given to Margery.
" What shall we have in it?"
asked her mother.
" Flowers," said Margery, with shining eyes,--" blue, and white, and yellow, and pink,-- every kind of flower!"
" Surely, flowers," said her mother, " and shall we not have a little salad garden in the middle?"
" What is a salad garden?"
Margery asked.
" It is a garden where you have all the things that make nice salad," said her mother, laughing, for Margery was fond of salads; " you have lettuce, and endive, and mustard and cress, and parsley, and radishes, and beetroot, and young onions."
" Oh!
how good it sounds!"
said Margery.
" I should love a salad garden."
That very evening, Margery's father took pencil and paper, and drew out a plan for her garden; first, they talked it all over, then he drew what they decided on; it looked like the diagram on the next page.
" The outside strip is for flowers," said Margery's father, " and next is a footpath, all the way round the beds; that is to let you get at the flowers to weed and to pick; there is a wider path through the middle, and the rest is for rows of salad vegetables."
" Papa, it is glorious!"
said Margery.
Papa laughed.
" I hope you will still think it glorious when the weeding time comes," he said, " for you know, you and mother have promised to take care of this garden, while I take care of the big one."
" I wouldn't _not_ take care of it for anything!"
said Margery.
" I want to feel that it is my very own."
[ Illustration ]
Her father kissed her, and said it was certainly her " very own."
Two evenings after that, when Margery was called in from her first ramble in the fields, she found the postman at the door.
" Something for you, Margery," said her mother, with the look she had when something nice was happening.
It was a box, quite a big box, with a label on it that said:--
MISS MARGERY BROWN, PRIMROSE COTTAGE, 21 NARCISSUS ROAD, COLCHESTER.
From Seeds and Plants Company, Reading.
Margery could hardly wait to open it.
It was filled with little packages, all with printed labels; and in the packages, of course, were seeds.
It made Margery dance, just to read the names,-- nasturtium, giant helianthus, canariensis, calendula, Canterbury bells: more names than I can tell you; and other packages, bigger, that said, " Sweet Peas," " French beans," " Carrots," " Wallflowers," and such things!
Margery could almost smell the posies, she was so excited.
Only, she had seen so little of flowers that she did not know what all the names meant.
She did not know that a helianthus was a sunflower until her mother told her so, and she had never seen the dear, blue, bell - shaped flowers that always grow in old - fashioned gardens, and are called Canterbury bells.
She thought the calendula must be a strange, grand flower, by its name; but her mother told her it was the gay, sturdy, everydayish little flower called a marigold.
There was a great deal for a little city girl to be surprised about, and it did seem as if morning was a long way off!
" Did you think you could plant them in the morning?"
asked her mother.
" You know, dear, the ground has to be made ready first; it takes a little time,-- it may be several days before you can plant."
That was another surprise.
Margery had thought she could begin to sow the seed right off.
But this was what had happened.
Early the next morning, a man came driving up to the cottage with two strong white horses; in his wagon was a plough.
I suppose you have seen ploughs, but Margery never had, and she watched with great interest, while the man and her father took the plough from the cart and harnessed the horses to it.
It was a great, three - cornered piece of sharp steel, with long handles coming up from it, so that a man could hold it in place.
It looked like this:--
[ Illustration ]
" I brought a two - horse plough because it's virgin soil," the man said.
Margery wondered what in the world he meant; it had not been cultivated, of course, but what had that do with the kind of plough?
" What does he mean, father?"
she whispered, when she got a chance.
" He means that this land has not been ploughed before; it will be hard to turn the soil, and one horse could not pull the plough," said her father.
It took the man two hours to plough the little strip of land.
He drove the sharp end of the plough into the soil, and held it firmly so, while the horses drew it along in a straight line.
Margery found it fascinating to watch the long line of dark earth and green grass come rolling up and turn over, as the knife passed it.
She could see that it took real skill and strength to keep the line even, and to avoid the stones.
Sometimes the plough struck a hidden stone, and then the man was jerked almost off his feet.
But he only laughed, and said, " Tough piece of land; it will be a lot better next year."
When he had ploughed, the man went back to his cart and unloaded another farm implement.
This one was like a three - cornered platform of wood, with a long, curved, strong rake under it.
It was called a harrow, and it looked like the diagram on the next page.
The man harnessed the horses to it, and then he stood on the platform and drove all over the strip of land.
It was fun to watch, but perhaps it was a little hard to do.
The man's weight kept the harrow steady, and let the teeth of the rake scratch and cut the ground up, so that it did not stay in ridges.
" He scrambles the ground, father!"
said Margery.
" It needs'scrambling,'" laughed her father.
" We are going to get more weeds than we want on this fresh soil, and the more the ground is broken, the fewer there will be."
[ Illustration ]
So Margery did not see any more done until the next day.
But the next day there was hard work for Margery's father!
Every bit of that ground had to be broken up still more with a spade, and then the clods which were full of grass - roots had to be taken on a fork and shaken, till the earth fell out; when the grass was thrown to one side.
That would not have had to be done if the land had been ploughed in the autumn; the grass would have rotted in the ground, and would have made food for the plants.
Now, Margery's father put the fertiliser on the top, and then raked it into the earth.
At last, it was time to make the place for the seeds.
Margery and her mother helped.
Father tied one end of a cord to a little stake, and drove the stake in the ground at one end of the garden.
Then he took the cord to the other end of the garden and pulled it tight, tied it to another stake, and drove that down.
That made a straight line.
Then he hoed a trench, a few inches deep, the whole length of the cord, and scattered fertiliser in it.
Pretty soon the whole garden was lined with little trenches.
" Now for the seed," said father.
Margery ran and brought the seed box.
" May I help?"
she asked.
" If you watch me sow one row, I think you can do the next," said her father.
So Margery watched.
Her father took a handful of peas, and, stooping, walked slowly along the line, letting the seed trickle through his fingers.
It was pretty to watch; it made Margery think of a photograph her teacher had, a photograph of a famous picture called " The Sower."
Perhaps you have seen it.
Putting in the seed was not so easy to do as to watch; sometimes Margery dropped in too much, and sometimes not enough; but her father was patient with her, and soon she did better.
They planted peas, beans, spinach, carrots, and parsnips.
And Margery's father made a row of holes, after that, for the tomato plants.
He said those had to be transplanted; they could not be sown from seed.
When the seeds were in the trenches they had to be covered up, and Margery really helped at that.
It is fun to do it.
You stand beside the little trench and walk backward, and as you walk you hoe the loose earth back over the seeds; the same earth that was hoed up you pull back again.
Then you rake very gently over the surface, with the back of a rake, to even it all off.
Margery liked it, because now the garden began to look _like_ a garden.
But best of all was the work next day, when her own little particular garden was begun.
Father Brown loved Margery and Margery's mother so much that he wanted their garden to be perfect, and that meant a great deal more work.
He knew very well that the old grass would begin to come through again on such soil, and that it would make terribly hard weeding.
He was not going to have any such thing for his two " little girls," as he called them.
So he gave that little garden particular attention.
This is what he did.
After he had thrown out all the turf, he shovelled clean earth on to the garden,-- as much as three solid inches of it; not a bit of grass was in that.
Then it was ready for raking and fertilising, and for the lines.
The little footpaths were marked out by Father Brown's feet; Margery and her mother laughed well at his actions, for it looked like some kind of dance.
Mr Brown had seen gardeners do it when he was a little boy, and he did it very nicely: he walked along the sides of the square, with one foot turned a little out, and the other straight, taking such tiny steps that his feet touched each other all the time.
This tramped out a path just wide enough for a person to walk.
The wider path was marked with lines and raked.
Margery thought, of course, all the flowers would be put in as the vegetables were; but she found that it was not so.
For some, her father poked little holes with his finger; for some, he made very shallow trenches; and some very small seeds were scattered lightly over the top of the ground.
Margery and her mother had taken so much pains in thinking out the arrangement of the flowers, that perhaps you will like to hear just how they designed that garden.
At the back were the sweet peas, which would grow tall, like a screen; on the two sides, for a kind of hedge, were yellow sunflowers; and along the front edge were the gay nasturtiums.
Margery planned that, so that she could look into the garden from the front, but have it shut away from the vegetable patch by the tall flowers on the sides.
The two front corners had canariensis in them.
Canariensis is a pretty creeper with golden blossoms, very dainty and bright.
And then, in little square patches all round the garden, were planted London pride, blue bachelor's buttons, yellow marigolds, tall larkspur, many - coloured asters, hollyhocks and stocks.
All these lovely flowers used to grow in our grandmothers'gardens, and if you don't know what they look like, I hope you can find out next summer.
Between the flowers and the middle path went the seeds for that wonderful salad garden; all the things Mrs Brown had named to Margery were there.
Margery had never seen anything more wonderful than the little round lettuce - seeds.
They were so tiny that it did not seem possible that green lettuce leaves could come from them.
But they surely would.
Mother and father and Margery were late to supper that evening.
But they were all so happy that it did not matter.
The last thing Margery thought of, as she went to sleep at night, was the dear, smooth little garden, with its funny footpath, and with the little sticks standing at the ends of the rows, labelled " lettuce," " beets," " helianthus," and so on.
" I have a garden!
I have a garden!"
was Margery's last thought as she went off to dreamland.
THE LITTLE COTYLEDONS
This is another story about Margery's garden.
The next morning after the garden was planted, Margery was up and out at six o'clock.
She could not wait to look at her garden.
To be sure, she knew that the seeds could not sprout in a single night, but she had a feeling that _something_ might happen at any moment.
The garden was just as smooth and brown as the night before, and no little seedlings were in sight.
But a very few mornings after that, when Margery went out, she saw a funny little crack opening up through the earth, the whole length of the patch.
Quickly she knelt down on the footpath, to see.
Yes!
Tiny green leaves, a whole row of them, were pushing their way through the crust!
Margery knew what she had put there: it was the radish - row; these must be radish leaves.
She examined them very closely, so that she might know a radish next time.
The little leaves, no bigger than half your little - finger nail, grew in twos,-- two on each tiny stem; they were almost round.
Margery flew back to her mother, to say that the first seeds were up.
And her mother, nearly as excited as Margery, came to look at the little crack.
Each day, after that, the row of radishes grew, till, in a week, it stood as high as your finger, green and sturdy.
But about the third day, while Margery was stooping over the radishes, she saw something very, very small and green, peeping above ground, where the lettuce was planted.
Could it be weeds?
No, for on looking very closely she saw that the wee leaves faintly marked a regular row.
They did not make a crack, like the radishes; they seemed too small and too far apart to push the earth up like that.
Margery leaned down and looked with all her eyes at the baby plants.
The tiny leaves grew two on a stem, and were almost round.
The more she looked at them the more it seemed to Margery that they looked exactly as the radish looked when it first came up.
" Do you suppose," Margery said to herself, " that lettuce and radish look alike while they are growing?
They don't look alike when they are on the table!"
Day by day the lettuce grew, and soon the little round leaves were easier to examine; they certainly were very much like radish leaves.
Then, one morning, while she was searching for signs of other seeds, Margery discovered the beets.
In irregular patches on the row, hints of green were coming.
The next day and the next they grew, until the beet leaves were big enough to see.
Margery looked.
Then she looked again.
Then she wrinkled her forehead.
" Can we have made a mistake?"
she thought.
" Do you suppose we can have planted _all_ radishes?"
For those little beet leaves were almost round, and they grew two on a stem, precisely like the lettuce and the radish; except for the size, all three rows looked alike.
It was too much for Margery.
She ran to the house and found her father.
Her little face was so anxious that he thought something unpleasant had happened.
" Papa," she said, all out of breath, " do you think we could have made a mistake about my garden?
Do you think we could have put radishes in all the rows?"
Father laughed.
" What makes you think such a thing?"
he asked.
" Papa," said Margery, " the little leaves all look exactly alike!
every plant has just two tiny leaves on it, and shaped the same; they are roundish, and grow out of the stem at the same place."
Papa's eyes began to twinkle.
" Many of the dicotyledonous plants look alike at the beginning," he said, with a little drawl on the big word.
That was to tease Margery, because she always wanted to know the big words she heard.
" What's'dicotyledonous '?"
said Margery, carefully.
" Wait till I come home to - night, dear," said her father, " and I'll tell you."
That evening Margery was waiting eagerly for him.
When her father finished his supper they went together to the garden, and father examined the seedlings carefully.
Then he pulled up a little radish plant and a tiny beet.
" These little leaves," he said, " are not the real leaves of the plant; they are only little pockets to hold food for the plant to live on till it gets strong enough to push up into the air.
As soon as the real leaves come out and begin to draw food from the air, these little substitutes wither up and fall off.
These two lie folded up in the little seed from the beginning, and are full of plant food.
They don't have to be very special in shape, you see, because they don't stay on the plant after it is grown up."
" Then every plant looks like this at first?"
said Margery.
" No, dear, not every one; plants are divided into two kinds: those which have two food leaves, like these plants, and those which have only one; these are called dicotyledonous, and the ones which have but one food leaf are monocotyledonous.
Many of the dicotyledons look alike."
" I think that is interesting," said Margery.
" I always, supposed the plants were different from the minute they began to grow."
" Indeed, no," said father.
" Even some of the trees look like this when they first come through; you would not think a birch tree could look like a vegetable or a flower, would you?
But it does, at first; it looks so much like these things that in the great nurseries, where trees are raised for forests and parks, the workmen have to be very carefully trained, or else they would pull up the trees when they are weeding.
They have to be taught the difference between a birch tree and a weed."
" How funny!"
said Margery, dimpling.
" Yes, it sounds funny," said father; " but, you see, the birch tree is dicotyledonous, and so are many weeds, and the dicotyledons look so much alike at first."
" I am glad to know that, father," said Margery, soberly.
" I believe I shall learn a good deal from living in the country; don't you think so?"
Margery's father took her in his arms.
" I hope so, dear," he said; " the country is a good place for little girls."
And that was all that happened, that day.
THE TALKATIVE TORTOISE
Once upon a time, a Tortoise lived in a pond with two Ducks, who were her very good friends.
She enjoyed the company of the Ducks, because she could talk with them to her heart's content; the Tortoise liked to talk.
She always had something to say, and she liked to hear herself say it.
After many years of this pleasant living, the pond became very low, in a dry season; and finally it dried up.
The two Ducks saw that they could no longer live there, so they decided to fly to another region, where there was more water.
They went to the Tortoise to bid her good - bye.
" Oh, don't leave me behind!"
begged the Tortoise.
" Take me with you; I must die if I am left here."
" But you cannot fly!"
said the Ducks.
" How can we take you with us?"
" Take me with you!
take me with you!"
said the Tortoise.
The Ducks felt so sorry for her that at last they thought of a way to take her.
" We have thought of a way which will be possible," they said, " if only you can manage to keep still long enough.
We will each take hold of one end of a stout stick, and do you take the middle in your mouth; then we will fly up in the air with you and carry you with us.
But remember not to talk!
If you open your mouth, you are lost."
The Tortoise said she would not say a word; she would not so much as move her mouth; and she was very grateful.
So the Ducks brought a strong little stick and took hold of the ends, while the Tortoise bit firmly on the middle.
Then the two Ducks rose slowly in the air and flew away with their burden.
When they were above the treetops, the Tortoise wanted to say, " How high we are!"
But she remembered, and kept still.
When they passed the church steeple she wanted to say, " What is that which shines?"
But she remembered, and held her peace.
Then they came over the village square, and the people looked up and saw them.
" Look at the Ducks carrying a Tortoise!"
they shouted; and every one ran to look.
The Tortoise wanted to say, " What business is it of yours?"
But she didn't.
Then she heard the people shout, " Isn't it strange!
Look at it!
Look!"
The Tortoise forgot everything except that she wanted to say, " Hush, you foolish people!"
She opened her mouth,-- and fell to the ground.
And that was the end of the Tortoise.
It is a very good thing to be able to hold one's tongue!
ROBERT OF SICILY
An old legend says that there was once a king named Robert of Sicily, who was brother to the Great Pope of Rome and to the Emperor of Allemaine.
He was a very selfish king, and very proud; he cared more for his pleasures than for the needs of his people, and his heart was so filled with his own greatness that he had no thought for God.
One day, this proud king was sitting in his place at church, at vesper service; his courtiers were about him, in their bright garments, and he himself was dressed in his royal robes.
The choir was chanting the Latin service, and as the beautiful voices swelled louder, the king noticed one particular verse which seemed to be repeated again and again.
He turned to a learned clerk at his side and asked what those words meant, for he knew no Latin.
" They mean,'He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and hath exalted them of low degree,'" answered the clerk.
" It is well the words are in Latin, then," said the king angrily, " for they are a lie.
There is no power on earth or in heaven which can put me down from my seat!"
and he sneered at the beautiful singing, as he leaned back in his place.
Presently the king fell asleep, while the service went on.
He slept deeply and long.
When he awoke the church was dark and still, and he was all alone.
He, the king, had been left alone in the church, to awake in the dark!
He was furious with rage and surprise, and, stumbling through the dim aisles, he reached the great doors and beat at them, madly, shouting for his servants.
The old sexton heard some one shouting and pounding in the church, and thought it was some drunken vagabond who had stolen in during the service.
He came to the door with his keys and called out, " Who is there?"
" Open!
open!
It is I, the king!"
came a hoarse, angry voice from within.
" It is a crazy man," thought the sexton; and he was frightened.
He opened the doors carefully and stood back, peering into the darkness.
Out past him rushed the figure of a man in tattered, scanty clothes, with unkempt hair and white, wild face.
The sexton did not know that he had ever seen him before, but he looked long after him, wondering at his wildness and his haste.
Men and women servants tried to stop the ragged man, who had somehow got into the palace, but Robert did not even see them as he fled along.
Straight to the open doors of the big banquet hall he made his way, and into the midst of the grand feast there.
The great hall was filled with lights and flowers; the tables were set with everything that is delicate and rich to eat; the courtiers, in their gay clothes, were laughing and talking; and at the head of the feast, on the king's own throne, sat a king.
His face, his figure, his voice were exactly like Robert of Sicily; no human being could have told the difference; no one dreamed that he was not the king.
He was dressed in the king's royal robes, he wore the royal crown, and on his hand was the king's own ring.
Robert of Sicily, half naked, ragged, without a sign of his kingship on him, stood before the throne and stared with fury at this figure of himself.
The king on the throne looked at him.
" Who art thou, and what dost thou here?"
he asked.
And though his voice was just like Robert's own, it had something in it sweet and deep, like the sound of bells.
" I am the king!"
cried Robert of Sicily.
" I am the king, and you are an impostor!"
The courtiers started from their seats, and drew their swords.
They would have killed the crazy man who insulted their king; but he raised his hand and stopped them, and with his eyes looking into Robert's eyes he said, " Not the king; you shall be the king's jester!
You shall wear the cap and bells, and make laughter for my court.
You shall be the servant of the servants, and your companion shall, be the jester's ape."
With shouts of laughter, the courtiers drove Robert of Sicily from the banquet hall; the waiting - men, with laughter, too, pushed him into the soldiers'hall; and there the pages brought the jester's wretched ape, and put a fool's cap and bells on Robert's head.
It was like a terrible dream; he could not believe it true, he could not understand what had happened to him.
And when he woke next morning, he believed it was a dream, and that he was king again.
But as he turned his head, he felt the coarse straw under his cheek instead of the soft pillow, and he saw that he was in the stable, with the shivering ape by his side.
Robert of Sicily was a jester, and no one knew him for the king.
Three long years passed.
Sicily was happy and all things went well under the king, who was not Robert.
Robert was still the jester, and his heart grew harder and more bitter with every year.
Many times, during the three years, the king, who had his face and voice, had called him to himself, when none else could hear, and had asked him the one question, " Who art thou?"
And each time that he asked it his eyes looked into Robert's eyes, to find his heart.
But each time Robert threw back his head and answered, proudly, " I am the king!"
And the other king's eyes grew sad and stern.
At the end of three years, the Pope called the Emperor of Allemaine and the King of Sicily, his brothers, to a great meeting in his city of Rome.
The King of Sicily went, with all his soldiers and courtiers and servants,-- a great procession of horsemen and footmen.
Never had there been seen a finer sight than the grand train, men in bright armour, riders in wonderful cloaks of velvet and silk, servants, carrying marvellous presents to the Pope.
And at the very end rode Robert, the jester.
His horse was poor and old, many - coloured, and the ape rode with him.
Every one in the villages through which they passed ran after the jester, and pointed and laughed.
The Pope received his brothers and their trains in the square before Saint Peter's.
With music and flags and flowers he made the King of Sicily welcome, and greeted him as his brother.
In the midst of it, the jester broke through the crowd and threw himself before the Pope.
" Look at me!"
he cried; " I am your brother, Robert of Sicily!
This man is an impostor, who has stolen my throne.
I am Robert, the king!"
The Pope looked at the poor jester with pity, but the Emperor of Allemaine turned to the King of Sicily, and said, " Is it not rather dangerous, brother, to keep a madman as jester?"
And again Robert was pushed back among the serving - men.
It was Holy Week, and the king and the emperor, with all their trains, went every day to the great services in the cathedral.
Something wonderful and holy seemed to make these services more beautiful than ever before.
All the people of Rome felt it: it was as if the presence of an angel were there.
Men thought of God, and felt His blessing on them.
But no one knew who it was that brought the beautiful feeling.
Robert of Sicily went to the services with the rest, and sat in the humblest place with the servants.
Over and over again he heard the sweet voices of the choirs chant the Latin words he had heard long ago: _He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted them of low degree_.
And at last, as he listened, his heart was softened.
He, too, felt the strange blessed presence of a heavenly power.
He thought of God, and of his own wickedness; he remembered how selfish he had been, and how little good he had done; he realised, that his power had not been from himself, at all.
On Easter night, as he crept to his bed of straw, he wept, not because he was so wretched, but because he had not been a better king when power was his.
At last all the festivities were over, and the King of Sicily went home to his own land again, with his people.
Robert the jester came home too.
On the day of their home - coming, there was a special service in the royal church, and even after the service was over for the people, the monks held prayers of thanksgiving and praise.
The sound of their singing came softly in at the palace windows.
In the great banquet room, the king sat, wearing his royal robes and his crown, while many subjects came to greet him.
At last, he sent them all away, saying he wanted to be alone; but he commanded the jester to stay.
And when they were alone together the king looked into Robert's eyes, as he had done before, and said, softly, " Who art thou?"
Robert of Sicily bowed his head.
" Thou knowest best," he said, " I only know that I have sinned."
As he spoke, he heard the voices of the monks singing, _He hath put down the mighty from their seat_,-- and his head sank lower.
But suddenly the music seemed to change; a wonderful light shone all about.
As Robert raised his eyes, he saw the face of the king smiling at him with a radiance like nothing on earth, and as he sank to his knees before the glory of that smile, a voice sounded with the music, like a melody throbbing on a single string,--
" I am an angel, and thou art the king!"
Then Robert of Sicily was alone.
His royal robes were upon him once more; he wore his crown and his royal ring.
He was king.
And when the courtiers came back they found their king kneeling by his throne, absorbed in silent prayer.
THE JEALOUS COURTIERS
I wonder if you have ever heard the anecdote about the artist of Duesseldorf and the jealous courtiers.
This is it.
It seems there was once a very famous artist who lived in the little town of Duesseldorf.
He did such fine work that the Elector, Prince Johann Wilhelm, ordered a portrait statue of himself, on horseback, to be done in bronze.
The artist was overjoyed at the commission, and worked early and late at the statue.
At last the work was done, and the artist had the great statue set up in the public square of Duesseldorf, ready for the opening view.
The Elector came on the appointed day, and with him came his favourite courtiers from the castle.
Then the statue was unveiled.
It was very beautiful,-- so beautiful that the prince exclaimed in surprise.
He could not look enough, and presently he turned to the artist and shook hands with him, like an old friend.
" Herr Grupello," he said, " you are a great artist, and this statue will make your fame even greater than it is; the portrait of me is perfect!"
When the courtiers heard this, and saw the friendly hand - shake, their jealousy of the artist was beyond bounds.
Their one thought was, how could they safely do something to humiliate him.
They dared not pick flaws in the portrait statue, for the prince had declared it perfect.
But at last one of them said, with an air of great frankness, " Indeed, Herr Grupello, the portrait of his Royal Highness is perfect; but permit me to say that the statue of the horse is not quite so successful: the head is too large; it is out of proportion."
" No," said another, " the horse is really not so successful; the turn of the neck, there, is awkward."
" If you would change the right hind - foot, Herr Grupello," said a third, " it would be an improvement."
Still another found fault with the horse's tail.
The artist listened, quietly.
When they had all finished, he turned to the prince and said, " Your courtiers, prince, find a good many flaws in the statue of the horse; will you permit me to keep it a few days more, to do what I can with it?"
The Elector assented, and the artist ordered a temporary screen to be built around the statue, so that his assistants could work undisturbed.
For several days the sound of hammering came steadily from behind the enclosure.
The courtiers, who took care to pass that way, often, were delighted.
Each one said to himself, " I must have been right, really; the artist himself sees that something was wrong; now I shall have credit for saving the prince's portrait by my artistic taste!"
Once more the artist summoned the prince and his courtiers, and once more the statue was unveiled.
Again the Elector exclaimed at its beauty, and then he turned to his courtiers, one after another, to see what they had to say.
" Perfect!"
said the first.
" Now that the horse's head is in proportion, there is not a flaw."
" The change in the neck was just what was needed," said the second; " it is very graceful now."
" The rear right foot is as it should be, now," said a third, " and it adds so much to the beauty of the whole!"
The fourth said that he considered the tail greatly improved.
" My courtiers are much pleased now," said the prince to Herr Grupello; " they think the statue much improved by the changes you have made."
Herr Grupello smiled a little.
" I am glad they are pleased," he said, " but the fact is, I have changed nothing!"
" What do you mean?"
said the prince in surprise.
" Have we not heard the sound of hammering every day?
What were you hammering at then?"
" I was hammering at the reputation of your courtiers, who found fault simply because they were jealous," said the artist.
" And I rather think that their reputation is pretty well hammered to pieces!"
It was, indeed.
The Elector laughed heartily, but the courtiers slunk away, one after another, without a word.
PRINCE CHERRY
There was once an old king, so wise and kind and true that the most powerful good fairy of his land visited him and asked him to name the dearest wish of his heart, that she might grant it.
" Surely you know it," said the good king; " it is for my only son, Prince Cherry; do for him whatever you would have done for me."
" Gladly," said the great fairy; " choose what I shall give him.
I can make him the richest, the most beautiful, or the most powerful prince in the world; choose."
" None of those things are what I want," said the king.
" I want only that he shall be good.
Of what use will it be to him to be beautiful, rich, or powerful, if he grows into a bad man?
Make him the best prince in the world, I beg you!"
" Alas, I cannot make him good," said the fairy; " he must do that for himself.
I can give him good advice, reprove him when he does wrong, and punish him if he will not punish himself; I can and will be his best friend, but I cannot make him good unless he wills it."
The king was sad to hear this, but he rejoiced in the friendship of the fairy for his son.
And when he died, soon after, he was happy to know that he left Prince Cherry in her hands.
Prince Cherry grieved for his father, and often lay awake at night, thinking of him.
One night, when he was all alone in his room, a soft and lovely light suddenly shone before him, and a beautiful vision stood at his side.
It was the good fairy.
She was clad in robes of dazzling white, and on her shining hair she wore a wreath of white roses.
" I am the Fairy Candide," she said to the prince.
" I promised your father that I would be your best friend, and as long as you live I shall watch over your happiness.
I have brought you a gift; it is not wonderful to look at, but it has a wonderful power for your welfare; wear it, and let it help you."
As she spoke, she placed a small gold ring on the prince's little finger.
" This ring," she said, " will help you to be good; when you do evil, it will prick you, to remind you.
If you do not heed its warnings a worse thing will happen to you, for I shall become your enemy."
Then she vanished.
Prince Cherry wore his ring, and said nothing to anyone of the fairy's gift.
It did not prick him for a long time, because he was good and merry and happy.
But Prince Cherry had been rather spoiled by his nurse when he was a child; she had always said to him that when he should become king he could do exactly as he pleased.
Now, after a while, he began to find out that this was not true, and it made him angry.
The first time that he noticed that even a king could not always have his own way was on a day when he went hunting.
It happened that he got no game.
This put him in such a bad temper that he grumbled and scolded all the way home.
The little gold ring began to feel tight and uncomfortable.
When he reached the palace his pet dog ran to meet him.
" Go away!"
said the prince, crossly.
But the little dog was so used to being petted that he only jumped up on his master, and tried to kiss his hand.
The prince turned and kicked the little creature.
At the instant, he felt a sharp prick in his little finger, like a pin prick.
" What nonsense!"
said the prince to himself.
" Am I not king of the whole land?
May I not kick my own dog, if I choose?
What evil is there in that?"
A silver voice spoke in his ear: " The king of the land has a right to do good, but not evil; you have been guilty of bad temper and of cruelty to - day; see that you do better to - morrow."
The prince turned sharply, but no one was to be seen; yet he recognised the voice as that of Fairy Candide.
He followed her advice for a little, but presently he forgot, and the ring pricked him so sharply that his finger had a drop of blood on it.
This happened again and again, for the prince grew more self - willed and headstrong every day; he had some bad friends, too, who urged him on, in the hope that he would ruin himself and give them a chance to seize the throne.
He treated his people carelessly and his servants cruelly, and everything he wanted he felt that he must have.
The ring annoyed him terribly; it was embarrassing for a king to have a drop of blood on his finger all the time!
At last he took the ring off and put it out of sight.
Then he thought he should be perfectly happy, having his own way; but instead, he grew more unhappy as he grew less good.
Whenever he was crossed, or could not have his own way instantly, he flew into a passion.
Finally, he wanted something that he really could not have.
This time it was a most beautiful young girl, named Zelia; the prince saw her, and loved her so much that he wanted at once to make her his queen.
To his great astonishment, she refused.
" Am I not pleasing to you?"
asked the prince in surprise.
" You are very handsome, very charming, prince," said Zelia; " but you are not like the good king, your father; I fear you would make me very miserable if I were your queen."
In a great rage, Prince Cherry ordered the young girl to be put in prison; and the key of her dungeon he kept.
He told one of his friends, a wicked man who flattered him for his own purposes, about the thing, and asked his advice.
" Are you not king?"
said the bad friend.
" May you not do as you will?
Keep the girl in a dungeon till she does as you command, and if she will not, sell her as a slave."
" But would it not be a disgrace for me to harm an innocent creature?"
said the prince.
" It would be a disgrace to you to have it said that one of your subjects dared disobey you!"
said the courtier.
He had cleverly touched the prince's worst trait, his pride.
Prince Cherry went at once to Zelia's dungeon, prepared to do this cruel thing.
Zelia was gone.
No one had the key save the prince himself; yet she was gone.
The only person who could have dared to help her, thought the prince, was his old tutor, Suliman, the only man left who ever rebuked him for anything.
In fury, he ordered Suliman to be put in fetters and brought before him.
As his servants left him, to carry out the wicked order, there was a clash, as of thunder, in the room, and then a blinding light.
Fairy Candide stood before him.
With horror, the prince felt himself being transformed into a monster.
He tried to rush upon the fairy and kill her, but she had vanished with her words.
As he stood, her voice came from the air, saying, sadly, " Learn to conquer your pride by being in submission to your own subjects."
At the same moment, Prince Cherry felt himself being transported to a distant forest, where he was set down by a clear stream.
In the water he saw his own terrible image; he had the head of a lion, with bull's horns, the feet of a wolf, and a tail like a serpent.
And as he gazed in horror, the fairy's voice whispered, " Your soul has become more ugly than your shape is; you yourself have deformed it."
The poor beast rushed away from the sound of her words, but in a moment he stumbled into a trap, set by bear - catchers.
When the trappers found him they were delighted to have caught a curiosity, and they immediately dragged him to the palace courtyard.
There he heard the whole court buzzing with gossip.
Prince Cherry had been struck by lightning and killed, was the news, and the five favourite courtiers had struggled to make themselves rulers, but the people had refused them, and offered the crown to Suliman, the good old tutor.
Even as he heard this, the prince saw Suliman on the steps of the palace, speaking to the people.
" I will take the crown to keep in trust," he said.
" Perhaps the prince is not dead."
" He was a bad king; we do not want him back," said the people.
" I know his heart," said Suliman, " it is not all bad; it is tainted, but not corrupt; perhaps he will repent and come back to us a good king."
When the beast heard this, it touched him so much that he stopped tearing at his chains, and became gentle.
He let his keepers lead him away to the royal menagerie without hurting them.
Life was very terrible to the prince, now, but he began to see that he had brought all his sorrow on himself, and he tried to bear it patiently.
The worst to bear was the cruelty of the keeper.
At last, one night, this keeper was in great danger; a tiger got loose, and attacked him.
" Good enough!
Let him die!"
thought Prince Cherry.
But when he saw how helpless the keeper was, he repented, and sprang to help.
He killed the tiger and saved the keeper's life.
As he crouched at the keeper's feet, a voice said, " Good actions never go unrewarded!"
And the terrible monster was changed into a pretty little white dog.
The keeper carried the beautiful little dog to the court and told the story, and from then on, Cherry was carefully treated, and had the best of everything.
But in order to keep the little dog from growing, the queen ordered that he should be fed very little, and that was pretty hard for the poor prince.
He was often half starved, although so much petted.
One day he had carried his crust of bread to a retired spot in the palace woods, where he loved to be, when he saw a poor old woman hunting for roots, and seeming almost starved.
" Poor thing," he thought, " she is even more hungry than I "; and he ran up and dropped the crust at her feet.
The woman ate it, and seemed greatly refreshed.
Cherry was glad of that, and he was running happily back to his kennel when he heard cries of distress, and suddenly he saw some rough men dragging along a young girl, who was weeping and crying for help.
What was his horror to see that the young girl was Zelia!
Oh, how he wished he were the monster once more, so that he could kill the men and rescue her!
But he could do nothing except bark, and bite at the heels of the wicked men.
That did not stop them; they drove him off, with blows, and carried Zelia into a palace in the wood.
Poor Cherry crouched by the steps, and watched.
His heart was full of pity and rage.
But suddenly he thought, " I was as bad as these men; I myself put Zelia in prison, and would have treated her worse still, if I had not been prevented."
The thought made him so sorry and ashamed that he repented bitterly the evil he had done.
Presently a window opened, and Cherry saw Zelia lean out and throw down a piece of meat.
He seized it and was just going to devour it, when the old woman to whom he had given his crust snatched it away and took him in her arms.
" No, you shall not eat it, you poor little thing," she said, " for every bit of food in that house is poisoned."
At the same moment, a voice said, " Good actions never go unrewarded!"
And instantly Prince Cherry was transformed into a little white dove.
With great joy, he flew to the open palace window to seek out his Zelia, to try to help her.
But though he hunted in every room, no Zelia was to be found.
He had to fly away, without seeing her.
He wanted more than anything else to find her, and stay near her, so he flew out into the world, to seek her.
He sought her in many lands, until one day, in a far eastern country, he found her sitting in a tent, by the side of an old, white - haired hermit.
Cherry was wild with delight.
He flew to her shoulder, caressed her hair with his beak, and cooed in her ear.
" You dear, lovely little thing!"
said Zelia.
" Will you stay with me?
If you will, I will love you always."
" Ah, Zelia, see what you have done!"
laughed the hermit.
At that instant, the white dove vanished, and Prince Cherry stood there, as handsome and charming as ever, and with a look of kindness and modesty in his eyes which had never been there before.
At the same time, the hermit stood up, his flowing hair changed to shining gold, and his face became a lovely woman's face; it was the Fairy Candide.
" Zelia has broken your spell," she said to the prince, " as I meant she should, when you were worthy of her love."
Zelia and Prince Cherry fell at the fairy's feet.
But with a beautiful smile she bade them come to their kingdom.
In a trice, they were transported to the prince's palace, where King Suliman greeted them with tears of joy.
He gave back the throne with all his heart, and King Cherry ruled again, with Zelia for his queen.
He wore the little gold ring all the rest of his life, but never once did it have to prick him hard enough to make his finger bleed.
THE GOLD IN THE ORCHARD
There was once a farmer who had a fine olive orchard.
He was very industrious, and the farm always prospered under his care.
But he knew that his three sons despised the farm work, and were eager to make wealth fast, through adventure.
When the farmer was old, and felt that his time had come to die, he called the three sons to him and said, " My sons, there is a pot of gold hidden in the olive orchard.
Dig for it, if you wish it."
The sons tried to get him to tell them in what part of the orchard the gold was hidden; but he would tell them nothing more.
After the farmer was dead, the sons went to work to find the pot of gold; since they did not know where the hiding - place was, they agreed to begin in a line, at one end of the orchard, and to dig until one of them should find the money.
They dug until they had turned up the soil from one end of the orchard to the other, round the tree - roots and between them.
But no pot of gold was to be found.
It seemed as if some one must have stolen it, or as if the farmer had been wandering in his wits.
The three sons were bitterly disappointed to have all their work for nothing.
The next olive season, the olive trees in the orchard bore more fruit than they had ever given before; the fine cultivating they had had from the digging brought so much fruit, and of so fine a quality, that when it was sold it gave the sons a whole pot of gold!
And when they saw how much money had come from the orchard, they suddenly understood what the wise father had meant when he said, " There is gold hidden in the orchard; dig for it."
MARGARET OF NEW ORLEANS
If you ever go to the beautiful city of New Orleans, somebody will be sure to take you down into the old business part of the city, where there are banks and shops and hotels, and show you a statue which stands in a little square there.
It is the statue of a woman, sitting in a low chair, with her arms around a child, who leans against her.
The woman is not at all pretty: she wears thick, common shoes, a plain dress, with a little shawl, and a sun - bonnet; she is stout and short, and her face is a square - chinned Irish face; but her eyes look at you like your mother's.
Now there is something very surprising about this statue: it was the first one that was ever made in America in honour of a woman.
Even in Europe there are not many monuments to women, and most of the few are to great queens or princesses, very beautiful and very richly dressed.
You see, this statue in New Orleans is not quite like anything else.
It is the statue of a woman named Margaret.
Her whole name was Margaret Haughery, but no one in New Orleans remembers her by it, any more than you think of your dearest sister by her full name; she is just Margaret.
This is her story, and it tells why people made a monument for her.
When Margaret was a tiny baby, her father and mother died, and she was adopted by two young people as poor and as kind as her own parents.
She lived with them until she grew up.
Then she married, and had a little baby of her own.
But very soon her husband died, and then the baby died, too, and Margaret was all alone in the world.
She was poor, but she was strong, and knew how to work.
All day, from morning until evening, she ironed clothes in a laundry.
And every day, as she worked by the window, she saw the little motherless children from the orphan asylum, near by, working and playing about.
After a while, there came a great sickness upon the city, and so many mothers and fathers died that there were more orphans than the asylum could possibly take care of.
They needed a good friend, now.
You would hardly think, would you, that a poor woman who worked in a laundry could be much of a friend to them?
But Margaret was.
She went straight to the kind Sisters who had the asylum and told them she was going to give them part of her wages and was going to work for them, besides.
Pretty soon she had worked so hard that she had some money saved from her wages.
With this, she bought two cows and a little delivery cart.
Then she carried her milk to her customers in the little cart every morning; and as she went, she begged the pieces of food left over from the hotels and rich houses, and brought it back in the cart to the hungry children in the asylum.
In the very hardest times that was often all the food the poor children had.
A part of the money Margaret earned went every week to the asylum, and after a few years that was made very much larger and better.
Margaret was so careful and so good at business that, in spite of her giving, she bought more cows and earned more money.
With this, she built a home for orphan babies; she called it her baby house.
After a time, Margaret had a chance to get a bakery, and then she became a bread - woman instead of a milk - woman.
She carried the bread just as she had carried the milk, in her cart.
And still she kept giving money to the asylum.
Then the great war came, the Civil War.
In all the trouble and sickness and fear of that time, Margaret drove her cart of bread; and somehow she had always enough to give the starving soldiers, and for her babies, beside what she sold.
And despite all this, she earned enough so that when the war was over she built a big steam factory for her bread.
By this time everybody in the city knew her.
The children all over the city loved her; the business men were proud of her; the poor people all came to her for advice.
She used to sit at the open door of her office, in a calico gown and a little shawl, and give a good word to everybody, rich or poor.
Then, by and by, one day, Margaret died.
And when it was time to read her will, the people found that, with all her giving, she had still saved a great deal of money, and that she had left every penny of it to the different orphan asylums of the city,-- each one of them was given something.
Whether they were for white children or black, for Jews, Catholics, or Protestants, made no difference; for Margaret always said, " They are all orphans alike."
And just think, dears, that splendid, wise will was signed with a cross instead of a name, for Margaret had never learned to read or write!
When the people of New Orleans knew that Margaret was dead, they said, " She was a mother to the motherless; she was a friend to those who had no friends; she had wisdom greater than schools can teach; we will not let her memory go from us."
So they made a statue of her, just as she used to look, sitting in her own office door, or driving in her own little cart.
And there it stands to - day, in memory of the great love and the great power of plain Margaret Haughery, of New Orleans.
THE DAGDA'S HARP
You know, dears, in the old countries there are many fine stories about things which happened so very long ago that nobody knows exactly how much of them is true.
Ireland is like that.
The stories are called _legends_.
One of the prettiest legends is the story I am going to tell you about the Dagda's harp.
The golden - haired people had a great chieftain who was also a kind of high priest, who was called the Dagda.
And this Dagda had a wonderful magic harp.
The harp was beautiful to look upon, mighty in size, made of rare wood, and ornamented with gold and jewels; and it had wonderful music in its strings, which only the Dagda could call out.
When the men were going out to battle, the Dagda would set up his magic harp and sweep his hand across the strings, and a war song would ring out which would make every warrior buckle on his armour, brace his knees, and shout, " Forth to the fight!"
Then the song would swell out louder, and every warrior would remember only the glory he had helped win for the king; and each man would rise at the great table, his cup in his hand, and shout " Long live the King!"
Their wives and children and some few of their soldiers went with them, and they fled fast and far through the night, until they were a long way from the battlefield.
Then they thought they were safe, and they turned aside into a vacant castle, by the road, and sat down to a banquet, hanging the stolen harp on the wall.
The Dagda, with two or three of his warriors, had followed hard on their track.
And while they were in the midst of their banqueting, the door was suddenly burst open, and the Dagda stood there, with his men.
Some of the Fomorians sprang to their feet, but before any of them could grasp a weapon, the Dagda called out to his harp on the wall, " Come to me, O my harp!"
The great harp recognised its master's voice, and leaped from the wall.
Whirling through the hall, sweeping aside and killing the men who got in its way, it sprang to its master's hand.
And the Dagda took his harp and swept his hand across the strings in three great, solemn chords.
The harp answered with the magic Music of Tears.
As the wailing harmony smote upon the air, the women of the Fomorians bowed their heads and wept bitterly, the strong men turned their faces aside, and the little children sobbed.
Again the Dagda touched the strings, and this time the magic Music of Mirth leaped from the harp.
Once more the Dagda touched his harp, but very, very softly.
And now a music stole forth as soft as dreams, and as sweet as joy: it was the magic Music of Sleep.
When they were all deep in slumber, the Dagda took his magic harp, and he and his golden - haired warriors stole softly away, and came in safety to their own homes again.
THE TAILOR AND THE THREE BEASTS
There was once a tailor in Galway, and he started out on a journey to go to the king's court at Dublin.
He had not gone far when he met a white horse, and he saluted him.
" God save you," said the tailor.
" God save you," said the horse.
" Where are you going?"
" I am going to Dublin," said the tailor, " to build a court for the king and to get a lady for a wife, if I am able to do it."
For, it seems the king had promised his daughter and a great lot of money to anyone who should be able to build up his court.
The trouble was, that three giants lived in the wood near the court, and every night they came out of the wood and threw down all that was built by day.
So nobody could get the court built.
" Would you make me a hole," said the old white garraun, " where I could go in to hide whenever the people come to fetch me to the mill or the kiln, so that they won't see me; for they tire me out doing work for them?"
" I'll do that, indeed," said the tailor, " and welcome."
He brought his spade and shovel, and he made a hole, and he asked the old white horse to go down into it so that he could see if it would fit him.
The white horse went down into the hole, but when he tried to come up again, he was not able.
" Make a place for me now," said the white horse, " by which I can come up out of the hole here, whenever I am hungry."
" I will not," said the tailor; " remain where you are until I come back, and I'll lift you up."
The tailor went forward next day, and the fox met him.
" God save you," said the fox.
" God save you," said the tailor.
" Where are you going?"
said the fox.
" I'm going to Dublin, to try to make a court for the king."
" Would you make a place for me where I can hide?"
said the fox.
" The rest of the foxes are always beating me, and they will not allow me to eat anything with them."
" I'll do that for you," said the tailor.
He took his axe and his saw, and he made a thing like a crate, and he told the fox to get into it so that he could see whether it would fit him.
The fox went into it, and when the tailor had him down, he shut him in.
When the fox was satisfied at last that he had a nice place of it within, he asked the tailor to let him out, and the tailor answered that he would not.
" Wait there until I come back again," said he.
The tailor went forward the next day, and he had not walked very far when he met a lion; and the lion greeted him.
" God save you," said the lion.
" God save you," said the tailor.
" Where are you going?"
said the lion.
" I'm going to Dublin to make a court for the king if I am able to make it," said the tailor.
" If you were to make a plough for me," said the lion, " I and the other lions could be ploughing and harrowing until we'd have a bit to eat in the harvest."
" I'll do that for you," said the tailor.
He brought his axe and his saw, and he made a plough.
When the plough was made he put a hole in the beam of it, and got the lion to go in under the plough so that he might see if he was any good as a ploughman.
He placed the lion's tail in the hole he had made for it, and then clapped in a peg, and the lion was not able to draw out his tail again.
" Loose me now," said the lion, " and we'll fix ourselves and go ploughing."
The tailor said he would not loose him until he came back himself.
He left him there then, and he came to Dublin.
When he arrived, he engaged workmen and began to build the court.
At the end of the day he had the workmen put a great stone on top of the work.
When the great stone was raised up, the tailor put some sort of contrivance under it, that he might be able to throw it down as soon as the giants came near to it.
The workpeople then went home, and the tailor went in hiding behind the big stone.
When the darkness of the night was come, he saw the three giants arriving, and they began throwing down the court until they arrived at the place where the tailor was in hiding up above, and one of them struck a blow with his sledge on the place where he was.
The tailor threw down the stone, and it fell on him and killed him.
The other two went home then and left all of the court that was remaining without throwing it down, since their companion was dead.
The workmen came again the next day, and they were working until night, and as they were going home the tailor told them to put up the big stone on the top of the work, as it had been the night before.
They did that for him, went home, and the tailor went in hiding the same as he did the evening before.
After this there was only the one giant left, and he never came again until the court was finished.
Then the tailor said that he would kill the other giant for him, and welcome; that there should be no delay at all about that.
The tailor went then till he came to the place where the other giant was, and asked did he want a servant - boy.
The giant said he did want one, if he could get one who would do everything that he would do himself.
" Anything that you will do, I will do," said the tailor.
They went to their dinner then, and when they had eaten it, the giant asked the tailor " would he dare to swallow as much boiling broth as himself."
The tailor said, " I will certainly do that, but you must give me an hour before we commence."
The tailor went out then, and he got a sheepskin, which he sewed up until he made a bag of it, and he slipped it down under his coat.
He came in then and told the giant first to drink a gallon of the broth himself.
The giant drank that up while it was boiling.
" I'll do that," said the tailor.
He went on until it was all poured into the skin, and the giant thought he had drunk it.
The giant drank another gallon then, and the tailor let another gallon down into the skin, but the giant thought he was drinking it.
" I'll do a thing now that you will not dare to do," said the tailor.
" You will not," said the giant.
" What is it you would do?"
" Make a hole and let out the broth again," said the tailor.
" Do it yourself first," said the giant.
The tailor gave a prod of the knife, and he let the broth out of the skin.
" Now you do that," said he.
" I will," said the giant, giving such a prod of the knife into his own stomach that he killed himself.
That is the way the tailor killed the third giant.
He went to the king then, and desired him to send him out his wife and his money, saying that he would throw down the court again if he did not do so immediately.
They were afraid then that he would throw down the court, and they sent the wife to him.
When the tailor was a day gone, himself and his wife, they repented and followed him to take his wife away from him again.
The people who went after him followed him until they came to the place where the lion was, and the lion said to them, " The tailor and his wife were here yesterday.
I saw them going by, and if you will loose me now, I am swifter than you, and I will follow them until I overtake them."
When they heard that, they released the lion.
They therefore set the fox free.
They released the old white garraun then, and the old white garraun, the fox, the lion, and the army of Dublin pursued the tailor and his wife, and it was not long before they came up with them.
When the tailor saw them coming, he got out of the coach with his wife, and he sat down on the ground.
When the old white garraun saw the tailor sitting on the ground, he said, " That's the position he was in when he made the hole for me, that I couldn't get out of, when I went down into it.
I'll go no nearer to him."
" No!"
said the fox, " but that's the way he was when he was making the thing for me, and I'll go no nearer to him."
" No!"
says the lion, " but that's the very way he had, when he was making the plough that I was caught in.
I'll go no nearer to him."
They all left him then and returned.
The tailor and his wife came home to Galway.
HOW THE SEA BECAME SALT
This story was told long ago by our Northern forefathers who brought it with them in their dragon ships when they crossed the North Sea to settle in England.
This is not the only story that has come down to tell us how people of old accounted for the sea being salt.
There are many such stories, each different from the other, all showing that the same childlike spirit of inquiry was at work in different places, striving to find an answer to this riddle of nature.
* * * * *
There sprang from the sons of Odin a race of men who became mighty kings of the earth, and one of these, named Frode, ruled over the lands that are called Denmark.
Now about this time were found in Denmark two great millstones, so large that no one had the strength to turn them.
So Frode sent for all the wise men of the land and bade them examine the stones and tell him of what use they were, since no one could grind with them.
And after the wise men had looked closely at them and read the magic letters which were cut upon their edge, they said that the millstones were precious indeed, since they would grind out of nothing anything that the miller might wish.
So King Frode sent messengers over the world to find for him two servants who would be strong enough to grind with the millstones, and after a long, long time his messengers found him two maid - servants, who were bigger and stronger than anyone in Denmark had ever seen.
But no one guessed that these were really Giant - Maidens who bore a grudge against all of the race of Odin.
Directly the Giant - Maidens were brought before Frode, and before they had rested after their long journey, or satisfied their hunger, he bade them go to the mill, and grind for him gold and peace and happiness.
" They sang and swung The swift mill stone, And with loud voice They made their moan.
' We grind for Frode Wealth and gold Abundant riches He shall behold.'"
Presently Frode came into the mill to see that the new servants were performing their task diligently.
And as he watched them from the shadow by the door, the maidens stayed their grinding for a while to rest.
The greedy man could not bear to see even an instant's pause, and he came out of the shadow, and bade them, with harsh words, go on grinding, and cease not except for so long as the cuckoo was silent, or while he himself sang a song.
Now it was early summer - time, and the cuckoo was calling all the day and most of the night.
So the Giant - Maidens waxed very wroth with King Frode, and as they resumed their labours they sang a song of the hardness of their lot in the household of this pitiless King.
They had been grinding out wealth and happiness and peace, but now they bade the magic stones to grind something very different.
Presently, as the great stones moved round and round, Frode, who still stood by, heard one chant in a low, sing - song voice,--
" I see a fire east of the town--the curlews awake and sound a note of warning.
A host approaches in haste, to burn the dwelling of the king."
And the next took up her song,--
" No longer will Frode sit on his throne, and rule over rings of red gold and mighty millstones.
Now must we grind with all our might--and, behold!
red warriors come forth--and revenge, and bloodshed, and ruin."
Then Frode shook from head to foot in his terror, for he heard the tramp of a mighty host of warriors advancing from the sea.
And as he looked for a way of escape, the braces of the millstones broke with the strong grinding, and fell in two.
And the whole world shook and trembled with the mighty shock of that breaking.
But through the crash and din came the voices of the Giant - Maidens, loudly chanting,--
" We have turned the stone round; Though weary the maidens, See what they have ground!"
And that same night a mighty sea - king came up and slew Frode and plundered his city.
When he had sacked the city, the sea - king took on board his ship the two Giant - Maidens, and with them the broken millstones.
And he bade them begin at once to grind salt, for of this he had very scanty store.
So they ground and ground; and in the middle of the night, being weary, they asked the sea - king if he had not got salt enough.
But the sea - king was hard of heart, like Frode, and he roughly bade them go on grinding.
And the maidens did so, and worked to such effect that within a short time the millstones had ground out so much salt that the weight of it began to sink the ship.
Down, down it sank, ship and giants and millstones, and in that spot, in the very middle of the ocean, arose a whirlpool, from whence the salt is carried north and south, east and west, throughout the waters of the earth.
And that is how the sea became salt.
THE CASTLE OF FORTUNE
One lovely summer morning, just as the sun rose, two travellers started on a journey.
They were both strong young men, but one was a lazy fellow and the other was a worker.
As the first sunbeams came over the hills, they shone on a great castle standing on the heights, as far away as the eye could see.
It was a wonderful and beautiful castle, all glistening towers that gleamed like marble, and glancing windows that shone like crystal.
The two young men looked at it eagerly, and longed to go nearer.
Suddenly, out of the distance, something like a great butterfly, of white and gold, swept toward them.
And when it came nearer, they saw that it was a most beautiful lady, robed in floating garments as fine as cobwebs and wearing on her head a crown so bright that no one could tell whether it was of diamonds or of dew.
She stood, light as air, on a great, shining, golden ball, which rolled along with her, swifter than the wind.
As she passed the travellers, she turned her face to them and smiled.
" Follow me!"
she said.
The lazy man sat down in the grass with a discontented sigh.
" She has an easy time of it!"
he said.
But the industrious man ran after the lovely lady and caught the hem of her floating robe in his grasp.
" Who are you, and whither are you going?"
he asked.
" I am the Fairy of Fortune," the beautiful lady said, " and that is my castle.
You may reach it to - day, if you will; there is time, if you waste none.
If you reach it before the last stroke of midnight, I will receive you there, and will be your friend.
But if you come one second after midnight, it will be too late."
When she had said this, her robe slipped from the traveller's hand and she was gone.
The industrious man hurried back to his friend, and told him what the fairy had said.
" The idea!"
said the lazy, man, and he laughed; " of course, if we had a horse there would be some chance, but _walk_ all that way?
No, thank you!"
" Then good - bye," said his friend, " I am off."
And he set out, down the road toward the shining castle, with a good steady stride, his eyes straight ahead.
The lazy man lay down in the soft grass, and looked rather wistfully at the far - away towers.
" If only I had a good horse!"
he sighed.
Just at that moment he felt something warm nosing about at his shoulder, and heard a little whinny.
He turned round, and there stood a little horse!
It was a dainty creature, gentle - looking, and finely built, and it was saddled and bridled.
" Hello!"
said the lazy man.
" Luck often comes when one isn't looking for it!"
And in an instant he had leaped on the horse, and headed him for the castle of fortune.
The little horse started at a fine pace, and in a very few minutes they overtook the other traveller, plodding along on foot.
" How do you like shank's pony?"
laughed the lazy man, as he passed his friend.
The industrious man only nodded, and kept on with his steady stride, eyes straight ahead.
The horse kept his good pace, and by noon the towers of the castle stood out against the sky, much nearer and more beautiful.
Exactly at noon, the horse turned aside from the road, into a shady grove on a hill, and stopped.
" Wise beast," said his rider: ' haste makes waste,' and all things are better in moderation.
I'll follow your example, and eat and rest a bit."
He dismounted and sat down in the cool moss, with his back against a tree.
He had a lunch in his traveller's pouch, and he ate it comfortably.
Then he felt drowsy from the heat and the early ride, so he pulled his hat over his eyes, and settled himself for a nap.
" It will go all the better for a little rest," he said.
That _was_ a sleep!
He slept like the seven sleepers, and he dreamed the most beautiful things you could imagine.
At last, he dreamed that he had entered the castle of fortune and was being received with great festivities.
Everything he wanted was brought to him, and music played while fireworks were set off in his honour.
The music was so loud that he awoke.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and behold, the fireworks were the very last rays of the setting sun, and the music was the voice of the other traveller, passing the grove on foot!
" Time to be off," said the lazy man, and looked about him for the pretty horse.
No horse was to be found.
The only living thing near was an old, bony, grey donkey.
The man called, and whistled, and looked, but no little horse appeared.
After a long while he gave it up, and, since there was nothing better to do, he mounted the old grey donkey and set out again.
The donkey was slow, and he was hard to ride, but he was better than nothing; and gradually the lazy man saw the towers of the castle draw nearer.
Now it began to grow dark; in the castle windows the lights began to show.
Then came trouble!
Slower, and slower, went the grey donkey; slower, and slower, till, in the very middle of a pitch - black wood, he stopped and stood still.
Not a step would he budge for all the coaxing and scolding and beating his rider could give.
At last the rider kicked him, as well as beat him, and at that the donkey felt that he had had enough.
Up went his hind heels, and down went his head, and over it went the lazy man on to the stony ground.
There he lay groaning for many minutes, for it was not a soft place, I can assure you.
How he wished he were in a soft, warm bed, with his aching bones comfortable in blankets!
The very thought of it made him remember the Castle of Fortune, for he knew there must be fine beds there.
To get to those beds he was even willing to bestir his poor limbs, so he sat up and felt about him for the donkey.
No donkey was to be found.
The lazy man crept round and round the spot where he had fallen, scratched his hands on the stumps, tore his face in the briers, and bumped his knees on the stones.
But no donkey was there.
He would have laid down to sleep again, but he could hear now the howls of hungry wolves in the woods; that it did not sound pleasant.
Finally, his hand struck against something that felt like a saddle.
He grasped it, thankfully, and started to mount his donkey.
The beast he took hold of seemed very small, and, as he mounted, he felt that its sides were moist and slimy.
It gave him a shudder, and he hesitated; but at that moment he heard a distant clock strike.
It was striking eleven!
There was still time to reach the castle of fortune, but no more than enough; so he mounted his new steed and rode on once more.
The animal was easier to sit on than the donkey, and the saddle seemed remarkably high behind; it was good to lean against.
But even the donkey was not so slow as this; the new steed was slower than he.
After a while, however, he pushed his way out of the woods into the open, and there stood the castle, only a little way ahead!
All its windows were ablaze with lights.
A ray from them fell on the lazy man's beast, and he saw what he was riding: it was a gigantic snail!
a snail as large as a calf!
A cold shudder ran over the lazy man's body, and he would have got off his horrid animal then and there, but just then the clock struck once more.
It was the first of the long, slow strokes that mark midnight!
The man grew frantic when he heard it.
He drove his heels into the snail's sides, to make him hurry.
Instantly, the snail drew in his head, curled up in his shell, and left the lazy man sitting in a heap on the ground!
The clock struck twice.
If the man had run for it, he could still have reached the castle, but, instead, he sat still and shouted for a horse.
" A beast, a beast!"
he wailed, " any kind of a beast that will take me to the castle!"
The clock struck three times.
And as it struck the third note, something came rustling and rattling out of the darkness, something that sounded like a horse with harness.
The lazy man jumped on its back, a very queer, low back.
As he mounted, he saw the doors of the castle open, and saw his friend standing on the threshold, waving his cap and beckoning to him.
The clock struck four times, and the new steed began to stir; as it struck five, he moved a pace forward; as it struck six, he stopped; as it struck seven, he turned himself about; as it struck eight, he began to move backward, away from the castle!
The lazy man shouted, and beat him, but the beast went slowly backward.
And the clock struck nine.
The man tried to slide off, then, but from all sides of his strange animal great arms came reaching up and held him fast.
And in the next ray of moonlight that broke the dark clouds, he saw that he was mounted on a monster crab!
One by one, the lights went out, in the castle windows.
The clock struck ten.
Backward went the crab.
Eleven!
Still the crab went backward.
The clock struck twelve!
Then the great doors shut with a clang, and the castle of fortune was closed for ever to the lazy man.
What became of him and his crab no one knows to this day, and no one cares.
But the industrious man was received by the Fairy of Fortune, and made happy in the castle as long as he wanted to stay.
And ever afterward she was his friend, helping him not only to happiness for himself, but also showing him how to help others, wherever he went.
DAVID AND GOLIATH
A long time ago, there was a boy named David, who lived in a country in the Far East.
He was good to look upon, for he had fair hair and a ruddy skin; and he was very strong and brave and modest.
He was shepherd - boy for his father, and all day--often all night--he was out in the fields, far from home, watching over the sheep.
He had to guard them from wild animals, and lead them to the right pastures, and care for them.
By and by, war broke out between the people of David's country and a people that lived near at hand; these men were called Philistines, and the people of David's country were named Israelites.
All the strong men of Israel went up to the battle, to fight for their king.
David's three older brothers went, but he was only a boy, so he was left behind to care for the sheep.
(An ephah is about three pecks.)
David rose early in the morning, and left the sheep with a keeper, and took the corn and the loaves and the cheeses, as his father had commanded him, and went to the camp of the Israelites.
The camp stood on a mountain on the one side, and the Philistines stood on a mountain on the other side; and there was a valley between.
David came to the place where the Israelites were, just as the host was going forth to the fight, shouting for the battle.
So he left his gifts in the hands of the keeper of the baggage, and ran into the army, amongst the soldiers, to find his brothers.
When he found them, he saluted them and began to talk with them.
But while he was asking them the questions his father had commanded, there arose a great shouting and tumult among the Israelites, and men came running back from the front line of battle; everything became confusion.
" Who is that?"
asked David.
" It is Goliath, of Gath, champion of the Philistines," said the soldiers about.
" Every day, for forty days, he has come forth, so, and challenged us to send a man against him, in single combat; and since no one dares to go out against him alone, the armies cannot fight."
(That was one of the laws of warfare in those times.)
" What!"
said David, " does none dare go out against him?"
As he spoke, the giant stood still, on the hillside opposite the host of Israel, and shouted his challenge, scornfully.
He said, " Why are ye come out to set your battle in array?
Am I not a Philistine, and ye servants of Saul?
Choose you a man, and let him come down to me.
If he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then will we be your servants; but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then shall ye be our servants, and serve us.
I defy the armies of Israel this day; give me a man, that we may fight together!"
When King Saul heard these words, he was dismayed, and all the men of Israel, when they saw the man, fled from him and were sore afraid.
David heard them talking among themselves, whispering and murmuring.
They were saying, " Have ye seen this man that is come up?
Surely if anyone killeth him that man will the king make rich; perhaps he will give him his daughter in marriage, and make his family free in Israel!"
David heard this, and he asked the men if it were so.
It was surely so, they said.
" But," said David, " who is this Philistine, that he should defy the armies of the living God?"
And he was stirred with anger.
Very soon, some of the officers told the king about the youth who was asking so many questions, and who said that it was shame upon Israel that a mere Philistine should defy the armies of the living God.
Immediately Saul sent for him.
When David came before Saul, he said to the king, " Let no man's heart fail because of him; thy servant will go and fight with this Philistine."
But Saul looked at David, and said, " Thou art not able to go against this Philistine, to fight with him, for thou art but a youth, and he has been a man of war from his youth."
Thy servant slew both the lion and the bear; and this Philistine shall be as one of them, for he hath defied the armies of the living God.
The Lord, who delivered me out of the paw of the lion and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine."
" Go," said Saul, " and the Lord be with thee!"
And he armed David with his own armour,-- he put a helmet of brass upon his head, and armed him with a coat of mail.
But when David girded his sword upon his armour, and tried to walk, he said to Saul, " I cannot go with these, for I am not used to them."
And he put them off.
Then he took his staff in his hand and went and chose five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in a shepherd's bag which he had; and his sling was in his hand; and he went out and drew near to the Philistine.
And the Philistine came on and drew near to David; and the man that bore his shield went before him.
And when the Philistine looked about and saw David, he disdained him, for David was but a boy, and ruddy, and of a fair countenance.
And he said to David, " Am I a dog, that thou comest to me with a cudgel?"
And with curses he cried out again, " Come to me, and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the field."
But David looked at him, and answered, " Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield; but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied.
And all this assembly shall know that the Lord saveth not with sword and spear; for the battle is the Lord's, and he will give you into our hands."
And then, when the Philistine arose, and came, and drew nigh to meet David, David made haste and ran toward the army to meet the Philistine.
And when he was a little way from him, he put his hand in his bag, and took from thence a stone, and put it in his sling, and slung it, and smote the Philistine in the forehead, so that the stone sank into his forehead; and he fell on his face to the earth.
And David ran, and stood upon the Philistine, and took his sword, and drew it out of its sheath, and slew him with it.
Then, when the Philistines saw that their champion was dead, they fled.
But the army of Israel pursued them, and victory was with the men of Israel.
And after the battle, David was taken to the king's tent, and made a captain over many men; and he went no more to his father's house, to herd the sheep, but became a man, in the king's service.
THE SHEPHERD'S SONG
David had many fierce battles to fight for King Saul against the enemies of Israel, and he won them all.
Then, later, he had to fight against the king's own soldiers, to save himself, for King Saul grew wickedly jealous of David's fame as a soldier, and tried to kill him.
Twice, when David had a chance to kill the king, he forbore to harm him; but even then, Saul continued trying to take his life, and David was kept away from his home as if he were an enemy.
But when King Saul died, the people chose David for their king, because there was no one so brave, so wise, or so faithful to God.
King David lived a long time, and made his people famous for victory and happiness; he had many troubles and many wars, but he always trusted that God would help him, and he never deserted his own people in any hard place.
After a battle, or when it was a holiday, or when he was very thankful for something, King David used to make songs, and sing them before the people.
Some of these songs were so beautiful that they have never been forgotten.
After all these hundreds and hundred of years, we sing them still; we call them Psalms.
Often, after David had made a song, his chief musician would sing with him, as the people gathered to worship God.
Sometimes the singers were divided into two great choruses, and went to the service in two processions; then one chorus would sing a verse of David's song, and the other procession would answer with the next, and then both would sing together; it was very beautiful to hear.
Even now, we sometimes do that with the songs of David in our churches.
One of his Psalms that everybody loves is a song that David made when he remembered the days before he came to Saul's camp.
He remembered the days and nights he used to spend in the fields with the sheep, when he was just a shepherd - boy; and he thought to himself that God had taken care of him just as carefully as he himself used to care for the little lambs.
It is a beautiful song; I wish we knew the music that David made for it, but we only know his words.
I will tell it to you now, and then you may learn it, to say for yourselves.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.=
THE HIDDEN SERVANTS
This is a legend about a hermit who lived long ago.
He lived high up on the mountainside in a tiny cave; his food was roots and acorns, a bit of bread given by a peasant, or a cheese brought by a woman who wanted his prayers; his work was praying, and thinking about God.
For forty years he lived so, preaching to the people, praying for them, comforting them in trouble, and, most of all, worshipping in his heart.
There was just one thing he cared about: it was to make his soul so pure and perfect that it could be one of the stones in God's great Temple of Heaven.
One day, after the forty years, he had a great longing to know how far along he had got with his work,-- how it looked to the Heavenly Father.
And he prayed that he might be shown a man --
" Whose soul in the heavenly grace had grown To the selfsame measure as his own; Whose treasure on the celestial shore Could neither be less than his nor more."
As he looked up from his prayer, a white - robed angel stood in the path before him.
The hermit bowed before the messenger with great gladness, for he knew that his wish was answered.
" Go to the nearest town," the angel said, " and there, in the public square, you will find a mountebank (a clown) making the people laugh for money.
He is the man you seek; his soul has grown to the selfsame stature as your own; his treasure on the celestial shore is neither less than yours nor more."
When the angel had faded from sight, the hermit bowed his head again, but this time with great sorrow and fear.
Had his forty years of prayer been a terrible mistake, and was his soul indeed like a clown, fooling in the market - place?
He knew not what to think.
Almost he hoped he should not find the man, and could believe that he had dreamed the angel vision.
But when he came, after a long, tiring walk to the village, and the square, alas!
there was the clown, doing his silly tricks for the crowd.
The hermit stood and looked at him with terror and sadness, for he felt that he was looking at his own soul.
The face he saw was thin and tired, and though it kept a smile or a grin for the people, it seemed very sad to the hermit.
Soon the man felt the hermit's eyes; he could not go on with his tricks.
And when he had stopped and the crowd had left, the hermit went and drew the man aside to a place where they could rest; for he wanted more than anything else on earth to know what the man's soul was like, because what it was, his was.
So, after a little, he asked the clown, very gently, what his life was, what it had been.
And the clown answered, very sadly, that it was just as it looked,-- a life of foolish tricks, for that was the only way of earning his bread that he knew.
" But have you never been anything different?"
asked the hermit, painfully.
The clown's head sank in his hands.
" Yes, holy father," he said, " I have been something else.
I was a thief!
I once belonged to the most wicked band of mountain robbers that ever tormented the land, and I was as wicked as the worst."
Alas!
The hermit felt that his heart was breaking.
Was this how he looked to the Heavenly Father--like a thief, a cruel mountain robber?
He could hardly speak, and the tears streamed from his old eyes, but he gathered strength to ask one more question.
" I beg you," he said, " if you have ever done a single good deed in your life, remember it now, and tell it to me "; for he thought that even one good deed would save him from utter despair.
" Yes, one," the clown said, " but it was so small, it is not worth telling; my life has been worthless."
" Tell me that one!"
pleaded the hermit.
" Once," said the man, " our band broke into a convent garden and stole away one of the nuns, to sell as a slave or to keep for a ransom.
We dragged her with us over the rough, long way to our mountain camp, and set a guard over her for the night.
The poor thing prayed to us so piteously to let her go!
And as she begged, she looked from one hard face to another, with trusting, imploring eyes, as if she could not believe men could be really bad.
Father, when her eyes met mine something pierced my heart!
Pity and shame leaped up, for the first time, within me.
But I made my face as hard and cruel as the rest, and she turned away, hopeless.
" When all was dark and still, I stole like a cat to where she lay bound.
I put my hand on her wrist and whispered,'Trust me, and I will take you safely home.'
I cut her bonds with my knife, and she looked at me to show that she trusted.
Father, by terrible ways that I knew, hidden from the others, I took her safe to the convent gate.
She knocked; they opened; and she slipped inside.
And, as she left me, she turned and said,'God will remember.'
" That was all.
I could not go back to the old bad life, and I had never learned an honest way to earn my bread.
So I became a clown, and must be a clown until I die."
" No!
no!
my son," cried the hermit, and now his tears were tears of joy.
" God has remembered; your soul is in his sight even as mine, who have prayed and preached for forty years.
Your treasure waits for you on the heavenly shore just as mine does."
" As _yours_?
Father, you mock me!"
said the clown.
But when the hermit told him the story of his prayer and the angel's answer, the poor clown was transfigured with joy, for he knew that his sins were forgiven.
And when the hermit went home to his mountain, the clown went with him.
He, too, became a hermit, and spent his time in praise and prayer.
Together they lived, and worked, and helped the poor.
And when, after two years, the man who had been a clown died, the hermit felt that he had lost a brother more holy than himself.
For ten years more the hermit lived in his mountain hut, thinking always of God, fasting and praying, and doing no least thing that was wrong.
Then, one day, the wish once more came, to know how his work was growing, and once more he prayed that he might see a being --
" Whose soul in the heavenly grace had grown To the selfsame measure as his own; Whose treasure on the celestial shore Could neither be less than his nor more."
Once more his prayer was answered.
The angel came to him, and told him to go to a certain village on the other side of the mountain, and to a small farm in it, where two women lived.
In them he should find two souls like his own, in God's sight.
When the hermit came to the door of the little farm, the two women who lived there were overjoyed to see him, for everyone loved and honoured his name.
They put a chair for him on the cool porch, and brought food and drink.
But the hermit was too eager to wait.
He longed greatly to know what the souls of the two women were like, and from their looks he could see only that they were gentle and honest.
One was old, and the other of middle age.
Presently he asked them about their lives.
They told him the little there was to tell: they had worked hard always, in the fields with their husbands, or in the house; they had many children; they had seen hard times,-- sickness, sorrow; but they had never despaired.
" But what of your good deeds," the hermit asked,--" what have you done for God?"
" Very little," they said, sadly, for they were too poor to give much.
To be sure, twice every year, when they killed a sheep for food, they gave half to their poorer neighbours.
" That is very good, very faithful," the hermit said.
" And is there any other good deed you have done?"
" Nothing," said the older woman, " unless, unless--it might be called a good deed ----" She looked at the younger woman, who smiled back at her.
" What?"
said the hermit.
The hermit bent his head before the two women, and gave thanks in his heart.
" If my soul is as these," he said, " I am blessed indeed."
And suddenly a great light came into the hermit's mind, and he saw how many ways there are of serving God.
Endless, endless ways there are, that only the Heavenly Father sees.
And so, as the hermit climbed the mountain again, he thought,--
" As he saw the star - like glow Of light, in the cottage windows far, How many God's hidden servants are!"
LITTLE GOTTLIEB
Across the North Sea, in a country called Germany, lived a little boy named Gottlieb.
His father had died when he was but a baby, and although from early morning till late at night his mother sat plying her needle, she found it difficult indeed to provide food and clothing and shelter for her little boy and herself.
But one night Gottlieb saw that his mother was more than usually troubled.
Every now and then she would sigh, and a tear would trickle down her cheek.
The little boy had grown quick to read these signs of distress, and he thought, " Christmas will be here soon, and dear mother is thinking of what a sad time it will be."
What would Gottlieb have given to be able to comfort his mother!
He could only sit and brood, while his young heart swelled and a lump rose in his throat at the thought that he could do nothing.
Presently, however, a happy fancy came to him.
Was not the Christ Child born on Christmas Day, and did not He send good gifts to men on His birthday?
But then came the thought, " He will never find us.
Our home is so mean and small."
It seemed foolish to hope, but a boy is not long cast down, and as Gottlieb sat dreaming, a happy inspiration came to him.
Stealing softly from the room he took paper and pen, for he had learnt to write, and spelt out, word after word, a letter which he addressed to the Christ Child.
You may be sure that the postman was puzzled what to do with this letter when he sorted it out of the heap in the letter - box.
Perhaps the Burgomaster would know the right thing to do?
So the postman took the letter to the great burly man who lived in the big house and wore a gold chain round his neck.
The Burgomaster opened the envelope, and as he read the letter written in the trembling hand of a child, tears came into his eyes.
But he spoke gruffly enough to the postman, " This must be a foolish boy; a small one, I have no doubt."
Soon Christmas morning dawned, and Gottlieb woke very early.
But others were up before him, for, to his surprise, he saw a strange gentleman with his mother.
His wondering eyes soon perceived other unusual objects, for the hearth was piled with wood, and the table was loaded with food and dainties such as he had never even imagined.
Gottlieb entered the room just as his mother threw herself at the stranger's feet to bless him for his generous goodness to the widow and orphan.
" Nay, give me no thanks, worthy dame," said the visitor.
" Rather be grateful to your little son, and to the good Lord to whom he wrote for aid."
Then he turned to Gottlieb with a smile, " You see that although you wrote to the Christ Child, your prayer for aid came only to the Burgomaster.
The gifts you asked for are here, but they come from my hand."
But Gottlieb answered him humbly, " Nay, sir, the Christ Child sent them, for He put the thought in your heart."
HOW THE FIR TREE BECAME THE CHRISTMAS TREE
When you stand round the Christmas tree and look longingly at the toys hanging from the prickly branches, it does not occur to you to ask why it is always this particular tree that is so honoured at Christmas.
The dark green Fir looks so majestic when laden with bright toys and lit up by Christmas candles, that perhaps it is not easy to believe that it is the most modest of trees.
But so it is, and because of its humility it was chosen to bear Christmas gifts to the children.
This is the story:
When the Christ Child was born, all people, animals, trees, and other plants felt that a great happiness had come into the world.
And truly, the Heavenly Father had sent with the Holy Babe His blessings of Peace and Goodwill to all.
Every day people came to see the sweet Babe, bringing presents in their hands.
By the stable wherein lay the Christ Child stood three trees, and as the people came and went under their spreading branches, they thought that they, too, would like to give presents to the Child.
Said the Palm, " I will choose my biggest leaf and place it as a fan beside the manger to waft soft air to the Child."
" And I," said the Olive, " I will sprinkle sweet - smelling oil over Him."
" What can I give to the Child?"
asked the Fir.
" You?"
said the others.
" You have nothing to offer.
Your needles would prick the wee Babe, and your tears are sticky."
This made the poor Fir very unhappy indeed, and it said, sadly, " Yes, you are right.
I have nothing that would be good enough to offer to the Christ Child."
Now, quite near to the trees had stood an Angel, who had heard all that had passed.
He was moved to pity the Fir, who was so lowly and without envy of the other trees, and he resolved to help it.
High in the dark of the heavens the stars were beginning to twinkle, and the Angel begged some of the little ones to come down and rest upon the branches of the Fir.
This they were glad to do, and their silvery light shone among the branches just like Christmas candles.
The Christ Child did not forget the lovely sight, and long afterward he bade that to celebrate His birthday there should be placed in every house a Fir Tree, which might be lit up with candles to shine for the children as the stars shone for Him on His first birthday.
Was not the Fir Tree richly rewarded for its meekness?
Surely there is no other tree that shines on so many happy faces!
THE DIAMOND AND THE DEWDROP
A costly Diamond, that had once sparkled in a lady's ring, lay in a field amid tall grasses and oxeye daisies.
Just above it, was a big Dewdrop that clung timidly to a nodding grass - blade.
Overhead, the blazing sun shone in all his noonday glory.
Ever since the first pink blush of dawn, the modest Dewdrop had gazed fixedly down upon the rich gem, but feared to address a person of such exalted consequence.
At last, a large Beetle, during his rambles, chanced to espy the Diamond, and he also recognised him to be some one of great rank and importance.
" Sire," he said, making a low bow, " permit your humble servant to offer you greeting."
" Tha--nks," responded the Diamond in languid tones of affectation.
As the Beetle raised his head from his profound bow, his gaze happened to alight upon the Dewdrop.
" A relative of yours, I presume, Sire?"
he remarked affably, waving one of his feelers in the direction of the Dewdrop.
The Diamond burst into a rude, contemptuous laugh.
" Quite _too_ absurd, I declare!"
he exclaimed loftily.
" But there, what _can_ you expect from a low, grovelling beetle?
Away, sir, pass on!
Your very presence is distasteful to me.
The _idea_ of placing ME upon the same level--in the same family, as a low - born, mean, insignificant, utterly valueless ----" Here the Diamond fairly choked for breath.
" But has he not beauty exactly like your own, Sire?"
the Beetle ventured to interpose, though with a very timid air.
" BEAU--TY!"
flashed the Diamond, with fine disdain --" the impudent fellow merely apes and imitates ME.
However, it is some small consolation to remember that'Imitation is the sincerest flattery.'
But, even _allowing_ him to possess it, mere beauty without _rank_ is ridiculous and worthless.
A Boat without _water_--a Carriage, but no _horses_--a Well, but never a _winch_: such is beauty without rank and wealth!
There is no _real worth_ apart from rank and wealth.
Combine Beauty, Rank, _and_ Wealth, and you have the whole world at your feet.
Now you know the secret of the world worshipping ME."
And the Diamond sparkled and gleamed with vivid, violet flashes, so that the Beetle was glad to shade his eyes.
The poor Dewdrop had listened silently to all that had passed, and felt so wounded, that at last he wished he never had been born.
Slowly a bright tear fell and splashed the dust.
Just then, a Skylark fluttered to the ground and eagerly darted his beak at the Diamond.
" Alas!"
he piped, with a great sob of disappointment.
" What I thought to be a precious dewdrop is only a worthless diamond.
My throat is parched for want of water.
I must die of thirst!"
" Really?
The world will never get over your loss," cruelly sneered the Diamond.
But a sudden and noble resolve came to the Dewdrop.
Deeply did he repent his foolish wish.
_He could now lay down his life that the life of another might be saved! _
" May _I_ help you, please?"
he gently asked.
The Lark raised his drooping head.
" Oh, my precious, precious friend, if you will, you can save my life!"
" Open your mouth then."
And the Dewdrop slid from the blade of grass, tumbled into the parched beak, and was eagerly swallowed.
" Ah--well, well!"
pondered the Beetle as he continued his homeward way.
" I've been taught a lesson that I shall not easily forget.
Yes, yes!
Simple worth is far better than rank or wealth without modesty and unselfishness--and there is no _true_ beauty where these virtues are absent!"
[ The Adventures of Buster Bear by Thornton W. Burgess 1920 ]
BUSTER BEAR GOES FISHING
Buster Bear yawned as he lay on his comfortable bed of leaves and watched the first early morning sunbeams creeping through the Green Forest to chase out the Black Shadows.
Once more he yawned, and slowly got to his feet and shook himself.
Then he walked over to a big pine - tree, stood up on his hind legs, reached as high up on the trunk of the tree as he could, and scratched the bark with his great claws.
After that he yawned until it seemed as if his jaws would crack, and then sat down to think what he wanted for breakfast.
While he sat there, trying to make up his mind what would taste best, he was listening to the sounds that told of the waking of all the little people who live in the Green Forest.
He heard Sammy Jay way off in the distance screaming, " Thief!
Thief!"
and grinned.
" I wonder," thought Buster, " if some one has stolen Sammy's breakfast, or if he has stolen the breakfast of some one else.
Probably he is the thief himself."
He heard Chatterer the Red Squirrel scolding as fast as he could make his tongue go and working himself into a terrible rage.
" Must be that Chatterer got out of bed the wrong way this morning," thought he.
He heard Blacky the Crow cawing at the top of his lungs, and he knew by the sound that Blacky was getting into mischief of some kind.
He heard the sweet voices of happy little singers, and they were good to hear.
But most of all he listened to a merry, low, silvery laugh that never stopped but went on and on, until he just felt as if he must laugh too.
It was the voice of the Laughing Brook.
And as Buster listened it suddenly came to him just what he wanted for breakfast.
" I'm going fishing," said he in his deep grumbly - rumbly voice to no one in particular.
" Yes, Sir, I'm going fishing.
I want some fat trout for my breakfast."
He shuffled along over to the Laughing Brook, and straight to a little pool of which he knew, and as he drew near he took the greatest care not to make the teeniest, weeniest bit of noise.
Now it just happened that early as he was, some one was before Buster Bear.
When he came in sight of the little pool, who should he see but another fisherman there, who had already caught a fine fat trout.
Who was it?
Why, Little Joe Otter to be sure.
He was just climbing up the bank with the fat trout in his mouth.
Buster Bear's own mouth watered as he saw it.
Little Joe sat down on the bank and prepared to enjoy his breakfast.
He hadn't seen Buster Bear, and he didn't know that he or any one else was anywhere near.
Buster Bear tiptoed up very softly until he was right behind Little Joe Otter.
" Woof, woof!"
said he in his deepest, most grumbly - rumbly voice.
" That's a very fine looking trout.
I wouldn't mind if I had it myself."
Little Joe Otter gave a frightened squeal and without even turning to see who was speaking dropped his fish and dived headfirst into the Laughing Brook.
Buster Bear sprang forward and with one of his big paws caught the fat trout just as it was slipping back into the water.
" Here's your trout, Mr.
Otter," said he, as Little Joe put his head out of water to see who had frightened him so.
" Come and get it."
[ Illustration: " Here's your trout, Mr.
Otter," said he.
_Page 5. _ ]
But Little Joe wouldn't.
The fact is, he was afraid to.
He snarled at Buster Bear and called him a thief and everything bad he could think of.
Buster didn't seem to mind.
He chuckled as if he thought it all a great joke and repeated his invitation to Little Joe to come and get his fish.
But Little Joe just turned his back and went off down the Laughing Brook in a great rage.
" It's too bad to waste such a fine fish," said Buster thoughtfully.
" I wonder what I'd better do with it."
And while he was wondering, he ate it all up.
Then he started down the Laughing Brook to try to catch some for himself.
LITTLE JOE OTTER GETS EVEN WITH BUSTER BEAR
Little Joe Otter was in a terrible rage.
It was a bad beginning for a beautiful day and Little Joe knew it.
But who wouldn't be in a rage if his breakfast was taken from him just as he was about to eat it?
Anyway, that is what Little Joe told Billy Mink.
Perhaps he didn't tell it quite exactly as it was, but you know he was very badly frightened at the time.
" I was sitting on the bank of the Laughing Brook beside one of the little pools," he told Billy Mink, " and was just going to eat a fat trout I had caught, when who should come along but that great big bully, Buster Bear.
He took that fat trout away from me and ate it just as if it belonged to him!
I hate him!
If I live long enough I'm going to get even with him!"
Of course that wasn't nice talk and anything but a nice spirit, but Little Joe Otter's temper is sometimes pretty short, especially when he is hungry, and this time he had had no breakfast, you know.
Buster Bear hadn't actually taken the fish away from Little Joe.
But looking at the matter as Little Joe did, it amounted to the same thing.
You see, Buster knew perfectly well when he invited Little Joe to come back and get it that Little Joe wouldn't dare do anything of the kind.
" Where is he now?"
asked Billy Mink.
" He's somewhere up the Laughing Brook.
I wish he'd fall in and get drowned!"
snapped Little Joe.
Billy Mink just had to laugh.
The idea of great big Buster Bear getting drowned in the Laughing Brook was too funny.
There wasn't water enough in it anywhere except down in the Smiling Pool, and that was on the Green Meadows, where Buster had never been known to go.
" Let's go see what he is doing," said Billy Mink.
At first Little Joe didn't want to, but at last his curiosity got the better of his fear, and he agreed.
So the two little brown - coated scamps turned down the Laughing Brook, taking the greatest care to keep out of sight themselves.
They had gone only a little way when Billy Mink whispered: " Sh - h!
There he is."
Sure enough, there was Buster Bear sitting close beside a little pool and looking into it very intently.
" What's he doing?"
asked Little Joe Otter, as Buster Bear sat for the longest time without moving.
Just then one of Buster's big paws went into the water as quick as a flash and scooped out a trout that had ventured too near.
" He's fishing!"
exclaimed Billy Mink.
And that is just what Buster Bear was doing, and it was very plain to see that he was having great fun.
When he had eaten the trout he had caught, he moved along to the next little pool.
" They are _our_ fish!"
said Little Joe fiercely.
" He has no business catching _our_ fish!"
" I don't see how we are going to stop him," said Billy Mink.
" I do!"
cried Little Joe, into whose head an idea had just popped.
" I'm going to drive all the fish out of the little pools and muddy the water all up.
Then we'll see how many fish he will get!
Just you watch me get even with Buster Bear."
Little Joe slipped swiftly into the water and swam straight to the little pool that Buster Bear would try next.
He frightened the fish so that they fled in every direction.
Then he stirred up the mud until the water was so dirty that Buster couldn't have seen a fish right under his nose.
He did the same thing in the next pool and the next.
Buster Bear's fishing was spoiled for that day.
III
BUSTER BEAR IS GREATLY PUZZLED
Buster Bear hadn't enjoyed himself so much since he came to the Green Forest to live.
His fun began when he surprised Little Joe Otter on the bank of a little pool in the Laughing Brook and Little Joe was so frightened that he dropped a fat trout he had just caught.
It had seemed like a great joke to Buster Bear, and he had chuckled over it all the time he was eating the fat trout.
When he had finished it, he started on to do some fishing himself.
Presently he came to another little pool.
He stole up to it very, very softly, so as not to frighten the fish.
Then he sat down close to the edge of it and didn't move.
Buster learned a long time ago that a fisherman must be patient unless, like Little Joe Otter, he is just as much at home in the water as the fish themselves, and can swim fast enough to catch them by chasing them.
So he didn't move so much as an eye lash.
He was so still that he looked almost like the stump of an old tree.
Perhaps that is what the fish thought he was, for pretty soon, two or three swam right in close to where he was sitting.
Now Buster Bear may be big and clumsy looking, but there isn't anything that can move much quicker than one of those big paws of his when he wants it to.
One of them moved now, and quicker than a wink had scooped one of those foolish fish out on to the bank.
Buster's little eyes twinkled, and he smacked his lips as he moved on to the next little pool, for he knew that it was of no use to stay longer at the first one.
The fish were so frightened that they wouldn't come back for a long, long time.
At the next little pool the same thing happened.
By this time Buster Bear was in fine spirits.
It was fun to catch the fish, and it was still more fun to eat them.
What finer breakfast could any one have than fresh - caught trout?
No wonder he felt good!
But it takes more than three trout to fill Buster Bear's stomach, so he kept on to the next little pool.
But this little pool, instead of being beautiful and clear so that Buster could see right to the bottom of it and so tell if there were any fish there, was so muddy that he couldn't see into it at all.
It looked as if some one had just stirred up all the mud at the bottom.
" Huh!"
said Buster Bear.
" It's of no use to try to fish here.
I would just waste my time.
I'll try the next pool."
So he went on to the next little pool.
He found this just as muddy as the other.
Then he went on to another, and this was no better.
Buster sat down and scratched his head.
It was puzzling.
Yes, Sir, it was puzzling.
He looked this way and he looked that way suspiciously, but there was no one to be seen.
Everything was still save for the laughter of the Laughing Brook.
Somehow, it seemed to Buster as if the Brook were laughing at him.
" It's very curious," muttered Buster, " very curious indeed.
It looks as if my fishing is spoiled for to - day.
I don't understand it at all.
It's lucky I caught what I did.
It looks as if somebody is trying to--ha!"
A sudden thought had popped into his head.
Then he began to chuckle and finally to laugh.
" I do believe that scamp Joe Otter is trying to get even with me for eating that fat trout!"
And then, because Buster Bear always enjoys a good joke even when it is on himself, he laughed until he had to hold his sides, which is a whole lot better than going off in a rage as Little Joe Otter had done.
" You're pretty smart, Mr.
Otter!
You're pretty smart, but there are other people who are smart too," said Buster Bear, and still chuckling, he went off to think up a plan to get the best of Little Joe Otter.
LITTLE JOE OTTER SUPPLIES BUSTER BEAR WITH A BREAKFAST
Getting even just for spite Doesn't always pay.
Fact is, it is very apt To work the other way.
That is just how it came about that Little Joe Otter furnished Buster Bear with the best breakfast he had had for a long time.
He didn't mean to do it.
Oh, my, no!
The truth is, he thought all the time that he was preventing Buster Bear from getting a breakfast.
You see he wasn't well enough acquainted with Buster to know that Buster is quite as smart as he is, and perhaps a little bit smarter.
Spite and selfishness were at the bottom of it.
You see Little Joe and Billy Mink had had all the fishing in the Laughing Brook to themselves so long that they thought no one else had any right to fish there.
To be sure Bobby Coon caught a few little fish there, but they didn't mind Bobby.
Farmer Brown's boy fished there too, sometimes, and this always made Little Joe and Billy Mink very angry, but they were so afraid of him that they didn't dare do anything about it.
But when they discovered that Buster Bear was a fisherman, they made up their minds that something had got to be done.
At least, Little Joe did.
" He'll try it again to - morrow morning," said Little Joe.
" I'll keep watch, and as soon as I see him coming, I'll drive out all the fish, just as I did to - day.
I guess that'll teach him to let our fish alone."
So the next morning Little Joe hid before daylight close by the little pool where Buster Bear had given him such a fright.
Sure enough, just as the Jolly Sunbeams began to creep through the Green Forest, he saw Buster Bear coming straight over to the little pool.
Little Joe slipped into the water and chased all the fish out of the little pool, and stirred up the mud on the bottom so that the water was so muddy that the bottom couldn't be seen at all.
Then he hurried down to the next little pool and did the same thing.
Now Buster Bear is very smart.
You know he had guessed the day before who had spoiled his fishing.
So this morning he only went far enough to make sure that if Little Joe were watching for him, as he was sure he would be, he would see him coming.
Then, instead of keeping on to the little pool, he hurried to a place way down the Laughing Brook, where the water was very shallow, hardly over his feet, and there he sat chuckling to himself.
Things happened just as he had expected.
The frightened fish Little Joe chased out of the little pools up above swam down the Laughing Brook, because, you know, Little Joe was behind them, and there was nowhere else for them to go.
When they came to the place where Buster was waiting, all he had to do was to scoop them out on to the bank.
It was great fun.
It didn't take Buster long to catch all the fish he could eat.
Then he saved a nice fat trout and waited.
By and by along came Little Joe Otter, chuckling to think how he had spoiled Buster Bear's fishing.
He was so intent on looking behind him to see if Buster was coming that he didn't see Buster waiting there until he spoke.
" I'm much obliged for the fine breakfast you have given me," said Buster in his deepest, most grumbly - rumbly voice.
" I've saved a fat trout for you to make up for the one I ate yesterday.
I hope we'll go fishing together often."
Then he went off laughing fit to kill himself.
Little Joe couldn't find a word to say.
He was so surprised and angry that he went off by himself and sulked.
And Billy Mink, who had been watching, ate the fat trout.
GRANDFATHER FROG'S COMMON - SENSE
There is nothing quite like common sense to smooth out troubles.
People who have plenty of just plain common sense are often thought to be very wise.
Their neighbors look up to them and are forever running to them for advice, and they are very much respected.
That is the way with Grandfather Frog.
He is very old and very wise.
Anyway, that is what his neighbors think.
The truth is, he simply has a lot of common sense, which after all is the very best kind of wisdom.
Billy Mink stopped long enough to eat the fat fish Buster had left on the bank and then he too went down to the Smiling Pool.
When Little Joe Otter and Billy Mink reached the Smiling Pool, they climbed up on the Big Rock, and there Little Joe sulked and sulked, until finally Grandfather Frog asked what the matter was.
Little Joe wouldn't tell, but Billy Mink told the whole story.
When he told how Buster had been too smart for Little Joe, it tickled him so that Billy had to laugh in spite of himself.
So did Grandfather Frog.
So did Jerry Muskrat, who had been listening.
Of course this made Little Joe angrier than ever.
He said a lot of unkind things about Buster Bear and about Billy Mink and Grandfather Frog and Jerry Muskrat, because they had laughed at the smartness of Buster.
" He's nothing but a great big bully and thief!"
declared Little Joe.
" Chug - a - rum!
He may be a bully, because great big people are very apt to be bullies, and though I haven't seen him, I guess Buster Bear is big enough from all I have heard, but I don't see how he is a thief," said Grandfather Frog.
" Didn't he catch my fish and eat them?"
snapped Little Joe.
" Doesn't that make him a thief?"
" They were no more your fish than mine," protested Billy Mink.
" Well, _our_ fish, then!
He stole _our_ fish, if you like that any better.
That makes him just as much a thief, doesn't it?"
growled Little Joe.
Grandfather Frog looked up at jolly, round, bright Mr. Sun and slowly winked one of his great, goggly eyes.
" There comes a foolish green fly," said he.
" Who does he belong to?"
" Nobody!"
snapped Little Joe.
" What have foolish green flies got to do with my--I mean _our_ fish?"
" Nothing, nothing at all," replied Grandfather Frog mildly.
" I was just hoping that he would come near enough for me to snap him up; then he would belong to me.
As long as he doesn't, he doesn't belong to any one.
I suppose that if Buster Bear should happen along and catch him, he would be stealing from me, according to Little Joe."
" Of course not!
What a silly idea!
You're getting foolish in your old age," retorted Little Joe.
" Can you tell me the difference between the fish that you haven't caught and the foolish green flies that I haven't caught?"
asked Grandfather Frog.
Little Joe couldn't find a word to say.
" You take my advice, Little Joe Otter," continued Grandfather Frog, " and always make friends with those who are bigger and stronger and smarter than you are.
You'll find it pays."
[ Illustration: " You take my advice, Little Joe Otter," continued Grandfather Frog.
_Page 26. _ ]
LITTLE JOE OTTER TAKES GRANDFATHER FROG'S ADVICE
Who makes an enemy a friend, To fear and worry puts an end.
Little Joe Otter found that out when he took Grandfather Frog's advice.
He wouldn't have admitted that he was afraid of Buster Bear.
No one ever likes to admit being afraid, least of all Little Joe Otter.
And really Little Joe has a great deal of courage.
Very few of the little people of the Green Forest or the Green Meadows would willingly quarrel with him, for Little Joe is a great fighter when he has to fight.
As for all those who live in or along the Laughing Brook or in the Smiling Pool, they let Little Joe have his own way in everything.
Now having one's own way too much is a bad thing.
It is apt to make one selfish and thoughtless of other people and very hard to get along with.
Little Joe Otter had his way too much.
Grandfather Frog knew it and shook his head very soberly when Little Joe had been disrespectful to him.
" Too bad.
Too bad!
Too bad!
Chug - a - rum!
It is too bad that such a fine young fellow as Little Joe should spoil a good disposition by such selfish heedlessness.
Too bad," said he.
So, though he didn't let on that it was so, Grandfather Frog really was delighted when he heard how Buster Bear had been too smart for Little Joe Otter.
It tickled him so that he had hard work to keep a straight face.
But he did and was as grave and solemn as you please as he advised Little Joe always to make friends with any one who was bigger and stronger and smarter than he.
That was good common sense advice, but Little Joe just sniffed and went off declaring that he would get even with Buster Bear yet.
By and by he grinned.
It was a little sheepish grin at first, but at last it grew into a laugh.
" I believe," said Little Joe as he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, " that Grandfather Frog is right, and that the best thing I can do is to make friends with Buster Bear.
I'll try it to - morrow morning."
So very early the next morning Little Joe Otter went to the best fishing pool he knew of in the Laughing Brook, and there he caught the biggest trout he could find.
It was so big and fat that it made Little Joe's mouth water, for you know fat trout are his favorite food.
But he didn't take so much as one bite.
Instead he carefully laid it on an old log where Buster Bear would be sure to see it if he should come along that way.
Then he hid near by, where he could watch.
Buster was late that morning.
It seemed to Little Joe that he never would come.
Once he nearly lost the fish.
He had turned his head for just a minute, and when he looked back again, the trout was nowhere to be seen.
Buster couldn't have stolen up and taken it, because such a big fellow couldn't possibly have gotten out of sight again.
Little Joe darted over to the log and looked on the other side.
There was the fat trout, and there also was Little Joe's smallest cousin, Shadow the Weasel, who is a great thief and altogether bad.
Little Joe sprang at him angrily, but Shadow was too quick and darted away.
Little Joe put the fish back on the log and waited.
This time he didn't take his eyes off it.
At last, when he was almost ready to give up, he saw Buster Bear shuffling along towards the Laughing Brook.
Suddenly Buster stopped and sniffed.
One of the Merry Little Breezes had carried the scent of that fat trout over to him.
Then he came straight over to where the fish lay, his nose wrinkling, and his eyes twinkling with pleasure.
" Now I wonder who was so thoughtful as to leave this fine breakfast ready for me," said he out loud.
" Me," said Little Joe in a rather faint voice.
" I caught it especially for you."
" Thank you," replied Buster, and his eyes twinkled more than ever.
" I think we are going to be friends."
" I--I hope so," replied Little Joe.
VII
FARMER BROWN'S BOY HAS NO LUCK AT ALL
Farmer Brown's boy tramped through the Green Forest, whistling merrily.
He always whistles when he feels light - hearted, and he always feels light - hearted when he goes fishing.
You see, he is just as fond of fishing as is Little Joe Otter or Billy Mink or Buster Bear.
And now he was making his way through the Green Forest to the Laughing Brook, sure that by the time he had followed it down to the Smiling Pool he would have a fine lot of trout to take home.
He knew every pool in the Laughing Brook where the trout love to hide, did Farmer Brown's boy, and it was just the kind of a morning when the trout should be hungry.
So he whistled as he tramped along, and his whistle was good to hear.
When he reached the first little pool he baited his hook very carefully and then, taking the greatest care to keep out of sight of any trout that might be in the little pool, he began to fish.
Now Farmer Brown's boy learned a long time ago that to be a successful fisherman one must have a great deal of patience, so though he didn't get a bite right away as he had expected to, he wasn't the least bit discouraged.
He kept very quiet and fished and fished, patiently waiting for a foolish trout to take his hook.
But he didn't get so much as a nibble.
" Either the trout have lost their appetite or they have grown very wise," muttered Farmer Brown's boy, as after a long time he moved on to the next little pool.
There the same thing happened.
He was very patient, very, very patient, but his patience brought no reward, not so much as the faintest kind of a nibble.
Farmer Brown's boy trudged on to the next pool, and there was a puzzled frown on his freckled face.
Such a thing never had happened before.
He didn't know what to make of it.
All the night before he had dreamed about the delicious dinner of fried trout he would have the next day, and now--well, if he didn't catch some trout pretty soon, that splendid dinner would never be anything but a dream.
" If I didn't know that nobody else comes fishing here, I should think that somebody had been here this very morning and caught all the fish or else frightened them so that they are all in hiding," said he, as he trudged on to the next little pool.
" I never had such bad luck in all my life before.
Hello!
What's this?"
There, on the bank beside the little pool, were the heads of three trout.
Farmer Brown's boy scowled down at them more puzzled than ever.
" Somebody _has_ been fishing here, and they have had better luck than I have," thought he.
He looked up the Laughing Brook and down the Laughing Brook and this way and that way, but no one was to be seen.
Then he picked up one of the little heads and looked at it sharply.
" It wasn't cut off with a knife; it was bitten off!"
he exclaimed.
" I wonder now if Billy Mink is the scamp who has spoiled my fun."
Thereafter he kept a sharp lookout for signs of Billy Mink, but though he found two or three more trout heads, he saw no other signs and he caught no fish.
This puzzled him more than ever.
It didn't seem possible that such a little fellow as Billy Mink could have caught or frightened all the fish or have eaten so many.
Besides, he didn't remember ever having known Billy to leave heads around that way.
Billy sometimes catches more fish than he can eat, but then he usually hides them.
The farther he went down the Laughing Brook, the more puzzled Farmer Brown's boy grew.
It made him feel very queer.
He would have felt still more queer if he had known that all the time two other fishermen who had been before him were watching him and chuckling to themselves.
They were Little Joe Otter and Buster Bear.
VIII
FARMER BROWN'S BOY FEELS HIS HAIR RISE
' Twas just a sudden odd surprise Made Farmer Brown's boy's hair to rise.
That's a funny thing for hair to do--rise up all of a sudden--isn't it?
But that is just what the hair on Farmer Brown's boy's head did the day he went fishing in the Laughing Brook and had no luck at all.
There are just two things that make hair rise--anger and fear.
Anger sometimes makes the hair on the back and neck of Bowser the Hound and of some other little people bristle and stand up, and you know the hair on the tail of Black Pussy stands on end until her tail looks twice as big as it really is.
Both anger and fear make it do that.
But there is only one thing that can make the hair on the head of Farmer Brown's boy rise, and as it isn't anger, of course it must be fear.
It never had happened before.
You see, there isn't much of anything that Farmer Brown's boy is really afraid of.
Perhaps he wouldn't have been afraid this time if it hadn't been for the surprise of what he found.
Anyway, that is what he said when he told about it afterward.
What was it he saw?
What do you think?
Why, it was a footprint in the soft mud.
Yes, Sir, that's what it was, and all it was.
But it was the biggest footprint Farmer Brown's boy ever had seen, and it looked as if it had been made only a few minutes before.
It was the footprint of Buster Bear.
Now Farmer Brown's boy didn't know that Buster Bear had come down to the Green Forest to live.
He never had heard of a Bear being in the Green Forest.
And so he was so surprised that he had hard work to believe his own eyes, and he had a queer feeling all over,-- a little chilly feeling, although it was a warm day.
Somehow, he didn't feel like meeting Buster Bear.
If he had had his terrible gun with him, it might have been different.
But he didn't, and so he suddenly made up his mind that he didn't want to fish any more that day.
He had a funny feeling, too, that he was being watched, although he couldn't see any one.
He _was_ being watched.
Little Joe Otter and Buster Bear were watching him and taking the greatest care to keep out of his sight.
All the way home through the Green Forest, Farmer Brown's boy kept looking behind him, and he didn't draw a long breath until he reached the edge of the Green Forest.
He hadn't run, but he had wanted to.
" Huh!"
said Buster Bear to Little Joe Otter, " I believe he was afraid!"
And Buster Bear was just exactly right.
LITTLE JOE OTTER HAS GREAT NEWS TO TELL
Little Joe Otter was fairly bursting with excitement.
He could hardly contain himself.
He felt that he had the greatest news to tell since Peter Rabbit had first found the tracks of Buster Bear in the Green Forest.
He couldn't keep it to himself a minute longer than he had to.
So he hurried to the Smiling Pool, where he was sure he would find Billy Mink and Jerry Muskrat and Grandfather Frog and Spotty the Turtle, and he hoped that perhaps some of the little people who live in the Green Forest might be there too.
Sure enough, Peter Rabbit was there on one side of the Smiling Pool, making faces at Reddy Fox, who was on the other side, which, of course, was not at all nice of Peter.
Mr. and Mrs. Redwing were there, and Blacky the Crow was sitting in the Big Hickory - tree.
Little Joe Otter swam straight to the Big Rock and climbed up to the very highest part.
He looked so excited, and his eyes sparkled so, that every one knew right away that something had happened.
" Hi!"
cried Billy Mink.
" Look at Little Joe Otter!
It must be that for once he has been smarter than Buster Bear."
Little Joe made a good - natured face at Billy Mink and shook his head.
" No, Billy," said he, " you are wrong, altogether wrong.
I don't believe anybody can be smarter than Buster Bear."
[ Illustration: Reddy glared across the Smiling Pool at Peter.
_Page 45. _ ]
Reddy Fox rolled his lips back in an unpleasant grin.
" Don't be too sure of that!"
he snapped.
" I'm not through with him yet."
" Boaster!
Boaster!"
cried Peter Rabbit.
Reddy glared across the Smiling Pool at Peter.
" I'm not through with you either, Peter Rabbit!"
he snarled.
" You'll find it out one of these fine days!"
" Reddy, Reddy, smart and sly, Couldn't catch a buzzing fly!"
taunted Peter.
" Chug - a - rum!"
said Grandfather Frog in his deepest, gruffest voice.
" We know all about that.
What we want to know is what Little Joe Otter has got on his mind."
" It's news--great news!"
cried Little Joe.
" We can tell better how great it is when we hear what it is," replied Grandfather Frog testily.
" What is it?"
Little Joe Otter looked around at all the eager faces watching him, and then in the slowest, most provoking way, he drawled: " Farmer Brown's boy is afraid of Buster Bear."
For a minute no one said a word.
Then Blacky the Crow leaned down from his perch in the Big Hickory - tree and looked very hard at Little Joe as he said:
" I don't believe it.
I don't believe a word of it.
Farmer Brown's boy isn't afraid of any one who lives in the Green Forest or on the Green Meadows or in the Smiling Pool, and you know it.
We are all afraid of him."
Little Joe glared back at Blacky.
" I don't care whether you believe it or not; it's true," he retorted.
Then he told how early that very morning he and Buster Bear had been fishing together in the Laughing Brook, and how Farmer Brown's boy had been fishing there too, and hadn't caught a single trout because they had all been caught or frightened before he got there.
Then he told how Farmer Brown's boy had found a footprint of Buster Bear in the soft mud, and how he had stopped fishing right away and started for home, looking behind him with fear in his eyes all the way.
" Now tell me that he isn't afraid!"
concluded Little Joe.
" For once he knows just how we feel when he comes prowling around where we are.
Isn't that great news?
Now we'll get even with _him_!"
" I'll believe it when I see it for myself!"
snapped Blacky the Crow.
BUSTER BEAR BECOMES A HERO
The news that Little Joe Otter told at the Smiling Pool,-- how Farmer Brown's boy had run away from Buster Bear without even seeing him,-- soon spread all over the Green Meadows and through the Green Forest, until every one who lives there knew about it.
Of course, Peter Rabbit helped spread it.
Trust Peter for that!
But everybody else helped too.
You see, they had all been afraid of Farmer Brown's boy for so long that they were tickled almost to pieces at the very thought of having some one in the Green Forest who could make Farmer Brown's boy feel fear as they had felt it.
And so it was that Buster Bear became a hero right away to most of them.
A few doubted Little Joe's story.
One of them was Blacky the Crow.
Another was Reddy Fox.
Blacky doubted because he knew Farmer Brown's boy so well that he couldn't imagine him afraid.
Reddy doubted because he didn't want to believe.
You see, he was jealous of Buster Bear, and at the same time he was afraid of him.
So Reddy pretended not to believe a word of what Little Joe Otter had said, and he agreed with Blacky that only by seeing Farmer Brown's boy afraid could he ever be made to believe it.
But nearly everybody else believed it, and there was great rejoicing.
Most of them were afraid of Buster, very much afraid of him, because he was so big and strong.
But they were still more afraid of Farmer Brown's boy, because they didn't know him or understand him, and because in the past he had tried to catch some of them in traps and had hunted some of them with his terrible gun.
So now they were very proud to think that one of their own number actually had frightened him, and they began to look on Buster Bear as a real hero.
They tried in ever so many ways to show him how friendly they felt and went quite out of their way to do him favors.
Whenever they met one another, all they could talk about was the smartness and the greatness of Buster Bear.
" Now I guess Farmer Brown's boy will keep away from the Green Forest, and we won't have to be all the time watching out for him," said Bobby Coon, as he washed his dinner in the Laughing Brook, for you know he is very neat and particular.
" And he won't dare set any more traps for me," gloated Billy Mink.
" Ah wish Brer Bear would go up to Farmer Brown's henhouse and scare Farmer Brown's boy so that he would keep away from there.
It would be a favor to me which Ah cert'nly would appreciate," said Unc'Billy Possum when he heard the news.
" Let's all go together and tell Buster Bear how much obliged we are for what he has done," proposed Jerry Muskrat.
" That's a splendid idea!"
cried Little Joe Otter.
" We'll do it right away."
" Caw, caw caw!"
broke in Blacky the Crow.
" I say, let's wait and see for ourselves if it is all true."
" Of course it's true!"
snapped Little Joe Otter.
" Don't you believe I'm telling the truth?"
" Certainly, certainly.
Of course no one doubts your word," replied Blacky, with the utmost politeness.
" But you say yourself that Farmer Brown's boy didn't see Buster Bear, but only his footprint.
Perhaps he didn't know whose it was, and if he had he wouldn't have been afraid.
Now I've got a plan by which we can see for ourselves if he really is afraid of Buster Bear."
" What is it?"
asked Sammy Jay eagerly.
Blacky the Crow shook his head and winked.
" That's telling," said he.
" I want to think it over.
If you meet me at the Big Hickory - tree at sun - up to - morrow morning, and get everybody else to come that you can, perhaps I will tell you."
BLACKY THE CROW TELLS HIS PLAN
Blacky is a dreamer!
Blacky is a schemer!
His voice is strong; When things go wrong Blacky is a screamer!
It's a fact.
Blacky the Crow is forever dreaming and scheming and almost always it is of mischief.
He is one of the smartest and cleverest of all the little people of the Green Meadows and the Green Forest, and all the others know it.
Blacky likes excitement.
He wants something going on.
The more exciting it is, the better he likes it.
Then he has a chance to use that harsh voice of his, and how he does use it!
So now, as he sat in the top of the Big Hickory - tree beside the Smiling Pool and looked down on all the little people gathered there, he was very happy.
In the first place he felt very important, and you know Blacky dearly loves to feel important.
They had all come at his invitation to listen to a plan for seeing for themselves if it were really true that Farmer Brown's boy was afraid of Buster Bear.
On the Big Rock in the Smiling Pool sat Little Joe Otter, Billy Mink, and Jerry Muskrat.
On his big, green lily - pad sat Grandfather Frog.
On another lily - pad sat Spotty the Turtle.
On the bank on one side of the Smiling Pool were Peter Rabbit, Jumper the Hare, Danny Meadow Mouse, Johnny Chuck, Jimmy Skunk, Unc'Billy Possum, Striped Chipmunk and Old Mr. Toad.
On the other side of the Smiling Pool were Reddy Fox, Digger the Badger, and Bobby Coon.
In the Big Hickory - tree were Chatterer the Red Squirrel, Happy Jack the Gray Squirrel, and Sammy Jay.
Blacky waited until he was sure that no one else was coming.
Then he cleared his throat very loudly and began to speak.
" Friends," said he.
Everybody grinned, for Blacky has played so many sharp tricks that no one is really his friend unless it is that other mischief - maker, Sammy Jay, who, you know, is Blacky's cousin.
But no one said anything, and Blacky went on.
" Little Joe Otter has told us how he saw Farmer Brown's boy hurry home when he found the footprint of Buster Bear on the edge of the Laughing Brook, and how all the way he kept looking behind him, as if he were afraid.
Perhaps he was, and then again perhaps he wasn't.
Perhaps he had something else on his mind.
You have made a hero of Buster Bear, because you believe Little Joe's story.
Now I don't say that I don't believe it, but I do say that I will be a lot more sure that Farmer Brown's boy is afraid of Buster when I see him run away myself.
Now here is my plan:
" To - morrow morning, very early, Sammy Jay and I will make a great fuss near the edge of the Green Forest.
Farmer Brown's boy has a lot of curiosity, and he will be sure to come over to see what it is all about.
Then we will lead him to where Buster Bear is.
If he runs away, I will be the first to admit that Buster Bear is as great a hero as some of you seem to think he is.
It is a very simple plan, and if you will all hide where you can watch, you will be able to see for yourselves if Little Joe Otter is right.
Now what do you say?"
Right away everybody began to talk at the same time.
It was such a simple plan that everybody agreed to it.
And it promised to be so exciting that everybody promised to be there, that is, everybody but Grandfather Frog and Spotty the Turtle, who didn't care to go so far away from the Smiling Pool.
So it was agreed that Blacky should try his plan the very next morning.
XII
FARMER BROWN'S BOY AND BUSTER BEAR GROW CURIOUS
Ever since it was light enough to see at all, Blacky the Crow had been sitting in the top of the tallest tree on the edge of the Green Forest nearest to Farmer Brown's house, and never for an instant had he taken his eyes from Farmer Brown's back door.
What was he watching for?
Why, for Farmer Brown's boy to come out on his way to milk the cows.
Meanwhile, Sammy Jay was slipping silently through the Green Forest, looking for Buster Bear, so that when the time came he could let his cousin, Blacky the Crow, know just where Buster was.
By and by the back door of Farmer Brown's house opened, and out stepped Farmer Brown's boy.
In each hand he carried a milk pail.
Right away Blacky began to scream at the top of his lungs.
" Caw, caw, caw!"
shouted Blacky.
" Caw, caw, caw!"
And all the time he flew about among the trees near the edge of the Green Forest as if so excited that he couldn't keep still.
Farmer Brown's boy looked over there as if he wondered what all that fuss was about, as indeed he did, but he didn't start to go over and see.
No, Sir, he started straight for the barn.
Blacky didn't know what to make of it.
You see, smart as he is and shrewd as he is, Blacky doesn't know anything about the meaning of duty, for he never has to work excepting to get enough to eat.
So, when Farmer Brown's boy started for the barn instead of for the Green Forest, Blacky didn't know what to make of it.
He screamed harder and louder than ever, until his voice grew so hoarse he couldn't scream any more, but Farmer Brown's boy kept right on to the barn.
" I'd like to know what you're making such a fuss about, Mr. Crow, but I've got to feed the cows and milk them first," said he.
Now all this time the other little people of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows had been hiding where they could see all that went on.
When Farmer Brown's boy disappeared in the barn, Chatterer the Red Squirrel snickered right out loud.
" Ha, ha, ha!
This is a great plan of yours, Blacky!
Ha, ha, ha!"
he shouted.
Blacky couldn't find a word to say.
He just hung his head, which is something Blacky seldom does.
" Perhaps if we wait until he comes out again, he will come over here," said Sammy Jay, who had joined Blacky.
So it was decided to wait.
It seemed as if Farmer Brown's boy never would come out, but at last he did.
Blacky and Sammy Jay at once began to scream and make all the fuss they could.
Farmer Brown's boy took the two pails of milk into the house, then out he came and started straight for the Green Forest.
He was so curious to know what it all meant that he couldn't wait another minute.
Now there was some one else with a great deal of curiosity also.
He had heard the screaming of Blacky the Crow and Sammy Jay, and he had listened until he couldn't stand it another minute.
He just _had_ to know what it was all about.
So at the same time Farmer Brown's boy started for the Green Forest, this other listener started towards the place where Blacky and Sammy were making such a racket.
He walked very softly so as not to make a sound.
It was Buster Bear.
XIII
FARMER BROWN'S BOY AND BUSTER BEAR MEET
If you should meet with Buster Bear While walking through the wood, What would you do?
Now tell me true, _I'd_ run the best I could.
That is what Farmer Brown's boy did when he met Buster Bear, and a lot of the little people of the Green Forest and some from the Green Meadows saw him.
Farmer Brown had laughed and laughed.
" Why," said he, " there hasn't been a Bear in the Green Forest for years and years and years, not since my own grandfather was a little boy, and that, you know, was a long, long, long time ago.
If you want to find Mr. Bear, you will have to go to the Great Woods.
I don't know who made that footprint, but it certainly couldn't have been a Bear.
I think you must have imagined it."
Then he had laughed some more, all of which goes to show how easy it is to be mistaken, and how foolish it is to laugh at things you really don't know about.
Buster Bear _had_ come to live in the Green Forest, and Farmer Brown's boy _had_ seen his footprint.
But Farmer Brown laughed so much and made fun of him so much, that at last his boy began to think that he must have been mistaken after all.
So when he heard Blacky the Crow and Sammy Jay making a great fuss near the edge of the Green Forest, he never once thought of Buster Bear, as he started over to see what was going on.
When Blacky and Sammy saw him coming, they moved a little farther in to the Green Forest, still screaming in the most excited way.
They felt sure that Farmer Brown's boy would follow them, and they meant to lead him to where Sammy had seen Buster Bear that morning.
Then they would find out for sure if what Little Joe Otter had said was true,-- that Farmer Brown's boy really was afraid of Buster Bear.
Now all around, behind trees and stumps, and under thick branches, and even in tree tops, were other little people watching with round, wide - open eyes to see what would happen.
It was very exciting, the most exciting thing they could remember.
You see, they had come to believe that Farmer Brown's boy wasn't afraid of anybody or anything, and as most of them were very much afraid of him, they had hard work to believe that he would really be afraid of even such a great, big, strong fellow as Buster Bear.
Every one was so busy watching Farmer Brown's boy that no one saw Buster coming from the other direction.
You see, Buster walked very softly.
Big as he is, he can walk without making the teeniest, weeniest sound.
And that is how it happened that no one saw him or heard him until just as Farmer Brown's boy stepped out from behind one side of a thick little hemlock - tree, Buster Bear stepped out from behind the other side of that same little tree, and there they were face to face!
Then everybody held their breath, even Blacky the Crow and Sammy Jay.
For just a little minute it was so still there in the Green Forest that not the least little sound could be heard.
What was going to happen?
XIV
A SURPRISING THING HAPPENS
Blacky the Crow and Sammy Jay, looking down from the top of a tall tree, held their breath.
Happy Jack the Gray Squirrel and his cousin, Chatterer the Red Squirrel, looking down from another tree, held _their_ breath.
Unc'Billy Possum, sticking his head out from a hollow tree, held _his_ breath.
Bobby Coon, looking through a hole in a hollow stump in which he was hiding, held _his_ breath.
Reddy Fox, lying flat down behind a heap of brush, held _his_ breath.
Peter Rabbit, sitting bolt upright under a thick hemlock branch, with eyes and ears wide open, held _his_ breath.
And all the other little people who happened to be where they could see did the same thing.
You see, it was the most exciting moment ever was in the Green Forest.
Farmer Brown's boy had just stepped out from behind one side of a little hemlock - tree and Buster Bear had just stepped out from behind the opposite side of the little hemlock - tree and neither had known that the other was anywhere near.
For a whole minute they stood there face to face, gazing into each other's eyes, while everybody watched and waited, and it seemed as if the whole Green Forest was holding its breath.
Then something happened.
Yes, Sir, something happened.
Farmer Brown's boy opened his mouth and yelled!
It was such a sudden yell and such a loud yell that it startled Chatterer so that he nearly fell from his place in the tree, and it made Reddy Fox jump to his feet ready to run.
And that yell was a yell of fright.
There was no doubt about it, for with the yell Farmer Brown's boy turned and ran for home, as no one ever had seen him run before.
He ran just as Peter Rabbit runs when he has got to reach the dear Old Briar - patch before Reddy Fox can catch him, which, you know, is as fast as he can run.
Once he stumbled and fell, but he scrambled to his feet in a twinkling, and away he went without once turning his head to see if Buster Bear was after him.
There wasn't any doubt that he was afraid, very much afraid.
Everybody leaned forward to watch him.
" What did I tell you?
Didn't I say that he was afraid of Buster Bear?"
cried Little Joe Otter, dancing about with excitement.
" You were right, Little Joe!
I'm sorry that I doubted it.
See him go!
Caw, caw, caw!"
shrieked Blacky the Crow.
For a minute or two everybody forgot about Buster Bear.
Then there was a great crash which made everybody turn to look the other way.
What do you think they saw?
Why, Buster Bear was running away too, and he was running twice as fast as Farmer Brown's boy!
He bumped into trees and crashed through bushes and jumped over logs, and in almost no time at all he was out of sight.
Altogether it was the most surprising thing that the little people of the Green Forest ever had seen.
[ Illustration: Buster Bear was running away, too.
Page _71_.]
Then Little Joe gave a funny little gasp.
" Why, why - e - e!"
said he, " I believe Buster Bear is afraid too!"
Unc'Billy Possum chuckled.
" Ah believe yo'are right again, Brer Otter," said he.
" It cert'nly does look so.
If Brer Bear isn't scared, he must have remembered something impo'tant and has gone to attend to it in a powerful hurry."
Then everybody began to laugh.
BUSTER BEAR IS A FALLEN HERO
A fallen hero is some one to whom every one has looked up as very brave and then proves to be less brave than he was supposed to be.
That was the way with Buster Bear.
When Little Joe Otter had told how Farmer Brown's boy had been afraid at the mere sight of one of Buster Bear's big footprints, they had at once made a hero of Buster.
At least some of them had.
As this was the first time, the very first time, that they had ever known any one who lives in the Green Forest to make Farmer Brown's boy run away, they looked on Buster Bear with a great deal of respect and were very proud of him.
But now they had seen Buster Bear and Farmer Brown's boy meet face to face; and while it was true that Farmer Brown's boy had run away as fast as ever he could, it was also true that Buster Bear had done the same thing.
He had run even faster than Farmer Brown's boy, and had hidden in the most lonely place he could find in the very deepest part of the Green Forest.
It was hard to believe, but it was true.
And right away everybody lost a great deal of the respect for Buster which they had felt.
It is always that way.
They began to say unkind things about him.
They said them among themselves, and some of them even said them to Buster when they met him, or said them so that he would hear them.
Of course Blacky the Crow and Sammy Jay, who, because they can fly, have nothing to fear from Buster, and who always delight in making other people uncomfortable, never let a chance go by to tell Buster and everybody else within hearing what they thought of him.
They delighted in flying about through the Green Forest until they had found Buster Bear and then from the safety of the tree tops screaming at him.
" Buster Bear is big and strong; His teeth are big; his claws are long; In spite of these he runs away And hides himself the livelong day!"
A dozen times a day Buster would hear them screaming this.
He would grind his teeth and glare up at them, but that was all he could do.
He couldn't get at them.
He just had to stand it and do nothing.
But when impudent little Chatterer the Red Squirrel shouted the same thing from a place just out of reach in a big pine - tree, Buster could stand it no longer.
He gave a deep, angry growl that made little shivers run over Chatterer, and then suddenly he started up that tree after Chatterer.
With a frightened little shriek Chatterer scampered to the top of the tree.
He hadn't known that Buster could climb.
But Buster is a splendid climber, especially when the tree is big and stout as this one was, and now he went up after Chatterer, growling angrily.
How Chatterer did wish that he had kept his tongue still!
He ran to the very top of the tree, so frightened that his teeth chattered, and when he looked down and saw Buster's great mouth coming nearer and nearer, he nearly tumbled down with terror.
The worst of it was there wasn't another tree near enough for him to jump to.
He was in trouble this time, was Chatterer, sure enough!
And there was no one to help him.
XVI
CHATTERER THE RED SQUIRREL JUMPS FOR HIS LIFE
It isn't very often that Chatterer the Red Squirrel knows fear.
That is one reason that he is so often impudent and saucy.
But once in a while a great fear takes possession of him, as when he knows that Shadow the Weasel is looking for him.
You see, he knows that Shadow can go wherever he can go.
There are very few of the little people of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows who do not know fear at some time or other, but it comes to Chatterer as seldom as to any one, because he is very sure of himself and his ability to hide or run away from danger.
If only he had kept his tongue still instead of saying hateful things to Buster Bear!
If only he had known that Buster could climb a tree!
If only he had chosen a tree near enough to other trees for him to jump across!
But he _had_ said hateful things, he _had_ chosen to sit in a tree which stood quite by itself, and Buster Bear _could_ climb!
Chatterer was in the worst kind of trouble, and there was no one to blame but himself.
That is usually the case with those who get into trouble.
Nearer and nearer came Buster Bear, and deeper and angrier sounded his voice.
Chatterer gave a little frightened gasp and looked this way and looked that way.
What should he do?
What _could_ he do!
The ground seemed a terrible distance below.
If only he had wings like Sammy Jay!
But he hadn't.
" Gr - r - r - r!"
growled Buster Bear.
" I'll teach you manners!
I'll teach you to treat your betters with respect!
I'll swallow you whole, that's what I'll do.
Gr - r - r - r!"
" Oh!"
cried Chatterer.
" Gr - r - r - r!
I'll eat you all up to the last hair on your tail!"
growled Buster, scrambling a little nearer.
" Oh!
Oh!"
cried Chatterer, and ran out to the very tip of the little branch to which he had been clinging.
Now if Chatterer had only known it, Buster Bear couldn't reach him way up there, because the tree was too small at the top for such a big fellow as Buster.
But Chatterer didn't think of that.
He gave one more frightened look down at those big teeth, then he shut his eyes and jumped--jumped straight out for the far - away ground.
It was a long, long, long way down to the ground, and it certainly looked as if such a little fellow as Chatterer must be killed.
But Chatterer had learned from Old Mother Nature that she had given him certain things to help him at just such times, and one of them is the power to spread himself very flat.
He did it now.
He spread his arms and legs out just as far as he could, and that kept him from falling as fast and as hard as he otherwise would have done, because being spread out so flat that way, the air held him up a little.
And then there was his tail, that funny little tail he is so fond of jerking when he scolds.
This helped him too.
It helped him keep his balance and keep from turning over and over.
Down, down, down he sailed and landed on his feet.
Of course, he hit the ground pretty hard, and for just a second he quite lost his breath.
But it was only for a second, and then he was scurrying off as fast as a frightened Squirrel could.
Buster Bear watched him and grinned.
" I didn't catch him that time," he growled, " but I guess I gave him a good fright and taught him a lesson."
XVII
BUSTER BEAR GOES BERRYING
Buster Bear is a great hand to talk to himself when he thinks no one is around to overhear.
It's a habit.
However, it isn't a bad habit unless it is carried too far.
Any habit becomes bad, if it is carried too far.
Suppose you had a secret, a real secret, something that nobody else knew and that you didn't want anybody else to know.
And suppose you had the habit of talking to yourself.
You might, without thinking, you know, tell that secret out loud to yourself, and some one might, just might happen to overhear!
Then there wouldn't be any secret.
That is the way that a habit which isn't bad in itself can become bad when it is carried too far.
Now Buster Bear had lived by himself in the Great Woods so long that this habit of talking to himself had grown and grown.
He did it just to keep from being lonesome.
Of course, when he came down to the Green Forest to live, he brought all his habits with him.
That is one thing about habits,-- you always take them with you wherever you go.
So Buster brought this habit of talking to himself down to the Green Forest, where he had many more neighbors than he had in the Great Woods.
" Let me see, let me see, what is there to tempt my appetite?"
said Buster in his deep, grumbly - rumbly voice.
" I find my appetite isn't what it ought to be.
I need a change.
Yes, Sir, I need a change.
There is something I ought to have at this time of year, and I haven't got it.
There is something that I used to have and don't have now.
Ha!
I know!
I need some fresh fruit.
That's it--fresh fruit!
It must be about berry time now, and I'd forgotten all about it.
My, my, my, how good some berries would taste!
Now if I were back up there in the Great Woods I could have all I could eat.
Um - m - m - m!
Makes my mouth water just to think of it.
There ought to be some up in the Old Pasture.
There ought to be a lot of'em up there.
If I wasn't afraid that some one would see me, I'd go up there."
Buster sighed.
Then he sighed again.
The more he thought about those berries he felt sure were growing in the Old Pasture, the more he wanted some.
It seemed to him that never in all his life had he wanted berries as he did now.
He wandered about uneasily.
He was hungry--hungry for berries and nothing else.
By and by he began talking to himself again.
" If I wasn't afraid of being seen, I'd go up to the Old Pasture this very minute.
Seems as if I could taste those berries."
He licked his lips hungrily as he spoke.
Then his face brightened.
" I know what I'll do!
I'll go up there at the very first peep of day to - morrow.
I can eat all I want and get back to the Green Forest before there is any danger that Farmer Brown's boy or any one else I'm afraid of will see me.
That's just what I'll do.
My, I wish to - morrow morning would hurry up and come."
Now though Buster didn't know it, some one had been listening, and that some one was none other than Sammy Jay.
When at last Buster lay down for a nap, Sammy flew away, chuckling to himself.
" I believe I'll visit the Old Pasture to - morrow morning myself," thought he.
" I have an idea that something interesting may happen if Buster doesn't change his mind."
Sammy was on the lookout very early the next morning.
The first Jolly Little Sunbeams had only reached the Green Meadows and had not started to creep into the Green Forest, when he saw a big, dark form steal out of the Green Forest where it joins the Old Pasture.
It moved very swiftly and silently, as if in a great hurry.
Sammy knew who it was: it was Buster Bear, and he was going berrying.
Sammy waited a little until he could see better.
Then he too started for the Old Pasture.
XVIII
SOMEBODY ELSE GOES BERRYING
Isn't it funny how two people will often think of the same thing at the same time, and neither one know that the other is thinking of it?
That is just what happened the day that Buster Bear first thought of going berrying.
While he was walking around in the Green Forest, talking to himself about how hungry he was for some berries and how sure he was that there must be some up in the Old Pasture, some one else was thinking about berries and about the Old Pasture too.
" Will you make me a berry pie if I will get the berries to - morrow?"
asked Farmer Brown's boy of his mother.
Of course Mrs. Brown promised that she would, and so that night Farmer Brown's boy went to bed very early that he might get up early in the morning, and all night long he dreamed of berries and berry pies.
He was awake even before jolly, round, red Mr. Sun thought it was time to get up, and he was all ready to start for the Old Pasture when the first Jolly Little Sunbeams came dancing across the Green Meadows.
He carried a big tin pail, and in the bottom of it, wrapped up in a piece of paper, was a lunch, for he meant to stay until he filled that pail, if it took all day.
Now the Old Pasture is very large.
It lies at the foot of the Big Mountain, and even extends a little way up on the Big Mountain.
There is room in it for many people to pick berries all day without even seeing each other, unless they roam about a great deal.
You see, the bushes grow very thick there, and you cannot see very far in any direction.
Jolly, round, red Mr. Sun had climbed a little way up in the sky by the time Farmer Brown's boy reached the Old Pasture, and was smiling down on all the Great World, and all the Great World seemed to be smiling back.
Farmer Brown's boy started to whistle, and then he stopped.
" If I whistle," thought he, " everybody will know just where I am, and will keep out of sight, and I never can get acquainted with folks if they keep out of sight."
You see, Farmer Brown's boy was just beginning to understand something that Peter Rabbit and the other little people of the Green Meadows and the Green Forest learned almost as soon as they learned to walk,-- that if you don't want to be seen, you mustn't be heard.
So he didn't whistle as he felt like doing, and he tried not to make a bit of noise as he followed an old cow - path towards a place where he knew the berries grew thick and oh, so big, and all the time he kept his eyes wide open, and he kept his ears open too.
That is how he happened to hear a little cry, a very faint little cry.
If he had been whistling, he wouldn't have heard it at all.
He stopped to listen.
He never had heard a cry just like it before.
At first he couldn't make out just what it was or where it came from.
But one thing he was sure of, and that was that it was a cry of fright.
He stood perfectly still and listened with all his might.
There it was again --" Help!
Help!
Help "-- and it was very faint and sounded terribly frightened.
He waited a minute or two, but heard nothing more.
Then he put down his pail and began a hurried look here, there, and everywhere.
Well, I don't like to tell you, but he was trying to swallow one of the children of Stickytoes the Tree Toad.
Of course Farmer Brown's Boy didn't let him.
He made little Mr. Gartersnake set Master Stickytoes free and held Mr. Gartersnake until Master Stickytoes was safely out of reach.
XIX
BUSTER BEAR HAS A FINE TIME
Buster Bear was having the finest time he had had since he came down from the Great Woods to live in the Green Forest.
To be sure, he wasn't in the Green Forest now, but he wasn't far from it.
He was in the Old Pasture, one edge of which touches one edge of the Green Forest.
And where do you think he was, in the Old Pasture?
Why, right in the middle of the biggest patch of the biggest blueberries he ever had seen in all his life!
Now if there is any one thing that Buster Bear had rather have above another, it is all the berries he can eat, unless it be honey.
Nothing can quite equal honey in Buster's mind.
But next to honey give him berries.
He isn't particular what kind of berries.
Raspberries, blackberries, or blueberries, either kind, will make him perfectly happy.
" Um - m - m, my, my, but these are good!"
he mumbled in his deep grumbly - rumbly voice, as he sat on his haunches stripping off the berries greedily.
His little eyes twinkled with enjoyment, and he didn't mind at all if now and then he got leaves, and some green berries in his mouth with the big ripe berries.
He didn't try to get them out.
Oh, my, no!
He just chomped them all up together and patted his stomach from sheer delight.
Now Buster had reached the Old Pasture just as jolly, round, red Mr. Sun had crept out of bed, and he had fully made up his mind that he would be back in the Green Forest before Mr. Sun had climbed very far up in the blue, blue sky.
You see, big as he is and strong as he is, Buster Bear is very shy and bashful, and he has no desire to meet Farmer Brown, or Farmer Brown's boy, or any other of those two - legged creatures called men.
It seems funny but he actually is afraid of them.
And he had a feeling that he was a great deal more likely to meet one of them in the Old Pasture than deep in the Green Forest.
So when he started to look for berries, he made up his mind that he would eat what he could in a great hurry and get back to the Green Forest before Farmer Brown's boy was more than out of bed.
But when he found those berries he was so hungry that he forgot his fears and everything else.
They tasted so good that he just had to eat and eat and eat.
Now you know that Buster is a very big fellow, and it takes a lot to fill him up.
He kept eating and eating and eating, and the more he ate the more he wanted.
You know how it is.
So he wandered from one patch of berries to another in the Old Pasture, and never once thought of the time.
Somehow, time is the hardest thing in the world to remember, when you are having a good time.
Jolly, round, red Mr. Sun climbed higher and higher in the blue, blue sky.
He looked down on all the Great World and saw all that was going on.
He saw Buster Bear in the Old Pasture, and smiled as he saw what a perfectly glorious time Buster was having.
And he saw something else in the Old Pasture that made his smile still broader.
" Um - m - m, um - m - m," mumbled Buster Bear with his mouth full, as he moved along to another patch of berries.
And then he gave a little gasp of surprise and delight.
Right in front of him was a shiny thing just full of the finest, biggest, bluest berries!
There were no leaves or green ones there.
Buster blinked his greedy little eyes rapidly and looked again.
No, he wasn't dreaming.
They were real berries, and all he had got to do was to help himself.
Buster looked sharply at the shiny thing that held the berries.
It seemed perfectly harmless.
He reached out a big paw and pushed it gently.
It tipped over and spilled out a lot of the berries.
Yes, it was perfectly harmless.
Buster gave a little sigh of pure happiness.
He would eat those berries to the last one, and then he would go home to the Green Forest.
BUSTER BEAR CARRIES OFF THE PAIL OF FARMER BROWN'S BOY
The question is, did Buster Bear steal Farmer Brown's boy's pail?
To steal is to take something which belongs to some one else.
There is no doubt that he stole the berries that were in the pail when he found it, for he deliberately ate them.
He knew well enough that some one must have picked them--for whoever heard of blueberries growing in tin pails?
So there is no doubt that when Buster took them, he stole them.
But with the pail it was different.
He took the pail, but he didn't mean to take it.
In fact, he didn't want that pail at all.
You see it was this way: When Buster found that big tin pail brimming full of delicious berries in the shade of that big bush in the Old Pasture, he didn't stop to think whether or not he had a right to them.
Buster is so fond of berries that from the very second that his greedy little eyes saw that pailful, he forgot everything but the feast that was waiting for him right under his very nose.
He didn't think anything about the right or wrong of helping himself.
There before him were more berries than he had ever seen together at one time in all his life, and all he had to do was to eat and eat and eat.
And that is just what he did do.
Of course he upset the pail, but he didn't mind a little thing like that.
When he had gobbled up all the berries that rolled out, he thrust his nose into the pail to get all that were left in it.
Just then he heard a little noise, as if some one were coming.
He threw up his head to listen, and somehow, he never did know just how, the handle of the pail slipped back over his ears and caught there.
This was bad enough, but to make matters worse, just at that very minute he heard a shrill, angry voice shout, " Hi, there!
Get out of there!"
He didn't need to be told whose voice that was.
It was the voice of Farmer Brown's boy.
Right then and there Buster Bear nearly had a fit.
There was that awful pail fast over his head so that he couldn't see a thing.
Of course, that meant that he couldn't run away, which was the thing of all things he most wanted to do, for big as he is and strong as he is, Buster is very shy and bashful when human beings are around.
He growled and whined and squealed.
He tried to back out of the pail and couldn't.
He tried to shake it off and couldn't.
He tried to pull it off, but somehow he couldn't get hold of it.
Then there was another yell.
If Buster hadn't been so frightened himself, he might have recognized that second yell as one of fright, for that is what it was.
You see Farmer Brown's boy had just discovered Buster Bear.
When he had yelled the first time, he had supposed that it was one of the young cattle who live in the Old Pasture all summer, but when he saw Buster, he was just as badly frightened as Buster himself.
In fact, he was too surprised and frightened even to run.
After that second yell he just stood still and stared.
Buster clawed at that awful thing on his head more frantically than ever.
Suddenly it slipped off, so that he could see.
He gave one frightened look at Farmer Brown's boy, and then with a mighty " Woof!"
he started for the Green Forest as fast as his legs could take him, and this was very fast indeed, let me tell you.
He didn't stop to pick out a path, but just crashed through the bushes as if they were nothing at all, just nothing at all.
But the funniest thing of all is this--he took that pail with him!
Yes, Sir, Buster Bear ran away with the big tin pail of Farmer Brown's boy!
You see when it slipped off his head, the handle was still around his neck, and there he was running away with a pail hanging from his neck!
He didn't want it.
He would have given anything to get rid of it.
But he took it because he couldn't help it.
And that brings us back to the question, did Buster steal Farmer Brown's boy's pail?
What do you think?
XXI
SAMMY JAY MAKES THINGS WORSE FOR BUSTER BEAR
" Thief, thief, thief!
Thief, thief, thief!"
Sammy Jay was screaming at the top of his lungs, as he followed Buster Bear across the Old Pasture towards the Green Forest.
Never had he screamed so loud, and never had his voice sounded so excited.
The little people of the Green Forest, the Green Meadows, and the Smiling Pool are so used to hearing Sammy cry thief that usually they think very little about it.
But every blessed one who heard Sammy this morning stopped whatever he was doing and pricked up his ears to listen.
Sammy's cousin, Blacky the Crow, just happened to be flying along the edge of the Old Pasture, and the minute he heard Sammy's voice, he turned and flew over to see what it was all about.
Just as soon as he caught sight of Buster Bear running for the Green Forest as hard as ever he could, he understood what had excited Sammy so.
He was so surprised that he almost forgot to keep his wings moving.
Buster Bear had what looked to Blacky very much like a tin pail hanging from his neck!
No wonder Sammy was excited.
Blacky beat his wings fiercely and started after Sammy.
And so they reached the edge of the Green Forest, Buster Bear running as hard as ever he could, Sammy Jay flying just behind him and screaming, " Thief, thief, thief!"
at the top of his lungs, and behind him Blacky the Crow, trying to catch up and yelling as loud as he could, " Caw, caw, caw!
Come on, everybody!
Come on!
Come on!"
Poor Buster!
It was bad enough to be frightened almost to death as he had been up in the Old Pasture when the pail had caught over his head just as Farmer Brown's boy had yelled at him.
Then to have the handle of the pail slip down around his neck so that he couldn't get rid of the pail but had to take it with him as he ran, was making a bad matter worse.
Now to have all his neighbors of the Green Forest see him in such a fix and make fun of him, was more than he could stand.
He felt humiliated.
That is just another way of saying shamed.
Yes, Sir, Buster felt that he was shamed in the eyes of his neighbors, and he wanted nothing so much as to get away by himself, where no one could see him, and try to get rid of that dreadful pail.
But Buster is so big that it is not easy for him to find a hiding place.
So, when he reached the Green Forest, he kept right on to the deepest, darkest, most lonesome part and crept under the thickest hemlock - tree he could find.
But it was of no use.
The sharp eyes of Sammy Jay and Blacky the Crow saw him.
They actually flew into the very tree under which he was hiding, and how they did scream!
Pretty soon Ol'Mistah Buzzard came dropping down out of the blue, blue sky and took a seat on a convenient dead tree, where he could see all that went on.
Ol'Mistah Buzzard began to grin as soon as he saw that tin pail on Buster's neck.
Then came others,-- Redtail the Hawk, Scrapper the Kingbird, Redwing the Blackbird, Drummer the Woodpecker, Welcome Robin, Tommy Tit the Chickadee, Jenny Wren, Redeye the Vireo, and ever so many more.
They came from the Old Orchard, the Green Meadows, and even down by the Smiling Pool, for the voices of Sammy Jay and Blacky the Crow carried far, and at the sound of them everybody hurried over, sure that something exciting was going on.
Presently Buster heard light footsteps, and peeping out, he saw Billy Mink and Peter Rabbit and Jumper the Hare and Prickly Porky and Reddy Fox and Jimmy Skunk.
Even timid little Whitefoot the Wood Mouse was where he could peer out and see without being seen.
Of course, Chatterer the Red Squirrel and Happy Jack the Gray Squirrel were there.
There they all sat in a great circle around him, each where he felt safe, but where he could see, and every one of them laughing and making fun of Buster.
" Thief, thief, thief!"
screamed Sammy until his throat was sore.
The worst of it was Buster knew that everybody knew that it was true.
That awful pail was proof of it.
" I wish I never had thought of berries," growled Buster to himself.
XXII
BUSTER BEAR HAS A FIT OF TEMPER
A temper is a bad, bad thing When once it gets away.
There's nothing quite at all like it To spoil a pleasant day.
Buster Bear was in a terrible temper.
Yes, Sir, Buster Bear was having the worst fit of temper ever seen in the Green Forest.
And the worst part of it all was that all his neighbors of the Green Forest and a whole lot from the Green Meadows and the Smiling Pool were also there to see it.
It is bad enough to give way to temper when you are all alone, and there is no one to watch you, but when you let temper get the best of you right where others see you, oh, dear, dear, it certainly is a sorry sight.
Now ordinarily Buster is one of the most good - natured persons in the world.
It takes a great deal to rouse his temper.
He isn't one tenth so quick tempered as Chatterer the Red Squirrel, or Sammy Jay, or Reddy Fox.
But when his temper is aroused and gets away from him, then watch out!
It seemed to Buster that he had had all that he could stand that day and a little more.
First had come the fright back there in the Old Pasture.
Then the pail had slipped down behind his ears and held fast, so he had run all the way to the Green Forest with it hanging about his neck.
This was bad enough, for he knew just how funny he must look, and besides, it was very uncomfortable.
But to have Sammy Jay call everybody within hearing to come and see him was more than he could stand.
It seemed to Buster as if everybody who lives in the Green Forest, on the Green Meadows, or around the Smiling Brook, was sitting around his hiding place, laughing and making fun of him.
It was more than any self - respecting Bear could stand.
With a roar of anger Buster Bear charged out of his hiding place.
He rushed this way and that way!
He roared with all his might!
He was very terrible to see.
Those who could fly, flew.
Those who could climb, climbed.
And those who were swift of foot, ran.
A few who could neither fly nor climb nor run fast, hid and lay shaking and trembling for fear that Buster would find them.
In less time than it takes to tell about it, Buster was alone.
At least, he couldn't see any one.
[ Illustration: Those who could fly, flew.
Those who could climb, climbed.
_Page 112. _ ]
Then he vented his temper on the tin pail.
He cuffed at it and pulled at it, all the time growling angrily.
He lay down and clawed at it with his hind feet.
At last the handle broke, and he was free!
He shook himself.
Then he jumped on the helpless pail.
With a blow of a big paw he sent it clattering against a tree.
He tried to bite it.
Then he once more fell to knocking it this way and that way, until it was pounded flat, and no one would ever have guessed that it had once been a pail.
Then, and not till then, did Buster recover his usual good nature.
Little by little, as he thought it all over, a look of shame crept into his face.
" I--I guess it wasn't the fault of that thing.
I ought to have known enough to keep my head out of it," he said slowly and thoughtfully.
" You got no more than you deserve for stealing Farmer Brown's boy's berries," said Sammy Jay, who had come back and was looking on from the top of a tree.
" You ought to know by this time that no good comes of stealing."
Buster Bear looked up and grinned, and there was a twinkle in his eyes.
" You ought to know, Sammy Jay," said he.
" I hope you'll always remember it."
" Thief, thief, thief!"
screamed Sammy, and flew away.
XXIII
FARMER BROWN'S BOY LUNCHES ON BERRIES
When things go wrong in spite of you To smile's the best thing you can do--To smile and say, " I'm mighty glad They are no worse; they're not so bad!"
That is what Farmer Brown's boy said when he found that Buster Bear had stolen the berries he had worked so hard to pick and then had run off with the pail.
You see, Farmer Brown's boy is learning to be something of a philosopher, one of those people who accept bad things cheerfully and right away see how they are better than they might have been.
When he had first heard some one in the bushes where he had hidden his pail of berries, he had been very sure that it was one of the cows or young cattle who live in the Old Pasture during the summer.
He had been afraid that they might stupidly kick over the pail and spill the berries, and he had hurried to drive whoever it was away.
It hadn't entered his head that it could be anybody who would eat those berries.
When he had yelled and Buster Bear had suddenly appeared, struggling to get off the pail which had caught over his head, Farmer Brown's boy had been too frightened to even move.
Then he had seen Buster tear away through the brush even more frightened than he was, and right away his courage had begun to come back.
" If he is so afraid of me, I guess I needn't be afraid of him," said he.
" I've lost my berries, but it is worth it to find out that he is afraid of me.
There are plenty more on the bushes, and all I've got to do is to pick them.
It might be worse."
He walked over to the place where the pail had been, and then he remembered that when Buster ran away he had carried the pail with him, hanging about his neck.
He whistled.
It was a comical little whistle of chagrin as he realized that he had nothing in which to put more berries, even if he picked them.
" It's worse than I thought," cried he.
" That bear has cheated me out of that berry pie my mother promised me."
Then he began to laugh, as he thought of how funny Buster Bear had looked with the pail about his neck, and then because, you know he is learning to be a philosopher, he once more repeated, " It might have been worse.
Yes, indeed, it might have been worse.
That bear might have tried to eat me instead of the berries.
I guess I'll go eat that lunch I left back by the spring, and then I'll go home.
I can pick berries some other day."
Chuckling happily over Buster Bear's great fright, Farmer Brown's boy tramped back to the spring where he had left two thick sandwiches on a flat stone when he started to save his pail of berries.
" My, but those sandwiches will taste good," thought he.
" I'm glad they are big and thick.
I never was hungrier in my life.
Hello!"
This he exclaimed right out loud, for he had just come in sight of the flat stone where the sandwiches should have been, and they were not there.
No, Sir, there wasn't so much as a crumb left of those two thick sandwiches.
You see, Old Man Coyote had found them and gobbled them up while Farmer Brown's boy was away.
But Farmer Brown's boy didn't know anything about Old Man Coyote.
He rubbed his eyes and stared everywhere, even up in the trees, as if he thought those sandwiches might be hanging up there.
They had disappeared as completely as if they never had been, and Old Man Coyote had taken care to leave no trace of his visit.
Farmer Brown's boy gaped foolishly this way and that way.
Then, instead of growing angry, a slow smile stole over his freckled face.
" I guess some one else was hungry too," he muttered.
" Wonder who it was?
Guess this Old Pasture is no place for me to - day.
I'll fill up on berries and then I'll go home."
So Farmer Brown's boy made his lunch on blueberries and then rather sheepishly he started for home to tell of all the strange things that had happened to him in the Old Pasture.
Two or three times, as he trudged along, he stopped to scratch his head thoughtfully.
" I guess," said he at last, " that I'm not so smart as I thought I was, and I've got a lot to learn yet."
This is the end of the adventures of Buster Bear in this book because--guess why.
Because Old Mr. Toad insists that I must write a book about his adventures, and Old Mr. Toad is such a good friend of all of us that I am going to do it.
[ Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll 1865 ]
CHAPTER I.
Down the Rabbit - Hole
There was nothing so VERY remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so VERY much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself,'Oh dear!
Oh dear!
I shall be late!'
In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.
The rabbit - hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well.
Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next.
First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book - shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs.
She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labelled'ORANGE MARMALADE ', but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.
' Well!'
thought Alice to herself,'after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs!
How brave they'll all think me at home!
Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!'
(Which was very likely true.)
Down, down, down.
Would the fall NEVER come to an end!
' I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?'
she said aloud.
' I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth.
(Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to say.)
Presently she began again.
' I wonder if I shall fall right THROUGH the earth!
How funny it'll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downward!
The Antipathies, I think --' (she was rather glad there WAS no one listening, this time, as it didn't sound at all the right word) '-- but I shall have to ask them what the name of the country is, you know.
Please, Ma'am, is this New Zealand or Australia?'
(and she tried to curtsey as she spoke--fancy CURTSEYING as you're falling through the air!
Do you think you could manage it?)
' And what an ignorant little girl she'll think me for asking!
No, it'll never do to ask: perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere.'
Down, down, down.
There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began talking again.
' Dinah'll miss me very much to - night, I should think!'
(Dinah was the cat.)
' I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea - time.
Dinah my dear!
I wish you were down here with me!
There are no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse, you know.
But do cats eat bats, I wonder?'
And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way,'Do cats eat bats?
Do cats eat bats?'
and sometimes,'Do bats eat cats?'
for, you see, as she couldn't answer either question, it didn't much matter which way she put it.
She felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly,'Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?'
when suddenly, thump!
thump!
down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.
Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on to her feet in a moment: she looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it.
There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner,'Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!'
She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen: she found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof.
There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again.
Suddenly she came upon a little three - legged table, all made of solid glass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice's first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas!
either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, but at any rate it would not open any of them.
However, on the second time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high: she tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!
Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat - hole: she knelt down and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw.
Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope!
I think I could, if I only know how to begin.'
For, you see, so many out - of - the - way things had happened lately, that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.
It was all very well to say'Drink me,' but the wise little Alice was not going to do THAT in a hurry.
However, this bottle was NOT marked'poison,' so Alice ventured to taste it, and finding it very nice, (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavour of cherry - tart, custard, pine - apple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast,) she very soon finished it off.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * * *
' What a curious feeling!'
said Alice;'I must be shutting up like a telescope.'
And so it was indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going through the little door into that lovely garden.
First, however, she waited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further: she felt a little nervous about this;'for it might end, you know,' said Alice to herself,'in my going out altogether, like a candle.
I wonder what I should be like then?'
And she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle is like after the candle is blown out, for she could not remember ever having seen such a thing.
After a while, finding that nothing more happened, she decided on going into the garden at once; but, alas for poor Alice!
' Come, there's no use in crying like that!'
said Alice to herself, rather sharply;'I advise you to leave off this minute!'
' But it's no use now,' thought poor Alice,'to pretend to be two people!
Why, there's hardly enough of me left to make ONE respectable person!'
Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table: she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words'EAT ME'were beautifully marked in currants.
' Well, I'll eat it,' said Alice,'and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door; so either way I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which happens!'
She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself,'Which way?
Which way?
So she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * * *
CHAPTER II.
The Pool of Tears
' Curiouser and curiouser!'
cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English);'now I'm opening out like the largest telescope that ever was!
Good - bye, feet!'
(for when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off).
' Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears?
I'm sure _I_ shan't be able!
I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can;-- but I must be kind to them,' thought Alice,'or perhaps they won't walk the way I want to go!
Let me see: I'll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.'
And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it.
' They must go by the carrier,' she thought;'and how funny it'll seem, sending presents to one's own feet!
And how odd the directions will look!
ALICE'S RIGHT FOOT, ESQ.
HEARTHRUG, NEAR THE FENDER, (WITH ALICE'S LOVE).
Oh dear, what nonsense I'm talking!'
Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact she was now more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.
Poor Alice!
It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more hopeless than ever: she sat down and began to cry again.
' You ought to be ashamed of yourself,' said Alice,'a great girl like you,' (she might well say this),'to go on crying in this way!
Stop this moment, I tell you!'
But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.
After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming.
It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came,'Oh!
the Duchess, the Duchess!
Oh!
won't she be savage if I've kept her waiting!'
Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking:'Dear, dear!
How queer everything is to - day!
And yesterday things went on just as usual.
I wonder if I've been changed in the night?
Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning?
I almost think I can remember feeling a little different.
But if I'm not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I?
Ah, THAT'S the great puzzle!'
And she began thinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.
' I'm sure I'm not Ada,' she said,'for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn't go in ringlets at all; and I'm sure I can't be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh!
she knows such a very little!
Besides, SHE'S she, and I'm I, and--oh dear, how puzzling it all is!
I'll try if I know all the things I used to know.
Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is--oh dear!
I shall never get to twenty at that rate!
However, the Multiplication Table doesn't signify: let's try Geography.
London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome--no, THAT'S all wrong, I'm certain!
I must have been changed for Mabel!
I'll try and say " How doth the little --' and she crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:--
' How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale!
' How cheerfully he seems to grin, How neatly spread his claws, And welcome little fishes in With gently smiling jaws!'
' I'm sure those are not the right words,' said poor Alice, and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on,'I must be Mabel after all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh!
ever so many lessons to learn!
No, I've made up my mind about it; if I'm Mabel, I'll stay down here!
It'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying " Come up again, dear!"
I shall only look up and say " Who am I then?
Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I'll come up: if not, I'll stay down here till I'm somebody else "-- but, oh dear!'
cried Alice, with a sudden burst of tears,'I do wish they WOULD put their heads down!
I am so VERY tired of being all alone here!'
As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit's little white kid gloves while she was talking.
' How CAN I have done that?'
she thought.
' I must be growing small again.'
' That WAS a narrow escape!'
said Alice, a good deal frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence;'and now for the garden!'
and she ran with all speed back to the little door: but, alas!
the little door was shut again, and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before,'and things are worse than ever,' thought the poor child,'for I never was so small as this before, never!
And I declare it's too bad, that it is!'
As she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment, splash!
she was up to her chin in salt water.
Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea,'and in that case I can go back by railway,' she said to herself.
However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.
' I wish I hadn't cried so much!'
said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out.
' I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears!
That WILL be a queer thing, to be sure!
However, everything is queer to - day.'
' Would it be of any use, now,' thought Alice,'to speak to this mouse?
Everything is so out - of - the - way down here, that I should think very likely it can talk: at any rate, there's no harm in trying.'
So she began:'O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool?
I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!'
(Alice thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse: she had never done such a thing before, but she remembered having seen in her brother's Latin Grammar,'A mouse--of a mouse--to a mouse--a mouse--O mouse!')
The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.
' Perhaps it doesn't understand English,' thought Alice;'I daresay it's a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.'
(For, with all her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.)
So she began again:'Ou est ma chatte?'
which was the first sentence in her French lesson - book.
The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with fright.
' Oh, I beg your pardon!'
cried Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal's feelings.
' I quite forgot you didn't like cats.'
' Not like cats!'
cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice.
' Would YOU like cats if you were me?'
' Well, perhaps not,' said Alice in a soothing tone:'don't be angry about it.
And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you'd take a fancy to cats if you could only see her.
cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain it must be really offended.
' We won't talk about her any more if you'd rather not.'
' We indeed!'
cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his tail.
' As if I would talk on such a subject!
Our family always HATED cats: nasty, low, vulgar things!
Don't let me hear the name again!'
' I won't indeed!'
said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of conversation.
' Are you--are you fond--of--of dogs?'
The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly:'There is such a nice little dog near our house I should like to show you!
A little bright - eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long curly brown hair!
And it'll fetch things when you throw them, and it'll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things--I can't remember half of them--and it belongs to a farmer, you know, and he says it's so useful, it's worth a hundred pounds!
He says it kills all the rats and--oh dear!'
cried Alice in a sorrowful tone,'I'm afraid I've offended it again!'
For the Mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.
So she called softly after it,'Mouse dear!
Do come back again, and we won't talk about cats or dogs either, if you don't like them!'
It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures.
Alice led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.
CHAPTER III.
A Caucus - Race and a Long Tale
They were indeed a queer - looking party that assembled on the bank--the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close to them, and all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable.
The first question of course was, how to get dry again: they had a consultation about this, and after a few minutes it seemed quite natural to Alice to find herself talking familiarly with them, as if she had known them all her life.
At last the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of authority among them, called out,'Sit down, all of you, and listen to me!
I'LL soon make you dry enough!'
They all sat down at once, in a large ring, with the Mouse in the middle.
Alice kept her eyes anxiously fixed on it, for she felt sure she would catch a bad cold if she did not get dry very soon.
' Ahem!'
said the Mouse with an important air,'are you all ready?
This is the driest thing I know.
Silence all round, if you please!
" William the Conqueror, whose cause was favoured by the pope, was soon submitted to by the English, who wanted leaders, and had been of late much accustomed to usurpation and conquest.
Edwin and Morcar, the earls of Mercia and Northumbria --'
' Ugh!'
said the Lory, with a shiver.
' I beg your pardon!'
said the Mouse, frowning, but very politely:'Did you speak?'
' Not I!'
said the Lory hastily.
' I thought you did,' said the Mouse. '
-- I proceed.
" Edwin and Morcar, the earls of Mercia and Northumbria, declared for him: and even Stigand, the patriotic archbishop of Canterbury, found it advisable --'
' Found WHAT?'
said the Duck.
' Found IT,' the Mouse replied rather crossly:'of course you know what " it " means.'
' I know what " it " means well enough, when I find a thing,' said the Duck:'it's generally a frog or a worm.
The question is, what did the archbishop find?'
The Mouse did not notice this question, but hurriedly went on, '"-- found it advisable to go with Edgar Atheling to meet William and offer him the crown.
William's conduct at first was moderate.
But the insolence of his Normans --" How are you getting on now, my dear?'
it continued, turning to Alice as it spoke.
' As wet as ever,' said Alice in a melancholy tone:'it doesn't seem to dry me at all.'
' In that case,' said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet,'I move that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more energetic remedies --'
' Speak English!'
said the Eaglet.
' I don't know the meaning of half those long words, and, what's more, I don't believe you do either!'
And the Eaglet bent down its head to hide a smile: some of the other birds tittered audibly.
' What I was going to say,' said the Dodo in an offended tone,'was, that the best thing to get us dry would be a Caucus - race.'
' What IS a Caucus - race?'
said Alice; not that she wanted much to know, but the Dodo had paused as if it thought that SOMEBODY ought to speak, and no one else seemed inclined to say anything.
' Why,' said the Dodo,'the best way to explain it is to do it.'
(And, as you might like to try the thing yourself, some winter day, I will tell you how the Dodo managed it.)
First it marked out a race - course, in a sort of circle, (' the exact shape doesn't matter,' it said,) and then all the party were placed along the course, here and there.
There was no'One, two, three, and away,' but they began running when they liked, and left off when they liked, so that it was not easy to know when the race was over.
However, when they had been running half an hour or so, and were quite dry again, the Dodo suddenly called out'The race is over!'
and they all crowded round it, panting, and asking,'But who has won?'
This question the Dodo could not answer without a great deal of thought, and it sat for a long time with one finger pressed upon its forehead (the position in which you usually see Shakespeare, in the pictures of him), while the rest waited in silence.
At last the Dodo said,'EVERYBODY has won, and all must have prizes.'
' But who is to give the prizes?'
quite a chorus of voices asked.
' Why, SHE, of course,' said the Dodo, pointing to Alice with one finger; and the whole party at once crowded round her, calling out in a confused way,'Prizes!
Prizes!'
Alice had no idea what to do, and in despair she put her hand in her pocket, and pulled out a box of comfits, (luckily the salt water had not got into it), and handed them round as prizes.
There was exactly one a - piece all round.
' But she must have a prize herself, you know,' said the Mouse.
' Of course,' the Dodo replied very gravely.
' What else have you got in your pocket?'
he went on, turning to Alice.
' Only a thimble,' said Alice sadly.
' Hand it over here,' said the Dodo.
Then they all crowded round her once more, while the Dodo solemnly presented the thimble, saying'We beg your acceptance of this elegant thimble '; and, when it had finished this short speech, they all cheered.
Alice thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all looked so grave that she did not dare to laugh; and, as she could not think of anything to say, she simply bowed, and took the thimble, looking as solemn as she could.
The next thing was to eat the comfits: this caused some noise and confusion, as the large birds complained that they could not taste theirs, and the small ones choked and had to be patted on the back.
However, it was over at last, and they sat down again in a ring, and begged the Mouse to tell them something more.
' You promised to tell me your history, you know,' said Alice,'and why it is you hate--C and D,' she added in a whisper, half afraid that it would be offended again.
' Mine is a long and a sad tale!'
said the Mouse, turning to Alice, and sighing.
' It IS a long tail, certainly,' said Alice, looking down with wonder at the Mouse's tail;'but why do you call it sad?'
And she kept on puzzling about it while the Mouse was speaking, so that her idea of the tale was something like this:--
' Fury said to a mouse, That he met in the house, " Let us both go to law: I will prosecute YOU.-- Come, I'll take no denial; We must have a trial: For really this morning I've nothing to do."
Said the mouse to the cur, " Such a trial, dear Sir, With no jury or judge, would be wasting our breath."
" I'll be judge, I'll be jury," Said cunning old Fury: " I'll try the whole cause, and condemn you to death.'
' You are not attending!'
said the Mouse to Alice severely.
' What are you thinking of?'
' I beg your pardon,' said Alice very humbly:'you had got to the fifth bend, I think?'
' I had NOT!'
cried the Mouse, sharply and very angrily.
' A knot!'
said Alice, always ready to make herself useful, and looking anxiously about her.
' Oh, do let me help to undo it!'
' I shall do nothing of the sort,' said the Mouse, getting up and walking away.
' You insult me by talking such nonsense!'
' I didn't mean it!'
pleaded poor Alice.
' But you're so easily offended, you know!'
The Mouse only growled in reply.
' Please come back and finish your story!'
Alice called after it; and the others all joined in chorus,'Yes, please do!'
but the Mouse only shook its head impatiently, and walked a little quicker.
' What a pity it wouldn't stay!'
sighed the Lory, as soon as it was quite out of sight; and an old Crab took the opportunity of saying to her daughter'Ah, my dear!
Let this be a lesson to you never to lose YOUR temper!'
' Hold your tongue, Ma!'
said the young Crab, a little snappishly.
' You're enough to try the patience of an oyster!'
' I wish I had our Dinah here, I know I do!'
said Alice aloud, addressing nobody in particular.
' She'd soon fetch it back!'
' And who is Dinah, if I might venture to ask the question?'
said the Lory.
Alice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet:'Dinah's our cat.
And she's such a capital one for catching mice you can't think!
And oh, I wish you could see her after the birds!
Why, she'll eat a little bird as soon as look at it!'
This speech caused a remarkable sensation among the party.
Some of the birds hurried off at once: one old Magpie began wrapping itself up very carefully, remarking,'I really must be getting home; the night - air doesn't suit my throat!'
and a Canary called out in a trembling voice to its children,'Come away, my dears!
It's high time you were all in bed!'
On various pretexts they all moved off, and Alice was soon left alone.
' I wish I hadn't mentioned Dinah!'
she said to herself in a melancholy tone.
' Nobody seems to like her, down here, and I'm sure she's the best cat in the world!
Oh, my dear Dinah!
I wonder if I shall ever see you any more!'
And here poor Alice began to cry again, for she felt very lonely and low - spirited.
In a little while, however, she again heard a little pattering of footsteps in the distance, and she looked up eagerly, half hoping that the Mouse had changed his mind, and was coming back to finish his story.
CHAPTER IV.
The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill
It was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she heard it muttering to itself'The Duchess!
The Duchess!
Oh my dear paws!
Oh my fur and whiskers!
She'll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets!
Where CAN I have dropped them, I wonder?'
Very soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, as she went hunting about, and called out to her in an angry tone,'Why, Mary Ann, what ARE you doing out here?
Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and a fan!
Quick, now!'
And Alice was so much frightened that she ran off at once in the direction it pointed to, without trying to explain the mistake it had made.
' He took me for his housemaid,' she said to herself as she ran.
' How surprised he'll be when he finds out who I am!
But I'd better take him his fan and gloves--that is, if I can find them.'
As she said this, she came upon a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass plate with the name'W.
RABBIT'engraved upon it.
She went in without knocking, and hurried upstairs, in great fear lest she should meet the real Mary Ann, and be turned out of the house before she had found the fan and gloves.
' How queer it seems,' Alice said to herself,'to be going messages for a rabbit!
I suppose Dinah'll be sending me on messages next!'
And she began fancying the sort of thing that would happen: '" Miss Alice!
Come here directly, and get ready for your walk!"
" Coming in a minute, nurse!
But I've got to see that the mouse doesn't get out."
Only I don't think,' Alice went on,'that they'd let Dinah stop in the house if it began ordering people about like that!'
There was no label this time with the words'DRINK ME,' but nevertheless she uncorked it and put it to her lips.
' I know SOMETHING interesting is sure to happen,' she said to herself,'whenever I eat or drink anything; so I'll just see what this bottle does.
I do hope it'll make me grow large again, for really I'm quite tired of being such a tiny little thing!'
It did so indeed, and much sooner than she had expected: before she had drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against the ceiling, and had to stoop to save her neck from being broken.
She hastily put down the bottle, saying to herself'That's quite enough--I hope I shan't grow any more--As it is, I can't get out at the door--I do wish I hadn't drunk quite so much!'
Alas!
it was too late to wish that!
She went on growing, and growing, and very soon had to kneel down on the floor: in another minute there was not even room for this, and she tried the effect of lying down with one elbow against the door, and the other arm curled round her head.
Still she went on growing, and, as a last resource, she put one arm out of the window, and one foot up the chimney, and said to herself'Now I can do no more, whatever happens.
What WILL become of me?'
Luckily for Alice, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect, and she grew no larger: still it was very uncomfortable, and, as there seemed to be no sort of chance of her ever getting out of the room again, no wonder she felt unhappy.
' It was much pleasanter at home,' thought poor Alice,'when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits.
I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit - hole--and yet--and yet--it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life!
I do wonder what CAN have happened to me!
When I used to read fairy - tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one!
There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought!
And when I grow up, I'll write one--but I'm grown up now,' she added in a sorrowful tone;'at least there's no room to grow up any more HERE.'
' But then,' thought Alice,'shall I NEVER get any older than I am now?
That'll be a comfort, one way--never to be an old woman--but then--always to have lessons to learn!
Oh, I shouldn't like THAT!'
' Oh, you foolish Alice!'
she answered herself.
' How can you learn lessons in here?
Why, there's hardly room for YOU, and no room at all for any lesson - books!'
And so she went on, taking first one side and then the other, and making quite a conversation of it altogether; but after a few minutes she heard a voice outside, and stopped to listen.
' Mary Ann!
Mary Ann!'
said the voice.
' Fetch me my gloves this moment!'
Then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs.
Alice knew it was the Rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the house, quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as large as the Rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it.
Presently the Rabbit came up to the door, and tried to open it; but, as the door opened inwards, and Alice's elbow was pressed hard against it, that attempt proved a failure.
Alice heard it say to itself'Then I'll go round and get in at the window.'
' THAT you won't'thought Alice, and, after waiting till she fancied she heard the Rabbit just under the window, she suddenly spread out her hand, and made a snatch in the air.
She did not get hold of anything, but she heard a little shriek and a fall, and a crash of broken glass, from which she concluded that it was just possible it had fallen into a cucumber - frame, or something of the sort.
Next came an angry voice--the Rabbit's --' Pat!
Pat!
Where are you?'
And then a voice she had never heard before,'Sure then I'm here!
Digging for apples, yer honour!'
' Digging for apples, indeed!'
said the Rabbit angrily.
' Here!
Come and help me out of THIS!'
(Sounds of more broken glass.)
' Now tell me, Pat, what's that in the window?'
' Sure, it's an arm, yer honour!'
(He pronounced it'arrum.')
' An arm, you goose!
Who ever saw one that size?
Why, it fills the whole window!'
' Sure, it does, yer honour: but it's an arm for all that.'
' Well, it's got no business there, at any rate: go and take it away!'
There was a long silence after this, and Alice could only hear whispers now and then; such as,'Sure, I don't like it, yer honour, at all, at all!'
' Do as I tell you, you coward!'
and at last she spread out her hand again, and made another snatch in the air.
This time there were TWO little shrieks, and more sounds of broken glass.
' What a number of cucumber - frames there must be!'
thought Alice.
' I wonder what they'll do next!
As for pulling me out of the window, I only wish they COULD!
I'm sure I don't want to stay in here any longer!'
She waited for some time without hearing anything more: at last came a rumbling of little cartwheels, and the sound of a good many voices all talking together: she made out the words:'Where's the other ladder?-- Why, I hadn't to bring but one; Bill's got the other--Bill!
fetch it here, lad!-- Here, put'em up at this corner--No, tie'em together first--they don't reach half high enough yet--Oh!
they'll do well enough; don't be particular--Here, Bill!
catch hold of this rope--Will the roof bear?-- Mind that loose slate--Oh, it's coming down!
Heads below!'
(a loud crash)--' Now, who did that?-- It was Bill, I fancy--Who's to go down the chimney?-- Nay, I shan't!
YOU do it!-- That I won't, then!-- Bill's to go down--Here, Bill!
the master says you're to go down the chimney!'
' Oh!
So Bill's got to come down the chimney, has he?'
said Alice to herself.
' Shy, they seem to put everything upon Bill!
I wouldn't be in Bill's place for a good deal: this fireplace is narrow, to be sure; but I THINK I can kick a little!'
The first thing she heard was a general chorus of'There goes Bill!'
then the Rabbit's voice along --' Catch him, you by the hedge!'
then silence, and then another confusion of voices --' Hold up his head--Brandy now--Don't choke him--How was it, old fellow?
What happened to you?
Tell us all about it!'
' So you did, old fellow!'
said the others.
' We must burn the house down!'
said the Rabbit's voice; and Alice called out as loud as she could,'If you do.
I'll set Dinah at you!'
There was a dead silence instantly, and Alice thought to herself,'I wonder what they WILL do next!
If they had any sense, they'd take the roof off.'
After a minute or two, they began moving about again, and Alice heard the Rabbit say,'A barrowful will do, to begin with.'
' A barrowful of WHAT?'
thought Alice; but she had not long to doubt, for the next moment a shower of little pebbles came rattling in at the window, and some of them hit her in the face.
' I'll put a stop to this,' she said to herself, and shouted out,'You'd better not do that again!'
which produced another dead silence.
Alice noticed with some surprise that the pebbles were all turning into little cakes as they lay on the floor, and a bright idea came into her head.
' If I eat one of these cakes,' she thought,'it's sure to make SOME change in my size; and as it can't possibly make me larger, it must make me smaller, I suppose.'
So she swallowed one of the cakes, and was delighted to find that she began shrinking directly.
As soon as she was small enough to get through the door, she ran out of the house, and found quite a crowd of little animals and birds waiting outside.
The poor little Lizard, Bill, was in the middle, being held up by two guinea - pigs, who were giving it something out of a bottle.
They all made a rush at Alice the moment she appeared; but she ran off as hard as she could, and soon found herself safe in a thick wood.
' The first thing I've got to do,' said Alice to herself, as she wandered about in the wood,'is to grow to my right size again; and the second thing is to find my way into that lovely garden.
I think that will be the best plan.'
An enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes, and feebly stretching out one paw, trying to touch her.
' Poor little thing!'
said Alice, in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to whistle to it; but she was terribly frightened all the time at the thought that it might be hungry, in which case it would be very likely to eat her up in spite of all her coaxing.
This seemed to Alice a good opportunity for making her escape; so she set off at once, and ran till she was quite tired and out of breath, and till the puppy's bark sounded quite faint in the distance.
' And yet what a dear little puppy it was!'
said Alice, as she leant against a buttercup to rest herself, and fanned herself with one of the leaves:'I should have liked teaching it tricks very much, if--if I'd only been the right size to do it!
Oh dear!
I'd nearly forgotten that I've got to grow up again!
Let me see--how IS it to be managed?
I suppose I ought to eat or drink something or other; but the great question is, what?'
The great question certainly was, what?
Alice looked all round her at the flowers and the blades of grass, but she did not see anything that looked like the right thing to eat or drink under the circumstances.
There was a large mushroom growing near her, about the same height as herself; and when she had looked under it, and on both sides of it, and behind it, it occurred to her that she might as well look and see what was on the top of it.
CHAPTER V. Advice from a Caterpillar
The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.
' Who are YOU?'
said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation.
Alice replied, rather shyly,'I--I hardly know, sir, just at present--at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'
' What do you mean by that?'
said the Caterpillar sternly.
' Explain yourself!'
' I can't explain MYSELF, I'm afraid, sir'said Alice,'because I'm not myself, you see.'
' I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.
' I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely,'for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'
' It isn't,' said the Caterpillar.
' Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet,' said Alice;'but when you have to turn into a chrysalis--you will some day, you know--and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?'
' Not a bit,' said the Caterpillar.
' Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,' said Alice;'all I know is, it would feel very queer to ME.'
' You!'
said the Caterpillar contemptuously.
' Who are YOU?'
Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation.
Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar's making such VERY short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely,'I think, you ought to tell me who YOU are, first.'
' Why?'
said the Caterpillar.
Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a VERY unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.
' Come back!'
the Caterpillar called after her.
' I've something important to say!'
This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again.
' Keep your temper,' said the Caterpillar.
' Is that all?'
said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.
' No,' said the Caterpillar.
Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing.
For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said,'So you think you're changed, do you?'
' I'm afraid I am, sir,' said Alice;'I can't remember things as I used--and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes together!'
' Can't remember WHAT things?'
said the Caterpillar.
' Well, I've tried to say " HOW DOTH THE LITTLE BUSY BEE," but it all came different!'
Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.
' Repeat, " YOU ARE OLD, FATHER WILLIAM,' said the Caterpillar.
Alice folded her hands, and began:--
' You are old, Father William,' the young man said,'And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head--Do you think, at your age, it is right?'
' In my youth,' Father William replied to his son,'I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.'
' You are old,' said the youth,'as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back - somersault in at the door--Pray, what is the reason of that?'
' In my youth,' said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,'I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment--one shilling the box--Allow me to sell you a couple?'
' You are old,' said the youth,'and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak--Pray how did you manage to do it?'
' In my youth,' said his father,'I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, Has lasted the rest of my life.'
' You are old,' said the youth,'one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose--What made you so awfully clever?'
' I have answered three questions, and that is enough,' Said his father;'don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!'
' That is not said right,' said the Caterpillar.
' Not QUITE right, I'm afraid,' said Alice, timidly;'some of the words have got altered.'
' It is wrong from beginning to end,' said the Caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes.
The Caterpillar was the first to speak.
' What size do you want to be?'
it asked.
' Oh, I'm not particular as to size,' Alice hastily replied;'only one doesn't like changing so often, you know.'
' I DON'T know,' said the Caterpillar.
Alice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.
' Are you content now?'
said the Caterpillar.
' Well, I should like to be a LITTLE larger, sir, if you wouldn't mind,' said Alice:'three inches is such a wretched height to be.'
' It is a very good height indeed!'
said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).
' But I'm not used to it!'
pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone.
And she thought of herself,'I wish the creatures wouldn't be so easily offended!'
' You'll get used to it in time,' said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.
This time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again.
In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and yawned once or twice, and shook itself.
Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went,'One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter.'
' One side of WHAT?
The other side of WHAT?'
thought Alice to herself.
' Of the mushroom,' said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.
Alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute, trying to make out which were the two sides of it; and as it was perfectly round, she found this a very difficult question.
However, at last she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand.
' And now which is which?'
she said to herself, and nibbled a little of the right - hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!
She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but she felt that there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking rapidly; so she set to work at once to eat some of the other bit.
Her chin was pressed so closely against her foot, that there was hardly room to open her mouth; but she did it at last, and managed to swallow a morsel of the lefthand bit.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * * *
' Come, my head's free at last!'
' What CAN all that green stuff be?'
said Alice.
' And where HAVE my shoulders got to?
And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can't see you?'
She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except a little shaking among the distant green leaves.
As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head, she tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to find that her neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent.
' Serpent!'
screamed the Pigeon.
' I'm NOT a serpent!'
said Alice indignantly.
' Let me alone!'
' Serpent, I say again!'
repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued tone, and added with a kind of sob,'I've tried every way, and nothing seems to suit them!'
' I haven't the least idea what you're talking about,' said Alice.
' I've tried the roots of trees, and I've tried banks, and I've tried hedges,' the Pigeon went on, without attending to her;'but those serpents!
There's no pleasing them!'
Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.
' As if it wasn't trouble enough hatching the eggs,' said the Pigeon;'but I must be on the look - out for serpents night and day!
Why, I haven't had a wink of sleep these three weeks!'
' I'm very sorry you've been annoyed,' said Alice, who was beginning to see its meaning.
' And just as I'd taken the highest tree in the wood,' continued the Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek,'and just as I was thinking I should be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down from the sky!
Ugh, Serpent!'
' But I'm NOT a serpent, I tell you!'
said Alice.
' I'm a--I'm a --'
' Well!
WHAT are you?'
said the Pigeon.
' I can see you're trying to invent something!'
' I--I'm a little girl,' said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered the number of changes she had gone through that day.
' A likely story indeed!'
said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest contempt.
' I've seen a good many little girls in my time, but never ONE with such a neck as that!
No, no!
You're a serpent; and there's no use denying it.
I suppose you'll be telling me next that you never tasted an egg!'
' I HAVE tasted eggs, certainly,' said Alice, who was a very truthful child;'but little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you know.'
' I don't believe it,' said the Pigeon;'but if they do, why then they're a kind of serpent, that's all I can say.'
This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding,'You're looking for eggs, I know THAT well enough; and what does it matter to me whether you're a little girl or a serpent?'
' It matters a good deal to ME,' said Alice hastily;'but I'm not looking for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn't want YOURS: I don't like them raw.'
' Well, be off, then!'
said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled down again into its nest.
Alice crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it.
It was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual.
' Come, there's half my plan done now!
How puzzling all these changes are!
I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another!
However, I've got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden--how IS that to be done, I wonder?'
As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high.
' Whoever lives there,' thought Alice,'it'll never do to come upon them THIS size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!'
So she began nibbling at the righthand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.
CHAPTER VI.
Pig and Pepper
It was opened by another footman in livery, with a round face, and large eyes like a frog; and both footmen, Alice noticed, had powdered hair that curled all over their heads.
She felt very curious to know what it was all about, and crept a little way out of the wood to listen.
The Fish - Footman began by producing from under his arm a great letter, nearly as large as himself, and this he handed over to the other, saying, in a solemn tone,'For the Duchess.
An invitation from the Queen to play croquet.'
The Frog - Footman repeated, in the same solemn tone, only changing the order of the words a little,'From the Queen.
An invitation for the Duchess to play croquet.'
Then they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled together.
Alice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into the wood for fear of their hearing her; and when she next peeped out the Fish - Footman was gone, and the other was sitting on the ground near the door, staring stupidly up into the sky.
Alice went timidly up to the door, and knocked.
' There's no sort of use in knocking,' said the Footman,'and that for two reasons.
First, because I'm on the same side of the door as you are; secondly, because they're making such a noise inside, no one could possibly hear you.'
And certainly there was a most extraordinary noise going on within--a constant howling and sneezing, and every now and then a great crash, as if a dish or kettle had been broken to pieces.
' Please, then,' said Alice,'how am I to get in?'
' There might be some sense in your knocking,' the Footman went on without attending to her,'if we had the door between us.
For instance, if you were INSIDE, you might knock, and I could let you out, you know.'
He was looking up into the sky all the time he was speaking, and this Alice thought decidedly uncivil.
' But perhaps he can't help it,' she said to herself;'his eyes are so VERY nearly at the top of his head.
But at any rate he might answer questions.-- How am I to get in?'
she repeated, aloud.
' I shall sit here,' the Footman remarked,'till tomorrow --'
At this moment the door of the house opened, and a large plate came skimming out, straight at the Footman's head: it just grazed his nose, and broke to pieces against one of the trees behind him.
'-- or next day, maybe,' the Footman continued in the same tone, exactly as if nothing had happened.
' How am I to get in?'
asked Alice again, in a louder tone.
' ARE you to get in at all?'
said the Footman.
' That's the first question, you know.'
It was, no doubt: only Alice did not like to be told so.
' It's really dreadful,' she muttered to herself,'the way all the creatures argue.
It's enough to drive one crazy!'
The Footman seemed to think this a good opportunity for repeating his remark, with variations.
' I shall sit here,' he said,'on and off, for days and days.'
' But what am I to do?'
said Alice.
' Anything you like,' said the Footman, and began whistling.
' Oh, there's no use in talking to him,' said Alice desperately:'he's perfectly idiotic!'
And she opened the door and went in.
The door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke from one end to the other: the Duchess was sitting on a three - legged stool in the middle, nursing a baby; the cook was leaning over the fire, stirring a large cauldron which seemed to be full of soup.
' There's certainly too much pepper in that soup!'
Alice said to herself, as well as she could for sneezing.
There was certainly too much of it in the air.
Even the Duchess sneezed occasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and howling alternately without a moment's pause.
The only things in the kitchen that did not sneeze, were the cook, and a large cat which was sitting on the hearth and grinning from ear to ear.
' Please would you tell me,' said Alice, a little timidly, for she was not quite sure whether it was good manners for her to speak first,'why your cat grins like that?'
' It's a Cheshire cat,' said the Duchess,'and that's why.
Pig!'
She said the last word with such sudden violence that Alice quite jumped; but she saw in another moment that it was addressed to the baby, and not to her, so she took courage, and went on again:--
' I didn't know that Cheshire cats always grinned; in fact, I didn't know that cats COULD grin.'
' They all can,' said the Duchess;'and most of'em do.'
' I don't know of any that do,' Alice said very politely, feeling quite pleased to have got into a conversation.
' You don't know much,' said the Duchess;'and that's a fact.'
Alice did not at all like the tone of this remark, and thought it would be as well to introduce some other subject of conversation.
While she was trying to fix on one, the cook took the cauldron of soup off the fire, and at once set to work throwing everything within her reach at the Duchess and the baby--the fire - irons came first; then followed a shower of saucepans, plates, and dishes.
The Duchess took no notice of them even when they hit her; and the baby was howling so much already, that it was quite impossible to say whether the blows hurt it or not.
' Oh, PLEASE mind what you're doing!'
cried Alice, jumping up and down in an agony of terror.
' Oh, there goes his PRECIOUS nose '; as an unusually large saucepan flew close by it, and very nearly carried it off.
' If everybody minded their own business,' the Duchess said in a hoarse growl,'the world would go round a deal faster than it does.'
' Which would NOT be an advantage,' said Alice, who felt very glad to get an opportunity of showing off a little of her knowledge.
' Just think of what work it would make with the day and night!
You see the earth takes twenty - four hours to turn round on its axis --'
' Talking of axes,' said the Duchess,'chop off her head!'
Alice glanced rather anxiously at the cook, to see if she meant to take the hint; but the cook was busily stirring the soup, and seemed not to be listening, so she went on again:'Twenty - four hours, I THINK; or is it twelve?
I --'
' Oh, don't bother ME,' said the Duchess;'I never could abide figures!'
And with that she began nursing her child again, singing a sort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a violent shake at the end of every line:
' Speak roughly to your little boy, And beat him when he sneezes: He only does it to annoy, Because he knows it teases.'
CHORUS.
(In which the cook and the baby joined):--
' Wow!
wow!
wow!'
While the Duchess sang the second verse of the song, she kept tossing the baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing howled so, that Alice could hardly hear the words:--
' I speak severely to my boy, I beat him when he sneezes; For he can thoroughly enjoy The pepper when he pleases!'
CHORUS.
' Wow!
wow!
wow!'
' Here!
you may nurse it a bit, if you like!'
the Duchess said to Alice, flinging the baby at her as she spoke.
' I must go and get ready to play croquet with the Queen,' and she hurried out of the room.
The cook threw a frying - pan after her as she went out, but it just missed her.
Alice caught the baby with some difficulty, as it was a queer - shaped little creature, and held out its arms and legs in all directions,'just like a star - fish,' thought Alice.
The poor little thing was snorting like a steam - engine when she caught it, and kept doubling itself up and straightening itself out again, so that altogether, for the first minute or two, it was as much as she could do to hold it.
As soon as she had made out the proper way of nursing it, (which was to twist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep tight hold of its right ear and left foot, so as to prevent its undoing itself,) she carried it out into the open air.
' IF I don't take this child away with me,' thought Alice,'they're sure to kill it in a day or two: wouldn't it be murder to leave it behind?'
She said the last words out loud, and the little thing grunted in reply (it had left off sneezing by this time).
' Don't grunt,' said Alice;'that's not at all a proper way of expressing yourself.'
The baby grunted again, and Alice looked very anxiously into its face to see what was the matter with it.
There could be no doubt that it had a VERY turn - up nose, much more like a snout than a real nose; also its eyes were getting extremely small for a baby: altogether Alice did not like the look of the thing at all.
' But perhaps it was only sobbing,' she thought, and looked into its eyes again, to see if there were any tears.
No, there were no tears.
' If you're going to turn into a pig, my dear,' said Alice, seriously,'I'll have nothing more to do with you.
Mind now!'
The poor little thing sobbed again (or grunted, it was impossible to say which), and they went on for some while in silence.
Alice was just beginning to think to herself,'Now, what am I to do with this creature when I get it home?'
when it grunted again, so violently, that she looked down into its face in some alarm.
This time there could be NO mistake about it: it was neither more nor less than a pig, and she felt that it would be quite absurd for her to carry it further.
So she set the little creature down, and felt quite relieved to see it trot away quietly into the wood.
' If it had grown up,' she said to herself,'it would have made a dreadfully ugly child: but it makes rather a handsome pig, I think.'
And she began thinking over other children she knew, who might do very well as pigs, and was just saying to herself,'if one only knew the right way to change them --' when she was a little startled by seeing the Cheshire Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off.
The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice.
It looked good - natured, she thought: still it had VERY long claws and a great many teeth, so she felt that it ought to be treated with respect.
' Cheshire Puss,' she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider.
' Come, it's pleased so far,' thought Alice, and she went on.
' Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'
' That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat.
' I don't much care where --' said Alice.
' Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.
'-- so long as I get SOMEWHERE,' Alice added as an explanation.
' Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat,'if you only walk long enough.'
Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question.
' What sort of people live about here?'
' In THAT direction,' the Cat said, waving its right paw round,'lives a Hatter: and in THAT direction,' waving the other paw,'lives a March Hare.
Visit either you like: they're both mad.'
' But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.
' Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat:'we're all mad here.
I'm mad.
You're mad.'
' How do you know I'm mad?'
said Alice.
' You must be,' said the Cat,'or you wouldn't have come here.'
Alice didn't think that proved it at all; however, she went on'And how do you know that you're mad?'
' To begin with,' said the Cat,'a dog's not mad.
You grant that?'
' I suppose so,' said Alice.
' Well, then,' the Cat went on,'you see, a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased.
Now I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry.
Therefore I'm mad.'
' I call it purring, not growling,' said Alice.
' Call it what you like,' said the Cat.
' Do you play croquet with the Queen to - day?'
' I should like it very much,' said Alice,'but I haven't been invited yet.'
' You'll see me there,' said the Cat, and vanished.
Alice was not much surprised at this, she was getting so used to queer things happening.
While she was looking at the place where it had been, it suddenly appeared again.
' By - the - bye, what became of the baby?'
said the Cat.
' I'd nearly forgotten to ask.'
' It turned into a pig,' Alice quietly said, just as if it had come back in a natural way.
' I thought it would,' said the Cat, and vanished again.
Alice waited a little, half expecting to see it again, but it did not appear, and after a minute or two she walked on in the direction in which the March Hare was said to live.
' I've seen hatters before,' she said to herself;'the March Hare will be much the most interesting, and perhaps as this is May it won't be raving mad--at least not so mad as it was in March.'
As she said this, she looked up, and there was the Cat again, sitting on a branch of a tree.
' Did you say pig, or fig?'
said the Cat.
' I said pig,' replied Alice;'and I wish you wouldn't keep appearing and vanishing so suddenly: you make one quite giddy.'
' All right,' said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.
' Well!
I've often seen a cat without a grin,' thought Alice;'but a grin without a cat!
It's the most curious thing I ever saw in my life!'
She had not gone much farther before she came in sight of the house of the March Hare: she thought it must be the right house, because the chimneys were shaped like ears and the roof was thatched with fur.
I almost wish I'd gone to see the Hatter instead!'
CHAPTER VII.
A Mad Tea - Party
There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head.
' Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,' thought Alice;'only, as it's asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind.'
The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it:'No room!
No room!'
they cried out when they saw Alice coming.
' There's PLENTY of room!'
said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm - chair at one end of the table.
' Have some wine,' the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.
Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea.
' I don't see any wine,' she remarked.
' There isn't any,' said the March Hare.
' Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it,' said Alice angrily.
' It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited,' said the March Hare.
' I didn't know it was YOUR table,' said Alice;'it's laid for a great many more than three.'
' Your hair wants cutting,' said the Hatter.
He had been looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech.
' You should learn not to make personal remarks,' Alice said with some severity;'it's very rude.'
The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he SAID was,'Why is a raven like a writing - desk?'
' Come, we shall have some fun now!'
thought Alice.
' I'm glad they've begun asking riddles.-- I believe I can guess that,' she added aloud.
' Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?'
said the March Hare.
' Exactly so,' said Alice.
' Then you should say what you mean,' the March Hare went on.
' I do,' Alice hastily replied;'at least--at least I mean what I say--that's the same thing, you know.'
' Not the same thing a bit!'
said the Hatter.
' You might just as well say that " I see what I eat " is the same thing as " I eat what I see "!'
' You might just as well say,' added the March Hare,'that " I like what I get " is the same thing as " I get what I like "!'
' You might just as well say,' added the Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in his sleep,'that " I breathe when I sleep " is the same thing as " I sleep when I breathe "!'
' It IS the same thing with you,' said the Hatter, and here the conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while Alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and writing - desks, which wasn't much.
The Hatter was the first to break the silence.
' What day of the month is it?'
he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out of his pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now and then, and holding it to his ear.
Alice considered a little, and then said'The fourth.'
' Two days wrong!'
sighed the Hatter.
' I told you butter wouldn't suit the works!'
he added looking angrily at the March Hare.
' It was the BEST butter,' the March Hare meekly replied.
' Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,' the Hatter grumbled:'you shouldn't have put it in with the bread - knife.'
The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could think of nothing better to say than his first remark,'It was the BEST butter, you know.'
Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity.
' What a funny watch!'
she remarked.
' It tells the day of the month, and doesn't tell what o'clock it is!'
' Why should it?'
muttered the Hatter.
' Does YOUR watch tell you what year it is?'
' Of course not,' Alice replied very readily:'but that's because it stays the same year for such a long time together.'
' Which is just the case with MINE,' said the Hatter.
Alice felt dreadfully puzzled.
The Hatter's remark seemed to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English.
' I don't quite understand you,' she said, as politely as she could.
' The Dormouse is asleep again,' said the Hatter, and he poured a little hot tea upon its nose.
The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without opening its eyes,'Of course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.'
' Have you guessed the riddle yet?'
the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.
' No, I give it up,' Alice replied:'what's the answer?'
' I haven't the slightest idea,' said the Hatter.
' Nor I,' said the March Hare.
Alice sighed wearily.
' I think you might do something better with the time,' she said,'than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.'
' If you knew Time as well as I do,' said the Hatter,'you wouldn't talk about wasting IT.
It's HIM.'
' I don't know what you mean,' said Alice.
' Of course you don't!'
the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously.
' I dare say you never even spoke to Time!'
' Perhaps not,' Alice cautiously replied:'but I know I have to beat time when I learn music.'
' Ah!
that accounts for it,' said the Hatter.
' He won't stand beating.
Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he'd do almost anything you liked with the clock.
For instance, suppose it were nine o'clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons: you'd only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling!
Half - past one, time for dinner!'
(' I only wish it was,' the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.)
' That would be grand, certainly,' said Alice thoughtfully:'but then--I shouldn't be hungry for it, you know.'
' Not at first, perhaps,' said the Hatter:'but you could keep it to half - past one as long as you liked.'
' Is that the way YOU manage?'
Alice asked.
The Hatter shook his head mournfully.
' Not I!'
he replied.
' We quarrelled last March--just before HE went mad, you know --' (pointing with his tea spoon at the March Hare,) '-- it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing
" Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you're at!"
You know the song, perhaps?'
' I've heard something like it,' said Alice.
' It goes on, you know,' the Hatter continued,'in this way:--
" Up above the world you fly, Like a tea - tray in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle --'
Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep'Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle --' and went on so long that they had to pinch it to make it stop.
' Well, I'd hardly finished the first verse,' said the Hatter,'when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, " He's murdering the time!
Off with his head!'
' How dreadfully savage!'
exclaimed Alice.
' And ever since that,' the Hatter went on in a mournful tone,'he won't do a thing I ask!
It's always six o'clock now.'
A bright idea came into Alice's head.
' Is that the reason so many tea - things are put out here?'
she asked.
' Yes, that's it,' said the Hatter with a sigh:'it's always tea - time, and we've no time to wash the things between whiles.'
' Then you keep moving round, I suppose?'
said Alice.
' Exactly so,' said the Hatter:'as the things get used up.'
' But what happens when you come to the beginning again?'
Alice ventured to ask.
' Suppose we change the subject,' the March Hare interrupted, yawning.
' I'm getting tired of this.
I vote the young lady tells us a story.'
' I'm afraid I don't know one,' said Alice, rather alarmed at the proposal.
' Then the Dormouse shall!'
they both cried.
' Wake up, Dormouse!'
And they pinched it on both sides at once.
The Dormouse slowly opened his eyes.
' I wasn't asleep,' he said in a hoarse, feeble voice:'I heard every word you fellows were saying.'
' Tell us a story!'
said the March Hare.
' Yes, please do!'
pleaded Alice.
' And be quick about it,' added the Hatter,'or you'll be asleep again before it's done.'
' Once upon a time there were three little sisters,' the Dormouse began in a great hurry;'and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well --'
' What did they live on?'
said Alice, who always took a great interest in questions of eating and drinking.
' They lived on treacle,' said the Dormouse, after thinking a minute or two.
' They couldn't have done that, you know,' Alice gently remarked;'they'd have been ill.'
' So they were,' said the Dormouse;'VERY ill.'
Alice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary ways of living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went on:'But why did they live at the bottom of a well?'
' Take some more tea,' the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.
' I've had nothing yet,' Alice replied in an offended tone,'so I can't take more.'
' You mean you can't take LESS,' said the Hatter:'it's very easy to take MORE than nothing.'
' Nobody asked YOUR opinion,' said Alice.
' Who's making personal remarks now?'
the Hatter asked triumphantly.
Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself to some tea and bread - and - butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and repeated her question.
' Why did they live at the bottom of a well?'
The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and then said,'It was a treacle - well.'
' There's no such thing!'
Alice was beginning very angrily, but the Hatter and the March Hare went'Sh!
sh!'
and the Dormouse sulkily remarked,'If you can't be civil, you'd better finish the story for yourself.'
' No, please go on!'
Alice said very humbly;'I won't interrupt again.
I dare say there may be ONE.'
' One, indeed!'
said the Dormouse indignantly.
However, he consented to go on.
' And so these three little sisters--they were learning to draw, you know --'
' What did they draw?'
said Alice, quite forgetting her promise.
' Treacle,' said the Dormouse, without considering at all this time.
' I want a clean cup,' interrupted the Hatter:'let's all move one place on.'
He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him: the March Hare moved into the Dormouse's place, and Alice rather unwillingly took the place of the March Hare.
The Hatter was the only one who got any advantage from the change: and Alice was a good deal worse off than before, as the March Hare had just upset the milk - jug into his plate.
Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she began very cautiously:'But I don't understand.
Where did they draw the treacle from?'
' You can draw water out of a water - well,' said the Hatter;'so I should think you could draw treacle out of a treacle - well--eh, stupid?'
' But they were IN the well,' Alice said to the Dormouse, not choosing to notice this last remark.
' Of course they were ', said the Dormouse; '-- well in.'
This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go on for some time without interrupting it.
' They were learning to draw,' the Dormouse went on, yawning and rubbing its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy;'and they drew all manner of things--everything that begins with an M --'
' Why with an M?'
said Alice.
' Why not?'
said the March Hare.
Alice was silent.
' Really, now you ask me,' said Alice, very much confused,'I don't think --'
' Then you shouldn't talk,' said the Hatter.
' At any rate I'll never go THERE again!'
said Alice as she picked her way through the wood.
' It's the stupidest tea - party I ever was at in all my life!'
Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a door leading right into it.
' That's very curious!'
she thought.
' But everything's curious today.
I think I may as well go in at once.'
And in she went.
Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the little glass table.
' Now, I'll manage better this time,' she said to herself, and began by taking the little golden key, and unlocking the door that led into the garden.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Queen's Croquet - Ground
A large rose - tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily painting them red.
Alice thought this a very curious thing, and she went nearer to watch them, and just as she came up to them she heard one of them say,'Look out now, Five!
Don't go splashing paint over me like that!'
' I couldn't help it,' said Five, in a sulky tone;'Seven jogged my elbow.'
On which Seven looked up and said,'That's right, Five!
Always lay the blame on others!'
' YOU'D better not talk!'
said Five.
' I heard the Queen say only yesterday you deserved to be beheaded!'
' What for?'
said the one who had spoken first.
' That's none of YOUR business, Two!'
said Seven.
' Yes, it IS his business!'
said Five,'and I'll tell him--it was for bringing the cook tulip - roots instead of onions.'
Seven flung down his brush, and had just begun'Well, of all the unjust things --' when his eye chanced to fall upon Alice, as she stood watching them, and he checked himself suddenly: the others looked round also, and all of them bowed low.
' Would you tell me,' said Alice, a little timidly,'why you are painting those roses?'
Five and Seven said nothing, but looked at Two.
Two began in a low voice,'Why the fact is, you see, Miss, this here ought to have been a RED rose - tree, and we put a white one in by mistake; and if the Queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off, you know.
So you see, Miss, we're doing our best, afore she comes, to --' At this moment Five, who had been anxiously looking across the garden, called out'The Queen!
The Queen!'
and the three gardeners instantly threw themselves flat upon their faces.
There was a sound of many footsteps, and Alice looked round, eager to see the Queen.
First came ten soldiers carrying clubs; these were all shaped like the three gardeners, oblong and flat, with their hands and feet at the corners: next the ten courtiers; these were ornamented all over with diamonds, and walked two and two, as the soldiers did.
After these came the royal children; there were ten of them, and the little dears came jumping merrily along hand in hand, in couples: they were all ornamented with hearts.
Next came the guests, mostly Kings and Queens, and among them Alice recognised the White Rabbit: it was talking in a hurried nervous manner, smiling at everything that was said, and went by without noticing her.
Then followed the Knave of Hearts, carrying the King's crown on a crimson velvet cushion; and, last of all this grand procession, came THE KING AND QUEEN OF HEARTS.
So she stood still where she was, and waited.
When the procession came opposite to Alice, they all stopped and looked at her, and the Queen said severely'Who is this?'
She said it to the Knave of Hearts, who only bowed and smiled in reply.
' Idiot!'
said the Queen, tossing her head impatiently; and, turning to Alice, she went on,'What's your name, child?'
' My name is Alice, so please your Majesty,' said Alice very politely; but she added, to herself,'Why, they're only a pack of cards, after all.
I needn't be afraid of them!'
' And who are THESE?'
' How should I know?'
said Alice, surprised at her own courage.
' It's no business of MINE.'
The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her for a moment like a wild beast, screamed'Off with her head!
Off --'
' Nonsense!'
said Alice, very loudly and decidedly, and the Queen was silent.
The King laid his hand upon her arm, and timidly said'Consider, my dear: she is only a child!'
The Queen turned angrily away from him, and said to the Knave'Turn them over!'
The Knave did so, very carefully, with one foot.
' Get up!'
said the Queen, in a shrill, loud voice, and the three gardeners instantly jumped up, and began bowing to the King, the Queen, the royal children, and everybody else.
' Leave off that!'
screamed the Queen.
' You make me giddy.'
And then, turning to the rose - tree, she went on,'What HAVE you been doing here?'
' May it please your Majesty,' said Two, in a very humble tone, going down on one knee as he spoke,'we were trying --'
' I see!'
said the Queen, who had meanwhile been examining the roses.
' Off with their heads!'
and the procession moved on, three of the soldiers remaining behind to execute the unfortunate gardeners, who ran to Alice for protection.
' You shan't be beheaded!'
said Alice, and she put them into a large flower - pot that stood near.
The three soldiers wandered about for a minute or two, looking for them, and then quietly marched off after the others.
' Are their heads off?'
shouted the Queen.
' Their heads are gone, if it please your Majesty!'
the soldiers shouted in reply.
' That's right!'
shouted the Queen.
' Can you play croquet?'
The soldiers were silent, and looked at Alice, as the question was evidently meant for her.
' Yes!'
shouted Alice.
' Come on, then!'
roared the Queen, and Alice joined the procession, wondering very much what would happen next.
' It's--it's a very fine day!'
said a timid voice at her side.
She was walking by the White Rabbit, who was peeping anxiously into her face.
' Very,' said Alice: '-- where's the Duchess?'
' Hush!
Hush!'
said the Rabbit in a low, hurried tone.
He looked anxiously over his shoulder as he spoke, and then raised himself upon tiptoe, put his mouth close to her ear, and whispered'She's under sentence of execution.'
' What for?'
said Alice.
' Did you say " What a pity!"?'
the Rabbit asked.
' No, I didn't,' said Alice:'I don't think it's at all a pity.
I said " What for?'
' She boxed the Queen's ears --' the Rabbit began.
Alice gave a little scream of laughter.
' Oh, hush!'
the Rabbit whispered in a frightened tone.
' The Queen will hear you!
You see, she came rather late, and the Queen said --'
' Get to your places!'
shouted the Queen in a voice of thunder, and people began running about in all directions, tumbling up against each other; however, they got settled down in a minute or two, and the game began.
Alice thought she had never seen such a curious croquet - ground in her life; it was all ridges and furrows; the balls were live hedgehogs, the mallets live flamingoes, and the soldiers had to double themselves up and to stand on their hands and feet, to make the arches.
The players all played at once without waiting for turns, quarrelling all the while, and fighting for the hedgehogs; and in a very short time the Queen was in a furious passion, and went stamping about, and shouting'Off with his head!'
or'Off with her head!'
about once in a minute.
Alice began to feel very uneasy: to be sure, she had not as yet had any dispute with the Queen, but she knew that it might happen any minute,'and then,' thought she,'what would become of me?
They're dreadfully fond of beheading people here; the great wonder is, that there's any one left alive!'
' How are you getting on?'
said the Cat, as soon as there was mouth enough for it to speak with.
Alice waited till the eyes appeared, and then nodded.
' It's no use speaking to it,' she thought,'till its ears have come, or at least one of them.'
In another minute the whole head appeared, and then Alice put down her flamingo, and began an account of the game, feeling very glad she had someone to listen to her.
The Cat seemed to think that there was enough of it now in sight, and no more of it appeared.
' How do you like the Queen?'
said the Cat in a low voice.
' Not at all,' said Alice:'she's so extremely --' Just then she noticed that the Queen was close behind her, listening: so she went on, '-- likely to win, that it's hardly worth while finishing the game.'
The Queen smiled and passed on.
' Who ARE you talking to?'
said the King, going up to Alice, and looking at the Cat's head with great curiosity.
' It's a friend of mine--a Cheshire Cat,' said Alice:'allow me to introduce it.'
' I don't like the look of it at all,' said the King:'however, it may kiss my hand if it likes.'
' I'd rather not,' the Cat remarked.
' Don't be impertinent,' said the King,'and don't look at me like that!'
He got behind Alice as he spoke.
' A cat may look at a king,' said Alice.
' I've read that in some book, but I don't remember where.'
' Well, it must be removed,' said the King very decidedly, and he called the Queen, who was passing at the moment,'My dear!
I wish you would have this cat removed!'
The Queen had only one way of settling all difficulties, great or small.
' Off with his head!'
she said, without even looking round.
' I'll fetch the executioner myself,' said the King eagerly, and he hurried off.
Alice thought she might as well go back, and see how the game was going on, as she heard the Queen's voice in the distance, screaming with passion.
She had already heard her sentence three of the players to be executed for having missed their turns, and she did not like the look of things at all, as the game was in such confusion that she never knew whether it was her turn or not.
So she went in search of her hedgehog.
By the time she had caught the flamingo and brought it back, the fight was over, and both the hedgehogs were out of sight:'but it doesn't matter much,' thought Alice,'as all the arches are gone from this side of the ground.'
So she tucked it away under her arm, that it might not escape again, and went back for a little more conversation with her friend.
The moment Alice appeared, she was appealed to by all three to settle the question, and they repeated their arguments to her, though, as they all spoke at once, she found it very hard indeed to make out exactly what they said.
The executioner's argument was, that you couldn't cut off a head unless there was a body to cut it off from: that he had never had to do such a thing before, and he wasn't going to begin at HIS time of life.
The King's argument was, that anything that had a head could be beheaded, and that you weren't to talk nonsense.
The Queen's argument was, that if something wasn't done about it in less than no time she'd have everybody executed, all round.
(It was this last remark that had made the whole party look so grave and anxious.)
Alice could think of nothing else to say but'It belongs to the Duchess: you'd better ask HER about it.'
' She's in prison,' the Queen said to the executioner:'fetch her here.'
And the executioner went off like an arrow.
The Cat's head began fading away the moment he was gone, and, by the time he had come back with the Duchess, it had entirely disappeared; so the King and the executioner ran wildly up and down looking for it, while the rest of the party went back to the game.
CHAPTER IX.
The Mock Turtle's Story
' You can't think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing!'
said the Duchess, as she tucked her arm affectionately into Alice's, and they walked off together.
Alice was very glad to find her in such a pleasant temper, and thought to herself that perhaps it was only the pepper that had made her so savage when they met in the kitchen.
' When I'M a Duchess,' she said to herself, (not in a very hopeful tone though),'I won't have any pepper in my kitchen AT ALL.
I only wish people knew that: then they wouldn't be so stingy about it, you know --'
She had quite forgotten the Duchess by this time, and was a little startled when she heard her voice close to her ear.
' You're thinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk.
I can't tell you just now what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in a bit.'
' Perhaps it hasn't one,' Alice ventured to remark.
' Tut, tut, child!'
said the Duchess.
' Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it.'
And she squeezed herself up closer to Alice's side as she spoke.
Alice did not much like keeping so close to her: first, because the Duchess was VERY ugly; and secondly, because she was exactly the right height to rest her chin upon Alice's shoulder, and it was an uncomfortably sharp chin.
However, she did not like to be rude, so she bore it as well as she could.
' The game's going on rather better now,' she said, by way of keeping up the conversation a little.
Tis so,' said the Duchess:'and the moral of that is --" Oh,'tis love,'tis love, that makes the world go round!'
' Somebody said,' Alice whispered,'that it's done by everybody minding their own business!'
' Ah, well!
It means much the same thing,' said the Duchess, digging her sharp little chin into Alice's shoulder as she added,'and the moral of THAT is --" Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves.'
' How fond she is of finding morals in things!'
Alice thought to herself.
' I dare say you're wondering why I don't put my arm round your waist,' the Duchess said after a pause:'the reason is, that I'm doubtful about the temper of your flamingo.
Shall I try the experiment?'
' HE might bite,' Alice cautiously replied, not feeling at all anxious to have the experiment tried.
' Very true,' said the Duchess:'flamingoes and mustard both bite.
And the moral of that is --" Birds of a feather flock together.'
' Only mustard isn't a bird,' Alice remarked.
' Right, as usual,' said the Duchess:'what a clear way you have of putting things!'
' It's a mineral, I THINK,' said Alice.
' Of course it is,' said the Duchess, who seemed ready to agree to everything that Alice said;'there's a large mustard - mine near here.
And the moral of that is --" The more there is of mine, the less there is of yours.'
' Oh, I know!'
exclaimed Alice, who had not attended to this last remark,'it's a vegetable.
It doesn't look like one, but it is.'
' I think I should understand that better,' Alice said very politely,'if I had it written down: but I can't quite follow it as you say it.'
' That's nothing to what I could say if I chose,' the Duchess replied, in a pleased tone.
' Pray don't trouble yourself to say it any longer than that,' said Alice.
' Oh, don't talk about trouble!'
said the Duchess.
' I make you a present of everything I've said as yet.'
' A cheap sort of present!'
thought Alice.
' I'm glad they don't give birthday presents like that!'
But she did not venture to say it out loud.
' Thinking again?'
the Duchess asked, with another dig of her sharp little chin.
' I've a right to think,' said Alice sharply, for she was beginning to feel a little worried.
' Just about as much right,' said the Duchess,'as pigs have to fly; and the m --'
But here, to Alice's great surprise, the Duchess's voice died away, even in the middle of her favourite word'moral,' and the arm that was linked into hers began to tremble.
Alice looked up, and there stood the Queen in front of them, with her arms folded, frowning like a thunderstorm.
' A fine day, your Majesty!'
the Duchess began in a low, weak voice.
' Now, I give you fair warning,' shouted the Queen, stamping on the ground as she spoke;'either you or your head must be off, and that in about half no time!
Take your choice!'
The Duchess took her choice, and was gone in a moment.
' Let's go on with the game,' the Queen said to Alice; and Alice was too much frightened to say a word, but slowly followed her back to the croquet - ground.
The other guests had taken advantage of the Queen's absence, and were resting in the shade: however, the moment they saw her, they hurried back to the game, the Queen merely remarking that a moment's delay would cost them their lives.
All the time they were playing the Queen never left off quarrelling with the other players, and shouting'Off with his head!'
or'Off with her head!'
Then the Queen left off, quite out of breath, and said to Alice,'Have you seen the Mock Turtle yet?'
' No,' said Alice.
' I don't even know what a Mock Turtle is.'
' It's the thing Mock Turtle Soup is made from,' said the Queen.
' I never saw one, or heard of one,' said Alice.
' Come on, then,' said the Queen,'and he shall tell you his history,'
As they walked off together, Alice heard the King say in a low voice, to the company generally,'You are all pardoned.'
' Come, THAT'S a good thing!'
she said to herself, for she had felt quite unhappy at the number of executions the Queen had ordered.
They very soon came upon a Gryphon, lying fast asleep in the sun.
(IF you don't know what a Gryphon is, look at the picture.)
' Up, lazy thing!'
said the Queen,'and take this young lady to see the Mock Turtle, and to hear his history.
I must go back and see after some executions I have ordered '; and she walked off, leaving Alice alone with the Gryphon.
Alice did not quite like the look of the creature, but on the whole she thought it would be quite as safe to stay with it as to go after that savage Queen: so she waited.
The Gryphon sat up and rubbed its eyes: then it watched the Queen till she was out of sight: then it chuckled.
' What fun!'
said the Gryphon, half to itself, half to Alice.
' What IS the fun?'
said Alice.
' Why, SHE,' said the Gryphon.
' It's all her fancy, that: they never executes nobody, you know.
Come on!'
' Everybody says " come on!"
here,' thought Alice, as she went slowly after it:'I never was so ordered about in all my life, never!'
They had not gone far before they saw the Mock Turtle in the distance, sitting sad and lonely on a little ledge of rock, and, as they came nearer, Alice could hear him sighing as if his heart would break.
She pitied him deeply.
' What is his sorrow?'
she asked the Gryphon, and the Gryphon answered, very nearly in the same words as before,'It's all his fancy, that: he hasn't got no sorrow, you know.
Come on!'
So they went up to the Mock Turtle, who looked at them with large eyes full of tears, but said nothing.
' This here young lady,' said the Gryphon,'she wants for to know your history, she do.'
' I'll tell it her,' said the Mock Turtle in a deep, hollow tone:'sit down, both of you, and don't speak a word till I've finished.'
So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes.
Alice thought to herself,'I don't see how he can EVEN finish, if he doesn't begin.'
But she waited patiently.
' Once,' said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh,'I was a real Turtle.'
These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an occasional exclamation of'Hjckrrh!'
from the Gryphon, and the constant heavy sobbing of the Mock Turtle.
Alice was very nearly getting up and saying,'Thank you, sir, for your interesting story,' but she could not help thinking there MUST be more to come, so she sat still and said nothing.
' When we were little,' the Mock Turtle went on at last, more calmly, though still sobbing a little now and then,'we went to school in the sea.
The master was an old Turtle--we used to call him Tortoise --'
' Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn't one?'
Alice asked.
' We called him Tortoise because he taught us,' said the Mock Turtle angrily:'really you are very dull!'
' You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple question,' added the Gryphon; and then they both sat silent and looked at poor Alice, who felt ready to sink into the earth.
At last the Gryphon said to the Mock Turtle,'Drive on, old fellow!
Don't be all day about it!'
and he went on in these words:
' Yes, we went to school in the sea, though you mayn't believe it --'
' I never said I didn't!'
interrupted Alice.
' You did,' said the Mock Turtle.
' Hold your tongue!'
added the Gryphon, before Alice could speak again.
The Mock Turtle went on.
' We had the best of educations--in fact, we went to school every day --'
' I'VE been to a day - school, too,' said Alice;'you needn't be so proud as all that.'
' With extras?'
asked the Mock Turtle a little anxiously.
' Yes,' said Alice,'we learned French and music.'
' And washing?'
said the Mock Turtle.
' Certainly not!'
said Alice indignantly.
' Ah!
then yours wasn't a really good school,' said the Mock Turtle in a tone of great relief.
' Now at OURS they had at the end of the bill, " French, music, AND WASHING--extra.'
' You couldn't have wanted it much,' said Alice;'living at the bottom of the sea.'
' I couldn't afford to learn it.'
said the Mock Turtle with a sigh.
' I only took the regular course.'
' What was that?'
inquired Alice.
' Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with,' the Mock Turtle replied;'and then the different branches of Arithmetic--Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision.'
' I never heard of " Uglification,' Alice ventured to say.
' What is it?'
The Gryphon lifted up both its paws in surprise.
' What!
Never heard of uglifying!'
it exclaimed.
' You know what to beautify is, I suppose?'
' Yes,' said Alice doubtfully:'it means--to--make--anything--prettier.'
' Well, then,' the Gryphon went on,'if you don't know what to uglify is, you ARE a simpleton.'
Alice did not feel encouraged to ask any more questions about it, so she turned to the Mock Turtle, and said'What else had you to learn?'
' What was THAT like?'
said Alice.
' Well, I can't show it you myself,' the Mock Turtle said:'I'm too stiff.
And the Gryphon never learnt it.'
' Hadn't time,' said the Gryphon:'I went to the Classics master, though.
He was an old crab, HE was.'
' I never went to him,' the Mock Turtle said with a sigh:'he taught Laughing and Grief, they used to say.'
' So he did, so he did,' said the Gryphon, sighing in his turn; and both creatures hid their faces in their paws.
' And how many hours a day did you do lessons?'
said Alice, in a hurry to change the subject.
' Ten hours the first day,' said the Mock Turtle:'nine the next, and so on.'
' What a curious plan!'
exclaimed Alice.
' That's the reason they're called lessons,' the Gryphon remarked:'because they lessen from day to day.'
This was quite a new idea to Alice, and she thought it over a little before she made her next remark.
' Then the eleventh day must have been a holiday?'
' Of course it was,' said the Mock Turtle.
' And how did you manage on the twelfth?'
Alice went on eagerly.
' That's enough about lessons,' the Gryphon interrupted in a very decided tone:'tell her something about the games now.'
CHAPTER X.
The Lobster Quadrille
The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and drew the back of one flapper across his eyes.
He looked at Alice, and tried to speak, but for a minute or two sobs choked his voice.
' Same as if he had a bone in his throat,' said the Gryphon: and it set to work shaking him and punching him in the back.
At last the Mock Turtle recovered his voice, and, with tears running down his cheeks, he went on again:--
' No, indeed,' said Alice.
' What sort of a dance is it?'
' Why,' said the Gryphon,'you first form into a line along the sea - shore --'
' Two lines!'
cried the Mock Turtle.
' Seals, turtles, salmon, and so on; then, when you've cleared all the jelly - fish out of the way --'
' THAT generally takes some time,' interrupted the Gryphon.
'-- you advance twice --'
' Each with a lobster as a partner!'
cried the Gryphon.
' Of course,' the Mock Turtle said:'advance twice, set to partners --'
'-- change lobsters, and retire in same order,' continued the Gryphon.
' Then, you know,' the Mock Turtle went on,'you throw the --'
' The lobsters!'
shouted the Gryphon, with a bound into the air.
'-- as far out to sea as you can --'
' Swim after them!'
screamed the Gryphon.
' Turn a somersault in the sea!'
cried the Mock Turtle, capering wildly about.
' Change lobsters again!'
yelled the Gryphon at the top of its voice.
' Back to land again, and that's all the first figure,' said the Mock Turtle, suddenly dropping his voice; and the two creatures, who had been jumping about like mad things all this time, sat down again very sadly and quietly, and looked at Alice.
' It must be a very pretty dance,' said Alice timidly.
' Would you like to see a little of it?'
said the Mock Turtle.
' Very much indeed,' said Alice.
' Come, let's try the first figure!'
said the Mock Turtle to the Gryphon.
' We can do without lobsters, you know.
Which shall sing?'
' Oh, YOU sing,' said the Gryphon.
' I've forgotten the words.'
So they began solemnly dancing round and round Alice, every now and then treading on her toes when they passed too close, and waving their forepaws to mark the time, while the Mock Turtle sang this, very slowly and sadly:--
'" Will you walk a little faster?"
said a whiting to a snail.
" There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!
They are waiting on the shingle--will you come and join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?
" You can really have no notion how delightful it will be When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!"
But the snail replied " Too far, too far!"
and gave a look askance--Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance.
'" What matters it how far we go?"
his scaly friend replied.
" There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.
The further off from England the nearer is to France--Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?'
' Thank you, it's a very interesting dance to watch,' said Alice, feeling very glad that it was over at last:'and I do so like that curious song about the whiting!'
' Oh, as to the whiting,' said the Mock Turtle,'they--you've seen them, of course?'
' Yes,' said Alice,'I've often seen them at dinn --' she checked herself hastily.
' I don't know where Dinn may be,' said the Mock Turtle,'but if you've seen them so often, of course you know what they're like.'
' I believe so,' Alice replied thoughtfully.
' They have their tails in their mouths--and they're all over crumbs.'
' You're wrong about the crumbs,' said the Mock Turtle:'crumbs would all wash off in the sea.
But they HAVE their tails in their mouths; and the reason is --' here the Mock Turtle yawned and shut his eyes.--' Tell her about the reason and all that,' he said to the Gryphon.
' The reason is,' said the Gryphon,'that they WOULD go with the lobsters to the dance.
So they got thrown out to sea.
So they had to fall a long way.
So they got their tails fast in their mouths.
So they couldn't get them out again.
That's all.'
' Thank you,' said Alice,'it's very interesting.
I never knew so much about a whiting before.'
' I can tell you more than that, if you like,' said the Gryphon.
' Do you know why it's called a whiting?'
' I never thought about it,' said Alice.
' Why?'
' IT DOES THE BOOTS AND SHOES.'
the Gryphon replied very solemnly.
Alice was thoroughly puzzled.
' Does the boots and shoes!'
she repeated in a wondering tone.
' Why, what are YOUR shoes done with?'
said the Gryphon.
' I mean, what makes them so shiny?'
Alice looked down at them, and considered a little before she gave her answer.
' They're done with blacking, I believe.'
' Boots and shoes under the sea,' the Gryphon went on in a deep voice,'are done with a whiting.
Now you know.'
' And what are they made of?'
Alice asked in a tone of great curiosity.
' Soles and eels, of course,' the Gryphon replied rather impatiently:'any shrimp could have told you that.'
' If I'd been the whiting,' said Alice, whose thoughts were still running on the song,'I'd have said to the porpoise, " Keep back, please: we don't want YOU with us!'
' They were obliged to have him with them,' the Mock Turtle said:'no wise fish would go anywhere without a porpoise.'
' Wouldn't it really?'
said Alice in a tone of great surprise.
' Of course not,' said the Mock Turtle:'why, if a fish came to ME, and told me he was going a journey, I should say " With what porpoise?'
' Don't you mean " purpose "?'
said Alice.
' I mean what I say,' the Mock Turtle replied in an offended tone.
And the Gryphon added'Come, let's hear some of YOUR adventures.'
' I could tell you my adventures--beginning from this morning,' said Alice a little timidly:'but it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.'
' Explain all that,' said the Mock Turtle.
' No, no!
The adventures first,' said the Gryphon in an impatient tone:'explanations take such a dreadful time.'
So Alice began telling them her adventures from the time when she first saw the White Rabbit.
She was a little nervous about it just at first, the two creatures got so close to her, one on each side, and opened their eyes and mouths so VERY wide, but she gained courage as she went on.
Her listeners were perfectly quiet till she got to the part about her repeating'YOU ARE OLD, FATHER WILLIAM,' to the Caterpillar, and the words all coming different, and then the Mock Turtle drew a long breath, and said'That's very curious.'
' It's all about as curious as it can be,' said the Gryphon.
' It all came different!'
the Mock Turtle repeated thoughtfully.
' I should like to hear her try and repeat something now.
Tell her to begin.'
He looked at the Gryphon as if he thought it had some kind of authority over Alice.
' Stand up and repeat ' TIS THE VOICE OF THE SLUGGARD,' said the Gryphon.
' How the creatures order one about, and make one repeat lessons!'
thought Alice;'I might as well be at school at once.'
However, she got up, and began to repeat it, but her head was so full of the Lobster Quadrille, that she hardly knew what she was saying, and the words came very queer indeed:--
Tis the voice of the Lobster; I heard him declare, " You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair."
As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.'
[ later editions continued as follows When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark, And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark, But, when the tide rises and sharks are around, His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.]
' That's different from what I used to say when I was a child,' said the Gryphon.
' Well, I never heard it before,' said the Mock Turtle;'but it sounds uncommon nonsense.'
Alice said nothing; she had sat down with her face in her hands, wondering if anything would EVER happen in a natural way again.
' I should like to have it explained,' said the Mock Turtle.
' She can't explain it,' said the Gryphon hastily.
' Go on with the next verse.'
' But about his toes?'
the Mock Turtle persisted.
' How COULD he turn them out with his nose, you know?'
' It's the first position in dancing.'
Alice said; but was dreadfully puzzled by the whole thing, and longed to change the subject.
' Go on with the next verse,' the Gryphon repeated impatiently:'it begins " I passed by his garden.'
Alice did not dare to disobey, though she felt sure it would all come wrong, and she went on in a trembling voice:--
' I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye, How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie --'
[ later editions continued as follows The Panther took pie - crust, and gravy, and meat, While the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat.
When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon, Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon: While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl, And concluded the banquet --]
' What IS the use of repeating all that stuff,' the Mock Turtle interrupted,'if you don't explain it as you go on?
It's by far the most confusing thing I ever heard!'
' Yes, I think you'd better leave off,' said the Gryphon: and Alice was only too glad to do so.
' Shall we try another figure of the Lobster Quadrille?'
the Gryphon went on.
' Or would you like the Mock Turtle to sing you a song?'
' Oh, a song, please, if the Mock Turtle would be so kind,' Alice replied, so eagerly that the Gryphon said, in a rather offended tone,'Hm!
No accounting for tastes!
Sing her " Turtle Soup," will you, old fellow?'
The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and began, in a voice sometimes choked with sobs, to sing this:--
' Beautiful Soup, so rich and green, Waiting in a hot tureen!
Who for such dainties would not stoop?
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!
Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!
Soo--oop of the e--e--evening, Beautiful, beautiful Soup!
' Beautiful Soup!
Who cares for fish, Game, or any other dish?
Who would not give all else for two Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?
Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?
Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!
Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!
Soo--oop of the e--e--evening, Beautiful, beauti--FUL SOUP!'
' Chorus again!'
cried the Gryphon, and the Mock Turtle had just begun to repeat it, when a cry of'The trial's beginning!'
was heard in the distance.
' Come on!'
cried the Gryphon, and, taking Alice by the hand, it hurried off, without waiting for the end of the song.
' What trial is it?'
Alice panted as she ran; but the Gryphon only answered'Come on!'
and ran the faster, while more and more faintly came, carried on the breeze that followed them, the melancholy words:--
' Soo--oop of the e--e--evening, Beautiful, beautiful Soup!'
CHAPTER XI.
Who Stole the Tarts?
In the very middle of the court was a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it: they looked so good, that it made Alice quite hungry to look at them --' I wish they'd get the trial done,' she thought,'and hand round the refreshments!'
But there seemed to be no chance of this, so she began looking at everything about her, to pass away the time.
Alice had never been in a court of justice before, but she had read about them in books, and she was quite pleased to find that she knew the name of nearly everything there.
' That's the judge,' she said to herself,'because of his great wig.'
The judge, by the way, was the King; and as he wore his crown over the wig, (look at the frontispiece if you want to see how he did it,) he did not look at all comfortable, and it was certainly not becoming.
' And that's the jury - box,' thought Alice,'and those twelve creatures,' (she was obliged to say'creatures,' you see, because some of them were animals, and some were birds,)'I suppose they are the jurors.'
She said this last word two or three times over to herself, being rather proud of it: for she thought, and rightly too, that very few little girls of her age knew the meaning of it at all.
However,'jury - men'would have done just as well.
The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on slates.
' What are they doing?'
Alice whispered to the Gryphon.
' They can't have anything to put down yet, before the trial's begun.'
' They're putting down their names,' the Gryphon whispered in reply,'for fear they should forget them before the end of the trial.'
' Stupid things!'
Alice began in a loud, indignant voice, but she stopped hastily, for the White Rabbit cried out,'Silence in the court!'
and the King put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round, to make out who was talking.
Alice could see, as well as if she were looking over their shoulders, that all the jurors were writing down'stupid things!'
on their slates, and she could even make out that one of them didn't know how to spell'stupid,' and that he had to ask his neighbour to tell him.
' A nice muddle their slates'll be in before the trial's over!'
thought Alice.
One of the jurors had a pencil that squeaked.
This of course, Alice could not stand, and she went round the court and got behind him, and very soon found an opportunity of taking it away.
' Herald, read the accusation!'
said the King.
On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:--
' The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, All on a summer day: The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts, And took them quite away!'
' Consider your verdict,' the King said to the jury.
' Not yet, not yet!'
the Rabbit hastily interrupted.
' There's a great deal to come before that!'
' Call the first witness,' said the King; and the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and called out,'First witness!'
The first witness was the Hatter.
He came in with a teacup in one hand and a piece of bread - and - butter in the other.
' I beg pardon, your Majesty,' he began,'for bringing these in: but I hadn't quite finished my tea when I was sent for.'
' You ought to have finished,' said the King.
' When did you begin?'
The Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had followed him into the court, arm - in - arm with the Dormouse.
' Fourteenth of March, I think it was,' he said.
' Fifteenth,' said the March Hare.
' Sixteenth,' added the Dormouse.
' Write that down,' the King said to the jury, and the jury eagerly wrote down all three dates on their slates, and then added them up, and reduced the answer to shillings and pence.
' Take off your hat,' the King said to the Hatter.
' It isn't mine,' said the Hatter.
' Stolen!'
the King exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly made a memorandum of the fact.
' I keep them to sell,' the Hatter added as an explanation;'I've none of my own.
I'm a hatter.'
Here the Queen put on her spectacles, and began staring at the Hatter, who turned pale and fidgeted.
' Give your evidence,' said the King;'and don't be nervous, or I'll have you executed on the spot.'
This did not seem to encourage the witness at all: he kept shifting from one foot to the other, looking uneasily at the Queen, and in his confusion he bit a large piece out of his teacup instead of the bread - and - butter.
' I wish you wouldn't squeeze so.'
said the Dormouse, who was sitting next to her.
' I can hardly breathe.'
' I can't help it,' said Alice very meekly:'I'm growing.'
' You've no right to grow here,' said the Dormouse.
' Don't talk nonsense,' said Alice more boldly:'you know you're growing too.'
' Yes, but I grow at a reasonable pace,' said the Dormouse:'not in that ridiculous fashion.'
And he got up very sulkily and crossed over to the other side of the court.
All this time the Queen had never left off staring at the Hatter, and, just as the Dormouse crossed the court, she said to one of the officers of the court,'Bring me the list of the singers in the last concert!'
on which the wretched Hatter trembled so, that he shook both his shoes off.
' Give your evidence,' the King repeated angrily,'or I'll have you executed, whether you're nervous or not.'
' I'm a poor man, your Majesty,' the Hatter began, in a trembling voice, '-- and I hadn't begun my tea--not above a week or so--and what with the bread - and - butter getting so thin--and the twinkling of the tea --'
' The twinkling of the what?'
said the King.
' It began with the tea,' the Hatter replied.
' Of course twinkling begins with a T!'
said the King sharply.
' Do you take me for a dunce?
Go on!'
' I'm a poor man,' the Hatter went on,'and most things twinkled after that--only the March Hare said --'
' I didn't!'
the March Hare interrupted in a great hurry.
' You did!'
said the Hatter.
' I deny it!'
said the March Hare.
' He denies it,' said the King:'leave out that part.'
' Well, at any rate, the Dormouse said --' the Hatter went on, looking anxiously round to see if he would deny it too: but the Dormouse denied nothing, being fast asleep.
' After that,' continued the Hatter,'I cut some more bread - and - butter --'
' But what did the Dormouse say?'
one of the jury asked.
' That I can't remember,' said the Hatter.
' You MUST remember,' remarked the King,'or I'll have you executed.'
The miserable Hatter dropped his teacup and bread - and - butter, and went down on one knee.
' I'm a poor man, your Majesty,' he began.
' You're a very poor speaker,' said the King.
Here one of the guinea - pigs cheered, and was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court.
(As that is rather a hard word, I will just explain to you how it was done.
They had a large canvas bag, which tied up at the mouth with strings: into this they slipped the guinea - pig, head first, and then sat upon it.)
' I'm glad I've seen that done,' thought Alice.
' I've so often read in the newspapers, at the end of trials, " There was some attempts at applause, which was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court," and I never understood what it meant till now.'
' If that's all you know about it, you may stand down,' continued the King.
' I can't go no lower,' said the Hatter:'I'm on the floor, as it is.'
' Then you may SIT down,' the King replied.
Here the other guinea - pig cheered, and was suppressed.
' Come, that finished the guinea - pigs!'
thought Alice.
' Now we shall get on better.'
' I'd rather finish my tea,' said the Hatter, with an anxious look at the Queen, who was reading the list of singers.
' You may go,' said the King, and the Hatter hurriedly left the court, without even waiting to put his shoes on.
'-- and just take his head off outside,' the Queen added to one of the officers: but the Hatter was out of sight before the officer could get to the door.
' Call the next witness!'
said the King.
The next witness was the Duchess's cook.
She carried the pepper - box in her hand, and Alice guessed who it was, even before she got into the court, by the way the people near the door began sneezing all at once.
' Give your evidence,' said the King.
' Shan't,' said the cook.
The King looked anxiously at the White Rabbit, who said in a low voice,'Your Majesty must cross - examine THIS witness.'
' Well, if I must, I must,' the King said, with a melancholy air, and, after folding his arms and frowning at the cook till his eyes were nearly out of sight, he said in a deep voice,'What are tarts made of?'
' Pepper, mostly,' said the cook.
' Treacle,' said a sleepy voice behind her.
' Collar that Dormouse,' the Queen shrieked out.
' Behead that Dormouse!
Turn that Dormouse out of court!
Suppress him!
Pinch him!
Off with his whiskers!'
For some minutes the whole court was in confusion, getting the Dormouse turned out, and, by the time they had settled down again, the cook had disappeared.
' Never mind!'
said the King, with an air of great relief.
' Call the next witness.'
And he added in an undertone to the Queen,'Really, my dear, YOU must cross - examine the next witness.
It quite makes my forehead ache!'
Alice watched the White Rabbit as he fumbled over the list, feeling very curious to see what the next witness would be like, '-- for they haven't got much evidence YET,' she said to herself.
Imagine her surprise, when the White Rabbit read out, at the top of his shrill little voice, the name'Alice!'
CHAPTER XII
Alice's Evidence
' Here!'
' Oh, I BEG your pardon!'
' The trial cannot proceed,' said the King in a very grave voice,'until all the jurymen are back in their proper places--ALL,' he repeated with great emphasis, looking hard at Alice as he said do.
Alice looked at the jury - box, and saw that, in her haste, she had put the Lizard in head downwards, and the poor little thing was waving its tail about in a melancholy way, being quite unable to move.
She soon got it out again, and put it right;'not that it signifies much,' she said to herself;'I should think it would be QUITE as much use in the trial one way up as the other.'
' What do you know about this business?'
the King said to Alice.
' Nothing,' said Alice.
' Nothing WHATEVER?'
persisted the King.
' Nothing whatever,' said Alice.
' That's very important,' the King said, turning to the jury.
They were just beginning to write this down on their slates, when the White Rabbit interrupted:'UNimportant, your Majesty means, of course,' he said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as he spoke.
' UNimportant, of course, I meant,' the King hastily said, and went on to himself in an undertone,
' important--unimportant--unimportant--important --' as if he were trying which word sounded best.
Some of the jury wrote it down'important,' and some'unimportant.'
Alice could see this, as she was near enough to look over their slates;'but it doesn't matter a bit,' she thought to herself.
At this moment the King, who had been for some time busily writing in his note - book, cackled out'Silence!'
and read out from his book,'Rule Forty - two.
ALL PERSONS MORE THAN A MILE HIGH TO LEAVE THE COURT.'
Everybody looked at Alice.
' I'M not a mile high,' said Alice.
' You are,' said the King.
' Nearly two miles high,' added the Queen.
' Well, I shan't go, at any rate,' said Alice:'besides, that's not a regular rule: you invented it just now.'
' It's the oldest rule in the book,' said the King.
' Then it ought to be Number One,' said Alice.
The King turned pale, and shut his note - book hastily.
' Consider your verdict,' he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice.
' There's more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty,' said the White Rabbit, jumping up in a great hurry;'this paper has just been picked up.'
' What's in it?'
said the Queen.
' I haven't opened it yet,' said the White Rabbit,'but it seems to be a letter, written by the prisoner to--to somebody.'
' It must have been that,' said the King,'unless it was written to nobody, which isn't usual, you know.'
' Who is it directed to?'
said one of the jurymen.
' It isn't directed at all,' said the White Rabbit;'in fact, there's nothing written on the OUTSIDE.'
He unfolded the paper as he spoke, and added'It isn't a letter, after all: it's a set of verses.'
' Are they in the prisoner's handwriting?'
asked another of the jurymen.
' No, they're not,' said the White Rabbit,'and that's the queerest thing about it.'
(The jury all looked puzzled.)
' He must have imitated somebody else's hand,' said the King.
(The jury all brightened up again.)
' Please your Majesty,' said the Knave,'I didn't write it, and they can't prove I did: there's no name signed at the end.'
' If you didn't sign it,' said the King,'that only makes the matter worse.
You MUST have meant some mischief, or else you'd have signed your name like an honest man.'
There was a general clapping of hands at this: it was the first really clever thing the King had said that day.
' That PROVES his guilt,' said the Queen.
' It proves nothing of the sort!'
said Alice.
' Why, you don't even know what they're about!'
' Read them,' said the King.
The White Rabbit put on his spectacles.
' Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?'
he asked.
' Begin at the beginning,' the King said gravely,'and go on till you come to the end: then stop.'
These were the verses the White Rabbit read:--
' They told me you had been to her, And mentioned me to him: She gave me a good character, But said I could not swim.
He sent them word I had not gone (We know it to be true): If she should push the matter on, What would become of you?
I gave her one, they gave him two, You gave us three or more; They all returned from him to you, Though they were mine before.
If I or she should chance to be Involved in this affair, He trusts to you to set them free, Exactly as we were.
My notion was that you had been (Before she had this fit) An obstacle that came between Him, and ourselves, and it.
Don't let him know she liked them best, For this must ever be A secret, kept from all the rest, Between yourself and me.'
' That's the most important piece of evidence we've heard yet,' said the King, rubbing his hands;'so now let the jury --'
' If any one of them can explain it,' said Alice, (she had grown so large in the last few minutes that she wasn't a bit afraid of interrupting him,)'I'll give him sixpence.
_I_ don't believe there's an atom of meaning in it.'
The jury all wrote down on their slates,'SHE doesn't believe there's an atom of meaning in it,' but none of them attempted to explain the paper.
' If there's no meaning in it,' said the King,'that saves a world of trouble, you know, as we needn't try to find any.
And yet I don't know,' he went on, spreading out the verses on his knee, and looking at them with one eye;'I seem to see some meaning in them, after all. "
-- SAID I COULD NOT SWIM --" you can't swim, can you?'
he added, turning to the Knave.
The Knave shook his head sadly.
' Do I look like it?'
he said.
(Which he certainly did NOT, being made entirely of cardboard.)
' All right, so far,' said the King, and he went on muttering over the verses to himself: '" WE KNOW IT TO BE TRUE --" that's the jury, of course --" I GAVE HER ONE, THEY GAVE HIM TWO --" why, that must be what he did with the tarts, you know --'
' But, it goes on " THEY ALL RETURNED FROM HIM TO YOU,' said Alice.
' Why, there they are!'
said the King triumphantly, pointing to the tarts on the table.
' Nothing can be clearer than THAT.
Then again --" BEFORE SHE HAD THIS FIT --" you never had fits, my dear, I think?'
he said to the Queen.
' Never!'
said the Queen furiously, throwing an inkstand at the Lizard as she spoke.
(The unfortunate little Bill had left off writing on his slate with one finger, as he found it made no mark; but he now hastily began again, using the ink, that was trickling down his face, as long as it lasted.)
' Then the words don't FIT you,' said the King, looking round the court with a smile.
There was a dead silence.
' It's a pun!'
the King added in an offended tone, and everybody laughed,'Let the jury consider their verdict,' the King said, for about the twentieth time that day.
' No, no!'
said the Queen.
' Sentence first--verdict afterwards.'
' Stuff and nonsense!'
said Alice loudly.
' The idea of having the sentence first!'
' Hold your tongue!'
said the Queen, turning purple.
' I won't!'
said Alice.
' Off with her head!'
the Queen shouted at the top of her voice.
Nobody moved.
' Who cares for you?'
said Alice, (she had grown to her full size by this time.)
' You're nothing but a pack of cards!'
' Wake up, Alice dear!'
said her sister;'Why, what a long sleep you've had!'
' Oh, I've had such a curious dream!'
So Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.
But her sister sat still just as she left her, leaning her head on her hand, watching the setting sun, and thinking of little Alice and all her wonderful Adventures, till she too began dreaming after a fashion, and this was her dream:--
[ The Ball and The Cross by G. K. Chesterton 1909 ]
A DISCUSSION SOMEWHAT IN THE AIR
The flying ship of Professor Lucifer sang through the skies like a silver arrow; the bleak white steel of it, gleaming in the bleak blue emptiness of the evening.
That it was far above the earth was no expression for it; to the two men in it, it seemed to be far above the stars.
The professor had himself invented the flying machine, and had also invented nearly everything in it.
Every sort of tool or apparatus had, in consequence, to the full, that fantastic and distorted look which belongs to the miracles of science.
All the tools of Professor Lucifer were the ancient human tools gone mad, grown into unrecognizable shapes, forgetful of their origin, forgetful of their names.
That thing which looked like an enormous key with three wheels was really a patent and very deadly revolver.
That object which seemed to be created by the entanglement of two corkscrews was really the key.
The thing which might have been mistaken for a tricycle turned upside - down was the inexpressibly important instrument to which the corkscrew was the key.
All these things, as I say, the professor had invented; he had invented everything in the flying ship, with the exception, perhaps, of himself.
This he had been born too late actually to inaugurate, but he believed at least, that he had considerably improved it.
There was, however, another man on board, so to speak, at the time.
Him, also, by a curious coincidence, the professor had not invented, and him he had not even very greatly improved, though he had fished him up with a lasso out of his own back garden, in Western Bulgaria, with the pure object of improving him.
He was an exceedingly holy man, almost entirely covered with white hair.
You could see nothing but his eyes, and he seemed to talk with them.
The old monk, one of whose names was Michael, and the other a name quite impossible to remember or repeat in our Western civilization, had, however, as I have said, made himself quite happy while he was in a mountain hermitage in the society of wild animals.
And now that his luck had lifted him above all the mountains in the society of a wild physicist, he made himself happy still.
" I have no intention, my good Michael," said Professor Lucifer, " of endeavouring to convert you by argument.
The imbecility of your traditions can be quite finally exhibited to anybody with mere ordinary knowledge of the world, the same kind of knowledge which teaches us not to sit in draughts or not to encourage friendliness in impecunious people.
It is folly to talk of this or that demonstrating the rationalist philosophy.
Everything demonstrates it.
Rubbing shoulders with men of all kinds ----"
" You will forgive me," said the monk, meekly from under loads of white beard, " but I fear I do not understand; was it in order that I might rub my shoulder against men of all kinds that you put me inside this thing?"
" An entertaining retort, in the narrow and deductive manner of the Middle Ages," replied the Professor, calmly, " but even upon your own basis I will illustrate my point.
We are up in the sky.
In your religion and all the religions, as far as I know (and I know everything), the sky is made the symbol of everything that is sacred and merciful.
Well, now you are in the sky, you know better.
Phrase it how you like, twist it how you like, you know that you know better.
You know what are a man's real feelings about the heavens, when he finds himself alone in the heavens, surrounded by the heavens.
You know the truth, and the truth is this.
The heavens are evil, the sky is evil, the stars are evil.
This mere space, this mere quantity, terrifies a man more than tigers or the terrible plague.
You know that since our science has spoken, the bottom has fallen out of the Universe.
Now, heaven is the hopeless thing, more hopeless than any hell.
Now, if there be any comfort for all your miserable progeny of morbid apes, it must be in the earth, underneath you, under the roots of the grass, in the place where hell was of old.
The fiery crypts, the lurid cellars of the underworld, to which you once condemned the wicked, are hideous enough, but at least they are more homely than the heaven in which we ride.
And the time will come when you will all hide in them, to escape the horror of the stars."
" I hope you will excuse my interrupting you," said Michael, with a slight cough, " but I have always noticed ----"
" Go on, pray go on," said Professor Lucifer, radiantly, " I really like to draw out your simple ideas."
" Come, come," said the Professor, encouragingly, " I'll help you out.
How did my view strike you?"
" Well, the truth is, I know I don't express it properly, but somehow it seemed to me that you always convey ideas of that kind with most eloquence, when--er--when ----"
" Oh!
get on," cried Lucifer, boisterously.
" Well, in point of fact when your flying ship is just going to run into something.
I thought you wouldn't mind my mentioning it, but it's running into something now."
Lucifer exploded with an oath and leapt erect, leaning hard upon the handle that acted as a helm to the vessel.
For the last ten minutes they had been shooting downwards into great cracks and caverns of cloud.
Now, through a sort of purple haze, could be seen comparatively near to them what seemed to be the upper part of a huge, dark orb or sphere, islanded in a sea of cloud.
The Professor's eyes were blazing like a maniac's.
" It is a new world," he cried, with a dreadful mirth.
" It is a new planet and it shall bear my name.
This star and not that other vulgar one shall be'Lucifer, sun of the morning.'
Here we will have no chartered lunacies, here we will have no gods.
Here man shall be as innocent as the daisies, as innocent and as cruel--here the intellect ----"
" There seems," said Michael, timidly, " to be something sticking up in the middle of it."
" So there is," said the Professor, leaning over the side of the ship, his spectacles shining with intellectual excitement.
" What can it be?
It might of course be merely a ----"
Then a shriek indescribable broke out of him of a sudden, and he flung up his arms like a lost spirit.
A plain of sad - coloured cloud lay along the level of the top of the Cathedral dome, so that the ball and the cross looked like a buoy riding on a leaden sea.
As the flying ship swept towards it, this plain of cloud looked as dry and definite and rocky as any grey desert.
Hence it gave to the mind and body a sharp and unearthly sensation when the ship cut and sank into the cloud as into any common mist, a thing without resistance.
There was, as it were, a deadly shock in the fact that there was no shock.
It was as if they had cloven into ancient cliffs like so much butter.
But sensations awaited them which were much stranger than those of sinking through the solid earth.
For a moment their eyes and nostrils were stopped with darkness and opaque cloud; then the darkness warmed into a kind of brown fog.
And far, far below them the brown fog fell until it warmed into fire.
Through the dense London atmosphere they could see below them the flaming London lights; lights which lay beneath them in squares and oblongs of fire.
The fog and fire were mixed in a passionate vapour; you might say that the fog was drowning the flames; or you might say that the flames had set the fog on fire.
Beside the ship and beneath it (for it swung just under the ball), the immeasurable dome itself shot out and down into the dark like a combination of voiceless cataracts.
Or it was like some cyclopean sea - beast sitting above London and letting down its tentacles bewilderingly on every side, a monstrosity in that starless heaven.
For the clouds that belonged to London had closed over the heads of the voyagers sealing up the entrance of the upper air.
They had broken through a roof and come into a temple of twilight.
They were so near to the ball that Lucifer leaned his hand against it, holding the vessel away, as men push a boat off from a bank.
Above it the cross already draped in the dark mists of the borderland was shadowy and more awful in shape and size.
Professor Lucifer slapped his hand twice upon the surface of the great orb as if he were caressing some enormous animal.
" This is the fellow," he said, " this is the one for my money."
" May I with all respect inquire," asked the old monk, " what on earth you are talking about?"
" Why this," cried Lucifer, smiting the ball again, " here is the only symbol, my boy.
So fat.
So satisfied.
Not like that scraggy individual, stretching his arms in stark weariness."
And he pointed up to the cross, his face dark with a grin.
" I was telling you just now, Michael, that I can prove the best part of the rationalist case and the Christian humbug from any symbol you liked to give me, from any instance I came across.
Here is an instance with a vengeance.
What could possibly express your philosophy and my philosophy better than the shape of that cross and the shape of this ball?
This globe is reasonable; that cross is unreasonable.
It is a four - legged animal, with one leg longer than the others.
The globe is inevitable.
The cross is arbitrary.
Above all the globe is at unity with itself; the cross is primarily and above all things at enmity with itself.
The cross is the conflict of two hostile lines, of irreconcilable direction.
That silent thing up there is essentially a collision, a crash, a struggle in stone.
Pah!
that sacred symbol of yours has actually given its name to a description of desperation and muddle.
When we speak of men at once ignorant of each other and frustrated by each other, we say they are at cross - purposes.
Away with the thing!
The very shape of it is a contradiction in terms."
" What you say is perfectly true," said Michael, with serenity.
" But we like contradictions in terms.
Man is a contradiction in terms; he is a beast whose superiority to other beasts consists in having fallen.
That cross is, as you say, an eternal collision; so am I.
That is a struggle in stone.
Every form of life is a struggle in flesh.
The shape of the cross is irrational, just as the shape of the human animal is irrational.
You say the cross is a quadruped with one limb longer than the rest.
I say man is a quadruped who only uses two of his legs."
The Professor frowned thoughtfully for an instant, and said: " Of course everything is relative, and I would not deny that the element of struggle and self - contradiction, represented by that cross, has a necessary place at a certain evolutionary stage.
But surely the cross is the lower development and the sphere the higher.
After all it is easy enough to see what is really wrong with Wren's architectural arrangement."
" And what is that, pray?"
inquired Michael, meekly.
" The cross is on top of the ball," said Professor Lucifer, simply.
" That is surely wrong.
The ball should be on top of the cross.
The cross is a mere barbaric prop; the ball is perfection.
The cross at its best is but the bitter tree of man's history; the ball is the rounded, the ripe and final fruit.
And the fruit should be at the top of the tree, not at the bottom of it."
" Oh!"
said the monk, a wrinkle coming into his forehead, " so you think that in a rationalistic scheme of symbolism the ball should be on top of the cross?"
" It sums up my whole allegory," said the professor.
You would see, I think, that thing happen which is always the ultimate embodiment and logical outcome of your logical scheme."
" What are you talking about?"
asked Lucifer.
" What would happen?"
" I mean it would fall down," said the monk, looking wistfully into the void.
Lucifer made an angry movement and opened his mouth to speak, but Michael, with all his air of deliberation, was proceeding before he could bring out a word.
" I once knew a man like you, Lucifer," he said, with a maddening monotony and slowness of articulation.
" He took this ----"
" There is no man like me," cried Lucifer, with a violence that shook the ship.
" As I was observing," continued Michael, " this man also took the view that the symbol of Christianity was a symbol of savagery and all unreason.
His history is rather amusing.
It is also a perfect allegory of what happens to rationalists like yourself.
He began, of course, by refusing to allow a crucifix in his house, or round his wife's neck, or even in a picture.
He said, as you say, that it was an arbitrary and fantastic shape, that it was a monstrosity, loved because it was paradoxical.
Then he began to grow fiercer and more eccentric; he would batter the crosses by the roadside; for he lived in a Roman Catholic country.
Finally in a height of frenzy he climbed the steeple of the Parish Church and tore down the cross, waving it in the air, and uttering wild soliloquies up there under the stars.
Then one still summer evening as he was wending his way homewards, along a lane, the devil of his madness came upon him with a violence and transfiguration which changes the world.
He was standing smoking, for a moment, in the front of an interminable line of palings, when his eyes were opened.
Not a light shifted, not a leaf stirred, but he saw as if by a sudden change in the eyesight that this paling was an army of innumerable crosses linked together over hill and dale.
And he whirled up his heavy stick and went at it as if at an army.
Mile after mile along his homeward path he broke it down and tore it up.
For he hated the cross and every paling is a wall of crosses.
When he returned to his house he was a literal madman.
He sat upon a chair and then started up from it for the cross - bars of the carpentry repeated the intolerable image.
He flung himself upon a bed only to remember that this, too, like all workmanlike things, was constructed on the accursed plan.
He broke his furniture because it was made of crosses.
He burnt his house because it was made of crosses.
He was found in the river."
Lucifer was looking at him with a bitten lip.
" Is that story really true?"
he asked.
" Oh, no," said Michael, airily.
" It is a parable.
It is a parable of you and all your rationalists.
You begin by breaking up the Cross; but you end by breaking up the habitable world.
We leave you saying that nobody ought to join the Church against his will.
When we meet you again you are saying that no one has any will to join it with.
We leave you saying that there is no such place as Eden.
We find you saying that there is no such place as Ireland.
You start by hating the irrational and you come to hate everything, for everything is irrational and so ----"
Lucifer leapt upon him with a cry like a wild beast's.
" Ah," he screamed, " to every man his madness.
You are mad on the cross.
Let it save you."
And with a herculean energy he forced the monk backwards out of the reeling car on to the upper part of the stone ball.
Michael, with as abrupt an agility, caught one of the beams of the cross and saved himself from falling.
At the same instant Lucifer drove down a lever and the ship shot up with him in it alone.
" Ha!
ha!"
he yelled, " what sort of a support do you find it, old fellow?"
" For practical purposes of support," replied Michael grimly, " it is at any rate a great deal better than the ball.
May I ask if you are going to leave me here?"
" Yes, yes.
I mount!
I mount!"
cried the professor in ungovernable excitement.
" _Altiora peto_.
My path is upward."
" How often have you told me, Professor, that there is really no up or down in space?"
said the monk.
" I shall mount up as much as you will."
" Indeed," said Lucifer, leering over the side of the flying ship.
" May I ask what you are going to do?"
The monk pointed downward at Ludgate Hill.
" I am going," he said, " to climb up into a star."
Those who look at the matter most superficially regard paradox as something which belongs to jesting and light journalism.
Paradox of this kind is to be found in the saying of the dandy, in the decadent comedy, " Life is much too important to be taken seriously."
Those who look at the matter a little more deeply or delicately see that paradox is a thing which especially belongs to all religions.
Paradox of this kind is to be found in such a saying as " The meek shall inherit the earth."
But those who see and feel the fundamental fact of the matter know that paradox is a thing which belongs not to religion only, but to all vivid and violent practical crises of human living.
This kind of paradox may be clearly perceived by anybody who happens to be hanging in mid - space, clinging to one arm of the Cross of St. Paul's.
Father Michael in spite of his years, and in spite of his asceticism (or because of it, for all I know), was a very healthy and happy old gentleman.
And as he swung on a bar above the sickening emptiness of air, he realized, with that sort of dead detachment which belongs to the brains of those in peril, the deathless and hopeless contradiction which is involved in the mere idea of courage.
He was a happy and healthy old gentleman and therefore he was quite careless about it.
And he felt as every man feels in the taut moment of such terror that his chief danger was terror itself; his only possible strength would be a coolness amounting to carelessness, a carelessness amounting almost to a suicidal swagger.
His one wild chance of coming out safely would be in not too desperately desiring to be safe.
There might be footholds down that awful facade, if only he could not care whether they were footholds or no.
If he were foolhardy he might escape; if he were wise he would stop where he was till he dropped from the cross like a stone.
And this antinomy kept on repeating itself in his mind, a contradiction as large and staring as the immense contradiction of the Cross; he remembered having often heard the words, " Whosoever shall lose his life the same shall save it."
He remembered with a sort of strange pity that this had always been made to mean that whoever lost his physical life should save his spiritual life.
Now he knew the truth that is known to all fighters, and hunters, and climbers of cliffs.
He knew that even his animal life could only be saved by a considerable readiness to lose it.
Some will think it improbable that a human soul swinging desperately in mid - air should think about philosophical inconsistencies.
But such extreme states are dangerous things to dogmatize about.
Frequently they produce a certain useless and joyless activity of the mere intellect, thought not only divorced from hope but even from desire.
And if it is impossible to dogmatize about such states, it is still more impossible to describe them.
To this spasm of sanity and clarity in Michael's mind succeeded a spasm of the elemental terror; the terror of the animal in us which regards the whole universe as its enemy; which, when it is victorious, has no pity, and so, when it is defeated has no imaginable hope.
Of that ten minutes of terror it is not possible to speak in human words.
But then again in that damnable darkness there began to grow a strange dawn as of grey and pale silver.
And of this ultimate resignation or certainty it is even less possible to write; it is something stranger than hell itself; it is perhaps the last of the secrets of God.
At the highest crisis of some incurable anguish there will suddenly fall upon the man the stillness of an insane contentment.
It is not hope, for hope is broken and romantic and concerned with the future; this is complete and of the present.
It is not faith, for faith by its very nature is fierce, and as it were at once doubtful and defiant; but this is simply a satisfaction.
It is not knowledge, for the intellect seems to have no particular part in it.
Nor is it (as the modern idiots would certainly say it is) a mere numbness or negative paralysis of the powers of grief.
It is not negative in the least; it is as positive as good news.
In some sense, indeed, it is good news.
It seems almost as if there were some equality among things, some balance in all possible contingencies which we are not permitted to know lest we should learn indifference to good and evil, but which is sometimes shown to us for an instant as a last aid in our last agony.
Michael certainly could not have given any sort of rational account of this vast unmeaning satisfaction which soaked through him and filled him to the brim.
He felt with a sort of half - witted lucidity that the cross was there, and the ball was there, and the dome was there, that he was going to climb down from them, and that he did not mind in the least whether he was killed or not.
This mysterious mood lasted long enough to start him on his dreadful descent and to force him to continue it.
But six times before he reached the highest of the outer galleries terror had returned on him like a flying storm of darkness and thunder.
By the time he had reached that place of safety he almost felt (as in some impossible fit of drunkenness) that he had two heads; one was calm, careless, and efficient; the other saw the danger like a deadly map, was wise, careful, and useless.
He had fancied that he would have to let himself vertically down the face of the whole building.
When he dropped into the upper gallery he still felt as far from the terrestrial globe as if he had only dropped from the sun to the moon.
He paused a little, panting in the gallery under the ball, and idly kicked his heels, moving a few yards along it.
And as he did so a thunderbolt struck his soul.
A man, a heavy, ordinary man, with a composed indifferent face, and a prosaic sort of uniform, with a row of buttons, blocked his way.
Michael had no mind to wonder whether this solid astonished man, with the brown moustache and the nickel buttons, had also come on a flying ship.
He merely let his mind float in an endless felicity about the man.
He thought how nice it would be if he had to live up in that gallery with that one man for ever.
He thought how he would luxuriate in the nameless shades of this man's soul and then hear with an endless excitement about the nameless shades of the souls of all his aunts and uncles.
A moment before he had been dying alone.
Now he was living in the same world with a man; an inexhaustible ecstasy.
In the gallery below the ball Father Michael had found that man who is the noblest and most divine and most lovable of all men, better than all the saints, greater than all the heroes--man Friday.
In the confused colour and music of his new paradise, Michael heard only in a faint and distant fashion some remarks that this beautiful solid man seemed to be making to him; remarks about something or other being after hours and against orders.
He also seemed to be asking how Michael " got up " there.
This beautiful man evidently felt as Michael did that the earth was a star and was set in heaven.
At length Michael sated himself with the mere sensual music of the voice of the man in buttons.
He began to listen to what he said, and even to make some attempt at answering a question which appeared to have been put several times and was now put with some excess of emphasis.
Michael realized that the image of God in nickel buttons was asking him how he had come there.
He said that he had come in Lucifer's ship.
On his giving this answer the demeanour of the image of God underwent a remarkable change.
From addressing Michael gruffly, as if he were a malefactor, he began suddenly to speak to him with a sort of eager and feverish amiability as if he were a child.
He seemed particularly anxious to coax him away from the balustrade.
He led him by the arm towards a door leading into the building itself, soothing him all the time.
He gave what even Michael (slight as was his knowledge of the world) felt to be an improbable account of the sumptuous pleasures and varied advantages awaiting him downstairs.
Michael followed him, however, if only out of politeness, down an apparently interminable spiral of staircase.
At one point a door opened.
Michael stepped through it, and the unaccountable man in buttons leapt after him and pinioned him where he stood.
But he only wished to stand; to stand and stare.
He had stepped as it were into another infinity, out under the dome of another heaven.
But this was a dome of heaven made by man.
The gold and green and crimson of its sunset were not in the shapeless clouds but in shapes of cherubim and seraphim, awful human shapes with a passionate plumage.
Its stars were not above but far below, like fallen stars still in unbroken constellations; the dome itself was full of darkness.
And far below, lower even than the lights, could be seen creeping or motionless, great black masses of men.
The tongue of a terrible organ seemed to shake the very air in the whole void; and through it there came up to Michael the sound of a tongue more terrible; the dreadful everlasting voice of man, calling to his gods from the beginning to the end of the world.
Michael felt almost as if he were a god, and all the voices were hurled at him.
" No, the pretty things aren't here," said the demi - god in buttons, caressingly.
" The pretty things are downstairs.
You come along with me.
There's something that will surprise you downstairs; something you want very much to see."
Evidently the man in buttons did not feel like a god, so Michael made no attempt to explain his feelings to him, but followed him meekly enough down the trail of the serpentine staircase.
He had no notion where or at what level he was.
He felt suddenly happy and suddenly indescribably small.
He fancied he had been changed into a child again; his eyes sought the pavement seriously as children's do, as if it were a thing with which something satisfactory could be done.
He felt the full warmth of that pleasure from which the proud shut themselves out; the pleasure which not only goes with humiliation, but which almost is humiliation.
Men who have escaped death by a hair have it, and men whose love is returned by a woman unexpectedly, and men whose sins are forgiven them.
Everything his eye fell on it feasted on, not aesthetically, but with a plain, jolly appetite as of a boy eating buns.
He relished the squareness of the houses; he liked their clean angles as if he had just cut them with a knife.
The lit squares of the shop windows excited him as the young are excited by the lit stage of some promising pantomime.
He happened to see in one shop which projected with a bulging bravery on to the pavement some square tins of potted meat, and it seemed like a hint of a hundred hilarious high teas in a hundred streets of the world.
He was, perhaps, the happiest of all the children of men.
For in that unendurable instant when he hung, half slipping, to the ball of St. Paul's, the whole universe had been destroyed and re - created.
Suddenly through all the din of the dark streets came a crash of glass.
With that mysterious suddenness of the Cockney mob, a rush was made in the right direction, a dingy office, next to the shop of the potted meat.
The pane of glass was lying in splinters about the pavement.
And the police already had their hands on a very tall young man, with dark, lank hair and dark, dazed eyes, with a grey plaid over his shoulder, who had just smashed the shop window with a single blow of his stick.
" I'd do it again," said the young man, with a furious white face.
" Anybody would have done it.
Did you see what it said?
I swear I'd do it again."
Then his eyes encountered the monkish habit of Michael, and he pulled off his grey tam - o '- shanter with the gesture of a Catholic.
" Father, did you see what they said?"
he cried, trembling.
" Did you see what they dared to say?
I didn't understand it at first.
I read it half through before I broke the window."
Michael felt he knew not how.
The whole peace of the world was pent up painfully in his heart.
The new and childlike world which he had seen so suddenly, men had not seen at all.
Here they were still at their old bewildering, pardonable, useless quarrels, with so much to be said on both sides, and so little that need be said at all.
A fierce inspiration fell on him suddenly; he would strike them where they stood with the love of God.
They should not move till they saw their own sweet and startling existence.
They should not go from that place till they went home embracing like brothers and shouting like men delivered.
From the Cross from which he had fallen fell the shadow of its fantastic mercy; and the first three words he spoke in a voice like a silver trumpet, held men as still as stones.
Perhaps if he had spoken there for an hour in his illumination he might have founded a religion on Ludgate Hill.
But the heavy hand of his guide fell suddenly on his shoulder.
" This poor fellow is dotty," he said good - humouredly to the crowd.
" I found him wandering in the Cathedral.
Says he came in a flying ship.
Is there a constable to spare to take care of him?"
There was a constable to spare.
Two other constables attended to the tall young man in grey; a fourth concerned himself with the owner of the shop, who showed some tendency to be turbulent.
They took the tall young man away to a magistrate, whither we shall follow him in an ensuing chapter.
And they took the happiest man in the world away to an asylum.
II.
THE RELIGION OF THE STIPENDIARY MAGISTRATE
The editorial office of _The Atheist_ had for some years past become less and less prominently interesting as a feature of Ludgate Hill.
The paper was unsuited to the atmosphere.
It showed an interest in the Bible unknown in the district, and a knowledge of that volume to which nobody else on Ludgate Hill could make any conspicuous claim.
It was in vain that the editor of _The Atheist_ filled his front window with fierce and final demands as to what Noah in the Ark did with the neck of the giraffe.
It was in vain that he asked violently, as for the last time, how the statement " God is Spirit " could be reconciled with the statement " The earth is His footstool."
It was in vain that he cried with an accusing energy that the Bishop of London was paid L12, 000 a year for pretending to believe that the whale swallowed Jonah.
It was in vain that he hung in conspicuous places the most thrilling scientific calculations about the width of the throat of a whale.
Was it nothing to them all they that passed by?
Did his sudden and splendid and truly sincere indignation never stir any of the people pouring down Ludgate Hill?
Never.
The little man who edited _The Atheist_ would rush from his shop on starlit evenings and shake his fist at St. Paul's in the passion of his holy war upon the holy place.
He might have spared his emotion.
The cross at the top of St. Paul's and _The Atheist_ shop at the foot of it were alike remote from the world.
The shop and the Cross were equally uplifted and alone in the empty heavens.
To the little man who edited _The Atheist_, a fiery little Scotchman, with fiery, red hair and beard, going by the name of Turnbull, all this decline in public importance seemed not so much sad or even mad, but merely bewildering and unaccountable.
He had said the worst thing that could be said; and it seemed accepted and ignored like the ordinary second best of the politicians.
Every day his blasphemies looked more glaring, and every day the dust lay thicker upon them.
It made him feel as if he were moving in a world of idiots.
He seemed among a race of men who smiled when told of their own death, or looked vacantly at the Day of Judgement.
Year after year went by, and year after year the death of God in a shop in Ludgate became a less and less important occurrence.
All the forward men of his age discouraged Turnbull.
The socialists said he was cursing priests when he should be cursing capitalists.
The artists said that the soul was most spiritual, not when freed from religion, but when freed from morality.
Year after year went by, and at least a man came by who treated Mr. Turnbull's secularist shop with a real respect and seriousness.
He was a young man in a grey plaid, and he smashed the window.
He was a young man, born in the Bay of Arisaig, opposite Rum and the Isle of Skye.
His high, hawklike features and snaky black hair bore the mark of that unknown historic thing which is crudely called Celtic, but which is probably far older than the Celts, whoever they were.
He was in name and stock a Highlander of the Macdonalds; but his family took, as was common in such cases, the name of a subordinate sept as a surname, and for all the purposes which could be answered in London, he called himself Evan MacIan.
He had been brought up in some loneliness and seclusion as a strict Roman Catholic, in the midst of that little wedge of Roman Catholics which is driven into the Western Highlands.
And he had found his way as far as Fleet Street, seeking some half - promised employment, without having properly realized that there were in the world any people who were not Roman Catholics.
He had uncovered himself for a few moments before the statue of Queen Anne, in front of St. Paul's Cathedral, under the firm impression that it was a figure of the Virgin Mary.
He was somewhat surprised at the lack of deference shown to the figure by the people bustling by.
He did not understand that their one essential historical principle, the one law truly graven on their hearts, was the great and comforting statement that Queen Anne is dead.
This faith was as fundamental as his faith, that Our Lady was alive.
Any persons he had talked to since he had touched the fringe of our fashion or civilization had been by a coincidence, sympathetic or hypocritical.
Or if they had spoken some established blasphemies, he had been unable to understand them merely owing to the preoccupied satisfaction of his mind.
On that fantastic fringe of the Gaelic land where he walked as a boy, the cliffs were as fantastic as the clouds.
Heaven seemed to humble itself and come closer to the earth.
The common paths of his little village began to climb quite suddenly and seemed resolved to go to heaven.
The sky seemed to fall down towards the hills; the hills took hold upon the sky.
In the sumptuous sunset of gold and purple and peacock green cloudlets and islets were the same.
Evan lived like a man walking on a borderland, the borderland between this world and another.
Like so many men and nations who grow up with nature and the common things, he understood the supernatural before he understood the natural.
He had looked at dim angels standing knee - deep in the grass before he had looked at the grass.
He knew that Our Lady's robes were blue before he knew the wild roses round her feet were red.
The deeper his memory plunged into the dark house of childhood the nearer and nearer he came to the things that cannot be named.
All through his life he thought of the daylight world as a sort of divine debris, the broken remainder of his first vision.
The skies and mountains were the splendid off - scourings of another place.
The stars were lost jewels of the Queen.
Our Lady had gone and left the stars by accident.
His private tradition was equally wild and unworldly.
His great - grandfather had been cut down at Culloden, certain in his last instant that God would restore the King.
His grandfather, then a boy of ten, had taken the terrible claymore from the hand of the dead and hung it up in his house, burnishing it and sharpening it for sixty years, to be ready for the next rebellion.
His father, the youngest son and the last left alive, had refused to attend on Queen Victoria in Scotland.
And Evan himself had been of one piece with his progenitors; and was not dead with them, but alive in the twentieth century.
He was not in the least the pathetic Jacobite of whom we read, left behind by a final advance of all things.
He was, in his own fancy, a conspirator, fierce and up to date.
In the long, dark afternoons of the Highland winter, he plotted and fumed in the dark.
He drew plans of the capture of London on the desolate sand of Arisaig.
When he came up to capture London, it was not with an army of white cockades, but with a stick and a satchel.
London overawed him a little, not because he thought it grand or even terrible, but because it bewildered him; it was not the Golden City or even hell; it was Limbo.
He had one shock of sentiment, when he turned that wonderful corner of Fleet Street and saw St. Paul's sitting in the sky.
" Ah," he said, after a long pause, " that sort of thing was built under the Stuarts!"
Then with a sour grin he asked himself what was the corresponding monument of the Brunswicks and the Protestant Constitution.
After some warning, he selected a sky - sign of some pill.
Half an hour afterwards his emotions left him with an emptied mind on the same spot.
And it was in a mood of mere idle investigation that he happened to come to a standstill opposite the office of _The Atheist_.
He did not see the word " atheist ", or if he did, it is quite possible that he did not know the meaning of the word.
With a smart journalistic instinct characteristic of all his school, the editor of _The Atheist_ had put first in his paper and most prominently in his window an article called " The Mesopotamian Mythology and its Effects on Syriac Folk Lore."
Mr. Evan MacIan began to read this quite idly, as he would have read a public statement beginning with a young girl dying in Brighton and ending with Bile Beans.
The streets were full of people and empty of adventures.
He might as well know about the gods of Mesopotamia as not; so he flattened his long, lean face against the dim bleak pane of the window and read all there was to read about Mesopotamian gods.
He read how the Mesopotamians had a god named Sho (sometimes pronounced Ji), and that he was described as being very powerful, a striking similarity to some expressions about Jahveh, who is also described as having power.
Evan had never heard of Jahveh in his life, and imagining him to be some other Mesopotamian idol, read on with a dull curiosity.
He learnt that the name Sho, under its third form of Psa, occurs in an early legend which describes how the deity, after the manner of Jupiter on so many occasions, seduced a Virgin and begat a hero.
This hero, whose name is not essential to our existence, was, it was said, the chief hero and Saviour of the Mesopotamian ethical scheme.
Then followed a paragraph giving other examples of such heroes and Saviours being born of some profligate intercourse between God and mortal.
Then followed a paragraph--but Evan did not understand it.
He read it again and then again.
Then he did understand it.
The glass fell in ringing fragments on to the pavement, and Evan sprang over the barrier into the shop, brandishing his stick.
" What is this?"
cried little Mr. Turnbull, starting up with hair aflame.
" How dare you break my window?"
" Because it was the quickest cut to you," cried Evan, stamping.
" Stand up and fight, you crapulous coward.
You dirty lunatic, stand up, will you?
Have you any weapons here?"
" Are you mad?"
asked Turnbull, glaring.
" Are you?"
cried Evan.
" Can you be anything else when you plaster your own house with that God - defying filth?
Stand up and fight, I say."
A great light like dawn came into Mr. Turnbull's face.
Behind his red hair and beard he turned deadly pale with pleasure.
Here, after twenty lone years of useless toil, he had his reward.
Someone was angry with the paper.
He bounded to his feet like a boy; he saw a new youth opening before him.
And as not unfrequently happens to middle - aged gentlemen when they see a new youth opening before them, he found himself in the presence of the police.
The policemen, after some ponderous questionings, collared both the two enthusiasts.
They were more respectful, however, to the young man who had smashed the window, than to the miscreant who had had his window smashed.
There was an air of refined mystery about Evan MacIan, which did not exist in the irate little shopkeeper, an air of refined mystery which appealed to the policemen, for policemen, like most other English types, are at once snobs and poets.
MacIan might possibly be a gentleman, they felt; the editor manifestly was not.
And the editor's fine rational republican appeals to his respect for law, and his ardour to be tried by his fellow citizens, seemed to the police quite as much gibberish as Evan's mysticism could have done.
The police were not used to hearing principles, even the principles of their own existence.
The police magistrate, before whom they were hurried and tried, was a Mr. Cumberland Vane, a cheerful, middle - aged gentleman, honourably celebrated for the lightness of his sentences and the lightness of his conversation.
He was a tall, spruce man, with a twist of black moustache and incomparable morning dress.
He looked like a gentleman, and yet, somehow, like a stage gentleman.
He had often treated serious crimes against mere order or property with a humane flippancy.
Hence, about the mere breaking of an editor's window, he was almost uproarious.
" Come, Mr. MacIan, come," he said, leaning back in his chair, " do you generally enter you friends'houses by walking through the glass?"
(Laughter.)
" He is not my friend," said Evan, with the stolidity of a dull child.
" Not your friend, eh?"
said the magistrate, sparkling.
" Is he your brother - in - law?"
(Loud and prolonged laughter.)
" He is my enemy," said Evan, simply; " he is the enemy of God."
Mr. Vane shifted sharply in his seat, dropping the eye - glass out of his eye in a momentary and not unmanly embarrassment.
" You mustn't talk like that here," he said, roughly, and in a kind of hurry, " that has nothing to do with us."
Evan opened his great, blue eyes; " God," he began.
" Be quiet," said the magistrate, angrily, " it is most undesirable that things of that sort should be spoken about--a--in public, and in an ordinary Court of Justice.
Religion is--a--too personal a matter to be mentioned in such a place."
" Is it?"
answered the Highlander, " then what did those policemen swear by just now?"
" That is no parallel," answered Vane, rather irritably; " of course there is a form of oath--to be taken reverently--reverently, and there's an end of it.
But to talk in a public place about one's most sacred and private sentiments--well, I call it bad taste.
(Slight applause.)
I call it irreverent.
I call it irreverent, and I'm not specially orthodox either."
" I see you are not," said Evan, " but I am."
" We are wondering from the point," said the police magistrate, pulling himself together.
" May I ask why you smashed this worthy citizen's window?"
Evan turned a little pale at the mere memory, but he answered with the same cold and deadly literalism that he showed throughout.
" Because he blasphemed Our Lady."
" I tell you once and for all," cried Mr. Cumberland Vane, rapping his knuckles angrily on the table, " I tell you, once and for all, my man, that I will not have you turning on any religious rant or cant here.
Don't imagine that it will impress me.
The most religious people are not those who talk about it.
(Applause.)
You answer the questions and do nothing else."
" I did nothing else," said Evan, with a slight smile.
" Eh," cried Vane, glaring through his eye - glass.
" You asked me why I broke his window," said MacIan, with a face of wood.
" I answered,'Because he blasphemed Our Lady.'
I had no other reason.
So I have no other answer."
Vane continued to gaze at him with a sternness not habitual to him.
" You are not going the right way to work, Sir," he said, with severity.
" You are not going the right way to work to--a--have your case treated with special consideration.
If you had simply expressed regret for what you had done, I should have been strongly inclined to dismiss the matter as an outbreak of temper.
Even now, if you say that you are sorry I shall only ----"
" But I am not in the least sorry," said Evan, " I am very pleased."
" I really believe you are insane," said the stipendiary, indignantly, for he had really been doing his best as a good - natured man, to compose the dispute.
" What conceivable right have you to break other people's windows because their opinions do not agree with yours?
This man only gave expression to his sincere belief."
" So did I," said the Highlander.
" And who are you?"
exploded Vane.
" Are your views necessarily the right ones?
Are you necessarily in possession of the truth?"
" Yes," said MacIan.
The magistrate broke into a contemptuous laugh.
" Oh, you want a nurse to look after you," he said.
" You must pay L10."
Evan MacIan plunged his hands into his loose grey garment and drew out a queer looking leather purse.
It contained exactly twelve sovereigns.
He paid down the ten, coin by coin, in silence, and equally silently returned the remaining two to the receptacle.
Then he said, " May I say a word, your worship?"
Cumberland Vane seemed half hypnotized with the silence and automatic movements of the stranger; he made a movement with his head which might have been either " yes " or " no ".
" I only wished to say, your worship," said MacIan, putting back the purse in his trouser pocket, " that smashing that shop window was, I confess, a useless and rather irregular business.
It may be excused, however, as a mere preliminary to further proceedings, a sort of preface.
Wherever and whenever I meet that man," and he pointed to the editor of _The Atheist_, " whether it be outside this door in ten minutes from now, or twenty years hence in some distant country, wherever and whenever I meet that man, I will fight him.
Do not be afraid.
I will not rush at him like a bully, or bear him down with any brute superiority.
I will fight him like a gentleman; I will fight him as our fathers fought.
He shall choose how, sword or pistol, horse or foot.
But if he refuses, I will write his cowardice on every wall in the world.
If he had said of my mother what he said of the Mother of God, there is not a club of clean men in Europe that would deny my right to call him out.
If he had said it of my wife, you English would yourselves have pardoned me for beating him like a dog in the market place.
Your worship, I have no mother; I have no wife.
I have only that which the poor have equally with the rich; which the lonely have equally with the man of many friends.
To me this whole strange world is homely, because in the heart of it there is a home; to me this cruel world is kindly, because higher than the heavens there is something more human than humanity.
If a man must not fight for this, may he fight for anything?
I would fight for my friend, but if I lost my friend, I should still be there.
I would fight for my country, but if I lost my country, I should still exist.
But if what that devil dreams were true, I should not be--I should burst like a bubble and be gone.
I could not live in that imbecile universe.
Shall I not fight for my own existence?"
The magistrate recovered his voice and his presence of mind.
He went into a sort of weary laughter.
" For Heaven's sake, man," he said, " don't talk so much.
Let other people have a chance (laughter).
I trust all that you said about asking Mr. Turnbull to fight, may be regarded as rubbish.
In case of accidents, however, I must bind you over to keep the peace."
" To keep the peace," repeated Evan, " with whom?"
" With Mr. Turnbull," said Vane.
" Certainly not," answered MacIan.
" What has he to do with peace?"
" Do you mean to say," began the magistrate, " that you refuse to..." The voice of Turnbull himself clove in for the first time.
" Might I suggest," he said, " That I, your worship, can settle to some extent this absurd matter myself.
This rather wild gentleman promises that he will not attack me with any ordinary assault--and if he does, you may be sure the police shall hear of it.
But he says he will not.
He says he will challenge me to a duel; and I cannot say anything stronger about his mental state than to say that I think that it is highly probable that he will.
(Laughter.)
But it takes two to make a duel, your worship (renewed laughter).
I do not in the least mind being described on every wall in the world as the coward who would not fight a man in Fleet Street, about whether the Virgin Mary had a parallel in Mesopotamian mythology.
No, your worship.
You need not trouble to bind him over to keep the peace.
I bind myself over to keep the peace, and you may rest quite satisfied that there will be no duel with me in it."
Mr. Cumberland Vane rolled about, laughing in a sort of relief.
" You're like a breath of April, sir," he cried.
" You're ozone after that fellow.
You're perfectly right.
Perhaps I have taken the thing too seriously.
I should love to see him sending you challenges and to see you smiling.
Well, well."
Evan went out of the Court of Justice free, but strangely shaken, like a sick man.
Any punishment of suppression he would have felt as natural; but the sudden juncture between the laughter of his judge and the laughter of the man he had wronged, made him feel suddenly small, or at least, defeated.
It was really true that the whole modern world regarded his world as a bubble.
No cruelty could have shown it, but their kindness showed it with a ghastly clearness.
As he was brooding, he suddenly became conscious of a small, stern figure, fronting him in silence.
Its eyes were grey and awful, and its beard red.
It was Turnbull.
" Well, sir," said the editor of _The Atheist_, " where is the fight to be?
Name the field, sir."
Evan stood thunderstruck.
He stammered out something, he knew not what; he only guessed it by the answer of the other.
" Do I want to fight?
Do I want to fight?"
cried the furious Free - thinker.
" Why, you moonstruck scarecrow of superstition, do you think your dirty saints are the only people who can die?
Haven't you hung atheists, and burned them, and boiled them, and did they ever deny their faith?
Do you think we don't want to fight?
Night and day I have prayed--I have longed--for an atheist revolution--I have longed to see your blood and ours on the streets.
Let it be yours or mine?"
" But you said..." began MacIan.
" I know," said Turnbull scornfully.
" And what did you say?
You damned fool, you said things that might have got us locked up for a year, and shadowed by the coppers for half a decade.
If you wanted to fight, why did you tell that ass you wanted to?
I got you out, to fight if you want to.
Now, fight if you dare."
" I swear to you, then," said MacIan, after a pause.
" I swear to you that nothing shall come between us.
I swear to you that nothing shall be in my heart or in my head till our swords clash together.
I swear it by the God you have denied, by the Blessed Lady you have blasphemed; I swear it by the seven swords in her heart.
I swear it by the Holy Island where my fathers are, by the honour of my mother, by the secret of my people, and by the chalice of the Blood of God."
The atheist drew up his head.
" And I," he said, " give my word."
III.
SOME OLD CURIOSITIES
The evening sky, a dome of solid gold, unflaked even by a single sunset cloud, steeped the meanest sights of London in a strange and mellow light.
It made a little greasy street of St. Martin's Lane look as if it were paved with gold.
And the shop that stood between the pawnshop and the shop of dreary indecency, showed with quite a blaze of old world beauty, for it was, by accident, a shop not unbeautiful in itself.
The front window had a glimmer of bronze and blue steel, lit, as by a few stars, by the sparks of what were alleged to be jewels; for it was in brief, a shop of bric - a - brac and old curiosities.
There is nothing more beautiful than thus to look as it were through the archway of a house; as if the open sky were an interior chamber, and the sun a secret lamp of the place.
I have suggested that the sunset light made everything lovely.
To say that it made the keeper of the curiosity shop lovely would be a tribute to it perhaps too extreme.
It would easily have made him beautiful if he had been merely squalid; if he had been a Jew of the Fagin type.
But he was a Jew of another and much less admirable type; a Jew with a very well - sounding name.
For though there are no hard tests for separating the tares and the wheat of any people, one rude but efficient guide is that the nice Jew is called Moses Solomon, and the nasty Jew is called Thornton Percy.
The keeper of the curiosity shop was of the Thornton Percy branch of the chosen people; he belonged to those Lost Ten Tribes whose industrious object is to lose themselves.
He was a man still young, but already corpulent, with sleek dark hair, heavy handsome clothes, and a full, fat, permanent smile, which looked at the first glance kindly, and at the second cowardly.
The name over his shop was Henry Gordon, but two Scotchmen who were in his shop that evening could come upon no trace of a Scotch accent.
These two Scotchmen in this shop were careful purchasers, but free - handed payers.
The other kept so much in the background in comparison that he looked almost ghostly in his grey cloak or plaid, a tall, sallow, silent young man.
The two Scotchmen were interested in seventeenth - century swords.
They were fastidious about them.
They had a whole armoury of these weapons brought out and rolled clattering about the counter, until they found two of precisely the same length.
Presumably they desired the exact symmetry for some decorative trophy.
Even then they felt the points, poised the swords for balance and bent them in a circle to see that they sprang straight again; which, for decorative purposes, seems carrying realism rather far.
" These will do," said the strange person with the red beard.
" And perhaps I had better pay for them at once.
And as you are the challenger, Mr. MacIan, perhaps you had better explain the situation."
The tall Scotchman in grey took a step forward and spoke in a voice quite clear and bold, and yet somehow lifeless, like a man going through an ancient formality.
" The fact is, Mr. Gordon, we have to place our honour in your hands.
Words have passed between Mr. Turnbull and myself on a grave and invaluable matter, which can only be atoned for by fighting.
Unfortunately, as the police are in some sense pursuing us, we are hurried, and must fight now and without seconds.
But if you will be so kind as to take us into your little garden and see far play, we shall feel how ----"
The shopman recovered himself from a stunning surprise and burst out:
" Gentlemen, are you drunk?
A duel!
A duel in my garden.
Go home, gentlemen, go home.
Why, what did you quarrel about?"
" We quarrelled," said Evan, in the same dead voice, " about religion."
The fat shopkeeper rolled about in his chair with enjoyment.
" Well, this is a funny game," he said.
" So you want to commit murder on behalf of religion.
Well, well my religion is a little respect for humanity, and ----"
" Excuse me," cut in Turnbull, suddenly and fiercely, pointing towards the pawnbroker's next door.
" Don't you own that shop?"
" Why--er--yes," said Gordon.
" And don't you own that shop?"
repeated the secularist, pointing backward to the pornographic bookseller.
" What if I do?"
" Why, then," cried Turnbull, with grating contempt.
" I will leave the religion of humanity confidently in your hands; but I am sorry I troubled you about such a thing as honour.
Look here, my man.
I do believe in humanity.
I do believe in liberty.
My father died for it under the swords of the Yeomanry.
I am going to die for it, if need be, under that sword on your counter.
But if there is one sight that makes me doubt it it is your foul fat face.
It is hard to believe you were not meant to be ruled like a dog or killed like a cockroach.
Don't try your slave's philosophy on me.
We are going to fight, and we are going to fight in your garden, with your swords.
Be still!
Raise your voice above a whisper, and I run you through the body."
Turnbull put the bright point of the sword against the gay waistcoat of the dealer, who stood choking with rage and fear, and an astonishment so crushing as to be greater than either.
" MacIan," said Turnbull, falling almost into the familiar tone of a business partner, " MacIan, tie up this fellow and put a gag in his mouth.
Be still, I say, or I kill you where you stand."
The man was too frightened to scream, but he struggled wildly, while Evan MacIan, whose long, lean hands were unusually powerful, tightened some old curtain cords round him, strapped a rope gag in his mouth and rolled him on his back on the floor.
" There's nothing very strong here," said Evan, looking about him.
" I'm afraid he'll work through that gag in half an hour or so."
" Yes," said Turnbull, " but one of us will be killed by that time."
" Well, let's hope so," said the Highlander, glancing doubtfully at the squirming thing on the floor.
" And now," said Turnbull, twirling his fiery moustache and fingering his sword, " let us go into the garden.
What an exquisite summer evening!"
MacIan said nothing, but lifting his sword from the counter went out into the sun.
The brilliant light ran along the blades, filling the channels of them with white fire; the combatants stuck their swords in the turf and took off their hats, coats, waistcoats, and boots.
Evan said a short Latin prayer to himself, during which Turnbull made something of a parade of lighting a cigarette which he flung away the instant after, when he saw MacIan apparently standing ready.
Yet MacIan was not exactly ready.
He stood staring like a man stricken with a trance.
" What are you staring at?"
asked Turnbull.
" Do you see the bobbies?"
" I see Jerusalem," said Evan, " all covered with the shields and standards of the Saracens."
" Jerusalem!"
said Turnbull, laughing.
" Well, we've taken the only inhabitant into captivity."
And he picked up his sword and made it whistle like a boy's wand.
" I beg your pardon," said MacIan, dryly.
" Let us begin."
MacIan made a military salute with his weapon, which Turnbull copied or parodied with an impatient contempt; and in the stillness of the garden the swords came together with a clear sound like a bell.
The instant the blades touched, each felt them tingle to their very points with a personal vitality, as if they were two naked nerves of steel.
Evan had worn throughout an air of apathy, which might have been the stale apathy of one who wants nothing.
But it was indeed the more dreadful apathy of one who wants something and will care for nothing else.
And this was seen suddenly; for the instant Evan engaged he disengaged and lunged with an infernal violence.
His opponent with a desperate promptitude parried and riposted; the parry only just succeeded, the riposte failed.
Something big and unbearable seemed to have broken finally out of Evan in that first murderous lunge, leaving him lighter and cooler and quicker upon his feet.
He fell to again, fiercely still, but now with a fierce caution.
The next moment Turnbull lunged; MacIan seemed to catch the point and throw it away from him, and was thrusting back like a thunderbolt, when a sound paralysed him; another sound beside their ringing weapons.
Turnbull, perhaps from an equal astonishment, perhaps from chivalry, stopped also and forebore to send his sword through his exposed enemy.
" What's that?"
asked Evan, hoarsely.
A heavy scraping sound, as of a trunk being dragged along a littered floor, came from the dark shop behind them.
" The old Jew has broken one of his strings, and he's crawling about," said Turnbull.
" Be quick!
We must finish before he gets his gag out."
" Yes, yes, quick!
On guard!"
cried the Highlander.
The blades crossed again with the same sound like song, and the men went to work again with the same white and watchful faces.
Evan, in his impatience, went back a little to his wildness.
He made windmills, as the French duellists say, and though he was probably a shade the better fencer of the two, he found the other's point pass his face twice so close as almost to graze his cheek.
The second time he realized the actual possibility of defeat and pulled himself together under a shock of the sanity of anger.
He narrowed, and, so to speak, tightened his operations: he fenced (as the swordsman's boast goes), in a wedding ring; he turned Turnbull's thrusts with a maddening and almost mechanical click, like that of a machine.
Whenever Turnbull's sword sought to go over that other mere white streak it seemed to be caught in a complex network of steel.
He turned one thrust, turned another, turned another.
Then suddenly he went forward at the lunge with his whole living weight.
Turnbull leaped back, but Evan lunged and lunged and lunged again like a devilish piston rod or battering ram.
And high above all the sound of the struggle there broke into the silent evening a bellowing human voice, nasal, raucous, at the highest pitch of pain.
" Help!
Help!
Police!
Murder!
Murder!"
The gag was broken; and the tongue of terror was loose.
" Keep on!"
gasped Turnbull.
" One may be killed before they come."
The voice of the screaming shopkeeper was loud enough to drown not only the noise of the swords but all other noises around it, but even through its rending din there seemed to be some other stir or scurry.
And Evan, in the very act of thrusting at Turnbull, saw something in his eyes that made him drop his sword.
The atheist, with his grey eyes at their widest and wildest, was staring straight over his shoulder at the little archway of shop that opened on the street beyond.
And he saw the archway blocked and blackened with strange figures.
" We must bolt, MacIan," he said abruptly.
" And there isn't a damned second to lose either.
Do as I do."
With a bound he was beside the little cluster of his clothes and boots that lay on the lawn; he snatched them up, without waiting to put any of them on; and tucking his sword under his other arm, went wildly at the wall at the bottom of the garden and swung himself over it.
Three seconds after he had alighted in his socks on the other side, MacIan alighted beside him, also in his socks and also carrying clothes and sword in a desperate bundle.
They were in a by - street, very lean and lonely itself, but so close to a crowded thoroughfare that they could see the vague masses of vehicles going by, and could even see an individual hansom cab passing the corner at the instant.
Turnbull put his fingers to his mouth like a gutter - snipe and whistled twice.
Even as he did so he could hear the loud voices of the neighbours and the police coming down the garden.
The hansom swung sharply and came tearing down the little lane at his call.
When the cabman saw his fares, however, two wild - haired men in their shirts and socks with naked swords under their arms, he not unnaturally brought his readiness to a rigid stop and stared suspiciously.
" You talk to him a minute," whispered Turnbull, and stepped back into the shadow of the wall.
" We want you," said MacIan to the cabman, with a superb Scotch drawl of indifference and assurance, " to drive us to St. Pancras Station--verra quick."
" Very sorry, sir," said the cabman, " but I'd like to know it was all right.
Might I arst where you come from, sir?"
A second after he spoke MacIan heard a heavy voice on the other side of the wall, saying: " I suppose I'd better get over and look for them.
Give me a back."
" Cabby," said MacIan, again assuming the most deliberate and lingering lowland Scotch intonation, " if ye're really verra anxious to ken whar a'come fra ', I'll tell ye as a verra great secret.
A'come from Scotland.
And a'm gaein'to St. Pancras Station.
Open the doors, cabby."
The cabman stared, but laughed.
The heavy voice behind the wall said: " Now then, a better back this time, Mr.
Price."
And from the shadow of the wall Turnbull crept out.
He had struggled wildly into his coat (leaving his waistcoat on the pavement), and he was with a fierce pale face climbing up the cab behind the cabman.
MacIan had no glimmering notion of what he was up to, but an instinct of discipline, inherited from a hundred men of war, made him stick to his own part and trust the other man's.
" Open the doors, cabby," he repeated, with something of the obstinate solemnity of a drunkard, " open the doors.
Did ye no hear me say St. Pancras Station?"
The top of a policeman's helmet appeared above the garden wall.
The cabman did not see it, but he was still suspicious and began:
" Very sorry, sir, but..." and with that the catlike Turnbull tore him out of his seat and hurled him into the street below, where he lay suddenly stunned.
" Give me his hat," said Turnbull in a silver voice, that the other obeyed like a bugle.
" And get inside with the swords."
And just as the red and raging face of a policeman appeared above the wall, Turnbull struck the horse with a terrible cut of the whip and the two went whirling away like a boomerang.
They had spun through seven streets and three or four squares before anything further happened.
Then, in the neighbourhood of Maida Vale, the driver opened the trap and talked through it in a manner not wholly common in conversations through that aperture.
" Mr. MacIan," he said shortly and civilly.
" Mr. Turnbull," replied his motionless fare.
" Under circumstances such as those in which we were both recently placed there was no time for anything but very abrupt action.
I trust therefore that you have no cause to complain of me if I have deferred until this moment a consultation with you on our present position or future action.
Our present position, Mr. MacIan, I imagine that I am under no special necessity of describing.
We have broken the law and we are fleeing from its officers.
Our future action is a thing about which I myself entertain sufficiently strong views; but I have no right to assume or to anticipate yours, though I may have formed a decided conception of your character and a decided notion of what they will probably be.
Still, by every principle of intellectual justice, I am bound to ask you now and seriously whether you wish to continue our interrupted relations."
MacIan leant his white and rather weary face back upon the cushions in order to speak up through the open door.
" Mr. Turnbull," he said, " I have nothing to add to what I have said before.
It is strongly borne in upon me that you and I, the sole occupants of this runaway cab, are at this moment the two most important people in London, possibly in Europe.
I have been looking at all the streets as we went past, I have been looking at all the shops as we went past, I have been looking at all the churches as we went past.
At first, I felt a little dazed with the vastness of it all.
I could not understand what it all meant.
But now I know exactly what it all means.
It means us.
This whole civilization is only a dream.
You and I are the realities."
" Religious symbolism," said Mr. Turnbull, through the trap, " does not, as you are probably aware, appeal ordinarily to thinkers of the school to which I belong.
But in symbolism as you use it in this instance, I must, I think, concede a certain truth.
We _must_ fight this thing out somewhere; because, as you truly say, we have found each other's reality.
We _must_ kill each other--or convert each other.
I used to think all Christians were hypocrites, and I felt quite mildly towards them really.
But I know you are sincere--and my soul is mad against you.
In the same way you used, I suppose, to think that all atheists thought atheism would leave them free for immorality--and yet in your heart you tolerated them entirely.
Now you _know_ that I am an honest man, and you are mad against me, as I am against you.
Yes, that's it.
You can't be angry with bad men.
But a good man in the wrong--why one thirsts for his blood.
Yes, you open for me a vista of thought."
" Don't run into anything," said Evan, immovably.
" There's something in that view of yours, too," said Turnbull, and shut down the trap.
They sped on through shining streets that shot by them like arrows.
Mr. Turnbull had evidently a great deal of unused practical talent which was unrolling itself in this ridiculous adventure.
They had got away with such stunning promptitude that the police chase had in all probability not even properly begun.
But in case it had, the amateur cabman chose his dizzy course through London with a strange dexterity.
He did not do what would have first occurred to any ordinary outsider desiring to destroy his tracks.
He did not cut into by - ways or twist his way through mean streets.
His amateur common sense told him that it was precisely the poor street, the side street, that would be likely to remember and report the passing of a hansom cab, like the passing of a royal procession.
He kept chiefly to the great roads, so full of hansoms that a wilder pair than they might easily have passed in the press.
In one of the quieter streets Evan put on his boots.
Towards the top of Albany Street the singular cabman again opened the trap.
" Mr. MacIan," he said, " I understand that we have now definitely settled that in the conventional language honour is not satisfied.
Our action must at least go further than it has gone under recent interrupted conditions.
That, I believe, is understood."
" Perfectly," replied the other with his bootlace in his teeth.
" Under those conditions," continued Turnbull, his voice coming through the hole with a slight note of trepidation very unusual with him, " I have a suggestion to make, if that can be called a suggestion, which has probably occurred to you as readily as to me.
Until the actual event comes off we are practically in the position if not of comrades, at least of business partners.
Until the event comes off, therefore I should suggest that quarrelling would be inconvenient and rather inartistic; while the ordinary exchange of politeness between man and man would be not only elegant but uncommonly practical."
" You are perfectly right," answered MacIan, with his melancholy voice, " in saying that all this has occurred to me.
All duellists should behave like gentlemen to each other.
But we, by the queerness of our position, are something much more than either duellists or gentlemen.
We are, in the oddest and most exact sense of the term, brothers--in arms."
" Mr. MacIan," replied Turnbull, calmly, " no more need be said."
And he closed the trap once more.
They had reached Finchley Road before he opened it again.
Then he said, " Mr. MacIan, may I offer you a cigar.
It will be a touch of realism."
" Thank you," answered Evan.
" You are very kind."
And he began to smoke in the cab.
IV.
A DISCUSSION AT DAWN
The duellists had from their own point of view escaped or conquered the chief powers of the modern world.
They had satisfied the magistrate, they had tied the tradesman neck and heels, and they had left the police behind.
As far as their own feelings went they had melted into a monstrous sea; they were but the fare and driver of one of the million hansoms that fill London streets.
But they had forgotten something; they had forgotten journalism.
It is the one great weakness of journalism as a picture of our modern existence, that it must be a picture made up entirely of exceptions.
We announce on flaring posters that a man has fallen off a scaffolding.
We do not announce on flaring posters that a man has not fallen off a scaffolding.
Yet this latter fact is fundamentally more exciting, as indicating that that moving tower of terror and mystery, a man, is still abroad upon the earth.
That the man has not fallen off a scaffolding is really more sensational; and it is also some thousand times more common.
But journalism cannot reasonably be expected thus to insist upon the permanent miracles.
Busy editors cannot be expected to put on their posters, " Mr. Wilkinson Still Safe," or " Mr. Jones, of Worthing, Not Dead Yet."
They cannot announce the happiness of mankind at all.
They cannot describe all the forks that are not stolen, or all the marriages that are not judiciously dissolved.
Hence the complete picture they give of life is of necessity fallacious; they can only represent what is unusual.
However democratic they may be, they are only concerned with the minority.
The incident of the religious fanatic who broke a window on Ludgate Hill was alone enough to set them up in good copy for the night.
But when the same man was brought before a magistrate and defied his enemy to mortal combat in the open court, then the columns would hardly hold the excruciating information, and the headlines were so large that there was hardly room for any of the text.
The _Daily Telegraph_ headed a column, " A Duel on Divinity," and there was a correspondence afterwards which lasted for months, about whether police magistrates ought to mention religion.
The _Daily Mail_ in its dull, sensible way, headed the events, " Wanted to fight for the Virgin."
Mr. James Douglas, in _The Star_, presuming on his knowledge of philosophical and theological terms, described the Christian's outbreak under the title of " Dualist and Duellist."
The _Daily News_ inserted a colourless account of the matter, but was pursued and eaten up for some weeks, with letters from outlying ministers, headed " Murder and Mariolatry."
But the journalistic temperature was steadily and consistently heated by all these influences; the journalists had tasted blood, prospectively, and were in the mood for more; everything in the matter prepared them for further outbursts of moral indignation.
The next morning, five or six of the great London dailies burst out simultaneously into great blossoms of eloquent leader - writing.
Towards the end all the leaders tended to be the same, but they all began differently.
The _Daily Telegraph_, for instance began, " There will be little difference among our readers or among all truly English and law - abiding men touching the, etc.
etc."
The _Daily Mail_ said, " People must learn, in the modern world, to keep their theological differences to themselves.
The fracas, etc.
etc."
The _Daily News_ started, " Nothing could be more inimical to the cause of true religion than, etc.
etc."
The _Times_ began with something about Celtic disturbances of the equilibrium of Empire, and the _Daily Express_ distinguished itself splendidly by omitting altogether so controversial a matter and substituting a leader about goloshes.
And the morning after that, the editors and the newspapers were in such a state, that, as the phrase is, there was no holding them.
Whatever secret and elvish thing it is that broods over editors and suddenly turns their brains, that thing had seized on the story of the broken glass and the duel in the garden.
It became monstrous and omnipresent, as do in our time the unimportant doings of the sect of the Agapemonites, or as did at an earlier time the dreary dishonesties of the Rhodesian financiers.
Questions were asked about it, and even answered, in the House of Commons.
The Government was solemnly denounced in the papers for not having done something, nobody knew what, to prevent the window being broken.
An enormous subscription was started to reimburse Mr. Gordon, the man who had been gagged in the shop.
Mr. MacIan, one of the combatants, became for some mysterious reason, singly and hugely popular as a comic figure in the comic papers and on the stage of the music hall.
He was always represented (in defiance of fact), with red whiskers, and a very red nose, and in full Highland costume.
And a song, consisting of an unimaginable number of verses, in which his name was rhymed with flat iron, the British Lion, sly'un, dandelion, Spion (With Kop in the next line), was sung to crowded houses every night.
The papers developed a devouring thirst for the capture of the fugitives; and when they had not been caught for forty - eight hours, they suddenly turned the whole matter into a detective mystery.
Yes, the papers were very interesting, and Mr. Turnbull unrolled a whole bundle of them for the amusement of Mr. MacIan as they sat on a high common to the north of London, in the coming of the white dawn.
The darkness in the east had been broken with a bar of grey; the bar of grey was split with a sword of silver and morning lifted itself laboriously over London.
Its bewildering squares and parallelograms were compact and perfect as a Chinese puzzle; an enormous hieroglyphic which man must decipher or die.
Turnbull, the old idealistic democrat, had so often reviled the democracy and reviled them justly for their supineness, their snobbishness, their evil reverence for idle things.
He was right enough; for our democracy has only one great fault; it is not democratic.
And after denouncing so justly average modern men for so many years as sophists and as slaves, he looked down from an empty slope in Hampstead and saw what gods they are.
Their achievement seemed all the more heroic and divine, because it seemed doubtful whether it was worth doing at all.
There seemed to be something greater than mere accuracy in making such a mistake as London.
And what was to be the end of it all?
what was to be the ultimate transformation of this common and incredible London man, this workman on a tram in Battersea, his clerk on an omnibus in Cheapside?
Turnbull, as he stared drearily, murmured to himself the words of the old atheistic and revolutionary Swinburne who had intoxicated his youth:
" And still we ask if God or man Can loosen thee Lazarus; Bid thee rise up republican, And save thyself and all of us.
But no disciple's tongue can say If thou can'st take our sins away."
Turnbull shivered slightly as if behind the earthly morning he felt the evening of the world, the sunset of so many hopes.
Those words were from " Songs before Sunrise ".
But Turnbull's songs at their best were songs after sunrise, and sunrise had been no such great thing after all.
Turnbull shivered again in the sharp morning air.
MacIan was also gazing with his face towards the city, but there was that about his blind and mystical stare that told one, so to speak, that his eyes were turned inwards.
When Turnbull said something to him about London, they seemed to move as at a summons and come out like two householders coming out into their doorways.
" Yes," he said, with a sort of stupidity.
" It's a very big place."
There was a somewhat unmeaning silence, and then MacIan said again:
" It's a very big place.
When I first came into it I was frightened of it.
Frightened exactly as one would be frightened at the sight of a man forty feet high.
I am used to big things where I come from, big mountains that seem to fill God's infinity, and the big sea that goes to the end of the world.
But then these things are all shapeless and confused things, not made in any familiar form.
But to see the plain, square, human things as large as that, houses so large and streets so large, and the town itself so large, was like having screwed some devil's magnifying glass into one's eye.
It was like seeing a porridge bowl as big as a house, or a mouse - trap made to catch elephants."
" Like the land of the Brobdingnagians," said Turnbull, smiling.
" Oh!
Where is that?"
said MacIan.
Turnbull said bitterly, " In a book," and the silence fell suddenly between them again.
They were sitting in a sort of litter on the hillside; all the things they had hurriedly collected, in various places, for their flight, were strewn indiscriminately round them.
The two swords with which they had lately sought each other's lives were flung down on the grass at random, like two idle walking - sticks.
Some provisions they had bought last night, at a low public house, in case of undefined contingencies, were tossed about like the materials of an ordinary picnic, here a basket of chocolate, and there a bottle of wine.
And to add to the disorder finally, there were strewn on top of everything, the most disorderly of modern things, newspapers, and more newspapers, and yet again newspapers, the ministers of the modern anarchy.
Turnbull picked up one of them drearily, and took out a pipe.
" There's a lot about us," he said.
" Do you mind if I light up?"
" Why should I mind?"
asked MacIan.
Turnbull eyed with a certain studious interest, the man who did not understand any of the verbal courtesies; he lit his pipe and blew great clouds out of it.
" Yes," he resumed.
" The matter on which you and I are engaged is at this moment really the best copy in England.
I am a journalist, and I know.
For the first time, perhaps, for many generations, the English are really more angry about a wrong thing done in England than they are about a wrong thing done in France."
" It is not a wrong thing," said MacIan.
Turnbull laughed.
" You seem unable to understand the ordinary use of the human language.
If I did not suspect that you were a genius, I should certainly know you were a blockhead.
I fancy we had better be getting along and collecting our baggage."
And he jumped up and began shoving the luggage into his pockets, or strapping it on to his back.
As he thrust a tin of canned meat, anyhow, into his bursting side pocket, he said casually:
" I only meant that you and I are the most prominent people in the English papers."
" Well, what did you expect?"
asked MacIan, opening his great grave blue eyes.
" The papers are full of us," said Turnbull, stooping to pick up one of the swords.
MacIan stooped and picked up the other.
" Yes," he said, in his simple way.
" I have read what they have to say.
But they don't seem to understand the point."
" The point of what?"
asked Turnbull.
" The point of the sword," said MacIan, violently, and planted the steel point in the soil like a man planting a tree.
" That is a point," said Turnbull, grimly, " that we will discuss later.
Come along."
Turnbull tied the last tin of biscuits desperately to himself with string; and then spoke, like a diver girt for plunging, short and sharp.
" Now, Mr. MacIan, you must listen to me.
You must listen to me, not merely because I know the country, which you might learn by looking at a map, but because I know the people of the country, whom you could not know by living here thirty years.
That infernal city down there is awake; and it is awake against us.
All those endless rows of windows and windows are all eyes staring at us.
All those forests of chimneys are fingers pointing at us, as we stand here on the hillside.
This thing has caught on.
For the next six mortal months they will think of nothing but us, as for six mortal months they thought of nothing but the Dreyfus case.
Oh, I know it's funny.
They let starving children, who don't want to die, drop by the score without looking round.
But because two gentlemen, from private feelings of delicacy, do want to die, they will mobilize the army and navy to prevent them.
For half a year or more, you and I, Mr. MacIan, will be an obstacle to every reform in the British Empire.
We shall prevent the Chinese being sent out of the Transvaal and the blocks being stopped in the Strand.
We shall be the conversational substitute when anyone recommends Home Rule, or complains of sky signs.
Therefore, do not imagine, in your innocence, that we have only to melt away among those English hills as a Highland cateran might into your god - forsaken Highland mountains.
We must be eternally on our guard; we must live the hunted life of two distinguished criminals.
We must expect to be recognized as much as if we were Napoleon escaping from Elba.
We must be prepared for our descriptions being sent to every tiny village, and for our faces being recognized by every ambitious policeman.
We must often sleep under the stars as if we were in Africa.
Last and most important we must not dream of effecting our--our final settlement, which will be a thing as famous as the Phoenix Park murders, unless we have made real and precise arrangements for our isolation--I will not say our safety.
We must not, in short, fight until we have thrown them off our scent, if only for a moment.
For, take my word for it, Mr. MacIan, if the British Public once catches us up, the British Public will prevent the duel, if it is only by locking us both up in asylums for the rest of our days."
MacIan was looking at the horizon with a rather misty look.
" I am not at all surprised," he said, " at the world being against us.
It makes me feel I was right to ----"
" Yes?"
said Turnbull.
" To smash your window," said MacIan.
" I have woken up the world."
" Very well, then," said Turnbull, stolidly.
" Let us look at a few final facts.
Beyond that hill there is comparatively clear country.
Fortunately, I know the part well, and if you will follow me exactly, and, when necessary, on your stomach, we may be able to get ten miles out of London, literally without meeting anyone at all, which will be the best possible beginning, at any rate.
We have provisions for at least two days and two nights, three days if we do it carefully.
We may be able to get fifty or sixty miles away without even walking into an inn door.
I have the biscuits and the tinned meat, and the milk.
You have the chocolate, I think?
And the brandy?"
" Yes," said MacIan, like a soldier taking orders.
" Very well, then, come on.
March.
We turn under that third bush and so down into the valley."
And he set off ahead at a swinging walk.
Then he stopped suddenly; for he realized that the other was not following.
Evan MacIan was leaning on his sword with a lowering face, like a man suddenly smitten still with doubt.
" What on earth is the matter?"
asked Turnbull, staring in some anger.
Evan made no reply.
" What the deuce is the matter with you?"
demanded the leader, again, his face slowly growing as red as his beard; then he said, suddenly, and in a more human voice, " Are you in pain, MacIan?"
" Yes," replied the Highlander, without lifting his face.
" Take some brandy," cried Turnbull, walking forward hurriedly towards him.
" You've got it."
" It's not in the body," said MacIan, in his dull, strange way.
" The pain has come into my mind.
A very dreadful thing has just come into my thoughts."
" What the devil are you talking about?"
asked Turnbull.
MacIan broke out with a queer and living voice.
" We must fight now, Turnbull.
We must fight now.
A frightful thing has come upon me, and I know it must be now and here.
I must kill you here," he cried, with a sort of tearful rage impossible to describe.
" Here, here, upon this blessed grass."
" Why, you idiot," began Turnbull.
" The hour has come--the black hour God meant for it.
Quick, it will soon be gone.
Quick!"
And he flung the scabbard from him furiously, and stood with the sunlight sparkling along his sword.
" You confounded fool," repeated Turnbull.
" Put that thing up again, you ass; people will come out of that house at the first clash of the steel."
" One of us will be dead before they come," said the other, hoarsely, " for this is the hour God meant."
" Well, I never thought much of God," said the editor of _The Atheist_, losing all patience.
" And I think less now.
Never mind what God meant.
Kindly enlighten my pagan darkness as to what the devil _you_ mean."
" The hour will soon be gone.
In a moment it will be gone," said the madman.
" It is now, now, now that I must nail your blaspheming body to the earth--now, now that I must avenge Our Lady on her vile slanderer.
Now or never.
For the dreadful thought is in my mind."
" And what thought," asked Turnbull, with frantic composure, " occupies what you call your mind?"
" I must kill you now," said the fanatic, " because ----"
" Well, because," said Turnbull, patiently.
" Because I have begun to like you."
Turnbull's face had a sudden spasm in the sunlight, a change so instantaneous that it left no trace behind it; and his features seemed still carved into a cold stare.
But when he spoke again he seemed like a man who was placidly pretending to misunderstand something that he understood perfectly well.
" Your affection expresses itself in an abrupt form," he began, but MacIan broke the brittle and frivolous speech to pieces with a violent voice.
" Do not trouble to talk like that," he said.
" You know what I mean as well as I know it.
Come on and fight, I say.
Perhaps you are feeling just as I do."
Turnbull's face flinched again in the fierce sunlight, but his attitude kept its contemptuous ease.
" Your Celtic mind really goes too fast for me," he said; " let me be permitted in my heavy Lowland way to understand this new development.
My dear Mr. MacIan, what do you really mean?"
MacIan still kept the shining sword - point towards the other's breast.
" You know what I mean.
You mean the same yourself.
We must fight now or else ----"
" Or else?"
repeated Turnbull, staring at him with an almost blinding gravity.
" Or else we may not want to fight at all," answered Evan, and the end of his speech was like a despairing cry.
Turnbull took out his own sword suddenly as if to engage; then planting it point downwards for a moment, he said, " Before we begin, may I ask you a question?"
MacIan bowed patiently, but with burning eyes.
" You said, just now," continued Turnbull, presently, " that if we did not fight now, we might not want to fight at all.
How would you feel about the matter if we came not to want to fight at all?"
" I should feel," answered the other, " just as I should feel if you had drawn your sword, and I had run away from it.
I should feel that because I had been weak, justice had not been done."
" Justice," answered Turnbull, with a thoughtful smile, " but we are talking about your feelings.
And what do you mean by justice, apart from your feelings?"
MacIan made a gesture of weary recognition!
" Oh, Nominalism," he said, with a sort of sigh, " we had all that out in the twelfth century."
" I wish we could have it out now," replied the other, firmly.
" Do you really mean that if you came to think me right, you would be certainly wrong?"
" If I had a blow on the back of my head, I might come to think you a green elephant," answered MacIan, " but have I not the right to say now, that if I thought that I should think wrong?"
" Then you are quite certain that it would be wrong to like me?"
asked Turnbull, with a slight smile.
" No," said Evan, thoughtfully, " I do not say that.
It may not be the devil, it may be some part of God I am not meant to know.
But I had a work to do, and it is making the work difficult."
" And I suppose," said the atheist, quite gently, " that you and I know all about which part of God we ought to know."
MacIan burst out like a man driven back and explaining everything.
" The Church is not a thing like the Athenaeum Club," he cried.
" If the Athenaeum Club lost all its members, the Athenaeum Club would dissolve and cease to exist.
But when we belong to the Church we belong to something which is outside all of us; which is outside everything you talk about, outside the Cardinals and the Pope.
They belong to it, but it does not belong to them.
If we all fell dead suddenly, the Church would still somehow exist in God.
Confound it all, don't you see that I am more sure of its existence than I am of my own existence?
And yet you ask me to trust my temperament, my own temperament, which can be turned upside down by two bottles of claret or an attack of the jaundice.
You ask me to trust that when it softens towards you and not to trust the thing which I believe to be outside myself and more real than the blood in my body."
" Stop a moment," said Turnbull, in the same easy tone, " Even in the very act of saying that you believe this or that, you imply that there is a part of yourself that you trust even if there are many parts which you mistrust.
If it is only you that like me, surely, also, it is only you that believe in the Catholic Church."
Evan remained in an unmoved and grave attitude.
" There is a part of me which is divine," he answered, " a part that can be trusted, but there are also affections which are entirely animal and idle."
" And you are quite certain, I suppose," continued Turnbull, " that if even you esteem me the esteem would be wholly animal and idle?"
For the first time MacIan started as if he had not expected the thing that was said to him.
At last he said:
" Whatever in earth or heaven it is that has joined us two together, it seems to be something which makes it impossible to lie.
No, I do not think that the movement in me towards you was... was that surface sort of thing.
It may have been something deeper... something strange.
I cannot understand the thing at all.
But understand this and understand it thoroughly, if I loved you my love might be divine.
No, it is not some trifle that we are fighting about.
It is not some superstition or some symbol.
When you wrote those words about Our Lady, you were in that act a wicked man doing a wicked thing.
If I hate you it is because you have hated goodness.
And if I like you... it is because you are good."
Turnbull's face wore an indecipherable expression.
" Well, shall we fight now?"
he said.
" Yes," said MacIan, with a sudden contraction of his black brows, " yes, it must be now."
The bright swords crossed, and the first touch of them, travelling down blade and arm, told each combatant that the heart of the other was awakened.
It was not in that way that the swords rang together when they had rushed on each other in the little garden behind the dealer's shop.
There was a pause, and then MacIan made a movement as if to thrust, and almost at the same moment Turnbull suddenly and calmly dropped his sword.
Evan stared round in an unusual bewilderment, and then realized that a large man in pale clothes and a Panama hat was strolling serenely towards them.
V. THE PEACEMAKER
When the combatants, with crossed swords, became suddenly conscious of a third party, they each made the same movement.
It was as quick as the snap of a pistol, and they altered it instantaneously and recovered their original pose, but they had both made it, they had both seen it, and they both knew what it was.
It was not a movement of anger at being interrupted.
Say or think what they would, it was a movement of relief.
A force within them, and yet quite beyond them, seemed slowly and pitilessly washing away the adamant of their oath.
As mistaken lovers might watch the inevitable sunset of first love, these men watched the sunset of their first hatred.
Their hearts were growing weaker and weaker against each other.
When their weapons rang and riposted in the little London garden, they could have been very certain that if a third party had interrupted them something at least would have happened.
They would have killed each other or they would have killed him.
But now nothing could undo or deny that flash of fact, that for a second they had been glad to be interrupted.
Some new and strange thing was rising higher and higher in their hearts like a high sea at night.
It was something that seemed all the more merciless, because it might turn out an enormous mercy.
Was there, perhaps, some such fatalism in friendship as all lovers talk about in love?
Did God make men love each other against their will?
" I'm sure you'll excuse my speaking to you," said the stranger, in a voice at once eager and deprecating.
The voice was too polite for good manners.
It was incongruous with the eccentric spectacle of the duellists which ought to have startled a sane and free man.
It was also incongruous with the full and healthy, though rather loose physique of the man who spoke.
At the first glance he looked a fine animal, with curling gold beard and hair, and blue eyes, unusually bright.
It was only at the second glance that the mind felt a sudden and perhaps unmeaning irritation at the way in which the gold beard retreated backwards into the waistcoat, and the way in which the finely shaped nose went forward as if smelling its way.
And it was only, perhaps, at the hundredth glance that the bright blue eyes, which normally before and after the instant seemed brilliant with intelligence, seemed as it were to be brilliant with idiocy.
He was a heavy, healthy - looking man, who looked all the larger because of the loose, light coloured clothes that he wore, and that had in their extreme lightness and looseness, almost a touch of the tropics.
But a closer examination of his attire would have shown that even in the tropics it would have been unique; but it was all woven according to some hygienic texture which no human being had ever heard of before, and which was absolutely necessary even for a day's health.
He wore a huge broad - brimmed hat, equally hygienic, very much at the back of his head, and his voice coming out of so heavy and hearty a type of man was, as I have said, startlingly shrill and deferential.
" I'm sure you'll excuse my speaking to you," he said.
" Now, I wonder if you are in some little difficulty which, after all, we could settle very comfortably together?
Now, you don't mind my saying this, do you?"
The face of both combatants remained somewhat solid under this appeal.
But the stranger, probably taking their silence for a gathering shame, continued with a kind of gaiety:
" So you are the young men I have read about in the papers.
Well, of course, when one is young, one is rather romantic.
Do you know what I always say to young people?"
A blank silence followed this gay inquiry.
Then Turnbull said in a colourless voice:
" As I was forty - seven last birthday, I probably came into the world too soon for the experience."
" Very good, very good," said the friendly person.
" Dry Scotch humour.
Dry Scotch humour.
Well now.
I understand that you two people want to fight a duel.
I suppose you aren't much up in the modern world.
We've quite outgrown duelling, you know.
In fact, Tolstoy tells us that we shall soon outgrow war, which he says is simply a duel between nations.
A duel between nations.
But there is no doubt about our having outgrown duelling."
Waiting for some effect upon his wooden auditors, the stranger stood beaming for a moment and then resumed:
" Now, they tell me in the newspapers that you are really wanting to fight about something connected with Roman Catholicism.
Now, do you know what I always say to Roman Catholics?"
" No," said Turnbull, heavily.
" Do _they_?"
It seemed to be a characteristic of the hearty, hygienic gentleman that he always forgot the speech he had made the moment before.
Without enlarging further on the fixed form of his appeal to the Church of Rome, he laughed cordially at Turnbull's answer; then his wandering blue eyes caught the sunlight on the swords, and he assumed a good - humoured gravity.
" But you know this is a serious matter," he said, eyeing Turnbull and MacIan, as if they had just been keeping the table in a roar with their frivolities.
" I am sure that if I appealed to your higher natures... your higher natures.
Every man has a higher nature and a lower nature.
Now, let us put the matter very plainly, and without any romantic nonsense about honour or anything of that sort.
Is not bloodshed a great sin?"
" No," said MacIan, speaking for the first time.
" Well, really, really!"
said the peacemaker.
" Murder is a sin," said the immovable Highlander.
" There is no sin of bloodshed."
" Well, we won't quarrel about a word," said the other, pleasantly.
" Why on earth not?"
said MacIan, with a sudden asperity.
" Why shouldn't we quarrel about a word?
What is the good of words if they aren't important enough to quarrel over?
Why do we choose one word more than another if there isn't any difference between them?
If you called a woman a chimpanzee instead of an angel, wouldn't there be a quarrel about a word?
If you're not going to argue about words, what are you going to argue about?
Are you going to convey your meaning to me by moving your ears?
The Church and the heresies always used to fight about words, because they are the only things worth fighting about.
I say that murder is a sin, and bloodshed is not, and that there is as much difference between those words as there is between the word'yes'and the word'no '; or rather more difference, for'yes'and'no ', at least, belong to the same category.
Murder is a spiritual incident.
Bloodshed is a physical incident.
A surgeon commits bloodshed.
" Ah, you're a casuist!"
said the large man, wagging his head.
" Now, do you know what I always say to casuists...?"
MacIan made a violent gesture; and Turnbull broke into open laughter.
The peacemaker did not seem to be in the least annoyed, but continued in unabated enjoyment.
" Well, well," he said, " let us get back to the point.
Now Tolstoy has shown that force is no remedy; so you see the position in which I am placed.
I am doing my best to stop what I'm sure you won't mind my calling this really useless violence, this really quite wrong violence of yours.
But it's against my principles to call in the police against you, because the police are still on a lower moral plane, so to speak, because, in short, the police undoubtedly sometimes employ force.
Tolstoy has shown that violence merely breeds violence in the person towards whom it is used, whereas Love, on the other hand, breeds Love.
So you see how I am placed.
I am reduced to use Love in order to stop you.
I am obliged to use Love."
He gave to the word an indescribable sound of something hard and heavy, as if he were saying " boots ".
Turnbull suddenly gripped his sword and said, shortly, " I see how you are placed quite well, sir.
You will not call the police.
Mr. MacIan, shall we engage?"
MacIan plucked his sword out of the grass.
" I must and will stop this shocking crime," cried the Tolstoian, crimson in the face.
" It is against all modern ideas.
It is against the principle of love.
How you, sir, who pretend to be a Christian..."
MacIan turned upon him with a white face and bitter lip.
" Sir," he said, " talk about the principle of love as much as you like.
You seem to me colder than a lump of stone; but I am willing to believe that you may at some time have loved a cat, or a dog, or a child.
When you were a baby, I suppose you loved your mother.
Talk about love, then, till the world is sick of the word.
But don't you talk about Christianity.
Don't you dare to say one word, white or black, about it.
Christianity is, as far as you are concerned, a horrible mystery.
Keep clear of it, keep silent upon it, as you would upon an abomination.
It is a thing that has made men slay and torture each other; and you will never know why.
It is a thing that has made men do evil that good might come; and you will never understand the evil, let alone the good.
Christianity is a thing that could only make you vomit, till you are other than you are.
I would not justify it to you even if I could.
Hate it, in God's name, as Turnbull does, who is a man.
It is a monstrous thing, for which men die.
And if you will stand here and talk about love for another ten minutes it is very probable that you will see a man die for it."
And he fell on guard.
Turnbull was busy settling something loose in his elaborate hilt, and the pause was broken by the stranger.
" Suppose I call the police?"
he said, with a heated face.
" And deny your most sacred dogma," said MacIan.
" Dogma!"
cried the man, in a sort of dismay.
" Oh, we have no _dogmas_, you know!"
There was another silence, and he said again, airily:
" You know, I think, there's something in what Shaw teaches about no moral principles being quite fixed.
Have you ever read _The Quintessence of Ibsenism_?
Of course he went very wrong over the war."
Turnbull, with a bent, flushed face, was tying up the loose piece of the pommel with string.
With the string in his teeth, he said, " Oh, make up your damned mind and clear out!"
" It's a serious thing," said the philosopher, shaking his head.
" I must be alone and consider which is the higher point of view.
I rather feel that in a case so extreme as this..." and he went slowly away.
As he disappeared among the trees, they heard him murmuring in a sing - song voice, " New occasions teach new duties," out of a poem by James Russell Lowell.
" Ah," said MacIan, drawing a deep breath.
" Don't you believe in prayer now?
I prayed for an angel."
" An hour ago," said the Highlander, in his heavy meditative voice, " I felt the devil weakening my heart and my oath against you, and I prayed that God would send an angel to my aid."
" Well?"
inquired the other, finishing his mending and wrapping the rest of the string round his hand to get a firmer grip.
" Well?"
" Well, that man was an angel," said MacIan.
" I didn't know they were as bad as that," answered Turnbull.
" We know that devils sometimes quote Scripture and counterfeit good," replied the mystic.
" Why should not angels sometimes come to show us the black abyss of evil on whose brink we stand.
If that man had not tried to stop us... I might... I might have stopped."
" I know what you mean," said Turnbull, grimly.
" But then he came," broke out MacIan, " and my soul said to me:'Give up fighting, and you will become like That.
Give up vows and dogmas, and fixed things, and you may grow like That.
You may learn, also, that fog of false philosophy.
You may grow fond of that mire of crawling, cowardly morals, and you may come to think a blow bad, because it hurts, and not because it humiliates.
You may come to think murder wrong, because it is violent, and not because it is unjust.
Oh, you blasphemer of the good, an hour ago I almost loved you!
But do not fear for me now.
I have heard the word Love pronounced in _his_ intonation; and I know exactly what it means.
On guard!'"
The swords caught on each other with a dreadful clang and jar, full of the old energy and hate; and at once plunged and replunged.
Once more each man's heart had become the magnet of a mad sword.
Suddenly, furious as they were, they were frozen for a moment motionless.
" What noise is that?"
asked the Highlander, hoarsely.
" I think I know," replied Turnbull.
" What?...
What?"
cried the other.
" The student of Shaw and Tolstoy has made up his remarkable mind," said Turnbull, quietly.
" The police are coming up the hill."
VI.
THE OTHER PHILOSOPHER
Between high hedges in Hertfordshire, hedges so high as to create a kind of grove, two men were running.
They did not run in a scampering or feverish manner, but in the steady swing of the pendulum.
Across the great plains and uplands to the right and left of the lane, a long tide of sunset light rolled like a sea of ruby, lighting up the long terraces of the hills and picking out the few windows of the scattered hamlets in startling blood - red sparks.
But the lane was cut deep in the hill and remained in an abrupt shadow.
The two men running in it had an impression not uncommonly experienced between those wild green English walls; a sense of being led between the walls of a maze.
Though their pace was steady it was vigorous; their faces were heated and their eyes fixed and bright.
There was, indeed, something a little mad in the contrast between the evening's stillness over the empty country - side, and these two figures fleeing wildly from nothing.
They had the look of two lunatics, possibly they were.
" Are you all right?"
said Turnbull, with civility.
" Can you keep this up?"
" Quite easily, thank you," replied MacIan.
" I run very well."
" Is that a qualification in a family of warriors?"
asked Turnbull.
" Undoubtedly.
Rapid movement is essential," answered MacIan, who never saw a joke in his life.
Turnbull broke out into a short laugh, and silence fell between them, the panting silence of runners.
Then MacIan said: " We run better than any of those policemen.
They are too fat.
Why do you make your policemen so fat?"
" I didn't do much towards making them fat myself," replied Turnbull, genially, " but I flatter myself that I am now doing something towards making them thin.
You'll see they will be as lean as rakes by the time they catch us.
They will look like your friend, Cardinal Manning."
" But they won't catch us," said MacIan, in his literal way.
" No, we beat them in the great military art of running away," returned the other.
" They won't catch us unless ----"
MacIan turned his long equine face inquiringly.
" Unless what?"
he said, for Turnbull had gone silent suddenly, and seemed to be listening intently as he ran as a horse does with his ears turned back.
" Unless what?"
repeated the Highlander.
" Unless they do--what they have done.
Listen."
MacIan slackened his trot, and turned his head to the trail they had left behind them.
Across two or three billows of the up and down lane came along the ground the unmistakable throbbing of horses'hoofs.
" They have put the mounted police on us," said Turnbull, shortly.
" Good Lord, one would think we were a Revolution."
" So we are," said MacIan calmly.
" What shall we do?
Shall we turn on them with our points?"
" It may come to that," answered Turnbull, " though if it does, I reckon that will be the last act.
We must put it off if we can."
And he stared and peered about him between the bushes.
" If we could hide somewhere the beasts might go by us," he said.
" The police have their faults, but thank God they're inefficient.
Why, here's the very thing.
Be quick and quiet.
Follow me."
He suddenly swung himself up the high bank on one side of the lane.
It was almost as high and smooth as a wall, and on the top of it the black hedge stood out over them as an angle, almost like a thatched roof of the lane.
And the burning evening sky looked down at them through the tangle with red eyes as of an army of goblins.
Turnbull hoisted himself up and broke the hedge with his body.
As his head and shoulders rose above it they turned to flame in the full glow as if lit up by an immense firelight.
His red hair and beard looked almost scarlet, and his pale face as bright as a boy's.
Something violent, something that was at once love and hatred, surged in the strange heart of the Gael below him.
He had an unutterable sense of epic importance, as if he were somehow lifting all humanity into a prouder and more passionate region of the air.
As he swung himself up also into the evening light he felt as if he were rising on enormous wings.
Legends of the morning of the world which he had heard in childhood or read in youth came back upon him in a cloudy splendour, purple tales of wrath and friendship, like Roland and Oliver, or Balin and Balan, reminding him of emotional entanglements.
Men who had loved each other and then fought each other; men who had fought each other and then loved each other, together made a mixed but monstrous sense of momentousness.
The crimson seas of the sunset seemed to him like a bursting out of some sacred blood, as if the heart of the world had broken.
Turnbull was wholly unaffected by any written or spoken poetry; his was a powerful and prosaic mind.
But even upon him there came for the moment something out of the earth and the passionate ends of the sky.
The only evidence was in his voice, which was still practical but a shade more quiet.
" Do you see that summer - house - looking thing over there?"
he asked shortly.
" That will do for us very well."
Keeping himself free from the tangle of the hedge he strolled across a triangle of obscure kitchen garden, and approached a dismal shed or lodge a yard or two beyond it.
It was a weather - stained hut of grey wood, which with all its desolation retained a tag or two of trivial ornament, which suggested that the thing had once been a sort of summer - house, and the place probably a sort of garden.
" That is quite invisible from the road," said Turnbull, as he entered it, " and it will cover us up for the night."
MacIan looked at him gravely for a few moments.
" Sir," he said, " I ought to say something to you.
I ought to say ----"
" Hush," said Turnbull, suddenly lifting his hand; " be still, man."
In the sudden silence, the drumming of the distant horses grew louder and louder with inconceivable rapidity, and the cavalcade of police rushed by below them in the lane, almost with the roar and rattle of an express train.
" I ought to tell you," continued MacIan, still staring stolidly at the other, " that you are a great chief, and it is good to go to war behind you."
Turnbull said nothing, but turned and looked out of the foolish lattice of the little windows, then he said, " We must have food and sleep first."
When the last echo of their eluded pursuers had died in the distant uplands, Turnbull began to unpack the provisions with the easy air of a man at a picnic.
He had just laid out the last items, put a bottle of wine on the floor, and a tin of salmon on the window - ledge, when the bottomless silence of that forgotten place was broken.
And it was broken by three heavy blows of a stick delivered upon the door.
Turnbull looked up in the act of opening a tin and stared silently at his companion.
MacIan's long, lean mouth had shut hard.
" Who the devil can that be?"
said Turnbull.
" God knows," said the other.
" It might be God."
Again the sound of the wooden stick reverberated on the wooden door.
It was a curious sound and on consideration did not resemble the ordinary effects of knocking on a door for admittance.
It was rather as if the point of a stick were plunged again and again at the panels in an absurd attempt to make a hole in them.
A wild look sprang into MacIan's eyes and he got up half stupidly, with a kind of stagger, put his hand out and caught one of the swords.
" Let us fight at once," he cried, " it is the end of the world."
" You're overdone, MacIan," said Turnbull, putting him on one side.
" It's only someone playing the goat.
Let me open the door."
But he also picked up a sword as he stepped to open it.
He paused one moment with his hand on the handle and then flung the door open.
Almost as he did so the ferrule of an ordinary bamboo cane came at his eyes, so that he had actually to parry it with the naked weapon in his hands.
As the two touched, the point of the stick was dropped very abruptly, and the man with the stick stepped hurriedly back.
Against the heraldic background of sprawling crimson and gold offered him by the expiring sunset, the figure of the man with the stick showed at first merely black and fantastic.
He was a small man with two wisps of long hair that curled up on each side, and seen in silhouette, looked like horns.
He had a bow tie so big that the two ends showed on each side of his neck like unnatural stunted wings.
He had his long black cane still tilted in his hand like a fencing foil and half presented at the open door.
His large straw hat had fallen behind him as he leapt backwards.
" With reference to your suggestion, MacIan," said Turnbull, placidly, " I think it looks more like the Devil."
" Who on earth are you?"
cried the stranger in a high shrill voice, brandishing his cane defensively.
" Let me see," said Turnbull, looking round to MacIan with the same blandness.
" Who are we?"
" Come out," screamed the little man with the stick.
" Certainly," said Turnbull, and went outside with the sword, MacIan following.
Seen more fully, with the evening light on his face, the strange man looked a little less like a goblin.
He wore a square pale - grey jacket suit, on which the grey butterfly tie was the only indisputable touch of affectation.
Against the great sunset his figure had looked merely small: seen in a more equal light it looked tolerably compact and shapely.
His reddish - brown hair, combed into two great curls, looked like the long, slow curling hair of the women in some pre - Raphaelite pictures.
But within this feminine frame of hair his face was unexpectedly impudent, like a monkey's.
" What are you doing here?"
he said, in a sharp small voice.
" Well," said MacIan, in his grave childish way, " what are _you_ doing here?"
" I," said the man, indignantly, " I'm in my own garden."
" Oh," said MacIan, simply, " I apologize."
Turnbull was coolly curling his red moustache, and the stranger stared from one to the other, temporarily stunned by their innocent assurance.
" But, may I ask," he said at last, " what the devil you are doing in my summer - house?"
" Certainly," said MacIan.
" We were just going to fight."
" To fight!"
repeated the man.
" We had better tell this gentleman the whole business," broke in Turnbull.
Then turning to the stranger he said firmly, " I am sorry, sir, but we have something to do that must be done.
And I may as well tell you at the beginning and to avoid waste of time or language, that we cannot admit any interference."
" We were just going to take some slight refreshment when you interrupted us..."
The little man had a dawning expression of understanding and stooped and picked up the unused bottle of wine, eyeing it curiously.
Turnbull continued:
" But that refreshment was preparatory to something which I fear you will find less comprehensible, but on which our minds are entirely fixed, sir.
We are forced to fight a duel.
We are forced by honour and an internal intellectual need.
Do not, for your own sake, attempt to stop us.
I know all the excellent and ethical things that you will want to say to us.
I know all about the essential requirements of civil order: I have written leading articles about them all my life.
I know all about the sacredness of human life; I have bored all my friends with it.
Try and understand our position.
This man and I are alone in the modern world in that we think that God is essentially important.
I think He does not exist; that is where the importance comes in for me.
But this man thinks that He does exist, and thinking that very properly thinks Him more important than anything else.
Now we wish to make a great demonstration and assertion--something that will set the world on fire like the first Christian persecutions.
If you like, we are attempting a mutual martyrdom.
The papers have posted up every town against us.
Scotland Yard has fortified every police station with our enemies; we are driven therefore to the edge of a lonely lane, and indirectly to taking liberties with your summer - house in order to arrange our..."
" Stop!"
roared the little man in the butterfly necktie.
" Put me out of my intellectual misery.
Are you really the two tomfools I have read of in all the papers?
Are you the two people who wanted to spit each other in the Police Court?
Are you?
Are you?"
" Yes," said MacIan, " it began in a Police Court."
The little man slung the bottle of wine twenty yards away like a stone.
" Come up to my place," he said.
" I've got better stuff than that.
I've got the best Beaune within fifty miles of here.
Come up.
You're the very men I wanted to see."
Even Turnbull, with his typical invulnerability, was a little taken aback by this boisterous and almost brutal hospitality.
" Why... sir..." he began.
" Come up!
Come in!"
howled the little man, dancing with delight.
" I'll give you a dinner.
I'll give you a bed!
I'll give you a green smooth lawn and your choice of swords and pistols.
Why, you fools, I adore fighting!
It's the only good thing in God's world!
I've walked about these damned fields and longed to see somebody cut up and killed and the blood running.
Ha!
Ha!"
And he made sudden lunges with his stick at the trunk of a neighbouring tree so that the ferrule made fierce prints and punctures in the bark.
" Excuse me," said MacIan suddenly with the wide - eyed curiosity of a child, " excuse me, but..."
" Well?"
said the small fighter, brandishing his wooden weapon.
" Excuse me," repeated MacIan, " but was that what you were doing at the door?"
The little man stared an instant and then said: " Yes," and Turnbull broke into a guffaw.
" Come on!"
cried the little man, tucking his stick under his arm and taking quite suddenly to his heels.
" Come on!
Confound me, I'll see both of you eat and then I'll see one of you die.
Lord bless me, the gods must exist after all--they have sent me one of my day - dreams!
Lord!
A duel!"
He had gone flying along a winding path between the borders of the kitchen garden, and in the increasing twilight he was as hard to follow as a flying hare.
But at length the path after many twists betrayed its purpose and led abruptly up two or three steps to the door of a tiny but very clean cottage.
There was nothing about the outside to distinguish it from other cottages, except indeed its ominous cleanliness and one thing that was out of all the custom and tradition of all cottages under the sun.
In the middle of the little garden among the stocks and marigolds there surged up in shapeless stone a South Sea Island idol.
There was something gross and even evil in that eyeless and alien god among the most innocent of the English flowers.
" Come in!"
cried the creature again.
" Come in!
it's better inside!"
Whether or no it was better inside it was at least a surprise.
The moment the two duellists had pushed open the door of that inoffensive, whitewashed cottage they found that its interior was lined with fiery gold.
It was like stepping into a chamber in the Arabian Nights.
The door that closed behind them shut out England and all the energies of the West.
The ornaments that shone and shimmered on every side of them were subtly mixed from many periods and lands, but were all oriental.
Cruel Assyrian bas - reliefs ran along the sides of the passage; cruel Turkish swords and daggers glinted above and below them; the two were separated by ages and fallen civilizations.
Yet they seemed to sympathize since they were both harmonious and both merciless.
The house seemed to consist of chamber within chamber and created that impression as of a dream which belongs also to the Arabian Nights themselves.
The innermost room of all was like the inside of a jewel.
The little man who owned it all threw himself on a heap of scarlet and golden cushions and struck his hands together.
A negro in a white robe and turban appeared suddenly and silently behind them.
" Selim," said the host, " these two gentlemen are staying with me tonight.
Send up the very best wine and dinner at once.
And Selim, one of these gentlemen will probably die tomorrow.
Make arrangements, please."
The negro bowed and withdrew.
Evan MacIan came out the next morning into the little garden to a fresh silver day, his long face looking more austere than ever in that cold light, his eyelids a little heavy.
He carried one of the swords.
Turnbull was in the little house behind him, demolishing the end of an early breakfast and humming a tune to himself, which could be heard through the open window.
A moment or two later he leapt to his feet and came out into the sunlight, still munching toast, his own sword stuck under his arm like a walking - stick.
Their eccentric host had vanished from sight, with a polite gesture, some twenty minutes before.
It was with a start, therefore, that they came upon the man himself already in the garden.
They were all the more startled because of the still posture in which they found him.
He was on his knees in front of the stone idol, rigid and motionless, like a saint in a trance or ecstasy.
Yet when Turnbull's tread broke a twig, he was on his feet in a flash.
" Excuse me," he said with an irradiation of smiles, but yet with a kind of bewilderment.
" So sorry... family prayers... old fashioned... mother's knee.
Let us go on to the lawn behind."
And he ducked rapidly round the statue to an open space of grass on the other side of it.
" This will do us best, Mr. MacIan," said he.
Then he made a gesture towards the heavy stone figure on the pedestal which had now its blank and shapeless back turned towards them.
" Don't you be afraid," he added, " he can still see us."
MacIan turned his blue, blinking eyes, which seemed still misty with sleep (or sleeplessness) towards the idol, but his brows drew together.
The little man with the long hair also had his eyes on the back view of the god.
His eyes were at once liquid and burning, and he rubbed his hands slowly against each other.
" Do you know," he said, " I think he can see us better this way.
I often think that this blank thing is his real face, watching, though it cannot be watched.
He!
he!
Yes, I think he looks nice from behind.
He looks more cruel from behind, don't you think?"
" What the devil is the thing?"
asked Turnbull gruffly.
" It is the only Thing there is," answered the other.
" It is Force."
" Oh!"
said Turnbull shortly.
" Yes, my friends," said the little man, with an animated countenance, fluttering his fingers in the air, " it was no chance that led you to this garden; surely it was the caprice of some old god, some happy, pitiless god.
Perhaps it was his will, for he loves blood; and on that stone in front of him men have been butchered by hundreds in the fierce, feasting islands of the South.
In this cursed, craven place I have not been permitted to kill men on his altar.
Only rabbits and cats, sometimes."
In the stillness MacIan made a sudden movement, unmeaning apparently, and then remained rigid.
" But today, today," continued the small man in a shrill voice.
" Today his hour is come.
Today his will is done on earth as it is in heaven.
Men, men, men will bleed before him today."
And he bit his forefinger in a kind of fever.
Still, the two duellists stood with their swords as heavily as statues, and the silence seemed to cool the eccentric and call him back to more rational speech.
" Perhaps I express myself a little too lyrically," he said with an amicable abruptness.
" My philosophy has its higher ecstasies, but perhaps you are hardly worked up to them yet.
Let us confine ourselves to the unquestioned.
You have found your way, gentlemen, by a beautiful accident, to the house of the only man in England (probably) who will favour and encourage your most reasonable project.
From Cornwall to Cape Wrath this county is one horrible, solid block of humanitarianism.
You will find men who will defend this or that war in a distant continent.
They will defend it on the contemptible ground of commerce or the more contemptible ground of social good.
But do not fancy that you will find one other person who will comprehend a strong man taking the sword in his hand and wiping out his enemy.
My name is Wimpey, Morrice Wimpey.
I had a Fellowship at Magdalen.
But I assure you I had to drop it, owing to my having said something in a public lecture infringing the popular prejudice against those great gentlemen, the assassins of the Italian Renaissance.
They let me say it at dinner and so on, and seemed to like it.
But in a public lecture... so inconsistent.
Well, as I say, here is your only refuge and temple of honour.
Here you can fall back on that naked and awful arbitration which is the only thing that balances the stars--a still, continuous violence.
_Vae Victis! _ Down, down, down with the defeated!
Victory is the only ultimate fact.
Carthage _was_ destroyed, the Red Indians are being exterminated: that is the single certainty.
In an hour from now that sun will still be shining and that grass growing, and one of you will be conquered; one of you will be the conqueror.
When it has been done, nothing will alter it.
Heroes, I give you the hospitality fit for heroes.
And I salute the survivor.
Fall on!"
The two men took their swords.
Then MacIan said steadily: " Mr. Turnbull, lend me your sword a moment."
Turnbull, with a questioning glance, handed him the weapon.
MacIan took the second sword in his left hand and, with a violent gesture, hurled it at the feet of little Mr. Wimpey.
" Fight!"
he said in a loud, harsh voice.
" Fight me now!"
Wimpey took a step backward, and bewildered words bubbled on his lips.
" Pick up that sword and fight me," repeated MacIan, with brows as black as thunder.
The little man turned to Turnbull with a gesture, demanding judgement or protection.
" Really, sir," he began, " this gentleman confuses..."
" You stinking little coward," roared Turnbull, suddenly releasing his wrath.
" Fight, if you're so fond of fighting!
Fight, if you're so fond of all that filthy philosophy!
If winning is everything, go in and win!
If the weak must go to the wall, go to the wall!
Fight, you rat!
Fight, or if you won't fight--run!"
And he ran at Wimpey, with blazing eyes.
Wimpey staggered back a few paces like a man struggling with his own limbs.
Then he felt the furious Scotchman coming at him like an express train, doubling his size every second, with eyes as big as windows and a sword as bright as the sun.
Something broke inside him, and he found himself running away, tumbling over his own feet in terror, and crying out as he ran.
" Chase him!"
shouted Turnbull as MacIan snatched up the sword and joined in the scamper.
" Chase him over a county!
Chase him into the sea!
Shoo!
Shoo!
Shoo!"
The little man plunged like a rabbit among the tall flowers, the two duellists after him.
Turnbull kept at his tail with savage ecstasy, still shooing him like a cat.
But MacIan, as he ran past the South Sea idol, paused an instant to spring upon its pedestal.
For five seconds he strained against the inert mass.
Then it stirred; and he sent it over with a great crash among the flowers, that engulfed it altogether.
Then he went bounding after the runaway.
In the energy of his alarm the ex - Fellow of Magdalen managed to leap the paling of his garden.
The two pursuers went over it after him like flying birds.
He fled frantically down a long lane with his two terrors on his trail till he came to a gap in the hedge and went across a steep meadow like the wind.
The two Scotchmen, as they ran, kept up a cheery bellowing and waved their swords.
Up three slanting meadows, down four slanting meadows on the other side, across another road, across a heath of snapping bracken, through a wood, across another road, and to the brink of a big pool, they pursued the flying philosopher.
But when he came to the pool his pace was so precipitate that he could not stop it, and with a kind of lurching stagger, he fell splash into the greasy water.
Getting dripping to his feet, with the water up to his knees, the worshipper of force and victory waded disconsolately to the other side and drew himself on to the bank.
And Turnbull sat down on the grass and went off into reverberations of laughter.
A second afterwards the most extraordinary grimaces were seen to distort the stiff face of MacIan, and unholy sounds came from within.
He had never practised laughing, and it hurt him very much.
VII.
THE VILLAGE OF GRASSLEY - IN - THE - HOLE
At about half past one, under a strong blue sky, Turnbull got up out of the grass and fern in which he had been lying, and his still intermittent laughter ended in a kind of yawn.
" I'm hungry," he said shortly.
" Are you?"
" I have not noticed," answered MacIan.
" What are you going to do?"
" There's a village down the road, past the pool," answered Turnbull.
" I can see it from here.
I can see the whitewashed walls of some cottages and a kind of corner of the church.
How jolly it all looks.
It looks so--I don't know what the word is--so sensible.
Don't fancy I'm under any illusions about Arcadian virtue and the innocent villagers.
Men make beasts of themselves there with drink, but they don't deliberately make devils of themselves with mere talking.
They kill wild animals in the wild woods, but they don't kill cats to the God of Victory.
They don't ----" He broke off and suddenly spat on the ground.
" Excuse me," he said; " it was ceremonial.
One has to get the taste out of one's mouth."
" The taste of what?"
asked MacIan.
" I don't know the exact name for it," replied Turnbull.
" Perhaps it is the South Sea Islands, or it may be Magdalen College."
There was a long pause, and MacIan also lifted his large limbs off the ground--his eyes particularly dreamy.
" I know what you mean, Turnbull," he said, " but... I always thought you people agreed with all that."
" With all that about doing as one likes, and the individual, and Nature loving the strongest, and all the things which that cockroach talked about."
Turnbull's big blue - grey eyes stood open with a grave astonishment.
" Do you really mean to say, MacIan," he said, " that you fancied that we, the Free - thinkers, that Bradlaugh, or Holyoake, or Ingersoll, believe all that dirty, immoral mysticism about Nature?
Damn Nature!"
" I supposed you did," said MacIan calmly.
" It seems to me your most conclusive position."
" I supposed you did," repeated MacIan with his usual mildness; " but I admit that I know little of the details of your belief--or disbelief."
Turnbull swung round quite suddenly, and set off towards the village.
" Come along," he cried.
" Come down to the village.
Come down to the nearest decent inhabitable pub.
This is a case for beer."
" I do not quite follow you," said the Highlander.
" Yes, you do," answered Turnbull.
" You follow me slap into the inn - parlour.
I repeat, this is a case for beer.
We must have the whole of this matter out thoroughly before we go a step farther.
Do you know that an idea has just struck me of great simplicity and of some cogency.
Do not by any means let us drop our intentions of settling our differences with two steel swords.
But do you not think that with two pewter pots we might do what we really have never thought of doing yet--discover what our difference is?"
" It never occurred to me before," answered MacIan with tranquillity.
" It is a good suggestion."
And they set out at an easy swing down the steep road to the village of Grassley - in - the - Hole.
Grassley - in - the - Hole was a rude parallelogram of buildings, with two thoroughfares which might have been called two high streets if it had been possible to call them streets.
One of these ways was higher on the slope than the other, the whole parallelogram lying aslant, so to speak, on the side of the hill.
The upper of these two roads was decorated with a big public house, a butcher's shop, a small public house, a sweetstuff shop, a very small public house, and an illegible signpost.
The lower of the two roads boasted a horse - pond, a post office, a gentleman's garden with very high hedges, a microscopically small public house, and two cottages.
Where all the people lived who supported all the public houses was in this, as in many other English villages, a silent and smiling mystery.
The church lay a little above and beyond the village, with a square grey tower dominating it decisively.
But even the church was scarcely so central and solemn an institution as the large public house, the Valencourt Arms.
And in the Valencourt Arms festivity itself had some solemnity and decorum; and beer was drunk with reverence, as it ought to be.
Into the principal parlour of this place entered two strangers, who found themselves, as is always the case in such hostels, the object, not of fluttered curiosity or pert inquiry, but of steady, ceaseless, devouring ocular study.
They had long coats down to their heels, and carried under each coat something that looked like a stick.
One was tall and dark, the other short and red - haired.
They ordered a pot of ale each.
" MacIan," said Turnbull, lifting his tankard, " the fool who wanted us to be friends made us want to go on fighting.
It is only natural that the fool who wanted us to fight should make us friendly.
MacIan, your health!"
Dusk was already dropping, the rustics in the tavern were already lurching and lumbering out of it by twos and threes, crying clamorous good nights to a solitary old toper that remained, before MacIan and Turnbull had reached the really important part of their discussion.
MacIan wore an expression of sad bewilderment not uncommon with him.
" I am to understand, then," he said, " that you don't believe in nature."
" You may say so in a very special and emphatic sense," said Turnbull.
" I do not believe in nature, just as I do not believe in Odin.
She is a myth.
It is not merely that I do not believe that nature can guide us.
It is that I do not believe that nature exists."
" Exists?"
said MacIan in his monotonous way, settling his pewter pot on the table.
" Yes, in a real sense nature does not exist.
I mean that nobody can discover what the original nature of things would have been if things had not interfered with it.
The first blade of grass began to tear up the earth and eat it; it was interfering with nature, if there is any nature.
The first wild ox began to tear up the grass and eat it; he was interfering with nature, if there is any nature.
In the same way," continued Turnbull, " the human when it asserts its dominance over nature is just as natural as the thing which it destroys."
" And in the same way," said MacIan almost dreamily, " the superhuman, the supernatural is just as natural as the nature which it destroys."
Turnbull took his head out of his pewter pot in some anger.
" The supernatural, of course," he said, " is quite another thing; the case of the supernatural is simple.
The supernatural does not exist."
" Quite so," said MacIan in a rather dull voice; " you said the same about the natural.
If the natural does not exist the supernatural obviously can't."
And he yawned a little over his ale.
Turnbull turned for some reason a little red and remarked quickly, " That may be jolly clever, for all I know.
But everyone does know that there is a division between the things that as a matter of fact do commonly happen and the things that don't.
Things that break the evident laws of nature ----"
" Which does not exist," put in MacIan sleepily.
Turnbull struck the table with a sudden hand.
" Good Lord in heaven!"
he cried ----
" Who does not exist," murmured MacIan.
" Good Lord in heaven!"
thundered Turnbull, without regarding the interruption.
" Do you really mean to sit there and say that you, like anybody else, would not recognize the difference between a natural occurrence and a supernatural one--if there could be such a thing?
If I flew up to the ceiling ----"
" You would bump your head badly," cried MacIan, suddenly starting up.
" One can't talk of this kind of thing under a ceiling at all.
Come outside!
Come outside and ascend into heaven!"
He burst the door open on a blue abyss of evening and they stepped out into it: it was suddenly and strangely cool.
" Turnbull," said MacIan, " you have said some things so true and some so false that I want to talk; and I will try to talk so that you understand.
For at present you do not understand at all.
We don't seem to mean the same things by the same words."
He stood silent for a second or two and then resumed.
" A minute or two ago I caught you out in a real contradiction.
At that moment logically I was right.
And at that moment I knew I was wrong.
Yes, there is a real difference between the natural and the supernatural: if you flew up into that blue sky this instant, I should think that you were moved by God--or the devil.
But if you want to know what I really think... I must explain."
He stopped again, abstractedly boring the point of his sword into the earth, and went on:
" I was born and bred and taught in a complete universe.
The supernatural was not natural, but it was perfectly reasonable.
Nay, the supernatural to me is more reasonable than the natural; for the supernatural is a direct message from God, who is reason.
I was taught that some things are natural and some things divine.
I mean that some things are mechanical and some things divine.
But there is the great difficulty, Turnbull.
The great difficulty is that, according to my teaching, you are divine."
" Me!
Divine?"
said Turnbull truculently.
" What do you mean?"
" That is just the difficulty," continued MacIan thoughtfully.
" I was told that there was a difference between the grass and a man's will; and the difference was that a man's will was special and divine.
A man's free will, I heard, was supernatural."
" Rubbish!"
said Turnbull.
" Oh," said MacIan patiently, " then if a man's free will isn't supernatural, why do your materialists deny that it exists?"
Turnbull was silent for a moment.
Then he began to speak, but MacIan continued with the same steady voice and sad eyes:
" So what I feel is this: Here is the great divine creation I was taught to believe in.
I can understand your disbelieving in it, but why disbelieve in a part of it?
It was all one thing to me.
God had authority because he was God.
Man had authority because he was man.
You cannot prove that God is better than a man; nor can you prove that a man is better than a horse.
Why permit any ordinary thing?
Why do you let a horse be saddled?"
" Some modern thinkers disapprove of it," said Turnbull a little doubtfully.
" I know," said MacIan grimly; " that man who talked about love, for instance."
Turnbull made a humorous grimace; then he said: " We seem to be talking in a kind of shorthand; but I won't pretend not to understand you.
What you mean is this: that you learnt about all your saints and angels at the same time as you learnt about common morality, from the same people, in the same way.
And you mean to say that if one may be disputed, so may the other.
Well, let that pass for the moment.
But let me ask you a question in turn.
Did not this system of yours, which you swallowed whole, contain all sorts of things that were merely local, the respect for the chief of your clan, or such things; the village ghost, the family feud, or what not?
Did you not take in those things, too, along with your theology?"
MacIan stared along the dim village road, down which the last straggler from the inn was trailing his way.
" What you say is not unreasonable," he said.
" But it is not quite true.
The distinction between the chief and us did exist; but it was never anything like the distinction between the human and the divine, or the human and the animal.
It was more like the distinction between one animal and another.
But ----"
" Well?"
said Turnbull.
MacIan was silent.
" Go on," repeated Turnbull; " what's the matter with you?
What are you staring at?"
" I am staring," said MacIan at last, " at that which shall judge us both."
" Oh, yes," said Turnbull in a tired way, " I suppose you mean God."
" No, I don't," said MacIan, shaking his head.
" I mean him."
And he pointed to the half - tipsy yokel who was ploughing down the road.
" What do you mean?"
asked the atheist.
" I mean him," repeated MacIan with emphasis.
" He goes out in the early dawn; he digs or he ploughs a field.
Then he comes back and drinks ale, and then he sings a song.
All your philosophies and political systems are young compared to him.
All your hoary cathedrals, yes, even the Eternal Church on earth is new compared to him.
The most mouldering gods in the British Museum are new facts beside him.
It is he who in the end shall judge us all."
And MacIan rose to his feet with a vague excitement.
" What are you going to do?"
" I am going to ask him," cried MacIan, " which of us is right."
Turnbull broke into a kind of laugh.
" Ask that intoxicated turnip - eater ----" he began.
" Yes--which of us is right," cried MacIan violently.
" Oh, you have long words and I have long words; and I talk of every man being the image of God; and you talk of every man being a citizen and enlightened enough to govern.
But if every man typifies God, there is God.
If every man is an enlightened citizen, there is your enlightened citizen.
The first man one meets is always man.
Let us catch him up."
And in gigantic strides the long, lean Highlander whirled away into the grey twilight, Turnbull following with a good - humoured oath.
The track of the rustic was easy to follow, even in the faltering dark; for he was enlivening his wavering walk with song.
It was an interminable poem, beginning with some unspecified King William, who (it appeared) lived in London town and who after the second rise vanished rather abruptly from the train of thought.
The rest was almost entirely about beer and was thick with local topography of a quite unrecognizable kind.
The singer's step was neither very rapid, nor, indeed, exceptionally secure; so the song grew louder and louder and the two soon overtook him.
He gave them greeting with the elaborate urbanity of the slightly intoxicated.
MacIan, who was vibrating with one of his silent, violent decisions, opened the question without delay.
He explained the philosophic position in words as short and simple as possible.
But the singular old man with the lank red face seemed to think uncommonly little of the short words.
He fixed with a fierce affection upon one or two of the long ones.
" Atheists!"
he repeated with luxurious scorn.
" Atheists!
I know their sort, master.
Atheists!
Don't talk to me about'un.
Atheists!"
The grounds of his disdain seemed a little dark and confused; but they were evidently sufficient.
MacIan resumed in some encouragement:
" You think as I do, I hope; you think that a man should be connected with the Church; with the common Christian ----"
The old man extended a quivering stick in the direction of a distant hill.
" There's the church," he said thickly.
" Grassley old church that is.
Pulled down it was, in the old squire's time, and ----"
" I mean," explained MacIan elaborately, " that you think that there should be someone typifying religion, a priest ----"
" Priests!"
said the old man with sudden passion.
" Priests!
I know'un.
What they want in England?
That's what I say.
What they want in England?"
" They want you," said MacIan.
" Quite so," said Turnbull, " and me; but they won't get us.
MacIan, your attempt on the primitive innocence does not seem very successful.
Let me try.
What you want, my friend, is your rights.
You don't want any priests or churches.
A vote, a right to speak is what you ----"
" Who says I a'n't got a right to speak?"
said the old man, facing round in an irrational frenzy.
" I got a right to speak.
I'm a man, I am.
I don't want no votin'nor priests.
I say a man's a man; that's what I say.
If a man a'n't a man, what is he?
That's what I say, if a man a'n't a man, what is he?
When I sees a man, I sez'e's a man."
" Quite so," said Turnbull, " a citizen."
" I say he's a man," said the rustic furiously, stopping and striking his stick on the ground.
" Not a city or owt else.
He's a man."
" You're perfectly right," said the sudden voice of MacIan, falling like a sword.
" And you have kept close to something the whole world of today tries to forget."
" Good night."
And the old man went on wildly singing into the night.
" A jolly old creature," said Turnbull; " he didn't seem able to get much beyond that fact that a man is a man."
" Has anybody got beyond it?"
asked MacIan.
Turnbull looked at him curiously.
" Are you turning an agnostic?"
he asked.
" Oh, you do not understand!"
cried out MacIan.
" We Catholics are all agnostics.
We Catholics have only in that sense got as far as realizing that man is a man.
But your Ibsens and your Zolas and your Shaws and your Tolstoys have not even got so far."
VIII.
AN INTERLUDE OF ARGUMENT
Morning broke in bitter silver along the grey and level plain; and almost as it did so Turnbull and MacIan came out of a low, scrubby wood on to the empty and desolate flats.
They had walked all night.
They had walked all night and talked all night also, and if the subject had been capable of being exhausted they would have exhausted it.
Their long and changing argument had taken them through districts and landscapes equally changing.
They had discussed Haeckel upon hills so high and steep that in spite of the coldness of the night it seemed as if the stars might burn them.
They had explained and re - explained the Massacre of St. Bartholomew in little white lanes walled in with standing corn as with walls of gold.
They had talked about Mr. Kensit in dim and twinkling pine woods, amid the bewildering monotony of the pines.
And it was with the end of a long speech from MacIan, passionately defending the practical achievements and the solid prosperity of the Catholic tradition, that they came out upon the open land.
MacIan had learnt much and thought more since he came out of the cloudy hills of Arisaig.
He had at last begun thoroughly to understand what are the grounds upon which the mass of the modern world solidly disapprove of her creed; and he threw himself into replying to them with a hot intellectual enjoyment.
" I begin to understand one or two of your dogmas, Mr. Turnbull," he had said emphatically as they ploughed heavily up a wooded hill.
" And every one that I understand I deny.
Take any one of them you like.
You hold that your heretics and sceptics have helped the world forward and handed on a lamp of progress.
I deny it.
Nothing is plainer from real history than that each of your heretics invented a complete cosmos of his own which the next heretic smashed entirely to pieces.
Who knows now exactly what Nestorius taught?
Who cares?
There are only two things that we know for certain about it.
The first is that Nestorius, as a heretic, taught something quite opposite to the teaching of Arius, the heretic who came before him, and something quite useless to James Turnbull, the heretic who comes after.
I defy you to go back to the Free - thinkers of the past and find any habitation for yourself at all.
I defy you to read Godwin or Shelley or the deists of the eighteenth century of the nature - worshipping humanists of the Renaissance, without discovering that you differ from them twice as much as you differ from the Pope.
You are a nineteenth - century sceptic, and you are always telling me that I ignore the cruelty of nature.
If you had been an eighteenth - century sceptic you would have told me that I ignore the kindness and benevolence of nature.
You are an atheist, and you praise the deists of the eighteenth century.
Read them instead of praising them, and you will find that their whole universe stands or falls with the deity.
You are a materialist, and you think Bruno a scientific hero.
See what he said and you will think him an insane mystic.
No, the great Free - thinker, with his genuine ability and honesty, does not in practice destroy Christianity.
What he does destroy is the Free - thinker who went before.
Free - thought may be suggestive, it may be inspiriting, it may have as much as you please of the merits that come from vivacity and variety.
But there is one thing Free - thought can never be by any possibility--Free - thought can never be progressive.
It can never be progressive because it will accept nothing from the past; it begins every time again from the beginning; and it goes every time in a different direction.
All the rational philosophers have gone along different roads, so it is impossible to say which has gone farthest.
Who can discuss whether Emerson was a better optimist than Schopenhauer was pessimist?
It is like asking if this corn is as yellow as that hill is steep.
No; there are only two things that really progress; and they both accept accumulations of authority.
The first is strictly physical science.
The second is the Catholic Church."
" Physical science and the Catholic Church!"
said Turnbull sarcastically; " and no doubt the first owes a great deal to the second."
" If you pressed that point I might reply that it was very probable," answered MacIan calmly.
" I often fancy that your historical generalizations rest frequently on random instances; I should not be surprised if your vague notions of the Church as the persecutor of science was a generalization from Galileo.
I should not be at all surprised if, when you counted the scientific investigations and discoveries since the fall of Rome, you found that a great mass of them had been made by monks.
But the matter is irrelevant to my meaning.
I say that if you want an example of anything which has progressed in the moral world by the same method as science in the material world, by continually adding to without unsettling what was there before, then I say that there _is_ only one example of it.
And that is Us."
" With this enormous difference," said Turnbull, " that however elaborate be the calculations of physical science, their net result can be tested.
Granted that it took millions of books I never read and millions of men I never heard of to discover the electric light.
Still I can see the electric light.
But I cannot see the supreme virtue which is the result of all your theologies and sacraments."
" Catholic virtue is often invisible because it is the normal," answered MacIan.
" Christianity is always out of fashion because it is always sane; and all fashions are mild insanities.
When Italy is mad on art the Church seems too Puritanical; when England is mad on Puritanism the Church seems too artistic.
When you quarrel with us now you class us with kingship and despotism; but when you quarrelled with us first it was because we would not accept the divine despotism of Henry VIII.
The Church always seems to be behind the times, when it is really beyond the times; it is waiting till the last fad shall have seen its last summer.
It keeps the key of a permanent virtue."
" Oh, I have heard all that!"
said Turnbull with genial contempt.
" I have heard that Christianity keeps the key of virtue, and that if you read Tom Paine you will cut your throat at Monte Carlo.
It is such rubbish that I am not even angry at it.
You say that Christianity is the prop of morals; but what more do you do?
When a doctor attends you and could poison you with a pinch of salt, do you ask whether he is a Christian?
You ask whether he is a gentleman, whether he is an M. D.-- anything but that.
When a soldier enlists to die for his country or disgrace it, do you ask whether he is a Christian?
You are more likely to ask whether he is Oxford or Cambridge at the boat race.
If you think your creed essential to morals why do you not make it a test for these things?"
" We once did make it a test for these things," said MacIan smiling, " and then you told us that we were imposing by force a faith unsupported by argument.
It seems rather hard that having first been told that our creed must be false because we did use tests, we should now be told that it must be false because we don't.
But I notice that most anti - Christian arguments are in the same inconsistent style."
" That is all very well as a debating - club answer," replied Turnbull good - humouredly, " but the question still remains: Why don't you confine yourself more to Christians if Christians are the only really good men?"
" Who talked of such folly?"
asked MacIan disdainfully.
" Do you suppose that the Catholic Church ever held that Christians were the only good men?
Why, the Catholics of the Catholic Middle Ages talked about the virtues of all the virtuous Pagans until humanity was sick of the subject.
No, if you really want to know what we mean when we say that Christianity has a special power of virtue, I will tell you.
The Church is the only thing on earth that can perpetuate a type of virtue and make it something more than a fashion.
The thing is so plain and historical that I hardly think you will ever deny it.
You cannot deny that it is perfectly possible that tomorrow morning, in Ireland or in Italy, there might appear a man not only as good but good in exactly the same way as St. Francis of Assisi.
Very well, now take the other types of human virtue; many of them splendid.
The English gentleman of Elizabeth was chivalrous and idealistic.
But can you stand still here in this meadow and _be_ an English gentleman of Elizabeth?
The austere republican of the eighteenth century, with his stern patriotism and his simple life, was a fine fellow.
But have you ever seen him?
have you ever seen an austere republican?
Only a hundred years have passed and that volcano of revolutionary truth and valour is as cold as the mountains of the moon.
And so it is and so it will be with the ethics which are buzzing down Fleet Street at this instant as I speak.
What phrase would inspire the London clerk or workman just now?
Perhaps that he is a son of the British Empire on which the sun never sets; perhaps that he is a prop of his Trades Union, or a class - conscious proletarian something or other; perhaps merely that he is a gentleman when he obviously is not.
Those names and notions are all honourable; but how long will they last?
Empires break; industrial conditions change; the suburbs will not last for ever.
What will remain?
I will tell you.
The Catholic Saint will remain."
" And suppose I don't like him?"
said Turnbull.
" On my theory the question is rather whether he will like you: or more probably whether he will ever have heard of you.
But I grant the reasonableness of your query.
You have a right, if you speak as the ordinary man, to ask if you will like the saint.
But as the ordinary man you do like him.
You revel in him.
If you dislike him it is not because you are a nice ordinary man, but because you are (if you will excuse me) a sophisticated prig of a Fleet Street editor.
That is just the funny part of it.
The human race has always admired the Catholic virtues, however little it can practise them; and oddly enough it has admired most those of them that the modern world most sharply disputes.
You complain of Catholicism for setting up an ideal of virginity; it did nothing of the kind.
The whole human race set up an ideal of virginity; the Greeks in Athene, the Romans in the Vestal fire, set up an ideal of virginity.
What then is your real quarrel with Catholicism?
Your quarrel can only be, your quarrel really only is, that Catholicism has _achieved_ an ideal of virginity; that it is no longer a mere piece of floating poetry.
" No," answered Turnbull; " I trust that I am sufficiently fair - minded to canvass and consider the idea; but having considered it, I think Fleet Street is right, yes--even if the Parthenon is wrong.
I think that as the world goes on new psychological atmospheres are generated, and in these atmospheres it is possible to find delicacies and combinations which in other times would have to be represented by some ruder symbol.
Every man feels the need of some element of purity in sex; perhaps they can only typify purity as the absence of sex.
You will laugh if I suggest that we may have made in Fleet Street an atmosphere in which a man can be so passionate as Sir Lancelot and as pure as Sir Galahad.
But, after all, we have in the modern world erected many such atmospheres.
We have, for instance, a new and imaginative appreciation of children."
" Quite so," replied MacIan with a singular smile.
" It has been very well put by one of the brightest of your young authors, who said:'Unless you become as little children ye shall in no wise enter the kingdom of heaven.'
But you are quite right; there is a modern worship of children.
And what, I ask you, is this modern worship of children?
What, in the name of all the angels and devils, is it except a worship of virginity?
Why should anyone worship a thing merely because it is small or immature?
No; you have tried to escape from this thing, and the very thing you point to as the goal of your escape is only the thing again.
Am I wrong in saying that these things seem to be eternal?"
And it was with these words that they came in sight of the great plains.
They went a little way in silence, and then James Turnbull said suddenly, " But I _cannot_ believe in the thing."
MacIan answered nothing to the speech; perhaps it is unanswerable.
And indeed they scarcely spoke another word to each other all that day.
IX.
THE STRANGE LADY
Moonrise with a great and growing moon opened over all those flats, making them seem flatter and larger than they were, turning them to a lake of blue light.
The two companions trudged across the moonlit plain for half an hour in full silence.
Then MacIan stopped suddenly and planted his sword - point in the ground like one who plants his tent - pole for the night.
Leaving it standing there, he clutched his black - haired skull with his great claws of hands, as was his custom when forcing the pace of his brain.
Then his hands dropped again and he spoke.
" I'm sure you're thinking the same as I am," he said; " how long are we to be on this damned seesaw?"
The other did not answer, but his silence seemed somehow solid as assent; and MacIan went on conversationally.
Neither noticed that both had instinctively stood still before the sign of the fixed and standing sword.
" It is hard to guess what God means in this business.
But he means something--or the other thing, or both.
Whenever we have tried to fight each other something has stopped us.
Whenever we have tried to be reconciled to each other, something has stopped us again.
By the run of our luck we have never had time to be either friends or enemies.
Something always jumped out of the bushes."
Turnbull nodded gravely and glanced round at the huge and hedgeless meadow which fell away towards the horizon into a glimmering high road.
" Nothing will jump out of bushes here anyhow," he said.
" That is what I meant," said MacIan, and stared steadily at the heavy hilt of his standing sword, which in the slight wind swayed on its tempered steel like some huge thistle on its stalk.
" That is what I meant; we are quite alone here.
I have not heard a horse - hoof or a footstep or the hoot of a train for miles.
So I think we might stop here and ask for a miracle."
" Oh!
might we?"
said the atheistic editor with a sort of gusto of disgust.
" I beg your pardon," said MacIan, meekly.
" I forgot your prejudices."
He eyed the wind - swung sword - hilt in sad meditation and resumed: " What I mean is, we might find out in this quiet place whether there really is any fate or any commandment against our enterprise.
I will engage on my side, like Elijah, to accept a test from heaven.
Turnbull, let us draw swords here in this moonlight and this monstrous solitude.
And if here in this moonlight and solitude there happens anything to interrupt us--if it be lightning striking our sword - blades or a rabbit running under our legs--I will take it as a sign from God and we will shake hands for ever."
Turnbull's mouth twitched in angry humour under his red moustache.
He said: " I will wait for signs from God until I have any signs of His existence; but God--or Fate--forbid that a man of scientific culture should refuse any kind of experiment."
" Very well, then," said MacIan, shortly.
" We are more quiet here than anywhere else; let us engage."
And he plucked his sword - point out of the turf.
Turnbull regarded him for a second and a half with a baffling visage almost black against the moonrise; then his hand made a sharp movement to his hip and his sword shone in the moon.
As old chess - players open every game with established gambits, they opened with a thrust and parry, orthodox and even frankly ineffectual.
But in MacIan's soul more formless storms were gathering, and he made a lunge or two so savage as first to surprise and then to enrage his opponent.
Turnbull ground his teeth, kept his temper, and waiting for the third lunge, and the worst, had almost spitted the lunger when a shrill, small cry came from behind him, a cry such as is not made by any of the beasts that perish.
Turnbull must have been more superstitious than he knew, for he stopped in the act of going forward.
MacIan was brazenly superstitious, and he dropped his sword.
After all, he had challenged the universe to send an interruption; and this was an interruption, whatever else it was.
An instant afterwards the sharp, weak cry was repeated.
This time it was certain that it was human and that it was female.
MacIan stood rolling those great blue Gaelic eyes that contrasted with his dark hair.
" It is the voice of God," he said again and again.
" God hasn't got much of a voice," said Turnbull, who snatched at every chance of cheap profanity.
" As a matter of fact, MacIan, it isn't the voice of God, but it's something a jolly sight more important--it is the voice of man--or rather of woman.
So I think we'd better scoot in its direction."
MacIan snatched up his fallen weapon without a word, and the two raced away towards that part of the distant road from which the cry was now constantly renewed.
They had to run over a curve of country that looked smooth but was very rough; a neglected field which they soon found to be full of the tallest grasses and the deepest rabbit - holes.
Moreover, that great curve of the countryside which looked so slow and gentle when you glanced over it, proved to be highly precipitous when you scampered over it; and Turnbull was twice nearly flung on his face.
MacIan, though much heavier, avoided such an overthrow only by having the quick and incalculable feet of the mountaineer; but both of them may be said to have leapt off a low cliff when they leapt into the road.
The moonlight lay on the white road with a more naked and electric glare than on the grey - green upland, and though the scene which it revealed was complicated, it was not difficult to get its first features at a glance.
A small but very neat black - and - yellow motor - car was standing stolidly, slightly to the left of the road.
A somewhat larger light - green motor - car was tipped half - way into a ditch on the same side, and four flushed and staggering men in evening dress were tipped out of it.
Three of them were standing about the road, giving their opinions to the moon with vague but echoing violence.
The fourth, however, had already advanced on the chauffeur of the black - and - yellow car, and was threatening him with a stick.
The chauffeur had risen to defend himself.
By his side sat a young lady.
She was sitting bolt upright, a slender and rigid figure gripping the sides of her seat, and her first few cries had ceased.
She was clad in close - fitting dark costume, a mass of warm brown hair went out in two wings or waves on each side of her forehead; and even at that distance it could be seen that her profile was of the aquiline and eager sort, like a young falcon hardly free of the nest.
Turnbull had concealed in him somewhere a fund of common sense and knowledge of the world of which he himself and his best friends were hardly aware.
He was one of those who take in much of the shows of things absent - mindedly, and in an irrelevant reverie.
As he stood at the door of his editorial shop on Ludgate Hill and meditated on the non - existence of God, he silently absorbed a good deal of varied knowledge about the existence of men.
He had come to know types by instinct and dilemmas with a glance; he saw the crux of the situation in the road, and what he saw made him redouble his pace.
He knew that the men were rich; he knew that they were drunk; and he knew, what was worst of all, that they were fundamentally frightened.
And he knew this also, that no common ruffian (such as attacks ladies in novels) is ever so savage and ruthless as a coarse kind of gentleman when he is really alarmed.
The reason is not recondite; it is simply because the police - court is not such a menacing novelty to the poor ruffian as it is to the rich.
When they came within hail and heard the voices, they confirmed all Turnbull's anticipations.
The man in the middle of the road was shouting in a hoarse and groggy voice that the chauffeur had smashed their car on purpose; that they must get to the Cri that evening, and that he would jolly well have to take them there.
The chauffeur had mildly objected that he was driving a lady.
" Oh!
we'll take care of the lady," said the red - faced young man, and went off into gurgling and almost senile laughter.
By the time the two champions came up, things had grown more serious.
The intoxication of the man talking to the chauffeur had taken one of its perverse and catlike jumps into mere screaming spite and rage.
He lifted his stick and struck at the chauffeur, who caught hold of it, and the drunkard fell backwards, dragging him out of his seat on the car.
Another of the rowdies rushed forward booing in idiot excitement, fell over the chauffeur, and, either by accident or design, kicked him as he lay.
The drunkard got to his feet again; but the chauffeur did not.
The man who had kicked kept a kind of half - witted conscience or cowardice, for he stood staring at the senseless body and murmuring words of inconsequent self - justification, making gestures with his hands as if he were arguing with somebody.
But the other three, with a mere whoop and howl of victory, were boarding the car on three sides at once.
It was exactly at this moment that Turnbull fell among them like one fallen from the sky.
He tore one of the climbers backward by the collar, and with a hearty push sent him staggering over into the ditch upon his nose.
One of the remaining two, who was too far gone to notice anything, continued to clamber ineffectually over the high back of the car, kicking and pouring forth a rivulet of soliloquy.
But the other dropped at the interruption, turned upon Turnbull and began a battering bout of fisticuffs.
At the same moment the man crawled out of the ditch in a masquerade of mud and rushed at his old enemy from behind.
The whole had not taken a second; and an instant after MacIan was in the midst of them.
Turnbull had tossed away his sheathed sword, greatly preferring his hands, except in the avowed etiquette of the duel; for he had learnt to use his hands in the old street - battles of Bradlaugh.
But to MacIan the sword even sheathed was a more natural weapon, and he laid about him on all sides with it as with a stick.
The man who had the walking - stick found his blows parried with promptitude; and a second after, to his great astonishment, found his own stick fly up in the air as by a conjuring trick, with a turn of the swordsman's wrist.
Another of the revellers picked the stick out of the ditch and ran in upon MacIan, calling to his companion to assist him.
" I haven't got a stick," grumbled the disarmed man, and looked vaguely about the ditch.
" Perhaps," said MacIan, politely, " you would like this one."
With the word the drunkard found his hand that had grasped the stick suddenly twisted and empty; and the stick lay at the feet of his companion on the other side of the road.
MacIan felt a faint stir behind him; the girl had risen to her feet and was leaning forward to stare at the fighters.
Turnbull was still engaged in countering and pommelling with the third young man.
The fourth young man was still engaged with himself, kicking his legs in helpless rotation on the back of the car and talking with melodious rationality.
At length Turnbull's opponent began to back before the battery of his heavy hands, still fighting, for he was the soberest and boldest of the four.
By the time he had risen, Turnbull had come to the rescue of MacIan, who was at bay but belabouring his two enemies handsomely.
The sight of the liberated reserve was to them like that of Blucher at Waterloo; the two set off at a sullen trot down the road, leaving even the walking - stick lying behind them in the moonlight.
MacIan plucked the struggling and aspiring idiot off the back of the car like a stray cat, and left him swaying unsteadily in the moon.
Then he approached the front part of the car in a somewhat embarrassed manner and pulled off his cap.
For some solid seconds the lady and he merely looked at each other, and MacIan had an irrational feeling of being in a picture hung on a wall.
That is, he was motionless, even lifeless, and yet staringly significant, like a picture.
The white moonlight on the road, when he was not looking at it, gave him a vision of the road being white with snow.
The motor - car, when he was not looking at it, gave him a rude impression of a captured coach in the old days of highwaymen.
And he whose whole soul was with the swords and stately manners of the eighteenth century, he who was a Jacobite risen from the dead, had an overwhelming sense of being once more in the picture, when he had so long been out of the picture.
In that short and strong silence he absorbed the lady from head to foot.
He had never really looked at a human being before in his life.
He saw her face and hair first, then that she had long suede gloves; then that there was a fur cap at the back of her brown hair.
He might, perhaps, be excused for this hungry attention.
He had prayed that some sign might come from heaven; and after an almost savage scrutiny he came to the conclusion that his one did.
The lady's instantaneous arrest of speech might need more explaining; but she may well have been stunned with the squalid attack and the abrupt rescue.
Yet it was she who remembered herself first and suddenly called out with self - accusing horror:
" Oh, that poor, poor man!"
They both swung round abruptly and saw that Turnbull, with his recovered sword under his arm - pit, was already lifting the fallen chauffeur into the car.
He was only stunned and was slowly awakening, feebly waving his left arm.
The lady in long gloves and the fur cap leapt out and ran rapidly towards them, only to be reassured by Turnbull, who (unlike many of his school) really knew a little science when he invoked it to redeem the world.
" He's all right," said he; " he's quite safe.
But I'm afraid he won't be able to drive the car for half an hour or so."
" I can drive the car," said the young woman in the fur cap with stony practicability.
" Oh, in that case," began MacIan, uneasily; and that paralysing shyness which is a part of romance induced him to make a backward movement as if leaving her to herself.
But Turnbull was more rational than he, being more indifferent.
" I don't think you ought to drive home alone, ma'am," he said, gruffly.
" There seem to be a lot of rowdy parties along this road, and the man will be no use for an hour.
If you will tell us where you are going, we will see you safely there and say good night."
The young lady exhibited all the abrupt disturbance of a person who is not commonly disturbed.
She said almost sharply and yet with evident sincerity: " Of course I am awfully grateful to you for all you've done--and there's plenty of room if you'll come in."
Turnbull, with the complete innocence of an absolutely sound motive, immediately jumped into the car; but the girl cast an eye at MacIan, who stood in the road for an instant as if rooted like a tree.
Then he also tumbled his long legs into the tonneau, having that sense of degradedly diving into heaven which so many have known in so many human houses when they consented to stop to tea or were allowed to stop to supper.
The slowly reviving chauffeur was set in the back seat; Turnbull and MacIan had fallen into the middle one; the lady with a steely coolness had taken the driver's seat and all the handles of that headlong machine.
A moment afterwards the engine started, with a throb and leap unfamiliar to Turnbull, who had only once been in a motor during a general election, and utterly unknown to MacIan, who in his present mood thought it was the end of the world.
Almost at the same instant that the car plucked itself out of the mud and whipped away up the road, the man who had been flung into the ditch rose waveringly to his feet.
When he saw the car escaping he ran after it and shouted something which, owing to the increasing distance, could not be heard.
It is awful to reflect that, if his remark was valuable, it is quite lost to the world.
The car shot on up and down the shining moonlit lanes, and there was no sound in it except the occasional click or catch of its machinery; for through some cause or other no soul inside it could think of a word to say.
The lady symbolized her feelings, whatever they were, by urging the machine faster and faster until scattered woodlands went by them in one black blotch and heavy hills and valleys seemed to ripple under the wheels like mere waves.
A little while afterwards this mood seemed to slacken and she fell into a more ordinary pace; but still she did not speak.
Turnbull, who kept a more common and sensible view of the case than anyone else, made some remark about the moonlight; but something indescribable made him also relapse into silence.
All this time MacIan had been in a sort of monstrous delirium, like some fabulous hero snatched up into the moon.
The difference between this experience and common experiences was analogous to that between waking life and a dream.
Yet he did not feel in the least as if he were dreaming; rather the other way; as waking was more actual than dreaming, so this seemed by another degree more actual than waking itself.
But it was another life altogether, like a cosmos with a new dimension.
He felt he had been hurled into some new incarnation: into the midst of new relations, wrongs and rights, with towering responsibilities and almost tragic joys which he had as yet had no time to examine.
Heaven had not merely sent him a message; Heaven itself had opened around him and given him an hour of its own ancient and star - shattering energy.
He had never felt so much alive before; and yet he was like a man in a trance.
And if you had asked him on what his throbbing happiness hung, he could only have told you that it hung on four or five visible facts, as a curtain hangs on four of five fixed nails.
All these facts were to him certain and incredible, like sacraments.
When they had driven half a mile farther, a big shadow was flung across the path, followed by its bulky owner, who eyed the car critically but let it pass.
The silver moonlight picked out a piece or two of pewter ornament on his blue uniform; and as they went by they knew it was a sergeant of police.
Three hundred yards farther on another policeman stepped out into the road as if to stop them, then seemed to doubt his own authority and stepped back again.
The girl was a daughter of the rich; and this police suspicion (under which all the poor live day and night) stung her for the first time into speech.
" What can they mean?"
she cried out in a kind of temper; " this car's going like a snail."
There was a short silence, and then Turnbull said: " It is certainly very odd, you are driving quietly enough."
" You are driving nobly," said MacIan, and his words (which had no meaning whatever) sounded hoarse and ungainly even in his own ears.
They passed the next mile and a half swiftly and smoothly; yet among the many things which they passed in the course of it was a clump of eager policemen standing at a cross - road.
As they passed, one of the policemen shouted something to the others; but nothing else happened.
Eight hundred yards farther on, Turnbull stood up suddenly in the swaying car.
" My God, MacIan!"
he called out, showing his first emotion of that night.
" I don't believe it's the pace; it couldn't be the pace.
I believe it's us."
MacIan sat motionless for a few moments and then turned up at his companion a face that was as white as the moon above it.
" You may be right," he said at last; " if you are, I must tell her."
" I will tell the lady if you like," said Turnbull, with his unconquered good temper.
" You!"
said MacIan, with a sort of sincere and instinctive astonishment.
" Why should you--no, I must tell her, of course ----"
And he leant forward and spoke to the lady in the fur cap.
" I am afraid, madam, that we may have got you into some trouble," he said, and even as he said it it sounded wrong, like everything he said to this particular person in the long gloves.
" The fact is," he resumed, desperately, " the fact is, we are being chased by the police."
Then the last flattening hammer fell upon poor Evan's embarrassment; for the fluffy brown head with the furry black cap did not turn by a section of the compass.
" We are chased by the police," repeated MacIan, vigorously; then he added, as if beginning an explanation, " You see, I am a Catholic."
The wind whipped back a curl of the brown hair so as to necessitate a new theory of aesthetics touching the line of the cheek - bone; but the head did not turn.
" You see," began MacIan, again blunderingly, " this gentleman wrote in his newspaper that Our Lady was a common woman, a bad woman, and so we agreed to fight; and we were fighting quite a little time ago--but that was before we saw you."
The young lady driving her car had half turned her face to listen; and it was not a reverent or a patient face that she showed him.
Her Norman nose was tilted a trifle too high upon the slim stalk of her neck and body.
When MacIan saw that arrogant and uplifted profile pencilled plainly against the moonshine, he accepted an ultimate defeat.
He had expected the angels to despise him if he were wrong, but not to despise him so much as this.
" You see," said the stumbling spokesman, " I was angry with him when he insulted the Mother of God, and I asked him to fight a duel with me; but the police are all trying to stop it."
Nothing seemed to waver or flicker in the fair young falcon profile; and it only opened its lips to say, after a silence: " I thought people in our time were supposed to respect each other's religion."
Under the shadow of that arrogant face MacIan could only fall back on the obvious answer: " But what about a man's irreligion?"
The face only answered: " Well, you ought to be more broadminded."
If anyone else in the world had said the words, MacIan would have snorted with his equine neigh of scorn.
But in this case he seemed knocked down by a superior simplicity, as if his eccentric attitude were rebuked by the innocence of a child.
He could not dissociate anything that this woman said or did or wore from an idea of spiritual rarity and virtue.
Like most others under the same elemental passion, his soul was at present soaked in ethics.
He could have applied moral terms to the material objects of her environment.
If someone had spoken of " her generous ribbon " or " her chivalrous gloves " or " her merciful shoe - buckle," it would not have seemed to him nonsense.
He was silent, and the girl went on in a lower key as if she were momentarily softened and a little saddened also.
" It won't do, you know," she said; " you can't find out the truth in that way.
There are such heaps of churches and people thinking different things nowadays, and they all think they are right.
My uncle was a Swedenborgian."
MacIan sat with bowed head, listening hungrily to her voice but hardly to her words, and seeing his great world drama grow smaller and smaller before his eyes till it was no bigger than a child's toy theatre.
" Our object," said Turnbull, shortly, " is to make an effective demonstration "; and after that word, MacIan looked at his vision again and found it smaller than ever.
" It would be in the newspapers, of course," said the girl.
" People read the newspapers, but they don't believe them, or anything else, I think."
And she sighed again.
She drove in silence a third of a mile before she added, as if completing the sentence: " Anyhow, the whole thing's quite absurd."
" I don't think," began Turnbull, " that you quite realize ---- Hullo!
hullo--hullo--what's this?"
The amateur chauffeur had been forced to bring the car to a staggering stoppage, for a file of fat, blue policemen made a wall across the way.
A sergeant came to the side and touched his peaked cap to the lady.
" Beg your pardon, miss," he said with some embarrassment, for he knew her for a daughter of a dominant house, " but we have reason to believe that the gentlemen in your car are ----" and he hesitated for a polite phrase.
" I am Evan MacIan," said that gentleman, and stood up in a sort of gloomy pomp, not wholly without a touch of the sulks of a schoolboy.
" Yes, we will get out, sergeant," said Turnbull, more easily; " my name is James Turnbull.
We must not incommode the lady."
" What are you taking them up for?"
asked the young woman, looking straight in front of her along the road.
" It's under the new act," said the sergeant, almost apologetically.
" Incurable disturbers of the peace."
" What will happen to them?"
she asked, with the same frigid clearness.
" Westgate Adult Reformatory," he replied, briefly.
" Until when?"
" Until they are cured," said the official.
" Very well, sergeant," said the young lady, with a sort of tired common sense.
" I am sure I don't want to protect criminals or go against the law; but I must tell you that these gentlemen have done me a considerable service; you won't mind drawing your men a little farther off while I say good night to them.
Men like that always misunderstand."
The sergeant was profoundly disquieted from the beginning at the mere idea of arresting anyone in the company of a great lady; to refuse one of her minor requests was quite beyond his courage.
The police fell back to a few yards behind the car.
Turnbull took up the two swords that were their only luggage; the swords that, after so many half duels, they were now to surrender at last.
MacIan, the blood thundering in his brain at the thought of that instant of farewell, bent over, fumbled at the handle and flung open the door to get out.
But he did not get out.
He did not get out, because it is dangerous to jump out of a car when it is going at full speed.
And the car was going at full speed, because the young lady, without turning her head or so much as saying a syllable, had driven down a handle that made the machine plunge forward like a buffalo and then fly over the landscape like a greyhound.
The police made one rush to follow, and then dropped so grotesque and hopeless a chase.
Away in the vanishing distance they could see the sergeant furiously making notes.
The open door, still left loose on its hinges, swung and banged quite crazily as they went whizzing up one road and down another.
Nor did MacIan sit down; he stood up stunned and yet staring, as he would have stood up at the trumpet of the Last Day.
A black dot in the distance sprang up a tall black forest, swallowed them and spat them out again at the other end.
A railway bridge grew larger and larger till it leapt upon their backs bellowing, and was in its turn left behind.
Avenues of poplars on both sides of the road chased each other like the figures in a zoetrope.
Now and then with a shock and rattle they went through sleeping moonlit villages, which must have stirred an instant in their sleep as at the passing of a fugitive earthquake.
Sometimes in an outlying house a light in one erratic, unexpected window would give them a nameless hint of the hundred human secrets which they left behind them with their dust.
Sometimes even a slouching rustic would be afoot on the road and would look after them, as after a flying phantom.
But still MacIan stood up staring at earth and heaven; and still the door he had flung open flapped loose like a flag.
Turnbull, after a few minutes of dumb amazement, had yielded to the healthiest element in his nature and gone off into uncontrollable fits of laughter.
The girl had not stirred an inch.
After another half mile that seemed a mere flash, Turnbull leant over and locked the door.
Evan staggered at last into his seat and hid his throbbing head in his hands; and still the car flew on and its driver sat inflexible and silent.
The moon had already gone down, and the whole darkness was faintly troubled with twilight and the first movement of beasts and fowls.
It was that mysterious moment when light is coming as if it were something unknown whose nature one could not guess--a mere alteration in everything.
They looked at the sky and it seemed as dark as ever; then they saw the black shape of a tower or tree against it and knew that it was already grey.
Then a white witch fire began to burn between the black stems of the fir - trees; and, like so many things in nature, though not in books on evolution, the daybreak, when it did come, came much quicker than one would think.
THE SWORDS REJOINED
As they came over the hill and down on the other side of it, it is not too much to say that the whole universe of God opened over them and under them, like a thing unfolding to five times its size.
Almost under their feet opened the enormous sea, at the bottom of a steep valley which fell down into a bay; and the sea under their feet blazed at them almost as lustrous and almost as empty as the sky.
The sunrise opened above them like some cosmic explosion, shining and shattering and yet silent; as if the world were blown to pieces without a sound.
Round the rays of the victorious sun swept a sort of rainbow of confused and conquered colours--brown and blue and green and flaming rose - colour; as though gold were driving before it all the colours of the world.
The lines of the landscape down which they sped, were the simple, strict, yet swerving, lines of a rushing river; so that it was almost as if they were being sucked down in a huge still whirlpool.
Turnbull had some such feeling, for he spoke for the first time for many hours.
" If we go down at this rate we shall be over the sea cliff," he said.
" How glorious!"
said MacIan.
When, however, they had come into the wide hollow at the bottom of that landslide, the car took a calm and graceful curve along the side of the sea, melted into the fringe of a few trees, and quietly, yet astonishingly, stopped.
A belated light was burning in the broad morning in the window of a sort of lodge - or gate - keepers'cottage; and the girl stood up in the car and turned her splendid face to the sun.
Evan seemed startled by the stillness, like one who had been born amid sound and speed.
He wavered on his long legs as he stood up; he pulled himself together, and the only consequence was that he trembled from head to foot.
Turnbull had already opened the door on his side and jumped out.
The moment he had done so the strange young woman had one more mad movement, and deliberately drove the car a few yards farther.
Then she got out with an almost cruel coolness and began pulling off her long gloves and almost whistling.
" You can leave me here," she said, quite casually, as if they had met five minutes before.
" That is the lodge of my father's place.
Please come in, if you like--but I understood that you had some business."
Evan looked at that lifted face and found it merely lovely; he was far too much of a fool to see that it was working with a final fatigue and that its austerity was agony.
He was even fool enough to ask it a question.
" Why did you save us?"
he said, quite humbly.
The girl tore off one of her gloves, as if she were tearing off her hand.
" Oh, I don't know," she said, bitterly.
" Now I come to think of it, I can't imagine."
Evan's thoughts, that had been piled up to the morning star, abruptly let him down with a crash into the very cellars of the emotional universe.
He remained in a stunned silence for a long time; and that, if he had only known, was the wisest thing that he could possibly do at the moment.
Indeed, the silence and the sunrise had their healing effect, for when the extraordinary lady spoke again, her tone was more friendly and apologetic.
" I'm not really ungrateful," she said; " it was very good of you to save me from those men."
" But why?"
repeated the obstinate and dazed MacIan, " why did you save us from the other men?
I mean the policemen?"
The girl's great brown eyes were lit up with a flash that was at once final desperation and the loosening of some private and passionate reserve.
" Oh, God knows!"
she cried.
" God knows that if there is a God He has turned His big back on everything.
God knows I have had no pleasure in my life, though I am pretty and young and father has plenty of money.
And then people come and tell me that I ought to do things and I do them and it's all drivel.
They want you to do work among the poor; which means reading Ruskin and feeling self - righteous in the best room in a poor tenement.
Or to help some cause or other, which always means bundling people out of crooked houses, in which they've always lived, into straight houses, in which they often die.
And all the time you have inside only the horrid irony of your own empty head and empty heart.
I am to give to the unfortunate, when my whole misfortune is that I have nothing to give.
I am to teach, when I believe nothing at all that I was taught.
I am to save the children from death, and I am not even certain that I should not be better dead.
I suppose if I actually saw a child drowning I should save it.
But that would be from the same motive from which I have saved you, or destroyed you, whichever it is that I have done."
" What was the motive?"
asked Evan, in a low voice.
" My motive is too big for my mind," answered the girl.
Then, after a pause, as she stared with a rising colour at the glittering sea, she said: " It can't be described, and yet I am trying to describe it.
It seems to me not only that I am unhappy, but that there is no way of being happy.
Father is not happy, though he is a Member of Parliament ----" She paused a moment and added with a ghost of a smile: " Nor Aunt Mabel, though a man from India has told her the secret of all creeds.
But I may be wrong; there may be a way out.
And for one stark, insane second, I felt that, after all, you had got the way out and that was why the world hated you.
You see, if there were a way out, it would be sure to be something that looked very queer."
Evan put his hand to his forehead and began stumblingly: " Yes, I suppose we do seem ----"
" Oh, yes, you look queer enough," she said, with ringing sincerity.
" You'll be all the better for a wash and brush up."
" You forget our business, madam," said Evan, in a shaking voice; " we have no concern but to kill each other."
" Well, I shouldn't be killed looking like that if I were you," she replied, with inhuman honesty.
Evan stood and rolled his eyes in masculine bewilderment.
Then came the final change in this Proteus, and she put out both her hands for an instant and said in a low tone on which he lived for days and nights:
" Don't you understand that I did not dare to stop you?
What you are doing is so mad that it may be quite true.
Somehow one can never really manage to be an atheist."
Turnbull stood staring at the sea; but his shoulders showed that he heard, and after one minute he turned his head.
But the girl had only brushed Evan's hand with hers and had fled up the dark alley by the lodge gate.
Evan stood rooted upon the road, literally like some heavy statue hewn there in the age of the Druids.
It seemed impossible that he should ever move.
Turnbull grew restless with this rigidity, and at last, after calling his companion twice or thrice, went up and clapped him impatiently on one of his big shoulders.
Evan winced and leapt away from him with a repulsion which was not the hate of an unclean thing nor the dread of a dangerous one, but was a spasm of awe and separation from something from which he was now sundered as by the sword of God.
He did not hate the atheist; it is possible that he loved him.
But Turnbull was now something more dreadful than an enemy: he was a thing sealed and devoted--a thing now hopelessly doomed to be either a corpse or an executioner.
" What is the matter with you?"
asked Turnbull, with his hearty hand still in the air; and yet he knew more about it than his innocent action would allow.
" James," said Evan, speaking like one under strong bodily pain, " I asked for God's answer and I have got it--got it in my vitals.
He knows how weak I am, and that I might forget the peril of the faith, forget the face of Our Lady--yes, even with your blow upon her cheek.
But the honour of this earth has just this about it, that it can make a man's heart like iron.
I am from the Lords of the Isles and I dare not be a mere deserter.
Therefore, God has tied me by the chain of my worldly place and word, and there is nothing but fighting now."
" I think I understand you," said Turnbull, " but you say everything tail foremost."
" She wants us to do it," said Evan, in a voice crushed with passion.
" She has hurt herself so that we might do it.
She has left her good name and her good sleep and all her habits and dignity flung away on the other side of England in the hope that she may hear of us and that we have broken some hole into heaven."
" I thought I knew what you mean," said Turnbull, biting his beard; " it does seem as if we ought to do something after all she has done this night."
" I never liked you so much before," said MacIan, in bitter sorrow.
As he spoke, three solemn footmen came out of the lodge gate and assembled to assist the chauffeur to his room.
The mere sight of them made the two wanderers flee as from a too frightful incongruity, and before they knew where they were, they were well upon the grassy ledge of England that overlooks the Channel.
Evan said suddenly: " Will they let me see her in heaven once in a thousand ages?"
and addressed the remark to the editor of _The Atheist_, as on which he would be likely or qualified to answer.
But no answer came; a silence sank between the two.
Turnbull strode sturdily to the edge of the cliff and looked out, his companion following, somewhat more shaken by his recent agitation.
" If that's the view you take," said Turnbull, " and I don't say you are wrong, I think I know where we shall be best off for the business.
As it happens, I know this part of the south coast pretty well.
And unless I am mistaken there's a way down the cliff just here which will land us on a stretch of firm sand where no one is likely to follow us."
The Highlander made a gesture of assent and came also almost to the edge of the precipice.
The sunrise, which was broadening over sea and shore, was one of those rare and splendid ones in which there seems to be no mist or doubt, and nothing but a universal clarification more and more complete.
All the colours were transparent.
It seemed like a triumphant prophecy of some perfect world where everything being innocent will be intelligible; a world where even our bodies, so to speak, may be as of burning glass.
Such a world is faintly though fiercely figured in the coloured windows of Christian architecture.
" The hand of Heaven is still pointing," muttered the man of superstition to himself.
" And now it is a blood - red hand."
The cool voice of his companion cut in upon his monologue, calling to him from a little farther along the cliff, to tell him that he had found the ladder of descent.
It began as a steep and somewhat greasy path, which then tumbled down twenty or thirty feet in the form of a fall of rough stone steps.
After that, there was a rather awkward drop on to a ledge of stone and then the journey was undertaken easily and even elegantly by the remains of an ornamental staircase, such as might have belonged to some long - disused watering - place.
All the time that the two travellers sank from stage to stage of this downward journey, there closed over their heads living bridges and caverns of the most varied foliage, all of which grew greener, redder, or more golden, in the growing sunlight of the morning.
Life, too, of the more moving sort rose at the sun on every side of them.
Birds whirred and fluttered in the undergrowth, as if imprisoned in green cages.
Other birds were shaken up in great clouds from the tree - tops, as if they were blossoms detached and scattered up to heaven.
Animals which Turnbull was too much of a Londoner and MacIan too much of a Northerner to know, slipped by among the tangle or ran pattering up the tree - trunks.
It was down this clamorous ladder of life that they went down to die.
They broke out upon a brown semicircle of sand, so free from human imprint as to justify Turnbull's profession.
They strode out upon it, stuck their swords in the sand, and had a pause too important for speech.
Turnbull eyed the coast curiously for a moment, like one awakening memories of childhood; then he said abruptly, like a man remembering somebody's name: " But, of course, we shall be better off still round the corner of Cragness Point; nobody ever comes there at all."
And picking up his sword again, he began striding towards a big bluff of the rocks which stood out upon their left.
MacIan followed him round the corner and found himself in what was certainly an even finer fencing court, of flat, firm sand, enclosed on three sides by white walls of rock, and on the fourth by the green wall of the advancing sea.
" We are quite safe here," said Turnbull, and, to the other's surprise, flung himself down, sitting on the brown beach.
" You see, I was brought up near here," he explained.
" I was sent from Scotland to stop with my aunt.
It is highly probable that I may die here.
Do you mind if I light a pipe?"
" Of course, do whatever you like," said MacIan, with a choking voice, and he went and walked alone by himself along the wet, glistening sands.
Ten minutes afterwards he came back again, white with his own whirlwind of emotions; Turnbull was quite cheerful and was knocking out the end of his pipe.
" You see, we have to do it," said MacIan.
" She tied us to it."
" Of course, my dear fellow," said the other, and leapt up as lightly as a monkey.
They took their places gravely in the very centre of the great square of sand, as if they had thousands of spectators.
Before saluting, MacIan, who, being a mystic, was one inch nearer to Nature, cast his eye round the huge framework of their heroic folly.
The three walls of rock all leant a little outward, though at various angles; but this impression was exaggerated in the direction of the incredible by the heavy load of living trees and thickets which each wall wore on its top like a huge shock of hair.
On all that luxurious crest of life the risen and victorious sun was beating, burnishing it all like gold, and every bird that rose with that sunrise caught a light like a star upon it like the dove of the Holy Spirit.
Imaginative life had never so much crowded upon MacIan.
He felt that he could write whole books about the feelings of a single bird.
He felt that for two centuries he would not tire of being a rabbit.
He was in the Palace of Life, of which the very tapestries and curtains were alive.
Then he recovered himself, and remembered his affairs.
Both men saluted, and iron rang upon iron.
It was exactly at the same moment that he realized that his enemy's left ankle was encircled with a ring of salt water that had crept up to his feet.
" What is the matter?"
said Turnbull, stopping an instant, for he had grown used to every movement of his extraordinary fellow - traveller's face.
MacIan glanced again at that silver anklet of sea - water and then looked beyond at the next promontory round which a deep sea was boiling and leaping.
Then he turned and looked back and saw heavy foam being shaken up to heaven about the base of Cragness Point.
" The sea has cut us off," he said, curtly.
" I have noticed it," said Turnbull with equal sobriety.
" What view do you take of the development?"
Evan threw away his weapon, and, as his custom was, imprisoned his big head in his hands.
Then he let them fall and said: " Yes, I know what it means; and I think it is the fairest thing.
It is the finger of God--red as blood--still pointing.
But now it points to two graves."
There was a space filled with the sound of the sea, and then MacIan spoke again in a voice pathetically reasonable: " You see, we both saved her--and she told us both to fight--and it would not be just that either should fail and fall alone, while the other ----"
" You mean," said Turnbull, in a voice surprisingly soft and gentle, " that there is something fine about fighting in a place where even the conqueror must die?"
" Oh, you have got it right, you have got it right!"
cried out Evan, in an extraordinary childish ecstasy.
" Oh, I'm sure that you really believe in God!"
Turnbull answered not a word, but only took up his fallen sword.
For the third time Evan MacIan looked at those three sides of English cliff hung with their noisy load of life.
He had been at a loss to understand the almost ironical magnificence of all those teeming creatures and tropical colours and smells that smoked happily to heaven.
But now he knew that he was in the closed court of death and that all the gates were sealed.
He drank in the last green and the last red and the last gold, those unique and indescribable things of God, as a man drains good wine at the bottom of his glass.
Then he turned and saluted his enemy once more, and the two stood up and fought till the foam flowed over their knees.
Then MacIan stepped backward suddenly with a splash and held up his hand.
" Turnbull!"
he cried; " I can't help it--fair fighting is more even than promises.
And this is not fair fighting."
" What the deuce do you mean?"
asked the other, staring.
" I've only just thought of it," cried Evan, brokenly.
" We're very well matched--it may go on a good time--the tide is coming up fast--and I'm a foot and a half taller.
You'll be washed away like seaweed before it's above my breeches.
I'll not fight foul for all the girls and angels in the universe."
" Will you oblige me," said Turnbull, with staring grey eyes and a voice of distinct and violent politeness; " will you oblige me by jolly well minding your own business?
Just you stand up and fight, and we'll see who will be washed away like seaweed.
You wanted to finish this fight and you shall finish it, or I'll denounce you as a coward to the whole of that assembled company."
Evan looked very doubtful and offered a somewhat wavering weapon; but he was quickly brought back to his senses by his opponent's sword - point, which shot past him, shaving his shoulder by a hair.
By this time the waves were well up Turnbull's thigh, and what was worse, they were beginning to roll and break heavily around them.
But just as Turnbull launched his heaviest stroke, the sea, in which he stood up to his hips, launched a yet heavier one.
A wave breaking beyond the others smote him heavily like a hammer of water.
One leg gave way, he was swung round and sucked into the retreating sea, still gripping his sword.
MacIan put his sword between his teeth and plunged after his disappearing enemy.
He had the sense of having the whole universe on top of him as crest after crest struck him down.
It seemed to him quite a cosmic collapse, as if all the seven heavens were falling on him one after the other.
But he got hold of the atheist's left leg and he did not let it go.
After some ten minutes of foam and frenzy, in which all the senses at once seemed blasted by the sea, Evan found himself laboriously swimming on a low, green swell, with the sword still in his teeth and the editor of _The Atheist_ still under his arm.
What he was going to do he had not even the most glimmering idea; so he merely kept his grip and swam somehow with one hand.
He ducked instinctively as there bulked above him a big, black wave, much higher than any that he had seen.
Then he saw that it was hardly the shape of any possible wave.
Then he saw that it was a fisherman's boat, and, leaping upward, caught hold of the bow.
The boat pitched forward with its stern in the air for just as much time as was needed to see that there was nobody in it.
After a moment or two of desperate clambering, however, there were two people in it, Mr. Evan MacIan, panting and sweating, and Mr. James Turnbull, uncommonly close to being drowned.
After ten minutes'aimless tossing in the empty fishing - boat he recovered, however, stirred, stretched himself, and looked round on the rolling waters.
Then, while taking no notice of the streams of salt water that were pouring from his hair, beard, coat, boots, and trousers, he carefully wiped the wet off his sword - blade to preserve it from the possibilities of rust.
MacIan found two oars in the bottom of the deserted boat and began somewhat drearily to row.
* * *
A rainy twilight was clearing to cold silver over the moaning sea, when the battered boat that had rolled and drifted almost aimlessly all night, came within sight of land, though of land which looked almost as lost and savage as the waves.
But it was piercingly cold, and there was, from time to time, a splutter of rain like the splutter of the spray, which seemed almost to freeze as it fell.
MacIan, more at home than his companion in this quite barbarous and elemental sort of adventure, had rowed toilsomely with the heavy oars whenever he saw anything that looked like land; but for the most part had trusted with grim transcendentalism to wind and tide.
When the Highlander began to pull really hard upon the oars, Turnbull craned his dripping red head out of the boat to see the goal of his exertions.
It was a sufficiently uninviting one; nothing so far as could be seen but a steep and shelving bank of shingle, made of loose little pebbles such as children like, but slanting up higher than a house.
On the top of the mound, against the sky line, stood up the brown skeleton of some broken fence or breakwater.
With the grey and watery dawn crawling up behind it, the fence really seemed to say to our philosophic adventurers that they had come at last to the other end of nowhere.
Bent by necessity to his labour, MacIan managed the heavy boat with real power and skill, and when at length he ran it up on a smoother part of the slope it caught and held so that they could clamber out, not sinking farther than their knees into the water and the shingle.
A foot or two farther up their feet found the beach firmer, and a few moments afterwards they were leaning on the ragged breakwater and looking back at the sea they had escaped.
They had a dreary walk across wastes of grey shingle in the grey dawn before they began to come within hail of human fields or roads; nor had they any notion of what fields or roads they would be.
Their boots were beginning to break up and the confusion of stones tried them severely, so that they were glad to lean on their swords, as if they were the staves of pilgrims.
MacIan thought vaguely of a weird ballad of his own country which describes the soul in Purgatory as walking on a plain full of sharp stones, and only saved by its own charities upon earth.
If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon Every night and all, Sit thee down and put them on, And Christ receive thy soul.
Turnbull had no such lyrical meditations, but he was in an even worse temper.
At length they came to a pale ribbon of road, edged by a shelf of rough and almost colourless turf; and a few feet up the slope there stood grey and weather - stained, one of those big wayside crucifixes which are seldom seen except in Catholic countries.
MacIan put his hand to his head and found that his bonnet was not there.
Turnbull gave one glance at the crucifix--a glance at once sympathetic and bitter, in which was concentrated the whole of Swinburne's poem on the same occasion.
O hidden face of man, whereover The years have woven a viewless veil, If thou wert verily man's lover What did thy love or blood avail?
Thy blood the priests mix poison of, And in gold shekels coin thy love.
Then, leaving MacIan in his attitude of prayer, Turnbull began to look right and left very sharply, like one looking for something.
Suddenly, with a little cry, he saw it and ran forward.
A few yards from them along the road a lean and starved sort of hedge came pitifully to an end.
Caught upon its prickly angle, however, there was a very small and very dirty scrap of paper that might have hung there for months, since it escaped from someone tearing up a letter or making a spill out of a newspaper.
Turnbull snatched at it and found it was the corner of a printed page, very coarsely printed, like a cheap novelette, and just large enough to contain the words: " _et c'est elle qui_ ----"
" Hurrah!"
cried Turnbull, waving his fragment; " we are safe at last.
We are free at last.
We are somewhere better than England or Eden or Paradise.
MacIan, we are in the Land of the Duel!"
" Where do you say?"
said the other, looking at him heavily and with knitted brows, like one almost dazed with the grey doubts of desolate twilight and drifting sea.
" We are in France!"
cried Turnbull, with a voice like a trumpet, " in the land where things really happen--_Tout arrive en France_.
We arrive in France.
Look at this little message," and he held out the scrap of paper.
" There's an omen for you superstitious hill folk.
_C'est elle qui--Mais oui, mais oui, c'est elle qui sauvera encore le monde_."
" France!"
repeated MacIan, and his eyes awoke again in his head like large lamps lighted.
" Yes, France!"
said Turnbull, and all the rhetorical part of him came to the top, his face growing as red as his hair.
" France, that has always been in rebellion for liberty and reason.
France, that has always assailed superstition with the club of Rabelais or the rapier of Voltaire.
France, at whose first council table sits the sublime figure of Julian the Apostate.
France, where a man said only the other day those splendid unanswerable words "-- with a superb gesture --' we have extinguished in heaven those lights that men shall never light again.'"
" No," said MacIan, in a voice that shook with a controlled passion.
" But France, which was taught by St. Bernard and led to war by Joan of Arc.
France that made the crusades.
France that saved the Church and scattered the heresies by the mouths of Bossuet and Massillon.
France, which shows today the conquering march of Catholicism, as brain after brain surrenders to it, Brunetière, Coppée, Hauptmann, Barrès, Bourget, Lemaître."
" France!"
asserted Turnbull with a sort of rollicking self - exaggeration, very unusual with him, " France, which is one torrent of splendid scepticism from Abelard to Anatole France."
" France," said MacIan, " which is one cataract of clear faith from St. Louis to Our Lady of Lourdes."
" France at least," cried Turnbull, throwing up his sword in schoolboy triumph, " in which these things are thought about and fought about.
France, where reason and religion clash in one continual tournament.
France, above all, where men understand the pride and passion which have plucked our blades from their scabbards.
Here, at least, we shall not be chased and spied on by sickly parsons and greasy policemen, because we wish to put our lives on the game.
Courage, my friend, we have come to the country of honour."
MacIan did not even notice the incongruous phrase " my friend ", but nodding again and again, drew his sword and flung the scabbard far behind him in the road.
" Yes," he cried, in a voice of thunder, " we will fight here and _He_ shall look on at it."
Turnbull glanced at the crucifix with a sort of scowling good - humour and then said: " He may look and see His cross defeated."
" The cross cannot be defeated," said MacIan, " for it is Defeat."
A second afterwards the two bright, blood - thirsty weapons made the sign of the cross in horrible parody upon each other.
They had not touched each other twice, however, when upon the hill, above the crucifix, there appeared another horrible parody of its shape; the figure of a man who appeared for an instant waving his outspread arms.
He had vanished in an instant; but MacIan, whose fighting face was set that way, had seen the shape momentarily but quite photographically.
And while it was like a comic repetition of the cross, it was also, in that place and hour, something more incredible.
It had been only instantaneously on the retina of his eye; but unless his eye and mind were going mad together, the figure was that of an ordinary London policeman.
He tried to concentrate his senses on the sword - play; but one half of his brain was wrestling with the puzzle; the apocalyptic and almost seraphic apparition of a stout constable out of Clapham on top of a dreary and deserted hill in France.
He did not, however, have to puzzle long.
Before the duellists had exchanged half a dozen passes, the big, blue policeman appeared once more on the top of the hill, a palpable monstrosity in the eye of heaven.
He was waving only one arm now and seemed to be shouting directions.
At the same moment a mass of blue blocked the corner of the road behind the small, smart figure of Turnbull, and a small company of policemen in the English uniform came up at a kind of half - military double.
Turnbull saw the stare of consternation in his enemy's face and swung round to share its cause.
When he saw it, cool as he was, he staggered back.
" What the devil are you doing here?"
he called out in a high, shrill voice of authority, like one who finds a tramp in his own larder.
" Well, sir," said the sergeant in command, with that sort of heavy civility shown only to the evidently guilty, " seems to me we might ask what are you doing here?"
" We are having an affair of honour," said Turnbull, as if it were the most rational thing in the world.
" If the French police like to interfere, let them interfere.
But why the blue blazes should you interfere, you great blue blundering sausages?"
" I'm afraid, sir," said the sergeant with restraint, " I'm afraid I don't quite follow you."
" I mean, why don't the French police take this up if it's got to be taken up?
I always heard that they were spry enough in their own way."
" Well, sir," said the sergeant reflectively, " you see, sir, the French police don't take this up--well, because you see, sir, this ain't France.
This is His Majesty's dominions, same as'Ampstead'eath."
" Not France?"
repeated Turnbull, with a sort of dull incredulity.
" No, sir," said the sergeant; " though most of the people talk French.
This is the island called St. Loup, sir, an island in the Channel.
We've been sent down specially from London, as you were such specially distinguished criminals, if you'll allow me to say so.
Which reminds me to warn you that anything you say may be used against you at your trial."
" Quite so," said Turnbull, and lurched suddenly against the sergeant, so as to tip him over the edge of the road with a crash into the shingle below.
Then leaving MacIan and the policemen equally and instantaneously nailed to the road, he ran a little way along it, leapt off on to a part of the beach, which he had found in his journey to be firmer, and went across it with a clatter of pebbles.
His sudden calculation was successful; the police, unacquainted with the various levels of the loose beach, tried to overtake him by the shorter cut and found themselves, being heavy men, almost up to their knees in shoals of slippery shingle.
Two who had been slower with their bodies were quicker with their minds, and seeing Turnbull's trick, ran along the edge of the road after him.
As they were both good runners, the start they had gained was decisive.
In all this desperate dart and scramble, they still kept hold of their drawn swords, which now, indeed, in the vigorous phrase of Bunyan, seemed almost to grow out of their hands.
They had run another half mile or so when it became apparent that they were entering a sort of scattered village.
One or two whitewashed cottages and even a shop had appeared along the side of the road.
Then, for the first time, Turnbull twisted round his red bear to get a glimpse of his companion, who was a foot or two behind, and remarked abruptly: " Mr. MacIan, we've been going the wrong way to work all along.
We're traced everywhere, because everybody knows about us.
It's as if one went about with Kruger's beard on Mafeking Night."
" What do you mean?"
said MacIan, innocently.
" I mean," said Turnbull, with steady conviction, " that what we want is a little diplomacy, and I am going to buy some in a shop."
XI.
A SCANDAL IN THE VILLAGE
In the little hamlet of Haroc, in the Isle of St. Loup, there lived a man who--though living under the English flag--was absolutely untypical of the French tradition.
He was quite unnoticeable, but that was exactly where he was quite himself.
He was not even extraordinarily French; but then it is against the French tradition to be extraordinarily French.
Ordinary Englishmen would only have thought him a little old - fashioned; imperialistic Englishmen would really have mistaken him for the old John Bull of the caricatures.
He was stout; he was quite undistinguished; and he had side - whiskers, worn just a little longer than John Bull's.
He was by name Pierre Durand; he was by trade a wine merchant; he was by politics a conservative republican; he had been brought up a Catholic, had always thought and acted as an agnostic, and was very mildly returning to the Church in his later years.
He had a genius (if one can even use so wild a word in connexion with so tame a person) a genius for saying the conventional thing on every conceivable subject; or rather what we in England would call the conventional thing.
For it was not convention with him, but solid and manly conviction.
Convention implies cant or affectation, and he had not the faintest smell of either.
He was simply an ordinary citizen with ordinary views; and if you had told him so he would have taken it as an ordinary compliment.
If you had asked him about women, he would have said that one must preserve their domesticity and decorum; he would have used the stalest words, but he would have in reserve the strongest arguments.
If you had asked him about government, he would have said that all citizens were free and equal, but he would have meant what he said.
If you had asked him about education, he would have said that the young must be trained up in habits of industry and of respect for their parents.
Still he would have set them the example of industry, and he would have been one of the parents whom they could respect.
A state of mind so hopelessly central is depressing to the English instinct.
But then in England a man announcing these platitudes is generally a fool and a frightened fool, announcing them out of mere social servility.
But Durand was anything but a fool; he had read all the eighteenth century, and could have defended his platitudes round every angle of eighteenth - century argument.
And certainly he was anything but a coward: swollen and sedentary as he was, he could have hit any man back who touched him with the instant violence of an automatic machine; and dying in a uniform would have seemed to him only the sort of thing that sometimes happens.
I am afraid it is impossible to explain this monster amid the exaggerative sects and the eccentric clubs of my country.
He was merely a man.
He lived in a little villa which was furnished well with comfortable chairs and tables and highly uncomfortable classical pictures and medallions.
The art in his home contained nothing between the two extremes of hard, meagre designs of Greek heads and Roman togas, and on the other side a few very vulgar Catholic images in the crudest colours; these were mostly in his daughter's room.
He had recently lost his wife, whom he had loved heartily and rather heavily in complete silence, and upon whose grave he was constantly in the habit of placing hideous little wreaths, made out of a sort of black - and - white beads.
Madeleine Durand was physically a sleepy young woman, and might easily have been supposed to be morally a lazy one.
It is, however, certain that the work of her house was done somehow, and it is even more rapidly ascertainable that nobody else did it.
The logician is, therefore, driven back upon the assumption that she did it; and that lends a sort of mysterious interest to her personality at the beginning.
She had very broad, low, and level brows, which seemed even lower because her warm yellow hair clustered down to her eyebrows; and she had a face just plump enough not to look as powerful as it was.
Anything that was heavy in all this was abruptly lightened by two large, light china - blue eyes, lightened all of a sudden as if it had been lifted into the air by two big blue butterflies.
The rest of her was less than middle - sized, and was of a casual and comfortable sort; and she had this difference from such girls as the girl in the motor - car, that one did not incline to take in her figure at all, but only her broad and leonine and innocent head.
Both the father and the daughter were of the sort that would normally have avoided all observation; that is, all observation in that extraordinary modern world which calls out everything except strength.
Both of them had strength below the surface; they were like quiet peasants owning enormous and unquarried mines.
The father with his square face and grey side whiskers, the daughter with her square face and golden fringe of hair, were both stronger than they know; stronger than anyone knew.
The father believed in civilization, in the storied tower we have erected to affront nature; that is, the father believed in Man.
The daughter believed in God; and was even stronger.
They neither of them believed in themselves; for that is a decadent weakness.
The daughter was called a devotee.
She left upon ordinary people the impression--the somewhat irritating impression--produced by such a person; it can only be described as the sense of strong water being perpetually poured into some abyss.
She did her housework easily; she achieved her social relations sweetly; she was never neglectful and never unkind.
This accounted for all that was soft in her, but not for all that was hard.
She trod firmly as if going somewhere; she flung her face back as if defying something; she hardly spoke a cross word, yet there was often battle in her eyes.
The modern man asked doubtfully where all this silent energy went to.
He would have stared still more doubtfully if he had been told that it all went into her prayers.
The conventions of the Isle of St. Loup were necessarily a compromise or confusion between those of France and England; and it was vaguely possible for a respectable young lady to have half - attached lovers, in a way that would be impossible to the _bourgeoisie_ of France.
One man in particular had made himself an unmistakable figure in the track of this girl as she went to church.
He was a short, prosperous - looking man, whose long, bushy black beard and clumsy black umbrella made him seem both shorter and older than he really was; but whose big, bold eyes, and step that spurned the ground, gave him an instant character of youth.
His name was Camille Bert, and he was a commercial traveller who had only been in the island an idle week before he began to hover in the tracks of Madeleine Durand.
Since everyone knows everyone in so small a place, Madeleine certainly knew him to speak to; but it is not very evident that she ever spoke.
He haunted her, however; especially at church, which was, indeed, one of the few certain places for finding her.
In her home she had a habit of being invisible, sometimes through insatiable domesticity, sometimes through an equally insatiable solitude.
M. Bert did not give the impression of a pious man, though he did give, especially with his eyes, the impression of an honest one.
But he went to Mass with a simple exactitude that could not be mistaken for a pose, or even for a vulgar fascination.
It was perhaps this religious regularity which eventually drew Madeleine into recognition of him.
At least it is certain that she twice spoke to him with her square and open smile in the porch of the church; and there was human nature enough in the hamlet to turn even that into gossip.
But the real interest arose suddenly as a squall arises with the extraordinary affair that occurred about five days after.
There was about a third of a mile beyond the village of Haroc a large but lonely hotel upon the London or Paris model, but commonly almost entirely empty.
Among the accidental group of guests who had come to it at this season was a man whose nationality no one could fix and who bore the non - committal name of Count Gregory.
He treated everybody with complete civility and almost in complete silence.
On the few occasions when he spoke, he spoke either French, English, or once (to the priest) Latin; and the general opinion was that he spoke them all wrong.
He was a large, lean man, with the stoop of an aged eagle, and even the eagle's nose to complete it; he had old - fashioned military whiskers and moustache dyed with a garish and highly incredible yellow.
He had the dress of a showy gentleman and the manners of a decayed gentleman; he seemed (as with a sort of simplicity) to be trying to be a dandy when he was too old even to know that he was old.
Ye he was decidedly a handsome figure with his curled yellow hair and lean fastidious face; and he wore a peculiar frock - coat of bright turquoise blue, with an unknown order pinned to it, and he carried a huge and heavy cane.
Despite his silence and his dandified dress and whiskers, the island might never have heard of him but for the extraordinary event of which I have spoken, which fell about in the following way:
In such casual atmospheres only the enthusiastic go to Benediction; and as the warm blue twilight closed over the little candle - lit church and village, the line of worshippers who went home from the former to the latter thinned out until it broke.
On one such evening at least no one was in church except the quiet, unconquerable Madeleine, four old women, one fisherman, and, of course, the irrepressible M. Camille Bert.
The others seemed to melt away afterwards into the peacock colours of the dim green grass and the dark blue sky.
Even Durand was invisible instead of being merely reverentially remote; and Madeleine set forth through the patch of black forest alone.
She was not in the least afraid of loneliness, because she was not afraid of devils.
I think they were afraid of her.
In a clearing of the wood, however, which was lit up with a last patch of the perishing sunlight, there advanced upon her suddenly one who was more startling than a devil.
The incomprehensible Count Gregory, with his yellow hair like flame and his face like the white ashes of the flame, was advancing bareheaded towards her, flinging out his arms and his long fingers with a frantic gesture.
" We are alone here," he cried, " and you would be at my mercy, only that I am at yours."
Then his frantic hands fell by his sides and he looked up under his brows with an expression that went well with his hard breathing.
Madeleine Durand had come to a halt at first in childish wonder, and now, with more than masculine self - control, " I fancy I know your face, sir," she said, as if to gain time.
" I know I shall not forget yours," said the other, and extended once more his ungainly arms in an unnatural gesture.
Then of a sudden there came out of him a spout of wild and yet pompous phrases.
" It is as well that you should know the worst and the best.
I am a man who knows no limit; I am the most callous of criminals, the most unrepentant of sinners.
There is no man in my dominions so vile as I.
But my dominions stretch from the olives of Italy to the fir - woods of Denmark, and there is no nook of all of them in which I have not done a sin.
But when I bear you away I shall be doing my first sacrilege, and also my first act of virtue."
He seized her suddenly by the elbow; and she did not scream but only pulled and tugged.
Yet though she had not screamed, someone astray in the woods seemed to have heard the struggle.
A short but nimble figure came along the woodland path like a humming bullet and had caught Count Gregory a crack across the face before his own could be recognized.
When it was recognized it was that of Camille, with the black elderly beard and the young ardent eyes.
Up to the moment when Camille had hit the Count, Madeleine had entertained no doubt that the Count was merely a madman.
Now she was startled with a new sanity; for the tall man in the yellow whiskers and yellow moustache first returned the blow of Bert, as if it were a sort of duty, and then stepped back with a slight bow and an easy smile.
" This need go no further here, M. Bert," he said.
" I need not remind you how far it should go elsewhere."
" Certainly, you need remind me of nothing," answered Camille, stolidly.
" I am glad that you are just not too much of a scoundrel for a gentleman to fight."
" We are detaining the lady," said Count Gregory, with politeness; and, making a gesture suggesting that he would have taken off his hat if he had had one, he strode away up the avenue of trees and eventually disappeared.
He was so complete an aristocrat that he could offer his back to them all the way up that avenue; and his back never once looked uncomfortable.
" You must allow me to see you home," said Bert to the girl, in a gruff and almost stifled voice; " I think we have only a little way to go."
" Only a little way," she said, and smiled once more that night, in spite of fatigue and fear and the world and the flesh and the devil.
The glowing and transparent blue of twilight had long been covered by the opaque and slatelike blue of night, when he handed her into the lamp - lit interior of her home.
He went out himself into the darkness, walking sturdily, but tearing at his black beard.
All the French or semi - French gentry of the district considered this a case in which a duel was natural and inevitable, and neither party had any difficulty in finding seconds, strangers as they were in the place.
As no particular purpose could be served by delay, it was arranged that the affair should fall out three days afterwards.
And when this was settled the whole community, as it were, turned over again in bed and thought no more about the matter.
At least there was only one member of it who seemed to be restless, and that was she who was commonly most restful.
On the next night Madeleine Durand went to church as usual; and as usual the stricken Camille was there also.
What was not so usual was that when they were a bow - shot from the church Madeleine turned round and walked back to him.
" Sir," she began, " it is not wrong of me to speak to you," and the very words gave him a jar of unexpected truth; for in all the novels he had ever read she would have begun: " It is wrong of me to speak to you."
She went on with wide and serious eyes like an animal's: " It is not wrong of me to speak to you, because your soul, or anybody's soul, matters so much more than what the world says about anybody.
I want to talk to you about what you are going to do."
Bert saw in front of him the inevitable heroine of the novels trying to prevent bloodshed; and his pale firm face became implacable.
" I would do anything but that for you," he said; " but no man can be called less than a man."
She looked at him for a moment with a face openly puzzled, and then broke into an odd and beautiful half - smile.
" Oh, I don't mean that," she said; " I don't talk about what I don't understand.
No one has ever hit me; and if they had I should not feel as a man may.
I am sure it is not the best thing to fight.
It would be better to forgive--if one could really forgive.
But when people dine with my father and say that fighting a duel is mere murder--of course I can see that is not just.
It's all so different--having a reason--and letting the other man know--and using the same guns and things--and doing it in front of your friends.
I'm awfully stupid, but I know that men like you aren't murderers.
But it wasn't that that I meant."
" What did you mean?"
asked the other, looking broodingly at the earth.
" Don't you know," she said, " there is only one more celebration?
I thought that as you always go to church--I thought you would communicate this morning."
Bert stepped backward with a sort of action she had never seen in him before.
It seemed to alter his whole body.
" You may be right or wrong to risk dying," said the girl, simply; " the poor women in our village risk it whenever they have a baby.
You men are the other half of the world.
I know nothing about when you ought to die.
But surely if you are daring to try and find God beyond the grave and appeal to Him--you ought to let Him find you when He comes and stands there every morning in our little church."
And placid as she was, she made a little gesture of argument, of which the pathos wrung the heart.
M. Camille Bert was by no means placid.
Before that incomplete gesture and frankly pleading face he retreated as if from the jaws of a dragon.
His dark black hair and beard looked utterly unnatural against the startling pallor of his face.
When at last he said something it was: " O God!
I can't stand this!"
He did not say it in French.
Nor did he, strictly speaking, say it in English.
The truth (interesting only to anthropologists) is that he said it in Scotch.
" There will be another mass in a matter of eight hours," said Madeleine, with a sort of business eagerness and energy, " and you can do it then before the fighting.
You must forgive me, but I was so frightened that you would not do it at all."
Bert seemed to crush his teeth together until they broke, and managed to say between them: " And why should you suppose that I shouldn't do as you say--I mean not to do it at all?"
" You always go to Mass," answered the girl, opening her wide blue eyes, " and the Mass is very long and tiresome unless one loves God."
Then it was that Bert exploded with a brutality which might have come from Count Gregory, his criminal opponent.
He advanced upon Madeleine with flaming eyes, and almost took her by the two shoulders.
" I do not love God," he cried, speaking French with the broadest Scotch accent; " I do not want to find Him; I do not think He is there to be found.
I must burst up the show; I must and will say everything.
You are the happiest and honestest thing I ever saw in this godless universe.
And I am the dirtiest and most dishonest."
Madeleine looked at him doubtfully for an instant, and then said with a sudden simplicity and cheerfulness: " Oh, but if you are really sorry it is all right.
If you are horribly sorry it is all the better.
You have only to go and tell the priest so and he will give you God out of his own hands."
" I hate your priest and I deny your God!"
cried the man, " and I tell you God is a lie and a fable and a mask.
And for the first time in my life I do not feel superior to God."
" What can it all mean?"
said Madeleine, in massive wonder.
" Because I am a fable also and a mask," said the man.
He had been plucking fiercely at his black beard and hair all the time; now he suddenly plucked them off and flung them like moulted feathers in the mire.
This extraordinary spoliation left in the sunlight the same face, but a much younger head--a head with close chestnut curls and a short chestnut beard.
" Now you know the truth," he answered, with hard eyes.
" I am a cad who has played a crooked trick on a quiet village and a decent woman for a private reason of his own.
I might have played it successfully on any other woman; I have hit the one woman on whom it cannot be played.
It's just like my damned luck.
The plain truth is," and here when he came to the plain truth he boggled and blundered as Evan had done in telling it to the girl in the motor - car.
" The plain truth is," he said at last, " that I am James Turnbull the atheist.
The police are after me; not for atheism but for being ready to fight for it."
" I saw something about you in a newspaper," said the girl, with a simplicity which even surprise could never throw off its balance.
" Evan MacIan said there was a God," went on the other, stubbornly, " and I say there isn't.
And I have come to fight for the fact that there is no God; it is for that that I have seen this cursed island and your blessed face."
" You want me really to believe," said Madeleine, with parted lips, " that you think ----"
" I want you to hate me!"
cried Turnbull, in agony.
" I want you to be sick when you think of my name.
I am sure there is no God."
" But there is," said Madeleine, quite quietly, and rather with the air of one telling children about an elephant.
" Why, I touched His body only this morning."
" You touched a bit of bread," said Turnbull, biting his knuckles.
" Oh, I will say anything that can madden you!"
" You think it is only a bit of bread," said the girl, and her lips tightened ever so little.
" I know it is only a bit of bread," said Turnbull, with violence.
She flung back her open face and smiled.
" Then why did you refuse to eat it?"
she said.
James Turnbull made a little step backward, and for the first time in his life there seemed to break out and blaze in his head thoughts that were not his own.
" Why, how silly of them," cried out Madeleine, with quite a schoolgirl gaiety, " why, how silly of them to call _you_ a blasphemer!
Why, you have wrecked your whole business because you would not commit blasphemy."
The man stood, a somewhat comic figure in his tragic bewilderment, with the honest red head of James Turnbull sticking out of the rich and fictitious garments of Camille Bert.
But the startled pain of his face was strong enough to obliterate the oddity.
" You come down here," continued the lady, with that female emphasis which is so pulverizing in conversation and so feeble at a public meeting, " you and your MacIan come down here and put on false beards or noses in order to fight.
You pretend to be a Catholic commercial traveller from France.
Poor Mr. MacIan has to pretend to be a dissolute nobleman from nowhere.
Your scheme succeeds; you pick a quite convincing quarrel; you arrange a quite respectable duel; the duel you have planned so long will come off tomorrow with absolute certainty and safety.
And then you throw off your wig and throw up your scheme and throw over your colleague, because I ask you to go into a building and eat a bit of bread.
And _then_ you dare to tell me that you are sure there is nothing watching us.
Then you say you know there is nothing on the very altar you run away from.
You know ----"
" I only know," said Turnbull, " that I must run away from you.
This has got beyond any talking."
And he plunged along into the village, leaving his black wig and beard lying behind him on the road.
As the market - place opened before him he saw Count Gregory, that distinguished foreigner, standing and smoking in elegant meditation at the corner of the local café.
He immediately made his way rapidly towards him, considering that a consultation was urgent.
But he had hardly crossed half of that stony quadrangle when a window burst open above him and a head was thrust out, shouting.
The man was in his woollen undershirt, but Turnbull knew the energetic, apologetic head of the sergeant of police.
He pointed furiously at Turnbull and shouted his name.
A policeman ran excitedly from under an archway and tried to collar him.
Two men selling vegetables dropped their baskets and joined in the chase.
Turnbull dodged the constable, upset one of the men into his own basket, and bounding towards the distinguished foreign Count, called to him clamorously: " Come on, MacIan, the hunt is up again."
The prompt reply of Count Gregory was to pull off his large yellow whiskers and scatter them on the breeze with an air of considerable relief.
Then he joined the flight of Turnbull, and even as he did so, with one wrench of his powerful hands rent and split the strange, thick stick that he carried.
Inside it was a naked old - fashioned rapier.
The two got a good start up the road before the whole town was awakened behind them; and half - way up it a similar transformation was seen to take place in Mr. Turnbull's singular umbrella.
The two had a long race for the harbour; but the English police were heavy and the French inhabitants were indifferent.
In any case, they got used to the notion of the road being clear; and just as they had come to the cliffs MacIan banged into another gentleman with unmistakable surprise.
How he knew he was another gentleman merely by banging into him, must remain a mystery.
MacIan was a very poor and very sober Scotch gentleman.
The other was a very drunk and very wealthy English gentleman.
But there was something in the staggered and openly embarrassed apologies that made them understand each other as readily and as quickly and as much as two men talking French in the middle of China.
The nearest expression of the type is that it either hits or apologizes; and in this case both apologized.
" You seem to be in a hurry," said the unknown Englishman, falling back a step or two in order to laugh with an unnatural heartiness.
" What's it all about, eh?"
Then before MacIan could get past his sprawling and staggering figure he ran forward again and said with a sort of shouting and ear - shattering whisper: " I say, my name is Wilkinson.
_You_ know--Wilkinson's Entire was my grandfather.
Can't drink beer myself.
Liver."
And he shook his head with extraordinary sagacity.
" We really are in a hurry, as you say," said MacIan, summoning a sufficiently pleasant smile, " so if you will let us pass ----"
" No doubt you're right," said MacIan, and dashed past him in despair.
The head of the pursuing host was just showing over the top of the hill behind him.
Turnbull had already ducked under the intoxicated gentleman's elbow and fled far in front.
" No, but look here," said Mr. Wilkinson, enthusiastically running after MacIan and catching him by the sleeve of his coat.
" If you want to hurry you should take a yacht, and if "-- he said, with a burst of rationality, like one leaping to a further point in logic --" if you want a yacht--you can have mine."
Evan pulled up abruptly and looked back at him.
" We are really in the devil of a hurry," he said, " and if you really have a yacht, the truth is that we would give our ears for it."
" You'll find it in harbour," said Wilkinson, struggling with his speech.
" Left side of harbour--called _Gibson Girl_--can't think why, old fellow, I never lent it you before."
With these words the benevolent Mr. Wilkinson fell flat on his face in the road, but continued to laugh softly, and turned towards his flying companion a face of peculiar peace and benignity.
Evan's mind went through a crisis of instantaneous casuistry, in which it may be that he decided wrongly; but about how he decided his biographer can profess no doubt.
Two minutes afterwards he had overtaken Turnbull and told the tale; ten minutes afterwards he and Turnbull had somehow tumbled into the yacht called the _Gibson Girl_ and had somehow pushed off from the Isle of St. Loup.
XII.
THE DESERT ISLAND
The presence of the god or fairy can only be deduced from the fact that they never definitely ran into anything, either a boat, a rock, a quicksand, or a man - of - war.
Apart from this negative description, their voyage would be difficult to describe.
It took at least a fortnight, and MacIan, who was certainly the shrewder sailor of the two, realized that they were sailing west into the Atlantic and were probably by this time past the Scilly Isles.
How much farther they stood out into the western sea it was impossible to conjecture.
But they felt certain, at least, that they were far enough into that awful gulf between us and America to make it unlikely that they would soon see land again.
" What can it be?"
cried MacIan, in a dry - throated excitement.
" I didn't know there were any Atlantic islands so far beyond the Scillies--Good Lord, it can't be Madeira, yet?"
" I thought you were fond of legends and lies and fables," said Turnbull, grimly.
" Perhaps it's Atlantis."
" Of course, it might be," answered the other, quite innocently and gravely; " but I never thought the story about Atlantis was very solidly established."
" Whatever it is, we are running on to it," said Turnbull, equably, " and we shall be shipwrecked twice, at any rate."
The naked - looking nose of land projecting from the unknown island was, indeed, growing larger and larger, like the trunk of some terrible and advancing elephant.
There seemed to be nothing in particular, at least on this side of the island, except shoals of shellfish lying so thick as almost to make it look like one of those toy grottos that the children make.
In one place, however, the coast offered a soft, smooth bay of sand, and even the rudimentary ingenuity of the two amateur mariners managed to run up the little ship with her prow well on shore and her bowsprit pointing upward, as in a sort of idiotic triumph.
They tumbled on shore and began to unload the vessel, setting the stores out in rows upon the sand with something of the solemnity of boys playing at pirates.
There were Mr. Wilkinson's cigar - boxes and Mr. Wilkinson's dozen of champagne and Mr. Wilkinson's tinned salmon and Mr. Wilkinson's tinned tongue and Mr. Wilkinson's tinned sardines, and every sort of preserved thing that could be seen at the Army and Navy stores.
Then MacIan stopped with a jar of pickles in his hand and said abruptly:
" I don't know why we're doing all this; I suppose we ought really to fall to and get it over."
Then he added more thoughtfully: " Of course this island seems rather bare and the survivor ----"
" The question is," said Turnbull, with cheerful speculation, " whether the survivor will be in a proper frame of mind for potted prawns."
MacIan looked down at the rows of tins and bottles, and the cloud of doubt still lowered upon his face.
" What on earth are you talking about?"
asked MacIan, listlessly, in the manner of an inattentive child.
" I know what you are really thinking, MacIan," repeated Turnbull, laughing.
" I know what I am thinking, anyhow.
And I rather fancy it's the same."
" What are you thinking?"
asked Evan.
" I am thinking and you are thinking," said Turnbull, " that it is damned silly to waste all that champagne."
Something like the spectre of a smile appeared on the unsmiling visage of the Gael; and he made at least no movement of dissent.
" We could drink all the wine and smoke all the cigars easily in a week," said Turnbull; " and that would be to die feasting like heroes."
" Yes, and there is something else," said MacIan, with slight hesitation.
" You see, we are on an almost unknown rock, lost in the Atlantic.
The police will never catch us; but then neither may the public ever hear of us; and that was one of the things we wanted."
Then, after a pause, he said, drawing in the sand with his sword - point: " She may never hear of it at all."
" Well?"
inquired the other, puffing at his cigar.
" Well," said MacIan, " we might occupy a day or two in drawing up a thorough and complete statement of what we did and why we did it, and all about both our points of view.
Then we could leave one copy on the island whatever happens to us and put another in an empty bottle and send it out to sea, as they do in the books."
" A good idea," said Turnbull, " and now let us finish unpacking."
As MacIan, a tall, almost ghostly figure, paced along the edge of sand that ran round the islet, the purple but cloudy poetry which was his native element was piled up at its thickest upon his soul.
The unique island and the endless sea emphasized the thing solely as an epic.
There were no ladies or policemen here to give him a hint either of its farce or its tragedy.
" Perhaps when the morning stars were made," he said to himself, " God built this island up from the bottom of the world to be a tower and a theatre for the fight between yea and nay."
Then he wandered up to the highest level of the rock, where there was a roof or plateau of level stone.
Half an hour afterwards, Turnbull found him clearing away the loose sand from this table - land and making it smooth and even.
" We will fight up here, Turnbull," said MacIan, " when the time comes.
And till the time comes this place shall be sacred."
" I thought of having lunch up here," said Turnbull, who had a bottle of champagne in his hand.
" No, no--not up here," said MacIan, and came down from the height quite hastily.
Before he descended, however, he fixed the two swords upright, one at each end of the platform, as if they were human sentinels to guard it under the stars.
Then they came down and lunched plentifully in a nest of loose rocks.
In the same place that night they supped more plentifully still.
The smoke of Mr. Wilkinson's cigars went up ceaseless and strong smelling, like a pagan sacrifice; the golden glories of Mr. Wilkinson's champagne rose to their heads and poured out of them in fancies and philosophies.
And occasionally they would look up at the starlight and the rock and see the space guarded by the two cross - hilted swords, which looked like two black crosses at either end of a grave.
In this primitive and Homeric truce the week passed by; it consisted almost entirely of eating, drinking, smoking, talking, and occasionally singing.
They wrote their records and cast loose their bottle.
They never ascended to the ominous plateau; they had never stood there save for that single embarrassed minute when they had had no time to take stock of the seascape or the shape of the land.
They did not even explore the island; for MacIan was partly concerned in prayer and Turnbull entirely concerned with tobacco; and both these forms of inspiration can be enjoyed by the secluded and even the sedentary.
MacIan was already standing heavily by his with bent head and eyes reading the ground.
He had not even troubled to throw a glance round the island or the horizon.
But Turnbull being of a more active and birdlike type of mind did throw a glance round the scene.
The consequence of which was that he nearly fell off the rock.
On three sides of this shelly and sandy islet the sea stretched blue and infinite without a speck of land or sail; the same as Turnbull had first seen it, except that the tide being out it showed a few yards more of slanting sand under the roots of the rocks.
But on the fourth side the island exhibited a more extraordinary feature.
In fact, it exhibited the extraordinary feature of not being an island at all.
A long, curving neck of sand, as smooth and wet as the neck of the sea serpent, ran out into the sea and joined their rock to a line of low, billowing, and glistening sand - hills, which the sinking sea had just bared to the sun.
Whether they were firm sand or quicksand it was difficult to guess; but there was at least no doubt that they lay on the edge of some larger land; for colourless hills appeared faintly behind them and no sea could be seen beyond.
" Sakes alive!"
cried Turnbull, with rolling eyes; " this ain't an island in the Atlantic.
We've butted the bally continent of America."
MacIan turned his head, and his face, already pale, grew a shade paler.
He was by this time walking in a world of omens and hieroglyphics, and he could not read anything but what was baffling or menacing in this brown gigantic arm of the earth stretched out into the sea to seize him.
" MacIan," said Turnbull, in his temperate way, " whatever our eternal interrupted tete - a - tetes have taught us or not taught us, at least we need not fear the charge of fear.
If it is essential to your emotions, I will cheerfully finish the fight here and now; but I must confess that if you kill me here I shall die with my curiosity highly excited and unsatisfied upon a minor point of geography."
" I do not want to stop now," said the other, in his elephantine simplicity, " but we must stop for a moment, because it is a sign--perhaps it is a miracle.
We must see what is at the end of the road of sand; it may be a bridge built across the gulf by God."
" So long as you gratify my query," said Turnbull, laughing and letting back his blade into the sheath, " I do not care for what reason you choose to stop."
They clambered down the rocky peninsula and trudged along the sandy isthmus with the plodding resolution of men who seemed almost to have made up their minds to be wanderers on the face of the earth.
Despite Turnbull's air of scientific eagerness, he was really the less impatient of the two; and the Highlander went on well ahead of him with passionate strides.
By the time they had walked for about half an hour in the ups and downs of those dreary sands, the distance between the two had lengthened and MacIan was only a tall figure silhouetted for an instant upon the crest of some sand - dune and then disappearing behind it.
This rather increased the Robinson Crusoe feeling in Mr. Turnbull, and he looked about almost disconsolately for some sign of life.
What sort of life he expected it to be if it appeared, he did not very clearly know.
He has since confessed that he thinks that in his subconsciousness he expected an alligator.
The first sign of life that he did see, however, was something more extraordinary than the largest alligator.
It was nothing less than the notorious Mr. Evan MacIan coming bounding back across the sand - heaps breathless, without his cap and keeping the sword in his hand only by a habit now quite hardened.
" Take care, Turnbull," he cried out from a good distance as he ran, " I've seen a native."
" A native?"
repeated his companion, whose scenery had of late been chiefly of shellfish, " what the deuce!
Do you mean an oyster?"
" No," said MacIan, stopping and breathing hard, " I mean a savage.
A black man."
" Why, where did you see him?"
asked the staring editor.
" Over there--behind that hill," said the gasping MacIan.
" He put up his black head and grinned at me."
Turnbull thrust his hands through his red hair like one who gives up the world as a bad riddle.
" Lord love a duck," said he, " can it be Jamaica?"
Then glancing at his companion with a small frown, as of one slightly suspicious, he said: " I say, don't think me rude--but you're a visionary kind of fellow--and then we drank a great deal.
Do you mind waiting here while I go and see for myself?"
" Shout if you get into trouble," said the Celt, with composure; " you will find it as I say."
Turnbull ran off ahead with a rapidity now far greater than his rival's, and soon vanished over the disputed sand - hill.
Then five minutes passed, and then seven minutes; and MacIan bit his lip and swung his sword, and the other did not reappear.
Finally, with a Gaelic oath, Evan started forward to the rescue, and almost at the same moment the small figure of the missing man appeared on the ridge against the sky.
Even at that distance, however, there was something odd about his attitude; so odd that MacIan continued to make his way in that direction.
It looked as if he were wounded; or, still more, as if he were ill.
He wavered as he came down the slope and seemed flinging himself into peculiar postures.
But it was only when he came within three feet of MacIan's face, that that observer of mankind fully realized that Mr. James Turnbull was roaring with laughter.
" You are quit right," sobbed that wholly demoralized journalist.
" He's black, oh, there's no doubt the black's all right--as far as it goes."
And he went off again into convulsions of his humorous ailment.
" What ever is the matter with you?"
asked MacIan, with stern impatience.
" I saw the splendid barbarian Chief.
I saw the Emperor of Ethiopia--oh, I saw him all right.
Then he had a momentary return of his hysteria and said: " I say, old boy, I should like to see a chart of our fortnight's cruise in Wilkinson's yacht."
MacIan had no smile in answer, but his eager lips opened as if parched for the truth.
" You mean to say," he began ----
" Yes, I mean to say," said Turnbull, " and I mean to say something funnier still.
I have learnt everything I wanted to know from the partially black musician over there, who has taken a run in his war - paint to meet a friend in a quiet pub along the coast--the noble savage has told me all about it.
Buck up, old man, this story of ours is a switchback.
I have begun to understand the pulse and the time of it; now we are up in a cathedral and then we are down in a theatre, where they only play farces.
Come, I am quite reconciled--let us enjoy the farce."
But MacIan said nothing, and an instant afterwards Turnbull himself called out in an entirely changed voice: " Oh, this is damnable!
This is not to be borne!"
MacIan followed his eye along the sand - hills.
XIII.
THE GARDEN OF PEACE
Up to this instant Evan MacIan had really understood nothing; but when he saw the policeman he saw everything.
He saw his enemies, all the powers and princes of the earth.
He suddenly altered from a staring statue to a leaping man of the mountains.
" We must break away from him here," he cried, briefly, and went like a whirlwind over the sand ridge in a straight line and at a particular angle.
When the policeman had finished his admirable railway curve, he found a wall of failing sand between him and the pursued.
By the time he had scaled it thrice, slid down twice, and crested it in the third effort, the two flying figures were far in front.
They found the sand harder farther on; it began to be crusted with scraps of turf and in a few moments they were flying easily over an open common of rank sea - grass.
They had no easy business, however; for the bottle which they had so innocently sent into the chief gate of Thanet had called to life the police of half a county on their trail.
They ran a mile or two farther along the edge of the wood until they reached another and somewhat similar opening.
Then MacIan stood utterly still and listened, as animals listen, for every sound in the universe.
Then he said: " We are quit of them."
And Turnbull said: " Where shall we go now?"
MacIan looked at the silver sunset that was closing in, barred by plumy lines of purple cloud; he looked at the high tree - tops that caught the last light and at the birds going heavily homeward, just as if all these things were bits of written advice that he could read.
Then he said: " The best place we can go to is to bed.
If we can get some sleep in this wood, now everyone has cleared out of it, it will be worth a handicap of two hundred yards tomorrow."
Turnbull, who was exceptionally lively and laughing in his demeanour, kicked his legs about like a schoolboy and said he did not want to go to sleep.
He walked incessantly and talked very brilliantly.
And when at last he lay down on the hard earth, sleep struck him senseless like a hammer.
Indeed, he needed the strongest sleep he could get; for the earth was still full of darkness and a kind of morning fog when his fellow - fugitive shook him awake.
" No more sleep, I'm afraid," said Evan, in a heavy, almost submissive, voice of apology.
" They've gone on past us right enough for a good thirty miles; but now they've found out their mistake, and they're coming back."
" Are you sure?"
said Turnbull, sitting up and rubbing his red eyebrows with his hand.
The next moment, however, he had jumped up alive and leaping like a man struck with a shock of cold water, and he was plunging after MacIan along the woodland path.
The shape of their old friend the constable had appeared against the pearl and pink of the sunrise.
Somehow, it always looked a very funny shape when seen against the sunrise.
* * *
A wash of weary daylight was breaking over the country - side, and the fields and roads were full of white mist--the kind of white mist that clings in corners like cotton wool.
The empty road, along which the chase had taken its turn, was overshadowed on one side by a very high discoloured wall, stained, and streaked green, as with seaweed--evidently the high - shouldered sentinel of some great gentleman's estate.
A yard or two from the wall ran parallel to it a linked and tangled line of lime - trees, forming a kind of cloister along the side of the road.
It was under this branching colonnade that the two fugitives fled, almost concealed from their pursuers by the twilight, the mist and the leaping zoetrope of shadows.
Their feet, though beating the ground furiously, made but a faint noise; for they had kicked away their boots in the wood; their long, antiquated weapons made no jingle or clatter, for they had strapped them across their backs like guitars.
They had all the advantages that invisibility and silence can add to speed.
A hundred and fifty yards behind them down the centre of the empty road the first of their pursuers came pounding and panting--a fat but powerful policeman who had distanced all the rest.
He came on at a splendid pace for so portly a figure; but, like all heavy bodies in motion, he gave the impression that it would be easier for him to increase his pace than to slacken it suddenly.
Nothing short of a brick wall could have abruptly brought him up.
Turnbull turned his head slightly and found breath to say something to MacIan.
MacIan nodded.
Pursuer and pursued were fixed in their distance as they fled, for some quarter of a mile, when they came to a place where two or three of the trees grew twistedly together, making a special obscurity.
Past this place the pursuing policeman went thundering without thought or hesitation.
But he was pursuing his shadow or the wind; for Turnbull had put one foot in a crack of the tree and gone up it as quickly and softly as a cat.
Somewhat more laboriously but in equal silence the long legs of the Highlander had followed; and crouching in crucial silence in the cloud of leaves, they saw the whole posse of their pursuers go by and die into the dust and mists of the distance.
The white vapour lay, as it often does, in lean and palpable layers; and even the head of the tree was above it in the half - daylight, like a green ship swinging on a sea of foam.
But higher yet behind them, and readier to catch the first coming of the sun, ran the rampart of the top of the wall, which in their excitement of escape looked at once indispensable and unattainable, like the wall of heaven.
Here, however, it was MacIan's turn to have the advantage; for, though less light - limbed and feline, he was longer and stronger in the arms.
In two seconds he had tugged up his chin over the wall like a horizontal bar; the next he sat astride of it, like a horse of stone.
With his assistance Turnbull vaulted to the same perch, and the two began cautiously to shift along the wall in the direction by which they had come, doubling on their tracks to throw off the last pursuit.
MacIan could not rid himself of the fancy of bestriding a steed; the long, grey coping of the wall shot out in front of him, like the long, grey neck of some nightmare Rosinante.
He had the quaint thought that he and Turnbull were two knights on one steed on the old shield of the Templars.
The nightmare of the stone horse was increased by the white fog, which seemed thicker inside the wall than outside.
They could make nothing of the enclosure upon which they were partial trespassers, except that the green and crooked branches of a big apple - tree came crawling at them out of the mist, like the tentacles of some green cuttlefish.
Anything would serve, however, that was likely to confuse their trail, so they both decided without need of words to use this tree also as a ladder--a ladder of descent.
When they dropped from the lowest branch to the ground their stockinged feet felt hard gravel beneath them.
They had alighted in the middle of a very broad garden path, and the clearing mist permitted them to see the edge of a well - clipped lawn.
As it thinned yet farther they saw that it was only flowers; but flowers in such insolent mass and magnificence as can seldom be seen out of the tropics.
Purple and crimson rhododendrons rose arrogantly, like rampant heraldic animals against their burning background of laburnum gold.
The roses were red hot; the clematis was, so to speak, blue hot.
And yet the mere whiteness of the syringa seemed the most violent colour of all.
As the golden sunlight gradually conquered the mists, it had really something of the sensational sweetness of the slow opening of the gates of Eden.
MacIan, whose mind was always haunted with such seraphic or titanic parallels, made some such remark to his companion.
But Turnbull only cursed and said that it was the back garden of some damnable rich man.
When the last haze had faded from the ordered paths, the open lawns, and the flaming flower - beds, the two realized, not without an abrupt re - examination of their position, that they were not alone in the garden.
Down the centre of the central garden path, preceded by a blue cloud from a cigarette, was walking a gentleman who evidently understood all the relish of a garden in the very early morning.
He was a slim yet satisfied figure, clad in a suit of pale - grey tweed, so subdued that the pattern was imperceptible--a costume that was casual but not by any means careless.
His face, which was reflective and somewhat over - refined, was the face of a quite elderly man, though his stringy hair and moustache were still quite yellow.
A double eye - glass, with a broad, black ribbon, drooped from his aquiline nose, and he smiled, as he communed with himself, with a self - content which was rare and almost irritating.
The straw panama on his head was many shades shabbier than his clothes, as if he had caught it up by accident.
It needed the full shock of the huge shadow of MacIan, falling across his sunlit path, to rouse him from his smiling reverie.
When this had fallen on him he lifted his head a little and blinked at the intruders with short - sighted benevolence, but with far less surprise than might have been expected.
He was a gentleman; that is, he had social presence of mind, whether for kindness or for insolence.
" Can I do anything for you?"
he said, at last.
MacIan bowed.
" You can extend to us your pardon," he said, for he also came of a whole race of gentlemen--of gentlemen without shirts to their backs.
" I am afraid we are trespassing.
We have just come over the wall."
" Over the wall?"
repeated the smiling old gentleman, still without letting his surprise come uppermost.
" I suppose I am not wrong, sir," continued MacIan, " in supposing that these grounds inside the wall belong to you?"
The man in the panama looked at the ground and smoked thoughtfully for a few moments, after which he said, with a sort of matured conviction:
" Yes, certainly; the grounds inside the wall really belong to me, and the grounds outside the wall, too."
" A large proprietor, I imagine," said Turnbull, with a truculent eye.
" Yes," answered the old gentleman, looking at him with a steady smile.
" A large proprietor."
Turnbull's eye grew even more offensive, and he began biting his red beard; but MacIan seemed to recognize a type with which he could deal and continued quite easily:
" I am sure that a man like you will not need to be told that one sees and does a good many things that do not get into the newspapers.
Things which, on the whole, had better not get into the newspapers."
The smile of the large proprietor broadened for a moment under his loose, light moustache, and the other continued with increased confidence:
" One sometimes wants to have it out with another man.
The police won't allow it in the streets--and then there's the County Council--and in the fields even nothing's allowed but posters of pills.
But in a gentleman's garden, now ----"
The strange gentleman smiled again and said, easily enough: " Do you want to fight?
What do you want to fight about?"
MacIan had understood his man pretty well up to that point; an instinct common to all men with the aristocratic tradition of Europe had guided him.
He knew that the kind of man who in his own back garden wears good clothes and spoils them with a bad hat is not the kind of man who has an abstract horror of illegal actions of violence or the evasion of the police.
But a man may understand ragging and yet be very far from understanding religious ragging.
Even MacIan, therefore (whose tact was far from being his strong point), felt the necessity for some compromise in the mode of approach.
At last he said, and even then with hesitation:
" We are fighting about God; there can be nothing so important as that."
The tilted eye - glasses of the old gentleman fell abruptly from his nose, and he thrust his aristocratic chin so far forward that his lean neck seemed to shoot out longer like a telescope.
" About God?"
he queried, in a key completely new.
" Look here!"
cried Turnbull, taking his turn roughly, " I'll tell you what it's all about.
I think that there's no God.
I take it that it's nobody's business but mine--or God's, if there is one.
This young gentleman from the Highlands happens to think that it's his business.
In consequence, he first takes a walking - stick and smashes my shop; then he takes the same walking - stick and tries to smash me.
To this I naturally object.
I suggest that if it comes to that we should both have sticks.
He improves on the suggestion and proposes that we should both have steel - pointed sticks.
The police (with characteristic unreasonableness) will not accept either of our proposals; the result is that we run about dodging the police and have jumped over our garden wall into your magnificent garden to throw ourselves on your magnificent hospitality."
The face of the old gentleman had grown redder and redder during this address, but it was still smiling; and when he broke out it was with a kind of guffaw.
" So you really want to fight with drawn swords in my garden," he asked, " about whether there is really a God?"
" Why not?"
said MacIan, with his simple monstrosity of speech; " all man's worship began when the Garden of Eden was founded."
" Yes, by ----!"
said Turnbull, with an oath, " and ended when the Zoological Gardens were founded."
" In this garden!
In my presence!"
cried the stranger, stamping up and down the gravel and choking with laughter," whether there is a God!"
And he went stamping up and down the garden, making it echo with his unintelligible laughter.
Then he came back to them more composed and wiping his eyes.
" Why, how small the world is!"
he cried at last.
" I can settle the whole matter.
Why, I am God!"
And he suddenly began to kick and wave his well - clad legs about the lawn.
" You are what?"
repeated Turnbull, in a tone which is beyond description.
" Why, God, of course!"
answered the other, thoroughly amused.
" How funny it is to think that you have tumbled over a garden wall and fallen exactly on the right person!
You might have gone floundering about in all sorts of churches and chapels and colleges and schools of philosophy looking for some evidence of the existence of God.
Why, there is no evidence, except seeing him.
And now you've seen him.
You've seen him dance!"
And the obliging old gentleman instantly stood on one leg without relaxing at all the grave and cultured benignity of his expression.
" I understood that this garden ----" began the bewildered MacIan.
" Quite so!
Quite so!"
said the man on one leg, nodding gravely.
" I said this garden belonged to me and the land outside it.
So they do.
So does the country beyond that and the sea beyond that and all the rest of the earth.
So does the moon.
So do the sun and stars."
And he added, with a smile of apology: " You see, I'm God."
Turnbull and MacIan looked at him for one moment with a sort of notion that perhaps he was not too old to be merely playing the fool.
But after staring steadily for an instant Turnbull saw the hard and horrible earnestness in the man's eyes behind all his empty animation.
Then Turnbull looked very gravely at the strict gravel walls and the gay flower - beds and the long rectangular red - brick building, which the mist had left evident beyond them.
Then he looked at MacIan.
Almost at the same moment another man came walking quickly round the regal clump of rhododendrons.
He had the look of a prosperous banker, wore a good tall silk hat, was almost stout enough to burst the buttons of a fine frock - coat; but he was talking to himself, and one of his elbows had a singular outward jerk as he went by.
XIV.
A MUSEUM OF SOULS
The man with the good hat and the jumping elbow went by very quickly; yet the man with the bad hat, who thought he was God, overtook him.
He ran after him and jumped over a bed of geraniums to catch him.
" I beg your Majesty's pardon," he said, with mock humility, " but here is a quarrel which you ought really to judge."
Then as he led the heavy, silk - hatted man back towards the group, he caught MacIan's ear in order to whisper: " This poor gentleman is mad; he thinks he is Edward VII."
At this the self - appointed Creator slightly winked.
" Of course you won't trust him much; come to me for everything.
But in my position one has to meet so many people.
One has to be broadminded."
The big banker in the black frock - coat and hat was standing quite grave and dignified on the lawn, save for his slight twitch of one limb, and he did not seem by any means unworthy of the part which the other promptly forced upon him.
" My dear fellow," said the man in the straw hat, " these two gentlemen are going to fight a duel of the utmost importance.
Your own royal position and my much humbler one surely indicate us as the proper seconds.
Seconds--yes, seconds ----" and here the speaker was once more shaken with his old malady of laughter.
" Yes, you and I are both seconds--and these two gentlemen can obviously fight in front of us.
You, he - he, are the king.
I am God; really, they could hardly have better supporters.
They have come to the right place."
Then Turnbull, who had been staring with a frown at the fresh turf, burst out with a rather bitter laugh and cried, throwing his red head in the air:
" Yes, by God, MacIan, I think we have come to the right place!"
And MacIan answered, with an adamantine stupidity:
" Any place is the right place where they will let us do it."
They both felt at the same moment all the breadth and blossoming beauty of that paradise, the coloured trees, the natural and restful nooks and also the great wall of stone--more awful than the wall of China--from which no flesh could flee.
Turnbull was moodily balancing his sword in his hand as the other spoke; then he started, for a mouth whispered quite close to his ear.
With a softness incredible in any cat, the huge, heavy man in the black hat and frock - coat had crept across the lawn from his own side and was saying in his ear: " Don't trust that second of yours.
He's mad and not so mad, either; for he frightfully cunning and sharp.
Don't believe the story he tells you about why I hate him.
I know the story he'll tell; I overheard it when the housekeeper was talking to the postman.
It's too long to talk about now, and I expect we're watched, but ----"
Something in Turnbull made him want suddenly to be sick on the grass; the mere healthy and heathen horror of the unclean; the mere inhumane hatred of the inhuman state of madness.
He seemed to hear all round him the hateful whispers of that place, innumerable as leaves whispering in the wind, and each of them telling eagerly some evil that had not happened or some terrific secret which was not true.
All the rationalist and plain man revolted within him against bowing down for a moment in that forest of deception and egotistical darkness.
He wanted to blow up that palace of delusions with dynamite; and in some wild way, which I will not defend, he tried to do it.
He looked across at MacIan and said: " Oh, I can't stand this!"
" Can't stand what?"
asked his opponent, eyeing him doubtfully.
" Shall we say the atmosphere?"
replied Turnbull; " one can't use uncivil expressions even to a--deity.
The fact is, I don't like having God for my second."
" Sir!"
said that being in a state of great offence, " in my position I am not used to having my favours refused.
Do you know who I am?"
The editor of _The Atheist_ turned upon him like one who has lost all patience, and exploded: " Yes, you are God, aren't you?"
he said, abruptly, " why do we have two sets of teeth?"
" Teeth?"
spluttered the genteel lunatic; " teeth?"
" Yes," cried Turnbull, advancing on him swiftly and with animated gestures, " why does teething hurt?
Why do growing pains hurt?
Why are measles catching?
Why does a rose have thorns?
Why do rhinoceroses have horns?
Why is the horn on the top of the nose?
Why haven't I a horn on the top of my nose, eh?"
And he struck the bridge of his nose smartly with his forefinger to indicate the place of the omission and then wagged the finger menacingly at the Creator.
" I've often wanted to meet you," he resumed, sternly, after a pause, " to hold you accountable for all the idiocy and cruelty of this muddled and meaningless world of yours.
You make a hundred seeds and only one bears fruit.
You make a million worlds and only one seems inhabited.
What do you mean by it, eh?
What do you mean by it?"
The unhappy lunatic had fallen back before this quite novel form of attack, and lifted his burnt - out cigarette almost like one warding off a blow.
Turnbull went on like a torrent.
" A man died yesterday in Ealing.
You murdered him.
A girl had the toothache in Croydon.
You gave it her.
Fifty sailors were drowned off Selsey Bill.
You scuttled their ship.
What have you got to say for yourself, eh?"
The representative of omnipotence looked as if he had left most of these things to his subordinates; he passed a hand over his wrinkling brow and said in a voice much saner than any he had yet used:
" Well, if you dislike my assistance, of course--perhaps the other gentleman ----"
" The other gentleman," cried Turnbull, scornfully, " is a submissive and loyal and obedient gentleman.
He likes the people who wear crowns, whether of diamonds or of stars.
He believes in the divine right of kings, and it is appropriate enough that he should have the king for his second.
But it is not appropriate to me that I should have God for my second.
God is not good enough.
I dislike and I deny the divine right of kings.
But I dislike more and I deny more the divine right of divinity."
Then after a pause in which he swallowed his passion, he said to MacIan: " You have got the right second, anyhow."
The Highlander did not answer, but stood as if thunderstruck with one long and heavy thought.
Then at last he turned abruptly to his second in the silk hat and said: " Who are you?"
The man in the silk hat blinked and bridled in affected surprise, like one who was in truth accustomed to be doubted.
" I am King Edward VII," he said, with shaky arrogance.
" Do you doubt my word?"
" I do not doubt it in the least," answered MacIan.
" Then, why," said the large man in the silk hat, trembling from head to foot, " why do you wear your hat before the king?"
" Why should I take it off," retorted MacIan, with equal heat, " before a usurper?"
Turnbull swung round on his heel.
" Well, really," he said, " I thought at least you were a loyal subject."
" I am the only loyal subject," answered the Gael.
" For nearly thirty years I have walked these islands and have not found another."
" You are always hard to follow," remarked Turnbull, genially, " and sometimes so much so as to be hardly worth following."
" I alone am loyal," insisted MacIan; " for I alone am in rebellion.
I am ready at any instant to restore the Stuarts.
I am ready at any instant to defy the Hanoverian brood--and I defy it now even when face to face with the actual ruler of the enormous British Empire!"
And folding his arms and throwing back his lean, hawklike face, he haughtily confronted the man with the formal frock - coat and the eccentric elbow.
" What right had you stunted German squires," he cried, " to interfere in a quarrel between Scotch and English and Irish gentlemen?
Who made you, whose fathers could not splutter English while they walked in Whitehall, who made you the judge between the republic of Sidney and the monarchy of Montrose?
What had your sires to do with England that they should have the foul offering of the blood of Derwentwater and the heart of Jimmy Dawson?
Where are the corpses of Culloden?
Where is the blood of Lochiel?"
MacIan advanced upon his opponent with a bony and pointed finger, as if indicating the exact pocket in which the blood of that Cameron was probably kept; and Edward VII fell back a few paces in considerable confusion.
" What good have you ever done to us?"
he continued in harsher and harsher accents, forcing the other back towards the flower - beds.
" What good have you ever done, you race of German sausages?
Yards of barbarian etiquette, to throttle the freedom of aristocracy!
Gas of northern metaphysics to blow up Broad Church bishops like balloons.
Bad pictures and bad manners and pantheism and the Albert Memorial.
Go back to Hanover, you humbug?
Go to ----"
Before the end of this tirade the arrogance of the monarch had entirely given way; he had fairly turned tail and was trundling away down the path.
MacIan strode after him still preaching and flourishing his large, lean hands.
The other two remained in the centre of the lawn--Turnbull in convulsions of laughter, the lunatic in convulsions of disgust.
Almost at the same moment a third figure came stepping swiftly across the lawn.
The advancing figure walked with a stoop, and yet somehow flung his forked and narrow beard forward.
That carefully cut and pointed yellow beard was, indeed, the most emphatic thing about him.
When he clasped his hands behind him, under the tails of his coat, he would wag his beard at a man like a big forefinger.
It performed almost all his gestures; it was more important than the glittering eye - glasses through which he looked or the beautiful bleating voice in which he spoke.
But for the crooked glasses his dress was always exquisite; and but for the smile he was perfectly and perennially depressed.
" Don't you think," said the new - comer, with a sort of supercilious entreaty, " that we had better all come into breakfast?
It is such a mistake to wait for breakfast.
It spoils one's temper so much."
" Quite so," replied Turnbull, seriously.
" There seems almost to have been a little quarrelling here," said the man with the goatish beard.
" It is rather a long story," said Turnbull, smiling.
" Originally, it might be called a phase in the quarrel between science and religion."
The new - comer started slightly, and Turnbull replied to the question on his face.
" Oh, yes," he said, " I am science!"
" I congratulate you heartily," answered the other, " I am Doctor Quayle."
Turnbull's eyes did not move, but he realized that the man in the panama hat had lost all his ease of a landed proprietor and had withdrawn to a distance of thirty yards, where he stood glaring with all the contraction of fear and hatred that can stiffen a cat.
* * *
MacIan was sitting somewhat disconsolately on a stump of tree, his large black head half buried in his large brown hands, when Turnbull strode up to him chewing a cigarette.
He did not look up, but his comrade and enemy addressed him like one who must free himself of his feelings.
" Well, I hope, at any rate," he said, " that you like your precious religion now.
I hope you like the society of this poor devil whom your damned tracts and hymns and priests have driven out of his wits.
Five men in this place, they tell me, five men in this place who might have been fathers of families, and every one of them thinks he is God the Father.
Oh!
you may talk about the ugliness of science, but there is no one here who thinks he is Protoplasm."
" They naturally prefer a bright part," said MacIan, wearily.
" Protoplasm is not worth going mad about."
" At least," said Turnbull, savagely, " it was your Jesus Christ who started all this bosh about being God."
For one instant MacIan opened the eyes of battle; then his tightened lips took a crooked smile and he said, quite calmly:
" No, the idea is older; it was Satan who first said that he was God."
" Then, what," asked Turnbull, very slowly, as he softly picked a flower, " what is the difference between Christ and Satan?"
" It is quite simple," replied the Highlander.
" Christ descended into hell; Satan fell into it."
" Does it make much odds?"
asked the free - thinker.
" It makes all the odds," said the other.
" One of them wanted to go up and went down; the other wanted to go down and went up.
A god can be humble, a devil can only be humbled."
" Why are you always wanting to humble a man?"
asked Turnbull, knitting his brows.
" It affects me as ungenerous."
" Why were you wanting to humble a god when you found him in this garden?"
asked MacIan.
" That was an extreme case of impudence," said Turnbull.
" Granting the man his almighty pretensions, I think he was very modest," said MacIan.
" It is we who are arrogant, who know we are only men.
The ordinary man in the street is more of a monster than that poor fellow; for the man in the street treats himself as God Almighty when he knows he isn't.
He expects the universe to turn round him, though he knows he isn't the centre."
" Well," said Turnbull, sitting down on the grass, " this is a digression, anyhow.
What I want to point out is, that your faith does end in asylums and my science doesn't."
" Doesn't it, by George!"
cried MacIan, scornfully.
" There are a few men here who are mad on God and a few who are mad on the Bible.
But I bet there are many more who are simply mad on madness."
" Do you really believe it?"
asked the other.
" Scores of them, I should say," answered MacIan.
" Fellows who have read medical books or fellows whose fathers and uncles had something hereditary in their heads--the whole air they breathe is mad."
" All the same," said Turnbull, shrewdly, " I bet you haven't found a madman of that sort."
" I bet I have!"
cried Evan, with unusual animation.
" I've been walking about the garden talking to a poor chap all the morning.
He's simply been broken down and driven raving by your damned science.
Talk about believing one is God--why, it's quite an old, comfortable, fireside fancy compared with the sort of things this fellow believes.
He believes that there is a God, but that he is better than God.
He says God will be afraid to face him.
He says one is always progressing beyond the best.
He put his arm in mine and whispered in my ear, as if it were the apocalypse:'Never trust a God that you can't improve on.'"
" What can he have meant?"
said the atheist, with all his logic awake.
" Obviously one should not trust any God that one can improve on."
" It is the way he talks," said MacIan, almost indifferently; " but he says rummier things than that.
He says that a man's doctor ought to decide what woman he marries; and he says that children ought not to be brought up by their parents, because a physical partiality will then distort the judgement of the educator."
" Oh, dear!"
said Turnbull, laughing, " you have certainly come across a pretty bad case, and incidentally proved your own.
I suppose some men do lose their wits through science as through love and other good things."
" And he says," went on MacIan, monotonously, " that he cannot see why anyone should suppose that a triangle is a three - sided figure.
He says that on some higher plane ----"
Turnbull leapt to his feet as by an electric shock.
" I never could have believed," he cried, " that you had humour enough to tell a lie.
You've gone a bit too far, old man, with your little joke.
Even in a lunatic asylum there can't be anybody who, having thought about the matter, thinks that a triangle has not got three sides.
If he exists he must be a new era in human psychology.
But he doesn't exist."
" I will go and fetch him," said MacIan, calmly; " I left the poor fellow wandering about by the nasturtium bed."
MacIan vanished, and in a few moments returned, trailing with him his own discovery among lunatics, who was a slender man with a fixed smile and an unfixed and rolling head.
He had a goatlike beard just long enough to be shaken in a strong wind.
Turnbull sprang to his feet and was like one who is speechless through choking a sudden shout of laughter.
" Why, you great donkey," he shouted, in an ear - shattering whisper, " that's not one of the patients at all.
That's one of the doctors."
Evan looked back at the leering head with the long - pointed beard and repeated the word inquiringly: " One of the doctors?"
" Oh, you know what I mean," said Turnbull, impatiently.
" The medical authorities of the place."
Evan was still staring back curiously at the beaming and bearded creature behind him.
" The mad doctors," said Turnbull, shortly.
" Quite so," said MacIan.
After a rather restless silence Turnbull plucked MacIan by the elbow and pulled him aside.
" For goodness sake," he said, " don't offend this fellow; he may be as mad as ten hatters, if you like, but he has us between his finger and thumb.
This is the very time he appointed to talk with us about our--well, our exeat."
" But what can it matter?"
asked the wondering MacIan.
" He can't keep us in the asylum.
We're not mad."
" Jackass!"
said Turnbull, heartily, " of course we're not mad.
Of course, if we are medically examined and the thing is thrashed out, they will find we are not mad.
But don't you see that if the thing is thrashed out it will mean letters to this reference and telegrams to that; and at the first word of who we are, we shall be taken out of a madhouse, where we may smoke, to a jail, where we mayn't.
No, if we manage this very quietly, he may merely let us out at the front door as stray revellers.
If there's half an hour of inquiry, we are cooked."
MacIan looked at the grass frowningly for a few seconds, and then said in a new, small and childish voice: " I am awfully stupid, Mr. Turnbull; you must be patient with me."
Turnbull caught Evan's elbow again with quite another gesture.
" Come," he cried, with the harsh voice of one who hides emotion, " come and let us be tactful in chorus."
The doctor with the pointed beard was already slanting it forward at a more than usually acute angle, with the smile that expressed expectancy.
" I hope I do not hurry you, gentlemen," he said, with the faintest suggestion of a sneer at their hurried consultation, " but I believe you wanted to see me at half past eleven."
" Quite so!
Quite so!"
said the doctor, hurriedly.
" If you really want to put anything before me, I can give you a few moments in my consulting - room."
He led them rapidly into a small but imposing apartment, which seemed to be built and furnished entirely in red - varnished wood.
There was one desk occupied with carefully docketed papers; and there were several chairs of the red - varnished wood--though of different shape.
All along the wall ran something that might have been a bookcase, only that it was not filled with books, but with flat, oblong slabs or cases of the same polished dark - red consistency.
What those flat wooden cases were they could form no conception.
The doctor sat down with a polite impatience on his professional perch; MacIan remained standing, but Turnbull threw himself almost with luxury into a hard wooden arm - chair.
" This is a most absurd business, Doctor," he said, " and I am ashamed to take up the time of busy professional men with such pranks from outside.
The plain fact is, that he and I and a pack of silly men and girls have organized a game across this part of the country--a sort of combination of hare and hounds and hide and seek--I dare say you've heard of it.
We are the hares, and, seeing your high wall look so inviting, we tumbled over it, and naturally were a little startled with what we found on the other side."
" Quite so!"
said the doctor, mildly.
" I can understand that you were startled."
Turnbull had expected him to ask what place was the headquarters of the new exhilarating game, and who were the male and female enthusiasts who had brought it to such perfection; in fact, Turnbull was busy making up these personal and topographical particulars.
As the doctor did not ask the question, he grew slightly uneasy, and risked the question: " I hope you will accept my assurance that the thing was an accident and that no intrusion was meant."
" Oh, yes, sir," replied the doctor, smiling, " I accept everything that you say."
" In that case," said Turnbull, rising genially, " we must not further interrupt your important duties.
I suppose there will be someone to let us out?"
" No," said the doctor, still smiling steadily and pleasantly, " there will be no one to let you out."
" Can we let ourselves out, then?"
asked Turnbull, in some surprise.
" Why, of course not," said the beaming scientist; " think how dangerous that would be in a place like this."
" Then, how the devil are we to get out?"
cried Turnbull, losing his manners for the first time.
" It is a question of time, of receptivity, and treatment," said the doctor, arching his eyebrows indifferently.
" I do not regard either of your cases as incurable."
And with that the man of the world was struck dumb, and, as in all intolerable moments, the word was with the unworldly.
MacIan took one stride to the table, leant across it, and said: " We can't stop here, we're not mad people!"
" We don't use the crude phrase," said the doctor, smiling at his patent - leather boots.
" But you _can't_ think us mad," thundered MacIan.
" You never saw us before.
You know nothing about us.
You haven't even examined us."
The doctor threw back his head and beard.
" Oh, yes," he said, " very thoroughly."
" But you can't shut a man up on your mere impressions without documents or certificates or anything?"
The doctor got languidly to his feet.
" Quite so," he said.
" You certainly ought to see the documents."
He went across to the curious mock book - shelves and took down one of the flat mahogany cases.
This he opened with a curious key at his watch - chain, and laying back a flap revealed a quire of foolscap covered with close but quite clear writing.
The first three words were in such large copy - book hand that they caught the eye even at a distance.
They were: " MacIan, Evan Stuart."
Evan bent his angry eagle face over it; yet something blurred it and he could never swear he saw it distinctly.
He saw something that began: " Prenatal influences predisposing to mania.
Grandfather believed in return of the Stuarts.
Mother carried bone of St. Eulalia with which she touched children in sickness.
Marked religious mania at early age ----"
Evan fell back and fought for his speech.
" Oh!"
he burst out at last.
" Oh!
if all this world I have walked in had been as sane as my mother was."
Then he compressed his temples with his hands, as if to crush them.
And then lifted suddenly a face that looked fresh and young, as if he had dipped and washed it in some holy well.
" Very well," he cried; " I will take the sour with the sweet.
I will pay the penalty of having enjoyed God in this monstrous modern earth that cannot enjoy man or beast.
I will die happy in your madhouse, only because I know what I know.
Let it be granted, then--MacIan is a mystic; MacIan is a maniac.
But this honest shopkeeper and editor whom I have dragged on my inhuman escapades, you cannot keep him.
He will go free, thank God, he is not down in any damned document.
His ancestor, I am certain, did not die at Culloden.
His mother, I swear, had no relics.
Let my friend out of your front door, and as for me ----"
The doctor had already gone across to the laden shelves, and after a few minutes'short - sighted peering, had pulled down another parallelogram of dark - red wood.
This also he unlocked on the table, and with the same unerring egotistic eye on of the company saw the words, written in large letters: " Turnbull, James."
Hitherto Turnbull himself had somewhat scornfully surrendered his part in the whole business; but he was too honest and unaffected not to start at his own name.
After the name, the inscription appeared to run: " Unique case of Eleutheromania.
Parentage, as so often in such cases, prosaic and healthy.
Eleutheromaniac signs occurred early, however, leading him to attach himself to the individualist Bradlaugh.
Recent outbreak of pure anarchy ----"
Turnbull slammed the case to, almost smashing it, and said with a burst of savage laughter: " Oh!
come along, MacIan; I don't care so much, even about getting out of the madhouse, if only we get out of this room.
You were right enough, MacIan, when you spoke about--about mad doctors."
Somehow they found themselves outside in the cool, green garden, and then, after a stunned silence, Turnbull said: " There is one thing that was puzzling me all the time, and I understand it now."
" What do you mean?"
asked Evan.
" No man by will or wit," answered Turnbull, " can get out of this garden; and yet we got into it merely by jumping over a garden wall.
The whole thing explains itself easily enough.
That undefended wall was an open trap.
It was a trap laid for two celebrated lunatics.
They saw us get in right enough.
And they will see that we do not get out."
Evan gazed at the garden wall, gravely for more than a minute, and then he nodded without a word.
XV.
THE DREAM OF MACIAN
The system of espionage in the asylum was so effective and complete that in practice the patients could often enjoy a sense of almost complete solitude.
They could stray up so near to the wall in an apparently unwatched garden as to find it easy to jump over it.
They would only have found the error of their calculations if they had tried to jump.
Under this insulting liberty, in this artificial loneliness, Evan MacIan was in the habit of creeping out into the garden after dark--especially upon moonlight nights.
The moon, indeed, was for him always a positive magnet in a manner somewhat hard to explain to those of a robuster attitude.
Evidently, Apollo is to the full as poetical as Diana; but it is not a question of poetry in the matured and intellectual sense of the word.
It is a question of a certain solid and childish fancy.
The sun is in the strict and literal sense invisible; that is to say, that by our bodily eyes it cannot properly be seen.
But the moon is a much simpler thing; a naked and nursery sort of thing.
It hangs in the sky quite solid and quite silver and quite useless; it is one huge celestial snowball.
It was at least some such infantile facts and fancies which led Evan again and again during his dehumanized imprisonment to go out as if to shoot the moon.
He was out in the garden on one such luminous and ghostly night, when the steady moonshine toned down all the colours of the garden until almost the strongest tints to be seen were the strong soft blue of the sky and the large lemon moon.
He was walking with his face turned up to it in that rather half - witted fashion which might have excused the error of his keepers; and as he gazed he became aware of something little and lustrous flying close to the lustrous orb, like a bright chip knocked off the moon.
At first he thought it was a mere sparkle or refraction in his own eyesight; he blinked and cleared his eyes.
Then he thought it was a falling star; only it did not fall.
It jerked awkwardly up and down in a way unknown among meteors and strangely reminiscent of the works of man.
The next moment the thing drove right across the moon, and from being silver upon blue, suddenly became black upon silver; then although it passed the field of light in a flash its outline was unmistakable though eccentric.
It was a flying ship.
The vessel took one long and sweeping curve across the sky and came nearer and nearer to MacIan, like a steam - engine coming round a bend.
It was of pure white steel, and in the moon it gleamed like the armour of Sir Galahad.
The simile of such virginity is not inappropriate; for, as it grew larger and larger and lower and lower, Evan saw that the only figure in it was robed in white from head to foot and crowned with snow - white hair, on which the moonshine lay like a benediction.
The figure stood so still that he could easily have supposed it to be a statue.
Indeed, he thought it was until it spoke.
" Evan," said the voice, and it spoke with the simple authority of some forgotten father revisiting his children, " you have remained here long enough, and your sword is wanted elsewhere."
" Wanted for what?"
asked the young man, accepting the monstrous event with a queer and clumsy naturalness; " what is my sword wanted for?"
" For all that you hold dear," said the man standing in the moonlight; " for the thrones of authority and for all ancient loyalty to law."
Evan looked up at the lunar orb again as if in irrational appeal--a moon calf bleating to his mother the moon.
But the face of Luna seemed as witless as his own; there is no help in nature against the supernatural; and he looked again at the tall marble figure that might have been made out of solid moonlight.
Then he said in a loud voice: " Who are you?"
and the next moment was seized by a sort of choking terror lest his question should be answered.
But the unknown preserved an impenetrable silence for a long space and then only answered: " I must not say who I am until the end of the world; but I may say what I am.
I am the law."
And he lifted his head so that the moon smote full upon his beautiful and ancient face.
The face was the face of a Greek god grown old, but not grown either weak or ugly; there was nothing to break its regularity except a rather long chin with a cleft in it, and this rather added distinction than lessened beauty.
His strong, well - opened eyes were very brilliant but quite colourless like steel.
MacIan was one of those to whom a reverence and self - submission in ritual come quite easy, and are ordinary things.
It was not artificial in him to bend slightly to this solemn apparition or to lower his voice when he said: " Do you bring me some message?"
" I do bring you a message," answered the man of moon and marble.
" The king has returned."
Evan did not ask for or require any explanation.
" I suppose you can take me to the war," he said, and the silent silver figure only bowed its head again.
MacIan clambered into the silver boat, and it rose upward to the stars.
To say that it rose to the stars is no mere metaphor, for the sky had cleared to that occasional and astonishing transparency in which one can see plainly both stars and moon.
As the white - robed figure went upward in his white chariot, he said quite quietly to Evan: " There is an answer to all the folly talked about equality.
Some stars are big and some small; some stand still and some circle around them as they stand.
They can be orderly, but they cannot be equal."
" They are all very beautiful," said Evan, as if in doubt.
" They are all beautiful," answered the other, " because each is in his place and owns his superior.
And now England will be beautiful after the same fashion.
The earth will be as beautiful as the heavens, because our kings have come back to us."
" The Stuart ----" began Evan, earnestly.
" Yes," answered the old man, " that which has returned is Stuart and yet older than Stuart.
It is Capet and Plantagenet and Pendragon.
It is all that good old time of which proverbs tell, that golden reign of Saturn against which gods and men were rebels.
It is all that was ever lost by insolence and overwhelmed in rebellion.
It is your own forefather, MacIan with the broken sword, bleeding without hope at Culloden.
It is Charles refusing to answer the questions of the rebel court.
It is Mary of the magic face confronting the gloomy and grasping peers and the boorish moralities of Knox.
It is Richard, the last Plantagenet, giving his crown to Bolingbroke as to a common brigand.
It is Arthur, overwhelmed in Lyonesse by heathen armies and dying in the mist, doubtful if ever he shall return."
" But now ----" said Evan, in a low voice.
" But now!"
said the old man; " he has returned."
" Is the war still raging?"
asked MacIan.
" It rages like the pit itself beyond the sea whither I am taking you," answered the other.
" But in England the king enjoys his own again.
The people are once more taught and ruled as is best; they are happy knights, happy squires, happy servants, happy serfs, if you will; but free at last of that load of vexation and lonely vanity which was called being a citizen."
" Is England, indeed, so secure?"
asked Evan.
" Look out and see," said the guide.
" I fancy you have seen this place before."
They were driving through the air towards one region of the sky where the hollow of night seemed darkest and which was quite without stars.
But against this black background there sprang up, picked out in glittering silver, a dome and a cross.
It seemed that it was really newly covered with silver, which in the strong moonlight was like white flame.
But, however, covered or painted, Evan had no difficult in knowing the place again.
He saw the great thoroughfare that sloped upward to the base of its huge pedestal of steps.
And he wondered whether the little shop was still by the side of it and whether its window had been mended.
As the flying ship swept round the dome he observed other alterations.
Round the second gallery, at the base of the dome, ran a second rank of such images, and Evan thought there was another round the steps below.
When they came closer he saw that they were figures in complete armour of steel or silver, each with a naked sword, point upward; and then he saw one of the swords move.
These were not statues but an armed order of chivalry thrown in three circles round the cross.
MacIan drew in his breath, as children do at anything they think utterly beautiful.
For he could imagine nothing that so echoed his own visions of pontifical or chivalric art as this white dome sitting like a vast silver tiara over London, ringed with a triple crown of swords.
As they went sailing down Ludgate Hill, Evan saw that the state of the streets fully answered his companion's claim about the reintroduction of order.
All the old blackcoated bustle with its cockney vivacity and vulgarity had disappeared.
Groups of labourers, quietly but picturesquely clad, were passing up and down in sufficiently large numbers; but it required but a few mounted men to keep the streets in order.
The mounted men were not common policemen, but knights with spurs and plume whose smooth and splendid armour glittered like diamond rather than steel.
Only in one place--at the corner of Bouverie Street--did there appear to be a moment's confusion, and that was due to hurry rather than resistance.
But one old grumbling man did not get out of the way quick enough, and the man on horseback struck him, not severely, across the shoulders with the flat of his sword.
" The soldier had no business to do that," said MacIan, sharply.
" The old man was moving as quickly as he could."
" We attach great importance to discipline in the streets," said the man in white, with a slight smile.
" Discipline is not so important as justice," said MacIan.
The other did not answer.
Then after a swift silence that took them out across St. James's Park, he said: " The people must be taught to obey; they must learn their own ignorance.
And I am not sure," he continued, turning his back on Evan and looking out of the prow of the ship into the darkness, " I am not sure that I agree with your little maxim about justice.
Discipline for the whole society is surely more important than justice to an individual."
Evan, who was also leaning over the edge, swung round with startling suddenness and stared at the other's back.
" Discipline for society ----" he repeated, very staccato, " more important--justice to individual?"
Then after a long silence he called out: " Who and what are you?"
" I am an angel," said the white - robed figure, without turning round.
" You are not a Catholic," said MacIan.
The other seemed to take no notice, but reverted to the main topic.
" In our armies up in heaven we learn to put a wholesome fear into subordinates."
MacIan sat craning his neck forward with an extraordinary and unaccountable eagerness.
" Go on!"
he cried, twisting and untwisting his long, bony fingers, " go on!"
" Besides," continued he, in the prow, " you must allow for a certain high spirit and haughtiness in the superior type."
" Go on!"
said Evan, with burning eyes.
" Just as the sight of sin offends God," said the unknown, " so does the sight of ugliness offend Apollo.
The beautiful and princely must, of necessity, be impatient with the squalid and ----"
" Why, you great fool!"
cried MacIan, rising to the top of his tremendous stature, " did you think I would have doubted only for that rap with a sword?
I know that noble orders have bad knights, that good knights have bad tempers, that the Church has rough priests and coarse cardinals; I have known it ever since I was born.
You fool!
you had only to say,'Yes, it is rather a shame,' and I should have forgotten the affair.
But I saw on your mouth the twitch of your infernal sophistry; I knew that something was wrong with you and your cathedrals.
Something is wrong; everything is wrong.
You are not an angel.
That is not a church.
It is not the rightful king who has come home."
" That is unfortunate," said the other, in a quiet but hard voice, " because you are going to see his Majesty."
" No," said MacIan, " I am going to jump over the side."
" Do you desire death?"
" No," said Evan, quite composedly, " I desire a miracle."
" From whom do you ask it?
To whom do you appeal?"
said his companion, sternly.
" You have betrayed the king, renounced his cross on the cathedral, and insulted an archangel."
" I appeal to God," said Evan, and sprang up and stood upon the edge of the swaying ship.
The being in the prow turned slowly round; he looked at Evan with eyes which were like two suns, and put his hand to his mouth just too late to hide an awful smile.
" And how do you know," he said, " how do you know that I am not God?"
MacIan screamed.
" Ah!"
he cried.
" Now I know who you really are.
You are not God.
You are not one of God's angels.
But you were once."
The being's hand dropped from his mouth and Evan dropped out of the car.
XVI.
THE DREAM OF TURNBULL
Turnbull was walking rather rampantly up and down the garden on a gusty evening chewing his cigar and in that mood when every man suppresses an instinct to spit.
He was not, as a rule, a man much acquainted with moods; and the storms and sunbursts of MacIan's soul passed before him as an impressive but unmeaning panorama, like the anarchy of Highland scenery.
Turnbull was one of those men in whom a continuous appetite and industry of the intellect leave the emotions very simple and steady.
His heart was in the right place; but he was quite content to leave it there.
It was his head that was his hobby.
But even the cheerful inner life of a logician may be upset by a lunatic asylum, to say nothing of whiffs of memory from a lady in Jersey, and the little red - bearded man on this windy evening was in a dangerous frame of mind.
Plain and positive as he was, the influence of earth and sky may have been greater on him than he imagined; and the weather that walked the world at that moment was as red and angry as Turnbull.
Long strips and swirls of tattered and tawny cloud were dragged downward to the west exactly as torn red raiment would be dragged.
And so strong and pitiless was the wind that it whipped away fragments of red - flowering bushes or of copper beech, and drove them also across the garden, a drift of red leaves, like the leaves of autumn, as in parody of the red and driven rags of cloud.
There was a sense in earth and heaven as of everything breaking up, and all the revolutionist in Turnbull rejoiced that it was breaking up.
The trees were breaking up under the wind, even in the tall strength of their bloom: the clouds were breaking up and losing even their large heraldic shapes.
Shards and shreds of copper cloud split off continually and floated by themselves, and for some reason the truculent eye of Turnbull was attracted to one of these careering cloudlets, which seemed to him to career in an exaggerated manner.
Also it kept its shape, which is unusual with clouds shaken off; also its shape was of an odd sort.
Turnbull continued to stare at it, and in a little time occurred that crucial instant when a thing, however incredible, is accepted as a fact.
The copper cloud was tumbling down towards the earth, like some gigantic leaf from the copper beeches.
And as it came nearer it was evident, first, that it was not a cloud, and, second, that it was not itself of the colour of copper; only, being burnished like a mirror, it had reflected the red - brown colours of the burning clouds.
As the thing whirled like a windswept leaf down towards the wall of the garden it was clear that it was some sort of air - ship made of metal, and slapping the air with big broad fins of steel.
Turnbull's first movement after sixty motionless seconds was to turn round and look at the large, luxuriant parallelogram of the garden and the long, low rectangular building beyond.
There was not a soul or a stir of life within sight.
And he had a quite meaningless sensation, as if there never really had been any one else there except he since the foundation of the world.
Stiffening in himself the masculine but mirthless courage of the atheist, he drew a little nearer to the wall and, catching the man at a slightly different angle of the evening light, could see his face and figure quite plain.
Two facts about him stood out in the picked colours of some piratical schoolboy's story.
The first was that his lean brown body was bare to the belt of his loose white trousers; the other that through hygiene, affectation, or whatever other cause, he had a scarlet handkerchief tied tightly but somewhat aslant across his brow.
After these two facts had become emphatic, others appeared sufficiently important.
One was that under the scarlet rag the hair was plentiful, but white as with the last snows of mortality.
Another was that under the mop of white and senile hair the face was strong, handsome, and smiling, with a well - cut profile and a long cloven chin.
" What do you want?"
shouted Turnbull.
" I want you, Jimmy," said the eccentric man on the wall, and with the very word he had let himself down with a leap on to the centre of the lawn, where he bounded once literally like an India - rubber ball and then stood grinning with his legs astride.
" Excuse my not being in evening dress," said the newcomer with an urbane smile.
" We scientific men, you know--I have to work my own engines--electrical engineer--very hot work."
" Look here," said Turnbull, sturdily clenching his fists in his trousers pockets, " I am bound to expect lunatics inside these four walls; but I do bar their coming from outside, bang out of the sunset clouds."
" And yet you came from the outside, too, Jim," said the stranger in a voice almost affectionate.
" What do you want?"
asked Turnbull, with an explosion of temper as sudden as a pistol shot.
" I have already told you," said the man, lowering his voice and speaking with evident sincerity; " I want you."
" What do you want with me?"
" I want exactly what you want," said the new - comer with a new gravity.
" I want the Revolution."
Turnbull looked at the fire - swept sky and the wind - stricken woodlands, and kept on repeating the word voicelessly to himself--the word that did indeed so thoroughly express his mood of rage as it had been among those red clouds and rocking tree - tops.
" Revolution!"
he said to himself.
" The Revolution--yes, that is what I want right enough--anything, so long as it is a Revolution."
To some cause he could never explain he found himself completing the sentence on the top of the wall, having automatically followed the stranger so far.
But when the stranger silently indicated the rope that led to the machine, he found himself pausing and saying: " I can't leave MacIan behind in this den."
" We are going to destroy the Pope and all the kings," said the new - comer.
" Would it be wiser to take him with us?"
Somehow the muttering Turnbull found himself in the flying ship also, and it swung up into the sunset.
" All the great rebels have been very little rebels," said the man with the red scarf.
" They have been like fourth - form boys who sometimes venture to hit a fifth - form boy.
That was all the worth of their French Revolution and regicide.
The boys never really dared to defy the schoolmaster."
" Whom do you mean by the schoolmaster?"
asked Turnbull.
" You know whom I mean," answered the strange man, as he lay back on cushions and looked up into the angry sky.
They seemed rising into stronger and stronger sunlight, as if it were sunrise rather than sunset.
But when they looked down at the earth they saw it growing darker and darker.
The lunatic asylum in its large rectangular grounds spread below them in a foreshortened and infantile plan, and looked for the first time the grotesque thing that it was.
But the clear colours of the plan were growing darker every moment.
The masses of rose or rhododendron deepened from crimson to violet.
The maze of gravel pathways faded from gold to brown.
By the time they had risen a few hundred feet higher nothing could be seen of that darkening landscape except the lines of lighted windows, each one of which, at least, was the light of one lost intelligence.
But on them as they swept upward better and braver winds seemed to blow, and on them the ruby light of evening seemed struck, and splashed like red spurts from the grapes of Dionysus.
Below them the fallen lights were literally the fallen stars of servitude.
And above them all the red and raging clouds were like the leaping flags of liberty.
The man with the cloven chin seemed to have a singular power of understanding thoughts; for, as Turnbull felt the whole universe tilt and turn over his head, the stranger said exactly the right thing.
" Doesn't it seem as if everything were being upset?"
said he; " and if once everything is upset, He will be upset on top of it."
Then, as Turnbull made no answer, his host continued:
" That is the really fine thing about space.
It is topsy - turvy.
You have only to climb far enough towards the morning star to feel that you are coming down to it.
You have only to dive deep enough into the abyss to feel that you are rising.
That is the only glory of this universe--it is a giddy universe."
Then, as Turnbull was still silent, he added:
" The heavens are full of revolution--of the real sort of revolution.
All the high things are sinking low and all the big things looking small.
All the people who think they are aspiring find they are falling head foremost.
And all the people who think they are condescending find they are climbing up a precipice.
That is the intoxication of space.
That is the only joy of eternity--doubt.
There is only one pleasure the angels can possibly have in flying, and that is, that they do not know whether they are on their head or their heels."
Then, finding his companion still mute, he fell himself into a smiling and motionless meditation, at the end of which he said suddenly:
" So MacIan converted you?"
Turnbull sprang up as if spurning the steel car from under his feet.
" Converted me!"
he cried.
" What the devil do you mean?
I have known him for a month, and I have not retracted a single ----"
" This Catholicism is a curious thing," said the man of the cloven chin in uninterrupted reflectiveness, leaning his elegant elbows over the edge of the vessel; " it soaks and weakens men without their knowing it, just as I fear it has soaked and weakened you."
Turnbull stood in an attitude which might well have meant pitching the other man out of the flying ship.
" I am an atheist," he said, in a stifled voice.
" I have always been an atheist.
I am still an atheist."
Then, addressing the other's indolent and indifferent back, he cried: " In God's name what do you mean?"
And the other answered without turning round:
" I mean nothing in God's name."
Turnbull spat over the edge of the car and fell back furiously into his seat.
The other continued still unruffled, and staring over the edge idly as an angler stares down at a stream.
" The truth is that we never thought that you could have been caught," he said; " we counted on you as the one red - hot revolutionary left in the world.
But, of course, these men like MacIan are awfully clever, especially when they pretend to be stupid."
Turnbull leapt up again in a living fury and cried: " What have I got to do with MacIan?
I believe all I ever believed, and disbelieve all I ever disbelieved.
What does all this mean, and what do you want with me here?"
Then for the first time the other lifted himself from the edge of the car and faced him.
" I have brought you here," he answered, " to take part in the last war of the world."
" The last war!"
repeated Turnbull, even in his dazed state a little touchy about such a dogma; " how do you know it will be the last?"
The man laid himself back in his reposeful attitude, and said:
" It is the last war, because if it does not cure the world for ever, it will destroy it."
" What do you mean?"
" I only mean what you mean," answered the unknown in a temperate voice.
" What was it that you always meant on those million and one nights when you walked outside your Ludgate Hill shop and shook your hand in the air?"
" Still I do not see," said Turnbull, stubbornly.
" You will soon," said the other, and abruptly bent downward one iron handle of his huge machine.
The engine stopped, stooped, and dived almost as deliberately as a man bathing; in their downward rush they swept within fifty yards of a big bulk of stone that Turnbull knew only too well.
The last red anger of the sunset was ended; the dome of heaven was dark; the lanes of flaring light in the streets below hardly lit up the base of the building.
But he saw that it was St. Paul's Cathedral, and he saw that on the top of it the ball was still standing erect, but the cross was stricken and had fallen sideways.
Then only he cared to look down into the streets, and saw that they were inflamed with uproar and tossing passions.
" We arrive at a happy moment," said the man steering the ship.
" The insurgents are bombarding the city, and a cannon - ball has just hit the cross.
Many of the insurgents are simple people, and they naturally regard it as a happy omen."
" Quite so," said Turnbull, in a rather colourless voice.
" Yes," replied the other.
" I thought you would be glad to see your prayer answered.
Of course I apologize for the word prayer."
" Don't mention it," said Turnbull.
The flying ship had come down upon a sort of curve, and was now rising again.
The higher and higher it rose the broader and broader became the scenes of flame and desolation underneath.
Ludgate Hill indeed had been an uncaptured and comparatively quiet height, altered only by the startling coincidence of the cross fallen awry.
All the other thoroughfares on all sides of that hill were full of the pulsation and the pain of battle, full of shaking torches and shouting faces.
When at length they had risen high enough to have a bird's - eye view of the whole campaign, Turnbull was already intoxicated.
He had smelt gunpowder, which was the incense of his own revolutionary religion.
" Have the people really risen?"
he asked, breathlessly.
" What are they fighting about?"
" The programme is rather elaborate," said his entertainer with some indifference.
" I think Dr. Hertz drew it up."
Turnbull wrinkled his forehead.
" Are all the poor people with the Revolution?"
he asked.
The other shrugged his shoulders.
" All the instructed and class - conscious part of them without exception," he replied.
" There were certainly a few districts; in fact, we are passing over them just now ----"
Turnbull looked down and saw that the polished car was literally lit up from underneath by the far - flung fires from below.
Underneath whole squares and solid districts were in flames, like prairies or forests on fire.
" Dr. Hertz has convinced everybody," said Turnbull's cicerone in a smooth voice, " that nothing can really be done with the real slums.
His celebrated maxim has been quite adopted.
I mean the three celebrated sentences:'No man should be unemployed.
Employ the employables.
Destroy the unemployables.'"
There was a silence, and then Turnbull said in a rather strained voice: " And do I understand that this good work is going on under here?"
" Going on splendidly," replied his companion in the heartiest voice.
" You see, these people were much too tired and weak even to join the social war.
They were a definite hindrance to it."
" And so you are simply burning them out?"
" It _does_ seem absurdly simple," said the man, with a beaming smile, " when one thinks of all the worry and talk about helping a hopeless slave population, when the future obviously was only crying to be rid of them.
There are happy babes unborn ready to burst the doors when these drivellers are swept away."
" Will you permit me to say," said Turnbull, after reflection, " that I don't like all this?"
" And will you permit me to say," said the other, with a snap, " that I don't like Mr. Evan MacIan?"
Somewhat to the speaker's surprise this did not inflame the sensitive sceptic; he had the air of thinking thoroughly, and then he said: " No, I don't think it's my friend MacIan that taught me that.
I think I should always have said that I don't like this.
These people have rights."
" Rights!"
repeated the unknown in a tone quite indescribable.
Then he added with a more open sneer: " Perhaps they also have souls."
" They have lives!"
said Turnbull, sternly; " that is quite enough for me.
I understood you to say that you thought life sacred."
" Yes, indeed!"
cried his mentor with a sort of idealistic animation.
" Yes, indeed!
Life is sacred--but lives are not sacred.
We are improving Life by removing lives.
Can you, as a free - thinker, find any fault in that?"
" Yes," said Turnbull with brevity.
" Yet you applaud tyrannicide," said the stranger with rationalistic gaiety.
" How inconsistent!
It really comes to this: You approve of taking away life from those to whom it is a triumph and a pleasure.
But you will not take away life from those to whom it is a burden and a toil."
Turnbull rose to his feet in the car with considerable deliberation, but his face seemed oddly pale.
The other went on with enthusiasm.
" Life, yes, Life is indeed sacred!"
he cried; " but new lives for old!
Good lives for bad!
On that very place where now there sprawls one drunken wastrel of a pavement artist more or less wishing he were dead--on that very spot there shall in the future be living pictures; there shall be golden girls and boys leaping in the sun."
Turnbull, still standing up, opened his lips.
" Will you put me down, please?"
he said, quite calmly, like on stopping an omnibus.
" Put you down--what do you mean?"
cried his leader.
" I am taking you to the front of the revolutionary war, where you will be one of the first of the revolutionary leaders."
" Thank you," replied Turnbull with the same painful constraint.
" I have heard about your revolutionary war, and I think on the whole that I would rather be anywhere else."
" Do you want to be taken to a monastery," snarled the other, " with MacIan and his winking Madonnas."
" I want to be taken to a madhouse," said Turnbull distinctly, giving the direction with a sort of precision.
" I want to go back to exactly the same lunatic asylum from which I came."
" Why?"
asked the unknown.
" Because I want a little sane and wholesome society," answered Turnbull.
There was a long and peculiar silence, and then the man driving the flying machine said quite coolly: " I won't take you back."
And then Turnbull said equally coolly: " Then I'll jump out of the car."
The unknown rose to his full height, and the expression in his eyes seemed to be made of ironies behind ironies, as two mirrors infinitely reflect each other.
At last he said, very gravely: " Do you think I am the devil?"
" Yes," said Turnbull, violently.
" For I think the devil is a dream, and so are you.
I don't believe in you or your flying ship or your last fight of the world.
It is all a nightmare.
I say as a fact of dogma and faith that it is all a nightmare.
And I will be a martyr for my faith as much as St. Catherine, for I will jump out of this ship and risk waking up safe in bed."
After swaying twice with the swaying vessel he dived over the side as one dives into the sea.
For some incredible moments stars and space and planets seemed to shoot up past him as the sparks fly upward; and yet in that sickening descent he was full of some unnatural happiness.
He could connect it with no idea except one that half escaped him--what Evan had said of the difference between Christ and Satan; that it was by Christ's own choice that He descended into hell.
When he again realized anything, he was lying on his elbow on the lawn of the lunatic asylum, and the last red of the sunset had not yet disappeared.
XVII.
THE IDIOT
Evan MacIan was standing a few yards off looking at him in absolute silence.
He had not the moral courage to ask MacIan if there had been anything astounding in the manner of his coming there, nor did MacIan seem to have any question to ask, or perhaps any need to ask it.
The two men came slowly towards each other, and found the same expression on each other's faces.
Then, for the first time in all their acquaintance, they shook hands.
Almost as if this were a kind of unconscious signal, it brought Dr. Quayle bounding out of a door and running across the lawn.
" Oh, there you are!"
he exclaimed with a relieved giggle.
" Will you come inside, please?
I want to speak to you both."
They followed him into his shiny wooden office where their damning record was kept.
Dr. Quayle sat down on a swivel chair and swung round to face them.
His carved smile had suddenly disappeared.
" I will be plain with you gentlemen," he said, abruptly; " you know quite well we do our best for everybody here.
Your cases have been under special consideration, and the Master himself has decided that you ought to be treated specially and--er--under somewhat simpler conditions."
" You mean treated worse, I suppose," said Turnbull, gruffly.
The doctor did not reply, and MacIan said: " I expected this."
His eyes had begun to glow.
The doctor answered, looking at his desk and playing with a key: " Well, in certain cases that give anxiety--it is often better ----"
" Give anxiety," said Turnbull, fiercely.
" Confound your impudence!
What do you mean?
You imprison two perfectly sane men in a madhouse because you have made up a long word.
They take it in good temper, walk and talk in your garden like monks who have found a vocation, are civil even to you, you damned druggists'hack!
Behave not only more sanely than any of your patients, but more sanely than half the sane men outside, and you have the soul - stifling cheek to say that they give anxiety."
" The head of the asylum has settled it all," said Dr. Quayle, still looking down.
MacIan took one of his immense strides forward and stood over the doctor with flaming eyes.
" If the head has settled it let the head announce it," he said.
" I won't take it from you.
I believe you to be a low, gibbering degenerate.
Let us see the head of the asylum."
" See the head of the asylum," repeated Dr. Quayle.
" Certainly not."
The tall Highlander, bending over him, put one hand on his shoulder with fatherly interest.
" You don't seem to appreciate the peculiar advantages of my position as a lunatic," he said.
" I could kill you with my left hand before such a rat as you could so much as squeak.
And I wouldn't be hanged for it."
" I certainly agree with Mr. MacIan," said Turnbull with sobriety and perfect respectfulness, " that you had better let us see the head of the institution."
Dr. Quayle got to his feet in a mixture of sudden hysteria and clumsy presence of mind.
" Oh, certainly," he said with a weak laugh.
" You can see the head of the asylum if you particularly want to."
He almost ran out of the room, and the two followed swiftly on his flying coat tails.
He knocked at an ordinary varnished door in the corridor.
When a voice said, " Come in," MacIan's breath went hissing back through his teeth into his chest.
Turnbull was more impetuous, and opened the door.
It was a neat and well - appointed room entirely lined with a medical library.
It was only for a flash that his face was thus lifted.
Then he bent his silver head over his notes once more, and said, without looking up again:
" I told you, Dr. Quayle, that these men were to go to cells B and C."
Turnbull and MacIan looked at each other, and said more than they could ever say with tongues or swords.
Among other things they said that to that particular Head of the institution it was a waste of time to appeal, and they followed Dr. Quayle out of the room.
The instant they stepped out into the corridor four sturdy figures stepped from four sides, pinioned them, and ran them along the galleries.
They might very likely have thrown their captors right and left had they been inclined to resist, but for some nameless reason they were more inclined to laugh.
A mixture of mad irony with childish curiosity made them feel quite inclined to see what next twist would be taken by their imbecile luck.
They were dragged down countless cold avenues lined with glazed tiles, different only in being of different lengths and set at different angles.
They were so many and so monotonous that to escape back by them would have been far harder than fleeing from the Hampton Court maze.
Only the fact that windows grew fewer, coming at longer intervals, and the fact that when the windows did come they seemed shadowed and let in less light, showed that they were winding into the core or belly of some enormous building.
After a little time the glazed corridors began to be lit by electricity.
At last, when they had walked nearly a mile in those white and polished tunnels, they came with quite a shock to the futile finality of a cul - de - sac.
All that white and weary journey ended suddenly in an oblong space and a blank white wall.
But in the white wall there were two iron doors painted white on which were written, respectively, in neat black capitals B and C.
" You go in here, sir," said the leader of the officials, quite respectfully, " and you in here."
But before the doors had clanged upon their dazed victims, MacIan had been able to say to Turnbull with a strange drawl of significance: " I wonder who A is."
Turnbull made an automatic struggle before he allowed himself to be thrown into the cell.
Hence it happened that he was the last to enter, and was still full of the exhilaration of the adventures for at least five minutes after the echo of the clanging door had died away.
Then, when silence had sunk deep and nothing happened for two and a half hours, it suddenly occurred to him that this was the end of his life.
He was hidden and sealed up in this little crack of stone until the flesh should fall off his bones.
He was dead, and the world had won.
His cell was of an oblong shape, but very long in comparison with its width.
It was just wide enough to permit the arms to be fully extended with the dumb - bells, which were hung up on the left wall, very dusty.
It was, however, long enough for a man to walk one thirty - fifth part of a mile if he traversed it entirely.
On the same principle a row of fixed holes, quite close together, let in to the cells by pipes what was alleged to be the freshest air.
For these great scientific organizers insisted that a man should be healthy even if he was miserable.
They provided a walk long enough to give him exercise and holes large enough to give him oxygen.
There their interest in human nature suddenly ceased.
It seemed never to have occurred to them that the benefit of exercise belongs partly to the benefit of liberty.
They had not entertained the suggestion that the open air is only one of the advantages of the open sky.
They administered air in secret, but in sufficient doses, as if it were a medicine.
They suggested walking, as if no man had ever felt inclined to walk.
Above all, the asylum authorities insisted on their own extraordinary cleanliness.
Every morning, while Turnbull was still half asleep on his iron bedstead which was lifted half - way up the wall and clamped to it with iron, four sluices or metal mouths opened above him at the four corners of the chamber and washed it white of any defilement.
Turnbull's solitary soul surged up against this sickening daily solemnity.
" I am buried alive!"
he cried, bitterly; " they have hidden me under mountains.
I shall be here till I rot.
Why the blazes should it matter to them whether I am dirty or clean."
Every morning and evening an iron hatchway opened in his oblong cell, and a brown hairy hand or two thrust in a plate of perfectly cooked lentils and a big bowl of cocoa.
He was not underfed any more than he was underexercised or asphyxiated.
He had ample walking space, ample air, ample and even filling food.
The only objection was that he had nothing to walk towards, nothing to feast about, and no reason whatever for drawing the breath of life.
Even the shape of his cell especially irritated him.
It was a long, narrow parallelogram, which had a flat wall at one end and ought to have had a flat wall at the other; but that end was broken by a wedge or angle of space, like the prow of a ship.
After three days of silence and cocoa, this angle at the end began to infuriate Turnbull.
It maddened him to think that two lines came together and pointed at nothing.
After the fifth day he was reckless, and poked his head into the corner.
After twenty - five days he almost broke his head against it.
Then he became quite cool and stupid again, and began to examine it like a sort of Robinson Crusoe.
Almost unconsciously it was his instinct to examine outlets, and he found himself paying particular attention to the row of holes which let in the air into his last house of life.
He soon discovered that these air - holes were all the ends and mouths of long leaden tubes which doubtless carried air from some remote watering - place near Margate.
One evening while he was engaged in the fifth investigation he noticed something like twilight in one of these dumb mouths, as compared with the darkness of the others.
Thrusting his finger in as far as it would go, he found a hole and flapping edge in the tube.
This he rent open and instantly saw a light behind; it was at least certain that he had struck some other cell.
It is a characteristic of all things now called " efficient ", which means mechanical and calculated, that if they go wrong at all they go entirely wrong.
There is no power of retrieving a defeat, as in simpler and more living organisms.
A strong gun can conquer a strong elephant, but a wounded elephant can easily conquer a broken gun.
Thus the Prussian monarchy in the eighteenth century, or now, can make a strong army merely by making the men afraid.
But it does it with the permanent possibility that the men may some day be more afraid of their enemies than of their officers.
Thus the drainage in our cities so long as it is quite solid means a general safety, but if there is one leak it means concentrated poison--an explosion of deathly germs like dynamite, a spirit of stink.
Thus, indeed, all that excellent machinery which is the swiftest thing on earth in saving human labour is also the slowest thing on earth in resisting human interference.
It may be easier to get chocolate for nothing out of a shopkeeper than out of an automatic machine.
But if you did manage to steal the chocolate, the automatic machine would be much less likely to run after you.
Turnbull was not long in discovering this truth in connexion with the cold and colossal machinery of this great asylum.
He had been shaken by many spiritual states since the instant when he was pitched head foremost into that private cell which was to be his private room till death.
He had felt a high fit of pride and poetry, which had ebbed away and left him deadly cold.
Then he had a period of mere madness not to be written of by decent men, but only by those few dirty novelists hallooed on by the infernal huntsman to hunt down and humiliate human nature.
This also passed, but left behind it a feverish distaste for many of the mere objects around him.
Long after he had returned to sanity and such hopeless cheerfulness as a man might have on a desert island, he disliked the regular squares of the pattern of wall and floor and the triangle that terminated his corridor.
Above all, he had a hatred, deep as the hell he did not believe in, for the objectless iron peg in the wall.
But in all his moods, sane or insane, intolerant or stoical, he never really doubted this: that the machine held him as light and as hopelessly as he had from his birth been held by the hopeless cosmos of his own creed.
He knew well the ruthless and inexhaustible resources of our scientific civilization.
He no more expected rescue from a medical certificate than rescue from the solar system.
In many of his Robinson Crusoe moods he thought kindly of MacIan as of some quarrelsome school - fellow who had long been dead.
He thought of leaving in the cell when he died a rigid record of his opinions, and when he began to write them down on scraps of envelope in his pocket, he was startled to discover how much they had changed.
Then he remembered the Beauchamp Tower, and tried to write his blazing scepticism on the wall, and discovered that it was all shiny tiles on which nothing could be either drawn or carved.
Then for an instant there hung and broke above him like a high wave the whole horror of scientific imprisonment, which manages to deny a man not only liberty, but every accidental comfort of bondage.
In the old filthy dungeons men could carve their prayers or protests in the rock.
Here the white and slippery walls escaped even from bearing witness.
The old prisoners could make a pet of a mouse or a beetle strayed out of a hole.
Here the unpierceable walls were washed every morning by an automatic sluice.
There was no natural corruption and no merciful decay by which a living thing could enter in.
Then James Turnbull looked up and saw the high invincible hatefulness of the society in which he lived, and saw the hatefulness of something else also, which he told himself again and again was not the cosmos in which he believed.
But all the time he had never once doubted that the five sides of his cell were for him the wall of the world henceforward, and it gave him a shock of surprise even to discover the faint light through the aperture in the ventilation tube.
But he had forgotten how close efficiency has to pack everything together and how easily, therefore, a pipe here or there may leak.
Turnbull thrust his first finger down the aperture, and at last managed to make a slight further fissure in the piping.
The light that came up from beyond was very faint, and apparently indirect; it seemed to fall from some hole or window higher up.
As he was screwing his eye to peer at this grey and greasy twilight he was astonished to see another human finger very long and lean come down from above towards the broken pipe and hook it up to something higher.
The lighted aperture was abruptly blackened and blocked, presumably by a face and mouth, for something human spoke down the tube, though the words were not clear.
" Who is that?"
asked Turnbull, trembling with excitement, yet wary and quite resolved not to spoil any chance.
After a few indistinct sounds the voice came down with a strong Argyllshire accent:
" I say, Turnbull, we couldn't fight through this tube, could we?"
Sentiments beyond speech surged up in Turnbull and silenced him for a space just long enough to be painful.
Then he said with his old gaiety: " I vote we talk a little first; I don't want to murder the first man I have met for ten million years."
" I know what you mean," answered the other.
" It has been awful.
For a mortal month I have been alone with God."
Turnbull started, and it was on the tip of his tongue to answer: " Alone with God!
Then you do not know what loneliness is."
But he answered, after all, in his old defiant style: " Alone with God, were you?
And I suppose you found his Majesty's society rather monotonous?"
" Oh, no," said MacIan, and his voice shuddered; " it was a great deal too exciting."
After a very long silence the voice of MacIan said: " What do you really hate most in your place?"
" You'd think I was really mad if I told you," answered Turnbull, bitterly.
" Then I expect it's the same as mine," said the other voice.
" I am sure it's not the same as anybody's," said Turnbull, " for it has no rhyme or reason.
Perhaps my brain really has gone, but I detest that iron spike in the left wall more than the damned desolation or the damned cocoa.
Have you got one in your cell?"
" Not now," replied MacIan with serenity.
" I've pulled it out."
His fellow - prisoner could only repeat the words.
" I pulled it out the other day when I was off my head," continued the tranquil Highland voice.
" It looked so unnecessary."
" You must be ghastly strong," said Turnbull.
" One is, when one is mad," was the careless reply, " and it had worn a little loose in the socket.
Even now I've got it out I can't discover what it was for.
But I've found out something a long sight funnier."
" What do you mean?"
asked Turnbull.
" I have found out where A is," said the other.
Three weeks afterwards MacIan had managed to open up communications which made his meaning plain.
By that time the two captives had fully discovered and demonstrated that weakness in the very nature of modern machinery to which we have already referred.
The very fact that they were isolated from all companions meant that they were free from all spies, and as there were no gaolers to be bribed, so there were none to be baffled.
Machinery brought them their cocoa and cleaned their cells; that machinery was as helpless as it was pitiless.
A little patient violence, conducted day after day amid constant mutual suggestion, opened an irregular hole in the wall, large enough to let in a small man, in the exact place where there had been before the tiny ventilation holes.
Turnbull tumbled somehow into MacIan's apartment, and his first glance found out that the iron spike was indeed plucked from its socket, and left, moreover, another ragged hole into some hollow place behind.
But for this MacIan's cell was the duplicate of Turnbull's--a long oblong ending in a wedge and lined with cold and lustrous tiles.
The small hole from which the peg had been displaced was in that short oblique wall at the end nearest to Turnbull's.
That individual looked at it with a puzzled face.
" What is in there?"
he asked.
MacIan answered briefly: " Another cell."
" But where can the door of it be?"
said his companion, even more puzzled; " the doors of our cells are at the other end."
" It has no door," said Evan.
In the pause of perplexity that followed, an eerie and sinister feeling crept over Turnbull's stubborn soul in spite of himself.
The notion of the doorless room chilled him with that sense of half - witted curiosity which one has when something horrible is half understood.
" James Turnbull," said MacIan, in a low and shaken voice, " these people hate us more than Nero hated Christians, and fear us more than any man feared Nero.
They have filled England with frenzy and galloping in order to capture us and wipe us out--in order to kill us.
And they have killed us, for you and I have only made a hole in our coffins.
But though this hatred that they felt for us is bigger than they felt for Bonaparte, and more plain and practical than they would feel for Jack the Ripper, yet it is not we whom the people of this place hate most."
A cold and quivering impatience continued to crawl up Turnbull's spine; he had never felt so near to superstition and supernaturalism, and it was not a pretty sort of superstition either.
" There is another man more fearful and hateful," went on MacIan, in his low monotone voice, " and they have buried him even deeper.
God knows how they did it, for he was let in by neither door nor window, nor lowered through any opening above.
I expect these iron handles that we both hate have been part of some damned machinery for walling him up.
He is there.
I have looked through the hole at him; but I cannot stand looking at him long, because his face is turned away from me and he does not move."
Al Turnbull's unnatural and uncompleted feelings found their outlet in rushing to the aperture and looking into the unknown room.
It was a third oblong cell exactly like the other two except that it was doorless, and except that on one of the walls was painted a large black A like the B and C outside their own doors.
The letter in this case was not painted outside, because this prison had no outside.
On the same kind of tiled floor, of which the monotonous squares had maddened Turnbull's eye and brain, was sitting a figure which was startlingly short even for a child, only that the enormous head was ringed with hair of a frosty grey.
After six still seconds Turnbull could stand it no longer, but called out to the dwarfish thing--in what words heaven knows.
The thing got up with the promptitude of an animal, and turning round offered the spectacle of two owlish eyes and a huge grey - and - white beard not unlike the plumage of an owl.
This extraordinary beard covered him literally to his feet (not that that was very far), and perhaps it was as well that it did, for portions of his remaining clothing seemed to fall off whenever he moved.
One talks trivially of a face like parchment, but this old man's face was so wrinkled that it was like a parchment loaded with hieroglyphics.
The lines of his face were so deep and complex that one could see five or ten different faces besides the real one, as one can see them in an elaborate wall - paper.
And yet while his face seemed like a scripture older than the gods, his eyes were quite bright, blue, and startled like those of a baby.
They looked as if they had only an instant before been fitted into his head.
Everything depended so obviously upon whether this buried monster spoke that Turnbull did not know or care whether he himself had spoken.
He said something or nothing.
And then he waited for this dwarfish voice that had been hidden under the mountains of the world.
At last it did speak, and spoke in English, with a foreign accent that was neither Latin nor Teutonic.
He suddenly stretched out a long and very dirty forefinger, and cried in a voice of clear recognition, like a child's: " That's a hole."
He digested the discovery for some seconds, sucking his finger, and then he cried, with a crow of laughter: " And that's a head come through it."
The hilarious energy in this idiot attitude gave Turnbull another sick turn.
He had grown to tolerate those dreary and mumbling madmen who trailed themselves about the beautiful asylum gardens.
But there was something new and subversive of the universe in the combination of so much cheerful decision with a body without a brain.
" Why did they put you in such a place?"
he asked at last with embarrassment.
" Good place.
Yes," said the old man, nodding a great many times and beaming like a flattered landlord.
" Good shape.
Long and narrow, with a point.
Like this," and he made lovingly with his hands a map of the room in the air.
" But that's not the best," he added, confidentially.
" Squares very good; I have a nice long holiday, and can count them.
But that's not the best."
" What is the best?"
asked Turnbull in great distress.
" Spike is the best," said the old man, opening his blue eyes blazing; " it sticks out."
The words Turnbull spoke broke out of him in pure pity.
" Can't we do anything for you?"
he said.
" I am very happy," said the other, alphabetically.
" You are a good man.
Can I help you?"
" No, I don't think you can, sir," said Turnbull with rough pathos; " I am glad you are contented at least."
The weird old person opened his broad blue eyes and fixed Turnbull with a stare extraordinarily severe.
" You are quite sure," he said, " I cannot help you?"
" Quite sure, thank you," said Turnbull with broken brevity.
" Good day."
Then he turned to MacIan who was standing close behind him, and whose face, now familiar in all its moods, told him easily that Evan had heard the whole of the strange dialogue.
" Curse those cruel beasts!"
cried Turnbull.
" They've turned him to an imbecile just by burying him alive.
His brain's like a pin - point now."
" You are sure he is a lunatic?"
said Evan, slowly.
" Not a lunatic," said Turnbull, " an idiot.
He just points to things and says that they stick out."
" He had a notion that he could help us," said MacIan moodily, and began to pace towards the other end of his cell.
" Yes, it was a bit pathetic," assented Turnbull; " such a Thing offering help, and besides ---- Hallo!
Hallo!
What's the matter?"
" God Almighty guide us all!"
said MacIan.
He was standing heavy and still at the other end of the room and staring quietly at the door which for thirty days had sealed them up from the sun.
Turnbull, following the other's eye, stared at the door likewise, and then he also uttered an exclamation.
The iron door was standing about an inch and a half open.
" He said ----" began Evan, in a trembling voice --" he offered ----"
" Come along, you fool!"
shouted Turnbull with a sudden and furious energy.
" I see it all now, and it's the best stroke of luck in the world.
You pulled out that iron handle that had screwed up his cell, and it somehow altered the machinery and opened all the doors."
Seizing MacIan by the elbow he bundled him bodily out into the open corridor and ran him on till they saw daylight through a half - darkened window.
" All the same," said Evan, like one answering in an ordinary conversation, " he did ask you whether he could help you."
All this wilderness of windowless passages was so built into the heart of that fortress of fear that it seemed more than an hour before the fugitives had any good glimpse of the outer world.
Only once or twice in life is it permitted to a man thus to see the very universe from outside, and feel existence itself as an adorable adventure not yet begun.
As they found this shining escape out of that hellish labyrinth they both had simultaneously the sensation of being babes unborn, of being asked by God if they would like to live upon the earth.
They were looking in at one of the seven gates of Eden.
Turnbull was the first to leap into the garden, with an earth - spurning leap like that of one who could really spread his wings and fly.
MacIan, who came an instant after, was less full of mere animal gusto and fuller of a more fearful and quivering pleasure in the clear and innocent flower colours and the high and holy trees.
With one bound they were in that cool and cleared landscape, and they found just outside the door the black - clad gentleman with the cloven chin smilingly regarding them; and his chin seemed to grow longer and longer as he smiled.
XVIII.
A RIDDLE OF FACES
Just behind him stood two other doctors: one, the familiar Dr. Quayle, of the blinking eyes and bleating voice; the other, a more commonplace but much more forcible figure, a stout young doctor with short, well - brushed hair and a round but resolute face.
At the sight of the escape these two subordinates uttered a cry and sprang forward, but their superior remained motionless and smiling, and somehow the lack of his support seemed to arrest and freeze them in the very gesture of pursuit.
" Let them be," he cried in a voice that cut like a blade of ice; and not only of ice, but of some awful primordial ice that had never been water.
" I want no devoted champions," said the cutting voice; " even the folly of one's friends bores one at last.
You don't suppose I should have let these lunatics out of their cells without good reason.
I have the best and fullest reason.
They can be let out of their cell today, because today the whole world has become their cell.
I will have no more medieval mummery of chains and doors.
Let them wander about the earth as they wandered about this garden, and I shall still be their easy master.
Let them take the wings of the morning and abide in the uttermost parts of the sea--I am there.
Whither shall they go from my presence and whither shall they flee from my spirit?
Courage, Dr. Quayle, and do not be downhearted; the real days of tyranny are only beginning on this earth."
And with that the Master laughed and swung away from them, almost as if his laugh was a bad thing for people to see.
" Might I speak to you a moment?"
said Turnbull, stepping forward with a respectful resolution.
But the shoulders of the Master only seemed to take on a new and unexpected angle of mockery as he strode away.
Turnbull swung round with great abruptness to the other two doctors, and said, harshly: " What in snakes does he mean--and who are you?"
" My name is Hutton," said the short, stout man, " and I am--well, one of those whose business it is to uphold this establishment."
" My name is Turnbull," said the other; " I am one of those whose business it is to tear it to the ground."
The small doctor smiled, and Turnbull's anger seemed suddenly to steady him.
" But I don't want to talk about that," he said, calmly; " I only want to know what the Master of this asylum really means."
Dr. Hutton's smile broke into a laugh which, short as it was, had the suspicion of a shake in it.
" I suppose you think that quite a simple question," he said.
" I think it a plain question," said Turnbull, " and one that deserves a plain answer.
Why did the Master lock us up in a couple of cupboards like jars of pickles for a mortal month, and why does he now let us walk free in the garden again?"
" I understand," said Hutton, with arched eyebrows, " that your complaint is that you are now free to walk in the garden."
" My complaint is," said Turnbull, stubbornly, " that if I am fit to walk freely now, I have been as fit for the last month.
No one has examined me, no one has come near me.
Your chief says that I am only free because he has made other arrangements.
What are those arrangements?"
The young man with the round face looked down for a little while and smoked reflectively.
The other and elder doctor had gone pacing nervously by himself upon the lawn.
At length the round face was lifted again, and showed two round blue eyes with a certain frankness in them.
" Well, I don't see that it can do any harm to tell you know," he said.
" You were shut up just then because it was just during that month that the Master was bringing off his big scheme.
He was getting his bill through Parliament, and organizing the new medical police.
But of course you haven't heard of all that; in fact, you weren't meant to."
" Heard of all what?"
asked the impatient inquirer.
" There's a new law now, and the asylum powers are greatly extended.
Even if you did escape now, any policeman would take you up in the next town if you couldn't show a certificate of sanity from us."
" Well," continued Dr. Hutton, " the Master described before both Houses of Parliament the real scientific objection to all existing legislation about lunacy.
As he very truly said, the mistake was in supposing insanity to be merely an exception or an extreme.
Insanity, like forgetfulness, is simply a quality which enters more or less into all human beings; and for practical purposes it is more necessary to know whose mind is really trustworthy than whose has some accidental taint.
We have therefore reversed the existing method, and people now have to prove that they are sane.
In the first village you entered, the village constable would notice that you were not wearing on the left lapel of your coat the small pewter S which is now necessary to any one who walks about beyond asylum bounds or outside asylum hours."
" You mean to say," said Turnbull, " that this was what the Master of the asylum urged before the House of Commons?"
Dr. Hutton nodded with gravity.
" And you mean to say," cried Turnbull, with a vibrant snort, " that that proposal was passed in an assembly that calls itself democratic?"
The doctor showed his whole row of teeth in a smile.
" Oh, the assembly calls itself Socialist now," he said, " But we explained to them that this was a question for men of science."
Turnbull gave one stamp upon the gravel, then pulled himself together, and resumed: " But why should your infernal head medicine - man lock us up in separate cells while he was turning England into a madhouse?
I'm not the Prime Minister; we're not the House of Lords."
" He wasn't afraid of the Prime Minister," replied Dr. Hutton; " he isn't afraid of the House of Lords.
But ----"
" Well?"
inquired Turnbull, stamping again.
" He is afraid of you," said Hutton, simply.
" Why, didn't you know?"
MacIan, who had not spoken yet, made one stride forward and stood with shaking limbs and shining eyes.
" He was afraid!"
began Evan, thickly.
" You mean to say that we ----"
" I mean to say the plain truth now that the danger is over," said Hutton, calmly; " most certainly you two were the only people he ever was afraid of."
Then he added in a low but not inaudible voice: " Except one--whom he feared worse, and has buried deeper."
" Come away," cried MacIan, " this has to be thought about."
Turnbull followed him in silence as he strode away, but just before he vanished, turned and spoke again to the doctors.
" But what has got hold of people?"
he asked, abruptly.
" Why should all England have gone dotty on the mere subject of dottiness?"
Dr. Hutton smiled his open smile once more and bowed slightly.
" As to that also," he replied, " I don't want to make you vain."
Turnbull swung round without a word, and he and his companion were lost in the lustrous leafage of the garden.
They noticed nothing special about the scene, except that the garden seemed more exquisite than ever in the deepening sunset, and that there seemed to be many more people, whether patients or attendants, walking about in it.
From behind the two black - coated doctors as they stood on the lawn another figure somewhat similarly dressed strode hurriedly past them, having also grizzled hair and an open flapping frock - coat.
Both his decisive step and dapper black array marked him out as another medical man, or at least a man in authority, and as he passed Turnbull the latter was aroused by a strong impression of having seen the man somewhere before.
It was no one that he knew well, yet he was certain that it was someone at whom he had at sometime or other looked steadily.
It was neither the face of a friend nor of an enemy; it aroused neither irritation nor tenderness, yet it was a face which had for some reason been of great importance in his life.
Turning and returning, and making detours about the garden, he managed to study the man's face again and again--a moustached, somewhat military face with a monocle, the sort of face that is aristocratic without being distinguished.
Turnbull could not remember any particular doctors in his decidedly healthy existence.
Was the man a long - lost uncle, or was he only somebody who had sat opposite him regularly in a railway train?
At that moment the man knocked down his own eye - glass with a gesture of annoyance; Turnbull remembered the gesture, and the truth sprang up solid in front of him.
The man with the moustaches was Cumberland Vane, the London police magistrate before whom he and MacIan had once stood on their trial.
The magistrate must have been transferred to some other official duties--to something connected with the inspection of asylums.
Turnbull's heart gave a leap of excitement which was half hope.
As a magistrate Mr. Cumberland Vane had been somewhat careless and shallow, but certainly kindly, and not inaccessible to common sense so long as it was put to him in strictly conventional language.
He was at least an authority of a more human and refreshing sort than the crank with the wagging beard or the fiend with the forked chin.
He went straight up to the magistrate, and said: " Good evening, Mr. Vane; I doubt if you remember me."
Cumberland Vane screwed the eye - glass into his scowling face for an instant, and then said curtly but not uncivilly: " Yes, I remember you, sir; assault or battery, wasn't it?-- a fellow broke your window.
A tall fellow--McSomething--case made rather a noise afterwards."
" MacIan is the name, sir," said Turnbull, respectfully; " I have him here with me."
" Eh!"
said Vane very sharply.
" Confound him!
Has he got anything to do with this game?"
" Mr. Vane," said Turnbull, pacifically, " I will not pretend that either he or I acted quite decorously on that occasion.
You were very lenient with us, and did not treat us as criminals when you very well might.
So I am sure you will give us your testimony that, even if we were criminals, we are not lunatics in any legal or medical sense whatever.
I am sure you will use your influence for us."
" My influence!"
repeated the magistrate, with a slight start.
" I don't quite understand you."
" I don't know in what capacity you are here," continued Turnbull, gravely, " but a legal authority of your distinction must certainly be here in an important one.
Whether you are visiting and inspecting the place, or attached to it as some kind of permanent legal adviser, your opinion must still ----"
Cumberland Vane exploded with a detonation of oaths; his face was transfigured with fury and contempt, and yet in some odd way he did not seem specially angry with Turnbull.
" But Lord bless us and save us!"
he gasped, at length; " I'm not here as an official at all.
I'm here as a patient.
The cursed pack of rat - catching chemists all say that I've lost my wits."
" You!"
cried Turnbull with terrible emphasis.
" You!
Lost your wits!"
In the rush of his real astonishment at this towering unreality Turnbull almost added: " Why, you haven't got any to lose."
But he fortunately remembered the remains of his desperate diplomacy.
" This can't go on," he said, positively.
" Men like MacIan and I may suffer unjustly all our lives, but a man like you must have influence."
" There is only one man who has any influence in England now," said Vane, and his high voice fell to a sudden and convincing quietude.
" Whom do you mean?"
asked Turnbull.
" I mean that cursed fellow with the long split chin," said the other.
" Is it really true," asked Turnbull, " that he has been allowed to buy up and control such a lot?
What put the country into such a state?"
Mr. Cumberland Vane laughed outright.
" What put the country into such a state?"
he asked.
" Why, you did.
When you were fool enough to agree to fight MacIan, after all, everybody was ready to believe that the Bank of England might paint itself pink with white spots."
" I don't understand," answered Turnbull.
" Why should you be surprised at my fighting?
I hope I have always fought."
" Well," said Cumberland Vane, airily, " you didn't believe in religion, you see--so we thought you were safe at any rate.
You went further in your language than most of us wanted to go; no good in just hurting one's mother's feelings, I think.
But of course we all knew you were right, and, really, we relied on you."
" Did you?"
said the editor of _The Atheist_ with a bursting heart.
" I am sorry you did not tell me so at the time."
He walked away very rapidly and flung himself on a garden seat, and for some six minutes his own wrongs hid from him the huge and hilarious fact that Cumberland Vane had been locked up as a lunatic.
The garden of the madhouse was so perfectly planned, and answered so exquisitely to every hour of daylight, that one could almost fancy that the sunlight was caught there tangled in its tinted trees, as the wise men of Gotham tried to chain the spring to a bush.
Or it seemed as if this ironic paradise still kept its unique dawn or its special sunset while the rest of the earthly globe rolled through its ordinary hours.
There was one evening, or late afternoon, in particular, which Evan MacIan will remember in the last moments of death.
It was what artists call a daffodil sky, but it is coarsened even by reference to a daffodil.
It was of that innocent lonely yellow which has never heard of orange, though it might turn quite unconsciously into green.
Against it the tops, one might say the turrets, of the clipt and ordered trees were outlined in that shade of veiled violet which tints the tops of lavender.
A white early moon was hardly traceable upon that delicate yellow.
MacIan, I say, will remember this tender and transparent evening, partly because of its virgin gold and silver, and partly because he passed beneath it through the most horrible instant of his life.
Turnbull was sitting on his seat on the lawn, and the golden evening impressed even his positive nature, as indeed it might have impressed the oxen in a field.
He was shocked out of his idle mood of awe by seeing MacIan break from behind the bushes and run across the lawn with an action he had never seen in the man before, with all his experience of the eccentric humours of this Celt.
MacIan fell on the bench, shaking it so that it rattled, and gripped it with his knees like one in dreadful pain of body.
That particular run and tumble is typical only of a man who has been hit by some sudden and incurable evil, who is bitten by a viper or condemned to be hanged.
Turnbull looked up in the white face of his friend and enemy, and almost turned cold at what he saw there.
He had seen the blue but gloomy eyes of the western Highlander troubled by as many tempests as his own west Highland seas, but there had always been a fixed star of faith behind the storms.
Now the star had gone out, and there was only misery.
Yet MacIan had the strength to answer the question where Turnbull, taken by surprise, had not the strength to ask it.
" They are right, they are right!"
he cried.
" O my God!
they are right, Turnbull.
I ought to be here!"
He went on with shapeless fluency as if he no longer had the heart to choose or check his speech.
" I suppose I ought to have guessed long ago--all my big dreams and schemes--and everyone being against us--but I was stuck up, you know."
" Do tell me about it, really," cried the atheist, and, faced with the furnace of the other's pain, he did not notice that he spoke with the affection of a father.
" I am mad, Turnbull," said Evan, with a dead clearness of speech, and leant back against the garden seat.
" Nonsense," said the other, clutching at the obvious cue of benevolent brutality, " this is one of your silly moods."
MacIan shook his head.
" I know enough about myself," he said, " to allow for any mood, though it opened heaven or hell.
But to see things--to see them walking solid in the sun--things that can't be there--real mystics never do that, Turnbull."
" What things?"
asked the other, incredulously.
MacIan lowered his voice.
" I saw _her_," he said, " three minutes ago--walking here in this hell yard."
Between trying to look scornful and really looking startled, Turnbull's face was confused enough to emit no speech, and Evan went on in monotonous sincerity:
" I saw her walk behind those blessed trees against that holy sky of gold as plain as I can see her whenever I shut my eyes.
I did shut them, and opened them again, and she was still there--that is, of course, she wasn't ---- She still had a little fur round her neck, but her dress was a shade brighter than when I really saw her."
" My dear fellow," cried Turnbull, rallying a hearty laugh, " the fancies have really got hold of you.
You mistook some other poor girl here for her."
" Mistook some other ----" said MacIan, and words failed him altogether.
They sat for some moments in the mellow silence of the evening garden, a silence that was stifling for the sceptic, but utterly empty and final for the man of faith.
At last he broke out again with the words: " Well, anyhow, if I'm mad, I'm glad I'm mad on that."
Turnbull murmured some clumsy deprecation, and sat stolidly smoking to collect his thoughts; the next instant he had all his nerves engaged in the mere effort to sit still.
Across the clear space of cold silver and a pale lemon sky which was left by the gap in the ilex - trees there passed a slim, dark figure, a profile and the poise of a dark head like a bird's, which really pinned him to his seat with the point of coincidence.
With an effort he got to his feet, and said with a voice of affected insouciance: " By George!
MacIan, she is uncommonly like ----"
" What!"
cried MacIan, with a leap of eagerness that was heart - breaking, " do you see her, too?"
And the blaze came back into the centre of his eyes.
Turnbull's tawny eyebrows were pulled together with a peculiar frown of curiosity, and all at once he walked quickly across the lawn.
MacIan sat rigid, but peered after him with open and parched lips.
He saw the sight which either proved him sane or proved the whole universe half - witted; he saw the man of flesh approach that beautiful phantom, saw their gestures of recognition, and saw them against the sunset joining hands.
She advanced quite pleasantly and coolly, and put out her hand.
The moment that he touched it he knew that he was sane even if the solar system was crazy.
She was entirely elegant and unembarrassed.
That is the awful thing about women--they refuse to be emotional at emotional moments, upon some such ludicrous pretext as there being someone else there.
But MacIan was in a condition of criticism much less than the average masculine one, being in fact merely overturned by the rushing riddle of the events.
Evan does not know to this day what particular question he asked, but he vividly remembers that she answered, and every line or fluctuation of her face as she said it.
" Oh, don't you know?"
she said, smiling, and suddenly lifting her level brown eyebrows.
" Haven't you heard the news?
I'm a lunatic."
Then she added after a short pause, and with a sort of pride: " I've got a certificate."
Her manner, by the matchless social stoicism of her sex, was entirely suited to a drawing - room, but Evan's reply fell somewhat far short of such a standard, as he only said: " What the devil in hell does all this nonsense mean?"
" Really," said the young lady, and laughed.
" I beg your pardon," said the unhappy young man, rather wildly, " but what I mean is, why are you here in an asylum?"
The young woman broke again into one of the maddening and mysterious laughs of femininity.
Then she composed her features, and replied with equal dignity: " Well, if it comes to that, why are you?"
The fact that Turnbull had strolled away and was investigating rhododendrons may have been due to Evan's successful prayers to the other world, or possibly to his own pretty successful experience of this one.
But though they two were as isolated as a new Adam and Eve in a pretty ornamental Eden, the lady did not relax by an inch the rigour of her badinage.
" I am locked up in the madhouse," said Evan, with a sort of stiff pride, " because I tried to keep my promise to you."
" Quite so," answered the inexplicable lady, nodding with a perfectly blazing smile, " and I am locked up because it was to me you promised."
" It is outrageous!"
cried Evan; " it is impossible!"
" Oh, you can see my certificate if you like," she replied with some hauteur.
MacIan stared at her and then at his boots, and then at the sky and then at her again.
He was quite sure now that he himself was not mad, and the fact rather added to his perplexity.
Then he drew nearer to her, and said in a dry and dreadful voice: " Oh, don't condescend to play the fool with such a fool as me.
Are you really locked up here as a patient--because you helped us to escape?"
" Yes," she said, still smiling, but her steady voice had a shake in it.
Evan flung his big elbow across his forehead and burst into tears.
The pure lemon of the sky faded into purer white as the great sunset silently collapsed.
The birds settled back into the trees; the moon began to glow with its own light.
Mr. James Turnbull continued his botanical researches into the structure of the rhododendron.
But the lady did not move an inch until Evan had flung up his face again; and when he did he saw by the last gleam of sunlight that it was not only his face that was wet.
The ostensible cause of his removal was the unexpected reappearance of his two other acquaintances walking and talking laboriously along the way, with the black head bent close to the brown one.
Even hollyhocks detained Turnbull but a short time.
Having rapidly absorbed all the important principles affecting the growth of those vegetables, he jumped over a flower - bed and walked back into the building.
The other two came up along the slow course of the path talking and talking.
No one but God knows what they said (for they certainly have forgotten), and if I remembered it I would not repeat it.
When they parted at the head of the walk she put out her hand again in the same well - bred way, although it trembled; he seemed to restrain a gesture as he let it fall.
" If it is really always to be like this," he said, thickly, " it would not matter if we were here for ever."
" You tried to kill yourself four times for me," she said, unsteadily, " and I have been chained up as a madwoman for you.
I really think that after that ----"
" Yes, I know," said Evan in a low voice, looking down.
" After that we belong to each other.
We are sort of sold to each other--until the stars fall."
Then he looked up suddenly, and said: " By the way, what is your name?"
" My name is Beatrice Drake," she replied with complete gravity.
" You can see it on my certificate of lunacy."
XIX.
THE LAST PARLEY
Turnbull walked away, wildly trying to explain to himself the presence of two personal acquaintances so different as Vane and the girl.
As he skirted a low hedge of laurel, an enormously tall young man leapt over it, stood in front of him, and almost fell on his neck as if seeking to embrace him.
" Don't you know me?"
almost sobbed the young man, who was in the highest spirits.
" Ain't I written on your heart, old boy?
I say, what did you do with my yacht?"
" Take your arms off my neck," said Turnbull, irritably.
" Are you mad?"
The young man sat down on the gravel path and went into ecstasies of laughter.
" No, that's just the fun of it--I'm not mad," he replied.
" They've shut me up in this place, and I'm not mad."
And he went off again into mirth as innocent as wedding - bells.
Turnbull, whose powers of surprise were exhausted, rolled his round grey eyes and said, " Mr. Wilkinson, I think," because he could not think of anything else to say.
The tall man sitting on the gravel bowed with urbanity, and said: " Quite at your service.
Not to be confused with the Wilkinsons of Cumberland; and as I say, old boy, what have you done with my yacht?
You see, they've locked me up here--in this garden--and a yacht would be a sort of occupation for an unmarried man."
" I am really horribly sorry," began Turnbull, in the last stage of bated bewilderment and exasperation, " but really ----"
" Oh, I can see you can't have it on you at the moment," said Mr. Wilkinson with much intellectual magnanimity.
" Well, the fact is ----" began Turnbull again, and then the phrase was frozen on his mouth, for round the corner came the goatlike face and gleaming eye - glasses of Dr. Quayle.
" Ah, my dear Mr. Wilkinson," said the doctor, as if delighted at a coincidence; " and Mr. Turnbull, too.
Why, I want to speak to Mr.
Turnbull."
Mr. Turnbull made some movement rather of surrender than assent, and the doctor caught it up exquisitely, showing even more of his two front teeth.
" I am sure Mr. Wilkinson will excuse us a moment."
And with flying frock - coat he led Turnbull rapidly round the corner of a path.
" My dear sir," he said, in a quite affectionate manner, " I do not mind telling you--you are such a very hopeful case--you understand so well the scientific point of view; and I don't like to see you bothered by the really hopeless cases.
They are monotonous and maddening.
The man you have just been talking to, poor fellow, is one of the strongest cases of pure _idee fixe_ that we have.
It's very sad, and I'm afraid utterly incurable.
He keeps on telling everybody "-- and the doctor lowered his voice confidentially --" he tells everybody that two people have taken is yacht.
His account of how he lost it is quite incoherent."
Turnbull stamped his foot on the gravel path, and called out: " Oh, I can't stand this.
Really ----"
" I know, I know," said the psychologist, mournfully; " it is a most melancholy case, and also fortunately a very rare one.
It is so rare, in fact, that in one classification of these maladies it is entered under a heading by itself--Perdinavititis, mental inflammation creating the impression that one has lost a ship.
Really," he added, with a kind of half - embarrassed guilt, " it's rather a feather in my cap.
I discovered the only existing case of perdinavititis."
" But this won't do, doctor," said Turnbull, almost tearing his hair, " this really won't do.
The man really did lose a ship.
Indeed, not to put too fine a point on it, I took his ship."
Dr. Quayle swung round for an instant so that his silk - lined overcoat rustled, and stared singularly at Turnbull.
Then he said with hurried amiability: " Why, of course you did.
Quite so, quite so," and with courteous gestures went striding up the garden path.
Under the first laburnum - tree he stopped, however, and pulling out his pencil and notebook wrote down feverishly: " Singular development in the Elenthero - maniac, Turnbull.
Sudden manifestation of Rapinavititis--the delusion that one has stolen a ship.
First case ever recorded."
Turnbull stood for an instant staggered into stillness.
Then he ran raging round the garden to find MacIan, just as a husband, even a bad husband, will run raging to find his wife if he is full of a furious query.
He found MacIan stalking moodily about the half - lit garden, after his extraordinary meeting with Beatrice.
No one who saw his slouching stride and sunken head could have known that his soul was in the seventh heaven of ecstasy.
He did not think; he did not even very definitely desire.
He merely wallowed in memories, chiefly in material memories; words said with a certain cadence or trivial turns of the neck or wrist.
Into the middle of his stationary and senseless enjoyment were thrust abruptly the projecting elbow and the projecting red beard of Turnbull.
MacIan stepped back a little, and the soul in his eyes came very slowly to its windows.
When James Turnbull had the glittering sword - point planted upon his breast he was in far less danger.
For three pulsating seconds after the interruption MacIan was in a mood to have murdered his father.
And yet his whole emotional anger fell from him when he saw Turnbull's face, in which the eyes seemed to be bursting from the head like bullets.
All the fire and fragrance even of young and honourable love faded for a moment before that stiff agony of interrogation.
" Are you hurt, Turnbull?"
he asked, anxiously.
" I am dying," answered the other quite calmly.
" I am in the quite literal sense of the words dying to know something.
I want to know what all this can possibly mean."
MacIan did not answer, and he continued with asperity: " You are still thinking about that girl, but I tell you the whole thing is incredible.
She's not the only person here.
I've met the fellow Wilkinson, whose yacht we lost.
I've met the very magistrate you were hauled up to when you broke my window.
What can it mean--meeting all these old people again?
One never meets such old friends again except in a dream."
Then after a silence he cried with a rending sincerity: " Are you really there, Evan?
Have you ever been really there?
Am I simply dreaming?"
MacIan had been listening with a living silence to every word, and now his face flamed with one of his rare revelations of life.
" No, you good atheist," he cried; " no, you clean, courteous, reverent, pious old blasphemer.
No, you are not dreaming--you are waking up."
" What do you mean?"
" There are two states where one meets so many old friends," said MacIan; " one is a dream, the other is the end of the world."
" And you say ----"
" I say this is not a dream," said Evan in a ringing voice.
" You really mean to suggest ----" began Turnbull.
" Be silent!
or I shall say it all wrong," said MacIan, breathing hard.
" It's hard to explain, anyhow.
An apocalypse is the opposite of a dream.
A dream is falser than the outer life.
But the end of the world is more actual than the world it ends.
I don't say this is really the end of the world, but it's something like that--it's the end of something.
All the people are crowding into one corner.
Everything is coming to a point."
" What is the point?"
asked Turnbull.
" I can't see it," said Evan; " it is too large and plain."
Then after a silence he said: " I can't see it--and yet I will try to describe it.
Turnbull, three days ago I saw quite suddenly that our duel was not right after all."
" Three days ago!"
repeated Turnbull.
" When and why did this illumination occur?"
" I knew I was not quite right," answered Evan, " the moment I saw the round eyes of that old man in the cell."
" Old man in the cell!"
repeated his wondering companion.
" Do you mean the poor old idiot who likes spikes to stick out?"
" Yes," said MacIan, after a slight pause, " I mean the poor old idiot who likes spikes to stick out.
When I saw his eyes and heard his old croaking accent, I knew that it would not really have been right to kill you.
It would have been a venial sin."
" I am much obliged," said Turnbull, gruffly.
" You must give me time," said MacIan, quite patiently, " for I am trying to tell the whole truth.
I am trying to tell more of it than I know."
" So you see I confess "-- he went on with laborious distinctness--" I confess that all the people who called our duel mad were right in a way.
I would confess it to old Cumberland Vane and his eye - glass.
I would confess it even to that old ass in brown flannel who talked to us about Love.
Yes, they are right in a way.
I am a little mad."
He stopped and wiped his brow as if he were literally doing heavy labour.
Then he went on:
" I am a little mad; but, after all, it is only a little madness.
When hundreds of high - minded men had fought duesl about a jostle with the elbow or the ace of spades, the whole world need not have gone wild over my one little wildness.
Plenty of other people have killed themselves between then and now.
But all England has gone into captivity in order to take us captive.
All England has turned into a lunatic asylum in order to prove us lunatics.
Compared with the general public, I might positively be called sane."
He stopped again, and went on with the same air of travailing with the truth:
" When I saw that, I saw everything; I saw the Church and the world.
The Church in its earthly action has really touched morbid things--tortures and bleeding visions and blasts of extermination.
The Church has had her madnesses, and I am one of them.
I am the massacre of St. Bartholomew.
I am the Inquisition of Spain.
I do not say that we have never gone mad, but I say that we are fit to act as keepers to our enemies.
Massacre is wicked even with a provocation, as in the Bartholomew.
But your modern Nietzsche will tell you that massacre would be glorious without a provocation.
Torture should be violently stopped, though the Church is doing it.
But your modern Tolstoy will tell you that it ought not to be violently stopped whoever is doing it.
In the long run, which is most mad--the Church or the world?
Which is madder, the Spanish priest who permitted tyranny, or the Prussian sophist who admired it?
Which is madder, the Russian priest who discourages righteous rebellion, or the Russian novelist who forbids it?
That is the final and blasting test.
The world left to itself grows wilder than any creed.
A few days ago you and I were the maddest people in England.
Now, by God!
I believe we are the sanest.
That is the only real question--whether the Church is really madder than the world.
Let the rationalists run their own race, and let us see where _they_ end.
If the world has some healthy balance other than God, let the world find it.
Does the world find it?
Cut the world loose," he cried with a savage gesture.
" Does the world stand on its own end?
Does it stand, or does it stagger?"
Turnbull remained silent, and MacIan said to him, looking once more at the earth: " It staggers, Turnbull.
It cannot stand by itself; you know it cannot.
It has been the sorrow of your life.
Turnbull, this garden is not a dream, but an apocalyptic fulfilment.
This garden is the world gone mad."
Turnbull did not move his head, and he had been listening all the time; yet, somehow, the other knew that for the first time he was listening seriously.
" The world has gone mad," said MacIan, " and it has gone mad about Us.
The world takes the trouble to make a big mistake about every little mistake made by the Church.
That is why they have turned ten counties to a madhouse; that is why crowds of kindly people are poured into this filthy melting - pot.
Now is the judgement of this world.
The Prince of this World is judged, and he is judged exactly because he is judging.
There is at last one simple solution to the quarrel between the ball and the cross ----"
Turnbull for the first time started.
" The ball and ----" he repeated.
" What is the matter with you?"
asked MacIan.
" I had a dream," said Turnbull, thickly and obscurely, " in which I saw the cross struck crooked and the ball secure ----"
" I had a dream," said MacIan, " in which I saw the cross erect and the ball invisible.
They were both dreams from hell.
There must be some round earth to plant the cross upon.
But here is the awful difference--that the round world will not consent even to continue round.
The astronomers are always telling us that it is shaped like an orange, or like an egg, or like a German sausage.
They beat the old world about like a bladder and thump it into a thousand shapeless shapes.
Turnbull, we cannot trust the ball to be always a ball; we cannot trust reason to be reasonable.
In the end the great terrestrial globe will go quite lop - sided, and only the cross will stand upright."
There was a long silence, and then Turnbull said, hesitatingly: " Has it occurred to you that since--since those two dreams, or whatever they were ----"
" Well?"
murmured MacIan.
" Since then," went on Turnbull, in the same low voice, " since then we have never even looked for our swords."
" You are right," answered Evan almost inaudibly.
" We have found something which we both hate more than we ever hated each other, and I think I know its name."
Turnbull seemed to frown and flinch for a moment.
" It does not much matter what you call it," he said, " so long as you keep out of its way."
The bushes broke and snapped abruptly behind them, and a very tall figure towered above Turnbull with an arrogant stoop and a projecting chin, a chin of which the shape showed queerly even in its shadow upon the path.
" You see that is not so easy," said MacIan between his teeth.
They looked up into the eyes of the Master, but looked only for a moment.
The eyes were full of a frozen and icy wrath, a kind of utterly heartless hatred.
His voice was for the first time devoid of irony.
There was no more sarcasm in it than there is in an iron club.
" You will be inside the building in three minutes," he said, with pulverizing precision, " or you will be fired on by the artillery at all the windows.
There is too much talking in this garden; we intend to close it.
You will be accommodated indoors."
" Ah!"
said MacIan, with a long and satisfied sigh, " then I was right."
And he turned his back and walked obediently towards the building.
Turnbull seemed to canvass for a few minutes the notion of knocking the Master down, and then fell under the same almost fairy fatalism as his companion.
In some strange way it did seem that the more smoothly they yielded, the more swiftly would events sweep on to some great collision.
XX.
DIES IRAE
As they advanced towards the asylum they looked up at its rows on rows of windows, and understood the Master's material threat.
By means of that complex but concealed machinery which ran like a network of nerves over the whole fabric, there had been shot out under every window - ledge rows and rows of polished - steel cylinders, the cold miracles of modern gunnery.
They commanded the whole garden and the whole country - side, and could have blown to pieces an army corps.
This silent declaration of war had evidently had its complete effect.
As MacIan and Turnbull walked steadily but slowly towards the entrance hall of the institution, they could see that most, or at least many, of the patients had already gathered there as well as the staff of doctors and the whole regiment of keepers and assistants.
But when they entered the lamp - lit hall, and the high iron door was clashed to and locked behind them, yet a new amazement leapt into their eyes, and the stalwart Turnbull almost fell.
For he saw a sight which was indeed, as MacIan had said--either the Day of Judgement or a dream.
Within a few feet of him at one corner of the square of standing people stood the girl he had known in Jersey, Madeleine Durand.
She looked straight at him with a steady smile which lit up the scene of darkness and unreason like the light of some honest fireside.
Her square face and throat were thrown back, as her habit was, and there was something almost sleepy in the geniality of her eyes.
He saw her first, and for a few seconds saw her only; then the outer edge of his eyesight took in all the other staring faces, and he saw all the faces he had ever seen for weeks and months past.
There was the Tolstoyan in Jaeger flannel, with the yellow beard that went backward and the foolish nose and eyes that went forward, with the curiosity of a crank.
He was talking eagerly to Mr. Gordon, the corpulent Jew shopkeeper whom they had once gagged in his own shop.
There was the tipsy old Hertfordshire rustic; he was talking energetically to himself.
There was not only Mr. Vane the magistrate, but the clerk of Mr. Vane, the magistrate.
There was not only Miss Drake of the motor - car, but also Miss Drake's chauffeur.
Nothing wild or unfamiliar could have produced upon Turnbull such a nightmare impression as that ring of familiar faces.
Yet he had one intellectual shock which was greater than all the others.
He stepped impulsively forward towards Madeleine, and then wavered with a kind of wild humility.
As he did so he caught sight of another square face behind Madeleine's, a face with long grey whiskers and an austere stare.
It was old Durand, the girls'father; and when Turnbull saw him he saw the last and worst marvel of that monstrous night.
He remembered Durand; he remembered his monotonous, everlasting lucidity, his stupefyingly sensible views of everything, his colossal contentment with truisms merely because they were true.
" Confound it all!"
cried Turnbull to himself, " if _he_ is in the asylum, there can't be anyone outside."
He drew nearer to Madeleine, but still doubtfully and all the more so because she still smiled at him.
MacIan had already gone across to Beatrice with an air of fright.
Then all these bewildered but partly amicable recognitions were cloven by a cruel voice which always made all human blood turn bitter.
The Master was standing in the middle of the room surveying the scene like a great artist looking at a completed picture.
" This is indeed a cosy party," he said, with glittering eyes.
The Master evidently meant to say more, but before he could say anything M. Durand had stepped right up to him and was speaking.
He was speaking exactly as a French bourgeois speaks to the manager of a restaurant.
That is, he spoke with rattling and breathless rapidity, but with no incoherence, and therefore with no emotion.
It was a steady, monotonous vivacity, which came not seemingly from passion, but merely from the reason having been sent off at a gallop.
He was saying something like this:
" You refuse me my half - bottle of Medoc, the drink the most wholesome and the most customary.
You refuse me the company and obedience of my daughter, which Nature herself indicates.
You refuse me the beef and mutton, without pretence that it is a fast of the Church.
You now forbid me the promenade, a thing necessary to a person of my age.
It is useless to tell me that you do all this by law.
Law rests upon the social contract.
If the citizen finds himself despoiled of such pleasures and powers as he would have had even in the savage state, the social contract is annulled."
" It's no good chattering away, Monsieur," said Hutton, for the Master was silent.
" The place is covered with machine - guns.
We've got to obey our orders, and so have you."
" The machinery is of the most perfect," assented Durand, somewhat irrelevantly; " worked by petroleum, I believe.
I only ask you to admit that if such things fall below the comfort of barbarism, the social contract is annulled.
It is a pretty little point of theory."
" Oh!
I dare say," said Hutton.
Durand bowed quite civilly and withdrew.
" A cosy party," resumed the Master, scornfully, " and yet I believe some of you are in doubt about how we all came together.
I will explain it, ladies and gentlemen; I will explain everything.
To whom shall I specially address myself?
To Mr. James Turnbull.
He has a scientific mind."
Turnbull seemed to choke with sudden protest.
The Master seemed only to cough out of pure politeness and proceeded: " Mr. Turnbull will agree with me," he said, " when I say that we long felt in scientific circles that great harm was done by such a legend as that of the Crucifixion."
Turnbull growled something which was presumably assent.
The Master went on smoothly: " It was in vain for us to urge that the incident was irrelevant; that there were many such fanatics, many such executions.
We were forced to take the thing thoroughly in hand, to investigate it in the spirit of scientific history, and with the assistance of Mr. Turnbull and others we were happy in being able to announce that this alleged Crucifixion never occurred at all."
MacIan lifted his head and looked at the Master steadily, but Turnbull did not look up.
" This, we found, was the only way with all superstitions," continued the speaker; " it was necessary to deny them historically, and we have done it with great success in the case of miracles and such things.
Now within our own time there arose an unfortunate fuss which threatened (as Mr. Turnbull would say) to galvanize the corpse of Christianity into a fictitious life--the alleged case of a Highland eccentric who wanted to fight for the Virgin."
MacIan, quite white, made a step forward, but the speaker did not alter his easy attitude or his flow of words.
" Again we urged that this duel was not to be admired, that it was a mere brawl, but the people were ignorant and romantic.
There were signs of treating this alleged Highlander and his alleged opponent as heroes.
We tried all other means of arresting this reactionary hero worship.
Working men who betted on the duel were imprisoned for gambling.
Working men who drank the health of a duellist were imprisoned for drunkenness.
But the popular excitement about the alleged duel continued, and we had to fall back on our old historical method.
We investigated, on scientific principles, the story of MacIan's challenge, and we are happy to be able to inform you that the whole story of the attempted duel is a fable.
There never was any challenge.
There never was any man named MacIan.
It is a melodramatic myth, like Calvary."
Not a soul moved save Turnbull, who lifted his head; yet there was the sense of a silent explosion.
" The whole story of the MacIan challenge," went on the Master, beaming at them all with a sinister benignity, " has been found to originate in the obsessions of a few pathological types, who are now all fortunately in our care.
There is, for instance, a person here of the name of Gordon, formerly the keeper of a curiosity shop.
He is a victim of the disease called Vinculomania--the impression that one has been bound or tied up.
We have also a case of Fugacity (Mr. Whimpey), who imagines that he was chased by two men."
The indignant faces of the Jew shopkeeper and the Magdalen Don started out of the crowd in their indignation, but the speaker continued:
" One poor woman we have with us," he said, in a compassionate voice, " believes she was in a motor - car with two such men; this is the well - known illusion of speed on which I need not dwell.
Another wretched woman has the simple egotistic mania that she has caused the duel.
Madeleine Durand actually professes to have been the subject of the fight between MacIan and his enemy, a fight which, if it occurred at all, certainly began long before.
But it never occurred at all.
We have taken in hand every person who professed to have seen such a thing, and proved them all to be unbalanced.
That is why they are here."
The Master looked round the room, just showing his perfect teeth with the perfection of artistic cruelty, exalted for a moment in the enormous simplicity of his success, and then walked across the hall and vanished through an inner door.
His two lieutenants, Quayle and Hutton, were left standing at the head of the great army of servants and keepers.
" I hope we shall have no more trouble," said Dr. Quayle pleasantly enough, and addressing Turnbull, who was leaning heavily upon the back of a chair.
Still looking down, Turnbull lifted the chair an inch or two from the ground.
Then he suddenly swung it above his head and sent it at the inquiring doctor with an awful crash which sent one of its wooden legs loose along the floor and crammed the doctor gasping into a corner.
MacIan gave a great shout, snatched up the loose chair - leg, and, rushing on the other doctor, felled him with a blow.
Twenty attendants rushed to capture the rebels; MacIan flung back three of them and Turnbull went over on top of one, when from behind them all came a shriek as of something quite fresh and frightful.
Two of the three passages leading out of the hall were choked with blue smoke.
Another instant and the hall was full of the fog of it, and red sparks began to swarm like scarlet bees.
" The place is on fire!"
cried Quayle with a scream of indecent terror.
" Oh, who can have done it?
How can it have happened?"
A light had come into Turnbull's eyes.
" How did the French Revolution happen?"
he asked.
" Oh, how should I know!"
wailed the other.
" Then I will tell you," said Turnbull; " it happened because some people fancied that a French grocer was as respectable as he looked."
Even as he spoke, as if by confirmation, old Mr. Durand re - entered the smoky room quite placidly, wiping the petroleum from his hands with a handkerchief.
He had set fire to the building in accordance with the strict principles of the social contract.
But MacIan had taken a stride forward and stood there shaken and terrible.
" Now," he cried, panting, " now is the judgement of the world.
The doctors will leave this place; the keepers will leave this place.
They will leave us in charge of the machinery and the machine - guns at the windows.
But we, the lunatics, will wait to be burned alive if only we may see them go."
" How do you know we shall go?"
asked Hutton, fiercely.
" You believe nothing," said MacIan, simply, " and you are insupportably afraid of death."
" So this is suicide," sneered the doctor; " a somewhat doubtful sign of sanity."
" Not at all--this is vengeance," answered Turnbull, quite calmly; " a thing which is completely healthy."
" You think the doctors will go," said Hutton, savagely.
" The keepers have gone already," said Turnbull.
Even as they spoke the main doors were burst open in mere brutal panic, and all the officers and subordinates of the asylum rushed away across the garden pursued by the smoke.
But among the ticketed maniacs not a man or woman moved.
" We hate dying," said Turnbull, with composure, " but we hate you even more.
This is a successful revolution."
In the roof above their heads a panel shot back, showing a strip of star - lit sky and a huge thing made of white metal, with the shape and fins of a fish, swinging as if at anchor.
At the same moment a steel ladder slid down from the opening and struck the floor, and the cleft chin of the mysterious Master was thrust into the opening.
" Quayle, Hutton," he said, " you will escape with me."
And they went up the ladder like automata of lead.
Long after they had clambered into the car, the creature with the cloven face continued to leer down upon the smoke - stung crowd below.
Then at last he said in a silken voice and with a smile of final satisfaction:
" By the way, I fear I am very absent minded.
There is one man specially whom, somehow, I always forget.
I always leave him lying about.
Once I mislaid him on the Cross of St. Paul's.
So silly of me; and now I've forgotten him in one of those little cells where your fire is burning.
Very unfortunate--especially for him."
And nodding genially, he climbed into his flying ship.
MacIan stood motionless for two minutes, and then rushed down one of the suffocating corridors till he found the flames.
Turnbull looked once at Madeleine, and followed.
* * *
MacIan, with singed hair, smoking garments, and smarting hands and face, had already broken far enough through the first barriers of burning timber to come within cry of the cells he had once known.
It was impossible, however, to see the spot where the old man lay dead or alive; not now through darkness, but through scorching and aching light.
The site of the old half - wit's cell was now the heart of a standing forest of fire--the flames as thick and yellow as a cornfield.
Their incessant shrieking and crackling was like a mob shouting against an orator.
Yet through all that deafening density MacIan thought he heard a small and separate sound.
When he heard it he rushed forward as if to plunge into that furnace, but Turnbull arrested him by an elbow.
" Let me go!"
cried Evan, in agony; " it's the poor old beggar's voice--he's still alive, and shouting for help."
" Listen!"
said Turnbull, and lifted one finger from his clenched hand.
" Or else he is shrieking with pain," protested MacIan.
" I will not endure it."
" Listen!"
repeated Turnbull, grimly.
" Did you ever hear anyone shout for help or shriek with pain in that voice?"
The small shrill sounds which came through the crash of the conflagration were indeed of an odd sort, and MacIan turned a face of puzzled inquiry to his companion.
" He is singing," said Turnbull, simply.
A remaining rampart fell, crushing the fire, and through the diminished din of it the voice of the little old lunatic came clearer.
In the heart of that white - hot hell he was singing like a bird.
What he was singing it was not very easy to follow, but it seemed to be something about playing in the golden hay.
" Good Lord!"
cried Turnbull, bitterly, " there seem to be some advantages in really being an idiot."
Then advancing to the fringe of the fire he called out on chance to the invisible singer: " Can you come out?
Are you cut off?"
" God help us all!"
said MacIan, with a shudder; " he's laughing now."
At whatever stage of being burned alive the invisible now found himself, he was now shaking out peals of silvery and hilarious laughter.
As he listened, MacIan's two eyes began to glow, as if a strange thought had come into his head.
" Fool, come out and save yourself!"
shouted Turnbull.
" No, by Heaven!
that is not the way," cried Evan, suddenly.
" Father," he shouted, " come out and save us all!"
The fire, though it had dropped in one or two places, was, upon the whole, higher and more unconquerable than ever.
Separate tall flames shot up and spread out above them like the fiery cloisters of some infernal cathedral, or like a grove of red tropical trees in the garden of the devil.
Higher yet in the purple hollow of the night the topmost flames leapt again and again fruitlessly at the stars, like golden dragons chained but struggling.
The towers and domes of the oppressive smoke seemed high and far enough to drown distant planets in a London fog.
But if we exhausted all frantic similes for that frantic scene, the main impression about the fire would still be its ranked upstanding rigidity and a sort of roaring stillness.
It was literally a wall of fire.
" Father," cried MacIan, once more, " come out of it and save us all!"
Turnbull was staring at him as he cried.
The tall and steady forest of fire must have been already a portent visible to the whole circle of land and sea.
The red flush of it lit up the long sides of white ships far out in the German Ocean, and picked out like piercing rubies the windows in the villages on the distant heights.
If any villagers or sailors were looking towards it they must have seen a strange sight as MacIan cried out for the third time.
That forest of fire wavered, and was cloven in the centre; and then the whole of one half of it leaned one way as a cornfield leans all one way under the load of the wind.
Indeed, it looked as if a great wind had sprung up and driven the great fire aslant.
Its smoke was no longer sent up to choke the stars, but was trailed and dragged across county after county like one dreadful banner of defeat.
But it was not the wind; or, if it was the wind, it was two winds blowing in opposite directions.
For while one half of the huge fire sloped one way towards the inland heights, the other half, at exactly the same angle, sloped out eastward towards the sea.
So that earth and ocean could behold, where there had been a mere fiery mass, a thing divided like a V--a cloven tongue of flame.
But if it were a prodigy for those distant, it was something beyond speech for those quite near.
As the echoes of Evan's last appeal rang and died in the universal uproar, the fiery vault over his head opened down the middle, and, reeling back in two great golden billows, hung on each side as huge and harmless as two sloping hills lie on each side of a valley.
Down the centre of this trough, or chasm, a little path ran, cleared of all but ashes, and down this little path was walking a little old man singing as if he were alone in a wood in spring.
When James Turnbull saw this he suddenly put out a hand and seemed to support himself on the strong shoulder of Madeleine Durand.
Then after a moment's hesitation he put his other hand on the shoulder of MacIan.
His blue eyes looked extraordinarily brilliant and beautiful.
In many sceptical papers and magazines afterwards he was sadly or sternly rebuked for having abandoned the certainties of materialism.
All his life up to that moment he had been most honestly certain that materialism was a fact.
But he was unlike the writers in the magazines precisely in this--that he preferred a fact even to materialism.
As the little singing figure came nearer and nearer, Evan fell on his knees, and after an instant Beatrice followed; then Madeleine fell on her knees, and after a longer instant Turnbull followed.
Then the little old man went past them singing down that corridor of flames.
They had not looked at his face.
When he had passed they looked up.
But now the fire was turned to left and right like a woman's hair parted in the middle, and now the shafts of its light could shoot up into empty heavens and strike anything, either bird or cloud.
But it struck something that was neither cloud nor bird.
Far, far away up in those huge hollows of space something was flying swiftly and shining brightly, something that shone too bright and flew too fast to be any of the fowls of the air, though the red light lit it from underneath like the breast of a bird.
Everyone knew it was a flying ship, and everyone knew whose.
As they stared upward the little speck of light seemed slightly tilted, and two black dots dropped from the edge of it.
All the eager, upturned faces watched the two dots as they grew bigger and bigger in their downward rush.
Then someone screamed, and no one looked up any more.
For the two bodies, larger every second flying, spread out and sprawling in the fire - light, were the dead bodies of the two doctors whom Professor Lucifer had carried with him--the weak and sneering Quayle, the cold and clumsy Hutton.
They went with a crash into the thick of the fire.
" They are gone!"
screamed Beatrice, hiding her head.
" O God!
The are lost!"
Evan put his arm about her, and remembered his own vision.
" No, they are not lost," he said.
" They are saved.
He has taken away no souls with him, after all."
He looked vaguely about at the fire that was already fading, and there among the ashes lay two shining things that had survived the fire, his sword and Turnbull's, fallen haphazard in the pattern of a cross.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Ball and The Cross, by G. K. Chesterton
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[ The Wisdom of Father Brown by G. K. Chesterton 1914 ]
The Absence of Mr Glass
In such a place the sea had something of the monotony of a blue - green dado: for the chambers themselves were ruled throughout by a terrible tidiness not unlike the terrible tidiness of the sea.
It must not be supposed that Dr Hood's apartments excluded luxury, or even poetry.
These things were there, in their place; but one felt that they were never allowed out of their place.
Luxury was there: there stood upon a special table eight or ten boxes of the best cigars; but they were built upon a plan so that the strongest were always nearest the wall and the mildest nearest the window.
A tantalus containing three kinds of spirit, all of a liqueur excellence, stood always on this table of luxury; but the fanciful have asserted that the whisky, brandy, and rum seemed always to stand at the same level.
Poetry was there: the left - hand corner of the room was lined with as complete a set of English classics as the right hand could show of English and foreign physiologists.
But if one took a volume of Chaucer or Shelley from that rank, its absence irritated the mind like a gap in a man's front teeth.
One could not say the books were never read; probably they were, but there was a sense of their being chained to their places, like the Bibles in the old churches.
Dr Hood treated his private book - shelf as if it were a public library.
Dr Hood paced the length of his string of apartments, bounded--as the boys'geographies say--on the east by the North Sea and on the west by the serried ranks of his sociological and criminologist library.
He was clad in an artist's velvet, but with none of an artist's negligence; his hair was heavily shot with grey, but growing thick and healthy; his face was lean, but sanguine and expectant.
Everything about him and his room indicated something at once rigid and restless, like that great northern sea by which (on pure principles of hygiene) he had built his home.
Fate, being in a funny mood, pushed the door open and introduced into those long, strict, sea - flanked apartments one who was perhaps the most startling opposite of them and their master.
In answer to a curt but civil summons, the door opened inwards and there shambled into the room a shapeless little figure, which seemed to find its own hat and umbrella as unmanageable as a mass of luggage.
The umbrella was a black and prosaic bundle long past repair; the hat was a broad - curved black hat, clerical but not common in England; the man was the very embodiment of all that is homely and helpless.
The doctor regarded the new - comer with a restrained astonishment, not unlike that he would have shown if some huge but obviously harmless sea - beast had crawled into his room.
The new - comer regarded the doctor with that beaming but breathless geniality which characterizes a corpulent charwoman who has just managed to stuff herself into an omnibus.
It is a rich confusion of social self - congratulation and bodily disarray.
His hat tumbled to the carpet, his heavy umbrella slipped between his knees with a thud; he reached after the one and ducked after the other, but with an unimpaired smile on his round face spoke simultaneously as follows:
" My name is Brown.
Pray excuse me.
I've come about that business of the MacNabs.
I have heard, you often help people out of such troubles.
Pray excuse me if I am wrong."
By this time he had sprawlingly recovered the hat, and made an odd little bobbing bow over it, as if setting everything quite right.
" I hardly understand you," replied the scientist, with a cold intensity of manner.
" I fear you have mistaken the chambers.
I am Dr Hood, and my work is almost entirely literary and educational.
It is true that I have sometimes been consulted by the police in cases of peculiar difficulty and importance, but --"
" Oh, this is of the greatest importance," broke in the little man called Brown.
" Why, her mother won't let them get engaged."
And he leaned back in his chair in radiant rationality.
The brows of Dr Hood were drawn down darkly, but the eyes under them were bright with something that might be anger or might be amusement.
" And still," he said, " I do not quite understand."
" You see, they want to get married," said the man with the clerical hat.
" Maggie MacNab and young Todhunter want to get married.
Now, what can be more important than that?"
The great Orion Hood's scientific triumphs had deprived him of many things--some said of his health, others of his God; but they had not wholly despoiled him of his sense of the absurd.
At the last plea of the ingenuous priest a chuckle broke out of him from inside, and he threw himself into an arm - chair in an ironical attitude of the consulting physician.
" Mr Brown," he said gravely, " it is quite fourteen and a half years since I was personally asked to test a personal problem: then it was the case of an attempt to poison the French President at a Lord Mayor's Banquet.
It is now, I understand, a question of whether some friend of yours called Maggie is a suitable fiancee for some friend of hers called Todhunter.
Well, Mr Brown, I am a sportsman.
I will take it on.
I will give the MacNab family my best advice, as good as I gave the French Republic and the King of England--no, better: fourteen years better.
I have nothing else to do this afternoon.
Tell me your story."
The little clergyman called Brown thanked him with unquestionable warmth, but still with a queer kind of simplicity.
It was rather as if he were thanking a stranger in a smoking - room for some trouble in passing the matches, than as if he were (as he was) practically thanking the Curator of Kew Gardens for coming with him into a field to find a four - leaved clover.
With scarcely a semi - colon after his hearty thanks, the little man began his recital:
" I told you my name was Brown; well, that's the fact, and I'm the priest of the little Catholic Church I dare say you've seen beyond those straggly streets, where the town ends towards the north.
In the last and straggliest of those streets which runs along the sea like a sea - wall there is a very honest but rather sharp - tempered member of my flock, a widow called MacNab.
She has one daughter, and she lets lodgings, and between her and the daughter, and between her and the lodgers--well, I dare say there is a great deal to be said on both sides.
At present she has only one lodger, the young man called Todhunter; but he has given more trouble than all the rest, for he wants to marry the young woman of the house."
" And the young woman of the house," asked Dr Hood, with huge and silent amusement, " what does she want?"
" Why, she wants to marry him," cried Father Brown, sitting up eagerly.
" That is just the awful complication."
" It is indeed a hideous enigma," said Dr Hood.
" This young James Todhunter," continued the cleric, " is a very decent man so far as I know; but then nobody knows very much.
He is a bright, brownish little fellow, agile like a monkey, clean - shaven like an actor, and obliging like a born courtier.
He seems to have quite a pocketful of money, but nobody knows what his trade is.
Mrs MacNab, therefore (being of a pessimistic turn), is quite sure it is something dreadful, and probably connected with dynamite.
The dynamite must be of a shy and noiseless sort, for the poor fellow only shuts himself up for several hours of the day and studies something behind a locked door.
He declares his privacy is temporary and justified, and promises to explain before the wedding.
That is all that anyone knows for certain, but Mrs MacNab will tell you a great deal more than even she is certain of.
You know how the tales grow like grass on such a patch of ignorance as that.
There are tales of two voices heard talking in the room; though, when the door is opened, Todhunter is always found alone.
There are tales of a mysterious tall man in a silk hat, who once came out of the sea - mists and apparently out of the sea, stepping softly across the sandy fields and through the small back garden at twilight, till he was heard talking to the lodger at his open window.
The colloquy seemed to end in a quarrel.
Todhunter dashed down his window with violence, and the man in the high hat melted into the sea - fog again.
This story is told by the family with the fiercest mystification; but I really think Mrs MacNab prefers her own original tale: that the Other Man (or whatever it is) crawls out every night from the big box in the corner, which is kept locked all day.
You see, therefore, how this sealed door of Todhunter's is treated as the gate of all the fancies and monstrosities of the 'Thousand and One Nights '.
And yet there is the little fellow in his respectable black jacket, as punctual and innocent as a parlour clock.
A man warmly concerned with any large theories has always a relish for applying them to any triviality.
The great specialist having condescended to the priest's simplicity, condescended expansively.
He settled himself with comfort in his arm - chair and began to talk in the tone of a somewhat absent - minded lecturer:
" Even in a minute instance, it is best to look first to the main tendencies of Nature.
A particular flower may not be dead in early winter, but the flowers are dying; a particular pebble may never be wetted with the tide, but the tide is coming in.
To the scientific eye all human history is a series of collective movements, destructions or migrations, like the massacre of flies in winter or the return of birds in spring.
Now the root fact in all history is Race.
Race produces religion; Race produces legal and ethical wars.
There is no stronger case than that of the wild, unworldly and perishing stock which we commonly call the Celts, of whom your friends the MacNabs are specimens.
Small, swarthy, and of this dreamy and drifting blood, they accept easily the superstitious explanation of any incidents, just as they still accept (you will excuse me for saying) that superstitious explanation of all incidents which you and your Church represent.
It is not remarkable that such people, with the sea moaning behind them and the Church (excuse me again) droning in front of them, should put fantastic features into what are probably plain events.
You, with your small parochial responsibilities, see only this particular Mrs MacNab, terrified with this particular tale of two voices and a tall man out of the sea.
But the man with the scientific imagination sees, as it were, the whole clans of MacNab scattered over the whole world, in its ultimate average as uniform as a tribe of birds.
He sees thousands of Mrs MacNabs, in thousands of houses, dropping their little drop of morbidity in the tea - cups of their friends; he sees --"
Before the scientist could conclude his sentence, another and more impatient summons sounded from without; someone with swishing skirts was marshalled hurriedly down the corridor, and the door opened on a young girl, decently dressed but disordered and red - hot with haste.
She had sea - blown blonde hair, and would have been entirely beautiful if her cheek - bones had not been, in the Scotch manner, a little high in relief as well as in colour.
Her apology was almost as abrupt as a command.
" I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir," she said, " but I had to follow Father Brown at once; it's nothing less than life or death."
Father Brown began to get to his feet in some disorder.
" Why, what has happened, Maggie?"
he said.
" James has been murdered, for all I can make out," answered the girl, still breathing hard from her rush.
" That man Glass has been with him again; I heard them talking through the door quite plain.
Two separate voices: for James speaks low, with a burr, and the other voice was high and quavery."
" That man Glass?"
repeated the priest in some perplexity.
" I know his name is Glass," answered the girl, in great impatience.
" I heard it through the door.
They were quarrelling--about money, I think--for I heard James say again and again, 'That's right, Mr Glass,' or 'No, Mr Glass,' and then, 'Two or three, Mr Glass.'
But we're talking too much; you must come at once, and there may be time yet."
" But time for what?"
asked Dr Hood, who had been studying the young lady with marked interest.
" What is there about Mr Glass and his money troubles that should impel such urgency?"
" I tried to break down the door and couldn't," answered the girl shortly, " Then I ran to the back - yard, and managed to climb on to the window - sill that looks into the room.
It was an dim, and seemed to be empty, but I swear I saw James lying huddled up in a corner, as if he were drugged or strangled."
" This is very serious," said Father Brown, gathering his errant hat and umbrella and standing up; " in point of fact I was just putting your case before this gentleman, and his view --"
" Has been largely altered," said the scientist gravely.
" I do not think this young lady is so Celtic as I had supposed.
As I have nothing else to do, I will put on my hat and stroll down town with you."
The aspect of this edge of the town was not entirely without justification for the doctor's hints about desolate moods and environments.
The scattered houses stood farther and farther apart in a broken string along the seashore; the afternoon was closing with a premature and partly lurid twilight; the sea was of an inky purple and murmuring ominously.
They passed through the narrow passage in the front of the house until they came to the lodger's door at the back, and there Dr Hood, with the trick of an old detective, put his shoulder sharply to the panel and burst in the door.
It opened on a scene of silent catastrophe.
No one seeing it, even for a flash, could doubt that the room had been the theatre of some thrilling collision between two, or perhaps more, persons.
Playing - cards lay littered across the table or fluttered about the floor as if a game had been interrupted.
Two wine glasses stood ready for wine on a side - table, but a third lay smashed in a star of crystal upon the carpet.
A few feet from it lay what looked like a long knife or short sword, straight, but with an ornamental and pictured handle, its dull blade just caught a grey glint from the dreary window behind, which showed the black trees against the leaden level of the sea.
Towards the opposite corner of the room was rolled a gentleman's silk top hat, as if it had just been knocked off his head; so much so, indeed, that one almost looked to see it still rolling.
And in the corner behind it, thrown like a sack of potatoes, but corded like a railway trunk, lay Mr James Todhunter, with a scarf across his mouth, and six or seven ropes knotted round his elbows and ankles.
His brown eyes were alive and shifted alertly.
Dr Orion Hood paused for one instant on the doormat and drank in the whole scene of voiceless violence.
Then he stepped swiftly across the carpet, picked up the tall silk hat, and gravely put it upon the head of the yet pinioned Todhunter.
It was so much too large for him that it almost slipped down on to his shoulders.
" Mr Glass's hat," said the doctor, returning with it and peering into the inside with a pocket lens.
" How to explain the absence of Mr Glass and the presence of Mr Glass's hat?
For Mr Glass is not a careless man with his clothes.
That hat is of a stylish shape and systematically brushed and burnished, though not very new.
An old dandy, I should think."
" But, good heavens!"
called out Miss MacNab, " aren't you going to untie the man first?"
" I say 'old'with intention, though not with certainty " continued the expositor; " my reason for it might seem a little far - fetched.
The hair of human beings falls out in very varying degrees, but almost always falls out slightly, and with the lens I should see the tiny hairs in a hat recently worn.
It has none, which leads me to guess that Mr Glass is bald.
Now when this is taken with the high - pitched and querulous voice which Miss MacNab described so vividly (patience, my dear lady, patience), when we take the hairless head together with the tone common in senile anger, I should think we may deduce some advance in years.
Nevertheless, he was probably vigorous, and he was almost certainly tall.
I might rely in some degree on the story of his previous appearance at the window, as a tall man in a silk hat, but I think I have more exact indication.
This wineglass has been smashed all over the place, but one of its splinters lies on the high bracket beside the mantelpiece.
No such fragment could have fallen there if the vessel had been smashed in the hand of a comparatively short man like Mr Todhunter."
" By the way," said Father Brown, " might it not be as well to untie Mr Todhunter?"
" Our lesson from the drinking - vessels does not end here," proceeded the specialist.
" I may say at once that it is possible that the man Glass was bald or nervous through dissipation rather than age.
Mr Todhunter, as has been remarked, is a quiet thrifty gentleman, essentially an abstainer.
These cards and wine - cups are no part of his normal habit; they have been produced for a particular companion.
But, as it happens, we may go farther.
Mr Todhunter may or may not possess this wine - service, but there is no appearance of his possessing any wine.
What, then, were these vessels to contain?
I would at once suggest some brandy or whisky, perhaps of a luxurious sort, from a flask in the pocket of Mr Glass.
We have thus something like a picture of the man, or at least of the type: tall, elderly, fashionable, but somewhat frayed, certainly fond of play and strong waters, perhaps rather too fond of them Mr Glass is a gentleman not unknown on the fringes of society."
" Look here," cried the young woman, " if you don't let me pass to untie him I'll run outside and scream for the police."
" I should not advise you, Miss MacNab," said Dr Hood gravely, " to be in any hurry to fetch the police.
Father Brown, I seriously ask you to compose your flock, for their sakes, not for mine.
Well, we have seen something of the figure and quality of Mr Glass; what are the chief facts known of Mr Todhunter?
They are substantially three: that he is economical, that he is more or less wealthy, and that he has a secret.
Now, surely it is obvious that there are the three chief marks of the kind of man who is blackmailed.
And surely it is equally obvious that the faded finery, the profligate habits, and the shrill irritation of Mr Glass are the unmistakable marks of the kind of man who blackmails him.
We have the two typical figures of a tragedy of hush money: on the one hand, the respectable man with a mystery; on the other, the West - end vulture with a scent for a mystery.
These two men have met here today and have quarrelled, using blows and a bare weapon."
" Are you going to take those ropes off?"
asked the girl stubbornly.
Dr Hood replaced the silk hat carefully on the side table, and went across to the captive.
He studied him intently, even moving him a little and half - turning him round by the shoulders, but he only answered:
" No; I think these ropes will do very well till your friends the police bring the handcuffs."
Father Brown, who had been looking dully at the carpet, lifted his round face and said: " What do you mean?"
The man of science had picked up the peculiar dagger - sword from the carpet and was examining it intently as he answered:
" Because you find Mr Todhunter tied up," he said, " you all jump to the conclusion that Mr Glass had tied him up; and then, I suppose, escaped.
There are four objections to this: First, why should a gentleman so dressy as our friend Glass leave his hat behind him, if he left of his own free will?
Second," he continued, moving towards the window, " this is the only exit, and it is locked on the inside.
Third, this blade here has a tiny touch of blood at the point, but there is no wound on Mr Todhunter.
Mr Glass took that wound away with him, dead or alive.
Add to all this primary probability.
It is much more likely that the blackmailed person would try to kill his incubus, rather than that the blackmailer would try to kill the goose that lays his golden egg.
There, I think, we have a pretty complete story."
" But the ropes?"
inquired the priest, whose eyes had remained open with a rather vacant admiration.
" Ah, the ropes," said the expert with a singular intonation.
" Miss MacNab very much wanted to know why I did not set Mr Todhunter free from his ropes.
Well, I will tell her.
I did not do it because Mr Todhunter can set himself free from them at any minute he chooses."
" What?"
cried the audience on quite different notes of astonishment.
" I have looked at all the knots on Mr Todhunter," reiterated Hood quietly.
" I happen to know something about knots; they are quite a branch of criminal science.
Every one of those knots he has made himself and could loosen himself; not one of them would have been made by an enemy really trying to pinion him.
The whole of this affair of the ropes is a clever fake, to make us think him the victim of the struggle instead of the wretched Glass, whose corpse may be hidden in the garden or stuffed up the chimney."
There was a rather depressed silence; the room was darkening, the sea - blighted boughs of the garden trees looked leaner and blacker than ever, yet they seemed to have come nearer to the window.
One could almost fancy they were sea - monsters like krakens or cuttlefish, writhing polypi who had crawled up from the sea to see the end of this tragedy, even as he, the villain and victim of it, the terrible man in the tall hat, had once crawled up from the sea.
For the whole air was dense with the morbidity of blackmail, which is the most morbid of human things, because it is a crime concealing a crime; a black plaster on a blacker wound.
The face of the little Catholic priest, which was commonly complacent and even comic, had suddenly become knotted with a curious frown.
It was not the blank curiosity of his first innocence.
It was rather that creative curiosity which comes when a man has the beginnings of an idea.
" Say it again, please," he said in a simple, bothered manner; " do you mean that Todhunter can tie himself up all alone and untie himself all alone?"
" That is what I mean," said the doctor.
" Jerusalem!"
ejaculated Brown suddenly, " I wonder if it could possibly be that!"
He scuttled across the room rather like a rabbit, and peered with quite a new impulsiveness into the partially - covered face of the captive.
Then he turned his own rather fatuous face to the company.
" Yes, that's it!"
he cried in a certain excitement.
" Can't you see it in the man's face?
Why, look at his eyes!"
Both the Professor and the girl followed the direction of his glance.
And though the broad black scarf completely masked the lower half of Todhunter's visage, they did grow conscious of something struggling and intense about the upper part of it.
" His eyes do look queer," cried the young woman, strongly moved.
" You brutes; I believe it's hurting him!"
" Not that, I think," said Dr Hood; " the eyes have certainly a singular expression.
But I should interpret those transverse wrinkles as expressing rather such slight psychological abnormality --"
" Oh, bosh!"
cried Father Brown: " can't you see he's laughing?"
" Laughing!"
repeated the doctor, with a start; " but what on earth can he be laughing at?"
" Well," replied the Reverend Brown apologetically, " not to put too fine a point on it, I think he is laughing at you.
And indeed, I'm a little inclined to laugh at myself, now I know about it."
" Now you know about what?"
asked Hood, in some exasperation.
" Now I know," replied the priest, " the profession of Mr Todhunter."
He shuffled about the room, looking at one object after another with what seemed to be a vacant stare, and then invariably bursting into an equally vacant laugh, a highly irritating process for those who had to watch it.
He laughed very much over the hat, still more uproariously over the broken glass, but the blood on the sword point sent him into mortal convulsions of amusement.
Then he turned to the fuming specialist.
" Dr Hood," he cried enthusiastically, " you are a great poet!
You have called an uncreated being out of the void.
How much more godlike that is than if you had only ferreted out the mere facts!
Indeed, the mere facts are rather commonplace and comic by comparison."
" I have no notion what you are talking about," said Dr Hood rather haughtily; " my facts are all inevitable, though necessarily incomplete.
A place may be permitted to intuition, perhaps (or poetry if you prefer the term), but only because the corresponding details cannot as yet be ascertained.
In the absence of Mr Glass --"
" That's it, that's it," said the little priest, nodding quite eagerly, " that's the first idea to get fixed; the absence of Mr Glass.
He is so extremely absent.
I suppose," he added reflectively, " that there was never anybody so absent as Mr Glass."
" Do you mean he is absent from the town?"
demanded the doctor.
" I mean he is absent from everywhere," answered Father Brown; " he is absent from the Nature of Things, so to speak."
" Do you seriously mean," said the specialist with a smile, " that there is no such person?"
The priest made a sign of assent.
" It does seem a pity," he said.
Orion Hood broke into a contemptuous laugh.
" Well," he said, " before we go on to the hundred and one other evidences, let us take the first proof we found; the first fact we fell over when we fell into this room.
If there is no Mr Glass, whose hat is this?"
" It is Mr Todhunter's," replied Father Brown.
" But it doesn't fit him," cried Hood impatiently.
" He couldn't possibly wear it!"
Father Brown shook his head with ineffable mildness.
" I never said he could wear it," he answered.
" I said it was his hat.
Or, if you insist on a shade of difference, a hat that is his."
" And what is the shade of difference?"
asked the criminologist with a slight sneer.
" My good sir," cried the mild little man, with his first movement akin to impatience, " if you will walk down the street to the nearest hatter's shop, you will see that there is, in common speech, a difference between a man's hat and the hats that are his."
" But a hatter," protested Hood, " can get money out of his stock of new hats.
What could Todhunter get out of this one old hat?"
" Rabbits," replied Father Brown promptly.
" What?"
cried Dr Hood.
" Rabbits, ribbons, sweetmeats, goldfish, rolls of coloured paper," said the reverend gentleman with rapidity.
" Didn't you see it all when you found out the faked ropes?
It's just the same with the sword.
Mr Todhunter hasn't got a scratch on him, as you say; but he's got a scratch in him, if you follow me."
" Do you mean inside Mr Todhunter's clothes?"
inquired Mrs MacNab sternly.
" I do not mean inside Mr Todhunter's clothes," said Father Brown.
" I mean inside Mr Todhunter."
" Well, what in the name of Bedlam do you mean?"
" Mr Todhunter," explained Father Brown placidly, " is learning to be a professional conjurer, as well as juggler, ventriloquist, and expert in the rope trick.
The conjuring explains the hat.
It is without traces of hair, not because it is worn by the prematurely bald Mr Glass, but because it has never been worn by anybody.
The juggling explains the three glasses, which Todhunter was teaching himself to throw up and catch in rotation.
But, being only at the stage of practice, he smashed one glass against the ceiling.
And the juggling also explains the sword, which it was Mr Todhunter's professional pride and duty to swallow.
But, again, being at the stage of practice, he very slightly grazed the inside of his throat with the weapon.
Hence he has a wound inside him, which I am sure (from the expression on his face) is not a serious one.
He was also practising the trick of a release from ropes, like the Davenport Brothers, and he was just about to free himself when we all burst into the room.
The cards, of course, are for card tricks, and they are scattered on the floor because he had just been practising one of those dodges of sending them flying through the air.
He merely kept his trade secret, because he had to keep his tricks secret, like any other conjurer.
" But What about the two voices?"
asked Maggie, staring.
" Have you never heard a ventriloquist?"
asked Father Brown.
" Don't you know they speak first in their natural voice, and then answer themselves in just that shrill, squeaky, unnatural voice that you heard?"
There was a long silence, and Dr Hood regarded the little man who had spoken with a dark and attentive smile.
" You are certainly a very ingenious person," he said; " it could not have been done better in a book.
But there is just one part of Mr Glass you have not succeeded in explaining away, and that is his name.
Miss MacNab distinctly heard him so addressed by Mr Todhunter."
The Rev.
Mr Brown broke into a rather childish giggle.
" Well, that," he said, " that's the silliest part of the whole silly story.
When our juggling friend here threw up the three glasses in turn, he counted them aloud as he caught them, and also commented aloud when he failed to catch them.
What he really said was: 'One, two and three--missed a glass one, two--missed a glass.'
And so on."
There was a second of stillness in the room, and then everyone with one accord burst out laughing.
As they did so the figure in the corner complacently uncoiled all the ropes and let them fall with a flourish.
II.
The Paradise of Thieves
THE great Muscari, most original of the young Tuscan poets, walked swiftly into his favourite restaurant, which overlooked the Mediterranean, was covered by an awning and fenced by little lemon and orange trees.
Waiters in white aprons were already laying out on white tables the insignia of an early and elegant lunch; and this seemed to increase a satisfaction that already touched the top of swagger.
Muscari had an eagle nose like Dante; his hair and neckerchief were dark and flowing; he carried a black cloak, and might almost have carried a black mask, so much did he bear with him a sort of Venetian melodrama.
He acted as if a troubadour had still a definite social office, like a bishop.
He went as near as his century permitted to walking the world literally like Don Juan, with rapier and guitar.
For he never travelled without a case of swords, with which he had fought many brilliant duels, or without a corresponding case for his mandolin, with which he had actually serenaded Miss Ethel Harrogate, the highly conventional daughter of a Yorkshire banker on a holiday.
Yet he was neither a charlatan nor a child; but a hot, logical Latin who liked a certain thing and was it.
His poetry was as straightforward as anyone else's prose.
He desired fame or wine or the beauty of women with a torrid directness inconceivable among the cloudy ideals or cloudy compromises of the north; to vaguer races his intensity smelt of danger or even crime.
Like fire or the sea, he was too simple to be trusted.
The banker and his beautiful English daughter were staying at the hotel attached to Muscari's restaurant; that was why it was his favourite restaurant.
A glance flashed around the room told him at once, however, that the English party had not descended.
The restaurant was glittering, but still comparatively empty.
Two priests were talking at a table in a corner, but Muscari (an ardent Catholic) took no more notice of them than of a couple of crows.
But from a yet farther seat, partly concealed behind a dwarf tree golden with oranges, there rose and advanced towards the poet a person whose costume was the most aggressively opposite to his own.
This figure was clad in tweeds of a piebald check, with a pink tie, a sharp collar and protuberant yellow boots.
He contrived, in the true tradition of'Arry at Margate, to look at once startling and commonplace.
But as the Cockney apparition drew nearer, Muscari was astounded to observe that the head was distinctly different from the body.
It was an Italian head: fuzzy, swarthy and very vivacious, that rose abruptly out of the standing collar like cardboard and the comic pink tie.
In fact it was a head he knew.
He recognized it, above all the dire erection of English holiday array, as the face of an old but forgotten friend name Ezza.
Muscari had known him last behind the footlights; he was but too well attuned to the excitements of that profession, and it was believed that some moral calamity had swallowed him up.
" Ezza!"
cried the poet, rising and shaking hands in a pleasant astonishment.
" Well, I've seen you in many costumes in the green room; but I never expected to see you dressed up as an Englishman."
" This," answered Ezza gravely, " is not the costume of an Englishman, but of the Italian of the future."
" In that case," remarked Muscari, " I confess I prefer the Italian of the past."
" That is your old mistake, Muscari," said the man in tweeds, shaking his head; " and the mistake of Italy.
In the sixteenth century we Tuscans made the morning: we had the newest steel, the newest carving, the newest chemistry.
Why should we not now have the newest factories, the newest motors, the newest finance--the newest clothes?"
" Because they are not worth having," answered Muscari.
" You cannot make Italians really progressive; they are too intelligent.
Men who see the short cut to good living will never go by the new elaborate roads."
" Well, to me Marconi, or D'Annunzio, is the star of Italy " said the other.
" That is why I have become a Futurist--and a courier."
" A courier!"
cried Muscari, laughing.
" Is that the last of your list of trades?
And whom are you conducting?"
" Oh, a man of the name of Harrogate, and his family, I believe."
" Not the banker in this hotel?"
inquired the poet, with some eagerness.
" That's the man," answered the courier.
" Does it pay well?"
asked the troubadour innocently.
" It will pay me," said Ezza, with a very enigmatic smile.
" But I am a rather curious sort of courier."
Then, as if changing the subject, he said abruptly: " He has a daughter--and a son."
" The daughter is divine," affirmed Muscari, " the father and son are, I suppose, human.
But granted his harmless qualities doesn't that banker strike you as a splendid instance of my argument?
Harrogate has millions in his safes, and I have--the hole in my pocket.
But you daren't say--you can't say--that he's cleverer than I, or bolder than I, or even more energetic.
He's not clever, he's got eyes like blue buttons; he's not energetic, he moves from chair to chair like a paralytic.
He's a conscientious, kindly old blockhead; but he's got money simply because he collects money, as a boy collects stamps.
You're too strong - minded for business, Ezza.
You won't get on.
To be clever enough to get all that money, one must be stupid enough to want it."
" I'm stupid enough for that," said Ezza gloomily.
" But I should suggest a suspension of your critique of the banker, for here he comes."
Mr Harrogate, the great financier, did indeed enter the room, but nobody looked at him.
He was a massive elderly man with a boiled blue eye and faded grey - sandy moustaches; but for his heavy stoop he might have been a colonel.
He carried several unopened letters in his hand.
His son Frank was a really fine lad, curly - haired, sun - burnt and strenuous; but nobody looked at him either.
All eyes, as usual, were riveted, for the moment at least, upon Ethel Harrogate, whose golden Greek head and colour of the dawn seemed set purposely above that sapphire sea, like a goddess's.
The poet Muscari drew a deep breath as if he were drinking something, as indeed he was.
He was drinking the Classic; which his fathers made.
Ezza studied her with a gaze equally intense and far more baffling.
Miss Harrogate was specially radiant and ready for conversation on this occasion; and her family had fallen into the easier Continental habit, allowing the stranger Muscari and even the courier Ezza to share their table and their talk.
In Ethel Harrogate conventionality crowned itself with a perfection and splendour of its own.
Proud of her father's prosperity, fond of fashionable pleasures, a fond daughter but an arrant flirt, she was all these things with a sort of golden good - nature that made her very pride pleasing and her worldly respectability a fresh and hearty thing.
They were in an eddy of excitement about some alleged peril in the mountain path they were to attempt that week.
The danger was not from rock and avalanche, but from something yet more romantic.
Ethel had been earnestly assured that brigands, the true cut - throats of the modern legend, still haunted that ridge and held that pass of the Apennines.
" They say," she cried, with the awful relish of a schoolgirl, " that all that country isn't ruled by the King of Italy, but by the King of Thieves.
Who is the King of Thieves?"
" A great man," replied Muscari, " worthy to rank with your own Robin Hood, signorina.
Montano, the King of Thieves, was first heard of in the mountains some ten years ago, when people said brigands were extinct.
But his wild authority spread with the swiftness of a silent revolution.
Men found his fierce proclamations nailed in every mountain village; his sentinels, gun in hand, in every mountain ravine.
Six times the Italian Government tried to dislodge him, and was defeated in six pitched battles as if by Napoleon."
" Now that sort of thing," observed the banker weightily, " would never be allowed in England; perhaps, after all, we had better choose another route.
But the courier thought it perfectly safe."
" It is perfectly safe," said the courier contemptuously.
" I have been over it twenty times.
There may have been some old jailbird called a King in the time of our grandmothers; but he belongs to history if not to fable.
Brigandage is utterly stamped out."
" It can never be utterly stamped out," Muscari answered; " because armed revolt is a recreation natural to southerners.
Our peasants are like their mountains, rich in grace and green gaiety, but with the fires beneath.
There is a point of human despair where the northern poor take to drink--and our own poor take to daggers."
" A poet is privileged," replied Ezza, with a sneer.
" If Signor Muscari were English be would still be looking for highwaymen in Wandsworth.
Believe me, there is no more danger of being captured in Italy than of being scalped in Boston."
" Then you propose to attempt it?"
asked Mr Harrogate, frowning.
" Oh, it sounds rather dreadful," cried the girl, turning her glorious eyes on Muscari.
" Do you really think the pass is dangerous?"
Muscari threw back his black mane.
" I know it is dangerous:" he said.
" I am crossing it tomorrow."
The young Harrogate was left behind for a moment emptying a glass of white wine and lighting a cigarette, as the beauty retired with the banker, the courier and the poet, distributing peals of silvery satire.
At about the same instant the two priests in the corner rose; the taller, a white - haired Italian, taking his leave.
The shorter priest turned and walked towards the banker's son, and the latter was astonished to realize that though a Roman priest the man was an Englishman.
He vaguely remembered meeting him at the social crushes of some of his Catholic friends.
But the man spoke before his memories could collect themselves.
" Mr Frank Harrogate, I think," he said.
" I have had an introduction, but I do not mean to presume on it.
The odd thing I have to say will come far better from a stranger.
Mr Harrogate, I say one word and go: take care of your sister in her great sorrow."
Even for Frank's truly fraternal indifference the radiance and derision of his sister still seemed to sparkle and ring; he could hear her laughter still from the garden of the hotel, and he stared at his sombre adviser in puzzledom.
" Do you mean the brigands?"
he asked; and then, remembering a vague fear of his own, " or can you be thinking of Muscari?"
" One is never thinking of the real sorrow," said the strange priest.
" One can only be kind when it comes."
And he passed promptly from the room, leaving the other almost with his mouth open.
A day or two afterwards a coach containing the company was really crawling and staggering up the spurs of the menacing mountain range.
Between Ezza's cheery denial of the danger and Muscari's boisterous defiance of it, the financial family were firm in their original purpose; and Muscari made his mountain journey coincide with theirs.
A more surprising feature was the appearance at the coast - town station of the little priest of the restaurant; he alleged merely that business led him also to cross the mountains of the midland.
But young Harrogate could not but connect his presence with the mystical fears and warnings of yesterday.
The coach was a kind of commodious wagonette, invented by the modernist talent of the courier, who dominated the expedition with his scientific activity and breezy wit.
The theory of danger from thieves was banished from thought and speech; though so far conceded in formal act that some slight protection was employed.
The courier and the young banker carried loaded revolvers, and Muscari (with much boyish gratification) buckled on a kind of cutlass under his black cloak.
He had planted his person at a flying leap next to the lovely Englishwoman; on the other side of her sat the priest, whose name was Brown and who was fortunately a silent individual; the courier and the father and son were on the banc behind.
Muscari was in towering spirits, seriously believing in the peril, and his talk to Ethel might well have made her think him a maniac.
But there was something in the crazy and gorgeous ascent, amid crags like peaks loaded with woods like orchards, that dragged her spirit up alone with his into purple preposterous heavens with wheeling suns.
The white road climbed like a white cat; it spanned sunless chasms like a tight - rope; it was flung round far - off headlands like a lasso.
And yet, however high they went, the desert still blossomed like the rose.
The fields were burnished in sun and wind with the colour of kingfisher and parrot and humming - bird, the hues of a hundred flowering flowers.
There are no lovelier meadows and woodlands than the English, no nobler crests or chasms than those of Snowdon and Glencoe.
But Ethel Harrogate had never before seen the southern parks tilted on the splintered northern peaks; the gorge of Glencoe laden with the fruits of Kent.
There was nothing here of that chill and desolation that in Britain one associates with high and wild scenery.
It was rather like a mosaic palace, rent with earthquakes; or like a Dutch tulip garden blown to the stars with dynamite.
" It's like Kew Gardens on Beachy Head," said Ethel.
" It is our secret," answered he, " the secret of the volcano; that is also the secret of the revolution--that a thing can be violent and yet fruitful."
" You are rather violent yourself," and she smiled at him.
" And yet rather fruitless," he admitted; " if I die tonight I die unmarried and a fool."
" It is not my fault if you have come," she said after a difficult silence.
" It is never your fault," answered Muscari; " it was not your fault that Troy fell."
As they spoke they came under overwhelming cliffs that spread almost like wings above a corner of peculiar peril.
Shocked by the big shadow on the narrow ledge, the horses stirred doubtfully.
The driver leapt to the earth to hold their heads, and they became ungovernable.
One horse reared up to his full height--the titanic and terrifying height of a horse when he becomes a biped.
It was just enough to alter the equilibrium; the whole coach heeled over like a ship and crashed through the fringe of bushes over the cliff.
Muscari threw an arm round Ethel, who clung to him, and shouted aloud.
It was for such moments that he lived.
At the moment when the gorgeous mountain walls went round the poet's head like a purple windmill a thing happened which was superficially even more startling.
The elderly and lethargic banker sprang erect in the coach and leapt over the precipice before the tilted vehicle could take him there.
In the first flash it looked as wild as suicide; but in the second it was as sensible as a safe investment.
The Yorkshireman had evidently more promptitude, as well as more sagacity, than Muscari had given him credit for; for he landed in a lap of land which might have been specially padded with turf and clover to receive him.
As it happened, indeed, the whole company were equally lucky, if less dignified in their form of ejection.
Immediately under this abrupt turn of the road was a grassy and flowery hollow like a sunken meadow; a sort of green velvet pocket in the long, green, trailing garments of the hills.
Into this they were all tipped or tumbled with little damage, save that their smallest baggage and even the contents of their pockets were scattered in the grass around them.
The wrecked coach still hung above, entangled in the tough hedge, and the horses plunged painfully down the slope.
The first to sit up was the little priest, who scratched his head with a face of foolish wonder.
Frank Harrogate heard him say to himself: " Now why on earth have we fallen just here?"
He blinked at the litter around him, and recovered his own very clumsy umbrella.
Beyond it lay the broad sombrero fallen from the head of Muscari, and beside it a sealed business letter which, after a glance at the address, he returned to the elder Harrogate.
On the other side of him the grass partly hid Miss Ethel's sunshade, and just beyond it lay a curious little glass bottle hardly two inches long.
The priest picked it up; in a quick, unobtrusive manner he uncorked and sniffed it, and his heavy face turned the colour of clay.
" Heaven deliver us!"
he muttered; " it can't be hers!
Has her sorrow come on her already?"
He slipped it into his own waistcoat pocket.
" I think I'm justified," he said, " till I know a little more."
He gazed painfully at the girl, at that moment being raised out of the flowers by Muscari, who was saying: " We have fallen into heaven; it is a sign.
Mortals climb up and they fall down; but it is only gods and goddesses who can fall upwards."
And indeed she rose out of the sea of colours so beautiful and happy a vision that the priest felt his suspicion shaken and shifted.
" After all," he thought, " perhaps the poison isn't hers; perhaps it's one of Muscari's melodramatic tricks."
Muscari set the lady lightly on her feet, made her an absurdly theatrical bow, and then, drawing his cutlass, hacked hard at the taut reins of the horses, so that they scrambled to their feet and stood in the grass trembling.
When he had done so, a most remarkable thing occurred.
A very quiet man, very poorly dressed and extremely sunburnt, came out of the bushes and took hold of the horses'heads.
He had a queer - shaped knife, very broad and crooked, buckled on his belt; there was nothing else remarkable about him, except his sudden and silent appearance.
The poet asked him who he was, and he did not answer.
Looking around him at the confused and startled group in the hollow, Muscari then perceived that another tanned and tattered man, with a short gun under his arm, was looking at them from the ledge just below, leaning his elbows on the edge of the turf.
Then he looked up at the road from which they had fallen and saw, looking down on them, the muzzles of four other carbines and four other brown faces with bright but quite motionless eyes.
" The brigands!"
cried Muscari, with a kind of monstrous gaiety.
" This was a trap.
Ezza, if you will oblige me by shooting the coachman first, we can cut our way out yet.
There are only six of them."
" The coachman," said Ezza, who was standing grimly with his hands in his pockets, " happens to be a servant of Mr Harrogate's."
" Then shoot him all the more," cried the poet impatiently; " he was bribed to upset his master.
Then put the lady in the middle, and we will break the line up there--with a rush."
And, wading in wild grass and flowers, he advanced fearlessly on the four carbines; but finding that no one followed except young Harrogate, he turned, brandishing his cutlass to wave the others on.
He beheld the courier still standing slightly astride in the centre of the grassy ring, his hands in his pockets; and his lean, ironical Italian face seemed to grow longer and longer in the evening light.
" You thought, Muscari, I was the failure among our schoolfellows," he said, " and you thought you were the success.
But I have succeeded more than you and fill a bigger place in history.
I have been acting epics while you have been writing them."
" Come on, I tell you!"
thundered Muscari from above.
" Will you stand there talking nonsense about yourself with a woman to save and three strong men to help you?
What do you call yourself?"
" I call myself Montano," cried the strange courier in a voice equally loud and full.
" I am the King of Thieves, and I welcome you all to my summer palace."
And even as he spoke five more silent men with weapons ready came out of the bushes, and looked towards him for their orders.
One of them held a large paper in his hand.
" This pretty little nest where we are all picnicking," went on the courier - brigand, with the same easy yet sinister smile, " is, together with some caves underneath it, known by the name of the Paradise of Thieves.
It is my principal stronghold on these hills; for (as you have doubtless noticed) the eyrie is invisible both from the road above and from the valley below.
It is something better than impregnable; it is unnoticeable.
Here I mostly live, and here I shall certainly die, if the gendarmes ever track me here.
I am not the kind of criminal that 'reserves his defence,' but the better kind that reserves his last bullet."
All were staring at him thunderstruck and still, except Father Brown, who heaved a huge sigh as of relief and fingered the little phial in his pocket.
" Thank God!"
he muttered; " that's much more probable.
The poison belongs to this robber - chief, of course.
He carries it so that he may never be captured, like Cato."
The King of Thieves was, however, continuing his address with the same kind of dangerous politeness.
" It only remains for me," he said, " to explain to my guests the social conditions upon which I have the pleasure of entertaining them.
I need not expound the quaint old ritual of ransom, which it is incumbent upon me to keep up; and even this only applies to a part of the company.
The Reverend Father Brown and the celebrated Signor Muscari I shall release tomorrow at dawn and escort to my outposts.
Poets and priests, if you will pardon my simplicity of speech, never have any money.
And so (since it is impossible to get anything out of them), let us, seize the opportunity to show our admiration for classic literature and our reverence for Holy Church."
He paused with an unpleasing smile; and Father Brown blinked repeatedly at him, and seemed suddenly to be listening with great attention.
I will not weary you with the verbalism, since you will be able to check it; the substance of my proclamation is this: I announce first that I have captured the English millionaire, the colossus of finance, Mr Samuel Harrogate.
I next announce that I have found on his person notes and bonds for two thousand pounds, which he has given up to me.
Now since it would be really immoral to announce such a thing to a credulous public if it had not occurred, I suggest it should occur without further delay.
I suggest that Mr Harrogate senior should now give me the two thousand pounds in his pocket."
The banker looked at him under lowering brows, red - faced and sulky, but seemingly cowed.
That leap from the failing carriage seemed to have used up his last virility.
He had held back in a hang - dog style when his son and Muscari had made a bold movement to break out of the brigand trap.
And now his red and trembling hand went reluctantly to his breast - pocket, and passed a bundle of papers and envelopes to the brigand.
" Excellent!"
cried that outlaw gaily; " so far we are all cosy.
I resume the points of my proclamation, so soon to be published to all Italy.
The third item is that of ransom.
I am asking from the friends of the Harrogate family a ransom of three thousand pounds, which I am sure is almost insulting to that family in its moderate estimate of their importance.
Who would not pay triple this sum for another day's association with such a domestic circle?
All the time that he had been speaking, the dubious - looking men with carbines and dirty slouch hats had been gathering silently in such preponderating numbers that even Muscari was compelled to recognize his sally with the sword as hopeless.
He glanced around him; but the girl had already gone over to soothe and comfort her father, for her natural affection for his person was as strong or stronger than her somewhat snobbish pride in his success.
Muscari, with the illogicality of a lover, admired this filial devotion, and yet was irritated by it.
He slapped his sword back in the scabbard and went and flung himself somewhat sulkily on one of the green banks.
The priest sat down within a yard or two, and Muscari turned his aquiline nose on him in an instantaneous irritation.
" Well," said the poet tartly, " do people still think me too romantic?
Are there, I wonder, any brigands left in the mountains?"
" There may be," said Father Brown agnostically.
" What do you mean?"
asked the other sharply.
" I mean I am puzzled," replied the priest.
" I am puzzled about Ezza or Montano, or whatever his name is.
He seems to me much more inexplicable as a brigand even than he was as a courier."
" But in what way?"
persisted his companion.
" Santa Maria!
I should have thought the brigand was plain enough."
" I find three curious difficulties," said the priest in a quiet voice.
" I should like to have your opinion on them.
First of all I must tell you I was lunching in that restaurant at the seaside.
As four of you left the room, you and Miss Harrogate went ahead, talking and laughing; the banker and the courier came behind, speaking sparely and rather low.
But I could not help hearing Ezza say these words --'Well, let her have a little fun; you know the blow may smash her any minute.'
Mr Harrogate answered nothing; so the words must have had some meaning.
On the impulse of the moment I warned her brother that she might be in peril; I said nothing of its nature, for I did not know.
But if it meant this capture in the hills, the thing is nonsense.
Why should the brigand - courier warn his patron, even by a hint, when it was his whole purpose to lure him into the mountain - mousetrap?
It could not have meant that.
But if not, what is this disaster, known both to courier and banker, which hangs over Miss Harrogate's head?"
" Disaster to Miss Harrogate!"
ejaculated the poet, sitting up with some ferocity.
" Explain yourself; go on."
" All my riddles, however, revolve round our bandit chief," resumed the priest reflectively.
" And here is the second of them.
Why did he put so prominently in his demand for ransom the fact that he had taken two thousand pounds from his victim on the spot?
It had no faintest tendency to evoke the ransom.
Quite the other way, in fact.
Harrogate's friends would be far likelier to fear for his fate if they thought the thieves were poor and desperate.
Yet the spoliation on the spot was emphasized and even put first in the demand.
Why should Ezza Montano want so specially to tell all Europe that he had picked the pocket before he levied the blackmail?"
" I cannot imagine," said Muscari, rubbing up his black hair for once with an unaffected gesture.
" You may think you enlighten me, but you are leading me deeper in the dark.
What may be the third objection to the King of the Thieves?"
" The third objection," said Father Brown, still in meditation, " is this bank we are sitting on.
Why does our brigand - courier call this his chief fortress and the Paradise of Thieves?
It is certainly a soft spot to fall on and a sweet spot to look at.
It is also quite true, as he says, that it is invisible from valley and peak, and is therefore a hiding - place.
But it is not a fortress.
It never could be a fortress.
I think it would be the worst fortress in the world.
For it is actually commanded from above by the common high - road across the mountains--the very place where the police would most probably pass.
Why, five shabby short guns held us helpless here about half an hour ago.
The quarter of a company of any kind of soldiers could have blown us over the precipice.
Whatever is the meaning of this odd little nook of grass and flowers, it is not an entrenched position.
It is something else; it has some other strange sort of importance; some value that I do not understand.
It is more like an accidental theatre or a natural green - room; it is like the scene for some romantic comedy; it is like...."
As the little priest's words lengthened and lost themselves in a dull and dreamy sincerity, Muscari, whose animal senses were alert and impatient, heard a new noise in the mountains.
Even for him the sound was as yet very small and faint; but he could have sworn the evening breeze bore with it something like the pulsation of horses'hoofs and a distant hallooing.
At the same moment, and long before the vibration had touched the less - experienced English ears, Montano the brigand ran up the bank above them and stood in the broken hedge, steadying himself against a tree and peering down the road.
He was a strange figure as he stood there, for he had assumed a flapped fantastic hat and swinging baldric and cutlass in his capacity of bandit king, but the bright prosaic tweed of the courier showed through in patches all over him.
The next moment he turned his olive, sneering face and made a movement with his hand.
The brigands scattered at the signal, not in confusion, but in what was evidently a kind of guerrilla discipline.
Instead of occupying the road along the ridge, they sprinkled themselves along the side of it behind the trees and the hedge, as if watching unseen for an enemy.
The noise beyond grew stronger, beginning to shake the mountain road, and a voice could be clearly heard calling out orders.
The brigands swayed and huddled, cursing and whispering, and the evening air was full of little metallic noises as they cocked their pistols, or loosened their knives, or trailed their scabbards over the stones.
Then the noises from both quarters seemed to meet on the road above; branches broke, horses neighed, men cried out.
" A rescue!"
cried Muscari, springing to his feet and waving his hat; " the gendarmes are on them!
Now for freedom and a blow for it!
Now to be rebels against robbers!
Come, don't let us leave everything to the police; that is so dreadfully modern.
Fall on the rear of these ruffians.
The gendarmes are rescuing us; come, friends, let us rescue the gendarmes!"
And throwing his hat over the trees, he drew his cutlass once more and began to escalade the slope up to the road.
Frank Harrogate jumped up and ran across to help him, revolver in hand, but was astounded to hear himself imperatively recalled by the raucous voice of his father, who seemed to be in great agitation.
" I won't have it," said the banker in a choking voice; " I command you not to interfere."
" But, father," said Frank very warmly, " an Italian gentleman has led the way.
You wouldn't have it said that the English hung back."
" It is useless," said the older man, who was trembling violently, " it is useless.
We must submit to our lot."
Father Brown looked at the banker; then he put his hand instinctively as if on his heart, but really on the little bottle of poison; and a great light came into his face like the light of the revelation of death.
Muscari meanwhile, without waiting for support, had crested the bank up to the road, and struck the brigand king heavily on the shoulder, causing him to stagger and swing round.
Montano also had his cutlass unsheathed, and Muscari, without further speech, sent a slash at his head which he was compelled to catch and parry.
But even as the two short blades crossed and clashed the King of Thieves deliberately dropped his point and laughed.
" What's the good, old man?"
he said in spirited Italian slang; " this damned farce will soon be over."
" What do you mean, you shuffler?"
panted the fire - eating poet.
" Is your courage a sham as well as your honesty?"
" Everything about me is a sham," responded the ex - courier in complete good humour.
" I am an actor; and if I ever had a private character, I have forgotten it.
I am no more a genuine brigand than I am a genuine courier.
I am only a bundle of masks, and you can't fight a duel with that."
And he laughed with boyish pleasure and fell into his old straddling attitude, with his back to the skirmish up the road.
It was more like a town crowd preventing the passage of the police than anything the poet had ever pictured as the last stand of doomed and outlawed men of blood.
Just as he was rolling his eyes in bewilderment he felt a touch on his elbow, and found the odd little priest standing there like a small Noah with a large hat, and requesting the favour of a word or two.
" Signor Muscari," said the cleric, " in this queer crisis personalities may be pardoned.
I may tell you without offence of a way in which you will do more good than by helping the gendarmes, who are bound to break through in any case.
You will permit me the impertinent intimacy, but do you care about that girl?
Care enough to marry her and make her a good husband, I mean?"
" Yes," said the poet quite simply.
" Does she care about you?"
" I think so," was the equally grave reply.
" Then go over there and offer yourself," said the priest: " offer her everything you can; offer her heaven and earth if you've got them.
The time is short."
" Why?"
asked the astonished man of letters.
" Because," said Father Brown, " her Doom is coming up the road."
" Nothing is coming up the road," argued Muscari, " except the rescue."
" Well, you go over there," said his adviser, " and be ready to rescue her from the rescue."
Almost as he spoke the hedges were broken all along the ridge by a rush of the escaping brigands.
They dived into bushes and thick grass like defeated men pursued; and the great cocked hats of the mounted gendarmerie were seen passing along above the broken hedge.
Another order was given; there was a noise of dismounting, and a tall officer with cocked hat, a grey imperial, and a paper in his hand appeared in the gap that was the gate of the Paradise of Thieves.
There was a momentary silence, broken in an extraordinary way by the banker, who cried out in a hoarse and strangled voice: " Robbed!
I've been robbed!"
" Why, that was hours ago," cried his son in astonishment: " when you were robbed of two thousand pounds."
" Not of two thousand pounds," said the financier, with an abrupt and terrible composure, " only of a small bottle."
The policeman with the grey imperial was striding across the green hollow.
Encountering the King of the Thieves in his path, he clapped him on the shoulder with something between a caress and a buffet and gave him a push that sent him staggering away.
" You'll get into trouble, too," he said, " if you play these tricks."
Again to Muscari's artistic eye it seemed scarcely like the capture of a great outlaw at bay.
Passing on, the policeman halted before the Harrogate group and said: " Samuel Harrogate, I arrest you in the name of the law for embezzlement of the funds of the Hull and Huddersfield Bank."
The great banker nodded with an odd air of business assent, seemed to reflect a moment, and before they could interpose took a half turn and a step that brought him to the edge of the outer mountain wall.
Then, flinging up his hands, he leapt exactly as he leapt out of the coach.
But this time he did not fall into a little meadow just beneath; he fell a thousand feet below, to become a wreck of bones in the valley.
The anger of the Italian policeman, which he expressed volubly to Father Brown, was largely mixed with admiration.
" It was like him to escape us at last," he said.
" He was a great brigand if you like.
This last trick of his I believe to be absolutely unprecedented.
He fled with the company's money to Italy, and actually got himself captured by sham brigands in his own pay, so as to explain both the disappearance of the money and the disappearance of himself.
That demand for ransom was really taken seriously by most of the police.
But for years he's been doing things as good as that, quite as good as that.
He will be a serious loss to his family."
Muscari was leading away the unhappy daughter, who held hard to him, as she did for many a year after.
But even in that tragic wreck he could not help having a smile and a hand of half - mocking friendship for the indefensible Ezza Montano.
" And where are you going next?"
he asked him over his shoulder.
" Birmingham," answered the actor, puffing a cigarette.
" Didn't I tell you I was a Futurist?
I really do believe in those things if I believe in anything.
Change, bustle and new things every morning.
I am going to Manchester, Liverpool, Leeds, Hull, Huddersfield, Glasgow, Chicago--in short, to enlightened, energetic, civilized society!"
" In short," said Muscari, " to the real Paradise of Thieves."
III.
The Duel of Dr Hirsch
M. MAURICE BRUN and M. Armand Armagnac were crossing the sunlit Champs Elysee with a kind of vivacious respectability.
They were both short, brisk and bold.
They both had black beards that did not seem to belong to their faces, after the strange French fashion which makes real hair look like artificial.
M. Brun had a dark wedge of beard apparently affixed under his lower lip.
M. Armagnac, by way of a change, had two beards; one sticking out from each corner of his emphatic chin.
They were both young.
They were both atheists, with a depressing fixity of outlook but great mobility of exposition.
They were both pupils of the great Dr Hirsch, scientist, publicist and moralist.
M. Brun had become prominent by his proposal that the common expression " Adieu " should be obliterated from all the French classics, and a slight fine imposed for its use in private life.
" Then," he said, " the very name of your imagined God will have echoed for the last time in the ear of man."
M. Armagnac specialized rather in a resistance to militarism, and wished the chorus of the Marseillaise altered from " Aux armes, citoyens " to " Aux greves, citoyens ".
But his antimilitarism was of a peculiar and Gallic sort.
An eminent and very wealthy English Quaker, who had come to see him to arrange for the disarmament of the whole planet, was rather distressed by Armagnac's proposal that (by way of beginning) the soldiers should shoot their officers.
And indeed it was in this regard that the two men differed most from their leader and father in philosophy.
Dr Hirsch, though born in France and covered with the most triumphant favours of French education, was temperamentally of another type--mild, dreamy, humane; and, despite his sceptical system, not devoid of transcendentalism.
He was, in short, more like a German than a Frenchman; and much as they admired him, something in the subconsciousness of these Gauls was irritated at his pleading for peace in so peaceful a manner.
To their party throughout Europe, however, Paul Hirsch was a saint of science.
His large and daring cosmic theories advertised his austere life and innocent, if somewhat frigid, morality; he held something of the position of Darwin doubled with the position of Tolstoy.
But he was neither an anarchist nor an antipatriot; his views on disarmament were moderate and evolutionary--the Republican Government put considerable confidence in him as to various chemical improvements.
He had lately even discovered a noiseless explosive, the secret of which the Government was carefully guarding.
His house stood in a handsome street near the Elysee--a street which in that strong summer seemed almost as full of foliage as the park itself; a row of chestnuts shattered the sunshine, interrupted only in one place where a large cafe ran out into the street.
Almost opposite to this were the white and green blinds of the great scientist's house, an iron balcony, also painted green, running along in front of the first - floor windows.
Beneath this was the entrance into a kind of court, gay with shrubs and tiles, into which the two Frenchmen passed in animated talk.
The door was opened to them by the doctor's old servant, Simon, who might very well have passed for a doctor himself, having a strict suit of black, spectacles, grey hair, and a confidential manner.
In fact, he was a far more presentable man of science than his master, Dr Hirsch, who was a forked radish of a fellow, with just enough bulb of a head to make his body insignificant.
With all the gravity of a great physician handling a prescription, Simon handed a letter to M. Armagnac.
That gentleman ripped it up with a racial impatience, and rapidly read the following:
I cannot come down to speak to you.
There is a man in this house whom I refuse to meet.
He is a Chauvinist officer, Dubosc.
He is sitting on the stairs.
He has been kicking the furniture about in all the other rooms; I have locked myself in my study, opposite that cafe.
If you love me, go over to the cafe and wait at one of the tables outside.
I will try to send him over to you.
I want you to answer him and deal with him.
I cannot meet him myself.
I cannot: I will not.
There is going to be another Dreyfus case.
P. HIRSCH
M. Armagnac looked at M. Brun.
M. Brun borrowed the letter, read it, and looked at M. Armagnac.
Then both betook themselves briskly to one of the little tables under the chestnuts opposite, where they procured two tall glasses of horrible green absinthe, which they could drink apparently in any weather and at any time.
Otherwise the cafe seemed empty, except for one soldier drinking coffee at one table, and at another a large man drinking a small syrup and a priest drinking nothing.
Maurice Brun cleared his throat and said: " Of course we must help the master in every way, but --"
There was an abrupt silence, and Armagnac said: " He may have excellent reasons for not meeting the man himself, but --"
Before either could complete a sentence, it was evident that the invader had been expelled from the house opposite.
The shrubs under the archway swayed and burst apart, as that unwelcome guest was shot out of them like a cannon - ball.
He was a sturdy figure in a small and tilted Tyrolean felt hat, a figure that had indeed something generally Tyrolean about it.
The man's shoulders were big and broad, but his legs were neat and active in knee - breeches and knitted stockings.
His face was brown like a nut; he had very bright and restless brown eyes; his dark hair was brushed back stiffly in front and cropped close behind, outlining a square and powerful skull; and he had a huge black moustache like the horns of a bison.
Such a substantial head is generally based on a bull neck; but this was hidden by a big coloured scarf, swathed round up the man's ears and falling in front inside his jacket like a sort of fancy waistcoat.
It was a scarf of strong dead colours, dark red and old gold and purple, probably of Oriental fabrication.
Altogether the man had something a shade barbaric about him; more like a Hungarian squire than an ordinary French officer.
His French, however, was obviously that of a native; and his French patriotism was so impulsive as to be slightly absurd.
His first act when he burst out of the archway was to call in a clarion voice down the street: " Are there any Frenchmen here?"
as if he were calling for Christians in Mecca.
Armagnac and Brun instantly stood up; but they were too late.
Men were already running from the street corners; there was a small but ever - clustering crowd.
" Frenchmen!"
he volleyed; " I cannot speak!
God help me, that is why I am speaking!
The fellows in their filthy parliaments who learn to speak also learn to be silent--silent as that spy cowering in the house opposite!
Silent as he is when I beat on his bedroom door!
Silent as he is now, though he hears my voice across this street and shakes where he sits!
Oh, they can be silent eloquently--the politicians!
But the time has come when we that cannot speak must speak.
You are betrayed to the Prussians.
Betrayed at this moment.
Betrayed by that man.
I am Jules Dubosc, Colonel of Artillery, Belfort.
We caught a German spy in the Vosges yesterday, and a paper was found on him--a paper I hold in my hand.
Oh, they tried to hush it up; but I took it direct to the man who wrote it--the man in that house!
It is in his hand.
It is signed with his initials.
It is a direction for finding the secret of this new Noiseless Powder.
Hirsch invented it; Hirsch wrote this note about it.
This note is in German, and was found in a German's pocket.
'Tell the man the formula for powder is in grey envelope in first drawer to the left of Secretary's desk, War Office, in red ink.
He must be careful.
P. H.'"
He rattled short sentences like a quick - firing gun, but he was plainly the sort of man who is either mad or right.
The mass of the crowd was Nationalist, and already in threatening uproar; and a minority of equally angry Intellectuals, led by Armagnac and Brun, only made the majority more militant.
" If this is a military secret," shouted Brun, " why do you yell about it in the street?"
" I will tell you why I do!"
roared Dubosc above the roaring crowd.
" I went to this man in straight and civil style.
If he had any explanation it could have been given in complete confidence.
He refuses to explain.
He refers me to two strangers in a cafe as to two flunkeys.
He has thrown me out of the house, but I am going back into it, with the people of Paris behind me!"
A shout seemed to shake the very facade of mansions and two stones flew, one breaking a window above the balcony.
The indignant Colonel plunged once more under the archway and was heard crying and thundering inside.
Every instant the human sea grew wider and wider; it surged up against the rails and steps of the traitor's house; it was already certain that the place would be burst into like the Bastille, when the broken french window opened and Dr Hirsch came out on the balcony.
For an instant the fury half turned to laughter; for he was an absurd figure in such a scene.
His long bare neck and sloping shoulders were the shape of a champagne bottle, but that was the only festive thing about him.
His coat hung on him as on a peg; he wore his carrot - coloured hair long and weedy; his cheeks and chin were fully fringed with one of those irritating beards that begin far from the mouth.
He was very pale, and he wore blue spectacles.
Livid as he was, he spoke with a sort of prim decision, so that the mob fell silent in the middle of his third sentence.
"... only two things to say to you now.
The first is to my foes, the second to my friends.
To my foes I say: It is true I will not meet M. Dubosc, though he is storming outside this very room.
It is true I have asked two other men to confront him for me.
And I will tell you why!
Because I will not and must not see him--because it would be against all rules of dignity and honour to see him.
Before I am triumphantly cleared before a court, there is another arbitration this gentleman owes me as a gentleman, and in referring him to my seconds I am strictly --"
Armagnac and Brun were waving their hats wildly, and even the Doctor's enemies roared applause at this unexpected defiance.
Once more a few sentences were inaudible, but they could hear him say: " To my friends--I myself should always prefer weapons purely intellectual, and to these an evolved humanity will certainly confine itself.
But our own most precious truth is the fundamental force of matter and heredity.
My books are successful; my theories are unrefuted; but I suffer in politics from a prejudice almost physical in the French.
I cannot speak like Clemenceau and Deroulede, for their words are like echoes of their pistols.
The French ask for a duellist as the English ask for a sportsman.
Well, I give my proofs: I will pay this barbaric bribe, and then go back to reason for the rest of my life."
Two men were instantly found in the crowd itself to offer their services to Colonel Dubosc, who came out presently, satisfied.
One was the common soldier with the coffee, who said simply: " I will act for you, sir.
I am the Duc de Valognes."
The other was the big man, whom his friend the priest sought at first to dissuade; and then walked away alone.
In the early evening a light dinner was spread at the back of the Cafe Charlemagne.
Though unroofed by any glass or gilt plaster, the guests were nearly all under a delicate and irregular roof of leaves; for the ornamental trees stood so thick around and among the tables as to give something of the dimness and the dazzle of a small orchard.
At one of the central tables a very stumpy little priest sat in complete solitude, and applied himself to a pile of whitebait with the gravest sort of enjoyment.
His daily living being very plain, he had a peculiar taste for sudden and isolated luxuries; he was an abstemious epicure.
He did not lift his eyes from his plate, round which red pepper, lemons, brown bread and butter, etc., were rigidly ranked, until a tall shadow fell across the table, and his friend Flambeau sat down opposite.
Flambeau was gloomy.
" I'm afraid I must chuck this business," said he heavily.
" I'm all on the side of the French soldiers like Dubosc, and I'm all against the French atheists like Hirsch; but it seems to me in this case we've made a mistake.
The Duke and I thought it as well to investigate the charge, and I must say I'm glad we did."
" Is the paper a forgery, then?"
asked the priest
" That's just the odd thing," replied Flambeau.
" It's exactly like Hirsch's writing, and nobody can point out any mistake in it.
But it wasn't written by Hirsch.
If he's a French patriot he didn't write it, because it gives information to Germany.
And if he's a German spy he didn't write it, well--because it doesn't give information to Germany."
" You mean the information is wrong?"
asked Father Brown.
" Wrong," replied the other, " and wrong exactly where Dr Hirsch would have been right--about the hiding - place of his own secret formula in his own official department.
By favour of Hirsch and the authorities, the Duke and I have actually been allowed to inspect the secret drawer at the War Office where the Hirsch formula is kept.
We are the only people who have ever known it, except the inventor himself and the Minister for War; but the Minister permitted it to save Hirsch from fighting.
After that we really can't support Dubosc if his revelation is a mare's nest."
" And it is?"
asked Father Brown.
" It is," said his friend gloomily.
" It is a clumsy forgery by somebody who knew nothing of the real hiding - place.
It says the paper is in the cupboard on the right of the Secretary's desk.
As a fact the cupboard with the secret drawer is some way to the left of the desk.
It says the grey envelope contains a long document written in red ink.
It isn't written in red ink, but in ordinary black ink.
It's manifestly absurd to say that Hirsch can have made a mistake about a paper that nobody knew of but himself; or can have tried to help a foreign thief by telling him to fumble in the wrong drawer.
I think we must chuck it up and apologize to old Carrots."
Father Brown seemed to cogitate; he lifted a little whitebait on his fork.
" You are sure the grey envelope was in the left cupboard?"
he asked.
" Positive," replied Flambeau.
" The grey envelope--it was a white envelope really--was --"
Father Brown put down the small silver fish and the fork and stared across at his companion.
" What?"
he asked, in an altered voice.
" Well, what?"
repeated Flambeau, eating heartily.
" It was not grey," said the priest.
" Flambeau, you frighten me."
" What the deuce are you frightened of?"
" I'm frightened of a white envelope," said the other seriously, " If it had only just been grey!
Hang it all, it might as well have been grey.
But if it was white, the whole business is black.
The Doctor has been dabbling in some of the old brimstone after all."
" But I tell you he couldn't have written such a note!"
cried Flambeau.
" The note is utterly wrong about the facts.
And innocent or guilty, Dr Hirsch knew all about the facts."
" The man who wrote that note knew all about the facts," said his clerical companion soberly.
" He could never have got'em so wrong without knowing about'em.
You have to know an awful lot to be wrong on every subject--like the devil."
" Do you mean --?"
" I mean a man telling lies on chance would have told some of the truth," said his friend firmly.
" Suppose someone sent you to find a house with a green door and a blue blind, with a front garden but no back garden, with a dog but no cat, and where they drank coffee but not tea.
You would say if you found no such house that it was all made up.
But I say no.
I say if you found a house where the door was blue and the blind green, where there was a back garden and no front garden, where cats were common and dogs instantly shot, where tea was drunk in quarts and coffee forbidden--then you would know you had found the house.
The man must have known that particular house to be so accurately inaccurate."
" But what could it mean?"
demanded the diner opposite.
" I can't conceive," said Brown; " I don't understand this Hirsch affair at all.
As long as it was only the left drawer instead of the right, and red ink instead of black, I thought it must be the chance blunders of a forger, as you say.
But three is a mystical number; it finishes things.
It finishes this.
That the direction about the drawer, the colour of ink, the colour of envelope, should none of them be right by accident, that can't be a coincidence.
It wasn't."
" What was it, then?
Treason?"
asked Flambeau, resuming his dinner.
" I don't know that either," answered Brown, with a face of blank bewilderment.
" The only thing I can think of.... Well, I never understood that Dreyfus case.
I can always grasp moral evidence easier than the other sorts.
I go by a man's eyes and voice, don't you know, and whether his family seems happy, and by what subjects he chooses--and avoids.
Well, I was puzzled in the Dreyfus case.
Not by the horrible things imputed both ways; I know (though it's not modern to say so) that human nature in the highest places is still capable of being Cenci or Borgia.
No --, what puzzled me was the sincerity of both parties.
I don't mean the political parties; the rank and file are always roughly honest, and often duped.
I mean the persons of the play.
I mean the conspirators, if they were conspirators.
I mean the traitor, if he was a traitor.
I mean the men who must have known the truth.
Now Dreyfus went on like a man who knew he was a wronged man.
And yet the French statesmen and soldiers went on as if they knew he wasn't a wronged man but simply a wrong'un.
I don't mean they behaved well; I mean they behaved as if they were sure.
I can't describe these things; I know what I mean."
" I wish I did," said his friend.
" And what has it to do with old Hirsch?"
" Suppose a person in a position of trust," went on the priest, " began to give the enemy information because it was false information.
Suppose he even thought he was saving his country by misleading the foreigner.
Suppose this brought him into spy circles, and little loans were made to him, and little ties tied on to him.
Suppose he kept up his contradictory position in a confused way by never telling the foreign spies the truth, but letting it more and more be guessed.
The better part of him (what was left of it) would still say: 'I have not helped the enemy; I said it was the left drawer.'
The meaner part of him would already be saying: 'But they may have the sense to see that means the right.'
I think it is psychologically possible--in an enlightened age, you know."
" It may be psychologically possible," answered Flambeau, " and it certainly would explain Dreyfus being certain he was wronged and his judges being sure he was guilty.
But it won't wash historically, because Dreyfus's document (if it was his document) was literally correct."
" I wasn't thinking of Dreyfus," said Father Brown.
Silence had sunk around them with the emptying of the tables; it was already late, though the sunlight still clung to everything, as if accidentally entangled in the trees.
In the stillness Flambeau shifted his seat sharply--making an isolated and echoing noise--and threw his elbow over the angle of it.
" Well," he said, rather harshly, " if Hirsch is not better than a timid treason - monger..."
" You mustn't be too hard on them," said Father Brown gently.
" It's not entirely their fault; but they have no instincts.
I mean those things that make a woman refuse to dance with a man or a man to touch an investment.
They've been taught that it's all a matter of degree."
" Anyhow," cried Flambeau impatiently, " he's not a patch on my principal; and I shall go through with it.
Old Dubosc may be a bit mad, but he's a sort of patriot after all."
Father Brown continued to consume whitebait.
Something in the stolid way he did so caused Flambeau's fierce black eyes to ramble over his companion afresh.
" What's the matter with you?"
Flambeau demanded.
" Dubosc's all right in that way.
You don't doubt him?"
" My friend," said the small priest, laying down his knife and fork in a kind of cold despair, " I doubt everything.
Everything, I mean, that has happened today.
I doubt the whole story, though it has been acted before my face.
I doubt every sight that my eyes have seen since morning.
There is something in this business quite different from the ordinary police mystery where one man is more or less lying and the other man more or less telling the truth.
Here both men.... Well!
I've told you the only theory I can think of that could satisfy anybody.
It doesn't satisfy me."
" Nor me either," replied Flambeau frowning, while the other went on eating fish with an air of entire resignation.
" If all you can suggest is that notion of a message conveyed by contraries, I call it uncommonly clever, but... well, what would you call it?"
" I should call it thin," said the priest promptly.
" I should call it uncommonly thin.
But that's the queer thing about the whole business.
The lie is like a schoolboy's.
There are only three versions, Dubosc's and Hirsch's and that fancy of mine.
Either that note was written by a French officer to ruin a French official; or it was written by the French official to help German officers; or it was written by the French official to mislead German officers.
Very well.
You'd expect a secret paper passing between such people, officials or officers, to look quite different from that.
You'd expect, probably a cipher, certainly abbreviations; most certainly scientific and strictly professional terms.
But this thing's elaborately simple, like a penny dreadful: 'In the purple grotto you will find the golden casket.'
It looks as if... as if it were meant to be seen through at once."
Almost before they could take it in a short figure in French uniform had walked up to their table like the wind, and sat down with a sort of thump.
" I have extraordinary news," said the Duc de Valognes.
" I have just come from this Colonel of ours.
He is packing up to leave the country, and he asks us to make his excuses sur le terrain."
" What?"
cried Flambeau, with an incredulity quite frightful--" apologize?"
" Yes," said the Duke gruffly; " then and there--before everybody--when the swords are drawn.
And you and I have to do it while he is leaving the country."
" But what can this mean?"
cried Flambeau.
" He can't be afraid of that little Hirsch!
Confound it!"
he cried, in a kind of rational rage; " nobody could be afraid of Hirsch!"
" I believe it's some plot!"
snapped Valognes --" some plot of the Jews and Freemasons.
It's meant to work up glory for Hirsch..."
The face of Father Brown was commonplace, but curiously contented; it could shine with ignorance as well as with knowledge.
But there was always one flash when the foolish mask fell, and the wise mask fitted itself in its place; and Flambeau, who knew his friend, knew that his friend had suddenly understood.
Brown said nothing, but finished his plate of fish.
" Where did you last see our precious Colonel?"
asked Flambeau, irritably.
" He's round at the Hotel Saint Louis by the Elysee, where we drove with him.
He's packing up, I tell you."
" Will he be there still, do you think?"
asked Flambeau, frowning at the table.
" I don't think he can get away yet," replied the Duke; " he's packing to go a long journey..."
" No," said Father Brown, quite simply, but suddenly standing up, " for a very short journey.
For one of the shortest, in fact.
But we may still be in time to catch him if we go there in a motor - cab."
Nothing more could be got out of him until the cab swept round the corner by the Hotel Saint Louis, where they got out, and he led the party up a side lane already in deep shadow with the growing dusk.
Once, when the Duke impatiently asked whether Hirsch was guilty of treason or not, he answered rather absently: " No; only of ambition--like Caesar."
Then he somewhat inconsequently added: " He lives a very lonely life; he has had to do everything for himself."
" Well, if he's ambitious, he ought to be satisfied now," said Flambeau rather bitterly.
" All Paris will cheer him now our cursed Colonel has turned tail."
" Don't talk so loud," said Father Brown, lowering his voice, " your cursed Colonel is just in front."
The other two started and shrank farther back into the shadow of the wall, for the sturdy figure of their runaway principal could indeed be seen shuffling along in the twilight in front, a bag in each hand.
He looked much the same as when they first saw him, except that he had changed his picturesque mountaineering knickers for a conventional pair of trousers.
It was clear he was already escaping from the hotel.
The lane down which they followed him was one of those that seem to be at the back of things, and look like the wrong side of the stage scenery.
A colourless, continuous wall ran down one flank of it, interrupted at intervals by dull - hued and dirt - stained doors, all shut fast and featureless save for the chalk scribbles of some passing gamin.
On the other side of the lane ran the high gilt railings of a gloomy park.
Flambeau was looking round him in rather a weird way.
" Do you know," he said, " there is something about this place that --"
" Hullo!"
called out the Duke sharply; " that fellow's disappeared.
Vanished, like a blasted fairy!"
" He has a key," explained their clerical friend.
" He's only gone into one of these garden doors," and as he spoke they heard one of the dull wooden doors close again with a click in front of them.
Flambeau strode up to the door thus shut almost in his face, and stood in front of it for a moment, biting his black moustache in a fury of curiosity.
Then he threw up his long arms and swung himself aloft like a monkey and stood on the top of the wall, his enormous figure dark against the purple sky, like the dark tree - tops.
The Duke looked at the priest.
" Dubosc's escape is more elaborate than we thought," he said; " but I suppose he is escaping from France."
" He is escaping from everywhere," answered Father Brown.
Valognes's eyes brightened, but his voice sank.
" Do you mean suicide?"
he asked.
" You will not find his body," replied the other.
A kind of cry came from Flambeau on the wall above.
" My God," he exclaimed in French, " I know what this place is now!
Why, it's the back of the street where old Hirsch lives.
I thought I could recognize the back of a house as well as the back of a man."
" And Dubosc's gone in there!"
cried the Duke, smiting his hip.
" Why, they'll meet after all!"
And with sudden Gallic vivacity he hopped up on the wall beside Flambeau and sat there positively kicking his legs with excitement.
The priest alone remained below, leaning against the wall, with his back to the whole theatre of events, and looking wistfully across to the park palings and the twinkling, twilit trees.
But close as Flambeau was to the house, he heard the words of his colleagues by the wall, and repeated them in a low voice.
" Yes, they will meet now after all!"
" They will never meet," said Father Brown.
" Hirsch was right when he said that in such an affair the principals must not meet.
Have you read a queer psychological story by Henry James, of two persons who so perpetually missed meeting each other by accident that they began to feel quite frightened of each other, and to think it was fate?
This is something of the kind, but more curious."
" There are people in Paris who will cure them of such morbid fancies," said Valognes vindictively.
" They will jolly well have to meet if we capture them and force them to fight."
" They will not meet on the Day of Judgement," said the priest.
" If God Almighty held the truncheon of the lists, if St Michael blew the trumpet for the swords to cross--even then, if one of them stood ready, the other would not come."
" Oh, what does all this mysticism mean?"
cried the Duc de Valognes, impatiently; " why on earth shouldn't they meet like other people?"
" They are the opposite of each other," said Father Brown, with a queer kind of smile.
" They contradict each other.
They cancel out, so to speak."
He continued to gaze at the darkening trees opposite, but Valognes turned his head sharply at a suppressed exclamation from Flambeau.
That investigator, peering into the lighted room, had just seen the Colonel, after a pace or two, proceed to take his coat off.
Flambeau's first thought was that this really looked like a fight; but he soon dropped the thought for another.
The solidity and squareness of Dubosc's chest and shoulders was all a powerful piece of padding and came off with his coat.
In his shirt and trousers he was a comparatively slim gentleman, who walked across the bedroom to the bathroom with no more pugnacious purpose than that of washing himself.
He bent over a basin, dried his dripping hands and face on a towel, and turned again so that the strong light fell on his face.
His brown complexion had gone, his big black moustache had gone; he--was clean - shaven and very pate.
Nothing remained of the Colonel but his bright, hawk - like, brown eyes.
Under the wall Father Brown was going on in heavy meditation, as if to himself.
" It is all just like what I was saying to Flambeau.
These opposites won't do.
They don't work.
They don't fight.
If it's white instead of black, and solid instead of liquid, and so on all along the line--then there's something wrong, Monsieur, there's something wrong.
One of these men is fair and the other dark, one stout and the other slim, one strong and the other weak.
One has a moustache and no beard, so you can't see his mouth; the other has a beard and no moustache, so you can't see his chin.
One has hair cropped to his skull, but a scarf to hide his neck; the other has low shirt - collars, but long hair to bide his skull.
It's all too neat and correct, Monsieur, and there's something wrong.
Things made so opposite are things that cannot quarrel.
Wherever the one sticks out the other sinks in.
Like a face and a mask, like a lock and a key..."
Flambeau was peering into the house with a visage as white as a sheet.
Seen thus in the glass the white face looked like the face of Judas laughing horribly and surrounded by capering flames of hell.
For a spasm Flambeau saw the fierce, red - brown eyes dancing, then they were covered with a pair of blue spectacles.
Slipping on a loose black coat, the figure vanished towards the front of the house.
A few moments later a roar of popular applause from the street beyond announced that Dr Hirsch had once more appeared upon the balcony.
IV.
The Man in the Passage
TWO men appeared simultaneously at the two ends of a sort of passage running along the side of the Apollo Theatre in the Adelphi.
The evening daylight in the streets was large and luminous, opalescent and empty.
The passage was comparatively long and dark, so each man could see the other as a mere black silhouette at the other end.
Nevertheless, each man knew the other, even in that inky outline; for they were both men of striking appearance and they hated each other.
The covered passage opened at one end on one of the steep streets of the Adelphi, and at the other on a terrace overlooking the sunset - coloured river.
One side of the passage was a blank wall, for the building it supported was an old unsuccessful theatre restaurant, now shut up.
The other side of the passage contained two doors, one at each end.
Neither was what was commonly called the stage door; they were a sort of special and private stage doors used by very special performers, and in this case by the star actor and actress in the Shakespearean performance of the day.
Persons of that eminence often like to have such private exits and entrances, for meeting friends or avoiding them.
The two men in question were certainly two such friends, men who evidently knew the doors and counted on their opening, for each approached the door at the upper end with equal coolness and confidence.
Not, however, with equal speed; but the man who walked fast was the man from the other end of the tunnel, so they both arrived before the secret stage door almost at the same instant.
They saluted each other with civility, and waited a moment before one of them, the sharper walker who seemed to have the shorter patience, knocked at the door.
In this and everything else each man was opposite and neither could be called inferior.
As private persons both were handsome, capable and popular.
As public persons, both were in the first public rank.
But everything about them, from their glory to their good looks, was of a diverse and incomparable kind.
Sir Wilson Seymour was the kind of man whose importance is known to everybody who knows.
The more you mixed with the innermost ring in every polity or profession, the more often you met Sir Wilson Seymour.
He was the one intelligent man on twenty unintelligent committees--on every sort of subject, from the reform of the Royal Academy to the project of bimetallism for Greater Britain.
In the Arts especially he was omnipotent.
He was so unique that nobody could quite decide whether he was a great aristocrat who had taken up Art, or a great artist whom the aristocrats had taken up.
But you could not meet him for five minutes without realizing that you had really been ruled by him all your life.
His appearance was " distinguished " in exactly the same sense; it was at once conventional and unique.
Fashion could have found no fault with his high silk hat --, yet it was unlike anyone else's hat--a little higher, perhaps, and adding something to his natural height.
His tall, slender figure had a slight stoop yet it looked the reverse of feeble.
His hair was silver - grey, but he did not look old; it was worn longer than the common yet he did not look effeminate; it was curly but it did not look curled.
His carefully pointed beard made him look more manly and militant than otherwise, as it does in those old admirals of Velazquez with whose dark portraits his house was hung.
His grey gloves were a shade bluer, his silver - knobbed cane a shade longer than scores of such gloves and canes flapped and flourished about the theatres and the restaurants.
The other man was not so tall, yet would have struck nobody as short, but merely as strong and handsome.
His hair also was curly, but fair and cropped close to a strong, massive head--the sort of head you break a door with, as Chaucer said of the Miller's.
His military moustache and the carriage of his shoulders showed him a soldier, but he had a pair of those peculiar frank and piercing blue eyes which are more common in sailors.
His face was somewhat square, his jaw was square, his shoulders were square, even his jacket was square.
Indeed, in the wild school of caricature then current, Mr Max Beerbohm had represented him as a proposition in the fourth book of Euclid.
For he also was a public man, though with quite another sort of success.
You did not have to be in the best society to have heard of Captain Cutler, of the siege of Hong - Kong, and the great march across China.
You could not get away from hearing of him wherever you were; his portrait was on every other postcard; his maps and battles in every other illustrated paper; songs in his honour in every other music - hall turn or on every other barrel - organ.
His fame, though probably more temporary, was ten times more wide, popular and spontaneous than the other man's.
In thousands of English homes he appeared enormous above England, like Nelson.
Yet he had infinitely less power in England than Sir Wilson Seymour.
The door was opened to them by an aged servant or " dresser ", whose broken - down face and figure and black shabby coat and trousers contrasted queerly with the glittering interior of the great actress's dressing - room.
It was fitted and filled with looking - glasses at every angle of refraction, so that they looked like the hundred facets of one huge diamond--if one could get inside a diamond.
They both spoke to the dingy dresser by name, calling him Parkinson, and asking for the lady as Miss Aurora Rome.
Parkinson said she was in the other room, but he would go and tell her.
A shade crossed the brow of both visitors; for the other room was the private room of the great actor with whom Miss Aurora was performing, and she was of the kind that does not inflame admiration without inflaming jealousy.
In about half a minute, however, the inner door opened, and she entered as she always did, even in private life, so that the very silence seemed to be a roar of applause, and one well - deserved.
Set in dreamy and exquisite scenery, and moving in mystical dances, the green costume, like burnished beetle - wings, expressed all the elusive individuality of an elfin queen.
But when personally confronted in what was still broad daylight, a man looked only at the woman's face.
She greeted both men with the beaming and baffling smile which kept so many males at the same just dangerous distance from her.
She accepted some flowers from Cutler, which were as tropical and expensive as his victories; and another sort of present from Sir Wilson Seymour, offered later on and more nonchalantly by that gentleman.
For it was against his breeding to show eagerness, and against his conventional unconventionality to give anything so obvious as flowers.
He had picked up a trifle, he said, which was rather a curiosity, it was an ancient Greek dagger of the Mycenaean Epoch, and might well have been worn in the time of Theseus and Hippolyta.
It was made of brass like all the Heroic weapons, but, oddly enough, sharp enough to prick anyone still.
He had really been attracted to it by the leaf - like shape; it was as perfect as a Greek vase.
If it was of any interest to Miss Rome or could come in anywhere in the play, he hoped she would --
The inner door burst open and a big figure appeared, who was more of a contrast to the explanatory Seymour than even Captain Cutler.
Nearly six - foot - six, and of more than theatrical thews and muscles, Isidore Bruno, in the gorgeous leopard skin and golden - brown garments of Oberon, looked like a barbaric god.
He leaned on a sort of hunting - spear, which across a theatre looked a slight, silvery wand, but which in the small and comparatively crowded room looked as plain as a pike - staff--and as menacing.
His vivid black eyes rolled volcanically, his bronzed face, handsome as it was, showed at that moment a combination of high cheekbones with set white teeth, which recalled certain American conjectures about his origin in the Southern plantations.
" Aurora," he began, in that deep voice like a drum of passion that had moved so many audiences, " will you --"
He stopped indecisively because a sixth figure had suddenly presented itself just inside the doorway--a figure so incongruous in the scene as to be almost comic.
It was a very short man in the black uniform of the Roman secular clergy, and looking (especially in such a presence as Bruno's and Aurora's) rather like the wooden Noah out of an ark.
He did not, however, seem conscious of any contrast, but said with dull civility: " I believe Miss Rome sent for me."
A shrewd observer might have remarked that the emotional temperature rather rose at so unemotional an interruption.
The detachment of a professional celibate seemed to reveal to the others that they stood round the woman as a ring of amorous rivals; just as a stranger coming in with frost on his coat will reveal that a room is like a furnace.
A shrewd person might also have noted a yet odder thing.
The man like a black wooden Noah (who was not wholly without shrewdness) noted it with a considerable but contained amusement.
There was, perhaps, only one thing that Aurora Rome was clever about, and that was one half of humanity--the other half.
The little priest watched, like a Napoleonic campaign, the swift precision of her policy for expelling all while banishing none.
Bruno, the big actor, was so babyish that it was easy to send him off in brute sulks, banging the door.
Cutler, the British officer, was pachydermatous to ideas, but punctilious about behaviour.
He would ignore all hints, but he would die rather than ignore a definite commission from a lady.
As to old Seymour, he had to be treated differently; he had to be left to the last.
The only way to move him was to appeal to him in confidence as an old friend, to let him into the secret of the clearance.
The priest did really admire Miss Rome as she achieved all these three objects in one selected action.
She went across to Captain Cutler and said in her sweetest manner: " I shall value all these flowers, because they must be your favourite flowers.
But they won't be complete, you know, without my favourite flower.
Do go over to that shop round the corner and get me some lilies - of - the - valley, and then it will be quite lovely."
The first object of her diplomacy, the exit of the enraged Bruno, was at once achieved.
He had already handed his spear in a lordly style, like a sceptre, to the piteous Parkinson, and was about to assume one of the cushioned seats like a throne.
But at this open appeal to his rival there glowed in his opal eyeballs all the sensitive insolence of the slave; he knotted his enormous brown fists for an instant, and then, dashing open the door, disappeared into his own apartments beyond.
But meanwhile Miss Rome's experiment in mobilizing the British Army had not succeeded so simply as seemed probable.
Cutler had indeed risen stiffly and suddenly, and walked towards the door, hatless, as if at a word of command.
But perhaps there was something ostentatiously elegant about the languid figure of Seymour leaning against one of the looking - glasses that brought him up short at the entrance, turning his head this way and that like a bewildered bulldog.
" I must show this stupid man where to go," said Aurora in a whisper to Seymour, and ran out to the threshold to speed the parting guest.
Yet a second or two after Seymour's brow darkened again.
A man in his position has so many rivals, and he remembered that at the other end of the passage was the corresponding entrance to Bruno's private room.
He did not lose his dignity; he said some civil words to Father Brown about the revival of Byzantine architecture in the Westminster Cathedral, and then, quite naturally, strolled out himself into the upper end of the passage.
Father Brown and Parkinson were left alone, and they were neither of them men with a taste for superfluous conversation.
The dresser went round the room, pulling out looking - glasses and pushing them in again, his dingy dark coat and trousers looking all the more dismal since he was still holding the festive fairy spear of King Oberon.
Father Brown seemed quite unconscious of this cloud of witnesses, but followed Parkinson with an idly attentive eye till he took himself and his absurd spear into the farther room of Bruno.
Then he abandoned himself to such abstract meditations as always amused him--calculating the angles of the mirrors, the angles of each refraction, the angle at which each must fit into the wall... when he heard a strong but strangled cry.
He sprang to his feet and stood rigidly listening.
At the same instant Sir Wilson Seymour burst back into the room, white as ivory.
" Who's that man in the passage?"
he cried.
" Where's that dagger of mine?"
Before Father Brown could turn in his heavy boots Seymour was plunging about the room looking for the weapon.
And before he could possibly find that weapon or any other, a brisk running of feet broke upon the pavement outside, and the square face of Cutler was thrust into the same doorway.
He was still grotesquely grasping a bunch of lilies - of - the - valley.
" What's this?"
he cried.
" What's that creature down the passage?
Is this some of your tricks?"
" My tricks!"
hissed his pale rival, and made a stride towards him.
In the instant of time in which all this happened Father Brown stepped out into the top of the passage, looked down it, and at once walked briskly towards what he saw.
At this the other two men dropped their quarrel and darted after him, Cutler calling out: " What are you doing?
Who are you?"
" My name is Brown," said the priest sadly, as he bent over something and straightened himself again.
" Miss Rome sent for me, and I came as quickly as I could.
I have come too late."
The three men looked down, and in one of them at least the life died in that late light of afternoon.
It ran along the passage like a path of gold, and in the midst of it Aurora Rome lay lustrous in her robes of green and gold, with her dead face turned upwards.
Her dress was torn away as in a struggle, leaving the right shoulder bare, but the wound from which the blood was welling was on the other side.
The brass dagger lay flat and gleaming a yard or so away.
There was a blank stillness for a measurable time, so that they could hear far off a flower - girl's laugh outside Charing Cross, and someone whistling furiously for a taxicab in one of the streets off the Strand.
Then the Captain, with a movement so sudden that it might have been passion or play - acting, took Sir Wilson Seymour by the throat.
Seymour looked at him steadily without either fight or fear.
" You need not kill me," he said in a voice quite cold; " I shall do that on my own account."
The Captain's hand hesitated and dropped; and the other added with the same icy candour: " If I find I haven't the nerve to do it with that dagger I can do it in a month with drink."
" Drink isn't good enough for me," replied Cutler, " but I'll have blood for this before I die.
Not yours--but I think I know whose."
And before the others could appreciate his intention he snatched up the dagger, sprang at the other door at the lower end of the passage, burst it open, bolt and all, and confronted Bruno in his dressing - room.
As he did so, old Parkinson tottered in his wavering way out of the door and caught sight of the corpse lying in the passage.
He moved shakily towards it; looked at it weakly with a working face; then moved shakily back into the dressing - room again, and sat down suddenly on one of the richly cushioned chairs.
Father Brown instantly ran across to him, taking no notice of Cutler and the colossal actor, though the room already rang with their blows and they began to struggle for the dagger.
Seymour, who retained some practical sense, was whistling for the police at the end of the passage.
When the police arrived it was to tear the two men from an almost ape - like grapple; and, after a few formal inquiries, to arrest Isidore Bruno upon a charge of murder, brought against him by his furious opponent.
The idea that the great national hero of the hour had arrested a wrongdoer with his own hand doubtless had its weight with the police, who are not without elements of the journalist.
They treated Cutler with a certain solemn attention, and pointed out that he had got a slight slash on the hand.
Even as Cutler bore him back across tilted chair and table, Bruno had twisted the dagger out of his grasp and disabled him just below the wrist.
The injury was really slight, but till he was removed from the room the half - savage prisoner stared at the running blood with a steady smile.
" Looks a cannibal sort of chap, don't he?"
said the constable confidentially to Cutler.
Cutler made no answer, but said sharply a moment after: " We must attend to the... the death..." and his voice escaped from articulation.
" The two deaths," came in the voice of the priest from the farther side of the room.
" This poor fellow was gone when I got across to him."
And he stood looking down at old Parkinson, who sat in a black huddle on the gorgeous chair.
He also had paid his tribute, not without eloquence, to the woman who had died.
The silence was first broken by Cutler, who seemed not untouched by a rough tenderness.
" I wish I was him," he said huskily.
" I remember he used to watch her wherever she walked more than--anybody.
She was his air, and he's dried up.
He's just dead."
" We are all dead," said Seymour in a strange voice, looking down the road.
They took leave of Father Brown at the corner of the road, with some random apologies for any rudeness they might have shown.
Both their faces were tragic, but also cryptic.
The mind of the little priest was always a rabbit - warren of wild thoughts that jumped too quickly for him to catch them.
Like the white tail of a rabbit he had the vanishing thought that he was certain of their grief, but not so certain of their innocence.
" We had better all be going," said Seymour heavily; " we have done all we can to help."
" Will you understand my motives," asked Father Brown quietly, " if I say you have done all you can to hurt?"
They both started as if guiltily, and Cutler said sharply: " To hurt whom?"
" To hurt yourselves," answered the priest.
" I would not add to your troubles if it weren't common justice to warn you.
You've done nearly everything you could do to hang yourselves, if this actor should be acquitted.
They'll be sure to subpoena me; I shall be bound to say that after the cry was heard each of you rushed into the room in a wild state and began quarrelling about a dagger.
As far as my words on oath can go, you might either of you have done it.
You hurt yourselves with that; and then Captain Cutler must have hurt himself with the dagger."
" Hurt myself!"
exclaimed the Captain, with contempt.
" A silly little scratch."
" Which drew blood," replied the priest, nodding.
" We know there's blood on the brass now.
And so we shall never know whether there was blood on it before."
There was a silence; and then Seymour said, with an emphasis quite alien to his daily accent: " But I saw a man in the passage."
" I know you did," answered the cleric Brown with a face of wood, " so did Captain Cutler.
That's what seems so improbable."
Before either could make sufficient sense of it even to answer, Father Brown had politely excused himself and gone stumping up the road with his stumpy old umbrella.
As modern newspapers are conducted, the most honest and most important news is the police news.
If it be true that in the twentieth century more space is given to murder than to politics, it is for the excellent reason that murder is a more serious subject.
But even this would hardly explain the enormous omnipresence and widely distributed detail of " The Bruno Case," or " The Passage Mystery," in the Press of London and the provinces.
So vast was the excitement that for some weeks the Press really told the truth; and the reports of examination and cross - examination, if interminable, even if intolerable are at least reliable.
The true reason, of course, was the coincidence of persons.
The victim was a popular actress; the accused was a popular actor; and the accused had been caught red - handed, as it were, by the most popular soldier of the patriotic season.
In those extraordinary circumstances the Press was paralysed into probity and accuracy; and the rest of this somewhat singular business can practically be recorded from reports of Bruno's trial.
All the chief actors being of a worldly importance, the barristers were well balanced; the prosecutor for the Crown was Sir Walter Cowdray, a heavy, but weighty advocate of the sort that knows how to seem English and trustworthy, and how to be rhetorical with reluctance.
The prisoner was defended by Mr Patrick Butler, K. C., who was mistaken for a mere flaneur by those who misunderstood the Irish character--and those who had not been examined by him.
The medical evidence involved no contradictions, the doctor, whom Seymour had summoned on the spot, agreeing with the eminent surgeon who had later examined the body.
Aurora Rome had been stabbed with some sharp instrument such as a knife or dagger; some instrument, at least, of which the blade was short.
The wound was just over the heart, and she had died instantly.
When the doctor first saw her she could hardly have been dead for twenty minutes.
Therefore when Father Brown found her she could hardly have been dead for three.
When these details had been supplied, though not explained, the first of the important witnesses was called.
Sir Wilson Seymour gave evidence as he did everything else that he did at all--not only well, but perfectly.
He was also refreshingly lucid, as he was on the committees.
Miss Rome had then gone just outside the theatre to the entrance of the passage, in order to point out to Captain Cutler a flower - shop at which he was to buy her some more flowers; and the witness had remained in the room, exchanging a few words with the priest.
He had then distinctly heard the deceased, having sent the Captain on his errand, turn round laughing and run down the passage towards its other end, where was the prisoner's dressing - room.
In idle curiosity as to the rapid movement of his friends, he had strolled out to the head of the passage himself and looked down it towards the prisoner's door.
Did he see anything in the passage?
Yes; he saw something in the passage.
Sir Walter Cowdray allowed an impressive interval, during which the witness looked down, and for all his usual composure seemed to have more than his usual pallor.
Then the barrister said in a lower voice, which seemed at once sympathetic and creepy: " Did you see it distinctly?"
Sir Wilson Seymour, however moved, had his excellent brains in full working - order.
" Very distinctly as regards its outline, but quite indistinctly, indeed not at all, as regards the details inside the outline.
The passage is of such length that anyone in the middle of it appears quite black against the light at the other end."
The witness lowered his steady eyes once more and added: " I had noticed the fact before, when Captain Cutler first entered it."
There was another silence, and the judge leaned forward and made a note.
" Well," said Sir Walter patiently, " what was the outline like?
Was it, for instance, like the figure of the murdered woman?"
" Not in the least," answered Seymour quietly.
" What did it look like to you?"
" It looked to me," replied the witness, " like a tall man."
Everyone in court kept his eyes riveted on his pen, or his umbrella - handle, or his book, or his boots or whatever he happened to be looking at.
They seemed to be holding their eyes away from the prisoner by main force; but they felt his figure in the dock, and they felt it as gigantic.
Tall as Bruno was to the eye, he seemed to swell taller and taller when an eyes had been torn away from him.
Cowdray was resuming his seat with his solemn face, smoothing his black silk robes, and white silk whiskers.
Sir Wilson was leaving the witness - box, after a few final particulars to which there were many other witnesses, when the counsel for the defence sprang up and stopped him.
" I shall only detain you a moment," said Mr Butler, who was a rustic - looking person with red eyebrows and an expression of partial slumber.
" Will you tell his lordship how you knew it was a man?"
A faint, refined smile seemed to pass over Seymour's features.
" I'm afraid it is the vulgar test of trousers," he said.
" When I saw daylight between the long legs I was sure it was a man, after all."
Butler's sleepy eyes opened as suddenly as some silent explosion.
" After all!"
he repeated slowly.
" So you did think at first it was a woman?"
Seymour looked troubled for the first time.
" It is hardly a point of fact," he said, " but if his lordship would like me to answer for my impression, of course I shall do so.
There was something about the thing that was not exactly a woman and yet was not quite a man; somehow the curves were different.
And it had something that looked like long hair."
" Thank you," said Mr Butler, K. C., and sat down suddenly, as if he had got what he wanted.
Captain Cutler was a far less plausible and composed witness than Sir Wilson, but his account of the opening incidents was solidly the same.
He described the return of Bruno to his dressing - room, the dispatching of himself to buy a bunch of lilies - of - the - valley, his return to the upper end of the passage, the thing he saw in the passage, his suspicion of Seymour, and his struggle with Bruno.
But he could give little artistic assistance about the black figure that he and Seymour had seen.
Asked about its outline, he said he was no art critic--with a somewhat too obvious sneer at Seymour.
Asked if it was a man or a woman, he said it looked more like a beast--with a too obvious snarl at the prisoner.
But the man was plainly shaken with sorrow and sincere anger, and Cowdray quickly excused him from confirming facts that were already fairly clear.
The defending counsel also was again brief in his cross - examination; although (as was his custom) even in being brief, he seemed to take a long time about it.
" You used a rather remarkable expression," he said, looking at Cutler sleepily.
" What do you mean by saying that it looked more like a beast than a man or a woman?"
Cutler seemed seriously agitated.
" Perhaps I oughtn't to have said that," he said; " but when the brute has huge humped shoulders like a chimpanzee, and bristles sticking out of its head like a pig --"
Mr Butler cut short his curious impatience in the middle.
" Never mind whether its hair was like a pig's," he said, " was it like a woman's?"
" A woman's!"
cried the soldier.
" Great Scott, no!"
" The last witness said it was," commented the counsel, with unscrupulous swiftness.
" And did the figure have any of those serpentine and semi - feminine curves to which eloquent allusion has been made?
No?
No feminine curves?
The figure, if I understand you, was rather heavy and square than otherwise?"
" He may have been bending forward," said Cutler, in a hoarse and rather faint voice.
" Or again, he may not," said Mr Butler, and sat down suddenly for the second time.
The third, witness called by Sir Walter Cowdray was the little Catholic clergyman, so little, compared with the others, that his head seemed hardly to come above the box, so that it was like cross - examining a child.
But unfortunately Sir Walter had somehow got it into his head (mostly by some ramifications of his family's religion) that Father Brown was on the side of the prisoner, because the prisoner was wicked and foreign and even partly black.
Therefore he took Father Brown up sharply whenever that proud pontiff tried to explain anything; and told him to answer yes or no, and tell the plain facts without any jesuitry.
When Father Brown began, in his simplicity, to say who he thought the man in the passage was, the barrister told him that he did not want his theories.
" A black shape was seen in the passage.
And you say you saw the black shape.
Well, what shape was it?"
Father Brown blinked as under rebuke; but he had long known the literal nature of obedience.
" The shape," he said, " was short and thick, but had two sharp, black projections curved upwards on each side of the head or top, rather like horns, and --"
" Oh!
the devil with horns, no doubt," ejaculated Cowdray, sitting down in triumphant jocularity.
" It was the devil come to eat Protestants."
" No," said the priest dispassionately; " I know who it was."
Those in court had been wrought up to an irrational, but real sense of some monstrosity.
They had forgotten the figure in the dock and thought only of the figure in the passage.
And the figure in the passage, described by three capable and respectable men who had all seen it, was a shifting nightmare: one called it a woman, and the other a beast, and the other a devil....
The judge was looking at Father Brown with level and piercing eyes.
" You are a most extraordinary witness," he said; " but there is something about you that makes me think you are trying to tell the truth.
Well, who was the man you saw in the passage?"
" He was myself," said Father Brown.
Butler, K. C., sprang to his feet in an extraordinary stillness, and said quite calmly: " Your lordship will allow me to cross - examine?"
And then, without stopping, he shot at Brown the apparently disconnected question: " You have heard about this dagger; you know the experts say the crime was committed with a short blade?"
" A short blade," assented Brown, nodding solemnly like an owl, " but a very long hilt."
Before the audience could quite dismiss the idea that the priest had really seen himself doing murder with a short dagger with a long hilt (which seemed somehow to make it more horrible), he had himself hurried on to explain.
" I mean daggers aren't the only things with short blades.
Spears have short blades.
But he died penitent--he just died of being penitent.
He couldn't bear what he'd done."
The general impression in court was that the little priest, who was gobbling away, had literally gone mad in the box.
But the judge still looked at him with bright and steady eyes of interest; and the counsel for the defence went on with his questions unperturbed.
" If Parkinson did it with that pantomime spear," said Butler, " he must have thrust from four yards away.
How do you account for signs of struggle, like the dress dragged off the shoulder?"
He had slipped into treating his mere witness as an expert; but no one noticed it now.
" The poor lady's dress was torn," said the witness, " because it was caught in a panel that slid to just behind her.
She struggled to free herself, and as she did so Parkinson came out of the prisoner's room and lunged with the spear."
" A panel?"
repeated the barrister in a curious voice.
" It was a looking - glass on the other side," explained Father Brown.
" When I was in the dressing - room I noticed that some of them could probably be slid out into the passage."
There was another vast and unnatural silence, and this time it was the judge who spoke.
" So you really mean that when you looked down that passage, the man you saw was yourself--in a mirror?"
" Yes, my lord; that was what I was trying to say," said Brown, " but they asked me for the shape; and our hats have corners just like horns, and so I --"
" Yes, my lord," said Father Brown.
" And you mean to say that when Captain Cutler saw that chimpanzee with humped shoulders and hog's bristles, he simply saw himself?"
" Yes, my lord."
The judge leaned back in his chair with a luxuriance in which it was hard to separate the cynicism and the admiration.
" And can you tell us why," he asked, " you should know your own figure in a looking - glass, when two such distinguished men don't?"
Father Brown blinked even more painfully than before; then he stammered: " Really, my lord, I don't know unless it's because I don't look at it so often."
V. The Mistake of the Machine
FLAMBEAU and his friend the priest were sitting in the Temple Gardens about sunset; and their neighbourhood or some such accidental influence had turned their talk to matters of legal process.
From the problem of the licence in cross - examination, their talk strayed to Roman and mediaeval torture, to the examining magistrate in France and the Third Degree in America.
" I've been reading," said Flambeau, " of this new psychometric method they talk about so much, especially in America.
You know what I mean; they put a pulsometer on a man's wrist and judge by how his heart goes at the pronunciation of certain words.
What do you think of it?"
" I think it very interesting," replied Father Brown; " it reminds me of that interesting idea in the Dark Ages that blood would flow from a corpse if the murderer touched it."
" Do you really mean," demanded his friend, " that you think the two methods equally valuable?"
" I think them equally valueless," replied Brown.
" Blood flows, fast or slow, in dead folk or living, for so many more million reasons than we can ever know.
Blood will have to flow very funnily; blood will have to flow up the Matterhorn, before I will take it as a sign that I am to shed it."
" The method," remarked the other, " has been guaranteed by some of the greatest American men of science."
" What sentimentalists men of science are!"
exclaimed Father Brown, " and how much more sentimental must American men of science be!
Who but a Yankee would think of proving anything from heart - throbs?
Why, they must be as sentimental as a man who thinks a woman is in love with him if she blushes.
That's a test from the circulation of the blood, discovered by the immortal Harvey; and a jolly rotten test, too."
" But surely," insisted Flambeau, " it might point pretty straight at something or other."
" There's a disadvantage in a stick pointing straight," answered the other.
" What is it?
Why, the other end of the stick always points the opposite way.
It depends whether you get hold of the stick by the right end.
I saw the thing done once and I've never believed in it since."
And he proceeded to tell the story of his disillusionment.
It happened nearly twenty years before, when he was chaplain to his co - religionists in a prison in Chicago--where the Irish population displayed a capacity both for crime and penitence which kept him tolerably busy.
The official second - in - command under the Governor was an ex - detective named Greywood Usher, a cadaverous, careful - spoken Yankee philosopher, occasionally varying a very rigid visage with an odd apologetic grimace.
He liked Father Brown in a slightly patronizing way; and Father Brown liked him, though he heartily disliked his theories.
His theories were extremely complicated and were held with extreme simplicity.
One evening he had sent for the priest, who, according to his custom, took a seat in silence at a table piled and littered with papers, and waited.
The official selected from the papers a scrap of newspaper cutting, which he handed across to the cleric, who read it gravely.
It appeared to be an extract from one of the pinkest of American Society papers, and ran as follows:
" Society's brightest widower is once more on the Freak Dinner stunt.
All our exclusive citizens will recall the Perambulator Parade Dinner, in which Last - Trick Todd, at his palatial home at Pilgrim's Pond, caused so many of our prominent debutantes to look even younger than their years.
The witticism which will inspire this evening is as yet in Mr Todd's pretty reticent intellect, or locked in the jewelled bosoms of our city's gayest leaders; but there is talk of a pretty parody of the simple manners and customs at the other end of Society's scale.
This would be all the more telling, as hospitable Todd is entertaining in Lord Falconroy, the famous traveller, a true - blooded aristocrat fresh from England's oak - groves.
Lord Falconroy's travels began before his ancient feudal title was resurrected, he was in the Republic in his youth, and fashion murmurs a sly reason for his return.
Miss Etta Todd is one of our deep - souled New Yorkers, and comes into an income of nearly twelve hundred million dollars."
" Well," asked Usher, " does that interest you?"
" Why, words rather fail me," answered Father Brown.
" I cannot think at this moment of anything in this world that would interest me less.
And, unless the just anger of the Republic is at last going to electrocute journalists for writing like that, I don't quite see why it should interest you either."
" Ah!"
said Mr Usher dryly, and handing across another scrap of newspaper.
" Well, does that interest you?"
The paragraph was headed " Savage Murder of a Warder.
Convict Escapes," and ran: " Just before dawn this morning a shout for help was heard in the Convict Settlement at Sequah in this State.
The authorities, hurrying in the direction of the cry, found the corpse of the warder who patrols the top of the north wall of the prison, the steepest and most difficult exit, for which one man has always been found sufficient.
The unfortunate officer had, however, been hurled from the high wall, his brains beaten out as with a club, and his gun was missing.
Further inquiries showed that one of the cells was empty; it had been occupied by a rather sullen ruffian giving his name as Oscar Rian.
He was only temporarily detained for some comparatively trivial assault; but he gave everyone the impression of a man with a black past and a dangerous future.
Finally, when daylight bad fully revealed the scene of murder, it was found that he had written on the wall above the body a fragmentary sentence, apparently with a finger dipped in blood: 'This was self - defence and he had the gun.
I meant no harm to him or any man but one.
I am keeping the bullet for Pilgrim's Pond--O. R.'
A man must have used most fiendish treachery or most savage and amazing bodily daring to have stormed such a wall in spite of an armed man."
" Well, the literary style is somewhat improved," admitted the priest cheerfully, " but still I don't see what I can do for you.
I should cut a poor figure, with my short legs, running about this State after an athletic assassin of that sort.
I doubt whether anybody could find him.
The convict settlement at Sequah is thirty miles from here; the country between is wild and tangled enough, and the country beyond, where he will surely have the sense to go, is a perfect no - man's land tumbling away to the prairies.
He may be in any hole or up any tree."
" He isn't in any hole," said the governor; " he isn't up any tree."
" Why, how do you know?"
asked Father Brown, blinking.
" Would you like to speak to him?"
inquired Usher.
Father Brown opened his innocent eyes wide.
" He is here?"
he exclaimed.
" Why, how did your men get hold of him?"
" I got hold of him myself," drawled the American, rising and lazily stretching his lanky legs before the fire.
" I got hold of him with the crooked end of a walking - stick.
Don't look so surprised.
I really did.
You know I sometimes take a turn in the country lanes outside this dismal place; well, I was walking early this evening up a steep lane with dark hedges and grey - looking ploughed fields on both sides; and a young moon was up and silvering the road.
By the light of it I saw a man running across the field towards the road; running with his body bent and at a good mile - race trot.
He appeared to be much exhausted; but when he came to the thick black hedge he went through it as if it were made of spiders'webs;--or rather (for I heard the strong branches breaking and snapping like bayonets) as if he himself were made of stone.
In the instant in which he appeared up against the moon, crossing the road, I slung my hooked cane at his legs, tripping him and bringing him down.
Then I blew my whistle long and loud, and our fellows came running up to secure him."
" It would have been rather awkward," remarked Brown, " if you had found he was a popular athlete practising a mile race."
" He was not," said Usher grimly.
" We soon found out who he was; but I had guessed it with the first glint of the moon on him."
" You thought it was the runaway convict," observed the priest simply, " because you had read in the newspaper cutting that morning that a convict had run away."
" I had somewhat better grounds," replied the governor coolly.
" I pass over the first as too simple to be emphasized--I mean that fashionable athletes do not run across ploughed fields or scratch their eyes out in bramble hedges.
Nor do they run all doubled up like a crouching dog.
There were more decisive details to a fairly well - trained eye.
The man was clad in coarse and ragged clothes, but they were something more than merely coarse and ragged.
They were so ill - fitting as to be quite grotesque; even as he appeared in black outline against the moonrise, the coat - collar in which his head was buried made him look like a hunchback, and the long loose sleeves looked as if he had no hands.
It at once occurred to me that he had somehow managed to change his convict clothes for some confederate's clothes which did not fit him.
Second, there was a pretty stiff wind against which he was running; so that I must have seen the streaky look of blowing hair, if the hair had not been very short.
Then I remembered that beyond these ploughed fields he was crossing lay Pilgrim's Pond, for which (you will remember) the convict was keeping his bullet; and I sent my walking - stick flying."
" A brilliant piece of rapid deduction," said Father Brown; " but had he got a gun?"
As Usher stopped abruptly in his walk the priest added apologetically: " I've been told a bullet is not half so useful without it."
" He had no gun," said the other gravely; " but that was doubtless due to some very natural mischance or change of plans.
Probably the same policy that made him change the clothes made him drop the gun; he began to repent the coat he had left behind him in the blood of his victim."
" Well, that is possible enough," answered the priest.
" And it's hardly worth speculating on," said Usher, turning to some other papers, " for we know it's the man by this time."
His clerical friend asked faintly: " But how?"
And Greywood Usher threw down the newspapers and took up the two press - cuttings again.
" Well, since you are so obstinate," he said, " let's begin at the beginning.
You will notice that these two cuttings have only one thing in common, which is the mention of Pilgrim's Pond, the estate, as you know, of the millionaire Ireton Todd.
You also know that he is a remarkable character; one of those that rose on stepping - stones --"
" Of our dead selves to higher things," assented his companion.
" Yes; I know that.
Petroleum, I think."
" Anyhow," said Usher, " Last - Trick Todd counts for a great deal in this rum affair."
He stretched himself once more before the fire and continued talking in his expansive, radiantly explanatory style.
" To begin with, on the face of it, there is no mystery here at all.
It is not mysterious, it is not even odd, that a jailbird should take his gun to Pilgrim's Pond.
Our people aren't like the English, who will forgive a man for being rich if he throws away money on hospitals or horses.
Last - Trick Todd has made himself big by his own considerable abilities; and there's no doubt that many of those on whom he has shown his abilities would like to show theirs on him with a shot - gun.
Todd might easily get dropped by some man he'd never even heard of; some labourer he'd locked out, or some clerk in a business he'd busted.
Last - Trick is a man of mental endowments and a high public character; but in this country the relations of employers and employed are considerably strained.
" That's how the whole thing looks supposing this Rian made for Pilgrim's Pond to kill Todd.
So it looked to me, till another little discovery woke up what I have of the detective in me.
When I had my prisoner safe, I picked up my cane again and strolled down the two or three turns of country road that brought me to one of the side entrances of Todd's grounds, the one nearest to the pool or lake after which the place is named.
I'd forgotten the exact tale; but you know the place I mean; it lies north of Todd's house towards the wilderness, and has two queer wrinkled trees, so dismal that they look more like huge fungoids than decent foliage.
As I stood peering at this misty pool, I fancied I saw the faint figure of a man moving from the house towards it, but it was all too dim and distant for one to be certain of the fact, and still less of the details.
Besides, my attention was very sharply arrested by something much closer.
I crouched behind the fence which ran not more than two hundred yards from one wing of the great mansion, and which was fortunately split in places, as if specially for the application of a cautious eye.
A door had opened in the dark bulk of the left wing, and a figure appeared black against the illuminated interior--a muffled figure bending forward, evidently peering out into the night.
It closed the door behind it, and I saw it was carrying a lantern, which threw a patch of imperfect light on the dress and figure of the wearer.
It seemed to be the figure of a woman, wrapped up in a ragged cloak and evidently disguised to avoid notice; there was something very strange both about the rags and the furtiveness in a person coming out of those rooms lined with gold.
As she swung it the second time a flicker of its light fell for a moment on her own face, a face that I knew.
She was unnaturally pale, and her head was bundled in her borrowed plebeian shawl; but I am certain it was Etta Todd, the millionaire's daughter.
" She retraced her steps in equal secrecy and the door closed behind her again.
I was about to climb the fence and follow, when I realized that the detective fever that had lured me into the adventure was rather undignified; and that in a more authoritative capacity I already held all the cards in my hand.
I was just turning away when a new noise broke on the night.
There was no mistaking that voice.
I have heard it on many a political platform or meeting of directors; it was Ireton Todd himself.
Some of the others seemed to have gone to the lower windows or on to the steps, and were calling up to him that Falconroy had gone for a stroll down to the Pilgrim's Pond an hour before, and could not be traced since.
Then Todd cried 'Mighty Murder!'
and shut down the window violently; and I could hear him plunging down the stairs inside.
Repossessing myself of my former and wiser purpose, I whipped out of the way of the general search that must follow; and returned here not later than eight o'clock.
" I now ask you to recall that little Society paragraph which seemed to you so painfully lacking in interest.
If the convict was not keeping the shot for Todd, as he evidently wasn't, it is most likely that he was keeping it for Lord Falconroy; and it looks as if he had delivered the goods.
No more handy place to shoot a man than in the curious geological surroundings of that pool, where a body thrown down would sink through thick slime to a depth practically unknown.
Let us suppose, then, that our friend with the cropped hair came to kill Falconroy and not Todd.
But, as I have pointed out, there are many reasons why people in America might want to kill Todd.
There is no reason why anybody in America should want to kill an English lord newly landed, except for the one reason mentioned in the pink paper--that the lord is paying his attentions to the millionaire's daughter.
Our crop - haired friend, despite his ill - fitting clothes, must be an aspiring lover.
" I know the notion will seem to you jarring and even comic; but that's because you are English.
It sounds to you like saying the Archbishop of Canterbury's daughter will be married in St George's, Hanover Square, to a crossing - sweeper on ticket - of - leave.
You don't do justice to the climbing and aspiring power of our more remarkable citizens.
You see a good - looking grey - haired man in evening - dress with a sort of authority about him, you know he is a pillar of the State, and you fancy he had a father.
You are in error.
You do not realize that a comparatively few years ago he may have been in a tenement or (quite likely) in a jail.
You don't allow for our national buoyancy and uplift.
Many of our most influential citizens have not only risen recently, but risen comparatively late in life.
Todd's daughter was fully eighteen when her father first made his pile; so there isn't really anything impossible in her having a hanger - on in low life; or even in her hanging on to him, as I think she must be doing, to judge by the lantern business.
If so, the hand that held the lantern may not be unconnected with the hand that held the gun.
This case, sir, will make a noise."
" Well," said the priest patiently, " and what did you do next?"
" I reckon you'll be shocked," replied Greywood Usher, " as I know you don't cotton to the march of science in these matters.
I am given a good deal of discretion here, and perhaps take a little more than I'm given; and I thought it was an excellent opportunity to test that Psychometric Machine I told you about.
Now, in my opinion, that machine can't lie."
" No machine can lie," said Father Brown; " nor can it tell the truth."
" It did in this case, as I'll show you," went on Usher positively.
" I sat the man in the ill - fitting clothes in a comfortable chair, and simply wrote words on a blackboard; and the machine simply recorded the variations of his pulse; and I simply observed his manner.
The trick is to introduce some word connected with the supposed crime in a list of words connected with something quite different, yet a list in which it occurs quite naturally.
Thus I wrote 'heron'and 'eagle'and 'owl ', and when I wrote 'falcon'he was tremendously agitated; and when I began to make an 'r'at the end of the word, that machine just bounded.
Who else in this republic has any reason to jump at the name of a newly - arrived Englishman like Falconroy except the man who's shot him?
Isn't that better evidence than a lot of gabble from witnesses--if the evidence of a reliable machine?"
" You always forget," observed his companion, " that the reliable machine always has to be worked by an unreliable machine."
" Why, what do you mean?"
asked the detective.
" I mean Man," said Father Brown, " the most unreliable machine I know of.
I don't want to be rude; and I don't think you will consider Man to be an offensive or inaccurate description of yourself.
You say you observed his manner; but how do you know you observed it right?
You say the words have to come in a natural way; but how do you know that you did it naturally?
How do you know, if you come to that, that he did not observe your manner?
Who is to prove that you were not tremendously agitated?
There was no machine tied on to your pulse."
" I tell you," cried the American in the utmost excitement, " I was as cool as a cucumber."
" Criminals also can be as cool as cucumbers," said Brown with a smile.
" And almost as cool as you."
" Well, this one wasn't," said Usher, throwing the papers about.
" Oh, you make me tired!"
" I'm sorry," said the other.
" I only point out what seems a reasonable possibility.
If you could tell by his manner when the word that might hang him had come, why shouldn't he tell from your manner that the word that might hang him was coming?
I should ask for more than words myself before I hanged anybody."
Usher smote the table and rose in a sort of angry triumph.
" And that," he cried, " is just what I'm going to give you.
I tried the machine first just in order to test the thing in other ways afterwards and the machine, sir, is right."
He paused a moment and resumed with less excitement.
" I rather want to insist, if it comes to that, that so far I had very little to go on except the scientific experiment.
There was really nothing against the man at all.
His clothes were ill - fitting, as I've said, but they were rather better, if anything, than those of the submerged class to which he evidently belonged.
Moreover, under all the stains of his plunging through ploughed fields or bursting through dusty hedges, the man was comparatively clean.
This might mean, of course, that he had only just broken prison; but it reminded me more of the desperate decency of the comparatively respectable poor.
His demeanour was, I am bound to confess, quite in accordance with theirs.
He was silent and dignified as they are; he seemed to have a big, but buried, grievance, as they do.
He professed total ignorance of the crime and the whole question; and showed nothing but a sullen impatience for something sensible that might come to take him out of his meaningless scrape.
He asked me more than once if he could telephone for a lawyer who had helped him a long time ago in a trade dispute, and in every sense acted as you would expect an innocent man to act.
There was nothing against him in the world except that little finger on the dial that pointed to the change of his pulse.
" Then, sir, the machine was on its trial; and the machine was right.
By the time I came with him out of the private room into the vestibule where all sorts of other people were awaiting examination, I think he had already more or less made up his mind to clear things up by something like a confession.
He turned to me and began to say in a low voice: 'Oh, I can't stick this any more.
If you must know all about me --'
" At the same instant one of the poor women sitting on the long bench stood up, screaming aloud and pointing at him with her finger.
I have never in my life heard anything more demoniacally distinct.
Her lean finger seemed to pick him out as if it were a pea - shooter.
Though the word was a mere howl, every syllable was as clear as a separate stroke on the clock.
'Drugger Davis!'
she shouted.
'They've got Drugger Davis!'
" Among the wretched women, mostly thieves and streetwalkers, twenty faces were turned, gaping with glee and hate.
If I had never heard the words, I should have known by the very shock upon his features that the so - called Oscar Rian had heard his real name.
But I'm not quite so ignorant, you may be surprised to hear.
Drugger Davis was one of the most terrible and depraved criminals that ever baffled our police.
It is certain he had done murder more than once long before his last exploit with the warder.
But he was never entirely fixed for it, curiously enough because he did it in the same manner as those milder--or meaner--crimes for which he was fixed pretty often.
He was a handsome, well - bred - looking brute, as he still is, to some extent; and he used mostly to go about with barmaids or shop - girls and do them out of their money.
Very often, though, he went a good deal farther; and they were found drugged with cigarettes or chocolates and their whole property missing.
Then came one case where the girl was found dead; but deliberation could not quite be proved, and, what was more practical still, the criminal could not be found.
I heard a rumour of his having reappeared somewhere in the opposite character this time, lending money instead of borrowing it; but still to such poor widows as he might personally fascinate, but still with the same bad result for them.
Well, there is your innocent man, and there is his innocent record.
Even, since then, four criminals and three warders have identified him and confirmed the story.
Now what have you got to say to my poor little machine after that?
Hasn't the machine done for him?
Or do you prefer to say that the woman and I have done for him?"
" As to what you've done for him," replied Father Brown, rising and shaking himself in a floppy way, " you've saved him from the electrical chair.
I don't think they can kill Drugger Davis on that old vague story of the poison; and as for the convict who killed the warder, I suppose it's obvious that you haven't got him.
Mr Davis is innocent of that crime, at any rate."
" What do you mean?"
demanded the other.
" Why should he be innocent of that crime?"
" Why, bless us all!"
cried the small man in one of his rare moments of animation, " why, because he's guilty of the other crimes!
I don't know what you people are made of.
You seem to think that all sins are kept together in a bag.
You talk as if a miser on Monday were always a spendthrift on Tuesday.
Let it be granted--let us admit, for the sake of argument, that he did all this.
If that is so, I will tell you what he didn't do.
He didn't storm a spiked wall against a man with a loaded gun.
He didn't write on the wall with his own hand, to say he had done it.
He didn't stop to state that his justification was self - defence.
He didn't explain that he had no quarrel with the poor warder.
He didn't name the house of the rich man to which he was going with the gun.
He didn't write his own, initials in a man's blood.
Saints alive!
Can't you see the whole character is different, in good and evil?
Why, you don't seem to be like I am a bit.
One would think you'd never had any vices of your own."
The amazed American had already parted his lips in protest when the door of his private and official room was hammered and rattled in an unceremonious way to which he was totally unaccustomed.
The door flew open.
The moment before Greywood Usher had been coming to the conclusion that Father Brown might possibly be mad.
The moment after he began to think he was mad himself.
There burst and fell into his private room a man in the filthiest rags, with a greasy squash hat still askew on his head, and a shabby green shade shoved up from one of his eyes, both of which were glaring like a tiger's.
The rest of his face was almost undiscoverable, being masked with a matted beard and whiskers through which the nose could barely thrust itself, and further buried in a squalid red scarf or handkerchief.
Mr Usher prided himself on having seen most of the roughest specimens in the State, but he thought he had never seen such a baboon dressed as a scarecrow as this.
But, above all, he had never in all his placid scientific existence heard a man like that speak to him first.
" See here, old man Usher," shouted the being in the red handkerchief, " I'm getting tired.
Don't you try any of your hide - and - seek on me; I don't get fooled any.
Leave go of my guests, and I'll let up on the fancy clockwork.
Keep him here for a split instant and you'll feel pretty mean.
I reckon I'm not a man with no pull."
The eminent Usher was regarding the bellowing monster with an amazement which had dried up all other sentiments.
The mere shock to his eyes had rendered his ears, almost useless.
At last he rang a bell with a hand of violence.
While the bell was still strong and pealing, the voice of Father Brown fell soft but distinct.
" I have a suggestion to make," he said, " but it seems a little confusing.
I don't know this gentleman--but--but I think I know him.
Now, you know him--you know him quite well--but you don't know him--naturally.
Sounds paradoxical, I know."
" I reckon the Cosmos is cracked," said Usher, and fell asprawl in his round office chair.
" Now, see here," vociferated the stranger, striking the table, but speaking in a voice that was all the more mysterious because it was comparatively mild and rational though still resounding.
" I won't let you in.
I want --"
" Who in hell are you?"
yelled Usher, suddenly sitting up straight.
" I think the gentleman's name is Todd," said the priest.
Then he picked up the pink slip of newspaper.
" I fear you don't read the Society papers properly," he said, and began to read out in a monotonous voice, 'Or locked in the jewelled bosoms of our city's gayest leaders; but there is talk of a pretty parody of the manners and customs of the other end of Society's scale.'
There's been a big Slum Dinner up at Pilgrim's Pond tonight; and a man, one of the guests, disappeared.
Mr Ireton Todd is a good host, and has tracked him here, without even waiting to take off his fancy - dress."
" What man do you mean?"
" I mean the man with comically ill - fitting clothes you saw running across the ploughed field.
Hadn't you better go and investigate him?
He will be rather impatient to get back to his champagne, from which he ran away in such a hurry, when the convict with the gun hove in sight."
" Do you seriously mean --" began the official.
" Why, look here, Mr Usher," said Father Brown quietly, " you said the machine couldn't make a mistake; and in one sense it didn't.
But the other machine did; the machine that worked it.
You assumed that the man in rags jumped at the name of Lord Falconroy, because he was Lord Falconroy's murderer.
He jumped at the name of Lord Falconroy because he is Lord Falconroy."
" Then why the blazes didn't he say so?"
demanded the staring Usher.
" He felt his plight and recent panic were hardly patrician," replied the priest, " so he tried to keep the name back at first.
But he was just going to tell it you, when "-- and Father Brown looked down at his boots --" when a woman found another name for him."
" But you can't be so mad as to say," said Greywood Usher, very white, " that Lord Falconroy was Drugger Davis."
The priest looked at him very earnestly, but with a baffling and undecipherable face.
" I am not saying anything about it," he said.
" I leave all the rest to you.
Your pink paper says that the title was recently revived for him; but those papers are very unreliable.
It says he was in the States in youth; but the whole story seems very strange.
Davis and Falconroy are both pretty considerable cowards, but so are lots of other men.
I would not hang a dog on my own opinion about this.
But I think," he went on softly and reflectively, " I think you Americans are too modest.
I think you idealize the English aristocracy--even in assuming it to be so aristocratic.
You see a good - looking Englishman in evening - dress; you know he's in the House of Lords; and you fancy he has a father.
You don't allow for our national buoyancy and uplift.
Many of our most influential noblemen have not only risen recently, but --"
" Oh, stop it!"
cried Greywood Usher, wringing one lean hand in impatience against a shade of irony in the other's face.
" Don't stay talking to this lunatic!"
cried Todd brutally.
" Take me to my friend."
Next morning Father Brown appeared with the same demure expression, carrying yet another piece of pink newspaper.
" I'm afraid you neglect the fashionable press rather," he said, " but this cutting may interest you."
Usher read the headlines, " Last - Trick's Strayed Revellers: Mirthful Incident near Pilgrim's Pond."
The paragraph went on: " A laughable occurrence took place outside Wilkinson's Motor Garage last night.
A policeman on duty had his attention drawn by larrikins to a man in prison dress who was stepping with considerable coolness into the steering - seat of a pretty high - toned Panhard; he was accompanied by a girl wrapped in a ragged shawl.
On the police interfering, the young woman threw back the shawl, and all recognized Millionaire Todd's daughter, who had just come from the Slum Freak Dinner at the Pond, where all the choicest guests were in a similar deshabille.
She and the gentleman who had donned prison uniform were going for the customary joy - ride."
Under the pink slip Mr Usher found a strip of a later paper, headed, " Astounding Escape of Millionaire's Daughter with Convict.
She had Arranged Freak Dinner.
Now Safe in --"
Mr Greenwood Usher lifted his eyes, but Father Brown was gone.
VI.
The Head of Caesar
THERE is somewhere in Brompton or Kensington an interminable avenue of tall houses, rich but largely empty, that looks like a terrace of tombs.
The very steps up to the dark front doors seem as steep as the side of pyramids; one would hesitate to knock at the door, lest it should be opened by a mummy.
But a yet more depressing feature in the grey facade is its telescopic length and changeless continuity.
The pilgrim walking down it begins to think he will never come to a break or a corner; but there is one exception--a very small one, but hailed by the pilgrim almost with a shout.
There is a sort of mews between two of the tall mansions, a mere slit like the crack of a door by comparison with the street, but just large enough to permit a pigmy ale - house or eating - house, still allowed by the rich to their stable - servants, to stand in the angle.
There is something cheery in its very dinginess, and something free and elfin in its very insignificance.
At the feet of those grey stone giants it looks like a lighted house of dwarfs.
It was, in fact, the face of one with the harmless human name of Brown, formerly priest of Cobhole in Essex, and now working in London.
His friend, Flambeau, a semi - official investigator, was sitting opposite him, making his last notes of a case he had cleared up in the neighbourhood.
They were sitting at a small table, close up to the window, when the priest pulled the curtain back and looked out.
He waited till a stranger in the street had passed the window, to let the curtain fall into its place again.
Then his round eyes rolled to the large white lettering on the window above his head, and then strayed to the next table, at which sat only a navvy with beer and cheese, and a young girl with red hair and a glass of milk.
Then (seeing his friend put away the pocket - book), he said softly:
" If you've got ten minutes, I wish you'd follow that man with the false nose."
Flambeau looked up in surprise; but the girl with the red hair also looked up, and with something that was stronger than astonishment.
She was simply and even loosely dressed in light brown sacking stuff; but she was a lady, and even, on a second glance, a rather needlessly haughty one.
" The man with the false nose!"
repeated Flambeau.
" Who's he?"
" I haven't a notion," answered Father Brown.
" I want you to find out; I ask it as a favour.
He went down there "-- and he jerked his thumb over his shoulder in one of his undistinguished gestures--" and can't have passed three lamp - posts yet.
I only want to know the direction."
Flambeau gazed at his friend for some time, with an expression between perplexity and amusement; and then, rising from the table; squeezed his huge form out of the little door of the dwarf tavern, and melted into the twilight.
Father Brown took a small book out of his pocket and began to read steadily; he betrayed no consciousness of the fact that the red - haired lady had left her own table and sat down opposite him.
At last she leaned over and said in a low, strong voice: " Why do you say that?
How do you know it's false?"
He lifted his rather heavy eyelids, which fluttered in considerable embarrassment.
Then his dubious eye roamed again to the white lettering on the glass front of the public - house.
The young woman's eyes followed his, and rested there also, but in pure puzzledom.
" No," said Father Brown, answering her thoughts.
" It doesn't say 'Sela ', like the thing in the Psalms; I read it like that myself when I was wool - gathering just now; it says 'Ales.'"
" Well?"
inquired the staring young lady.
" What does it matter what it says?"
His ruminating eye roved to the girl's light canvas sleeve, round the wrist of which ran a very slight thread of artistic pattern, just enough to distinguish it from a working - dress of a common woman and make it more like the working - dress of a lady art - student.
He seemed to find much food for thought in this; but his reply was very slow and hesitant.
" You see, madam," he said, " from outside the place looks--well, it is a perfectly decent place--but ladies like you don't--don't generally think so.
They never go into such places from choice, except --"
" Well?"
she repeated.
" Except an unfortunate few who don't go in to drink milk."
" You are a most singular person," said the young lady.
" What is your object in all this?"
" Not to trouble you about it," he replied, very gently.
" Only to arm myself with knowledge enough to help you, if ever you freely ask my help."
" But why should I need help?"
He continued his dreamy monologue.
This street is the only original long lane that has no turning; and the houses on both sides are shut up....
I could only suppose that you'd seen somebody coming whom you didn't want to meet; and found the public - house was the only shelter in this wilderness of stone....
I don't think I went beyond the licence of a stranger in glancing at the only man who passed immediately after.... And as I thought he looked like the wrong sort... and you looked like the right sort....
I held myself ready to help if he annoyed you; that is all.
As for my friend, he'll be back soon; and he certainly can't find out anything by stumping down a road like this....
I didn't think he could."
" Then why did you send him out?"
she cried, leaning forward with yet warmer curiosity.
She had the proud, impetuous face that goes with reddish colouring, and a Roman nose, as it did in Marie Antoinette.
He looked at her steadily for the first time, and said: " Because I hoped you would speak to me."
After a pause she added: " I had the honour to ask you why you thought the man's nose was false."
" The wax always spots like that just a little in this weather," answered Father Brown with entire simplicity,
" But it's such a crooked nose," remonstrated the red - haired girl.
The priest smiled in his turn.
" I don't say it's the sort of nose one would wear out of mere foppery," he admitted.
" This man, I think, wears it because his real nose is so much nicer."
" But why?"
she insisted.
" What is the nursery - rhyme?"
observed Brown absent - mindedly.
" There was a crooked man and he went a crooked mile.... That man, I fancy, has gone a very crooked road--by following his nose."
" Why, what's he done?"
she demanded, rather shakily.
" I don't want to force your confidence by a hair," said Father Brown, very quietly.
" But I think you could tell me more about that than I can tell you."
The girl sprang to her feet and stood quite quietly, but with clenched hands, like one about to stride away; then her hands loosened slowly, and she sat down again.
" You are more of a mystery than all the others," she said desperately, " but I feel there might be a heart in your mystery."
" What we all dread most," said the priest in a low voice, " is a maze with no centre.
That is why atheism is only a nightmare."
" I will tell you everything," said the red - haired girl doggedly, " except why I am telling you; and that I don't know."
Well, my name is Christabel Carstairs; and my father was that Colonel Carstairs you've probably heard of, who made the famous Carstairs Collection of Roman coins.
I could never describe my father to you; the nearest I can say is that he was very like a Roman coin himself.
He was as handsome and as genuine and as valuable and as metallic and as out - of - date.
He was prouder of his Collection than of his coat - of - arms--nobody could say more than that.
His extraordinary character came out most in his will.
He had two sons and one daughter.
He quarrelled with one son, my brother Giles, and sent him to Australia on a small allowance.
He then made a will leaving the Carstairs Collection, actually with a yet smaller allowance, to my brother Arthur.
He meant it as a reward, as the highest honour he could offer, in acknowledgement of Arthur's loyalty and rectitude and the distinctions he had already gained in mathematics and economics at Cambridge.
He left me practically all his pretty large fortune; and I am sure he meant it in contempt.
" Arthur, you may say, might well complain of this; but Arthur is my father over again.
Though he had some differences with my father in early youth, no sooner had he taken over the Collection than he became like a pagan priest dedicated to a temple.
He mixed up these Roman halfpence with the honour of the Carstairs family in the same stiff, idolatrous way as his father before him.
He acted as if Roman money must be guarded by all the Roman virtues.
He took no pleasures; he spent nothing on himself; he lived for the Collection.
Often he would not trouble to dress for his simple meals; but pattered about among the corded brown - paper parcels (which no one else was allowed to touch) in an old brown dressing - gown.
With its rope and tassel and his pale, thin, refined face, it made him look like an old ascetic monk.
Every now and then, though, he would appear dressed like a decidedly fashionable gentleman; but that was only when he went up to the London sales or shops to make an addition to the Carstairs Collection.
" Now, if you've known any young people, you won't be shocked if I say that I got into rather a low frame of mind with all this; the frame of mind in which one begins to say that the Ancient Romans were all very well in their way.
I'm not like my brother Arthur; I can't help enjoying enjoyment.
I got a lot of romance and rubbish where I got my red hair, from the other side of the family.
Poor Giles was the same; and I think the atmosphere of coins might count in excuse for him; though he really did wrong and nearly went to prison.
But he didn't behave any worse than I did; as you shall hear.
" I come now to the silly part of the story.
I think a man as clever as you can guess the sort of thing that would begin to relieve the monotony for an unruly girl of seventeen placed in such a position.
But I am so rattled with more dreadful things that I can hardly read my own feeling; and don't know whether I despise it now as a flirtation or bear it as a broken heart.
We lived then at a little seaside watering - place in South Wales, and a retired sea - captain living a few doors off had a son about five years older than myself, who had been a friend of Giles before he went to the Colonies.
His name does not affect my tale; but I tell you it was Philip Hawker, because I am telling you everything.
We used to go shrimping together, and said and thought we were in love with each other; at least he certainly said he was, and I certainly thought I was.
If I tell you he had bronzed curly hair and a falconish sort of face, bronzed by the sea also, it's not for his sake, I assure you, but for the story; for it was the cause of a very curious coincidence.
As soon as I heard the heavy door close on him finally, I made a bolt for my shrimping - net and tam - o '- shanter and was just going to slip out, when I saw that my brother had left behind him one coin that lay gleaming on the long bench by the window.
It was a bronze coin, and the colour, combined with the exact curve of the Roman nose and something in the very lift of the long, wiry neck, made the head of Caesar on it the almost precise portrait of Philip Hawker.
Then I suddenly remembered Giles telling Philip of a coin that was like him, and Philip wishing he had it.
Perhaps you can fancy the wild, foolish thoughts with which my head went round; I felt as if I had had a gift from the fairies.
It seemed to me that if I could only run away with this, and give it to Philip like a wild sort of wedding - ring, it would be a bond between us for ever; I felt a thousand such things at once.
Then there yawned under me, like the pit, the enormous, awful notion of what I was doing; above all, the unbearable thought, which was like touching hot iron, of what Arthur would think of it.
A Carstairs a thief; and a thief of the Carstairs treasure!
I believe my brother could see me burned like a witch for such a thing, But then, the very thought of such fanatical cruelty heightened my old hatred of his dingy old antiquarian fussiness and my longing for the youth and liberty that called to me from the sea.
Outside was strong sunlight with a wind; and a yellow head of some broom or gorse in the garden rapped against the glass of the window.
I thought of that living and growing gold calling to me from all the heaths of the world--and then of that dead, dull gold and bronze and brass of my brother's growing dustier and dustier as life went by.
Nature and the Carstairs Collection had come to grips at last.
" Nature is older than the Carstairs Collection.
As I ran down the streets to the sea, the coin clenched tight in my fist, I felt all the Roman Empire on my back as well as the Carstairs pedigree.
It was not only the old lion argent that was roaring in my ear, but all the eagles of the Caesars seemed flapping and screaming in pursuit of me.
And yet my heart rose higher and higher like a child's kite, until I came over the loose, dry sand - hills and to the flat, wet sands, where Philip stood already up to his ankles in the shallow shining water, some hundred yards out to sea.
There was a great red sunset; and the long stretch of low water, hardly rising over the ankle for half a mile, was like a lake of ruby flame.
It was not till I had torn off my shoes and stockings and waded to where he stood, which was well away from the dry land, that I turned and looked round.
We were quite alone in a circle of sea - water and wet sand, and I gave him the head of Caesar.
" At the very instant I had a shock of fancy: that a man far away on the sand - hills was looking at me intently.
I must have felt immediately after that it was a mere leap of unreasonable nerves; for the man was only a dark dot in the distance, and I could only just see that he was standing quite still and gazing, with his head a little on one side.
There was no earthly logical evidence that he was looking at me; he might have been looking at a ship, or the sunset, or the sea - gulls, or at any of the people who still strayed here and there on the shore between us.
Nevertheless, whatever my start sprang from was prophetic; for, as I gazed, he started walking briskly in a bee - line towards us across the wide wet sands.
As he drew nearer and nearer I saw that he was dark and bearded, and that his eyes were marked with dark spectacles.
He was dressed poorly but respectably in black, from the old black top hat on his head to the solid black boots on his feet.
In spite of these he walked straight into the sea without a flash of hesitation, and came on at me with the steadiness of a travelling bullet.
" I can't tell you the sense of monstrosity and miracle I had when he thus silently burst the barrier between land and water.
It was as if he had walked straight off a cliff and still marched steadily in mid - air.
It was as if a house had flown up into the sky or a man's head had fallen off.
He was only wetting his boots; but he seemed to be a demon disregarding a law of Nature.
If he had hesitated an instant at the water's edge it would have been nothing.
As it was, he seemed to look so much at me alone as not to notice the ocean.
Philip was some yards away with his back to me, bending over his net.
The stranger came on till he stood within two yards of me, the water washing half - way up to his knees.
Then he said, with a clearly modulated and rather mincing articulation: 'Would it discommode you to contribute elsewhere a coin with a somewhat different superscription?'
" With one exception there was nothing definably abnormal about him.
His tinted glasses were not really opaque, but of a blue kind common enough, nor were the eyes behind them shifty, but regarded me steadily.
His dark beard was not really long or wild --, but he looked rather hairy, because the beard began very high up in his face, just under the cheek - bones.
His complexion was neither sallow nor livid, but on the contrary rather clear and youthful; yet this gave a pink - and - white wax look which somehow (I don't know why) rather increased the horror.
The only oddity one could fix was that his nose, which was otherwise of a good shape, was just slightly turned sideways at the tip; as if, when it was soft, it had been tapped on one side with a toy hammer.
The thing was hardly a deformity; yet I cannot tell you what a living nightmare it was to me.
As he stood there in the sunset - stained water he affected me as some hellish sea - monster just risen roaring out of a sea like blood.
I don't know why a touch on the nose should affect my imagination so much.
I think it seemed as if he could move his nose like a finger.
And as if he had just that moment moved it.
'Any little assistance,' he continued with the same queer, priggish accent, 'that may obviate the necessity of my communicating with the family.'
" Then it rushed over me that I was being blackmailed for the theft of the bronze piece; and all my merely superstitious fears and doubts were swallowed up in one overpowering, practical question.
How could he have found out?
I had stolen the thing suddenly and on impulse; I was certainly alone; for I always made sure of being unobserved when I slipped out to see Philip in this way.
I had not, to all appearance, been followed in the street; and if I had, they could not 'X - ray'the coin in my closed hand.
The man standing on the sand - hills could no more have seen what I gave Philip than shoot a fly in one eye, like the man in the fairy - tale.
'Philip,' I cried helplessly, 'ask this man what he wants.'
" When Philip lifted his head at last from mending his net he looked rather red, as if sulky or ashamed; but it may have been only the exertion of stooping and the red evening light; I may have only had another of the morbid fancies that seemed to be dancing about me.
He merely said gruffly to the man: 'You clear out of this.'
And, motioning me to follow, set off wading shoreward without paying further attention to him.
He stepped on to a stone breakwater that ran out from among the roots of the sand - hills, and so struck homeward, perhaps thinking our incubus would find it less easy to walk on such rough stones, green and slippery with seaweed, than we, who were young and used to it.
But my persecutor walked as daintily as he talked; and he still followed me, picking his way and picking his phrases.
I heard his delicate, detestable voice appealing to me over my shoulder, until at last, when we had crested the sand - hills, Philip's patience (which was by no means so conspicuous on most occasions) seemed to snap.
He turned suddenly, saying, 'Go back.
I can't talk to you now.'
And as the man hovered and opened his mouth, Philip struck him a buffet on it that sent him flying from the top of the tallest sand - hill to the bottom.
I saw him crawling out below, covered with sand.
" This stroke comforted me somehow, though it might well increase my peril; but Philip showed none of his usual elation at his own prowess.
Though as affectionate as ever, he still seemed cast down; and before I could ask him anything fully, he parted with me at his own gate, with two remarks that struck me as strange.
He said that, all things considered, I ought to put the coin back in the Collection; but that he himself would keep it 'for the present '.
And then he added quite suddenly and irrelevantly:, 'You know Giles is back from Australia?'"
The door of the tavern opened and the gigantic shadow of the investigator Flambeau fell across the table.
Father Brown presented him to the lady in his own slight, persuasive style of speech, mentioning his knowledge and sympathy in such cases; and almost without knowing, the girl was soon reiterating her story to two listeners.
But Flambeau, as he bowed and sat down, handed the priest a small slip of paper.
Brown accepted it with some surprise and read on it: " Cab to Wagga Wagga, 379, Mafeking Avenue, Putney."
The girl was going on with her story.
" I went up the steep street to my own house with my head in a whirl; it had not begun to clear when I came to the doorstep, on which I found a milk - can--and the man with the twisted nose.
The milk - can told me the servants were all out; for, of course, Arthur, browsing about in his brown dressing - gown in a brown study, would not hear or answer a bell.
Thus there was no one to help me in the house, except my brother, whose help must be my ruin.
In desperation I thrust two shillings into the horrid thing's hand, and told him to call again in a few days, when I had thought it out.
He went off sulking, but more sheepishly than I had expected--perhaps he had been shaken by his fall--and I watched the star of sand splashed on his back receding down the road with a horrid vindictive pleasure.
He turned a corner some six houses down.
" Then I let myself in, made myself some tea, and tried to think it out.
I sat at the drawing - room window looking on to the garden, which still glowed with the last full evening light.
But I was too distracted and dreamy to look at the lawns and flower - pots and flower - beds with any concentration.
So I took the shock the more sharply because I'd seen it so slowly.
" The man or monster I'd sent away was standing quite still in the middle of the garden.
Oh, we've all read a lot about pale - faced phantoms in the dark; but this was more dreadful than anything of that kind could ever be.
Because, though he cast a long evening shadow, he still stood in warm sunlight.
And because his face was not pale, but had that waxen bloom still upon it that belongs to a barber's dummy.
He stood quite still, with his face towards me; and I can't tell you how horrid he looked among the tulips and all those tall, gaudy, almost hothouse - looking flowers.
It looked as if we'd stuck up a waxwork instead of a statue in the centre of our garden.
" Yet almost the instant he saw me move in the window he turned and ran out of the garden by the back gate, which stood open and by which he had undoubtedly entered.
This renewed timidity on his part was so different from the impudence with which he had walked into the sea, that I felt vaguely comforted.
I fancied, perhaps, that he feared confronting Arthur more than I knew.
Anyhow, I settled down at last, and had a quiet dinner alone (for it was against the rules to disturb Arthur when he was rearranging the museum), and, my thoughts, a little released, fled to Philip and lost themselves, I suppose.
Anyhow, I was looking blankly, but rather pleasantly than otherwise, at another window, uncurtained, but by this time black as a slate with the final night - fall.
It seemed to me that something like a snail was on the outside of the window - pane.
But when I stared harder, it was more like a man's thumb pressed on the pane; it had that curled look that a thumb has.
With my fear and courage re - awakened together, I rushed at the window and then recoiled with a strangled scream that any man but Arthur must have heard.
" For it was not a thumb, any more than it was a snail.
It was the tip of a crooked nose, crushed against the glass; it looked white with the pressure; and the staring face and eyes behind it were at first invisible and afterwards grey like a ghost.
I slammed the shutters together somehow, rushed up to my room and locked myself in.
But, even as I passed, I could swear I saw a second black window with something on it that was like a snail.
" It might be best to go to Arthur after all.
If the thing was crawling close all around the house like a cat, it might have purposes worse even than blackmail.
My brother might cast me out and curse me for ever, but he was a gentleman, and would defend me on the spot.
After ten minutes'curious thinking, I went down, knocked on the door and then went in: to see the last and worst sight.
" My brother's chair was empty, and he was obviously out.
But the man with the crooked nose was sitting waiting for his return, with his hat still insolently on his head, and actually reading one of my brother's books under my brother's lamp.
His face was composed and occupied, but his nose - tip still had the air of being the most mobile part of his face, as if it had just turned from left to right like an elephant's proboscis.
I had thought him poisonous enough while he was pursuing and watching me; but I think his unconsciousness of my presence was more frightful still.
" I think I screamed loud and long; but that doesn't matter.
What I did next does matter: I gave him all the money I had, including a good deal in paper which, though it was mine, I dare say I had no right to touch.
He went off at last, with hateful, tactful regrets all in long words; and I sat down, feeling ruined in every sense.
And yet I was saved that very night by a pure accident.
Arthur had gone off suddenly to London, as he so often did, for bargains; and returned, late but radiant, having nearly secured a treasure that was an added splendour even to the family Collection.
He was so resplendent that I was almost emboldened to confess the abstraction of the lesser gem --, but he bore down all other topics with his over - powering projects.
Because the bargain might still misfire any moment, he insisted on my packing at once and going up with him to lodgings he had already taken in Fulham, to be near the curio - shop in question.
Thus in spite of myself, I fled from my foe almost in the dead of night--but from Philip also.... My brother was often at the South Kensington Museum, and, in order to make some sort of secondary life for myself, I paid for a few lessons at the Art Schools.
I was coming back from them this evening, when I saw the abomination of desolation walking alive down the long straight street and the rest is as this gentleman has said.
" I've got only one thing to say.
I don't deserve to be helped; and I don't question or complain of my punishment; it is just, it ought to have happened.
But I still question, with bursting brains, how it can have happened.
Am I punished by miracle?
or how can anyone but Philip and myself know I gave him a tiny coin in the middle of the sea?"
" It is an extraordinary problem," admitted Flambeau.
" Not so extraordinary as the answer," remarked Father Brown rather gloomily.
" Miss Carstairs, will you be at home if we call at your Fulham place in an hour and a half hence?"
The girl looked at him, and then rose and put her gloves on.
" Yes," she said, " I'll be there "; and almost instantly left the place.
That night the detective and the priest were still talking of the matter as they drew near the Fulham house, a tenement strangely mean even for a temporary residence of the Carstairs family.
" Of course the superficial, on reflection," said Flambeau, " would think first of this Australian brother who's been in trouble before, who's come back so suddenly and who's just the man to have shabby confederates.
But I can't see how he can come into the thing by any process of thought, unless..."
" Well?"
asked his companion patiently.
Flambeau lowered his voice.
" Unless the girl's lover comes in, too, and he would be the blacker villain.
The Australian chap did know that Hawker wanted the coin.
But I can't see how on earth he could know that Hawker had got it, unless Hawker signalled to him or his representative across the shore."
" That is true," assented the priest, with respect.
" Have you noted another thing?"
went on Flambeau eagerly.
" this Hawker hears his love insulted, but doesn't strike till he's got to the soft sand - hills, where he can be victor in a mere sham - fight.
If he'd struck amid rocks and sea, he might have hurt his ally."
" That is true again," said Father Brown, nodding.
" And now, take it from the start.
It lies between few people, but at least three.
You want one person for suicide; two people for murder; but at least three people for blackmail "
" Why?"
asked the priest softly.
" Well, obviously," cried his friend, " there must be one to be exposed; one to threaten exposure; and one at least whom exposure would horrify."
After a long ruminant pause, the priest said: " You miss a logical step.
Three persons are needed as ideas.
Only two are needed as agents."
" What can you mean?"
asked the other.
" Why shouldn't a blackmailer," asked Brown, in a low voice, " threaten his victim with himself?
Suppose a wife became a rigid teetotaller in order to frighten her husband into concealing his pub - frequenting, and then wrote him blackmailing letters in another hand, threatening to tell his wife!
Why shouldn't it work?
Suppose a father forbade a son to gamble and then, following him in a good disguise, threatened the boy with his own sham paternal strictness!
Suppose--but, here we are, my friend."
" My God!"
cried Flambeau; " you don't mean --"
An active figure ran down the steps of the house and showed under the golden lamplight the unmistakable head that resembled the Roman coin.
" Miss Carstairs," said Hawker without ceremony, " wouldn't go in till you came."
" Well," observed Brown confidently, " don't you think it's the best thing she can do to stop outside--with you to look after her?
You see, I rather guess you have guessed it all yourself."
" Yes," said the young man, in an undertone, " I guessed on the sands and now I know; that was why I let him fall soft."
Taking a latchkey from the girl and the coin from Hawker, Flambeau let himself and his friend into the empty house and passed into the outer parlour.
It was empty of all occupants but one.
The man whom Father Brown had seen pass the tavern was standing against the wall as if at bay; unchanged, save that he had taken off his black coat and was wearing a brown dressing - gown.
" We have come," said Father Brown politely, " to give back this coin to its owner."
And he handed it to the man with the nose.
Flambeau's eyes rolled.
" Is this man a coin - collector?"
he asked.
" This man is Mr Arthur Carstairs," said the priest positively, " and he is a coin - collector of a somewhat singular kind."
The man changed colour so horribly that the crooked nose stood out on his face like a separate and comic thing.
He spoke, nevertheless, with a sort of despairing dignity.
" You shall see, then," he said, " that I have not lost all the family qualities."
And he turned suddenly and strode into an inner room, slamming the door.
" Stop him!"
shouted Father Brown, bounding and half falling over a chair; and, after a wrench or two, Flambeau had the door open.
But it was too late.
In dead silence Flambeau strode across and telephoned for doctor and police.
An empty medicine bottle lay on the floor.
Across the table the body of the man in the brown dressing - gown lay amid his burst and gaping brown - paper parcels; out of which poured and rolled, not Roman, but very modern English coins.
The priest held up the bronze head of Caesar.
" This," he said, " was all that was left of the Carstairs Collection."
After a silence he went on, with more than common gentleness: " It was a cruel will his wicked father made, and you see he did resent it a little.
He hated the Roman money he had, and grew fonder of the real money denied him.
He not only sold the Collection bit by bit, but sank bit by bit to the basest ways of making money--even to blackmailing his own family in a disguise.
He blackmailed his brother from Australia for his little forgotten crime (that is why he took the cab to Wagga Wagga in Putney), he blackmailed his sister for the theft he alone could have noticed.
And that, by the way, is why she had that supernatural guess when he was away on the sand - dunes.
Mere figure and gait, however distant, are more likely to remind us of somebody than a well - made - up face quite close."
There was another silence.
" Well," growled the detective, " and so this great numismatist and coin - collector was nothing but a vulgar miser."
" Is there so great a difference?"
asked Father Brown, in the same strange, indulgent tone.
" What is there wrong about a miser that is not often as wrong about a collector?
What is wrong, except... thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image; thou shalt not bow down to them nor serve them, for I... but we must go and see how the poor young people are getting on."
" I think," said Flambeau, " that in spite of everything, they are probably getting on very well."
VII.
The Purple Wig
MR EDWARD NUTT, the industrious editor of the Daily Reformer, sat at his desk, opening letters and marking proofs to the merry tune of a typewriter, worked by a vigorous young lady.
He was a stoutish, fair man, in his shirt - sleeves; his movements were resolute, his mouth firm and his tones final; but his round, rather babyish blue eyes had a bewildered and even wistful look that rather contradicted all this.
Nor indeed was the expression altogether misleading.
It might truly be said of him, as for many journalists in authority, that his most familiar emotion was one of continuous fear; fear of libel actions, fear of lost advertisements, fear of misprints, fear of the sack.
A letter from one of these lay immediately before him, and rapid and resolute as he was, he seemed almost to hesitate before opening it.
He took up a strip of proof instead, ran down it with a blue eye, and a blue pencil, altered the word " adultery " to the word " impropriety," and the word " Jew " to the word " Alien," rang a bell and sent it flying upstairs.
Then, with a more thoughtful eye, he ripped open the letter from his more distinguished contributor, which bore a postmark of Devonshire, and read as follows:
DEAR NUTT,-- As I see you're working Spooks and Dooks at the same time, what about an article on that rum business of the Eyres of Exmoor; or as the old women call it down here, the Devil's Ear of Eyre?
The head of the family, you know, is the Duke of Exmoor; he is one of the few really stiff old Tory aristocrats left, a sound old crusted tyrant it is quite in our line to make trouble about.
And I think I'm on the track of a story that will make trouble.
Of course I don't believe in the old legend about James I; and as for you, you don't believe in anything, not even in journalism.
The legend, you'll probably remember, was about the blackest business in English history--the poisoning of Overbury by that witch's cat Frances Howard, and the quite mysterious terror which forced the King to pardon the murderers.
And though he had to be loaded with lands and gold and made an ancestor of dukes, the elf - shaped ear is still recurrent in the family.
Well, you don't believe in black magic; and if you did, you couldn't use it for copy.
If a miracle happened in your office, you'd have to hush it up, now so many bishops are agnostics.
But that is not the point The point is that there really is something queer about Exmoor and his family; something quite natural, I dare say, but quite abnormal.
And the Ear is in it somehow, I fancy; either a symbol or a delusion or disease or something.
Another tradition says that Cavaliers just after James I began to wear their hair long only to cover the ear of the first Lord Exmoor.
This also is no doubt fanciful.
The reason I point it out to you is this: It seems to me that we make a mistake in attacking aristocracy entirely for its champagne and diamonds.
Most men rather admire the nobs for having a good time, but I think we surrender too much when we admit that aristocracy has made even the aristocrats happy.
I suggest a series of articles pointing out how dreary, how inhuman, how downright diabolist, is the very smell and atmosphere of some of these great houses.
There are plenty of instances; but you couldn't begin with a better one than the Ear of the Eyres.
By the end of the week I think I can get you the truth about it.-- Yours ever, FRANCIS FINN.
Mr Nutt reflected a moment, staring at his left boot; then he called out in a strong, loud and entirely lifeless voice, in which every syllable sounded alike: " Miss Barlow, take down a letter to Mr Finn, please."
DEAR FINN,-- I think it would do; copy should reach us second post Saturday.-- Yours, E. NUTT.
This elaborate epistle he articulated as if it were all one word; and Miss Barlow rattled it down as if it were all one word.
Then he took up another strip of proof and a blue pencil, and altered the word " supernatural " to the word " marvellous ", and the expression " shoot down " to the expression " repress ".
In such happy, healthful activities did Mr Nutt disport himself, until the ensuing Saturday found him at the same desk, dictating to the same typist, and using the same blue pencil on the first instalment of Mr Finn's revelations.
The opening was a sound piece of slashing invective about the evil secrets of princes, and despair in the high places of the earth.
Then followed the legend of the Ear, amplified from Finn's first letter, and then the substance of his later discoveries, as follows:
I know it is the practice of journalists to put the end of the story at the beginning and call it a headline.
I know that journalism largely consists in saying " Lord Jones Dead " to people who never knew that Lord Jones was alive.
Your present correspondent thinks that this, like many other journalistic customs, is bad journalism; and that the Daily Reformer has to set a better example in such things.
He proposes to tell his story as it occurred, step by step.
He will use the real names of the parties, who in most cases are ready to confirm his testimony.
As for the headlines, the sensational proclamations--they will come at the end.
I was walking along a public path that threads through a private Devonshire orchard and seems to point towards Devonshire cider, when I came suddenly upon just such a place as the path suggested.
It was a long, low inn, consisting really of a cottage and two barns; thatched all over with the thatch that looks like brown and grey hair grown before history.
But outside the door was a sign which called it the Blue Dragon; and under the sign was one of those long rustic tables that used to stand outside most of the free English inns, before teetotallers and brewers between them destroyed freedom.
And at this table sat three gentlemen, who might have lived a hundred years ago.
Now that I know them all better, there is no difficulty about disentangling the impressions; but just then they looked like three very solid ghosts.
The dominant figure, both because he was bigger in all three dimensions, and because he sat centrally in the length of the table, facing me, was a tall, fat man dressed completely in black, with a rubicund, even apoplectic visage, but a rather bald and rather bothered brow.
Looking at him again, more strictly, I could not exactly say what it was that gave me the sense of antiquity, except the antique cut of his white clerical necktie and the barred wrinkles across his brow.
It was only when I saw his broad curved hat lying on the table beside him that I realized why I connected him with anything ancient.
He was a Roman Catholic priest.
Perhaps the third man, at the other end of the table, had really more to do with it than the rest, though he was both slighter in physical presence and more inconsiderate in his dress.
The unobtrusive yet unusual colour was all the more notable because his hair was almost unnaturally healthy and curling, and he wore it full.
But, after all analysis, I incline to think that what gave me my first old - fashioned impression was simply a set of tall, old - fashioned wine - glasses, one or two lemons and two churchwarden pipes.
And also, perhaps, the old - world errand on which I had come.
Being a hardened reporter, and it being apparently a public inn, I did not need to summon much of my impudence to sit down at the long table and order some cider.
The big man in black seemed very learned, especially about local antiquities; the small man in black, though he talked much less, surprised me with a yet wider culture.
So we got on very well together; but the third man, the old gentleman in the tight pantaloons, seemed rather distant and haughty, until I slid into the subject of the Duke of Exmoor and his ancestry.
I thought the subject seemed to embarrass the other two a little; but it broke the spell of the third man's silence most successfully.
Some of the tales, indeed, are not fit for public print --, such as the story of the Scarlet Nuns, the abominable story of the Spotted Dog, or the thing that was done in the quarry.
And all this red roll of impieties came from his thin, genteel lips rather primly than otherwise, as he sat sipping the wine out of his tall, thin glass.
I could see that the big man opposite me was trying, if anything, to stop him; but he evidently held the old gentleman in considerable respect, and could not venture to do so at all abruptly.
And the little priest at the other end of the - table, though free from any such air of embarrassment, looked steadily at the table, and seemed to listen to the recital with great pain--as well as he might.
" You don't seem," I said to the narrator, " to be very fond of the Exmoor pedigree."
He looked at me a moment, his lips still prim, but whitening and tightening; then he deliberately broke his long pipe and glass on the table and stood up, the very picture of a perfect gentleman with the framing temper of a fiend.
" These gentlemen," he said, " will tell you whether I have cause to like it.
The curse of the Eyres of old has lain heavy on this country, and many have suffered from it.
They know there are none who have suffered from it as I have."
And with that he crushed a piece of the fallen glass under his heel, and strode away among the green twilight of the twinkling apple - trees.
" That is an extraordinary old gentleman," I said to the other two; " do you happen to know what the Exmoor family has done to him?
Who is he?"
The big man in black was staring at me with the wild air of a baffled bull; he did not at first seem to take it in.
Then he said at last, " Don't you know who he is?"
I reaffirmed my ignorance, and there was another silence; then the little priest said, still looking at the table, " That is the Duke of Exmoor."
Then, before I could collect my scattered senses, he added equally quietly, but with an air of regularizing things: " My friend here is Doctor Mull, the Duke's librarian.
My name is Brown."
" But," I stammered, " if that is the Duke, why does he damn all the old dukes like that?"
" He seems really to believe," answered the priest called Brown, " that they have left a curse on him."
Then he added, with some irrelevance, " That's why he wears a wig."
It was a few moments before his meaning dawned on me.
" You don't mean that fable about the fantastic ear?"
I demanded.
" I've heard of it, of course, but surely it must be a superstitious yarn spun out of something much simpler.
I've sometimes thought it was a wild version of one of those mutilation stories.
They used to crop criminals'ears in the sixteenth century."
" I hardly think it was that," answered the little man thoughtfully, " but it is not outside ordinary science or natural law for a family to have some deformity frequently reappearing--such as one ear bigger than the other."
The big librarian had buried his big bald brow in his big red hands, like a man trying to think out his duty.
" No," he groaned.
" You do the man a wrong after all.
Understand, I've no reason to defend him, or even keep faith with him.
He has been a tyrant to me as to everybody else.
Don't fancy because you see him sitting here that he isn't a great lord in the worst sense of the word.
He would fetch a man a mile to ring a bell a yard off--if it would summon another man three miles to fetch a matchbox three yards off.
He must have a footman to carry his walking - stick; a body servant to hold up his opera - glasses --"
" But not a valet to brush his clothes," cut in the priest, with a curious dryness, " for the valet would want to brush his wig, too."
The librarian turned to him and seemed to forget my presence; he was strongly moved and, I think, a little heated with wine.
" I don't know how you know it, Father Brown," he said, " but you are right.
He lets the whole world do everything for him--except dress him.
And that he insists on doing in a literal solitude like a desert.
Anybody is kicked out of the house without a character who is so much as found near his dressing - room door.,
" He seems a pleasant old party," I remarked.
" No," replied Dr Mull quite simply; " and yet that is just what I mean by saying you are unjust to him after all.
Gentlemen, the Duke does really feel the bitterness about the curse that he uttered just now.
He does, with sincere shame and terror, hide under that purple wig something he thinks it would blast the sons of man to see.
I know it is so; and I know it is not a mere natural disfigurement, like a criminal mutilation, or a hereditary disproportion in the features.
I know it is worse than that; because a man told me who was present at a scene that no man could invent, where a stronger man than any of us tried to defy the secret, and was scared away from it."
I opened my mouth to speak, but Mull went on in oblivion of me, speaking out of the cavern of his hands.
" I don't mind telling you, Father, because it's really more defending the poor Duke than giving him away.
Didn't you ever hear of the time when he very nearly lost all the estates?"
The priest shook his head; and the librarian proceeded to tell the tale as he had heard it from his predecessor in the same post, who had been his patron and instructor, and whom he seemed to trust implicitly.
Up to a certain point it was a common enough tale of the decline of a great family's fortunes--the tale of a family lawyer.
His lawyer, however, had the sense to cheat honestly, if the expression explains itself.
Instead of using funds he held in trust, he took advantage of the Duke's carelessness to put the family in a financial hole, in which it might be necessary for the Duke to let him hold them in reality.
The lawyer's name was Isaac Green, but the Duke always called him Elisha; presumably in reference to the fact that he was quite bald, though certainly not more than thirty.
He had risen very rapidly, but from very dirty beginnings; being first a " nark " or informer, and then a money - lender: but as solicitor to the Eyres he had the sense, as I say, to keep technically straight until he was ready to deal the final blow.
The blow fell at dinner; and the old librarian said he should never forget the very look of the lampshades and the decanters, as the little lawyer, with a steady smile, proposed to the great landlord that they should halve the estates between them.
The sequel certainly could not be overlooked; for the Duke, in dead silence, smashed a decanter on the man's bald head as suddenly as I had seen him smash the glass that day in the orchard.
It left a red triangular scar on the scalp, and the lawyer's eyes altered, but not his smile.
He rose tottering to his feet, and struck back as such men do strike.
" I am glad of that," he said, " for now I can take the whole estate.
The law will give it to me."
Exmoor, it seems, was white as ashes, but his eyes still blazed.
" The law will give it you," he said; " but you will not take it.... Why not?
Why?
because it would mean the crack of doom for me, and if you take it I shall take off my wig.... Why, you pitiful plucked fowl, anyone can see your bare head.
But no man shall see mine and live."
Well, you may say what you like and make it mean what you like.
Now Dr Mull told his story with rather wild theatrical gestures, and with a passion I think at least partisan.
I was quite conscious of the possibility that the whole was the extravagance of an old braggart and gossip.
But before I end this half of my discoveries, I think it due to Dr Mull to record that my two first inquiries have confirmed his story.
I learned from an old apothecary in the village that there was a bald man in evening dress, giving the name of Green, who came to him one night to have a three - cornered cut on his forehead plastered.
And I learnt from the legal records and old newspapers that there was a lawsuit threatened, and at least begun, by one Green against the Duke of Exmoor.
Mr Nutt, of the Daily Reformer, wrote some highly incongruous words across the top of the copy, made some highly mysterious marks down the side of it, and called to Miss Barlow in the same loud, monotonous voice: " Take down a letter to Mr Finn."
DEAR FINN,-- Your copy will do, but I have had to headline it a bit; and our public would never stand a Romanist priest in the story--you must keep your eye on the suburbs.
I've altered him to Mr Brown, a Spiritualist.
Yours,
E. NUTT.
A day or two afterward found the active and judicious editor examining, with blue eyes that seemed to grow rounder and rounder, the second instalment of Mr Finn's tale of mysteries in high life.
It began with the words:
I have made an astounding discovery.
I freely confess it is quite different from anything I expected to discover, and will give a much more practical shock to the public.
I venture to say, without any vanity, that the words I now write will be read all over Europe, and certainly all over America and the Colonies.
And yet I heard all I have to tell before I left this same little wooden table in this same little wood of apple - trees.
I owe it all to the small priest Brown; he is an extraordinary man.
The big librarian had left the table, perhaps ashamed of his long tongue, perhaps anxious about the storm in which his mysterious master had vanished: anyway, he betook himself heavily in the Duke's tracks through the trees.
Father Brown had picked up one of the lemons and was eyeing it with an odd pleasure.
" What a lovely colour a lemon is!"
he said.
" There's one thing I don't like about the Duke's wig--the colour."
" I don't think I understand," I answered.
" I dare say he's got good reason to cover his ears, like King Midas," went on the priest, with a cheerful simplicity which somehow seemed rather flippant under the circumstances.
" I can quite understand that it's nicer to cover them with hair than with brass plates or leather flaps.
But if he wants to use hair, why doesn't he make it look like hair?
There never was hair of that colour in this world.
It looks more like a sunset - cloud coming through the wood.
Why doesn't he conceal the family curse better, if he's really so ashamed of it?
Shall I tell you?
It's because he isn't ashamed of it.
He's proud of it "
" It's an ugly wig to be proud of--and an ugly story," I said.
" Consider," replied this curious little man, " how you yourself really feel about such things.
I don't suggest you're either more snobbish or more morbid than the rest of us: but don't you feel in a vague way that a genuine old family curse is rather a fine thing to have?
Would you be ashamed, wouldn't you be a little proud, if the heir of the Glamis horror called you his friend?
or if Byron's family had confided, to you only, the evil adventures of their race?
Don't be too hard on the aristocrats themselves if their heads are as weak as ours would be, and they are snobs about their own sorrows."
" By Jove!"
I cried; " and that's true enough.
My own mother's family had a banshee; and, now I come to think of it, it has comforted me in many a cold hour."
" And think," he went on, " of that stream of blood and poison that spurted from his thin lips the instant you so much as mentioned his ancestors.
Why should he show every stranger over such a Chamber of Horrors unless he is proud of it?
He doesn't conceal his wig, he doesn't conceal his blood, he doesn't conceal his family curse, he doesn't conceal the family crimes--but --"
The little man's voice changed so suddenly, he shut his hand so sharply, and his eyes so rapidly grew rounder and brighter like a waking owl's, that it had all the abruptness of a small explosion on the table.
" But," he ended, " he does really conceal his toilet."
It somehow completed the thrill of my fanciful nerves that at that instant the Duke appeared again silently among the glimmering trees, with his soft foot and sunset - hued hair, coming round the corner of the house in company with his librarian.
Before he came within earshot, Father Brown had added quite composedly, " Why does he really hide the secret of what he does with the purple wig?
Because it isn't the sort of secret we suppose."
The Duke came round the corner and resumed his seat at the head of the table with all his native dignity.
The embarrassment of the librarian left him hovering on his hind legs, like a huge bear.
The Duke addressed the priest with great seriousness.
" Father Brown," he said, " Doctor Mull informs me that you have come here to make a request.
I no longer profess an observance of the religion of my fathers; but for their sakes, and for the sake of the days when we met before, I am very willing to hear you.
But I presume you would rather be heard in private."
Whatever I retain of the gentleman made me stand up.
Whatever I have attained of the journalist made me stand still.
Before this paralysis could pass, the priest had made a momentarily detaining motion.
" If," he said, " your Grace will permit me my real petition, or if I retain any right to advise you, I would urge that as many people as possible should be present.
All over this country I have found hundreds, even of my own faith and flock, whose imaginations are poisoned by the spell which I implore you to break.
I wish we could have all Devonshire here to see you do it."
" To see me do what?"
asked the Duke, arching his eyebrows.
" To see you take off your wig," said Father Brown.
The Duke's face did not move; but he looked at his petitioner with a glassy stare which was the most awful expression I have ever seen on a human face.
I could see the librarian's great legs wavering under him like the shadows of stems in a pool; and I could not banish from my own brain the fancy that the trees all around us were filling softly in the silence with devils instead of birds.
" I spare you," said the Duke in a voice of inhuman pity.
" I refuse.
If I gave you the faintest hint of the load of horror I have to bear alone, you would lie shrieking at these feet of mine and begging to know no more.
I will spare you the hint.
You shall not spell the first letter of what is written on the altar of the Unknown God."
" I know the Unknown God," said the little priest, with an unconscious grandeur of certitude that stood up like a granite tower.
" I know his name; it is Satan.
The true God was made flesh and dwelt among us.
And I say to you, wherever you find men ruled merely by mystery, it is the mystery of iniquity.
If the devil tells you something is too fearful to look at, look at it.
If he says something is too terrible to hear, hear it.
If you think some truth unbearable, bear it.
I entreat your Grace to end this nightmare now and here at this table."
" If I did," said the Duke in a low voice, " you and all you believe, and all by which alone you live, would be the first to shrivel and perish.
You would have an instant to know the great Nothing before you died."
" The Cross of Christ be between me and harm," said Father Brown.
" Take off your wig."
I was leaning over the table in ungovernable excitement; in listening to this extraordinary duel half a thought had come into my head.
" Your Grace," I cried, " I call your bluff.
Take off that wig or I will knock it off."
I suppose I can be prosecuted for assault, but I am very glad I did it.
When he said, in the same voice of stone, " I refuse," I simply sprang on him.
For three long instants he strained against me as if he had all hell to help him; but I forced his head until the hairy cap fell off it.
I admit that, whilst wrestling, I shut my eyes as it fell.
I was awakened by a cry from Mull, who was also by this time at the Duke's side.
His head and mine were both bending over the bald head of the wigless Duke.
Then the silence was snapped by the librarian exclaiming: " What can it mean?
Why, the man had nothing to hide.
His ears are just like everybody else's."
" Yes," said Father Brown, " that is what he had to hide."
The priest walked straight up to him, but strangely enough did not even glance at his ears.
He stared with an almost comical seriousness at his bald forehead, and pointed to a three - cornered cicatrice, long healed, but still discernible.
" Mr Green, I think."
he said politely, " and he did get the whole estate after all."
And now let me tell the readers of the Daily Reformer what I think the most remarkable thing in the whole affair.
This transformation scene, which will seem to you as wild and purple as a Persian fairy - tale, has been (except for my technical assault) strictly legal and constitutional from its first beginnings.
This man with the odd scar and the ordinary ears is not an impostor.
Though (in one sense) he wears another man's wig and claims another man's ear, he has not stolen another man's coronet.
He really is the one and only Duke of Exmoor.
What happened was this.
The old Duke really had a slight malformation of the ear, which really was more or less hereditary.
He really was morbid about it; and it is likely enough that he did invoke it as a kind of curse in the violent scene (which undoubtedly happened) in which he struck Green with the decanter.
But the contest ended very differently.
Green pressed his claim and got the estates; the dispossessed nobleman shot himself and died without issue.
After a decent interval the beautiful English Government revived the " extinct " peerage of Exmoor, and bestowed it, as is usual, on the most important person, the person who had got the property.
This man used the old feudal fables--properly, in his snobbish soul, really envied and admired them.
So that thousands of poor English people trembled before a mysterious chieftain with an ancient destiny and a diadem of evil stars--when they are really trembling before a guttersnipe who was a pettifogger and a pawnbroker not twelve years ago.
I think it very typical of the real case against our aristocracy as it is, and as it will be till God sends us braver men.
Mr Nutt put down the manuscript and called out with unusual sharpness: " Miss Barlow, please take down a letter to Mr Finn."
DEAR FINN,-- You must be mad; we can't touch this.
I wanted vampires and the bad old days and aristocracy hand - in - hand with superstition.
They like that But you must know the Exmoors would never forgive this.
And what would our people say then, I should like to know!
Why, Sir Simon is one of Exmoor's greatest pals; and it would ruin that cousin of the Eyres that's standing for us at Bradford.
Besides, old Soap - Suds was sick enough at not getting his peerage last year; he'd sack me by wire if I lost him it with such lunacy as this.
And what about Duffey?
He's doing us some rattling articles on " The Heel of the Norman."
And how can he write about Normans if the man's only a solicitor?
Do be reasonable.-- Yours, E. NUTT.
As Miss Barlow rattled away cheerfully, he crumpled up the copy and tossed it into the waste - paper basket; but not before he had, automatically and by force of habit, altered the word " God " to the word " circumstances."
VIII.
The Perishing of the Pendragons
FATHER BROWN was in no mood for adventures.
He had lately fallen ill with over - work, and when he began to recover, his friend Flambeau had taken him on a cruise in a small yacht with Sir Cecil Fanshaw, a young Cornish squire and an enthusiast for Cornish coast scenery.
But Brown was still rather weak; he was no very happy sailor; and though he was never of the sort that either grumbles or breaks down, his spirits did not rise above patience and civility.
When the other two men praised the ragged violet sunset or the ragged volcanic crags, he agreed with them.
When Flambeau pointed out a rock shaped like a dragon, he looked at it and thought it very like a dragon.
When Fanshaw more excitedly indicated a rock that was like Merlin, he looked at it, and signified assent.
When Flambeau asked whether this rocky gate of the twisted river was not the gate of Fairyland, he said " Yes."
He heard the most important things and the most trivial with the same tasteless absorption.
He heard that the coast was death to all but careful seamen; he also heard that the ship's cat was asleep.
He heard that Fanshaw couldn't find his cigar - holder anywhere; he also heard the pilot deliver the oracle " Both eyes bright, she's all right; one eye winks, down she sinks."
He heard Flambeau say to Fanshaw that no doubt this meant the pilot must keep both eyes open and be spry.
He heard Fanshaw add that his country was full of such quaint fables and idioms; it was the very home of romance; he even pitted this part of Cornwall against Devonshire, as a claimant to the laurels of Elizabethan seamanship.
According to him there had been captains among these coves and islets compared with whom Drake was practically a landsman.
He heard Flambeau laugh, and ask if, perhaps, the adventurous title of " Westward Ho!"
only meant that all Devonshire men wished they were living in Cornwall.
This Cecil Fanshaw was, in person, of the kind that commonly urges such crude but pleasing enthusiasms; a very young man, light - haired, high - coloured, with an eager profile; with a boyish bravado of spirits, but an almost girlish delicacy of tint and type.
The big shoulders, black brows and black mousquetaire swagger of Flambeau were a great contrast.
All these trivialities Brown heard and saw; but heard them as a tired man hears a tune in the railway wheels, or saw them as a sick man sees the pattern of his wall - paper.
No one can calculate the turns of mood in convalescence: but Father Brown's depression must have had a great deal to do with his mere unfamiliarity with the sea.
For as the river mouth narrowed like the neck of a bottle, and the water grew calmer and the air warmer and more earthly, he seemed to wake up and take notice like a baby.
They had reached that phase just after sunset when air and water both look bright, but earth and all its growing things look almost black by comparison.
About this particular evening, however, there was something exceptional.
It was one of those rare atmospheres in which a smoked - glass slide seems to have been slid away from between us and Nature; so that even dark colours on that day look more gorgeous than bright colours on cloudier days.
This magic clearness and intensity in the colours was further forced on Brown's slowly reviving senses by something romantic and even secret in the very form of the landscape.
If Father Brown ever attached any importance to either of these, he certainly forgot them at the next turn of the river which brought in sight a singular object.
The water seemed to widen and split, being cloven by the dark wedge of a fish - shaped and wooded islet.
With the rate at which they went, the islet seemed to swim towards them like a ship; a ship with a very high prow--or, to speak more strictly, a very high funnel.
For at the extreme point nearest them stood up an odd - looking building, unlike anything they could remember or connect with any purpose.
It was not specially high, but it was too high for its breadth to be called anything but a tower.
Yet it appeared to be built entirely of wood, and that in a most unequal and eccentric way.
Some of the planks and beams were of good, seasoned oak; some of such wood cut raw and recent; some again of white pinewood, and a great deal more of the same sort of wood painted black with tar.
These black beams were set crooked or crisscross at all kinds of angles, giving the whole a most patchy and puzzling appearance.
There were one or two windows, which appeared to be coloured and leaded in an old - fashioned but more elaborate style.
The travellers looked at it with that paradoxical feeling we have when something reminds us of something, and yet we are certain it is something very different.
Father Brown, even when he was mystified, was clever in analysing his own mystification.
And he found himself reflecting that the oddity seemed to consist in a particular shape cut out in an incongruous material; as if one saw a top - hat made of tin, or a frock - coat cut out of tartan.
He was sure he had seen timbers of different tints arranged like that somewhere, but never in such architectural proportions.
The next moment a glimpse through the dark trees told him all he wanted to know and he laughed.
Through a gap in the foliage there appeared for a moment one of those old wooden houses, faced with black beams, which are still to be found here and there in England, but which most of us see imitated in some show called " Old London " or " Shakespeare's England '.
It was in view only long enough for the priest to see that, however old - fashioned, it was a comfortable and well - kept country - house, with flower - beds in front of it.
It had none of the piebald and crazy look of the tower that seemed made out of its refuse.
" What on earth's this?"
said Flambeau, who was still staring at the tower.
Fanshaw's eyes were shining, and he spoke triumphantly.
" Aha!
you've not seen a place quite like this before, I fancy; that's why I've brought you here, my friend.
Now you shall see whether I exaggerate about the mariners of Cornwall.
This place belongs to Old Pendragon, whom we call the Admiral; though he retired before getting the rank.
The spirit of Raleigh and Hawkins is a memory with the Devon folk; it's a modern fact with the Pendragons.
If Queen Elizabeth were to rise from the grave and come up this river in a gilded barge, she would be received by the Admiral in a house exactly such as she was accustomed to, in every corner and casement, in every panel on the wall or plate on the table.
And she would find an English Captain still talking fiercely of fresh lands to be found in little ships, as much as if she had dined with Drake."
" She'd find a rum sort of thing in the garden," said Father Brown, " which would not please her Renaissance eye.
That Elizabethan domestic architecture is charming in its way; but it's against the very nature of it to break out into turrets."
" And yet," answered Fanshaw, " that's the most romantic and Elizabethan part of the business.
It was built by the Pendragons in the very days of the Spanish wars; and though it's needed patching and even rebuilding for another reason, it's always been rebuilt in the old way.
" For what other reason," asked Father Brown, " do you mean that it has been rebuilt?"
" Oh, there's a strange story about that, too," said the young squire with relish.
" You are really in a land of strange stories.
King Arthur was here and Merlin and the fairies before him.
The story goes that Sir Peter Pendragon, who (I fear) had some of the faults of the pirates as well as the virtues of the sailor, was bringing home three Spanish gentlemen in honourable captivity, intending to escort them to Elizabeth's court.
But he was a man of flaming and tigerish temper, and coming to high words with one of them, he caught him by the throat and flung him by accident or design, into the sea.
As it happened the ship had already turned into the river mouth and was close to comparatively shallow water.
The third Spaniard sprang over the side of the ship, struck out for the shore, and was soon near enough to it to stand up to his waist in water.
With that he dived under the wave, and was either drowned or swam so long under water that no hair of his head was seen afterwards."
" There's that girl in the canoe again," said Flambeau irrelevantly, for good - looking young women would call him off any topic.
" She seems bothered by the queer tower just as we were."
Indeed, the black - haired young lady was letting her canoe float slowly and silently past the strange islet; and was looking intently up at the strange tower, with a strong glow of curiosity on her oval and olive face.
" Never mind girls," said Fanshaw impatiently, " there are plenty of them in the world, but not many things like the Pendragon Tower.
As you may easily suppose, plenty of superstitions and scandals have followed in the track of the Spaniard's curse; and no doubt, as you would put it, any accident happening to this Cornish family would be connected with it by rural credulity.
" What a pity!"
exclaimed Flambeau.
" She's going."
" When did your friend the Admiral tell you this family history?"
asked Father Brown, as the girl in the canoe paddled off, without showing the least intention of extending her interest from the tower to the yacht, which Fanshaw had already caused to lie alongside the island.
" Many years ago," replied Fanshaw; " he hasn't been to sea for some time now, though he is as keen on it as ever.
I believe there's a family compact or something.
Well, here's the landing stage; let's come ashore and see the old boy."
They followed him on to the island, just under the tower, and Father Brown, whether from the mere touch of dry land, or the interest of something on the other bank of the river (which he stared at very hard for some seconds), seemed singularly improved in briskness.
They entered a wooded avenue between two fences of thin greyish wood, such as often enclose parks or gardens, and over the top of which the dark trees tossed to and fro like black and purple plumes upon the hearse of a giant.
The tower, as they left it behind, looked all the quainter, because such entrances are usually flanked by two towers; and this one looked lopsided.
But for this, the avenue had the usual appearance of the entrance to a gentleman's grounds; and, being so curved that the house was now out of sight, somehow looked a much larger park than any plantation on such an island could really be.
Father Brown was, perhaps, a little fanciful in his fatigue, but he almost thought the whole place must be growing larger, as things do in a nightmare.
Anyhow, a mystical monotony was the only character of their march, until Fanshaw suddenly stopped, and pointed to something sticking out through the grey fence--something that looked at first rather like the imprisoned horn of some beast.
Closer observation showed that it was a slightly curved blade of metal that shone faintly in the fading light.
Flambeau, who like all Frenchmen had been a soldier, bent over it and said in a startled voice: " Why, it's a sabre!
I believe I know the sort, heavy and curved, but shorter than the cavalry; they used to have them in artillery and the --"
As he spoke the blade plucked itself out of the crack it had made and came down again with a more ponderous slash, splitting the fissiparous fence to the bottom with a rending noise.
Then it was pulled out again, flashed above the fence some feet further along, and again split it halfway down with the first stroke; and after waggling a little to extricate itself (accompanied with curses in the darkness) split it down to the ground with a second.
Then a kick of devilish energy sent the whole loosened square of thin wood flying into the pathway, and a great gap of dark coppice gaped in the paling.
Fanshaw peered into the dark opening and uttered an exclamation of astonishment.
" My dear Admiral!"
he exclaimed, " do you--er--do you generally cut out a new front door whenever you want to go for a walk?"
The voice in the gloom swore again, and then broke into a jolly laugh.
" No," it said; " I've really got to cut down this fence somehow; it's spoiling all the plants, and no one else here can do it.
But I'll only carve another bit off the front door, and then come out and welcome you."
And sure enough, he heaved up his weapon once more, and, hacking twice, brought down another and similar strip of fence, making the opening about fourteen feet wide in all.
Then through this larger forest gateway he came out into the evening light, with a chip of grey wood sticking to his sword - blade.
He momentarily fulfilled all Fanshaw's fable of an old piratical Admiral; though the details seemed afterwards to decompose into accidents.
He wore an ordinary dark - blue jacket, with nothing special about the buttons, but the combination of it with white linen trousers somehow had a sailorish look.
He was tall and loose, and walked with a sort of swagger, which was not a sailor's roll, and yet somehow suggested it; and he held in his hand a short sabre which was like a navy cutlass, but about twice as big.
Under the bridge of the hat his eagle face looked eager, all the more because it was not only clean - shaven, but without eyebrows.
It seemed almost as if all the hair had come off his face from his thrusting it through a throng of elements.
His eyes were prominent and piercing.
His colour was curiously attractive, while partly tropical; it reminded one vaguely of a blood - orange.
That is, that while it was ruddy and sanguine, there was a yellow in it that was in no way sickly, but seemed rather to glow like gold apples of the Hesperides--Father Brown thought he had never seen a figure so expressive of all the romances about the countries of the Sun.
When Fanshaw had presented his two friends to their host he fell again into a tone of rallying the latter about his wreckage of the fence and his apparent rage of profanity.
The Admiral pooh - poohed it at first as a piece of necessary but annoying garden work; but at length the ring of real energy came back into his laughter, and he cried with a mixture of impatience and good humour:
" Well, perhaps I do go at it a bit rabidly, and feel a kind of pleasure in smashing anything.
So would you if your only pleasure was in cruising about to find some new Cannibal Islands, and you had to stick on this muddy little rockery in a sort of rustic pond.
When I remember how I've cut down a mile and a half of green poisonous jungle with an old cutlass half as sharp as this; and then remember I must stop here and chop this matchwood, because of some confounded old bargain scribbled in a family Bible, why, I --"
He swung up the heavy steel again; and this time sundered the wall of wood from top to bottom at one stroke.
" I feel like that," he said laughing, but furiously flinging the sword some yards down the path, " and now let's go up to the house; you must have some dinner."
The semicircle of lawn in front of the house was varied by three circular garden beds, one of red tulips, a second of yellow tulips, and the third of some white, waxen - looking blossoms that the visitors did not know and presumed to be exotic.
A heavy, hairy and rather sullen - looking gardener was hanging up a heavy coil of garden hose.
Just outside the steps of the porch stood a little painted green garden table, as if someone had just had tea there.
The entrance was flanked with two of those half - featured lumps of stone with holes for eyes that are said to be South Sea idols; and on the brown oak beam across the doorway were some confused carvings that looked almost as barbaric.
As they passed indoors, the little cleric hopped suddenly on to the table, and standing on it peered unaffectedly through his spectacles at the mouldings in the oak.
Admiral Pendragon looked very much astonished, though not particularly annoyed; while Fanshaw was so amused with what looked like a performing pigmy on his little stand, that he could not control his laughter.
But Father Brown was not likely to notice either the laughter or the astonishment.
He was gazing at three carved symbols, which, though very worn and obscure, seemed still to convey some sense to him.
The first seemed to be the outline of some tower or other building, crowned with what looked like curly - pointed ribbons.
The second was clearer: an old Elizabethan galley with decorative waves beneath it, but interrupted in the middle by a curious jagged rock, which was either a fault in the wood or some conventional representation of the water coming in.
The third represented the upper half of a human figure, ending in an escalloped line like the waves; the face was rubbed and featureless, and both arms were held very stiffly up in the air.
" Well," muttered Father Brown, blinking, " here is the legend of the Spaniard plain enough.
Here he is holding up his arms and cursing in the sea; and here are the two curses: the wrecked ship and the burning of Pendragon Tower."
Pendragon shook his head with a kind of venerable amusement.
" And how many other things might it not be?"
he said.
" Don't you know that that sort of half - man, like a half - lion or half - stag, is quite common in heraldry?
Might not that line through the ship be one of those parti - per - pale lines, indented, I think they call it?
And though the third thing isn't so very heraldic, it would be more heraldic to suppose it a tower crowned with laurel than with fire; and it looks just as like it."
" But it seems rather odd," said Flambeau, " that it should exactly confirm the old legend."
" Ah," replied the sceptical traveller, " but you don't know how much of the old legend may have been made up from the old figures.
Besides, it isn't the only old legend.
Fanshaw, here, who is fond of such things, will tell you there are other versions of the tale, and much more horrible ones.
One story credits my unfortunate ancestor with having had the Spaniard cut in two; and that will fit the pretty picture also.
Another obligingly credits our family with the possession of a tower full of snakes and explains those little, wriggly things in that way.
And a third theory supposes the crooked line on the ship to be a conventionalized thunderbolt; but that alone, if seriously examined, would show what a very little way these unhappy coincidences really go."
" Why, how do you mean?"
asked Fanshaw.
" It so happens," replied his host coolly, " that there was no thunder and lightning at all in the two or three shipwrecks I know of in our family."
" Oh!"
said Father Brown, and jumped down from the little table.
There was another silence in which they heard the continuous murmur of the river; then Fanshaw said, in a doubtful and perhaps disappointed tone: " Then you don't think there is anything in the tales of the tower in flames?"
" There are the tales, of course," said the Admiral, shrugging his shoulders; " and some of them, I don't deny, on evidence as decent as one ever gets for such things.
Someone saw a blaze hereabout, don't you know, as he walked home through a wood; someone keeping sheep on the uplands inland thought he saw a flame hovering over Pendragon Tower.
Well, a damp dab of mud like this confounded island seems the last place where one would think of fires."
" What is that fire over there?"
asked Father Brown with a gentle suddenness, pointing to the woods on the left river - bank.
They were all thrown a little off their balance, and the more fanciful Fanshaw had even some difficulty in recovering his, as they saw a long, thin stream of blue smoke ascending silently into the end of the evening light.
Then Pendragon broke into a scornful laugh again.
" Gipsies!"
he said; " they've been camping about here for about a week.
Gentlemen, you want your dinner," and he turned as if to enter the house.
But the antiquarian superstition in Fanshaw was still quivering, and he said hastily: " But, Admiral, what's that hissing noise quite near the island?
It's very like fire."
" It's more like what it is," said the Admiral, laughing as he led the way; " it's only some canoe going by."
Almost as he spoke, the butler, a lean man in black, with very black hair and a very long, yellow face, appeared in the doorway and told him that dinner was served.
The dining - room was as nautical as the cabin of a ship; but its note was rather that of the modern than the Elizabethan captain.
There were, indeed, three antiquated cutlasses in a trophy over the fireplace, and one brown sixteenth - century map with Tritons and little ships dotted about a curly sea.
But the alien colour culminated in the fact that, besides the butler, the Admiral's only servants were two negroes, somewhat quaintly clad in tight uniforms of yellow.
The priest's instinctive trick of analysing his own impressions told him that the colour and the little neat coat - tails of these bipeds had suggested the word " Canary," and so by a mere pun connected them with southward travel.
Towards the end of the dinner they took their yellow clothes and black faces out of the room, leaving only the black clothes and yellow face of the butler.
" I'm rather sorry you take this so lightly," said Fanshaw to the host; " for the truth is, I've brought these friends of mine with the idea of their helping you, as they know a good deal of these things.
Don't you really believe in the family story at all?"
" I don't believe in anything," answered Pendragon very briskly, with a bright eye cocked at a red tropical bird.
" I'm a man of science."
Then he said, without altering his tone.
" Please don't think me impertinent, Admiral Pendragon.
I don't ask for curiosity, but really for my guidance and your convenience.
Have I made a bad shot if I guess you don't want these old things talked of before your butler?"
The Admiral lifted the hairless arches over his eyes and exclaimed: " Well, I don't know where you got it, but the truth is I can't stand the fellow, though I've no excuse for discharging a family servant.
Fanshaw, with his fairy tales, would say my blood moved against men with that black, Spanish - looking hair."
Flambeau struck the table with his heavy fist.
" By Jove!"
he cried; " and so had that girl!"
" I hope it'll all end tonight," continued the Admiral, " when my nephew comes back safe from his ship.
You looked surprised.
You won't understand, I suppose, unless I tell you the story.
You see, my father had two sons; I remained a bachelor, but my elder brother married, and had a son who became a sailor like all the rest of us, and will inherit the proper estate.
If all the Pendragons sailed about anyhow, he thought there would be too much chance of natural catastrophes to prove anything.
But if we went to sea one at a time in strict order of succession to the property, he thought it might show whether any connected fate followed the family as a family.
It was a silly notion, I think, and I quarrelled with my father pretty heartily; for I was an ambitious man and was left to the last, coming, by succession, after my own nephew."
" And your father and brother," said the priest, very gently, " died at sea, I fear."
" Yes," groaned the Admiral; " by one of those brutal accidents on which are built all the lying mythologies of mankind, they were both shipwrecked.
My father, coming up this coast out of the Atlantic, was washed up on these Cornish rocks.
My brother's ship was sunk, no one knows where, on the voyage home from Tasmania.
His body was never found.
I tell you it was from perfectly natural mishap; lots of other people besides Pendragons were drowned; and both disasters are discussed in a normal way by navigators.
But, of course, it set this forest of superstition on fire; and men saw the flaming tower everywhere.
That's why I say it will be all right when Walter returns.
The girl he's engaged to was coming today; but I was so afraid of some chance delay frightening her that I wired her not to come till she heard from me.
But he's practically sure to be here some time tonight, and then it'll all end in smoke--tobacco smoke.
We'll crack that old lie when we crack a bottle of this wine."
" Very good wine," said Father Brown, gravely lifting his glass, " but, as you see, a very bad wine - bibber.
I most sincerely beg your pardon ": for he had spilt a small spot of wine on the table - cloth.
After a pause the priest spoke again in his mild manner.
" Admiral," he said, " will you do me a favour?
Let me, and my friends if they like, stop in that tower of yours just for tonight?
Do you know that in my business you're an exorcist almost before anything else?"
Pendragon sprang to his feet and paced swiftly to and fro across the window, from which the face had instantly vanished.
" I tell you there is nothing in it," he cried, with ringing violence.
" There is one thing I know about this matter.
You may call me an atheist.
I am an atheist."
Here he swung round and fixed Father Brown with a face of frightful concentration.
" This business is perfectly natural.
There is no curse in it at all."
Father Brown smiled.
" In that case," he said, " there can't be any objection to my sleeping in your delightful summer - house."
" The idea is utterly ridiculous," replied the Admiral, beating a tattoo on the back of his chair.
" Please forgive me for everything," said Brown in his most sympathetic tone, " including spilling the wine.
But it seems to me you are not quite so easy about the flaming tower as you try to be."
Admiral Pendragon sat down again as abruptly as he had risen; but he sat quite still, and when he spoke again it was in a lower voice.
" You do it at your own peril," he said; " but wouldn't you be an atheist to keep sane in all this devilry?"
Some three hours afterwards Fanshaw, Flambeau and the priest were still dawdling about the garden in the dark; and it began to dawn on the other two that Father Brown had no intention of going to bed either in the tower or the house.
" I think the lawn wants weeding," said he dreamily.
" If I could find a spud or something I'd do it myself."
They followed him, laughing and half remonstrating; but he replied with the utmost solemnity, explaining to them, in a maddening little sermon, that one can always find some small occupation that is helpful to others.
He did not find a spud; but he found an old broom made of twigs, with which he began energetically to brush the fallen leaves off the grass.
" Always some little thing to be done," he said with idiotic cheerfulness; " as George Herbert says: 'Who sweeps an Admiral's garden in Cornwall as for Thy laws makes that and the action fine.'
And now," he added, suddenly slinging the broom away, " Let's go and water the flowers."
With the same mixed emotions they watched him uncoil some considerable lengths of the large garden hose, saying with an air of wistful discrimination: " The red tulips before the yellow, I think.
Look a bit dry, don't you think?"
He turned the little tap on the instrument, and the water shot out straight and solid as a long rod of steel.
" Look out, Samson," cried Flambeau; " why, you've cut off the tulip's head."
Father Brown stood ruefully contemplating the decapitated plant.
" Mine does seem to be a rather kill or cure sort of watering," he admitted, scratching his head.
" I suppose it's a pity I didn't find the spud.
You should have seen me with the spud!
Talking of tools, you've got that swordstick, Flambeau, you always carry?
That's right; and Sir Cecil could have that sword the Admiral threw away by the fence here.
How grey everything looks!"
" The mist's rising from the river," said the staring Flambeau.
Almost as he spoke the huge figure of the hairy gardener appeared on a higher ridge of the trenched and terraced lawn, hailing them with a brandished rake and a horribly bellowing voice.
" Put down that hose," he shouted; " put down that hose and go to your --"
" I am fearfully clumsy," replied the reverend gentleman weakly; " do you know, I upset some wine at dinner."
He made a wavering half - turn of apology towards the gardener, with the hose still spouting in his hand.
The gardener caught the cold crash of the water full in his face like the crash of a cannon - ball; staggered, slipped and went sprawling with his boots in the air.
" How very dreadful!"
said Father Brown, looking round in a sort of wonder.
" Why, I've hit a man!"
He stood with his head forward for a moment as if looking or listening; and then set off at a trot towards the tower, still trailing the hose behind him.
The tower was quite close, but its outline was curiously dim.
" Your river mist," he said, " has a rum smell."
" By the Lord it has," cried Fanshaw, who was very white.
" But you can't mean --"
" I mean," said Father Brown, " that one of the Admiral's scientific predictions is coming true tonight.
This story is going to end in smoke."
As he spoke a most beautiful rose - red light seemed to burst into blossom like a gigantic rose; but accompanied with a crackling and rattling noise that was like the laughter of devils.
" My God!
what is this?"
cried Sir Cecil Fanshaw.
" The sign of the flaming tower," said Father Brown, and sent the driving water from his hose into the heart of the red patch.
" Lucky we hadn't gone to bed!"
ejaculated Fanshaw.
" I suppose it can't spread to the house."
" You may remember," said the priest quietly, " that the wooden fence that might have carried it was cut away."
Flambeau turned electrified eyes upon his friend, but Fanshaw only said rather absently: " Well, nobody can be killed, anyhow."
" This is rather a curious kind of tower," observed Father Brown, " when it takes to killing people, it always kills people who are somewhere else."
At the same instant the monstrous figure of the gardener with the streaming beard stood again on the green ridge against the sky, waving others to come on; but now waving not a rake but a cutlass.
Behind him came the two negroes, also with the old crooked cutlasses out of the trophy.
But in the blood - red glare, with their black faces and yellow figures, they looked like devils carrying instruments of torture.
In the dim garden behind them a distant voice was heard calling out brief directions.
When the priest heard the voice, a terrible change came over his countenance.
But he remained composed; and never took his eye off the patch of flame which had begun by spreading, but now seemed to shrink a little as it hissed under the torch of the long silver spear of water.
He kept his finger along the nozzle of the pipe to ensure the aim, and attended to no other business, knowing only by the noise and that semi - conscious corner of the eye, the exciting incidents that began to tumble themselves about the island garden.
He gave two brief directions to his friends.
One was: " Knock these fellows down somehow and tie them up, whoever they are; there's rope down by those faggots.
They want to take away my nice hose."
The other was: " As soon as you get a chance, call out to that canoeing girl; she's over on the bank with the gipsies.
Ask her if they could get some buckets across and fill them from the river."
Then he closed his mouth and continued to water the new red flower as ruthlessly as he had watered the red tulip.
He never turned his head to look at the strange fight that followed between the foes and friends of the mysterious fire.
He almost felt the island shake when Flambeau collided with the huge gardener; he merely imagined how it would whirl round them as they wrestled.
He heard the crashing fall; and his friend's gasp of triumph as he dashed on to the first negro; and the cries of both the blacks as Flambeau and Fanshaw bound them.
Flambeau's enormous strength more than redressed the odds in the fight, especially as the fourth man still hovered near the house, only a shadow and a voice.
He heard also the water broken by the paddles of a canoe; the girl's voice giving orders, the voices of gipsies answering and coming nearer, the plumping and sucking noise of empty buckets plunged into a full stream; and finally the sound of many feet around the fire.
But all this was less to him than the fact that the red rent, which had lately once more increased, had once more slightly diminished.
Then came a cry that very nearly made him turn his head.
Flambeau and Fanshaw, now reinforced by some of the gipsies, had rushed after the mysterious man by the house; and he heard from the other end of the garden the Frenchman's cry of horror and astonishment.
It was echoed by a howl not to be called human, as the being broke from their hold and ran along the garden.
Then, finding them closing in on every side, the figure sprang upon one of the higher river banks and disappeared with a splash into the dark and driving river.
" You can do no more, I fear," said Brown in a voice cold with pain.
" He has been washed down to the rocks by now, where he has sent so many others.
He knew the use of a family legend."
" Oh, don't talk in these parables," cried Flambeau impatiently.
" Can't you put it simply in words of one syllable?"
" Yes," answered Brown, with his eye on the hose.
'Both eyes bright, she's all right; one eye blinks, down she sinks.'"
The fire hissed and shrieked more and more, like a strangled thing, as it grew narrower and narrower under the flood from the pipe and buckets, but Father Brown still kept his eye on it as he went on speaking:
" I thought of asking this young lady, if it were morning yet, to look through that telescope at the river mouth and the river.
She might have seen something to interest her: the sign of the ship, or Mr Walter Pendragon coming home, and perhaps even the sign of the half - man, for though he is certainly safe by now, he may very well have waded ashore.
He has been within a shave of another shipwreck; and would never have escaped it, if the lady hadn't had the sense to suspect the old Admiral's telegram and come down to watch him.
Don't let's talk about the old Admiral.
Don't let's talk about anything.
It's enough to say that whenever this tower, with its pitch and resin - wood, really caught fire, the spark on the horizon always looked like the twin light to the coast light - house."
" And that," said Flambeau, " is how the father and brother died.
The wicked uncle of the legends very nearly got his estate after all."
Father Brown did not answer; indeed, he did not speak again, save for civilities, till they were all safe round a cigar - box in the cabin of the yacht.
But his fatigue had fallen on him once more, and he only started once, when Flambeau abruptly told him he had dropped cigar - ash on his trousers.
" That's no cigar - ash," he said rather wearily.
" That's from the fire, but you don't think so because you're all smoking cigars.
That's just the way I got my first faint suspicion about the chart."
" Do you mean Pendragon's chart of his Pacific Islands?"
asked Fanshaw.
" You thought it was a chart of the Pacific Islands," answered Brown.
" Put a feather with a fossil and a bit of coral and everyone will think it's a specimen.
Put the same feather with a ribbon and an artificial flower and everyone will think it's for a lady's hat.
Put the same feather with an ink - bottle, a book and a stack of writing - paper, and most men will swear they've seen a quill pen.
So you saw that map among tropic birds and shells and thought it was a map of Pacific Islands.
It was the map of this river."
" But how do you know?"
asked Fanshaw.
" I saw the rock you thought was like a dragon, and the one like Merlin, and --"
" You seem to have noticed a lot as we came in," cried Fanshaw.
" We thought you were rather abstracted."
" I was sea - sick," said Father Brown simply.
" I felt simply horrible.
But feeling horrible has nothing to do with not seeing things."
And he closed his eyes.
" Do you think most men would have seen that?"
asked Flambeau.
He received no answer: Father Brown was asleep.
IX.
The God of the Gongs
IT was one of those chilly and empty afternoons in early winter, when the daylight is silver rather than gold and pewter rather than silver.
The line of the sea looked frozen in the very vividness of its violet - blue, like the vein of a frozen finger.
For miles and miles, forward and back, there was no breathing soul, save two pedestrians, walking at a brisk pace, though one had much longer legs and took much longer strides than the other.
It did not seem a very appropriate place or time for a holiday, but Father Brown had few holidays, and had to take them when he could, and he always preferred, if possible, to take them in company with his old friend Flambeau, ex - criminal and ex - detective.
The priest had had a fancy for visiting his old parish at Cobhole, and was going north - eastward along the coast.
After walking a mile or two farther, they found that the shore was beginning to be formally embanked, so as to form something like a parade; the ugly lamp - posts became less few and far between and more ornamental, though quite equally ugly.
He faintly sniffed the atmosphere of a certain sort of seaside town that be did not specially care about, and, looking ahead along the parade by the sea, he saw something that put the matter beyond a doubt.
In the grey distance the big bandstand of a watering - place stood up like a giant mushroom with six legs.
" I suppose," said Father Brown, turning up his coat - collar and drawing a woollen scarf rather closer round his neck, " that we are approaching a pleasure resort."
" I fear," answered Flambeau, " a pleasure resort to which few people just now have the pleasure of resorting.
They try to revive these places in the winter, but it never succeeds except with Brighton and the old ones.
This must be Seawood, I think--Lord Pooley's experiment; he had the Sicilian Singers down at Christmas, and there's talk about holding one of the great glove - fights here.
But they'll have to chuck the rotten place into the sea; it's as dreary as a lost railway - carriage."
They had come under the big bandstand, and the priest was looking up at it with a curiosity that had something rather odd about it, his head a little on one side, like a bird's.
It was the conventional, rather tawdry kind of erection for its purpose: a flattened dome or canopy, gilt here and there, and lifted on six slender pillars of painted wood, the whole being raised about five feet above the parade on a round wooden platform like a drum.
But there was something fantastic about the snow combined with something artificial about the gold that haunted Flambeau as well as his friend with some association he could not capture, but which he knew was at once artistic and alien.
" I've got it," he said at last.
" It's Japanese.
It's like those fanciful Japanese prints, where the snow on the mountain looks like sugar, and the gilt on the pagodas is like gilt on gingerbread.
It looks just like a little pagan temple."
" Yes," said Father Brown.
" Let's have a look at the god."
And with an agility hardly to be expected of him, he hopped up on to the raised platform.
" Oh, very well," said Flambeau, laughing; and the next instant his own towering figure was visible on that quaint elevation.
Slight as was the difference of height, it gave in those level wastes a sense of seeing yet farther and farther across land and sea.
Inland the little wintry gardens faded into a confused grey copse; beyond that, in the distance, were long low barns of a lonely farmhouse, and beyond that nothing but the long East Anglian plains.
Seawards there was no sail or sign of life save a few seagulls: and even they looked like the last snowflakes, and seemed to float rather than fly.
Flambeau turned abruptly at an exclamation behind him.
It seemed to come from lower down than might have been expected, and to be addressed to his heels rather than his head.
He instantly held out his hand, but he could hardly help laughing at what he saw.
For some reason or other the platform had given way under Father Brown, and the unfortunate little man had dropped through to the level of the parade.
He was just tall enough, or short enough, for his head alone to stick out of the hole in the broken wood, looking like St John the Baptist's head on a charger.
The face wore a disconcerted expression, as did, perhaps, that of St John the Baptist.
In a moment he began to laugh a little.
" This wood must be rotten," said Flambeau.
" Though it seems odd it should bear me, and you go through the weak place.
Let me help you out."
But the little priest was looking rather curiously at the corners and edges of the wood alleged to be rotten, and there was a sort of trouble on his brow.
" Come along," cried Flambeau impatiently, still with his big brown hand extended.
" Don't you want to get out?"
The priest was holding a splinter of the broken wood between his finger and thumb, and did not immediately reply.
At last he said thoughtfully: " Want to get out?
Why, no.
I rather think I want to get in."
And he dived into the darkness under the wooden floor so abruptly as to knock off his big curved clerical hat and leave it lying on the boards above, without any clerical head in it.
Flambeau looked once more inland and out to sea, and once more could see nothing but seas as wintry as the snow, and snows as level as the sea.
There came a scurrying noise behind him, and the little priest came scrambling out of the hole faster than he had fallen in.
His face was no longer disconcerted, but rather resolute, and, perhaps only through the reflections of the snow, a trifle paler than usual.
" Well?"
asked his tall friend.
" Have you found the god of the temple?"
" No," answered Father Brown.
" I have found what was sometimes more important.
The Sacrifice."
" What the devil do you mean?"
cried Flambeau, quite alarmed.
Father Brown did not answer.
He was staring, with a knot in his forehead, at the landscape; and he suddenly pointed at it.
" What's that house over there?"
he asked.
Following his finger, Flambeau saw for the first time the corners of a building nearer than the farmhouse, but screened for the most part with a fringe of trees.
It was not a large building, and stood well back from the shore --, but a glint of ornament on it suggested that it was part of the same watering - place scheme of decoration as the bandstand, the little gardens and the curly - backed iron seats.
Almost the whole frontage was of gilt plaster and figured glass, and between that grey seascape and the grey, witch - like trees, its gimcrack quality had something spectral in its melancholy.
They both felt vaguely that if any food or drink were offered at such a hostelry, it would be the paste - board ham and empty mug of the pantomime.
In this, however, they were not altogether confirmed.
As they drew nearer and nearer to the place they saw in front of the buffet, which was apparently closed, one of the iron garden - seats with curly backs that had adorned the gardens, but much longer, running almost the whole length of the frontage.
Presumably, it was placed so that visitors might sit there and look at the sea, but one hardly expected to find anyone doing it in such weather.
Nevertheless, just in front of the extreme end of the iron seat stood a small round restaurant table, and on this stood a small bottle of Chablis and a plate of almonds and raisins.
Behind the table and on the seat sat a dark - haired young man, bareheaded, and gazing at the sea in a state of almost astonishing immobility.
But though he might have been a waxwork when they were within four yards of him, he jumped up like a jack - in - the - box when they came within three, and said in a deferential, though not undignified, manner: " Will you step inside, gentlemen?
I have no staff at present, but I can get you anything simple myself."
" Much obliged," said Flambeau.
" So you are the proprietor?"
" Yes," said the dark man, dropping back a little into his motionless manner.
" My waiters are all Italians, you see, and I thought it only fair they should see their countryman beat the black, if he really can do it.
" I'm afraid we can't wait to trouble your hospitality seriously," said Father Brown.
" But my friend would be glad of a glass of sherry, I'm sure, to keep out the cold and drink success to the Latin champion."
Flambeau did not understand the sherry, but he did not object to it in the least.
He could only say amiably: " Oh, thank you very much."
" Sherry, sir--certainly," said their host, turning to his hostel.
" Excuse me if I detain you a few minutes.
As I told you, I have no staff --" And he went towards the black windows of his shuttered and unlighted inn.
" Oh, it doesn't really matter," began Flambeau, but the man turned to reassure him.
" I have the keys," he said.
" I could find my way in the dark."
" I didn't mean --" began Father Brown.
He was interrupted by a bellowing human voice that came out of the bowels of the uninhabited hotel.
It thundered some foreign name loudly but inaudibly, and the hotel proprietor moved more sharply towards it than he had done for Flambeau's sherry.
As instant evidence proved, the proprietor had told, then and after, nothing but the literal truth.
But both Flambeau and Father Brown have often confessed that, in all their (often outrageous) adventures, nothing had so chilled their blood as that voice of an ogre, sounding suddenly out of a silent and empty inn.
" My cook!"
cried the proprietor hastily.
" I had forgotten my cook.
He will be starting presently.
Sherry, sir?"
And, sure enough, there appeared in the doorway a big white bulk with white cap and white apron, as befits a cook, but with the needless emphasis of a black face.
Flambeau had often heard that negroes made good cooks.
But somehow something in the contrast of colour and caste increased his surprise that the hotel proprietor should answer the call of the cook, and not the cook the call of the proprietor.
But he reflected that head cooks are proverbially arrogant; and, besides, the host had come back with the sherry, and that was the great thing.
" I rather wonder," said Father Brown, " that there are so few people about the beach, when this big fight is coming on after all.
We only met one man for miles."
The hotel proprietor shrugged his shoulders.
" They come from the other end of the town, you see--from the station, three miles from here.
They are only interested in the sport, and will stop in hotels for the night only.
After all, it is hardly weather for basking on the shore."
" Or on the seat," said Flambeau, and pointed to the little table.
" I have to keep a look - out," said the man with the motionless face.
He was a quiet, well - featured fellow, rather sallow; his dark clothes had nothing distinctive about them, except that his black necktie was worn rather high, like a stock, and secured by a gold pin with some grotesque head to it.
Nor was there anything notable in the face, except something that was probably a mere nervous trick--a habit of opening one eye more narrowly than the other, giving the impression that the other was larger, or was, perhaps, artificial.
The silence that ensued was broken by their host saying quietly: " Whereabouts did you meet the one man on your march?"
" Curiously enough," answered the priest, " close by here--just by that bandstand."
Flambeau, who had sat on the long iron seat to finish his sherry, put it down and rose to his feet, staring at his friend in amazement.
He opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again.
" Curious," said the dark - haired man thoughtfully.
" What was he like?"
" It was rather dark when I saw him," began Father Brown, " but he was --"
As has been said, the hotel - keeper can be proved to have told the precise truth.
His phrase that the cook was starting presently was fulfilled to the letter, for the cook came out, pulling his gloves on, even as they spoke.
But he was a very different figure from the confused mass of white and black that had appeared for an instant in the doorway.
He was buttoned and buckled up to his bursting eyeballs in the most brilliant fashion.
A tall black hat was tilted on his broad black head--a hat of the sort that the French wit has compared to eight mirrors.
But somehow the black man was like the black hat.
He also was black, and yet his glossy skin flung back the light at eight angles or more.
It is needless to say that he wore white spats and a white slip inside his waistcoat.
The red flower stood up in his buttonhole aggressively, as if it had suddenly grown there.
And in the way he carried his cane in one hand and his cigar in the other there was a certain attitude--an attitude we must always remember when we talk of racial prejudices: something innocent and insolent--the cake walk.
" Sometimes," said Flambeau, looking after him, " I'm not surprised that they lynch them."
" I am never surprised," said Father Brown, " at any work of hell.
It was fixed at the throat rather in the way that nurses fix children's comforters with a safety - pin.
Only this," added the priest, gazing placidly out to sea, " was not a safety - pin."
The man sitting on the long iron bench was also gazing placidly out to sea.
Now he was once more in repose.
Flambeau felt quite certain that one of his eyes was naturally larger than the other.
Both were now well opened, and he could almost fancy the left eye grew larger as he gazed.
" It was a very long gold pin, and had the carved head of a monkey or some such thing," continued the cleric; " and it was fixed in a rather odd way--he wore pince - nez and a broad black --"
The motionless man continued to gaze at the sea, and the eyes in his head might have belonged to two different men.
Then he made a movement of blinding swiftness.
Father Brown had his back to him, and in that flash might have fallen dead on his face.
Flambeau had no weapon, but his large brown hands were resting on the end of the long iron seat.
His shoulders abruptly altered their shape, and he heaved the whole huge thing high over his head, like a headsman's axe about to fall.
The mere height of the thing, as he held it vertical, looked like a long iron ladder by which he was inviting men to climb towards the stars.
But the long shadow, in the level evening light, looked like a giant brandishing the Eiffel Tower.
It was the shock of that shadow, before the shock of the iron crash, that made the stranger quail and dodge, and then dart into his inn, leaving the flat and shining dagger he had dropped exactly where it had fallen.
" We must get away from here instantly," cried Flambeau, flinging the huge seat away with furious indifference on the beach.
He caught the little priest by the elbow and ran him down a grey perspective of barren back garden, at the end of which there was a closed back garden door.
Flambeau bent over it an instant in violent silence, and then said: " The door is locked."
As he spoke a black feather from one of the ornamental firs fell, brushing the brim of his hat.
It startled him more than the small and distant detonation that had come just before.
Then came another distant detonation, and the door he was trying to open shook under the bullet buried in it.
Flambeau's shoulders again filled out and altered suddenly.
Three hinges and a lock burst at the same instant, and he went out into the empty path behind, carrying the great garden door with him, as Samson carried the gates of Gaza.
Then he flung the garden door over the garden wall, just as a third shot picked up a spurt of snow and dust behind his heel.
Without ceremony he snatched up the little priest, slung him astraddle on his shoulders, and went racing towards Seawood as fast as his long legs could carry him.
It was not until nearly two miles farther on that he set his small companion down.
It had hardly been a dignified escape, in spite of the classic model of Anchises, but Father Brown's face only wore a broad grin.
" I did meet him in a way," Brown said, biting his finger rather nervously --" I did really.
And it was too dark to see him properly, because it was under that bandstand affair.
But I'm afraid I didn't describe him so very accurately after all, for his pince - nez was broken under him, and the long gold pin wasn't stuck through his purple scarf but through his heart."
" And I suppose," said the other in a lower voice, " that glass - eyed guy had something to do with it."
" I had hoped he had only a little," answered Brown in a rather troubled voice, " and I may have been wrong in what I did.
I acted on impulse.
But I fear this business has deep roots and dark."
They walked on through some streets in silence.
The yellow lamps were beginning to be lit in the cold blue twilight, and they were evidently approaching the more central parts of the town.
" Well," said Flambeau, " I never murdered anyone, even in my criminal days, but I can almost sympathize with anyone doing it in such a dreary place.
Of all God - forsaken dustbins of Nature, I think the most heart - breaking are places like that bandstand, that were meant to be festive and are forlorn.
I can fancy a morbid man feeling he must kill his rival in the solitude and irony of such a scene.
A bird sailed in heaven over it.
It was the Grand Stand at Epsom.
And I felt that no one would ever be happy there again."
" It's odd you should mention Epsom," said the priest.
" Do you remember what was called the Sutton Mystery, because two suspected men--ice - cream men, I think--happened to live at Sutton?
They were eventually released.
A man was found strangled, it was said, on the Downs round that part.
As a fact, I know (from an Irish policeman who is a friend of mine) that he was found close up to the Epsom Grand Stand--in fact, only hidden by one of the lower doors being pushed back."
" That is queer," assented Flambeau.
" But it rather confirms my view that such pleasure places look awfully lonely out of season, or the man wouldn't have been murdered there."
" I'm not so sure he --" began Brown, and stopped.
" Not so sure he was murdered?"
queried his companion.
" Not so sure he was murdered out of the season," answered the little priest, with simplicity.
" Don't you think there's something rather tricky about this solitude, Flambeau?
Do you feel sure a wise murderer would always want the spot to be lonely?
It's very, very seldom a man is quite alone.
And, short of that, the more alone he is, the more certain he is to be seen.
No; I think there must be some other--Why, here we are at the Pavilion or Palace, or whatever they call it."
" Hallo!"
cried Flambeau in great surprise, as his clerical friend stumped straight up the broad steps.
" I didn't know pugilism was your latest hobby.
Are you going to see the fight?"
" I don't think there will be any fight," replied Father Brown.
There he stopped and asked to see Lord Pooley.
The attendant observed that his lordship was very busy, as the fight was coming on soon, but Father Brown had a good - tempered tedium of reiteration for which the official mind is generally not prepared.
In a few moments the rather baffled Flambeau found himself in the presence of a man who was still shouting directions to another man going out of the room.
" Be careful, you know, about the ropes after the fourth--Well, and what do you want, I wonder!"
Lord Pooley was a gentleman, and, like most of the few remaining to our race, was worried--especially about money.
He was half grey and half flaxen, and he had the eyes of fever and a high - bridged, frost - bitten nose.
" Only a word," said Father Brown.
" I have come to prevent a man being killed."
Lord Pooley bounded off his chair as if a spring had flung him from it.
" I'm damned if I'll stand any more of this!"
he cried.
" You and your committees and parsons and petitions!
Weren't there parsons in the old days, when they fought without gloves?
Now they're fighting with the regulation gloves, and there's not the rag of a possibility of either of the boxers being killed."
" I didn't mean either of the boxers," said the little priest.
" Well, well, well!"
said the nobleman, with a touch of frosty humour.
" Who's going to be killed?
The referee?"
" I don't know who's going to be killed," replied Father Brown, with a reflective stare.
" If I did I shouldn't have to spoil your pleasure.
I could simply get him to escape.
I never could see anything wrong about prize - fights.
As it is, I must ask you to announce that the fight is off for the present."
" Anything else?"
jeered the gentleman with feverish eyes.
" And what do you say to the two thousand people who have come to see it?"
" I say there will be one thousand nine - hundred and ninety - nine of them left alive when they have seen it," said Father Brown.
Lord Pooley looked at Flambeau.
" Is your friend mad?"
he asked.
" Far from it," was the reply.
" And took here," resumed Pooley in his restless way, " it's worse than that.
A whole pack of Italians have turned up to back Malvoli--swarthy, savage fellows of some country, anyhow.
You know what these Mediterranean races are like.
If I send out word that it's off we shall have Malvoli storming in here at the head of a whole Corsican clan."
" My lord, it is a matter of life and death," said the priest.
" Ring your bell.
Give your message.
And see whether it is Malvoli who answers."
The nobleman struck the bell on the table with an odd air of new curiosity.
He said to the clerk who appeared almost instantly in the doorway: " I have a serious announcement to make to the audience shortly.
Meanwhile, would you kindly tell the two champions that the fight will have to be put off."
The clerk stared for some seconds as if at a demon and vanished.
" What authority have you for what you say?"
asked Lord Pooley abruptly.
" Whom did you consult?"
" I consulted a bandstand," said Father Brown, scratching his head.
" But, no, I'm wrong; I consulted a book, too.
I picked it up on a bookstall in London--very cheap, too."
He had taken out of his pocket a small, stout, leather - bound volume, and Flambeau, looking over his shoulder, could see that it was some book of old travels, and had a leaf turned down for reference.
'The only form in which Voodoo --'" began Father Brown, reading aloud.
" In which what?"
inquired his lordship.
It differs from most other forms of devil - worship and human sacrifice in the fact that the blood is not shed formally on the altar, but by a sort of assassination among the crowd.
The gongs beat with a deafening din as the doors of the shrine open and the monkey - god is revealed; almost the whole congregation rivet ecstatic eyes on him.
But after --'"
The door of the room was flung open, and the fashionable negro stood framed in it, his eyeballs rolling, his silk hat still insolently tilted on his head.
" Huh!"
he cried, showing his apish teeth.
" What this?
Huh!
Huh!
You steal a coloured gentleman's prize--prize his already--yo'think yo'jes'save that white'Talian trash --"
" The matter is only deferred," said the nobleman quietly.
" I will be with you to explain in a minute or two."
" My name is Pooley," replied the other, with a creditable coolness.
" I am the organizing secretary, and I advise you just now to leave the room."
" Who this fellow?"
demanded the dark champion, pointing to the priest disdainfully.
" My name is Brown," was the reply.
" And I advise you just now to leave the country."
The prize - fighter stood glaring for a few seconds, and then, rather to the surprise of Flambeau and the others, strode out, sending the door to with a crash behind him.
" Well," asked Father Brown rubbing his dusty hair up, " what do you think of Leonardo da Vinci?
A beautiful Italian head."
" Look here," said Lord Pooley, " I've taken a considerable responsibility, on your bare word.
I think you ought to tell me more about this."
" You are quite right, my lord," answered Brown.
" And it won't take long to tell."
He put the little leather book in his overcoat pocket.
" I think we know all that this can tell us, but you shall look at it to see if I'm right.
That negro who has just swaggered out is one of the most dangerous men on earth, for he has the brains of a European, with the instincts of a cannibal.
He has turned what was clean, common - sense butchery among his fellow - barbarians into a very modern and scientific secret society of assassins.
He doesn't know I know it, nor, for the matter of that, that I can't prove it."
There was a silence, and the little man went on.
" But if I want to murder somebody, will it really be the best plan to make sure I'm alone with him?"
Lord Pooley's eyes recovered their frosty twinkle as he looked at the little clergyman.
He only said: " If you want to murder somebody, I should advise it."
Father Brown shook his head, like a murderer of much riper experience.
" So Flambeau said," he replied, with a sigh.
" But consider.
The more a man feels lonely the less he can be sure he is alone.
It must mean empty spaces round him, and they are just what make him obvious.
Have you never seen one ploughman from the heights, or one shepherd from the valleys?
Have you never walked along a cliff, and seen one man walking along the sands?
Didn't you know when he's killed a crab, and wouldn't you have known if it had been a creditor?
No!
No!
No!
For an intelligent murderer, such as you or I might be, it is an impossible plan to make sure that nobody is looking at you."
" But what other plan is there?"
" There is only one," said the priest.
" To make sure that everybody is looking at something else.
A man is throttled close by the big stand at Epsom.
Anybody might have seen it done while the stand stood empty--any tramp under the hedges or motorist among the hills.
But nobody would have seen it when the stand was crowded and the whole ring roaring, when the favourite was coming in first--or wasn't.
The twisting of a neck - cloth, the thrusting of a body behind a door could be done in an instant--so long as it was that instant.
It was the same, of course," he continued turning to Flambeau, " with that poor fellow under the bandstand.
He was dropped through the hole (it wasn't an accidental hole) just at some very dramatic moment of the entertainment, when the bow of some great violinist or the voice of some great singer opened or came to its climax.
And here, of course, when the knock - out blow came--it would not be the only one.
" By the way, Malvoli --" Pooley began.
" Malvoli," said the priest, " has nothing to do with it.
I dare say he has some Italians with him, but our amiable friends are not Italians.
They are octoroons and African half - bloods of various shades, but I fear we English think all foreigners are much the same so long as they are dark and dirty.
Also," he added, with a smile, " I fear the English decline to draw any fine distinction between the moral character produced by my religion and that which blooms out of Voodoo."
Almost on every hand the secret of their purpose perished with them.
The man of the hotel was found drifting dead on the sea like so much seaweed; his right eye was closed in peace, but his left eye was wide open, and glistened like glass in the moon.
The remaining officer was surprised--nay, pained--and the negro got away.
Persons of a figure remotely reconcilable with his were subjected to quite extraordinary inquisitions, made to scrub their faces before going on board ship, as if each white complexion were made up like a mask, of greasepaint.
For people had found out how fearful and vast and silent was the force of the savage secret society, and by the time Flambeau and Father Brown were leaning on the parade parapet in April, the Black Man meant in England almost what he once meant in Scotland.
" He must be still in England," observed Flambeau, " and horridly well hidden, too.
They must have found him at the ports if he had only whitened his face."
" You see, he is really a clever man," said Father Brown apologetically.
" And I'm sure he wouldn't whiten his face."
" Well, but what would he do?"
" I think," said Father Brown, " he would blacken his face."
Flambeau, leaning motionless on the parapet, laughed and said: " My dear fellow!"
The Salad of Colonel Cray
FATHER BROWN was walking home from Mass on a white weird morning when the mists were slowly lifting--one of those mornings when the very element of light appears as something mysterious and new.
The scattered trees outlined themselves more and more out of the vapour, as if they were first drawn in grey chalk and then in charcoal.
At yet more distant intervals appeared the houses upon the broken fringe of the suburb; their outlines became clearer and clearer until he recognized many in which he had chance acquaintances, and many more the names of whose owners he knew.
But all the windows and doors were sealed; none of the people were of the sort that would be up at such a time, or still less on such an errand.
But as he passed under the shadow of one handsome villa with verandas and wide ornate gardens, he heard a noise that made him almost involuntarily stop.
It was the unmistakable noise of a pistol or carbine or some light firearm discharged; but it was not this that puzzled him most.
The first full noise was immediately followed by a series of fainter noises--as he counted them, about six.
He supposed it must be the echo; but the odd thing was that the echo was not in the least like the original sound.
It was not like anything else that he could think of; the three things nearest to it seemed to be the noise made by siphons of soda - water, one of the many noises made by an animal, and the noise made by a person attempting to conceal laughter.
None of which seemed to make much sense.
Father Brown was made of two men.
There was a man of action, who was as modest as a primrose and as punctual as a clock; who went his small round of duties and never dreamed of altering it.
There was also a man of reflection, who was much simpler but much stronger, who could not easily be stopped; whose thought was always (in the only intelligent sense of the words) free thought.
He could not help, even unconsciously, asking himself all the questions that there were to be asked, and answering as many of them as he could; all that went on like his breathing or circulation.
But he never consciously carried his actions outside the sphere of his own duty; and in this case the two attitudes were aptly tested.
He was just about to resume his trudge in the twilight, telling himself it was no affair of his, but instinctively twisting and untwisting twenty theories about what the odd noises might mean.
Then the grey sky - line brightened into silver, and in the broadening light he realized that he had been to the house which belonged to an Anglo - Indian Major named Putnam; and that the Major had a native cook from Malta who was of his communion.
He also began to remember that pistol - shots are sometimes serious things; accompanied with consequences with which he was legitimately concerned.
He turned back and went in at the garden gate, making for the front door.
Half - way down one side of the house stood out a projection like a very low shed; it was, as he afterwards discovered, a large dustbin.
Round the corner of this came a figure, at first a mere shadow in the haze, apparently bending and peering about.
Then, coming nearer, it solidified into a figure that was, indeed, rather unusually solid.
Major Putnam was a bald - headed, bull - necked man, short and very broad, with one of those rather apoplectic faces that are produced by a prolonged attempt to combine the oriental climate with the occidental luxuries.
But the face was a good - humoured one, and even now, though evidently puzzled and inquisitive, wore a kind of innocent grin.
He had evidently come out of his house in a hurry, and the priest was not surprised when he called out without further ceremony: " Did you hear that noise?"
" Yes," answered Father Brown; " I thought I had better look in, in case anything was the matter."
The Major looked at him rather queerly with his good - humoured gooseberry eyes.
" What do you think the noise was?"
he asked.
" It sounded like a gun or something," replied the other, with some hesitation; " but it seemed to have a singular sort of echo."
The Major was still looking at him quietly, but with protruding eyes, when the front door was flung open, releasing a flood of gaslight on the face of the fading mist; and another figure in pyjamas sprang or tumbled out into the garden.
The figure was much longer, leaner, and more athletic; the pyjamas, though equally tropical, were comparatively tasteful, being of white with a light lemon - yellow stripe.
The man was haggard, but handsome, more sunburned than the other; he had an aquiline profile and rather deep - sunken eyes, and a slight air of oddity arising from the combination of coal - black hair with a much lighter moustache.
All this Father Brown absorbed in detail more at leisure.
For the moment he only saw one thing about the man; which was the revolver in his hand.
" Cray!"
exclaimed the Major, staring at him; " did you fire that shot?"
" Yes, I did," retorted the black - haired gentleman hotly; " and so would you in my place.
If you were chased everywhere by devils and nearly --"
The Major seemed to intervene rather hurriedly.
" This is my friend Father Brown," he said.
And then to Brown: " I don't know whether you've met Colonel Cray of the Royal Artillery."
" I have heard of him, of course," said the priest innocently.
" Did you--did you hit anything?"
" I thought so," answered Cray with gravity.
" Did he --" asked Major Putnam in a lowered voice, " did he fall or cry out, or anything?"
Colonel Cray was regarding his host with a strange and steady stare.
" I'll tell you exactly what he did," he said.
" He sneezed."
Father Brown's hand went half - way to his head, with the gesture of a man remembering somebody's name.
He knew now what it was that was neither soda - water nor the snorting of a dog.
" Well," ejaculated the staring Major, " I never heard before that a service revolver was a thing to be sneezed at."
" Nor I," said Father Brown faintly.
" It's lucky you didn't turn your artillery on him or you might have given him quite a bad cold."
Then, after a bewildered pause, he said: " Was it a burglar?"
" Let us go inside," said Major Putnam, rather sharply, and led the way into his house.
The interior exhibited a paradox often to be marked in such morning hours: that the rooms seemed brighter than the sky outside; even after the Major had turned out the one gaslight in the front hall.
Father Brown was surprised to see the whole dining - table set out as for a festive meal, with napkins in their rings, and wine - glasses of some six unnecessary shapes set beside every plate.
It was common enough, at that time of the morning, to find the remains of a banquet over - night; but to find it freshly spread so early was unusual.
While he stood wavering in the hall Major Putnam rushed past him and sent a raging eye over the whole oblong of the tablecloth.
At last he spoke, spluttering: " All the silver gone!"
he gasped.
" Fish - knives and forks gone.
Old cruet - stand gone.
Even the old silver cream - jug gone.
And now, Father Brown, I am ready to answer your question of whether it was a burglar."
" They're simply a blind," said Cray stubbornly.
" I know better than you why people persecute this house; I know better than you why --"
The Major patted him on the shoulder with a gesture almost peculiar to the soothing of a sick child, and said: " It was a burglar.
Obviously it was a burglar."
" A burglar with a bad cold," observed Father Brown, " that might assist you to trace him in the neighbourhood."
The Major shook his head in a sombre manner.
" He must be far beyond trace now, I fear," he said.
He's lived in very wild places; and, to be frank with you, I think he sometimes fancies things."
" I think you once told me," said Brown, " that he believes some Indian secret society is pursuing him."
Major Putnam nodded, but at the same time shrugged his shoulders.
" I suppose we'd better follow him outside," he said.
" I don't want any more--shall we say, sneezing?"
They passed out into the morning light, which was now even tinged with sunshine, and saw Colonel Cray's tall figure bent almost double, minutely examining the condition of gravel and grass.
While the Major strolled unobtrusively towards him, the priest took an equally indolent turn, which took him round the next corner of the house to within a yard or two of the projecting dustbin.
He stood regarding this dismal object for some minute and a half --, then he stepped towards it, lifted the lid and put his head inside.
Dust and other discolouring matter shook upwards as he did so; but Father Brown never observed his own appearance, whatever else he observed.
He remained thus for a measurable period, as if engaged in some mysterious prayers.
Then he came out again, with some ashes on his hair, and walked unconcernedly away.
By the time he came round to the garden door again he found a group there which seemed to roll away morbidities as the sunlight had already rolled away the mists.
It was in no way rationally reassuring; it was simply broadly comic, like a cluster of Dickens's characters.
Major Putnam had managed to slip inside and plunge into a proper shirt and trousers, with a crimson cummerbund, and a light square jacket over all; thus normally set off, his red festive face seemed bursting with a commonplace cordiality.
He was indeed emphatic, but then he was talking to his cook--the swarthy son of Malta, whose lean, yellow and rather careworn face contrasted quaintly with his snow - white cap and costume.
The cook might well be careworn, for cookery was the Major's hobby.
He was one of those amateurs who always know more than the professional.
The only other person he even admitted to be a judge of an omelette was his friend Cray--and as Brown remembered this, he turned to look for the other officer.
In the new presence of daylight and people clothed and in their right mind, the sight of him was rather a shock.
Seeing him thus quadrupedal in the grass, the priest raised his eyebrows rather sadly; and for the first time guessed that " fancies things " might be an euphemism.
The third item in the group of the cook and the epicure was also known to Father Brown; it was Audrey Watson, the Major's ward and housekeeper; and at this moment, to judge by her apron, tucked - up sleeves and resolute manner, much more the housekeeper than the ward.
" It serves you right," she was saying: " I always told you not to have that old - fashioned cruet - stand."
" I prefer it," said Putnam, placably.
" I'm old - fashioned myself; and the things keep together."
" And vanish together, as you see," she retorted.
" Well, if you are not going to bother about the burglar, I shouldn't bother about the lunch.
It's Sunday, and we can't send for vinegar and all that in the town; and you Indian gentlemen can't enjoy what you call a dinner without a lot of hot things.
I wish to goodness now you hadn't asked Cousin Oliver to take me to the musical service.
It isn't over till half - past twelve, and the Colonel has to leave by then.
I don't believe you men can manage alone."
" Oh yes, we can, my dear," said the Major, looking at her very amiably.
" Marco has all the sauces, and we've often done ourselves well in very rough places, as you might know by now.
And it's time you had a treat, Audrey; you mustn't be a housekeeper every hour of the day; and I know you want to hear the music."
" I want to go to church," she said, with rather severe eyes.
She was one of those handsome women who will always be handsome, because the beauty is not in an air or a tint, but in the very structure of the head and features.
But though she was not yet middle - aged and her auburn hair was of a Titianesque fullness in form and colour, there was a look in her mouth and around her eyes which suggested that some sorrows wasted her, as winds waste at last the edges of a Greek temple.
For indeed the little domestic difficulty of which she was now speaking so decisively was rather comic than tragic.
She was going there under the escort of a relative and old friend of hers, Dr Oliver Oman, who, though a scientific man of a somewhat bitter type, was enthusiastic for music, and would go even to church to get it.
There was nothing in all this that could conceivably concern the tragedy in Miss Watson's face; and by a half conscious instinct, Father Brown turned again to the seeming lunatic grubbing about in the grass.
When he strolled across to him, the black, unbrushed head was lifted abruptly, as if in some surprise at his continued presence.
And indeed, Father Brown, for reasons best known to himself, had lingered much longer than politeness required; or even, in the ordinary sense, permitted.
" Well!"
cried Cray, with wild eyes.
" I suppose you think I'm mad, like the rest?"
" I have considered the thesis," answered the little man, composedly.
" And I incline to think you are not."
" What do you mean?"
snapped Cray quite savagely.
" Real madmen," explained Father Brown, " always encourage their own morbidity.
They never strive against it.
But you are trying to find traces of the burglar; even when there aren't any.
You are struggling against it.
You want what no madman ever wants."
" And what is that?"
" You want to be proved wrong," said Brown.
During the last words Cray had sprung or staggered to his feet and was regarding the cleric with agitated eyes.
" By hell, but that is a true word!"
he cried.
" They are all at me here that the fellow was only after the silver--as if I shouldn't be only too pleased to think so!
She's been at me," and he tossed his tousled black head towards Audrey, but the other had no need of the direction, " she's been at me today about how cruel I was to shoot a poor harmless house - breaker, and how I have the devil in me against poor harmless natives.
But I was a good - natured man once--as good - natured as Putnam."
After a pause he said: " Look here, I've never seen you before; but you shall judge of the whole story.
Old Putnam and I were friends in the same mess; but, owing to some accidents on the Afghan border, I got my command much sooner than most men; only we were both invalided home for a bit.
I was engaged to Audrey out there; and we all travelled back together.
But on the journey back things happened.
Curious things.
The result of them was that Putnam wants it broken off, and even Audrey keeps it hanging on--and I know what they mean.
I know what they think I am.
So do you.
" Well, these are the facts.
The last day we were in an Indian city I asked Putnam if I could get some Trichinopoli cigars, he directed me to a little place opposite his lodgings.
I have since found he was quite right; but 'opposite'is a dangerous word when one decent house stands opposite five or six squalid ones; and I must have mistaken the door.
It opened with difficulty, and then only on darkness; but as I turned back, the door behind me sank back and settled into its place with a noise as of innumerable bolts.
There was nothing to do but to walk forward; which I did through passage after passage, pitch - dark.
Then I came to a flight of steps, and then to a blind door, secured by a latch of elaborate Eastern ironwork, which I could only trace by touch, but which I loosened at last.
I came out again upon gloom, which was half turned into a greenish twilight by a multitude of small but steady lamps below.
They showed merely the feet or fringes of some huge and empty architecture.
Just in front of me was something that looked like a mountain.
I confess I nearly fell on the great stone platform on which I had emerged, to realize that it was an idol.
And worst of all, an idol with its back to me.
" It was hardly half human, I guessed; to judge by the small squat head, and still more by a thing like a tail or extra limb turned up behind and pointing, like a loathsome large finger, at some symbol graven in the centre of the vast stone back.
I had begun, in the dim light, to guess at the hieroglyphic, not without horror, when a more horrible thing happened.
A door opened silently in the temple wall behind me and a man came out, with a brown face and a black coat.
He had a carved smile on his face, of copper flesh and ivory teeth; but I think the most hateful thing about him was that he was in European dress.
I was prepared, I think, for shrouded priests or naked fakirs.
But this seemed to say that the devilry was over all the earth.
As indeed I found it to be.
'If you had only seen the Monkey's Feet,' he said, smiling steadily, and without other preface, 'we should have been very gentle--you would only be tortured and die.
If you had seen the Monkey's Face, still we should be very moderate, very tolerant--you would only be tortured and live.
But as you have seen the Monkey's Tail, we must pronounce the worst sentence.
which is--Go Free.'
" When he said the words I heard the elaborate iron latch with which I had struggled, automatically unlock itself: and then, far down the dark passages I had passed, I heard the heavy street - door shifting its own bolts backwards.
'It is vain to ask for mercy; you must go free,' said the smiling man.
'Henceforth a hair shall slay you like a sword, and a breath shall bite you like an adder; weapons shall come against you out of nowhere; and you shall die many times.'
And with that he was swallowed once more in the wall behind; and I went out into the street."
Cray paused; and Father Brown unaffectedly sat down on the lawn and began to pick daisies.
Then the soldier continued: " Putnam, of course, with his jolly common sense, pooh - poohed all my fears; and from that time dates his doubt of my mental balance.
Well, I'll simply tell you, in the fewest words, the three things that have happened since; and you shall judge which of us is right.
" The first happened in an Indian village on the edge of the jungle, but hundreds of miles from the temple, or town, or type of tribes and customs where the curse had been put on me.
I woke in black midnight, and lay thinking of nothing in particular, when I felt a faint tickling thing, like a thread or a hair, trailed across my throat.
I shrank back out of its way, and could not help thinking of the words in the temple.
But when I got up and sought lights and a mirror, the line across my neck was a line of blood.
" The second happened in a lodging in Port Said, later, on our journey home together.
It was a jumble of tavern and curiosity - shop; and though there was nothing there remotely suggesting the cult of the Monkey, it is, of course, possible that some of its images or talismans were in such a place.
Its curse was there, anyhow.
I woke again in the dark with a sensation that could not be put in colder or more literal words than that a breath bit like an adder.
Existence was an agony of extinction; I dashed my head against walls until I dashed it against a window; and fell rather than jumped into the garden below.
Putnam, poor fellow, who had called the other thing a chance scratch, was bound to take seriously the fact of finding me half insensible on the grass at dawn.
But I fear it was my mental state he took seriously; and not my story.
" The third happened in Malta.
We were in a fortress there; and as it happened our bedrooms overlooked the open sea, which almost came up to our window - sills, save for a flat white outer wall as bare as the sea.
I woke up again; but it was not dark.
There was a full moon, as I walked to the window; I could have seen a bird on the bare battlement, or a sail on the horizon.
What I did see was a sort of stick or branch circling, self - supported, in the empty sky.
It flew straight in at my window and smashed the lamp beside the pillow I had just quitted.
It was one of those queer - shaped war - clubs some Eastern tribes use.
But it had come from no human hand."
Father Brown threw away a daisy - chain he was making, and rose with a wistful look.
" Has Major Putnam," he asked, " got any Eastern curios, idols, weapons and so on, from which one might get a hint?"
" Plenty of those, though not much use, I fear," replied Cray; " but by all means come into his study."
As they entered they passed Miss Watson buttoning her gloves for church, and heard the voice of Putnam downstairs still giving a lecture on cookery to the cook.
In the Major's study and den of curios they came suddenly on a third party, silk - hatted and dressed for the street, who was poring over an open book on the smoking - table--a book which he dropped rather guiltily, and turned.
Cray introduced him civilly enough, as Dr Oman, but he showed such disfavour in his very face that Brown guessed the two men, whether Audrey knew it or not, were rivals.
Nor was the priest wholly unsympathetic with the prejudice.
Dr Oman was a very well - dressed gentleman indeed; well - featured, though almost dark enough for an Asiatic.
But Father Brown had to tell himself sharply that one should be in charity even with those who wax their pointed beards, who have small gloved hands, and who speak with perfectly modulated voices.
Cray seemed to find something specially irritating in the small prayer - book in Oman's dark - gloved hand.
" I didn't know that was in your line," he said rather rudely.
Oman laughed mildly, but without offence.
" This is more so, I know," he said, laying his hand on the big book he had dropped, " a dictionary of drugs and such things.
But it's rather too large to take to church."
Then he closed the larger book, and there seemed again the faintest touch of hurry and embarrassment.
" I suppose," said the priest, who seemed anxious to change the subject, " all these spears and things are from India?"
" From everywhere," answered the doctor.
" Putnam is an old soldier, and has been in Mexico and Australia, and the Cannibal Islands for all I know."
" I hope it was not in the Cannibal Islands," said Brown, " that he learnt the art of cookery."
And he ran his eyes over the stew - pots or other strange utensils on the wall.
At this moment the jolly subject of their conversation thrust his laughing, lobsterish face into the room.
" Come along, Cray," he cried.
" Your lunch is just coming in.
And the bells are ringing for those who want to go to church."
The priest looked puzzled.
" He can't have been at the dustbin," he muttered.
" Not in those clothes.
Or was he there earlier today?"
Father Brown, touching other people, was as sensitive as a barometer; but today he seemed about as sensitive as a rhinoceros.
By no social law, rigid or implied, could he be supposed to linger round the lunch of the Anglo - Indian friends; but he lingered, covering his position with torrents of amusing but quite needless conversation.
He was the more puzzling because he did not seem to want any lunch.
His talk, however, was exuberant.
" I'll tell you what I'll do for you," he cried --, " I'll mix you a salad!
I can't eat it, but I'll mix it like an angel!
You've got a lettuce there."
" Unfortunately it's the only thing we have got," answered the good - humoured Major.
" You must remember that mustard, vinegar, oil and so on vanished with the cruet and the burglar."
" I know," replied Brown, rather vaguely.
" That's what I've always been afraid would happen.
That's why I always carry a cruet - stand about with me.
I'm so fond of salads."
And to the amazement of the two men he took a pepper - pot out of his waistcoat pocket and put it on the table.
" I wonder why the burglar wanted mustard, too," he went on, taking a mustard - pot from another pocket.
" A mustard plaster, I suppose.
And vinegar "-- and producing that condiment--" haven't I heard something about vinegar and brown paper?
As for oil, which I think I put in my left --"
His garrulity was an instant arrested; for lifting his eyes, he saw what no one else saw--the black figure of Dr Oman standing on the sunlit lawn and looking steadily into the room.
Before he could quite recover himself Cray had cloven in.
" You're an astounding card," he said, staring.
" I shall come and hear your sermons, if they're as amusing as your manners."
His voice changed a little, and he leaned back in his chair.
" Oh, there are sermons in a cruet - stand, too," said Father Brown, quite gravely.
" Have you heard of faith like a grain of mustard - seed; or charity that anoints with oil?
And as for vinegar, can any soldiers forget that solitary soldier, who, when the sun was darkened --"
Colonel Cray leaned forward a little and clutched the tablecloth.
Father Brown, who was making the salad, tipped two spoonfuls of the mustard into the tumbler of water beside him; stood up and said in a new, loud and sudden voice --" Drink that!"
At the same moment the motionless doctor in the garden came running, and bursting open a window cried: " Am I wanted?
Has he been poisoned?"
" Pretty near," said Brown, with the shadow of a smile; for the emetic had very suddenly taken effect.
And Cray lay in a deck - chair, gasping as for life, but alive.
Major Putnam had sprung up, his purple face mottled.
" A crime!"
he cried hoarsely.
" I will go for the police!"
The priest could hear him dragging down his palm - leaf hat from the peg and tumbling out of the front door; he heard the garden gate slam.
But he only stood looking at Cray; and after a silence said quietly:
" I shall not talk to you much; but I will tell you what you want to know.
There is no curse on you.
The Temple of the Monkey was either a coincidence or a part of the trick; the trick was the trick of a white man.
There is only one weapon that will bring blood with that mere feathery touch: a razor held by a white man.
There is one way of making a common room full of invisible, overpowering poison: turning on the gas--the crime of a white man.
And there is only one kind of club that can be thrown out of a window, turn in mid - air and come back to the window next to it: the Australian boomerang.
You'll see some of them in the Major's study."
With that he went outside and spoke for a moment to the doctor.
The moment after, Audrey Watson came rushing into the house and fell on her knees beside Cray's chair.
He could not hear what they said to each other; but their faces moved with amazement, not unhappiness.
The doctor and the priest walked slowly towards the garden gate.
" I suppose the Major was in love with her, too," he said with a sigh; and when the other nodded, observed: " You were very generous, doctor.
You did a fine thing.
But what made you suspect?"
" A very small thing," said Oman; " but it kept me restless in church till I came back to see that all was well.
That book on his table was a work on poisons; and was put down open at the place where it stated that a certain Indian poison, though deadly and difficult to trace, was particularly easily reversible by the use of the commonest emetics.
I suppose he read that at the last moment --"
" And remembered that there were emetics in the cruet - stand," said Father Brown.
" Exactly.
He threw the cruet in the dustbin--where I found it, along with other silver--for the sake of a burglary blind.
But if you look at that pepper - pot I put on the table, you'll see a small hole.
That's where Cray's bullet struck, shaking up the pepper and making the criminal sneeze."
There was a silence.
Then Dr Oman said grimly: " The Major is a long time looking for the police."
" Or the police in looking for the Major?"
said the priest.
" Well, good - bye."
XI.
The Strange Crime of John Boulnois
MR CALHOUN KIDD was a very young gentleman with a very old face, a face dried up with its own eagerness, framed in blue - black hair and a black butterfly tie.
He was the emissary in England of the colossal American daily called the Western Sun--also humorously described as the " Rising Sunset ".
This was in allusion to a great journalistic declaration (attributed to Mr Kidd himself) that " he guessed the sun would rise in the west yet, if American citizens did a bit more hustling."
Those, however, who mock American journalism from the standpoint of somewhat mellower traditions forget a certain paradox which partly redeems it.
For while the journalism of the States permits a pantomimic vulgarity long past anything English, it also shows a real excitement about the most earnest mental problems, of which English papers are innocent, or rather incapable.
The Sun was full of the most solemn matters treated in the most farcical way.
William James figured there as well as " Weary Willie," and pragmatists alternated with pugilists in the long procession of its portraits.
But many American papers seized on the challenge as a great event; and the Sun threw the shadow of Mr Boulnois quite gigantically across its pages.
And Mr Calhoun Kidd, of the Western Sun, was bidden to take his butterfly tie and lugubrious visage down to the little house outside Oxford where Thinker Boulnois lived in happy ignorance of such a title.
That fated philosopher had consented, in a somewhat dazed manner, to receive the interviewer, and had named the hour of nine that evening.
In the bar parlour he rang the bell, and had to wait some little time for a reply to it.
The only other person present was a lean man with close red hair and loose, horsey - looking clothes, who was drinking very bad whisky, but smoking a very good cigar.
The whisky, of course, was the choice brand of The Champion Arms; the cigar he had probably brought with him from London.
Nothing could be more different than his cynical negligence from the dapper dryness of the young American; but something in his pencil and open notebook, and perhaps in the expression of his alert blue eye, caused Kidd to guess, correctly, that he was a brother journalist.
" Could you do me the favour," asked Kidd, with the courtesy of his nation, " of directing me to the Grey Cottage, where Mr Boulnois lives, as I understand?"
" It's a few yards down the road," said the red - haired man, removing his cigar; " I shall be passing it myself in a minute, but I'm going on to Pendragon Park to try and see the fun."
" What is Pendragon Park?"
asked Calhoun Kidd.
" Sir Claude Champion's place--haven't you come down for that, too?"
asked the other pressman, looking up.
" You're a journalist, aren't you?"
" I have come to see Mr Boulnois," said Kidd.
" I've come to see Mrs Boulnois," replied the other.
" But I shan't catch her at home."
And he laughed rather unpleasantly.
" Are you interested in Catastrophism?"
asked the wondering Yankee.
" I'm interested in catastrophes; and there are going to be some," replied his companion gloomily.
" Mine's a filthy trade, and I never pretend it isn't."
With that he spat on the floor; yet somehow in the very act and instant one could realize that the man had been brought up as a gentleman.
The American pressman considered him with more attention.
His face was pale and dissipated, with the promise of formidable passions yet to be loosed; but it was a clever and sensitive face; his clothes were coarse and careless, but he had a good seal ring on one of his long, thin fingers.
His name, which came out in the course of talk, was James Dalroy; he was the son of a bankrupt Irish landlord, and attached to a pink paper which he heartily despised, called Smart Society, in the capacity of reporter and of something painfully like a spy.
Smart Society, I regret to say, felt none of that interest in Boulnois on Darwin which was such a credit to the head and hearts of the Western Sun.
Dalroy had come down, it seemed, to snuff up the scent of a scandal which might very well end in the Divorce Court, but which was at present hovering between Grey Cottage and Pendragon Park.
Sir Claude Champion was known to the readers of the Western Sun as well as Mr Boulnois.
So were the Pope and the Derby Winner; but the idea of their intimate acquaintanceship would have struck Kidd as equally incongruous.
Sir Claude was really rather magnificent in other than American eyes.
There was something of the Renascence Prince about his omnivorous culture and restless publicity --, he was not only a great amateur, but an ardent one.
There was in him none of that antiquarian frivolity that we convey by the word " dilettante ".
That faultless falcon profile with purple - black Italian eye, which had been snap - shotted so often both for Smart Society and the Western Sun, gave everyone the impression of a man eaten by ambition as by a fire, or even a disease.
Such, according to Dalroy's account, was nevertheless the fact.
Indeed, Boulnois's cottage stood just outside the gates of Pendragon Park.
But whether the two men could be friends much longer was becoming a dark and ugly question.
Sir Claude had carried the arts of publicity to perfection; and he seemed to take a crazy pleasure in being equally ostentatious in an intrigue that could do him no sort of honour.
That very evening, marked by Mr Kidd for the exposition of Catastrophism, had been marked by Sir Claude Champion for an open - air rendering of Romeo and Juliet, in which he was to play Romeo to a Juliet it was needless to name.
" I don't think it can go on without a smash," said the young man with red hair, getting up and shaking himself.
" Old Boulnois may be squared--or he may be square.
But if he's square he's thick--what you might call cubic.
But I don't believe it's possible."
" He is a man of grand intellectual powers," said Calhoun Kidd in a deep voice.
" Yes," answered Dalroy; " but even a man of grand intellectual powers can't be such a blighted fool as all that.
Must you be going on?
I shall be following myself in a minute or two."
But Calhoun Kidd, having finished a milk and soda, betook himself smartly up the road towards the Grey Cottage, leaving his cynical informant to his whisky and tobacco.
The last of the daylight had faded; the skies were of a dark, green - grey, like slate, studded here and there with a star, but lighter on the left side of the sky, with the promise of a rising moon.
The Grey Cottage, which stood entrenched, as it were, in a square of stiff, high thorn - hedges, was so close under the pines and palisades of the Park that Kidd at first mistook it for the Park Lodge.
Finding the name on the narrow wooden gate, however, and seeing by his watch that the hour of the " Thinker's " appointment had just struck, he went in and knocked at the front door.
Inside the garden hedge, he could see that the house, though unpretentious enough, was larger and more luxurious than it looked at first, and was quite a different kind of place from a porter's lodge.
" Mr Boulnois asked me to offer his apologies, sir," he said, " but he has been obliged to go out suddenly."
" But see here, I had an appointment," said the interviewer, with a rising voice.
" Do you know where he went to?"
" To Pendragon Park, sir," said the servant, rather sombrely, and began to close the door.
Kidd started a little.
" Did he go with Mrs--with the rest of the party?"
he asked rather vaguely.
" No, sir," said the man shortly; " he stayed behind, and then went out alone."
And he shut the door, brutally, but with an air of duty not done.
The American, that curious compound of impudence and sensitiveness, was annoyed.
" If that's the way he goes on he deserves to lose his wife's purest devotion," said Mr Calhoun Kidd.
" But perhaps he's gone over to make a row.
In that case I reckon a man from the Western Sun will be on the spot."
And turning the corner by the open lodge - gates, he set off, stumping up the long avenue of black pine - woods that pointed in abrupt perspective towards the inner gardens of Pendragon Park.
The trees were as black and orderly as plumes upon a hearse; there were still a few stars.
He was a man with more literary than direct natural associations; the word " Ravenswood " came into his head repeatedly.
More than once, as he went up that strange, black road of tragic artifice, he stopped, startled, thinking he heard steps in front of him.
He could see nothing in front but the twin sombre walls of pine and the wedge of starlit sky above them.
At first he thought he must have fancied it or been mocked by a mere echo of his own tramp.
But as he went on he was more and more inclined to conclude, with the remains of his reason, that there really were other feet upon the road.
He thought hazily of ghosts; and was surprised how swiftly he could see the image of an appropriate and local ghost, one with a face as white as Pierrot's, but patched with black.
The apex of the triangle of dark - blue sky was growing brighter and bluer, but he did not realize as yet that this was because he was coming nearer to the lights of the great house and garden.
He only felt that the atmosphere was growing more intense, there was in the sadness more violence and secrecy--more--he hesitated for the word, and then said it with a jerk of laughter--Catastrophism.
More pines, more pathway slid past him, and then he stood rooted as by a blast of magic.
It is vain to say that he felt as if he had got into a dream; but this time he felt quite certain that he had got into a book.
For we human beings are used to inappropriate things; we are accustomed to the clatter of the incongruous; it is a tune to which we can go to sleep.
If one appropriate thing happens, it wakes us up like the pang of a perfect chord.
Something happened such as would have happened in such a place in a forgotten tale.
Over the black pine - wood came flying and flashing in the moon a naked sword--such a slender and sparkling rapier as may have fought many an unjust duel in that ancient park.
It fell on the pathway far in front of him and lay there glistening like a large needle.
He ran like a hare and bent to look at it.
Seen at close quarters it had rather a showy look: the big red jewels in the hilt and guard were a little dubious.
But there were other red drops upon the blade which were not dubious.
Nevertheless, he did not look at this, having something more interesting to look at.
Kidd could see the finger of the dial stand up dark against the sky like the dorsal fin of a shark and the vain moonlight clinging to that idle clock.
But he saw something else clinging to it also, for one wild moment--the figure of a man.
Though he saw it there only for a moment, though it was outlandish and incredible in costume, being clad from neck to heel in tight crimson, with glints of gold, yet he knew in one flash of moonlight who it was.
That white face flung up to heaven, clean - shaven and so unnaturally young, like Byron with a Roman nose, those black curls already grizzled--he had seen the thousand public portraits of Sir Claude Champion.
The wild red figure reeled an instant against the sundial; the next it had rolled down the steep bank and lay at the American's feet, faintly moving one arm.
A gaudy, unnatural gold ornament on the arm suddenly reminded Kidd of Romeo and Juliet; of course the tight crimson suit was part of the play.
But there was a long red stain down the bank from which the man had rolled--that was no part of the play.
He had been run through the body.
Mr Calhoun Kidd shouted and shouted again.
Once more he seemed to hear phantasmal footsteps, and started to find another figure already near him.
He knew the figure, and yet it terrified him.
The dissipated youth who had called himself Dalroy had a horribly quiet way with him; if Boulnois failed to keep appointments that had been made, Dalroy had a sinister air of keeping appointments that hadn't.
The moonlight discoloured everything, against Dalroy's red hair his wan face looked not so much white as pale green.
All this morbid impressionism must be Kidd's excuse for having cried out, brutally and beyond all reason: " Did you do this, you devil?"
James Dalroy smiled his unpleasing smile; but before he could speak, the fallen figure made another movement of the arm, waving vaguely towards the place where the sword fell; then came a moan, and then it managed to speak.
" Boulnois.... Boulnois, I say.... Boulnois did it... jealous of me... he was jealous, he was, he was..."
Kidd bent his head down to hear more, and just managed to catch the words:
" Boulnois... with my own sword... he threw it..."
Again the failing hand waved towards the sword, and then fell rigid with a thud.
In Kidd rose from its depth all that acrid humour that is the strange salt of the seriousness of his race.
" See here," he said sharply and with command, " you must fetch a doctor.
This man's dead."
" And a priest, too, I suppose," said Dalroy in an undecipherable manner.
" All these Champions are papists."
The American knelt down by the body, felt the heart, propped up the head and used some last efforts at restoration; but before the other journalist reappeared, followed by a doctor and a priest, he was already prepared to assert they were too late.
" Were you too late also?"
asked the doctor, a solid prosperous - looking man, with conventional moustache and whiskers, but a lively eye, which darted over Kidd dubiously.
" In one sense," drawled the representative of the Sun.
" I was too late to save the man, but I guess I was in time to hear something of importance.
I heard the dead man denounce his assassin."
" And who was the assassin?"
asked the doctor, drawing his eyebrows together.
" Boulnois," said Calhoun Kidd, and whistled softly.
The doctor stared at him gloomily with a reddening brow --, but he did not contradict.
Then the priest, a shorter figure in the background, said mildly: " I understood that Mr Boulnois was not coming to Pendragon Park this evening."
" There again," said the Yankee grimly, " I may be in a position to give the old country a fact or two.
Yes, sir, John Boulnois was going to stay in all this evening; he fixed up a real good appointment there with me.
But John Boulnois changed his mind; John Boulnois left his home abruptly and all alone, and came over to this darned Park an hour or so ago.
His butler told me so.
I think we hold what the all - wise police call a clue--have you sent for them?"
" Yes," said the doctor, " but we haven't alarmed anyone else yet."
" Does Mrs Boulnois know?"
asked James Dalroy, and again Kidd was conscious of an irrational desire to hit him on his curling mouth.
" I have not told her," said the doctor gruffly --, " but here come the police."
The little priest had stepped out into the main avenue, and now returned with the fallen sword, which looked ludicrously large and theatrical when attached to his dumpy figure, at once clerical and commonplace.
" Just before the police come," he said apologetically, " has anyone got a light?"
The Yankee journalist took an electric torch from his pocket, and the priest held it close to the middle part of the blade, which he examined with blinking care.
Then, without glancing at the point or pommel, he handed the long weapon to the doctor.
" I fear I'm no use here," he said, with a brief sigh.
" I'll say good night to you, gentlemen."
And he walked away up the dark avenue towards the house, his hands clasped behind him and his big head bent in cogitation.
The rest of the group made increased haste towards the lodge - gates, where an inspector and two constables could already be seen in consultation with the lodge - keeper.
But the little priest only walked slower and slower in the dim cloister of pine, and at last stopped dead, on the steps of the house.
It was his silent way of acknowledging an equally silent approach; for there came towards him a presence that might have satisfied even Calhoun Kidd's demands for a lovely and aristocratic ghost.
It was a young woman in silvery satins of a Renascence design; she had golden hair in two long shining ropes, and a face so startingly pale between them that she might have been chryselephantine--made, that is, like some old Greek statues, out of ivory and gold.
But her eyes were very bright, and her voice, though low, was confident.
" Father Brown?"
she said.
" Mrs Boulnois?"
he replied gravely.
Then he looked at her and immediately said: " I see you know about Sir Claude."
" How do you know I know?"
she asked steadily.
He did not answer the question, but asked another: " Have you seen your husband?"
" My husband is at home," she said.
" He has nothing to do with this."
Again he did not answer; and the woman drew nearer to him, with a curiously intense expression on her face.
" Shall I tell you something more?"
she said, with a rather fearful smile.
" I don't think he did it, and you don't either."
Father Brown returned her gaze with a long, grave stare, and then nodded, yet more gravely.
" Father Brown," said the lady, " I am going to tell you all I know, but I want you to do me a favour first.
Will you tell me why you haven't jumped to the conclusion of poor John's guilt, as all the rest have done?
Don't mind what you say: I--I know about the gossip and the appearances that are against me."
Father Brown looked honestly embarrassed, and passed his hand across his forehead.
" Two very little things," he said.
" At least, one's very trivial and the other very vague.
But such as they are, they don't fit in with Mr Boulnois being the murderer."
He turned his blank, round face up to the stars and continued absentmindedly: " To take the vague idea first.
I attach a good deal of importance to vague ideas.
All those things that 'aren't evidence'are what convince me.
I think a moral impossibility the biggest of all impossibilities.
I know your husband only slightly, but I think this crime of his, as generally conceived, something very like a moral impossibility.
Please do not think I mean that Boulnois could not be so wicked.
Anybody can be wicked--as wicked as he chooses.
We can direct our moral wills; but we can't generally change our instinctive tastes and ways of doing things.
Boulnois might commit a murder, but not this murder.
He would not snatch Romeo's sword from its romantic scabbard; or slay his foe on the sundial as on a kind of altar; or leave his body among the roses, or fling the sword away among the pines.
If Boulnois killed anyone he'd do it quietly and heavily, as he'd do any other doubtful thing--take a tenth glass of port, or read a loose Greek poet.
No, the romantic setting is not like Boulnois.
It's more like Champion."
" Ah!"
she said, and looked at him with eyes like diamonds.
" And the trivial thing was this," said Brown.
" There were finger - prints on that sword; finger - prints can be detected quite a time after they are made if they're on some polished surface like glass or steel.
These were on a polished surface.
They were half - way down the blade of the sword.
Whose prints they were I have no earthly clue; but why should anybody hold a sword half - way down?
It was a long sword, but length is an advantage in lunging at an enemy.
At least, at most enemies.
At all enemies except one."
" Except one," she repeated.
" There is only one enemy," said Father Brown, " whom it is easier to kill with a dagger than a sword."
" I know," said the woman.
" Oneself."
There was a long silence, and then the priest said quietly but abruptly: " Am I right, then?
Did Sir Claude kill himself?"
" Yes " she said, with a face like marble.
" I saw him do it."
" He died," said Father Brown, " for love of you?"
An extraordinary expression flashed across her face, very different from pity, modesty, remorse, or anything her companion had expected: her voice became suddenly strong and full.
" I don't believe," she said, " he ever cared about me a rap.
He hated my husband."
" Why?"
asked the other, and turned his round face from the sky to the lady.
" He hated my husband because... it is so strange I hardly know how to say it... because..."
" Yes?"
said Brown patiently.
" Because my husband wouldn't hate him."
Father Brown only nodded, and seemed still to be listening; he differed from most detectives in fact and fiction in a small point--he never pretended not to understand when he understood perfectly well.
Mrs Boulnois drew near once more with the same contained glow of certainty.
" My husband," she said, " is a great man.
Sir Claude Champion was not a great man: he was a celebrated and successful man.
My husband has never been celebrated or successful; and it is the solemn truth that he has never dreamed of being so.
He no more expects to be famous for thinking than for smoking cigars.
On all that side he has a sort of splendid stupidity.
He has never grown up.
He still liked Champion exactly as he liked him at school; he admired him as he would admire a conjuring trick done at the dinner - table.
But he couldn't be got to conceive the notion of envying Champion.
And Champion wanted to be envied.
He went mad and killed himself for that."
" Yes," said Father Brown; " I think I begin to understand."
" Oh, don't you see?"
she cried; " the whole picture is made for that--the place is planned for it.
Champion put John in a little house at his very door, like a dependant--to make him feel a failure.
He never felt it.
He thinks no more about such things than--than an absent - minded lion.
After five years of it John had not turned a hair; and Sir Claude Champion was a monomaniac."
" And Haman began to tell them," said Father Brown, " of all the things wherein the king had honoured him; and he said: 'All these things profit me nothing while I see Mordecai the Jew sitting in the gate.'"
" The crisis came," Mrs Boulnois continued, " when I persuaded John to let me take down some of his speculations and send them to a magazine.
They began to attract attention, especially in America, and one paper wanted to interview him.
When Champion (who was interviewed nearly every day) heard of this late little crumb of success falling to his unconscious rival, the last link snapped that held back his devilish hatred.
Then he began to lay that insane siege to my own love and honour which has been the talk of the shire.
You will ask me why I allowed such atrocious attentions.
I answer that I could not have declined them except by explaining to my husband, and there are some things the soul cannot do, as the body cannot fly.
Nobody could have explained to my husband.
Nobody could do it now.
If you said to him in so many words, 'Champion is stealing your wife,' he would think the joke a little vulgar: that it could be anything but a joke--that notion could find no crack in his great skull to get in by.
Well, John was to come and see us act this evening, but just as we were starting he said he wouldn't; he had got an interesting book and a cigar.
I told this to Sir Claude, and it was his death - blow.
The monomaniac suddenly saw despair.
He stabbed himself, crying out like a devil that Boulnois was slaying him; he lies there in the garden dead of his own jealousy to produce jealousy, and John is sitting in the dining - room reading a book."
There was another silence, and then the little priest said: " There is only one weak point, Mrs Boulnois, in all your very vivid account.
Your husband is not sitting in the dining - room reading a book.
That American reporter told me he had been to your house, and your butler told him Mr Boulnois had gone to Pendragon Park after all."
Her bright eyes widened to an almost electric glare; and yet it seemed rather bewilderment than confusion or fear.
" Why, what can you mean?"
she cried.
" All the servants were out of the house, seeing the theatricals.
And we don't keep a butler, thank goodness!"
Father Brown started and spun half round like an absurd teetotum.
" What, what?"
he cried seeming galvanized into sudden life.
" Look here--I say--can I make your husband hear if I go to the house?"
" Oh, the servants will be back by now," she said, wondering.
" Right, right!"
rejoined the cleric energetically, and set off scuttling up the path towards the Park gates.
He turned once to say: " Better get hold of that Yankee, or 'Crime of John Boulnois'will be all over the Republic in large letters."
" You don't understand," said Mrs Boulnois.
" He wouldn't mind.
I don't think he imagines that America really is a place."
When Father Brown reached the house with the beehive and the drowsy dog, a small and neat maid - servant showed him into the dining - room, where Boulnois sat reading by a shaded lamp, exactly as his wife described him.
A decanter of port and a wineglass were at his elbow; and the instant the priest entered he noted the long ash stand out unbroken on his cigar.
" He has been here for half an hour at least," thought Father Brown.
In fact, he had the air of sitting where he had sat when his dinner was cleared away.
" Don't get up, Mr Boulnois," said the priest in his pleasant, prosaic way.
" I shan't interrupt you a moment.
I fear I break in on some of your scientific studies."
" No," said Boulnois; " I was reading 'The Bloody Thumb.'"
He said it with neither frown nor smile, and his visitor was conscious of a certain deep and virile indifference in the man which his wife had called greatness.
He laid down a gory yellow " shocker " without even feeling its incongruity enough to comment on it humorously.
John Boulnois was a big, slow - moving man with a massive head, partly grey and partly bald, and blunt, burly features.
He was in shabby and very old - fashioned evening - dress, with a narrow triangular opening of shirt - front: he had assumed it that evening in his original purpose of going to see his wife act Juliet.
" I won't keep you long from 'The Bloody Thumb'or any other catastrophic affairs," said Father Brown, smiling.
" I only came to ask you about the crime you committed this evening."
Boulnois looked at him steadily, but a red bar began to show across his broad brow; and he seemed like one discovering embarrassment for the first time.
" I know it was a strange crime," assented Brown in a low voice.
" Stranger than murder perhaps--to you.
The little sins are sometimes harder to confess than the big ones--but that's why it's so important to confess them.
Your crime is committed by every fashionable hostess six times a week: and yet you find it sticks to your tongue like a nameless atrocity."
" It makes one feel," said the philosopher slowly, " such a damned fool."
" I know," assented the other, " but one often has to choose between feeling a damned fool and being one."
" I can't analyse myself well," went on Boulnois; " but sitting in that chair with that story I was as happy as a schoolboy on a half - holiday.
It was security, eternity--I can't convey it... the cigars were within reach... the matches were within reach... the Thumb had four more appearances to... it was not only a peace, but a plenitude.
Then that bell rang, and I thought for one long, mortal minute that I couldn't get out of that chair--literally, physically, muscularly couldn't.
Then I did it like a man lifting the world, because I knew all the servants were out.
I opened the front door, and there was a little man with his mouth open to speak and his notebook open to write in.
I remembered the Yankee interviewer I had forgotten.
His hair was parted in the middle, and I tell you that murder --"
" I understand," said Father Brown.
" I've seen him."
" I didn't commit murder," continued the Catastrophist mildly, " but only perjury.
I said I had gone across to Pendragon Park and shut the door in his face.
That is my crime, Father Brown, and I don't know what penance you would inflict for it."
" I shan't inflict any penance," said the clerical gentleman, collecting his heavy hat and umbrella with an air of some amusement; " quite the contrary.
I came here specially to let you off the little penance which would otherwise have followed your little offence."
" And what," asked Boulnois, smiling, " is the little penance I have so luckily been let off?"
" Being hanged," said Father Brown.
XII.
The Fairy Tale of Father Brown
THE picturesque city and state of Heiligwaldenstein was one of those toy kingdoms of which certain parts of the German Empire still consist.
It had come under the Prussian hegemony quite late in history--hardly fifty years before the fine summer day when Flambeau and Father Brown found themselves sitting in its gardens and drinking its beer.
There had been not a little of war and wild justice there within living memory, as soon will be shown.
But in merely looking at it one could not dismiss that impression of childishness which is the most charming side of Germany--those little pantomime, paternal monarchies in which a king seems as domestic as a cook.
The German soldiers by the innumerable sentry - boxes looked strangely like German toys, and the clean - cut battlements of the castle, gilded by the sunshine, looked the more like the gilt gingerbread.
For it was brilliant weather.
The sky was as Prussian a blue as Potsdam itself could require, but it was yet more like that lavish and glowing use of the colour which a child extracts from a shilling paint - box.
Even the grey - ribbed trees looked young, for the pointed buds on them were still pink, and in a pattern against the strong blue looked like innumerable childish figures.
Despite his prosaic appearance and generally practical walk of life, Father Brown was not without a certain streak of romance in his composition, though he generally kept his daydreams to himself, as many children do.
Amid the brisk, bright colours of such a day, and in the heraldic framework of such a town, he did feel rather as if he had entered a fairy tale.
He took a childish pleasure, as a younger brother might, in the formidable sword - stick which Flambeau always flung as he walked, and which now stood upright beside his tall mug of Munich.
Nay, in his sleepy irresponsibility, he even found himself eyeing the knobbed and clumsy head of his own shabby umbrella, with some faint memories of the ogre's club in a coloured toy - book.
But he never composed anything in the form of fiction, unless it be the tale that follows:
" I wonder," he said, " whether one would have real adventures in a place like this, if one put oneself in the way?
It's a splendid back - scene for them, but I always have a kind of feeling that they would fight you with pasteboard sabres more than real, horrible swords."
" You are mistaken," said his friend.
" In this place they not only fight with swords, but kill without swords.
And there's worse than that."
" Why, what do you mean?"
asked Father Brown.
" Why," replied the other, " I should say this was the only place in Europe where a man was ever shot without firearms."
" Do you mean a bow and arrow?"
asked Brown in some wonder.
" I mean a bullet in the brain," replied Flambeau.
" Don't you know the story of the late Prince of this place?
It was one of the great police mysteries about twenty years ago.
You remember, of course, that this place was forcibly annexed at the time of Bismarck's very earliest schemes of consolidation--forcibly, that is, but not at all easily.
The empire (or what wanted to be one) sent Prince Otto of Grossenmark to rule the place in the Imperial interests.
We saw his portrait in the gallery there--a handsome old gentleman if he'd had any hair or eyebrows, and hadn't been wrinkled all over like a vulture; but he had things to harass him, as I'll explain in a minute.
He was a soldier of distinguished skill and success, but he didn't have altogether an easy job with this little place.
He was defeated in several battles by the celebrated Arnhold brothers--the three guerrilla patriots to whom Swinburne wrote a poem, you remember:
Wolves with the hair of the ermine, Crows that are crowned and kings--These things be many as vermin, Yet Three shall abide these things.
Or something of that kind.
They tell me that not long ago he could still be seen about the neighbourhood occasionally, a man in a black cloak, nearly blind, with very wild, white hair, but a face of astonishing softness."
" I know," said Father Brown.
" I saw him once."
His friend looked at him in some surprise.
" I didn't know you'd been here before," he said.
" Perhaps you know as much about it as I do.
Anyhow, that's the story of the Arnholds, and he was the last survivor of them.
Yes, and of all the men who played parts in that drama."
" You mean that the Prince, too, died long before?"
" Died," repeated Flambeau, " and that's about as much as we can say.
You must understand that towards the end of his life he began to have those tricks of the nerves not uncommon with tyrants.
He multiplied the ordinary daily and nightly guard round his castle till there seemed to be more sentry - boxes than houses in the town, and doubtful characters were shot without mercy.
He lived almost entirely in a little room that was in the very centre of the enormous labyrinth of all the other rooms, and even in this he erected another sort of central cabin or cupboard, lined with steel, like a safe or a battleship.
Some say that under the floor of this again was a secret hole in the earth, no more than large enough to hold him, so that, in his anxiety to avoid the grave, he was willing to go into a place pretty much like it.
But he went further yet.
The populace had been supposed to be disarmed ever since the suppression of the revolt, but Otto now insisted, as governments very seldom insist, on an absolute and literal disarmament.
" Human science can never be quite certain of things like that," said Father Brown, still looking at the red budding of the branches over his head, " if only because of the difficulty about definition and connotation.
What is a weapon?
People have been murdered with the mildest domestic comforts; certainly with tea - kettles, probably with tea - cosies.
On the other hand, if you showed an Ancient Briton a revolver, I doubt if he would know it was a weapon--until it was fired into him, of course.
Perhaps somebody introduced a firearm so new that it didn't even look like a firearm.
Perhaps it looked like a thimble or something.
Was the bullet at all peculiar?"
" Not that I ever heard of," answered Flambeau; " but my information is fragmentary, and only comes from my old friend Grimm.
He was a very able detective in the German service, and he tried to arrest me; I arrested him instead, and we had many interesting chats.
He was in charge here of the inquiry about Prince Otto, but I forgot to ask him anything about the bullet.
According to Grimm, what happened was this."
He paused a moment to drain the greater part of his dark lager at a draught, and then resumed:
" On the evening in question, it seems, the Prince was expected to appear in one of the outer rooms, because he had to receive certain visitors whom he really wished to meet.
Hitherto it had never been found by the most exacting inquiry which could --"
" Which could be quite certain of discovering a toy pistol," said Father Brown with a smile.
" But what about the brother who ratted?
Hadn't he anything to tell the Prince?"
" He always asseverated that he did not know," replied Flambeau; " that this was the one secret his brothers had not told him.
It is only right to say that it received some support from fragmentary words--spoken by the great Ludwig in the hour of death, when he looked at Heinrich but pointed at Paul, and said, 'You have not told him...' and was soon afterwards incapable of speech.
He searched all the outer salons; then, remembering the man's mad fits of fear, hurried to the inmost chamber.
That also was empty, but the steel turret or cabin erected in the middle of it took some time to open.
When it did open it was empty, too.
He went and looked into the hole in the ground, which seemed deeper and somehow all the more like a grave--that is his account, of course.
And even as he did so he heard a burst of cries and tumult in the long rooms and corridors without.
" First it was a distant din and thrill of something unthinkable on the horizon of the crowd, even beyond the castle.
Next it was a wordless clamour startlingly close, and loud enough to be distinct if each word had not killed the other.
Next came words of a terrible clearness, coming nearer, and next one man, rushing into the room and telling the news as briefly as such news is told.
" Otto, Prince of Heiligwaldenstein and Grossenmark, was lying in the dews of the darkening twilight in the woods beyond the castle, with his arms flung out and his face flung up to the moon.
The blood still pulsed from his shattered temple and jaw, but it was the only part of him that moved like a living thing.
He was clad in his full white and yellow uniform, as to receive his guests within, except that the sash or scarf had been unbound and lay rather crumpled by his side.
Before he could be lifted he was dead.
But, dead or alive, he was a riddle--he who had always hidden in the inmost chamber out there in the wet woods, unarmed and alone."
" Who found his body?"
asked Father Brown.
" Some girl attached to the Court named Hedwig von something or other," replied his friend, " who had been out in the wood picking wild flowers."
" Had she picked any?"
asked the priest, staring rather vacantly at the veil of the branches above him.
" Yes," replied Flambeau.
" I particularly remember that the Chamberlain, or old Grimm or somebody, said how horrible it was, when they came up at her call, to see a girl holding spring flowers and bending over that--that bloody collapse.
However, the main point is that before help arrived he was dead, and the news, of course, had to be carried back to the castle.
The consternation it created was something beyond even that natural in a Court at the fall of a potentate.
The foreign visitors, especially the mining experts, were in the wildest doubt and excitement, as well as many important Prussian officials, and it soon began to be clear that the scheme for finding the treasure bulked much bigger in the business than people had supposed.
Experts and officials had been promised great prizes or international advantages, and some even said that the Prince's secret apartments and strong military protection were due less to fear of the populace than to the pursuit of some private investigation of --"
" Had the flowers got long stalks?"
asked Father Brown.
Flambeau stared at him.
" What an odd person you are!"
he said.
" That's exactly what old Grimm said.
He said the ugliest part of it, he thought--uglier than the blood and bullet--was that the flowers were quite short, plucked close under the head."
" Of course," said the priest, " when a grown up girl is really picking flowers, she picks them with plenty of stalk.
If she just pulled their heads off, as a child does, it looks as if --" And he hesitated.
" Well?"
inquired the other.
" Well, it looks rather as if she had snatched them nervously, to make an excuse for being there after--well, after she was there."
" I know what you're driving at," said Flambeau rather gloomily.
" But that and every other suspicion breaks down on the one point--the want of a weapon.
He could have been killed, as you say, with lots of other things--even with his own military sash; but we have to explain not bow he was killed, but how he was shot.
And the fact is we can't.
They had the girl most ruthlessly searched; for, to tell the truth, she was a little suspect, though the niece and ward of the wicked old Chamberlain, Paul Arnhold.
But she was very romantic, and was suspected of sympathy with the old revolutionary enthusiasm in her family.
All the same, however romantic you are, you can't imagine a big bullet into a man's jaw or brain without using a gun or pistol.
And there was no pistol, though there were two pistol shots.
I leave it to you, my friend."
" How do you know there were two shots?"
asked the little priest.
" There was only one in his head," said his companion, " but there was another bullet - hole in the sash."
Father Brown's smooth brow became suddenly constricted.
" Was the other bullet found?"
he demanded.
Flambeau started a little.
" I don't think I remember," he said.
" Hold on!
Hold on!
Hold on!"
cried Brown, frowning more and more, with a quite unusual concentration of curiosity.
" Don't think me rude.
Let me think this out for a moment."
" All right," said Flambeau, laughing, and finished his beer.
A slight breeze stirred the budding trees and blew up into the sky cloudlets of white and pink that seemed to make the sky bluer and the whole coloured scene more quaint.
They might have been cherubs flying home to the casements of a sort of celestial nursery.
The oldest tower of the castle, the Dragon Tower, stood up as grotesque as the ale - mug, but as homely.
Only beyond the tower glimmered the wood in which the man had lain dead.
" What became of this Hedwig eventually?"
asked the priest at last.
" She is married to General Schwartz," said Flambeau.
" No doubt you've heard of his career, which was rather romantic.
He had distinguished himself even, before his exploits at Sadowa and Gravelotte; in fact, he rose from the ranks, which is very unusual even in the smallest of the German..."
Father Brown sat up suddenly.
" Rose from the ranks!"
he cried, and made a mouth as if to whistle.
" Well, well, what a queer story!
What a queer way of killing a man; but I suppose it was the only one possible.
But to think of hate so patient --"
" What do you mean?"
demanded the other.
" In what way did they kill the man?"
" They killed him with the sash," said Brown carefully; and then, as Flambeau protested: " Yes, yes, I know about the bullet.
Perhaps I ought to say he died of having a sash.
I know it doesn't sound like having a disease."
" I suppose," said Flambeau, " that you've got some notion in your head, but it won't easily get the bullet out of his.
As I explained before, he might easily have been strangled.
But he was shot.
By whom?
By what?"
" He was shot by his own orders," said the priest.
" You mean he committed suicide?"
" I didn't say by his own wish," replied Father Brown.
" I said by his own orders."
" Well, anyhow, what is your theory?"
Father Brown laughed.
" I am only on my holiday," he said.
" I haven't got any theories.
Only this place reminds me of fairy stories, and, if you like, I'll tell you a story."
" It was on a dismal night, with rain still dropping from the trees and dew already clustering, that Prince Otto of Grossenmark stepped hurriedly out of a side door of the castle and walked swiftly into the wood.
One of the innumerable sentries saluted him, but he did not notice it.
He had no wish to be specially noticed himself.
He was glad when the great trees, grey and already greasy with rain, swallowed him up like a swamp.
He had deliberately chosen the least frequented side of his palace, but even that was more frequented than he liked.
But there was no particular chance of officious or diplomatic pursuit, for his exit had been a sudden impulse.
All the full - dressed diplomatists he left behind were unimportant.
He had realized suddenly that he could do without them.
" His great passion was not the much nobler dread of death, but the strange desire of gold.
For this legend of the gold he had left Grossenmark and invaded Heiligwaldenstein.
For this and only this he had bought the traitor and butchered the hero, for this he had long questioned and cross - questioned the false Chamberlain, until he had come to the conclusion that, touching his ignorance, the renegade really told the truth.
For this he had, somewhat reluctantly, paid and promised money on the chance of gaining the larger amount; and for this he had stolen out of his palace like a thief in the rain, for he had thought of another way to get the desire of his eyes, and to get it cheap.
He, thought Prince Otto, could have no real reason for refusing to give up the gold.
He had known its place for years, and made no effort to find it, even before his new ascetic creed had cut him off from property or pleasures.
True, he had been an enemy, but he now professed a duty of having no enemies.
Some concession to his cause, some appeal to his principles, would probably get the mere money secret out of him.
Otto was no coward, in spite of his network of military precautions, and, in any case, his avarice was stronger than his fears.
Nor was there much cause for fear.
Prince Otto looked down with something of a grim smile at the bright, square labyrinths of the lamp - lit city below him.
For as far as the eye could see there ran the rifles of his friends, and not one pinch of powder for his enemies.
And round the palace rifles at the west door and the east door, at the north door and the south, and all along the four facades linking them.
He was safe.
" It was all the more clear when he had crested the ridge and found how naked was the nest of his old enemy.
He found himself on a small platform of rock, broken abruptly by the three corners of precipice.
Behind was the black cave, masked with green thorn, so low that it was hard to believe that a man could enter it.
In front was the fall of the cliffs and the vast but cloudy vision of the valley.
On the small rock platform stood an old bronze lectern or reading - stand, groaning under a great German Bible.
The bronze or copper of it had grown green with the eating airs of that exalted place, and Otto had instantly the thought, " Even if they had arms, they must be rusted by now."
Moonrise had already made a deathly dawn behind the crests and crags, and the rain had ceased.
" Behind the lectern, and looking across the valley, stood a very old man in a black robe that fell as straight as the cliffs around him, but whose white hair and weak voice seemed alike to waver in the wind.
He was evidently reading some daily lesson as part of his religious exercises.
" They trust in their horses..."
'Sir,' said the Prince of Heiligwaldenstein, with quite unusual courtesy, 'I should like only one word with you.'
'... and in their chariots,' went on the old man weakly, 'but we will trust in the name of the Lord of Hosts....' His last words were inaudible, but he closed the book reverently and, being nearly blind, made a groping movement and gripped the reading - stand.
Instantly his two servants slipped out of the low - browed cavern and supported him.
They wore dull - black gowns like his own, but they had not the frosty silver on the hair, nor the frost - bitten refinement of the features.
They were peasants, Croat or Magyar, with broad, blunt visages and blinking eyes.
For the first time something troubled the Prince, but his courage and diplomatic sense stood firm.
'I fear we have not met,' he said, 'since that awful cannonade in which your poor brother died.'
'All my brothers died,' said the old man, still looking across the valley.
Then, for one instant turning on Otto his drooping, delicate features, and the wintry hair that seemed to drip over his eyebrows like icicles, he added: 'You see, I am dead, too.'
'I hope you'll understand,' said the Prince, controlling himself almost to a point of conciliation, 'that I do not come here to haunt you, as a mere ghost of those great quarrels.
We will not talk about who was right or wrong in that, but at least there was one point on which we were never wrong, because you were always right.
Whatever is to be said of the policy of your family, no one for one moment imagines that you were moved by the mere gold; you have proved yourself above the suspicion that...'
" The old man in the black gown had hitherto continued to gaze at him with watery blue eyes and a sort of weak wisdom in his face.
But when the word 'gold'was said he held out his hand as if in arrest of something, and turned away his face to the mountains.
'He has spoken of gold,' he said.
'He has spoken of things not lawful.
Let him cease to speak.'
" Otto had the vice of his Prussian type and tradition, which is to regard success not as an incident but as a quality.
He conceived himself and his like as perpetually conquering peoples who were perpetually being conquered.
Consequently, he was ill acquainted with the emotion of surprise, and ill prepared for the next movement, which startled and stiffened him.
He had opened his mouth to answer the hermit, when the mouth was stopped and the voice strangled by a strong, soft gag suddenly twisted round his head like a tourniquet.
It was fully forty seconds before he even realized that the two Hungarian servants had done it, and that they had done it with his own military scarf.
" The old man went again weakly to his great brazen - supported Bible, turned over the leaves, with a patience that had something horrible about it, till he came to the Epistle of St James, and then began to read: 'The tongue is a little member, but --'
" Something in the very voice made the Prince turn suddenly and plunge down the mountain - path he had climbed.
He was half - way towards the gardens of the palace before he even tried to tear the strangling scarf from his neck and jaws.
He tried again and again, and it was impossible; the men who had knotted that gag knew the difference between what a man can do with his hands in front of him and what he can do with his hands behind his head.
His legs were free to leap like an antelope on the mountains, his arms were free to use any gesture or wave any signal, but he could not speak.
A dumb devil was in him.
" He had come close to the woods that walled in the castle before he had quite realized what his wordless state meant and was meant to mean.
Once more he looked down grimly at the bright, square labyrinths of the lamp - lit city below him, and he smiled no more.
He felt himself repeating the phrases of his former mood with a murderous irony.
Far as the eye could see ran the rifles of his friends, every one of whom would shoot him dead if he could not answer the challenge.
Rifles were so near that the wood and ridge could be patrolled at regular intervals; therefore it was useless to hide in the wood till morning.
Rifles were ranked so far away that an enemy could not slink into the town by any detour; therefore it was vain to return to the city by any remote course.
A cry from him would bring his soldiers rushing up the hill.
But from him no cry would come.
" The moon had risen in strengthening silver, and the sky showed in stripes of bright, nocturnal blue between the black stripes of the pines about the castle.
Flowers of some wide and feathery sort--for he had never noticed such things before--were at once luminous and discoloured by the moonshine, and seemed indescribably fantastic as they clustered, as if crawling about the roots of the trees.
Perhaps his reason had been suddenly unseated by the unnatural captivity he carried with him, but in that wood he felt something unfathomably German--the fairy tale.
He knew with half his mind that he was drawing near to the castle of an ogre--he had forgotten that he was the ogre.
He remembered asking his mother if bears lived in the old park at home.
He stooped to pick a flower, as if it were a charm against enchantment.
The stalk was stronger than he expected, and broke with a slight snap.
Carefully trying to place it in his scarf, he heard the halloo, 'Who goes there?'
Then he remembered the scarf was not in its usual place.
" He tried to scream and was silent.
The second challenge came; and then a shot that shrieked as it came and then was stilled suddenly by impact.
Otto of Grossenmark lay very peacefully among the fairy trees, and would do no more harm either with gold or steel; only the silver pencil of the moon would pick out and trace here and there the intricate ornament of his uniform, or the old wrinkles on his brow.
May God have mercy on his soul.
" The sentry who had fired, according to the strict orders of the garrison, naturally ran forward to find some trace of his quarry.
The bullet had gone through the gag into the jaw; that is why there was a shot - hole in the scarf, but only one shot.
Naturally, if not correctly, young Schwartz tore off the mysterious silken mask and cast it on the grass; and then he saw whom he had slain.
" We cannot be certain of the next phase.
But I incline to believe that there was a fairy tale, after all, in that little wood, horrible as was its occasion.
Whether the young lady named Hedwig had any previous knowledge of the soldier she saved and eventually married, or whether she came accidentally upon the accident and their intimacy began that night, we shall probably never know.
But we can know, I fancy, that this Hedwig was a heroine, and deserved to marry a man who became something of a hero.
She did the bold and the wise thing.
She persuaded the sentry to go back to his post, in which place there was nothing to connect him with the disaster; he was but one of the most loyal and orderly of fifty such sentries within call.
She remained by the body and gave the alarm; and there was nothing to connect her with the disaster either, since she had not got, and could not have, any firearms.
" Well," said Father Brown rising cheerfully " I hope they're happy."
" Where are you going?"
asked his friend.
" I'm going to have another look at that portrait of the Chamberlain, the Arnhold who betrayed his brethren," answered the priest.
" I wonder what part--I wonder if a man is less a traitor when he is twice a traitor?"
And he ruminated long before the portrait of a white - haired man with black eyebrows and a pink, painted sort of smile that seemed to contradict the black warning in his eyes.
[ The Man Who Was Thursday by G. K. Chesterton 1908 ]
To Edmund Clerihew Bentley
A cloud was on the mind of men, and wailing went the weather, Yea, a sick cloud upon the soul when we were boys together.
Science announced nonentity and art admired decay; The world was old and ended: but you and I were gay; Round us in antic order their crippled vices came--Lust that had lost its laughter, fear that had lost its shame.
Like the white lock of Whistler, that lit our aimless gloom, Men showed their own white feather as proudly as a plume.
Life was a fly that faded, and death a drone that stung; The world was very old indeed when you and I were young.
They twisted even decent sin to shapes not to be named: Men were ashamed of honour; but we were not ashamed.
Weak if we were and foolish, not thus we failed, not thus; When that black Baal blocked the heavens he had no hymns from us Children we were--our forts of sand were even as weak as eve, High as they went we piled them up to break that bitter sea.
Fools as we were in motley, all jangling and absurd, When all church bells were silent our cap and beds were heard.
Not all unhelped we held the fort, our tiny flags unfurled; Some giants laboured in that cloud to lift it from the world.
Yea, cool and clear and sudden as a bird sings in the grey, Dunedin to Samoa spoke, and darkness unto day.
But we were young; we lived to see God break their bitter charms.
God and the good Republic come riding back in arms: We have seen the City of Mansoul, even as it rocked, relieved--Blessed are they who did not see, but being blind, believed.
This is a tale of those old fears, even of those emptied hells, And none but you shall understand the true thing that it tells--Of what colossal gods of shame could cow men and yet crash, Of what huge devils hid the stars, yet fell at a pistol flash.
The doubts that were so plain to chase, so dreadful to withstand--Oh, who shall understand but you; yea, who shall understand?
The doubts that drove us through the night as we two talked amain, And day had broken on the streets e'er it broke upon the brain.
Between us, by the peace of God, such truth can now be told; Yea, there is strength in striking root and good in growing old.
We have found common things at last and marriage and a creed, And I may safely write it now, and you may safely read.
G. K. C.
CHAPTER I
THE TWO POETS OF SAFFRON PARK
THE suburb of Saffron Park lay on the sunset side of London, as red and ragged as a cloud of sunset.
It was built of a bright brick throughout; its sky - line was fantastic, and even its ground plan was wild.
It had been the outburst of a speculative builder, faintly tinged with art, who called its architecture sometimes Elizabethan and sometimes Queen Anne, apparently under the impression that the two sovereigns were identical.
It was described with some justice as an artistic colony, though it never in any definable way produced any art.
But although its pretensions to be an intellectual centre were a little vague, its pretensions to be a pleasant place were quite indisputable.
The stranger who looked for the first time at the quaint red houses could only think how very oddly shaped the people must be who could fit in to them.
Nor when he met the people was he disappointed in this respect.
The place was not only pleasant, but perfect, if once he could regard it not as a deception but rather as a dream.
Even if the people were not " artists," the whole was nevertheless artistic.
That young man with the long, auburn hair and the impudent face--that young man was not really a poet; but surely he was a poem.
That old gentleman with the wild, white beard and the wild, white hat--that venerable humbug was not really a philosopher; but at least he was the cause of philosophy in others.
That scientific gentleman with the bald, egg - like head and the bare, bird - like neck had no real right to the airs of science that he assumed.
He had not discovered anything new in biology; but what biological creature could he have discovered more singular than himself?
Thus, and thus only, the whole place had properly to be regarded; it had to be considered not so much as a workshop for artists, but as a frail but finished work of art.
A man who stepped into its social atmosphere felt as if he had stepped into a written comedy.
More especially this attractive unreality fell upon it about nightfall, when the extravagant roofs were dark against the afterglow and the whole insane village seemed as separate as a drifting cloud.
This again was more strongly true of the many nights of local festivity, when the little gardens were often illuminated, and the big Chinese lanterns glowed in the dwarfish trees like some fierce and monstrous fruit.
And this was strongest of all on one particular evening, still vaguely remembered in the locality, of which the auburn - haired poet was the hero.
It was not by any means the only evening of which he was the hero.
On many nights those passing by his little back garden might hear his high, didactic voice laying down the law to men and particularly to women.
The attitude of women in such cases was indeed one of the paradoxes of the place.
Most of the women were of the kind vaguely called emancipated, and professed some protest against male supremacy.
Yet these new women would always pay to a man the extravagant compliment which no ordinary woman ever pays to him, that of listening while he is talking.
And Mr. Lucian Gregory, the red - haired poet, was really (in some sense) a man worth listening to, even if one only laughed at the end of it.
He put the old cant of the lawlessness of art and the art of lawlessness with a certain impudent freshness which gave at least a momentary pleasure.
He was helped in some degree by the arresting oddity of his appearance, which he worked, as the phrase goes, for all it was worth.
His dark red hair parted in the middle was literally like a woman's, and curved into the slow curls of a virgin in a pre - Raphaelite picture.
From within this almost saintly oval, however, his face projected suddenly broad and brutal, the chin carried forward with a look of cockney contempt.
This combination at once tickled and terrified the nerves of a neurotic population.
He seemed like a walking blasphemy, a blend of the angel and the ape.
This particular evening, if it is remembered for nothing else, will be remembered in that place for its strange sunset.
It looked like the end of the world.
All the heaven seemed covered with a quite vivid and palpable plumage; you could only say that the sky was full of feathers, and of feathers that almost brushed the face.
The whole was so close about the earth, as to express nothing but a violent secrecy.
The very empyrean seemed to be a secret.
It expressed that splendid smallness which is the soul of local patriotism.
The very sky seemed small.
I say that there are some inhabitants who may remember the evening if only by that oppressive sky.
There are others who may remember it because it marked the first appearance in the place of the second poet of Saffron Park.
For a long time the red - haired revolutionary had reigned without a rival; it was upon the night of the sunset that his solitude suddenly ended.
The new poet, who introduced himself by the name of Gabriel Syme was a very mild - looking mortal, with a fair, pointed beard and faint, yellow hair.
But an impression grew that he was less meek than he looked.
He signalised his entrance by differing with the established poet, Gregory, upon the whole nature of poetry.
He said that he (Syme) was poet of law, a poet of order; nay, he said he was a poet of respectability.
So all the Saffron Parkers looked at him as if he had that moment fallen out of that impossible sky.
In fact, Mr. Lucian Gregory, the anarchic poet, connected the two events.
" It may well be," he said, in his sudden lyrical manner, " it may well be on such a night of clouds and cruel colours that there is brought forth upon the earth such a portent as a respectable poet.
You say you are a poet of law; I say you are a contradiction in terms.
I only wonder there were not comets and earthquakes on the night you appeared in this garden."
The man with the meek blue eyes and the pale, pointed beard endured these thunders with a certain submissive solemnity.
The third party of the group, Gregory's sister Rosamond, who had her brother's braids of red hair, but a kindlier face underneath them, laughed with such mixture of admiration and disapproval as she gave commonly to the family oracle.
Gregory resumed in high oratorical good humour.
" An artist is identical with an anarchist," he cried.
" You might transpose the words anywhere.
An anarchist is an artist.
The man who throws a bomb is an artist, because he prefers a great moment to everything.
He sees how much more valuable is one burst of blazing light, one peal of perfect thunder, than the mere common bodies of a few shapeless policemen.
An artist disregards all governments, abolishes all conventions.
The poet delights in disorder only.
If it were not so, the most poetical thing in the world would be the Underground Railway."
" So it is," said Mr. Syme.
" Nonsense!"
said Gregory, who was very rational when anyone else attempted paradox.
" Why do all the clerks and navvies in the railway trains look so sad and tired, so very sad and tired?
I will tell you.
It is because they know that the train is going right.
It is because they know that whatever place they have taken a ticket for that place they will reach.
It is because after they have passed Sloane Square they know that the next station must be Victoria, and nothing but Victoria.
Oh, their wild rapture!
oh, their eyes like stars and their souls again in Eden, if the next station were unaccountably Baker Street!"
" It is you who are unpoetical," replied the poet Syme.
" If what you say of clerks is true, they can only be as prosaic as your poetry.
The rare, strange thing is to hit the mark; the gross, obvious thing is to miss it.
We feel it is epical when man with one wild arrow strikes a distant bird.
Is it not also epical when man with one wild engine strikes a distant station?
Chaos is dull; because in chaos the train might indeed go anywhere, to Baker Street or to Bagdad.
But man is a magician, and his whole magic is in this, that he does say Victoria, and lo!
it is Victoria.
No, take your books of mere poetry and prose; let me read a time table, with tears of pride.
Take your Byron, who commemorates the defeats of man; give me Bradshaw, who commemorates his victories.
Give me Bradshaw, I say!"
" Must you go?"
inquired Gregory sarcastically.
" I tell you," went on Syme with passion, " that every time a train comes in I feel that it has broken past batteries of besiegers, and that man has won a battle against chaos.
You say contemptuously that when one has left Sloane Square one must come to Victoria.
I say that one might do a thousand things instead, and that whenever I really come there I have the sense of hairbreadth escape.
And when I hear the guard shout out the word'Victoria,' it is not an unmeaning word.
It is to me the cry of a herald announcing conquest.
It is to me indeed'Victoria '; it is the victory of Adam."
Gregory wagged his heavy, red head with a slow and sad smile.
" And even then," he said, " we poets always ask the question,'And what is Victoria now that you have got there?'
You think Victoria is like the New Jerusalem.
We know that the New Jerusalem will only be like Victoria.
Yes, the poet will be discontented even in the streets of heaven.
The poet is always in revolt."
" There again," said Syme irritably, " what is there poetical about being in revolt?
You might as well say that it is poetical to be sea - sick.
Being sick is a revolt.
Both being sick and being rebellious may be the wholesome thing on certain desperate occasions; but I'm hanged if I can see why they are poetical.
Revolt in the abstract is--revolting.
It's mere vomiting."
The girl winced for a flash at the unpleasant word, but Syme was too hot to heed her.
" It is things going right," he cried, " that is poetical I Our digestions, for instance, going sacredly and silently right, that is the foundation of all poetry.
Yes, the most poetical thing, more poetical than the flowers, more poetical than the stars--the most poetical thing in the world is not being sick."
" Really," said Gregory superciliously, " the examples you choose --"
" I beg your pardon," said Syme grimly, " I forgot we had abolished all conventions."
For the first time a red patch appeared on Gregory's forehead.
" You don't expect me," he said, " to revolutionise society on this lawn?"
Syme looked straight into his eyes and smiled sweetly.
" No, I don't," he said; " but I suppose that if you were serious about your anarchism, that is exactly what you would do."
Gregory's big bull's eyes blinked suddenly like those of an angry lion, and one could almost fancy that his red mane rose.
" Don't you think, then," he said in a dangerous voice, " that I am serious about my anarchism?"
" I beg your pardon?"
said Syme.
" Am I not serious about my anarchism?"
cried Gregory, with knotted fists.
" My dear fellow!"
said Syme, and strolled away.
With surprise, but with a curious pleasure, he found Rosamond Gregory still in his company.
" Mr. Syme," she said, " do the people who talk like you and my brother often mean what they say?
Do you mean what you say now?"
Syme smiled.
" Do you?"
he asked.
" What do you mean?"
asked the girl, with grave eyes.
" My dear Miss Gregory," said Syme gently, " there are many kinds of sincerity and insincerity.
When you say'thank you'for the salt, do you mean what you say?
No.
When you say'the world is round,' do you mean what you say?
No.
It is true, but you don't mean it.
Now, sometimes a man like your brother really finds a thing he does mean.
It may be only a half - truth, quarter - truth, tenth - truth; but then he says more than he means--from sheer force of meaning it."
She was looking at him from under level brows; her face was grave and open, and there had fallen upon it the shadow of that unreasoning responsibility which is at the bottom of the most frivolous woman, the maternal watch which is as old as the world.
" Is he really an anarchist, then?"
she asked.
" Only in that sense I speak of," replied Syme; " or if you prefer it, in that nonsense."
She drew her broad brows together and said abruptly --
" He wouldn't really use--bombs or that sort of thing?"
Syme broke into a great laugh, that seemed too large for his slight and somewhat dandified figure.
" Good Lord, no!"
he said, " that has to be done anonymously."
And at that the corners of her own mouth broke into a smile, and she thought with a simultaneous pleasure of Gregory's absurdity and of his safety.
Syme strolled with her to a seat in the corner of the garden, and continued to pour out his opinions.
For he was a sincere man, and in spite of his superficial airs and graces, at root a humble one.
And it is always the humble man who talks too much; the proud man watches himself too closely.
He defended respectability with violence and exaggeration.
He grew passionate in his praise of tidiness and propriety.
All the time there was a smell of lilac all round him.
Once he heard very faintly in some distant street a barrel - organ begin to play, and it seemed to him that his heroic words were moving to a tiny tune from under or beyond the world.
He stared and talked at the girl's red hair and amused face for what seemed to be a few minutes; and then, feeling that the groups in such a place should mix, rose to his feet.
To his astonishment, he discovered the whole garden empty.
Everyone had gone long ago, and he went himself with a rather hurried apology.
He left with a sense of champagne in his head, which he could not afterwards explain.
In the wild events which were to follow this girl had no part at all; he never saw her again until all his tale was over.
And yet, in some indescribable way, she kept recurring like a motive in music through all his mad adventures afterwards, and the glory of her strange hair ran like a red thread through those dark and ill - drawn tapestries of the night.
For what followed was so improbable, that it might well have been a dream.
When Syme went out into the starlit street, he found it for the moment empty.
Then he realised (in some odd way) that the silence was rather a living silence than a dead one.
Directly outside the door stood a street lamp, whose gleam gilded the leaves of the tree that bent out over the fence behind him.
About a foot from the lamp - post stood a figure almost as rigid and motionless as the lamp - post itself.
The tall hat and long frock coat were black; the face, in an abrupt shadow, was almost as dark.
Only a fringe of fiery hair against the light, and also something aggressive in the attitude, proclaimed that it was the poet Gregory.
He had something of the look of a masked bravo waiting sword in hand for his foe.
He made a sort of doubtful salute, which Syme somewhat more formally returned.
" I was waiting for you," said Gregory.
" Might I have a moment's conversation?"
" Certainly.
About what?"
asked Syme in a sort of weak wonder.
Gregory struck out with his stick at the lamp - post, and then at the tree.
" About this and this," he cried; " about order and anarchy.
There is your precious order, that lean, iron lamp, ugly and barren; and there is anarchy, rich, living, reproducing itself--there is anarchy, splendid in green and gold."
" All the same," replied Syme patiently, " just at present you only see the tree by the light of the lamp.
I wonder when you would ever see the lamp by the light of the tree."
Then after a pause he said, " But may I ask if you have been standing out here in the dark only to resume our little argument?"
" No," cried out Gregory, in a voice that rang down the street, " I did not stand here to resume our argument, but to end it for ever."
The silence fell again, and Syme, though he understood nothing, listened instinctively for something serious.
Gregory began in a smooth voice and with a rather bewildering smile.
" Mr. Syme," he said, " this evening you succeeded in doing something rather remarkable.
You did something to me that no man born of woman has ever succeeded in doing before."
" Indeed!"
" Now I remember," resumed Gregory reflectively, " one other person succeeded in doing it.
The captain of a penny steamer (if I remember correctly) at Southend.
You have irritated me."
" I am very sorry," replied Syme with gravity.
" I am afraid my fury and your insult are too shocking to be wiped out even with an apology," said Gregory very calmly.
" No duel could wipe it out.
If I struck you dead I could not wipe it out.
There is only one way by which that insult can be erased, and that way I choose.
I am going, at the possible sacrifice of my life and honour, to prove to you that you were wrong in what you said."
" In what I said?"
" You said I was not serious about being an anarchist."
" There are degrees of seriousness," replied Syme.
" I have never doubted that you were perfectly sincere in this sense, that you thought what you said well worth saying, that you thought a paradox might wake men up to a neglected truth."
Gregory stared at him steadily and painfully.
" And in no other sense," he asked, " you think me serious?
You think me a flaneur who lets fall occasional truths.
You do not think that in a deeper, a more deadly sense, I am serious."
Syme struck his stick violently on the stones of the road.
" Serious!"
he cried.
" Good Lord!
is this street serious?
Are these damned Chinese lanterns serious?
Is the whole caboodle serious?
" Very well," said Gregory, his face darkening, " you shall see something more serious than either drink or religion."
Syme stood waiting with his usual air of mildness until Gregory again opened his lips.
" You spoke just now of having a religion.
Is it really true that you have one?"
" Oh," said Syme with a beaming smile, " we are all Catholics now."
" Then may I ask you to swear by whatever gods or saints your religion involves that you will not reveal what I am now going to tell you to any son of Adam, and especially not to the police?
Will you swear that!
If you will take upon yourself this awful abnegations if you will consent to burden your soul with a vow that you should never make and a knowledge you should never dream about, I will promise you in return --"
" You will promise me in return?"
inquired Syme, as the other paused.
" I will promise you a very entertaining evening."
Syme suddenly took off his hat.
" Your offer," he said, " is far too idiotic to be declined.
You say that a poet is always an anarchist.
I disagree; but I hope at least that he is always a sportsman.
Permit me, here and now, to swear as a Christian, and promise as a good comrade and a fellow - artist, that I will not report anything of this, whatever it is, to the police.
And now, in the name of Colney Hatch, what is it?"
" I think," said Gregory, with placid irrelevancy, " that we will call a cab."
He gave two long whistles, and a hansom came rattling down the road.
The two got into it in silence.
Gregory gave through the trap the address of an obscure public - house on the Chiswick bank of the river.
The cab whisked itself away again, and in it these two fantastics quitted their fantastic town.
CHAPTER II
THE SECRET OF GABRIEL SYME
THE cab pulled up before a particularly dreary and greasy beershop, into which Gregory rapidly conducted his companion.
They seated themselves in a close and dim sort of bar - parlour, at a stained wooden table with one wooden leg.
The room was so small and dark, that very little could be seen of the attendant who was summoned, beyond a vague and dark impression of something bulky and bearded.
" Will you take a little supper?"
asked Gregory politely.
" The pate de foie gras is not good here, but I can recommend the game."
Syme received the remark with stolidity, imagining it to be a joke.
Accepting the vein of humour, he said, with a well - bred indifference --
" Oh, bring me some lobster mayonnaise."
To his indescribable astonishment, the man only said " Certainly, sir!"
and went away apparently to get it.
" What will you drink?"
resumed Gregory, with the same careless yet apologetic air.
" I shall only have a crepe de menthe myself; I have dined.
But the champagne can really be trusted.
Do let me start you with a half - bottle of Pommery at least?"
" Thank you!"
said the motionless Syme.
" You are very good."
His further attempts at conversation, somewhat disorganised in themselves, were cut short finally as by a thunderbolt by the actual appearance of the lobster.
Syme tasted it, and found it particularly good.
Then he suddenly began to eat with great rapidity and appetite.
" Excuse me if I enjoy myself rather obviously!"
he said to Gregory, smiling.
" I don't often have the luck to have a dream like this.
It is new to me for a nightmare to lead to a lobster.
It is commonly the other way."
" You are not asleep, I assure you," said Gregory.
" You are, on the contrary, close to the most actual and rousing moment of your existence.
Ah, here comes your champagne!
I admit that there may be a slight disproportion, let us say, between the inner arrangements of this excellent hotel and its simple and unpretentious exterior.
But that is all our modesty.
We are the most modest men that ever lived on earth."
" And who are we?"
asked Syme, emptying his champagne glass.
" It is quite simple," replied Gregory.
" We are the serious anarchists, in whom you do not believe."
" Oh!"
said Syme shortly.
" You do yourselves well in drinks."
" Yes, we are serious about everything," answered Gregory.
Then after a pause he added --
" If in a few moments this table begins to turn round a little, don't put it down to your inroads into the champagne.
I don't wish you to do yourself an injustice."
" Well, if I am not drunk, I am mad," replied Syme with perfect calm; " but I trust I can behave like a gentleman in either condition.
May I smoke?"
" Certainly!"
said Gregory, producing a cigar - case.
" Try one of mine."
Syme took the cigar, clipped the end off with a cigar - cutter out of his waistcoat pocket, put it in his mouth, lit it slowly, and let out a long cloud of smoke.
It is not a little to his credit that he performed these rites with so much composure, for almost before he had begun them the table at which he sat had begun to revolve, first slowly, and then rapidly, as if at an insane seance.
" You must not mind it," said Gregory; " it's a kind of screw."
" Quite so," said Syme placidly, " a kind of screw.
How simple that is!"
The next moment the smoke of his cigar, which had been wavering across the room in snaky twists, went straight up as if from a factory chimney, and the two, with their chairs and table, shot down through the floor as if the earth had swallowed them.
They went rattling down a kind of roaring chimney as rapidly as a lift cut loose, and they came with an abrupt bump to the bottom.
But when Gregory threw open a pair of doors and let in a red subterranean light, Syme was still smoking with one leg thrown over the other, and had not turned a yellow hair.
Gregory led him down a low, vaulted passage, at the end of which was the red light.
It was an enormous crimson lantern, nearly as big as a fireplace, fixed over a small but heavy iron door.
In the door there was a sort of hatchway or grating, and on this Gregory struck five times.
A heavy voice with a foreign accent asked him who he was.
To this he gave the more or less unexpected reply, " Mr. Joseph Chamberlain."
The heavy hinges began to move; it was obviously some kind of password.
Inside the doorway the passage gleamed as if it were lined with a network of steel.
On a second glance, Syme saw that the glittering pattern was really made up of ranks and ranks of rifles and revolvers, closely packed or interlocked.
" I must ask you to forgive me all these formalities," said Gregory; " we have to be very strict here."
" Oh, don't apologise," said Syme.
" I know your passion for law and order," and he stepped into the passage lined with the steel weapons.
With his long, fair hair and rather foppish frock - coat, he looked a singularly frail and fanciful figure as he walked down that shining avenue of death.
They passed through several such passages, and came out at last into a queer steel chamber with curved walls, almost spherical in shape, but presenting, with its tiers of benches, something of the appearance of a scientific lecture - theatre.
There were no rifles or pistols in this apartment, but round the walls of it were hung more dubious and dreadful shapes, things that looked like the bulbs of iron plants, or the eggs of iron birds.
They were bombs, and the very room itself seemed like the inside of a bomb.
Syme knocked his cigar ash off against the wall, and went in.
" And now, my dear Mr. Syme," said Gregory, throwing himself in an expansive manner on the bench under the largest bomb, " now we are quite cosy, so let us talk properly.
Now no human words can give you any notion of why I brought you here.
It was one of those quite arbitrary emotions, like jumping off a cliff or falling in love.
Suffice it to say that you were an inexpressibly irritating fellow, and, to do you justice, you are still.
I would break twenty oaths of secrecy for the pleasure of taking you down a peg.
That way you have of lighting a cigar would make a priest break the seal of confession.
Well, you said that you were quite certain I was not a serious anarchist.
Does this place strike you as being serious?"
" It does seem to have a moral under all its gaiety," assented Syme; " but may I ask you two questions?
You need not fear to give me information, because, as you remember, you very wisely extorted from me a promise not to tell the police, a promise I shall certainly keep.
So it is in mere curiosity that I make my queries.
First of all, what is it really all about?
What is it you object to?
You want to abolish Government?"
" To abolish God!"
said Gregory, opening the eyes of a fanatic.
" We do not only want to upset a few despotisms and police regulations; that sort of anarchism does exist, but it is a mere branch of the Nonconformists.
We dig deeper and we blow you higher.
We wish to deny all those arbitrary distinctions of vice and virtue, honour and treachery, upon which mere rebels base themselves.
The silly sentimentalists of the French Revolution talked of the Rights of Man!
We hate Rights as we hate Wrongs.
We have abolished Right and Wrong."
" And Right and Left," said Syme with a simple eagerness, " I hope you will abolish them too.
They are much more troublesome to me."
" You spoke of a second question," snapped Gregory.
" With pleasure," resumed Syme.
" In all your present acts and surroundings there is a scientific attempt at secrecy.
I have an aunt who lived over a shop, but this is the first time I have found people living from preference under a public - house.
You have a heavy iron door.
You cannot pass it without submitting to the humiliation of calling yourself Mr. Chamberlain.
You surround yourself with steel instruments which make the place, if I may say so, more impressive than homelike.
May I ask why, after taking all this trouble to barricade yourselves in the bowels of the earth, you then parade your whole secret by talking about anarchism to every silly woman in Saffron Park?"
Gregory smiled.
" The answer is simple," he said.
" I told you I was a serious anarchist, and you did not believe me.
Nor do they believe me.
Unless I took them into this infernal room they would not believe me."
Syme smoked thoughtfully, and looked at him with interest.
Gregory went on.
" The history of the thing might amuse you," he said.
" When first I became one of the New Anarchists I tried all kinds of respectable disguises.
I dressed up as a bishop.
I read up all about bishops in our anarchist pamphlets, in Superstition the Vampire and Priests of Prey.
I certainly understood from them that bishops are strange and terrible old men keeping a cruel secret from mankind.
I was misinformed.
When on my first appearing in episcopal gaiters in a drawing - room I cried out in a voice of thunder,'Down!
down!
presumptuous human reason!'
they found out in some way that I was not a bishop at all.
I was nabbed at once.
Then I made up as a millionaire; but I defended Capital with so much intelligence that a fool could see that I was quite poor.
Then I tried being a major.
Now I am a humanitarian myself, but I have, I hope, enough intellectual breadth to understand the position of those who, like Nietzsche, admire violence--the proud, mad war of Nature and all that, you know.
I threw myself into the major.
I drew my sword and waved it constantly.
I called out'Blood!'
abstractedly, like a man calling for wine.
I often said,'Let the weak perish; it is the Law.'
Well, well, it seems majors don't do this.
I was nabbed again.
At last I went in despair to the President of the Central Anarchist Council, who is the greatest man in Europe."
" What is his name?"
asked Syme.
" You would not know it," answered Gregory.
" That is his greatness.
Caesar and Napoleon put all their genius into being heard of, and they were heard of.
He puts all his genius into not being heard of, and he is not heard of.
But you cannot be for five minutes in the room with him without feeling that Caesar and Napoleon would have been children in his hands."
He was silent and even pale for a moment, and then resumed --
" But whenever he gives advice it is always something as startling as an epigram, and yet as practical as the Bank of England.
I said to him,'What disguise will hide me from the world?
What can I find more respectable than bishops and majors?'
He looked at me with his large but indecipherable face.
' You want a safe disguise, do you?
You want a dress which will guarantee you harmless; a dress in which no one would ever look for a bomb?'
I nodded.
He suddenly lifted his lion's voice.
' Why, then, dress up as an anarchist, you fool!'
he roared so that the room shook.
' Nobody will ever expect you to do anything dangerous then.'
And he turned his broad back on me without another word.
I took his advice, and have never regretted it.
I preached blood and murder to those women day and night, and--by God!-- they would let me wheel their perambulators."
Syme sat watching him with some respect in his large, blue eyes.
" You took me in," he said.
" It is really a smart dodge."
Then after a pause he added --
" What do you call this tremendous President of yours?"
" We generally call him Sunday," replied Gregory with simplicity.
' You see, there are seven members of the Central Anarchist Council, and they are named after days of the week.
He is called Sunday, by some of his admirers Bloody Sunday.
It is curious you should mention the matter, because the very night you have dropped in (if I may so express it) is the night on which our London branch, which assembles in this room, has to elect its own deputy to fill a vacancy in the Council.
The gentleman who has for some time past played, with propriety and general applause, the difficult part of Thursday, has died quite suddenly.
Consequently, we have called a meeting this very evening to elect a successor."
He got to his feet and strolled across the room with a sort of smiling embarrassment.
" I feel somehow as if you were my mother, Syme," he continued casually.
" I feel that I can confide anything to you, as you have promised to tell nobody.
In fact, I will confide to you something that I would not say in so many words to the anarchists who will be coming to the room in about ten minutes.
We shall, of course, go through a form of election; but I don't mind telling you that it is practically certain what the result will be."
He looked down for a moment modestly.
" It is almost a settled thing that I am to be Thursday."
" My dear fellow."
said Syme heartily, " I congratulate you.
A great career!"
Gregory smiled in deprecation, and walked across the room, talking rapidly.
" As a matter of fact, everything is ready for me on this table," he said, " and the ceremony will probably be the shortest possible."
Syme also strolled across to the table, and found lying across it a walking - stick, which turned out on examination to be a sword - stick, a large Colt's revolver, a sandwich case, and a formidable flask of brandy.
Over the chair, beside the table, was thrown a heavy - looking cape or cloak.
And he clasped his hands.
Syme, who had sat down once more with his usual insolent languor, got to his feet with an unusual air of hesitation.
" Why is it," he asked vaguely, " that I think you are quite a decent fellow?
Why do I positively like you, Gregory?"
He paused a moment, and then added with a sort of fresh curiosity, " Is it because you are such an ass?"
There was a thoughtful silence again, and then he cried out --
" Well, damn it all!
this is the funniest situation I have ever been in in my life, and I am going to act accordingly.
Gregory, I gave you a promise before I came into this place.
That promise I would keep under red - hot pincers.
Would you give me, for my own safety, a little promise of the same kind? "
" A promise?"
asked Gregory, wondering.
" Yes," said Syme very seriously, " a promise.
I swore before God that I would not tell your secret to the police.
Will you swear by Humanity, or whatever beastly thing you believe in, that you will not tell my secret to the anarchists?"
" Your secret?"
asked the staring Gregory.
" Have you got a secret?"
" Yes," said Syme, " I have a secret."
Then after a pause, " Will you swear?"
Gregory glared at him gravely for a few moments, and then said abruptly --
" You must have bewitched me, but I feel a furious curiosity about you.
Yes, I will swear not to tell the anarchists anything you tell me.
But look sharp, for they will be here in a couple of minutes."
Syme rose slowly to his feet and thrust his long, white hands into his long, grey trousers'pockets.
Almost as he did so there came five knocks on the outer grating, proclaiming the arrival of the first of the conspirators.
" Well," said Syme slowly, " I don't know how to tell you the truth more shortly than by saying that your expedient of dressing up as an aimless poet is not confined to you or your President.
We have known the dodge for some time at Scotland Yard."
Gregory tried to spring up straight, but he swayed thrice.
" What do you say?"
he asked in an inhuman voice.
" Yes," said Syme simply, " I am a police detective.
But I think I hear your friends coming."
From the doorway there came a murmur of " Mr. Joseph Chamberlain."
It was repeated twice and thrice, and then thirty times, and the crowd of Joseph Chamberlains (a solemn thought) could be heard trampling down the corridor.
CHAPTER III
THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY
BEFORE one of the fresh faces could appear at the doorway, Gregory's stunned surprise had fallen from him.
He was beside the table with a bound, and a noise in his throat like a wild beast.
He caught up the Colt's revolver and took aim at Syme.
Syme did not flinch, but he put up a pale and polite hand.
" Don't be such a silly man," he said, with the effeminate dignity of a curate.
" Don't you see it's not necessary?
Don't you see that we're both in the same boat?
Yes, and jolly sea - sick."
Gregory could not speak, but he could not fire either, and he looked his question.
" Don't you see we've checkmated each other?"
cried Syme.
" I can't tell the police you are an anarchist.
You can't tell the anarchists I'm a policeman.
I can only watch you, knowing what you are; you can only watch me, knowing what I am.
In short, it's a lonely, intellectual duel, my head against yours.
I'm a policeman deprived of the help of the police.
You, my poor fellow, are an anarchist deprived of the help of that law and organisation which is so essential to anarchy.
The one solitary difference is in your favour.
You are not surrounded by inquisitive policemen; I am surrounded by inquisitive anarchists.
I cannot betray you, but I might betray myself.
Come, come!
wait and see me betray myself.
I shall do it so nicely."
Gregory put the pistol slowly down, still staring at Syme as if he were a sea - monster.
" I don't believe in immortality," he said at last, " but if, after all this, you were to break your word, God would make a hell only for you, to howl in for ever."
" I shall not break my word," said Syme sternly, " nor will you break yours.
Here are your friends."
The mass of the anarchists entered the room heavily, with a slouching and somewhat weary gait; but one little man, with a black beard and glasses--a man somewhat of the type of Mr. Tim Healy--detached himself, and bustled forward with some papers in his hand.
" Comrade Gregory," he said, " I suppose this man is a delegate?"
Gregory, taken by surprise, looked down and muttered the name of Syme; but Syme replied almost pertly --
" I am glad to see that your gate is well enough guarded to make it hard for anyone to be here who was not a delegate."
The brow of the little man with the black beard was, however, still contracted with something like suspicion.
" What branch do you represent?"
he asked sharply.
" I should hardly call it a branch," said Syme, laughing; " I should call it at the very least a root."
" What do you mean?"
" The fact is," said Syme serenely, " the truth is I am a Sabbatarian.
I have been specially sent here to see that you show a due observance of Sunday."
The little man dropped one of his papers, and a flicker of fear went over all the faces of the group.
Evidently the awful President, whose name was Sunday, did sometimes send down such irregular ambassadors to such branch meetings.
" Well, comrade," said the man with the papers after a pause, " I suppose we'd better give you a seat in the meeting?"
" If you ask my advice as a friend," said Syme with severe benevolence, " I think you'd better."
When Gregory heard the dangerous dialogue end, with a sudden safety for his rival, he rose abruptly and paced the floor in painful thought.
He was, indeed, in an agony of diplomacy.
It was clear that Syme's inspired impudence was likely to bring him out of all merely accidental dilemmas.
Little was to be hoped from them.
After all, it was only one night's discussion, and only one detective who would know of it.
He would let out as little as possible of their plans that night, and then let Syme go, and chance it.
He strode across to the group of anarchists, which was already distributing itself along the benches.
" I think it is time we began," he said; " the steam - tug is waiting on the river already.
I move that Comrade Buttons takes the chair."
This being approved by a show of hands, the little man with the papers slipped into the presidential seat.
" Comrades," he began, as sharp as a pistol - shot, " our meeting tonight is important, though it need not be long.
This branch has always had the honour of electing Thursdays for the Central European Council.
We have elected many and splendid Thursdays.
We all lament the sad decease of the heroic worker who occupied the post until last week.
As you know, his services to the cause were considerable.
He organised the great dynamite coup of Brighton which, under happier circumstances, ought to have killed everybody on the pier.
As you also know, his death was as self - denying as his life, for he died through his faith in a hygienic mixture of chalk and water as a substitute for milk, which beverage he regarded as barbaric, and as involving cruelty to the cow.
Cruelty, or anything approaching to cruelty, revolted him always.
But it is not to acclaim his virtues that we are met, but for a harder task.
It is difficult properly to praise his qualities, but it is more difficult to replace them.
Upon you, comrades, it devolves this evening to choose out of the company present the man who shall be Thursday.
If any comrade suggests a name I will put it to the vote.
If no comrade suggests a name, I can only tell myself that that dear dynamiter, who is gone from us, has carried into the unknowable abysses the last secret of his virtue and his innocence."
There was a stir of almost inaudible applause, such as is sometimes heard in church.
Then a large old man, with a long and venerable white beard, perhaps the only real working - man present, rose lumberingly and said --
" I move that Comrade Gregory be elected Thursday," and sat lumberingly down again.
" Does anyone second?"
asked the chairman.
A little man with a velvet coat and pointed beard seconded.
" Before I put the matter to the vote," said the chairman, " I will call on Comrade Gregory to make a statement."
Gregory rose amid a great rumble of applause.
His face was deadly pale, so that by contrast his queer red hair looked almost scarlet.
But he was smiling and altogether at ease.
He had made up his mind, and he saw his best policy quite plain in front of him like a white road.
His best chance was to make a softened and ambiguous speech, such as would leave on the detective's mind the impression that the anarchist brotherhood was a very mild affair after all.
He believed in his own literary power, his capacity for suggesting fine shades and picking perfect words.
He thought that with care he could succeed, in spite of all the people around him, in conveying an impression of the institution, subtly and delicately false.
Syme had once thought that anarchists, under all their bravado, were only playing the fool.
Could he not now, in the hour of peril, make Syme think so again?
" Comrades," began Gregory, in a low but penetrating voice, " it is not necessary for me to tell you what is my policy, for it is your policy also.
Our belief has been slandered, it has been disfigured, it has been utterly confused and concealed, but it has never been altered.
Those who talk about anarchism and its dangers go everywhere and anywhere to get their information, except to us, except to the fountain head.
They learn about anarchists from sixpenny novels; they learn about anarchists from tradesmen's newspapers; they learn about anarchists from Ally Sloper's Half - Holiday and the Sporting Times.
They never learn about anarchists from anarchists.
We have no chance of denying the mountainous slanders which are heaped upon our heads from one end of Europe to another.
The man who has always heard that we are walking plagues has never heard our reply.
I know that he will not hear it tonight, though my passion were to rend the roof.
For it is deep, deep under the earth that the persecuted are permitted to assemble, as the Christians assembled in the Catacombs.
But if, by some incredible accident, there were here tonight a man who all his life had thus immensely misunderstood us, I would put this question to him:'When those Christians met in those Catacombs, what sort of moral reputation had they in the streets above?
What tales were told of their atrocities by one educated Roman to another?
Suppose'(I would say to him),'suppose that we are only repeating that still mysterious paradox of history.
Suppose we seem as shocking as the Christians because we are really as harmless as the Christians.
Suppose we seem as mad as the Christians because we are really as meek.'
The applause that had greeted the opening sentences had been gradually growing fainter, and at the last word it stopped suddenly.
In the abrupt silence, the man with the velvet jacket said, in a high, squeaky voice --
" I'm not meek!"
" Comrade Witherspoon tells us," resumed Gregory, " that he is not meek.
Ah, how little he knows himself!
His words are, indeed, extravagant; his appearance is ferocious, and even (to an ordinary taste) unattractive.
But only the eye of a friendship as deep and delicate as mine can perceive the deep foundation of solid meekness which lies at the base of him, too deep even for himself to see.
I repeat, we are the true early Christians, only that we come too late.
We are simple, as they revere simple--look at Comrade Witherspoon.
We are modest, as they were modest--look at me.
We are merciful --"
" No, no!"
called out Mr. Witherspoon with the velvet jacket.
" I say we are merciful," repeated Gregory furiously, " as the early Christians were merciful.
Yet this did not prevent their being accused of eating human flesh.
We do not eat human flesh --"
" Shame!"
cried Witherspoon.
" Why not?"
" Comrade Witherspoon," said Gregory, with a feverish gaiety, " is anxious to know why nobody eats him (laughter).
In our society, at any rate, which loves him sincerely, which is founded upon love --"
" No, no!"
said Witherspoon, " down with love."
" Which is founded upon love," repeated Gregory, grinding his teeth, " there will be no difficulty about the aims which we shall pursue as a body, or which I should pursue were I chosen as the representative of that body.
Superbly careless of the slanders that represent us as assassins and enemies of human society, we shall pursue with moral courage and quiet intellectual pressure, the permanent ideals of brotherhood and simplicity."
Gregory resumed his seat and passed his hand across his forehead.
The silence was sudden and awkward, but the chairman rose like an automaton, and said in a colourless voice --
" Does anyone oppose the election of Comrade Gregory?"
The assembly seemed vague and sub - consciously disappointed, and Comrade Witherspoon moved restlessly on his seat and muttered in his thick beard.
By the sheer rush of routine, however, the motion would have been put and carried.
But as the chairman was opening his mouth to put it, Syme sprang to his feet and said in a small and quiet voice --
" Yes, Mr. Chairman, I oppose."
The most effective fact in oratory is an unexpected change in the voice.
Mr. Gabriel Syme evidently understood oratory.
Having said these first formal words in a moderated tone and with a brief simplicity, he made his next word ring and volley in the vault as if one of the guns had gone off.
" Comrades!"
he cried, in a voice that made every man jump out of his boots, " have we come here for this?
Do we live underground like rats in order to listen to talk like this?
This is talk we might listen to while eating buns at a Sunday School treat.
Do we line these walls with weapons and bar that door with death lest anyone should come and hear Comrade Gregory saying to us,'Be good, and you will be happy,''Honesty is the best policy,' and'Virtue is its own reward '?
There was not a word in Comrade Gregory's address to which a curate could not have listened with pleasure (hear, hear).
But I am not a curate (loud cheers), and I did not listen to it with pleasure (renewed cheers).
The man who is fitted to make a good curate is not fitted to make a resolute, forcible, and efficient Thursday (hear, hear)."
" Comrade Gregory has told us, in only too apologetic a tone, that we are not the enemies of society.
But I say that we are the enemies of society, and so much the worse for society.
We are the enemies of society, for society is the enemy of humanity, its oldest and its most pitiless enemy (hear, hear).
Comrade Gregory has told us (apologetically again) that we are not murderers.
There I agree.
We are not murderers, we are executioners (cheers)."
Ever since Syme had risen Gregory had sat staring at him, his face idiotic with astonishment.
Now in the pause his lips of clay parted, and he said, with an automatic and lifeless distinctness --
" You damnable hypocrite!"
Syme looked straight into those frightful eyes with his own pale blue ones, and said with dignity --
" Comrade Gregory accuses me of hypocrisy.
He knows as well as I do that I am keeping all my engagements and doing nothing but my duty.
I do not mince words.
I do not pretend to.
I say that Comrade Gregory is unfit to be Thursday for all his amiable qualities.
He is unfit to be Thursday because of his amiable qualities.
We do not want the Supreme Council of Anarchy infected with a maudlin mercy (hear, hear).
This is no time for ceremonial politeness, neither is it a time for ceremonial modesty.
I set myself against Comrade Gregory as I would set myself against all the Governments of Europe, because the anarchist who has given himself to anarchy has forgotten modesty as much as he has forgotten pride (cheers).
I am not a man at all.
I am a cause (renewed cheers).
His sentence was drowned in a deafening cataract of applause.
The faces, that had grown fiercer and fiercer with approval as his tirade grew more and more uncompromising, were now distorted with grins of anticipation or cloven with delighted cries.
At the moment when he announced himself as ready to stand for the post of Thursday, a roar of excitement and assent broke forth, and became uncontrollable, and at the same moment Gregory sprang to his feet, with foam upon his mouth, and shouted against the shouting.
" Stop, you blasted madmen!"
he cried, at the top of a voice that tore his throat.
" Stop, you --"
But louder than Gregory's shouting and louder than the roar of the room came the voice of Syme, still speaking in a peal of pitiless thunder --
" I do not go to the Council to rebut that slander that calls us murderers; I go to earn it (loud and prolonged cheering).
I am come to destroy you, and to fulfil your prophecies.'"
The heavy clamour gradually died away, but before it had ceased Witherspoon had jumped to his feet, his hair and beard all on end, and had said --
" I move, as an amendment, that Comrade Syme be appointed to the post."
" Stop all this, I tell you!"
cried Gregory, with frantic face and hands.
" Stop it, it is all --"
The voice of the chairman clove his speech with a cold accent.
" Does anyone second this amendment?"
he said.
A tall, tired man, with melancholy eyes and an American chin beard, was observed on the back bench to be slowly rising to his feet.
Gregory had been screaming for some time past; now there was a change in his accent, more shocking than any scream.
" I end all this!"
he said, in a voice as heavy as stone.
" This man cannot be elected.
He is a --"
" Yes," said Syme, quite motionless, " what is he?"
Gregory's mouth worked twice without sound; then slowly the blood began to crawl back into his dead face.
" He is a man quite inexperienced in our work," he said, and sat down abruptly.
Before he had done so, the long, lean man with the American beard was again upon his feet, and was repeating in a high American monotone --
" I beg to second the election of Comrade Syme."
" The amendment will, as usual, be put first," said Mr. Buttons, the chairman, with mechanical rapidity.
" The question is that Comrade Syme --"
Gregory had again sprung to his feet, panting and passionate.
" Comrades," he cried out, " I am not a madman."
" Oh, oh!"
said Mr. Witherspoon.
" I am not a madman," reiterated Gregory, with a frightful sincerity which for a moment staggered the room, " but I give you a counsel which you can call mad if you like.
No, I will not call it a counsel, for I can give you no reason for it.
I will call it a command.
Call it a mad command, but act upon it.
Strike, but hear me!
Kill me, but obey me!
Do not elect this man."
Truth is so terrible, even in fetters, that for a moment Syme's slender and insane victory swayed like a reed.
But you could not have guessed it from Syme's bleak blue eyes.
He merely began --
" Comrade Gregory commands --"
Then the spell was snapped, and one anarchist called out to Gregory --
" Who are you?
You are not Sunday "; and another anarchist added in a heavier voice, " And you are not Thursday."
" Comrades," cried Gregory, in a voice like that of a martyr who in an ecstacy of pain has passed beyond pain, " it is nothing to me whether you detest me as a tyrant or detest me as a slave.
If you will not take my command, accept my degradation.
I kneel to you.
I throw myself at your feet.
I implore you.
Do not elect this man."
" Comrade Gregory," said the chairman after a painful pause, " this is really not quite dignified."
For the first time in the proceedings there was for a few seconds a real silence.
Then Gregory fell back in his seat, a pale wreck of a man, and the chairman repeated, like a piece of clock - work suddenly started again --
" The question is that Comrade Syme be elected to the post of Thursday on the General Council."
The roar rose like the sea, the hands rose like a forest, and three minutes afterwards Mr. Gabriel Syme, of the Secret Police Service, was elected to the post of Thursday on the General Council of the Anarchists of Europe.
Everyone in the room seemed to feel the tug waiting on the river, the sword - stick and the revolver, waiting on the table.
The instant the election was ended and irrevocable, and Syme had received the paper proving his election, they all sprang to their feet, and the fiery groups moved and mixed in the room.
Syme found himself, somehow or other, face to face with Gregory, who still regarded him with a stare of stunned hatred.
They were silent for many minutes.
" You are a devil!"
said Gregory at last.
" And you are a gentleman," said Syme with gravity.
" It was you that entrapped me," began Gregory, shaking from head to foot, " entrapped me into --"
" Talk sense," said Syme shortly.
" Into what sort of devils'parliament have you entrapped me, if it comes to that?
You made me swear before I made you.
Perhaps we are both doing what we think right.
But what we think right is so damned different that there can be nothing between us in the way of concession.
There is nothing possible between us but honour and death," and he pulled the great cloak about his shoulders and picked up the flask from the table.
" The boat is quite ready," said Mr. Buttons, bustling up.
" Be good enough to step this way."
With a gesture that revealed the shop - walker, he led Syme down a short, iron - bound passage, the still agonised Gregory following feverishly at their heels.
At the end of the passage was a door, which Buttons opened sharply, showing a sudden blue and silver picture of the moonlit river, that looked like a scene in a theatre.
Close to the opening lay a dark, dwarfish steam - launch, like a baby dragon with one red eye.
Almost in the act of stepping on board, Gabriel Syme turned to the gaping Gregory.
" You have kept your word," he said gently, with his face in shadow.
" You are a man of honour, and I thank you.
You have kept it even down to a small particular.
There was one special thing you promised me at the beginning of the affair, and which you have certainly given me by the end of it."
" What do you mean?"
cried the chaotic Gregory.
" What did I promise you?"
" A very entertaining evening," said Syme, and he made a military salute with the sword - stick as the steamboat slid away.
CHAPTER IV
THE TALE OF A DETECTIVE
GABRIEL SYME was not merely a detective who pretended to be a poet; he was really a poet who had become a detective.
Nor was his hatred of anarchy hypocritical.
He was one of those who are driven early in life into too conservative an attitude by the bewildering folly of most revolutionists.
He had not attained it by any tame tradition.
His respectability was spontaneous and sudden, a rebellion against rebellion.
He came of a family of cranks, in which all the oldest people had all the newest notions.
One of his uncles always walked about without a hat, and another had made an unsuccessful attempt to walk about with a hat and nothing else.
His father cultivated art and self - realisation; his mother went in for simplicity and hygiene.
Hence the child, during his tenderer years, was wholly unacquainted with any drink between the extremes of absinth and cocoa, of both of which he had a healthy dislike.
The more his mother preached a more than Puritan abstinence the more did his father expand into a more than pagan latitude; and by the time the former had come to enforcing vegetarianism, the latter had pretty well reached the point of defending cannibalism.
Being surrounded with every conceivable kind of revolt from infancy, Gabriel had to revolt into something, so he revolted into the only thing left--sanity.
But there was just enough in him of the blood of these fanatics to make even his protest for common sense a little too fierce to be sensible.
His hatred of modern lawlessness had been crowned also by an accident.
It happened that he was walking in a side street at the instant of a dynamite outrage.
He had been blind and deaf for a moment, and then seen, the smoke clearing, the broken windows and the bleeding faces.
After that he went about as usual--quiet, courteous, rather gentle; but there was a spot on his mind that was not sane.
He did not regard anarchists, as most of us do, as a handful of morbid men, combining ignorance with intellectualism.
He regarded them as a huge and pitiless peril, like a Chinese invasion.
He poured perpetually into newspapers and their waste - paper baskets a torrent of tales, verses and violent articles, warning men of this deluge of barbaric denial.
But he seemed to be getting no nearer his enemy, and, what was worse, no nearer a living.
As he paced the Thames embankment, bitterly biting a cheap cigar and brooding on the advance of Anarchy, there was no anarchist with a bomb in his pocket so savage or so solitary as he.
Indeed, he always felt that Government stood alone and desperate, with its back to the wall.
He was too quixotic to have cared for it otherwise.
He walked on the Embankment once under a dark red sunset.
The red river reflected the red sky, and they both reflected his anger.
The sky, indeed, was so swarthy, and the light on the river relatively so lurid, that the water almost seemed of fiercer flame than the sunset it mirrored.
It looked like a stream of literal fire winding under the vast caverns of a subterranean country.
Syme was shabby in those days.
He wore an old - fashioned black chimney - pot hat; he was wrapped in a yet more old - fashioned cloak, black and ragged; and the combination gave him the look of the early villains in Dickens and Bulwer Lytton.
Also his yellow beard and hair were more unkempt and leonine than when they appeared long afterwards, cut and pointed, on the lawns of Saffron Park.
A long, lean, black cigar, bought in Soho for twopence, stood out from between his tightened teeth, and altogether he looked a very satisfactory specimen of the anarchists upon whom he had vowed a holy war.
Perhaps this was why a policeman on the Embankment spoke to him, and said " Good evening."
Syme, at a crisis of his morbid fears for humanity, seemed stung by the mere stolidity of the automatic official, a mere bulk of blue in the twilight.
" A good evening is it?"
he said sharply.
" You fellows would call the end of the world a good evening.
Look at that bloody red sun and that bloody river!
I tell you that if that were literally human blood, spilt and shining, you would still be standing here as solid as ever, looking out for some poor harmless tramp whom you could move on.
You policemen are cruel to the poor, but I could forgive you even your cruelty if it were not for your calm."
" If we are calm," replied the policeman, " it is the calm of organised resistance."
" Eh?"
said Syme, staring.
" The soldier must be calm in the thick of the battle," pursued the policeman.
" The composure of an army is the anger of a nation."
" Good God, the Board Schools!"
said Syme.
" Is this undenominational education?"
" No," said the policeman sadly, " I never had any of those advantages.
The Board Schools came after my time.
What education I had was very rough and old - fashioned, I am afraid."
" Where did you have it?"
asked Syme, wondering.
" Oh, at Harrow," said the policeman
The class sympathies which, false as they are, are the truest things in so many men, broke out of Syme before he could control them.
" But, good Lord, man," he said, " you oughtn't to be a policeman!"
The policeman sighed and shook his head.
" I know," he said solemnly, " I know I am not worthy."
" But why did you join the police?"
asked Syme with rude curiosity.
" For much the same reason that you abused the police," replied the other.
" I found that there was a special opening in the service for those whose fears for humanity were concerned rather with the aberrations of the scientific intellect than with the normal and excusable, though excessive, outbreaks of the human will.
I trust I make myself clear."
" If you mean that you make your opinion clear," said Syme, " I suppose you do.
But as for making yourself clear, it is the last thing you do.
How comes a man like you to be talking philosophy in a blue helmet on the Thames embankment?
" You have evidently not heard of the latest development in our police system," replied the other.
" I am not surprised at it.
We are keeping it rather dark from the educated class, because that class contains most of our enemies.
But you seem to be exactly in the right frame of mind.
I think you might almost join us."
" Join you in what?"
asked Syme.
" I will tell you," said the policeman slowly.
" This is the situation: The head of one of our departments, one of the most celebrated detectives in Europe, has long been of opinion that a purely intellectual conspiracy would soon threaten the very existence of civilisation.
He is certain that the scientific and artistic worlds are silently bound in a crusade against the Family and the State.
He has, therefore, formed a special corps of policemen, policemen who are also philosophers.
It is their business to watch the beginnings of this conspiracy, not merely in a criminal but in a controversial sense.
I am a democrat myself, and I am fully aware of the value of the ordinary man in matters of ordinary valour or virtue.
But it would obviously be undesirable to employ the common policeman in an investigation which is also a heresy hunt."
Syme's eyes were bright with a sympathetic curiosity.
" What do you do, then?"
he said.
" The work of the philosophical policeman," replied the man in blue, " is at once bolder and more subtle than that of the ordinary detective.
The ordinary detective goes to pot - houses to arrest thieves; we go to artistic tea - parties to detect pessimists.
The ordinary detective discovers from a ledger or a diary that a crime has been committed.
We discover from a book of sonnets that a crime will be committed.
We have to trace the origin of those dreadful thoughts that drive men on at last to intellectual fanaticism and intellectual crime.
We were only just in time to prevent the assassination at Hartle pool, and that was entirely due to the fact that our Mr. Wilks (a smart young fellow) thoroughly understood a triolet."
" Do you mean," asked Syme, " that there is really as much connection between crime and the modern intellect as all that?"
" You are not sufficiently democratic," answered the policeman, " but you were right when you said just now that our ordinary treatment of the poor criminal was a pretty brutal business.
I tell you I am sometimes sick of my trade when I see how perpetually it means merely a war upon the ignorant and the desperate.
But this new movement of ours is a very different affair.
We deny the snobbish English assumption that the uneducated are the dangerous criminals.
We remember the Roman Emperors.
We remember the great poisoning princes of the Renaissance.
We say that the dangerous criminal is the educated criminal.
We say that the most dangerous criminal now is the entirely lawless modern philosopher.
Compared to him, burglars and bigamists are essentially moral men; my heart goes out to them.
They accept the essential ideal of man; they merely seek it wrongly.
Thieves respect property.
They merely wish the property to become their property that they may more perfectly respect it.
But philosophers dislike property as property; they wish to destroy the very idea of personal possession.
Bigamists respect marriage, or they would not go through the highly ceremonial and even ritualistic formality of bigamy.
But philosophers despise marriage as marriage.
Murderers respect human life; they merely wish to attain a greater fulness of human life in themselves by the sacrifice of what seems to them to be lesser lives.
But philosophers hate life itself, their own as much as other people's."
Syme struck his hands together.
" How true that is," he cried.
" I have felt it from my boyhood, but never could state the verbal antithesis.
The common criminal is a bad man, but at least he is, as it were, a conditional good man.
He says that if only a certain obstacle be removed--say a wealthy uncle--he is then prepared to accept the universe and to praise God.
He is a reformer, but not an anarchist.
He wishes to cleanse the edifice, but not to destroy it.
But the evil philosopher is not trying to alter things, but to annihilate them.
Yes, the modern world has retained all those parts of police work which are really oppressive and ignominious, the harrying of the poor, the spying upon the unfortunate.
It has given up its more dignified work, the punishment of powerful traitors the in the State and powerful heresiarchs in the Church.
The moderns say we must not punish heretics.
My only doubt is whether we have a right to punish anybody else."
" But this is absurd!"
cried the policeman, clasping his hands with an excitement uncommon in persons of his figure and costume, " but it is intolerable!
I don't know what you're doing, but you're wasting your life.
You must, you shall, join our special army against anarchy.
Their armies are on our frontiers.
Their bolt is ready to fall.
A moment more, and you may lose the glory of working with us, perhaps the glory of dying with the last heroes of the world."
" It is a chance not to be missed, certainly," assented Syme, " but still I do not quite understand.
I know as well as anybody that the modern world is full of lawless little men and mad little movements.
But, beastly as they are, they generally have the one merit of disagreeing with each other.
How can you talk of their leading one army or hurling one bolt.
What is this anarchy?"
" Do not confuse it," replied the constable, " with those chance dynamite outbreaks from Russia or from Ireland, which are really the outbreaks of oppressed, if mistaken, men.
This is a vast philosophic movement, consisting of an outer and an inner ring.
You might even call the outer ring the laity and the inner ring the priesthood.
I prefer to call the outer ring the innocent section, the inner ring the supremely guilty section.
The outer ring--the main mass of their supporters--are merely anarchists; that is, men who believe that rules and formulas have destroyed human happiness.
They believe that all the evil results of human crime are the results of the system that has called it crime.
They do not believe that the crime creates the punishment.
They believe that the punishment has created the crime.
They believe that if a man seduced seven women he would naturally walk away as blameless as the flowers of spring.
They believe that if a man picked a pocket he would naturally feel exquisitely good.
These I call the innocent section."
" Oh!"
said Syme.
" Naturally, therefore, these people talk about'a happy time coming ';'the paradise of the future ';'mankind freed from the bondage of vice and the bondage of virtue,' and so on.
And so also the men of the inner circle speak--the sacred priesthood.
They also speak to applauding crowds of the happiness of the future, and of mankind freed at last.
But in their mouths "-- and the policeman lowered his voice --" in their mouths these happy phrases have a horrible meaning.
They are under no illusions; they are too intellectual to think that man upon this earth can ever be quite free of original sin and the struggle.
And they mean death.
When they say that mankind shall be free at last, they mean that mankind shall commit suicide.
When they talk of a paradise without right or wrong, they mean the grave.
They have but two objects, to destroy first humanity and then themselves.
That is why they throw bombs instead of firing pistols.
The innocent rank and file are disappointed because the bomb has not killed the king; but the high - priesthood are happy because it has killed somebody."
" How can I join you?"
asked Syme, with a sort of passion.
" I know for a fact that there is a vacancy at the moment," said the policeman, " as I have the honour to be somewhat in the confidence of the chief of whom I have spoken.
You should really come and see him.
Or rather, I should not say see him, nobody ever sees him; but you can talk to him if you like."
" Telephone?"
inquired Syme, with interest.
" No," said the policeman placidly, " he has a fancy for always sitting in a pitch - dark room.
He says it makes his thoughts brighter.
Do come along."
Somewhat dazed and considerably excited, Syme allowed himself to be led to a side - door in the long row of buildings of Scotland Yard.
Almost before he knew what he was doing, he had been passed through the hands of about four intermediate officials, and was suddenly shown into a room, the abrupt blackness of which startled him like a blaze of light.
It was not the ordinary darkness, in which forms can be faintly traced; it was like going suddenly stone - blind.
" Are you the new recruit?"
asked a heavy voice.
And in some strange way, though there was not the shadow of a shape in the gloom, Syme knew two things: first, that it came from a man of massive stature; and second, that the man had his back to him.
" Are you the new recruit?"
said the invisible chief, who seemed to have heard all about it.
" All right.
You are engaged."
Syme, quite swept off his feet, made a feeble fight against this irrevocable phrase.
" I really have no experience," he began.
" No one has any experience," said the other, " of the Battle of Armageddon."
" But I am really unfit --"
" You are willing, that is enough," said the unknown.
" Well, really," said Syme, " I don't know any profession of which mere willingness is the final test."
" I do," said the other --" martyrs.
I am condemning you to death.
Good day."
Thus it was that when Gabriel Syme came out again into the crimson light of evening, in his shabby black hat and shabby, lawless cloak, he came out a member of the New Detective Corps for the frustration of the great conspiracy.
Before he finally left the police premises his friend provided him with a small blue card, on which was written, " The Last Crusade," and a number, the sign of his official authority.
He put this carefully in his upper waistcoat pocket, lit a cigarette, and went forth to track and fight the enemy in all the drawing - rooms of London.
Where his adventure ultimately led him we have already seen.
At about half - past one on a February night he found himself steaming in a small tug up the silent Thames, armed with swordstick and revolver, the duly elected Thursday of the Central Council of Anarchists.
When Syme stepped out on to the steam - tug he had a singular sensation of stepping out into something entirely new; not merely into the landscape of a new land, but even into the landscape of a new planet.
This was mainly due to the insane yet solid decision of that evening, though partly also to an entire change in the weather and the sky since he entered the little tavern some two hours before.
Every trace of the passionate plumage of the cloudy sunset had been swept away, and a naked moon stood in a naked sky.
The moon was so strong and full that (by a paradox often to be noticed) it seemed like a weaker sun.
It gave, not the sense of bright moonshine, but rather of a dead daylight.
But the more he felt this glittering desolation in the moonlit land, the more his own chivalric folly glowed in the night like a great fire.
Even the common things he carried with him--the food and the brandy and the loaded pistol--took on exactly that concrete and material poetry which a child feels when he takes a gun upon a journey or a bun with him to bed.
The sword - stick and the brandy - flask, though in themselves only the tools of morbid conspirators, became the expressions of his own more healthy romance.
The sword - stick became almost the sword of chivalry, and the brandy the wine of the stirrup - cup.
For even the most dehumanised modern fantasies depend on some older and simpler figure; the adventures may be mad, but the adventurer must be sane.
The dragon without St. George would not even be grotesque.
So this inhuman landscape was only imaginative by the presence of a man really human.
To Syme's exaggerative mind the bright, bleak houses and terraces by the Thames looked as empty as the mountains of the moon.
But even the moon is only poetical because there is a man in the moon.
The tug was worked by two men, and with much toil went comparatively slowly.
The clear moon that had lit up Chiswick had gone down by the time that they passed Battersea, and when they came under the enormous bulk of Westminster day had already begun to break.
It broke like the splitting of great bars of lead, showing bars of silver; and these had brightened like white fire when the tug, changing its onward course, turned inward to a large landing stage rather beyond Charing Cross.
The great stones of the Embankment seemed equally dark and gigantic as Syme looked up at them.
They were big and black against the huge white dawn.
They made him feel that he was landing on the colossal steps of some Egyptian palace; and, indeed, the thing suited his mood, for he was, in his own mind, mounting to attack the solid thrones of horrible and heathen kings.
He leapt out of the boat on to one slimy step, and stood, a dark and slender figure, amid the enormous masonry.
The two men in the tug put her off again and turned up stream.
They had never spoken a word.
CHAPTER V
THE FEAST OF FEAR
AT first the large stone stair seemed to Syme as deserted as a pyramid; but before he reached the top he had realised that there was a man leaning over the parapet of the Embankment and looking out across the river.
As a figure he was quite conventional, clad in a silk hat and frock - coat of the more formal type of fashion; he had a red flower in his buttonhole.
This scrap of hair almost seemed a mere oversight; the rest of the face was of the type that is best shaven--clear - cut, ascetic, and in its way noble.
Syme drew closer and closer, noting all this, and still the figure did not stir.
At first an instinct had told Syme that this was the man whom he was meant to meet.
Then, seeing that the man made no sign, he had concluded that he was not.
And now again he had come back to a certainty that the man had something to do with his mad adventure.
For the man remained more still than would have been natural if a stranger had come so close.
He was as motionless as a wax - work, and got on the nerves somewhat in the same way.
Syme looked again and again at the pale, dignified and delicate face, and the face still looked blankly across the river.
Then he took out of his pocket the note from Buttons proving his election, and put it before that sad and beautiful face.
Then the man smiled, and his smile was a shock, for it was all on one side, going up in the right cheek and down in the left.
There was nothing, rationally speaking, to scare anyone about this.
Many people have this nervous trick of a crooked smile, and in many it is even attractive.
But in all Syme's circumstances, with the dark dawn and the deadly errand and the loneliness on the great dripping stones, there was something unnerving in it.
There was the silent river and the silent man, a man of even classic face.
And there was the last nightmare touch that his smile suddenly went wrong.
The spasm of smile was instantaneous, and the man's face dropped at once into its harmonious melancholy.
He spoke without further explanation or inquiry, like a man speaking to an old colleague.
" If we walk up towards Leicester Square," he said, " we shall just be in time for breakfast.
Sunday always insists on an early breakfast.
Have you had any sleep?"
" No," said Syme.
" Nor have I," answered the man in an ordinary tone.
" I shall try to get to bed after breakfast."
He spoke with casual civility, but in an utterly dead voice that contradicted the fanaticism of his face.
It seemed almost as if all friendly words were to him lifeless conveniences, and that his only life was hate.
After a pause the man spoke again.
" Of course, the Secretary of the branch told you everything that can be told.
But the one thing that can never be told is the last notion of the President, for his notions grow like a tropical forest.
So in case you don't know, I'd better tell you that he is carrying out his notion of concealing ourselves by not concealing ourselves to the most extraordinary lengths just now.
Originally, of course, we met in a cell underground, just as your branch does.
Then Sunday made us take a private room at an ordinary restaurant.
He said that if you didn't seem to be hiding nobody hunted you out.
Well, he is the only man on earth, I know; but sometimes I really think that his huge brain is going a little mad in its old age.
For now we flaunt ourselves before the public.
We have our breakfast on a balcony--on a balcony, if you please--overlooking Leicester Square."
" And what do the people say?"
asked Syme.
" It's quite simple what they say," answered his guide.
" They say we are a lot of jolly gentlemen who pretend they are anarchists."
" It seems to me a very clever idea," said Syme.
" Clever!
God blast your impudence!
Clever!"
cried out the other in a sudden, shrill voice which was as startling and discordant as his crooked smile.
" When you've seen Sunday for a split second you'll leave off calling him clever."
With this they emerged out of a narrow street, and saw the early sunlight filling Leicester Square.
It will never be known, I suppose, why this square itself should look so alien and in some ways so continental.
It will never be known whether it was the foreign look that attracted the foreigners or the foreigners who gave it the foreign look.
But on this particular morning the effect seemed singularly bright and clear.
Between the open square and the sunlit leaves and the statue and the Saracenic outlines of the Alhambra, it looked the replica of some French or even Spanish public place.
And this effect increased in Syme the sensation, which in many shapes he had had through the whole adventure, the eerie sensation of having strayed into a new world.
As a fact, he had bought bad cigars round Leicester Square ever since he was a boy.
But as he turned that corner, and saw the trees and the Moorish cupolas, he could have sworn that he was turning into an unknown Place de something or other in some foreign town.
At one corner of the square there projected a kind of angle of a prosperous but quiet hotel, the bulk of which belonged to a street behind.
In the wall there was one large French window, probably the window of a large coffee - room; and outside this window, almost literally overhanging the square, was a formidably buttressed balcony, big enough to contain a dining - table.
Some of their jokes could almost be heard across the square.
Then the grave Secretary gave his unnatural smile, and Syme knew that this boisterous breakfast party was the secret conclave of the European Dynamiters.
Then, as Syme continued to stare at them, he saw something that he had not seen before.
He had not seen it literally because it was too large to see.
At the nearest end of the balcony, blocking up a great part of the perspective, was the back of a great mountain of a man.
When Syme had seen him, his first thought was that the weight of him must break down the balcony of stone.
His vastness did not lie only in the fact that he was abnormally tall and quite incredibly fat.
This man was planned enormously in his original proportions, like a statue carved deliberately as colossal.
His head, crowned with white hair, as seen from behind looked bigger than a head ought to be.
The ears that stood out from it looked larger than human ears.
He was enlarged terribly to scale; and this sense of size was so staggering, that when Syme saw him all the other figures seemed quite suddenly to dwindle and become dwarfish.
They were still sitting there as before with their flowers and frock - coats, but now it looked as if the big man was entertaining five children to tea.
As Syme and the guide approached the side door of the hotel, a waiter came out smiling with every tooth in his head.
" The gentlemen are up there, sare," he said.
" They do talk and they do laugh at what they talk.
They do say they will throw bombs at ze king."
And the waiter hurried away with a napkin over his arm, much pleased with the singular frivolity of the gentlemen upstairs.
The two men mounted the stairs in silence.
Syme had never thought of asking whether the monstrous man who almost filled and broke the balcony was the great President of whom the others stood in awe.
He knew it was so, with an unaccountable but instantaneous certainty.
Syme, indeed, was one of those men who are open to all the more nameless psychological influences in a degree a little dangerous to mental health.
Utterly devoid of fear in physical dangers, he was a great deal too sensitive to the smell of spiritual evil.
Twice already that night little unmeaning things had peeped out at him almost pruriently, and given him a sense of drawing nearer and nearer to the head - quarters of hell.
And this sense became overpowering as he drew nearer to the great President.
The form it took was a childish and yet hateful fancy.
As he walked across the inner room towards the balcony, the large face of Sunday grew larger and larger; and Syme was gripped with a fear that when he was quite close the face would be too big to be possible, and that he would scream aloud.
He remembered that as a child he would not look at the mask of Memnon in the British Museum, because it was a face, and so large.
By an effort, braver than that of leaping over a cliff, he went to an empty seat at the breakfast - table and sat down.
The men greeted him with good - humoured raillery as if they had always known him.
He sobered himself a little by looking at their conventional coats and solid, shining coffee - pot; then he looked again at Sunday.
His face was very large, but it was still possible to humanity.
One man indeed stood out at even a superficial glance.
He at least was the common or garden Dynamiter.
But the eyes did look out of the tangle, and they were the sad eyes of some Russian serf.
The effect of this figure was not terrible like that of the President, but it had every diablerie that can come from the utterly grotesque.
If out of that stiff tie and collar there had come abruptly the head of a cat or a dog, it could not have been a more idiotic contrast.
The man's name, it seemed, was Gogol; he was a Pole, and in this circle of days he was called Tuesday.
His soul and speech were incurably tragic; he could not force himself to play the prosperous and frivolous part demanded of him by President Sunday.
And, indeed, when Syme came in the President, with that daring disregard of public suspicion which was his policy, was actually chaffing Gogol upon his inability to assume conventional graces.
" Our friend Tuesday," said the President in a deep voice at once of quietude and volume, " our friend Tuesday doesn't seem to grasp the idea.
He dresses up like a gentleman, but he seems to be too great a soul to behave like one.
He insists on the ways of the stage conspirator.
Now if a gentleman goes about London in a top hat and a frock - coat, no one need know that he is an anarchist.
But if a gentleman puts on a top hat and a frock - coat, and then goes about on his hands and knees--well, he may attract attention.
That's what Brother Gogol does.
He goes about on his hands and knees with such inexhaustible diplomacy, that by this time he finds it quite difficult to walk upright."
" I am not good at goncealment," said Gogol sulkily, with a thick foreign accent; " I am not ashamed of the cause."
" Yes you are, my boy, and so is the cause of you," said the President good - naturedly.
" You hide as much as anybody; but you can't do it, you see, you're such an ass!
You try to combine two inconsistent methods.
When a householder finds a man under his bed, he will probably pause to note the circumstance.
But if he finds a man under his bed in a top hat, you will agree with me, my dear Tuesday, that he is not likely even to forget it.
Now when you were found under Admiral Biffin's bed --"
" I am not good at deception," said Tuesday gloomily, flushing.
" Right, my boy, right," said the President with a ponderous heartiness, " you aren't good at anything."
While this stream of conversation continued, Syme was looking more steadily at the men around him.
As he did so, he gradually felt all his sense of something spiritually queer return.
He had thought at first that they were all of common stature and costume, with the evident exception of the hairy Gogol.
But as he looked at the others, he began to see in each of them exactly what he had seen in the man by the river, a demoniac detail somewhere.
That lop - sided laugh, which would suddenly disfigure the fine face of his original guide, was typical of all these types.
Each man had something about him, perceived perhaps at the tenth or twentieth glance, which was not normal, and which seemed hardly human.
The only metaphor he could think of was this, that they all looked as men of fashion and presence would look, with the additional twist given in a false and curved mirror.
Only the individual examples will express this half - concealed eccentricity.
Syme's original cicerone bore the title of Monday; he was the Secretary of the Council, and his twisted smile was regarded with more terror than anything, except the President's horrible, happy laughter.
But now that Syme had more space and light to observe him, there were other touches.
His fine face was so emaciated, that Syme thought it must be wasted with some disease; yet somehow the very distress of his dark eyes denied this.
It was no physical ill that troubled him.
His eyes were alive with intellectual torture, as if pure thought was pain.
He was typical of each of the tribe; each man was subtly and differently wrong.
Next to him sat Tuesday, the tousle - headed Gogol, a man more obviously mad.
Next was Wednesday, a certain Marquis de St. Eustache, a sufficiently characteristic figure.
The first few glances found nothing unusual about him, except that he was the only man at table who wore the fashionable clothes as if they were really his own.
He had a black French beard cut square and a black English frock - coat cut even squarer.
But Syme, sensitive to such things, felt somehow that the man carried a rich atmosphere with him, a rich atmosphere that suffocated.
It reminded one irrationally of drowsy odours and of dying lamps in the darker poems of Byron and Poe.
With this went a sense of his being clad, not in lighter colours, but in softer materials; his black seemed richer and warmer than the black shades about him, as if it were compounded of profound colour.
His black coat looked as if it were only black by being too dense a purple.
His black beard looked as if it were only black by being too deep a blue.
And in the gloom and thickness of the beard his dark red mouth showed sensual and scornful.
Whatever he was he was not a Frenchman; he might be a Jew; he might be something deeper yet in the dark heart of the East.
In the bright coloured Persian tiles and pictures showing tyrants hunting, you may see just those almond eyes, those blue - black beards, those cruel, crimson lips.
Then came Syme, and next a very old man, Professor de Worms, who still kept the chair of Friday, though every day it was expected that his death would leave it empty.
Save for his intellect, he was in the last dissolution of senile decay.
His face was as grey as his long grey beard, his forehead was lifted and fixed finally in a furrow of mild despair.
In no other case, not even that of Gogol, did the bridegroom brilliancy of the morning dress express a more painful contrast.
For the red flower in his button - hole showed up against a face that was literally discoloured like lead; the whole hideous effect was as if some drunken dandies had put their clothes upon a corpse.
When he rose or sat down, which was with long labour and peril, something worse was expressed than mere weakness, something indefinably connected with the horror of the whole scene.
It did not express decrepitude merely, but corruption.
Another hateful fancy crossed Syme's quivering mind.
He could not help thinking that whenever the man moved a leg or arm might fall off.
Right at the end sat the man called Saturday, the simplest and the most baffling of all.
He was a short, square man with a dark, square face clean - shaven, a medical practitioner going by the name of Bull.
He had that combination of savoir - faire with a sort of well - groomed coarseness which is not uncommon in young doctors.
He carried his fine clothes with confidence rather than ease, and he mostly wore a set smile.
There was nothing whatever odd about him, except that he wore a pair of dark, almost opaque spectacles.
It may have been merely a crescendo of nervous fancy that had gone before, but those black discs were dreadful to Syme; they reminded him of half - remembered ugly tales, of some story about pennies being put on the eyes of the dead.
Syme's eye always caught the black glasses and the blind grin.
Had the dying Professor worn them, or even the pale Secretary, they would have been appropriate.
But on the younger and grosser man they seemed only an enigma.
They took away the key of the face.
You could not tell what his smile or his gravity meant.
Partly from this, and partly because he had a vulgar virility wanting in most of the others it seemed to Syme that he might be the wickedest of all those wicked men.
Syme even had the thought that his eyes might be covered up because they were too frightful to see.
CHAPTER VI
THE EXPOSURE
SUCH were the six men who had sworn to destroy the world.
Again and again Syme strove to pull together his common sense in their presence.
Sometimes he saw for an instant that these notions were subjective, that he was only looking at ordinary men, one of whom was old, another nervous, another short - sighted.
The sense of an unnatural symbolism always settled back on him again.
Each figure seemed to be, somehow, on the borderland of things, just as their theory was on the borderland of thought.
He knew that each one of these men stood at the extreme end, so to speak, of some wild road of reasoning.
So these figures seemed to stand up, violent and unaccountable, against an ultimate horizon, visions from the verge.
The ends of the earth were closing in.
Talk had been going on steadily as he took in the scene; and not the least of the contrasts of that bewildering breakfast - table was the contrast between the easy and unobtrusive tone of talk and its terrible purport.
They were deep in the discussion of an actual and immediate plot.
The waiter downstairs had spoken quite correctly when he said that they were talking about bombs and kings.
Only three days afterwards the Czar was to meet the President of the French Republic in Paris, and over their bacon and eggs upon their sunny balcony these beaming gentlemen had decided how both should die.
Even the instrument was chosen; the black - bearded Marquis, it appeared, was to carry the bomb.
Ordinarily speaking, the proximity of this positive and objective crime would have sobered Syme, and cured him of all his merely mystical tremors.
He would have thought of nothing but the need of saving at least two human bodies from being ripped in pieces with iron and roaring gas.
But the truth was that by this time he had begun to feel a third kind of fear, more piercing and practical than either his moral revulsion or his social responsibility.
Very simply, he had no fear to spare for the French President or the Czar; he had begun to fear for himself.
Most of the talkers took little heed of him, debating now with their faces closer together, and almost uniformly grave, save when for an instant the smile of the Secretary ran aslant across his face as the jagged lightning runs aslant across the sky.
But there was one persistent thing which first troubled Syme and at last terrified him.
The President was always looking at him, steadily, and with a great and baffling interest.
The enormous man was quite quiet, but his blue eyes stood out of his head.
And they were always fixed on Syme.
Syme felt moved to spring up and leap over the balcony.
When the President's eyes were on him he felt as if he were made of glass.
He had hardly the shred of a doubt that in some silent and extraordinary way Sunday had found out that he was a spy.
He looked over the edge of the balcony, and saw a policeman, standing abstractedly just beneath, staring at the bright railings and the sunlit trees.
Then there fell upon him the great temptation that was to torment him for many days.
In the presence of these powerful and repulsive men, who were the princes of anarchy, he had almost forgotten the frail and fanciful figure of the poet Gregory, the mere aesthete of anarchism.
He even thought of him now with an old kindness, as if they had played together when children.
But he remembered that he was still tied to Gregory by a great promise.
He had promised never to do the very thing that he now felt himself almost in the act of doing.
He had promised not to jump over that balcony and speak to that policeman.
He took his cold hand off the cold stone balustrade.
His soul swayed in a vertigo of moral indecision.
He had only to snap the thread of a rash vow made to a villainous society, and all his life could be as open and sunny as the square beneath him.
He had, on the other hand, only to keep his antiquated honour, and be delivered inch by inch into the power of this great enemy of mankind, whose very intellect was a torture - chamber.
Whenever he looked down into the square he saw the comfortable policeman, a pillar of common sense and common order.
Whenever he looked back at the breakfast - table he saw the President still quietly studying him with big, unbearable eyes.
In all the torrent of his thought there were two thoughts that never crossed his mind.
First, it never occurred to him to doubt that the President and his Council could crush him if he continued to stand alone.
The place might be public, the project might seem impossible.
But Sunday was not the man who would carry himself thus easily without having, somehow or somewhere, set open his iron trap.
Either by anonymous poison or sudden street accident, by hypnotism or by fire from hell, Sunday could certainly strike him.
If he defied the man he was probably dead, either struck stiff there in his chair or long afterwards as by an innocent ailment.
If he called in the police promptly, arrested everyone, told all, and set against them the whole energy of England, he would probably escape; certainly not otherwise.
They were a balconyful of gentlemen overlooking a bright and busy square; but he felt no more safe with them than if they had been a boatful of armed pirates overlooking an empty sea.
There was a second thought that never came to him.
It never occurred to him to be spiritually won over to the enemy.
Many moderns, inured to a weak worship of intellect and force, might have wavered in their allegiance under this oppression of a great personality.
They might have called Sunday the super - man.
If any such creature be conceivable, he looked, indeed, somewhat like it, with his earth - shaking abstraction, as of a stone statue walking.
He might have been called something above man, with his large plans, which were too obvious to be detected, with his large face, which was too frank to be understood.
But this was a kind of modern meanness to which Syme could not sink even in his extreme morbidity.
Like any man, he was coward enough to fear great force; but he was not quite coward enough to admire it.
The men were eating as they talked, and even in this they were typical.
Dr. Bull and the Marquis ate casually and conventionally of the best things on the table--cold pheasant or Strasbourg pie.
But the Secretary was a vegetarian, and he spoke earnestly of the projected murder over half a raw tomato and three quarters of a glass of tepid water.
The old Professor had such slops as suggested a sickening second childhood.
And even in this President Sunday preserved his curious predominance of mere mass.
For he ate like twenty men; he ate incredibly, with a frightful freshness of appetite, so that it was like watching a sausage factory.
Yet continually, when he had swallowed a dozen crumpets or drunk a quart of coffee, he would be found with his great head on one side staring at Syme.
" I have often wondered," said the Marquis, taking a great bite out of a slice of bread and jam, " whether it wouldn't be better for me to do it with a knife.
Most of the best things have been brought off with a knife.
And it would be a new emotion to get a knife into a French President and wriggle it round."
" You are wrong," said the Secretary, drawing his black brows together.
" The knife was merely the expression of the old personal quarrel with a personal tyrant.
Dynamite is not only our best tool, but our best symbol.
It is as perfect a symbol of us as is incense of the prayers of the Christians.
It expands; it only destroys because it broadens; even so, thought only destroys because it broadens.
A man's brain is a bomb," he cried out, loosening suddenly his strange passion and striking his own skull with violence.
" My brain feels like a bomb, night and day.
It must expand!
It must expand!
A man's brain must expand, if it breaks up the universe."
" I don't want the universe broken up just yet," drawled the Marquis.
" I want to do a lot of beastly things before I die.
I thought of one yesterday in bed."
" No, if the only end of the thing is nothing," said Dr. Bull with his sphinx - like smile, " it hardly seems worth doing."
The old Professor was staring at the ceiling with dull eyes.
" Every man knows in his heart," he said, " that nothing is worth doing."
There was a singular silence, and then the Secretary said --
" We are wandering, however, from the point.
The only question is how Wednesday is to strike the blow.
I take it we should all agree with the original notion of a bomb.
As to the actual arrangements, I should suggest that tomorrow morning he should go first of all to --"
The speech was broken off short under a vast shadow.
President Sunday had risen to his feet, seeming to fill the sky above them.
" Before we discuss that," he said in a small, quiet voice, " let us go into a private room.
I have something vent particular to say."
Syme stood up before any of the others.
The instant of choice had come at last, the pistol was at his head.
On the pavement before he could hear the policeman idly stir and stamp, for the morning, though bright, was cold.
A barrel - organ in the street suddenly sprang with a jerk into a jovial tune.
Syme stood up taut, as if it had been a bugle before the battle.
He found himself filled with a supernatural courage that came from nowhere.
That jingling music seemed full of the vivacity, the vulgarity, and the irrational valour of the poor, who in all those unclean streets were all clinging to the decencies and the charities of Christendom.
His youthful prank of being a policeman had faded from his mind; he did not think of himself as the representative of the corps of gentlemen turned into fancy constables, or of the old eccentric who lived in the dark room.
But he did feel himself as the ambassador of all these common and kindly people in the street, who every day marched into battle to the music of the barrel - organ.
And this high pride in being human had lifted him unaccountably to an infinite height above the monstrous men around him.
For an instant, at least, he looked down upon all their sprawling eccentricities from the starry pinnacle of the commonplace.
He felt towards them all that unconscious and elementary superiority that a brave man feels over powerful beasts or a wise man over powerful errors.
He knew that he had neither the intellectual nor the physical strength of President Sunday; but in that moment he minded it no more than the fact that he had not the muscles of a tiger or a horn on his nose like a rhinoceros.
All was swallowed up in an ultimate certainty that the President was wrong and that the barrel - organ was right.
There clanged in his mind that unanswerable and terrible truism in the song of Roland --
" Pagens ont tort et Chretiens ont droit."
which in the old nasal French has the clang and groan of great iron.
This liberation of his spirit from the load of his weakness went with a quite clear decision to embrace death.
If the people of the barrel - organ could keep their old - world obligations, so could he.
This very pride in keeping his word was that he was keeping it to miscreants.
It was his last triumph over these lunatics to go down into their dark room and die for something that they could not even understand.
The barrel - organ seemed to give the marching tune with the energy and the mingled noises of a whole orchestra; and he could hear deep and rolling, under all the trumpets of the pride of life, the drums of the pride of death.
The conspirators were already filing through the open window and into the rooms behind.
Syme went last, outwardly calm, but with all his brain and body throbbing with romantic rhythm.
The President led them down an irregular side stair, such as might be used by servants, and into a dim, cold, empty room, with a table and benches, like an abandoned boardroom.
When they were all in, he closed and locked the door.
The first to speak was Gogol, the irreconcilable, who seemed bursting with inarticulate grievance.
" Zso!
Zso!"
he cried, with an obscure excitement, his heavy Polish accent becoming almost impenetrable.
" You zay you nod'ide.
You zay you show himselves.
It is all nuzzinks.
Ven you vant talk importance you run yourselves in a dark box!"
The President seemed to take the foreigner's incoherent satire with entire good humour.
" You can't get hold of it yet, Gogol," he said in a fatherly way.
" When once they have heard us talking nonsense on that balcony they will not care where we go afterwards.
If we had come here first, we should have had the whole staff at the keyhole.
You don't seem to know anything about mankind."
" I die for zem," cried the Pole in thick excitement, " and I slay zare oppressors.
I care not for these games of gonzealment.
I would zmite ze tyrant in ze open square."
" I see, I see," said the President, nodding kindly as he seated himself at the top of a long table.
" You die for mankind first, and then you get up and smite their oppressors.
So that's all right.
And now may I ask you to control your beautiful sentiments, and sit down with the other gentlemen at this table.
For the first time this morning something intelligent is going to be said."
Syme, with the perturbed promptitude he had shown since the original summons, sat down first.
Gogol sat down last, grumbling in his brown beard about gombromise.
No one except Syme seemed to have any notion of the blow that was about to fall.
As for him, he had merely the feeling of a man mounting the scaffold with the intention, at any rate, of making a good speech.
" Comrades," said the President, suddenly rising, " we have spun out this farce long enough.
I have called you down here to tell you something so simple and shocking that even the waiters upstairs (long inured to our levities) might hear some new seriousness in my voice.
Comrades, we were discussing plans and naming places.
I propose, before saying anything else, that those plans and places should not be voted by this meeting, but should be left wholly in the control of some one reliable member.
I suggest Comrade Saturday, Dr.
Bull."
They all stared at him; then they all started in their seats, for the next words, though not loud, had a living and sensational emphasis.
Sunday struck the table.
" Not one word more about the plans and places must be said at this meeting.
Not one tiny detail more about what we mean to do must be mentioned in this company."
Sunday had spent his life in astonishing his followers; but it seemed as if he had never really astonished them until now.
They all moved feverishly in their seats, except Syme.
He sat stiff in his, with his hand in his pocket, and on the handle of his loaded revolver.
When the attack on him came he would sell his life dear.
He would find out at least if the President was mortal.
Sunday went on smoothly --
" You will probably understand that there is only one possible motive for forbidding free speech at this festival of freedom.
Strangers overhearing us matters nothing.
They assume that we are joking.
But what would matter, even unto death, is this, that there should be one actually among us who is not of us, who knows our grave purpose, but does not share it, who --"
The Secretary screamed out suddenly like a woman.
" It can't be!"
he cried, leaping.
" There can't --"
The President flapped his large flat hand on the table like the fin of some huge fish.
" Yes," he said slowly, " there is a spy in this room.
There is a traitor at this table.
I will waste no more words.
His name --"
Syme half rose from his seat, his finger firm on the trigger.
" His name is Gogol," said the President.
" He is that hairy humbug over there who pretends to be a Pole."
Gogol sprang to his feet, a pistol in each hand.
With the same flash three men sprang at his throat.
Even the Professor made an effort to rise.
But Syme saw little of the scene, for he was blinded with a beneficent darkness; he had sunk down into his seat shuddering, in a palsy of passionate relief.
CHAPTER VII
THE UNACCOUNTABLE CONDUCT OF PROFESSOR DE WORMS
" SIT down!"
said Sunday in a voice that he used once or twice in his life, a voice that made men drop drawn swords.
The three who had risen fell away from Gogol, and that equivocal person himself resumed his seat.
" Well, my man," said the President briskly, addressing him as one addresses a total stranger, " will you oblige me by putting your hand in your upper waistcoat pocket and showing me what you have there?"
The alleged Pole was a little pale under his tangle of dark hair, but he put two fingers into the pocket with apparent coolness and pulled out a blue strip of card.
When Syme saw it lying on the table, he woke up again to the world outside him.
For although the card lay at the other extreme of the table, and he could read nothing of the inscription on it, it bore a startling resemblance to the blue card in his own pocket, the card which had been given to him when he joined the anti - anarchist constabulary.
" Pathetic Slav," said the President, " tragic child of Poland, are you prepared in the presence of that card to deny that you are in this company--shall we say de trop?"
" Right oh!"
said the late Gogol.
It made everyone jump to hear a clear, commercial and somewhat cockney voice coming out of that forest of foreign hair.
It was irrational, as if a Chinaman had suddenly spoken with a Scotch accent.
" I gather that you fully understand your position," said Sunday.
" You bet," answered the Pole.
" I see it's a fair cop.
All I say is, I don't believe any Pole could have imitated my accent like I did his."
" I concede the point," said Sunday.
" I believe your own accent to be inimitable, though I shall practise it in my bath.
Do you mind leaving your beard with your card?"
" Not a bit," answered Gogol; and with one finger he ripped off the whole of his shaggy head - covering, emerging with thin red hair and a pale, pert face.
" It was hot," he added.
" I will do you the justice to say," said Sunday, not without a sort of brutal admiration, " that you seem to have kept pretty cool under it.
Now listen to me.
I like you.
The consequence is that it would annoy me for just about two and a half minutes if I heard that you had died in torments.
Well, if you ever tell the police or any human soul about us, I shall have that two and a half minutes of discomfort.
On your discomfort I will not dwell.
Good day.
Mind the step."
The red - haired detective who had masqueraded as Gogol rose to his feet without a word, and walked out of the room with an air of perfect nonchalance.
Yet the astonished Syme was able to realise that this ease was suddenly assumed; for there was a slight stumble outside the door, which showed that the departing detective had not minded the step.
" Time is flying," said the President in his gayest manner, after glancing at his watch, which like everything about him seemed bigger than it ought to be.
" I must go off at once; I have to take the chair at a Humanitarian meeting."
The Secretary turned to him with working eyebrows.
" Would it not be better," he said a little sharply, " to discuss further the details of our project, now that the spy has left us?"
" No, I think not," said the President with a yawn like an unobtrusive earthquake.
" Leave it as it is.
Let Saturday settle it.
I must be off.
Breakfast here next Sunday."
But the late loud scenes had whipped up the almost naked nerves of the Secretary.
He was one of those men who are conscientious even in crime.
" I must protest, President, that the thing is irregular," he said.
" It is a fundamental rule of our society that all plans shall be debated in full council.
Of course, I fully appreciate your forethought when in the actual presence of a traitor --"
" Secretary," said the President seriously, " if you'd take your head home and boil it for a turnip it might be useful.
I can't say.
But it might.
The Secretary reared back in a kind of equine anger.
" I really fail to understand --" he began in high offense.
" That's it, that's it," said the President, nodding a great many times.
" That's where you fail right enough.
You fail to understand.
Why, you dancing donkey," he roared, rising, " you didn't want to be overheard by a spy, didn't you?
How do you know you aren't overheard now?"
And with these words he shouldered his way out of the room, shaking with incomprehensible scorn.
Four of the men left behind gaped after him without any apparent glimmering of his meaning.
Syme alone had even a glimmering, and such as it was it froze him to the bone.
If the last words of the President meant anything, they meant that he had not after all passed unsuspected.
They meant that while Sunday could not denounce him like Gogol, he still could not trust him like the others.
The other four got to their feet grumbling more or less, and betook themselves elsewhere to find lunch, for it was already well past midday.
The Professor went last, very slowly and painfully.
Syme sat long after the rest had gone, revolving his strange position.
He had escaped a thunderbolt, but he was still under a cloud.
At last he rose and made his way out of the hotel into Leicester Square.
The bright, cold day had grown increasingly colder, and when he came out into the street he was surprised by a few flakes of snow.
While he still carried the sword - stick and the rest of Gregory's portable luggage, he had thrown the cloak down and left it somewhere, perhaps on the steam - tug, perhaps on the balcony.
Hoping, therefore, that the snow - shower might be slight, he stepped back out of the street for a moment and stood up under the doorway of a small and greasy hair - dresser's shop, the front window of which was empty, except for a sickly wax lady in evening dress.
Snow, however, began to thicken and fall fast; and Syme, having found one glance at the wax lady quite sufficient to depress his spirits, stared out instead into the white and empty street.
He was considerably astonished to see, standing quite still outside the shop and staring into the window, a man.
His top hat was loaded with snow like the hat of Father Christmas, the white drift was rising round his boots and ankles; but it seemed as if nothing could tear him away from the contemplation of the colourless wax doll in dirty evening dress.
That any human being should stand in such weather looking into such a shop was a matter of sufficient wonder to Syme; but his idle wonder turned suddenly into a personal shock; for he realised that the man standing there was the paralytic old Professor de Worms.
It scarcely seemed the place for a person of his years and infirmities.
Syme was ready to believe anything about the perversions of this dehumanized brotherhood; but even he could not believe that the Professor had fallen in love with that particular wax lady.
He could only suppose that the man's malady (whatever it was) involved some momentary fits of rigidity or trance.
He was not inclined, however, to feel in this case any very compassionate concern.
On the contrary, he rather congratulated himself that the Professor's stroke and his elaborate and limping walk would make it easy to escape from him and leave him miles behind.
For Syme thirsted first and last to get clear of the whole poisonous atmosphere, if only for an hour.
Then he could collect his thoughts, formulate his policy, and decide finally whether he should or should not keep faith with Gregory.
He strolled away through the dancing snow, turned up two or three streets, down through two or three others, and entered a small Soho restaurant for lunch.
He partook reflectively of four small and quaint courses, drank half a bottle of red wine, and ended up over black coffee and a black cigar, still thinking.
He had taken his seat in the upper room of the restaurant, which was full of the chink of knives and the chatter of foreigners.
He remembered that in old days he had imagined that all these harmless and kindly aliens were anarchists.
He shuddered, remembering the real thing.
But even the shudder had the delightful shame of escape.
The wine, the common food, the familiar place, the faces of natural and talkative men, made him almost feel as if the Council of the Seven Days had been a bad dream; and although he knew it was nevertheless an objective reality, it was at least a distant one.
Tall houses and populous streets lay between him and his last sight of the shameful seven; he was free in free London, and drinking wine among the free.
With a somewhat easier action, he took his hat and stick and strolled down the stair into the shop below.
When he entered that lower room he stood stricken and rooted to the spot.
At a small table, close up to the blank window and the white street of snow, sat the old anarchist Professor over a glass of milk, with his lifted livid face and pendent eyelids.
For an instant Syme stood as rigid as the stick he leant upon.
Then with a gesture as of blind hurry, he brushed past the Professor, dashing open the door and slamming it behind him, and stood outside in the snow.
" Can that old corpse be following me?"
he asked himself, biting his yellow moustache.
" I stopped too long up in that room, so that even such leaden feet could catch me up.
One comfort is, with a little brisk walking I can put a man like that as far away as Timbuctoo.
Or am I too fanciful?
Was he really following me?
Surely Sunday would not be such a fool as to send a lame man? "
He set off at a smart pace, twisting and whirling his stick, in the direction of Covent Garden.
As he crossed the great market the snow increased, growing blinding and bewildering as the afternoon began to darken.
The snow - flakes tormented him like a swarm of silver bees.
Getting into his eyes and beard, they added their unremitting futility to his already irritated nerves; and by the time that he had come at a swinging pace to the beginning of Fleet Street, he lost patience, and finding a Sunday teashop, turned into it to take shelter.
He ordered another cup of black coffee as an excuse.
Scarcely had he done so, when Professor de Worms hobbled heavily into the shop, sat down with difficulty and ordered a glass of milk.
Syme's walking - stick had fallen from his hand with a great clang, which confessed the concealed steel.
But the Professor did not look round.
Syme, who was commonly a cool character, was literally gaping as a rustic gapes at a conjuring trick.
He had seen no cab following; he had heard no wheels outside the shop; to all mortal appearances the man had come on foot.
But the old man could only walk like a snail, and Syme had walked like the wind.
He started up and snatched his stick, half crazy with the contradiction in mere arithmetic, and swung out of the swinging doors, leaving his coffee untasted.
An omnibus going to the Bank went rattling by with an unusual rapidity.
He had a violent run of a hundred yards to reach it; but he managed to spring, swaying upon the splash - board and, pausing for an instant to pant, he climbed on to the top.
When he had been seated for about half a minute, he heard behind him a sort of heavy and asthmatic breathing.
Turning sharply, he saw rising gradually higher and higher up the omnibus steps a top hat soiled and dripping with snow, and under the shadow of its brim the short - sighted face and shaky shoulders of Professor de Worms.
He let himself into a seat with characteristic care, and wrapped himself up to the chin in the mackintosh rug.
Every movement of the old man's tottering figure and vague hands, every uncertain gesture and panic - stricken pause, seemed to put it beyond question that he was helpless, that he was in the last imbecility of the body.
He moved by inches, he let himself down with little gasps of caution.
And yet, unless the philosophical entities called time and space have no vestige even of a practical existence, it appeared quite unquestionable that he had run after the omnibus.
Syme sprang erect upon the rocking car, and after staring wildly at the wintry sky, that grew gloomier every moment, he ran down the steps.
He had repressed an elemental impulse to leap over the side.
Too bewildered to look back or to reason, he rushed into one of the little courts at the side of Fleet Street as a rabbit rushes into a hole.
He had a vague idea, if this incomprehensible old Jack - in - the - box was really pursuing him, that in that labyrinth of little streets he could soon throw him off the scent.
He dived in and out of those crooked lanes, which were more like cracks than thoroughfares; and by the time that he had completed about twenty alternate angles and described an unthinkable polygon, he paused to listen for any sound of pursuit.
There was none; there could not in any case have been much, for the little streets were thick with the soundless snow.
Somewhere behind Red Lion Court, however, he noticed a place where some energetic citizen had cleared away the snow for a space of about twenty yards, leaving the wet, glistening cobble - stones.
He thought little of this as he passed it, only plunging into yet another arm of the maze.
But when a few hundred yards farther on he stood still again to listen, his heart stood still also, for he heard from that space of rugged stones the clinking crutch and labouring feet of the infernal cripple.
The sky above was loaded with the clouds of snow, leaving London in a darkness and oppression premature for that hour of the evening.
On each side of Syme the walls of the alley were blind and featureless; there was no little window or any kind of eve.
He felt a new impulse to break out of this hive of houses, and to get once more into the open and lamp - lit street.
Yet he rambled and dodged for a long time before he struck the main thoroughfare.
When he did so, he struck it much farther up than he had fancied.
He came out into what seemed the vast and void of Ludgate Circus, and saw St. Paul's Cathedral sitting in the sky.
At first he was startled to find these great roads so empty, as if a pestilence had swept through the city.
Then he told himself that some degree of emptiness was natural; first because the snow - storm was even dangerously deep, and secondly because it was Sunday.
And at the very word Sunday he bit his lip; the word was henceforth for hire like some indecent pun.
Under the white fog of snow high up in the heaven the whole atmosphere of the city was turned to a very queer kind of green twilight, as of men under the sea.
The sealed and sullen sunset behind the dark dome of St. Paul's had in it smoky and sinister colours--colours of sickly green, dead red or decaying bronze, that were just bright enough to emphasise the solid whiteness of the snow.
But right up against these dreary colours rose the black bulk of the cathedral; and upon the top of the cathedral was a random splash and great stain of snow, still clinging as to an Alpine peak.
It had fallen accidentally, but just so fallen as to half drape the dome from its very topmost point, and to pick out in perfect silver the great orb and the cross.
When Syme saw it he suddenly straightened himself, and made with his sword - stick an involuntary salute.
He knew that that evil figure, his shadow, was creeping quickly or slowly behind him, and he did not care.
It seemed a symbol of human faith and valour that while the skies were darkening that high place of the earth was bright.
The devils might have captured heaven, but they had not yet captured the cross.
He had a new impulse to tear out the secret of this dancing, jumping and pursuing paralytic; and at the entrance of the court as it opened upon the Circus he turned, stick in hand, to face his pursuer.
Professor de Worms came slowly round the corner of the irregular alley behind him, his unnatural form outlined against a lonely gas - lamp, irresistibly recalling that very imaginative figure in the nursery rhymes, " the crooked man who went a crooked mile."
He really looked as if he had been twisted out of shape by the tortuous streets he had been threading.
He came nearer and nearer, the lamplight shining on his lifted spectacles, his lifted, patient face.
Syme waited for him as St. George waited for the dragon, as a man waits for a final explanation or for death.
And the old Professor came right up to him and passed him like a total stranger, without even a blink of his mournful eyelids.
There was something in this silent and unexpected innocence that left Syme in a final fury.
The man's colourless face and manner seemed to assert that the whole following had been an accident.
Syme was galvanised with an energy that was something between bitterness and a burst of boyish derision.
He made a wild gesture as if to knock the old man's hat off, called out something like " Catch me if you can," and went racing away across the white, open Circus.
Concealment was impossible now; and looking back over his shoulder, he could see the black figure of the old gentleman coming after him with long, swinging strides like a man winning a mile race.
But the head upon that bounding body was still pale, grave and professional, like the head of a lecturer upon the body of a harlequin.
This outrageous chase sped across Ludgate Circus, up Ludgate Hill, round St. Paul's Cathedral, along Cheapside, Syme remembering all the nightmares he had ever known.
Then Syme broke away towards the river, and ended almost down by the docks.
He saw the yellow panes of a low, lighted public - house, flung himself into it and ordered beer.
It was a foul tavern, sprinkled with foreign sailors, a place where opium might be smoked or knives drawn.
A moment later Professor de Worms entered the place, sat down carefully, and asked for a glass of milk.
CHAPTER VIII
THE PROFESSOR EXPLAINS
WHEN Gabriel Syme found himself finally established in a chair, and opposite to him, fixed and final also, the lifted eyebrows and leaden eyelids of the Professor, his fears fully returned.
This incomprehensible man from the fierce council, after all, had certainly pursued him.
If the man had one character as a paralytic and another character as a pursuer, the antithesis might make him more interesting, but scarcely more soothing.
It would be a very small comfort that he could not find the Professor out, if by some serious accident the Professor should find him out.
He emptied a whole pewter pot of ale before the professor had touched his milk.
One possibility, however, kept him hopeful and yet helpless.
It was just possible that this escapade signified something other than even a slight suspicion of him.
Perhaps it was some regular form or sign.
Perhaps the foolish scamper was some sort of friendly signal that he ought to have understood.
Perhaps it was a ritual.
Perhaps the new Thursday was always chased along Cheapside, as the new Lord Mayor is always escorted along it.
He was just selecting a tentative inquiry, when the old Professor opposite suddenly and simply cut him short.
Before Syme could ask the first diplomatic question, the old anarchist had asked suddenly, without any sort of preparation --
" Are you a policeman?"
Whatever else Syme had expected, he had never expected anything so brutal and actual as this.
Even his great presence of mind could only manage a reply with an air of rather blundering jocularity.
" A policeman?"
he said, laughing vaguely.
" Whatever made you think of a policeman in connection with me?"
" The process was simple enough," answered the Professor patiently.
" I thought you looked like a policeman.
I think so now."
" Did I take a policeman's hat by mistake out of the restaurant?"
asked Syme, smiling wildly.
" Have I by any chance got a number stuck on to me somewhere?
Have my boots got that watchful look?
Why must I be a policeman?
Do, do let me be a postman."
The old Professor shook his head with a gravity that gave no hope, but Syme ran on with a feverish irony.
" But perhaps I misunderstood the delicacies of your German philosophy.
Perhaps policeman is a relative term.
In an evolutionary sense, sir, the ape fades so gradually into the policeman, that I myself can never detect the shade.
The monkey is only the policeman that may be.
Perhaps a maiden lady on Clapham Common is only the policeman that might have been.
I don't mind being the policeman that might have been.
I don't mind being anything in German thought."
" Are you in the police service?"
said the old man, ignoring all Syme's improvised and desperate raillery.
" Are you a detective?"
Syme's heart turned to stone, but his face never changed.
" Your suggestion is ridiculous," he began.
" Why on earth --"
The old man struck his palsied hand passionately on the rickety table, nearly breaking it.
" Did you hear me ask a plain question, you pattering spy?"
he shrieked in a high, crazy voice.
" Are you, or are you not, a police detective?"
" No!"
answered Syme, like a man standing on the hangman's drop.
" You swear it," said the old man, leaning across to him, his dead face becoming as it were loathsomely alive.
" You swear it!
You swear it!
If you swear falsely, will you be damned?
Will you be sure that the devil dances at your funeral?
Will you see that the nightmare sits on your grave?
Will there really be no mistake?
You are an anarchist, you are a dynamiter!
Above all, you are not in any sense a detective?
You are not in the British police?"
He leant his angular elbow far across the table, and put up his large loose hand like a flap to his ear.
" I am not in the British police," said Syme with insane calm.
Professor de Worms fell back in his chair with a curious air of kindly collapse.
" That's a pity," he said, " because I am."
Syme sprang up straight, sending back the bench behind him with a crash.
" Because you are what?"
he said thickly.
" You are what?"
" I am a policeman," said the Professor with his first broad smile.
and beaming through his spectacles.
" But as you think policeman only a relative term, of course I have nothing to do with you.
I am in the British police force; but as you tell me you are not in the British police force, I can only say that I met you in a dynamiters'club.
I suppose I ought to arrest you."
And with these words he laid on the table before Syme an exact facsimile of the blue card which Syme had in his own waistcoat pocket, the symbol of his power from the police.
Syme had for a flash the sensation that the cosmos had turned exactly upside down, that all trees were growing downwards and that all stars were under his feet.
Then came slowly the opposite conviction.
For the last twenty - four hours the cosmos had really been upside down, but now the capsized universe had come right side up again.
This devil from whom he had been fleeing all day was only an elder brother of his own house, who on the other side of the table lay back and laughed at him.
He did not for the moment ask any questions of detail; he only knew the happy and silly fact that this shadow, which had pursued him with an intolerable oppression of peril, was only the shadow of a friend trying to catch him up.
He knew simultaneously that he was a fool and a free man.
For with any recovery from morbidity there must go a certain healthy humiliation.
There comes a certain point in such conditions when only three things are possible: first a perpetuation of Satanic pride, secondly tears, and third laughter.
Syme's egotism held hard to the first course for a few seconds, and then suddenly adopted the third.
Taking his own blue police ticket from his own waist coat pocket, he tossed it on to the table; then he flung his head back until his spike of yellow beard almost pointed at the ceiling, and shouted with a barbaric laughter.
Even in that close den, perpetually filled with the din of knives, plates, cans, clamorous voices, sudden struggles and stampedes, there was something Homeric in Syme's mirth which made many half - drunken men look round.
" What yer laughing at, guv'nor?"
asked one wondering labourer from the docks.
" At myself," answered Syme, and went off again into the agony of his ecstatic reaction.
" Pull yourself together," said the Professor, " or you'll get hysterical.
Have some more beer.
I'll join you."
" You haven't drunk your milk," said Syme.
" My milk!"
said the other, in tones of withering and unfathomable contempt, " my milk!
Do you think I'd look at the beastly stuff when I'm out of sight of the bloody anarchists?
We're all Christians in this room, though perhaps," he added, glancing around at the reeling crowd, " not strict ones.
Finish my milk?
Great blazes!
yes, I'll finish it right enough!"
and he knocked the tumbler off the table, making a crash of glass and a splash of silver fluid.
Syme was staring at him with a happy curiosity.
" I understand now," he cried; " of course, you're not an old man at all."
" I can't take my face off here," replied Professor de Worms.
" It's rather an elaborate make - up.
As to whether I'm an old man, that's not for me to say.
I was thirty - eight last birthday."
" Yes, but I mean," said Syme impatiently, " there's nothing the matter with you."
" Yes," answered the other dispassionately.
" I am subject to colds."
Syme's laughter at all this had about it a wild weakness of relief.
He laughed at the idea of the paralytic Professor being really a young actor dressed up as if for the foot - lights.
But he felt that he would have laughed as loudly if a pepperpot had fallen over.
The false Professor drank and wiped his false beard.
" Did you know," he asked, " that that man Gogol was one of us?"
" I?
No, I didn't know it," answered Syme in some surprise.
" But didn't you?"
" I knew no more than the dead," replied the man who called himself de Worms.
" I thought the President was talking about me, and I rattled in my boots."
" And I thought he was talking about me," said Syme, with his rather reckless laughter.
" I had my hand on my revolver all the time."
" So had I," said the Professor grimly; " so had Gogol evidently."
Syme struck the table with an exclamation.
" Why, there were three of us there!"
he cried.
" Three out of seven is a fighting number.
If we had only known that we were three!"
The face of Professor de Worms darkened, and he did not look up.
" We were three," he said.
" If we had been three hundred we could still have done nothing."
" Not if we were three hundred against four?"
asked Syme, jeering rather boisterously.
" No," said the Professor with sobriety, " not if we were three hundred against Sunday."
And the mere name struck Syme cold and serious; his laughter had died in his heart before it could die on his lips.
They were both silent for a measure of moments, and then Syme's speech came with a rush, like the sudden foaming of champagne.
" Professor," he cried, " it is intolerable.
Are you afraid of this man?"
The Professor lifted his heavy lids, and gazed at Syme with large, wide - open, blue eyes of an almost ethereal honesty.
" Yes, I am," he said mildly.
" So are you."
Syme was dumb for an instant.
Then he rose to his feet erect, like an insulted man, and thrust the chair away from him.
" Yes," he said in a voice indescribable, " you are right.
I am afraid of him.
Therefore I swear by God that I will seek out this man whom I fear until I find him, and strike him on the mouth.
If heaven were his throne and the earth his footstool, I swear that I would pull him down."
" How?"
asked the staring Professor.
" Why?"
" Because I am afraid of him," said Syme; " and no man should leave in the universe anything of which he is afraid."
De Worms blinked at him with a sort of blind wonder.
He made an effort to speak, but Syme went on in a low voice, but with an undercurrent of inhuman exaltation --
" Who would condescend to strike down the mere things that he does not fear?
Who would debase himself to be merely brave, like any common prizefighter?
Who would stoop to be fearless--like a tree?
Fight the thing that you fear.
You remember the old tale of the English clergyman who gave the last rites to the brigand of Sicily, and how on his death - bed the great robber said,'I can give you no money, but I can give you advice for a lifetime: your thumb on the blade, and strike upwards.'
So I say to you, strike upwards, if you strike at the stars."
The other looked at the ceiling, one of the tricks of his pose.
" Sunday is a fixed star," he said.
" You shall see him a falling star," said Syme, and put on his hat.
The decision of his gesture drew the Professor vaguely to his feet.
" Have you any idea," he asked, with a sort of benevolent bewilderment, " exactly where you are going?"
" Yes," replied Syme shortly, " I am going to prevent this bomb being thrown in Paris."
" Have you any conception how?"
inquired the other.
" No," said Syme with equal decision.
" You remember, of course," resumed the soi - disant de Worms, pulling his beard and looking out of the window, " that when we broke up rather hurriedly the whole arrangements for the atrocity were left in the private hands of the Marquis and Dr. Bull.
The Marquis is by this time probably crossing the Channel.
But where he will go and what he will do it is doubtful whether even the President knows; certainly we don't know.
The only man who does know is Dr. Bull.
" Confound it!"
cried Syme.
" And we don't know where he is."
" Yes," said the other in his curious, absent - minded way, " I know where he is myself."
" Will you tell me?"
asked Syme with eager eyes.
" I will take you there," said the Professor, and took down his own hat from a peg.
Syme stood looking at him with a sort of rigid excitement.
" What do you mean?"
he asked sharply.
" Will you join me?
Will you take the risk?"
" Young man," said the Professor pleasantly, " I am amused to observe that you think I am a coward.
As to that I will say only one word, and that shall be entirely in the manner of your own philosophical rhetoric.
You think that it is possible to pull down the President.
I know that it is impossible, and I am going to try it," and opening the tavern door, which let in a blast of bitter air, they went out together into the dark streets by the docks.
Most of the snow was melted or trampled to mud, but here and there a clot of it still showed grey rather than white in the gloom.
The small streets were sloppy and full of pools, which reflected the flaming lamps irregularly, and by accident, like fragments of some other and fallen world.
Syme felt almost dazed as he stepped through this growing confusion of lights and shadows; but his companion walked on with a certain briskness, towards where, at the end of the street, an inch or two of the lamplit river looked like a bar of flame.
" Where are you going?"
Syme inquired.
" Just now," answered the Professor, " I am going just round the corner to see whether Dr. Bull has gone to bed.
He is hygienic, and retires early."
" Dr.
Bull!"
exclaimed Syme.
" Does he live round the corner?"
" No," answered his friend.
" As a matter of fact he lives some way off, on the other side of the river, but we can tell from here whether he has gone to bed."
Turning the corner as he spoke, and facing the dim river, flecked with flame, he pointed with his stick to the other bank.
On the Surrey side at this point there ran out into the Thames, seeming almost to overhang it, a bulk and cluster of those tall tenements, dotted with lighted windows, and rising like factory chimneys to an almost insane height.
Their special poise and position made one block of buildings especially look like a Tower of Babel with a hundred eyes.
Syme had never seen any of the sky - scraping buildings in America, so he could only think of the buildings in a dream.
Even as he stared, the highest light in this innumerably lighted turret abruptly went out, as if this black Argus had winked at him with one of his innumerable eyes.
Professor de Worms swung round on his heel, and struck his stick against his boot.
" We are too late," he said, " the hygienic Doctor has gone to bed."
" What do you mean?"
asked Syme.
" Does he live over there, then?"
" Yes," said de Worms, " behind that particular window which you can't see.
Come along and get some dinner.
We must call on him tomorrow morning."
Without further parley, he led the way through several by - ways until they came out into the flare and clamour of the East India Dock Road.
The Professor, who seemed to know his way about the neighbourhood, proceeded to a place where the line of lighted shops fell back into a sort of abrupt twilight and quiet, in which an old white inn, all out of repair, stood back some twenty feet from the road.
" You can find good English inns left by accident everywhere, like fossils," explained the Professor.
" I once found a decent place in the West End."
" I suppose," said Syme, smiling, " that this is the corresponding decent place in the East End?"
" It is," said the Professor reverently, and went in.
In that place they dined and slept, both very thoroughly.
The beans and bacon, which these unaccountable people cooked well, the astonishing emergence of Burgundy from their cellars, crowned Syme's sense of a new comradeship and comfort.
Through all this ordeal his root horror had been isolation, and there are no words to express the abyss between isolation and having one ally.
It may be conceded to the mathematicians that four is twice two.
But two is not twice one; two is two thousand times one.
That is why, in spite of a hundred disadvantages, the world will always return to monogamy.
Syme was able to pour out for the first time the whole of his outrageous tale, from the time when Gregory had taken him to the little tavern by the river.
He did it idly and amply, in a luxuriant monologue, as a man speaks with very old friends.
On his side, also, the man who had impersonated Professor de Worms was not less communicative.
His own story was almost as silly as Syme's.
" That's a good get - up of yours," said Syme, draining a glass of Macon; " a lot better than old Gogol's.
Even at the start I thought he was a bit too hairy."
" A difference of artistic theory," replied the Professor pensively.
" Gogol was an idealist.
He made up as the abstract or platonic ideal of an anarchist.
But I am a realist.
I am a portrait painter.
But, indeed, to say that I am a portrait painter is an inadequate expression.
I am a portrait."
" I don't understand you," said Syme.
" I am a portrait," repeated the Professor.
" I am a portrait of the celebrated Professor de Worms, who is, I believe, in Naples."
" You mean you are made up like him," said Syme.
" But doesn't he know that you are taking his nose in vain?"
" He knows it right enough," replied his friend cheerfully.
" Then why doesn't he denounce you?"
" I have denounced him," answered the Professor.
" Do explain yourself," said Syme.
" With pleasure, if you don't mind hearing my story," replied the eminent foreign philosopher.
" I am by profession an actor, and my name is Wilks.
When I was on the stage I mixed with all sorts of Bohemian and blackguard company.
Sometimes I touched the edge of the turf, sometimes the riff - raff of the arts, and occasionally the political refugee.
In some den of exiled dreamers I was introduced to the great German Nihilist philosopher, Professor de Worms.
I did not gather much about him beyond his appearance, which was very disgusting, and which I studied carefully.
I understood that he had proved that the destructive principle in the universe was God; hence he insisted on the need for a furious and incessant energy, rending all things in pieces.
Energy, he said, was the All.
He was lame, shortsighted, and partially paralytic.
When I met him I was in a frivolous mood, and I disliked him so much that I resolved to imitate him.
If I had been a draughtsman I would have drawn a caricature.
I was only an actor, I could only act a caricature.
I made myself up into what was meant for a wild exaggeration of the old Professor's dirty old self.
When I went into the room full of his supporters I expected to be received with a roar of laughter, or (if they were too far gone) with a roar of indignation at the insult.
I cannot describe the surprise I felt when my entrance was received with a respectful silence, followed (when I had first opened my lips) with a murmur of admiration.
The curse of the perfect artist had fallen upon me.
I had been too subtle, I had been too true.
They thought I really was the great Nihilist Professor.
I was a healthy - minded young man at the time, and I confess that it was a blow.
Before I could fully recover, however, two or three of these admirers ran up to me radiating indignation, and told me that a public insult had been put upon me in the next room.
I inquired its nature.
It seemed that an impertinent fellow had dressed himself up as a preposterous parody of myself.
I had drunk more champagne than was good for me, and in a flash of folly I decided to see the situation through.
Consequently it was to meet the glare of the company and my own lifted eyebrows and freezing eyes that the real Professor came into the room.
" I need hardly say there was a collision.
The pessimists all round me looked anxiously from one Professor to the other Professor to see which was really the more feeble.
But I won.
An old man in poor health, like my rival, could not be expected to be so impressively feeble as a young actor in the prime of life.
You see, he really had paralysis, and working within this definite limitation, he couldn't be so jolly paralytic as I was.
Then he tried to blast my claims intellectually.
I countered that by a very simple dodge.
Whenever he said something that nobody but he could understand, I replied with something which I could not even understand myself.
' I don't fancy,' he said,'that you could have worked out the principle that evolution is only negation, since there inheres in it the introduction of lacuna, which are an essential of differentiation.'
I replied quite scornfully,'You read all that up in Pinckwerts; the notion that involution functioned eugenically was exposed long ago by Glumpe.'
It is unnecessary for me to say that there never were such people as Pinckwerts and Glumpe.
But the people all round (rather to my surprise) seemed to remember them quite well, and the Professor, finding that the learned and mysterious method left him rather at the mercy of an enemy slightly deficient in scruples, fell back upon a more popular form of wit.
' I see,' he sneered,'you prevail like the false pig in Aesop.'
' And you fail,' I answered, smiling,'like the hedgehog in Montaigne.'
Need I say that there is no hedgehog in Montaigne?
' Your claptrap comes off,' he said;'so would your beard.'
I had no intelligent answer to this, which was quite true and rather witty.
But I laughed heartily, answered,'Like the Pantheist's boots,' at random, and turned on my heel with all the honours of victory.
The real Professor was thrown out, but not with violence, though one man tried very patiently to pull off his nose.
He is now, I believe, received everywhere in Europe as a delightful impostor.
His apparent earnestness and anger, you see, make him all the more entertaining."
" Well," said Syme, " I can understand your putting on his dirty old beard for a night's practical joke, but I don't understand your never taking it off again."
" That is the rest of the story," said the impersonator.
" When I myself left the company, followed by reverent applause, I went limping down the dark street, hoping that I should soon be far enough away to be able to walk like a human being.
To my astonishment, as I was turning the corner, I felt a touch on the shoulder, and turning, found myself under the shadow of an enormous policeman.
He told me I was wanted.
I struck a sort of paralytic attitude, and cried in a high German accent,'Yes, I am wanted--by the oppressed of the world.
You are arresting me on the charge of being the great anarchist, Professor de Worms.'
The policeman impassively consulted a paper in his hand,'No, sir,' he said civilly,'at least, not exactly, sir.
I am arresting you on the charge of not being the celebrated anarchist, Professor de Worms.'
This charge, if it was criminal at all, was certainly the lighter of the two, and I went along with the man, doubtful, but not greatly dismayed.
I was shown into a number of rooms, and eventually into the presence of a police officer, who explained that a serious campaign had been opened against the centres of anarchy, and that this, my successful masquerade, might be of considerable value to the public safety.
He offered me a good salary and this little blue card.
Though our conversation was short, he struck me as a man of very massive common sense and humour; but I cannot tell you much about him personally, because --"
Syme laid down his knife and fork.
" I know," he said, " because you talked to him in a dark room."
Professor de Worms nodded and drained his glass.
CHAPTER IX
THE MAN IN SPECTACLES
" BURGUNDY is a jolly thing," said the Professor sadly, as he set his glass down.
" You don't look as if it were," said Syme; " you drink it as if it were medicine."
" You must excuse my manner," said the Professor dismally, " my position is rather a curious one.
Inside I am really bursting with boyish merriment; but I acted the paralytic Professor so well, that now I can't leave off.
So that when I am among friends, and have no need at all to disguise myself, I still can't help speaking slow and wrinkling my forehead--just as if it were my forehead.
I can be quite happy, you understand, but only in a paralytic sort of way.
The most buoyant exclamations leap up in my heart, but they come out of my mouth quite different.
You should hear me say,'Buck up, old cock!'
It would bring tears to your eyes."
" It does," said Syme; " but I cannot help thinking that apart from all that you are really a bit worried."
The Professor started a little and looked at him steadily.
" You are a very clever fellow," he said, " it is a pleasure to work with you.
Yes, I have rather a heavy cloud in my head.
There is a great problem to face," and he sank his bald brow in his two hands.
Then he said in a low voice --
" Can you play the piano?"
" Yes," said Syme in simple wonder, " I'm supposed to have a good touch."
Then, as the other did not speak, he added --
" I trust the great cloud is lifted."
After a long silence, the Professor said out of the cavernous shadow of his hands --
" It would have done just as well if you could work a typewriter."
" Thank you," said Syme, " you flatter me."
" Listen to me," said the other, " and remember whom we have to see tomorrow.
You and I are going tomorrow to attempt something which is very much more dangerous than trying to steal the Crown Jewels out of the Tower.
We are trying to steal a secret from a very sharp, very strong, and very wicked man.
I believe there is no man, except the President, of course, who is so seriously startling and formidable as that little grinning fellow in goggles.
He has not perhaps the white - hot enthusiasm unto death, the mad martyrdom for anarchy, which marks the Secretary.
But then that very fanaticism in the Secretary has a human pathos, and is almost a redeeming trait.
But the little Doctor has a brutal sanity that is more shocking than the Secretary's disease.
Don't you notice his detestable virility and vitality.
He bounces like an india - rubber ball.
Depend on it, Sunday was not asleep (I wonder if he ever sleeps?)
when he locked up all the plans of this outrage in the round, black head of Dr.
Bull."
" And you think," said Syme, " that this unique monster will be soothed if I play the piano to him?"
" Don't be an ass," said his mentor.
" I mentioned the piano because it gives one quick and independent fingers.
Syme, if we are to go through this interview and come out sane or alive, we must have some code of signals between us that this brute will not see.
I have made a rough alphabetical cypher corresponding to the five fingers--like this, see," and he rippled with his fingers on the wooden table --" B A D, bad, a word we may frequently require."
Syme poured himself out another glass of wine, and began to study the scheme.
He was abnormally quick with his brains at puzzles, and with his hands at conjuring, and it did not take him long to learn how he might convey simple messages by what would seem to be idle taps upon a table or knee.
But wine and companionship had always the effect of inspiring him to a farcical ingenuity, and the Professor soon found himself struggling with the too vast energy of the new language, as it passed through the heated brain of Syme.
" We must have several word - signs," said Syme seriously --" words that we are likely to want, fine shades of meaning.
My favourite word is'coeval '.
What's yours?"
" Do stop playing the goat," said the Professor plaintively.
" You don't know how serious this is."
' Lush'too," said Syme, shaking his head sagaciously, " we must have'lush '-- word applied to grass, don't you know?"
" Do you imagine," asked the Professor furiously, " that we are going to talk to Dr. Bull about grass?"
" There are several ways in which the subject could be approached," said Syme reflectively, " and the word introduced without appearing forced.
We might say,'Dr.
Bull, as a revolutionist, you remember that a tyrant once advised us to eat grass; and indeed many of us, looking on the fresh lush grass of summer '
" Do you understand," said the other, " that this is a tragedy?"
" Perfectly," replied Syme; " always be comic in a tragedy.
What the deuce else can you do?
I wish this language of yours had a wider scope.
I suppose we could not extend it from the fingers to the toes?
That would involve pulling off our boots and socks during the conversation, which however unobtrusively performed --"
" Syme," said his friend with a stern simplicity, " go to bed!"
Syme, however, sat up in bed for a considerable time mastering the new code.
He was awakened next morning while the east was still sealed with darkness, and found his grey - bearded ally standing like a ghost beside his bed.
Syme sat up in bed blinking; then slowly collected his thoughts, threw off the bed - clothes, and stood up.
It seemed to him in some curious way that all the safety and sociability of the night before fell with the bedclothes off him, and he stood up in an air of cold danger.
He still felt an entire trust and loyalty towards his companion; but it was the trust between two men going to the scaffold.
" Well," said Syme with a forced cheerfulness as he pulled on his trousers, " I dreamt of that alphabet of yours.
Did it take you long to make it up?"
The Professor made no answer, but gazed in front of him with eyes the colour of a wintry sea; so Syme repeated his question.
" I say, did it take you long to invent all this?
I'm considered good at these things, and it was a good hour's grind.
Did you learn it all on the spot?"
The Professor was silent; his eyes were wide open, and he wore a fixed but very small smile.
" How long did it take you?"
The Professor did not move.
" Confound you, can't you answer?"
called out Syme, in a sudden anger that had something like fear underneath.
Whether or no the Professor could answer, he did not.
Syme stood staring back at the stiff face like parchment and the blank, blue eyes.
His first thought was that the Professor had gone mad, but his second thought was more frightful.
After all, what did he know about this queer creature whom he had heedlessly accepted as a friend?
What did he know, except that the man had been at the anarchist breakfast and had told him a ridiculous tale?
How improbable it was that there should be another friend there beside Gogol!
Was this man's silence a sensational way of declaring war?
Was this adamantine stare after all only the awful sneer of some threefold traitor, who had turned for the last time?
He stood and strained his ears in this heartless silence.
He almost fancied he could hear dynamiters come to capture him shifting softly in the corridor outside.
Then his eye strayed downwards, and he burst out laughing.
Though the Professor himself stood there as voiceless as a statue, his five dumb fingers were dancing alive upon the dead table.
Syme watched the twinkling movements of the talking hand, and read clearly the message --
" I will only talk like this.
We must get used to it."
He rapped out the answer with the impatience of relief --
" All right.
Let's get out to breakfast."
They took their hats and sticks in silence; but as Syme took his sword - stick, he held it hard.
They paused for a few minutes only to stuff down coffee and coarse thick sandwiches at a coffee stall, and then made their way across the river, which under the grey and growing light looked as desolate as Acheron.
They reached the bottom of the huge block of buildings which they had seen from across the river, and began in silence to mount the naked and numberless stone steps, only pausing now and then to make short remarks on the rail of the banisters.
At about every other flight they passed a window; each window showed them a pale and tragic dawn lifting itself laboriously over London.
From each the innumerable roofs of slate looked like the leaden surges of a grey, troubled sea after rain.
Syme was increasingly conscious that his new adventure had somehow a quality of cold sanity worse than the wild adventures of the past.
Last night, for instance, the tall tenements had seemed to him like a tower in a dream.
As he now went up the weary and perpetual steps, he was daunted and bewildered by their almost infinite series.
But it was not the hot horror of a dream or of anything that might be exaggeration or delusion.
Their infinity was more like the empty infinity of arithmetic, something unthinkable, yet necessary to thought.
Or it was like the stunning statements of astronomy about the distance of the fixed stars.
He was ascending the house of reason, a thing more hideous than unreason itself.
By the time they reached Dr. Bull's landing, a last window showed them a harsh, white dawn edged with banks of a kind of coarse red, more like red clay than red cloud.
And when they entered Dr. Bull's bare garret it was full of light.
Syme had been haunted by a half historic memory in connection with these empty rooms and that austere daybreak.
The moment he saw the garret and Dr. Bull sitting writing at a table, he remembered what the memory was--the French Revolution.
There should have been the black outline of a guillotine against that heavy red and white of the morning.
Dr. Bull was in his white shirt and black breeches only; his cropped, dark head might well have just come out of its wig; he might have been Marat or a more slipshod Robespierre.
Yet when he was seen properly, the French fancy fell away.
The Jacobins were idealists; there was about this man a murderous materialism.
His Dosition gave him a somewhat new appearance.
The strong, white light of morning coming from one side creating sharp shadows, made him seem both more pale and more angular than he had looked at the breakfast on the balcony.
Thus the two black glasses that encased his eyes might really have been black cavities in his skull, making him look like a death's - head.
And, indeed, if ever Death himself sat writing at a wooden table, it might have been he.
He looked up and smiled brightly enough as the men came in, and rose with the resilient rapidity of which the Professor had spoken.
He set chairs for both of them, and going to a peg behind the door, proceeded to put on a coat and waistcoat of rough, dark tweed; he buttoned it up neatly, and came back to sit down at his table.
The quiet good humour of his manner left his two opponents helpless.
It was with some momentary difficulty that the Professor broke silence and began, " I'm sorry to disturb you so early, comrade," said he, with a careful resumption of the slow de Worms manner.
" You have no doubt made all the arrangements for the Paris affair?"
Then he added with infinite slowness, " We have information which renders intolerable anything in the nature of a moment's delay."
Dr. Bull smiled again, but continued to gaze on them without speaking.
The Professor resumed, a pause before each weary word --
" Please do not think me excessively abrupt; but I advise you to alter those plans, or if it is too late for that, to follow your agent with all the support you can get for him.
Comrade Syme and I have had an experience which it would take more time to recount than we can afford, if we are to act on it.
I will, however, relate the occurrence in detail, even at the risk of losing time, if you really feel that it is essential to the understanding of the problem we have to discuss."
He was spinning out his sentences, making them intolerably long and lingering, in the hope of maddening the practical little Doctor into an explosion of impatience which might show his hand.
But the little Doctor continued only to stare and smile, and the monologue was uphill work.
Syme began to feel a new sickness and despair.
The Doctor's smile and silence were not at all like the cataleptic stare and horrible silence which he had confronted in the Professor half an hour before.
About the Professor's makeup and all his antics there was always something merely grotesque, like a gollywog.
Syme remembered those wild woes of yesterday as one remembers being afraid of Bogy in childhood.
But here was daylight; here was a healthy, square - shouldered man in tweeds, not odd save for the accident of his ugly spectacles, not glaring or grinning at all, but smiling steadily and not saying a word.
The whole had a sense of unbearable reality.
Under the increasing sunlight the colours of the Doctor's complexion, the pattern of his tweeds, grew and expanded outrageously, as such things grow too important in a realistic novel.
But his smile was quite slight, the pose of his head polite; the only uncanny thing was his silence.
His words he seemed to be dragging out like words in an anthem; but Syme, who was watching, saw his long fingers rattle quickly on the edge of the crazy table.
He read the message, " You must go on.
This devil has sucked me dry!"
Syme plunged into the breach with that bravado of improvisation which always came to him when he was alarmed.
" Yes, the thing really happened to me," he said hastily.
" I had the good fortune to fall into conversation with a detective who took me, thanks to my hat, for a respectable person.
Wishing to clinch my reputation for respectability, I took him and made him very drunk at the Savoy.
Under this influence he became friendly, and told me in so many words that within a day or two they hope to arrest the Marquis in France.
So unless you or I can get on his track --"
The Doctor was still smiling in the most friendly way, and his protected eyes were still impenetrable.
The Professor signalled to Syme that he would resume his explanation, and he began again with the same elaborate calm.
" Syme immediately brought this information to me, and we came here together to see what use you would be inclined to make of it.
It seems to me unquestionably urgent that --"
All this time Syme had been staring at the Doctor almost as steadily as the Doctor stared at the Professor, but quite without the smile.
The nerves of both comrades - in - arms were near snapping under that strain of motionless amiability, when Syme suddenly leant forward and idly tapped the edge of the table.
His message to his ally ran, " I have an intuition."
The Professor, with scarcely a pause in his monologue, signalled back, " Then sit on it."
Syme telegraphed, " It is quite extraordinary."
The other answered, " Extraordinary rot!"
Syme said, " I am a poet."
The other retorted, " You are a dead man."
Syme had gone quite red up to his yellow hair, and his eyes were burning feverishly.
As he said he had an intuition, and it had risen to a sort of lightheaded certainty.
Resuming his symbolic taps, he signalled to his friend, " You scarcely realise how poetic my intuition is.
It has that sudden quality we sometimes feel in the coming of spring."
He then studied the answer on his friend's fingers.
The answer was, " Go to hell! "
The Professor then resumed his merely verbal monologue addressed to the Doctor.
" Perhaps I should rather say," said Syme on his fingers, " that it resembles that sudden smell of the sea which may be found in the heart of lush woods."
His companion disdained to reply.
" Or yet again," tapped Syme, " it is positive, as is the passionate red hair of a beautiful woman."
The Professor was continuing his speech, but in the middle of it Syme decided to act.
He leant across the table, and said in a voice that could not be neglected --
" Dr.
Bull!"
The Doctor's sleek and smiling head did not move, but they could have sworn that under his dark glasses his eyes darted towards Syme.
" Dr. Bull," said Syme, in a voice peculiarly precise and courteous, " would you do me a small favour?
Would you be so kind as to take off your spectacles?"
The Professor swung round on his seat, and stared at Syme with a sort of frozen fury of astonishment.
Syme, like a man who has thrown his life and fortune on the table, leaned forward with a fiery face.
The Doctor did not move.
For a few seconds there was a silence in which one could hear a pin drop, split once by the single hoot of a distant steamer on the Thames.
Then Dr. Bull rose slowly, still smiling, and took off his spectacles.
Syme sprang to his feet, stepping backwards a little, like a chemical lecturer from a successful explosion.
His eyes were like stars, and for an instant he could only point without speaking.
The Professor had also started to his feet, forgetful of his supposed paralysis.
He leant on the back of the chair and stared doubtfully at Dr. Bull, as if the Doctor had been turned into a toad before his eyes.
And indeed it was almost as great a transformation scene.
The two detectives saw sitting in the chair before them a very boyish - looking young man, with very frank and happy hazel eyes, an open expression, cockney clothes like those of a city clerk, and an unquestionable breath about him of being very good and rather commonplace.
The smile was still there, but it might have been the first smile of a baby.
" I knew I was a poet," cried Syme in a sort of ecstasy.
" I knew my intuition was as infallible as the Pope.
It was the spectacles that did it!
It was all the spectacles.
Given those beastly black eyes, and all the rest of him his health and his jolly looks, made him a live devil among dead ones."
" It certainly does make a queer difference," said the Professor shakily.
" But as regards the project of Dr. Bull --"
" Project be damned!"
roared Syme, beside himself.
" Look at him!
Look at his face, look at his collar, look at his blessed boots!
You don't suppose, do you, that that thing's an anarchist?"
" Syme!"
cried the other in an apprehensive agony.
" Why, by God," said Syme, " I'll take the risk of that myself!
Dr. Bull, I am a police officer.
There's my card," and he flung down the blue card upon the table.
The Professor still feared that all was lost; but he was loyal.
He pulled out his own official card and put it beside his friend's.
Then the third man burst out laughing, and for the first time that morning they heard his voice.
" I'm awfully glad you chaps have come so early," he said, with a sort of schoolboy flippancy, " for we can all start for France together.
Yes, I'm in the force right enough," and he flicked a blue card towards them lightly as a matter of form.
Clapping a brisk bowler on his head and resuming his goblin glasses, the Doctor moved so quickly towards the door, that the others instinctively followed him.
Syme seemed a little distrait, and as he passed under the doorway he suddenly struck his stick on the stone passage so that it rang.
" But Lord God Almighty," he cried out, " if this is all right, there were more damned detectives than there were damned dynamiters at the damned Council!"
" We might have fought easily," said Bull; " we were four against three."
The Professor was descending the stairs, but his voice came up from below.
" No," said the voice, " we were not four against three--we were not so lucky.
We were four against One."
The others went down the stairs in silence.
" It is jolly to get some pals," he said.
" I've been half dead with the jumps, being quite alone.
I nearly flung my arms round Gogol and embraced him, which would have been imprudent.
I hope you won't despise me for having been in a blue funk."
" All the blue devils in blue hell," said Syme, " contributed to my blue funk!
But the worst devil was you and your infernal goggles."
The young man laughed delightedly.
" Wasn't it a rag?"
he said.
" Such a simple idea--not my own.
I haven't got the brains.
You see, I wanted to go into the detective service, especially the anti - dynamite business.
But for that purpose they wanted someone to dress up as a dynamiter; and they all swore by blazes that I could never look like a dynamiter.
They said my very walk was respectable, and that seen from behind I looked like the British Constitution.
They said I looked too healthy and too optimistic, and too reliable and benevolent; they called me all sorts of names at Scotland Yard.
They said that if I had been a criminal, I might have made my fortune by looking so like an honest man; but as I had the misfortune to be an honest man, there was not even the remotest chance of my assisting them by ever looking like a criminal.
But as last I was brought before some old josser who was high up in the force, and who seemed to have no end of a head on his shoulders.
And there the others all talked hopelessly.
One asked whether a bushy beard would hide my nice smile; another said that if they blacked my face I might look like a negro anarchist; but this old chap chipped in with a most extraordinary remark.
' A pair of smoked spectacles will do it,' he said positively.
' Look at him now; he looks like an angelic office boy.
Put him on a pair of smoked spectacles, and children will scream at the sight of him.'
And so it was, by George!
When once my eyes were covered, all the rest, smile and big shoulders and short hair, made me look a perfect little devil.
As I say, it was simple enough when it was done, like miracles; but that wasn't the really miraculous part of it.
There was one really staggering thing about the business, and my head still turns at it."
" What was that?"
asked Syme.
" I'll tell you," answered the man in spectacles.
" This big pot in the police who sized me up so that he knew how the goggles would go with my hair and socks--by God, he never saw me at all!"
Syme's eyes suddenly flashed on him.
" How was that?"
he asked.
" I thought you talked to him."
" So I did," said Bull brightly; " but we talked in a pitch - dark room like a coalcellar.
There, you would never have guessed that."
" I could not have conceived it," said Syme gravely.
" It is indeed a new idea," said the Professor.
Their new ally was in practical matters a whirlwind.
At the inquiry office he asked with businesslike brevity about the trains for Dover.
Having got his information, he bundled the company into a cab, and put them and himself inside a railway carriage before they had properly realised the breathless process.
They were already on the Calais boat before conversation flowed freely.
" I had already arranged," he explained, " to go to France for my lunch; but I am delighted to have someone to lunch with me.
You see, I had to send that beast, the Marquis, over with his bomb, because the President had his eye on me, though God knows how.
I'll tell you the story some day.
It was perfectly choking.
Whenever I tried to slip out of it I saw the President somewhere, smiling out of the bow - window of a club, or taking off his hat to me from the top of an omnibus.
I tell you, you can say what you like, that fellow sold himself to the devil; he can be in six places at once."
" So you sent the Marquis off, I understand," asked the Professor.
" Was it long ago?
Shall we be in time to catch him?"
" Yes," answered the new guide, " I've timed it all.
He'll still be at Calais when we arrive."
" But when we do catch him at Calais," said the Professor, " what are we going to do?"
At this question the countenance of Dr. Bull fell for the first time.
He reflected a little, and then said --
" Theoretically, I suppose, we ought to call the police."
" Not I," said Syme.
" Theoretically I ought to drown myself first.
I promised a poor fellow, who was a real modern pessimist, on my word of honour not to tell the police.
I'm no hand at casuistry, but I can't break my word to a modern pessimist.
It's like breaking one's word to a child."
" I'm in the same boat," said the Professor.
" I tried to tell the police and I couldn't, because of some silly oath I took.
You see, when I was an actor I was a sort of all - round beast.
Perjury or treason is the only crime I haven't committed.
If I did that I shouldn't know the difference between right and wrong."
" I've been through all that," said Dr. Bull, " and I've made up my mind.
I gave my promise to the Secretary--you know him, man who smiles upside down.
My friends, that man is the most utterly unhappy man that was ever human.
It may be his digestion, or his conscience, or his nerves, or his philosophy of the universe, but he's damned, he's in hell!
Well, I can't turn on a man like that, and hunt him down.
It's like whipping a leper.
I may be mad, but that's how I feel; and there's jolly well the end of it."
" I don't think you're mad," said Syme.
" I knew you would decide like that when first you --"
" Eh?"
said Dr. Bull.
" When first you took off your spectacles."
Dr. Bull smiled a little, and strolled across the deck to look at the sunlit sea.
Then he strolled back again, kicking his heels carelessly, and a companionable silence fell between the three men.
" Well," said Syme, " it seems that we have all the same kind of morality or immorality, so we had better face the fact that comes of it."
" Yes," assented the Professor, " you're quite right; and we must hurry up, for I can see the Grey Nose standing out from France."
" The fact that comes of it," said Syme seriously, " is this, that we three are alone on this planet.
Gogol has gone, God knows where; perhaps the President has smashed him like a fly.
On the Council we are three men against three, like the Romans who held the bridge.
But we are worse off than that, first because they can appeal to their organization and we cannot appeal to ours, and second because --"
" Because one of those other three men," said the Professor, " is not a man."
Syme nodded and was silent for a second or two, then he said --
" My idea is this.
We must do something to keep the Marquis in Calais till tomorrow midday.
I have turned over twenty schemes in my head.
We cannot denounce him as a dynamiter; that is agreed.
We cannot get him detained on some trivial charge, for we should have to appear; he knows us, and he would smell a rat.
We cannot pretend to keep him on anarchist business; he might swallow much in that way, but not the notion of stopping in Calais while the Czar went safely through Paris.
We might try to kidnap him, and lock him up ourselves; but he is a well - known man here.
He has a whole bodyguard of friends; he is very strong and brave, and the event is doubtful.
The only thing I can see to do is actually to take advantage of the very things that are in the Marquis's favour.
I am going to profit by the fact that he is a highly respected nobleman.
I am going to profit by the fact that he has many friends and moves in the best society."
" What the devil are you talking about?"
asked the Professor.
" The Symes are first mentioned in the fourteenth century," said Syme; " but there is a tradition that one of them rode behind Bruce at Bannockburn.
Since 1350 the tree is quite clear."
" He's gone off his head," said the little Doctor, staring.
" Our bearings," continued Syme calmly, " are'argent a chevron gules charged with three cross crosslets of the field.'
The motto varies."
The Professor seized Syme roughly by the waistcoat.
" We are just inshore," he said.
" Are you seasick or joking in the wrong place?"
" My remarks are almost painfully practical," answered Syme, in an unhurried manner.
" The house of St. Eustache also is very ancient.
The Marquis cannot deny that he is a gentleman.
He cannot deny that I am a gentleman.
And in order to put the matter of my social position quite beyond a doubt, I propose at the earliest opportunity to knock his hat off.
But here we are in the harbour."
They went on shore under the strong sun in a sort of daze.
Syme, who had now taken the lead as Bull had taken it in London, led them along a kind of marine parade until he came to some cafes, embowered in a bulk of greenery and overlooking the sea.
As he went before them his step was slightly swaggering, and he swung his stick like a sword.
He was making apparently for the extreme end of the line of cafes, but he stopped abruptly.
CHAPTER X
THE DUEL
SYME sat down at a cafe table with his companions, his blue eyes sparkling like the bright sea below, and ordered a bottle of Saumur with a pleased impatience.
He was for some reason in a condition of curious hilarity.
His spirits were already unnaturally high; they rose as the Saumur sank, and in half an hour his talk was a torrent of nonsense.
He professed to be making out a plan of the conversation which was going to ensue between himself and the deadly Marquis.
He jotted it down wildly with a pencil.
It was arranged like a printed catechism, with questions and answers, and was delivered with an extraordinary rapidity of utterance.
" I shall approach.
Before taking off his hat, I shall take off my own.
I shall say,'The Marquis de Saint Eustache, I believe.'
He will say,'The celebrated Mr. Syme, I presume.'
He will say in the most exquisite French,'How are you?'
I shall reply in the most exquisite Cockney,'Oh, just the Syme --' "
" Oh, shut it," said the man in spectacles.
" Pull yourself together, and chuck away that bit of paper.
What are you really going to do?"
" But it was a lovely catechism," said Syme pathetically.
" Do let me read it you.
It has only forty - three questions and answers, and some of the Marquis's answers are wonderfully witty.
I like to be just to my enemy."
" But what's the good of it all?"
asked Dr. Bull in exasperation.
" It leads up to my challenge, don't you see," said Syme, beaming.
" When the Marquis has given the thirty - ninth reply, which runs --"
" Has it by any chance occurred to you," asked the Professor, with a ponderous simplicity, " that the Marquis may not say all the forty - three things you have put down for him?
In that case, I understand, your own epigrams may appear somewhat more forced."
Syme struck the table with a radiant face.
" Why, how true that is," he said, " and I never thought of it.
Sir, you have an intellect beyond the common.
You will make a name."
" Oh, you're as drunk as an owl!"
said the Doctor.
" It only remains," continued Syme quite unperturbed, " to adopt some other method of breaking the ice (if I may so express it) between myself and the man I wish to kill.
And since the course of a dialogue cannot be predicted by one of its parties alone (as you have pointed out with such recondite acumen), the only thing to be done, I suppose, is for the one party, as far as possible, to do all the dialogue by himself.
And so I will, by George!"
And he stood up suddenly, his yellow hair blowing in the slight sea breeze.
A band was playing in a cafe chantant hidden somewhere among the trees, and a woman had just stopped singing.
On Syme's heated head the bray of the brass band seemed like the jar and jingle of that barrel - organ in Leicester Square, to the tune of which he had once stood up to die.
He looked across to the little table where the Marquis sat.
The man had two companions now, solemn Frenchmen in frock - coats and silk hats, one of them with the red rosette of the Legion of Honour, evidently people of a solid social position.
Besides these black, cylindrical costumes, the Marquis, in his loose straw hat and light spring clothes, looked Bohemian and even barbaric; but he looked the Marquis.
Indeed, one might say that he looked the king, with his animal elegance, his scornful eyes, and his proud head lifted against the purple sea.
But he was no Christian king, at any rate; he was, rather, some swarthy despot, half Greek, half Asiatic, who in the days when slavery seemed natural looked down on the Mediterranean, on his galley and his groaning slaves.
Just so, Syme thought, would the brown - gold face of such a tyrant have shown against the dark green olives and the burning blue.
" Are you going to address the meeting?"
asked the Professor peevishly, seeing that Syme still stood up without moving.
Syme drained his last glass of sparkling wine.
" I am," he said, pointing across to the Marquis and his companions, " that meeting.
That meeting displeases me.
I am going to pull that meeting's great ugly, mahogany - coloured nose."
He stepped across swiftly, if not quite steadily.
The Marquis, seeing him, arched his black Assyrian eyebrows in surprise, but smiled politely.
" You are Mr. Syme, I think," he said.
Syme bowed.
" And you are the Marquis de Saint Eustache," he said gracefully.
" Permit me to pull your nose."
He leant over to do so, but the Marquis started backwards, upsetting his chair, and the two men in top hats held Syme back by the shoulders.
" This man has insulted me!"
said Syme, with gestures of explanation.
" Insulted you?"
cried the gentleman with the red rosette, " when?"
" Oh, just now," said Syme recklessly.
" He insulted my mother."
" Insulted your mother!"
exclaimed the gentleman incredulously.
" Well, anyhow," said Syme, conceding a point, " my aunt."
" But how can the Marquis have insulted your aunt just now?"
said the second gentleman with some legitimate wonder.
" He has been sitting here all the time."
" Ah, it was what he said!"
said Syme darkly.
" I said nothing at all," said the Marquis, " except something about the band.
I only said that I liked Wagner played well."
" It was an allusion to my family," said Syme firmly.
" My aunt played Wagner badly.
It was a painful subject.
We are always being insulted about it."
" This seems most extraordinary," said the gentleman who was decore, looking doubtfully at the Marquis.
" Oh, I assure you," said Syme earnestly, " the whole of your conversation was simply packed with sinister allusions to my aunt's weaknesses."
" This is nonsense!"
said the second gentleman.
" I for one have said nothing for half an hour except that I liked the singing of that girl with black hair."
" Well, there you are again!"
said Syme indignantly.
" My aunt's was red."
" It seems to me," said the other, " that you are simply seeking a pretext to insult the Marquis."
" By George!"
said Syme, facing round and looking at him, " what a clever chap you are!"
The Marquis started up with eyes flaming like a tiger's.
" Seeking a quarrel with me!"
he cried.
" Seeking a fight with me!
By God!
there was never a man who had to seek long.
These gentlemen will perhaps act for me.
There are still four hours of daylight.
Let us fight this evening."
Syme bowed with a quite beautiful graciousness.
" Marquis," he said, " your action is worthy of your fame and blood.
Permit me to consult for a moment with the gentlemen in whose hands I shall place myself."
In three long strides he rejoined his companions, and they, who had seen his champagne - inspired attack and listened to his idiotic explanations, were quite startled at the look of him.
For now that he came back to them he was quite sober, a little pale, and he spoke in a low voice of passionate practicality.
" I have done it," he said hoarsely.
" I have fixed a fight on the beast.
But look here, and listen carefully.
There is no time for talk.
You are my seconds, and everything must come from you.
Now you must insist, and insist absolutely, on the duel coming off after seven tomorrow, so as to give me the chance of preventing him from catching the 7. 45 for Paris.
If he misses that he misses his crime.
He can't refuse to meet you on such a small point of time and place.
But this is what he will do.
He will choose a field somewhere near a wayside station, where he can pick up the train.
He is a very good swordsman, and he will trust to killing me in time to catch it.
But I can fence well too, and I think I can keep him in play, at any rate, until the train is lost.
Then perhaps he may kill me to console his feelings.
You understand?
Very well then, let me introduce you to some charming friends of mine," and leading them quickly across the parade, he presented them to the Marquis's seconds by two very aristocratic names of which they had not previously heard.
Syme was subject to spasms of singular common sense, not otherwise a part of his character.
They were (as he said of his impulse about the spectacles) poetic intuitions, and they sometimes rose to the exaltation of prophecy.
He had correctly calculated in this case the policy of his opponent.
When the Marquis was informed by his seconds that Syme could only fight in the morning, he must fully have realised that an obstacle had suddenly arisen between him and his bomb - throwing business in the capital.
Naturally he could not explain this objection to his friends, so he chose the course which Syme had predicted.
He induced his seconds to settle on a small meadow not far from the railway, and he trusted to the fatality of the first engagement.
When he came down very coolly to the field of honour, no one could have guessed that he had any anxiety about a journey; his hands were in his pockets, his straw hat on the back of his head, his handsome face brazen in the sun.
But it might have struck a stranger as odd that there appeared in his train, not only his seconds carrying the sword - case, but two of his servants carrying a portmanteau and a luncheon basket.
Early as was the hour, the sun soaked everything in warmth, and Syme was vaguely surprised to see so many spring flowers burning gold and silver in the tall grass in which the whole company stood almost knee - deep.
With the exception of the Marquis, all the men were in sombre and solemn morning - dress, with hats like black chimney - pots; the little Doctor especially, with the addition of his black spectacles, looked like an undertaker in a farce.
Syme could not help feeling a comic contrast between this funereal church parade of apparel and the rich and glistening meadow, growing wild flowers everywhere.
But, indeed, this comic contrast between the yellow blossoms and the black hats was but a symbol of the tragic contrast between the yellow blossoms and the black business.
On his right was a little wood; far away to his left lay the long curve of the railway line, which he was, so to speak, guarding from the Marquis, whose goal and escape it was.
In front of him, behind the black group of his opponents, he could see, like a tinted cloud, a small almond bush in flower against the faint line of the sea.
The member of the Legion of Honour, whose name it seemed was Colonel Ducroix, approached the Professor and Dr. Bull with great politeness, and suggested that the play should terminate with the first considerable hurt.
Dr. Bull, however, having been carefully coached by Syme upon this point of policy, insisted, with great dignity and in very bad French, that it should continue until one of the combatants was disabled.
Syme had made up his mind that he could avoid disabling the Marquis and prevent the Marquis from disabling him for at least twenty minutes.
In twenty minutes the Paris train would have gone by.
" Peste!"
broke from the Marquis behind, whose face had suddenly darkened, " let us stop talking and begin," and he slashed off the head of a tall flower with his stick.
Syme understood his rude impatience and instinctively looked over his shoulder to see whether the train was coming in sight.
But there was no smoke on the horizon.
Colonel Ducroix knelt down and unlocked the case, taking out a pair of twin swords, which took the sunlight and turned to two streaks of white fire.
He offered one to the Marquis, who snatched it without ceremony, and another to Syme, who took it, bent it, and poised it with as much delay as was consistent with dignity.
Then the Colonel took out another pair of blades, and taking one himself and giving another to Dr. Bull, proceeded to place the men.
Both combatants had thrown off their coats and waistcoats, and stood sword in hand.
The seconds stood on each side of the line of fight with drawn swords also, but still sombre in their dark frock - coats and hats.
The principals saluted.
The Colonel said quietly, " Engage!"
and the two blades touched and tingled.
When the jar of the joined iron ran up Syme's arm, all the fantastic fears that have been the subject of this story fell from him like dreams from a man waking up in bed.
He remembered them clearly and in order as mere delusions of the nerves--how the fear of the Professor had been the fear of the tyrannic accidents of nightmare, and how the fear of the Doctor had been the fear of the airless vacuum of science.
The first was the old fear that any miracle might happen, the second the more hopeless modern fear that no miracle can ever happen.
But he saw that these fears were fancies, for he found himself in the presence of the great fact of the fear of death, with its coarse and pitiless common sense.
He felt like a man who had dreamed all night of falling over precipices, and had woke up on the morning when he was to be hanged.
He felt a strange and vivid value in all the earth around him, in the grass under his feet; he felt the love of life in all living things.
He could almost fancy that he heard the grass growing; he could almost fancy that even as he stood fresh flowers were springing up and breaking into blossom in the meadow--flowers blood red and burning gold and blue, fulfilling the whole pageant of the spring.
And whenever his eyes strayed for a flash from the calm, staring, hypnotic eyes of the Marquis, they saw the little tuft of almond tree against the sky - line.
He had the feeling that if by some miracle he escaped he would be ready to sit for ever before that almond tree, desiring nothing else in the world.
But while earth and sky and everything had the living beauty of a thing lost, the other half of his head was as clear as glass, and he was parrying his enemy's point with a kind of clockwork skill of which he had hardly supposed himself capable.
Once his enemy's point ran along his wrist, leaving a slight streak of blood, but it either was not noticed or was tacitly ignored.
Every now and then he riposted, and once or twice he could almost fancy that he felt his point go home, but as there was no blood on blade or shirt he supposed he was mistaken.
Then came an interruption and a change.
At the risk of losing all, the Marquis, interrupting his quiet stare, flashed one glance over his shoulder at the line of railway on his right.
Then he turned on Syme a face transfigured to that of a fiend, and began to fight as if with twenty weapons.
The attack came so fast and furious, that the one shining sword seemed a shower of shining arrows.
Syme had no chance to look at the railway; but also he had no need.
He could guess the reason of the Marquis's sudden madness of battle--the Paris train was in sight.
But the Marquis's morbid energy over - reached itself.
Twice Syme, parrying, knocked his opponent's point far out of the fighting circle; and the third time his riposte was so rapid, that there was no doubt about the hit this time.
Syme's sword actually bent under the weight of the Marquis's body, which it had pierced.
Syme was as certain that he had stuck his blade into his enemy as a gardener that he has stuck his spade into the ground.
Yet the Marquis sprang back from the stroke without a stagger, and Syme stood staring at his own sword - point like an idiot.
There was no blood on it at all.
There was an instant of rigid silence, and then Syme in his turn fell furiously on the other, filled with a flaming curiosity.
The Marquis was probably, in a general sense, a better fencer than he, as he had surmised at the beginning, but at the moment the Marquis seemed distraught and at a disadvantage.
He fought wildly and even weakly, and he constantly looked away at the railway line, almost as if he feared the train more than the pointed steel.
Syme, on the other hand, fought fiercely but still carefully, in an intellectual fury, eager to solve the riddle of his own bloodless sword.
For this purpose, he aimed less at the Marquis's body, and more at his throat and head.
A minute and a half afterwards he felt his point enter the man's neck below the jaw.
It came out clean.
Half mad, he thrust again, and made what should have been a bloody scar on the Marquis's cheek.
But there was no scar.
For one moment the heaven of Syme again grew black with supernatural terrors.
Surely the man had a charmed life.
But this new spiritual dread was a more awful thing than had been the mere spiritual topsy - turvydom symbolised by the paralytic who pursued him.
The Professor was only a goblin; this man was a devil--perhaps he was the Devil!
Anyhow, this was certain, that three times had a human sword been driven into him and made no mark.
When Syme had that thought he drew himself up, and all that was good in him sang high up in the air as a high wind sings in the trees.
He thought of all the human things in his story--of the Chinese lanterns in Saffron Park, of the girl's red hair in the garden, of the honest, beer - swilling sailors down by the dock, of his loyal companions standing by.
Perhaps he had been chosen as a champion of all these fresh and kindly things to cross swords with the enemy of all creation.
" After all," he said to himself, " I am more than a devil; I am a man.
I can do the one thing which Satan himself cannot do--I can die," and as the word went through his head, he heard a faint and far - off hoot, which would soon be the roar of the Paris train.
He fell to fighting again with a supernatural levity, like a Mohammedan panting for Paradise.
As the train came nearer and nearer he fancied he could see people putting up the floral arches in Paris; he joined in the growing noise and the glory of the great Republic whose gate he was guarding against Hell.
His thoughts rose higher and higher with the rising roar of the train, which ended, as if proudly, in a long and piercing whistle.
The train stopped.
Suddenly, to the astonishment of everyone the Marquis sprang back quite out of sword reach and threw down his sword.
The leap was wonderful, and not the less wonderful because Syme had plunged his sword a moment before into the man's thigh.
" Stop!"
said the Marquis in a voice that compelled a momentary obedience.
" I want to say something."
" What is the matter?"
asked Colonel Ducroix, staring.
" Has there been foul play?"
" There has been foul play somewhere," said Dr. Bull, who was a little pale.
" Our principal has wounded the Marquis four times at least, and he is none the worse."
The Marquis put up his hand with a curious air of ghastly patience.
" Please let me speak," he said.
" It is rather important.
Mr. Syme," he continued, turning to his opponent, " we are fighting today, if I remember right, because you expressed a wish (which I thought irrational) to pull my nose.
Would you oblige me by pulling my nose now as quickly as possible?
I have to catch a train."
" I protest that this is most irregular," said Dr. Bull indignantly.
" It is certainly somewhat opposed to precedent," said Colonel Ducroix, looking wistfully at his principal.
" There is, I think, one case on record (Captain Bellegarde and the Baron Zumpt) in which the weapons were changed in the middle of the encounter at the request of one of the combatants.
But one can hardly call one's nose a weapon."
" Will you or will you not pull my nose?"
said the Marquis in exasperation.
" Come, come, Mr. Syme!
You wanted to do it, do it!
You can have no conception of how important it is to me.
Don't be so selfish!
Pull my nose at once, when I ask you!"
and he bent slightly forward with a fascinating smile.
The Paris train, panting and groaning, had grated into a little station behind the neighbouring hill.
Syme had the feeling he had more than once had in these adventures--the sense that a horrible and sublime wave lifted to heaven was just toppling over.
Walking in a world he half understood, he took two paces forward and seized the Roman nose of this remarkable nobleman.
He pulled it hard, and it came off in his hand.
He stood for some seconds with a foolish solemnity, with the pasteboard proboscis still between his fingers, looking at it, while the sun and the clouds and the wooded hills looked down upon this imbecile scene.
The Marquis broke the silence in a loud and cheerful voice.
" If anyone has any use for my left eyebrow," he said, " he can have it.
Colonel Ducroix, do accept my left eyebrow!
It's the kind of thing that might come in useful any day," and he gravely tore off one of his swarthy Assyrian brows, bringing about half his brown forehead with it, and politely offered it to the Colonel, who stood crimson and speechless with rage.
" If I had known," he spluttered, " that I was acting for a poltroon who pads himself to fight --"
" Oh, I know, I know!"
said the Marquis, recklessly throwing various parts of himself right and left about the field.
" You are making a mistake; but it can't be explained just now.
I tell you the train has come into the station!"
" Yes," said Dr. Bull fiercely, " and the train shall go out of the station.
It shall go out without you.
We know well enough for what devil's work --"
The mysterious Marquis lifted his hands with a desperate gesture.
He was a strange scarecrow standing there in the sun with half his old face peeled off, and half another face glaring and grinning from underneath.
" Will you drive me mad?"
he cried.
" The train --"
" You shall not go by the train," said Syme firmly, and grasped his sword.
The wild figure turned towards Syme, and seemed to be gathering itself for a sublime effort before speaking.
" You great fat, blasted, blear - eyed, blundering, thundering, brainless, Godforsaken, doddering, damned fool!"
he said without taking breath.
" You great silly, pink - faced, towheaded turnip!
You --"
" You shall not go by this train," repeated Syme.
" And why the infernal blazes," roared the other, " should I want to go by the train?"
" We know all," said the Professor sternly.
" You are going to Paris to throw a bomb!"
" Going to Jericho to throw a Jabberwock!"
cried the other, tearing his hair, which came off easily.
" Have you all got softening of the brain, that you don't realise what I am?
Did you really think I wanted to catch that train?
Twenty Paris trains might go by for me.
Damn Paris trains!"
" Then what did you care about?"
began the Professor.
" What did I care about?
I didn't care about catching the train; I cared about whether the train caught me, and now, by God!
it has caught me."
" I regret to inform you," said Syme with restraint, " that your remarks convey no impression to my mind.
Perhaps if you were to remove the remains of your original forehead and some portion of what was once your chin, your meaning would become clearer.
Mental lucidity fulfils itself in many ways.
What do you mean by saying that the train has caught you?
It may be my literary fancy, but somehow I feel that it ought to mean something."
" It means everything," said the other, " and the end of everything.
Sunday has us now in the hollow of his hand."
" Us!"
repeated the Professor, as if stupefied.
" What do you mean by'us '?"
" The police, of course!"
said the Marquis, and tore off his scalp and half his face.
The head which emerged was the blonde, well brushed, smooth - haired head which is common in the English constabulary, but the face was terribly pale.
" I am Inspector Ratcliffe," he said, with a sort of haste that verged on harshness.
" My name is pretty well known to the police, and I can see well enough that you belong to them.
But if there is any doubt about my position, I have a card " and he began to pull a blue card from his pocket.
The Professor gave a tired gesture.
" Oh, don't show it us," he said wearily; " we've got enough of them to equip a paper - chase."
The little man named Bull, had, like many men who seem to be of a mere vivacious vulgarity, sudden movements of good taste.
Here he certainly saved the situation.
In the midst of this staggering transformation scene he stepped forward with all the gravity and responsibility of a second, and addressed the two seconds of the Marquis.
" Gentlemen," he said, " we all owe you a serious apology; but I assure you that you have not been made the victims of such a low joke as you imagine, or indeed of anything undignified in a man of honour.
You have not wasted your time; you have helped to save the world.
We are not buffoons, but very desperate men at war with a vast conspiracy.
How hard they hunt us you can gather from the fact that we are driven to such disguises as those for which I apologise, and to such pranks as this one by which you suffer. "
The younger second of the Marquis, a short man with a black moustache, bowed politely, and said --
" Of course, I accept the apology; but you will in your turn forgive me if I decline to follow you further into your difficulties, and permit myself to say good morning!
The sight of an acquaintance and distinguished fellow - townsman coming to pieces in the open air is unusual, and, upon the whole, sufficient for one day.
Colonel Ducroix, I would in no way influence your actions, but if you feel with me that our present society is a little abnormal, I am now going to walk back to the town."
Colonel Ducroix moved mechanically, but then tugged abruptly at his white moustache and broke out --
" No, by George!
I won't.
If these gentlemen are really in a mess with a lot of low wreckers like that, I'll see them through it.
I have fought for France, and it is hard if I can't fight for civilization."
Dr. Bull took off his hat and waved it, cheering as at a public meeting.
" Don't make too much noise," said Inspector Ratcliffe, " Sunday may hear you."
" Sunday!"
cried Bull, and dropped his hat.
" Yes," retorted Ratcliffe, " he may be with them."
" With whom?"
asked Syme.
" With the people out of that train," said the other.
" What you say seems utterly wild," began Syme.
" Why, as a matter of fact--But, my God," he cried out suddenly, like a man who sees an explosion a long way off, " by God!
if this is true the whole bally lot of us on the Anarchist Council were against anarchy!
Every born man was a detective except the President and his personal secretary.
What can it mean?"
" Mean!"
said the new policeman with incredible violence.
" It means that we are struck dead!
Don't you know Sunday?
Don't you know that his jokes are always so big and simple that one has never thought of them?
Can you think of anything more like Sunday than this, that he should put all his powerful enemies on the Supreme Council, and then take care that it was not supreme?
I tell you he has bought every trust, he has captured every cable, he has control of every railway line--especially of that railway line!"
and he pointed a shaking finger towards the small wayside station.
" The whole movement was controlled by him; half the world was ready to rise for him.
But there were just five people, perhaps, who would have resisted him.
and the old devil put them on the Supreme Council, to waste their time in watching each other.
Idiots that we are, he planned the whole of our idiocies!
Sunday knew that the Professor would chase Syme through London, and that Syme would fight me in France.
And he was combining great masses of capital, and seizing great lines of telegraphy, while we five idiots were running after each other like a lot of confounded babies playing blind man's buff."
" Well?"
asked Syme with a sort of steadiness.
" Well," replied the other with sudden serenity, " he has found us playing blind man's buff today in a field of great rustic beauty and extreme solitude.
He has probably captured the world; it only remains to him to capture this field and all the fools in it.
And since you really want to know what was my objection to the arrival of that train, I will tell you.
My objection was that Sunday or his Secretary has just this moment got out of it."
Syme uttered an involuntary cry, and they all turned their eyes towards the far - off station.
It was quite true that a considerable bulk of people seemed to be moving in their direction.
But they were too distant to be distinguished in any way.
" It was a habit of the late Marquis de St. Eustache," said the new policeman, producing a leather case, " always to carry a pair of opera glasses.
Either the President or the Secretary is coming after us with that mob.
They have caught us in a nice quiet place where we are under no temptations to break our oaths by calling the police.
Dr. Bull, I have a suspicion that you will see better through these than through your own highly decorative spectacles."
He handed the field - glasses to the Doctor, who immediately took off his spectacles and put the apparatus to his eyes.
" It cannot be as bad as you say," said the Professor, somewhat shaken.
" There are a good number of them certainly, but they may easily be ordinary tourists."
" Do ordinary tourists," asked Bull, with the fieldglasses to his eyes, " wear black masks half - way down the face?"
Syme almost tore the glasses out of his hand, and looked through them.
Most men in the advancing mob really looked ordinary enough; but it was quite true that two or three of the leaders in front wore black half - masks almost down to their mouths.
This disguise is very complete, especially at such a distance, and Syme found it impossible to conclude anything from the clean - shaven jaws and chins of the men talking in the front.
But presently as they talked they all smiled and one of them smiled on one side.
CHAPTER XI
THE CRIMINALS CHASE THE POLICE
SYME put the field - glasses from his eyes with an almost ghastly relief.
" The President is not with them, anyhow," he said, and wiped his forehead.
" But surely they are right away on the horizon," said the bewildered Colonel, blinking and but half recovered from Bull's hasty though polite explanation.
" Could you possibly know your President among all those people?"
" Could I know a white elephant among all those people!"
answered Syme somewhat irritably.
" As you very truly say, they are on the horizon; but if he were walking with them.
by God!
I believe this ground would shake."
After an instant's pause the new man called Ratcliffe said with gloomy decision --
" Of course the President isn't with them.
I wish to Gemini he were.
Much more likely the President is riding in triumph through Paris, or sitting on the ruins of St. Paul's Cathedral."
" This is absurd!"
said Syme.
" Something may have happened in our absence; but he cannot have carried the world with a rush like that.
It is quite true," he added, frowning dubiously at the distant fields that lay towards the little station, " it is certainly true that there seems to be a crowd coming this way; but they are not all the army that you make out."
" Oh, they," said the new detective contemptuously; " no they are not a very valuable force.
But let me tell you frankly that they are precisely calculated to our value--we are not much, my boy, in Sunday's universe.
He has got hold of all the cables and telegraphs himself.
But to kill the Supreme Council he regards as a trivial matter, like a post card; it may be left to his private secretary," and he spat on the grass.
Then he turned to the others and said somewhat austerely --
" There is a great deal to be said for death; but if anyone has any preference for the other alternative, I strongly advise him to walk after me."
With these words, he turned his broad back and strode with silent energy towards the wood.
The others gave one glance over their shoulders, and saw that the dark cloud of men had detached itself from the station and was moving with a mysterious discipline across the plain.
They saw already, even with the naked eye, black blots on the foremost faces, which marked the masks they wore.
They turned and followed their leader, who had already struck the wood, and disappeared among the twinkling trees.
The sun on the grass was dry and hot.
So in plunging into the wood they had a cool shock of shadow, as of divers who plunge into a dim pool.
The inside of the wood was full of shattered sunlight and shaken shadows.
They made a sort of shuddering veil, almost recalling the dizziness of a cinematograph.
Even the solid figures walking with him Syme could hardly see for the patterns of sun and shade that danced upon them.
Now a man's head was lit as with a light of Rembrandt, leaving all else obliterated; now again he had strong and staring white hands with the face of a negro.
The ex - Marquis had pulled the old straw hat over his eyes, and the black shade of the brim cut his face so squarely in two that it seemed to be wearing one of the black half - masks of their pursuers.
The fancy tinted Syme's overwhelming sense of wonder.
Was he wearing a mask?
Was anyone wearing a mask?
Was anyone anything?
That tragic self - confidence which he had felt when he believed that the Marquis was a devil had strangely disappeared now that he knew that the Marquis was a friend.
He felt almost inclined to ask after all these bewilderments what was a friend and what an enemy.
Was there anything that was apart from what it seemed?
The Marquis had taken off his nose and turned out to be a detective.
Might he not just as well take off his head and turn out to be a hobgoblin?
Was not everything, after all, like this bewildering woodland, this dance of dark and light?
Everything only a glimpse, the glimpse always unforeseen, and always forgotten.
For Gabriel Syme had found in the heart of that sun - splashed wood what many modern painters had found there.
He had found the thing which the modern people call Impressionism, which is another name for that final scepticism which can find no floor to the universe.
As a man in an evil dream strains himself to scream and wake, Syme strove with a sudden effort to fling off this last and worst of his fancies.
With two impatient strides he overtook the man in the Marquis's straw hat, the man whom he had come to address as Ratcliffe.
In a voice exaggeratively loud and cheerful, he broke the bottomless silence and made conversation.
" May I ask," he said, " where on earth we are all going to? "
So genuine had been the doubts of his soul, that he was quite glad to hear his companion speak in an easy, human voice.
" We must get down through the town of Lancy to the sea," he said.
" I think that part of the country is least likely to be with them."
" What can you mean by all this?"
cried Syme.
" They can't be running the real world in that way.
Surely not many working men are anarchists, and surely if they were, mere mobs could not beat modern armies and police."
" Mere mobs!"
repeated his new friend with a snort of scorn.
" So you talk about mobs and the working classes as if they were the question.
You've got that eternal idiotic idea that if anarchy came it would come from the poor.
Why should it?
The poor have been rebels, but they have never been anarchists; they have more interest than anyone else in there being some decent government.
The poor man really has a stake in the country.
The rich man hasn't; he can go away to New Guinea in a yacht.
The poor have sometimes objected to being governed badly; the rich have always objected to being governed at all.
Aristocrats were always anarchists, as you can see from the barons'wars."
" As a lecture on English history for the little ones," said Syme, " this is all very nice; but I have not yet grasped its application."
" Its application is," said his informant, " that most of old Sunday's right - hand men are South African and American millionaires.
That is why he has got hold of all the communications; and that is why the last four champions of the anti - anarchist police force are running through a wood like rabbits."
" Millionaires I can understand," said Syme thoughtfully, " they are nearly all mad.
But getting hold of a few wicked old gentlemen with hobbies is one thing; getting hold of great Christian nations is another.
I would bet the nose off my face (forgive the allusion) that Sunday would stand perfectly helpless before the task of converting any ordinary healthy person anywhere."
" Well," said the other, " it rather depends what sort of person you mean."
" Well, for instance," said Syme, " he could never convert that person," and he pointed straight in front of him.
They had come to an open space of sunlight, which seemed to express to Syme the final return of his own good sense; and in the middle of this forest clearing was a figure that might well stand for that common sense in an almost awful actuality.
Burnt by the sun and stained with perspiration, and grave with the bottomless gravity of small necessary toils, a heavy French peasant was cutting wood with a hatchet.
His cart stood a few yards off, already half full of timber; and the horse that cropped the grass was, like his master, valorous but not desperate; like his master, he was even prosperous, but yet was almost sad.
The man was a Norman, taller than the average of the French and very angular; and his swarthy figure stood dark against a square of sunlight, almost like some allegoric figure of labour frescoed on a ground of gold.
" Mr. Syme is saying," called out Ratcliffe to the French Colonel, " that this man, at least, will never be an anarchist."
" Mr. Syme is right enough there," answered Colonel Ducroix, laughing, " if only for the reason that he has plenty of property to defend.
But I forgot that in your country you are not used to peasants being wealthy."
" He looks poor," said Dr. Bull doubtfully.
" Quite so," said the Colonel; " that is why he is rich."
" I have an idea," called out Dr. Bull suddenly; " how much would he take to give us a lift in his cart?
Those dogs are all on foot, and we could soon leave them behind."
" Oh, give him anything!"
said Syme eagerly.
" I have piles of money on me."
" That will never do," said the Colonel; " he will never have any respect for you unless you drive a bargain."
" Oh, if he haggles!"
began Bull impatiently.
" Erie haggles because he is a free man," said the other.
" You do not understand; he would not see the meaning of generosity.
He is not being tipped."
And even while they seemed to hear the heavy feet of their strange pursuers behind them, they had to stand and stamp while the French Colonel talked to the French wood - cutter with all the leisurely badinage and bickering of market - day.
At the end of the four minutes, however, they saw that the Colonel was right, for the wood - cutter entered into their plans, not with the vague servility of a tout too - well paid, but with the seriousness of a solicitor who had been paid the proper fee.
The whole company, therefore, piled themselves on top of the stacks of wood, and went rocking in the rude cart down the other and steeper side of the woodland.
Heavy and ramshackle as was the vehicle, it was driven quickly enough, and they soon had the exhilarating impression of distancing altogether those, whoever they were, who were hunting them.
For, after all, the riddle as to where the anarchists had got all these followers was still unsolved.
One man's presence had sufficed for them; they had fled at the first sight of the deformed smile of the Secretary.
Syme every now and then looked back over his shoulder at the army on their track.
As the wood grew first thinner and then smaller with distance, he could see the sunlit slopes beyond it and above it; and across these was still moving the square black mob like one monstrous beetle.
In the very strong sunlight and with his own very strong eyes, which were almost telescopic, Syme could see this mass of men quite plainly.
He could see them as separate human figures; but he was increasingly surprised by the way in which they moved as one man.
They seemed to be dressed in dark clothes and plain hats, like any common crowd out of the streets; but they did not spread and sprawl and trail by various lines to the attack, as would be natural in an ordinary mob.
They moved with a sort of dreadful and wicked woodenness, like a staring army of automatons.
Syme pointed this out to Ratcliffe.
" Yes," replied the policeman, " that's discipline.
That's Sunday.
He is perhaps five hundred miles off, but the fear of him is on all of them, like the finger of God.
Yes, they are walking regularly; and you bet your boots that they are talking regularly, yes, and thinking regularly.
But the one important thing for us is that they are disappearing regularly."
Syme nodded.
It was true that the black patch of the pursuing men was growing smaller and smaller as the peasant belaboured his horse.
The level of the sunlit landscape, though flat as a whole, fell away on the farther side of the wood in billows of heavy slope towards the sea, in a way not unlike the lower slopes of the Sussex downs.
The only difference was that in Sussex the road would have been broken and angular like a little brook, but here the white French road fell sheer in front of them like a waterfall.
Down this direct descent the cart clattered at a considerable angle, and in a few minutes, the road growing yet steeper, they saw below them the little harbour of Lancy and a great blue arc of the sea.
The travelling cloud of their enemies had wholly disappeared from the horizon.
The horse and cart took a sharp turn round a clump of elms, and the horse's nose nearly struck the face of an old gentleman who was sitting on the benches outside the little cafe of " Le Soleil d'Or."
The peasant grunted an apology, and got down from his seat.
The others also descended one by one, and spoke to the old gentleman with fragmentary phrases of courtesy, for it was quite evident from his expansive manner that he was the owner of the little tavern.
He was a white - haired, apple - faced old boy, with sleepy eyes and a grey moustache; stout, sedentary, and very innocent, of a type that may often be found in France, but is still commoner in Catholic Germany.
Everything about him, his pipe, his pot of beer, his flowers, and his beehive, suggested an ancestral peace; only when his visitors looked up as they entered the inn - parlour, they saw the sword upon the wall.
The Colonel, who greeted the innkeeper as an old friend, passed rapidly into the inn - parlour, and sat down ordering some ritual refreshment.
The military decision of his action interested Syme, who sat next to him, and he took the opportunity when the old innkeeper had gone out of satisfying his curiosity.
" May I ask you, Colonel," he said in a low voice, " why we have come here?"
Colonel Ducroix smiled behind his bristly white moustache.
" For two reasons, sir," he said; " and I will give first, not the most important, but the most utilitarian.
We came here because this is the only place within twenty miles in which we can get horses."
" Horses!"
repeated Syme, looking up quickly.
" Yes," replied the other; " if you people are really to distance your enemies it is horses or nothing for you, unless of course you have bicycles and motor - cars in your pocket."
" And where do you advise us to make for?"
asked Syme doubtfully.
" Beyond question," replied the Colonel, " you had better make all haste to the police station beyond the town.
My friend, whom I seconded under somewhat deceptive circumstances, seems to me to exaggerate very much the possibilities of a general rising; but even he would hardly maintain, I suppose, that you were not safe with the gendarmes."
Syme nodded gravely; then he said abruptly --
" And your other reason for coming here?"
" My other reason for coming here," said Ducroix soberly, " is that it is just as well to see a good man or two when one is possibly near to death."
Syme looked up at the wall, and saw a crudely - painted and pathetic religious picture.
Then he said --
" You are right," and then almost immediately afterwards, " Has anyone seen about the horses?"
" Yes," answered Ducroix, " you may be quite certain that I gave orders the moment I came in.
Those enemies of yours gave no impression of hurry, but they were really moving wonderfully fast, like a well - trained army.
I had no idea that the anarchists had so much discipline.
You have not a moment to waste."
Almost as he spoke, the old innkeeper with the blue eyes and white hair came ambling into the room, and announced that six horses were saddled outside.
By Ducroix's advice the five others equipped themselves with some portable form of food and wine, and keeping their duelling swords as the only weapons available, they clattered away down the steep, white road.
The two servants, who had carried the Marquis's luggage when he was a marquis, were left behind to drink at the cafe by common consent, and not at all against their own inclination.
By this time the afternoon sun was slanting westward, and by its rays Syme could see the sturdy figure of the old innkeeper growing smaller and smaller, but still standing and looking after them quite silently, the sunshine in his silver hair.
Syme had a fixed, superstitious fancy, left in his mind by the chance phrase of the Colonel, that this was indeed, perhaps, the last honest stranger whom he should ever see upon the earth.
He was still looking at this dwindling figure, which stood as a mere grey blot touched with a white flame against the great green wall of the steep down behind him.
And as he stared over the top of the down behind the innkeeper, there appeared an army of black - clad and marching men.
They seemed to hang above the good man and his house like a black cloud of locusts.
The horses had been saddled none too soon.
CHAPTER XII
THE EARTH IN ANARCHY
URGING the horses to a gallop, without respect to the rather rugged descent of the road, the horsemen soon regained their advantage over the men on the march, and at last the bulk of the first buildings of Lancy cut off the sight of their pursuers.
Nevertheless, the ride had been a long one, and by the time they reached the real town the west was warming with the colour and quality of sunset.
The Colonel suggested that, before making finally for the police station, they should make the effort, in passing, to attach to themselves one more individual who might be useful.
" Four out of the five rich men in this town," he said, " are common swindlers.
I suppose the proportion is pretty equal all over the world.
The fifth is a friend of mine, and a very fine fellow; and what is even more important from our point of view, he owns a motor - car."
" I am afraid," said the Professor in his mirthful way, looking back along the white road on which the black, crawling patch might appear at any moment, " I am afraid we have hardly time for afternoon calls."
" Doctor Renard's house is only three minutes off," said the Colonel.
" Our danger," said Dr. Bull, " is not two minutes off."
" Yes," said Syme, " if we ride on fast we must leave them behind, for they are on foot."
" He has a motor - car," said the Colonel.
" But we may not get it," said Bull.
" Yes, he is quite on your side."
" But he might be out."
" Hold your tongue," said Syme suddenly.
" What is that noise?"
For a second they all sat as still as equestrian statues, and for a second--for two or three or four seconds--heaven and earth seemed equally still.
Then all their ears, in an agony of attention, heard along the road that indescribable thrill and throb that means only one thing--horses!
The Colonel's face had an instantaneous change, as if lightning had struck it, and yet left it scatheless.
" They have done us," he said, with brief military irony.
" Prepare to receive cavalry!"
" Where can they have got the horses?"
asked Syme, as he mechanically urged his steed to a canter.
The Colonel was silent for a little, then he said in a strained voice --
" I was speaking with strict accuracy when I said that the'Soleil d'Or'was the only place where one can get horses within twenty miles."
" No!"
said Syme violently, " I don't believe he'd do it.
Not with all that white hair."
" He may have been forced," said the Colonel gently.
" They must be at least a hundred strong, for which reason we are all going to see my friend Renard, who has a motor - car."
With these words he swung his horse suddenly round a street corner, and went down the street with such thundering speed, that the others, though already well at the gallop, had difficulty in following the flying tail of his horse.
Dr. Renard inhabited a high and comfortable house at the top of a steep street, so that when the riders alighted at his door they could once more see the solid green ridge of the hill, with the white road across it, standing up above all the roofs of the town.
They breathed again to see that the road as yet was clear, and they rang the bell.
Dr. Renard was a beaming, brown - bearded man, a good example of that silent but very busy professional class which France has preserved even more perfectly than England.
When the matter was explained to him he pooh - poohed the panic of the ex - Marquis altogether; he said, with the solid French scepticism, that there was no conceivable probability of a general anarchist rising.
" Anarchy," he said, shrugging his shoulders, " it is childishness!"
" Et ca," cried out the Colonel suddenly, pointing over the other's shoulder, " and that is childishness, isn't it?"
They all looked round, and saw a curve of black cavalry come sweeping over the top of the hill with all the energy of Attila.
Swiftly as they rode, however, the whole rank still kept well together, and they could see the black vizards of the first line as level as a line of uniforms.
But although the main black square was the same, though travelling faster, there was now one sensational difference which they could see clearly upon the slope of the hill, as if upon a slanted map.
The bulk of the riders were in one block; but one rider flew far ahead of the column, and with frantic movements of hand and heel urged his horse faster and faster, so that one might have fancied that he was not the pursuer but the pursued.
But even at that great distance they could see something so fanatical, so unquestionable in his figure, that they knew it was the Secretary himself.
" I am sorry to cut short a cultured discussion," said the Colonel, " but can you lend me your motor - car now, in two minutes?"
" I have a suspicion that you are all mad," said Dr. Renard, smiling sociably; " but God forbid that madness should in any way interrupt friendship.
Let us go round to the garage."
Dr. Renard was a mild man with monstrous wealth; his rooms were like the Musee de Cluny, and he had three motor - cars.
These, however, he seemed to use very sparingly, having the simple tastes of the French middle class, and when his impatient friends came to examine them, it took them some time to assure themselves that one of them even could be made to work.
This with some difficulty they brought round into the street before the Doctor's house.
When they came out of the dim garage they were startled to find that twilight had already fallen with the abruptness of night in the tropics.
Either they had been longer in the place than they imagined, or some unusual canopy of cloud had gathered over the town.
They looked down the steep streets, and seemed to see a slight mist coming up from the sea.
" It is now or never," said Dr. Bull.
" I hear horses."
" No," corrected the Professor, " a horse."
And as they listened, it was evident that the noise, rapidly coming nearer on the rattling stones, was not the noise of the whole cavalcade but that of the one horseman, who had left it far behind--the insane Secretary.
Syme's family, like most of those who end in the simple life, had once owned a motor, and he knew all about them.
He had leapt at once into the chauffeur's seat, and with flushed face was wrenching and tugging at the disused machinery.
He bent his strength upon one handle, and then said quite quietly --
" I am afraid it's no go."
As he spoke, there swept round the corner a man rigid on his rushing horse, with the rush and rigidity of an arrow.
He had a smile that thrust out his chin as if it were dislocated.
He swept alongside of the stationary car, into which its company had crowded, and laid his hand on the front.
It was the Secretary, and his mouth went quite straight in the solemnity of triumph.
Syme was leaning hard upon the steering wheel, and there was no sound but the rumble of the other pursuers riding into the town.
Then there came quite suddenly a scream of scraping iron, and the car leapt forward.
It plucked the Secretary clean out of his saddle, as a knife is whipped out of its sheath, trailed him kicking terribly for twenty yards, and left him flung flat upon the road far in front of his frightened horse.
As the car took the corner of the street with a splendid curve, they could just see the other anarchists filling the street and raising their fallen leader.
" I can't understand why it has grown so dark," said the Professor at last in a low voice.
" Going to be a storm, I think," said Dr. Bull.
" I say, it's a pity we haven't got a light on this car, if only to see by."
" We have," said the Colonel, and from the floor of the car he fished up a heavy, old - fashioned, carved iron lantern with a light inside it.
It was obviously an antique, and it would seem as if its original use had been in some way semi - religious, for there was a rude moulding of a cross upon one of its sides.
" Where on earth did you get that?"
asked the Professor.
" I got it where I got the car," answered the Colonel, chuckling, " from my best friend.
While our friend here was fighting with the steering wheel, I ran up the front steps of the house and spoke to Renard, who was standing in his own porch, you will remember.
' I suppose,' I said,'there's no time to get a lamp.'
He looked up, blinking amiably at the beautiful arched ceiling of his own front hall.
From this was suspended, by chains of exquisite ironwork, this lantern, one of the hundred treasures of his treasure house.
By sheer force he tore the lamp out of his own ceiling, shattering the painted panels, and bringing down two blue vases with his violence.
Then he handed me the iron lantern, and I put it in the car.
Was I not right when I said that Dr. Renard was worth knowing?"
" You were," said Syme seriously, and hung the heavy lantern over the front.
There was a certain allegory of their whole position in the contrast between the modern automobile and its strange ecclesiastical lamp.
Hitherto they had passed through the quietest part of the town, meeting at most one or two pedestrians, who could give them no hint of the peace or the hostility of the place.
Now, however, the windows in the houses began one by one to be lit up, giving a greater sense of habitation and humanity.
Dr. Bull turned to the new detective who had led their flight, and permitted himself one of his natural and friendly smiles.
" These lights make one feel more cheerful."
Inspector Ratcliffe drew his brows together.
" There is only one set of lights that make me more cheerful," he said, " and they are those lights of the police station which I can see beyond the town.
Please God we may be there in ten minutes."
Then all Bull's boiling good sense and optimism broke suddenly out of him.
" Oh, this is all raving nonsense!"
he cried.
" If you really think that ordinary people in ordinary houses are anarchists, you must be madder than an anarchist yourself.
If we turned and fought these fellows, the whole town would fight for us."
" No," said the other with an immovable simplicity, " the whole town would fight for them.
We shall see.'
While they were speaking the Professor had leant forward with sudden excitement.
" What is that noise?"
he said.
" Oh, the horses behind us, I suppose," said the Colonel.
" I thought we had got clear of them."
" The horses behind us!
No," said the Professor, " it is not horses, and it is not behind us."
Almost as he spoke, across the end of the street before them two shining and rattling shapes shot past.
They were gone almost in a flash, but everyone could see that they were motor - cars, and the Professor stood up with a pale face and swore that they were the other two motor - cars from Dr. Renard's garage.
" I tell you they were his," he repeated, with wild eyes, " and they were full of men in masks!"
" Absurd!"
said the Colonel angrily.
" Dr. Renard would never give them his cars."
" He may have been forced," said Ratcliffe quietly.
" The whole town is on their side."
" You still believe that," asked the Colonel incredulously.
" You will all believe it soon," said the other with a hopeless calm.
There was a puzzled pause for some little time, and then the Colonel began again abruptly --
" No, I can't believe it.
The thing is nonsense.
The plain people of a peaceable French town --"
He was cut short by a bang and a blaze of light, which seemed close to his eyes.
As the car sped on it left a floating patch of white smoke behind it, and Syme had heard a shot shriek past his ear.
" My God!"
said the Colonel, " someone has shot at us."
" It need not interrupt conversation," said the gloomy Ratcliffe.
" Pray resume your remarks, Colonel.
You were talking, I think, about the plain people of a peaceable French town."
The staring Colonel was long past minding satire.
He rolled his eyes all round the street.
" It is extraordinary," he said, " most extraordinary."
" A fastidious person," said Syme, " might even call it unpleasant.
However, I suppose those lights out in the field beyond this street are the Gendarmerie.
We shall soon get there."
" No," said Inspector Ratcliffe, " we shall never get there."
He had been standing up and looking keenly ahead of him.
Now he sat down and smoothed his sleek hair with a weary gesture.
" What do you mean?"
asked Bull sharply.
" I mean that we shall never get there," said the pessimist placidly.
" They have two rows of armed men across the road already; I can see them from here.
The town is in arms, as I said it was.
I can only wallow in the exquisite comfort of my own exactitude."
And Ratcliffe sat down comfortably in the car and lit a cigarette, but the others rose excitedly and stared down the road.
Syme had slowed down the car as their plans became doubtful, and he brought it finally to a standstill just at the corner of a side street that ran down very steeply to the sea.
The town was mostly in shadow, but the sun had not sunk; wherever its level light could break through, it painted everything a burning gold.
Up this side street the last sunset light shone as sharp and narrow as the shaft of artificial light at the theatre.
It struck the car of the five friends, and lit it like a burning chariot.
But the rest of the street, especially the two ends of it, was in the deepest twilight, and for some seconds they could see nothing.
Then Syme, whose eyes were the keenest, broke into a little bitter whistle, and said
" It is quite true.
There is a crowd or an army or some such thing across the end of that street."
" Well, if there is," said Bull impatiently, " it must be something else--a sham fight or the mayor's birthday or something.
I cannot and will not believe that plain, jolly people in a place like this walk about with dynamite in their pockets.
Get on a bit, Syme, and let us look at them."
The car crawled about a hundred yards farther, and then they were all startled by Dr. Bull breaking into a high crow of laughter.
" Why, you silly mugs!"
he cried, " what did I tell you.
That crowd's as law - abiding as a cow, and if it weren't, it's on our side."
" How do you know?"
asked the professor, staring.
" You blind bat," cried Bull, " don't you see who is leading them?"
They peered again, and then the Colonel, with a catch in his voice, cried out --
" Why, it's Renard!"
" What a fool I've been!"
exclaimed the Colonel.
" Of course, the dear old boy has turned out to help us."
Dr. Bull was bubbling over with laughter, swinging the sword in his hand as carelessly as a cane.
He jumped out of the car and ran across the intervening space, calling out --
" Dr. Renard!
Dr.
Renard!"
An instant after Syme thought his own eyes had gone mad in his head.
For the philanthropic Dr. Renard had deliberately raised his revolver and fired twice at Bull, so that the shots rang down the road.
Almost at the same second as the puff of white cloud went up from this atrocious explosion a long puff of white cloud went up also from the cigarette of the cynical Ratcliffe.
Like all the rest he turned a little pale, but he smiled.
Dr. Bull, at whom the bullets had been fired, just missing his scalp, stood quite still in the middle of the road without a sign of fear, and then turned very slowly and crawled back to the car, and climbed in with two holes through his hat.
" Well," said the cigarette smoker slowly, " what do you think now?"
" I think," said Dr. Bull with precision, " that I am lying in bed at No.
217 Peabody Buildings, and that I shall soon wake up with a jump; or, if that's not it, I think that I am sitting in a small cushioned cell in Hanwell, and that the doctor can't make much of my case.
But if you want to know what I don't think, I'll tell you.
I don't think what you think.
I don't think, and I never shall think, that the mass of ordinary men are a pack of dirty modern thinkers.
No, sir, I'm a democrat, and I still don't believe that Sunday could convert one average navvy or counter - jumper.
No, I may be mad, but humanity isn't."
Syme turned his bright blue eyes on Bull with an earnestness which he did not commonly make clear.
" You are a very fine fellow," he said.
" You can believe in a sanity which is not merely your sanity.
And you're right enough about humanity, about peasants and people like that jolly old innkeeper.
But you're not right about Renard.
I suspected him from the first.
He's rationalistic, and, what's worse, he's rich.
When duty and religion are really destroyed, it will be by the rich."
" They are really destroyed now," said the man with a cigarette, and rose with his hands in his pockets.
" The devils are coming on!"
The men in the motor - car looked anxiously in the direction of his dreamy gaze, and they saw that the whole regiment at the end of the road was advancing upon them, Dr. Renard marching furiously in front, his beard flying in the breeze.
The Colonel sprang out of the car with an intolerant exclamation.
" Gentlemen," he cried, " the thing is incredible.
It must be a practical joke.
If you knew Renard as I do--it's like calling Queen Victoria a dynamiter.
If you had got the man's character into your head --"
" Dr. Bull," said Syme sardonically, " has at least got it into his hat."
" I tell you it can't be!"
cried the Colonel, stamping.
" Renard shall explain it.
He shall explain it to me," and he strode forward.
" Don't be in such a hurry," drawled the smoker.
" He will very soon explain it to all of us."
But the impatient Colonel was already out of earshot, advancing towards the advancing enemy.
The excited Dr. Renard lifted his pistol again, but perceiving his opponent, hesitated, and the Colonel came face to face with him with frantic gestures of remonstrance.
" It is no good," said Syme.
" He will never get anything out of that old heathen.
I vote we drive bang through the thick of them, bang as the bullets went through Bull's hat.
We may all be killed, but we must kill a tidy number of them."
" I won't'ave it," said Dr. Bull, growing more vulgar in the sincerity of his virtue.
" The poor chaps may be making a mistake.
Give the Colonel a chance."
" Shall we go back, then?"
asked the Professor.
" No," said Ratcliffe in a cold voice, " the street behind us is held too.
In fact, I seem to see there another friend of yours, Syme."
Syme spun round smartly, and stared backwards at the track which they had travelled.
He saw an irregular body of horsemen gathering and galloping towards them in the gloom.
He saw above the foremost saddle the silver gleam of a sword, and then as it grew nearer the silver gleam of an old man's hair.
The next moment, with shattering violence, he had swung the motor round and sent it dashing down the steep side street to the sea, like a man that desired only to die.
" What the devil is up?"
cried the Professor, seizing his arm.
" The morning star has fallen!"
said Syme, as his own car went down the darkness like a falling star.
The others did not understand his words, but when they looked back at the street above they saw the hostile cavalry coming round the corner and down the slopes after them; and foremost of all rode the good innkeeper, flushed with the fiery innocence of the evening light.
" The world is insane!"
said the Professor, and buried his face in his hands.
" No," said Dr. Bull in adamantine humility, " it is I."
" What are we going to do?"
asked the Professor.
" At this moment," said Syme, with a scientific detachment, " I think we are going to smash into a lamppost."
The next instant the automobile had come with a catastrophic jar against an iron object.
The instant after that four men had crawled out from under a chaos of metal, and a tall lean lamp - post that had stood up straight on the edge of the marine parade stood out, bent and twisted, like the branch of a broken tree.
" Well, we smashed something," said the Professor, with a faint smile.
" That's some comfort."
" You're becoming an anarchist," said Syme, dusting his clothes with his instinct of daintiness.
" Everyone is," said Ratcliffe.
As they spoke, the white - haired horseman and his followers came thundering from above, and almost at the same moment a dark string of men ran shouting along the sea - front.
Syme snatched a sword, and took it in his teeth; he stuck two others under his arm - pits, took a fourth in his left hand and the lantern in his right, and leapt off the high parade on to the beach below.
The others leapt after him, with a common acceptance of such decisive action, leaving the debris and the gathering mob above them.
" We have one more chance," said Syme, taking the steel out of his mouth.
" Whatever all this pandemonium means, I suppose the police station will help us.
We can't get there, for they hold the way.
But there's a pier or breakwater runs out into the sea just here, which we could defend longer than anything else, like Horatius and his bridge.
We must defend it till the Gendarmerie turn out.
Keep after me."
They followed him as he went crunching down the beach, and in a second or two their boots broke not on the sea gravel, but on broad, flat stones.
They marched down a long, low jetty, running out in one arm into the dim, boiling sea, and when they came to the end of it they felt that they had come to the end of their story.
They turned and faced the town.
That town was transfigured with uproar.
All along the high parade from which they had just descended was a dark and roaring stream of humanity, with tossing arms and fiery faces, groping and glaring towards them.
The long dark line was dotted with torches and lanterns; but even where no flame lit up a furious face, they could see in the farthest figure, in the most shadowy gesture, an organised hate.
It was clear that they were the accursed of all men, and they knew not why.
Two or three men, looking little and black like monkeys, leapt over the edge as they had done and dropped on to the beach.
These came ploughing down the deep sand, shouting horribly, and strove to wade into the sea at random.
The example was followed, and the whole black mass of men began to run and drip over the edge like black treacle.
Foremost among the men on the beach Syme saw the peasant who had driven their cart.
He splashed into the surf on a huge cart - horse, and shook his axe at them.
" The peasant!"
cried Syme.
" They have not risen since the Middle Ages."
" Even if the police do come now," said the Professor mournfully, " they can do nothing with this mob."
" Nonsence!"
said Bull desperately; " there must be some people left in the town who are human."
" No," said the hopeless Inspector, " the human being will soon be extinct.
We are the last of mankind."
" It may be," said the Professor absently.
Then he added in his dreamy voice, " What is all that at the end of the'Dunciad '?
' Nor public flame; nor private, dares to shine; Nor human light is left, nor glimpse divine!
Lo!
thy dread Empire, Chaos, is restored; Light dies before thine uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall; And universal darkness buries all.'
" Stop!"
cried Bull suddenly, " the gendarmes are out."
The low lights of the police station were indeed blotted and broken with hurrying figures, and they heard through the darkness the clash and jingle of a disciplined cavalry.
" They are charging the mob!"
cried Bull in ecstacy or alarm.
" No," said Syme, " they are formed along the parade."
" They have unslung their carbines," cried Bull dancing with excitement.
" Yes," said Ratcliffe, " and they are going to fire on us."
As he spoke there came a long crackle of musketry, and bullets seemed to hop like hailstones on the stones in front of them.
" The gendarmes have joined them!"
cried the Professor, and struck his forehead.
" I am in the padded cell," said Bull solidly.
There was a long silence, and then Ratcliffe said, looking out over the swollen sea, all a sort of grey purple --
" What does it matter who is mad or who is sane?
We shall all be dead soon."
Syme turned to him and said --
" You are quite hopeless, then?"
Mr. Ratcliffe kept a stony silence; then at last he said quietly --
" No; oddly enough I am not quite hopeless.
There is one insane little hope that I cannot get out of my mind.
The power of this whole planet is against us, yet I cannot help wondering whether this one silly little hope is hopeless yet."
" In what or whom is your hope?"
asked Syme with curiosity.
" In a man I never saw," said the other, looking at the leaden sea.
" I know what you mean," said Syme in a low voice, " the man in the dark room.
But Sunday must have killed him by now."
" Perhaps," said the other steadily; " but if so, he was the only man whom Sunday found it hard to kill."
" I heard what you said," said the Professor, with his back turned.
" I also am holding hard on to the thing I never saw."
All of a sudden Syme, who was standing as if blind with introspective thought, swung round and cried out, like a man waking from sleep --
" Where is the Colonel?
I thought he was with us!"
" The Colonel!
Yes," cried Bull, " where on earth is the Colonel?"
" He went to speak to Renard," said the Professor.
" We cannot leave him among all those beasts," cried Syme.
" Let us die like gentlemen if --"
" Do not pity the Colonel," said Ratcliffe, with a pale sneer.
" He is extremely comfortable.
He is --"
" No!
no!
no!"
cried Syme in a kind of frenzy, " not the Colonel too!
I will never believe it!"
" Will you believe your eyes?"
asked the other, and pointed to the beach.
Many of their pursuers had waded into the water shaking their fists, but the sea was rough, and they could not reach the pier.
Two or three figures, however, stood on the beginning of the stone footway, and seemed to be cautiously advancing down it.
The glare of a chance lantern lit up the faces of the two foremost.
One face wore a black half - mask, and under it the mouth was twisting about in such a madness of nerves that the black tuft of beard wriggled round and round like a restless, living thing.
The other was the red face and white moustache of Colonel Ducroix.
They were in earnest consultation.
" Yes, he is gone too," said the Professor, and sat down on a stone.
" Everything's gone.
I'm gone!
I can't trust my own bodily machinery.
I feel as if my own hand might fly up and strike me."
" When my hand flies up," said Syme, " it will strike somebody else," and he strode along the pier towards the Colonel, the sword in one hand and the lantern in the other.
As if to destroy the last hope or doubt, the Colonel, who saw him coming, pointed his revolver at him and fired.
The shot missed Syme, but struck his sword, breaking it short at the hilt.
Syme rushed on, and swung the iron lantern above his head.
" Judas before Herod!"
he said, and struck the Colonel down upon the stones.
Then he turned to the Secretary, whose frightful mouth was almost foaming now, and held the lamp high with so rigid and arresting a gesture, that the man was, as it were, frozen for a moment, and forced to hear.
" Do you see this lantern?"
cried Syme in a terrible voice.
" Do you see the cross carved on it, and the flame inside?
You did not make it.
You did not light it, Better men than you, men who could believe and obey, twisted the entrails of iron and preserved the legend of fire.
There is not a street you walk on, there is not a thread you wear, that was not made as this lantern was, by denying your philosophy of dirt and rats.
You can make nothing.
You can only destroy.
You will destroy mankind; you will destroy the world.
Let that suffice you.
Yet this one old Christian lantern you shall not destroy.
It shall go where your empire of apes will never have the wit to find it."
He struck the Secretary once with the lantern so that he staggered; and then, whirling it twice round his head, sent it flying far out to sea, where it flared like a roaring rocket and fell.
" Swords!"
shouted Syme, turning his flaming face; to the three behind him.
" Let us charge these dogs, for our time has come to die."
His three companions came after him sword in hand.
Syme's sword was broken, but he rent a bludgeon from the fist of a fisherman, flinging him down.
In a moment they would have flung themselves upon the face of the mob and perished, when an interruption came.
The Secretary, ever since Syme's speech, had stood with his hand to his stricken head as if dazed; now he suddenly pulled off his black mask.
The pale face thus peeled in the lamplight revealed not so much rage as astonishment.
He put up his hand with an anxious authority.
" There is some mistake," he said.
" Mr. Syme, I hardly think you understand your position.
I arrest you in the name of the law."
" Of the law?"
said Syme, and dropped his stick.
" Certainly!"
said the Secretary.
" I am a detective from Scotland Yard," and he took a small blue card from his pocket.
" And what do you suppose we are?"
asked the Professor, and threw up his arms.
" You," said the Secretary stiffly, " are, as I know for a fact, members of the Supreme Anarchist Council.
Disguised as one of you, I --"
Dr. Bull tossed his sword into the sea.
" There never was any Supreme Anarchist Council," he said.
" We were all a lot of silly policemen looking at each other.
And all these nice people who have been peppering us with shot thought we were the dynamiters.
I knew I couldn't be wrong about the mob," he said, beaming over the enormous multitude, which stretched away to the distance on both sides.
" Vulgar people are never mad.
I'm vulgar myself, and I know.
I am now going on shore to stand a drink to everybody here."
CHAPTER XIII
THE PURSUIT OF THE PRESIDENT
NEXT morning five bewildered but hilarious people took the boat for Dover.
The poor old Colonel might have had some cause to complain, having been first forced to fight for two factions that didn't exist, and then knocked down with an iron lantern.
But he was a magnanimous old gentleman, and being much relieved that neither party had anything to do with dynamite, he saw them off on the pier with great geniality.
The five reconciled detectives had a hundred details to explain to each other.
The Secretary had to tell Syme how they had come to wear masks originally in order to approach the supposed enemy as fellow - conspirators;
Syme had to explain how they had fled with such swiftness through a civilised country.
But above all these matters of detail which could be explained, rose the central mountain of the matter that they could not explain.
What did it all mean?
If they were all harmless officers, what was Sunday?
If he had not seized the world, what on earth had he been up to?
Inspector Ratcliffe was still gloomy about this.
" I can't make head or tail of old Sunday's little game any more than you can," he said.
" But whatever else Sunday is, he isn't a blameless citizen.
Damn it!
do you remember his face?"
" I grant you," answered Syme, " that I have never been able to forget it."
" Well," said the Secretary, " I suppose we can find out soon, for tomorrow we have our next general meeting.
You will excuse me," he said, with a rather ghastly smile, " for being well acquainted with my secretarial duties."
" I suppose you are right," said the Professor reflectively.
" I suppose we might find it out from him; but I confess that I should feel a bit afraid of asking Sunday who he really is."
" Why," asked the Secretary, " for fear of bombs?"
" No," said the Professor, " for fear he might tell me."
" Let us have some drinks," said Dr. Bull, after a silence.
Throughout their whole journey by boat and train they were highly convivial, but they instinctively kept together.
Dr. Bull, who had always been the optimist of the party, endeavoured to persuade the other four that the whole company could take the same hansom cab from Victoria; but this was over - ruled, and they went in a four - wheeler, with Dr. Bull on the box, singing.
They finished their journey at an hotel in Piccadilly Circus, so as to be close to the early breakfast next morning in Leicester Square.
Yet even then the adventures of the day were not entirely over.
Dr. Bull, discontented with the general proposal to go to bed, had strolled out of the hotel at about eleven to see and taste some of the beauties of London.
Twenty minutes afterwards, however, he came back and made quite a clamour in the hall.
Syme, who tried at first to soothe him, was forced at last to listen to his communication with quite new attention.
" I tell you I've seen him!"
said Dr. Bull, with thick emphasis.
" Whom?"
asked Syme quickly.
" Not the President?"
" Not so bad as that," said Dr. Bull, with unnecessary laughter, " not so bad as that.
I've got him here."
" Got whom here?"
asked Syme impatiently.
" Hairy man," said the other lucidly, " man that used to be hairy man--Gogol.
Here he is," and he pulled forward by a reluctant elbow the identical young man who five days before had marched out of the Council with thin red hair and a pale face, the first of all the sham anarchists who had been exposed.
" Why do you worry with me?"
he cried.
" You have expelled me as a spy."
" We are all spies!"
whispered Syme.
" We're all spies!"
shouted Dr. Bull.
" Come and have a drink."
Next morning the battalion of the reunited six marched stolidly towards the hotel in Leicester Square.
" This is more cheerful," said Dr. Bull; " we are six men going to ask one man what he means."
" I think it is a bit queerer than that," said Syme.
" I think it is six men going to ask one man what they mean."
They turned in silence into the Square, and though the hotel was in the opposite corner, they saw at once the little balcony and a figure that looked too big for it.
He was sitting alone with bent head, poring over a newspaper.
But all his councillors, who had come to vote him down, crossed that Square as if they were watched out of heaven by a hundred eyes.
They had disputed much upon their policy, about whether they should leave the unmasked Gogol without and begin diplomatically, or whether they should bring him in and blow up the gunpowder at once.
The influence of Syme and Bull prevailed for the latter course, though the Secretary to the last asked them why they attacked Sunday so rashly.
" My reason is quite simple," said Syme.
" I attack him rashly because I am afraid of him."
They followed Syme up the dark stair in silence, and they all came out simultaneously into the broad sunlight of the morning and the broad sunlight of Sunday's smile.
" Delightful!"
he said.
" So pleased to see you all.
What an exquisite day it is.
Is the Czar dead?"
The Secretary, who happened to be foremost, drew himself together for a dignified outburst.
" No, sir," he said sternly " there has been no massacre.
I bring you news of no such disgusting spectacles."
" Disgusting spectacles?"
repeated the President, with a bright, inquiring smile.
" You mean Dr. Bull's spectacles?"
The Secretary choked for a moment, and the President went on with a sort of smooth appeal --
" Of course, we all have our opinions and even our eyes, but really to call them disgusting before the man himself --"
Dr. Bull tore off his spectacles and broke them on the table.
" My spectacles are blackguardly," he said, " but I'm not.
Look at my face."
" I dare say it's the sort of face that grows on one," said the President, " in fact, it grows on you; and who am I to quarrel with the wild fruits upon the Tree of Life?
I dare say it will grow on me some day."
" We have no time for tomfoolery," said the Secretary, breaking in savagely.
" We have come to know what all this means.
Who are you?
What are you?
Why did you get us all here?
Do you know who and what we are?
Are you a half - witted man playing the conspirator, or are you a clever man playing the fool?
Answer me, I tell you."
" Candidates," murmured Sunday, " are only required to answer eight out of the seventeen questions on the paper.
As far as I can make out, you want me to tell you what I am, and what you are, and what this table is, and what this Council is, and what this world is for all I know.
Well, I will go so far as to rend the veil of one mystery.
If you want to know what you are, you are a set of highly well - intentioned young jackasses."
" And you," said Syme, leaning forward, " what are you?"
" I?
What am I?"
roared the President, and he rose slowly to an incredible height, like some enormous wave about to arch above them and break.
" You want to know what I am, do you?
Bull, you are a man of science.
Grub in the roots of those trees and find out the truth about them.
Syme, you are a poet.
Stare at those morning clouds.
But I tell you this, that you will have found out the truth of the last tree and the top - most cloud before the truth about me.
You will understand the sea, and I shall be still a riddle; you shall know what the stars are, and not know what I am.
Since the beginning of the world all men have hunted me like a wolf--kings and sages, and poets and lawgivers, all the churches, and all the philosophies.
But I have never been caught yet, and the skies will fall in the time I turn to bay.
I have given them a good run for their money, and I will now."
Before one of them could move, the monstrous man had swung himself like some huge ourang - outang over the balustrade of the balcony.
Yet before he dropped he pulled himself up again as on a horizontal bar, and thrusting his great chin over the edge of the balcony, said solemnly --
" There's one thing I'll tell you though about who I am.
I am the man in the dark room, who made you all policemen."
With that he fell from the balcony, bouncing on the stones below like a great ball of india - rubber, and went bounding off towards the corner of the Alhambra, where he hailed a hansom - cab and sprang inside it.
The six detectives had been standing thunderstruck and livid in the light of his last assertion; but when he disappeared into the cab, Syme's practical senses returned to him, and leaping over the balcony so recklessly as almost to break his legs, he called another cab.
He and Bull sprang into the cab together, the Professor and the Inspector into another, while the Secretary and the late Gogol scrambled into a third just in time to pursue the flying Syme, who was pursuing the flying President.
Sunday led them a wild chase towards the north - west, his cabman, evidently under the influence of more than common inducements, urging the horse at breakneck speed.
But Syme was in no mood for delicacies, and he stood up in his own cab shouting, " Stop thief!"
until crowds ran along beside his cab, and policemen began to stop and ask questions.
All this had its influence upon the President's cabman, who began to look dubious, and to slow down to a trot.
He opened the trap to talk reasonably to his fare, and in so doing let the long whip droop over the front of the cab.
Sunday leant forward, seized it, and jerked it violently out of the man's hand.
Then standing up in front of the cab himself, he lashed the horse and roared aloud, so that they went down the streets like a flying storm.
Through street after street and square after square went whirling this preposterous vehicle, in which the fare was urging the horse and the driver trying desperately to stop it.
The other three cabs came after it (if the phrase be permissible of a cab) like panting hounds.
Shops and streets shot by like rattling arrows.
At the highest ecstacy of speed, Sunday turned round on the splashboard where he stood, and sticking his great grinning head out of the cab, with white hair whistling in the wind, he made a horrible face at his pursuers, like some colossal urchin.
Then raising his right hand swiftly, he flung a ball of paper in Syme's face and vanished.
Syme caught the thing while instinctively warding it off, and discovered that it consisted of two crumpled papers.
One was addressed to himself, and the other to Dr. Bull, with a very long, and it is to be feared partly ironical, string of letters after his name.
Dr. Bull's address was, at any rate, considerably longer than his communication, for the communication consisted entirely of the words:--
" What about Martin Tupper now?"
" What does the old maniac mean?"
asked Bull, staring at the words.
" What does yours say, Syme?"
Syme's message was, at any rate, longer, and ran as follows:--
" No one would regret anything in the nature of an interference by the Archdeacon more than I. I trust it will not come to that.
But, for the last time, where are your goloshes?
The thing is too bad, especially after what uncle said."
The President's cabman seemed to be regaining some control over his horse, and the pursuers gained a little as they swept round into the Edgware Road.
And here there occurred what seemed to the allies a providential stoppage.
Traffic of every kind was swerving to right or left or stopping, for down the long road was coming the unmistakable roar announcing the fire - engine, which in a few seconds went by like a brazen thunderbolt.
But quick as it went by, Sunday had bounded out of his cab, sprung at the fire - engine, caught it, slung himself on to it, and was seen as he disappeared in the noisy distance talking to the astonished fireman with explanatory gestures.
" After him!"
howled Syme.
" He can't go astray now.
There's no mistaking a fire - engine."
The three cabmen, who had been stunned for a moment, whipped up their horses and slightly decreased the distance between themselves and their disappearing prey.
The President acknowledged this proximity by coming to the back of the car, bowing repeatedly, kissing his hand, and finally flinging a neatly - folded note into the bosom of Inspector Ratcliffe.
When that gentleman opened it, not without impatience, he found it contained the words:--
" Fly at once.
The truth about your trouser - stretchers is known.
-- A FRIEND."
Before the three cabs, however, could reach up to the spot, he had gone up the high railings like a huge grey cat, tossed himself over, and vanished in a darkness of leaves.
Syme with a furious gesture stopped his cab, jumped out, and sprang also to the escalade.
When he had one leg over the fence and his friends were following, he turned a face on them which shone quite pale in the shadow.
" What place can this be?"
he asked.
" Can it be the old devil's house?
I've heard he has a house in North London."
" All the better," said the Secretary grimly, planting a foot in a foothold, " we shall find him at home."
" No, but it isn't that," said Syme, knitting his brows.
" I hear the most horrible noises, like devils laughing and sneezing and blowing their devilish noses!"
" His dogs barking, of course," said the Secretary.
" Why not say his black - beetles barking!"
said Syme furiously, " snails barking!
geraniums barking!
Did you ever hear a dog bark like that?"
He held up his hand, and there came out of the thicket a long growling roar that seemed to get under the skin and freeze the flesh--a low thrilling roar that made a throbbing in the air all about them.
" The dogs of Sunday would be no ordinary dogs," said Gogol, and shuddered.
Syme had jumped down on the other side, but he still stood listening impatiently.
" Well, listen to that," he said, " is that a dog--anybody's dog?"
There broke upon their ear a hoarse screaming as of things protesting and clamouring in sudden pain; and then, far off like an echo, what sounded like a long nasal trumpet.
" Well, his house ought to be hell!"
said the Secretary; " and if it is hell, I'm going in!"
and he sprang over the tall railings almost with one swing.
The others followed.
They broke through a tangle of plants and shrubs, and came out on an open path.
Nothing was in sight, but Dr. Bull suddenly struck his hands together.
" Why, you asses," he cried, " it's the Zoo!"
As they were looking round wildly for any trace of their wild quarry, a keeper in uniform came running along the path with a man in plain clothes.
" Has it come this way?"
gasped the keeper.
" Has what?"
asked Syme.
" The elephant!"
cried the keeper.
" An elephant has gone mad and run away!"
" He has run away with an old gentleman," said the other stranger breathlessly, " a poor old gentleman with white hair! "
" What sort of old gentleman?"
asked Syme, with great curiosity.
" A very large and fat old gentleman in light grey clothes," said the keeper eagerly.
" Well," said Syme, " if he's that particular kind of old gentleman, if you're quite sure that he's a large and fat old gentleman in grey clothes, you may take my word for it that the elephant has not run away with him.
He has run away with the elephant.
The elephant is not made by God that could run away with him if he did not consent to the elopement.
And, by thunder, there he is!"
There was no doubt about it this time.
Clean across the space of grass, about two hundred yards away, with a crowd screaming and scampering vainly at his heels, went a huge grey elephant at an awful stride, with his trunk thrown out as rigid as a ship's bowsprit, and trumpeting like the trumpet of doom.
On the back of the bellowing and plunging animal sat President Sunday with all the placidity of a sultan, but goading the animal to a furious speed with some sharp object in his hand.
" Stop him!"
screamed the populace.
" He'll be out of the gate!"
" Stop a landslide!"
said the keeper.
" He is out of the gate!"
And even as he spoke, a final crash and roar of terror announced that the great grey elephant had broken out of the gates of the Zoological Gardens, and was careening down Albany Street like a new and swift sort of omnibus.
" Great Lord!"
cried Bull, " I never knew an elephant could go so fast.
Well, it must be hansom - cabs again if we are to keep him in sight."
As they raced along to the gate out of which the elephant had vanished, Syme felt a glaring panorama of the strange animals in the cages which they passed.
Afterwards he thought it queer that he should have seen them so clearly.
He remembered especially seeing pelicans, with their preposterous, pendant throats.
He wondered why the pelican was the symbol of charity, except it was that it wanted a good deal of charity to admire a pelican.
He remembered a hornbill, which was simply a huge yellow beak with a small bird tied on behind it.
The whole gave him a sensation, the vividness of which he could not explain, that Nature was always making quite mysterious jokes.
Sunday had told them that they would understand him when they had understood the stars.
He wondered whether even the archangels understood the hornbill.
The six unhappy detectives flung themselves into cabs and followed the elephant sharing the terror which he spread through the long stretch of the streets.
This time Sunday did not turn round, but offered them the solid stretch of his unconscious back, which maddened them, if possible, more than his previous mockeries.
Just before they came to Baker Street, however, he was seen to throw something far up into the air, as a boy does a ball meaning to catch it again.
But at their rate of racing it fell far behind, just by the cab containing Gogol; and in faint hope of a clue or for some impulse unexplainable, he stopped his cab so as to pick it up.
It was addressed to himself, and was quite a bulky parcel.
On examination, however, its bulk was found to consist of thirty - three pieces of paper of no value wrapped one round the other.
When the last covering was torn away it reduced itself to a small slip of paper, on which was written:--
" The word, I fancy, should be'pink '."
The man once known as Gogol said nothing, but the movements of his hands and feet were like those of a man urging a horse to renewed efforts.
Through street after street, through district after district, went the prodigy of the flying elephant, calling crowds to every window, and driving the traffic left and right.
And still through all this insane publicity the three cabs toiled after it, until they came to be regarded as part of a procession, and perhaps the advertisement of a circus.
They went at such a rate that distances were shortened beyond belief, and Syme saw the Albert Hall in Kensington when he thought that he was still in Paddington.
The animal's pace was even more fast and free through the empty, aristocratic streets of South Kensington, and he finally headed towards that part of the sky - line where the enormous Wheel of Earl's Court stood up in the sky.
The wheel grew larger and larger, till it filled heaven like the wheel of stars.
The beast outstripped the cabs.
They lost him round several corners, and when they came to one of the gates of the Earl's Court Exhibition they found themselves finally blocked.
In front of them was an enormous crowd; in the midst of it was an enormous elephant, heaving and shuddering as such shapeless creatures do.
But the President had disappeared.
" Where has he gone to?"
asked Syme, slipping to the ground.
" Gentleman rushed into the Exhibition, sir!"
said an official in a dazed manner.
Then he added in an injured voice: " Funny gentleman, sir.
Asked me to hold his horse, and gave me this."
He held out with distaste a piece of folded paper, addressed: " To the Secretary of the Central Anarchist Council."
The Secretary, raging, rent it open, and found written inside it:--
" When the herring runs a mile, Let the Secretary smile; When the herring tries to fly, Let the Secretary die.
Rustic Proverb."
" Why the eternal crikey," began the Secretary, " did you let the man in?
Do people commonly come to you Exhibition riding on mad elephants?
Do --"
" Look!"
shouted Syme suddenly.
" Look over there!"
" Look at what?"
asked the Secretary savagely.
" Look at the captive balloon!"
said Syme, and pointed in a frenzy.
" Why the blazes should I look at a captive balloon?'
demanded the Secretary.
" What is there queer about a captive balloon?"
" Nothing," said Syme, " except that it isn't captive!'
They all turned their eyes to where the balloon swung and swelled above the Exhibition on a string, like a child's balloon.
A second afterwards the string came in two just under the car, and the balloon, broken loose, floated away with the freedom of a soap bubble.
" Ten thousand devils!"
shrieked the Secretary.
" He's got into it!"
and he shook his fists at the sky.
The balloon, borne by some chance wind, came right above them, and they could see the great white head of the President peering over the side and looking benevolently down on them.
" God bless my soul!"
said the Professor with the elderly manner that he could never disconnect from his bleached beard and parchment face.
" God bless my soul!
I seemed to fancy that something fell on the top of my hat!"
He put up a trembling hand and took from that shelf a piece of twisted paper, which he opened absently only to find it inscribed with a true lover's knot and, the words:--
" Your beauty has not left me indifferent.-- From LITTLE SNOWDROP. "
There was a short silence, and then Syme said, biting his beard --
" I'm not beaten yet.
The blasted thing must come down somewhere.
Let's follow it!"
CHAPTER XIV
THE SIX PHILOSOPHERS
ACROSS green fields, and breaking through blooming hedges, toiled six draggled detectives, about five miles out of London.
The optimist of the party had at first proposed that they should follow the balloon across South England in hansom - cabs.
But he was ultimately convinced of the persistent refusal of the balloon to follow the roads, and the still more persistent refusal of the cabmen to follow the balloon.
Consequently the tireless though exasperated travellers broke through black thickets and ploughed through ploughed fields till each was turned into a figure too outrageous to be mistaken for a tramp.
Those green hills of Surrey saw the final collapse and tragedy of the admirable light grey suit in which Syme had set out from Saffron Park.
" After all," he said, " it is very beautiful!"
" It is singularly and strangely beautiful!"
said the Professor.
" I wish the beastly gas - bag would burst!"
" No," said Dr. Bull, " I hope it won't.
It might hurt the old boy."
" Hurt him!"
said the vindictive Professor, " hurt him!
Not as much as I'd hurt him if I could get up with him.
Little Snowdrop!"
" I don't want him hurt, somehow," said Dr. Bull.
" What!"
cried the Secretary bitterly.
" Do you believe all that tale about his being our man in the dark room?
Sunday would say he was anybody."
" I don't know whether I believe it or not," said Dr. Bull.
" But it isn't that that I mean.
I can't wish old Sunday's balloon to burst because --"
" Well," said Syme impatiently, " because?"
" Well, because he's so jolly like a balloon himself," said Dr. Bull desperately.
" I don't understand a word of all that idea of his being the same man who gave us all our blue cards.
It seems to make everything nonsense.
But I don't care who knows it, I always had a sympathy for old Sunday himself, wicked as he was.
Just as if he was a great bouncing baby.
How can I explain what my queer sympathy was?
It didn't prevent my fighting him like hell!
Shall I make it clear if I say that I liked him because he was so fat?"
" You will not," said the Secretary.
" I've got it now," cried Bull, " it was because he was so fat and so light.
Just like a balloon.
We always think of fat people as heavy, but he could have danced against a sylph.
I see now what I mean.
Moderate strength is shown in violence, supreme strength is shown in levity.
It was like the old speculations--what would happen if an elephant could leap up in the sky like a grasshopper?"
" Our elephant," said Syme, looking upwards, " has leapt into the sky like a grasshopper."
" And somehow," concluded Bull, " that's why I can't help liking old Sunday.
No, it's not an admiration of force, or any silly thing like that.
There is a kind of gaiety in the thing, as if he were bursting with some good news.
Haven't you sometimes felt it on a spring day?
You know Nature plays tricks, but somehow that day proves they are good - natured tricks.
I never read the Bible myself, but that part they laugh at is literal truth,'Why leap ye, ye high hills?'
The hills do leap--at least, they try to.
Why do I like Sunday?
how can I tell you?
because he's such a Bounder."
There was a long silence, and then the Secretary said in a curious, strained voice --
" You do not know Sunday at all.
Perhaps it is because you are better than I, and do not know hell.
I was a fierce fellow, and a trifle morbid from the first.
The man who sits in darkness, and who chose us all, chose me because I had all the crazy look of a conspirator--because my smile went crooked, and my eyes were gloomy, even when I smiled.
But there must have been something in me that answered to the nerves in all these anarchic men.
For when I first saw Sunday he expressed to me, not your airy vitality, but something both gross and sad in the Nature of Things.
I found him smoking in a twilight room, a room with brown blind down, infinitely more depressing than the genial darkness in which our master lives.
He sat there on a bench, a huge heap of a man, dark and out of shape.
He listened to all my words without speaking or even stirring.
I poured out my most passionate appeals, and asked my most eloquent questions.
Then, after a long silence, the Thing began to shake, and I thought it was shaken by some secret malady.
It shook like a loathsome and living jelly.
It reminded me of everything I had ever read about the base bodies that are the origin of life--the deep sea lumps and protoplasm.
It seemed like the final form of matter, the most shapeless and the most shameful.
I could only tell myself, from its shudderings, that it was something at least that such a monster could be miserable.
And then it broke upon me that the bestial mountain was shaking with a lonely laughter, and the laughter was at me.
Do you ask me to forgive him that?
It is no small thing to be laughed at by something at once lower and stronger than oneself."
" Surely you fellows are exaggerating wildly," cut in the clear voice of Inspector Ratcliffe.
" President Sunday is a terrible fellow for one's intellect, but he is not such a Barnum's freak physically as you make out.
He received me in an ordinary office, in a grey check coat, in broad daylight.
He talked to me in an ordinary way.
But I'll tell you what is a trifle creepy about Sunday.
His room is neat, his clothes are neat, everything seems in order; but he's absent - minded.
Sometimes his great bright eyes go quite blind.
For hours he forgets that you are there.
Now absent - mindedness is just a bit too awful in a bad man.
We think of a wicked man as vigilant.
We can't think of a wicked man who is honestly and sincerely dreamy, because we daren't think of a wicked man alone with himself.
An absentminded man means a good - natured man.
It means a man who, if he happens to see you, will apologise.
But how will you bear an absentminded man who, if he happens to see you, will kill you?
That is what tries the nerves, abstraction combined with cruelty.
Men have felt it sometimes when they went through wild forests, and felt that the animals there were at once innocent and pitiless.
They might ignore or slay.
How would you like to pass ten mortal hours in a parlour with an absent - minded tiger?"
" And what do you think of Sunday, Gogol?"
asked Syme.
" I don't think of Sunday on principle," said Gogol simply, " any more than I stare at the sun at noonday."
" Well, that is a point of view," said Syme thoughtfully.
" What do you say, Professor?"
The Professor was walking with bent head and trailing stick, and he did not answer at all.
" Wake up, Professor!"
said Syme genially.
" Tell us what you think of Sunday."
The Professor spoke at last very slowly.
" I think something," he said, " that I cannot say clearly.
Or, rather, I think something that I cannot even think clearly.
But it is something like this.
My early life, as you know, was a bit too large and loose.
Well, when I saw Sunday's face I thought it was too large--everybody does, but I also thought it was too loose.
The face was so big, that one couldn't focus it or make it a face at all.
The eye was so far away from the nose, that it wasn't an eye.
The mouth was so much by itself, that one had to think of it by itself.
The whole thing is too hard to explain."
He paused for a little, still trailing his stick, and then went on --
" But put it this way.
Walking up a road at night, I have seen a lamp and a lighted window and a cloud make together a most complete and unmistakable face.
If anyone in heaven has that face I shall know him again.
Yet when I walked a little farther I found that there was no face, that the window was ten yards away, the lamp ten hundred yards, the cloud beyond the world.
Well, Sunday's face escaped me; it ran away to right and left, as such chance pictures run away.
And so his face has made me, somehow, doubt whether there are any faces.
I don't know whether your face, Bull, is a face or a combination in perspective.
Perhaps one black disc of your beastly glasses is quite close and another fifty miles away.
Oh, the doubts of a materialist are not worth a dump.
Sunday has taught me the last and the worst doubts, the doubts of a spiritualist.
I am a Buddhist, I suppose; and Buddhism is not a creed, it is a doubt.
My poor dear Bull, I do not believe that you really have a face.
I have not faith enough to believe in matter."
Syme's eyes were still fixed upon the errant orb, which, reddened in the evening light, looked like some rosier and more innocent world.
" Have you noticed an odd thing," he said, " about all your descriptions?
Each man of you finds Sunday quite different, yet each man of you can only find one thing to compare him to--the universe itself.
Bull finds him like the earth in spring, Gogol like the sun at noonday.
The Secretary is reminded of the shapeless protoplasm, and the Inspector of the carelessness of virgin forests.
The Professor says he is like a changing landscape.
This is queer, but it is queerer still that I also have had my odd notion about the President, and I also find that I think of Sunday as I think of the whole world."
" Get on a little faster, Syme," said Bull; " never mind the balloon."
" When I first saw Sunday," said Syme slowly, " I only saw his back; and when I saw his back, I knew he was the worst man in the world.
His neck and shoulders were brutal, like those of some apish god.
His head had a stoop that was hardly human, like the stoop of an ox.
In fact, I had at once the revolting fancy that this was not a man at all, but a beast dressed up in men's clothes."
" Get on," said Dr. Bull.
" And then the queer thing happened.
I had seen his back from the street, as he sat in the balcony.
Then I entered the hotel, and coming round the other side of him, saw his face in the sunlight.
His face frightened me, as it did everyone; but not because it was brutal, not because it was evil.
On the contrary, it frightened me because it was so beautiful, because it was so good."
" Syme," exclaimed the Secretary, " are you ill?"
" It was like the face of some ancient archangel, judging justly after heroic wars.
There was laughter in the eyes, and in the mouth honour and sorrow.
There was the same white hair, the same great, grey - clad shoulders that I had seen from behind.
But when I saw him from behind I was certain he was an animal, and when I saw him in front I knew he was a god."
" Pan," said the Professor dreamily, " was a god and an animal."
" Then, and again and always," went on Syme like a man talking to himself, " that has been for me the mystery of Sunday, and it is also the mystery of the world.
When I see the horrible back, I am sure the noble face is but a mask.
When I see the face but for an instant, I know the back is only a jest.
Bad is so bad, that we cannot but think good an accident; good is so good, that we feel certain that evil could be explained.
But the whole came to a kind of crest yesterday when I raced Sunday for the cab, and was just behind him all the way."
" Had you time for thinking then?"
asked Ratcliffe.
" Time," replied Syme, " for one outrageous thought.
I was suddenly possessed with the idea that the blind, blank back of his head really was his face--an awful, eyeless face staring at me!
And I fancied that the figure running in front of me was really a figure running backwards, and dancing as he ran."
" Horrible!"
said Dr. Bull, and shuddered.
" Horrible is not the word," said Syme.
" It was exactly the worst instant of my life.
And yet ten minutes afterwards, when he put his head out of the cab and made a grimace like a gargoyle, I knew that he was only like a father playing hide - and - seek with his children."
" It is a long game," said the Secretary, and frowned at his broken boots.
" Listen to me," cried Syme with extraordinary emphasis.
" Shall I tell you the secret of the whole world?
It is that we have only known the back of the world.
We see everything from behind, and it looks brutal.
That is not a tree, but the back of a tree.
That is not a cloud, but the back of a cloud.
Cannot you see that everything is stooping and hiding a face?
If we could only get round in front --"
" Look!"
cried out Bull clamorously, " the balloon is coming down!"
There was no need to cry out to Syme, who had never taken his eyes off it.
He saw the great luminous globe suddenly stagger in the sky, right itself, and then sink slowly behind the trees like a setting sun.
The man called Gogol, who had hardly spoken through all their weary travels, suddenly threw up his hands like a lost spirit.
" He is dead!"
he cried.
" And now I know he was my friend--my friend in the dark!"
" Dead!"
snorted the Secretary.
" You will not find him dead easily.
If he has been tipped out of the car, we shall find him rolling as a colt rolls in a field, kicking his legs for fun."
" Clashing his hoofs," said the Professor.
" The colts do, and so did Pan."
" Pan again!"
said Dr. Bull irritably.
" You seem to think Pan is everything."
" So he is," said the Professor, " in Greek.
He means everything."
" Don't forget," said the Secretary, looking down, " that he also means Panic."
Syme had stood without hearing any of the exclamations.
" It fell over there," he said shortly.
" Let us follow it!"
Then he added with an indescribable gesture --
" Oh, if he has cheated us all by getting killed!
It would be like one of his larks."
He strode off towards the distant trees with a new energy, his rags and ribbons fluttering in the wind.
The others followed him in a more footsore and dubious manner.
And almost at the same moment all six men realised that they were not alone in the little field.
Across the square of turf a tall man was advancing towards them, leaning on a strange long staff like a sceptre.
He was clad in a fine but old - fashioned suit with knee - breeches; its colour was that shade between blue, violet and grey which can be seen in certain shadows of the woodland.
His hair was whitish grey, and at the first glance, taken along with his knee - breeches, looked as if it was powdered.
His advance was very quiet; but for the silver frost upon his head, he might have been one to the shadows of the wood.
" Gentlemen," he said, " my master has a carriage waiting for you in the road just by."
" Who is your master?"
asked Syme, standing quite still.
" I was told you knew his name," said the man respectfully.
There was a silence, and then the Secretary said --
" Where is this carriage?"
" It has been waiting only a few moments," said the stranger.
" My master has only just come home."
Syme looked left and right upon the patch of green field in which he found himself.
The hedges were ordinary hedges, the trees seemed ordinary trees; yet he felt like a man entrapped in fairyland.
He looked the mysterious ambassador up and down, but he could discover nothing except that the man's coat was the exact colour of the purple shadows, and that the man's face was the exact colour of the red and brown and golden sky.
" Show us the place," Syme said briefly, and without a word the man in the violet coat turned his back and walked towards a gap in the hedge, which let in suddenly the light of a white road.
As the six wanderers broke out upon this thoroughfare, they saw the white road blocked by what looked like a long row of carriages, such a row of carriages as might close the approach to some house in Park Lane.
There were no less than six carriages waiting, one for each of the tattered and miserable band.
All the attendants (as if in court - dress) wore swords, and as each man crawled into his carriage they drew them, and saluted with a sudden blaze of steel.
" What can it all mean?"
asked Bull of Syme as they separated.
" Is this another joke of Sunday's?"
" I don't know," said Syme as he sank wearily back in the cushions of his carriage; " but if it is, it's one of the jokes you talk about.
It's a good - natured one."
The six adventurers had passed through many adventures, but not one had carried them so utterly off their feet as this last adventure of comfort.
They had all become inured to things going roughly; but things suddenly going smoothly swamped them.
They could not even feebly imagine what the carriages were; it was enough for them to know that they were carriages, and carriages with cushions.
They could not conceive who the old man was who had led them; but it was quite enough that he had certainly led them to the carriages.
Syme drove through a drifting darkness of trees in utter abandonment.
It was typical of him that while he had carried his bearded chin forward fiercely so long as anything could be done, when the whole business was taken out of his hands he fell back on the cushions in a frank collapse.
Very gradually and very vaguely he realised into what rich roads the carriage was carrying him.
He saw that they passed the stone gates of what might have been a park, that they began gradually to climb a hill which, while wooded on both sides, was somewhat more orderly than a forest.
Then there began to grow upon him, as upon a man slowly waking from a healthy sleep, a pleasure in everything.
He felt that the hedges were what hedges should be, living walls; that a hedge is like a human army, disciplined, but all the more alive.
He saw high elms behind the hedges, and vaguely thought how happy boys would be climbing there.
Then his carriage took a turn of the path, and he saw suddenly and quietly, like a long, low, sunset cloud, a long, low house, mellow in the mild light of sunset.
All the six friends compared notes afterwards and quarrelled; but they all agreed that in some unaccountable way the place reminded them of their boyhood.
It was either this elm - top or that crooked path, it was either this scrap of orchard or that shape of a window; but each man of them declared that he could remember this place before he could remember his mother.
When the carriages eventually rolled up to a large, low, cavernous gateway, another man in the same uniform, but wearing a silver star on the grey breast of his coat, came out to meet them.
This impressive person said to the bewildered Syme --
" Refreshments are provided for you in your room."
Syme, under the influence of the same mesmeric sleep of amazement, went up the large oaken stairs after the respectful attendant.
He entered a splendid suite of apartments that seemed to be designed specially for him.
At once the whole enigma sprang up, simply as the question of how he had got there, and how he was to get out again.
Exactly at the same moment a man in blue, who had been appointed as his valet, said very solemnly --
" I have put out your clothes, sir."
" Clothes!"
said Syme sardonically.
" I have no clothes except these," and he lifted two long strips of his frock - coat in fascinating festoons, and made a movement as if to twirl like a ballet girl.
" My master asks me to say," said the attendant, that there is a fancy dress ball tonight, and that he desires you to put on the costume that I have laid out.
Meanwhile, sir, there is a bottle of Burgundy and some cold pheasant, which he hopes you will not refuse, as it is some hours before supper."
" Cold pheasant is a good thing," said Syme reflectively, " and Burgundy is a spanking good thing.
But really I do not want either of them so much as I want to know what the devil all this means, and what sort of costume you have got laid out for me.
Where is it?"
The servant lifted off a kind of ottoman a long peacock - blue drapery, rather of the nature of a domino, on the front of which was emblazoned a large golden sun, and which was splashed here and there with flaming stars and crescents.
" You're to be dressed as Thursday, sir," said the valet somewhat affably.
" Dressed as Thursday!"
said Syme in meditation.
" It doesn't sound a warm costume."
" Oh, yes, sir," said the other eagerly, " the Thursday costume is quite warm, sir.
It fastens up to the chin."
" Well, I don't understand anything," said Syme, sighing.
" I have been used so long to uncomfortable adventures that comfortable adventures knock me out.
Still, I may be allowed to ask why I should be particularly like Thursday in a green frock spotted all over with the sun and moon.
Those orbs, I think, shine on other days.
I once saw the moon on Tuesday, I remember."
" Beg pardon, sir," said the valet, " Bible also provided for you," and with a respectful and rigid finger he pointed out a passage in the first chapter of Genesis.
Syme read it wondering.
It was that in which the fourth day of the week is associated with the creation of the sun and moon.
Here, however, they reckoned from a Christian Sunday.
" This is getting wilder and wilder," said Syme, as he sat down in a chair.
" Who are these people who provide cold pheasant and Burgundy, and green clothes and Bibles?
Do they provide everything?"
" Yes, sir, everything," said the attendant gravely.
" Shall I help you on with your costume?"
" Oh, hitch the bally thing on!"
said Syme impatiently.
But though he affected to despise the mummery, he felt a curious freedom and naturalness in his movements as the blue and gold garment fell about him; and when he found that he had to wear a sword, it stirred a boyish dream.
As he passed out of the room he flung the folds across his shoulder with a gesture, his sword stood out at an angle, and he had all the swagger of a troubadour.
For these disguises did not disguise, but reveal.
CHAPTER XV
THE ACCUSER
AS Syme strode along the corridor he saw the Secretary standing at the top of a great flight of stairs.
The man had never looked so noble.
He was draped in a long robe of starless black, down the centre of which fell a band or broad stripe of pure white, like a single shaft of light.
The whole looked like some very severe ecclesiastical vestment.
There was no need for Syme to search his memory or the Bible in order to remember that the first day of creation marked the mere creation of light out of darkness.
Syme was scarcely surprised to notice that, amid all the ease and hospitality of their new surroundings, this man's eyes were still stern.
No smell of ale or orchards could make the Secretary cease to ask a reasonable question.
If Syme had been able to see himself, he would have realised that he, too, seemed to be for the first time himself and no one else.
For if the Secretary stood for that philosopher who loves the original and formless light, Syme was a type of the poet who seeks always to make the light in special shapes, to split it up into sun and star.
The philosopher may sometimes love the infinite; the poet always loves the finite.
For him the great moment is not the creation of light, but the creation of the sun and moon.
As they descended the broad stairs together they overtook Ratcliffe, who was clad in spring green like a huntsman, and the pattern upon whose garment was a green tangle of trees.
For he stood for that third day on which the earth and green things were made, and his square, sensible face, with its not unfriendly cynicism, seemed appropriate enough to it.
They were led out of another broad and low gateway into a very large old English garden, full of torches and bonfires, by the broken light of which a vast carnival of people were dancing in motley dress.
Syme seemed to see every shape in Nature imitated in some crazy costume.
There was a man dressed as a windmill with enormous sails, a man dressed as an elephant, a man dressed as a balloon; the two last, together, seemed to keep the thread of their farcical adventures.
Syme even saw, with a queer thrill, one dancer dressed like an enormous hornbill, with a beak twice as big as himself--the queer bird which had fixed itself on his fancy like a living question while he was rushing down the long road at the Zoological Gardens.
There were a thousand other such objects, however.
There was a dancing lamp - post, a dancing apple tree, a dancing ship.
One would have thought that the untamable tune of some mad musician had set all the common objects of field and street dancing an eternal jig.
And long afterwards, when Syme was middle - aged and at rest, he could never see one of those particular objects--a lamppost, or an apple tree, or a windmill--without thinking that it was a strayed reveller from that revel of masquerade.
On one side of this lawn, alive with dancers, was a sort of green bank, like the terrace in such old - fashioned gardens.
Along this, in a kind of crescent, stood seven great chairs, the thrones of the seven days.
Gogol and Dr. Bull were already in their seats; the Professor was just mounting to his.
Gogol, or Tuesday, had his simplicity well symbolised by a dress designed upon the division of the waters, a dress that separated upon his forehead and fell to his feet, grey and silver, like a sheet of rain.
The Professor, whose day was that on which the birds and fishes--the ruder forms of life--were created, had a dress of dim purple, over which sprawled goggle - eyed fishes and outrageous tropical birds, the union in him of unfathomable fancy and of doubt.
Dr. Bull, the last day of Creation, wore a coat covered with heraldic animals in red and gold, and on his crest a man rampant.
He lay back in his chair with a broad smile, the picture of an optimist in his element.
One by one the wanderers ascended the bank and sat in their strange seats.
As each of them sat down a roar of enthusiasm rose from the carnival, such as that with which crowds receive kings.
Cups were clashed and torches shaken, and feathered hats flung in the air.
The men for whom these thrones were reserved were men crowned with some extraordinary laurels.
But the central chair was empty.
Syme was on the left hand of it and the Secretary on the right.
The Secretary looked across the empty throne at Syme, and said, compressing his lips --
" We do not know yet that he is not dead in a field."
Almost as Syme heard the words, he saw on the sea of human faces in front of him a frightful and beautiful alteration, as if heaven had opened behind his head.
But Sunday had only passed silently along the front like a shadow, and had sat in the central seat.
He was draped plainly, in a pure and terrible white, and his hair was like a silver flame on his forehead.
For a long time--it seemed for hours--that huge masquerade of mankind swayed and stamped in front of them to marching and exultant music.
Every couple dancing seemed a separate romance; it might be a fairy dancing with a pillar - box, or a peasant girl dancing with the moon; but in each case it was, somehow, as absurd as Alice in Wonderland, yet as grave and kind as a love story.
At last, however, the thick crowd began to thin itself.
Couples strolled away into the garden - walks, or began to drift towards that end of the building where stood smoking, in huge pots like fish - kettles, some hot and scented mixtures of old ale or wine.
Above all these, upon a sort of black framework on the roof of the house, roared in its iron basket a gigantic bonfire, which lit up the land for miles.
It flung the homely effect of firelight over the face of vast forests of grey or brown, and it seemed to fill with warmth even the emptiness of upper night.
Yet this also, after a time, was allowed to grow fainter; the dim groups gathered more and more round the great cauldrons, or passed, laughing and clattering, into the inner passages of that ancient house.
Soon there were only some ten loiterers in the garden; soon only four.
Finally the last stray merry - maker ran into the house whooping to his companions.
The fire faded, and the slow, strong stars came out.
And the seven strange men were left alone, like seven stone statues on their chairs of stone.
Not one of them had spoken a word.
They seemed in no haste to do so, but heard in silence the hum of insects and the distant song of one bird.
Then Sunday spoke, but so dreamily that he might have been continuing a conversation rather than beginning one.
" We will eat and drink later," he said.
" Let us remain together a little, we who have loved each other so sadly, and have fought so long.
I seem to remember only centuries of heroic war, in which you were always heroes--epic on epic, iliad on iliad, and you always brothers in arms.
Whether it was but recently (for time is nothing), or at the beginning of the world, I sent you out to war.
I sat in the darkness, where there is not any created thing, and to you I was only a voice commanding valour and an unnatural virtue.
You heard the voice in the dark, and you never heard it again.
The sun in heaven denied it, the earth and sky denied it, all human wisdom denied it.
And when I met you in the daylight I denied it myself."
Syme stirred sharply in his seat, but otherwise there was silence, and the incomprehensible went on.
" But you were men.
You did not forget your secret honour, though the whole cosmos turned an engine of torture to tear it out of you.
I knew how near you were to hell.
I know how you, Thursday, crossed swords with King Satan, and how you, Wednesday, named me in the hour without hope."
There was complete silence in the starlit garden, and then the black - browed Secretary, implacable, turned in his chair towards Sunday, and said in a harsh voice --
" Who and what are you?"
" I am the Sabbath," said the other without moving.
" I am the peace of God."
The Secretary started up, and stood crushing his costly robe in his hand.
" I know what you mean," he cried, " and it is exactly that that I cannot forgive you.
I know you are contentment, optimism, what do they call the thing, an ultimate reconciliation.
Well, I am not reconciled.
If you were the man in the dark room, why were you also Sunday, an offense to the sunlight?
If you were from the first our father and our friend, why were you also our greatest enemy?
We wept, we fled in terror; the iron entered into our souls--and you are the peace of God!
Oh, I can forgive God His anger, though it destroyed nations; but I cannot forgive Him His peace."
Sunday answered not a word, but very slowly he turned his face of stone upon Syme as if asking a question.
" No," said Syme, " I do not feel fierce like that.
I am grateful to you, not only for wine and hospitality here, but for many a fine scamper and free fight.
But I should like to know.
My soul and heart are as happy and quiet here as this old garden, but my reason is still crying out.
I should like to know."
Sunday looked at Ratcliffe, whose clear voice said --
" It seems so silly that you should have been on both sides and fought yourself."
Bull said --
" l understand nothing, but I am happy.
In fact, I am going to sleep."
" I am not happy," said the Professor with his head in his hands, " because I do not understand.
You let me stray a little too near to hell."
And then Gogol said, with the absolute simplicity of a child --
" I wish I knew why I was hurt so much."
Still Sunday said nothing, but only sat with his mighty chin upon his hand, and gazed at the distance.
Then at last he said --
" I have heard your complaints in order.
And here, I think, comes another to complain, and we will hear him also."
The falling fire in the great cresset threw a last long gleam, like a bar of burning gold, across the dim grass.
Against this fiery band was outlined in utter black the advancing legs of a black - clad figure.
He seemed to have a fine close suit with knee - breeches such as that which was worn by the servants of the house, only that it was not blue, but of this absolute sable.
He had, like the servants, a kind of word by his side.
" Gregory!"
gasped Syme, half - rising from his seat.
" Why, this is the real anarchist!"
" Yes," said Gregory, with a great and dangerous restraint, " I am the real anarchist."
' Now there was a day,'" murmured Bull, who seemed really to have fallen asleep, ' when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also among them.'"
" You are right," said Gregory, and gazed all round.
" I am a destroyer.
I would destroy the world if I could."
A sense of a pathos far under the earth stirred up in Syme, and he spoke brokenly and without sequence.
" Oh, most unhappy man," he cried, " try to be happy!
You have red hair like your sister."
" My red hair, like red flames, shall burn up the world," said Gregory.
" I thought I hated everything more than common men can hate anything; but I find that I do not hate everything so much as I hate you! "
" I never hated you," said Syme very sadly.
Then out of this unintelligible creature the last thunders broke.
" You!"
he cried.
" You never hated because you never lived.
I know what you are all of you, from first to last--you are the people in power!
You are the police--the great fat, smiling men in blue and buttons!
You are the Law, and you have never been broken.
But is there a free soul alive that does not long to break you, only because you have never been broken?
We in revolt talk all kind of nonsense doubtless about this crime or that crime of the Government.
It is all folly!
The only crime of the Government is that it governs.
The unpardonable sin of the supreme power is that it is supreme.
I do not curse you for being cruel.
I do not curse you (though I might) for being kind.
I curse you for being safe!
You sit in your chairs of stone, and have never come down from them.
You are the seven angels of heaven, and you have had no troubles.
Oh, I could forgive you everything, you that rule all mankind, if I could feel for once that you had suffered for one hour a real agony such as I --"
Syme sprang to his feet, shaking from head to foot.
" I see everything," he cried, " everything that there is.
Why does each thing on the earth war against each other thing?
Why does each small thing in the world have to fight against the world itself?
Why does a fly have to fight the whole universe?
Why does a dandelion have to fight the whole universe?
For the same reason that I had to be alone in the dreadful Council of the Days.
So that each thing that obeys law may have the glory and isolation of the anarchist.
So that each man fighting for order may be as brave and good a man as the dynamiter.
So that the real lie of Satan may be flung back in the face of this blasphemer, so that by tears and torture we may earn the right to say to this man,'You lie!'
No agonies can be too great to buy the right to say to this accuser,'We also have suffered.'
" It is not true that we have never been broken.
We have been broken upon the wheel.
It is not true that we have never descended from these thrones.
We have descended into hell.
We were complaining of unforgettable miseries even at the very moment when this man entered insolently to accuse us of happiness.
I repel the slander; we have not been happy.
I can answer for every one of the great guards of Law whom he has accused.
At least --"
He had turned his eyes so as to see suddenly the great face of Sunday, which wore a strange smile.
" Have you," he cried in a dreadful voice, " have you ever suffered?"
As he gazed, the great face grew to an awful size, grew larger than the colossal mask of Memnon, which had made him scream as a child.
It grew larger and larger, filling the whole sky; then everything went black.
Only in the blackness before it entirely destroyed his brain he seemed to hear a distant voice saying a commonplace text that he had heard somewhere, " Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?"
* * *
When men in books awake from a vision, they commonly find themselves in some place in which they might have fallen asleep; they yawn in a chair, or lift themselves with bruised limbs from a field.
Syme's experience was something much more psychologically strange if there was indeed anything unreal, in the earthly sense, about the things he had gone through.
For while he could always remember afterwards that he had swooned before the face of Sunday, he could not remember having ever come to at all.
He could only remember that gradually and naturally he knew that he was and had been walking along a country lane with an easy and conversational companion.
That companion had been a part of his recent drama; it was the red - haired poet Gregory.
They were walking like old friends, and were in the middle of a conversation about some triviality.
But Syme could only feel an unnatural buoyancy in his body and a crystal simplicity in his mind that seemed to be superior to everything that he said or did.
He felt he was in possession of some impossible good news, which made every other thing a triviality, but an adorable triviality.
Dawn was breaking over everything in colours at once clear and timid; as if Nature made a first attempt at yellow and a first attempt at rose.
A breeze blew so clean and sweet, that one could not think that it blew from the sky; it blew rather through some hole in the sky.
Syme felt a simple surprise when he saw rising all round him on both sides of the road the red, irregular buildings of Saffron Park.
He had no idea that he had walked so near London.
He walked by instinct along one white road, on which early birds hopped and sang, and found himself outside a fenced garden.
There he saw the sister of Gregory, the girl with the gold - red hair, cutting lilac before breakfast, with the great unconscious gravity of a girl.
[ The Parent's Assistant, by Maria Edgeworth ]
THE ORPHANS.
Near the ruins of the castle of Rossmore, in Ireland, is a small cabin, in which there once lived a widow and her four children.
Mary was at this time about twelve years old.
One evening she was sitting at the foot of her mother's bed spinning, and her little brothers and sisters were gathered round the fire eating their potatoes and milk for supper.
" Bless them, the poor young creatures!"
said the widow, who, as she lay on her bed, which she knew must be her deathbed, was thinking of what would become of her children after she was gone.
Mary stopped her wheel, for she was afraid that the noise of it had wakened her mother, and would hinder her from going to sleep again.
" No need to stop the wheel, Mary, dear, for me," said her mother, " I was not asleep; nor is it THAT which keeps me from sleep.
But don't overwork yourself, Mary."
" Oh, no fear of that," replied Mary; " I'm strong and hearty."
" So was I once," said her mother.
" And so you will be again, I hope," said Mary, " when the fine weather comes again."
" The fine weather will never come again to me," said her mother.
' Tis a folly, Mary, to hope for that; but what I hope is, that you'll find some friend--some help--orphans as you'll soon all of you be.
And one thing comforts my heart, even as I AM lying here, that not a soul in the wide world I am leaving has to complain of me.
Though poor I have lived honest, and I have brought you up to be the same, Mary; and I am sure the little ones will take after you; for you'll be good to them--as good to them as you can."
Here the children, who had finished eating their suppers, came round the bed, to listen to what their mother was saying.
She was tired of speaking, for she was very weak; but she took their little hands, as they laid them on the bed and joining them all together, she said, " Bless you, dears; bless you; love and help one another all you can.
Good night!-- good - bye!"
Mary took the children away to their bed, for she saw that their mother was too ill to say more; but Mary did not herself know how ill she was.
Her mother never spoke rightly afterwards, but talked in a confused way about some debts, and one in particular, which she owed to a schoolmistress for Mary's schooling; and then she charged Mary to go and pay it, because she was not able to GO IN with it.
At the end of the week she was dead and buried, and the orphans were left alone in their cabin.
The two youngest girls, Peggy and Nancy, were six and seven years old.
Edmund was not yet nine, but he was a stout - grown, healthy boy, and well disposed to work.
As for Peggy and Nancy, it was little that they could do; but they were good children, and Mary, when she considered that so much depended upon her, was resolved to exert herself to the utmost.
Her first care was to pay those debts which her mother had mentioned to her, for which she left money done up carefully in separate papers.
When all these were paid away, there was not enough left to pay both the rent of the cabin and a year's schooling for herself and sisters which was due to the schoolmistress in a neighbouring village.
Mary was in hopes that the rent would not be called for immediately, but in this she was disappointed.
Mr. Harvey, the gentleman on whose estate she lived, was in England, and, in his absence, all was managed by a Mr. Hopkins, an agent, who was a HARD MAN.
* A hard - hearted man.
The driver finished by hinting that she would not be so hardly used if she had not brought upon herself the ill - will of Miss Alice, the agent's daughter.
Mary, it is true, had refused to give Miss Alice a goat upon which she had set her fancy; but this was the only offence of which she had been guilty, and at the time she refused it her mother wanted the goat's milk, which was the only thing she then liked to drink.
Mary went immediately to Mr. Hopkins, the agent, to pay her rent; and she begged of him to let her stay another year in her cabin; but this he refused.
It was now September 25th, and he said that the new tenant must come in on the 29th, so that she must quit it directly.
Mary could not bear the thoughts of begging any of the neighbours to take her and her brother and sisters in FOR CHARITY'S SAKE; for the neighbours were all poor enough themselves.
So she bethought herself that she might find shelter in the ruins of the old castle of Rossmore where she and her brother, in better times, had often played at hide and seek.
The kitchen and two other rooms near it were yet covered in tolerably well; and a little thatch, she thought, would make them comfortable through the winter.
The agent consented to let her and her brother and sisters go in there, upon her paying him half a guinea in hand, and promising to pay the same yearly.
Into these lodgings the orphans now removed, taking with them two bedsteads, a stool, chair and a table, a sort of press, which contained what little clothes they had, and a chest in which they had two hundred of meal.
The chest was carried for them by some of the charitable neighbours, who likewise added to their scanty stock of potatoes and turf what would make it last through the winter.
These children were well thought of and pitied, because their mother was known to have been all her life honest and industrious.
" Sure," says one of the neighbours, " we can do no less than give a helping hand to the poor orphans, that are so ready to help themselves."
The half - guinea which Mr. Hopkins, the agent, required for letting Mary into the castle, was part of what she had to pay to the schoolmistress, to whom above a guinea was due.
Mary went to her, and took her goat along with her, and offered it in part of payment of the debt, but the schoolmistress would not receive the goat.
She said that she could afford to wait for her money till Mary was able to pay it; that she knew her to be an honest, industrious little girl, and she would trust her with more than a guinea.
Mary thanked her; and she was glad to take the goat home again, as she was very fond of it.
When they had done work one day, Annie went to the master of the paper - mill and asked him if she might have two sheets of large white paper which were lying on the press.
She offered a penny for the paper; but the master would not take anything from her, but gave her the paper when he found that she wanted it to make a garland for her mother's grave.
Annie and Peggy cut out the garland, and Mary, when it was finished, went along with them and Edmund to put it up.
It was just a month after their mother's death.
It happened, at the time the orphans were putting up this garland, that two young ladies, who were returning home after their evening walk, stopped at the gate of the churchyard to look at the red light which the setting sun cast upon the window of the church.
As the ladies were standing at the gate, they heard a voice near them crying, " O, mother!
mother!
are you gone for ever?"
They could not see anyone, so they walked softly round to the other side of the church, and there they saw Mary kneeling beside a grave, on which her brothers and sisters were hanging their white garlands.
The children all stood still when they saw the two ladies passing near them; but Mary did not know anybody was passing, for her face was hid in her hands.
Isabella and Caroline (so these ladies were called) would not disturb the poor children; but they stopped in the village to inquire about them.
It was at the house of the schoolmistress that they stopped, and she gave them a good account of these orphans.
She particularly commended Mary's honesty, in having immediately paid all her mother's debts to the utmost farthing, as far as her money would go.
When they went there, they found the room in which the children lived as clean and neat as such a ruined place could be made.
Edmund was out working with a farmer, Mary was spinning, and her little sisters were measuring out some bogberries, of which they had gathered a basketful, for sale.
Isabella, after telling Mary what an excellent character she had heard of her, inquired what it was she most wanted; and Mary said that she had just worked up all her flax, and she was most in want of more flax for her wheel.
Isabella promised that she would send her a fresh supply of flax, and Caroline bought the bogberries from the little girls, and gave them money enough to buy a pound of coarse cotton for knitting, as Mary said that she could teach them how to knit.
The supply of flax, which Isabella sent the next day, was of great service to Mary, as it kept her in employment for above a month; and when she sold the yarn which she had spun with it, she had money enough to buy some warm flannel for winter wear.
Besides spinning well, she had learned at school to do plain work tolerably neatly, and Isabella and Caroline employed her to work for them; by which she earned a great deal more than she could by spinning.
At her leisure hours she taught her sisters to read and write; and Edmund, with part of the money which he earned by his work out of doors, paid a schoolmaster for teaching him a little arithmetic.
When the winter nights came on, he used to light his rush candles for Mary to work by.
He had gathered and stripped a good provision of rushes in the month of August, and a neighbour gave him grease to dip them in.
One evening, just as he had lighted his candles, a footman came in, who was sent by Isabella with some plain work to Mary.
This servant was an Englishman, and he was but newly come over to Ireland.
The rush candles caught his attention; for he had never seen any of them before, as he came from a part of England where they were not used.
Edmund, who was ready to oblige, and proud that his candles were noticed showed the Englishman how they were made, and gave him a bundle of rushes.
[*" The proper species of rush," says White, in his'Natural History of Selborne,' " seems to be the Juncus effusus, or common soft rush, which is to be found in moist pastures, by the sides of streams, and under hedges.
These rushes are in best condition in the height of summer, but may be gathered so as to serve the purpose well quite on to autumn.
The largest and longest are the best.
Decayed labourers, women, and children make it their business to procure and prepare them.
As soon as they are cut, they must be flung into water, and kept there; for otherwise they will dry and shrink, and the peel will not run.
When these junci are thus far prepared, they must lie out on the grass to be bleached and take the dew for some nights, and afterwards be dried in the sun.
Some address is required in dipping these rushes in the scalding fat or grease; but this knack is also to be attained by practice.
A pound of common grease may be procured for fourpence, and about six pounds of grease will dip a pound of rushes and one pound of rushes may be bought for one shilling; so that a pound of rushes, medicated and ready for use, will cost three shillings."]
The servant was pleased with his good nature in this trifling instance, and remembered it long after it was forgotten by Edmund.
Whenever his master wanted to send a messenger anywhere, Gilbert (for that was the servant's name) always employed his little friend Edmund, whom, upon further acquaintance, he liked better and better.
He found that Edmund was both quick and exact in executing commissions.
One day, after he had waited a great while at a gentleman's house for an answer to a letter, he was so impatient to get home that he ran off without it.
When he was questioned by Gilbert why he did not bring an answer, he did not attempt to make any excuse; he did not say, " There was no answer, please your honour," or, " They bid me not to wait," etc.
; but he told exactly the truth; and though Gilbert scolded him for being so impatient as not to wait, yet his telling the truth was more to the boy's advantage than any excuse he could have made.
After this he was always believed when he said, " There was no answer," or, " They bid me not wait "; for Gilbert knew that he would not tell a lie to save himself from being scolded.
The orphans continued to assist one another in their work according to their strength and abilities; and they went on in this manner for three years.
With what Mary got by her spinning and plain work, and Edmund by leading of cart - horses, going on errands, etc., and with little Peggy and Anne's earnings, the family contrived to live comfortably.
Isabella and Caroline often visited them, and sometimes gave them clothes, and sometimes flax or cotton for their spinning and knitting; and these children did not EXPECT, that because the ladies did something for them, they should do everything.
They did not grow idle or wasteful.
When Edmund was about twelve years old, his friend Gilbert sent for him one day, and told him that his master had given him leave to have a boy in the house to assist him, and that his master told him he might choose one in the neighbourhood.
Several were anxious to get into such a good place: but Gilbert said that he preferred Edmund before them all, because he knew him to be an industrious, honest, good natured lad, who always told the truth.
So Edmund went into service at the vicarage; and his master was the father of Isabella and Caroline.
He found his new way of life very pleasant; for he was well fed, well clothed, and well treated; and he every day learned more of his business, in which at first he was rather awkward.
He was mindful to do all that Mr. Gilbert required of him; and he was so obliging to all his fellow - servants that they could not help liking him.
But there was one thing which was at first rather disagreeable to him: he was obliged to wear shoes and stockings, and they hurt his feet.
Besides this, when he waited at dinner he made such a noise in walking that his fellow - servants laughed at him.
He told his sister Mary of his distress, and she made for him, after many trials, a pair of cloth shoes, with soles of platted hemp.
* In these he could walk without making the least noise; and as these shoes could not be worn out of doors, he was always sure to change them before he went out; and consequently he had always clean shoes to wear in the house.
[* The author has seen a pair of shoes, such as here described, made in a few hours.]
It was soon remarked by the men - servants that he had left off clumping so heavily, and it was observed by the maids that he never dirtied the stairs or passages with his shoes.
When he was praised for these things, he said it was his sister Mary who should be thanked, and not he; and he showed the shoes which she had made for him.
Isabella's maid bespoke a pair immediately, and sent Mary a piece of pretty calico for the outside.
The last - maker made a last for her, and over this Mary sewed the calico vamps tight.
Her brother advised her to try platted packthread instead of hemp for the soles; and she found that this looked more neat than the hemp soles, and was likely to last longer.
She platted the packthread together in strands of about half an inch thick, and these were served firmly together at the bottom of the shoe.
When they were finished they fitted well, and the maid showed them to her mistress.
Isabella and Caroline were so well pleased with Mary's ingenuity and kindness to her brother, that they bespoke from her two dozen of these shoes, and gave her three yards of coloured fustian to make them of, and galloon for the binding.
When the shoes were completed, Isabella and Caroline disposed of them for her amongst their acquaintance, and got three shillings a pair for them.
The young ladies, as soon as they had collected the money, walked to the old castle, where they found everything neat and clean as usual.
They had great pleasure in giving to this industrious girl the reward of her ingenuity, which she received with some surprise and more gratitude.
They advised her to continue the shoemaking trade, as they found the shoes were liked, and they knew that they could have a sale for them at the Repository in Dublin.
Mary, encouraged by these kind friends, went on with her little manufacture with increased activity.
Peggy and Anne platted the packthread, and basted the vamps and linings together ready for her.
Edmund was allowed to come home for an hour every morning, provided he was back again before eight o'clock.
It was summer time, and he got up early, because he liked to go home to see his sisters, and he took his share in the manufactory.
It was his business to hammer the soles flat: and as soon as he came home every morning he performed his task with so much cheerfulness and sang so merrily at his work, that the hour of his arrival was always an hour of joy to the family.
Mary had presently employment enough upon her hands.
Orders came to her for shoes from many families in the neighbourhood, and she could not get them finished fast enough.
She, however, in the midst of her hurry, found time to make a very pretty pair, with neat roses, as a present for her schoolmistress, who, now that she saw her pupil in a good way of business, consented to receive the amount of her old debt.
Several of the children who went to her school were delighted with the sight of Mary's present, and went to the little manufactory at Rossmore Castle, to find out how these shoes were made.
Some went from curiosity, others from idleness; but when they saw how happy the little shoemakers seemed whilst busy at work, they longed to take some share in what was going forward.
One begged Mary to let her plat some packthread for the soles; another helped Peggy and Anne to baste in the linings; and all who could get employment were pleased, for the idle ones were shoved out of the way.
It became a custom with the children of the village to resort to the old castle at their play hours; and it was surprising to see how much was done by ten or twelve of them, each doing but a little at a time.
One morning Edmund and the little manufacturers were assembled very early, and they were busy at their work, all sitting round the meal chest, which served them for a table.
" My hands must be washed," said George, a little boy who came running in; " I ran so fast that I might be in time, to go to work along with you all, that I tumbled down, and look how I have dirtied my hands.
Most haste worst speed.
My hands must be washed before I can do anything."
They were in a sort of outer court of the castle, next to the room in which all their companions were at work, and they ran precipitately into the room, exclaiming, " Did you hear that noise?"
" I thought I heard a clap of thunder," said Mary, " but why do you look so frightened?"
As she finished speaking, another and a louder noise, and the walls round about them shook.
The children turned pale and stood motionless; but Edmund threw down his hammer, and ran out to see what was the matter.
Mary followed him, and they saw that a great chimney of the old ruins at the farthest side of the castle had fallen down, and this was the cause of the prodigious noise.
The part of the castle in which they lived seemed, as Edmund said, to be perfectly safe; but the children of the village were terrified, and thinking that the whole would come tumbling down directly, they ran to their homes as fast as they could.
The mason came, and gave it as his opinion that the rooms they inhabited might last through the winter but that no part of the ruins could stand another year.
Without losing any time, she went to the village that was at the end of the avenue leading to the vicarage, for she wished to get a lodging in this village because it was so near to her brother, and to the ladies who had been so kind to her.
Three guineas a year she thought was the highest rent for which she could venture to engage.
Besides, she heard that several proposals had been made to Mr. Harvey for this house, and she knew that Mr. Hopkins, the agent, was not her friend; therefore she despaired of getting it.
There was no other to be had in this village.
Her brother was still more vexed than she was, that she could not find a place near him.
None could be found but a woman, who was a great scold, and a man who was famous for going to law about every trifle with his neighbours.
Mary did not choose to have anything to do with these people.
She did not like to speak either to Miss Isabella or Caroline about it, because she was not of an encroaching temper; and when they had done so much for her, she would have been ashamed to beg for more.
She returned home to the old castle, mortified that she had no good news to tell Anne and Peggy, who she knew expected to hear that she had found a nice house for them in the village near their brother.
" Bad news for you, Peggy," cried she, as soon as she got home.
" And bad news for you, Mary," replied her sisters, who looked very sorrowful.
" What's the matter?"
" Your poor goat is dead," replied Peggy.
" There she is, yonder, lying under the great corner stone; you can just see her leg.
We cannot lift the stone from off her, it is so heavy.
Betsy [ one of the neighbour's girls ] says she remembers, when she came to us to work early this morning, she saw the goat rubbing itself, and butting with its horns against that old tottering chimney."
" Many's the time," said Mary, " that I have driven the poor thing away from that place; I was always afraid she would shake that great ugly stone down upon her at last."
The goat, who had long been the favourite of Mary and her sisters, was lamented by them all.
When Edmund came, he helped them to move the great stone from off the poor animal, who was crushed so as to be a terrible sight.
As they were moving away this stone in order to bury the goat, Anne found an odd - looking piece of money, which seemed neither like a halfpenny, nor a shilling, nor a guinea.
" Here are more, a great many more of them," cried Peggy; and upon searching amongst the rubbish, they discovered a small iron pot, which seemed as if it had been filled with these coins, as a vast number of them were found about the spot where it fell.
On examining these coins, Edmund thought that several of them looked like gold, and the girls exclaimed with great joy --" Oh, Mary!
Mary!
this is come to us just in right time--now you can pay for the slated house.
Never was anything so lucky!"
But Mary, though nothing could have pleased her better than to have been able to pay for the house, observed that they could not honestly touch any of this treasure, as it belonged to the owner of the castle.
Edmund agreed with her, that they ought to carry it all immediately to Mr. Hopkins, the agent.
Peggy and Anne were convinced by what Mary said, and they begged to go along with her and their brother, to take the coins to Mr. Hopkins.
On their way they stopped at the vicarage, to show the treasure to Mr. Gilbert, who took it to the young ladies, Isabella and Caroline, and told them how it had been found.
It is not only by their superior riches, but it is yet more by their superior knowledge, that persons in the higher rank of life may assist those in a lower condition.
Isabella, who had some knowledge of chemistry, discovered, by touching the coins with nitric acid, that several of them were of gold, and consequently of great value.
Caroline also found out that many of the coins were very valuable as curiosities.
They also begged that their father, who was well acquainted with Mr. Harvey, the gentleman to whom Rossmore Castle belonged, to write to him, and tell him how well these orphans had behaved about the treasure which they had found.
The value of the coins was estimated at about thirty or forty guineas.
A few days after the fall of the chimney at Rossmore Castle, as Mary and her sisters were sitting at their work, there came hobbling in an old woman, leaning on a crab stick, that seemed to have been newly cut.
She had a broken tobacco - pipe in her mouth; her head was wrapped up in two large red and blue handkerchiefs, with their crooked corners hanging far down over the back of her neck, no shoes on her broad feet, nor stockings on her many - coloured legs.
Her petticoat was jagged at the bottom, and the skirt of her gown turned up over her shoulders, to serve instead of a cloak, which she had sold for whisky.
This old woman was well known amongst the country people by the name of Goody Grope:* because she had, for many years, been in the habit of groping in old castles, and in moats,** and at the bottom of a round tower *** in the neighbourhood, in search of treasure.
In her youth she had heard someone talking, in a whisper, of an old prophecy, found in a bog, which said that before many
" St. Patrick's days should come about, There would be found A treasure under ground, By one within twenty miles round."
This prophecy made a deep impression upon her.
[* Goody is not a word used in Ireland.
Collyogh is the Irish appellation of an old woman: but as Collyogh might sound strangely to English ears, we have translated it by the word Goody.
** What are in Ireland called moats, are, in England, called Danish mounds, or barrows.
*** Near Kells, in Ireland, there is a round tower, which was in imminent danger of being pulled down by an old woman's rooting at its foundation, in hopes of finding treasure.]
Year after year St. Patrick's day came about, without her ever finding a farthing by all her groping; and as she was always idle, she grew poorer and poorer.
Besides, to comfort herself for her disappointments, and to give her spirits for fresh searches, she took to drinking.
She sold all she had by degrees; but still she fancied that the lucky day would come sooner or later, THAT WOULD PAY FOR ALL.
" Ah, Mary, honey!
give me a potato and a sup of something, for the love o'mercy; for not a bit have I had all day, except half a glass of whisky and a halfpenny worth of tobacco!"
Mary immediately set before her some milk, and picked a good potato out of the bowl for her.
She was sorry to see such an old woman in such a wretched condition.
Mary told her that she had carried it to Mr. Hopkins, the agent.
" That's not what I would have done in your place," replied the old woman.
" When good luck came to you, what a shame to turn your back upon it!
But it is idle talking of what's done--that's past; but I'll try my luck in this here castle before next St. Patrick's day comes about.
I was told it was more than twenty miles from our bog or I would have been here long ago; but better late than never."
Mary was much alarmed, and not without reason, at this speech; for she knew that if Goody Grope once set to work at the foundation of the old castle of Rossmore, she would soon bring it all down.
It was in vain to talk to Goody Grope of the danger of burying herself under the ruins, or of the improbability of her meeting with another pot of gold coins.
" And what will make it worth your while to let it alone?"
said Mary; for she saw that she must either get into a quarrel or give up her habitation, or comply with the conditions of this provoking old woman.
Half a crown, Goody Grope said, was the least she could be content to take.
Mary did not yet know how much she was to suffer on account of this unfortunate pot of gold coins.
Mr. Hopkins, the agent, imagined that no one knew of the discovery of this treasure but himself and these poor children; so, not being as honest as they were, he resolved to keep it for his own use.
He was surprised some weeks afterwards to receive a letter from his employer, Mr. Harvey, demanding from him the coins which had been discovered at Rossmore Castle.
So he sent over the silver coins and others of little value, and apologized for his not having mentioned them before, by saying that he considered them as mere rubbish.
Mr. Harvey, in reply, observed that he could not consider as rubbish the gold coins which were amongst them when they were discovered; and he inquired why these gold coins, and those of the reign of Henry the Seventh, were not now sent to him.
Mr. Hopkins denied that he had ever received any such; but he was thunderstruck when Mr. Harvey, in reply to this falsehood, sent him a list of the coins which the orphans had deposited with him, and exact drawings of those that were missing.
He informed him that this list and these drawings came from two ladies who had seen the coins in question.
Mr. Hopkins thought that he had no means of escape but by boldly persisting in falsehood.
The orphans were shocked and astonished when they heard, from Isabella and Caroline, the charge that was made against them.
They looked at one another in silence for some moments.
Then Peggy exclaimed --" Sure!
Mr. Hopkins has forgotten himself strangely.
Does not he remember Edmund's counting the things to him upon the great table in his hall, and we all standing by!
I remember it as well as if it was this instant."
" And so do I," cried Anne.
" And don't you recollect, Mary, your picking out the gold ones, and telling Mr. Hopkins that they were gold; and he said you knew nothing of the matter; and I was going to tell him that Miss Isabella had tried them, and knew that they were gold?
but just then there came in some tenants to pay their rent, and he pushed us out, and twitched from my hand the piece of gold which I had taken up to show him the bright spot which Miss Isabella had cleaned by the stuff that she had poured on it?
I believe he was afraid I should steal it; he twitched it from my hand in such a hurry.
Do, Edmund; do, Mary--let us go to him, and put him in mind of all this."
" I'll go to him no more," said Edmund, sturdily.
" He is a bad man--I'll never go to him again.
Mary, don't be cast down--we have no need to be cast down--we are honest."
" True," said Mary; " but is not it a hard case that we, who have lived, as my mother did all her life before us, in peace and honesty with all the world, should now have our good name taken from us, when --" Mary's voice faltered and stopped.
" It can't be taken from us," cried Edmund, " poor orphans though we are, and he a rich gentleman, as he calls himself.
Let him say and do what he will, he can't hurt our good name."
Edmund was mistaken, alas!
and Mary had but too much reason for her fears.
The affair was a great deal talked of; and the agent spared no pains to have the story told his own way.
The buzz of scandal went on for some time without reaching their ears, because they lived very retiredly.
But one day, when Mary went to sell some stockings of Peggy's knitting at the neighbouring fair, the man to whom she sold them bid her write her name on the back of a note, and exclaimed, on seeing it --" Ho!
ho!
mistress; I'd not have had any dealings with you, had I known your name sooner.
Where's the gold that you found at Rossmore Castle?"
It was in vain that Mary related the fact.
She saw that she gained no belief, as her character was not known to this man, or to any of those who were present.
She left the fair as soon as she could; and though she struggled against it, she felt very melancholy.
Still she exerted herself every day at her little manufacture; and she endeavoured to console herself by reflecting that she had two friends left who would not give up her character, and who continued steadily to protect her and her sisters.
Isabella and Caroline everywhere asserted their belief in the integrity of the orphans, but to prove it was in this instance out of their power.
Mr. Hopkins, the agent, and his friends, constantly repeated that the gold coins were taken away in coming from their house to his; and these ladies were blamed by many people for continuing to countenance those that were, with great reason, suspected to be thieves.
The orphans were in a worse condition than ever when the winter came on, and their benefactresses left the country to spend some months in Dublin.
The old castle, it was true, was likely to last through the winter, as the mason said; but though the want of a comfortable house to live in was, a little while ago, the uppermost thing in Mary's thoughts, now it was not so.
One night as Mary was going to bed, she heard someone knocking hard at the door.
" Mary, are you up?
let us in," cried a voice, which she knew to be the voice of Betsy Green, the postmaster's daughter, who lived in the village near them.
She let Betsy in, and asked what she could want at such a time of night.
" Give me sixpence, and I'll tell you," said Betsy; " but waken Anne and Peggy.
Here's a letter just come by post for you, and I stepped over to you with it; because I guessed you'd be glad to have it, seeing it is your brother's handwriting."
Peggy and Anne were soon roused, when they heard that there was a letter from Edmund.
It was by one of his rush candles that Mary read it; and the letter was as follows:--
" DEAR MARY, NANCY, AND LITTLE PEG,--
" Joy!
joy!-- I always said the truth would come out at last; and that he could not take our good name from us.
As for they that are not honest, it is not for them to expect to be happy, at Christmas, or any other time.
You shall know all when we meet.
So, till then, fare ye well, dear Mary, Nancy, and little Peg.
" Your joyful and affectionate brother, EDMUND."
To comprehend why Edmund is joyful, our readers must be informed of certain things which happened after Isabella and Caroline went to Dublin.
One morning they went with their father and mother to see the magnificent library of a nobleman, who took generous and polite pleasure in thus sharing the advantages of his wealth and station with all who had any pretensions to science or literature.
Knowing that the gentleman who was now come to see his library was skilled in antiquities, the nobleman opened a drawer of medals, to ask his opinion concerning the age of some coins, which he had lately purchased at a high price.
They were the very same which the orphans had found at Rossmore Castle.
Isabella and Caroline knew them again instantly; and as the cross which Isabella had made on each of them was still visible through a magnifying glass, there could be no possibility of doubt.
The nobleman, who was much interested both by the story of these orphans, and the manner in which it was told to him, sent immediately for the person from whom he had purchased the coins.
He was a Jew broker.
At first he refused to tell them from whom he got them, because he had bought them, he said, under a promise of secrecy.
Being further pressed, he acknowledged that it was made a condition in his bargain that he should not sell them to anyone in Ireland, but that he had been tempted by the high price the present noble possessor had offered.
Now, Mr. Hopkins, the agent, was at this time in Dublin, and Caroline's father posted the Jew, the next day, in the back - parlour of a banker's house, with whom Mr. Hopkins had, on this day, appointed to settle some accounts.
Mr. Hopkins came--the Jew knew him--swore that he was the man who had sold the coins to him; and thus the guilt of the agent and the innocence of the orphans were completely proved.
A full account of all that happened was sent to England to Mr. Harvey, their landlord, and a few posts afterwards there came a letter from him, containing a dismissal of the dishonest agent, and a reward for the honest and industrious orphans.
Mr. Harvey desired that Mary and her sisters might have the slated house, rent free, from this time forward, under the care of ladies Isabella and Caroline, as long as Mary or her sisters should carry on in it any useful business.
This was the joyful news which Edmund had to tell his sisters.
All the neighbours shared in their joy, and the day of their removal from the ruins of Rossmore Castle to their new house was the happiest of the Christmas holidays.
They were not envied for their prosperity; because everybody saw that it was the reward of their good conduct; everybody except Goody Grope.
She exclaimed, as she wrung her hands with violent expressions of sorrow --" Bad luck to me!
bad luck to me!-- Why didn't I go sooner to that there castle?
It is all luck, all luck in this world; but I never had no luck.
" That is the very reason that you have not a halfpenny," said Betsy.
" Here Mary has been working hard, and so have her two little sisters and her brother, for these five years past; and they have made money for themselves by their own industry--and friends too--not by luck, but by --"
" Phoo!
phoo!"
interrupted Goody Grope; " don't be prating; don't I know as well as you do, that they found a pot of gold, BY GOOD LUCK?
and is not that the cause why they are going to live in a slated house now?"
" No," replied the postmaster's daughter; " this house is given to them AS A REWARD--that was the word in the letter; for I saw it.
Edmund showed it to me, and will show it to anyone that wants to see.
This house was given to them'AS A REWARD FOR THEIR HONESTY.'"
LAZY LAWRENCE.
In the pleasant valley of Ashton there lived an elderly woman of the name of Preston.
She had a small neat cottage, and there was not a weed to be seen in her garden.
It was upon her garden that she chiefly depended for support; it consisted of strawberry beds, and one small border for flowers.
The pinks and roses she tied up in nice nosegays, and sent either to Clifton or Bristol to be sold.
As to her strawberries, she did not send them to market, because it was the custom for numbers of people to come from Clifton, in the summer time, to eat strawberries and cream at the gardens in Ashton.
Now, the widow Preston was so obliging, active and good - humoured, that everyone who came to see her was pleased.
She lived happily in this manner for several years; but, alas!
one autumn she fell sick, and, during her illness, everything went wrong; her garden was neglected, her cow died, and all the money which she had saved was spent in paying for medicines.
The winter passed away, while she was so weak that she could earn but little by her work; and when the summer came, her rent was called for, and the rent was not ready in her little purse as usual.
She begged a few months'delay, and they were granted to her; but at the end of that time there was no resource but to sell her horse Lightfoot.
Now Lightfoot, though perhaps he had seen his best days, was a very great favourite.
In his youth he had always carried the dame to the market behind her husband; and it was now her little son Jem's turn to ride him.
It was Jem's business to feed Lightfoot, and to take care of him--a charge which he never neglected, for, besides being a very good natured, he was a very industrious boy.
" Jem," said the old woman, " what, ar't hungry?"
" That I am, brave and hungry!"
" Ay!
no wonder, you've been brave hard at work--Eh?"
" Brave hard!
I wish it was not so dark, mother, that you might just step out and see the great bed I've dug; I know you'd say it was no bad day's work--and oh, mother!
I've good news: Farmer Truck will give us the giant strawberries, and I'm to go for'em tomorrow morning, and I'll be back afore breakfast."
" God bless the boy!
how he talks!-- Four mile there, and four mile back again, afore breakfast."
" Ay, upon Lightfoot, you know, mother, very easily; mayn't I?"
" Ay, child!"
" Why do you sigh, mother?"
" Finish thy supper, child."
" I've done!"
cried Jem, swallowing the last mouthful hastily, as if he thought he had been too long at supper --" and now for the great needle; I must see and mend Lightfoot's bridle afore I go to bed."
To work he set, by the light of the fire, and the dame having once more stirred it, began again with " Jem, dear, does he go lame at all now?"
" What, Lightfoot!
Oh, la, no, not he--never was so well of his lameness in all his life.
He's grown quite young again, I think, and then he's so fat he can hardly wag."
" God bless him--that's right.
We must see, Jem, and keep him fat."
" For what, mother?"
" For Monday fortnight at the fair.
He's to be--sold!"
" Lightfoot!"
cried Jem, and let the bridle fall from his hand; " and WILL mother sell Lightfoot?"
" WILL?
no: but I MUST, Jem."
" MUST!
who says you MUST?
why MUST you, mother?"
" I must, I say, child.
Why, must not I pay my debts honestly; and must not I pay my rent, and was not it called for long and long ago; and have not I had time; and did not I promise to pay it for certain Monday fortnight, and am not I two guineas short; and where am I to get two guineas?
So what signifies talking, child?"
said the widow, leaning her head upon her arm.
" Lightfoot MUST go."
Jem was silent for a few minutes --" Two guineas, that's a great, great deal.
If I worked, and worked, and worked ever so hard, I could no ways earn two guineas AFORE Monday fortnight--could I, mother?"
" Lord help thee, no; not an'work thyself to death."
" But I could earn something, though, I say," cried Jem, proudly; " and I WILL earn SOMETHING--if it be ever so little, it will be SOMETHING--and I shall do my very best; so I will."
" That I'm sure of, my child," said his mother, drawing him towards her and kissing him; " you were always a good, industrious lad, THAT I will say afore your face or behind your back;-- but it won't do now--Lightfoot MUST go."
Jem turned away struggling to hide his tears, and went to bed without saying a word more.
But he knew that crying would do no good; so he presently wiped his eyes, and lay awake, considering what he could possibly do to save the horse.
" If I get ever so little," he still said to himself, " it will be SOMETHING; and who knows but landlord might then wait a bit longer?
and we might make it all up in time; for a penny a day might come to two guineas in time."
But how to get the first penny was the question.
Early in the morning he wakened full of this scheme, jumped up, dressed himself, and, having given one look at poor Lightfoot in his stable, set off to Clifton in search of the old woman, to inquire where she found her sparkling stones.
But it was too early in the morning, the old woman was not at her seat; so he turned back again, disappointed.
He did not waste his time waiting for her, but saddled and bridled Lightfoot, and went to Farmer Truck's for the giant strawberries.
A great part of the morning was spent in putting them into the ground; and, as soon as that was finished, he set out again in quest of the old woman, whom, to his great joy, he spied sitting at her corner of the street with her board before her.
But this old woman was deaf and cross; and when at last Jem made her hear his questions, he could get no answer from her, but that she found the fossils where he would never find any more.
" But can't I look where you looked?"
" Look away, nobody hinders you," replied the old woman; and these were the only words she would say.
Jem was not, however, a boy to be easily discouraged; he went to the rocks, and walked slowly along, looking at all the stones as he passed.
Presently he came to a place where a number of men were at work loosening some large rocks, and one amongst the workmen was stooping down looking for something very eagerly; Jem ran up, and asked if he could help him.
" Yes," said the man, " you can; I've just dropped, amongst this heap of rubbish, a fine piece of crystal that I got to - day."
" What kind of a looking thing is it?"
said Jem.
" White, and like glass," said the man, and went on working whilst Jem looked very carefully over the heap of rubbish for a great while.
" Come," said the man, " it's gone for ever; don't trouble yourself any more, my boy."
" It's no trouble; I'll look a little longer; we'll not give it up so soon," said Jem; and after he had looked a little longer, he found the piece of crystal.
" Thank'e," said the man, " you are a fine little industrious fellow."
Jem, encouraged by the tone of voice in which the man spoke this, ventured to ask him the same questions which he had asked the old woman.
" One good turn deserves another," said the man; " we are going to dinner just now, and shall leave off work--wait for me here, and I'll make it worth your while."
He neither worked nor played, but sauntered or lounged about restless and yawning.
His father was an ale - house keeper, and being generally drunk, could take no care of his son; so that Lazy Lawrence grew every day worse and worse.
However, some of the neighbours said that he was a good natured, poor fellow enough, and would never do anyone harm but himself; whilst others, who were wiser, often shook their heads, and told him that idleness was the root of all evil.
" What, Lawrence!"
cried Jem to him, when he saw him lying upon the grass; " what, are you asleep?"
" Not quite."
" Are you awake?"
" Not quite."
" What are you doing there?"
" Nothing."
" What are you thinking of?"
" Nothing."
" What makes you lie there?"
" I don't know--because I can't find anybody to play with me to - day.
Will you come and play?"
" No, I can't; I'm busy."
" Busy," cried Lawrence, stretching himself, " you are always busy.
I would not be you for the world, to have so much to do always."
" And I," said Jem, laughing, " would not be you for the world, to have nothing to do."
They then parted, for the workman just then called Jem to follow him.
He took him home to his own house, and showed him a parcel of fossils, which he had gathered, he said, on purpose to sell, but had never had time enough to sell them.
Now, however, he set about the task; and having picked out those which he judged to be the best, he put them in a small basket, and gave them to Jem to sell, upon condition that he should bring him half of what he got.
Jem, pleased to be employed, was ready to agree to what the man proposed, provided his mother had no objection.
When he went home to dinner, he told his mother his scheme, and she smiled, and said he might do as he pleased; for she was not afraid of his being from home.
" You are not an idle boy," said she; " so there is little danger of your getting into any mischief."
Accordingly Jem that evening took his stand, with his little basket, upon the bank of the river, just at the place where people land from a ferry - boat, and the walk turns to the wells, and numbers of people perpetually pass to drink the waters.
He chose his place well, and waited nearly all the evening, offering his fossils with great assiduity to every passenger; but not one person bought any.
" Hallo!"
cried some sailors, who had just rowed a boat to land, " bear a hand here, will you, my little fellow, and carry these parcels for us into yonder house?"
" She will very likely buy your stones into the bargain.
Come along, my lad; we can but try."
The lady lived but a very little way off, so that they were soon at her house.
" Where is the little boy you brought with you?
I thought I saw him here just now."
" And here I am, ma'am," cried Jem, creeping from under the table, with some few remaining feathers which he had picked from the carpet; " I thought," added he, pointing to the others, " I had better be doing something than standing idle, ma'am."
She smiled, and, pleased with his activity and simplicity, began to ask him several questions; such as who he was, where he lived, what employment he had, and how much a day he earned by gathering fossils.
" This is the first day I ever tried," said Jem; " I never sold any yet, and if you don't buy'em now, ma'am, I'm afraid nobody else will; for I've asked everybody else."
" Come, then," said the lady, laughing, " if that is the case, I think I had better buy them all."
So, emptying all the fossils out of his basket, she put half a crown into it.
Jem's eyes sparkled with joy.
" Oh, thank you, ma'am," said he, " I will be sure and bring you as many more, to - morrow."
" Yes, but I don't promise you," said she, " to give you half a crown, to - morrow."
" But, perhaps, though you don't promise it, you will."
" No," said the lady, " do not deceive yourself; I assure you that I will not.
THAT, instead of encouraging you to be industrious, would teach you to be idle."
Jem did not quite understand what she meant by this, but answered, " I'm sure I don't wish to be idle; what I want is to earn something every day, if I know how; I'm sure I don't wish to be idle.
If you knew all, you'd know I did not."
" How do you mean, IF I KNEW ALL?"
" Why, I mean, if you knew about Lightfoot."
" Who's Lightfoot?"
" Why, mammy's horse," added Jem, looking out of the window; " I must make haste home, and feed him afore it gets dark; he'll wonder what's gone with me."
" Let him wonder a few minutes longer," said the lady, " and tell me the rest of your story."
" I've no story, ma'am, to tell, but as how mammy says he must go to the fair Monday fortnight, to be sold, if she can't get the two guineas for her rent; and I should be main sorry to part with him, for I love him, and he loves me; so I'll work for him, I will, all I can.
To be sure, as mammy says, I have no chance, such a little fellow as I am, of earning two guineas afore Monday fortnight."
" But are you willing earnestly to work?"
said the lady; " you know there is a great deal of difference between picking up a few stones, and working steadily every day, and all day long."
" But," said Jem, " I would work every day, and all day long."
" Then," said the lady, " I will give you work.
Come here, to - morrow morning, and my gardener will set you to weed the shrubberies, and I will pay you sixpence a day.
Remember, you must be at the gates by six o'clock."
Jem bowed, thanked her, and went away.
He was just come home from work, and was surprised when Jem showed him the half - crown, saying, " Look what I got for the stones; you are to have half, you know."
" No," said the man, when he had heard his story, " I shall not take half of that; it was given to you.
I expected but a shilling at the most, and the half of that is but sixpence, and that I'll take.
Wife, give the lad two shillings, and take this half - crown."
So the wife opened an old glove, and took out two shillings; and the man, as she opened the glove, put in his fingers, and took out a little silver penny.
" There, he shall have that into the bargain for his honesty--honesty is the best policy--there's a lucky penny for you, that I've kept ever since I can remember."
" Don't you ever go to part with it, do ye hear!"
cried the woman.
" Let him do what he will with it, wife," said the man.
" But," argued the wife, " another penny would do just as well to buy gingerbread; and that's what it will go for."
" No, that it shall not, I promise you," said Jem; and so he ran away home, fed Lightfoot, stroked him, went to bed, jumped up at five o'clock in the morning, and went singing to work as gay as a lark.
Four days he worked " every day and all day long "; and every evening the lady, when she came out to walk in her gardens, looked at his work.
At last she said to her gardener, " This little boy works very hard."
" Well," said the lady to her gardener, " show me how much is a fair day's work for a boy of his age."
" Come at six o'clock and go at six?
why, about this much, ma'am," said the gardener, marking off a piece of the border with his spade.
" Then, little boy," said the lady, " so much shall be your task every day.
The gardener will mark it off for you; and when you've done, the rest of the day you may do what you please."
Jem was extremely glad of this; and the next day he had finished his task by four o'clock; so that he had all the rest of the evening to himself.
The rest were playing at cricket.
Jem joined them, and was the merriest and most active amongst them; till, at last, when quite out of breath with running, he was obliged to give up to rest himself, and sat down upon the stile, close to the gate on which Lazy Lawrence was swinging.
" And why don't you play, Lawrence?"
said he.
" I'm tired," said Lawrence.
" Tired of what?"
" I don't know well what tires me; grandmother says I'm ill, and I must take something--I don't know what ails me."
" Oh, pugh!
take a good race--one, two, three, and away--and you'll find yourself as well as ever.
Come, run--one, two, three, and away."
" Ah, no, I can't run, indeed," said he, hanging back heavily; " you know I can play all day long if I like it, so I don't mind play as you do, who have only one hour for it."
" So much the worse for you.
Come, now, I'm quite fresh again, will you have one game at ball?
do."
" No, I tell you I can't; I'm as tired as if I had been working all day long as hard as a horse."
" Ten times more," said Jem, " for I have been working all day long, as hard as a horse, and yet you see I'm not a bit tired, only a little out of breath just now."
a penny, twopence, threepence, fourpence--there's eightpence in all; would not you be happy if you had EIGHTPENCE?"
" Why, I don't know," said Jem, laughing, " for you don't seem happy, and you HAVE EIGHTPENCE."
" That does not signify, though.
I'm sure you only say that because you envy me.
You don't know what it is to have eightpence.
You never had more than twopence or threepence at a time in all your life."
Jem smiled.
" Oh, as to that," said he, " you are mistaken, for I have at this very time more than twopence, threepence, or eightpence either.
I have--let me--see--stones, two shillings; then five days'work--that's five sixpences, that's two shillings and sixpence; in all, makes four shillings and sixpence; and my silver penny, is four and sevenpence--four and sevenpence!"
" You have not!"
said Lawrence, roused so as absolutely to stand upright, " four and sevenpence, have you?
Show it me, and then I'll believe you."
" Follow me, then," cried Jem, " and I'll soon make you believe me; come."
" Is it far?"
said Lawrence, following half - running, half - hobbling, till he came to the stable, where Jem showed him his treasure.
" And how did you come by it--honestly?"
" Honestly!
to be sure I did; I earned it all."
" Lord bless me, earned it!
well, I've a great mind to work; but then it's such hot weather, besides, grandmother says I'm not strong enough yet for hard work; and besides, I know how to coax daddy out of money when I want it, so I need not work.
But four and sevenpence; let's see, what will you do with it all?"
" That's a secret," said Jem, looking great.
" I can guess; I know what I'd do with it if it was mine.
First, I'd buy pocketfuls of gingerbread; then I'd buy ever so many apples and nuts.
Don't you love nuts?
I'd buy nuts enough to last me from this time to Christmas, and I'd make little Newton crack'em for me, for that's the worst of nuts; there's the trouble of cracking'em."
" Well, you never deserve to have a nut."
" But you'll give me some of yours," said Lawrence, in a fawning tone; for he thought it easier to coax than to work --" you'll give me some of your good things, won't you?"
" I shall not have any of those good things," said Jem.
" Then, what will you do with all your money?"
" Oh, I know very well what to do with it; but, as I told you, that's a secret, and I sha'n't tell it anybody.
Come now, let's go back and play - - their game's up, I daresay."
Lawrence went back with him, full of curiosity, and out of humour with himself and his eightpence.
" If I had four and sevenpence," said he to himself, " I certainly should be happy!"
The next day, as usual, Jem jumped up before six o'clock and went to his work, whilst Lazy Lawrence sauntered about without knowing what to do with himself.
When he got home he heard his father talking very loud, and at first he thought he was drunk; but when he opened the kitchen door, he saw that he was not drunk, but angry.
" You lazy dog!"
cried he, turning suddenly upon Lawrence, and gave him such a violent box on the ear as made the light flash from his eyes; " you lazy dog!
See what you've done for me--look!-- look, look, I say!"
Lawrence looked as soon as he came to the use of his senses, and with fear, amazement and remorse, beheld at least a dozen bottles burst, and the fine Worcestershire cider streaming over the floor.
" Now, did not I order you three days ago to carry these bottles to the cellar, and did not I charge you to wire the corks?
answer me, you lazy rascal; did not I?"
" Yes," said Lawrence, scratching his head.
" And why was not it done, I ask you?"
cried his father, with renewed anger, as another bottle burst at the moment.
" What do you stand there for, you lazy brat?
why don't you move, I say?
No, no," catching hold of him, " I believe you can't move; but I'll make you."
And he shook him till Lawrence was so giddy he could not stand.
" What had you to think of?
What had you to do all day long that you could not carry my cider, my Worcestershire cider, to the cellar when I bid you?
But go, you'll never be good for anything; you are such a lazy rascal--get out of my sight!"
So saying, he pushed him out of the house door, and Lawrence sneaked off, seeing that this was no time to make his petition for halfpence.
The next day he saw the nuts again, and wishing for them more than ever, he went home, in hopes that his father, as he said to himself, would be in a better humour.
But the cider was still fresh in his recollection; and the moment Lawrence began to whisper the word " halfpenny " in his ear, his father swore, with a loud oath, " I will not give you a halfpenny, no, not a farthing, for a month to come.
If you want money, go work for it; I've had enough of your laziness--go work!"
With this he proceeded to the fruit woman's stall.
She was busy weighing out some plums, so he was obliged to wait; and whilst he was waiting he heard some people near him talking and laughing very loud.
The fruit woman's stall was at the gate of an inn yard; and peeping through the gate in this yard, Lawrence saw a postilion and a stable boy, about his own size, playing at pitch farthing.
He stood by watching them for a few minutes.
" I began but with one halfpenny," cried the stable boy, with an oath, " and now I've got twopence!"
added he, jingling the halfpence in his waistcoat pocket.
Lawrence was moved at the sound, and said to himself, " If _I_ begin with one halfpenny I may end, like him, with having twopence; and it is easier to play at pitch farthing than to work."
So he stepped forward, presenting his halfpenny, offering to toss up with the stable boy, who, after looking him full in the face, accepted the proposal, and threw his halfpenny into the air.
" Head or tail?"
cried he.
" Head," replied Lawrence, and it came up head.
He seized the penny, surprised at his own success, and would have gone instantly to have laid it out in nuts; but the stable boy stopped him, and tempted him to throw again.
This time Lawrence lost; he threw again and won; and so he went on, sometimes losing, but most frequently winning, till half the morning was lost.
At last, however, finding himself the master of three halfpence, said he would play no more.
The stable boy, grumbling, swore he would have his revenge another time, and Lawrence went and bought his nuts.
" It is a good thing," said he to himself, " to play at pitch farthing; the next time I want a halfpenny I'll not ask my father for it, nor go to work neither."
Satisfied with this resolution, he sat down to crack his nuts at his leisure, upon the horse block in the inn yard.
Here, whilst he ate, he overheard the conversation of the stable boys and postilions.
At first their shocking oaths and loud wrangling frightened and shocked him; for Lawrence, though lazy, had not yet learned to be a wicked boy.
But, by degrees, he was accustomed to the swearing and quarrelling, and took a delight and interest in their disputes and battles.
As this was an amusement which he could enjoy without any sort of exertion, he soon grew so fond of it, that every day he returned to the stable yard, and the horse block became his constant seat.
Here he found some relief from the insupportable fatigue of doing nothing, and here, hour after hour, with his elbows on his knees, and his head on his hands, he sat, the spectator of wickedness.
Gaming, cheating and lying soon became familiar to him; and, to complete his ruin, he formed a sudden and close intimacy with the stable boy (a very bad boy) with whom he had first begun to game.
The consequences of this intimacy we shall presently see.
But it is now time to inquire what little Jem had been doing all this while.
One day, after Jem had finished his task, the gardener asked him to stay a little while, to help him to carry some geranium pots into the hall.
Jem, always active and obliging, readily stayed from play, and was carrying in a heavy flower pot, when his mistress crossed the hall.
" What a terrible litter!"
said she, " you are making here--why don't you wipe your shoes upon the mat?"
Jem turned to look for the mat, but he saw none.
" Oh," said the lady recollecting herself, " I can't blame you, for there is no mat."
" No, ma'am," said the gardener, " nor I don't know when, if ever, the man will bring home those mats you bespoke, ma'am."
" I am very sorry to hear that," said the lady; " I wish we could find somebody who would do them, if he can't.
I should not care what sort of mats they were, so that one could wipe one's feet on them."
Jem, as he was sweeping away the litter, when he heard these last words, said to himself, " Perhaps I could make a mat."
And all the way home, as he trudged along whistling, he was thinking over a scheme for making mats, which, however bold it may appear, he did not despair of executing, with patience and industry.
Many were the difficulties which his " prophetic eye " foresaw; but he felt within himself that spirit which spurs men on to great enterprises, and makes them " trample on impossibilities."
Lightfoot carried him swiftly to the common, and there Jem gathered as much of the heath as he thought he should want.
But what toil!
what time!
what pains did it cost him, before he could make anything like a mat!
Twenty times he was ready to throw aside the heath, and give up his project, from impatience of repeated disappointments.
But still he persevered.
Nothing TRULY GREAT can be accomplished without toil and time.
Two hours he worked before he went to bed.
All his play hours the next day he spent at his mat; which, in all, made five hours of fruitless attempts.
The sixth, however, repaid him for the labours of the other five.
He conquered his grand difficulty of fastening the heath substantially together, and at length completely finished a mat, which far surpassed his most sanguine expectations.
He was extremely happy--sang, danced round it--whistled--looked at it again and again, and could hardly leave off looking at it when it was time to go to bed.
He laid it by his bedside, that he might see it the moment he awoke in the morning.
And now came the grand pleasure of carrying it to his mistress.
She looked fully as much surprised as he expected, when she saw it, and when she heard who made it.
After having duly admired it, she asked how much he expected for his mat.
" Expect!-- Nothing, ma'am," said Jem; " I meant to give it you, if you'd have it; I did not mean to sell it.
I made it in my play hours, I was very happy in making it; and I'm very glad, too, that you like it; and if you please to keep it, ma'am, that's all."
" But that's not all," said the lady.
" Spend your time no more in weeding in my garden, you can employ yourself much better; you shall have the reward of your ingenuity as well as of your industry.
Make as many more such mats as you can, and I will take care and dispose of them for you."
" Thank'e, ma'am," said Jem, making his best bow, for he thought by the lady's looks that she meant to do him a favour, though he repeated to himself, " Dispose of them, what does that mean?"
The next day he went to work to make more mats, and he soon learned to make them so well and quickly, that he was surprised at his own success.
In every one he made he found less difficulty, so that, instead of making two, he could soon make four in a day.
In a fortnight he made eighteen.
It was Saturday night when he finished, and he carried, at three journeys, his eighteen mats to his mistress'house; piled them all up in the hall, and stood with his hat off, with a look of proud humility, beside the pile, waiting for his mistress'appearance.
Presently a folding - door, at one end of the hall, opened, and he saw his mistress, with a great many gentlemen and ladies, rising from several tables.
" Oh!
there is my little boy and his mats," cried the lady; and, followed by all the rest of the company, she came into the hall.
Jem modestly retired whilst they looked at his mats; but in a minute or two his mistress beckoned to him, and when he came into the middle of the circle, he saw that his pile of mats had disappeared.
" Well," said the lady, smiling, " what do you see that makes you look so surprised?"
" That all my mats are gone," said Jem; " but you are very welcome."
" Are we?"
said the lady, " well, take up your hat and go home then, for you see that it is getting late, and you know Lightfoot will wonder what's become of you."
Jem turned round to take up his hat, which he had left on the floor.
But how his countenance changed!
the hat was heavy with shillings.
Everyone who had taken a mat had put in two shillings; so that for the eighteen mats he had got thirty - six shillings.
" Thirty - six shillings," said the lady; " five and sevenpence I think you told me you had earned already--how much does that make?
I must add, I believe, one other sixpence to make out your two guineas."
" Two guineas!"
exclaimed Jem, now quite conquering his bashfulness, for at the moment he forgot where he was, and saw nobody that was by.
" Two guineas!"
cried he, clapping his hands together,--" O, Lightfoot!
O, mother!"
Then, recollecting himself, he saw his mistress, whom he now looked up to quite as a friend.
" Will YOU thank them all?"
said he, scarcely daring to glance his eyes round upon the company; " will YOU thank'em, for you know I don't know how to thank'em RIGHTLY."
Everybody thought, however, that they had been thanked RIGHTLY.
" Now we won't keep you any longer, only," said his mistress, " I have one thing to ask you, that I may be by when you show your treasure to your mother."
" Come, then," said Jem, " come with me now."
" Not now," said the lady, laughing; " but I will come to Ashton to - morrow evening; perhaps your mother can find me a few strawberries."
" That she will," said Jem: " I'll search the garden myself."
He now went home, but felt it a great restraint to wait till to - morrow evening before he told his mother.
To console himself he flew to the stable:--" Lightfoot, you're not to be sold on Monday, poor fellow!"
said he, patting him, and then could not refrain from counting out his money.
Whilst he was intent upon this, Jem was startled by a noise at the door: somebody was trying to pull up the latch.
It opened, and there came in Lazy Lawrence, with a boy in a red jacket, who had a cock under his arm.
They started when they got into the middle of the stable, and when they saw Jem, who had been at first hidden by the horse.
" We--we--we came," stammered Lazy Lawrence --" I mean, I came to--to--to --"
" To ask you," continued the stable - boy, in a bold tone, " whether you will go with us to the cock - fight on Monday?
See, I've a fine cock here, and Lawrence told me you were a great friend of his; so I came."
Lawrence now attempted to say something in praise of the pleasures of cock - fighting and in recommendation of his new companion.
But Jem looked at the stable - boy with dislike, and a sort of dread.
Then turning his eyes upon the cock with a look of compassion, said, in a low voice, to Lawrence, " Shall you like to stand by and see its eyes pecked out?"
" I don't know," said Lawrence, " as to that; but they say a cockfight's a fine sight, and it's no more cruel in me to go than another; and a great many go, and I've nothing else to do, so I shall go."
" But I have something else to do," said Jem, laughing, " so I shall not go."
" But," continued Lawrence, " you know Monday is the great Bristol fair, and one must be merry then, of all the days in the year."
" One day in the year, sure, there's no harm in being merry," said the stable boy.
" I hope not," said Jem; " for I know for my part, I am merry every day in the year."
" That's very odd," said Lawrence; " but I know for my part, I would not for all the world miss going to the fair, for at least it will be something to talk of for half a year after.
Come, you'll go, won't you?"
" No," said Jem, still looking as if he did not like to talk before the ill - looking stranger.
" Then what will you do with all your money?"
" I'll tell you about that another time," whispered Jem; " and don't you go to see that cock's eyes pecked out; it won't make you merry, I'm sure."
" If I had anything else to divert me," said Lawrence, hesitating and yawning.
" Come," cried the stable boy, seizing his stretching arm, " come along," cried he; and, pulling him away from Jem, upon whom he cast a look of extreme contempt; " leave him alone, he's not the sort.
" What a fool you are," said he to Lawrence, the moment he got him out of the stable; " you might have known he would not go, else we should soon have trimmed him out of his four and sevenpence.
But how came you to talk of four and sevenpence.
I saw in the manger a hat full of silver."
" Indeed!"
exclaimed Lawrence.
" Yes, indeed; but why did you stammer so when we first got in?
You had liked to have blown us all up."
" I was so ashamed," said Lawrence, hanging down his head.
" Ashamed!
but you must not talk of shame now you are in for it, and I sha'n't let you off; you owe us half a crown, recollect, and I must be paid to - night, so see and get the money somehow or other."
After a considerable pause he added, " I answer for it he'd never miss half a crown out of all that silver."
" But to steal," said Lawrence, drawing back with horror, " I never thought I should come to that--and from poor Jem, too--the money that he has worked so hard for, too."
" But it is not stealing; we don't mean to steal; only to borrow it; and if we win, which we certainly shall, at the cock - fight, pay it back again, and he'll never know anything about the matter, and what harm will it do him?
Besides, what signifies talking, you can't go to the cock - fight, or the fair either, if you don't; and I tell ye we don't mean to steal it; we'll pay it by Monday night."
Lawrence made no reply, and they parted without his coming to any determination.
Here let us pause in our story.
We are almost afraid to go on.
The rest is very shocking.
Our little readers will shudder as they read.
But it is better that they should know the truth, and see what the idle boy came to at last.
In the dead of the night, Lawrence heard somebody tap at his window.
He knew well who it was, for this was the signal agreed upon between him and his wicked companion.
He trembled at the thoughts of what he was about to do, and lay quite still, with his head under the bedclothes, till he heard the second tap.
Then he got up, dressed himself, and opened his window.
It was almost even with the ground.
His companion said to him, in a hollow voice, " Are you ready?"
He made no answer, but got out of the window and followed.
When he got to the stable a black cloud was just passing over the moon, and it was quite dark.
" Where are you?"
whispered Lawrence, groping about, " where are you?
Speak to me."
" I am here; give me your hand."
Lawrence stretched out his hand.
" Is that your hand?"
said the wicked boy, as Lawrence laid hold of him; " how cold it feels."
" Let us go back," said Lawrence; " it is time yet."
" It is no time to go back," replied the other, opening the door; " you've gone too far now to go back," and he pushed Lawrence into the stable.
" Have you found it?
Take care of the horse.
Have you done?
What are you about?
Make haste, I hear a noise," said the stable boy, who watched at the door.
" I am feeling for the half - crown, but I can't find it."
" Bring all together."
He brought Jem's broken flower pot, with all the money in it, to the door.
The black cloud had now passed over the moon, and the light shone full upon them.
" What do we stand here for?"
said the stable boy, snatching the flower - pot out of Lawrence's trembling hands, and pulled him away from the door.
" Good God!"
cried Lawrence, " you won't take all.
You said you'd only take half a crown, and pay it back on Monday.
You said you'd only take half a crown!"
" Hold your tongue," replied the other, walking on, deaf to all remonstrances --" if ever I am to be hanged, it sha'n't be for half a crown."
Lawrence's blood ran cold in his veins, and he felt as if all his hair stood on end.
Not another word passed.
His accomplice carried off the money, and Lawrence crept, with all the horrors of guilt upon him, to his restless bed.
He thought the morning would never come; but when it was day, when he heard the birds sing, and saw everything look cheerful as usual, he felt still more miserable.
It was Sunday morning, and the bell rang for church.
All the children of the village, dressed in their Sunday clothes, innocent and gay, and little Jem, the best and gayest amongst them, went flocking by his door to church.
" Well, Lawrence," said Jem, pulling his coat as he passed and saw Lawrence leaning against his father's door, " what makes you look so black?"
" I?"
said Lawrence, starting; " why do you say that I look black?"
" Nay, then," said Jem, " you look white enough now, if that will please you, for you're turned as pale as death."
" Pale?"
replied Lawrence, not knowing what he said, and turned abruptly away, for he dared not stand another look of Jem's; conscious that guilt was written in his face, he shunned every eye.
He would now have given the world to have thrown off the load of guilt which lay upon his mind.
He longed to follow Jem, to fall upon his knees and confess all.
It was agreed that as soon as the dusk of the evening came on, they should go together into a certain lonely field, and there divide their booty.
" Why, my Jem, how merry you are to - day!"
said his mother, when he came in with the strawberries, and was jumping about the room playfully.
" Now, keep those spirits of yours, Jem, till you want'em, and don't let it come upon you all at once.
Have it in mind that to - morrow's fair day, and Lightfoot must go.
I bid Farmer Truck call for him to - night.
He said he'd take him along with his own, and he'll be here just now--and then I know how it will be with you, Jem!"
" So do I!"
cried Jem, swallowing his secret with great difficulty, and then tumbling head over heels four times running.
A carriage passed the window, and stopped at the door.
Jem ran out; it was his mistress.
She came in smiling, and soon made the old woman smile, too, by praising the neatness of everything in the house.
We shall pass over, however important as they were deemed at the time, the praises of the strawberries, and of " my grandmother's china plate."
Another knock was heard at the door.
" Run, Jem," said his mother.
" I hope it's our milk - woman with cream for the lady."
No; it was Farmer Truck come for Lightfoot.
The old woman's countenance fell.
" Fetch him out, dear," said she, turning to her son; but Jem was gone; he flew out to the stable the moment he saw the flap of Farmer Truck's great - coat.
" Sit ye down, farmer," said the old woman, after they had waited about five minutes in expectation of Jem's return.
" You'd best sit down, if the lady will give you leave; for he'll not hurry himself back again.
My boy's a fool, madam, about that there horse."
Trying to laugh, she added, " I knew how Lightfoot and he would be loath enough to part.
He won't bring him out till the last minute; so do sit ye down, neighbour."
The farmer had scarcely sat down when Jem, with a pale, wild countenance came back.
" What's the matter?"
said his mistress.
" God bless the boy!"
said his mother, looking at him quite frightened, whilst he tried to speak, but could not.
She went up to him, and then leaning his head against her, he cried, " It's gone!-- it's all gone!"
and, bursting into tears, he sobbed as if his little heart would break.
" What's gone, love?"
said his mother.
" My two guineas--Lightfoot's two guineas.
I went to fetch'em to give you, mammy; but the broken flower - pot that I put them in, and all's gone!-- quite gone!"
repeated he, checking his sobs.
" I saw them safe last night, and was showing'em to Lightfoot; and I was so glad to think I had earned them all myself; and I thought how surprised you'd look, and how glad you'd be, and how you'd kiss me, and all!"
His mother listened to him with the greatest surprise, whilst his mistress stood in silence, looking first at the old woman, and then at Jem with a penetrating eye, as if she suspected the truth of his story, and was afraid of becoming the dupe of her own compassion.
" This is a very strange thing!"
said she, gravely.
" How came you to leave all your money in a broken flower - pot in the stable?
How came you not to give it to your mother to take care of?"
" Why, don't you remember?"
said Jem, looking up, in the midst of his tears --" why, don't you remember you, your own self, bid me not tell her about it till you were by?"
" And did you not tell her?"
" Nay, ask mammy," said Jem, a little offended; and when afterwards the lady went on questioning him in a severe manner, as if she did not believe him, he at last made no answer.
" Oh, Jem!
Jem!
why don't you speak to the lady?"
said his mother.
" I have spoke, and spoke the truth," said Jem, proudly; " and she did not believe me."
Still the lady, who had lived too long in the world to be without suspicion, maintained a cold manner, and determined to wait the event without interfering, saying only, that she hoped the money would be found, and advised Jem to have done crying.
" I have done," said Jem; " I shall cry no more."
And as he had the greatest command over himself, he actually did not shed another tear, not even when the farmer got up to go, saying, he could wait no longer.
Jem silently went to bring out Lightfoot.
The lady now took her seat, where she could see all that passed at the open parlour - window.
The old woman stood at the door, and several idle people of the village, who had gathered round the lady's carriage examining it, turned about to listen.
In a minute or two Jem appeared, with a steady countenance, leading Lightfoot and, when he came up, without saying a word, put the bridle into Farmer Truck's hand.
" He HAS BEEN a good horse," said the farmer.
" He IS a good horse!"
cried Jem, and threw his arm over Lightfoot's neck, hiding his own face as he leaned upon him.
At this instant a party of milk - women went by; and one of them, having set down her pail, came behind Jem, and gave him a pretty smart blow upon the back.
He looked up.
" And don't you know me?"
said she.
" I forget," said Jem; " I think I have seen your face before, but I forget."
" Do you so?
and you'll tell me just now," said she, half opening her hand, " that you forget who gave you this, and who charged you not to part with it, too."
Here she quite opened her large hand, and on the palm of it appeared Jem's silver penny.
" Where?"
exclaimed Jem, seizing it, " oh, where did you find it?
and have you--oh, tell me, have you got the rest of my money?"
" I know nothing of your money--I don't know what you would be at," said the milk - woman.
" But where--pray tell me where--did you find this?"
" With them that you gave it to, I suppose," said the milk - woman, turning away suddenly to take up her milk - pail.
But now Jem's mistress called to her through the window, begging her to stop, and joining in his entreaties to know how she came by the silver penny.
" Why, madam," said she, taking up the corner of her apron, " I came by it in an odd way, too.
You must know my Betty is sick, so I came with the milk myself, though it's not what I'm used to; for my Betty--you know my Betty?"
said she, turning round to the old woman, " my Betty serves you, and she's a tight and stirring lassy, ma'am, I can assure --"
" Yes, I don't doubt it," said the lady, impatiently; " but about the silver penny?"
" Why, that's true; as I was coming along all alone, for the rest came round, and I came a short cut across yon field--no, you can't see it, madam, where you stand--but if you were here --"
" I see it--I know it," said Jem, out of breath with anxiety.
continued the milk woman to the farmer.
He gave her his knife.
" Here, now, ma'am, just sticking, as it were here, between the blade and the haft, was the silver penny.
The lad took no notice; but when he opened it, out it falls.
Still he takes no heed, but cuts the cord, as I said before, and through the gate they went, and out of sight in half a minute.
" It belongs to me," said Jem, " I never gave it to anybody--but --"
" But," cried the farmer, " those boys have robbed him; it is they who have all his money."
" Oh, which way did they go?"
cried Jem, " I'll run after them."
" No, no," said the lady, calling to her servant; and she desired him to take his horse and ride after them.
" Ay," added Farmer Truck, " do you take the road, and I'll take the field way, and I'll be bound we'll have'em presently."
Whilst they were gone in pursuit of the thieves, the lady, who was now thoroughly convinced of Jem's truth, desired her coachman would produce what she had ordered him to bring with him that evening.
Out of the boot of the carriage the coachman immediately produced a new saddle and bridle.
How Jem's eyes sparkled when the saddle was thrown upon Lightfoot's back!
" Put it on your horse yourself, Jem," said the lady; " it is yours."
Confused reports of Lightfoot's splendid accoutrements, of the pursuit of thieves, and of the fine and generous lady who was standing at Dame Preston's window, quickly spread through the village, and drew everybody from their houses.
They crowded round Jem to hear the story.
The children especially, who were fond of him, expressed the strongest indignation against the thieves.
Every eye was on the stretch; and now some, who had run down the lane, came back shouting, " Here they are!
they've got the thieves!"
The footman on horseback carried one boy before him; and the farmer, striding along, dragged another.
The latter had on a red jacket, which little Jem immediately recollected, and scarcely dared lift his eyes to look at the boy on horseback.
" Good God!"
said he to himself, " it must be--yet surely it can't be Lawrence!"
The footman rode on as fast as the people would let him.
The boy's hat was slouched, and his head hung down, so that nobody could see his face.
At this instant there was a disturbance in the crowd.
A man who was half drunk pushed his way forwards, swearing that nobody should stop him; that he had a right to see--and he WOULD see.
And so he did; for, forcing through all resistance, he staggered up to the footman just as he was lifting down the boy he had carried before him.
" I WILL--I tell you I WILL see the thief!"
cried the drunken man, pushing up the boy's hat.
It was his own son.
" Lawrence!"
exclaimed the wretched father.
The shock sobered him at once, and he hid his face in his hands.
There was an awful silence.
Lawrence fell on his knees, and in a voice that could scarcely be heard made a full confession of all the circumstances of his guilt.
" Such a young creature so wicked!"
the bystanders exclaimed; " what could put such wickedness in your head?"
" Bad company," said Lawrence.
" And how came you--what brought you into bad company?"
" I don't know, except it was idleness."
While this was saying the farmer was emptying Lazy Lawrence's pockets; and when the money appeared, all his former companions in the village looked at each other with astonishment and terror.
Their parents grasped their little hands closer, and cried, " Thank God!
he is not my son.
How often when he was little we used, as he lounged about, to tell him that idleness was the root of all evil."
As for the hardened wretch, his accomplice, everyone was impatient to have him sent to gaol.
He put on a bold, insolent countenance, till he heard Lawrence's confession; till the money was found upon him; and he heard the milk - woman declare that she would swear to the silver penny which he had dropped.
Then he turned pale, and betrayed the strongest signs of fear.
" We must take him before the justice," said the farmer, " and he'll be lodged in Bristol gaol."
" Oh!"
said Jem, springing forwards when Lawrence's hands were going to be tied, " let him go--won't you?-- can't you let him go?"
" Yes, madam, for mercy's sake," said Jem's mother to the lady, " think what a disgrace to his family to be sent to gaol."
His father stood by wringing his hands in an agony of despair.
" It's all my fault," cried he; " I brought him up in idleness."
" But he'll never be idle any more," said Jem; " won't you speak for him, ma'am?"
" Don't ask the lady to speak for him," said the farmer; " it's better he should go to Bridewell now, than to the gallows by - and - by."
Nothing more was said; for everybody felt the truth of the farmer's speech.
Lawrence was eventually sent to Bridewell for a month, and the stable - boy was sent for trial, convicted, and transported to Botany Bay.
During Lawrence's confinement, Jem often visited him, and carried him such little presents as he could afford to give; and Jem could afford to be GENEROUS, because he was INDUSTRIOUS.
Lawrence's heart was touched by his kindness, and his example struck him so forcibly that, when his confinement was ended, he resolved to set immediately to work; and, to the astonishment of all who knew him, soon became remarkable for industry.
He was found early and late at his work, established a new character, and for ever lost the name of " Lazy Lawrence."
THE FALSE KEY.
Mr. Spencer, a very benevolent and sensible man, undertook the education of several poor children.
Among the rest was a boy of the name of Franklin, whom he had bred up from the time he was five years old.
Franklin had the misfortune to be the son of a man of infamous character; and for many years this was a disgrace and reproach to his child.
When any of the neighbours'children quarrelled with him, they used to tell him that he would turn out like his father.
But Mr. Spencer always assured him that he might make himself whatever he pleased; that by behaving well he would certainly, sooner or later, secure the esteem and love of all who knew him, even of those who had the strongest prejudice against him on his father's account.
When he was about thirteen years of age, Mr. Spencer one day sent for him into his closet; and as he was folding up a letter which he had been writing, said to him, with a very kind look, but in a graver tone than usual, " Franklin, you are going to leave me."
" Sir!"
said Franklin.
" You are now going to leave me, and to begin the world for yourself.
You will carry this letter to my sister, Mrs. Churchill, in Queen's Square.
You know Queen's Square?"
Franklin bowed.
" You must expect," continued Mr. Spencer, " to meet with several disagreeable things, and a great deal of rough work, at your first setting out; but be faithful and obedient to your mistress, and obliging to your fellow - servants, and all will go well.
Mrs. Churchill will make you a very good mistress, if you behave properly; and I have no doubt but you will."
" Thank you, sir."
" And you will always--I mean, as long as you deserve it--find a friend in me."
" Thank you, sir--I am sure you are --" There Franklin stopped short, for the recollection of all Mr. Spencer's goodness rushed upon him at once, and he could not say another word.
" Bring me a candle to seal this letter," said his master; and he was very glad to get out of the room.
He came back with the candle, and, with a stout heart, stood by whilst the letter was sealing; and, when his master put it into his hand, said, in a cheerful voice, " I hope you will let me see you again, sir, sometimes."
" Certainly; whenever your mistress can spare you, I shall be very glad to see you; and remember, if ever you get into any difficulty, don't be afraid to come to me.
I have sometimes spoken harshly to you; but you will not meet with a more indulgent friend."
Franklin at this turned away with a full heart; and, after making two or three attempts to express his gratitude, left the room without being able to speak.
He got to Queen's Square about three o'clock.
The door was opened by a large, red - faced man, in a blue coat and scarlet waistcoat, to whom he felt afraid to give his message, lest he should not be a servant.
" Well, what's your business, sir?"
said the butler.
" I have a letter for Mrs. Churchill, sir," said Franklin, endeavouring to pronounce his " sir " in a tone as respectful as the butler's was insolent.
The man having examined the direction, seal, and edges of the letter, carried it upstairs, and in a few minutes returned, and ordered Franklin to rub his shoes well and follow him.
He was then shown into a handsome room, where he found his mistress--an elderly lady.
She asked him a few questions, examining him attentively as she spoke; and her severe eye at first, and her gracious smile afterwards, made him feel that she was a person to be both loved and feared.
" I shall give you in charge," said she, ringing a bell, " to my housekeeper, and I hope she will have no reason to be displeased with you."
The housekeeper, when she first came in, appeared with a smiling countenance; but the moment she cast her eyes on Franklin, it changed to a look of surprise and suspicion.
Her mistress recommended him to her protection, saying, " Pomfret, I hope you will keep this boy under your own eye."
And she received him with a cold " Very well, ma'am," which plainly showed that she was not disposed to like him.
In fact, Mrs. Pomfret was a woman so fond of power, and so jealous of favour, that she would have quarrelled with an angel who had got so near her mistress without her introduction.
She smothered her displeasure, however, till night; when, as she attended her mistress'toilette, she could not refrain from expressing her sentiments.
She began cautiously: " Ma'am, is not this the boy Mr. Spencer was talking of one day--that has been brought up by the VILLAINTROPIC SOCIETY, I think they call it?"
" Philanthropic Society; yes," said her mistress; " and my brother gives him a high character: I hope he will do very well."
" I'm sure I hope so too," observed Mrs. Pomfret; " but I can't say; for my part, I've no great notion of those low people.
They say all those children are taken from the very lowest DRUGS and REFUGES of the town, and surely they are like enough, ma'am, to take after their own fathers and mothers."
" But they are not suffered to be with their parents," rejoined the lady; " and therefore cannot be hurt by their example.
This little boy, to be sure, was unfortunate in his father, but he has had an excellent education."
" Oh, EDICATION!
to be sure, ma'am, I know.
I don't say but what edication is a great thing.
I declare it frights me."
" Pomfret, I thought you had better sense: how would this poor boy earn his bread?
he would be forced to starve or steal, if everybody had such prejudices."
Pomfret, who really was a good woman, was softened at this idea, and said, " God forbid he should starve or steal, and God forbid I should say anything PREJUDICIARY of the boy; for there may be no harm in him."
" Well," said Mrs. Churchill, changing her tone, " but, Pomfret, if we don't like the boy at the end of the month, we have done with him; for I have only promised Mr. Spencer to keep him a month upon trial: there is no harm done."
" Dear, no, ma'am, to be sure; and cook must put up with her disappointment, that's all."
" What disappointment?"
" About her nephew, ma'am; the boy she and I was speaking to you for."
" When?"
" The day you called her up about the almond pudding, ma'am.
If you remember, you said you should have no objections to try the boy; and upon that cook bought him new shirts; but they are to the good, as I tell her."
" But I did not promise to take her nephew."
" O, no ma'am, not at all; she does not think to SAY THAT, else I should be very angry; but the poor woman never let fall a word, any more than frets that the boy should miss such a good place."
" Well, but since I did say that I should have no objection to try him, I shall keep my word; let him come to - morrow.
Let them both have a fair trial, and at the end of the month I can decide which I like best, and which we had better keep."
Dismissed with these orders, Mrs. Pomfret hastened to report all that had passed to the cook, like a favourite minister, proud to display the extent of her secret influence.
He hoped to secure the approbation of his mistress by scrupulous obedience to all her commands, and faithful care of all that belonged to her.
At the same time he flattered himself he should win the goodwill of his fellow servants by showing a constant desire to oblige them.
He pursued this plan of conduct steadily for nearly three weeks, and found that he succeeded beyond his expectations in pleasing his mistress; but unfortunately he found it more difficult to please his fellow servants, and he sometimes offended when he least expected it.
He had made great progress in the affections of Corkscrew, the butler, by working indeed very hard for him, and doing every day at least half his business.
But one unfortunate night the butler was gone out; the bell rang: he went upstairs; and his mistress asking where Corkscrew was, he answered that he was gone out.
" Where to!"
said his mistress.
" I don't know," answered Franklin.
And, as he had told exactly the truth, and meant to do no harm, he was surprised, at the butler's return, when he repeated to him what had passed, at receiving a sudden box on the ear, and the appellation of a mischievous, impertinent, mean - spirited brat.
" Mischievous, impertinent, mean!"
But no apology coming all day, Franklin at last ventured to request an explanation, or rather, to ask what he had best do on the next occasion.
" Why," said Corkscrew, " when mistress asked for me, how came you to say I was gone out?"
" Because, you know, I saw you go out."
" And when she asked you where I was gone, how came you to say that you did not know?"
" Because, indeed, I did not."
" You are a stupid blockhead!
could you not say I was gone to the washerwoman's?"
" But WERE you?"
said Franklin.
" Was I?"
cried Corkscrew, and looked as if he would have struck him again; " how dare you give me the lie, Mr. Hypocrite?
You would be ready enough, I'll be bound, to make excuses for yourself.
Why are not mistress'clogs cleaned?
Go along and blacken'em, this minute, and send Felix to me."
From this time forward Felix alone was privileged to enter the butler's pantry.
Nor were the bumpers of port the only unlawful rewards which Felix received: his aunt, the cook, had occasion for his assistance, and she had many delicious douceurs in her gift.
Yet when the danger was over, and the hour of adversity had past, the ungrateful cook would forget her benefactor, and, when it came to his supper time, would throw him, with a carelessness that touched him sensibly, anything which the other servants were too nice to eat.
All this Franklin bore with fortitude; nor did he envy Felix the dainties which he ate, sometimes close beside him: " For," said he to himself, " I have a clear conscience, and that is more than Felix can have.
I know how he wins cook's favour too well, and I fancy I know how I have offended her; for since the day I saw the basket, she has done nothing but huff me."
The history of the basket was this.
Mrs. Pomfret, the housekeeper, had several times, directly and indirectly, given the world below to understand that she and her mistress thought there was a prodigious quantity of meat eaten of late.
Now, when she spoke, it was usually at dinner time; she always looked, or Franklin imagined that she looked, suspiciously at him.
Other people looked more maliciously; but, as he felt himself perfectly innocent, he went on eating his dinner in silence.
But at length it was time to explain.
She spoke, but no beef appeared, till Franklin, with a look of sudden recollection, cried, " Did not I see something like a piece of beef in a basket in the dairy?-- I think --"
" There, ma'am," said she kicking an empty basket which lay on the floor --" there's malice for you.
Ask him why he don't show you the beef in the basket."
" I thought I saw --" poor Franklin began.
" You thought you saw!"
cried the cook, coming close up to him with kimboed arms, and looking like a dragon; " and pray, sir, what business has such a one as you to think you see?
And pray, ma'am, will you be pleased to speak--perhaps, ma'am, he'll condescend to obey you--ma'am, will you be pleased to forbid him my dairy?
for here he comes prying and spying about; and how, ma'am, am I to answer for my butter and cream, or anything at all?
I'm sure it's what I can't pretend to, unless you do me the justice to forbid him my places."
" Let him alone, let him alone!"
said she; " he has as many turns and windings as a hare; but we shall catch him yet, I'll be bound, in some of his doublings.
I knew the nature of him well enough, from the first time I ever set my eyes upon him; but mistress shall have her own way, and see the end of it."
These words, and the bitter sense of injustice, drew tears at length fast down the proud cheek of Franklin, which might possibly have touched Mrs. Pomfret, if Felix, with a sneer, had not called them CROCODILE TEARS.
" Felix, too!"
thought he; " this is too much."
All this could not but be present to his memory; but, seeming to reproach him, Franklin wiped away his crocodile tears, and preserved a magnanimous silence.
The hour of retribution was, however, not so far off as Felix imagined.
Cunning people may go on cleverly in their devices for some time; but although they may escape once, twice, perhaps ninety - nine times, what does that signify?-- for the hundredth time they come to shame, and lose all their character.
Grown bold by frequent success, Felix became more careless in his operations; and it happened that one day he met his mistress full in the passage, as he was going on one of the cook's secret errands.
" Where are you going, Felix?"
said his mistress.
" To the washerwoman's, ma'am," answered he, with his usual effrontery.
" Very well," said she.
" Call at the bookseller's in--stay, I must write down the direction.
Pomfret," said she, opening the housekeeper's room door, " have you a bit of paper?"
Manchon was extremely fond of Felix, who, by way of pleasing his mistress, had paid most assiduous court to her dog; yet now his caresses were rather troublesome.
Manchon leaped up, and was not to be rebuffed.
" Poor fellow--poor fellow--down!
down!
poor fellow!"
cried Felix, and put him away.
But Manchon leaped up again, and began smelling near the fatal pocket in a most alarming manner.
" You will see by this direction where you are to go," said his mistress.
" Manchon, come here--and you will be so good as to bring me--down!
down!
Manchon, be quiet!"
But Manchon knew better--he had now got his head into Felix's pocket, and would not be quiet till he had drawn from thence, rustling out of its brown paper, half a cold turkey, which had been missing since morning.
" My cold turkey, as I'm alive!"
exclaimed the housekeeper, darting upon it with horror and amazement.
" What is all this?"
said Mrs. Churchill, in a composed voice.
" I don't know, ma'am," answered Felix, so confused that he knew not what to say; " but --"
" But what?"
cried Mrs. Pomfret, indignation flashing from her eyes.
" But what?"
He was struck dumb.
" Speak," said Mrs. Churchill, in a still lower tone; " I am ready to hear all you have to say.
In my house everybody shall have justice; speak--but what?"
" BUT," stammered Felix; and, after in vain attempting to equivocate, confessed that he was going to take the turkey to his cousin's; but he threw all the blame upon his aunt, the cook, who, he said, had ordered him upon this expedition.
He knew how to bring his charge home to her.
He produced a note in her own handwriting, the purport of which was to request her cousin's acceptance of " some DELICATE COLD TURKEY," and to beg she would send her, by the return of the bearer, a little of her cherry - brandy.
Mrs. Pomfret now seeing how far she had been imposed upon, resolved, for the future, to be more upon her guard with Felix, and felt that she had treated Franklin with great injustice, when she accused him of malpractices about the sirloin of beef.
But, passing over a number of small incidents which gradually unfolded the character of the two boys, we must proceed to a more serious affair.
Corkscrew frequently, after he had finished taking away supper, and after the housekeeper was gone to bed, sallied forth to a neighbouring alehouse to drink with his friends.
The alehouse was kept by that cousin of Felix's, who was so fond of " DELICATE cold turkey," and who had such choice cherry - brandy.
All these precautions taken, the butler was at liberty to indulge his favourite passion, which so increased with indulgence, that his wages were by no means sufficient to support him in this way of life.
Every day he felt less resolution to break through his bad habits; for every day drinking became more necessary to him.
His health was ruined.
With a red, pimpled, bloated face, emaciated legs, and a swelled, diseased body, he appeared the victim of intoxication.
In the morning, when he got up, his hands trembled, his spirits flagged, he could do nothing until he had taken a dram--an operation which he was obliged to repeat several times in the course of the day, as all those wretched people MUST who once acquire this habit.
He had run up a long bill at the alehouse which he frequented; and the landlord, who grew urgent for his money, refused to give further credit.
One night, when Corkscrew had drunk enough only to make him fretful, he leaned with his elbow surlily upon the table, began to quarrel with the landlord, and swore that he had not of late treated him like a gentleman.
To which the landlord coolly replied, " That as long as he had paid like a gentleman, he had been treated like one, and that was as much as anyone could expect, or, at any rate, as much as anyone would meet with in this world."
For the truth of this assertion he appealed, laughing, to a party of men who were drinking in the room.
The men, however, took part with Corkscrew, and, drawing him over to their table, made him sit down with them.
They were in high good - humour, and the butler soon grew so intimate with them, that, in the openness of his heart, he soon communicated to them, not only all his own affairs, but all that he knew, and more than all that he knew, of his mistress '.
His new friends were by no means uninterested by his conversation, and encouraged him as much as possible to talk; for they had secret views, which the butler was by no means sufficiently sober to discover.
Mrs. Churchill had some fine old family plate; and these men belonged to a gang of housebreakers.
Before they parted with Corkscrew, they engaged him to meet them again the next night; their intimacy was still more closely cemented.
One of the men actually offered to lend Corkscrew three guineas towards the payment of his debt, and hinted that, if he thought proper, he could easily get the whole cleared off.
Upon this hint, Corkscrew became all attention, till, after some hesitation on their part, and repeated promises of secrecy on his, they at length disclosed their plans to him.
They gave him to understand, that if he would assist in letting them into his mistress'house, they would let him have an ample share in the booty.
He went home more than half - intoxicated.
His mind was so full of what had passed, that he could not help bragging to Felix, whom he found awake at his return, that he could have his bill paid off at the alehouse whenever he pleased; dropping, besides, some hints, which were not lost upon Felix.
In the morning Felix reminded him of the things which he had said; and Corkscrew, alarmed, endeavoured to evade his questions, by saying that he was not in his senses when he talked in that manner.
Nothing, however, that he could urge made any impression upon Felix, whose recollection on the subject was perfectly distinct, and who had too much cunning himself, and too little confidence in his companion, to be the dupe of his dissimulation.
The butler knew not what to do when he saw that Felix was absolutely determined either to betray their scheme, or to become a sharer in the booty.
The next night came, and he was now to make a final decision; either to determine on breaking off entirely with his new acquaintances, or taking Felix with him to join in the plot.
His debt, his love of drinking, the impossibility of indulging it without a fresh supply of money, all came into his mind at once, and conquered his remaining scruples.
It is said by those whose fatal experience gives them a right to be believed, that a drunkard will sacrifice anything, everything, sooner than the pleasure of habitual intoxication.
How much easier is it never to begin a bad custom than to break through it when once formed!
The hour of rendezvous came, and Corkscrew went to the alehouse, where he found the housebreakers waiting for him, and a glass of brandy ready poured out.
They required of him to give up the key of the house door, that they might get another made by it.
He had left it with Felix, and was now obliged to explain the new difficulty which had arisen.
Felix knew enough to ruin them, and must therefore be won over.
This was no very difficult task; he had a strong desire to have some worked cravats, and the butler knew enough of him to believe that this would be a sufficient bribe.
The cravats were bought and shown to Felix.
He thought them the only things wanting to make him a complete, fine gentleman; and to go without them, especially when he had once seen himself in the glass with one tied on in a splendid bow, appeared impossible.
Even this paltry temptation, working upon his vanity, at length prevailed with a boy whose integrity had long been corrupted by the habits of petty pilfering and daily falsehood.
It was agreed that, the first time his mistress sent him out on a message, he should carry the key of the house door to his cousin's, and deliver it into the hands of one of the gang, who were there in waiting for it.
Such was the scheme.
Without any power of recollection, he flung himself upon the bed, leaving his candle half hanging out of the candlestick beside him.
Franklin slept in the next room to him, and presently awaking, thought he perceived a strong smell of something burning.
He jumped up, and seeing a light under the butler's door, gently opened it, and to his astonishment, beheld one of the bed curtains in flames.
He immediately ran to the butler, and pulled him with all his force, to rouse him from his lethargy.
He came to his senses at length, but was so terrified, and so helpless, that, if it had not been for Franklin, the whole house would soon inevitably have been on fire.
Felix, trembling and cowardly, knew not what to do; and it was curious to see him obeying Franklin, whose turn it now was to command.
He exerted himself with so much good sense, that the fire was presently extinguished.
Everything was now once more safe and quiet.
Mrs. Pomfret, recovering from her fright, postponed all inquiries till the morning, and rejoiced that her mistress had not been awakened, whilst Corkscrew flattered himself that he should be able to conceal the true cause of the accident.
" Don't you tell Mrs. Pomfret where you found the candle when you came into the room," said he to Franklin.
" If she asks me, you know I must tell the truth," replied he.
" Must!"
repeated Felix, sneeringly; " what, you MUST be a tell - tale!"
" No, I never told any tales of anybody, and I should be very sorry to get anyone into a scrape; but for all that I shall not tell a lie, either for myself or anybody else, let you call me what names you will."
" But if I were to give you something that you would like," said Corkscrew --" something that I know you would like!"
repeated Felix.
" Nothing you can give me will do," answered Franklin, steadily, " so it is useless to say any more about it--I hope I shall not be questioned."
In this hope he was mistaken; for the first thing Mrs. Pomfret did in the morning was to come into the room to examine and deplore the burnt curtains, whilst Corkscrew stood by, endeavouring to exculpate himself by all the excuses he could invent.
Turning short round to Franklin, she desired that he would show her where he found the candle when he came into the room.
He took up the candlestick; but the moment the housekeeper cast her eye upon it, she snatched it from his hands; " How did this candlestick come here?
This was not the candlestick you found here last night," cried she.
" Yes, indeed it was," answered Franklin.
This was all very true; but Corkscrew had afterwards gone down from his room by a back staircase, unbolted that door, and, upon his return from the alehouse, had taken the japanned candlestick by mistake upstairs, and had left the brass one in its stead upon the hall table.
" Oh, ma'am," said Felix, " indeed you forget; for Mr. Corkscrew came into my room to desire me to call him betimes in the morning, and I happened to take particular notice, and he had the japanned candlestick in his hand, and that was just as I heard you, bolting the door.
Indeed, ma'am you forget."
" Indeed, sir," retorted Mrs. Pomfret, rising in anger, " I do not forget; I'm not come to be SUPPERANNUATED yet, I hope.
How do you dare to tell me I forget?"
" Oh, ma'am," cried Felix, " I beg your pardon, I did not--I did not mean to say you forgot, but only I thought, perhaps, you might not particularly remember; for if you please to recollect --"
" I won't please to recollect just whatever you please, sir!
Hold your tongue; why should you poke yourself into this scrape; what have you to do with it, I should be glad to know?"
Corkscrew could make but very blundering excuses for himself and, conscious of guilt, he turned pale, and appeared so much more terrified than butlers usually appear when detected in a lie, that Mrs. Pomfret resolved, as she said, to sift the matter to the bottom.
Impatiently did she wait till the clock struck nine, and her mistress'bell rang, the signal for her attendance at her levee.
" How do you find yourself this morning, ma'am?"
said she, undrawing the curtains.
" Very sleepy, indeed," answered her mistress in a drowsy voice; " I think I must sleep half an hour longer--shut the curtains."
" As you please, ma'am; but I suppose I had better open a little of the window shutter, for it's past nine."
" But just struck."
" Oh dear, ma'am, it struck before I came upstairs, and you know we are twenty minutes slow--Lord bless us!"
exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret, as she let fall the bar of the window, which roused her mistress.
" I'm sure I beg your pardon a thousand times--it's only the bar--because I had this great key in my hand."
" Put down the key, then, or you'll knock something else down; and you may open the shutters now; for I'm quite awake."
" Dear me!
I'm so sorry to think of disturbing you," cried Mrs. Pomfret, at the same time throwing the shutters wide open; " but, to be sure, ma'am, I have something to tell you, which won't let you sleep again in a hurry.
I brought up this here key of the house door for reasons of my own, which I'm sure you'll approve of; but I'm not come to that part of my story yet.
I hope you were not disturbed by the noise in the house last night, ma'am."
" I heard no noise."
" I am surprised at that, though," continued Mrs. Pomfret, and proceeded to give a most ample account of the fire, of her fears, and her suspicions.
" To be sure, ma'am, what I say IS, that, without the spirit of prophecy, one can nowadays account for what has passed.
Now, ma'am, that lantern could not come without hands; and I could not forget about that, you know; for Franklin says, he's sure he left the lantern out."
" And do you believe HIM?"
inquired her mistress.
" To be sure, ma'am--how can I help believing him?
I never found him out in the least symptom of a lie since ever he came into the house; so one can't help believing in him, like him or not."
" Without meaning to tell a falsehood, however," said the lady, " he might make a mistake."
" No, ma'am, he never makes mistakes; it is not his way to go gossiping and tattling; he never tells anything till he's asked, and then it's fit he should.
About the sirloin of beef, and all, he was right in the end, I found, to do him justice; and I'm sure he's right now about the lantern--he's ALWAY'S RIGHT "
Mrs. Churchill could not help smiling.
" If you had seen him, ma'am, last night in the midst of the fire--I'm sure we may thank him that we were not burned alive in our beds--and I shall never forget his coming to call me.
Poor fellow!
he that I was always scolding and scolding, enough to make him hate me.
But he's too good to hate anybody; and I'll be bound I'll make it up to him now."
" Take care that you don't go from one extreme into another, Pomfret; don't spoil the boy."
" No, ma'am, there's no danger of that; but I'm sure if you had seen him last night yourself, you would think he deserved to be rewarded."
" And so he shall be rewarded," said Mrs. Churchill; " but I will try him more fully yet."
" There's no occasion, I think, for trying him any more, ma'am," said Mrs. Pomfret, who was as violent in her likings as in her dislikes.
" Pray desire," continued her mistress, " that he will bring up breakfast this morning; and leave the key of the house - door, Pomfret, with me."
When Franklin brought the urn into the breakfast - parlour, his mistress was standing by the fire with the key in her hand.
She spoke to him of his last night's exertions in terms of much approbation.
" How long have you lived with me?"
said she, pausing; " three weeks, I think?"
" Three weeks and four days, madam."
" That is but a short time; yet you have conducted yourself so as to make me think I may depend upon you.
You know this key?"
" I believe, madam, it is the key of the house - door."
" It is; I shall trust it in your care.
It is a great trust for so young a person as you are."
Franklin stood silent, with a firm but modest look.
" If you take the charge of this key," continued his mistress, " remember it is upon condition that you never give it out of your own hands.
In the daytime it must not be left in the door.
You must not tell anybody where you keep it at night; and the house - door must not be unlocked after eleven o'clock at night, unless by my orders.
Will you take charge of the key upon these conditions?"
" I will, madam, do anything you order me," said Franklin, and received the key from her hands.
When Mrs. Churchill's orders were made known, they caused many secret marvellings and murmurings.
Corkscrew and Felix were disconcerted, and dared not openly avow their discontent; and they treated Franklin with the greatest seeming kindness and cordiality.
Everything went on smoothly for three days.
The butler never attempted his usual midnight visits to the alehouse, but went to bed in proper time, and paid particular court to Mrs Pomfret, in order to dispel her suspicions.
She had never had any idea of the real fact, that he and Felix were joined in a plot with house - breakers to rob the house, but thought he only went out at irregular hours to indulge himself in his passion for drinking.
Thus stood affairs the night before Mrs. Churchill's birthday.
Corkscrew, by the housekeeper's means, ventured to present a petition that he might go to the play the next day, and his request was granted.
Franklin came into the kitchen just when all the servants had gathered round the butler, who, with great importance, was reading aloud the play - bill.
Everybody present soon began to speak at once, and with great enthusiasm talked of the playhouse, the actors, and actresses; and then Felix, in the first pause, turned to Franklin, and said, " Lord, you know nothing of all this!
YOU never went to a play, did you?"
" Never," said Franklin, and felt, he did not know why, a little ashamed; and he longed extremely to go to one.
" How should you like to go to the play with me to - morrow?"
said Corkscrew.
" Oh," exclaimed Franklin, " I should like it exceedingly."
" And do you think mistress would let you if I asked?"
" I think maybe she would, if Mrs. Pomfret asked her."
" But then you have no money, have you?"
" No," said Franklin, sighing.
" But stay," said Corkscrew, " what I am thinking of is, that if mistress will let you go, I'll treat you myself, rather than that you should he disappointed."
Delight, surprise and gratitude appeared in Franklin's face at these words.
Corkscrew rejoiced to see that now, at least, he had found a most powerful temptation.
" Well then, I'll go just now and ask her.
In the meantime, lend me the key of the house door for a minute or two."
" The key!"
answered Franklin, starting; " I'm sorry, but I can't do that, for I've promised my mistress never to let it out of my own hands."
" But how will she know anything of the matter?
Run, run, and get it for us."
" No, I CANNOT," replied Franklin, resisting the push which the butler gave his shoulder.
" You can't?"
cried Corkscrew, changing his tone; " then, sir, I can't take you to the play."
" Very well, sir," said Franklin, sorrowfully, but with steadiness.
" Very well, sir," said Felix, mimicking him, " you need not look so important, nor fancy yourself such a great man, because you're master of a key."
" Say no more to him," interrupted Corkscrew: " let him alone to take his own way.
Felix, you would have no objection, I suppose, to going to the play with me?"
" Oh, I should like it of all things, if I did not come between anybody else.
But come, come!"
added the hypocrite, assuming a tone of friendly persuasion, " you won't be such a blockhead, Franklin, as to lose going to the play for nothing; it's only just obstinacy.
What harm can it do, to lend Mr. Corkscrew the key for five minutes?
he'll give it to you back again safe and sound."
" I don't doubt THAT," answered Franklin.
" Then it must be all because you don't wish to oblige Mr.
Corkscrew."
" No, but I can't oblige him in this; for, as I told you before, my mistress trusted me.
I promised never to let the key out of my own hands, and you would not have me break my trust.
Mr. Spencer told me that was worse than ROBBING."
At the word ROBBING both Corkscrew and Felix involuntarily cast down their eyes, and turned the conversation immediately, saying, that he did very right; that they did not really want the key, and had only asked for it just to try if he would keep his word.
" Shake hands," said Corkscrew, " I am glad to find you out to be an honest fellow!"
" I am sorry you did not think me an honest fellow before, Mr. Corkscrew," said Franklin, giving his hand rather proudly, and he walked away.
" We shall make no hand of this prig," said Corkscrew.
" But we'll have the key from him in spite of all his obstinacy," said Felix; " and let him make his story good as he can afterwards.
He shall repent of these airs.
To - night I'll watch him, and find out where he hides the key; and when he's asleep we'll get it without thanking him."
This plan Felix put into execution.
They discovered the place where Franklin kept the key at night, stole it whilst he slept, took off the impression in wax, and carefully replaced it in Franklin's trunk, exactly where they found it.
Probably our young readers cannot guess what use they could mean to make of this impression of the key in wax.
Knowing how to do mischief is very different from wishing to do it: and the most innocent persons are generally the least ignorant.
By means of the impression, which they had thus obtained, Corkscrew and Felix proposed to get a false key made by Picklock, a smith who belonged to their gang of house - breakers; and with this false key knew they could open the door whenever they pleased.
Little suspecting what had happened, Franklin, the next morning went to unlock the house door, as usual; but finding the key entangled in the lock, he took it out to examine it, and perceived a lump of wax sticking in one of the wards.
All these things considered, Franklin resolved to take the key just as it was, with the wax sticking to it, to his mistress.
" I was not mistaken when I thought I might trust YOU with this key," said Mrs. Churchill, after she had heard his story.
" My brother will be here to - day, and I shall consult him.
In the meantime, say nothing of what has passed."
Evening came, and after tea Mr. Spencer sent for Franklin upstairs.
" So, Mr. Franklin," said he, " I'm glad to find you are in such high TRUST in this family."
Franklin bowed.
" But you have lost, I understand, the pleasure of going to the play to - night."
" I don't think anything--much, I mean, of that, sir," answered Franklin, smiling.
" Are Corkscrew and Felix GONE to the play?"
" Yes; half an hour ago, sir."
" Then I shall look into his room, and examine the pantry and the plate that is under his care."
When Mr. Spencer came to examine the pantry, he found the large salvers and cups in a basket behind the door, and the other things placed so as to be easily carried off.
Nothing at first appeared in Corkscrew's bedchamber, to strengthen their suspicions, till, just as they were going to leave the room, Mrs. Pomfret exclaimed, " Why, if there is not Mr. Corkscrew's dress coat hanging up there!
and if here isn't Felix's fine cravat that he wanted in such a hurry to go to the play!
Why, sir, they can't be gone to the play.
Look at the cravat.
Ah!
upon my word I am afraid they are not at the play.
No, sir, you may be sure that they are plotting with their barbarous gang at the alehouse; and they'll certainly break into the house to - night.
We shall all be murdered in our beds, as sure as I'm a living woman, sir; but if you'll only take my advice --"
" Pray, good Mrs. Pomfret," Mr. Spencer observed, " don't be alarmed."
" Nay, sir, but I won't pretend to sleep in the house, if Franklin isn't to have a blunderbuss, and I a BAGGONET."
" You shall have both, indeed, Mrs. Pomfret; but don't make such a noise, for everybody will hear you."
The love of mystery was the only thing which could have conquered Mrs. Pomfret's love of talking.
She was silent, and contented herself the rest of the evening with making signs, looking ominous, and stalking about the house like one possessed with a secret.
Escaped from Mrs. Pomfret's fears and advice, Mr. Spencer went to a shop within a few doors of the alehouse, which he heard Corkscrew frequented, and sent to beg to speak to the landlord.
This was sufficient information.
Mr. Spencer, lest the landlord should give them information of what was going forwards, took him along with him to Bow Street.
A constable and proper assistance was sent to Mrs. Churchill's.
They stationed themselves in a back parlour which opened on a passage leading to the butler's pantry, where the plate was kept.
A little after midnight they heard the hall door open.
Corkscrew and his accomplices went directly to the pantry; and there Mr. Spencer and the constable immediately secured them, as they were carrying off their booty.
Mrs Churchill and Pomfret had spent the night at the house of an acquaintance in the same street.
" Well, ma'am," said Mrs. Pomfret, who had heard all the news in the morning, " the villains are all safe, thank God.
I was afraid to go to the window this morning; but it was my luck to see them all go by to gaol.
They looked so shocking!
I am sure I never shall forget Felix's look to my dying day!
But poor Franklin!
ma'am; that boy has the best heart in the world.
I could not get him to give a second look at them as they passed.
Poor fellow!
I thought he would have dropped; and he was so modest, ma'am, when Mr. Spencer spoke to him, and told him he had done his duty."
" And did my brother tell him what reward I intend for him?"
" No, ma'am, and I'm sure Franklin thinks no more of REWARD than I do."
" I intend," continued Mrs. Churchill, " to sell some of my old useless plate, and to lay it out in an annuity for Franklin's life."
" La, ma'am!"
exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret, with unfeigned joy, " I'm sure you are very good; and I'm very glad of it."
" And," continued Mrs. Churchill, " here are some tickets for the play, which I shall beg you, Pomfret, to give him, and to take him with you."
" I am very much obliged to you, indeed, ma'am; and I'll go with him with all my heart, and choose such plays as won't do no prejudice to his morality.
SIMPLE SUSAN.
CHAPTER I.
Waked as her custom was, before the day, To do the observance due to sprightly May.
Dryden.
In a retired hamlet on the borders of Wales, between Oswestry and Shrewsbury, it is still the custom to celebrate the 1st of May.
The children of the village, who look forward to this rural festival with joyful eagerness, usually meet on the last day of April to make up their nosegays for the morning and to choose their queen.
Their customary place of meeting is at a hawthorn, which stands in a little green nook, open on one side to a shady lane, and separated on the other side by a thick sweet - brier and hawthorn hedge from the garden of an attorney.
This attorney began the world with nothing, but he contrived to scrape together a good deal of money, everybody knew how.
He built a new house at the entrance of the village, and had a large, well fenced garden, yet, notwithstanding his fences, he never felt himself secure.
Such were his litigious habits, and his suspicious temper, that he was constantly at variance with his simple and peaceable neighbours.
Some pig, or dog, or goat, or goose was for ever trespassing.
His complaints and his extortions wearied and alarmed the whole hamlet.
The paths in his fields were at length unfrequented, his stiles were blocked up with stones or stuffed with brambles and briers, so that not a gosling could creep under, or a giant get over them.
Indeed, so careful were even the village children of giving offence to this irritable man of the law, that they would not venture to fly a kite near his fields lest it should entangle in his trees, or fall upon his meadow.
Mr. Case, for this was the name of our attorney, had a son and a daughter, to whose education he had not time to attend, as his whole soul was intent upon accumulating for them a fortune.
For several years he suffered his children to run wild in the village; but suddenly, on his being appointed to a considerable agency, he began to think of making his children a little genteel.
He sent his son to learn Latin; he hired a maid to wait upon his daughter Barbara; and he strictly forbade her thenceforward to keep company with any of the poor children, who had hitherto been her playfellows.
They were not sorry for this prohibition, because she had been their tyrant rather than their companion.
She was vexed to observe that her absence was not regretted, and she was mortified to perceive that she could not humble them by any display of airs and finery.
There was one poor girl, amongst her former associates, to whom she had a peculiar dislike,-- Susan Price, a sweet tempered, modest, sprightly, industrious lass, who was the pride and delight of the village.
Her father rented a small farm, and, unfortunately for him, he lived near Attorney Case.
Barbara used often to sit at her window, watching Susan at work.
Susan had been taught to work neatly by her good mother, who was very fond of her, and to whom she was most gratefully attached.
Mrs. Price was an intelligent, active, domestic woman; but her health was not robust.
She earned money, however, by taking in plain work; and she was famous for baking excellent bread and breakfast cakes.
She was respected in the village, for her conduct as a wife and as a mother, and all were eager to show her attention.
At her door the first branch of hawthorn was always placed on May morning, and her Susan was usually Queen of the May.
It was now time to choose the Queen.
The setting sun shone full upon the pink blossoms of the hawthorn, when the merry group assembled upon their little green.
Barbara was now walking in sullen state in her father's garden.
She heard the busy voices in the lane, and she concealed herself behind the high hedge, that she might listen to their conversation.
" Where's Susan?"
were the first unwelcome words which she overheard.
" Ay, where's Susan?"
repeated Philip, stopping short in the middle of a new tune that he was playing on his pipe.
" I wish Susan would come!
I want her to sing me this same tune over again; I have not it yet."
" And I wish Susan would come, I'm sure," cried a little girl, whose lap was full of primroses.
" Susan will give me some thread to tie up my nosegays, and she'll show me where the fresh violets grow; and she has promised to give me a great bunch of her double cowslips to wear to - morrow.
I wish she would come."
" Nothing can be done without Susan!
She always shows us where the nicest flowers are to be found in the lanes and meadows," said they.
" She must make up the garlands; and she shall be Queen of the May!"
exclaimed a multitude of little voices.
" But she does not come!"
said Philip.
Rose, who was her particular friend, now came forward to assure the impatient assembly, " that she would answer for it Susan would come as soon as she possibly could, and that she probably was detained by business at home."
The little electors thought that all business should give way to theirs, and Rose was dispatched to summon her friend immediately.
" Tell her to make haste," cried Philip.
" Attorney Case dined at the Abbey to - day--luckily for us.
If he comes home and finds us here, maybe he'll drive us away; for he says this bit of ground belongs to his garden: though that is not true, I'm sure; for Farmer Price knows, and says, it was always open to the road.
The Attorney wants to get our playground, so he does.
I wish he and his daughter Bab, or Miss Barbara, as she must now be called, were a hundred miles off, out of our way, I know.
No later than yesterday she threw down my nine - pins in one of her ill - humours, as she was walking by with her gown all trailing in the dust."
" Yes," cried Mary, the little primrose - girl, " her gown is always trailing.
She does not hold it up nicely, like Susan; and with all her fine clothes she never looks half so neat.
Mamma says she wishes I may be like Susan, when I grow up to be a great girl, and so do I. I should not like to look conceited as Barbara does, if I was ever so rich."
" Rich or poor," said Philip, " it does not become a girl to look conceited, much less BOLD, as Barbara did the other day, when she was at her father's door without a hat upon her head, staring at the strange gentleman who stopped hereabout to let his horse drink.
But I wish Susan would come," cried Philip, interrupting himself,
Susan was all this time, as her friend Rose rightly guessed, busy at home.
She was detained by her father's returning later than usual.
Susan put his supper upon the table, and set his own chair for him; but he pushed away the chair and turned from the table, saying --" I shall eat nothing, child!
Why have you such a fire to roast me at this time of the year?"
" You said yesterday, father, I thought, that you liked a little cheerful wood fire in the evening; and there was a great shower of hail; your coat is quite wet, we must dry it."
" Take it, then, child," said he, pulling it off --" I shall soon have no coat to dry--and take my hat, too," said he, throwing it upon the ground.
Susan hung up his hat, put his coat over the back of a chair to dry, and then stood anxiously looking at her mother, who was not well; she had this day fatigued herself with baking; and now, alarmed by her husband's moody behaviour, she sat down pale and trembling.
He threw himself into a chair, folded his arms, and fixed his eyes upon the fire.
Susan was the first who ventured to break silence.
Happy the father who has such a daughter as Susan!-- her unaltered sweetness of temper, and her playful, affectionate caresses, at last somewhat dissipated her father's melancholy.
He could not be prevailed upon to eat any of the supper which had been prepared for him; however, with a faint smile, he told Susan that he thought he could eat one of her guinea - hen's eggs.
She thanked him, and with that nimble alacrity which marks the desire to please, she ran to her neat chicken - yard; but, alas!, her guinea - hen was not there--it had strayed into the attorney's garden.
She saw it through the paling, and timidly opening the little gate, she asked Miss Barbara, who was walking slowly by, to let her come in and take her guinea - hen.
Barbara, who was at this instant reflecting, with no agreeable feelings, upon the conversation of the village children, to which she had recently listened, started when she heard Susan's voice, and with a proud, ill - humoured look and voice, refused her request.
Then Barbara called to her maid, Betty, and bid her catch the mischievous hen.
" Oh, my guinea - hen!
my pretty guinea - hen!"
cried Susan, as they hunted the frightened, screaming creature from corner to corner.
" Here we have got it!"
said Betty, holding it fast by the legs.
" Now pay damages, Queen Susan, or good - bye to your pretty guinea - hen," said Barbara, in an insulting tone.
" Damages!
what damages?"
said Susan; " tell me what I must pay."
" A shilling," said Barbara.
" Oh, if sixpence would do!"
said Susan; " I have but sixpence of my own in the world, and here it is."
" It won't do," said Barbara, turning her back.
" Nay, but hear me," cried Susan; " let me at least come in to look for its eggs.
I only want ONE for my father's supper; you shall have all the rest."
" What's your father, or his supper to us?
is he so nice that he can eat none but guinea - hen's eggs?"
said Barbara.
" If you want your hen and your eggs, pay for them, and you'll have them."
" I have but sixpence, and you say that won't do," said Susan with a sigh, as she looked at her favourite, which was in the maid's grasping hands, struggling and screaming in vain.
Susan retired disconsolate.
At the door of her father's cottage she saw her friend Rose, who was just come to summon her to the hawthorn bush.
" They are all at the hawthorn, and I am come for you.
We can do nothing without YOU, dear Susan," cried Rose, running to meet her, at the moment she saw her.
" You are chosen Queen of the May--come, make haste.
But what is the matter?
why do you look so sad?"
" Ah!"
Good - bye!
never mind me; I can't come--I can't stay, for my father wants me."
" But don't turn away your face; I won't keep you a moment; only tell me what's the matter," said her friend, following her into the cottage.
When Rose, however, learnt that her friend's guinea - hen was detained prisoner by the attorney's daughter, she exclaimed, with all the honest warmth of indignation, and instantly ran back to tell the story to her companions.
" Barbara!
ay; like father, like daughter," cried Farmer Price, starting from the thoughtful attitude in which he had been fixed, and drawing his chair closer to his wife.
" You see something is amiss with me, wife--I'll tell you what it is."
As he lowered his voice, Susan, who was not sure that he wished she should hear what he was going to say, retired from behind his chair.
" Susan, don't go; sit you down here, my sweet Susan," said he, making room for her upon his chair; " I believe I was a little cross when I came in first tonight; but I had something to vex me, as you shall hear.
" About a fortnight ago, you know, wife," continued he, " there was a balloting in our town for the militia; now at that time I wanted but ten days of forty years of age; and the attorney told me I was a fool for not calling myself plump forty.
But the truth is the truth, and it is what I think fittest to be spoken at all times come what will of it.
Attorney Case is too many for me.
Indeed, he has begun with me badly enough already.
I'm not come to the worst part of my story yet --"
Here Farmer Price made a dead stop; and his wife and Susan looked up in his face, breathless with anxiety.
" It must come out," said he, with a short sigh; " I must leave you in three days, wife."
" Must you?"
said his wife, in a faint, resigned voice.
" Susan, love, open the window."
Susan ran to open the window, and then returned to support her mother's head.
When she came a little to herself she sat up, begged that her husband would go on, and that nothing might be concealed from her.
The fact was this.
Case met Farmer Price as he was coming home, whistling, from a new ploughed field.
The attorney had just dined at The Abbey.
The Abbey was the family seat of an opulent baronet in the neighbourhood, to whom Mr. Case had been agent.
The baronet died suddenly, and his estate and title devolved to a younger brother, who was now just arrived in the country, and to whom Mr. Case was eager to pay his court, in hopes of obtaining his favour.
Of the agency he flattered himself that he was pretty secure; and he thought that he might assume the tone of command towards the tenants, especially towards one who was some guineas in debt, and in whose lease there was a flaw.
Accosting the farmer in a haughty manner, the attorney began with, " So, Farmer Price, a word with you, if you please.
Walk on here, man, beside my horse, and you'll hear me.
You have changed your opinion, I hope, about that bit of land--that corner at the end of my garden?"
" As how, Mr.
Case?"
said the farmer.
" As how, man!
Why, you said something about its not belonging to me, when you heard me talk of inclosing it the other day."
" So I did," said Price, " and so I do."
" My good friend, Mr. Price," said he, in a soft voice, and pale with suppressed rage.
He forced a smile.
" I'm under the necessity of calling in the money I lent you some time ago, and you will please to take notice, that it must be paid to - morrow morning.
I wish you a good evening.
You have the money ready for me, I daresay."
" No," said the farmer, " not a guinea of it; but John Simpson, who was my substitute, has not left our village yet.
I'll get the money back from him, and go myself, if so be it must be so, into the militia--so I will."
The attorney did not expect such a determination, and he represented, in a friendly, hypocritical tone to Price, that he had no wish to drive him to such an extremity; that it would be the height of folly in him TO RUN HIS HEAD AGAINST A WALL FOR NO PURPOSE.
" You don't mean to take the corner into your own garden, do you, Price?"
said he.
" I?"
said the farmer, " God forbid!
it's none of mine, I never take what does not belong to me."
" True, right, very proper, of course," said Mr. Case; " but then you have no interest in life in the land in question?"
" None."
" Then why so stiff about it, Price?
All I want of you to say --"
" To say that black is white, which I won't do, Mr. Case.
The ground is a thing not worth talking of; but it's neither yours nor mine.
In my memory, since the NEW lane was made, it has always been open to the parish; and no man shall inclose it with my good - will.
Truth is truth, and must be spoken; justice is justice, and should be done, Mr.
Attorney."
" And law is law, Mr. Farmer, and shall have its course, to your cost," cried the attorney, exasperated by the dauntless spirit of this village Hampden.
Here they parted.
The glow of enthusiasm, the pride of virtue, which made our hero brave, could not render him insensible.
As he drew nearer home, many melancholy thoughts pressed upon his heart.
He passed the door of his own cottage with resolute steps, however, and went through the village in search of the man who had engaged to be his substitute.
He found him, told him how the matter stood; and luckily the man, who had not yet spent the money, was willing to return it; as there were many others drawn for the militia, who, he observed, would be glad to give him the same price, or more, for his services.
The moment Price got the money, he hastened to Mr. Case's house, walked straight forward into his room, and laying the money down upon his desk, " There, Mr. Attorney, are your nine guineas; count them; now I have done with you."
" Not yet," said the attorney, jingling the money triumphantly in his hand.
" We'll give you a taste of the law, my good sir, or I'm mistaken.
You forgot the flaw in your lease, which I have safe in this desk."
" Ah, my lease," said the farmer, who had almost forgot to ask for it till he was thus put in mind of it by the attorney's imprudent threat.
" Give me my lease, Mr. Case.
I've paid my money; you have no right to keep the lease any longer, whether it is a bad one or a good one."
" Pardon me," said the attorney, locking his desk, and putting the key into his pocket, " possession, my honest friend," cried he, striking his hand upon the desk, " is nine points of the law.
Good night to you.
I cannot in conscience return a lease to a tenant in which I know there is a capital flaw.
It is my duty to show it to my employer; or, in other words, to your new landlord, whose agent I have good reasons to expect I shall be; you will live to repent your obstinacy, Mr. Price.
Your servant, sir."
Price retired with melancholy feelings, but not intimidated.
Many a man returns home with a gloomy countenance, who has not quite so much cause for vexation.
When Susan heard her father's story, she quite forgot her guinea - hen, and her whole soul was intent upon her poor mother, who, notwithstanding her utmost exertion, could not support herself under this sudden stroke of misfortune.
In the middle of the night Susan was called up; her mother's fever ran high for some hours; but towards morning it abated, and she fell into a soft sleep with Susan's hand locked fast in hers.
Susan sat motionless, and breathed softly, lest she should disturb her.
The rushlight, which stood beside the bed, was now burnt low; the long shadow of the tall wicker chair flitted, faded, appeared, and vanished, as the flame rose and sunk in the socket.
Susan was afraid that the disagreeable smell might waken her mother; and, gently disengaging her hand, she went on tiptoe to extinguish the candle.
All was silent: the grey light of the morning was now spreading over every object; the sun rose slowly, and Susan stood at the lattice window, looking through the small leaded, cross - barred panes at the splendid spectacle.
A few birds began to chirp; but, as Susan was listening to them, her mother started in her sleep, and spoke unintelligibly.
Susan hung up a white apron before the window to keep out the light, and just then she heard the sound of music at a distance in the village.
As it approached nearer, she knew that it was Philip playing upon his pipe and tabor.
She distinguished the merry voices of her companions " carolling in honour of the May," and soon she saw them coming towards her father's cottage, with branches and garlands in their hands.
She opened quick, but gently, the latch of the door, and ran out to meet them.
" Here she is!-- here's Susan!"
they exclaimed, joyfully.
" Here's the Queen of the May."
" And here's her crown!"
cried Rose, pressing forward; but Susan put her finger upon her lips, and pointed to her mother's window.
Philip's pipe stopped instantly.
" Thank you," said Susan, " my mother is ill; I can't leave her, you know."
Then gently putting aside the crown, her companions bid her say who should wear it for her.
" Will you, dear Rose?"
said she, placing the garland upon her friend's head.
" It's a charming May morning," added she, with a smile; " good - bye.
We sha'n't hear your voices or the pipe when you have turned the corner into the village; so you need only stop till then, Philip."
" I shall stop for all day," said Philip: " I've no mind to play any more."
" Good - bye, poor Susan.
It is a pity you can't come with us," said all the children; and little Mary ran after Susan to the cottage door.
" I forgot to thank you," said she, " for the double cowslips; look how pretty they are, and smell how sweet the violets are in my bosom, and kiss me quick, for I shall be left behind."
Susan kissed the little breathless girl, and returned softly to the side of her mother's bed.
" How grateful that child is to me, for a cowslip only!
How can I be grateful enough to such a mother as this?"
said Susan to herself, as she bent over her sleeping mother's pale countenance.
Her mother's unfinished knitting lay upon a table near the bed, and Susan sat down in her wicker arm - chair, and went on with the row, in the middle of which her hand stopped the preceding evening.
" She taught me to knit, she taught me everything that I know," thought Susan, " and the best of all, she taught me to love her, to wish to be like her."
But that was but a dream, Susan; I awoke, and knew it was a dream, and I then fell asleep, and have slept soundly ever since."
How painful it is to awake to the remembrance of misfortune.
Gradually as this poor woman collected her scattered thoughts, she recalled the circumstances of the preceding evening.
She was too certain that she had heard from her husband's own lips the words, " I MUST LEAVE YOU IN THREE DAYS "; and she wished that she could sleep again, and think it all a dream.
" But he'll want, he'll want a hundred things," said she, starting up.
" I must get his linen ready for him.
I'm afraid it's very late.
Susan, why did you let me lie so long?"
" Everything shall be ready, dear mother; only don't hurry yourself," said Susan.
And indeed her mother was ill able to bear any hurry, or to do any work this day.
Susan's affectionate, dexterous, sensible activity was never more wanted, or more effectual.
She understood so readily, she obeyed so exactly; and when she was left to her own discretion, judged so prudently, that her mother had little trouble and no anxiety in directing her.
She said that Susan never did too little, or too much.
Susan was mending her father's linen, when Rose tapped softly at the window, and beckoned to her to come out.
She went out.
" How does your mother do, in the first place?"
said Rose.
" Better, thank you."
" That's well, and I have a little bit of good news for you besides--here," said she, pulling out a glove, in which there was money, " we'll get the guinea - hen back again--we have all agreed about it.
This is the money that has been given to us in the village this May morning.
At every door they gave silver.
See how generous they have been--twelve shillings, I assure you.
Now we are a match for Miss Barbara.
You won't like to leave home; I'll go to Barbara, and you shall see your guinea - hen in ten minutes."
Rose hurried away, pleased with her commission, and to accomplish her business.
Miss Barbara's maid Betty was the first person that was visible at the attorney's house.
Rose insisted upon seeing Miss Barbara herself, and she was shown into a parlour to the young lady, who was reading a dirty novel, which she put under a heap of law papers as they entered.
" Dear, how you STARTLED me!
Is it only you?"
said she to her maid; but as soon as she saw Rose behind the maid, she put on a scornful air.
" Could not ye say I was not at home, Betty?
Well, my good girl, what brings you here?
Something to borrow or beg, I suppose."
May every ambassador--every ambassador in as good a cause--answer with as much dignity and moderation as Rose replied to Barbara upon the present occasion.
She assured her, that the person from whom she came did not send her either to beg or borrow; that she was able to pay the full value of that for which she came to ask; and, producing her well filled purse, " I believe that this is a very good shilling," said she.
" If you don't like it, I will change it, and now you will be so good as to give me Susan's guinea - hen.
It is in her name I ask for it."
" No matter in whose name you ask for it," replied Barbara, " you will not have it.
Take up your shilling, if you please.
I would have taken a shilling yesterday, if it had been paid at the time properly; but I told Susan, that if it was not paid then, I should keep the hen, and so I shall, I promise her.
You may go back, and tell her so."
The attorney's daughter had, whilst Rose opened her negotiation, measured the depth of her purse with a keen eye; and her penetration discovered that it contained at least ten shillings.
With proper management she had some hopes that the guinea - hen might be made to bring in at least half the money.
The shillings sounded provoking upon the table, as she threw them down one after another, and Barbara coolly replied, " Three won't do."
" Have you no conscience, Miss Barbara?
Then take four."
Barbara shook her head.
A fifth shilling was instantly proffered; but Bab, who now saw plainly that she had the game in her own hands, preserved a cold, cruel silence.
Rose went on rapidly, bidding shilling after shilling, till she had completely emptied her purse.
The twelve shillings were spread upon the table.
Barbara's avarice was moved, she consented for this ransom to liberate her prisoner.
Her generous little friends were amazed at Barbara's meanness, but with one accord declared that they were most willing, for their parts, to give up every farthing of the money.
They all went to Susan in a body, and told her so.
" There's our purse," said they; " do what you please with it."
They would not wait for one word of thanks, but ran away, leaving only Rose with her to settle the treaty for the guinea - hen.
There is a certain manner of accepting a favour, which shows true generosity of mind.
Many know how to give, but few know how to accept a gift properly.
Susan was touched, but not astonished, by the kindness of her young friends, and she received the purse with as much simplicity as she would have given it.
" Well," said Rose, " shall I go back for the guinea - hen?"
" The guinea - hen!"
said Susan, starting from a reverie into which she had fallen, as she contemplated the purse.
" Certainly I DO long to see my pretty guinea - hen once more; but I was not thinking of her just then--I was thinking of my father."
Now Susan had heard her mother often, in the course of this day, wish that she had but money enough in the world to pay John Simpson for going to serve in the militia instead of her husband.
" This, to be sure, will go but a little way," thought Susan; " but still it may be of some use to my father."
She told her mind to Rose, and concluded by saying, decidedly, that " if the money was given to her to dispose of as she pleased, she would give it to her father."
" It is all yours, my dear, good Susan," cried Rose, with a look of warm approbation.
" This is so like you--but I'm sorry that Miss Bab must keep your guinea - hen.
I would not be her for all the guinea - hens, or guineas either, in the whole world.
Why, I'll answer for it, the guinea - hen won't make her happy, and you'll be happy EVEN without; because you are good.
Let me come and help you to - morrow," continued she, looking at Susan's work, " if you have any more mending work to do--I never liked work till I worked with you.
I won't forget my thimble or my scissors," added she, laughing --" though I used to forget them when I was a giddy girl.
I assure you I am a great hand at my needle, now--try me."
Susan assured her friend that she did not doubt the powers of her needle, and that she would most willingly accept of her services, but that UNLUCKILY she had finished all the needle work immediately wanted.
" But do you know," said she, " I shall have a great deal of business to - morrow; but I won't tell you what it is that I have to do, for I am afraid I shall not succeed; but if I do succeed, I'll come and tell you directly, because you will be so glad of it."
One of the servants from the Abbey had been sent all round the village in the morning in search of bread, and had not been able to procure any that was tolerable.
Mrs. Price's last baking failed for want of good barm.
She was not now strong enough to attempt another herself; and when the brewer's boy came with eagerness to tell her that he had some fine fresh yeast, she thanked him, but sighed, and said it would be of no use to her.
Accordingly she went to work with much prudent care, and when her bread the next morning came out of the oven, it was excellent; at least her mother said so, and she was a good judge.
It was sent to the Abbey; and as the family there had not tasted any good bread since their arrival in the country, they also were earnest and warm in its praise.
Inquiries were made from the housekeeper, and they heard, with some surprise, that this excellent bread was made by a young girl only twelve years old.
The housekeeper, who had known Susan from a child, was pleased to have an opportunity in speaking in her favour.
" She is the most industrious little creature, ma'am, in the world," said she to her mistress.
" You have really said enough to excite my curiosity," said her mistress; " pray send for her immediately; we can see her before we go out to walk."
The benevolent housekeeper despatched her boy Philip for Susan, who never happened to be in such an UNTIDY state as to be unable to obey a summons without a long preparation.
She had, it is true, been very busy; but orderly people can be busy and neat at the same time.
She put on her usual straw hat, and accompanied Rose's mother, who was going with a basket of cleared muslin to the Abbey.
The modest simplicity of Susan's appearance and the artless propriety of the answers she gave to all the questions that were asked her, pleased the ladies at the Abbey, who were good judges of character and manners.
Sir Arthur Somers had two sisters, sensible, benevolent women.
They were not of that race of fine ladies who are miserable the moment they come to THE COUNTRY; nor yet were they of that bustling sort, who quack and direct all their poor neighbours, for the mere love of managing, or the want of something to do.
They were judiciously generous; and whilst they wished to diffuse happiness, they were not peremptory in requiring that people should be happy precisely their own way.
As soon as Miss Somers had spoken to Susan, she inquired for her brother; but Sir Arthur was in his study, and a gentleman was with him on business.
Susan was desirous of returning to her mother, and the ladies therefore would not detain her.
Miss Somers told her, with a smile, when she took leave, that she would call upon her in the evening at six o'clock.
It was impossible that such a grand event as Susan's visit to the Abbey could long remain unknown to Barbara Case and her gossiping maid.
They watched eagerly for the moment of her return, that they might satisfy their curiosity.
" There she is, I declare, just come into her garden," cried Bab; " I'll run in and get it all out of her in a minute."
Bab could descend, without shame, whenever it suited her purposes, from the height of insolent pride to the lowest meanness of fawning familiarity.
Susan was gathering some marigolds and some parsley for her mother's broth.
" So, Susan," said Bab, who came close up to her before she perceived it, " how goes the world with you to - day?"
" My mother is rather better to - day, she says, ma'am--thank you," replies Susan, coldly but civilly.
" MA'AM!
dear, how polite we are grown of a sudden!"
cried Bab, winking at her maid.
" One may see you've been in good company this morning--hey, Susan?
Come, let's hear about it."
" Did you see the ladies themselves, or was it only the housekeeper sent for you?"
said the maid.
" What room did you go into?"
continued Bab.
" Did you see Miss Somers, or Sir Arthur?"
" Miss Somers."
" La!
she saw Miss Somers!
Betty, I must hear about it.
Can't you stop gathering those things for a minute, and chat a bit with us, Susan?"
" I can't stay, indeed, Miss Barbara; for my mother's broth is just wanted, and I'm in a hurry."
Susan ran home.
" Lord, her head is full of broth now," said Bab to her maid; " and she has not a word for herself, though she has been abroad.
My papa may well call her Simple Susan; for simple she is, and simple she will be, all the world over.
For my part, I think she's little better than a downright simpleton.
But, however, simple or not, I'll get what I want out of her.
She'll be able to speak, maybe, when she has settled the grand matter of the broth.
I'll step in and ask to see her mother, that will put her in a good humour in a trice."
Barbara followed Susan into the cottage, and found her occupied with the grand affair of the broth.
" Is it ready?"
said Bab, peeping into the pot that was over the fire.
" Dear, how savoury it smells!
I'll wait till you go in with it to your mother; for I must ask her how she does myself."
" Will you please to sit down then, miss," said Simple Susan, with a smile; for at this instant she forgot the guinea - hen; " I have but just put the parsley into the broth; but it soon will be ready."
During this interval Bab employed herself, much to her own satisfaction, in cross - questioning Susan.
" What do you think she could mean?"
" I thought she meant what she said," replied Susan, " that she would come here at six o'clock."
" Ay, that's as plain as a pike - staff," said Barbara; " but what else did she mean, think you?
People, you know, don't always mean exactly, downright, neither more nor less than what they say."
" Not always," said Susan, with an arch smile, which convinced Barbara that she was not quite a simpleton.
" NOT ALWAYS," repeated Barbara colouring,--" oh, then I suppose you have some guess at what Miss Somers meant."
" No," said Susan, " I was not thinking about Miss Somers, when I said not always."
" How nice that broth does look," resumed Barbara, after a pause.
Susan had now poured the broth into a basin, and as she strewed over it the bright orange marigolds, it looked very tempting.
She tasted it, and added now a little salt, and now a little more, till she thought it was just to her mother's taste.
" Oh!
_I_ must taste it," said Bab, taking the basin up greedily.
" Won't you take a spoon?"
said Susan, trembling at the large mouthfuls which Barbara sucked up with a terrible noise.
" Take a spoonful, indeed!"
exclaimed Barbara, setting down the basin in high anger.
" The next time I taste your broth you shall affront me, if you dare!
The next time I set my foot in this house, you shall be as saucy to me as you please."
And she flounced out of the house, repeating " TAKE A SPOON, PIG, was what you meant to say."
Susan stood in amazement at the beginning of this speech; but the concluding words explained to her the mystery.
Some years before this time, when Susan was a very little girl, and could scarcely speak plain, as she was eating a basin of bread and milk for her supper at the cottage door, a great pig came up, and put his nose into the basin.
"* The saying become proverbial in the village.
Susan's little companions repeated it, and applied it upon many occasions, whenever anyone claimed more than his share of anything good.
Barbara, who was then not Miss Barbara, but plain Bab, and who had played with all the poor children in the neighbourhood, was often reproved in her unjust methods of division by Susan's proverb.
Susan, as she grew up, forgot the childish saying; but the remembrance of it rankled in Barbara's mind, and it was to this that she suspected Susan had alluded, when she recommended a spoon to her, whilst she was swallowing the basin of broth.
* This is a true anecdote.
" La, miss," said Barbara's maid, when she found her mistress in a passion upon her return from Susan's, " I only wondered you did her the honour to set your foot within her doors.
What need have you to trouble her for news about the Abbey folks, when your own papa has been there all the morning, and is just come in, and can tell you everything?"
Barbara did not know that her father meant to go to the Abbey that morning, for Attorney Case was mysterious even to his own family about his morning rides.
He never chose to be asked where he was going, or where he had been; and this made his servants more than commonly inquisitive to trace him.
Barbara, against whose apparent childishness and real cunning he was not sufficiently on his guard, had often the art of drawing him into conversation about his visits.
She ran into her father's parlour; but she knew, the moment she saw his face, that it was no time to ask questions; his pen was across his mouth, and his brown wig pushed oblique upon his contracted forehead.
The wig was always pushed crooked whenever he was in a brown or rather, a black study.
It is true that Attorney Case was not in the happiest mood possible; for he was by no means satisfied with his morning's work at the Abbey.
Sir Arthur Somers, the NEW MAN, did not suit him, and he began to be rather apprehensive that he should not suit Sir Arthur.
He had sound reasons for his doubts.
Sir Arthur Somers was an excellent lawyer, and a perfectly honest man.
This seemed to our attorney a contradiction in terms; in the course of his practice the case had not occurred; and he had no precedents ready to direct his proceedings.
Sir Arthur was also a man of wit and eloquence, yet of plain dealing and humanity.
The attorney could not persuade himself to believe that his benevolence was anything but enlightened cunning, and his plain dealing he one minute dreaded as the masterpiece of art, and the next despised as the characteristic of folly.
In short, he had not yet decided whether he was an honest man or a knave.
He had settled accounts with him for his late agency, and had talked about sundry matters of business.
He constantly perceived, however, that he could not impose upon Sir Arthur; but the idea that he could know all the mazes of the law, and yet prefer the straight road, was incomprehensible.
Mr. Case, having paid Sir Arthur some compliments on his great legal abilities, and his high reputation at the bar, he coolly replied, " I have left the bar."
The attorney looked in unfeigned astonishment, that a man who was actually making 3, OOO pounds per annum at the bar should leave it.
" I am come," said Sir Arthur, " to enjoy that kind of domestic life in the country which I prefer to all others, and amongst people whose happiness I hope to increase."
At this speech the attorney changed his ground, flattering himself that he should find his man averse to business, and ignorant of country affairs.
He talked of the value of land, and of new leases.
Sir Arthur wished to enlarge his domain, and to make a ride round it.
A map of it was lying upon the table, and Farmer Price's garden came exactly across the new road for the ride.
Sir Arthur looked disappointed; and the keen attorney seized the moment to inform him that " Price's whole land was at his disposal."
" At my disposal!
how so?"
cried Sir Arthur, eagerly; " it will not be out of lease, I believe, these ten years.
I'll look into the rent roll again; perhaps I am mistaken."
" You are mistaken, my good sir, and you are not mistaken," said Mr. Case, with a shrewd smile.
" In one sense, the land will not be out of lease these ten years, and in another it is out of lease at this present time.
To come to the point at once, the lease is, ab origine, null and void.
I have detected a capital flaw in the body of it.
I pledge my credit upon it, sir, it can't stand a single term in law or equity."
The attorney observed, that at these words Sir Arthur's eye was fixed with a look of earnest attention.
" Now I have him," said the cunning tempter to himself.
" Neither in law nor equity," repeated Sir Arthur, with apparent incredulity.
" Are you sure of that, Mr.
Case?"
" Sure!
As I told you before, sir, I'd pledge my whole credit upon the thing--I'd stake my existence."
" THAT'S SOMETHING," said Sir Arthur, as if he was pondering upon the matter.
The attorney went on with all the eagerness of a keen man, who sees a chance at one stroke of winning a rich friend, and of ruining a poor enemy.
He explained, with legal volubility and technical amplification, the nature of the mistake in Mr. Price's lease.
" It was, sir," said he, " a lease for the life of Peter Price, Susanna his wife, and to the survivor or survivors of them, or for the full time and term of twenty years, to be computed from the first day of May then next ensuing.
Now, sir, this, you see, is a lease in reversion, which the late Sir Benjamin Somers had not, by his settlement, a right to make.
This is a curious mistake, you see, Sir Arthur; and in filling up those printed leases there's always a good chance of some flaw.
I find it perpetually; but I never found a better than this in the whole course of my practice."
Sir Arthur stood in silence.
" My dear sir," said the attorney, taking him by the button, " you have no scruple of stirring in this business?"
" A little," said Sir Arthur.
" Why, then, that can be done away in a moment.
Your name shall not appear in it at all.
You have nothing to do but to make over the lease to me.
I make all safe to you with my bond.
Now, being in possession, I come forward in my own proper person.
SHALL I PROCEED?"
" No--you have said enough," replied Sir Arthur.
" The case, indeed, lies in a nutshell," said the attorney, who had by this time worked himself up to such a pitch of professional enthusiasm, that, intent upon his vision of a lawsuit, he totally forgot to observe the impression his words made upon Sir Arthur.
" There's only one thing we have forgotten all this time," said Sir Arthur.
" What can that be, sir?"
" That we shall ruin this poor man."
Case was thunderstruck at these words, or rather, by the look which accompanied them.
He recollected that he had laid himself open before he was sure of Sir Arthur's REAL character.
He softened, and said he should have had certainly more CONSIDERATION in the case of any but a litigious, pig - headed fellow, as he knew Price to be.
" If he be litigious," said Sir Arthur, " I shall certainly be glad to get him fairly out of the parish as soon as possible.
When you go home, you will be so good, sir, as to send me his lease, that I may satisfy myself before we stir in this business."
The attorney, brightening up, prepared to take leave; but he could not persuade himself to take his departure without making one push at Sir Arthur about the agency.
" I will not trouble you, Sir Arthur, with this lease of Price's," said Case; " I'll leave it with your agent.
Whom shall I apply to?"
" TO MYSELF, sir, if you please," replied Sir Arthur.
The courtiers of Louis the Fourteenth could not have looked more astounded than our attorney, when they received from their monarch a similar answer.
It was this unexpected reply of Sir Arthur's which had deranged the temper of Mr. Case, and caused his wig to stand so crooked upon his forehead, and which had rendered him impenetrably silent to his inquisitive daughter Barbara.
He had often found that small timely presents worked wonderfully upon his own mind, and he judged of others by himself.
The tenants had been in the reluctant but constant practice of making him continual petty offerings; and he resolved to try the same course with Sir Arthur, whose resolution to be his own agent, he thought, argued a close, saving, avaricious disposition.
He had heard the housekeeper at the Abbey inquiring, as he passed through the servants, whether there was any lamb to be gotten?
She said that Sir Arthur was remarkably fond of lamb, and that she wished she could get a quarter for him.
Immediately he sallied into his kitchen, as soon as the idea struck him, and asked a shepherd, who was waiting there, whether he knew of a nice fat lamb to be had anywhere in the neighbourhood.
" I know of one," cried Barbara.
" Susan Price has a pet lamb that's as fat as fat could be."
The attorney easily caught at these words, and speedily devised a scheme for obtaining Susan's lamb for nothing.
It would be something strange if an attorney of his talents and standing was not an over - match for Simple Susan.
He prowled forth in search of his prey.
He found Susan packing up her father's little wardrobe; and when she looked up as she knelt, he saw that she had been in tears.
" How is your mother to - day, Susan?"
inquired the attorney.
" Worse, sir.
My father goes to - morrow."
" That's a pity."
" It can't be helped," said Susan, with a sigh.
" It can't be helped--how do you know that?"
said Case.
" Sir, DEAR sir!"
cried she, looking up at him, and a sudden ray of hope beamed in her ingenuous countenance.
" And if YOU could help it, Susan?"
said he.
Susan clasped her hands in silence, more expressive than words.
" You CAN help it, Susan."
She started up in an ecstasy.
" What would you give now to have your father at home for a whole week longer?"
" Anything!-- but I have nothing."
" Yes, but you have, a lamb," said the hard - hearted attorney.
" My poor little lamb!"
said Susan; " but what can that do?"
" What good can any lamb do?
Is not lamb good to eat?
Why do you look so pale, girl?
Are not sheep killed every day, and don't you eat mutton?
Is your lamb better than anybody else's, think you?"
" I don't know," said Susan, " but I love it better."
" More fool you," said he.
" It feeds out of hand, it follows me about; I have always taken care of it; my mother gave it to me."
" Well, say no more about it, then," he cynically observed; " if you love your lamb better than both your father and your mother, keep it, and good morning to you."
" Stay, oh stay!"
cried Susan, catching the skirt of his coat with an eager, trembling hand;--" a whole week, did you say?
My mother may get better in that time.
No, I do not love my lamb half so well."
The struggle of her mind ceased, and with a placid countenance and calm voice, " take the lamb," said she.
" Where is it?"
said the attorney.
" Grazing in the meadow, by the river side."
" It must be brought up before night - fall for the butcher, remember."
" I shall not forget it," said Susan, steadily.
As soon, however, as her persecutor turned his back and quitted the house, Susan sat down, and hid her face in her hands.
She was soon aroused by the sound of her mother's feeble voice, who was calling Susan from the inner room where she lay.
Susan went in; but did not undraw the curtain as she stood beside the bed.
" Are you there, love?
Undraw the curtain, that I may see you, and tell me;-- I thought I heard some strange voice just now talking to my child.
Something's amiss, Susan," said her mother, raising herself as well as she was able in the bed, to examine her daughter's countenance.
" Would you think it amiss, then, my dear mother," said Susan, stooping to kiss her --" would you think it amiss, if my father was to stay with us a week longer?"
" Susan!
you don't say so?"
" He is, indeed, a whole week;-- but how burning hot your hand is still."
" Are you sure he will stay?"
inquired her mother.
" How do you know?
Who told you so?
Tell me all quick."
" Attorney Case told me so; he can get him a week's longer leave of absence, and he has promised he will."
" God bless him for it, for ever and ever!"
said the poor woman, joining her hands.
" May the blessing of heaven be with him!"
Susan closed the curtains, and was silent.
She COULD NOT SAY AMEN.
She was called out of the room at this moment, for a messenger was come from the Abbey for the bread - bills.
It was she who always made out the bills, for though she had not a great number of lessons from the writing - master, she had taken so much pains to learn that she could write a very neat, legible hand, and she found this very useful.
She was not, to be sure, particularly inclined to draw out a long bill at this instant, but business must be done.
She set to work, ruled her lines for the pounds, shillings and pence, made out the bill for the Abbey, and despatched the impatient messenger.
She then resolved to make out all the bills for the neighbours, who had many of them taken a few loaves and rolls of her baking.
" I had better get all my business finished," said she to herself, " before I go down to the meadow to take leave of my poor lamb."
This was sooner said than done, for she found that she had a great number of bills to write, and the slate on which she had entered the account was not immediately to be found; and when it was found the figures were almost rubbed out.
Barbara had sat down upon it.
Susan pored over the number of loaves, and the names of the persons who took them; and she wrote and cast up sums, and corrected and re - corrected them, till her head grew quite puzzled.
The table was covered with little square bits of paper, on which she had been writing bills over and over again, when her father came in with a bill in his hand.
" How's this, Susan?"
said he.
" How can ye be so careless, child?
What is your head running upon?
Here, look at the bill you were sending up to the Abbey?
I met the messenger, and luckily asked to see how much it was.
Look at it."
Susan looked and blushed; it was written, " Sir Arthur Somers, to John Price, debtor, six dozen LAMBS, so much."
She altered it, and returned it to her father; but he had taken up some of the papers which lay upon the table.
" What are all these, child?"
" Some of them are wrong, and I've written them out again," said Susan.
" Some of them!
All of them, I think, seem to be wrong, if I can read," said her father, rather angrily, and he pointed out to her sundry strange mistakes.
Her head, indeed, had been running upon her poor lamb.
She corrected all the mistakes with so much patience, and bore to be blamed with so much good humour, that her father at last said, that it was impossible ever to scold Susan, without being in the wrong at the last.
As soon as all was set right, Price took the bills, and said he would go round to the neighbours, and collect the money himself; for that he should be very proud to have it to say to them, that it was all earned by his own little daughter.
Susan resolved to keep the pleasure of telling him of his week's reprieve till he should come home to sup, as he had promised to do, in her mother's room.
She was not sorry to hear him sigh as he passed the knapsack, which she had been packing up for his journey.
" How delighted he will be when he hears the good news!"
said she, to herself; " but I know he will be a little sorry too for my poor lamb."
She knew that they would be disappointed, if she was later than usual, and she did not like to keep them waiting, because they were very patient, good boys; so she put off the visit to her lamb, and went immediately for her brothers.
CHAPTER II.
Ev'n in the spring and playtime of the year, That calls th'unwonted villager abroad, With all her little ones, a sportive train, To gather king - cups in the yellow mead, And prink their heads with daisies.
Cowper.
The close shaven green, which sloped down from the hatch - door of the schoolroom, was paled round with a rude paling, which, though decayed in some parts by time, was not in any place broken by violence.
The place bespoke order and peace.
The dame who governed was well obeyed, because she was just and well beloved, and because she was ever glad to give well earned praise and pleasure to her little subjects.
Susan had once been under her gentle dominion, and had been deservedly her favourite scholar.
The dame often cited her as the best example to the succeeding tribe of emulous youngsters.
She had scarcely opened the wicket which separated the green before the schoolroom door from the lane, when she heard the merry voices of the children, and saw the little troup issuing from the hatchway, and spreading over the green.
" Oh, there's Susan!"
The voices were still raised one above another, all eager to establish some important observation about ninepins, or marbles, or tops, or bows and arrows, when suddenly music was heard and the crowd was silenced.
The music seemed to be near the spot where the children were standing, and they looked round to see whence it could come.
Susan pointed to the great oak - tree, and they beheld, seated under its shade, an old man playing upon his harp.
The children all approached--at first timidly, for the sounds were solemn; but as the harper heard their little footsteps coming towards him, he changed his hand and played one of his most lively tunes.
The circle closed, and pressed nearer and nearer to him; some who were in the foremost row whispered to each other, " He is blind!"
" What a pity!"
and " He looks very poor,-- what a ragged coat he wears!"
said others.
" He must be very old, for all his hair is white; and he must have travelled a great way, for his shoes are quite worn out," observed another.
All these remarks were made whilst he was tuning his harp, for when he once more began to play, not a word was uttered.
He seemed pleased by their simple exclamations of wonder and delight, and, eager to amuse his young audience, he played now a gay and now a pathetic air, to suit their several humours.
Susan's voice, which was soft and sweet, expressive of gentleness and good nature, caught his ear the moment she spoke.
He turned his face eagerly to the place where she stood; and it was observed, that whenever she said that she liked any tune particularly he played it over again.
" I am blind," said the old man, " and cannot see your faces; but I know you all asunder by your voices, and I can guess pretty well at all your humours and characters by your voices."
" Can you so, indeed?"
cried Susan's little brother William, who had stationed himself between the old man's knees.
" Then you heard MY sister Susan speak just now.
Can you tell us what sort of person she is?"
" That I can, I think, without being a conjurer," said the old man, lifting the boy up on his knee; " YOUR sister Susan is good - natured."
The boy clapped his hands.
" And good - tempered."
" RIGHT," said little William, with a louder clap of applause.
" And very fond of the little boy who sits upon my knee."
" O right!
right!
quite right!"
exclaimed the child, and " quite right " echoed on all sides.
" But how came you to know so much, when you are blind?"
said William, examining the old man attentively.
" Hush," said John, who was a year older than his brother, and very sage, " you should not put him in mind of his being blind."
" Though I am blind," said the harper, " I can hear, you know, and I heard from your sister herself all that I told you of her, that she was good - tempered and good - natured and fond of you."
" Oh, that's wrong--you did not hear all that from herself, I'm sure," said John, " for nobody ever hears her praising herself."
" Did not I hear her tell you," said the harper, " when you first came round me, that she was in a great hurry to go home, but that she would stay a little while, since you wished it so much?
Was not that good - natured?
And when you said you did not like the tune she liked best, she was not angry with you, but said,'Then play William's first, if you please,'-- was not that good - tempered?"
" Oh," interrupted William, " it's all true; but how did you find out that she was fond of me?"
" That is such a difficult question," said the harper, " that I must take time to consider."
Who are you, my old fellow?
A blind harper!
Well, play us a tune, if you can play ever a good one--play me--let's see, what shall he play, Bob?"
added he turning to his companion.
" Bumper Squire Jones."
The old man, though he did not seem quite pleased with the peremptory manner of the request, played, as he was desired, " Bumper Squire Jones "; and several other tunes were afterwards bespoke by the same rough and tyrannical voice.
The little children shrunk back in timid silence, and eyed the brutal boy with dislike.
This boy was the son of Attorney Case; and as his father had neglected to correct his temper when he was a child, as he grew up it became insufferable.
All who were younger and weaker than himself, dreaded his approach, and detested him as a tyrant.
When the old harper was so tired that he could play no more, a lad, who usually carried his harp for him, and who was within call, came up, and held his master's hat to the company, saying, " Will you be pleased to remember us?"
The children readily produced their halfpence, and thought their wealth well bestowed upon this poor, good - natured man, who had taken so much pains to entertain them, better even than upon the gingerbread woman, whose stall they loved to frequent.
The hat was held some time to the attorney's son before he chose to see it.
At last he put his hand surlily into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a shilling.
There were sixpennyworth of halfpence in the hat.
" I'll take these halfpence," said he, " and here's a shilling for you."
" God bless you, sir," said the lad; but as he took the shilling which the young gentleman had slily put INTO THE BLIND MAN'S HAND, he saw that it was not worth one farthing.
" I am afraid it is not good, sir," said the lad, whose business it was to examine the money for his master.
" I am afraid, then, you'll get no other," said young Case, with an insulting laugh.
" It never will do, sir," persisted the lad; " look at it yourself; the edges are all yellow!
you can see the copper through it quite plain.
Sir, nobody will take it from us."
" That's your affair," said the brutal boy, pushing away his hand.
" You may pass it, you know, as well as I do, if you look sharp.
You have taken it from me, and I shan't take it back again, I promise you."
A whisper of " that's very unjust," was heard.
The little assembly, though under evident constraint, could no longer suppress their indignation.
" Who says it's unjust?"
cried the tyrant, sternly, looking down upon his judges.
Susan's little brothers had held her gown fast, to prevent her from moving at the beginning of this contest, and she was now so much interested to see the end of it, that she stood still, without making any resistance.
" Is anyone here amongst yourselves a judge of silver?"
said the old man.
" Yes, here's the butcher's boy," said the attorney's son; " show it to him."
He was a sickly - looking boy, and of a remarkably peaceful disposition.
Young Case fancied that he would be afraid to give judgment against him.
However, after some moments'hesitation, and after turning the shilling round several times, he pronounced, " that, as far as his judgment went, but he did not pretend to be a downright CERTAIN SURE of it, the shilling was not over and above good."
Then to Susan, to screen himself from manifest danger, for the attorney's son looked upon him with a vengeful mien, " But here's Susan here, who understands silver a great deal better than I do; she takes a power of it for bread, you know."
" I'll leave it to her," said the old harper; " if she says the shilling is good, keep it, Jack."
" There's another, then," cried he; " I have sixpences and shillings too in plenty, thank my stars."
Susan now walked away with her two little brothers, and all the other children separated to go to their several homes.
The old harper called to Susan, and begged, that, if she was going towards the village, she would be so kind as to show him the way.
His lad took up his harp, and little William took the old man by the hand.
" I'll lead him, I can lead him," said he; and John ran on before them, to gather king - cups in the meadow.
They were now come to a gate, which opened upon the high road to the village.
" There is the high road straight before you," said Susan to the lad, who was carrying his master's harp; " you can't miss it.
Now I must bid you a good evening; for I'm in a great hurry to get home, and must go the short way across the fields here, which would not be so pleasant for you, because of the stiles.
Good - bye."
The old harper thanked her, and went along the high road, whilst she and her brothers tripped on as fast as they could by the short way across the fields.
" Miss Somers, I am afraid, will be waiting for us," said Susan.
" You know she said she would call at six; and by the length of our shadows I'm sure it is late."
When they came to their own cottage - door, they heard many voices, and they saw, when they entered, several ladies standing in the kitchen.
" Come in, Susan; we thought you had quite forsaken us," said Miss Somers to Susan, who advanced timidly.
Is it you, Susan, who keeps these things in such nice order?"
continued Miss Somers, looking round the kitchen.
Before Susan could reply, little William pushed forward, and answered, " Yes, ma'am, it is MY sister Susan that keeps everything neat; and she always comes to school for us, too, which was what caused her to be so late."
" Because as how," continued John, " she was loth to refuse us the hearing a blind man play on the harp.
It was we kept her, and we hopes, ma'am, as you ARE--as you SEEM so good, you won't take it amiss."
Miss Somers and her sister smiled at the affectionate simplicity with which Susan's little brothers undertook her defence, and they were, from this slight circumstance, disposed to think yet more favourably of a family which seemed so well united.
They took Susan along with them through the village.
Many neighbours came to their doors, and far from envying, they all secretly wished Susan well as she passed.
" I fancy we shall find what we want here," said Miss Somers, stopping before a shop, where unfolded sheets of pins and glass buttons glistened in the window, and where rolls of many coloured ribbons appeared ranged in tempting order.
She went in, and was rejoiced to see the shelves at the back of the counter well - furnished with glossy tiers of stuffs, and gay, neat printed linens and calicoes.
" Now, Susan, choose yourself a gown," said Miss Somers; " you set an example of industry and good conduct, of which we wish to take public notice, for the benefit of others."
Now stretched his arm to the highest shelves, and brought down in a trice what seemed to be beyond the reach of any but a giant's arm; now dived into some hidden recess beneath the counter, and brought to light fresh beauties and fresh temptations.
Susan looked on with more indifference than most of the spectators.
She was thinking much of her lamb, and more of her father.
Some people are wholly inattentive to the lesser feelings, and incapable of reading the countenances of those on whom they bestow their bounty.
Miss Somers and her sister were not of this roughly charitable class.
" She does not like any of these things," whispered Miss Somers to her sister.
Her sister observed, that Susan looked as if her thoughts were far distant from gowns.
" If you don't fancy any of these," said the civil shopkeeper to Susan, " we shall have a new assortment of calicoes for the spring season, soon from town."
" Oh," interrupted Susan, with a smile and a blush; " these are all pretty, and too good for me, but --"
" BUT what, Susan?"
said Miss Somers.
" Tell us what is passing in your little mind."
Susan hesitated.
" Well then, we will not press you, you are scarcely acquainted with us yet; when you are, you will not be afraid, I hope, to speak your mind.
Put this shining yellow counter," continued she, pointing to the guinea, " in your pocket, and make what use of it you please.
From what we know, and from what we have heard of you, we are persuaded that you will make a good use of it."
" I think, madam," said the master of the shop, with a shrewd, good natured look, " I could give a pretty good guess myself what will become of that guinea; but I say nothing."
" No, that is right," said Miss Somers; " we leave Susan entirely at liberty; and now we will not detain her any longer.
Good night, Susan, we shall soon come again to your neat cottage."
Susan curtsied, with an expressive look of gratitude, and with a modest frankness in her countenance, which seemed to say, " I would tell you, and welcome, what I want to do with the guinea; but I am not used to speak before so many people.
When you come to our cottage again you shall know all."
When Susan had departed, Miss Somers turned to the obliging shopkeeper, who was folding up all the things he had opened.
" You have had a great deal of trouble with us, sir," said she; " and since Susan will not choose a gown for herself, I must."
She selected the prettiest; and whilst the man was rolling it in paper, she asked him several questions about Susan and her family, which he was delighted to answer, because he had now all opportunity of saying as much as he wished in her praise.
" No later back, ma'am, than last May morning," said he, " as my daughter Rose was telling us, Susan did a turn, in her quiet way, by her mother, that would not displease you if you were to hear it.
She put the crown upon my daughter Rose's head with her own hands; and, to be sure, Rose loves her as well as if she was her own sister.
But I don't speak from partiality; for I am no relation whatever to the Prices--only a well - wisher, as everyone, I believe, who knows them is.
I'll send the parcel up to the Abbey, shall I, ma'am?"
" If you please," said Miss Somers, " and, as soon as you receive your new things from town, let us know.
You will, I hope, find us good customers and well - wishers," added she, with a smile; " for those who wish well to their neighbours surely deserve to have well - wishers themselves."
A few words may encourage the benevolent passions, and may dispose people to live in peace and happiness; a few words may set them at variance, and may lead to misery and lawsuits.
Attorney Case and Miss Somers were both equally convinced of this, and their practice was uniformly consistent with their principles.
But now to return to Susan.
She put the bright guinea carefully into the glove with the twelve shillings, which she had received from her companions on May day.
" If that could but be done," said she to herself, " how happy would my mother be.
She would be quite stout again, for she certainly is a great deal better, since I told her that father would stay a week longer.
Ah!
but she would not have blessed Attorney Case, though, if she had known about my poor Daisy."
Susan took the path that led to the meadow by the waterside, resolved to go by herself, and take leave of her innocent favourite.
But she did not pass by unperceived.
Her little brothers were watching for her return, and, as soon as they saw her, they ran after her, and overtook her as she reached the meadow.
" What did that good lady want with you?"
cried William; but, looking up in his sister's face, he saw tears in her eyes, and he was silent, and walked on quietly.
Susan saw her lamb by the water - side.
" Who are those two men?"
said William.
" What are they going to do with DAISY?"
The two men were Attorney Case and the butcher.
The butcher was feeling whether the lamb was fat.
Susan sat down upon the bank in silent sorrow; her little brothers ran up to the butcher, and demanded whether he was going to DO ANY HARM to the lamb.
The butcher did not answer, but the attorney replied, " It is not your sister's lamb any longer; it's mine--mine to all intents and purposes."
" Yours!"
cried the children, with terror; " and will you kill it?"
" That's the butcher's business."
The little boys now burst into piercing lamentations.
They pushed away the butcher's hand; they threw their arms round the neck of the lamb; they kissed its forehead--it bleated.
" It will not bleat to - morrow!"
said William, and he wept bitterly.
The butcher looked aside, and hastily rubbed his eyes with the corner of his blue apron.
The attorney stood unmoved; he pulled up the head of the lamb, which had just stooped to crop a mouthful of clover.
" I have no time to waste," said he; " butcher, you'll account with me.
If it's fat--the sooner the better.
I've no more to say."
And he walked off, deaf to the prayers of the poor children.
As soon as the attorney was out of sight, Susan rose from the bank where she was seated, came up to her lamb, and stooped to gather some of the fresh dewy trefoil, to let it eat out of her hand for the last time.
Poor Daisy licked her well known hand.
" Now, let us go," said Susan.
" I'll wait as long as you please," said the butcher.
Susan thanked him, but walked away quickly, without looking again at her lamb.
Her little brothers begged the man to stay a few minutes, for they had gathered a handful of blue speedwell and yellow crowsfoot, and they were decking the poor animal.
As it followed the boys through the village, the children collected as they passed, and the butcher's own son was amongst the number.
Susan's steadiness about the bad shilling was full in this boy's memory; it had saved him a beating.
He went directly to his father to beg the life of Susan's lamb.
" Come, lads, don't keep a crowd and a scandal about my door," continued he, aloud, to the children; " turn the lamb in here, John, in the paddock, for to - night, and go your ways home."
The crowd dispersed, but murmured, and the butcher went to the attorney.
" Seeing that all you want is a good, fat, tender lamb, for a present for Sir Arthur, as you told me," said the butcher, " I could let you have what's as good or better for your purpose."
" Better--if it's better, I'm ready to hear reason."
In the meantime Susan's brothers ran home to tell her that her lamb was put into the paddock for the night; this was all they knew, and even this was some comfort to her.
Rose, her good friend, was with her, and she had before her the pleasure of telling her father of his week's reprieve.
Her mother was better, and even said she was determined to sit up to supper in her wicker armchair.
Susan was getting this ready for supper, when little William, who was standing at the house door, watching in the dusk for his father's return, suddenly exclaimed, " Susan!
if here is not our old man!"
" Yes," said the old harper, " I have found my way to you.
The neighbours were kind enough to show me whereabouts you lived; for, though I didn't know your name, they guessed who I meant by what I said of you all."
Susan came to the door, and the old man was delighted to hear her speak again.
" If it would not be too bold," said he, " I'm a stranger in this part of the country, and come from afar off.
My boy has got a bed for himself here in the village; but I have no place.
Could you be so charitable as to give an old blind man a night's lodging?"
Susan said she would step in and ask her mother; and she soon returned with an answer, that he was heartily welcome, if he could sleep upon the children's bed, which was but small.
The old man thankfully entered the hospitable cottage.
He struck his head against the low roof, as he stepped over the doorsill.
" Many roofs that are twice as high are not half so good," said he.
Of this he had just had experience at the house of the Attorney Case, while he had asked, but had been roughly refused all assistance by Miss Barbara, who was, according to her usual custom, standing staring at the hall door.
The old man's harp was set down in Farmer Price's kitchen, and he promised to play a tune for the boys before they went to bed; their mother giving them leave to sit up to supper with their father.
He came home with a sorrowful countenance; but how soon did it brighten, when Susan, with a smile, said to him, " Father, we've good news for you!
Who knows, dearest mother, but we may keep him with us for ever!"
As she spoke, she threw her arms round her father, who pressed her to his bosom without speaking, for his heart was full.
He was some little time before he could perfectly believe that what he heard was true; but the revived smiles of his wife, the noisy joy of his little boys, and the satisfaction that shone in Susan's countenance, convinced him that he was not in a dream.
As they sat down to supper, the old harper was made welcome to his share of the cheerful though frugal meal.
Susan's father, as soon as supper was finished, even before he would let the harper play a tune for his boys, opened the little purse, which Susan had given him.
He was surprised at the sight of the twelve shillings, and still more, when he came to the bottom of the purse, to see the bright golden guinea.
" How did you come by all this money, Susan?"
said he.
" Honestly and handsomely, that I'm sure of beforehand," said her proud mother; " but how I can't make out, except by the baking.
Hey, Susan is this your first baking?"
" Oh, no, no," said her father, " I have her first baking snug here, besides, in my pocket.
I kept it for a surprise, to do your mother's heart good, Susan.
Here's twenty - nine shillings, and the Abbey bill, which is not paid yet, comes to ten more.
What think you of this, wife?
Have we not a right to be proud of our Susan?
But tell us, child, how came you by all this riches?
and how comes it that I don't go to - morrow?
All this happy news makes me so gay in myself, I'm afraid I shall hardly understand it rightly.
But speak on, child--first bringing us a bottle of the good mead you made last year from your own honey."
Susan did not much like to tell the history of her guinea - hen--of the gown and of her poor lamb.
Part of this would seem as if she was vaunting of her own generosity, and part of it she did not like to recollect.
But her mother pressed to know the whole, and she related it as simply as she could.
When she came to the story of her lamb, her voice faltered, and everybody present was touched.
The old harper sighed once, and cleared his throat several times.
He then asked for his harp, and, after tuning it for a considerable time, he recollected--for he had often fits of absence--that he sent for it to play the tune he had promised to the boys.
This harper came from a great distance, from the mountains of Wales, to contend with several other competitors for a prize, which had been advertised by a musical society about a year before this time.
There was to be a splendid ball given upon the occasion at Shrewsbury, which was about five miles from our village.
The prize was ten guineas for the best performer on the harp, and the prize was now to be decided in a few days.
All this intelligence Barbara had long since gained from her maid, who often paid visits to the town of Shrewsbury, and she had long had her imagination inflamed with the idea of this splendid music - meeting and ball.
Often had she sighed to be there, and often had she revolved in her mind schemes for introducing herself to some GENTEEL neighbours, who might take her to the ball IN THEIR CARRIAGE.
How rejoiced, how triumphant was she, when this very evening, just about the time when the butcher was bargaining with her father about Susan's lamb, a servant from the Abbey rapped at the door, and left a card for Mr. and Miss Barbara Case.
" There," cried Bab, " _I_ and PAPA are to dine and drink tea at The Abbey tomorrow.
Who knows?
I daresay, when they see that I'm not a vulgar person, and all that; and if I go cunningly to work with Miss Somers, as I shall, to be sure, I daresay, she'll take me to the ball with her."
" To be sure," said the maid; " it's the least one may expect from a lady who DEMEANS herself to visit Susan Price, and goes about a - shopping for her.
The least she can do for you is to take you in her carriage, WHICH costs nothing, but is just a common civility, to a ball."
" Then pray, Betty," continued Miss Barbara, " don't forget to - morrow, the first thing you do, to send off to Shrewsbury for my new bonnet.
I must have it to DINE IN, at the Abbey, or the ladies will think nothing of me; and Betty, remember the mantua - maker too.
I must see and coax papa to buy me a new gown against the ball.
I can see, you know, something of the fashions to - morrow at the Abbey.
I shall LOOK THE LADIES WELL OVER, I promise you.
That's the thing."
In full confidence that her present and her bonnet would operate effectually in her favour, Miss Barbara paid her first visit at the Abbey.
She expected to see wonders.
She was embarrassed when she saw books and work and drawings upon the table, and she began to think that some affront was meant to her, because the COMPANY did not sit with their hands before them.
One by one the ladies dropped off.
Miss Somers went out of the room for a few minutes to alter her dress, as it was the custom of the family, before dinner.
She left a portfolio of pretty drawings and good prints, for Miss Barbara's amusement; but Miss Barbara's thoughts were so intent upon the harpers'ball, that she could not be entertained with such TRIFLES.
How unhappy are those who spend their time in expectation!
They can never enjoy the present moment.
Whilst Barbara was contriving means of interesting Miss Somers in her favour, she recollected, with surprise, that not one word had yet been said of her present of the guinea - hen.
Mrs. Betty, in the hurry of her dressing her young lady in the morning, had forgotten it; but it came just whilst Miss Somers was dressing; and the housekeeper came into her mistress'room to announce its arrival.
" Ma'am," said she, " here's a beautiful guinea - hen just come, with Miss Barbara Case's compliments to you."
Miss Somers knew, by the tone which the housekeeper delivered this message, that there was something in the business which did not perfectly please her.
She made no answer, in expectation that the housekeeper, who was a woman of a very open temper, would explain her cause of dissatisfaction.
In this she was not mistaken.
And how Miss Bab came by it is the thing that puzzles me.
If my boy Philip was at home, maybe, as he's often at Mrs. Price's (which I don't disapprove), he might know the history of the guinea - hen.
I expect him home this night, and if you have no objection, I will sift the affair."
" The shortest way, I think," said Henrietta, " would be to ask Miss Case herself about it, which I will do this evening."
" If you please, ma'am," said the housekeeper, coldly; for she knew that Miss Barbara was not famous in the village for speaking truth.
Dinner was now served.
Attorney Case expected to smell mint sauce, and, as the covers were taken from off the dishes, looked around for lamb; but no lamb appeared.
He had a dexterous knack of twisting the conversation to his point.
Sir Arthur was speaking, when they sat down to dinner, of a new carving knife, which he lately had had made for his sister.
The attorney immediately went from carving - knives to poultry; thence to butcher's meat.
Some joints, he observed, were much more difficult to carve than others.
He never saw a man carve better than the gentleman opposite him, who was the curate of the parish.
" But, sir," said the vulgar attorney, " I must make bold to differ with you in one point, and I'll appeal to Sir Arthur.
Sir Arthur, pray may I ask, when you carve a forequarter of lamb, do you, when you raise the shoulder, throw in salt, or not?"
This well prepared question was not lost upon Sir Arthur.
The attorney was thanked for his intended present; but mortified and surprised to hear Sir Arthur say that it was a constant rule of his never to accept of any presents from his neighbours.
" If we were to accept a lamb from a rich neighbour on my estate," said he, " I am afraid we should mortify many of our poor tenants, who can have little to offer, though, perhaps, they may bear us thorough good - will notwithstanding."
After the ladies left the dining - room, as they were walking up and down the large hall, Miss Barbara had a fair opportunity of imitating her keen father's method of conversing.
One of the ladies observed, that this hall would be a charming place for music.
Bab brought in harps and harpers, and the harpers'ball, in a breath.
" I know so much about it,-- about the ball I mean," said she, " because a lady in Shrewsbury, a friend of papa's, offered to take me with her; but papa did not like to give her the trouble of sending so far for me, though she has a coach of her own."
Barbara fixed her eyes upon Miss Somers as she spoke; but she could not read her countenance as distinctly as she wished, because Miss Somers was at this moment letting down the veil of her hat.
" Shall we walk out before tea?"
said Miss Somers to her companions; " I have a pretty guinea - hen to show you."
Barbara, secretly drawing propitious omens from the guinea - hen, followed with a confidential step.
The pheasantry was well filled with pheasants, peacocks, etc., and Susan's pretty little guinea - hen appeared well, even in this high company.
It was much admired.
Barbara was in glory; but her glory was of short duration.
Just as Miss Somers was going to inquire into the guinea - hen's history, Philip came up, to ask permission to have a bit of sycamore, to turn a nutmeg box for his mother.
He was an ingenious lad, and a good turner for his age.
Sir Arthur had put by a bit of sycamore, on purpose for him; and Miss Somers told him where it was to be found.
He thanked her: but in the midst of his bow of thanks his eye was struck by the sight of the guinea - hen, and he involuntarily exclaimed, " Susan's guinea - hen, I declare!"
" No, it's not Susan's guinea - hen," said Miss Barbara, colouring furiously; " it is mine, and I have made a present of it to Miss Somers."
At the sound of Bab's voice, Philip turned--saw her--and indignation, unrestrained by the presence of all the amazed spectators, flashed in his countenance.
" What is the matter, Philip?"
said Miss Somers, in a pacifying tone; but Philip was not inclined to be pacified.
" Why, ma'am," said he, " may I speak out?"
and, without waiting for permission, he spoke out, and gave a full, true, and warm account of Rose's embassy, and of Miss Barbara's cruel and avaricious proceedings.
Barbara denied, prevaricated, stammered, and at last was overcome with confusion; for which even the most indulgent spectators could scarcely pity her.
Miss Somers, however, mindful of what was due to her guest, was anxious to dispatch Philip for his piece of sycamore.
Bab recovered herself as soon as he was out of sight; but she further exposed herself by exclaiming, " I'm sure I wish this pitiful guinea - hen had never come into my possession.
I wish Susan had kept it at home, as she should have done!"
" Perhaps she will be more careful now that she has received so strong a lesson," said Miss Somers.
" Shall we try her?"
continued she.
" Philip will, I daresay, take the guinea - hen back to Susan, if we desire it."
" If you please, ma'am," said Barbara, sullenly; " I have nothing more to do with it."
So the guinea - hen was delivered to Philip, who set off joyfully with his prize, and was soon in sight of Farmer Price's cottage.
He stopped when he came to the door.
He recollected Rose and her generous friendship for Susan.
He was determined that she should have the pleasure of restoring the guinea - hen.
He ran into the village.
All the children who had given up their little purse on May day were assembled on the play - green.
They were delighted to see the guinea - hen once more.
Philip took his pipe and tabor, and they marched in innocent triumph towards the whitewashed cottage.
" Let me come with you--let me come with you," said the butcher's boy to Philip.
" Stop one minute!
my father has something to say to you."
He darted into his father's house.
The little procession stopped, and in a few minutes the bleating of a lamb was heard.
Through a back passage, which led into the paddock behind the house, they saw the butcher leading a lamb.
" It is Daisy!"
exclaimed Rose --" It's Daisy!"
repeated all her companions.
" Susan's lamb!
Susan's lamb!"
and there was a universal shout of joy.
" Well, for my part," said the good butcher, as soon as he could be heard,--" for my part, I would not be so cruel as Attorney Case for the whole world.
But, at anyrate, here's Susan's lamb safe and sound.
I'd have taken it back sooner, but I was off before day to the fair, and am but just come back.
Daisy, however, has been as well off in my paddock as he would have been in the field by the waterside."
The pipe and tabor now once more began to play, and the procession moved on in joyful order, after giving the humane butcher three cheers; three cheers which were better deserved than " loud huzzas " usually are.
Susan was working in her arbour, with her little deal table before her.
When she heard the sound of the music, she put down her work and listened.
She saw the crowd of children coming nearer and nearer.
They had closed round Daisy, so that she did not see it; but as they came up to the garden gate she saw that Rose beckoned to her.
Philip played as loud as he could, that she might not hear, till the proper moment, the bleating of the lamb.
Susan opened the garden - wicket, and at this signal the crowd divided, and the first thing that Susan saw, in the midst of her taller friends, was little smiling Mary, with the guinea - hen in her arms.
" Come on!
Come on!"
cried Mary, as Susan started with joyful surprise; " you have more to see."
At this instant the music paused, Susan heard the bleating of a lamb, and scarcely daring to believe her senses, she pressed eagerly forward, and beheld poor Daisy!-- she burst into tears.
" I did not shed one tear when I parted with you, my dear little Daisy!"
said she.
" It was for my father and mother.
I would not have parted with you for anything else in the whole world.
Thank you, thank you all," added she, to her companions, who sympathized in her joy, even more than they had sympathized in her sorrow.
" Now, if my father was not to go away from us next week, and if my mother was quite stout, I should be the happiest person in the world!"
As Susan pronounced these words, a voice behind the little listening crowd cried, in a brutal tone, " Let us pass, if you please; you have no right to stop up the public road!"
This was the voice of Attorney Case, who was returning with his daughter Barbara from his visit to the Abbey.
He saw the lamb, and tried to whistle as he went on.
Barbara also saw the guinea - hen, and turned her head another way, that she might avoid the contemptuous, reproachful looks of those whom she only affected to despise.
Even her new bonnet, in which she had expected to be so much admired, was now only serviceable to hide her face and conceal her mortification.
" I am glad she saw the guinea - hen," cried Rose, who now held it in her hands.
" Yes," said Philip, " she'll not forget May day in a hurry."
" Nor I neither, I hope," said Susan, looking round upon her companions with a most affectionate smile: " I hope, whilst I live, I shall never forget your goodness to me last May day.
Now I've my pretty guinea - hen safe once more, I should think of returning your money."
" No!
no!
no!"
was the general cry.
" We don't want the money--keep it, keep it--you want it for your father."
" Well," said Susan, " I am not too proud to be obliged.
I WILL keep your money for my father.
Perhaps some time or other I may be able to earn --"
" Oh," interrupted Philip, " don't let us talk of earning; don't let us talk to her of money now; she has not had time hardly to look at poor Daisy and her guinea - hen.
Come, we must go about our business, and let her have them all to herself."
The crowd moved away in consequence of Philip's considerate advice: but it was observed that he was the very last to stir from the garden - wicket himself.
He stayed, first, to inform Susan that it was Rose who tied the ribands on Daisy's head.
Then he stayed a little longer to let her into the history of the guinea - hen, and to tell her who it was that brought the hen home from the Abbey.
Rose held the sieve, and Susan was feeding her long lost favourite, whilst Philip leaned over the wicket, prolonging his narration.
" Now, my pretty guinea - hen," said Susan --" my naughty guinea - hen, that flew away from me, you shall never serve me so again.
I must cut your nice wings; but I won't hurt you."
" Take care," cried Philip; " you'd better, indeed you'd better let me hold her whilst you cut her wings."
When this operation was successfully performed, which it certainly could never have been if Philip had not held the hen for Susan, he recollected that his mother had sent him with a message to Mrs. Price.
Happy Daisy!
who lapped at his ease, whilst Susan caressed him, and thanked her fond father and her pleased mother.
" But, Philip," said Mrs. Price, " I'll hold the jug--you'll be late with your message to your mother; we'll not detain you any longer."
Philip departed, and as he went out of the garden - wicket, he looked up, and saw Bab and her maid Betty staring out of the window, as usual.
On this, he immediately turned back to try whether he had shut the gate fast, lest the guinea - hen might stray out, and fall again into the hands of the enemy.
Miss Barbara, in the course of this day, felt considerable mortification, but no contrition.
She was vexed that her meanness was discovered, but she felt no desire to cure herself of any of her faults.
The ball was still uppermost in her vain, selfish soul.
" Well," said she to her confidante, Betty, " you hear how things have turned out; but if Miss Somers won't think of asking me to go out with her, I've a notion I know who will.
As papa says, it's a good thing to have two strings to one's bow."
Now, some officers, who were quartered at Shrewsbury, had become acquainted with Mr. Case.
They had gotten into some quarrel with a tradesman of the town, and Attorney Case had promised to bring them through the affair, as the man threatened to take the law of them.
It was with this lady that Miss Barbara now hoped to go to the harpers'ball.
" The officers and Mrs. Strathspey, or, more properly, Mrs. Strathspey and the officers, are to breakfast here, tomorrow, do you know," said Bab to Betty.
" One of them dined at the Abbey, to - day, and told papa that they'd all come.
They are going out on a party, somewhere into the country, and breakfast here on their way.
Pray, Betty, don't forget that Mrs. Strathspey can't breakfast without honey.
I heard her say so myself."
" Then, indeed," said Betty, " I'm afraid Mrs. Strathspey will be likely to go without her breakfast here; for not a spoonful of honey have we, let her long for it ever so much."
" But, surely," said Bab, " we can contrive to get some honey in the neighbourhood."
" There's none to be bought, as I know of," said Betty.
" But is there none to be begged or borrowed?"
said Bab, laughing.
" Do you forget Susan's beehive?
Step over to her in the morning with MY COMPLIMENTS, and see what you can do.
Tell her it's for Mrs.
Strathspey."
In the morning Betty went with Miss Barbara's compliments to Susan, to beg some honey for Mrs. Strathspey, who could not breakfast without it.
Susan did not like to part with her honey, because her mother loved it, and she therefore gave Betty but a small quantity.
When Barbara saw how little Susan sent, she called her A MISER, and she said she MUST have some more for Mrs. Strathspey.
" I'll go myself and speak to her.
Come with me, Betty," said the young lady, who found it at present convenient to forget her having declared, the day that she sucked up the broth, that she never would honour Susan with another visit.
" Susan," said she, accosting the poor girl, whom she had done everything in her power to injure, " I must beg a little more honey from you for Mrs. Strathspey's breakfast.
You know, on a particular occasion such as this, neighbours must help one another."
" To be sure they should," added Betty.
Susan, though she was generous, was not weak; she was willing to give to those she loved, but not disposed to let anything be taken from her, or coaxed out of her, by those she had reason to despise.
She civilly answered, that she was sorry she had no more honey to spare.
Barbara grew angry, and lost all command of herself, when she saw that Susan, without regarding her reproaches, went on looking through the glass pane in the beehive.
" I'll tell you what, Susan Price," said she, in a high tone, " the honey I WILL have, so you may as well give it to me by fair means.
Yes or no!
Speak!
Will you give it me or not?
Will you give me that piece of the honey - comb that lies there?"
" That bit of honey - comb is for my mother's breakfast," said Susan; " I cannot give it you."
" Can't you?"
said Bab, " then see if I don't take it!"
She stretched across Susan for the honey - comb, which was lying by some rosemary leaves that Susan had freshly gathered for her mother's tea.
Bab grasped, but at her first effort she only reached the rosemary.
She made a second dart at the honey - comb, and, in her struggle to obtain it, she overset the beehive.
The bees swarmed about her.
Her maid Betty screamed and ran away.
Susan, who was sheltered by a laburnum tree, called to Barbara, upon whom the black clusters of bees were now settling, and begged her to stand still, and not to beat them away.
" If you stand quietly you won't be stung, perhaps."
But instead of standing quietly, Bab buffeted and stamped and roared, and the bees stung her terribly.
Her arms and her face swelled in a frightful manner.
She was helped home by poor Susan and treacherous Mrs. Betty, who, now the mischief was done, thought only of exculpating herself to her master.
" Indeed, Miss Barbara," said she, " this was quite wrong of you to go and get yourself into such a scrape.
I shall be turned away for it, you'll see."
" I don't care whether you are turned away or not," said Barbara; " I never felt such pain in my life.
Can't you do something for me?
I don't mind the pain either so much as being such a fright.
Pray, how am I to be fit to be seen at breakfast by Mrs. Strathspey; and I suppose I can't go to the ball either to - morrow, after all!"
" No, that you can't expect to do, indeed," said Betty, the comforter.
" You need not think of balls; for those lumps and swellings won't go off your face this week.
That's not what pains me; but I'm thinking of what your papa will say to me when he sees you, miss."
Whilst this amiable mistress and maid were in their adversity reviling one another, Susan, when she saw that she could be of no further use, was preparing to depart, but at the house - door, she was met by Mr. Case.
Mr. Case had revolved things in his mind; for his second visit at the Abbey pleased him as little as his first, owing to a few words which Sir Arthur and Miss Somers dropped in speaking of Susan and Farmer Price.
Mr. Case began to fear that he had mistaken his game in quarrelling with this family.
The refusal of his present dwelt upon the attorney's mind; and he was aware that, if the history of Susan's lamb ever reached the Abbey, he was undone.
He now thought that the most prudent course he could possibly follow would be to HUSH UP matters with the Prices with all convenient speed.
Consequently, when he met Susan at his door, he forced a gracious smile.
" How is your mother, Susan?"
said he.
" Is there anything in our house can be of service to her?"
On hearing his daughter he cried out, " Barbara, Barbara--Bab!
come downstairs, child, and speak to Susan Price."
But as no Barbara answered, her father stalked upstairs directly, opened the door, and stood amazed at the spectacle of her swelled visage.
Betty instantly began to tell the story of Barbara's mishap her own way.
Bab contradicted her as fast as she spoke.
Couldn't you be content, without seizing upon the honey - comb by force?
This is scandalous behaviour, and what, I assure you, I can't countenance."
Susan now interceded for Barbara; and the attorney, softening his voice, said that " Susan was a great deal too good to her; as you are, indeed," added he, " to everybody.
I forgive her for your sake."
Susan curtsied, in great surprise; but her lamb could not be forgotten, and she left the attorney's house as soon as she could, to make her mother's rosemary tea breakfast.
Mr. Case saw that Susan was not so simple as to be taken in by a few fair words.
His next attempt was to conciliate Farmer Price.
The farmer was a blunt, honest man, and his countenance remained inflexibly contemptuous, when the attorney addressed him in his softest tone.
So stood matters the day of the long expected harpers'ball.
Miss Barbara Case, stung by Susan's bees, could not, after all her manoeuvres, go with Mrs. Strathspey to the ball.
The ballroom was filled early in the evening.
There was a numerous assembly.
The harpers, who contended for the prize, were placed under the music - gallery at the lower end of the room.
Amongst them was our old blind friend, who, as he was not so well clad as his competitors, seemed to be disdained by many of the spectators.
Six ladies and six gentlemen were now appointed to be judges of the performance.
They were seated in a semicircle, opposite to the harpers.
The Miss Somerses, who were fond of music, were amongst the ladies in the semicircle; and the prize was lodged in the hands of Sir Arthur.
There was now silence.
The first harp sounded, and as each musician tried his skill, the audience seemed to think that each deserved the prize.
The old blind man was the last.
He tuned his instrument; and such a simple, pathetic strain was heard as touched every heart.
All were fixed in delighted attention; and when the music ceased, the silence for some moments continued.
The silence was followed by a universal buzz of applause.
The judges were unanimous in their opinions, and it was declared that the old blind harper, who played the last, deserved the prize.
The simple, pathetic air which won the suffrages of the whole assembly, was his own composition.
He was pressed to give the words belonging to the music; and at last he modestly offered to repeat them, as he could not see to write.
Miss Somers'ready pencil was instantly produced; and the old harper dictated the words of his ballad, which he called--" Susan's Lamentation for her Lamb."
Miss Somers looked at her brother from time to time, as she wrote; and Sir Arthur, as soon as the old man had finished, took him aside, and asked him some questions, which brought the whole history of Susan's lamb and of Attorney Case's cruelty to light.
The attorney himself was present when the harper began to dictate his ballad.
His colour, as Sir Arthur steadily looked at him, varied continually; till at length, when he heard the words " Susan's Lamentation for her Lamb," he suddenly shrunk back, skulked through the crowd, and disappeared.
We shall not follow him; we had rather follow our old friend, the victorious harper.
The boy ran with the letter to the post - office.
He was but just in time, for the postman's horn was sounding.
" For me!"
said Farmer Price; " here's the penny then, but who can it be from, I wonder?
Who can think of writing to me, in this world?"
He tore open the letter; but the hard name at the bottom of the page puzzled him - -" your obliged friend, Llewellyn."
" And what's this?"
said he, opening a paper that was inclosed in the letter.
" It's a song, seemingly; it must be somebody that has a mind to make an April fool of me."
" But it is not April, it is May, father," said Susan.
" Well, let us read the letter, and we shall come to the truth all in good time."
Farmer Price sat down in his own chair, for he could not read entirely to his satisfaction in any other, and read as follows:--
" MY WORTHY FRIEND,-- I am sure you will be glad to hear that I have had good success this night.
I have won the ten guinea prize, and for that I am in a great measure indebted to your sweet daughter Susan; as you will see by a little ballad I inclose for her.
Your hospitality to me has afforded to me an opportunity of learning some of your family history.
You do not, I hope, forget that I was present when you were counting the treasure in Susan's little purse, and that I heard for what purpose it was all destined.
You have not, I know, yet made up the full sum for your substitute, John Simpson; therefore do me the favour to use the five guinea bank note which you will find within the ballad.
You shall not find me as hard a creditor as Attorney Case.
Pay me the money at your own convenience.
If it is never convenient to you to pay it, I shall never ask it.
I shall go my rounds again through this country, I believe, about this time next year, and will call to see how you do, and to play the new tune for Susan and the dear little boys.
" I should just add, to set your heart at rest about the money, that it does not distress me at all to lend it to you.
I am not quite so poor as I appear to be.
But it is my humour to go about as I do.
I see more of the world under my tattered garb than, perhaps, I should ever see in a better dress.
There are many of my profession who are of the same mind as myself in this respect; and we are glad, when it lies in our way, to do any kindness to such a worthy family as yours.-- So, fare ye well.
" Your obliged Friend, " LLEWELLYN."
Susan now, by her father's desire, opened the ballad.
He picked up the five guinea bank note, whilst she read, with surprise, " Susan's Lamentation for her Lamb."
Her mother leaned over her shoulder to read the words; but they were interrupted, before they had finished the first stanza, by another knock at the door.
It was not the postman with another letter.
It was Sir Arthur and his sisters.
They came with an intention, which they were much disappointed to find that the old harper had rendered vain--they came to lend the farmer and his good family the money to pay for his substitute.
" But, since we are here," said Sir Arthur, " let me do my own business, which I had like to have forgotten.
Mr. Price, will you come out with me, and let me show you a piece of your land, through which I want to make a road.
Look there," said Sir Arthur, pointing to the spot, " I am laying out a ride round my estate, and that bit of land of yours stops me."
" Why, sir," said Price, " the land's mine, to be sure, for that matter; but I hope you don't look upon me to be that sort of person that would be stiff about a trifle or so."
" The fact is," said Sir Arthur, " I had heard you were a litigious, pig - headed fellow; but you do not seem to deserve this character."
" Hope not, sir," said the farmer; " but about the matter of the land, I don't want to take any advantage of your wishing for it.
You are welcome to it; and I leave it to you to find me out another bit of land convenient to me that will be worth neither more nor less; or else to make up the value to me some way or other.
I need say no more about it."
" I hear something," continued Sir Arthur, after a short silence --" I hear something, Mr. Price, of a FLAW in your lease.
I would not speak to you about it whilst we were bargaining about your land, lest I should over - awe you; but, tell me, what is this flaw?"
Now, by reason a man does not make a mistake on purpose, it seems to me to be the fair thing, that if a man finds out his mistake, he might set it right; but Attorney Case says this is not law; and I've no more to say.
The man who drew up my lease made a mistake; and if I must suffer for it, I must," said the farmer.
" However, I can show you, Sir Arthur, just for my own satisfaction and yours, a few lines of a memorandum on a slip of paper, which was given me by your relation, the gentleman who lived here before, and let me my farm.
You'll see, by that bit of paper, what was meant; but the attorney says, the paper's not worth a button in a court of justice, and I don't understand these things.
All I understand is the common honesty of the matter.
I've no more to say."
" This attorney, whom you speak of so often," said Sir Arthur, " you seem to have some quarrel with.
Now, would you tell me frankly what is the matter between --?"
" The matter between us, then," said Price, " is a little bit of ground, not worth much, that is there open to the lane at the end of Mr. Case's garden, sir, and he wanted to take it in.
Now I told him my mind, that it belonged to the parish, and that I never would willingly give my consent to his cribbing it in that way.
" Let us go and see this nook," said Sir Arthur.
" It is not far off, is it?"
" Oh, no, sir, just hard by here."
When they got to the ground, Mr. Case, who saw them walking together, was in a hurry to join them, that he might put a stop to any explanations.
Explanations were things of which he had a great dread; but, fortunately, he was upon this occasion a little too late.
" Is this the nook in dispute?"
said Sir Arthur.
" Yes; this is the whole thing," said Price.
" Why, Sir Arthur," interposed the politic attorney, with an assumed air of generosity, " don't let us talk any more about it.
Let it belong to whom it will, I give it up to you."
This piece of ground belonged to the farm on the opposite side of the road, and it was cut off when the lane was made."
" Very possibly.
I daresay you are quite correct; you must know best," said the attorney, trembling for the agency.
" Then," said Sir Arthur, " Mr. Price, you will observe that I now promise this little green to the children for a play - ground; and I hope they may gather hawthorn many a May day at this their favourite bush."
Mr. Price bowed low, which he seldom did, even when he received a favour himself.
" And now, Mr. Case," said Sir Arthur, turning to the attorney, who did not know which way to look, " you sent me a lease to look over."
" Ye - ye - yes," stammered Mr Case.
" I thought it my duty to do so; not out of any malice or ill - will to this good man."
" You have done him no injury," said Sir Arthur, coolly.
" I am ready to make him a new lease, whenever he pleases, of his farm, and I shall be guided by a memorandum of the original bargain, which he has in his possession.
I hope I never shall take an unfair advantage of anyone."
" Heaven forbid, sir," said the attorney, sanctifying his face, " that I should suggest the taking an UNFAIR advantage of any man, rich or poor; but to break a bad lease is not taking an unfair advantage."
" You really think so?"
said Sir Arthur.
" Certainly I do, and I hope I have not hazarded your good opinion by speaking my mind concerning the flaw so plainly.
I always understood that there could be nothing ungentlemanlike, in the way of business, in taking advantage of a flaw in a lease."
" Now," said Sir Arthur, " you have pronounced judgment undesignedly in your own case.
You intended to send me this poor man's lease; but your son, by some mistake, brought me your own, and I have discovered a fatal error in it."
" A fatal error!"
said the alarmed attorney.
" Yes, sir," said Sir Arthur, pulling the lease out of his pocket.
" Here it is.
You will observe that it is neither signed nor sealed by the grantor."
" But, you won't take advantage of me, surely, Sir Arthur?"
said Mr. Case, forgetting his own principles.
" I shall not take advantage of you, as you would have taken of this honest man.
In both cases I shall be guided by memoranda which I have in my possession.
I shall not, Mr. Case, defraud you of one shilling of your property.
I am ready, at a fair valuation, to pay the exact value of your house and land; but upon this condition--that you quit the parish within one month!"
Attorney Case was thus compelled to submit to the hard necessity of the case, for he knew that he could not legally resist.
Indeed he was glad to be let off so easily; and he bowed and sneaked away, secretly comforting himself with the hope, that when they came to the valuation of the house and land he should be the gainer, perhaps of a few guineas.
His reputation he justly held very cheap.
" You are a scholar; you write a good hand; you can keep accounts, cannot you?"
said Sir Arthur to Mr. Price, as they walked home towards the cottage.
" I think I saw a bill of your little daughter's drawing out the other day, which was very neatly written.
Did you teach her to write?"
" No, sir," said Price, " I can't say I did THAT; for she mostly taught it herself, but I taught her a little arithmetic, as far as I knew, on our winter nights, when I had nothing better to do."
" Your daughter shows that she has been well taught," said Sir Arthur; " and her good conduct and good character speak strongly in favour of her parents."
" You are very good, very good indeed, sir, to speak in this sort of way," said the delighted father.
" But I mean to do more than PAY YOU WITH WORDS," said Sir Arthur.
" You are attached to your own family, perhaps you may become attached to me, when you come to know me, and we shall have frequent opportunities of judging of one another.
I want no agent to squeeze my tenants, or do my dirty work.
I only want a steady, intelligent, honest man, like you, to collect my rents, and I hope, Mr. Price, you will have no objection to the employment."
" I hope, sir," said Price, with joy and gratitude glowing in his honest countenance, " that you'll never have cause to repent your goodness."
" And what are my sisters about here?"
said Sir Arthur, entering the cottage, and going behind his sisters, who were busily engaged in measuring an extremely pretty coloured calico.
" It is for Susan, my dear brother," said they.
" I know she did not keep that guinea for herself," said Miss Somers.
" I have just prevailed upon her mother to tell me what became of it.
Susan gave it to her father; but she must not refuse a gown of our choosing this time; and I am sure she will not, because her mother, I see, likes it.
And, Susan, I hear that instead of becoming Queen of the May this year, you were sitting in your sick mother's room.
Your mother has a little colour in her cheeks now."
" Oh, ma'am," interrupted Mrs. Price, " I'm quite well.
Joy, I think, has made me quite well."
" Then," said Miss Somers, " I hope you will be able to come out on your daughter's birthday, which, I hear, is the 25th of this month.
Make haste and get quite well before that day; for my brother intends that all the lads and lassies of the village shall have a dance on Susan's birthday."
" Yes," said Sir Arthur, " and I hope on that day, Susan, you will be very happy with your little friends upon their play - green.
I shall tell them that it is your good conduct which has obtained it for them; and if you have anything to ask, any little favour for any of your companions, which we can grant, now ask, Susan.
These ladies look as if they would not refuse you anything that is reasonable; and, I think, you look as if you would not ask anything unreasonable."
" Sir," said Susan, after consulting her mother's eyes, " there is, to be sure, a favour I should like to ask; it is for Rose."
" Well, I don't know who Rose is," said Sir Arthur, smiling; " but, go on."
" Ma'am, you have seen her, I believe; she is a very good girl, indeed," said Mrs. Price.
" And works very neatly, indeed," continued Susan, eagerly, to Miss Somers; " and she and her mother heard you were looking out for someone to wait upon you."
" Say no more," said Miss Somers; " your wish is granted.
Tell Rose to come to the Abbey, to - morrow morning, or, rather, come with her yourself; for our housekeeper, I know, wants to talk to you about a certain cake.
She wishes, Susan, that you should be the maker of the cake for the dance; and she has good things ready looked out for it already, I know.
It must be large enough for everybody to have a slice, and the housekeeper will ice it for you.
I only hope your cake will be as good as your bread.
Fare ye well."
How happy are those who bid farewell to a whole family, silent with gratitude, who will bless them aloud when they are far out of hearing!
" How do I wish, now," said Farmer Price, " and it's almost a sin for one that has had such a power of favours done him, to wish for anything more; but how I DO wish, wife, that our good friend, the harper was only here at this time.
It would do his old, warm heart good.
Well, the best of it is, we shall be able next year, when he comes his rounds, to pay him his money with thanks, being all the time, and for ever, as much obliged to him as if we kept it.
I long, so I do, to see him in this house again, drinking, as he did, just in this spot, a glass of Susan's mead, to her very good health."
" Yes," said Susan, " and the next time he comes, I can give him one of my guinea - hen's eggs, and I shall show my lamb, Daisy."
" True, love," said her mother, " and he will play that tune and sing that pretty ballad.
Where is it?
for I have not finished it."
" Rose ran away with it, mother, but I'll step after her, and bring it back to you this minute," said Susan.
Susan found her friend Rose at the hawthorn, in the midst of a crowded circle of her companions, to whom she was reading " Susan's Lamentation for her Lamb."
" The words are something, but the tune--the tune--I must have the tune," cried Philip.
The good news that Farmer Price was to be employed to collect the rents, and that Attorney Case was to leave the parish in a month, soon spread over the village.
Many came out of their houses to have the pleasure of hearing the joyful tidings confirmed by Susan herself.
The crowd on the play - green increased every minute.
" Yes," cried the triumphant Philip, " I tell you it's all true, every word of it.
Susan's too modest to say it herself; but I tell ye all, Sir Arthur gave us this play - green for ever, on account of her being so good."
You see, at last Attorney Case, with all his cunning has not proved a match for " Simple Susan."
THE WHITE PIGEON.
The little town of Somerville, in Ireland, has, within these few years, assumed the neat and cheerful appearance of an English village.
Mr. Somerville, to whom this town belongs, wished to inspire his tenantry with a taste for order and domestic happiness, and took every means in his power to encourage industrious, well behaved people to settle in his neighbourhood.
When he had finished building a row of good slated houses in his town, he declared that he would let them to the best tenants he could find, and proposals were publicly sent to him from all parts of the country.
By the best tenants, Mr. Somerville did not, however, mean the best bidders; and many, who had offered an extravagant price for the houses, were surprised to find their proposals rejected.
Amongst these was Mr. Cox, an alehouse keeper, who did not bear a very good character.
" Please your honour, sir," said he to Mr. Somerville, " I expected, since I bid as fair and fairer for it than any other, that you would have let me the house next the apothecary's.
Was not it fifteen guineas I mentioned in my proposal?
and did not your honour give it against me for thirteen?"
" My honour did just so," replied Mr. Somerville, calmly.
" And please your honour, but I don't know what it is I or mine have done to offend you.
I'm sure there is not a gentleman in all Ireland I'd go further to sarve.
Would not I go to Cork to - morrow for the least word from your honour?"
" I am much obliged to you, Mr. Cox, but I have no business at Cork at present," answered Mr. Somerville, drily.
" It is all I wish," exclaimed Mr. Cox, " that I could find out and light upon the man that has belied me to your honour."
" No man has belied you, Mr. Cox, but your nose belies you much, if you do not love drinking a little, and your black eye and cut chin belie you much if you do not love quarrelling a little."
" Quarrel!
I quarrel, please your honour!
I defy any man, or set of men, ten mile round, to prove such a thing, and I am ready to fight him that dares to say the like of me.
I'd fight him here in your honour's presence, if he'd only come out this minute, and meet me like a man."
" And as to drink, please your honour, there's no truth in it.
Not a drop of whisky, good or bad, have I touched these six months, except what I took with Jemmy M'Doole the night I had the misfortune to meet your honour coming home from the fair of Ballynagrish."
To this speech Mr. Somerville made no answer, but turned away to look at the bow window of a handsome new inn, which the glazier was at this instant glazing.
" Please your honour, that new inn is not let, I hear, as yet," resumed Mr. Cox; " if your honour recollects, you promised to make me a compliment of it last Seraphtide was twelvemonth."
" Impossible!"
cried Mr. Somerville, " for I had no thoughts of building an inn at that time."
" Oh, I beg your honour's pardon but if you'd be just pleased to recollect, it was coming through the gap in the bog meadows, FORENENT Thady O'Connor, you made me the promise--I'll leave it to him, so I will."
" But I will not leave it to him, I assure you," cried Mr. Somerville; " I never made any such promise.
I never thought of letting this inn to you."
" Then your honour won't let me have it?"
" No, you have told me a dozen falsehoods.
I do not wish to have you for a tenant."
" Well, God bless your honour; I've no more to say, but God bless your honour," said Mr. Cox; and he walked away, muttering to himself, as he slouched his hat over his face, " I hope I'll live to be revenged on him!"
" Ha!
perhaps Mr. Cox has broken my windows, in revenge for my refusing to let him my house," said Mr. Somerville; and many of the neighbours, who knew the malicious character of this Mr. Cox, observed that this was like one of his tricks.
A boy of about twelve years old, however, stepped forward and said, " I don't like Mr. Cox, I'm sure; for once he beat me when he was drunk; but, for all that, no one should be accused wrongfully.
He could not be the person that broke these windows last night, for he was six miles off.
He slept at his cousin's last night, and he has not returned home yet.
So I think he knows nothing of the matter."
Mr. Somerville was pleased with the honest simplicity of this boy, and observing that he looked in eagerly at the staircase, when the house door was opened, he asked him whether he would like to go in and see the new house.
" Yes, sir," said the boy, " I should like to go up those stairs, and to see what I should come to."
" Up with you, then!"
said Mr. Somerville; and the boy ran up the stairs.
He went from room to room with great expressions of admiration and delight.
The carpenter was speaking to Mr. Somerville upon the landing - place of the stairs; but, the moment he spied the white pigeon, he broke off in the midst of a speech about THE NOSE of the stairs, and exclaimed, " There he is, please your honour!
There's he that has done all the damage to our bow - window--that's the very same wicked white pigeon that broke the church windows last Sunday was se'nnight; but he's down for it now; we have him safe, and I'll chop his head off, as he deserves, this minute."
" Stay!
O stay!
don't chop his head off: he does not deserve it," cried the boy, who came running out of the garret with the greatest eagerness--" _I_ broke your window, sir," said he to Mr. Somerville.
" I broke your window with this ball; but I did not know that I had done it, till this moment, I assure you, or I should have told you before.
Don't chop his head off," added the boy to the carpenter, who had now the white pigeon in his hands.
" No," said Mr. Somerville, " the pigeon's head shall not be chopped off, nor yours either, my good boy, for breaking a window.
I am persuaded by your open, honest countenance, that you are speaking the truth; but pray explain this matter to us; for you have not made it quite clear.
How happened it that you could break my windows without knowing it?
and how came you to find it out at last?"
" Sir," said the boy, " if you'll come up here, I'll show you all I know, and how I came to know it."
Mr. Somerville followed the boy into the garret, who pointed to a pane of glass that was broken in a small window that looked out upon a piece of waste ground behind the house.
Upon this piece of waste ground the children of the village often used to play.
" We were playing there at ball yesterday evening," continued the boy, addressing himself to Mr. Somerville, " and one of the lads challenged me to hit a mark in the wall, which I did; but he said I did not hit it, and bade me give him up my ball as the forfeit.
This I would not do; and when he began to wrestle with me for it, I threw the ball, as I thought, over the house.
Here's one of his white feathers sticking in the gap."
" Yes," said the carpenter, " and in the bow - window room below there's plenty of his feathers to be seen; for I've just been down to look.
It was the pigeon broke THEM windows, sure enough."
" But he could not have got in had I not broke this little window," said the boy, eagerly; " and I am able to earn sixpence a day, and I'll pay for all the mischief, and welcome.
The white pigeon belongs to a poor neighbour, a friend of ours, who is very fond of him, and I would not have him killed for twice as much money."
" Take the pigeon, my honest, generous lad," said Mr. Somerville, " and carry him back to your neighbour.
I forgive him all the mischief he has done me, tell your friend, for your sake.
As to the rest, we can have the windows mended; and do you keep all the sixpences you earn for yourself."
" That's what he never did yet," said the carpenter.
" Many's the sixpence he earns, but not a halfpenny goes into his own pocket: it goes every farthing to his poor father and mother.
Happy for them to have such a son!"
" More happy for him to have such a father and mother," exclaimed the boy.
" Their good days they took all the best care of me that was to be had for love or money, and would, if I would let them, go on paying for my schooling now, falling as they be in the world; but I must learn to mind the shop now.
Good morning to you, sir; and thank you kindly," said he to Mr. Somerville.
" And where does this boy live, and who are his father and mother?
They cannot live in town," said Mr. Somerville, " or I should have heard of them."
" They are but just come into the town, please your honour," said the carpenter.
They were obliged to give up the land; and now they have furnished a little shop in this town with what goods they could afford to buy with the money they got by the sale of their cattle and stock.
They have the good - will of all who know them; and I am sure I hope they will do well.
The boy is very ready in the shop, though he said only that he could earn sixpence a day.
He writes a good hand, and is quick at casting up accounts, for his age.
Besides, he is likely to do well in the world, because he is never in idle company, and I've known him since he was two foot high, and never heard of his telling a lie."
" This is an excellent character of the boy, indeed," said Mr. Somerville, " and from his behaviour this morning I am inclined to think that he deserves all your praises."
Mr. Somerville resolved to inquire more fully concerning this poor family, and to attend to their conduct himself, fully determined to assist them if he should find them such as they had been represented.
In the meantime, this boy, whose name was Brian O'Neill, went to return the white pigeon to its owner.
" You have saved its life," said the woman to whom it belonged, " and I'll make you a present of it."
Brian thanked her; and he from that day began to grow fond of the pigeon.
He always took care to scatter some oats for it in his father's yard; and the pigeon grew so tame at last that it would hop about the kitchen, and eat off the same trencher with the dog.
Brian, after the shop was shut up at night, used to amuse himself with reading some little books which the schoolmaster who formerly taught him arithmetic was so good as to lend him.
Amongst these he one evening met with a little book full of the history of birds and beasts; he looked immediately to see whether the pigeon was mentioned amongst the birds, and, to his great joy, he found a full description and history of his favourite bird.
" So, Brian, I see your schooling has not been thrown away upon you; you like your book, I see, when you have no master over you to bid you read," said his father, when he came in and saw Brian reading his book very attentively.
" Thank you for having me taught to read, father," said Brian.
" Here I've made a great discovery: I've found out in this book, little as it looks, father, a most curious way of making a fortune; and I hope it will make your fortune, father; and if you'll sit down, I'll tell it to you."
Why should not he?
If other pigeons have done so before him, I think he is as good, and, I daresay, will be as easy to teach as any pigeon in the world.
Hey, father?"
" The pigeon will be home long before me, father; and he will come in at the kitchen window, and light upon the dresser; then you must untie the little note which I shall have tied under his left wing, and you'll know the price of beef directly."
The pigeon carried his message well; and Brian was much delighted with his success.
He soon was employed by the neighbours, who were aroused by Brian's fondness of his swift messenger; and soon the fame of the white pigeon was spread amongst all who frequented the markets and fairs of Somerville.
At one of these fairs a set of men of desperate fortunes met to drink, and to concert plans of robberies.
Their place of meeting was at the ale - house of Mr. Cox, the man who, as our readers may remember, was offended by Mr. Somerville's hinting that he was fond of drinking and of quarrelling, and who threatened vengeance for having been refused the new inn.
Whilst these men were talking over their scheme, one of them observed, that one of their companions was not arrived.
Another said, " No."
" He's six miles off," said another; and a third wished that he could make him hear at that distance.
This turned the discourse upon the difficulties of sending messages secretly and quickly.
Cox's son, a lad of about nineteen, who was one of this gang, mentioned the white carrier - pigeon, and he was desired to try all means to get it into his possession.
Accordingly, the next day young Cox went to Brian O'Neill, and tried, at first by persuasion and afterwards by threats, to prevail upon him to give up the pigeon.
Brian was resolute in his refusal, more especially when the petitioner began to bully him.
" If we can't have it by fair means, we will by foul," said Cox; and a few days afterwards the pigeon was gone.
Brian searched for it in vain--inquired from all the neighbours if they had seen it, and applied, but to no purpose, to Cox.
He swore that he knew nothing about the matter.
But this was false, for it was he who during the night - time had stolen the white pigeon.
He conveyed it to his employers, and they rejoiced that they had gotten it into their possession, as they thought it would serve them for a useful messenger.
Nothing can be more shortsighted than cunning.
The very means which these people took to secure secrecy were the means of bringing their plots to light.
The pigeon, however, had a better memory than they imagined.
They loosed him from a bag near the town of Ballynagrish in hopes that he would stop at the house of Cox's cousin, which was on its road between Ballynagrish and Somerville.
But the pigeon, though he had been purposely fed at this house for a week before this trial, did not stop there, but flew on to his old master's house in Somerville, and pecked at the kitchen window, as he had formerly been taught to do.
His father, fortunately, was within hearing, and poor Brian ran with the greatest joy to open the window and to let him in.
" O, father, here's my white pigeon come back of his own accord," exclaimed Brian; " I must run and show him to my mother."
At this instant the pigeon spread his wings, and Brian discovered under one of its wings a small and very dirty looking billet.
He opened it in his father's presence.
The scrawl was scarcely legible; but these words were at length deciphered:--
" Thare are eight of uz sworn; I send yo at botom thare names.
We meat at tin this nite at my faders, and have harms and all in radiness to brak into the grate'ouse.
Mr. Summervill is to lye out to nite--kip the pigeon untill to - morrow.
For ever yours, MURTAGH COX, JUN."
Scarcely had they finished reading this note, than both father and son exclaimed, " Let us go and show it to Mr.
Somerville."
Before they set out, they had, however, the prudence to secure the pigeon, so that he should not be seen by anyone but themselves.
Mr. Somerville, in consequence of this fortunate discovery, took proper measures for the apprehension of the eight men who had sworn to rob his house.
" No, sir," said Brian; " I did not know it, and I did not bring that note to you to get ten guineas, but because I thought it was right.
I don't want to be paid for doing it."
" That's my own boy," said his father.
" We thank you, sir; but we'll not take the money; I DON'T LIKE TO TAKE THE PRICE OF BLOOD."
" I know the difference, my good friends," said Mr. Somerville, " between vile informers and courageous, honest men."
" Why, as to that, please your honour, though we are poor, I hope we are honest."
" And, what is more," said Mr. Somerville, " I have a notion that you would continue to be honest, even if you were rich.
Will you, my good lad," continued Mr. Somerville, after a moment's pause --" will you trust me with your pigeon a few days?"
" O, and welcome, sir," said the boy, with a smile; and he brought the pigeon to Mr. Somerville when it was dark, and nobody saw him.
A few days afterwards, Mr. Somerville called at O'Neill's house, and bid him and his son follow him.
They followed till he stopped opposite to the bow - window of the new inn.
The carpenter had just put up a sign, which was covered over with a bit of carpeting.
" Go up the ladder, will you?"
said Mr. Somerville to Brian, " and pull that sign straight, for it hangs quite crooked.
There, now it is straight.
Now pull off the carpet, and let us see the new sign."
The boy pulled off the cover, and saw a white pigeon painted upon the sign, and the name of O'Neill in large letters underneath.
" Take care you do not tumble down and break your neck upon this joyful occasion," said Mr. Somerville, who saw that Brian's surprise was too great for his situation.
" Come down from the ladder, and wish your father joy of being master of the new inn called the'White Pigeon.'
And I wish him joy of having such a son as you are.
Those who bring up their children well, will certainly be rewarded for it, be they poor or rich."
THE BIRTHDAY PRESENT.
" Mamma," said Rosamond, after a long silence, " do you know what I have been thinking of all this time?"
" No, my dear.-- What?"
" Why, mamma, about my cousin Bell's birthday; do you know what day it is?"
" No, I don't remember."
" Dear mother!
don't you remember it's the 22nd of December; and her birthday is the day after to - morrow?
Don't you recollect now?
But you never remember about birthdays, mamma.
That was just what I was thinking of, that you never remember my sister Laura's birthday, or - or - or MINE, mamma."
" What do you mean my dear?
I remember your birthday perfectly well."
" Indeed!
but you never KEEP it, though."
" What do you mean by keeping your birthday?"
" Oh, mamma, you know very well--as Bell's birthday is kept.
In the first place, there is a great dinner."
" And can Bell eat more upon her birthday than upon any other day?"
" No; nor I should not mind about the dinner, except the mince - pies.
But Bell has a great many nice things--I don't mean nice eatable things, but nice new playthings, given to her always on her birthday; and everybody drinks her health, and she's so happy."
" But stay, Rosamond, how you jumble things together!
Is it everybody's drinking her health that makes her so happy?
or the new playthings, or the nice mince pies?
I can easily believe that she is happy whilst she is eating a mince pie, or whilst she is playing; but how does everybody's drinking her health at dinner make her happy?"
Rosamond paused, and then said she did not know.
" But," added she, " the NICE NEW playthings, mother!"
" But why the nice new playthings?
Do you like them only because they are NEW?"
Now you shall be judge, mamma; I'll tell you all that was in the drawer."
" Nay, Rosamond, thank you, not just now; I have not time to listen to you."
" Well then, mamma, the day after to - morrow I can show you the drawer.
I want you to judge very much, because I am sure I was in the right.
And, mother," added Rosamond, stopping her as she was going out of the room, " will you--not now, but when you've time--will you tell me why you never keep my birthday--why you never make any difference between that day and any other day?"
" And will you, Rosamond--not now, but when you have time to think about it--tell me why I should make any difference between your birthday and any other day?"
Rosamond thought, but she could not find out any reason; besides, she suddenly recollected that she had not time to think any longer; for there was a certain work - basket to be finished, which she was making for her cousin Bell, as a present upon her birthday.
The work was at a stand for want of some filigree - paper, and, as her mother was going out, she asked her to take her with her, that she might buy some.
Her sister Laura went with them.
" Sister," said Rosamond, as they were walking along, " what have you done with your half - guinea?"
" I have it in my pocket."
" Dear!
you will keep it for ever in your pocket.
You know, my godmother when she gave it to you, said you would keep it longer than I should keep mine; and I know what she thought by her look at the time.
I heard her say something to my mother."
" Yes," said Laura, smiling; " she whispered so loud that I could not help hearing her too.
She said I was a little miser."
" But did not you hear her say that I was very GENEROUS?
and she'll see that she was not mistaken.
I hope she'll be by when I give my basket to Bell--won't it be beautiful?
There is to be a wreath of myrtle, you know, round the handle, and a frost ground, and then the medallions --"
" Stay," interrupted her sister, for Rosamond, anticipating the glories of her work - basket, talked and walked so fast that she had passed, without perceiving it, the shop where the filigree - paper was to be bought.
They turned back.
Now it happened that the shop was the corner house of a street, and one of the windows looked out into a narrow lane.
A coach full of ladies stopped at the door, just before they went in, so that no one had time immediately to think of Rosamond and her filigree - paper, and she went to the window where she saw her sister Laura looking earnestly at something that was passing in the lane.
Opposite to the window, at the door of a poor - looking house, there was sitting a little girl weaving lace.
Her bobbins moved as quick as lightning, and she never once looked up from her work.
" Is not she very industrious?"
said Laura; " and very honest, too?"
added she in a minute afterwards; for just then a baker with a basket of rolls on his head passed, and by accident one of the rolls fell close to the little girl.
She took it up eagerly, looked at it as if she was very hungry, then put aside her work, and ran after the baker to return it to him.
Whilst she was gone, a footman in a livery, laced with silver, who belonged to the coach that stood at the shop door, as he was lounging with one of his companions, chanced to spy the weaving pillow, which she had left upon a stone before the door.
To divert himself (for idle people do mischief often to divert themselves) he took up the pillow, and entangled all the bobbins.
The little girl came back out of breath to her work; but what was her surprise and sorrow to find it spoiled.
She twisted and untwisted, placed and replaced, the bobbins, while the footman stood laughing at her distress.
She got up gently, and was retiring into the house, when the silver laced footman stopped her, saying, insolently, " Sit still, child."
" I must go to my mother, sir," said the child; " besides, you have spoiled all my lace.
I can't stay."
" Can't you?"
said the brutal footman, snatching her weaving - pillow again, " I'll teach you to complain of me."
And he broke off, one after another, all the bobbins, put them into his pocket, rolled her weaving - pillow down the dirty lane, then jumped up behind his mistress'coach, and was out of sight in an instant.
" Poor girl!"
exclaimed Rosamond, no longer able to restrain her indignation at this injustice; " poor little girl!"
At this instant her mother said to Rosamond --" Come, now, my dear, if you want this filigree paper, buy it."
" Yes, madam," said Rosamond; and the idea of what her godmother and her cousin Bell would think of her generosity rushed again upon her imagination.
All her feelings of pity were immediately suppressed.
Satisfied with bestowing another exclamation upon the " Poor little girl!"
she went to spend her half - guinea upon her filigree basket.
In the meantime, she that was called the " little miser " beckoned to the poor girl, and, opening the window, said, pointing to the cushion, " Is it quite spoiled?"
" Quite!
quite spoiled!
and I can't, nor mother neither, buy another; and I can't do anything else for my bread."
A few, but very few, tears fell as she said this.
" How much would another cost?"
said Laura.
" Oh, a great--GREAT deal."
" More than that?"
said Laura, holding up her half - guinea.
" Oh, no."
Late on the morning of her cousin's birthday, Rosamond finished her work - basket.
As the carriage went on, Rosamond pulled the paper to one side and to the other, and by each of the four corners.
" It will never do, my dear," said her father, who had been watching her operations.
" I am afraid you will never make a sheet of paper cover a box which is twice as large as itself."
" It is not a box, father," said Rosamond, a little peevishly; " it's a basket."
" Let us look at this basket," said he, taking it out of her unwilling hands, for she knew of what frail materials it was made, and she dreaded its coming to pieces under her father's examination.
He took hold of the handle rather roughly; when, starting off the coach seat, she cried, " Oh, sir!
father!
sir!
you will spoil it indeed!"
said she, with increased vehemence, when, after drawing aside the veil of silver paper, she saw him grasp the myrtle wreathed handle.
" Indeed, sir, you will spoil the poor handle."
" But what is the use of THE POOR HANDLE," said her father, " if we are not to take hold of it?
And pray," continued he, turning the basket round with his finger and thumb, rather in a disrespectful manner, " pray, is this the thing you have been about all this week?
I have seen you all this week dabbling with paste and rags; I could not conceive what you were about.
Is this the thing?"
" Yes, sir.
You think, then, that I have wasted my time, because the basket is of no use; but then it is a present for my Cousin Bell."
" Your Cousin Bell will be very much obliged to you for a present that is of no use.
You had better have given her the purple jar."
" Oh, father!
I thought you had forgotten that--it was two years ago; I'm not so silly now.
But Bell will like the basket, I know, though it is of no use."
" Then you think Bell is sillier now than you were two years ago,-- well, perhaps that is true; but how comes it, Rosamond, now that you are so wise, that you are fond of such a silly person?"
" _I_, father?"
said Rosamond, hesitating, " I don't think I am VERY fond of her."
" I did not say VERY fond."
" Well, but I don't think I am at all fond of her."
" But you have spent a whole week in making this thing for her."
" Yes, and all my half guinea besides."
" Yet you think her silly, and you are not fond of her at all; and you say you know this thing will be of no use to her."
" But it is her birthday, sir; and I am sure she will EXPECT something, and everybody else will give her something."
" Then your reason for giving is because she expects you to give her something.
And will you, or can you, or should you, always give, merely because others EXPECT, or because somebody else gives?"
" Always?-- no, not always."
" Oh, only on birthdays."
Rosamond, laughing: " Now you are making a joke of me, papa, I see; but I thought you liked that people should be generous,-- my godmother said that she did."
" So do I, full as well as your godmother; but we have not yet quite settled what it is to be generous."
" Why is it not generous to make presents?"
said Rosamond.
" That is the question which it would take up a great deal of time to answer.
Rosamond looked down upon the basket, and was silent.
" Then I am a fool, am I?"
said she looking up at last.
" Because you have made ONE mistake?
No.
If you have sense enough to see your own mistakes, and can afterwards avoid them, you will never be a fool."
Here the carriage stopped, and Rosamond recollected that the basket was uncovered.
Now we must observe, that Rosamond's father had not been too severe upon Bell when he called her a silly girl.
From her infancy she had been humoured; and at eight years old she had the misfortune to be a spoiled child.
She was idle, fretful, and selfish; so that nothing could make her happy.
On her birthday she expected, however, to be perfectly happy.
Everybody in the house tried to please her, and they succeeded so well, that between breakfast and dinner she had only six fits of crying.
Here's a frock fit for a queen--if it had but lace round the cuffs."
" And why has not it lace around the cuffs?
mamma said it should."
" Yes, but mistress was disappointed about the lace; it is not come home."
" Not come home, indeed!
and didn't they know it was my birthday?
But then I say I won't wear it without the lace--I can't wear it without the lace, and I won't."
The lace, however, could not be had; and Bell at length submitted to let the frock be put on.
" Come, Miss Bell, dry your eyes," said the maid who educated her; " dry your eyes, and I'll tell you something that will please you."
" What, then?"
said the child, pouting and sobbing.
" Why--but you must not tell that I told you."
" No,-- but if I am asked?"
" Why, if you are asked, you must tell the truth, to be sure.
So I'll hold my tongue, miss."
" Nay, tell me, though, and I'll never tell--if I AM asked."
" Till after dinner!"
repeated Bell, impatiently; " I can't wait till then; I must see it this minute."
The maid refused her several times, till Bell burst into another fit of crying, and the maid, fearing that her mistress would be angry with HER, if Bell's eyes were red at dinner time, consented to show her the basket.
" How pretty!-- but let me have it in my own hands," said Bell, as the maid held the basket up out of her reach.
" Oh, no, you must not touch it; for if you should spoil it, what would become of me?"
" Become of you, indeed!"
exclaimed the spoiled child, who never considered anything but her own immediate gratification --" Become of YOU, indeed!
what signifies that--I sha'n't spoil it; and I will have it in my own hands.
If you don't hold it down for me directly, I'll tell that you showed it to me."
" Then you won't snatch it?"
" No, no, I won't indeed," said Bell; but she had learned from her maid a total disregard of truth.
She snatched the basket the moment it was within her reach.
A struggle ensued, in which the handle and lid were torn off, and one of the medallions crushed inwards, before the little fury returned to her senses.
Calmed at this sight, the next question was, how she should conceal the mischief which she had done.
After many attempts, the handle and lid were replaced; the basket was put exactly in the same spot in which it had stood before, and the maid charged the child, " TO LOOK AS IF NOTHING WAS THE MATTER."
We hope that both children and parents will here pause for a moment to reflect.
The habits of tyranny, meanness, and falsehood, which children acquire from living with bad servants, are scarcely ever conquered in the whole course of their future lives.
After shutting up the basket they left the room, and in the adjoining passage they found a poor girl waiting with a small parcel in her hand.
" What's your business?"
said the maid.
" I have brought home the lace, madam, that was bespoke for the young lady."
" Oh, you have, have you, at last?"
said Bell; " and pray why didn't you bring it sooner?"
The girl was going to answer, but the maid interrupted her, saying --" Come, come, none of your excuses; you are a little idle, good - for - nothing thing, to disappoint Miss Bell upon her birthday.
But now you have brought it, let us look at it!"
The little girl gave the lace without reply, and the maid desired her to go about her business, and not to expect to be paid; for that her mistress could not see anybody, BECAUSE she was in a room full of company.
" May I call again, madam, this afternoon?"
said the child, timidly.
" Lord bless my stars!"
replied the maid, " what makes people so poor, I WONDERS!
I wish mistress would buy her lace at the warehouse, as I told her, and not of these folks.
Call again!
yes, to be sure.
I believe you'd call, call, call twenty times for twopence."
However ungraciously the permission to call again was granted, it was received with gratitude.
The little girl departed with a cheerful countenance; and Bell teazed her maid till she got her to sew the long wished - for lace upon her cuffs.
Unfortunate Bell!-- All dinner time passed, and people were so hungry, so busy, or so stupid, that not an eye observed her favourite piece of finery.
Till at length she was no longer able to conceal her impatience, and turning to Laura, who sat next to her, she said, " You have no lace upon your cuffs.
Look how beautiful mine is!-- is not it?
Don't you wish your mamma could afford to give some like it?
But you can't get any if she would, for this was made on purpose for me on my birthday, and nobody can get a bit more anywhere, if they would give the world for it."
" But cannot the person who made it," said Laura, " make any more like it?"
" No, no, no!"
cried Bell; for she had already learned, either from her maid or her mother, the mean pride which values things not for being really pretty or useful, but for being such as nobody else can procure.
" Nobody can get any like it, I say," repeated Bell; " nobody in all London can make it but one person, and that person will never make a bit for anybody but me, I am sure.
Mamma won't let her, if I ask her not."
" Very well," said Laura, coolly, " I do not want any of it; you need not be so violent: I assure you that I don't want any of it."
" Yes, but you do, though," said Bell, more angrily.
" No, indeed," said Laura, smiling.
" You do, in the bottom of your heart; but you say you don't to plague me, I know," cried Bell, swelling with disappointed vanity.
" It is pretty for all that, and it cost a great deal of money too, and nobody shall have any like it, if they cried their eyes out."
Laura received this declaration in silence--Rosamond smiled; and at her smile the ill - suppressed rage of the spoiled child burst forth into the seventh and loudest fit of crying which had yet been heard on her birthday.
" What's the matter, my pet?"
cried her mother; " come to me, and tell me what's the matter."
Bell ran roaring to her mother; but no otherwise explained the cause of her sorrow than by tearing the fine lace with frantic gestures from her cuffs, and throwing the fragments into her mother's lap.
" Oh!
the lace, child!-- are you mad?"
said her mother, catching hold of both her hands.
" Your beautiful lace, my dear love--do you know how much it cost?"
" I don't care how much it cost--it is not beautiful, and I'll have none of it," replied Bell, sobbing; " for it is not beautiful."
" But it is beautiful," retorted her mother; " I chose the pattern myself.
Who has put it into your head, child, to dislike it?
Was it Nancy?"
" No, not Nancy, but THEM, mamma," said Bell, pointing to Laura and Rosamond.
" Oh, fie!
don't POINT," said her mother, putting down her stubborn finger; " nor say THEM, like Nancy; I am sure you misunderstood.
Miss Laura, I am sure, did not mean any such thing."
" No, madam; and I did not say any such thing, that I recollect," said Laura, gently.
" Oh, no, indeed!"
cried Rosamond, warmly, rising in her sister's defence.
No defence or explanation, however, was to be heard, for everybody had now gathered round Bell, to dry her tears, and to comfort her for the mischief she had done to her own cuffs.
Rosamond, followed by all the company, amongst whom, to her great joy, was her godmother, proceeded to the dressing room.
" Now I am sure," thought she, " Bell will be surprised, and my godmother will see she was right about my generosity."
The doors of the wardrobe were opened with due ceremony, and the filigree basket appeared in all its glory.
" Well, this is a charming present, indeed!"
said the godmother, who was one of the company; " MY Rosamond knows how to make presents."
And as she spoke, she took hold of the basket, to lift it down to the admiring audience.
Scarcely had she touched it, when, lo!
the basket fell to the ground, and only the handle remained in her hand.
All eyes were fixed upon the wreck.
Exclamations of sorrow were heard in various tones; and " Who can have done this?"
was all that Rosamond could say.
Bell stood in sullen silence, which she obstinately preserved in the midst of the inquiries that were made about the disaster.
At length the servants were summoned, and amongst them, Nancy, Miss Bell's maid and governess.
Bell, putting on the deceitful look which her maid had taught her, answered boldly, " NO;" but she had hold of Rosamond's hand, and at the instant she uttered this falsehood she squeezed it terribly.
" Why do you squeeze my hand so?"
said Rosamond, in a low voice; " what are you afraid of?"
" Afraid of!"
cried Bell, turning angrily; " I'm not afraid of anything,-- I've nothing to be afraid about."
" Nay, I did not say you had," whispered Rosamond; " but only if you did by accident--you know what I mean--I should not be angry if you did--only say so."
" I say I did not!"
cried Bell, furiously; " Mamma, mamma!
Nancy!
my cousin Rosamond won't believe me!
That's very hard.
It's very rude, and I won't bear it--I won't."
" Don't be angry, love.
Don't," said the maid.
" Nobody suspects you, darling," said her mother; " but she has too much sensibility.
Don't cry, love; nobody suspected you.
But you know," continued she, turning to the maid, " somebody must have done this, and I must know how it was done.
Miss Rosamond's charming present must not be spoiled in this way, in my house, without my taking proper notice of it.
I assure you I am very angry about it, Rosamond."
Rosamond did not rejoice in her anger, and had nearly made a sad mistake by speaking aloud her thoughts --" I WAS VERY FOOLISH --" she began and stopped.
" Ma'am," cried the maid, suddenly, " I'll venture to say I know who did it."
" Who?"
said everyone, eagerly.
" Who?"
said Bell, trembling."
" Why, miss, don't you recollect that little girl with the lace, that we saw peeping about in the passage?
I'm sure she must have done it; for here she was by herself half an hour or more, and not another creature has been in mistress'dressing - room, to my certain knowledge, since morning.
Those sort of people have so much curiosity.
I'm sure she must have been meddling with it," added the maid.
" Oh, yes, that's the thing," said the mistress, decidedly.
" Well, Miss Rosamond, for your comfort she shall never come into my house again."
" Oh, that would not comfort me at all," said Rosamond; " besides, we are not sure that she did it, and if --" A single knock at the door was heard at this instant.
It was the little girl, who came to be paid for her lace.
" Call her in," said the lady of the house; " let us see her directly."
The maid, who was afraid that the girl's innocence would appear if she were produced, hesitated; but upon her mistress repeating her commands, she was forced to obey.
The girl came in with a look of simplicity; but when she saw a room full of company she was a little abashed.
Rosamond and Laura looked at her and one another with surprise, for it was the same little girl whom they had seen weaving lace.
" Is not it she?"
whispered Rosamond to her sister.
" Yes, it is; but hush," said Laura, " she does not know us.
Don't say a word, let us hear what she will say."
Laura got behind the rest of the company as she spoke, so that the little girl could not see her.
" Vastly well!"
said Bell's mother; " I am waiting to see how long you will have the assurance to stand there with that innocent look.
Did you ever see that basket before?"
" Yes, ma'am," said the girl.
" YES, MA'AM!"
cried the maid; " and what else do you know about it?
You had better confess it at once, and mistress, perhaps, will say no more about it."
" Yes, do confess it," added Bell, earnestly.
" Confess what, madam?"
said the little girl; " I never touched the basket, madam."
" You never TOUCHED it; but you confess," interrupted Bell's mother, " that you DID SEE it before.
And, pray, how came you to see it?
You must have opened my wardrobe."
" No, indeed, ma'am," said the little girl; " but I was waiting in the passage, ma'am, and this door was partly open; and looking at the maid, you know, I could not help seeing it."
" Why, how could you see through the doors of my wardrobe?"
rejoined the lady.
The maid, frightened, pulled the little girl by the sleeve.
" Answer me," said the lady, " where did you see this basket?"
Another stronger pull.
" I saw it, madam, in her hands," looking at the maid; " and --"
" Well, and what became of it afterwards?"
" Ma'am "-- hesitating --" miss pulled, and by accident--I believe, I saw, ma'am--miss, you know what I saw."
" I do not know--I do not know; and if I did, you had no business there; and mamma won't believe you, I am sure."
Everybody else, however, did believe; and their eyes were fixed upon Bell in a manner which made her feel rather ashamed.
" What do you all look at me so for?
Why do you all look so?
And am I to be put to shame on my birthday?"
cried she, bursting into a roar of passion; " and all for this nasty thing!"
added she, pushing away the remains of the basket, and looking angrily at Rosamond.
" Bell!
Bell!
O, fie!
fie!-- Now I am ashamed of you; that's quite rude to your cousin," said her mother, who was more shocked at her daughter's want of politeness than at her falsehood.
" Take her away, Nancy, till she has done crying," added she to the maid, who accordingly carried off her pupil.
Rosamond, during this scene, especially at the moment when her present was pushed away with such disdain, had been making reflections upon the nature of true generosity.
You know I prophesied that your half - guinea would be gone the soonest.
Did I not, Laura?"
said she, appealing, in a sarcastic tone, to where she thought Laura was.
" Where is Laura?
I don't see her."
Laura came forward.
" You are too PRUDENT to throw away your money like your sister.
Your half - guinea, I'll answer for it, is snug in your pocket--Is it not?"
" No, madam," answered she, in a low voice.
But low as the voice of Laura was, the poor little lace - girl heard it; and now, for the first time, fixing her eyes upon Laura, recollected her benefactress.
" Oh, that's the young lady!"
she exclaimed, in a tone of joyful gratitude, " the good, good young lady, who gave me the half - guinea, and would not stay to be thanked for it; but I WILL thank her now."
" The half - guinea, Laura!"
said her godmother.
" What is all this?"
" I'll tell you, madam, if you please," said the little girl.
RESPECT is not an improper word, even applied to a child of Laura's age; for let the age or situation of the person be what it may, they command respect who deserve it.
" Ah, madam!"
said Rosamond to her godmother, " now you see--you see she is NOT a little miser.
I'm sure that's better than wasting half a guinea upon a filigree basket; is it not, ma'am?"
said she, with an eagerness which showed that she had forgotten all her own misfortunes in sympathy with her sister.
" This is being REALLY GENEROUS, father, is it not?"
" Yes, Rosamond," said her father, and he kissed her; " this IS being really generous.
It is not only by giving away money that we can show generosity; it is by giving up to others anything that we like ourselves: and therefore," added he, smiling, " it is really generous of you to give your sister the thing you like best of all others."
" The thing I like the best of all others, father," said Rosamond, half pleased, half vexed.
" What is that, I wonder?
You don't mean PRAISE, do you, sir?"
" Nay, you must decide that yourself, Rosamond."
" Why, sir," said she, ingenuously, " perhaps it WAS ONCE the thing I liked best; but the pleasure I have just felt makes me like something else much better."
ETON MONTEM.
[ Extracted from the " Courier " of May, 1799.]
" Yesterday this triennial ceremony took place, with which the public are too well acquainted to require a particular description.
A collection, called Salt, is taken from the public, which forms a purse, to support the Captain of the School in his studies at Cambridge.
This collection is made by the Scholars, dressed in fancy dresses, all round the country.
" At eleven o'clock, the youths being assembled in their habiliments at the College, the Royal Family set off from the Castle to see them, and, after walking round the Courtyard, they proceeded to Salt Hill in the following order:--
" His Majesty, his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, and the Earl of Uxbridge.
" Their Royal Highnesses the Dukes of Kent and Cumberland, Earl Morton, and General Gwynne, all on horseback, dressed in the Windsor uniform, except the Prince of Wales, who wore a suit of dark blue, and a brown surtout over.
" Then followed the Scholars, preceded by the Marechal Serjeant, the Musicians of the Staffordshire Band, and Mr. Ford, Captain of the Seminary, the Serjeant Major, Serjeants, Colonels, Corporals, Musicians, Ensign, Lieutenant, Steward, Salt Bearers, Polemen, and Runners.
" The cavalcade was brought up by her Majesty and her amiable daughters in two carriages, and a numerous company of equestrians and pedestrians, all eager to behold their Sovereign and his family.
Among the former, Lady Lade was foremost in the throng; only two others dared venture their persons on horseback in such a multitude.
" The King and Royal Family were stopped on Eton Bridge by Messrs. Young and Mansfield, the Salt Bearers, to whom their Majesties delivered their customary donation of fifty guineas each.
" An exceeding heavy shower of rain coming on, the Prince took leave, and went to the'Windmill Inn,' till it subsided.
The King and his attendants weathered it out in their great - coats.
" Their Majesties and the Princesses then returned home, the King occasionally stopping to converse with the Dean of Windsor, the Earl of Harrington, and other noblemen.
" The Scholars partook of an elegant dinner at the'Windmill Inn,' and in the evening walked on Windsor Terrace.
" Their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales and Duke of Cumberland, after taking leave of their Majesties, set off for town, and honoured the Opera House with their presence in the evening.
" The profit arising from the Salt collected, according to account, amounted to 8OO pounds.
" The Stadtholder, the Duke of Gordon, Lord and Lady Melbourne, Viscount Brome, and a numerous train of fashionable nobility, were present.
" The following is an account of their dresses, made as usual, very handsomely, by Mrs.
Snow, milliner, of Windsor:--
" Mr. Ford, Captain, with eight Gentlemen to attend him as servitors.
" Mr. Sarjeant, Marechal.
" Mr. Bradith, Colonel.
" Mr. Plumtree, Lieutenant.
" Mr. Vince, Ensign.
" Mr. Young, College Salt Bearer; white and gold dress, rich satin bag, covered with gold netting.
" Mr. Mansfield, Oppidan, white, purple, and orange dress, trimmed with silver; rich satin bag, purple and silver: each carrying elegant poles, with gold and silver cord.
" Mr. Keity, yellow and black velvet; helmet trimmed with silver.
" Mr. Bartelot, plain mantle and sandals, Scotch bonnet, a very Douglas.
" Mr. Knapp, flesh - colour and blue; Spanish hat and feathers.
" Mr. Ripley, rose - colour; helmet.
" Mr. Islip (being in mourning), a scarf; helmet, black velvet; and white satin.
" Mr. Tomkins, violet and silver; helmet.
" Mr. Thackery, lilac and silver; Roman Cap.
" Mr. Drury, mazarin blue; fancy cap.
" Mr. Davis, slate - colour and straw.
" Mr. Routh, pink and silver, Spanish hat.
" Mr. Curtis, purple, fancy cap.
" Mr. Lloyd, blue; ditto.
" At the conclusion of the ceremony the Royal Family returned to Windsor, and the boys were all sumptuously entertained at the tavern at Salt Hill.
About six in the evening all the boys returned in the order of procession, and, marching round the great square of Eton, were dismissed.
The captain then paid his respects to the Royal Family, at the Queen's Lodge, Windsor, previously to his departure for King's College, Cambridge, to defray which expense the produce of the Montem was presented to him.
" The day concluded by a brilliant promenade of beauty, rank, and fashion, on Windsor Terrace, enlivened by the performance of several bands of music.
" The origin of the procession is from the custom by which the Manor was held.
" The custom of hunting the Ram belonged to Eton College, as well as the custom of Salt; but it was discontinued by Dr. Cook, late Dean of Ely.
The Etonians, in order to secure the ram, houghed him in the Irish fashion, and then attacked him with great clubs.
The cruelty of this proceeding brought it into disuse, and now it exists no longer.-- See Register of the Royal Abbey of Bec, folio 58.
MEN.
Alderman Bursal, Father of young Bursal.
Lord John,) Talbot,) Wheeler,) Young Gentlemen of Eton, from 17 to 19 years of age.
Bursal,) Rory O'Ryan)
Mr. Newington, Landlord of the Inn at Salt Hill.
Farmer Hearty.
A Waiter and crowd of Eton Lads.
WOMEN.
The Marchioness of Piercefield, Mother of Lord John.
Lady Violetta--her Daughter, a Child of six or seven years old.
Mrs. Talbot.
Lousia Talbot, her Daughter.
Miss Bursal, Daughter to the Alderman.
Mrs. Newington, Landlady of the Inn at Salt Hill.
Sally, a Chambermaid.
Patty, a Country Girl.
Pipe and Tabor, and Dance of Peasants.
SCENE I.
The Bar of the " Windmill Inn " at Salt Hill.
MR. and MRS. NEWINGTON, the Landlord and Landlady.
Landlady.
' Tis an unpossibility, Mr. Newington; and that's enough.
Say no more about it;'tis an unpossibility in the natur of things.
(She ranges jellies, etc., in the Bar.)
And pray, do you take your great old fashioned tankard, Mr. Newington, from among my jellies and confectioneries.
Landlord (takes his tankard and drinks).
Anything for a quiet life.
If it is an impossibility, I've no more to say; only, for the soul of me, I can't see the great unpossibility, wife.
Landlady.
Wife, indeed!-- wife!-- wife!
wife every minute.
Landlord.
Heyday!
Why, what a plague would you have me call you?
The other day you quarrelled with me for calling you Mrs. Landlady.
Landlady.
To be sure I did, and very proper in me I should.
I've turned off three waiters and five chambermaids already, for screaming after me Mrs. Landlady!
Mrs. Landlady!
But'tis all your ill manners.
Landlord.
Ill manners!
Why, if I may be so bold, if you are not Mrs. Landlady, in the name of wonder what are you?
Landlady.
Mrs. Newington, Mr. Newington.
Landlord (drinks).
Mrs. Newington, Mr. Newington drinks your health; for I suppose I must not be landlord any more in my own house (shrugs).
Landlady.
Oh, as to that, I have no objections nor impediments to your being called LANDLORD.
You look it, and become it very proper.
Landlord.
Why, yes, indeed, thank my tankard, I do look it, and become it, and am nowise ashamed of it; but everyone to their mind, as you, wife, don't fancy the being called Mrs. Landlady.
Landlady.
To be sure I don't.
Why, when folks hear the old fashioned cry of Mrs. Landlady!
Mrs. Landlady!
who do they expect, think you, to see, but an overgrown, fat, featherbed of a woman, coming waddling along with her thumbs sticking on each side of her apron, o'this fashion?
Now, to see me coming, nobody would take me to be a landlady.
Landlord.
Very true, indeed, wife--Mrs. Newington, I mean--I ask pardon; but now to go on with what we were saying about the unpossibility of letting that old lady, and the civil - spoken young lady there above, have them there rooms for another day.
Landlady.
Now, Mr. Newington, let me hear no more about that old gentlewoman, and that civil - spoken young lady.
Fair words cost nothing; and I've a notion that's the cause they are so plenty with the young lady.
Neither o'them, I take it, by what they've ordered since their coming into the house, are such grand folk, that one need be so petticular about them.
Landlord.
Why, they came only in a chaise and pair, to be sure; I can't deny that.
Landlady.
But, bless my stars!
what signifies talking?
Nay, what do I talk of to - morrow?
isn't my Lady Piercefield and suite expected?
and, moreover, Mr. and Miss Bursal's to be here, and will call for as much in an hour as your civil - spoken young lady in a twelvemonth, I reckon.
So, Mr. Newington, if you don't think proper to go up and inform the ladies above, that the Dolphin rooms are not for them, I must SPEAK myself, though'tis a thing I never do when I can help it.
Landlord (aside).
She not like to speak!
(Aloud.)
My dear, you can speak a power better than I can; so take it all upon yourself, if you please; for, old - fashioned as I and my tankard here be, I can't make a speech that borders on the uncivil order, to a lady like, for the life and lungs of me.
So, in the name of goodness, do you go up, Mrs. Newington.
Landlady.
And so I will, Mr. Newington.
Help ye!
Civilities and rarities are out o'season for them that can't pay for them in this world; and very proper.
[ Exit Landlady.]
Landlord.
And very proper!
Ha!
who comes yonder?
Enter WHEELER.
Wheeler.
A fine day, Mr. Newington.
Landlord.
A fine day, Mr. Wheeler.
Wheel.
And I hope, for YOUR sake, we may have as fine a day for the Montem to - morrow.
It will be a pretty penny in your pocket!
Why, all the world will be here; and (looking round at the jellies, etc.)
so much the better for them; for here are good things enough, and enough for them.
And here's the best thing of all, the good old tankard still; not empty, I hope.
Landlord.
Not empty, I hope.
Here's to you, Mr. Wheeler.
Wheel.
Mr.
Wheeler!-- CAPTAIN Wheeler, if you please.
Landlord.
YOU, Captain Wheeler!
Why, I thought in former times it was always the oldest scholar at Eton that was Captain at the Montems; and didn't Mr. Talbot come afore you?
Wheel.
Not at all; we came on the same day.
Some say I came first; some say Talbot.
So the choice of which of us is to be captain is to be put to the vote amongst the lads--most votes carry it; and I have most votes, I fancy; so I shall be captain, to - morrow, and a pretty deal of salt * I reckon I shall pocket.
Why, the collection at the last Montem, they say, came to a plump thousand!
No bad thing for a young fellow to set out with for Oxford or Cambridge--hey?
* Salt, the cant name given by the Eton lads to the money collected at Montem.
Landlord.
And no bad thing, before he sets out for Cambridge or Oxford,'twould be for a young gentleman to pay his debts.
Wheel.
Debts!
Oh, time enough for that.
I've a little account with you in horses, I know; but that's between you and me, you know--mum.
Landlord.
Mum me no mums, Mr. Wheeler.
Between you and me, my best hunter has been ruinationed; and I can't afford to be mum.
So you'll take no offence if I speak; and as you'll set off to - morrow, as soon as the Montem's over, you'll be pleased to settle with me some way or other to - day, as we've no other time.
Wheel.
No time so proper, certainly.
Where's the little account?-- I have money sent me for my Montem dress, and I can squeeze that much out of it.
I came home from Eton on purpose to settle with you.
But as to the hunter, you must call upon Talbot--do you understand?
to pay for him; for though Talbot and I had him the same day,'twas Talbot did for him, and Talbot must pay.
I spoke to him about it, and charged him to remember you; for I never forget to speak a good word for my friends.
Landlord.
So I perceive.
Wheel.
I'll make bold just to give you my opinion of these jellies whilst you are getting my account, Mr. Newington.
(He swallows down a jelly or two--Landlord is going.)
Enter TALBOT.
Talbot.
Hallo, Landlord!
where are making off so fast?
Here, your jellies are all going as fast as yourself.
Wheel.
(aside).
Talbot!-- I wish I was a hundred miles off.
Landlord.
You are heartily welcome, Mr. Talbot.
A good morning to you, sir; I'm glad to see you--very glad to see you, Mr. Talbot.
Talb.
Then shake hands, my honest landlord.
(Talbot, in shaking hands with him, puts a purse into the landlord's hands.)
Landlord.
What's here?
Guineas?
Talb.
The hunter, you know; since Wheeler won't pay, I must--that's all.
Good morning.
Wheel.
(aside).
What a fool!
(Landlord, as Talbot is going, catches hold of his coat.)
Landlord.
Hold, Mr. Talbot, this won't do!
Talb.
Won't it?
Well, then, my watch must go.
Landlord.
Nay, nay!
but you are in such a hurry to pay--you won't hear a man.
Half this is enough for your share o'the mischief, in all conscience.
Mr. Wheeler, there, had the horse on the same day.
Wheel.
But Bursal's my witness --
Talb.
Oh, say no more about witnesses; a man's conscience is always his best witness, or his worst.
Landlord, take your money, and no more words.
Wheel.
This is very genteel of you, Talbot.
I always thought you would do the genteel thing as I knew you to be so generous and considerate.
Talb.
Don't waste your fine speeches, Wheeler, I advise you, this election time.
Keep them for Bursal or Lord John, or some of those who like them.
They won't go down with me.
Good morning to you.
I give you notice, I'm going back to Eton as fast as I can gallop; and who knows what plain speaking may do with the Eton lads?
I may be captain yet, Wheeler.
Have a care!
Is my horse ready there?
Landlord.
Mr. Talbot's horse, there!
Mr. Talbot's horse, I say.
Talbot sings.
" He carries weight--he rides a race--' Tis for a thousand pound!"
(Exit Talbot.)
Wheel.
And, dear me!
I shall be left behind.
A horse for me, pray; a horse for Mr. Wheeler!
(Exit Wheeler.)
Landlord (calls very loud).
Mr. Talbot's horse!
Hang the hostler!
I'll saddle him myself.
(Exit Landlord.)
SCENE II.
A Dining room in the Inn at Salt Hill.
MRS. TALBOT and LOUISA.
Louisa (laughing).
With what an air Mrs. Landlady made her exit!
Mrs. Talbot.
When I was young, they say, I was proud; but I am humble enough now: these petty mortifications do not vex me.
Louisa.
It is well my brother was gone before Mrs. Landlady made her entree; for if he had heard her rude speech, he would at least have given her the retort courteous.
Mrs. Talb.
Now tell me honestly, my Louisa--You were, a few days ago, at Bursal House.
Since you have left it and have felt something of the difference that is made in this world between splendour and no splendour, you have never regretted that you did not stay there, and that you did not bear more patiently with Miss Bursal's little airs?
Louisa.
Never for a moment.
At first Miss Bursal paid me a vast deal of attention; but, for what reason I know not, she suddenly changed her manner, grew first strangely cold, then condescendingly familiar, and at last downright rude.
I could not guess the cause of these variations.
Mrs. Talb.
(aside) I guess the cause too well.
Louisa.
But as I perceived the lady was out of tune, I was in haste to leave her.
I should make a very bad, and, I am sure, a miserable toad eater.
I had much rather, if I were obliged to choose, earn my own bread, than live as toad eater with anybody.
Mrs. Talb.
Fine talking, dear Louisa!
Louisa.
Don't you believe me to be in earnest, mother!
To be sure, you cannot know what I would do, unless I were put to the trial.
Mrs. Talb.
Nor you either, my dear.
(She sighs, and is silent.)
Louisa (takes her mother's hand).
What is the matter, dear mother?
You used to say, that seeing my brother always made you feel ten years younger; yet even while he was here, you had, in spite of all your efforts to conceal them, those sudden fits of sadness.
Mrs. Talb.
The Montem--is not it to - morrow?
Ay, but my boy is not sure of being captain.
Louisa.
No; there is one Wheeler, who, as he says, is most likely to be chosen captain.
He has taken prodigious pains to flatter and win over many to his interest.
My brother does not so much care about it; he is not avaricious.
Mrs. Talb.
I love your generous spirit and his!
but, alas!
my dear, people may live to want, and wish for money, without being avaricious.
I would not say a word to Talbot; full of spirits as he was this morning, I would not say a word to him, till after the Montem, of what has happened.
Louisa.
And what has happened, dear mother?
Sit down,-- you tremble.
Mrs. Talb.
(sits down and puts a letter into Louisa's hand.)
Read that, love.
A messenger brought me that from town a few hours ago.
Louisa (reads).
" By an express from Portsmouth, we hear the Bombay Castle East Indiaman is lost, with all your fortune on board."
ALL!
I hope there is something left for you to live upon.
Mrs. Talb.
About 15O pounds a year for us all.
Louisa.
That is enough, is it not, for YOU?
Mrs. Talb.
For me, love?
I am an old woman, and want but little in this world, and shall be soon out of it.
Louisa (kneels down beside her).
Do not speak so, dearest mother.
Mrs. Talb.
Enough for me, love!
Yes, enough, and too much for me.
I am not thinking of myself.
Louisa.
Then, as to my brother, he has such abilities, and such industry, he will make a fortune at the bar for himself, most certainly.
Mrs. Talb.
But his education is not completed.
How shall we provide him with money at Cambridge?
Louisa.
This Montem.
The last time the captain had eight hundred, the time before a thousand, pounds.
Oh, I hope--I fear!
Now, indeed, I know that, without being avaricious, we may want, and wish for money.
(Landlady's voice heard behind the scenes.)
Landlady.
Waiter!-- Miss Bursal's curricle, and Mr. Bursal's vis - a - vis.
Run!
see that the Dolphin's empty.
I say run!-- run!
Mrs. Talb.
I will rest for a few moments upon the sofa, in this bedchamber, before we set off.
Louisa (goes to open the door).
They have bolted or locked it.
How unlucky!
(She turns the key, and tries to unlock the door.)
Enter WAITER.
Waiter.
Ladies, I'm sorry--Miss Bursal and Mr. Bursal are come--just coming upstairs.
Mrs. Talb.
Then, will you be so good, sir, as to unlock this door?
(Waiter tries to unlock the door.)
Waiter.
It must be bolted on the inside.
Chambermaid!
Sally!
Are you within there?
Unbolt this door.
Mr. Bursal's voice behind the scenes.
Mr. Burs.
Let me have a basin of good soup directly.
Waiter.
I'll go round and have the door unbolted immediately, ladies.
(Exit Waiter.)
Enter MISS BURSAL, in a riding dress, and with a long whip.
Miss Bursal.
Those creatures, the ponies, have a'most pulled my'and off.
Who'ave we'ere?
Ha!
Mrs. Talbot!
Louisa,'ow are ye?
I'm so vastly glad to see you; but I'm so shocked to'ear of the loss of the Bombay Castle.
Mrs. Talbot, you look but poorly; but this Montem will put everybody in spirits.
I'ear everybody's to be'ere; and my brother tells me,'twill be the finest ever seen at HEton.
Louisa, my dear, I'm sorry I've not a seat for you in my curricle for to - morrow; but I've promised Lady Betty; so, you know,'tis impossible for me.
Louisa.
Certainly; and it would be impossible for me to leave my mother at present.
Chambermaid (opens the bedchamber door).
The room's ready now, ladies.
Mrs. Talb.
Miss Bursal, we intrude upon you no longer.
Miss Burs.
Nay, why do you decamp, Mrs. Talbot?
I'ad a thousand things to say to you, Louisa; but am so tired and so annoyed --
(Seats herself.
Exeunt Mrs. Talbot, Louisa and Chambermaid.)
Enter MR. BURSAL, with a basin of soup in his hand.
Mr. Burs.
Well, thank my stars the Airly Castle is safe in the Downs.
Miss Burs.
Mr. Bursal, can you inform me why Joe, my groom, does not make his appearance?
Mr. Burs.
(eating and speaking).
Yes, that I can, child; because he is with his'orses, where he ought to be.
' Tis fit they should be looked after well; for they cost me a pretty penny--more than their heads are worth, and yours into the bargain; but I was resolved, as we were to come to this Montem, to come in style.
Miss Burs.
In style, to be sure; for all the world's to be here--the King, the Prince of WHales, and Duke o'York, and all the first people; and we shall cut a dash!
Dash!
dash!
will be the word to - morrow!-- (playing with her whip).
Mr. Burs.
(aside).
Dash!
dash!
ay, just like her brother.
He'll pay away finely, I warrant, by the time he's her age.
Well, well, he can afford it; and I do love to see my children make a figure for their money.
As Jack Bursal says, what's money for, if it e'nt to make a figure.
(Aloud).
There's your, brother Jack, now.
The extravagant dog!
he'll have such a dress as never was seen, I suppose, at this here Montem.
Why, now, Jack Bursal spends more money at Eton, and has more to spend, than my Lord John, though my Lord John's the son of a marchioness.
Miss Burs.
Oh, that makes no difference nowadays.
I wonder whether her ladyship is to be at this Montem.
The only good I ever got out of these stupid Talbots was an introduction to their friend Lady Piercefield.
What she could find to like in the Talbots, heaven knows.
I've a notion she'll drop them, when she hears of the loss of the Bombay Castle.
Enter a WAITER, with a note.
Waiter.
A note from my Lady Piercefield, sir.
Miss B.
Charming woman!
Is she here, pray, sir?
Waiter.
Just come.
Yes, ma'am.
(Exit Waiter.)
Miss B.
Well, Mr. Bursal, what is it?
Mr. B.
(reads).
" Business of importance to communicate --" Hum!
what can it be?--(going).
Miss B.
(aside).
Perhaps some match to propose for me!
(Aloud).
Mr. Bursal, pray before you go to her ladyship, do send my OOMAN to me to make me presentable.
(Exit Miss Bursal at one door.)
Mr. B.
(at the opposite door).
" Business of importance!"
Hum!
I'm glad I'm prepared with a good basin of soup.
There's no doing business well upon an empty stomach.
Perhaps the business is to lend cash; and I've no great stomach for that.
But it will be an honour, to be sure.
(Exit.)
SCENE III.
Landlady's Parlour.
LANDLADY--MR. FINSBURY, a man - milliner, with bandboxes--a fancy cap, or helmet, with feathers, in the Landlady's hand--a satin bag, covered with gold netting, in the man - milliner's hand--a mantle hanging over his arm.
A rough looking Farmer is sitting with his back towards them, eating bread and cheese, and reading a newspaper.
Landlady.
Well, this, to be sure, will be the best dressed Montem that ever was seen at Eton; and you Lon'on gentlemen have the most fashionablest notions; and this is the most elegantest fancy cap --
Finsbury.
Why, as you observe, ma'm, that is the most elegant fancy cap of them all.
That is Mr. Hector Hogmorton's fancy cap, ma'm; and here, ma'm, is Mr. Saul's rich satin bag, covered with gold net.
He is college salt bearer, I understand, and has a prodigious superb white and gold dress.
But, in my humble opinion, ma'm, the marshal's white and purple and orange fancy dress, trimmed with silver, will bear the bell; though, indeed, I shouldn't say that,-- for the colonel's and lieutenant's, and ensign's, are beautiful in the extreme.
And, to be sure, nothing could be better imagined than Mr. Marlborough's lilac and silver, with a Roman cap.
And it must be allowed that nothing in nature can have a better effect than Mr. Drake's flesh - colour and blue, with this Spanish hat, ma'm, you see.
(The farmer looks over his shoulder from time to time during this speech, with contempt.)
Farmer (reads the newspaper).
French fleet at sea--Hum!
Landlady.
O gemini: Mr. Drake's Spanish hat is the sweetest, tastiest thing!
Mr. Finsbury, I protest --
Finsb.
Why, ma'm, I knew a lady of your taste couldn't but approve of it.
My own invention entirely, ma'm.
But it's nothing to the captain's cap, ma'm.
Indeed, ma'm, Mr. Wheeler, the captain that is to be, has the prettiest taste in dress.
Farmer (to the Landlady).
Why, now, pray, Mrs. Landlady, how long may it have been the fashion for milliners to go about in men's clothes?
Landlady (aside to Farmer).
Lord, Mr. Hearty, hush!
This is Mr. Finsbury, the great man - milliner.
Farm.
The great man - milliner!
This is a sight I never thought to see in Old England.
Finsb.
(packing up band boxes).
Well, ma'm, I'm glad I have your approbation.
It has ever been my study to please the ladies.
Farm.
(throws a fancy mantle over his frieze coat).
And is this the way to please the ladies, Mrs. Landlady, nowadays?
Finsb.
(taking off the mantle).
Sir, with your leave--I ask pardon--but the least thing detriments these tender colours; and as you have just been eating cheese with your hands --
Farm.
' Tis my way to eat cheese with my mouth, man.
Finsb.
MAN!
Farm.
I ask pardon--man - milliner, I mean.
Enter LANDLORD.
Landlord.
Why, wife!
Landlady.
Wife!
Landlord.
I ask pardon--Mrs. Newington, I mean.
Do you know who them ladies are that you have been and turned out of the Dolphin?
Landlady (alarmed).
Not I, indeed.
Who are they, pray?
Why, if they are quality it's no fault of mine.
It is their own fault for coming, like scrubs, without four horses.
Why, if quality will travel the road this way, incognito, how can they expect to be known and treated as quality?
' Tis no fault of mine.
Why didn't you find out sooner who they were, Mr. Newington?
What else, in the'versal world have you to do, but to go basking about in the yards and places with your tankard in your hand, from morning till night?
What have you else to ruminate, all day long, but to find out who's who, I say?
Farm.
Clapper!
clapper!
clapper!
like my mill in a high wind, landlord.
Clapper!
clapper!
clapper!-- enough to stun a body.
Landlord.
That is not used to it; but use is all, they say.
Landlady.
Will you answer me, Mr. Newington?
Who are the grandees that were in the Dolphin?-- and what's become on them?
Landlord.
Grandees was your own word, wife.
They be not to call grandees; but I reckon you'd be sorry not to treat'em civil, when I tell you their name is Talbot, mother and sister to our young Talbot, of Eton; he that paid me so handsome for the hunter this very morning.
Landlady.
Mercy!
is that all?
What a combustion for nothing in life!
Finsb.
For nothing in life, as you say, ma'm; that is, nothing in high life, I'm sure, ma'm; nay, I dare a'most venture to swear.
Would you believe it, Mr. Talbot is one of the few young gentlemen of Eton that has not bespoke from me a fancy dress for this grand Montem?
Landlady.
There, Mr. Newington; there's your Talbot for you!
and there's your grandees!
O trust me, I know your scrubs at first sight.
Landlord.
Scrubs, I don't, nor can't, nor won't call them that pay their debts honestly.
Scrubs, I don't, nor won't, nor can't, call them that behave as handsome as young Mr. Talbot did here to me this morning about the hunter.
A scrub he is not, wife.
Fancy - dress or no fancy - dress, Mr. Finsbury, this young gentleman is no scrub.
Finsb.
Dear me!
' Twas not I said SCRUB.
Did I say scrub?
Farm.
No matter if you did.
Finsb.
No matter, certainly; and yet it is a matter; for I'm confident I wouldn't for the world leave it in anyone's power to say that I said--that I called--any young gentleman of Eton a SCRUB!
Why, you know, sir, it might breed a riot!
Farm.
And a pretty figure you'd make in a riot!
Landlady.
Pray let me hear nothing about riots in my house.
Farm.
Nor about scrubs.
Finsb.
But I beg leave to explain, gentlemen.
All I ventured to remark or suggest was, that as there was some talk of Mr. Talbot's being captain to - morrow, I didn't conceive how he could well appear without any dress.
That was all, upon my word and honour.
A good morning to you, gentlemen; it is time for me to be off.
Mrs. Newington, you were so obliging as to promise to accommodate me with a return chaise as far as Eton.
(Finsbury bows and exit.)
Farm.
A good day to you and your bandboxes.
There's a fellow for you now!
Ha!
ha!
ha!-- A man - milliner, forsooth!
Landlord.
Mrs. Talbot's coming--stand back.
Landlady.
Lord!
why does Bob show them through this way?
Enter MRS. TALBOT, leaning on LOUISA; Waiter showing the way.
Landlady.
You are going on, I suppose, ma'am?
Waiter (aside to Landlord).
Not if she could help it; but there's no beds, since Mr. Bursal and Miss Bursal's come.
Landlord.
I say nothing, for it is vain to say more.
But isn't it a pity she can't stay for the Montem, poor old lady!
Her son--as good and fine a lad as ever you saw--they say, has a chance, too, of being captain.
She may never live to see another such a sight.
(As Mrs. Talbot walks slowly on, the Farmer puts himself across her way, so as to stop her short.)
Farm.
No offence, madam, I hope; but I have a good snug farm house, not far off hand; and if so be you'd be so good to take a night's lodging, you and the young lady with you, you'd have a hearty welcome.
That's all I can say and you'd make my wife very happy; for she's a good woman, to say nothing of myself.
Landlord.
If I may be so bold to put in my word, madam, you'd have as good beds, and be as well lodged, with Farmer Hearty, as in e'er a house at Salt Hill.
Mrs. Talb.
I am very much obliged --
Farm.
O, say nothing o'that, madam.
I am sure I shall be as much obliged if you do come.
Do, miss, speak for me.
Louisa.
Pray, dear mother --
Farm.
She will.
(Calls behind the scenes.)
Here, waiter!
hostler!
driver!
what's your name?
drive the chaise up here to the door, smart, close.
Lean on my arm, madam, and we'll have you in and home in a whiff.
(Exeunt Mrs. Talbot, Louisa, Farmer, Landlord and Waiter.)
Landlady (sola).
What a noise and a rout this farmer man makes!
and my husband, with his great broad face, bowing, as great a nincompoop as t'other.
The folks are all bewitched with the old woman, I verily believe.
(Aloud.)
A good morning to you, ladies.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.
A field near Eton College;-- several boys crossing backwards and forwards in the back - ground.
In front, TALBOT, WHEELER, LORD JOHN and BURSAL.
Talbot.
Fair play, Wheeler!
Have at'em, my boy!
There they stand, fair game!
There's Bursal there, with his dead forty - five votes at command; and Lord John with his--how many live friends?
Lord John (coolly).
Sir, I have fifty - six friends, I believe.
Talb.
Fifty - six friends, his lordship believes--Wheeler inclusive, no doubt.
Lord J.
That's as hereafter may be.
Wheeler.
Hereafter!
Oh, fie, my LUD!
You know your own Wheeler has, from the first minute he ever saw you, been your fast friend.
Talb.
Your fast friend from the first minute he ever saw you, my lord!
That's well hit, Wheeler; stick to that; stick fast.
Fifty - six friends, Wheeler INclusive, hey, my lord!
hey, my LUD!
Lord J. Talbot EXclusive, I find, contrary to my expectations.
Talb.
Ay, contrary to your expectations, you find that Talbot is not a dog that will lick the dust: but then there's enough of the true spaniel breed to be had for whistling for; hey, Wheeler?
Bursal (aside to Wheeler).
A pretty electioneerer.
So much the better for you, Wheeler.
Why, unless he bought a vote, he'd never win one, if he talked from this to the day of judgment.
Wheeler (aside to Bursal).
And as he has no money to buy votes--he!
he!
he!-- we are safe enough.
Talb.
That's well done, Wheeler; fight the by - battle there with Bursal.
Now you are sure of the main with Lord John.
Lord J.
Sure!
I never made Mr. Wheeler any promise yet.
Wheel.
O; I ask no promise from his lordship; we are upon honour: I trust entirely to his lordship's good nature and generosity, and to his regard for his own family; I having the honour, though distantly, to be related.
Lord J.
Related!
How, Wheeler?
Wheel.
Connected, I mean, which is next door, as I may say, to being related.
Related slipped out by mistake; I beg pardon, my Lord John.
Lord J.
Related!-- a strange mistake, Wheeler.
Talb.
Overshot yourself, Wheeler; overshot yourself, by all that's awkward.
And yet, till now, I always took you for " a dead - shot at a yellow - hammer.
* Young noblemen at Oxford wear yellow tufts at the tops of their caps.
Hence their flatterers are said to be dead - shots at yellow - hammers.
Wheel.
(taking Bursal by the arm).
Bursal, a word with you.
(Aside to Bursal.)
What a lump of family pride that Lord John is.
Talb.
Keep out of my hearing, Wheeler, lest I should spoil sport.
But never fear: you'll please Bursal sooner than I shall.
I can't, for the soul of me, bring myself to say that Bursal's not purse - proud, and you can.
Give you joy.
Burs.
A choice electioneerer!-- ha!
ha!
ha!
Wheel.
(faintly).
He!
he!
he!-- a choice electioneerer, as you say.
(Exeunt Wheeler and Bursal; manent Lord J. and Talbot.)
Lord J.
There was a time, Talbot --
Talb.
There was a time, my lord--to save trouble and a long explanation - - there was a time when you liked Talbots better than spaniels; you understand me?
Lord J. I have found it very difficult to understand you of late, Mr. Talbot.
Talb.
Yes, because you have used other people's understandings instead of your own.
Be yourself, my lord.
See with your own eyes, and hear with your own ears, and then you'll find me still, what I've been these seven years; not your understrapper, your hanger - on, your flatterer, but your friend!
If you choose to have me for a friend, here's my hand.
I am your friend, and you'll not find a better.
Lord J.
(giving his hand).
You are a strange fellow, Talbot; I thought I never could have forgiven you for what you said last night.
Talb.
What?
for I don't keep a register of my sayings.
Oh, it was something about gaming--Wheeler was flattering your taste for it, and he put me into a passion--I forget what I said.
But, whatever it was, I'm sure it was well meant, and I believe it was well said.
Lord J.
But you laugh at me sometimes to my face.
Talb.
Would you rather I should laugh at you behind your back?
Lord.
But of all things in the world I hate to be laughed at.
Listen to me, and don't fumble in your pockets while I'm talking to you.
Talb.
I'm fumbling for--oh, here it is.
Now, Lord John, I once did laugh at you behind your back, and what's droll enough, it was at your back I laughed.
Here's a caricature I drew of you--I really am sorry I did it; but'tis best to show it to you myself.
Lord J.
(aside).
It is all I can do to forgive this.
(After a pause, he tears the paper.)
I have heard of this caricature before; but I did not expect, Talbot, that you would come and show it to me, yourself, Talbot, so handsomely, especially at such a time as this.
Wheeler might well say you are a bad electioneerer.
Talb.
Oh, hang it!
I forgot my election, and your fifty - six friends.
Enter RORY O'RYAN.
Rory (claps Talbot on the back).
Fifty - six friends, have you, Talbot?
Say seven--fifty - seven, I mean; for I'll lay you a wager, you've forget me; and that's a shame for you, too; for out of the whole posse - comitatus entirely now, you have not a stauncher friend than Poor little Rory O'Ryan.
And a good right he has to befriend you; for you stood by him when many who ought to have known better were hunting him down for a wild Irishman.
Now that same wild Irishman has as much gratitude in him as any tame Englishman of them all.
But don't let's be talking sintimint; for, for my share I'd not give a bogberry a bushel for sintimint, when I could get anything better.
Lord J.
And pray, sir, what may a bogberry be?
Rory.
Phoo!
don't be playing the innocent, now.
Where have you lived all your life (I ask pardon, my LARD) not to know a bogberry when you see or hear of it?
(Turns to Talbot.)
But what are ye standing idling here for?
Sure, there's Wheeler, and Bursal along with him, canvassing out yonder at a terrible fine rate.
And haven't I been huzzaing for you there till I'm hoarse?
So I am, and just stepped away to suck an orange for my voice --(sucks an orange.)
I am a THOROUGH GOING friend, at anyrate.
Talb.
Now, Rory, you are the best fellow in the world, and a THOROUGH GOING friend; but have a care, or you'll get yourself and me into some scrape, before you have done with this violent THOROUGH GOING work.
Rory.
Never fear!
never fear, man!-- a warm frind and a bitter enemy, that's my maxim.
Talb.
Yes, but too warm a friend is as bad as a bitter enemy.
Rory.
Oh, never fear me!
I'm as cool as a cucumber all the time; and whilst they tink I'm tinking of nothing in life but making a noise, I make my own snug little remarks in prose and verse, as--now my voice is after coming back to me, you shall hear, if you plase.
Talb.
I do please.
Rory.
I call it Rory's song.
Now, mind, I have a verse for everybody--o'the leading lads, I mean; and I shall put'em in or lave'em out, according to their inclinations and deserts, wise - a - wee to you, my little frind.
So you comprehend it will be Rory's song, with variations.
Talbot and Lord John.
Let's have it; let's have it without further preface.
Rory sings.
" I'm true game to the last, and no WHEELER for me."
Rory.
There's a stroke, in the first place, for Wheeler,-- you take it?
Talb.
O yes, yes, we take it; go on.
Rory sings.
" I'm true game to the last, and no Wheeler for me.
Of all birds, beasts, or fishes, that swim in the sea, Webb'd or finn'd, black or white, man or child, Whig or Tory, None but Talbot, O, Talbot's the dog for Rory."
Talb.
" Talbot the dog " is much obliged to you.
Lord J.
But if I have any ear, one of your lines is a foot too long, Mr. O'Ryan.
Rory.
Phoo, put the best foot foremost for a frind.
Slur it in the singing, and don't be quarrelling, anyhow, for a foot more or less.
The more feet the better it will stand, you know.
Only let me go on, and you'll come to something that will plase you.
Rory sings.
" Then there's he with the purse that's as long as my arm."
Rory.
That's Bursal, mind now, whom I mean to allude to in this verse.
Lord J.
If the allusion's good, we shall probably find out your meaning.
Talb.
On with you, Rory, and don't read us notes on a song.
Lord J.
Go on, and let us hear what you say of Bursal.
Rory sings.
" Then there's he with the purse that's as long as my arm; His father's a tanner,-- but then where's the harm?
Heir to houses, and hunters, and horseponds in fee, Won't his skins sure soon buy him a pedigree?"
Lord J. Encore!
encore!
Why, Rory, I did not think you could make so good a song.
Rory.
Sure'twas none of I made it --' twas Talbot here.
Talb.
Rory.
(aside).
Not a word: I'll make you a present of it: sure, then, it's your own.
Talb.
I never wrote a word of it.
Rory.
(to Lord J.).
Phoo, Phoo!
he's only denying it out of false modesty.
Lord.
Well, no matter who wrote it,-- sing it again.
Rory.
Be easy; so I will, and as many more verses as you will to the back of it.
(Winking at Talbot aside.)
You shall have the credit of all.
(Aloud.)
Put me in when I'm out, Talbot, and you (to Lord John) join--join.
Rory sings, and Lord John sings with him.
" Then there's he with the purse that's as long as my arm; His father's a tanner,-- but then where's the harm?
Heir to houses, and hunters, and horseponds in fee, Won't his skins sure soon buy him a pedigree?
There's my lord with the back that never was bent --"
(Lord John stops singing; Talbot makes signs to Rory to stop; but Rory does not see him, and sings on.)
" There's my lord with the back that never was bent; Let him live with his ancestors, I am content."
(Rory pushes Lord J. and Talbot with his elbows.)
Rory.
Join, join, both of ye--why don't you join?
(Sings.)
" Who'll buy my Lord John?
the arch fishwoman cried, A nice oyster shut up in a choice shell of pride."
Rory.
But join or ye spoil all.
Talb.
You have spoiled all, indeed.
Lord J.
(making a formal low bow).
Mr. Talbot, Lord John thanks you.
Rory.
Lord John!
blood and thunder!
I forgot you were by--quite and clean.
Lord J.
(puts him aside and continues speaking to Talbot).
Lord John thanks you, Mr. Talbot: this is the second part of the caricature.
Lord John thanks you for these proofs of friendship--Lord John has reason to thank you, Mr. Talbot.
Rory.
No reason in life now.
Don't be thanking so much for nothing in life; or if you must be thanking of somebody, it's me you ought to thank.
Lord J. I ought and do, sir, for unmasking one who --
Talb.
(warmly).
Unmasking, my lord --
Rory (holding them asunder).
Phoo!
phoo!
phoo!
be easy, can't ye?-- there's no unmasking at all in the case.
My Lord John, Talbot's writing the song was all a mistake.
Lord J.
As much a mistake as your singing it, sir, I presume --
Rory.
Just as much.
' Twas all a mistake.
So now don't you go and make a mistake into a misunderstanding.
It was I made every word of the song out o'the face *-- that about the back that never was bent, and the ancestors of the oyster, and all.
He did not waste a word of it; upon my conscience, I wrote it all--though I'll engage you didn't think I could write a good thing.
(Lord John turns away.)
I'm telling you the truth, and not a word of a lie, and yet you won't believe me.
* From beginning to end.
Lord J.
You will excuse me, sir, if I cannot believe two contradictory assertions within two minutes.
Mr. Talbot, I thank you (going).
(Rory tries to stop Lord John from going, but cannot.-- Exit Lord John.)
Rory.
Well, if he WILL go, let him go then, and much good may it do him.
Nay, but don't you go too.
Talb.
O Rory, what have you done?--(Talbot runs after Lord J.)
Hear me, my lord.
(Exit Talbot.)
Rory.
Hear him!
hear him!
hear him!-- Well, I'm point blank mad with myself for making this blunder; but how could I help it?
As sure as ever I am meaning to do the best thing on earth, it turns out the worst.
Enter a party of lads, huzzaing.
Rory (joins.)
Huzza!
huzza!-- Who, pray, are ye huzzaing for?
1st Boy.
Wheeler!
Wheeler for ever!
huzza!
Rory.
Talbot!
Talbot for ever!
huzza!
Captain Talbot for ever!
huzza!
2nd Boy.
CAPTAIN he'll never be,-- at least not to - morrow; for Lord John has just declared for Wheeler.
lst Boy.
And that turns the scale.
Rory.
Oh, the scale may turn back again.
3rd Boy.
Impossible!
Lord John has just given his promise to Wheeler.
I heard him with my own ears.
(Several speak at once.)
And I heard him; and I!
and I!
and I!-- Huzza!
Wheeler for ever!
Rory.
Oh, murder!
murder!
murder!
(Aside.)
This goes to my heart!
it's all my doing.
O, my poor Talbot!-- murder!
murder!
murder!
But I won't let them see me cast down, and it is good to be huzzaing at all events.
Huzza for Talbot!
Talbot for ever!
huzza!
(Exit.)
Enter WHEELER and BURSAL.
Wheel.
Who was that huzzaing for Talbot?
(Rory behind the scenes, " Huzza for Talbot!
Talbot for ever!
huzza!")
Burs.
Pooh, it is only Rory O'Ryan, or the roaring lion as I call him.
Ha!
ha!
ha!
Rory O'Ryan, alias O'Ryan, the roaring lion; that's a good one; put it about--Rory O'Ryan, the roaring lion, ha!
ha!
ha!
but you don't take it--you don't laugh, Wheeler.
Wheeler.
Ha!
ha!
ha!
O, upon my honour I do laugh; ha!
ha!
ha!
(Aside).
It is the hardest work to laugh at his wit.
(Aloud.)
Rory O'Ryan, the roaring lion--ha!
ha!
ha!
You know I always laugh, Bursal, at your jokes--he!
he!
he!-- ready to kill myself.
Burs.
(sullenly).
You are easily killed, then, if that much laughing will do the business.
Wheel.
(coughing).
Just then--something stuck in my throat; I beg your pardon.
Burs.
(still sullen).
Oh, you need not beg my pardon about the matter.
I don't care whether you laugh or no--not I.
Now you have got Lord John to declare for you, you are above laughing at my jokes, I suppose.
Wheel.
No, upon my word and honour, I DID laugh.
Burs.
(aside).
A fig for your word and honour.
(Aloud.)
I know I'm of no consequence now; but you'll remember, that if his lordship has the honour of making you captain, he must have the honour to pay for your captain's accoutrements; for I sha'n't pay the piper, I promise you, since I'm of no consequence.
Wheel.
Of no consequence!
But, my dear Bursal, what could put that into your head?
that's the strangest, oddest fancy.
Of no consequence!
Bursal, of no consequence!
Why, everybody that knows anything--everybody that has seen Bursal House--knows that you are of the greatest consequence, my dear Bursal.
Burs.
(taking out his watch, and opening it, looks at it).
No, I'm of no consequence.
I wonder that rascal Finsbury is not come yet with the dresses (still looking at his watch).
Wheel.
(aside).
If Bursal takes it into his head not to lend me the money to pay for my captain's dress, what will become of me?
for I have not a shilling--and Lord John won't pay for me--and Finsbury has orders not to leave the house till he is paid by everybody.
What will become of me?--(bites his nails).
Burs.
(aside).
How I love to make him bite his nails!
(Aloud.)
I know I'm of no consequence.
(Strikes his repeater.)
Wheel.
What a fine repeater that is of yours, Bursal!
It is the best I ever heard.
Burs.
So it well may be; for it cost a mint of money.
Wheel.
No matter to you what anything costs.
Happy dog as you are!
You roll in money; and yet you talk of being of no consequence.
Burs.
But I am not of half so much consequence as Lord John--am I?
Wheel.
Are you?
Why, aren't you twice as rich as he!
Burs.
Very true, but I'm not purse - proud.
Wheel.
You purse - proud!
I should never have thought of such a thing.
Burs.
Nor I, if Talbot had not used the word.
Wheel.
But Talbot thinks everybody purse - proud that has a purse.
Burs.
(aside).
Well, this Wheeler does put one into a good humour with one's self in spite of one's teeth.
(Aloud.)
Talbot says blunt things; but I don't think he's what you can call clever--hey, Wheeler?
Wheel.
Clever?
Oh, not he.
Burs.
I think I could walk round him.
Wheel.
To be sure you could.
Why, do you know, I've quizzed him famously myself within this quarter of an hour!
Burs.
Indeed!
I wish I had been by.
Wheel.
So do I,'faith!
It was the best thing.
I wanted, you see, to get him out of my way, that I might have the field clear for electioneering to - day.
So I bowls up to him with a long face--such a face as this.
Mr. Talbot, do you know--I'm sorry to tell you, here's Jack Smith has just brought the news from Salt Hill.
Your mother, in getting into the carriage, slipped, and has BROKE her leg, and there she's lying at a farmhouse, two miles off.
Is not it true, Jack?
said I. I saw the farmer helping her in with my own eyes, cries Jack.
Off goes Talbot like an arrow.
Quizzed him, quizzed him!
said I.
Burs.
Ha!
ha!
ha!
quizzed him indeed, with all his cleverness; that was famously done.
Wheel.
Ha!
ha!
ha!
With all his cleverness he will be all the evening hunting for the farmhouse and the mother that has broke her leg; so he is out of our way.
Burs.
But what need have you to want him out of your way, now Lord John has come over to your side?
You have the thing at a dead beat.
Wheel.
Not so dead either; for there's a great independent party, you know; and if YOU don't help me, Bursal, to canvass them, I shall be no captain.
It is you I depend upon after all.
Will you come and canvass them with me?
Dear Bursal, pray--all depends upon you.
(Pulls him by the arm--Bursal follows.)
Burs.
Well, if all depends upon me, I'll see what I can do for you.
(Aside.)
Then I am of some consequence!
Money makes a man of some consequence, I see; at least with some folks.
SCENE II.
In the back scene a flock of sheep are seen penned.
In front, a party of country lads and lasses, gaily dressed, as in sheep - shearing time, with ribands and garlands of flowers, etc., are dancing and singing.
Enter PATTY, dressed as the Queen of the Festival, with a lamb in her arms.
The dancers break off when she comes in, and direct their attention towards her.
1st Peasant.
Oh, here comes Patty!
Here comes the Queen o'the day.
What has kept you from us so long, Patty?
2nd Peasant.
" Please your Majesty," you should say.
Patty.
This poor little lamb of mine was what kept me so long.
It strayed away from the rest; and I should have lost him, so I should, for ever, if it had not been for a good young gentleman.
Yonder he is, talking to Farmer Hearty.
That's the young gentleman who pulled my lamb out of the ditch for me, into which he had fallen--pretty creature!
1st Peasant.
Pretty creature--or, your Majesty, whichever you choose to be called--come and dance with them, and I'll carry your lamb.
(Exeunt, singing and dancing.)
Enter FARMER HEARTY and TALBOT.
Farmer.
Why, young gentleman, I'm glad I happened to light upon you here, and so to hinder you from going farther astray, and set your heart at ease like.
Talb.
Thanks, good farmer, you have set my heart at ease, indeed.
But the truth is, they did frighten me confoundedly--more fool I.
Farm.
No fool at all, to my notion.
I should, at your age, ay, or at my age, just the self - same way have been frightened myself, if so be that mention had been made to me, that way, of my own mother's having broke her leg or so.
And greater, by a great deal, the shame for them that frighted you, than for you to be frighted.
How young gentlemen, now, can bring themselves for to tell such lies, is to me, now, a matter of amazement, like, that I can't noways get over.
Talb.
Oh, farmer, such lies are very witty, though you and I don't just now like the wit of them.
This is fun, this is quizzing; but you don't know what we young gentlemen mean by quizzing.
Farm.
Ay, but I do though, to my cost, ever since last year.
Look you, now, at yon fine field of wheat.
Well, it was just as fine, and finer, last year, till a young Eton jackanapes --
Talb.
Take care what you say, farmer; for I am a young Eton jackanapes.
Farm.
No; but you be not the young Eton jackanapes that I'm a - thinking on.
I tell you it was this time last year, man; he was a - horseback, I tell ye, mounted upon a fine bay hunter, out a - hunting, like.
Talb.
I tell you it was this time last year, man, that I was mounted upon a fine bay hunter, out a - hunting.
Farm.
Zooks!
would you argufy a man out of his wits?
You won't go for to tell me that you are that impertinent little jackanapes!
Talb.
No!
no!
I'll not tell you that I am an impertinent little jackanapes!
Farm (wiping his forehead).
Well, don't then, for I can't believe it; and you put me out.
Where was I?
Talb.
Mounted upon a fine bay hunter.
Farm.
Ay, so he was.
" Here, YOU," says he, meaning me --" open this gate for me."
Now, if he had but a - spoke me fair, I would not have gainsaid him: but he falls to swearing, so I bid him open the gate for himself.
" There's a bull behind you, farmer," says he.
I turns.
" Quizzed him!"
cries my jackanapes, and off he gallops him, through the very thick of my corn; but he got a fall, leaping the ditch out yonder, which pacified me, like, at the minute.
So I goes up to see whether he was killed; but he was not a whit the worse for his tumble.
So I should ha'fell into a passion with him then, to be sure, about my corn; but his horse had got such a terrible sprain, I couldn't say anything to him; for I was a - pitying the poor animal.
As fine a hunter as ever you saw!
I am sartain sure he could never come to good after.
Talb.
(aside).
I do think, from the description, that this was Wheeler; and I have paid for the horse which he spoiled!
(Aloud.)
Should you know either the man or the horse again, if you were to see them?
Farm.
Ay, that I should, to my dying day.
Talb.
Will you come with me, then, and you'll do me some guineas'worth of service?
Farm.
Ay, that I will, with a deal of pleasure; for you be a civil spoken young gentleman; and, besides, I don't think the worse on you for being FRIGHTED a little about your mother; being what I might ha'been, at your age, myself; for I had a mother myself once.
So lead on, master.
(Exeunt.)
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.
The garden of the " Windmill Inn," at Salt Hill.
MISS BURSAL, MRS. NEWINGTON, SALLY, the Chambermaid.
(Miss Bursal, in a fainting state, is sitting on a garden stool, and leaning her head against the Landlady.
Sally is holding a glass of water and a smelling bottle.)
Miss Bursal.
Where am I?
Where am I?
Landlady.
At the " Windmill," at Salt Hill, young lady; and ill or well, you can't be better.
Sally.
Do you find yourself better since coming into the air, miss?
Miss B.
Better!
Oh, I shall never be better!
(Leans her head on hand, and rocks herself backwards and forwards.)
Landlady.
My dear young lady, don't take on so.
(Aside.)
Now would I give something to know what it was my Lady Piercefield said to the father, and what the father said to this one, and what's the matter at the bottom of affairs.
Sally, did you hear anything at the doors?
Sally (aside).
No, indeed, ma'am; I never BE'S at the doors.
Landlady (aside).
Simpleton!
(Aloud.)
But, my dear Miss Bursal, if I may be so bold--if you'd only disembosom your mind of what's on it --
Miss B. Disembosom my mind!
Nonsense!
I've nothing on my mind.
Pray leave me, madam.
Landlady (aside).
Madam, indeed!
madam, forsooth!
Oh, I'll make her pay for that!
That MADAM shall go down in the bill, as sure as my name's Newington.
(Landlady, in a higher tone.)
Well, I wish you better, ma'am.
I suppose I'd best send your own servant?
Miss B.
(sullenly).
Yes, I suppose so.
(To Sally.)
You need not wait, child, nor look so curious.
Sally.
CUR'OUS!
Indeed, miss, if I look a little CUR'OUS, or so (looking at her dress),'tis only because I was FRIGHTED to see you take on, which made me forget my clean apron, when I came out; and this apron - -
Miss B. Hush!
Hush!
child.
Don't tell me about clean aprons, nor run on with your vulgar talk.
Is there ever a seat one can set on in that _H_arbour yonder?
Sally.
O dear'ART, yes, miss;'tis the pleasantest _H_arbour on _H_earth.
Be pleased to lean on my _H_arm, and you'll soon be there.
Miss B.
(going).
Then tell my woman she need not come to me, and let nobody INTERUDE on me--do you'EAR?
(Aside.)
Oh, what will become of me?
and the Talbots will soon know it!
And the ponies, and the curricle, and the vis - a - vis--what will become of them?
and how shall I make my appearance at the Montem, or any WARE else?
SCENE II.
LORD JOHN--WHEELER--BURSAL.
Wheeler.
Well, but my lord--Well, but Bursal--though my Lady Piercefield--though Miss Bursal is come to Salt Hill, you won't leave us all at sixes and sevens.
What can we do without you?
Lord J.
You can do very well without me.
Bursal.
You can do very well without me.
Wheel.
(to Burs.).
Impossible!-- impossible!
You know Mr. Finsbury will be here just now, with the dresses; and we have to try them on.
Burs.
And to pay for them.
Wheel.
And to settle about the procession.
And then, my lord, the election is to come on this evening.
You won't go till that's over, as your lordship has PROMISED me your lordship's vote and interest.
Lord J.
My vote I promised you, Mr. Wheeler; but I said not a syllable about my INTEREST.
My friends, perhaps, have not been offended, though I have, by Mr. Talbot.
I shall leave them to their own inclinations.
Burs.
(whistling).
Wheugh!
wheugh!
wheugh!
Wheeler, the principal's nothing without the interest.
Wheel.
Oh, the interest will go along with the principal, of course; for I'm persuaded, if my lord leaves his friends to their inclinations, it will be the inclination of my lord's friends to vote as he does, if he says nothing to them to the contrary.
Lord J. I told you, Mr. Wheeler, that I should leave them to themselves.
Burs.
(still whistling).
Well, I'll do my best to make that father of mine send me off to Oxford.
I'm sure I'm fit to go--along with Wheeler.
Why, you'd best be my tutor, Wheeler!-- a devilish good thought.
Wheel.
An excellent thought.
Burs.
And a cursed fine dust we should kick up at Oxford, with your Montem money and all!-- Money's THE GO after all.
I wish it was come to my making you my last bow, " ye distant spires, ye ANTIC towers!"
Wheel.
(aside to Lord J.).
Ye ANTIC towers!-- fit for Oxford, my lord!
Lord J.
Antique towers, I suppose Mr. Bursal means.
Burs.
Antique, to be sure!-- I said antique, did not I, Wheeler?
Wheel.
O, yes.
Lord J.
(aside).
What a mean animal is this!
Enter RORY O'RYAN.
Rory.
Why, now, what's become of Talbot, I want to know?
There he is not to be found anywhere in the wide world; and there's a hullabaloo amongst his friends for him.
(Wheeler and Bursal wink at one another.)
Wheel.
We know nothing of him.
Lord J. I have not the honour, sir, to be one of Mr. Talbot's friends.
It is his own fault, and I am sorry for it.
Rory.
' Faith, so am I, especially as it is mine--fault I mean; and especially as the election is just going to come on.
Enter a party of boys, who cry, Finsbury's come!-- Finsbury's come with the dresses!
Wheel.
Finsbury's come?
Oh, let us see the dresses, and let us try'em on to - night.
Burs.
(pushing the crowd).
On with ye--on with ye, there!-- Let's try'em on!-- Try'em on--I'm to be colonel.
lst Boy.
And I lieutenant.
2nd Boy.
And I ensign.
3rd Boy.
And I college salt - bearer.
4th Boy.
And I oppidan.
5th Boy.
Oh, what a pity I'm in mourning.
Several speak at once.
And we are servitors.
We are to be the eight servitors.
Wheel.
And I am to be your Captain, I hope.
Come on, my Colonel.
(To Bursal).
My lord, you are coming?
Rory.
By - and - by--I've a word in his ear, by your LAVE and his.
Burs.
Why, what the devil stops the way, there?-- Push on--on with them.
6th Boy.
I'm marshal.
Burs.
On with you--on with you--who cares what you are?
Wheel.
(to Bursal, aside).
You'll pay Finsbury for me, you rich Jew?
(To Lord John.)
Your lordship will remember your lordship's promise.
Lord J. I do not usually forget my promises, sir; and therefore need not to be reminded of them.
Wheel.
I beg pardon--I beg ten thousand pardons, my lord.
Burs.
(taking him by the arm).
Come on, man, and don't stand begging pardon there, or I'll leave you.
Wheel.
(to Burs.)
I beg pardon, Bursal--I beg pardon, ten thousand times.
(Exeunt.)
Manent LORD JOHN and RORY O'RYAN.
Rory.
Wheugh!-- Now put the case.
If I was going to be hanged, for the life of me I couldn't be after begging so many pardons for nothing at all.
But many men, many minds --(Hums.)
True game to the last!
No Wheeler for me.
Oh, murder!
I forgot, I was nigh letting the cat out o'the bag again.
Lord J.
You had something to say to me, sir?
I wait till your recollection returns.
Rory.
' Faith, and that's very kind of you; and if you had always done so, you would never have been offended with me, my lord.
Lord J.
You are mistaken, Mr. O'Ryan, if you think that you did or could offend me.
Rory.
Mistaken was I, then, sure enough; but we are all liable to mistakes, and should forget and forgive one another; that's the way to go through.
Lord J.
You will go through the world your own way, Mr. O'Ryan, and allow me to go through it my way.
Rory.
Very fair--fair enough--then we shan't cross.
But now, to come to the point.
I don't like to be making disagreeable retrospects, if I could any way avoid it; nor to be going about the bush, especially at this time o'day; when, as Mr. Finsbury's come, we've not so much time to lose as we had.
Is there any truth, then, my lord, in the report that is going about this hour past, that you have gone in a huff, and given your promise there to that sneaking Wheeler to vote for him now?
Lord J.
In answer to your question, sir, I am to inform you that I HAVE promised Mr. Wheeler to vote for him.
Rory.
In a huff?-- Ay, now, there it is!-- Well, when a man's MAD, to be sure, he's mad--and that's all that can be said about it.
And I know, if I had been MAD myself, I might have done a foolish thing as well as another.
But now, my lord, that you are not mad --
Lord J. I protest, sir, I cannot understand you.
In one word, sir, I'm neither mad nor a fool!-- Your most obedient (going, angrily).
Rory (holding him).
Take care now; you are going mad with me again.
But phoo!
I like you the better for being mad.
I'm very often mad myself, and I would not give a potato for one that had never been mad in his life.
Lord J.
(aside).
He'll not be quiet, till he makes me knock him down.
Rory.
Agh!
agh!
agh!-- I begin to guess whereabouts I am at last.
MAD, in your country, I take it, means fit for Bedlam; but with us in Ireland, now,'tis no such thing; it mean's nothing in life but the being in a passion.
Well, one comfort is, my lord, as you're a bit of a scholar, we have the Latin proverb in our favour --" Ira furor brevis est " (Anger is short madness).
The shorter the better, I think.
So, my lord, to put an end to whatever of the kind you may have felt against poor Talbot, I'll assure you he's as innocent o'that unfortunate song as the babe unborn.
Lord J.
It is rather late for Mr. Talbot to make apologies to me.
Rory.
He make apologies!
Not he,'faith; he'd send me to Coventry, or, maybe, to a worse place, did he but know I was condescending to make this bit of explanation, unknown to him.
But, upon my conscience, I've a regard for you both, and don't like to see you go together by the ears.
Now, look you, my lord.
By this book, and all the books that were ever shut and opened, he never saw or heard of that unlucky song of mine till I came out with it this morning.
Lord J.
But you told me this morning that it was he who wrote it.
Rory.
For that I take shame to myself, as it turned out; but it was only a WHITE lie to SARVE a friend, and make him cut a dash with a new song at election time.
But I've done for ever with white lies.
Lord J.
(walking about as if agitated).
I wish you had never begun with them, Mr. O'Ryan.
This may be a good joke to you; but it is none to me or Talbot.
So Talbot never wrote a word of the song?
Rory.
Not a word or syllable, good or bad.
Lord J.
And I have given my promise to vote against him.
He'll lose his election.
Rory.
Not if you'll give me leave to speak to your friends in your name.
Lord J. I have promised to leave them to themselves; and Wheeler, I am sure, has engaged them by this time.
Rory.
Bless my body!
I'll not stay prating here then.
(Exit Rory.)
Lord J.
(follows).
But what can have become of Talbot?
I have been too hasty for once in my life.
Well, I shall suffer for it more than anybody else; for I love Talbot, since he did not make the song, of which I hate to think.
(Exit.)
SCENE III.
A large hall in Eton College--A staircase at the end--Eton lads, dressed in their Montem Dresses in the Scene--In front, WHEELER (dressed as Captain), BURSAL and FINSBURY.
Fins.
I give you infinite credit, Mr. Wheeler, for this dress.
Burs.
INFINITE CREDIT!
Why, he'll have no objection to that--hey, Wheeler?
But I thought Finsbury knew you too well to give you credit for anything.
Fins.
You are pleased to be pleasant, sir.
Mr. Wheeler knows, in that sense of the word, it is out of my power to give him credit, and I'm sure he would not ask it.
Wheel.
(aside).
O, Bursal, pay him, and I'll pay you tomorrow.
Burs.
Now, if you weren't to be captain after all, Wheeler, what a pretty figure you'd cut.
Ha!
ha!
ha!-- Hey?
Wheel.
Oh, I am as sure of being captain as of being alive.
(Aside.)
Do pay for me, now, there's a good, dear fellow, before THEY (looking back) come up.
Burs.
(aside).
I love to make him lick the dust.
(Aloud.)
Hollo!
here's Finsbury waiting to be paid, lads.
(To the lads who are in the back scene.)
Who has paid, and who has not paid, I say?
(The lads come forward, and several exclaim at once,) I've paid!
I've paid!
Enter LORD JOHN and RORY O'RYAN.
Rory.
Oh, King of Fashion, how fine we are!
Why, now, to look at ye all one might fancy one's self at the playhouse at once, or at a fancy ball in dear little Dublin.
Come, strike up a dance.
Burs.
Pshaw!
Wherever you come, Rory O'Ryan, no one else can be heard.
Who has paid, and who has not paid, I say?
Several Boys exclaim.
We've all paid.
1st Boy.
I've not paid, but here's my money.
Several Boys.
We have not paid, but here's our money.
6th Boy.
Order there, I am marshal.
All that have paid march off to the staircase, and take your seats there, one by one.
March!
(As they march by, one by one, so as to display their dresses, Mr. Finsbury bows, and says,)
A thousand thanks, gentlemen.
Thank you, gentlemen.
Thanks, gentlemen.
The finest sight ever I saw out of Lon'on.
Rory, as each lad passes, catches his arm, Are you a TalbotITE or a WheelerITE?
To each who answers " A Wheelerite," Rory replies, " Phoo!
dance off, then.
Go to the devil and shake yourself.
"* Each who answers " A Talbotite," Rory shakes by the hand violently, singing,
" Talbot, oh, Talbot's the dog for Rory."
* This is the name of a country dance.
When they have almost all passed, Lord John says, But where can Mr. Talbot be all this time?
Burs.
Who knows?
Who cares?
Wheel.
A pretty electioneerer!
(Aside to Bursal.)
Finsbury's waiting to be paid.
Lord J.
You don't wait for me, Mr. Finsbury.
You know, I have settled with you.
Fins.
Yes, my lord--yes.
Many thanks: and I have left your lordship's dress here, and everybody's dress, I believe, as bespoke.
Burs.
Here, Finsbury, is the money for Wheeler, who, between you and me, is as poor as a rat.
Wheeler (affecting to laugh.).
Well, I hope I shall be as rich as a Jew to - morrow.
(Bursal counts money, in an ostentatious manner, into Finsbury's hand.)
Fins.
A thousand thanks for all favours.
Rory.
You will be kind enough to LAVE Mr. Talbot's dress with me, Mr. Finsbury, for I'm a friend.
Fins.
Indubitably, sir: but the misfortune is--he!
he!
he!-- Mr.
Talbot, sir, has bespoke no dress.
Your servant, gentlemen.
(Exit Finsbury.)
Burs.
So your friend Mr. Talbot could not afford to bespeak a dress--(Bursal and Wheeler laugh insolently.)
How comes that, I wonder?
Lord J.
If I'm not mistaken, here comes Talbot to answer for himself.
Rory.
But who, in the name of St. Patrick, has he along with him?
Enter TALBOT and LANDLORD.
Talb.
Come in along with us, Farmer Hearty--come in.
(Whilst the Farmer comes in, the boys who were sitting on the stairs, rise and exclaim,)
Whom have we here?
What now?
Come down, lads; here's more fun.
Rory.
What's here, Talbot?
Talb.
An honest farmer, and a good natured landlord, who would come here along with me to speak --
Farm.
(interrupting).
To speak the truth --(strikes his stick on the ground).
Landlord (unbuttoning his waistcoat).
But I am so hot--so short - winded, that (panting and puffing)-- that for the soul and body of me, I cannot say what I have got for to say.
Rory.
' Faith, now, the more short winded a story, the better, to my fancy.
Burs.
Wheeler, what's the matter, man?
you look as if your under jaw was broke.
Farm.
The matter is, young gentlemen, that there was once upon a time a fine, bay hunter.
Wheel.
(squeezing up to Talbot, aside).
Don't expose me, don't let him tell.
(To the Farmer.)
I'll pay for the corn I spoiled.
(To the Landlord.)
I'll pay for the horse.
Farm.
I does not want to be paid for my corn.
The short of it is, young gentlemen, this'un here, in the fine thing - em - bobs (pointing to Wheeler), is a shabby fellow; he went and spoiled Master Newington's best hunter.
Land.
(panting).
Ruinationed him!
ruinationed him!
Rory.
But was that all the shabbiness?
Now I might, or any of us might, have had such an accident as that.
I suppose he paid the gentleman for the horse, or will do so, in good time.
Land.
(holding his sides).
Oh, that I had but a little breath in this body o'mine to speak all--speak on, Farmer.
Farm.
(striking his stick on the floor).
Oons, sir, when a man's put out, he can't go on with his story.
Omnes.
Be quiet, Rory--hush!
(Rory puts his finger on his lips.)
Farm.
Why, sir, I was a - going to tell you the shabbiness--why, sir, he did not pay the landlord, here, for the horse; but he goes and says to the landlord, here --" Mr. Talbot had your horse on the self - same day;'twas he did the damage;'tis from he you must get your money."
Rory (rubbing his hands).
There's Talbot for ye.
And, now, gentlemen (to Wheeler and Bursal), you guess the RASON, as I do, I suppose, why he bespoke no dress; he had not money enough to be fine--and honest, too.
You are very fine, Mr. Wheeler, to do you justice.
Lord J. Pray, Mr. O'Ryan, let the farmer go on; he has more to say.
How did you find out, pray, my good friend, that it was not Talbot who spoiled the horse!
Speak loud enough to be heard by everybody.
Farm.
Ay, that I will--I say (very loudly) I say I saw him there (pointing to Wheeler) take the jump which strained the horse; and I'm ready to swear to it.
Yet he let another pay; there's the shabbiness.
(A general groan from all the lads.
" Oh, shabby Wheeler, shabby!
I'll not vote for shabby Wheeler!")
Lord J.
(aside).
Alas!
I must vote for him.
Rory sings.
" True game to the last; no Wheeler for me; Talbot, oh, Talbot's the dog for me."
(Several voices join the chorus.)
Burs.
Wheeler, if you are not chosen Captain, you must see and pay me for the dress.
Wheel.
I am as poor as a rat.
Rory.
Oh, yes!
oh yes!
hear ye!
hear ye, all manner of men--the election is now going to begin forthwith in the big field, and Rory O'Ryan holds the poll for Talbot.
Talbot for ever!-- huzza!
(Exit Rory, followed by the Boys, who exclaim " Talbot for ever!-- huzza!"
The Landlord and Farmer join them.)
Lord J. Talbot, I am glad you are what I always thought you--I'm glad you did not write that odious song.
I would not lose such a friend for all the songs in the world.
Forgive me for my hastiness this morning.
I've punished myself--I've promised to vote for Wheeler.
Talb.
Oh, no matter whom you vote for, my lord, if you are still my friend, and if you know me to be yours.
(They shake hands.)
Lord J. I must not say, " Huzza for Talbot!"
(Exeunt.)
SCENE IV.
WINDSOR TERRACE.
LADY PIERCEFIELD, MRS. TALBOT, LOUISA, and a little girl of six years old, LADY VIOLETTA, daughter to LADY PIERCEFIELD.
Violetta (looking at a paper which Louisa holds).
I like it VERY much.
Lady P. What is it that you like VERY much, Violetta?
Violet.
You are not to know yet, mamma; it is--I may tell her that--it is a little drawing that Louisa is doing for me.
Louisa, I wish you would let me show it to mamma.
Louisa.
And welcome, my dear; it is only a sketch of " The Little Merchants," a story which Violetta was reading, and she asked me to try to draw the pictures of the little merchants for her.
(Whilst Lady P. looks at the drawing, Violetta says to Louisa)
But are you in earnest, Louisa, about what you were saying to me just now,-- quite in earnest?
Louisa.
Yes, in earnest,-- quite in earnest, my dear.
Violet.
And may I ask mamma, NOW?
Louisa.
If you please, my dear.
Violet.
(runs to her mother).
Stoop down to me, mamma; I've something to whisper to you.
(Lady Piercefield stoops down; Violetta throws her arms round her mother's neck.)
Violet.
(aside to her mother).
Mamma, do you know--you know you want a governess for me.
Lady P. Yes, if I could find a good one.
Violet.
(aloud).
Stoop again, mamma, I've more to whisper.
(Aside to her mother).
SHE says she will be my governess, if you please.
Lady P.
SHE!-- who is SHE?
Violet.
Louisa.
Lady P. (patting Violetta's cheek).
You are a little fool.
Miss Talbot is only playing with you.
Violet.
No, indeed, mamma; she is in earnest; are not you, Louisa?-- Oh, say yes!
Louisa.
Yes.
Violet.
(claps her hands).
YES, mamma; do you hear YES?
Louisa.
If Lady Piercefield will trust you to my care, I am persuaded that I should be much happier as your governess, my good little Violetta, than as an humble dependent of Miss Bursal's.
(Aside to her mother.)
You see that, now I am put to the trial, I keep to my resolution, dear mother.
Mrs. T. Your ladyship would not be surprised at this offer of my Louisa, if you had heard, as we have done within these few hours, of the loss of the East India ship in which almost our whole property was embarked.
Louisa.
The Bombay Castle is wrecked.
Lady P. The Bombay Castle!
I have the pleasure to tell you that you are misinformed--it was the Airly Castle that was wrecked.
Louisa and Mrs. T. Indeed!
Lady P. Yes; you may depend upon it--it was the Airly Castle that was lost.
You know I am just come from Portsmouth, where I went to meet my brother, Governor Morton, who came home with the last India fleet, and from whom I had the intelligence.
(Here Violetta interrupts, to ask her mother for her nosegay--Lady P. gives it to her, then goes on speaking.)
Lady P. They were in such haste, foolish people!
to carry their news to London, that they mistook one castle for another.
But do you know that Mr. Bursal loses fifty thousand pounds, it is said, by the Airly Castle!
When I told him she was lost, I thought he would have dropped down.
However, I found he comforted himself afterwards with a bottle of Burgundy: but poor Miss Bursal has been in hysterics ever since.
Mrs. T. Poor girl!
My Louisa, YOU did not fall into hysterics, when I told you of the loss of our whole fortune.
(Violetta, during this dialogue, has been seated on the ground making up a nosegay.)
Violet.
(aside).
Fall into hysterics!
What are hysterics, I wonder.
Louisa.
Miss Bursal is much to be pitied; for the loss of wealth will be the loss of happiness to her.
Lady P. It is to be hoped that the loss may at least check the foolish pride and extravagance of young Bursal, who, as my son tells me --
(A cry of " Huzza!
huzza!"
behind the scenes.)
Enter LORD JOHN.
Lord J.
(hastily).
How d'ye do, mother!
Miss Talbot, I give you joy.
Lady P. Take breath--take breath.
Louisa.
It is my brother.
Mrs. T. Here he is!-- Hark!
hark!
(A cry behind the scenes of " Talbot and truth for ever!
Huzza!")
Louisa.
They are chairing him.
Lord J.
Yes, they are chairing him; and he has been chosen for his honourable conduct, not for his electioneering skill; for, to do him justice, Coriolanus himself was not a worse electioneerer.
Enter RORY O'RYAN and another Eton lad, carrying TALBOT in a chair, followed by a crowd of Eton lads.
Rory.
By your LAVE, my lord--by your LAVE, ladies.
Omnes.
Huzza!
Talbot and truth for ever!
Huzza!
Talb.
Set me down!
There's my mother!
There's my sister!
Rory.
Easy, easy.
Set him down?
No such TING!
give him t'other huzza!
There's nothing like a good loud huzza in this world.
Yes, there is!
for, as my Lord John said just now, out of some book, or out of his own head,--
" One self - approving hour whole years outweighs, Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas."
CURTAIN FALLS.
FORGIVE AND FORGET.
In the neighbourhood of a seaport town in the west of England, there lived a gardener, who had one son, called Maurice, to whom he was very partial.
One day his father sent him to the neighbouring town to purchase some garden seeds for him.
When Maurice got to the seed - shop, it was full of people, who were all impatient to be served: first a great tall man, and next a great fat woman pushed before him; and he stood quietly beside the counter, waiting till somebody should be at leisure to attend to him.
At length, when all the other people who were in the shop had got what they wanted, the shopman turned to Maurice --" And what do you want, my patient little fellow?"
said he.
" I want all these seeds for my father," said Maurice, putting a list of seeds into the shopman's hand; " and I have brought money to pay for them all."
And my china jar, is it packed up and directed?
where is it?"
" It is up there on the shelf over your head, sir," answered the seedsman.
" It is very safe, you see; but we have not had time to pack it yet.
It shall be done to - day; and we will get the seeds ready for you, sir, immediately."
" Immediately!
then stir about it.
The seeds will not pack themselves up.
Make haste, pray."
" Immediately, sir, as soon as I have done up the parcel for this little boy."
" What signifies the parcel for this little boy?
He can wait, and I cannot--wind and tide wait for no man.
Here, my good lad, take your parcel, and sheer off," said the impatient man; and, as he spoke, he took up the parcel of seeds from the counter, as the shopman stooped to look for a sheet of thick brown paper and packthread to tie it up.
The parcel was but loosely folded up, and as the impatient man lifted it, the weight of the peas which were withinside of it burst the paper, and all the seeds fell out upon the floor, whilst Maurice in vain held his hands to catch them.
The peas rolled to all parts of the shop; the impatient man swore at them, but Maurice, without being out of humour, set about collecting them as fast as possible.
Whilst the boy was busied in this manner, the man got what seeds he wanted; and as he was talking about them, a sailor came into the shop, and said, " Captain, the wind has changed within these five minutes, and it looks as if we should have ugly weather."
" Well, I'm glad of it," replied the rough faced man, who was the captain of a ship.
" I am glad to have a day longer to stay ashore, and I've business enough on my hands."
The captain pushed forward towards the shop door.
Maurice, who was kneeling on the floor, picking up his seeds, saw that the captain's foot was entangled in some packthread which hung down from the shelf on which the china jar stood.
Maurice saw that, if the captain took one more step forward, he must pull the string, so that it would throw down the jar, round the bottom of which the packthread was entangled.
He immediately caught hold of the captain's leg, and stopped him.
" Stay!
Stand still, sir!"
said he, " or you will break your china jar."
The man stood still, looked, and saw how the packthread had caught in his shoe buckle, and how it was near dragging down his beautiful china jar.
" I am really very much obliged to you, my little fellow," said he.
" You have saved my jar, which I would not have broken for ten guineas, for it is for my wife, and I've brought it safe from abroad many a league.
It would have been a pity if I had broken it just when it was safe landed.
I am really much obliged to you, my little fellow, this was returning good for evil.
I am sorry I threw down your seeds, as you are such a good natured, forgiving boy.
Be so kind," continued he, turning to the shopman, " as to reach down that china jar for me."
The shopman lifted down the jar very carefully, and the captain took off the cover, and pulled out some tulip roots.
" You seem, by the quantity of seeds you have got, to belong to a gardener.
Are you fond of gardening?"
said he to Maurice.
" Yes, sir," replied Maurice, " very fond of it; for my father is a gardener, and he lets me help him at his work, and he has given me a little garden of my own."
" Then here are a couple of tulip - roots for you; and if you take care of them, I'll promise you that you will have the finest tulips in England in your little garden.
These tulips were given to me by a Dutch merchant, who told me that they were some of the rarest and finest in Holland.
They will prosper with you, I'm sure, wind and weather permitting."
Maurice thanked the gentleman, and returned home, eager to show his precious tulip - roots to his father, and to a companion of his, the son of a nurseryman, who lived near him.
Arthur was the name of the nurseryman's son.
The first thing Maurice did, after showing his tulip - roots to his father, was to run to Arthur's garden in search of him.
Their gardens were separated only by a low wall of loose stones: " Arthur!
Arthur!
where are you?
Are you in your garden!
I want you."
But Arthur made no answer, and did not, as usual, come running to meet his friend.
" I know where you are," continued Maurice, " and I'm coming to you as fast as the raspberry - bushes will let me.
" I am sorry for it," said Arthur, who stood leaning upon his spade in his own garden; " I am afraid you will be very angry with me."
" Why, was it you, Arthur, broke my bell - glass!
Oh, how could you do so?"
" I was throwing weeds and rubbish over the wall, and by accident a great lump of couch - grass, with stones hanging to the roots, fell upon your bell - glass, and broke it, as you see."
Maurice lifted up the lump of couch - grass, which had fallen through the broken glass upon his cucumbers, and he looked at his cucumbers for a moment in silence --" Oh, my poor cucumbers!
you must all die now.
I shall see all your yellow flowers withered tomorrow; but it is done, and it cannot be helped; so, Arthur, let us say no more about it."
" You are very good; I thought you would have been angry.
I am sure I should have been exceedingly angry if you had broken the glass, if it had been mine."
" Oh, forgive and forget, as my father always says; that's the best way.
Look what I have got for you."
I am much more sorry for it than if you had been in a passion with me!"
Arthur now went to plant his tulip - root: and Maurice looked at the beds which his companion had been digging, and at all the things which were coming up in his garden.
" I don't know how it is," said Arthur, " but you always seem as glad to see the things in my garden coming up, and doing well, as if they were all your own.
I am much happier since my father came to live here, and since you and I have been allowed to work and to play together, than I ever was before; for you must know, before we came to live here, I had a cousin in the house with me, who used to plague me.
He was not nearly so good - natured as you are.
He never took pleasure in looking at my garden, or at anything that I did that was well done; and he never gave me a share of anything that he had; and so I did not like him; how could I?
But, I believe that hating people makes us unhappy; for I know I never was happy when I was quarrelling with him; and I am always happy with you, Maurice.
You know we never quarrel."
It would be well for all the world if they could be convinced, like Arthur, that to live in friendship is better than to quarrel.
It would be well for all the world if they followed Maurice's maxim of " Forgive and Forget," when they receive, or when they imagine that they receive, an injury.
Arthur's father, Mr. Oakly, the nurseryman, was apt to take offence at trifles; and when he thought that any of his neighbours disobliged him, he was too proud to ask them to explain their conduct; therefore he was often mistaken in his judgment of them.
He was not very rich, but he was proud; and his favourite proverb was, " Better live in spite than in pity."
Grant's friendly manners in some degree conquered this prepossession but still he secretly suspected that THIS CIVILITY, as he said, " was all show, and that he was not, nor could not, being a Scotchman, be such a hearty friend as a true - born Englishman."
Grant had some remarkably fine raspberries.
The fruit was so large, as to be quite a curiosity.
When it was in season, many strangers came from the neighbouring town, which was a sea - bathing place, to look at these raspberries, which obtained the name of Brobdingnag raspberries.
" How came you, pray, neighbour Grant, if a man may ask, by these wonderful fine raspberries?"
said Mr. Oakly, one evening, to the gardener.
" That's a secret," replied Grant, with an arch smile.
" Oh, in case it's a secret, I've no more to say; for I never meddle with any man's secrets that he does not choose to trust me with.
But I wish, neighbour Grant, you would put down that book.
You are always poring over some book or another when a man comes to see you, which is not, according to my notions (being a plain, UNLARNED Englishman bred and born), so civil and neighbourly as might be."
Mr. Grant hastily shut his book, but remarked, with a shrewd glance at his son, that it was in that book he found his Brobdingnag raspberries.
Grant."
Here's to the health of you and yours, not forgetting the seedling larches, which I see are coming on finely."
He was going to have asked for some of the Brobdingnag raspberry - plants.
The answer which Oakly's wife brought to him was that Mr. Grant had not a raspberry - plant in the world to give him, and that if he had ever so many, he would not give one away, except to his own son.
" Son Arthur," said he, addressing himself to the boy, who just then came in from work --" Son Arthur, do you hear me?
let me never again see you with Grant's son."
" With Maurice, father?"
" With Maurice Grant, I say; I forbid you from this day and hour forward to have anything to do with him."
" Oh, why, dear father?"
" Ask no questions but do as I bid you."
Arthur burst out a crying, and only said, " Yes, father, I'll do as you bid me, to be sure."
" Why now, what does the boy cry for?
Is there no other boy, simpleton, think you, to play with, but this Scotchman's son!
I'll find out another play - fellow for ye, child, if that be all."
" That's not all, father," said Arthur, trying to stop himself from sobbing; " but the thing is, I shall never have such another play - fellow,- - I shall never have such another friend as Maurice Grant."
" Like father like son--you may think yourself well off to have done with him."
" Done with him!
Oh, father, and shall I never go again to work in his garden, and may not he come to mine?"
" No," replied Oakly, sturdily; " his father has used me uncivil, and no man shall use me uncivil twice.
I say no.
Wife, sweep up this hearth.
Boy, don't take on like a fool; but eat thy bacon and greens, and let's hear no more of Maurice Grant."
Arthur promised to obey his father.
He only begged that he might once more speak to Maurice, and tell him that it was by his father's orders he acted.
This request was granted; but when Arthur further begged to know what reason he might give for this separation, his father refused to tell his reasons.
The two friends took leave of one another very sorrowfully.
Mr. Grant, when he heard of all this, endeavoured to discover what could have offended his neighbour; but all explanation was prevented by the obstinate silence of Oakly.
Now, the message which Grant really sent about the Brobdingnag raspberries was somewhat different from that which Mr. Oakly received.
The message was, that the raspberries were not Mr. Grant's; that therefore he had no right to give them away; that they belonged to his son Maurice, and that this was not the right time of year for planting them.
This message had been unluckily misunderstood.
The horse, on which Mrs. Oakly rode this day being ill - broken, would not stand still quietly at the gate, and she was extremely impatient to receive her answer, and to ride on to market.
Oakly, when he had once resolved to dislike his neighbour Grant, could not long remain without finding out fresh causes of complaint.
There was in Grant's garden a plum - tree, which was planted close to the loose stone wall that divided the garden from the nursery.
The soil in which the plum tree was planted happened not to be quite so good as that which was on the opposite side of the wall, and the plum - tree had forced its way through the wall, and gradually had taken possession of the ground which it liked best.
The attorney, at the end of this time, came to Oakly with a demand for money to carry on his suit, assuring him that, in a short time, it would be determined in his favour.
Oakly paid his attorney ten golden guineas, remarked that it was a great sum for him to pay, and that nothing but the love of justice could make him persevere in this lawsuit about a bit of ground, " which, after all," said he, " is not worth twopence.
The plum - tree does me little or no damage, but I don't like to be imposed upon by a Scotchman."
The attorney saw and took advantage of Oakly's prejudice against the natives of Scotland; and he persuaded him, that to show the SPIRIT of a true - born Englishman it was necessary, whatever it might cost him, to persist in this law suit.
It was soon after this conversation with the attorney that Mr. Oakly walked, with resolute steps, towards the plum - tree, saying to himself, " If it cost me a hundred pounds I will not let this cunning Scotchman get the better of me."
Arthur interrupted his father's reverie, by pointing to a book and some young plants which lay upon the wall.
" I fancy, father," said he, " those things are for you, for there is a little note directed to you, in Maurice's handwriting.
Shall I bring it to you?"
" Yes, let me read it, child, since I must."
It contained these words:
" DEAR MR. OAKLY,-- I don't know why you have quarrelled with us; I am very sorry for it.
But though you are angry with me, I am not angry with you.
I hope you will not refuse some of my Brobdingnag raspberry - plants, which you asked for a great while ago, when we were all good friends.
You will find the ashes in the flower - pot upon the wall.
I have never spoken to Arthur, nor he to me, since you bid us not.
So, wishing your Brobdingnag raspberries may turn out as well as ours, and longing to be all friends again, I am, with love to dear Arthur and self, " Your affectionate neighbour's son, " MAURICE GRANT.
" P. S.-- It is now about four months since the quarrel began, and that is a very long while."
A great part of the effect of this letter was lost upon Oakly, because he was not very expert in reading writing, and it cost him much trouble to spell it and put it together.
Do you hear me, I say, Arthur?
What are you reading there?"
Arthur was reading the page that was doubled down in the book, which Maurice had left along with the raspberry - plants upon the wall.
Arthur read aloud as follows:--
(Monthly Magazine, Dec.'98, p.
421.)
" There is a sort of strawberry cultivated at Jersey, which is almost covered with seaweed in the winter, in like manner as many plants in England are with litter from the stable.
These strawberries are usually of the largeness of a middle - sized apricot, and the flavour is particularly grateful.
Although this may be attributed to these islands being surrounded with a salt, and consequently a moist atmosphere, yet the ashes (seaweed ashes) made use of as manure, may also have their portion of influence.
* It is necessary to observe that this experiment has never been actually tried upon raspberry - plants.
" And here," continued Arthur, " is something written with a pencil, on a slip of paper, and it is Maurice's writing.
I will read it to you.
' When I read in this book what is said about the strawberries growing as large as apricots, after they had been covered over with seaweed, I thought that perhaps seaweed ashes might be good for my father's raspberries; and I asked him if he would give me leave to try them.
He gave me leave, and I went directly and gathered together some seaweed that had been cast on shore; and I dried it, and burned it, and then I manured the raspberries with it, and the year afterwards the raspberries grew to the size that you have seen.
Perhaps this was the thing that has made you so angry with us all; for you never have come to see father since that evening.
Now I have told you all I know; and so I hope you will not be angry with us any longer.'"
Mr. Oakly was much pleased by this openness, and said, " Why now, Arthur, this is something like, this is telling one the thing one wants to know, without fine speeches.
This is like an Englishman more than a Scotchman.
Pray, Arthur, do you know whether your friend Maurice was born in England or in Scotland?"
" No, indeed, sir, I don't know--I never asked--I did not think it signified.
All I know is, that wherever he was born, he is VERY good.
Look, papa, my tulip is blowing."
" Upon my word," said his father, " this will be a beautiful tulip!"
" It was given to me by Maurice."
" And did you give him nothing for it?"
was the father's inquiry.
" Nothing in the world; and he gave it to me just at the time when he had good cause to be angry with me, just when I had broken his bell - glass."
" I have a great mind to let you play together again," said Arthur's father.
" Oh, if you would," cried Arthur, clapping his hands, " how happy we should be!
Do you know, father, I have often sat for an hour at a time up in that crab - tree, looking at Maurice at work in his garden, and wishing that I was at work with him."
Here Arthur was interrupted by the attorney, who came to ask Mr. Oakly some question about the lawsuit concerning the plum - tree.
Oakly showed him Maurice's letter; and to Arthur's extreme astonishment, the attorney had no sooner read it, than he exclaimed, " What an artful little gentleman this is!
I never, in the course of all my practice, met with anything better.
Why, this is the most cunning letter I ever read."
" Where's the cunning?"
said Oakly, and he put on his spectacles.
" My good sir, don't you see, that all this stuff about Brobdingnag raspberries is to ward off your suit about the plum - tree?
They know--that is, Mr. Grant, who is sharp enough, knows--that he will be worsted in that suit; that he must, in short, pay you a good round sum for damages, if it goes on --"
" Damages!"
said Oakly, staring round him at the plum - tree; " but I don't know what you mean.
I mean nothing but what's honest.
I don't mean to ask for any good round sum; for the plum - tree has done me no great harm by coming into my garden; but only I don't choose it should come there without my leave."
" A bribe!"
exclaimed Oakly, " I never took a bribe, and I never will "; and, with sudden indignation, he pulled the raspberry plants from the ground in which Arthur was planting them; and he threw them over the wall into Grant's garden.
Maurice had put his tulip, which was beginning to blow, in a flower - pot, on the top of the wall, in hopes that his friend Arthur would see it from day to day.
Alas!
he knew not in what a dangerous situation he had placed it.
One of his own Brobdingnag raspberry - plants, swung by the angry arm of Oakly, struck off the head of his precious tulip!
Arthur, who was full of the thought of convincing his father that the attorney was mistaken in his judgment of poor Maurice, did not observe the fall of the tulip.
The next day, when Maurice saw his raspberry - plants scattered upon the ground, and his favourite tulip broken, he was in much astonishment, and, for some moments, angry; but anger, with him, never lasted long.
He was convinced that all this must be owing to some accident or mistake.
He could not believe that anyone could be so malicious as to injure him on purpose --" And even if they did all this on purpose to vex me," said he to himself, " the best thing I can do, is, not to let it vex me.
Forgive and forget."
This temper of mind Maurice was more happy in enjoying than he could have been made, without it, by the possession of all the tulips in Holland.
Tulips were, at this time, things of great consequence in the estimation of the country several miles round where Maurice and Arthur lived.
There was a florist's feast to be held at the neighbouring town, at which a prize of a handsome set of gardening - tools was to be given to the person who could produce the finest flower of its kind.
A tulip was the flower which was thought the finest the preceding year, and consequently numbers of people afterwards endeavoured to procure tulip - roots, in hopes of obtaining the prize this year.
Arthur's tulip was beautiful.
As he examined it from day to day, and every day thought it improving, he longed to thank his friend Maurice for it; and he often mounted into his crab - tree, to look into Maurice's garden, in hopes of seeing his tulip also in full bloom and beauty.
He never could see it.
The day of the florist's feast arrived, and Oakly went with his son and the fine tulip to the place of meeting.
It was on a spacious bowling - green.
All the flowers of various sorts were ranged upon a terrace at the upper end of the bowling - green; and, amongst all this gay variety, the tulip which Maurice had given to Arthur appeared conspicuously beautiful.
To the owner of this tulip the prize was adjudged; and, as the handsome garden - tools were delivered to Arthur, he heard a well known voice wish him joy.
He turned, looked about him, and saw his friend Maurice.
" But, Maurice, where is your own tulip?"
said Mr. Oakly; " I thought, Arthur, you told me that he kept one for himself."
" So I did," said Maurice; " but somebody (I suppose by accident) broke it."
" Somebody!
who?"
cried Arthur and Mr. Oakly at once.
" Somebody who threw the raspberry - plants back again over the wall," replied Maurice.
" That was me--that somebody was me," said Oakly.
" I scorn to deny it; but I did not intend to break your tulip, Maurice."
" Dear Maurice," said Arthur --" you know I may call him dear Maurice--now you are by, papa; here are all the garden - tools; take them, and welcome."
" Not one of them," said Maurice, drawing back.
" Offer them to the father--offer them to Mr. Grant," whispered Oakly; " he'll take them, I'll answer for it."
Mr. Oakly was mistaken: the father would not accept of the tools.
Mr. Oakly stood surprised --" Certainly," said he to himself, " this cannot be such a miser as I took him for "; and he walked immediately up to Grant, and bluntly said to him, " Mr. Grant, your son has behaved very handsomely to my son; and you seem to be glad of it."
" To be sure I am," said Grant
" Which," continued Oakly, " gives me a better opinion of you than ever I had before--I mean, than ever I had since the day you sent me the shabby answer about those foolish, what d'ye call em, cursed raspberries."
" What shabby answer?"
said Grant, with surprise; and Oakly repeated exactly the message which he received; and Grant declared that he never sent any such message.
He repeated exactly the answer which he really sent, and Oakly immediately stretched out his hand to him, saying " I believe you: no more need be said.
I'm only sorry I did not ask you about this four months ago; and so I should have done if you had not been a Scotchman.
Till now, I never rightly liked a Scotchman.
We may thank this good little fellow," continued he, turning to Maurice, " for our coming at last to a right understanding.
There was no holding out against his good nature.
I'm sure, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry I broke his tulip.
Shake hands, boys; I'm glad to see you, Arthur, look so happy again, and hope Mr. Grant will forgive --"
" Oh, forgive and forget," said Grant and his son at the same moment.
And from this time forward the two families lived in friendship with each other.
Oakly laughed at his own folly, in having been persuaded to go to law about the plum - tree; and he, in process of time, so completely conquered his early prejudice against Scotchmen, that he and Grant became partners in business.
Mr. Grant's book - LARNING and knowledge of arithmetic he found highly useful to him; and he, on his side, possessed a great many active, good qualities, which became serviceable to his partner.
The two boys rejoiced in this family union; and Arthur often declared that they owed all their happiness to Maurice's favourite maxim, " Forgive and Forget."
WASTE NOT, WANT NOT; or TWO STRINGS TO YOUR BOW.
Mr. Gresham, a Bristol merchant, who had, by honourable industry and economy, accumulated a considerable fortune, retired from business to a new house which he had built upon the Downs, near Clifton.
Mr. Gresham, however, did not imagine that a new house alone could make him happy.
He did not propose to live in idleness and extravagance; for such a life would have been equally incompatible with his habits and his principles.
He was fond of children; and as he had no sons, he determined to adopt one of his relations.
He had two nephews, and he invited both of them to his house, that he might have an opportunity of judging of their dispositions, and of the habits which they had acquired.
Hal and Benjamin, Mr. Gresham's nephews, were about ten years old.
They had been educated very differently.
Hal was the son of the elder branch of the family.
His father was a gentleman, who spent rather more than he could afford; and Hal, from the example of the servants in his father's family, with whom he had passed the first years of his childhood, learned to waste more of everything than he used.
He had been told that " gentlemen should be above being careful and saving ": and he had unfortunately imbibed a notion that extravagance was the sign of a generous disposition, and economy of an avaricious one.
Benjamin, on the contrary, had been taught habits of care and foresight.
His father had but a very small fortune, and was anxious that his son should early learn that economy ensures independence, and sometimes puts it in the power of those who are not very rich to be very generous.
The morning after these two boys arrived at their uncle's they were eager to see all the rooms in the house.
Mr. Gresham accompanied them, and attended to their remarks and exclamations.
" Oh!
what an excellent motto!"
exclaimed Ben, when he read the following words, which were written in large characters over the chimney - piece, in his uncle's spacious kitchen --
" WASTE NOT, WANT NOT."
' Waste not, want not!'"
repeated his cousin Hal, in rather a contemptuous tone; " I think it looks stingy to servants; and no gentleman's servants, cooks especially, would like to have such a mean motto always staring them in the face."
Ben, who was not so conversant as his cousin in the ways of cooks and gentlemen's servants, made no reply to these observations.
Mr. Gresham was called away whilst his nephews were looking at the other rooms in the house.
Some time afterwards, he heard their voices in the hall.
" Boys," said he, " what are you doing there?"
" Nothing, sir," said Hal; " you were called away from us and we did not know which way to go."
" And have you nothing to do?"
said Mr. Gresham.
" No, sir, nothing," answered Hal, in a careless tone, like one who was well content with the state of habitual idleness.
" No, sir, nothing!"
replied Ben, in a voice of lamentation.
" Come," said Mr. Gresham, " if you have nothing to do, lads, will you unpack those two parcels for me?"
The two parcels were exactly alike, both of them well tied up with good whip cord.
Ben took his parcel to a table, and, after breaking off the sealing wax, began carefully to examine the knot, and then to untie it.
Hal stood still, exactly in the spot where the parcel was put into his hands, and tried first at one corner, and then at another, to pull the string off by force.
" I wish these people wouldn't tie up their parcels so tight, as if they were never to be undone," cried he, as he tugged at the cord; and he pulled the knot closer instead of loosening it.
" Ben!
why, how did you get yours undone, man?
what's in your parcel?-- I wonder what is in mine!
I wish I could get this string off--I must cut it."
" Oh, no," said Ben, who now had undone the last knot of his parcel, and who drew out the length of string with exultation, " don't cut it, Hal,-- look what a nice cord this is, and yours is the same: it's a pity to cut it;'WASTE NOT, WANT NOT!'
you know."
" Pooh!"
said Hal, " what signifies a bit of packthread?"
" It is whip cord," said Ben.
" Well, whip cord!
what signifies a bit of whip cord!
you can get a bit of whip cord twice as long as that for twopence; and who cares for twopence!
Not I, for one!
so here it goes," cried Hal, drawing out his knife; and he cut the cord, precipitately, in sundry places.
" Lads!
have you undone the parcels for me?"
said Mr. Gresham, opening the parlour door as he spoke.
" Yes, sir," cried Hal; and he dragged off his half cut, half entangled string --" here's the parcel."
" And here's my parcel, uncle; and here's the string," said Ben.
" You may keep the string for your pains," said Mr. Gresham.
" Thank you, sir," said Ben: " what an excellent whip cord it is!"
" And you, Hal," continued Mr. Gresham, " you may keep your string too, if it will be of any use to you."
" It will be of no use to me, thank you, sir," said Hal.
" No, I am afraid not, if this be it," said his uncle, taking up the jagged knotted remains of Hal's cord.
A few days after this, Mr. Gresham gave to each of his nephews a new top.
" But how's this?"
said Hal; " these tops have no strings; what shall we do for strings?"
" I have a string that will do very well for mine," said Ben; and he pulled out of his pocket the fine, long, smooth string, which had tied up the parcel.
With this he soon set up his top, which spun admirably well.
" Oh, how I wish I had but a string," said Hal.
" What shall I do for a string?
I'll tell you what, I can use the string that goes round my hat!"
" But then," said Ben, " what will you do for a hat - band?"
" I'll manage to do without one," said Hal, and he took the string of his hat for his top.
It soon was worn through, and he split his top by driving the pea too tightly into it.
His cousin Ben let him set up his the next day; but Hal was not more fortunate or more careful when he meddled with other people's things than when he managed his own.
He had scarcely played half an hour before he split it, by driving the peg too violently.
Ben bore this misfortune with good humour.
" Come," said he, " it can't be helped; but give me the string because THAT may still be of use for something else."
It happened some time afterwards that a lady, who had been intimately acquainted with Hal's mother at Bath--that is to say, who had frequently met her at the card - table during the winter--now arrived at Clifton.
She was informed by his mother that Hal was at Mr. Gresham's, and her sons, who were FRIENDS of his, came to see him, and invited him to spend the next day with them.
Hal joyfully accepted the invitation.
He was always glad to go out to dine, because it gave him something to do, something to think of, or at least something to say.
Besides this, he had been educated to think it was a fine thing to visit fine people; and Lady Diana Sweepstakes (for that was the name of his mother's acquaintance) was a very fine lady, and her two sons intended to be very great gentlemen.
He was in a prodigious hurry when these young gentlemen knocked at his uncle's door the next day; but just as he got to the hall door, little Patty called to him from the top of the stairs, and told him that he had dropped his pocket - handkerchief.
" Pick it up, then, and bring it to me, quick, can't you, child," cried Hal, " for Lady Di's sons are waiting for me?"
before she reached the handkerchief, she fell, rolling down a whole flight of stairs, and when her fall was at last stopped by the landing - place, she did not cry out, she writhed, as if she was in great pain.
" Where are you hurt, my love?"
said Mr. Gresham, who came instantly, on hearing the noise of someone falling downstairs.
" Where are you hurt, my dear?"
" Here, papa," said the little girl, touching her ankle, which she had decently covered with her gown.
" I believe I am hurt here, but not much," added she, trying to rise; " only it hurts me when I move."
" I'll carry you; don't move then," said her father, and he took her up in his arms.
" My shoe!
I've lost one of my shoes," said she.
Ben looked for it upon the stairs, and he found it sticking in a loop of whip cord, which was entangled round one of the bannisters.
When this cord was drawn forth, it appeared that it was the very same jagged, entangled piece which Hal had pulled off his parcel.
He had diverted himself with running up and downstairs, whipping the bannisters with it, as he thought he could convert it to no better use; and, with his usual carelessness, he at last left it hanging just where he happened to throw it when the dinner bell rang.
Poor little Patty's ankle was terribly strained, and Hal reproached himself for his folly, and would have reproached himself longer, perhaps, if Lady Di Sweepstakes'sons had not hurried him away.
In the evening, Patty could not run about as she used to do; but she sat upon the sofa, and she said, that she did not feel the pain of her ankle SO MUCH, whilst Ben was so good as to play at JACK STRAWS with her.
" That's right, Ben; never be ashamed of being good - natured to those who are younger and weaker than yourself," said his uncle, smiling at seeing him produce his whip cord, to indulge his little cousin with a game at her favourite cat's cradle.
" I shall not think you one bit less manly, because I see you playing at cat's cradle with a little child of six years old."
Hal, however, was not precisely of his uncle's opinion: for when he returned in the evening, and saw Ben playing with his little cousin, he could not help smiling contemptuously, and asked if he had been playing at cat's cradle all night.
In a heedless manner he made some inquiries after Patty's sprained ankle, and then he ran on to tell all the news he had heard at Lady Diana Sweepstakes '-- news which he thought would make him appear a person of vast importance.
" Do you know, uncle--do you know, Ben," said he --" there's to be the most FAMOUS doings that ever were heard of upon the Downs here, the first day of next month, which will be in a fortnight, thank my stars!
I wish the fortnight was over; I shall think of nothing else, I know, till that happy day comes!"
Mr. Gresham inquired why the first of September was to be so much happier than any other day in the year.
" Why," replied Hal, " Lady Diana Sweepstakes, you know, is a famous rider, and archer, and ALL THAT --"
" Very likely," said Mr. Gresham, soberly; " but what then?"
" Dear uncle!"
cried Hal, " but you shall hear.
There's to be a race upon the Downs on the first of September, and after the race, there's to be an archery meeting for the ladies, and Lady Diana Sweepstakes is to be one of THEM.
And after the ladies have done shooting--now, Ben, comes the best part of it!
we boys are to have our turn, and Lady Di is to give a prize to the best marksman amongst us, of a very handsome bow and arrow!
Do you know, I've been practising already, and I'll show you, to - morrow, as soon as it comes home, the FAMOUS bow and arrow that Lady Diana has given me; but, perhaps," added he, with a scornful laugh, " you like a cat's cradle better than a bow and arrow."
Ben made no reply to this taunt at the moment; but the next day, when Hal's new bow and arrow came home, he convinced him that he knew how to use it very well.
" Ben," said his uncle, " you seem to be a good marksman, though you have not boasted of yourself.
I'll give you a bow and arrow, and, perhaps, if you practise, you may make yourself an archer before the first of September; and, in the meantime, you will not wish the fortnight to be over, for you will have something to do."
" Oh, sir," interrupted Hal, " but if you mean that Ben should put in for the prize, he must have a uniform."
" Why MUST he?"
said Mr. Gresham.
" Mercy upon us!"
said Mr. Gresham, who was almost stunned by the rapid vociferation with which this long speech about a uniform was pronounced.
" I don't pretend to understand these things," added he, with an air of simplicity; " but we will inquire, Ben, into the necessity of the case; and if it is necessary--or, if you think it necessary, that you shall have a uniform--why, I'll give you one."
" YOU, uncle?
Will you, INDEED?"
exclaimed Hal, with amazement painted in his countenance.
" Well, that's the last thing in the world I should have expected!
" Take care how you do that," said Mr. Gresham: " for perhaps the lady was not mistaken."
" Nay, did not you say, just now, you would give poor Ben a uniform?"
" I said I would, if he thought it necessary to have one."
" Oh, I'll answer for it, he'll think it necessary, " said Hal, laughing, " because it is necessary."
" Allow him, at least, to judge for himself," said Mr. Gresham.
" My dear uncle, but I assure you," said Hal, earnestly, " there's no judging about the matter, because really, upon my word, Lady Diana said distinctly, that her sons were to have uniforms, white faced with green, and a green and white cockade in their hats."
" May be so," said Mr. Gresham, still with the same look of calm simplicity; " put on your hats, boys, and come with me.
I know a gentleman whose sons are to be at this archery meeting, and we will inquire into all the particulars from him.
Then, after we have seen him (it is not eleven o'clock yet) we shall have time enough to walk on to Bristol, and choose the cloth for Ben's uniform, if it is necessary."
" I cannot tell what to make of all he says," whispered Hal, as he reached down his hat; " do you think, Ben, he means to give you this uniform, or not?"
" I think," said Ben, " that he means to give me one, if it is necessary; or, as he said, if I think it is necessary."
" And that to be sure you will; won't you?
or else you'll be a great fool, I know, after all I've told you.
How can anyone in the world know so much about the matter as I, who have dined with Lady Diana Sweepstakes but yesterday, and heard all about it from beginning to end?
And as for this gentleman that we are going to, I'm sure, if he knows anything about the matter, he'll say exactly the same as I do."
" We shall hear," said Ben, with a degree of composure which Hal could by no means comprehend when a uniform was in question.
Hal stood amazed.
" Such are the varieties of opinion upon all the grand affairs of life," said Mr. Gresham, looking at his nephews.
" What amongst one set of people you hear asserted to be absolutely necessary, you will hear from another set of people is quite unnecessary.
All that can be done, my dear boys, in these difficult cases, is to judge for yourselves, which opinions, and which people, are the most reasonable."
" Ay, my dear Hal," said his uncle, smiling at his look of amazement, " these are some of the things that young people must learn from experience.
All the world do not agree in opinion about characters: you will hear the same person admired in one company, and blamed in another; so that we must still come round to the same point,'Judge for yourself.'"
Hal's thoughts were, however, at present too full of the uniform to allow his judgment to act with perfect impartiality.
As soon as their visit was over, and all the time they walked down the hill from Prince's Building's towards Bristol, he continued to repeat nearly the same arguments, which he had formerly used, respecting necessity, the uniform, and Lady Diana Sweepstakes.
" Oh, uncle," said he, as his uncle was going to turn the corner to pursue the road to Bristol, " look at those jellies!"
pointing to a confectioner's shop.
" I must buy some of those good things, for I have got some halfpence in my pocket."
" Your having halfpence in your pocket is an excellent reason for eating," said Mr. Gresham, smiling.
" But I really am hungry," said Hal; " you know, uncle, it is a good while since breakfast."
His uncle, who was desirous to see his nephews act without restraint, that he might judge their characters, bid them do as they pleased.
" Come, then, Ben, if you've any halfpence in your pocket."
" I'm not hungry," said Ben.
" I suppose THAT means that you've no halfpence," said Hal, laughing, with the look of superiority which he had been taught to think the RICH might assume towards those who were convicted either of poverty or economy.
" Waste not, want not," said Ben to himself.
Contrary to his cousin's surmise, he happened to have two pennyworth of halfpence actually in his pocket.
" I wish I had more halfpence for you, my good man," said he; " but I've only twopence."
Hal came out of Mr. Millar's, the confectioner's shop, with a hatful of cakes in his hand.
Mr. Millar's dog was sitting on the flags before the door, and he looked up with a wistful, begging eye at Hal, who was eating a queen cake.
Hal, who was wasteful even in his good - nature, threw a whole queen cake to the dog, who swallowed it for a single mouthful.
" There goes twopence in the form of a queen cake," said Mr. Gresham.
and he was going to fling it from him into the river.
" Oh, it is a pity to waste that good bun; we may be glad of it yet," said Ben; " give it me rather than throw it away."
" Why, I thought you said you were not hungry," said Hal.
" True, I am not hungry now; but that is no reason why I should never be hungry again."
" Well, there is the cake for you.
Take it; for it has made me sick, and I don't care what becomes of it."
Ben folded the refuse bit of his cousin's bun in a piece of paper, and put it into his pocket.
" I'm beginning to be exceeding tired or sick or something," said Hal; " and as there is a stand of coaches somewhere hereabouts, had not we better take a coach, instead of walking all the way to Bristol?"
" For a stout archer," said Mr. Gresham, " you are more easily tired than one might have expected.
However, with all my heart, let us take a coach, for Ben asked me to show him the cathedral yesterday; and I believe I should find it rather too much for me to walk so far, though I am not sick with eating good things."
" THE CATHEDRAL!"
said Hal, after he had been seated in the coach about a quarter of an hour, and had somewhat recovered from his sickness --" the cathedral!
Why, are we only going to Bristol to see the cathedral?
I thought we came out to see about a uniform."
There was a dulness and melancholy kind of stupidity in Hal's countenance as he pronounced these words, like one wakening from a dream, which made both his uncle and his cousin burst out a - laughing.
" Why," said Hal, who was now piqued, " I'm sure you did say, uncle, you would go to Mr. Hall's to choose the cloth for the uniform."
" Very true, and so I will," said Mr. Gresham; " but we need not make a whole morning's work, need we, of looking at a piece of cloth?
Cannot we see a uniform and a cathedral both in one morning?"
They went first to the cathedral.
Hal's head was too full of the uniform to take any notice of the painted window, which immediately caught Ben's embarrassed attention.
He looked at the large stained figures on the Gothic window, and he observed their coloured shadows on the floor and walls.
Mr. Gresham, who perceived that he was eager on all subjects to gain information, took this opportunity of telling him several things about the lost art of painting on glass, Gothic arches, etc., which Hal thought extremely tiresome.
" Come!
come!
we shall be late indeed," said Hal; " surely you've looked long enough, Ben, at this blue and red window."
" I'm only thinking about these coloured shadows," said Ben.
" I can show you when we go home, Ben," said his uncle, " an entertaining paper upon such shadows.
* Vide " Priestley's History of Vision," chapter on coloured shadows.
" Hark!"
cried Ben, " did you hear that noise?"
They all listened; and they heard a bird singing in the cathedral.
" It's our old robin, sir," said the lad who had opened the cathedral door for them.
" Yes," said Mr. Gresham, " there he is, boys--look--perched upon the organ; he often sits there, and sings, whilst the organ is playing."
" And," continued the lad who showed the cathedral, " he has lived here these many, many winters.
They say he is fifteen years old; and he is so tame, poor fellow!
that if I had a bit of bread he'd come down and feed in my hand."
" I've a bit of bun here," cried Ben, joyfully, producing the remains of the bun which Hal but an hour before would have thrown away.
" Pray, let us see the poor robin eat out of your hand."
The lad crumbled the bun, and called to the robin, who fluttered and chirped, and seemed rejoiced at the sight of the bread; but yet he did not come down from his pinnacle on the organ.
" He is afraid of US," said Ben; " he is not used to eat before strangers, I suppose."
" Ah, no, sir," said the young man, with a deep sigh, " that is not the thing.
He is used enough to eat afore company.
Time was he'd have come down for me before ever so many fine folks, and have eat his crumbs out of my hand, at my first call; but, poor fellow!
it's not his fault now.
He does not know me now, sir, since my accident, because of this great black patch."
The young man put his hand to his right eye, which was covered with a huge black patch.
Ben asked what ACCIDENT he meant; and the lad told him that, but a few weeks ago, he had lost the sight of his eye by the stroke of a stone, which reached him as he was passing under the rocks at Clifton unluckily when the workmen were blasting.
" Where does your mother live?"
said Mr. Gresham.
" Hard by, sir, just close to the church here: it was HER that always had the showing of it to strangers, till she lost the use of her poor limbs."
" Shall we, may we, uncle, go that way?
This is the house; is not it?"
said Ben, when they went out of the cathedral.
They went into the house; it was rather a hovel than a house; but, poor as it was, it was as neat as misery could make it.
The old woman was sitting up in her wretched bed, winding worsted; four meagre, ill - clothed, pale children were all busy, some of them sticking pins in paper for the pin - maker, and others sorting rags for the paper - maker.
" What a horrid place it is!"
said Hal, sighing; " I did not know there were such shocking places in the world.
I've often seen terrible - looking, tumble - down places, as we drove through the town in mamma's carriage; but then I did not know who lived in them; and I never saw the inside of any of them.
It is very dreadful, indeed, to think that people are forced to live in this way.
I wish mamma would send me some more pocket - money, that I might do something for them.
I had half a crown; but," continued he, feeling in his pockets, " I'm afraid I spent the last shilling of it this morning upon those cakes that made me sick.
I wish I had my shilling now, I'd give it to these poor people."
Ben, though he was all this time silent, was as sorry as his talkative cousin for all these poor people.
But there was some difference between the sorrow of these two boys.
" Now for our uniforms!"
cried he, as he jumped eagerly out of the coach, when his uncle stopped at the woollen - draper's door.
" Uncle," said Ben, stopping Mr. Gresham before he got out of the carriage, " I don't think a uniform is at all necessary for me.
I'm very much obliged to you; but I would rather not have one.
I have a very good coat, and I think it would be waste."
" Well, let me get out of the carriage, and we will see about it," said Mr. Gresham; " perhaps the sight of the beautiful green and white cloth, and the epaulettes (have you ever considered the epaulettes?)
may tempt you to change your mind."
" Oh, no," said Ben, laughing; " I shall not change my mind,"
The green cloth, and the white cloth, and the epaulettes were produced, to Hal's infinite satisfaction.
His uncle took up a pen, and calculated for a few minutes; then, showing the back of the letter, upon which he was writing, to his nephews, " Cast up these sums, boys," said he, " and tell me whether I am right."
" Ben, do you do it," said Hal, a little embarrassed; " I am not quick at figures."
Ben WAS, and he went over his uncle's calculation very expeditiously.
" It is right, is it?"
said Mr. Gresham.
" Yes, sir, quite right."
" Then, by this calculation, I find I could, for less than half the money your uniforms would cost, purchase for each of you boys a warm great - coat, which you will want, I have a notion, this winter upon the Downs."
" Oh, sir," said Hal, with an alarmed look; " but it is not winter YET; it is not cold weather YET.
We sha'n't want greatcoats YET."
" Don't you remember how cold we were, Hal, the day before yesterday, in that sharp wind, when we were flying our kite upon the Downs?
and winter will come, though it is not come yet--I am sure, I should like to have a good warm great - coat very much."
Mr. Gresham took six guineas out of his purse and he placed three of them before Hal, and three before Ben.
" Young gentlemen," said he, " I believe your uniforms would come to about three guineas a piece.
Now I will lay out this money for you just as you please.
Hal, what say you?"
" Why, sir," said Hal, " a great - coat is a good thing, to be sure; and then, after the great - coat, as you said it would only cost half as much as the uniform, there would be some money to spare, would not there?"
" Yes, my dear, about five - and - twenty shillings."
" Five - and - twenty shillings?-- I could buy and do a great many things, to be sure, with five - and - twenty shillings; but then, THE THING IS, I must go without the uniform, if I have the great - coat."
" Certainly," said his uncle.
" Ah!"
said Hal, sighing, as he looked at the epaulettes, " uncle, if you would not be displeased, if I choose the uniform --"
" I shall not be displeased at your choosing whatever you like best," said Mr. Gresham.
To all this conclusive, conditional reasoning, which depended upon the word PERHAPS, three times repeated, Mr. Gresham made no reply; but he immediately bought the uniform for Hal, and desired that it should be sent to Lady Diana Sweepstakes'son's tailor, to be made up.
The measure of Hal's happiness was now complete.
" And how am I to lay out the three guineas for you, Ben?"
said Mr. Gresham; " speak, what do you wish for first?"
" A great - coat, uncle, if you please."
Gresham bought the coat; and, after it was paid for, five - and - twenty shillings of Ben's three guineas remained.
" What next, my boy?"
said his uncle.
" Arrows, uncle, if you please; three arrows."
" My dear, I promised you a bow and arrows."
" No, uncle, you only said a bow."
" Well, I meant a bow and arrows.
I'm glad you are so exact, however.
It is better to claim less than more than what is promised.
The three arrows you shall have.
But go on; how shall I dispose of these five - and - twenty shillings for you?"
" In clothes, if you will be so good, uncle, for that poor boy who has the great black patch on his eye."
" I always believed," said Mr. Gresham, shaking hands with Ben, " that economy and generosity were the best friends, instead of being enemies, as some silly, extravagant people would have us think them.
Choose the poor, blind boy's coat, my dear nephew, and pay for it.
There's no occasion for my praising you about the matter.
Your best reward is in your own mind, child; and you want no other, or I'm mistaken.
Now, jump into the coach, boys, and let's be off.
We shall be late, I'm afraid," continued he, as the coach drove on: " but I must let you stop, Ben, with your goods, at the poor boy's door."
When they came to the house, Mr. Gresham opened the coach door, and Ben jumped out with his parcel under his arm.
" Stay, stay!
you must take me with you," said his pleased uncle; " I like to see people made happy, as well as you do."
" And so do I, too," said Hal; " let me come with you.
I almost wish my uniform was not gone to the tailor's, so I do."
And when he saw the look of delight and gratitude with which the poor boy received the clothes which Ben gave him; and when he heard the mother and children thank him, he sighed, and said, " Well, I hope mamma will give me some more pocket money soon."
Upon his return home, however, the sight of the FAMOUS bow and arrow, which Lady Diana Sweepstakes had sent him, recalled to his imagination all the joys of his green and white uniform; and he no longer wished that it had not been sent to the tailor's.
" But I don't understand, Cousin Hal," said little Patty, " why you call this bow a FAMOUS bow.
You say famous very often; and I don't know exactly what it means; a famous uniform--famous doings.
I remember you said there are to be famous doings, the first of September, upon the Downs.
What does famous mean?"
" Oh, why, famous means--now, don't you know what famous means?
It means - - it is a word that people say--it is the fashion to say it--it means--it means famous."
Patty laughed, and said, " This does not explain it to me."
" No," said Hal, " nor can it be explained: if you don't understand it, that's not my fault.
Everybody but little children, I suppose, understands it; but there's no explaining THOSE SORT of words, if you don't TAKE THEM at once.
There's to be famous doings upon the Downs, the first of September; that is grand, fine.
In short, what does it signify talking any longer, Patty, about the matter?
Give me my bow, for I must go out upon the Downs and practise."
Ben accompanied him with the bow and the three arrows which his uncle had now given to him; and, every day, these two boys went out upon the Downs and practised shooting with indefatigable perseverance.
Where equal pains are taken, success is usually found to be pretty nearly equal.
Our two archers, by constant practice, became expert marksmen; and before the day of trial, they were so exactly matched in point of dexterity, that it was scarcely possible to decide which was superior.
The long expected lst of September at length arrived.
" What sort of a day is it?"
was the first question that was asked by Hal and Ben the moment that they wakened.
The sun shone bright, but there was a sharp and high wind.
" Ha!"
said Ben, " I shall be glad of my good great - coat to - day; for I've a notion it will be rather cold upon the Downs, especially when we are standing still, as we must, whilst all the people are shooting."
" Oh, never mind!
I don't think I shall feel it cold at all," said Hal, as he dressed himself in his new green and white uniform; and he viewed himself with much complacency.
" Good morning to you, uncle; how do you do?"
said he, in a voice of exultation, when he entered the breakfast - room.
How do you do?
seemed rather to mean, " How do you like me in my uniform?"
And his uncle's cool, " Very well, I thank you, Hal," disappointed him, as it seemed only to say, " Your uniform makes no difference in my opinion of you."
Even little Patty went on eating her breakfast much as usual, and talked of the pleasure of walking with her father to the Downs, and of all the little things which interested her; so that Hal's epaulettes were not the principal object in anyone's imagination but his own.
My ankle is entirely well, and I'm glad of that, or else I should not be able to walk so far as the Downs.
How good you were to me, Ben, when I was in pain the day I sprained my ankle!
You played at jack straws and at cat's - cradle with me.
Oh, that puts me in mind--here are your gloves which I asked you that night to let me mend.
I've been a great while about them; but are not they not very neatly mended, papa?
Look at the sewing."
" I am not a very good judge of sewing, my dear little girl," said Mr. Gresham, examining the work with a close and scrupulous eye; " but, in my opinion, here is one stitch that is rather too long.
The white teeth are not quite even."
" Oh, papa, I'll take out that long tooth in a minute," said Patty, laughing; " I did not think that you would observe it so soon."
" I would not have you trust to my blindness," said her father, stroking her head, fondly; " I observe everything.
I observe, for instance, that you are a grateful little girl, and that you are glad to be of use to those who have been kind to you; and for this I forgive you the long stitch."
" But it's out, it's out, papa," said Patty; " and the next time your gloves want mending, Ben, I'll mend them better."
" They are very nice, I think," said Ben, drawing them on; " and I am much obliged to you.
I was just wishing I had a pair of gloves to keep my fingers warm to - day, for I never can shoot well when my hands are benumbed.
Look, Hal; you know how ragged these gloves were; you said they were good for nothing but to throw away; now look, there's not a hole in them," said he, spreading his fingers.
" Now, is it not very extraordinary," said Hal to himself, " that they should go on so long talking about an old pair of gloves, without saying scarcely a word about my new uniform?
Well, the young Sweepstakes and Lady Diana will talk enough about it; that's one comfort.
Is not it time to think of setting out, sir?"
said Hal to his uncle.
" The company, you know, are to meet at the Ostrich at twelve, and the race to begin at one, and Lady Diana's horses, I know were ordered to be at the door at ten."
Mr. Stephen, the butler, here interrupted the hurrying young gentleman in his calculations.
" There's a poor lad, sir, below, with a great black patch on his right eye, who is come from Bristol, and wants to speak a word with the young gentlemen, if you please.
I told him they were just going out with you; but he says he won't detain them more than half a minute."
" Show him up, show him up," said Mr. Gresham.
" But, I suppose," said Hal, with a sigh, " that Stephen mistook, when he said the young GENTLEMEN; he only wants to see Ben, I daresay; I'm sure he has no reason to want to see me."
" Here he comes--Oh, Ben, he is dressed in the new coat you gave him," whispered Hal, who was really a good - natured boy, though extravagant.
" How much better he looks than he did in the ragged coat!
Ah!
he looked at you first, Ben--and well he may!"
The boy bowed, without any cringing servility, but with an open, decent freedom in his manner, which expressed that he had been obliged, but that he knew his young benefactor was not thinking of the obligation.
He made as little distinction as possible between his bows to the two cousins.
" They are but poor things, sir, she bid me say, to look at; but, considering she has but one hand to work with, and that her left hand, you'll not despise'em, we hopes."
He held the balls to Ben and Hal.
" They are both alike, gentlemen," said he.
" If you'll be pleased to take'em they're better than they look, for they bound higher than your head.
I cut the cork round for the inside myself, which was all I could do."
" They are nice balls, indeed: we are much obliged to you," said the boys as they received them, and they proved them immediately.
The balls struck the floor with a delightful sound, and rebounded higher than Mr. Gresham's head.
Little Patty clapped her hands joyfully.
But now a thundering double rap at the door was heard.
" The Master Sweepstakes, sir," said Stephen, " are come for Master Hal.
I am not sure I'm right, sir; for both the young gentlemen spoke at once, and the wind is very high at the street door; so that I could not well make out all they said; but I believe this is the sense of it."
" Yes, yes," said Hal, eagerly, " it's all right.
I know that is just what was settled the day I dined at Lady Diana's; and Lady Diana and a great party of gentlemen are to ride --"
" Well, that is nothing to the purpose," interrupted Mr. Gresham.
" Don't keep these Master Sweepstakes waiting.
Decide--do you choose to go with them or with us?"
" Sir--uncle--sir, you know, since all the UNIFORMS agreed to go together - -"
" Off with you, then, Mr.
Uniform, if you mean to go," said Mr. Gresham.
Hal ran downstairs in such a hurry that he forgot his bow and arrows.
Ben discovered this when he went to fetch his own; and the lad from Bristol, who had been ordered by Mr. Gresham to eat his breakfast before he proceeded to Redland Chapel, heard Ben talking about his cousin's bow and arrows.
" I know," said Ben, " he will be sorry not to have his bow with him, because here are the green knots tied to it, to match his cockade: and he said that the boys were all to carry their bows, as part of the show."
" If you'll give me leave, sir," said the poor Bristol lad, " I shall have plenty of time; and I'll run down to the Well Walk after the young gentleman, and take him his bow and arrows."
" Will you?
I shall be much obliged to you," said Ben; and away went the boy with the bow that was ornamented with green ribands.
The public walk leading to the Wells was full of company.
The windows of all the houses in St. Vincent's Parade were crowded with well dressed ladies, who were looking out in expectation of the archery procession.
Parties of gentlemen and ladies, and a motley crowd of spectators, were seen moving backwards and forwards, under the rocks, on the opposite side of the water.
A barge, with coloured streamers flying, was waiting to take up a party who were going upon the water.
The bargemen rested upon their oars, and gazed with broad faces of curiosity upon the busy scene that appeared upon the public walk.
The archers and archeresses were now drawn up on the flags under the semicircular piazza just before Mrs. Yearsley's library.
A little band of children, who had been mustered by Lady Diana Sweepstakes'SPIRITED EXERTIONS, closed the procession.
They were now all in readiness.
The drummer only waited for her ladyship's signal; and the archers'corps only waited for her ladyship's word of command to march.
" Where are your bow and arrows, my little man?"
said her ladyship to Hal, as she reviewed her Lilliputian regiment.
" You can't march, man, without your arms?"
Hal had despatched a messenger for his forgotten bow, but the messenger returned not.
He looked from side to side in great distress --" Oh, there's my bow coming, I declare!"
cried he; " look, I see the bow and the ribands.
Look now, between the trees, Charles Sweepstakes, on the Hotwell Walk; it is coming!"
" But you've kept us all waiting a confounded time," said his impatient friend.
" It is that good - natured poor fellow from Bristol, I protest, that has brought it me; I'm sure I don't deserve it from him," said Hal, to himself, when he saw the lad with the black patch on his eye running, quite out of breath, towards him, with his bow and arrows.
" Fall back, my good friend--fall back," said the military lady, as soon as he had delivered the bow to Hal; " I mean, stand out of the way, for your great patch cuts no figure amongst us.
Don't follow so close, now, as if you belonged to us, pray."
The poor boy had no ambition to partake the triumph; he FELL BACK as soon as he understood the meaning of the lady's words.
The drum beat, the fife played, the archers marched, the spectators admired.
Hal stepped proudly, and felt as if the eyes of the whole universe were upon his epaulettes, or upon the facings of his uniform; whilst all the time he was considered only as part of a show.
The walk appeared much shorter than usual, and he was extremely sorry that Lady Diana, when they were half - way up the hill leading to Prince's Place, mounted her horse, because the road was dirty, and all the gentlemen and ladies who accompanied her followed her example.
" We can leave the children to walk, you know," said she to the gentleman who helped her to mount her horse.
" I must call to some of them, though, and leave orders where they are to join."
She beckoned: and Hal, who was foremost, and proud to show his alacrity, ran on to receive her ladyship's orders.
" Oh, my new ball!"
cried he, as he ran after it.
As he stopped to pick it up, he let go his hat, which he had hitherto held on with anxious care; for the hat, though it had a fine green and white cockade, had no band or string round it.
The string, as we may recollect, our wasteful hero had used in spinning his top.
The hat was too large for his head without this band; a sudden gust of wind blew it off.
Lady Diana's horse started and reared.
She was a FAMOUS horse woman, and sat him to the admiration of all beholders; but there was a puddle of red clay and water in this spot, and her ladyship's uniform habit was a sufferer by the accident.
" Careless brat!"
said she, " why can't he keep his hat upon his head?"
In the meantime, the wind blew the hat down the hill, and Hal ran after it amidst the laughter of his kind friends, the young Sweepstakes, and the rest of the little regiment.
The hat was lodged, at length, upon a bank.
Hal pursued it: he thought this bank was hard, but, alas!
the moment he set his foot upon it the foot sank.
He tried to draw it back; his other foot slipped, and he fell prostrate, in his green and white uniform, into the treacherous bed of red mud.
His companions, who had halted upon the top of the hill, stood laughing, spectators of his misfortune.
It happened that the poor boy with the black patch upon his eye, who had been ordered by Lady Diana to " fall back " and to " keep at a distance," was now coming up the hill; and the moment he saw our fallen hero, he hastened to his assistance.
He dragged poor Hal, who was a deplorable spectacle, out of the red mud.
The obliging mistress of a lodging house, as soon as she understood that the young gentleman was nephew to Mr. Gresham, to whom she had formerly let her house, received Hal, covered as he was with dirt.
The poor Bristol lad hastened to Mr. Gresham's for clean stockings and shoes for Hal.
He was unwilling to give up his uniform: it was rubbed and rubbed, and a spot here and there was washed out; and he kept continually repeating,--" When it's dry it will all brush off--when it's dry it will all brush off, won't it?"
I shall lose my turn to shoot; oh, give me the coat; I don't mind how it is, if I can but get it on."
Holding it nearer and nearer to the fire dried it quickly, to be sure; but it shrunk it also, so that it was no easy matter to get the coat on again.
However, Hal, who did not see the red splashes, which, in spite of all these operations, were too visible upon his shoulders, and upon the skirts of his white coat behind, was pretty well satisfied to observe that there was not one spot upon the facings.
" Nobody," said he, " will take notice of my coat behind, I daresay.
I think it looks as smart almost as ever!"
-- and under this persuasion our young archer resumed his bow--his bow with green ribands, now no more!-- and he pursued his way to the Downs.
All his companions were far out of sight.
" I suppose," said he to his friend with the black patch --" I suppose my uncle and Ben had left home before you went for the shoes and stockings for me?"
" Oh, yes, sir; the butler said they had been gone to the Downs a matter of a good half - hour or more."
Hal trudged on as fast as he possibly could.
When he got upon the Downs, he saw numbers of carriages, and crowds of people, all going towards the place of meeting at the Ostrich.
He pressed forwards.
He was at first so much afraid of being late, that he did not take notice of the mirth his motley appearance excited in all beholders.
At length he reached the appointed spot.
There was a great crowd of people.
In the midst he heard Lady Diana's loud voice betting upon someone who was just going to shoot at the mark.
" So then the shooting is begun, is it?"
said Hal.
" Oh, let me in!
pray let me into the circle!
I'm one of the archers--I am, indeed; don't you see my green and white uniform?"
" Your red and white uniform, you mean," said the man to whom he addressed himself; and the people, as they opened a passage for him, could not refrain laughing at the mixture of dirt and finery which it exhibited.
In vain, when he got into the midst of the formidable circle, he looked to his friends, the young Sweepstakes, for their countenance and support.
They were amongst the most unmerciful of the laughers.
Lady Diana also seemed more to enjoy than to pity his confusion.
" Why could you not keep your hat upon your head, man?"
said she, in her masculine tone.
" You have been almost the ruin of my poor uniform habit; but I've escaped rather better than you have.
Don't stand there, in the middle of the circle, or you'll have an arrow in your eyes just now, I've a notion."
Hal looked round in search of better friends.
" Oh, where's my uncle?-- where's Ben?"
said he.
He was in such confusion, that, amongst the number of faces, he could scarcely distinguish one from another; but he felt somebody at this moment pull his elbow, and, to his great relief, he heard the friendly voice, and saw the good natured face of his Cousin Ben.
" Come back; come behind these people," said Ben, " and put on my great - coat; here it is for you."
Right glad was Hal to cover his disgraced uniform with the rough great - coat which he had formerly despised.
" My hands are benumbed; I can scarcely feel," said he, rubbing them, and blowing upon the ends of his fingers.
" Come, come," cried young Sweepstakes, " I'm within one inch of the mark; who'll go nearer?
I shall like to see.
Shoot away, Hal; but first understand our laws; we settled them before you came upon the green.
You are to have three shots, with your own bow and your own arrows; and nobody's to borrow or lend under pretence of other's bows being better or worse, or under any pretence.
Do you hear, Hal?"
This young gentleman had good reasons for being so strict in these laws, as he had observed that none of his companions had such an excellent bow as he had provided for himself.
Some of the boys had forgotten to bring more than one arrow with them, and by his cunning regulation that each person should shoot with their own arrows, many had lost one or two of their shots.
" You are a lucky fellow; you have your three arrows," said young Sweepstakes.
" Come, we can't wait whilst you rub your fingers, man--shoot away."
Hal was rather surprised at the asperity with which his friend spoke.
He little knew how easily acquaintance who call themselves friends can change when their interest comes in the slightest degree in competition with their friendship.
Hurried by his impatient rival, and with his hands so much benumbed that he could scarcely feel how to fix the arrow in the string, he drew the bow.
The arrow was within a quarter of an inch of Master Sweepstakes'mark, which was the nearest that had yet been hit.
Hal seized his second arrow.
" If I have any luck --" said he.
But just as he pronounced the word LUCK, and as he bent his bow, the string broke in two, and the bow fell from his hands.
" There, it's all over with you!"
cried Master Sweepstakes, with a triumphant laugh.
" Here's my bow for him, and welcome," said Ben.
" No, no, sir," said Master Sweepstakes, " that is not fair; that's against the regulation.
You may shoot with your own bow, if you choose it, or you may not, just as you think proper; but you must not lend it, sir."
It was now Ben's turn to make his trial.
His first arrow was not successful.
His second was exactly as near as Hal's first.
" You have but one more," said Master Sweepstakes --" now for it!"
Ben, before he ventured his last arrow, prudently examined the string of his bow; and, as he pulled it to try its strength, it cracked.
Master Sweepstakes clapped his hands with loud exultations and insulting laughter.
But his laughter ceased when our provident hero calmly drew from his pocket an excellent piece of whip cord.
" The everlasting whip cord, I declare!"
exclaimed Hal, when he saw that it was the very same that had tied up the parcel.
" Yes," said Ben, as he fastened it to his bow, " I put it into my pocket, to - day, on purpose, because I thought I might happen to want it."
He drew his bow the third and last time.
" Oh, papa!"
cried little Patty, as his arrow hit the mark, " it's the nearest; is it not the nearest?"
Master Sweepstakes, with anxiety, examined the hit.
There could be no doubt.
Ben was victorious!
The bow, the prize bow, was now delivered to him; and Hal, as he looked at the whip - cord exclaimed, " How LUCKY this whip - cord has been to you, Ben!"
" It is LUCKY, perhaps you mean, that he took care of it," said Mr. Gresham.
" Ay," said Hal, " very true; he might well say,'Waste not, want not.'
It is a good thing to have two strings to one's bow."
OLD POZ.
LUCY, daughter to the Justice.
MRS. BUSTLE, landlady of the " Saracen's Head."
JUSTICE HEADSTRONG.
OLD MAN.
WILLIAM, a Servant.
SCENE I.
The House of Justice Headstrong--a hall--Lucy watering some myrtles--A servant behind the scenes is heard to say --
I tell you my master is not up.
You can't see him, so go about your business, I say.
Lucy.
To whom are you speaking, William?
Who's that?
Will.
Only an old man, miss, with a complaint for my master.
Lucy.
Oh, then, don't send him away--don't send him away.
Will.
But master has not had his chocolate, ma'am.
He won't ever see anybody before he drinks his chocolate, you know, ma'am.
Lucy.
But let the old man, then, come in here.
Perhaps he can wait a little while.
Call him.
(Exit Servant.)
(Lucy sings, and goes on watering her myrtles; the servant shows in the Old Man.)
Will.
You can't see my master this hour; but miss will let you stay here.
Lucy (aside).
Poor old man!
how he trembles as he walks.
(Aloud.)
Sit down, sit down.
My father will see you soon; pray sit down.
(He hesitates; she pushes a chair towards him.)
Lucy.
Pray sit down.
(He sits down.)
Old Man.
You are very good, miss; very good.
(Lucy goes to her myrtles again.)
Lucy.
Ah!
I'm afraid this poor myrtle is quite dead--quite dead.
(The Old Man sighs, and she turns round.)
Lucy (aside).
I wonder what can make him sigh so!
(Aloud.)
My father won't make you wait long.
Old M. Oh, ma'am, as long as he pleases.
I'm in no haste--no haste.
It's only a small matter.
Lucy.
But does a small matter make you sigh so?
Old M. Ah, miss; because, though it is a small matter in itself, it is not a small matter to me (sighing again); it was my all, and I've lost it.
Lucy.
What do you mean?
What have you lost?
Old M. Why, miss--but I won't trouble you about it.
Lucy.
But it won't trouble me at all--I mean, I wish to hear it; so tell it me.
Old M. Why, miss, I slept last night at the inn here, in town--the " Saracen's Head "--
Lucy (interrupts him).
Hark!
there is my father coming downstairs; follow me.
You may tell me your story as we go along.
Old M. I slept at the " Saracen's Head," miss, and--(Exit, talking.)
SCENE II.
Justice Headstrong's Study.
(He appears in his nightgown and cap, with his gouty foot upon a stool--a table and chocolate beside him--Lucy is leaning on the arm of his chair.)
Just.
Well, well, my darling, presently; I'll see him presently.
Lucy.
Whilst you are drinking your chocolate, papa?
Just.
No, no, no--I never see anybody till I have done my chocolate, darling.
(He tastes his chocolate.)
There's no sugar in this, child.
Lucy.
Yes, indeed, papa.
Just.
No, child--there's NO sugar, I tell you; that poz!
Lucy.
Oh, but, papa, I assure you I put in two lumps myself.
Just.
There's NO sugar, I say; why will you contradict me, child, for ever?
There's no sugar, I say.
(Lucy leans over him playfully, and with his teaspoon pulls out two lumps of sugar.)
Lucy.
What's this, papa?
Just.
Pshaw!
pshaw!
pshaw!-- it is not melted, child--it is the same as no sugar!.-- Oh, my foot, girl, my foot!-- you kill me.
Go, go, I'm busy.
I've business to do.
Go and send William to me; do you hear, love?
Lucy.
And the old man, papa?
Just.
What old man?
I tell you what, I've been plagued ever since I was awake, and before I was awake, about that old man.
If he can't wait, let him go about his business.
Don't you know, child, I never see anybody till I've drunk my chocolate; and I never will, if it were a duke--that's poz!
Why, it has but just struck twelve; if he can't wait, he can go about his business, can't he?
Lucy.
Oh, sir, he can wait.
It was not he who was impatient.
(She comes back playfully.)
It was only I, papa; don't be angry.
Just.
Well, well, well (finishing his cup of chocolate, and pushing his dish away); and at anyrate there was not sugar enough.
Send William, send William, child; and I'll finish my own business, and then--(Exit Lucy, dancing, " And then!-- and then!")
JUSTICE, alone.
Just.
Oh, this foot of mine!--(twinges)-- Oh, this foot!
Ay, if Dr. Sparerib could cure one of the gout, then, indeed, I should think something of him; but, as to my leaving off my bottle of port, it's nonsense; it's all nonsense; I can't do it; I can't, and won't, for all the Dr. Spareribs in Christendom; that's poz!
Enter WILLIAM.
Just.
William--oh!
ay!
hey!
what answer, pray, did you bring from the " Saracen's Head "?
Did you see Mrs. Bustle herself, as I bid you?
Will.
Yes, sir, I saw the landlady herself; she said she would come up immediately, sir.
Just.
Ah, that's well--immediately?
Will.
Yes, sir, and I hear her voice below now.
Just.
Oh, show her up; show Mrs. Bustle in.
Enter Mrs. BUSTLE, the landlady of the " Saracen's Head."
Land.
Good morrow to your worship!
I'm glad to see your worship look so purely.
I came up with all speed (taking breath).
Our pie is in the oven; that was what you sent for me about, I take it.
Just.
True; true; sit down, good Mrs. Bustle, pray --
Land.
Oh, your worship's always very good (settling her apron).
I came up just as I was--only threw my shawl over me.
I thought your worship would excuse--I'm quite, as it were, rejoiced to see your worship look so purely, and to find you up so hearty --
Just.
Oh, I'm very hearty (coughing), always hearty, and thankful for it.
I hope to see many Christmas doings yet, Mrs. Bustle.
And so our pie is in the oven, I think you say?
Land.
In the oven it is.
I put it in with my own hands; and if we have but good luck in the baking, it will be as pretty a goose - pie--though I say it that should not say it--as pretty a goose - pie as ever your worship set your eyes upon.
Just.
Will you take a glass of anything this morning, Mrs.
Bustle?-- I have some nice usquebaugh.
Land.
Oh, no, your worship!-- I thank your worship, though, as much as if I took it; but I just took my luncheon before I came up; or more proper, MY SANDWICH, I should say, for the fashion's sake, to be sure.
A LUNCHEON won't go down with nobody nowadays (laughs).
I expect hostler and boots will be calling for their sandwiches just now (laughs again).
I'm sure I beg your worship's pardon for mentioning a LUNCHEON.
Just.
Oh, Mrs. Bustle, the word's a good word, for it means a good thing--ha!
ha!
ha!
(pulls out his watch); but pray, is it luncheon time.
Why, it's past one, I declare; and I thought I was up in remarkably good time, too.
Land.
Well, and to be sure so it was, remarkably good time for your worship; but folks in our way must be up betimes, you know.
I've been up and about these seven hours!
Just.
(stretching).
Seven hours!
Land.
Ay, indeed--eight, I might say, for I am an early little body; though I say it that should not say it--I AM an early little body.
Just.
An early little body, as you say, Mrs. Bustle; so I shall have my goose - pie for dinner, hey?
Land.
For dinner, as sure as the clock strikes four--but I mustn't stay prating, for it may be spoiling if I'm away; so I must wish your worship a good morning.
(She curtsies.)
Just.
No ceremony--no ceremony; good Mrs. Bustle, your servant.
Enter William, to take away the chocolate.
The Landlady is putting on her shawl.
Just.
You may let that man know, William, that I have dispatched my OWN business, and am at leisure for his now (taking a pinch of snuff).
Hum!
pray, William (Justice leans back gravely), what sort of a looking fellow is he, pray?
Will.
Most like a sort of travelling man, in my opinion, sir--or something that way, I take it,
(At these words the landlady turns round inquisitively, and delays, that she may listen, while she is putting on and pinning her shawl.)
Just.
Hum!
a sort of a travelling man.
Hum!
lay my books out open at the title Vagrant; and, William, tell the cook that Mrs. Bustle promises me the goose - pie for dinner.
Four o'clock, do you hear?
And show the old man in now.
(The Landlady looks eagerly towards the door, as it opens, and exclaims,)
Land.
My old gentleman, as I hope to breathe!
Enter the OLD MAN.
(Lucy follows the Old Man on tiptoe--The Justice leans back and looks consequential--The Landlady sets her arms akimbo--The Old Man starts as he sees her.)
Just.
What stops you, friend?
Come forward, if you please.
Land.
(advancing).
So, sir, is it you, sir?
Ay, you little thought, I warrant ye, to meet me here with his worship; but there you reckoned without your host--Out of the frying - pan into the fire.
Just.
What is all this?
What is this?
Land.
(running on).
None of your flummery stuff will go down with his worship no more than with me, I give you warning; so you may go further and fare worse, and spare your breath to cool your porridge.
Just.
(waves his hand with dignity).
Mrs. Bustle, good Mrs. Bustle, remember where you are.
Silence!
silence!
Come forward, sir, and let me hear what you have to say.
(The Old Man comes forward.)
Just.
Who and what may you be, friend, and what is your business with me?
Land.
Sir, if your worship will give me leave --
(Justice makes a sign to her to be silent).
Old M. Please, your worship, I am an old soldier.
Land.
(interrupting).
An old hypocrite, say.
Just.
Mrs. Bustle, pray, I desire, let the man speak.
Old M. For these two years past--ever since, please your worship--I wasn't able to work any longer; for in my youth I did work as well as the best of them.
Land.
(eager to interrupt).
You work--you --
Just.
Let him finish his story, I say.
Lucy.
Ay, do, do, papa, speak for him.
Pray, Mrs. Bustle --
Land.
(turning suddenly round to Lucy).
Miss, a good morrow to you, ma'am.
I humbly beg your apologies for not seeing you sooner, Miss Lucy.
(Justice nods to the Old Man, who goes on.)
Old Man.
But please your worship, it pleased God to take away the use of my left arm; and since that I have never been able to work.
Land.
Flummery!
flummery!
Just.
(angrily).
Mrs. Bustle, I have desired silence, and I will have it, that's poz!
You shall have your turn presently.
Old M. For these two years past (for why should I be ashamed to tell the truth?)
I have lived upon charity, and I scraped together a guinea and a half and upwards, and I was travelling with it to my grandson, in the north, with him to end my days--but (sighing)--
Just.
But what?
Proceed, pray, to the point.
Old M. But last night I slept here in town, please your worship, at the " Saracen's Head."
Land.
(in a rage).
At the " Saracen's Head "!
Yes, forsooth!
none such ever slept at the " Saracen's Head " afore, or shall afterwards, as long as my name's Bustle, and the " Saracen's Head " is the " Saracen's Head."
Just.
Again!
again!
Mrs. Landlady, this is downright--I have said you should speak presently.
He SHALL speak first, since I've said it--that's poz!
Speak on, friend.
You slept last night at the " Saracen's Head."
Old M. Yes, please your worship, and I accuse nobody; but at night I had my little money safe, and in the morning it was gone.
Land.
Gone!-- gone, indeed, in my house!
and this is the way I'm to be treated!
Is it so?
I couldn't but speak, your worship, to such an inhuman like, out o'the way, scandalous charge, if King George and all the Royal Family were sitting in your worship's chair, beside you, to silence me (turning to the Old Man).
And this is your gratitude, forsooth!
Didn't you tell me that any hole in my house was good enough for you, wheedling hypocrite?
And the thanks I receive is to call me and mine a pack of thieves.
Old M. Oh, no, no, no, NO--a pack of thieves, by no means.
Land.
Ay, I thought when _I_ came to speak we should have you upon your marrow - bones in --
Just.
(imperiously).
Silence!
Five times have I commanded silence, and five times in vain; and I won't command anything five times in vain--THAT'S POZ!
Land.
(in a pet, aside).
Old Poz!
(aloud).
Then, your worship, I don't see any business I have to be waiting here; the folks want me at home (returning and whispering).
Shall I send the goose - pie up, your worship, if it's ready?
Just.
(with magnanimity).
I care not for the goose - pie, Mrs. Bustle.
Do not talk to me of goose - pies; this is no place to talk of pies.
Land.
Oh, for that matter, your worship knows best, to be sure.
(Exit Landlady, angry.)
SCENE III.
JUSTICE HEADSTRONG, OLD MAN and LUCY.
Lucy.
Ah, now, I'm glad he can speak; now tell papa; and you need not be afraid to speak to him, for he is very good - natured.
Don't contradict him, though, because he told ME not.
Just.
Oh, darling, YOU shall contradict me as often as you please--only not before I've drunk my chocolate, child--hey!
Go on, my good friend; you see what it is to live in Old England, where, thank Heaven, the poorest of His Majesty's subjects may have justice, and speak his mind before the first in the land.
Now speak on; and you hear she tells you that you need not be afraid of me.
Speak on.
Old M. I thank your worship, I'm sure.
Just.
Thank me!
for what, sir?
I won't be thanked for doing justice, sir; so--but explain this matter.
You lost your money, hey, at the " Saracen's Head "?
You had it safe last night, hey?-- and you missed it this morning?
Are you sure you had it safe at night?
Old M. Oh, please your worship, quite sure; for I took it out and looked at it just before I said my prayers.
Just.
You did--did ye so?-- hum!
Pray, my good friend, where might you put your money when you went to bed?
Old M. Please, your worship, where I always put it--always--in my tobacco - box.
Just.
Your tobacco - box!
I never heard of such a thing--to make a STRONG BOX of a tobacco - box.
Ha!
ha!
ha!
hum!-- and you say the box and all were gone in the morning?
Old M. No, please your worship, no; not the box--the box was never stirred from the place where I put it.
They left me the box.
Just.
Tut, tut, tut, man!-- took the money and left the box?
I'll never believe THAT!
I'll never believe that anyone could be such a fool.
Tut, tut!
the thing's impossible!
It's well you are not upon oath.
Old M. If I were, please your worship, I should say the same; for it is the truth.
Just.
Don't tell me, don't tell me; I say the thing is impossible.
Old M. Please, your worship, here's the box.
Just.
(goes on without looking at it).
Nonsense!
nonsense!
it's no such thing; it's no such thing, I say--no man would take the money and leave the tobacco - box.
I won't believe it.
Nothing shall make me believe it ever--that's poz.
Lucy (takes the box, and holds it up before her father's eyes).
You did not see the box, did you, papa!
Just.
Yes, yes, yes, child--nonsense!
it's all a lie from beginning to end.
A man who tells one lie will tell a hundred.
All a lie!
all a lie!
Old M. If your worship would give me leave --
Just.
Sir, it does not signify--it does not signify!
I've said it, I've said it, and that's enough to convince me, and I'll tell you more; if my Lord Chief Justice of England told it to me, I would not believe it--that's poz!
Lucy (still playing with the box).
But how comes the box here, I wonder?
Just.
Pshaw!
pshaw!
pshaw!
darling.
Go to your dolls, darling, and don't be positive--go to your dolls, and don't talk of what you don't understand.
What can you understand, I want to know, of the law?
Lucy.
No, papa, I didn't mean about the law, but about the box; because, if the man had taken it, how could it be here, you know, papa?
Just.
Hey, hey, what?
(A pause.)
Just.
Well, sir;, and what do you say now about the box?
Old M. Please, your worship, with submission, I CAN say nothing but what I said before.
Just.
What, contradict me again, after I gave you time to recollect yourself!
I've done with you; I have done.
Contradict me as often as you please, but you cannot impose upon me; I defy you to impose upon me!
Old M. Impose!
Just.
I know the law!-- I know the law!-- and I'll make you know it, too.
One hour I'll give you to recollect yourself, and if you don't give up this idle story, I'll--I'll commit you as a vagrant--that's poz!
Go, go, for the present.
William, take him into the servants'hall, do you hear?-- What, take the money and leave the box?
I'll never do it--that's poz!
(Lucy speaks to the Old Man as he is going off.)
Lucy.
Don't be frightened!
don't be frightened!-- I mean, you tell the truth, never be frightened.
Old M. IF I tell the truth --(turning up his eyes).
(Old Man is still held back by the young lady.)
Lucy.
One moment--answer me one question--because of something that just came into my head.
Was the box shut fast when you left it?
Old M. No, miss, no!-- open--it was open; for I could not find the lid in the dark--my candle went out.
IF I tell the truth--oh!
(Exit.)
SCENE IV.
Justice's Study--the Justice is writing.
Old M.
Well!-- I shall have but few days'more misery in this world!
Just.
(looks up).
Why!
why--why then, why will you be so positive to persist in a lie?
Take the money and leave the box!
Obstinate blockhead!
Here, William (showing the committal), take this old gentleman to Holdfast, the constable, and give him this warrant.
Enter Lucy, running, out of breath.
Lucy.
I've found it!
I've found it!
Here, old man; here's your money--here it is all--a guinea and a half, and a shilling and a sixpence, just as he said, papa.
Enter LANDLADY.
Land.
Oh la!
your worship, did you ever hear the like?
Just.
I've heard nothing yet that I can understand.
First, have you secured the thief, I say?
Lucy (makes signs to the landlady to be silent).
Yes, yes, yes!-- we have him safe--we have him prisoner.
Shall he come in, papa?
Just.
Yes, child, by all means; and now I shall hear what possessed him to leave the box.
I don't understand--there's something deep in all this; I don't understand it.
Now I do desire, Mrs. Landlady, nobody may speak a single word whilst I am cross - examining the thief.
(Landlady puts her finger upon her lips--Everybody looks eagerly towards the door.)
Re - enter Lucy, with a huge wicker cage in her hand, containing a magpie--The Justice drops the committal out of his hand.
Just.
Hey!-- what, Mrs. Landlady--the old magpie?
hey?
Land.
Ay, your worship, my old magpie.
Who'd have thought it?
Miss was very clever; it was she caught the thief.
Miss was very clever.
Old M. Very good!
very good!
Just.
Ay, darling, her father's own child!
How was it, child?
Caught the thief, WITH THE MAINOUR, hey?
Tell us all; I will hear all--that's poz!
Lucy.
Oh!
then first I must tell you how I came to suspect Mr. Magpie.
Do you remember, papa, that day last summer, when I went with you to the bowling - green, at the " Saracen's Head "?
Land.
Oh, of all days in the year!
but I ask pardon, miss.
Lucy.
Just.
Right, right.
It's a pity, child, you are not upon the Bench; ha!
ha!
ha!
Lucy.
And when I went to his old hiding place, there it was; but you see, papa, he did not take the box.
Just.
No, no, no!
because the thief was a magpie.
No MAN would have taken the money and left the box.
You see I was right; no MAN would have left the box, hey?
Lucy.
Certainly not, I suppose; but I'm so very glad, old man, that you have obtained your money.
Just.
Well then, child, here--take my purse, and add that to it.
We were a little too hasty with the committal--hey?
Land.
Ay, and I fear I was, too; but when one is touched about the credit of one's house, one's apt to speak warmly.
Old M. Oh, I'm the happiest old man alive!
You are all convinced that I told you no lies.
Say no more--say no more.
I am the happiest man!
Miss, you have made me the happiest man alive!
Bless you for it!
Land.
Well now, I'll tell you what.
I know what I think--you must keep that there magpie, and make a show of him, and I warrant he'll bring you many an honest penny; for it's a TRUE STORY, and folks would like to hear it, I hopes --
Just.
(eagerly).
And, friend, do you hear?
you'll dine here today, you'll dine here.
We have some excellent ale.
I will have you drink my health--that's poz!-- hey?
You'll drink my health, won't you--hey?
Old M. (bows).
Oh!
and the young lady's, if you please.
Just.
Ay, ay, drink her health--she deserves it.
Ay, drink my darling's health.
Land.
And please your worship, it's the right time, I believe, to speak of the goose - pie now; and a charming pie it is, and it's on the table.
Will.
And Mr. Smack, the curate, and Squire Solid, and the doctor, sir, are come, and dinner is upon the table.
Just.
Then let us say no more; but do justice immediately to the goose - pie; and, darling, put me in mind to tell this story after dinner.
(After they go out, the Justice stops.)
" Tell this story "-- I don't know whether it tells well for me; but I'll never be positive any more--THAT'S POZ!
THE MIMIC.
CHAPTER I.
Mr. and Mrs. Montague spent the summer of the year 1795 at Clifton with their son Frederick, and their two daughters Sophia and Marianne.
They had taken much care of the education of their children; nor were they ever tempted, by any motive of personal convenience or temporary amusement, to hazard the permanent happiness of their pupils.
" Let children see and judge for themselves," is often inconsiderately said.
For the above reasons, Mr. and Mrs. Montague were particularly cautious in the choice of their acquaintances, as they were well aware that whatever passed in conversation before children became part of their education.
When they came to Clifton they wished to have a house entirely to themselves, but, as they came late in the season, almost all the lodging houses were full, and for a few weeks they were obliged to remain in a house where some of the apartments were already occupied.
During the first fortnight they scarcely saw or heard anything of one of the families who lodged on the same floor with them.
An elderly quaker, and his sister Bertha, were their silent neighbours.
The blooming complexion of the lady had indeed attracted the attention of the children, as they caught a glimpse of her face when she was getting into her carriage to go out upon the Downs.
They could scarcely believe that she came to the Wells on account of her health.
Besides her blooming complexion, the delicate white of her garments had struck them with admiration; and they observed that her brother carefully guarded her dress from the wheel of the carriage, as he handed her in.
From this circumstance, and from the benevolent countenance of the old gentleman, they concluded that he was very fond of his sister, and that they were certainly very happy, except that they never spoke, and could be seen only for a moment.
Not so the maiden lady who occupied the ground floor.
On the stairs, in the passages, at her window, she was continually visible; and she appeared to possess the art of being present in all these places at once.
Her voice was eternally to be heard, and it was not particularly melodious.
" Mrs. Theresa Tattle at home?"
" Mrs. Theresa Tattle not at home!"
No person at the Wells was oftener at home and abroad than Mrs. Tattle.
She had, as she deemed it, the happiness to have a most extensive acquaintance residing at Clifton.
She had for years kept a register of arrivals.
The name of Montague, at all events, she knew was a good name, and justified in courting the acquaintance.
She courted it first by nods, and becks and smiles at Marianne whenever she met her; and Marianne, who was a very little girl, began presently to nod and smile in return, persuaded that a lady who smiled so much, could not be ill - natured.
Besides, Mrs. Theresa's parlour door was sometimes left more than half open, to afford a view of a green parrot.
Marianne sometimes passed very slowly by this door.
One morning it was left quite wide open, when she stopped to say " Pretty Poll "; and immediately Mrs. Tattle begged she would do her the honour to walk in and see " Pretty Poll," at the same time taking the liberty to offer her a piece of iced plum - cake.
Having thus happily accomplished her first visit, there seemed little probability of escaping Mrs. Tattle's further acquaintance.
This alarming whisper could not, however, have a permanent effect upon Mrs. Montague's understanding, because three days afterwards Mrs. Theresa, upon the most anxious inspection, entirely mistook the just and natural proportions of the hip and shoulder.
* Lobe.
The medical opinion of a lady of so much anatomical precision could not have much weight.
All Mrs. Theresa Tattle's suggestions being lost upon these stoical parents, her powers were next tried upon the children, and her success soon became apparent.
On Sophy, indeed, she could not make any impression, though she had expended on her some of her finest strokes of flattery.
Sophy, though very desirous of the approbation of her friends, was not very desirous of winning the favour of strangers.
Sophy, whose taste had been cultivated at the same time with her powers of reasoning, was not liable to fall into these errors.
This word FASHIONABLE, Mrs. Theresa Tattle knew, had usually a great effect, even at thirteen; but she had not observed that it had much power upon Sophy; nor were her remarks concerning grace and manners much attended to.
" Bless me!"
said Mrs. Tattle, to herself, " if I had such a tall daughter, and so unformed, before my eyes from morning to night, it would certainly break my poor heart.
Thank heaven, I am not a mother!
if I were, Miss Marianne for me!"
Nobody loves anybody for being handsome, but for being good."
Mrs. Theresa had seldom said to Frederick Montague, " that he had a vast deal of drollery, and was a most incomparable mimic;" but she had said so of him in whispers, which magnified the sound to his imagination, if not to his ear.
He was a boy of much vivacity, and had considerable abilities; but his appetite for vulgar praise had not yet been surfeited.
Even Mrs. Theresa Tattle's flattery pleased him, and he exerted himself for her entertainment so much that he became quite a buffoon.
Instead of observing characters and manners, that he might judge of them, and form his own, he now watched every person he saw, that he might detect some foible, or catch some singularity in their gesture or pronunciation, which he might successfully mimic.
Alarmed by the rapid progress of these evils, Mr. and Mrs. Montague, who, from the first day that they had been honoured with Mrs. Tattle's visit, had begun to look out for new lodgings, were now extremely impatient to decamp.
They were not people who, from the weak fear of offending a silly acquaintance, would hazard the happiness of their family.
They had heard of a house in the country which was likely to suit them, and they determined to go directly to look at it.
As they were to be absent all day, they foresaw that their officious neighbour would probably interfere with their children.
They did not choose to exact any promise from them which they might be tempted to break, and therefore they only said at parting, " If Mrs. Theresa Tattle should ask you to come to her, do as you think proper."
Scarcely had Mrs. Montague's carriage got out of hearing when a note was brought, directed to " Frederick Montague, Junior, Esq.," which he immediately opened, and read as follows:--
She therefore trusts Mr. Frederick will not refuse to come and make her laugh.
Mrs. Theresa has taken care to provide a few macaroons for her little favourite, who said she was particularly fond of them the other day.
Mrs. Theresa hopes they will all come at six, or before, not forgetting Miss Sophy, if she will condescend to be of the party."
Then twisting the note in his fingers, he appealed to Sophy:--
" Well, Sophy, leave off drawing for an instant," said Frederick, " and tell us what answer can we send?"
" Can!-- we can send what answer we please."
" Yes, I know that," said Frederick.
" I would refuse if I could; but we ought not to do anything rude, should we?
So I think we might as well go, because we could not refuse, if we would, I say."
" You have made such confusion," replied Sophy, " between'couldn't'and'wouldn't'and'shouldn't,' that I can't understand you; surely they are all different things."
" Different!
no," cried Frederick --" could, would, should, might, and ought, are all the same thing in the Latin grammar; all of'em signs of the potential mood, you know."
" That's just as people please," said her sophistical brother.
" You know words mean nothing in themselves.
If I choose to call my hat my cadwallader, you would understand me just as well, after I had once explained it to you, that by cadwallader I meant this black thing that I put upon my head; cadwallader and hat would then be just the same thing to you."
" Then why have two words for the same thing?"
said Sophy; " and what has this to do with'could'and'should '?
You wanted to prove --"
" I wanted to prove," interrupted Frederick, " that it's not worth while to dispute for two hours about two words.
Do keep to the point, Sophy, and don't dispute with me."
" I was not disputing, I was reasoning."
" Well, reasoning or disputing.
Women have no business to do either; for, how should they know how to chop logic like men?"
At this contemptuous sarcasm upon her sex, Sophy's colour rose.
" There!"
cried Frederick, exulting, " now we shall see a philosopheress in a passion; I'd give sixpence, half - price, for a harlequin entertainment, to see Sophy in a passion.
Now, Marianne, look at her brush dabbing so fast in the water!"
Sophy, who could not easily bear to be laughed at, with some little indignation, said, " Brother, I wish --"
" There!
there!"
cried Frederick, pointing to the colour which rose in her cheeks almost to her temples --" rising!
rising!
rising!
look at the thermometer!
blood heat!
blood!
fever heat!
boiling water heat!
Marianne."
" Then," said Sophy, smiling, " you should stand a little farther off, both of you.
Leave the thermometer to itself a little while.
Give it time to cool.
It will come down to'temperate'by the time you look again."
" Oh, brother!"
cried Marianne, " she's so good - humoured, don't tease her any more, and don't draw heads upon her paper, and don't stretch her india - rubber, and don't let us dirty any more of her brushes.
See!
the sides of her tumbler are all manner of colours."
" Oh, I only mixed red, blue, green and yellow, to show you, Marianne, that all colours mixed together make white.
But she is temperate now, and I won't plague her; she shall chop logic, if she likes it, though she is a woman."
" But that's not fair, brother," said Marianne, " to say'woman'in that way.
I'm sure Sophy found out how to tie that difficult knot, which papa showed us yesterday, long before you did, though you are a man."
" Not long," said Frederick.
" Besides, that was only a conjuring trick."
" It was very ingenious, though," said Marianne; " and papa said so.
Besides, she understood the'Rule of Three,' which was no conjuring trick, better than you did, though she is a woman; and she can reason, too, mamma says."
" Very well, let her reason away," said the provoking wit.
" All I have to say is, that she'll never be able to make a pudding."
" Why not, pray, brother?"
inquired Sophy, looking up again, very gravely.
" Well!
but I am not talking Greek and Latin, am I?"
" No, but you are drawing, and that's the same thing."
" The same thing!
Oh, Frederick!"
said little Marianne, laughing.
" You may laugh; but I say it is the same sort of thing.
Women who are always drawing and reasoning, never know how to make puddings.
Mrs. Theresa Tattle said so, when I showed her Sophy's beautiful drawing yesterday."
" Mrs. Theresa Tattle might say so," replied Sophy, calmly; " but I do not perceive the reason, brother, why drawing should prevent me from learning how to make a pudding."
" Well, I say you'll never learn how to make a good pudding."
" I have learned," continued Sophy, who was mixing her colours, " to mix such and such colours together to make the colour that I want; and why should I not be able to learn to mix flour and butter, and sugar and egg, together, to produce the taste that I want."
" Oh, but mixing will never do, unless you know the quantities, like a cook; and you would never learn the right quantities."
" How did the cook learn them?
Cannot I learn them as she did?"
" Yes, but you'd never do it exactly, and mind the spoonfuls right, by the recipe, like a cook."
" Indeed!
indeed!
but she would," cried Marianne, eagerly: " and a great deal more exactly, for mamma has taught her to weigh and measure things very carefully: and when I was ill she always weighed the bark in nicely, and dropped my drops so carefully: better than the cook.
When mamma took me down to see the cook make a cake once, I saw her spoonfuls, and her ounces, and her handfuls: she dashed and splashed without minding exactness or the recipe, or anything.
I'm sure Sophy would make a much better pudding, if exactness only were wanting."
" Well, granting that she could make the best pudding in the whole world, what does that signify?
I say she never would: so it comes to the same thing."
" Never would!
how can you tell that, brother?"
" Why, now look at her, with her books, and her drawings, and all this apparatus.
Do you think she would ever jump up, with all her nicety, too, and put by all these things, to go down into the greasy kitchen, and plump up to the elbows in suet, like a cook, for a plum - pudding?"
" I need not plump up to the elbows, brother," said Sophy, smiling: " nor is it necessary that I should be a cook: but, if it were necessary, I hope I should be able to make a pudding."
Oh, brother, she can do anything; and she could make the best plum - pudding in the whole world, I'm sure, in a minute, if it were necessary."
CHAPTER II.
A knock at the door, from Mrs. Theresa Tattle's servant, recalled Marianne to the business of the day.
" There," said Frederick, " we have sent no answer all this time.
It's necessary to think of that in a minute."
The servant came with his mistress'compliments, to let the young ladies and Mr. Frederick know that she was waiting tea for them.
" Waiting!
then we must go," said Frederick.
The servant opened the door wider, to let him pass, and Marianne thought she must follow her brother: so they went downstairs together, while Sophy gave her own message to the servant, and quietly stayed at her usual occupations.
Mrs. Tattle was seated at her tea - table, with a large plate of macaroons beside her when Frederick and Marianne entered.
She was " delighted " they were come, and " grieved " not to see Miss Sophy along with them.
" Come, Mr. Frederick," said she after tea, " you promised to make me laugh; and nobody can make me laugh so well as yourself."
" Oh, brother," said Marianne, " show Mrs. Theresa Dr. Carbuncle eating his dinner; and I'll be Mrs.
Carbuncle."
Marianne.
Now, my dear, what shall I help you to?
Frederick.
" My dear!"
she never calls him my dear, you know, but always Doctor.
Mar.
Well then, doctor, what will you eat to - day?
Fred.
Eat, madam!
eat!
nothing!
nothing!
I don't see anything here I can eat, ma'am.
Mar.
Here's eels, sir; let me help you to some eel--stewed eel;-- you used to be fond of stewed eel.
Fred.
Used, ma'am, used!
But I'm sick of stewed eels.
You would tire one of anything.
Am I to see nothing but eels?
And what's this at the bottom?
Mar.
Mutton, doctor, roast mutton; if you'll be so good as to cut it.
Fred.
Cut it, ma'am!
I can't cut it, I say; it's as hard as a deal board.
You might as well tell me to cut the table, ma'am.
Mutton, indeed!
not a bit of fat.
Roast mutton, indeed!
not a drop of gravy.
Mutton, truly!
quite a cinder.
I'll have none of it.
Here, take it away; take it downstairs to the cook.
It's a very hard case, Mrs. Carbuncle, that I can never have a bit of anything that I can eat at my own table, Mrs. Carbuncle, since I was married, ma'am, I that am the easiest man in the whole world to please about my dinner.
It's really very extraordinary, Mrs. Carbuncle!
What have you at that corner there, under the cover?
Mar.
Patties, sir; oyster patties.
Fred.
Patties, ma'am!
kickshaws!
I hate kickshaws.
Not worth putting under a cover, ma'am.
And why not have glass covers, that one may see one's dinner before one, before it grows cold with asking questions, Mrs. Carbuncle, and lifting up covers?
But nobody has any sense: and I see no water plates anywhere, lately.
Mar.
Do, pray, doctor, let me help you to a bit of chicken before it gets cold, my dear.
Fred.
(aside).
" My dear," again, Marianne!
Mar.
" Oh, such a little creature; to have so much sense, too!"
exclaimed Mrs. Theresa, with rapture.
" Mr. Frederick, you'll make me die with laughing!
Pray go on, Dr.
Carbuncle."
Fred.
Well, ma'am, then if I must eat something, send me a bit of fowl; a leg and wing, the liver wing, and a bit of the breast, oyster sauce, and a slice of that ham, if you please, ma'am.
(Dr. Carbuncle eats voraciously, with his head down to his plate, and, dropping the sauce, he buttons up his coat tight across the breast.)
Fred.
Here; a plate, knife and fork, bit o'bread, a glass of Dorchester ale!
" Oh, admirable!"
exclaimed Mrs. Tattle, clapping her hands.
" Now, brother, suppose that it is after dinner," said Marianne; " and show us how the doctor goes to sleep."
A sad prospect, after her husband's death, to look forward to, instead of being comfortable, as her friends expected; and she, poor young thing!
knowing no better when they married her!
People should look into these things, beforehand, or never marry at all, I say, Miss Marianne."
Miss Marianne, who did not clearly comprehend this affair of the jointure, or the reason why Mrs. Carbuncle would be so unhappy after her husband's death, turned to Frederick, who was at that instant studying Mrs. Theresa as a future character to mimic.
" Brother," said Marianne, " now sing an Italian song for us like Miss Croker.
Pray, Miss Croker, favour us with a song.
Mrs. Theresa Tattle has never had the pleasure of hearing you sing; she's quite impatient to hear you sing."
" Yes, indeed, I am," said Mrs. Theresa.
Frederick put his hands before him affectedly; " Oh, indeed, ma'am!
indeed, ladies!
I really am so hoarse, it distresses me so to be pressed to sing; besides, upon my word, I have quite left off singing.
I've never sung once, except for very particular people, this winter."
Mar.
But Mrs. Theresa Tattle is a very particular person.
I'm sure you'll sing for her.
Fred.
Certainly, ma'am, I allow that you use a powerful argument; but I assure you now, I would do my best to oblige you, but I absolutely have forgotten all my English songs.
Nobody hears anything but Italian now, and I have been so giddy as to leave my Italian music behind me.
Besides, I make it a rule never to hazard myself without an accompaniment.
Mar.
Oh, try, Miss Croker, for once.
[ Frederick sings, after much preluding.]
Violante in the pantry, Gnawing of a mutton - bone; How she gnawed it, How she claw'd it, When she found herself alone!
" Charming!"
exclaimed Mrs. Tattle; " so like Miss Croker, I'm sure I shall think of you, Mr. Frederick, when I hear her asked to sing again.
Her voice, however, introduces her to very pleasant parties, and she's a girl that's very much taken notice of, and I don't doubt will go off vastly well.
Mar.
Now, brother, read the newspaper like Counsellor Puff.
" Oh, pray do, Mr. Frederick, for I declare I admire you of all things!
You are quite yourself to - night.
Here's a newspaper, sir, pray let us have Counsellor Puff.
It's not late."
[ Frederick reads in a pompous voice.]
To prevent impositions and counterfeits, the public are requested to take notice, that the only genuine primrose soap is stamped on the outside,'Valiant and Wise.'"
" Oh, you most incomparable mimic!
' tis absolutely the counsellor himself.
I absolutely must show you, some day, to my friend Lady Battersby; you'd absolutely make her die with laughing; and she'd quite adore you," said Mrs. Theresa, who was well aware that every pause must be filled with flattery.
" Pray go on, pray go on.
I shall never be tired, if I sit looking at you these hundred years."
Stimulated by these plaudits, Frederick proceeded to show how Colonel Epaulette blew his nose, flourished his cambric handkerchief, bowed to Lady Diana Periwinkle, and admired her work, saying, " Done by no hands, as you may guess, but those of Fairly Fair."
Whilst Lady Diana, he observed, simpered so prettily, and took herself so quietly for Fairly Fair, not perceiving that the colonel was admiring his own nails all the while.
Next to Colonel Epaulette, Frederick, at Marianne's particular desire, came into the room like Sir Charles Slang.
" Very well, brother," cried she, " your hand down to the very bottom of your pocket, and your other shoulder up to your ear; but you are not quite wooden enough, and you should walk as if your hip were out of joint.
There now, Mrs. Tattle, are not those good eyes?
They stare so like his, without seeming to see anything all the while."
" Excellent!
admirable!
Mr. Frederick.
I must say that you are the best mimic of your age I ever saw, and I'm sure Lady Battersby will think so too.
That is Sir Charles to the very life.
But with all that, you must know he's a mighty pleasant, fashionable young man when you come to know him, and has a great deal of sense under all that, and is of a very good family--the Slangs, you know.
Sir Charles will come into a fine fortune himself next year, if he can keep clear of gambling, which I hear is his foible, poor young man!
Pray go on.
I interrupt you, Mr.
Frederick."
" Now, brother," said Marianne.
" No, Marianne, I can do no more.
I'm quite tired, and I will do no more," said Frederick, stretching himself at full length upon a sofa.
Even in the midst of laughter, and whilst the voice of flattery yet sounded in his ear, Frederick felt sad, displeased with himself, and disgusted with Mrs. Theresa.
" What a deep sigh was there!"
said Mrs. Theresa; " what can make you sigh so bitterly?
You, who make everybody else laugh.
Oh, such another sigh again!"
" Marianne," cried Frederick, " do you remember the man in the mask?"
" What man in the mask, brother?"
" The man--the actor--the buffoon, that my father told us of, who used to cry behind the mask that made everybody else laugh."
" Cry!
bless me," said Mrs. Theresa, " mighty odd!
very extraordinary!
but one can't be surprised at meeting with extraordinary characters amongst that race of people, actors by profession, you know; for they are brought up from the egg to make their fortune, or at least their bread by their oddities.
But, my dear Mr. Frederick, you are quite pale, quite exhausted; no wonder--what will you have?
a glass of cowslip - wine?"
" Oh no, thank you, ma'am," said Frederick.
" Oh yes; indeed you must not leave me without taking something; and Miss Marianne must have another macaroon.
I insist upon it," said Mrs. Theresa, ringing the bell.
" It is not late, and my man Christopher will bring up the cowslip - wine in a minute."
" But, Sophy!
and papa and mamma, you know, will come home presently," said Marianne.
" Oh!
Miss Sophy has her books and drawings.
You know she's never afraid of being alone.
Besides, to - night it was her own choice.
We'll have candles."
The door opened just as Mrs. Tattle was going to ring the bell again for candles and the cowslip - wine.
" Christopher!
Christopher!"
said Mrs. Theresa, who was standing at the fire, with her back to the door, when it opened, " Christopher!
pray bring--Do you hear?"
but no Christopher answered; and, upon turning round, Mrs. Tattle, instead of Christopher, beheld two little black figures, which stood perfectly still and silent.
It was so dark, that their forms could scarcely be discerned.
" In the name of heaven, who and what may you be?
Speak, I conjure you!
what are ye?"
" The chimney - sweepers, ma'am, an'please your ladyship."
" Chimney - sweepers!"
repeated Frederick and Marianne, bursting out a - laughing.
" Chimney - sweepers!"
repeated Mrs. Theresa, provoked at the recollection of her late solemn address to them.
" Chimney - sweepers!
and could not you say so a little sooner?
Pray, what brings you here, gentlemen, at this time of night?"
" The bell rang, ma'am,", answered a squeaking voice.
" The bell rang!
yes, for Christopher.
The boy's mad, or drunk."
" Ma'am," said the tallest of the chimney - sweepers, who had not yet spoken, and who now began in a very blunt manner; " ma'am, your brother desired us to come up when the bell rang; so we did."
" My brother?
I have no brother, dunce," said Mrs. Theresa.
" Mr. Eden, madam."
" Ho, ho!"
The chimney - sweeper with the squeaking voice bowed, thanked her ladyship for this information, said, " Good night to ye, quality "; and they both moved towards the door.
" Stay," said Mrs. Tattle, whose curiosity was excited; " what can the Edens want with chimney - sweepers at this time o'night, I wonder?
Christopher, did you hear anything about it?"
said the lady to her footman, who was now lighting the candles.
" Upon my word, ma'am," said the servant, " I can't say; but I'll step down below and inquire.
But, if you please, I'll step down now, ma'am, and see about the chimney - sweepers."
" Yes, step down, do; and, Christopher, bring up the cowslip - wine, and some more macaroons for my little Marianne."
Marianne withdrew rather coldly from a kiss which Mrs. Tattle was going to give her; for she was somewhat surprised at the familiarity with which this lady talked to her footman.
She had not been accustomed to these familiarities in her father and mother, and she did not like them.
" Well," said Mrs. Tattle to Christopher, who was now returned, " what is the news?"
" Ma'am, the little fellow with the squeaking voice has been telling me the whole story.
The other morning, ma'am, early, he and the other were down the hill sweeping in Paradise Row.
Those chimneys, they say, are difficult; and the square fellow, ma'am, the biggest of the two boys, got wedged in the chimney.
So he screeched, and screeched, all he could; and by the greatest chance in life, ma'am, old Mr. Eden was just going down the hill to fetch his morning walk."
" Ay," interrupted Mrs. Theresa, " friend Ephraim is one of your early risers."
" Well," said Marianne, impatiently.
" So, ma'am, hearing the screech, he turns and sees the sweep; and at once he understands the matter --"
" I'm sure he must have taken some time to understand it," interposed Mrs. Tattle, " for he's the slowest creature breathing, and the deafest in company.
Go on, Christopher.
So the sweep did make him hear."
" So he says, ma'am; and so the old gentleman went in and pulled the boy out of the chimney, with much ado, ma'am."
" Bless me!"
exclaimed Mrs. Theresa; " but did old Eden go up the chimney himself after the boy, wig and all?
" Why, ma'am," said Christopher, with a look of great delight, " that was all as one, as the very'dentical words I put to the boy myself, when he telled me his story.
" Poor Mr.
Eden!"
exclaimed Marianne.
" Oh, miss," continued the servant, " and the chimney - sweep himself was so bruised, and must have been killed."
" Well, well!
but he's alive now; go on with your story, Christopher," said Mrs. T. " Chimney - sweepers get wedged in chimneys every day; it's part of their trade, and it's a happy thing when they come off with a few bruises.
* To be sure," added she, observing that both Frederick and Marianne looked displeased at this speech, " to be sure, if one may believe this story, there was some real danger."
* This atrocious practice is now happily superseded by the use of sweeping machines.
" Real danger!
yes, indeed," said Marianne; " and I'm sure I think Mr. Eden was very good."
" Certainly it was a most commendable action, and quite providential.
where the Eagles or the Miss Ropers lodge?
or which?"
" It was at my Lady Battersby's, ma'am."
" Ha!
ha!"
cried Mrs. Theresa, " I thought we should get to the bottom of the affair at last.
This is excellent!
This will make an admirable story for my Lady Battersby the next time I see her.
These Quakers are so sly!
Old Eden, I know, has long wanted to obtain an introduction into that house; and a charming charitable expedient hit upon!
My Lady Battersby will enjoy this, of all things."
CHAPTER III.
She will do me the honour to be here to spend an evening to - morrow.
I'm convinced Mr. and Mrs. Montague will find themselves obliged to stay out another day, and I so long to show you off to her ladyship; and your Doctor Carbuncle, and your Counsellor Puff, and your Miss Croker, and all your charming characters.
You must let me introduce you to her ladyship to - morrow evening.
Promise me."
" Oh, ma'am," said Frederick, " I cannot promise you any such thing, indeed.
I am much obliged to you; but indeed I cannot come."
" Why not, my dear sir?
why not?
You don't think I mean you should promise, if you are certain your papa and mamma will be home."
" If they do come home, I will ask them about it," said Frederick, hesitating; for though he by no means wished to accept the invitation, he had not yet acquired the necessary power of decidedly saying No.
" Ask them!"
repeated Mrs. Theresa.
" My dear sir, at your age, must you ask your papa and mamma about such things?"
" Must!
no, ma'am," said Frederick; " but I said I would.
I know I need not, because my father and mother always let me judge for myself almost about everything."
" And about this, I am sure," cried Marianne.
" Papa and mamma, you know, just as they were going away, said,'If Mrs. Theresa asks you to come, do as you think best '"
" Well, then," said Mrs. Theresa, " you know it rests with yourselves, if you may do as you please."
" To be sure I may, madam," said Frederick, colouring from that species of emotion which is justly called false shame, and which often conquers real shame; " to be sure, ma'am, I may do as I please."
" Then I may make sure of you," said Mrs. Theresa; " for now it would be downright rudeness to tell a lady you won't do as she pleases.
Mr. Frederick Montague, I'm sure, is too wellbred a young gentleman to do so unpolite, so ungallant a thing!"
The jargon of politeness and gallantry is frequently brought by the silly acquaintance of young people to confuse their simple morality and clear good sense.
A new and unintelligible system is presented to them, in a language foreign to their understanding, and contradictory to their feelings.
They hesitate between new motives and old principles.
From the fear of being thought ignorant, they become affected; and from the dread of being thought to be children act like fools.
But all this they feel only when they are in the company of such people as Mrs. Theresa Tattle.
" Ma'am," Frederick began, " I don't mean to be rude; but I hope you'll excuse me from coming to drink tea with you to - morrow, because my father and mother are not acquainted with Lady Battersby, and maybe they might not like --"
" Take care, take care," said Mrs. Theresa, laughing at his perplexity: " you want to get off from obliging me, and you don't know how.
You had very nearly made a most shocking blunder in putting it all upon poor Lady Battersby.
Besides, as to yourself, there's nothing her ladyship delights in so much as in a good mimic; and she'll quite adore you!"
" But I don't want her to adore me, ma'am," said Frederick, bluntly; then, correcting himself, added, " I mean for being a mimic."
" Why not, my love?
Between friends, can there be any harm in showing one's talents?
You that have such talents to show.
She'll keep your secret, I'll answer for her; and," added she, " you needn't be afraid of her criticism; for, between you and me, she's no great critic; so you'll come.
Well, thank you, that's settled.
How you have made me beg and pray!
but you know your own value, I see; as you entertaining people always do.
One must ask a wit, like a fine singer, so often.
Well, but now for the favour I was going to ask you."
Frederick looked surprised; for he thought that the favour of his company was what she meant: but she explained herself farther.
" As to the old Quaker who lodges above, old Ephraim Eden--my Lady Battersby and I have so much diversion about him.
He is the best character, the oddest creature!
If you were but to see him come into the rooms with those stiff skirts, or walking with his eternal sister Bertha, and his everlasting broad - brimmed hat!
One knows him a mile off!
Now you, who have so much invention and cleverness--I have no invention myself; but could you not hit upon some way of seeing him, so that you might get him by heart?
I'm sure you, who are so quick, would only want to see him, and hear him, for half a minute, to be able to take him off, so as to kill one with laughing.
But I have no invention."
" Oh, as to the invention," said Frederick, " I know an admirable way of doing the thing, if that is all; but then remember, I don't say I will do the thing, for I will not.
But I know a way of getting up into his room, and seeing him, without his knowing me to be there."
" Oh, tell it me, you charming, clever creature!"
" But, remember, I do not say I will do it."
" Well, well, let us hear it; and you shall do as you please afterwards.
Merciful goodness!"
exclaimed Mrs. Tattle, " do my ears deceive me?
I declare I looked round, and thought I heard the squeaking chimney - sweeper was in the room!"
" So did I, Frederick, I declare," cried Marianne, laughing, " I never heard anything so like his voice in my life."
Frederick imitated the squeaking voice of this chimney - sweeper to great perfection.
" Now," continued he, " this fellow is just my height.
The old Quaker, if my face were blackened, and if I were to change clothes with the chimney - sweeper, I'll answer for it, would never know me."
" Oh, it's an admirable invention!
I give you infinite credit for it!"
exclaimed Mrs. Theresa.
" It shall, it must be done.
I'll ring, and have the fellow up this minute."
" Oh, no; do not ring," said Frederick, stopping her hand, " I don't mean to do it.
You know you promised that I should do as I pleased.
I only told you my invention."
" Well, well; but only let me ring, and ask whether the chimney - sweepers are below.
You shall do as you please afterwards."
" Christopher, shut the door.
Christopher," said she to the servant who came up when she rang, " pray are the sweeps gone yet?"
" No, ma'am."
" But have they been up to old Eden yet?"
" Oh, no, ma'am; nor be not to go till the bell rings; for Miss Bertha, ma'am, was asleep a - lying down, and her brother wouldn't have her wakened on no account whatsomever.
He came down hisself to the kitchen to the sweeps, though; but wouldn't have, as I heard him say, his sister waked for no account.
But Miss Bertha's bell will ring when she wakens for the sweeps, ma'am.
' Twas she wanted to see the boy as her brother saved, and I suppose sent for him to give him something charitable, ma'am."
" Well, never mind your suppositions," said Mrs. Theresa; " run down this very minute to the little squeaking chimney - sweep, and send him up to me.
Quick, but don't let the other bear come up with him."
Christopher, who had curiosity, as well as his mistress, when he returned with the chimney - sweeper, prolonged his own stay in the room by sweeping the hearth, throwing down the tongs and shovel, and picking them up again.
" That will do, Christopher!
Christopher, that will do, I say," Mrs. Theresa repeated in vain.
She was obliged to say, " Christopher, you may go," before he would depart.
" Now," said she to Frederick, " step in here to the next room with this candle, and you'll be equipped in an instant.
Only just change clothes with the boy; only just let me see what a charming chimney - sweeper you'd make.
You shall do as you please afterwards."
" Well, I'll only change clothes with him, just to show you for one minute."
" But," said Marianne to Mrs. Theresa whilst Frederick was changing his clothes, " I think Frederick is right about --"
" About what, love?"
" I think he is in the right not to go up, though he can do it so easily, to see that gentleman; I mean on purpose to mimic and laugh at him afterwards.
I don't think that would be quite right."
" Why, pray, Miss Marianne?"
" Why, because he is so good - natured to his sister.
He would not let her be wakened."
" Dear, it's easy to be good in such little things; and he won't have long to be good to her neither; for I don't think she will trouble him long in this world, anyhow."
" What do you mean?"
said Marianne.
" That she'll die, child."
" Die!
die with that beautiful colour in her cheeks!
How sorry her poor, poor brother will be!
But she will not die, I'm sure, for she walks about and runs upstairs so lightly!
Oh, you must be quite mistaken, I hope."
" If I'm mistaken, Dr. Panado Cardamum's mistaken too, then, that's my comfort.
He says, unless the waters work a miracle, she stands a bad chance; and she won't follow my advice, and consult the doctor for her health."
" He would frighten her to death, perhaps," said Marianne.
" I hope Frederick won't go up to disturb her."
" Lud, child, you are turned simpleton all of a sudden; how can your brother disturb her more than the real chimney - sweeper?"
" But I don't think it's right," persisted Marianne, " and I shall tell him so."
" Nay, Miss Marianne, I don't commend you now.
Young ladies should not be so forward to give opinions and advice to their elder brothers unasked; and I presume that Mr. Frederick and I must know what's right as well as Miss Marianne.
Hush!
here he is.
Oh, the capital figure!"
cried Mrs. Theresa.
" Bravo, bravo!"
cried she, as Frederick entered in the chimney - sweeper's dress; and as he spoke, saying, " I'm afraid, please your ladyship, to dirt your ladyship's carpet," she broke out into immoderate raptures, calling him " her charming chimney - sweeper!"
and repeating that she knew beforehand the character would do for him.
And so he did; and when Frederick spoke, the voice was so very like, that it was scarcely possible that he should have perceived the difference.
Marianne was diverted by this scene; but she started, when in the midst of it they heard a bell ring.
" That's the lady's bell, and we must go," said the blunt chimney - sweeper.
" Go, then, about your business," said Mrs. Theresa, " and here's a shilling for you, to drink, my honest fellow.
I did not know you were so much bruised when I first saw you.
I won't detain you.
Go," said she, pushing Frederick towards the door.
Marianne sprang forward to speak to him; but Mrs. Theresa kept her off; and, though Frederick resisted, the lady shut the door upon him by superior force, and, having locked it, there was no retreat.
Mrs. Tattle and Marianne waited impatiently for Frederick's return.
" I hear them," cried Marianne, " I hear them coming downstairs."
They listened again, and all was silent.
At length they suddenly heard a great noise of many steps in the hall.
" Merciful!"
exclaimed Mrs. Theresa, " it must be your father and mother come back."
Marianne ran to unlock the room door, and Mrs. Theresa followed her into the hall.
The hall was rather dark, but under the lamp a crowd of people, all the servants in the house having gathered together.
As Mrs. Theresa approached, the crowd opened in silence, and in the midst she beheld Frederick, with blood streaming from his face.
His head was held by Christopher; and the chimney - sweeper was holding a basin for him.
" Merciful!
what will become of me?"
exclaimed Mrs. Theresa.
" Bleeding!
he'll bleed to death!
Can nobody think of anything that will stop blood in a minute?
A key, a large key down his back--a key--has nobody a key?
Mr. and Mrs. Montague will be here before he has done bleeding.
A key!
cobwebs!
a puff ball!
for mercy's sake!
Can nobody think of anything that will stop blood in a minute?
Gracious me!
he'll bleed to death, I believe."
" He'll bleed to death!
Oh, my brother!"
cried Marianne, catching hold of the words; and terrified, she ran upstairs, crying, " Sophy, oh, Sophy!
come down this minute, or he'll be dead!
My brother's bleeding to death!
Sophy!
Sophy!
come down, or he'll be dead!"
" Let go the basin, you," said Christopher, pulling the basin out of the chimney - sweeper's hand, who had all this time stood in silence; " you are not fit to hold the basin for a gentleman."
" Let him hold it," said Frederick; " he did not mean to hurt me."
" That's more than he deserves.
I'm certain sure he might have known well enough it was Mr. Frederick all the time, and he'd no business to go to fight--such a one as he--with a gentleman."
" I did not know he was a gentleman!"
said the chimney - sweeper, " how could I?"
" How could he, indeed!"
said Frederick; " he shall hold the basin."
" Gracious me!
I'm glad to hear him speak like himself again, at anyrate," cried Mrs. Theresa.
" And here comes Miss Sophy, too."
" Sophy!"
cried Frederick.
" Oh, Sophy, don't you come--don't look at me; you'll despise me."
" My brother!
where?
where?"
said Sophy, looking, as she thought, at the two chimney - sweepers.
" It's Frederick," said Marianne: " that's my brother."
" Miss Sophy, don't be alarmed," Mrs. Theresa began; " but gracious goodness!
I wish Miss Bertha --"
At this instant a female figure in white appeared upon the stairs; she passed swiftly on, whilst everyone gave way before her.
" Oh, Miss Bertha!"
cried Mrs. Theresa, catching hold of her gown to stop her, as she came near Frederick.
" Oh, Miss Eden, your beautiful India muslin!
take care of the chimney sweeper, for heaven's sake."
But she pressed forward.
" It's my brother, will he die?"
cried Marianne, throwing her arms round her, and looking up as if to a being of a superior order.
" Will he bleed to death?"
" No, my love!"
answered a sweet voice: " do not frighten thyself."
" I've done bleeding," said Frederick.
" Dear me, Miss Marianne, if you would not make such a rout," cried Mrs. Tattle.
" Miss Bertha, it's nothing but a frolic.
You see Mr. Frederick Montague only in a masquerade dress.
Nothing in the world but a frolic, ma'am.
You see he's stopped bleeding.
I was frightened out of my wits at first.
I thought it was his eye, but I see it's only his nose.
All's well that ends well.
Mr. Frederick, we'll keep your counsel.
Pray, ma'am, let us ask no questions; it's only a boyish frolic.
Come, Mr. Frederick, this way, into my room, and I'll give you a towel and some clean water, and you can get rid of this masquerade dress.
Make haste, for fear your father and mother should drop in upon us."
" Do not be afraid of thy father and mother.
They are surely thy best friends," said a voice.
It was the voice of an elderly gentleman, who now stood behind Frederick.
" Oh, sir, oh, Mr. Eden," said Frederick, turning to him.
" Don't betray me!
for goodness'sake!"
whispered Mrs. Tattle, " say nothing about me."
" I'm not thinking about you.
Let me speak," cried he, pushing away her hand, which stopped his mouth.
" I shall say nothing about you, I promise you," said Frederick, with a look of contempt.
" No, but for your own sake, my dear sir, your papa and mamma.
Bless me!
is not that Mrs. Montague's carriage?"
" My brother, ma'am," said Sophy, " is not afraid of my father and mother's coming back.
Let him speak; he was going to speak the truth."
" To be sure, Miss Sophia, I wouldn't hinder him from speaking the truth; but it's not proper, I presume, ma'am, to speak truth at all times, and in all places, and before everybody, servants and all.
I only wanted, ma'am, to hinder your brother from exposing himself.
A hall, I apprehend, is not a proper place for explanation."
" Here," said Mr. Eden, opening the door of his room, which was on the opposite side of the hall to Mrs. Tattle's.
" Here is a place," said he to Frederick, " where thou mayst speak the truth at all times, and before everybody."
" Nay, my room's at Mr. Frederick Montague's service, and my door's open too.
This way, pray," said she, pulling his arm.
But Frederick broke from her, and followed Mr. Eden.
" Oh, sir, will you forgive me?"
cried he.
" Forgive thee!-- and what have I to forgive!"
" Forgive, brother, without asking what," said Bertha, smiling.
" He shall know all!"
cried Frederick; " all that concerns myself, I mean.
Sir, I disguised myself in this dress; I came up to your room to - night on purpose to see you, without your knowing it, that I might mimic you.
The chimney - sweeper, where is he?"
said Frederick, looking round; and he ran into the hall to see for him.
" May he come in?
he may--he is a brave, an honest, good, grateful boy.
He never guessed who I was.
After we left you we went down to the kitchen together, and there, fool as I was, for the pleasure of making Mr. Christopher and the servants laugh, began to mimic you.
This boy said he would not stand by and hear you laughed at; that you had saved his life; that I ought to be ashamed of myself; that you had just given me half a crown; and so you had; but I went on, and told him I'd knock him down if he said another word.
He did; I gave the first blow; we fought; I came to the ground; the servants pulled me up again.
They found out, I don't know how, that I was not a chimney - sweeper.
The rest you saw.
And now can you forgive me, sir?"
said Frederick to Mr. Eden, seizing hold of his hand.
" The other hand, friend," said the Quaker, gently withdrawing his right hand, which everybody now observed was much swelled, and putting it into his bosom again.
" This, and welcome," offering his other hand to Frederick, and shaking his with a smile.
" Oh, that other hand!"
said Frederick, " that was hurt, I remember.
How ill I have behaved--extremely ill!
But this is a lesson that I shall never forget as long as I live.
I hope for the future I shall behave like a gentleman."
" And like a man--and like a good man, I am sure thou wilt," said the good Quaker, shaking Frederick's hand affectionately; " or I am much mistaken, friend, in that black countenance."
" You are not mistaken," cried Marianne.
" Frederick will never be persuaded again by anybody to do what he does not think right: and now, brother, you may wash your black countenance."
Just when Frederick had got rid of half his black countenance, a double knock was heard at the door.
It was Mr. and Mrs. Montague.
" What will you do now?"
whispered Mrs. Theresa to Frederick, as his father and mother came into the room.
" A chimney - sweeper covered with blood!"
exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Montague.
" Father, I am Frederick," said he, stepping forward towards them, as they stood in astonishment.
" Frederick!
my son!"
" Yes, mother, I'm not hurt half so much as I deserve; I'll tell you --"
" Nay," interrupted Bertha, " let my brother tell the story this time.
Thou hast told it once, and told it well; no one but my brother could tell it better."
" A story never tells so well the second time, to be sure," said Mrs. Theresa; " but Mr. Eden will certainly make the best of it."
Without taking any notice of Mrs. Tattle, or her apprehensive looks, Mr. Eden explained all he knew of the affair in a few words.
" Your son," concluded he, " will quickly put off his dirty dress.
The dress hath not stained the mind; that is fair and honourable.
When he found himself in the wrong, he said so; nor was he in haste to conceal his adventure from his father; this made me think well of both father and son.
I speak plainly, friend, for that is best.
But what is become of the other chimney - sweeper?
He will want to go home," said Mr. Eden, turning to Mrs. Theresa.
Without making any reply, she hurried out of the room as fast as possible, and returned in a few moments, with a look of extreme consternation.
" Here is a catastrophe indeed!
Now, indeed, Mr. Frederick, your papa and mamma have reason to be angry.
A new suit of clothes!-- the bare faced villain!
gone!
no sign of them in my closet, or anywhere.
The door was locked; he must have gone up the chimney, out upon the leads, and so escaped; but Christopher is after him.
I protest, Mrs. Montague, you take it too quietly.
The wretch!-- a new suit of clothes, blue coat and buff waistcoat.
I never heard of such a thing!
I declare, Mr. Montague, you are vastly good, not to be in a passion," added Mrs. Theresa.
" Madam," replied Mr. Montague, with a look of much civil contempt, " I think the loss of a suit of clothes, and even the disgrace that my son has been brought to this evening, fortunate circumstances in his education.
He will, I am persuaded, judge and act for himself more wisely in future.
Nor will he be tempted to offend against humanity, for the sake of being called'The best mimic in the world.'"
THE BARRING OUT; OR, PARTY SPIRIT.
" The mother of mischief," says an old proverb, " is no bigger than a midge's wing."
At Doctor Middleton's school, there was a great tall dunce of the name of Fisher, who never could be taught how to look out a word in the dictionary.
He used to torment everybody with --" Do pray help me!
I can't make out this one word."
The person who usually helped him in his distress was a very clever, good natured boy, of the name of De Grey, who had been many years under Dr. Middleton's care, and who, by his abilities and good conduct, did him great credit.
The doctor certainly was both proud and fond of him; but he was so well beloved, or so much esteemed by his companions, that nobody had ever called him by the odious name of favourite, until the arrival of a new scholar of the name of Archer.
His aim, the moment he came to a new school, was to get to the head of it, or at least to form the strongest party.
His influence, for he was a boy of considerable abilities, was quickly felt, though he had a powerful rival, as he thought proper to call him, in De Grey; and, with HIM, a rival was always an enemy.
De Grey, so far from giving him any cause of hatred, treated him with a degree of cordiality, which would probably have had an effect upon Archer's mind, if it had not been for the artifices of Fisher.
It may seem surprising, that a GREAT DUNCE should be able to work upon a boy like an Archer, who was called a great genius; but when genius is joined to a violent temper, instead of being united to good sense, it is at the mercy even of dunces.
Fisher was mortally offended one morning by De Grey's refusing to translate his whole lesson for him.
He went over to Archer, who, considering him as a partisan deserting from the enemy, received him with open arms, and translated his whole lesson without expressing MUCH contempt for his stupidity.
From this moment Fisher forgot all De Grey's former kindness, and considered only how he could in his turn mortify the person whom he felt to be so much his superior.
De Grey and Archer were now reading for a premium, which was to be given in their class.
Fisher betted on Archer's head, who had not sense enough to despise the bet of a blockhead.
On the contrary he suffered him to excite the spirit of rivalship in its utmost fury by collecting the bets of all the school.
So that this premium now became a matter of the greatest consequence, and Archer, instead of taking the means to secure a judgment in his favour, was listening to the opinions of all his companions.
It was a prize which was to be won by his own exertions; but he suffered himself to consider it as an affair of chance.
The consequence was, that he trusted to chance--his partisans lost their wagers, and he the premium--and his temper.
" Mr. Archer," said Dr. Middleton, after the grand affair was decided, " you have done all that genius alone could do; but you, De Grey, have done all that genius and industry united could do."
" Well!"
cried Archer, with affected gaiety, as soon as the doctor had left the room --" Well, I'm content with MY sentence.
Genius alone!
for me--industry for those who WANT it," added he, with a significant look at De Grey.
These warmly congratulated De Grey.
At this Archer grew more and more angry, and when Fisher was proceeding to speak nonsense FOR him, pushed forward into the circle to De Grey, crying, " I wish, Mr. Fisher, you would let me fight my own battles!"
" And _I_ wish," said young Townsend, who was fonder of diversions than of premiums, or battles, or of anything else --" _I_ wish, that we were not to have any battles; after having worked like horses, don't set about to fight like dogs.
Come," said he, tapping De Grey's shoulder, " let us see your new playhouse, do--it's a holiday, and let us make the most of it.
Let us have the'School for Scandal,' do; and I'll play Charles for you, and you, De Grey, shall be MY LITTLE PREMIUM.
Come, do open this new playhouse of yours to - night."
" Come then!"
said De Grey, and he ran across the playground to a waste building at the farthest end of it, in which, at the earnest request of the whole community, and with the permission of Dr. Middleton, he had with much pain and ingenuity erected a theatre.
" The new theatre is going to be opened!
Follow the manager!
Follow the manager!"
echoed a multitude of voices.
" FOLLOW THE MANAGER!"
echoed very disagreeably in Archer's ear; but as he could not be LEFT ALONE, he was also obliged to follow the manager.
The moment that the door was unlocked, the crowd rushed in: the delight and wonder expressed at the sight was great, and the applause and thanks which were bestowed upon the manager were long and loud.
Archer at least thought them long, for he was impatient till his voice could be heard.
When at length the acclamations had spent themselves, he walked across the stage with a knowing air, and looking round contemptuously.
" And is THIS your famous playhouse?"
cried he.
" I wish you had, any of you, seen the playhouse _I_ have been used to?"
These words made a great and visible change in the feelings and opinions of the public.
" Who would be a servant of the public?
or who would toil for popular applause?"
A few words spoken in a decisive tone by a new voice operated as a charm, and the playhouse was in an instant metamorphosed in the eyes of the spectators.
All gratitude for the past was forgotten, and the expectation of something better justified to the capricious multitude their disdain of what they had so lately pronounced to be excellent.
Everyone now began to criticise.
One observed, " that the green curtain was full of holes, and would not draw up."
Another attacked the scenes; " Scenes!
they were not like real scenes--Archer must know best, because he was used to these things."
So everybody crowded to hear something of the OTHER playhouse.
They gathered round Archer to hear the description of his playhouse, and at every sentence insulting comparisons were made.
When he had done, his auditors looked round, sighed and wished that Archer had been their manager.
They turned from De Grey as from a person who had done them an injury.
Some of his friends--for he had friends who were not swayed by the popular opinion--felt indignation at this ingratitude, and were going to express their feelings; but De Grey stopped them, and begged that he might speak for himself.
" Gentlemen," said he, coming forward, as soon as he felt that he had sufficient command of himself.
" My friends, I see you are discontented with me and my playhouse.
I have done my best to please you; but if anybody else can please you better, I shall be glad of it.
I did not work so hard for the glory of being your manager.
You have my free leave to tear down --" Here his voice faltered, but he hurried on --" You have my free leave to tear down all my work as fast as you please.
Archer, shake hands first, however, to show that there's no malice in the case."
Archer, who was touched by what his rival said, and, stopping the hand of his new partisan, Fisher, cried, " No, Fisher!
no!-- no pulling down.
We can alter it.
There is a great deal of ingenuity in it, considering."
In vain Archer would now have recalled the public to reason,-- the time for reason was passed: enthusiasm had taken hold of their minds.
" Down with it!
Down with it!
Archer for ever!"
cried Fisher, and tore down the curtain.
The riot once begun, nothing could stop the little mob, till the whole theatre was demolished.
The love of power prevailed in the mind of Archer; he was secretly flattered by the zeal of his PARTY, and he mistook their love of mischief for attachment to himself.
De Grey looked on superior.
" I said I could bear to see all this, and I can," said he; " now it is all over."
And now it was all over, there was silence.
The rioters stood still to take breath, and to look at what they had done.
There was a blank space before them.
In this moment of silence there was heard something like a voice.
" Hush!
What strange voice is that?"
said Archer.
Fisher caught fast hold of his arm.
Everybody looked round to see where the voice came from.
It was dusk.
Two window - shutters at the farthest end of the building were seen to move slowly inwards.
De Grey, and in the same instant Archer, went forward; and, as the shutters opened, there appeared through the hole the dark face and shrivelled hands of a very old gipsy.
She did not speak; but she looked first at one and then at another.
At length she fixed her eyes on De Grey.
" Well, woman," said he, " what do you want with me?"
" Want!-- nothing--with YOU," said the old woman; " do you want nothing with ME?"
" Nothing," said De Grey.
Her eye immediately turned upon Archer,--" YOU want something with me," said she, with emphasis.
" I--what do I want?"
replied Archer.
" No," said she, changing her tone, " you want nothing--nothing will you ever want, or I am much mistaken in that FACE."
In that WATCH - CHAIN, she should have said, for her quick eye had espied Archer's watch - chain.
He was the only person in the company who had a watch, and she therefore judged him to be the richest.
" Had you ever your fortune told, sir, in your life?"
" Not I!"
said he, looking at De Grey, as if he was afraid of his ridicule, if he listened to the gipsy.
" Not you!
No!
for you will make your own fortune, and the fortune of all that belong to you!"
" There's good news for my friends!"
cried Archer.
" And I'm one of them, remember that," cried Fisher.
" And I," " And I," joined a number of voices.
" Good luck to them!"
cried the gipsy, " good luck to them all!"
Then, as soon as they had acquired sufficient confidence in her good will, they pressed up to the window.
" There," cried Townsend, as he chanced to stumble over the carpenter's mitre box, which stood in the way, " there's a good omen for me.
I've stumbled on the mitre box; I shall certainly be a bishop."
Happy he who had sixpence, for he bid fair to be a judge upon the bench.
And happier he who had a shilling, for he was in the high road to be one day upon the woolsack, Lord High Chancellor of England.
No one had half a crown, or no one would surely have kept it in his pocket upon such an occasion, for he might have been an archbishop, a king, or what he pleased.
Fisher, who like all weak people was extremely credulous, kept his post immovable in the front row all the time, his mouth open, and his stupid eyes fixed upon the gipsy, in whom he felt implicit faith.
Those who have least confidence in their own powers, and who have least expectation from the success of their own exertions, are always most disposed to trust in fortune - tellers and fortune.
They hope to WIN, when they cannot EARN; and as they can never be convinced by those who speak sense, it is no wonder they are always persuaded by those who talk nonsense.
" I have a question to put," said Fisher, in a solemn tone.
" Put it, then," said Archer, " what hinders you?"
" But they will hear me," said he, looking suspiciously at De Grey.
" _I_ shall not hear you," said De Grey, " I am going."
Everybody else drew back, and left him to whisper his question in the gipsy's ear.
" What is become of my Livy?"
" Your SISTER Livy, do you mean?"
said the gipsy.
" No, my LATIN Livy."
The gipsy paused for information.
" It had a leaf torn out in the beginning, and I HATE DR. MIDDLETON --"
" Written in it," interrupted the gipsy.
" Right--the very book!"
cried Fisher with joy.
" But how COULD you know it was Dr. Middleton's name?
I thought I had scratched it, so that nobody could make it out."
" Nobody COULD make it out but ME," replied the gipsy.
" But never think to deceive me," said she, shaking her head at him in a manner that made him tremble.
" I don't deceive you indeed, I tell you the whole truth.
I lost it a week ago."
" True."
" And when shall I find it?"
" Meet me here at this hour to - morrow evening, and I will answer you.
No more!
I must be gone.
Not a word more to - night."
She pulled the shutters towards her, and left the youth in darkness.
All his companions were gone.
He had been so deeply engaged in this conference, that he had not perceived their departure.
He found all the world at supper, but no entreaties could prevail upon him to disclose his secret.
Townsend rallied in vain.
As for Archer, he was not disposed to destroy by ridicule the effect which he saw that the old woman's predictions in his favour had had upon the imagination of many of his little partisans.
He had privately slipped two good shillings into the gipsy's hand to secure her; for he was willing to pay any price for ANY means of acquiring power.
The watch - chain had not deceived the gipsy, for Archer was the richest person in the community.
His friends had imprudently supplied him with more money than is usually trusted to boys of his age.
Dr. Middleton had refused to give him a larger monthly allowance than the rest of his companions; but he brought to school with him secretly the sum of five guineas.
This appeared to his friends and to himself an inexhaustible treasure.
Riches and talents would, he flattered himself, secure to him that ascendancy of which he was so ambitious.
" Am I your manager, or not?"
was now his question.
" I scorn to take advantage of a hasty moment; but since last night you have had time to consider.
If you desire me to be your manager, you shall see what a theatre I will make for you.
In this purse," said he, showing through the network a glimpse of the shining treasure --" in this purse is Aladdin's wonderful lamp.
Am I your manager?
Put it to the vote."
It was put to the vote.
About ten of the most reasonable of the assembly declared their gratitude and high approbation of their old friend, De Grey; but the numbers were in favour of the new friend.
And as no metaphysical distinctions relative to the idea of a majority had ever entered their thoughts, the most numerous party considered themselves as now beyond dispute in the right.
They drew off on one side in triumph, and their leader, who knew the consequence of a name in party matters, immediately distinguished his partisans by the gallant name of ARCHERS, stigmatizing the friends of De Grey by the odious epithet of Greybeards.
Amongst the Archers was a class not very remarkable for their mental qualifications; but who, by their bodily activity, and by the peculiar advantages annexed to their way of life, rendered themselves of the highest consequence, especially to the rich and enterprising.
The judicious reader will apprehend that I allude to the persons called day scholars.
Amongst these, Fisher was distinguished by his knowledge of all the streets and shops in the adjacent town; and, though a dull scholar, he had such reputation as a man of business, that whoever had commissions to execute at the confectioner's, was sure to apply to him.
Though his visits to the confectioner's were thus at an end, there were many other shops open to him; and with officious zeal he offered his services to the new manager, to purchase whatever might be wanting for the theatre.
Since his father's death Fisher had become a boarder at Dr. Middleton's, but his frequent visits to his Aunt Barbara afforded him opportunities of going into the town.
The carpenter, De Grey's friend, was discarded by Archer, for having said " LACK - A - DAISY!"
when he saw that the old theatre was pulled down.
A new carpenter and paper hanger, recommended by Fisher, were appointed to attend, with their tools, for orders, at two o'clock.
Archer, impatient to show his ingenuity and his generosity, gave his plan and his orders in a few minutes, in a most decided manner; " These things," he observed, " should be done with some spirit."
To which the carpenter readily assented, and added, that " gentlemen of spirit never looked to the EXPENSE, but always to the EFFECT."
Upon this principle Mr. Chip set to work with all possible alacrity.
In a few hours'time he promised to produce a grand effect.
High expectations were formed.
Nothing was talked of but the new playhouse; and so intent upon it was every head, that no lessons could be got.
Archer was obliged, in the midst of his various occupations, to perform the part of grammar and dictionary for twenty different people.
" O ye Athenians!"
he exclaimed, " how hard do I work to obtain your praise!"
Impatient to return to the theatre, the moment the hours destined for instruction, or, as they are termed by schoolboys, school - hours, were over, each prisoner started up with a shout of joy.
" Stop one moment, gentlemen, if you please," said Dr. Middleton, in an awful voice.
" Mr. Archer, return to your place.
Are you all here?"
The names of all the boys were called over, and when each had answered to his name, Dr. Middleton said --
" Gentlemen, I am sorry to interrupt your amusements; but, till you have contrary orders from me, no one, on pain of my serious displeasure, must go into THAT building " (pointing to the place where the theatre was erecting).
" Mr. Archer, your carpenter is at the door.
You will be so good as to dismiss him.
I do not think proper to give my reasons for these orders; but you who KNOW me," said the doctor, and his eye turned towards De Grey, " will not suspect me of caprice.
I depend, gentlemen, upon your obedience."
To the dead silence with which these orders were received, succeeded in a few minutes a universal groan.
" So!"
said Townsend, " all our diversion is over."
" So," whispered Fisher in the manager's ear, " this is some trick of the Greybeard's.
Did you not observe how he looked at De Grey?"
Fired by this thought, which had never entered his mind before, Archer started from his reverie, and striking his hand upon the table, swore that he " would not be outwitted by any Greybeard in Europe--no, nor by all of them put together.
The Archers were surely a match for them.
He would stand by them, if they would stand by him," he declared, with a loud voice, " against the whole world, and Dr. Middleton himself, with'LITTLE PREMIUMS'at his right hand."
Everybody admired Archer's spirit, but were a little appalled at the sound of standing against Dr. Middleton.
" Why not?"
resumed the indignant manager.
" Neither Dr. Middleton nor any doctor upon earth shall treat me with injustice.
This, you see, is a stroke at me and my party, and I won't bear it."
" Oh, you are mistaken!"
said De Grey, who was the only one who dared to oppose reason to the angry orator.
" It cannot be a stroke aimed at'you and your party,' for he does not know that you HAVE a party."
" I'll make him know it, and I'll make YOU know it, too," said Archer.
" Before I came here you reigned alone, now your reign is over, Mr. De Grey.
Remember my majority this morning, and your theatre last night."
" He has remembered it," said Fisher.
" You see, the moment he was not to be our manager, we were to have no theatre, no playhouse, no plays.
We must all sit down with our hands before us--all for'GOOD REASONS'of Dr. Middleton's, which he does not vouchsafe to tell us."
" I won't be governed by any man's reasons that he won't tell me," cried Archer.
" He cannot have good reasons, or why not tell them?"
" Nonsense!"
said De Grey.
" WE SHALL NOT SUSPECT HIM OF CAPRICE!"
" Why not?"
" Because we who know him, have never known him capricious."
" Perhaps not.
_I_ know nothing about him," said Archer.
" No," said De Grey; " for that very reason _I_ speak who do know him.
Don't be in a passion, Archer."
" I will be in a passion.
I won't submit to tyranny.
I won't be made a fool of by a few soft words.
You don't know me, De Grey.
I'll go through with what I've begun.
I am manager, and I will be manager; and you shall see my theatre finished in spite of you, and MY party triumphant."
" Party," repeated De Grey.
" I cannot imagine what is in the word'party'that seems to drive you mad.
We never heard of parties till you came amongst us."
" No; before I came, I say, nobody dared oppose you; but I dare; and I tell you to your face, take care of me--a warm friend and a bitter enemy is my motto."
" I am not your enemy!
I believe you are out of your senses, Archer!"
said he, laughing.
" Out of my senses!
No; you are my enemy!
Are you not my rival?
Did not you win the premium?
Did not you want to be manager?
Answer me, are not you, in one word, a Greybeard?"
" You called me a Greybeard, but my name is De Grey," said he, still laughing.
" Laugh on!"
cried the other, furiously.
" Come, ARCHERS, follow me.
WE shall laugh by - and - by, I promise you."
At the door Archer was stopped by Mr. Chip.
" Oh, Mr. Chip, I am ordered to discharge you."
" Yes, sir; and here's a little bill --"
" Bill, Mr. Chip!
why, you have not been at work for two hours!"
" Not much over, sir; but if you'll please to look into it, you'll see'tis for a few things you ordered.
The stuff is all laid out and delivered.
The paper and the festoon - bordering for the drawing room scene is cut out, and left yAnder within."
" YAnder, within!
I wish you had not been in such a confounded hurry--six - and - twenty shillings!"
cried he; " but I can't stay to talk about it now.
I'll tell you, Mr. Chip," said Archer, lowering his voice, " what you must do for me, my good fellow."
Then, drawing Mr. Chip aside, he begged him to pull down some of the wood work which had been put up, and to cut it into a certain number of wooden bars, of which he gave him the dimensions, with orders to place them all, when ready, under a haystack, which he pointed out.
Mr. Chip scrupled and hesitated, and began to talk of " THE DOCTOR."
Archer immediately began to talk of the bill, and throwing down a guinea and a half, the conscientious carpenter pocketed the money directly, and made his bow.
" Well, Master Archer," said he, " there's no refusing you nothing.
You have such a way of talking one out of it.
You manage me just like a child."
" Ay, ay!"
said Archer, knowing that he had been cheated, and yet proud of managing a carpenter, " ay, ay!
I know the way to manage everybody.
Let the things be ready in an hour's time, and hark'e!
leave your tools by mistake behind you, and a thousand of twenty - penny nails.
Ask no questions, and keep your own counsel like a wise man.
Off with you, and take care of'THE DOCTOR.'"
" Archers, Archers, to the Archers'tree!
Follow your leader," cried he, sounding his well known whistle as a signal.
His followers gathered round him, and he, raising himself upon the mount at the foot of the tree, counted his numbers, and then, in a voice lower than usual, addressed them thus:--" My friends, is there a Greybeard amongst us?
If there is, let him walk off at once, he has my free leave."
No one stirred.
" Then we are all Archers, and we will stand by one another.
Join hands, my friends."
They all joined hands.
" Promise me not to betray me, and I will go on.
I ask no security but your honour."
They all gave their honour to be secret and FAITHFUL, as he called it, and he went on.
" Did you ever hear of such a thing as a'BARRING OUT,' my friends?"
They had heard of such a thing, but they had only heard of it.
Archer gave the history of a " Barring Out," in which he had been concerned at his school, in which the boys stood out against the master, and gained their point at last, which was a week's more holidays at Easter.
* " But if WE should not succeed," said they, " Dr. Middleton is so steady; he never goes back from what he has said."
" Did you ever try to push him back?
Let us be steady and he'll tremble.
Tyrants always tremble when --"
" Oh," interrupted a number of voices; " but he is not a tyrant--is he?"
" All schoolmasters are tyrants--are not they?"
replied Archer; " and is not he a schoolmaster?"
To this logic there was no answer; but, still reluctant, they asked, " What they should GET by a Barring Out?"
" Get!-- everything!-- what we want!-- which is everything to lads of spirit - - victory and liberty!
Bar him out till he repeals his tyrannical law; till he lets us into our own theatre again, or till he tells us his'GOOD REASONS'against it."
" But perhaps he has reasons for not telling us."
" Impossible!"
cried Archer, " that's the way we are always to be governed by a man in a wig, who says he has good reasons, and can't tell them.
Are you fools?
Go!
go back to De Grey!
I see you are all Greybeards.
Go!
Who goes first?"
Nobody would go FIRST.
" I will have nothing to do with ye, if ye are resolved to be slaves!"
" We won't be slaves!"
they all exclaimed at once.
" Then," said Archer, " stand out in the right and be free."
*[ This custom of " BARRING OUT " was very general (especially in the northern parts of England) during the 17th and 18th centuries, and it has been fully described by Brand and other antiquarian writers.
Dr. Johnson mentions that Addison, while under the tuition of Mr. Shaw, master of the Lichfield Grammar School, led, and successfully conducted, " a plan for BARRING OUT his master.
A disorderly privilege," says the doctor, " which, in his time, prevailed in the principal seminaries of education."
In the Gentleman's Magazine of 1828, Dr. P. A. Nuttall, under the signature of II.
A. N., has given a spirited sketch of a " BARRING OUT " at the Ormskirk Grammar School, which has since been republished at length (though without acknowledgment), by Sir Henry Ellis, in Bohn's recent edition of Brand's " Popular Antiquities."
" THE RIGHT."
It would have taken up too much time to examine what " THE RIGHT " was.
Everybody thinks it is right, and everybody can't be wrong."
By some of these arguments, which passed rapidly through the mind without his being conscious of them, each boy decided, and deceived himself--what none would have done alone, none scrupled to do as a party.
It was determined, then, that there should be a Barring Out.
The arrangement of the affair was left to their new manager, to whom they all pledged implicit obedience.
Obedience, it seems, is necessary, even from rebels to their ringleaders; not reasonable, but implicit obedience.
Scarcely had the assembly adjourned to the Ball - alley, when Fisher, with an important length of face, came up to the manager, and desired to speak one word to him.
" My advice to you, Archer, is, to do nothing in this till we have consulted, YOU KNOW WHO, about whether it's right or wrong."
' YOU KNOW WHO!'
Whom do you mean?
Make haste, and don't make so many faces, for I'm in a hurry.
Who is'YOU KNOW WHO?'"
" The old woman," said Fisher, gravely; " the gipsy."
" You may consult the old woman," said Archer, bursting out a - laughing, " about what's right and wrong, if you please; but no old woman shall decide for me."
" No; but you don't TAKE me," said Fisher; " you don't TAKE me.
By right and wrong, I mean lucky and unlucky."
" Whatever _I_ do will be lucky," replied Archer.
" My gipsy told you that already."
" I know, I know," said Fisher, " and what she said about your friends being lucky--that went a great way with many," added he, with a sagacious nod of his head; " I can tell you THAT--more than you think.
Do you know," said he, laying hold of Archer's button, " I'm in the secret.
There are nine of us have crooked our little fingers upon it, not to stir a step till we get her advice; and she has appointed me to meet her about particular business of my own at eight.
So I'm to consult her and to bring her answer."
Archer knew too well how to govern fools, to attempt to reason with them; and, instead of laughing any longer at Fisher's ridiculous superstition, he was determined to take advantage of it.
He affected to be persuaded of the wisdom of the measure; looked at his watch; urged him to be exact to a moment; conjured him to remember exactly the words of the oracle; and, above all things, to demand the lucky hour and minute when the Barring Out should begin.
With these instructions Archer put his watch into the solemn dupe's hand, and left him to count the seconds, till the moment of his appointment, whilst he ran off himself to prepare the oracle.
Proud of his secret commission, Fisher slouched his hat, he knew not why, over his face, and proceeded towards the appointed spot.
To keep, as he had been charged by Archer, within the letter of the law, he stood BEHIND the forbidden building, and waited some minutes.
Through a gap in the hedge the old woman at length made her appearance, muffled up, and looking cautiously about her.
" There's nobody near us!"
said Fisher, and he began to be a little afraid.
" What answer," said he, recollecting himself, " about my Livy?"
" Lost!
lost!
lost!"
said the gipsy, lifting up her hands; " never, never, never to be found!
But no matter for that now; that is not your errand to - night; no tricks with me; speak to me of what is next your heart."
A thought, a provident thought, now struck Fisher; for even he had some foresight where his favourite passion was concerned.
" Pray, in our Barring Out shall we be starved?"
" No," said the gipsy, " not if you trust to me for food, and if you give me money enough.
Silver won't do for so many; gold is what must cross my hand."
" I have no gold," said Fisher, " and I don't know what you mean by'so many.'
I'm only talking of number one, you know.
I must take care of that first."
So, as Fisher thought it was possible that Archer, clever as he was, might be disappointed in his supplies, he determined to take secret measures for himself.
My mouth waters for the buns, and have'em I must now."
So, for the hope of twelve buns, he sacrificed the money which had been intrusted to him.
Thus the meanest motives, in mean minds often prompt to the commission of those great faults, to which one should think nothing but some violent passion could have tempted.
The ambassador having thus, in his opinion, concluded his own and the public business, returned well satisfied with the result, after receiving the gipsy's reiterated promise to tap THREE TIMES at the window on Thursday morning.
The day appointed for the Barring Out at length arrived; and Archer, assembling the confederates, informed them, that all was prepared for carrying their design into execution; that he now depended for success upon their punctuality and courage.
" Bless me," exclaimed Archer, suddenly stopping in this narration of his services, " there's one thing, after all, I've forgot, we shall be undone without it.
Fisher, pray did you ever buy the candles for the playhouse?"
" No, to be sure," replied Fisher, extremely frightened; " you know you don't want candles for the playhouse now."
" Not for the playhouse, but for the Barring Out.
We shall be in the dark, man.
You must run this minute, run."
" For candles?"
said Fisher, confused; " how many?-- what sort?"
" Stupidity!"
exclaimed Archer, " you are a pretty fellow at a dead lift!
Lend me a pencil and a bit of paper, do; I'll write down what I want myself!
Well, what are you fumbling for?"
" For money!"
said Fisher, colouring.
" Money, man!
Didn't I give you half a crown the other day?"
" Yes," replied Fisher, stammering; " but I wasn't sure that that might be enough."
" Enough!
yes, to be sure it will.
I don't know what you are AT."
" Nothing, nothing," said Fisher, " here, write upon this, then," said Fisher, putting a piece of paper into Archer's hand, upon which Archer wrote his orders.
" Away, away!"
cried he.
Away went Fisher.
He returned; but not until a considerable time afterwards.
They were at supper when he returned.
" Fisher always comes in at supper - time," observed one of the Greybeards, carelessly.
" Well, and would you have him come in AFTER supper - time?"
said Townsend, who always supplied his party with ready wit.
" I've got the candles," whispered Fisher as he passed by Archer to his place.
" And the tinder - box?"
said Archer.
" Yes; I got back from my Aunt Barbara under pretence that I must study for repetition day an hour later to - night.
So I got leave.
Was not that clever?"
A dunce always thinks it clever to cheat even by SOBER LIES.
How Mr. Fisher procured the candles and the tinder box without money, and without credit, we shall discover further on.
Archer and his associates had agreed to stay the last in the schoolroom; and as soon as the Greybeards were gone out to bed, he, as the signal, was to shut and lock one door, Townsend the other.
A third conspirator was to strike a light, in case they should not be able to secure a candle.
A fourth was to take charge of the candle as soon as lighted; and all the rest were to run to their bars, which were secreted in a room; then to fix them to the common fastening bars of the window, in the manner in which they had been previously instructed by the manager.
Thus each had his part assigned, and each was warned that the success of the whole depended upon their order and punctuality.
Order and punctuality, it appears, are necessary even in a Barring Out; and even rebellion must have its laws.
The long expected moment at length arrived.
De Grey and his friends, unconscious of what was going forward, walked out of the schoolroom as usual at bedtime.
The clock began to strike nine.
There was one Greybeard left in the room, who was packing up some of his books, which had been left about by accident.
It is impossible to describe the impatience with which he was watched, especially by Fisher, and the nine who depended upon the gipsy oracle.
When he had got all his books together under his arm, he let one of them fall; and whilst he stooped to pick it up, Archer gave the signal.
The doors were shut, locked, and double - locked in an instant.
A light was struck and each ran to his post.
The bars were all in the same moment put up to the windows, and Archer, when he had tried them all, and seen that they were secure, gave a loud " Huzza!"
" So, my little Greybeard," said he, holding a candle full in his eyes, " what think you of all this?-- How came you amongst the wicked ones?"
" I don't know, indeed," said the little boy, very gravely: " you shut me up amongst you.
Won't you let me out?"
" Let you out!
No, no, my little Greybeard," said Archer, catching hold of him, and dragging him to the window bars.
" Look ye here--touch these - - put your hand to them--pull, push, kick--put a little spirit into it, man--kick like an Archer, if you can; away with ye.
It's a pity that the king of the Greybeards is not here to admire me.
I should like to show him our fortifications.
But come, my merry men all, now to the feast.
Out with the table into the middle of the room.
Good cheer, my jolly Archers!
I'm your manager!"
Townsend, delighted with the bustle, rubbed his hands, and capered about the room, whilst the preparations for the feast were hurried forward.
" Four candles!-- Four candles on the table.
Let's have things in style when we are about it, Mr.
Manager," cried Townsend.
" Places!-- Places!
There's nothing like a fair scramble, my boys.
Let everyone take care of himself.
Hallo!
Greybeard, I've knocked Greybeard down here in the scuffle.
Get up again, my lad, and see a little life."
" No, no," cried Fisher, " he sha'n't SUP with us."
" No, no," cried the manager, " he shan't LIVE with us; a Greybeard is not fit company for Archers."
" No, no," cried Townsend, " evil communication corrupts good manners."
cried they.
" Tell me what's the Latin for cold roast beef?"
said Fisher, exultingly, and they returned to their feast.
Long and loud they revelled.
They had a few bottles of cider.
" Give me the corkscrew, the cider sha'n't be kept till it's sour," cried Townsend, in answer to the manager, who, when he beheld the provisions vanishing with surprising rapidity, began to fear for the morrow.
" Hang to - morrow!"
cried Townsend, " let Greybeards think of to - morrow; Mr.
Manager, here's your good health."
The Archers all stood up as their cups were filled to drink the health of their chief with a universal cheer.
But at the moment that the cups were at their lips, and as Archer bowed to thank the company, a sudden shower from above astonished the whole assembly.
They looked up, and beheld the rose of a watering - engine, whose long neck appeared through a trap door in the ceiling.
" Your good health, Mr.
Manager!"
said a voice, which was known to be the gardener's; and in the midst of their surprise and dismay the candles were suddenly extinguished; the trap - door shut down; and they were left in utter darkness.
" The DEVIL!"
said Archer."
" Don't swear, Mr.
Manager," said the same voice from the ceiling, " I hear every word you say."
" Mercy upon us!"
exclaimed Fisher.
" The clock," added he, whispering, " must have been wrong, for it had not done striking when we began.
Only, you remember, Archer, it had just done before you had done locking your door."
" Hold your tongue, blockhead!"
said Archer.
" Well, boys!
were ye never in the dark before?
You are not afraid of a shower of rain, I hope.
Is anybody drowned?"
" No," said they, with a faint laugh, " but what shall we do here in the dark all night long, and all day to - morrow?
We can't unbar the shutters."
" It's a wonder NOBODY ever thought of the trap - door!"
said Townsend.
The trap - door had indeed escaped the manager's observation.
As the house was new to him, and the ceiling being newly white - washed, the opening was scarcely perceptible.
* The light appeared.
But at the moment that it made the tinder - box visible, another shower from above, aimed, and aimed exactly, at the tinder - box, drenched it with water, and rendered it totally unfit for further service.
Archer in a fury dashed it to the ground.
And now for the first time he felt what it was to be the unsuccessful head of a party.
He heard in his turn the murmurs of a discontented, changeable populace; and recollecting all his bars and bolts, and ingenious contrivances, he was more provoked at their blaming him for this one only oversight than he was grieved at the disaster itself.
* Lucifer matches were then unknown.-- Ed.
" Oh, my hair is all wet!"
cried one, dolefully.
" Wring it, then," said Archer.
" My hand's cut with your broken glass," cried another.
" Glass!"
cried a third; " mercy!
is there broken glass?
and it's all about, I suppose, amongst the supper; and I had but one bit of bread all the time."
" Bread!"
cried Archer; " eat if you want it.
Here's a piece here, and no glass near it."
" It's all wet, and I don't like dry bread by itself; that's no feast."
" Heigh - day!
What, nothing but moaning and grumbling!
If these are the joys of a Barring Out," cried Townsend, " I'd rather be snug in my bed.
I expected that we should have sat up till twelve o'clock, talking, and laughing, and singing."
" So you may still; what hinders you?"
said Archer.
" Sing, and we'll join you, and I should be glad those fellows overhead heard us singing.
Begin, Townsend --
' Come now, all ye social Powers, Spread your influence o'er us '--
Or else --
' Rule, Britannia!
Britannia rules the waves!
Britons never will be slaves.'"
Nothing can be more melancholy than forced merriment.
In vain they roared in chorus.
In vain they tried to appear gay.
It would not do.
The voices died away, and dropped off one by one.
They had each provided himself with a great - coat to sleep upon; but now, in the dark, there was a peevish scrambling contest for the coats, and half the company, in very bad humour, stretched themselves upon the benches for the night.
Dr. Middleton had probably considered this in the choice he made of his first attack.
Archer, who had spent the night as a man who had the cares of government upon his shoulders, rose early in the morning, whilst everybody else was fast asleep.
In the night he had resolved the affair of the trap - door, and a new danger had alarmed him.
It was possible that the enemy might descend upon them through the trap - door.
The room had been built high to admit a free circulation of air.
It was twenty feet, so that it was in vain to think of reaching to the trap - door.
As soon as the daylight appeared, Archer rose softly, that he might RECONNOITRE, and devise some method of guarding against this new danger.
Luckily there were round holes in the top of the window - shutters, which admitted sufficient light for him to work by.
The remains of the soaked feast, wet candles, and broken glass spread over the table in the middle of the room, looked rather dismal this morning.
' A pretty set of fellows I have to manage!"
said Archer, contemplating the group of sleepers before him.
" It is well they have somebody to think for them.
Now if I wanted--which, thank goodness, I don't--but if I did want to call a cabinet council to my assistance, whom could I pitch upon?
not this stupid snorer, who is dreaming of gipsies, if he is dreaming of anything," continued Archer, as he looked into Fisher's open mouth.
" This next chap is quick enough; but, then, he is so fond of having everything his own way.
And this curl pated monkey, who is grinning in his sleep, is all tongue and no brains.
Here are brains, though nobody would think it, in this lump," said he, looking at a fat, rolled up, heavy breathing sleeper; " but what signify brains to such a lazy dog?
I might kick him for my football this half hour before I should get him awake.
This lank jawed harlequin beside him is a handy fellow, to be sure; but, then, if he has hands, he has no head--and he'd be afraid of his own shadow too, by this light, he is such a coward!
And Townsend, why, he has puns in plenty; but, when there's any work to be done, he's the worst fellow to be near one in the world--he can do nothing but laugh at his own puns.
This poor little fellow that we hunted into the corner has more sense than all of them put together; but then he is a Greybeard."
Thus speculated the chief of a party upon his sleeping friends.
And how did it happen that he should be so ambitious to please and govern this set, when, for each individual of which it was composed, he felt such supreme contempt?
He had formed them into a PARTY, had given them a name, and he was at their head.
If these be not good reasons, none better can be assigned for Archer's conduct.
" I wish ye could all sleep on," said he; " but I must waken ye, though you will be only in my way.
The sound of my hammering must waken them; so I may as well do the thing handsomely, and flatter some of them by pretending to ask their advice."
Accordingly, he pulled two or three to waken them.
" Come, Townsend, waken, my boy!
Here's some diversion for you--up!
up!"
" Diversion!"
cried Townsend; " I'm your man!
I'm up--UP TO ANYTHING."
So, under the name of DIVERSION, Archer set Townsend to work at four o'clock in the morning.
They had nails, a few tools, and several spars, still left from the wreck of the playhouse.
These, by Archer's directions, they sharpened at one end, and nailed them to the ends of several forms.
All hands were now called to clear away the supper things, to erect these forms perpendicularly under the trap - door; and with the assistance of a few braces, a chevaux - de - frise was formed, upon which nobody could venture to descend.
At the farthest end of the room they likewise formed a penthouse of the tables, under which they proposed to breakfast, secure from the pelting storm, if it should again assail them through the trap - door.
They crowded under the penthouse as soon as it was ready, and their admiration of its ingenuity paid the workmen for the job.
" Lord!
I shall like to see the gardener's phiz through the trap - door, when he beholds the spikes under him!"
cried Townsend.
" Now for breakfast!"
" Ay, now for breakfast," said Archer, looking at his watch; " past eight o'clock, and my town boys not come!
I don't understand this!"
Archer had expected a constant supply of provisions from two boys who lived in the town, who were cousins of his, and who had promised to come every day, and put food in at a certain hole in the wall, in which a ventilator usually turned.
This ventilator Archer had taken down, and had contrived it so that it could be easily removed and replaced at pleasure; but, upon examination, it was now perceived that the hole had been newly stopped up by an iron back, which it was impossible to penetrate or remove.
" It never came into my head that anybody would ever have thought of the ventilator but myself!"
exclaimed Archer, in great perplexity.
He listened and waited for his cousins; but no cousins came, and at a late hour the company were obliged to breakfast upon the scattered fragments of the last night's feast.
That feast had been spread with such imprudent profusion, that little now remained to satisfy the hungry guests.
The delay, however, was alarming.
Fisher alone heard the manager's calculations and saw the public fears unmoved.
Secretly rejoicing in his own wisdom, he walked from window to window, slily listening for the gipsy's signal.
" There it is!"
cried he with more joy sparkling in his eyes than had ever enlightened them before.
" Come this way, Archer; but don't tell anybody.
Hark!
do ye hear those three taps at the window?
This is the old woman with twelve buns for me.
I'll give you one whole one for yourself, if you will unbar the window for me."
" Unbar the window!"
interrupted Archer; " no, that I won't, for you or the gipsy either; but I have heard enough to get your buns without that.
But stay; there is something of more consequence than your twelve buns.
I must think for ye all, I see, regularly."
So he summoned a council, and proposed that everyone should subscribe, and trust the subscription to the gipsy, to purchase a fresh supply of provisions.
Archer laid down a guinea of his own money for his subscription; at which sight all the company clapped their hands, and his popularity rose to a high pitch with their renewed hopes of plenty.
Now, having made a list of their wants, they folded the money in the paper, put it into a bag, which Archer tied to a long string, and, having broken the pane of glass behind the round hole in the window - shutter, he let down the bag to the gipsy.
She promised to be punctual, and having filled the bag with Fisher's twelve buns, they were drawn up in triumph, and everybody anticipated the pleasure with which they should see the same bag drawn up at dinner - time.
What a pity that so much ingenuity should have been employed to no purpose!
No sooner had she received the money than her end was gained.
Dinner - time came; it struck three, four, five, six.
They listened with hungry ears, but no signal was heard.
The morning had been very long, and Archer had in vain tried to dissuade them from devouring the remainder of the provisions before they were sure of a fresh supply.
And now those who had been the most confident were the most impatient of their disappointment.
Archer, in the division of the food, had attempted, by the most scrupulous exactness, to content the public, and he was both astonished and provoked to perceive that his impartiality was impeached.
So differently do people judge in different situations!
He was the first person to accuse his master of injustice, and the least capable of bearing such an imputation upon himself from others.
He now experienced some of the joys of power, and the delight of managing unreasonable numbers.
" Have not I done everything I could to please you?
Have not I spent my money to buy you food?
Have not I divided the last morsel with you?
I have not tasted one mouthful today!
Did not I set to work for you at sunrise?
Did not I lie awake all night for you?
Have not I had all the labour, and all the anxiety?
Look round and see MY contrivances, MY work, MY generosity!
And, after all, you think me a tyrant, because I want you to have common sense.
Is not this bun which I hold in my hand my own?
Did not I earn it by my own ingenuity from that selfish dunce " (pointing to Fisher), " who could never have gotten one of his twelve buns, if I had not shown him how?
Eleven of them he has eaten since morning for his own share, without offering anyone a morsel; but I scorn to eat even what is justly my own, when I see so many hungry creatures longing for it.
I was not going to touch this last morsel myself.
I only begged you to keep it till supper - time, when perhaps you'll want it more, and Townsend, who can't bear the slightest thing that crosses his own whims, and who thinks there's nothing in this world to be minded but his own diversion, calls me a TYRANT.
You all of you promised to obey me.
The first thing I ask you to do for your own good, and when, if you had common sense, you must know I can want nothing but your good, you rebel against me.
Traitors!
fools!
ungrateful fools!"
Archer walked up and down, unable to command his emotion, whilst, for the moment, the discontented multitude was silenced.
" Here," said he, striking his hand upon the little boy's shoulder, " here's the only one amongst you who has not uttered one word of reproach or complaint, and he has had but one bit of bread--a bit that I gave him myself this day.
Here!"
said he, snatching the bun, which nobody had dared to touch, " take it--it's mine--I give it to you, though you are a Greybeard; you deserve it.
Eat it, and be an Archer.
You shall be my captain; will you?"
said he, lifting him up in his arm above the rest.
" I like you now," said the little boy, courageously; " but I love De Grey better; he has always been my friend, and he advised me never to call myself any of those names, Archer or Greybeard; so I won't.
Though I am shut in here, I have nothing to do with it.
I love Dr. Middleton; he was never unjust to ME, and I daresay that he has very good reasons, as De Grey said, for forbidding us to go into that house.
Besides, it's his own."
Instead of admiring the good sense and steadiness of this little lad, Archer suffered Townsend to snatch the untasted bun out of his hands.
He flung it at a hole in the window, but it fell back.
The Archers scrambled for it, and Fisher ate it.
Archer saw this, and was sensible that he had not done handsomely in suffering it.
A few moments ago he had admired his own generosity, and though he had felt the injustice of others, he had not accused himself of any.
He turned away from the little boy, and sitting down at one end of the table, hid his face in his hands.
He continued immovable in this posture for some time.
" Lord!"
said Townsend; " it was an excellent joke!"
" Pooh!"
said Fisher; " what a fool, to think so much about a bun!"
" Never mind, Mr. Archer, if you are thinking about me," said the little boy, trying gently to pull his hands from his face.
Archer stooped down, and lifted him up upon the table, at which sight the partisans set up a general hiss.
" He has forsaken us!
He deserts his party!
He wants to be a Greybeard!
After he has got us all into this scrape, he will leave us!"
" I am not going to leave you," cried Archer.
" No one shall ever accuse me of deserting my party.
I'll stick by the Archers, right or wrong, I tell you, to the last moment.
But this little fellow--take it as you please, mutiny if you will, and throw me out of the window.
Call me traitor!
coward!
Greybeard!-- this little fellow is worth you all put together, and I'll stand by him against anyone who dares to lay a finger upon him; and the next morsel of food that I see shall be his.
Touch him who dares!"
The commanding air with which Archer spoke and looked, and the belief that the little boy deserved his protection, silenced the crowd.
But the storm was only hushed.
No sound of merriment was now to be heard--no battledore and shuttlecock - - no ball, no marbles.
Some sat in a corner, whispering their wishes that Archer would unbar the doors, and give up.
Others, stretching their arms, and gaping as they sauntered up and down the room, wished for air, or food, or water.
Fisher and his nine, who had such firm dependence upon the gipsy, now gave themselves up to utter despair.
It was eight o'clock, growing darker and darker every minute, and no candles, no light could they have.
The prospect of another long dark night made them still more discontented.
Townsend, at the head of the yawners, and Fisher, at the head of the hungry malcontents, gathered round Archer and the few yet unconquered spirits, demanding " How long he meant to keep them in this dark dungeon?
and whether he expected that they should starve themselves for his sake?"
The idea of GIVING UP was more intolerable to Archer than all the rest.
He saw that the majority, his own convincing argument, was against him.
He was therefore obliged to condescend to the arts of persuasion.
He flattered some with hopes of food from the town boys.
Some he reminded of their promises; others he praised for former prowess; and others he shamed by the repetition of their high vaunts in the beginning of the business.
It was at length resolved that at all events they WOULD HOLD OUT.
With this determination they stretched themselves again to sleep, for the second night, in weak and weary obstinacy.
Archer slept longer and more soundly than usual the next morning, and when he awoke, he found his hands tied behind him!
Three or four boys had just got hold of his feet, which they pressed down, whilst the trembling hands of Fisher were fastening the cord round them.
With all the force which rage could inspire, Archer struggled and roared to " HIS ARCHERS!"
-- his friends, his party--for help against the traitors.
But all kept aloof.
Townsend, in particular, stood laughing and looking on.
" I beg your pardon, Archer, but really you look so droll.
All alive and kicking!
Don't be angry.
I'm so weak, I cannot help laughing today."
The packthread cracked.
" His hands are free!
He's loose!"
cried the least of the boys, and ran away, whilst Archer leaped up, and seizing hold of Fisher with a powerful grasp, sternly demanded " What he meant by this?"
" Ask my party," said Fisher, terrified; " they set me on; ask my party."
" Your party!"
cried Archer, with a look of ineffable contempt; " you reptile!-- YOUR party?
Can such a thing as YOU have a party?"
" To be sure!"
said Fisher, settling his collar, which Archer in his surprise had let go; " to be sure!
Why not?
Any man who chooses it may have a party as well as yourself, I suppose.
I have nine Fishermen."
At these words, spoken with much sullen importance, Archer, in spite of his vexation, could not help laughing.
" Fishermen!"
cried he, " FISHERMEN!"
" And why not Fishermen as well as Archers?"
cried they.
" One party is just as good as another; it is only a question which can get the upper hand; and we had your hands tied just now."
" That's right, Townsend," said Archer, " laugh on, my boy!
Friend or foe, it's all the same to you.
I know how to value your friendship now.
You are a mighty good fellow when the sun shines; but let a storm come, and how you slink away!"
At this instant, Archer felt the difference between A GOOD COMPANION and a good friend, a difference which some people do not discover till late in life.
" Have I no friend?-- no real friend amongst you all?
And could ye stand by, and see my hands tied behind me like a thief's?
What signifies such a party--all mute?"
" We want something to eat," answered the Fishermen.
" What signifies SUCH a party, indeed?
and SUCH a manager, who can do nothing for one?"
" And have _I_ done nothing?"
" Don't let's hear any more prosing," said Fisher; " we are too many for you.
I've advised my party, if they've a mind not to be starved, to give you up for the ringleader, as you were; and Dr. Middleton will not let us all off, I daresay."
So, depending upon the sullen silence of the assembly, he again approached Archer with a cord.
A cry of " No, no, no!
Don't tie him," was feebly raised.
Archer stood still, but the moment Fisher touched him he knocked him down to the ground, and turning to the rest, with eyes sparkling with indignation, " Archers!"
cried he.
A voice at this instant was heard at the door.
It was De Grey's voice.
" I have got a large basket of provisions for your breakfast."
A general shout of joy was sent forth by the voracious public.
" Breakfast!
Provisions!
A large basket!
De Grey for ever!
Huzza!"
De Grey promised, upon his honour, that if he would unbar the door nobody should come in with him, and no advantage should be taken of them.
This promise was enough even for Archer.
" I will let him in," said he, " myself; for I'm sure he'll never break his word."
He pulled away the bar; the door opened, and having bargained for the liberty of Melson, the little boy, who had been shut in by mistake, De Grey entered with his basket of provisions, when he locked and barred the door instantly.
Joy and gratitude sparkled in every face when he unpacked his basket, and spread the table with a plentiful breakfast.
A hundred questions were asked him at once.
" Eat first," said he, " and we will talk afterwards."
This business was quickly despatched by those who had not tasted food for a long while.
Their curiosity increased as their hunger diminished.
" Who sent us breakfast?
Does Dr. Middleton know?"
were questions reiterated from every mouth.
" He does know," answered De Grey; " and the first thing I have to tell you is, that I am your fellow - prisoner.
I am to stay here till you give up.
This was the only condition on which Dr. Middleton would allow me to bring you food, and he will allow no more."
Everyone looked at the empty basket.
But Archer, in whom half vanquished party spirit revived with the strength he had got from his breakfast, broke into exclamations in praise of De Grey's magnanimity, as he now imagined that De Grey had become one of themselves.
" And you will join us, will you?
That's a noble fellow!"
" No," answered De Grey, calmly; " but I hope to persuade, or rather to convince you, that you ought to join me."
" You would have found it no hard task to have persuaded or convinced us, whichever you pleased," said Townsend, " if you had appealed to Archers fasting; but Archers feasting are quite other animals.
Even Caesar himself, after breakfast, is quite another thing!"
added he, pointing to Archer.
" You may speak for yourself, Mr. Townsend," replied the insulted hero, " but not for me, or for Archers in general, if you please.
We unbarred the door upon the faith of De Grey's promise--THAT was not giving up.
And it would have been just as difficult, I promise you, to persuade or convince me either that I should give up against my honour before breakfast as after."
This spirited speech was applauded by many, who had now forgotten the feelings of famine.
Not so Fisher, whose memory was upon this occasion very distinct.
" What nonsense," and the orator paused for a synonymous expression, but none was at hand.
" What nonsense and--nonsense is here!
Why, don't you remember that dinner - time, and supper - time and breakfast - time will come again?
So what signifies mouthing about persuading and convincing?
We will not go through again what we did yesterday!
Honour me no honour.
I don't understand it.
I'd rather be flogged at once, as I have been many's the good time for a less thing.
I say, we'd better all be flogged at once, which must be the end of it sooner or later, than wait here to be without dinner, breakfast, and supper, all only because Mr. Archer won't give up because of his honour and nonsense!"
Many prudent faces amongst the Fishermen seemed to deliberate at the close of this oration, in which the arguments were brought so " home to each man's business and bosom."
" But," said De Grey, " when we yield, I hope it will not be merely to get our dinner, gentlemen.
When we yield, Archer --"
" Don't address yourself to me," interrupted Archer, struggling with his pride; " you have no further occasion to try to win me.
I have no power, no party, you see!
And now I find that I have no friends, I don't care what becomes of myself.
I suppose I'm to be given up as a ringleader.
Here's this Fisher, and a party of his Fishermen, were going to tie me hand and foot, if I had not knocked him down, just as you came to the door, De Grey; and now perhaps you will join Fisher's party against me."
De Grey was going to assure him that he had no intention of joining any party, when a sudden change appeared on Archer's countenance.
" Silence!"
cried Archer, in an imperious tone, and there was silence.
Someone was heard to whistle the beginning of a tune, that was perfectly new to everybody present, except to Archer, who immediately whistled the conclusion.
" There!"
cried he, looking at De Grey, with triumph; " that's a method of holding secret correspondence whilst a prisoner, which I learned from'Richard Coeur de Lion.'
I know how to make use of everything.
Hallo!
friend!
are you there at last?"
cried he, going to the ventilator.
" Yes, but we are barred out here."
" Round to the window then, and fill our bag.
We'll let it down, my lad, in a trice; bar me out who can!"
Archer let down the bag with all the expedition of joy, and it was filled with all the expedition of fear.
" Pull away!
make haste, for Heaven's sake!"
said the voice from without; " the gardener will come from dinner, else, and we shall be caught.
He mounted guard all yesterday at the ventilator; and though I watched and watched till it was darker than pitch, I could not get near you.
I don't know what has taken him out of the way now.
Make haste, pull away!"
The heavy bag was soon pulled up.
" Have you any more?"
said Archer.
" Yes, plenty.
Let down quick!
I've got the tailor's bag full, which is three times as large as yours, and I've changed clothes with the tailor's boy; so nobody took notice of me as I came down the street."
" There's my own cousin!"
exclaimed Archer, " there's a noble fellow!
there's my own cousin, I acknowledge.
Fill the bag, then."
Several times the bag descended and ascended; and at every unlading of the crane, fresh acclamations were heard.
" I have no more!"
at length the boy with the tailor's bag cried.
" Off with you, then; we've enough, and thank you."
A delightful review was now made of their treasure.
Busy hands arranged and sorted the heterogeneous mass.
Archer, in the height of his glory, looked on, the acknowledged master of the whole.
Townsend, who, in his prosperity as in adversity, saw and enjoyed the comic foibles of his friends, pushed De Grey, who was looking on with a more good - natured and more thoughtful air.
" Friend," said he, " you look like a great philosopher, and Archer a great hero."
" And you, Townsend," said Archer, " may look like a wit, if you will; but you will never be a hero."
" No, no," replied Townsend; " wits were never heroes, because they are wits.
You are out of your wits, and therefore may set up for a hero."
" Laugh, and welcome.
I'm not a tyrant.
I don't want to restrain anybody's wit; but I cannot say I admire puns."
" Nor I, either," said the time serving Fisher, sidling up to the manager, and picking the ice off a piece of plum - cake, " nor I either; I hate puns.
I can never understand Townsend's PUNS.
Besides, anybody can make puns; and one doesn't want wit, either, at all times; for instance, when one is going to settle about dinner, or business of consequence.
Bless us all, Archer!"
continued he, with sudden familiarity; " WHAT A SIGHT OF GOOD THINGS ARE HERE!
I'm sure we are much obliged to you and your cousin.
I never thought he'd have come.
Why, now we can hold out as long as you please.
Let us see," said he, dividing the provisions upon the table; " we can hold out to - day, and all to - morrow, and part of next day, maybe.
Why, now we may defy the doctor and the Greybeards.
The doctor will surely give up to us; for, you see, he knows nothing of all this, and he'll think we are starving all this while; and he'd be afraid, you see, to let us starve quite, in reality, for three whole days, because of what would be said in the town.
My Aunt Barbara, for one, would be AT HIM long before that time was out; and besides, you know, in that case, he'd be hanged for murder, which is quite another thing, in law, from a BARRING OUT, you know."
Archer had not given to this harangue all the attention which it deserved, for his eye was fixed upon De Grey.
" What is De Grey thinking of?"
he asked, impatiently.
" I am thinking," said De Grey, " that Dr. Middleton must believe that I have betrayed his confidence in me.
The gardener was ordered away from his watch - post for one half - hour when I was admitted.
This half - hour the gardener has made nearly a hour.
I never would have come near you if I had foreseen all this.
Dr. Middleton trusted me, and now he will repent of his confidence in me."
" De Grey!"
cried Archer, with energy, " he shall not repent of his confidence in you--nor shall you repent of coming amongst us.
You shall find that we have some honour as well as yourself, and I will take care of your honour as if it were my OWN!"
" Hey - day!"
interrupted Townsend; " are heroes allowed to change sides, pray?
And does the chief of the Archers stand talking sentiment to the chief of the Greybeards?
In the middle of his own party too!"
" Party!"
repeated Archer, disdainfully; " I have done with parties!
I see what parties are made of!
I have felt the want of a friend, and I am determined to make one if I can."
" That you may do," said De Grey, stretching out his hand.
" Unbar the doors!
unbar the windows!"
exclaimed Archer.
" Away with all these things!
I give up for De Grey's sake.
He shall not lose his credit on my account."
" No," said De Grey, " you shall not give up for my sake."
" Well, then, I'll give up to do what is HONOURABLE," said Archer.
" Why not to do what is REASONABLE?"
said De Grey.
" REASONABLE!
Oh, the first thing that a man of spirit should think of is, what is HONOURABLE."
" But how will he find out WHAT IS honourable, unless he can reason?"
replied De Grey.
" Oh," said Archer, " his own feelings always tell him what is honourable."
" Have not YOUR FEELINGS," asked De Grey, " changed within these few hours?"
" Yes, with circumstances," replied Archer; " but right or wrong, as long as I think it honourable to do so and so, I'm satisfied."
" But you cannot think anything honourable, or the contrary," observed De Grey, " without reasoning; and as to what you call feeling, it's only a quick sort of reasoning."
" The quicker, the better," said Archer.
" Perhaps not," said De Grey.
" We are apt to reason best when we are not in quite so great a hurry."
" But," said Archer, " we have not always time enough to reason AT FIRST."
" You must, however, acknowledge," replied De Grey, smiling, " that no man but a fool thinks it honourable to be in the wrong AT LAST.
Is it not, therefore, best to begin by reasoning to find out the right AT FIRST?"
" To be sure," said Archer.
" And did you reason with yourself at first?
And did you find out that it was right to bar Dr. Middleton out of his own schoolroom, because he desired you not to go into one of his own houses?"
" Why," said De Grey, " should you suspect me of such a mean action, when you have never seen or known me do anything mean, and when in this instance you have no proofs?"
" Will you give me your word and honour now, De Grey, before everybody here, that you did not do what I suspected?"
" I do assure you, upon my honour, I never, indirectly, spoke to Dr. Middleton about the playhouse."
" Then," said Archer, " I'm as glad as if I had found a thousand pounds!
Now you are my friend indeed."
" And Dr. Middleton--why should you suspect him without reason any more than me?"
" As to that," said Archer, " he is your friend, and you are right to defend him; and I won't say another word against him.
Will that satisfy you?"
" Not quite."
" Not quite!
Then, indeed you are unreasonable!"
" No," replied De Grey; " for I don't wish you to yield out of friendship to me, any more than to honour.
If you yield to reason, you will be governed by reason another time."
" Well; but then don't triumph over me, because you have the best side of the argument."
" Not I!
How can I?"
said De Grey; " for now you are on THE BEST SIDE as well as myself, are not you?
So we may triumph together."
" You are a good friend!"
said Archer; and with great eagerness he pulled down the fortifications, whilst every hand assisted.
The room was restored to order in a few minutes--the shutters were thrown open, the cheerful light let in.
The windows were thrown up, and the first feeling of the fresh air was delightful.
The green playgound opened before them, and the hopes of exercise and liberty brightened the countenances of these voluntary prisoners.
But, alas!
they were not yet at liberty.
The idea of Dr. Middleton, and the dread of his vengeance, smote their hearts.
When the rebels had sent an ambassador with their surrender, they stood in pale and silent suspense, waiting for their doom.
" Ah!"
said Fisher, looking up at the broken panes in the windows, " the doctor will think the most of THAT--he'll never forgive us for that."
" Hush!
here he comes!"
His steady step was heard approaching nearer and nearer.
Archer threw open the door, and Dr. Middleton entered.
Fisher instantly fell on his knees.
" It is no delight to me to see people on their knees.
Stand up, Mr. Fisher.
I hope you are all conscious that you have done wrong?"
" Sir," said Archer, " they are conscious that they have done wrong, and so am I. I am the ringleader.
Punish me as you think proper.
I submit.
Your punishments--your vengeance ought to fall on me alone!"
" Sir," said Dr. Middleton, calmly, " I perceive that whatever else you may have learned in the course of your education, you have not been taught the meaning of the word punishment.
Punishment and vengeance do not with us mean the same thing.
PUNISHMENT is pain given, with the reasonable hope of preventing those on whom it is inflicted from doing, IN FUTURE, what will hurt themselves or others.
VENGEANCE never looks to the FUTURE, but is the expression of anger for an injury that is past.
I feel no anger; you have done me no injury."
Here many of the little boys looked timidly up to the windows.
" Yes, I see that you have broken my windows; that is a small evil."
" Oh, sir!
How good!
How merciful!"
exclaimed those who had been most panic - struck.
" He forgives us!"
" Stay," resumed Dr. Middleton; " I cannot forgive you.
I shall never revenge, but it is my duty to punish.
You have rebelled against the just authority which is necessary to conduct and govern you whilst you have not sufficient reason to govern and conduct yourselves.
Without obedience to the laws," added he, turning to Archer, " as men, you cannot be suffered in society.
You, sir, think yourself a man, I observe; and you think it the part of a man not to submit to the will of another.
I have no pleasure in making others, whether men or children, submit to my WILL; but my reason and experience are superior to yours.
Your parents at least think so, or they would not have intrusted me with the care of your education.
As long as they do intrust you to my care, and as long as I have any hopes of making you wiser and better by punishment, I shall steadily inflict it, whenever I judge it to be necessary, and I judge it to be necessary NOW.
This is a long sermon, Mr. Archer, not preached to show my own eloquence, but to convince your understanding.
Now, as to your punishment!"
" Name it, sir," said Archer; " whatever it is, I will cheerfully submit to it."
" Name it yourself," said Dr. Middleton, " and show me that you now understand the nature of punishment."
Archer, proud to be treated like a reasonable creature, and sorry that he had behaved like a foolish schoolboy, was silent for some time, but at length replied, " That he would rather not name his own punishment."
He repeated, however, that he trusted he should bear it well, whatever it might be.
" I shall, then," said Dr. Middleton, " deprive you, for two months, of pocket - money, as you have had too much, and have made a bad use of it."
" Sir," said Archer, " I brought five guineas with me to school.
This guinea is all that I have left."
Dr. Middleton received the guinea which Archer offered him with a look of approbation, and told him that it should be applied to the repairs of the schoolroom.
The rest of the boys waited in silence for the doctor's sentence against them, but not with those looks of abject fear with which boys usually expect the sentence of a schoolmaster.
" You shall return from the playground, all of you," said Dr. Middleton, " one quarter of an hour sooner, for two months to come, than the rest of your companions.
A bell shall ring at the appointed time.
I give you an opportunity of recovering my confidence by your punctuality."
" Oh, sir!
we will come the instant, the very instant the bell rings; you shall have confidence in us," cried they, eagerly.
" I deserve your confidence, I hope," said Dr. Middleton; " for it is my first wish to make you all happy.
You do not know the pain that it has cost me to deprive you of food for so many hours."
Here the boys, with one accord, ran to the place where they had deposited their last supplies.
Archer delivered them up to the doctor, proud to show that they were not reduced to obedience merely by necessity.
I did not choose to mention my reason to you or your friends.
I have had the place cleaned, and you may return to it when you please.
The gipsies were yesterday removed from the town."
" De Grey, you were in the right," whispered Archer, " and it was I that was UNJUST."
" The old woman," continued the doctor, " whom you employed to buy food, has escaped the fever, but she has not escaped a gaol, whither she was sent yesterday, for having defrauded you of your money.
" Mr. Fisher," said Dr. Middleton, " as to you, I shall not punish you; I have no hope of making you either wiser or better.
Do you know this paper?"
-- the paper appeared to be a bill for candles and a tinder - box.
" I desired him to buy those things, sir," said Archer, colouring.
" And did you desire him not to pay for them?"
" No," said Archer, " he had half a crown on purpose to pay for them."
" I know he had, but he chose to apply it to his private use, and gave it to the gipsy to buy twelve buns for his own eating.
To obtain credit for the tinder - box and candles, he made use of THIS name," said he, turning to the other side of the bill, and pointing to De Grey's name, which was written at the end of a copy of one of De Grey's exercises.
" I assure you, sir --" cried Archer.
" You need not assure me, sir," said Dr. Middleton; " I cannot suspect a boy of your temper of having any part in so base an action.
When the people in the shop refused to let Mr. Fisher have the things without paying for them, he made use of De Grey's name, who was known there.
Suspecting some mischief, however, from the purchase of the tinder - box, the shopkeeper informed me of the circumstance.
Nothing in this whole business gave me half so much pain as I felt, for a moment, when I suspected that De Grey was concerned in it."
A loud cry, in which Archer's voice was heard most distinctly, declared De Grey's innocence.
Dr. Middleton looked round at their eager, honest faces, with benevolent approbation.
" Archer," said he, taking him by the hand, " I am heartily glad to see that you have got the better of your party spirit.
I wish you may keep such a friend as you have now beside you; one such friend is worth two such parties.
As for you, Mr. Fisher, depart; you must never return hither again."
In vain he solicited Archer and De Grey to intercede for him.
Everybody turned away with contempt; and he sneaked out, whimpering in a doleful voice, " What shall I say to my Aunt Barbara?"
THE BRACELETS.
In a beautiful and retired part of England lived Mrs. Villars, a lady whose accurate understanding, benevolent heart, and steady temper peculiarly fitted her for the most difficult, as well as most important, of all occupations--the education of youth.
This task she had undertaken; and twenty young persons were put under her care, with the perfect confidence of their parents.
No young people could be happier; they were good and gay, emulous, but not envious of each other; for Mrs. Villars was impartially just; her praise they felt to be the reward of merit, and her blame they knew to be the necessary consequence of ill - conduct.
To the one, therefore, they patiently submitted, and in the other consciously rejoiced.
They rose with fresh cheerfulness in the morning, eager to pursue their various occupations.
They returned in the evening with renewed ardour to their amusements, and retired to rest satisfied with themselves and pleased with each other.
Nothing so much contributed to preserve a spirit of emulation in this little society as a small honorary distinction, given annually, as a prize of successful application.
The prize this year was peculiarly dear to each individual, as it was the picture of a friend whom they dearly loved.
It was the picture of Mrs. Villars in a small bracelet.
It wanted neither gold, pearls nor precious stones to give it value.
The two foremost candidates for this prize were Cecilia and Leonora.
Cecilia was the most intimate friend of Leonora; but Leonora was only the favourite companion of Cecilia.
Cecilia was of an active, ambitious, enterprising disposition, more eager in the pursuit than happy in the enjoyment of her wishes.
Leonora was of a contented, unaspiring temperate character; not easily roused to action, but indefatigable when once excited.
Leonora was proud; Cecilia was vain.
Her vanity made her more dependent upon the approbation of others, and therefore more anxious to please than Leonora; but that very vanity made her, at the same time, more apt to offend.
In short, Leonora was the most anxious to avoid what was wrong; Cecilia, the most ambitious to do what was right.
Few of her companions loved, but many were led by Cecilia, for she was often successful.
Many loved Leonora, but none were ever governed by her, for she was too indolent to govern.
On the first day of May, about six o'clock in the evening, a great bell rang, to summon this little society into a hall, where the prize was to be decided.
A number of small tables were placed in a circle in the middle of the hall.
Seats for the young competitors were raised one above another, in a semicircle, some yards distant from the table, and the judges'chairs, under canopies of lilacs and laburnums, forming another semicircle, closed the amphitheatre.
Everyone put their writings, their drawings, their works of various kinds upon the tables appropriated for each.
How unsteady were the last steps to these tables!
How each little hand trembled as it laid down its claims!
Till this moment everyone thought herself secure of success; and the heart, which exulted with hope, now palpitated with fear.
The works were examined, the preference adjudged, and the prize was declared to be the happy Cecilia's.
Mrs. Villars came forward, smiling, with the bracelet in her hand.
Cecilia was behind her companions, on the highest row.
All the others gave way, and she was on the floor in an instant.
Mrs. Villars clasped the bracelet on her arm; the clasp was heard through the whole hall, and a universal smile of congratulation followed.
Mrs. Villars kissed Cecilia's little hand.
" And now," said she, " go and rejoice with your companions; the remainder of the day is yours."
Oh!
you whose hearts are elated with success, whose bosoms beat high with joy in the moment of triumph, command yourselves.
Let that triumph be moderate, that it may be lasting.
Consider, that though you are good, you may be better; and, though wise, you may be weak.
As soon as Mrs. Villars had given her the bracelet, all Cecilia's little companions crowded round her, and they all left the hall in an instant.
She was full of spirits and vanity.
She ran on.
Running down the flight of steps which led to the garden, in her violent haste, Cecilia threw down the little Louisa, who had a china mandarin in her hand, which her mother had sent her that very morning, and which was all broken to pieces by her fall.
" Oh, my mandarin!"
cried Louisa, bursting into tears.
The crowd behind Cecilia suddenly stopped.
Louisa sat on the lowest step, fixing her eyes upon the broken pieces.
Then, turning round, she hid her face in her hands upon the step above her.
In turning, Louisa threw down the remains of the mandarin.
The head, which she placed in the socket, fell from the shoulders, and rolled, bounding along the gravel walk.
Cecilia pointed to the head and to the socket, and burst into laughter.
The crowd behind laughed, too.
At any other time they would have been more inclined to cry with Louisa; but Cecilia had just been successful, and sympathy with the victorious often makes us forget justice.
Leonora, however, preserved her usual consistency.
" Poor Louisa!"
said she, looking first at her, and then reproachfully at Cecilia.
Cecilia turned sharply round, colouring, half with shame and half with vexation.
" I could not help it, Leonora," said she.
" But you could have helped laughing, Cecilia."
" I didn't laugh at Louisa; and I surely may laugh, for it does nobody any harm."
" I am sure, however," replied Leonora, " I should not have laughed if I had --"
" No, to be sure, you wouldn't, because Louisa is your favourite.
I can buy her another mandarin when the old peddler comes to the door, if that's all.
I CAN do no more, CAN I?"
said she, again turning round to her companions.
" No, to be sure," said they; " that's all fair."
Cecilia looked triumphantly at Leonora.
Leonora let go her hand; she ran on, and the crowd followed.
When she got to the end of the garden, she turned round to see if Leonora had followed her, too; but was vexed to see her still sitting on the steps with Louisa.
" I'm sure I can do no more than buy her another, CAN I!"
said she, again appealing to her companions.
" No, to be sure," said they, eager to begin their play.
How many games did these juvenile playmates begin and leave off, before Cecilia could be satisfied with any!
Her thoughts were discomposed, and her mind was running upon something else.
No wonder, then, that she did not play with her usual address.
She grew still more impatient.
She threw down the ninepins.
" Come, let us play at something else--at threading the needle," said she, holding out her hand.
They all yielded to the hand which wore the bracelet.
But Cecilia, dissatisfied with herself, was discontented with everybody else.
Her tone grew more and more peremptory.
One was too rude, another too stiff; one too slow, another too quick; in short everything went wrong, and everybody was tired of her humours.
The triumph of SUCCESS is absolute, but short.
Cecilia's companions at length recollected that though she had embroidered a tulip, and painted a peach, better than they, yet that they could play as well, and keep their tempers better; for she was discomposed.
Walking towards the house in a peevish mood, Cecilia met Leonora, but passed on.
" Cecilia!"
cried Leonora.
" Well, what do you want with me?"
" Are we friends?"
" You know best," said Cecilia.
" We are, if you will let me tell Louisa that you are sorry --"
Cecilia, interrupting her, " Oh, pray let me hear no more about Louisa!"
" What!
not confess that you were in the wrong?
Oh, Cecilia!
I had a better opinion of you."
" Your opinion is of no consequence to me now, for you don't love me."
" No; not when you are unjust, Cecilia."
" Unjust!
I am not unjust; and if I were, you are not my governess."
" No, but am not I your friend?"
" I don't desire to have such a friend, who would quarrel with me for happening to throw down little Louisa.
How could I tell that she had a mandarin in her hand?
and when it was broken, could I do more than promise her another; was that unjust?"
" But you know, Cecilia --"
" I KNOW," ironically.
" I know, Leonora, that you love Louisa better than you love me; that's the injustice!"
" If I did," replied Leonora, gravely, " it would be no injustice, if she deserved it better."
" How can you compare Louisa to me!"
exclaimed Cecilia, indignantly.
Leonora made no answer; for she was really hurt at her friend's conduct.
She walked on to join the rest of her companions.
They were dancing in a round upon the grass.
Leonora declined dancing; but they prevailed upon her to sing for them.
Her voice was not so sprightly, but it was sweeter than usual.
Who sang so sweetly as Leonora?
or who danced so nimbly as Louisa?
Away she was flying, all spirits and gaiety, when Leonora's eyes full of tears, caught hers.
Louisa silently let go her companion's hand, and, quitting the dance, ran up to Leonora to inquire what was the matter with her.
" Nothing," replied she, " that need interrupt you.
Go, my dear; go and dance again."
Louisa immediately ran away to her garden, and pulling off her little straw hat, she lined it with the freshest strawberry - leaves, and was upon her knees before the strawberry - bed when Cecilia came by.
Cecilia was not disposed to be pleased with Louisa at that instant, for two reasons; because she was jealous of her, and because she had injured her.
The injury, however, Louisa had already forgotten.
Perhaps to tell things just as they were, she was not quite so much inclined to kiss Cecilia as she would have been before the fall of her mandarin; but this was the utmost extent of her malice, if it can be called malice.
" What are you doing there, little one?"
said Cecilia, in a sharp tone.
" Are you eating your early strawberries here all alone?"
" No," said Louisa, mysteriously, " I am not eating them."
" What are you doing with them?
can't you answer, then?
I'm not playing with you, child!"
" Oh, as to that, Cecilia, you know I need not answer you unless I choose it; not but what I would if you would only ask me civilly, and if you would not call me CHILD."
" Why should not I call you child?"
" Because--because--I don't know; but I wish you would stand out of my light, Cecilia, for you are trampling upon all my strawberries."
" I have not touched one, you covetous little creature!"
" Indeed--indeed, Cecilia, I am not covetous.
I have not eaten one of them; they are all for your friend Leonora.
See how unjust you are!"
" Unjust!
that's a cant word which you learnt of my friend Leonora, as you call her; but she is not my friend now."
" Not your friend now!"
exclaimed Louisa; " then I am sure you must have done something VERY naughty."
" How?"
cried Cecilia, catching hold of her.
" Let me go, let me go!"
cried Louisa, struggling.
" I won't give you one of my strawberries, for I don't like you at all!"
" You don't, don't you?"
cried Cecilia, provoked, and, catching the hat from Louisa, she flung the strawberries over the hedge.
" Will nobody help me?"
exclaimed Louisa, snatching her hat again, and running away with all her force.
" What have I done?"
said Cecilia, recollecting herself; " Louisa!
Louisa!"
she called very loud, but Louisa would not turn back; she was running to her companions, who were still dancing, hand in hand, upon the grass, whilst Leonora, sitting in the middle, was singing to them.
" Stop!
stop!
and hear me!"
cried Louisa, breaking through them; and, rushing up to Leonora, she threw her hat at her feet, and panting for breath --" It was full--almost full of my own strawberries," said she, " the first I ever got out of my garden.
They should all have been for you, Leonora; but now I have not one left.
They are all gone!"
said she; and she hid her face in Leonora's lap.
" Gone!
gone where?"
said everyone, at once running up to her.
" Cecilia!
Cecilia!"
said she, sobbing.
" Cecilia," repeated Leonora, " what of Cecilia?"
" Yes, it was--it was."
" Come with me," said Leonora, unwilling to have her friend exposed.
" Come, and I will get you some more strawberries."
" Oh, I don't mind the strawberries, indeed; but I wanted to have had the pleasure of giving them to you."
Leonora took her up in her arms to carry her away, but it was too late.
" What, Cecilia!
Cecilia, who won the prize!
It could not surely be Cecilia," whispered every busy tongue.
At this instant the bell summoned them in.
" There she is!
There she is!"
cried they, pointing to an arbour, where Cecilia was standing ashamed and alone; and, as they passed her, some lifted up their hands and eyes with astonishment, others whispered and huddled mysteriously together, as if to avoid her.
Leonora walked on, her head a little higher than usual.
" Leonora!"
said Cecilia, timorously, as she passed.
" Oh, Cecilia!
who would have thought that you had a bad heart?"
Cecilia turned her head aside and burst into tears.
" Oh, no, indeed, she has not a bad heart!"
cried Louisa, running up to her and throwing her arms around her neck.
" She's very sorry; are not you, Cecilia?
But don't cry any more, for I forgive you, with all my heart--and I love you now, though I said I did not when I was in a passion."
" Oh, you sweet - tempered girl!
how I love you!"
said Cecilia, kissing her.
" Well, then, if you do, come along with me, and dry your eyes, for they are so red!"
" Go, my dear, and I'll come presently."
" Then I will keep a place for you, next to me; but you must make haste, or you will have to come in when we have all sat down to supper, and then you will be so stared at!
So don't stay, now."
Cecilia followed Louisa with her eyes till she was out of sight.
" And is Louisa," said she, to herself, " the only one who would stop to pity me?
Mrs. Villars told me that this day should be mine.
She little thought how it would end!"
Saying these words, Cecilia threw herself down upon the ground; her arm leaned upon a heap of turf which she had raised in the morning, and which, in the pride and gaiety of her heart, she had called her throne.
At this instant, Mrs. Villars came out to enjoy the serenity of the evening, and, passing by the arbour where Cecilia lay, she started.
Cecilia rose hastily.
" Who is there?"
said Mrs. Villars.
" It is I, madam."
" And who is _I_?"
" Cecilia."
" Why, what keeps you here, my dear?
Where are your companions?
This is, perhaps, one of the happiest days of your life."
" Oh, no, madam," said Cecilia, hardly able to repress her tears.
" Why, my dear, what is the matter?"
Cecilia hesitated.
" Speak, my dear.
You know that when I ask you to tell me anything as your friend, I never punish you as your governess; therefore you need not be afraid to tell me what is the matter."
" No, madam, I am not afraid, but ashamed.
You asked me why I was not with my companions.
Why, madam, because they have all left me, and --"
" And what, my dear?"
" And I see that they all dislike me; and yet I don't know why they should, for I take as much pains to please as any of them.
All my masters seem satisfied with me; and you yourself, madam, were pleased this very morning to give me this bracelet; and I am sure you would not have given it to anyone who did not deserve it."
" Certainly not," said Mrs. Villars.
" You well deserve it for your application--for your successful application.
The prize was for the most assiduous, not for the most amiable."
" Then, if it had been for the most amiable, it would not have been for me?"
Mrs. Villars, smiling,--" Why, what do you think yourself, Cecilia?
You are better able to judge than I am.
I can determine whether or no you apply to what I give you to learn; whether you attend to what I desire you to do, and avoid what I desire you not to do.
I know that I like you as a pupil, but I cannot know that I should like you as a companion, unless I were your companion.
Therefore I must judge of what I should do, by seeing what others do in the same circumstances."
" Oh, pray don't, madam!
for then you would not love me either.
And yet I think you would love me; for I hope that I am as ready to oblige, and as good - natured as --"
" Yes, Cecilia, I don't doubt but that you would be very good natured to me; but I'm afraid that I should not like you unless you were good - tempered, too."
" But, madam, by good - natured I mean good - tempered--it's all the same thing."
" No, indeed, I understand by them two very different things.
Without disputing about the right, she sometimes yields to those who are in the wrong.
In short, her temper is perfectly good; for it can bear and forbear."
" I wish that mine could!"
said Cecilia, sighing.
" It may," replied Mrs. Villars; " but it is not wishes alone which can improve us in anything.
Turn the same exertion and perseverance which have won you the prize to - day to this object, and you will meet with the same success; perhaps not on the first, the second, or the third attempt; but depend upon it that you will at last.
Every new effort will weaken your bad habits, and strengthen your good ones.
But you must not expect to succeed all at once.
I repeat it to you, for habit must be counteracted by habit.
Here Mrs. Villars took Cecilia by the hand, and they began to walk home.
Such was the nature of Cecilia's mind, that when any object was forcibly impressed on her imagination, it caused a temporary suspension of her reasoning faculties.
Hope was too strong a stimulus for her spirits; and when fear did take possession of her mind, it was attended with total debility.
Her vanity was now as much mortified as in the morning it had been elated.
She walked on with Mrs. Villars in silence, until they came under the shade of the elm - tree walk, and there, fixing her eyes upon Mrs. Villars, she stopped short.
" Do you think, madam," said she, with hesitation --" do you think, madam, that I have a bad heart?"
" A bad heart,-- my dear!
why, what put that into your head?"
" Leonora said that I had, madam, and I felt ashamed when she said so."
" But, my dear, how can Leonora tell whether your heart be good or bad?
However, in the first place, tell me what you mean by a bad heart."
" Indeed I do not know what is meant by it, madam; but it is something which everybody hates."
" And why do they hate it?"
" Because they think that it will hurt them, ma'am, I believe: and that those who have bad hearts take delight in doing mischief; and that they never do anybody any good but for their own ends."
" Then the best definition," said Mrs. Villars, " which you can give me of a bad heart is, that it is some constant propensity to hurt others, and to do wrong for the sake of doing wrong."
" Yes, madam; but that is not all either.
There is still something else meant; something which I cannot express--which, indeed, I never distinctly understood; but of which, therefore, I was the more afraid."
" Well, then, to begin with what you do understand, tell me, Cecilia, do you really think it possible to be wicked merely for the love of wickedness?
No human being becomes wicked all at once.
A man begins by doing wrong because it is, or because he thinks it, for his interest.
If he continue to do so, he must conquer his sense of shame and lose his love of virtue.
But how can you, Cecilia, who feel such a strong sense of shame, and such an eager desire to improve, imagine that you have a bad heart?"
" Indeed, madam, I never did, until everybody told me so, and then I began to be frightened about it.
This very evening, madam, when I was in a passion, I threw little Louisa's strawberries away, which, I am sure, I was very sorry for afterwards; and Leonora and everybody cried out that I had a bad heart--but I am sure I was only in a passion."
" Very likely.
And when you are in a passion, as you call it, Cecilia, you see that you are tempted to do harm to others.
If they do not feel angry themselves, they do not sympathize with you.
They do not perceive the motive which actuates you; and then they say that you have a bad heart.
I daresay, however, when your passion is over, and when you recollect yourself, you are very sorry for what you have done and said; are not you?"
" Yes, indeed, madam--very sorry."
" Oh, madam!
I hope--I am sure I never shall."
" No, indeed, Cecilia; I do, indeed, believe that you never will; on the contrary, I think that you have a very good disposition, and what is of infinitely more consequence to you, an active desire of improvement.
Show me that you have as much perseverance as you have candour, and I shall not despair of your becoming everything that I could wish."
Here Cecilia's countenance brightened, and she ran up the steps in almost as high spirits as she ran down them in the morning.
" Good - night to you, Cecilia," said Mrs. Villars, as she was crossing the hall.
" Good - night to you, madam," said Cecilia; and she ran upstairs to bed.
She could not go to sleep; but she lay awake, reflecting upon the events of the preceding day, and forming resolutions for the future, at the same time that she had resolved, and resolved without effect, she wished to give her mind some more powerful motive.
Ambition she knew to be its most powerful incentive.
" Have I not," said she to herself, " already won the prize of application, and cannot the same application procure me a much higher prize?
Mrs. Villars said that if the prize had been promised to the most amiable, it would not have been given to me.
Perhaps it would not yesterday, perhaps it might not to - morrow; but that is no reason that I should despair of ever deserving it.
In consequence of this reasoning, Cecilia formed a design of proposing to her companions that they should give a prize, the first of the ensuing month (the lst of June), to the most amiable.
Mrs. Villars applauded the scheme, and her companions adopted it with the greatest alacrity.
" Let the prize," said they, " be a bracelet of our own hair;" and instantly their shining scissors were produced, and each contributed a lock of their hair.
They formed the most beautiful gradation of colours, from the palest auburn to the brightest black.
Who was to have the honour of plaiting them?
was now the question.
Caroline begged that she might, as she could plait very neatly, she said.
For it is habit which confers ease; and without ease, even in moral actions, there can be no grace.
The bracelet was plaited in the neatest manner by Caroline, finished round the edge with silver twist, and on it was worked, in the smallest silver letters, this motto, " TO THE MOST AMIABLE."
The moment it was completed, everybody begged to try it on.
It fastened with little silver clasps, and as it was made large enough for the eldest girls, it was too large for the youngest.
Of this they bitterly complained, and unanimously entreated that it might be cut to fit them.
" How foolish!"
exclaimed Cecilia; " don't you perceive that if any of you win it, you have nothing to do but to put the clips a little further from the edge, but if we get it, we can't make it larger?"
" Very true," said they; " but you need not to have called us foolish, Cecilia."
It was by such hasty and unguarded expressions as these that Cecilia offended.
A slight difference in the manner makes a very material one in the effect.
Cecilia lost more love by general petulance than she could gain by the greatest particular exertions.
How far she succeeded in curing herself of this defect--how far she became deserving of the bracelet, and to whom the bracelet was given--shall be told in the History of the First of June.
-----
The First of June was now arrived, and all the young competitors were in a state of the most anxious suspense.
Leonora and Cecilia continued to be the foremost candidates.
Their quarrel had never been finally adjusted, and their different pretensions now retarded all thoughts of a reconciliation.
Cecilia, though she was capable of acknowledging any of her faults in public before all her companions, could not humble herself in private to Leonora.
Leonora was her equal; they were her inferiors, and submission is much easier to a vain mind, where it appears to be voluntary, than when it is the necessary tribute to justice or candour.
So strongly did Cecilia feel this truth, that she even delayed making any apology, or coming to any explanation with Leonora, until success should once more give her the palm.
" If I win the bracelet, to - day," said she to herself, " I will solicit the return of Leonora's friendship; it will be more valuable to me than even the bracelet, and at such a time, and asked in such a manner, she surely cannot refuse it to me."
Animated with this hope of a double triumph, Cecilia canvassed with the most zealous activity.
By constant attention and exertion she had considerably abated the violence of her temper, and changed the course of her habits.
Her powers of pleasing were now excited, instead of her abilities to excel; and, if her talents appeared less brilliant, her character was acknowledged to be more amiable.
So great an influence upon our manners and conduct have the objects of our ambition.
Cecilia was now, if possible, more than ever desirous of doing what was right, but she had not yet acquired sufficient fear of doing wrong.
This was the fundamental error of her mind; it arose in a great measure from her early education.
This brother was some years older than Cecilia, but he had always been the favourite companion of her youth.
What her father's precepts inculcated, his example enforced; and even Cecilia's virtues consequently became such as were more estimable in a man than desirable in a female.
Leonora, on the contrary, who had been educated by her mother in a manner more suited to her sex, had a character and virtues more peculiar to a female.
Her judgment had been early cultivated, and her good sense employed in the regulation of her conduct.
She had been habituated to that restraint, which, as a woman, she was to expect in life, and early accustomed to yield.
Compliance in her seemed natural and graceful; yet notwithstanding the gentleness of her temper, she was in reality more independent than Cecilia.
She had more reliance upon her own judgment, and more satisfaction in her own approbation.
The uniform kindness of her manner, the consistency and equality of her character, had fixed the esteem and passive love of her companions.
By passive love we mean that species of affection which makes us unwilling to offend rather than anxious to oblige, which is more a habit than an emotion of the mind.
For Cecilia her companions felt active love, for she was active in showing her love to them.
Active love arises spontaneously in the mind, after feeling particular instances of kindness, without reflection on the past conduct or general character.
It exceeds the merits of its object, and is connected with a feeling of generosity, rather than with a sense of justice.
Without determining which species of love is the most flattering to others, we can easily decide which is the most agreeable feeling to our minds.
We give our hearts more credit for being generous than for being just; and we feel more self - complacency when we give our love voluntarily, than when we yield it as a tribute which we cannot withhold.
Though Cecilia's companions might not know all this in theory, they proved it in practice; for they loved her in a much higher proportion to her merits than they loved Leonora.
Each of the young judges were to signify their choice by putting a red or a white shell into a vase prepared for the purpose.
Cecilia's colour was red, Leonora's white.
In the morning nothing was to be seen but these shells; nothing talked of but the long expected event of the evening.
Cecilia, following Leonora's example, had made it a point of honour not to inquire of any individual her vote, previously to their final determination.
They were both sitting together in Louisa's room.
Louisa was recovering from the measles.
Everyone during her illness had been desirous of attending her; but Leonora and Cecilia were the only two that were permitted to see her, as they alone had had the distemper.
They were both assiduous in their care of Louisa, but Leonora's want of exertion to overcome any disagreeable feelings of sensibility often deprived her of presence of mind, and prevented her from being so constantly useful as Cecilia.
Cecilia, on the contrary, often made too much noise and bustle with her officious assistance, and was too anxious to invent amusements and procure comforts for Louisa, without perceiving that illness takes away the power of enjoying them.
As she was sitting at the window in the morning, exerting herself to entertain Louisa, she heard the voice of an old peddler who often used to come to the house.
Downstairs they ran immediately, to ask Mrs. Villars'permission to bring him into the hall.
Mrs. Villars consented, and away Cecilia ran to proclaim the news to her companions.
Then, first returning into the hall, she found the peddler just unbuckling his box, and taking it off his shoulders.
" What would you be pleased to want, miss?"
said the peddler; " I've all kinds of tweezer - cases, rings, and lockets of all sorts," continued he, opening all the glittering drawers successively.
" Oh!"
said Cecilia, shutting the drawer of lockets which tempted her most, " these are not the things which I want.
Have you any china figures?
any mandarins?"
" Alack - a - day, miss, I had a great stock of that same chinaware; but now I'm quite out of them kind of things; but I believe," said he, rummaging one of the deepest drawers, " I believe I have one left, and here it is."
" Oh, that is the very thing!
what's its price?"
" Only three shillings, ma'am."
Cecilia paid the money, and was just going to carry off the mandarin, when the peddler took out of his great - coat pocket a neat mahogany case.
It was about a foot long, and fastened at each end by two little clasps.
It had besides, a small lock in the middle.
" What is that?"
said Cecilia, eagerly.
" It's only a china figure, miss, which I am going to carry to an elderly lady, who lives nigh hand, and who is mighty fond of such things."
" Could you let me look at it?"
" And welcome, miss," said he, and opened the case.
" Oh, goodness!
how beautiful!"
exclaimed Cecilia.
It was a figure of Flora, crowned with roses, and carrying a basket of flowers in her hand.
Cecilia contemplated it with delight.
" How I should like to give this to Louisa!"
said she to herself; and, at last, breaking silence, " Did you promise it to the old lady?"
" Oh, no, miss, I didn't promise it--she never saw it; and if so be that you'd like to take it, I'd make no more words about it."
" And how much does it cost?"
" Why, miss, as to that, I'll let you have it for half - a - guinea."
Cecilia immediately produced the box in which she kept her treasure, and, emptying it upon the table, she began to count the shillings.
Alas!
there were but six shillings.
" How provoking!"
said she; " then I can't have it.
Where's the mandarin?
Oh, I have it," said she, taking it up, and looking at it with the utmost disgust.
" Is this the same that I had before?"
" Yes, miss, the very same," replied the peddler, who, during this time, had been examining the little box out of which Cecilia had taken her money--it was of silver.
" Why, ma'am," said he, " since you've taken such a fancy to the piece, if you've a mind to make up the remainder of the money, I will take this here little box, if you care to part with it."
Now this box was a keepsake from Leonora to Cecilia.
" No," said Cecilia hastily, blushing a little, and stretching out her hand to receive it.
" Oh, miss!"
said he, returning it carelessly, " I hope there's no offence.
I meant but to serve you, that's all.
Such a rare piece of china - work has no cause to go a - begging," added he.
Then, putting the Flora deliberately into the case, and turning the key with a jerk, he let it drop into his pocket; when, lifting up his box by the leather straps, he was preparing to depart.
" Oh, stay one minute!"
said Cecilia, in whose mind there had passed a very warm conflict during the peddler's harangue.
" Louisa would so like this Flora," said she, arguing with herself.
" Besides, it would be so generous in me to give it to her instead of that ugly mandarin; that would be doing only common justice, for I promised it to her, and she expects it.
Though, when I come to look at this mandarin, it is not even so good as hers was.
The gilding is all rubbed off, so that I absolutely must buy this for her.
Oh, yes!
I will, and she will be so delighted!
and then everybody will say it is the prettiest thing they ever saw, and the broken mandarin will be forgotten for ever."
Here Cecilia's hand moved, and she was just going to decide: " Oh, but stop," said she to herself, " consider--Leonora gave me this box, and it is a keepsake.
However, we have now quarrelled, and I dare say that she would not mind my parting with it.
I'm sure that I should not care if she was to give away my keepsake, the smelling - bottle, or the ring which I gave her.
Then what does it signify?
Besides, is it not my own?
and have I not a right to do what I please with it?"
At this moment, so critical for Cecilia, a party of her companions opened the door.
She knew that they came as purchasers, and she dreaded her Flora's becoming the prize of some higher bidder.
" Here," said she, hastily putting the box into the peddler's hand, without looking at it; " take it, and give me the Flora."
Her hand trembled, though she snatched it impatiently.
She ran by, without seeming to mind any of her companions.
Let those who are tempted to do wrong by the hopes of future gratification, or the prospect of certain concealment and impunity, remember that, unless they are totally depraved, they bear in their own hearts a monitor, who will prevent their enjoying what they ill obtained.
Cecilia was still displeased with herself, with them, and even with their praise.
From Louisa's gratitude, however, she yet expected much pleasure, and immediately she ran upstairs to her room.
In the meantime, Leonora had gone into the hall to buy a bodkin; she had just broken hers.
In giving her change, the peddler took out of his pocket, with some halfpence, the very box which Cecilia had sold to him.
Leonora did not in the least suspect the truth, for her mind was above suspicion; and besides, she had the utmost confidence in Cecilia.
" I should like to have that box," said she, " for it is like one of which I was very fond."
The peddler named the price, and Leonora took the box.
She intended to give it to little Louisa.
On going to her room she found her asleep, and she sat softly down by her bedside.
Louisa opened her eyes.
" I hope I didn't disturb you," said Leonora.
" Oh, no.
I didn't hear you come in; but what have you got there?"
" Only a little box; would you like to have it?
I bought on purpose for you, as I thought perhaps it would please you, because it's like that which I gave Cecilia."
" Oh, yes!
that out of which she used to give me Barbary drops.
I am very much obliged to you; I always thought that exceedingly pretty, and this, indeed, is as like it as possible.
I can't unscrew it; will you try?"
Leonora unscrewed it.
" Goodness!"
exclaimed Louisa, " this must be Cecilia's box.
Look, don't you see a great L at the bottom of it?"
Leonora's colour changed.
" Yes," she replied calmly, " I see that; but it is no proof that it is Cecilia's.
You know that I bought this box just now of the peddler."
" That may be," said Louisa; " but I remember scratching that L with my own needle, and Cecilia scolded me for it, too.
Do go and ask her if she has lost her box--do," repeated Louisa, pulling her by the ruffle, as she did not seem to listen.
Leonora, indeed, did not hear, for she was lost in thought.
She was comparing circumstances, which had before escaped her attention.
She recollected that Cecilia had passed her as she came into the hall, without seeming to see her, but had blushed as she passed.
She remembered that the peddler appeared unwilling to part with the box, and was going to put it again in his pocket with the halfpence.
" And why should he keep it in his pocket, and not show it with his other things?"
Combining all these circumstances, Leonora had no longer any doubt of the truth, for though she had honourable confidence in her friends, she had too much penetration to be implicitly credulous.
" Louisa," she began, but at this instant she heard a step, which, by its quickness, she knew to be Cecilia's, coming along the passage.
" If you love me, Louisa," said Leonora, " say nothing about the box."
" Nay, but why not?
I daresay she had lost it."
" No, my dear, I'm afraid she has not."
Louisa looked surprised.
" But I have reasons for desiring you not to say anything about it."
" Well, then, I won't, indeed."
Cecilia opened the door, came forward smiling, as if secure of a good reception, and taking the Flora out of the case, she placed it on the mantlepiece, opposite to Louisa's bed.
" Dear, how beautiful!"
cried Louisa, starting up.
" Yes," said Cecilia, " and guess who it's for."
" For me, perhaps!"
said the ingenuous Louisa.
" Yes, take it, and keep it, for my sake.
You know that I broke your mandarin."
" Oh, but this is a great deal prettier and larger than that."
" Yes, I know it is; and I meant that it should be so.
I should only have done what I was bound to do if I had only given you a mandarin."
" Well," replied Louisa, " and that would have been enough, surely; but what a beautiful crown of roses!
and then that basket of flowers!
they almost look as if I could smell them.
Dear Cecilia, I'm very much obliged to you; but I won't take it by way of payment for the mandarin you broke; for I'm sure you could not help that, and, besides, I should have broken it myself by this time.
You shall give it to me entirely; and as your keepsake, I'll keep it as long as I live."
Louisa stopped short and coloured; the word keepsake recalled the box to her mind, and all the train of ideas which the Flora had banished.
" But," said she, looking up wistfully in Cecilia's face, and holding the Flora doubtfully, " did you --"
Leonora, who was just quitting the room, turned her head back, and gave Louisa a look, which silenced her.
Good - bye," said she, running up and kissing her; " but I'll come again presently," then, clapping the door after her she went.
But as soon as the formentation of her spirits subsided, the sense of shame, which had been scarcely felt when mixed with so many other sensations, rose uppermost in her mind.
" What!"
said she to herself, " is it possible that I have sold what I promised to keep for ever?
and what Leonora gave me?
and I have concealed it too, and have been making a parade of my generosity.
Oh!
what would Leonora, what would Louisa--what would everybody think of me, if the truth were known?"
Humiliated and grieved by these reflections, Cecilia began to search in her own mind for some consoling idea.
Her father's word to her brother, on the occasion, she also perfectly recollected.
" Come to me, George," he said holding out his hand, " you are a generous, brave boy: they who dare to confess their faults will make great and good men."
These were his words; but Cecilia, in repeating them to herself, forgot to lay that emphasis on the word MEN, which would have placed it in contradistinction to the word WOMEN.
She willingly believed that the observation extended equally to both sexes, and flattered herself that she should exceed her brother in merit if she owned a fault, which she thought that it would be so much more difficult to confess.
" Yes, but," said she, stopping herself, " how can I confess it?
This very evening, in a few hours, the prize will be decided.
Leonora or I shall win it.
I have now as good a chance as Leonora, perhaps a better; and must I give up all my hopes--all that I have been labouring for this month past?
Oh, I never can!
If it were but to - morrow, or yesterday, or any day but this, I would not hesitate; but now I am almost certain of the prize, and if I win it--well, why then I will--I think I will tell all--yes I will; I am determined," said Cecilia.
Here a bell summoned them to dinner.
Leonora sat opposite to her, and she was not a little surprised to see Cecilia look so gay and unconstrained.
" Surely," said she to herself, " if Cecilia had done that which I suspect, she would not, she could not, look as she does."
But Leonora little knew the cause of her gaiety.
Cecilia was never in higher spirits, or better pleased with herself, than when she had resolved upon a sacrifice or a confession.
" Must not this evening be given to the most amiable?
Whose, then, will it be?"
All eyes glanced first at Cecilia, and then at Leonora.
Cecilia smiled; Leonora blushed.
" I see that it is not yet decided," said Mrs. Villars; and immediately they ran upstairs, amidst confused whisperings.
Cecilia's voice could be distinguished far above the rest.
" How can she be so happy!"
said Leonora to herself.
" Oh Cecilia, there was a time when you could not have neglected me so!
when we were always together the best of friends and companions; our wishes, tastes, and pleasures the same!
Surely she did once love me," said Leonora; " but now she is quite changed.
Oh, that this bracelet had never been thought of, or that I were certain of her winning it; for I am sure that I do not wish to win it from her.
I would rather--a thousand times rather--that we were as we used to be than have all the glory in the world.
And how pleasing Cecilia can be when she wishes to please!-- how candid she is!-- how much she can improve herself!
Let me be just, though she has offended me; she is wonderfully improved within this last month.
For one fault, and THAT against myself, shall I forget all her merits?"
As Leonora said these last words, she could but just hear the voices of her companions.
They had left her alone in the gallery.
She knocked softly at Louisa's door.
" Come in," said Louisa; " I'm not asleep.
Oh," said she, starting up with the Flora in her hand, the instant that the door was opened; " I'm so glad you are come, Leonora, for I did so long to hear what you all were making such a noise about.
Have you forgot that the bracelet --"
" Oh, yes!
is this the evening?"
inquired Leonora.
" Well, here's my white shell for you," said Louisa.
" I've kept it in my pocket this fortnight; and though Cecilia did give me this Flora, I still love you a great deal better."
" I thank you, Louisa," said Leonora, gratefully.
" I will take your shell, and I shall value it as long as I live; but here is a red one, and if you wish to show me that you love me, you will give this to Cecilia.
I know that she is particularly anxious for your preference, and I am sure that she deserves it."
" Yes, if I could I would choose both of you," said Louisa, " but you know I can only choose which I like the best."
" If you mean, my dear Louisa," said Leonora, " that you like me the best, I am very much obliged to you, for, indeed, I wish you to love me; but it is enough for me to know it in private.
I should not feel the least more pleasure at hearing it in public, or in having it made known to all my companions, especially at a time when it would give poor Cecilia a great deal of pain."
" But why should it give her pain?"
asked Louisa; " I don't like her for being jealous of you."
" Nay, Louisa, surely you don't think Cecilia jealous?
She only tries to excel, and to please; she is more anxious to succeed than I am, it is true, because she has a great deal more activity, and perhaps more ambition.
And it would really mortify her to lose this prize--you know that she proposed it herself.
It has been her object for this month past, and I am sure she has taken great pains to obtain it."
" But, dear Leonora, why should you lose it?"
Here Leonora heard a number of her companions running along the gallery.
They all knocked hastily at the door, calling " Leonora!
Leonora!
will you never come?
Cecilia has been with us this half - hour."
Leonora smiled.
" Well, Louisa," said she, smiling, " will you promise me?"
" Oh, I am sure, by the way they speak to you, that they won't give you the prize!"
said the little Louisa, and the tears started into her eyes.
" They love me, though, for all that," said Leonora; " and as for the prize, you know whom I wish to have it."
" Leonora!
Leonora!"
called her impatient companions; " don't you hear us?
What are you about?"
" Oh, she never will take any trouble about anything," said one of the party; " let's go away."
" Oh, go, go!
make haste!"
cried Louisa; " don't stay; they are so angry."
" Remember, then, that you have promised me," said Leonora, and she left the room.
During all this time, Cecilia had been in the garden with her companions.
The ambition which she had felt to win the first prize--the prize of superior talents and superior application--was not to be compared to the absolute anxiety which she now expressed to win this simple testimony of the love and approbation of her equals and rivals.
To employ her exuberant activity, Cecilia had been dragging branches of lilacs and laburnums, roses and sweet briar, to ornament the bower in which her fate was to be decided.
It was excessively hot, but her mind was engaged, and she was indefatigable.
She stood still at last to admire her works.
Her companions all joined in loud applause.
They were not a little prejudiced in her favour by the great eagerness which she expressed to win their prize, and by the great importance which she seemed to affix to the preference of each individual.
At last, " Where is Leonora?"
cried one of them; and immediately, as we have seen, they ran to call her.
Cecilia was left alone.
Overcome with heat and too violent exertion, she had hardly strength to support herself; each moment appeared to her intolerably long.
She was in a state of the utmost suspense, and all her courage failed her.
Even hope forsook her; and hope is a cordial which leaves the mind depressed and enfeebled.
" The time is now come," said Cecilia; " in a few moments all will be decided.
In a few moments--goodness!
How much do I hazard?
If I should not win the prize, how shall I confess what I have done?
How shall I beg Leonora to forgive me?
I, who hoped to restore my friendship to her as an honour!
They are gone to seek for her.
The moment she appears I shall be forgotten.
What--what shall I do?"
said Cecilia, covering her face with her hands.
Such was Cecilia's situation when Leonora, accompanied by her companions, opened the hall door.
They most of them ran forwards to Cecilia.
As Leonora came into the bower, she held out her hand to Cecilia.
" We are not rivals, but friends, I hope," said she.
Cecilia clasped her hand; but she was in too great agitation to speak.
The table was now set in the arbour--the vase was now placed in the middle.
" Well!"
said Cecilia, eagerly, " who begins?"
Caroline, one of her friends, came forward first, and then all the others successively.
Cecilia's emotion was hardly conceivable.
" Now they are all in!
Count them, Caroline!"
" One, two, three, four; the numbers are both equal."
There was a dead silence.
" No, they are not," exclaimed Cecilia, pressing forward, and putting a shell into a vase.
" I have not given mine, and I give it to Leonora."
Then, snatching the bracelet, " It is yours, Leonora," said she; " take it, and give me back your friendship."
The whole assembly gave one universal clap and a general shout of applause.
" I cannot be surprised at this from you, Cecilia," said Leonora; " and do you then still love me as you used to do?"
" Oh, Leonora, stop!
don't praise me; I don't deserve this," said she, turning to her loudly applauding companions.
" You will soon despise me.
Oh, Leonora, you will never forgive me!
I have deceived you; I have sold --"
At this instant, Mrs. Villars appeared.
The crowd divided.
She had heard all that passed, from her window.
" I applaud your generosity, Cecilia," said she, " but I am to tell you that, in this instance it is unsuccessful.
You have not it in your power to give the prize to Leonora.
It is yours.
I have another vote to give to you.
You have forgotten Louisa."
" Louisa!"
exclaimed Cecilia; " but surely, ma'am, Louisa loves Leonora better than she does me."
" She commissioned me, however," said Mrs. Villars, " to give you a red shell; and you will find it in this box."
Cecilia started, and turned as pale as death; it was the fatal box!
Mrs. Villars produced another box.
She opened it; it contained the Flora.
" And Louisa also desired me," said she, " to return to you this Flora."
She put it into Cecilia's hand.
Cecilia trembled so that she could not hold it.
Leonora caught it.
" Oh, madam!
Oh, Leonora!"
exclaimed Cecilia; " now I have no hope left.
I intended--I was just going to tell --"
" Dear Cecilia," said Leonora, " you need not tell it me; I know it already; and I forgive you with all my heart."
" Yes, I can prove to you," said Mrs. Villars, " that Leonora has forgiven you.
It is she who has given you the prize; it was she who persuaded Louisa to give you her vote.
I went to see her a little while ago; and perceiving, by her countenance, that something was the matter, I pressed her to tell me what it was.
' Why, madam,' said she,'Leonora has made me promise to give my shell to Cecilia.
Now I don't love Cecilia half so well as I do Leonora.
Besides, I would not have Cecilia think I vote for her because she gave me a Flora.'
Whilst Louisa was speaking," continued Mrs. Villars, " I saw this silver box lying on the bed.
I took it up, and asked if it was not yours, and how she came by it.
' Indeed, madam,' said Louisa,'I could have been almost certain that it was Cecilia's; but Leonora gave it me, and she said that she bought it of the peddler this morning.
If anybody else had told me so, I could not have believed them, because I remember the box so well; but I can't help believing Leonora.'
But did not you ask Cecilia about it?
said I.
' No, madam,' replied Louisa;'for Leonora forbade me.
I guessed her reason.'
Well, said I, give me the box, and I will carry your shell in it to Cecilia.
' Then, madam,' said she,'if I must give it her, pray do take the Flora, and return it to her first, that she may not think it is for that I do it.'"
" Oh, generous Louisa!"
exclaimed Cecilia; " but, indeed, Leonora, I cannot take your shell."
" Then, dear Cecilia, accept of mine instead of it!
you cannot refuse it; I only follow your example.
As for the bracelet," added Leonora, taking Cecilia's hand, " I assure you I don't wish for it, and you do, and you deserve it."
" No," said Cecilia, " indeed, I do not deserve it.
Next to you, surely Louisa deserves it best."
" Louisa!
oh, yes, Louisa," exclaimed everybody with one voice.
" Yes," said Mrs. Villars, " and let Cecilia carry the bracelet to her; she deserves that reward.
For one fault I cannot forget all your merits, Cecilia, nor, I am sure, will your companions."
" Then, surely, not your best friend," said Leonora, kissing her.
Everybody present was moved.
They looked up to Leonora with respectful and affectionate admiration.
" Oh, Leonora, how I love you!
and how I wish to be like you!"
exclaimed Cecilia --" to be as good, as generous!"
" Rather wish, Cecilia," interrupted Mrs. Villars, " to be as just; to be as strictly honourable, and as invariably consistent.
Remember, that many of our sex are capable of great efforts--of making what they call great sacrifices to virtue or to friendship; but few treat their friends with habitual gentleness, or uniformly conduct themselves with prudence and good sense."
THE LITTLE MERCHANTS.
CHAPTER I.
Chi di gallina nasce, convien che rozole.
As the old cock crows, so crows the young.
Those who have visited Italy give us an agreeable picture of the cheerful industry of the children of all ages in the celebrated city of Naples.
Their manner of living and their numerous employments are exactly described in the following " Extract from a Traveller's Journal."
* Varieties of Literature, vol.
i. p. 299.
" The children are busied in various ways.
" Children of two or three years old, who can scarcely crawl along upon the ground, in company with boys of five or six, are employed in this pretty trade.
Hence they proceed with their baskets into the heart of the city, where in several places they form a sort of little market, sitting round with their stock of wood before them.
Labourers, and the lower order of citizens, buy it of them to burn in the tripods for warming themselves, or to use in their scanty kitchens.
" Other children carry about for sale the water of the sulphurous wells, which, particularly in the spring season, is drunk in great abundance.
Others again endeavour to turn a few pence by buying a small matter of fruit, of pressed honey, cakes, and comfits, and then, like little peddlers, offer and sell them to other children, always for no more profit than that they may have their share of them free of expense.
" The buyers keep a sharp look out to see that they have enough for their little piece of copper; and the Lilliputian tradesmen act with no less caution as the exigencies of the case may require, to prevent his being cheated out of a morsel."
The advantages of truth and honesty, and the value of a character for integrity, are very early felt amongst these little merchants in their daily intercourse with each other.
The fair dealer is always sooner or later seen to prosper.
The most cunning cheat is at last detected and disgraced.
Francisco was the son of an honest gardener, who, from the time he could speak, taught him to love to speak the truth, showed him that liars are never believed--that cheats and thieves cannot be trusted, and that the shortest way to obtain a good character is to deserve it.
Youth and white paper, as the proverb says, take all impressions.
The boy profited much by his father's precepts, and more by his example; he always heard his father speak the truth, and saw that he dealt fairly with everybody.
In all his childish traffic, Francisco, imitating his parents, was scrupulously honest, and therefore all his companions trusted him --" As honest as Francisco," became a sort of proverb amongst them.
" As honest as Francisco," repeated Piedro's father, when he one day heard this saying.
" Let them say so; I say,'As sharp as Piedro '; and let us see which will go through the world best."
With the idea of making his son SHARP he made him cunning.
He taught him, that to make a GOOD BARGAIN was to deceive as to the value and price of whatever he wanted to dispose of; to get as much money as possible from customers by taking advantage of their ignorance or of their confidence.
He often repeated his favourite proverb --" The buyer has need of a hundred eyes; the seller has need but of one."
* And he took frequent opportunities of explaining the meaning of this maxim to his son.
He was a fisherman; and as his gains depended more upon fortune than upon prudence, he trusted habitually to his good luck.
After being idle for a whole day, he would cast his line or his nets, and if he was lucky enough to catch a fine fish, he would go and show it in triumph to his neighbour the gardener.
* Chi compra ha bisogna di cent'occhi; chi vende n'ha assai di uno.
" You are obliged to work all day long for your daily bread," he would say.
" Look here; I work but five minutes, and I have not only daily bread, but daily fish."
Upon these occasions, our fisherman always forgot, or neglected to count, the hours and days which were wasted in waiting for a fair wind to put to sea, or angling in vain on the shore.
Little Piedro, who used to bask in the sun upon the sea - shore beside his father, and to lounge or sleep away his time in a fishing - boat, acquired habits of idleness, which seemed to his father of little consequence whilst he was BUT A CHILD.
" What will you do with Piedro as he grows up, neighbour?"
said the gardener.
" He is smart and quick enough, but he is always in mischief.
Scarcely a day has passed for this fortnight but I have caught him amongst my grapes.
I track his footsteps all over my vineyard."
" HE IS BUT A CHILD yet, and knows no better," replied the fisherman.
" But if you don't teach him better now he is a child, how will he know when he is a man?"
said the gardener.
" A mighty noise about a bunch of grapes, truly!"
cried the fisherman: " a few grapes more or less in your vineyard, what does it signify?"
" I speak for your son's sake, and not for the sake of my grapes," said the gardener; " and I tell you again, the boy will not do well in the world, neighbour, if you don't look after him in time."
" He'll do well enough in the world, you will find," answered the fisherman, carelessly.
" Whenever he casts my nets, they never come up empty.
' It is better to be lucky than wise.'"
* E meglio esser fortunato che savio.
This was a proverb which Piedro had frequently heard from his father, and to which he most willingly trusted, because it gave him less trouble to fancy himself fortunate than to make himself wise.
" Come here, child," said his father to him, when he returned home after the preceding conversation with the gardener; " how old are you, my boy?-- twelve years old, is not it?"
" As old as Francisco, and older by six months," said Piedro.
" And smarter and more knowing by six years," said his father.
" Here, take these fish to Naples, and let us see how you'll sell them for me.
Venture a small fish, as the proverb says, to catch a great one.
* I was too late with them at the market yesterday, but nobody will know but what they are just fresh out of the water, unless you go and tell them."
* Butta una sardella per pigliar un luccio.
" Not I; trust me for that; I'm not such a fool," replied Piedro, laughing; " I leave that to Francisco.
" Off with you to market.
You are a droll chap," said his father, " and will sell my fish cleverly, I'll be bound.
As to the rest, let every man take care of his own grapes.
You understand me, Piedro?"
" Perfectly," said the boy, who perceived that his father was indifferent as to his honesty, provided he sold fish at the highest price possible.
He proceeded to the market, and he offered his fish with assiduity to every person whom he thought likely to buy it, especially to those upon whom he thought he could impose.
He positively asserted to all who looked at his fish, that they were just fresh out of the water.
Good judges of men and fish knew that he said what was false, and passed him by with neglect; but it was at last what he called GOOD LUCK to meet with the very same young raw servant - boy who would have bought the bruised melon from Francisco.
He made up to him directly, crying, " Fish!
Fine fresh fish!
fresh fish!"
" Was it caught to - day?"
said the boy.
" Yes, this morning; not an hour ago," said Piedro, with the greatest effrontery.
Piedro received nearly half as much again for his fish as he ought to have done.
On his road homewards from Naples to the little village of Resina, where his father lived, he overtook Francisco, who was leading his father's ass.
" Well filled panniers, truly," said Piedro, as he overtook Francisco and the ass.
The panniers were indeed not only filled to the top, but piled up with much skill and care, so that the load met over the animal's back.
" It is not a very heavy load for the ass, though it looks so large," said Francisco.
" The poor fellow, however, shall have a little of this water," added he, leading the ass to a pool by the roadside.
" I was not thinking of the ass, boy; I was not thinking of any ass, but of you, when I said,'Well filled panniers, truly!'
This is your morning's work, I presume, and you'll make another journey to Naples to - day, on the same errand, I warrant, before your father thinks you have done enough?"
" Not before MY FATHER thinks I have done enough, but before I think so myself," replied Francisco.
" I do enough to satisfy myself and my father, too," said Piedro, " without slaving myself after your fashion.
Look here," producing the money he had received for the fish; " all this was had for asking.
It is no bad thing, you'll allow, to know how to ask for money properly."
" I should be ashamed to beg, or borrow either," said Francisco.
" Neither did I get what you see by begging, or borrowing either," said Piedro, " but by using my wits; not as you did yesterday, when, like a novice, you showed the bruised side of your melon, and so spoiled your market by your wisdom."
" Wisdom I think it still," said Francisco.
" And your father?"
asked Piedro.
" And my father," said Francisco.
" Mine is of a different way of thinking," said Piedro.
" He always tells me that the buyer has need of a hundred eyes, and if one can blind the whole hundred, so much the better.
You must know, I got off the fish to - day that my father could not sell yesterday in the market--got it off for fresh just out of the river--got twice as much as the market price for it; and from whom, think you?
Why, from the very booby that would have bought the bruised melon for a sound one if you would have let him.
You'll allow I'm no fool, Francisco, and that I'm in a fair way to grow rich, if I go on as I have begun."
" Stay," said Francisco; " you forgot that the booby you took in to - day will not be so easily taken in to - morrow.
He will buy no more fish from you, because he will be afraid of your cheating him; but he will be ready enough to buy fruit from me, because he will know I shall not cheat him--so you'll have lost a customer, and I gained one."
" With all my heart," said Piedro.
" One customer does not make a market; if he buys no more from me, what care I?
there are people enough to buy fish in Naples."
" And do you mean to serve them all in the same manner?"
asked Francisco.
" If they will be only so good as to give me leave," said Piedro, laughing, and repeating his father's proverb, ' Venture a small fish to catch a large one.'"
* He had learned to think that to cheat in making bargains was witty and clever.
* see anted.
" And you have never considered, then," said Francisco, " that all these people will, one after another, find you out in time?"
" Ay, in time; but it will be some time first.
There are a great many of them, enough to last me all the summer, if I lose a customer a day," said Piedro.
" And next summer," observed Francisco, " what will you do?"
" Next summer is not come yet; there is time enough to think what I shall do before next summer comes.
Why, now, suppose the blockheads, after they had been taken in and found it out, all joined against me, and would buy none of our fish--what then?
Are there no trades but that of a fisherman?
In Naples, are there not a hundred ways of making money for a smart lad like me?
as my father says.
What do you think of turning merchant, and selling sugar - plums and cakes to the children in their market?
Would they be hard to deal with, think you?"
" I think not," said Francisco; " but I think the children would find out in time if they were cheated, and would like it as little as the men."
" I don't doubt them.
Then IN TIME I could, you know, change my trade--sell chips and sticks in the wood - market--hand about the lemonade to the fine folks, or twenty other things.
There are trades enough, boy."
" Yes, for the honest dealer," said Francisco, " but for no other; for in all of them you'll find, as MY father says, that a good character is the best fortune to set up with.
Change your trade ever so often, you'll be found out for what you are at last."
" And what am I, pray?"
said Piedro, angrily.
" The whole truth of the matter is, Francisco, that you envy my good luck, and can't bear to hear this money jingle in my hand.
Ay, stroke the long ears of your ass, and look as wise as you please.
It's better to be lucky than wise, as MY father says.
Good morning to you.
When I am found out for what I am, or when the worst comes to the worst, I can drive a stupid ass, with his panniers filled with rubbish, as well as you do now, HONEST FRANCISCO."
" Not quite so well.
Unless you were HONEST FRANCISCO, you would not fill his panniers quite so readily.
His industry was constant, his gains small but certain, and he every day had more and more reason to trust to his father's maxim--That honesty is the best policy.
The foreign servant lad, to whom Francisco had so honestly, or, as Piedro said, so sillily, shown the bruised side of the melon, was an Englishman.
He left his native country, of which he was extremely fond, to attend upon his master, to whom he was still more attached.
His master was in a declining state of health, and this young lad waited on him a little more to his mind than his other servants.
We must, in consideration of his zeal, fidelity and inexperience, pardon him for not being a good judge of fish.
Though he had simplicity enough to be easily cheated once, he had too much sense to be twice made a dupe.
The next time he met Piedro in the market, he happened to be in company with several English gentlemen's servants, and he pointed Piedro out to them all as an arrant knave.
They heard his cry of " Fresh fish!
fresh fish!
fine fresh fish!"
with incredulous smiles, and let him pass, but not without some expressions of contempt, though uttered in English, he tolerably well understood; for the tone of contempt is sufficiently expressive in all languages.
He lost more by not selling his fish to these people than he had gained the day before by cheating the ENGLISH BOOBY.
The market was well supplied, and he could not get rid of his cargo.
" Is not this truly provoking?"
said Piedro, as he passed by Francisco, who was selling fruit for his father.
" So they are," said Franscisco, " but you said so yesterday, when they were not; and he that was duped then, is not ready to believe you to - day.
How does he know that you deserve it better?"
" He might have looked at the fish," repeated Piedro; " they are fresh to - day.
I am sure he need not have been afraid."
" Ay," said Francisco; " but as my father said to you once--the scalded dog fears cold water."
* Il cane scottato dell'acqua calda ha paura poi della fredda.
Name your price; I know you have but one, and that an honest one; and as to the rest, I am able and willing to pay for what I buy; that is to say, my master is, which comes to the same thing.
I wish your fruit could make him well, and it would be worth its weight in gold to me, at least.
We must have some of your grapes for him."
" Is he not well?"
inquired Francisco.
" We must, then, pick out the best for him," at the same time singling out a tempting bunch.
" I hope he will like these; but if you could some day come as far as Resina (it is a village but a few miles out of town, where we have our vineyard), you could there choose for yourself, and pluck them fresh from the vines for your poor master."
" Bless you, my good boy; I should take you for an Englishman, by your way of dealing.
I'll come to your village.
Only write me down the name; for your Italian names slip through my head.
I'll come to the vineyard if it was ten miles off; and all the time we stay in Naples (may it not be so long as I fear it will!
), with my master's leave, which he never refuses me to anything that's proper, I'll deal with you for all our fruit, as sure as my name's Arthur, and with none else, with my good will.
I wish all your countrymen would take after you in honesty, indeed I do," concluded the Englishman, looking full at Piedro, who took up his unsold basket of fish, looking somewhat silly, and gloomily walked off.
Arthur, the English servant, was as good as his word.
He dealt constantly with Francisco, and proved an excellent customer, buying from him during the whole season as much fruit as his master wanted.
His master, who was an Englishman of distinction, was invited to take up his residence, during his stay in Italy, at the Count de F.' s villa, which was in the environs of Naples--an easy walk from Resina.
" My dear boy," said Francisco's father to him, whilst Arthur was in the vineyard helping to tend the vines, " I am to thank you and your honesty, it seems, for our having our hands so full of business this season.
It is fair you should have a share of our profits."
" So I have, father, enough and enough, when I see you and mother going on so well.
What can I want more?"
" Oh, my brave boy, we know you are a grateful, good son; but I have been your age myself; you have companions, you have little expenses of your own.
Here; this vine, this fig - tree, and a melon a week next summer shall be yours.
With these make a fine figure amongst the little Neapolitan merchants; and all I wish is that you may prosper as well, and by the same honest means, in managing for yourself, as you have done managing for me."
" Thank you, father; and if I prosper at all, it shall be by those means, and no other, or I should not be worthy to be called your son."
Piedro the cunning did not make quite so successful a summer's work as did Francisco the honest.
No extraordinary events happened, no singular instance of bad or good luck occurred; but he felt, as persons usually do, the natural consequences of his own actions.
He pursued his scheme of imposing, as far as he could, upon every person he dealt with; and the consequence was, that at last nobody would deal with him.
" It is easy to outwit one person, but impossible to outwit all the world," said a man * who knew the world at least as well as either Piedro or his father.
* The Duke de Rochefoucault.--" On peut etre puls fin qu'un autre, mais pas plus fin que tous les autres."
Piedro's father, amongst others, had reason to complain.
He saw his own customers fall off from him, and was told, whenever he went into the market, that his son was such a cheat there was no dealing with him.
" Where, glutton, do you find money to pay for these dainties?"
exclaimed his father, coming close up to him, with angry gestures.
Piedro's mouth was much too full to make an immediate reply, nor did his father wait for any, but darting his hand into the youth's pocket, pulled forth a handful of silver.
" The money, father," said Piedro, " that I got for the fish yesterday, and that I meant to give you to - day, before you went out."
" Then I'll make you remember it against another time, sirrah!"
said his father.
" I'll teach you to fill your stomach with my money.
Am I to lose my customers by your tricks, and then find you here eating my all?
You are a rogue, and everybody has found you out to be a rogue; and the worst of rogues I find you, who scruples not to cheat his own father."
Saying these words, with great vehemence he seized hold of Piedro, and in the very midst of the little fruit - market gave him a severe beating.
This beating did the boy no good; it was vengeance not punishment.
Piedro saw that his father was in a passion, and knew that he was beaten because he was found out to be a rogue, rather than for being one.
He recollected perfectly that his father once said to him: " Let everyone take care of his own grapes."
Piedro writhed with bodily pain as he left the market after his drubbing, but his mind was not in the least amended.
On the contrary, he was hardened to the sense of shame by the loss of reputation.
All the little merchants were spectators of this scene, and heard his father's words: " You ARE a rogue, and the worst of rogues, who scruples not to cheat his own father."
These words were long remembered, and long did Piedro feel their effects.
He once flattered himself that, when his trade of selling fish failed him, he could readily engage in some other; but he now found, to his mortification, that what Francisco's father said proved true: " In all trades the best fortune to set up with is a good character."
Not one of the little Neapolitan merchants would either enter into partnership with him, give him credit, or even trade with him for ready money.
" If you would cheat your own father, to be sure you will cheat us," was continually said to him by these prudent little people.
Piedro was taunted and treated with contempt at home and abroad.
His father, when he found that his son's smartness was no longer useful in making bargains, shoved him out of his way whenever he met him.
All the food or clothes that he had at home seemed to be given to him grudgingly, and with such expressions as these: " Take that; but it is too good for you.
You must eat this, now, instead of gourds and figs--and be thankful you have even this."
Piedro spent a whole winter very unhappily.
He expected that all his old tricks, and especially what his father had said of him in the market - place, would be soon forgotten; but month passed after month, and still these things were fresh in the memory of all who had known them.
It is not easy to get rid of a bad character.
A very great rogue * was once heard to say, that he would, with all his heart, give ten thousand pounds for a good character, because he knew that he could make twenty thousand by it.
* Chartres.
Something like this was the sentiment of our cunning hero when he experienced the evils of a bad reputation, and when he saw the numerous advantages which Francisco's good character procured.
Such had been Piedro's wretched education, that even the hard lessons of experience could not alter its pernicious effects.
He was sorry his knavery had been detected, but he still thought it clever to cheat, and was secretly persuaded that, if he had cheated successfully, he should have been happy.
" But I know I am not happy now," said he to himself one morning, as he sat alone disconsolate by the sea - shore, dressed in tattered garments, weak and hungry, with an empty basket beside him.
His fishing - rod, which he held between his knees, bent over the dry sands instead of into the water, for he was not thinking of what he was about; his arms were folded, his head hung down, and his ragged hat was slouched over his face.
He was a melancholy spectacle.
Francisco, as he was coming from his father's vineyard with a large dish of purple and white grapes upon his head, and a basket of melons and figs hanging upon his arm, chanced to see Piedro seated in this melancholy posture.
" Eat them: you'll find them very good, I hope," said Francisco, with a benevolent smile.
" They are excellent--most excellent, and I am much obliged to you, Francisco," said Piedro.
" I was very hungry, and that's what I am now, without anybody's caring anything about it.
I am not the favourite I was with my father, but I know it is all my own fault."
" Well, but cheer up," said Francisco; " my father always says,'One who knows he has been in fault, and acknowledges it, will scarcely be in fault again.'
Yes, take as many figs as you will," continued he; and held his basket closer to Piedro, who, as he saw, cast a hungry eye upon one of the ripe figs.
" But," said Piedro, after he had taken several, " shall not I get you into a scrape by taking so many?
Won't your father be apt to miss them?"
" Do you think I would give them to you if they were not my own?"
said Francisco, with a sudden glance of indignation.
" Well, don't be angry that I asked the question; it was only from fear of getting you into disgrace that I asked it."
" It would not be easy for anybody to do that, I hope," said Francisco, rather proudly.
" And to me less than anybody," replied Piedro, in an insinuating tone, " _I, _ that am so much obliged to you!"
" A bunch of grapes, and a few figs, are no mighty obligation," said Francisco, smiling; " I wish I could do more for you.
You seem, indeed, to have been very unhappy of late.
We never see you in the markets as we used to do."
" No; ever since my father beat me, and called me rogue before all the children there, I have never been able to show my face without being gibed at by one or t'other.
If you would but take me along with you amongst them, and only just SEEM my friend, for a day or two, or so, it would quite set me up again; for they all like you."
" I would rather BE than seem your friend, if I could," said Francisco.
" Ay, to be sure; that would be still better," said Piedro, observing that Francisco, as he uttered his last sentence, was separating the grapes and other fruits into two equal divisions.
" To be sure I would rather you would BE than SEEM a friend to me; but I thought that was too much to ask at first, though I have a notion, notwithstanding I have been so UNLUCKY lately--I have a notion you would have no reason to repent of it.
You would find me no bad hand, if you were to try, and take me into partnership."
" Partnership!"
interrupted Francisco, drawing back alarmed; " I had no thoughts of that."
" But won't you?
can't you?"
said Piedro, in a supplicating tone; " CAN'T you have thoughts of it?
You'd find me a very active partner."
Franscisco still drew back, and kept his eyes fixed upon the ground.
He was embarrassed; for he pitied Piedro, and he scarcely knew how to point out to him that something more is necessary in a partner in trade besides activity, and that is honesty.
" Can't you?"
repeated Piedro, thinking that he hesitated from merely mercenary motives.
" You shall have what share of the profits you please."
I'll go on before you, and speak to those I am acquainted with, and tell them you are going to set up a new character, and that you hope to make it a good one."
" Hey, shall I!
Thank you for ever, dear Francisco," cried Piedro, seizing his plentiful gift of fruit.
" Say what you please for me."
" But don't make me say anything that is not true," said Francisco, pausing.
" No, to be sure not," said Piedro; " I DO mean to give no room for scandal.
If I could get them to trust me as they do you, I should be happy indeed."
" That is what you may do, if you please," said Francisco.
" Adieu, I wish you well with all my heart; but I must leave you now, or I shall be too late for the market."
CHAPTER II.
Chi va piano va sano, e anche lontano.
Fair and softly goes far in a day.
Piedro had now an opportunity of establishing a good character.
When he went into the market with his grapes and figs, he found that he was not shunned or taunted as usual.
All seemed disposed to believe in his intended reformation, and to give him a fair trial.
These favourable dispositions towards him were the consequence of Francisco's benevolent representations.
Piedro made a good beginning, and gave what several of the younger customers thought excellent bargains.
His grapes and figs were quickly sold, and with the money that he got for them he the next day purchased from a fruit dealer a fresh supply; and thus he went on for some time, conducting himself with scrupulous honesty, so that he acquired some credit among his companions.
They no longer watched him with suspicious eyes.
They trusted to his measures and weights, and they counted less carefully the change which they received from him.
The satisfaction he felt from this alteration in their manners was at first delightful to Piedro; but in proportion to his credit, his opportunities of defrauding increased; and these became temptations which he had not the firmness to resist.
His old manner of thinking recurred.
" I make but a few shillings a day, and this is but slow work," said he to himself.
" What signifies my good character, if I make so little by it?"
Light gains, and frequent, make a heavy purse, * was one of Francisco's proverbs.
But Piedro was in too great haste to get rich to take time into his account.
He set his invention to work, and he did not want for ingenuity, to devise means of cheating without running the risk of detection.
He observed that the younger part of the community were extremely fond of certain coloured sugar plums, and of burnt almonds.
* Poco e spesso empie il l'orsetto.
'".
This advertisement attracted the attention of all who could read; and many who could not read heard it repeated with delight.
Crowds of children surrounded Piedro's board of promise, and they all went away the first day amply satisfied.
Each had a full measure of coloured sugar - plums at the usual price, and along with these a burnt almond gratis.
It was generally reported that Piedro gave full measure--fuller than any other board in the city.
He measured the sugar - plums in a little cubical tin box; and this, it was affirmed, he heaped up to the top, and pressed down before he poured out the contents into the open hands of his approving customers.
This belief, and Piedro's popularity, continued longer even than he had expected; and, as he thought his sugar - plums had secured their reputation with the GENEROUS PUBLIC, he gradually neglected to add burnt almonds gratis.
One day a boy of about ten years old passed carelessly by, whistling as he went along, and swinging a carpenter's rule in his hand.
" Ha!
what have we here?"
cried he, stopping to read what was written on Piedro's board.
" This promises rarely.
Old as I am, and tall of my age, which makes the matter worse, I am still as fond of sugar - plums as my little sister, who is five years younger than I.
Come, Signor, fill me quick, for I'm in haste to taste them, two measures of the sweetest, largest, most admirable sugar - plums in Naples--one measure for myself and one for my little Rosetta."
" You'll pay for yourself and your sister, then," said Piedro, " for no credit is given here."
" No credit do I ask," replied the lively boy; " when I told you I loved sugar - plums, did I tell you I loved them, or even my sister, so well as to run in debt for them?
Here's for myself, and here's for my sister's share," said he, laying down his money; " and now for the burnt almonds gratis, my good fellow."
" They are all out; I have been out of burnt almonds this great while," said Piedro.
" Then why are they in your advertisement here?"
said Carlo.
" I have not had time to scratch them out of the board."
" What!
not when you have, by your own account, been out of them a great while?
I did not know it required so much time to blot out a few words--let us try.
"; and as he spoke, Carlo, for that was the name of Piedro's new customer, pulled a bit of white chalk out of his pocket, and drew a broad score across the line on the board which promised burnt almonds gratis.
" You are most impatient," said Piedro; " I shall have a fresh stock of almonds to - morrow."
" Why must the board tell a lie to - day?"
" It would ruin me to alter it," said Piedro.
" A lie may ruin you, but I could scarcely think the truth could."
" You have no right to meddle with me or my board," said Piedro, put off his guard, and out of his usual soft voice of civility, by this last observation.
" My character, and that of my board, are too firmly established now for any chance customer like you to injure."
" I never dreamed of injuring you or anyone else," said Carlo --" I wish, moreover, you may not injure yourself.
Do as you please with your board, but give me my sugar - plums, for I have some right to meddle with those, having paid for them."
" Hold out your hand, then."
" No, put them in here, if you please; put my sister's, at least, in here; she likes to have them in this box: I bought some for her in it yesterday, and she'll think they'll taste the better out of the same box.
But how is this?
your measure does not fill my box nearly; you give us very few sugar - plums for our money."
" I give you full measure, as I give to everybody."
" The measure should be an inch cube, I know," said Carlo; " that's what all the little merchants have agreed to, you know."
" True," said Piedro, " so it is."
" And so it is, I must allow," said Carlo, measuring the outside of it with the carpenter's rule which he held in his hand.
" An inch every way; and yet by my eye--and I have no bad one, being used to measuring carpenter's work for my father--by my eye I should think this would have held more sugar - plums."
" The eye often deceives us;" said Piedro.
" There's nothing like measuring, you find."
" There's nothing like measuring, I find, indeed," replied Carlo, as he looked closely at the end of his rule, which, since he spoke last, he had put into the cube to take its depth in the inside.
" This is not as deep by a quarter of an inch, Signor Piedro, measured within as it is measured without."
Piedro changed colour terribly, and seizing hold of the tin box, endeavoured to wrest it from the youth who measured so accurately.
Carlo held his prize fast, and lifting it above his head, he ran into the midst of the square where the little market was held, exclaiming, " A discovery!
a discovery!
that concerns all who love sugar - plums.
A discovery!
a discovery that concerns all who have ever bought the sweetest, and most admirable sugar - plums ever sold in Naples."
The crowd gathered from all parts of the square as he spoke.
" We have bought," and " We have bought of those sugar - plums," cried several little voices at once, " if you mean Piedro's."
" The same," continued Carlo --" he who, out of gratitude to his numerous customers, gives, or promises to give, burnt almonds gratis."
" Excellent they were!"
cried several voices.
" We all know Piedro well; but what's your discovery?"
" My discovery is," said Carlo, " that you, none of you, know Piedro.
' Think twice of a good bargain,' says the proverb."
" So we have been finely duped, indeed," cried some of the bystanders, looking at one another with a mortified air.
" Full of courtesy, full of craft!"
* " So this is the meaning of his burnt almonds gratis," cried others; all joined in an uproar of indignation, except one, who, as he stood behind the rest, expressed in his countenance silent surprise and sorrow.
* Chi et FA pi caress che non vole, O ingannato t'ha, o inganuar et vole.
" Is this Piedro a relation of yours?"
said Carlo, going up to this silent person.
" I am sorry, if he be, that I have published his disgrace, for I would not hurt YOU.
You don't sell sugar - plums as he does, I'm sure; for my little sister Rosetta has often bought from you.
Can this Piedro be a friend of yours?"
" I wished to have been his friend; but I see I can't," said Francisco.
" He is a neighbour of ours, and I pitied him; but since he is at his old tricks again, there's an end of the matter.
I have reason to be obliged to you, for I was nearly taken in.
He has behaved so well for some time past, that I intended this very evening to have gone to him, and to have told him that I was willing to do for him what he has long begged of me to do--to enter into partnership with him."
" Francisco!
Francisco!-- your measure, lend us your measure!"
exclaimed a number of little merchants crowding round him.
" You have a measure for sugar - plums; and we have all agreed to refer to that, and to see how much we have been cheated before we go to break Piedro's bench and declare him bankrupt, *-- the punishment for all knaves."
* This word comes from two Italian words, bunco rotto--broken bench.
Bankers and merchants used formerly to count their money, and write their bills of exchange upon benches in the streets; and when a merchant or banker lost his credit, and was unable to pay his debts, his bench was broken.
They pressed on to Francisco's board, obtained his measure, found that it held something more than a quarter above the quantity that could be contained in Piedro's.
The cries of the enraged populace were now most clamorous.
They hung the just and the unjust measures upon high poles; and, forming themselves into a formidable phalanx, they proceeded towards Piedro's well known yellow lettered board, exclaiming, as they went along, " Common cause!
common cause!
The little Neapolitan merchants will have no knaves amongst them!
Break his bench!
break his bench!
He is a bankrupt in honesty."
Piedro saw the mob, heard the indignant clamour, and, terrified at the approach of numbers, he fled with the utmost precipitation, having scarcely time to pack up half his sugar - plums.
There was a prodigious number, more than would have filled many honest measures, scattered upon the ground and trampled under foot by the crowd.
Piedro's bench was broken, and the public vengeance wreaked itself also upon his treacherous painted board.
It was, after being much disfigured by various inscriptions expressive of the universal contempt for Piedro, hung up in a conspicuous part of the market - place; and the false measure was fastened like a cap upon one of its corners.
Piedro could never more show his face in this market, and all hopes of friendship--all hopes of partnership with Francisco--were for ever at an end.
Is it not clear that our crafty hero would have gained rather more by a partnership with Francisco, and by a fair character, than he could possibly obtain by fraudulent dealing in comfits?
When the mob had dispersed, after satisfying themselves with executing summary justice upon Piedro's bench and board, Francisco found a carpenter's rule lying upon the ground near Piedro's broken bench, which he recollected to have seen in the hands of Carlo.
He examined it carefully, and he found Carlo's name written upon it, and the name of the street where he lived; and though it was considerably out of his way, he set out immediately to restore the rule, which was a very handsome one, to its rightful owner.
After a hot walk through several streets, he overtook Carlo, who had just reached the door of his own house.
Carlo was particularly obliged to him, he said, for restoring this rule to him, as it was a present from the master of a vessel, who employed his father to do carpenter's work for him.
" One should not praise one's self, they say," continued Carlo, " but I long so much to gain your good opinion, that I must tell you the whole history of the rule you have restored.
It was given to me for having measured the work and made up the bill of a whole pleasure - boat myself.
You may guess I should have been sorry enough to have lost it.
Thank you for its being once more in my careless hands, and tell me, I beg, whenever I can do you any service.
By - the - by, I can make up for you a fruit stall.
I'll do it to - morrow, and it shall be the admiration of the market.
Is there anything else you could think of for me?"
" Why, yes," said Francisco; " since you are so good - natured, perhaps you'd be kind enough to tell me the meaning of some of those lines and figures that I see upon your rule.
I have a great curiosity to know their use."
" That I'll explain to you with pleasure, as far as I know them myself; but when I'm at fault, my father, who is cleverer than I am, and understands trigonometry, can help us out."
" Trigonometry!"
repeated Francisco, not a little alarmed at the high sounding word; " that's what I certainly shall never understand."
" Oh, never fear," replied Carlo, laughing.
" I looked just as you do now - - I felt just as you do now--all in a fright and a puzzle, when I first heard of angles and sines, and cosines, and arcs and centres, and complements and tangents."
" Oh mercy!
mercy!"
interrupted Francisco, whilst Carlo laughed, with a benevolent sense of superiority.
" Why," said Carlo, " you'll find all these things are nothing when you are used to them.
But I cannot explain my rule to you here broiling in the sun.
Besides, it will not be the work of a day, I promise you; but come and see us at your leisure hours, and we'll study it together.
I have a great notion we shall become friends; and, to begin, step in with me now," said Carlo, " and eat a little macaroni with us.
I know it is ready by this time.
Besides, you'll see my father, and he'll show you plenty of rules and compasses, as you like such things; and then I'll go home with you in the cool of the evening, and you shall show me your melons and vines, and teach me, in time, something of gardening.
Oh, I see we must be good friends, just made for each other; so come in--no ceremony."
Carlo was not mistaken in his predictions; he and Francisco became very good friends, spent all their leisure hours together, either in Carlo's workshop or in Francisco's vineyard, and they mutually improved each other.
" Who knows but these things that I am learning now may be of some use to me before I die?"
said Francisco, as he was sitting one morning with his tutor, the carpenter.
" To be sure it will," said the carpenter, putting down his compasses, with which he was drawing a circle --" Arithmetic is a most useful, and I was going to say necessary thing to be known by men in all stations; and a little trigonometry does no harm.
In short, my maxim is, that no knowledge comes amiss; for a man's head is of as much use to him as his hands; and even more so.
" A word to the wise will always suffice."
" Besides, to say nothing of making a fortune, is not there a great pleasure in being something of a scholar, and being able to pass one's time with one's book, and one's compasses and pencil?
Safe companions these for young and old.
No one gets into mischief that has pleasant things to think of and to do when alone; and I know, for my part, that trigonometry is --"
" Why, my dear good humoured little Rosetta, what has happened?
Why these large tears?"
said her brother Carlo, and he went up to her, and wiped them from her cheeks.
" And these that are going over the bridge of the nose so fast?
I must stop these tears, too," said Carlo.
Rosetta, at this speech, burst out laughing, and said that she did not know till then that she had any bridge on her nose.
" And were these shells the cause of the tears?"
said her brother, looking at a heap of shells, which she held before her in her frock.
" Yes, partly," said Rosetta.
" It was partly my own fault, but not all.
" That was not wise to leave it," said Carlo.
" But I only left it for a few minutes, brother, and I could not think anybody would be so dishonest as to take it whilst I was away.
" Your heart was set mightily on these shells, Rosetta."
" Yes; for I thought you and Francisco, brother, would like to have them for your nice grotto that you are making at Resina.
That was the reason I was in such a hurry to get them.
But now what shall I do, Carlo?
I shall have no money to give him: I must give back his shells, and that's a great pity."
" But how happened it that you did not sell your wood?"
" Oh, I forgot; did not I tell you that?
When I went for my basket, do you know it was empty, quite empty, not a chip left?
Some dishonest person had carried it all off.
Had not I reason to cry now, Carlo?'
" I'll go this minute into the wood - market, and see if I can find your faggot.
Won't that be better than crying?"
said her brother.
" Should you know any one of your pieces of wood again if you were to see them?"
" Yes, one of them, I am sure, I should know again," said Rosetta.
" It had a notch at one end of it, where one of the carpenters cut it off from another piece of wood for me."
" And is this piece of wood from which the carpenter cut it still to be seen?"
said Francisco.
" Yes, it is in the yard; but I cannot bring it to you, for it is very heavy."
" We can go to it," said Francisco, " and I hope we shall recover your basketful."
Despairing of discovering the thief, Francisco and Carlo left the market.
As they were returning home, they were met by the English servant Arthur, who asked Francisco where he had been, and where he was going.
Stay!
this was at the baker's, I think, where I went for some rolls for my master.
It was lying beside his oven."
To the baker's they all went as fast as possible, and they got there but just in time.
The baker had in his hand the bit of wood with which he was that instant going to feed his oven.
" Stop, good Mr.
Baker!"
cried Rosetta, who ran into the baker's shop first; and as he heard " Stop!
stop!"
re - echoed by many voices, the baker stopped; and turning to Francisco, Carlo and Arthur, begged, with a countenance of some surprise, to know why they had desired him to stop.
The case was easily explained, and the baker told them that he did not buy any wood in the little market that morning; that this faggot he had purchased between the hours of twelve and one from a lad about Francisco's height, whom he met near the yard of the arsenal.
" This is my bit of wood, I am sure; I know it by this notch," said Rosetta.
" Well," said the baker, " if you will stay here a few minutes, you will probably see the lad who sold it to me.
He desired to be paid in bread, and my bread was not quite baked when he was here.
I bid him call again in an hour, and I fancy he will be pretty punctual, for he looked desperately hungry."
The baker had scarcely finished speaking when Francisco, who was standing watching at the door, exclaimed, " Here comes Piedro!
I hope he is not the boy who sold you the wood, Mr.
Baker?"
" He is the boy, though," replied the baker, and Piedro, who now entered the shop, started at the sight of Carlo and Francisco, whom he had never seen since the day of disgrace in the fruit - market.
" Your servant, Signor Piedro," said Carlo; " I have the honour to tell you that this piece of wood, and all that you took out of the basket, which you found in the yard of the arsenal, belongs to my sister."
" Yes, indeed," cried Rosetta.
" He has a right to be heard in his own defence," said Arthur, with the cool justice of an Englishman; and he stopped the angry Carlo's arm, who was going up to the culprit with all the Italian vehemence of oratory and gesture.
Arthur went on to say something in bad Italian about the excellence of an English trial by jury, which Carlo was too much enraged to hear, but to which Francisco paid attention, and turning to Piedro, he asked him if he was willing to be judged by twelve of his equals?
" With all my heart," said Piedro, still maintaining an unmoved countenance, and they returned immediately to the little wood - market.
On their way, they had passed through the fruit - market, and crowds of those who were well acquainted with Piedro's former transactions followed, to hear the event of the present trial.
Arthur could not, especially as he spoke wretched Italian, make the eager little merchants understand the nature and advantages of an English trial by jury.
They preferred their own summary mode of proceeding.
Francisco, in whose integrity they all had perfect confidence, was chosen with unanimous shouts for the judge; but he declined the office, and another was appointed.
He was raised upon a bench, and the guilty but insolent looking Piedro, and the ingenuous, modest Rosetta stood before him.
She made her complaint in a very artless manner; and Piedro, with ingenuity, which in a better cause would have deserved admiration, spoke volubly and craftily in his own defence.
But all that he could say could not alter facts.
The judge compared the notched bit of wood found at the baker's with a piece from which it was cut, which he went to see in the yard of the arsenal.
It was found to fit exactly.
The judge then found it impossible to restrain the loud indignation of all the spectators.
The prisoner was sentenced never more to sell wood in the market; and the moment sentence was pronounced, Piedro was hissed and hooted out of the market - place.
Thus a third time he deprived himself of the means of earning his bread.
We shall not dwell upon all his petty methods of cheating in the trades he next attempted.
He handed lemonade about in a part of Naples where he was not known, but he lost his customers by putting too much water and too little lemon into this beverage.
He then took to the waters from the sulphurous springs, and served them about to foreigners; but one day, as he was trying to jostle a competitor from the coach door, he slipped his foot, and broke his glasses.
They had been borrowed from an old woman, who hired out glasses to the boys who sold lemonade.
Piedro knew that it was the custom to pay, of course, for all that was broken; but this he was not inclined to do.
He had a few shillings in his pocket, and thought that it would be very clever to defraud this poor woman of her right, and to spend his shillings upon what he valued much more than he did his good name--macaroni.
The shillings were soon gone.
We shall now for the present leave Piedro to his follies and his fate; or, to speak more properly, to his follies and their inevitable consequences.
Francisco was all this time acquiring knowledge from his new friends, without neglecting his own or his father's business.
He contrived, during the course of autumn and winter, to make himself a tolerable arithmetician.
Carlo's father could draw plans in architecture neatly; and pleased with the eagerness Francisco showed to receive instruction, he willingly put a pencil and compasses into his hand, and taught him all he knew himself.
Francisco had great perseverance, and, by repeated trials, he at length succeeded in copying exactly all the plans which his master lent him.
His copies, in time, surpassed the originals, and Carlo exclaimed, with astonishment: " Why, Francisco, what an astonishing GENIUS you have for drawing!-- Absolutely you draw plans better than my father!"
" As to genius," said Francisco, honestly, " I have none.
All that I have done has been done by hard labour.
I don't know how other people do things; but I am sure that I never have been able to get anything done well but by patience.
Don't you remember, Carlo, how you and even Rosetta laughed at me the first time your father put a pencil into my awkward, clumsy hands?"
" Because," said Carlo, laughing again at the recollection, " you held your pencil so drolly; and when you were to cut it, you cut it just as if you were using a pruning - knife to your vines; but now it is your turn to laugh, for you surpass us all.
And the times are changed since I set about to explain this rule of mine to you."
" Ay, that rule," said Francisco --" how much I owe to it!
Some great people, when they lose any of their fine things, cause the crier to promise a reward of so much money to anyone who shall find and restore their trinket.
How richly have you and your father rewarded me for returning this rule!"
Francisco's modesty and gratitude, as they were perfectly sincere, attached his friends to him most powerfully; but there was one person who regretted our hero's frequent absences from his vineyard at Resina.
Not Francisco's father, for he was well satisfied his son never neglected his business; and as to the hours spent in Naples, he had so much confidence in Francisco that he felt no apprehensions of his getting into bad company.
When his son had once said to him, " I spend my time at such a place, and in such and such a manner," he was as well convinced of its being so as if he had watched and seen him every moment of the day.
But it was Arthur who complained of Francisco's absence.
" You shall like another, I promise you," said Francisco.
" You must come with me to Carlo's, and see how I spend my evenings; then complain of me, if you can."
It was the utmost stretch of Arthur's complaisance to pay this visit; but, in spite of his national prejudices and habitual reserve of temper, he was pleased with the reception he met with from the generous Carlo and the playful Rosetta.
They showed him Francisco's drawings with enthusiastic eagerness; and Arthur, though no great judge of drawing, was in astonishment, and frequently repeated, " I know a gentleman who visits my master who would like these things.
I wish I might have them to show him."
" Take them, then," said Carlo; " I wish all Naples could see them, provided they might be liked half as well as I like them."
Though not quite so partial a judge as the enthusiastic Carlo, this gentleman was both pleased and surprised at the sight of these drawings, considering how short a time Francisco had applied himself to this art, and what slight instructions he had received.
Arthur was desired to summon the young artist.
Francisco's honest, open manner, joined to the proofs he had given of his abilities, and the character Arthur gave him for strict honesty, and constant kindness to his parents, interested Mr. Lee, the name of this English gentleman, much in his favour.
Mr. Lee was at this time in treaty with an Italian painter, whom he wished to engage to copy for him exactly some of the cornices, mouldings, tablets, and antique ornaments which are to be seen amongst the ruins of the ancient city of Herculaneum.
* We must give those of our young English readers who may not be acquainted with the ancient city of Herculaneum, some idea of it.
A rumbling, and afterwards a roaring noise is heard within, and prodigious quantities of stones and minerals burnt into masses (scoriae), are thrown out of the crater, sometimes to a great distance.
The hot ashes from Mount Vesuvius have often been seen upon the roofs of the houses of Naples, from which it is six miles distant.
Streams of lava run down the sides of the mountains during the time of an eruption, destroying everything in their way, and overwhelm the houses and vineyards which are in the neighbourhood.
It remained for many years buried.
The lava which covered it became in time fit for vegetation, plants grew there, a new soil was formed, and a new town called Portici was built over this place where Herculaneum formerly stood.
The little village of Resina is also situated near the spot.
About fifty years ago, in a poor man's garden at Resina, a hole in a well about thirty feet below the surface of the earth was observed.
Some persons had the curiosity to enter into this hole, and, after creeping underground for some time, they came to the foundations of houses.
The peasants, inhabitants of the village, who had probably never heard of Herculaneum, were somewhat surprised at their discovery.
** About the same time, in a pit in the town of Portici, a similar passage underground was discovered, and, by orders of the King of Naples, workmen were employed to dig away the earth, and clear the passage.
They found, at length, the entrance into the town, which, during the reign of Titus, was buried under lava.
It was about eighty - eight Neapolitan palms (a palm contains near nine inches) below the top of the pit.
The workmen, as they cleared the passages, marked their way with chalk when they came to any turning, lest they should lose themselves.
The streets branched out in many directions, and, lying across them, the workmen often found large pieces of timber, beams, and rafters; some broken in the fall, others entire.
These beams and rafters are burned quite black like charcoal, except those that were found in moist places, which have more the colour of rotten wood, and which are like a soft paste, into which you might run your hand.
The walls of the houses slant, some one way, some another, and some are upright.
Several magnificent buildings of brick, faced with marble of different colours, are partly seen, where the workmen have cleared away the earth and lava with which they were encrusted.
Columns of red and white marble, and flights of steps, are seen in different places; and out of the ruins of the palaces some very fine statues and pictures have been dug.
Foreigners who visit Naples are very curious to see this subterraneous city, and are desirous to carry with them into their own country some proofs of their having examined this wonderful place.
** Philosophical Transactions, vol.
ix.
p. 440.
CHAPTER III.
Tutte le gran faciende si fanno di poca cosa.
What great events from trivial causes spring.
Signor Camillo, the artist employed by Mr. Lee to copy some of the antique ornaments in Herculaneum, was a liberal minded man, perfectly free from that mean jealousy which would repress the efforts of rising genius.
" Here is a lad scarcely fifteen, a poor gardener's son, who, with merely the instructions he could obtain from a common carpenter, has learned to draw these plans and elevations, which you see are tolerably neat.
What an advantage your instruction would be to him," said Mr. Lee, as he introduced Francisco to Signor Camillo.
" I am interested in this lad from what I have learned of his good conduct.
I hear he is strictly honest, and one of the best of sons.
Let us do something for him.
If you will give him some knowledge of your art, I will, as far as money can recompense you for your loss of time, pay whatever you may think reasonable for his instruction."
Signor Camillo made no difficulties; he was pleased with his pupil's appearance, and every day he liked him better and better.
Signor Camillo, the first day he came into this room with his pupil, said to him, " Here are many valuable books and drawings, young man.
I trust, from the character I have heard of you, that they will be perfectly safe here."
Some weeks after Francisco had been with the painter, they had occasion to look for the front of a temple in one of these large books.
" What!
don't you know in which book to look for it, Francisco?"
cried his master, with some impatience.
" Is it possible that you have been here so long with these books, and that you cannot find the print I mean?
Had you half the taste I gave you credit for, you would have singled it out from all the rest, and have it fixed in your memory."
" But, signor, I never saw it," said Francisco, respectfully, " or, perhaps, I should have preferred it."
" That you never saw it, young man, is the very thing of which I complain.
Is a taste for the arts to be learned, think you, by looking at the cover of a book like this?
Is it possible that you never thought of opening it?"
" Often and often," cried Francisco, " have I longed to open it; but I thought it was forbidden me, and however great my curiosity in your absence, I have never touched them.
I hoped indeed, that the time would come when you would have the goodness to show them to me."
" And so the time is come, excellent young man," cried Camillo; " much as I love taste, I love integrity more.
I am now sure of your having the one, and let me see whether you have, as I believe you have, the other.
Sit you down here beside me; and we will look over these books together."
His confidence in Francisco was much increased by this circumstance, slight as it may appear.
One day, Signor Camillo came behind Francisco, as he was drawing with much intentness, and tapping him upon the shoulder, he said to him: " Put up your pencils and follow me, I can depend upon your integrity; I have pledged myself for it.
Bring your note - book with you, and follow me; I will this day show you something that will entertain you at least as much as my large book of prints.
Follow me."
Francisco followed, till they came to the pit near the entrance of Herculaneum.
" I have obtained leave for you to accompany me," said his master, " and you know, I suppose, that this is not a permission granted to everyone?"
Paintings of great value, besides ornaments of gold and silver, antique bracelets, rings, etc., are from time to time found amongst these ruins, and therefore it is necessary that no person should be admitted whose honesty cannot be depended upon.
Thus, even Francisco's talents could not have advanced him in the world, unless they had been united to integrity.
He was much delighted and astonished by the new scene that was now opened to his view; and as, day after day, he accompanied his master to this subterraneous city, he had leisure for observation.
He was employed, as soon as he had gratified his curiosity, in drawing.
There are niches in the walls in several places, from which pictures have been dug, and these niches are often adorned with elegant masques, figures and animals, which have been left by the ignorant or careless workmen, and which are going fast to destruction.
Signor Camillo, who was copying these for his English employer, had a mind to try his pupil's skill, and, pointing to a niche bordered with grotesque figures, he desired him to try if he could make any hand of it.
Francisco had no sooner received this money, than he hurried to his father and mother's cottage.
His mother, some months before this time, had taken a small dairy farm; and her son had once heard her express a wish that she was but rich enough to purchase a remarkably fine brindled cow, which belonged to a farmer in the neighbourhood.
The happy mother thanked her son, and the father assured him that neither melon nor pine - apple should be spared, to make a supper worthy of his friends.
The brindled cow was bought, and Arthur and Carlo and Rosetta most joyfully accepted their invitation.
The carpenter had unluckily appointed to settle a long account that day with one of his employers, and he could not accompany his children.
It was a delicious evening; they left Naples just as the sea - breeze, after the heats of the day, was most refreshingly felt.
The walk to Resina, the vineyard, the dairy, and most of all, the brindled cow, were praised by Carlo and Rosetta, with all the Italian superlatives which signify, " Most beautiful!
most delightful!
most charming!"
The company, who were all pleased with each other, and with the gardener's good fruit, which he produced in great abundance, did not think of separating till late.
It was a bright moonlight night, and Carlo asked his friend if he would walk with them part of the way to Naples.
" Yes, all the way most willingly," cried Francisco, " that I may have the pleasure of giving to your father, with my own hands, this fine bunch of grapes, that I have reserved for him out of my own share."
" Add this fine pine - apple for my share, then," said his father, " and a pleasant walk to you, my young friends."
They proceeded gaily along, and when they reached Naples, as they passed through the square where the little merchants held their market, Francisco pointed to the spot where he found Carlo's rule.
He never missed an opportunity of showing his friends that he did not forget their former kindness to him.
" That rule," said he, " has been the cause of all my present happiness, and I thank you for --"
" Oh, never mind thanking him now," interrupted Rosetta, " but look yonder, and tell me what all those people are about."
She pointed to a group of men, women and children, who were assembled under a piazza, listening in various attitudes of attention to a man, who was standing upon a flight of steps speaking in a loud voice, and with much action, to the people who surrounded him.
Francisco, Carlo and Rosetta joined his audience.
The moon shone full upon his countenance, which was very expressive and which varied frequently according to the characters of the persons whose history he was telling, according to all the changes of their fortune.
This man was one of those who are called Improvisatori--persons who, in Italian towns, go about reciting verses or telling stories, which they are supposed to invent as they go on speaking.
Some of these people speak with great fluency, and collect crowds round them in the public streets.
When an Improvisatore sees the attention of his audience fixed, and when he comes to some very interesting part of his narrative, he dexterously drops his hat upon the ground, and pauses till his auditors have paid tribute to his eloquence.
When he thinks the hat sufficiently full, he takes it up again, and proceeds with his story.
The hat was dropped just as Francisco and his two friends came under the piazza.
The orator had finished one story, and was going to commence another.
He fixed his eyes upon Francisco, then glanced at Carlo and Rosetta, and after a moment's consideration he began a story which bore some resemblance to one that our young English readers may, perhaps, know by the name of " Cornaro, or the Grateful Turk."
Francisco was deeply interested in this narrative, and when the hat was dropped, he eagerly threw in his contribution.
At the end of the story, when the speaker's voice stopped, there was a momentary silence, which was broken by the orator himself, who exclaimed, as he took up the hat which lay at his feet, " My friends, here is some mistake!
this is not my hat; it has been changed whilst I was taken up with my story.
Pray, gentlemen, find my hat amongst you; it was a remarkably good one, a present from a nobleman for an epigram I made.
I would not lose my hat for twice its value.
It has my name written withinside of it, Dominicho, Improvisatore.
Pray, gentlemen, examine your hats."
Everybody present examined their hats, and showed them to Dominicho, but his was not amongst them.
No one had left the company; the piazza was cleared, and searched in vain.
" The hat has vanished by magic," said Dominicho.
" Yes, and by the same magic a statue moves," cried Carlo, pointing to a figure standing in a niche, which had hitherto escaped observation.
The face was so much in the shade, that Carlo did not at first perceive that the statue was Piedro.
Piedro, when he saw himself discovered, burst into a loud laugh, and throwing down Dominicho's hat, which he held in his hand behind him, cried, " A pretty set of novices!
Most excellent players at hide - and - seek you would make."
Whether Piedro really meant to have carried off the poor man's hat, or whether he was, as he said, merely in jest, we leave it to those who know his general character to decide.
Carlo shook his head.
" Still at your old tricks, Piedro," said he.
" Remember the old proverb: No fox so cunning but he comes to the furrier's at last."
* Tutte le volpi si trovano in pellicera.
" I defy the furrier and you, too," replied Piedro, taking up his own ragged hat.
" I have no need to steal hats; I can afford to buy better than you'll have upon your head.
Francisco, a word with you, if you have done crying at the pitiful story you have been listening to so attentively."
" And what would you say to me?"
said Francisco, following him a few steps.
" Do not detain me long, because my friends will wait for me."
" If they are friends, they can wait," said Piedro.
" You need not be ashamed of being seen in my company now, I can tell you; for I am, as I always told you I should be, the richest man of the two."
" Rich!
you rich?"
cried Francisco.
" Well, then, it was impossible you could mean to trick that poor man out of his good hat."
" Impossible!"
said Piedro.
Francisco did not consider that those who have habits of pilfering continue to practise them often, when the poverty which first tempted them to dishonesty ceases.
" Impossible!
You stare when I tell you I am rich; but the thing is so.
Moreover, I am well with my father at home.
I have friends in Naples, and I call myself Piedro the Lucky.
Look you here," said he, producing an old gold coin.
" This does not smell of fish, does it?
My father is no longer a fisherman, nor I either.
Neither do I sell sugar - plums to children: nor do I slave myself in a vineyard, like some folks; but fortune, when I least expected it, has stood my friend.
I have many pieces of gold like this.
Digging in my father's garden, it was my luck to come to an old Roman vessel full of gold.
I have this day agreed for a house in Naples for my father.
We shall live, whilst we can afford it, like great folks, you will see; and I shall enjoy the envy that will be felt by some of my old friends, the little Neapolitan merchants, who will change their note when they see my change of fortune.
What say you to all this, Francisco the Honest?"
" That I wish you joy of your prosperity, and hope you may enjoy it long and well."
" Well, no doubt of that.
Everyone who has it enjoys it WELL.
He always dances well to whom fortune pipes."
* Assai ben balla a chi fortuna suona.
" Yes, no longer pipe, no longer dance," replied Francisco; and here they parted; for Piedro walked away abruptly, much mortified to perceive that his prosperity did not excite much envy, or command any additional respect from Francisco.
Do you know he has found a treasure, he says, in his father's garden--a vase full of gold?
He showed me one of the gold pieces."
" Much good may they do him.
I hope he came honestly by them," said Carlo; " but ever since the affair of the double measure, I suspect double - dealing always from him.
It is not our affair, however.
Let him make himself happy his way, and we ours.
" He that would live in peace and rest, Must hear, and see, and say the best."
* Odi, vedi, taci, se vuoi viver in pace.
All Piedro's neighbours did not follow this peaceable maxim; for when he and his father began to circulate the story of the treasure found in the garden, the village of Resina did not give them implicit faith.
People nodded and whispered, and shrugged their shoulders; then crossed themselves, and declared that they would not, for all the riches of Naples, change places with either Piedro or his father.
Regardless, or pretending to be regardless, of these suspicions, Piedro and his father persisted in their assertions.
The fishing - nets were sold, and everything in their cottage was disposed of; they left Resina, went to live at Naples, and, after a few weeks, the matter began to be almost forgotten in the village.
* La vita il fine,-- e di loda la sera.
" Compute the morn and evening of their day."
-- Pope.
Not to leave our readers longer in suspense, we must inform them that the peasants of Resina were right in their suspicions.
Piedro had never found any treasure in his father's garden, but he came by his gold in the following manner:--
He found the truth of the proverb, " that credit lost is like a Venice glass broken--it can't be mended again."
The few shillings which he had in his pocket supplied him with food for a few days.
At last he was glad to be employed by one of the peasants who came to Naples to load their asses with manure out of the streets.
The carriage was overturned near him; a lady was taken out of it, and was hurried by her attendants into a shop, where she stayed till her carriage was set to rights.
She was too much alarmed for the first ten minutes after her accident to think of anything; but after some time, she perceived that she had lost a valuable diamond cross, which she had worn that night at the opera.
She was uncertain where she had dropped it; the shop, the carriage, the street, were searched for it in vain.
Piedro saw it fall as the lady was lifted out of the carriage, seized upon it, and carried it off.
Ignorant as he was of the full value of what he had stolen, he knew not how to satisfy himself as to this point, without trusting someone with the secret.
After some hesitation, he determined to apply to a Jew, who, as it was whispered, was ready to buy everything that was offered to him for sale, without making any TROUBLESOME inquiries.
It was late; he waited till the streets were cleared, and then knocked softly at the back door of the Jew's house.
The person who opened the door for Piedro was his own father.
Piedro started back; but his father had fast hold of him.
" What brings you here?"
said the father, in a low voice, a voice which expressed fear and rage mixed.
" Only to ask my way--my shortest way," stammered Piedro.
" No equivocations!
Tell me what brings you here at this time of the night?
I WILL know."
Piedro, who felt himself in his father's grasp, and who knew that his father would certainly search him, to find out what he had brought to sell, thought it most prudent to produce the diamond cross.
His father could but just see its lustre by the light of a dim lamp, which hung over their heads in the gloomy passage in which they stood.
" You would have been duped, if you had gone to sell this to the Jew.
It is well it has fallen into my hands.
How came you by it?"
Piedro answered that he had found it in the street.
" Go your ways home, then," said his father; " it is safe with me.
Concern yourself no more about it."
Piedro was not inclined thus to relinquish his booty, and he now thought proper to vary in his account of the manner in which he found the cross.
Piedro's father saw that his SMART son, though scarcely sixteen years of age, was a match for him in villainy.
He promised him that he should have half of whatever the Jew would give for the diamonds, and Piedro insisted upon being present at the transaction.
We do not wish to lay open to our young readers scenes of iniquity.
It is sufficient to say that the Jew, who was a man old in all the arts of villainy, contrived to cheat both his associates, and obtained the diamond cross for less than half its value.
The matter was managed so that the transaction remained undiscovered.
The lady who lost the cross, after making fruitless inquiries, gave up the search, and Piedro and his father rejoiced in the success of their manoeuvres.
It is said, that " Ill gotten wealth is quickly spent "; * and so it proved in this instance.
Both father and son lived a riotous life as long as their money lasted, and it did not last many months.
What his bad education began, bad company finished, and Piedro's mind was completely ruined by the associates with whom he became connected during what he called his PROSPERITY.
When his money was at an end, these unprincipled friends began to look cold upon him, and at last plainly told him --" If you mean to LIVE WITH US, you must LIVE AS WE DO."
They lived by robbery.
* Vien presto consumato l'ingiustamente acquistato.
Piedro, though familiarized to the idea of fraud, was shocked at the thought of becoming a robber by profession.
How difficult it is to stop in the career of vice!
Whether Piedro had power to stop, or whether he was hurried on by his associates, we shall, for the present, leave in doubt.
CHAPTER IV
We turn with pleasure from Piedro the Cunning to Francisco the Honest.
Francisco continued the happy and useful course of his life.
By his unremitting perseverance, he improved himself rapidly under the instructions of his master and friend, Signor Camillo; his friend, we say, for the fair and open character of Francisco won, or rather earned, the friendship of this benevolent artist.
The English gentleman seemed to take a pride in our hero's success and good conduct.
He was not one of those patrons who think that they have done enough when they have given five guineas.
His servant Arthur always considered every generous action of his master's as his own, and was particularly pleased whenever this generosity was directed towards Francisco.
As for Carlo and the little Rosetta, they were the companions of all the pleasant walks which Francisco used to take in the cool of the evening, after he had been shut up all day at his work.
And the old carpenter, delighted with the gratitude of his pupil, frequently repeated --" that he was proud to have given the first instructions to such a GENIUS; and that he had always prophesied Francisco would be a GREAT man."
" And a good man, papa," said Rosetta; " for though he has grown so great, and though he goes into palaces now, to say nothing of that place underground, where he has leave to go, yet, notwithstanding all this, he never forgets my brother Carlo and you."
" That's the way to have good friends," said the carpenter.
" And I like his way; he does more than he says.
Facts are masculine, and words are feminine."
* I fatti sono maschii, le parole femmine.
These goods friends seemed to make Francisco happier than Piedro could be made by his stolen diamonds.
One morning, Francisco was sent to finish a sketch of the front of an ancient temple, amongst the ruins of Herculaneum.
He had just reached the pit, and the men were about to let him down with cords, in the usual manner, when his attention was caught by the shrill sound of a scolding woman's voice.
He looked, and saw at some paces distant this female fury, who stood guarding the windlass of a well, to which, with threatening gestures and most voluble menaces, she forbade all access.
The peasants--men, women and children, who had come with their pitchers to draw water at this well--were held at bay by the enraged female.
Not one dared to be the first to advance; whilst she grasped with one hand the handle of the windlass, and, with the other tanned muscular arm extended, governed the populace, bidding them remember that she was padrona, or mistress of the well.
There is scarcely enough even for ourselves.
I have been obliged to make my husband lengthen the ropes every day for this week past.
If things go on at this rate, there will soon be not one drop of water left in my well."
" Nor in any of the wells of the neighbourhood," added one of the workmen, who was standing by; and he mentioned several in which the water had lately suddenly decreased; and a miller affirmed that his mill had stopped for want of water.
Francisco was struck by these remarks.
They brought to his recollection similar facts, which he had often heard his father mention in his childhood, as having been observed previous to the last eruption of Mount Vesuvius.
* Phil.
Trans.
vol.
ix.
* These facts are mentioned in Sir William Hamilton's account of an eruption of Mount Vesuvius.-- See Phil.
Trans.
1795, first part.
Francisco's father and mother, more prudent than the generality of their neighbours, went to the house of a relation, at some miles'distance from Vesuvius, and carried with them all their effects.
In the meantime, Francisco went to the villa where his English friends resided.
The villa was in a most dangerous situation, near Terre del Greco--a town that stands at the foot of Mount Vesuvius.
He ran to his master's apartment, and communicated all that he had just heard.
The Count de Flora and his lady, who were at this time in the house, ridiculed the fears of Arthur, and could not be prevailed upon to remove even as far as Naples.
The lady was intent upon preparations for her birthday, which was to be celebrated in a few days with great magnificence at their villa; and she observed that it would be a pity to return to town before that day, and they had everything arranged for the festival.
The prudent Englishman had not the gallantry to appear to be convinced by these arguments, and he left the place of danger.
He left it not too soon, for the next morning exhibited a scene--a scene which we shall not attempt to describe.
We refer our young readers to the account of this dreadful eruption of Mount Vesuvius, published by Sir W. Hamilton in the " Philosophical Transactions."
It is sufficient here to say that, in the space of about five hours, the wretched inhabitants of Torre del Greco saw their town utterly destroyed by the streams of burning lava which poured from the mountain.
The villa of Count de Flora, with some others, which were at a little distance from the town, escaped; but they were absolutely surrounded by the lava.
The count and countess were obliged to fly from their house with the utmost precipitation in the night - time; and they had not time to remove any of their furniture, their plate, clothes, or jewels.
A few days after the eruption, the surface of the lava became so cool that people could walk upon it, though several feet beneath the surface it was still exceedingly hot.
Numbers of those who had been forced from their houses now returned to the ruins to try to save whatever they could.
But these unfortunate persons frequently found their houses had been pillaged by robbers, who, in these moments of general confusion, enrich themselves with the spoils of their fellow - creatures.
" Has the count abandoned his villa?
and is there no one to take care of his plate and furniture?
The house will certainly be ransacked before morning," said the old carpenter to Francisco, who was at his house giving him an account of their flight.
Francisco immediately went to the count's house in warn him of his danger.
The first person he saw was Arthur, who, with a face of terror, said to him, " Do you know what has happened?
It is all over with Resina!"
" All over with Resina!
What, has there been a fresh eruption?
Has the lava reached Resina?"
" No; but it will inevitably be blown up.
There," said Arthur, pointing to a thin figure of an Italian, who stood pale and trembling, and looking up to heaven as he crossed himself repeatedly.
" There," said Arthur, " is a man who has left a parcel of his cursed rockets and fireworks, with I don't know how much gunpowder, in the count's house, from which we have just fled.
The wind blows that way.
One spark of fire, and the whole is blown up."
What was the surprise and joy of the poor firework - maker when he saw Francisco return from this dangerous expedition!
He could scarcely believe his eyes, when he saw the rockets and the gunpowder all safe.
The count, who had given up the hopes of saving his palace, was in admiration when he heard of this instance of intrepidity, which properly saved not only his villa, but the whole village of Resina, from destruction.
These fireworks had been prepared for the celebration of the countess'birthday, and were forgotten in the hurry of the night on which the inhabitants fled from Torre del Greco.
" Brave young man!"
said the count to Francisco, " I thank you, and shall not limit my gratitude to thanks.
You tell me that there is danger of my villa being pillaged by robbers.
It is from this moment your interest, as well as mine, to prevent their depredations; for (trust to my liberality) a portion of all that is saved of mine shall be yours."
" Bravo!
bravissimo!"
exclaimed one, who started from a recessed window in the hall where all this passed.
" Bravo!
bravissimo!"
-- Francisco thought he knew the voice and the countenance of this man, who exclaimed with so much enthusiasm.
He remembered to have seen him before, but when, or where, he could not recollect.
As soon as the count left the hall, the stranger came up to Francisco.
" Is it possible," said he, " that you don't know me?
It is scarcely a twelvemonth since I drew tears from your eyes."
" Tears from my eyes?"
repeated Francisco, smiling; " I have shed but few tears.
I have had but few misfortunes in my life."
The stranger answered him by two extempore Italian lines, which conveyed nearly the same idea that has been so well expressed by an English poet:--
" To each their sufferings--all are men Condemn'd alike to groan; The feeling for another's woes, Th'unfeeling for his own."
" I know you now perfectly well," cried Francisco; " you are the Improvisatore who, one fine moonlight night last summer, told us the story of Cornaro the Turk."
" The same," said the Improvisatore; " the same, though in a better dress, which I should not have thought would have made so much difference in your eyes, though it makes all the difference between man and man in the eyes of the stupid vulgar.
My genius has broken through the clouds of misfortune of late.
A few happy impromptu verses I made on the Count de Flora's fall from his horse attracted attention.
The count patronizes me.
I am here now to learn the fate of an ode I have just composed for his lady's birthday.
My ode was to have been set to music, and to have been performed at his villa near Torre del Greco, if these troubles had not intervened.
Now that the mountain is quiet again, people will return to their senses.
I expect to be munificently rewarded.
But, perhaps, I detain you.
Go; I shall not forget to celebrate the heroic action you have performed this day.
I still amuse myself amongst the populace in my tattered garb late in the evenings, and I shall sound your praises through Naples in a poem I mean to recite on the late eruption of Mount Vesuvius.
Adieu."
The Improvisatore was as good as his word.
That evening, with more than his usual enthusiasm, he recited his verses to a great crowd of people in one of the public squares.
Amongst the crowd were several to whom the name of Francisco was well known, and by whom he was well beloved.
These were his young companions, who remembered him as a fruit - seller amongst the little merchants.
They rejoiced to hear his praises, and repeated the lines with shouts of applause.
" Let us pass.
What is all this disturbance in the streets?"
said a man, pushing his way through the crowd.
A lad who held by his arm stopped suddenly on hearing the name of Francisco, which the people were repeating with so much enthusiasm.
" Ha!
I have found at last a story that interests you more than that of Cornaro the Turk," cried the Improvisatore, looking in the face of the youth, who had stopped so suddenly.
" You are the young man who, last summer, had liked to have tricked me out of my new hat.
Promise me you won't touch it now," said he, throwing down the hat at his feet, " or you hear not one word I have to say.
Not one word of the heroic action performed at the villa of the Count de Flora, near Torre del Greco, this morning, by Signor Francisco."
" SIGNOR Francisco!"
repeated the lad with disdain.
" Well, let us hear what you have to tell of him," added he.
" Your hat is very safe, I promise you; I shall not touch it.
What of SIGNOR Francisco?"
" SIGNOR Francisco I may, without impropriety, call him," said the Improvisatore, " for he is likely to become rich enough to command the title from those who might not otherwise respect his merit."
" Likely to become rich!
how?"
said the lad, whom our readers have probably before this time discovered to be Piedro.
" How, pray, is he likely to become rich enough to be a signor?"
" The Count de Flora has promised him a liberal portion of all the fine furniture, plate and jewels that can be saved from his villa at Torre del Greco.
Francisco is gone down hither now with some of the count's domestics to protect the valuable goods against those villainous plunderers, who robbed their fellow - creatures of what even the flames of Vesuvius would spare."
" Come, we have had enough of this stuff," cried the man whose arm Piedro held.
" Come away," and he hurried forwards.
This man was one of the villains against whom the honest orator expressed such indignation.
He was one of those with whom Piedro got acquainted during the time that he was living extravagantly upon the money he gained by the sale of the stolen diamond cross.
That robbery was not discovered; and his success, as he called it, hardened him in guilt.
He was both unwilling and unable to withdraw himself from the bad company with whom his ill gotten wealth connected him.
He did not consider that bad company leads to the gallows.
* La mala compagnia e quella che mena uomini a la forca.
The universal confusion which followed the eruption of Mount Vesuvius was to these villains a time of rejoicing.
No sooner did Piedro's companion hear of the rich furniture, plate, etc., which the imprudent orator had described as belonging to the Count de Flora's villa, than he longed to make himself master of the whole.
" It is a pity," said Piedro, " that the count has sent Francisco, with his servants down to guard it."
" And who is this Francisco of whom you seem to stand in so much awe?"
" A boy, a young lad only, of about my own age; but I know him to be sturdily honest.
The servants we might corrupt; but even the old proverb of'Angle with a silver hook,' * won't hold good with him."
* Pescar col hamo d'argento.
" And if he cannot be won by fair means, he must be conquered by foul," said the desperate villain; " but if we offer him rather more than the count has already promised for his share of the booty, of course he will consult at once his safety and his interest."
" No," said Piedro; " that is not his nature.
I know him from a child, and we had better think of some other house for to - night's business."
" None other; none but this," cried his companion, with an oath.
" My mind is determined upon this, and you must obey your leader: recollect the fate of him who failed me yesterday."
The person to whom he alluded was one of the gang of robbers who had been assassinated by his companions for hesitating to commit some crime suggested by their leader.
No tyranny is so dreadful as that which is exercised by villains over their young accomplices, who become their slaves.
Piedro, who was of a cowardly nature, trembled at the threatening countenance of his captain, and promised submission.
In the course of the morning, inquiries were made secretly amongst the count's servants; and the two men who were engaged to sit up at the villa that night along with Francisco, were bribed to second the views of this gang of thieves.
It was agreed that about midnight the robbers should be let into the house; that Francisco should be tied hand and foot, whilst they carried off their booty.
" He is a stubborn chap, though so young, I understand," said the captain of the robbers to his men; " but we carry poniards, and know how to use them.
Piedro, you look pale.
You don't require to be reminded of what I said to you when we were alone just now?"
Piedro's voice failed, and some of his comrades observed that he was young and new to the business.
The captain, who, from being his pretended friend during his wealthy days, had of late become his tyrant, cast a stern look at Piedro, and bid him be sure to be at the old Jew's, which was the place of meeting, in the dusk of the evening.
After saying this he departed.
Piedro, when he was alone, tried to collect his thoughts--all his thoughts were full of horror.
" Where am I?"
said he to himself; " what am I about?
Did I understand rightly what he said about poniards?
Francisco; oh, Francisco!
Excellent, kind, generous Francisco!
Yes, I recollect your look when you held the bunch of grapes to my lips, as I sat by the sea - shore deserted by all the world; and now, what friends have I. Robbers and --" The word MURDERERS he could not utter.
He again recollected what had been said about poniards, and the longer his mind fixed upon the words, and the look that accompanied them, the more he was shocked.
He could not doubt but that it was the serious intention of his accomplices to murder Francisco, if he should make any resistance.
Piedro had at this moment no friend in the world to whom he could apply for advice or assistance.
His wretched father died some weeks before this time, in a fit of intoxication.
Piedro walked up and down the street, scarcely capable of thinking, much less of coming to any rational resolution.
The place of meeting was at the house of that Jew to whom he, several months before, sold the diamond cross.
That cross which he thought himself so lucky to have stolen, and to have disposed of undetected, was, in fact, the cause of his being in his present dreadful situation.
It was at the Jew's that he connected himself with this gang of robbers, to whom he was now become an absolute slave.
" Oh, that I dared to disobey!"
said he to himself, with a deep sigh, as he knocked softly at the back door of the Jew's house.
The back door opened into a narrow, unfrequented street, and some small rooms at this side of the house were set apart for the reception of guests who desired to have their business kept secret.
At the moment Piedro knocked at the back door, the front shop was full of customers; and the Jew's boy, whose office it was to attend to these signals, let Piedro in, told him that none of his comrades were yet come, and left him in a room by himself.
He was pale and trembling, and felt a cold dew spread over him.
He had a leaden image of Saint Januarius tied round his neck, which, in the midst of his wickedness, he superstitiously preserved as a sort of charm, and on this he kept his eyes stupidly fixed, as he sat alone in this gloomy place.
He listened from time to time, but he heard no noise at the side of the house where he was.
His accomplices did not arrive, and, in a sort of impatient terror, the attendant upon an evil conscience, he flung open the door of his cell, and groped his way through the passage which he knew led to the public shop.
He longed to hear some noise, and to mix with the living.
The Jew, when Piedro entered the shop, was bargaining with a poor, thin - looking man about some gunpowder.
" I don't deny that it has been wet," said the man, " but since it was in the bucket of water, it has been carefully dried.
I tell you the simple truth, that so soon after the grand eruption of Mount Vesuvius, the people of Naples will not relish fireworks.
My poor little rockets, and even my Catherine - wheels, will have no effect.
I am glad to part with all I have in this line of business.
A few days ago I had fine things in readiness for the Countess de Flora's birthday, which was to have been celebrated at the count's villa."
" Why do you fix your eyes on me, friend?
What is your discourse to me?"
said Piedro, who imagined that the man fixed his eyes upon him as he mentioned the name of the count's villa.
" I did not know that I fixed my eyes upon you; I was thinking of my fireworks," said the poor man, simply.
" But now that I do look at you and hear your voice, I recollect having had the pleasure of seeing you before."
" When?
where?"
said Piedro.
" A great while ago; no wonder you have forgotten me," said the man; " but I can recall the night to your recollection.
You were in the street with me the night I let off that unlucky rocket, which frightened the horses, and was the cause of overturning a lady's coach.
Don't you remember the circumstance?"
" I have a confused recollection of some such thing," said Piedro, in great embarrassment; and he looked suspiciously at this man, in doubt whether he was cunning, and wanted to sound him, or whether he was so simple as he appeared.
" You did not, perhaps, hear, then," continued the man, " that there was a great search made, after the overturn, for a fine diamond cross, belonging to the lady in the carriage?
That lady, though I did not know it till lately, was the Countess de Flora."
" I know nothing of the matter," interrupted Piedro, in great agitation.
His confusion was so marked, that the firework - maker could not avoid taking notice of it; and a silence of some moments ensued.
The Jew, more practised in dissimulation than Piedro, endeavoured to turn the man's attention back to his rockets and his gunpowder--agreed to take the gunpowder--paid for it in haste, and was, though apparently unconcerned, eager to get rid of him.
But this was not so easily done.
The man's curiosity was excited, and his suspicions of Piedro were increased every moment by all the dark changes of his countenance.
Piedro, overpowered with the sense of guilt, surprised at the unexpected mention of the diamond cross, and of the Count de Flora's villa, stood like one convicted, and seemed fixed to the spot, without power of motion.
" I want to look at the old cambric that you said you had--that would do for making--that you could let me have cheap for artificial flowers," said the firework - maker to the Jew; and as he spoke, his eye from time to time looked towards Piedro.
Piedro felt for the leaden image of the saint, which he wore round his neck.
The string which held it cracked, and broke with the pull he gave it.
This slight circumstance affected his terrified and superstitious mind more than all the rest.
He imagined that at this moment his fate was decided; that Saint Januarius deserted him, and that he was undone.
He precipitately followed the firework - man the instant he left the shop, and seizing hold of his arm, whispered, " I must speak to you."
" Speak, then," said the man, astonished.
" Not here; this way," said he, drawing him towards the dark passage: " what I have to say must not be overheard.
You are going to the Count de Flora's, are not you?"
" I am," said the man.
He was going there to speak to the countess about some artificial flowers; but Piedro thought he was going to speak to her about the diamond cross.
" You are going to give information against me?
Nay, hear me, I confess that I purloined that diamond cross; but I can do the count a great service, upon condition that he pardons me.
His villa is to be attacked this night by four well armed men.
They will set out five hours hence.
I am compelled, under the threat of assassination, to accompany them; but I shall do no more.
I throw myself upon the count's mercy.
Hasten to him--we have no time to lose."
The poor man, who heard this confession, escaped from Piedro the moment he loosed his arm.
With all possible expedition he ran to the count's palace in Naples, and related to him all that had been said by Piedro.
Some of the count's servants, on whom he could most depend, were at a distant part of the city attending their mistress, but the English gentleman offered the services of his man Arthur.
Arthur no sooner heard the business, and understood that Francisco was in danger, than he armed himself without saying one word, saddled his English horse, and was ready to depart before anyone else had finished their exclamations and conjectures.
" But we are not to set out yet," said the servant; " it is but four miles to Torre del Greco; the sbirri (officers of justice) are summoned--they are to go with us--we must wait for them."
They waited, much against Arthur's inclination, a considerable time for these sbirri.
At length they set out, and just as they reached the villa, the flash of the pistol was seen from one of the apartments in the house.
The robbers were there.
This pistol was snapped by their captain at poor Francisco, who had bravely asserted that he would, as long as he had life, defend the property committed to his care.
The pistol missed fire, for it was charged with some of the damaged powder which the Jew had bought that evening from the firework maker, and which he had sold as excellent immediately afterwards to his favourite customers--the robbers who met at his house.
Arthur, as soon as he perceived the flash of the piece, pressed forward through all the apartments, followed by the count's servants and the officers of justice.
At the sudden appearance of so many armed men, the robbers stood dismayed.
Arthur eagerly shook Francisco's hand, congratulating him upon his safety, and did not perceive, till he had given him several rough friendly shakes, that his arm was wounded, and that he was pale with the loss of blood.
" Oh!
take me to prison!
take me to prison--I am weary of life--I am a wretch not fit to live!"
cried Piedro, holding his hands to be tied by the sbirri.
The next morning Piedro was conveyed to prison; and as he passed through the streets of Naples he was met by several of those who had known him when he was a child.
" Ay," said they, as he went by, " his father encouraged him in cheating when he was BUT A CHILD; and see what he is come to, now he is a man!"
He was ordered to remain twelve months in solitary confinement.
His captain and his accomplices were sent to the galleys, and the Jew was banished from Naples.
And now, having got these villains out of the way, let us return to honest Francisco.
His wound was soon healed.
Arthur was no bad surgeon, for he let his patient get well as fast as he pleased; and Carlo and Rosetta nursed him with so much kindness, that he was almost sorry to find himself perfectly recovered.
" Now that you are able to go out," said Francisco's father to him, " you must come and look at my new house, my dear son."
" Your new house, father?"
" Yes, son, and a charming one it is, and a handsome piece of land near it--all at a safe distance, too, from Mount Vesuvius; and can you guess how I came by it?-- it was given to me for having a good son."
The value of a handsome portion of furniture, plate, etc., in the Count de Flora's villa, was, according to the count's promise, given to him; and this money he divided between his own family and that of the good carpenter who first put a pencil into his hands.
Arthur would not accept of any present from him.
To Mr. Lee, the English gentleman, he offered one of his own drawings--a fruit - piece.
" I like this very well," said Arthur, as he examined the drawing, " but I should like this melon better if it was a little bruised.
It is now three years ago since I was going to buy that bruised melon from you; you showed me your honest nature then, though you were but a boy; and I have found you the same ever since.
A good beginning makes a good ending--an honest boy will make an honest man; and honesty is the best policy, as you have proved to all who wanted the proof, I hope."
" Yes," added Francisco's father, " I think it is pretty plain that Piedro the Cunning has not managed quite so well as Francisco the Honest."
TARLTON.
Delightful task!
to rear the tender thought,-- To teach the young idea how to shoot,-- To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind,-- To breathe th'enlivening spirit,-- and to fix The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
THOMSON.
Young Hardy was educated by Mr. Freeman, a very excellent master, at one of our rural Sunday schools.
His friend Loveit, on the contrary, wished to be universally liked, and his highest ambition was to be thought the best natured boy in the school--and so he was.
One fine autumn evening, all the boys were permitted to go out to play in a pleasant green meadow near the school.
Loveit and another boy, called Tarlton, began to play a game of battledore and shuttlecock, and a large party stood by to look on, for they were the best players at battledore and shuttlecock in the school, and this was a trial of skill between them.
When they had got it up to three hundred and twenty, the game became very interesting.
The arms of the combatants tired that they could scarcely wield the battledores.
The shuttlecock began to waver in the air; now it almost touched the ground, and now, to the astonishment of the spectators, mounted again high over their heads: yet the strokes became feebler and feebler; and " Now, Loveit!"
" Now, Tarlton!"
resounded on all sides.
For another minute the victory was doubtful; but at length the setting sun, shining full in Loveit's face, so dazzled his eyes that he could no longer see the shuttlecock, and it fell at his feet.
After the first shout for Tarlton's triumph was over, everybody exclaimed, " Poor Loveit!
he's the best natured fellow in the world!
What a pity that he did not stand with his back to the sun!"
" Now, I dare you all to play another game with me," cried Tarlton, vauntingly; and as he spoke, he tossed the shuttlecock up with all his force--with so much force that it went over the hedge and dropped into a lane, which went close beside the field.
" Hey - day!"
said Tarlton, " what shall we do now?"
The boys were strictly forbidden to go into the lane; and it was upon their promise not to break this command, that they were allowed to play in the adjoining field.
No other shuttlecock was to be had and their play was stopped.
They stood on the top of the bank, peeping over the hedge.
" I see it yonder," said Tarlton; " I wish somebody would get it.
One could get over the gate at the bottom of the field, and be back again in half a minute," added he, looking at Loveit.
" But you know we must not go into the lane," said Loveit, hesitatingly.
" Pugh!"
said Tarlton, " why, now, what harm could it do?"
" I don't know," said Loveit, drumming upon his battledore; " but --"
" You don't know, man!
why, then, what are you afraid of, I ask you?"
Loveit coloured, went on drumming, and again, in a lower voice, said " HE DIDN'T KNOW."
But upon Tarlton's repeating, in a more insolent tone, " I ask you, man, what you're afraid of?"
he suddenly left off drumming, and looking round, said, " he was not afraid of anything that he knew of."
" Yes, but you are," said Hardy, coming forward.
" Am I?"
said Loveit; " of what, pray, am I afraid?"
" Of doing wrong!"
" Afraid OF DOING WRONG!"
repeated Tarlton, mimicking him, so that he made everybody laugh.
" Now, hadn't you better say afraid of being flogged?"
" No," said Hardy, coolly, after the laugh had somewhat subsided, " I am as little afraid of being flogged as you are, Tarlton; but I meant --"
" No matter what you meant; why should you interfere with your wisdom and your meanings; nobody thought of asking YOU to stir a step for us; but we asked Loveit, because he's the best fellow in the world."
" And for that very reason you should not ask him, because, you know he can't refuse you anything."
" Indeed, though," cried Loveit, piqued, " THERE you're mistaken, for I could refuse if I chose it."
Hardy smiled; and Loveit, half afraid of his contempt, and half afraid of Tarlton's ridicule, stood doubtful, and again had recourse to his battledore, which he balanced most curiously upon his forefinger.
" Look at him!-- now do look at him!"
cried Tarlton; " did you ever in your life see anybody look so silly?-- Hardy has him quite under his thumb; he's so mortally afraid of Parson Prig, that he dare not, for the soul of him, turn either of his eyes from the tip of his nose; look how he squints!"
" I don't squint," said Loveit, looking up, " and nobody has me under his thumb!
and what Hardy said was only for fear I should get in disgrace; he's the best friend I have."
Loveit spoke this with more than usual spirit, for both his heart and his pride were touched.
" Come along, then," said Hardy, taking him by the arm in an affectionate manner; and he was just going, when Tarlton called after him, " Ay, go along with its best friend, and take care it does not get into a scrape;- - good - bye, Little Panado!"
" Whom do they call Little Panado?"
said Loveit, turning his head hastily back.
" Never mind," said Hardy, " what does it signify?"
" No," said Loveit, " to be sure it does not signify; but one does not like to be called Little Panado: besides," added he, after going a few steps farther, " they'll all think it so ill - natured.
I had better go back, and just tell them that I'm very sorry I can't get their shuttlecock; do come back with me."
" No," said Hardy, " I can't go back; and you'd better not."
" But, I assure you, I won't stay a minute; wait for me," added Loveit; and he slunk back again to prove that he was not Little Panado.
Once returned, the rest followed, of course; for to support his character of good - nature he was obliged to yield to the entreaties of his companions, and to show his spirit, leapt over the gate, amidst the acclamations of the little mob:-- he was quickly out of sight.
" Here," cried he, returning in about five minutes, quite out of breath, " I've got the shuttlecock; and I'll tell you what I've seen," cried he, panting for breath.
" What?"
cried everybody, eagerly.
" Why, just at the turn of the corner, at the end of the lane "-- panting.
" Well," said Tarlton, impatiently, " do go on."
" Let me just take breath first."
" Pugh--never mind your breath."
" And let him bawl," cried Tarlton; " he shan't bawl for nothing; I'm determined we'll have some of his fine large rosy apples before I sleep to - night."
At this speech a general silence ensued; everybody kept their eyes fixed upon Tarlton, except Loveit, who looked down, apprehensive that he should be drawn on much farther than he intended.
" Oh, indeed!"
said he to himself, " as Hardy told me, I had better not have come back!"
Regardless of this confusion, Tarlton continued, " But before I say any more, I hope we have no spies amongst us.
If there is any one of you afraid to be flogged, let him march off this instant!"
Loveit coloured, bit his lips, wished to go, but had not the courage to move first.
He waited to see what everybody else would do: nobody stirred; so Loveit stood still.
" Well, then," cried Tarlton, giving his hand to the boy next him, then to the next, " your word and honour that you won't betray me; but stand by me, and I'll stand by you."
Each boy gave his hand and his promise; repeating, " Stand by me, and I'll stand by you."
Loveit hung back till the last; and had almost twisted off the button of the boy's coat who screened him, when Tarlton came up, holding out his hand, " Come, Loveit, lad, you're in for it: stand by me, and I'll stand by you."
" Indeed, Tarlton," expostulated he, without looking him in the face, " I do wish you'd give up this scheme; I daresay all the apples are gone by this time; I wish you would.
Do, pray, give up this scheme."
" What scheme, man?
you have'n't heard it yet; you may as well know your text before you begin preaching."
The corners of Loveit's mouth could not refuse to smile, though in his heart he felt not the slightest inclination to laugh.
" HATE me!"
repeated Loveit, with terror; " no, surely, you won't all HATE me!"
and he mechanically stretched out his hand which Tarlton shook violently, saying, " Ay, now, that's right."
" Ay, now, that's wrong!"
whispered Loveit's conscience; but his conscience was of no use to him, for it was always overpowered by the voice of numbers; and though he had the wish, he never had the power, to do right.
" Poor Loveit!
I knew he would not refuse us," cried his companions; and even Tarlton, the moment he shook hands with him, despised him.
It is certain that weakness of mind is despised both by the good and the bad.
The league being thus formed, Tarlton assumed all the airs of commander, explained his schemes, and laid the plan of attack upon the poor old man's apple - tree.
It was the only one he had the world.
We shall not dwell upon their consultation; for the amusement of contriving such expeditions is often the chief thing which induces idle boys to engage in them.
There was a small window at the end of the back staircase, through which, between nine and ten o'clock at night, Tarlton, accompanied by Loveit and another boy, crept out.
It was a moonlight night, and after crossing the field, and climbing the gate, directed by Loveit, who now resolved to go through the affair with spirit, they proceeded down the lane with rash yet fearful steps.
At a distance Loveit saw the white washed cottage, and the apple - tree beside it.
They quickened their pace, and with some difficulty scrambled through the hedge which fenced the garden, though not without being scratched and torn by the briers.
Everything was silent.
Yet now and then, at every rustling of the leaves, they started, and their hearts beat violently.
Once, as Loveit was climbing the apple - tree, he thought he heard a door in the cottage open, and earnestly begged his companions to desist and return home.
This, however, he could by no means persuade them to do, until they had filled their pockets with apples; then, to his great joy, they returned, crept in at the window and each retired, as softly as possible, to his own apartment.
Loveit slept in the room with Hardy, whom he had left fast asleep, and whom he now was extremely afraid of awakening.
All the apples were emptied out of Loveit's pockets, and lodged with Tarlton till the morning, for fear the smell should betray the secret to Hardy.
The room door was apt to creak, but it was opened with such precaution, that no noise could be heard, and Loveit found his friend as fast asleep as when he left him.
" Ah," said he to himself, " how quietly he sleeps!
I wish I had been sleeping too."
The reproaches of Loveit's conscience, however, served no other purpose but to torment him; he had not sufficient strength of mind to be good.
The very next night, in spite of all his fears, and all his penitence, and all his resolutions, by a little fresh ridicule and persuasion he was induced to accompany the same party on a similar expedition.
We must observe, that the necessity for continuing their depredations became stronger the third day; for, though at first only a small party had been in the secret, by degrees it was divulged to the whole school; and it was necessary to secure secrecy by sharing the booty.
Everyone was astonished that Hardy, with all his quickness and penetration, had not yet discovered their proceedings; but Loveit could not help suspecting that he was not quite so ignorant as he appeared to be.
nothing at all!"
It was in vain that he urged Tarlton to permit him to consult his friend.
" Well," said Loveit to himself, " so I am abused after all, and called a sneaking fellow for my pains; that's rather hard, to be sure, when I've got so little by the job."
In the meantime, the visits to the apple - tree had been now too frequently repeated to remain concealed from the old man who lived in the cottage.
The good old man was not at all inclined to give pain to any living creature, much less to children, of whom he was particularly fond.
Nor was he in the least avaricious, for though he was not rich, he had enough to live upon, because he had been very industrious in his youth; and he was always very ready to part with the little he had.
Nor was he a cross old man.
If anything would have made him angry, it would have been the seeing his favourite tree robbed, as he had promised himself the pleasure of giving his red apples to his grandchildren on his birthday.
However, he looked up at the tree in sorrow rather than in anger, and leaning upon his staff, he began to consider what he had best do.
" If I complain to their master," said he to himself, " they will certainly be flogged, and that I should be sorry for: yet they must not be let to go on stealing; that would be worse still, for it would surely bring them to the gallows in the end.
Let me see--oh, ay, that will do; I will borrow farmer Kent's dog Barker, he'll keep them off, I'll answer for it."
Farmer Kent lent his dog Barker, cautioning his neighbour, at the same time, to be sure to chain him well, for he was the fiercest mastiff in England.
The old man, with farmer Kent's assistance, chained him fast to the trunk of the apple - tree.
Night came; and Tarlton, Loveit and his companions, returned at the usual hour.
Grown bolder now by frequent success, they came on talking and laughing.
But the moment they had set their foot in the garden, the dog started up; and, shaking the chain as he sprang forward, barked with unremitting fury.
They stood still as if fixed to the spot.
There was just moonlight enough to see the dog.
" Let us try the other side of the tree," said Tarlton.
But to whichever side they turned, the dog flew round in an instant, barking with increased fury.
" He'll break his chain and tear us to pieces," cried Tarlton; and, struck with terror, he immediately threw down the basket he had brought with him, and betook himself to flight, with the greatest precipitation.
" Help me!
oh, pray, help me!
I can't get through the hedge," cried Loveit, in a lamentable tone, whilst the dog growled hideously, and sprang forward to the extremity of his chain.
" I can't get out!
Oh, for God's sake, stay for me one minute, dear Tarlton!"
He called in vain; he was left to struggle through his difficulties by himself; and of all his dear friends not one turned back to help him.
At last, torn and terrified, he got through the hedge and ran home, despising his companions for their selfishness.
Nor could he help observing that Tarlton, with all his vaunted prowess, was the first to run away from the appearance of danger.
The next morning Loveit could not help reproaching the party with their conduct.
" Why could not you, any of you, stay one minute to help me?"
said he.
" We did not hear you call," answered one.
" I was so frightened," said another, " I would not have turned back for the whole world."
" And you, Tarlton?"
" I," said Tarlton; " had not I enough to do to take care of myself, you blockhead?
Everyone for himself in this world!"
" So I see," said Loveit, gravely.
" Well, man!
is there anything strange in that?"
" Strange!
why, yes; I thought you all loved me!"
" Lord love you, lad!
so we do; but we love ourselves better."
" Hardy would not have served me so, however," said Loveit, turning away in disgust.
Tarlton was alarmed.
" Pugh!"
said he; " what nonsense have you taken into your brain!
Think no more about it.
We are all very sorry, and beg your pardon; come, shake hands, forgive and forget."
Loveit gave his hand, but gave it rather coldly.
" I forgive it with all my heart," said he; " but I cannot forget it so soon!"
" Why, then, you are not such a good humoured fellow as we thought you were.
Surely you cannot bear malice, Loveit."
Loveit smiled, and allowed that he certainly could not bear malice.
" Well, then, come; you know at the bottom we all love you, and would do anything in the world for you."
Poor Loveit, flattered in his foible, began to believe that they did love him at the bottom, as they said, and even with his eyes open consented again to be duped.
" How strange it is," thought he, " that I should set such value upon the love of those I despise!
When I'm once out of this scrape, I'll have no more to do with them, I'm determined."
Compared with his friend Hardy, his new associates did indeed appear contemptible; for all this time Hardy had treated him with uniform kindness, avoided to pry into his secrets, yet seemed ready to receive his confidence, if it had been offered.
After school in the evening, as he was standing silently beside Hardy, who was ruling a sheet of paper for him, Tarlton, in his brutal manner, came up, and seizing him by the arm, cried, " Come along with me, Loveit, I've something to say to you."
" I can't come now," said Loveit, drawing away his arm.
" Ah, do come now," said Tarlton, in a voice of persuasion.
" Well, I'll come presently."
" Nay, but do, pray; there's a good fellow, come now, because I have something to say to you."
" What is it you've got to say to me?
I wish you'd let me alone," said Loveit; yet at the same time he suffered himself to he led away.
Tarlton took particular pains to humour him and bring him into temper again; and even though he was not very apt to part with his playthings, went so far as to say, " Loveit, the other day you wanted a top; I'll give you mine if you desire it."
Loveit thanked him, and was overjoyed at the thought of possessing this top.
" But what did you want to say to me just now?"
" Ay, we'll talk of that presently; not yet--when we get out of hearing."
" Nobody is near us," said Loveit.
" Come a little farther however," said Tarlton, looking round suspiciously.
" Well now, well?"
" You know the dog that frightened us last night?"
" Yes."
" It will never frighten us again."
" Won't it?
how so?"
" Look here," said Tarlton, drawing something from his pocket wrapped in a blue handkerchief.
" What's that?"
Tarlton opened it.
" Raw meat!"
exclaimed Loveit.
" How came you by it?"
" Tom, the servant boy, Tom got it for me; and I'm to give him sixpence."
" And is it for the dog?"
" Yes; I vowed I'd be revenged on him, and after this he'll never bark again."
" Never bark again!
What do you mean?
Is it poison?"
exclaimed Loveit, starting back with horror.
" Only poison for A DOG," said Tarlton, confused; " you could not look more shocking if it was poison for a Christian."
Loveit stood for nearly a minute in profound silence.
" Tarlton," said he at last, in a changed tone and altered manner, " I did not know you; I will have no more to do with you."
" Nay, but stay," said Tarlton, catching hold of his arm, " stay; I was only joking."
" Let go my arm--you were in earnest."
" But then that was before I knew there was any harm.
If you think there's any harm?"
" IF," said Loveit.
" Why, you know, I might not know; for Tom told me it's a thing that's often done.
Ask Tom."
" I'll ask nobody!
Surely we know better what's right and wrong than Tom does."
" But only just ask him, to hear what he'll say."
" I don't want to hear what he'll say," cried Loveit, vehemently: " the dog will die in agonies--in agonies!
There was a dog poisoned at my father's--I saw him in the yard.
Poor creature!
He lay and howled and writhed himself!"
" Poor creature!
Well, there's no harm done now," cried Tarlton, in a hypocritical tone.
But though he thought fit to dissemble with Loveit, he was thoroughly determined in his purpose.
Poor Loveit, in haste to get away, returned to his friend Hardy; but his mind was in such agitation, that he neither talked nor moved like himself; and two or three times his heart was so full that he was ready to burst into tears.
" How good - natured you are to me," said he to Hardy, as he was trying vainly to entertain him; " but if you knew --" Here he stopped short, for the bell for evening prayer rang, and they all took their places, and knelt down.
After prayers, as they were going to bed, Loveit stopped Tarlton,--" WELL!"
asked he, in an inquiring manner, fixing his eyes upon him.
" WELL!"
replied Tarlton, in an audacious tone, as if he meant to set his inquiring eye at defiance.
" What do you mean to do to - night?"
" To go to sleep, as you do, I suppose," replied Tarlton, turning away abruptly, and whistling as he walked off.
" Oh, he has certainly changed his mind!"
said Loveit to himself, " else he could not whistle."
About ten minutes after this, as he and Hardy were undressing, Hardy suddenly recollected that he had left his new kite out upon the grass.
" Oh," said he, " it will be quite spoiled before morning!"
" Call Tom," said Loveit, " and bid him bring it in for you in a minute."
They both went to the top of the stairs to call Tom; no one answered.
They called again louder, " Is Tom below?"
" I'm here," answered he at last, coming out of Tarlton's room with a look of mixed embarrassment and effrontery.
And as he was receiving Hardy's commission, Loveit saw the corner of the blue handkerchief hanging out of his pocket.
This excited fresh suspicions in Loveit's mind; but, without saying one word, he immediately stationed himself at the window in his room, which looked out towards the lane; and, as the moon was risen, he could see if anyone passed that way.
" What are you doing there?"
said Hardy, after he had been watching some time; " why don't you come to bed?"
Loveit returned no answer, but continued standing at the window.
Nor did he watch long in vain.
Presently he saw Tom gliding slowly along a by - path, and get over the gate into the lane.
" He's gone to do it!"
exclaimed Loveit aloud, with an emotion which he could not command.
" Who's gone?
to do what?"
cried Hardy, starting up.
" How cruel!
how wicked!"
continued Loveit.
" What's cruel--what's wicked?
speak out at once!"
returned Hardy, in that commanding tone which, in moments of danger, strong minds feel themselves entitled to assume towards weak ones.
Loveit instantly, though in an incoherent manner, explained the affair to him.
Scarcely had the words passed his lips, when Hardy sprang up, and began dressing himself without saying one syllable.
" For God's sake, what are you going to do?"
said Loveit, in great anxiety.
" They'll never forgive me!
don't betray me!
they'll never forgive!
pray, speak to me!
only say you won't betray us."
" I will not betray you, trust to me," said Hardy: and he left the room, and Loveit stood in amazement; while, in the meantime, Hardy, in hopes of overtaking Tom before the fate of the poor dog was decided, ran with all possible speed across the meadow, then down the lane.
He came up with Tom just as he was climbing the bank into the old man's garden.
Hardy, too much out of breath to speak, seized hold of him, dragged him down, detaining him with a firm grasp, whilst he panted for utterance.
" What, Master Hardy, is it you?
what's the matter?
what do you want?"
" I want the poisoned meat that you have in your pocket."
" Who told you that I had any such thing?"
said Tom, clapping his hand upon his guilty pocket.
" Give it me quietly, and I'll let you off."
" Sir, upon my word I haven't!
I didn't!
I don't know what you mean," said Tom, trembling, though he was by far the stronger of the two.
" Indeed, I don't know what you mean."
" You do," said Hardy, with great indignation: and a violent struggle immediately commenced.
The dog, now alarmed by the voices, began to bark outrageously.
Tom was terrified lest the old man should come out to see what was the matter; his strength forsook him, and flinging the handkerchief and meat over the hedge, he ran away with all his speed.
The handkerchief fell within reach of the dog, who instantly snapped at it; luckily it did not come untied.
Hardy saw a pitchfork on a dunghill close beside him, and, seizing upon it, stuck it into the handkerchief.
Never did hero retire with more satisfaction from a field of battle.
Full of the pleasure of successful benevolence, Hardy tripped joyfully home, and vaulted over the window sill, when the first object he beheld was Mr. Power, the usher, standing at the head of the stairs, with his candle in his hand.
" Come up, whoever you are," said Mr. William Power, in a stern voice.
" I thought I should find you out at last.
Come up, whoever you are!"
Hardy obeyed without reply.--" Hardy!"
exclaimed Mr. Power, starting back with astonishment; " is it you, Mr.
Hardy?"
repeated he, holding the light to his face.
" Why, sir," said he, in a sneering tone, " I'm sure if Mr. Trueman was here he wouldn't believe his own eyes; but for my part I saw through you long since; I never liked saints, for my share.
Will you please to do me the favour, sir, if it is not too much trouble, to empty your pockets."
Hardy obeyed in silence.
" Heyday!
meat!
raw meat!
what next?"
" That's all," said Hardy, emptying his pockets inside out.
" This is ALL," said Mr. Power, taking up the meat.
" Pray, sir," said Hardy, eagerly, " let that meat be burned, it is poisoned."
" Poisoned!"
cried Mr. William Power, letting it drop out of his fingers; " you wretch!"
looking at him with a menacing air: " what is all this?
Speak."
Hardy was silent.
" Why don't you speak?"
cried he, shaking him by the shoulder impatiently.
Still Hardy was silent.
If you hope for MY pardon, I can tell you it's not to be had without asking for."
" Sir," said Hardy, in a firm but respectful voice, " I have no pardon to ask, I have nothing to confess; I am innocent; but if I were not, I would never try to get off myself by betraying my companions."
" Very well, sir!
very well!
very fine!
stick to it, stick to it, I advise you, and we shall see.
And how will you look to - morrow, Mr. Innocent, when my uncle, the doctor, comes home?"
" As I do now, sir," said Hardy, unmoved.
His composure threw Mr. Power into a rage too great for utterance.
" Sir," continued Hardy, " ever since I have been at school, I never told a lie, and therefore, sir, I hope you will believe me now.
Upon my word and honour, sir, I have done nothing wrong."
" Nothing wrong?
Better and better!
what, when I caught you going out at night?"
" THAT, to be sure, was wrong," said Hardy, recollecting himself; " but except that --"
" Except that, sir!
I will except nothing.
Come along with me, young gentleman, your time for pardon is past."
Saying these words, he pulled Hardy along a narrow passage to a small closet, set apart for desperate offenders, and usually known by the name of the BLACK HOLE.
" So now I think I have you safe!"
said Mr. William Power to himself, stalking off with steps which made the whole gallery resound, and which made many a guilty heart tremble.
The conversation which had passed between Hardy and Mr. Power at the head of the stairs had been anxiously listened to; but only a word or two here and there had been distinctly overheard.
The locking of the black hole door was a terrible sound--some knew not what it portended, and others knew TOO WELL.
All assembled in the morning with faces of anxiety.
Tarlton and Loveit's were the most agitated: Tarlton for himself, Loveit for his friend, for himself, for everybody.
Every one of the party, and Tarlton at their head, surrounded him with reproaches; and considered him as the author of the evils which hung over them.
" How could you do so?
and why did you say anything to Hardy about it?
when you had promised, too!
Oh!
what shall we all do?
what a scrape you have brought us into, Loveit, it's all your fault!"
" ALL MY FAULT!"
repeated poor Loveit, with a sigh; " well, that is hard."
" Goodness!
there's the bell," exclaimed a number of voices at once.
" Now for it!"
They all stood in a half circle for morning prayers.
They listened --" Here he is coming!
No--Yes--Here he is!"
And Mr. William Power, with a gloomy brow, appeared and walked up to his place at the head of the room.
They knelt down to prayers, and the moment they rose, Mr. William Power, laying his hand upon the table, cried, " Stand still, gentlemen, if you please."
Everybody stood stock still; he walked out of the circle; they guessed that he was gone for Hardy, and the whole room was in commotion.
Each with eagerness asked each what none could answer, " HAS HE TOLD?"
" WHAT has he told?"
" Who has he told of?"
" I hope he has not told of me," cried they.
" I'll answer for it he has told of all of us," said Tarlton.
" And I'll answer for it he has told of none of us," answered Loveit, with a sigh.
" You don't think he's such a fool, when he can get himself off," said Tarlton.
At this instant the prisoner was led in, and as he passed through the circle, every eye was fixed upon him.
His eye fell upon no one, not even upon Loveit, who pulled him by the coat as he passed--everyone felt almost afraid to breathe.
" Well, sir," said Mr. Power, sitting down in Mr. Trueman's elbow - chair, and placing the prisoner opposite to him; " well, sir, what have you to say to me this morning?"
" Nothing, sir," answered Hardy, in a decided, yet modest manner; " nothing but what I said last night."
" Nothing more?"
" Nothing more, sir."
He leaned upon his stick as he walked, and in his other hand carried a basket of apples.
When they came within the circle, Mr. Trueman stopped short.
" Hardy!"
exclaimed he, with a voice of unfeigned surprise, whilst Mr. William Power stood with his hand suspended.--" Ay, Hardy, sir," repeated he.
" I told him you'd not believe your own eyes."
Mr. Trueman advanced with a slow step.
" Now, sir, give me leave," said the usher, eagerly drawing him aside, and whispering.
Why do I talk of disobeying my commands--you are a thief!"
" I, sir?"
exclaimed Hardy, no longer able to repress his feelings.
" You, sir,-- you and some others," said Mr. Trueman, looking round the room with a penetrating glance --" you and some others."
" Ay, sir," interrupted Mr. William Power, " get that out of him if you can--ask him."
" I will ask him nothing; I shall neither put his truth nor his honour to the trial; truth and honour are not to be expected amongst thieves."
" I am not a thief!
I have never had anything to do with thieves," cried Hardy, indignantly.
" Have you not robbed this old man?
Don't you know the taste of these apples?"
said Mr. Trueman, taking one out of the basket.
" No, sir; I do not.
I never touched one of that old man's apples."
" Never touched one of them!
I suppose this is some vile equivocation; you have done worse, you have had the barbarity, the baseness, to attempt to poison his dog; the poisoned meat was found in your pocket last night."
" The poisoned meat was found in my pocket, sir; but I never intended to poison the dog--I saved his life."
" Lord bless him!"
said the old man.
" Nonsense--cunning!"
said Mr. Power.
" I hope you won't let him impose upon you, sir."
" No, he cannot impose upon me; I have a proof he is little prepared for," said Mr. Trueman, producing the blue handkerchief in which the meat had been wrapped.
Tarlton turned pale; Hardy's countenance never changed.
" Don't you know this handkerchief, sir?"
" I do, sir."
" Is it not yours?"
" No, sir."
" Don't you know whose it is?"
cried Mr. Power.
Hardy was silent.
" Now, gentlemen," said Mr. Trueman, " I am not fond of punishing you; but when I do it, you know, it is always in earnest.
I will begin with the eldest of you; I will begin with Hardy, and flog you with my own hands till this handkerchief is owned."
" I'm sure it's not mine," and " I'm sure it's none of mine," burst from every mouth, whilst they looked at each other in dismay; for none but Hardy, Loveit and Tarlton knew the secret.
" My cane," said Mr. Trueman, and Mr. Power handed him the cane.
Loveit groaned from the bottom of his heart.
Tarlton leaned back against the wall with a black countenance.
Hardy looked with a steady eye at the cane.
" But first," said Mr. Trueman, laying down the cane, " let us see.
Perhaps we may find out the owner of this handkerchief another way," examining the corners.
It was torn almost to pieces; but luckily the corner that was marked remained.
" J.
T.!"
cried Mr. Trueman.
Every eye turned upon the guilty Tarlton, who, now as pale as ashes and trembling in every limb, sank down upon his knees, and in a whining voice begged for mercy.
" Upon my word and honour, sir, I'll tell you all; I'd never have thought of stealing the apples if Loveit had not first told me of them; and it was Tom who first put the poisoning the dog into my head.
It was he that carried the meat, WASN'T IT?"
said he, appealing to Hardy, whose word he knew must be believed.
" Oh, dear sir!"
continued he as Mr. Trueman began to move towards him, " do let me off; pray do let me off this time!
I'm not the only one, indeed, sir!
I hope you won't make me an example for the rest.
It's very hard I'm to be flogged more than they!"
" I'm not going to flog you."
" Thank you, sir," said Tarlton, getting up and wiping his eyes.
" You need not thank me," said Mr. Trueman.
" Take your handkerchief--go out of this room--out of this house; let me never see you more."
" If I had any hopes of him," said Mr. Trueman, as he shut the door after him;--" if I had any hopes of him, I would have punished him;-- but I have none.
Punishment is meant only to make people better; and those who have any hopes of themselves will know how to submit to it."
At these words Loveit first, and immediately all the rest of the guilty party, stepped out of the ranks, confessed their fault, and declared themselves ready to bear any punishment their master thought proper.
" Oh, they have been punished enough," said the old man; " forgive them, sir."
Hardy looked as if he wished to speak.
" Not because you ask it," said Mr. Trueman to the guilty penitents, " though I should be glad to oblige you--it wouldn't be just; but there," pointing to Hardy, " there is one who has merited a reward; the highest I can give him is that of pardoning his companions."
Hardy bowed and his face glowed with pleasure, whilst everybody present sympathized in his feelings.
" I am sure," thought Loveit, " this is a lesson I shall never forget."
" Gentlemen," said the old man, with a faltering voice, " it wasn't for the sake of my apples that I spoke; and you, sir," said he to Hardy, " I thank you for saving my dog.
If you please, I'll plant on that mount, opposite the window, a young apple - tree, from my old one.
I will water it, and take care of it with my own hands for your sake, as long as I am able.
And may God bless you!"
laying his trembling hand on Hardy's head; " may God bless you--I'm sure God WILL bless all such boys as you are."
THE BASKET - WOMAN.
" Toute leur etude etait de se complaire et de s'entr'aider."
* PAUL ET VIRGINIE.
At the foot of a steep, slippery, white hill, near Dunstable, in Bedfordshire, called Chalk Hill, there is a hut, or rather a hovel, which travellers could scarcely suppose could be inhabited, if they did not see the smoke rising from its peaked roof.
An old woman lives in this hovel, ** and with her a little boy and girl, the children of a beggar who died, and left these orphans perishing with hunger.
They thought themselves very happy when the good old woman first took them into her hut and bid them warm themselves at her small fire, and gave them a crust of mouldy bread to eat.
She had not much to give, but what she had she gave with good - will.
She was very kind to these poor children, and worked hard at her spinning - wheel and at her knitting, to support herself and them.
She earned money also in another way.
She used to follow all the carriages as they went up Chalk Hill, and when the horses stopped to take breath or to rest themselves, she put stones behind the carriage wheels to prevent them from rolling backwards down the steep, slippery hill.
* " Their whole study was how to please and to help one another."
** This was about the close of the 18th century.
The little boy and girl loved to stand beside the good natured old woman's spinning - wheel when she was spinning, and to talk to her.
At these times she taught them something, which, she said, she hoped they would remember all their lives.
She explained to them what is meant by telling the truth, and what it is to be honest.
She taught them to dislike idleness, and to wish that they could be useful.
The people who are in the carriages give you a halfpenny or a penny for doing this, don't they?"
" Yes, child."
" But it is very hard work for you to go up and down that hill.
You often say that you are tired, and then you know that you cannot spin all that time.
Now if we might go up the hill, and put the stones behind the wheels, you could sit still at your work, and would not the people give us the halfpence?
and could not we bring them all to you?
Do, pray, dear grandmother, try us for one day--to - morrow, will you?"
" Yes," said the old woman; " I will try what you can do; but I must go up the hill along with you for the first two or three times, for fear you should get yourselves hurt."
When she thought that the children knew how to manage by themselves, she left them, and returned to her spinning - wheel.
A great many carriages happened to go by this day, and the little girl received a great many halfpence.
She carried them all in her brother's hat to her grandmother in the evening; and the old woman smiled, and thanked the children.
She said that they had been useful to her, and that her spinning had gone on finely, because she had been able to sit still at her wheel all day.
" But, Paul my boy," said she, " what is the matter with your hand?"
" Only a pinch--only one pinch that I got, as I was putting a stone behind a wheel of a chaise.
It does not hurt me much, grandmother; and I've thought of a good thing for to - morrow.
I shall never be hurt again, if you will only be so good as to give me the old handle of the broken crutch, grandmother, and the block of wood that lies in the chimney - corner, and that is of no use.
I'll make it of some use, if I may have it."
" Take it then, dear," said the old woman; " and you'll find the handle of the broken crutch under my bed."
Paul went to work immediately, and fastened one end of the pole into the block of wood, so as to make something like a dry - rubbing brush.
" Look, grandmamma, look at my SCOTCHER.
I call this thing my SCOTCHER," said Paul, " because I shall always scotch the wheels with it.
I shall never pinch my fingers again; my hands, you see, will be safe at the end of this long stick; and, sister Anne, you need not be at the trouble of carrying any more stones after me up the hill; we shall never want stones any more.
My scotcher will do without anything else, I hope.
I wish it was morning, and that a carriage would come, that I might run up the hill, and try my scotcher."
" And I wish that as many chaises may go by to - morrow as there did to - day, and that we may bring you as many halfpence, grandmother," said the little girl.
" So do I, my dear Anne," said the old woman; " for I mean that you and your brother shall have all the money that you get to - morrow.
You may buy some gingerbread for yourselves, or some of those ripe plums that you saw at the fruit - stall the other day, which is just going into Dunstable.
I told you then that I could not afford to buy such things for you; but now that you can earn halfpence for yourselves, children, it is fair should taste a ripe plum and bit of gingerbread for once and a way in your lives."
" We'll bring some of the gingerbread home to her, shan't we, brother?"
whispered little Anne.
The morning came; but no carriages were heard, though Paul and his sister had risen at five o'clock, that they might be sure to be ready for early travellers.
Paul kept his scotcher poised upon his shoulder, and watched eagerly at his station at the bottom of the hill.
He did not wait long before a carriage came.
He followed it up the hill; and the instant the postillion called to him, and bid him stop the wheels, he put his scotcher behind them, and found that it answered the purpose perfectly well.
Many carriages went by this day, and Paul and Anne received a great many halfpence from the travellers.
When it grew dusk in the evening, Anne said to her brother --" I don't think any more carriages will come by to - day.
Let us count the halfpence, and carry them home now to grandmother."
" No, not yet," answered Paul, " let them alone--let them lie still in the hole where I have put them.
I daresay more carriages will come by before it is quite dark, and then we shall have more halfpence."
Stand you hereabouts, half - way up the hill, and the moment you see any carriage coming along the road, run as fast as you can and call me."
Anne waited a long time, or what she thought a long time; and she saw no carriage, and she trailed her brother's scotcher up and down till she was tired.
Then she stood still, and looked again, and she saw no carriage; so she went sorrowfully into the field, and to the hedge where her brother was gathering blackberries, and she said, " Paul, I'm sadly tired, SADLY TIRED!"
said she, " and my eyes are quite strained with looking for chaises; no more chaises will come to - night; and your scotcher is lying there, of no use, upon the ground.
Have not I waited long enough for to - day, Paul?"
" Oh, no," said Paul; " here are some blackberries for you; you had better wait a little bit longer.
Perhaps a carriage might go by whilst you are standing here talking to me."
Anne, who was of a very obliging temper, and who liked to do what she was asked to do, went back to the place where the scotcher lay; and scarcely had she reached the spot, when she heard the noise of a carriage.
She ran to call her brother, and to their great joy, they now saw four chaises coming towards them.
" Come close to the chaise - door," said the little girl; " here are some halfpence for you."
Anne held the hat; and she afterwards went on to the other carriages.
Money was thrown to her from each of them; and when they had all gotten safely to the top of the hill, she and her brother sat down upon a large stone by the roadside, to count their treasure.
First they began by counting what was in the hat --" One, two, three, four halfpence."
" But, oh, brother, look at this!"
exclaimed Anne; " this is not the same as the other halfpence."
" No, indeed, it is not," cried Paul, " it is no halfpenny; it is a guinea, a bright golden guinea!"
" Is it?"
said Anne, who had never seen a guinea in her life before, and who did not know its value; " and will it do as well as a halfpenny to buy gingerbread?
I'll run to the fruit - stall, and ask the woman; shall I?"
" No, no," said Paul, " you need not ask any woman, or anybody but me; I can tell you all about it, as well as anybody in the whole world."
" The whole world!
Oh, Paul, you forgot.
Not so well as my grandmother."
Prepared by this speech to hear something very difficult to be understood, Anne looked very grave, and her brother explained to her, that, with a guinea, she might buy two hundred and fifty - two times as many plums as she could get for a penny.
" Why, Paul, you know the fruit - woman said she would give us a dozen plums for a penny.
Now, for this little guinea, would she give us two hundred and fifty - two dozen?"
" If she has so many, and if we like to have so many, to be sure she will," said Paul, " but I think we should not like to have two hundred and fifty - two dozen of plums; we could not eat such a number."
" But we could give some of them to my grandmother," said Anne.
" But still there would be too many for her, and for us, too," said Paul, " and when we had eaten the plums, there would be an end to all the pleasure.
But now I'll tell you what I am thinking of, Anne, that we might buy something for my grandmother, that would be very useful to her indeed, with the guinea--something that would last a great while."
" What, brother?
What sort of thing?"
" Something that she said she wanted very much last winter, when she was so ill with the rheumatism--something that she said yesterday, when you were making her bed, she wished she might be able to buy before next winter."
" I know, I know what you mean!"
said Anne --" a blanket.
Oh, yes, Paul, that will be much better than plums; do let us buy a blanket for her; how glad she will be to see it!
I will make her bed with the new blanket, and then bring her to see it.
But, Paul, how shall we buy a blanket?
Where are blankets to be got?"
" Leave that to me, I'll manage that.
I know where blankets can be got.
I saw one hanging out of a shop the day I went last to Dunstable."
" You have seen a great many things at Dunstable, brother."
" Yes, a great many; but I never saw anything there or anywhere else, that I wished for half so much as I did for the blanket for my grandmother.
Do you remember how she used to shiver with the cold last winter?
I'll buy the blanket to - morrow.
I'm going to Dunstable with her spinning."
" And you'll bring the blanket to me, and I shall make the bed very neatly, that will be all right--all happy!"
said Anne, clapping her hands.
" But stay!
Hush!
don't clap your hands so, Anne; it will not be all happy, I'm afraid," said Paul, and his countenance changed, and he looked very grave.
" It will not be all right, I'm afraid, for there is one thing we have neither of us thought of, but that we ought to think about.
We cannot buy the blanket, I'm afraid."
" Why, Paul, why?"
" Because I don't think this guinea is honestly ours."
" Nay, brother, but I'm sure it is honestly ours.
It was given to us, and grandmother said all that was given to us to - day was to be our own."
" But who gave it to you, Anne?"
" Some of the people in those chaises, Paul.
I don't know which of them, but I daresay it was the little rosy girl."
" No," said Paul, " for when she called you to the chaise door, she said,'Here's some halfpence for you.'
Now, if she gave you the guinea, she must have given it to you by mistake."
" Well, but perhaps some of the people in the other chaises gave it to me, and did not give it to me by mistake, Paul.
" Why," said Paul, " that might be, to be sure, but I wish I was quite certain of it."
" Then, as we are not quite certain, had not we best go and ask my grandmother what she thinks about it?"
Paul thought this was excellent advice; and he was not a silly boy, who did not like to follow good advice.
He went with his sister directly to his grandmother, showed her the guinea, and told her how they came by it.
" My dear, honest children," said she, " I am very glad you told me all this.
I am very glad that you did not buy either the plums or the blanket with this guinea.
I'm sure it is not honestly ours.
Those who threw it you gave it you by mistake, I warrant; and what I would have you do is, to go to Dunstable, and try if you can, at either of the inns find out the person who gave it to you.
It is now so late in the evening that perhaps the travellers will sleep at Dunstable, instead of going on the next stage; and it is likely that whosoever gave you a guinea instead of a halfpenny has found out their mistake by this time.
All you can do is to go and inquire for the gentleman who was reading in the chaise."
" Oh!"
interrupted Paul, " I know a good way of finding him out.
I remember it was a dark green chaise with red wheels: and I remember I read the innkeeper's name upon the chaise,'John Nelson.'
(I am much obliged to you for teaching me to read, grandmother.)
You told me yesterday, grandmother, that the names written upon chaises are the innkeepers to whom they belong.
I read the name of the innkeeper upon that chaise.
It was John Nelson.
So Anne and I will go to both the inns in Dunstable, and try to find out this chaise--John Nelson's.
Come, Anne; let us set out before it gets quite dark."
However, we are doing what is honest, and that is a comfort.
Here, we must go through this gateway, into the inn - yard; we are come to the'Dun Cow.'"
" Cow!"
said Anne, " I see no cow."
" Look up, and you'll see the cow over your head," said Paul --" the sign--the picture.
Come, never mind looking at it now; I want to find out the green chaise that has John Nelson's name upon it."
Paul pushed forward, through a crowded passage, till he got into the inn - yard.
There was a great noise and bustle.
The hostlers were carrying in luggage.
The postillions were rubbing down the horses, or rolling the chaises into the coach - house.
" What now!
What business have you here, pray?"
said a waiter, who almost ran over Paul, as he was crossing the yard in a great hurry to get some empty bottles from the bottle - rack.
" You've no business here, crowding up the yard.
Walk off, young gentleman, if you please."
" Pray give me leave, sir," said Paul, " to stay a few minutes, to look amongst these chaises for one dark green chaise with red wheels, that has Mr. John Nelson's name written upon it."
" What's that he says about a dark green chaise?"
said one of the postillions.
" What should such a one as he is know about chaises?"
interrupted the hasty waiter, and he vas going to turn Paul out of the yard; but the hostler caught hold of his arm and said, " Maybe the child has some business here; let's know what he has to say for himself."
" No," said Paul, " we should like to give it back ourselves."
" Yes," said the hostler; " that they have a right to do."
The postillion made no reply, but looked vexed, and went towards the house, desiring the children would wait in the passage till his return.
In the passage there was standing a decent, clean, good natured looking woman, with two huge straw baskets on each side of her.
One of the baskets stood a little in the way of the entrance.
A man who was pushing his way in, and carried in his hand a string of dead larks hung to a pole, impatient at being stopped, kicked down the straw basket, and all its contents were thrown out.
Bright straw hats, and boxes, and slippers, were all thrown in disorder upon the dirty ground.
" Oh, they will be trampled upon!
They will be all spoiled!"
exclaimed the woman to whom they belonged.
" We'll help you to pick them up if you will let us," cried Paul and Anne; and they immediately ran to her assistance.
" No, brother," said Anne, " this is not the gentleman that was reading."
" Pooh, child, I came in Mr. Nelson's green chaise.
Here's the postillion can tell you so.
I and my master came in that chaise.
I and my master that was reading, as you say, and it was he that threw the money out to you.
He is going to bed; he is tired and can't see you himself.
He desires that you'll give me the guinea."
He pushed them towards the door; but the basket - woman whispered to them as they went out, " Wait in the street till I come to you."
" Pray, Mrs. Landlady," cried this gentleman's servant, addressing himself to the landlady, who just then came out of a room where some company were at supper, " Pray, Mrs. Landlady, please to let me have roasted larks for my supper.
You are famous for larks at Dunstable; and I make it a rule to taste the best of everything wherever I go; and, waiter, let me have a bottle of claret.
Do you hear?"
" Larks and claret for his supper," said the basket - woman to herself, as she looked at him from head to foot.
The postillion was still waiting, as if to speak to him; and she observed them afterwards whispering and laughing together.
" NO BAD HIT," was a sentence which the servant pronounced several times.
Now it occurred to the basket - woman that this man had cheated the children out of the guinea to pay for the larks and claret; and she thought that perhaps she could discover the truth.
She waited quietly in the passage.
" Waiter!
Joe!
Joe!"
cried the landlady, " why don't you carry in the sweetmeat - puffs and the tarts here to the company in the best parlour?"
" Ay," whispered the landlady, as the door closed after the waiter and the tarts, " there are customers enough, I warrant, for you in that room, if you had but the luck to be called in.
Pray, what would you have the conscience, I wonder now, to charge me for these here half - dozen little mats to put under my dishes?"
" A trifle, ma'am," said the basket - woman.
She let the landlady have the mats cheap, and the landlady then declared she would step in and see if the company in the best parlour had done supper.
" When they come to their wine," added she, " I'll speak a good word for you, and get you called in afore the children are sent to bed."
The eyes of the children all turned towards their mother; their mother smiled, and immediately their father called in the basket - woman, and desired her to produce her CURIOSITIES.
The children gathered round her large pannier as it opened, but they did not touch any of her things.
" Ah, papa!"
cried a little rosy girl, " here are a pair of straw slippers that would just fit you, I think; but would not straw shoes wear out very soon?
and would not they let in the wet?"
" Yes, my dear," said her father, " but these slippers are meant --"
" For powdering - slippers, miss," interrupted the basket - woman.
" To wear when people are powdering their hair," continued the gentleman, " that they may not spoil their other shoes."
" And will you buy them, papa?"
" No, I cannot indulge myself," said her father, " in buying them now.
I must make amends," said he, laughing, " for my carelessness; and as I threw away a guinea to - day, I must endeavour to save sixpence at least?"
" Ah, the guinea that you threw by mistake into the little girl's hat as we were coming up Chalk Hill.
Mamma, I wonder that the little girl did not take notice of its being a guinea, and that she did not run after the chaise to give it back again.
I should think, if she had been an honest girl, she would have returned it."
" Miss!-- ma'am!-- sir!"
said the basket - woman, " if it would not be impertinent, may I speak a word?
" There must be some mistake, or some trick in this," said the gentleman.
" Are the children gone?
I must see them--send after them."
" I'll go for them myself," said the good natured basket - woman; " I bid them wait in the street yonder, for my mind misgave me that the man who spoke so short to them was a cheat, with his larks and his claret."
" But I can be certain whether the guinea you returned be mine or no," said the gentleman.
" I marked the guinea; it was a light one; the only guinea I had, which I put into my waistcoat pocket this morning."
He rang the bell, and desired the waiter to let the gentleman who was in the room opposite to him know that he wished to see him.
" The gentleman in the white parlour, sir, do you mean?"
" I mean the master of the servant who received a guinea from this child."
" He is a Mr. Pembroke, sir," said the waiter.
Mr. Pembroke came; and as soon as he heard what had happened, he desired the waiter to show him to the room where his servant was at supper.
that you got from this child; that guinea which you said I ordered you to ask for from this child."
The servant, confounded and half intoxicated, could only stammer out that he had more guineas than one about him, and that he really did not know which it was.
He pulled his money out, and spread it upon the table with trembling hands.
The marked guinea appeared.
His master instantly turned him out of his service with strong expressions of contempt.
" And now, my little honest girl," said the gentleman who had admired her brother's scotcher, turning to Anne, " and now tell me who you are, and what you and your brother want or wish for most in the world."
In the same moment Anne and Paul exclaimed, " The thing we wish for the most in the world is a blanket for our grandmother."
She had the rheumatism sadly last winter, sir; and there is a blanket in this street that would be just the thing for her."
" She shall have it, then; and," continued the gentleman, " I will do something more for you.
Do you like to be employed or to be idle best?"
" We like to have something to do always, if we could, sir," said Paul; " but we are forced to be idle sometimes, because grandmother has not always things for us to do that we CAN do well."
" Should you like to learn how to make such baskets as these?"
said the gentleman, pointing to one of the Dunstable straw - baskets.
" Oh, very much!"
said Paul.
" Very much!"
said Anne.
" Then I should like to teach you how to make them," said the basket - woman; " for I'm sure of one thing, that you'd behave honestly to me."
The gentleman put a guinea into the good natured basket - woman's hand, and told her that he knew she could not afford to teach them her trade for nothing.
" I shall come through Dunstable again in a few months," added he; " and I hope to see that you and your scholars are going on well.
If I find that they are, I will do something more for you."
" But," said Anne, " we must tell all this to grandmother, and ask her about it; and I'm afraid--though I'm very happy--that it is getting very late, and that we should not stay here any longer."
" It is a fine moonlight night," said the basket - woman; " and is not far.
I'll walk with you, and see you safe home myself."
The gentleman detained them a few minutes longer, till a messenger whom he had dispatched to purchase the much wished for blanket returned.
" Your grandmother will sleep well upon this good blanket, I hope," said the gentleman, as he gave it into Paul's opened arms.
" It has been obtained for her by the honesty of her adopted children."
[ Moby Dick by Herman Melville 1851 ]
ETYMOLOGY.
(Supplied by a Late Consumptive Usher to a Grammar School)
The pale Usher--threadbare in coat, heart, body, and brain; I see him now.
He was ever dusting his old lexicons and grammars, with a queer handkerchief, mockingly embellished with all the gay flags of all the known nations of the world.
He loved to dust his old grammars; it somehow mildly reminded him of his mortality.
" While you take in hand to school others, and to teach them by what name a whale - fish is to be called in our tongue leaving out, through ignorance, the letter H, which almost alone maketh the signification of the word, you deliver that which is not true."
-- HACKLUYT
" WHALE.
... Sw. and Dan.
HVAL.
This animal is named from roundness or rolling; for in Dan.
HVALT is arched or vaulted."
-- WEBSTER'S DICTIONARY
" WHALE.
...
It is more immediately from the Dut.
and Ger.
WALLEN; A. S. WALW - IAN, to roll, to wallow."
-- RICHARDSON'S DICTIONARY
KETOS, GREEK.
CETUS, LATIN.
WHOEL, ANGLO - SAXON.
HVALT, DANISH.
WAL, DUTCH.
HWAL, SWEDISH.
WHALE, ICELANDIC.
WHALE, ENGLISH.
BALEINE, FRENCH.
BALLENA, SPANISH.
PEKEE - NUEE - NUEE, FEGEE.
PEKEE - NUEE - NUEE, ERROMANGOAN.
EXTRACTS (Supplied by a Sub - Sub - Librarian).
Therefore you must not, in every case at least, take the higgledy - piggledy whale statements, however authentic, in these extracts, for veritable gospel cetology.
Far from it.
So fare thee well, poor devil of a Sub - Sub, whose commentator I am.
For by how much the more pains ye take to please the world, by so much the more shall ye for ever go thankless!
Would that I could clear out Hampton Court and the Tuileries for ye!
But gulp down your tears and hie aloft to the royal - mast with your hearts; for your friends who have gone before are clearing out the seven - storied heavens, and making refugees of long - pampered Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael, against your coming.
Here ye strike but splintered hearts together--there, ye shall strike unsplinterable glasses!
EXTRACTS.
" And God created great whales."
-- GENESIS.
" Leviathan maketh a path to shine after him; One would think the deep to be hoary."
-- JOB.
" Now the Lord had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah."
-- JONAH.
" There go the ships; there is that Leviathan whom thou hast made to play therein."
-- PSALMS.
" In that day, the Lord with his sore, and great, and strong sword, shall punish Leviathan the piercing serpent, even Leviathan that crooked serpent; and he shall slay the dragon that is in the sea."
-- ISAIAH
" And what thing soever besides cometh within the chaos of this monster's mouth, be it beast, boat, or stone, down it goes all incontinently that foul great swallow of his, and perisheth in the bottomless gulf of his paunch."
-- HOLLAND'S PLUTARCH'S MORALS.
" The Indian Sea breedeth the most and the biggest fishes that are: among which the Whales and Whirlpooles called Balaene, take up as much in length as four acres or arpens of land."
-- HOLLAND'S PLINY.
" Scarcely had we proceeded two days on the sea, when about sunrise a great many Whales and other monsters of the sea, appeared.
Among the former, one was of a most monstrous size.
...
This came towards us, open - mouthed, raising the waves on all sides, and beating the sea before him into a foam."
-- TOOKE'S LUCIAN.
" THE TRUE HISTORY."
" He visited this country also with a view of catching horse - whales, which had bones of very great value for their teeth, of which he brought some to the king.
...
The best whales were catched in his own country, of which some were forty - eight, some fifty yards long.
He said that he was one of six who had killed sixty in two days."
-- OTHER OR OCTHER'S VERBAL NARRATIVE TAKEN DOWN FROM HIS MOUTH BY KING ALFRED, A. D. 890.
" And whereas all the other things, whether beast or vessel, that enter into the dreadful gulf of this monster's (whale's) mouth, are immediately lost and swallowed up, the sea - gudgeon retires into it in great security, and there sleeps."
-- MONTAIGNE.
-- APOLOGY FOR RAIMOND SEBOND.
" Let us fly, let us fly!
Old Nick take me if is not Leviathan described by the noble prophet Moses in the life of patient Job."
-- RABELAIS.
" This whale's liver was two cartloads."
-- STOWE'S ANNALS.
" The great Leviathan that maketh the seas to seethe like boiling pan."
-- LORD BACON'S VERSION OF THE PSALMS.
" Touching that monstrous bulk of the whale or ork we have received nothing certain.
They grow exceeding fat, insomuch that an incredible quantity of oil will be extracted out of one whale."
-- IBID.
" HISTORY OF LIFE AND DEATH."
" The sovereignest thing on earth is parmacetti for an inward bruise."
-- KING HENRY.
" Very like a whale."
-- HAMLET.
" Which to secure, no skill of leach's art Mote him availle, but to returne againe To his wound's worker, that with lowly dart, Dinting his breast, had bred his restless paine, Like as the wounded whale to shore flies thro'the maine."
-- THE FAERIE QUEEN.
" Immense as whales, the motion of whose vast bodies can in a peaceful calm trouble the ocean til it boil."
-- SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT.
PREFACE TO GONDIBERT.
" What spermacetti is, men might justly doubt, since the learned Hosmannus in his work of thirty years, saith plainly, Nescio quid sit."
-- SIR T. BROWNE.
OF SPERMA CETI AND THE SPERMA CETI WHALE.
VIDE HIS V. E.
" Like Spencer's Talus with his modern flail He threatens ruin with his ponderous tail.
... Their fixed jav'lins in his side he wears, And on his back a grove of pikes appears."
-- WALLER'S BATTLE OF THE SUMMER ISLANDS.
" By art is created that great Leviathan, called a Commonwealth or State --(in Latin, Civitas) which is but an artificial man."
-- OPENING SENTENCE OF HOBBES'S LEVIATHAN.
" Silly Mansoul swallowed it without chewing, as if it had been a sprat in the mouth of a whale."
-- PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
" That sea beast Leviathan, which God of all his works Created hugest that swim the ocean stream."
-- PARADISE LOST.
---" There Leviathan, Hugest of living creatures, in the deep Stretched like a promontory sleeps or swims, And seems a moving land; and at his gills Draws in, and at his breath spouts out a sea."
-- IBID.
" The mighty whales which swim in a sea of water, and have a sea of oil swimming in them."
-- FULLLER'S PROFANE AND HOLY STATE.
" So close behind some promontory lie The huge Leviathan to attend their prey, And give no chance, but swallow in the fry, Which through their gaping jaws mistake the way."
-- DRYDEN'S ANNUS MIRABILIS.
" While the whale is floating at the stern of the ship, they cut off his head, and tow it with a boat as near the shore as it will come; but it will be aground in twelve or thirteen feet water."
-- THOMAS EDGE'S TEN VOYAGES TO SPITZBERGEN, IN PURCHAS.
" In their way they saw many whales sporting in the ocean, and in wantonness fuzzing up the water through their pipes and vents, which nature has placed on their shoulders."
-- SIR T. HERBERT'S VOYAGES INTO ASIA AND AFRICA.
HARRIS COLL.
" Here they saw such huge troops of whales, that they were forced to proceed with a great deal of caution for fear they should run their ship upon them."
-- SCHOUTEN'S SIXTH CIRCUMNAVIGATION.
" We set sail from the Elbe, wind N. E.
in the ship called The Jonas - in - the - Whale.
...
Some say the whale can't open his mouth, but that is a fable.
...
They frequently climb up the masts to see whether they can see a whale, for the first discoverer has a ducat for his pains.
...
I was told of a whale taken near Shetland, that had above a barrel of herrings in his belly.
... One of our harpooneers told me that he caught once a whale in Spitzbergen that was white all over."
-- A VOYAGE TO GREENLAND, A. D. 1671 HARRIS COLL.
" Several whales have come in upon this coast (Fife) Anno 1652, one eighty feet in length of the whale - bone kind came in, which (as I was informed), besides a vast quantity of oil, did afford 500 weight of baleen.
The jaws of it stand for a gate in the garden of Pitferren."
-- SIBBALD'S FIFE AND KINROSS.
" Myself have agreed to try whether I can master and kill this Sperma - ceti whale, for I could never hear of any of that sort that was killed by any man, such is his fierceness and swiftness."
-- RICHARD STRAFFORD'S LETTER FROM THE BERMUDAS.
PHIL.
TRANS.
A. D. 1668.
" Whales in the sea God's voice obey."
-- N. E. PRIMER.
" We saw also abundance of large whales, there being more in those southern seas, as I may say, by a hundred to one; than we have to the northward of us."
-- CAPTAIN COWLEY'S VOYAGE ROUND THE GLOBE, A. D. 1729.
"... and the breath of the whale is frequendy attended with such an insupportable smell, as to bring on a disorder of the brain."
-- ULLOA'S SOUTH AMERICA.
" To fifty chosen sylphs of special note, We trust the important charge, the petticoat.
Oft have we known that seven - fold fence to fail, Tho'stuffed with hoops and armed with ribs of whale."
-- RAPE OF THE LOCK.
" If we compare land animals in respect to magnitude, with those that take up their abode in the deep, we shall find they will appear contemptible in the comparison.
The whale is doubtless the largest animal in creation."
-- GOLDSMITH, NAT.
HIST.
" If you should write a fable for little fishes, you would make them speak like great wales."
-- GOLDSMITH TO JOHNSON.
" In the afternoon we saw what was supposed to be a rock, but it was found to be a dead whale, which some Asiatics had killed, and were then towing ashore.
They seemed to endeavor to conceal themselves behind the whale, in order to avoid being seen by us."
-- COOK'S VOYAGES.
" The larger whales, they seldom venture to attack.
They stand in so great dread of some of them, that when out at sea they are afraid to mention even their names, and carry dung, lime - stone, juniper - wood, and some other articles of the same nature in their boats, in order to terrify and prevent their too near approach."
-- UNO VON TROIL'S LETTERS ON BANKS'S AND SOLANDER'S VOYAGE TO ICELAND IN 1772.
" The Spermacetti Whale found by the Nantuckois, is an active, fierce animal, and requires vast address and boldness in the fishermen."
-- THOMAS JEFFERSON'S WHALE MEMORIAL TO THE FRENCH MINISTER IN 1778.
" And pray, sir, what in the world is equal to it?"
-- EDMUND BURKE'S REFERENCE IN PARLIAMENT TO THE NANTUCKET WHALE - FISHERY.
" Spain--a great whale stranded on the shores of Europe."
-- EDMUND BURKE.
(SOMEWHERE.)
" A tenth branch of the king's ordinary revenue, said to be grounded on the consideration of his guarding and protecting the seas from pirates and robbers, is the right to royal fish, which are whale and sturgeon.
And these, when either thrown ashore or caught near the coast, are the property of the king."
-- BLACKSTONE.
" Soon to the sport of death the crews repair: Rodmond unerring o'er his head suspends The barbed steel, and every turn attends."
-- FALCONER'S SHIPWRECK.
" Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires, And rockets blew self driven, To hang their momentary fire Around the vault of heaven.
" So fire with water to compare, The ocean serves on high, Up - spouted by a whale in air, To express unwieldy joy."
-- COWPER, ON THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON.
" Ten or fifteen gallons of blood are thrown out of the heart at a stroke, with immense velocity."
-- JOHN HUNTER'S ACCOUNT OF THE DISSECTION OF A WHALE.
(A SMALL SIZED ONE.)
" The aorta of a whale is larger in the bore than the main pipe of the water - works at London Bridge, and the water roaring in its passage through that pipe is inferior in impetus and velocity to the blood gushing from the whale's heart."
-- PALEY'S THEOLOGY.
" The whale is a mammiferous animal without hind feet."
-- BARON CUVIER.
" In 40 degrees south, we saw Spermacetti Whales, but did not take any till the first of May, the sea being then covered with them."
-- COLNETT'S VOYAGE FOR THE PURPOSE OF EXTENDING THE SPERMACETI WHALE FISHERY.
-- MONTGOMERY'S WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD.
" Io!
Paean!
Io!
sing.
To the finny people's king.
Not a mightier whale than this In the vast Atlantic is; Not a fatter fish than he, Flounders round the Polar Sea."
-- CHARLES LAMB'S TRIUMPH OF THE WHALE.
" In the year 1690 some persons were on a high hill observing the whales spouting and sporting with each other, when one observed: there--pointing to the sea--is a green pasture where our children's grand - children will go for bread."
-- OBED MACY'S HISTORY OF NANTUCKET.
" I built a cottage for Susan and myself and made a gateway in the form of a Gothic Arch, by setting up a whale's jaw bones."
-- HAWTHORNE'S TWICE TOLD TALES.
" She came to bespeak a monument for her first love, who had been killed by a whale in the Pacific ocean, no less than forty years ago."
-- IBID.
" No, Sir,'tis a Right Whale," answered Tom; " I saw his sprout; he threw up a pair of as pretty rainbows as a Christian would wish to look at.
He's a raal oil - butt, that fellow!"
-- COOPER'S PILOT.
" The papers were brought in, and we saw in the Berlin Gazette that whales had been introduced on the stage there."
-- ECKERMANN'S CONVERSATIONS WITH GOETHE.
" My God!
Mr. Chace, what is the matter?"
I answered, " we have been stove by a whale."
--" NARRATIVE OF THE SHIPWRECK OF THE WHALE SHIP ESSEX OF NANTUCKET, WHICH WAS ATTACKED AND FINALLY DESTROYED BY A LARGE SPERM WHALE IN THE PACIFIC OCEAN."
BY OWEN CHACE OF NANTUCKET, FIRST MATE OF SAID VESSEL.
NEW YORK, 1821.
" A mariner sat in the shrouds one night, The wind was piping free; Now bright, now dimmed, was the moonlight pale, And the phospher gleamed in the wake of the whale, As it floundered in the sea."
-- ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.
" The quantity of line withdrawn from the boats engaged in the capture of this one whale, amounted altogether to 10, 440 yards or nearly six English miles.
...
" Sometimes the whale shakes its tremendous tail in the air, which, cracking like a whip, resounds to the distance of three or four miles."
-- SCORESBY.
...
-- THOMAS BEALE'S HISTORY OF THE SPERM WHALE, 1839.
-- FREDERICK DEBELL BENNETT'S WHALING VOYAGE ROUND THE GLOBE, 1840.
October 13.
" There she blows," was sung out from the mast - head.
" Where away?"
demanded the captain.
" Three points off the lee bow, sir."
" Raise up your wheel.
Steady!"
" Steady, sir."
" Mast - head ahoy!
Do you see that whale now?"
" Ay ay, sir!
A shoal of Sperm Whales!
There she blows!
There she breaches!"
" Sing out!
sing out every time!"
" Ay Ay, sir!
There she blows!
there--there--THAR she blows--bowes--bo - o - os!"
" How far off?"
" Two miles and a half."
" Thunder and lightning!
so near!
Call all hands."
-- J. ROSS BROWNE'S ETCHINGS OF A WHALING CRUIZE.
1846.
" The Whale - ship Globe, on board of which vessel occurred the horrid transactions we are about to relate, belonged to the island of Nantucket."
--" NARRATIVE OF THE GLOBE," BY LAY AND HUSSEY SURVIVORS.
A. D. 1828.
Being once pursued by a whale which he had wounded, he parried the assault for some time with a lance; but the furious monster at length rushed on the boat; himself and comrades only being preserved by leaping into the water when they saw the onset was inevitable."
-- MISSIONARY JOURNAL OF TYERMAN AND BENNETT.
" Nantucket itself," said Mr. Webster, " is a very striking and peculiar portion of the National interest.
There is a population of eight or nine thousand persons living here in the sea, adding largely every year to the National wealth by the boldest and most persevering industry."
-- REPORT OF DANIEL WEBSTER'S SPEECH IN THE U. S. SENATE, ON THE APPLICATION FOR THE ERECTION OF A BREAKWATER AT NANTUCKET.
1828.
" The whale fell directly over him, and probably killed him in a moment."
--" THE WHALE AND HIS CAPTORS, OR THE WHALEMAN'S ADVENTURES AND THE WHALE'S BIOGRAPHY, GATHERED ON THE HOMEWARD CRUISE OF THE COMMODORE PREBLE."
BY REV.
HENRY T. CHEEVER.
" If you make the least damn bit of noise," replied Samuel, " I will send you to hell."
-- LIFE OF SAMUEL COMSTOCK (THE MUTINEER), BY HIS BROTHER, WILLIAM COMSTOCK.
ANOTHER VERSION OF THE WHALE - SHIP GLOBE NARRATIVE.
" The voyages of the Dutch and English to the Northern Ocean, in order, if possible, to discover a passage through it to India, though they failed of their main object, laid - open the haunts of the whale."
-- MCCULLOCH'S COMMERCIAL DICTIONARY.
" These things are reciprocal; the ball rebounds, only to bound forward again; for now in laying open the haunts of the whale, the whalemen seem to have indirectly hit upon new clews to that same mystic North - West Passage."
-- FROM " SOMETHING " UNPUBLISHED.
" It is impossible to meet a whale - ship on the ocean without being struck by her near appearance.
The vessel under short sail, with look - outs at the mast - heads, eagerly scanning the wide expanse around them, has a totally different air from those engaged in regular voyage."
-- CURRENTS AND WHALING.
U. S. EX.
EX.
" Pedestrians in the vicinity of London and elsewhere may recollect having seen large curved bones set upright in the earth, either to form arches over gateways, or entrances to alcoves, and they may perhaps have been told that these were the ribs of whales."
-- TALES OF A WHALE VOYAGER TO THE ARCTIC OCEAN.
" It was not till the boats returned from the pursuit of these whales, that the whites saw their ship in bloody possession of the savages enrolled among the crew."
-- NEWSPAPER ACCOUNT OF THE TAKING AND RETAKING OF THE WHALE - SHIP HOBOMACK.
" It is generally well known that out of the crews of Whaling vessels (American) few ever return in the ships on board of which they departed."
-- CRUISE IN A WHALE BOAT.
" Suddenly a mighty mass emerged from the water, and shot up perpendicularly into the air.
It was the while."
-- MIRIAM COFFIN OR THE WHALE FISHERMAN.
" The Whale is harpooned to be sure; but bethink you, how you would manage a powerful unbroken colt, with the mere appliance of a rope tied to the root of his tail."
-- A CHAPTER ON WHALING IN RIBS AND TRUCKS.
" On one occasion I saw two of these monsters (whales) probably male and female, slowly swimming, one after the other, within less than a stone's throw of the shore " (Terra Del Fuego), " over which the beech tree extended its branches."
-- DARWIN'S VOYAGE OF A NATURALIST.
' Stern all!'
exclaimed the mate, as upon turning his head, he saw the distended jaws of a large Sperm Whale close to the head of the boat, threatening it with instant destruction;--' Stern all, for your lives!'"
-- WHARTON THE WHALE KILLER.
" So be cheery, my lads, let your hearts never fail, While the bold harpooneer is striking the whale!"
-- NANTUCKET SONG.
" Oh, the rare old Whale, mid storm and gale In his ocean home will be A giant in might, where might is right, And King of the boundless sea."
-- WHALE SONG.
CHAPTER 1
Loomings.
Call me Ishmael.
Some years ago--never mind how long precisely--having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world.
It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation.
This is my substitute for pistol and ball.
With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship.
There is nothing surprising in this.
If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs--commerce surrounds it with her surf.
Right and left, the streets take you waterward.
Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land.
Look at the crowds of water - gazers there.
Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon.
Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward.
What do you see?-- Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries.
Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier - heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep.
But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster--tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks.
How then is this?
Are the green fields gone?
What do they here?
But look!
here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and seemingly bound for a dive.
Strange!
Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice.
No.
They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in.
And there they stand--miles of them--leagues.
Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues--north, east, south, and west.
Yet here they all unite.
Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither?
Once more.
Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes.
Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream.
There is magic in it.
Let the most absent - minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries--stand that man on his legs, set his feet a - going, and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region.
Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor.
Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever.
But here is an artist.
He desires to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest, quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all the valley of the Saco.
What is the chief element he employs?
There stand his trees, each with a hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a crucifix were within; and here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep his cattle; and up from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke.
Deep into distant woodlands winds a mazy way, reaching to overlapping spurs of mountains bathed in their hill - side blue.
But though the picture lies thus tranced, and though this pine - tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this shepherd's head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd's eye were fixed upon the magic stream before him.
Go visit the Prairies in June, when for scores on scores of miles you wade knee - deep among Tiger - lilies--what is the one charm wanting?-- Water--there is not a drop of water there!
Were Niagara but a cataract of sand, would you travel your thousand miles to see it?
Why did the poor poet of Tennessee, upon suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver, deliberate whether to buy him a coat, which he sadly needed, or invest his money in a pedestrian trip to Rockaway Beach?
Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea?
Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land?
Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy?
Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove?
Surely all this is not without meaning.
And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned.
But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans.
It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.
Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I begin to grow hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious of my lungs, I do not mean to have it inferred that I ever go to sea as a passenger.
For to go as a passenger you must needs have a purse, and a purse is but a rag unless you have something in it.
Besides, passengers get sea - sick--grow quarrelsome--don't sleep of nights--do not enjoy themselves much, as a general thing;-- no, I never go as a passenger; nor, though I am something of a salt, do I ever go to sea as a Commodore, or a Captain, or a Cook.
I abandon the glory and distinction of such offices to those who like them.
For my part, I abominate all honourable respectable toils, trials, and tribulations of every kind whatsoever.
It is quite as much as I can do to take care of myself, without taking care of ships, barques, brigs, schooners, and what not.
It is out of the idolatrous dotings of the old Egyptians upon broiled ibis and roasted river horse, that you see the mummies of those creatures in their huge bake - houses the pyramids.
No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast, plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast - head.
True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow.
And at first, this sort of thing is unpleasant enough.
It touches one's sense of honour, particularly if you come of an old established family in the land, the Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes.
And more than all, if just previous to putting your hand into the tar - pot, you have been lording it as a country schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in awe of you.
The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires a strong decoction of Seneca and the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it.
But even this wears off in time.
What of it, if some old hunks of a sea - captain orders me to get a broom and sweep down the decks?
What does that indignity amount to, weighed, I mean, in the scales of the New Testament?
Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance?
Who ain't a slave?
Tell me that.
Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of paying me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single penny that I ever heard of.
On the contrary, passengers themselves must pay.
And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid.
The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us.
But BEING PAID,-- what will compare with it?
The urbane activity with which a man receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven.
Ah!
how cheerfully we consign ourselves to perdition!
Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome exercise and pure air of the fore - castle deck.
For as in this world, head winds are far more prevalent than winds from astern (that is, if you never violate the Pythagorean maxim), so for the most part the Commodore on the quarter - deck gets his atmosphere at second hand from the sailors on the forecastle.
He thinks he breathes it first; but not so.
In much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it.
And, doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago.
It came in as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive performances.
I take it that this part of the bill must have run something like this:
" GRAND CONTESTED ELECTION FOR THE PRESIDENCY OF THE UNITED STATES.
" WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL.
" BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN."
Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself.
Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity.
Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his island bulk; the undeliverable, nameless perils of the whale; these, with all the attending marvels of a thousand Patagonian sights and sounds, helped to sway me to my wish.
With other men, perhaps, such things would not have been inducements; but as for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote.
I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts.
Not ignoring what is good, I am quick to perceive a horror, and could still be social with it--would they let me--since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of the place one lodges in.
CHAPTER 2
The Carpet - Bag.
I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet - bag, tucked it under my arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific.
Quitting the good city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford.
It was a Saturday night in December.
Much was I disappointed upon learning that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing.
For my mind was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous old island, which amazingly pleased me.
Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the Red - Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan?
And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones--so goes the story--to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?
Now having a night, a day, and still another night following before me in New Bedford, ere I could embark for my destined port, it became a matter of concernment where I was to eat and sleep meanwhile.
It was a very dubious - looking, nay, a very dark and dismal night, bitingly cold and cheerless.
I knew no one in the place.
With halting steps I paced the streets, and passed the sign of " The Crossed Harpoons "-- but it looked too expensive and jolly there.
Too expensive and jolly, again thought I, pausing one moment to watch the broad glare in the street, and hear the sounds of the tinkling glasses within.
But go on, Ishmael, said I at last; don't you hear?
get away from before the door; your patched boots are stopping the way.
So on I went.
I now by instinct followed the streets that took me waterward, for there, doubtless, were the cheapest, if not the cheeriest inns.
Such dreary streets!
blocks of blackness, not houses, on either hand, and here and there a candle, like a candle moving about in a tomb.
At this hour of the night, of the last day of the week, that quarter of the town proved all but deserted.
But presently I came to a smoky light proceeding from a low, wide building, the door of which stood invitingly open.
It had a careless look, as if it were meant for the uses of the public; so, entering, the first thing I did was to stumble over an ash - box in the porch.
Ha!
thought I, ha, as the flying particles almost choked me, are these ashes from that destroyed city, Gomorrah?
But " The Crossed Harpoons," and " The Sword - Fish?"
-- this, then must needs be the sign of " The Trap."
However, I picked myself up and hearing a loud voice within, pushed on and opened a second, interior door.
It seemed the great Black Parliament sitting in Tophet.
A hundred black faces turned round in their rows to peer; and beyond, a black Angel of Doom was beating a book in a pulpit.
It was a negro church; and the preacher's text was about the blackness of darkness, and the weeping and wailing and teeth - gnashing there.
Ha, Ishmael, muttered I, backing out, Wretched entertainment at the sign of'The Trap!'
Coffin?-- Spouter?-- Rather ominous in that particular connexion, thought I.
But it is a common name in Nantucket, they say, and I suppose this Peter here is an emigrant from there.
It was a queer sort of place--a gable - ended old house, one side palsied as it were, and leaning over sadly.
It stood on a sharp bleak corner, where that tempestuous wind Euroclydon kept up a worse howling than ever it did about poor Paul's tossed craft.
Euroclydon, nevertheless, is a mighty pleasant zephyr to any one in - doors, with his feet on the hob quietly toasting for bed.
True enough, thought I, as this passage occurred to my mind--old black - letter, thou reasonest well.
Yes, these eyes are windows, and this body of mine is the house.
What a pity they didn't stop up the chinks and the crannies though, and thrust in a little lint here and there.
But it's too late to make any improvements now.
The universe is finished; the copestone is on, and the chips were carted off a million years ago.
Poor Lazarus there, chattering his teeth against the curbstone for his pillow, and shaking off his tatters with his shiverings, he might plug up both ears with rags, and put a corn - cob into his mouth, and yet that would not keep out the tempestuous Euroclydon.
Euroclydon!
says old Dives, in his red silken wrapper --(he had a redder one afterwards) pooh, pooh!
What a fine frosty night; how Orion glitters; what northern lights!
Let them talk of their oriental summer climes of everlasting conservatories; give me the privilege of making my own summer with my own coals.
But what thinks Lazarus?
Can he warm his blue hands by holding them up to the grand northern lights?
Would not Lazarus rather be in Sumatra than here?
Would he not far rather lay him down lengthwise along the line of the equator; yea, ye gods!
go down to the fiery pit itself, in order to keep out this frost?
Now, that Lazarus should lie stranded there on the curbstone before the door of Dives, this is more wonderful than that an iceberg should be moored to one of the Moluccas.
Yet Dives himself, he too lives like a Czar in an ice palace made of frozen sighs, and being a president of a temperance society, he only drinks the tepid tears of orphans.
But no more of this blubbering now, we are going a - whaling, and there is plenty of that yet to come.
Let us scrape the ice from our frosted feet, and see what sort of a place this " Spouter " may be.
CHAPTER 3
The Spouter - Inn.
Entering that gable - ended Spouter - Inn, you found yourself in a wide, low, straggling entry with old - fashioned wainscots, reminding one of the bulwarks of some condemned old craft.
Such unaccountable masses of shades and shadows, that at first you almost thought some ambitious young artist, in the time of the New England hags, had endeavored to delineate chaos bewitched.
But by dint of much and earnest contemplation, and oft repeated ponderings, and especially by throwing open the little window towards the back of the entry, you at last come to the conclusion that such an idea, however wild, might not be altogether unwarranted.
But what most puzzled and confounded you was a long, limber, portentous, black mass of something hovering in the centre of the picture over three blue, dim, perpendicular lines floating in a nameless yeast.
A boggy, soggy, squitchy picture truly, enough to drive a nervous man distracted.
Yet was there a sort of indefinite, half - attained, unimaginable sublimity about it that fairly froze you to it, till you involuntarily took an oath with yourself to find out what that marvellous painting meant.
But at last all these fancies yielded to that one portentous something in the picture's midst.
THAT once found out, and all the rest were plain.
But stop; does it not bear a faint resemblance to a gigantic fish?
even the great leviathan himself?
In fact, the artist's design seemed this: a final theory of my own, partly based upon the aggregated opinions of many aged persons with whom I conversed upon the subject.
The opposite wall of this entry was hung all over with a heathenish array of monstrous clubs and spears.
Some were thickly set with glittering teeth resembling ivory saws; others were tufted with knots of human hair; and one was sickle - shaped, with a vast handle sweeping round like the segment made in the new - mown grass by a long - armed mower.
You shuddered as you gazed, and wondered what monstrous cannibal and savage could ever have gone a death - harvesting with such a hacking, horrifying implement.
Mixed with these were rusty old whaling lances and harpoons all broken and deformed.
Some were storied weapons.
With this once long lance, now wildly elbowed, fifty years ago did Nathan Swain kill fifteen whales between a sunrise and a sunset.
And that harpoon--so like a corkscrew now--was flung in Javan seas, and run away with by a whale, years afterwards slain off the Cape of Blanco.
The original iron entered nigh the tail, and, like a restless needle sojourning in the body of a man, travelled full forty feet, and at last was found imbedded in the hump.
Crossing this dusky entry, and on through yon low - arched way--cut through what in old times must have been a great central chimney with fireplaces all round--you enter the public room.
A still duskier place is this, with such low ponderous beams above, and such old wrinkled planks beneath, that you would almost fancy you trod some old craft's cockpits, especially of such a howling night, when this corner - anchored old ark rocked so furiously.
On one side stood a long, low, shelf - like table covered with cracked glass cases, filled with dusty rarities gathered from this wide world's remotest nooks.
Projecting from the further angle of the room stands a dark - looking den--the bar--a rude attempt at a right whale's head.
Be that how it may, there stands the vast arched bone of the whale's jaw, so wide, a coach might almost drive beneath it.
Abominable are the tumblers into which he pours his poison.
Though true cylinders without--within, the villanous green goggling glasses deceitfully tapered downwards to a cheating bottom.
Parallel meridians rudely pecked into the glass, surround these footpads'goblets.
Fill to THIS mark, and your charge is but a penny; to THIS a penny more; and so on to the full glass--the Cape Horn measure, which you may gulp down for a shilling.
Upon entering the place I found a number of young seamen gathered about a table, examining by a dim light divers specimens of SKRIMSHANDER.
I sought the landlord, and telling him I desired to be accommodated with a room, received for answer that his house was full--not a bed unoccupied.
" But avast," he added, tapping his forehead, " you haint no objections to sharing a harpooneer's blanket, have ye?
I s'pose you are goin'a - whalin ', so you'd better get used to that sort of thing."
" I thought so.
All right; take a seat.
Supper?-- you want supper?
Supper'll be ready directly."
I sat down on an old wooden settle, carved all over like a bench on the Battery.
At one end a ruminating tar was still further adorning it with his jack - knife, stooping over and diligently working away at the space between his legs.
He was trying his hand at a ship under full sail, but he didn't make much headway, I thought.
At last some four or five of us were summoned to our meal in an adjoining room.
It was cold as Iceland--no fire at all--the landlord said he couldn't afford it.
Nothing but two dismal tallow candles, each in a winding sheet.
We were fain to button up our monkey jackets, and hold to our lips cups of scalding tea with our half frozen fingers.
But the fare was of the most substantial kind--not only meat and potatoes, but dumplings; good heavens!
dumplings for supper!
One young fellow in a green box coat, addressed himself to these dumplings in a most direful manner.
" My boy," said the landlord, " you'll have the nightmare to a dead sartainty."
" Landlord," I whispered, " that aint the harpooneer is it?"
" Oh, no," said he, looking a sort of diabolically funny, " the harpooneer is a dark complexioned chap.
He never eats dumplings, he don't--he eats nothing but steaks, and he likes'em rare."
" The devil he does," says I.
" Where is that harpooneer?
Is he here?"
" He'll be here afore long," was the answer.
I could not help it, but I began to feel suspicious of this " dark complexioned " harpooneer.
At any rate, I made up my mind that if it so turned out that we should sleep together, he must undress and get into bed before I did.
Supper over, the company went back to the bar - room, when, knowing not what else to do with myself, I resolved to spend the rest of the evening as a looker on.
Presently a rioting noise was heard without.
Starting up, the landlord cried, " That's the Grampus's crew.
I seed her reported in the offing this morning; a three years'voyage, and a full ship.
Hurrah, boys; now we'll have the latest news from the Feegees."
A tramping of sea boots was heard in the entry; the door was flung open, and in rolled a wild set of mariners enough.
Enveloped in their shaggy watch coats, and with their heads muffled in woollen comforters, all bedarned and ragged, and their beards stiff with icicles, they seemed an eruption of bears from Labrador.
They had just landed from their boat, and this was the first house they entered.
No wonder, then, that they made a straight wake for the whale's mouth--the bar--when the wrinkled little old Jonah, there officiating, soon poured them out brimmers all round.
The liquor soon mounted into their heads, as it generally does even with the arrantest topers newly landed from sea, and they began capering about most obstreperously.
I observed, however, that one of them held somewhat aloof, and though he seemed desirous not to spoil the hilarity of his shipmates by his own sober face, yet upon the whole he refrained from making as much noise as the rest.
This man interested me at once; and since the sea - gods had ordained that he should soon become my shipmate (though but a sleeping - partner one, so far as this narrative is concerned), I will here venture upon a little description of him.
He stood full six feet in height, with noble shoulders, and a chest like a coffer - dam.
I have seldom seen such brawn in a man.
His face was deeply brown and burnt, making his white teeth dazzling by the contrast; while in the deep shadows of his eyes floated some reminiscences that did not seem to give him much joy.
His voice at once announced that he was a Southerner, and from his fine stature, I thought he must be one of those tall mountaineers from the Alleghanian Ridge in Virginia.
When the revelry of his companions had mounted to its height, this man slipped away unobserved, and I saw no more of him till he became my comrade on the sea.
In a few minutes, however, he was missed by his shipmates, and being, it seems, for some reason a huge favourite with them, they raised a cry of " Bulkington!
Bulkington!
where's Bulkington?"
and darted out of the house in pursuit of him.
It was now about nine o'clock, and the room seeming almost supernaturally quiet after these orgies, I began to congratulate myself upon a little plan that had occurred to me just previous to the entrance of the seamen.
No man prefers to sleep two in a bed.
In fact, you would a good deal rather not sleep with your own brother.
I don't know how it is, but people like to be private when they are sleeping.
And when it comes to sleeping with an unknown stranger, in a strange inn, in a strange town, and that stranger a harpooneer, then your objections indefinitely multiply.
Nor was there any earthly reason why I as a sailor should sleep two in a bed, more than anybody else; for sailors no more sleep two in a bed at sea, than bachelor Kings do ashore.
To be sure they all sleep together in one apartment, but you have your own hammock, and cover yourself with your own blanket, and sleep in your own skin.
The more I pondered over this harpooneer, the more I abominated the thought of sleeping with him.
It was fair to presume that being a harpooneer, his linen or woollen, as the case might be, would not be of the tidiest, certainly none of the finest.
I began to twitch all over.
Besides, it was getting late, and my decent harpooneer ought to be home and going bedwards.
Suppose now, he should tumble in upon me at midnight--how could I tell from what vile hole he had been coming?
" Landlord!
I've changed my mind about that harpooneer.-- I shan't sleep with him.
I'll try the bench here."
" Just as you please; I'm sorry I cant spare ye a tablecloth for a mattress, and it's a plaguy rough board here "-- feeling of the knots and notches.
" But wait a bit, Skrimshander; I've got a carpenter's plane there in the bar--wait, I say, and I'll make ye snug enough."
So saying he procured the plane; and with his old silk handkerchief first dusting the bench, vigorously set to planing away at my bed, the while grinning like an ape.
The shavings flew right and left; till at last the plane - iron came bump against an indestructible knot.
The landlord was near spraining his wrist, and I told him for heaven's sake to quit--the bed was soft enough to suit me, and I did not know how all the planing in the world could make eider down of a pine plank.
So gathering up the shavings with another grin, and throwing them into the great stove in the middle of the room, he went about his business, and left me in a brown study.
I now took the measure of the bench, and found that it was a foot too short; but that could be mended with a chair.
But it was a foot too narrow, and the other bench in the room was about four inches higher than the planed one--so there was no yoking them.
I then placed the first bench lengthwise along the only clear space against the wall, leaving a little interval between, for my back to settle down in.
The devil fetch that harpooneer, thought I, but stop, couldn't I steal a march on him--bolt his door inside, and jump into his bed, not to be wakened by the most violent knockings?
It seemed no bad idea; but upon second thoughts I dismissed it.
For who could tell but what the next morning, so soon as I popped out of the room, the harpooneer might be standing in the entry, all ready to knock me down!
Still, looking round me again, and seeing no possible chance of spending a sufferable night unless in some other person's bed, I began to think that after all I might be cherishing unwarrantable prejudices against this unknown harpooneer.
Thinks I, I'll wait awhile; he must be dropping in before long.
I'll have a good look at him then, and perhaps we may become jolly good bedfellows after all--there's no telling.
But though the other boarders kept coming in by ones, twos, and threes, and going to bed, yet no sign of my harpooneer.
" Landlord!
said I, " what sort of a chap is he--does he always keep such late hours?"
It was now hard upon twelve o'clock.
The landlord chuckled again with his lean chuckle, and seemed to be mightily tickled at something beyond my comprehension.
" No," he answered, " generally he's an early bird--airley to bed and airley to rise--yes, he's the bird what catches the worm.
But to - night he went out a peddling, you see, and I don't see what on airth keeps him so late, unless, may be, he can't sell his head."
" Can't sell his head?-- What sort of a bamboozingly story is this you are telling me?"
getting into a towering rage.
" Do you pretend to say, landlord, that this harpooneer is actually engaged this blessed Saturday night, or rather Sunday morning, in peddling his head around this town?"
" That's precisely it," said the landlord, " and I told him he couldn't sell it here, the market's overstocked."
" With what?"
shouted I.
" With heads to be sure; ain't there too many heads in the world?"
" I tell you what it is, landlord," said I quite calmly, " you'd better stop spinning that yarn to me--I'm not green."
" May be not," taking out a stick and whittling a toothpick, " but I rayther guess you'll be done BROWN if that ere harpooneer hears you a slanderin'his head."
" I'll break it for him," said I, now flying into a passion again at this unaccountable farrago of the landlord's.
" It's broke a'ready," said he.
" Broke," said I --" BROKE, do you mean?"
" Sartain, and that's the very reason he can't sell it, I guess."
" Landlord," said I, going up to him as cool as Mt.
Hecla in a snow - storm --" landlord, stop whittling.
You and I must understand one another, and that too without delay.
I come to your house and want a bed; you tell me you can only give me half a one; that the other half belongs to a certain harpooneer.
I now demand of you to speak out and tell me who and what this harpooneer is, and whether I shall be in all respects safe to spend the night with him.
" Wall," said the landlord, fetching a long breath, " that's a purty long sarmon for a chap that rips a little now and then.
He wanted to, last Sunday, but I stopped him just as he was goin'out of the door with four heads strung on a string, for all the airth like a string of inions."
" Depend upon it, landlord, that harpooneer is a dangerous man."
" He pays reg'lar," was the rejoinder.
" But come, it's getting dreadful late, you had better be turning flukes--it's a nice bed; Sal and me slept in that ere bed the night we were spliced.
There's plenty of room for two to kick about in that bed; it's an almighty big bed that.
Why, afore we give it up, Sal used to put our Sam and little Johnny in the foot of it.
But I got a dreaming and sprawling about one night, and somehow, Sam got pitched on the floor, and came near breaking his arm.
Arter that, Sal said it wouldn't do.
Come along here, I'll give ye a glim in a jiffy;" and so saying he lighted a candle and held it towards me, offering to lead the way.
But I stood irresolute; when looking at a clock in the corner, he exclaimed " I vum it's Sunday--you won't see that harpooneer to - night; he's come to anchor somewhere--come along then; DO come; WON'T ye come?"
I considered the matter a moment, and then up stairs we went, and I was ushered into a small room, cold as a clam, and furnished, sure enough, with a prodigious bed, almost big enough indeed for any four harpooneers to sleep abreast.
" There," said the landlord, placing the candle on a crazy old sea chest that did double duty as a wash - stand and centre table; " there, make yourself comfortable now, and good night to ye."
I turned round from eyeing the bed, but he had disappeared.
Folding back the counterpane, I stooped over the bed.
Though none of the most elegant, it yet stood the scrutiny tolerably well.
I then glanced round the room; and besides the bedstead and centre table, could see no other furniture belonging to the place, but a rude shelf, the four walls, and a papered fireboard representing a man striking a whale.
Of things not properly belonging to the room, there was a hammock lashed up, and thrown upon the floor in one corner; also a large seaman's bag, containing the harpooneer's wardrobe, no doubt in lieu of a land trunk.
Likewise, there was a parcel of outlandish bone fish hooks on the shelf over the fire - place, and a tall harpoon standing at the head of the bed.
But what is this on the chest?
I took it up, and held it close to the light, and felt it, and smelt it, and tried every way possible to arrive at some satisfactory conclusion concerning it.
I can compare it to nothing but a large door mat, ornamented at the edges with little tinkling tags something like the stained porcupine quills round an Indian moccasin.
There was a hole or slit in the middle of this mat, as you see the same in South American ponchos.
But could it be possible that any sober harpooneer would get into a door mat, and parade the streets of any Christian town in that sort of guise?
I put it on, to try it, and it weighed me down like a hamper, being uncommonly shaggy and thick, and I thought a little damp, as though this mysterious harpooneer had been wearing it of a rainy day.
I went up in it to a bit of glass stuck against the wall, and I never saw such a sight in my life.
I tore myself out of it in such a hurry that I gave myself a kink in the neck.
I sat down on the side of the bed, and commenced thinking about this head - peddling harpooneer, and his door mat.
After thinking some time on the bed - side, I got up and took off my monkey jacket, and then stood in the middle of the room thinking.
I then took off my coat, and thought a little more in my shirt sleeves.
Whether that mattress was stuffed with corn - cobs or broken crockery, there is no telling, but I rolled about a good deal, and could not sleep for a long time.
At last I slid off into a light doze, and had pretty nearly made a good offing towards the land of Nod, when I heard a heavy footfall in the passage, and saw a glimmer of light come into the room from under the door.
Lord save me, thinks I, that must be the harpooneer, the infernal head - peddler.
But I lay perfectly still, and resolved not to say a word till spoken to.
I was all eagerness to see his face, but he kept it averted for some time while employed in unlacing the bag's mouth.
This accomplished, however, he turned round--when, good heavens!
what a sight!
Such a face!
It was of a dark, purplish, yellow colour, here and there stuck over with large blackish looking squares.
Yes, it's just as I thought, he's a terrible bedfellow; he's been in a fight, got dreadfully cut, and here he is, just from the surgeon.
But at that moment he chanced to turn his face so towards the light, that I plainly saw they could not be sticking - plasters at all, those black squares on his cheeks.
They were stains of some sort or other.
At first I knew not what to make of this; but soon an inkling of the truth occurred to me.
I remembered a story of a white man--a whaleman too--who, falling among the cannibals, had been tattooed by them.
I concluded that this harpooneer, in the course of his distant voyages, must have met with a similar adventure.
And what is it, thought I, after all!
It's only his outside; a man can be honest in any sort of skin.
But then, what to make of his unearthly complexion, that part of it, I mean, lying round about, and completely independent of the squares of tattooing.
To be sure, it might be nothing but a good coat of tropical tanning; but I never heard of a hot sun's tanning a white man into a purplish yellow one.
However, I had never been in the South Seas; and perhaps the sun there produced these extraordinary effects upon the skin.
Now, while all these ideas were passing through me like lightning, this harpooneer never noticed me at all.
But, after some difficulty having opened his bag, he commenced fumbling in it, and presently pulled out a sort of tomahawk, and a seal - skin wallet with the hair on.
Placing these on the old chest in the middle of the room, he then took the New Zealand head--a ghastly thing enough--and crammed it down into the bag.
He now took off his hat--a new beaver hat--when I came nigh singing out with fresh surprise.
There was no hair on his head--none to speak of at least--nothing but a small scalp - knot twisted up on his forehead.
His bald purplish head now looked for all the world like a mildewed skull.
Had not the stranger stood between me and the door, I would have bolted out of it quicker than ever I bolted a dinner.
Even as it was, I thought something of slipping out of the window, but it was the second floor back.
I am no coward, but what to make of this head - peddling purple rascal altogether passed my comprehension.
Ignorance is the parent of fear, and being completely nonplussed and confounded about the stranger, I confess I was now as much afraid of him as if it was the devil himself who had thus broken into my room at the dead of night.
In fact, I was so afraid of him that I was not game enough just then to address him, and demand a satisfactory answer concerning what seemed inexplicable in him.
Meanwhile, he continued the business of undressing, and at last showed his chest and arms.
As I live, these covered parts of him were checkered with the same squares as his face; his back, too, was all over the same dark squares; he seemed to have been in a Thirty Years'War, and just escaped from it with a sticking - plaster shirt.
Still more, his very legs were marked, as if a parcel of dark green frogs were running up the trunks of young palms.
It was now quite plain that he must be some abominable savage or other shipped aboard of a whaleman in the South Seas, and so landed in this Christian country.
I quaked to think of it.
A peddler of heads too--perhaps the heads of his own brothers.
He might take a fancy to mine--heavens!
look at that tomahawk!
But there was no time for shuddering, for now the savage went about something that completely fascinated my attention, and convinced me that he must indeed be a heathen.
Going to his heavy grego, or wrapall, or dreadnaught, which he had previously hung on a chair, he fumbled in the pockets, and produced at length a curious little deformed image with a hunch on its back, and exactly the colour of a three days'old Congo baby.
Remembering the embalmed head, at first I almost thought that this black manikin was a real baby preserved in some similar manner.
But seeing that it was not at all limber, and that it glistened a good deal like polished ebony, I concluded that it must be nothing but a wooden idol, which indeed it proved to be.
For now the savage goes up to the empty fire - place, and removing the papered fire - board, sets up this little hunch - backed image, like a tenpin, between the andirons.
The chimney jambs and all the bricks inside were very sooty, so that I thought this fire - place made a very appropriate little shrine or chapel for his Congo idol.
I now screwed my eyes hard towards the half hidden image, feeling but ill at ease meantime--to see what was next to follow.
First he takes about a double handful of shavings out of his grego pocket, and places them carefully before the idol; then laying a bit of ship biscuit on top and applying the flame from the lamp, he kindled the shavings into a sacrificial blaze.
But the little devil did not seem to fancy such dry sort of fare at all; he never moved his lips.
All these strange antics were accompanied by still stranger guttural noises from the devotee, who seemed to be praying in a sing - song or else singing some pagan psalmody or other, during which his face twitched about in the most unnatural manner.
At last extinguishing the fire, he took the idol up very unceremoniously, and bagged it again in his grego pocket as carelessly as if he were a sportsman bagging a dead woodcock.
But the interval I spent in deliberating what to say, was a fatal one.
Taking up his tomahawk from the table, he examined the head of it for an instant, and then holding it to the light, with his mouth at the handle, he puffed out great clouds of tobacco smoke.
The next moment the light was extinguished, and this wild cannibal, tomahawk between his teeth, sprang into bed with me.
I sang out, I could not help it now; and giving a sudden grunt of astonishment he began feeling me.
Stammering out something, I knew not what, I rolled away from him against the wall, and then conjured him, whoever or whatever he might be, to keep quiet, and let me get up and light the lamp again.
But his guttural responses satisfied me at once that he but ill comprehended my meaning.
" Who - e debel you?"
-- he at last said --" you no speak - e, dam - me, I kill - e." And so saying the lighted tomahawk began flourishing about me in the dark.
" Landlord, for God's sake, Peter Coffin!"
shouted I.
" Landlord!
Watch!
Coffin!
Angels!
save me!"
" Speak - e!
tell - ee me who - ee be, or dam - me, I kill - e!"
again growled the cannibal, while his horrid flourishings of the tomahawk scattered the hot tobacco ashes about me till I thought my linen would get on fire.
But thank heaven, at that moment the landlord came into the room light in hand, and leaping from the bed I ran up to him.
" Don't be afraid now," said he, grinning again, " Queequeg here wouldn't harm a hair of your head."
" Stop your grinning," shouted I, " and why didn't you tell me that that infernal harpooneer was a cannibal?"
" I thought ye know'd it;-- didn't I tell ye, he was a peddlin'heads around town?-- but turn flukes again and go to sleep.
Queequeg, look here--you sabbee me, I sabbee--you this man sleepe you--you sabbee?"
" Me sabbee plenty "-- grunted Queequeg, puffing away at his pipe and sitting up in bed.
" You gettee in," he added, motioning to me with his tomahawk, and throwing the clothes to one side.
He really did this in not only a civil but a really kind and charitable way.
I stood looking at him a moment.
For all his tattooings he was on the whole a clean, comely looking cannibal.
What's all this fuss I have been making about, thought I to myself--the man's a human being just as I am: he has just as much reason to fear me, as I have to be afraid of him.
Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.
" Landlord," said I, " tell him to stash his tomahawk there, or pipe, or whatever you call it; tell him to stop smoking, in short, and I will turn in with him.
But I don't fancy having a man smoking in bed with me.
It's dangerous.
Besides, I ain't insured."
This being told to Queequeg, he at once complied, and again politely motioned me to get into bed--rolling over to one side as much as to say--I won't touch a leg of ye."
" Good night, landlord," said I, " you may go."
I turned in, and never slept better in my life.
CHAPTER 4
The Counterpane.
Upon waking next morning about daylight, I found Queequeg's arm thrown over me in the most loving and affectionate manner.
You had almost thought I had been his wife.
Indeed, partly lying on it as the arm did when I first awoke, I could hardly tell it from the quilt, they so blended their hues together; and it was only by the sense of weight and pressure that I could tell that Queequeg was hugging me.
My sensations were strange.
Let me try to explain them.
When I was a child, I well remember a somewhat similar circumstance that befell me; whether it was a reality or a dream, I never could entirely settle.
The circumstance was this.
I felt dreadfully.
But there was no help for it, so up stairs I went to my little room in the third floor, undressed myself as slowly as possible so as to kill time, and with a bitter sigh got between the sheets.
I lay there dismally calculating that sixteen entire hours must elapse before I could hope for a resurrection.
Sixteen hours in bed!
the small of my back ached to think of it.
And it was so light too; the sun shining in at the window, and a great rattling of coaches in the streets, and the sound of gay voices all over the house.
But she was the best and most conscientious of stepmothers, and back I had to go to my room.
For several hours I lay there broad awake, feeling a great deal worse than I have ever done since, even from the greatest subsequent misfortunes.
At last I must have fallen into a troubled nightmare of a doze; and slowly waking from it--half steeped in dreams--I opened my eyes, and the before sun - lit room was now wrapped in outer darkness.
Instantly I felt a shock running through all my frame; nothing was to be seen, and nothing was to be heard; but a supernatural hand seemed placed in mine.
My arm hung over the counterpane, and the nameless, unimaginable, silent form or phantom, to which the hand belonged, seemed closely seated by my bed - side.
For what seemed ages piled on ages, I lay there, frozen with the most awful fears, not daring to drag away my hand; yet ever thinking that if I could but stir it one single inch, the horrid spell would be broken.
I knew not how this consciousness at last glided away from me; but waking in the morning, I shudderingly remembered it all, and for days and weeks and months afterwards I lost myself in confounding attempts to explain the mystery.
Nay, to this very hour, I often puzzle myself with it.
Now, take away the awful fear, and my sensations at feeling the supernatural hand in mine were very similar, in their strangeness, to those which I experienced on waking up and seeing Queequeg's pagan arm thrown round me.
But at length all the past night's events soberly recurred, one by one, in fixed reality, and then I lay only alive to the comical predicament.
For though I tried to move his arm--unlock his bridegroom clasp--yet, sleeping as he was, he still hugged me tightly, as though naught but death should part us twain.
I now strove to rouse him --" Queequeg!"
-- but his only answer was a snore.
I then rolled over, my neck feeling as if it were in a horse - collar; and suddenly felt a slight scratch.
Throwing aside the counterpane, there lay the tomahawk sleeping by the savage's side, as if it were a hatchet - faced baby.
A pretty pickle, truly, thought I; abed here in a strange house in the broad day, with a cannibal and a tomahawk!
" Queequeg!-- in the name of goodness, Queequeg, wake!"
Meanwhile, I lay quietly eyeing him, having no serious misgivings now, and bent upon narrowly observing so curious a creature.
Thinks I, Queequeg, under the circumstances, this is a very civilized overture; but, the truth is, these savages have an innate sense of delicacy, say what you will; it is marvellous how essentially polite they are.
Nevertheless, a man like Queequeg you don't see every day, he and his ways were well worth unusual regarding.
He commenced dressing at top by donning his beaver hat, a very tall one, by the by, and then--still minus his trowsers--he hunted up his boots.
But Queequeg, do you see, was a creature in the transition stage--neither caterpillar nor butterfly.
He was just enough civilized to show off his outlandishness in the strangest possible manners.
His education was not yet completed.
He was an undergraduate.
If he had not been a small degree civilized, he very probably would not have troubled himself with boots at all; but then, if he had not been still a savage, he never would have dreamt of getting under the bed to put them on.
He complied, and then proceeded to wash himself.
At that time in the morning any Christian would have washed his face; but Queequeg, to my amazement, contented himself with restricting his ablutions to his chest, arms, and hands.
He then donned his waistcoat, and taking up a piece of hard soap on the wash - stand centre table, dipped it into water and commenced lathering his face.
Thinks I, Queequeg, this is using Rogers's best cutlery with a vengeance.
Afterwards I wondered the less at this operation when I came to know of what fine steel the head of a harpoon is made, and how exceedingly sharp the long straight edges are always kept.
The rest of his toilet was soon achieved, and he proudly marched out of the room, wrapped up in his great pilot monkey jacket, and sporting his harpoon like a marshal's baton.
CHAPTER 5
Breakfast.
I quickly followed suit, and descending into the bar - room accosted the grinning landlord very pleasantly.
I cherished no malice towards him, though he had been skylarking with me not a little in the matter of my bedfellow.
However, a good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather too scarce a good thing; the more's the pity.
So, if any one man, in his own proper person, afford stuff for a good joke to anybody, let him not be backward, but let him cheerfully allow himself to spend and be spent in that way.
And the man that has anything bountifully laughable about him, be sure there is more in that man than you perhaps think for.
The bar - room was now full of the boarders who had been dropping in the night previous, and whom I had not as yet had a good look at.
You could pretty plainly tell how long each one had been ashore.
This young fellow's healthy cheek is like a sun - toasted pear in hue, and would seem to smell almost as musky; he cannot have been three days landed from his Indian voyage.
That man next him looks a few shades lighter; you might say a touch of satin wood is in him.
In the complexion of a third still lingers a tropic tawn, but slightly bleached withal; HE doubtless has tarried whole weeks ashore.
But who could show a cheek like Queequeg?
which, barred with various tints, seemed like the Andes'western slope, to show forth in one array, contrasting climates, zone by zone.
" Grub, ho!"
now cried the landlord, flinging open a door, and in we went to breakfast.
They say that men who have seen the world, thereby become quite at ease in manner, quite self - possessed in company.
Not always, though: Ledyard, the great New England traveller, and Mungo Park, the Scotch one; of all men, they possessed the least assurance in the parlor.
Still, for the most part, that sort of thing is to be had anywhere.
These reflections just here are occasioned by the circumstance that after we were all seated at the table, and I was preparing to hear some good stories about whaling; to my no small surprise, nearly every man maintained a profound silence.
And not only that, but they looked embarrassed.
A curious sight; these bashful bears, these timid warrior whalemen!
But as for Queequeg--why, Queequeg sat there among them--at the head of the table, too, it so chanced; as cool as an icicle.
To be sure I cannot say much for his breeding.
His greatest admirer could not have cordially justified his bringing his harpoon into breakfast with him, and using it there without ceremony; reaching over the table with it, to the imminent jeopardy of many heads, and grappling the beefsteaks towards him.
But THAT was certainly very coolly done by him, and every one knows that in most people's estimation, to do anything coolly is to do it genteelly.
We will not speak of all Queequeg's peculiarities here; how he eschewed coffee and hot rolls, and applied his undivided attention to beefsteaks, done rare.
Enough, that when breakfast was over he withdrew like the rest into the public room, lighted his tomahawk - pipe, and was sitting there quietly digesting and smoking with his inseparable hat on, when I sallied out for a stroll.
CHAPTER 6
The Street.
If I had been astonished at first catching a glimpse of so outlandish an individual as Queequeg circulating among the polite society of a civilized town, that astonishment soon departed upon taking my first daylight stroll through the streets of New Bedford.
In thoroughfares nigh the docks, any considerable seaport will frequently offer to view the queerest looking nondescripts from foreign parts.
Even in Broadway and Chestnut streets, Mediterranean mariners will sometimes jostle the affrighted ladies.
Regent Street is not unknown to Lascars and Malays; and at Bombay, in the Apollo Green, live Yankees have often scared the natives.
But New Bedford beats all Water Street and Wapping.
In these last - mentioned haunts you see only sailors; but in New Bedford, actual cannibals stand chatting at street corners; savages outright; many of whom yet carry on their bones unholy flesh.
It makes a stranger stare.
But, besides the Feegeeans, Tongatobooarrs, Erromanggoans, Pannangians, and Brighggians, and, besides the wild specimens of the whaling - craft which unheeded reel about the streets, you will see other sights still more curious, certainly more comical.
There weekly arrive in this town scores of green Vermonters and New Hampshire men, all athirst for gain and glory in the fishery.
They are mostly young, of stalwart frames; fellows who have felled forests, and now seek to drop the axe and snatch the whale - lance.
Many are as green as the Green Mountains whence they came.
In some things you would think them but a few hours old.
Look there!
that chap strutting round the corner.
He wears a beaver hat and swallow - tailed coat, girdled with a sailor - belt and sheath - knife.
Here comes another with a sou '- wester and a bombazine cloak.
No town - bred dandy will compare with a country - bred one--I mean a downright bumpkin dandy--a fellow that, in the dog - days, will mow his two acres in buckskin gloves for fear of tanning his hands.
Now when a country dandy like this takes it into his head to make a distinguished reputation, and joins the great whale - fishery, you should see the comical things he does upon reaching the seaport.
In bespeaking his sea - outfit, he orders bell - buttons to his waistcoats; straps to his canvas trowsers.
Ah, poor Hay - Seed!
how bitterly will burst those straps in the first howling gale, when thou art driven, straps, buttons, and all, down the throat of the tempest.
But think not that this famous town has only harpooneers, cannibals, and bumpkins to show her visitors.
Not at all.
Still New Bedford is a queer place.
Had it not been for us whalemen, that tract of land would this day perhaps have been in as howling condition as the coast of Labrador.
As it is, parts of her back country are enough to frighten one, they look so bony.
The town itself is perhaps the dearest place to live in, in all New England.
It is a land of oil, true enough: but not like Canaan; a land, also, of corn and wine.
The streets do not run with milk; nor in the spring - time do they pave them with fresh eggs.
Yet, in spite of this, nowhere in all America will you find more patrician - like houses; parks and gardens more opulent, than in New Bedford.
Whence came they?
how planted upon this once scraggy scoria of a country?
Go and gaze upon the iron emblematical harpoons round yonder lofty mansion, and your question will be answered.
Yes; all these brave houses and flowery gardens came from the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans.
One and all, they were harpooned and dragged up hither from the bottom of the sea.
Can Herr Alexander perform a feat like that?
In New Bedford, fathers, they say, give whales for dowers to their daughters, and portion off their nieces with a few porpoises a - piece.
You must go to New Bedford to see a brilliant wedding; for, they say, they have reservoirs of oil in every house, and every night recklessly burn their lengths in spermaceti candles.
In summer time, the town is sweet to see; full of fine maples--long avenues of green and gold.
And in August, high in air, the beautiful and bountiful horse - chestnuts, candelabra - wise, proffer the passer - by their tapering upright cones of congregated blossoms.
So omnipotent is art; which in many a district of New Bedford has superinduced bright terraces of flowers upon the barren refuse rocks thrown aside at creation's final day.
And the women of New Bedford, they bloom like their own red roses.
But roses only bloom in summer; whereas the fine carnation of their cheeks is perennial as sunlight in the seventh heavens.
Elsewhere match that bloom of theirs, ye cannot, save in Salem, where they tell me the young girls breathe such musk, their sailor sweethearts smell them miles off shore, as though they were drawing nigh the odorous Moluccas instead of the Puritanic sands.
CHAPTER 7
The Chapel.
In this same New Bedford there stands a Whaleman's Chapel, and few are the moody fishermen, shortly bound for the Indian Ocean or Pacific, who fail to make a Sunday visit to the spot.
I am sure that I did not.
Returning from my first morning stroll, I again sallied out upon this special errand.
The sky had changed from clear, sunny cold, to driving sleet and mist.
Wrapping myself in my shaggy jacket of the cloth called bearskin, I fought my way against the stubborn storm.
Entering, I found a small scattered congregation of sailors, and sailors'wives and widows.
A muffled silence reigned, only broken at times by the shrieks of the storm.
Each silent worshipper seemed purposely sitting apart from the other, as if each silent grief were insular and incommunicable.
The chaplain had not yet arrived; and there these silent islands of men and women sat steadfastly eyeing several marble tablets, with black borders, masoned into the wall on either side the pulpit.
Three of them ran something like the following, but I do not pretend to quote:--
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN TALBOT, Who, at the age of eighteen, was lost overboard, Near the Isle of Desolation, off Patagonia, November 1st, 1836.
THIS TABLET Is erected to his Memory BY HIS SISTER.
_____________
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF ROBERT LONG, WILLIS ELLERY, NATHAN COLEMAN, WALTER CANNY, SETH MACY, AND SAMUEL GLEIG, Forming one of the boats'crews OF THE SHIP ELIZA Who were towed out of sight by a Whale, On the Off - shore Ground in the PACIFIC, December 31st, 1839.
THIS MARBLE Is here placed by their surviving SHIPMATES.
_____________
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF The late CAPTAIN EZEKIEL HARDY, Who in the bows of his boat was killed by a Sperm Whale on the coast of Japan, AUGUST 3d, 1833.
THIS TABLET Is erected to his Memory BY HIS WIDOW.
Shaking off the sleet from my ice - glazed hat and jacket, I seated myself near the door, and turning sideways was surprised to see Queequeg near me.
Affected by the solemnity of the scene, there was a wondering gaze of incredulous curiosity in his countenance.
This savage was the only person present who seemed to notice my entrance; because he was the only one who could not read, and, therefore, was not reading those frigid inscriptions on the wall.
Oh!
ye whose dead lie buried beneath the green grass; who standing among flowers can say--here, HERE lies my beloved; ye know not the desolation that broods in bosoms like these.
What bitter blanks in those black - bordered marbles which cover no ashes!
What despair in those immovable inscriptions!
What deadly voids and unbidden infidelities in the lines that seem to gnaw upon all Faith, and refuse resurrections to the beings who have placelessly perished without a grave.
As well might those tablets stand in the cave of Elephanta as here.
All these things are not without their meanings.
But Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts she gathers her most vital hope.
It needs scarcely to be told, with what feelings, on the eve of a Nantucket voyage, I regarded those marble tablets, and by the murky light of that darkened, doleful day read the fate of the whalemen who had gone before me.
Yes, Ishmael, the same fate may be thine.
But somehow I grew merry again.
Delightful inducements to embark, fine chance for promotion, it seems--aye, a stove boat will make me an immortal by brevet.
Yes, there is death in this business of whaling--a speechlessly quick chaotic bundling of a man into Eternity.
But what then?
Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of Life and Death.
Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance.
Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air.
Methinks my body is but the lees of my better being.
In fact take my body who will, take it I say, it is not me.
And therefore three cheers for Nantucket; and come a stove boat and stove body when they will, for stave my soul, Jove himself cannot.
CHAPTER 8
The Pulpit.
I had not been seated very long ere a man of a certain venerable robustness entered; immediately as the storm - pelted door flew back upon admitting him, a quick regardful eyeing of him by all the congregation, sufficiently attested that this fine old man was the chaplain.
Yes, it was the famous Father Mapple, so called by the whalemen, among whom he was a very great favourite.
He had been a sailor and a harpooneer in his youth, but for many years past had dedicated his life to the ministry.
No one having previously heard his history, could for the first time behold Father Mapple without the utmost interest, because there were certain engrafted clerical peculiarities about him, imputable to that adventurous maritime life he had led.
When he entered I observed that he carried no umbrella, and certainly had not come in his carriage, for his tarpaulin hat ran down with melting sleet, and his great pilot cloth jacket seemed almost to drag him to the floor with the weight of the water it had absorbed.
However, hat and coat and overshoes were one by one removed, and hung up in a little space in an adjacent corner; when, arrayed in a decent suit, he quietly approached the pulpit.
The perpendicular parts of this side ladder, as is usually the case with swinging ones, were of cloth - covered rope, only the rounds were of wood, so that at every step there was a joint.
At my first glimpse of the pulpit, it had not escaped me that however convenient for a ship, these joints in the present instance seemed unnecessary.
For I was not prepared to see Father Mapple after gaining the height, slowly turn round, and stooping over the pulpit, deliberately drag up the ladder step by step, till the whole was deposited within, leaving him impregnable in his little Quebec.
I pondered some time without fully comprehending the reason for this.
Father Mapple enjoyed such a wide reputation for sincerity and sanctity, that I could not suspect him of courting notoriety by any mere tricks of the stage.
No, thought I, there must be some sober reason for this thing; furthermore, it must symbolize something unseen.
Can it be, then, that by that act of physical isolation, he signifies his spiritual withdrawal for the time, from all outward worldly ties and connexions?
Yes, for replenished with the meat and wine of the word, to the faithful man of God, this pulpit, I see, is a self - containing stronghold--a lofty Ehrenbreitstein, with a perennial well of water within the walls.
But the side ladder was not the only strange feature of the place, borrowed from the chaplain's former sea - farings.
Between the marble cenotaphs on either hand of the pulpit, the wall which formed its back was adorned with a large painting representing a gallant ship beating against a terrible storm off a lee coast of black rocks and snowy breakers.
" Ah, noble ship," the angel seemed to say, " beat on, beat on, thou noble ship, and bear a hardy helm; for lo!
the sun is breaking through; the clouds are rolling off--serenest azure is at hand."
Nor was the pulpit itself without a trace of the same sea - taste that had achieved the ladder and the picture.
Its panelled front was in the likeness of a ship's bluff bows, and the Holy Bible rested on a projecting piece of scroll work, fashioned after a ship's fiddle - headed beak.
What could be more full of meaning?-- for the pulpit is ever this earth's foremost part; all the rest comes in its rear; the pulpit leads the world.
From thence it is the storm of God's quick wrath is first descried, and the bow must bear the earliest brunt.
From thence it is the God of breezes fair or foul is first invoked for favourable winds.
Yes, the world's a ship on its passage out, and not a voyage complete; and the pulpit is its prow.
CHAPTER 9
The Sermon.
Father Mapple rose, and in a mild voice of unassuming authority ordered the scattered people to condense.
" Starboard gangway, there!
side away to larboard--larboard gangway to starboard!
Midships!
midships!"
There was a low rumbling of heavy sea - boots among the benches, and a still slighter shuffling of women's shoes, and all was quiet again, and every eye on the preacher.
He paused a little; then kneeling in the pulpit's bows, folded his large brown hands across his chest, uplifted his closed eyes, and offered a prayer so deeply devout that he seemed kneeling and praying at the bottom of the sea.
" The ribs and terrors in the whale, Arched over me a dismal gloom, While all God's sun - lit waves rolled by, And lift me deepening down to doom.
" I saw the opening maw of hell, With endless pains and sorrows there; Which none but they that feel can tell--Oh, I was plunging to despair.
" In black distress, I called my God, When I could scarce believe him mine, He bowed his ear to my complaints--No more the whale did me confine.
" With speed he flew to my relief, As on a radiant dolphin borne; Awful, yet bright, as lightning shone The face of my Deliverer God.
" My song for ever shall record That terrible, that joyful hour; I give the glory to my God, His all the mercy and the power.
Nearly all joined in singing this hymn, which swelled high above the howling of the storm.
" Shipmates, this book, containing only four chapters--four yarns--is one of the smallest strands in the mighty cable of the Scriptures.
Yet what depths of the soul does Jonah's deep sealine sound!
what a pregnant lesson to us is this prophet!
What a noble thing is that canticle in the fish's belly!
How billow - like and boisterously grand!
We feel the floods surging over us; we sound with him to the kelpy bottom of the waters; sea - weed and all the slime of the sea is about us!
But WHAT is this lesson that the book of Jonah teaches?
Shipmates, it is a two - stranded lesson; a lesson to us all as sinful men, and a lesson to me as a pilot of the living God.
As sinful men, it is a lesson to us all, because it is a story of the sin, hard - heartedness, suddenly awakened fears, the swift punishment, repentance, prayers, and finally the deliverance and joy of Jonah.
As with all sinners among men, the sin of this son of Amittai was in his wilful disobedience of the command of God--never mind now what that command was, or how conveyed--which he found a hard command.
But all the things that God would have us do are hard for us to do--remember that--and hence, he oftener commands us than endeavors to persuade.
And if we obey God, we must disobey ourselves; and it is in this disobeying ourselves, wherein the hardness of obeying God consists.
" With this sin of disobedience in him, Jonah still further flouts at God, by seeking to flee from Him.
He thinks that a ship made by men will carry him into countries where God does not reign, but only the Captains of this earth.
He skulks about the wharves of Joppa, and seeks a ship that's bound for Tarshish.
There lurks, perhaps, a hitherto unheeded meaning here.
By all accounts Tarshish could have been no other city than the modern Cadiz.
That's the opinion of learned men.
And where is Cadiz, shipmates?
Cadiz is in Spain; as far by water, from Joppa, as Jonah could possibly have sailed in those ancient days, when the Atlantic was an almost unknown sea.
Because Joppa, the modern Jaffa, shipmates, is on the most easterly coast of the Mediterranean, the Syrian; and Tarshish or Cadiz more than two thousand miles to the westward from that, just outside the Straits of Gibraltar.
See ye not then, shipmates, that Jonah sought to flee world - wide from God?
Miserable man!
Oh!
most contemptible and worthy of all scorn; with slouched hat and guilty eye, skulking from his God; prowling among the shipping like a vile burglar hastening to cross the seas.
So disordered, self - condemning is his look, that had there been policemen in those days, Jonah, on the mere suspicion of something wrong, had been arrested ere he touched a deck.
How plainly he's a fugitive!
no baggage, not a hat - box, valise, or carpet - bag,-- no friends accompany him to the wharf with their adieux.
At last, after much dodging search, he finds the Tarshish ship receiving the last items of her cargo; and as he steps on board to see its Captain in the cabin, all the sailors for the moment desist from hoisting in the goods, to mark the stranger's evil eye.
Jonah sees this; but in vain he tries to look all ease and confidence; in vain essays his wretched smile.
Strong intuitions of the man assure the mariners he can be no innocent.
In their gamesome but still serious way, one whispers to the other --" Jack, he's robbed a widow;" or, " Joe, do you mark him; he's a bigamist;" or, " Harry lad, I guess he's the adulterer that broke jail in old Gomorrah, or belike, one of the missing murderers from Sodom."
Another runs to read the bill that's stuck against the spile upon the wharf to which the ship is moored, offering five hundred gold coins for the apprehension of a parricide, and containing a description of his person.
He reads, and looks from Jonah to the bill; while all his sympathetic shipmates now crowd round Jonah, prepared to lay their hands upon him.
Frighted Jonah trembles, and summoning all his boldness to his face, only looks so much the more a coward.
He will not confess himself suspected; but that itself is strong suspicion.
So he makes the best of it; and when the sailors find him not to be the man that is advertised, they let him pass, and he descends into the cabin.
' Who's there?'
cries the Captain at his busy desk, hurriedly making out his papers for the Customs --' Who's there?'
Oh!
how that harmless question mangles Jonah!
For the instant he almost turns to flee again.
But he rallies.
' I seek a passage in this ship to Tarshish; how soon sail ye, sir?'
Thus far the busy Captain had not looked up to Jonah, though the man now stands before him; but no sooner does he hear that hollow voice, than he darts a scrutinizing glance.
' We sail with the next coming tide,' at last he slowly answered, still intently eyeing him.
' No sooner, sir?'
--' Soon enough for any honest man that goes a passenger.'
Ha!
Jonah, that's another stab.
But he swiftly calls away the Captain from that scent.
' I'll sail with ye,'-- he says,--' the passage money how much is that?-- I'll pay now.'
For it is particularly written, shipmates, as if it were a thing not to be overlooked in this history,'that he paid the fare thereof'ere the craft did sail.
And taken with the context, this is full of meaning.
" Now Jonah's Captain, shipmates, was one whose discernment detects crime in any, but whose cupidity exposes it only in the penniless.
In this world, shipmates, sin that pays its way can travel freely, and without a passport; whereas Virtue, if a pauper, is stopped at all frontiers.
So Jonah's Captain prepares to test the length of Jonah's purse, ere he judge him openly.
He charges him thrice the usual sum; and it's assented to.
Then the Captain knows that Jonah is a fugitive; but at the same time resolves to help a flight that paves its rear with gold.
Yet when Jonah fairly takes out his purse, prudent suspicions still molest the Captain.
He rings every coin to find a counterfeit.
Not a forger, any way, he mutters; and Jonah is put down for his passage.
' Point out my state - room, Sir,' says Jonah now,'I'm travel - weary; I need sleep.'
' Thou lookest like it,' says the Captain,'there's thy room.'
Jonah enters, and would lock the door, but the lock contains no key.
Hearing him foolishly fumbling there, the Captain laughs lowly to himself, and mutters something about the doors of convicts'cells being never allowed to be locked within.
All dressed and dusty as he is, Jonah throws himself into his berth, and finds the little state - room ceiling almost resting on his forehead.
The air is close, and Jonah gasps.
Then, in that contracted hole, sunk, too, beneath the ship's water - line, Jonah feels the heralding presentiment of that stifling hour, when the whale shall hold him in the smallest of his bowels'wards.
The lamp alarms and frightens Jonah; as lying in his berth his tormented eyes roll round the place, and this thus far successful fugitive finds no refuge for his restless glance.
But that contradiction in the lamp more and more appals him.
The floor, the ceiling, and the side, are all awry.
' Oh!
so my conscience hangs in me!'
he groans,'straight upwards, so it burns; but the chambers of my soul are all in crookedness!'
" And now the time of tide has come; the ship casts off her cables; and from the deserted wharf the uncheered ship for Tarshish, all careening, glides to sea.
That ship, my friends, was the first of recorded smugglers!
the contraband was Jonah.
But the sea rebels; he will not bear the wicked burden.
A dreadful storm comes on, the ship is like to break.
He sees no black sky and raging sea, feels not the reeling timbers, and little hears he or heeds he the far rush of the mighty whale, which even now with open mouth is cleaving the seas after him.
Aye, shipmates, Jonah was gone down into the sides of the ship--a berth in the cabin as I have taken it, and was fast asleep.
But the frightened master comes to him, and shrieks in his dead ear,'What meanest thou, O, sleeper!
arise!'
Startled from his lethargy by that direful cry, Jonah staggers to his feet, and stumbling to the deck, grasps a shroud, to look out upon the sea.
But at that moment he is sprung upon by a panther billow leaping over the bulwarks.
Wave after wave thus leaps into the ship, and finding no speedy vent runs roaring fore and aft, till the mariners come nigh to drowning while yet afloat.
And ever, as the white moon shows her affrighted face from the steep gullies in the blackness overhead, aghast Jonah sees the rearing bowsprit pointing high upward, but soon beat downward again towards the tormented deep.
" Terrors upon terrors run shouting through his soul.
In all his cringing attitudes, the God - fugitive is now too plainly known.
The sailors mark him; more and more certain grow their suspicions of him, and at last, fully to test the truth, by referring the whole matter to high Heaven, they fall to casting lots, to see for whose cause this great tempest was upon them.
The lot is Jonah's; that discovered, then how furiously they mob him with their questions.
' What is thine occupation?
Whence comest thou?
Thy country?
What people?
But mark now, my shipmates, the behavior of poor Jonah.
The eager mariners but ask him who he is, and where from; whereas, they not only receive an answer to those questions, but likewise another answer to a question not put by them, but the unsolicited answer is forced from Jonah by the hard hand of God that is upon him.
' I am a Hebrew,' he cries--and then --' I fear the Lord the God of Heaven who hath made the sea and the dry land!'
Fear him, O Jonah?
Aye, well mightest thou fear the Lord God THEN!
Straightway, he now goes on to make a full confession; whereupon the mariners became more and more appalled, but still are pitiful.
But all in vain; the indignant gale howls louder; then, with one hand raised invokingly to God, with the other they not unreluctantly lay hold of Jonah.
" And now behold Jonah taken up as an anchor and dropped into the sea; when instantly an oily calmness floats out from the east, and the sea is still, as Jonah carries down the gale with him, leaving smooth water behind.
He goes down in the whirling heart of such a masterless commotion that he scarce heeds the moment when he drops seething into the yawning jaws awaiting him; and the whale shoots - to all his ivory teeth, like so many white bolts, upon his prison.
Then Jonah prayed unto the Lord out of the fish's belly.
But observe his prayer, and learn a weighty lesson.
For sinful as he is, Jonah does not weep and wail for direct deliverance.
He feels that his dreadful punishment is just.
He leaves all his deliverance to God, contenting himself with this, that spite of all his pains and pangs, he will still look towards His holy temple.
And here, shipmates, is true and faithful repentance; not clamorous for pardon, but grateful for punishment.
And how pleasing to God was this conduct in Jonah, is shown in the eventual deliverance of him from the sea and the whale.
Shipmates, I do not place Jonah before you to be copied for his sin but I do place him before you as a model for repentance.
Sin not; but if you do, take heed to repent of it like Jonah."
While he was speaking these words, the howling of the shrieking, slanting storm without seemed to add new power to the preacher, who, when describing Jonah's sea - storm, seemed tossed by a storm himself.
There now came a lull in his look, as he silently turned over the leaves of the Book once more; and, at last, standing motionless, with closed eyes, for the moment, seemed communing with God and himself.
But again he leaned over towards the people, and bowing his head lowly, with an aspect of the deepest yet manliest humility, he spake these words:
" Shipmates, God has laid but one hand upon you; both his hands press upon me.
I have read ye by what murky light may be mine the lesson that Jonah teaches to all sinners; and therefore to ye, and still more to me, for I am a greater sinner than ye.
And now how gladly would I come down from this mast - head and sit on the hatches there where you sit, and listen as you listen, while some one of you reads ME that other and more awful lesson which Jonah teaches to ME, as a pilot of the living God.
But God is everywhere; Tarshish he never reached.
Yet even then beyond the reach of any plummet --' out of the belly of hell '-- when the whale grounded upon the ocean's utmost bones, even then, God heard the engulphed, repenting prophet when he cried.
And what was that, shipmates?
To preach the Truth to the face of Falsehood!
That was it!
" This, shipmates, this is that other lesson; and woe to that pilot of the living God who slights it.
Woe to him whom this world charms from Gospel duty!
Woe to him who seeks to pour oil upon the waters when God has brewed them into a gale!
Woe to him who seeks to please rather than to appal!
Woe to him whose good name is more to him than goodness!
Woe to him who, in this world, courts not dishonour!
Woe to him who would not be true, even though to be false were salvation!
Yea, woe to him who, as the great Pilot Paul has it, while preaching to others is himself a castaway!"
He dropped and fell away from himself for a moment; then lifting his face to them again, showed a deep joy in his eyes, as he cried out with a heavenly enthusiasm,--" But oh!
shipmates!
on the starboard hand of every woe, there is a sure delight; and higher the top of that delight, than the bottom of the woe is deep.
Is not the main - truck higher than the kelson is low?
Delight is to him--a far, far upward, and inward delight--who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
Delight is to him whose strong arms yet support him, when the ship of this base treacherous world has gone down beneath him.
Delight is to him, who gives no quarter in the truth, and kills, burns, and destroys all sin though he pluck it out from under the robes of Senators and Judges.
Delight,-- top - gallant delight is to him, who acknowledges no law or lord, but the Lord his God, and is only a patriot to heaven.
Delight is to him, whom all the waves of the billows of the seas of the boisterous mob can never shake from this sure Keel of the Ages.
And eternal delight and deliciousness will be his, who coming to lay him down, can say with his final breath--O Father!-- chiefly known to me by Thy rod--mortal or immortal, here I die.
I have striven to be Thine, more than to be this world's, or mine own.
Yet this is nothing: I leave eternity to Thee; for what is man that he should live out the lifetime of his God?"
He said no more, but slowly waving a benediction, covered his face with his hands, and so remained kneeling, till all the people had departed, and he was left alone in the place.
CHAPTER 10
A Bosom Friend.
Returning to the Spouter - Inn from the Chapel, I found Queequeg there quite alone; he having left the Chapel before the benediction some time.
He would then begin again at the next fifty; seeming to commence at number one each time, as though he could not count more than fifty, and it was only by such a large number of fifties being found together, that his astonishment at the multitude of pages was excited.
With much interest I sat watching him.
Savage though he was, and hideously marred about the face--at least to my taste--his countenance yet had a something in it which was by no means disagreeable.
You cannot hide the soul.
Through all his unearthly tattooings, I thought I saw the traces of a simple honest heart; and in his large, deep eyes, fiery black and bold, there seemed tokens of a spirit that would dare a thousand devils.
And besides all this, there was a certain lofty bearing about the Pagan, which even his uncouthness could not altogether maim.
He looked like a man who had never cringed and never had had a creditor.
Whether it was, too, that his head being shaved, his forehead was drawn out in freer and brighter relief, and looked more expansive than it otherwise would, this I will not venture to decide; but certain it was his head was phrenologically an excellent one.
It may seem ridiculous, but it reminded me of General Washington's head, as seen in the popular busts of him.
It had the same long regularly graded retreating slope from above the brows, which were likewise very projecting, like two long promontories thickly wooded on top.
Queequeg was George Washington cannibalistically developed.
Considering how sociably we had been sleeping together the night previous, and especially considering the affectionate arm I had found thrown over me upon waking in the morning, I thought this indifference of his very strange.
But savages are strange beings; at times you do not know exactly how to take them.
At first they are overawing; their calm self - collectedness of simplicity seems a Socratic wisdom.
I had noticed also that Queequeg never consorted at all, or but very little, with the other seamen in the inn.
He made no advances whatever; appeared to have no desire to enlarge the circle of his acquaintances.
All this struck me as mighty singular; yet, upon second thoughts, there was something almost sublime in it.
Surely this was a touch of fine philosophy; though no doubt he had never heard there was such a thing as that.
But, perhaps, to be true philosophers, we mortals should not be conscious of so living or so striving.
So soon as I hear that such or such a man gives himself out for a philosopher, I conclude that, like the dyspeptic old woman, he must have " broken his digester."
I felt a melting in me.
No more my splintered heart and maddened hand were turned against the wolfish world.
This soothing savage had redeemed it.
There he sat, his very indifference speaking a nature in which there lurked no civilized hypocrisies and bland deceits.
Wild he was; a very sight of sights to see; yet I began to feel myself mysteriously drawn towards him.
And those same things that would have repelled most others, they were the very magnets that thus drew me.
I'll try a pagan friend, thought I, since Christian kindness has proved but hollow courtesy.
I drew my bench near him, and made some friendly signs and hints, doing my best to talk with him meanwhile.
At first he little noticed these advances; but presently, upon my referring to his last night's hospitalities, he made out to ask me whether we were again to be bedfellows.
I told him yes; whereat I thought he looked pleased, perhaps a little complimented.
We then turned over the book together, and I endeavored to explain to him the purpose of the printing, and the meaning of the few pictures that were in it.
Thus I soon engaged his interest; and from that we went to jabbering the best we could about the various outer sights to be seen in this famous town.
Soon I proposed a social smoke; and, producing his pouch and tomahawk, he quietly offered me a puff.
And then we sat exchanging puffs from that wild pipe of his, and keeping it regularly passing between us.
If there yet lurked any ice of indifference towards me in the Pagan's breast, this pleasant, genial smoke we had, soon thawed it out, and left us cronies.
In a countryman, this sudden flame of friendship would have seemed far too premature, a thing to be much distrusted; but in this simple savage those old rules would not apply.
After supper, and another social chat and smoke, we went to our room together.
I was going to remonstrate; but he silenced me by pouring them into my trowsers'pockets.
I let them stay.
He then went about his evening prayers, took out his idol, and removed the paper fireboard.
By certain signs and symptoms, I thought he seemed anxious for me to join him; but well knowing what was to follow, I deliberated a moment whether, in case he invited me, I would comply or otherwise.
I was a good Christian; born and bred in the bosom of the infallible Presbyterian Church.
How then could I unite with this wild idolator in worshipping his piece of wood?
But what is worship?
thought I.
Do you suppose now, Ishmael, that the magnanimous God of heaven and earth--pagans and all included--can possibly be jealous of an insignificant bit of black wood?
Impossible!
But what is worship?-- to do the will of God--THAT is worship.
And what is the will of God?-- to do to my fellow man what I would have my fellow man to do to me--THAT is the will of God.
Now, Queequeg is my fellow man.
And what do I wish that this Queequeg would do to me?
Why, unite with me in my particular Presbyterian form of worship.
Consequently, I must then unite with him in his; ergo, I must turn idolator.
So I kindled the shavings; helped prop up the innocent little idol; offered him burnt biscuit with Queequeg; salamed before him twice or thrice; kissed his nose; and that done, we undressed and went to bed, at peace with our own consciences and all the world.
But we did not go to sleep without some little chat.
How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends.
Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning.
Thus, then, in our hearts'honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg--a cosy, loving pair.
CHAPTER 11
Nightgown.
We felt very nice and snug, the more so since it was so chilly out of doors; indeed out of bed - clothes too, seeing that there was no fire in the room.
The more so, I say, because truly to enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you must be cold, for there is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by contrast.
Nothing exists in itself.
If you flatter yourself that you are all over comfortable, and have been so a long time, then you cannot be said to be comfortable any more.
But if, like Queequeg and me in the bed, the tip of your nose or the crown of your head be slightly chilled, why then, indeed, in the general consciousness you feel most delightfully and unmistakably warm.
For this reason a sleeping apartment should never be furnished with a fire, which is one of the luxurious discomforts of the rich.
For the height of this sort of deliciousness is to have nothing but the blanket between you and your snugness and the cold of the outer air.
Then there you lie like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal.
Because no man can ever feel his own identity aright except his eyes be closed; as if darkness were indeed the proper element of our essences, though light be more congenial to our clayey part.
Upon opening my eyes then, and coming out of my own pleasant and self - created darkness into the imposed and coarse outer gloom of the unilluminated twelve - o'clock - at - night, I experienced a disagreeable revulsion.
Nor did I at all object to the hint from Queequeg that perhaps it were best to strike a light, seeing that we were so wide awake; and besides he felt a strong desire to have a few quiet puffs from his Tomahawk.
Be it said, that though I had felt such a strong repugnance to his smoking in the bed the night before, yet see how elastic our stiff prejudices grow when love once comes to bend them.
For now I liked nothing better than to have Queequeg smoking by me, even in bed, because he seemed to be full of such serene household joy then.
I no more felt unduly concerned for the landlord's policy of insurance.
I was only alive to the condensed confidential comfortableness of sharing a pipe and a blanket with a real friend.
With our shaggy jackets drawn about our shoulders, we now passed the Tomahawk from one to the other, till slowly there grew over us a blue hanging tester of smoke, illuminated by the flame of the new - lit lamp.
Whether it was that this undulating tester rolled the savage away to far distant scenes, I know not, but he now spoke of his native island; and, eager to hear his history, I begged him to go on and tell it.
He gladly complied.
Though at the time I but ill comprehended not a few of his words, yet subsequent disclosures, when I had become more familiar with his broken phraseology, now enable me to present the whole story such as it may prove in the mere skeleton I give.
CHAPTER 12
Biographical.
Queequeg was a native of Rokovoko, an island far away to the West and South.
It is not down in any map; true places never are.
His father was a High Chief, a King; his uncle a High Priest; and on the maternal side he boasted aunts who were the wives of unconquerable warriors.
There was excellent blood in his veins--royal stuff; though sadly vitiated, I fear, by the cannibal propensity he nourished in his untutored youth.
A Sag Harbor ship visited his father's bay, and Queequeg sought a passage to Christian lands.
But the ship, having her full complement of seamen, spurned his suit; and not all the King his father's influence could prevail.
But Queequeg vowed a vow.
Alone in his canoe, he paddled off to a distant strait, which he knew the ship must pass through when she quitted the island.
On one side was a coral reef; on the other a low tongue of land, covered with mangrove thickets that grew out into the water.
In vain the captain threatened to throw him overboard; suspended a cutlass over his naked wrists; Queequeg was the son of a King, and Queequeg budged not.
Struck by his desperate dauntlessness, and his wild desire to visit Christendom, the captain at last relented, and told him he might make himself at home.
But this fine young savage--this sea Prince of Wales, never saw the Captain's cabin.
They put him down among the sailors, and made a whaleman of him.
But like Czar Peter content to toil in the shipyards of foreign cities, Queequeg disdained no seeming ignominy, if thereby he might happily gain the power of enlightening his untutored countrymen.
For at bottom--so he told me--he was actuated by a profound desire to learn among the Christians, the arts whereby to make his people still happier than they were; and more than that, still better than they were.
But, alas!
the practices of whalemen soon convinced him that even Christians could be both miserable and wicked; infinitely more so, than all his father's heathens.
Arrived at last in old Sag Harbor; and seeing what the sailors did there; and then going on to Nantucket, and seeing how they spent their wages in that place also, poor Queequeg gave it up for lost.
Thought he, it's a wicked world in all meridians; I'll die a pagan.
And thus an old idolator at heart, he yet lived among these Christians, wore their clothes, and tried to talk their gibberish.
Hence the queer ways about him, though now some time from home.
By hints, I asked him whether he did not propose going back, and having a coronation; since he might now consider his father dead and gone, he being very old and feeble at the last accounts.
He answered no, not yet; and added that he was fearful Christianity, or rather Christians, had unfitted him for ascending the pure and undefiled throne of thirty pagan Kings before him.
But by and by, he said, he would return,-- as soon as he felt himself baptized again.
For the nonce, however, he proposed to sail about, and sow his wild oats in all four oceans.
They had made a harpooneer of him, and that barbed iron was in lieu of a sceptre now.
I asked him what might be his immediate purpose, touching his future movements.
He answered, to go to sea again, in his old vocation.
Upon this, I told him that whaling was my own design, and informed him of my intention to sail out of Nantucket, as being the most promising port for an adventurous whaleman to embark from.
He at once resolved to accompany me to that island, ship aboard the same vessel, get into the same watch, the same boat, the same mess with me, in short to share my every hap; with both my hands in his, boldly dip into the Potluck of both worlds.
His story being ended with his pipe's last dying puff, Queequeg embraced me, pressed his forehead against mine, and blowing out the light, we rolled over from each other, this way and that, and very soon were sleeping.
CHAPTER 13
Wheelbarrow.
Next morning, Monday, after disposing of the embalmed head to a barber, for a block, I settled my own and comrade's bill; using, however, my comrade's money.
We borrowed a wheelbarrow, and embarking our things, including my own poor carpet - bag, and Queequeg's canvas sack and hammock, away we went down to " the Moss," the little Nantucket packet schooner moored at the wharf.
As we were going along the people stared; not at Queequeg so much--for they were used to seeing cannibals like him in their streets,-- but at seeing him and me upon such confidential terms.
But we heeded them not, going along wheeling the barrow by turns, and Queequeg now and then stopping to adjust the sheath on his harpoon barbs.
I asked him why he carried such a troublesome thing with him ashore, and whether all whaling ships did not find their own harpoons.
To this, in substance, he replied, that though what I hinted was true enough, yet he had a particular affection for his own harpoon, because it was of assured stuff, well tried in many a mortal combat, and deeply intimate with the hearts of whales.
In short, like many inland reapers and mowers, who go into the farmers'meadows armed with their own scythes--though in no wise obliged to furnish them--even so, Queequeg, for his own private reasons, preferred his own harpoon.
Shifting the barrow from my hand to his, he told me a funny story about the first wheelbarrow he had ever seen.
It was in Sag Harbor.
The owners of his ship, it seems, had lent him one, in which to carry his heavy chest to his boarding house.
Not to seem ignorant about the thing--though in truth he was entirely so, concerning the precise way in which to manage the barrow--Queequeg puts his chest upon it; lashes it fast; and then shoulders the barrow and marches up the wharf.
" Why," said I, " Queequeg, you might have known better than that, one would think.
Didn't the people laugh?"
Upon this, he told me another story.
The people of his island of Rokovoko, it seems, at their wedding feasts express the fragrant water of young cocoanuts into a large stained calabash like a punchbowl; and this punchbowl always forms the great central ornament on the braided mat where the feast is held.
Well; when all the wedding guests were assembled at the bride's bamboo cottage, this Captain marches in, and being assigned the post of honour, placed himself over against the punchbowl, and between the High Priest and his majesty the King, Queequeg's father.
" Now," said Queequeg, " what you tink now?-- Didn't our people laugh?"
At last, passage paid, and luggage safe, we stood on board the schooner.
Hoisting sail, it glided down the Acushnet river.
On one side, New Bedford rose in terraces of streets, their ice - covered trees all glittering in the clear, cold air.
Such is the endlessness, yea, the intolerableness of all earthly effort.
Gaining the more open water, the bracing breeze waxed fresh; the little Moss tossed the quick foam from her bows, as a young colt his snortings.
How I snuffed that Tartar air!-- how I spurned that turnpike earth!-- that common highway all over dented with the marks of slavish heels and hoofs; and turned me to admire the magnanimity of the sea which will permit no records.
At the same foam - fountain, Queequeg seemed to drink and reel with me.
His dusky nostrils swelled apart; he showed his filed and pointed teeth.
On, on we flew; and our offing gained, the Moss did homage to the blast; ducked and dived her bows as a slave before the Sultan.
Sideways leaning, we sideways darted; every ropeyarn tingling like a wire; the two tall masts buckling like Indian canes in land tornadoes.
But there were some boobies and bumpkins there, who, by their intense greenness, must have come from the heart and centre of all verdure.
Queequeg caught one of these young saplings mimicking him behind his back.
I thought the bumpkin's hour of doom was come.
" Capting!
Capting!
yelled the bumpkin, running towards that officer; " Capting, Capting, here's the devil."
" Hallo, YOU sir," cried the Captain, a gaunt rib of the sea, stalking up to Queequeg, " what in thunder do you mean by that?
Don't you know you might have killed that chap?"
" What him say?"
said Queequeg, as he mildly turned to me.
" He say," said I, " that you came near kill - e that man there," pointing to the still shivering greenhorn.
" Kill - e," cried Queequeg, twisting his tattooed face into an unearthly expression of disdain, " ah!
him bevy small - e fish - e; Queequeg no kill - e so small - e fish - e; Queequeg kill - e big whale!"
" Look you," roared the Captain, " I'll kill - e YOU, you cannibal, if you try any more of your tricks aboard here; so mind your eye."
But it so happened just then, that it was high time for the Captain to mind his own eye.
The prodigious strain upon the main - sail had parted the weather - sheet, and the tremendous boom was now flying from side to side, completely sweeping the entire after part of the deck.
The poor fellow whom Queequeg had handled so roughly, was swept overboard; all hands were in a panic; and to attempt snatching at the boom to stay it, seemed madness.
It flew from right to left, and back again, almost in one ticking of a watch, and every instant seemed on the point of snapping into splinters.
Nothing was done, and nothing seemed capable of being done; those on deck rushed towards the bows, and stood eyeing the boom as if it were the lower jaw of an exasperated whale.
The schooner was run into the wind, and while the hands were clearing away the stern boat, Queequeg, stripped to the waist, darted from the side with a long living arc of a leap.
For three minutes or more he was seen swimming like a dog, throwing his long arms straight out before him, and by turns revealing his brawny shoulders through the freezing foam.
I looked at the grand and glorious fellow, but saw no one to be saved.
The greenhorn had gone down.
Shooting himself perpendicularly from the water, Queequeg, now took an instant's glance around him, and seeming to see just how matters were, dived down and disappeared.
A few minutes more, and he rose again, one arm still striking out, and with the other dragging a lifeless form.
The boat soon picked them up.
The poor bumpkin was restored.
All hands voted Queequeg a noble trump; the captain begged his pardon.
From that hour I clove to Queequeg like a barnacle; yea, till poor Queequeg took his last long dive.
Was there ever such unconsciousness?
He did not seem to think that he at all deserved a medal from the Humane and Magnanimous Societies.
We cannibals must help these Christians."
CHAPTER 14
Nantucket.
Nothing more happened on the passage worthy the mentioning; so, after a fine run, we safely arrived in Nantucket.
Nantucket!
Take out your map and look at it.
See what a real corner of the world it occupies; how it stands there, away off shore, more lonely than the Eddystone lighthouse.
Look at it--a mere hillock, and elbow of sand; all beach, without a background.
There is more sand there than you would use in twenty years as a substitute for blotting paper.
But these extravaganzas only show that Nantucket is no Illinois.
Look now at the wondrous traditional story of how this island was settled by the red - men.
Thus goes the legend.
In olden times an eagle swooped down upon the New England coast, and carried off an infant Indian in his talons.
With loud lament the parents saw their child borne out of sight over the wide waters.
They resolved to follow in the same direction.
Setting out in their canoes, after a perilous passage they discovered the island, and there they found an empty ivory casket,-- the poor little Indian's skeleton.
What wonder, then, that these Nantucketers, born on a beach, should take to the sea for a livelihood!
That Himmalehan, salt - sea Mastodon, clothed with such portentousness of unconscious power, that his very panics are more to be dreaded than his most fearless and malicious assaults!
And thus have these naked Nantucketers, these sea hermits, issuing from their ant - hill in the sea, overrun and conquered the watery world like so many Alexanders; parcelling out among them the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans, as the three pirate powers did Poland.
Let America add Mexico to Texas, and pile Cuba upon Canada; let the English overswarm all India, and hang out their blazing banner from the sun; two thirds of this terraqueous globe are the Nantucketer's.
For the sea is his; he owns it, as Emperors own empires; other seamen having but a right of way through it.
The Nantucketer, he alone resides and riots on the sea; he alone, in Bible language, goes down to it in ships; to and fro ploughing it as his own special plantation.
THERE is his home; THERE lies his business, which a Noah's flood would not interrupt, though it overwhelmed all the millions in China.
He lives on the sea, as prairie cocks in the prairie; he hides among the waves, he climbs them as chamois hunters climb the Alps.
For years he knows not the land; so that when he comes to it at last, it smells like another world, more strangely than the moon would to an Earthsman.
With the landless gull, that at sunset folds her wings and is rocked to sleep between billows; so at nightfall, the Nantucketer, out of sight of land, furls his sails, and lays him to his rest, while under his very pillow rush herds of walruses and whales.
CHAPTER 15
Chowder.
It was quite late in the evening when the little Moss came snugly to anchor, and Queequeg and I went ashore; so we could attend to no business that day, at least none but a supper and a bed.
In short, he plainly hinted that we could not possibly do better than try pot - luck at the Try Pots.
However, by dint of beating about a little in the dark, and now and then knocking up a peaceable inhabitant to inquire the way, we at last came to something which there was no mistaking.
Two enormous wooden pots painted black, and suspended by asses'ears, swung from the cross - trees of an old top - mast, planted in front of an old doorway.
The horns of the cross - trees were sawed off on the other side, so that this old top - mast looked not a little like a gallows.
Perhaps I was over sensitive to such impressions at the time, but I could not help staring at this gallows with a vague misgiving.
A sort of crick was in my neck as I gazed up to the two remaining horns; yes, TWO of them, one for Queequeg, and one for me.
It's ominous, thinks I.
A Coffin my Innkeeper upon landing in my first whaling port; tombstones staring at me in the whalemen's chapel; and here a gallows!
and a pair of prodigious black pots too!
Are these last throwing out oblique hints touching Tophet?
" Get along with ye," said she to the man, " or I'll be combing ye!"
" Come on, Queequeg," said I, " all right.
There's Mrs.
Hussey."
And so it turned out; Mr. Hosea Hussey being from home, but leaving Mrs. Hussey entirely competent to attend to all his affairs.
Upon making known our desires for a supper and a bed, Mrs. Hussey, postponing further scolding for the present, ushered us into a little room, and seating us at a table spread with the relics of a recently concluded repast, turned round to us and said --" Clam or Cod?"
" What's that about Cods, ma'am?"
said I, with much politeness.
" Clam or Cod?"
she repeated.
" A clam for supper?
a cold clam; is THAT what you mean, Mrs.
Hussey?"
says I, " but that's a rather cold and clammy reception in the winter time, ain't it, Mrs.
Hussey?"
But being in a great hurry to resume scolding the man in the purple Shirt, who was waiting for it in the entry, and seeming to hear nothing but the word " clam," Mrs. Hussey hurried towards an open door leading to the kitchen, and bawling out " clam for two," disappeared.
" Queequeg," said I, " do you think that we can make out a supper for us both on one clam?"
However, a warm savory steam from the kitchen served to belie the apparently cheerless prospect before us.
But when that smoking chowder came in, the mystery was delightfully explained.
Oh, sweet friends!
hearken to me.
It was made of small juicy clams, scarcely bigger than hazel nuts, mixed with pounded ship biscuit, and salted pork cut up into little flakes; the whole enriched with butter, and plentifully seasoned with pepper and salt.
Stepping to the kitchen door, I uttered the word " cod " with great emphasis, and resumed my seat.
In a few moments the savoury steam came forth again, but with a different flavor, and in good time a fine cod - chowder was placed before us.
We resumed business; and while plying our spoons in the bowl, thinks I to myself, I wonder now if this here has any effect on the head?
What's that stultifying saying about chowder - headed people?
" But look, Queequeg, ain't that a live eel in your bowl?
Where's your harpoon?"
Fishiest of all fishy places was the Try Pots, which well deserved its name; for the pots there were always boiling chowders.
Chowder for breakfast, and chowder for dinner, and chowder for supper, till you began to look for fish - bones coming through your clothes.
The area before the house was paved with clam - shells.
Mrs. Hussey wore a polished necklace of codfish vertebra; and Hosea Hussey had his account books bound in superior old shark - skin.
Supper concluded, we received a lamp, and directions from Mrs. Hussey concerning the nearest way to bed; but, as Queequeg was about to precede me up the stairs, the lady reached forth her arm, and demanded his harpoon; she allowed no harpoon in her chambers.
" Why not?
said I; " every true whaleman sleeps with his harpoon--but why not?"
" Because it's dangerous," says she.
So, Mr. Queequeg " (for she had learned his name), " I will just take this here iron, and keep it for you till morning.
But the chowder; clam or cod to - morrow for breakfast, men?"
" Both," says I; " and let's have a couple of smoked herring by way of variety."
CHAPTER 16
The Ship.
In bed we concocted our plans for the morrow.
Now, this plan of Queequeg's, or rather Yojo's, touching the selection of our craft; I did not like that plan at all.
I had not a little relied upon Queequeg's sagacity to point out the whaler best fitted to carry us and our fortunes securely.
But as all my remonstrances produced no effect upon Queequeg, I was obliged to acquiesce; and accordingly prepared to set about this business with a determined rushing sort of energy and vigor, that should quickly settle that trifling little affair.
After much prolonged sauntering and many random inquiries, I learnt that there were three ships up for three - years'voyages--The Devil - dam, the Tit - bit, and the Pequod.
DEVIL - DAM, I do not know the origin of; TIT - BIT is obvious; PEQUOD, you will no doubt remember, was the name of a celebrated tribe of Massachusetts Indians; now extinct as the ancient Medes.
I peered and pryed about the Devil - dam; from her, hopped over to the Tit - bit; and finally, going on board the Pequod, looked around her for a moment, and then decided that this was the very ship for us.
You may have seen many a quaint craft in your day, for aught I know;-- square - toed luggers; mountainous Japanese junks; butter - box galliots, and what not; but take my word for it, you never saw such a rare old craft as this same rare old Pequod.
She was a ship of the old school, rather small if anything; with an old - fashioned claw - footed look about her.
Long seasoned and weather - stained in the typhoons and calms of all four oceans, her old hull's complexion was darkened like a French grenadier's, who has alike fought in Egypt and Siberia.
Her venerable bows looked bearded.
Her masts--cut somewhere on the coast of Japan, where her original ones were lost overboard in a gale--her masts stood stiffly up like the spines of the three old kings of Cologne.
Her ancient decks were worn and wrinkled, like the pilgrim - worshipped flag - stone in Canterbury Cathedral where Becket bled.
But to all these her old antiquities, were added new and marvellous features, pertaining to the wild business that for more than half a century she had followed.
She was apparelled like any barbaric Ethiopian emperor, his neck heavy with pendants of polished ivory.
She was a thing of trophies.
A cannibal of a craft, tricking herself forth in the chased bones of her enemies.
All round, her unpanelled, open bulwarks were garnished like one continuous jaw, with the long sharp teeth of the sperm whale, inserted there for pins, to fasten her old hempen thews and tendons to.
Those thews ran not through base blocks of land wood, but deftly travelled over sheaves of sea - ivory.
Scorning a turnstile wheel at her reverend helm, she sported there a tiller; and that tiller was in one mass, curiously carved from the long narrow lower jaw of her hereditary foe.
The helmsman who steered by that tiller in a tempest, felt like the Tartar, when he holds back his fiery steed by clutching its jaw.
A noble craft, but somehow a most melancholy!
All noble things are touched with that.
Now when I looked about the quarter - deck, for some one having authority, in order to propose myself as a candidate for the voyage, at first I saw nobody; but I could not well overlook a strange sort of tent, or rather wigwam, pitched a little behind the main - mast.
It seemed only a temporary erection used in port.
It was of a conical shape, some ten feet high; consisting of the long, huge slabs of limber black bone taken from the middle and highest part of the jaws of the right - whale.
Planted with their broad ends on the deck, a circle of these slabs laced together, mutually sloped towards each other, and at the apex united in a tufted point, where the loose hairy fibres waved to and fro like the top - knot on some old Pottowottamie Sachem's head.
A triangular opening faced towards the bows of the ship, so that the insider commanded a complete view forward.
And half concealed in this queer tenement, I at length found one who by his aspect seemed to have authority; and who, it being noon, and the ship's work suspended, was now enjoying respite from the burden of command.
He was seated on an old - fashioned oaken chair, wriggling all over with curious carving; and the bottom of which was formed of a stout interlacing of the same elastic stuff of which the wigwam was constructed.
Such eye - wrinkles are very effectual in a scowl.
" Is this the Captain of the Pequod?"
said I, advancing to the door of the tent.
" Supposing it be the captain of the Pequod, what dost thou want of him?"
he demanded.
" I was thinking of shipping."
" Thou wast, wast thou?
I see thou art no Nantucketer--ever been in a stove boat?"
" No, Sir, I never have."
" Dost know nothing at all about whaling, I dare say--eh?
" Nothing, Sir; but I have no doubt I shall soon learn.
I've been several voyages in the merchant service, and I think that --"
" Merchant service be damned.
Talk not that lingo to me.
Dost see that leg?-- I'll take that leg away from thy stern, if ever thou talkest of the marchant service to me again.
Marchant service indeed!
I suppose now ye feel considerable proud of having served in those marchant ships.
But flukes!
man, what makes thee want to go a whaling, eh?-- it looks a little suspicious, don't it, eh?-- Hast not been a pirate, hast thou?-- Didst not rob thy last Captain, didst thou?-- Dost not think of murdering the officers when thou gettest to sea?"
I protested my innocence of these things.
I saw that under the mask of these half humorous innuendoes, this old seaman, as an insulated Quakerish Nantucketer, was full of his insular prejudices, and rather distrustful of all aliens, unless they hailed from Cape Cod or the Vineyard.
" But what takes thee a - whaling?
I want to know that before I think of shipping ye."
" Well, sir, I want to see what whaling is.
I want to see the world."
" Want to see what whaling is, eh?
Have ye clapped eye on Captain Ahab?"
" Who is Captain Ahab, sir?"
" Aye, aye, I thought so.
Captain Ahab is the Captain of this ship."
" I am mistaken then.
I thought I was speaking to the Captain himself."
" Thou art speaking to Captain Peleg--that's who ye are speaking to, young man.
It belongs to me and Captain Bildad to see the Pequod fitted out for the voyage, and supplied with all her needs, including crew.
We are part owners and agents.
But as I was going to say, if thou wantest to know what whaling is, as thou tellest ye do, I can put ye in a way of finding it out before ye bind yourself to it, past backing out.
Clap eye on Captain Ahab, young man, and thou wilt find that he has only one leg."
" What do you mean, sir?
Was the other one lost by a whale?"
" Lost by a whale!
Young man, come nearer to me: it was devoured, chewed up, crunched by the monstrousest parmacetty that ever chipped a boat!-- ah, ah!"
" Look ye now, young man, thy lungs are a sort of soft, d'ye see; thou dost not talk shark a bit.
SURE, ye've been to sea before now; sure of that?"
" Sir," said I, " I thought I told you that I had been four voyages in the merchant --"
" Hard down out of that!
Mind what I said about the marchant service--don't aggravate me--I won't have it.
But let us understand each other.
I have given thee a hint about what whaling is; do ye yet feel inclined for it?"
" I do, sir."
" Very good.
Now, art thou the man to pitch a harpoon down a live whale's throat, and then jump after it?
Answer, quick!"
" I am, sir, if it should be positively indispensable to do so; not to be got rid of, that is; which I don't take to be the fact."
" Good again.
Now then, thou not only wantest to go a - whaling, to find out by experience what whaling is, but ye also want to go in order to see the world?
Was not that what ye said?
I thought so.
Well then, just step forward there, and take a peep over the weather - bow, and then back to me and tell me what ye see there."
For a moment I stood a little puzzled by this curious request, not knowing exactly how to take it, whether humorously or in earnest.
But concentrating all his crow's feet into one scowl, Captain Peleg started me on the errand.
Going forward and glancing over the weather bow, I perceived that the ship swinging to her anchor with the flood - tide, was now obliquely pointing towards the open ocean.
The prospect was unlimited, but exceedingly monotonous and forbidding; not the slightest variety that I could see.
" Well, what's the report?"
said Peleg when I came back; " what did ye see?"
" Not much," I replied --" nothing but water; considerable horizon though, and there's a squall coming up, I think."
" Well, what does thou think then of seeing the world?
Do ye wish to go round Cape Horn to see any more of it, eh?
Can't ye see the world where you stand?"
I was a little staggered, but go a - whaling I must, and I would; and the Pequod was as good a ship as any--I thought the best--and all this I now repeated to Peleg.
Seeing me so determined, he expressed his willingness to ship me.
" And thou mayest as well sign the papers right off," he added --" come along with ye."
And so saying, he led the way below deck into the cabin.
Seated on the transom was what seemed to me a most uncommon and surprising figure.
People in Nantucket invest their money in whaling vessels, the same way that you do yours in approved state stocks bringing in good interest.
For some of these same Quakers are the most sanguinary of all sailors and whale - hunters.
They are fighting Quakers; they are Quakers with a vengeance.
Nor will it at all detract from him, dramatically regarded, if either by birth or other circumstances, he have what seems a half wilful overruling morbidness at the bottom of his nature.
For all men tragically great are made so through a certain morbidness.
Be sure of this, O young ambition, all mortal greatness is but disease.
But, as yet we have not to do with such an one, but with quite another; and still a man, who, if indeed peculiar, it only results again from another phase of the Quaker, modified by individual circumstances.
Like Captain Peleg, Captain Bildad was a well - to - do, retired whaleman.
Still, for all this immutableness, was there some lack of common consistency about worthy Captain Peleg.
Though refusing, from conscientious scruples, to bear arms against land invaders, yet himself had illimitably invaded the Atlantic and Pacific; and though a sworn foe to human bloodshed, yet had he in his straight - bodied coat, spilled tuns upon tuns of leviathan gore.
This world pays dividends.
Now, Bildad, I am sorry to say, had the reputation of being an incorrigible old hunks, and in his sea - going days, a bitter, hard task - master.
They told me in Nantucket, though it certainly seems a curious story, that when he sailed the old Categut whaleman, his crew, upon arriving home, were mostly all carried ashore to the hospital, sore exhausted and worn out.
For a pious man, especially for a Quaker, he was certainly rather hard - hearted, to say the least.
He never used to swear, though, at his men, they said; but somehow he got an inordinate quantity of cruel, unmitigated hard work out of them.
When Bildad was a chief - mate, to have his drab - coloured eye intently looking at you, made you feel completely nervous, till you could clutch something--a hammer or a marling - spike, and go to work like mad, at something or other, never mind what.
Indolence and idleness perished before him.
His own person was the exact embodiment of his utilitarian character.
On his long, gaunt body, he carried no spare flesh, no superfluous beard, his chin having a soft, economical nap to it, like the worn nap of his broad - brimmed hat.
Such, then, was the person that I saw seated on the transom when I followed Captain Peleg down into the cabin.
The space between the decks was small; and there, bolt - upright, sat old Bildad, who always sat so, and never leaned, and this to save his coat tails.
His broad - brim was placed beside him; his legs were stiffly crossed; his drab vesture was buttoned up to his chin; and spectacles on nose, he seemed absorbed in reading from a ponderous volume.
" Bildad," cried Captain Peleg, " at it again, Bildad, eh?
Ye have been studying those Scriptures, now, for the last thirty years, to my certain knowledge.
How far ye got, Bildad?"
As if long habituated to such profane talk from his old shipmate, Bildad, without noticing his present irreverence, quietly looked up, and seeing me, glanced again inquiringly towards Peleg.
" He says he's our man, Bildad," said Peleg, " he wants to ship."
" Dost thee?"
said Bildad, in a hollow tone, and turning round to me.
" I dost," said I unconsciously, he was so intense a Quaker.
" What do ye think of him, Bildad?"
said Peleg.
" He'll do," said Bildad, eyeing me, and then went on spelling away at his book in a mumbling tone quite audible.
I thought him the queerest old Quaker I ever saw, especially as Peleg, his friend and old shipmate, seemed such a blusterer.
But I said nothing, only looking round me sharply.
Peleg now threw open a chest, and drawing forth the ship's articles, placed pen and ink before him, and seated himself at a little table.
I began to think it was high time to settle with myself at what terms I would be willing to engage for the voyage.
It might be thought that this was a poor way to accumulate a princely fortune--and so it was, a very poor way indeed.
But I am one of those that never take on about princely fortunes, and am quite content if the world is ready to board and lodge me, while I am putting up at this grim sign of the Thunder Cloud.
Upon the whole, I thought that the 275th lay would be about the fair thing, but would not have been surprised had I been offered the 200th, considering I was of a broad - shouldered make.
And I did not know but what the stingy old Bildad might have a mighty deal to say about shipping hands, especially as I now found him on board the Pequod, quite at home there in the cabin, and reading his Bible as if at his own fireside.
" Well, Captain Bildad," interrupted Peleg, " what d'ye say, what lay shall we give this young man?"
" Thou knowest best," was the sepulchral reply, " the seven hundred and seventy - seventh wouldn't be too much, would it?--' where moth and rust do corrupt, but LAY --'"
LAY, indeed, thought I, and such a lay!
the seven hundred and seventy - seventh!
Well, old Bildad, you are determined that I, for one, shall not LAY up many LAYS here below, where moth and rust do corrupt.
" Why, blast your eyes, Bildad," cried Peleg, " thou dost not want to swindle this young man!
he must have more than that."
" Seven hundred and seventy - seventh," again said Bildad, without lifting his eyes; and then went on mumbling --" for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."
" I am going to put him down for the three hundredth," said Peleg, " do ye hear that, Bildad!
The three hundredth lay, I say."
The seven hundred and seventy - seventh lay, Captain Peleg."
" Thou Bildad!"
roared Peleg, starting up and clattering about the cabin.
" Blast ye, Captain Bildad, if I had followed thy advice in these matters, I would afore now had a conscience to lug about that would be heavy enough to founder the largest ship that ever sailed round Cape Horn."
" Fiery pit!
fiery pit!
ye insult me, man; past all natural bearing, ye insult me.
It's an all - fired outrage to tell any human creature that he's bound to hell.
Flukes and flames!
Bildad, say that again to me, and start my soul - bolts, but I'll--I'll--yes, I'll swallow a live goat with all his hair and horns on.
Out of the cabin, ye canting, drab - coloured son of a wooden gun--a straight wake with ye!"
As he thundered out this he made a rush at Bildad, but with a marvellous oblique, sliding celerity, Bildad for that time eluded him.
But to my astonishment, he sat down again on the transom very quietly, and seemed to have not the slightest intention of withdrawing.
He seemed quite used to impenitent Peleg and his ways.
As for Peleg, after letting off his rage as he had, there seemed no more left in him, and he, too, sat down like a lamb, though he twitched a little as if still nervously agitated.
" Whew!"
he whistled at last --" the squall's gone off to leeward, I think.
Bildad, thou used to be good at sharpening a lance, mend that pen, will ye.
My jack - knife here needs the grindstone.
That's he; thank ye, Bildad.
Now then, my young man, Ishmael's thy name, didn't ye say?
Well then, down ye go here, Ishmael, for the three hundredth lay."
" Captain Peleg," said I, " I have a friend with me who wants to ship too--shall I bring him down to - morrow?"
" To be sure," said Peleg.
" Fetch him along, and we'll look at him."
" What lay does he want?"
groaned Bildad, glancing up from the book in which he had again been burying himself.
" Oh!
never thee mind about that, Bildad," said Peleg.
" Has he ever whaled it any?"
turning to me.
" Killed more whales than I can count, Captain Peleg."
" Well, bring him along then."
And, after signing the papers, off I went; nothing doubting but that I had done a good morning's work, and that the Pequod was the identical ship that Yojo had provided to carry Queequeg and me round the Cape.
However, it is always as well to have a look at him before irrevocably committing yourself into his hands.
Turning back I accosted Captain Peleg, inquiring where Captain Ahab was to be found.
" And what dost thou want of Captain Ahab?
It's all right enough; thou art shipped."
" Yes, but I should like to see him."
" But I don't think thou wilt be able to at present.
I don't know exactly what's the matter with him; but he keeps close inside the house; a sort of sick, and yet he don't look so.
In fact, he ain't sick; but no, he isn't well either.
Any how, young man, he won't always see me, so I don't suppose he will thee.
He's a queer man, Captain Ahab--so some think--but a good one.
Oh, thou'lt like him well enough; no fear, no fear.
He's a grand, ungodly, god - like man, Captain Ahab; doesn't speak much; but, when he does speak, then you may well listen.
Mark ye, be forewarned; Ahab's above the common; Ahab's been in colleges, as well as'mong the cannibals; been used to deeper wonders than the waves; fixed his fiery lance in mightier, stranger foes than whales.
His lance!
aye, the keenest and the surest that out of all our isle!
Oh!
he ain't Captain Bildad; no, and he ain't Captain Peleg; HE'S AHAB, boy; and Ahab of old, thou knowest, was a crowned king!"
" And a very vile one.
When that wicked king was slain, the dogs, did they not lick his blood?"
" Come hither to me--hither, hither," said Peleg, with a significance in his eye that almost startled me.
" Look ye, lad; never say that on board the Pequod.
Never say it anywhere.
Captain Ahab did not name himself.
' Twas a foolish, ignorant whim of his crazy, widowed mother, who died when he was only a twelvemonth old.
And yet the old squaw Tistig, at Gayhead, said that the name would somehow prove prophetic.
And, perhaps, other fools like her may tell thee the same.
I wish to warn thee.
It's a lie.
I know Captain Ahab well; I've sailed with him as mate years ago; I know what he is--a good man--not a pious, good man, like Bildad, but a swearing good man--something like me--only there's a good deal more of him.
Aye, aye, I know that he was never very jolly; and I know that on the passage home, he was a little out of his mind for a spell; but it was the sharp shooting pains in his bleeding stump that brought that about, as any one might see.
I know, too, that ever since he lost his leg last voyage by that accursed whale, he's been a kind of moody--desperate moody, and savage sometimes; but that will all pass off.
And once for all, let me tell thee and assure thee, young man, it's better to sail with a moody good captain than a laughing bad one.
So good - bye to thee--and wrong not Captain Ahab, because he happens to have a wicked name.
Besides, my boy, he has a wife--not three voyages wedded--a sweet, resigned girl.
Think of that; by that sweet girl that old man has a child: hold ye then there can be any utter, hopeless harm in Ahab?
No, no, my lad; stricken, blasted, if he be, Ahab has his humanities!"
As I walked away, I was full of thoughtfulness; what had been incidentally revealed to me of Captain Ahab, filled me with a certain wild vagueness of painfulness concerning him.
And somehow, at the time, I felt a sympathy and a sorrow for him, but for I don't know what, unless it was the cruel loss of his leg.
And yet I also felt a strange awe of him; but that sort of awe, which I cannot at all describe, was not exactly awe; I do not know what it was.
But I felt it; and it did not disincline me towards him; though I felt impatience at what seemed like mystery in him, so imperfectly as he was known to me then.
However, my thoughts were at length carried in other directions, so that for the present dark Ahab slipped my mind.
CHAPTER 17
The Ramadan.
I say, we good Presbyterian Christians should be charitable in these things, and not fancy ourselves so vastly superior to other mortals, pagans and what not, because of their half - crazy conceits on these subjects.
There was Queequeg, now, certainly entertaining the most absurd notions about Yojo and his Ramadan;-- but what of that?
Queequeg thought he knew what he was about, I suppose; he seemed to be content; and there let him rest.
All our arguing with him would not avail; let him be, I say: and Heaven have mercy on us all--Presbyterians and Pagans alike--for we are all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending.
Towards evening, when I felt assured that all his performances and rituals must be over, I went up to his room and knocked at the door; but no answer.
I tried to open it, but it was fastened inside.
" Queequeg," said I softly through the key - hole:-- all silent.
" I say, Queequeg!
why don't you speak?
It's I--Ishmael."
But all remained still as before.
I began to grow alarmed.
I had allowed him such abundant time; I thought he might have had an apoplectic fit.
I looked through the key - hole; but the door opening into an odd corner of the room, the key - hole prospect was but a crooked and sinister one.
I could only see part of the foot - board of the bed and a line of the wall, but nothing more.
I was surprised to behold resting against the wall the wooden shaft of Queequeg's harpoon, which the landlady the evening previous had taken from him, before our mounting to the chamber.
That's strange, thought I; but at any rate, since the harpoon stands yonder, and he seldom or never goes abroad without it, therefore he must be inside here, and no possible mistake.
" Queequeg!-- Queequeg!"
-- all still.
Something must have happened.
Apoplexy!
I tried to burst open the door; but it stubbornly resisted.
Running down stairs, I quickly stated my suspicions to the first person I met--the chamber - maid.
" La!
la!"
she cried, " I thought something must be the matter.
I went to make the bed after breakfast, and the door was locked; and not a mouse to be heard; and it's been just so silent ever since.
But I thought, may be, you had both gone off and locked your baggage in for safe keeping.
La!
la, ma'am!-- Mistress!
murder!
Mrs. Hussey!
apoplexy!"
-- and with these cries, she ran towards the kitchen, I following.
Mrs. Hussey soon appeared, with a mustard - pot in one hand and a vinegar - cruet in the other, having just broken away from the occupation of attending to the castors, and scolding her little black boy meantime.
" Wood - house!"
cried I, " which way to it?
Run for God's sake, and fetch something to pry open the door--the axe!-- the axe!
he's had a stroke; depend upon it!"
-- and so saying I was unmethodically rushing up stairs again empty - handed, when Mrs. Hussey interposed the mustard - pot and vinegar - cruet, and the entire castor of her countenance.
" What's the matter with you, young man?"
" Get the axe!
For God's sake, run for the doctor, some one, while I pry it open!"
" Look here," said the landlady, quickly putting down the vinegar - cruet, so as to have one hand free; " look here; are you talking about prying open any of my doors?"
-- and with that she seized my arm.
" What's the matter with you?
What's the matter with you, shipmate?"
In as calm, but rapid a manner as possible, I gave her to understand the whole case.
Unconsciously clapping the vinegar - cruet to one side of her nose, she ruminated for an instant; then exclaimed --" No!
I haven't seen it since I put it there."
Running to a little closet under the landing of the stairs, she glanced in, and returning, told me that Queequeg's harpoon was missing.
" He's killed himself," she cried.
" It's unfort'nate Stiggs done over again there goes another counterpane--God pity his poor mother!-- it will be the ruin of my house.
Has the poor lad a sister?
Where's that girl?-- there, Betty, go to Snarles the Painter, and tell him to paint me a sign, with --" no suicides permitted here, and no smoking in the parlor;"-- might as well kill both birds at once.
Kill?
The Lord be merciful to his ghost!
What's that noise there?
You, young man, avast there!"
And running up after me, she caught me as I was again trying to force open the door.
" I don't allow it; I won't have my premises spoiled.
Go for the locksmith, there's one about a mile from here.
But avast!"
putting her hand in her side - pocket, " here's a key that'll fit, I guess; let's see."
And with that, she turned it in the lock; but, alas!
Queequeg's supplemental bolt remained unwithdrawn within.
" Have to burst it open," said I, and was running down the entry a little, for a good start, when the landlady caught at me, again vowing I should not break down her premises; but I tore from her, and with a sudden bodily rush dashed myself full against the mark.
With a prodigious noise the door flew open, and the knob slamming against the wall, sent the plaster to the ceiling; and there, good heavens!
there sat Queequeg, altogether cool and self - collected; right in the middle of the room; squatting on his hams, and holding Yojo on top of his head.
He looked neither one way nor the other way, but sat like a carved image with scarce a sign of active life.
" Queequeg," said I, going up to him, " Queequeg, what's the matter with you?"
" He hain't been a sittin'so all day, has he?"
said the landlady.
" Mrs. Hussey," said I, " he's ALIVE at all events; so leave us, if you please, and I will see to this strange affair myself."
Closing the door upon the landlady, I endeavored to prevail upon Queequeg to take a chair; but in vain.
There he sat; and all he could do--for all my polite arts and blandishments--he would not move a peg, nor say a single word, nor even look at me, nor notice my presence in the slightest way.
I wonder, thought I, if this can possibly be a part of his Ramadan; do they fast on their hams that way in his native island.
It must be so; yes, it's part of his creed, I suppose; well, then, let him rest; he'll get up sooner or later, no doubt.
It can't last for ever, thank God, and his Ramadan only comes once a year; and I don't believe it's very punctual then.
I went down to supper.
But no; there he was just where I had left him; he had not stirred an inch.
I began to grow vexed with him; it seemed so downright senseless and insane to be sitting there all day and half the night on his hams in a cold room, holding a piece of wood on his head.
" For heaven's sake, Queequeg, get up and shake yourself; get up and have some supper.
You'll starve; you'll kill yourself, Queequeg."
But not a word did he reply.
Despairing of him, therefore, I determined to go to bed and to sleep; and no doubt, before a great while, he would follow me.
But previous to turning in, I took my heavy bearskin jacket, and threw it over him, as it promised to be a very cold night; and he had nothing but his ordinary round jacket on.
For some time, do all I would, I could not get into the faintest doze.
I had blown out the candle; and the mere thought of Queequeg--not four feet off--sitting there in that uneasy position, stark alone in the cold and dark; this made me really wretched.
Think of it; sleeping all night in the same room with a wide awake pagan on his hams in this dreary, unaccountable Ramadan!
But somehow I dropped off at last, and knew nothing more till break of day; when, looking over the bedside, there squatted Queequeg, as if he had been screwed down to the floor.
But as soon as the first glimpse of sun entered the window, up he got, with stiff and grating joints, but with a cheerful look; limped towards me where I lay; pressed his forehead again against mine; and said his Ramadan was over.
Now, as I before hinted, I have no objection to any person's religion, be it what it may, so long as that person does not kill or insult any other person, because that other person don't believe it also.
But when a man's religion becomes really frantic; when it is a positive torment to him; and, in fine, makes this earth of ours an uncomfortable inn to lodge in; then I think it high time to take that individual aside and argue the point with him.
And just so I now did with Queequeg.
" Queequeg," said I, " get into bed now, and lie and listen to me."
I told him, too, that he being in other things such an extremely sensible and sagacious savage, it pained me, very badly pained me, to see him now so deplorably foolish about this ridiculous Ramadan of his.
Besides, argued I, fasting makes the body cave in; hence the spirit caves in; and all thoughts born of a fast must necessarily be half - starved.
This is the reason why most dyspeptic religionists cherish such melancholy notions about their hereafters.
In one word, Queequeg, said I, rather digressively; hell is an idea first born on an undigested apple - dumpling; and since then perpetuated through the hereditary dyspepsias nurtured by Ramadans.
I then asked Queequeg whether he himself was ever troubled with dyspepsia; expressing the idea very plainly, so that he could take it in.
He said no; only upon one memorable occasion.
It was after a great feast given by his father the king, on the gaining of a great battle wherein fifty of the enemy had been killed by about two o'clock in the afternoon, and all cooked and eaten that very evening.
" No more, Queequeg," said I, shuddering; " that will do;" for I knew the inferences without his further hinting them.
After all, I do not think that my remarks about religion made much impression upon Queequeg.
He looked at me with a sort of condescending concern and compassion, as though he thought it a great pity that such a sensible young man should be so hopelessly lost to evangelical pagan piety.
CHAPTER 18
His Mark.
" What do you mean by that, Captain Peleg?"
said I, now jumping on the bulwarks, and leaving my comrade standing on the wharf.
" I mean," he replied, " he must show his papers."
" Yes," said Captain Bildad in his hollow voice, sticking his head from behind Peleg's, out of the wigwam.
" He must show that he's converted.
Son of darkness," he added, turning to Queequeg, " art thou at present in communion with any Christian church?"
" Why," said I, " he's a member of the first Congregational Church."
Here be it said, that many tattooed savages sailing in Nantucket ships at last come to be converted into the churches.
" First Congregational Church," cried Bildad, " what!
that worships in Deacon Deuteronomy Coleman's meeting - house?"
and so saying, taking out his spectacles, he rubbed them with his great yellow bandana handkerchief, and putting them on very carefully, came out of the wigwam, and leaning stiffly over the bulwarks, took a good long look at Queequeg.
" How long hath he been a member?"
he then said, turning to me; " not very long, I rather guess, young man."
" No," said Peleg, " and he hasn't been baptized right either, or it would have washed some of that devil's blue off his face."
" Do tell, now," cried Bildad, " is this Philistine a regular member of Deacon Deuteronomy's meeting?
I never saw him going there, and I pass it every Lord's day."
" I don't know anything about Deacon Deuteronomy or his meeting," said I; " all I know is, that Queequeg here is a born member of the First Congregational Church.
He is a deacon himself, Queequeg is."
" Young man," said Bildad sternly, " thou art skylarking with me--explain thyself, thou young Hittite.
What church dost thee mean?
answer me."
Finding myself thus hard pushed, I replied.
" Splice, thou mean'st SPLICE hands," cried Peleg, drawing nearer.
" Young man, you'd better ship for a missionary, instead of a fore - mast hand; I never heard a better sermon.
Deacon Deuteronomy--why Father Mapple himself couldn't beat it, and he's reckoned something.
Come aboard, come aboard; never mind about the papers.
I say, tell Quohog there--what's that you call him?
tell Quohog to step along.
By the great anchor, what a harpoon he's got there!
looks like good stuff that; and he handles it about right.
I say, Quohog, or whatever your name is, did you ever stand in the head of a whale - boat?
did you ever strike a fish?"
Without saying a word, Queequeg, in his wild sort of way, jumped upon the bulwarks, from thence into the bows of one of the whale - boats hanging to the side; and then bracing his left knee, and poising his harpoon, cried out in some such way as this:--
" Cap'ain, you see him small drop tar on water dere?
You see him?
well, spose him one whale eye, well, den!"
and taking sharp aim at it, he darted the iron right over old Bildad's broad brim, clean across the ship's decks, and struck the glistening tar spot out of sight.
" Now," said Queequeg, quietly hauling in the line, " spos - ee him whale - e eye; why, dad whale dead."
" Quick, Bildad," said Peleg, his partner, who, aghast at the close vicinity of the flying harpoon, had retreated towards the cabin gangway.
" Quick, I say, you Bildad, and get the ship's papers.
We must have Hedgehog there, I mean Quohog, in one of our boats.
Look ye, Quohog, we'll give ye the ninetieth lay, and that's more than ever was given a harpooneer yet out of Nantucket."
So down we went into the cabin, and to my great joy Queequeg was soon enrolled among the same ship's company to which I myself belonged.
When all preliminaries were over and Peleg had got everything ready for signing, he turned to me and said, " I guess, Quohog there don't know how to write, does he?
I say, Quohog, blast ye!
dost thou sign thy name or make thy mark?
Quohog.
his X mark.
Spurn the idol Bell, and the hideous dragon; turn from the wrath to come; mind thine eye, I say; oh!
goodness gracious!
steer clear of the fiery pit!"
Something of the salt sea yet lingered in old Bildad's language, heterogeneously mixed with Scriptural and domestic phrases.
" Avast there, avast there, Bildad, avast now spoiling our harpooneer," Peleg.
" Pious harpooneers never make good voyagers--it takes the shark out of'em; no harpooneer is worth a straw who aint pretty sharkish.
There was young Nat Swaine, once the bravest boat - header out of all Nantucket and the Vineyard; he joined the meeting, and never came to good.
He got so frightened about his plaguy soul, that he shrinked and sheered away from whales, for fear of after - claps, in case he got stove and went to Davy Jones."
" Peleg!
Peleg!"
said Bildad, lifting his eyes and hands, " thou thyself, as I myself, hast seen many a perilous time; thou knowest, Peleg, what it is to have the fear of death; how, then, can'st thou prate in this ungodly guise.
Thou beliest thine own heart, Peleg.
Tell me, when this same Pequod here had her three masts overboard in that typhoon on Japan, that same voyage when thou went mate with Captain Ahab, did'st thou not think of Death and the Judgment then?"
" Hear him, hear him now," cried Peleg, marching across the cabin, and thrusting his hands far down into his pockets,--" hear him, all of ye.
Think of that!
When every moment we thought the ship would sink!
Death and the Judgment then?
What?
With all three masts making such an everlasting thundering against the side; and every sea breaking over us, fore and aft.
Think of Death and the Judgment then?
No!
no time to think about Death then.
Life was what Captain Ahab and I was thinking of; and how to save all hands--how to rig jury - masts--how to get into the nearest port; that was what I was thinking of."
Bildad said no more, but buttoning up his coat, stalked on deck, where we followed him.
There he stood, very quietly overlooking some sailmakers who were mending a top - sail in the waist.
Now and then he stooped to pick up a patch, or save an end of tarred twine, which otherwise might have been wasted.
CHAPTER 19
The Prophet.
" Shipmates, have ye shipped in that ship?"
Queequeg and I had just left the Pequod, and were sauntering away from the water, for the moment each occupied with his own thoughts, when the above words were put to us by a stranger, who, pausing before us, levelled his massive forefinger at the vessel in question.
He was but shabbily apparelled in faded jacket and patched trowsers; a rag of a black handkerchief investing his neck.
A confluent small - pox had in all directions flowed over his face, and left it like the complicated ribbed bed of a torrent, when the rushing waters have been dried up.
" Have ye shipped in her?"
he repeated.
" You mean the ship Pequod, I suppose," said I, trying to gain a little more time for an uninterrupted look at him.
" Aye, the Pequod--that ship there," he said, drawing back his whole arm, and then rapidly shoving it straight out from him, with the fixed bayonet of his pointed finger darted full at the object.
" Yes," said I, " we have just signed the articles."
" Anything down there about your souls?"
" About what?"
" Oh, perhaps you hav'n't got any," he said quickly.
" No matter though, I know many chaps that hav'n't got any,-- good luck to'em; and they are all the better off for it.
A soul's a sort of a fifth wheel to a wagon."
" What are you jabbering about, shipmate?"
said I.
" HE'S got enough, though, to make up for all deficiencies of that sort in other chaps," abruptly said the stranger, placing a nervous emphasis upon the word HE.
" Queequeg," said I, " let's go; this fellow has broken loose from somewhere; he's talking about something and somebody we don't know."
" Stop!"
cried the stranger.
" Ye said true--ye hav'n't seen Old Thunder yet, have ye?"
" Who's Old Thunder?"
said I, again riveted with the insane earnestness of his manner.
" Captain Ahab."
" What!
the captain of our ship, the Pequod?"
" Aye, among some of us old sailor chaps, he goes by that name.
Ye hav'n't seen him yet, have ye?"
" No, we hav'n't.
He's sick they say, but is getting better, and will be all right again before long."
" All right again before long!"
laughed the stranger, with a solemnly derisive sort of laugh.
" Look ye; when Captain Ahab is all right, then this left arm of mine will be all right; not before."
" What do you know about him?"
" What did they TELL you about him?
Say that!"
" They didn't tell much of anything about him; only I've heard that he's a good whale - hunter, and a good captain to his crew."
" That's true, that's true--yes, both true enough.
But you must jump when he gives an order.
Step and growl; growl and go--that's the word with Captain Ahab.
But nothing about that thing that happened to him off Cape Horn, long ago, when he lay like dead for three days and nights; nothing about that deadly skrimmage with the Spaniard afore the altar in Santa?-- heard nothing about that, eh?
Nothing about the silver calabash he spat into?
And nothing about his losing his leg last voyage, according to the prophecy.
Didn't ye hear a word about them matters and something more, eh?
No, I don't think ye did; how could ye?
Who knows it?
Not all Nantucket, I guess.
But hows'ever, mayhap, ye've heard tell about the leg, and how he lost it; aye, ye have heard of that, I dare say.
Oh yes, THAT every one knows a'most--I mean they know he's only one leg; and that a parmacetti took the other off."
" My friend," said I, " what all this gibberish of yours is about, I don't know, and I don't much care; for it seems to me that you must be a little damaged in the head.
But if you are speaking of Captain Ahab, of that ship there, the Pequod, then let me tell you, that I know all about the loss of his leg."
" ALL about it, eh--sure you do?-- all?"
" Pretty sure."
With finger pointed and eye levelled at the Pequod, the beggar - like stranger stood a moment, as if in a troubled reverie; then starting a little, turned and said:--" Ye've shipped, have ye?
Names down on the papers?
Well, well, what's signed, is signed; and what's to be, will be; and then again, perhaps it won't be, after all.
Anyhow, it's all fixed and arranged a'ready; and some sailors or other must go with him, I suppose; as well these as any other men, God pity'em!
Morning to ye, shipmates, morning; the ineffable heavens bless ye; I'm sorry I stopped ye."
" Look here, friend," said I, " if you have anything important to tell us, out with it; but if you are only trying to bamboozle us, you are mistaken in your game; that's all I have to say."
" And it's said very well, and I like to hear a chap talk up that way; you are just the man for him--the likes of ye.
Morning to ye, shipmates, morning!
Oh!
when ye get there, tell'em I've concluded not to make one of'em."
" Ah, my dear fellow, you can't fool us that way--you can't fool us.
It is the easiest thing in the world for a man to look as if he had a great secret in him."
" Morning to ye, shipmates, morning."
" Morning it is," said I.
" Come along, Queequeg, let's leave this crazy man.
But stop, tell me your name, will you?"
" Elijah."
Elijah!
thought I, and we walked away, both commenting, after each other's fashion, upon this ragged old sailor; and agreed that he was nothing but a humbug, trying to be a bugbear.
But we had not gone perhaps above a hundred yards, when chancing to turn a corner, and looking back as I did so, who should be seen but Elijah following us, though at a distance.
Somehow, the sight of him struck me so, that I said nothing to Queequeg of his being behind, but passed on with my comrade, anxious to see whether the stranger would turn the same corner that we did.
He did; and then it seemed to me that he was dogging us, but with what intent I could not for the life of me imagine.
I was resolved to satisfy myself whether this ragged Elijah was really dogging us or not, and with that intent crossed the way with Queequeg, and on that side of it retraced our steps.
But Elijah passed on, without seeming to notice us.
This relieved me; and once more, and finally as it seemed to me, I pronounced him in my heart, a humbug.
CHAPTER 20
All Astir.
A day or two passed, and there was great activity aboard the Pequod.
Not only were the old sails being mended, but new sails were coming on board, and bolts of canvas, and coils of rigging; in short, everything betokened that the ship's preparations were hurrying to a close.
Captain Peleg seldom or never went ashore, but sat in his wigwam keeping a sharp look - out upon the hands: Bildad did all the purchasing and providing at the stores; and the men employed in the hold and on the rigging were working till long after night - fall.
On the day following Queequeg's signing the articles, word was given at all the inns where the ship's company were stopping, that their chests must be on board before night, for there was no telling how soon the vessel might be sailing.
So Queequeg and I got down our traps, resolving, however, to sleep ashore till the last.
But it seems they always give very long notice in these cases, and the ship did not sail for several days.
But no wonder; there was a good deal to be done, and there is no telling how many things to be thought of, before the Pequod was fully equipped.
Every one knows what a multitude of things--beds, sauce - pans, knives and forks, shovels and tongs, napkins, nut - crackers, and what not, are indispensable to the business of housekeeping.
Just so with whaling, which necessitates a three - years'housekeeping upon the wide ocean, far from all grocers, costermongers, doctors, bakers, and bankers.
And though this also holds true of merchant vessels, yet not by any means to the same extent as with whalemen.
Hence, the spare boats, spare spars, and spare lines and harpoons, and spare everythings, almost, but a spare Captain and duplicate ship.
At the period of our arrival at the Island, the heaviest storage of the Pequod had been almost completed; comprising her beef, bread, water, fuel, and iron hoops and staves.
But, as before hinted, for some time there was a continual fetching and carrying on board of divers odds and ends of things, both large and small.
At one time she would come on board with a jar of pickles for the steward's pantry; another time with a bunch of quills for the chief mate's desk, where he kept his log; a third time with a roll of flannel for the small of some one's rheumatic back.
Never did any woman better deserve her name, which was Charity--Aunt Charity, as everybody called her.
But it was startling to see this excellent hearted Quakeress coming on board, as she did the last day, with a long oil - ladle in one hand, and a still longer whaling lance in the other.
Nor was Bildad himself nor Captain Peleg at all backward.
As for Bildad, he carried about with him a long list of the articles needed, and at every fresh arrival, down went his mark opposite that article upon the paper.
Every once in a while Peleg came hobbling out of his whalebone den, roaring at the men down the hatchways, roaring up to the riggers at the mast - head, and then concluded by roaring back into his wigwam.
During these days of preparation, Queequeg and I often visited the craft, and as often I asked about Captain Ahab, and how he was, and when he was going to come on board his ship.
To these questions they would answer, that he was getting better and better, and was expected aboard every day; meantime, the two captains, Peleg and Bildad, could attend to everything necessary to fit the vessel for the voyage.
But when a man suspects any wrong, it sometimes happens that if he be already involved in the matter, he insensibly strives to cover up his suspicions even from himself.
And much this way it was with me.
I said nothing, and tried to think nothing.
At last it was given out that some time next day the ship would certainly sail.
So next morning, Queequeg and I took a very early start.
CHAPTER 21
Going Aboard.
It was nearly six o'clock, but only grey imperfect misty dawn, when we drew nigh the wharf.
" There are some sailors running ahead there, if I see right," said I to Queequeg, " it can't be shadows; she's off by sunrise, I guess; come on!"
" Avast!"
cried a voice, whose owner at the same time coming close behind us, laid a hand upon both our shoulders, and then insinuating himself between us, stood stooping forward a little, in the uncertain twilight, strangely peering from Queequeg to me.
It was Elijah.
" Going aboard?"
" Hands off, will you," said I.
" Lookee here," said Queequeg, shaking himself, " go'way!"
" Ain't going aboard, then?"
" Yes, we are," said I, " but what business is that of yours?
Do you know, Mr. Elijah, that I consider you a little impertinent?"
" No, no, no; I wasn't aware of that," said Elijah, slowly and wonderingly looking from me to Queequeg, with the most unaccountable glances.
" Elijah," said I, " you will oblige my friend and me by withdrawing.
We are going to the Indian and Pacific Oceans, and would prefer not to be detained."
" Ye be, be ye?
Coming back afore breakfast?"
" He's cracked, Queequeg," said I, " come on."
" Holloa!"
cried stationary Elijah, hailing us when we had removed a few paces.
" Never mind him," said I, " Queequeg, come on."
But he stole up to us again, and suddenly clapping his hand on my shoulder, said --" Did ye see anything looking like men going towards that ship a while ago?"
Struck by this plain matter - of - fact question, I answered, saying, " Yes, I thought I did see four or five men; but it was too dim to be sure."
" Very dim, very dim," said Elijah.
" Morning to ye."
Once more we quitted him; but once more he came softly after us; and touching my shoulder again, said, " See if you can find'em now, will ye?
" Find who?"
" Morning to ye!
morning to ye!"
he rejoined, again moving off.
" Oh!
I was going to warn ye against--but never mind, never mind--it's all one, all in the family too;-- sharp frost this morning, ain't it?
Good - bye to ye.
Shan't see ye again very soon, I guess; unless it's before the Grand Jury."
And with these cracked words he finally departed, leaving me, for the moment, in no small wonderment at his frantic impudence.
At last, stepping on board the Pequod, we found everything in profound quiet, not a soul moving.
The cabin entrance was locked within; the hatches were all on, and lumbered with coils of rigging.
Going forward to the forecastle, we found the slide of the scuttle open.
Seeing a light, we went down, and found only an old rigger there, wrapped in a tattered pea - jacket.
He was thrown at whole length upon two chests, his face downwards and inclosed in his folded arms.
The profoundest slumber slept upon him.
" Those sailors we saw, Queequeg, where can they have gone to?"
said I, looking dubiously at the sleeper.
But it seemed that, when on the wharf, Queequeg had not at all noticed what I now alluded to; hence I would have thought myself to have been optically deceived in that matter, were it not for Elijah's otherwise inexplicable question.
But I beat the thing down; and again marking the sleeper, jocularly hinted to Queequeg that perhaps we had best sit up with the body; telling him to establish himself accordingly.
He put his hand upon the sleeper's rear, as though feeling if it was soft enough; and then, without more ado, sat quietly down there.
" Gracious!
Queequeg, don't sit there," said I.
" Oh!
perry dood seat," said Queequeg, " my country way; won't hurt him face."
" Face!"
said I, " call that his face?
very benevolent countenance then; but how hard he breathes, he's heaving himself; get off, Queequeg, you are heavy, it's grinding the face of the poor.
Get off, Queequeg!
Look, he'll twitch you off soon.
I wonder he don't wake."
Queequeg removed himself to just beyond the head of the sleeper, and lighted his tomahawk pipe.
I sat at the feet.
We kept the pipe passing over the sleeper, from one to the other.
While narrating these things, every time Queequeg received the tomahawk from me, he flourished the hatchet - side of it over the sleeper's head.
" What's that for, Queequeg?"
" Perry easy, kill - e; oh!
perry easy!
He was going on with some wild reminiscences about his tomahawk - pipe, which, it seemed, had in its two uses both brained his foes and soothed his soul, when we were directly attracted to the sleeping rigger.
The strong vapour now completely filling the contracted hole, it began to tell upon him.
He breathed with a sort of muffledness; then seemed troubled in the nose; then revolved over once or twice; then sat up and rubbed his eyes.
" Holloa!"
he breathed at last, " who be ye smokers?"
" Shipped men," answered I, " when does she sail?"
" Aye, aye, ye are going in her, be ye?
She sails to - day.
The Captain came aboard last night."
" What Captain?-- Ahab?"
" Who but him indeed?"
I was going to ask him some further questions concerning Ahab, when we heard a noise on deck.
" Holloa!
Starbuck's astir," said the rigger.
" He's a lively chief mate, that; good man, and a pious; but all alive now, I must turn to."
And so saying he went on deck, and we followed.
It was now clear sunrise.
Soon the crew came on board in twos and threes; the riggers bestirred themselves; the mates were actively engaged; and several of the shore people were busy in bringing various last things on board.
Meanwhile Captain Ahab remained invisibly enshrined within his cabin.
CHAPTER 22
Merry Christmas.
" Now, Mr. Starbuck, are you sure everything is right?
Captain Ahab is all ready--just spoke to him--nothing more to be got from shore, eh?
Well, call all hands, then.
Muster'em aft here--blast'em!"
" No need of profane words, however great the hurry, Peleg," said Bildad, " but away with thee, friend Starbuck, and do our bidding."
How now!
Here upon the very point of starting for the voyage, Captain Peleg and Captain Bildad were going it with a high hand on the quarter - deck, just as if they were to be joint - commanders at sea, as well as to all appearances in port.
And, as for Captain Ahab, no sign of him was yet to be seen; only, they said he was in the cabin.
But then, the idea was, that his presence was by no means necessary in getting the ship under weigh, and steering her well out to sea.
Indeed, as that was not at all his proper business, but the pilot's; and as he was not yet completely recovered--so they said--therefore, Captain Ahab stayed below.
But there was not much chance to think over the matter, for Captain Peleg was now all alive.
He seemed to do most of the talking and commanding, and not Bildad.
" Aft here, ye sons of bachelors," he cried, as the sailors lingered at the main - mast.
" Mr. Starbuck, drive'em aft."
" Strike the tent there!"
-- was the next order.
As I hinted before, this whalebone marquee was never pitched except in port; and on board the Pequod, for thirty years, the order to strike the tent was well known to be the next thing to heaving up the anchor.
" Man the capstan!
Blood and thunder!-- jump!"
-- was the next command, and the crew sprang for the handspikes.
Now in getting under weigh, the station generally occupied by the pilot is the forward part of the ship.
Nevertheless, not three days previous, Bildad had told them that no profane songs would be allowed on board the Pequod, particularly in getting under weigh; and Charity, his sister, had placed a small choice copy of Watts in each seaman's berth.
Meantime, overseeing the other part of the ship, Captain Peleg ripped and swore astern in the most frightful manner.
I almost thought he would sink the ship before the anchor could be got up; involuntarily I paused on my handspike, and told Queequeg to do the same, thinking of the perils we both ran, in starting on the voyage with such a devil for a pilot.
That was my first kick.
" Is that the way they heave in the marchant service?"
he roared.
" Spring, thou sheep - head; spring, and break thy backbone!
Why don't ye spring, I say, all of ye--spring!
Quohog!
spring, thou chap with the red whiskers; spring there, Scotch - cap; spring, thou green pants.
Spring, I say, all of ye, and spring your eyes out!"
And so saying, he moved along the windlass, here and there using his leg very freely, while imperturbable Bildad kept leading off with his psalmody.
Thinks I, Captain Peleg must have been drinking something to - day.
At last the anchor was up, the sails were set, and off we glided.
It was a short, cold Christmas; and as the short northern day merged into night, we found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray cased us in ice, as in polished armor.
The long rows of teeth on the bulwarks glistened in the moonlight; and like the white ivory tusks of some huge elephant, vast curving icicles depended from the bows.
Lank Bildad, as pilot, headed the first watch, and ever and anon, as the old craft deep dived into the green seas, and sent the shivering frost all over her, and the winds howled, and the cordage rang, his steady notes were heard,--
" Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood, Stand dressed in living green.
So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between."
Never did those sweet words sound more sweetly to me than then.
They were full of hope and fruition.
At last we gained such an offing, that the two pilots were needed no longer.
The stout sail - boat that had accompanied us began ranging alongside.
It was curious and not unpleasing, how Peleg and Bildad were affected at this juncture, especially Captain Bildad.
As for Peleg himself, he took it more like a philosopher; but for all his philosophy, there was a tear twinkling in his eye, when the lantern came too near.
And he, too, did not a little run from cabin to deck--now a word below, and now a word with Starbuck, the chief mate.
But, at last, he turned to his comrade, with a final sort of look about him,--" Captain Bildad--come, old shipmate, we must go.
Back the main - yard there!
Boat ahoy!
Stand by to come close alongside, now!
Careful, careful!-- come, Bildad, boy--say your last.
Luck to ye, Starbuck--luck to ye, Mr. Stubb--luck to ye, Mr. Flask--good - bye and good luck to ye all--and this day three years I'll have a hot supper smoking for ye in old Nantucket.
Hurrah and away!"
" God bless ye, and have ye in His holy keeping, men," murmured old Bildad, almost incoherently.
" I hope ye'll have fine weather now, so that Captain Ahab may soon be moving among ye--a pleasant sun is all he needs, and ye'll have plenty of them in the tropic voyage ye go.
Be careful in the hunt, ye mates.
Don't stave the boats needlessly, ye harpooneers; good white cedar plank is raised full three per cent.
within the year.
Don't forget your prayers, either.
Mr. Starbuck, mind that cooper don't waste the spare staves.
Oh!
the sail - needles are in the green locker!
Don't whale it too much a'Lord's days, men; but don't miss a fair chance either, that's rejecting Heaven's good gifts.
Have an eye to the molasses tierce, Mr. Stubb; it was a little leaky, I thought.
If ye touch at the islands, Mr. Flask, beware of fornication.
Good - bye, good - bye!
Don't keep that cheese too long down in the hold, Mr. Starbuck; it'll spoil.
Be careful with the butter--twenty cents the pound it was, and mind ye, if --"
" Come, come, Captain Bildad; stop palavering,-- away!"
and with that, Peleg hurried him over the side, and both dropt into the boat.
Ship and boat diverged; the cold, damp night breeze blew between; a screaming gull flew overhead; the two hulls wildly rolled; we gave three heavy - hearted cheers, and blindly plunged like fate into the lone Atlantic.
CHAPTER 23
The Lee Shore.
Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, newlanded mariner, encountered in New Bedford at the inn.
When on that shivering winter's night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her helm but Bulkington!
I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in mid - winter just landed from a four years'dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another tempestuous term.
The land seemed scorching to his feet.
Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six - inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington.
Let me only say that it fared with him as with the storm - tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land.
The port would fain give succor; the port is pitiful; in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that's kind to our mortalities.
But in that gale, the port, the land, is that ship's direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of land, though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through.
With all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in so doing, fights'gainst the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks all the lashed sea's landlessness again; for refuge's sake forlornly rushing into peril; her only friend her bitterest foe!
Know ye now, Bulkington?
But as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God--so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety!
For worm - like, then, oh!
who would craven crawl to land!
Terrors of the terrible!
is all this agony so vain?
Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington!
Bear thee grimly, demigod!
Up from the spray of thy ocean - perishing--straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!
CHAPTER 24
The Advocate.
In the first place, it may be deemed almost superfluous to establish the fact, that among people at large, the business of whaling is not accounted on a level with what are called the liberal professions.
(Sperm Whale Fishery) to his visiting card, such a procedure would be deemed pre - eminently presuming and ridiculous.
Doubtless one leading reason why the world declines honouring us whalemen, is this: they think that, at best, our vocation amounts to a butchering sort of business; and that when actively engaged therein, we are surrounded by all manner of defilements.
Butchers we are, that is true.
But butchers, also, and butchers of the bloodiest badge have been all Martial Commanders whom the world invariably delights to honour.
But even granting the charge in question to be true; what disordered slippery decks of a whale - ship are comparable to the unspeakable carrion of those battle - fields from which so many soldiers return to drink in all ladies'plaudits?
For what are the comprehensible terrors of man compared with the interlinked terrors and wonders of God!
But, though the world scouts at us whale hunters, yet does it unwittingly pay us the profoundest homage; yea, an all - abounding adoration!
for almost all the tapers, lamps, and candles that burn round the globe, burn, as before so many shrines, to our glory!
But look at this matter in other lights; weigh it in all sorts of scales; see what we whalemen are, and have been.
Why did the Dutch in De Witt's time have admirals of their whaling fleets?
Why did Louis XVI.
of France, at his own personal expense, fit out whaling ships from Dunkirk, and politely invite to that town some score or two of families from our own island of Nantucket?
Why did Britain between the years 1750 and 1788 pay to her whalemen in bounties upwards of L1, 000, 000?
and every year importing into our harbors a well reaped harvest of $ 7, 000, 000.
How comes all this, if there be not something puissant in whaling?
But this is not the half; look again.
I freely assert, that the cosmopolite philosopher cannot, for his life, point out one single peaceful influence, which within the last sixty years has operated more potentially upon the whole broad world, taken in one aggregate, than the high and mighty business of whaling.
One way and another, it has begotten events so remarkable in themselves, and so continuously momentous in their sequential issues, that whaling may well be regarded as that Egyptian mother, who bore offspring themselves pregnant from her womb.
It would be a hopeless, endless task to catalogue all these things.
Let a handful suffice.
For many years past the whale - ship has been the pioneer in ferreting out the remotest and least known parts of the earth.
She has explored seas and archipelagoes which had no chart, where no Cook or Vancouver had ever sailed.
If American and European men - of - war now peacefully ride in once savage harbors, let them fire salutes to the honour and glory of the whale - ship, which originally showed them the way, and first interpreted between them and the savages.
They may celebrate as they will the heroes of Exploring Expeditions, your Cooks, your Krusensterns; but I say that scores of anonymous Captains have sailed out of Nantucket, that were as great, and greater than your Cook and your Krusenstern.
For in their succourless empty - handedness, they, in the heathenish sharked waters, and by the beaches of unrecorded, javelin islands, battled with virgin wonders and terrors that Cook with all his marines and muskets would not willingly have dared.
All that is made such a flourish of in the old South Sea Voyages, those things were but the life - time commonplaces of our heroic Nantucketers.
Often, adventures which Vancouver dedicates three chapters to, these men accounted unworthy of being set down in the ship's common log.
Ah, the world!
Oh, the world!
Until the whale fishery rounded Cape Horn, no commerce but colonial, scarcely any intercourse but colonial, was carried on between Europe and the long line of the opulent Spanish provinces on the Pacific coast.
That great America on the other side of the sphere, Australia, was given to the enlightened world by the whaleman.
After its first blunder - born discovery by a Dutchman, all other ships long shunned those shores as pestiferously barbarous; but the whale - ship touched there.
The whale - ship is the true mother of that now mighty colony.
Moreover, in the infancy of the first Australian settlement, the emigrants were several times saved from starvation by the benevolent biscuit of the whale - ship luckily dropping an anchor in their waters.
The uncounted isles of all Polynesia confess the same truth, and do commercial homage to the whale - ship, that cleared the way for the missionary and the merchant, and in many cases carried the primitive missionaries to their first destinations.
If that double - bolted land, Japan, is ever to become hospitable, it is the whale - ship alone to whom the credit will be due; for already she is on the threshold.
But if, in the face of all this, you still declare that whaling has no aesthetically noble associations connected with it, then am I ready to shiver fifty lances with you there, and unhorse you with a split helmet every time.
The whale has no famous author, and whaling no famous chronicler, you will say.
THE WHALE NO FAMOUS AUTHOR, AND WHALING NO FAMOUS CHRONICLER?
Who wrote the first account of our Leviathan?
Who but mighty Job!
And who composed the first narrative of a whaling - voyage?
Who, but no less a prince than Alfred the Great, who, with his own royal pen, took down the words from Other, the Norwegian whale - hunter of those times!
And who pronounced our glowing eulogy in Parliament?
Who, but Edmund Burke!
True enough, but then whalemen themselves are poor devils; they have no good blood in their veins.
NO GOOD BLOOD IN THEIR VEINS?
They have something better than royal blood there.
Good again; but then all confess that somehow whaling is not respectable.
WHALING NOT RESPECTABLE?
Whaling is imperial!
By old English statutory law, the whale is declared " a royal fish.
Oh, that's only nominal!
The whale himself has never figured in any grand imposing way.
THE WHALE NEVER FIGURED IN ANY GRAND IMPOSING WAY?
In one of the mighty triumphs given to a Roman general upon his entering the world's capital, the bones of a whale, brought all the way from the Syrian coast, were the most conspicuous object in the cymballed procession.
* See subsequent chapters for something more on this head.
Grant it, since you cite it; but, say what you will, there is no real dignity in whaling.
NO DIGNITY IN WHALING?
The dignity of our calling the very heavens attest.
Cetus is a constellation in the South!
No more!
Drive down your hat in presence of the Czar, and take it off to Queequeg!
No more!
I know a man that, in his lifetime, has taken three hundred and fifty whales.
I account that man more honourable than that great captain of antiquity who boasted of taking as many walled towns.
in my desk, then here I prospectively ascribe all the honour and the glory to whaling; for a whale - ship was my Yale College and my Harvard.
CHAPTER 25
Postscript.
In behalf of the dignity of whaling, I would fain advance naught but substantiated facts.
But after embattling his facts, an advocate who should wholly suppress a not unreasonable surmise, which might tell eloquently upon his cause--such an advocate, would he not be blameworthy?
It is well known that at the coronation of kings and queens, even modern ones, a certain curious process of seasoning them for their functions is gone through.
There is a saltcellar of state, so called, and there may be a castor of state.
How they use the salt, precisely--who knows?
Certain I am, however, that a king's head is solemnly oiled at his coronation, even as a head of salad.
Can it be, though, that they anoint it with a view of making its interior run well, as they anoint machinery?
Much might be ruminated here, concerning the essential dignity of this regal process, because in common life we esteem but meanly and contemptibly a fellow who anoints his hair, and palpably smells of that anointing.
In truth, a mature man who uses hair - oil, unless medicinally, that man has probably got a quoggy spot in him somewhere.
As a general rule, he can't amount to much in his totality.
But the only thing to be considered here, is this--what kind of oil is used at coronations?
Certainly it cannot be olive oil, nor macassar oil, nor castor oil, nor bear's oil, nor train oil, nor cod - liver oil.
What then can it possibly be, but sperm oil in its unmanufactured, unpolluted state, the sweetest of all oils?
Think of that, ye loyal Britons!
we whalemen supply your kings and queens with coronation stuff!
CHAPTER 26
Knights and Squires.
The chief mate of the Pequod was Starbuck, a native of Nantucket, and a Quaker by descent.
He was a long, earnest man, and though born on an icy coast, seemed well adapted to endure hot latitudes, his flesh being hard as twice - baked biscuit.
Transported to the Indies, his live blood would not spoil like bottled ale.
He must have been born in some time of general drought and famine, or upon one of those fast days for which his state is famous.
Only some thirty arid summers had he seen; those summers had dried up all his physical superfluousness.
But this, his thinness, so to speak, seemed no more the token of wasting anxieties and cares, than it seemed the indication of any bodily blight.
It was merely the condensation of the man.
He was by no means ill - looking; quite the contrary.
Looking into his eyes, you seemed to see there the yet lingering images of those thousand - fold perils he had calmly confronted through life.
A staid, steadfast man, whose life for the most part was a telling pantomime of action, and not a tame chapter of sounds.
Yet, for all his hardy sobriety and fortitude, there were certain qualities in him which at times affected, and in some cases seemed well nigh to overbalance all the rest.
Outward portents and inward presentiments were his.
" I will have no man in my boat," said Starbuck, " who is not afraid of a whale."
By this, he seemed to mean, not only that the most reliable and useful courage was that which arises from the fair estimation of the encountered peril, but that an utterly fearless man is a far more dangerous comrade than a coward.
" Aye, aye," said Stubb, the second mate, " Starbuck, there, is as careful a man as you'll find anywhere in this fishery."
But we shall ere long see what that word " careful " precisely means when used by a man like Stubb, or almost any other whale hunter.
Starbuck was no crusader after perils; in him courage was not a sentiment; but a thing simply useful to him, and always at hand upon all mortally practical occasions.
Besides, he thought, perhaps, that in this business of whaling, courage was one of the great staple outfits of the ship, like her beef and her bread, and not to be foolishly wasted.
Wherefore he had no fancy for lowering for whales after sun - down; nor for persisting in fighting a fish that too much persisted in fighting him.
For, thought Starbuck, I am here in this critical ocean to kill whales for my living, and not to be killed by them for theirs; and that hundreds of men had been so killed Starbuck well knew.
What doom was his own father's?
Where, in the bottomless deeps, could he find the torn limbs of his brother?
With memories like these in him, and, moreover, given to a certain superstitiousness, as has been said; the courage of this Starbuck which could, nevertheless, still flourish, must indeed have been extreme.
But were the coming narrative to reveal in any instance, the complete abasement of poor Starbuck's fortitude, scarce might I have the heart to write it; for it is a thing most sorrowful, nay shocking, to expose the fall of valour in the soul.
That immaculate manliness we feel within ourselves, so far within us, that it remains intact though all the outer character seem gone; bleeds with keenest anguish at the undraped spectacle of a valor - ruined man.
Nor can piety itself, at such a shameful sight, completely stifle her upbraidings against the permitting stars.
But this august dignity I treat of, is not the dignity of kings and robes, but that abounding dignity which has no robed investiture.
Thou shalt see it shining in the arm that wields a pick or drives a spike; that democratic dignity which, on all hands, radiates without end from God; Himself!
The great God absolute!
The centre and circumference of all democracy!
His omnipresence, our divine equality!
Bear me out in it, thou great democratic God!
Thou who, in all Thy mighty, earthly marchings, ever cullest Thy selectest champions from the kingly commons; bear me out in it, O God!
CHAPTER 27
Knights and Squires.
Stubb was the second mate.
He was a native of Cape Cod; and hence, according to local usage, was called a Cape - Cod - man.
A happy - go - lucky; neither craven nor valiant; taking perils as they came with an indifferent air; and while engaged in the most imminent crisis of the chase, toiling away, calm and collected as a journeyman joiner engaged for the year.
Good - humored, easy, and careless, he presided over his whale - boat as if the most deadly encounter were but a dinner, and his crew all invited guests.
He was as particular about the comfortable arrangement of his part of the boat, as an old stage - driver is about the snugness of his box.
When close to the whale, in the very death - lock of the fight, he handled his unpitying lance coolly and off - handedly, as a whistling tinker his hammer.
He would hum over his old rigadig tunes while flank and flank with the most exasperated monster.
Long usage had, for this Stubb, converted the jaws of death into an easy chair.
What he thought of death itself, there is no telling.
For, like his nose, his short, black little pipe was one of the regular features of his face.
You would almost as soon have expected him to turn out of his bunk without his nose as without his pipe.
He kept a whole row of pipes there ready loaded, stuck in a rack, within easy reach of his hand; and, whenever he turned in, he smoked them all out in succession, lighting one from the other to the end of the chapter; then loading them again to be in readiness anew.
For, when Stubb dressed, instead of first putting his legs into his trowsers, he put his pipe into his mouth.
The third mate was Flask, a native of Tisbury, in Martha's Vineyard.
A short, stout, ruddy young fellow, very pugnacious concerning whales, who somehow seemed to think that the great leviathans had personally and hereditarily affronted him; and therefore it was a sort of point of honour with him, to destroy them whenever encountered.
This ignorant, unconscious fearlessness of his made him a little waggish in the matter of whales; he followed these fish for the fun of it; and a three years'voyage round Cape Horn was only a jolly joke that lasted that length of time.
As a carpenter's nails are divided into wrought nails and cut nails; so mankind may be similarly divided.
Little Flask was one of the wrought ones; made to clinch tight and last long.
Now these three mates--Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask, were momentous men.
They it was who by universal prescription commanded three of the Pequod's boats as headsmen.
In that grand order of battle in which Captain Ahab would probably marshal his forces to descend on the whales, these three headsmen were as captains of companies.
Or, being armed with their long keen whaling spears, they were as a picked trio of lancers; even as the harpooneers were flingers of javelins.
First of all was Queequeg, whom Starbuck, the chief mate, had selected for his squire.
But Queequeg is already known.
Next was Tashtego, an unmixed Indian from Gay Head, the most westerly promontory of Martha's Vineyard, where there still exists the last remnant of a village of red men, which has long supplied the neighboring island of Nantucket with many of her most daring harpooneers.
In the fishery, they usually go by the generic name of Gay - Headers.
But no longer snuffing in the trail of the wild beasts of the woodland, Tashtego now hunted in the wake of the great whales of the sea; the unerring harpoon of the son fitly replacing the infallible arrow of the sires.
To look at the tawny brawn of his lithe snaky limbs, you would almost have credited the superstitions of some of the earlier Puritans, and half - believed this wild Indian to be a son of the Prince of the Powers of the Air.
Tashtego was Stubb the second mate's squire.
Third among the harpooneers was Daggoo, a gigantic, coal - black negro - savage, with a lion - like tread--an Ahasuerus to behold.
Suspended from his ears were two golden hoops, so large that the sailors called them ring - bolts, and would talk of securing the top - sail halyards to them.
In his youth Daggoo had voluntarily shipped on board of a whaler, lying in a lonely bay on his native coast.
There was a corporeal humility in looking up at him; and a white man standing before him seemed a white flag come to beg truce of a fortress.
Curious to tell, this imperial negro, Ahasuerus Daggoo, was the Squire of little Flask, who looked like a chess - man beside him.
As for the residue of the Pequod's company, be it said, that at the present day not one in two of the many thousand men before the mast employed in the American whale fishery, are Americans born, though pretty nearly all the officers are.
Herein it is the same with the American whale fishery as with the American army and military and merchant navies, and the engineering forces employed in the construction of the American Canals and Railroads.
The same, I say, because in all these cases the native American liberally provides the brains, the rest of the world as generously supplying the muscles.
No small number of these whaling seamen belong to the Azores, where the outward bound Nantucket whalers frequently touch to augment their crews from the hardy peasants of those rocky shores.
In like manner, the Greenland whalers sailing out of Hull or London, put in at the Shetland Islands, to receive the full complement of their crew.
Upon the passage homewards, they drop them there again.
How it is, there is no telling, but Islanders seem to make the best whalemen.
They were nearly all Islanders in the Pequod, ISOLATOES too, I call such, not acknowledging the common continent of men, but each ISOLATO living on a separate continent of his own.
Yet now, federated along one keel, what a set these Isolatoes were!
An Anacharsis Clootz deputation from all the isles of the sea, and all the ends of the earth, accompanying Old Ahab in the Pequod to lay the world's grievances before that bar from which not very many of them ever come back.
Black Little Pip--he never did--oh, no!
he went before.
Poor Alabama boy!
CHAPTER 28
Ahab.
For several days after leaving Nantucket, nothing above hatches was seen of Captain Ahab.
Yes, their supreme lord and dictator was there, though hitherto unseen by any eyes not permitted to penetrate into the now sacred retreat of the cabin.
Every time I ascended to the deck from my watches below, I instantly gazed aft to mark if any strange face were visible; for my first vague disquietude touching the unknown captain, now in the seclusion of the sea, became almost a perturbation.
This was strangely heightened at times by the ragged Elijah's diabolical incoherences uninvitedly recurring to me, with a subtle energy I could not have before conceived of.
But poorly could I withstand them, much as in other moods I was almost ready to smile at the solemn whimsicalities of that outlandish prophet of the wharves.
But whatever it was of apprehensiveness or uneasiness--to call it so--which I felt, yet whenever I came to look about me in the ship, it seemed against all warrantry to cherish such emotions.
But it was especially the aspect of the three chief officers of the ship, the mates, which was most forcibly calculated to allay these colourless misgivings, and induce confidence and cheerfulness in every presentment of the voyage.
Three better, more likely sea - officers and men, each in his own different way, could not readily be found, and they were every one of them Americans; a Nantucketer, a Vineyarder, a Cape man.
Reality outran apprehension; Captain Ahab stood upon his quarter - deck.
There seemed no sign of common bodily illness about him, nor of the recovery from any.
He looked like a man cut away from the stake, when the fire has overrunningly wasted all the limbs without consuming them, or taking away one particle from their compacted aged robustness.
His whole high, broad form, seemed made of solid bronze, and shaped in an unalterable mould, like Cellini's cast Perseus.
Threading its way out from among his grey hairs, and continuing right down one side of his tawny scorched face and neck, till it disappeared in his clothing, you saw a slender rod - like mark, lividly whitish.
Whether that mark was born with him, or whether it was the scar left by some desperate wound, no one could certainly say.
By some tacit consent, throughout the voyage little or no allusion was made to it, especially by the mates.
But once Tashtego's senior, an old Gay - Head Indian among the crew, superstitiously asserted that not till he was full forty years old did Ahab become that way branded, and then it came upon him, not in the fury of any mortal fray, but in an elemental strife at sea.
Yet, this wild hint seemed inferentially negatived, by what a grey Manxman insinuated, an old sepulchral man, who, having never before sailed out of Nantucket, had never ere this laid eye upon wild Ahab.
Nevertheless, the old sea - traditions, the immemorial credulities, popularly invested this old Manxman with preternatural powers of discernment.
So powerfully did the whole grim aspect of Ahab affect me, and the livid brand which streaked it, that for the first few moments I hardly noted that not a little of this overbearing grimness was owing to the barbaric white leg upon which he partly stood.
It had previously come to me that this ivory leg had at sea been fashioned from the polished bone of the sperm whale's jaw.
" Aye, he was dismasted off Japan," said the old Gay - Head Indian once; " but like his dismasted craft, he shipped another mast without coming home for it.
He has a quiver of'em."
I was struck with the singular posture he maintained.
Upon each side of the Pequod's quarter deck, and pretty close to the mizzen shrouds, there was an auger hole, bored about half an inch or so, into the plank.
His bone leg steadied in that hole; one arm elevated, and holding by a shroud; Captain Ahab stood erect, looking straight out beyond the ship's ever - pitching prow.
There was an infinity of firmest fortitude, a determinate, unsurrenderable wilfulness, in the fixed and fearless, forward dedication of that glance.
Not a word he spoke; nor did his officers say aught to him; though by all their minutest gestures and expressions, they plainly showed the uneasy, if not painful, consciousness of being under a troubled master - eye.
And not only that, but moody stricken Ahab stood before them with a crucifixion in his face; in all the nameless regal overbearing dignity of some mighty woe.
Ere long, from his first visit in the air, he withdrew into his cabin.
But after that morning, he was every day visible to the crew; either standing in his pivot - hole, or seated upon an ivory stool he had; or heavily walking the deck.
As the sky grew less gloomy; indeed, began to grow a little genial, he became still less and less a recluse; as if, when the ship had sailed from home, nothing but the dead wintry bleakness of the sea had then kept him so secluded.
And, by and by, it came to pass, that he was almost continually in the air; but, as yet, for all that he said, or perceptibly did, on the at last sunny deck, he seemed as unnecessary there as another mast.
Nevertheless, ere long, the warm, warbling persuasiveness of the pleasant, holiday weather we came to, seemed gradually to charm him from his mood.
More than once did he put forth the faint blossom of a look, which, in any other man, would have soon flowered out in a smile.
CHAPTER 29
Enter Ahab; to Him, Stubb.
Some days elapsed, and ice and icebergs all astern, the Pequod now went rolling through the bright Quito spring, which, at sea, almost perpetually reigns on the threshold of the eternal August of the Tropic.
The warmly cool, clear, ringing, perfumed, overflowing, redundant days, were as crystal goblets of Persian sherbet, heaped up--flaked up, with rose - water snow.
The starred and stately nights seemed haughty dames in jewelled velvets, nursing at home in lonely pride, the memory of their absent conquering Earls, the golden helmeted suns!
For sleeping man,'twas hard to choose between such winsome days and such seducing nights.
But all the witcheries of that unwaning weather did not merely lend new spells and potencies to the outward world.
Inward they turned upon the soul, especially when the still mild hours of eve came on; then, memory shot her crystals as the clear ice most forms of noiseless twilights.
And all these subtle agencies, more and more they wrought on Ahab's texture.
Old age is always wakeful; as if, the longer linked with life, the less man has to do with aught that looks like death.
Among sea - commanders, the old greybeards will oftenest leave their berths to visit the night - cloaked deck.
It was so with Ahab; only that now, of late, he seemed so much to live in the open air, that truly speaking, his visits were more to the cabin, than from the cabin to the planks.
" It feels like going down into one's tomb,"-- he would mutter to himself --" for an old captain like me to be descending this narrow scuttle, to go to my grave - dug berth."
Ah!
Stubb, thou didst not know Ahab then.
" Am I a cannon - ball, Stubb," said Ahab, " that thou wouldst wad me that fashion?
But go thy ways; I had forgot.
Below to thy nightly grave; where such as ye sleep between shrouds, to use ye to the filling one at last.-- Down, dog, and kennel!"
Starting at the unforseen concluding exclamation of the so suddenly scornful old man, Stubb was speechless a moment; then said excitedly, " I am not used to be spoken to that way, sir; I do but less than half like it, sir."
" Avast!
gritted Ahab between his set teeth, and violently moving away, as if to avoid some passionate temptation.
" No, sir; not yet," said Stubb, emboldened, " I will not tamely be called a dog, sir."
" Then be called ten times a donkey, and a mule, and an ass, and begone, or I'll clear the world of thee!"
As he said this, Ahab advanced upon him with such overbearing terrors in his aspect, that Stubb involuntarily retreated.
" I was never served so before without giving a hard blow for it," muttered Stubb, as he found himself descending the cabin - scuttle.
" It's very queer.
Stop, Stubb; somehow, now, I don't well know whether to go back and strike him, or--what's that?-- down here on my knees and pray for him?
Yes, that was the thought coming up in me; but it would be the first time I ever DID pray.
It's queer; very queer; and he's queer too; aye, take him fore and aft, he's about the queerest old man Stubb ever sailed with.
How he flashed at me!-- his eyes like powder - pans!
is he mad?
Anyway there's something on his mind, as sure as there must be something on a deck when it cracks.
He aint in his bed now, either, more than three hours out of the twenty - four; and he don't sleep then.
A hot old man!
I guess he's got what some folks ashore call a conscience; it's a kind of Tic - Dolly - row they say--worse nor a toothache.
Well, well; I don't know what it is, but the Lord keep me from catching it.
He's full of riddles; I wonder what he goes into the after hold for, every night, as Dough - Boy tells me he suspects; what's that for, I should like to know?
Who's made appointments with him in the hold?
Ain't that queer, now?
But there's no telling, it's the old game--Here goes for a snooze.
Damn me, it's worth a fellow's while to be born into the world, if only to fall right asleep.
And now that I think of it, that's about the first thing babies do, and that's a sort of queer, too.
Damn me, but all things are queer, come to think of'em.
But that's against my principles.
Think not, is my eleventh commandment; and sleep when you can, is my twelfth--So here goes again.
But how's that?
didn't he call me a dog?
blazes!
he called me ten times a donkey, and piled a lot of jackasses on top of THAT!
He might as well have kicked me, and done with it.
Maybe he DID kick me, and I didn't observe it, I was so taken all aback with his brow, somehow.
It flashed like a bleached bone.
What the devil's the matter with me?
I don't stand right on my legs.
Coming afoul of that old man has a sort of turned me wrong side out.
By the Lord, I must have been dreaming, though--How?
how?
how?-- but the only way's to stash it; so here goes to hammock again; and in the morning, I'll see how this plaguey juggling thinks over by daylight."
CHAPTER 30
The Pipe.
When Stubb had departed, Ahab stood for a while leaning over the bulwarks; and then, as had been usual with him of late, calling a sailor of the watch, he sent him below for his ivory stool, and also his pipe.
Lighting the pipe at the binnacle lamp and planting the stool on the weather side of the deck, he sat and smoked.
In old Norse times, the thrones of the sea - loving Danish kings were fabricated, saith tradition, of the tusks of the narwhale.
How could one look at Ahab then, seated on that tripod of bones, without bethinking him of the royalty it symbolized?
For a Khan of the plank, and a king of the sea, and a great lord of Leviathans was Ahab.
Some moments passed, during which the thick vapour came from his mouth in quick and constant puffs, which blew back again into his face.
" How now," he soliloquized at last, withdrawing the tube, " this smoking no longer soothes.
Oh, my pipe!
hard must it go with me if thy charm be gone!
Here have I been unconsciously toiling, not pleasuring--aye, and ignorantly smoking to windward all the while; to windward, and with such nervous whiffs, as if, like the dying whale, my final jets were the strongest and fullest of trouble.
What business have I with this pipe?
This thing that is meant for sereneness, to send up mild white vapours among mild white hairs, not among torn iron - grey locks like mine.
I'll smoke no more --"
He tossed the still lighted pipe into the sea.
The fire hissed in the waves; the same instant the ship shot by the bubble the sinking pipe made.
With slouched hat, Ahab lurchingly paced the planks.
CHAPTER 31
Queen Mab.
Next morning Stubb accosted Flask.
" Such a queer dream, King - Post, I never had.
You know the old man's ivory leg, well I dreamed he kicked me with it; and when I tried to kick back, upon my soul, my little man, I kicked my leg right off!
And then, presto!
Ahab seemed a pyramid, and I, like a blazing fool, kept kicking at it.
But what was still more curious, Flask--you know how curious all dreams are--through all this rage that I was in, I somehow seemed to be thinking to myself, that after all, it was not much of an insult, that kick from Ahab.
' Why,' thinks I,'what's the row?
It's not a real leg, only a false leg.'
And there's a mighty difference between a living thump and a dead thump.
That's what makes a blow from the hand, Flask, fifty times more savage to bear than a blow from a cane.
The living member--that makes the living insult, my little man.
And thinks I to myself all the while, mind, while I was stubbing my silly toes against that cursed pyramid--so confoundedly contradictory was it all, all the while, I say, I was thinking to myself,'what's his leg now, but a cane--a whalebone cane.
Yes,' thinks I,'it was only a playful cudgelling--in fact, only a whaleboning that he gave me--not a base kick.
Besides,' thinks I,'look at it once; why, the end of it--the foot part--what a small sort of end it is; whereas, if a broad footed farmer kicked me, THERE'S a devilish broad insult.
But this insult is whittled down to a point only.'
But now comes the greatest joke of the dream, Flask.
While I was battering away at the pyramid, a sort of badger - haired old merman, with a hump on his back, takes me by the shoulders, and slews me round.
' What are you'bout?'
says he.
Slid!
man, but I was frightened.
Such a phiz!
But, somehow, next moment I was over the fright.
' What am I about?'
says I at last.
' And what business is that of yours, I should like to know, Mr. Humpback?
Do YOU want a kick?'
By the lord, Flask, I had no sooner said that, than he turned round his stern to me, bent over, and dragging up a lot of seaweed he had for a clout--what do you think, I saw?-- why thunder alive, man, his stern was stuck full of marlinspikes, with the points out.
Says I, on second thoughts,'I guess I won't kick you, old fellow.'
' Wise Stubb,' said he,'wise Stubb;' and kept muttering it all the time, a sort of eating of his own gums like a chimney hag.
Seeing he wasn't going to stop saying over his'wise Stubb, wise Stubb,' I thought I might as well fall to kicking the pyramid again.
But I had only just lifted my foot for it, when he roared out,'Stop that kicking!'
' Halloa,' says I,'what's the matter now, old fellow?'
' Look ye here,' says he;'let's argue the insult.
Captain Ahab kicked ye, didn't he?'
' Yes, he did,' says I --' right HERE it was.'
' Very good,' says he --' he used his ivory leg, didn't he?'
' Yes, he did,' says I.
' Well then,' says he,'wise Stubb, what have you to complain of?
Didn't he kick with right good will?
it wasn't a common pitch pine leg he kicked with, was it?
No, you were kicked by a great man, and with a beautiful ivory leg, Stubb.
It's an honour; I consider it an honour.
Listen, wise Stubb.
In old England the greatest lords think it great glory to be slapped by a queen, and made garter - knights of; but, be YOUR boast, Stubb, that ye were kicked by old Ahab, and made a wise man of.
Remember what I say; BE kicked by him; account his kicks honours; and on no account kick back; for you can't help yourself, wise Stubb.
Don't you see that pyramid?'
With that, he all of a sudden seemed somehow, in some queer fashion, to swim off into the air.
I snored; rolled over; and there I was in my hammock!
Now, what do you think of that dream, Flask?"
" I don't know; it seems a sort of foolish to me, tho.'"
" May be; may be.
But it's made a wise man of me, Flask.
D'ye see Ahab standing there, sideways looking over the stern?
Well, the best thing you can do, Flask, is to let the old man alone; never speak to him, whatever he says.
Halloa!
What's that he shouts?
Hark!"
" Mast - head, there!
Look sharp, all of ye!
There are whales hereabouts!
If ye see a white one, split your lungs for him!
" What do you think of that now, Flask?
ain't there a small drop of something queer about that, eh?
A white whale--did ye mark that, man?
Look ye--there's something special in the wind.
Stand by for it, Flask.
Ahab has that that's bloody on his mind.
But, mum; he comes this way."
CHAPTER 32
Cetology.
Already we are boldly launched upon the deep; but soon we shall be lost in its unshored, harbourless immensities.
It is some systematized exhibition of the whale in his broad genera, that I would now fain put before you.
Yet is it no easy task.
The classification of the constituents of a chaos, nothing less is here essayed.
Listen to what the best and latest authorities have laid down.
" No branch of Zoology is so much involved as that which is entitled Cetology," says Captain Scoresby, A. D. 1820.
" It is not my intention, were it in my power, to enter into the inquiry as to the true method of dividing the cetacea into groups and families.... Utter confusion exists among the historians of this animal " (sperm whale), says Surgeon Beale, A. D. 1839.
" Unfitness to pursue our research in the unfathomable waters."
" Impenetrable veil covering our knowledge of the cetacea."
" A field strewn with thorns."
" All these incomplete indications but serve to torture us naturalists."
Thus speak of the whale, the great Cuvier, and John Hunter, and Lesson, those lights of zoology and anatomy.
Nevertheless, though of real knowledge there be little, yet of books there are a plenty; and so in some small degree, with cetology, or the science of whales.
Many are the men, small and great, old and new, landsmen and seamen, who have at large or in little, written of the whale.
T. Cheever.
But to what ultimate generalizing purpose all these have written, the above cited extracts will show.
Of the names in this list of whale authors, only those following Owen ever saw living whales; and but one of them was a real professional harpooneer and whaleman.
I mean Captain Scoresby.
On the separate subject of the Greenland or right - whale, he is the best existing authority.
But Scoresby knew nothing and says nothing of the great sperm whale, compared with which the Greenland whale is almost unworthy mentioning.
And here be it said, that the Greenland whale is an usurper upon the throne of the seas.
He is not even by any means the largest of the whales.
Reference to nearly all the leviathanic allusions in the great poets of past days, will satisfy you that the Greenland whale, without one rival, was to them the monarch of the seas.
But the time has at last come for a new proclamation.
This is Charing Cross; hear ye!
good people all,-- the Greenland whale is deposed,-- the great sperm whale now reigneth!
There are only two books in being which at all pretend to put the living sperm whale before you, and at the same time, in the remotest degree succeed in the attempt.
Those books are Beale's and Bennett's; both in their time surgeons to English South - Sea whale - ships, and both exact and reliable men.
The original matter touching the sperm whale to be found in their volumes is necessarily small; but so far as it goes, it is of excellent quality, though mostly confined to scientific description.
As yet, however, the sperm whale, scientific or poetic, lives not complete in any literature.
Far above all other hunted whales, his is an unwritten life.
Now the various species of whales need some sort of popular comprehensive classification, if only an easy outline one for the present, hereafter to be filled in all its departments by subsequent laborers.
As no better man advances to take this matter in hand, I hereupon offer my own poor endeavors.
I promise nothing complete; because any human thing supposed to be complete, must for that very reason infallibly be faulty.
I shall not pretend to a minute anatomical description of the various species, or--in this place at least--to much of any description.
My object here is simply to project the draught of a systematization of cetology.
I am the architect, not the builder.
But it is a ponderous task; no ordinary letter - sorter in the Post - Office is equal to it.
To grope down into the bottom of the sea after them; to have one's hands among the unspeakable foundations, ribs, and very pelvis of the world; this is a fearful thing.
What am I that I should essay to hook the nose of this leviathan!
The awful tauntings in Job might well appal me.
" Will he the (leviathan) make a covenant with thee?
Behold the hope of him is vain!
But I have swam through libraries and sailed through oceans; I have had to do with whales with these visible hands; I am in earnest; and I will try.
There are some preliminaries to settle.
First: The uncertain, unsettled condition of this science of Cetology is in the very vestibule attested by the fact, that in some quarters it still remains a moot point whether a whale be a fish.
In his System of Nature, A. D. 1776, Linnaeus declares, " I hereby separate the whales from the fish."
But of my own knowledge, I know that down to the year 1850, sharks and shad, alewives and herring, against Linnaeus's express edict, were still found dividing the possession of the same seas with the Leviathan.
I submitted all this to my friends Simeon Macey and Charley Coffin, of Nantucket, both messmates of mine in a certain voyage, and they united in the opinion that the reasons set forth were altogether insufficient.
Charley profanely hinted they were humbug.
Be it known that, waiving all argument, I take the good old fashioned ground that the whale is a fish, and call upon holy Jonah to back me.
This fundamental thing settled, the next point is, in what internal respect does the whale differ from other fish.
Above, Linnaeus has given you those items.
But in brief, they are these: lungs and warm blood; whereas, all other fish are lungless and cold blooded.
Next: how shall we define the whale, by his obvious externals, so as conspicuously to label him for all time to come?
To be short, then, a whale is A SPOUTING FISH WITH A HORIZONTAL TAIL.
There you have him.
However contracted, that definition is the result of expanded meditation.
A walrus spouts much like a whale, but the walrus is not a fish, because he is amphibious.
But the last term of the definition is still more cogent, as coupled with the first.
Almost any one must have noticed that all the fish familiar to landsmen have not a flat, but a vertical, or up - and - down tail.
Whereas, among spouting fish the tail, though it may be similarly shaped, invariably assumes a horizontal position.
* Hence, all the smaller, spouting, and horizontal tailed fish must be included in this ground - plan of Cetology.
Now, then, come the grand divisions of the entire whale host.
* I am aware that down to the present time, the fish styled Lamatins and Dugongs (Pig - fish and Sow - fish of the Coffins of Nantucket) are included by many naturalists among the whales.
But as these pig - fish are a noisy, contemptible set, mostly lurking in the mouths of rivers, and feeding on wet hay, and especially as they do not spout, I deny their credentials as whales; and have presented them with their passports to quit the Kingdom of Cetology.
First: According to magnitude I divide the whales into three primary BOOKS (subdivisible into CHAPTERS), and these shall comprehend them all, both small and large.
THE FOLIO WHALE; II.
the OCTAVO WHALE; III.
the DUODECIMO WHALE.
As the type of the FOLIO I present the SPERM WHALE; of the OCTAVO, the GRAMPUS; of the DUODECIMO, the PORPOISE.
FOLIOS.
Among these I here include the following chapters:-- I.
The SPERM WHALE; II.
the RIGHT WHALE; III.
the FIN - BACK WHALE; IV.
the HUMP - BACKED WHALE; V. the RAZOR - BACK WHALE; VI.
the SULPHUR - BOTTOM WHALE.
BOOK I.
(FOLIO), CHAPTER I.
(SPERM WHALE).-- This whale, among the English of old vaguely known as the Trumpa whale, and the Physeter whale, and the Anvil Headed whale, is the present Cachalot of the French, and the Pottsfich of the Germans, and the Macrocephalus of the Long Words.
He is, without doubt, the largest inhabitant of the globe; the most formidable of all whales to encounter; the most majestic in aspect; and lastly, by far the most valuable in commerce; he being the only creature from which that valuable substance, spermaceti, is obtained.
All his peculiarities will, in many other places, be enlarged upon.
It is chiefly with his name that I now have to do.
Philologically considered, it is absurd.
It was the idea also, that this same spermaceti was that quickening humor of the Greenland Whale which the first syllable of the word literally expresses.
In those times, also, spermaceti was exceedingly scarce, not being used for light, but only as an ointment and medicament.
It was only to be had from the druggists as you nowadays buy an ounce of rhubarb.
When, as I opine, in the course of time, the true nature of spermaceti became known, its original name was still retained by the dealers; no doubt to enhance its value by a notion so strangely significant of its scarcity.
And so the appellation must at last have come to be bestowed upon the whale from which this spermaceti was really derived.
BOOK I.
(FOLIO), CHAPTER II.
(RIGHT WHALE).-- In one respect this is the most venerable of the leviathans, being the one first regularly hunted by man.
It yields the article commonly known as whalebone or baleen; and the oil specially known as " whale oil," an inferior article in commerce.
Among the fishermen, he is indiscriminately designated by all the following titles: The Whale; the Greenland Whale; the Black Whale; the Great Whale; the True Whale; the Right Whale.
There is a deal of obscurity concerning the identity of the species thus multitudinously baptised.
What then is the whale, which I include in the second species of my Folios?
It is the Great Mysticetus of the English naturalists; the Greenland Whale of the English whalemen; the Baliene Ordinaire of the French whalemen; the Growlands Walfish of the Swedes.
Some pretend to see a difference between the Greenland whale of the English and the right whale of the Americans.
But they precisely agree in all their grand features; nor has there yet been presented a single determinate fact upon which to ground a radical distinction.
It is by endless subdivisions based upon the most inconclusive differences, that some departments of natural history become so repellingly intricate.
The right whale will be elsewhere treated of at some length, with reference to elucidating the sperm whale.
BOOK I.
(FOLIO), CHAPTER III.
In the length he attains, and in his baleen, the Fin - back resembles the right whale, but is of a less portly girth, and a lighter colour, approaching to olive.
His great lips present a cable - like aspect, formed by the intertwisting, slanting folds of large wrinkles.
His grand distinguishing feature, the fin, from which he derives his name, is often a conspicuous object.
This fin is some three or four feet long, growing vertically from the hinder part of the back, of an angular shape, and with a very sharp pointed end.
Even if not the slightest other part of the creature be visible, this isolated fin will, at times, be seen plainly projecting from the surface.
On that Ahaz - dial the shadow often goes back.
The Fin - Back is not gregarious.
He seems a whale - hater, as some men are man - haters.
From having the baleen in his mouth, the Fin - Back is sometimes included with the right whale, among a theoretic species denominated WHALEBONE WHALES, that is, whales with baleen.
Of these so called Whalebone whales, there would seem to be several varieties, most of which, however, are little known.
Broad - nosed whales and beaked whales; pike - headed whales; bunched whales; under - jawed whales and rostrated whales, are the fishermen's names for a few sorts.
How then?
The baleen, hump, back - fin, and teeth; these are things whose peculiarities are indiscriminately dispersed among all sorts of whales, without any regard to what may be the nature of their structure in other and more essential particulars.
Thus, the sperm whale and the humpbacked whale, each has a hump; but there the similitude ceases.
Then, this same humpbacked whale and the Greenland whale, each of these has baleen; but there again the similitude ceases.
And it is just the same with the other parts above mentioned.
In various sorts of whales, they form such irregular combinations; or, in the case of any one of them detached, such an irregular isolation; as utterly to defy all general methodization formed upon such a basis.
On this rock every one of the whale - naturalists has split.
But it may possibly be conceived that, in the internal parts of the whale, in his anatomy--there, at least, we shall be able to hit the right classification.
Nay; what thing, for example, is there in the Greenland whale's anatomy more striking than his baleen?
Yet we have seen that by his baleen it is impossible correctly to classify the Greenland whale.
And if you descend into the bowels of the various leviathans, why there you will not find distinctions a fiftieth part as available to the systematizer as those external ones already enumerated.
What then remains?
nothing but to take hold of the whales bodily, in their entire liberal volume, and boldly sort them that way.
And this is the Bibliographical system here adopted; and it is the only one that can possibly succeed, for it alone is practicable.
To proceed.
BOOK I.
(FOLIO) CHAPTER IV.
(HUMP - BACK).-- This whale is often seen on the northern American coast.
He has been frequently captured there, and towed into harbor.
He has a great pack on him like a peddler; or you might call him the Elephant and Castle whale.
At any rate, the popular name for him does not sufficiently distinguish him, since the sperm whale also has a hump though a smaller one.
His oil is not very valuable.
He has baleen.
He is the most gamesome and light - hearted of all the whales, making more gay foam and white water generally than any other of them.
BOOK I.
(FOLIO), CHAPTER V.
(RAZOR - BACK).-- Of this whale little is known but his name.
I have seen him at a distance off Cape Horn.
Of a retiring nature, he eludes both hunters and philosophers.
Though no coward, he has never yet shown any part of him but his back, which rises in a long sharp ridge.
Let him go.
I know little more of him, nor does anybody else.
BOOK I.
(FOLIO), CHAPTER VI.
(SULPHUR - BOTTOM).-- Another retiring gentleman, with a brimstone belly, doubtless got by scraping along the Tartarian tiles in some of his profounder divings.
He is seldom seen; at least I have never seen him except in the remoter southern seas, and then always at too great a distance to study his countenance.
He is never chased; he would run away with rope - walks of line.
Prodigies are told of him.
Adieu, Sulphur Bottom!
I can say nothing more that is true of ye, nor can the oldest Nantucketer.
Thus ends BOOK I.
(FOLIO), and now begins BOOK II.
(OCTAVO).
OCTAVOES.
*-- These embrace the whales of middling magnitude, among which present may be numbered:-- I., the GRAMPUS; II., the BLACK FISH; III., the NARWHALE; IV., the THRASHER; V., the KILLER.
* Why this book of whales is not denominated the Quarto is very plain.
BOOK II.
(OCTAVO), CHAPTER I.
(GRAMPUS).-- Though this fish, whose loud sonorous breathing, or rather blowing, has furnished a proverb to landsmen, is so well known a denizen of the deep, yet is he not popularly classed among whales.
But possessing all the grand distinctive features of the leviathan, most naturalists have recognised him for one.
He is of moderate octavo size, varying from fifteen to twenty - five feet in length, and of corresponding dimensions round the waist.
He swims in herds; he is never regularly hunted, though his oil is considerable in quantity, and pretty good for light.
By some fishermen his approach is regarded as premonitory of the advance of the great sperm whale.
BOOK II.
(OCTAVO), CHAPTER II.
(BLACK FISH).-- I give the popular fishermen's names for all these fish, for generally they are the best.
Where any name happens to be vague or inexpressive, I shall say so, and suggest another.
I do so now, touching the Black Fish, so - called, because blackness is the rule among almost all whales.
So, call him the Hyena Whale, if you please.
His voracity is well known, and from the circumstance that the inner angles of his lips are curved upwards, he carries an everlasting Mephistophelean grin on his face.
This whale averages some sixteen or eighteen feet in length.
He is found in almost all latitudes.
He has a peculiar way of showing his dorsal hooked fin in swimming, which looks something like a Roman nose.
Though their blubber is very thin, some of these whales will yield you upwards of thirty gallons of oil.
BOOK II.
(OCTAVO), CHAPTER III.
(NARWHALE), that is, NOSTRIL WHALE.-- Another instance of a curiously named whale, so named I suppose from his peculiar horn being originally mistaken for a peaked nose.
The creature is some sixteen feet in length, while its horn averages five feet, though some exceed ten, and even attain to fifteen feet.
Strictly speaking, this horn is but a lengthened tusk, growing out from the jaw in a line a little depressed from the horizontal.
But it is only found on the sinister side, which has an ill effect, giving its owner something analogous to the aspect of a clumsy left - handed man.
What precise purpose this ivory horn or lance answers, it would be hard to say.
It does not seem to be used like the blade of the sword - fish and bill - fish; though some sailors tell me that the Narwhale employs it for a rake in turning over the bottom of the sea for food.
Charley Coffin said it was used for an ice - piercer; for the Narwhale, rising to the surface of the Polar Sea, and finding it sheeted with ice, thrusts his horn up, and so breaks through.
But you cannot prove either of these surmises to be correct.
My own opinion is, that however this one - sided horn may really be used by the Narwhale--however that may be--it would certainly be very convenient to him for a folder in reading pamphlets.
The Narwhale I have heard called the Tusked whale, the Horned whale, and the Unicorn whale.
He is certainly a curious example of the Unicornism to be found in almost every kingdom of animated nature.
From certain cloistered old authors I have gathered that this same sea - unicorn's horn was in ancient days regarded as the great antidote against poison, and as such, preparations of it brought immense prices.
It was also distilled to a volatile salts for fainting ladies, the same way that the horns of the male deer are manufactured into hartshorn.
Originally it was in itself accounted an object of great curiosity.
An Irish author avers that the Earl of Leicester, on bended knees, did likewise present to her highness another horn, pertaining to a land beast of the unicorn nature.
The Narwhale has a very picturesque, leopard - like look, being of a milk - white ground colour, dotted with round and oblong spots of black.
His oil is very superior, clear and fine; but there is little of it, and he is seldom hunted.
He is mostly found in the circumpolar seas.
BOOK II.
(OCTAVO), CHAPTER IV.
(KILLER).-- Of this whale little is precisely known to the Nantucketer, and nothing at all to the professed naturalist.
From what I have seen of him at a distance, I should say that he was about the bigness of a grampus.
He is very savage--a sort of Feegee fish.
He sometimes takes the great Folio whales by the lip, and hangs there like a leech, till the mighty brute is worried to death.
The Killer is never hunted.
I never heard what sort of oil he has.
Exception might be taken to the name bestowed upon this whale, on the ground of its indistinctness.
For we are all killers, on land and on sea; Bonapartes and Sharks included.
BOOK II.
(OCTAVO), CHAPTER V.
(THRASHER).-- This gentleman is famous for his tail, which he uses for a ferule in thrashing his foes.
He mounts the Folio whale's back, and as he swims, he works his passage by flogging him; as some schoolmasters get along in the world by a similar process.
Still less is known of the Thrasher than of the Killer.
Both are outlaws, even in the lawless seas.
Thus ends BOOK II.
(OCTAVO), and begins BOOK III.
(DUODECIMO).
DUODECIMOES.-- These include the smaller whales.
The Huzza Porpoise.
II.
The Algerine Porpoise.
III.
The Mealy - mouthed Porpoise.
To those who have not chanced specially to study the subject, it may possibly seem strange, that fishes not commonly exceeding four or five feet should be marshalled among WHALES--a word, which, in the popular sense, always conveys an idea of hugeness.
But the creatures set down above as Duodecimoes are infallibly whales, by the terms of my definition of what a whale is--i. e.
a spouting fish, with a horizontal tail.
BOOK III.
(DUODECIMO), CHAPTER 1.
(HUZZA PORPOISE).-- This is the common porpoise found almost all over the globe.
The name is of my own bestowal; for there are more than one sort of porpoises, and something must be done to distinguish them.
I call him thus, because he always swims in hilarious shoals, which upon the broad sea keep tossing themselves to heaven like caps in a Fourth - of - July crowd.
Their appearance is generally hailed with delight by the mariner.
Full of fine spirits, they invariably come from the breezy billows to windward.
They are the lads that always live before the wind.
They are accounted a lucky omen.
If you yourself can withstand three cheers at beholding these vivacious fish, then heaven help ye; the spirit of godly gamesomeness is not in ye.
A well - fed, plump Huzza Porpoise will yield you one good gallon of good oil.
But the fine and delicate fluid extracted from his jaws is exceedingly valuable.
It is in request among jewellers and watchmakers.
Sailors put it on their hones.
Porpoise meat is good eating, you know.
It may never have occurred to you that a porpoise spouts.
Indeed, his spout is so small that it is not very readily discernible.
But the next time you have a chance, watch him; and you will then see the great Sperm whale himself in miniature.
BOOK III.
(DUODECIMO), CHAPTER II.
(ALGERINE PORPOISE).-- A pirate.
Very savage.
He is only found, I think, in the Pacific.
He is somewhat larger than the Huzza Porpoise, but much of the same general make.
Provoke him, and he will buckle to a shark.
I have lowered for him many times, but never yet saw him captured.
BOOK III.
(DUODECIMO), CHAPTER III.
(MEALY - MOUTHED PORPOISE).-- The largest kind of Porpoise; and only found in the Pacific, so far as it is known.
The only English name, by which he has hitherto been designated, is that of the fishers--Right - Whale Porpoise, from the circumstance that he is chiefly found in the vicinity of that Folio.
In shape, he differs in some degree from the Huzza Porpoise, being of a less rotund and jolly girth; indeed, he is of quite a neat and gentleman - like figure.
He has no fins on his back (most other porpoises have), he has a lovely tail, and sentimental Indian eyes of a hazel hue.
But his mealy - mouth spoils all.
Though his entire back down to his side fins is of a deep sable, yet a boundary line, distinct as the mark in a ship's hull, called the " bright waist," that line streaks him from stem to stern, with two separate colours, black above and white below.
The white comprises part of his head, and the whole of his mouth, which makes him look as if he had just escaped from a felonious visit to a meal - bag.
A most mean and mealy aspect!
His oil is much like that of the common porpoise.
Beyond the DUODECIMO, this system does not proceed, inasmuch as the Porpoise is the smallest of the whales.
Above, you have all the Leviathans of note.
But there are a rabble of uncertain, fugitive, half - fabulous whales, which, as an American whaleman, I know by reputation, but not personally.
I shall enumerate them by their fore - castle appellations; for possibly such a list may be valuable to future investigators, who may complete what I have here but begun.
From Icelandic, Dutch, and old English authorities, there might be quoted other lists of uncertain whales, blessed with all manner of uncouth names.
But I omit them as altogether obsolete; and can hardly help suspecting them for mere sounds, full of Leviathanism, but signifying nothing.
Finally: It was stated at the outset, that this system would not be here, and at once, perfected.
You cannot but plainly see that I have kept my word.
But I now leave my cetological System standing thus unfinished, even as the great Cathedral of Cologne was left, with the crane still standing upon the top of the uncompleted tower.
For small erections may be finished by their first architects; grand ones, true ones, ever leave the copestone to posterity.
God keep me from ever completing anything.
This whole book is but a draught--nay, but the draught of a draught.
Oh, Time, Strength, Cash, and Patience!
CHAPTER 33
The Specksynder.
Concerning the officers of the whale - craft, this seems as good a place as any to set down a little domestic peculiarity on ship - board, arising from the existence of the harpooneer class of officers, a class unknown of course in any other marine than the whale - fleet.
Literally this word means Fat - Cutter; usage, however, in time made it equivalent to Chief Harpooneer.
In those days, the captain's authority was restricted to the navigation and general management of the vessel; while over the whale - hunting department and all its concerns, the Specksynder or Chief Harpooneer reigned supreme.
In the British Greenland Fishery, under the corrupted title of Specksioneer, this old Dutch official is still retained, but his former dignity is sadly abridged.
At present he ranks simply as senior Harpooneer; and as such, is but one of the captain's more inferior subalterns.
Now, the grand distinction drawn between officer and man at sea, is this--the first lives aft, the last forward.
Hence, in whale - ships and merchantmen alike, the mates have their quarters with the captain; and so, too, in most of the American whalers the harpooneers are lodged in the after part of the ship.
That is to say, they take their meals in the captain's cabin, and sleep in a place indirectly communicating with it.
Nor, perhaps, will it fail to be eventually perceived, that behind those forms and usages, as it were, he sometimes masked himself; incidentally making use of them for other and more private ends than they were legitimately intended to subserve.
That certain sultanism of his brain, which had otherwise in a good degree remained unmanifested; through those forms that same sultanism became incarnate in an irresistible dictatorship.
For be a man's intellectual superiority what it will, it can never assume the practical, available supremacy over other men, without the aid of some sort of external arts and entrenchments, always, in themselves, more or less paltry and base.
Such large virtue lurks in these small things when extreme political superstitions invest them, that in some royal instances even to idiot imbecility they have imparted potency.
But when, as in the case of Nicholas the Czar, the ringed crown of geographical empire encircles an imperial brain; then, the plebeian herds crouch abased before the tremendous centralization.
Nor, will the tragic dramatist who would depict mortal indomitableness in its fullest sweep and direct swing, ever forget a hint, incidentally so important in his art, as the one now alluded to.
Oh, Ahab!
what shall be grand in thee, it must needs be plucked at from the skies, and dived for in the deep, and featured in the unbodied air!
CHAPTER 34
The Cabin - Table.
From his complete inattention to the tidings, you would think that moody Ahab had not heard his menial.
But presently, catching hold of the mizen shrouds, he swings himself to the deck, and in an even, unexhilarated voice, saying, " Dinner, Mr. Starbuck," disappears into the cabin.
The second Emir lounges about the rigging awhile, and then slightly shaking the main brace, to see whether it will be all right with that important rope, he likewise takes up the old burden, and with a rapid " Dinner, Mr. Flask," follows after his predecessors.
But ere stepping into the cabin doorway below, he pauses, ships a new face altogether, and, then, independent, hilarious little Flask enters King Ahab's presence, in the character of Abjectus, or the Slave.
Wherefore this difference?
A problem?
Perhaps not.
To have been Belshazzar, King of Babylon; and to have been Belshazzar, not haughtily but courteously, therein certainly must have been some touch of mundane grandeur.
Who has but once dined his friends, has tasted what it is to be Caesar.
It is a witchery of social czarship which there is no withstanding.
Now, if to this consideration you superadd the official supremacy of a ship - master, then, by inference, you will derive the cause of that peculiarity of sea - life just mentioned.
Over his ivory - inlaid table, Ahab presided like a mute, maned sea - lion on the white coral beach, surrounded by his warlike but still deferential cubs.
In his own proper turn, each officer waited to be served.
They were as little children before Ahab; and yet, in Ahab, there seemed not to lurk the smallest social arrogance.
With one mind, their intent eyes all fastened upon the old man's knife, as he carved the chief dish before him.
I do not suppose that for the world they would have profaned that moment with the slightest observation, even upon so neutral a topic as the weather.
No!
For, like the Coronation banquet at Frankfort, where the German Emperor profoundly dines with the seven Imperial Electors, so these cabin meals were somehow solemn meals, eaten in awful silence; and yet at table old Ahab forbade not conversation; only he himself was dumb.
What a relief it was to choking Stubb, when a rat made a sudden racket in the hold below.
And poor little Flask, he was the youngest son, and little boy of this weary family party.
His were the shinbones of the saline beef; his would have been the drumsticks.
For Flask to have presumed to help himself, this must have seemed to him tantamount to larceny in the first degree.
Had he helped himself at that table, doubtless, never more would he have been able to hold his head up in this honest world; nevertheless, strange to say, Ahab never forbade him.
And had Flask helped himself, the chances were Ahab had never so much as noticed it.
Least of all, did Flask presume to help himself to butter.
was a butterless man!
Another thing.
Flask was the last person down at the dinner, and Flask is the first man up.
Consider!
For hereby Flask's dinner was badly jammed in point of time.
Starbuck and Stubb both had the start of him; and yet they also have the privilege of lounging in the rear.
Therefore it was that Flask once admitted in private, that ever since he had arisen to the dignity of an officer, from that moment he had never known what it was to be otherwise than hungry, more or less.
For what he ate did not so much relieve his hunger, as keep it immortal in him.
Peace and satisfaction, thought Flask, have for ever departed from my stomach.
I am an officer; but, how I wish I could fish a bit of old - fashioned beef in the forecastle, as I used to when I was before the mast.
There's the fruits of promotion now; there's the vanity of glory: there's the insanity of life!
Now, Ahab and his three mates formed what may be called the first table in the Pequod's cabin.
After their departure, taking place in inverted order to their arrival, the canvas cloth was cleared, or rather was restored to some hurried order by the pallid steward.
And then the three harpooneers were bidden to the feast, they being its residuary legatees.
They made a sort of temporary servants'hall of the high and mighty cabin.
In strange contrast to the hardly tolerable constraint and nameless invisible domineerings of the captain's table, was the entire care - free license and ease, the almost frantic democracy of those inferior fellows the harpooneers.
While their masters, the mates, seemed afraid of the sound of the hinges of their own jaws, the harpooneers chewed their food with such a relish that there was a report to it.
They dined like lords; they filled their bellies like Indian ships all day loading with spices.
Such portentous appetites had Queequeg and Tashtego, that to fill out the vacancies made by the previous repast, often the pale Dough - Boy was fain to bring on a great baron of salt - junk, seemingly quarried out of the solid ox.
And if he were not lively about it, if he did not go with a nimble hop - skip - and - jump, then Tashtego had an ungentlemanly way of accelerating him by darting a fork at his back, harpoon - wise.
And once Daggoo, seized with a sudden humor, assisted Dough - Boy's memory by snatching him up bodily, and thrusting his head into a great empty wooden trencher, while Tashtego, knife in hand, began laying out the circle preliminary to scalping him.
He was naturally a very nervous, shuddering sort of little fellow, this bread - faced steward; the progeny of a bankrupt baker and a hospital nurse.
And what with the standing spectacle of the black terrific Ahab, and the periodical tumultuous visitations of these three savages, Dough - Boy's whole life was one continual lip - quiver.
Commonly, after seeing the harpooneers furnished with all things they demanded, he would escape from their clutches into his little pantry adjoining, and fearfully peep out at them through the blinds of its door, till all was over.
But for all this, the great negro was wonderfully abstemious, not to say dainty.
It seemed hardly possible that by such comparatively small mouthfuls he could keep up the vitality diffused through so broad, baronial, and superb a person.
But, doubtless, this noble savage fed strong and drank deep of the abounding element of air; and through his dilated nostrils snuffed in the sublime life of the worlds.
Not by beef or by bread, are giants made or nourished.
But Queequeg, he had a mortal, barbaric smack of the lip in eating--an ugly sound enough--so much so, that the trembling Dough - Boy almost looked to see whether any marks of teeth lurked in his own lean arms.
And when he would hear Tashtego singing out for him to produce himself, that his bones might be picked, the simple - witted steward all but shattered the crockery hanging round him in the pantry, by his sudden fits of the palsy.
Nor did the whetstone which the harpooneers carried in their pockets, for their lances and other weapons; and with which whetstones, at dinner, they would ostentatiously sharpen their knives; that grating sound did not at all tend to tranquillize poor Dough - Boy.
How could he forget that in his Island days, Queequeg, for one, must certainly have been guilty of some murderous, convivial indiscretions.
Alas!
Dough - Boy!
hard fares the white waiter who waits upon cannibals.
Not a napkin should he carry on his arm, but a buckler.
In good time, though, to his great delight, the three salt - sea warriors would rise and depart; to his credulous, fable - mongering ears, all their martial bones jingling in them at every step, like Moorish scimetars in scabbards.
But, though these barbarians dined in the cabin, and nominally lived there; still, being anything but sedentary in their habits, they were scarcely ever in it except at mealtimes, and just before sleeping - time, when they passed through it to their own peculiar quarters.
In this one matter, Ahab seemed no exception to most American whale captains, who, as a set, rather incline to the opinion that by rights the ship's cabin belongs to them; and that it is by courtesy alone that anybody else is, at any time, permitted there.
So that, in real truth, the mates and harpooneers of the Pequod might more properly be said to have lived out of the cabin than in it.
For when they did enter it, it was something as a street - door enters a house; turning inwards for a moment, only to be turned out the next; and, as a permanent thing, residing in the open air.
Nor did they lose much hereby; in the cabin was no companionship; socially, Ahab was inaccessible.
Though nominally included in the census of Christendom, he was still an alien to it.
He lived in the world, as the last of the Grisly Bears lived in settled Missouri.
CHAPTER 35
The Mast - Head.
It was during the more pleasant weather, that in due rotation with the other seamen my first mast - head came round.
In most American whalemen the mast - heads are manned almost simultaneously with the vessel's leaving her port; even though she may have fifteen thousand miles, and more, to sail ere reaching her proper cruising ground.
Now, as the business of standing mast - heads, ashore or afloat, is a very ancient and interesting one, let us in some measure expatiate here.
I take it, that the earliest standers of mast - heads were the old Egyptians; because, in all my researches, I find none prior to them.
Of modern standers - of - mast - heads we have but a lifeless set; mere stone, iron, and bronze men; who, though well capable of facing out a stiff gale, are still entirely incompetent to the business of singing out upon discovering any strange sight.
There is Napoleon; who, upon the top of the column of Vendome, stands with arms folded, some one hundred and fifty feet in the air; careless, now, who rules the decks below; whether Louis Philippe, Louis Blanc, or Louis the Devil.
Great Washington, too, stands high aloft on his towering main - mast in Baltimore, and like one of Hercules'pillars, his column marks that point of human grandeur beyond which few mortals will go.
Admiral Nelson, also, on a capstan of gun - metal, stands his mast - head in Trafalgar Square; and ever when most obscured by that London smoke, token is yet given that a hidden hero is there; for where there is smoke, must be fire.
It may seem unwarrantable to couple in any respect the mast - head standers of the land with those of the sea; but that in truth it is not so, is plainly evinced by an item for which Obed Macy, the sole historian of Nantucket, stands accountable.
A few years ago this same plan was adopted by the Bay whalemen of New Zealand, who, upon descrying the game, gave notice to the ready - manned boats nigh the beach.
But this custom has now become obsolete; turn we then to the one proper mast - head, that of a whale - ship at sea.
The three mast - heads are kept manned from sun - rise to sun - set; the seamen taking their regular turns (as at the helm), and relieving each other every two hours.
In the serene weather of the tropics it is exceedingly pleasant the mast - head; nay, to a dreamy meditative man it is delightful.
There you stand, lost in the infinite series of the sea, with nothing ruffled but the waves.
The tranced ship indolently rolls; the drowsy trade winds blow; everything resolves you into languor.
In one of those southern whalesmen, on a long three or four years'voyage, as often happens, the sum of the various hours you spend at the mast - head would amount to several entire months.
Your most usual point of perch is the head of the t'gallant - mast, where you stand upon two thin parallel sticks (almost peculiar to whalemen) called the t'gallant cross - trees.
Here, tossed about by the sea, the beginner feels about as cosy as he would standing on a bull's horns.
You cannot put a shelf or chest of drawers in your body, and no more can you make a convenient closet of your watch - coat.
In shape, the Sleet's crow's - nest is something like a large tierce or pipe; it is open above, however, where it is furnished with a movable side - screen to keep to windward of your head in a hard gale.
Being fixed on the summit of the mast, you ascend into it through a little trap - hatch in the bottom.
On the after side, or side next the stern of the ship, is a comfortable seat, with a locker underneath for umbrellas, comforters, and coats.
In front is a leather rack, in which to keep your speaking trumpet, pipe, telescope, and other nautical conveniences.
But if we Southern whale - fishers are not so snugly housed aloft as Captain Sleet and his Greenlandmen were; yet that disadvantage is greatly counter - balanced by the widely contrasting serenity of those seductive seas in which we South fishers mostly float.
Let me make a clean breast of it here, and frankly admit that I kept but sorry guard.
And let me in this place movingly admonish you, ye ship - owners of Nantucket!
Beware of enlisting in your vigilant fisheries any lad with lean brow and hollow eye; given to unseasonable meditativeness; and who offers to ship with the Phaedon instead of Bowditch in his head.
Beware of such an one, I say; your whales must be seen before they can be killed; and this sunken - eyed young Platonist will tow you ten wakes round the world, and never make you one pint of sperm the richer.
Nor are these monitions at all unneeded.
For nowadays, the whale - fishery furnishes an asylum for many romantic, melancholy, and absent - minded young men, disgusted with the carking cares of earth, and seeking sentiment in tar and blubber.
Childe Harold not unfrequently perches himself upon the mast - head of some luckless disappointed whale - ship, and in moody phrase ejaculates:--
" Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll!
Ten thousand blubber - hunters sweep over thee in vain."
But all in vain; those young Platonists have a notion that their vision is imperfect; they are short - sighted; what use, then, to strain the visual nerve?
They have left their opera - glasses at home.
" Why, thou monkey," said a harpooneer to one of these lads, " we've been cruising now hard upon three years, and thou hast not raised a whale yet.
Whales are scarce as hen's teeth whenever thou art up here."
In this enchanted mood, thy spirit ebbs away to whence it came; becomes diffused through time and space; like Crammer's sprinkled Pantheistic ashes, forming at last a part of every shore the round globe over.
There is no life in thee, now, except that rocking life imparted by a gently rolling ship; by her, borrowed from the sea; by the sea, from the inscrutable tides of God.
But while this sleep, this dream is on ye, move your foot or hand an inch; slip your hold at all; and your identity comes back in horror.
Over Descartian vortices you hover.
And perhaps, at mid - day, in the fairest weather, with one half - throttled shriek you drop through that transparent air into the summer sea, no more to rise for ever.
Heed it well, ye Pantheists!
CHAPTER 36
The Quarter - Deck.
(ENTER AHAB: THEN, ALL)
It was not a great while after the affair of the pipe, that one morning shortly after breakfast, Ahab, as was his wont, ascended the cabin - gangway to the deck.
There most sea - captains usually walk at that hour, as country gentlemen, after the same meal, take a few turns in the garden.
Soon his steady, ivory stride was heard, as to and fro he paced his old rounds, upon planks so familiar to his tread, that they were all over dented, like geological stones, with the peculiar mark of his walk.
Did you fixedly gaze, too, upon that ribbed and dented brow; there also, you would see still stranger foot - prints--the foot - prints of his one unsleeping, ever - pacing thought.
But on the occasion in question, those dents looked deeper, even as his nervous step that morning left a deeper mark.
" D'ye mark him, Flask?"
whispered Stubb; " the chick that's in him pecks the shell.
' Twill soon be out."
The hours wore on;-- Ahab now shut up within his cabin; anon, pacing the deck, with the same intense bigotry of purpose in his aspect.
It drew near the close of day.
Suddenly he came to a halt by the bulwarks, and inserting his bone leg into the auger - hole there, and with one hand grasping a shroud, he ordered Starbuck to send everybody aft.
" Sir!"
said the mate, astonished at an order seldom or never given on ship - board except in some extraordinary case.
" Send everybody aft," repeated Ahab.
" Mast - heads, there!
come down!"
With bent head and half - slouched hat he continued to pace, unmindful of the wondering whispering among the men; till Stubb cautiously whispered to Flask, that Ahab must have summoned them there for the purpose of witnessing a pedestrian feat.
But this did not last long.
Vehemently pausing, he cried:--
" What do ye do when ye see a whale, men?"
" Sing out for him!"
was the impulsive rejoinder from a score of clubbed voices.
" Good!"
cried Ahab, with a wild approval in his tones; observing the hearty animation into which his unexpected question had so magnetically thrown them.
" And what do ye next, men?"
" Lower away, and after him!"
" And what tune is it ye pull to, men?"
" A dead whale or a stove boat!"
More and more strangely and fiercely glad and approving, grew the countenance of the old man at every shout; while the mariners began to gaze curiously at each other, as if marvelling how it was that they themselves became so excited at such seemingly purposeless questions.
But, they were all eagerness again, as Ahab, now half - revolving in his pivot - hole, with one hand reaching high up a shroud, and tightly, almost convulsively grasping it, addressed them thus:--
" All ye mast - headers have before now heard me give orders about a white whale.
Look ye!
d'ye see this Spanish ounce of gold?"
-- holding up a broad bright coin to the sun --" it is a sixteen dollar piece, men.
D'ye see it?
Mr. Starbuck, hand me yon top - maul."
" Huzza!
huzza!"
cried the seamen, as with swinging tarpaulins they hailed the act of nailing the gold to the mast.
" It's a white whale, I say," resumed Ahab, as he threw down the topmaul: " a white whale.
Skin your eyes for him, men; look sharp for white water; if ye see but a bubble, sing out."
All this while Tashtego, Daggoo, and Queequeg had looked on with even more intense interest and surprise than the rest, and at the mention of the wrinkled brow and crooked jaw they had started as if each was separately touched by some specific recollection.
" Captain Ahab," said Tashtego, " that white whale must be the same that some call Moby Dick."
" Moby Dick?"
shouted Ahab.
" Do ye know the white whale then, Tash?"
" Does he fan - tail a little curious, sir, before he goes down?"
said the Gay - Header deliberately.
" And has he a curious spout, too," said Daggoo, " very bushy, even for a parmacetty, and mighty quick, Captain Ahab?"
" And he have one, two, three--oh!
good many iron in him hide, too, Captain," cried Queequeg disjointedly, " all twiske - tee be - twisk, like him--him --" faltering hard for a word, and screwing his hand round and round as though uncorking a bottle --" like him--him --"
" Corkscrew!"
Death and devils!
men, it is Moby Dick ye have seen--Moby Dick--Moby Dick!"
" Captain Ahab," said Starbuck, who, with Stubb and Flask, had thus far been eyeing his superior with increasing surprise, but at last seemed struck with a thought which somewhat explained all the wonder.
" Captain Ahab, I have heard of Moby Dick--but it was not Moby Dick that took off thy leg?"
" Who told thee that?"
cried Ahab; then pausing, " Aye, Starbuck; aye, my hearties all round; it was Moby Dick that dismasted me; Moby Dick that brought me to this dead stump I stand on now.
Aye, aye," he shouted with a terrific, loud, animal sob, like that of a heart - stricken moose; " Aye, aye!
it was that accursed white whale that razeed me; made a poor pegging lubber of me for ever and a day!"
Then tossing both arms, with measureless imprecations he shouted out: " Aye, aye!
and I'll chase him round Good Hope, and round the Horn, and round the Norway Maelstrom, and round perdition's flames before I give him up.
And this is what ye have shipped for, men!
to chase that white whale on both sides of land, and over all sides of earth, till he spouts black blood and rolls fin out.
What say ye, men, will ye splice hands on it, now?
I think ye do look brave."
" Aye, aye!"
shouted the harpooneers and seamen, running closer to the excited old man: " A sharp eye for the white whale; a sharp lance for Moby Dick!"
" God bless ye," he seemed to half sob and half shout.
" God bless ye, men.
Steward!
go draw the great measure of grog.
But what's this long face about, Mr. Starbuck; wilt thou not chase the white whale?
art not game for Moby Dick?"
" I am game for his crooked jaw, and for the jaws of Death too, Captain Ahab, if it fairly comes in the way of the business we follow; but I came here to hunt whales, not my commander's vengeance.
How many barrels will thy vengeance yield thee even if thou gettest it, Captain Ahab?
it will not fetch thee much in our Nantucket market."
" Nantucket market!
Hoot!
But come closer, Starbuck; thou requirest a little lower layer.
If money's to be the measurer, man, and the accountants have computed their great counting - house the globe, by girdling it with guineas, one to every three parts of an inch; then, let me tell thee, that my vengeance will fetch a great premium HERE!"
" He smites his chest," whispered Stubb, " what's that for?
methinks it rings most vast, but hollow."
" Vengeance on a dumb brute!"
cried Starbuck, " that simply smote thee from blindest instinct!
Madness!
To be enraged with a dumb thing, Captain Ahab, seems blasphemous."
" Hark ye yet again--the little lower layer.
All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks.
But in each event--in the living act, the undoubted deed--there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask.
If man will strike, strike through the mask!
How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall?
To me, the white whale is that wall, shoved near to me.
Sometimes I think there's naught beyond.
But'tis enough.
He tasks me; he heaps me; I see in him outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it.
That inscrutable thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the white whale agent, or be the white whale principal, I will wreak that hate upon him.
Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I'd strike the sun if it insulted me.
For could the sun do that, then could I do the other; since there is ever a sort of fair play herein, jealousy presiding over all creations.
But not my master, man, is even that fair play.
Who's over me?
Truth hath no confines.
Take off thine eye!
more intolerable than fiends'glarings is a doltish stare!
So, so; thou reddenest and palest; my heat has melted thee to anger - glow.
But look ye, Starbuck, what is said in heat, that thing unsays itself.
There are men from whom warm words are small indignity.
I meant not to incense thee.
Let it go.
Look!
see yonder Turkish cheeks of spotted tawn--living, breathing pictures painted by the sun.
The Pagan leopards--the unrecking and unworshipping things, that live; and seek, and give no reasons for the torrid life they feel!
The crew, man, the crew!
Are they not one and all with Ahab, in this matter of the whale?
See Stubb!
he laughs!
See yonder Chilian!
he snorts to think of it.
Stand up amid the general hurricane, thy one tost sapling cannot, Starbuck!
And what is it?
Reckon it.
' Tis but to help strike a fin; no wondrous feat for Starbuck.
What is it more?
From this one poor hunt, then, the best lance out of all Nantucket, surely he will not hang back, when every foremast - hand has clutched a whetstone?
Ah!
constrainings seize thee; I see!
the billow lifts thee!
Speak, but speak!-- Aye, aye!
thy silence, then, THAT voices thee.
(ASIDE) Something shot from my dilated nostrils, he has inhaled it in his lungs.
Starbuck now is mine; cannot oppose me now, without rebellion."
" God keep me!-- keep us all!"
murmured Starbuck, lowly.
For again Starbuck's downcast eyes lighted up with the stubbornness of life; the subterranean laugh died away; the winds blew on; the sails filled out; the ship heaved and rolled as before.
Ah, ye admonitions and warnings!
why stay ye not when ye come?
But rather are ye predictions than warnings, ye shadows!
Yet not so much predictions from without, as verifications of the foregoing things within.
For with little external to constrain us, the innermost necessities in our being, these still drive us on.
" The measure!
the measure!"
cried Ahab.
Receiving the brimming pewter, and turning to the harpooneers, he ordered them to produce their weapons.
But those wild eyes met his, as the bloodshot eyes of the prairie wolves meet the eye of their leader, ere he rushes on at their head in the trail of the bison; but, alas!
only to fall into the hidden snare of the Indian.
" Drink and pass!"
he cried, handing the heavy charged flagon to the nearest seaman.
" The crew alone now drink.
Round with it, round!
Short draughts--long swallows, men;'tis hot as Satan's hoof.
So, so; it goes round excellently.
It spiralizes in ye; forks out at the serpent - snapping eye.
Well done; almost drained.
That way it went, this way it comes.
Hand it me--here's a hollow!
Men, ye seem the years; so brimming life is gulped and gone.
Steward, refill!
" Attend now, my braves.
I have mustered ye all round this capstan; and ye mates, flank me with your lances; and ye harpooneers, stand there with your irons; and ye, stout mariners, ring me in, that I may in some sort revive a noble custom of my fisherman fathers before me.
O men, you will yet see that--Ha!
boy, come back?
bad pennies come not sooner.
Hand it me.
Why, now, this pewter had run brimming again, were't not thou St. Vitus'imp--away, thou ague!
" Advance, ye mates!
Cross your lances full before me.
Well done!
Let me touch the axis."
So saying, with extended arm, he grasped the three level, radiating lances at their crossed centre; while so doing, suddenly and nervously twitched them; meanwhile, glancing intently from Starbuck to Stubb; from Stubb to Flask.
It seemed as though, by some nameless, interior volition, he would fain have shocked into them the same fiery emotion accumulated within the Leyden jar of his own magnetic life.
The three mates quailed before his strong, sustained, and mystic aspect.
Stubb and Flask looked sideways from him; the honest eye of Starbuck fell downright.
" In vain!"
cried Ahab; " but, maybe,'tis well.
For did ye three but once take the full - forced shock, then mine own electric thing, THAT had perhaps expired from out me.
Perchance, too, it would have dropped ye dead.
Perchance ye need it not.
Down lances!
And now, ye mates, I do appoint ye three cupbearers to my three pagan kinsmen there--yon three most honourable gentlemen and noblemen, my valiant harpooneers.
Disdain the task?
What, when the great Pope washes the feet of beggars, using his tiara for ewer?
Oh, my sweet cardinals!
your own condescension, THAT shall bend ye to it.
I do not order ye; ye will it.
Cut your seizings and draw the poles, ye harpooneers!"
Silently obeying the order, the three harpooneers now stood with the detached iron part of their harpoons, some three feet long, held, barbs up, before him.
" Stab me not with that keen steel!
Cant them; cant them over!
know ye not the goblet end?
Turn up the socket!
So, so; now, ye cup - bearers, advance.
The irons!
take them; hold them while I fill!"
Forthwith, slowly going from one officer to the other, he brimmed the harpoon sockets with the fiery waters from the pewter.
" Now, three to three, ye stand.
Commend the murderous chalices!
Bestow them, ye who are now made parties to this indissoluble league.
Ha!
Starbuck!
but the deed is done!
Yon ratifying sun now waits to sit upon it.
Drink, ye harpooneers!
drink and swear, ye men that man the deathful whaleboat's bow--Death to Moby Dick!
God hunt us all, if we do not hunt Moby Dick to his death!"
The long, barbed steel goblets were lifted; and to cries and maledictions against the white whale, the spirits were simultaneously quaffed down with a hiss.
Starbuck paled, and turned, and shivered.
Once more, and finally, the replenished pewter went the rounds among the frantic crew; when, waving his free hand to them, they all dispersed; and Ahab retired within his cabin.
CHAPTER 37
Sunset.
THE CABIN; BY THE STERN WINDOWS; AHAB SITTING ALONE, AND GAZING OUT.
I leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks, where'er I sail.
The envious billows sidelong swell to whelm my track; let them; but first I pass.
Yonder, by ever - brimming goblet's rim, the warm waves blush like wine.
The gold brow plumbs the blue.
The diver sun--slow dived from noon--goes down; my soul mounts up!
she wearies with her endless hill.
Is, then, the crown too heavy that I wear?
this Iron Crown of Lombardy.
Yet is it bright with many a gem; I the wearer, see not its far flashings; but darkly feel that I wear that, that dazzlingly confounds.
' Tis iron--that I know--not gold.
' Tis split, too--that I feel; the jagged edge galls me so, my brain seems to beat against the solid metal; aye, steel skull, mine; the sort that needs no helmet in the most brain - battering fight!
Dry heat upon my brow?
Oh!
time was, when as the sunrise nobly spurred me, so the sunset soothed.
No more.
This lovely light, it lights not me; all loveliness is anguish to me, since I can ne'er enjoy.
Gifted with the high perception, I lack the low, enjoying power; damned, most subtly and most malignantly!
damned in the midst of Paradise!
Good night--good night!
(WAVING HIS HAND, HE MOVES FROM THE WINDOW.)
' Twas not so hard a task.
I thought to find one stubborn, at the least; but my one cogged circle fits into all their various wheels, and they revolve.
Or, if you will, like so many ant - hills of powder, they all stand before me; and I their match.
Oh, hard!
that to fire others, the match itself must needs be wasting!
What I've dared, I've willed; and what I've willed, I'll do!
They think me mad--Starbuck does; but I'm demoniac, I am madness maddened!
That wild madness that's only calm to comprehend itself!
The prophecy was that I should be dismembered; and--Aye!
I lost this leg.
I now prophesy that I will dismember my dismemberer.
Now, then, be the prophet and the fulfiller one.
That's more than ye, ye great gods, ever were.
I laugh and hoot at ye, ye cricket - players, ye pugilists, ye deaf Burkes and blinded Bendigoes!
I will not say as schoolboys do to bullies--Take some one of your own size; don't pommel ME!
No, ye've knocked me down, and I am up again; but YE have run and hidden.
Come forth from behind your cotton bags!
I have no long gun to reach ye.
Come, Ahab's compliments to ye; come and see if ye can swerve me.
Swerve me?
ye cannot swerve me, else ye swerve yourselves!
man has ye there.
Swerve me?
The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run.
Over unsounded gorges, through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrents'beds, unerringly I rush!
Naught's an obstacle, naught's an angle to the iron way!
CHAPTER 38
Dusk.
BY THE MAINMAST; STARBUCK LEANING AGAINST IT.
My soul is more than matched; she's overmanned; and by a madman!
Insufferable sting, that sanity should ground arms on such a field!
But he drilled deep down, and blasted all my reason out of me!
I think I see his impious end; but feel that I must help him to it.
Will I, nill I, the ineffable thing has tied me to him; tows me with a cable I have no knife to cut.
Horrible old man!
Who's over him, he cries;-- aye, he would be a democrat to all above; look, how he lords it over all below!
Oh!
I plainly see my miserable office,-- to obey, rebelling; and worse yet, to hate with touch of pity!
For in his eyes I read some lurid woe would shrivel me up, had I it.
Yet is there hope.
Time and tide flow wide.
The hated whale has the round watery world to swim in, as the small gold - fish has its glassy globe.
His heaven - insulting purpose, God may wedge aside.
I would up heart, were it not like lead.
But my whole clock's run down; my heart the all - controlling weight, I have no key to lift again.
[ A BURST OF REVELRY FROM THE FORECASTLE.]
Oh, God!
to sail with such a heathen crew that have small touch of human mothers in them!
Whelped somewhere by the sharkish sea.
The white whale is their demigorgon.
Hark!
the infernal orgies!
that revelry is forward!
mark the unfaltering silence aft!
Methinks it pictures life.
Foremost through the sparkling sea shoots on the gay, embattled, bantering bow, but only to drag dark Ahab after it, where he broods within his sternward cabin, builded over the dead water of the wake, and further on, hunted by its wolfish gurglings.
The long howl thrills me through!
Peace!
ye revellers, and set the watch!
Oh, life!
' tis in an hour like this, with soul beat down and held to knowledge,-- as wild, untutored things are forced to feed--Oh, life!
' tis now that I do feel the latent horror in thee!
but'tis not me!
that horror's out of me!
and with the soft feeling of the human in me, yet will I try to fight ye, ye grim, phantom futures!
Stand by me, hold me, bind me, O ye blessed influences!
CHAPTER 39
First Night Watch.
Fore - Top.
(STUBB SOLUS, AND MENDING A BRACE.)
Ha!
ha!
ha!
ha!
hem!
clear my throat!-- I've been thinking over it ever since, and that ha, ha's the final consequence.
Why so?
Because a laugh's the wisest, easiest answer to all that's queer; and come what will, one comfort's always left--that unfailing comfort is, it's all predestinated.
I heard not all his talk with Starbuck; but to my poor eye Starbuck then looked something as I the other evening felt.
Be sure the old Mogul has fixed him, too.
I twigged it, knew it; had had the gift, might readily have prophesied it--for when I clapped my eye upon his skull I saw it.
Well, Stubb, WISE Stubb--that's my title--well, Stubb, what of it, Stubb?
Here's a carcase.
I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I'll go to it laughing.
Such a waggish leering as lurks in all your horribles!
I feel funny.
Fa, la!
lirra, skirra!
What's my juicy little pear at home doing now?
Crying its eyes out?-- Giving a party to the last arrived harpooneers, I dare say, gay as a frigate's pennant, and so am I--fa, la!
lirra, skirra!
Oh --
We'll drink to - night with hearts as light, To love, as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim, on the beaker's brim, And break on the lips while meeting.
A brave stave that--who calls?
Mr. Starbuck?
Aye, aye, sir --(ASIDE) he's my superior, he has his too, if I'm not mistaken.-- Aye, aye, sir, just through with this job--coming.
CHAPTER 40
Midnight, Forecastle.
HARPOONEERS AND SAILORS.
(FORESAIL RISES AND DISCOVERS THE WATCH STANDING, LOUNGING, LEANING, AND LYING IN VARIOUS ATTITUDES, ALL SINGING IN CHORUS.)
Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies!
Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain!
Our captain's commanded.--
1ST NANTUCKET SAILOR.
Oh, boys, don't be sentimental; it's bad for the digestion!
Take a tonic, follow me!
(SINGS, AND ALL FOLLOW)
Our captain stood upon the deck, A spy - glass in his hand, A viewing of those gallant whales That blew at every strand.
Oh, your tubs in your boats, my boys, And by your braces stand, And we'll have one of those fine whales, Hand, boys, over hand!
So, be cheery, my lads!
may your hearts never fail!
While the bold harpooner is striking the whale!
MATE'S VOICE FROM THE QUARTER - DECK.
Eight bells there, forward!
2ND NANTUCKET SAILOR.
Avast the chorus!
Eight bells there!
d'ye hear, bell - boy?
Strike the bell eight, thou Pip!
thou blackling!
and let me call the watch.
I've the sort of mouth for that--the hogshead mouth.
So, so, (THRUSTS HIS HEAD DOWN THE SCUTTLE,) Star - bo - l - e - e - n - s, a - h - o - y!
Eight bells there below!
Tumble up!
DUTCH SAILOR.
Grand snoozing to - night, maty; fat night for that.
I mark this in our old Mogul's wine; it's quite as deadening to some as filliping to others.
We sing; they sleep--aye, lie down there, like ground - tier butts.
At'em again!
There, take this copper - pump, and hail'em through it.
Tell'em to avast dreaming of their lasses.
Tell'em it's the resurrection; they must kiss their last, and come to judgment.
That's the way--THAT'S it; thy throat ain't spoiled with eating Amsterdam butter.
FRENCH SAILOR.
Hist, boys!
let's have a jig or two before we ride to anchor in Blanket Bay.
What say ye?
There comes the other watch.
Stand by all legs!
Pip!
little Pip!
hurrah with your tambourine!
PIP.
(SULKY AND SLEEPY) Don't know where it is.
FRENCH SAILOR.
Beat thy belly, then, and wag thy ears.
Jig it, men, I say; merry's the word; hurrah!
Damn me, won't you dance?
Form, now, Indian - file, and gallop into the double - shuffle?
Throw yourselves!
Legs!
legs!
ICELAND SAILOR.
I don't like your floor, maty; it's too springy to my taste.
I'm used to ice - floors.
I'm sorry to throw cold water on the subject; but excuse me.
MALTESE SAILOR.
Me too; where's your girls?
Who but a fool would take his left hand by his right, and say to himself, how d'ye do?
Partners!
I must have partners!
SICILIAN SAILOR.
Aye; girls and a green!-- then I'll hop with ye; yea, turn grasshopper!
LONG - ISLAND SAILOR.
Well, well, ye sulkies, there's plenty more of us.
Hoe corn when you may, say I.
All legs go to harvest soon.
Ah!
here comes the music; now for it!
AZORE SAILOR.
(ASCENDING, AND PITCHING THE TAMBOURINE UP THE SCUTTLE.)
Here you are, Pip; and there's the windlass - bitts; up you mount!
Now, boys!
(THE HALF OF THEM DANCE TO THE TAMBOURINE; SOME GO BELOW; SOME SLEEP OR LIE AMONG THE COILS OF RIGGING.
OATHS A - PLENTY.)
AZORE SAILOR.
(DANCING) Go it, Pip!
Bang it, bell - boy!
Rig it, dig it, stig it, quig it, bell - boy!
Make fire - flies; break the jinglers!
PIP.
Jinglers, you say?-- there goes another, dropped off; I pound it so.
CHINA SAILOR.
Rattle thy teeth, then, and pound away; make a pagoda of thyself.
FRENCH SAILOR.
Merry - mad!
Hold up thy hoop, Pip, till I jump through it!
Split jibs!
tear yourselves!
TASHTEGO.
(QUIETLY SMOKING) That's a white man; he calls that fun: humph!
I save my sweat.
OLD MANX SAILOR.
I wonder whether those jolly lads bethink them of what they are dancing over.
I'll dance over your grave, I will--that's the bitterest threat of your night - women, that beat head - winds round corners.
O Christ!
to think of the green navies and the green - skulled crews!
Well, well; belike the whole world's a ball, as you scholars have it; and so'tis right to make one ballroom of it.
Dance on, lads, you're young; I was once.
3D NANTUCKET SAILOR.
Spell oh!-- whew!
this is worse than pulling after whales in a calm--give us a whiff, Tash.
(THEY CEASE DANCING, AND GATHER IN CLUSTERS.
MEANTIME THE SKY DARKENS--THE WIND RISES.)
LASCAR SAILOR.
By Brahma!
boys, it'll be douse sail soon.
The sky - born, high - tide Ganges turned to wind!
Thou showest thy black brow, Seeva!
MALTESE SAILOR.
(RECLINING AND SHAKING HIS CAP.)
It's the waves--the snow's caps turn to jig it now.
They'll shake their tassels soon.
Now would all the waves were women, then I'd go drown, and chassee with them evermore!
There's naught so sweet on earth--heaven may not match it!-- as those swift glances of warm, wild bosoms in the dance, when the over - arboring arms hide such ripe, bursting grapes.
SICILIAN SAILOR.
(RECLINING.)
Tell me not of it!
Hark ye, lad--fleet interlacings of the limbs--lithe swayings--coyings--flutterings!
lip!
heart!
hip!
all graze: unceasing touch and go!
not taste, observe ye, else come satiety.
Eh, Pagan?
(NUDGING.)
TAHITAN SAILOR.
(RECLINING ON A MAT.)
Hail, holy nakedness of our dancing girls!-- the Heeva - Heeva!
Ah!
low veiled, high palmed Tahiti!
I still rest me on thy mat, but the soft soil has slid!
I saw thee woven in the wood, my mat!
green the first day I brought ye thence; now worn and wilted quite.
Ah me!-- not thou nor I can bear the change!
How then, if so be transplanted to yon sky?
Hear I the roaring streams from Pirohitee's peak of spears, when they leap down the crags and drown the villages?-- The blast!
the blast!
Up, spine, and meet it!
(LEAPS TO HIS FEET.)
PORTUGUESE SAILOR.
How the sea rolls swashing'gainst the side!
Stand by for reefing, hearties!
the winds are just crossing swords, pell - mell they'll go lunging presently.
DANISH SAILOR.
Crack, crack, old ship!
so long as thou crackest, thou holdest!
Well done!
The mate there holds ye to it stiffly.
He's no more afraid than the isle fort at Cattegat, put there to fight the Baltic with storm - lashed guns, on which the sea - salt cakes!
4TH NANTUCKET SAILOR.
He has his orders, mind ye that.
I heard old Ahab tell him he must always kill a squall, something as they burst a waterspout with a pistol--fire your ship right into it!
ENGLISH SAILOR.
Blood!
but that old man's a grand old cove!
We are the lads to hunt him up his whale!
ALL.
Aye!
aye!
OLD MANX SAILOR.
How the three pines shake!
Pines are the hardest sort of tree to live when shifted to any other soil, and here there's none but the crew's cursed clay.
Steady, helmsman!
steady.
This is the sort of weather when brave hearts snap ashore, and keeled hulls split at sea.
Our captain has his birthmark; look yonder, boys, there's another in the sky--lurid - like, ye see, all else pitch black.
DAGGOO.
What of that?
Who's afraid of black's afraid of me!
I'm quarried out of it!
SPANISH SAILOR.
(ASIDE.)
He wants to bully, ah!-- the old grudge makes me touchy (ADVANCING.)
Aye, harpooneer, thy race is the undeniable dark side of mankind--devilish dark at that.
No offence.
DAGGOO (GRIMLY).
None.
ST. JAGO'S SAILOR.
That Spaniard's mad or drunk.
But that can't be, or else in his one case our old Mogul's fire - waters are somewhat long in working.
5TH NANTUCKET SAILOR.
What's that I saw--lightning?
Yes.
SPANISH SAILOR.
No; Daggoo showing his teeth.
DAGGOO (SPRINGING).
Swallow thine, mannikin!
White skin, white liver!
SPANISH SAILOR (MEETING HIM).
Knife thee heartily!
big frame, small spirit!
ALL.
A row!
a row!
a row!
TASHTEGO (WITH A WHIFF).
A row a'low, and a row aloft--Gods and men--both brawlers!
Humph!
BELFAST SAILOR.
A row!
arrah a row!
The Virgin be blessed, a row!
Plunge in with ye!
ENGLISH SAILOR.
Fair play!
Snatch the Spaniard's knife!
A ring, a ring!
OLD MANX SAILOR.
Ready formed.
There!
the ringed horizon.
In that ring Cain struck Abel.
Sweet work, right work!
No?
Why then, God, mad'st thou the ring?
MATE'S VOICE FROM THE QUARTER - DECK.
Hands by the halyards!
in top - gallant sails!
Stand by to reef topsails!
ALL.
The squall!
the squall!
jump, my jollies!
(THEY SCATTER.)
PIP (SHRINKING UNDER THE WINDLASS).
Jollies?
Lord help such jollies!
Crish, crash!
there goes the jib - stay!
Blang - whang!
God!
Duck lower, Pip, here comes the royal yard!
It's worse than being in the whirled woods, the last day of the year!
Who'd go climbing after chestnuts now?
But there they go, all cursing, and here I don't.
Fine prospects to'em; they're on the road to heaven.
Hold on hard!
Jimmini, what a squall!
But those chaps there are worse yet--they are your white squalls, they.
White squalls?
white whale, shirr!
shirr!
Here have I heard all their chat just now, and the white whale--shirr!
shirr!-- but spoken of once!
and only this evening--it makes me jingle all over like my tambourine--that anaconda of an old man swore'em in to hunt him!
Oh, thou big white God aloft there somewhere in yon darkness, have mercy on this small black boy down here; preserve him from all men that have no bowels to feel fear!
CHAPTER 41
Moby Dick.
I, Ishmael, was one of that crew; my shouts had gone up with the rest; my oath had been welded with theirs; and stronger I shouted, and more did I hammer and clinch my oath, because of the dread in my soul.
A wild, mystical, sympathetical feeling was in me; Ahab's quenchless feud seemed mine.
With greedy ears I learned the history of that murderous monster against whom I and all the others had taken our oaths of violence and revenge.
For some time past, though at intervals only, the unaccompanied, secluded White Whale had haunted those uncivilized seas mostly frequented by the Sperm Whale fishermen.
But not all of them knew of his existence; only a few of them, comparatively, had knowingly seen him; while the number who as yet had actually and knowingly given battle to him, was small indeed.
In that way, mostly, the disastrous encounter between Ahab and the whale had hitherto been popularly regarded.
And as for those who, previously hearing of the White Whale, by chance caught sight of him; in the beginning of the thing they had every one of them, almost, as boldly and fearlessly lowered for him, as for any other whale of that species.
Nor did wild rumors of all sorts fail to exaggerate, and still the more horrify the true histories of these deadly encounters.
And as the sea surpasses the land in this matter, so the whale fishery surpasses every other sort of maritime life, in the wonderfulness and fearfulness of the rumors which sometimes circulate there.
So that in many cases such a panic did he finally strike, that few who by those rumors, at least, had heard of the White Whale, few of those hunters were willing to encounter the perils of his jaw.
But there were still other and more vital practical influences at work.
Not even at the present day has the original prestige of the Sperm Whale, as fearfully distinguished from all other species of the leviathan, died out of the minds of the whalemen as a body.
Nor is the pre - eminent tremendousness of the great Sperm Whale anywhere more feelingly comprehended, than on board of those prows which stem him.
Nor even down to so late a time as Cuvier's, were these or almost similar impressions effaced.
And however the general experiences in the fishery may amend such reports as these; yet in their full terribleness, even to the bloodthirsty item of Povelson, the superstitious belief in them is, in some vicissitudes of their vocation, revived in the minds of the hunters.
That to attempt it, would be inevitably to be torn into a quick eternity.
On this head, there are some remarkable documents that may be consulted.
Nor, credulous as such minds must have been, was this conceit altogether without some faint show of superstitious probability.
Nor is it to be gainsaid, that in some of these instances it has been declared that the interval of time between the two assaults could not have exceeded very many days.
Hence, by inference, it has been believed by some whalemen, that the Nor'West Passage, so long a problem to man, was never a problem to the whale.
But even stripped of these supernatural surmisings, there was enough in the earthly make and incontestable character of the monster to strike the imagination with unwonted power.
For, it was not so much his uncommon bulk that so much distinguished him from other sperm whales, but, as was elsewhere thrown out--a peculiar snow - white wrinkled forehead, and a high, pyramidical white hump.
These were his prominent features; the tokens whereby, even in the limitless, uncharted seas, he revealed his identity, at a long distance, to those who knew him.
More than all, his treacherous retreats struck more of dismay than perhaps aught else.
For, when swimming before his exulting pursuers, with every apparent symptom of alarm, he had several times been known to turn round suddenly, and, bearing down upon them, either stave their boats to splinters, or drive them back in consternation to their ship.
Already several fatalities had attended his chase.
That captain was Ahab.
And then it was, that suddenly sweeping his sickle - shaped lower jaw beneath him, Moby Dick had reaped away Ahab's leg, as a mower a blade of grass in the field.
No turbaned Turk, no hired Venetian or Malay, could have smote him with more seeming malice.
The White Whale swam before him as the monomaniac incarnation of all those malicious agencies which some deep men feel eating in them, till they are left living on with half a heart and half a lung.
He piled upon the whale's white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart's shell upon it.
It is not probable that this monomania in him took its instant rise at the precise time of his bodily dismemberment.
Then, in darting at the monster, knife in hand, he had but given loose to a sudden, passionate, corporal animosity; and when he received the stroke that tore him, he probably but felt the agonizing bodily laceration, but nothing more.
In a strait - jacket, he swung to the mad rockings of the gales.
Human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most feline thing.
When you think it fled, it may have but become transfigured into some still subtler form.
Ahab's full lunacy subsided not, but deepeningly contracted; like the unabated Hudson, when that noble Northman flows narrowly, but unfathomably through the Highland gorge.
But, as in his narrow - flowing monomania, not one jot of Ahab's broad madness had been left behind; so in that broad madness, not one jot of his great natural intellect had perished.
That before living agent, now became the living instrument.
This is much; yet Ahab's larger, darker, deeper part remains unhinted.
But vain to popularize profundities, and all truth is profound.
So with a broken throne, the great gods mock that captive king; so like a Caryatid, he patient sits, upholding on his frozen brow the piled entablatures of ages.
Wind ye down there, ye prouder, sadder souls!
question that proud, sad king!
A family likeness!
aye, he did beget ye, ye young exiled royalties; and from your grim sire only will the old State - secret come.
Now, in his heart, Ahab had some glimpse of this, namely: all my means are sane, my motive and my object mad.
Yet without power to kill, or change, or shun the fact; he likewise knew that to mankind he did long dissemble; in some sort, did still.
But that thing of his dissembling was only subject to his perceptibility, not to his will determinate.
Nevertheless, so well did he succeed in that dissembling, that when with ivory leg he stepped ashore at last, no Nantucketer thought him otherwise than but naturally grieved, and that to the quick, with the terrible casualty which had overtaken him.
The report of his undeniable delirium at sea was likewise popularly ascribed to a kindred cause.
And so too, all the added moodiness which always afterwards, to the very day of sailing in the Pequod on the present voyage, sat brooding on his brow.
Gnawed within and scorched without, with the infixed, unrelenting fangs of some incurable idea; such an one, could he be found, would seem the very man to dart his iron and lift his lance against the most appalling of all brutes.
Or, if for any reason thought to be corporeally incapacitated for that, yet such an one would seem superlatively competent to cheer and howl on his underlings to the attack.
But be all this as it may, certain it is, that with the mad secret of his unabated rage bolted up and keyed in him, Ahab had purposely sailed upon the present voyage with the one only and all - engrossing object of hunting the White Whale.
Had any one of his old acquaintances on shore but half dreamed of what was lurking in him then, how soon would their aghast and righteous souls have wrenched the ship from such a fiendish man!
They were bent on profitable cruises, the profit to be counted down in dollars from the mint.
He was intent on an audacious, immitigable, and supernatural revenge.
Such a crew, so officered, seemed specially picked and packed by some infernal fatality to help him to his monomaniac revenge.
The subterranean miner that works in us all, how can one tell whither leads his shaft by the ever shifting, muffled sound of his pick?
Who does not feel the irresistible arm drag?
What skiff in tow of a seventy - four can stand still?
For one, I gave myself up to the abandonment of the time and the place; but while yet all a - rush to encounter the whale, could see naught in that brute but the deadliest ill.
CHAPTER 42
The Whiteness of The Whale.
What the white whale was to Ahab, has been hinted; what, at times, he was to me, as yet remains unsaid.
It was the whiteness of the whale that above all things appalled me.
But how can I hope to explain myself here; and yet, in some dim, random way, explain myself I must, else all these chapters might be naught.
This elusive quality it is, which causes the thought of whiteness, when divorced from more kindly associations, and coupled with any object terrible in itself, to heighten that terror to the furthest bounds.
Witness the white bear of the poles, and the white shark of the tropics; what but their smooth, flaky whiteness makes them the transcendent horrors they are?
That ghastly whiteness it is which imparts such an abhorrent mildness, even more loathsome than terrific, to the dumb gloating of their aspect.
So that not the fierce - fanged tiger in his heraldic coat can so stagger courage as the white - shrouded bear or shark.
But even assuming all this to be true; yet, were it not for the whiteness, you would not have that intensified terror.
As for the white shark, the white gliding ghostliness of repose in that creature, when beheld in his ordinary moods, strangely tallies with the same quality in the Polar quadruped.
This peculiarity is most vividly hit by the French in the name they bestow upon that fish.
The Romish mass for the dead begins with " Requiem eternam " (eternal rest), whence REQUIEM denominating the mass itself, and any other funeral music.
Now, in allusion to the white, silent stillness of death in this shark, and the mild deadliness of his habits, the French call him REQUIN.
Bethink thee of the albatross, whence come those clouds of spiritual wonderment and pale dread, in which that white phantom sails in all imaginations?
Not Coleridge first threw that spell; but God's great, unflattering laureate, Nature.
* I remember the first albatross I ever saw.
It was during a prolonged gale, in waters hard upon the Antarctic seas.
From my forenoon watch below, I ascended to the overclouded deck; and there, dashed upon the main hatches, I saw a regal, feathery thing of unspotted whiteness, and with a hooked, Roman bill sublime.
At intervals, it arched forth its vast archangel wings, as if to embrace some holy ark.
Wondrous flutterings and throbbings shook it.
Though bodily unharmed, it uttered cries, as some king's ghost in supernatural distress.
Through its inexpressible, strange eyes, methought I peeped to secrets which took hold of God.
As Abraham before the angels, I bowed myself; the white thing was so white, its wings so wide, and in those for ever exiled waters, I had lost the miserable warping memories of traditions and of towns.
Long I gazed at that prodigy of plumage.
I cannot tell, can only hint, the things that darted through me then.
But at last I awoke; and turning, asked a sailor what bird was this.
A goney, he replied.
Goney!
never had heard that name before; is it conceivable that this glorious thing is utterly unknown to men ashore!
never!
But some time after, I learned that goney was some seaman's name for albatross.
So that by no possibility could Coleridge's wild Rhyme have had aught to do with those mystical impressions which were mine, when I saw that bird upon our deck.
For neither had I then read the Rhyme, nor knew the bird to be an albatross.
Yet, in saying this, I do but indirectly burnish a little brighter the noble merit of the poem and the poet.
But how had the mystic thing been caught?
Whisper it not, and I will tell; with a treacherous hook and line, as the fowl floated on the sea.
At last the Captain made a postman of it; tying a lettered, leathern tally round its neck, with the ship's time and place; and then letting it escape.
But I doubt not, that leathern tally, meant for man, was taken off in Heaven, when the white fowl flew to join the wing - folding, the invoking, and adoring cherubim!
Most famous in our Western annals and Indian traditions is that of the White Steed of the Prairies; a magnificent milk - white charger, large - eyed, small - headed, bluff - chested, and with the dignity of a thousand monarchs in his lofty, overscorning carriage.
He was the elected Xerxes of vast herds of wild horses, whose pastures in those days were only fenced by the Rocky Mountains and the Alleghanies.
At their flaming head he westward trooped it like that chosen star which every evening leads on the hosts of light.
The flashing cascade of his mane, the curving comet of his tail, invested him with housings more resplendent than gold and silver - beaters could have furnished him.
A most imperial and archangelical apparition of that unfallen, western world, which to the eyes of the old trappers and hunters revived the glories of those primeval times when Adam walked majestic as a god, bluff - browed and fearless as this mighty steed.
But there are other instances where this whiteness loses all that accessory and strange glory which invests it in the White Steed and Albatross.
What is it that in the Albino man so peculiarly repels and often shocks the eye, as that sometimes he is loathed by his own kith and kin!
It is that whiteness which invests him, a thing expressed by the name he bears.
The Albino is as well made as other men--has no substantive deformity--and yet this mere aspect of all - pervading whiteness makes him more strangely hideous than the ugliest abortion.
Why should this be so?
Nor, in quite other aspects, does Nature in her least palpable but not the less malicious agencies, fail to enlist among her forces this crowning attribute of the terrible.
From its snowy aspect, the gauntleted ghost of the Southern Seas has been denominated the White Squall.
Nor, in some historic instances, has the art of human malice omitted so potent an auxiliary.
How wildly it heightens the effect of that passage in Froissart, when, masked in the snowy symbol of their faction, the desperate White Hoods of Ghent murder their bailiff in the market - place!
Nor, in some things, does the common, hereditary experience of all mankind fail to bear witness to the supernaturalism of this hue.
It cannot well be doubted, that the one visible quality in the aspect of the dead which most appals the gazer, is the marble pallor lingering there; as if indeed that pallor were as much like the badge of consternation in the other world, as of mortal trepidation here.
And from that pallor of the dead, we borrow the expressive hue of the shroud in which we wrap them.
Nor even in our superstitions do we fail to throw the same snowy mantle round our phantoms; all ghosts rising in a milk - white fog--Yea, while these terrors seize us, let us add, that even the king of terrors, when personified by the evangelist, rides on his pallid horse.
Therefore, in his other moods, symbolize whatever grand or gracious thing he will by whiteness, no man can deny that in its profoundest idealized significance it calls up a peculiar apparition to the soul.
But though without dissent this point be fixed, how is mortal man to account for it?
To analyse it, would seem impossible.
Let us try.
But in a matter like this, subtlety appeals to subtlety, and without imagination no man can follow another into these halls.
And though, doubtless, some at least of the imaginative impressions about to be presented may have been shared by most men, yet few perhaps were entirely conscious of them at the time, and therefore may not be able to recall them now.
Or, to the unread, unsophisticated Protestant of the Middle American States, why does the passing mention of a White Friar or a White Nun, evoke such an eyeless statue in the soul?
And those sublimer towers, the White Mountains of New Hampshire, whence, in peculiar moods, comes that gigantic ghostliness over the soul at the bare mention of that name, while the thought of Virginia's Blue Ridge is full of a soft, dewy, distant dreaminess?
For Lima has taken the white veil; and there is a higher horror in this whiteness of her woe.
Old as Pizarro, this whiteness keeps her ruins for ever new; admits not the cheerful greenness of complete decay; spreads over her broken ramparts the rigid pallor of an apoplexy that fixes its own distortions.
What I mean by these two statements may perhaps be respectively elucidated by the following examples.
Yet where is the mariner who will tell thee, " Sir, it was not so much the fear of striking hidden rocks, as the fear of that hideous whiteness that so stirred me?"
Much the same is it with the backwoodsman of the West, who with comparative indifference views an unbounded prairie sheeted with driven snow, no shadow of tree or twig to break the fixed trance of whiteness.
But thou sayest, methinks that white - lead chapter about whiteness is but a white flag hung out from a craven soul; thou surrenderest to a hypo, Ishmael.
No; but here thou beholdest even in a dumb brute, the instinct of the knowledge of the demonism in the world.
Though thousands of miles from Oregon, still when he smells that savage musk, the rending, goring bison herds are as present as to the deserted wild foal of the prairies, which this instant they may be trampling into dust.
Thus, then, the muffled rollings of a milky sea; the bleak rustlings of the festooned frosts of mountains; the desolate shiftings of the windrowed snows of prairies; all these, to Ishmael, are as the shaking of that buffalo robe to the frightened colt!
Though neither knows where lie the nameless things of which the mystic sign gives forth such hints; yet with me, as with the colt, somewhere those things must exist.
Though in many of its aspects this visible world seems formed in love, the invisible spheres were formed in fright.
Is it that by its indefiniteness it shadows forth the heartless voids and immensities of the universe, and thus stabs us from behind with the thought of annihilation, when beholding the white depths of the milky way?
And of all these things the Albino whale was the symbol.
Wonder ye then at the fiery hunt?
CHAPTER 43
Hark!
" HIST!
Did you hear that noise, Cabaco?
It was the middle - watch; a fair moonlight; the seamen were standing in a cordon, extending from one of the fresh - water butts in the waist, to the scuttle - butt near the taffrail.
In this manner, they passed the buckets to fill the scuttle - butt.
Standing, for the most part, on the hallowed precincts of the quarter - deck, they were careful not to speak or rustle their feet.
From hand to hand, the buckets went in the deepest silence, only broken by the occasional flap of a sail, and the steady hum of the unceasingly advancing keel.
It was in the midst of this repose, that Archy, one of the cordon, whose post was near the after - hatches, whispered to his neighbor, a Cholo, the words above.
" Hist!
did you hear that noise, Cabaco?"
" Take the bucket, will ye, Archy?
what noise d'ye mean?"
" There it is again--under the hatches--don't you hear it--a cough--it sounded like a cough."
" Cough be damned!
Pass along that return bucket."
" There again--there it is!-- it sounds like two or three sleepers turning over, now!"
" Caramba!
have done, shipmate, will ye?
It's the three soaked biscuits ye eat for supper turning over inside of ye--nothing else.
Look to the bucket!"
" Say what ye will, shipmate; I've sharp ears."
" Aye, you are the chap, ain't ye, that heard the hum of the old Quakeress's knitting - needles fifty miles at sea from Nantucket; you're the chap."
" Grin away; we'll see what turns up.
Hark ye, Cabaco, there is somebody down in the after - hold that has not yet been seen on deck; and I suspect our old Mogul knows something of it too.
I heard Stubb tell Flask, one morning watch, that there was something of that sort in the wind."
" Tish!
the bucket!"
CHAPTER 44
The Chart.
Then seating himself before it, you would have seen him intently study the various lines and shadings which there met his eye; and with slow but steady pencil trace additional courses over spaces that before were blank.
At intervals, he would refer to piles of old log - books beside him, wherein were set down the seasons and places in which, on various former voyages of various ships, sperm whales had been captured or seen.
But it was not this night in particular that, in the solitude of his cabin, Ahab thus pondered over his charts.
Almost every night they were brought out; almost every night some pencil marks were effaced, and others were substituted.
For with the charts of all four oceans before him, Ahab was threading a maze of currents and eddies, with a view to the more certain accomplishment of that monomaniac thought of his soul.
Now, to any one not fully acquainted with the ways of the leviathans, it might seem an absurdly hopeless task thus to seek out one solitary creature in the unhooped oceans of this planet.
On this hint, attempts have been made to construct elaborate migratory charts of the sperm whale.
* Since the above was written, the statement is happily borne out by an official circular, issued by Lieutenant Maury, of the National Observatory, Washington, April 16th, 1851.
By that circular, it appears that precisely such a chart is in course of completion; and portions of it are presented in the circular.
The sum is, that at particular seasons within that breadth and along that path, migrating whales may with great confidence be looked for.
There was a circumstance which at first sight seemed to entangle his delirious but still methodical scheme.
But not so in the reality, perhaps.
In general, the same remark, only within a less wide limit, applies to the solitaries and hermits among the matured, aged sperm whales.
So, too, with some other feeding grounds, where he had at times revealed himself.
But all these seemed only his casual stopping - places and ocean - inns, so to speak, not his places of prolonged abode.
That particular set time and place were conjoined in the one technical phrase--the Season - on - the - Line.
For there and then, for several consecutive years, Moby Dick had been periodically descried, lingering in those waters for awhile, as the sun, in its annual round, loiters for a predicted interval in any one sign of the Zodiac.
There it was, too, that most of the deadly encounters with the white whale had taken place; there the waves were storied with his deeds; there also was that tragic spot where the monomaniac old man had found the awful motive to his vengeance.
Now, the Pequod had sailed from Nantucket at the very beginning of the Season - on - the - Line.
No possible endeavor then could enable her commander to make the great passage southwards, double Cape Horn, and then running down sixty degrees of latitude arrive in the equatorial Pacific in time to cruise there.
Therefore, he must wait for the next ensuing season.
Yet the premature hour of the Pequod's sailing had, perhaps, been correctly selected by Ahab, with a view to this very complexion of things.
So that Monsoons, Pampas, Nor '- Westers, Harmattans, Trades; any wind but the Levanter and Simoon, might blow Moby Dick into the devious zig - zag world - circle of the Pequod's circumnavigating wake.
Yes.
For the peculiar snow - white brow of Moby Dick, and his snow - white hump, could not but be unmistakable.
And have I not tallied the whale, Ahab would mutter to himself, as after poring over his charts till long after midnight he would throw himself back in reveries--tallied him, and shall he escape?
His broad fins are bored, and scalloped out like a lost sheep's ear!
And here, his mad mind would run on in a breathless race; till a weariness and faintness of pondering came over him; and in the open air of the deck he would seek to recover his strength.
Ah, God!
what trances of torments does that man endure who is consumed with one unachieved revengeful desire.
He sleeps with clenched hands; and wakes with his own bloody nails in his palms.
Yet these, perhaps, instead of being the unsuppressable symptoms of some latent weakness, or fright at his own resolve, were but the plainest tokens of its intensity.
For, at such times, crazy Ahab, the scheming, unappeasedly steadfast hunter of the white whale; this Ahab that had gone to his hammock, was not the agent that so caused him to burst from it in horror again.
Nay, could grimly live and burn, while the common vitality to which it was conjoined, fled horror - stricken from the unbidden and unfathered birth.
God help thee, old man, thy thoughts have created a creature in thee; and he whose intense thinking thus makes him a Prometheus; a vulture feeds upon that heart for ever; that vulture the very creature he creates.
CHAPTER 45
The Affidavit.
Meanwhile, the whale he had struck must also have been on its travels; no doubt it had thrice circumnavigated the globe, brushing with its flanks all the coasts of Africa; but to no purpose.
This man and this whale again came together, and the one vanquished the other.
I say I, myself, have known three instances similar to this; that is in two of them I saw the whales struck; and, upon the second attack, saw the two irons with the respective marks cut in them, afterwards taken from the dead fish.
In the three - year instance, it so fell out that I was in the boat both times, first and last, and the last time distinctly recognised a peculiar sort of huge mole under the whale's eye, which I had observed there three years previous.
I say three years, but I am pretty sure it was more than that.
Here are three instances, then, which I personally know the truth of; but I have heard of many other instances from persons whose veracity in the matter there is no good ground to impeach.
Secondly: It is well known in the Sperm Whale Fishery, however ignorant the world ashore may be of it, that there have been several memorable historical instances where a particular whale in the ocean has been at distant times and places popularly cognisable.
Like some poor devils ashore that happen to know an irascible great man, they make distant unobtrusive salutations to him in the street, lest if they pursued the acquaintance further, they might receive a summary thump for their presumption.
Was it not so, O Timor Tom!
thou famed leviathan, scarred like an iceberg, who so long did'st lurk in the Oriental straits of that name, whose spout was oft seen from the palmy beach of Ombay?
Was it not so, O New Zealand Jack!
thou terror of all cruisers that crossed their wakes in the vicinity of the Tattoo Land?
Was it not so, O Morquan!
King of Japan, whose lofty jet they say at times assumed the semblance of a snow - white cross against the sky?
Was it not so, O Don Miguel!
thou Chilian whale, marked like an old tortoise with mystic hieroglyphics upon the back!
In plain prose, here are four whales as well known to the students of Cetacean History as Marius or Sylla to the classic scholar.
But this is not all.
I do not know where I can find a better place than just here, to make mention of one or two other things, which to me seem important, as in printed form establishing in all respects the reasonableness of the whole story of the White Whale, more especially the catastrophe.
For this is one of those disheartening instances where truth requires full as much bolstering as error.
First: Though most men have some vague flitting ideas of the general perils of the grand fishery, yet they have nothing like a fixed, vivid conception of those perils, and the frequency with which they recur.
One reason perhaps is, that not one in fifty of the actual disasters and deaths by casualties in the fishery, ever finds a public record at home, however transient and immediately forgotten that record.
No: because the mails are very irregular between here and New Guinea.
In fact, did you ever hear what might be called regular news direct or indirect from New Guinea?
Yet I tell you that upon one particular voyage which I made to the Pacific, among many others we spoke thirty different ships, every one of which had had a death by a whale, some of them more than one, and three that had each lost a boat's crew.
For God's sake, be economical with your lamps and candles!
not a gallon you burn, but at least one drop of man's blood was spilled for it.
But fortunately the special point I here seek can be established upon testimony entirely independent of my own.
That point is this: The Sperm Whale is in some cases sufficiently powerful, knowing, and judiciously malicious, as with direct aforethought to stave in, utterly destroy, and sink a large ship; and what is more, the Sperm Whale HAS done it.
First: In the year 1820 the ship Essex, Captain Pollard, of Nantucket, was cruising in the Pacific Ocean.
One day she saw spouts, lowered her boats, and gave chase to a shoal of sperm whales.
Ere long, several of the whales were wounded; when, suddenly, a very large whale escaping from the boats, issued from the shoal, and bore directly down upon the ship.
Dashing his forehead against her hull, he so stove her in, that in less than " ten minutes " she settled down and fell over.
Not a surviving plank of her has been seen since.
After the severest exposure, part of the crew reached the land in their boats.
At this day Captain Pollard is a resident of Nantucket.
I have seen Owen Chace, who was chief mate of the Essex at the time of the tragedy; I have read his plain and faithful narrative; I have conversed with his son; and all this within a few miles of the scene of the catastrophe.
His aspect was most horrible, and such as indicated resentment and fury.
He came directly from the shoal which we had just before entered, and in which we had struck three of his companions, as if fired with revenge for their sufferings."
Here are his reflections some time after quitting the ship, during a black night an open boat, when almost despairing of reaching any hospitable shore.
In another place--p. 45,-- he speaks of " THE MYSTERIOUS AND MORTAL ATTACK OF THE ANIMAL."
Thirdly: Some eighteen or twenty years ago Commodore J ---, then commanding an American sloop - of - war of the first class, happened to be dining with a party of whaling captains, on board a Nantucket ship in the harbor of Oahu, Sandwich Islands.
Conversation turning upon whales, the Commodore was pleased to be sceptical touching the amazing strength ascribed to them by the professional gentlemen present.
He peremptorily denied for example, that any whale could so smite his stout sloop - of - war as to cause her to leak so much as a thimbleful.
Very good; but there is more coming.
Some weeks after, the Commodore set sail in this impregnable craft for Valparaiso.
But he was stopped on the way by a portly sperm whale, that begged a few moments'confidential business with him.
That business consisted in fetching the Commodore's craft such a thwack, that with all his pumps going he made straight for the nearest port to heave down and repair.
I am not superstitious, but I consider the Commodore's interview with that whale as providential.
Was not Saul of Tarsus converted from unbelief by a similar fright?
I tell you, the sperm whale will stand no nonsense.
I will now refer you to Langsdorff's Voyages for a little circumstance in point, peculiarly interesting to the writer hereof.
Langsdorff, you must know by the way, was attached to the Russian Admiral Krusenstern's famous Discovery Expedition in the beginning of the present century.
Captain Langsdorff thus begins his seventeenth chapter:
" By the thirteenth of May our ship was ready to sail, and the next day we were out in the open sea, on our way to Ochotsh.
The weather was very clear and fine, but so intolerably cold that we were obliged to keep on our fur clothing.
For some days we had very little wind; it was not till the nineteenth that a brisk gale from the northwest sprang up.
We were thus placed in the most imminent danger, as this gigantic creature, setting up its back, raised the ship three feet at least out of the water.
The masts reeled, and the sails fell altogether, while we who were below all sprang instantly upon the deck, concluding that we had struck upon some rock; instead of this we saw the monster sailing off with the utmost gravity and solemnity.
Captain D'Wolf applied immediately to the pumps to examine whether or not the vessel had received any damage from the shock, but we found that very happily it had escaped entirely uninjured."
Now, the Captain D'Wolf here alluded to as commanding the ship in question, is a New Englander, who, after a long life of unusual adventures as a sea - captain, this day resides in the village of Dorchester near Boston.
I have the honour of being a nephew of his.
I have particularly questioned him concerning this passage in Langsdorff.
He substantiates every word.
The ship, however, was by no means a large one: a Russian craft built on the Siberian coast, and purchased by my uncle after bartering away the vessel in which he sailed from home.
Lionel, it seems, was on his way to " John Ferdinando," as he calls the modern Juan Fernandes.
And, indeed, the shock was so sudden and violent, that we took it for granted the ship had struck against a rock; but when the amazement was a little over, we cast the lead, and sounded, but found no ground.
....
The suddenness of the shock made the guns leap in their carriages, and several of the men were shaken out of their hammocks.
Captain Davis, who lay with his head on a gun, was thrown out of his cabin!"
Lionel then goes on to impute the shock to an earthquake, and seems to substantiate the imputation by stating that a great earthquake, somewhere about that time, did actually do great mischief along the Spanish land.
But I should not much wonder if, in the darkness of that early hour of the morning, the shock was after all caused by an unseen whale vertically bumping the hull from beneath.
I might proceed with several more examples, one way or another known to me, of the great power and malice at times of the sperm whale.
In more than one instance, he has been known, not only to chase the assailing boats back to their ships, but to pursue the ship itself, and long withstand all the lances hurled at him from its decks.
In the sixth Christian century lived Procopius, a Christian magistrate of Constantinople, in the days when Justinian was Emperor and Belisarius general.
As many know, he wrote the history of his own times, a work every way of uncommon value.
By the best authorities, he has always been considered a most trustworthy and unexaggerating historian, except in some one or two particulars, not at all affecting the matter presently to be mentioned.
A fact thus set down in substantial history cannot easily be gainsaid.
Nor is there any reason it should be.
Of what precise species this sea - monster was, is not mentioned.
But as he destroyed ships, as well as for other reasons, he must have been a whale; and I am strongly inclined to think a sperm whale.
And I will tell you why.
For a long time I fancied that the sperm whale had been always unknown in the Mediterranean and the deep waters connecting with it.
Even now I am certain that those seas are not, and perhaps never can be, in the present constitution of things, a place for his habitual gregarious resort.
But further investigations have recently proved to me, that in modern times there have been isolated instances of the presence of the sperm whale in the Mediterranean.
I am told, on good authority, that on the Barbary coast, a Commodore Davis of the British navy found the skeleton of a sperm whale.
Now, as a vessel of war readily passes through the Dardanelles, hence a sperm whale could, by the same route, pass out of the Mediterranean into the Propontis.
In the Propontis, as far as I can learn, none of that peculiar substance called BRIT is to be found, the aliment of the right whale.
But I have every reason to believe that the food of the sperm whale--squid or cuttle - fish--lurks at the bottom of that sea, because large creatures, but by no means the largest of that sort, have been found at its surface.
CHAPTER 46
Surmises.
Or at least if this were otherwise, there were not wanting other motives much more influential with him.
But if such an hypothesis be indeed exceptionable, there were still additional considerations which, though not so strictly according with the wildness of his ruling passion, yet were by no means incapable of swaying him.
To accomplish his object Ahab must use tools; and of all tools used in the shadow of the moon, men are most apt to get out of order.
It might be that a long interval would elapse ere the White Whale was seen.
During that long interval Starbuck would ever be apt to fall into open relapses of rebellion against his captain's leadership, unless some ordinary, prudential, circumstantial influences were brought to bear upon him.
Nor was Ahab unmindful of another thing.
In times of strong emotion mankind disdain all base considerations; but such times are evanescent.
The permanent constitutional condition of the manufactured man, thought Ahab, is sordidness.
For even the high lifted and chivalric Crusaders of old times were not content to traverse two thousand miles of land to fight for their holy sepulchre, without committing burglaries, picking pockets, and gaining other pious perquisites by the way.
Had they been strictly held to their one final and romantic object--that final and romantic object, too many would have turned from in disgust.
I will not strip these men, thought Ahab, of all hopes of cash--aye, cash.
They may scorn cash now; but let some months go by, and no perspective promise of it to them, and then this same quiescent cash all at once mutinying in them, this same cash would soon cashier Ahab.
Nor was there wanting still another precautionary motive more related to Ahab personally.
From even the barely hinted imputation of usurpation, and the possible consequences of such a suppressed impression gaining ground, Ahab must of course have been most anxious to protect himself.
That protection could only consist in his own predominating brain and heart and hand, backed by a heedful, closely calculating attention to every minute atmospheric influence which it was possible for his crew to be subjected to.
Be all this as it may, his voice was now often heard hailing the three mast - heads and admonishing them to keep a bright look - out, and not omit reporting even a porpoise.
This vigilance was not long without reward.
CHAPTER 47
The Mat - Maker.
It was a cloudy, sultry afternoon; the seamen were lazily lounging about the decks, or vacantly gazing over into the lead - coloured waters.
Queequeg and I were mildly employed weaving what is called a sword - mat, for an additional lashing to our boat.
So still and subdued and yet somehow preluding was all the scene, and such an incantation of reverie lurked in the air, that each silent sailor seemed resolved into his own invisible self.
I was the attendant or page of Queequeg, while busy at the mat.
There lay the fixed threads of the warp subject to but one single, ever returning, unchanging vibration, and that vibration merely enough to admit of the crosswise interblending of other threads with its own.
This warp seemed necessity; and here, thought I, with my own hand I ply my own shuttle and weave my own destiny into these unalterable threads.
Thus we were weaving and weaving away when I started at a sound so strange, long drawn, and musically wild and unearthly, that the ball of free will dropped from my hand, and I stood gazing up at the clouds whence that voice dropped like a wing.
High aloft in the cross - trees was that mad Gay - Header, Tashtego.
His body was reaching eagerly forward, his hand stretched out like a wand, and at brief sudden intervals he continued his cries.
As he stood hovering over you half suspended in air, so wildly and eagerly peering towards the horizon, you would have thought him some prophet or seer beholding the shadows of Fate, and by those wild cries announcing their coming.
" There she blows!
there!
there!
there!
she blows!
she blows!"
" Where - away?"
" On the lee - beam, about two miles off!
a school of them!"
Instantly all was commotion.
The Sperm Whale blows as a clock ticks, with the same undeviating and reliable uniformity.
And thereby whalemen distinguish this fish from other tribes of his genus.
" There go flukes!"
was now the cry from Tashtego; and the whales disappeared.
" Quick, steward!"
cried Ahab.
" Time!
time!"
Dough - Boy hurried below, glanced at the watch, and reported the exact minute to Ahab.
The ship was now kept away from the wind, and she went gently rolling before it.
Tashtego reporting that the whales had gone down heading to leeward, we confidently looked to see them again directly in advance of our bows.
One of the men selected for shipkeepers--that is, those not appointed to the boats, by this time relieved the Indian at the main - mast head.
The sailors at the fore and mizzen had come down; the line tubs were fixed in their places; the cranes were thrust out; the mainyard was backed, and the three boats swung over the sea like three samphire baskets over high cliffs.
Outside of the bulwarks their eager crews with one hand clung to the rail, while one foot was expectantly poised on the gunwale.
So look the long line of man - of - war's men about to throw themselves on board an enemy's ship.
But at this critical instant a sudden exclamation was heard that took every eye from the whale.
With a start all glared at dark Ahab, who was surrounded by five dusky phantoms that seemed fresh formed out of air.
CHAPTER 48
The First Lowering.
The phantoms, for so they then seemed, were flitting on the other side of the deck, and, with a noiseless celerity, were casting loose the tackles and bands of the boat which swung there.
This boat had always been deemed one of the spare boats, though technically called the captain's, on account of its hanging from the starboard quarter.
The figure that now stood by its bows was tall and swart, with one white tooth evilly protruding from its steel - like lips.
A rumpled Chinese jacket of black cotton funereally invested him, with wide black trowsers of the same dark stuff.
But strangely crowning this ebonness was a glistening white plaited turban, the living hair braided and coiled round and round upon his head.
While yet the wondering ship's company were gazing upon these strangers, Ahab cried out to the white - turbaned old man at their head, " All ready there, Fedallah?"
" Ready," was the half - hissed reply.
" Lower away then; d'ye hear?"
shouting across the deck.
" Lower away there, I say."
But with all their eyes again riveted upon the swart Fedallah and his crew, the inmates of the other boats obeyed not the command.
" Captain Ahab?--" said Starbuck.
" Spread yourselves," cried Ahab; " give way, all four boats.
Thou, Flask, pull out more to leeward!"
" Aye, aye, sir," cheerily cried little King - Post, sweeping round his great steering oar.
" Lay back!"
addressing his crew.
" There!-- there!-- there again!
There she blows right ahead, boys!-- lay back!"
" Never heed yonder yellow boys, Archy."
" Oh, I don't mind'em, sir," said Archy; " I knew it all before now.
Didn't I hear'em in the hold?
And didn't I tell Cabaco here of it?
What say ye, Cabaco?
They are stowaways, Mr.
Flask."
" Pull, pull, my fine hearts - alive; pull, my children; pull, my little ones," drawlingly and soothingly sighed Stubb to his crew, some of whom still showed signs of uneasiness.
" Why don't you break your backbones, my boys?
What is it you stare at?
Those chaps in yonder boat?
Tut!
They are only five more hands come to help us--never mind from where--the more the merrier.
Pull, then, do pull; never mind the brimstone--devils are good fellows enough.
So, so; there you are now; that's the stroke for a thousand pounds; that's the stroke to sweep the stakes!
Hurrah for the gold cup of sperm oil, my heroes!
Three cheers, men--all hearts alive!
Easy, easy; don't be in a hurry--don't be in a hurry.
Why don't you snap your oars, you rascals?
Bite something, you dogs!
So, so, so, then:-- softly, softly!
That's it--that's it!
long and strong.
Give way there, give way!
The devil fetch ye, ye ragamuffin rapscallions; ye are all asleep.
Stop snoring, ye sleepers, and pull.
Pull, will ye?
pull, can't ye?
pull, won't ye?
Why in the name of gudgeons and ginger - cakes don't ye pull?-- pull and break something!
pull, and start your eyes out!
Here!"
whipping out the sharp knife from his girdle; " every mother's son of ye draw his knife, and pull with the blade between his teeth.
That's it--that's it.
Now ye do something; that looks like it, my steel - bits.
Start her--start her, my silver - spoons!
Start her, marling - spikes!"
Stubb's exordium to his crew is given here at large, because he had rather a peculiar way of talking to them in general, and especially in inculcating the religion of rowing.
But you must not suppose from this specimen of his sermonizings that he ever flew into downright passions with his congregation.
Not at all; and therein consisted his chief peculiarity.
Besides he all the time looked so easy and indolent himself, so loungingly managed his steering - oar, and so broadly gaped--open - mouthed at times--that the mere sight of such a yawning commander, by sheer force of contrast, acted like a charm upon the crew.
Then again, Stubb was one of those odd sort of humorists, whose jollity is sometimes so curiously ambiguous, as to put all inferiors on their guard in the matter of obeying them.
In obedience to a sign from Ahab, Starbuck was now pulling obliquely across Stubb's bow; and when for a minute or so the two boats were pretty near to each other, Stubb hailed the mate.
" Mr. Starbuck!
larboard boat there, ahoy!
a word with ye, sir, if ye please!"
" Halloa!"
returned Starbuck, turning round not a single inch as he spoke; still earnestly but whisperingly urging his crew; his face set like a flint from Stubb's.
" What think ye of those yellow boys, sir!
" Smuggled on board, somehow, before the ship sailed.
(Strong, strong, boys!)"
in a whisper to his crew, then speaking out loud again: " A sad business, Mr. Stubb!
(seethe her, seethe her, my lads!)
but never mind, Mr. Stubb, all for the best.
Let all your crew pull strong, come what will.
(Spring, my men, spring!)
There's hogsheads of sperm ahead, Mr. Stubb, and that's what ye came for.
(Pull, my boys!)
Sperm, sperm's the play!
This at least is duty; duty and profit hand in hand."
" Aye, aye, I thought as much," soliloquized Stubb, when the boats diverged, " as soon as I clapt eye on'em, I thought so.
Aye, and that's what he went into the after hold for, so often, as Dough - Boy long suspected.
They were hidden down there.
The White Whale's at the bottom of it.
Well, well, so be it!
Can't be helped!
All right!
Give way, men!
It ain't the White Whale to - day!
Give way!"
For me, I silently recalled the mysterious shadows I had seen creeping on board the Pequod during the dim Nantucket dawn, as well as the enigmatical hintings of the unaccountable Elijah.
Meantime, Ahab, out of hearing of his officers, having sided the furthest to windward, was still ranging ahead of the other boats; a circumstance bespeaking how potent a crew was pulling him.
Those tiger yellow creatures of his seemed all steel and whalebone; like five trip - hammers they rose and fell with regular strokes of strength, which periodically started the boat along the water like a horizontal burst boiler out of a Mississippi steamer.
All at once the outstretched arm gave a peculiar motion and then remained fixed, while the boat's five oars were seen simultaneously peaked.
Boat and crew sat motionless on the sea.
Instantly the three spread boats in the rear paused on their way.
The whales had irregularly settled bodily down into the blue, thus giving no distantly discernible token of the movement, though from his closer vicinity Ahab had observed it.
" Every man look out along his oars!"
cried Starbuck.
" Thou, Queequeg, stand up!"
Nimbly springing up on the triangular raised box in the bow, the savage stood erect there, and with intensely eager eyes gazed off towards the spot where the chase had last been descried.
Likewise upon the extreme stern of the boat where it was also triangularly platformed level with the gunwale, Starbuck himself was seen coolly and adroitly balancing himself to the jerking tossings of his chip of a craft, and silently eyeing the vast blue eye of the sea.
Not very far distant Flask's boat was also lying breathlessly still; its commander recklessly standing upon the top of the loggerhead, a stout sort of post rooted in the keel, and rising some two feet above the level of the stern platform.
It is used for catching turns with the whale line.
Its top is not more spacious than the palm of a man's hand, and standing upon such a base as that, Flask seemed perched at the mast - head of some ship which had sunk to all but her trucks.
But little King - Post was small and short, and at the same time little King - Post was full of a large and tall ambition, so that this loggerhead stand - point of his did by no means satisfy King - Post.
" I can't see three seas off; tip us up an oar there, and let me on to that."
Upon this, Daggoo, with either hand upon the gunwale to steady his way, swiftly slid aft, and then erecting himself volunteered his lofty shoulders for a pedestal.
" Good a mast - head as any, sir.
Will you mount?"
" That I will, and thank ye very much, my fine fellow; only I wish you fifty feet taller."
And here was Flask now standing, Daggoo with one lifted arm furnishing him with a breastband to lean against and steady himself by.
At any time it is a strange sight to the tyro to see with what wondrous habitude of unconscious skill the whaleman will maintain an erect posture in his boat, even when pitched about by the most riotously perverse and cross - running seas.
Still more strange to see him giddily perched upon the loggerhead itself, under such circumstances.
But the sight of little Flask mounted upon gigantic Daggoo was yet more curious; for sustaining himself with a cool, indifferent, easy, unthought of, barbaric majesty, the noble negro to every roll of the sea harmoniously rolled his fine form.
On his broad back, flaxen - haired Flask seemed a snow - flake.
The bearer looked nobler than the rider.
Though truly vivacious, tumultuous, ostentatious little Flask would now and then stamp with impatience; but not one added heave did he thereby give to the negro's lordly chest.
So have I seen Passion and Vanity stamping the living magnanimous earth, but the earth did not alter her tides and her seasons for that.
Meanwhile Stubb, the third mate, betrayed no such far - gazing solicitudes.
The whales might have made one of their regular soundings, not a temporary dive from mere fright; and if that were the case, Stubb, as his wont in such cases, it seems, was resolved to solace the languishing interval with his pipe.
He withdrew it from his hatband, where he always wore it aslant like a feather.
The air around suddenly vibrated and tingled, as it were, like the air over intensely heated plates of iron.
Beneath this atmospheric waving and curling, and partially beneath a thin layer of water, also, the whales were swimming.
Seen in advance of all the other indications, the puffs of vapour they spouted, seemed their forerunning couriers and detached flying outriders.
All four boats were now in keen pursuit of that one spot of troubled water and air.
But it bade fair to outstrip them; it flew on and on, as a mass of interblending bubbles borne down a rapid stream from the hills.
" Pull, pull, my good boys," said Starbuck, in the lowest possible but intensest concentrated whisper to his men; while the sharp fixed glance from his eyes darted straight ahead of the bow, almost seemed as two visible needles in two unerring binnacle compasses.
He did not say much to his crew, though, nor did his crew say anything to him.
Only the silence of the boat was at intervals startlingly pierced by one of his peculiar whispers, now harsh with command, now soft with entreaty.
How different the loud little King - Post.
" Sing out and say something, my hearties.
Roar and pull, my thunderbolts!
Beach me, beach me on their black backs, boys; only do that for me, and I'll sign over to you my Martha's Vineyard plantation, boys; including wife and children, boys.
Lay me on--lay me on!
O Lord, Lord!
but I shall go stark, staring mad!
See!
see that white water!"
And so shouting, he pulled his hat from his head, and stamped up and down on it; then picking it up, flirted it far off upon the sea; and finally fell to rearing and plunging in the boat's stern like a crazed colt from the prairie.
" Look at that chap now," philosophically drawled Stubb, who, with his unlighted short pipe, mechanically retained between his teeth, at a short distance, followed after --" He's got fits, that Flask has.
Fits?
yes, give him fits--that's the very word--pitch fits into'em.
Merrily, merrily, hearts - alive.
Pudding for supper, you know;-- merry's the word.
Pull, babes--pull, sucklings--pull, all.
But what the devil are you hurrying about?
Softly, softly, and steadily, my men.
Only pull, and keep pulling; nothing more.
Crack all your backbones, and bite your knives in two--that's all.
Take it easy--why don't ye take it easy, I say, and burst all your livers and lungs!"
But what it was that inscrutable Ahab said to that tiger - yellow crew of his--these were words best omitted here; for you live under the blessed light of the evangelical land.
Only the infidel sharks in the audacious seas may give ear to such words, when, with tornado brow, and eyes of red murder, and foam - glued lips, Ahab leaped after his prey.
Meanwhile, all the boats tore on.
But this was against all rule; for the oarsmen must put out their eyes, and ram a skewer through their necks; usage pronouncing that they must have no organs but ears, and no limbs but arms, in these critical moments.
It was a sight full of quick wonder and awe!
The dancing white water made by the chase was now becoming more and more visible, owing to the increasing darkness of the dun cloud - shadows flung upon the sea.
The jets of vapour no longer blended, but tilted everywhere to right and left; the whales seemed separating their wakes.
The boats were pulled more apart; Starbuck giving chase to three whales running dead to leeward.
Our sail was now set, and, with the still rising wind, we rushed along; the boat going with such madness through the water, that the lee oars could scarcely be worked rapidly enough to escape being torn from the row - locks.
Soon we were running through a suffusing wide veil of mist; neither ship nor boat to be seen.
" Give way, men," whispered Starbuck, drawing still further aft the sheet of his sail; " there is time to kill a fish yet before the squall comes.
There's white water again!-- close to!
Spring!"
Soon after, two cries in quick succession on each side of us denoted that the other boats had got fast; but hardly were they overheard, when with a lightning - like hurtling whisper Starbuck said: " Stand up!"
and Queequeg, harpoon in hand, sprang to his feet.
Meanwhile the boat was still booming through the mist, the waves curling and hissing around us like the erected crests of enraged serpents.
" That's his hump.
THERE, THERE, give it to him!"
whispered Starbuck.
A short rushing sound leaped out of the boat; it was the darted iron of Queequeg.
Then all in one welded commotion came an invisible push from astern, while forward the boat seemed striking on a ledge; the sail collapsed and exploded; a gush of scalding vapour shot up near by; something rolled and tumbled like an earthquake beneath us.
The whole crew were half suffocated as they were tossed helter - skelter into the white curdling cream of the squall.
Squall, whale, and harpoon had all blended together; and the whale, merely grazed by the iron, escaped.
Though completely swamped, the boat was nearly unharmed.
Swimming round it we picked up the floating oars, and lashing them across the gunwale, tumbled back to our places.
There we sat up to our knees in the sea, the water covering every rib and plank, so that to our downward gazing eyes the suspended craft seemed a coral boat grown up to us from the bottom of the ocean.
The wind increased to a howl; the waves dashed their bucklers together; the whole squall roared, forked, and crackled around us like a white fire upon the prairie, in which, unconsumed, we were burning; immortal in these jaws of death!
In vain we hailed the other boats; as well roar to the live coals down the chimney of a flaming furnace as hail those boats in that storm.
Meanwhile the driving scud, rack, and mist, grew darker with the shadows of night; no sign of the ship could be seen.
The rising sea forbade all attempts to bale out the boat.
The oars were useless as propellers, performing now the office of life - preservers.
So, cutting the lashing of the waterproof match keg, after many failures Starbuck contrived to ignite the lamp in the lantern; then stretching it on a waif pole, handed it to Queequeg as the standard - bearer of this forlorn hope.
There, then, he sat, holding up that imbecile candle in the heart of that almighty forlornness.
There, then, he sat, the sign and symbol of a man without faith, hopelessly holding up hope in the midst of despair.
Wet, drenched through, and shivering cold, despairing of ship or boat, we lifted up our eyes as the dawn came on.
The mist still spread over the sea, the empty lantern lay crushed in the bottom of the boat.
Suddenly Queequeg started to his feet, hollowing his hand to his ear.
We all heard a faint creaking, as of ropes and yards hitherto muffled by the storm.
The sound came nearer and nearer; the thick mists were dimly parted by a huge, vague form.
Affrighted, we all sprang into the sea as the ship at last loomed into view, bearing right down upon us within a distance of not much more than its length.
Floating on the waves we saw the abandoned boat, as for one instant it tossed and gaped beneath the ship's bows like a chip at the base of a cataract; and then the vast hull rolled over it, and it was seen no more till it came up weltering astern.
Again we swam for it, were dashed against it by the seas, and were at last taken up and safely landed on board.
Ere the squall came close to, the other boats had cut loose from their fish and returned to the ship in good time.
The ship had given us up, but was still cruising, if haply it might light upon some token of our perishing,-- an oar or a lance pole.
CHAPTER 49
The Hyena.
There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at nobody's expense but his own.
However, nothing dispirits, and nothing seems worth while disputing.
He bolts down all events, all creeds, and beliefs, and persuasions, all hard things visible and invisible, never mind how knobby; as an ostrich of potent digestion gobbles down bullets and gun flints.
And as for small difficulties and worryings, prospects of sudden disaster, peril of life and limb; all these, and death itself, seem to him only sly, good - natured hits, and jolly punches in the side bestowed by the unseen and unaccountable old joker.
That odd sort of wayward mood I am speaking of, comes over a man only in some time of extreme tribulation; it comes in the very midst of his earnestness, so that what just before might have seemed to him a thing most momentous, now seems but a part of the general joke.
There is nothing like the perils of whaling to breed this free and easy sort of genial, desperado philosophy; and with it I now regarded this whole voyage of the Pequod, and the great White Whale its object.
" Queequeg," said I, when they had dragged me, the last man, to the deck, and I was still shaking myself in my jacket to fling off the water; " Queequeg, my fine friend, does this sort of thing often happen?"
Without much emotion, though soaked through just like me, he gave me to understand that such things did often happen.
I suppose then, that going plump on a flying whale with your sail set in a foggy squall is the height of a whaleman's discretion?"
" Certain.
I've lowered for whales from a leaking ship in a gale off Cape Horn."
" Mr. Flask," said I, turning to little King - Post, who was standing close by; " you are experienced in these things, and I am not.
Will you tell me whether it is an unalterable law in this fishery, Mr. Flask, for an oarsman to break his own back pulling himself back - foremost into death's jaws?"
" Can't you twist that smaller?"
said Flask.
" Yes, that's the law.
I should like to see a boat's crew backing water up to a whale face foremost.
Ha, ha!
the whale would give them squint for squint, mind that!"
Here then, from three impartial witnesses, I had a deliberate statement of the entire case.
" Queequeg," said I, " come along, you shall be my lawyer, executor, and legatee."
It may seem strange that of all men sailors should be tinkering at their last wills and testaments, but there are no people in the world more fond of that diversion.
This was the fourth time in my nautical life that I had done the same thing.
After the ceremony was concluded upon the present occasion, I felt all the easier; a stone was rolled away from my heart.
Besides, all the days I should now live would be as good as the days that Lazarus lived after his resurrection; a supplementary clean gain of so many months or weeks as the case might be.
I survived myself; my death and burial were locked up in my chest.
I looked round me tranquilly and contentedly, like a quiet ghost with a clean conscience sitting inside the bars of a snug family vault.
Now then, thought I, unconsciously rolling up the sleeves of my frock, here goes for a cool, collected dive at death and destruction, and the devil fetch the hindmost.
CHAPTER 50
Ahab's Boat and Crew.
Fedallah.
" Who would have thought it, Flask!"
cried Stubb; " if I had but one leg you would not catch me in a boat, unless maybe to stop the plug - hole with my timber toe.
Oh!
he's a wonderful old man!"
" I don't think it so strange, after all, on that account," said Flask.
" If his leg were off at the hip, now, it would be a different thing.
That would disable him; but he has one knee, and good part of the other left, you know."
" I don't know that, my little man; I never yet saw him kneel."
Among whale - wise people it has often been argued whether, considering the paramount importance of his life to the success of the voyage, it is right for a whaling captain to jeopardize that life in the active perils of the chase.
So Tamerlane's soldiers often argued with tears in their eyes, whether that invaluable life of his ought to be carried into the thickest of the fight.
But with Ahab the question assumed a modified aspect.
As a general thing, the joint - owners of the Pequod must have plainly thought not.
Therefore he had not solicited a boat's crew from them, nor had he in any way hinted his desires on that head.
Nevertheless he had taken private measures of his own touching all that matter.
But almost everybody supposed that this particular preparative heedfulness in Ahab must only be with a view to the ultimate chase of Moby Dick; for he had already revealed his intention to hunt that mortal monster in person.
But such a supposition did by no means involve the remotest suspicion as to any boat's crew being assigned to that boat.
Now, with the subordinate phantoms, what wonder remained soon waned away; for in a whaler wonders soon wane.
But be all this as it may, certain it is that while the subordinate phantoms soon found their place among the crew, though still as it were somehow distinct from them, yet that hair - turbaned Fedallah remained a muffled mystery to the last.
But one cannot sustain an indifferent air concerning Fedallah.
CHAPTER 51
The Spirit - Spout.
Lit up by the moon, it looked celestial; seemed some plumed and glittering god uprising from the sea.
Fedallah first descried this jet.
For of these moonlight nights, it was his wont to mount to the main - mast head, and stand a look - out there, with the same precision as if it had been day.
And yet, though herds of whales were seen by night, not one whaleman in a hundred would venture a lowering for them.
You may think with what emotions, then, the seamen beheld this old Oriental perched aloft at such unusual hours; his turban and the moon, companions in one sky.
" There she blows!"
Had the trump of judgment blown, they could not have quivered more; yet still they felt no terror; rather pleasure.
For though it was a most unwonted hour, yet so impressive was the cry, and so deliriously exciting, that almost every soul on board instinctively desired a lowering.
Walking the deck with quick, side - lunging strides, Ahab commanded the t'gallant sails and royals to be set, and every stunsail spread.
The best man in the ship must take the helm.
Then, with every mast - head manned, the piled - up craft rolled down before the wind.
And had you watched Ahab's face that night, you would have thought that in him also two different things were warring.
While his one live leg made lively echoes along the deck, every stroke of his dead limb sounded like a coffin - tap.
On life and death this old man walked.
But though the ship so swiftly sped, and though from every eye, like arrows, the eager glances shot, yet the silvery jet was no more seen that night.
Every sailor swore he saw it once, but not a second time.
This midnight - spout had almost grown a forgotten thing, when, some days after, lo!
at the same silent hour, it was again announced: again it was descried by all; but upon making sail to overtake it, once more it disappeared as if it had never been.
And so it served us night after night, till no one heeded it but to wonder at it.
For a time, there reigned, too, a sense of peculiar dread at this flitting apparition, as if it were treacherously beckoning us on and on, in order that the monster might turn round upon us, and rend us at last in the remotest and most savage seas.
Close to our bows, strange forms in the water darted hither and thither before us; while thick in our rear flew the inscrutable sea - ravens.
And heaved and heaved, still unrestingly heaved the black sea, as if its vast tides were a conscience; and the great mundane soul were in anguish and remorse for the long sin and suffering it had bred.
Cape of Good Hope, do they call ye?
But calm, snow - white, and unvarying; still directing its fountain of feathers to the sky; still beckoning us on from before, the solitary jet would at times be descried.
During all this blackness of the elements, Ahab, though assuming for the time the almost continual command of the drenched and dangerous deck, manifested the gloomiest reserve; and more seldom than ever addressed his mates.
In tempestuous times like these, after everything above and aloft has been secured, nothing more can be done but passively to await the issue of the gale.
Then Captain and crew become practical fatalists.
So, with his ivory leg inserted into its accustomed hole, and with one hand firmly grasping a shroud, Ahab for hours and hours would stand gazing dead to windward, while an occasional squall of sleet or snow would all but congeal his very eyelashes together.
Few or no words were spoken; and the silent ship, as if manned by painted sailors in wax, day after day tore on through all the swift madness and gladness of the demoniac waves.
By night the same muteness of humanity before the shrieks of the ocean prevailed; still in silence the men swung in the bowlines; still wordless Ahab stood up to the blast.
Even when wearied nature seemed demanding repose he would not seek that repose in his hammock.
On the table beside him lay unrolled one of those charts of tides and currents which have previously been spoken of.
His lantern swung from his tightly clenched hand.
Though the body was erect, the head was thrown back so that the closed eyes were pointed towards the needle of the tell - tale that swung from a beam in the ceiling.
* The cabin - compass is called the tell - tale, because without going to the compass at the helm, the Captain, while below, can inform himself of the course of the ship.
Terrible old man!
thought Starbuck with a shudder, sleeping in this gale, still thou steadfastly eyest thy purpose.
CHAPTER 52
The Albatross.
South - eastward from the Cape, off the distant Crozetts, a good cruising ground for Right Whalemen, a sail loomed ahead, the Goney (Albatross) by name.
As she slowly drew nigh, from my lofty perch at the fore - mast - head, I had a good view of that sight so remarkable to a tyro in the far ocean fisheries--a whaler at sea, and long absent from home.
As if the waves had been fullers, this craft was bleached like the skeleton of a stranded walrus.
All down her sides, this spectral appearance was traced with long channels of reddened rust, while all her spars and her rigging were like the thick branches of trees furred over with hoar - frost.
Only her lower sails were set.
A wild sight it was to see her long - bearded look - outs at those three mast - heads.
They seemed clad in the skins of beasts, so torn and bepatched the raiment that had survived nearly four years of cruising.
" Ship ahoy!
Have ye seen the White Whale?"
But as the strange captain, leaning over the pallid bulwarks, was in the act of putting his trumpet to his mouth, it somehow fell from his hand into the sea; and the wind now rising amain, he in vain strove to make himself heard without it.
Meantime his ship was still increasing the distance between.
But taking advantage of his windward position, he again seized his trumpet, and knowing by her aspect that the stranger vessel was a Nantucketer and shortly bound home, he loudly hailed --" Ahoy there!
This is the Pequod, bound round the world!
Tell them to address all future letters to the Pacific ocean!
and this time three years, if I am not at home, tell them to address them to --"
Though in the course of his continual voyagings Ahab must often before have noticed a similar sight, yet, to any monomaniac man, the veriest trifles capriciously carry meanings.
" Swim away from me, do ye?"
murmured Ahab, gazing over into the water.
There seemed but little in the words, but the tone conveyed more of deep helpless sadness than the insane old man had ever before evinced.
But turning to the steersman, who thus far had been holding the ship in the wind to diminish her headway, he cried out in his old lion voice,--" Up helm!
Keep her off round the world!"
Round the world!
There is much in that sound to inspire proud feelings; but whereto does all that circumnavigation conduct?
Only through numberless perils to the very point whence we started, where those that we left behind secure, were all the time before us.
Were this world an endless plain, and by sailing eastward we could for ever reach new distances, and discover sights more sweet and strange than any Cyclades or Islands of King Solomon, then there were promise in the voyage.
But in pursuit of those far mysteries we dream of, or in tormented chase of that demon phantom that, some time or other, swims before all human hearts; while chasing such over this round globe, they either lead us on in barren mazes or midway leave us whelmed.
CHAPTER 53
The Gam.
The ostensible reason why Ahab did not go on board of the whaler we had spoken was this: the wind and sea betokened storms.
But even had this not been the case, he would not after all, perhaps, have boarded her--judging by his subsequent conduct on similar occasions--if so it had been that, by the process of hailing, he had obtained a negative answer to the question he put.
For, as it eventually turned out, he cared not to consort, even for five minutes, with any stranger captain, except he could contribute some of that information he so absorbingly sought.
But all this might remain inadequately estimated, were not something said here of the peculiar usages of whaling - vessels when meeting each other in foreign seas, and especially on a common cruising - ground.
And especially would this seem to be a matter of course, in the case of vessels owned in one seaport, and whose captains, officers, and not a few of the men are personally known to each other; and consequently, have all sorts of dear domestic things to talk about.
For the long absent ship, the outward - bounder, perhaps, has letters on board; at any rate, she will be sure to let her have some papers of a date a year or two later than the last one on her blurred and thumb - worn files.
And in return for that courtesy, the outward - bound ship would receive the latest whaling intelligence from the cruising - ground to which she may be destined, a thing of the utmost importance to her.
And in degree, all this will hold true concerning whaling vessels crossing each other's track on the cruising - ground itself, even though they are equally long absent from home.
For one of them may have received a transfer of letters from some third, and now far remote vessel; and some of those letters may be for the people of the ship she now meets.
Besides, they would exchange the whaling news, and have an agreeable chat.
For not only would they meet with all the sympathies of sailors, but likewise with all the peculiar congenialities arising from a common pursuit and mutually shared privations and perils.
Nor would difference of country make any very essential difference; that is, so long as both parties speak one language, as is the case with Americans and English.
Besides, the English whalers sometimes affect a kind of metropolitan superiority over the American whalers; regarding the long, lean Nantucketer, with his nondescript provincialisms, as a sort of sea - peasant.
But where this superiority in the English whalemen does really consist, it would be hard to say, seeing that the Yankees in one day, collectively, kill more whales than all the English, collectively, in ten years.
But this is a harmless little foible in the English whale - hunters, which the Nantucketer does not take much to heart; probably, because he knows that he has a few foibles himself.
So, then, we see that of all ships separately sailing the sea, the whalers have most reason to be sociable--and they are so.
As for Men - of - War, when they chance to meet at sea, they first go through such a string of silly bowings and scrapings, such a ducking of ensigns, that there does not seem to be much right - down hearty good - will and brotherly love about it at all.
As touching Slave - ships meeting, why, they are in such a prodigious hurry, they run away from each other as soon as possible.
And as for Pirates, when they chance to cross each other's cross - bones, the first hail is --" How many skulls?"
-- the same way that whalers hail --" How many barrels?"
And that question once answered, pirates straightway steer apart, for they are infernal villains on both sides, and don't like to see overmuch of each other's villanous likenesses.
But look at the godly, honest, unostentatious, hospitable, sociable, free - and - easy whaler!
What does the whaler do when she meets another whaler in any sort of decent weather?
She has a " GAM," a thing so utterly unknown to all other ships that they never heard of the name even; and if by chance they should hear of it, they only grin at it, and repeat gamesome stuff about " spouters " and " blubber - boilers," and such like pretty exclamations.
Why it is that all Merchant - seamen, and also all Pirates and Man - of - War's men, and Slave - ship sailors, cherish such a scornful feeling towards Whale - ships; this is a question it would be hard to answer.
Because, in the case of pirates, say, I should like to know whether that profession of theirs has any peculiar glory about it.
It sometimes ends in uncommon elevation, indeed; but only at the gallows.
And besides, when a man is elevated in that odd fashion, he has no proper foundation for his superior altitude.
Hence, I conclude, that in boasting himself to be high lifted above a whaleman, in that assertion the pirate has no solid basis to stand on.
But what is a GAM?
You might wear out your index - finger running up and down the columns of dictionaries, and never find the word.
Dr. Johnson never attained to that erudition; Noah Webster's ark does not hold it.
Nevertheless, this same expressive word has now for many years been in constant use among some fifteen thousand true born Yankees.
Certainly, it needs a definition, and should be incorporated into the Lexicon.
With that view, let me learnedly define it.
GAM.
NOUN--A SOCIAL MEETING OF TWO (OR MORE) WHALESHIPS, GENERALLY ON A CRUISING - GROUND; WHEN, AFTER EXCHANGING HAILS, THEY EXCHANGE VISITS BY BOATS'CREWS; THE TWO CAPTAINS REMAINING, FOR THE TIME, ON BOARD OF ONE SHIP, AND THE TWO CHIEF MATES ON THE OTHER.
There is another little item about Gamming which must not be forgotten here.
All professions have their own little peculiarities of detail; so has the whale fishery.
But the whale - boat has no seat astern, no sofa of that sort whatever, and no tiller at all.
High times indeed, if whaling captains were wheeled about the water on castors like gouty old aldermen in patent chairs.
And often you will notice that being conscious of the eyes of the whole visible world resting on him from the sides of the two ships, this standing captain is all alive to the importance of sustaining his dignity by maintaining his legs.
Nor is this any very easy matter; for in his rear is the immense projecting steering oar hitting him now and then in the small of his back, the after - oar reciprocating by rapping his knees in front.
He is thus completely wedged before and behind, and can only expand himself sideways by settling down on his stretched legs; but a sudden, violent pitch of the boat will often go far to topple him, because length of foundation is nothing without corresponding breadth.
Merely make a spread angle of two poles, and you cannot stand them up.
Nevertheless there have occurred instances, well authenticated ones too, where the captain has been known for an uncommonly critical moment or two, in a sudden squall say--to seize hold of the nearest oarsman's hair, and hold on there like grim death.
CHAPTER 54
The Town - Ho's Story.
(AS TOLD AT THE GOLDEN INN)
The Cape of Good Hope, and all the watery region round about there, is much like some noted four corners of a great highway, where you meet more travellers than in any other part.
It was not very long after speaking the Goney that another homeward - bound whaleman, the Town - Ho,* was encountered.
She was manned almost wholly by Polynesians.
In the short gam that ensued she gave us strong news of Moby Dick.
This latter circumstance, with its own particular accompaniments, forming what may be called the secret part of the tragedy about to be narrated, never reached the ears of Captain Ahab or his mates.
For that secret part of the story was unknown to the captain of the Town - Ho himself.
Interweaving in its proper place this darker thread with the story as publicly narrated on the ship, the whole of this strange affair I now proceed to put on lasting record.
* The ancient whale - cry upon first sighting a whale from the mast - head, still used by whalemen in hunting the famous Gallipagos terrapin.
For my humor's sake, I shall preserve the style in which I once narrated it at Lima, to a lounging circle of my Spanish friends, one saint's eve, smoking upon the thick - gilt tiled piazza of the Golden Inn.
Of those fine cavaliers, the young Dons, Pedro and Sebastian, were on the closer terms with me; and hence the interluding questions they occasionally put, and which are duly answered at the time.
" Some two years prior to my first learning the events which I am about rehearsing to you, gentlemen, the Town - Ho, Sperm Whaler of Nantucket, was cruising in your Pacific here, not very many days'sail eastward from the eaves of this good Golden Inn.
She was somewhere to the northward of the Line.
One morning upon handling the pumps, according to daily usage, it was observed that she made more water in her hold than common.
They supposed a sword - fish had stabbed her, gentlemen.
So much so, that now taking some alarm, the captain, making all sail, stood away for the nearest harbor among the islands, there to have his hull hove out and repaired.
' Lakeman!-- Buffalo!
Pray, what is a Lakeman, and where is Buffalo?'
said Don Sebastian, rising in his swinging mat of grass.
" On the eastern shore of our Lake Erie, Don; but--I crave your courtesy--may be, you shall soon hear further of all that.
Thus, gentlemen, though an inlander, Steelkilt was wild - ocean born, and wild - ocean nurtured; as much of an audacious mariner as any.
At all events, he had proved so thus far; but Radney was doomed and made mad, and Steelkilt--but, gentlemen, you shall hear.
" It was not more than a day or two at the furthest after pointing her prow for her island haven, that the Town - Ho's leak seemed again increasing, but only so as to require an hour or more at the pumps every day.
It is only when a leaky vessel is in some very out of the way part of those waters, some really landless latitude, that her captain begins to feel a little anxious.
" Much this way had it been with the Town - Ho; so when her leak was found gaining once more, there was in truth some small concern manifested by several of her company; especially by Radney the mate.
He commanded the upper sails to be well hoisted, sheeted home anew, and every way expanded to the breeze.
Now this Radney, I suppose, was as little of a coward, and as little inclined to any sort of nervous apprehensiveness touching his own person as any fearless, unthinking creature on land or on sea that you can conveniently imagine, gentlemen.
Therefore when he betrayed this solicitude about the safety of the ship, some of the seamen declared that it was only on account of his being a part owner in her.
But Radney, the mate, was ugly as a mule; yet as hardy, as stubborn, as malicious.
He did not love Steelkilt, and Steelkilt knew it.
" Espying the mate drawing near as he was toiling at the pump with the rest, the Lakeman affected not to notice him, but unawed, went on with his gay banterings.
' Aye, aye, my merry lads, it's a lively leak this; hold a cannikin, one of ye, and let's have a taste.
By the Lord, it's worth bottling!
I tell ye what, men, old Rad's investment must go for it!
he had best cut away his part of the hull and tow it home.
The fact is, boys, that sword - fish only began the job; he's come back again with a gang of ship - carpenters, saw - fish, and file - fish, and what not; and the whole posse of'em are now hard at work cutting and slashing at the bottom; making improvements, I suppose.
If old Rad were here now, I'd tell him to jump overboard and scatter'em.
They're playing the devil with his estate, I can tell him.
But he's a simple old soul,-- Rad, and a beauty too.
Boys, they say the rest of his property is invested in looking - glasses.
I wonder if he'd give a poor devil like me the model of his nose.'
' Damn your eyes!
what's that pump stopping for?'
roared Radney, pretending not to have heard the sailors'talk.
' Thunder away at it!'
' Aye, aye, sir,' said Steelkilt, merry as a cricket.
' Lively, boys, lively, now!'
And with that the pump clanged like fifty fire - engines; the men tossed their hats off to it, and ere long that peculiar gasping of the lungs was heard which denotes the fullest tension of life's utmost energies.
" Quitting the pump at last, with the rest of his band, the Lakeman went forward all panting, and sat himself down on the windlass; his face fiery red, his eyes bloodshot, and wiping the profuse sweat from his brow.
Now what cozening fiend it was, gentlemen, that possessed Radney to meddle with such a man in that corporeally exasperated state, I know not; but so it happened.
Intolerably striding along the deck, the mate commanded him to get a broom and sweep down the planks, and also a shovel, and remove some offensive matters consequent upon allowing a pig to run at large.
" Now, gentlemen, sweeping a ship's deck at sea is a piece of household work which in all times but raging gales is regularly attended to every evening; it has been known to be done in the case of ships actually foundering at the time.
Such, gentlemen, is the inflexibility of sea - usages and the instinctive love of neatness in seamen; some of whom would not willingly drown without first washing their faces.
But in all vessels this broom business is the prescriptive province of the boys, if boys there be aboard.
I mention all these particulars so that you may understand exactly how this affair stood between the two men.
" But there was more than this: the order about the shovel was almost as plainly meant to sting and insult Steelkilt, as though Radney had spat in his face.
Any man who has gone sailor in a whale - ship will understand this; and all this and doubtless much more, the Lakeman fully comprehended when the mate uttered his command.
" Therefore, in his ordinary tone, only a little broken by the bodily exhaustion he was temporarily in, he answered him saying that sweeping the deck was not his business, and he would not do it.
And then, without at all alluding to the shovel, he pointed to three lads as the customary sweepers; who, not being billeted at the pumps, had done little or nothing all day.
To this, Radney replied with an oath, in a most domineering and outrageous manner unconditionally reiterating his command; meanwhile advancing upon the still seated Lakeman, with an uplifted cooper's club hammer which he had snatched from a cask near by.
" Steelkilt rose, and slowly retreating round the windlass, steadily followed by the mate with his menacing hammer, deliberately repeated his intention not to obey.
Seeing, however, that his forbearance had not the slightest effect, by an awful and unspeakable intimation with his twisted hand he warned off the foolish and infatuated man; but it was to no purpose.
And in this way the two went once slowly round the windlass; when, resolved at last no longer to retreat, bethinking him that he had now forborne as much as comported with his humor, the Lakeman paused on the hatches and thus spoke to the officer:
' Mr.
Radney, I will not obey you.
Take that hammer away, or look to yourself.'
But the predestinated mate coming still closer to him, where the Lakeman stood fixed, now shook the heavy hammer within an inch of his teeth; meanwhile repeating a string of insufferable maledictions.
But, gentlemen, the fool had been branded for the slaughter by the gods.
Immediately the hammer touched the cheek; the next instant the lower jaw of the mate was stove in his head; he fell on the hatch spouting blood like a whale.
" Ere the cry could go aft Steelkilt was shaking one of the backstays leading far aloft to where two of his comrades were standing their mastheads.
They were both Canallers.
' Canallers!'
cried Don Pedro.
' We have seen many whale - ships in our harbours, but never heard of your Canallers.
Pardon: who and what are they?'
' Canallers, Don, are the boatmen belonging to our grand Erie Canal.
You must have heard of it.'
' Nay, Senor; hereabouts in this dull, warm, most lazy, and hereditary land, we know but little of your vigorous North.'
' Aye?
Well then, Don, refill my cup.
Your chicha's very fine; and ere proceeding further I will tell ye what our Canallers are; for such information may throw side - light upon my story.'
There's your true Ashantee, gentlemen; there howl your pagans; where you ever find them, next door to you; under the long - flung shadow, and the snug patronising lee of churches.
For by some curious fatality, as it is often noted of your metropolitan freebooters that they ever encamp around the halls of justice, so sinners, gentlemen, most abound in holiest vicinities.
' Is that a friar passing?'
said Don Pedro, looking downwards into the crowded plazza, with humorous concern.
' Well for our northern friend, Dame Isabella's Inquisition wanes in Lima,' laughed Don Sebastian.
' Proceed, Senor.'
' A moment!
Pardon!'
cried another of the company.
' In the name of all us Limeese, I but desire to express to you, sir sailor, that we have by no means overlooked your delicacy in not substituting present Lima for distant Venice in your corrupt comparison.
Oh!
do not bow and look surprised; you know the proverb all along this coast --" Corrupt as Lima."
It but bears out your saying, too; churches more plentiful than billiard - tables, and for ever open--and " Corrupt as Lima."
So, too, Venice; I have been there; the holy city of the blessed evangelist, St.
Mark!-- St.
Dominic, purge it!
Your cup!
Thanks: here I refill; now, you pour out again.'
" Freely depicted in his own vocation, gentlemen, the Canaller would make a fine dramatic hero, so abundantly and picturesquely wicked is he.
Like Mark Antony, for days and days along his green - turfed, flowery Nile, he indolently floats, openly toying with his red - cheeked Cleopatra, ripening his apricot thigh upon the sunny deck.
But ashore, all this effeminacy is dashed.
The brigandish guise which the Canaller so proudly sports; his slouched and gaily - ribboned hat betoken his grand features.
A terror to the smiling innocence of the villages through which he floats; his swart visage and bold swagger are not unshunned in cities.
' I see!
I see!'
impetuously exclaimed Don Pedro, spilling his chicha upon his silvery ruffles.
' No need to travel!
The world's one Lima.
I had thought, now, that at your temperate North the generations were cold and holy as the hills.-- But the story.'
" I left off, gentlemen, where the Lakeman shook the backstay.
Hardly had he done so, when he was surrounded by the three junior mates and the four harpooneers, who all crowded him to the deck.
But sliding down the ropes like baleful comets, the two Canallers rushed into the uproar, and sought to drag their man out of it towards the forecastle.
At intervals, he ran close up to the revolving border of the confusion, and prying into the heart of it with his pike, sought to prick out the object of his resentment.
But Steelkilt and his desperadoes were too much for them all; they succeeded in gaining the forecastle deck, where, hastily slewing about three or four large casks in a line with the windlass, these sea - Parisians entrenched themselves behind the barricade.
' Come out of that, ye pirates!'
roared the captain, now menacing them with a pistol in each hand, just brought to him by the steward.
' Come out of that, ye cut - throats!'
" Steelkilt leaped on the barricade, and striding up and down there, defied the worst the pistols could do; but gave the captain to understand distinctly, that his (Steelkilt's) death would be the signal for a murderous mutiny on the part of all hands.
Fearing in his heart lest this might prove but too true, the captain a little desisted, but still commanded the insurgents instantly to return to their duty.
' Will you promise not to touch us, if we do?'
demanded their ringleader.
' Turn to!
turn to!-- I make no promise;-- to your duty!
Do you want to sink the ship, by knocking off at a time like this?
Turn to!'
and he once more raised a pistol.
' Sink the ship?'
cried Steelkilt.
' Aye, let her sink.
Not a man of us turns to, unless you swear not to raise a rope - yarn against us.
What say ye, men?'
turning to his comrades.
A fierce cheer was their response.
look to those handspikes, my hearties.
Captain, by God, look to yourself; say the word; don't be a fool; forget it all; we are ready to turn to; treat us decently, and we're your men; but we won't be flogged.'
' Turn to!
I make no promises, turn to, I say!'
' Turn to!'
roared the Captain.
' Down into the forecastle then, down with ye, I'll keep ye there till ye're sick of it.
Down ye go.'
' Shall we?'
cried the ringleader to his men.
Most of them were against it; but at length, in obedience to Steelkilt, they preceded him down into their dark den, growlingly disappearing, like bears into a cave.
Then opening the slide a little, the Captain whispered something down the crack, closed it, and turned the key upon them--ten in number--leaving on deck some twenty or more, who thus far had remained neutral.
" All night a wide - awake watch was kept by all the officers, forward and aft, especially about the forecastle scuttle and fore hatchway; at which last place it was feared the insurgents might emerge, after breaking through the bulkhead below.
But the hours of darkness passed in peace; the men who still remained at their duty toiling hard at the pumps, whose clinking and clanking at intervals through the dreary night dismally resounded through the ship.
" At sunrise the Captain went forward, and knocking on the deck, summoned the prisoners to work; but with a yell they refused.
Water was then lowered down to them, and a couple of handfuls of biscuit were tossed after it; when again turning the key upon them and pocketing it, the Captain returned to the quarter - deck.
Twice every day for three days this was repeated; but on the fourth morning a confused wrangling, and then a scuffling was heard, as the customary summons was delivered; and suddenly four men burst up from the forecastle, saying they were ready to turn to.
The fetid closeness of the air, and a famishing diet, united perhaps to some fears of ultimate retribution, had constrained them to surrender at discretion.
Emboldened by this, the Captain reiterated his demand to the rest, but Steelkilt shouted up to him a terrific hint to stop his babbling and betake himself where he belonged.
On the fifth morning three others of the mutineers bolted up into the air from the desperate arms below that sought to restrain them.
Only three were left.
' Better turn to, now?'
said the Captain with a heartless jeer.
' Shut us up again, will ye!'
cried Steelkilt.
' Oh certainly,' the Captain, and the key clicked.
For himself, he would do this, he said, whether they joined him or not.
That was the last night he should spend in that den.
But the scheme met with no opposition on the part of the other two; they swore they were ready for that, or for any other mad thing, for anything in short but a surrender.
And what was more, they each insisted upon being the first man on deck, when the time to make the rush should come.
But to this their leader as fiercely objected, reserving that priority for himself; particularly as his two comrades would not yield, the one to the other, in the matter; and both of them could not be first, for the ladder would but admit one man at a time.
And here, gentlemen, the foul play of these miscreants must come out.
" Thinking murder at hand, and smelling in the dark for the blood, he and all his armed mates and harpooneers rushed for the forecastle.
In a few minutes the scuttle was opened, and, bound hand and foot, the still struggling ringleader was shoved up into the air by his perfidious allies, who at once claimed the honour of securing a man who had been fully ripe for murder.
But all these were collared, and dragged along the deck like dead cattle; and, side by side, were seized up into the mizzen rigging, like three quarters of meat, and there they hung till morning.
' Damn ye,' cried the Captain, pacing to and fro before them,'the vultures would not touch ye, ye villains!'
' My wrist is sprained with ye!'
he cried, at last;'but there is still rope enough left for you, my fine bantam, that wouldn't give up.
Take that gag from his mouth, and let us hear what he can say for himself.'
" For a moment the exhausted mutineer made a tremulous motion of his cramped jaws, and then painfully twisting round his head, said in a sort of hiss,'What I say is this--and mind it well--if you flog me, I murder you!'
' Say ye so?
then see how ye frighten me '-- and the Captain drew off with the rope to strike.
' Best not,' hissed the Lakeman.
' But I must,'-- and the rope was once more drawn back for the stroke.
" Steelkilt here hissed out something, inaudible to all but the Captain; who, to the amazement of all hands, started back, paced the deck rapidly two or three times, and then suddenly throwing down his rope, said,'I won't do it--let him go--cut him down: d'ye hear?'
But as the junior mates were hurrying to execute the order, a pale man, with a bandaged head, arrested them--Radney the chief mate.
Ever since the blow, he had lain in his berth; but that morning, hearing the tumult on the deck, he had crept out, and thus far had watched the whole scene.
Such was the state of his mouth, that he could hardly speak; but mumbling something about his being willing and able to do what the captain dared not attempt, he snatched the rope and advanced to his pinioned foe.
' You are a coward!'
hissed the Lakeman.
' So I am, but take that.'
The mate was in the very act of striking, when another hiss stayed his uplifted arm.
He paused: and then pausing no more, made good his word, spite of Steelkilt's threat, whatever that might have been.
The three men were then cut down, all hands were turned to, and, sullenly worked by the moody seamen, the iron pumps clanged as before.
" Just after dark that day, when one watch had retired below, a clamor was heard in the forecastle; and the two trembling traitors running up, besieged the cabin door, saying they durst not consort with the crew.
Entreaties, cuffs, and kicks could not drive them back, so at their own instance they were put down in the ship's run for salvation.
Still, no sign of mutiny reappeared among the rest.
On the contrary, it seemed, that mainly at Steelkilt's instigation, they had resolved to maintain the strictest peacefulness, obey all orders to the last, and, when the ship reached port, desert her in a body.
But in order to insure the speediest end to the voyage, they all agreed to another thing--namely, not to sing out for whales, in case any should be discovered.
" But though the Lakeman had induced the seamen to adopt this sort of passiveness in their conduct, he kept his own counsel (at least till all was over) concerning his own proper and private revenge upon the man who had stung him in the ventricles of his heart.
He was in Radney the chief mate's watch; and as if the infatuated man sought to run more than half way to meet his doom, after the scene at the rigging, he insisted, against the express counsel of the captain, upon resuming the head of his watch at night.
Upon this, and one or two other circumstances, Steelkilt systematically built the plan of his revenge.
" During the night, Radney had an unseamanlike way of sitting on the bulwarks of the quarter - deck, and leaning his arm upon the gunwale of the boat which was hoisted up there, a little above the ship's side.
In this attitude, it was well known, he sometimes dozed.
There was a considerable vacancy between the boat and the ship, and down between this was the sea.
Steelkilt calculated his time, and found that his next trick at the helm would come round at two o'clock, in the morning of the third day from that in which he had been betrayed.
At his leisure, he employed the interval in braiding something very carefully in his watches below.
' What are you making there?'
said a shipmate.
' What do you think?
what does it look like?'
' Like a lanyard for your bag; but it's an odd one, seems to me.'
' Yes, rather oddish,' said the Lakeman, holding it at arm's length before him;'but I think it will answer.
Shipmate, I haven't enough twine,-- have you any?'
" But there was none in the forecastle.
' Then I must get some from old Rad;' and he rose to go aft.
' You don't mean to go a begging to HIM!'
said a sailor.
' Why not?
Do you think he won't do me a turn, when it's to help himself in the end, shipmate?'
and going to the mate, he looked at him quietly, and asked him for some twine to mend his hammock.
It was given him--neither twine nor lanyard were seen again; but the next night an iron ball, closely netted, partly rolled from the pocket of the Lakeman's monkey jacket, as he was tucking the coat into his hammock for a pillow.
" But, gentlemen, a fool saved the would - be murderer from the bloody deed he had planned.
Yet complete revenge he had, and without being the avenger.
For by a mysterious fatality, Heaven itself seemed to step in to take out of his hands into its own the damning thing he would have done.
" It was just between daybreak and sunrise of the morning of the second day, when they were washing down the decks, that a stupid Teneriffe man, drawing water in the main - chains, all at once shouted out,'There she rolls!
there she rolls!'
Jesu, what a whale!
It was Moby Dick.
' Moby Dick!'
cried Don Sebastian;'St.
Dominic!
Sir sailor, but do whales have christenings?
Whom call you Moby Dick?'
' A very white, and famous, and most deadly immortal monster, Don;-- but that would be too long a story.'
' How?
how?'
cried all the young Spaniards, crowding.
' Nay, Dons, Dons--nay, nay!
I cannot rehearse that now.
Let me get more into the air, Sirs.'
' The chicha!
the chicha!'
cried Don Pedro;'our vigorous friend looks faint;-- fill up his empty glass!'
All was now a phrensy.
' The White Whale--the White Whale!'
Gentlemen, a strange fatality pervades the whole career of these events, as if verily mapped out before the world itself was charted.
The mutineer was the bowsman of the mate, and when fast to a fish, it was his duty to sit next him, while Radney stood up with his lance in the prow, and haul in or slacken the line, at the word of command.
Moreover, when the four boats were lowered, the mate's got the start; and none howled more fiercely with delight than did Steelkilt, as he strained at his oar.
After a stiff pull, their harpooneer got fast, and, spear in hand, Radney sprang to the bow.
He was always a furious man, it seems, in a boat.
And now his bandaged cry was, to beach him on the whale's topmost back.
Nothing loath, his bowsman hauled him up and up, through a blinding foam that blent two whitenesses together; till of a sudden the boat struck as against a sunken ledge, and keeling over, spilled out the standing mate.
That instant, as he fell on the whale's slippery back, the boat righted, and was dashed aside by the swell, while Radney was tossed over into the sea, on the other flank of the whale.
He struck out through the spray, and, for an instant, was dimly seen through that veil, wildly seeking to remove himself from the eye of Moby Dick.
But the whale rushed round in a sudden maelstrom; seized the swimmer between his jaws; and rearing high up with him, plunged headlong again, and went down.
" Meantime, at the first tap of the boat's bottom, the Lakeman had slackened the line, so as to drop astern from the whirlpool; calmly looking on, he thought his own thoughts.
But a sudden, terrific, downward jerking of the boat, quickly brought his knife to the line.
He cut it; and the whale was free.
But, at some distance, Moby Dick rose again, with some tatters of Radney's red woollen shirt, caught in the teeth that had destroyed him.
All four boats gave chase again; but the whale eluded them, and finally wholly disappeared.
" In good time, the Town - Ho reached her port--a savage, solitary place--where no civilized creature resided.
There, headed by the Lakeman, all but five or six of the foremastmen deliberately deserted among the palms; eventually, as it turned out, seizing a large double war - canoe of the savages, and setting sail for some other harbor.
" The ship's company being reduced to but a handful, the captain called upon the Islanders to assist him in the laborious business of heaving down the ship to stop the leak.
" On the fourth day of the sail, a large canoe was descried, which seemed to have touched at a low isle of corals.
He steered away from it; but the savage craft bore down on him; and soon the voice of Steelkilt hailed him to heave to, or he would run him under water.
The captain presented a pistol.
With one foot on each prow of the yoked war - canoes, the Lakeman laughed him to scorn; assuring him that if the pistol so much as clicked in the lock, he would bury him in bubbles and foam.
' What do you want of me?'
cried the captain.
' Where are you bound?
and for what are you bound?'
demanded Steelkilt;'no lies.'
' I am bound to Tahiti for more men.'
' Very good.
Let me board you a moment--I come in peace.'
With that he leaped from the canoe, swam to the boat; and climbing the gunwale, stood face to face with the captain.
' Cross your arms, sir; throw back your head.
Now, repeat after me.
As soon as Steelkilt leaves me, I swear to beach this boat on yonder island, and remain there six days.
If I do not, may lightning strike me!'
' A pretty scholar,' laughed the Lakeman.
' Adios, Senor!'
and leaping into the sea, he swam back to his comrades.
" Watching the boat till it was fairly beached, and drawn up to the roots of the cocoa - nut trees, Steelkilt made sail again, and in due time arrived at Tahiti, his own place of destination.
There, luck befriended him; two ships were about to sail for France, and were providentially in want of precisely that number of men which the sailor headed.
They embarked; and so for ever got the start of their former captain, had he been at all minded to work them legal retribution.
" Some ten days after the French ships sailed, the whale - boat arrived, and the captain was forced to enlist some of the more civilized Tahitians, who had been somewhat used to the sea.
Chartering a small native schooner, he returned with them to his vessel; and finding all right there, again resumed his cruisings.
" Where Steelkilt now is, gentlemen, none know; but upon the island of Nantucket, the widow of Radney still turns to the sea which refuses to give up its dead; still in dreams sees the awful white whale that destroyed him.
' Are you through?'
said Don Sebastian, quietly.
' I am, Don.'
' Then I entreat you, tell me if to the best of your own convictions, this your story is in substance really true?
It is so passing wonderful!
Did you get it from an unquestionable source?
Bear with me if I seem to press.'
' Also bear with all of us, sir sailor; for we all join in Don Sebastian's suit,' cried the company, with exceeding interest.
' Is there a copy of the Holy Evangelists in the Golden Inn, gentlemen?'
' Nay,' said Don Sebastian;'but I know a worthy priest near by, who will quickly procure one for me.
I go for it; but are you well advised?
this may grow too serious.'
' Will you be so good as to bring the priest also, Don?'
' Though there are no Auto - da - Fe's in Lima now,' said one of the company to another;'I fear our sailor friend runs risk of the archiepiscopacy.
Let us withdraw more out of the moonlight.
I see no need of this.'
' Excuse me for running after you, Don Sebastian; but may I also beg that you will be particular in procuring the largest sized Evangelists you can.'
' This is the priest, he brings you the Evangelists,' said Don Sebastian, gravely, returning with a tall and solemn figure.
' Let me remove my hat.
Now, venerable priest, further into the light, and hold the Holy Book before me that I may touch it.
' So help me Heaven, and on my honour the story I have told ye, gentlemen, is in substance and its great items, true.
I know it to be true; it happened on this ball; I trod the ship; I knew the crew; I have seen and talked with Steelkilt since the death of Radney.'"
CHAPTER 55
Of the Monstrous Pictures of Whales.
It may be worth while, therefore, previously to advert to those curious imaginary portraits of him which even down to the present day confidently challenge the faith of the landsman.
It is time to set the world right in this matter, by proving such pictures of the whale all wrong.
It may be that the primal source of all those pictorial delusions will be found among the oldest Hindoo, Egyptian, and Grecian sculptures.
Now, by all odds, the most ancient extant portrait anyways purporting to be the whale's, is to be found in the famous cavern - pagoda of Elephanta, in India.
The Brahmins maintain that in the almost endless sculptures of that immemorial pagoda, all the trades and pursuits, every conceivable avocation of man, were prefigured ages before any of them actually came into being.
No wonder then, that in some sort our noble profession of whaling should have been there shadowed forth.
The Hindoo whale referred to, occurs in a separate department of the wall, depicting the incarnation of Vishnu in the form of leviathan, learnedly known as the Matse Avatar.
But though this sculpture is half man and half whale, so as only to give the tail of the latter, yet that small section of him is all wrong.
It looks more like the tapering tail of an anaconda, than the broad palms of the true whale's majestic flukes.
But go to the old Galleries, and look now at a great Christian painter's portrait of this fish; for he succeeds no better than the antediluvian Hindoo.
It is Guido's picture of Perseus rescuing Andromeda from the sea - monster or whale.
Where did Guido get the model of such a strange creature as that?
Nor does Hogarth, in painting the same scene in his own " Perseus Descending," make out one whit better.
The huge corpulence of that Hogarthian monster undulates on the surface, scarcely drawing one inch of water.
It has a sort of howdah on its back, and its distended tusked mouth into which the billows are rolling, might be taken for the Traitors'Gate leading from the Thames by water into the Tower.
Then, there are the Prodromus whales of old Scotch Sibbald, and Jonah's whale, as depicted in the prints of old Bibles and the cuts of old primers.
What shall be said of these?
Though universally denominated a dolphin, I nevertheless call this book - binder's fish an attempt at a whale; because it was so intended when the device was first introduced.
It was introduced by an old Italian publisher somewhere about the 15th century, during the Revival of Learning; and in those days, and even down to a comparatively late period, dolphins were popularly supposed to be a species of the Leviathan.
In the vignettes and other embellishments of some ancient books you will at times meet with very curious touches at the whale, where all manner of spouts, jets d'eau, hot springs and cold, Saratoga and Baden - Baden, come bubbling up from his unexhausted brain.
In the title - page of the original edition of the " Advancement of Learning " you will find some curious whales.
But quitting all these unprofessional attempts, let us glance at those pictures of leviathan purporting to be sober, scientific delineations, by those who know.
In old Harris's collection of voyages there are some plates of whales extracted from a Dutch book of voyages, A. D. 1671, entitled " A Whaling Voyage to Spitzbergen in the ship Jonas in the Whale, Peter Peterson of Friesland, master."
In one of those plates the whales, like great rafts of logs, are represented lying among ice - isles, with white bears running over their living backs.
In another plate, the prodigious blunder is made of representing the whale with perpendicular flukes.
Then again, there is an imposing quarto, written by one Captain Colnett, a Post Captain in the English navy, entitled " A Voyage round Cape Horn into the South Seas, for the purpose of extending the Spermaceti Whale Fisheries."
In this book is an outline purporting to be a " Picture of a Physeter or Spermaceti whale, drawn by scale from one killed on the coast of Mexico, August, 1793, and hoisted on deck."
I doubt not the captain had this veracious picture taken for the benefit of his marines.
To mention but one thing about it, let me say that it has an eye which applied, according to the accompanying scale, to a full grown sperm whale, would make the eye of that whale a bow - window some five feet long.
Ah, my gallant captain, why did ye not give us Jonah looking out of that eye!
Nor are the most conscientious compilations of Natural History for the benefit of the young and tender, free from the same heinousness of mistake.
Look at that popular work " Goldsmith's Animated Nature."
In the abridged London edition of 1807, there are plates of an alleged " whale " and a " narwhale."
Then, again, in 1825, Bernard Germain, Count de Lacepede, a great naturalist, published a scientific systemized whale book, wherein are several pictures of the different species of the Leviathan.
All these are not only incorrect, but the picture of the Mysticetus or Greenland whale (that is to say, the Right whale), even Scoresby, a long experienced man as touching that species, declares not to have its counterpart in nature.
But the placing of the cap - sheaf to all this blundering business was reserved for the scientific Frederick Cuvier, brother to the famous Baron.
In 1836, he published a Natural History of Whales, in which he gives what he calls a picture of the Sperm Whale.
Before showing that picture to any Nantucketer, you had best provide for your summary retreat from Nantucket.
In a word, Frederick Cuvier's Sperm Whale is not a Sperm Whale, but a squash.
Of course, he never had the benefit of a whaling voyage (such men seldom have), but whence he derived that picture, who can tell?
Perhaps he got it as his scientific predecessor in the same field, Desmarest, got one of his authentic abortions; that is, from a Chinese drawing.
And what sort of lively lads with the pencil those Chinese are, many queer cups and saucers inform us.
As for the sign - painters'whales seen in the streets hanging over the shops of oil - dealers, what shall be said of them?
They are generally Richard III.
whales, with dromedary humps, and very savage; breakfasting on three or four sailor tarts, that is whaleboats full of mariners: their deformities floundering in seas of blood and blue paint.
But these manifold mistakes in depicting the whale are not so very surprising after all.
Consider!
Most of the scientific drawings have been taken from the stranded fish; and these are about as correct as a drawing of a wrecked ship, with broken back, would correctly represent the noble animal itself in all its undashed pride of hull and spars.
Though elephants have stood for their full - lengths, the living Leviathan has never yet fairly floated himself for his portrait.
But it may be fancied, that from the naked skeleton of the stranded whale, accurate hints may be derived touching his true form.
Not at all.
For it is one of the more curious things about this Leviathan, that his skeleton gives very little idea of his general shape.
In fact, as the great Hunter says, the mere skeleton of the whale bears the same relation to the fully invested and padded animal as the insect does to the chrysalis that so roundingly envelopes it.
This peculiarity is strikingly evinced in the head, as in some part of this book will be incidentally shown.
It is also very curiously displayed in the side fin, the bones of which almost exactly answer to the bones of the human hand, minus only the thumb.
This fin has four regular bone - fingers, the index, middle, ring, and little finger.
But all these are permanently lodged in their fleshy covering, as the human fingers in an artificial covering.
" However recklessly the whale may sometimes serve us," said humorous Stubb one day, " he can never be truly said to handle us without mittens."
For all these reasons, then, any way you may look at it, you must needs conclude that the great Leviathan is that one creature in the world which must remain unpainted to the last.
True, one portrait may hit the mark much nearer than another, but none can hit it with any very considerable degree of exactness.
So there is no earthly way of finding out precisely what the whale really looks like.
And the only mode in which you can derive even a tolerable idea of his living contour, is by going a whaling yourself; but by so doing, you run no small risk of being eternally stove and sunk by him.
Wherefore, it seems to me you had best not be too fastidious in your curiosity touching this Leviathan.
CHAPTER 56
Of the Less Erroneous Pictures of Whales, and the True Pictures of Whaling Scenes.
In connexion with the monstrous pictures of whales, I am strongly tempted here to enter upon those still more monstrous stories of them which are to be found in certain books, both ancient and modern, especially in Pliny, Purchas, Hackluyt, Harris, Cuvier, etc.
But I pass that matter by.
I know of only four published outlines of the great Sperm Whale; Colnett's, Huggins's, Frederick Cuvier's, and Beale's.
In the previous chapter Colnett and Cuvier have been referred to.
Huggins's is far better than theirs; but, by great odds, Beale's is the best.
All Beale's drawings of this whale are good, excepting the middle figure in the picture of three whales in various attitudes, capping his second chapter.
His frontispiece, boats attacking Sperm Whales, though no doubt calculated to excite the civil scepticism of some parlor men, is admirably correct and life - like in its general effect.
Some of the Sperm Whale drawings in J. Ross Browne are pretty correct in contour; but they are wretchedly engraved.
That is not his fault though.
Of the Right Whale, the best outline pictures are in Scoresby; but they are drawn on too small a scale to convey a desirable impression.
He has but one picture of whaling scenes, and this is a sad deficiency, because it is by such pictures only, when at all well done, that you can derive anything like a truthful idea of the living whale as seen by his living hunters.
But, taken for all in all, by far the finest, though in some details not the most correct, presentations of whales and whaling scenes to be anywhere found, are two large French engravings, well executed, and taken from paintings by one Garnery.
Respectively, they represent attacks on the Sperm and Right Whale.
In the first engraving a noble Sperm Whale is depicted in full majesty of might, just risen beneath the boat from the profundities of the ocean, and bearing high in the air upon his back the terrific wreck of the stoven planks.
The action of the whole thing is wonderfully good and true.
Serious fault might be found with the anatomical details of this whale, but let that pass; since, for the life of me, I could not draw so good a one.
In the second engraving, the boat is in the act of drawing alongside the barnacled flank of a large running Right Whale, that rolls his black weedy bulk in the sea like some mossy rock - slide from the Patagonian cliffs.
His jets are erect, full, and black like soot; so that from so abounding a smoke in the chimney, you would think there must be a brave supper cooking in the great bowels below.
Sea fowls are pecking at the small crabs, shell - fish, and other sea candies and maccaroni, which the Right Whale sometimes carries on his pestilent back.
And all the while the thick - lipped leviathan is rushing through the deep, leaving tons of tumultuous white curds in his wake, and causing the slight boat to rock in the swells like a skiff caught nigh the paddle - wheels of an ocean steamer.
Who Garnery the painter is, or was, I know not.
But my life for it he was either practically conversant with his subject, or else marvellously tutored by some experienced whaleman.
The French are the lads for painting action.
Not wholly unworthy of a place in that gallery, are these sea battle - pieces of Garnery.
The natural aptitude of the French for seizing the picturesqueness of things seems to be peculiarly evinced in what paintings and engravings they have of their whaling scenes.
With not one tenth of England's experience in the fishery, and not the thousandth part of that of the Americans, they have nevertheless furnished both nations with the only finished sketches at all capable of conveying the real spirit of the whale hunt.
I mean no disparagement to the excellent voyager (I honour him for a veteran), but in so important a matter it was certainly an oversight not to have procured for every crystal a sworn affidavit taken before a Greenland Justice of the Peace.
In addition to those fine engravings from Garnery, there are two other French engravings worthy of note, by some one who subscribes himself " H.
Durand."
One of them, though not precisely adapted to our present purpose, nevertheless deserves mention on other accounts.
It is a quiet noon - scene among the isles of the Pacific; a French whaler anchored, inshore, in a calm, and lazily taking water on board; the loosened sails of the ship, and the long leaves of the palms in the background, both drooping together in the breezeless air.
The effect is very fine, when considered with reference to its presenting the hardy fishermen under one of their few aspects of oriental repose.
The harpoons and lances lie levelled for use; three oarsmen are just setting the mast in its hole; while from a sudden roll of the sea, the little craft stands half - erect out of the water, like a rearing horse.
From the ship, the smoke of the torments of the boiling whale is going up like the smoke over a village of smithies; and to windward, a black cloud, rising up with earnest of squalls and rains, seems to quicken the activity of the excited seamen.
CHAPTER 57
Of Whales in Paint; in Teeth; in Wood; in Sheet - Iron; in Stone; in Mountains; in Stars.
On Tower - hill, as you go down to the London docks, you may have seen a crippled beggar (or KEDGER, as the sailors say) holding a painted board before him, representing the tragic scene in which he lost his leg.
There are three whales and three boats; and one of the boats (presumed to contain the missing leg in all its original integrity) is being crunched by the jaws of the foremost whale.
Any time these ten years, they tell me, has that man held up that picture, and exhibited that stump to an incredulous world.
But the time of his justification has now come.
His three whales are as good whales as were ever published in Wapping, at any rate; and his stump as unquestionable a stump as any you will find in the western clearings.
But, though for ever mounted on that stump, never a stump - speech does the poor whaleman make; but, with downcast eyes, stands ruefully contemplating his own amputation.
Some of them have little boxes of dentistical - looking implements, specially intended for the skrimshandering business.
But, in general, they toil with their jack - knives alone; and, with that almost omnipotent tool of the sailor, they will turn you out anything you please, in the way of a mariner's fancy.
Long exile from Christendom and civilization inevitably restores a man to that condition in which God placed him, i. e.
what is called savagery.
Your true whale - hunter is as much a savage as an Iroquois.
I myself am a savage, owning no allegiance but to the King of the Cannibals; and ready at any moment to rebel against him.
Now, one of the peculiar characteristics of the savage in his domestic hours, is his wonderful patience of industry.
An ancient Hawaiian war - club or spear - paddle, in its full multiplicity and elaboration of carving, is as great a trophy of human perseverance as a Latin lexicon.
For, with but a bit of broken sea - shell or a shark's tooth, that miraculous intricacy of wooden net - work has been achieved; and it has cost steady years of steady application.
As with the Hawaiian savage, so with the white sailor - savage.
Wooden whales, or whales cut in profile out of the small dark slabs of the noble South Sea war - wood, are frequently met with in the forecastles of American whalers.
Some of them are done with much accuracy.
At some old gable - roofed country houses you will see brass whales hung by the tail for knockers to the road - side door.
When the porter is sleepy, the anvil - headed whale would be best.
But these knocking whales are seldom remarkable as faithful essays.
On the spires of some old - fashioned churches you will see sheet - iron whales placed there for weather - cocks; but they are so elevated, and besides that are to all intents and purposes so labelled with " HANDS OFF!"
you cannot examine them closely enough to decide upon their merit.
Then, again, in mountainous countries where the traveller is continually girdled by amphitheatrical heights; here and there from some lucky point of view you will catch passing glimpses of the profiles of whales defined along the undulating ridges.
Nor when expandingly lifted by your subject, can you fail to trace out great whales in the starry heavens, and boats in pursuit of them; as when long filled with thoughts of war the Eastern nations saw armies locked in battle among the clouds.
Thus at the North have I chased Leviathan round and round the Pole with the revolutions of the bright points that first defined him to me.
And beneath the effulgent Antarctic skies I have boarded the Argo - Navis, and joined the chase against the starry Cetus far beyond the utmost stretch of Hydrus and the Flying Fish.
With a frigate's anchors for my bridle - bitts and fasces of harpoons for spurs, would I could mount that whale and leap the topmost skies, to see whether the fabled heavens with all their countless tents really lie encamped beyond my mortal sight!
CHAPTER 58
Brit.
Steering north - eastward from the Crozetts, we fell in with vast meadows of brit, the minute, yellow substance, upon which the Right Whale largely feeds.
For leagues and leagues it undulated round us, so that we seemed to be sailing through boundless fields of ripe and golden wheat.
As morning mowers, who side by side slowly and seethingly advance their scythes through the long wet grass of marshy meads; even so these monsters swam, making a strange, grassy, cutting sound; and leaving behind them endless swaths of blue upon the yellow sea.
But it was only the sound they made as they parted the brit which at all reminded one of mowers.
Seen from the mast - heads, especially when they paused and were stationary for a while, their vast black forms looked more like lifeless masses of rock than anything else.
And even when recognised at last, their immense magnitude renders it very hard really to believe that such bulky masses of overgrowth can possibly be instinct, in all parts, with the same sort of life that lives in a dog or a horse.
Indeed, in other respects, you can hardly regard any creatures of the deep with the same feelings that you do those of the shore.
The accursed shark alone can in any generic respect be said to bear comparative analogy to him.
The first boat we read of, floated on an ocean, that with Portuguese vengeance had whelmed a whole world without leaving so much as a widow.
That same ocean rolls now; that same ocean destroyed the wrecked ships of last year.
Yea, foolish mortals, Noah's flood is not yet subsided; two thirds of the fair world it yet covers.
Wherein differ the sea and the land, that a miracle upon one is not a miracle upon the other?
Preternatural terrors rested upon the Hebrews, when under the feet of Korah and his company the live ground opened and swallowed them up for ever; yet not a modern sun ever sets, but in precisely the same manner the live sea swallows up ships and crews.
But not only is the sea such a foe to man who is an alien to it, but it is also a fiend to its own off - spring; worse than the Persian host who murdered his own guests; sparing not the creatures which itself hath spawned.
Like a savage tigress that tossing in the jungle overlays her own cubs, so the sea dashes even the mightiest whales against the rocks, and leaves them there side by side with the split wrecks of ships.
No mercy, no power but its own controls it.
Panting and snorting like a mad battle steed that has lost its rider, the masterless ocean overruns the globe.
Consider the subtleness of the sea; how its most dreaded creatures glide under water, unapparent for the most part, and treacherously hidden beneath the loveliest tints of azure.
Consider also the devilish brilliance and beauty of many of its most remorseless tribes, as the dainty embellished shape of many species of sharks.
Consider, once more, the universal cannibalism of the sea; all whose creatures prey upon each other, carrying on eternal war since the world began.
Consider all this; and then turn to this green, gentle, and most docile earth; consider them both, the sea and the land; and do you not find a strange analogy to something in yourself?
For as this appalling ocean surrounds the verdant land, so in the soul of man there lies one insular Tahiti, full of peace and joy, but encompassed by all the horrors of the half known life.
God keep thee!
Push not off from that isle, thou canst never return!
CHAPTER 59
Squid.
And still, at wide intervals in the silvery night, the lonely, alluring jet would be seen.
In the distance, a great white mass lazily rose, and rising higher and higher, and disentangling itself from the azure, at last gleamed before our prow like a snow - slide, new slid from the hills.
Thus glistening for a moment, as slowly it subsided, and sank.
Then once more arose, and silently gleamed.
It seemed not a whale; and yet is this Moby Dick?
thought Daggoo.
Again the phantom went down, but on re - appearing once more, with a stiletto - like cry that startled every man from his nod, the negro yelled out --" There!
there again!
there she breaches!
right ahead!
The White Whale, the White Whale!"
Upon this, the seamen rushed to the yard - arms, as in swarming - time the bees rush to the boughs.
Bare - headed in the sultry sun, Ahab stood on the bowsprit, and with one hand pushed far behind in readiness to wave his orders to the helmsman, cast his eager glance in the direction indicated aloft by the outstretched motionless arm of Daggoo.
The four boats were soon on the water; Ahab's in advance, and all swiftly pulling towards their prey.
Soon it went down, and while, with oars suspended, we were awaiting its reappearance, lo!
in the same spot where it sank, once more it slowly rose.
Almost forgetting for the moment all thoughts of Moby Dick, we now gazed at the most wondrous phenomenon which the secret seas have hitherto revealed to mankind.
A vast pulpy mass, furlongs in length and breadth, of a glancing cream - colour, lay floating on the water, innumerable long arms radiating from its centre, and curling and twisting like a nest of anacondas, as if blindly to clutch at any hapless object within reach.
No perceptible face or front did it have; no conceivable token of either sensation or instinct; but undulated there on the billows, an unearthly, formless, chance - like apparition of life.
As with a low sucking sound it slowly disappeared again, Starbuck still gazing at the agitated waters where it had sunk, with a wild voice exclaimed --" Almost rather had I seen Moby Dick and fought him, than to have seen thee, thou white ghost!"
" What was it, Sir?"
said Flask.
" The great live squid, which, they say, few whale - ships ever beheld, and returned to their ports to tell of it."
But Ahab said nothing; turning his boat, he sailed back to the vessel; the rest as silently following.
Whatever superstitions the sperm whalemen in general have connected with the sight of this object, certain it is, that a glimpse of it being so very unusual, that circumstance has gone far to invest it with portentousness.
At times, when closely pursued, he will disgorge what are supposed to be the detached arms of the squid; some of them thus exhibited exceeding twenty and thirty feet in length.
They fancy that the monster to which these arms belonged ordinarily clings by them to the bed of the ocean; and that the sperm whale, unlike other species, is supplied with teeth in order to attack and tear it.
There seems some ground to imagine that the great Kraken of Bishop Pontoppodan may ultimately resolve itself into Squid.
The manner in which the Bishop describes it, as alternately rising and sinking, with some other particulars he narrates, in all this the two correspond.
But much abatement is necessary with respect to the incredible bulk he assigns it.
By some naturalists who have vaguely heard rumors of the mysterious creature, here spoken of, it is included among the class of cuttle - fish, to which, indeed, in certain external respects it would seem to belong, but only as the Anak of the tribe.
CHAPTER 60
The Line.
With reference to the whaling scene shortly to be described, as well as for the better understanding of all similar scenes elsewhere presented, I have here to speak of the magical, sometimes horrible whale - line.
Hemp is a dusky, dark fellow, a sort of Indian; but Manilla is as a golden - haired Circassian to behold.
The whale - line is only two - thirds of an inch in thickness.
At first sight, you would not think it so strong as it really is.
By experiment its one and fifty yarns will each suspend a weight of one hundred and twenty pounds; so that the whole rope will bear a strain nearly equal to three tons.
In length, the common sperm whale - line measures something over two hundred fathoms.
As the least tangle or kink in the coiling would, in running out, infallibly take somebody's arm, leg, or entire body off, the utmost precaution is used in stowing the line in its tub.
Some harpooneers will consume almost an entire morning in this business, carrying the line high aloft and then reeving it downwards through a block towards the tub, so as in the act of coiling to free it from all possible wrinkles and twists.
In the English boats two tubs are used instead of one; the same line being continuously coiled in both tubs.
When the painted canvas cover is clapped on the American line - tub, the boat looks as if it were pulling off with a prodigious great wedding - cake to present to the whales.
Both ends of the line are exposed; the lower end terminating in an eye - splice or loop coming up from the bottom against the side of the tub, and hanging over its edge completely disengaged from everything.
This arrangement of the lower end is necessary on two accounts.
First: In order to facilitate the fastening to it of an additional line from a neighboring boat, in case the stricken whale should sound so deep as to threaten to carry off the entire line originally attached to the harpoon.
In these instances, the whale of course is shifted like a mug of ale, as it were, from the one boat to the other; though the first boat always hovers at hand to assist its consort.
Thus the whale - line folds the whole boat in its complicated coils, twisting and writhing around it in almost every direction.
All the oarsmen are involved in its perilous contortions; so that to the timid eye of the landsman, they seem as Indian jugglers, with the deadliest snakes sportively festooning their limbs.
Yet habit--strange thing!
Perhaps a very little thought will now enable you to account for those repeated whaling disasters--some few of which are casually chronicled--of this man or that man being taken out of the boat by the line, and lost.
For, when the line is darting out, to be seated then in the boat, is like being seated in the midst of the manifold whizzings of a steam - engine in full play, when every flying beam, and shaft, and wheel, is grazing you.
But why say more?
All men live enveloped in whale - lines.
All are born with halters round their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever - present perils of life.
And if you be a philosopher, though seated in the whale - boat, you would not at heart feel one whit more of terror, than though seated before your evening fire with a poker, and not a harpoon, by your side.
CHAPTER 61
Stubb Kills a Whale.
If to Starbuck the apparition of the Squid was a thing of portents, to Queequeg it was quite a different object.
" When you see him'quid," said the savage, honing his harpoon in the bow of his hoisted boat, " then you quick see him'parm whale."
The next day was exceedingly still and sultry, and with nothing special to engage them, the Pequod's crew could hardly resist the spell of sleep induced by such a vacant sea.
It was my turn to stand at the foremast - head; and with my shoulders leaning against the slackened royal shrouds, to and fro I idly swayed in what seemed an enchanted air.
No resolution could withstand it; in that dreamy mood losing all consciousness, at last my soul went out of my body; though my body still continued to sway as a pendulum will, long after the power which first moved it is withdrawn.
Ere forgetfulness altogether came over me, I had noticed that the seamen at the main and mizzen - mast - heads were already drowsy.
So that at last all three of us lifelessly swung from the spars, and for every swing that we made there was a nod from below from the slumbering helmsman.
The waves, too, nodded their indolent crests; and across the wide trance of the sea, east nodded to west, and the sun over all.
Suddenly bubbles seemed bursting beneath my closed eyes; like vices my hands grasped the shrouds; some invisible, gracious agency preserved me; with a shock I came back to life.
And lo!
close under our lee, not forty fathoms off, a gigantic Sperm Whale lay rolling in the water like the capsized hull of a frigate, his broad, glossy back, of an Ethiopian hue, glistening in the sun's rays like a mirror.
But lazily undulating in the trough of the sea, and ever and anon tranquilly spouting his vapoury jet, the whale looked like a portly burgher smoking his pipe of a warm afternoon.
But that pipe, poor whale, was thy last.
" Clear away the boats!
Luff!"
cried Ahab.
And obeying his own order, he dashed the helm down before the helmsman could handle the spokes.
So seated like Ontario Indians on the gunwales of the boats, we swiftly but silently paddled along; the calm not admitting of the noiseless sails being set.
Presently, as we thus glided in chase, the monster perpendicularly flitted his tail forty feet into the air, and then sank out of sight like a tower swallowed up.
" There go flukes!"
was the cry, an announcement immediately followed by Stubb's producing his match and igniting his pipe, for now a respite was granted.
After the full interval of his sounding had elapsed, the whale rose again, and being now in advance of the smoker's boat, and much nearer to it than to any of the others, Stubb counted upon the honour of the capture.
It was obvious, now, that the whale had at length become aware of his pursuers.
All silence of cautiousness was therefore no longer of use.
Paddles were dropped, and oars came loudly into play.
And still puffing at his pipe, Stubb cheered on his crew to the assault.
Yes, a mighty change had come over the fish.
All alive to his jeopardy, he was going " head out "; that part obliquely projecting from the mad yeast which he brewed.
* It will be seen in some other place of what a very light substance the entire interior of the sperm whale's enormous head consists.
Though apparently the most massive, it is by far the most buoyant part about him.
So that with ease he elevates it in the air, and invariably does so when going at his utmost speed.
" Start her, start her, my men!
Don't hurry yourselves; take plenty of time--but start her; start her like thunder - claps, that's all," cried Stubb, spluttering out the smoke as he spoke.
" Start her, now; give'em the long and strong stroke, Tashtego.
Start her, Tash, my boy--start her, all; but keep cool, keep cool--cucumbers is the word--easy, easy--only start her like grim death and grinning devils, and raise the buried dead perpendicular out of their graves, boys--that's all.
Start her!"
" Woo - hoo!
Wa - hee!"
screamed the Gay - Header in reply, raising some old war - whoop to the skies; as every oarsman in the strained boat involuntarily bounced forward with the one tremendous leading stroke which the eager Indian gave.
But his wild screams were answered by others quite as wild.
" Kee - hee!
Kee - hee!"
yelled Daggoo, straining forwards and backwards on his seat, like a pacing tiger in his cage.
" Ka - la!
Koo - loo!"
howled Queequeg, as if smacking his lips over a mouthful of Grenadier's steak.
And thus with oars and yells the keels cut the sea.
Meanwhile, Stubb retaining his place in the van, still encouraged his men to the onset, all the while puffing the smoke from his mouth.
Like desperadoes they tugged and they strained, till the welcome cry was heard --" Stand up, Tashtego!-- give it to him!"
The harpoon was hurled.
" Stern all!"
The oarsmen backed water; the same moment something went hot and hissing along every one of their wrists.
It was the magical line.
An instant before, Stubb had swiftly caught two additional turns with it round the loggerhead, whence, by reason of its increased rapid circlings, a hempen blue smoke now jetted up and mingled with the steady fumes from his pipe.
As the line passed round and round the loggerhead; so also, just before reaching that point, it blisteringly passed through and through both of Stubb's hands, from which the hand - cloths, or squares of quilted canvas sometimes worn at these times, had accidentally dropped.
It was like holding an enemy's sharp two - edged sword by the blade, and that enemy all the time striving to wrest it out of your clutch.
" Wet the line!
wet the line!"
cried Stubb to the tub oarsman (him seated by the tub) who, snatching off his hat, dashed sea - water into it.
* More turns were taken, so that the line began holding its place.
The boat now flew through the boiling water like a shark all fins.
Stubb and Tashtego here changed places--stem for stern--a staggering business truly in that rocking commotion.
* Partly to show the indispensableness of this act, it may here be stated, that, in the old Dutch fishery, a mop was used to dash the running line with water; in many other ships, a wooden piggin, or bailer, is set apart for that purpose.
Your hat, however, is the most convenient.
A continual cascade played at the bows; a ceaseless whirling eddy in her wake; and, at the slightest motion from within, even but of a little finger, the vibrating, cracking craft canted over her spasmodic gunwale into the sea.
Thus they rushed; each man with might and main clinging to his seat, to prevent being tossed to the foam; and the tall form of Tashtego at the steering oar crouching almost double, in order to bring down his centre of gravity.
Whole Atlantics and Pacifics seemed passed as they shot on their way, till at length the whale somewhat slackened his flight.
" Haul in--haul in!"
cried Stubb to the bowsman!
and, facing round towards the whale, all hands began pulling the boat up to him, while yet the boat was being towed on.
Soon ranging up by his flank, Stubb, firmly planting his knee in the clumsy cleat, darted dart after dart into the flying fish; at the word of command, the boat alternately sterning out of the way of the whale's horrible wallow, and then ranging up for another fling.
The red tide now poured from all sides of the monster like brooks down a hill.
His tormented body rolled not in brine but in blood, which bubbled and seethed for furlongs behind in their wake.
The slanting sun playing upon this crimson pond in the sea, sent back its reflection into every face, so that they all glowed to each other like red men.
" Pull up--pull up!"
he now cried to the bowsman, as the waning whale relaxed in his wrath.
" Pull up!-- close to!"
and the boat ranged along the fish's flank.
But that gold watch he sought was the innermost life of the fish.
And now abating in his flurry, the whale once more rolled out into view; surging from side to side; spasmodically dilating and contracting his spout - hole, with sharp, cracking, agonized respirations.
At last, gush after gush of clotted red gore, as if it had been the purple lees of red wine, shot into the frighted air; and falling back again, ran dripping down his motionless flanks into the sea.
His heart had burst!
" He's dead, Mr. Stubb," said Daggoo.
" Yes; both pipes smoked out!"
and withdrawing his own from his mouth, Stubb scattered the dead ashes over the water; and, for a moment, stood thoughtfully eyeing the vast corpse he had made.
CHAPTER 62
The Dart.
A word concerning an incident in the last chapter.
According to the invariable usage of the fishery, the whale - boat pushes off from the ship, with the headsman or whale - killer as temporary steersman, and the harpooneer or whale - fastener pulling the foremost oar, the one known as the harpooneer - oar.
Now it needs a strong, nervous arm to strike the first iron into the fish; for often, in what is called a long dart, the heavy implement has to be flung to the distance of twenty or thirty feet.
For one, I cannot bawl very heartily and work very recklessly at one and the same time.
In this straining, bawling state, then, with his back to the fish, all at once the exhausted harpooneer hears the exciting cry --" Stand up, and give it to him!"
He now has to drop and secure his oar, turn round on his centre half way, seize his harpoon from the crotch, and with what little strength may remain, he essays to pitch it somehow into the whale.
Again, if the dart be successful, then at the second critical instant, that is, when the whale starts to run, the boatheader and harpooneer likewise start to running fore and aft, to the imminent jeopardy of themselves and every one else.
It is then they change places; and the headsman, the chief officer of the little craft, takes his proper station in the bows of the boat.
Now, I care not who maintains the contrary, but all this is both foolish and unnecessary.
The headsman should stay in the bows from first to last; he should both dart the harpoon and the lance, and no rowing whatever should be expected of him, except under circumstances obvious to any fisherman.
To insure the greatest efficiency in the dart, the harpooneers of this world must start to their feet from out of idleness, and not from out of toil.
CHAPTER 63
The Crotch.
Out of the trunk, the branches grow; out of them, the twigs.
So, in productive subjects, grow the chapters.
The crotch alluded to on a previous page deserves independent mention.
Thereby the weapon is instantly at hand to its hurler, who snatches it up as readily from its rest as a backwoodsman swings his rifle from the wall.
It is customary to have two harpoons reposing in the crotch, respectively called the first and second irons.
But these two harpoons, each by its own cord, are both connected with the line; the object being this: to dart them both, if possible, one instantly after the other into the same whale; so that if, in the coming drag, one should draw out, the other may still retain a hold.
It is a doubling of the chances.
But it very often happens that owing to the instantaneous, violent, convulsive running of the whale upon receiving the first iron, it becomes impossible for the harpooneer, however lightning - like in his movements, to pitch the second iron into him.
Nevertheless, as the second iron is already connected with the line, and the line is running, hence that weapon must, at all events, be anticipatingly tossed out of the boat, somehow and somewhere; else the most terrible jeopardy would involve all hands.
Tumbled into the water, it accordingly is in such cases; the spare coils of box line (mentioned in a preceding chapter) making this feat, in most instances, prudently practicable.
But this critical act is not always unattended with the saddest and most fatal casualties.
Furthermore: you must know that when the second iron is thrown overboard, it thenceforth becomes a dangling, sharp - edged terror, skittishly curvetting about both boat and whale, entangling the lines, or cutting them, and making a prodigious sensation in all directions.
Nor, in general, is it possible to secure it again until the whale is fairly captured and a corpse.
For, of course, each boat is supplied with several harpoons to bend on to the line should the first one be ineffectually darted without recovery.
All these particulars are faithfully narrated here, as they will not fail to elucidate several most important, however intricate passages, in scenes hereafter to be painted.
CHAPTER 64
Stubb's Supper.
Stubb's whale had been killed some distance from the ship.
It was a calm; so, forming a tandem of three boats, we commenced the slow business of towing the trophy to the Pequod.
For, upon the great canal of Hang - Ho, or whatever they call it, in China, four or five laborers on the foot - path will draw a bulky freighted junk at the rate of a mile an hour; but this grand argosy we towed heavily forged along, as if laden with pig - lead in bulk.
Darkness came on; but three lights up and down in the Pequod's main - rigging dimly guided our way; till drawing nearer we saw Ahab dropping one of several more lanterns over the bulwarks.
Vacantly eyeing the heaving whale for a moment, he issued the usual orders for securing it for the night, and then handing his lantern to a seaman, went his way into the cabin, and did not come forward again until morning.
Very soon you would have thought from the sound on the Pequod's decks, that all hands were preparing to cast anchor in the deep; for heavy chains are being dragged along the deck, and thrust rattling out of the port - holes.
But by those clanking links, the vast corpse itself, not the ship, is to be moored.
* A little item may as well be related here.
But this difficulty is ingeniously overcome: a small, strong line is prepared with a wooden float at its outer end, and a weight in its middle, while the other end is secured to the ship.
If moody Ahab was now all quiescence, at least so far as could be known on deck, Stubb, his second mate, flushed with conquest, betrayed an unusual but still good - natured excitement.
Such an unwonted bustle was he in that the staid Starbuck, his official superior, quietly resigned to him for the time the sole management of affairs.
One small, helping cause of all this liveliness in Stubb, was soon made strangely manifest.
Stubb was a high liver; he was somewhat intemperately fond of the whale as a flavorish thing to his palate.
" A steak, a steak, ere I sleep!
You, Daggoo!
overboard you go, and cut me one from his small!"
About midnight that steak was cut and cooked; and lighted by two lanterns of sperm oil, Stubb stoutly stood up to his spermaceti supper at the capstan - head, as if that capstan were a sideboard.
Nor was Stubb the only banqueter on whale's flesh that night.
Mingling their mumblings with his own mastications, thousands on thousands of sharks, swarming round the dead leviathan, smackingly feasted on its fatness.
The few sleepers below in their bunks were often startled by the sharp slapping of their tails against the hull, within a few inches of the sleepers'hearts.
Peering over the side you could just see them (as before you heard them) wallowing in the sullen, black waters, and turning over on their backs as they scooped out huge globular pieces of the whale of the bigness of a human head.
This particular feat of the shark seems all but miraculous.
How at such an apparently unassailable surface, they contrive to gouge out such symmetrical mouthfuls, remains a part of the universal problem of all things.
The mark they thus leave on the whale, may best be likened to the hollow made by a carpenter in countersinking for a screw.
If you have never seen that sight, then suspend your decision about the propriety of devil - worship, and the expediency of conciliating the devil.
But, as yet, Stubb heeded not the mumblings of the banquet that was going on so nigh him, no more than the sharks heeded the smacking of his own epicurean lips.
" Cook, cook!-- where's that old Fleece?"
he cried at length, widening his legs still further, as if to form a more secure base for his supper; and, at the same time darting his fork into the dish, as if stabbing with his lance; " cook, you cook!-- sail this way, cook!"
" Cook," said Stubb, rapidly lifting a rather reddish morsel to his mouth, " don't you think this steak is rather overdone?
You've been beating this steak too much, cook; it's too tender.
Don't I always say that to be good, a whale - steak must be tough?
There are those sharks now over the side, don't you see they prefer it tough and rare?
What a shindy they are kicking up!
Cook, go and talk to'em; tell'em they are welcome to help themselves civilly, and in moderation, but they must keep quiet.
Blast me, if I can hear my own voice.
Away, cook, and deliver my message.
Here, take this lantern," snatching one from his sideboard; " now then, go and preach to'em!"
" Fellow - critters: I'se ordered here to say dat you must stop dat dam noise dare.
You hear?
Stop dat dam smackin'ob de lips!
Massa Stubb say dat you can fill your dam bellies up to de hatchings, but by Gor!
you must stop dat dam racket!"
" Cook," here interposed Stubb, accompanying the word with a sudden slap on the shoulder,--" Cook!
why, damn your eyes, you mustn't swear that way when you're preaching.
That's no way to convert sinners, cook!"
" Who dat?
Den preach to him yourself," sullenly turning to go.
" No, cook; go on, go on."
" Well, den, Belubed fellow - critters:"-
" Right!"
exclaimed Stubb, approvingly, " coax'em to it; try that," and Fleece continued.
" Do you is all sharks, and by natur wery woracious, yet I zay to you, fellow - critters, dat dat woraciousness --' top dat dam slappin'ob de tail!
How you tink to hear, spose you keep up such a dam slappin'and bitin'dare?"
" Cook," cried Stubb, collaring him, " I won't have that swearing.
Talk to'em gentlemanly."
Once more the sermon proceeded.
" Your woraciousness, fellow - critters, I don't blame ye so much for; dat is natur, and can't be helped; but to gobern dat wicked natur, dat is de pint.
You is sharks, sartin; but if you gobern de shark in you, why den you be angel; for all angel is not'ing more dan de shark well goberned.
Now, look here, bred'ren, just try wonst to be cibil, a helping yourselbs from dat whale.
Don't be tearin'de blubber out your neighbour's mout, I say.
Is not one shark dood right as toder to dat whale?
And, by Gor, none on you has de right to dat whale; dat whale belong to some one else.
I know some o'you has berry brig mout, brigger dan oders; but den de brig mouts sometimes has de small bellies; so dat de brigness of de mout is not to swaller wid, but to bit off de blubber for de small fry ob sharks, dat can't get into de scrouge to help demselves."
" Well done, old Fleece!"
cried Stubb, " that's Christianity; go on."
" Upon my soul, I am about of the same opinion; so give the benediction, Fleece, and I'll away to my supper."
Upon this, Fleece, holding both hands over the fishy mob, raised his shrill voice, and cried --
" Cussed fellow - critters!
Kick up de damndest row as ever you can; fill your dam bellies'till dey bust--and den die."
" Now, cook," said Stubb, resuming his supper at the capstan; " stand just where you stood before, there, over against me, and pay particular attention."
" All'dention," said Fleece, again stooping over upon his tongs in the desired position.
" Well," said Stubb, helping himself freely meanwhile; " I shall now go back to the subject of this steak.
In the first place, how old are you, cook?"
" What dat do wid de'teak," said the old black, testily.
" Silence!
How old are you, cook?"
' Bout ninety, dey say," he gloomily muttered.
" And you have lived in this world hard upon one hundred years, cook, and don't know yet how to cook a whale - steak?"
rapidly bolting another mouthful at the last word, so that morsel seemed a continuation of the question.
" Where were you born, cook?"
' Hind de hatchway, in ferry - boat, goin'ober de Roanoke."
" Born in a ferry - boat!
That's queer, too.
But I want to know what country you were born in, cook!"
" Didn't I say de Roanoke country?"
he cried sharply.
" No, you didn't, cook; but I'll tell you what I'm coming to, cook.
You must go home and be born over again; you don't know how to cook a whale - steak yet."
" Bress my soul, if I cook noder one," he growled, angrily, turning round to depart.
" Come back here, cook;-- here, hand me those tongs;-- now take that bit of steak there, and tell me if you think that steak cooked as it should be?
Take it, I say "-- holding the tongs towards him --" take it, and taste it."
Faintly smacking his withered lips over it for a moment, the old negro muttered, " Best cooked'teak I eber taste; joosy, berry joosy."
" Cook," said Stubb, squaring himself once more; " do you belong to the church?"
" Passed one once in Cape - Down," said the old man sullenly.
" And you have once in your life passed a holy church in Cape - Town, where you doubtless overheard a holy parson addressing his hearers as his beloved fellow - creatures, have you, cook!
And yet you come here, and tell me such a dreadful lie as you did just now, eh?"
said Stubb.
" Where do you expect to go to, cook?"
" Go to bed berry soon," he mumbled, half - turning as he spoke.
" Avast!
heave to!
I mean when you die, cook.
It's an awful question.
Now what's your answer?"
" When dis old brack man dies," said the negro slowly, changing his whole air and demeanor, " he hisself won't go nowhere; but some bressed angel will come and fetch him."
" Fetch him?
How?
In a coach and four, as they fetched Elijah?
And fetch him where?"
" Up dere," said Fleece, holding his tongs straight over his head, and keeping it there very solemnly.
" So, then, you expect to go up into our main - top, do you, cook, when you are dead?
But don't you know the higher you climb, the colder it gets?
Main - top, eh?"
" Didn't say dat t'all," said Fleece, again in the sulks.
" You said up there, didn't you?
and now look yourself, and see where your tongs are pointing.
But, perhaps you expect to get into heaven by crawling through the lubber's hole, cook; but, no, no, cook, you don't get there, except you go the regular way, round by the rigging.
It's a ticklish business, but must be done, or else it's no go.
But none of us are in heaven yet.
Drop your tongs, cook, and hear my orders.
Do ye hear?
Hold your hat in one hand, and clap t'other a'top of your heart, when I'm giving my orders, cook.
What!
that your heart, there?-- that's your gizzard!
Aloft!
aloft!-- that's it--now you have it.
Hold it there now, and pay attention."
" All'dention," said the old black, with both hands placed as desired, vainly wriggling his grizzled head, as if to get both ears in front at one and the same time.
" Well then, cook, you see this whale - steak of yours was so very bad, that I have put it out of sight as soon as possible; you see that, don't you?
Well, for the future, when you cook another whale - steak for my private table here, the capstan, I'll tell you what to do so as not to spoil it by overdoing.
Hold the steak in one hand, and show a live coal to it with the other; that done, dish it; d'ye hear?
And now to - morrow, cook, when we are cutting in the fish, be sure you stand by to get the tips of his fins; have them put in pickle.
As for the ends of the flukes, have them soused, cook.
There, now ye may go."
But Fleece had hardly got three paces off, when he was recalled.
" Cook, give me cutlets for supper to - morrow night in the mid - watch.
D'ye hear?
away you sail, then.-- Halloa!
stop!
make a bow before you go.-- Avast heaving again!
Whale - balls for breakfast--don't forget."
" Wish, by gor!
whale eat him,'stead of him eat whale.
I'm bressed if he ain't more of shark dan Massa Shark hisself," muttered the old man, limping away; with which sage ejaculation he went to his hammock.
CHAPTER 65
The Whale as a Dish.
That mortal man should feed upon the creature that feeds his lamp, and, like Stubb, eat him by his own light, as you may say; this seems so outlandish a thing that one must needs go a little into the history and philosophy of it.
It is upon record, that three centuries ago the tongue of the Right Whale was esteemed a great delicacy in France, and commanded large prices there.
Also, that in Henry VIIIth's time, a certain cook of the court obtained a handsome reward for inventing an admirable sauce to be eaten with barbacued porpoises, which, you remember, are a species of whale.
Porpoises, indeed, are to this day considered fine eating.
The meat is made into balls about the size of billiard balls, and being well seasoned and spiced might be taken for turtle - balls or veal balls.
The old monks of Dunfermline were very fond of them.
They had a great porpoise grant from the crown.
The fact is, that among his hunters at least, the whale would by all hands be considered a noble dish, were there not so much of him; but when you come to sit down before a meat - pie nearly one hundred feet long, it takes away your appetite.
Only the most unprejudiced of men like Stubb, nowadays partake of cooked whales; but the Esquimaux are not so fastidious.
We all know how they live upon whales, and have rare old vintages of prime old train oil.
Zogranda, one of their most famous doctors, recommends strips of blubber for infants, as being exceedingly juicy and nourishing.
And this reminds me that certain Englishmen, who long ago were accidentally left in Greenland by a whaling vessel--that these men actually lived for several months on the mouldy scraps of whales which had been left ashore after trying out the blubber.
Among the Dutch whalemen these scraps are called " fritters "; which, indeed, they greatly resemble, being brown and crisp, and smelling something like old Amsterdam housewives'dough - nuts or oly - cooks, when fresh.
They have such an eatable look that the most self - denying stranger can hardly keep his hands off.
But what further depreciates the whale as a civilized dish, is his exceeding richness.
He is the great prize ox of the sea, too fat to be delicately good.
Look at his hump, which would be as fine eating as the buffalo's (which is esteemed a rare dish), were it not such a solid pyramid of fat.
But the spermaceti itself, how bland and creamy that is; like the transparent, half - jellied, white meat of a cocoanut in the third month of its growth, yet far too rich to supply a substitute for butter.
Nevertheless, many whalemen have a method of absorbing it into some other substance, and then partaking of it.
In the long try watches of the night it is a common thing for the seamen to dip their ship - biscuit into the huge oil - pots and let them fry there awhile.
Many a good supper have I thus made.
In the case of a small Sperm Whale the brains are accounted a fine dish.
And that is the reason why a young buck with an intelligent looking calf's head before him, is somehow one of the saddest sights you can see.
The head looks a sort of reproachfully at him, with an " Et tu Brute!"
expression.
It is not, perhaps, entirely because the whale is so excessively unctuous that landsmen seem to regard the eating of him with abhorrence; that appears to result, in some way, from the consideration before mentioned: i. e.
that a man should eat a newly murdered thing of the sea, and eat it too by its own light.
But no doubt the first man that ever murdered an ox was regarded as a murderer; perhaps he was hung; and if he had been put on his trial by oxen, he certainly would have been; and he certainly deserved it if any murderer does.
Go to the meat - market of a Saturday night and see the crowds of live bipeds staring up at the long rows of dead quadrupeds.
Does not that sight take a tooth out of the cannibal's jaw?
Cannibals?
who is not a cannibal?
But Stubb, he eats the whale by its own light, does he?
and that is adding insult to injury, is it?
Look at your knife - handle, there, my civilized and enlightened gourmand dining off that roast beef, what is that handle made of?-- what but the bones of the brother of the very ox you are eating?
And what do you pick your teeth with, after devouring that fat goose?
With a feather of the same fowl.
And with what quill did the Secretary of the Society for the Suppression of Cruelty to Ganders formally indite his circulars?
It is only within the last month or two that that society passed a resolution to patronise nothing but steel pens.
CHAPTER 66
The Shark Massacre.
When in the Southern Fishery, a captured Sperm Whale, after long and weary toil, is brought alongside late at night, it is not, as a general thing at least, customary to proceed at once to the business of cutting him in.
For that business is an exceedingly laborious one; is not very soon completed; and requires all hands to set about it.
But it was not thus in the present case with the Pequod's sharks; though, to be sure, any man unaccustomed to such sights, to have looked over her side that night, would have almost thought the whole round sea was one huge cheese, and those sharks the maggots in it.
But in the foamy confusion of their mixed and struggling hosts, the marksmen could not always hit their mark; and this brought about new revelations of the incredible ferocity of the foe.
They viciously snapped, not only at each other's disembowelments, but like flexible bows, bent round, and bit their own; till those entrails seemed swallowed over and over again by the same mouth, to be oppositely voided by the gaping wound.
Nor was this all.
It was unsafe to meddle with the corpses and ghosts of these creatures.
A sort of generic or Pantheistic vitality seemed to lurk in their very joints and bones, after what might be called the individual life had departed.
Killed and hoisted on deck for the sake of his skin, one of these sharks almost took poor Queequeg's hand off, when he tried to shut down the dead lid of his murderous jaw.
This weapon is always kept as sharp as possible; and when being used is occasionally honed, just like a razor.
In its socket, a stiff pole, from twenty to thirty feet long, is inserted for a handle.
" Queequeg no care what god made him shark," said the savage, agonizingly lifting his hand up and down; " wedder Fejee god or Nantucket god; but de god wat made shark must be one dam Ingin."
CHAPTER 67
Cutting In.
It was a Saturday night, and such a Sabbath as followed!
Ex officio professors of Sabbath breaking are all whalemen.
The ivory Pequod was turned into what seemed a shamble; every sailor a butcher.
You would have thought we were offering up ten thousand red oxen to the sea gods.
The end of the hawser - like rope winding through these intricacies, was then conducted to the windlass, and the huge lower block of the tackles was swung over the whale; to this block the great blubber hook, weighing some one hundred pounds, was attached.
And now suspended in stages over the side, Starbuck and Stubb, the mates, armed with their long spades, began cutting a hole in the body for the insertion of the hook just above the nearest of the two side - fins.
This done, a broad, semicircular line is cut round the hole, the hook is inserted, and the main body of the crew striking up a wild chorus, now commence heaving in one dense crowd at the windlass.
When instantly, the entire ship careens over on her side; every bolt in her starts like the nail - heads of an old house in frosty weather; she trembles, quivers, and nods her frighted mast - heads to the sky.
Now as the blubber envelopes the whale precisely as the rind does an orange, so is it stripped off from the body precisely as an orange is sometimes stripped by spiralizing it.
One of the attending harpooneers now advances with a long, keen weapon called a boarding - sword, and watching his chance he dexterously slices out a considerable hole in the lower part of the swaying mass.
Into this hole, the end of the second alternating great tackle is then hooked so as to retain a hold upon the blubber, in order to prepare for what follows.
Into this twilight apartment sundry nimble hands keep coiling away the long blanket - piece as if it were a great live mass of plaited serpents.
CHAPTER 68
The Blanket.
I have given no small attention to that not unvexed subject, the skin of the whale.
I have had controversies about it with experienced whalemen afloat, and learned naturalists ashore.
My original opinion remains unchanged; but it is only an opinion.
The question is, what and where is the skin of the whale?
Already you know what his blubber is.
That blubber is something of the consistence of firm, close - grained beef, but tougher, more elastic and compact, and ranges from eight or ten to twelve and fifteen inches in thickness.
I have several such dried bits, which I use for marks in my whale - books.
It is transparent, as I said before; and being laid upon the printed page, I have sometimes pleased myself with fancying it exerted a magnifying influence.
At any rate, it is pleasant to read about whales through their own spectacles, as you may say.
But what I am driving at here is this.
But no more of this.
Reckoning ten barrels to the ton, you have ten tons for the net weight of only three quarters of the stuff of the whale's skin.
In life, the visible surface of the Sperm Whale is not the least among the many marvels he presents.
Almost invariably it is all over obliquely crossed and re - crossed with numberless straight marks in thick array, something like those in the finest Italian line engravings.
But these marks do not seem to be impressed upon the isinglass substance above mentioned, but seem to be seen through it, as if they were engraved upon the body itself.
Nor is this all.
In some instances, to the quick, observant eye, those linear marks, as in a veritable engraving, but afford the ground for far other delineations.
These are hieroglyphical; that is, if you call those mysterious cyphers on the walls of pyramids hieroglyphics, then that is the proper word to use in the present connexion.
By my retentive memory of the hieroglyphics upon one Sperm Whale in particular, I was much struck with a plate representing the old Indian characters chiselled on the famous hieroglyphic palisades on the banks of the Upper Mississippi.
Like those mystic rocks, too, the mystic - marked whale remains undecipherable.
This allusion to the Indian rocks reminds me of another thing.
I should say that those New England rocks on the sea - coast, which Agassiz imagines to bear the marks of violent scraping contact with vast floating icebergs--I should say, that those rocks must not a little resemble the Sperm Whale in this particular.
It also seems to me that such scratches in the whale are probably made by hostile contact with other whales; for I have most remarked them in the large, full - grown bulls of the species.
A word or two more concerning this matter of the skin or blubber of the whale.
It has already been said, that it is stript from him in long pieces, called blanket - pieces.
Like most sea - terms, this one is very happy and significant.
For the whale is indeed wrapt up in his blubber as in a real blanket or counterpane; or, still better, an Indian poncho slipt over his head, and skirting his extremity.
It is by reason of this cosy blanketing of his body, that the whale is enabled to keep himself comfortable in all weathers, in all seas, times, and tides.
What would become of a Greenland whale, say, in those shuddering, icy seas of the North, if unsupplied with his cosy surtout?
Freeze his blood, and he dies.
How wonderful is it then--except after explanation--that this great monster, to whom corporeal warmth is as indispensable as it is to man; how wonderful that he should be found at home, immersed to his lips for life in those Arctic waters!
where, when seamen fall overboard, they are sometimes found, months afterwards, perpendicularly frozen into the hearts of fields of ice, as a fly is found glued in amber.
But more surprising is it to know, as has been proved by experiment, that the blood of a Polar whale is warmer than that of a Borneo negro in summer.
It does seem to me, that herein we see the rare virtue of a strong individual vitality, and the rare virtue of thick walls, and the rare virtue of interior spaciousness.
Oh, man!
admire and model thyself after the whale!
Do thou, too, remain warm among ice.
Do thou, too, live in this world without being of it.
Be cool at the equator; keep thy blood fluid at the Pole.
Like the great dome of St. Peter's, and like the great whale, retain, O man!
in all seasons a temperature of thine own.
But how easy and how hopeless to teach these fine things!
Of erections, how few are domed like St. Peter's!
of creatures, how few vast as the whale!
CHAPTER 69
The Funeral.
Haul in the chains!
Let the carcase go astern!
The vast tackles have now done their duty.
The peeled white body of the beheaded whale flashes like a marble sepulchre; though changed in hue, it has not perceptibly lost anything in bulk.
It is still colossal.
Slowly it floats more and more away, the water round it torn and splashed by the insatiate sharks, and the air above vexed with rapacious flights of screaming fowls, whose beaks are like so many insulting poniards in the whale.
The vast white headless phantom floats further and further from the ship, and every rod that it so floats, what seem square roods of sharks and cubic roods of fowls, augment the murderous din.
For hours and hours from the almost stationary ship that hideous sight is seen.
Beneath the unclouded and mild azure sky, upon the fair face of the pleasant sea, wafted by the joyous breezes, that great mass of death floats on and on, till lost in infinite perspectives.
There's a most doleful and most mocking funeral!
The sea - vultures all in pious mourning, the air - sharks all punctiliously in black or speckled.
In life but few of them would have helped the whale, I ween, if peradventure he had needed it; but upon the banquet of his funeral they most piously do pounce.
Oh, horrible vultureism of earth!
from which not the mightiest whale is free.
Nor is this the end.
Desecrated as the body is, a vengeful ghost survives and hovers over it to scare.
And for years afterwards, perhaps, ships shun the place; leaping over it as silly sheep leap over a vacuum, because their leader originally leaped there when a stick was held.
There's your law of precedents; there's your utility of traditions; there's the story of your obstinate survival of old beliefs never bottomed on the earth, and now not even hovering in the air!
There's orthodoxy!
Thus, while in life the great whale's body may have been a real terror to his foes, in his death his ghost becomes a powerless panic to a world.
Are you a believer in ghosts, my friend?
There are other ghosts than the Cock - Lane one, and far deeper men than Doctor Johnson who believe in them.
CHAPTER 70
The Sphynx.
It should not have been omitted that previous to completely stripping the body of the leviathan, he was beheaded.
Now, the beheading of the Sperm Whale is a scientific anatomical feat, upon which experienced whale surgeons very much pride themselves: and not without reason.
Consider that the whale has nothing that can properly be called a neck; on the contrary, where his head and body seem to join, there, in that very place, is the thickest part of him.
Remember, also, that the surgeon must operate from above, some eight or ten feet intervening between him and his subject, and that subject almost hidden in a discoloured, rolling, and oftentimes tumultuous and bursting sea.
Do you not marvel, then, at Stubb's boast, that he demanded but ten minutes to behead a sperm whale?
When first severed, the head is dropped astern and held there by a cable till the body is stripped.
That done, if it belong to a small whale it is hoisted on deck to be deliberately disposed of.
The Pequod's whale being decapitated and the body stripped, the head was hoisted against the ship's side--about half way out of the sea, so that it might yet in great part be buoyed up by its native element.
When this last task was accomplished it was noon, and the seamen went below to their dinner.
Silence reigned over the before tumultuous but now deserted deck.
An intense copper calm, like a universal yellow lotus, was more and more unfolding its noiseless measureless leaves upon the sea.
A short space elapsed, and up into this noiselessness came Ahab alone from his cabin.
It was a black and hooded head; and hanging there in the midst of so intense a calm, it seemed the Sphynx's in the desert.
" Speak, thou vast and venerable head," muttered Ahab, " which, though ungarnished with a beard, yet here and there lookest hoary with mosses; speak, mighty head, and tell us the secret thing that is in thee.
Of all divers, thou hast dived the deepest.
That head upon which the upper sun now gleams, has moved amid this world's foundations.
Where unrecorded names and navies rust, and untold hopes and anchors rot; where in her murderous hold this frigate earth is ballasted with bones of millions of the drowned; there, in that awful water - land, there was thy most familiar home.
Thou hast been where bell or diver never went; hast slept by many a sailor's side, where sleepless mothers would give their lives to lay them down.
Thou saw'st the locked lovers when leaping from their flaming ship; heart to heart they sank beneath the exulting wave; true to each other, when heaven seemed false to them.
O head!
thou hast seen enough to split the planets and make an infidel of Abraham, and not one syllable is thine!"
" Sail ho!"
cried a triumphant voice from the main - mast - head.
" Aye?
Well, now, that's cheering," cried Ahab, suddenly erecting himself, while whole thunder - clouds swept aside from his brow.
" That lively cry upon this deadly calm might almost convert a better man.-- Where away?"
" Three points on the starboard bow, sir, and bringing down her breeze to us!
" Better and better, man.
Would now St. Paul would come along that way, and to my breezelessness bring his breeze!
O Nature, and O soul of man!
how far beyond all utterance are your linked analogies!
not the smallest atom stirs or lives on matter, but has its cunning duplicate in mind."
CHAPTER 71
The Jeroboam's Story.
Hand in hand, ship and breeze blew on; but the breeze came faster than the ship, and soon the Pequod began to rock.
By and by, through the glass the stranger's boats and manned mast - heads proved her a whale - ship.
But as she was so far to windward, and shooting by, apparently making a passage to some other ground, the Pequod could not hope to reach her.
So the signal was set to see what response would be made.
Here be it said, that like the vessels of military marines, the ships of the American Whale Fleet have each a private signal; all which signals being collected in a book with the names of the respective vessels attached, every captain is provided with it.
Thereby, the whale commanders are enabled to recognise each other upon the ocean, even at considerable distances and with no small facility.
The Pequod's signal was at last responded to by the stranger's setting her own; which proved the ship to be the Jeroboam of Nantucket.
It turned out that the Jeroboam had a malignant epidemic on board, and that Mayhew, her captain, was fearful of infecting the Pequod's company.
But this did by no means prevent all communications.
Subject to this, and other the like interruptions now and then, a conversation was sustained between the two parties; but at intervals not without still another interruption of a very different sort.
Pulling an oar in the Jeroboam's boat, was a man of a singular appearance, even in that wild whaling life where individual notabilities make up all totalities.
He was a small, short, youngish man, sprinkled all over his face with freckles, and wearing redundant yellow hair.
A long - skirted, cabalistically - cut coat of a faded walnut tinge enveloped him; the overlapping sleeves of which were rolled up on his wrists.
A deep, settled, fanatic delirium was in his eyes.
So soon as this figure had been first descried, Stubb had exclaimed --" That's he!
that's he!-- the long - togged scaramouch the Town - Ho's company told us of!"
Stubb here alluded to a strange story told of the Jeroboam, and a certain man among her crew, some time previous when the Pequod spoke the Town - Ho.
According to this account and what was subsequently learned, it seemed that the scaramouch in question had gained a wonderful ascendency over almost everybody in the Jeroboam.
His story was this:
A strange, apostolic whim having seized him, he had left Neskyeuna for Nantucket, where, with that cunning peculiar to craziness, he assumed a steady, common - sense exterior, and offered himself as a green - hand candidate for the Jeroboam's whaling voyage.
They engaged him; but straightway upon the ship's getting out of sight of land, his insanity broke out in a freshet.
He announced himself as the archangel Gabriel, and commanded the captain to jump overboard.
He published his manifesto, whereby he set himself forth as the deliverer of the isles of the sea and vicar - general of all Oceanica.
Moreover, they were afraid of him.
So strongly did he work upon his disciples among the crew, that at last in a body they went to the captain and told him if Gabriel was sent from the ship, not a man of them would remain.
He was therefore forced to relinquish his plan.
Nor would they permit Gabriel to be any way maltreated, say or do what he would; so that it came to pass that Gabriel had the complete freedom of the ship.
The sailors, mostly poor devils, cringed, and some of them fawned before him; in obedience to his instructions, sometimes rendering him personal homage, as to a god.
Such things may seem incredible; but, however wondrous, they are true.
Nor is the history of fanatics half so striking in respect to the measureless self - deception of the fanatic himself, as his measureless power of deceiving and bedevilling so many others.
But it is time to return to the Pequod.
" I fear not thy epidemic, man," said Ahab from the bulwarks, to Captain Mayhew, who stood in the boat's stern; " come on board."
But now Gabriel started to his feet.
" Think, think of the fevers, yellow and bilious!
Beware of the horrible plague!"
" Gabriel!
Gabriel!"
cried Captain Mayhew; " thou must either --" But that instant a headlong wave shot the boat far ahead, and its seethings drowned all speech.
" Hast thou seen the White Whale?"
demanded Ahab, when the boat drifted back.
" Think, think of thy whale - boat, stoven and sunk!
Beware of the horrible tail!"
" I tell thee again, Gabriel, that --" But again the boat tore ahead as if dragged by fiends.
Nothing was said for some moments, while a succession of riotous waves rolled by, which by one of those occasional caprices of the seas were tumbling, not heaving it.
Meantime, the hoisted sperm whale's head jogged about very violently, and Gabriel was seen eyeing it with rather more apprehensiveness than his archangel nature seemed to warrant.
When this interlude was over, Captain Mayhew began a dark story concerning Moby Dick; not, however, without frequent interruptions from Gabriel, whenever his name was mentioned, and the crazy sea that seemed leagued with him.
It seemed that the Jeroboam had not long left home, when upon speaking a whale - ship, her people were reliably apprised of the existence of Moby Dick, and the havoc he had made.
With them he pushed off; and, after much weary pulling, and many perilous, unsuccessful onsets, he at last succeeded in getting one iron fast.
Meantime, Gabriel, ascending to the main - royal mast - head, was tossing one arm in frantic gestures, and hurling forth prophecies of speedy doom to the sacrilegious assailants of his divinity.
Now, while Macey, the mate, was standing up in his boat's bow, and with all the reckless energy of his tribe was venting his wild exclamations upon the whale, and essaying to get a fair chance for his poised lance, lo!
a broad white shadow rose from the sea; by its quick, fanning motion, temporarily taking the breath out of the bodies of the oarsmen.
Next instant, the luckless mate, so full of furious life, was smitten bodily into the air, and making a long arc in his descent, fell into the sea at the distance of about fifty yards.
Not a chip of the boat was harmed, nor a hair of any oarsman's head; but the mate for ever sank.
It is well to parenthesize here, that of the fatal accidents in the Sperm - Whale Fishery, this kind is perhaps almost as frequent as any.
Sometimes, nothing is injured but the man who is thus annihilated; oftener the boat's bow is knocked off, or the thigh - board, in which the headsman stands, is torn from its place and accompanies the body.
But strangest of all is the circumstance, that in more instances than one, when the body has been recovered, not a single mark of violence is discernible; the man being stark dead.
The whole calamity, with the falling form of Macey, was plainly descried from the ship.
Raising a piercing shriek --" The vial!
the vial!"
Gabriel called off the terror - stricken crew from the further hunting of the whale.
He became a nameless terror to the ship.
Mayhew having concluded his narration, Ahab put such questions to him, that the stranger captain could not forbear inquiring whether he intended to hunt the White Whale, if opportunity should offer.
To which Ahab answered --" Aye."
Straightway, then, Gabriel once more started to his feet, glaring upon the old man, and vehemently exclaimed, with downward pointed finger --" Think, think of the blasphemer--dead, and down there!-- beware of the blasphemer's end!"
Ahab stolidly turned aside; then said to Mayhew, " Captain, I have just bethought me of my letter - bag; there is a letter for one of thy officers, if I mistake not.
Starbuck, look over the bag."
Every whale - ship takes out a goodly number of letters for various ships, whose delivery to the persons to whom they may be addressed, depends upon the mere chance of encountering them in the four oceans.
Thus, most letters never reach their mark; and many are only received after attaining an age of two or three years or more.
Soon Starbuck returned with a letter in his hand.
It was sorely tumbled, damp, and covered with a dull, spotted, green mould, in consequence of being kept in a dark locker of the cabin.
Of such a letter, Death himself might well have been the post - boy.
" Can'st not read it?"
cried Ahab.
" Give it me, man.
Aye, aye, it's but a dim scrawl;-- what's this?"
As he was studying it out, Starbuck took a long cutting - spade pole, and with his knife slightly split the end, to insert the letter there, and in that way, hand it to the boat, without its coming any closer to the ship.
Meantime, Ahab holding the letter, muttered, " Mr. Har--yes, Mr. Harry --(a woman's pinny hand,-- the man's wife, I'll wager)-- Aye--Mr. Harry Macey, Ship Jeroboam;-- why it's Macey, and he's dead!"
" Poor fellow!
poor fellow!
and from his wife," sighed Mayhew; " but let me have it."
" Nay, keep it thyself," cried Gabriel to Ahab; " thou art soon going that way."
" Curses throttle thee!"
yelled Ahab.
" Captain Mayhew, stand by now to receive it "; and taking the fatal missive from Starbuck's hands, he caught it in the slit of the pole, and reached it over towards the boat.
But as he did so, the oarsmen expectantly desisted from rowing; the boat drifted a little towards the ship's stern; so that, as if by magic, the letter suddenly ranged along with Gabriel's eager hand.
He clutched it in an instant, seized the boat - knife, and impaling the letter on it, sent it thus loaded back into the ship.
It fell at Ahab's feet.
Then Gabriel shrieked out to his comrades to give way with their oars, and in that manner the mutinous boat rapidly shot away from the Pequod.
As, after this interlude, the seamen resumed their work upon the jacket of the whale, many strange things were hinted in reference to this wild affair.
CHAPTER 72
The Monkey - Rope.
In the tumultuous business of cutting - in and attending to a whale, there is much running backwards and forwards among the crew.
Now hands are wanted here, and then again hands are wanted there.
There is no staying in any one place; for at one and the same time everything has to be done everywhere.
It is much the same with him who endeavors the description of the scene.
We must now retrace our way a little.
It was mentioned that upon first breaking ground in the whale's back, the blubber - hook was inserted into the original hole there cut by the spades of the mates.
But how did so clumsy and weighty a mass as that same hook get fixed in that hole?
It was inserted there by my particular friend Queequeg, whose duty it was, as harpooneer, to descend upon the monster's back for the special purpose referred to.
But in very many cases, circumstances require that the harpooneer shall remain on the whale till the whole tensing or stripping operation is concluded.
The whale, be it observed, lies almost entirely submerged, excepting the immediate parts operated upon.
So down there, some ten feet below the level of the deck, the poor harpooneer flounders about, half on the whale and half in the water, as the vast mass revolves like a tread - mill beneath him.
On the occasion in question, Queequeg figured in the Highland costume--a shirt and socks--in which to my eyes, at least, he appeared to uncommon advantage; and no one had a better chance to observe him, as will presently be seen.
Being the savage's bowsman, that is, the person who pulled the bow - oar in his boat (the second one from forward), it was my cheerful duty to attend upon him while taking that hard - scrabble scramble upon the dead whale's back.
You have seen Italian organ - boys holding a dancing - ape by a long cord.
Just so, from the ship's steep side, did I hold Queequeg down there in the sea, by what is technically called in the fishery a monkey - rope, attached to a strong strip of canvas belted round his waist.
It was a humorously perilous business for both of us.
For, before we proceed further, it must be said that the monkey - rope was fast at both ends; fast to Queequeg's broad canvas belt, and fast to my narrow leather one.
So that for better or for worse, we two, for the time, were wedded; and should poor Queequeg sink to rise no more, then both usage and honour demanded, that instead of cutting the cord, it should drag me down in his wake.
So, then, an elongated Siamese ligature united us.
Queequeg was my own inseparable twin brother; nor could I any way get rid of the dangerous liabilities which the hempen bond entailed.
Therefore, I saw that here was a sort of interregnum in Providence; for its even - handed equity never could have so gross an injustice.
If your banker breaks, you snap; if your apothecary by mistake sends you poison in your pills, you die.
True, you may say that, by exceeding caution, you may possibly escape these and the multitudinous other evil chances of life.
But handle Queequeg's monkey - rope heedfully as I would, sometimes he jerked it so, that I came very near sliding overboard.
Nor could I possibly forget that, do what I would, I only had the management of one end of it.
* The monkey - rope is found in all whalers; but it was only in the Pequod that the monkey and his holder were ever tied together.
This improvement upon the original usage was introduced by no less a man than Stubb, in order to afford the imperilled harpooneer the strongest possible guarantee for the faithfulness and vigilance of his monkey - rope holder.
I have hinted that I would often jerk poor Queequeg from between the whale and the ship--where he would occasionally fall, from the incessant rolling and swaying of both.
But this was not the only jamming jeopardy he was exposed to.
Unappalled by the massacre made upon them during the night, the sharks now freshly and more keenly allured by the before pent blood which began to flow from the carcass--the rabid creatures swarmed round it like bees in a beehive.
And right in among those sharks was Queequeg; who often pushed them aside with his floundering feet.
A thing altogether incredible were it not that attracted by such prey as a dead whale, the otherwise miscellaneously carnivorous shark will seldom touch a man.
Nevertheless, it may well be believed that since they have such a ravenous finger in the pie, it is deemed but wise to look sharp to them.
Accordingly, besides the monkey - rope, with which I now and then jerked the poor fellow from too close a vicinity to the maw of what seemed a peculiarly ferocious shark--he was provided with still another protection.
Suspended over the side in one of the stages, Tashtego and Daggoo continually flourished over his head a couple of keen whale - spades, wherewith they slaughtered as many sharks as they could reach.
This procedure of theirs, to be sure, was very disinterested and benevolent of them.
But poor Queequeg, I suppose, straining and gasping there with that great iron hook--poor Queequeg, I suppose, only prayed to his Yojo, and gave up his life into the hands of his gods.
Well, well, my dear comrade and twin - brother, thought I, as I drew in and then slacked off the rope to every swell of the sea--what matters it, after all?
Are you not the precious image of each and all of us men in this whaling world?
That unsounded ocean you gasp in, is Life; those sharks, your foes; those spades, your friends; and what between sharks and spades you are in a sad pickle and peril, poor lad.
But courage!
there is good cheer in store for you, Queequeg.
For now, as with blue lips and blood - shot eyes the exhausted savage at last climbs up the chains and stands all dripping and involuntarily trembling over the side; the steward advances, and with a benevolent, consolatory glance hands him--what?
Some hot Cognac?
No!
hands him, ye gods!
hands him a cup of tepid ginger and water!
" Ginger?
Do I smell ginger?"
suspiciously asked Stubb, coming near.
" Yes, this must be ginger," peering into the as yet untasted cup.
Then standing as if incredulous for a while, he calmly walked towards the astonished steward slowly saying, " Ginger?
ginger?
and will you have the goodness to tell me, Mr. Dough - Boy, where lies the virtue of ginger?
Ginger!
is ginger the sort of fuel you use, Dough - boy, to kindle a fire in this shivering cannibal?
Ginger!-- what the devil is ginger?-- sea - coal?
firewood?-- lucifer matches?-- tinder?-- gunpowder?-- what the devil is ginger, I say, that you offer this cup to our poor Queequeg here."
" There is some sneaking Temperance Society movement about this business," he suddenly added, now approaching Starbuck, who had just come from forward.
" Will you look at that kannakin, sir; smell of it, if you please."
Then watching the mate's countenance, he added, " The steward, Mr. Starbuck, had the face to offer that calomel and jalap to Queequeg, there, this instant off the whale.
Is the steward an apothecary, sir?
and may I ask whether this is the sort of bitters by which he blows back the life into a half - drowned man?"
" I trust not," said Starbuck, " it is poor stuff enough."
" Aye, aye, steward," cried Stubb, " we'll teach you to drug it harpooneer; none of your apothecary's medicine here; you want to poison us, do ye?
You have got out insurances on our lives and want to murder us all, and pocket the proceeds, do ye?"
" It was not me," cried Dough - Boy, " it was Aunt Charity that brought the ginger on board; and bade me never give the harpooneers any spirits, but only this ginger - jub--so she called it."
" Ginger - jub!
you gingerly rascal!
take that!
and run along with ye to the lockers, and get something better.
I hope I do no wrong, Mr. Starbuck.
It is the captain's orders--grog for the harpooneer on a whale."
" Enough," replied Starbuck, " only don't hit him again, but --"
" Oh, I never hurt when I hit, except when I hit a whale or something of that sort; and this fellow's a weazel.
What were you about saying, sir?"
" Only this: go down with him, and get what thou wantest thyself."
When Stubb reappeared, he came with a dark flask in one hand, and a sort of tea - caddy in the other.
The first contained strong spirits, and was handed to Queequeg; the second was Aunt Charity's gift, and that was freely given to the waves.
CHAPTER 73
Stubb and Flask Kill a Right Whale; and Then Have a Talk Over Him.
It must be borne in mind that all this time we have a Sperm Whale's prodigious head hanging to the Pequod's side.
But we must let it continue hanging there a while till we can get a chance to attend to it.
For the present other matters press, and the best we can do now for the head, is to pray heaven the tackles may hold.
Nor was this long wanting.
Tall spouts were seen to leeward; and two boats, Stubb's and Flask's, were detached in pursuit.
Pulling further and further away, they at last became almost invisible to the men at the mast - head.
But suddenly in the distance, they saw a great heap of tumultuous white water, and soon after news came from aloft that one or both the boats must be fast.
An interval passed and the boats were in plain sight, in the act of being dragged right towards the ship by the towing whale.
So close did the monster come to the hull, that at first it seemed as if he meant it malice; but suddenly going down in a maelstrom, within three rods of the planks, he wholly disappeared from view, as if diving under the keel.
" Cut, cut!"
was the cry from the ship to the boats, which, for one instant, seemed on the point of being brought with a deadly dash against the vessel's side.
But having plenty of line yet in the tubs, and the whale not sounding very rapidly, they paid out abundance of rope, and at the same time pulled with all their might so as to get ahead of the ship.
For a few minutes the struggle was intensely critical; for while they still slacked out the tightened line in one direction, and still plied their oars in another, the contending strain threatened to take them under.
But it was only a few feet advance they sought to gain.
But the fagged whale abated his speed, and blindly altering his course, went round the stern of the ship towing the two boats after him, so that they performed a complete circuit.
At last his spout grew thick, and with a frightful roll and vomit, he turned upon his back a corpse.
While the two headsmen were engaged in making fast cords to his flukes, and in other ways getting the mass in readiness for towing, some conversation ensued between them.
" I wonder what the old man wants with this lump of foul lard," said Stubb, not without some disgust at the thought of having to do with so ignoble a leviathan.
" Wants with it?"
" Why not?
" I don't know, but I heard that gamboge ghost of a Fedallah saying so, and he seems to know all about ships'charms.
But I sometimes think he'll charm the ship to no good at last.
I don't half like that chap, Stubb.
Did you ever notice how that tusk of his is a sort of carved into a snake's head, Stubb?"
" Sink him!
I never look at him at all; but if ever I get a chance of a dark night, and he standing hard by the bulwarks, and no one by; look down there, Flask "-- pointing into the sea with a peculiar motion of both hands --" Aye, will I!
Flask, I take that Fedallah to be the devil in disguise.
Do you believe that cock and bull story about his having been stowed away on board ship?
He's the devil, I say.
The reason why you don't see his tail, is because he tucks it up out of sight; he carries it coiled away in his pocket, I guess.
Blast him!
now that I think of it, he's always wanting oakum to stuff into the toes of his boots."
" He sleeps in his boots, don't he?
He hasn't got any hammock; but I've seen him lay of nights in a coil of rigging."
" No doubt, and it's because of his cursed tail; he coils it down, do ye see, in the eye of the rigging."
" What's the old man have so much to do with him for?"
" Striking up a swap or a bargain, I suppose."
" Bargain?-- about what?"
" Why, do ye see, the old man is hard bent after that White Whale, and the devil there is trying to come round him, and get him to swap away his silver watch, or his soul, or something of that sort, and then he'll surrender Moby Dick."
" Pooh!
Stubb, you are skylarking; how can Fedallah do that?"
" I don't know, Flask, but the devil is a curious chap, and a wicked one, I tell ye.
Why, they say as how he went a sauntering into the old flag - ship once, switching his tail about devilish easy and gentlemanlike, and inquiring if the old governor was at home.
Well, he was at home, and asked the devil what he wanted.
The devil, switching his hoofs, up and says,'I want John.'
' What for?'
says the old governor.
' What business is that of yours,' says the devil, getting mad,--' I want to use him.'
' Take him,' says the governor--and by the Lord, Flask, if the devil didn't give John the Asiatic cholera before he got through with him, I'll eat this whale in one mouthful.
But look sharp--ain't you all ready there?
Well, then, pull ahead, and let's get the whale alongside."
" I think I remember some such story as you were telling," said Flask, when at last the two boats were slowly advancing with their burden towards the ship, " but I can't remember where."
" Three Spaniards?
Adventures of those three bloody - minded soladoes?
Did ye read it there, Flask?
I guess ye did?"
" No: never saw such a book; heard of it, though.
But now, tell me, Stubb, do you suppose that that devil you was speaking of just now, was the same you say is now on board the Pequod?"
" Am I the same man that helped kill this whale?
Doesn't the devil live for ever; who ever heard that the devil was dead?
Did you ever see any parson a wearing mourning for the devil?
And if the devil has a latch - key to get into the admiral's cabin, don't you suppose he can crawl into a porthole?
Tell me that, Mr.
Flask?"
" How old do you suppose Fedallah is, Stubb?"
" Do you see that mainmast there?"
pointing to the ship; " well, that's the figure one; now take all the hoops in the Pequod's hold, and string along in a row with that mast, for oughts, do you see; well, that wouldn't begin to be Fedallah's age.
Nor all the coopers in creation couldn't show hoops enough to make oughts enough."
" But see here, Stubb, I thought you a little boasted just now, that you meant to give Fedallah a sea - toss, if you got a good chance.
Now, if he's so old as all those hoops of yours come to, and if he is going to live for ever, what good will it do to pitch him overboard--tell me that?
" Give him a good ducking, anyhow."
" But he'd crawl back."
" Duck him again; and keep ducking him."
" Suppose he should take it into his head to duck you, though--yes, and drown you--what then?"
" I should like to see him try it; I'd give him such a pair of black eyes that he wouldn't dare to show his face in the admiral's cabin again for a long while, let alone down in the orlop there, where he lives, and hereabouts on the upper decks where he sneaks so much.
Damn the devil, Flask; so you suppose I'm afraid of the devil?
Who's afraid of him, except the old governor who daresn't catch him and put him in double - darbies, as he deserves, but lets him go about kidnapping people; aye, and signed a bond with him, that all the people the devil kidnapped, he'd roast for him?
There's a governor!"
" Do you suppose Fedallah wants to kidnap Captain Ahab?"
" Do I suppose it?
You'll know it before long, Flask.
" And what will you do with the tail, Stubb?"
" Do with it?
Sell it for an ox whip when we get home;-- what else?"
" Now, do you mean what you say, and have been saying all along, Stubb?"
" Mean or not mean, here we are at the ship."
The boats were here hailed, to tow the whale on the larboard side, where fluke chains and other necessaries were already prepared for securing him.
" Didn't I tell you so?"
said Flask; " yes, you'll soon see this right whale's head hoisted up opposite that parmacetti's."
In good time, Flask's saying proved true.
As before, the Pequod steeply leaned over towards the sperm whale's head, now, by the counterpoise of both heads, she regained her even keel; though sorely strained, you may well believe.
So, when on one side you hoist in Locke's head, you go over that way; but now, on the other side, hoist in Kant's and you come back again; but in very poor plight.
Thus, some minds for ever keep trimming boat.
Oh, ye foolish!
throw all these thunder - heads overboard, and then you will float light and right.
But nothing like this, in the present case, had been done.
The carcases of both whales had dropped astern; and the head - laden ship not a little resembled a mule carrying a pair of overburdening panniers.
Meantime, Fedallah was calmly eyeing the right whale's head, and ever and anon glancing from the deep wrinkles there to the lines in his own hand.
And Ahab chanced so to stand, that the Parsee occupied his shadow; while, if the Parsee's shadow was there at all it seemed only to blend with, and lengthen Ahab's.
As the crew toiled on, Laplandish speculations were bandied among them, concerning all these passing things.
CHAPTER 74
The Sperm Whale's Head--Contrasted View.
Here, now, are two great whales, laying their heads together; let us join them, and lay together our own.
Of the grand order of folio leviathans, the Sperm Whale and the Right Whale are by far the most noteworthy.
They are the only whales regularly hunted by man.
To the Nantucketer, they present the two extremes of all the known varieties of the whale.
In the first place, you are struck by the general contrast between these heads.
Both are massive enough in all conscience; but there is a certain mathematical symmetry in the Sperm Whale's which the Right Whale's sadly lacks.
There is more character in the Sperm Whale's head.
As you behold it, you involuntarily yield the immense superiority to him, in point of pervading dignity.
In the present instance, too, this dignity is heightened by the pepper and salt colour of his head at the summit, giving token of advanced age and large experience.
In short, he is what the fishermen technically call a " grey - headed whale."
Let us now note what is least dissimilar in these heads--namely, the two most important organs, the eye and the ear.
Far back on the side of the head, and low down, near the angle of either whale's jaw, if you narrowly search, you will at last see a lashless eye, which you would fancy to be a young colt's eye; so out of all proportion is it to the magnitude of the head.
Now, from this peculiar sideway position of the whale's eyes, it is plain that he can never see an object which is exactly ahead, no more than he can one exactly astern.
In a word, the position of the whale's eyes corresponds to that of a man's ears; and you may fancy, for yourself, how it would fare with you, did you sideways survey objects through your ears.
You would find that you could only command some thirty degrees of vision in advance of the straight side - line of sight; and about thirty more behind it.
If your bitterest foe were walking straight towards you, with dagger uplifted in broad day, you would not be able to see him, any more than if he were stealing upon you from behind.
In a word, you would have two backs, so to speak; but, at the same time, also, two fronts (side fronts): for what is it that makes the front of a man--what, indeed, but his eyes?
The whale, therefore, must see one distinct picture on this side, and another distinct picture on that side; while all between must be profound darkness and nothingness to him.
Man may, in effect, be said to look out on the world from a sentry - box with two joined sashes for his window.
But with the whale, these two sashes are separately inserted, making two distinct windows, but sadly impairing the view.
This peculiarity of the whale's eyes is a thing always to be borne in mind in the fishery; and to be remembered by the reader in some subsequent scenes.
A curious and most puzzling question might be started concerning this visual matter as touching the Leviathan.
But I must be content with a hint.
So long as a man's eyes are open in the light, the act of seeing is involuntary; that is, he cannot then help mechanically seeing whatever objects are before him.
But if you now come to separate these two objects, and surround each by a circle of profound darkness; then, in order to see one of them, in such a manner as to bring your mind to bear on it, the other will be utterly excluded from your contemporary consciousness.
How is it, then, with the whale?
If he can, then is it as marvellous a thing in him, as if a man were able simultaneously to go through the demonstrations of two distinct problems in Euclid.
Nor, strictly investigated, is there any incongruity in this comparison.
But the ear of the whale is full as curious as the eye.
If you are an entire stranger to their race, you might hunt over these two heads for hours, and never discover that organ.
The ear has no external leaf whatever; and into the hole itself you can hardly insert a quill, so wondrously minute is it.
It is lodged a little behind the eye.
With respect to their ears, this important difference is to be observed between the sperm whale and the right.
While the ear of the former has an external opening, that of the latter is entirely and evenly covered over with a membrane, so as to be quite imperceptible from without.
Is it not curious, that so vast a being as the whale should see the world through so small an eye, and hear the thunder through an ear which is smaller than a hare's?
But if his eyes were broad as the lens of Herschel's great telescope; and his ears capacious as the porches of cathedrals; would that make him any longer of sight, or sharper of hearing?
Not at all.-- Why then do you try to " enlarge " your mind?
Subtilize it.
But let us hold on here by this tooth, and look about us where we are.
What a really beautiful and chaste - looking mouth!
from floor to ceiling, lined, or rather papered with a glistening white membrane, glossy as bridal satins.
But come out now, and look at this portentous lower jaw, which seems like the long narrow lid of an immense snuff - box, with the hinge at one end, instead of one side.
If you pry it up, so as to get it overhead, and expose its rows of teeth, it seems a terrific portcullis; and such, alas!
it proves to many a poor wight in the fishery, upon whom these spikes fall with impaling force.
But far more terrible is it to behold, when fathoms down in the sea, you see some sulky whale, floating there suspended, with his prodigious jaw, some fifteen feet long, hanging straight down at right - angles with his body, for all the world like a ship's jib - boom.
This whale is not dead; he is only dispirited; out of sorts, perhaps; hypochondriac; and so supine, that the hinges of his jaw have relaxed, leaving him there in that ungainly sort of plight, a reproach to all his tribe, who must, no doubt, imprecate lock - jaws upon him.
With a long, weary hoist the jaw is dragged on board, as if it were an anchor; and when the proper time comes--some few days after the other work--Queequeg, Daggoo, and Tashtego, being all accomplished dentists, are set to drawing teeth.
With a keen cutting - spade, Queequeg lances the gums; then the jaw is lashed down to ringbolts, and a tackle being rigged from aloft, they drag out these teeth, as Michigan oxen drag stumps of old oaks out of wild wood lands.
There are generally forty - two teeth in all; in old whales, much worn down, but undecayed; nor filled after our artificial fashion.
The jaw is afterwards sawn into slabs, and piled away like joists for building houses.
CHAPTER 75
The Right Whale's Head--Contrasted View.
Crossing the deck, let us now have a good long look at the Right Whale's head.
As in general shape the noble Sperm Whale's head may be compared to a Roman war - chariot (especially in front, where it is so broadly rounded); so, at a broad view, the Right Whale's head bears a rather inelegant resemblance to a gigantic galliot - toed shoe.
Two hundred years ago an old Dutch voyager likened its shape to that of a shoemaker's last.
And in this same last or shoe, that old woman of the nursery tale, with the swarming brood, might very comfortably be lodged, she and all her progeny.
But as you come nearer to this great head it begins to assume different aspects, according to your point of view.
If you stand on its summit and look at these two F - shaped spoutholes, you would take the whole head for an enormous bass - viol, and these spiracles, the apertures in its sounding - board.
But if this whale be a king, he is a very sulky looking fellow to grace a diadem.
Look at that hanging lower lip!
what a huge sulk and pout is there!
a sulk and pout, by carpenter's measurement, about twenty feet long and five feet deep; a sulk and pout that will yield you some 500 gallons of oil and more.
A great pity, now, that this unfortunate whale should be hare - lipped.
The fissure is about a foot across.
Probably the mother during an important interval was sailing down the Peruvian coast, when earthquakes caused the beach to gape.
Over this lip, as over a slippery threshold, we now slide into the mouth.
Upon my word were I at Mackinaw, I should take this to be the inside of an Indian wigwam.
Good Lord!
is this the road that Jonah went?
The edges of these bones are fringed with hairy fibres, through which the Right Whale strains the water, and in whose intricacies he retains the small fish, when openmouthed he goes through the seas of brit in feeding time.
In the central blinds of bone, as they stand in their natural order, there are certain curious marks, curves, hollows, and ridges, whereby some whalemen calculate the creature's age, as the age of an oak by its circular rings.
Though the certainty of this criterion is far from demonstrable, yet it has the savor of analogical probability.
At any rate, if we yield to it, we must grant a far greater age to the Right Whale than at first glance will seem reasonable.
In old times, there seem to have prevailed the most curious fancies concerning these blinds.
* This reminds us that the Right Whale really has a sort of whisker, or rather a moustache, consisting of a few scattered white hairs on the upper part of the outer end of the lower jaw.
Sometimes these tufts impart a rather brigandish expression to his otherwise solemn countenance.
As every one knows, these same " hogs'bristles," " fins," " whiskers," " blinds," or whatever you please, furnish to the ladies their busks and other stiffening contrivances.
But in this particular, the demand has long been on the decline.
It was in Queen Anne's time that the bone was in its glory, the farthingale being then all the fashion.
And as those ancient dames moved about gaily, though in the jaws of the whale, as you may say; even so, in a shower, with the like thoughtlessness, do we nowadays fly under the same jaws for protection; the umbrella being a tent spread over the same bone.
But now forget all about blinds and whiskers for a moment, and, standing in the Right Whale's mouth, look around you afresh.
Seeing all these colonnades of bone so methodically ranged about, would you not think you were inside of the great Haarlem organ, and gazing upon its thousand pipes?
For a carpet to the organ we have a rug of the softest Turkey--the tongue, which is glued, as it were, to the floor of the mouth.
It is very fat and tender, and apt to tear in pieces in hoisting it on deck.
This particular tongue now before us; at a passing glance I should say it was a six - barreler; that is, it will yield you about that amount of oil.
Ere this, you must have plainly seen the truth of what I started with--that the Sperm Whale and the Right Whale have almost entirely different heads.
To sum up, then: in the Right Whale's there is no great well of sperm; no ivory teeth at all; no long, slender mandible of a lower jaw, like the Sperm Whale's.
Nor in the Sperm Whale are there any of those blinds of bone; no huge lower lip; and scarcely anything of a tongue.
Again, the Right Whale has two external spout - holes, the Sperm Whale only one.
Look your last, now, on these venerable hooded heads, while they yet lie together; for one will soon sink, unrecorded, in the sea; the other will not be very long in following.
Can you catch the expression of the Sperm Whale's there?
It is the same he died with, only some of the longer wrinkles in the forehead seem now faded away.
I think his broad brow to be full of a prairie - like placidity, born of a speculative indifference as to death.
But mark the other head's expression.
See that amazing lower lip, pressed by accident against the vessel's side, so as firmly to embrace the jaw.
Does not this whole head seem to speak of an enormous practical resolution in facing death?
This Right Whale I take to have been a Stoic; the Sperm Whale, a Platonian, who might have taken up Spinoza in his latter years.
CHAPTER 76
The Battering - Ram.
Ere quitting, for the nonce, the Sperm Whale's head, I would have you, as a sensible physiologist, simply--particularly remark its front aspect, in all its compacted collectedness.
I would have you investigate it now with the sole view of forming to yourself some unexaggerated, intelligent estimate of whatever battering - ram power may be lodged there.
Here is a vital point; for you must either satisfactorily settle this matter with yourself, or for ever remain an infidel as to one of the most appalling, but not the less true events, perhaps anywhere to be found in all recorded history.
Moreover you observe that the whale has no external nose; and that what nose he has--his spout hole--is on the top of his head; you observe that his eyes and ears are at the sides of his head, nearly one third of his entire length from the front.
Wherefore, you must now have perceived that the front of the Sperm Whale's head is a dead, blind wall, without a single organ or tender prominence of any sort whatsoever.
Furthermore, you are now to consider that only in the extreme, lower, backward sloping part of the front of the head, is there the slightest vestige of bone; and not till you get near twenty feet from the forehead do you come to the full cranial development.
So that this whole enormous boneless mass is as one wad.
Finally, though, as will soon be revealed, its contents partly comprise the most delicate oil; yet, you are now to be apprised of the nature of the substance which so impregnably invests all that apparent effeminacy.
In some previous place I have described to you how the blubber wraps the body of the whale, as the rind wraps an orange.
Just so with the head; but with this difference: about the head this envelope, though not so thick, is of a boneless toughness, inestimable by any man who has not handled it.
The severest pointed harpoon, the sharpest lance darted by the strongest human arm, impotently rebounds from it.
It is as though the forehead of the Sperm Whale were paved with horses'hoofs.
I do not think that any sensation lurks in it.
Bethink yourself also of another thing.
When two large, loaded Indiamen chance to crowd and crush towards each other in the docks, what do the sailors do?
They do not suspend between them, at the point of coming contact, any merely hard substance, like iron or wood.
No, they hold there a large, round wad of tow and cork, enveloped in the thickest and toughest of ox - hide.
That bravely and uninjured takes the jam which would have snapped all their oaken handspikes and iron crow - bars.
By itself this sufficiently illustrates the obvious fact I drive at.
If this be so, fancy the irresistibleness of that might, to which the most impalpable and destructive of all elements contributes.
Now, mark.
Unerringly impelling this dead, impregnable, uninjurable wall, and this most buoyant thing within; there swims behind it all a mass of tremendous life, only to be adequately estimated as piled wood is--by the cord; and all obedient to one volition, as the smallest insect.
For unless you own the whale, you are but a provincial and sentimentalist in Truth.
But clear Truth is a thing for salamander giants only to encounter; how small the chances for the provincials then?
What befell the weakling youth lifting the dread goddess's veil at Lais?
CHAPTER 77
The Great Heidelburgh Tun.
Now comes the Baling of the Case.
But to comprehend it aright, you must know something of the curious internal structure of the thing operated upon.
At the middle of the forehead horizontally subdivide this upper quoin, and then you have two almost equal parts, which before were naturally divided by an internal wall of a thick tendinous substance.
* Quoin is not a Euclidean term.
It belongs to the pure nautical mathematics.
I know not that it has been defined before.
A quoin is a solid which differs from a wedge in having its sharp end formed by the steep inclination of one side, instead of the mutual tapering of both sides.
The lower subdivided part, called the junk, is one immense honeycomb of oil, formed by the crossing and recrossing, into ten thousand infiltrated cells, of tough elastic white fibres throughout its whole extent.
The upper part, known as the Case, may be regarded as the great Heidelburgh Tun of the Sperm Whale.
And as that famous great tierce is mystically carved in front, so the whale's vast plaited forehead forms innumerable strange devices for the emblematical adornment of his wondrous tun.
Nor is this precious substance found unalloyed in any other part of the creature.
Though in life it remains perfectly fluid, yet, upon exposure to the air, after death, it soon begins to concrete; sending forth beautiful crystalline shoots, as when the first thin delicate ice is just forming in water.
A large whale's case generally yields about five hundred gallons of sperm, though from unavoidable circumstances, considerable of it is spilled, leaks, and dribbles away, or is otherwise irrevocably lost in the ticklish business of securing what you can.
It is this decapitated end of the head, also, which is at last elevated out of the water, and retained in that position by the enormous cutting tackles, whose hempen combinations, on one side, make quite a wilderness of ropes in that quarter.
Thus much being said, attend now, I pray you, to that marvellous and--in this particular instance--almost fatal operation whereby the Sperm Whale's great Heidelburgh Tun is tapped.
CHAPTER 78
Cistern and Buckets.
Nimble as a cat, Tashtego mounts aloft; and without altering his erect posture, runs straight out upon the overhanging mainyard - arm, to the part where it exactly projects over the hoisted Tun.
He has carried with him a light tackle called a whip, consisting of only two parts, travelling through a single - sheaved block.
Securing this block, so that it hangs down from the yard - arm, he swings one end of the rope, till it is caught and firmly held by a hand on deck.
Then, hand - over - hand, down the other part, the Indian drops through the air, till dexterously he lands on the summit of the head.
There--still high elevated above the rest of the company, to whom he vivaciously cries--he seems some Turkish Muezzin calling the good people to prayers from the top of a tower.
A short - handled sharp spade being sent up to him, he diligently searches for the proper place to begin breaking into the Tun.
In this business he proceeds very heedfully, like a treasure - hunter in some old house, sounding the walls to find where the gold is masoned in.
By the time this cautious search is over, a stout iron - bound bucket, precisely like a well - bucket, has been attached to one end of the whip; while the other end, being stretched across the deck, is there held by two or three alert hands.
These last now hoist the bucket within grasp of the Indian, to whom another person has reached up a very long pole.
Inserting this pole into the bucket, Tashtego downward guides the bucket into the Tun, till it entirely disappears; then giving the word to the seamen at the whip, up comes the bucket again, all bubbling like a dairy - maid's pail of new milk.
Carefully lowered from its height, the full - freighted vessel is caught by an appointed hand, and quickly emptied into a large tub.
Then remounting aloft, it again goes through the same round until the deep cistern will yield no more.
Towards the end, Tashtego has to ram his long pole harder and harder, and deeper and deeper into the Tun, until some twenty feet of the pole have gone down.
Now, the people of the Pequod had been baling some time in this way; several tubs had been filled with the fragrant sperm; when all at once a queer accident happened.
poor Tashtego--like the twin reciprocating bucket in a veritable well, dropped head - foremost down into this great Tun of Heidelburgh, and with a horrible oily gurgling, went clean out of sight!
" Man overboard!"
cried Daggoo, who amid the general consternation first came to his senses.
" Swing the bucket this way!"
and putting one foot into it, so as the better to secure his slippery hand - hold on the whip itself, the hoisters ran him high up to the top of the head, almost before Tashtego could have reached its interior bottom.
Meantime, there was a terrible tumult.
The one remaining hook, upon which the entire strain now depended, seemed every instant to be on the point of giving way; an event still more likely from the violent motions of the head.
" Come down, come down!"
" In heaven's name, man," cried Stubb, " are you ramming home a cartridge there?-- Avast!
How will that help him; jamming that iron - bound bucket on top of his head?
Avast, will ye!"
" Stand clear of the tackle!"
cried a voice like the bursting of a rocket.
But hardly had the blinding vapour cleared away, when a naked figure with a boarding - sword in his hand, was for one swift moment seen hovering over the bulwarks.
The next, a loud splash announced that my brave Queequeg had dived to the rescue.
One packed rush was made to the side, and every eye counted every ripple, as moment followed moment, and no sign of either the sinker or the diver could be seen.
Some hands now jumped into a boat alongside, and pushed a little off from the ship.
" Ha!
ha!"
cried Daggoo, all at once, from his now quiet, swinging perch overhead; and looking further off from the side, we saw an arm thrust upright from the blue waves; a sight strange to see, as an arm thrust forth from the grass over a grave.
" Both!
both!-- it is both!"
-- cried Daggoo again with a joyful shout; and soon after, Queequeg was seen boldly striking out with one hand, and with the other clutching the long hair of the Indian.
Drawn into the waiting boat, they were quickly brought to the deck; but Tashtego was long in coming to, and Queequeg did not look very brisk.
Now, how had this noble rescue been accomplished?
Why, diving after the slowly descending head, Queequeg with his keen sword had made side lunges near its bottom, so as to scuttle a large hole there; then dropping his sword, had thrust his long arm far inwards and upwards, and so hauled out poor Tash by the head.
As for the great head itself, that was doing as well as could be expected.
Midwifery should be taught in the same course with fencing and boxing, riding and rowing.
But, peradventure, it may be sagaciously urged, how is this?
We thought the tissued, infiltrated head of the Sperm Whale, was the lightest and most corky part about him; and yet thou makest it sink in an element of a far greater specific gravity than itself.
We have thee there.
Yes, it was a running delivery, so it was.
Now, had Tashtego perished in that head, it had been a very precious perishing; smothered in the very whitest and daintiest of fragrant spermaceti; coffined, hearsed, and tombed in the secret inner chamber and sanctum sanctorum of the whale.
Only one sweeter end can readily be recalled--the delicious death of an Ohio honey - hunter, who seeking honey in the crotch of a hollow tree, found such exceeding store of it, that leaning too far over, it sucked him in, so that he died embalmed.
How many, think ye, have likewise fallen into Plato's honey head, and sweetly perished there?
CHAPTER 79
The Prairie.
To scan the lines of his face, or feel the bumps on the head of this Leviathan; this is a thing which no Physiognomist or Phrenologist has as yet undertaken.
Such an enterprise would seem almost as hopeful as for Lavater to have scrutinized the wrinkles on the Rock of Gibraltar, or for Gall to have mounted a ladder and manipulated the Dome of the Pantheon.
Still, in that famous work of his, Lavater not only treats of the various faces of men, but also attentively studies the faces of horses, birds, serpents, and fish; and dwells in detail upon the modifications of expression discernible therein.
Nor have Gall and his disciple Spurzheim failed to throw out some hints touching the phrenological characteristics of other beings than man.
Therefore, though I am but ill qualified for a pioneer, in the application of these two semi - sciences to the whale, I will do my endeavor.
I try all things; I achieve what I can.
Physiognomically regarded, the Sperm Whale is an anomalous creature.
He has no proper nose.
For as in landscape gardening, a spire, cupola, monument, or tower of some sort, is deemed almost indispensable to the completion of the scene; so no face can be physiognomically in keeping without the elevated open - work belfry of the nose.
Dash the nose from Phidias's marble Jove, and what a sorry remainder!
Nevertheless, Leviathan is of so mighty a magnitude, all his proportions are so stately, that the same deficiency which in the sculptured Jove were hideous, in him is no blemish at all.
Nay, it is an added grandeur.
A nose to the whale would have been impertinent.
As on your physiognomical voyage you sail round his vast head in your jolly - boat, your noble conceptions of him are never insulted by the reflection that he has a nose to be pulled.
A pestilent conceit, which so often will insist upon obtruding even when beholding the mightiest royal beadle on his throne.
In some particulars, perhaps the most imposing physiognomical view to be had of the Sperm Whale, is that of the full front of his head.
This aspect is sublime.
In thought, a fine human brow is like the East when troubled with the morning.
In the repose of the pasture, the curled brow of the bull has a touch of the grand in it.
Pushing heavy cannon up mountain defiles, the elephant's brow is majestic.
Human or animal, the mystical brow is as that great golden seal affixed by the German Emperors to their decrees.
It signifies --" God: done this day by my hand."
But in most creatures, nay in man himself, very often the brow is but a mere strip of alpine land lying along the snow line.
But in the great Sperm Whale, this high and mighty god - like dignity inherent in the brow is so immensely amplified, that gazing on it, in that full front view, you feel the Deity and the dread powers more forcibly than in beholding any other object in living nature.
For you see no one point precisely; not one distinct feature is revealed; no nose, eyes, ears, or mouth; no face; he has none, proper; nothing but that one broad firmament of a forehead, pleated with riddles; dumbly lowering with the doom of boats, and ships, and men.
Nor, in profile, does this wondrous brow diminish; though that way viewed its grandeur does not domineer upon you so.
In profile, you plainly perceive that horizontal, semi - crescentic depression in the forehead's middle, which, in man, is Lavater's mark of genius.
But how?
Genius in the Sperm Whale?
Has the Sperm Whale ever written a book, spoken a speech?
No, his great genius is declared in his doing nothing particular to prove it.
It is moreover declared in his pyramidical silence.
And this reminds me that had the great Sperm Whale been known to the young Orient World, he would have been deified by their child - magian thoughts.
They deified the crocodile of the Nile, because the crocodile is tongueless; and the Sperm Whale has no tongue, or at least it is so exceedingly small, as to be incapable of protrusion.
Champollion deciphered the wrinkled granite hieroglyphics.
But there is no Champollion to decipher the Egypt of every man's and every being's face.
Physiognomy, like every other human science, is but a passing fable.
If then, Sir William Jones, who read in thirty languages, could not read the simplest peasant's face in its profounder and more subtle meanings, how may unlettered Ishmael hope to read the awful Chaldee of the Sperm Whale's brow?
I but put that brow before you.
Read it if you can.
CHAPTER 80
The Nut.
If the Sperm Whale be physiognomically a Sphinx, to the phrenologist his brain seems that geometrical circle which it is impossible to square.
In the full - grown creature the skull will measure at least twenty feet in length.
Unhinge the lower jaw, and the side view of this skull is as the side of a moderately inclined plane resting throughout on a level base.
But in life--as we have elsewhere seen--this inclined plane is angularly filled up, and almost squared by the enormous superincumbent mass of the junk and sperm.
At the high end the skull forms a crater to bed that part of the mass; while under the long floor of this crater--in another cavity seldom exceeding ten inches in length and as many in depth--reposes the mere handful of this monster's brain.
The brain is at least twenty feet from his apparent forehead in life; it is hidden away behind its vast outworks, like the innermost citadel within the amplified fortifications of Quebec.
So like a choice casket is it secreted in him, that I have known some whalemen who peremptorily deny that the Sperm Whale has any other brain than that palpable semblance of one formed by the cubic - yards of his sperm magazine.
Lying in strange folds, courses, and convolutions, to their apprehensions, it seems more in keeping with the idea of his general might to regard that mystic part of him as the seat of his intelligence.
It is plain, then, that phrenologically the head of this Leviathan, in the creature's living intact state, is an entire delusion.
As for his true brain, you can then see no indications of it, nor feel any.
The whale, like all things that are mighty, wears a false brow to the common world.
If you unload his skull of its spermy heaps and then take a rear view of its rear end, which is the high end, you will be struck by its resemblance to the human skull, beheld in the same situation, and from the same point of view.
And by those negations, considered along with the affirmative fact of his prodigious bulk and power, you can best form to yourself the truest, though not the most exhilarating conception of what the most exalted potency is.
But if from the comparative dimensions of the whale's proper brain, you deem it incapable of being adequately charted, then I have another idea for you.
If you attentively regard almost any quadruped's spine, you will be struck with the resemblance of its vertebrae to a strung necklace of dwarfed skulls, all bearing rudimental resemblance to the skull proper.
It is a German conceit, that the vertebrae are absolutely undeveloped skulls.
But the curious external resemblance, I take it the Germans were not the first men to perceive.
A foreign friend once pointed it out to me, in the skeleton of a foe he had slain, and with the vertebrae of which he was inlaying, in a sort of basso - relievo, the beaked prow of his canoe.
Now, I consider that the phrenologists have omitted an important thing in not pushing their investigations from the cerebellum through the spinal canal.
For I believe that much of a man's character will be found betokened in his backbone.
I would rather feel your spine than your skull, whoever you are.
A thin joist of a spine never yet upheld a full and noble soul.
I rejoice in my spine, as in the firm audacious staff of that flag which I fling half out to the world.
Apply this spinal branch of phrenology to the Sperm Whale.
His cranial cavity is continuous with the first neck - vertebra; and in that vertebra the bottom of the spinal canal will measure ten inches across, being eight in height, and of a triangular figure with the base downwards.
As it passes through the remaining vertebrae the canal tapers in size, but for a considerable distance remains of large capacity.
Now, of course, this canal is filled with much the same strangely fibrous substance--the spinal cord--as the brain; and directly communicates with the brain.
And what is still more, for many feet after emerging from the brain's cavity, the spinal cord remains of an undecreasing girth, almost equal to that of the brain.
Under all these circumstances, would it be unreasonable to survey and map out the whale's spine phrenologically?
For, viewed in this light, the wonderful comparative smallness of his brain proper is more than compensated by the wonderful comparative magnitude of his spinal cord.
But leaving this hint to operate as it may with the phrenologists, I would merely assume the spinal theory for a moment, in reference to the Sperm Whale's hump.
This august hump, if I mistake not, rises over one of the larger vertebrae, and is, therefore, in some sort, the outer convex mould of it.
From its relative situation then, I should call this high hump the organ of firmness or indomitableness in the Sperm Whale.
And that the great monster is indomitable, you will yet have reason to know.
CHAPTER 81
The Pequod Meets The Virgin.
The predestinated day arrived, and we duly met the ship Jungfrau, Derick De Deer, master, of Bremen.
At one time the greatest whaling people in the world, the Dutch and Germans are now among the least; but here and there at very wide intervals of latitude and longitude, you still occasionally meet with their flag in the Pacific.
For some reason, the Jungfrau seemed quite eager to pay her respects.
While yet some distance from the Pequod, she rounded to, and dropping a boat, her captain was impelled towards us, impatiently standing in the bows instead of the stern.
" What has he in his hand there?"
cried Starbuck, pointing to something wavingly held by the German.
" Impossible!-- a lamp - feeder!"
" Not that," said Stubb, " no, no, it's a coffee - pot, Mr. Starbuck; he's coming off to make us our coffee, is the Yarman; don't you see that big tin can there alongside of him?-- that's his boiling water.
Oh!
he's all right, is the Yarman."
" Go along with you," cried Flask, " it's a lamp - feeder and an oil - can.
He's out of oil, and has come a - begging."
Now, the game having risen to leeward, he and the other three German boats that soon followed him, had considerably the start of the Pequod's keels.
There were eight whales, an average pod.
Aware of their danger, they were going all abreast with great speed straight before the wind, rubbing their flanks as closely as so many spans of horses in harness.
They left a great, wide wake, as though continually unrolling a great wide parchment upon the sea.
Full in this rapid wake, and many fathoms in the rear, swam a huge, humped old bull, which by his comparatively slow progress, as well as by the unusual yellowish incrustations overgrowing him, seemed afflicted with the jaundice, or some other infirmity.
Whether this whale belonged to the pod in advance, seemed questionable; for it is not customary for such venerable leviathans to be at all social.
Nevertheless, he stuck to their wake, though indeed their back water must have retarded him, because the white - bone or swell at his broad muzzle was a dashed one, like the swell formed when two hostile currents meet.
His spout was short, slow, and laborious; coming forth with a choking sort of gush, and spending itself in torn shreds, followed by strange subterranean commotions in him, which seemed to have egress at his other buried extremity, causing the waters behind him to upbubble.
" Who's got some paregoric?"
said Stubb, " he has the stomach - ache, I'm afraid.
Lord, think of having half an acre of stomach - ache!
Adverse winds are holding mad Christmas in him, boys.
It's the first foul wind I ever knew to blow from astern; but look, did ever whale yaw so before?
it must be, he's lost his tiller."
Whether he had lost that fin in battle, or had been born without it, it were hard to say.
" Only wait a bit, old chap, and I'll give ye a sling for that wounded arm," cried cruel Flask, pointing to the whale - line near him.
" Mind he don't sling thee with it," cried Starbuck.
" Give way, or the German will have him."
At this juncture the Pequod's keels had shot by the three German boats last lowered; but from the great start he had had, Derick's boat still led the chase, though every moment neared by his foreign rivals.
The only thing they feared, was, that from being already so nigh to his mark, he would be enabled to dart his iron before they could completely overtake and pass him.
As for Derick, he seemed quite confident that this would be the case, and occasionally with a deriding gesture shook his lamp - feeder at the other boats.
" The ungracious and ungrateful dog!"
cried Starbuck; " he mocks and dares me with the very poor - box I filled for him not five minutes ago!"
-- then in his old intense whisper --" Give way, greyhounds!
Dog to it!"
" I tell ye what it is, men "-- cried Stubb to his crew --" it's against my religion to get mad; but I'd like to eat that villainous Yarman--Pull--won't ye?
Are ye going to let that rascal beat ye?
Do ye love brandy?
A hogshead of brandy, then, to the best man.
Come, why don't some of ye burst a blood - vessel?
Who's that been dropping an anchor overboard--we don't budge an inch--we're becalmed.
Halloo, here's grass growing in the boat's bottom--and by the Lord, the mast there's budding.
This won't do, boys.
Look at that Yarman!
The short and long of it is, men, will ye spit fire or not?"
" Oh!
see the suds he makes!"
cried Flask, dancing up and down --" What a hump--Oh, DO pile on the beef--lays like a log!
Oh!
my lads, DO spring--slap - jacks and quahogs for supper, you know, my lads--baked clams and muffins--oh, DO, DO, spring,-- he's a hundred barreller--don't lose him now--don't oh, DON'T!-- see that Yarman--Oh, won't ye pull for your duff, my lads--such a sog!
such a sogger!
Don't ye love sperm?
There goes three thousand dollars, men!-- a bank!-- a whole bank!
The bank of England!-- Oh, DO, DO, DO!-- What's that Yarman about now?"
At this moment Derick was in the act of pitching his lamp - feeder at the advancing boats, and also his oil - can; perhaps with the double view of retarding his rivals'way, and at the same time economically accelerating his own by the momentary impetus of the backward toss.
" The unmannerly Dutch dogger!"
cried Stubb.
" Pull now, men, like fifty thousand line - of - battle - ship loads of red - haired devils.
What d'ye say, Tashtego; are you the man to snap your spine in two - and - twenty pieces for the honour of old Gayhead?
What d'ye say?"
" I say, pull like god - dam,"-- cried the Indian.
Fiercely, but evenly incited by the taunts of the German, the Pequod's three boats now began ranging almost abreast; and, so disposed, momentarily neared him.
In that fine, loose, chivalrous attitude of the headsman when drawing near to his prey, the three mates stood up proudly, occasionally backing the after oarsman with an exhilarating cry of, " There she slides, now!
Hurrah for the white - ash breeze!
Down with the Yarman!
Sail over him!"
But so decided an original start had Derick had, that spite of all their gallantry, he would have proved the victor in this race, had not a righteous judgment descended upon him in a crab which caught the blade of his midship oarsman.
While this clumsy lubber was striving to free his white - ash, and while, in consequence, Derick's boat was nigh to capsizing, and he thundering away at his men in a mighty rage;-- that was a good time for Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask.
With a shout, they took a mortal start forwards, and slantingly ranged up on the German's quarter.
An instant more, and all four boats were diagonically in the whale's immediate wake, while stretching from them, on both sides, was the foaming swell that he made.
It was a terrific, most pitiable, and maddening sight.
The whale was now going head out, and sending his spout before him in a continual tormented jet; while his one poor fin beat his side in an agony of fright.
Now to this hand, now to that, he yawed in his faltering flight, and still at every billow that he broke, he spasmodically sank in the sea, or sideways rolled towards the sky his one beating fin.
So have I seen a bird with clipped wing making affrighted broken circles in the air, vainly striving to escape the piratical hawks.
Seeing now that but a very few moments more would give the Pequod's boats the advantage, and rather than be thus foiled of his game, Derick chose to hazard what to him must have seemed a most unusually long dart, ere the last chance would for ever escape.
Blinding vapours of foam and white - fire!
The three boats, in the first fury of the whale's headlong rush, bumped the German's aside with such force, that both Derick and his baffled harpooneer were spilled out, and sailed over by the three flying keels.
" Don't be afraid, my butter - boxes," cried Stubb, casting a passing glance upon them as he shot by; " ye'll be picked up presently--all right--I saw some sharks astern--St. Bernard's dogs, you know--relieve distressed travellers.
Hurrah!
this is the way to sail now.
Every keel a sunbeam!
Hurrah!-- Here we go like three tin kettles at the tail of a mad cougar!
This puts me in mind of fastening to an elephant in a tilbury on a plain--makes the wheel - spokes fly, boys, when you fasten to him that way; and there's danger of being pitched out too, when you strike a hill.
Hurrah!
this is the way a fellow feels when he's going to Davy Jones--all a rush down an endless inclined plane!
Hurrah!
this whale carries the everlasting mail!"
But the monster's run was a brief one.
Giving a sudden gasp, he tumultuously sounded.
And the whale soon ceasing to sound, for some time they remained in that attitude, fearful of expending more line, though the position was a little ticklish.
Yet not to speak of the peril of the thing, it is to be doubted whether this course is always the best; for it is but reasonable to presume, that the longer the stricken whale stays under water, the more he is exhausted.
Because, owing to the enormous surface of him--in a full grown sperm whale something less than 2000 square feet--the pressure of the water is immense.
We all know what an astonishing atmospheric weight we ourselves stand up under; even here, above - ground, in the air; how vast, then, the burden of a whale, bearing on his back a column of two hundred fathoms of ocean!
It must at least equal the weight of fifty atmospheres.
One whaleman has estimated it at the weight of twenty line - of - battle ships, with all their guns, and stores, and men on board.
Not eight inches of perpendicular rope were visible at the bows.
Seems it credible that by three such thin threads the great Leviathan was suspended like the big weight to an eight day clock.
Suspended?
and to what?
To three bits of board.
Is this the creature of whom it was once so triumphantly said --" Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons?
or his head with fish - spears?
The sword of him that layeth at him cannot hold, the spear, the dart, nor the habergeon: he esteemeth iron as straw; the arrow cannot make him flee; darts are counted as stubble; he laugheth at the shaking of a spear!"
This the creature?
this he?
Oh!
that unfulfilments should follow the prophets.
For with the strength of a thousand thighs in his tail, Leviathan had run his head under the mountains of the sea, to hide him from the Pequod's fish - spears!
In that sloping afternoon sunlight, the shadows that the three boats sent down beneath the surface, must have been long enough and broad enough to shade half Xerxes'army.
Who can tell how appalling to the wounded whale must have been such huge phantoms flitting over his head!
" Stand by, men; he stirs," cried Starbuck, as the three lines suddenly vibrated in the water, distinctly conducting upwards to them, as by magnetic wires, the life and death throbs of the whale, so that every oarsman felt them in his seat.
The next moment, relieved in great part from the downward strain at the bows, the boats gave a sudden bounce upwards, as a small icefield will, when a dense herd of white bears are scared from it into the sea.
" Haul in!
Haul in!"
cried Starbuck again; " he's rising."
The lines, of which, hardly an instant before, not one hand's breadth could have been gained, were now in long quick coils flung back all dripping into the boats, and soon the whale broke water within two ship's lengths of the hunters.
His motions plainly denoted his extreme exhaustion.
In most land animals there are certain valves or flood - gates in many of their veins, whereby when wounded, the blood is in some degree at least instantly shut off in certain directions.
From this last vent no blood yet came, because no vital part of him had thus far been struck.
His life, as they significantly call it, was untouched.
As the boats now more closely surrounded him, the whole upper part of his form, with much of it that is ordinarily submerged, was plainly revealed.
His eyes, or rather the places where his eyes had been, were beheld.
As strange misgrown masses gather in the knot - holes of the noblest oaks when prostrate, so from the points which the whale's eyes had once occupied, now protruded blind bulbs, horribly pitiable to see.
But pity there was none.
For all his old age, and his one arm, and his blind eyes, he must die the death and be murdered, in order to light the gay bridals and other merry - makings of men, and also to illuminate the solemn churches that preach unconditional inoffensiveness by all to all.
Still rolling in his blood, at last he partially disclosed a strangely discoloured bunch or protuberance, the size of a bushel, low down on the flank.
" A nice spot," cried Flask; " just let me prick him there once."
" Avast!"
cried Starbuck, " there's no need of that!"
But humane Starbuck was too late.
It was his death stroke.
It was most piteous, that last expiring spout.
As when by unseen hands the water is gradually drawn off from some mighty fountain, and with half - stifled melancholy gurglings the spray - column lowers and lowers to the ground--so the last long dying spout of the whale.
Soon, while the crews were awaiting the arrival of the ship, the body showed symptoms of sinking with all its treasures unrifled.
Immediately, by Starbuck's orders, lines were secured to it at different points, so that ere long every boat was a buoy; the sunken whale being suspended a few inches beneath them by the cords.
By very heedful management, when the ship drew nigh, the whale was transferred to her side, and was strongly secured there by the stiffest fluke - chains, for it was plain that unless artificially upheld, the body would at once sink to the bottom.
It so chanced that almost upon first cutting into him with the spade, the entire length of a corroded harpoon was found imbedded in his flesh, on the lower part of the bunch before described.
But still more curious was the fact of a lance - head of stone being found in him, not far from the buried iron, the flesh perfectly firm about it.
Who had darted that stone lance?
And when?
It might have been darted by some Nor'West Indian long before America was discovered.
What other marvels might have been rummaged out of this monstrous cabinet there is no telling.
But a sudden stop was put to further discoveries, by the ship's being unprecedentedly dragged over sideways to the sea, owing to the body's immensely increasing tendency to sink.
Meantime everything in the Pequod was aslant.
To cross to the other side of the deck was like walking up the steep gabled roof of a house.
The ship groaned and gasped.
Many of the ivory inlayings of her bulwarks and cabins were started from their places, by the unnatural dislocation.
" Hold on, hold on, won't ye?"
cried Stubb to the body, " don't be in such a devil of a hurry to sink!
By thunder, men, we must do something or go for it.
No use prying there; avast, I say with your handspikes, and run one of ye for a prayer book and a pen - knife, and cut the big chains."
" Knife?
Aye, aye," cried Queequeg, and seizing the carpenter's heavy hatchet, he leaned out of a porthole, and steel to iron, began slashing at the largest fluke - chains.
But a few strokes, full of sparks, were given, when the exceeding strain effected the rest.
With a terrific snap, every fastening went adrift; the ship righted, the carcase sank.
Now, this occasional inevitable sinking of the recently killed Sperm Whale is a very curious thing; nor has any fisherman yet adequately accounted for it.
Usually the dead Sperm Whale floats with great buoyancy, with its side or belly considerably elevated above the surface.
But it is not so.
For young whales, in the highest health, and swelling with noble aspirations, prematurely cut off in the warm flush and May of life, with all their panting lard about them; even these brawny, buoyant heroes do sometimes sink.
Be it said, however, that the Sperm Whale is far less liable to this accident than any other species.
Where one of that sort go down, twenty Right Whales do.
This difference in the species is no doubt imputable in no small degree to the greater quantity of bone in the Right Whale; his Venetian blinds alone sometimes weighing more than a ton; from this incumbrance the Sperm Whale is wholly free.
But there are instances where, after the lapse of many hours or several days, the sunken whale again rises, more buoyant than in life.
But the reason of this is obvious.
Gases are generated in him; he swells to a prodigious magnitude; becomes a sort of animal balloon.
A line - of - battle ship could hardly keep him under then.
In the Shore Whaling, on soundings, among the Bays of New Zealand, when a Right Whale gives token of sinking, they fasten buoys to him, with plenty of rope; so that when the body has gone down, they know where to look for it when it shall have ascended again.
Nevertheless, the Fin - Back's spout is so similar to the Sperm Whale's, that by unskilful fishermen it is often mistaken for it.
And consequently Derick and all his host were now in valiant chase of this unnearable brute.
The Virgin crowding all sail, made after her four young keels, and thus they all disappeared far to leeward, still in bold, hopeful chase.
Oh!
many are the Fin - Backs, and many are the Dericks, my friend.
CHAPTER 82
The Honour and Glory of Whaling.
There are some enterprises in which a careful disorderliness is the true method.
The gallant Perseus, a son of Jupiter, was the first whaleman; and to the eternal honour of our calling be it said, that the first whale attacked by our brotherhood was not killed with any sordid intent.
Those were the knightly days of our profession, when we only bore arms to succor the distressed, and not to fill men's lamp - feeders.
It was an admirable artistic exploit, rarely achieved by the best harpooneers of the present day; inasmuch as this Leviathan was slain at the very first dart.
When the Romans took Joppa, the same skeleton was carried to Italy in triumph.
What seems most singular and suggestively important in this story, is this: it was from Joppa that Jonah set sail.
" Thou art as a lion of the waters, and as a dragon of the sea," saith Ezekiel; hereby, plainly meaning a whale; in truth, some versions of the Bible use that word itself.
Besides, it would much subtract from the glory of the exploit had St. George but encountered a crawling reptile of the land, instead of doing battle with the great monster of the deep.
Any man may kill a snake, but only a Perseus, a St. George, a Coffin, have the heart in them to march boldly up to a whale.
Thus, then, one of our own noble stamp, even a whaleman, is the tutelary guardian of England; and by good rights, we harpooneers of Nantucket should be enrolled in the most noble order of St. George.
It nowhere appears that he ever actually harpooned his fish, unless, indeed, from the inside.
Nevertheless, he may be deemed a sort of involuntary whaleman; at any rate the whale caught him, if he did not the whale.
I claim him for one of our clan.
But, by the best contradictory authorities, this Grecian story of Hercules and the whale is considered to be derived from the still more ancient Hebrew story of Jonah and the whale; and vice versa; certainly they are very similar.
If I claim the demigod then, why not the prophet?
Nor do heroes, saints, demigods, and prophets alone comprise the whole roll of our order.
Our grand master is still to be named; for like royal kings of old times, we find the head waters of our fraternity in nothing short of the great gods themselves.
Was not this Vishnoo a whaleman, then?
even as a man who rides a horse is called a horseman?
Perseus, St. George, Hercules, Jonah, and Vishnoo!
there's a member - roll for you!
What club but the whaleman's can head off like that?
CHAPTER 83
Jonah Historically Regarded.
Reference was made to the historical story of Jonah and the whale in the preceding chapter.
Now some Nantucketers rather distrust this historical story of Jonah and the whale.
But, to this, Bishop Jebb's anticipative answer is ready.
It is not necessary, hints the Bishop, that we consider Jonah as tombed in the whale's belly, but as temporarily lodged in some part of his mouth.
And this seems reasonable enough in the good Bishop.
For truly, the Right Whale's mouth would accommodate a couple of whist - tables, and comfortably seat all the players.
Possibly, too, Jonah might have ensconced himself in a hollow tooth; but, on second thoughts, the Right Whale is toothless.
Another reason which Sag - Harbor (he went by that name) urged for his want of faith in this matter of the prophet, was something obscurely in reference to his incarcerated body and the whale's gastric juices.
But this objection likewise falls to the ground, because a German exegetist supposes that Jonah must have taken refuge in the floating body of a DEAD whale--even as the French soldiers in the Russian campaign turned their dead horses into tents, and crawled into them.
Nor have there been wanting learned exegetists who have opined that the whale mentioned in the book of Jonah merely meant a life - preserver--an inflated bag of wind--which the endangered prophet swam to, and so was saved from a watery doom.
Poor Sag - Harbor, therefore, seems worsted all round.
But he had still another reason for his want of faith.
How is that?
But was there no other way for the whale to land the prophet within that short distance of Nineveh?
Yes.
He might have carried him round by the way of the Cape of Good Hope.
Besides, this idea of Jonah's weathering the Cape of Good Hope at so early a day would wrest the honour of the discovery of that great headland from Bartholomew Diaz, its reputed discoverer, and so make modern history a liar.
But all these foolish arguments of old Sag - Harbor only evinced his foolish pride of reason--a thing still more reprehensible in him, seeing that he had but little learning except what he had picked up from the sun and the sea.
I say it only shows his foolish, impious pride, and abominable, devilish rebellion against the reverend clergy.
For by a Portuguese Catholic priest, this very idea of Jonah's going to Nineveh via the Cape of Good Hope was advanced as a signal magnification of the general miracle.
And so it was.
Besides, to this day, the highly enlightened Turks devoutly believe in the historical story of Jonah.
And some three centuries ago, an English traveller in old Harris's Voyages, speaks of a Turkish Mosque built in honour of Jonah, in which Mosque was a miraculous lamp that burnt without any oil.
CHAPTER 84
Pitchpoling.
To make them run easily and swiftly, the axles of carriages are anointed; and for much the same purpose, some whalers perform an analogous operation upon their boat; they grease the bottom.
Nor is it to be doubted that as such a procedure can do no harm, it may possibly be of no contemptible advantage; considering that oil and water are hostile; that oil is a sliding thing, and that the object in view is to make the boat slide bravely.
He seemed to be working in obedience to some particular presentiment.
Nor did it remain unwarranted by the event.
Towards noon whales were raised; but so soon as the ship sailed down to them, they turned and fled with swift precipitancy; a disordered flight, as of Cleopatra's barges from Actium.
Nevertheless, the boats pursued, and Stubb's was foremost.
By great exertion, Tashtego at last succeeded in planting one iron; but the stricken whale, without at all sounding, still continued his horizontal flight, with added fleetness.
Such unintermitted strainings upon the planted iron must sooner or later inevitably extract it.
It became imperative to lance the flying whale, or be content to lose him.
But to haul the boat up to his flank was impossible, he swam so fast and furious.
What then remained?
Of all the wondrous devices and dexterities, the sleights of hand and countless subtleties, to which the veteran whaleman is so often forced, none exceed that fine manoeuvre with the lance called pitchpoling.
Small sword, or broad sword, in all its exercises boasts nothing like it.
It is only indispensable with an inveterate running whale; its grand fact and feature is the wonderful distance to which the long lance is accurately darted from a violently rocking, jerking boat, under extreme headway.
Steel and wood included, the entire spear is some ten or twelve feet in length; the staff is much slighter than that of the harpoon, and also of a lighter material--pine.
It is furnished with a small rope called a warp, of considerable length, by which it can be hauled back to the hand after darting.
As a general thing, therefore, you must first get fast to a whale, before any pitchpoling comes into play.
Look now at Stubb; a man who from his humorous, deliberate coolness and equanimity in the direst emergencies, was specially qualified to excel in pitchpoling.
Look at him; he stands upright in the tossed bow of the flying boat; wrapt in fleecy foam, the towing whale is forty feet ahead.
Handling the long lance lightly, glancing twice or thrice along its length to see if it be exactly straight, Stubb whistlingly gathers up the coil of the warp in one hand, so as to secure its free end in his grasp, leaving the rest unobstructed.
Then holding the lance full before his waistband's middle, he levels it at the whale; when, covering him with it, he steadily depresses the butt - end in his hand, thereby elevating the point till the weapon stands fairly balanced upon his palm, fifteen feet in the air.
He minds you somewhat of a juggler, balancing a long staff on his chin.
Next moment with a rapid, nameless impulse, in a superb lofty arch the bright steel spans the foaming distance, and quivers in the life spot of the whale.
Instead of sparkling water, he now spouts red blood.
" That drove the spigot out of him!"
cried Stubb.
' Tis July's immortal Fourth; all fountains must run wine today!
Would now, it were old Orleans whiskey, or old Ohio, or unspeakable old Monongahela!
Then, Tashtego, lad, I'd have ye hold a canakin to the jet, and we'd drink round it!
Yea, verily, hearts alive, we'd brew choice punch in the spread of his spout - hole there, and from that live punch - bowl quaff the living stuff."
Again and again to such gamesome talk, the dexterous dart is repeated, the spear returning to its master like a greyhound held in skilful leash.
The agonized whale goes into his flurry; the tow - line is slackened, and the pitchpoler dropping astern, folds his hands, and mutely watches the monster die.
CHAPTER 85
The Fountain.
Let us, then, look at this matter, along with some interesting items contingent.
Every one knows that by the peculiar cunning of their gills, the finny tribes in general breathe the air which at all times is combined with the element in which they swim; hence, a herring or a cod might live a century, and never once raise its head above the surface.
But owing to his marked internal structure which gives him regular lungs, like a human being's, the whale can only live by inhaling the disengaged air in the open atmosphere.
Wherefore the necessity for his periodical visits to the upper world.
But he cannot in any degree breathe through his mouth, for, in his ordinary attitude, the Sperm Whale's mouth is buried at least eight feet beneath the surface; and what is still more, his windpipe has no connexion with his mouth.
No, he breathes through his spiracle alone; and this is on the top of his head.
Assume it, and it follows that if all the blood in a man could be aerated with one breath, he might then seal up his nostrils and not fetch another for a considerable time.
That is to say, he would then live without breathing.
Anomalous as it may seem, this is precisely the case with the whale, who systematically lives, by intervals, his full hour and more (when at the bottom) without drawing a single breath, or so much as in any way inhaling a particle of air; for, remember, he has no gills.
How is this?
Between his ribs and on each side of his spine he is supplied with a remarkable involved Cretan labyrinth of vermicelli - like vessels, which vessels, when he quits the surface, are completely distended with oxygenated blood.
So that for an hour or more, a thousand fathoms in the sea, he carries a surplus stock of vitality in him, just as the camel crossing the waterless desert carries a surplus supply of drink for future use in its four supplementary stomachs.
This is what I mean.
If unmolested, upon rising to the surface, the Sperm Whale will continue there for a period of time exactly uniform with all his other unmolested risings.
Say he stays eleven minutes, and jets seventy times, that is, respires seventy breaths; then whenever he rises again, he will be sure to have his seventy breaths over again, to a minute.
Now, if after he fetches a few breaths you alarm him, so that he sounds, he will be always dodging up again to make good his regular allowance of air.
And not till those seventy breaths are told, will he finally go down to stay out his full term below.
Remark, however, that in different individuals these rates are different; but in any one they are alike.
Now, why should the whale thus insist upon having his spoutings out, unless it be to replenish his reservoir of air, ere descending for good?
How obvious is it, too, that this necessity for the whale's rising exposes him to all the fatal hazards of the chase.
For not by hook or by net could this vast leviathan be caught, when sailing a thousand fathoms beneath the sunlight.
Not so much thy skill, then, O hunter, as the great necessities that strike the victory to thee!
In man, breathing is incessantly going on--one breath only serving for two or three pulsations; so that whatever other business he has to attend to, waking or sleeping, breathe he must, or die he will.
But the Sperm Whale only breathes about one seventh or Sunday of his time.
But owing to the mystery of the spout--whether it be water or whether it be vapour--no absolute certainty can as yet be arrived at on this head.
Sure it is, nevertheless, that the Sperm Whale has no proper olfactories.
But what does he want of them?
No roses, no violets, no Cologne - water in the sea.
But then again, what has the whale to say?
Seldom have I known any profound being that had anything to say to this world, unless forced to stammer out something by way of getting a living.
Oh!
happy that the world is such an excellent listener!
It is certain that the mouth indirectly communicates with the spouting canal; but it cannot be proved that this is for the purpose of discharging water through the spiracle.
Because the greatest necessity for so doing would seem to be, when in feeding he accidentally takes in water.
But the Sperm Whale's food is far beneath the surface, and there he cannot spout even if he would.
Besides, if you regard him very closely, and time him with your watch, you will find that when unmolested, there is an undeviating rhyme between the periods of his jets and the ordinary periods of respiration.
But why pester one with all this reasoning on the subject?
Speak out!
You have seen him spout; then declare what the spout is; can you not tell water from air?
My dear sir, in this world it is not so easy to settle these plain things.
I have ever found your plain things the knottiest of all.
And as for this whale spout, you might almost stand in it, and yet be undecided as to what it is precisely.
Nor is it at all prudent for the hunter to be over curious touching the precise nature of the whale spout.
It will not do for him to be peering into it, and putting his face in it.
You cannot go with your pitcher to this fountain and fill it, and bring it away.
For even when coming into slight contact with the outer, vapoury shreds of the jet, which will often happen, your skin will feverishly smart, from the acridness of the thing so touching it.
And I know one, who coming into still closer contact with the spout, whether with some scientific object in view, or otherwise, I cannot say, the skin peeled off from his cheek and arm.
Wherefore, among whalemen, the spout is deemed poisonous; they try to evade it.
Another thing; I have heard it said, and I do not much doubt it, that if the jet is fairly spouted into your eyes, it will blind you.
The wisest thing the investigator can do then, it seems to me, is to let this deadly spout alone.
Still, we can hypothesize, even if we cannot prove and establish.
My hypothesis is this: that the spout is nothing but mist.
He is both ponderous and profound.
And I am convinced that from the heads of all ponderous profound beings, such as Plato, Pyrrho, the Devil, Jupiter, Dante, and so on, there always goes up a certain semi - visible steam, while in the act of thinking deep thoughts.
While composing a little treatise on Eternity, I had the curiosity to place a mirror before me; and ere long saw reflected there, a curious involved worming and undulation in the atmosphere over my head.
The invariable moisture of my hair, while plunged in deep thought, after six cups of hot tea in my thin shingled attic, of an August noon; this seems an additional argument for the above supposition.
For, d'ye see, rainbows do not visit the clear air; they only irradiate vapour.
And so, through all the thick mists of the dim doubts in my mind, divine intuitions now and then shoot, enkindling my fog with a heavenly ray.
And for this I thank God; for all have doubts; many deny; but doubts or denials, few along with them, have intuitions.
Doubts of all things earthly, and intuitions of some things heavenly; this combination makes neither believer nor infidel, but makes a man who regards them both with equal eye.
CHAPTER 86
The Tail.
Other poets have warbled the praises of the soft eye of the antelope, and the lovely plumage of the bird that never alights; less celestial, I celebrate a tail.
Reckoning the largest sized Sperm Whale's tail to begin at that point of the trunk where it tapers to about the girth of a man, it comprises upon its upper surface alone, an area of at least fifty square feet.
The compact round body of its root expands into two broad, firm, flat palms or flukes, gradually shoaling away to less than an inch in thickness.
At the crotch or junction, these flukes slightly overlap, then sideways recede from each other like wings, leaving a wide vacancy between.
In no living thing are the lines of beauty more exquisitely defined than in the crescentic borders of these flukes.
At its utmost expansion in the full grown whale, the tail will considerably exceed twenty feet across.
The entire member seems a dense webbed bed of welded sinews; but cut into it, and you find that three distinct strata compose it:-- upper, middle, and lower.
The fibres in the upper and lower layers, are long and horizontal; those of the middle one, very short, and running crosswise between the outside layers.
This triune structure, as much as anything else, imparts power to the tail.
To the student of old Roman walls, the middle layer will furnish a curious parallel to the thin course of tiles always alternating with the stone in those wonderful relics of the antique, and which undoubtedly contribute so much to the great strength of the masonry.
Could annihilation occur to matter, this were the thing to do it.
Nor does this--its amazing strength, at all tend to cripple the graceful flexion of its motions; where infantileness of ease undulates through a Titanism of power.
On the contrary, those motions derive their most appalling beauty from it.
Real strength never impairs beauty or harmony, but it often bestows it; and in everything imposingly beautiful, strength has much to do with the magic.
Take away the tied tendons that all over seem bursting from the marble in the carved Hercules, and its charm would be gone.
As devout Eckerman lifted the linen sheet from the naked corpse of Goethe, he was overwhelmed with the massive chest of the man, that seemed as a Roman triumphal arch.
When Angelo paints even God the Father in human form, mark what robustness is there.
Such is the subtle elasticity of the organ I treat of, that whether wielded in sport, or in earnest, or in anger, whatever be the mood it be in, its flexions are invariably marked by exceeding grace.
Therein no fairy's arm can transcend it.
Five great motions are peculiar to it.
First, when used as a fin for progression; Second, when used as a mace in battle; Third, in sweeping; Fourth, in lobtailing; Fifth, in peaking flukes.
First: Being horizontal in its position, the Leviathan's tail acts in a different manner from the tails of all other sea creatures.
It never wriggles.
In man or fish, wriggling is a sign of inferiority.
To the whale, his tail is the sole means of propulsion.
Scroll - wise coiled forwards beneath the body, and then rapidly sprung backwards, it is this which gives that singular darting, leaping motion to the monster when furiously swimming.
His side - fins only serve to steer by.
Second: It is a little significant, that while one sperm whale only fights another sperm whale with his head and jaw, nevertheless, in his conflicts with man, he chiefly and contemptuously uses his tail.
In striking at a boat, he swiftly curves away his flukes from it, and the blow is only inflicted by the recoil.
If it be made in the unobstructed air, especially if it descend to its mark, the stroke is then simply irresistible.
No ribs of man or boat can withstand it.
These submerged side blows are so often received in the fishery, that they are accounted mere child's play.
Some one strips off a frock, and the hole is stopped.
Third: I cannot demonstrate it, but it seems to me, that in the whale the sense of touch is concentrated in the tail; for in this respect there is a delicacy in it only equalled by the daintiness of the elephant's trunk.
What tenderness there is in that preliminary touch!
Had this tail any prehensile power, I should straightway bethink me of Darmonodes'elephant that so frequented the flower - market, and with low salutations presented nosegays to damsels, and then caressed their zones.
On more accounts than one, a pity it is that the whale does not possess this prehensile virtue in his tail; for I have heard of yet another elephant, that when wounded in the fight, curved round his trunk and extracted the dart.
Fourth: Stealing unawares upon the whale in the fancied security of the middle of solitary seas, you find him unbent from the vast corpulence of his dignity, and kitten - like, he plays on the ocean as if it were a hearth.
But still you see his power in his play.
The broad palms of his tail are flirted high into the air; then smiting the surface, the thunderous concussion resounds for miles.
You would almost think a great gun had been discharged; and if you noticed the light wreath of vapour from the spiracle at his other extremity, you would think that that was the smoke from the touch - hole.
Excepting the sublime BREACH--somewhere else to be described--this peaking of the whale's flukes is perhaps the grandest sight to be seen in all animated nature.
Out of the bottomless profundities the gigantic tail seems spasmodically snatching at the highest heaven.
So in dreams, have I seen majestic Satan thrusting forth his tormented colossal claw from the flame Baltic of Hell.
But in gazing at such scenes, it is all in all what mood you are in; if in the Dantean, the devils will occur to you; if in that of Isaiah, the archangels.
Standing at the mast - head of my ship during a sunrise that crimsoned sky and sea, I once saw a large herd of whales in the east, all heading towards the sun, and for a moment vibrating in concert with peaked flukes.
As it seemed to me at the time, such a grand embodiment of adoration of the gods was never beheld, even in Persia, the home of the fire worshippers.
As Ptolemy Philopater testified of the African elephant, I then testified of the whale, pronouncing him the most devout of all beings.
For according to King Juba, the military elephants of antiquity often hailed the morning with their trunks uplifted in the profoundest silence.
For as the mightiest elephant is but a terrier to Leviathan, so, compared with Leviathan's tail, his trunk is but the stalk of a lily.
It is well known that the elephant will often draw up water or dust in his trunk, and then elevating it, jet it forth in a stream.
The more I consider this mighty tail, the more do I deplore my inability to express it.
At times there are gestures in it, which, though they would well grace the hand of man, remain wholly inexplicable.
In an extensive herd, so remarkable, occasionally, are these mystic gestures, that I have heard hunters who have declared them akin to Free - Mason signs and symbols; that the whale, indeed, by these methods intelligently conversed with the world.
Nor are there wanting other motions of the whale in his general body, full of strangeness, and unaccountable to his most experienced assailant.
Dissect him how I may, then, I but go skin deep; I know him not, and never will.
But if I know not even the tail of this whale, how understand his head?
much more, how comprehend his face, when face he has none?
Thou shalt see my back parts, my tail, he seems to say, but my face shall not be seen.
But I cannot completely make out his back parts; and hint what he will about his face, I say again he has no face.
CHAPTER 87
The Grand Armada.
The long and narrow peninsula of Malacca, extending south - eastward from the territories of Birmah, forms the most southerly point of all Asia.
This rampart is pierced by several sally - ports for the convenience of ships and whales; conspicuous among which are the straits of Sunda and Malacca.
By the straits of Sunda, chiefly, vessels bound to China from the west, emerge into the China seas.
The shores of the Straits of Sunda are unsupplied with those domineering fortresses which guard the entrances to the Mediterranean, the Baltic, and the Propontis.
But while they freely waive a ceremonial like this, they do by no means renounce their claim to more solid tribute.
Time out of mind the piratical proas of the Malays, lurking among the low shaded coves and islets of Sumatra, have sallied out upon the vessels sailing through the straits, fiercely demanding tribute at the point of their spears.
But how now?
in this zoned quest, does Ahab touch no land?
does his crew drink air?
Surely, he will stop for water.
Nay.
For a long time, now, the circus - running sun has raced within his fiery ring, and needs no sustenance but what's in himself.
So Ahab.
Mark this, too, in the whaler.
While other hulls are loaded down with alien stuff, to be transferred to foreign wharves; the world - wandering whale - ship carries no cargo but herself and crew, their weapons and their wants.
She has a whole lake's contents bottled in her ample hold.
She is ballasted with utilities; not altogether with unusable pig - lead and kentledge.
She carries years'water in her.
Clear old prime Nantucket water; which, when three years afloat, the Nantucketer, in the Pacific, prefers to drink before the brackish fluid, but yesterday rafted off in casks, from the Peruvian or Indian streams.
Hence it is, that, while other ships may have gone to China from New York, and back again, touching at a score of ports, the whale - ship, in all that interval, may not have sighted one grain of soil; her crew having seen no man but floating seamen like themselves.
So that did you carry them the news that another flood had come; they would only answer --" Well, boys, here's the ark!"
But though the green palmy cliffs of the land soon loomed on the starboard bow, and with delighted nostrils the fresh cinnamon was snuffed in the air, yet not a single jet was descried.
Almost renouncing all thought of falling in with any game hereabouts, the ship had well nigh entered the straits, when the customary cheering cry was heard from aloft, and ere long a spectacle of singular magnificence saluted us.
Broad on both bows, at the distance of some two or three miles, and forming a great semicircle, embracing one half of the level horizon, a continuous chain of whale - jets were up - playing and sparkling in the noon - day air.
Crowding all sail the Pequod pressed after them; the harpooneers handling their weapons, and loudly cheering from the heads of their yet suspended boats.
If the wind only held, little doubt had they, that chased through these Straits of Sunda, the vast host would only deploy into the Oriental seas to witness the capture of not a few of their number.
And who could tell whether, in that congregated caravan, Moby Dick himself might not temporarily be swimming, like the worshipped white - elephant in the coronation procession of the Siamese!
So with stun - sail piled on stun - sail, we sailed along, driving these leviathans before us; when, of a sudden, the voice of Tashtego was heard, loudly directing attention to something in our wake.
Corresponding to the crescent in our van, we beheld another in our rear.
It seemed formed of detached white vapours, rising and falling something like the spouts of the whales; only they did not so completely come and go; for they constantly hovered, without finally disappearing.
Levelling his glass at this sight, Ahab quickly revolved in his pivot - hole, crying, " Aloft there, and rig whips and buckets to wet the sails;-- Malays, sir, and after us!"
As if too long lurking behind the headlands, till the Pequod should fairly have entered the straits, these rascally Asiatics were now in hot pursuit, to make up for their over - cautious delay.
But when the swift Pequod, with a fresh leading wind, was herself in hot chase; how very kind of these tawny philanthropists to assist in speeding her on to her own chosen pursuit,-- mere riding - whips and rowels to her, that they were.
As with glass under arm, Ahab to - and - fro paced the deck; in his forward turn beholding the monsters he chased, and in the after one the bloodthirsty pirates chasing him; some such fancy as the above seemed his.
But still driving on in the wake of the whales, at length they seemed abating their speed; gradually the ship neared them; and the wind now dying away, word was passed to spring to the boats.
The compact martial columns in which they had been hitherto rapidly and steadily swimming, were now broken up in one measureless rout; and like King Porus'elephants in the Indian battle with Alexander, they seemed going mad with consternation.
In all directions expanding in vast irregular circles, and aimlessly swimming hither and thither, by their short thick spoutings, they plainly betrayed their distraction of panic.
This was still more strangely evinced by those of their number, who, completely paralysed as it were, helplessly floated like water - logged dismantled ships on the sea.
Had these Leviathans been but a flock of simple sheep, pursued over the pasture by three fierce wolves, they could not possibly have evinced such excessive dismay.
But this occasional timidity is characteristic of almost all herding creatures.
Though banding together in tens of thousands, the lion - maned buffaloes of the West have fled before a solitary horseman.
Witness, too, all human beings, how when herded together in the sheepfold of a theatre's pit, they will, at the slightest alarm of fire, rush helter - skelter for the outlets, crowding, trampling, jamming, and remorselessly dashing each other to death.
Best, therefore, withhold any amazement at the strangely gallied whales before us, for there is no folly of the beasts of the earth which is not infinitely outdone by the madness of men.
Though many of the whales, as has been said, were in violent motion, yet it is to be observed that as a whole the herd neither advanced nor retreated, but collectively remained in one place.
As is customary in those cases, the boats at once separated, each making for some one lone whale on the outskirts of the shoal.
In about three minutes'time, Queequeg's harpoon was flung; the stricken fish darted blinding spray in our faces, and then running away with us like light, steered straight for the heart of the herd.
Though such a movement on the part of the whale struck under such circumstances, is in no wise unprecedented; and indeed is almost always more or less anticipated; yet does it present one of the more perilous vicissitudes of the fishery.
For as the swift monster drags you deeper and deeper into the frantic shoal, you bid adieu to circumspect life and only exist in a delirious throb.
Nor were the oarsmen quite idle, though their wonted duty was now altogether dispensed with.
They chiefly attended to the shouting part of the business.
" Out of the way, Commodore!"
cried one, to a great dromedary that of a sudden rose bodily to the surface, and for an instant threatened to swamp us.
" Hard down with your tail, there!"
cried a second to another, which, close to our gunwale, seemed calmly cooling himself with his own fan - like extremity.
All whaleboats carry certain curious contrivances, originally invented by the Nantucket Indians, called druggs.
It is chiefly among gallied whales that this drugg is used.
For then, more whales are close round you than you can possibly chase at one time.
But sperm whales are not every day encountered; while you may, then, you must kill all you can.
And if you cannot kill them all at once, you must wing them, so that they can be afterwards killed at your leisure.
Hence it is, that at times like these the drugg, comes into requisition.
Our boat was furnished with three of them.
The first and second were successfully darted, and we saw the whales staggeringly running off, fettered by the enormous sidelong resistance of the towing drugg.
They were cramped like malefactors with the chain and ball.
But upon flinging the third, in the act of tossing overboard the clumsy wooden block, it caught under one of the seats of the boat, and in an instant tore it out and carried it away, dropping the oarsman in the boat's bottom as the seat slid from under him.
On both sides the sea came in at the wounded planks, but we stuffed two or three drawers and shirts in, and so stopped the leaks for the time.
It had been next to impossible to dart these drugged - harpoons, were it not that as we advanced into the herd, our whale's way greatly diminished; moreover, that as we went still further and further from the circumference of commotion, the direful disorders seemed waning.
Here the storms in the roaring glens between the outermost whales, were heard but not felt.
In this central expanse the sea presented that smooth satin - like surface, called a sleek, produced by the subtle moisture thrown off by the whale in his more quiet moods.
Yes, we were now in that enchanted calm which they say lurks at the heart of every commotion.
Owing to the density of the crowd of reposing whales, more immediately surrounding the embayed axis of the herd, no possible chance of escape was at present afforded us.
We must watch for a breach in the living wall that hemmed us in; the wall that had only admitted us in order to shut us up.
Keeping at the centre of the lake, we were occasionally visited by small tame cows and calves; the women and children of this routed host.
At any rate--though indeed such a test at such a time might be deceptive--spoutings might be discovered from our low boat that seemed playing up almost from the rim of the horizon.
Like household dogs they came snuffling round us, right up to our gunwales, and touching them; till it almost seemed that some spell had suddenly domesticated them.
Queequeg patted their foreheads; Starbuck scratched their backs with his lance; but fearful of the consequences, for the time refrained from darting it.
But far beneath this wondrous world upon the surface, another and still stranger world met our eyes as we gazed over the side.
For, suspended in those watery vaults, floated the forms of the nursing mothers of the whales, and those that by their enormous girth seemed shortly to become mothers.
Floating on their sides, the mothers also seemed quietly eyeing us.
One of these little infants, that from certain queer tokens seemed hardly a day old, might have measured some fourteen feet in length, and some six feet in girth.
He was a little frisky; though as yet his body seemed scarce yet recovered from that irksome position it had so lately occupied in the maternal reticule; where, tail to head, and all ready for the final spring, the unborn whale lies bent like a Tartar's bow.
The delicate side - fins, and the palms of his flukes, still freshly retained the plaited crumpled appearance of a baby's ears newly arrived from foreign parts.
" Line!
line!"
cried Queequeg, looking over the gunwale; " him fast!
him fast!-- Who line him!
Who struck?-- Two whale; one big, one little!"
" What ails ye, man?"
cried Starbuck.
" Look - e here," said Queequeg, pointing down.
Not seldom in the rapid vicissitudes of the chase, this natural line, with the maternal end loose, becomes entangled with the hempen one, so that the cub is thereby trapped.
Some of the subtlest secrets of the seas seemed divulged to us in this enchanted pond.
We saw young Leviathan amours in the deep.
When by chance these precious parts in a nursing whale are cut by the hunter's lance, the mother's pouring milk and blood rivallingly discolour the sea for rods.
The milk is very sweet and rich; it has been tasted by man; it might do well with strawberries.
When overflowing with mutual esteem, the whales salute MORE HOMINUM.
And thus, though surrounded by circle upon circle of consternations and affrights, did these inscrutable creatures at the centre freely and fearlessly indulge in all peaceful concernments; yea, serenely revelled in dalliance and delight.
But even so, amid the tornadoed Atlantic of my being, do I myself still for ever centrally disport in mute calm; and while ponderous planets of unwaning woe revolve round me, deep down and deep inland there I still bathe me in eternal mildness of joy.
But the sight of the enraged drugged whales now and then blindly darting to and fro across the circles, was nothing to what at last met our eyes.
It is sometimes the custom when fast to a whale more than commonly powerful and alert, to seek to hamstring him, as it were, by sundering or maiming his gigantic tail - tendon.
It is done by darting a short - handled cutting - spade, to which is attached a rope for hauling it back again.
But agonizing as was the wound of this whale, and an appalling spectacle enough, any way; yet the peculiar horror with which he seemed to inspire the rest of the herd, was owing to a cause which at first the intervening distance obscured from us.
So that tormented to madness, he was now churning through the water, violently flailing with his flexible tail, and tossing the keen spade about him, wounding and murdering his own comrades.
This terrific object seemed to recall the whole herd from their stationary fright.
Yes, the long calm was departing.
A low advancing hum was soon heard; and then like to the tumultuous masses of block - ice when the great river Hudson breaks up in Spring, the entire host of whales came tumbling upon their inner centre, as if to pile themselves up in one common mountain.
Instantly Starbuck and Queequeg changed places; Starbuck taking the stern.
" Oars!
Oars!"
he intensely whispered, seizing the helm --" gripe your oars, and clutch your souls, now!
My God, men, stand by!
Shove him off, you Queequeg--the whale there!-- prick him!-- hit him!
Stand up--stand up, and stay so!
Spring, men--pull, men; never mind their backs--scrape them!-- scrape away!"
The boat was now all but jammed between two vast black bulks, leaving a narrow Dardanelles between their long lengths.
But by desperate endeavor we at last shot into a temporary opening; then giving way rapidly, and at the same time earnestly watching for another outlet.
After many similar hair - breadth escapes, we at last swiftly glided into what had just been one of the outer circles, but now crossed by random whales, all violently making for one centre.
This lucky salvation was cheaply purchased by the loss of Queequeg's hat, who, while standing in the bows to prick the fugitive whales, had his hat taken clean from his head by the air - eddy made by the sudden tossing of a pair of broad flukes close by.
Riotous and disordered as the universal commotion now was, it soon resolved itself into what seemed a systematic movement; for having clumped together at last in one dense body, they then renewed their onward flight with augmented fleetness.
Further pursuit was useless; but the boats still lingered in their wake to pick up what drugged whales might be dropped astern, and likewise to secure one which Flask had killed and waifed.
The result of this lowering was somewhat illustrative of that sagacious saying in the Fishery,-- the more whales the less fish.
Of all the drugged whales only one was captured.
The rest contrived to escape for the time, but only to be taken, as will hereafter be seen, by some other craft than the Pequod.
CHAPTER 88
Schools and Schoolmasters.
The previous chapter gave account of an immense body or herd of Sperm Whales, and there was also then given the probable cause inducing those vast aggregations.
Now, though such great bodies are at times encountered, yet, as must have been seen, even at the present day, small detached bands are occasionally observed, embracing from twenty to fifty individuals each.
Such bands are known as schools.
They generally are of two sorts; those composed almost entirely of females, and those mustering none but young vigorous males, or bulls, as they are familiarly designated.
In cavalier attendance upon the school of females, you invariably see a male of full grown magnitude, but not old; who, upon any alarm, evinces his gallantry by falling in the rear and covering the flight of his ladies.
In truth, this gentleman is a luxurious Ottoman, swimming about over the watery world, surroundingly accompanied by all the solaces and endearments of the harem.
The contrast between this Ottoman and his concubines is striking; because, while he is always of the largest leviathanic proportions, the ladies, even at full growth, are not more than one - third of the bulk of an average - sized male.
They are comparatively delicate, indeed; I dare say, not to exceed half a dozen yards round the waist.
Nevertheless, it cannot be denied, that upon the whole they are hereditarily entitled to EMBONPOINT.
It is very curious to watch this harem and its lord in their indolent ramblings.
Like fashionables, they are for ever on the move in leisurely search of variety.
You meet them on the Line in time for the full flower of the Equatorial feeding season, having just returned, perhaps, from spending the summer in the Northern seas, and so cheating summer of all unpleasant weariness and warmth.
By the time they have lounged up and down the promenade of the Equator awhile, they start for the Oriental waters in anticipation of the cool season there, and so evade the other excessive temperature of the year.
When serenely advancing on one of these journeys, if any strange suspicious sights are seen, my lord whale keeps a wary eye on his interesting family.
Should any unwarrantably pert young Leviathan coming that way, presume to draw confidentially close to one of the ladies, with what prodigious fury the Bashaw assails him, and chases him away!
High times, indeed, if unprincipled young rakes like him are to be permitted to invade the sanctity of domestic bliss; though do what the Bashaw will, he cannot keep the most notorious Lothario out of his bed; for, alas!
all fish bed in common.
As ashore, the ladies often cause the most terrible duels among their rival admirers; just so with the whales, who sometimes come to deadly battle, and all for love.
They fence with their long lower jaws, sometimes locking them together, and so striving for the supremacy like elks that warringly interweave their antlers.
Not a few are captured having the deep scars of these encounters,-- furrowed heads, broken teeth, scolloped fins; and in some instances, wrenched and dislocated mouths.
But supposing the invader of domestic bliss to betake himself away at the first rush of the harem's lord, then is it very diverting to watch that lord.
Gently he insinuates his vast bulk among them again and revels there awhile, still in tantalizing vicinity to young Lothario, like pious Solomon devoutly worshipping among his thousand concubines.
Granting other whales to be in sight, the fishermen will seldom give chase to one of these Grand Turks; for these Grand Turks are too lavish of their strength, and hence their unctuousness is small.
As for the sons and the daughters they beget, why, those sons and daughters must take care of themselves; at least, with only the maternal help.
For like certain other omnivorous roving lovers that might be named, my Lord Whale has no taste for the nursery, however much for the bower; and so, being a great traveller, he leaves his anonymous babies all over the world; every baby an exotic.
Now, as the harem of whales is called by the fishermen a school, so is the lord and master of that school technically known as the schoolmaster.
It is therefore not in strict character, however admirably satirical, that after going to school himself, he should then go abroad inculcating not what he learned there, but the folly of it.
The same secludedness and isolation to which the schoolmaster whale betakes himself in his advancing years, is true of all aged Sperm Whales.
Almost universally, a lone whale--as a solitary Leviathan is called--proves an ancient one.
Like venerable moss - bearded Daniel Boone, he will have no one near him but Nature herself; and her he takes to wife in the wilderness of waters, and the best of wives she is, though she keeps so many moody secrets.
The schools composing none but young and vigorous males, previously mentioned, offer a strong contrast to the harem schools.
The Forty - barrel - bull schools are larger than the harem schools.
Like a mob of young collegians, they are full of fight, fun, and wickedness, tumbling round the world at such a reckless, rollicking rate, that no prudent underwriter would insure them any more than he would a riotous lad at Yale or Harvard.
They soon relinquish this turbulence though, and when about three - fourths grown, break up, and separately go about in quest of settlements, that is, harems.
Another point of difference between the male and female schools is still more characteristic of the sexes.
Say you strike a Forty - barrel - bull--poor devil!
all his comrades quit him.
But strike a member of the harem school, and her companions swim around her with every token of concern, sometimes lingering so near her and so long, as themselves to fall a prey.
CHAPTER 89
Fast - Fish and Loose - Fish.
The allusion to the waif and waif - poles in the last chapter but one, necessitates some account of the laws and regulations of the whale fishery, of which the waif may be deemed the grand symbol and badge.
Thus the most vexatious and violent disputes would often arise between the fishermen, were there not some written or unwritten, universal, undisputed law applicable to all cases.
Perhaps the only formal whaling code authorized by legislative enactment, was that of Holland.
It was decreed by the States - General in A. D. 1695.
But though no other nation has ever had any written whaling law, yet the American fishermen have been their own legislators and lawyers in this matter.
They have provided a system which for terse comprehensiveness surpasses Justinian's Pandects and the By - laws of the Chinese Society for the Suppression of Meddling with other People's Business.
Yes; these laws might be engraven on a Queen Anne's forthing, or the barb of a harpoon, and worn round the neck, so small are they.
A Fast - Fish belongs to the party fast to it.
II.
A Loose - Fish is fair game for anybody who can soonest catch it.
But what plays the mischief with this masterly code is the admirable brevity of it, which necessitates a vast volume of commentaries to expound it.
First: What is a Fast - Fish?
Alive or dead a fish is technically fast, when it is connected with an occupied ship or boat, by any medium at all controllable by the occupant or occupants,-- a mast, an oar, a nine - inch cable, a telegraph wire, or a strand of cobweb, it is all the same.
Likewise a fish is technically fast when it bears a waif, or any other recognised symbol of possession; so long as the party waifing it plainly evince their ability at any time to take it alongside, as well as their intention so to do.
These are scientific commentaries; but the commentaries of the whalemen themselves sometimes consist in hard words and harder knocks--the Coke - upon - Littleton of the fist.
True, among the more upright and honourable whalemen allowances are always made for peculiar cases, where it would be an outrageous moral injustice for one party to claim possession of a whale previously chased or killed by another party.
But others are by no means so scrupulous.
Ultimately the defendants (the crew of another ship) came up with the whale, struck, killed, seized, and finally appropriated it before the very eyes of the plaintiffs.
Wherefore the plaintiffs now sued for the recovery of the value of their whale, line, harpoons, and boat.
Mr. Erskine was counsel for the defendants; Lord Ellenborough was the judge.
In the course of the defence, the witty Erskine went on to illustrate his position, by alluding to a recent crim.
con.
case, wherein a gentleman, after in vain trying to bridle his wife's viciousness, had at last abandoned her upon the seas of life; but in the course of years, repenting of that step, he instituted an action to recover possession of her.
Now in the present case Erskine contended that the examples of the whale and the lady were reciprocally illustrative of each other.
Now the defendants afterwards took the fish; ergo, the aforesaid articles were theirs.
A common man looking at this decision of the very learned Judge, might possibly object to it.
Is it not a saying in every one's mouth, Possession is half of the law: that is, regardless of how the thing came into possession?
But often possession is the whole of the law.
What are the sinews and souls of Russian serfs and Republican slaves but Fast - Fish, whereof possession is the whole of the law?
What to the rapacious landlord is the widow's last mite but a Fast - Fish?
What is yonder undetected villain's marble mansion with a door - plate for a waif; what is that but a Fast - Fish?
What is the ruinous discount which Mordecai, the broker, gets from poor Woebegone, the bankrupt, on a loan to keep Woebegone's family from starvation; what is that ruinous discount but a Fast - Fish?
What is the Archbishop of Savesoul's income of L100, 000 seized from the scant bread and cheese of hundreds of thousands of broken - backed laborers (all sure of heaven without any of Savesoul's help) what is that globular L100, 000 but a Fast - Fish?
What are the Duke of Dunder's hereditary towns and hamlets but Fast - Fish?
What to that redoubted harpooneer, John Bull, is poor Ireland, but a Fast - Fish?
What to that apostolic lancer, Brother Jonathan, is Texas but a Fast - Fish?
And concerning all these, is not Possession the whole of the law?
But if the doctrine of Fast - Fish be pretty generally applicable, the kindred doctrine of Loose - Fish is still more widely so.
That is internationally and universally applicable.
What was America in 1492 but a Loose - Fish, in which Columbus struck the Spanish standard by way of waifing it for his royal master and mistress?
What was Poland to the Czar?
What Greece to the Turk?
What India to England?
What at last will Mexico be to the United States?
All Loose - Fish.
What are the Rights of Man and the Liberties of the World but Loose - Fish?
What all men's minds and opinions but Loose - Fish?
What is the principle of religious belief in them but a Loose - Fish?
What to the ostentatious smuggling verbalists are the thoughts of thinkers but Loose - Fish?
What is the great globe itself but a Loose - Fish?
And what are you, reader, but a Loose - Fish and a Fast - Fish, too?
CHAPTER 90
Heads or Tails.
" De balena vero sufficit, si rex habeat caput, et regina caudam."
BRACTON, L. 3, C. 3.
Latin from the books of the Laws of England, which taken along with the context, means, that of all whales captured by anybody on the coast of that land, the King, as Honourary Grand Harpooneer, must have the head, and the Queen be respectfully presented with the tail.
A division which, in the whale, is much like halving an apple; there is no intermediate remainder.
In the first place, in curious proof of the fact that the above - mentioned law is still in force, I proceed to lay before you a circumstance that happened within the last two years.
It seems that some honest mariners of Dover, or Sandwich, or some one of the Cinque Ports, had after a hard chase succeeded in killing and beaching a fine whale which they had originally descried afar off from the shore.
Now the Cinque Ports are partially or somehow under the jurisdiction of a sort of policeman or beadle, called a Lord Warden.
Holding the office directly from the crown, I believe, all the royal emoluments incident to the Cinque Port territories become by assignment his.
By some writers this office is called a sinecure.
But not so.
Because the Lord Warden is busily employed at times in fobbing his perquisites; which are his chiefly by virtue of that same fobbing of them.
this fish, my masters, is a Fast - Fish.
I seize it as the Lord Warden's."
Upon this the poor mariners in their respectful consternation--so truly English--knowing not what to say, fall to vigorously scratching their heads all round; meanwhile ruefully glancing from the whale to the stranger.
But that did in nowise mend the matter, or at all soften the hard heart of the learned gentleman with the copy of Blackstone.
At length one of them, after long scratching about for his ideas, made bold to speak,
" Please, sir, who is the Lord Warden?"
" The Duke."
" But the duke had nothing to do with taking this fish?"
" It is his."
" We have been at great trouble, and peril, and some expense, and is all that to go to the Duke's benefit; we getting nothing at all for our pains but our blisters?"
" It is his."
" Is the Duke so very poor as to be forced to this desperate mode of getting a livelihood?"
" It is his."
" I thought to relieve my old bed - ridden mother by part of my share of this whale."
" It is his."
" Won't the Duke be content with a quarter or a half?"
" It is his."
In a word, the whale was seized and sold, and his Grace the Duke of Wellington received the money.
To which my Lord Duke in substance replied (both letters were published) that he had already done so, and received the money, and would be obliged to the reverend gentleman if for the future he (the reverend gentleman) would decline meddling with other people's business.
Is this the still militant old man, standing at the corners of the three kingdoms, on all hands coercing alms of beggars?
It will readily be seen that in this case the alleged right of the Duke to the whale was a delegated one from the Sovereign.
We must needs inquire then on what principle the Sovereign is originally invested with that right.
The law itself has already been set forth.
But Plowdon gives us the reason for it.
Says Plowdon, the whale so caught belongs to the King and Queen, " because of its superior excellence."
And by the soundest commentators this has ever been held a cogent argument in such matters.
But why should the King have the head, and the Queen the tail?
A reason for that, ye lawyers!
In his treatise on " Queen - Gold," or Queen - pinmoney, an old King's Bench author, one William Prynne, thus discourseth: " Ye tail is ye Queen's, that ye Queen's wardrobe may be supplied with ye whalebone."
Now this was written at a time when the black limber bone of the Greenland or Right whale was largely used in ladies'bodices.
But this same bone is not in the tail; it is in the head, which is a sad mistake for a sagacious lawyer like Prynne.
But is the Queen a mermaid, to be presented with a tail?
An allegorical meaning may lurk here.
There are two royal fish so styled by the English law writers--the whale and the sturgeon; both royal property under certain limitations, and nominally supplying the tenth branch of the crown's ordinary revenue.
And thus there seems a reason in all things, even in law.
CHAPTER 91
The Pequod Meets The Rose - Bud.
" In vain it was to rake for Ambergriese in the paunch of this Leviathan, insufferable fetor denying not inquiry."
SIR T. BROWNE, V. E.
It was a week or two after the last whaling scene recounted, and when we were slowly sailing over a sleepy, vapoury, mid - day sea, that the many noses on the Pequod's deck proved more vigilant discoverers than the three pairs of eyes aloft.
A peculiar and not very pleasant smell was smelt in the sea.
" I will bet something now," said Stubb, " that somewhere hereabouts are some of those drugged whales we tickled the other day.
I thought they would keel up before long."
Presently, the vapours in advance slid aside; and there in the distance lay a ship, whose furled sails betokened that some sort of whale must be alongside.
It may well be conceived, what an unsavory odor such a mass must exhale; worse than an Assyrian city in the plague, when the living are incompetent to bury the departed.
So intolerable indeed is it regarded by some, that no cupidity could persuade them to moor alongside of it.
Yet are there those who will still do it; notwithstanding the fact that the oil obtained from such subjects is of a very inferior quality, and by no means of the nature of attar - of - rose.
Coming still nearer with the expiring breeze, we saw that the Frenchman had a second whale alongside; and this second whale seemed even more of a nosegay than the first.
In truth, it turned out to be one of those problematical whales that seem to dry up and die with a sort of prodigious dyspepsia, or indigestion; leaving their defunct bodies almost entirely bankrupt of anything like oil.
Nevertheless, in the proper place we shall see that no knowing fisherman will ever turn up his nose at such a whale as this, however much he may shun blasted whales in general.
The Pequod had now swept so nigh to the stranger, that Stubb vowed he recognised his cutting spade - pole entangled in the lines that were knotted round the tail of one of these whales.
" There's a pretty fellow, now," he banteringly laughed, standing in the ship's bows, " there's a jackal for ye!
Poor devil!
I say, pass round a hat, some one, and let's make him a present of a little oil for dear charity's sake.
For what oil he'll get from that drugged whale there, wouldn't be fit to burn in a jail; no, not in a condemned cell.
And as for the other whale, why, I'll agree to get more oil by chopping up and trying out these three masts of ours, than he'll get from that bundle of bones; though, now that I think of it, it may contain something worth a good deal more than oil; yes, ambergris.
I wonder now if our old man has thought of that.
It's worth trying.
Yes, I'm for it;" and so saying he started for the quarter - deck.
By this time the faint air had become a complete calm; so that whether or no, the Pequod was now fairly entrapped in the smell, with no hope of escaping except by its breezing up again.
Issuing from the cabin, Stubb now called his boat's crew, and pulled off for the stranger.
Upon her head boards, in large gilt letters, he read " Bouton de Rose,"-- Rose - button, or Rose - bud; and this was the romantic name of this aromatic ship.
Though Stubb did not understand the BOUTON part of the inscription, yet the word ROSE, and the bulbous figure - head put together, sufficiently explained the whole to him.
" A wooden rose - bud, eh?"
he cried with his hand to his nose, " that will do very well; but how like all creation it smells!"
Now in order to hold direct communication with the people on deck, he had to pull round the bows to the starboard side, and thus come close to the blasted whale; and so talk over it.
Arrived then at this spot, with one hand still to his nose, he bawled --" Bouton - de - Rose, ahoy!
are there any of you Bouton - de - Roses that speak English?"
" Yes," rejoined a Guernsey - man from the bulwarks, who turned out to be the chief - mate.
" Well, then, my Bouton - de - Rose - bud, have you seen the White Whale?"
" WHAT whale?"
" The WHITE Whale--a Sperm Whale--Moby Dick, have ye seen him?
" Never heard of such a whale.
Cachalot Blanche!
White Whale--no."
" Very good, then; good bye now, and I'll call again in a minute."
Then rapidly pulling back towards the Pequod, and seeing Ahab leaning over the quarter - deck rail awaiting his report, he moulded his two hands into a trumpet and shouted --" No, Sir!
No!"
Upon which Ahab retired, and Stubb returned to the Frenchman.
He now perceived that the Guernsey - man, who had just got into the chains, and was using a cutting - spade, had slung his nose in a sort of bag.
" What's the matter with your nose, there?"
said Stubb.
" Broke it?"
" I wish it was broken, or that I didn't have any nose at all!"
answered the Guernsey - man, who did not seem to relish the job he was at very much.
" But what are you holding YOURS for?"
" Oh, nothing!
It's a wax nose; I have to hold it on.
Fine day, ain't it?
Air rather gardenny, I should say; throw us a bunch of posies, will ye, Bouton - de - Rose?"
" What in the devil's name do you want here?"
roared the Guernseyman, flying into a sudden passion.
" Oh!
keep cool--cool?
yes, that's the word!
why don't you pack those whales in ice while you're working at'em?
But joking aside, though; do you know, Rose - bud, that it's all nonsense trying to get any oil out of such whales?
As for that dried up one, there, he hasn't a gill in his whole carcase."
" I know that well enough; but, d'ye see, the Captain here won't believe it; this is his first voyage; he was a Cologne manufacturer before.
But come aboard, and mayhap he'll believe you, if he won't me; and so I'll get out of this dirty scrape."
" Anything to oblige ye, my sweet and pleasant fellow," rejoined Stubb, and with that he soon mounted to the deck.
There a queer scene presented itself.
The sailors, in tasselled caps of red worsted, were getting the heavy tackles in readiness for the whales.
But they worked rather slow and talked very fast, and seemed in anything but a good humor.
All their noses upwardly projected from their faces like so many jib - booms.
Now and then pairs of them would drop their work, and run up to the mast - head to get some fresh air.
Some thinking they would catch the plague, dipped oakum in coal - tar, and at intervals held it to their nostrils.
Others having broken the stems of their pipes almost short off at the bowl, were vigorously puffing tobacco - smoke, so that it constantly filled their olfactories.
Stubb was struck by a shower of outcries and anathemas proceeding from the Captain's round - house abaft; and looking in that direction saw a fiery face thrust from behind the door, which was held ajar from within.
This was the tormented surgeon, who, after in vain remonstrating against the proceedings of the day, had betaken himself to the Captain's round - house (CABINET he called it) to avoid the pest; but still, could not help yelling out his entreaties and indignations at times.
Sounding him carefully, Stubb further perceived that the Guernsey - man had not the slightest suspicion concerning the ambergris.
He therefore held his peace on that head, but otherwise was quite frank and confidential with him, so that the two quickly concocted a little plan for both circumventing and satirizing the Captain, without his at all dreaming of distrusting their sincerity.
According to this little plan of theirs, the Guernsey - man, under cover of an interpreter's office, was to tell the Captain what he pleased, but as coming from Stubb; and as for Stubb, he was to utter any nonsense that should come uppermost in him during the interview.
By this time their destined victim appeared from his cabin.
He was a small and dark, but rather delicate looking man for a sea - captain, with large whiskers and moustache, however; and wore a red cotton velvet vest with watch - seals at his side.
To this gentleman, Stubb was now politely introduced by the Guernsey - man, who at once ostentatiously put on the aspect of interpreting between them.
" What shall I say to him first?"
said he.
" Why," said Stubb, eyeing the velvet vest and the watch and seals, " you may as well begin by telling him that he looks a sort of babyish to me, though I don't pretend to be a judge."
" He says, Monsieur," said the Guernsey - man, in French, turning to his captain, " that only yesterday his ship spoke a vessel, whose captain and chief - mate, with six sailors, had all died of a fever caught from a blasted whale they had brought alongside."
Upon this the captain started, and eagerly desired to know more.
" What now?"
said the Guernsey - man to Stubb.
" Why, since he takes it so easy, tell him that now I have eyed him carefully, I'm quite certain that he's no more fit to command a whale - ship than a St. Jago monkey.
In fact, tell him from me he's a baboon."
" He vows and declares, Monsieur, that the other whale, the dried one, is far more deadly than the blasted one; in fine, Monsieur, he conjures us, as we value our lives, to cut loose from these fish."
Instantly the captain ran forward, and in a loud voice commanded his crew to desist from hoisting the cutting - tackles, and at once cast loose the cables and chains confining the whales to the ship.
" What now?"
said the Guernsey - man, when the Captain had returned to them.
" Why, let me see; yes, you may as well tell him now that--that--in fact, tell him I've diddled him, and (aside to himself) perhaps somebody else."
" He says, Monsieur, that he's very happy to have been of any service to us."
Hearing this, the captain vowed that they were the grateful parties (meaning himself and mate) and concluded by inviting Stubb down into his cabin to drink a bottle of Bordeaux.
" He wants you to take a glass of wine with him," said the interpreter.
" Thank him heartily; but tell him it's against my principles to drink with the man I've diddled.
In fact, tell him I must go."
" He says, Monsieur, that his principles won't admit of his drinking; but that if Monsieur wants to live another day to drink, then Monsieur had best drop all four boats, and pull the ship away from these whales, for it's so calm they won't drift."
By this time Stubb was over the side, and getting into his boat, hailed the Guernsey - man to this effect,-- that having a long tow - line in his boat, he would do what he could to help them, by pulling out the lighter whale of the two from the ship's side.
While the Frenchman's boats, then, were engaged in towing the ship one way, Stubb benevolently towed away at his whale the other way, ostentatiously slacking out a most unusually long tow - line.
Presently a breeze sprang up; Stubb feigned to cast off from the whale; hoisting his boats, the Frenchman soon increased his distance, while the Pequod slid in between him and Stubb's whale.
Whereupon Stubb quickly pulled to the floating body, and hailing the Pequod to give notice of his intentions, at once proceeded to reap the fruit of his unrighteous cunning.
Seizing his sharp boat - spade, he commenced an excavation in the body, a little behind the side fin.
You would almost have thought he was digging a cellar there in the sea; and when at length his spade struck against the gaunt ribs, it was like turning up old Roman tiles and pottery buried in fat English loam.
His boat's crew were all in high excitement, eagerly helping their chief, and looking as anxious as gold - hunters.
And all the time numberless fowls were diving, and ducking, and screaming, and yelling, and fighting around them.
" I have it, I have it," cried Stubb, with delight, striking something in the subterranean regions, " a purse!
a purse!"
Dropping his spade, he thrust both hands in, and drew out handfuls of something that looked like ripe Windsor soap, or rich mottled old cheese; very unctuous and savory withal.
You might easily dent it with your thumb; it is of a hue between yellow and ash colour.
And this, good friends, is ambergris, worth a gold guinea an ounce to any druggist.
Some six handfuls were obtained; but more was unavoidably lost in the sea, and still more, perhaps, might have been secured were it not for impatient Ahab's loud command to Stubb to desist, and come on board, else the ship would bid them good bye.
CHAPTER 92
Ambergris.
Now this ambergris is a very curious substance, and so important as an article of commerce, that in 1791 a certain Nantucket - born Captain Coffin was examined at the bar of the English House of Commons on that subject.
For at that time, and indeed until a comparatively late day, the precise origin of ambergris remained, like amber itself, a problem to the learned.
Though the word ambergris is but the French compound for grey amber, yet the two substances are quite distinct.
For amber, though at times found on the sea - coast, is also dug up in some far inland soils, whereas ambergris is never found except upon the sea.
The Turks use it in cooking, and also carry it to Mecca, for the same purpose that frankincense is carried to St. Peter's in Rome.
Some wine merchants drop a few grains into claret, to flavor it.
Who would think, then, that such fine ladies and gentlemen should regale themselves with an essence found in the inglorious bowels of a sick whale!
Yet so it is.
By some, ambergris is supposed to be the cause, and by others the effect, of the dyspepsia in the whale.
How to cure such a dyspepsia it were hard to say, unless by administering three or four boat loads of Brandreth's pills, and then running out of harm's way, as laborers do in blasting rocks.
Now that the incorruption of this most fragrant ambergris should be found in the heart of such decay; is this nothing?
Bethink thee of that saying of St. Paul in Corinthians, about corruption and incorruption; how that we are sown in dishonour, but raised in glory.
And likewise call to mind that saying of Paracelsus about what it is that maketh the best musk.
Also forget not the strange fact that of all things of ill - savor, Cologne - water, in its rudimental manufacturing stages, is the worst.
Elsewhere in this volume the slanderous aspersion has been disproved, that the vocation of whaling is throughout a slatternly, untidy business.
But there is another thing to rebut.
They hint that all whales always smell bad.
Now how did this odious stigma originate?
I opine, that it is plainly traceable to the first arrival of the Greenland whaling ships in London, more than two centuries ago.
The consequence is, that upon breaking into the hold, and unloading one of these whale cemeteries, in the Greenland dock, a savor is given forth somewhat similar to that arising from excavating an old city grave - yard, for the foundations of a Lying - in - Hospital.
As its name imports (smeer, fat; berg, to put up), this village was founded in order to afford a place for the blubber of the Dutch whale fleet to be tried out, without being taken home to Holland for that purpose.
It was a collection of furnaces, fat - kettles, and oil sheds; and when the works were in full operation certainly gave forth no very pleasant savor.
The truth is, that living or dead, if but decently treated, whales as a species are by no means creatures of ill odor; nor can whalemen be recognised, as the people of the middle ages affected to detect a Jew in the company, by the nose.
Nor indeed can the whale possibly be otherwise than fragrant, when, as a general thing, he enjoys such high health; taking abundance of exercise; always out of doors; though, it is true, seldom in the open air.
I say, that the motion of a Sperm Whale's flukes above water dispenses a perfume, as when a musk - scented lady rustles her dress in a warm parlor.
What then shall I liken the Sperm Whale to for fragrance, considering his magnitude?
Must it not be to that famous elephant, with jewelled tusks, and redolent with myrrh, which was led out of an Indian town to do honour to Alexander the Great?
CHAPTER 93
The Castaway.
Now, in the whale ship, it is not every one that goes in the boats.
Some few hands are reserved called ship - keepers, whose province it is to work the vessel while the boats are pursuing the whale.
As a general thing, these ship - keepers are as hardy fellows as the men comprising the boats'crews.
But if there happen to be an unduly slender, clumsy, or timorous wight in the ship, that wight is certain to be made a ship - keeper.
It was so in the Pequod with the little negro Pippin by nick - name, Pip by abbreviation.
Poor Pip!
ye have heard of him before; ye must remember his tambourine on that dramatic midnight, so gloomy - jolly.
In outer aspect, Pip and Dough - Boy made a match, like a black pony and a white one, of equal developments, though of dissimilar colour, driven in one eccentric span.
For blacks, the year's calendar should show naught but three hundred and sixty - five Fourth of Julys and New Year's Days.
Nor smile so, while I write that this little black was brilliant, for even blackness has its brilliancy; behold yon lustrous ebony, panelled in king's cabinets.
had turned the round horizon into one star - belled tambourine.
Then come out those fiery effulgences, infernally superb; then the evil - blazing diamond, once the divinest symbol of the crystal skies, looks like some crown - jewel stolen from the King of Hell.
But let us to the story.
It came to pass, that in the ambergris affair Stubb's after - oarsman chanced so to sprain his hand, as for a time to become quite maimed; and, temporarily, Pip was put into his place.
Now upon the second lowering, the boat paddled upon the whale; and as the fish received the darted iron, it gave its customary rap, which happened, in this instance, to be right under poor Pip's seat.
That instant the stricken whale started on a fierce run, the line swiftly straightened; and presto!
poor Pip came all foaming up to the chocks of the boat, remorselessly dragged there by the line, which had taken several turns around his chest and neck.
Tashtego stood in the bows.
He was full of the fire of the hunt.
He hated Pip for a poltroon.
Snatching the boat - knife from its sheath, he suspended its sharp edge over the line, and turning towards Stubb, exclaimed interrogatively, " Cut?"
Meantime Pip's blue, choked face plainly looked, Do, for God's sake!
All passed in a flash.
In less than half a minute, this entire thing happened.
" Damn him, cut!"
roared Stubb; and so the whale was lost and Pip was saved.
So soon as he recovered himself, the poor little negro was assailed by yells and execrations from the crew.
Tranquilly permitting these irregular cursings to evaporate, Stubb then in a plain, business - like, but still half humorous manner, cursed Pip officially; and that done, unofficially gave him much wholesome advice.
The substance was, Never jump from a boat, Pip, except--but all the rest was indefinite, as the soundest advice ever is.
Now, in general, STICK TO THE BOAT, is your true motto in whaling; but cases will sometimes happen when LEAP FROM THE BOAT, is still better.
We can't afford to lose whales by the likes of you; a whale would sell for thirty times what you would, Pip, in Alabama.
Bear that in mind, and don't jump any more."
Hereby perhaps Stubb indirectly hinted, that though man loved his fellow, yet man is a money - making animal, which propensity too often interferes with his benevolence.
But we are all in the hands of the Gods; and Pip jumped again.
It was under very similar circumstances to the first performance; but this time he did not breast out the line; and hence, when the whale started to run, Pip was left behind on the sea, like a hurried traveller's trunk.
Alas!
Stubb was but too true to his word.
It was a beautiful, bounteous, blue day; the spangled sea calm and cool, and flatly stretching away, all round, to the horizon, like gold - beater's skin hammered out to the extremest.
Bobbing up and down in that sea, Pip's ebon head showed like a head of cloves.
No boat - knife was lifted when he fell so rapidly astern.
Stubb's inexorable back was turned upon him; and the whale was winged.
In three minutes, a whole mile of shoreless ocean was between Pip and Stubb.
Out from the centre of the sea, poor Pip turned his crisp, curling, black head to the sun, another lonely castaway, though the loftiest and the brightest.
Now, in calm weather, to swim in the open ocean is as easy to the practised swimmer as to ride in a spring - carriage ashore.
But the awful lonesomeness is intolerable.
The intense concentration of self in the middle of such a heartless immensity, my God!
who can tell it?
Mark, how when sailors in a dead calm bathe in the open sea--mark how closely they hug their ship and only coast along her sides.
But had Stubb really abandoned the poor little negro to his fate?
No; he did not mean to, at least.
By the merest chance the ship itself at last rescued him; but from that hour the little negro went about the deck an idiot; such, at least, they said he was.
The sea had jeeringly kept his finite body up, but drowned the infinite of his soul.
Not drowned entirely, though.
He saw God's foot upon the treadle of the loom, and spoke it; and therefore his shipmates called him mad.
So man's insanity is heaven's sense; and wandering from all mortal reason, man comes at last to that celestial thought, which, to reason, is absurd and frantic; and weal or woe, feels then uncompromised, indifferent as his God.
For the rest, blame not Stubb too hardly.
The thing is common in that fishery; and in the sequel of the narrative, it will then be seen what like abandonment befell myself.
CHAPTER 94
A Squeeze of the Hand.
That whale of Stubb's, so dearly purchased, was duly brought to the Pequod's side, where all those cutting and hoisting operations previously detailed, were regularly gone through, even to the baling of the Heidelburgh Tun, or Case.
While some were occupied with this latter duty, others were employed in dragging away the larger tubs, so soon as filled with the sperm; and when the proper time arrived, this same sperm was carefully manipulated ere going to the try - works, of which anon.
It had cooled and crystallized to such a degree, that when, with several others, I sat down before a large Constantine's bath of it, I found it strangely concreted into lumps, here and there rolling about in the liquid part.
It was our business to squeeze these lumps back into fluid.
A sweet and unctuous duty!
No wonder that in old times this sperm was such a favourite cosmetic.
Such a clearer!
such a sweetener!
such a softener!
such a delicious molifier!
After having my hands in it for only a few minutes, my fingers felt like eels, and began, as it were, to serpentine and spiralise.
Squeeze!
squeeze!
squeeze!
all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me; and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co - laborers'hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules.
Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally; as much as to say,-- Oh!
my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill - humor or envy!
Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.
Would that I could keep squeezing that sperm for ever!
In thoughts of the visions of the night, I saw long rows of angels in paradise, each with his hands in a jar of spermaceti.
Now, while discoursing of sperm, it behooves to speak of other things akin to it, in the business of preparing the sperm whale for the try - works.
First comes white - horse, so called, which is obtained from the tapering part of the fish, and also from the thicker portions of his flukes.
It is tough with congealed tendons--a wad of muscle--but still contains some oil.
After being severed from the whale, the white - horse is first cut into portable oblongs ere going to the mincer.
They look much like blocks of Berkshire marble.
Plum - pudding is the term bestowed upon certain fragmentary parts of the whale's flesh, here and there adhering to the blanket of blubber, and often participating to a considerable degree in its unctuousness.
It is a most refreshing, convivial, beautiful object to behold.
As its name imports, it is of an exceedingly rich, mottled tint, with a bestreaked snowy and golden ground, dotted with spots of the deepest crimson and purple.
It is plums of rubies, in pictures of citron.
Spite of reason, it is hard to keep yourself from eating it.
I confess, that once I stole behind the foremast to try it.
There is another substance, and a very singular one, which turns up in the course of this business, but which I feel it to be very puzzling adequately to describe.
It is called slobgollion; an appellation original with the whalemen, and even so is the nature of the substance.
It is an ineffably oozy, stringy affair, most frequently found in the tubs of sperm, after a prolonged squeezing, and subsequent decanting.
I hold it to be the wondrously thin, ruptured membranes of the case, coalescing.
Gurry, so called, is a term properly belonging to right whalemen, but sometimes incidentally used by the sperm fishermen.
It designates the dark, glutinous substance which is scraped off the back of the Greenland or right whale, and much of which covers the decks of those inferior souls who hunt that ignoble Leviathan.
Nippers.
Strictly this word is not indigenous to the whale's vocabulary.
But as applied by whalemen, it becomes so.
A whaleman's nipper is a short firm strip of tendinous stuff cut from the tapering part of Leviathan's tail: it averages an inch in thickness, and for the rest, is about the size of the iron part of a hoe.
Edgewise moved along the oily deck, it operates like a leathern squilgee; and by nameless blandishments, as of magic, allures along with it all impurities.
But to learn all about these recondite matters, your best way is at once to descend into the blubber - room, and have a long talk with its inmates.
This place has previously been mentioned as the receptacle for the blanket - pieces, when stript and hoisted from the whale.
When the proper time arrives for cutting up its contents, this apartment is a scene of terror to all tyros, especially by night.
On one side, lit by a dull lantern, a space has been left clear for the workmen.
They generally go in pairs,-- a pike - and - gaffman and a spade - man.
The whaling - pike is similar to a frigate's boarding - weapon of the same name.
The gaff is something like a boat - hook.
With his gaff, the gaffman hooks on to a sheet of blubber, and strives to hold it from slipping, as the ship pitches and lurches about.
Meanwhile, the spade - man stands on the sheet itself, perpendicularly chopping it into the portable horse - pieces.
This spade is sharp as hone can make it; the spademan's feet are shoeless; the thing he stands on will sometimes irresistibly slide away from him, like a sledge.
If he cuts off one of his own toes, or one of his assistants ', would you be very much astonished?
Toes are scarce among veteran blubber - room men.
CHAPTER 95
The Cassock.
And an idol, indeed, it is; or, rather, in old times, its likeness was.
Look at the sailor, called the mincer, who now comes along, and assisted by two allies, heavily backs the grandissimus, as the mariners call it, and with bowed shoulders, staggers off with it as if he were a grenadier carrying a dead comrade from the field.
Extending it upon the forecastle deck, he now proceeds cylindrically to remove its dark pelt, as an African hunter the pelt of a boa.
This done he turns the pelt inside out, like a pantaloon leg; gives it a good stretching, so as almost to double its diameter; and at last hangs it, well spread, in the rigging, to dry.
Ere long, it is taken down; when removing some three feet of it, towards the pointed extremity, and then cutting two slits for arm - holes at the other end, he lengthwise slips himself bodily into it.
The mincer now stands before you invested in the full canonicals of his calling.
Immemorial to all his order, this investiture alone will adequately protect him, while employed in the peculiar functions of his office.
Arrayed in decent black; occupying a conspicuous pulpit; intent on bible leaves; what a candidate for an archbishopric, what a lad for a Pope were this mincer!
* Bible leaves!
Bible leaves!
This is the invariable cry from the mates to the mincer.
It enjoins him to be careful, and cut his work into as thin slices as possible, inasmuch as by so doing the business of boiling out the oil is much accelerated, and its quantity considerably increased, besides perhaps improving it in quality.
CHAPTER 96
The Try - Works.
Besides her hoisted boats, an American whaler is outwardly distinguished by her try - works.
She presents the curious anomaly of the most solid masonry joining with oak and hemp in constituting the completed ship.
It is as if from the open field a brick - kiln were transported to her planks.
The try - works are planted between the foremast and mainmast, the most roomy part of the deck.
The timbers beneath are of a peculiar strength, fitted to sustain the weight of an almost solid mass of brick and mortar, some ten feet by eight square, and five in height.
The foundation does not penetrate the deck, but the masonry is firmly secured to the surface by ponderous knees of iron bracing it on all sides, and screwing it down to the timbers.
On the flanks it is cased with wood, and at top completely covered by a large, sloping, battened hatchway.
Removing this hatch we expose the great try - pots, two in number, and each of several barrels'capacity.
When not in use, they are kept remarkably clean.
Sometimes they are polished with soapstone and sand, till they shine within like silver punch - bowls.
During the night - watches some cynical old sailors will crawl into them and coil themselves away there for a nap.
While employed in polishing them--one man in each pot, side by side--many confidential communications are carried on, over the iron lips.
It is a place also for profound mathematical meditation.
Removing the fire - board from the front of the try - works, the bare masonry of that side is exposed, penetrated by the two iron mouths of the furnaces, directly underneath the pots.
These mouths are fitted with heavy doors of iron.
The intense heat of the fire is prevented from communicating itself to the deck, by means of a shallow reservoir extending under the entire inclosed surface of the works.
By a tunnel inserted at the rear, this reservoir is kept replenished with water as fast as it evaporates.
There are no external chimneys; they open direct from the rear wall.
And here let us go back for a moment.
It was about nine o'clock at night that the Pequod's try - works were first started on this present voyage.
It belonged to Stubb to oversee the business.
" All ready there?
Off hatch, then, and start her.
You cook, fire the works."
This was an easy thing, for the carpenter had been thrusting his shavings into the furnace throughout the passage.
Here be it said that in a whaling voyage the first fire in the try - works has to be fed for a time with wood.
After that no wood is used, except as a means of quick ignition to the staple fuel.
In a word, after being tried out, the crisp, shrivelled blubber, now called scraps or fritters, still contains considerable of its unctuous properties.
These fritters feed the flames.
Like a plethoric burning martyr, or a self - consuming misanthrope, once ignited, the whale supplies his own fuel and burns by his own body.
Would that he consumed his own smoke!
for his smoke is horrible to inhale, and inhale it you must, and not only that, but you must live in it for the time.
It has an unspeakable, wild, Hindoo odor about it, such as may lurk in the vicinity of funereal pyres.
It smells like the left wing of the day of judgment; it is an argument for the pit.
By midnight the works were in full operation.
We were clear from the carcase; sail had been made; the wind was freshening; the wild ocean darkness was intense.
But that darkness was licked up by the fierce flames, which at intervals forked forth from the sooty flues, and illuminated every lofty rope in the rigging, as with the famed Greek fire.
The burning ship drove on, as if remorselessly commissioned to some vengeful deed.
So the pitch and sulphur - freighted brigs of the bold Hydriote, Canaris, issuing from their midnight harbors, with broad sheets of flame for sails, bore down upon the Turkish frigates, and folded them in conflagrations.
The hatch, removed from the top of the works, now afforded a wide hearth in front of them.
Standing on this were the Tartarean shapes of the pagan harpooneers, always the whale - ship's stokers.
With huge pronged poles they pitched hissing masses of blubber into the scalding pots, or stirred up the fires beneath, till the snaky flames darted, curling, out of the doors to catch them by the feet.
The smoke rolled away in sullen heaps.
To every pitch of the ship there was a pitch of the boiling oil, which seemed all eagerness to leap into their faces.
Opposite the mouth of the works, on the further side of the wide wooden hearth, was the windlass.
This served for a sea - sofa.
Here lounged the watch, when not otherwise employed, looking into the red heat of the fire, till their eyes felt scorched in their heads.
Their tawny features, now all begrimed with smoke and sweat, their matted beards, and the contrasting barbaric brilliancy of their teeth, all these were strangely revealed in the capricious emblazonings of the works.
So seemed it to me, as I stood at her helm, and for long hours silently guided the way of this fire - ship on the sea.
Wrapped, for that interval, in darkness myself, I but the better saw the redness, the madness, the ghastliness of others.
The continual sight of the fiend shapes before me, capering half in smoke and half in fire, these at last begat kindred visions in my soul, so soon as I began to yield to that unaccountable drowsiness which ever would come over me at a midnight helm.
But that night, in particular, a strange (and ever since inexplicable) thing occurred to me.
Starting from a brief standing sleep, I was horribly conscious of something fatally wrong.
The jaw - bone tiller smote my side, which leaned against it; in my ears was the low hum of sails, just beginning to shake in the wind; I thought my eyes were open; I was half conscious of putting my fingers to the lids and mechanically stretching them still further apart.
But, spite of all this, I could see no compass before me to steer by; though it seemed but a minute since I had been watching the card, by the steady binnacle lamp illuminating it.
Nothing seemed before me but a jet gloom, now and then made ghastly by flashes of redness.
Uppermost was the impression, that whatever swift, rushing thing I stood on was not so much bound to any haven ahead as rushing from all havens astern.
A stark, bewildered feeling, as of death, came over me.
Convulsively my hands grasped the tiller, but with the crazy conceit that the tiller was, somehow, in some enchanted way, inverted.
My God!
what is the matter with me?
thought I.
Lo!
in my brief sleep I had turned myself about, and was fronting the ship's stern, with my back to her prow and the compass.
In an instant I faced back, just in time to prevent the vessel from flying up into the wind, and very probably capsizing her.
How glad and how grateful the relief from this unnatural hallucination of the night, and the fatal contingency of being brought by the lee!
Look not too long in the face of the fire, O man!
Never dream with thy hand on the helm!
Turn not thy back to the compass; accept the first hint of the hitching tiller; believe not the artificial fire, when its redness makes all things look ghastly.
To - morrow, in the natural sun, the skies will be bright; those who glared like devils in the forking flames, the morn will show in far other, at least gentler, relief; the glorious, golden, glad sun, the only true lamp--all others but liars!
Nevertheless the sun hides not Virginia's Dismal Swamp, nor Rome's accursed Campagna, nor wide Sahara, nor all the millions of miles of deserts and of griefs beneath the moon.
The sun hides not the ocean, which is the dark side of this earth, and which is two thirds of this earth.
So, therefore, that mortal man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be true--not true, or undeveloped.
With books the same.
The truest of all men was the Man of Sorrows, and the truest of all books is Solomon's, and Ecclesiastes is the fine hammered steel of woe.
" All is vanity."
ALL.
This wilful world hath not got hold of unchristian Solomon's wisdom yet.
But even Solomon, he says, " the man that wandereth out of the way of understanding shall remain " (I. E., even while living) " in the congregation of the dead."
Give not thyself up, then, to fire, lest it invert thee, deaden thee; as for the time it did me.
There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness.
And there is a Catskill eagle in some souls that can alike dive down into the blackest gorges, and soar out of them again and become invisible in the sunny spaces.
And even if he for ever flies within the gorge, that gorge is in the mountains; so that even in his lowest swoop the mountain eagle is still higher than other birds upon the plain, even though they soar.
CHAPTER 97
The Lamp.
Had you descended from the Pequod's try - works to the Pequod's forecastle, where the off duty watch were sleeping, for one single moment you would have almost thought you were standing in some illuminated shrine of canonized kings and counsellors.
There they lay in their triangular oaken vaults, each mariner a chiselled muteness; a score of lamps flashing upon his hooded eyes.
In merchantmen, oil for the sailor is more scarce than the milk of queens.
To dress in the dark, and eat in the dark, and stumble in darkness to his pallet, this is his usual lot.
But the whaleman, as he seeks the food of light, so he lives in light.
He makes his berth an Aladdin's lamp, and lays him down in it; so that in the pitchiest night the ship's black hull still houses an illumination.
See with what entire freedom the whaleman takes his handful of lamps--often but old bottles and vials, though--to the copper cooler at the try - works, and replenishes them there, as mugs of ale at a vat.
He burns, too, the purest of oil, in its unmanufactured, and, therefore, unvitiated state; a fluid unknown to solar, lunar, or astral contrivances ashore.
It is sweet as early grass butter in April.
He goes and hunts for his oil, so as to be sure of its freshness and genuineness, even as the traveller on the prairie hunts up his own supper of game.
CHAPTER 98
Stowing Down and Clearing Up.
never more to rise and blow.
At length, when the last pint is casked, and all is cool, then the great hatchways are unsealed, the bowels of the ship are thrown open, and down go the casks to their final rest in the sea.
This done, the hatches are replaced, and hermetically closed, like a closet walled up.
In the sperm fishery, this is perhaps one of the most remarkable incidents in all the business of whaling.
But a day or two after, you look about you, and prick your ears in this self - same ship; and were it not for the tell - tale boats and try - works, you would all but swear you trod some silent merchant vessel, with a most scrupulously neat commander.
The unmanufactured sperm oil possesses a singularly cleansing virtue.
This is the reason why the decks never look so white as just after what they call an affair of oil.
Besides, from the ashes of the burned scraps of the whale, a potent lye is readily made; and whenever any adhesiveness from the back of the whale remains clinging to the side, that lye quickly exterminates it.
Hands go diligently along the bulwarks, and with buckets of water and rags restore them to their full tidiness.
The soot is brushed from the lower rigging.
All the numerous implements which have been in use are likewise faithfully cleansed and put away.
Now, with elated step, they pace the planks in twos and threes, and humorously discourse of parlors, sofas, carpets, and fine cambrics; propose to mat the deck; think of having hanging to the top; object not to taking tea by moonlight on the piazza of the forecastle.
To hint to such musked mariners of oil, and bone, and blubber, were little short of audacity.
They know not the thing you distantly allude to.
Away, and bring us napkins!
But mark: aloft there, at the three mast heads, stand three men intent on spying out more whales, which, if caught, infallibly will again soil the old oaken furniture, and drop at least one small grease - spot somewhere.
and away they fly to fight another whale, and go through the whole weary thing again.
Oh!
my friends, but this is man - killing!
Yet this is life.
Oh!
the metempsychosis!
Oh!
Pythagoras, that in bright Greece, two thousand years ago, did die, so good, so wise, so mild; I sailed with thee along the Peruvian coast last voyage--and, foolish as I am, taught thee, a green simple boy, how to splice a rope!
CHAPTER 99
The Doubloon.
But one morning, turning to pass the doubloon, he seemed to be newly attracted by the strange figures and inscriptions stamped on it, as though now for the first time beginning to interpret for himself in some monomaniac way whatever significance might lurk in them.
And some certain significance lurks in all things, else all things are little worth, and the round world itself but an empty cipher, except to sell by the cartload, as they do hills about Boston, to fill up some morass in the Milky Way.
Now this doubloon was of purest, virgin gold, raked somewhere out of the heart of gorgeous hills, whence, east and west, over golden sands, the head - waters of many a Pactolus flows.
And though now nailed amidst all the rustiness of iron bolts and the verdigris of copper spikes, yet, untouchable and immaculate to any foulness, it still preserved its Quito glow.
Nor, though placed amongst a ruthless crew and every hour passed by ruthless hands, and through the livelong nights shrouded with thick darkness which might cover any pilfering approach, nevertheless every sunrise found the doubloon where the sunset left it last.
For it was set apart and sanctified to one awe - striking end; and however wanton in their sailor ways, one and all, the mariners revered it as the white whale's talisman.
Sometimes they talked it over in the weary watch by night, wondering whose it was to be at last, and whether he would ever live to spend it.
Now those noble golden coins of South America are as medals of the sun and tropic token - pieces.
It so chanced that the doubloon of the Pequod was a most wealthy example of these things.
On its round border it bore the letters, REPUBLICA DEL ECUADOR: QUITO.
So this bright coin came from a country planted in the middle of the world, and beneath the great equator, and named after it; and it had been cast midway up the Andes, in the unwaning clime that knows no autumn.
Before this equatorial coin, Ahab, not unobserved by others, was now pausing.
" There's something ever egotistical in mountain - tops and towers, and all other grand and lofty things; look here,-- three peaks as proud as Lucifer.
Great pains, small gains for those who ask the world to solve them; it cannot solve itself.
Methinks now this coined sun wears a ruddy face; but see!
aye, he enters the sign of storms, the equinox!
and but six months before he wheeled out of a former equinox at Aries!
From storm to storm!
So be it, then.
Born in throes,'t is fit that man should live in pains and die in pangs!
So be it, then!
Here's stout stuff for woe to work on.
So be it, then."
" No fairy fingers can have pressed the gold, but devil's claws must have left their mouldings there since yesterday," murmured Starbuck to himself, leaning against the bulwarks.
" The old man seems to read Belshazzar's awful writing.
I have never marked the coin inspectingly.
He goes below; let me read.
A dark valley between three mighty, heaven - abiding peaks, that almost seem the Trinity, in some faint earthly symbol.
So in this vale of Death, God girds us round; and over all our gloom, the sun of Righteousness still shines a beacon and a hope.
If we bend down our eyes, the dark vale shows her mouldy soil; but if we lift them, the bright sun meets our glance half way, to cheer.
Yet, oh, the great sun is no fixture; and if, at midnight, we would fain snatch some sweet solace from him, we gaze for him in vain!
This coin speaks wisely, mildly, truly, but still sadly to me.
I will quit it, lest Truth shake me falsely."
" There now's the old Mogul," soliloquized Stubb by the try - works, " he's been twigging it; and there goes Starbuck from the same, and both with faces which I should say might be somewhere within nine fathoms long.
And all from looking at a piece of gold, which did I have it now on Negro Hill or in Corlaer's Hook, I'd not look at it very long ere spending it.
Humph!
in my poor, insignificant opinion, I regard this as queer.
I have seen doubloons before now in my voyagings; your doubloons of old Spain, your doubloons of Peru, your doubloons of Chili, your doubloons of Bolivia, your doubloons of Popayan; with plenty of gold moidores and pistoles, and joes, and half joes, and quarter joes.
What then should there be in this doubloon of the Equator that is so killing wonderful?
By Golconda!
let me read it once.
Halloa!
here's signs and wonders truly!
That, now, is what old Bowditch in his Epitome calls the zodiac, and what my almanac below calls ditto.
I'll get the almanac and as I have heard devils can be raised with Daboll's arithmetic, I'll try my hand at raising a meaning out of these queer curvicues here with the Massachusetts calendar.
Here's the book.
Let's see now.
Signs and wonders; and the sun, he's always among'em.
Hem, hem, hem; here they are--here they go--all alive:-- Aries, or the Ram; Taurus, or the Bull and Jimimi!
here's Gemini himself, or the Twins.
Well; the sun he wheels among'em.
Aye, here on the coin he's just crossing the threshold between two of twelve sitting - rooms all in a ring.
Book!
you lie there; the fact is, you books must know your places.
You'll do to give us the bare words and facts, but we come in to supply the thoughts.
That's my small experience, so far as the Massachusetts calendar, and Bowditch's navigator, and Daboll's arithmetic go.
Signs and wonders, eh?
Pity if there is nothing wonderful in signs, and significant in wonders!
There's a clue somewhere; wait a bit; hist--hark!
By Jove, I have it!
Look you, Doubloon, your zodiac here is the life of man in one round chapter; and now I'll read it off, straight out of the book.
Come, Almanack!
To begin: there's Aries, or the Ram--lecherous dog, he begets us; then, Taurus, or the Bull--he bumps us the first thing; then Gemini, or the Twins--that is, Virtue and Vice; we try to reach Virtue, when lo!
comes Cancer the Crab, and drags us back; and here, going from Virtue, Leo, a roaring Lion, lies in the path--he gives a few fierce bites and surly dabs with his paw; we escape, and hail Virgo, the Virgin!
that's our first love; we marry and think to be happy for aye, when pop comes Libra, or the Scales--happiness weighed and found wanting; and while we are very sad about that, Lord!
how we suddenly jump, as Scorpio, or the Scorpion, stings us in the rear; we are curing the wound, when whang come the arrows all round; Sagittarius, or the Archer, is amusing himself.
As we pluck out the shafts, stand aside!
here's the battering - ram, Capricornus, or the Goat; full tilt, he comes rushing, and headlong we are tossed; when Aquarius, or the Water - bearer, pours out his whole deluge and drowns us; and to wind up with Pisces, or the Fishes, we sleep.
There's a sermon now, writ in high heaven, and the sun goes through it every year, and yet comes out of it all alive and hearty.
Jollily he, aloft there, wheels through toil and trouble; and so, alow here, does jolly Stubb.
Oh, jolly's the word for aye!
Adieu, Doubloon!
But stop; here comes little King - Post; dodge round the try - works, now, and let's hear what he'll have to say.
There; he's before it; he'll out with something presently.
So, so; he's beginning."
" I see nothing here, but a round thing made of gold, and whoever raises a certain whale, this round thing belongs to him.
So, what's all this staring been about?
It is worth sixteen dollars, that's true; and at two cents the cigar, that's nine hundred and sixty cigars.
I won't smoke dirty pipes like Stubb, but I like cigars, and here's nine hundred and sixty of them; so here goes Flask aloft to spy'em out."
" Shall I call that wise or foolish, now; if it be really wise it has a foolish look to it; yet, if it be really foolish, then has it a sort of wiseish look to it.
But, avast; here comes our old Manxman--the old hearse - driver, he must have been, that is, before he took to the sea.
He luffs up before the doubloon; halloa, and goes round on the other side of the mast; why, there's a horse - shoe nailed on that side; and now he's back again; what does that mean?
Hark!
he's muttering--voice like an old worn - out coffee - mill.
Prick ears, and listen!"
" If the White Whale be raised, it must be in a month and a day, when the sun stands in some one of these signs.
I've studied signs, and know their marks; they were taught me two score years ago, by the old witch in Copenhagen.
Now, in what sign will the sun then be?
The horse - shoe sign; for there it is, right opposite the gold.
And what's the horse - shoe sign?
The lion is the horse - shoe sign--the roaring and devouring lion.
Ship, old ship!
my old head shakes to think of thee."
" There's another rendering now; but still one text.
All sorts of men in one kind of world, you see.
Dodge again!
here comes Queequeg--all tattooing--looks like the signs of the Zodiac himself.
What says the Cannibal?
As I live he's comparing notes; looking at his thigh bone; thinks the sun is in the thigh, or in the calf, or in the bowels, I suppose, as the old women talk Surgeon's Astronomy in the back country.
And by Jove, he's found something there in the vicinity of his thigh--I guess it's Sagittarius, or the Archer.
No: he don't know what to make of the doubloon; he takes it for an old button off some king's trowsers.
But, aside again!
here comes that ghost - devil, Fedallah; tail coiled out of sight as usual, oakum in the toes of his pumps as usual.
What does he say, with that look of his?
Ah, only makes a sign to the sign and bows himself; there is a sun on the coin--fire worshipper, depend upon it.
Ho!
more and more.
This way comes Pip--poor boy!
would he had died, or I; he's half horrible to me.
He too has been watching all of these interpreters--myself included--and look now, he comes to read, with that unearthly idiot face.
Stand away again and hear him.
Hark!"
" I look, you look, he looks; we look, ye look, they look."
" Upon my soul, he's been studying Murray's Grammar!
Improving his mind, poor fellow!
But what's that he says now--hist!"
" I look, you look, he looks; we look, ye look, they look."
" Why, he's getting it by heart--hist!
again."
" I look, you look, he looks; we look, ye look, they look."
" Well, that's funny."
" And I, you, and he; and we, ye, and they, are all bats; and I'm a crow, especially when I stand a'top of this pine tree here.
Caw!
caw!
caw!
caw!
caw!
caw!
Ain't I a crow?
And where's the scare - crow?
There he stands; two bones stuck into a pair of old trowsers, and two more poked into the sleeves of an old jacket."
" Wonder if he means me?-- complimentary!-- poor lad!-- I could go hang myself.
Any way, for the present, I'll quit Pip's vicinity.
I can stand the rest, for they have plain wits; but he's too crazy - witty for my sanity.
So, so, I leave him muttering."
" Here's the ship's navel, this doubloon here, and they are all on fire to unscrew it.
But, unscrew your navel, and what's the consequence?
Then again, if it stays here, that is ugly, too, for when aught's nailed to the mast it's a sign that things grow desperate.
Ha, ha!
old Ahab!
the White Whale; he'll nail ye!
This is a pine tree.
My father, in old Tolland county, cut down a pine tree once, and found a silver ring grown over in it; some old darkey's wedding ring.
How did it get there?
And so they'll say in the resurrection, when they come to fish up this old mast, and find a doubloon lodged in it, with bedded oysters for the shaggy bark.
Oh, the gold!
the precious, precious, gold!
the green miser'll hoard ye soon!
Hish!
hish!
God goes'mong the worlds blackberrying.
Cook!
ho, cook!
and cook us!
Jenny!
hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, Jenny, Jenny!
and get your hoe - cake done!"
CHAPTER 100
Leg and Arm.
The Pequod, of Nantucket, Meets the Samuel Enderby, of London.
" Ship, ahoy!
Hast seen the White Whale?"
So cried Ahab, once more hailing a ship showing English colours, bearing down under the stern.
Trumpet to mouth, the old man was standing in his hoisted quarter - boat, his ivory leg plainly revealed to the stranger captain, who was carelessly reclining in his own boat's bow.
" Hast seen the White Whale!"
" See you this?"
and withdrawing it from the folds that had hidden it, he held up a white arm of sperm whale bone, terminating in a wooden head like a mallet.
" Man my boat!"
cried Ahab, impetuously, and tossing about the oars near him --" Stand by to lower!"
In less than a minute, without quitting his little craft, he and his crew were dropped to the water, and were soon alongside of the stranger.
But here a curious difficulty presented itself.
So, deprived of one leg, and the strange ship of course being altogether unsupplied with the kindly invention, Ahab now found himself abjectly reduced to a clumsy landsman again; hopelessly eyeing the uncertain changeful height he could hardly hope to attain.
It has before been hinted, perhaps, that every little untoward circumstance that befell him, and which indirectly sprang from his luckless mishap, almost invariably irritated or exasperated Ahab.
But this awkwardness only lasted a minute, because the strange captain, observing at a glance how affairs stood, cried out, " I see, I see!-- avast heaving there!
Jump, boys, and swing over the cutting - tackle."
As good luck would have it, they had had a whale alongside a day or two previous, and the great tackles were still aloft, and the massive curved blubber - hook, now clean and dry, was still attached to the end.
Soon he was carefully swung inside the high bulwarks, and gently landed upon the capstan head.
With his ivory arm frankly thrust forth in welcome, the other captain advanced, and Ahab, putting out his ivory leg, and crossing the ivory arm (like two sword - fish blades) cried out in his walrus way, " Aye, aye, hearty!
let us shake bones together!-- an arm and a leg!-- an arm that never can shrink, d'ye see; and a leg that never can run.
Where did'st thou see the White Whale?-- how long ago?"
" The White Whale," said the Englishman, pointing his ivory arm towards the East, and taking a rueful sight along it, as if it had been a telescope; " there I saw him, on the Line, last season."
" And he took that arm off, did he?"
asked Ahab, now sliding down from the capstan, and resting on the Englishman's shoulder, as he did so.
" Aye, he was the cause of it, at least; and that leg, too?"
" Spin me the yarn," said Ahab; " how was it?"
" It was the first time in my life that I ever cruised on the Line," began the Englishman.
" I was ignorant of the White Whale at that time.
Well, one day we lowered for a pod of four or five whales, and my boat fastened to one of them; a regular circus horse he was, too, that went milling and milling round so, that my boat's crew could only trim dish, by sitting all their sterns on the outer gunwale.
Presently up breaches from the bottom of the sea a bouncing great whale, with a milky - white head and hump, all crows'feet and wrinkles."
" It was he, it was he!"
cried Ahab, suddenly letting out his suspended breath.
" And harpoons sticking in near his starboard fin."
" Aye, aye--they were mine--MY irons," cried Ahab, exultingly --" but on!"
" Give me a chance, then," said the Englishman, good - humoredly.
" Well, this old great - grandfather, with the white head and hump, runs all afoam into the pod, and goes to snapping furiously at my fast - line!
" Aye, I see!-- wanted to part it; free the fast - fish--an old trick--I know him."
" How it was exactly," continued the one - armed commander, " I do not know; but in biting the line, it got foul of his teeth, caught there somehow; but we didn't know it then; so that when we afterwards pulled on the line, bounce we came plump on to his hump!
instead of the other whale's; that went off to windward, all fluking.
Seeing how matters stood, and what a noble great whale it was--the noblest and biggest I ever saw, sir, in my life--I resolved to capture him, spite of the boiling rage he seemed to be in.
But, Lord, look you, sir--hearts and souls alive, man--the next instant, in a jiff, I was blind as a bat--both eyes out--all befogged and bedeadened with black foam--the whale's tail looming straight up out of it, perpendicular in the air, like a marble steeple.
We all struck out.
To escape his terrible flailings, I seized hold of my harpoon - pole sticking in him, and for a moment clung to that like a sucking fish.
Now, Bunger boy, spin your part of the yarn."
The professional gentleman thus familiarly pointed out, had been all the time standing near them, with nothing specific visible, to denote his gentlemanly rank on board.
But, at his superior's introduction of him to Ahab, he politely bowed, and straightway went on to do his captain's bidding.
" It was a shocking bad wound," began the whale - surgeon; " and, taking my advice, Captain Boomer here, stood our old Sammy --"
" Samuel Enderby is the name of my ship," interrupted the one - armed captain, addressing Ahab; " go on, boy."
" Stood our old Sammy off to the northward, to get out of the blazing hot weather there on the Line.
But it was no use--I did all I could; sat up with him nights; was very severe with him in the matter of diet --"
" Oh, very severe!"
chimed in the patient himself; then suddenly altering his voice, " Drinking hot rum toddies with me every night, till he couldn't see to put on the bandages; and sending me to bed, half seas over, about three o'clock in the morning.
Oh, ye stars!
he sat up with me indeed, and was very severe in my diet.
Oh!
a great watcher, and very dietetically severe, is Dr. Bunger.
(Bunger, you dog, laugh out!
why don't ye?
You know you're a precious jolly rascal.)
But, heave ahead, boy, I'd rather be killed by you than kept alive by any other man."
" My captain, you must have ere this perceived, respected sir "-- said the imperturbable godly - looking Bunger, slightly bowing to Ahab --" is apt to be facetious at times; he spins us many clever things of that sort.
But I may as well say--en passant, as the French remark--that I myself--that is to say, Jack Bunger, late of the reverend clergy--am a strict total abstinence man; I never drink --"
" Water!"
cried the captain; " he never drinks it; it's a sort of fits to him; fresh water throws him into the hydrophobia; but go on--go on with the arm story."
" Yes, I may as well," said the surgeon, coolly.
I measured it with the lead line.
In short, it grew black; I knew what was threatened, and off it came.
He flies into diabolical passions sometimes.
" No, I don't," said the captain, " but his mother did; he was born with it.
Oh, you solemn rogue, you--you Bunger!
was there ever such another Bunger in the watery world?
Bunger, when you die, you ought to die in pickle, you dog; you should be preserved to future ages, you rascal."
" What became of the White Whale?"
now cried Ahab, who thus far had been impatiently listening to this by - play between the two Englishmen.
" Oh!"
cried the one - armed captain, " oh, yes!
" Did'st thou cross his wake again?"
" Twice."
" But could not fasten?"
" Didn't want to try to: ain't one limb enough?
What should I do without this other arm?
And I'm thinking Moby Dick doesn't bite so much as he swallows."
" Well, then," interrupted Bunger, " give him your left arm for bait to get the right.
And he knows it too.
So that what you take for the White Whale's malice is only his awkwardness.
For he never means to swallow a single limb; he only thinks to terrify by feints.
No possible way for him to digest that jack - knife, and fully incorporate it into his general bodily system.
Yes, Captain Boomer, if you are quick enough about it, and have a mind to pawn one arm for the sake of the privilege of giving decent burial to the other, why in that case the arm is yours; only let the whale have another chance at you shortly, that's all."
" No, thank ye, Bunger," said the English Captain, " he's welcome to the arm he has, since I can't help it, and didn't know him then; but not to another one.
No more White Whales for me; I've lowered for him once, and that has satisfied me.
There would be great glory in killing him, I know that; and there is a ship - load of precious sperm in him, but, hark ye, he's best let alone; don't you think so, Captain?"
-- glancing at the ivory leg.
" He is.
But he will still be hunted, for all that.
What is best let alone, that accursed thing is not always what least allures.
He's all a magnet!
How long since thou saw'st him last?
Which way heading?"
" Bless my soul, and curse the foul fiend's," cried Bunger, stoopingly walking round Ahab, and like a dog, strangely snuffing; " this man's blood--bring the thermometer!-- it's at the boiling point!-- his pulse makes these planks beat!-- sir!"
-- taking a lancet from his pocket, and drawing near to Ahab's arm.
" Avast!"
roared Ahab, dashing him against the bulwarks --" Man the boat!
Which way heading?"
" Good God!"
cried the English Captain, to whom the question was put.
" What's the matter?
He was heading east, I think.-- Is your Captain crazy?"
whispering Fedallah.
But Fedallah, putting a finger on his lip, slid over the bulwarks to take the boat's steering oar, and Ahab, swinging the cutting - tackle towards him, commanded the ship's sailors to stand by to lower.
In a moment he was standing in the boat's stern, and the Manilla men were springing to their oars.
In vain the English Captain hailed him.
With back to the stranger ship, and face set like a flint to his own, Ahab stood upright till alongside of the Pequod.
CHAPTER 101
The Decanter.
Be it distinctly recorded here, that the Nantucketers were the first among mankind to harpoon with civilized steel the great Sperm Whale; and that for half a century they were the only people of the whole globe who so harpooned him.
In 1778, a fine ship, the Amelia, fitted out for the express purpose, and at the sole charge of the vigorous Enderbys, boldly rounded Cape Horn, and was the first among the nations to lower a whale - boat of any sort in the great South Sea.
The voyage was a skilful and lucky one; and returning to her berth with her hold full of the precious sperm, the Amelia's example was soon followed by other ships, English and American, and thus the vast Sperm Whale grounds of the Pacific were thrown open.
Commanded by a naval Post - Captain, the Rattler made a rattling voyage of it, and did some service; how much does not appear.
But this is not all.
In 1819, the same house fitted out a discovery whale ship of their own, to go on a tasting cruise to the remote waters of Japan.
That ship--well called the " Syren "-- made a noble experimental cruise; and it was thus that the great Japanese Whaling Ground first became generally known.
The Syren in this famous voyage was commanded by a Captain Coffin, a Nantucketer.
All honour to the Enderbies, therefore, whose house, I think, exists to the present day; though doubtless the original Samuel must long ago have slipped his cable for the great South Sea of the other world.
The ship named after him was worthy of the honour, being a very fast sailer and a noble craft every way.
I boarded her once at midnight somewhere off the Patagonian coast, and drank good flip down in the forecastle.
It was a fine gam we had, and they were all trumps--every soul on board.
A short life to them, and a jolly death.
And that fine gam I had--long, very long after old Ahab touched her planks with his ivory heel--it minds me of the noble, solid, Saxon hospitality of that ship; and may my parson forget me, and the devil remember me, if I ever lose sight of it.
Flip?
Did I say we had flip?
However, the masts did not go overboard; and by and by we scrambled down, so sober, that we had to pass the flip again, though the savage salt spray bursting down the forecastle scuttle, rather too much diluted and pickled it to my taste.
The beef was fine--tough, but with body in it.
They said it was bull - beef; others, that it was dromedary beef; but I do not know, for certain, how that was.
They had dumplings too; small, but substantial, symmetrically globular, and indestructible dumplings.
I fancied that you could feel them, and roll them about in you after they were swallowed.
If you stooped over too far forward, you risked their pitching out of you like billiard - balls.
The bread--but that couldn't be helped; besides, it was an anti - scorbutic; in short, the bread contained the only fresh fare they had.
But the forecastle was not very light, and it was very easy to step over into a dark corner when you ate it.
I will tell you.
The abounding good cheer of these English whalers is matter for historical research.
Nor have I been at all sparing of historical whale research, when it has seemed needed.
The English were preceded in the whale fishery by the Hollanders, Zealanders, and Danes; from whom they derived many terms still extant in the fishery; and what is yet more, their fat old fashions, touching plenty to eat and drink.
For, as a general thing, the English merchant - ship scrimps her crew; but not so the English whaler.
Hence, in the English, this thing of whaling good cheer is not normal and natural, but incidental and particular; and, therefore, must have some special origin, which is here pointed out, and will be still further elucidated.
During my researches in the Leviathanic histories, I stumbled upon an ancient Dutch volume, which, by the musty whaling smell of it, I knew must be about whalers.
The title was, " Dan Coopman," wherefore I concluded that this must be the invaluable memoirs of some Amsterdam cooper in the fishery, as every whale ship must carry its cooper.
I was reinforced in this opinion by seeing that it was the production of one " Fitz Swackhammer."
In short, this ancient and learned Low Dutch book treated of the commerce of Holland; and, among other subjects, contained a very interesting account of its whale fishery.
And in this chapter it was, headed, " Smeer," or " Fat," that I found a long detailed list of the outfits for the larders and cellars of 180 sail of Dutch whalemen; from which list, as translated by Dr. Snodhead, I transcribe the following:
400, 000 lbs.
of beef.
60, 000 lbs.
Friesland pork.
150, 000 lbs.
of stock fish.
550, 000 lbs.
of biscuit.
72, 000 lbs.
of soft bread.
2, 800 firkins of butter.
20, 000 lbs.
Texel & Leyden cheese.
144, 000 lbs.
cheese (probably an inferior article).
550 ankers of Geneva.
10, 800 barrels of beer.
Most statistical tables are parchingly dry in the reading; not so in the present case, however, where the reader is flooded with whole pipes, barrels, quarts, and gills of good gin and good cheer.
In the first place, the amount of butter, and Texel and Leyden cheese consumed, seems amazing.
The quantity of beer, too, is very large, 10, 800 barrels.
Now, whether these gin and beer harpooneers, so fuddled as one might fancy them to have been, were the right sort of men to stand up in a boat's head, and take good aim at flying whales; this would seem somewhat improbable.
Yet they did aim at them, and hit them too.
But no more; enough has been said to show that the old Dutch whalers of two or three centuries ago were high livers; and that the English whalers have not neglected so excellent an example.
For, say they, when cruising in an empty ship, if you can get nothing better out of the world, get a good dinner out of it, at least.
And this empties the decanter.
CHAPTER 102
A Bower in the Arsacides.
Hitherto, in descriptively treating of the Sperm Whale, I have chiefly dwelt upon the marvels of his outer aspect; or separately and in detail upon some few interior structural features.
But how now, Ishmael?
How is it, that you, a mere oarsman in the fishery, pretend to know aught about the subterranean parts of the whale?
Did erudite Stubb, mounted upon your capstan, deliver lectures on the anatomy of the Cetacea; and by help of the windlass, hold up a specimen rib for exhibition?
Explain thyself, Ishmael.
Can you land a full - grown whale on your deck for examination, as a cook dishes a roast - pig?
Surely not.
I confess, that since Jonah, few whalemen have penetrated very far beneath the skin of the adult whale; nevertheless, I have been blessed with an opportunity to dissect him in miniature.
In a ship I belonged to, a small cub Sperm Whale was once bodily hoisted to the deck for his poke or bag, to make sheaths for the barbs of the harpoons, and for the heads of the lances.
Think you I let that chance go, without using my boat - hatchet and jack - knife, and breaking the seal and reading all the contents of that young cub?
And as for my exact knowledge of the bones of the leviathan in their gigantic, full grown development, for that rare knowledge I am indebted to my late royal friend Tranquo, king of Tranque, one of the Arsacides.
Chief among these latter was a great Sperm Whale, which, after an unusually long raging gale, had been found dead and stranded, with his head against a cocoa - nut tree, whose plumage - like, tufted droopings seemed his verdant jet.
When the vast body had at last been stripped of its fathom - deep enfoldings, and the bones become dust dry in the sun, then the skeleton was carefully transported up the Pupella glen, where a grand temple of lordly palms now sheltered it.
It was a wondrous sight.
All the trees, with all their laden branches; all the shrubs, and ferns, and grasses; the message - carrying air; all these unceasingly were active.
Through the lacings of the leaves, the great sun seemed a flying shuttle weaving the unwearied verdure.
Oh, busy weaver!
unseen weaver!-- pause!-- one word!-- whither flows the fabric?
what palace may it deck?
wherefore all these ceaseless toilings?
Speak, weaver!-- stay thy hand!-- but one single word with thee!
Nay--the shuttle flies--the figures float from forth the loom; the freshet - rushing carpet for ever slides away.
The weaver - god, he weaves; and by that weaving is he deafened, that he hears no mortal voice; and by that humming, we, too, who look on the loom are deafened; and only when we escape it shall we hear the thousand voices that speak through it.
For even so it is in all material factories.
The spoken words that are inaudible among the flying spindles; those same words are plainly heard without the walls, bursting from the opened casements.
Thereby have villainies been detected.
Ah, mortal!
then, be heedful; for so, in all this din of the great world's loom, thy subtlest thinkings may be overheard afar.
Now, amid the green, life - restless loom of that Arsacidean wood, the great, white, worshipped skeleton lay lounging--a gigantic idler!
Yet, as the ever - woven verdant warp and woof intermixed and hummed around him, the mighty idler seemed the cunning weaver; himself all woven over with the vines; every month assuming greener, fresher verdure; but himself a skeleton.
Life folded Death; Death trellised Life; the grim god wived with youthful Life, and begat him curly - headed glories.
Now, when with royal Tranquo I visited this wondrous whale, and saw the skull an altar, and the artificial smoke ascending from where the real jet had issued, I marvelled that the king should regard a chapel as an object of vertu.
He laughed.
But more I marvelled that the priests should swear that smoky jet of his was genuine.
To and fro I paced before this skeleton--brushed the vines aside--broke through the ribs--and with a ball of Arsacidean twine, wandered, eddied long amid its many winding, shaded colonnades and arbours.
But soon my line was out; and following it back, I emerged from the opening where I entered.
I saw no living thing within; naught was there but bones.
Cutting me a green measuring - rod, I once more dived within the skeleton.
From their arrow - slit in the skull, the priests perceived me taking the altitude of the final rib, " How now!"
they shouted; " Dar'st thou measure this our god!
That's for us."
" Aye, priests--well, how long do ye make him, then?"
But hereupon a fierce contest rose among them, concerning feet and inches; they cracked each other's sconces with their yard - sticks--the great skull echoed--and seizing that lucky chance, I quickly concluded my own admeasurements.
These admeasurements I now propose to set before you.
But first, be it recorded, that, in this matter, I am not free to utter any fancied measurement I please.
Because there are skeleton authorities you can refer to, to test my accuracy.
There is a Leviathanic Museum, they tell me, in Hull, England, one of the whaling ports of that country, where they have some fine specimens of fin - backs and other whales.
Likewise, I have heard that in the museum of Manchester, in New Hampshire, they have what the proprietors call " the only perfect specimen of a Greenland or River Whale in the United States."
Moreover, at a place in Yorkshire, England, Burton Constable by name, a certain Sir Clifford Constable has in his possession the skeleton of a Sperm Whale, but of moderate size, by no means of the full - grown magnitude of my friend King Tranquo's.
In both cases, the stranded whales to which these two skeletons belonged, were originally claimed by their proprietors upon similar grounds.
King Tranquo seizing his because he wanted it; and Sir Clifford, because he was lord of the seignories of those parts.
Sir Clifford's whale has been articulated throughout; so that, like a great chest of drawers, you can open and shut him, in all his bony cavities--spread out his ribs like a gigantic fan--and swing all day upon his lower jaw.
Locks are to be put upon some of his trap - doors and shutters; and a footman will show round future visitors with a bunch of keys at his side.
Sir Clifford thinks of charging twopence for a peep at the whispering gallery in the spinal column; threepence to hear the echo in the hollow of his cerebellum; and sixpence for the unrivalled view from his forehead.
The skeleton dimensions I shall now proceed to set down are copied verbatim from my right arm, where I had them tattooed; as in my wild wanderings at that period, there was no other secure way of preserving such valuable statistics.
CHAPTER 103
Measurement of The Whale's Skeleton.
In the first place, I wish to lay before you a particular, plain statement, touching the living bulk of this leviathan, whose skeleton we are briefly to exhibit.
Such a statement may prove useful here.
Think you not then that brains, like yoked cattle, should be put to this leviathan, to make him at all budge to any landsman's imagination?
Having already in various ways put before you his skull, spout - hole, jaw, teeth, tail, forehead, fins, and divers other parts, I shall now simply point out what is most interesting in the general bulk of his unobstructed bones.
In length, the Sperm Whale's skeleton at Tranque measured seventy - two Feet; so that when fully invested and extended in life, he must have been ninety feet long; for in the whale, the skeleton loses about one fifth in length compared with the living body.
Of this seventy - two feet, his skull and jaw comprised some twenty feet, leaving some fifty feet of plain back - bone.
Attached to this back - bone, for something less than a third of its length, was the mighty circular basket of ribs which once enclosed his vitals.
The ribs were ten on a side.
The first, to begin from the neck, was nearly six feet long; the second, third, and fourth were each successively longer, till you came to the climax of the fifth, or one of the middle ribs, which measured eight feet and some inches.
From that part, the remaining ribs diminished, till the tenth and last only spanned five feet and some inches.
In general thickness, they all bore a seemly correspondence to their length.
The middle ribs were the most arched.
In some of the Arsacides they are used for beams whereon to lay footpath bridges over small streams.
In considering these ribs, I could not but be struck anew with the circumstance, so variously repeated in this book, that the skeleton of the whale is by no means the mould of his invested form.
The largest of the Tranque ribs, one of the middle ones, occupied that part of the fish which, in life, is greatest in depth.
Now, the greatest depth of the invested body of this particular whale must have been at least sixteen feet; whereas, the corresponding rib measured but little more than eight feet.
So that this rib only conveyed half of the true notion of the living magnitude of that part.
Besides, for some way, where I now saw but a naked spine, all that had been once wrapped round with tons of added bulk in flesh, muscle, blood, and bowels.
Still more, for the ample fins, I here saw but a few disordered joints; and in place of the weighty and majestic, but boneless flukes, an utter blank!
How vain and foolish, then, thought I, for timid untravelled man to try to comprehend aright this wondrous whale, by merely poring over his dead attenuated skeleton, stretched in this peaceful wood.
No.
Only in the heart of quickest perils; only when within the eddyings of his angry flukes; only on the profound unbounded sea, can the fully invested whale be truly and livingly found out.
But the spine.
For that, the best way we can consider it is, with a crane, to pile its bones high up on end.
No speedy enterprise.
But now it's done, it looks much like Pompey's Pillar.
There are forty and odd vertebrae in all, which in the skeleton are not locked together.
They mostly lie like the great knobbed blocks on a Gothic spire, forming solid courses of heavy masonry.
The largest, a middle one, is in width something less than three feet, and in depth more than four.
The smallest, where the spine tapers away into the tail, is only two inches in width, and looks something like a white billiard - ball.
I was told that there were still smaller ones, but they had been lost by some little cannibal urchins, the priest's children, who had stolen them to play marbles with.
Thus we see how that the spine of even the hugest of living things tapers off at last into simple child's play.
CHAPTER 104
The Fossil Whale.
From his mighty bulk the whale affords a most congenial theme whereon to enlarge, amplify, and generally expatiate.
Would you, you could not compress him.
By good rights he should only be treated of in imperial folio.
Since I have undertaken to manhandle this Leviathan, it behooves me to approve myself omnisciently exhaustive in the enterprise; not overlooking the minutest seminal germs of his blood, and spinning him out to the uttermost coil of his bowels.
Having already described him in most of his present habitatory and anatomical peculiarities, it now remains to magnify him in an archaeological, fossiliferous, and antediluvian point of view.
Applied to any other creature than the Leviathan--to an ant or a flea--such portly terms might justly be deemed unwarrantably grandiloquent.
But when Leviathan is the text, the case is altered.
Fain am I to stagger to this emprise under the weightiest words of the dictionary.
One often hears of writers that rise and swell with their subject, though it may seem but an ordinary one.
How, then, with me, writing of this Leviathan?
Unconsciously my chirography expands into placard capitals.
Give me a condor's quill!
Give me Vesuvius'crater for an inkstand!
Friends, hold my arms!
Such, and so magnifying, is the virtue of a large and liberal theme!
We expand to its bulk.
To produce a mighty book, you must choose a mighty theme.
No great and enduring volume can ever be written on the flea, though many there be who have tried it.
Ere entering upon the subject of Fossil Whales, I present my credentials as a geologist, by stating that in my miscellaneous time I have been a stone - mason, and also a great digger of ditches, canals and wells, wine - vaults, cellars, and cisterns of all sorts.
And though none of them precisely answer to any known species of the present time, they are yet sufficiently akin to them in general respects, to justify their taking rank as Cetacean fossils.
Cuvier pronounced these fragments to have belonged to some utterly unknown Leviathanic species.
But by far the most wonderful of all Cetacean relics was the almost complete vast skeleton of an extinct monster, found in the year 1842, on the plantation of Judge Creagh, in Alabama.
The awe - stricken credulous slaves in the vicinity took it for the bones of one of the fallen angels.
The Alabama doctors declared it a huge reptile, and bestowed upon it the name of Basilosaurus.
But some specimen bones of it being taken across the sea to Owen, the English Anatomist, it turned out that this alleged reptile was a whale, though of a departed species.
A significant illustration of the fact, again and again repeated in this book, that the skeleton of the whale furnishes but little clue to the shape of his fully invested body.
So Owen rechristened the monster Zeuglodon; and in his paper read before the London Geological Society, pronounced it, in substance, one of the most extraordinary creatures which the mutations of the globe have blotted out of existence.
Then the whole world was the whale's; and, king of creation, he left his wake along the present lines of the Andes and the Himmalehs.
Who can show a pedigree like Leviathan?
Ahab's harpoon had shed older blood than the Pharaoh's.
Methuselah seems a school - boy.
I look round to shake hands with Shem.
I am horror - struck at this antemosaic, unsourced existence of the unspeakable terrors of the whale, which, having been before all time, must needs exist after all humane ages are over.
In an apartment of the great temple of Denderah, some fifty years ago, there was discovered upon the granite ceiling a sculptured and painted planisphere, abounding in centaurs, griffins, and dolphins, similar to the grotesque figures on the celestial globe of the moderns.
Gliding among them, old Leviathan swam as of yore; was there swimming in that planisphere, centuries before Solomon was cradled.
Nor must there be omitted another strange attestation of the antiquity of the whale, in his own osseous post - diluvian reality, as set down by the venerable John Leo, the old Barbary traveller.
" Not far from the Sea - side, they have a Temple, the Rafters and Beams of which are made of Whale - Bones; for Whales of a monstrous size are oftentimes cast up dead upon that shore.
The Common People imagine, that by a secret Power bestowed by God upon the temple, no Whale can pass it without immediate death.
But the truth of the Matter is, that on either side of the Temple, there are Rocks that shoot two Miles into the Sea, and wound the Whales when they light upon'em.
They keep a Whale's Rib of an incredible length for a Miracle, which lying upon the Ground with its convex part uppermost, makes an Arch, the Head of which cannot be reached by a Man upon a Camel's Back.
This Rib (says John Leo) is said to have layn there a hundred Years before I saw it.
Their Historians affirm, that a Prophet who prophesy'd of Mahomet, came from this Temple, and some do not stand to assert, that the Prophet Jonas was cast forth by the Whale at the Base of the Temple."
In this Afric Temple of the Whale I leave you, reader, and if you be a Nantucketer, and a whaleman, you will silently worship there.
CHAPTER 105
Does the Whale's Magnitude Diminish?-- Will He Perish?
Inasmuch, then, as this Leviathan comes floundering down upon us from the head - waters of the Eternities, it may be fitly inquired, whether, in the long course of his generations, he has not degenerated from the original bulk of his sires.
Of all the pre - adamite whales yet exhumed, by far the largest is the Alabama one mentioned in the last chapter, and that was less than seventy feet in length in the skeleton.
Whereas, we have already seen, that the tape - measure gives seventy - two feet for the skeleton of a large sized modern whale.
And I have heard, on whalemen's authority, that Sperm Whales have been captured near a hundred feet long at the time of capture.
But may it not be, that while the whales of the present hour are an advance in magnitude upon those of all previous geological periods; may it not be, that since Adam's time they have degenerated?
Assuredly, we must conclude so, if we are to credit the accounts of such gentlemen as Pliny, and the ancient naturalists generally.
For Pliny tells us of Whales that embraced acres of living bulk, and Aldrovandus of others which measured eight hundred feet in length--Rope Walks and Thames Tunnels of Whales!
And even in the days of Banks and Solander, Cooke's naturalists, we find a Danish member of the Academy of Sciences setting down certain Iceland Whales (reydan - siskur, or Wrinkled Bellies) at one hundred and twenty yards; that is, three hundred and sixty feet.
And Lacepede, the French naturalist, in his elaborate history of whales, in the very beginning of his work (page 3), sets down the Right Whale at one hundred metres, three hundred and twenty - eight feet.
And this work was published so late as A. D. 1825.
But will any whaleman believe these stories?
No.
The whale of to - day is as big as his ancestors in Pliny's time.
And if ever I go where Pliny is, I, a whaleman (more than he was), will make bold to tell him so.
But still another inquiry remains; one often agitated by the more recondite Nantucketers.
But you must look at this matter in every light.
Forty men in one ship hunting the Sperm Whales for forty - eight months think they have done extremely well, and thank God, if at last they carry home the oil of forty fish.
That is all.
And equally fallacious seems the conceit, that because the so - called whale - bone whales no longer haunt many grounds in former years abounding with them, hence that species also is declining.
For they are only being driven from promontory to cape; and if one coast is no longer enlivened with their jets, then, be sure, some other and remoter strand has been very recently startled by the unfamiliar spectacle.
Furthermore: concerning these last mentioned Leviathans, they have two firm fortresses, which, in all human probability, will for ever remain impregnable.
But as perhaps fifty of these whale - bone whales are harpooned for one cachalot, some philosophers of the forecastle have concluded that this positive havoc has already very seriously diminished their battalions.
Moreover: we are to consider, that from the presumed great longevity of whales, their probably attaining the age of a century and more, therefore at any one period of time, several distinct adult generations must be contemporary.
Wherefore, for all these things, we account the whale immortal in his species, however perishable in his individuality.
He swam the seas before the continents broke water; he once swam over the site of the Tuileries, and Windsor Castle, and the Kremlin.
In Noah's flood he despised Noah's Ark; and if ever the world is to be again flooded, like the Netherlands, to kill off its rats, then the eternal whale will still survive, and rearing upon the topmost crest of the equatorial flood, spout his frothed defiance to the skies.
CHAPTER 106
Ahab's Leg.
The precipitating manner in which Captain Ahab had quitted the Samuel Enderby of London, had not been unattended with some small violence to his own person.
He had lighted with such energy upon a thwart of his boat that his ivory leg had received a half - splintering shock.
And, indeed, it seemed small matter for wonder, that for all his pervading, mad recklessness, Ahab did at times give careful heed to the condition of that dead bone upon which he partly stood.
Yea, more than equally, thought Ahab; since both the ancestry and posterity of Grief go further than the ancestry and posterity of Joy.
The ineffaceable, sad birth - mark in the brow of man, is but the stamp of sorrow in the signers.
Unwittingly here a secret has been divulged, which perhaps might more properly, in set way, have been disclosed before.
Captain Peleg's bruited reason for this thing appeared by no means adequate; though, indeed, as touching all Ahab's deeper part, every revelation partook more of significant darkness than of explanatory light.
But, in the end, it all came out; this one matter did, at least.
That direful mishap was at the bottom of his temporary recluseness.
So that, through their zeal for him, they had all conspired, so far as in them lay, to muffle up the knowledge of this thing from others; and hence it was, that not till a considerable interval had elapsed, did it transpire upon the Pequod's decks.
But be all this as it may; let the unseen, ambiguous synod in the air, or the vindictive princes and potentates of fire, have to do or not with earthly Ahab, yet, in this present matter of his leg, he took plain practical procedures;-- he called the carpenter.
This done, the carpenter received orders to have the leg completed that night; and to provide all the fittings for it, independent of those pertaining to the distrusted one in use.
Moreover, the ship's forge was ordered to be hoisted out of its temporary idleness in the hold; and, to accelerate the affair, the blacksmith was commanded to proceed at once to the forging of whatever iron contrivances might be needed.
CHAPTER 107
The Carpenter.
Seat thyself sultanically among the moons of Saturn, and take high abstracted man alone; and he seems a wonder, a grandeur, and a woe.
But from the same point, take mankind in mass, and for the most part, they seem a mob of unnecessary duplicates, both contemporary and hereditary.
But most humble though he was, and far from furnishing an example of the high, humane abstraction; the Pequod's carpenter was no duplicate; hence, he now comes in person on this stage.
The one grand stage where he enacted all his various parts so manifold, was his vice - bench; a long rude ponderous table furnished with several vices, of different sizes, and both of iron and of wood.
At all times except when whales were alongside, this bench was securely lashed athwartships against the rear of the Try - works.
A belaying pin is found too large to be easily inserted into its hole: the carpenter claps it into one of his ever - ready vices, and straightway files it smaller.
A lost land - bird of strange plumage strays on board, and is made a captive: out of clean shaved rods of right - whale bone, and cross - beams of sperm whale ivory, the carpenter makes a pagoda - looking cage for it.
An oarsman sprains his wrist: the carpenter concocts a soothing lotion.
Stubb longed for vermillion stars to be painted upon the blade of his every oar; screwing each oar in his big vice of wood, the carpenter symmetrically supplies the constellation.
A sailor takes a fancy to wear shark - bone ear - rings: the carpenter drills his ears.
Thus, this carpenter was prepared at all points, and alike indifferent and without respect in all.
Teeth he accounted bits of ivory; heads he deemed but top - blocks; men themselves he lightly held for capstans.
But while now upon so wide a field thus variously accomplished and with such liveliness of expertness in him, too; all this would seem to argue some uncommon vivacity of intelligence.
But not precisely so.
Was it that this old carpenter had been a life - long wanderer, whose much rolling, to and fro, not only had gathered no moss; but what is more, had rubbed off whatever small outward clingings might have originally pertained to him?
He was a stript abstract; an unfractioned integral; uncompromised as a new - born babe; living without premeditated reference to this world or the next.
He was a pure manipulator; his brain, if he had ever had one, must have early oozed along into the muscles of his fingers.
So, if his superiors wanted to use the carpenter for a screw - driver, all they had to do was to open that part of him, and the screw was fast: or if for tweezers, take him up by the legs, and there they were.
Yet, as previously hinted, this omnitooled, open - and - shut carpenter, was, after all, no mere machine of an automaton.
If he did not have a common soul in him, he had a subtle something that somehow anomalously did its duty.
What that was, whether essence of quicksilver, or a few drops of hartshorn, there is no telling.
But there it was; and there it had abided for now some sixty years or more.
CHAPTER 108
Ahab and the Carpenter.
The Deck--First Night Watch.
(CARPENTER STANDING BEFORE HIS VICE - BENCH, AND BY THE LIGHT OF TWO LANTERNS BUSILY FILING THE IVORY JOIST FOR THE LEG, WHICH JOIST IS FIRMLY FIXED IN THE VICE.
SLABS OF IVORY, LEATHER STRAPS, PADS, SCREWS, AND VARIOUS TOOLS OF ALL SORTS LYING ABOUT THE BENCH.
FORWARD, THE RED FLAME OF THE FORGE IS SEEN, WHERE THE BLACKSMITH IS AT WORK.)
Drat the file, and drat the bone!
That is hard which should be soft, and that is soft which should be hard.
So we go, who file old jaws and shinbones.
Let's try another.
Aye, now, this works better (SNEEZES).
Halloa, this bone dust is (SNEEZES)-- why it's (SNEEZES)-- yes it's (SNEEZES)-- bless my soul, it won't let me speak!
This is what an old fellow gets now for working in dead lumber.
Saw a live tree, and you don't get this dust; amputate a live bone, and you don't get it (SNEEZES).
Come, come, you old Smut, there, bear a hand, and let's have that ferule and buckle - screw; I'll be ready for them presently.
Lucky now (SNEEZES) there's no knee - joint to make; that might puzzle a little; but a mere shinbone--why it's easy as making hop - poles; only I should like to put a good finish on.
Time, time; if I but only had the time, I could turn him out as neat a leg now as ever (SNEEZES) scraped to a lady in a parlor.
Those buckskin legs and calves of legs I've seen in shop windows wouldn't compare at all.
They soak water, they do; and of course get rheumatic, and have to be doctored (SNEEZES) with washes and lotions, just like live legs.
There; before I saw it off, now, I must call his old Mogulship, and see whether the length will be all right; too short, if anything, I guess.
Ha!
that's the heel; we are in luck; here he comes, or it's somebody else, that's certain.
AHAB (ADVANCING)
(DURING THE ENSUING SCENE, THE CARPENTER CONTINUES SNEEZING AT TIMES)
Well, manmaker!
Just in time, sir.
If the captain pleases, I will now mark the length.
Let me measure, sir.
Measured for a leg!
good.
Well, it's not the first time.
About it!
There; keep thy finger on it.
This is a cogent vice thou hast here, carpenter; let me feel its grip once.
So, so; it does pinch some.
Oh, sir, it will break bones--beware, beware!
No fear; I like a good grip; I like to feel something in this slippery world that can hold, man.
What's Prometheus about there?-- the blacksmith, I mean--what's he about?
He must be forging the buckle - screw, sir, now.
Right.
It's a partnership; he supplies the muscle part.
He makes a fierce red flame there!
Aye, sir; he must have the white heat for this kind of fine work.
Um - m.
So he must.
I do deem it now a most meaning thing, that that old Greek, Prometheus, who made men, they say, should have been a blacksmith, and animated them with fire; for what's made in fire must properly belong to fire; and so hell's probable.
How the soot flies!
This must be the remainder the Greek made the Africans of.
Carpenter, when he's through with that buckle, tell him to forge a pair of steel shoulder - blades; there's a pedlar aboard with a crushing pack.
Sir?
Hold; while Prometheus is about it, I'll order a complete man after a desirable pattern.
No, but put a sky - light on top of his head to illuminate inwards.
There, take the order, and away.
Now, what's he speaking about, and who's he speaking to, I should like to know?
Shall I keep standing here?
(ASIDE).
' Tis but indifferent architecture to make a blind dome; here's one.
No, no, no; I must have a lantern.
Ho, ho!
That's it, hey?
Here are two, sir; one will serve my turn.
What art thou thrusting that thief - catcher into my face for, man?
Thrusted light is worse than presented pistols.
I thought, sir, that you spoke to carpenter.
Carpenter?
why that's--but no;-- a very tidy, and, I may say, an extremely gentlemanlike sort of business thou art in here, carpenter;-- or would'st thou rather work in clay?
Sir?-- Clay?
clay, sir?
That's mud; we leave clay to ditchers, sir.
The fellow's impious!
What art thou sneezing about?
Bone is rather dusty, sir.
Take the hint, then; and when thou art dead, never bury thyself under living people's noses.
Sir?-- oh!
ah!-- I guess so;-- yes--dear!
Look ye, carpenter, I dare say thou callest thyself a right good workmanlike workman, eh?
Well, then, will it speak thoroughly well for thy work, if, when I come to mount this leg thou makest, I shall nevertheless feel another leg in the same identical place with it; that is, carpenter, my old lost leg; the flesh and blood one, I mean.
Canst thou not drive that old Adam away?
Truly, sir, I begin to understand somewhat now.
Yes, I have heard something curious on that score, sir; how that a dismasted man never entirely loses the feeling of his old spar, but it will be still pricking him at times.
May I humbly ask if it be really so, sir?
It is, man.
Look, put thy live leg here in the place where mine once was; so, now, here is only one distinct leg to the eye, yet two to the soul.
Where thou feelest tingling life; there, exactly there, there to a hair, do I.
Is't a riddle?
I should humbly call it a poser, sir.
Hist, then.
How dost thou know that some entire, living, thinking thing may not be invisibly and uninterpenetratingly standing precisely where thou now standest; aye, and standing there in thy spite?
In thy most solitary hours, then, dost thou not fear eavesdroppers?
Hold, don't speak!
And if I still feel the smart of my crushed leg, though it be now so long dissolved; then, why mayst not thou, carpenter, feel the fiery pains of hell for ever, and without a body?
Hah!
Good Lord!
Truly, sir, if it comes to that, I must calculate over again; I think I didn't carry a small figure, sir.
Look ye, pudding - heads should never grant premises.-- How long before the leg is done?
Perhaps an hour, sir.
Bungle away at it then, and bring it to me (TURNS TO GO).
Oh, Life!
Here I am, proud as Greek god, and yet standing debtor to this blockhead for a bone to stand on!
Cursed be that mortal inter - indebtedness which will not do away with ledgers.
I would be free as air; and I'm down in the whole world's books.
I am so rich, I could have given bid for bid with the wealthiest Praetorians at the auction of the Roman empire (which was the world's); and yet I owe for the flesh in the tongue I brag with.
By heavens!
I'll get a crucible, and into it, and dissolve myself down to one small, compendious vertebra.
So.
CARPENTER (RESUMING HIS WORK).
Well, well, well!
Stubb knows him best of all, and Stubb always says he's queer; says nothing but that one sufficient little word queer; he's queer, says Stubb; he's queer--queer, queer; and keeps dinning it into Mr. Starbuck all the time--queer--sir--queer, queer, very queer.
And here's his leg!
Yes, now that I think of it, here's his bedfellow!
has a stick of whale's jaw - bone for a wife!
And this is his leg; he'll stand on this.
What was that now about one leg standing in three places, and all three places standing in one hell--how was that?
Oh!
I don't wonder he looked so scornful at me!
I'm a sort of strange - thoughted sometimes, they say; but that's only haphazard - like.
Then, a short, little old body like me, should never undertake to wade out into deep waters with tall, heron - built captains; the water chucks you under the chin pretty quick, and there's a great cry for life - boats.
And here's the heron's leg!
long and slim, sure enough!
Now, for most folks one pair of legs lasts a lifetime, and that must be because they use them mercifully, as a tender - hearted old lady uses her roly - poly old coach - horses.
But Ahab; oh he's a hard driver.
Look, driven one leg to death, and spavined the other for life, and now wears out bone legs by the cord.
Halloa, there, you Smut!
bear a hand there with those screws, and let's finish it before the resurrection fellow comes a - calling with his horn for all legs, true or false, as brewery - men go round collecting old beer barrels, to fill'em up again.
What a leg this is!
It looks like a real live leg, filed down to nothing but the core; he'll be standing on this to - morrow; he'll be taking altitudes on it.
Halloa!
I almost forgot the little oval slate, smoothed ivory, where he figures up the latitude.
So, so; chisel, file, and sand - paper, now!
CHAPTER 109
Ahab and Starbuck in the Cabin.
According to usage they were pumping the ship next morning; and lo!
no inconsiderable oil came up with the water; the casks below must have sprung a bad leak.
Much concern was shown; and Starbuck went down into the cabin to report this unfavourable affair.
* In Sperm - whalemen with any considerable quantity of oil on board, it is a regular semiweekly duty to conduct a hose into the hold, and drench the casks with sea - water; which afterwards, at varying intervals, is removed by the ship's pumps.
Hereby the casks are sought to be kept damply tight; while by the changed character of the withdrawn water, the mariners readily detect any serious leakage in the precious cargo.
Now, from the South and West the Pequod was drawing nigh to Formosa and the Bashee Isles, between which lies one of the tropical outlets from the China waters into the Pacific.
And so Starbuck found Ahab with a general chart of the oriental archipelagoes spread before him; and another separate one representing the long eastern coasts of the Japanese islands--Niphon, Matsmai, and Sikoke.
With his snow - white new ivory leg braced against the screwed leg of his table, and with a long pruning - hook of a jack - knife in his hand, the wondrous old man, with his back to the gangway door, was wrinkling his brow, and tracing his old courses again.
" Who's there?"
hearing the footstep at the door, but not turning round to it.
" On deck!
Begone!"
" Captain Ahab mistakes; it is I.
The oil in the hold is leaking, sir.
We must up Burtons and break out."
" Up Burtons and break out?
Now that we are nearing Japan; heave - to here for a week to tinker a parcel of old hoops?"
" Either do that, sir, or waste in one day more oil than we may make good in a year.
What we come twenty thousand miles to get is worth saving, sir."
" So it is, so it is; if we get it."
" I was speaking of the oil in the hold, sir."
" And I was not speaking or thinking of that at all.
Begone!
Let it leak!
I'm all aleak myself.
Aye!
leaks in leaks!
not only full of leaky casks, but those leaky casks are in a leaky ship; and that's a far worse plight than the Pequod's, man.
Yet I don't stop to plug my leak; for who can find it in the deep - loaded hull; or how hope to plug it, even if found, in this life's howling gale?
Starbuck!
I'll not have the Burtons hoisted."
" What will the owners say, sir?"
" Let the owners stand on Nantucket beach and outyell the Typhoons.
What cares Ahab?
Owners, owners?
Thou art always prating to me, Starbuck, about those miserly owners, as if the owners were my conscience.
But look ye, the only real owner of anything is its commander; and hark ye, my conscience is in this ship's keel.-- On deck!"
" Devils!
Dost thou then so much as dare to critically think of me?-- On deck!"
" Nay, sir, not yet; I do entreat.
And I do dare, sir--to be forbearing!
Shall we not understand each other better than hitherto, Captain Ahab?"
Ahab seized a loaded musket from the rack (forming part of most South - Sea - men's cabin furniture), and pointing it towards Starbuck, exclaimed: " There is one God that is Lord over the earth, and one Captain that is lord over the Pequod.-- On deck!"
For an instant in the flashing eyes of the mate, and his fiery cheeks, you would have almost thought that he had really received the blaze of the levelled tube.
" He waxes brave, but nevertheless obeys; most careful bravery that!"
murmured Ahab, as Starbuck disappeared.
" What's that he said--Ahab beware of Ahab--there's something there!"
Then unconsciously using the musket for a staff, with an iron brow he paced to and fro in the little cabin; but presently the thick plaits of his forehead relaxed, and returning the gun to the rack, he went to the deck.
" Thou art but too good a fellow, Starbuck," he said lowly to the mate; then raising his voice to the crew: " Furl the t'gallant - sails, and close - reef the top - sails, fore and aft; back the main - yard; up Burton, and break out in the main - hold."
It were perhaps vain to surmise exactly why it was, that as respecting Starbuck, Ahab thus acted.
It may have been a flash of honesty in him; or mere prudential policy which, under the circumstance, imperiously forbade the slightest symptom of open disaffection, however transient, in the important chief officer of his ship.
However it was, his orders were executed; and the Burtons were hoisted.
CHAPTER 110
Queequeg in His Coffin.
Upon searching, it was found that the casks last struck into the hold were perfectly sound, and that the leak must be further off.
So, it being calm weather, they broke out deeper and deeper, disturbing the slumbers of the huge ground - tier butts; and from that black midnight sending those gigantic moles into the daylight above.
Top - heavy was the ship as a dinnerless student with all Aristotle in his head.
Well was it that the Typhoons did not visit them then.
Now, at this time it was that my poor pagan companion, and fast bosom - friend, Queequeg, was seized with a fever, which brought him nigh to his endless end.
Be it said, that in this vocation of whaling, sinecures are unknown; dignity and danger go hand in hand; till you get to be Captain, the higher you rise the harder you toil.
To be short, among whalemen, the harpooneers are the holders, so called.
Poor Queequeg!
How he wasted and wasted away in those few long - lingering days, till there seemed but little left of him but his frame and tattooing.
And like circles on the water, which, as they grow fainter, expand; so his eyes seemed rounding and rounding, like the rings of Eternity.
An awe that cannot be named would steal over you as you sat by the side of this waning savage, and saw as strange things in his face, as any beheld who were bystanders when Zoroaster died.
For whatever is truly wondrous and fearful in man, never yet was put into words or books.
And the drawing near of Death, which alike levels all, alike impresses all with a last revelation, which only an author from the dead could adequately tell.
Not a man of the crew but gave him up; and, as for Queequeg himself, what he thought of his case was forcibly shown by a curious favour he asked.
He added, that he shuddered at the thought of being buried in his hammock, according to the usual sea - custom, tossed like something vile to the death - devouring sharks.
No: he desired a canoe like those of Nantucket, all the more congenial to him, being a whaleman, that like a whale - boat these coffin - canoes were without a keel; though that involved but uncertain steering, and much lee - way adown the dim ages.
Now, when this strange circumstance was made known aft, the carpenter was at once commanded to do Queequeg's bidding, whatever it might include.
There was some heathenish, coffin - coloured old lumber aboard, which, upon a long previous voyage, had been cut from the aboriginal groves of the Lackaday islands, and from these dark planks the coffin was recommended to be made.
" Ah!
poor fellow!
he'll have to die now," ejaculated the Long Island sailor.
Going to his vice - bench, the carpenter for convenience sake and general reference, now transferringly measured on it the exact length the coffin was to be, and then made the transfer permanent by cutting two notches at its extremities.
This done, he marshalled the planks and his tools, and to work.
When the last nail was driven, and the lid duly planed and fitted, he lightly shouldered the coffin and went forward with it, inquiring whether they were ready for it yet in that direction.
Leaning over in his hammock, Queequeg long regarded the coffin with an attentive eye.
He then called for his harpoon, had the wooden stock drawn from it, and then had the iron part placed in the coffin along with one of the paddles of his boat.
He lay without moving a few minutes, then told one to go to his bag and bring out his little god, Yojo.
Then crossing his arms on his breast with Yojo between, he called for the coffin lid (hatch he called it) to be placed over him.
The head part turned over with a leather hinge, and there lay Queequeg in his coffin with little but his composed countenance in view.
" Rarmai " (it will do; it is easy), he murmured at last, and signed to be replaced in his hammock.
But ere this was done, Pip, who had been slily hovering near by all this while, drew nigh to him where he lay, and with soft sobbings, took him by the hand; in the other, holding his tambourine.
" Poor rover!
will ye never have done with all this weary roving?
where go ye now?
But if the currents carry ye to those sweet Antilles where the beaches are only beat with water - lilies, will ye do one little errand for me?
Seek out one Pip, who's now been missing long: I think he's in those far Antilles.
If ye find him, then comfort him; for he must be very sad; for look!
he's left his tambourine behind;-- I found it.
Rig - a - dig, dig, dig!
Now, Queequeg, die; and I'll beat ye your dying march."
So, to my fond faith, poor Pip, in this strange sweetness of his lunacy, brings heavenly vouchers of all our heavenly homes.
Where learned he that, but there?-- Hark!
he speaks again: but more wildly now."
" Form two and two!
Let's make a General of him!
Ho, where's his harpoon?
Lay it across here.-- Rig - a - dig, dig, dig!
huzza!
Oh for a game cock now to sit upon his head and crow!
Queequeg dies game!-- mind ye that; Queequeg dies game!-- take ye good heed of that; Queequeg dies game!
I say; game, game, game!
but base little Pip, he died a coward; died all a'shiver;-- out upon Pip!
Hark ye; if ye find Pip, tell all the Antilles he's a runaway; a coward, a coward, a coward!
Tell them he jumped from a whale - boat!
I'd never beat my tambourine over base Pip, and hail him General, if he were once more dying here.
No, no!
shame upon all cowards--shame upon them!
Let'em go drown like Pip, that jumped from a whale - boat.
Shame!
shame!"
During all this, Queequeg lay with closed eyes, as if in a dream.
Pip was led away, and the sick man was replaced in his hammock.
They asked him, then, whether to live or die was a matter of his own sovereign will and pleasure.
He answered, certainly.
In a word, it was Queequeg's conceit, that if a man made up his mind to live, mere sickness could not kill him: nothing but a whale, or a gale, or some violent, ungovernable, unintelligent destroyer of that sort.
Now, there is this noteworthy difference between savage and civilized; that while a sick, civilized man may be six months convalescing, generally speaking, a sick savage is almost half - well again in a day.
With a wild whimsiness, he now used his coffin for a sea - chest; and emptying into it his canvas bag of clothes, set them in order there.
Many spare hours he spent, in carving the lid with all manner of grotesque figures and drawings; and it seemed that hereby he was striving, in his rude way, to copy parts of the twisted tattooing on his body.
And this thought it must have been which suggested to Ahab that wild exclamation of his, when one morning turning away from surveying poor Queequeg --" Oh, devilish tantalization of the gods!"
CHAPTER 111
The Pacific.
There is, one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath; like those fabled undulations of the Ephesian sod over the buried Evangelist St. John.
To any meditative Magian rover, this serene Pacific, once beheld, must ever after be the sea of his adoption.
It rolls the midmost waters of the world, the Indian ocean and Atlantic being but its arms.
Thus this mysterious, divine Pacific zones the world's whole bulk about; makes all coasts one bay to it; seems the tide - beating heart of earth.
Lifted by those eternal swells, you needs must own the seductive god, bowing your head to Pan.
Launched at length upon these almost final waters, and gliding towards the Japanese cruising - ground, the old man's purpose intensified itself.
His firm lips met like the lips of a vice; the Delta of his forehead's veins swelled like overladen brooks; in his very sleep, his ringing cry ran through the vaulted hull, " Stern all!
the White Whale spouts thick blood!"
CHAPTER 112
The Blacksmith.
Often he would be surrounded by an eager circle, all waiting to be served; holding boat - spades, pike - heads, harpoons, and lances, and jealously watching his every sooty movement, as he toiled.
Nevertheless, this old man's was a patient hammer wielded by a patient arm.
No murmur, no impatience, no petulance did come from him.
Silent, slow, and solemn; bowing over still further his chronically broken back, he toiled away, as if toil were life itself, and the heavy beating of his hammer the heavy beating of his heart.
And so it was.-- Most miserable!
A peculiar walk in this old man, a certain slight but painful appearing yawing in his gait, had at an early period of the voyage excited the curiosity of the mariners.
And to the importunity of their persisted questionings he had finally given in; and so it came to pass that every one now knew the shameful story of his wretched fate.
Belated, and not innocently, one bitter winter's midnight, on the road running between two country towns, the blacksmith half - stupidly felt the deadly numbness stealing over him, and sought refuge in a leaning, dilapidated barn.
The issue was, the loss of the extremities of both feet.
Out of this revelation, part by part, at last came out the four acts of the gladness, and the one long, and as yet uncatastrophied fifth act of the grief of his life's drama.
He was an old man, who, at the age of nearly sixty, had postponedly encountered that thing in sorrow's technicals called ruin.
He had been an artisan of famed excellence, and with plenty to do; owned a house and garden; embraced a youthful, daughter - like, loving wife, and three blithe, ruddy children; every Sunday went to a cheerful - looking church, planted in a grove.
But one night, under cover of darkness, and further concealed in a most cunning disguisement, a desperate burglar slid into his happy home, and robbed them all of everything.
And darker yet to tell, the blacksmith himself did ignorantly conduct this burglar into his family's heart.
It was the Bottle Conjuror!
Upon the opening of that fatal cork, forth flew the fiend, and shrivelled up his home.
Oh, woe on woe!
Oh, Death, why canst thou not sometimes be timely?
Hadst thou taken this old blacksmith to thyself ere his full ruin came upon him, then had the young widow had a delicious grief, and her orphans a truly venerable, legendary sire to dream of in their after years; and all of them a care - killing competency.
But Death plucked down some virtuous elder brother, on whose whistling daily toil solely hung the responsibilities of some other family, and left the worse than useless old man standing, till the hideous rot of life should make him easier to harvest.
Why tell the whole?
Come hither!
bury thyself in a life which, to your now equally abhorred and abhorring, landed world, is more oblivious than death.
Come hither!
put up THY gravestone, too, within the churchyard, and come hither, till we marry thee!"
Hearkening to these voices, East and West, by early sunrise, and by fall of eve, the blacksmith's soul responded, Aye, I come!
And so Perth went a - whaling.
CHAPTER 113
The Forge.
While yet a little distance from the forge, moody Ahab paused; till at last, Perth, withdrawing his iron from the fire, began hammering it upon the anvil--the red mass sending off the sparks in thick hovering flights, some of which flew close to Ahab.
" Are these thy Mother Carey's chickens, Perth?
they are always flying in thy wake; birds of good omen, too, but not to all;-- look here, they burn; but thou--thou liv'st among them without a scorch."
" Because I am scorched all over, Captain Ahab," answered Perth, resting for a moment on his hammer; " I am past scorching; not easily can'st thou scorch a scar."
" Well, well; no more.
Thy shrunk voice sounds too calmly, sanely woeful to me.
In no Paradise myself, I am impatient of all misery in others that is not mad.
Thou should'st go mad, blacksmith; say, why dost thou not go mad?
How can'st thou endure without being mad?
Do the heavens yet hate thee, that thou can'st not go mad?-- What wert thou making there?"
" Welding an old pike - head, sir; there were seams and dents in it."
" And can'st thou make it all smooth again, blacksmith, after such hard usage as it had?"
" I think so, sir."
" And I suppose thou can'st smoothe almost any seams and dents; never mind how hard the metal, blacksmith?"
" Aye, sir, I think I can; all seams and dents but one."
Answer!
Can'st thou smoothe this seam?"
" Oh!
that is the one, sir!
Said I not all seams and dents but one?"
" Aye, blacksmith, it is the one; aye, man, it is unsmoothable; for though thou only see'st it here in my flesh, it has worked down into the bone of my skull--THAT is all wrinkles!
But, away with child's play; no more gaffs and pikes to - day.
Look ye here!"
jingling the leathern bag, as if it were full of gold coins.
" I, too, want a harpoon made; one that a thousand yoke of fiends could not part, Perth; something that will stick in a whale like his own fin - bone.
There's the stuff," flinging the pouch upon the anvil.
" Look ye, blacksmith, these are the gathered nail - stubbs of the steel shoes of racing horses."
" Horse - shoe stubbs, sir?
Why, Captain Ahab, thou hast here, then, the best and stubbornest stuff we blacksmiths ever work."
" I know it, old man; these stubbs will weld together like glue from the melted bones of murderers.
Quick!
forge me the harpoon.
And forge me first, twelve rods for its shank; then wind, and twist, and hammer these twelve together like the yarns and strands of a tow - line.
Quick!
I'll blow the fire."
When at last the twelve rods were made, Ahab tried them, one by one, by spiralling them, with his own hand, round a long, heavy iron bolt.
" A flaw!"
rejecting the last one.
" Work that over again, Perth."
This done, Perth was about to begin welding the twelve into one, when Ahab stayed his hand, and said he would weld his own iron.
But, as Ahab looked up, he slid aside.
" What's that bunch of lucifers dodging about there for?"
muttered Stubb, looking on from the forecastle.
" That Parsee smells fire like a fusee; and smells of it himself, like a hot musket's powder - pan."
At last the shank, in one complete rod, received its final heat; and as Perth, to temper it, plunged it all hissing into the cask of water near by, the scalding steam shot up into Ahab's bent face.
" Would'st thou brand me, Perth?"
wincing for a moment with the pain; " have I been but forging my own branding - iron, then?"
" Pray God, not that; yet I fear something, Captain Ahab.
Is not this harpoon for the White Whale?"
" For the white fiend!
But now for the barbs; thou must make them thyself, man.
Here are my razors--the best of steel; here, and make the barbs sharp as the needle - sleet of the Icy Sea."
For a moment, the old blacksmith eyed the razors as though he would fain not use them.
" Take them, man, I have no need for them; for I now neither shave, sup, nor pray till--but here--to work!"
Fashioned at last into an arrowy shape, and welded by Perth to the shank, the steel soon pointed the end of the iron; and as the blacksmith was about giving the barbs their final heat, prior to tempering them, he cried to Ahab to place the water - cask near.
" No, no--no water for that; I want it of the true death - temper.
Ahoy, there!
Tashtego, Queequeg, Daggoo!
What say ye, pagans!
Will ye give me as much blood as will cover this barb?"
holding it high up.
A cluster of dark nods replied, Yes.
Three punctures were made in the heathen flesh, and the White Whale's barbs were then tempered.
" Ego non baptizo te in nomine patris, sed in nomine diaboli!"
deliriously howled Ahab, as the malignant iron scorchingly devoured the baptismal blood.
Now, mustering the spare poles from below, and selecting one of hickory, with the bark still investing it, Ahab fitted the end to the socket of the iron.
A coil of new tow - line was then unwound, and some fathoms of it taken to the windlass, and stretched to a great tension.
Pressing his foot upon it, till the rope hummed like a harp - string, then eagerly bending over it, and seeing no strandings, Ahab exclaimed, " Good!
and now for the seizings."
This done, pole, iron, and rope--like the Three Fates--remained inseparable, and Ahab moodily stalked away with the weapon; the sound of his ivory leg, and the sound of the hickory pole, both hollowly ringing along every plank.
But ere he entered his cabin, light, unnatural, half - bantering, yet most piteous sound was heard.
Oh, Pip!
thy wretched laugh, thy idle but unresting eye; all thy strange mummeries not unmeaningly blended with the black tragedy of the melancholy ship, and mocked it!
CHAPTER 114
The Gilder.
Penetrating further and further into the heart of the Japanese cruising ground, the Pequod was soon all astir in the fishery.
The long - drawn virgin vales; the mild blue hill - sides; as over these there steals the hush, the hum; you almost swear that play - wearied children lie sleeping in these solitudes, in some glad May - time, when the flowers of the woods are plucked.
And all this mixes with your most mystic mood; so that fact and fancy, half - way meeting, interpenetrate, and form one seamless whole.
Nor did such soothing scenes, however temporary, fail of at least as temporary an effect on Ahab.
But if these secret golden keys did seem to open in him his own secret golden treasuries, yet did his breath upon them prove but tarnishing.
Oh, grassy glades!
oh, ever vernal endless landscapes in the soul; in ye,-- though long parched by the dead drought of the earthy life,-- in ye, men yet may roll, like young horses in new morning clover; and for some few fleeting moments, feel the cool dew of the life immortal on them.
Would to God these blessed calms would last.
But the mingled, mingling threads of life are woven by warp and woof: calms crossed by storms, a storm for every calm.
But once gone through, we trace the round again; and are infants, boys, and men, and Ifs eternally.
Where lies the final harbor, whence we unmoor no more?
In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary?
Where is the foundling's father hidden?
Our souls are like those orphans whose unwedded mothers die in bearing them: the secret of our paternity lies in their grave, and we must there to learn it.
And that same day, too, gazing far down from his boat's side into that same golden sea, Starbuck lowly murmured:--
" Loveliness unfathomable, as ever lover saw in his young bride's eye!-- Tell me not of thy teeth - tiered sharks, and thy kidnapping cannibal ways.
Let faith oust fact; let fancy oust memory; I look deep down and do believe."
And Stubb, fish - like, with sparkling scales, leaped up in that same golden light:--
" I am Stubb, and Stubb has his history; but here Stubb takes oaths that he has always been jolly!"
CHAPTER 115
The Pequod Meets The Bachelor.
And jolly enough were the sights and the sounds that came bearing down before the wind, some few weeks after Ahab's harpoon had been welded.
The three men at her mast - head wore long streamers of narrow red bunting at their hats; from the stern, a whale - boat was suspended, bottom down; and hanging captive from the bowsprit was seen the long lower jaw of the last whale they had slain.
Signals, ensigns, and jacks of all colours were flying from her rigging, on every side.
Sideways lashed in each of her three basketed tops were two barrels of sperm; above which, in her top - mast cross - trees, you saw slender breakers of the same precious fluid; and nailed to her main truck was a brazen lamp.
As was afterwards learned, the Bachelor had met with the most surprising success; all the more wonderful, for that while cruising in the same seas numerous other vessels had gone entire months without securing a single fish.
Not only had barrels of beef and bread been given away to make room for the far more valuable sperm, but additional supplemental casks had been bartered for, from the ships she had met; and these were stowed along the deck, and in the captain's and officers'state - rooms.
Even the cabin table itself had been knocked into kindling - wood; and the cabin mess dined off the broad head of an oil - butt, lashed down to the floor for a centrepiece.
Meanwhile, others of the ship's company were tumultuously busy at the masonry of the try - works, from which the huge pots had been removed.
You would have almost thought they were pulling down the cursed Bastille, such wild cries they raised, as the now useless brick and mortar were being hurled into the sea.
Lord and master over all this scene, the captain stood erect on the ship's elevated quarter - deck, so that the whole rejoicing drama was full before him, and seemed merely contrived for his own individual diversion.
" Come aboard, come aboard!"
cried the gay Bachelor's commander, lifting a glass and a bottle in the air.
" Hast seen the White Whale?"
gritted Ahab in reply.
" No; only heard of him; but don't believe in him at all," said the other good - humoredly.
" Come aboard!"
" Thou art too damned jolly.
Sail on.
Hast lost any men?"
" Not enough to speak of--two islanders, that's all;-- but come aboard, old hearty, come along.
I'll soon take that black from your brow.
Come along, will ye (merry's the play); a full ship and homeward - bound."
" How wondrous familiar is a fool!"
muttered Ahab; then aloud, " Thou art a full ship and homeward bound, thou sayst; well, then, call me an empty ship, and outward - bound.
So go thy ways, and I will mine.
Forward there!
Set all sail, and keep her to the wind!"
And as Ahab, leaning over the taffrail, eyed the homewardbound craft, he took from his pocket a small vial of sand, and then looking from the ship to the vial, seemed thereby bringing two remote associations together, for that vial was filled with Nantucket soundings.
CHAPTER 116
The Dying Whale.
Not seldom in this life, when, on the right side, fortune's favourites sail close by us, we, though all adroop before, catch somewhat of the rushing breeze, and joyfully feel our bagging sails fill out.
So seemed it with the Pequod.
For next day after encountering the gay Bachelor, whales were seen and four were slain; and one of them by Ahab.
Soothed again, but only soothed to deeper gloom, Ahab, who had sterned off from the whale, sat intently watching his final wanings from the now tranquil boat.
For that strange spectacle observable in all sperm whales dying--the turning sunwards of the head, and so expiring--that strange spectacle, beheld of such a placid evening, somehow to Ahab conveyed a wondrousness unknown before.
" He turns and turns him to it,-- how slowly, but how steadfastly, his homage - rendering and invoking brow, with his last dying motions.
He too worships fire; most faithful, broad, baronial vassal of the sun!-- Oh that these too - favouring eyes should see these too - favouring sights.
Look!
no sooner dead, than death whirls round the corpse, and it heads some other way.
Nor has this thy whale sunwards turned his dying head, and then gone round again, without a lesson to me.
" Oh, trebly hooped and welded hip of power!
Oh, high aspiring, rainbowed jet!-- that one strivest, this one jettest all in vain!
In vain, oh whale, dost thou seek intercedings with yon all - quickening sun, that only calls forth life, but gives it not again.
Yet dost thou, darker half, rock me with a prouder, if a darker faith.
All thy unnamable imminglings float beneath me here; I am buoyed by breaths of once living things, exhaled as air, but water now.
" Then hail, for ever hail, O sea, in whose eternal tossings the wild fowl finds his only rest.
Born of earth, yet suckled by the sea; though hill and valley mothered me, ye billows are my foster - brothers!"
CHAPTER 117
The Whale Watch.
The four whales slain that evening had died wide apart; one, far to windward; one, less distant, to leeward; one ahead; one astern.
These last three were brought alongside ere nightfall; but the windward one could not be reached till morning; and the boat that had killed it lay by its side all night; and that boat was Ahab's.
Ahab and all his boat's crew seemed asleep but the Parsee; who crouching in the bow, sat watching the sharks, that spectrally played round the whale, and tapped the light cedar planks with their tails.
A sound like the moaning in squadrons over Asphaltites of unforgiven ghosts of Gomorrah, ran shuddering through the air.
Started from his slumbers, Ahab, face to face, saw the Parsee; and hooped round by the gloom of the night they seemed the last men in a flooded world.
" I have dreamed it again," said he.
" Of the hearses?
Have I not said, old man, that neither hearse nor coffin can be thine?"
" And who are hearsed that die on the sea?"
" But I said, old man, that ere thou couldst die on this voyage, two hearses must verily be seen by thee on the sea; the first not made by mortal hands; and the visible wood of the last one must be grown in America."
" Aye, aye!
a strange sight that, Parsee:-- a hearse and its plumes floating over the ocean with the waves for the pall - bearers.
Ha!
Such a sight we shall not soon see."
" Believe it or not, thou canst not die till it be seen, old man."
" And what was that saying about thyself?"
" Though it come to the last, I shall still go before thee thy pilot."
" And when thou art so gone before--if that ever befall--then ere I can follow, thou must still appear to me, to pilot me still?-- Was it not so?
Well, then, did I believe all ye say, oh my pilot!
I have here two pledges that I shall yet slay Moby Dick and survive it."
" Take another pledge, old man," said the Parsee, as his eyes lighted up like fire - flies in the gloom --" Hemp only can kill thee."
" The gallows, ye mean.-- I am immortal then, on land and on sea," cried Ahab, with a laugh of derision;--" Immortal on land and on sea!"
Both were silent again, as one man.
The grey dawn came on, and the slumbering crew arose from the boat's bottom, and ere noon the dead whale was brought to the ship.
CHAPTER 118
The Quadrant.
In good time the order came.
It was hard upon high noon; and Ahab, seated in the bows of his high - hoisted boat, was about taking his wonted daily observation of the sun to determine his latitude.
Now, in that Japanese sea, the days in summer are as freshets of effulgences.
That unblinkingly vivid Japanese sun seems the blazing focus of the glassy ocean's immeasurable burning - glass.
The sky looks lacquered; clouds there are none; the horizon floats; and this nakedness of unrelieved radiance is as the insufferable splendors of God's throne.
Well that Ahab's quadrant was furnished with coloured glasses, through which to take sight of that solar fire.
So, swinging his seated form to the roll of the ship, and with his astrological - looking instrument placed to his eye, he remained in that posture for some moments to catch the precise instant when the sun should gain its precise meridian.
At length the desired observation was taken; and with his pencil upon his ivory leg, Ahab soon calculated what his latitude must be at that precise instant.
Then falling into a moment's revery, he again looked up towards the sun and murmured to himself: " Thou sea - mark!
thou high and mighty Pilot!
thou tellest me truly where I AM--but canst thou cast the least hint where I SHALL be?
Or canst thou tell where some other thing besides me is this moment living?
Where is Moby Dick?
This instant thou must be eyeing him.
These eyes of mine look into the very eye that is even now beholding him; aye, and into the eye that is even now equally beholding the objects on the unknown, thither side of thee, thou sun!"
Then gazing at his quadrant, and handling, one after the other, its numerous cabalistical contrivances, he pondered again, and muttered: " Foolish toy!
not one jot more!
Thou canst not tell where one drop of water or one grain of sand will be to - morrow noon; and yet with thy impotence thou insultest the sun!
Science!
Curse thee, thou vain toy; and cursed be all the things that cast man's eyes aloft to that heaven, whose live vividness but scorches him, as these old eyes are even now scorched with thy light, O sun!
Level by nature to this earth's horizon are the glances of man's eyes; not shot from the crown of his head, as if God had meant him to gaze on his firmament.
Curse thee, thou quadrant!"
dashing it to the deck, " no longer will I guide my earthly way by thee; the level ship's compass, and the level deadreckoning, by log and by line; THESE shall conduct me, and show me my place on the sea.
Aye," lighting from the boat to the deck, " thus I trample on thee, thou paltry thing that feebly pointest on high; thus I split and destroy thee!"
As the frantic old man thus spoke and thus trampled with his live and dead feet, a sneering triumph that seemed meant for Ahab, and a fatalistic despair that seemed meant for himself--these passed over the mute, motionless Parsee's face.
Unobserved he rose and glided away; while, awestruck by the aspect of their commander, the seamen clustered together on the forecastle, till Ahab, troubledly pacing the deck, shouted out --" To the braces!
Up helm!-- square in!"
In an instant the yards swung round; and as the ship half - wheeled upon her heel, her three firm - seated graceful masts erectly poised upon her long, ribbed hull, seemed as the three Horatii pirouetting on one sufficient steed.
Standing between the knight - heads, Starbuck watched the Pequod's tumultuous way, and Ahab's also, as he went lurching along the deck.
" I have sat before the dense coal fire and watched it all aglow, full of its tormented flaming life; and I have seen it wane at last, down, down, to dumbest dust.
Old man of oceans!
of all this fiery life of thine, what will at length remain but one little heap of ashes!"
" Aye," cried Stubb, " but sea - coal ashes--mind ye that, Mr. Starbuck--sea - coal, not your common charcoal.
Well, well; I heard Ahab mutter,'Here some one thrusts these cards into these old hands of mine; swears that I must play them, and no others.'
And damn me, Ahab, but thou actest right; live in the game, and die in it!"
CHAPTER 119
The Candles.
Warmest climes but nurse the cruellest fangs: the tiger of Bengal crouches in spiced groves of ceaseless verdure.
Skies the most effulgent but basket the deadliest thunders: gorgeous Cuba knows tornadoes that never swept tame northern lands.
So, too, it is, that in these resplendent Japanese seas the mariner encounters the direst of all storms, the Typhoon.
It will sometimes burst from out that cloudless sky, like an exploding bomb upon a dazed and sleepy town.
Towards evening of that day, the Pequod was torn of her canvas, and bare - poled was left to fight a Typhoon which had struck her directly ahead.
When darkness came on, sky and sea roared and split with the thunder, and blazed with the lightning, that showed the disabled masts fluttering here and there with the rags which the first fury of the tempest had left for its after sport.
But all their pains seemed naught.
Though lifted to the very top of the cranes, the windward quarter boat (Ahab's) did not escape.
A great rolling sea, dashing high up against the reeling ship's high teetering side, stove in the boat's bottom at the stern, and left it again, all dripping through like a sieve.
" Bad work, bad work!
Mr. Starbuck," said Stubb, regarding the wreck, " but the sea will have its way.
Stubb, for one, can't fight it.
You see, Mr. Starbuck, a wave has such a great long start before it leaps, all round the world it runs, and then comes the spring!
But as for me, all the start I have to meet it, is just across the deck here.
But never mind; it's all in fun: so the old song says;"--(SINGS.)
Oh!
jolly is the gale, And a joker is the whale, A'flourishin'his tail,-- Such a funny, sporty, gamy, jesty, joky, hoky - poky lad, is the Ocean, oh!
The scud all a flyin ', That's his flip only foamin '; When he stirs in the spicin ',-- Such a funny, sporty, gamy, jesty, joky, hoky - poky lad, is the Ocean, oh!
Thunder splits the ships, But he only smacks his lips, A tastin'of this flip,-- Such a funny, sporty, gamy, jesty, joky, hoky - poky lad, is the Ocean, oh!
" Avast Stubb," cried Starbuck, " let the Typhoon sing, and strike his harp here in our rigging; but if thou art a brave man thou wilt hold thy peace."
" But I am not a brave man; never said I was a brave man; I am a coward; and I sing to keep up my spirits.
And I tell you what it is, Mr. Starbuck, there's no way to stop my singing in this world but to cut my throat.
And when that's done, ten to one I sing ye the doxology for a wind - up."
" Madman!
look through my eyes if thou hast none of thine own."
" What!
how can you see better of a dark night than anybody else, never mind how foolish?"
" Here!"
cried Starbuck, seizing Stubb by the shoulder, and pointing his hand towards the weather bow, " markest thou not that the gale comes from the eastward, the very course Ahab is to run for Moby Dick?
the very course he swung to this day noon?
now mark his boat there; where is that stove?
In the stern - sheets, man; where he is wont to stand--his stand - point is stove, man!
Now jump overboard, and sing away, if thou must!
" I don't half understand ye: what's in the wind?"
" Yes, yes, round the Cape of Good Hope is the shortest way to Nantucket," soliloquized Starbuck suddenly, heedless of Stubb's question.
" The gale that now hammers at us to stave us, we can turn it into a fair wind that will drive us towards home.
Yonder, to windward, all is blackness of doom; but to leeward, homeward--I see it lightens up there; but not with the lightning."
At that moment in one of the intervals of profound darkness, following the flashes, a voice was heard at his side; and almost at the same instant a volley of thunder peals rolled overhead.
" Who's there?"
" Old Thunder!"
said Ahab, groping his way along the bulwarks to his pivot - hole; but suddenly finding his path made plain to him by elbowed lances of fire.
Now, as the lightning rod to a spire on shore is intended to carry off the perilous fluid into the soil; so the kindred rod which at sea some ships carry to each mast, is intended to conduct it into the water.
" The rods!
the rods!"
cried Starbuck to the crew, suddenly admonished to vigilance by the vivid lightning that had just been darting flambeaux, to light Ahab to his post.
" Are they overboard?
drop them over, fore and aft.
Quick!"
" Avast!"
cried Ahab; " let's have fair play here, though we be the weaker side.
Yet I'll contribute to raise rods on the Himmalehs and Andes, that all the world may be secured; but out on privileges!
Let them be, sir."
" Look aloft!"
cried Starbuck.
" The corpusants!
the corpusants!
All the yard - arms were tipped with a pallid fire; and touched at each tri - pointed lightning - rod - end with three tapering white flames, each of the three tall masts was silently burning in that sulphurous air, like three gigantic wax tapers before an altar.
" Blast the boat!
let it go!"
cried Stubb at this instant, as a swashing sea heaved up under his own little craft, so that its gunwale violently jammed his hand, as he was passing a lashing.
" Blast it!"
-- but slipping backward on the deck, his uplifted eyes caught the flames; and immediately shifting his tone he cried --" The corpusants have mercy on us all!"
While this pallidness was burning aloft, few words were heard from the enchanted crew; who in one thick cluster stood on the forecastle, all their eyes gleaming in that pale phosphorescence, like a far away constellation of stars.
Relieved against the ghostly light, the gigantic jet negro, Daggoo, loomed up to thrice his real stature, and seemed the black cloud from which the thunder had come.
The parted mouth of Tashtego revealed his shark - white teeth, which strangely gleamed as if they too had been tipped by corpusants; while lit up by the preternatural light, Queequeg's tattooing burned like Satanic blue flames on his body.
The tableau all waned at last with the pallidness aloft; and once more the Pequod and every soul on her decks were wrapped in a pall.
A moment or two passed, when Starbuck, going forward, pushed against some one.
It was Stubb.
" What thinkest thou now, man; I heard thy cry; it was not the same in the song."
" No, no, it wasn't; I said the corpusants have mercy on us all; and I hope they will, still.
But do they only have mercy on long faces?-- have they no bowels for a laugh?
And look ye, Mr. Starbuck--but it's too dark to look.
Hear me, then: I take that mast - head flame we saw for a sign of good luck; for those masts are rooted in a hold that is going to be chock a'block with sperm - oil, d'ye see; and so, all that sperm will work up into the masts, like sap in a tree.
Yes, our three masts will yet be as three spermaceti candles--that's the good promise we saw."
At that moment Starbuck caught sight of Stubb's face slowly beginning to glimmer into sight.
Glancing upwards, he cried: " See!
see!"
and once more the high tapering flames were beheld with what seemed redoubled supernaturalness in their pallor.
" The corpusants have mercy on us all," cried Stubb, again.
In various enchanted attitudes, like the standing, or stepping, or running skeletons in Herculaneum, others remained rooted to the deck; but all their eyes upcast.
" Aye, aye, men!"
cried Ahab.
" Look up at it; mark it well; the white flame but lights the way to the White Whale!
Hand me those mainmast links there; I would fain feel this pulse, and let mine beat against it; blood against fire!
So."
Then turning--the last link held fast in his left hand, he put his foot upon the Parsee; and with fixed upward eye, and high - flung right arm, he stood erect before the lofty tri - pointed trinity of flames.
" Oh!
thou clear spirit of clear fire, whom on these seas I as Persian once did worship, till in the sacramental act so burned by thee, that to this hour I bear the scar; I now know thee, thou clear spirit, and I now know that thy right worship is defiance.
To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind; and e'en for hate thou canst but kill; and all are killed.
No fearless fool now fronts thee.
I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my earthquake life will dispute its unconditional, unintegral mastery in me.
In the midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here.
Though but a point at best; whencesoe'er I came; wheresoe'er I go; yet while I earthly live, the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights.
But war is pain, and hate is woe.
Come in thy lowest form of love, and I will kneel and kiss thee; but at thy highest, come as mere supernal power; and though thou launchest navies of full - freighted worlds, there's that in here that still remains indifferent.
Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee."
[ SUDDEN, REPEATED FLASHES OF LIGHTNING; THE NINE FLAMES LEAP LENGTHWISE TO THRICE THEIR PREVIOUS HEIGHT; AHAB, WITH THE REST, CLOSES HIS EYES, HIS RIGHT HAND PRESSED HARD UPON THEM.]
" I own thy speechless, placeless power; said I not so?
Nor was it wrung from me; nor do I now drop these links.
Thou canst blind; but I can then grope.
Thou canst consume; but I can then be ashes.
Take the homage of these poor eyes, and shutter - hands.
I would not take it.
The lightning flashes through my skull; mine eye - balls ache and ache; my whole beaten brain seems as beheaded, and rolling on some stunning ground.
Oh, oh!
Yet blindfold, yet will I talk to thee.
Light though thou be, thou leapest out of darkness; but I am darkness leaping out of light, leaping out of thee!
The javelins cease; open eyes; see, or not?
There burn the flames!
Oh, thou magnanimous!
now I do glory in my genealogy.
But thou art but my fiery father; my sweet mother, I know not.
Oh, cruel!
what hast thou done with her?
There lies my puzzle; but thine is greater.
Thou knowest not how came ye, hence callest thyself unbegotten; certainly knowest not thy beginning, hence callest thyself unbegun.
I know that of me, which thou knowest not of thyself, oh, thou omnipotent.
There is some unsuffusing thing beyond thee, thou clear spirit, to whom all thy eternity is but time, all thy creativeness mechanical.
Through thee, thy flaming self, my scorched eyes do dimly see it.
Oh, thou foundling fire, thou hermit immemorial, thou too hast thy incommunicable riddle, thy unparticipated grief.
Here again with haughty agony, I read my sire.
Leap!
leap up, and lick the sky!
I leap with thee; I burn with thee; would fain be welded with thee; defyingly I worship thee!"
" The boat!
the boat!"
cried Starbuck, " look at thy boat, old man!"
As the silent harpoon burned there like a serpent's tongue, Starbuck grasped Ahab by the arm --" God, God is against thee, old man; forbear!
' tis an ill voyage!
ill begun, ill continued; let me square the yards, while we may, old man, and make a fair wind of it homewards, to go on a better voyage than this."
Overhearing Starbuck, the panic - stricken crew instantly ran to the braces--though not a sail was left aloft.
For the moment all the aghast mate's thoughts seemed theirs; they raised a half mutinous cry.
But dashing the rattling lightning links to the deck, and snatching the burning harpoon, Ahab waved it like a torch among them; swearing to transfix with it the first sailor that but cast loose a rope's end.
Petrified by his aspect, and still more shrinking from the fiery dart that he held, the men fell back in dismay, and Ahab again spoke:--
" All your oaths to hunt the White Whale are as binding as mine; and heart, soul, and body, lungs and life, old Ahab is bound.
And that ye may know to what tune this heart beats; look ye here; thus I blow out the last fear!"
And with one blast of his breath he extinguished the flame.
CHAPTER 120
The Deck Towards the End of the First Night Watch.
AHAB STANDING BY THE HELM.
STARBUCK APPROACHING HIM.
We must send down the main - top - sail yard, sir.
The band is working loose and the lee lift is half - stranded.
Shall I strike it, sir?"
" Strike nothing; lash it.
If I had sky - sail poles, I'd sway them up now."
" Sir!-- in God's name!-- sir?"
" Well."
" The anchors are working, sir.
Shall I get them inboard?"
" Strike nothing, and stir nothing, but lash everything.
The wind rises, but it has not got up to my table - lands yet.
Quick, and see to it.-- By masts and keels!
he takes me for the hunch - backed skipper of some coasting smack.
Send down my main - top - sail yard!
Ho, gluepots!
Loftiest trucks were made for wildest winds, and this brain - truck of mine now sails amid the cloud - scud.
Shall I strike that?
Oh, none but cowards send down their brain - trucks in tempest time.
What a hooroosh aloft there!
I would e'en take it for sublime, did I not know that the colic is a noisy malady.
Oh, take medicine, take medicine!"
CHAPTER 121
Midnight.-- The Forecastle Bulwarks.
STUBB AND FLASK MOUNTED ON THEM, AND PASSING ADDITIONAL LASHINGS OVER THE ANCHORS THERE HANGING.
No, Stubb; you may pound that knot there as much as you please, but you will never pound into me what you were just now saying.
And how long ago is it since you said the very contrary?
Didn't you once say that whatever ship Ahab sails in, that ship should pay something extra on its insurance policy, just as though it were loaded with powder barrels aft and boxes of lucifers forward?
Stop, now; didn't you say so?"
" Well, suppose I did?
What then?
I've part changed my flesh since that time, why not my mind?
Besides, supposing we ARE loaded with powder barrels aft and lucifers forward; how the devil could the lucifers get afire in this drenching spray here?
Why, my little man, you have pretty red hair, but you couldn't get afire now.
Shake yourself; you're Aquarius, or the water - bearer, Flask; might fill pitchers at your coat collar.
Don't you see, then, that for these extra risks the Marine Insurance companies have extra guarantees?
Here are hydrants, Flask.
But hark, again, and I'll answer ye the other thing.
First take your leg off from the crown of the anchor here, though, so I can pass the rope; now listen.
What's the mighty difference between holding a mast's lightning - rod in the storm, and standing close by a mast that hasn't got any lightning - rod at all in a storm?
Don't you see, you timber - head, that no harm can come to the holder of the rod, unless the mast is first struck?
What are you talking about, then?
Not one ship in a hundred carries rods, and Ahab,-- aye, man, and all of us,-- were in no more danger then, in my poor opinion, than all the crews in ten thousand ships now sailing the seas.
Why, you King - Post, you, I suppose you would have every man in the world go about with a small lightning - rod running up the corner of his hat, like a militia officer's skewered feather, and trailing behind like his sash.
Why don't ye be sensible, Flask?
it's easy to be sensible; why don't ye, then?
any man with half an eye can be sensible."
" I don't know that, Stubb.
You sometimes find it rather hard."
" Yes, when a fellow's soaked through, it's hard to be sensible, that's a fact.
And I am about drenched with this spray.
Never mind; catch the turn there, and pass it.
Seems to me we are lashing down these anchors now as if they were never going to be used again.
Tying these two anchors here, Flask, seems like tying a man's hands behind him.
And what big generous hands they are, to be sure.
These are your iron fists, hey?
What a hold they have, too!
I wonder, Flask, whether the world is anchored anywhere; if she is, she swings with an uncommon long cable, though.
There, hammer that knot down, and we've done.
So; next to touching land, lighting on deck is the most satisfactory.
I say, just wring out my jacket skirts, will ye?
Thank ye.
They laugh at long - togs so, Flask; but seems to me, a Long tailed coat ought always to be worn in all storms afloat.
The tails tapering down that way, serve to carry off the water, d'ye see.
Same with cocked hats; the cocks form gable - end eave - troughs, Flask.
No more monkey - jackets and tarpaulins for me; I must mount a swallow - tail, and drive down a beaver; so.
Halloa!
whew!
there goes my tarpaulin overboard; Lord, Lord, that the winds that come from heaven should be so unmannerly!
This is a nasty night, lad."
CHAPTER 122
Midnight Aloft.-- Thunder and Lightning.
THE MAIN - TOP - SAIL YARD.-- TASHTEGO PASSING NEW LASHINGS AROUND IT.
" Um, um, um.
Stop that thunder!
Plenty too much thunder up here.
What's the use of thunder?
Um, um, um.
We don't want thunder; we want rum; give us a glass of rum.
Um, um, um!"
CHAPTER 123
The Musket.
In a severe gale like this, while the ship is but a tossed shuttlecock to the blast, it is by no means uncommon to see the needles in the compasses, at intervals, go round and round.
It was thus with the Pequod's; at almost every shock the helmsman had not failed to notice the whirling velocity with which they revolved upon the cards; it is a sight that hardly anyone can behold without some sort of unwonted emotion.
For during the violence of the gale, he had only steered according to its vicissitudes.
But as he was now bringing the ship as near her course as possible, watching the compass meanwhile, lo!
a good sign!
the wind seemed coming round astern; aye, the foul breeze became fair!
Instantly the yards were squared, to the lively song of " HO!
THE FAIR WIND!
OH - YE - HO, CHEERLY MEN!"
the crew singing for joy, that so promising an event should so soon have falsified the evil portents preceding it.
Ere knocking at his state - room, he involuntarily paused before it a moment.
The cabin lamp--taking long swings this way and that--was burning fitfully, and casting fitful shadows upon the old man's bolted door,-- a thin one, with fixed blinds inserted, in place of upper panels.
The isolated subterraneousness of the cabin made a certain humming silence to reign there, though it was hooped round by all the roar of the elements.
The loaded muskets in the rack were shiningly revealed, as they stood upright against the forward bulkhead.
Starbuck was an honest, upright man; but out of Starbuck's heart, at that instant when he saw the muskets, there strangely evolved an evil thought; but so blent with its neutral or good accompaniments that for the instant he hardly knew it for itself.
" He would have shot me once," he murmured, " yes, there's the very musket that he pointed at me;-- that one with the studded stock; let me touch it--lift it.
Strange, that I, who have handled so many deadly lances, strange, that I should shake so now.
Loaded?
I must see.
Aye, aye; and powder in the pan;-- that's not good.
Best spill it?-- wait.
I'll cure myself of this.
I'll hold the musket boldly while I think.-- I come to report a fair wind to him.
But how fair?
Fair for death and doom,-- THAT'S fair for Moby Dick.
It's a fair wind that's only fair for that accursed fish.-- The very tube he pointed at me!-- the very one; THIS one--I hold it here; he would have killed me with the very thing I handle now.-- Aye and he would fain kill all his crew.
Does he not say he will not strike his spars to any gale?
Has he not dashed his heavenly quadrant?
and in these same perilous seas, gropes he not his way by mere dead reckoning of the error - abounding log?
and in this very Typhoon, did he not swear that he would have no lightning - rods?
If, then, he were this instant--put aside, that crime would not be his.
Ha!
is he muttering in his sleep?
Yes, just there,-- in there, he's sleeping.
Sleeping?
aye, but still alive, and soon awake again.
I can't withstand thee, then, old man.
Not reasoning; not remonstrance; not entreaty wilt thou hearken to; all this thou scornest.
Flat obedience to thy own flat commands, this is all thou breathest.
Aye, and say'st the men have vow'd thy vow; say'st all of us are Ahabs.
Great God forbid!-- But is there no other way?
no lawful way?-- Make him a prisoner to be taken home?
What!
hope to wrest this old man's living power from his own living hands?
Only a fool would try it.
Say he were pinioned even; knotted all over with ropes and hawsers; chained down to ring - bolts on this cabin floor; he would be more hideous than a caged tiger, then.
I could not endure the sight; could not possibly fly his howlings; all comfort, sleep itself, inestimable reason would leave me on the long intolerable voyage.
What, then, remains?
The land is hundreds of leagues away, and locked Japan the nearest.
" On this level, Ahab's hammock swings within; his head this way.
A touch, and Starbuck may survive to hug his wife and child again.-- Oh Mary!
Mary!-- boy!
boy!
boy!-- But if I wake thee not to death, old man, who can tell to what unsounded deeps Starbuck's body this day week may sink, with all the crew!
Great God, where art Thou?
Shall I?
shall I?-- The wind has gone down and shifted, sir; the fore and main topsails are reefed and set; she heads her course."
" Stern all!
Oh Moby Dick, I clutch thy heart at last!"
Such were the sounds that now came hurtling from out the old man's tormented sleep, as if Starbuck's voice had caused the long dumb dream to speak.
The yet levelled musket shook like a drunkard's arm against the panel; Starbuck seemed wrestling with an angel; but turning from the door, he placed the death - tube in its rack, and left the place.
" He's too sound asleep, Mr. Stubb; go thou down, and wake him, and tell him.
I must see to the deck here.
Thou know'st what to say."
CHAPTER 124
The Needle.
Next morning the not - yet - subsided sea rolled in long slow billows of mighty bulk, and striving in the Pequod's gurgling track, pushed her on like giants'palms outspread.
The strong, unstaggering breeze abounded so, that sky and air seemed vast outbellying sails; the whole world boomed before the wind.
Muffled in the full morning light, the invisible sun was only known by the spread intensity of his place; where his bayonet rays moved on in stacks.
Emblazonings, as of crowned Babylonian kings and queens, reigned over everything.
The sea was as a crucible of molten gold, that bubblingly leaps with light and heat.
" Ha, ha, my ship!
thou mightest well be taken now for the sea - chariot of the sun.
Ho, ho!
all ye nations before my prow, I bring the sun to ye!
Yoke on the further billows; hallo!
a tandem, I drive the sea!"
But suddenly reined back by some counter thought, he hurried towards the helm, huskily demanding how the ship was heading.
" East - sou - east, sir," said the frightened steersman.
" Thou liest!"
smiting him with his clenched fist.
" Heading East at this hour in the morning, and the sun astern?"
Upon this every soul was confounded; for the phenomenon just then observed by Ahab had unaccountably escaped every one else; but its very blinding palpableness must have been the cause.
Thrusting his head half way into the binnacle, Ahab caught one glimpse of the compasses; his uplifted arm slowly fell; for a moment he almost seemed to stagger.
Standing behind him Starbuck looked, and lo!
the two compasses pointed East, and the Pequod was as infallibly going West.
But ere the first wild alarm could get out abroad among the crew, the old man with a rigid laugh exclaimed, " I have it!
It has happened before.
Mr. Starbuck, last night's thunder turned our compasses--that's all.
Thou hast before now heard of such a thing, I take it."
" Aye; but never before has it happened to me, sir," said the pale mate, gloomily.
Here, it must needs be said, that accidents like this have in more than one case occurred to ships in violent storms.
The magnetic energy, as developed in the mariner's needle, is, as all know, essentially one with the electricity beheld in heaven; hence it is not to be much marvelled at, that such things should be.
But in either case, the needle never again, of itself, recovers the original virtue thus marred or lost; and if the binnacle compasses be affected, the same fate reaches all the others that may be in the ship; even were the lowermost one inserted into the kelson.
The yards were hard up; and once more the Pequod thrust her undaunted bows into the opposing wind, for the supposed fair one had only been juggling her.
Meanwhile, whatever were his own secret thoughts, Starbuck said nothing, but quietly he issued all requisite orders; while Stubb and Flask--who in some small degree seemed then to be sharing his feelings--likewise unmurmuringly acquiesced.
As for the men, though some of them lowly rumbled, their fear of Ahab was greater than their fear of Fate.
But as ever before, the pagan harpooneers remained almost wholly unimpressed; or if impressed, it was only with a certain magnetism shot into their congenial hearts from inflexible Ahab's.
For a space the old man walked the deck in rolling reveries.
But chancing to slip with his ivory heel, he saw the crushed copper sight - tubes of the quadrant he had the day before dashed to the deck.
" Thou poor, proud heaven - gazer and sun's pilot!
yesterday I wrecked thee, and to - day the compasses would fain have wrecked me.
So, so.
But Ahab is lord over the level loadstone yet.
Mr. Starbuck--a lance without a pole; a top - maul, and the smallest of the sail - maker's needles.
Quick!"
Accessory, perhaps, to the impulse dictating the thing he was now about to do, were certain prudential motives, whose object might have been to revive the spirits of his crew by a stroke of his subtile skill, in a matter so wondrous as that of the inverted compasses.
Besides, the old man well knew that to steer by transpointed needles, though clumsily practicable, was not a thing to be passed over by superstitious sailors, without some shudderings and evil portents.
" Men," said he, steadily turning upon the crew, as the mate handed him the things he had demanded, " my men, the thunder turned old Ahab's needles; but out of this bit of steel Ahab can make one of his own, that will point as true as any."
Abashed glances of servile wonder were exchanged by the sailors, as this was said; and with fascinated eyes they awaited whatever magic might follow.
But Starbuck looked away.
With a blow from the top - maul Ahab knocked off the steel head of the lance, and then handing to the mate the long iron rod remaining, bade him hold it upright, without its touching the deck.
Then, with the maul, after repeatedly smiting the upper end of this iron rod, he placed the blunted needle endwise on the top of it, and less strongly hammered that, several times, the mate still holding the rod as before.
The sun is East, and that compass swears it!"
One after another they peered in, for nothing but their own eyes could persuade such ignorance as theirs, and one after another they slunk away.
In his fiery eyes of scorn and triumph, you then saw Ahab in all his fatal pride.
CHAPTER 125
The Log and Line.
While now the fated Pequod had been so long afloat this voyage, the log and line had but very seldom been in use.
It had been thus with the Pequod.
The wooden reel and angular log attached hung, long untouched, just beneath the railing of the after bulwarks.
Rains and spray had damped it; sun and wind had warped it; all the elements had combined to rot a thing that hung so idly.
But heedless of all this, his mood seized Ahab, as he happened to glance upon the reel, not many hours after the magnet scene, and he remembered how his quadrant was no more, and recalled his frantic oath about the level log and line.
The ship was sailing plungingly; astern the billows rolled in riots.
" Forward, there!
Heave the log!"
Two seamen came.
The golden - hued Tahitian and the grizzly Manxman.
" Take the reel, one of ye, I'll heave."
They went towards the extreme stern, on the ship's lee side, where the deck, with the oblique energy of the wind, was now almost dipping into the creamy, sidelong - rushing sea.
The Manxman took the reel, and holding it high up, by the projecting handle - ends of the spindle, round which the spool of line revolved, so stood with the angular log hanging downwards, till Ahab advanced to him.
Ahab stood before him, and was lightly unwinding some thirty or forty turns to form a preliminary hand - coil to toss overboard, when the old Manxman, who was intently eyeing both him and the line, made bold to speak.
" Sir, I mistrust it; this line looks far gone, long heat and wet have spoiled it."
' Twill hold, old gentleman.
Long heat and wet, have they spoiled thee?
Thou seem'st to hold.
Or, truer perhaps, life holds thee; not thou it."
" I hold the spool, sir.
But just as my captain says.
With these grey hairs of mine'tis not worth while disputing,'specially with a superior, who'll ne'er confess."
" What's that?
There now's a patched professor in Queen Nature's granite - founded College; but methinks he's too subservient.
Where wert thou born?"
" In the little rocky Isle of Man, sir."
" Excellent!
Thou'st hit the world by that."
" I know not, sir, but I was born there."
" In the Isle of Man, hey?
Well, the other way, it's good.
Here's a man from Man; a man born in once independent Man, and now unmanned of Man; which is sucked in--by what?
Up with the reel!
The dead, blind wall butts all inquiring heads at last.
Up with it!
So."
The log was heaved.
The loose coils rapidly straightened out in a long dragging line astern, and then, instantly, the reel began to whirl.
In turn, jerkingly raised and lowered by the rolling billows, the towing resistance of the log caused the old reelman to stagger strangely.
" Hold hard!"
Snap!
the overstrained line sagged down in one long festoon; the tugging log was gone.
" I crush the quadrant, the thunder turns the needles, and now the mad sea parts the log - line.
But Ahab can mend all.
Haul in here, Tahitian; reel up, Manxman.
And look ye, let the carpenter make another log, and mend thou the line.
See to it."
" There he goes now; to him nothing's happened; but to me, the skewer seems loosening out of the middle of the world.
Haul in, haul in, Tahitian!
These lines run whole, and whirling out: come in broken, and dragging slow.
Ha, Pip?
come to help; eh, Pip?"
" Pip?
whom call ye Pip?
Pip jumped from the whale - boat.
Pip's missing.
Let's see now if ye haven't fished him up here, fisherman.
It drags hard; I guess he's holding on.
Jerk him, Tahiti!
Jerk him off; we haul in no cowards here.
Ho!
there's his arm just breaking water.
A hatchet!
a hatchet!
cut it off--we haul in no cowards here.
Captain Ahab!
sir, sir!
here's Pip, trying to get on board again."
" Peace, thou crazy loon," cried the Manxman, seizing him by the arm.
" Away from the quarter - deck!"
" The greater idiot ever scolds the lesser," muttered Ahab, advancing.
" Hands off from that holiness!
Where sayest thou Pip was, boy?
" Astern there, sir, astern!
Lo!
lo!"
" And who art thou, boy?
I see not my reflection in the vacant pupils of thy eyes.
Oh God!
that man should be a thing for immortal souls to sieve through!
Who art thou, boy?"
" Bell - boy, sir; ship's - crier; ding, dong, ding!
Pip!
Pip!
Pip!
One hundred pounds of clay reward for Pip; five feet high--looks cowardly--quickest known by that!
Ding, dong, ding!
Who's seen Pip the coward?"
" There can be no hearts above the snow - line.
Oh, ye frozen heavens!
look down here.
Ye did beget this luckless child, and have abandoned him, ye creative libertines.
Here, boy; Ahab's cabin shall be Pip's home henceforth, while Ahab lives.
Thou touchest my inmost centre, boy; thou art tied to me by cords woven of my heart - strings.
Come, let's down."
" What's this?
here's velvet shark - skin," intently gazing at Ahab's hand, and feeling it.
" Ah, now, had poor Pip but felt so kind a thing as this, perhaps he had ne'er been lost!
This seems to me, sir, as a man - rope; something that weak souls may hold by.
Oh, sir, let old Perth now come and rivet these two hands together; the black one with the white, for I will not let this go."
" Oh, boy, nor will I thee, unless I should thereby drag thee to worse horrors than are here.
Come, then, to my cabin.
Lo!
ye believers in gods all goodness, and in man all ill, lo you!
see the omniscient gods oblivious of suffering man; and man, though idiotic, and knowing not what he does, yet full of the sweet things of love and gratitude.
Come!
I feel prouder leading thee by thy black hand, than though I grasped an Emperor's!"
" There go two daft ones now," muttered the old Manxman.
" One daft with strength, the other daft with weakness.
But here's the end of the rotten line--all dripping, too.
Mend it, eh?
I think we had best have a new line altogether.
I'll see Mr. Stubb about it."
CHAPTER 126
The Life - Buoy.
Steering now south - eastward by Ahab's levelled steel, and her progress solely determined by Ahab's level log and line; the Pequod held on her path towards the Equator.
Making so long a passage through such unfrequented waters, descrying no ships, and ere long, sideways impelled by unvarying trade winds, over waves monotonously mild; all these seemed the strange calm things preluding some riotous and desperate scene.
The Christian or civilized part of the crew said it was mermaids, and shuddered; but the pagan harpooneers remained unappalled.
Yet the grey Manxman--the oldest mariner of all--declared that the wild thrilling sounds that were heard, were the voices of newly drowned men in the sea.
Below in his hammock, Ahab did not hear of this till grey dawn, when he came to the deck; it was then recounted to him by Flask, not unaccompanied with hinted dark meanings.
He hollowly laughed, and thus explained the wonder.
In the sea, under certain circumstances, seals have more than once been mistaken for men.
But the bodings of the crew were destined to receive a most plausible confirmation in the fate of one of their number that morning.
And thus the first man of the Pequod that mounted the mast to look out for the White Whale, on the White Whale's own peculiar ground; that man was swallowed up in the deep.
But few, perhaps, thought of that at the time.
Indeed, in some sort, they were not grieved at this event, at least as a portent; for they regarded it, not as a foreshadowing of evil in the future, but as the fulfilment of an evil already presaged.
They declared that now they knew the reason of those wild shrieks they had heard the night before.
But again the old Manxman said nay.
" A life - buoy of a coffin!"
cried Starbuck, starting.
" Rather queer, that, I should say," said Stubb.
" It will make a good enough one," said Flask, " the carpenter here can arrange it easily."
" Bring it up; there's nothing else for it," said Starbuck, after a melancholy pause.
" Rig it, carpenter; do not look at me so--the coffin, I mean.
Dost thou hear me?
Rig it."
" And shall I nail down the lid, sir?"
moving his hand as with a hammer.
" Aye."
" And shall I caulk the seams, sir?"
moving his hand as with a caulking - iron.
" Aye."
" And shall I then pay over the same with pitch, sir?"
moving his hand as with a pitch - pot.
" Away!
what possesses thee to this?
Make a life - buoy of the coffin, and no more.-- Mr.
Stubb, Mr. Flask, come forward with me."
" He goes off in a huff.
The whole he can endure; at the parts he baulks.
Now I don't like this.
I make a leg for Captain Ahab, and he wears it like a gentleman; but I make a bandbox for Queequeg, and he won't put his head into it.
Are all my pains to go for nothing with that coffin?
And now I'm ordered to make a life - buoy of it.
It's like turning an old coat; going to bring the flesh on the other side now.
I don't like this cobbling sort of business--I don't like it at all; it's undignified; it's not my place.
Let tinkers'brats do tinkerings; we are their betters.
It's the old woman's tricks to be giving cobbling jobs.
Lord!
what an affection all old women have for tinkers.
I know an old woman of sixty - five who ran away with a bald - headed young tinker once.
And that's the reason I never would work for lonely widow old women ashore, when I kept my job - shop in the Vineyard; they might have taken it into their lonely old heads to run off with me.
But heigh - ho!
there are no caps at sea but snow - caps.
Let me see.
Nail down the lid; caulk the seams; pay over the same with pitch; batten them down tight, and hang it with the snap - spring over the ship's stern.
Were ever such things done before with a coffin?
Some superstitious old carpenters, now, would be tied up in the rigging, ere they would do the job.
But I'm made of knotty Aroostook hemlock; I don't budge.
Cruppered with a coffin!
Sailing about with a grave - yard tray!
But never mind.
We workers in woods make bridal - bedsteads and card - tables, as well as coffins and hearses.
We work by the month, or by the job, or by the profit; not for us to ask the why and wherefore of our work, unless it be too confounded cobbling, and then we stash it if we can.
Hem!
I'll do the job, now, tenderly.
I'll have me--let's see--how many in the ship's company, all told?
But I've forgotten.
Any way, I'll have me thirty separate, Turk's - headed life - lines, each three feet long hanging all round to the coffin.
Then, if the hull go down, there'll be thirty lively fellows all fighting for one coffin, a sight not seen very often beneath the sun!
Come hammer, caulking - iron, pitch - pot, and marling - spike!
Let's to it."
CHAPTER 127
The Deck.
Back, lad; I will be with ye again presently.
He goes!
Not this hand complies with my humor more genially than that boy.-- Middle aisle of a church!
What's here?"
" Life - buoy, sir.
Mr. Starbuck's orders.
Oh, look, sir!
Beware the hatchway!"
" Thank ye, man.
Thy coffin lies handy to the vault."
" Sir?
The hatchway?
oh!
So it does, sir, so it does."
" Art not thou the leg - maker?
Look, did not this stump come from thy shop?"
" I believe it did, sir; does the ferrule stand, sir?"
" Well enough.
But art thou not also the undertaker?"
" Aye, sir; I patched up this thing here as a coffin for Queequeg; but they've set me now to turning it into something else."
" Then tell me; art thou not an arrant, all - grasping, intermeddling, monopolising, heathenish old scamp, to be one day making legs, and the next day coffins to clap them in, and yet again life - buoys out of those same coffins?
Thou art as unprincipled as the gods, and as much of a jack - of - all - trades."
" But I do not mean anything, sir.
I do as I do."
" The gods again.
Hark ye, dost thou not ever sing working about a coffin?
The Titans, they say, hummed snatches when chipping out the craters for volcanoes; and the grave - digger in the play sings, spade in hand.
Dost thou never?"
" Sing, sir?
Do I sing?
Oh, I'm indifferent enough, sir, for that; but the reason why the grave - digger made music must have been because there was none in his spade, sir.
But the caulking mallet is full of it.
Hark to it."
" Aye, and that's because the lid there's a sounding - board; and what in all things makes the sounding - board is this--there's naught beneath.
And yet, a coffin with a body in it rings pretty much the same, Carpenter.
Hast thou ever helped carry a bier, and heard the coffin knock against the churchyard gate, going in?
" Faith, sir, I've --"
" Faith?
What's that?"
" Why, faith, sir, it's only a sort of exclamation - like--that's all, sir."
" Um, um; go on."
" I was about to say, sir, that --"
" Art thou a silk - worm?
Dost thou spin thy own shroud out of thyself?
Look at thy bosom!
Despatch!
and get these traps out of sight."
" He goes aft.
That was sudden, now; but squalls come sudden in hot latitudes.
I've heard that the Isle of Albemarle, one of the Gallipagos, is cut by the Equator right in the middle.
Seems to me some sort of Equator cuts yon old man, too, right in his middle.
He's always under the Line--fiery hot, I tell ye!
He's looking this way--come, oakum; quick.
Here we go again.
This wooden mallet is the cork, and I'm the professor of musical glasses--tap, tap!"
(AHAB TO HIMSELF.)
" There's a sight!
There's a sound!
The grey - headed woodpecker tapping the hollow tree!
Blind and dumb might well be envied now.
See!
that thing rests on two line - tubs, full of tow - lines.
A most malicious wag, that fellow.
Rat - tat!
So man's seconds tick!
Oh!
how immaterial are all materials!
What things real are there, but imponderable thoughts?
Here now's the very dreaded symbol of grim death, by a mere hap, made the expressive sign of the help and hope of most endangered life.
A life - buoy of a coffin!
Does it go further?
Can it be that in some spiritual sense the coffin is, after all, but an immortality - preserver!
I'll think of that.
But no.
So far gone am I in the dark side of earth, that its other side, the theoretic bright one, seems but uncertain twilight to me.
Will ye never have done, Carpenter, with that accursed sound?
I go below; let me not see that thing here when I return again.
Now, then, Pip, we'll talk this over; I do suck most wondrous philosophies from thee!
Some unknown conduits from the unknown worlds must empty into thee!"
CHAPTER 128
The Pequod Meets The Rachel.
Next day, a large ship, the Rachel, was descried, bearing directly down upon the Pequod, all her spars thickly clustering with men.
At the time the Pequod was making good speed through the water; but as the broad - winged windward stranger shot nigh to her, the boastful sails all fell together as blank bladders that are burst, and all life fled from the smitten hull.
" Bad news; she brings bad news," muttered the old Manxman.
But ere her commander, who, with trumpet to mouth, stood up in his boat; ere he could hopefully hail, Ahab's voice was heard.
" Hast seen the White Whale?"
" Aye, yesterday.
Have ye seen a whale - boat adrift?"
Throttling his joy, Ahab negatively answered this unexpected question; and would then have fain boarded the stranger, when the stranger captain himself, having stopped his vessel's way, was seen descending her side.
A few keen pulls, and his boat - hook soon clinched the Pequod's main - chains, and he sprang to the deck.
Immediately he was recognised by Ahab for a Nantucketer he knew.
But no formal salutation was exchanged.
" Where was he?-- not killed!-- not killed!"
cried Ahab, closely advancing.
" How was it?"
After a keen sail before the wind, this fourth boat--the swiftest keeled of all--seemed to have succeeded in fastening--at least, as well as the man at the mast - head could tell anything about it.
In the distance he saw the diminished dotted boat; and then a swift gleam of bubbling white water; and after that nothing more; whence it was concluded that the stricken whale must have indefinitely run away with his pursuers, as often happens.
There was some apprehension, but no positive alarm, as yet.
But the rest of her crew being at last safe aboard, she crowded all sail--stunsail on stunsail--after the missing boat; kindling a fire in her try - pots for a beacon; and every other man aloft on the look - out.
The story told, the stranger Captain immediately went on to reveal his object in boarding the Pequod.
He desired that ship to unite with his own in the search; by sailing over the sea some four or five miles apart, on parallel lines, and so sweeping a double horizon, as it were.
" I will wager something now," whispered Stubb to Flask, " that some one in that missing boat wore off that Captain's best coat; mayhap, his watch--he's so cursed anxious to get it back.
Who ever heard of two pious whale - ships cruising after one missing whale - boat in the height of the whaling season?
See, Flask, only see how pale he looks--pale in the very buttons of his eyes--look--it wasn't the coat--it must have been the --"
" My boy, my own boy is among them.
For God's sake--I beg, I conjure "-- here exclaimed the stranger Captain to Ahab, who thus far had but icily received his petition.
" For eight - and - forty hours let me charter your ship--I will gladly pay for it, and roundly pay for it--if there be no other way--for eight - and - forty hours only--only that--you must, oh, you must, and you SHALL do this thing."
" His son!"
cried Stubb, " oh, it's his son he's lost!
I take back the coat and watch--what says Ahab?
We must save that boy."
" He's drowned with the rest on'em, last night," said the old Manx sailor standing behind them; " I heard; all of ye heard their spirits."
Meantime, now the stranger was still beseeching his poor boon of Ahab; and Ahab still stood like an anvil, receiving every shock, but without the least quivering of his own.
" I will not go," said the stranger, " till you say aye to me.
Do to me as you would have me do to you in the like case.
For YOU too have a boy, Captain Ahab--though but a child, and nestling safely at home now--a child of your old age too--Yes, yes, you relent; I see it--run, run, men, now, and stand by to square in the yards."
" Avast," cried Ahab --" touch not a rope - yarn "; then in a voice that prolongingly moulded every word --" Captain Gardiner, I will not do it.
Even now I lose time.
Good - bye, good - bye.
God bless ye, man, and may I forgive myself, but I must go.
Mr. Starbuck, look at the binnacle watch, and in three minutes from this present instant warn off all strangers: then brace forward again, and let the ship sail as before."
Hurriedly turning, with averted face, he descended into his cabin, leaving the strange captain transfixed at this unconditional and utter rejection of his so earnest suit.
But starting from his enchantment, Gardiner silently hurried to the side; more fell than stepped into his boat, and returned to his ship.
Soon the two ships diverged their wakes; and long as the strange vessel was in view, she was seen to yaw hither and thither at every dark spot, however small, on the sea.
But by her still halting course and winding, woeful way, you plainly saw that this ship that so wept with spray, still remained without comfort.
She was Rachel, weeping for her children, because they were not.
CHAPTER 129
The Cabin.
(AHAB MOVING TO GO ON DECK; PIP CATCHES HIM BY THE HAND TO FOLLOW.)
Lad, lad, I tell thee thou must not follow Ahab now.
The hour is coming when Ahab would not scare thee from him, yet would not have thee by him.
There is that in thee, poor lad, which I feel too curing to my malady.
Like cures like; and for this hunt, my malady becomes my most desired health.
Do thou abide below here, where they shall serve thee, as if thou wert the captain.
Aye, lad, thou shalt sit here in my own screwed chair; another screw to it, thou must be."
" No, no, no!
ye have not a whole body, sir; do ye but use poor me for your one lost leg; only tread upon me, sir; I ask no more, so I remain a part of ye."
" Oh!
spite of million villains, this makes me a bigot in the fadeless fidelity of man!-- and a black!
and crazy!-- but methinks like - cures - like applies to him too; he grows so sane again."
" They tell me, sir, that Stubb did once desert poor little Pip, whose drowned bones now show white, for all the blackness of his living skin.
But I will never desert ye, sir, as Stubb did him.
Sir, I must go with ye."
" If thou speakest thus to me much more, Ahab's purpose keels up in him.
I tell thee no; it cannot be."
" Oh good master, master, master!
" Weep so, and I will murder thee!
have a care, for Ahab too is mad.
Listen, and thou wilt often hear my ivory foot upon the deck, and still know that I am there.
And now I quit thee.
Thy hand!-- Met!
True art thou, lad, as the circumference to its centre.
So: God for ever bless thee; and if it come to that,-- God for ever save thee, let what will befall."
(AHAB GOES; PIP STEPS ONE STEP FORWARD.)
" Here he this instant stood; I stand in his air,-- but I'm alone.
Now were even poor Pip here I could endure it, but he's missing.
Pip!
Pip!
Ding, dong, ding!
Who's seen Pip?
He must be up here; let's try the door.
What?
neither lock, nor bolt, nor bar; and yet there's no opening it.
It must be the spell; he told me to stay here: Aye, and told me this screwed chair was mine.
Here, then, I'll seat me, against the transom, in the ship's full middle, all her keel and her three masts before me.
Here, our old sailors say, in their black seventy - fours great admirals sometimes sit at table, and lord it over rows of captains and lieutenants.
Ha!
what's this?
epaulets!
epaulets!
the epaulets all come crowding!
Pass round the decanters; glad to see ye; fill up, monsieurs!
What an odd feeling, now, when a black boy's host to white men with gold lace upon their coats!-- Monsieurs, have ye seen one Pip?-- a little negro lad, five feet high, hang - dog look, and cowardly!
Jumped from a whale - boat once;-- seen him?
No!
Well then, fill up again, captains, and let's drink shame upon all cowards!
I name no names.
Shame upon them!
Put one foot upon the table.
Shame upon all cowards.-- Hist!
above there, I hear ivory--Oh, master!
master!
I am indeed down - hearted when you walk over me.
But here I'll stay, though this stern strikes rocks; and they bulge through; and oysters come to join me."
CHAPTER 130
The Hat.
As the unsetting polar star, which through the livelong, arctic, six months'night sustains its piercing, steady, central gaze; so Ahab's purpose now fixedly gleamed down upon the constant midnight of the gloomy crew.
It domineered above them so, that all their bodings, doubts, misgivings, fears, were fain to hide beneath their souls, and not sprout forth a single spear or leaf.
In this foreshadowing interval too, all humor, forced or natural, vanished.
Stubb no more strove to raise a smile; Starbuck no more strove to check one.
Alike, joy and sorrow, hope and fear, seemed ground to finest dust, and powdered, for the time, in the clamped mortar of Ahab's iron soul.
Like machines, they dumbly moved about the deck, ever conscious that the old man's despot eye was on them.
And that shadow was always hovering there.
For not by night, even, had Fedallah ever certainly been known to slumber, or go below.
He would stand still for hours: but never sat or leaned; his wan but wondrous eyes did plainly say--We two watchmen never rest.
The clothes that the night had wet, the next day's sunshine dried upon him; and so, day after day, and night after night; he went no more beneath the planks; whatever he wanted from the cabin that thing he sent for.
But though his whole life was now become one watch on deck; and though the Parsee's mystic watch was without intermission as his own; yet these two never seemed to speak--one man to the other--unless at long intervals some passing unmomentous matter made it necessary.
Though such a potent spell seemed secretly to join the twain; openly, and to the awe - struck crew, they seemed pole - like asunder.
If by day they chanced to speak one word; by night, dumb men were both, so far as concerned the slightest verbal interchange.
And yet, somehow, did Ahab--in his own proper self, as daily, hourly, and every instant, commandingly revealed to his subordinates,-- Ahab seemed an independent lord; the Parsee but his slave.
Still again both seemed yoked together, and an unseen tyrant driving them; the lean shade siding the solid rib.
For be this Parsee what he may, all rib and keel was solid Ahab.
At the first faintest glimmering of the dawn, his iron voice was heard from aft,--" Man the mast - heads!"
-- and all through the day, till after sunset and after twilight, the same voice every hour, at the striking of the helmsman's bell, was heard --" What d'ye see?-- sharp!
sharp!"
But if these suspicions were really his, he sagaciously refrained from verbally expressing them, however his actions might seem to hint them.
" I will have the first sight of the whale myself,"-- he said.
" Aye!
Ahab must have the doubloon!
Then arranging his person in the basket, he gave the word for them to hoist him to his perch, Starbuck being the one who secured the rope at last; and afterwards stood near it.
And thus, with one hand clinging round the royal mast, Ahab gazed abroad upon the sea for miles and miles,-- ahead, astern, this side, and that,-- within the wide expanded circle commanded at so great a height.
Then it darted a thousand feet straight up into the air; then spiralized downwards, and went eddying again round his head.
" Your hat, your hat, sir!"
suddenly cried the Sicilian seaman, who being posted at the mizen - mast - head, stood directly behind Ahab, though somewhat lower than his level, and with a deep gulf of air dividing them.
But already the sable wing was before the old man's eyes; the long hooked bill at his head: with a scream, the black hawk darted away with his prize.
An eagle flew thrice round Tarquin's head, removing his cap to replace it, and thereupon Tanaquil, his wife, declared that Tarquin would be king of Rome.
But only by the replacing of the cap was that omen accounted good.
Ahab's hat was never restored; the wild hawk flew on and on with it; far in advance of the prow: and at last disappeared; while from the point of that disappearance, a minute black spot was dimly discerned, falling from that vast height into the sea.
CHAPTER 131
The Pequod Meets The Delight.
The intense Pequod sailed on; the rolling waves and days went by; the life - buoy - coffin still lightly swung; and another ship, most miserably misnamed the Delight, was descried.
As she drew nigh, all eyes were fixed upon her broad beams, called shears, which, in some whaling - ships, cross the quarter - deck at the height of eight or nine feet; serving to carry the spare, unrigged, or disabled boats.
Upon the stranger's shears were beheld the shattered, white ribs, and some few splintered planks, of what had once been a whale - boat; but you now saw through this wreck, as plainly as you see through the peeled, half - unhinged, and bleaching skeleton of a horse.
" Hast seen the White Whale?"
" Look!"
replied the hollow - cheeked captain from his taffrail; and with his trumpet he pointed to the wreck.
" Hast killed him?"
" The harpoon is not yet forged that ever will do that," answered the other, sadly glancing upon a rounded hammock on the deck, whose gathered sides some noiseless sailors were busy in sewing together.
" Not forged!"
and snatching Perth's levelled iron from the crotch, Ahab held it out, exclaiming --" Look ye, Nantucketer; here in this hand I hold his death!
Tempered in blood, and tempered by lightning are these barbs; and I swear to temper them triply in that hot place behind the fin, where the White Whale most feels his accursed life!"
" Then God keep thee, old man--see'st thou that "-- pointing to the hammock --" I bury but one of five stout men, who were alive only yesterday; but were dead ere night.
Only THAT one I bury; the rest were buried before they died; you sail upon their tomb."
Then turning to his crew --" Are ye ready there?
place the plank then on the rail, and lift the body; so, then--Oh!
God "-- advancing towards the hammock with uplifted hands --" may the resurrection and the life --"
" Brace forward!
Up helm!"
cried Ahab like lightning to his men.
But the suddenly started Pequod was not quick enough to escape the sound of the splash that the corpse soon made as it struck the sea; not so quick, indeed, but that some of the flying bubbles might have sprinkled her hull with their ghostly baptism.
As Ahab now glided from the dejected Delight, the strange life - buoy hanging at the Pequod's stern came into conspicuous relief.
" Ha!
yonder!
look yonder, men!"
cried a foreboding voice in her wake.
" In vain, oh, ye strangers, ye fly our sad burial; ye but turn us your taffrail to show us your coffin!"
CHAPTER 132
The Symphony.
It was a clear steel - blue day.
The firmaments of air and sea were hardly separable in that all - pervading azure; only, the pensive air was transparently pure and soft, with a woman's look, and the robust and man - like sea heaved with long, strong, lingering swells, as Samson's chest in his sleep.
But though thus contrasting within, the contrast was only in shades and shadows without; those two seemed one; it was only the sex, as it were, that distinguished them.
Aloft, like a royal czar and king, the sun seemed giving this gentle air to this bold and rolling sea; even as bride to groom.
And at the girdling line of the horizon, a soft and tremulous motion--most seen here at the Equator--denoted the fond, throbbing trust, the loving alarms, with which the poor bride gave her bosom away.
Oh, immortal infancy, and innocency of the azure!
Invisible winged creatures that frolic all round us!
Sweet childhood of air and sky!
how oblivious were ye of old Ahab's close - coiled woe!
But so have I seen little Miriam and Martha, laughing - eyed elves, heedlessly gambol around their old sire; sporting with the circle of singed locks which grew on the marge of that burnt - out crater of his brain.
Slowly crossing the deck from the scuttle, Ahab leaned over the side and watched how his shadow in the water sank and sank to his gaze, the more and the more that he strove to pierce the profundity.
But the lovely aromas in that enchanted air did at last seem to dispel, for a moment, the cankerous thing in his soul.
From beneath his slouched hat Ahab dropped a tear into the sea; nor did all the Pacific contain such wealth as that one wee drop.
Starbuck saw the old man; saw him, how he heavily leaned over the side; and he seemed to hear in his own true heart the measureless sobbing that stole out of the centre of the serenity around.
Careful not to touch him, or be noticed by him, he yet drew near to him, and stood there.
Ahab turned.
" Starbuck!"
" Sir."
" Oh, Starbuck!
it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky.
On such a day--very much such a sweetness as this--I struck my first whale--a boy - harpooneer of eighteen!
Forty--forty--forty years ago!-- ago!
Forty years of continual whaling!
forty years of privation, and peril, and storm - time!
forty years on the pitiless sea!
for forty years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make war on the horrors of the deep!
Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those forty years I have not spent three ashore.
When I think of this life I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned, walled - town of a Captain's exclusiveness, which admits but small entrance to any sympathy from the green country without--oh, weariness!
heaviness!
wife?-- rather a widow with her husband alive!
Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab has furiously, foamingly chased his prey--more a demon than a man!-- aye, aye!
what a forty years'fool--fool--old fool, has old Ahab been!
Why this strife of the chase?
why weary, and palsy the arm at the oar, and the iron, and the lance?
how the richer or better is Ahab now?
Behold.
Oh, Starbuck!
is it not hard, that with this weary load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me?
Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep.
Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes!
But do I look very old, so very, very old, Starbuck?
I feel deadly faint, bowed, and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled centuries since Paradise.
God!
God!
God!-- crack my heart!-- stave my brain!-- mockery!
mockery!
bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old?
Close!
stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God.
By the green land; by the bright hearth - stone!
this is the magic glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye.
No, no; stay on board, on board!-- lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase to Moby Dick.
That hazard shall not be thine.
No, no!
not with the far away home I see in that eye!"
" Oh, my Captain!
my Captain!
noble soul!
grand old heart, after all!
why should any one give chase to that hated fish!
Away with me!
let us fly these deadly waters!
let us home!
Wife and child, too, are Starbuck's--wife and child of his brotherly, sisterly, play - fellow youth; even as thine, sir, are the wife and child of thy loving, longing, paternal old age!
Away!
let us away!-- this instant let me alter the course!
How cheerily, how hilariously, O my Captain, would we bowl on our way to see old Nantucket again!
I think, sir, they have some such mild blue days, even as this, in Nantucket."
" They have, they have.
I have seen them--some summer days in the morning.
About this time--yes, it is his noon nap now--the boy vivaciously wakes; sits up in bed; and his mother tells him of me, of cannibal old me; how I am abroad upon the deep, but will yet come back to dance him again."
' Tis my Mary, my Mary herself!
She promised that my boy, every morning, should be carried to the hill to catch the first glimpse of his father's sail!
Yes, yes!
no more!
it is done!
we head for Nantucket!
Come, my Captain, study out the course, and let us away!
See, see!
the boy's face from the window!
the boy's hand on the hill!"
But Ahab's glance was averted; like a blighted fruit tree he shook, and cast his last, cindered apple to the soil.
Is Ahab, Ahab?
Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm?
By heaven, man, we are turned round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike.
And all the time, lo!
that smiling sky, and this unsounded sea!
Look!
see yon Albicore!
who put it into him to chase and fang that flying - fish?
Where do murderers go, man!
Who's to doom, when the judge himself is dragged to the bar?
But it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a far - away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the new - mown hay.
Sleeping?
Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last on the field.
Sleep?
Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last year's scythes flung down, and left in the half - cut swaths--Starbuck!"
But blanched to a corpse's hue with despair, the Mate had stolen away.
Ahab crossed the deck to gaze over on the other side; but started at two reflected, fixed eyes in the water there.
Fedallah was motionlessly leaning over the same rail.
CHAPTER 133
The Chase--First Day.
He declared that a whale must be near.
" Man the mast - heads!
Call all hands!"
Thundering with the butts of three clubbed handspikes on the forecastle deck, Daggoo roused the sleepers with such judgment claps that they seemed to exhale from the scuttle, so instantaneously did they appear with their clothes in their hands.
" What d'ye see?"
cried Ahab, flattening his face to the sky.
" Nothing, nothing sir!"
was the sound hailing down in reply.
" T'gallant sails!-- stunsails!
alow and aloft, and on both sides!"
" There she blows!-- there she blows!
A hump like a snow - hill!
It is Moby Dick!"
Fired by the cry which seemed simultaneously taken up by the three look - outs, the men on deck rushed to the rigging to behold the famous whale they had so long been pursuing.
Ahab had now gained his final perch, some feet above the other look - outs, Tashtego standing just beneath him on the cap of the top - gallant - mast, so that the Indian's head was almost on a level with Ahab's heel.
From this height the whale was now seen some mile or so ahead, at every roll of the sea revealing his high sparkling hump, and regularly jetting his silent spout into the air.
To the credulous mariners it seemed the same silent spout they had so long ago beheld in the moonlit Atlantic and Indian Oceans.
" And did none of ye see it before?"
cried Ahab, hailing the perched men all around him.
" I saw him almost that same instant, sir, that Captain Ahab did, and I cried out," said Tashtego.
" Not the same instant; not the same--no, the doubloon is mine, Fate reserved the doubloon for me.
I only; none of ye could have raised the White Whale first.
There she blows!-- there she blows!-- there she blows!
There again!-- there again!"
he cried, in long - drawn, lingering, methodic tones, attuned to the gradual prolongings of the whale's visible jets.
" He's going to sound!
In stunsails!
Down top - gallant - sails!
Stand by three boats.
Mr. Starbuck, remember, stay on board, and keep the ship.
Helm there!
Luff, luff a point!
So; steady, man, steady!
There go flukes!
No, no; only black water!
All ready the boats there?
Stand by, stand by!
Lower me, Mr. Starbuck; lower, lower,-- quick, quicker!"
and he slid through the air to the deck.
" He is heading straight to leeward, sir," cried Stubb, " right away from us; cannot have seen the ship yet."
" Be dumb, man!
Stand by the braces!
Hard down the helm!-- brace up!
Shiver her!-- shiver her!-- So; well that!
Boats, boats!"
Soon all the boats but Starbuck's were dropped; all the boat - sails set--all the paddles plying; with rippling swiftness, shooting to leeward; and Ahab heading the onset.
A pale, death - glimmer lit up Fedallah's sunken eyes; a hideous motion gnawed his mouth.
Like noiseless nautilus shells, their light prows sped through the sea; but only slowly they neared the foe.
As they neared him, the ocean grew still more smooth; seemed drawing a carpet over its waves; seemed a noon - meadow, so serenely it spread.
At length the breathless hunter came so nigh his seemingly unsuspecting prey, that his entire dazzling hump was distinctly visible, sliding along the sea as if an isolated thing, and continually set in a revolving ring of finest, fleecy, greenish foam.
He saw the vast, involved wrinkles of the slightly projecting head beyond.
A gentle joyousness--a mighty mildness of repose in swiftness, invested the gliding whale.
did surpass the glorified White Whale as he so divinely swam.
On each soft side--coincident with the parted swell, that but once leaving him, then flowed so wide away--on each bright side, the whale shed off enticings.
No wonder there had been some among the hunters who namelessly transported and allured by all this serenity, had ventured to assail it; but had fatally found that quietude but the vesture of tornadoes.
Yet calm, enticing calm, oh, whale!
thou glidest on, to all who for the first time eye thee, no matter how many in that same way thou may'st have bejuggled and destroyed before.
But soon the fore part of him slowly rose from the water; for an instant his whole marbleized body formed a high arch, like Virginia's Natural Bridge, and warningly waving his bannered flukes in the air, the grand god revealed himself, sounded, and went out of sight.
Hoveringly halting, and dipping on the wing, the white sea - fowls longingly lingered over the agitated pool that he left.
With oars apeak, and paddles down, the sheets of their sails adrift, the three boats now stilly floated, awaiting Moby Dick's reappearance.
" An hour," said Ahab, standing rooted in his boat's stern; and he gazed beyond the whale's place, towards the dim blue spaces and wide wooing vacancies to leeward.
It was only an instant; for again his eyes seemed whirling round in his head as he swept the watery circle.
The breeze now freshened; the sea began to swell.
" The birds!-- the birds!"
cried Tashtego.
In long Indian file, as when herons take wing, the white birds were now all flying towards Ahab's boat; and when within a few yards began fluttering over the water there, wheeling round and round, with joyous, expectant cries.
Their vision was keener than man's; Ahab could discover no sign in the sea.
It was Moby Dick's open mouth and scrolled jaw; his vast, shadowed bulk still half blending with the blue of the sea.
The glittering mouth yawned beneath the boat like an open - doored marble tomb; and giving one sidelong sweep with his steering oar, Ahab whirled the craft aside from this tremendous apparition.
Then, calling upon Fedallah to change places with him, went forward to the bows, and seizing Perth's harpoon, commanded his crew to grasp their oars and stand by to stern.
Now, by reason of this timely spinning round the boat upon its axis, its bow, by anticipation, was made to face the whale's head while yet under water.
But as if perceiving this stratagem, Moby Dick, with that malicious intelligence ascribed to him, sidelingly transplanted himself, as it were, in an instant, shooting his pleated head lengthwise beneath the boat.
The bluish pearl - white of the inside of the jaw was within six inches of Ahab's head, and reached higher than that.
In this attitude the White Whale now shook the slight cedar as a mildly cruel cat her mouse.
With unastonished eyes Fedallah gazed, and crossed his arms; but the tiger - yellow crew were tumbling over each other's heads to gain the uttermost stern.
These floated aside, the broken ends drooping, the crew at the stern - wreck clinging to the gunwales, and striving to hold fast to the oars to lash them across.
At that preluding moment, ere the boat was yet snapped, Ahab, the first to perceive the whale's intent, by the crafty upraising of his head, a movement that loosed his hold for the time; at that moment his hand had made one final effort to push the boat out of the bite.
But only slipping further into the whale's mouth, and tilting over sideways as it slipped, the boat had shaken off his hold on the jaw; spilled him out of it, as he leaned to the push; and so he fell flat - faced upon the sea.
* So, in a gale, the but half baffled Channel billows only recoil from the base of the Eddystone, triumphantly to overleap its summit with their scud.
* This motion is peculiar to the sperm whale.
It receives its designation (pitchpoling) from its being likened to that preliminary up - and - down poise of the whale - lance, in the exercise called pitchpoling, previously described.
By this motion the whale must best and most comprehensively view whatever objects may be encircling him.
But soon resuming his horizontal attitude, Moby Dick swam swiftly round and round the wrecked crew; sideways churning the water in his vengeful wake, as if lashing himself up to still another and more deadly assault.
The sight of the splintered boat seemed to madden him, as the blood of grapes and mulberries cast before Antiochus's elephants in the book of Maccabees.
From the boat's fragmentary stern, Fedallah incuriously and mildly eyed him; the clinging crew, at the other drifting end, could not succor him; more than enough was it for them to look to themselves.
For so revolvingly appalling was the White Whale's aspect, and so planetarily swift the ever - contracting circles he made, that he seemed horizontally swooping upon them.
And though the other boats, unharmed, still hovered hard by; still they dared not pull into the eddy to strike, lest that should be the signal for the instant destruction of the jeopardized castaways, Ahab and all; nor in that case could they themselves hope to escape.
With straining eyes, then, they remained on the outer edge of the direful zone, whose centre had now become the old man's head.
But struggling out of it again, and chancing to rise on a towering crest, he shouted,--" Sail on the whale!-- Drive him off!"
The Pequod's prows were pointed; and breaking up the charmed circle, she effectually parted the white whale from his victim.
As he sullenly swam off, the boats flew to the rescue.
Far inland, nameless wails came from him, as desolate sounds from out ravines.
But this intensity of his physical prostration did but so much the more abbreviate it.
In an instant's compass, great hearts sometimes condense to one deep pang, the sum total of those shallow pains kindly diffused through feebler men's whole lives.
" The harpoon," said Ahab, half way rising, and draggingly leaning on one bended arm --" is it safe?"
" Aye, sir, for it was not darted; this is it," said Stubb, showing it.
" Lay it before me;-- any missing men?"
" One, two, three, four, five;-- there were five oars, sir, and here are five men."
" That's good.-- Help me, man; I wish to stand.
So, so, I see him!
there!
there!
going to leeward still; what a leaping spout!-- Hands off from me!
The eternal sap runs up in Ahab's bones again!
Set the sail; out oars; the helm!"
It is often the case that when a boat is stove, its crew, being picked up by another boat, help to work that second boat; and the chase is thus continued with what is called double - banked oars.
It was thus now.
The ship itself, then, as it sometimes happens, offered the most promising intermediate means of overtaking the chase.
D'ye see him?"
and if the reply was, No, sir!
straightway he commanded them to lift him to his perch.
In this way the day wore on; Ahab, now aloft and motionless; anon, unrestingly pacing the planks.
At last he paused before it; and as in an already over - clouded sky fresh troops of clouds will sometimes sail across, so over the old man's face there now stole some such added gloom as this.
ha!"
" What soulless thing is this that laughs before a wreck?
Man, man!
did I not know thee brave as fearless fire (and as mechanical) I could swear thou wert a poltroon.
Groan nor laugh should be heard before a wreck."
" Aye, sir," said Starbuck drawing near, ' tis a solemn sight; an omen, and an ill one."
" Omen?
omen?-- the dictionary!
If the gods think to speak outright to man, they will honourably speak outright; not shake their heads, and give an old wives'darkling hint.-- Begone!
Ye two are the opposite poles of one thing; Starbuck is Stubb reversed, and Stubb is Starbuck; and ye two are all mankind; and Ahab stands alone among the millions of the peopled earth, nor gods nor men his neighbors!
Cold, cold--I shiver!-- How now?
Aloft there!
D'ye see him?
Sing out for every spout, though he spout ten times a second!"
The day was nearly done; only the hem of his golden robe was rustling.
Soon, it was almost dark, but the look - out men still remained unset.
" Can't see the spout now, sir;-- too dark "-- cried a voice from the air.
" How heading when last seen?"
" As before, sir,-- straight to leeward."
" Good!
he will travel slower now'tis night.
Down royals and top - gallant stun - sails, Mr. Starbuck.
We must not run over him before morning; he's making a passage now, and may heave - to a while.
Helm there!
keep her full before the wind!-- Aloft!
come down!-- Mr.
Stubb, send a fresh hand to the fore - mast head, and see it manned till morning."
Away now!-- the deck is thine, sir!"
And so saying, he placed himself half way within the scuttle, and slouching his hat, stood there till dawn, except when at intervals rousing himself to see how the night wore on.
CHAPTER 134
The Chase--Second Day.
At day - break, the three mast - heads were punctually manned afresh.
" D'ye see him?"
cried Ahab after allowing a little space for the light to spread.
" See nothing, sir."
" Turn up all hands and make sail!
he travels faster than I thought for;-- the top - gallant sails!-- aye, they should have been kept on her all night.
But no matter --' tis but resting for the rush."
Here be it said, that this pertinacious pursuit of one particular whale, continued through day into night, and through night into day, is a thing by no means unprecedented in the South sea fishery.
So that to this hunter's wondrous skill, the proverbial evanescence of a thing writ in water, a wake, is to all desired purposes well nigh as reliable as the steadfast land.
But to render this acuteness at all successful in the end, the wind and the sea must be the whaleman's allies; for of what present avail to the becalmed or windbound mariner is the skill that assures him he is exactly ninety - three leagues and a quarter from his port?
Inferable from these statements, are many collateral subtile matters touching the chase of whales.
The ship tore on; leaving such a furrow in the sea as when a cannon - ball, missent, becomes a plough - share and turns up the level field.
" By salt and hemp!"
cried Stubb, " but this swift motion of the deck creeps up one's legs and tingles at the heart.
This ship and I are two brave fellows!-- Ha, ha!
Some one take me up, and launch me, spine - wise, on the sea,-- for by live - oaks!
my spine's a keel.
Ha, ha!
we go the gait that leaves no dust behind!"
" There she blows--she blows!-- she blows!-- right ahead!"
was now the mast - head cry.
" Aye, aye!"
cried Stubb, " I knew it--ye can't escape--blow on and split your spout, O whale!
the mad fiend himself is after ye!
blow your trump--blister your lungs!-- Ahab will dam off your blood, as a miller shuts his watergate upon the stream!"
And Stubb did but speak out for well nigh all that crew.
The frenzies of the chase had by this time worked them bubblingly up, like old wine worked anew.
Whatever pale fears and forebodings some of them might have felt before; these were not only now kept out of sight through the growing awe of Ahab, but they were broken up, and on all sides routed, as timid prairie hares that scatter before the bounding bison.
The wind that made great bellies of their sails, and rushed the vessel on by arms invisible as irresistible; this seemed the symbol of that unseen agency which so enslaved them to the race.
They were one man, not thirty.
The rigging lived.
The mast - heads, like the tops of tall palms, were outspreadingly tufted with arms and legs.
Clinging to a spar with one hand, some reached forth the other with impatient wavings; others, shading their eyes from the vivid sunlight, sat far out on the rocking yards; all the spars in full bearing of mortals, ready and ripe for their fate.
Ah!
how they still strove through that infinite blueness to seek out the thing that might destroy them!
" Why sing ye not out for him, if ye see him?"
cried Ahab, when, after the lapse of some minutes since the first cry, no more had been heard.
" Sway me up, men; ye have been deceived; not Moby Dick casts one odd jet that way, and then disappears."
The triumphant halloo of thirty buckskin lungs was heard, as--much nearer to the ship than the place of the imaginary jet, less than a mile ahead--Moby Dick bodily burst into view!
For not by any calm and indolent spoutings; not by the peaceable gush of that mystic fountain in his head, did the White Whale now reveal his vicinity; but by the far more wondrous phenomenon of breaching.
Rising with his utmost velocity from the furthest depths, the Sperm Whale thus booms his entire bulk into the pure element of air, and piling up a mountain of dazzling foam, shows his place to the distance of seven miles and more.
In those moments, the torn, enraged waves he shakes off, seem his mane; in some cases, this breaching is his act of defiance.
" There she breaches!
there she breaches!"
was the cry, as in his immeasurable bravadoes the White Whale tossed himself salmon - like to Heaven.
" Aye, breach your last to the sun, Moby Dick!"
cried Ahab, " thy hour and thy harpoon are at hand!-- Down!
down all of ye, but one man at the fore.
The boats!-- stand by!"
Unmindful of the tedious rope - ladders of the shrouds, the men, like shooting stars, slid to the deck, by the isolated backstays and halyards; while Ahab, less dartingly, but still rapidly was dropped from his perch.
" Lower away," he cried, so soon as he had reached his boat--a spare one, rigged the afternoon previous.
" Mr. Starbuck, the ship is thine--keep away from the boats, but keep near them.
Lower, all!"
As if to strike a quick terror into them, by this time being the first assailant himself, Moby Dick had turned, and was now coming for the three crews.
But skilfully manoeuvred, incessantly wheeling like trained chargers in the field; the boats for a while eluded him; though, at times, but by a plank's breadth; while all the time, Ahab's unearthly slogan tore every other cry but his to shreds.
Seizing that opportunity, Ahab first paid out more line: and then was rapidly hauling and jerking in upon it again--hoping that way to disencumber it of some snarls--when lo!-- a sight more savage than the embattled teeth of sharks!
Caught and twisted--corkscrewed in the mazes of the line, loose harpoons and lances, with all their bristling barbs and points, came flashing and dripping up to the chocks in the bows of Ahab's boat.
Only one thing could be done.
But soon, as if satisfied that his work for that time was done, he pushed his pleated forehead through the ocean, and trailing after him the intertangled lines, continued his leeward way at a traveller's methodic pace.
As before, the attentive ship having descried the whole fight, again came bearing down to the rescue, and dropping a boat, picked up the floating mariners, tubs, oars, and whatever else could be caught at, and safely landed them on her decks.
Some sprained shoulders, wrists, and ankles; livid contusions; wrenched harpoons and lances; inextricable intricacies of rope; shattered oars and planks; all these were there; but no fatal or even serious ill seemed to have befallen any one.
As with Fedallah the day before, so Ahab was now found grimly clinging to his boat's broken half, which afforded a comparatively easy float; nor did it so exhaust him as the previous day's mishap.
But when he was helped to the deck, all eyes were fastened upon him; as instead of standing by himself he still half - hung upon the shoulder of Starbuck, who had thus far been the foremost to assist him.
His ivory leg had been snapped off, leaving but one short sharp splinter.
" Aye, aye, Starbuck,'tis sweet to lean sometimes, be the leaner who he will; and would old Ahab had leaned oftener than he has."
" The ferrule has not stood, sir," said the carpenter, now coming up; " I put good work into that leg."
" But no bones broken, sir, I hope," said Stubb with true concern.
" Aye!
and all splintered to pieces, Stubb!-- d'ye see it.-- But even with a broken bone, old Ahab is untouched; and I account no living bone of mine one jot more me, than this dead one that's lost.
Nor white whale, nor man, nor fiend, can so much as graze old Ahab in his own proper and inaccessible being.
Can any lead touch yonder floor, any mast scrape yonder roof?-- Aloft there!
which way?"
" Dead to leeward, sir."
" Up helm, then; pile on the sail again, ship keepers!
down the rest of the spare boats and rig them--Mr. Starbuck away, and muster the boat's crews."
" Let me first help thee towards the bulwarks, sir."
" Oh, oh, oh!
how this splinter gores me now!
Accursed fate!
that the unconquerable captain in the soul should have such a craven mate!"
" Sir?"
" My body, man, not thee.
Give me something for a cane--there, that shivered lance will do.
Muster the men.
Surely I have not seen him yet.
By heaven it cannot be!-- missing?-- quick!
call them all."
The old man's hinted thought was true.
Upon mustering the company, the Parsee was not there.
" The Parsee!"
cried Stubb --" he must have been caught in --"
" The black vomit wrench thee!-- run all of ye above, alow, cabin, forecastle--find him--not gone--not gone!"
But quickly they returned to him with the tidings that the Parsee was nowhere to be found.
" Aye, sir," said Stubb --" caught among the tangles of your line--I thought I saw him dragging under."
" MY line!
MY line?
Gone?-- gone?
What means that little word?-- What death - knell rings in it, that old Ahab shakes as if he were the belfry.
The harpoon, too!-- toss over the litter there,-- d'ye see it?-- the forged iron, men, the white whale's--no, no, no,-- blistered fool!
this hand did dart it!--' tis in the fish!-- Aloft there!
Keep him nailed--Quick!-- all hands to the rigging of the boats--collect the oars--harpooneers!
the irons, the irons!-- hoist the royals higher--a pull on all the sheets!-- helm there!
steady, steady for your life!
I'll ten times girdle the unmeasured globe; yea and dive straight through it, but I'll slay him yet!
" Great God!
but for one single instant show thyself," cried Starbuck; " never, never wilt thou capture him, old man--In Jesus'name no more of this, that's worse than devil's madness.
Two days chased; twice stove to splinters; thy very leg once more snatched from under thee; thy evil shadow gone--all good angels mobbing thee with warnings:-- what more wouldst thou have?-- Shall we keep chasing this murderous fish till he swamps the last man?
Shall we be dragged by him to the bottom of the sea?
Shall we be towed by him to the infernal world?
Oh, oh,-- Impiety and blasphemy to hunt him more!"
" Starbuck, of late I've felt strangely moved to thee; ever since that hour we both saw--thou know'st what, in one another's eyes.
But in this matter of the whale, be the front of thy face to me as the palm of this hand--a lipless, unfeatured blank.
Ahab is for ever Ahab, man.
This whole act's immutably decreed.
' Twas rehearsed by thee and me a billion years before this ocean rolled.
Fool!
I am the Fates'lieutenant; I act under orders.
Look thou, underling!
that thou obeyest mine.-- Stand round me, men.
Ye see an old man cut down to the stump; leaning on a shivered lance; propped up on a lonely foot.
' Tis Ahab--his body's part; but Ahab's soul's a centipede, that moves upon a hundred legs.
I feel strained, half stranded, as ropes that tow dismasted frigates in a gale; and I may look so.
But ere I break, yell hear me crack; and till ye hear THAT, know that Ahab's hawser tows his purpose yet.
Believe ye, men, in the things called omens?
Then laugh aloud, and cry encore!
For ere they drown, drowning things will twice rise to the surface; then rise again, to sink for evermore.
So with Moby Dick--two days he's floated--tomorrow will be the third.
Aye, men, he'll rise once more,-- but only to spout his last!
D'ye feel brave men, brave?"
" As fearless fire," cried Stubb.
" And as mechanical," muttered Ahab.
Then as the men went forward, he muttered on: " The things called omens!
And yesterday I talked the same to Starbuck there, concerning my broken boat.
Oh!
how valiantly I seek to drive out of others'hearts what's clinched so fast in mine!-- The Parsee--the Parsee!-- gone, gone?
and he was to go before:-- but still was to be seen again ere I could perish--How's that?-- There's a riddle now might baffle all the lawyers backed by the ghosts of the whole line of judges:-- like a hawk's beak it pecks my brain.
I'LL, I'LL solve it, though!"
When dusk descended, the whale was still in sight to leeward.
CHAPTER 135
The Chase.-- Third Day.
The morning of the third day dawned fair and fresh, and once more the solitary night - man at the fore - mast - head was relieved by crowds of the daylight look - outs, who dotted every mast and almost every spar.
" D'ye see him?"
cried Ahab; but the whale was not yet in sight.
" In his infallible wake, though; but follow that wake, that's all.
Helm there; steady, as thou goest, and hast been going.
What a lovely day again!
were it a new - made world, and made for a summer - house to the angels, and this morning the first of its throwing open to them, a fairer day could not dawn upon that world.
Here's food for thought, had Ahab time to think; but Ahab never thinks; he only feels, feels, feels; THAT'S tingling enough for mortal man!
to think's audacity.
God only has that right and privilege.
Thinking is, or ought to be, a coolness and a calmness; and our poor hearts throb, and our poor brains beat too much for that.
And yet, I've sometimes thought my brain was very calm--frozen calm, this old skull cracks so, like a glass in which the contents turned to ice, and shiver it.
And still this hair is growing now; this moment growing, and heat must breed it; but no, it's like that sort of common grass that will grow anywhere, between the earthy clefts of Greenland ice or in Vesuvius lava.
How the wild winds blow it; they whip it about me as the torn shreds of split sails lash the tossed ship they cling to.
A vile wind that has no doubt blown ere this through prison corridors and cells, and wards of hospitals, and ventilated them, and now comes blowing hither as innocent as fleeces.
Out upon it!-- it's tainted.
Were I the wind, I'd blow no more on such a wicked, miserable world.
I'd crawl somewhere to a cave, and slink there.
And yet,'tis a noble and heroic thing, the wind!
who ever conquered it?
In every fight it has the last and bitterest blow.
Run tilting at it, and you but run through it.
Ha!
a coward wind that strikes stark naked men, but will not stand to receive a single blow.
Even Ahab is a braver thing--a nobler thing than THAT.
Would now the wind but had a body; but all the things that most exasperate and outrage mortal man, all these things are bodiless, but only bodiless as objects, not as agents.
There's a most special, a most cunning, oh, a most malicious difference!
And yet, I say again, and swear it now, that there's something all glorious and gracious in the wind.
And by the eternal Poles!
these same Trades that so directly blow my good ship on; these Trades, or something like them--something so unchangeable, and full as strong, blow my keeled soul along!
To it!
Aloft there!
What d'ye see?"
" Nothing, sir."
" Nothing!
and noon at hand!
The doubloon goes a - begging!
See the sun!
Aye, aye, it must be so.
I've oversailed him.
How, got the start?
Aye, he's chasing ME now; not I, HIM--that's bad; I might have known it, too.
Fool!
the lines--the harpoons he's towing.
Aye, aye, I have run him by last night.
About!
about!
Come down, all of ye, but the regular look outs!
Man the braces!"
Steering as she had done, the wind had been somewhat on the Pequod's quarter, so that now being pointed in the reverse direction, the braced ship sailed hard upon the breeze as she rechurned the cream in her own white wake.
" Against the wind he now steers for the open jaw," murmured Starbuck to himself, as he coiled the new - hauled main - brace upon the rail.
" God keep us, but already my bones feel damp within me, and from the inside wet my flesh.
I misdoubt me that I disobey my God in obeying him!"
" Stand by to sway me up!"
cried Ahab, advancing to the hempen basket.
" We should meet him soon."
" Aye, aye, sir," and straightway Starbuck did Ahab's bidding, and once more Ahab swung on high.
A whole hour now passed; gold - beaten out to ages.
Time itself now held long breaths with keen suspense.
But at last, some three points off the weather bow, Ahab descried the spout again, and instantly from the three mast - heads three shrieks went up as if the tongues of fire had voiced it.
" Forehead to forehead I meet thee, this third time, Moby Dick!
On deck there!-- brace sharper up; crowd her into the wind's eye.
He's too far off to lower yet, Mr. Starbuck.
The sails shake!
Stand over that helmsman with a top - maul!
So, so; he travels fast, and I must down.
But let me have one more good round look aloft here at the sea; there's time for that.
An old, old sight, and yet somehow so young; aye, and not changed a wink since I first saw it, a boy, from the sand - hills of Nantucket!
The same!-- the same!-- the same to Noah as to me.
There's a soft shower to leeward.
Such lovely leewardings!
They must lead somewhere--to something else than common land, more palmy than the palms.
Leeward!
the white whale goes that way; look to windward, then; the better if the bitterer quarter.
But good bye, good bye, old mast - head!
What's this?-- green?
aye, tiny mosses in these warped cracks.
No such green weather stains on Ahab's head!
There's the difference now between man's old age and matter's.
But aye, old mast, we both grow old together; sound in our hulls, though, are we not, my ship?
Aye, minus a leg, that's all.
By heaven this dead wood has the better of my live flesh every way.
I can't compare with it; and I've known some ships made of dead trees outlast the lives of men made of the most vital stuff of vital fathers.
What's that he said?
he should still go before me, my pilot; and yet to be seen again?
But where?
Will I have eyes at the bottom of the sea, supposing I descend those endless stairs?
and all night I've been sailing from him, wherever he did sink to.
Aye, aye, like many more thou told'st direful truth as touching thyself, O Parsee; but, Ahab, there thy shot fell short.
Good - bye, mast - head--keep a good eye upon the whale, the while I'm gone.
We'll talk to - morrow, nay, to - night, when the white whale lies down there, tied by head and tail."
He gave the word; and still gazing round him, was steadily lowered through the cloven blue air to the deck.
In due time the boats were lowered; but as standing in his shallop's stern, Ahab just hovered upon the point of the descent, he waved to the mate,-- who held one of the tackle - ropes on deck--and bade him pause.
" Starbuck!"
" Sir?"
" For the third time my soul's ship starts upon this voyage, Starbuck."
" Aye, sir, thou wilt have it so."
" Some ships sail from their ports, and ever afterwards are missing, Starbuck!"
" Truth, sir: saddest truth."
" Some men die at ebb tide; some at low water; some at the full of the flood;-- and I feel now like a billow that's all one crested comb, Starbuck.
I am old;-- shake hands with me, man."
Their hands met; their eyes fastened; Starbuck's tears the glue.
" Oh, my captain, my captain!-- noble heart--go not--go not!-- see, it's a brave man that weeps; how great the agony of the persuasion then!"
" Lower away!"
-- cried Ahab, tossing the mate's arm from him.
" Stand by the crew!"
In an instant the boat was pulling round close under the stern.
" The sharks!
the sharks!"
cried a voice from the low cabin - window there; " O master, my master, come back!"
But Ahab heard nothing; for his own voice was high - lifted then; and the boat leaped on.
It is a thing not uncommonly happening to the whale - boats in those swarming seas; the sharks at times apparently following them in the same prescient way that vultures hover over the banners of marching regiments in the east.
" Heart of wrought steel!"
Oh!
my God!
what is this that shoots through me, and leaves me so deadly calm, yet expectant,-- fixed at the top of a shudder!
Future things swim before me, as in empty outlines and skeletons; all the past is somehow grown dim.
Mary, girl!
thou fadest in pale glories behind me; boy!
I seem to see but thy eyes grown wondrous blue.
Strangest problems of life seem clearing; but clouds sweep between--Is my journey's end coming?
My legs feel faint; like his who has footed it all day.
Feel thy heart,-- beats it yet?
Stir thyself, Starbuck!-- stave it off--move, move!
speak aloud!-- Mast - head there!
See ye my boy's hand on the hill?-- Crazed;-- aloft there!-- keep thy keenest eye upon the boats:-- mark well the whale!-- Ho!
again!-- drive off that hawk!
see!
he pecks--he tears the vane "-- pointing to the red flag flying at the main - truck --" Ha!
he soars away with it!-- Where's the old man now?
see'st thou that sight, oh Ahab!-- shudder, shudder!"
" Drive, drive in your nails, oh ye waves!
to their uttermost heads drive them in!
ye but strike a thing without a lid; and no coffin and no hearse can be mine:-- and hemp only can kill me!
Ha!
ha!"
Suddenly the waters around them slowly swelled in broad circles; then quickly upheaved, as if sideways sliding from a submerged berg of ice, swiftly rising to the surface.
A low rumbling sound was heard; a subterraneous hum; and then all held their breaths; as bedraggled with trailing ropes, and harpoons, and lances, a vast form shot lengthwise, but obliquely from the sea.
Shrouded in a thin drooping veil of mist, it hovered for a moment in the rainbowed air; and then fell swamping back into the deep.
Crushed thirty feet upwards, the waters flashed for an instant like heaps of fountains, then brokenly sank in a shower of flakes, leaving the circling surface creamed like new milk round the marble trunk of the whale.
" Give way!"
cried Ahab to the oarsmen, and the boats darted forward to the attack; but maddened by yesterday's fresh irons that corroded in him, Moby Dick seemed combinedly possessed by all the angels that fell from heaven.
While Daggoo and Queequeg were stopping the strained planks; and as the whale swimming out from them, turned, and showed one entire flank as he shot by them again; at that moment a quick cry went up.
The harpoon dropped from his hand.
" Befooled, befooled!"
-- drawing in a long lean breath --" Aye, Parsee!
I see thee again.-- Aye, and thou goest before; and this, THIS then is the hearse that thou didst promise.
But I hold thee to the last letter of thy word.
Where is the second hearse?
Away, mates, to the ship!
those boats are useless now; repair them if ye can in time, and return to me; if not, Ahab is enough to die--Down, men!
the first thing that but offers to jump from this boat I stand in, that thing I harpoon.
Ye are not other men, but my arms and my legs; and so obey me.-- Where's the whale?
gone down again?"
He seemed swimming with his utmost velocity, and now only intent upon pursuing his own straight path in the sea.
" Oh!
Ahab," cried Starbuck, " not too late is it, even now, the third day, to desist.
See!
Moby Dick seeks thee not.
It is thou, thou, that madly seekest him!"
Setting sail to the rising wind, the lonely boat was swiftly impelled to leeward, by both oars and canvas.
And at last when Ahab was sliding by the vessel, so near as plainly to distinguish Starbuck's face as he leaned over the rail, he hailed him to turn the vessel about, and follow him, not too swiftly, at a judicious interval.
Glancing upwards, he saw Tashtego, Queequeg, and Daggoo, eagerly mounting to the three mast - heads; while the oarsmen were rocking in the two staved boats which had but just been hoisted to the side, and were busily at work in repairing them.
One after the other, through the port - holes, as he sped, he also caught flying glimpses of Stubb and Flask, busying themselves on deck among bundles of new irons and lances.
As he saw all this; as he heard the hammers in the broken boats; far other hammers seemed driving a nail into his heart.
But he rallied.
And now marking that the vane or flag was gone from the main - mast - head, he shouted to Tashtego, who had just gained that perch, to descend again for another flag, and a hammer and nails, and so nail it to the mast.
And still as Ahab glided over the waves the unpitying sharks accompanied him; and so pertinaciously stuck to the boat; and so continually bit at the plying oars, that the blades became jagged and crunched, and left small splinters in the sea, at almost every dip.
" Heed them not!
those teeth but give new rowlocks to your oars.
Pull on!
' tis the better rest, the shark's jaw than the yielding water."
" But at every bite, sir, the thin blades grow smaller and smaller!"
" They will last long enough!
pull on!-- But who can tell "-- he muttered --" whether these sharks swim to feast on the whale or on Ahab?-- But pull on!
Aye, all alive, now--we near him.
The helm!
take the helm!
let me pass,"-- and so saying two of the oarsmen helped him forward to the bows of the still flying boat.
Almost simultaneously, with a mighty volition of ungraduated, instantaneous swiftness, the White Whale darted through the weltering sea.
But when Ahab cried out to the steersman to take new turns with the line, and hold it so; and commanded the crew to turn round on their seats, and tow the boat up to the mark; the moment the treacherous line felt that double strain and tug, it snapped in the empty air!
" What breaks in me?
Some sinew cracks!--' tis whole again; oars!
oars!
Burst in upon him!"
Ahab staggered; his hand smote his forehead.
" I grow blind; hands!
stretch out before me that I may yet grope my way.
Is't night?"
" The whale!
The ship!"
cried the cringing oarsmen.
" Oars!
oars!
Slope downwards to thy depths, O sea, that ere it be for ever too late, Ahab may slide this last, last time upon his mark!
I see: the ship!
the ship!
Dash on, my men!
Will ye not save my ship?"
" The whale, the whale!
Up helm, up helm!
Oh, all ye sweet powers of air, now hug me close!
Let not Starbuck die, if die he must, in a woman's fainting fit.
Up helm, I say--ye fools, the jaw!
the jaw!
Is this the end of all my bursting prayers?
all my life - long fidelities?
Oh, Ahab, Ahab, lo, thy work.
Steady!
helmsman, steady.
Nay, nay!
Up helm again!
He turns to meet us!
Oh, his unappeasable brow drives on towards one, whose duty tells him he cannot depart.
My God, stand by me now!"
" Stand not by me, but stand under me, whoever you are that will now help Stubb; for Stubb, too, sticks here.
I grin at thee, thou grinning whale!
Who ever helped Stubb, or kept Stubb awake, but Stubb's own unwinking eye?
And now poor Stubb goes to bed upon a mattrass that is all too soft; would it were stuffed with brushwood!
I grin at thee, thou grinning whale!
Look ye, sun, moon, and stars!
I call ye assassins of as good a fellow as ever spouted up his ghost.
For all that, I would yet ring glasses with ye, would ye but hand the cup!
Oh, oh!
oh, oh!
thou grinning whale, but there'll be plenty of gulping soon!
Why fly ye not, O Ahab!
For me, off shoes and jacket to it; let Stubb die in his drawers!
A most mouldy and over salted death, though;-- cherries!
cherries!
cherries!
Oh, Flask, for one red cherry ere we die!"
" Cherries?
I only wish that we were where they grow.
Oh, Stubb, I hope my poor mother's drawn my part - pay ere this; if not, few coppers will now come to her, for the voyage is up."
Retribution, swift vengeance, eternal malice were in his whole aspect, and spite of all that mortal man could do, the solid white buttress of his forehead smote the ship's starboard bow, till men and timbers reeled.
Some fell flat upon their faces.
Like dislodged trucks, the heads of the harpooneers aloft shook on their bull - like necks.
Through the breach, they heard the waters pour, as mountain torrents down a flume.
" The ship!
The hearse!-- the second hearse!"
cried Ahab from the boat; " its wood could only be American!"
Diving beneath the settling ship, the whale ran quivering along its keel; but turning under water, swiftly shot to the surface again, far off the other bow, but within a few yards of Ahab's boat, where, for a time, he lay quiescent.
" I turn my body from the sun.
What ho, Tashtego!
let me hear thy hammer.
Oh!
ye three unsurrendered spires of mine; thou uncracked keel; and only god - bullied hull; thou firm deck, and haughty helm, and Pole - pointed prow,-- death - glorious ship!
must ye then perish, and without me?
Am I cut off from the last fond pride of meanest shipwrecked captains?
Oh, lonely death on lonely life!
Oh, now I feel my topmost greatness lies in my topmost grief.
Ho, ho!
from all your furthest bounds, pour ye now in, ye bold billows of my whole foregone life, and top this one piled comber of my death!
Towards thee I roll, thou all - destroying but unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee.
Sink all coffins and all hearses to one common pool!
and since neither can be mine, let me then tow to pieces, while still chasing thee, though tied to thee, thou damned whale!
THUS, I give up the spear!"
The harpoon was darted; the stricken whale flew forward; with igniting velocity the line ran through the grooves;-- ran foul.
Ahab stooped to clear it; he did clear it; but the flying turn caught him round the neck, and voicelessly as Turkish mutes bowstring their victim, he was shot out of the boat, ere the crew knew he was gone.
Next instant, the heavy eye - splice in the rope's final end flew out of the stark - empty tub, knocked down an oarsman, and smiting the sea, disappeared in its depths.
For an instant, the tranced boat's crew stood still; then turned.
" The ship?
Great God, where is the ship?"
And now, concentric circles seized the lone boat itself, and all its crew, and each floating oar, and every lance - pole, and spinning, animate and inanimate, all round and round in one vortex, carried the smallest chip of the Pequod out of sight.
Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago.
Epilogue
" AND I ONLY AM ESCAPED ALONE TO TELL THEE " Job.
The drama's done.
Why then here does any one step forth?-- Because one did survive the wreck.
So, floating on the margin of the ensuing scene, and in full sight of it, when the halfspent suction of the sunk ship reached me, I was then, but slowly, drawn towards the closing vortex.
When I reached it, it had subsided to a creamy pool.
Round and round, then, and ever contracting towards the button - like black bubble at the axis of that slowly wheeling circle, like another Ixion I did revolve.
Till, gaining that vital centre, the black bubble upward burst; and now, liberated by reason of its cunning spring, and, owing to its great buoyancy, rising with great force, the coffin life - buoy shot lengthwise from the sea, fell over, and floated by my side.
Buoyed up by that coffin, for almost one whole day and night, I floated on a soft and dirgelike main.
The unharming sharks, they glided by as if with padlocks on their mouths; the savage sea - hawks sailed with sheathed beaks.
On the second day, a sail drew near, nearer, and picked me up at last.
It was the devious - cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search after her missing children, only found another orphan.
[ Paradise Lost by John Milton 1667 ]
Book I
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt?
Him the Almighty Power Hurled headlong flaming from th'ethereal sky, With hideous ruin and combustion, down To bottomless perdition, there to dwell In adamantine chains and penal fire, Who durst defy th'Omnipotent to arms.
Nine times the space that measures day and night To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew, Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf, Confounded, though immortal.
But his doom Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought Both of lost happiness and lasting pain Torments him: round he throws his baleful eyes, That witnessed huge affliction and dismay, Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate.
At once, as far as Angels ken, he views The dismal situation waste and wild.
Such place Eternal Justice has prepared For those rebellious; here their prison ordained In utter darkness, and their portion set, As far removed from God and light of Heaven As from the centre thrice to th'utmost pole.
Oh how unlike the place from whence they fell!
There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelmed With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire, He soon discerns; and, weltering by his side, One next himself in power, and next in crime, Long after known in Palestine, and named Beelzebub.
To whom th'Arch - Enemy, And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:-- " If thou beest he--but O how fallen!
What though the field be lost?
All is not lost--the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield: And what is else not to be overcome?
That glory never shall his wrath or might Extort from me.
What can it the avail though yet we feel Strength undiminished, or eternal being To undergo eternal punishment?"
Whereto with speedy words th'Arch - Fiend replied:-- " Fallen Cherub, to be weak is miserable, Doing or suffering: but of this be sure--To do aught good never will be our task, But ever to do ill our sole delight, As being the contrary to his high will Whom we resist.
But see!
Let us not slip th'occasion, whether scorn Or satiate fury yield it from our Foe.
Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, The seat of desolation, void of light, Save what the glimmering of these livid flames Casts pale and dreadful?
Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam, The pilot of some small night - foundered skiff, Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, With fixed anchor in his scaly rind, Moors by his side under the lee, while night Invests the sea, and wished morn delays.
Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool His mighty stature; on each hand the flames Driven backward slope their pointing spires, and, rolled In billows, leave i'th'midst a horrid vale.
Such resting found the sole Of unblest feet.
Him followed his next mate; Both glorying to have scaped the Stygian flood As gods, and by their own recovered strength, Not by the sufferance of supernal Power.
" Is this the region, this the soil, the clime," Said then the lost Archangel, " this the seat That we must change for Heaven?-- this mournful gloom For that celestial light?
Be it so, since he Who now is sovereign can dispose and bid What shall be right: farthest from him is best Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme Above his equals.
Farewell, happy fields, Where joy for ever dwells!
Hail, horrors!
hail, Infernal world!
and thou, profoundest Hell, Receive thy new possessor--one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be, all but less than he Whom thunder hath made greater?
Here at least We shall be free; th'Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reigh secure; and, in my choice, To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.
So Satan spake; and him Beelzebub Thus answered:--" Leader of those armies bright Which, but th'Omnipotent, none could have foiled!
He scare had ceased when the superior Fiend Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast.
The broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
So thick bestrown, Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood, Under amazement of their hideous change.
He called so loud that all the hollow deep Of Hell resounded:--" Princes, Potentates, Warriors, the Flower of Heaven--once yours; now lost, If such astonishment as this can seize Eternal Spirits!
Or have ye chosen this place After the toil of battle to repose Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven?
Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!"
They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung Upon the wing, as when men wont to watch On duty, sleeping found by whom they dread, Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake.
Nor did they not perceive the evil plight In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel; Yet to their General's voice they soon obeyed Innumerable.
Say, Muse, their names then known, who first, who last, Roused from the slumber on that fiery couch, At their great Emperor's call, as next in worth Came singly where he stood on the bare strand, While the promiscuous crowd stood yet aloof?
First, Moloch, horrid king, besmeared with blood Of human sacrifice, and parents'tears; Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their children's cries unheard that passed through fire To his grim idol.
Him the Ammonite Worshiped in Rabba and her watery plain, In Argob and in Basan, to the stream Of utmost Arnon.
Yet thence his lustful orgies he enlarged Even to that hill of scandal, by the grove Of Moloch homicide, lust hard by hate, Till good Josiah drove them thence to Hell.
With these came they who, from the bordering flood Of old Euphrates to the brook that parts Egypt from Syrian ground, had general names Of Baalim and Ashtaroth--those male, These feminine.
For those the race of Israel oft forsook Their Living Strength, and unfrequented left His righteous altar, bowing lowly down To bestial gods; for which their heads as low Bowed down in battle, sunk before the spear Of despicable foes.
Him followed Rimmon, whose delightful seat Was fair Damascus, on the fertile banks Of Abbana and Pharphar, lucid streams.
He also against the house of God was bold: A leper once he lost, and gained a king--Ahaz, his sottish conqueror, whom he drew God's altar to disparage and displace For one of Syrian mode, whereon to burn His odious offerings, and adore the gods Whom he had vanquished.
After these appeared A crew who, under names of old renown--Osiris, Isis, Orus, and their train--With monstrous shapes and sorceries abused Fanatic Egypt and her priests to seek Their wandering gods disguised in brutish forms Rather than human.
Belial came last; than whom a Spirit more lewd Fell not from Heaven, or more gross to love Vice for itself.
To him no temple stood Or altar smoked; yet who more oft than he In temples and at altars, when the priest Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who filled With lust and violence the house of God?
In courts and palaces he also reigns, And in luxurious cities, where the noise Of riot ascends above their loftiest towers, And injury and outrage; and, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.
Witness the streets of Sodom, and that night In Gibeah, when the hospitable door Exposed a matron, to avoid worse rape.
All these and more came flocking; but with looks Downcast and damp; yet such wherein appeared Obscure some glimpse of joy to have found their Chief Not in despair, to have found themselves not lost In loss itself; which on his countenance cast Like doubtful hue.
But he, his wonted pride Soon recollecting, with high words, that bore Semblance of worth, not substance, gently raised Their fainting courage, and dispelled their fears.
Then straight commands that, at the warlike sound Of trumpets loud and clarions, be upreared His mighty standard.
All in a moment through the gloom were seen Ten thousand banners rise into the air, With orient colours waving: with them rose A forest huge of spears; and thronging helms Appeared, and serried shields in thick array Of depth immeasurable.
Thus they, Breathing united force with fixed thought, Moved on in silence to soft pipes that charmed Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil.
And now Advanced in view they stand--a horrid front Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise Of warriors old, with ordered spear and shield, Awaiting what command their mighty Chief Had to impose.
He through the armed files Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse The whole battalion views--their order due, Their visages and stature as of gods; Their number last he sums.
Thus far these beyond Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed Their dread Commander.
He, above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent, Stood like a tower.
Darkened so, yet shone Above them all th'Archangel: but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride Waiting revenge.
He now prepared To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend From wing to wing, and half enclose him round With all his peers: attention held them mute.
Thrice he assayed, and thrice, in spite of scorn, Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth: at last Words interwove with sighs found out their way:-- " O myriads of immortal Spirits!
O Powers Matchless, but with th'Almighth!-- and that strife Was not inglorious, though th'event was dire, As this place testifies, and this dire change, Hateful to utter.
But what power of mind, Forseeing or presaging, from the depth Of knowledge past or present, could have feared How such united force of gods, how such As stood like these, could ever know repulse?
For who can yet believe, though after loss, That all these puissant legions, whose exile Hath emptied Heaven, shall fail to re - ascend, Self - raised, and repossess their native seat?
For me, be witness all the host of Heaven, If counsels different, or danger shunned By me, have lost our hopes.
But he who reigns Monarch in Heaven till then as one secure Sat on his throne, upheld by old repute, Consent or custom, and his regal state Put forth at full, but still his strength concealed--Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall.
Space may produce new Worlds; whereof so rife There went a fame in Heaven that he ere long Intended to create, and therein plant A generation whom his choice regard Should favour equal to the Sons of Heaven.
Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps Our first eruption--thither, or elsewhere; For this infernal pit shall never hold Celestial Spirits in bondage, nor th'Abyss Long under darkness cover.
But these thoughts Full counsel must mature.
Peace is despaired; For who can think submission?
War, then, war Open or understood, must be resolved."
He spake; and, to confirm his words, outflew Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs Of mighty Cherubim; the sudden blaze Far round illumined Hell.
Highly they raged Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war, Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heaven.
There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top Belched fire and rolling smoke; the rest entire Shone with a glossy scurf--undoubted sign That in his womb was hid metallic ore, The work of sulphur.
Thither, winged with speed, A numerous brigade hastened: as when bands Of pioneers, with spade and pickaxe armed, Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field, Or cast a rampart.
Mammon led them on--Mammon, the least erected Spirit that fell From Heaven; for even in Heaven his looks and thoughts Were always downward bent, admiring more The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold, Than aught divine or holy else enjoyed In vision beatific.
By him first Men also, and by his suggestion taught, Ransacked the centre, and with impious hands Rifled the bowels of their mother Earth For treasures better hid.
Soon had his crew Opened into the hill a spacious wound, And digged out ribs of gold.
Let none admire That riches grow in Hell; that soil may best Deserve the precious bane.
Nigh on the plain, in many cells prepared, That underneath had veins of liquid fire Sluiced from the lake, a second multitude With wondrous art founded the massy ore, Severing each kind, and scummed the bullion - dross.
A third as soon had formed within the ground A various mould, and from the boiling cells By strange conveyance filled each hollow nook; As in an organ, from one blast of wind, To many a row of pipes the sound - board breathes.
Not Babylon Nor great Alcairo such magnificence Equalled in all their glories, to enshrine Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove In wealth and luxury.
The hasty multitude Admiring entered; and the work some praise, And some the architect.
His hand was known In Heaven by many a towered structure high, Where sceptred Angels held their residence, And sat as Princes, whom the supreme King Exalted to such power, and gave to rule, Each in his Hierarchy, the Orders bright.
Thus they relate, Erring; for he with this rebellious rout Fell long before; nor aught aviled him now To have built in Heaven high towers; nor did he scape By all his engines, but was headlong sent, With his industrious crew, to build in Hell.
Meanwhile the winged Heralds, by command Of sovereign power, with awful ceremony And trumpet's sound, throughout the host proclaim A solemn council forthwith to be held At Pandemonium, the high capital Of Satan and his peers.
Their summons called From every band and squared regiment By place or choice the worthiest: they anon With hundreds and with thousands trooping came Attended.
As bees In spring - time, when the Sun with Taurus rides.
Thus incorporeal Spirits to smallest forms Reduced their shapes immense, and were at large, Though without number still, amidst the hall Of that infernal court.
But far within, And in their own dimensions like themselves, The great Seraphic Lords and Cherubim In close recess and secret conclave sat, A thousand demi - gods on golden seats, Frequent and full.
After short silence then, And summons read, the great consult began.
Book II
The happier state In Heaven, which follows dignity, might draw Envy from each inferior; but who here Will envy whom the highest place exposes Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share Of endless pain?
Where there is, then, no good For which to strive, no strife can grow up there From faction: for none sure will claim in Hell Precedence; none whose portion is so small Of present pain that with ambitious mind Will covet more!
Who can advise may speak."
He ceased; and next him Moloch, sceptred king, Stood up--the strongest and the fiercest Spirit That fought in Heaven, now fiercer by despair.
His trust was with th'Eternal to be deemed Equal in strength, and rather than be less Cared not to be at all; with that care lost Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse, He recked not, and these words thereafter spake:-- " My sentence is for open war.
Of wiles, More unexpert, I boast not: them let those Contrive who need, or when they need; not now.
No!
But perhaps The way seems difficult, and steep to scale With upright wing against a higher foe!
Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench Of that forgetful lake benumb not still, That in our porper motion we ascend Up to our native seat; descent and fall To us is adverse.
Who but felt of late, When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear Insulting, and pursued us through the Deep, With what compulsion and laborious flight We sunk thus low?
Th'ascent is easy, then; Th'event is feared!
Should we again provoke Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find To our destruction, if there be in Hell Fear to be worse destroyed!
What can be worse Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned In this abhorred deep to utter woe!
Where pain of unextinguishable fire Must exercise us without hope of end The vassals of his anger, when the scourge Inexorably, and the torturing hour, Calls us to penance?
More destroyed than thus, We should be quite abolished, and expire.
What fear we then?
what doubt we to incense His utmost ire?
He ended frowning, and his look denounced Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous To less than gods.
On th'other side up rose Belial, in act more graceful and humane.
A fairer person lost not Heaven; he seemed For dignity composed, and high exploit.
But all was false and hollow; though his tongue Dropped manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low--To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds Timorous and slothful.
First, what revenge?
The towers of Heaven are filled With armed watch, that render all access Impregnable: oft on the bodering Deep Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing Scout far and wide into the realm of Night, Scorning surprise.
Thus repulsed, our final hope Is flat despair: we must exasperate Th'Almighty Victor to spend all his rage; And that must end us; that must be our cure--To be no more.
Sad cure!
for who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated Night, Devoid of sense and motion?
And who knows, Let this be good, whether our angry Foe Can give it, or will ever?
How he can Is doubtful; that he never will is sure.
Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, Belike through impotence or unaware, To give his enemies their wish, and end Them in his anger whom his anger saves To punish endless?
' Wherefore cease we, then?'
Say they who counsel war;'we are decreed, Reserved, and destined to eternal woe; Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, What can we suffer worse?'
Is this, then, worst--Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms?
What when we fled amain, pursued and struck With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought The Deep to shelter us?
This Hell then seemed A refuge from those wounds.
Or when we lay Chained on the burning lake?
That sure was worse.
What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage, And plunge us in the flames; or from above Should intermitted vengeance arm again His red right hand to plague us?
This would be worse.
War, therefore, open or concealed, alike My voice dissuades; for what can force or guile With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye Views all things at one view?
He from Heaven's height All these our motions vain sees and derides, Not more almighty to resist our might Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles.
Shall we, then, live thus vile--the race of Heaven Thus trampled, thus expelled, to suffer here Chains and these torments?
Better these than worse, By my advice; since fate inevitable Subdues us, and omnipotent decree, The Victor's will.
To suffer, as to do, Our strength is equal; nor the law unjust That so ordains.
This was at first resolved, If we were wise, against so great a foe Contending, and so doubtful what might fall.
I laugh when those who at the spear are bold And venturous, if that fail them, shrink, and fear What yet they know must follow--to endure Exile, or igominy, or bonds, or pain, The sentence of their Conqueror.
This is now Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear, Our Supreme Foe in time may much remit His anger, and perhaps, thus far removed, Not mind us not offending, satisfied With what is punished; whence these raging fires Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames.
Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason's garb, Counselled ignoble ease and peaceful sloth, Not peace; and after him thus Mammon spake:-- " Either to disenthrone the King of Heaven We war, if war be best, or to regain Our own right lost.
Him to unthrone we then May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yield To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife.
The former, vain to hope, argues as vain The latter; for what place can be for us Within Heaven's bound, unless Heaven's Lord supreme We overpower?
This must be our task In Heaven, this our delight.
How wearisome Eternity so spent in worship paid To whom we hate!
Our greatness will appear Then most conspicuous when great things of small, Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse, We can create, and in what place soe'er Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain Through labour and endurance.
This deep world Of darkness do we dread?
How oft amidst Thick clouds and dark doth Heaven's all - ruling Sire Choose to reside, his glory unobscured, And with the majesty of darkness round Covers his throne, from whence deep thunders roar.
Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles Hell!
As he our darkness, cannot we his light Imitate when we please?
This desert soil Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold; Nor want we skill or art from whence to raise Magnificence; and what can Heaven show more?
Our torments also may, in length of time, Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper; which must needs remove The sensible of pain.
All things invite To peaceful counsels, and the settled state Of order, how in safety best we may Compose our present evils, with regard Of what we are and where, dismissing quite All thoughts of war.
Ye have what I advise."
Which when Beelzebub perceived--than whom, Satan except, none higher sat--with grave Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed A pillar of state.
Deep on his front engraven Deliberation sat, and public care; And princely counsel in his face yet shone, Majestic, though in ruin.
Sage he stood With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look Drew audience and attention still as night Or summer's noontide air, while thus he spake:-- " Thrones and Imperial Powers, Offspring of Heaven, Ethereal Virtues!
or these titles now Must we renounce, and, changing style, be called Princes of Hell?
for so the popular vote Inclines--here to continue, and build up here A growing empire; doubtless!
For he, to be sure, In height or depth, still first and last will reign Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part By our revolt, but over Hell extend His empire, and with iron sceptre rule Us here, as with his golden those in Heaven.
What sit we then projecting peace and war?
War hath determined us and foiled with loss Irreparable; terms of peace yet none Vouchsafed or sought; for what peace will be given To us enslaved, but custody severe, And stripes and arbitrary punishment Inflicted?
and what peace can we return, But, to our power, hostility and hate, Untamed reluctance, and revenge, though slow, Yet ever plotting how the Conqueror least May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice In doing what we most in suffering feel?
Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need With dangerous expedition to invade Heaven, whose high walls fear no assault or siege, Or ambush from the Deep.
What if we find Some easier enterprise?
Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn What creatures there inhabit, of what mould Or substance, how endued, and what their power And where their weakness: how attempted best, By force of subtlety.
This would surpass Common revenge, and interrupt his joy In our confusion, and our joy upraise In his disturbance; when his darling sons, Hurled headlong to partake with us, shall curse Their frail original, and faded bliss--Faded so soon!
Advise if this be worth Attempting, or to sit in darkness here Hatching vain empires."
But their spite still serves His glory to augment.
But, first, whom shall we send In search of this new World?
whom shall we find Sufficient?
who shall tempt with wandering feet The dark, unbottomed, infinite Abyss, And through the palpable obscure find out His uncouth way, or spread his airy flight, Upborne with indefatigable wings Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive The happy Isle?
What strength, what art, can then Suffice, or what evasion bear him safe, Through the strict senteries and stations thick Of Angels watching round?
Here he had need All circumspection: and we now no less Choice in our suffrage; for on whom we send The weight of all, and our last hope, relies."
This said, he sat; and expectation held His look suspense, awaiting who appeared To second, or oppose, or undertake The perilous attempt.
But all sat mute, Pondering the danger with deep thoughts; and each In other's countenance read his own dismay, Astonished.
Empyreal Thrones!
With reason hath deep silence and demur Seized us, though undismayed.
Long is the way And hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.
Our prison strong, this huge convex of fire, Outrageous to devour, immures us round Ninefold; and gates of burning adamant, Barred over us, prohibit all egress.
These passed, if any pass, the void profound Of unessential Night receives him next, Wide - gaping, and with utter loss of being Threatens him, plunged in that abortive gulf.
If thence he scape, into whatever world, Or unknown region, what remains him less Than unknown dangers, and as hard escape?
But I should ill become this throne, O Peers, And this imperial sovereignty, adorned With splendour, armed with power, if aught proposed And judged of public moment in the shape Of difficulty or danger, could deter Me from attempting.
Wherefore do I assume These royalties, and not refuse to reign, Refusing to accept as great a share Of hazard as of honour, due alike To him who reigns, and so much to him due Of hazard more as he above the rest High honoured sits?
This enterprise None shall partake with me."
But they Dreaded not more th'adventure than his voice Forbidding; and at once with him they rose.
Their rising all at once was as the sound Of thunder heard remote.
Towards him they bend With awful reverence prone, and as a God Extol him equal to the Highest in Heaven.
O shame to men!
Others, more mild, Retreated in a silent valley, sing With notes angelical to many a harp Their own heroic deeds, and hapless fall By doom of battle, and complain that Fate Free Virtue should enthrall to Force or Chance.
Their song was partial; but the harmony (What could it less when Spirits immortal sing?)
Suspended Hell, and took with ravishment The thronging audience.
Far off from these, a slow and silent stream, Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks Forthwith his former state and being forgets--Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.
Thus roving on In confused march forlorn, th'adventurous bands, With shuddering horror pale, and eyes aghast, Viewed first their lamentable lot, and found No rest.
At last appear Hell - bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof, And thrice threefold the gates; three folds were brass, Three iron, three of adamantine rock, Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire, Yet unconsumed.
Before the gates there sat On either side a formidable Shape.
The one seemed woman to the waist, and fair, But ended foul in many a scaly fold, Voluminous and vast--a serpent armed With mortal sting.
Satan was now at hand, and from his seat The monster moving onward came as fast With horrid strides; Hell trembled as he strode.
Through them I mean to pass, That be assured, without leave asked of thee.
Retire; or taste thy folly, and learn by proof, Hell - born, not to contend with Spirits of Heaven."
To whom the Goblin, full of wrath, replied:-- " Art thou that traitor Angel?
And reckon'st thou thyself with Spirits of Heaven Hell - doomed, and breath'st defiance here and scorn, Where I reign king, and, to enrage thee more, Thy king and lord?
Back to thy punishment, False fugitive; and to thy speed add wings, Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before."
So spake the grisly Terror, and in shape, So speaking and so threatening, grew tenfold, More dreadful and deform.
On th'other side, Incensed with indignation, Satan stood Unterrified, and like a comet burned, That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th'arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war.
So frowned the mighty combatants that Hell Grew darker at their frown; so matched they stood; For never but once more was wither like To meet so great a foe.
And now great deeds Had been achieved, whereof all Hell had rung, Had not the snaky Sorceress, that sat Fast by Hell - gate and kept the fatal key, Risen, and with hideous outcry rushed between.
" O father, what intends thy hand," she cried, " Against thy only son?
What fury, O son, Possesses thee to bend that mortal dart Against thy father's head?
And know'st for whom?
For him who sits above, and laughs the while At thee, ordained his drudge to execute Whate'er his wrath, which he calls justice, bids--His wrath, which one day will destroy ye both!"
I know thee not, nor ever saw till now Sight more detestable than him and thee."
Meanwhile war arose, And fields were fought in Heaven: wherein remained (For what could else?)
to our Almighty Foe Clear victory; to our part loss and rout Through all the Empyrean.
Down they fell, Driven headlong from the pitch of Heaven, down Into this Deep; and in the general fall I also: at which time this powerful key Into my hands was given, with charge to keep These gates for ever shut, which none can pass Without my opening.
Pensive here I sat Alone; but long I sat not, till my womb, Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown, Prodigious motion felt and rueful throes.
I fled, and cried out Death!
Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sighed From all her caves, and back resounded Death!
But thou, O father, I forewarn thee, shun His deadly arrow; neither vainly hope To be invulnerable in those bright arms, Through tempered heavenly; for that mortal dint, Save he who reigns above, none can resist."
Be this, or aught Than this more secret, now designed, I haste To know; and, this once known, shall soon return, And bring ye to the place where thou and Death Shall dwell at ease, and up and down unseen Wing silently the buxom air, embalmed With odours.
There ye shall be fed and filled Immeasurably; all things shall be your prey."
He ceased; for both seemed highly pleased, and Death Grinned horrible a ghastly smile, to hear His famine should be filled, and blessed his maw Destined to that good hour.
Thou art my father, thou my author, thou My being gav'st me; whom should I obey But thee?
whom follow?
Thou wilt bring me soon To that new world of light and bliss, among The gods who live at ease, where I shall reign At thy right hand voluptuous, as beseems Thy daughter and thy darling, without end."
On a sudden open fly, With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, Th'infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook Of Erebus.
To whom these most adhere He rules a moment: Chaos umpire sits, And by decision more embroils the fray By which he reigns: next him, high arbiter, Chance governs all.
At last his sail - broad vans He spread for flight, and, in the surging smoke Uplifted, spurns the ground; thence many a league, As in a cloudy chair, ascending rides Audacious; but, that seat soon failing, meets A vast vacuity.
All unawares, Fluttering his pennons vain, plumb - down he drops Ten thousand fathom deep, and to this hour Down had been falling, had not, by ill chance, The strong rebuff of some tumultuous cloud, Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried him As many miles aloft.
That fury stayed--Quenched in a boggy Syrtis, neither sea, Nor good dry land--nigh foundered, on he fares, Treading the crude consistence, half on foot, Half flying; behoves him now both oar and sail.
At length a universal hubbub wild Of stunning sounds, and voices all confused, Borne through the hollow dark, assaults his ear With loudest vehemence.
With him enthroned Sat sable - vested Night, eldest of things, The consort of his reign; and by them stood Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name Of Demogorgon; Rumour next, and Chance, And Tumult, and Confusion, all embroiled, And Discord with a thousand various mouths.
Direct my course: Directed, no mean recompense it brings To your behoof, if I that region lost, All usurpation thence expelled, reduce To her original darkness and your sway (Which is my present journey), and once more Erect the standard there of ancient Night.
Yours be th'advantage all, mine the revenge!"
Thus Satan; and him thus the Anarch old, With faltering speech and visage incomposed, Answered: " I know thee, stranger, who thou art--*** That mighty leading Angel, who of late Made head against Heaven's King, though overthrown.
I saw and heard; for such a numerous host Fled not in silence through the frighted Deep, With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded; and Heaven - gates Poured out by millions her victorious bands, Pursuing.
If that way be your walk, you have not far; So much the nearer danger.
Go, and speed; Havoc, and spoil, and ruin, are my gain."
So he with difficulty and labour hard Moved on, with difficulty and labour he; But, he once passed, soon after, when Man fell, Strange alteration!
But now at last the sacred influence Of light appears, and from the walls of Heaven Shoots far into the bosom of dim Night A glimmering dawn.
Thither, full fraught with mischievous revenge, Accursed, and in a cursed hour, he hies.
Book III
Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven firstborn, Or of the Eternal coeternal beam May I express thee unblam'd?
since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
Or hear " st thou rather pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell?
before the sun, Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest *** The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite.
So much the rather thou, celestial Light, Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate; there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight.
Him God beholding from his prospect high, Wherein past, present, future, he beholds, Thus to his only Son foreseeing spake.
Only begotten Son, seest thou what rage Transports our Adversary?
whom no bounds Prescrib'd no bars of Hell, nor all the chains Heap'd on him there, nor yet the main abyss Wide interrupt, can hold; so bent he seems On desperate revenge, that shall redound Upon his own rebellious head.
Whose but his own?
ingrate, he had of me All he could have; I made him just and right, Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.
Such I created all the ethereal Powers And Spirits, both them who stood, and them who fail'd; Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell.
Not free, what proof could they have given sincere Of true allegiance, constant faith or love, Where only what they needs must do appear'd, Not what they would?
what praise could they receive?
What pleasure I from such obedience paid, When will and reason (reason also is choice) Useless and vain, of freedom both despoil'd, Made passive both, had serv'd necessity, Not me?
Thus while God spake, ambrosial fragrance fill'd All Heaven, and in the blessed Spirits elect Sense of new joy ineffable diffus'd.
Beyond compare the Son of God was seen Most glorious; in him all his Father shone Substantially express'd; and in his face Divine compassion visibly appear'd, Love without end, and without measure grace, Which uttering, thus he to his Father spake.
For should Man finally be lost, should Man, Thy creature late so lov'd, thy youngest son, Fall circumvented thus by fraud, though join'd With his own folly?
that be from thee far, That far be from thee, Father, who art judge Of all things made, and judgest only right.
Or shall the Adversary thus obtain His end, and frustrate thine?
shall he fulfill His malice, and thy goodness bring to nought, Or proud return, though to his heavier doom, Yet with revenge accomplish'd, and to Hell Draw after him the whole race of mankind, By him corrupted?
or wilt thou thyself Abolish thy creation, and unmake For him, what for thy glory thou hast made?
So should thy goodness and thy greatness both Be question'd and blasphem'd without defence.
To whom the great Creator thus replied.
O son, in whom my soul hath chief delight, Son of my bosom, Son who art alone.
To prayer, repentance, and obedience due, Though but endeavour'd with sincere intent, Mine ear shall not be slow, mine eye not shut.
And I will place within them as a guide, My umpire Conscience; whom if they will hear, Light after light, well us'd, they shall attain, And to the end, persisting, safe arrive.
This my long sufferance, and my day of grace, They who neglect and scorn, shall never taste; But hard be harden'd, blind be blinded more, That they may stumble on, and deeper fall; And none but such from mercy I exclude.
Say, heavenly Powers, where shall we find such love?
Which of you will be mortal, to redeem Man's mortal crime, and just the unjust to save?
Dwells in all Heaven charity so dear?
And silence was in Heaven: $ on Man's behalf He ask'd, but all the heavenly quire stood mute, Patron or intercessour none appear'd, Much less that durst upon his own head draw The deadly forfeiture, and ransom set.
And now without redemption all mankind Must have been lost, adjudg'd to Death and Hell By doom severe, had not the Son of God, In whom the fulness dwells of love divine, His dearest mediation thus renew'd.
Father, thy word is past, Man shall find grace; And shall grace not find means, that finds her way, The speediest of thy winged messengers, To visit all thy creatures, and to all Comes unprevented, unimplor'd, unsought?
Under his gloomy power I shall not long Lie vanquished.
Death his death's wound shall then receive, and stoop Inglorious, of his mortal sting disarmed; I through the ample air in triumph high Shall lead Hell captive maugre Hell, and show The powers of darkness bound.
His words here ended; but his meek aspect Silent yet spake, and breathed immortal love To mortal men, above which only shone Filial obedience: as a sacrifice Glad to be offered, he attends the will Of his great Father.
Admiration seized All Heaven, what this might mean, and whither tend, Wondering; but soon th'Almighty thus replied.
O thou in Heaven and Earth the only peace Found out for mankind under wrath, O thou My sole complacence!
Well thou know'st how dear To me are all my works; nor Man the least, Though last created, that for him I spare Thee from my bosom and right hand, to save, By losing thee a while, the whole race lost.
00021053 Thou, therefore, whom thou only canst redeem, Their nature also to thy nature join; And be thyself Man among men on Earth, Made flesh, when time shall be, of virgin seed, By wondrous birth; be thou in Adam's room The head of all mankind, though Adam's son.
As in him perish all men, so in thee, As from a second root, shall be restored As many as are restored, without thee none.
His crime makes guilty all his sons; thy merit, Imputed, shall absolve them who renounce Their own both righteous and unrighteous deeds, And live in thee transplanted, and from thee Receive new life.
So Man, as is most just, Shall satisfy for Man, be judged and die, And dying rise, and rising with him raise His brethren, ransomed with his own dear life.
So heavenly love shall outdo hellish hate, Giving to death, and dying to redeem, So dearly to redeem what hellish hate So easily destroyed, and still destroys In those who, when they may, accept not grace.
Nor shalt thou, by descending to assume Man's nature, lessen or degrade thine own.
Then, all thy saints assembled, thou shalt judge Bad Men and Angels; they, arraigned, shall sink Beneath thy sentence; Hell, her numbers full, Thenceforth shall be for ever shut.
Mean while The world shall burn, and from her ashes spring New Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell, And, after all their tribulations long, See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds, With joy and peace triumphing, and fair truth.
Then thou thy regal scepter shalt lay by, For regal scepter then no more shall need, God shall be all in all.
But, all ye Gods, Adore him, who to compass all this dies; Adore the Son, and honour him as me.
O unexampled love, Love no where to be found less than Divine!
Hail, Son of God, Saviour of Men!
Thy name Shall be the copious matter of my song Henceforth, and never shall my heart thy praise Forget, nor from thy Father's praise disjoin.
Thus they in Heaven, above the starry sphere, Their happy hours in joy and hymning spent.
These stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw Angels ascending and descending, bands Of guardians bright, when he from Esau fled To Padan - Aram, in the field of Luz Dreaming by night under the open sky And waking cried, This is the gate of Heaven.
Satan from hence, now on the lower stair, That scaled by steps of gold to Heaven - gate, Looks down with wonder at the sudden view Of all this world at once.
As when a scout, Through dark?
; nd desart ways with? oeril gone All? might,?
There lands the Fiend, a spot like which perhaps Astronomer in the sun's lucent orb Through his glazed optick tube yet never saw.
Glad was the Spirit impure, as now in hope To find who might direct his wandering flight To Paradise, the happy seat of Man, His journey's end and our beginning woe.
That spot, to which I point, is Paradise, Adam's abode; those lofty shades, his bower.
Thy way thou canst not miss, me mine requires.
Book IV
O, for that warning voice, which he, who saw The Apocalypse, heard cry in Heaven aloud, Then when the Dragon, put to second rout, Came furious down to be revenged on men, Woe to the inhabitants on earth!
Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view Lay pleasant, his grieved look he fixes sad; Sometimes towards Heaven, and the full - blazing sun, Which now sat high in his meridian tower: Then, much revolving, thus in sighs began.
O thou, that, with surpassing glory crowned, Lookest from thy sole dominion like the God Of this new world; at whose sight all the stars Hide their diminished heads; to thee I call, But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, Of Sun!
to tell thee how I hate thy beams, That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere; Till pride and worse ambition threw me down Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless King: Ah, wherefore!
he deserved no such return From me, whom he created what I was In that bright eminence, and with his good Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.
What could be less than to afford him praise, The easiest recompence, and pay him thanks, How due!
Yet why not some other Power As great might have aspired, and me, though mean, Drawn to his part; but other Powers as great Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within Or from without, to all temptations armed.
Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand?
Thou hadst: whom hast thou then or what to accuse, But Heaven's free love dealt equally to all?
Be then his love accursed, since love or hate, To me alike, it deals eternal woe.
Nay, cursed be thou; since against his thy will Chose freely what it now so justly rues.
Me miserable!
which way shall I fly Infinite wrath, and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell; And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep Still threatening to devour me opens wide, To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven.
O, then, at last relent: Is there no place Left for repentance, none for pardon left?
None left but by submission; and that word Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame Among the Spirits beneath, whom I seduced With other promises and other vaunts Than to submit, boasting I could subdue The Omnipotent.
Ay me!
they little know How dearly I abide that boast so vain, Under what torments inwardly I groan, While they adore me on the throne of Hell.
With diadem and scepter high advanced, The lower still I fall, only supreme In misery: Such joy ambition finds.
But say I could repent, and could obtain, By act of grace, my former state; how soon Would highth recall high thoughts, how soon unsay What feigned submission swore?
Ease would recant Vows made in pain, as violent and void.
For never can true reconcilement grow, Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep: Which would but lead me to a worse relapse And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear Short intermission bought with double smart.
This knows my Punisher; therefore as far From granting he, as I from begging, peace; All hope excluded thus, behold, in stead Mankind created, and for him this world.
So farewell, hope; and with hope farewell, fear; Farewell, remorse!
all good to me is lost; Evil, be thou my good; by thee at least Divided empire with Heaven's King I hold, By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign; As Man ere long, and this new world, shall know.
Thus while he spake, each passion dimmed his face Thrice changed with pale, ire, envy, and despair; Which marred his borrowed visage, and betrayed Him counterfeit, if any eye beheld.
For heavenly minds from such distempers foul Are ever clear.
Yet higher than their tops The verdurous wall of Paradise upsprung;
00081429 Which to our general sire gave prospect large Into his nether empire neighbouring round.
Now to the ascent of that steep savage hill Satan had journeyed on, pensive and slow; But further way found none, so thick entwined, As one continued brake, the undergrowth Of shrubs and tangling bushes had perplexed All path of man or beast that passed that way.
One gate there only was, and that looked east On the other side: which when the arch - felon saw, Due entrance he disdained; and, in contempt, At one flight bound high over - leaped all bound Of hill or highest wall, and sheer within Lights on his feet.
So little knows Any, but God alone, to value right The good before him, but perverts best things To worst abuse, or to their meanest use.
The birds their quire apply; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Led on the eternal Spring.
So passed they naked on, nor shunned the sight Of God or Angel; for they thought no ill: So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair, That ever since in love's embraces met; Adam the goodliest man of men since born His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve.
O Hell!
what do mine eyes with grief behold!
Ah!
And should I at your harmless innocence Melt, as I do, yet publick reason just, Honour and empire with revenge enlarged, By conquering this new world, compels me now To do what else, though damned, I should abhor.
So spake the Fiend, and with necessity, The tyrant's plea, excused his devilish deeds.
To whom thus Eve replied.
O thou for whom And from whom I was formed, flesh of thy flesh, And without whom am to no end, my guide And head!
what thou hast said is just and right.
For we to him indeed all praises owe, And daily thanks; I chiefly, who enjoy So far the happier lot, enjoying thee Pre - eminent by so much odds, while thou Like consort to thyself canst no where find.
That day I oft remember, when from sleep I first awaked, and found myself reposed Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where And what I was, whence thither brought, and how.
What could I do, But follow straight, invisibly thus led?
Till I espied thee, fair indeed and tall, Under a platane; yet methought less fair, Less winning soft, less amiably mild, Than that smooth watery image: Back I turned; Thou following cryedst aloud,'Return, fair Eve;'Whom flyest thou?
Sight hateful, sight tormenting!
thus these two, Imparadised in one another's arms, The happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill Of bliss on bliss; while I to Hell am thrust, Where neither joy nor love, but fierce desire, Among our other torments not the least, Still unfulfilled with pain of longing pines.
Yet let me not forget what I have gained From their own mouths: All is not theirs, it seems; One fatal tree there stands, of knowledge called, Forbidden them to taste: Knowledge forbidden Suspicious, reasonless.
Why should their Lord Envy them that?
Can it be sin to know?
Can it be death?
And do they only stand By ignorance?
Is that their happy state, The proof of their obedience and their faith?
O fair foundation laid whereon to build Their ruin!
Live while ye may, Yet happy pair; enjoy, till I return, Short pleasures, for long woes are to succeed!
Betwixt these rocky pillars Gabriel sat, Chief of the angelick guards, awaiting night; About him exercised heroick games The unarmed youth of Heaven, but nigh at hand Celestial armoury, shields, helms, and spears, Hung high with diamond flaming, and with gold.
Thither came Uriel, gliding through the even On a sun - beam, swift as a shooting star In autumn thwarts the night, when vapours fired Impress the air, and shows the mariner From what point of his compass to beware Impetuous winds: He thus began in haste.
Gabriel, to thee thy course by lot hath given Charge and strict watch, that to this happy place No evil thing approach or enter in.
To whom the winged warriour thus returned.
But if within the circuit of these walks, In whatsoever shape he lurk, of whom Thou tellest, by morrow dawning I shall know.
When Adam thus to Eve.
To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorned My Author and Disposer, what thou bidst Unargued I obey: So God ordains; God is thy law, thou mine: To know no more Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her praise.
With thee conversing I forget all time; All seasons, and their change, all please alike.
But wherefore all night long shine these?
for whom This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes?
To whom our general ancestor replied.
oft in bands While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds In full harmonick number joined, their songs Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven.
In shadier bower More sacred and sequestered, though but feigned, Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor Nymph Nor Faunus haunted.
too like In sad event, when to the unwiser son Of Japhet brought by Hermes, she ensnared Mankind with her fair looks, to be avenged On him who had stole Jove's authentick fire.
But thou hast promised from us two a race To fill the earth, who shall with us extol Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake, And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep.
Our Maker bids encrease; who bids abstain But our Destroyer, foe to God and Man?
Hail, wedded Love, mysterious law, true source Of human offspring, sole propriety In Paradise of all things common else!
By thee adulterous Lust was driven from men Among the bestial herds to range; by thee Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure, Relations dear, and all the charities Of father, son, and brother, first were known.
Far be it, that I should write thee sin or blame, Or think thee unbefitting holiest place, Perpetual fountain of domestick sweets, Whose bed is undefiled and chaste pronounced, Present, or past, as saints and patriarchs used.
These, lulled by nightingales, embracing slept, And on their naked limbs the flowery roof Showered roses, which the morn repaired.
Sleep on, Blest pair; and O! yet happiest, if ye seek No happier state, and know to know no more.
Now had night measured with her shadowy cone Half way up hill this vast sublunar vault, And from their ivory port the Cherubim, Forth issuing at the accustomed hour, stood armed To their night watches in warlike parade; When Gabriel to his next in power thus spake.
Uzziel, half these draw off, and coast the south With strictest watch; these other wheel the north; Our circuit meets full west.
As flame they part, Half wheeling to the shield, half to the spear.
From these, two strong and subtle Spirits he called That near him stood, and gave them thus in charge.
Ithuriel and Zephon, with winged speed Search through this garden, leave unsearched no nook; But chiefly where those two fair creatures lodge, Now laid perhaps asleep, secure of harm.
This evening from the sun's decline arrived, Who tells of some infernal Spirit seen Hitherward bent (who could have thought?)
escaped The bars of Hell, on errand bad no doubt: Such, where ye find, seise fast, and hither bring.
Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear Touched lightly; for no falshood can endure Touch of celestial temper, but returns Of force to its own likeness: Up he starts Discovered and surprised.
As when a spark Lights on a heap of nitrous powder, laid Fit for the tun some magazine to store Against a rumoured war, the smutty grain, With sudden blaze diffused, inflames the air; So started up in his own shape the Fiend.
Back stept those two fair Angels, half amazed So sudden to behold the grisly king; Yet thus, unmoved with fear, accost him soon.
Which of those rebel Spirits adjudged to Hell Comest thou, escaped thy prison?
and, transformed, Why sat'st thou like an enemy in wait, Here watching at the head of these that sleep?
Know ye not then said Satan, filled with scorn, Know ye not me?
ye knew me once no mate For you, there sitting where ye durst not soar: Not to know me argues yourselves unknown, The lowest of your throng; or, if ye know, Why ask ye, and superfluous begin Your message, like to end as much in vain?
To whom thus Zephon, answering scorn with scorn.
Think not, revolted Spirit, thy shape the same, Or undiminished brightness to be known, As when thou stoodest in Heaven upright and pure; That glory then, when thou no more wast good, Departed from thee; and thou resemblest now Thy sin and place of doom obscure and foul.
But come, for thou, be sure, shalt give account To him who sent us, whose charge is to keep This place inviolable, and these from harm.
If I must contend, said he, Best with the best, the sender, not the sent, Or all at once; more glory will be won, Or less be lost.
Thy fear, said Zephon bold, Will save us trial what the least can do Single against thee wicked, and thence weak.
The Fiend replied not, overcome with rage; But, like a proud steed reined, went haughty on, Champing his iron curb: To strive or fly He held it vain; awe from above had quelled His heart, not else dismayed.
Now drew they nigh The western point, where those half - rounding guards Just met, and closing stood in squadron joined, A waiting next command.
To whom their Chief, Gabriel, from the front thus called aloud.
O friends!
He scarce had ended, when those two approached, And brief related whom they brought, where found, How busied, in what form and posture couched.
To whom with stern regard thus Gabriel spake.
To whom thus Satan with contemptuous brow.
Gabriel?
thou hadst in Heaven the esteem of wise, And such I held thee; but this question asked Puts me in doubt.
Lives there who loves his pain!
Who would not, finding way, break loose from Hell, Though thither doomed!
Let him surer bar His iron gates, if he intends our stay In that dark durance: Thus much what was asked.
The rest is true, they found me where they say; But that implies not violence or harm.
Thus he in scorn.
The warlike Angel moved, Disdainfully half smiling, thus replied.
So judge thou still, presumptuous!
till the wrath, Which thou incurrest by flying, meet thy flight Sevenfold, and scourge that wisdom back to Hell, Which taught thee yet no better, that no pain Can equal anger infinite provoked.
But wherefore thou alone?
wherefore with thee Came not all hell broke loose?
or thou than they Less hardy to endure?
Courageous Chief!
The first in flight from pain!
hadst thou alleged To thy deserted host this cause of flight, Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive.
To which the Fiend thus answered, frowning stern.
Not that I less endure, or shrink from pain, Insulting Angel!
well thou knowest I stood Thy fiercest, when in battle to thy aid The blasting vollied thunder made all speed, And seconded thy else not dreaded spear.
To say and straight unsay, pretending first Wise to fly pain, professing next the spy, Argues no leader but a liear traced, Satan, and couldst thou faithful add?
O name, O sacred name of faithfulness profaned!
Faithful to whom?
to thy rebellious crew?
Army of Fiends, fit body to fit head.
Was this your discipline and faith engaged, Your military obedience, to dissolve Allegiance to the acknowledged Power supreme?
And thou, sly hypocrite, who now wouldst seem Patron of liberty, who more than thou Once fawned, and cringed, and servily adored Heaven's awful Monarch?
wherefore, but in hope To dispossess him, and thyself to reign?
But mark what I arreed thee now, Avant; Fly neither whence thou fledst!
If from this hour Within these hallowed limits thou appear, Back to the infernal pit I drag thee chained, And seal thee so, as henceforth not to scorn The facile gates of Hell too slightly barred.
So threatened he; but Satan to no threats Gave heed, but waxing more in rage replied.
Then when I am thy captive talk of chains, Proud limitary Cherub!
but ere then Far heavier load thyself expect to feel From my prevailing arm, though Heaven's King Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy compeers, Us'd to the yoke, drawest his triumphant wheels In progress through the road of Heaven star - paved.
Satan, I know thy strength, and thou knowest mine; Neither our own, but given: What folly then To boast what arms can do?
since thine no more Than Heaven permits, nor mine, though doubled now To trample thee as mire: For proof look up, And read thy lot in yon celestial sign; Where thou art weighed, and shown how light, how weak, If thou resist.
The Fiend looked up, and knew His mounted scale aloft: Nor more; but fled Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night.
Book V
Awake, My fairest, my espoused, my latest found, Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight!
Awake: The morning shines, and the fresh field Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring Our tender plants, how blows the citron grove, What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed, How nature paints her colours, how the bee Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet.
Such whispering waked her, but with startled eye On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake.
O sole in whom my thoughts find all repose, My glory, my perfection!
' In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment'Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze.'
Is knowledge so despised?
' Or envy, or what reserve forbids to taste?
' Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold'Longer thy offered good; why else set here?
' Here, happy creature, fair angelick Eve!
So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held, Even to my mouth of that same fruit held part Which he had plucked; the pleasant savoury smell So quickened appetite, that I, methought, Could not but taste.
Thus Eve her night Related, and thus Adam answered sad.
Best image of myself, and dearer half, The trouble of thy thoughts this night in sleep Affects me equally; nor can I like This uncouth dream, of evil sprung, I fear; Yet evil whence?
in thee can harbour none, Created pure.
Oft in her absence mimick Fancy wakes To imitate her; but, misjoining shapes, Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams; Ill matching words and deeds long past or late.
Some such resemblances, methinks, I find Of our last evening's talk, in this thy dream, But with addition strange; yet be not sad.
Evil into the mind of God or Man May come and go, so unreproved, and leave No spot or blame behind: Which gives me hope That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream, Waking thou never will consent to do.
So all was cleared, and to the field they haste.
These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty!
Thine this universal frame, Thus wonderous fair; Thyself how wonderous then!
Unspeakable, who sitst above these heavens To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in Heaven On Earth join all ye Creatures to extol Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crownest the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul, Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climbest, And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fallest.
Moon, that now meetest the orient sun, now flyest, With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb that flies; And ye five other wandering Fires, that move In mystick dance not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness called up light.
Air, and ye Elements, the eldest birth Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud; and, wave your tops, ye Pines, With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living Souls: Ye Birds, That singing up to Heaven - gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep; Witness if I be silent, morn or even, To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, universal Lord, be bounteous still To give us only good; and if the night Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark!
So prayed they innocent, and to their thoughts Firm peace recovered soon, and wonted calm.
Them thus employed beheld With pity Heaven's high King, and to him called Raphael, the sociable Spirit, that deigned To travel with Tobias, and secured His marriage with the seventimes - wedded maid.
Raphael, said he, thou hearest what stir on Earth Satan, from Hell'scaped through the darksome gulf, Hath raised in Paradise; and how disturbed This night the human pair; how he designs In them at once to ruin all mankind.
no, for that shall be withstood; But by deceit and lies: This let him know, Lest, wilfully transgressing, he pretend Surprisal, unadmonished, unforewarned.
From hence no cloud, or, to obstruct his sight, Star interposed, however small he sees, Not unconformed to other shining globes, Earth, and the garden of God, with cedars crowned Above all hills.
As when by night the glass Of Galileo, less assured, observes Imagined lands and regions in the moon: Or pilot, from amidst the Cyclades Delos or Samos first appearing, kens A cloudy spot.
Like Maia's son he stood, And shook his plumes, that heavenly fragrance filled The circuit wide.
Straight knew him all the bands Of Angels under watch; and to his state, And to his message high, in honour rise; For on some message high they guessed him bound.
Haste hither, Eve, and worth thy sight behold Eastward among those trees, what glorious shape Comes this way moving; seems another morn Risen on mid - noon; some great behest from Heaven To us perhaps he brings, and will vouchsafe This day to be our guest.
To whom thus Eve.
Adam, earth's hallowed mould, Of God inspired!
Nearer his presence Adam, though not awed, Yet with submiss approach and reverence meek, As to a superiour nature bowing low, Thus said.
Whom thus the angelick Virtue answered mild.
Adam, I therefore came; nor art thou such Created, or such place hast here to dwell, As may not oft invite, though Spirits of Heaven, To visit thee; lead on then where thy bower O'ershades; for these mid - hours, till evening rise, I have at will.
On whom the Angel Hail Bestowed, the holy salutation used Long after to blest Mary, second Eve.
A while discourse they hold; No fear lest dinner cool; when thus began Our author.
To whom the Angel.
Nor doth the moon no nourishment exhale From her moist continent to higher orbs.
The sun that light imparts to all, receives From all his alimental recompence In humid exhalations, and at even Sups with the ocean.
Mean while at table Eve Ministered naked, and their flowing cups With pleasant liquours crowned: O innocence Deserving Paradise!
if ever, then, Then had the sons of God excuse to have been Enamoured at that sight; but in those hearts Love unlibidinous reigned, nor jealousy Was understood, the injured lover's hell.
Wonder not then, what God for you saw good If I refuse not, but convert, as you To proper substance.
Mean while enjoy Your fill what happiness this happy state Can comprehend, incapable of more.
To whom the patriarch of mankind replied.
O favourable Spirit, propitious guest, Well hast thou taught the way that might direct Our knowledge, and the scale of nature set From center to circumference; whereon, In contemplation of created things, By steps we may ascend to God.
But say, What meant that caution joined, If ye be found Obedient?
Can we want obedience then To him, or possibly his love desert, Who formed us from the dust and placed us here Full to the utmost measure of what bliss Human desires can seek or apprehend?
To whom the Angel.
Son of Heaven and Earth, Attend!
That thou art happy, owe to God; That thou continuest such, owe to thyself, That is, to thy obedience; therein stand.
This was that caution given thee; be advised.
To whom our great progenitor.
Thus Adam made request; and Raphael, After short pause assenting, thus began.
High matter thou enjoinest me, O prime of men, Sad task and hard: For how shall I relate To human sense the invisible exploits Of warring Spirits?
how, without remorse, The ruin of so many glorious once And perfect while they stood?
how last unfold The secrets of another world, perhaps Not lawful to reveal?
Thus when in orbs Of circuit inexpressible they stood, Orb within orb, the Father Infinite, By whom in bliss imbosomed sat the Son, Amidst as from a flaming mount, whose top Brightness had made invisible, thus spake.
Hear, all ye Angels, progeny of light, Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers; Hear my decree, which unrevoked shall stand.
So spake the Omnipotent, and with his words All seemed well pleased; all seemed, but were not all.
On flowers reposed, and with fresh flowerets crowned, They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy, secure Of surfeit, where full measure only bounds Excess, before the all - bounteous King, who showered With copious hand, rejoicing in their joy.
Sleepest thou, Companion dear?
What sleep can close Thy eye - lids?
and rememberest what decree Of yesterday, so late hath passed the lips Of Heaven's Almighty.
Thou to me thy thoughts Wast wont, I mine to thee was wont to impart; Both waking we were one; how then can now Thy sleep dissent?
New laws thou seest imposed; New laws from him who reigns, new minds may raise In us who serve, new counsels to debate What doubtful may ensue: More in this place To utter is not safe.
Let us advise, and to this hazard draw With speed what force is left, and all employ In our defence; lest unawares we lose This our high place, our sanctuary, our hill.
To whom the Son with calm aspect and clear, Lightning divine, ineffable, serene, Made answer.
So spake the Son; but Satan, with his Powers, Far was advanced on winged speed; an host Innumerable as the stars of night, Or stars of morning, dew - drops, which the sun Impearls on every leaf and every flower.
Too much to one!
but double how endured, To one, and to his image now proclaimed?
But what if better counsels might erect Our minds, and teach us to cast off this yoke?
Will ye submit your necks, and choose to bend The supple knee?
Ye will not, if I trust To know ye right, or if ye know yourselves Natives and sons of Heaven possessed before By none; and if not equal all, yet free, Equally free; for orders and degrees Jar not with liberty, but well consist.
Who can in reason then, or right, assume Monarchy over such as live by right His equals, if in power and splendour less, In freedom equal?
or can introduce Law and edict on us, who without law Err not?
much less for this to be our Lord, And look for adoration, to the abuse Of those imperial titles, which assert Our being ordained to govern, not to serve.
Thus far his bold discourse without controul Had audience; when among the Seraphim Abdiel, than whom none with more zeal adored The Deity, and divine commands obeyed, Stood up, and in a flame of zeal severe The current of his fury thus opposed.
O argument blasphemous, false, and proud!
Words which no ear ever to hear in Heaven Expected, least of all from thee, Ingrate, In place thyself so high above thy peers.
Canst thou with impious obloquy condemn The just decree of God, pronounced and sworn, That to his only Son, by right endued With regal scepter, every soul in Heaven Shall bend the knee, and in that honour due Confess him rightful King?
unjust, thou sayest, Flatly unjust, to bind with laws the free, And equal over equals to let reign, One over all with unsucceeded power.
Shalt thou give law to God?
shalt thou dispute With him the points of liberty, who made Thee what thou art, and formed the Powers of Heaven Such as he pleased, and circumscribed their being?
Yet, by experience taught, we know how good, And of our good and of our dignity How provident he is; how far from thought To make us less, bent rather to exalt Our happy state, under one head more near United.
But to grant it thee unjust, That equal over equals monarch reign: Thyself, though great and glorious, dost thou count, Or all angelick nature joined in one, Equal to him begotten Son?
Cease then this impious rage, And tempt not these; but hasten to appease The incensed Father, and the incensed Son, While pardon may be found in time besought.
So spake the fervent Angel; but his zeal None seconded, as out of season judged, Or singular and rash: Whereat rejoiced The Apostate, and, more haughty, thus replied.
That we were formed then sayest thou?
and the work Of secondary hands, by task transferred From Father to his Son?
strange point and new!
Doctrine which we would know whence learned: who saw When this creation was?
rememberest thou Thy making, while the Maker gave thee being?
We know no time when we were not as now; Know none before us, self - begot, self - raised By our own quickening power, when fatal course Had circled his full orb, the birth mature Of this our native Heaven, ethereal sons.
Our puissance is our own; our own right hand Shall teach us highest deeds, by proof to try Who is our equal: Then thou shalt behold Whether by supplication we intend Address, and to begirt the almighty throne Beseeching or besieging.
This report, These tidings carry to the anointed King; And fly, ere evil intercept thy flight.
He said; and, as the sound of waters deep, Hoarse murmur echoed to his words applause Through the infinite host; nor less for that The flaming Seraph fearless, though alone Encompassed round with foes, thus answered bold.
O alienate from God, O Spirit accursed, Forsaken of all good!
Well thou didst advise; Yet not for thy advice or threats I fly These wicked tents devoted, lest the wrath Impendent, raging into sudden flame, Distinguish not: For soon expect to feel His thunder on thy head, devouring fire.
Then who created thee lamenting learn, When who can uncreate thee thou shalt know.
From amidst them forth he passed, Long way through hostile scorn, which he sustained Superiour, nor of violence feared aught; And, with retorted scorn, his back he turned On those proud towers to swift destruction doomed.
Book VI
All night the dreadless Angel, unpursued, Through Heaven's wide champain held his way; till Morn, Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand Unbarred the gates of light.
On to the sacred hill They led him high applauded, and present Before the seat supreme; from whence a voice, From midst a golden cloud, thus mild was heard.
Servant of God.
O Heaven!
that such resemblance of the Highest Should yet remain, where faith and realty Remain not: Wherefore should not strength and might There fail where virtue fails, or weakest prove Where boldest, though to fight unconquerable?
So pondering, and from his armed peers Forth stepping opposite, half - way he met His daring foe, at this prevention more Incensed, and thus securely him defied.
Proud, art thou met?
Whom the grand foe, with scornful eye askance, Thus answered.
Ill for thee, but in wished hour Of my revenge, first sought for, thou returnest From flight, seditious Angel!
Such hast thou armed, the minstrelsy of Heaven, Servility with freedom to contend, As both their deeds compared this day shall prove.
To whom in brief thus Abdiel stern replied.
Apostate!
still thou errest, nor end wilt find Of erring, from the path of truth remote: Unjustly thou depravest it with the name Of servitude, to serve whom God ordains, Or Nature: God and Nature bid the same, When he who rules is worthiest, and excels Them whom he governs.
This is servitude, To serve the unwise, or him who hath rebelled Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralled; Yet lewdly darest our ministring upbraid.
Reign thou in Hell, thy kingdom; let me serve In Heaven God ever blest, and his divine Behests obey, worthiest to be obeyed; Yet chains in Hell, not realms, expect: Mean while From me returned, as erst thou saidst, from flight, This greeting on thy impious crest receive.
So under fiery cope together rushed Both battles main, with ruinous assault And inextinguishable rage.
All Heaven Resounded; and had Earth been then, all Earth Had to her center shook.
What wonder?
At his approach The great Arch - Angel from his warlike toil Surceased, and glad, as hoping here to end Intestine war in Heaven, the arch - foe subdued Or captive dragged in chains, with hostile frown And visage all inflamed first thus began.
how hast thou instilled Thy malice into thousands, once upright And faithful, now proved false!
But think not here To trouble holy rest; Heaven casts thee out From all her confines.
Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
Hence then, and evil go with thee along, Thy offspring, to the place of evil, Hell; Thou and thy wicked crew!
there mingle broils, Ere this avenging sword begin thy doom, Or some more sudden vengeance, winged from God, Precipitate thee with augmented pain.
So spake the Prince of Angels; to whom thus The Adversary.
Nor think thou with wind Of aery threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not.
Hast thou turned the least of these To flight, or if to fall, but that they rise Unvanquished, easier to transact with me That thou shouldst hope, imperious, and with threats To chase me hence?
They ended parle, and both addressed for fight Unspeakable; for who, though with the tongue Of Angels, can relate, or to what things Liken on earth conspicuous, that may lift Human imagination to such highth Of Godlike power?
for likest Gods they seemed, Stood they or moved, in stature, motion, arms, Fit to decide the empire of great Heaven.
Nor stood unmindful Abdiel to annoy The atheist crew, but with redoubled blow Ariel, and Arioch, and the violence Of Ramiel scorched and blasted, overthrew.
For strength from truth divided, and from just, Illaudable, nought merits but dispraise And ignominy; yet to glory aspires Vain - glorious, and through infamy seeks fame: Therefore eternal silence be their doom.
O now in danger tried, now known in arms Not to be overpowered, Companions dear, Found worthy not of liberty alone, Too mean pretence!
but what we more affect, Honour, dominion, glory, and renown; Who have sustained one day in doubtful fight, (And if one day, why not eternal days?)
What Heaven's Lord had powerfullest to send Against us from about his throne, and judged Sufficient to subdue us to his will, But proves not so: Then fallible, it seems, Of future we may deem him, though till now Omniscient thought.
He sat; and in the assembly next upstood Nisroch, of Principalities the prime; As one he stood escaped from cruel fight, Sore toiled, his riven arms to havock hewn, And cloudy in aspect thus answering spake.
Sense of pleasure we may well Spare out of life perhaps, and not repine, But live content, which is the calmest life: But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and, excessive, overturns All patience.
He, who therefore can invent With what more forcible we may offend Our yet unwounded enemies, or arm Ourselves with like defence, to me deserves No less than for deliverance what we owe.
Whereto with look composed Satan replied.
Not uninvented that, which thou aright Believest so main to our success, I bring.
Nor long shall be our labour; yet ere dawn, Effect shall end our wish.
Mean while revive; Abandon fear; to strength and counsel joined Think nothing hard, much less to be despaired.
He ended, and his words their drooping cheer Enlightened, and their languished hope revived.
So all ere day - spring, under conscious night, Secret they finished, and in order set, With silent circumspection, unespied.
So warned he them, aware themselves, and soon In order, quit of all impediment; Instant without disturb they took alarm, And onward moved embattled: When behold!
Not distant far with heavy pace the foe Approaching gross and huge, in hollow cube Training his devilish enginery, impaled On every side with shadowing squadrons deep, To hide the fraud.
At interview both stood A while; but suddenly at head appeared Satan, and thus was heard commanding loud.
Vanguard, to right and left the front unfold; That all may see who hate us, how we seek Peace and composure, and with open breast Stand ready to receive them, if they like Our overture; and turn not back perverse: But that I doubt; however witness, Heaven!
Heaven, witness thou anon!
while we discharge Freely our part: ye, who appointed stand Do as you have in charge, and briefly touch What we propound, and loud that all may hear!
What should they do?
Satan beheld their plight, And to his mates thus in derision called.
O Friends!
why come not on these victors proud Ere while they fierce were coming; and when we, To entertain them fair with open front And breast, (what could we more?)
To whom thus Belial, in like gamesome mood.
Leader!
Forthwith (behold the excellence, the power, Which God hath in his mighty Angels placed!)
The rest, in imitation, to like arms Betook them, and the neighbouring hills uptore: So hills amid the air encountered hills, Hurled to and fro with jaculation dire; That under ground they fought in dismal shade; Infernal noise!
Effulgence of my glory, Son beloved, Son, in whose face invisible is beheld Visibly, what by Deity I am; And in whose hand what by decree I do, Second Omnipotence!
Two days are therefore past, the third is thine; For thee I have ordained it; and thus far Have suffered, that the glory may be thine Of ending this great war, since none but Thou Can end it.
He said, and on his Son with rays direct Shone full; he all his Father full expressed Ineffably into his face received; And thus the Filial Godhead answering spake.
Then shall thy Saints unmixed, and from the impure Far separate, circling thy holy mount, Unfeigned Halleluiahs to thee sing, Hymns of high praise, and I among them Chief.
So said, he, o'er his scepter bowing, rose From the right hand of Glory where he sat; And the third sacred morn began to shine, Dawning through Heaven.
Before him Power Divine his way prepared; At his command the uprooted hills retired Each to his place; they heard his voice, and went Obsequious; Heaven his wonted face renewed, And with fresh flowerets hill and valley smiled.
This saw his hapless foes, but stood obdured, And to rebellious fight rallied their Powers, Insensate, hope conceiving from despair.
In heavenly Spirits could such perverseness dwell?
But to convince the proud what signs avail, Or wonders move the obdurate to relent?
So spake the Son, and into terrour changed His countenance too severe to be beheld, And full of wrath bent on his enemies.
At once the Four spread out their starry wings With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs Of his fierce chariot rolled, as with the sound Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host.
He on his impious foes right onward drove, Gloomy as night; under his burning wheels The stedfast empyrean shook throughout, All but the throne itself of God.
Hell heard the unsufferable noise, Hell saw Heaven ruining from Heaven, and would have fled Affrighted; but strict Fate had cast too deep Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound.
Disburdened Heaven rejoiced, and soon repaired Her mural breach, returning whence it rolled.
But listen not to his temptations, warn Thy weaker; let it profit thee to have heard, By terrible example, the reward Of disobedience; firm they might have stood, Yet fell; remember, and fear to transgress.
Book VII
Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine Following, above the Olympian hill I soar, Above the flight of Pegasean wing!
But drive far off the barbarous dissonance Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned Both harp and voice; nor could the Muse defend Her son.
So fail not thou, who thee implores: For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream.
Great things, and full of wonder in our ears, Far differing from this world, thou hast revealed, Divine interpreter!
Thus Adam his illustrious guest besought: And thus the Godlike Angel answered mild.
This also thy request, with caution asked, Obtain; though to recount almighty works What words or tongue of Seraph can suffice, Or heart of man suffice to comprehend?
But knowledge is as food, and needs no less Her temperance over appetite, to know In measure what the mind may well contain; Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind.
Mean while inhabit lax, ye Powers of Heaven; And thou my Word, begotten Son, by thee This I perform; speak thou, and be it done!
My overshadowing Spirit and Might with thee I send along; ride forth, and bid the Deep Within appointed bounds be Heaven and Earth; Boundless the Deep, because I Am who fill Infinitude, nor vacuous the space.
Though I, uncircumscribed myself, retire, And put not forth my goodness, which is free To act or not, Necessity and Chance Approach not me, and what I will is Fate.
So spake the Almighty, and to what he spake His Word, the Filial Godhead, gave effect.
Immediate are the acts of God, more swift Than time or motion, but to human ears Cannot without process of speech be told, So told as earthly notion can receive.
So sang the Hierarchies: Mean while the Son On his great expedition now appeared, Girt with Omnipotence, with radiance crowned Of Majesty Divine; sapience and love Immense, and all his Father in him shone.
On heavenly ground they stood; and from the shore They viewed the vast immeasurable abyss Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild, Up from the bottom turned by furious winds And surging waves, as mountains, to assault Heaven's highth, and with the center mix the pole.
Silence, ye troubled Waves, and thou Deep, peace, Said then the Omnifick Word; your discord end!
Nor staid; but, on the wings of Cherubim Uplifted, in paternal glory rode Far into Chaos, and the world unborn; For Chaos heard his voice: Him all his train Followed in bright procession, to behold Creation, and the wonders of his might.
God saw the light was good; And light from darkness by the hemisphere Divided: light the Day, and darkness Night, He named.
The dry land, Earth; and the great receptacle Of congregated waters, he called Seas: And saw that it was good; and said, Let the Earth Put forth the verdant grass, herb yielding seed, And fruit - tree yielding fruit after her kind, Whose seed is in herself upon the Earth.
And God said, Let the waters generate Reptile with spawn abundant, living soul: And let fowl fly above the Earth, with wings Displayed on the open firmament of Heaven.
And God created the great whales, and each Soul living, each that crept, which plenteously The waters generated by their kinds; And every bird of wing after his kind; And saw that it was good, and blessed them, saying.
Be fruitful, multiply, and in the seas, And lakes, and running streams, the waters fill; And let the fowl be multiplied, on the Earth.
The waters thus With fish replenished, and the air with fowl, Evening and morn solemnized the fifth day.
The sixth, and of creation last, arose With evening harps and matin; when God said, Let the Earth bring forth soul living in her kind, Cattle, and creeping things, and beast of the Earth, Each in their kind.
thus to his Son audibly spake.
Let us make now Man in our image, Man In our similitude, and let them rule Over the fish and fowl of sea and air, Beast of the field, and over all the Earth, And every creeping thing that creeps the ground.
This said, he formed thee, Adam, thee, O Man, Dust of the ground, and in thy nostrils breathed The breath of life; in his own image he Created thee, in the image of God Express; and thou becamest a living soul.
Male he created thee; but thy consort Female, for race; then blessed mankind, and said, Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the Earth; Subdue it, and throughout dominion hold Over fish of the sea, and fowl of the air, And every living thing that moves on the Earth.
Open, ye everlasting gates!
they sung, Open, ye Heavens!
Creation and the six days acts they sung: Great are thy works, Jehovah!
infinite Thy power!
what thought can measure thee, or tongue Relate thee!
Greater now in thy return Than from the giant Angels: Thee that day Thy thunders magnified; but to create Is greater than created to destroy.
Who can impair thee, Mighty King, or bound Thy empire!
Easily the proud attempt Of Spirits apostate, and their counsels vain, Thou hast repelled; while impiously they thought Thee to diminish, and from thee withdraw The number of thy worshippers.
Who seeks To lessen thee, against his purpose serves To manifest the more thy might: his evil Thou usest, and from thence createst more good.
Thrice happy Men, And sons of Men, whom God hath thus advanced!
Created in his image, there to dwell And worship him; and in reward to rule Over his works, on earth, in sea, or air, And multiply a race of worshippers Holy and just: Thrice happy, if they know Their happiness, and persevere upright!
So sung they, and the empyrean rung With halleluiahs: Thus was sabbath kept.
And thy request think now fulfilled, that asked How first this world and face of things began, And what before thy memory was done From the beginning; that posterity, Informed by thee, might know: If else thou seekest Aught, not surpassing human measure, say.
Book VIII
The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear So charming left his voice, that he a while Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear; Then, as new waked, thus gratefully replied.
Something yet of doubt remains, Which only thy solution can resolve.
when meet now Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined?
With Goddess - like demeanour forth she went, Not unattended; for on her, as Queen, A pomp of winning Graces waited still, And from about her shot darts of desire Into all eyes, to wish her still in sight.
And Raphael now, to Adam's doubt proposed, Benevolent and facile thus replied.
Yet not to Earth are those bright luminaries Officious; but to thee, Earth's habitant.
But this I urge, Admitting motion in the Heavens, to show Invalid that which thee to doubt it moved; Not that I so affirm, though so it seem To thee who hast thy dwelling here on Earth.
God, to remove his ways from human sense, Placed Heaven from Earth so far, that earthly sight, If it presume, might err in things too high, And no advantage gain.
What if the sun Be center to the world; and other stars, By his attractive virtue and their own Incited, dance about him various rounds?
Their wandering course now high, now low, then hid, Progressive, retrograde, or standing still, In six thou seest; and what if seventh to these The planet earth, so stedfast though she seem, Insensibly three different motions move?
What if that light, Sent from her through the wide transpicuous air, To the terrestrial moon be as a star, Enlightening her by day, as she by night This earth?
For such vast room in Nature unpossessed By living soul, desart and desolate, Only to shine, yet scarce to contribute Each orb a glimpse of light, conveyed so far Down to this habitable, which returns Light back to them, is obvious to dispute.
To whom thus Adam, cleared of doubt, replied.
How fully hast thou satisfied me, pure Intelligence of Heaven, Angel serene!
And, freed from intricacies, taught to live The easiest way; nor with perplexing thoughts To interrupt the sweet of life, from which God hath bid dwell far off all anxious cares, And not molest us; unless we ourselves Seek them with wandering thoughts, and notions vain.
Therefore from this high pitch let us descend A lower flight, and speak of things at hand Useful; whence, haply, mention may arise Of something not unseasonable to ask, By sufferance, and thy wonted favour, deigned.
Thee I have heard relating what was done Ere my remembrance: now, hear me relate My story, which perhaps thou hast not heard; And day is not yet spent; till then thou seest How subtly to detain thee I devise; Inviting thee to hear while I relate; Fond!
To whom thus Raphael answered heavenly meek.
Not that they durst without his leave attempt; But us he sends upon his high behests For state, as Sovran King; and to inure Our prompt obedience.
Fast we found, fast shut, The dismal gates, and barricadoed strong; But long ere our approaching heard within Noise, other than the sound of dance or song, Torment, and loud lament, and furious rage.
Glad we returned up to the coasts of light Ere sabbath - evening: so we had in charge.
But thy relation now; for I attend, Pleased with thy words no less than thou with mine.
So spake the Godlike Power, and thus our Sire.
For Man to tell how human life began Is hard; for who himself beginning knew Desire with thee still longer to converse Induced me.
As new waked from soundest sleep, Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid, In balmy sweat; which with his beams the sun Soon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed.
called by thee, I come thy guide'To the garden of bliss, thy seat prepared.'
Rejoicing, but with awe, In adoration at his feet I fell Submiss: He reared me, and'Whom thou soughtest I am,' Said mildly,'Author of all this thou seest'Above, or round about thee, or beneath.
Sternly he pronounced The rigid interdiction, which resounds Yet dreadful in mine ear, though in my choice Not to incur; but soon his clear aspect Returned, and gracious purpose thus renewed.
' Not only these fair bounds, but all the Earth'To thee and to thy race I give; as lords'Possess it, and all things that therein live,'Or live in sea, or air; beast, fish, and fowl.
As thus he spake, each bird and beast behold Approaching two and two; these cowering low With blandishment; each bird stooped on his wing.
I named them, as they passed, and understood Their nature, with such knowledge God endued My sudden apprehension: But in these I found not what methought I wanted still; And to the heavenly Vision thus presumed.
O, by what name, for thou above all these, Above mankind, or aught than mankind higher, Surpassest far my naming; how may I Adore thee, Author of this universe, And all this good to man?
for whose well being So amply, and with hands so liberal, Thou hast provided all things: But with me I see not who partakes.
In solitude What happiness, who can enjoy alone, Or, all enjoying, what contentment find?
Thus I presumptuous; and the Vision bright, As with a smile more brightened, thus replied.
What callest thou solitude?
Is not the Earth With various living creatures, and the air Replenished, and all these at thy command To come and play before thee?
Knowest thou not Their language and their ways?
They also know, And reason not contemptibly: With these Find pastime, and bear rule; thy realm is large.
So spake the Universal Lord, and seemed So ordering: I, with leave of speech implored, And humble deprecation, thus replied.
Let not my words offend thee, Heavenly Power; My Maker, be propitious while I speak.
Hast thou not made me here thy substitute, And these inferiour far beneath me set?
Among unequals what society Can sort, what harmony, or true delight?
Whereto the Almighty answered, not displeased.
A nice and subtle happiness, I see, Thou to thyself proposest, in the choice Of thy associates, Adam!
and wilt taste No pleasure, though in pleasure, solitary.
What thinkest thou then of me, and this my state?
Seem I to thee sufficiently possessed Of happiness, or not?
who am alone From all eternity; for none I know Second to me or like, equal much less.
How have I then with whom to hold converse, Save with the creatures which I made, and those To me inferiour, infinite descents Beneath what other creatures are to thee?
He ceased; I lowly answered.
To attain The highth and depth of thy eternal ways All human thoughts come short, Supreme of things!
Thou in thyself art perfect, and in thee Is no deficience found: Not so is Man, But in degree; the cause of his desire By conversation with his like to help Or solace his defects.
Thus I emboldened spake, and freedom used Permissive, and acceptance found; which gained This answer from the gracious Voice Divine.
I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud.
This turn hath made amends; thou hast fulfilled Thy words, Creator bounteous and benign, Giver of all things fair!
but fairest this Of all thy gifts!
nor enviest.
I now see Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, myself Before me: Woman is her name; of Man Extracted: for this cause he shall forego Father and mother, and to his wife adhere; And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one soul.
in all enjoyments else Superiour and unmoved; here only weak Against the charm of Beauty's powerful glance.
Or Nature failed in me, and left some part Not proof enough such object to sustain; Or, from my side subducting, took perhaps More than enough; at least on her bestowed Too much of ornament, in outward show Elaborate, of inward less exact.
To whom the Angel with contracted brow.
Accuse not Nature, she hath done her part; Do thou but thine; and be not diffident Of Wisdom; she deserts thee not, if thou Dismiss not her, when most thou needest her nigh, By attributing overmuch to things Less excellent, as thou thyself perceivest.
For, what admirest thou, what transports thee so, An outside?
To whom thus, half abashed, Adam replied.
Yet these subject not; I to thee disclose What inward thence I feel, not therefore foiled, Who meet with various objects, from the sense Variously representing; yet, still free, Approve the best, and follow what I approve.
To love, thou blamest me not; for Love, thou sayest, Leads up to Heaven, is both the way and guide; Bear with me then, if lawful what I ask: Love not the heavenly Spirits, and how their love Express they?
by looks only?
or do they mix Irradiance, virtual or immediate touch?
To whom the Angel, with a smile that glowed Celestial rosy red, Love's proper hue, Answered.
Let it suffice thee that thou knowest Us happy, and without love no happiness.
But I can now no more; the parting sun Beyond the Earth's green Cape and verdant Isles Hesperian sets, my signal to depart.
Be strong, live happy, and love!
But, first of all, Him, whom to love is to obey, and keep His great command; take heed lest passion sway Thy judgement to do aught, which else free will Would not admit: thine, and of all thy sons, The weal or woe in thee is placed; beware!
I in thy persevering shall rejoice, And all the Blest: Stand fast; to stand or fall Free in thine own arbitrement it lies.
Perfect within, no outward aid require; And all temptation to transgress repel.
So saying, he arose; whom Adam thus Followed with benediction.
Since to part, Go, heavenly guest, ethereal Messenger, Sent from whose sovran goodness I adore!
Gentle to me and affable hath been Thy condescension, and shall be honoured ever With grateful memory: Thou to mankind Be good and friendly still, and oft return!
So parted they; the Angel up to Heaven From the thick shade, and Adam to his bower.
Book IX
No more of talk where God or Angel guest With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd, To sit indulgent, and with him partake Rural repast; permitting him the while Venial discourse unblam'd.
Me, of these Nor skill'd nor studious, higher argument Remains; sufficient of itself to raise That name, unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years, damp my intended wing Depress'd; and much they may, if all be mine, Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear.
Thus he resolved, but first from inward grief His bursting passion into plaints thus poured.
More justly, seat worthier of Gods, as built With second thoughts, reforming what was old!
O Earth, how like to Heaven, if not preferred For what God, after better, worse would build?
Terrestrial Heaven, danced round by other Heavens That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps, Light above light, for thee alone, as seems, In thee concentring all their precious beams Of sacred influence!
With what delight could I have walked thee round, If I could joy in aught, sweet interchange Of hill, and valley, rivers, woods, and plains, Now land, now sea and shores with forest crowned, Rocks, dens, and caves!
But I in none of these Find place or refuge; and the more I see Pleasures about me, so much more I feel Torment within me, as from the hateful siege Of contraries: all good to me becomes Bane, and in Heaven much worse would be my state.
O foul descent!
that I, who erst contended With Gods to sit the highest, am now constrained Into a beast; and, mixed with bestial slime, This essence to incarnate and imbrute, That to the highth of Deity aspired!
But what will not ambition and revenge Descend to?
Who aspires, must down as low As high he soared; obnoxious, first or last, To basest things.
To whom mild answer Adam thus returned.
Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyond Compare above all living creatures dear!
Well hast thou motioned, well thy thoughts employed, How we might best fulfil the work which here God hath assigned us; nor of me shalt pass Unpraised: for nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study houshold good, And good works in her husband to promote.
For not to irksome toil, but to delight, He made us, and delight to reason joined.
The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
To whom the virgin majesty of Eve, As one who loves, and some unkindness meets, With sweet austere composure thus replied.
Offspring of Heaven and Earth, and all Earth's Lord!
That such an enemy we have, who seeks Our ruin, both by thee informed I learn, And from the parting Angel over - heard, As in a shady nook I stood behind, Just then returned at shut of evening flowers.
But, that thou shouldst my firmness therefore doubt To God or thee, because we have a foe May tempt it, I expected not to hear.
His violence thou fearest not, being such As we, not capable of death or pain, Can either not receive, or can repel.
His fraud is then thy fear; which plain infers Thy equal fear, that my firm faith and love Can by his fraud be shaken or seduced; Thoughts, which how found they harbour in thy breast, Adam, mis - thought of her to thee so dear?
To whom with healing words Adam replied.
Daughter of God and Man, immortal Eve!
For such thou art; from sin and blame entire: Not diffident of thee do I dissuade Thy absence from my sight, but to avoid The attempt itself, intended by our foe.
Nor thou his malice and false guile contemn; Subtle he needs must be, who could seduce Angels; nor think superfluous other's aid.
I, from the influence of thy looks, receive Access in every virtue; in thy sight More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were Of outward strength; while shame, thou looking on, Shame to be overcome or over - reached, Would utmost vigour raise, and raised unite.
Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feel When I am present, and thy trial choose With me, best witness of thy virtue tried?
So spake domestick Adam in his care And matrimonial love; but Eve, who thought Less attributed to her faith sincere, Thus her reply with accent sweet renewed.
If this be our condition, thus to dwell In narrow circuit straitened by a foe, Subtle or violent, we not endued Single with like defence, wherever met; How are we happy, still in fear of harm?
But harm precedes not sin: only our foe, Tempting, affronts us with his foul esteem Of our integrity: his foul esteem Sticks no dishonour on our front, but turns Foul on himself; then wherefore shunned or feared By us?
who rather double honour gain From his surmise proved false; find peace within, Favour from Heaven, our witness, from the event.
And what is faith, love, virtue, unassayed Alone, without exteriour help sustained?
Let us not then suspect our happy state Left so imperfect by the Maker wise, As not secure to single or combined.
Frail is our happiness, if this be so, And Eden were no Eden, thus exposed.
To whom thus Adam fervently replied.
But God left free the will; for what obeys Reason, is free; and Reason he made right, But bid her well be ware, and still erect; Lest, by some fair - appearing good surprised, She dictate false; and mis - inform the will To do what God expressly hath forbid.
Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins, That I should mind thee oft; and mind thou me.
Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve; Since Reason not impossibly may meet Some specious object by the foe suborned, And fall into deception unaware, Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warned.
Seek not temptation then, which to avoid Were better, and most likely if from me Thou sever not: Trial will come unsought.
Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approve First thy obedience; the other who can know, Not seeing thee attempted, who attest?
But, if thou think, trial unsought may find Us both securer than thus warned thou seemest, Go; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more; Go in thy native innocence, rely On what thou hast of virtue; summon all!
For God towards thee hath done his part, do thine.
So spake the patriarch of mankind; but Eve Persisted; yet submiss, though last, replied.
To Pales, or Pomona, thus adorned, Likest she seemed, Pomona when she fled Vertumnus, or to Ceres in her prime, Yet virgin of Proserpina from Jove.
Her long with ardent look his eye pursued Delighted, but desiring more her stay.
Oft he to her his charge of quick return Repeated; she to him as oft engaged To be returned by noon amid the bower, And all things in best order to invite Noontide repast, or afternoon's repose.
O much deceived, much failing, hapless Eve, Of thy presumed return!
event perverse!
Thou never from that hour in Paradise Foundst either sweet repast, or sound repose; Such ambush, hid among sweet flowers and shades, Waited with hellish rancour imminent To intercept thy way, or send thee back Despoiled of innocence, of faith, of bliss!
For now, and since first break of dawn, the Fiend, Mere serpent in appearance, forth was come; And on his quest, where likeliest he might find The only two of mankind, but in them The whole included race, his purposed prey.
Much he the place admired, the person more.
Thoughts, whither have ye led me!
with what sweet Compulsion thus transported, to forget What hither brought us!
hate, not love; nor hope Of Paradise for Hell, hope here to taste Of pleasure; but all pleasure to destroy, Save what is in destroying; other joy To me is lost.
exempt from wound, I not; so much hath Hell debased, and pain Enfeebled me, to what I was in Heaven.
She fair, divinely fair, fit love for Gods!
Not terrible, though terrour be in love And beauty, not approached by stronger hate, Hate stronger, under show of love well feigned; The way which to her ruin now I tend.
So spake the enemy of mankind, enclosed In serpent, inmate bad!
and toward Eve Addressed his way: not with indented wave, Prone on the ground, as since; but on his rear, Circular base of rising folds, that towered Fold above fold, a surging maze!
With tract oblique At first, as one who sought access, but feared To interrupt, side - long he works his way.
He, bolder now, uncalled before her stood, But as in gaze admiring: oft he bowed His turret crest, and sleek enamelled neck, Fawning; and licked the ground whereon she trod.
His gentle dumb expression turned at length The eye of Eve to mark his play; he, glad Of her attention gained, with serpent - tongue Organick, or impulse of vocal air, His fraudulent temptation thus began.
Wonder not, sovran Mistress, if perhaps Thou canst, who art sole wonder!
much less arm Thy looks, the Heaven of mildness, with disdain, Displeased that I approach thee thus, and gaze Insatiate; I thus single; nor have feared Thy awful brow, more awful thus retired.
Fairest resemblance of thy Maker fair, Thee all things living gaze on, all things thine By gift, and thy celestial beauty adore With ravishment beheld!
there best beheld, Where universally admired; but here In this enclosure wild, these beasts among, Beholders rude, and shallow to discern Half what in thee is fair, one man except, Who sees thee?
and what is one?
who should be seen A Goddess among Gods, adored and served By Angels numberless, thy daily train.
So glozed the Tempter, and his proem tuned: Into the heart of Eve his words made way, Though at the voice much marvelling; at length, Not unamazed, she thus in answer spake.
What may this mean?
language of man pronounced By tongue of brute, and human sense expressed?
The first, at least, of these I thought denied To beasts; whom God, on their creation - day, Created mute to all articulate sound: The latter I demur; for in their looks Much reason, and in their actions, oft appears.
Thee, Serpent, subtlest beast of all the field I knew, but not with human voice endued; Redouble then this miracle, and say, How camest thou speakable of mute, and how To me so friendly grown above the rest Of brutal kind, that daily are in sight?
Say, for such wonder claims attention due.
To whom the guileful Tempter thus replied.
Empress of this fair world, resplendent Eve!
To satisfy the sharp desire I had Of tasting those fair apples, I resolved Not to defer; hunger and thirst at once, Powerful persuaders, quickened at the scent Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen.
About the mossy trunk I wound me soon; For, high from ground, the branches would require Thy utmost reach or Adam's: Round the tree All other beasts that saw, with like desire Longing and envying stood, but could not reach.
Amid the tree now got, where plenty hung Tempting so nigh, to pluck and eat my fill I spared not; for, such pleasure till that hour, At feed or fountain, never had I found.
Sated at length, ere long I might perceive Strange alteration in me, to degree Of reason in my inward powers; and speech Wanted not long; though to this shape retained.
which compelled Me thus, though importune perhaps, to come And gaze, and worship thee of right declared Sovran of creatures, universal Dame!
So talked the spirited sly Snake; and Eve, Yet more amazed, unwary thus replied.
Serpent, thy overpraising leaves in doubt The virtue of that fruit, in thee first proved: But say, where grows the tree?
from hence how far?
To whom the wily Adder, blithe and glad.
Empress, the way is ready, and not long; Beyond a row of myrtles, on a flat, Fast by a fountain, one small thicket past Of blowing myrrh and balm: if thou accept My conduct, I can bring thee thither soon Lead then, said Eve.
He, leading, swiftly rolled In tangles, and made intricate seem straight, To mischief swift.
So glistered the dire Snake, and into fraud Led Eve, our credulous mother, to the tree Of prohibition, root of all our woe; Which when she saw, thus to her guide she spake.
Serpent, we might have spared our coming hither, Fruitless to me, though fruit be here to excess, The credit of whose virtue rest with thee; Wonderous indeed, if cause of such effects.
But of this tree we may not taste nor touch; God so commanded, and left that command Sole daughter of his voice; the rest, we live Law to ourselves; our reason is our law.
To whom the Tempter guilefully replied.
Indeed!
hath God then said that of the fruit Of all these garden - trees ye shall not eat, Yet Lords declared of all in earth or air $?
To whom thus Eve, yet sinless.
Of the fruit Of each tree in the garden we may eat; But of the fruit of this fair tree amidst The garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat Thereof, nor shall ye touch it, lest ye die.
She scarce had said, though brief, when now more bold The Tempter, but with show of zeal and love To Man, and indignation at his wrong, New part puts on; and, as to passion moved, Fluctuates disturbed, yet comely and in act Raised, as of some great matter to begin.
As when of old some orator renowned, In Athens or free Rome, where eloquence Flourished, since mute!
O sacred, wise, and wisdom - giving Plant, Mother of science!
now I feel thy power Within me clear; not only to discern Things in their causes, but to trace the ways Of highest agents, deemed however wise.
Queen of this universe!
do not believe Those rigid threats of death: ye shall not die: How should you?
by the fruit?
it gives you life To knowledge; by the threatener?
look on me, Me, who have touched and tasted; yet both live, And life more perfect have attained than Fate Meant me, by venturing higher than my lot.
Shall that be shut to Man, which to the Beast Is open?
or will God incense his ire For such a petty trespass?
and not praise Rather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain Of death denounced, whatever thing death be, Deterred not from achieving what might lead To happier life, knowledge of good and evil; Of good, how just?
of evil, if what is evil Be real, why not known, since easier shunned?
God therefore cannot hurt ye, and be just; Not just, not God; not feared then, nor obeyed: Your fear itself of death removes the fear.
Why then was this forbid?
Why, but to awe; Why, but to keep ye low and ignorant, His worshippers?
He knows that in the day Ye eat thereof, your eyes that seem so clear, Yet are but dim, shall perfectly be then Opened and cleared, and ye shall be as Gods, Knowing both good and evil, as they know.
That ye shall be as Gods, since I as Man, Internal Man, is but proportion meet; I, of brute, human; ye, of human, Gods.
So ye shall die perhaps, by putting off Human, to put on Gods; death to be wished, Though threatened, which no worse than this can bring.
And what are Gods, that Man may not become As they, participating God - like food?
and wherein lies The offence, that Man should thus attain to know?
What can your knowledge hurt him, or this tree Impart against his will, if all be his?
Or is it envy?
and can envy dwell In heavenly breasts?
These, these, and many more Causes import your need of this fair fruit.
Goddess humane, reach then, and freely taste!
but his forbidding Commends thee more, while it infers the good By thee communicated, and our want: For good unknown sure is not had; or, had And yet unknown, is as not had at all.
In plain then, what forbids he but to know, Forbids us good, forbids us to be wise?
Such prohibitions bind not.
But, if death Bind us with after - bands, what profits then Our inward freedom?
In the day we eat Of this fair fruit, our doom is, we shall die!
How dies the Serpent?
he hath eaten and lives, And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns, Irrational till then.
For us alone Was death invented?
or to us denied This intellectual food, for beasts reserved?
For beasts it seems: yet that one beast which first Hath tasted envies not, but brings with joy The good befallen him, author unsuspect, Friendly to man, far from deceit or guile.
What fear I then?
rather, what know to fear Under this ignorance of good and evil, Of God or death, of law or penalty?
Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine, Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste, Of virtue to make wise: What hinders then To reach, and feed at once both body and mind?
So saying, her rash hand in evil hour Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat!
Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat, Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe, That all was lost.
Greedily she ingorged without restraint, And knew not eating death: Satiate at length, And hightened as with wine, jocund and boon, Thus to herself she pleasingly began.
O sovran, virtuous, precious of all trees In Paradise!
of operation blest To sapience, hitherto obscured, infamed.
Experience, next, to thee I owe, Best guide; not following thee, I had remained In ignorance; thou openest wisdom's way, And givest access, though secret she retire.
And I perhaps am secret: Heaven is high, High, and remote to see from thence distinct Each thing on Earth; and other care perhaps May have diverted from continual watch Our great Forbidder, safe with all his spies About him.
But to Adam in what sort Shall I appear?
shall I to him make known As yet my change, and give him to partake Full happiness with me, or rather not, But keeps the odds of knowledge in my power Without copartner?
so to add what wants In female sex, the more to draw his love, And render me more equal; and perhaps, A thing not undesirable, sometime Superiour; for, inferiour, who is free This may be well: But what if God have seen, And death ensue?
then I shall be no more!
And Adam, wedded to another Eve, Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct; A death to think!
Confirmed then I resolve, Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe: So dear I love him, that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life.
So saying, from the tree her step she turned; But first low reverence done, as to the Power That dwelt within, whose presence had infused Into the plant sciential sap, derived From nectar, drink of Gods.
Adam the while, Waiting desirous her return, had wove Of choicest flowers a garland, to adorn Her tresses, and her rural labours crown; As reapers oft are wont their harvest - queen.
To him she hasted; in her face excuse Came prologue, and apology too prompt; Which, with bland words at will, she thus addressed.
Hast thou not wondered, Adam, at my stay?
Thee I have missed, and thought it long, deprived Thy presence; agony of love till now Not felt, nor shall be twice; for never more Mean I to try, what rash untried I sought, The pain of absence from thy sight.
For bliss, as thou hast part, to me is bliss; Tedious, unshared with thee, and odious soon.
Thou therefore also taste, that equal lot May join us, equal joy, as equal love; Lest, thou not tasting, different degree Disjoin us, and I then too late renounce Deity for thee, when Fate will not permit.
Thus Eve with countenance blithe her story told; But in her cheek distemper flushing glowed.
O fairest of Creation, last and best Of all God's works, Creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet!
How art thou lost!
how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflowered, and now to death devote!
Rather, how hast thou yielded to transgress The strict forbiddance, how to violate The sacred fruit forbidden!
Some cursed fraud Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown, And me with thee hath ruined; for with thee Certain my resolution is to die: How can I live without thee!
how forego Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined, To live again in these wild woods forlorn!
Should God create another Eve, and I Another rib afford, yet loss of thee Would never from my heart: no, no! I feel The link of Nature draw me: flesh of flesh, Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.
So having said, as one from sad dismay Recomforted, and after thoughts disturbed Submitting to what seemed remediless, Thus in calm mood his words to Eve he turned.
Bold deed thou hast presumed, adventurous Eve, And peril great provoked, who thus hast dared, Had it been only coveting to eye That sacred fruit, sacred to abstinence, Much more to taste it under ban to touch.
But past who can recall, or done undo?
Me first " He ruined, now Mankind; whom will he next?"
Matter of scorn, not to be given the Foe.
So Adam; and thus Eve to him replied.
O glorious trial of exceeding love, Illustrious evidence, example high!
On my experience, Adam, freely taste, And fear of death deliver to the winds.
So saying, she embraced him, and for joy Tenderly wept; much won, that he his love Had so ennobled, as of choice to incur Divine displeasure for her sake, or death.
In recompence for such compliance bad Such recompence best merits from the bough She gave him of that fair enticing fruit With liberal hand: he scrupled not to eat, Against his better knowledge; not deceived, But fondly overcome with female charm.
Eve, now I see thou art exact of taste, And elegant, of sapience no small part; Since to each meaning savour we apply, And palate call judicious; I the praise Yield thee, so well this day thou hast purveyed.
Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstained From this delightful fruit, nor known till now True relish, tasting; if such pleasure be In things to us forbidden, it might be wished, For this one tree had been forbidden ten.
So said he, and forbore not glance or toy Of amorous intent; well understood Of Eve, whose eye darted contagious fire.
Her hand he seised; and to a shady bank, Thick over - head with verdant roof imbowered, He led her nothing loth; flowers were the couch, Pansies, and violets, and asphodel, And hyacinth; Earth's freshest softest lap.
So rose the Danite strong, Herculean Samson, from the harlot - lap Of Philistean Dalilah, and waked Shorn of his strength.
They destitute and bare Of all their virtue: Silent, and in face Confounded, long they sat, as strucken mute: Till Adam, though not less than Eve abashed, At length gave utterance to these words constrained.
Those heavenly shapes Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze Insufferably bright.
might I here In solitude live savage; in some glade Obscured, where highest woods, impenetrable To star or sun - light, spread their umbrage broad And brown as evening: Cover me, ye Pines!
O, how unlike To that first naked glory!
Such of late Columbus found the American, so girt With feathered cincture; naked else, and wild Among the trees on isles and woody shores.
Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and staid With me, as I besought thee, when that strange Desire of wandering, this unhappy morn, I know not whence possessed thee; we had then Remained still happy; not, as now, despoiled Of all our good; shamed, naked, miserable!
Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.
To whom, soon moved with touch of blame, thus Eve.
What words have passed thy lips, Adam severe!
Imputest thou that to my default, or will Of wandering, as thou callest it, which who knows But might as ill have happened thou being by, Or to thyself perhaps?
Hadst thou been there, Or here the attempt, thou couldst not have discerned Fraud in the Serpent, speaking as he spake; No ground of enmity between us known, Why he should mean me ill, or seek to harm.
Was I to have never parted from thy side?
As good have grown there still a lifeless rib.
Being as I am, why didst not thou, the head, Command me absolutely not to go, Going into such danger, as thou saidst?
Too facile then, thou didst not much gainsay; Nay, didst permit, approve, and fair dismiss.
Hadst thou been firm and fixed in thy dissent, Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me.
To whom, then first incensed, Adam replied.
Is this the love, is this the recompence Of mine to thee, ingrateful Eve!
expressed Immutable, when thou wert lost, not I; Who might have lived, and joyed immortal bliss, Yet willingly chose rather death with thee?
And am I now upbraided as the cause Of thy transgressing?
Not enough severe, It seems, in thy restraint: What could I more I warned thee, I admonished thee, foretold The danger, and the lurking enemy That lay in wait; beyond this, had been force; And force upon free will hath here no place.
Thus it shall befall Him, who, to worth in women overtrusting, Lets her will rule: restraint she will not brook; And, left to herself, if evil thence ensue, She first his weak indulgence will accuse.
Thus they in mutual accusation spent The fruitless hours, but neither self - condemning; And of their vain contest appeared no end.
Book X
Mean while the heinous and despiteful act Of Satan, done in Paradise; and how He, in the serpent, had perverted Eve, Her husband she, to taste the fatal fruit, Was known in Heaven; for what can'scape the eye Of God all - seeing, or deceive his heart Omniscient?
who, in all things wise and just, Hindered not Satan to attempt the mind Of Man, with strength entire and free will armed, Complete to have discovered and repulsed Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend.
For still they knew, and ought to have still remembered, The high injunction, not to taste that fruit, Whoever tempted; which they not obeying, (Incurred what could they less?)
the penalty; And, manifold in sin, deserved to fall.
Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste The angelick guards ascended, mute, and sad, For Man; for of his state by this they knew, Much wondering how the subtle Fiend had stolen Entrance unseen.
Soon as the unwelcome news From Earth arrived at Heaven - gate, displeased All were who heard; dim sadness did not spare That time celestial visages, yet, mixed With pity, violated not their bliss.
Assembled Angels, and ye Powers returned From unsuccessful charge; be not dismayed, Nor troubled at these tidings from the earth, Which your sincerest care could not prevent; Foretold so lately what would come to pass, When first this tempter crossed the gulf from Hell.
But fallen he is; and now What rests, but that the mortal sentence pass On his transgression,-- death denounced that day?
Which he presumes already vain and void, Because not yet inflicted, as he feared, By some immediate stroke; but soon shall find Forbearance no acquittance, ere day end.
Justice shall not return as bounty scorned.
But whom send I to judge them?
whom but thee, Vicegerent Son?
To thee I have transferred All judgement, whether in Heaven, or Earth, or Hell.
Easy it may be seen that I intend Mercy colleague with justice, sending thee Man's friend, his Mediator, his designed Both ransom and Redeemer voluntary, And destined Man himself to judge Man fallen.
So spake the Father; and, unfolding bright Toward the right hand his glory, on the Son Blazed forth unclouded Deity: He full Resplendent all his Father manifest Expressed, and thus divinely answered mild.
Father Eternal, thine is to decree; Mine, both in Heaven and Earth, to do thy will Supreme; that thou in me, thy Son beloved, Mayest ever rest well pleased.
Attendance none shall need, nor train, where none Are to behold the judgement, but the judged, Those two; the third best absent is condemned, Convict by flight, and rebel to all law: Conviction to the serpent none belongs.
Thus saying, from his radiant seat he rose Of high collateral glory: Him Thrones, and Powers, Princedoms, and Dominations ministrant, Accompanied to Heaven - gate; from whence Eden, and all the coast, in prospect lay.
Down he descended straight; the speed of Gods Time counts not, though with swiftest minutes winged.
Where art thou, Adam, wont with joy to meet My coming seen far off?
I miss thee here, Not pleased, thus entertained with solitude, Where obvious duty ere while appeared unsought: Or come I less conspicuous, or what change Absents thee, or what chance detains?-- Come forth!
He came; and with him Eve, more loth, though first To offend; discountenanced both, and discomposed; Love was not in their looks, either to God, Or to each other; but apparent guilt, And shame, and perturbation, and despair, Anger, and obstinacy, and hate, and guile.
Whence Adam, faltering long, thus answered brief.
I heard thee in the garden, and of thy voice Afraid, being naked, hid myself.
To whom The gracious Judge without revile replied.
My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not feared, But still rejoiced; how is it now become So dreadful to thee?
That thou art naked, who Hath told thee?
Hast thou eaten of the tree, Whereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat?
To whom thus Adam sore beset replied.
O Heaven!
To whom the Sovran Presence thus replied.
Was she thy God, that her thou didst obey Before his voice?
or was she made thy guide, Superiour, or but equal, that to her Thou didst resign thy manhood, and the place Wherein God set thee above her made of thee, And for thee, whose perfection far excelled Hers in all real dignity?
Adorned She was indeed, and lovely, to attract Thy love, not thy subjection; and her gifts Were such, as under government well seemed; Unseemly to bear rule; which was thy part And person, hadst thou known thyself aright.
So having said, he thus to Eve in few.
Say, Woman, what is this which thou hast done?
To whom sad Eve, with shame nigh overwhelmed, Confessing soon, yet not before her Judge Bold or loquacious, thus abashed replied.
The Serpent me beguiled, and I did eat.
Because thou hast done this, thou art accursed Above all cattle, each beast of the field; Upon thy belly groveling thou shalt go, And dust shalt eat all the days of thy life.
Between thee and the woman I will put Enmity, and between thine and her seed; Her seed shall bruise thy head, thou bruise his heel.
Thy sorrow I will greatly multiply By thy conception; children thou shalt bring In sorrow forth; and to thy husband's will Thine shall submit; he over thee shall rule.
On Adam last thus judgement he pronounced.
Opprobrious, with his robe of righteousness, Arraying, covered from his Father's sight.
To him with swift ascent he up returned, Into his blissful bosom reassumed In glory, as of old; to him appeased All, though all - knowing, what had passed with Man Recounted, mixing intercession sweet.
Mean while, ere thus was sinned and judged on Earth, Within the gates of Hell sat Sin and Death, In counterview within the gates, that now Stood open wide, belching outrageous flame Far into Chaos, since the Fiend passed through, Sin opening; who thus now to Death began.
O Son, why sit we here each other viewing Idly, while Satan, our great author, thrives In other worlds, and happier seat provides For us, his offspring dear?
It cannot be But that success attends him; if mishap, Ere this he had returned, with fury driven By his avengers; since no place like this Can fit his punishment, or their revenge.
Methinks I feel new strength within me rise, Wings growing, and dominion given me large Beyond this deep; whatever draws me on, Or sympathy, or some connatural force, Powerful at greatest distance to unite, With secret amity, things of like kind, By secretest conveyance.
Thou, my shade Inseparable, must with me along; For Death from Sin no power can separate.
Nor can I miss the way, so strongly drawn By this new - felt attraction and instinct.
Whom thus the meager Shadow answered soon.
So saying, with delight he snuffed the smell Of mortal change on earth.
So, if great things to small may be compared, Xerxes, the liberty of Greece to yoke, From Susa, his Memnonian palace high, Came to the sea: and, over Hellespont Bridging his way, Europe with Asia joined, And scourged with many a stroke the indignant waves.
And now in little space The confines met of empyrean Heaven, And of this World; and, on the left hand, Hell With long reach interposed; three several ways In sight, to each of these three places led.
And now their way to Earth they had descried, To Paradise first tending; when, behold!
Satan, in likeness of an Angel bright, Betwixt the Centaur and the Scorpion steering His zenith, while the sun in Aries rose: Disguised he came; but those his children dear Their parent soon discerned, though in disguise.
Great joy was at their meeting, and at sight Of that stupendious bridge his joy encreased.
Long he admiring stood, till Sin, his fair Enchanting daughter, thus the silence broke.
O Parent, these are thy magnifick deeds, Thy trophies!
Hell could no longer hold us in our bounds, Nor this unvoyageable gulf obscure Detain from following thy illustrious track.
Thou hast achieved our liberty, confined Within Hell - gates till now; thou us impowered To fortify thus far, and overlay, With this portentous bridge, the dark abyss.
Whom thus the Prince of darkness answered glad.
My substitutes I send ye, and create Plenipotent on earth, of matchless might Issuing from me: on your joint vigour now My hold of this new kingdom all depends, Through Sin to Death exposed by my exploit.
If your joint power prevail, the affairs of Hell No detriment need fear; go, and be strong!
So saying he dismissed them; they with speed Their course through thickest constellations held, Spreading their bane; the blasted stars looked wan, And planets, planet - struck, real eclipse Then suffered.
therein Man Placed in a Paradise, by our exile Made happy: Him by fraud I have seduced From his Creator; and, the more to encrease Your wonder, with an apple; he, thereat Offended, worth your laughter!
hath given up Both his beloved Man, and all his world, To Sin and Death a prey, and so to us, Without our hazard, labour, or alarm; To range in, and to dwell, and over Man To rule, as over all he should have ruled.
Thus was the applause they meant, Turned to exploding hiss, triumph to shame Cast on themselves from their own mouths.
Thus were they plagued And worn with famine, long and ceaseless hiss, Till their lost shape, permitted, they resumed; Yearly enjoined, some say, to undergo, This annual humbling certain numbered days, To dash their pride, and joy, for Man seduced.
Mean while in Paradise the hellish pair Too soon arrived; Sin, there in power before, Once actual; now in body, and to dwell Habitual habitant; behind her Death, Close following pace for pace, not mounted yet On his pale horse: to whom Sin thus began.
Second of Satan sprung, all - conquering Death!
What thinkest thou of our empire now, though earned With travel difficult, not better far Than still at Hell's dark threshold to have sat watch, Unnamed, undreaded, and thyself half starved?
Whom thus the Sin - born monster answered soon.
To me, who with eternal famine pine, Alike is Hell, or Paradise, or Heaven; There best, where most with ravine I may meet; Which here, though plenteous, all too little seems To stuff this maw, this vast unhide - bound corps.
To whom the incestuous mother thus replied.
Thou therefore on these herbs, and fruits, and flowers, Feed first; on each beast next, and fish, and fowl; No homely morsels!
and, whatever thing The sithe of Time mows down, devour unspared; Till I, in Man residing, through the race, His thoughts, his looks, words, actions, all infect; And season him thy last and sweetest prey.
This said, they both betook them several ways, Both to destroy, or unimmortal make All kinds, and for destruction to mature Sooner or later; which the Almighty seeing, From his transcendent seat the Saints among, To those bright Orders uttered thus his voice.
Then Heaven and Earth renewed shall be made pure To sanctity, that shall receive no stain: Till then, the curse pronounced on both precedes.
He ended, and the heavenly audience loud Sung Halleluiah, as the sound of seas, Through multitude that sung: Just are thy ways, Righteous are thy decrees on all thy works; Who can extenuate thee?
Next, to the Son, Destined Restorer of mankind, by whom New Heaven and Earth shall to the ages rise, Or down from Heaven descend.-- Such was their song; While the Creator, calling forth by name His mighty Angels, gave them several charge, As sorted best with present things.
The sun Had first his precept so to move, so shine, As might affect the earth with cold and heat Scarce tolerable; and from the north to call Decrepit winter; from the south to bring Solstitial summer's heat.
At that tasted fruit The sun, as from Thyestean banquet, turned His course intended; else, how had the world Inhabited, though sinless, more than now, Avoided pinching cold and scorching heat?
These were from without The growing miseries, which Adam saw Already in part, though hid in gloomiest shade, To sorrow abandoned, but worse felt within; And, in a troubled sea of passion tost, Thus to disburden sought with sad complaint.
O miserable of happy!
Is this the end Of this new glorious world, and me so late The glory of that glory, who now become Accursed, of blessed?
hide me from the face Of God, whom to behold was then my highth Of happiness!-- Yet well, if here would end The misery; I deserved it, and would bear My own deservings; but this will not serve: All that I eat or drink, or shall beget, Is propagated curse.
O voice, once heard Delightfully, Encrease and multiply; Now death to hear!
for what can I encrease, Or multiply, but curses on my head?
Who of all ages to succeed, but, feeling The evil on him brought by me, will curse My head?
Ill fare our ancestor impure, For this we may thank Adam!
but his thanks Shall be the execration: so, besides Mine own that bide upon me, all from me Shall with a fierce reflux on me rebound; On me, as on their natural center, light Heavy, though in their place.
O fleeting joys Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes!
Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me Man?
did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me, or here place In this delicious garden?
As my will Concurred not to my being, it were but right And equal to reduce me to my dust; Desirous to resign and render back All I received; unable to perform Thy terms too hard, by which I was to hold The good I sought not.
To the loss of that, Sufficient penalty, why hast thou added The sense of endless woes?
Inexplicable Why am I mocked with death, and lengthened out To deathless pain?
How gladly would I meet Mortality my sentence, and be earth Insensible!
How glad would lay me down As in my mother's lap!
There I should rest, And sleep secure; his dreadful voice no more Would thunder in my ears; no fear of worse To me, and to my offspring, would torment me With cruel expectation.
Yet one doubt Pursues me still, lest all I cannot die; Lest that pure breath of life, the spirit of Man Which God inspired, cannot together perish With this corporeal clod; then, in the grave, Or in some other dismal place, who knows But I shall die a living death?
O thought Horrid, if true!
Yet why?
It was but breath Of life that sinned; what dies but what had life And sin?
The body properly had neither, All of me then shall die: let this appease The doubt, since human reach no further knows.
For though the Lord of all be infinite, Is his wrath also?
Be it, Man is not so, But mortal doomed.
How can he exercise Wrath without end on Man, whom death must end?
Can he make deathless death?
That were to make Strange contradiction, which to God himself Impossible is held; as argument Of weakness, not of power.
Will he draw out, For anger's sake, finite to infinite, In punished Man, to satisfy his rigour, Satisfied never?
That were to extend His sentence beyond dust and Nature's law; By which all causes else, according still To the reception of their matter, act; Not to the extent of their own sphere.
O, were I able To waste it all myself, and leave ye none!
So disinherited, how would you bless Me, now your curse!
Ah, why should all mankind, For one man's fault, thus guiltless be condemned, It guiltless?
But from me what can proceed, But all corrupt; both mind and will depraved Not to do only, but to will the same With me?
How can they then acquitted stand In sight of God?
Him, after all disputes, Forced I absolve: all my evasions vain, And reasonings, though through mazes, lead me still But to my own conviction: first and last On me, me only, as the source and spring Of all corruption, all the blame lights due; So might the wrath!
Fond wish! couldst thou support That burden, heavier than the earth to bear; Than all the world much heavier, though divided With that bad Woman?
Thus, what thou desirest, And what thou fearest, alike destroys all hope Of refuge, and concludes thee miserable Beyond all past example and future; To Satan only like both crime and doom.
O Conscience!
into what abyss of fears And horrours hast thou driven me; out of which I find no way, from deep to deeper plunged!
Why comes not Death, Said he, with one thrice - acceptable stroke To end me?
Shall Truth fail to keep her word, Justice Divine not hasten to be just?
But Death comes not at call; Justice Divine Mends not her slowest pace for prayers or cries, O woods, O fountains, hillocks, dales, and bowers!
With other echo late I taught your shades To answer, and resound far other song.-- Whom thus afflicted when sad Eve beheld, Desolate where she sat, approaching nigh, Soft words to his fierce passion she assayed: But her with stern regard he thus repelled.
Out of my sight, thou Serpent!
why did God, Creator wise, that peopled highest Heaven With Spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature, and not fill the world at once With Men, as Angels, without feminine; Or find some other way to generate Mankind?
He added not, and from her turned; but Eve, Not so repulsed, with tears that ceased not flowing And tresses all disordered, at his feet Fell humble; and, embracing them, besought His peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint.
Forsake me not thus, Adam!
witness Heaven What love sincere, and reverence in my heart I bear thee, and unweeting have offended, Unhappily deceived!
Thy suppliant I beg, and clasp thy knees; bereave me not, Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid, Thy counsel, in this uttermost distress, My only strength and stay: Forlorn of thee, Whither shall I betake me, where subsist?
Unwary, and too desirous, as before, So now of what thou knowest not, who desirest The punishment all on thyself; alas!
Bear thine own first, ill able to sustain His full wrath, whose thou feelest as yet least part, And my displeasure bearest so ill.
If prayers Could alter high decrees, I to that place Would speed before thee, and be louder heard, That on my head all might be visited; Thy frailty and infirmer sex forgiven, To me committed, and by me exposed.
derived.
To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, replied.
Childless thou art, childless remain: so Death Shall be deceived his glut, and with us two Be forced to satisfy his ravenous maw.
-- She ended here, or vehement despair Broke off the rest: so much of death her thoughts Had entertained, as dyed her cheeks with pale.
But Adam, with such counsel nothing swayed, To better hopes his more attentive mind Labouring had raised; and thus to Eve replied.
unless Be meant, whom I conjecture, our grand foe, Satan; who, in the serpent, hath contrived Against us this deceit: To crush his head Would be revenge indeed!
which will be lost By death brought on ourselves, or childless days Resolved, as thou proposest; so our foe Shal'scape his punishment ordained, and we Instead shall double ours upon our heads.
No more be mentioned then of violence Against ourselves; and wilful barrenness, That cuts us off from hope; and savours only Rancour and pride, impatience and despite, Reluctance against God and his just yoke Laid on our necks.
Book XI
Undoubtedly he will relent, and turn From his displeasure; in whose look serene, When angry most he seemed and most severe, What else but favour, grace, and mercy, shone?
To whom the Father, without cloud, serene.
But let us call to synod all the Blest, Through Heaven's wide bounds: from them I will not hide My judgements; how with mankind I proceed, As how with peccant Angels late they saw, And in their state, though firm, stood more confirmed.
He ended, and the Son gave signal high To the bright minister that watched; he blew His trumpet, heard in Oreb since perhaps When God descended, and perhaps once more To sound at general doom.
O Sons, like one of us Man is become To know both good and evil, since his taste Of that defended fruit; but let him boast His knowledge of good lost, and evil got; Happier!
had it sufficed him to have known Good by itself, and evil not at all.
He sorrows now, repents, and prays contrite, My motions in him; longer than they move, His heart I know, how variable and vain, Self - left.
Lest therefore his now bolder hand Reach also of the tree of life, and eat, And live for ever, dream at least to live For ever, to remove him I decree, And send him from the garden forth to till The ground whence he was taken, fitter soil.
Yet, lest they faint At the sad sentence rigorously urged, (For I behold them softened, and with tears Bewailing their excess,) all terrour hide.
Whence hail to thee, Eve rightly called, mother of all mankind, Mother of all things living, since by thee Man is to live; and all things live for Man.
To whom thus Eve with sad demeanour meek.
Here let us live, though in fallen state, content.
Adam observed, and with his eye the chase Pursuing, not unmoved, to Eve thus spake.
O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh, Which Heaven, by these mute signs in Nature, shows Forerunners of his purpose; or to warn Us, haply too secure, of our discharge From penalty, because from death released Some days: how long, and what till then our life, Who knows?
or more than this, that we are dust, And thither must return, and be no more?
Why else this double object in our sight Of flight pursued in the air, and o'er the ground, One way the self - same hour?
why in the east Darkness ere day's mid - course, and morning - light More orient in yon western cloud, that draws O'er the blue firmament a radiant white, And slow descends with something heavenly fraught?
He erred not; for by this the heavenly bands Down from a sky of jasper lighted now In Paradise, and on a hill made halt; A glorious apparition, had not doubt And carnal fear that day dimmed Adam's eye.
The princely Hierarch In their bright stand there left his Powers, to seise Possession of the garden; he alone, To find where Adam sheltered, took his way, Not unperceived of Adam; who to Eve, While the great visitant approached, thus spake.
yet not terrible, That I should fear; nor sociably mild, As Raphael, that I should much confide; But solemn and sublime; whom not to offend, With reverence I must meet, and thou retire.
Adam bowed low; he, kingly, from his state Inclined not, but his coming thus declared.
He added not; for Adam at the news Heart - struck with chilling gripe of sorrow stood, That all his senses bound; Eve, who unseen Yet all had heard, with audible lament Discovered soon the place of her retire.
O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death!
Must I thus leave thee $ Paradise?
thus leave Thee, native soil!
these happy walks and shades, Fit haunt of Gods?
where I had hope to spend, Quiet though sad, the respite of that day That must be mortal to us both.
O flowers, That never will in other climate grow, My early visitation, and my last; t even, which I bred up with tender hand From the first opening bud, and gave ye names!
Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount?
Thee lastly, nuptial bower!
by me adorned With what to sight or smell was sweet!
from thee How shall I part, and whither wander down Into a lower world; to this obscure And wild?
how shall we breathe in other air Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits?
Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild.
Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign What justly thou hast lost, nor set thy heart, Thus over - fond, on that which is not thine: Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes Thy husband; whom to follow thou art bound; Where he abides, think there thy native soil.
Adam, by this from the cold sudden damp Recovering, and his scattered spirits returned, To Michael thus his humble words addressed.
Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or named Of them the highest; for such of shape may seem Prince above princes!
For though I fled him angry, yet recalled To life prolonged and promised race, I now Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts Of glory; and far off his steps adore.
To whom thus Michael with regard benign.
To whom thus Adam gratefully replied.
Ascend, I follow thee, safe Guide, the path Thou leadest me; and to the hand of Heaven submit, However chastening; to the evil turn My obvious breast; arming to overcome By suffering, and earn rest from labour won, If so I may attain.
-- So both ascend In the visions of God.
It was a hill, Of Paradise the highest; from whose top The hemisphere of earth, in clearest ken, Stretched out to the amplest reach of prospect lay.
Not higher that hill, nor wider looking round, Whereon, for different cause, the Tempter set Our second Adam, in the wilderness; To show him all Earth's kingdoms, and their glory.
But to nobler sights Michael from Adam's eyes the film removed, Which that false fruit that promised clearer sight Had bred; then purged with euphrasy and rue The visual nerve, for he had much to see; And from the well of life three drops instilled.
So deep the power of these ingredients pierced, Even to the inmost seat of mental sight, That Adam, now enforced to close his eyes, Sunk down, and all his spirits became entranced; But him the gentle Angel by the hand Soon raised, and his attention thus recalled.
Much at that sight was Adam in his heart Dismayed, and thus in haste to the Angel cried.
O Teacher, some great mischief hath befallen To that meek man, who well had sacrificed; Is piety thus and pure devotion paid?
To whom Michael thus, he also moved, replied.
To which our sire.
Alas!
both for the deed, and for the cause!
But have I now seen Death?
Is this the way I must return to native dust?
O sight Of terrour, foul and ugly to behold, Horrid to think, how horrible to feel!
To whom thus Michael.
Death thou hast seen In his first shape on Man; but many shapes Of Death, and many are the ways that lead To his grim cave, all dismal; yet to sense More terrible at the entrance, than within.
Dire was the tossing, deep the groans; Despair Tended the sick busiest from couch to couch; And over them triumphant Death his dart Shook, but delayed to strike, though oft invoked With vows, as their chief good, and final hope.
Sight so deform what heart of rock could long Dry - eyed behold?
Adam could not, but wept, Though not of woman born; compassion quelled His best of man, and gave him up to tears A space, till firmer thoughts restrained excess; And, scarce recovering words, his plaint renewed.
O miserable mankind, to what fall Degraded, to what wretched state reserved!
Better end here unborn.
Why is life given To be thus wrested from us?
rather, why Obtruded on us thus?
who, if we knew What we receive, would either no accept Life offered, or soon beg to lay it down; Glad to be so dismissed in peace.
Can thus The image of God in Man, created once So goodly and erect, though faulty since, To such unsightly sufferings be debased Under inhuman pains?
Why should not Man, Retaining still divine similitude In part, from such deformities be free, And, for his Maker's image sake, exempt?
Their Maker's image, answered Michael, then Forsook them, when themselves they vilified To serve ungoverned Appetite; and took His image whom they served, a brutish vice, Inductive mainly to the sin of Eve.
Therefore so abject is their punishment, Disfiguring not God's likeness, but their own; Or if his likeness, by themselves defaced; While they pervert pure Nature's healthful rules To loathsome sickness; worthily, since they God's image did not reverence in themselves.
I yield it just, said Adam, and submit.
But is there yet no other way, besides These painful passages, how we may come To death, and mix with our connatural dust?
To whom our ancestor.
Henceforth I fly not death, nor would prolong Life much; bent rather, how I may be quit, Fairest and easiest, of this cumbrous charge; Which I must keep till my appointed day Of rendering up, and patiently attend My dissolution.
Michael replied.
Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou livest Live well; how long, or short, permit to Heaven: And now prepare thee for another sight.
Such happy interview, and fair event Of love and youth not lost, songs, garlands, flowers, And charming symphonies, attached the heart Of Adam, soon inclined to admit delight, The bent of nature; which he thus expressed.
True opener of mine eyes, prime Angel blest; Much better seems this vision, and more hope Of peaceful days portends, than those two past; Those were of hate and death, or pain much worse; Here Nature seems fulfilled in all her ends.
To whom thus Michael.
Judge not what is best By pleasure, though to nature seeming meet; Created, as thou art, to nobler end Holy and pure, conformity divine.
To whom thus Adam, of short joy bereft.
O pity and shame, that they, who to live well Entered so fair, should turn aside to tread Paths indirect, or in the mid way faint!
But still I see the tenour of Man's woe Holds on the same, from Woman to begin.
From Man's effeminate slackness it begins, Said the Angel, who should better hold his place By wisdom, and superiour gifts received.
But now prepare thee for another scene.
Adam was all in tears, and to his guide Lamenting turned full sad; O! what are these, Death's ministers, not men?
who thus deal death Inhumanly to men, and multiply Ten thousandfold the sin of him who slew His brother: for of whom such massacre Make they, but of their brethren; men of men But who was that just man, whom had not Heaven Rescued, had in his righteousness been lost?
To whom thus Michael.
These are the product Of those ill - mated marriages thou sawest; Where good with bad were matched, who of themselves Abhor to join; and, by imprudence mixed, Produce prodigious births of body or mind.
Thus fame shall be achieved, renown on earth; And what most merits fame, in silence hid.
Of every beast, and bird, and insect small, Came sevens, and pairs; and entered in as taught Their order: last the sire and his three sons, With their four wives; and God made fast the door.
How didst thou grieve then, Adam, to behold The end of all thy offspring, end so sad, Depopulation!
O visions ill foreseen!
Better had I Lived ignorant of future!
so had borne My part of evil only, each day's lot Enough to bear; those now, that were dispensed The burden of many ages, on me light At once, by my foreknowledge gaining birth Abortive, to torment me ere their being, With thought that they must be.
How comes it thus?
unfold, celestial Guide, And whether here the race of Man will end.
To whom thus Michael.
And now, what further shall ensue, behold.
The ark no more now floats, but seems on ground, Fast on the top of some high mountain fixed.
And now the tops of hills, as rocks, appear; With clamour thence the rapid currents drive, Towards the retreating sea, their furious tide.
Whereat the heart of Adam, erst so sad, Greatly rejoiced; and thus his joy broke forth.
O thou, who future things canst represent As present, heavenly Instructer!
I revive At this last sight; assured that Man shall live, With all the creatures, and their seed preserve.
Far less I now lament for one whole world Of wicked sons destroyed, than I rejoice For one man found so perfect, and so just, That God vouchsafes to raise another world From him, and all his anger to forget.
But say, what mean those coloured streaks in Heaven Distended, as the brow of God appeased?
Or serve they, as a flowery verge, to bind The fluid skirts of that same watery cloud, Lest it again dissolve, and shower the earth?
To whom the Arch - Angel.
Book XII
As one who in his journey bates at noon, Though bent on speed; so here the Arch - Angel paused Betwixt the world destroyed and world restored, If Adam aught perhaps might interpose; Then, with transition sweet, new speech resumes.
Thus thou hast seen one world begin, and end; And Man, as from a second stock, proceed.
Much thou hast yet to see; but I perceive Thy mortal sight to fail; objects divine Must needs impair and weary human sense: Henceforth what is to come I will relate; Thou therefore give due audience, and attend.
Whereto thus Adam, fatherly displeased.
O execrable son!
To whom thus Michael.
Therefore, since he permits Within himself unworthy powers to reign Over free reason, God, in judgement just, Subjects him from without to violent lords; Who oft as undeservedly enthrall His outward freedom: Tyranny must be; Though to the tyrant thereby no excuse.
should be so stupid grown, While yet the patriarch lived, who'scaped the flood, As to forsake the living God, and fall To worship their own work in wood and stone For Gods!
This ponder, that all nations of the earth Shall in his seed be blessed: By that seed Is meant thy great Deliverer, who shall bruise The Serpent's head; whereof to thee anon Plainlier shall be revealed.
To sojourn in that land He comes, invited by a younger son In time of dearth, a son whose worthy deeds Raise him to be the second in that realm Of Pharaoh.
so call the third From Abraham, son of Isaac; and from him His whole descent, who thus shall Canaan win.
Here Adam interposed.
This yet I apprehend not, why to those Among whom God will deign to dwell on earth So many and so various laws are given; So many laws argue so many sins Among them; how can God with such reside?
To whom thus Michael.
But first, a long succession must ensue; And his next son, for wealth and wisdom famed, The clouded ark of God, till then in tents Wandering, shall in a glorious temple enshrine.
There in captivity he lets them dwell The space of seventy years; then brings them back, Remembering mercy, and his covenant sworn To David, stablished as the days of Heaven.
A virgin is his mother, but his sire The power of the Most High: He shall ascend The throne hereditary, and bound his reign With Earth's wide bounds, his glory with the Heavens.
He ceased, discerning Adam with such joy Surcharged, as had like grief been dewed in tears, Without the vent of words; which these he breathed.
O prophet of glad tidings, finisher Of utmost hope!
Needs must the Serpent now his capital bruise Expect with mortal pain: Say where and when Their fight, what stroke shall bruise the victor's heel.
To whom thus Michael.
All nations they shall teach; for, from that day, Not only to the sons of Abraham's loins Salvation shall be preached, but to the sons Of Abraham's faith wherever through the world; So in his seed all nations shall be blest.
So spake the Arch - Angel Michael; then paused, As at the world's great period; and our sire, Replete with joy and wonder, thus replied.
O Goodness infinite, Goodness immense!
That all this good of evil shall produce, And evil turn to good; more wonderful Than that which by creation first brought forth Light out of darkness!
Full of doubt I stand, Whether I should repent me now of sin By me done, and occasioned; or rejoice Much more, that much more good thereof shall spring; To God more glory, more good - will to Men From God, and over wrath grace shall abound.
But say, if our Deliverer up to Heaven Must re - ascend, what will betide the few His faithful, left among the unfaithful herd, The enemies of truth?
Who then shall guide His people, who defend?
Will they not deal Worse with his followers than with him they dealt?
What will they then But force the Spirit of Grace itself, and bind His consort Liberty?
what, but unbuild His living temples, built by faith to stand, Their own faith, not another's?
for, on earth, Who against faith and conscience can be heard Infallible?
He ended; and thus Adam last replied.
How soon hath thy prediction, Seer blest, Measured this transient world, the race of time, Till time stand fixed!
Beyond is all abyss, Eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
Greatly - instructed I shall hence depart; Greatly in peace of thought; and have my fill Of knowledge, what this vessel can contain; Beyond which was my folly to aspire.
To whom thus also the Angel last replied.
He ended, and they both descend the hill; Descended, Adam to the bower, where Eve Lay sleeping, ran before; but found her waked; And thus with words not sad she him received.
This further consolation yet secure I carry hence; though all by me is lost, Such favour I unworthy am vouchsafed, By me the Promised Seed shall all restore.
[ The End ]
[ The Tragedie of Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare 1599 ]
Actus Primus.
Scoena Prima.
Enter Flauius, Murellus, and certaine Commoners ouer the Stage.
Flauius.
Hence: home you idle Creatures, get you home: Is this a Holiday?
What, know you not (Being Mechanicall) you ought not walke Vpon a labouring day, without the signe Of your Profession?
Speake, what Trade art thou?
Car.
Why Sir, a Carpenter
Mur.
Where is thy Leather Apron, and thy Rule?
What dost thou with thy best Apparrell on?
You sir, what Trade are you?
Cobl.
Truely Sir, in respect of a fine Workman, I am but as you would say, a Cobler
Mur.
But what Trade art thou?
Answer me directly
Cob.
A Trade Sir, that I hope I may vse, with a safe Conscience, which is indeed Sir, a Mender of bad soules
Fla. What Trade thou knaue?
Thou naughty knaue, what Trade?
Cobl.
Nay I beseech you Sir, be not out with me: yet if you be out Sir, I can mend you
Mur.
What mean'st thou by that?
Mend mee, thou sawcy Fellow?
Cob.
Why sir, Cobble you
Fla. Thou art a Cobler, art thou?
Cob.
Truly sir, all that I liue by, is with the Aule: I meddle with no Tradesmans matters, nor womens matters; but withal I am indeed Sir, a Surgeon to old shooes: when they are in great danger, I recouer them.
As proper men as euer trod vpon Neats Leather, haue gone vpon my handy - worke
Fla.
But wherefore art not in thy Shop to day?
Why do'st thou leade these men about the streets?
Cob.
Truly sir, to weare out their shooes, to get my selfe into more worke.
But indeede sir, we make Holyday to see Caesar, and to reioyce in his Triumph
Mur.
Wherefore reioyce?
What Conquest brings he home?
What Tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in Captiue bonds his Chariot Wheeles?
You Blockes, you stones, you worse then senslesse things: O you hard hearts, you cruell men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey many a time and oft?
Haue you climb'd vp to Walles and Battlements, To Towres and Windowes?
And do you now put on your best attyre?
And do you now cull out a Holyday?
And do you now strew Flowers in his way, That comes in Triumph ouer Pompeyes blood?
Be gone, Runne to your houses, fall vpon your knees, Pray to the Gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this Ingratitude
Fla. Go, go, good Countrymen, and for this fault Assemble all the poore men of your sort; Draw them to Tyber bankes, and weepe your teares Into the Channell, till the lowest streame Do kisse the most exalted Shores of all.
Exeunt.
all the Commoners.
See where their basest mettle be not mou'd, They vanish tongue - tyed in their guiltinesse: Go you downe that way towards the Capitoll, This way will I: Disrobe the Images, If you do finde them deckt with Ceremonies
Mur.
May we do so?
You know it is the Feast of Lupercall
Fla.
It is no matter, let no Images Be hung with Caesars Trophees: Ile about, And driue away the Vulgar from the streets; So do you too, where you perceiue them thicke.
These growing Feathers, pluckt from Caesars wing, Will make him flye an ordinary pitch, Who else would soare aboue the view of men, And keepe vs all in seruile fearefulnesse.
Exeunt.
Enter Caesar, Antony for the Course, Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, Caska, a Soothsayer: after them Murellus and Flauius.
Caes.
Calphurnia
Cask.
Peace ho, Caesar speakes
Caes.
Calphurnia
Calp.
Heere my Lord
Caes.
Stand you directly in Antonio's way, When he doth run his course.
Antonio
Ant.
Cæsar, my Lord
Caes.
Forget not in your speed Antonio, To touch Calphurnia: for our Elders say, The Barren touched in this holy chace, Shake off their sterrile curse
Ant.
I shall remember, When Caesar sayes, Do this; it is perform'd
Caes.
Set on, and leaue no Ceremony out
Sooth.
Caesar
Caes.
Ha?
Who calles?
Cask.
Bid euery noyse be still: peace yet againe
Caes.
Who is it in the presse, that calles on me?
I heare a Tongue shriller then all the Musicke Cry, Caesar: Speake, Caesar is turn'd to heare
Sooth.
Beware the Ides of March
Caes.
What man is that?
Br.
A Sooth - sayer bids you beware the Ides of March Caes.
Set him before me, let me see his face
Cassi.
Fellow, come from the throng, look vpon Caesar
Caes.
What sayst thou to me now?
Speak once againe, Sooth.
Beware the Ides of March
Caes.
He is a Dreamer, let vs leaue him: Passe.
Sennet
Exeunt.
Manet Brut.
& Cass.
Cassi.
Will you go see the order of the course?
Brut.
Not I
Cassi.
I pray you do
Brut.
I am not Gamesom: I do lacke some part Of that quicke Spirit that is in Antony: Let me not hinder Cassius your desires; Ile leaue you
Cassi.
Brutus, I do obserue you now of late: I haue not from your eyes, that gentlenesse And shew of Loue, as I was wont to haue: You beare too stubborne, and too strange a hand Ouer your Friend, that loues you
Bru.
Cassius, Be not deceiu'd: If I haue veyl'd my looke, I turne the trouble of my Countenance Meerely vpon my selfe.
Cassi.
Then Brutus, I haue much mistook your passion, By meanes whereof, this Brest of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy Cogitations.
Tell me good Brutus, Can you see your face?
Brutus.
No Cassius: For the eye sees not it selfe but by reflection, By some other things
Cassius.
Bru.
Into what dangers, would you Leade me Cassius?
That you would haue me seeke into my selfe, For that which is not in me?
Cas.
Therefore good Brutus, be prepar'd to heare: And since you know, you cannot see your selfe So well as by Reflection; I your Glasse, Will modestly discouer to your selfe That of your selfe, which you yet know not of.
Flourish, and Shout.
Bru.
What meanes this Showting?
I do feare, the People choose Caesar For their King
Cassi.
I, do you feare it?
Then must I thinke you would not haue it so
Bru.
I would not Cassius, yet I loue him well: But wherefore do you hold me heere so long?
What is it, that you would impart to me?
If it be ought toward the generall good, Set Honor in one eye, and Death i'th other, And I will looke on both indifferently: For let the Gods so speed mee, as I loue The name of Honor, more then I feare death
Cassi.
I know that vertue to be in you Brutus, As well as I do know your outward fauour.
Well, Honor is the subiect of my Story: I cannot tell, what you and other men Thinke of this life: But for my single selfe, I had as liefe not be, as liue to be In awe of such a Thing, as I my selfe.
I was borne free as Caesar, so were you, We both haue fed as well, and we can both Endure the Winters cold, as well as hee.
For once, vpon a Rawe and Gustie day, The troubled Tyber, chafing with her Shores, Caesar saide to me, Dar'st thou Cassius now Leape in with me into this angry Flood, And swim to yonder Point?
Vpon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, And bad him follow: so indeed he did.
The Torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it With lusty Sinewes, throwing it aside, And stemming it with hearts of Controuersie.
But ere we could arriue the Point propos'd, Caesar cride, Helpe me Cassius, or I sinke.
Shout.
Flourish.
Bru.
Another generall shout?
I do beleeue, that these applauses are For some new Honors, that are heap'd on Caesar
Cassi.
Why man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walke vnder his huge legges, and peepe about To finde our selues dishonourable Graues.
Men at sometime, are Masters of their Fates.
The fault (deere Brutus) is not in our Starres, But in our Selues, that we are vnderlings.
Brutus and Caesar: What should be in that Caesar?
Why should that name be sounded more then yours Write them together: Yours, is as faire a Name: Sound them, it doth become the mouth aswell: Weigh them, it is as heauy: Coniure with'em, Brutus will start a Spirit as soone as Caesar.
Now in the names of all the Gods at once, Vpon what meate doth this our Caesar feede, That he is growne so great?
Age, thou art sham'd.
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of Noble Bloods.
When went there by an Age, since the great Flood, But it was fam'd with more then with one man?
When could they say (till now) that talk'd of Rome, That her wide Walkes incompast but one man?
Now is it Rome indeed, and Roome enough When there is in it but one onely man.
you and I, haue heard our Fathers say, There was a Brutus once, that would haue brook'd Th'eternall Diuell to keepe his State in Rome, As easily as a King
Bru.
That you do loue me, I am nothing iealous: What you would worke me too, I haue some ayme: How I haue thought of this, and of these times I shall recount heereafter.
For this present, I would not so (with loue I might intreat you) Be any further moou'd: What you haue said, I will consider: what you haue to say I will with patience heare, and finde a time Both meete to heare, and answer such high things.
Till then, my Noble Friend, chew vpon this: Brutus had rather be a Villager, Then to repute himselfe a Sonne of Rome Vnder these hard Conditions, as this time Is like to lay vpon vs
Cassi.
I am glad that my weake words Haue strucke but thus much shew of fire from Brutus, Enter Caesar and his Traine.
Bru.
The Games are done, And Caesar is returning
Cassi.
As they passe by, Plucke Caska by the Sleeue, And he will (after his sowre fashion) tell you What hath proceeded worthy note to day
Bru.
Cassi.
Caska will tell vs what the matter is
Caes Antonio
Ant.
Caesar
Caes Let me haue men about me, that are fat, Sleeke - headed men, and such as sleepe a - nights: Yond Cassius has a leane and hungry looke, He thinkes too much: such men are dangerous
Ant.
Feare him not Caesar, he's not dangerous, He is a Noble Roman, and well giuen
Caes Would he were fatter; But I feare him not: Yet if my name were lyable to feare, I do not know the man I should auoyd So soone as that spare Cassius.
He reades much, He is a great Obseruer, and he lookes Quite through the Deeds of men.
He loues no Playes, As thou dost Antony: he heares no Musicke; Seldome he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mock'd himselfe, and scorn'd his spirit That could be mou'd to smile at any thing.
Such men as he, be neuer at hearts ease, Whiles they behold a greater then themselues, And therefore are they very dangerous.
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd, Then what I feare: for alwayes I am Caesar.
Come on my right hand, for this eare is deafe, And tell me truely, what thou think'st of him.
Sennit.
Exeunt.
Caesar and his Traine.
Cask.
You pul'd me by the cloake, would you speake with me?
Bru.
I Caska, tell vs what hath chanc'd to day That Caesar lookes so sad
Cask.
Why you were with him, were you not?
Bru.
I should not then aske Caska what had chanc'd
Cask.
Why there was a Crowne offer'd him; & being offer'd him, he put it by with the backe of his hand thus, and then the people fell a shouting
Bru.
What was the second noyse for?
Cask.
Why for that too
Cassi.
They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for?
Cask.
Why for that too
Bru.
Was the Crowne offer'd him thrice?
Cask.
I marry was't, and hee put it by thrice, euerie time gentler then other; and at euery putting by, mine honest Neighbors showted
Cassi.
Who offer'd him the Crowne?
Cask.
Why Antony
Bru.
Tell vs the manner of it, gentle Caska
Caska.
I can as well bee hang'd as tell the manner of it: It was meere Foolerie, I did not marke it.
I sawe Marke Antony offer him a Crowne, yet'twas not a Crowne neyther,'twas one of these Coronets: and as I told you, hee put it by once: but for all that, to my thinking, he would faine haue had it.
Then hee offered it to him againe: then hee put it by againe: but to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it.
Cassi.
But soft I pray you: what, did Caesar swound?
Cask.
He fell downe in the Market - place, and foam'd at mouth, and was speechlesse
Brut.
' Tis very like he hath the Falling sicknesse
Cassi.
No, Caesar hath it not: but you, and I, And honest Caska, we haue the Falling sicknesse
Cask.
I know not what you meane by that, but I am sure Caesar fell downe.
If the tag - ragge people did not clap him, and hisse him, according as he pleas'd, and displeas'd them, as they vse to doe the Players in the Theatre, I am no true man
Brut.
What said he, when he came vnto himselfe?
Cask.
When he came to himselfe againe, hee said, If hee had done, or said any thing amisse, he desir'd their Worships to thinke it was his infirmitie.
Three or foure Wenches where I stood, cryed, Alasse good Soule, and forgaue him with all their hearts: But there's no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar had stab'd their Mothers, they would haue done no lesse
Brut.
And after that, he came thus sad away
Cask.
Cassi.
Did Cicero say any thing?
Cask.
I, he spoke Greeke
Cassi.
To what effect?
Cask.
Nay, and I tell you that, Ile ne're looke you i'th'face againe.
But those that vnderstood him, smil'd at one another, and shooke their heads: but for mine owne part, it was Greeke to me.
I could tell you more newes too: Murrellus and Flauius, for pulling Scarffes off Caesars Images, are put to silence.
Fare you well.
There was more Foolerie yet, if I could remember it
Cassi.
Will you suppe with me to Night, Caska?
Cask.
No, I am promis'd forth
Cassi.
Will you Dine with me to morrow?
Cask.
I, if I be aliue, and your minde hold, and your Dinner worth the eating
Cassi.
Good, I will expect you
Cask.
Doe so: farewell both.
Enter.
Brut.
What a blunt fellow is this growne to be?
He was quick Mettle, when he went to Schoole
Cassi.
So is he now, in execution Of any bold, or Noble Enterprize, How - euer he puts on this tardie forme: This Rudenesse is a Sawce to his good Wit, Which giues men stomacke to disgest his words With better Appetite
Brut.
And so it is: For this time I will leaue you: To morrow, if you please to speake with me, I will come home to you: or if you will, Come home to me, and I will wait for you
Cassi.
I will doe so: till then, thinke of the World.
Exit Brutus.
Well Brutus, thou art Noble: yet I see, Thy Honorable Mettle may be wrought From that it is dispos'd: therefore it is meet, That Noble mindes keepe euer with their likes: For who so firme, that cannot be seduc'd?
Caesar doth beare me hard, but he loues Brutus.
If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, He should not humor me.
I will this Night, In seuerall Hands, in at his Windowes throw, As if they came from seuerall Citizens, Writings, all tending to the great opinion That Rome holds of his Name: wherein obscurely Caesars Ambition shall be glanced at.
And after this, let Caesar seat him sure, For wee will shake him, or worse dayes endure.
Enter.
Thunder, and Lightning.
Enter Caska, and Cicero.
Cic.
Good euen, Caska: brought you Caesar home?
Why are you breathlesse, and why stare you so?
Cask.
Are not you mou'd, when all the sway of Earth Shakes, like a thing vnfirme?
Eyther there is a Ciuill strife in Heauen, Or else the World, too sawcie with the Gods, Incenses them to send destruction
Cic.
Why, saw you any thing more wonderfull?
Cask.
A common slaue, you know him well by sight, Held vp his left Hand, which did flame and burne Like twentie Torches ioyn'd; and yet his Hand, Not sensible of fire, remain'd vnscorch'd.
Besides, I ha'not since put vp my Sword, Against the Capitoll I met a Lyon, Who glaz'd vpon me, and went surly by, Without annoying me.
And there were drawne Vpon a heape, a hundred gastly Women, Transformed with their feare, who swore, they saw Men, all in fire, walke vp and downe the streetes.
And yesterday, the Bird of Night did sit, Euen at Noone - day, vpon the Market place, Howting, and shreeking.
When these Prodigies Doe so conioyntly meet, let not men say, These are their Reasons, they are Naturall: For I beleeue, they are portentous things Vnto the Clymate, that they point vpon
Cic.
Indeed, it is a strange disposed time: But men may construe things after their fashion, Cleane from the purpose of the things themselues.
Comes Caesar to the Capitoll to morrow?
Cask.
He doth: for he did bid Antonio Send word to you, he would be there to morrow
Cic.
Good - night then, Caska: This disturbed Skie is not to walke in
Cask.
Farewell Cicero.
Exit Cicero.
Enter Cassius.
Cassi.
Who's there?
Cask.
A Romane
Cassi.
Caska, by your Voyce
Cask.
Your Eare is good.
Cassius, what Night is this?
Cassi.
A very pleasing Night to honest men
Cask.
Who euer knew the Heauens menace so?
Cassi.
Those that haue knowne the Earth so full of faults.
Cask.
But wherefore did you so much tempt the Heauens?
It is the part of men, to feare and tremble, When the most mightie Gods, by tokens send Such dreadfull Heraulds, to astonish vs
Cassi.
You are dull, Caska: And those sparkes of Life, that should be in a Roman, You doe want, or else you vse not.
Cask.
' Tis Caesar that you meane: Is it not, Cassius?
Cassi.
Let it be who it is: for Romans now Haue Thewes, and Limbes, like to their Ancestors; But woe the while, our Fathers mindes are dead, And we are gouern'd with our Mothers spirits, Our yoake, and sufferance, shew vs Womanish
Cask.
Indeed, they say, the Senators to morrow Meane to establish Caesar as a King: And he shall weare his Crowne by Sea, and Land, In euery place, saue here in Italy
Cassi.
I know where I will weare this Dagger then; Cassius from Bondage will deliuer Cassius: Therein, yee Gods, you make the weake most strong; Therein, yee Gods, you Tyrants doe defeat.
Nor Stonie Tower, nor Walls of beaten Brasse, Nor ayre - lesse Dungeon, nor strong Linkes of Iron, Can be retentiue to the strength of spirit: But Life being wearie of these worldly Barres, Neuer lacks power to dismisse it selfe.
If I know this, know all the World besides, That part of Tyrannie that I doe beare, I can shake off at pleasure.
Thunder still.
Cask.
So can I: So euery Bond - man in his owne hand beares The power to cancell his Captiuitie
Cassi.
And why should Cæsar be a Tyrant then?
Poore man, I know he would not be a Wolfe, But that he sees the Romans are but Sheepe: He were no Lyon, were not Romans Hindes.
Those that with haste will make a mightie fire, Begin it with weake Strawes.
What trash is Rome?
What Rubbish, and what Offall?
when it serues For the base matter, to illuminate So vile a thing as Caesar.
But oh Griefe, Where hast thou led me?
I (perhaps) speake this Before a willing Bond - man: then I know My answere must be made.
But I am arm'd, And dangers are to me indifferent
Cask.
You speake to Caska, and to such a man, That is no flearing Tell - tale.
Hold, my Hand: Be factious for redresse of all these Griefes, And I will set this foot of mine as farre, As who goes farthest
Cassi.
There's a Bargaine made.
Enter Cinna.
Caska.
Stand close a while, for heere comes one in haste
Cassi.
' Tis Cinna, I doe know him by his Gate, He is a friend.
Cinna, where haste you so?
Cinna.
To finde out you: Who's that, Metellus Cymber?
Cassi.
No, it is Caska, one incorporate To our Attempts.
Am I not stay'd for, Cinna?
Cinna.
I am glad on't.
What a fearefull Night is this?
There's two or three of vs haue seene strange sights
Cassi.
Am I not stay'd for?
tell me
Cinna.
Yes, you are.
O Cassius, If you could but winne the Noble Brutus To our party - Cassi.
Be you content.
Cinna.
All, but Metellus Cymber, and hee's gone To seeke you at your house.
Well, I will hie, And so bestow these Papers as you bad me
Cassi.
That done, repayre to Pompeyes Theater.
Exit Cinna.
Come Caska, you and I will yet, ere day, See Brutus at his house: three parts of him Is ours alreadie, and the man entire Vpon the next encounter, yeelds him ours
Cask.
O, he sits high in all the Peoples hearts: And that which would appeare Offence in vs, His Countenance, like richest Alchymie, Will change to Vertue, and to Worthinesse
Cassi.
Him, and his worth, and our great need of him, You haue right well conceited: let vs goe, For it is after Mid - night, and ere day, We will awake him, and be sure of him.
Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
Enter Brutus in his Orchard.
Brut.
What Lucius, hoe?
I cannot, by the progresse of the Starres, Giue guesse how neere to day - Lucius, I say?
I would it were my fault to sleepe so soundly.
When Lucius, when?
awake, I say: what Lucius?
Enter Lucius.
Luc.
Call'd you, my Lord?
Brut.
Get me a Tapor in my Study, Lucius: When it is lighted, come and call me here
Luc.
I will, my Lord.
Enter.
Brut.
It must be by his death: and for my part, I know no personall cause, to spurne at him, But for the generall.
He would be crown'd: How that might change his nature, there's the question?
It is the bright day, that brings forth the Adder, And that craues warie walking: Crowne him that, And then I graunt we put a Sting in him, That at his will he may doe danger with.
Th'abuse of Greatnesse, is, when it dis - ioynes Remorse from Power: And to speake truth of Caesar, I haue not knowne, when his Affections sway'd More then his Reason.
Enter Lucius.
Luc.
The Taper burneth in your Closet, Sir: Searching the Window for a Flint, I found This Paper, thus seal'd vp, and I am sure It did not lye there when I went to Bed.
Giues him the Letter.
Brut.
Get you to Bed againe, it is not day: Is not to morrow (Boy) the first of March?
Luc.
I know not, Sir
Brut.
Looke in the Calender, and bring me word
Luc.
I will, Sir.
Enter.
Brut.
The exhalations, whizzing in the ayre, Giue so much light, that I may reade by them.
Opens the Letter, and reades.
Brutus thou sleep'st; awake, and see thy selfe: Shall Rome, & c. speake, strike, redresse.
Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake.
Such instigations haue beene often dropt, Where I haue tooke them vp: Shall Rome, & c. Thus must I piece it out: Shall Rome stand vnder one mans awe?
What Rome?
My Ancestors did from the streetes of Rome The Tarquin driue, when he was call'd a King.
Speake, strike, redresse.
Am I entreated To speake, and strike?
O Rome, I make thee promise, If the redresse will follow, thou receiuest Thy full Petition at the hand of Brutus.
Enter Lucius.
Luc.
Sir, March is wasted fifteene dayes.
Knocke within.
Brut.
' Tis good.
Go to the Gate, some body knocks: Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, I haue not slept.
Enter Lucius.
Luc.
Sir,'tis your Brother Cassius at the Doore, Who doth desire to see you
Brut.
Is he alone?
Luc.
No, Sir, there are moe with him
Brut.
Doe you know them?
Luc.
No, Sir, their Hats are pluckt about their Eares, And halfe their Faces buried in their Cloakes, That by no meanes I may discouer them, By any marke of fauour
Brut.
Let'em enter: They are the Faction.
O Conspiracie, Sham'st thou to shew thy dang'rous Brow by Night, When euills are most free?
O then, by day Where wilt thou finde a Cauerne darke enough, To maske thy monstrous Visage?
Seek none Conspiracie, Hide it in Smiles, and Affabilitie: For if thou path thy natiue semblance on, Not Erebus it selfe were dimme enough, To hide thee from preuention.
Enter the Conspirators, Cassius, Caska, Decius, Cinna, Metellus, and Trebonius.
Cass.
I thinke we are too bold vpon your Rest: Good morrow Brutus, doe we trouble you?
Brut.
I haue beene vp this howre, awake all Night: Know I these men, that come along with you?
Cass.
Yes, euery man of them; and no man here But honors you: and euery one doth wish, You had but that opinion of your selfe, Which euery Noble Roman beares of you.
This is Trebonius
Brut.
He is welcome hither
Cass.
This, Decius Brutus
Brut.
He is welcome too
Cass.
This, Caska; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cymber
Brut.
They are all welcome.
What watchfull Cares doe interpose themselues Betwixt your Eyes, and Night?
Cass.
Shall I entreat a word?
They whisper.
Decius.
Here lyes the East: doth not the Day breake heere?
Cask.
Cin.
O pardon, Sir, it doth; and yon grey Lines, That fret the Clouds, are Messengers of Day
Cask.
You shall confesse, that you are both deceiu'd: Heere, as I point my Sword, the Sunne arises, Which is a great way growing on the South, Weighing the youthfull Season of the yeare.
Some two moneths hence, vp higher toward the North He first presents his fire, and the high East Stands as the Capitoll, directly heere
Bru.
Giue me your hands all ouer, one by one
Cas.
And let vs sweare our Resolution
Brut.
No, not an Oath: if not the Face of men, The sufferance of our Soules, the times Abuse; If these be Motiues weake, breake off betimes, And euery man hence, to his idle bed: So let high - sighted - Tyranny range on, Till each man drop by Lottery.
But if these (As I am sure they do) beare fire enough To kindle Cowards, and to steele with valour The melting Spirits of women.
Then Countrymen, What neede we any spurre, but our owne cause To pricke vs to redresse?
What other Bond, Then secret Romans, that haue spoke the word, And will not palter?
And what other Oath, Then Honesty to Honesty ingag'd, That this shall be, or we will fall for it.
When euery drop of blood That euery Roman beares, and Nobly beares Is guilty of a seuerall Bastardie, If he do breake the smallest Particle Of any promise that hath past from him
Cas.
But what of Cicero?
Shall we sound him?
I thinke he will stand very strong with vs
Cask.
Let vs not leaue him out
Cyn.
No, by no meanes
Metel.
O let vs haue him, for his Siluer haires Will purchase vs a good opinion: And buy mens voyces, to commend our deeds: It shall be sayd, his iudgement rul'd our hands, Our youths, and wildenesse, shall no whit appeare, But all be buried in his Grauity
Bru.
O name him not; let vs not breake with him, For he will neuer follow any thing That other men begin
Cas.
Then leaue him out
Cask.
Indeed, he is not fit
Decius.
Shall no man else be toucht, but onely Caesar?
Cas.
Decius well vrg'd: I thinke it is not meet, Marke Antony, so well belou'd of Caesar, Should out - liue Caesar, we shall finde of him A shrew'd Contriuer.
And you know, his meanes If he improue them, may well stretch so farre As to annoy vs all: which to preuent, Let Antony and Caesar fall together
Bru.
Our course will seeme too bloody, Caius Cassius, To cut the Head off, and then hacke the Limbes: Like Wrath in death, and Enuy afterwards: For Antony, is but a Limbe of Caesar.
Let's be Sacrificers, but not Butchers Caius: We all stand vp against the spirit of Caesar, And in the Spirit of men, there is no blood: O that we then could come by Caesars Spirit, And not dismember Caesar!
But (alas) Caesar must bleed for it.
And gentle Friends, Let's kill him Boldly, but not Wrathfully: Let's carue him, as a Dish fit for the Gods, Not hew him as a Carkasse fit for Hounds: And let our Hearts, as subtle Masters do, Stirre vp their Seruants to an acte of Rage, And after seeme to chide'em.
This shall make Our purpose Necessary, and not Enuious.
Which so appearing to the common eyes, We shall be call'd Purgers, not Murderers.
And for Marke Antony, thinke not of him: For he can do no more then Caesars Arme, When Caesars head is off
Cas.
Yet I feare him, For in the ingrafted loue he beares to Caesar
Bru.
Alas, good Cassius, do not thinke of him: If he loue Caesar, all that he can do Is to himselfe; take thought, and dye for Caesar, And that were much he should: for he is giuen To sports, to wildenesse, and much company
Treb.
There is no feare in him; let him not dye, For he will liue, and laugh at this heereafter.
Clocke strikes.
Bru.
Peace, count the Clocke
Cas.
The Clocke hath stricken three
Treb.
' Tis time to part
Cass.
Decius.
Neuer feare that: If he be so resolu'd, I can ore - sway him: For he loues to heare, That Vnicornes may be betray'd with Trees, And Beares with Glasses, Elephants with Holes, Lyons with Toyles, and men with Flatterers.
But, when I tell him, he hates Flatterers, He sayes, he does; being then most flattered.
Let me worke: For I can giue his humour the true bent; And I will bring him to the Capitoll
Cas.
Nay, we will all of vs, be there to fetch him
Bru.
By the eight houre, is that the vttermost?
Cin.
Be that the vttermost, and faile not then
Met.
Caius Ligarius doth beare Caesar hard, Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey; I wonder none of you haue thought of him
Bru.
Now good Metellus go along by him: He loues me well, and I haue giuen him Reasons, Send him but hither, and Ile fashion him
Cas.
The morning comes vpon's: Wee'l leaue you Brutus, And Friends disperse your selues; but all remember What you haue said, and shew your selues true Romans
Bru.
Good Gentlemen, looke fresh and merrily, Let not our lookes put on our purposes, But beare it as our Roman Actors do, With vntyr'd Spirits, and formall Constancie, And so good morrow to you euery one.
Exeunt.
Manet Brutus.
Boy: Lucius: Fast asleepe?
It is no matter, Enioy the hony - heauy - Dew of Slumber: Thou hast no Figures, nor no Fantasies, Which busie care drawes, in the braines of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
Enter Portia.
Por.
Brutus, my Lord
Bru.
Portia: What meane you?
wherfore rise you now?
It is not for your health, thus to commit Your weake condition, to the raw cold morning
Por.
Nor for yours neither.
Y'haue vngently Brutus Stole from my bed: and yesternight at Supper You sodainly arose, and walk'd about, Musing, and sighing, with your armes acrosse And when I ask'd you what the matter was, You star'd vpon me, with vngentle lookes.
It will not let you eate, nor talke, nor sleepe; And could it worke so much vpon your shape, As it hath much preuayl'd on your Condition, I should not know you Brutus.
Deare my Lord, Make me acquainted with your cause of greefe
Bru.
I am not well in health, and that is all
Por.
Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, He would embrace the meanes to come by it
Bru.
Why so I do: good Portia go to bed
Por.
Is Brutus sicke?
And is it Physicall To walke vnbraced, and sucke vp the humours Of the danke Morning?
What, is Brutus sicke?
And will he steale out of his wholsome bed To dare the vile contagion of the Night?
And tempt the Rhewmy, and vnpurged Ayre, To adde vnto his sicknesse?
Bru.
Kneele not gentle Portia
Por.
I should not neede, if you were gentle Brutus.
Within the Bond of Marriage, tell me Brutus, Is it excepted, I should know no Secrets That appertaine to you?
Am I your Selfe, But as it were in sort, or limitation?
To keepe with you at Meales, comfort your Bed, And talke to you sometimes?
Dwell I but in the Suburbs Of your good pleasure?
If it be no more, Portia is Brutus Harlot, not his Wife
Bru.
You are my true and honourable Wife, As deere to me, as are the ruddy droppes That visit my sad heart
Por.
If this were true, then should I know this secret.
I graunt I am a Woman; but withall, A Woman that Lord Brutus tooke to Wife: I graunt I am a Woman; but withall, A Woman well reputed: Cato's Daughter.
Thinke you, I am no stronger then my Sex Being so Father'd, and so Husbanded?
Tell me your Counsels, I will not disclose'em: I haue made strong proofe of my Constancie, Giuing my selfe a voluntary wound Heere, in the Thigh: Can I beare that with patience, And not my Husbands Secrets?
Bru.
O ye Gods!
Render me worthy of this Noble Wife.
Knocke.
Harke, harke, one knockes: Portia go in a while, And by and by thy bosome shall partake The secrets of my Heart.
All my engagements, I will construe to thee, All the Charractery of my sad browes: Leaue me with hast.
Exit Portia.
Enter Lucius and Ligarius.
Lucius, who's that knockes
Luc.
Heere is a sicke man that would speak with you
Bru.
Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.
Boy, stand aside.
Caius Ligarius, how?
Cai.
Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue
Bru.
O what a time haue you chose out braue Caius To weare a Kerchiefe?
Would you were not sicke
Cai.
I am not sicke, if Brutus haue in hand Any exploit worthy the name of Honor
Bru.
Such an exploit haue I in hand Ligarius, Had you a healthfull eare to heare of it
Cai.
By all the Gods that Romans bow before, I heere discard my sicknesse.
Soule of Rome, Braue Sonne, deriu'd from Honourable Loines, Thou like an Exorcist, hast coniur'd vp My mortified Spirit.
Now bid me runne, And I will striue with things impossible, Yea get the better of them.
What's to do?
Bru.
A peece of worke, That will make sicke men whole
Cai.
But are not some whole, that we must make sicke?
Bru.
That must we also.
What it is my Caius, I shall vnfold to thee, as we are going, To whom it must be done
Cai.
Set on your foote, And with a heart new - fir'd, I follow you, To do I know not what: but it sufficeth That Brutus leads me on.
Thunder
Bru.
Follow me then.
Exeunt.
Thunder & Lightning
Enter Iulius Caesar in his Night - gowne.
Caesar.
Nor Heauen, nor Earth, Haue beene at peace to night: Thrice hath Calphurnia, in her sleepe cryed out, Helpe, ho: They murther Caesar.
Who's within?
Enter a Seruant.
Ser.
My Lord
Caes Go bid the Priests do present Sacrifice, And bring me their opinions of Successe
Ser.
I will my Lord.
Exit
Enter Calphurnia.
Cal.
What mean you Caesar?
Think you to walk forth?
You shall not stirre out of your house to day
Caes Caesar shall forth; the things that threaten'd me, Ne're look'd but on my backe: When they shall see The face of Caesar, they are vanished
Calp.
Caesar, I neuer stood on Ceremonies, Yet now they fright me: There is one within, Besides the things that we haue heard and seene, Recounts most horrid sights seene by the Watch.
O Caesar, these things are beyond all vse, And I do feare them
Caes What can be auoyded Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty Gods?
Yet Caesar shall go forth: for these Predictions Are to the world in generall, as to Caesar
Calp.
Enter a Seruant.
What say the Augurers?
Ser.
They would not haue you to stirre forth to day.
Plucking the intrailes of an Offering forth, They could not finde a heart within the beast
Caes The Gods do this in shame of Cowardice: Caesar should be a Beast without a heart If he should stay at home to day for feare: No Caesar shall not; Danger knowes full well That Caesar is more dangerous then he.
We heare two Lyons litter'd in one day, And I the elder and more terrible, And Caesar shall go foorth
Calp.
Alas my Lord, Your wisedome is consum'd in confidence: Do not go forth to day: Call it my feare, That keepes you in the house, and not your owne.
Wee'l send Mark Antony to the Senate house, And he shall say, you are not well to day: Let me vpon my knee, preuaile in this
Caes Mark Antony shall say I am not well, And for thy humor, I will stay at home.
Enter Decius.
Heere's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so
Deci.
Caesar, all haile: Good morrow worthy Caesar, I come to fetch you to the Senate house
Caes And you are come in very happy time, To beare my greeting to the Senators, And tell them that I will not come to day: Cannot, is false: and that I dare not, falser: I will not come to day, tell them so Decius
Calp.
Say he is sicke
Caes Shall Caesar send a Lye?
Haue I in Conquest stretcht mine Arme so farre, To be afear'd to tell Gray - beards the truth: Decius, go tell them, Caesar will not come
Deci.
Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, Lest I be laught at when I tell them so
Caes The cause is in my Will, I will not come, That is enough to satisfie the Senate.
But for your priuate satisfaction, Because I loue you, I will let you know.
Deci.
This by Calphurnia's Dreame is signified
Caes And this way haue you well expounded it
Deci.
I haue, when you haue heard what I can say: And know it now, the Senate haue concluded To giue this day, a Crowne to mighty Caesar.
If you shall send them word you will not come, Their mindes may change.
Besides, it were a mocke Apt to be render'd, for some one to say, Breake vp the Senate, till another time: When Caesars wife shall meete with better Dreames.
If Caesar hide himselfe, shall they not whisper Loe Caesar is affraid?
Pardon me Caesar, for my deere deere loue To your proceeding, bids me tell you this: And reason to my loue is liable
Caes How foolish do your fears seeme now Calphurnia?
I am ashamed I did yeeld to them.
Giue me my Robe, for I will go.
Enter Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Caska, Trebonius, Cynna, and Publius.
And looke where Publius is come to fetch me
Pub.
Good morrow Caesar
Caes Welcome Publius.
What Brutus, are you stirr'd so earely too?
Good morrow Caska: Caius Ligarius, Caesar was ne're so much your enemy, As that same Ague which hath made you leane.
What is't a Clocke?
Bru.
Caesar,'tis strucken eight
Caes I thanke you for your paines and curtesie.
Enter Antony.
See, Antony that Reuels long a - nights Is notwithstanding vp.
Good morrow Antony
Ant.
So to most Noble Caesar
Caes Bid them prepare within: I am too blame to be thus waited for.
Now Cynna, now Metellus: what Trebonius, I haue an houres talke in store for you: Remember that you call on me to day: Be neere me, that I may remember you
Treb.
Caesar I will: and so neere will I be, That your best Friends shall wish I had beene further
Caes Good Friends go in, and taste some wine with me.
And we (like Friends) will straight way go together
Bru.
That euery like is not the same, O Caesar, The heart of Brutus earnes to thinke vpon.
Exeunt.
Enter Artemidorus.
Caesar, beware of Brutus, take heede of Cassius; come not neere Caska, haue an eye to Cynna, trust not Trebonius, marke well Metellus Cymber, Decius Brutus loues thee not: Thou hast wrong'd Caius Ligarius.
There is but one minde in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar: If thou beest not Immortall, looke about you: Security giues way to Conspiracie.
The mighty Gods defend thee.
Thy Louer, Artemidorus.
Heere will I stand, till Caesar passe along, And as a Sutor will I giue him this: My heart laments, that Vertue cannot liue Out of the teeth of Emulation.
If thou reade this, O Caesar, thou mayest liue; If not, the Fates with Traitors do contriue.
Enter.
Enter Portia and Lucius.
Por.
I prythee Boy, run to the Senate - house, Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone.
Why doest thou stay?
Luc.
To know my errand Madam
Por.
I would haue had thee there and heere agen Ere I can tell thee what thou should'st do there: O Constancie, be strong vpon my side, Set a huge Mountaine'tweene my Heart and Tongue: I haue a mans minde, but a womans might: How hard it is for women to keepe counsell.
Art thou heere yet?
Luc.
Madam, what should I do?
Run to the Capitoll, and nothing else?
And so returne to you, and nothing else?
Por.
Yes, bring me word Boy, if thy Lord look well, For he went sickly forth: and take good note What Caesar doth, what Sutors presse to him.
Hearke Boy, what noyse is that?
Luc.
I heare none Madam
Por.
Prythee listen well: I heard a bussling Rumor like a Fray, And the winde brings it from the Capitoll
Luc.
Sooth Madam, I heare nothing.
Enter the Soothsayer.
Por.
Come hither Fellow, which way hast thou bin?
Sooth.
At mine owne house, good Lady
Por.
What is't a clocke?
Sooth.
About the ninth houre Lady
Por.
Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitoll?
Sooth.
Madam not yet, I go to take my stand, To see him passe on to the Capitoll
Por.
Thou hast some suite to Caesar, hast thou not?
Sooth.
That I haue Lady, if it will please Caesar To be so good to Caesar, as to heare me: I shall beseech him to befriend himselfe
Por.
Why know'st thou any harme's intended towards him?
Sooth.
Exit
Por.
I must go in: Aye me!
How weake a thing The heart of woman is?
O Brutus, The Heauens speede thee in thine enterprize.
Sure the Boy heard me: Brutus hath a suite That Caesar will not grant.
O, I grow faint: Run Lucius, and commend me to my Lord, Say I am merry; Come to me againe, And bring me word what he doth say to thee.
Exeunt.
Actus Tertius.
Flourish
Enter Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Caska, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cynna, Antony, Lepidus, Artimedorus, Publius, and the Soothsayer.
Caes The Ides of March are come
Sooth.
I Caesar, but not gone
Art.
Haile Caesar: Read this Scedule
Deci.
Trebonius doth desire you to ore - read (At your best leysure) this his humble suite
Art.
O Caesar, reade mine first: for mine's a suite That touches Caesar neerer.
Read it great Caesar
Caes What touches vs our selfe, shall be last seru'd
Art.
Delay not Caesar, read it instantly
Caes What, is the fellow mad?
Pub.
Sirra, giue place
Cassi.
What, vrge you your Petitions in the street?
Come to the Capitoll
Popil.
I wish your enterprize to day may thriue
Cassi.
What enterprize Popillius?
Popil.
Fare you well
Bru.
What said Popillius Lena?
Cassi.
He wisht to day our enterprize might thriue: I feare our purpose is discouered
Bru.
Looke how he makes to Caesar: marke him
Cassi.
Caska be sodaine, for we feare preuention.
Brutus what shall be done?
If this be knowne, Cassius or Caesar neuer shall turne backe, For I will slay my selfe
Bru.
Cassius be constant: Popillius Lena speakes not of our purposes, For looke he smiles, and Caesar doth not change
Cassi.
Trebonius knowes his time: for look you Brutus He drawes Mark Antony out of the way
Deci.
Where is Metellus Cimber, let him go, And presently preferre his suite to Caesar
Bru.
He is addrest: presse neere, and second him
Cin.
Caska, you are the first that reares your hand
Caes Are we all ready?
What is now amisse, That Caesar and his Senate must redresse?
Metel.
Most high, most mighty, and most puisant Caesar Metellus Cymber throwes before thy Seate An humble heart
Caes I must preuent thee Cymber: These couchings, and these lowly courtesies Might fire the blood of ordinary men, And turne pre - Ordinance, and first Decree Into the lane of Children.
Metel.
Is there no voyce more worthy then my owne, To sound more sweetly in great Caesars eare, For the repealing of my banish'd Brother?
Bru.
I kisse thy hand, but not in flattery Caesar: Desiring thee, that Publius Cymber may Haue an immediate freedome of repeale
Caes What Brutus?
Cassi.
Pardon Caesar: Caesar pardon: As lowe as to thy foote doth Cassius fall, To begge infranchisement for Publius Cymber
Caes I could be well mou'd, if I were as you, If I could pray to mooue, Prayers would mooue me: But I am constant as the Northerne Starre, Of whose true fixt, and resting quality, There is no fellow in the Firmament.
The Skies are painted with vnnumbred sparkes, They are all Fire, and euery one doth shine: But, there's but one in all doth hold his place.
Cinna.
O Caesar
Caes Hence: Wilt thou lift vp Olympus?
Decius.
Great Caesar
Caes Doth not Brutus bootlesse kneele?
Cask.
Speake hands for me.
They stab Caesar.
Caes Et Tu Brute?
- Then fall Caesar.
Dyes
Cin.
Liberty, Freedome; Tyranny is dead, Run hence, proclaime, cry it about the Streets
Cassi.
Some to the common Pulpits, and cry out Liberty, Freedome, and Enfranchisement
Bru.
People and Senators, be not affrighted: Fly not, stand still: Ambitions debt is paid
Cask.
Go to the Pulpit Brutus
Dec. And Cassius too
Bru.
Where's Publius?
Cin.
Heere, quite confounded with this mutiny
Met.
Stand fast together, least some Friend of Caesars Should chance - Bru.
Talke not of standing.
Publius good cheere, There is no harme intended to your person, Nor to no Roman else: so tell them Publius
Cassi.
And leaue vs Publius, least that the people Rushing on vs, should do your Age some mischiefe
Bru.
Do so, and let no man abide this deede, But we the Doers.
Enter Trebonius
Cassi.
Where is Antony?
Treb.
Fled to his House amaz'd: Men, Wiues, and Children, stare, cry out, and run, As it were Doomesday
Bru.
Fates, we will know your pleasures: That we shall dye we know,'tis but the time And drawing dayes out, that men stand vpon
Cask.
Why he that cuts off twenty yeares of life, Cuts off so many yeares of fearing death
Bru.
Grant that, and then is Death a Benefit: So are we Caesars Friends, that haue abridg'd His time of fearing death.
Stoope Romans, stoope, And let vs bathe our hands in Caesars blood Vp to the Elbowes, and besmeare our Swords: Then walke we forth, euen to the Market place, And wauing our red Weapons o're our heads, Let's all cry Peace, Freedome, and Liberty
Cassi.
Stoop then, and wash. How many Ages hence Shall this our lofty Scene be acted ouer, In State vnborne, and Accents yet vnknowne?
Bru.
How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, That now on Pompeyes Basis lye along, No worthier then the dust?
Cassi.
So oft as that shall be, So often shall the knot of vs be call'd, The Men that gaue their Country liberty
Dec. What, shall we forth?
Cassi.
I, euery man away.
Brutus shall leade, and we will grace his heeles With the most boldest, and best hearts of Rome.
Enter a Seruant.
Bru.
Soft, who comes heere?
A friend of Antonies
Ser.
So sayes my Master Antony
Bru.
Thy Master is a Wise and Valiant Romane, I neuer thought him worse: Tell him, so please him come vnto this place He shall be satisfied: and by my Honor Depart vntouch'd
Ser.
Ile fetch him presently.
Exit Seruant.
Bru.
I know that we shall haue him well to Friend
Cassi.
I wish we may: But yet haue I a minde That feares him much: and my misgiuing still Falles shrewdly to the purpose.
Enter Antony.
Bru.
But heere comes Antony: Welcome Mark Antony
Ant.
O mighty Caesar!
Dost thou lye so lowe?
Are all thy Conquests, Glories, Triumphes, Spoiles, Shrunke to this little Measure?
Fare thee well.
I know not Gentlemen what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is ranke: If I my selfe, there is no houre so fit As Caesars deaths houre; nor no Instrument Of halfe that worth, as those your Swords; made rich With the most Noble blood of all this World.
I do beseech yee, if you beare me hard, Now, whil'st your purpled hands do reeke and smoake, Fulfill your pleasure.
Liue a thousand yeeres, I shall not finde my selfe so apt to dye.
No place will please me so, no meane of death, As heere by Caesar, and by you cut off, The Choice and Master Spirits of this Age
Bru.
O Antony!
For your part, To you, our Swords haue leaden points Marke Antony: Our Armes in strength of malice, and our Hearts Of Brothers temper, do receiue you in, With all kinde loue, good thoughts, and reuerence
Cassi.
Your voyce shall be as strong as any mans, In the disposing of new Dignities
Bru.
Onely be patient, till we haue appeas'd The Multitude, beside themselues with feare, And then, we will deliuer you the cause, Why I, that did loue Caesar when I strooke him, Haue thus proceeded
Ant.
I doubt not of your Wisedome: Let each man render me his bloody hand.
First Marcus Brutus will I shake with you; Next Caius Cassius do I take your hand; Now Decius Brutus yours; now yours Metellus; Yours Cinna; and my valiant Caska, yours; Though last, not least in loue, yours good Trebonius.
Gentlemen all: Alas, what shall I say, My credit now stands on such slippery ground, That one of two bad wayes you must conceit me, Either a Coward, or a Flatterer.
That I did loue thee Caesar, O'tis true: If then thy Spirit looke vpon vs now, Shall it not greeue thee deerer then thy death, To see thy Antony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy Foes?
Most Noble, in the presence of thy Coarse, Had I as many eyes, as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they streame forth thy blood, It would become me better, then to close In tearmes of Friendship with thine enemies.
Pardon me Iulius, heere was't thou bay'd braue Hart, Heere did'st thou fall, and heere thy Hunters stand Sign'd in thy Spoyle, and Crimson'd in thy Lethee.
O World!
thou wast the Forrest to this Hart, And this indeed, O World, the Hart of thee.
How like a Deere, stroken by many Princes, Dost thou heere lye?
Cassi.
Mark Antony
Ant.
Pardon me Caius Cassius: The Enemies of Caesar, shall say this: Then, in a Friend, it is cold Modestie
Cassi.
I blame you not for praising Caesar so.
But what compact meane you to haue with vs?
Will you be prick'd in number of our Friends, Or shall we on, and not depend on you?
Ant.
Therefore I tooke your hands, but was indeed Sway'd from the point, by looking downe on Caesar.
Friends am I with you all, and loue you all, Vpon this hope, that you shall giue me Reasons, Why, and wherein, Caesar was dangerous
Bru.
Or else were this a sauage Spectacle: Our Reasons are so full of good regard, That were you Antony, the Sonne of Caesar, You should be satisfied
Ant.
That's all I seeke, And am moreouer sutor, that I may Produce his body to the Market - place, And in the Pulpit as becomes a Friend, Speake in the Order of his Funerall
Bru.
You shall Marke Antony
Cassi.
Brutus, a word with you: You know not what you do; Do not consent That Antony speake in his Funerall: Know you how much the people may be mou'd By that which he will vtter
Bru.
By your pardon: I will my selfe into the Pulpit first, And shew the reason of our Caesars death.
What Antony shall speake, I will protest He speakes by leaue, and by permission: And that we are contented Caesar shall Haue all true Rites, and lawfull Ceremonies, It shall aduantage more, then do vs wrong
Cassi.
I know not what may fall, I like it not
Bru.
Mark Antony, heere take you Caesars body: You shall not in your Funerall speech blame vs, But speake all good you can deuise of Caesar, And say you doo't by our permission: Else shall you not haue any hand at all About his Funerall.
And you shall speake In the same Pulpit whereto I am going, After my speech is ended
Ant.
Be it so: I do desire no more
Bru.
Prepare the body then, and follow vs.
Exeunt.
Manet Antony.
O pardon me, thou bleeding peece of Earth: That I am meeke and gentle with these Butchers.
Thou art the Ruines of the Noblest man That euer liued in the Tide of Times.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly Blood.
Enter Octauio's Seruant.
You serue Octauius Caesar, do you not?
Ser.
I do Marke Antony
Ant.
Caesar did write for him to come to Rome
Ser.
He did receiue his Letters, and is comming, And bid me say to you by word of mouth - O Caesar!
Ant.
Thy heart is bigge: get thee a - part and weepe: Passion I see is catching from mine eyes, Seeing those Beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water.
Is thy Master comming?
Ser.
He lies to night within seuen Leagues of Rome
Ant.
Post backe with speede, And tell him what hath chanc'd: Heere is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, No Rome of safety for Octauius yet, Hie hence, and tell him so.
Yet stay a - while, Thou shalt not backe, till I haue borne this course Into the Market place: There shall I try In my Oration, how the People take The cruell issue of these bloody men, According to the which, thou shalt discourse To yong Octauius, of the state of things.
Lend me your hand.
Exeunt.
Enter Brutus and goes into the Pulpit, and Cassius, with the Plebeians.
Ple.
We will be satisfied: let vs be satisfied
Bru.
Then follow me, and giue me Audience friends.
Cassius go you into the other streete, And part the Numbers: Those that will heare me speake, let'em stay heere; Those that will follow Cassius, go with him, And publike Reasons shall be rendred Of Caesars death
1. Ple.
I will heare Brutus speake
I will heare Cassius, and compare their Reasons, When seuerally we heare them rendred
The Noble Brutus is ascended: Silence
Bru.
Be patient till the last.
Romans, Countrey - men, and Louers, heare mee for my cause, and be silent, that you may heare.
Beleeue me for mine Honor, and haue respect to mine Honor, that you may beleeue.
Censure me in your Wisedom, and awake your Senses, that you may the better Iudge.
If there bee any in this Assembly, any deere Friend of Caesars, to him I say, that Brutus loue to Caesar, was no lesse then his.
If then, that Friend demand, why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer: Not that I lou'd Caesar lesse, but that I lou'd Rome more.
Had you rather Caesar were liuing, and dye all Slaues; then that Caesar were dead, to liue all Free - men?
As Caesar lou'd mee, I weepe for him; as he was Fortunate, I reioyce at it; as he was Valiant, I honour him: But, as he was Ambitious, I slew him.
There is Teares, for his Loue: Ioy, for his Fortune: Honor, for his Valour: and Death, for his Ambition.
Who is heere so base, that would be a Bondman?
If any, speak, for him haue I offended.
Who is heere so rude, that would not be a Roman?
If any, speak, for him haue I offended.
Who is heere so vile, that will not loue his Countrey?
If any, speake, for him haue I offended.
I pause for a Reply
All.
None Brutus, none
Brutus.
Then none haue I offended.
I haue done no more to Caesar, then you shall do to Brutus.
The Question of his death, is inroll'd in the Capitoll: his Glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforc'd, for which he suffered death.
Enter Mark Antony, with Caesars body.
Heere comes his Body, mourn'd by Marke Antony, who though he had no hand in his death, shall receiue the benefit of his dying, a place in the Co [ m ] monwealth, as which of you shall not.
With this I depart, that as I slewe my best Louer for the good of Rome, I haue the same Dagger for my selfe, when it shall please my Country to need my death
All.
Liue Brutus, liue, liue
Bring him with Triumph home vnto his house
Giue him a Statue with his Ancestors
Let him be Caesar
Caesars better parts, Shall be Crown'd in Brutus
Wee'l bring him to his House, With Showts and Clamors
Bru.
My Country - men
Peace, silence, Brutus speakes
Peace ho
Bru.
Good Countrymen, let me depart alone, And (for my sake) stay heere with Antony: Do grace to Caesars Corpes, and grace his Speech Tending to Caesars Glories, which Marke Antony (By our permission) is allow'd to make.
I do intreat you, not a man depart, Saue I alone, till Antony haue spoke.
Exit
1 Stay ho, and let vs heare Mark Antony
3 Let him go vp into the publike Chaire, Wee'l heare him: Noble Antony go vp
Ant.
For Brutus sake, I am beholding to you
4 What does he say of Brutus?
3 He sayes, for Brutus sake He findes himselfe beholding to vs all
4'Twere best he speake no harme of Brutus heere?
1 This Caesar was a Tyrant
3 Nay that's certaine: We are blest that Rome is rid of him
2 Peace, let vs heare what Antony can say
Ant.
You gentle Romans
All.
Peace hoe, let vs heare him
An.
Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears: I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him: The euill that men do, liues after them, The good is oft enterred with their bones, So let it be with Caesar.
The Noble Brutus, Hath told you Caesar was Ambitious: If it were so, it was a greeuous Fault, And greeuously hath Caesar answer'd it.
Heere, vnder leaue of Brutus, and the rest (For Brutus is an Honourable man, So are they all; all Honourable men) Come I to speake in Caesars Funerall.
He was my Friend, faithfull, and iust to me; But Brutus sayes, he was Ambitious, And Brutus is an Honourable man.
He hath brought many Captiues home to Rome, Whose Ransomes, did the generall Coffers fill: Did this in Caesar seeme Ambitious?
When that the poore haue cry'de, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuffe, Yet Brutus sayes, he was Ambitious: And Brutus is an Honourable man.
You all did see, that on the Lupercall, I thrice presented him a Kingly Crowne, Which he did thrice refuse.
Was this Ambition?
Yet Brutus sayes, he was Ambitious: And sure he is an Honourable man.
I speake not to disprooue what Brutus spoke, But heere I am, to speake what I do know; You all did loue him once, not without cause, What cause with - holds you then, to mourne for him?
O Iudgement!
thou are fled to brutish Beasts, And Men haue lost their Reason.
Beare with me, My heart is in the Coffin there with Caesar, And I must pawse, till it come backe to me
1 Me thinkes there is much reason in his sayings
2 If thou consider rightly of the matter, Caesar ha's had great wrong
3 Ha's hee Masters?
I feare there will a worse come in his place
Mark'd ye his words?
he would not take y Crown, Therefore'tis certaine, he was not Ambitious
If it be found so, some will deere abide it
Poore soule, his eyes are red as fire with weeping
There's not a Nobler man in Rome then Antony
Now marke him, he begins againe to speake
Ant.
But yesterday, the word of Caesar might Haue stood against the World: Now lies he there, And none so poore to do him reuerence.
O Maisters!
If I were dispos'd to stirre Your hearts and mindes to Mutiny and Rage, I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong: Who (you all know) are Honourable men.
I will not do them wrong: I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong my selfe and you, Then I will wrong such Honourable men.
4 Wee'l heare the Will, reade it Marke Antony
All.
The Will, the Will; we will heare Caesars Will
Ant.
Haue patience gentle Friends, I must not read it.
It is not meete you know how Caesar lou'd you: You are not Wood, you are not Stones, but men: And being men, hearing the Will of Caesar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad:'Tis good you know not that you are his Heires, For if you should, O what would come of it?
4 Read the Will, wee'l heare it Antony: You shall reade vs the Will, Caesars Will
Ant.
Will you be Patient?
Will you stay a - while?
I haue o're - shot my selfe to tell you of it, I feare I wrong the Honourable men, Whose Daggers haue stabb'd Caesar: I do feare it
4 They were Traitors: Honourable men?
All.
The Will, the Testament
2 They were Villaines, Murderers: the Will, read the Will
Ant.
You will compell me then to read the Will: Then make a Ring about the Corpes of Caesar, And let me shew you him that made the Will: Shall I descend?
And will you giue me leaue?
All.
Come downe
2 Descend
3 You shall haue leaue
4 A Ring, stand round
1 Stand from the Hearse, stand from the Body
2 Roome for Antony, most Noble Antony
Ant.
Nay presse not so vpon me, stand farre off
All.
Stand backe: roome, beare backe
Ant.
If you haue teares, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this Mantle, I remember The first time euer Caesar put it on,'Twas on a Summers Euening in his Tent, That day he ouercame the Neruij.
Iudge, O you Gods, how deerely Caesar lou'd him: This was the most vnkindest cut of all.
For when the Noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong then Traitors armes, Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his Mighty heart, And in his Mantle, muffling vp his face, Euen at the Base of Pompeyes Statue (Which all the while ran blood) great Caesar fell.
O what a fall was there, my Countrymen?
Then I, and you, and all of vs fell downe, Whil'st bloody Treason flourish'd ouer vs. O now you weepe, and I perceiue you feele The dint of pitty: These are gracious droppes.
Kinde Soules, what weepe you, when you but behold Our Caesars Vesture wounded?
Looke you heere, Heere is Himselfe, marr'd as you see with Traitors
O pitteous spectacle!
O Noble Caesar!
O wofull day!
O Traitors, Villaines!
O most bloody sight!
We will be reueng'd: Reuenge About, seeke, burne, fire, kill, slay, Let not a Traitor liue
Ant.
Stay Country - men
Peace there, heare the Noble Antony
Wee'l heare him, wee'l follow him, wee'l dy with him
Ant.
Good Friends, sweet Friends, let me not stirre you vp To such a sodaine Flood of Mutiny: They that haue done this Deede, are honourable.
What priuate greefes they haue, alas I know not, That made them do it: They are Wise, and Honourable, And will no doubt with Reasons answer you.
All.
Wee'l Mutiny
1 Wee'l burne the house of Brutus
3 Away then, come, seeke the Conspirators
Ant.
Yet heare me Countrymen, yet heare me speake All.
Peace hoe, heare Antony, most Noble Antony
Ant.
Why Friends, you go to do you know not what: Wherein hath Caesar thus deseru'd your loues?
Alas you know not, I must tell you then: You haue forgot the Will I told you of
All.
Most true, the Will, let's stay and heare the Wil
Ant.
Heere is the Will, and vnder Caesars Seale: To euery Roman Citizen he giues, To euery seuerall man, seuenty fiue Drachmaes
2 Ple.
Most Noble Caesar, wee'l reuenge his death
3 Ple.
O Royall Caesar
Ant.
Heare me with patience
All.
Peace hoe Ant.
Moreouer, he hath left you all his Walkes, His priuate Arbors, and new - planted Orchards, On this side Tyber, he hath left them you, And to your heyres for euer: common pleasures To walke abroad, and recreate your selues.
Heere was a Caesar: when comes such another?
1. Ple.
Neuer, neuer: come, away, away: Wee'l burne his body in the holy place, And with the Brands fire the Traitors houses.
Take vp the body
2. Ple.
Go fetch fire
3. Ple.
Plucke downe Benches
4. Ple.
Plucke downe Formes, Windowes, any thing.
Exit Plebeians.
Ant.
Now let it worke: Mischeefe thou art a - foot, Take thou what course thou wilt.
How now Fellow?
Enter Seruant.
Ser.
Sir, Octauius is already come to Rome
Ant.
Where is hee?
Ser.
He and Lepidus are at Caesars house
Ant.
And thither will I straight, to visit him: He comes vpon a wish.
Fortune is merry, And in this mood will giue vs any thing
Ser.
I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius Are rid like Madmen through the Gates of Rome
Ant.
Belike they had some notice of the people How I had moued them.
Bring me to Octauius.
Exeunt.
Enter Cinna the Poet, and after him the Plebeians.
Cinna.
I dreamt to night, that I did feast with Caesar, And things vnluckily charge my Fantasie: I haue no will to wander foorth of doores, Yet something leads me foorth
What is your name?
Whether are you going?
Where do you dwell?
Are you a married man, or a Batchellor?
Answer euery man directly
I, and breefely
I, and wisely
I, and truly, you were best
Cin.
What is my name?
Whether am I going?
Where do I dwell?
Am I a married man, or a Batchellour?
Then to answer euery man, directly and breefely, wisely and truly: wisely I say, I am a Batchellor
2 That's as much as to say, they are fooles that marrie: you'l beare me a bang for that I feare: proceede directly
Cinna.
Directly I am going to Caesars Funerall
As a Friend, or an Enemy?
Cinna.
As a friend
That matter is answered directly
For your dwelling: breefely
Cinna.
Breefely, I dwell by the Capitoll
Your name sir, truly
Cinna.
Truly, my name is Cinna
Teare him to peeces, hee's a Conspirator
Cinna.
I am Cinna the Poet, I am Cinna the Poet
Teare him for his bad verses, teare him for his bad Verses
Cin.
I am not Cinna the Conspirator
It is no matter, his name's Cinna, plucke but his name out of his heart, and turne him going
Teare him, tear him; Come Brands hoe, Firebrands: to Brutus, to Cassius, burne all.
Some to Decius House, and some to Caska's; some to Ligarius: Away, go.
Exeunt.
all the Plebeians.
Actus Quartus.
Enter Antony, Octauius, and Lepidus.
Ant.
These many then shall die, their names are prickt Octa.
Your Brother too must dye: consent you Lepidus?
Lep.
I do consent
Octa.
Pricke him downe Antony
Lep.
Vpon condition Publius shall not liue, Who is your Sisters sonne, Marke Antony
Ant.
He shall not liue; looke, with a spot I dam him.
But Lepidus, go you to Caesars house: Fetch the Will hither, and we shall determine How to cut off some charge in Legacies
Lep.
What?
shall I finde you heere?
Octa.
Or heere, or at the Capitoll.
Exit Lepidus
Ant.
This is a slight vnmeritable man, Meet to be sent on Errands: is it fit The three - fold World diuided, he should stand One of the three to share it?
Octa.
So you thought him, And tooke his voyce who should be prickt to dye In our blacke Sentence and Proscription
Ant.
Octa.
You may do your will: But hee's a tried, and valiant Souldier
Ant.
So is my Horse Octauius, and for that I do appoint him store of Prouender.
Which out of vse, and stal'de by other men Begin his fashion.
Do not talke of him, But as a property: and now Octauius, Listen great things.
Brutus and Cassius Are leuying Powers; We must straight make head: Therefore let our Alliance be combin'd, Our best Friends made, our meanes stretcht, And let vs presently go sit in Councell, How couert matters may be best disclos'd, And open Perils surest answered
Octa.
Let vs do so: for we are at the stake, And bayed about with many Enemies, And some that smile haue in their hearts I feare Millions of Mischeefes.
Exeunt.
Drum.
Enter Brutus, Lucillius, and the Army.
Titinius and Pindarus meete them.
Bru.
Stand ho
Lucil.
Giue the word ho, and Stand
Bru.
What now Lucillius, is Cassius neere?
Lucil.
He is at hand, and Pindarus is come To do you salutation from his Master
Bru.
He greets me well.
Your Master Pindarus In his owne change, or by ill Officers, Hath giuen me some worthy cause to wish Things done, vndone: But if he be at hand I shall be satisfied
Pin.
I do not doubt But that my Noble Master will appeare Such as he is, full of regard, and Honour
Bru.
He is not doubted.
A word Lucillius How he receiu'd you: let me be resolu'd
Lucil.
With courtesie, and with respect enough, But not with such familiar instances, Nor with such free and friendly Conference As he hath vs'd of old
Bru.
Thou hast describ'd A hot Friend, cooling: Euer note Lucillius, When Loue begins to sicken and decay It vseth an enforced Ceremony.
There are no trickes, in plaine and simple Faith: But hollow men, like Horses hot at hand, Make gallant shew, and promise of their Mettle:
Low March within.
But when they should endure the bloody Spurre, They fall their Crests, and like deceitfull Iades Sinke in the Triall.
Comes his Army on?
Lucil.
They meane this night in Sardis to be quarter'd: The greater part, the Horse in generall Are come with Cassius.
Enter Cassius and his Powers.
Bru.
Hearke, he is arriu'd: March gently on to meete him
Cassi.
Stand ho
Bru.
Stand ho, speake the word along.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand
Cassi.
Most Noble Brother, you haue done me wrong
Bru.
Iudge me you Gods; wrong I mine Enemies?
And if not so, how should I wrong a Brother
Cassi.
Brutus, this sober forme of yours, hides wrongs, And when you do them - Brut.
Cassius, be content, Speake your greefes softly, I do know you well.
Before the eyes of both our Armies heere (Which should perceiue nothing but Loue from vs) Let vs not wrangle.
Bid them moue away: Then in my Tent Cassius enlarge your Greefes, And I will giue you Audience
Cassi.
Pindarus, Bid our Commanders leade their Charges off A little from this ground
Bru.
Lucillius, do you the like, and let no man Come to our Tent, till we haue done our Conference.
Let Lucius and Titinius guard our doore.
Exeunt.
Manet Brutus and Cassius.
Cassi.
That you haue wrong'd me, doth appear in this: You haue condemn'd, and noted Lucius Pella For taking Bribes heere of the Sardians; Wherein my Letters, praying on his side, Because I knew the man was slighted off
Bru.
You wrong'd your selfe to write in such a case
Cassi.
In such a time as this, it is not meet That euery nice offence should beare his Comment
Bru.
Let me tell you Cassius, you your selfe Are much condemn'd to haue an itching Palme, To sell, and Mart your Offices for Gold To Vndeseruers
Cassi.
I, an itching Palme?
You know that you are Brutus that speakes this, Or by the Gods, this speech were else your last
Bru.
The name of Cassius Honors this corruption, And Chasticement doth therefore hide his head
Cassi.
Chasticement?
Bru.
Remember March, the Ides of March reme [ m ] ber: Did not great Iulius bleede for Iustice sake?
What Villaine touch'd his body, that did stab, And not for Iustice?
What?
Shall one of Vs, That strucke the Formost man of all this World, But for supporting Robbers: shall we now, Contaminate our fingers, with base Bribes?
And sell the mighty space of our large Honors For so much trash, as may be grasped thus?
I had rather be a Dogge, and bay the Moone, Then such a Roman
Cassi.
Brutus, baite not me, Ile not indure it: you forget your selfe To hedge me in.
I am a Souldier, I, Older in practice, Abler then your selfe To make Conditions
Bru.
Go too: you are not Cassius
Cassi.
I am
Bru.
I say, you are not
Cassi.
Vrge me no more, I shall forget my selfe: Haue minde vpon your health: Tempt me no farther
Bru.
Away slight man
Cassi.
Is't possible?
Bru.
Heare me, for I will speake.
Must I giue way, and roome to your rash Choller?
Shall I be frighted, when a Madman stares?
Cassi.
O ye Gods, ye Gods, Must I endure all this?
Bru.
All this?
I more: Fret till your proud hart break.
Go shew your Slaues how Chollericke you are, And make your Bondmen tremble.
Must I bouge?
Must I obserue you?
Must I stand and crouch Vnder your Testie Humour?
By the Gods, You shall digest the Venom of your Spleene Though it do Split you.
For, from this day forth, Ile vse you for my Mirth, yea for my Laughter When you are Waspish
Cassi.
Is it come to this?
Bru.
You say, you are a better Souldier: Let it appeare so; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well.
For mine owne part, I shall be glad to learne of Noble men
Cass.
You wrong me euery way: You wrong me Brutus: I saide, an Elder Souldier, not a Better.
Did I say Better?
Bru.
If you did, I care not
Cass.
When Caesar liu'd, he durst not thus haue mou'd me
Brut.
Peace, peace, you durst not so haue tempted him
Cassi.
I durst not
Bru.
Cassi.
What?
durst not tempt him?
Bru.
For your life you durst not
Cassi.
Do not presume too much vpon my Loue, I may do that I shall be sorry for
Bru.
You haue done that you should be sorry for.
There is no terror Cassius in your threats: For I am Arm'd so strong in Honesty, That they passe by me, as the idle winde, Which I respect not.
I did send to you For certaine summes of Gold, which you deny'd me, For I can raise no money by vile meanes: By Heauen, I had rather Coine my Heart, And drop my blood for Drachmaes, then to wring From the hard hands of Peazants, their vile trash By any indirection.
I did send To you for Gold to pay my Legions, Which you deny'd me: was that done like Cassius?
Should I haue answer'd Caius Cassius so?
When Marcus Brutus growes so Couetous, To locke such Rascall Counters from his Friends, Be ready Gods with all your Thunder - bolts, Dash him to peeces
Cassi.
I deny'd you not
Bru.
You did
Cassi.
I did not.
He was but a Foole That brought my answer back.
Brutus hath riu'd my hart: A Friend should beare his Friends infirmities; But Brutus makes mine greater then they are
Bru.
I do not, till you practice them on me
Cassi.
You loue me not
Bru.
I do not like your faults
Cassi.
A friendly eye could neuer see such faults
Bru.
A Flatterers would not, though they do appeare As huge as high Olympus
Cassi.
O I could weepe My Spirit from mine eyes.
There is my Dagger, And heere my naked Breast: Within, a Heart Deerer then Pluto's Mine, Richer then Gold: If that thou bee'st a Roman, take it foorth.
I that deny'd thee Gold, will giue my Heart: Strike as thou did'st at Caesar: For I know, When thou did'st hate him worst, y loued'st him better Then euer thou loued'st Cassius
Bru.
Sheath your Dagger: Be angry when you will, it shall haue scope: Do what you will, Dishonor, shall be Humour.
O Cassius, you are yoaked with a Lambe That carries Anger, as the Flint beares fire, Who much inforced, shewes a hastie Sparke, And straite is cold agen
Cassi.
Hath Cassius liu'd To be but Mirth and Laughter to his Brutus, When greefe and blood ill temper'd, vexeth him?
Bru.
When I spoke that, I was ill temper'd too
Cassi.
Do you confesse so much?
Giue me your hand
Bru.
And my heart too
Cassi.
O Brutus!
Bru.
What's the matter?
Cassi.
Haue not you loue enough to beare with me, When that rash humour which my Mother gaue me Makes me forgetfull
Bru.
Yes Cassius, and from henceforth When you are ouer - earnest with your Brutus, Hee'l thinke your Mother chides, and leaue you so.
Enter a Poet.
Poet.
Let me go in to see the Generals, There is some grudge betweene'em,'tis not meete They be alone
Lucil.
You shall not come to them
Poet.
Nothing but death shall stay me
Cas.
How now?
What's the matter?
Poet.
For shame you Generals; what do you meane?
Loue, and be Friends, as two such men should bee, For I haue seene more yeeres I'me sure then yee
Cas.
Ha, ha, how vildely doth this Cynicke rime?
Bru.
Get you hence sirra: Sawcy Fellow, hence
Cas.
Beare with him Brutus,'tis his fashion
Brut.
Ile know his humor, when he knowes his time: What should the Warres do with these Iigging Fooles?
Companion, hence
Cas.
Away, away be gone.
Exit Poet
Bru.
Lucillius and Titinius bid the Commanders Prepare to lodge their Companies to night
Cas.
And come your selues, & bring Messala with you Immediately to vs
Bru.
Lucius, a bowle of Wine
Cas.
I did not thinke you could haue bin so angry
Bru.
O Cassius, I am sicke of many greefes
Cas.
Of your Philosophy you make no vse, If you giue place to accidentall euils
Bru.
No man beares sorrow better.
Portia is dead
Cas.
Ha?
Portia?
Bru.
She is dead
Cas.
How scap'd I killing, when I crost you so?
O insupportable, and touching losse!
Vpon what sicknesse?
Bru.
Impatient of my absence, And greefe, that yong Octauius with Mark Antony Haue made themselues so strong: For with her death That tydings came.
With this she fell distract, And (her Attendants absent) swallow'd fire
Cas.
And dy'd so?
Bru.
Euen so
Cas.
O ye immortall Gods!
Enter Boy with Wine, and Tapers.
Bru.
Speak no more of her: Giue me a bowl of wine, In this I bury all vnkindnesse Cassius.
Drinkes
Cas.
My heart is thirsty for that Noble pledge.
Fill Lucius, till the Wine ore - swell the Cup: I cannot drinke too much of Brutus loue.
Enter Titinius and Messala.
Brutus.
Come in Titinius: Welcome good Messala: Now sit we close about this Taper heere, And call in question our necessities
Cass.
Portia, art thou gone?
Bru.
No more I pray you.
Messala, I haue heere receiued Letters, That yong Octauius, and Marke Antony Come downe vpon vs with a mighty power, Bending their Expedition toward Philippi
Mess.
My selfe haue Letters of the selfe - same Tenure
Bru.
With what Addition
Mess.
That by proscription, and billes of Outlarie, Octauius, Antony, and Lepidus, Haue put to death, an hundred Senators
Bru.
Therein our Letters do not well agree: Mine speake of seuenty Senators, that dy'de By their proscriptions, Cicero being one
Cassi.
Cicero one?
Messa.
Cicero is dead, and by that order of proscription Had you your Letters from your wife, my Lord?
Bru.
No Messala
Messa.
Nor nothing in your Letters writ of her?
Bru.
Nothing Messala
Messa.
That me thinkes is strange
Bru.
Why aske you?
Heare you ought of her, in yours?
Messa.
No my Lord
Bru.
Now as you are a Roman tell me true
Messa.
Then like a Roman, beare the truth I tell, For certaine she is dead, and by strange manner
Bru.
Why farewell Portia: We must die Messala: With meditating that she must dye once, I haue the patience to endure it now
Messa.
Euen so great men, great losses shold indure
Cassi.
I haue as much of this in Art as you, But yet my Nature could not beare it so
Bru.
Well, to our worke aliue.
What do you thinke Of marching to Philippi presently
Cassi.
I do not thinke it good
Bru.
Your reason?
Cassi.
This it is:'Tis better that the Enemie seeke vs, So shall he waste his meanes, weary his Souldiers, Doing himselfe offence, whil'st we lying still, Are full of rest, defence, and nimblenesse
Bru.
Good reasons must of force giue place to better: The people'twixt Philippi, and this ground Do stand but in a forc'd affection: For they haue grug'd vs Contribution.
The Enemy, marching along by them, By them shall make a fuller number vp, Come on refresht, new added, and encourag'd: From which aduantage shall we cut him off.
If at Philippi we do face him there, These people at our backe
Cassi.
Heare me good Brother
Bru.
Vnder your pardon.
You must note beside, That we haue tride the vtmost of our Friends: Our Legions are brim full, our cause is ripe, The Enemy encreaseth euery day, We at the height, are readie to decline.
There is a Tide in the affayres of men, Which taken at the Flood, leades on to Fortune: Omitted, all the voyage of their life, Is bound in Shallowes, and in Miseries.
On such a full Sea are we now a - float, And we must take the current when it serues, Or loose our Ventures
Cassi.
Then with your will go on: wee'l along Our selues, and meet them at Philippi
Bru.
Cassi.
No more, good night, Early to morrow will we rise, and hence.
Enter Lucius.
Bru.
Lucius my Gowne: farewell good Messala, Good night Titinius: Noble, Noble Cassius, Good night, and good repose
Cassi.
O my deere Brother: This was an ill beginning of the night: Neuer come such diuision'tweene our soules: Let it not Brutus.
Enter Lucius with the Gowne.
Bru.
Euery thing is well
Cassi.
Good night my Lord
Bru.
Good night good Brother
Tit.
Messa.
Good night Lord Brutus
Bru.
Farwell euery one.
Exeunt.
Giue me the Gowne.
Where is thy Instrument?
Luc.
Heere in the Tent
Bru.
What, thou speak'st drowsily?
Poore knaue I blame thee not, thou art ore - watch'd.
Call Claudio, and some other of my men, Ile haue them sleepe on Cushions in my Tent
Luc.
Varrus, and Claudio.
Enter Varrus and Claudio.
Var.
Cals my Lord?
Bru.
I pray you sirs, lye in my Tent and sleepe, It may be I shall raise you by and by On businesse to my Brother Cassius
Var.
So please you, we will stand, And watch your pleasure
Bru.
I will it not haue it so: Lye downe good sirs, It may be I shall otherwise bethinke me.
Looke Lucius, heere's the booke I sought for so: I put it in the pocket of my Gowne
Luc.
I was sure your Lordship did not giue it me
Bru.
Beare with me good Boy, I am much forgetfull.
Canst thou hold vp thy heauie eyes a - while, And touch thy Instrument a straine or two
Luc.
I my Lord, an't please you
Bru.
It does my Boy: I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing
Luc.
It is my duty Sir
Brut.
I should not vrge thy duty past thy might, I know yong bloods looke for a time of rest
Luc.
I haue slept my Lord already
Bru.
It was well done, and thou shalt sleepe againe: I will not hold thee long.
If I do liue, I will be good to thee.
Musicke, and a Song.
This is a sleepy Tune: O Murd'rous slumber!
Layest thou thy Leaden Mace vpon my Boy, That playes thee Musicke?
Gentle knaue good night: I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee: If thou do'st nod, thou break'st thy Instrument, Ile take it from thee, and (good Boy) good night.
Let me see, let me see; is not the Leafe turn'd downe Where I left reading?
Heere it is I thinke.
Enter the Ghost of Caesar.
How ill this Taper burnes.
Ha!
Who comes heere?
I thinke it is the weakenesse of mine eyes That shapes this monstrous Apparition.
It comes vpon me: Art thou any thing?
Art thou some God, some Angell, or some Diuell, That mak'st my blood cold, and my haire to stare?
Speake to me, what thou art
Ghost.
Thy euill Spirit Brutus?
Bru.
Why com'st thou?
Ghost.
To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi
Brut.
Well: then I shall see thee againe?
Ghost.
I, at Philippi
Brut.
Why I will see thee at Philippi then: Now I haue taken heart, thou vanishest.
Ill Spirit, I would hold more talke with thee.
Boy, Lucius, Varrus, Claudio, Sirs: Awake: Claudio
Luc.
The strings my Lord, are false
Bru.
He thinkes he still is at his Instrument.
Lucius, awake
Luc.
My Lord
Bru.
Did'st thou dreame Lucius, that thou so cryedst out?
Luc.
My Lord, I do not know that I did cry
Bru.
Yes that thou did'st: Did'st thou see any thing?
Luc.
Nothing my Lord
Bru.
Sleepe againe Lucius: Sirra Claudio, Fellow, Thou: Awake
Var.
My Lord
Clau.
My Lord
Bru.
Why did you so cry out sirs, in your sleepe?
Both.
Did we my Lord?
Bru.
I: saw you any thing?
Var.
No my Lord, I saw nothing
Clau.
Nor I my Lord
Bru.
Go, and commend me to my Brother Cassius: Bid him set on his Powres betimes before, And we will follow
Both.
It shall be done my Lord.
Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
Enter Octauius, Antony, and their Army.
Octa.
Now Antony, our hopes are answered, You said the Enemy would not come downe, But keepe the Hilles and vpper Regions: It proues not so: their battailes are at hand, They meane to warne vs at Philippi heere: Answering before we do demand of them
Ant.
Tut I am in their bosomes, and I know Wherefore they do it: They could be content To visit other places, and come downe With fearefull brauery: thinking by this face To fasten in our thoughts that they haue Courage; But'tis not so.
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
Prepare you Generals, The Enemy comes on in gallant shew: Their bloody signe of Battell is hung out, And something to be done immediately
Ant.
Octauius, leade your Battaile softly on Vpon the left hand of the euen Field
Octa.
Vpon the right hand I, keepe thou the left
Ant.
Why do you crosse me in this exigent
Octa.
I do not crosse you: but I will do so.
March.
Drum.
Enter Brutus, Cassius, & their Army.
Bru.
They stand, and would haue parley
Cassi.
Stand fast Titinius, we must out and talke
Octa.
Mark Antony, shall we giue signe of Battaile?
Ant.
No Caesar, we will answer on their Charge.
Make forth, the Generals would haue some words
Oct. Stirre not vntill the Signall
Bru.
Words before blowes: is it so Countrymen?
Octa.
Not that we loue words better, as you do
Bru.
Good words are better then bad strokes Octauius
An.
In your bad strokes Brutus, you giue good words Witnesse the hole you made in Caesars heart, Crying long liue, Haile Caesar
Cassi.
Antony, The posture of your blowes are yet vnknowne; But for your words, they rob the Hibla Bees, And leaue them Hony - lesse
Ant.
Not stinglesse too
Bru.
O yes, and soundlesse too: For you haue stolne their buzzing Antony, And very wisely threat before you sting
Ant.
Villains: you did not so, when your vile daggers Hackt one another in the sides of Caesar: You shew'd your teethes like Apes, And fawn'd like Hounds, And bow'd like Bondmen, kissing Caesars feete; Whil'st damned Caska, like a Curre, behinde Strooke Caesar on the necke.
O you Flatterers
Cassi.
Flatterers?
Now Brutus thanke your selfe, This tongue had not offended so to day.
If Cassius might haue rul'd
Octa.
Come, come, the cause.
If arguing make vs swet, The proofe of it will turne to redder drops: Looke, I draw a Sword against Conspirators, When thinke you that the Sword goes vp againe?
Neuer till Caesars three and thirtie wounds Be well aueng'd; or till another Caesar Haue added slaughter to the Sword of Traitors
Brut.
Caesar, thou canst not dye by Traitors hands.
Vnlesse thou bring'st them with thee
Octa.
So I hope: I was not borne to dye on Brutus Sword
Bru.
O if thou wer't the Noblest of thy Straine, Yong - man, thou could'st not dye more honourable
Cassi.
A peeuish School - boy, worthles of such Honor Ioyn'd with a Masker, and a Reueller
Ant.
Old Cassius still
Octa.
Come Antony: away: Defiance Traitors, hurle we in your teeth.
If you dare fight to day, come to the Field; If not, when you haue stomackes.
Exit Octauius, Antony, and Army
Cassi.
Why now blow winde, swell Billow, And swimme Barke: The Storme is vp, and all is on the hazard
Bru.
Ho Lucillius, hearke, a word with you.
Lucillius and Messala stand forth.
Luc.
My Lord
Cassi.
Messala
Messa.
What sayes my Generall?
Cassi.
Messala, this is my Birth - day: at this very day Was Cassius borne.
Giue me thy hand Messala: Be thou my witnesse, that against my will (As Pompey was) am I compell'd to set Vpon one Battell all our Liberties.
You know, that I held Epicurus strong, And his Opinion: Now I change my minde, And partly credit things that do presage.
Messa.
Beleeue not so
Cassi.
I but beleeue it partly, For I am fresh of spirit, and resolu'd To meete all perils, very constantly
Bru.
Euen so Lucillius
Cassi.
Now most Noble Brutus, The Gods to day stand friendly, that we may Louers in peace, leade on our dayes to age.
But since the affayres of men rests still incertaine, Let's reason with the worst that may befall.
If we do lose this Battaile, then is this The very last time we shall speake together: What are you then determined to do?
Bru.
Cassi.
Then, if we loose this Battaile, You are contented to be led in Triumph Thorow the streets of Rome
Bru.
No Cassius, no: Thinke not thou Noble Romane, That euer Brutus will go bound to Rome, He beares too great a minde.
But this same day Must end that worke, the Ides of March begun.
And whether we shall meete againe, I know not: Therefore our euerlasting farewell take: For euer, and for euer, farewell Cassius, If we do meete againe, why we shall smile; If not, why then this parting was well made
Cassi.
For euer, and for euer, farewell Brutus: If we do meete againe, wee'l smile indeede; If not,'tis true, this parting was well made
Bru.
Why then leade on.
O that a man might know The end of this dayes businesse, ere it come: But it sufficeth, that the day will end, And then the end is knowne.
Come ho, away.
Exeunt.
Alarum.
Enter Brutus and Messala.
Bru.
Ride, ride Messala, ride and giue these Billes Vnto the Legions, on the other side.
Lowd Alarum.
Let them set on at once: for I perceiue But cold demeanor in Octauio's wing: And sodaine push giues them the ouerthrow: Ride, ride Messala, let them all come downe.
Exeunt.
Alarums.
Enter Cassius and Titinius.
Cassi.
O looke Titinius, looke, the Villaines flye: My selfe haue to mine owne turn'd Enemy: This Ensigne heere of mine was turning backe, I slew the Coward, and did take it from him
Titin.
O Cassius, Brutus gaue the word too early, Who hauing some aduantage on Octauius, Tooke it too eagerly: his Soldiers fell to spoyle, Whilst we by Antony are all inclos'd.
Enter Pindarus.
Pind.
Fly further off my Lord: flye further off, Mark Antony is in your Tents my Lord: Flye therefore Noble Cassius, flye farre off
Cassi.
This Hill is farre enough.
Looke, look Titinius Are those my Tents where I perceiue the fire?
Tit.
They are, my Lord
Cassi.
Titinius, if thou louest me, Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurres in him, Till he haue brought thee vp to yonder Troopes And heere againe, that I may rest assur'd Whether yond Troopes, are Friend or Enemy
Tit.
I will be heere againe, euen with a thought.
Enter.
Cassi.
Go Pindarus, get higher on that hill, My sight was euer thicke: regard Titinius, And tell me what thou not'st about the Field.
This day I breathed first, Time is come round, And where I did begin, there shall I end, My life is run his compasse.
Sirra, what newes?
Pind.
Aboue.
O my Lord
Cassi.
What newes?
Pind.
Titinius is enclosed round about With Horsemen, that make to him on the Spurre, Yet he spurres on.
Now they are almost on him: Now Titinius.
Now some light: O he lights too.
Hee's tane.
Showt.
And hearke, they shout for ioy
Cassi.
Come downe, behold no more: O Coward that I am, to liue so long, To see my best Friend tane before my face Enter Pindarus.
Come hither sirrah: In Parthia did I take thee Prisoner, And then I swore thee, sauing of thy life, That whatsoeuer I did bid thee do, Thou should'st attempt it.
Come now, keepe thine oath, Now be a Free - man, and with this good Sword That ran through Caesars bowels, search this bosome.
Stand not to answer: Heere, take thou the Hilts, And when my face is couer'd, as'tis now, Guide thou the Sword - Caesar, thou art reueng'd, Euen with the Sword that kill'd thee
Pin.
So, I am free, Yet would not so haue beene Durst I haue done my will.
O Cassius, Farre from this Country Pindarus shall run, Where neuer Roman shall take note of him.
Enter Titinius and Messala.
Messa.
It is but change, Titinius: for Octauius Is ouerthrowne by Noble Brutus power, As Cassius Legions are by Antony
Titin.
These tydings will well comfort Cassius
Messa.
Where did you leaue him
Titin.
All disconsolate, With Pindarus his Bondman, on this Hill
Messa.
Is not that he that lyes vpon the ground?
Titin.
He lies not like the Liuing.
O my heart!
Messa.
Is not that hee?
Titin.
No, this was he Messala, But Cassius is no more.
O setting Sunne: As in thy red Rayes thou doest sinke to night; So in his red blood Cassius day is set.
The Sunne of Rome is set.
Our day is gone, Clowds, Dewes, and Dangers come; our deeds are done: Mistrust of my successe hath done this deed
Messa.
Mistrust of good successe hath done this deed.
O hatefull Error, Melancholies Childe: Why do'st thou shew to the apt thoughts of men The things that are not?
O Error soone conceyu'd, Thou neuer com'st vnto a happy byrth, But kil'st the Mother that engendred thee
Tit.
What Pindarus?
Where art thou Pindarus?
Messa.
Seeke him Titinius, whilst I go to meet The Noble Brutus, thrusting this report Into his eares; I may say thrusting it: For piercing Steele, and Darts inuenomed, Shall be as welcome to the eares of Brutus, As tydings of this sight
Tit.
Hye you Messala, And I will seeke for Pindarus the while: Why did'st thou send me forth braue Cassius?
Did I not meet thy Friends, and did not they Put on my Browes this wreath of Victorie, And bid me giue it thee?
Did'st thou not heare their showts?
Alas, thou hast misconstrued euery thing.
But hold thee, take this Garland on thy Brow, Thy Brutus bid me giue it thee, and I Will do his bidding.
Brutus, come apace, And see how I regarded Caius Cassius: By your leaue Gods: This is a Romans part, Come Cassius Sword, and finde Titinius hart.
Dies
Alarum.
Enter Brutus, Messala, yong Cato, Strato, Volumnius, and Lucillius.
Bru.
Where, where Messala, doth his body lye?
Messa.
Loe yonder, and Titinius mourning it
Bru.
Titinius face is vpward
Cato.
He is slaine
Bru.
O Iulius Caesar, thou art mighty yet, Thy Spirit walkes abroad, and turnes our Swords In our owne proper Entrailes.
Low Alarums
Cato.
Braue Titinius, Looke where he haue not crown'd dead Cassius
Bru.
Are yet two Romans liuing such as these?
The last of all the Romans, far thee well: It is impossible, that euer Rome Should breed thy fellow.
Friends I owe mo teares To this dead man, then you shall see me pay.
I shall finde time, Cassius: I shall finde time.
Exeunt.
Alarum.
Enter Brutus, Messala, Cato, Lucillius, and Flauius.
Bru.
Yet Country - men: O yet, hold vp your heads
Cato.
What Bastard doth not?
Who will go with me?
I will proclaime my name about the Field.
I am the Sonne of Marcus Cato, hoe.
A Foe to Tyrants, and my Countries Friend.
I am the Sonne of Marcus Cato, hoe.
Enter Souldiers, and fight.
And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I, Brutus my Countries Friend: Know me for Brutus
Luc.
O yong and Noble Cato, art thou downe?
Why now thou dyest, as brauely as Titinius, And may'st be honour'd, being Cato's Sonne
Sold.
Yeeld, or thou dyest
Luc.
Onely I yeeld to dye: There is so much, that thou wilt kill me straight: Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death
Sold.
We must not: a Noble Prisoner.
Enter Antony.
2. Sold.
Roome hoe: tell Antony, Brutus is tane
1. Sold.
Ile tell thee newes.
Heere comes the Generall, Brutus is tane, Brutus is tane my Lord
Ant.
Where is hee?
Luc.
Safe Antony, Brutus is safe enough: I dare assure thee, that no Enemy Shall euer take aliue the Noble Brutus: The Gods defend him from so great a shame, When you do finde him, or aliue, or dead, He will be found like Brutus, like himselfe
Ant.
This is not Brutus friend, but I assure you, A prize no lesse in worth; keepe this man safe, Giue him all kindnesse.
I had rather haue Such men my Friends, then Enemies.
Go on, And see where Brutus be aliue or dead, And bring vs word, vnto Octauius Tent: How euery thing is chanc'd.
Exeunt.
Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius.
Brut.
Come poore remaines of friends, rest on this Rocke
Clit.
Statillius shew'd the Torch - light, but my Lord He came not backe: he is or tane, or slaine
Brut.
Sit thee downe, Clitus: slaying is the word, It is a deed in fashion.
Hearke thee, Clitus
Clit.
What I, my Lord?
No, not for all the World
Brut.
Peace then, no words
Clit.
Ile rather kill my selfe
Brut.
Hearke thee, Dardanius
Dard.
Shall I doe such a deed?
Clit.
O Dardanius
Dard.
O Clitus
Clit.
What ill request did Brutus make to thee?
Dard.
To kill him, Clitus: looke he meditates
Clit.
Now is that Noble Vessell full of griefe, That it runnes ouer euen at his eyes
Brut.
Come hither, good Volumnius, list a word
Volum.
What sayes my Lord?
Brut.
Why this, Volumnius: The Ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me Two seuerall times by Night: at Sardis, once; And this last Night, here in Philippi fields: I know my houre is come
Volum.
Not so, my Lord
Brut.
Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.
Thou seest the World, Volumnius, how it goes, Our Enemies haue beat vs to the Pit:
Low Alarums.
It is more worthy, to leape in our selues, Then tarry till they push vs. Good Volumnius, Thou know'st, that we two went to Schoole together: Euen for that our loue of old, I prethee Hold thou my Sword Hilts, whilest I runne on it
Vol.
That's not an Office for a friend, my Lord.
Alarum still.
Cly.
Fly, flye my Lord, there is no tarrying heere
Bru.
Farewell to you, and you, and Volumnius.
Strato, thou hast bin all this while asleepe: Farewell to thee, to Strato, Countrymen: My heart doth ioy, that yet in all my life, I found no man, but he was true to me.
I shall haue glory by this loosing day More then Octauius, and Marke Antony, By this vile Conquest shall attaine vnto.
So fare you well at once, for Brutus tongue Hath almost ended his liues History: Night hangs vpon mine eyes, my Bones would rest, That haue but labour'd, to attaine this houre.
Alarum.
Cry within, Flye, flye, flye.
Cly.
Fly my Lord, flye
Bru.
Hence: I will follow: I prythee Strato, stay thou by thy Lord, Thou art a Fellow of a good respect: Thy life hath had some smatch of Honor in it, Hold then my Sword, and turne away thy face, While I do run vpon it.
Wilt thou Strato?
Stra.
Giue me your hand first.
Fare you wel my Lord
Bru.
Farewell good Strato.
- Caesar, now be still, I kill'd not thee with halfe so good a will.
Dyes.
Alarum.
Retreat.
Enter Antony, Octauius, Messala, Lucillius, and the Army.
Octa.
What man is that?
Messa.
My Masters man.
Strato, where is thy Master?
Stra.
Free from the Bondage you are in Messala, The Conquerors can but make a fire of him: For Brutus onely ouercame himselfe, And no man else hath Honor by his death
Lucil.
So Brutus should be found.
I thank thee Brutus That thou hast prou'd Lucillius saying true, Octa.
All that seru'd Brutus, I will entertaine them.
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?
Stra.
I, if Messala will preferre me to you
Octa.
Do so, good Messala
Messa.
How dyed my Master Strato?
Stra.
I held the Sword, and he did run on it
Messa.
Octauius, then take him to follow thee, That did the latest seruice to my Master
Ant.
This was the Noblest Roman of them all: All the Conspirators saue onely hee, Did that they did, in enuy of great Caesar: He, onely in a generall honest thought, And common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle, and the Elements So mixt in him, that Nature might stand vp, And say to all the world; This was a man
Octa.
According to his Vertue, let vs vse him Withall Respect, and Rites of Buriall.
Within my Tent his bones to night shall ly, Most like a Souldier ordered Honourably: So call the Field to rest, and let's away, To part the glories of this happy day.
Exeunt.
omnes.
FINIS.
THE TRAGEDIE OF IVLIVS CaeSAR.
[ The Tragedie of Hamlet by William Shakespeare 1599 ]
Actus Primus.
Scoena Prima.
Enter Barnardo and Francisco two Centinels.
Barnardo.
Who's there?
Fran.
Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold your selfe
Bar.
Long liue the King
Fran.
Barnardo?
Bar.
Fran.
You come most carefully vpon your houre
Bar.
' Tis now strook twelue, get thee to bed Francisco
Fran.
For this releefe much thankes:'Tis bitter cold, And I am sicke at heart
Barn.
Haue you had quiet Guard?
Fran.
Not a Mouse stirring
Barn.
Well, goodnight.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, the Riuals of my Watch, bid them make hast.
Enter Horatio and Marcellus.
Fran.
I thinke I heare them.
Stand: who's there?
Hor.
Friends to this ground
Mar.
And Leige - men to the Dane
Fran.
Giue you good night
Mar.
O farwel honest Soldier, who hath relieu'd you?
Fra.
Barnardo ha's my place: giue you goodnight.
Exit Fran.
Mar.
Holla Barnardo
Bar.
Say, what is Horatio there?
Hor.
A peece of him
Bar.
Welcome Horatio, welcome good Marcellus
Mar.
What, ha's this thing appear'd againe to night
Bar.
I haue seene nothing
Mar.
Hor.
Tush, tush,'twill not appeare
Bar.
Sit downe a - while, And let vs once againe assaile your eares, That are so fortified against our Story, What we two Nights haue seene
Hor.
Well, sit we downe, And let vs heare Barnardo speake of this
Barn.
Last night of all, When yond same Starre that's Westward from the Pole Had made his course t'illume that part of Heauen Where now it burnes, Marcellus and my selfe, The Bell then beating one
Mar.
Peace, breake thee of: Enter the Ghost.
Looke where it comes againe
Barn.
In the same figure, like the King that's dead
Mar.
Thou art a Scholler; speake to it Horatio
Barn.
Lookes it not like the King?
Marke it Horatio
Hora.
Most like: It harrowes me with fear & wonder Barn.
It would be spoke too
Mar.
Question it Horatio
Hor.
What art thou that vsurp'st this time of night, Together with that Faire and Warlike forme In which the Maiesty of buried Denmarke Did sometimes march: By Heauen I charge thee speake
Mar.
It is offended
Barn.
See, it stalkes away
Hor.
Stay: speake; speake: I Charge thee, speake.
Exit the Ghost.
Mar.
' Tis gone, and will not answer
Barn.
How now Horatio?
You tremble & look pale: Is not this something more then Fantasie?
What thinke you on't?
Hor.
Before my God, I might not this beleeue Without the sensible and true auouch Of mine owne eyes
Mar.
Is it not like the King?
Hor.
As thou art to thy selfe, Such was the very Armour he had on, When th'Ambitious Norwey combatted: So frown'd he once, when in an angry parle He smot the sledded Pollax on the Ice.
' Tis strange
Mar.
Thus twice before, and iust at this dead houre, With Martiall stalke, hath he gone by our Watch
Hor.
In what particular thought to work, I know not: But in the grosse and scope of my Opinion, This boades some strange erruption to our State
Mar.
Hor.
That can I, At least the whisper goes so: Our last King, Whose Image euen but now appear'd to vs, Was (as you know) by Fortinbras of Norway, (Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate Pride) Dar'd to the Combate.
Enter Ghost againe.
But soft, behold: Loe, where it comes againe: Ile crosse it, though it blast me.
Stay Illusion: If thou hast any sound, or vse of Voyce, Speake to me.
If there be any good thing to be done, That may to thee do ease, and grace to me; speak to me.
If thou art priuy to thy Countries Fate (Which happily foreknowing may auoyd) Oh speake.
Or, if thou hast vp - hoorded in thy life Extorted Treasure in the wombe of Earth, (For which, they say, you Spirits oft walke in death) Speake of it.
Stay, and speake.
Stop it Marcellus
Mar.
Shall I strike at it with my Partizan?
Hor.
Do, if it will not stand
Barn.
' Tis heere
Hor.
' Tis heere
Mar.
' Tis gone.
Exit Ghost.
We do it wrong, being so Maiesticall To offer it the shew of Violence, For it is as the Ayre, invulnerable, And our vaine blowes, malicious Mockery
Barn.
It was about to speake, when the Cocke crew
Hor.
And then it started, like a guilty thing Vpon a fearfull Summons.
I haue heard, The Cocke that is the Trumpet to the day, Doth with his lofty and shrill - sounding Throate Awake the God of Day: and at his warning, Whether in Sea, or Fire, in Earth, or Ayre, Th'extrauagant, and erring Spirit, hyes To his Confine.
And of the truth heerein, This present Obiect made probation
Mar.
It faded on the crowing of the Cocke.
Hor.
So haue I heard, and do in part beleeue it.
But looke, the Morne in Russet mantle clad, Walkes o're the dew of yon high Easterne Hill, Breake we our Watch vp, and by my aduice Let vs impart what we haue seene to night Vnto yong Hamlet.
For vpon my life, This Spirit dumbe to vs, will speake to him: Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, As needfull in our Loues, fitting our Duty?
Mar.
Let do't I pray, and I this morning know Where we shall finde him most conueniently.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Claudius King of Denmarke, Gertrude the Queene, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, and his Sister Ophelia, Lords Attendant.
King.
So much for him.
Enter Voltemand and Cornelius.
Now for our selfe, and for this time of meeting Thus much the businesse is.
We haue heere writ To Norway, Vncle of young Fortinbras, Who Impotent and Bedrid, scarsely heares Of this his Nephewes purpose, to suppresse His further gate heerein.
Volt.
In that, and all things, will we shew our duty
King.
We doubt it nothing, heartily farewell.
Exit Voltemand and Cornelius.
And now Laertes, what's the newes with you?
You told vs of some suite.
What is't Laertes?
You cannot speake of Reason to the Dane, And loose your voyce.
What would'st thou beg Laertes, That shall not be my Offer, not thy Asking?
The Head is not more Natiue to the Heart, The Hand more instrumentall to the Mouth, Then is the Throne of Denmarke to thy Father.
What would'st thou haue Laertes?
Laer.
King.
Haue you your Fathers leaue?
What sayes Pollonius?
Pol.
He hath my Lord: I do beseech you giue him leaue to go
King.
Take thy faire houre Laertes, time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will: But now my Cosin Hamlet, and my Sonne?
Ham.
A little more then kin, and lesse then kinde
King.
How is it that the Clouds still hang on you?
Ham.
Not so my Lord, I am too much i'th'Sun
Queen.
Good Hamlet cast thy nightly colour off, And let thine eye looke like a Friend on Denmarke.
Do not for euer with thy veyled lids Seeke for thy Noble Father in the dust; Thou know'st'tis common, all that liues must dye, Passing through Nature, to Eternity
Ham.
I Madam, it is common
Queen.
If it be; Why seemes it so particular with thee
Ham.
Seemes Madam?
These indeed Seeme, For they are actions that a man might play: But I haue that Within, which passeth show; These, but the Trappings, and the Suites of woe
King.
' Tis sweet and commendable In your Nature Hamlet, To giue these mourning duties to your Father: But you must know, your Father lost a Father, That Father lost, lost his, and the Suruiuer bound In filiall Obligation, for some terme To do obsequious Sorrow.
But to perseuer In obstinate Condolement, is a course Of impious stubbornnesse.
Fye,'tis a fault to Heauen, A fault against the Dead, a fault to Nature, To Reason most absurd, whose common Theame Is death of Fathers, and who still hath cried, From the first Coarse, till he that dyed to day, This must be so.
We pray you throw to earth This vnpreuayling woe, and thinke of vs As of a Father; For let the world take note, You are the most immediate to our Throne, And with no lesse Nobility of Loue, Then that which deerest Father beares his Sonne, Do I impart towards you.
For your intent In going backe to Schoole in Wittenberg, It is most retrograde to our desire: And we beseech you, bend you to remaine Heere in the cheere and comfort of our eye, Our cheefest Courtier Cosin, and our Sonne
Qu.
Let not thy Mother lose her Prayers Hamlet: I prythee stay with vs, go not to Wittenberg
Ham.
I shall in all my best Obey you Madam
King.
Why'tis a louing, and a faire Reply, Be as our selfe in Denmarke.
Madam come, This gentle and vnforc'd accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof, No iocond health that Denmarke drinkes to day, But the great Cannon to the Clowds shall tell, And the Kings Rouce, the Heauens shall bruite againe, Respeaking earthly Thunder.
Come away.
Exeunt.
Manet Hamlet.
Ham.
Oh that this too too solid Flesh, would melt, Thaw, and resolue it selfe into a Dew: Or that the Euerlasting had not fixt His Cannon'gainst Selfe - slaughter.
O God, O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and vnprofitable Seemes to me all the vses of this world?
Fie on't?
Oh fie, fie,'tis an vnweeded Garden That growes to Seed: Things rank, and grosse in Nature Possesse it meerely.
That it should come to this: But two months dead: Nay, not so much; not two, So excellent a King, that was to this Hiperion to a Satyre: so louing to my Mother, That he might not beteene the windes of heauen Visit her face too roughly.
Heauen and Earth Must I remember: why she would hang on him, As if encrease of Appetite had growne By what is fed on; and yet within a month?
Let me not thinke on't: Frailty, thy name is woman.
A little Month, or ere those shooes were old, With which she followed my poore Fathers body Like Niobe, all teares.
Why she, euen she.
(O Heauen!
A beast that wants discourse of Reason Would haue mourn'd longer) married with mine Vnkle, My Fathers Brother: but no more like my Father, Then I to Hercules.
Within a Moneth?
Ere yet the salt of most vnrighteous Teares Had left the flushing of her gauled eyes, She married.
O most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to Incestuous sheets: It is not, nor it cannot come to good.
But breake my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
Enter Horatio, Barnardo, and Marcellus.
Hor.
Haile to your Lordship
Ham.
I am glad to see you well: Horatio, or I do forget my selfe
Hor.
The same my Lord, And your poore Seruant euer
Ham.
Sir my good friend, Ile change that name with you: And what make you from Wittenberg Horatio?
Marcellus
Mar.
My good Lord
Ham.
I am very glad to see you: good euen Sir.
But what in faith make you from Wittemberge?
Hor.
A truant disposition, good my Lord
Ham.
I would not haue your Enemy say so; Nor shall you doe mine eare that violence, To make it truster of your owne report Against your selfe.
I know you are no Truant: But what is your affaire in Elsenour?
Wee'l teach you to drinke deepe, ere you depart
Hor.
My Lord, I came to see your Fathers Funerall
Ham.
I pray thee doe not mock me (fellow Student) I thinke it was to see my Mothers Wedding
Hor.
Indeed my Lord, it followed hard vpon
Ham.
Thrift thrift Horatio: the Funerall Bakt - meats Did coldly furnish forth the Marriage Tables; Would I had met my dearest foe in heauen, Ere I had euer seene that day Horatio.
My father, me thinkes I see my father
Hor.
Oh where my Lord?
Ham.
In my minds eye (Horatio) Hor.
I saw him once; he was a goodly King
Ham.
He was a man, take him for all in all: I shall not look vpon his like againe
Hor.
My Lord, I thinke I saw him yesternight
Ham.
Saw?
Who?
Hor.
My Lord, the King your Father
Ham.
The King my Father?
Hor.
Season your admiration for a while With an attent eare; till I may deliuer Vpon the witnesse of these Gentlemen, This maruell to you
Ham.
For Heauens loue let me heare
Hor.
Two nights together, had these Gentlemen (Marcellus and Barnardo) on their Watch In the dead wast and middle of the night Beene thus encountred.
This to me In dreadfull secrecie impart they did, And I with them the third Night kept the Watch, Whereas they had deliuer'd both in time, Forme of the thing; each word made true and good, The Apparition comes.
I knew your Father: These hands are not more like
Ham.
But where was this?
Mar.
My Lord vpon the platforme where we watcht
Ham.
Did you not speake to it?
Hor.
My Lord, I did; But answere made it none: yet once me thought It lifted vp it head, and did addresse It selfe to motion, like as it would speake: But euen then, the Morning Cocke crew lowd; And at the sound it shrunke in hast away, And vanisht from our sight
Ham.
Tis very strange
Hor.
As I doe liue my honourd Lord'tis true; And we did thinke it writ downe in our duty To let you know of it
Ham.
Indeed, indeed Sirs; but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch to Night?
Both.
We doe my Lord
Ham.
Arm'd, say you?
Both.
Arm'd, my Lord
Ham.
From top to toe?
Both.
My Lord, from head to foote
Ham.
Then saw you not his face?
Hor.
O yes, my Lord, he wore his Beauer vp
Ham.
What, lookt he frowningly?
Hor.
A countenance more in sorrow then in anger
Ham.
Pale, or red?
Hor.
Nay very pale
Ham.
And fixt his eyes vpon you?
Hor.
Most constantly
Ham.
I would I had beene there
Hor.
It would haue much amaz'd you
Ham.
Very like, very like: staid it long?
Hor.
While one with moderate hast might tell a hundred
All.
Longer, longer
Hor.
Not when I saw't
Ham.
His Beard was grisly?
Hor.
It was, as I haue seene it in his life, A Sable Siluer'd
Ham.
Ile watch to Night; perchance'twill wake againe
Hor.
I warrant you it will
Ham.
If it assume my noble Fathers person, Ile speake to it, though Hell it selfe should gape And bid me hold my peace.
All.
Our duty to your Honour.
Exeunt
Ham.
Your loue, as mine to you: farewell.
My Fathers Spirit in Armes?
All is not well: I doubt some foule play: would the Night were come; Till then sit still my soule; foule deeds will rise, Though all the earth orewhelm them to mens eies.
Enter.
Scena Tertia
Enter Laertes and Ophelia.
Laer.
My necessaries are imbark't; Farewell: And Sister, as the Winds giue Benefit, And Conuoy is assistant; doe not sleepe, But let me heare from you
Ophel.
Doe you doubt that?
Laer.
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his fauours, Hold it a fashion and a toy in Bloude; A Violet in the youth of Primy Nature; Froward, not permanent; sweet not lasting The suppliance of a minute?
No more
Ophel.
No more but so
Laer.
Thinke it no more: For nature cressant does not grow alone, In thewes and Bulke: but as his Temple waxes, The inward seruice of the Minde and Soule Growes wide withall.
And therefore must his choyce be circumscrib'd Vnto the voyce and yeelding of that Body, Whereof he is the Head.
Then if he sayes he loues you, It fits your wisedome so farre to beleeue it; As he in his peculiar Sect and force May giue his saying deed: which is no further, Then the maine voyce of Denmarke goes withall.
Then weight what losse your Honour may sustaine, If with too credent eare you list his Songs; Or lose your Heart; or your chast Treasure open To his vnmastred importunity.
Feare it Ophelia, feare it my deare Sister, And keepe within the reare of your Affection; Out of the shot and danger of Desire.
Be wary then, best safety lies in feare; Youth to it selfe rebels, though none else neere
Ophe.
Laer.
Oh, feare me not.
Enter Polonius.
I stay too long; but here my Father comes: A double blessing is a double grace; Occasion smiles vpon a second leaue
Polon.
Yet heere Laertes?
Aboord, aboord for shame, The winde sits in the shoulder of your saile, And you are staid for there: my blessing with you; And these few Precepts in thy memory, See thou Character.
Beware Of entrance to a quarrell: but being in Bear't that th'opposed may beware of thee.
Giue euery man thine eare; but few thy voyce: Take each mans censure; but reserue thy iudgement: Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy; But not exprest in fancie; rich, not gawdie: For the Apparell oft proclaimes the man.
And they in France of the best ranck and station, Are of a most select and generous cheff in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; For lone oft loses both it selfe and friend: And borrowing duls the edge of Husbandry.
This aboue all; to thine owne selfe be true: And it must follow, as the Night the Day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell: my Blessing season this in thee
Laer.
Most humbly doe I take my leaue, my Lord
Polon.
The time inuites you, goe, your seruants tend
Laer.
Farewell Ophelia, and remember well What I haue said to you
Ophe.
Tis in my memory lockt, And you your selfe shall keepe the key of it
Laer.
Farewell.
Exit Laer.
Polon.
What ist Ophelia he hath said to you?
Ophe.
So please you, somthing touching the L [ ord ].
Hamlet
Polon.
Marry, well bethought: Tis told me he hath very oft of late Giuen priuate time to you; and you your selfe Haue of your audience beene most free and bounteous.
If it be so, as so tis put on me; And that in way of caution: I must tell you, You doe not vnderstand your selfe so cleerely, As it behoues my Daughter, and your Honour.
What is betweene you, giue me vp the truth?
Ophe.
He hath my Lord of late, made many tenders Of his affection to me
Polon.
Affection, puh.
You speake like a greene Girle, Vnsifted in such perillous Circumstance.
Doe you beleeue his tenders, as you call them?
Ophe.
I do not know, my Lord, what I should thinke
Polon.
Marry Ile teach you; thinke your selfe a Baby, That you haue tane his tenders for true pay, Which are not starling.
Tender your selfe more dearly; Or not to crack the winde of the poore Phrase, Roaming it thus, you'l tender me a foole
Ophe.
My Lord, he hath importun'd me with loue, In honourable fashion
Polon.
I, fashion you may call it, go too, go too
Ophe.
And hath giuen countenance to his speech, My Lord, with all the vowes of Heauen
Polon.
I, Springes to catch Woodcocks.
I doe know When the Bloud burnes, how Prodigall the Soule Giues the tongue vowes: these blazes, Daughter, Giuing more light then heate; extinct in both, Euen in their promise, as it is a making; You must not take for fire.
For this time Daughter, Be somewhat scanter of your Maiden presence; Set your entreatments at a higher rate, Then a command to parley.
For Lord Hamlet, Beleeue so much in him, that he is young, And with a larger tether may he walke, Then may be giuen you.
In few, Ophelia, Doe not beleeue his vowes; for they are Broakers, Not of the eye, which their Inuestments show: But meere implorators of vnholy Sutes, Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds, The better to beguile.
This is for all: I would not, in plaine tearmes, from this time forth, Haue you so slander any moment leisure, As to giue words or talke with the Lord Hamlet: Looke too't, I charge you; come your wayes
Ophe.
I shall obey my Lord.
Exeunt.
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, Marcellus.
Ham.
The Ayre bites shrewdly: is it very cold?
Hor.
It is a nipping and an eager ayre
Ham.
What hower now?
Hor.
I thinke it lacks of twelue
Mar.
No, it is strooke
Hor.
Indeed I heard it not: then it drawes neere the season, Wherein the Spirit held his wont to walke.
What does this meane my Lord?
Ham.
The King doth wake to night, and takes his rouse, Keepes wassels and the swaggering vpspring reeles, And as he dreines his draughts of Renish downe, The kettle Drum and Trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his Pledge
Horat.
Is it a custome?
Ham.
I marry ist; And to my mind, though I am natiue heere, And to the manner borne: It is a Custome More honour'd in the breach, then the obseruance.
Enter Ghost.
Hor.
Looke my Lord, it comes
Ham.
Angels and Ministers of Grace defend vs: Be thou a Spirit of health, or Goblin damn'd, Bring with thee ayres from Heauen, or blasts from Hell, Be thy euents wicked or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape That I will speake to thee.
What may this meane?
That thou dead Coarse againe in compleat steele, Reuisits thus the glimpses of the Moone, Making Night hidious?
And we fooles of Nature, So horridly to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond thee; reaches of our Soules, Say, why is this?
wherefore?
what should we doe?
Ghost beckens Hamlet.
Hor.
It beckons you to goe away with it, As if it some impartment did desire To you alone
Mar.
Looke with what courteous action It wafts you to a more remoued ground: But doe not goe with it
Hor.
No, by no meanes
Ham.
It will not speake: then will I follow it
Hor.
Doe not my Lord
Ham.
Why, what should be the feare?
I doe not set my life at a pins fee; And for my Soule, what can it doe to that?
Being a thing immortall as it selfe: It waues me forth againe; Ile follow it
Hor.
What if it tempt you toward the Floud my Lord?
Or to the dreadfull Sonnet of the Cliffe, That beetles o're his base into the Sea, And there assumes some other horrible forme, Which might depriue your Soueraignty of Reason, And draw you into madnesse thinke of it?
Ham.
It wafts me still: goe on, Ile follow thee
Mar.
You shall not goe my Lord
Ham.
Hold off your hand
Hor.
Be rul'd, you shall not goe
Ham.
My fate cries out, And makes each petty Artire in this body, As hardy as the Nemian Lions nerue: Still am I cal'd?
Vnhand me Gentlemen: By Heau'n, Ile make a Ghost of him that lets me: I say away, goe on, Ile follow thee.
Exeunt.
Ghost & Hamlet.
Hor.
He waxes desperate with imagination
Mar.
Let's follow;'tis not fit thus to obey him
Hor.
Haue after, to what issue will this come?
Mar.
Something is rotten in the State of Denmarke
Hor.
Heauen will direct it
Mar.
Nay, let's follow him.
Exeunt.
Enter Ghost and Hamlet.
Ham.
Where wilt thou lead me?
speak; Ile go no further
Gho.
Marke me
Ham.
I will
Gho.
My hower is almost come, When I to sulphurous and tormenting Flames Must render vp my selfe
Ham.
Alas poore Ghost
Gho.
Pitty me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall vnfold
Ham.
Speake, I am bound to heare
Gho.
So art thou to reuenge, when thou shalt heare
Ham.
What?
Gho.
I am thy Fathers Spirit, Doom'd for a certaine terme to walke the night; And for the day confin'd to fast in Fiers, Till the foule crimes done in my dayes of Nature Are burnt and purg'd away?
Ham.
Oh Heauen!
Gho.
Reuenge his foule and most vnnaturall Murther
Ham.
Murther?
Ghost.
Murther most foule, as in the best it is; But this most foule, strange, and vnnaturall
Ham.
Hast, hast me to know it, That with wings as swift As meditation, or the thoughts of Loue, May sweepe to my Reuenge
Ghost.
I finde thee apt, And duller should'st thou be then the fat weede That rots it selfe in ease, on Lethe Wharfe, Would'st thou not stirre in this.
Now Hamlet heare: It's giuen out, that sleeping in mine Orchard, A Serpent stung me: so the whole eare of Denmarke, Is by a forged processe of my death Rankly abus'd: But know thou Noble youth, The Serpent that did sting thy Fathers life, Now weares his Crowne
Ham.
O my Propheticke soule: mine Vncle?
Ghost.
I that incestuous, that adulterate Beast With witchcraft of his wits, hath Traitorous guifts.
Oh wicked Wit, and Gifts, that haue the power So to seduce?
But Vertue, as it neuer wil be moued, Though Lewdnesse court it in a shape of Heauen: So Lust, though to a radiant Angell link'd, Will sate it selfe in a Celestiall bed, & prey on Garbage.
But howsoeuer thou pursuest this Act, Taint not thy mind; nor let thy Soule contriue Against thy Mother ought; leaue her to heauen, And to those Thornes that in her bosome lodge, To pricke and sting her.
Fare thee well at once; The Glow - worme showes the Matine to be neere, And gins to pale his vneffectuall Fire: Adue, adue, Hamlet: remember me.
Enter.
Ham.
Oh all you host of Heauen!
Oh Earth; what els?
And shall I couple Hell?
Oh fie: hold my heart; And you my sinnewes, grow not instant Old; But beare me stiffely vp: Remember thee?
I, thou poore Ghost, while memory holds a seate In this distracted Globe: Remember thee?
Oh Villaine, Villaine, smiling damned Villaine!
My Tables, my Tables; meet it is I set it downe, That one may smile, and smile and be a Villaine; At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmarke; So Vnckle there you are: now to my word; It is; Adue, Adue, Remember me: I haue sworn't
Hor.
& Mar.
within.
My Lord, my Lord.
Enter Horatio and Marcellus.
Mar.
Lord Hamlet
Hor.
Heauen secure him
Mar.
So be it
Hor.
Illo, ho, ho, my Lord
Ham.
Hillo, ho, ho, boy; come bird, come
Mar.
How ist my Noble Lord?
Hor.
What newes, my Lord?
Ham.
Oh wonderfull!
Hor.
Good my Lord tell it
Ham.
No you'l reueale it
Hor.
Not I, my Lord, by Heauen
Mar.
Nor I, my Lord
Ham.
How say you then, would heart of man once think it?
But you'l be secret?
Both.
I, by Heau'n, my Lord
Ham.
There's nere a villaine dwelling in all Denmarke But hee's an arrant knaue
Hor.
There needs no Ghost my Lord, come from the Graue, to tell vs this
Ham.
Hor.
These are but wild and hurling words, my Lord
Ham.
I'm sorry they offend you heartily: Yes faith, heartily
Hor.
There's no offence my Lord
Ham.
Yes, by Saint Patricke, but there is my Lord, And much offence too, touching this Vision heere: It is an honest Ghost, that let me tell you: For your desire to know what is betweene vs, O'remaster't as you may.
And now good friends, As you are Friends, Schollers and Soldiers, Giue me one poore request
Hor.
What is't my Lord?
we will
Ham.
Neuer make known what you haue seen to night
Both.
My Lord, we will not
Ham.
Nay, but swear't
Hor.
Infaith my Lord, not I
Mar.
Nor I my Lord: in faith
Ham.
Vpon my sword
Marcell.
We haue sworne my Lord already
Ham.
Indeed, vpon my sword, Indeed
Gho.
Sweare.
Ghost cries vnder the Stage.
Ham.
Ah ha boy, sayest thou so.
Art thou there truepenny?
Come one you here this fellow in the selleredge Consent to sweare
Hor.
Propose the Oath my Lord
Ham.
Neuer to speake of this that you haue seene.
Sweare by my sword
Gho.
Sweare
Ham.
Hic & vbique?
Then wee'l shift for grownd, Come hither Gentlemen, And lay your hands againe vpon my sword, Neuer to speake of this that you haue heard: Sweare by my Sword
Gho.
Sweare
Ham.
Well said old Mole, can'st worke i'th'ground so fast?
A worthy Pioner, once more remoue good friends
Hor.
Oh day and night: but this is wondrous strange
Ham.
And therefore as a stranger giue it welcome.
There are more things in Heauen and Earth, Horatio, Then are dream't of in our Philosophy.
Ghost.
Sweare
Ham.
Nay, come let's goe together.
Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
Enter Polonius, and Reynoldo.
Polon.
Giue him his money, and these notes Reynoldo
Reynol.
I will my Lord
Polon.
You shall doe maruels wisely: good Reynoldo, Before you visite him you make inquiry Of his behauiour
Reynol.
My Lord, I did intend it
Polon.
Marry, well said; Very well said.
Doe you marke this Reynoldo?
Reynol.
I, very well my Lord
Polon.
Reynol.
As gaming my Lord
Polon.
I, or drinking, fencing, swearing, Quarelling, drabbing.
You may goe so farre
Reynol.
My Lord that would dishonour him
Polon.
Reynol.
But my good Lord
Polon.
Wherefore should you doe this?
Reynol.
I my Lord, I would know that
Polon.
Marry Sir, heere's my drift, And I belieue it is a fetch of warrant: You laying these slight sulleyes on my Sonne, As'twere a thing a little soil'd i'th'working: Marke you your party in conuerse; him you would sound, Hauing euer seene.
In the prenominate crimes, The youth you breath of guilty, be assur'd He closes with you in this consequence: Good sir, or so, or friend, or Gentleman.
According to the Phrase and the Addition, Of man and Country
Reynol.
Very good my Lord
Polon.
And then Sir does he this?
He does: what was I about to say?
I was about say somthing: where did I leaue?
Reynol.
At closes in the consequence: At friend, or so, and Gentleman
Polon.
At closes in the consequence, I marry, He closes with you thus.
See you now; Your bait of falshood, takes this Cape of truth; And thus doe we of wisedome and of reach With windlesses, and with assaies of Bias, By indirections finde directions out: So by my former Lecture and aduice Shall you my Sonne; you haue me, haue you not?
Reynol.
My Lord I haue
Polon.
God buy you; fare you well
Reynol.
Good my Lord
Polon.
Obserue his inclination in your selfe
Reynol.
I shall my Lord
Polon.
And let him plye his Musicke
Reynol.
Well, my Lord.
Enter.
Enter Ophelia.
Polon.
Farewell: How now Ophelia, what's the matter?
Ophe.
Alas my Lord, I haue beene so affrighted
Polon.
With what, in the name of Heauen?
Ophe.
Polon.
Mad for thy Loue?
Ophe.
My Lord, I doe not know: but truly I do feare it
Polon.
What said he?
Ophe.
He tooke me by the wrist, and held me hard; Then goes he to the length of all his arme; And with his other hand thus o're his brow, He fals to such perusall of my face, As he would draw it.
Long staid he so, At last, a little shaking of mine Arme: And thrice his head thus wauing vp and downe; He rais'd a sigh, so pittious and profound, That it did seeme to shatter all his bulke, And end his being.
That done, he lets me goe, And with his head ouer his shoulders turn'd, He seem'd to finde his way without his eyes, For out adores he went without their helpe; And to the last, bended their light on me
Polon.
Goe with me, I will goe seeke the King, This is the very extasie of Loue, Whose violent property foredoes it selfe, And leads the will to desperate Vndertakings, As oft as any passion vnder Heauen, That does afflict our Natures.
I am sorrie, What haue you giuen him any hard words of late?
Ophe.
No my good Lord: but as you did command, I did repell his Letters, and deny'de His accesse to me
Pol.
That hath made him mad.
I am sorrie that with better speed and iudgement I had not quoted him.
I feare he did but trifle, And meant to wracke thee: but beshrew my iealousie: It seemes it is as proper to our Age, To cast beyond our selues in our Opinions, As it is common for the yonger sort To lacke discretion.
Come, go we to the King, This must be knowne, being kept close might moue More greefe to hide, then hate to vtter loue.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter King, Queene, Rosincrane, and Guildensterne Cum alijs.
King.
Welcome deere Rosincrance and Guildensterne.
Moreouer, that we much did long to see you, The neede we haue to vse you, did prouoke Our hastie sending.
Something haue you heard Of Hamlets transformation: so I call it, Since not th'exterior, nor the inward man Resembles that it was.
What it should bee More then his Fathers death, that thus hath put him So much from th'vnderstanding of himselfe, I cannot deeme of.
Qu.
Good Gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you, And sure I am, two men there are not liuing, To whom he more adheres.
If it will please you To shew vs so much Gentrie, and good will, As to expend your time with vs a - while, For the supply and profit of our Hope, Your Visitation shall receiue such thankes As fits a Kings remembrance
Rosin.
Both your Maiesties Might by the Soueraigne power you haue of vs, Put your dread pleasures, more into Command Then to Entreatie
Guil.
We both obey, And here giue vp our selues, in the full bent, To lay our Seruices freely at your feete, To be commanded
King.
Thankes Rosincrance, and gentle Guildensterne
Qu.
Thankes Guildensterne and gentle Rosincrance.
And I beseech you instantly to visit My too much changed Sonne.
Go some of ye, And bring the Gentlemen where Hamlet is
Guil.
Heauens make our presence and our practises Pleasant and helpfull to him.
Enter.
Queene.
Amen.
Enter Polonius.
Pol.
Th'Ambassadors from Norwey, my good Lord, Are ioyfully return'd
King.
Thou still hast bin the father of good Newes
Pol.
Haue I, my Lord?
Assure you, my good Liege, I hold my dutie, as I hold my Soule, Both to my God, one to my gracious King: And I do thinke, or else this braine of mine Hunts not the traile of Policie, so sure As I haue vs'd to do: that I haue found The very cause of Hamlets Lunacie
King.
Oh speake of that, that I do long to heare
Pol.
Giue first admittance to th'Ambassadors, My Newes shall be the Newes to that great Feast
King.
Thy selfe do grace to them, and bring them in.
He tels me my sweet Queene, that he hath found The head and sourse of all your Sonnes distemper
Qu.
I doubt it is no other, but the maine, His Fathers death, and our o're - hasty Marriage.
Enter Polonius, Voltumand, and Cornelius.
King.
Well, we shall sift him.
Welcome good Frends: Say Voltumand, what from our Brother Norwey?
Volt.
Most faire returne of Greetings, and Desires.
King.
It likes vs well: And at our more consider'd time wee'l read, Answer, and thinke vpon this Businesse.
Meane time we thanke you, for your well - tooke Labour.
Go to your rest, at night wee'l Feast together.
Most welcome home.
Exit Ambass.
Pol.
This businesse is very well ended.
My Liege, and Madam, to expostulate What Maiestie should be, what Dutie is, Why day is day; night, night; and time is time, Were nothing but to waste Night, Day, and Time.
Therefore, since Breuitie is the Soule of Wit, And tediousnesse, the limbes and outward flourishes, I will be breefe.
Your Noble Sonne is mad: Mad call I it; for to define true Madnesse, What is't, but to be nothing else but mad.
But let that go
Qu.
More matter, with lesse Art
Pol.
Madam, I sweare I vse no Art at all: That he is mad,'tis true:'Tis true'tis pittie, And pittie it is true: A foolish figure, But farewell it: for I will vse no Art.
Mad let vs grant him then: and now remaines That we finde out the cause of this effect, Or rather say, the cause of this defect; For this effect defectiue, comes by cause, Thus it remaines, and the remainder thus.
Perpend, I haue a daughter: haue, whil'st she is mine, Who in her Dutie and Obedience, marke, Hath giuen me this: now gather, and surmise.
The Letter.
To the Celestiall, and my Soules Idoll, the most beautifed Ophelia.
That's an ill Phrase, a vilde Phrase, beautified is a vilde Phrase: but you shall heare these in her excellent white bosome, these
Qu.
Came this from Hamlet to her
Pol.
Good Madam stay awhile, I will be faithfull.
Doubt thou, the Starres are fire, Doubt, that the Sunne doth moue: Doubt Truth to be a Lier, But neuer Doubt, I loue.
O deere Ophelia, I am ill at these Numbers: I haue not Art to reckon my grones; but that I loue thee best, oh most Best beleeue it.
Adieu.
Thine euermore most deere Lady, whilst this Machine is to him, Hamlet.
This in Obedience hath my daughter shew'd me: And more aboue hath his soliciting, As they fell out by Time, by Meanes, and Place, All giuen to mine eare
King.
But how hath she receiu'd his Loue?
Pol.
What do you thinke of me?
King.
As of a man, faithfull and Honourable
Pol.
I wold faine proue so.
But what might you think?
A short Tale to make, Fell into a Sadnesse, then into a Fast, Thence to a Watch, thence into a Weaknesse, Thence to a Lightnesse, and by this declension Into the Madnesse whereon now he raues, And all we waile for
King.
Do you thinke'tis this?
Qu.
It may be very likely
Pol.
Hath there bene such a time, I'de fain know that, That I haue possitiuely said,'tis so, When it prou'd otherwise?
King.
Not that I know
Pol.
Take this from this; if this be otherwise, If Circumstances leade me, I will finde Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeede Within the Center
King.
How may we try it further?
Pol.
You know sometimes He walkes foure houres together, heere In the Lobby
Qu.
So he ha's indeed
Pol.
At such a time Ile loose my Daughter to him, Be you and I behinde an Arras then, Marke the encounter: If he loue her not, And be not from his reason falne thereon; Let me be no Assistant for a State, And keepe a Farme and Carters
King.
We will try it.
Enter Hamlet reading on a Booke.
Qu.
But looke where sadly the poore wretch Comes reading
Pol.
Away I do beseech you, both away, Ile boord him presently.
Exit King & Queen.
Oh giue me leaue.
How does my good Lord Hamlet?
Ham.
Well, God - a - mercy
Pol.
Do you know me, my Lord?
Ham.
Excellent, excellent well: y'are a Fishmonger
Pol.
Not I my Lord
Ham.
Then I would you were so honest a man
Pol.
Honest, my Lord?
Ham.
I sir, to be honest as this world goes, is to bee one man pick'd out of two thousand
Pol.
That's very true, my Lord
Ham.
For if the Sun breed Magots in a dead dogge, being a good kissing Carrion - Haue you a daughter?
Pol.
I haue my Lord
Ham.
Let her not walke i'thSunne: Conception is a blessing, but not as your daughter may conceiue.
Friend looke too't
Pol.
How say you by that?
Still harping on my daughter: yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a Fishmonger: he is farre gone, farre gone: and truly in my youth, I suffred much extreamity for loue: very neere this.
Ile speake to him againe.
What do you read my Lord?
Ham.
Words, words, words
Pol.
What is the matter, my Lord?
Ham.
Betweene who?
Pol.
I meane the matter you meane, my Lord
Ham.
Slanders Sir: for the Satyricall slaue saies here, that old men haue gray Beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thicke Amber, or Plum - Tree Gumme: and that they haue a plentifull locke of Wit, together with weake Hammes.
All which Sir, though I most powerfully, and potently beleeue; yet I holde it not Honestie to haue it thus set downe: For you your selfe Sir, should be old as I am, if like a Crab you could go backward
Pol.
Though this be madnesse, Yet there is Method in't: will you walke Out of the ayre my Lord?
Ham.
Into my Graue?
Pol.
Indeed that is out o'th'Ayre: How pregnant (sometimes) his Replies are?
A happinesse, That often Madnesse hits on, Which Reason and Sanitie could not So prosperously be deliuer'd of.
I will leaue him, And sodainely contriue the meanes of meeting Betweene him, and my daughter.
My Honourable Lord, I will most humbly Take my leaue of you
Ham.
You cannot Sir take from me any thing, that I will more willingly part withall, except my life, my life
Polon.
Fare you well my Lord
Ham.
These tedious old fooles
Polon.
You goe to seeke my Lord Hamlet; there hee is.
Enter Rosincran and Guildensterne.
Rosin.
God saue you Sir
Guild.
Mine honour'd Lord?
Rosin.
My most deare Lord?
Ham.
My excellent good friends?
How do'st thou Guildensterne?
Oh, Rosincrane; good Lads: How doe ye both?
Rosin.
As the indifferent Children of the earth
Guild.
Happy, in that we are not ouer - happy: on Fortunes Cap, we are not the very Button
Ham.
Nor the Soales of her Shoo?
Rosin.
Neither my Lord
Ham.
Then you liue about her waste, or in the middle of her fauour?
Guil.
Faith, her priuates, we
Ham.
In the secret parts of Fortune?
Oh, most true: she is a Strumpet.
What's the newes?
Rosin.
None my Lord; but that the World's growne honest
Ham.
Then is Doomesday neere: But your newes is not true.
Let me question more in particular: what haue you my good friends, deserued at the hands of Fortune, that she sends you to Prison hither?
Guil.
Prison, my Lord?
Ham.
Denmark's a Prison
Rosin.
Then is the World one
Ham.
A goodly one, in which there are many Confines, Wards, and Dungeons; Denmarke being one o'th'worst
Rosin.
We thinke not so my Lord
Ham.
Why then'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me it is a prison
Rosin.
Why then your Ambition makes it one:'tis too narrow for your minde
Ham.
O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count my selfe a King of infinite space; were it not that I haue bad dreames
Guil.
Which dreames indeed are Ambition: for the very substance of the Ambitious, is meerely the shadow of a Dreame
Ham.
A dreame it selfe is but a shadow
Rosin.
Truely, and I hold Ambition of so ayry and light a quality, that it is but a shadowes shadow
Ham.
Then are our Beggers bodies; and our Monarchs and out - stretcht Heroes the Beggers Shadowes: shall wee to th'Court: for, by my fey I cannot reason?
Both.
Wee'l wait vpon you
Ham.
No such matter.
I will not sort you with the rest of my seruants: for to speake to you like an honest man: I am most dreadfully attended; but in the beaten way of friendship, What make you at Elsonower?
Rosin.
To visit you my Lord, no other occasion
Ham.
Begger that I am, I am euen poore in thankes; but I thanke you: and sure deare friends my thanks are too deare a halfepeny; were you not sent for?
Is it your owne inclining?
Is it a free visitation?
Come, deale iustly with me: come, come; nay speake
Guil.
What should we say my Lord?
Ham.
Why any thing.
But to the purpose; you were sent for; and there is a kinde confession in your lookes; which your modesties haue not craft enough to color, I know the good King & Queene haue sent for you
Rosin.
To what end my Lord?
Ham.
Rosin.
What say you?
Ham.
Nay then I haue an eye of you: if you loue me hold not off
Guil.
My Lord, we were sent for
Ham.
What a piece of worke is a man!
how Noble in Reason?
how infinite in faculty?
in forme and mouing how expresse and admirable?
in Action, how like an Angel?
in apprehension, how like a God?
the beauty of the world, the Parragon of Animals; and yet to me, what is this Quintessence of Dust?
Man delights not me; no, nor Woman neither; though by your smiling you seeme to say so
Rosin.
My Lord, there was no such stuffe in my thoughts
Ham.
Why did you laugh, when I said, Man delights not me?
Rosin.
To thinke, my Lord, if you delight not in Man, what Lenton entertainment the Players shall receiue from you: wee coated them on the way, and hither are they comming to offer you Seruice
Ham.
Rosin.
Euen those you were wont to take delight in the Tragedians of the City
Ham.
How chances it they trauaile?
their residence both in reputation and profit was better both wayes
Rosin.
I thinke their Inhibition comes by the meanes of the late Innouation?
Ham.
Doe they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the City?
Are they so follow'd?
Rosin.
No indeed, they are not
Ham.
How comes it?
doe they grow rusty?
Rosin.
Ham.
What are they Children?
Who maintains'em?
How are they escorted?
Will they pursue the Quality no longer then they can sing?
Will they not say afterwards if they should grow themselues to common Players (as it is most like if their meanes are not better) their Writers do them wrong, to make them exclaim against their owne Succession
Rosin.
Faith there ha's bene much to do on both sides: and the Nation holds it no sinne, to tarre them to Controuersie.
There was for a while, no mony bid for argument, vnlesse the Poet and the Player went to Cuffes in the Question
Ham.
Is't possible?
Guild.
Oh there ha's beene much throwing about of Braines
Ham.
Do the Boyes carry it away?
Rosin.
I that they do my Lord.
Hercules & his load too
Ham.
It is not strange: for mine Vnckle is King of Denmarke, and those that would make mowes at him while my Father liued; giue twenty, forty, an hundred Ducates a peece, for his picture in Little.
There is something in this more then Naturall, if Philosophie could finde it out.
Flourish for the Players.
Guil.
There are the Players
Ham.
Gentlemen, you are welcom to Elsonower: your hands, come: The appurtenance of Welcome, is Fashion and Ceremony.
Let me comply with you in the Garbe, lest my extent to the Players (which I tell you must shew fairely outward) should more appeare like entertainment then yours.
You are welcome: but my Vnckle Father, and Aunt Mother are deceiu'd
Guil.
In what my deere Lord?
Ham.
I am but mad North, North - West: when the Winde is Southerly, I know a Hawke from a Handsaw.
Enter Polonius.
Pol.
Well be with you Gentlemen
Ham.
Hearke you Guildensterne, and you too: at each eare a hearer: that great Baby you see there, is not yet out of his swathing clouts
Rosin.
Happily he's the second time come to them: for they say, an old man is twice a childe
Ham.
I will Prophesie.
Hee comes to tell me of the Players.
Mark it, you say right Sir: for a Monday morning'twas so indeed
Pol.
My Lord, I haue Newes to tell you
Ham.
My Lord, I haue Newes to tell you.
When Rossius an Actor in Rome - Pol.
The Actors are come hither my Lord
Ham.
Buzze, buzze
Pol.
Vpon mine Honor
Ham.
Then can each Actor on his Asse - Polon.
The best Actors in the world, either for Tragedie, Comedie, Historie, Pastorall: Pastoricall - Comicall - Historicall - Pastorall: Tragicall - Historicall: Tragicall - Comicall - Historicall - Pastorall: Scene indiuidible: or Poem vnlimited.
Seneca cannot be too heauy, nor Plautus too light, for the law of Writ, and the Liberty.
These are the onely men
Ham.
O Iephta Iudge of Israel, what a Treasure had'st thou?
Pol.
What a Treasure had he, my Lord?
Ham.
Why one faire Daughter, and no more, The which he loued passing well
Pol.
Still on my Daughter
Ham.
Am I not i'th'right old Iephta?
Polon.
If you call me Iephta my Lord, I haue a daughter that I loue passing well
Ham.
Nay that followes not
Polon.
What followes then, my Lord?
Ha.
Why, As by lot, God wot: and then you know, It came to passe, as most like it was: The first rowe of the Pons Chanson will shew you more.
For looke where my Abridgements come.
Enter foure or fiue Players.
Y'are welcome Masters, welcome all.
I am glad to see thee well: Welcome good Friends.
Oh my olde Friend?
Thy face is valiant since I saw thee last: Com'st thou to beard me in Denmarke?
What, my yong Lady and Mistris?
Byrlady your Ladiship is neerer Heauen then when I saw you last, by the altitude of a Choppine.
Pray God your voice like a peece of vncurrant Gold be not crack'd within the ring.
Masters, you are all welcome: wee'l e'ne to't like French Faulconers, flie at any thing we see: wee'l haue a Speech straight.
Come giue vs a tast of your quality: come, a passionate speech
1. Play.
What speech, my Lord?
Ham.
I remember one said, there was no Sallets in the lines, to make the matter sauory; nor no matter in the phrase, that might indite the Author of affectation, but cal'd it an honest method.
One cheefe Speech in it, I cheefely lou'd,'twas Aeneas Tale to Dido, and thereabout of it especially, where he speaks of Priams slaughter.
If it liue in your memory, begin at this Line, let me see, let me see: The rugged Pyrrhus like th'Hyrcanian Beast.
Pol.
Fore God, my Lord, well spoken, with good accent, and good discretion
1. Player.
Anon he findes him, Striking too short at Greekes.
His anticke Sword, Rebellious to his Arme, lyes where it falles Repugnant to command: vnequall match, Pyrrhus at Priam driues, in Rage strikes wide: But with the whiffe and winde of his fell Sword, Th'vnnerued Father fals.
Then senselesse Illium, Seeming to feele his blow, with flaming top Stoopes to his Bace, and with a hideous crash Takes Prisoner Pyrrhus eare.
For loe, his Sword Which was declining on the Milkie head Of Reuerend Priam, seem'd i'th'Ayre to sticke: So as a painted Tyrant Pyrrhus stood, And like a Newtrall to his will and matter, did nothing.
But as we often see against some storme, A silence in the Heauens, the Racke stand still, The bold windes speechlesse, and the Orbe below As hush as death: Anon the dreadfull Thunder Doth rend the Region.
So after Pyrrhus pause, A rowsed Vengeance sets him new a - worke, And neuer did the Cyclops hammers fall On Mars his Armours, forg'd for proofe Eterne, With lesse remorse then Pyrrhus bleeding sword Now falles on Priam.
Out, out, thou Strumpet - Fortune, all you Gods, In generall Synod take away her power: Breake all the Spokes and Fallies from her wheele, And boule the round Naue downe the hill of Heauen, As low as to the Fiends
Pol.
This is too long
Ham.
It shall to'th Barbars, with your beard.
Prythee say on: He's for a Iigge, or a tale of Baudry, or hee sleepes.
Say on; come to Hecuba
1. Play.
But who, O who, had seen the inobled Queen
Ham.
The inobled Queene?
Pol.
That's good: Inobled Queene is good
1. Play.
Run bare - foot vp and downe, Threatning the flame With Bisson Rheume: A clout about that head, Where late the Diadem stood, and for a Robe About her lanke and all ore - teamed Loines, A blanket in th'Alarum of feare caught vp.
Who this had seene, with tongue in Venome steep'd,'Gainst Fortunes State, would Treason haue pronounc'd?
Pol.
Looke where he ha's not turn'd his colour, and ha's teares in's eyes.
Pray you no more
Ham.
' Tis well, Ile haue thee speake out the rest, soone.
Good my Lord, will you see the Players wel bestow'd.
Do ye heare, let them be well vs'd: for they are the Abstracts and breefe Chronicles of the time.
After your death, you were better haue a bad Epitaph, then their ill report while you liued
Pol.
My Lord, I will vse them according to their desart
Ham.
Gods bodykins man, better.
Vse euerie man after his desart, and who should scape whipping: vse them after your own Honor and Dignity.
The lesse they deserue, the more merit is in your bountie.
Take them in
Pol.
Come sirs.
Exit Polon.
Ham.
Follow him Friends: wee'l heare a play to morrow.
Dost thou heare me old Friend, can you play the murther of Gonzago?
Play.
I my Lord
Ham.
Wee'l ha't to morrow night.
You could for a need study a speech of some dosen or sixteene lines, which I would set downe, and insert in't?
Could ye not?
Play.
I my Lord
Ham.
Very well.
Follow that Lord, and looke you mock him not.
My good Friends, Ile leaue you til night you are welcome to Elsonower?
Rosin.
Good my Lord.
Exeunt.
Manet Hamlet.
Ham.
I so, God buy'ye: Now I am alone.
Oh what a Rogue and Pesant slaue am I?
And all for nothing?
For Hecuba?
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weepe for her?
What would he doe, Had he the Motiue and the Cue for passion That I haue?
He would drowne the Stage with teares, And cleaue the generall eare with horrid speech: Make mad the guilty, and apale the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed, The very faculty of Eyes and Eares.
Yet I, A dull and muddy - metled Rascall, peake Like Iohn a - dreames, vnpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing: No, not for a King, Vpon whose property, and most deere life, A damn'd defeate was made.
Am I a Coward?
Who calles me Villaine?
breakes my pate a - crosse?
Pluckes off my Beard, and blowes it in my face?
Tweakes me by'th'Nose?
giues me the Lye i'th'Throate, As deepe as to the Lungs?
Who does me this?
Ha?
Why I should take it: for it cannot be, But I am Pigeon - Liuer'd, and lacke Gall To make Oppression bitter, or ere this, I should haue fatted all the Region Kites With this Slaues Offall, bloudy: a Bawdy villaine, Remorselesse, Treacherous, Letcherous, kindles villaine!
Oh Vengeance!
Who?
What an Asse am I?
I sure, this is most braue, That I, the Sonne of the Deere murthered, Prompted to my Reuenge by Heauen, and Hell, Must (like a Whore) vnpacke my heart with words, And fall a Cursing like a very Drab.
A Scullion?
Fye vpon't: Foh.
About my Braine.
I haue heard, that guilty Creatures sitting at a Play, Haue by the very cunning of the Scoene, Bene strooke so to the soule, that presently They haue proclaim'd their Malefactions.
For Murther, though it haue no tongue, will speake With most myraculous Organ.
Ile haue these Players, Play something like the murder of my Father, Before mine Vnkle.
Ile obserue his lookes, Ile rent him to the quicke: If he but blench I know my course.
The Spirit that I haue seene May be the Diuell, and the Diuel hath power T'assume a pleasing shape, yea and perhaps Out of my Weaknesse, and my Melancholly, As he is very potent with such Spirits, Abuses me to damne me.
Ile haue grounds More Relatiue then this: The Play's the thing, Wherein Ile catch the Conscience of the King.
Exit
Enter King, Queene, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosincrance, Guildenstern, and Lords.
King.
And can you by no drift of circumstance Get from him why he puts on this Confusion: Grating so harshly all his dayes of quiet With turbulent and dangerous Lunacy
Rosin.
He does confesse he feeles himselfe distracted, But from what cause he will by no meanes speake
Guil.
Nor do we finde him forward to be sounded, But with a crafty Madnesse keepes aloofe: When we would bring him on to some Confession Of his true state
Qu.
Did he receiue you well?
Rosin.
Most like a Gentleman
Guild.
But with much forcing of his disposition
Rosin.
Qu.
Did you assay him to any pastime?
Rosin.
Madam, it so fell out, that certaine Players We ore - wrought on the way: of these we told him, And there did seeme in him a kinde of ioy To heare of it: They are about the Court, And (as I thinke) they haue already order This night to play before him
Pol.
' Tis most true: And he beseech'd me to intreate your Maiesties To heare, and see the matter
King.
With all my heart, and it doth much content me To heare him so inclin'd.
Good Gentlemen, Giue him a further edge, and driue his purpose on To these delights
Rosin.
We shall my Lord.
Exeunt.
King.
Sweet Gertrude leaue vs too, For we haue closely sent for Hamlet hither, That he, as'twere by accident, may there Affront Ophelia.
Her Father, and my selfe (lawful espials) Will so bestow our selues, that seeing vnseene We may of their encounter frankely iudge, And gather by him, as he is behaued, If't be th'affliction of his loue, or no.
That thus he suffers for
Qu.
I shall obey you, And for your part Ophelia, I do wish That your good Beauties be the happy cause Of Hamlets wildenesse: so shall I hope your Vertues Will bring him to his wonted way againe, To both your Honors
Ophe.
Madam, I wish it may
Pol.
Ophelia, walke you heere.
Gracious so please ye We will bestow our selues: Reade on this booke, That shew of such an exercise may colour Your lonelinesse.
We are oft too blame in this,'Tis too much prou'd, that with Deuotions visage, And pious Action, we do surge o're The diuell himselfe
King.
Oh'tis true: How smart a lash that speech doth giue my Conscience?
The Harlots Cheeke beautied with plaist'ring Art Is not more vgly to the thing that helpes it, Then is my deede, to my most painted word.
Oh heauie burthen!
Pol.
I heare him comming, let's withdraw my Lord.
Exeunt.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.
' Tis a consummation Deuoutly to be wish'd.
To dye to sleepe, To sleepe, perchance to Dreame; I, there's the rub, For in that sleepe of death, what dreames may come, When we haue shuffel'd off this mortall coile, Must giue vs pawse.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of vs all, And thus the Natiue hew of Resolution Is sicklied o're, with the pale cast of Thought, And enterprizes of great pith and moment, With this regard their Currants turne away, And loose the name of Action.
Soft you now, The faire Ophelia?
Nimph, in thy Orizons Be all my sinnes remembred
Ophe.
Good my Lord, How does your Honor for this many a day?
Ham.
I humbly thanke you: well, well, well
Ophe.
My Lord, I haue Remembrances of yours, That I haue longed long to re - deliuer.
I pray you now, receiue them
Ham.
No, no, I neuer gaue you ought
Ophe.
My honor'd Lord, I know right well you did, And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd, As made the things more rich, then perfume left: Take these againe, for to the Noble minde Rich gifts wax poore, when giuers proue vnkinde.
There my Lord
Ham.
Ha, ha: Are you honest?
Ophe.
My Lord
Ham.
Are you faire?
Ophe.
What meanes your Lordship?
Ham.
That if you be honest and faire, your Honesty should admit no discourse to your Beautie
Ophe.
Could Beautie my Lord, haue better Comerce then your Honestie?
Ham.
I trulie: for the power of Beautie, will sooner transforme Honestie from what is, to a Bawd, then the force of Honestie can translate Beautie into his likenesse.
This was sometime a Paradox, but now the time giues it proofe.
I did loue you once
Ophe.
Indeed my Lord, you made me beleeue so
Ham.
You should not haue beleeued me.
For vertue cannot so innocculate our old stocke, but we shall rellish of it.
I loued you not
Ophe.
I was the more deceiued
Ham.
Get thee to a Nunnerie.
Why would'st thou be a breeder of Sinners?
I am my selfe indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better my Mother had not borne me.
I am very prowd, reuengefull, Ambitious, with more offences at my becke, then I haue thoughts to put them in imagination, to giue them shape, or time to acte them in.
What should such Fellowes as I do, crawling betweene Heauen and Earth.
We are arrant Knaues all, beleeue none of vs. Goe thy wayes to a Nunnery.
Where's your Father?
Ophe.
At home, my Lord
Ham.
Let the doores be shut vpon him, that he may play the Foole no way, but in's owne house.
Farewell
Ophe.
O helpe him, you sweet Heauens
Ham.
If thou doest Marry, Ile giue thee this Plague for thy Dowrie.
Be thou as chast as Ice, as pure as Snow, thou shalt not escape Calumny.
Get thee to a Nunnery.
Go, Farewell.
Or if thou wilt needs Marry, marry a fool: for Wise men know well enough, what monsters you make of them.
To a Nunnery go, and quickly too.
Farwell
Ophe.
O heauenly Powers, restore him
Ham.
I haue heard of your pratlings too wel enough.
God has giuen you one pace, and you make your selfe another: you gidge, you amble, and you lispe, and nickname Gods creatures, and make your Wantonnesse, your Ignorance.
Go too, Ile no more on't, it hath made me mad.
I say, we will haue no more Marriages.
Those that are married already, all but one shall liue, the rest shall keep as they are.
To a Nunnery, go.
Exit Hamlet.
Ophe.
O what a Noble minde is heere o're - throwne?
The Courtiers, Soldiers, Schollers: Eye, tongue, sword, Th'expectansie and Rose of the faire State, The glasse of Fashion, and the mould of Forme, Th'obseru'd of all Obseruers, quite, quite downe.
Haue I of Ladies most deiect and wretched, That suck'd the Honie of his Musicke Vowes: Now see that Noble, and most Soueraigne Reason, Like sweet Bels iangled out of tune, and harsh, That vnmatch'd Forme and Feature of blowne youth, Blasted with extasie.
Oh woe is me, T'haue seene what I haue seene: see what I see.
Enter King, and Polonius.
King.
Loue?
His affections do not that way tend, Nor what he spake, though it lack'd Forme a little, Was not like Madnesse.
There's something in his soule?
O're which his Melancholly sits on brood, And I do doubt the hatch, and the disclose Will be some danger, which to preuent I haue in quicke determination Thus set it downe.
He shall with speed to England For the demand of our neglected Tribute: Haply the Seas and Countries different With variable Obiects, shall expell This something setled matter in his heart: Whereon his Braines still beating, puts him thus From fashion of himselfe.
What thinke you on't?
Pol.
It shall do well.
But yet do I beleeue The Origin and Commencement of this greefe Sprung from neglected loue.
How now Ophelia?
You neede not tell vs, what Lord Hamlet saide, We heard it all.
My Lord, do as you please, But if you hold it fit after the Play, Let his Queene Mother all alone intreat him To shew his Greefes: let her be round with him, And Ile be plac'd so, please you in the eare Of all their Conference.
If she finde him not, To England send him: Or confine him where Your wisedome best shall thinke
King.
It shall be so: Madnesse in great Ones, must not vnwatch'd go.
Exeunt.
Enter Hamlet, and two or three of the Players.
Ham.
Pray you auoid it
Player.
I warrant your Honor
Ham.
Be not too tame neyther: but let your owne Discretion be your Tutor.
Now, this ouer - done, or come tardie off, though it make the vnskilfull laugh, cannot but make the Iudicious greeue; The censure of the which One, must in your allowance o'reway a whole Theater of Others.
Play.
I hope we haue reform'd that indifferently with vs, Sir
Ham.
O reforme it altogether.
And let those that play your Clownes, speake no more then is set downe for them.
Go make you readie.
Exit Players.
Enter Polonius, Rosincrance, and Guildensterne.
How now my Lord, Will the King heare this peece of Worke?
Pol.
And the Queene too, and that presently
Ham.
Bid the Players make hast.
Exit Polonius.
Will you two helpe to hasten them?
Both.
We will my Lord.
Exeunt.
Enter Horatio.
Ham.
What hoa, Horatio?
Hora.
Heere sweet Lord, at your Seruice
Ham.
Horatio, thou art eene as iust a man As ere my Conuersation coap'd withall
Hora.
O my deere Lord
Ham.
Nay, do not thinke I flatter: For what aduancement may I hope from thee, That no Reuennew hast, but thy good spirits To feed & cloath thee.
Why shold the poor be flatter'd?
No, let the Candied tongue, like absurd pompe, And crooke the pregnant Hindges of the knee, Where thrift may follow faining?
Dost thou heare, Since my deere Soule was Mistris of my choyse, And could of men distinguish, her election Hath seal'd thee for her selfe.
For thou hast bene As one in suffering all, that suffers nothing.
A man that Fortunes buffets, and Rewards Hath'tane with equall Thankes.
And blest are those, Whose Blood and Iudgement are so well co - mingled, That they are not a Pipe for Fortunes finger.
To sound what stop she please.
Giue me that man, That is not Passions Slaue, and I will weare him In my hearts Core.
I, in my Heart of heart, As I do thee.
Something too much of this.
There is a Play to night to before the King.
One Scoene of it comes neere the Circumstance Which I haue told thee, of my Fathers death.
I prythee, when thou see'st that Acte a - foot, Euen with the verie Comment of my Soule Obserue mine Vnkle: If his occulted guilt, Do not it selfe vnkennell in one speech, It is a damned Ghost that we haue seene: And my Imaginations are as foule As Vulcans Stythe.
Giue him needfull note, For I mine eyes will riuet to his Face: And after we will both our iudgements ioyne, To censure of his seeming
Hora.
Well my Lord.
If he steale ought the whil'st this Play is Playing, And scape detecting, I will pay the Theft.
Enter King, Queene, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosincrance, Guildensterne, and other Lords attendant with his Guard carrying Torches.
Danish March.
Sound a Flourish.
Ham.
They are comming to the Play: I must be idle.
Get you a place
King.
How fares our Cosin Hamlet?
Ham.
Excellent Ifaith, of the Camelions dish: I eate the Ayre promise - cramm'd, you cannot feed Capons so
King.
I haue nothing with this answer Hamlet, these words are not mine
Ham.
No, nor mine.
Now my Lord, you plaid once i'th'Vniuersity, you say?
Polon.
That I did my Lord, and was accounted a good Actor
Ham.
And what did you enact?
Pol.
I did enact Iulius Caesar, I was kill'd i'th'Capitol: Brutus kill'd me
Ham.
It was a bruite part of him, to kill so Capitall a Calfe there.
Be the Players ready?
Rosin.
I my Lord, they stay vpon your patience
Qu.
Come hither my good Hamlet, sit by me
Ha.
No good Mother, here's Mettle more attractiue
Pol.
Oh ho, do you marke that?
Ham.
Ladie, shall I lye in your Lap?
Ophe.
No my Lord
Ham.
I meane, my Head vpon your Lap?
Ophe.
I my Lord
Ham.
Do you thinke I meant Country matters?
Ophe.
I thinke nothing, my Lord
Ham.
That's a faire thought to ly betweene Maids legs Ophe.
What is my Lord?
Ham.
Nothing
Ophe.
You are merrie, my Lord?
Ham.
Who I?
Ophe.
I my Lord
Ham.
Oh God, your onely Iigge - maker: what should a man do, but be merrie.
For looke you how cheerefully my Mother lookes, and my Father dyed within's two Houres
Ophe.
Nay,'tis twice two moneths, my Lord
Ham.
So long?
Nay then let the Diuel weare blacke, for Ile haue a suite of Sables.
Oh Heauens!
dye two moneths ago, and not forgotten yet?
Then there's hope, a great mans Memorie, may out - liue his life halfe a yeare: But byrlady he must builde Churches then: or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the Hoby - horsse, whose Epitaph is, For o, For o, the Hoby - horse is forgot.
Hoboyes play.
The dumbe shew enters.
Enter a King and Queene, very louingly; the Queene embracing him.
She kneeles, and makes shew of Protestation vnto him.
He takes her vp, and declines his head vpon her neck.
Layes him downe vpon a Banke of Flowers.
She seeing him a - sleepe, leaues him.
Anon comes in a Fellow, takes off his Crowne, kisses it, and powres poyson in the Kings eares, and Exits.
The Queene returnes, findes the King dead, and makes passionate Action.
The Poysoner, with some two or three Mutes comes in againe, seeming to lament with her.
The dead body is carried away: The Poysoner Wooes the Queene with Gifts, she seemes loath and vnwilling awhile, but in the end, accepts his loue.
Exeunt.
Ophe.
What meanes this, my Lord?
Ham.
Marry this is Miching Malicho, that meanes Mischeefe
Ophe.
Belike this shew imports the Argument of the Play?
Ham.
We shall know by these Fellowes: the Players cannot keepe counsell, they'l tell all
Ophe.
Will they tell vs what this shew meant?
Ham.
I, or any shew that you'l shew him.
Bee not you asham'd to shew, hee'l not shame to tell you what it meanes
Ophe.
You are naught, you are naught, Ile marke the Play.
Enter Prologue.
For vs, and for our Tragedie, Heere stooping to your Clemencie: We begge your hearing Patientlie
Ham.
Is this a Prologue, or the Poesie of a Ring?
Ophe.
' Tis briefe my Lord
Ham.
As Womans loue.
Enter King and his Queene.
King.
Full thirtie times hath Phoebus Cart gon round, Neptunes salt Wash, and Tellus Orbed ground: And thirtie dozen Moones with borrowed sheene, About the World haue times twelue thirties beene, Since loue our hearts, and Hymen did our hands Vnite comutuall, in most sacred Bands
Bap.
So many iournies may the Sunne and Moone Make vs againe count o're, ere loue be done.
King.
Faith I must leaue thee Loue, and shortly too: My operant Powers my Functions leaue to do: And thou shalt liue in this faire world behinde, Honour'd, belou'd, and haply, one as kinde.
For Husband shalt thou - Bap.
Oh confound the rest: Such Loue, must needs be Treason in my brest: In second Husband, let me be accurst, None wed the second, but who kill'd the first
Ham.
Wormwood, Wormwood
Bapt.
The instances that second Marriage moue, Are base respects of Thrift, but none of Loue.
A second time, I kill my Husband dead, When second Husband kisses me in Bed
King.
I do beleeue you.
Think what now you speak: But what we do determine, oft we breake: Purpose is but the slaue to Memorie, Of violent Birth, but poore validitie: Which now like Fruite vnripe stickes on the Tree, But fall vnshaken, when they mellow bee.
Most necessary'tis, that we forget To pay our selues, what to our selues is debt: What to our selues in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
The violence of other Greefe or Ioy, Their owne ennactors with themselues destroy: Where Ioy most Reuels, Greefe doth most lament; Greefe ioyes, Ioy greeues on slender accident.
This world is not for aye, nor'tis not strange That euen our Loues should with our Fortunes change.
For'tis a question left vs yet to proue, Whether Loue lead Fortune, or else Fortune Loue.
The great man downe, you marke his fauourites flies, The poore aduanc'd, makes Friends of Enemies: And hitherto doth Loue on Fortune tend, For who not needs, shall neuer lacke a Frend: And who in want a hollow Friend doth try, Directly seasons him his Enemie.
But orderly to end, where I begun, Our Willes and Fates do so contrary run, That our Deuices still are ouerthrowne, Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our owne.
So thinke thou wilt no second Husband wed.
But die thy thoughts, when thy first Lord is dead
Bap.
Nor Earth to giue me food, nor Heauen light, Sport and repose locke from me day and night: Each opposite that blankes the face of ioy, Meet what I would haue well, and it destroy: Both heere, and hence, pursue me lasting strife, If once a Widdow, euer I be Wife
Ham.
If she should breake it now
King.
' Tis deepely sworne: Sweet, leaue me heere a while, My spirits grow dull, and faine I would beguile The tedious day with sleepe
Qu.
Sleepe rocke thy Braine,
Sleepes
And neuer come mischance betweene vs twaine.
Exit
Ham.
Madam, how like you this Play?
Qu.
The Lady protests to much me thinkes
Ham.
Oh but shee'l keepe her word
King.
Haue you heard the Argument, is there no Offence in't?
Ham.
No, no, they do but iest, poyson in iest, no Offence i'th'world
King.
What do you call the Play?
Ham.
The Mouse - trap: Marry how?
Tropically: This Play is the Image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the Dukes name, his wife Baptista: you shall see anon:'tis a knauish peece of worke: But what o'that?
Your Maiestie, and wee that haue free soules, it touches vs not: let the gall'd iade winch: our withers are vnrung.
Enter Lucianus.
This is one Lucianus nephew to the King
Ophe.
You are a good Chorus, my Lord
Ham.
I could interpret betweene you and your loue: if I could see the Puppets dallying
Ophe.
You are keene my Lord, you are keene
Ham.
It would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge
Ophe.
Still better and worse
Ham.
So you mistake Husbands.
Begin Murderer.
Pox, leaue thy damnable Faces, and begin.
Come, the croaking Rauen doth bellow for Reuenge
Lucian.
Powres the poyson in his eares.
Ham.
He poysons him i'th'Garden for's estate: His name's Gonzago: the Story is extant and writ in choyce Italian.
You shall see anon how the Murtherer gets the loue of Gonzago's wife
Ophe.
The King rises
Ham.
What, frighted with false fire
Qu.
How fares my Lord?
Pol.
Giue o're the Play
King.
Giue me some Light.
Away
All.
Lights, Lights, Lights.
Exeunt.
Manet Hamlet & Horatio.
Ham.
Why let the strucken Deere go weepe, The Hart vngalled play: For some must watch, while some must sleepe; So runnes the world away.
Would not this Sir, and a Forrest of Feathers, if the rest of my Fortunes turne Turke with me; with two Prouinciall Roses on my rac'd Shooes, get me a Fellowship in a crie of Players sir
Hor.
Halfe a share
Ham.
A whole one I, For thou dost know: Oh Damon deere, This Realme dismantled was of Ioue himselfe, And now reignes heere.
A verie verie Paiocke
Hora.
You might haue Rim'd
Ham.
Oh good Horatio, Ile take the Ghosts word for a thousand pound.
Did'st perceiue?
Hora.
Verie well my Lord
Ham.
Vpon the talke of the poysoning?
Hora.
I did verie well note him.
Enter Rosincrance and Guildensterne.
Ham.
Oh, ha?
Come some Musick.
Come y Recorders: For if the King like not the Comedie, Why then belike he likes it not perdie.
Come some Musicke
Guild.
Good my Lord, vouchsafe me a word with you
Ham.
Sir, a whole History
Guild.
The King, sir
Ham.
I sir, what of him?
Guild.
Is in his retyrement, maruellous distemper'd
Ham.
With drinke Sir?
Guild.
No my Lord, rather with choller
Ham.
Your wisedome should shew it selfe more richer, to signifie this to his Doctor: for for me to put him to his Purgation, would perhaps plundge him into farre more Choller
Guild.
Good my Lord put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildely from my affayre
Ham.
I am tame Sir, pronounce
Guild.
The Queene your Mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you
Ham.
You are welcome
Guild.
Nay, good my Lord, this courtesie is not of the right breed.
If it shall please you to make me a wholsome answer, I will doe your Mothers command'ment: if not, your pardon, and my returne shall bee the end of my Businesse
Ham.
Sir, I cannot
Guild.
What, my Lord?
Ham.
Make you a wholsome answere: my wits diseas'd.
But sir, such answers as I can make, you shal command: or rather you say, my Mother: therfore no more but to the matter.
My Mother you say
Rosin.
Then thus she sayes: your behauior hath stroke her into amazement, and admiration
Ham.
Oh wonderfull Sonne, that can so astonish a Mother.
But is there no sequell at the heeles of this Mothers admiration?
Rosin.
She desires to speake with you in her Closset, ere you go to bed
Ham.
We shall obey, were she ten times our Mother.
Haue you any further Trade with vs?
Rosin.
My Lord, you once did loue me
Ham.
So I do still, by these pickers and stealers
Rosin.
Good my Lord, what is your cause of distemper?
You do freely barre the doore of your owne Libertie, if you deny your greefes to your Friend
Ham.
Sir I lacke Aduancement
Rosin.
How can that be, when you haue the voyce of the King himselfe, for your Succession in Denmarke?
Ham.
I, but while the grasse growes, the Prouerbe is something musty.
Enter one with a Recorder.
O the Recorder.
Let me see, to withdraw with you, why do you go about to recouer the winde of mee, as if you would driue me into a toyle?
Guild.
O my Lord, if my Dutie be too bold, my loue is too vnmannerly
Ham.
I do not well vnderstand that.
Will you play vpon this Pipe?
Guild.
My Lord, I cannot
Ham.
I pray you
Guild.
Beleeue me, I cannot
Ham.
I do beseech you
Guild.
I know no touch of it, my Lord
Ham.
' Tis as easie as lying: gouerne these Ventiges with your finger and thumbe, giue it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most excellent Musicke.
Looke you, these are the stoppes
Guild.
But these cannot I command to any vtterance of hermony, I haue not the skill
Ham.
Why do you thinke, that I am easier to bee plaid on, then a Pipe?
Call me what Instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play vpon me.
God blesse you Sir.
Enter Polonius.
Polon.
My Lord; the Queene would speak with you, and presently
Ham.
Do you see that Clowd?
that's almost in shape like a Camell
Polon.
By'th'Masse, and it's like a Camell indeed
Ham.
Me thinkes it is like a Weazell
Polon.
It is back'd like a Weazell
Ham.
Or like a Whale?
Polon.
Verie like a Whale
Ham.
Then will I come to my Mother, by and by: They foole me to the top of my bent.
I will come by and by
Polon.
I will say so.
Enter.
Ham.
By and by, is easily said.
Leaue me Friends:'Tis now the verie witching time of night, When Churchyards yawne, and Hell it selfe breaths out Contagion to this world.
Now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter businesse as the day Would quake to looke on.
Soft now, to my Mother: Oh Heart, loose not thy Nature; let not euer The Soule of Nero, enter this firme bosome: Let me be cruell, not vnnaturall, I will speake Daggers to her, but vse none: My Tongue and Soule in this be Hypocrites.
How in my words someuer she be shent, To giue them Seales, neuer my Soule consent.
Enter King, Rosincrance, and Guildensterne.
King.
I like him not, nor stands it safe with vs, To let his madnesse range.
Therefore prepare you, I your Commission will forthwith dispatch, And he to England shall along with you: The termes of our estate, may not endure Hazard so dangerous as doth hourely grow Out of his Lunacies
Guild.
We will our selues prouide: Most holie and Religious feare it is To keepe those many many bodies safe That liue and feede vpon your Maiestie
Rosin.
It is a massie wheele Fixt on the Somnet of the highest Mount.
To whose huge Spoakes, ten thousand lesser things Are mortiz'd and adioyn'd: which when it falles, Each small annexment, pettie consequence Attends the boystrous Ruine.
Neuer alone Did the King sighe, but with a generall grone
King.
Arme you, I pray you to this speedie Voyage; For we will Fetters put vpon this feare, Which now goes too free - footed
Both.
We will haste vs.
Exeunt.
Gent.
Enter Polonius.
Pol.
My Lord, he's going to his Mothers Closset: Behinde the Arras Ile conuey my selfe To heare the Processe.
Ile warrant shee'l tax him home, And as you said, and wisely was it said,'Tis meete that some more audience then a Mother, Since Nature makes them partiall, should o're - heare The speech of vantage.
Fare you well my Liege, Ile call vpon you ere you go to bed, And tell you what I know
King.
Thankes deere my Lord.
Oh my offence is ranke, it smels to heauen, It hath the primall eldest curse vpon't, A Brothers murther.
Whereto serues mercy, But to confront the visage of Offence?
And what's in Prayer, but this two - fold force, To be fore - stalled ere we come to fall, Or pardon'd being downe?
Then Ile looke vp, My fault is past.
But oh, what forme of Prayer Can serue my turne?
Forgiue me my foule Murther: That cannot be, since I am still possest Of those effects for which I did the Murther.
My Crowne, mine owne Ambition, and my Queene: May one be pardon'd, and retaine th'offence?
What then?
What rests?
Try what Repentance can.
What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
Oh wretched state!
Oh bosome, blacke as death!
Oh limed soule, that strugling to be free, Art more ingag'd: Helpe Angels, make assay: Bow stubborne knees, and heart with strings of Steele, Be soft as sinewes of the new - borne Babe, All may be well.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.
Now might I do it pat, now he is praying, And now Ile doo't, and so he goes to Heauen, And so am I reueng'd: that would be scann'd, A Villaine killes my Father, and for that I his foule Sonne, do this same Villaine send To heauen.
Oh this is hyre and Sallery, not Reuenge.
No.
My Mother stayes, This Physicke but prolongs thy sickly dayes.
Enter.
King.
My words flye vp, my thoughts remain below, Words without thoughts, neuer to Heauen go.
Enter.
Enter Queene and Polonius.
Pol.
He will come straight: Looke you lay home to him, Tell him his prankes haue been too broad to beare with, And that your Grace hath screen'd, and stoode betweene Much heate, and him.
Ile silence me e'ene heere: Pray you be round with him
Ham.
within.
Mother, mother, mother
Qu.
Ile warrant you, feare me not.
Withdraw, I heare him coming.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.
Now Mother, what's the matter?
Qu.
Hamlet, thou hast thy Father much offended
Ham.
Mother, you haue my Father much offended
Qu.
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue
Ham.
Go, go, you question with an idle tongue
Qu.
Why how now Hamlet?
Ham.
Whats the matter now?
Qu.
Haue you forgot me?
Ham.
No by the Rood, not so: You are the Queene, your Husbands Brothers wife, But would you were not so.
You are my Mother
Qu.
Nay, then Ile set those to you that can speake
Ham.
Come, come, and sit you downe, you shall not boudge: You go not till I set you vp a glasse, Where you may see the inmost part of you?
Qu.
What wilt thou do?
thou wilt not murther me?
Helpe, helpe, hoa
Pol.
What hoa, helpe, helpe, helpe
Ham.
How now, a Rat?
dead for a Ducate, dead
Pol.
Oh I am slaine.
Killes Polonius
Qu.
Oh me, what hast thou done?
Ham.
Nay I know not, is it the King?
Qu.
Oh what a rash, and bloody deed is this?
Ham.
A bloody deed, almost as bad good Mother, As kill a King, and marrie with his Brother
Qu.
As kill a King?
Ham.
I Lady,'twas my word.
Thou wretched, rash, intruding foole farewell, I tooke thee for thy Betters, take thy Fortune, Thou find'st to be too busie, is some danger.
Leaue wringing of your hands, peace, sit you downe, And let me wring your heart, for so I shall If it be made of penetrable stuffe; If damned Custome haue not braz'd it so, That it is proofe and bulwarke against Sense
Qu.
What haue I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tong, In noise so rude against me?
Ham.
Such an Act That blurres the grace and blush of Modestie, Cals Vertue Hypocrite, takes off the Rose From the faire forehead of an innocent loue, And makes a blister there.
Makes marriage vowes As false as Dicers Oathes.
Oh such a deed, As from the body of Contraction pluckes The very soule, and sweete Religion makes A rapsidie of words.
Heauens face doth glow, Yea this solidity and compound masse, With tristfull visage as against the doome, Is thought - sicke at the act
Qu.
Aye me; what act, that roares so lowd, & thunders in the Index
Ham.
This was your Husband.
Looke you now what followes.
Heere is your Husband, like a Mildew'd eare Blasting his wholsom breath.
Haue you eyes?
Could you on this faire Mountaine leaue to feed, And batten on this Moore?
Ha?
Haue you eyes?
You cannot call it Loue: For at your age, The hey - day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waites vpon the Iudgement: and what Iudgement Would step from this, to this?
What diuell was't, That thus hath cousend you at hoodman - blinde?
O Shame!
where is thy Blush?
Rebellious Hell, If thou canst mutine in a Matrons bones, To flaming youth, let Vertue be as waxe.
And melt in her owne fire.
Proclaime no shame, When the compulsiue Ardure giues the charge, Since Frost it selfe, as actiuely doth burne, As Reason panders Will
Qu.
O Hamlet, speake no more.
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soule, And there I see such blacke and grained spots, As will not leaue their Tinct
Ham.
Nay, but to liue In the ranke sweat of an enseamed bed, Stew'd in Corruption; honying and making loue Ouer the nasty Stye
Qu.
Oh speake to me, no more, These words like Daggers enter in mine eares.
No more sweet Hamlet
Ham.
A Murderer, and a Villaine: A Slaue, that is not twentieth part the tythe Of your precedent Lord.
A vice of Kings, A Cutpurse of the Empire and the Rule.
That from a shelfe, the precious Diadem stole, And put it in his Pocket
Qu.
No more.
Enter Ghost.
Ham.
A King of shreds and patches.
Saue me; and houer o're me with your wings You heauenly Guards.
What would your gracious figure?
Qu.
Alas he's mad
Ham.
Do you not come your tardy Sonne to chide, That laps't in Time and Passion, lets go by Th'important acting of your dread command?
Oh say
Ghost.
Do not forget: this Visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But looke, Amazement on thy Mother sits; O step betweene her, and her fighting Soule, Conceit in weakest bodies, strongest workes.
Speake to her Hamlet
Ham.
How is it with you Lady?
Qu.
Alas, how is't with you?
That you bend your eye on vacancie, And with their corporall ayre do hold discourse.
Forth at your eyes, your spirits wildely peepe, And as the sleeping Soldiours in th'Alarme, Your bedded haire, like life in excrements, Start vp, and stand an end.
Oh gentle Sonne, Vpon the heate and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle coole patience.
Whereon do you looke?
Ham.
On him, on him: look you how pale he glares, His forme and cause conioyn'd, preaching to stones, Would make them capeable.
Do not looke vpon me, Least with this pitteous action you conuert My sterne effects: then what I haue to do, Will want true colour; teares perchance for blood
Qu.
To who do you speake this?
Ham.
Do you see nothing there?
Qu.
Nothing at all, yet all that is I see
Ham.
Nor did you nothing heare?
Qu.
No, nothing but our selues
Ham.
Why look you there: looke how it steals away: My Father in his habite, as he liued, Looke where he goes euen now out at the Portall.
Enter.
Qu.
This is the very coynage of your Braine, This bodilesse Creation extasie is very cunning in
Ham.
Extasie?
My Pulse as yours doth temperately keepe time, And makes as healthfull Musicke.
It is not madnesse That I haue vttered; bring me to the Test And I the matter will re - word: which madnesse Would gamboll from.
Mother, for loue of Grace, Lay not a flattering Vnction to your soule, That not your trespasse, but my madnesse speakes: It will but skin and filme the Vlcerous place, Whil'st ranke Corruption mining all within, Infects vnseene.
Confesse your selfe to Heauen, Repent what's past, auoyd what is to come, And do not spred the Compost on the Weedes, To make them ranke.
Forgiue me this my Vertue, For in the fatnesse of this pursie times, Vertue it selfe, of Vice must pardon begge, Yea courb, and woe, for leaue to do him good
Qu.
Oh Hamlet, Thou hast cleft my heart in twaine
Ham.
O throw away the worser part of it, And liue the purer with the other halfe.
Good night, but go not to mine Vnkles bed, Assume a Vertue, if you haue it not, refraine to night, And that shall lend a kinde of easinesse To the next abstinence.
Once more goodnight, And when you are desirous to be blest, Ile blessing begge of you.
For this same Lord, I do repent: but heauen hath pleas'd it so, To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their Scourge and Minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gaue him: so againe, good night.
I must be cruell, onely to be kinde; Thus bad begins and worse remaines behinde
Qu.
What shall I do?
Ham.
Qu.
Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath, And breath of life: I haue no life to breath What thou hast saide to me
Ham.
I must to England, you know that?
Qu.
Alacke I had forgot:'Tis so concluded on
Ham.
This man shall set me packing: Ile lugge the Guts into the Neighbor roome, Mother goodnight.
Indeede this Counsellor Is now most still, most secret, and most graue, Who was in life, a foolish prating Knaue.
Come sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night Mother.
Exit Hamlet tugging in Polonius.
Enter King.
King.
There's matters in these sighes.
These profound heaues You must translate; Tis fit we vnderstand them.
Where is your Sonne?
Qu.
Ah my good Lord, what haue I seene to night?
King.
What Gertrude?
How do's Hamlet?
Qu.
Mad as the Seas, and winde, when both contend Which is the Mightier, in his lawlesse fit Behinde the Arras, hearing something stirre, He whips his Rapier out, and cries a Rat, a Rat, And in his brainish apprehension killes The vnseene good old man
King.
Oh heauy deed: It had bin so with vs had we beene there: His Liberty is full of threats to all, To you your selfe, to vs, to euery one.
Alas, how shall this bloody deede be answered?
It will be laide to vs, whose prouidence Should haue kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt, This mad yong man.
But so much was our loue, We would not vnderstand what was most fit, But like the Owner of a foule disease, To keepe it from divulging, let's it feede Euen on the pith of life.
Where is he gone?
Qu.
To draw apart the body he hath kild, O're whom his very madnesse like some Oare Among a Minerall of Mettels base Shewes it selfe pure.
He weepes for what is done
King.
Oh Gertrude, come away: The Sun no sooner shall the Mountaines touch, But we will ship him hence, and this vilde deed, We must with all our Maiesty and Skill Both countenance, and excuse.
Enter Ros.
& Guild.
Ho Guildenstern: Friends both go ioyne you with some further ayde: Hamlet in madnesse hath Polonius slaine, And from his Mother Clossets hath he drag'd him.
Go seeke him out, speake faire, and bring the body Into the Chappell.
I pray you hast in this.
Exit Gent.
Come Gertrude, wee'l call vp our wisest friends, To let them know both what we meane to do, And what's vntimely done.
Oh come away, My soule is full of discord and dismay.
Exeunt.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.
Safely stowed
Gentlemen within.
Hamlet, Lord Hamlet
Ham.
What noise?
Who cals on Hamlet?
Oh heere they come.
Enter Ros.
and Guildensterne.
Ro.
What haue you done my Lord with the dead body?
Ham.
Compounded it with dust, whereto'tis Kinne
Rosin.
Tell vs where'tis, that we may take it thence, And beare it to the Chappell
Ham.
Do not beleeue it
Rosin.
Beleeue what?
Ham.
That I can keepe your counsell, and not mine owne.
Besides, to be demanded of a Spundge, what replication should be made by the Sonne of a King
Rosin.
Take you me for a Spundge, my Lord?
Ham.
I sir, that sokes vp the Kings Countenance, his Rewards, his Authorities (but such Officers do the King best seruice in the end.
He keepes them like an Ape in the corner of his iaw, first mouth'd to be last swallowed, when he needes what you haue glean'd, it is but squeezing you, and Spundge you shall be dry againe
Rosin.
I vnderstand you not my Lord
Ham.
I am glad of it: a knauish speech sleepes in a foolish eare
Rosin.
My Lord, you must tell vs where the body is, and go with vs to the King
Ham.
The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body.
The King, is a thing - Guild.
A thing my Lord?
Ham.
Of nothing: bring me to him, hide Fox, and all after.
Exeunt.
Enter King.
King.
Enter Rosincrane.
How now?
What hath befalne?
Rosin.
Where the dead body is bestow'd my Lord, We cannot get from him
King.
But where is he?
Rosin.
Without my Lord, guarded to know your pleasure
King.
Bring him before vs
Rosin.
Hoa, Guildensterne?
Bring in my Lord.
Enter Hamlet and Guildensterne.
King.
Now Hamlet, where's Polonius?
Ham.
At Supper
King.
At Supper?
Where?
Ham.
Not where he eats, but where he is eaten, a certaine conuocation of wormes are e'ne at him.
Your worm is your onely Emperor for diet.
We fat all creatures else to fat vs, and we fat our selfe for Magots.
Your fat King, and your leane Begger is but variable seruice to dishes, but to one Table that's the end
King.
What dost thou meane by this?
Ham.
Nothing but to shew you how a King may go a Progresse through the guts of a Begger
King.
Where is Polonius
Ham.
In heauen, send thither to see.
If your Messenger finde him not there, seeke him i'th other place your selfe: but indeed, if you finde him not this moneth, you shall nose him as you go vp the staires into the Lobby
King.
Go seeke him there
Ham.
He will stay till ye come
K. Hamlet, this deed of thine, for thine especial safety Which we do tender, as we deerely greeue For that which thou hast done, must send thee hence With fierie Quicknesse.
Therefore prepare thy selfe, The Barke is readie, and the winde at helpe, Th'Associates tend, and euery thing at bent For England
Ham.
For England?
King.
I Hamlet
Ham.
Good
King.
So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes
Ham.
I see a Cherube that see's him: but come, for England.
Farewell deere Mother
King.
Thy louing Father Hamlet
Hamlet.
My Mother: Father and Mother is man and wife: man & wife is one flesh, and so my mother.
Come, for England.
Exit
King.
Follow him at foote, Tempt him with speed aboord: Delay it not, Ile haue him hence to night.
Away, for euery thing is Seal'd and done That else leanes on th'Affaire, pray you make hast.
Do it England, For like the Hecticke in my blood he rages, And thou must cure me: Till I know'tis done, How ere my happes, my ioyes were ne're begun.
Exit
Enter Fortinbras with an Armie.
For.
Go Captaine, from me greet the Danish King, Tell him that by his license, Fortinbras Claimes the conueyance of a promis'd March Ouer his Kingdome.
You know the Rendeuous: If that his Maiesty would ought with vs, We shall expresse our dutie in his eye, And let him know so
Cap.
I will doo't, my Lord
For.
Go safely on.
Enter.
Enter Queene and Horatio.
Qu.
I will not speake with her
Hor.
She is importunate, indeed distract, her moode will needs be pittied
Qu.
What would she haue?
Hor.
Qu.
' Twere good she were spoken with, For she may strew dangerous coniectures In ill breeding minds.
Let her come in.
To my sicke soule (as sinnes true Nature is) Each toy seemes Prologue, to some great amisse, So full of Artlesse iealousie is guilt, It spill's it selfe, in fearing to be spilt.
Enter Ophelia distracted.
Ophe.
Where is the beauteous Maiesty of Denmark
Qu.
How now Ophelia?
Ophe.
How should I your true loue know from another one?
By his Cockle hat and staffe, and his Sandal shoone
Qu.
Alas sweet Lady: what imports this Song?
Ophe.
Say you?
Nay pray you marke.
He is dead and gone Lady, he is dead and gone, At his head a grasse - greene Turfe, at his heeles a stone.
Enter King.
Qu.
Nay but Ophelia
Ophe.
Pray you marke.
White his Shrow'd as the Mountaine Snow
Qu.
Alas, looke heere my Lord
Ophe.
Larded with sweet Flowers: Which bewept to the graue did not go, With true - loue showres
King.
How do ye, pretty Lady?
Ophe.
Well, God dil'd you.
They say the Owle was a Bakers daughter.
Lord, wee know what we are, but know not what we may be.
God be at your Table
King.
Conceit vpon her Father
Ophe.
Pray you let's haue no words of this: but when they aske you what it meanes, say you this: To morrow is S [ aint ].
Valentines day, all in the morning betime, And I a Maid at your Window, to be your Valentine.
Then vp he rose, & don'd his clothes, & dupt the chamber dore, Let in the Maid, that out a Maid, neuer departed more
King.
Pretty Ophelia
Ophe.
Indeed la?
without an oath Ile make an end ont.
By gis, and by S [ aint ].
Charity, Alacke, and fie for shame: Yong men wil doo't, if they come too't, By Cocke they are too blame.
Quoth she before you tumbled me, You promis'd me to Wed: So would I ha done by yonder Sunne, And thou hadst not come to my bed
King.
How long hath she bin thus?
Ophe.
I hope all will be well.
We must bee patient, but I cannot choose but weepe, to thinke they should lay him i'th'cold ground: My brother shall knowe of it, and so I thanke you for your good counsell.
Come, my Coach: Goodnight Ladies: Goodnight sweet Ladies: Goodnight, goodnight.
Enter.
King.
Follow her close, Giue her good watch I pray you: Oh this is the poyson of deepe greefe, it springs All from her Fathers death.
Oh Gertrude, Gertrude, When sorrowes comes, they come not single spies, But in Battalians.
First, her Father slaine, Next your Sonne gone, and he most violent Author Of his owne iust remoue: the people muddied, Thicke and vnwholsome in their thoughts, and whispers For good Polonius death; and we haue done but greenly In hugger mugger to interre him.
Poore Ophelia Diuided from her selfe, and her faire Iudgement, Without the which we are Pictures, or meere Beasts.
O my deere Gertrude, this, Like to a murdering Peece in many places, Giues me superfluous death.
A Noise within.
Enter a Messenger.
Qu.
Alacke, what noyse is this?
King.
Where are my Switzers?
Let them guard the doore.
What is the matter?
Mes.
Saue your selfe, my Lord.
Laertes shall be King, Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, Laertes shall be King, Laertes King
Qu.
How cheerefully on the false Traile they cry, Oh this is Counter you false Danish Dogges.
Noise within.
Enter Laertes.
King.
The doores are broke
Laer.
Where is the King, sirs?
Stand you all without
All.
No, let's come in
Laer.
I pray you giue me leaue
Al.
We will, we will
Laer.
I thanke you: Keepe the doore.
Oh thou vilde King, giue me my Father
Qu.
Calmely good Laertes
Laer.
That drop of blood, that calmes Proclaimes me Bastard: Cries Cuckold to my Father, brands the Harlot Euen heere betweene the chaste vnsmirched brow Of my true Mother
King.
What is the cause Laertes, That thy Rebellion lookes so Gyant - like?
Let him go Gertrude: Do not feare our person: There's such Diuinity doth hedge a King, That Treason can but peepe to what it would, Acts little of his will.
Tell me Laertes, Why thou art thus Incenst?
Let him go Gertrude.
Speake man
Laer.
Where's my Father?
King.
Dead
Qu.
But not by him
King.
Let him demand his fill
Laer.
How came he dead?
Ile not be Iuggel'd with.
To hell Allegeance: Vowes, to the blackest diuell.
Conscience and Grace, to the profoundest Pit.
I dare Damnation: to this point I stand, That both the worlds I giue to negligence, Let come what comes: onely Ile be reueng'd Most throughly for my Father
King.
Who shall stay you?
Laer.
My Will, not all the world, And for my meanes, Ile husband them so well, They shall go farre with little
King.
Good Laertes: If you desire to know the certaintie Of your deere Fathers death, if writ in your reuenge, That Soop - stake you will draw both Friend and Foe, Winner and Looser
Laer.
None but his Enemies
King.
Will you know them then
La.
To his good Friends, thus wide Ile ope my Armes: And like the kinde Life - rend'ring Politician, Repast them with my blood
King.
Why now you speake Like a good Childe, and a true Gentleman.
That I am guiltlesse of your Fathers death, And am most sensible in greefe for it, It shall as leuell to your Iudgement pierce As day do's to your eye.
A noise within.
Let her come in.
Enter Ophelia.
Laer.
How now?
what noise is that?
Oh heate drie vp my Braines, teares seuen times salt, Burne out the Sence and Vertue of mine eye.
By Heauen, thy madnesse shall be payed by waight, Till our Scale turnes the beame.
Oh Rose of May, Deere Maid, kinde Sister, sweet Ophelia: Oh Heauens, is't possible, a yong Maids wits, Should be as mortall as an old mans life?
Nature is fine in Loue, and where'tis fine, It sends some precious instance of it selfe After the thing it loues
Ophe.
They bore him bare fac'd on the Beer, Hey non nony, nony, hey nony: And on his graue raines many a teare, Fare you well my Doue
Laer.
Had'st thou thy wits, and did'st perswade Reuenge, it could not moue thus
Ophe.
You must sing downe a - downe, and you call him a - downe - a.
Oh, how the wheele becomes it?
It is the false Steward that stole his masters daughter
Laer.
This nothings more then matter
Ophe.
There's Rosemary, that's for Remembraunce.
Pray loue remember: and there is Paconcies, that's for Thoughts
Laer.
A document in madnesse, thoughts & remembrance fitted
Ophe.
There's Fennell for you, and Columbines: ther's Rew for you, and heere's some for me.
Wee may call it Herbe - Grace a Sundaies: Oh you must weare your Rew with a difference.
There's a Daysie, I would giue you some Violets, but they wither'd all when my Father dyed: They say, he made a good end; For bonny sweet Robin is all my ioy
Laer.
Thought, and Affliction, Passion, Hell it selfe: She turnes to Fauour, and to prettinesse
Ophe.
And will he not come againe, And will he not come againe: No, no, he is dead, go to thy Death - bed, He neuer wil come againe.
His Beard as white as Snow, All Flaxen was his Pole: He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone, Gramercy on his Soule.
And of all Christian Soules, I pray God.
God buy ye.
Exeunt.
Ophelia
Laer.
Do you see this, you Gods?
King.
But if not, Be you content to lend your patience to vs, And we shall ioyntly labour with your soule To giue it due content
Laer.
Let this be so: His meanes of death, his obscure buriall; No Trophee, Sword, nor Hatchment o're his bones, No Noble rite, nor formall ostentation, Cry to be heard, as'twere from Heauen to Earth, That I must call in question
King.
So you shall: And where th'offence is, let the great Axe fall.
I pray you go with me.
Exeunt.
Enter Horatio, with an Attendant.
Hora.
What are they that would speake with me?
Ser.
Saylors sir, they say they haue Letters for you
Hor.
Let them come in, I do not know from what part of the world I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.
Enter Saylor.
Say.
God blesse you Sir
Hor.
Let him blesse thee too
Say.
Hee shall Sir, and't please him.
There's a Letter for you Sir: It comes from th'Ambassadours that was bound for England, if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.
Reads the Letter.
Horatio, When thou shalt haue ouerlook'd this, giue these Fellowes some meanes to the King: They haue Letters for him.
Ere we were two dayes old at Sea, a Pyrate of very Warlicke appointment gaue vs Chace.
Finding our selues too slow of Saile, we put on a compelled Valour.
In the Grapple, I boorded them: On the instant they got cleare of our Shippe, so I alone became their Prisoner.
They haue dealt with mee, like Theeues of Mercy, but they knew what they did.
I am to doe a good turne for them.
Let the King haue the Letters I haue sent, and repaire thou to me with as much hast as thou wouldest flye death.
I haue words to speake in your eare, will make thee dumbe, yet are they much too light for the bore of the Matter.
These good Fellowes will bring thee where I am.
Rosincrance and Guildensterne, hold their course for England.
Of them I haue much to tell thee, Farewell.
He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.
Come, I will giue you way for these your Letters, And do't the speedier, that you may direct me To him from whom you brought them.
Enter.
Enter King and Laertes.
King.
Now must your conscience my acquittance seal, And you must put me in your heart for Friend, Sith you haue heard, and with a knowing eare, That he which hath your Noble Father slaine, Pursued my life
Laer.
It well appeares.
But tell me, Why you proceeded not against these feates, So crimefull, and so Capitall in Nature, As by your Safety, Wisedome, all things else, You mainly were stirr'd vp?
King.
O for two speciall Reasons, Which may to you (perhaps) seeme much vnsinnowed, And yet to me they are strong.
The Queen his Mother, Liues almost by his lookes: and for my selfe, My Vertue or my Plague, be it either which, She's so coniunctiue to my life, and soule; That as the Starre moues not but in his Sphere, I could not but by her.
The other Motiue, Why to a publike count I might not go, Is the great loue the generall gender beare him, Who dipping all his Faults in their affection, Would like the Spring that turneth Wood to Stone, Conuert his Gyues to Graces.
So that my Arrowes Too slightly timbred for so loud a Winde, Would haue reuerted to my Bow againe, And not where I had arm'd them
Laer.
And so haue I a Noble Father lost, A Sister driuen into desperate tearmes, Who was (if praises may go backe againe) Stood Challenger on mount of all the Age For her perfections.
But my reuenge will come
King.
Breake not your sleepes for that, You must not thinke That we are made of stuffe, so flat, and dull, That we can let our Beard be shooke with danger, And thinke it pastime.
You shortly shall heare more, I lou'd your Father, and we loue our Selfe, And that I hope will teach you to imagine - Enter a Messenger.
How now?
What Newes?
Mes.
Letters my Lord from Hamlet, This to your Maiesty: this to the Queene
King.
From Hamlet?
Who brought them?
Mes.
Saylors my Lord they say, I saw them not: They were giuen me by Claudio, he receiu'd them
King.
Laertes you shall heare them: Leaue vs.
Exit Messenger
High and Mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your Kingdome.
To morrow shall I begge leaue to see your Kingly Eyes.
When I shall (first asking your Pardon thereunto) recount th'Occasions of my sodaine, and more strange returne.
Hamlet.
What should this meane?
Are all the rest come backe?
Or is it some abuse?
Or no such thing?
Laer.
Know you the hand?
Kin.
' Tis Hamlets Character, naked and in a Postscript here he sayes alone: Can you aduise me?
Laer.
I'm lost in it my Lord; but let him come, It warmes the very sicknesse in my heart, That I shall liue and tell him to his teeth; Thus diddest thou
Kin.
If it be so Laertes, as how should it be so: How otherwise will you be rul'd by me?
Laer.
If so you'l not o'rerule me to a peace
Kin.
Laer.
A Norman was't?
Kin.
A Norman
Laer.
Vpon my life Lamound
Kin.
The very same
Laer.
I know him well, he is the Brooch indeed, And Iemme of all our Nation
Kin.
Hee mad confession of you, And gaue you such a Masterly report, For Art and exercise in your defence; And for your Rapier most especiall, That he cryed out, t'would be a sight indeed, If one could match you Sir.
This report of his Did Hamlet so envenom with his Enuy, That he could nothing doe but wish and begge, Your sodaine comming ore to play with him; Now out of this
Laer.
Why out of this, my Lord?
Kin.
Laertes was your Father deare to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, A face without a heart?
Laer.
Why aske you this?
Kin.
Laer.
To cut his throat i'th'Church
Kin.
So that with ease, Or with a little shuffling, you may choose A Sword vnbaited, and in a passe of practice, Requit him for your Father
Laer.
I will doo't.
Kin.
Enter Queene.
Queen.
One woe doth tread vpon anothers heele, So fast they'l follow: your Sister's drown'd Laertes
Laer.
Drown'd!
O where?
Queen.
Laer.
Alas then, is she drown'd?
Queen.
Drown'd, drown'd
Laer.
Enter.
Kin.
Let's follow, Gertrude: How much I had to doe to calme his rage?
Now feare I this will giue it start againe; Therefore let's follow.
Exeunt.
Enter two Clownes.
Clown.
Is she to bee buried in Christian buriall, that wilfully seekes her owne saluation?
Other.
I tell thee she is, and therefore make her Graue straight, the Crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian buriall
Clo.
How can that be, vnlesse she drowned her selfe in her owne defence?
Other.
Why'tis found so
Clo.
It must be Se offendendo, it cannot bee else: for heere lies the point; If I drowne my selfe wittingly, it argues an Act: and an Act hath three branches.
It is an Act to doe and to performe; argall she drown'd her selfe wittingly
Other.
Nay but heare you Goodman Deluer
Clown.
Giue me leaue; heere lies the water; good: heere stands the man; good: If the man goe to this water and drowne himselfe; it is will he nill he, he goes; marke you that?
But if the water come to him & drowne him; hee drownes not himselfe.
Argall, hee that is not guilty of his owne death, shortens not his owne life
Other.
But is this law?
Clo.
I marry is't, Crowners Quest Law
Other.
Will you ha the truth on't: if this had not beene a Gentlewoman, shee should haue beene buried out of Christian Buriall
Clo.
Why there thou say'st.
And the more pitty that great folke should haue countenance in this world to drowne or hang themselues, more then their euen Christian.
Come, my Spade; there is no ancient Gentlemen, but Gardiners, Ditchers and Graue - makers; they hold vp Adams Profession
Other.
Was he a Gentleman?
Clo.
He was the first that euer bore Armes
Other.
Why he had none
Clo.
What, ar't a Heathen?
how doth thou vnderstand the Scripture?
the Scripture sayes Adam dig'd; could hee digge without Armes?
Ile put another question to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confesse thy selfe - Other.
Go too
Clo.
What is he that builds stronger then either the Mason, the Shipwright, or the Carpenter?
Other.
The Gallowes maker; for that Frame outliues a thousand Tenants
Clo.
I like thy wit well in good faith, the Gallowes does well; but how does it well?
it does well to those that doe ill: now, thou dost ill to say the Gallowes is built stronger then the Church: Argall, the Gallowes may doe well to thee.
Too't againe, Come
Other.
Who builds stronger then a Mason, a Shipwright, or a Carpenter?
Clo.
I, tell me that, and vnyoake
Other.
Marry, now I can tell
Clo.
Too't
Other.
Masse, I cannot tell.
Enter Hamlet and Horatio a farre off.
Clo.
Cudgell thy braines no more about it; for your dull Asse will not mend his pace with beating; and when you are ask't this question next, say a Graue - maker: the Houses that he makes, lasts till Doomesday: go, get thee to Yaughan, fetch me a stoupe of Liquor.
Sings.
In youth when I did loue, did loue, me thought it was very sweete: To contract O the time for a my behoue, O me thought there was nothing meete
Ham.
Ha's this fellow no feeling of his businesse, that he sings at Graue - making?
Hor.
Custome hath made it in him a property of easinesse
Ham.
' Tis ee'n so; the hand of little Imployment hath the daintier sense
Clowne sings.
But Age with his stealing steps hath caught me in his clutch: And hath shipped me intill the Land, as if I had neuer beene such
Ham.
That Scull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knaue iowles it to th'grownd, as if it were Caines Iaw - bone, that did the first murther: It might be the Pate of a Polititian which this Asse o're Offices: one that could circumuent God, might it not?
Hor.
It might, my Lord
Ham.
Or of a Courtier, which could say, Good Morrow sweet Lord: how dost thou, good Lord?
this might be my Lord such a one, that prais'd my Lord such a ones Horse, when he meant to begge it; might it not?
Hor.
I, my Lord
Ham.
Why ee'n so: and now my Lady Wormes, Chaplesse, and knockt about the Mazard with a Sextons Spade; heere's fine Reuolution, if wee had the tricke to see't.
Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at Loggets with'em?
mine ake to thinke on't
Clowne sings.
A Pickhaxe and a Spade, a Spade, for and a shrowding - Sheete: O a Pit of Clay for to be made, for such a Guest is meete
Ham.
There's another: why might not that bee the Scull of a Lawyer?
where be his Quiddits now?
his Quillets?
his Cases?
his Tenures, and his Tricks?
why doe's he suffer this rude knaue now to knocke him about the Sconce with a dirty Shouell, and will not tell him of his Action of Battery?
hum.
This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of Land, with his Statutes, his Recognizances, his Fines, his double Vouchers, his Recoueries: Is this the fine of his Fines, and the recouery of his Recoueries, to haue his fine Pate full of fine Dirt?
will his Vouchers vouch him no more of his Purchases, and double ones too, then the length and breadth of a paire of Indentures?
the very Conueyances of his Lands will hardly lye in this Boxe; and must the Inheritor himselfe haue no more?
ha?
Hor.
Not a iot more, my Lord
Ham.
Is not Parchment made of Sheep - skinnes?
Hor.
I my Lord, and of Calue - skinnes too
Ham.
They are Sheepe and Calues that seek out assurance in that.
I will speake to this fellow: whose Graue's this Sir?
Clo.
Mine Sir: O a Pit of Clay for to be made, for such a Guest is meete
Ham.
I thinke it be thine indeed: for thou liest in't
Clo.
You lye out on't Sir, and therefore it is not yours: for my part, I doe not lye in't; and yet it is mine
Ham.
Thou dost lye in't, to be in't and say'tis thine:'tis for the dead, not for the quicke, therefore thou lyest
Clo.
' Tis a quicke lye Sir,'twill away againe from me to you
Ham.
What man dost thou digge it for?
Clo.
For no man Sir
Ham.
What woman then?
Clo.
For none neither
Ham.
Who is to be buried in't?
Clo.
One that was a woman Sir; but rest her Soule, shee's dead
Ham.
How absolute the knaue is?
wee must speake by the Carde, or equiuocation will vndoe vs: by the Lord Horatio, these three yeares I haue taken note of it, the Age is growne so picked, that the toe of the Pesant comes so neere the heeles of our Courtier, hee galls his Kibe.
How long hast thou been a Graue - maker?
Clo.
Of all the dayes i'th'yeare, I came too't that day that our last King Hamlet o'recame Fortinbras
Ham.
How long is that since?
Clo.
Cannot you tell that?
euery foole can tell that: It was the very day, that young Hamlet was borne, hee that was mad, and sent into England
Ham.
I marry, why was he sent into England?
Clo.
Why, because he was mad; hee shall recouer his wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there
Ham.
Why?
Clo.
' Twill not be seene in him, there the men are as mad as he
Ham.
How came he mad?
Clo.
Very strangely they say
Ham.
How strangely?
Clo.
Faith e'ene with loosing his wits
Ham.
Vpon what ground?
Clo.
Why heere in Denmarke: I haue bin sixeteene heere, man and Boy thirty yeares
Ham.
How long will a man lie i'th'earth ere he rot?
Clo.
Ifaith, if he be not rotten before he die (as we haue many pocky Coarses now adaies, that will scarce hold the laying in) he will last you some eight yeare, or nine yeare.
A Tanner will last you nine yeare
Ham.
Why he, more then another?
Clo.
Why sir, his hide is so tan'd with his Trade, that he will keepe out water a great while.
And your water, is a sore Decayer of your horson dead body.
Heres a Scull now: this Scul, has laine in the earth three & twenty years
Ham.
Whose was it?
Clo.
A whoreson mad Fellowes it was; Whose doe you thinke it was?
Ham.
Nay, I know not
Clo.
A pestilence on him for a mad Rogue, a pour'd a Flaggon of Renish on my head once.
This same Scull Sir, this same Scull sir, was Yoricks Scull, the Kings Iester
Ham.
This?
Clo.
E'ene that
Ham.
Let me see.
Alas poore Yorick, I knew him Horatio, a fellow of infinite Iest; of most excellent fancy, he hath borne me on his backe a thousand times: And how abhorred my Imagination is, my gorge rises at it.
Heere hung those lipps, that I haue kist I know not how oft.
Where be your Iibes now?
Your Gambals?
Your Songs?
Your flashes of Merriment that were wont to set the Table on a Rore?
No one now to mock your own Ieering?
Quite chopfalne?
Now get you to my Ladies Chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thicke, to this fauour she must come.
Make her laugh at that: prythee Horatio tell me one thing
Hor.
What's that my Lord?
Ham.
Dost thou thinke Alexander lookt o'this fashion i'th'earth?
Hor.
E'ene so
Ham.
And smelt so?
Puh
Hor.
E'ene so, my Lord
Ham.
To what base vses we may returne Horatio.
Why may not Imagination trace the Noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bunghole
Hor.
' Twere to consider: to curiously to consider so
Ham.
No faith, not a iot.
But to follow him thether with modestie enough, & likeliehood to lead it; as thus.
Alexander died: Alexander was buried: Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make Lome, and why of that Lome (whereto he was conuerted) might they not stopp a Beere - barrell?
Imperiall Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keepe the winde away.
Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, Should patch a Wall, t'expell the winters flaw.
But soft, but soft, aside; heere comes the King.
Enter King, Queene, Laertes, and a Coffin, with Lords attendant.
The Queene, the Courtiers.
Who is that they follow, And with such maimed rites?
This doth betoken, The Coarse they follow, did with disperate hand, Fore do it owne life;'twas some Estate.
Couch we a while, and mark
Laer.
What Cerimony else?
Ham.
That is Laertes, a very Noble youth: Marke
Laer.
What Cerimony else?
Priest.
Her Obsequies haue bin as farre inlarg'd.
As we haue warrantie, her death was doubtfull, And but that great Command, o're - swaies the order, She should in ground vnsanctified haue lodg'd, Till the last Trumpet.
For charitable praier, Shardes, Flints, and Peebles, should be throwne on her: Yet heere she is allowed her Virgin Rites, Her Maiden strewments, and the bringing home Of Bell and Buriall
Laer.
Must there no more be done?
Priest.
No more be done: We should prophane the seruice of the dead, To sing sage Requiem, and such rest to her As to peace - parted Soules
Laer.
Lay her i'th'earth, And from her faire and vnpolluted flesh, May Violets spring.
I tell thee (churlish Priest) A Ministring Angell shall my Sister be, When thou liest howling?
Ham.
What, the faire Ophelia?
Queene.
Sweets, to the sweet farewell.
I hop'd thou should'st haue bin my Hamlets wife: I thought thy Bride - bed to haue deckt (sweet Maid) And not t'haue strew'd thy Graue
Laer.
Oh terrible woer, Fall ten times trebble, on that cursed head Whose wicked deed, thy most Ingenious sence Depriu'd thee of.
Hold off the earth a while, Till I haue caught her once more in mine armes:
Leaps in the graue.
Now pile your dust, vpon the quicke, and dead, Till of this flat a Mountaine you haue made, To o're top old Pelion, or the skyish head Of blew Olympus
Ham.
What is he, whose griefes Beares such an Emphasis?
whose phrase of Sorrow Coniure the wandring Starres, and makes them stand Like wonder - wounded hearers?
This is I, Hamlet the Dane
Laer.
The deuill take thy soule
Ham.
Thou prai'st not well, I prythee take thy fingers from my throat; Sir though I am not Spleenatiue, and rash, Yet haue I something in me dangerous, Which let thy wisenesse feare.
Away thy hand
King.
Pluck them asunder
Qu.
Hamlet, Hamlet
Gen. Good my Lord be quiet
Ham.
Why I will fight with him vppon this Theme.
Vntill my eielids will no longer wag
Qu.
Oh my Sonne, what Theame?
Ham.
I lou'd Ophelia; fortie thousand Brothers Could not (with all there quantitie of Loue) Make vp my summe.
What wilt thou do for her?
King.
Oh he is mad Laertes, Qu.
For loue of God forbeare him
Ham.
Come show me what thou'lt doe.
Woo't weepe?
Woo't fight?
Woo't teare thy selfe?
Woo't drinke vp Esile, eate a Crocodile?
Ile doo't.
Dost thou come heere to whine; To outface me with leaping in her Graue?
Be buried quicke with her, and so will I.
And if thou prate of Mountaines; let them throw Millions of Akers on vs; till our ground Sindging his pate against the burning Zone, Make Ossa like a wart.
Nay, and thou'lt mouth, Ile rant as well as thou
Kin.
This is meere Madnesse: And thus awhile the fit will worke on him: Anon as patient as the female Doue, When that her Golden Cuplet are disclos'd; His silence will sit drooping
Ham.
Heare you Sir: What is the reason that you vse me thus?
I lou'd you euer; but it is no matter: Let Hercules himselfe doe what he may, The Cat will Mew, and Dogge will haue his day.
Enter.
Kin.
Exeunt.
Enter Hamlet and Horatio
Ham.
So much for this Sir; now let me see the other, You doe remember all the Circumstance
Hor.
Remember it my Lord?
Ham.
Hor.
That is most certaine
Ham.
Hor.
Ist possible?
Ham.
Here's the Commission, read it at more leysure: But wilt thou heare me how I did proceed?
Hor.
I beseech you
Ham.
Being thus benetted round with Villaines, Ere I could make a Prologue to my braines, They had begun the Play.
I sate me downe, Deuis'd a new Commission, wrote it faire, I once did hold it as our Statists doe, A basenesse to write faire; and laboured much How to forget that learning: but Sir now, It did me Yeomans seriuce: wilt thou know The effects of what I wrote?
Hor.
I, good my Lord
Ham.
Hor.
How was this seal'd?
Ham.
Hor.
So Guildensterne and Rosincrance, go too't
Ham.
Why man, they did make loue to this imployment They are not neere my Conscience; their debate Doth by their owne insinuation grow:'Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes Betweene the passe, and fell incensed points Of mighty opposites
Hor.
Why, what a King is this?
Ham.
Does it not, thinkst thee, stand me now vpon He that hath kil'd my King, and whor'd my Mother, Popt in betweene th'election and my hopes, Throwne out his Angle for my proper life, And with such coozenage; is't not perfect conscience, To quit him with this arme?
And is't not to be damn'd To let this Canker of our nature come In further euill
Hor.
It must be shortly knowne to him from England What is the issue of the businesse there
Ham.
Hor.
Peace, who comes heere?
Enter young Osricke.
Osr.
Your Lordship is right welcome back to Denmarke
Ham.
I humbly thank you Sir, dost know this waterflie?
Hor.
No my good Lord
Ham.
Thy state is the more gracious; for'tis a vice to know him: he hath much Land, and fertile; let a Beast be Lord of Beasts, and his Crib shall stand at the Kings Messe;'tis a Chowgh; but as I saw spacious in the possession of dirt
Osr.
Sweet Lord, if your friendship were at leysure, I should impart a thing to you from his Maiesty
Ham.
I will receiue it with all diligence of spirit; put your Bonet to his right vse,'tis for the head
Osr.
I thanke your Lordship,'tis very hot
Ham.
No, beleeue mee'tis very cold, the winde is Northerly
Osr.
It is indifferent cold my Lord indeed
Ham.
Mee thinkes it is very soultry, and hot for my Complexion
Osr.
Exceedingly, my Lord, it is very soultry, as'twere I cannot tell how: but my Lord, his Maiesty bad me signifie to you, that he ha's laid a great wager on your head: Sir, this is the matter
Ham.
I beseech you remember
Osr.
Nay, in good faith, for mine ease in good faith: Sir, you are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is at his weapon
Ham.
What's his weapon?
Osr.
Rapier and dagger
Ham.
That's two of his weapons; but well
Osr.
Ham.
What call you the Carriages?
Osr.
The Carriages Sir, are the hangers
Ham.
Osr.
The King Sir, hath laid that in a dozen passes betweene you and him, hee shall not exceed you three hits; He hath one twelue for mine, and that would come to imediate tryall, if your Lordship would vouchsafe the Answere
Ham.
How if I answere no?
Osr.
I meane my Lord, the opposition of your person in tryall
Ham.
Sir, I will walke heere in the Hall; if it please his Maiestie,'tis the breathing time of day with me; let the Foyles bee brought, the Gentleman willing, and the King hold his purpose; I will win for him if I can: if not, Ile gaine nothing but my shame, and the odde hits
Osr.
Shall I redeliuer you ee'n so?
Ham.
To this effect Sir, after what flourish your nature will
Osr.
I commend my duty to your Lordship
Ham.
Yours, yours; hee does well to commend it himselfe, there are no tongues else for's tongue
Hor.
This Lapwing runs away with the shell on his head
Ham.
Hor.
You will lose this wager, my Lord
Ham.
I doe not thinke so, since he went into France, I haue beene in continuall practice; I shall winne at the oddes: but thou wouldest not thinke how all heere about my heart: but it is no matter
Hor.
Nay, good my Lord
Ham.
It is but foolery; but it is such a kinde of gain - giuing as would perhaps trouble a woman
Hor.
If your minde dislike any thing, obey.
I will forestall their repaire hither, and say you are not fit
Ham.
Not a whit, we defie Augury; there's a speciall Prouidence in the fall of a sparrow.
If it be now,'tis not to come: if it bee not to come, it will bee now: if it be not now; yet it will come; the readinesse is all, since no man ha's ought of what he leaues.
What is't to leaue betimes?
Enter King, Queene, Laertes and Lords, with other Attendants with Foyles, and Gauntlets, a Table and Flagons of Wine on it.
Kin.
Come Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me
Ham.
Giue me your pardon Sir, I'ue done you wrong, But pardon't as you are a Gentleman.
This presence knowes, And you must needs haue heard how I am punisht With sore distraction?
What I haue done That might your nature honour, and exception Roughly awake, I heere proclaime was madnesse: Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes?
Neuer Hamlet.
If Hamlet from himselfe be tane away: And when he's not himselfe, do's wrong Laertes, Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it: Who does it then?
His Madnesse?
If't be so, Hamlet is of the Faction that is wrong'd, His madnesse is poore Hamlets Enemy.
Sir, in this Audience, Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd euill, Free me so farre in your most generous thoughts, That I haue shot mine Arrow o're the house, And hurt my Mother
Laer.
I am satisfied in Nature, Whose motiue in this case should stirre me most To my Reuenge.
But in my termes of Honor I stand aloofe, and will no reconcilement, Till by some elder Masters of knowne Honor, I haue a voyce, and president of peace To keepe my name vngorg'd.
But till that time, I do receiue your offer'd loue like loue, And wil not wrong it
Ham.
I do embrace it freely, And will this Brothers wager frankely play.
Giue vs the Foyles: Come on
Laer.
Come one for me
Ham.
Ile be your foile Laertes, in mine ignorance, Your Skill shall like a Starre i'th'darkest night, Sticke fiery off indeede
Laer.
You mocke me Sir
Ham.
No by this hand
King.
Giue them the Foyles yong Osricke, Cousen Hamlet, you know the wager
Ham.
Verie well my Lord, Your Grace hath laide the oddes a'th'weaker side
King.
I do not feare it, I haue seene you both: But since he is better'd, we haue therefore oddes
Laer.
This is too heauy, Let me see another
Ham.
This likes me well, These Foyles haue all a length.
Prepare to play.
Osricke.
I my good Lord
King.
Giue me the Cups, And let the Kettle to the Trumpets speake, The Trumpet to the Cannoneer without, The Cannons to the Heauens, the Heauen to Earth, Now the King drinkes to Hamlet.
Come, begin, And you the Iudges beare a wary eye
Ham.
Come on sir
Laer.
Come on sir.
They play.
Ham.
One
Laer.
Ham.
Iudgement
Osr.
A hit, a very palpable hit
Laer.
Well: againe
King.
Stay, giue me drinke.
Hamlet, this Pearle is thine, Here's to thy health.
Giue him the cup,
Trumpets sound, and shot goes off.
Ham.
Ile play this bout first, set by a - while.
Come: Another hit; what say you?
Laer.
A touch, a touch, I do confesse
King.
Our Sonne shall win
Qu.
He's fat, and scant of breath.
Heere's a Napkin, rub thy browes, The Queene Carowses to thy fortune, Hamlet
Ham.
Good Madam
King.
Gertrude, do not drinke
Qu.
I will my Lord; I pray you pardon me
King.
It is the poyson'd Cup, it is too late
Ham.
I dare not drinke yet Madam, By and by
Qu.
Come, let me wipe thy face
Laer.
My Lord, Ile hit him now
King.
I do not thinke't
Laer.
And yet'tis almost'gainst my conscience
Ham.
Come for the third.
Laertes, you but dally, I pray you passe with your best violence, I am affear'd you make a wanton of me
Laer.
Say you so?
Come on.
Play.
Osr.
Nothing neither way
Laer.
Haue at you now.
In scuffling they change Rapiers.
King.
Part them, they are incens'd
Ham.
Nay come, againe
Osr.
Looke to the Queene there hoa
Hor.
They bleed on both sides.
How is't my Lord?
Osr.
How is't Laertes?
Laer.
Why as a Woodcocke To mine Sprindge, Osricke, I am iustly kill'd with mine owne Treacherie
Ham.
How does the Queene?
King.
She sounds to see them bleede
Qu.
No, no, the drinke, the drinke.
Oh my deere Hamlet, the drinke, the drinke, I am poyson'd
Ham.
Oh Villany!
How?
Let the doore be lock'd.
Treacherie, seeke it out
Laer.
It is heere Hamlet.
Hamlet, thou art slaine, No Medicine in the world can do thee good.
In thee, there is not halfe an houre of life; The Treacherous Instrument is in thy hand, Vnbated and envenom'd: the foule practise Hath turn'd it selfe on me.
Loe, heere I lye, Neuer to rise againe: Thy Mothers poyson'd: I can no more, the King, the King's too blame
Ham.
The point envenom'd too, Then venome to thy worke.
Hurts the King.
All.
Treason, Treason
King.
O yet defend me Friends, I am but hurt
Ham.
Heere thou incestuous, murdrous, Damned Dane, Drinke off this Potion: Is thy Vnion heere?
Follow my Mother.
King Dyes.
Laer.
He is iustly seru'd.
It is a poyson temp'red by himselfe: Exchange forgiuenesse with me, Noble Hamlet; Mine and my Fathers death come not vpon thee, Nor thine on me.
Dyes.
Ham.
Heauen make thee free of it, I follow thee.
I am dead Horatio, wretched Queene adiew, You that looke pale, and tremble at this chance, That are but Mutes or audience to this acte: Had I but time (as this fell Sergeant death Is strick'd in his Arrest) oh I could tell you.
But let it be: Horatio, I am dead, Thou liu'st, report me and my causes right To the vnsatisfied
Hor.
Neuer beleeue it.
I am more an Antike Roman then a Dane: Heere's yet some Liquor left
Ham.
As th'art a man, giue me the Cup.
Let go, by Heauen Ile haue't.
Oh good Horatio, what a wounded name, (Things standing thus vnknowne) shall liue behind me.
If thou did'st euer hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicitie awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in paine, To tell my Storie.
March afarre off, and shout within.
What warlike noyse is this?
Enter Osricke.
Osr.
Yong Fortinbras, with conquest come fro [ m ] Poland To th'Ambassadors of England giues this warlike volly
Ham.
O I dye Horatio: The potent poyson quite ore - crowes my spirit, I cannot liue to heare the Newes from England, But I do prophesie th'election lights On Fortinbras, he ha's my dying voyce, So tell him with the occurrents more and lesse, Which haue solicited.
The rest is silence.
O, o, o, o.
Dyes
Hora.
Now cracke a Noble heart: Goodnight sweet Prince, And flights of Angels sing thee to thy rest, Why do's the Drumme come hither?
Enter Fortinbras and English Ambassador, with Drumme, Colours, and Attendants.
Fortin.
Where is this sight?
Hor.
What is it ye would see; If ought of woe, or wonder, cease your search
For.
His quarry cries on hauocke.
Oh proud death, What feast is toward in thine eternall Cell.
That thou so many Princes, at a shoote, So bloodily hast strooke
Amb.
The sight is dismall, And our affaires from England come too late, The eares are senselesse that should giue vs hearing, To tell him his command'ment is fulfill'd, That Rosincrance and Guildensterne are dead: Where should we haue our thankes?
Hor.
Not from his mouth, Had it th'abilitie of life to thanke you: He neuer gaue command'ment for their death.
But since so iumpe vpon this bloodie question, You from the Polake warres, and you from England Are heere arriued.
Giue order that these bodies High on a stage be placed to the view, And let me speake to th'yet vnknowing world, How these things came about.
So shall you heare Of carnall, bloudie, and vnnaturall acts, Of accidentall iudgements, casuall slaughters Of death's put on by cunning, and forc'd cause, And in this vpshot, purposes mistooke, Falne on the Inuentors head.
All this can I Truly deliuer
For.
Let vs hast to heare it, And call the Noblest to the Audience.
For me, with sorrow, I embrace my Fortune, I haue some Rites of memory in this Kingdome, Which are to claime, my vantage doth Inuite me, Hor.
Of that I shall haue alwayes cause to speake, And from his mouth Whose voyce will draw on more: But let this same be presently perform'd, Euen whiles mens mindes are wilde, Lest more mischance On plots, and errors happen
For.
Let foure Captaines Beare Hamlet like a Soldier to the Stage, For he was likely, had he beene put on To haue prou'd most royally: And for his passage, The Souldiours Musicke, and the rites of Warre Speake lowdly for him.
Take vp the body; Such a sight as this Becomes the Field, but heere shewes much amis.
Go, bid the Souldiers shoote.
Exeunt.
Marching: after the which, a Peale of Ordenance are shot off.
FINIS.
The tragedie of HAMLET, Prince of Denmarke.
[ The Tragedie of Macbeth by William Shakespeare 1603 ]
Actus Primus.
Scoena Prima.
Thunder and Lightning.
Enter three Witches.
When shall we three meet againe?
In Thunder, Lightning, or in Raine?
When the Hurley - burley's done, When the Battaile's lost, and wonne
That will be ere the set of Sunne
Where the place?
Vpon the Heath
There to meet with Macbeth
I come, Gray - Malkin
All.
Padock calls anon: faire is foule, and foule is faire, Houer through the fogge and filthie ayre.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Alarum within.
Enter King Malcome, Donalbaine, Lenox, with attendants, meeting a bleeding Captaine.
King.
What bloody man is that?
he can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the Reuolt The newest state
Mal.
This is the Serieant, Who like a good and hardie Souldier fought'Gainst my Captiuitie: Haile braue friend; Say to the King, the knowledge of the Broyle, As thou didst leaue it
Cap.
King.
O valiant Cousin, worthy Gentleman
Cap.
King.
Dismay'd not this our Captaines, Macbeth and Banquoh?
Cap.
King.
So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds, They smack of Honor both: Goe get him Surgeons.
Enter Rosse and Angus.
Who comes here?
Mal.
The worthy Thane of Rosse
Lenox.
What a haste lookes through his eyes?
So should he looke, that seemes to speake things strange
Rosse.
God saue the King
King.
Whence cam'st thou, worthy Thane?
Rosse.
From Fiffe, great King, Where the Norweyan Banners flowt the Skie, And fanne our people cold.
King.
Great happinesse
Rosse.
That now Sweno, the Norwayes King, Craues composition: Nor would we deigne him buriall of his men, Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes ynch, Ten thousand Dollars, to our generall vse
King.
No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceiue Our Bosome interest: Goe pronounce his present death, And with his former Title greet Macbeth
Rosse.
Ile see it done
King.
What he hath lost, Noble Macbeth hath wonne.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Thunder.
Enter the three Witches.
Where hast thou beene, Sister?
Killing Swine
Sister, where thou?
A Saylors Wife had Chestnuts in her Lappe, And mouncht, & mouncht, and mouncht: Giue me, quoth I. Aroynt thee, Witch, the rumpe - fed Ronyon cryes.
Her Husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o'th'Tiger: But in a Syue Ile thither sayle, And like a Rat without a tayle, Ile doe, Ile doe, and Ile doe
Ile giue thee a Winde
Th'art kinde
And I another
I my selfe haue all the other, And the very Ports they blow, All the Quarters that they know, I'th'Ship - mans Card.
Ile dreyne him drie as Hay: Sleepe shall neyther Night nor Day Hang vpon his Pent - house Lid: He shall liue a man forbid: Wearie Seu'nights, nine times nine, Shall he dwindle, peake, and pine: Though his Barke cannot be lost, Yet it shall be Tempest - tost.
Looke what I haue
Shew me, shew me
Here I haue a Pilots Thumbe, Wrackt, as homeward he did come.
Drum within.
A Drumme, a Drumme: Macbeth doth come
All.
The weyward Sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the Sea and Land, Thus doe goe, about, about, Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice againe, to make vp nine.
Peace, the Charme's wound vp.
Enter Macbeth and Banquo.
Macb.
So foule and faire a day I haue not seene
Banquo.
How farre is't call'd to Soris?
What are these, So wither'd, and so wilde in their attyre, That looke not like th'Inhabitants o'th'Earth, And yet are on't?
Liue you, or are you aught That man may question?
you seeme to vnderstand me, By each at once her choppie finger laying Vpon her skinnie Lips: you should be Women, And yet your Beards forbid me to interprete That you are so
Mac.
Speake if you can: what are you?
All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Glamis
All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Cawdor
All haile Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter
Banq.
Good Sir, why doe you start, and seeme to feare Things that doe sound so faire?
i'th'name of truth Are ye fantasticall, or that indeed Which outwardly ye shew?
My Noble Partner You greet with present Grace, and great prediction Of Noble hauing, and of Royall hope, That he seemes wrapt withall: to me you speake not.
If you can looke into the Seedes of Time, And say, which Graine will grow, and which will not, Speake then to me, who neyther begge, nor feare Your fauors, nor your hate
Hayle
Hayle
Hayle
Lesser than Macbeth, and greater
Not so happy, yet much happyer
Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none: So all haile Macbeth, and Banquo
Banquo, and Macbeth, all haile
Macb.
Stay you imperfect Speakers, tell me more: By Sinells death, I know I am Thane of Glamis, But how, of Cawdor?
the Thane of Cawdor liues A prosperous Gentleman: And to be King, Stands not within the prospect of beleefe, No more then to be Cawdor.
Say from whence You owe this strange Intelligence, or why Vpon this blasted Heath you stop our way With such Prophetique greeting?
Speake, I charge you.
Witches vanish.
Banq.
The Earth hath bubbles, as the Water ha's, And these are of them: whither are they vanish'd?
Macb.
Into the Ayre: and what seem'd corporall, Melted, as breath into the Winde.
Would they had stay'd
Banq.
Were such things here, as we doe speake about?
Or haue we eaten on the insane Root, That takes the Reason Prisoner?
Macb.
Your Children shall be Kings
Banq.
You shall be King
Macb.
And Thane of Cawdor too: went it not so?
Banq.
Toth'selfe - same tune and words: who's here?
Enter Rosse and Angus.
Rosse.
Ang.
Wee are sent, To giue thee from our Royall Master thanks, Onely to harrold thee into his sight, Not pay thee
Rosse.
And for an earnest of a greater Honor, He bad me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor: In which addition, haile most worthy Thane, For it is thine
Banq.
What, can the Deuill speake true?
Macb.
The Thane of Cawdor liues: Why doe you dresse me in borrowed Robes?
Ang.
Who was the Thane, liues yet, But vnder heauie Iudgement beares that Life, Which he deserues to loose.
Whether he was combin'd with those of Norway, Or did lyne the Rebell with hidden helpe, And vantage; or that with both he labour'd In his Countreyes wracke, I know not: But Treasons Capitall, confess'd, and prou'd, Haue ouerthrowne him
Macb.
Glamys, and Thane of Cawdor: The greatest is behinde.
Thankes for your paines.
Doe you not hope your Children shall be Kings, When those that gaue the Thane of Cawdor to me, Promis'd no lesse to them
Banq.
That trusted home, Might yet enkindle you vnto the Crowne, Besides the Thane of Cawdor.
But'tis strange: And oftentimes, to winne vs to our harme, The Instruments of Darknesse tell vs Truths, Winne vs with honest Trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence.
Cousins, a word, I pray you
Macb.
Two Truths are told, As happy Prologues to the swelling Act Of the Imperiall Theame.
I thanke you Gentlemen: This supernaturall solliciting Cannot be ill; cannot be good.
If ill?
why hath it giuen me earnest of successe, Commencing in a Truth?
I am Thane of Cawdor.
If good?
why doe I yeeld to that suggestion, Whose horrid Image doth vnfixe my Heire, And make my seated Heart knock at my Ribbes, Against the vse of Nature?
Present Feares Are lesse then horrible Imaginings: My Thought, whose Murther yet is but fantasticall, Shakes so my single state of Man, That Function is smother'd in surmise, And nothing is, but what is not
Banq.
Looke how our Partner's rapt
Macb.
If Chance will haue me King, Why Chance may Crowne me, Without my stirre
Banq.
New Honors come vpon him Like our strange Garments, cleaue not to their mould, But with the aid of vse
Macb.
Come what come may, Time, and the Houre, runs through the roughest Day
Banq.
Worthy Macbeth, wee stay vpon your leysure
Macb.
Giue me your fauour: My dull Braine was wrought with things forgotten.
Kinde Gentlemen, your paines are registred, Where euery day I turne the Leafe, To reade them.
Let vs toward the King: thinke vpon What hath chanc'd: and at more time, The Interim hauing weigh'd it, let vs speake Our free Hearts each to other
Banq.
Very gladly
Macb.
Till then enough: Come friends.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Flourish.
Enter King, Lenox, Malcolme, Donalbaine, and Attendants.
King.
Is execution done on Cawdor?
Or not those in Commission yet return'd?
Mal.
My Liege, they are not yet come back.
But I haue spoke with one that saw him die: Who did report, that very frankly hee Confess'd his Treasons, implor'd your Highnesse Pardon, And set forth a deepe Repentance: Nothing in his Life became him, Like the leauing it.
Hee dy'de, As one that had beene studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd, As'twere a carelesse Trifle
King.
There's no Art, To finde the Mindes construction in the Face.
He was a Gentleman, on whom I built An absolute Trust.
Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus.
O worthyest Cousin, The sinne of my Ingratitude euen now Was heauie on me.
Thou art so farre before, That swiftest Wing of Recompence is slow, To ouertake thee.
Would thou hadst lesse deseru'd, That the proportion both of thanks, and payment, Might haue beene mine: onely I haue left to say, More is thy due, then more then all can pay
Macb.
The seruice, and the loyaltie I owe, In doing it, payes it selfe.
Your Highnesse part, is to receiue our Duties: And our Duties are to your Throne, and State, Children, and Seruants; which doe but what they should, By doing euery thing safe toward your Loue And Honor
King.
Welcome hither: I haue begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing.
Noble Banquo, That hast no lesse deseru'd, nor must be knowne No lesse to haue done so: Let me enfold thee, And hold thee to my Heart
Banq.
There if I grow, The Haruest is your owne
King.
My plenteous Ioyes, Wanton in fulnesse, seeke to hide themselues In drops of sorrow.
From hence to Envernes, And binde vs further to you
Macb.
The Rest is Labor, which is not vs'd for you: Ile be my selfe the Herbenger, and make ioyfull The hearing of my Wife, with your approach: So humbly take my leaue
King.
My worthy Cawdor
Macb.
The Prince of Cumberland: that is a step, On which I must fall downe, or else o're - leape, For in my way it lyes.
Starres hide your fires, Let not Light see my black and deepe desires: The Eye winke at the Hand: yet let that bee, Which the Eye feares, when it is done to see.
Enter.
King.
True worthy Banquo: he is full so valiant, And in his commendations, I am fed: It is a Banquet to me.
Let's after him, Whose care is gone before, to bid vs welcome: It is a peerelesse Kinsman.
Flourish.
Exeunt.
Scena Quinta.
Enter Macbeths Wife alone with a Letter.
Lady.
They met me in the day of successe: and I haue learn'd by the perfect'st report, they haue more in them, then mortall knowledge.
When I burnt in desire to question them further, they made themselues Ayre, into which they vanish'd.
Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came Missiues from the King, who all - hail'd me Thane of Cawdor, by which Title before, these weyward Sisters saluted me, and referr'd me to the comming on of time, with haile King that shalt be.
This haue I thought good to deliuer thee (my dearest Partner of Greatnesse) that thou might'st not loose the dues of reioycing by being ignorant of what Greatnesse is promis'd thee.
Lay it to thy heart and farewell.
Glamys thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be What thou art promis'd: yet doe I feare thy Nature, It is too full o'th'Milke of humane kindnesse, To catch the neerest way.
Thou would'st be great, Art not without Ambition, but without The illnesse should attend it.
What thou would'st highly, That would'st thou holily: would'st not play false, And yet would'st wrongly winne.
Thould'st haue, great Glamys, that which cryes, Thus thou must doe, if thou haue it; And that which rather thou do'st feare to doe, Then wishest should be vndone.
High thee hither, That I may powre my Spirits in thine Eare, And chastise with the valour of my Tongue All that impeides thee from the Golden Round, Which Fate and Metaphysicall ayde doth seeme To haue thee crown'd withall.
Enter Messenger.
What is your tidings?
Mess.
The King comes here to Night
Lady.
Thou'rt mad to say it.
Is not thy Master with him?
who, wer't so, Would haue inform'd for preparation
Mess.
So please you, it is true: our Thane is comming: One of my fellowes had the speed of him; Who almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Then would make vp his Message
Lady.
Giue him tending, He brings great newes,
Exit Messenger.
The Rauen himselfe is hoarse, That croakes the fatall entrance of Duncan Vnder my Battlements.
Come to my Womans Brests, And take my Milke for Gall, you murth'ring Ministers, Where - euer, in your sightlesse substances, You wait on Natures Mischiefe.
Come thick Night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoake of Hell,
That my keene Knife see not the Wound it makes, Nor Heauen peepe through the Blanket of the darke, To cry, hold, hold.
Enter Macbeth.
Great Glamys, worthy Cawdor, Greater then both, by the all - haile hereafter, Thy Letters haue transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feele now The future in the instant
Macb.
My dearest Loue, Duncan comes here to Night
Lady.
And when goes hence?
Macb.
To morrow, as he purposes
Lady.
O neuer, Shall Sunne that Morrow see.
Your Face, my Thane, is as a Booke, where men May reade strange matters, to beguile the time.
Looke like the time, beare welcome in your Eye, Your Hand, your Tongue: looke like th'innocent flower, But be the Serpent vnder't.
He that's comming, Must be prouided for: and you shall put This Nights great Businesse into my dispatch, Which shall to all our Nights, and Dayes to come, Giue solely soueraigne sway, and Masterdome
Macb.
We will speake further, Lady.
Onely looke vp cleare: To alter fauor, euer is to feare: Leaue all the rest to me.
Exeunt.
Scena Sexta.
Hoboyes, and Torches.
Enter King, Malcolme, Donalbaine, Banquo, Lenox, Macduff, Rosse, Angus, and Attendants.
King.
This Castle hath a pleasant seat, The ayre nimbly and sweetly recommends it selfe Vnto our gentle sences
Banq.
Enter Lady.
King.
See, see our honor'd Hostesse: The Loue that followes vs, sometime is our trouble, Which still we thanke as Loue.
Herein I teach you, How you shall bid God - eyld vs for your paines, And thanke vs for your trouble
Lady.
All our seruice, In euery point twice done, and then done double, Were poore, and single Businesse, to contend Against those Honors deepe, and broad, Wherewith your Maiestie loades our House: For those of old, and the late Dignities, Heap'd vp to them, we rest your Ermites
King.
Where's the Thane of Cawdor?
We courst him at the heeles, and had a purpose To be his Purueyor: But he rides well, And his great Loue (sharpe as his Spurre) hath holp him To his home before vs: Faire and Noble Hostesse We are your guest to night
La.
Your Seruants euer, Haue theirs, themselues, and what is theirs in compt, To make their Audit at your Highnesse pleasure, Still to returne your owne
King.
Giue me your hand: Conduct me to mine Host we loue him highly, And shall continue, our Graces towards him.
By your leaue Hostesse.
Exeunt.
Scena Septima.
Hoboyes.
Torches.
Enter a Sewer, and diuers Seruants with Dishes and Seruice ouer the Stage.
Then enter Macbeth
Macb.
If it were done, when'tis done, then'twer well, It were done quickly: If th'Assassination Could trammell vp the Consequence, and catch With his surcease, Successe: that but this blow Might be the be all, and the end all.
Heere, But heere, vpon this Banke and Schoole of time, Wee'ld iumpe the life to come.
But in these Cases, We still haue iudgement heere, that we but teach Bloody Instructions, which being taught, returne To plague th'Inuenter, this euen - handed Iustice Commends th'Ingredience of our poyson'd Challice To our owne lips.
Hee's heere in double trust; First, as I am his Kinsman, and his Subiect, Strong both against the Deed: Then, as his Host, Who should against his Murtherer shut the doore, Not beare the knife my selfe.
I haue no Spurre To pricke the sides of my intent, but onely Vaulting Ambition, which ore - leapes it selfe, And falles on th'other.
Enter Lady.
How now?
What Newes?
La.
He has almost supt: why haue you left the chamber?
Mac.
Hath he ask'd for me?
La.
Know you not, he ha's?
Mac.
We will proceed no further in this Businesse: He hath Honour'd me of late, and I haue bought Golden Opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worne now in their newest glosse, Not cast aside so soone
La.
Was the hope drunke, Wherein you drest your selfe?
Hath it slept since?
And wakes it now to looke so greene, and pale, At what it did so freely?
From this time, Such I account thy loue.
Art thou affear'd To be the same in thine owne Act, and Valour, As thou art in desire?
Would'st thou haue that Which thou esteem'st the Ornament of Life, And liue a Coward in thine owne Esteeme?
Letting I dare not, wait vpon I would, Like the poore Cat i'th'Addage
Macb.
Prythee peace: I dare do all that may become a man, Who dares do more, is none
La.
What Beast was't then That made you breake this enterprize to me?
When you durst do it, then you were a man: And to be more then what you were, you would Be so much more the man.
Nor time, nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They haue made themselues, and that their fitnesse now Do's vnmake you.
I haue giuen Sucke, and know How tender'tis to loue the Babe that milkes me, I would, while it was smyling in my Face, Haue pluckt my Nipple from his Bonelesse Gummes, And dasht the Braines out, had I so sworne As you haue done to this
Macb.
If we should faile?
Lady.
We faile?
What not put vpon His spungie Officers?
who shall beare the guilt Of our great quell
Macb.
Bring forth Men - Children onely: For thy vndaunted Mettle should compose Nothing but Males.
Will it not be receiu'd, When we haue mark'd with blood those sleepie two Of his owne Chamber, and vs'd their very Daggers, That they haue don't?
Lady.
Who dares receiue it other, As we shall make our Griefes and Clamor rore, Vpon his Death?
Macb.
I am settled, and bend vp Each corporall Agent to this terrible Feat.
Away, and mock the time with fairest show, False Face must hide what the false Heart doth know.
Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
Scena Prima.
Enter Banquo, and Fleance, with a Torch before him.
Banq.
How goes the Night, Boy?
Fleance.
The Moone is downe: I haue not heard the Clock
Banq.
And she goes downe at Twelue
Fleance.
I take't,'tis later, Sir
Banq.
Hold, take my Sword: There's Husbandry in Heauen, Their Candles are all out: take thee that too.
A heauie Summons lyes like Lead vpon me, And yet I would not sleepe: Mercifull Powers, restraine in me the cursed thoughts That Nature giues way to in repose.
Enter Macbeth, and a Seruant with a Torch.
Giue me my Sword: who's there?
Macb.
A Friend
Banq.
What Sir, not yet at rest?
the King's a bed.
He hath beene in vnusuall Pleasure, And sent forth great Largesse to your Offices.
This Diamond he greetes your Wife withall, By the name of most kind Hostesse, And shut vp in measurelesse content
Mac.
Being vnprepar'd, Our will became the seruant to defect, Which else should free haue wrought
Banq.
All's well.
I dreamt last Night of the three weyward Sisters: To you they haue shew'd some truth
Macb.
I thinke not of them: Yet when we can entreat an houre to serue, We would spend it in some words vpon that Businesse, If you would graunt the time
Banq.
At your kind'st leysure
Macb.
If you shall cleaue to my consent, When'tis, it shall make Honor for you
Banq.
So I lose none, In seeking to augment it, but still keepe My Bosome franchis'd, and Allegeance cleare, I shall be counsail'd
Macb.
Good repose the while
Banq.
Thankes Sir: the like to you.
Exit Banquo.
Macb.
Goe bid thy Mistresse, when my drinke is ready, She strike vpon the Bell.
Get thee to bed.
Enter.
Is this a Dagger, which I see before me, The Handle toward my Hand?
Come, let me clutch thee: I haue thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not fatall Vision, sensible To feeling, as to sight?
or art thou but A Dagger of the Minde, a false Creation, Proceeding from the heat - oppressed Braine?
I see thee yet, in forme as palpable, As this which now I draw.
Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going, And such an Instrument I was to vse.
Mine Eyes are made the fooles o'th'other Sences, Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still; And on thy Blade, and Dudgeon, Gouts of Blood, Which was not so before.
There's no such thing: It is the bloody Businesse, which informes Thus to mine Eyes.
Thou sowre and firme - set Earth Heare not my steps, which they may walke, for feare Thy very stones prate of my where - about, And take the present horror from the time, Which now sutes with it.
Whiles I threat, he liues: Words to the heat of deedes too cold breath giues.
A Bell rings.
I goe, and it is done: the Bell inuites me.
Heare it not, Duncan, for it is a Knell, That summons thee to Heauen, or to Hell.
Enter.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Lady.
La.
That which hath made the [ m ] drunk, hath made me bold: What hath quench'd them, hath giuen me fire.
Hearke, peace: it was the Owle that shriek'd, The fatall Bell - man, which giues the stern'st good - night.
He is about it, the Doores are open: And the surfeted Groomes doe mock their charge With Snores.
I haue drugg'd their Possets, That Death and Nature doe contend about them, Whether they liue, or dye.
Enter Macbeth.
Macb.
Who's there?
what hoa?
Lady.
Alack, I am afraid they haue awak'd, And'tis not done: th'attempt, and not the deed, Confounds vs: hearke: I lay'd their Daggers ready, He could not misse'em.
Had he not resembled My Father as he slept, I had don't.
My Husband?
Macb.
I haue done the deed: Didst thou not heare a noyse?
Lady.
I heard the Owle schreame, and the Crickets cry.
Did not you speake?
Macb.
When?
Lady.
Now
Macb.
As I descended?
Lady.
Macb.
Hearke, who lyes i'th'second Chamber?
Lady.
Donalbaine
Mac.
This is a sorry sight
Lady.
A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight
Macb.
There's one did laugh in's sleepe, And one cry'd Murther, that they did wake each other: I stood, and heard them: But they did say their Prayers, And addrest them againe to sleepe
Lady.
There are two lodg'd together
Macb.
One cry'd God blesse vs, and Amen the other, As they had seene me with these Hangmans hands: Listning their feare, I could not say Amen, When they did say God blesse vs
Lady.
Consider it not so deepely
Mac.
But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen?
I had most need of Blessing, and Amen stuck in my throat
Lady.
These deeds must not be thought After these wayes: so, it will make vs mad
Macb.
Lady.
What doe you meane?
Macb.
Still it cry'd, Sleepe no more to all the House: Glamis hath murther'd Sleepe, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleepe no more: Macbeth shall sleepe no more
Lady.
Who was it, that thus cry'd?
why worthy Thane, You doe vnbend your Noble strength, to thinke So braine - sickly of things: Goe get some Water, And wash this filthie Witnesse from your Hand.
Why did you bring these Daggers from the place?
They must lye there: goe carry them, and smeare The sleepie Groomes with blood
Macb.
Ile goe no more: I am afraid, to thinke what I haue done: Looke on't againe, I dare not
Lady.
Infirme of purpose: Giue me the Daggers: the sleeping, and the dead, Are but as Pictures:'tis the Eye of Childhood, That feares a painted Deuill.
If he doe bleed, Ile guild the Faces of the Groomes withall, For it must seeme their Guilt.
Enter.
Knocke within.
Macb.
Whence is that knocking?
How is't with me, when euery noyse appalls me?
What Hands are here?
hah: they pluck out mine Eyes.
Will all great Neptunes Ocean wash this blood Cleane from my Hand?
no: this my Hand will rather The multitudinous Seas incarnardine, Making the Greene one, Red.
Enter Lady.
Lady.
My Hands are of your colour: but I shame To weare a Heart so white.
Knocke.
I heare a knocking at the South entry: Retyre we to our Chamber: A little Water cleares vs of this deed.
How easie is it then?
your Constancie Hath left you vnattended.
Knocke.
Hearke, more knocking.
Get on your Night - Gowne, least occasion call vs, And shew vs to be Watchers: be not lost So poorely in your thoughts
Macb.
To know my deed,
Knocke.
' Twere best not know my selfe.
Wake Duncan with thy knocking: I would thou could'st.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Enter a Porter.
Knocking within.
Porter.
Here's a knocking indeede: if a man were Porter of Hell Gate, hee should haue old turning the Key.
Knock.
Knock, Knock, Knock.
Who's there i'th'name of Belzebub?
Here's a Farmer, that hang'd himselfe on th'expectation of Plentie: Come in time, haue Napkins enow about you, here you'le sweat for't.
Knock.
Knock, knock.
Who's there in th'other Deuils Name?
Faith here's an Equiuocator, that could sweare in both the Scales against eyther Scale, who committed Treason enough for Gods sake, yet could not equiuocate to Heauen: oh come in, Equiuocator.
Knock.
Knock, Knock, Knock.
Who's there?
' Faith here's an English Taylor come hither, for stealing out of a French Hose: Come in Taylor, here you may rost your Goose.
Knock.
Knock, Knock.
Neuer at quiet: What are you?
but this place is too cold for Hell.
Ile Deuill - Porter it no further: I had thought to haue let in some of all Professions, that goe the Primrose way to th'euerlasting Bonfire.
Knock.
Anon, anon, I pray you remember the Porter.
Enter Macduff, and Lenox.
Macd.
Was it so late, friend, ere you went to Bed, That you doe lye so late?
Port.
Faith Sir, we were carowsing till the second Cock: And Drinke, Sir, is a great prouoker of three things
Macd.
What three things does Drinke especially prouoke?
Port.
Marry, Sir, Nose - painting, Sleepe, and Vrine.
Lecherie, Sir, it prouokes, and vnprouokes: it prouokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.
Macd.
I beleeue, Drinke gaue thee the Lye last Night
Port.
That it did, Sir, i'the very Throat on me: but I requited him for his Lye, and (I thinke) being too strong for him, though he tooke vp my Legges sometime, yet I made a Shift to cast him.
Enter Macbeth.
Macd.
Is thy Master stirring?
Our knocking ha's awak'd him: here he comes
Lenox.
Good morrow, Noble Sir
Macb.
Good morrow both
Macd.
Is the King stirring, worthy Thane?
Macb.
Not yet
Macd.
He did command me to call timely on him, I haue almost slipt the houre
Macb.
Ile bring you to him
Macd.
I know this is a ioyfull trouble to you: But yet'tis one
Macb.
The labour we delight in, Physicks paine: This is the Doore
Macd.
Ile make so bold to call, for'tis my limitted seruice.
Exit Macduffe.
Lenox.
Goes the King hence to day?
Macb.
He does: he did appoint so
Lenox.
The Night ha's been vnruly: Where we lay, our Chimneys were blowne downe, And (as they say) lamentings heard i'th'Ayre; Strange Schreemes of Death, And Prophecying, with Accents terrible, Of dyre Combustion, and confus'd Euents, New hatch'd toth'wofull time.
The obscure Bird clamor'd the liue - long Night.
Some say, the Earth was Feuorous, And did shake
Macb.
' Twas a rough Night
Lenox.
My young remembrance cannot paralell A fellow to it.
Enter Macduff.
Macd.
O horror, horror, horror, Tongue nor Heart cannot conceiue, nor name thee
Macb.
and Lenox.
What's the matter?
Macd.
Confusion now hath made his Master - peece: Most sacrilegious Murther hath broke ope The Lords anoynted Temple, and stole thence The Life o'th'Building
Macb.
What is't you say, the Life?
Lenox.
Meane you his Maiestie?
Macd.
Approch the Chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon.
Doe not bid me speake: See, and then speake your selues: awake, awake,
Exeunt.
Macbeth and Lenox.
Ring the Bell.
Bell rings.
Enter Lady.
Lady.
What's the Businesse?
That such a hideous Trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the House?
speake, speake
Macd.
O gentle Lady,'Tis not for you to heare what I can speake: The repetition in a Womans eare, Would murther as it fell.
Enter Banquo.
O Banquo, Banquo, Our Royall Master's murther'd
Lady.
Woe, alas: What, in our House?
Ban.
Too cruell, any where.
Deare Duff, I prythee contradict thy selfe, And say, it is not so.
Enter Macbeth, Lenox, and Rosse.
Macb.
Had I but dy'd an houre before this chance, I had liu'd a blessed time: for from this instant, There's nothing serious in Mortalitie: All is but Toyes: Renowne and Grace is dead, The Wine of Life is drawne, and the meere Lees Is left this Vault, to brag of.
Enter Malcolme and Donalbaine.
Donal.
What is amisse?
Macb.
You are, and doe not know't: The Spring, the Head, the Fountaine of your Blood Is stopt, the very Source of it is stopt
Macd.
Your Royall Father's murther'd
Mal.
Oh, by whom?
Lenox.
Those of his Chamber, as it seem'd, had don't: Their Hands and Faces were all badg'd with blood, So were their Daggers, which vnwip'd, we found Vpon their Pillowes: they star'd, and were distracted, No mans Life was to be trusted with them
Macb.
O, yet I doe repent me of my furie, That I did kill them
Macd.
Wherefore did you so?
Macb.
Who can be wise, amaz'd, temp'rate, & furious, Loyall, and Neutrall, in a moment?
No man: Th'expedition of my violent Loue Out - run the pawser, Reason.
Lady.
Helpe me hence, hoa
Macd.
Looke to the Lady
Mal.
Why doe we hold our tongues, That most may clayme this argument for ours?
Donal.
What should be spoken here, Where our Fate hid in an augure hole, May rush, and seize vs?
Let's away, Our Teares are not yet brew'd
Mal.
Nor our strong Sorrow Vpon the foot of Motion
Banq.
Looke to the Lady: And when we haue our naked Frailties hid, That suffer in exposure; let vs meet, And question this most bloody piece of worke, To know it further.
Feares and scruples shake vs: In the great Hand of God I stand, and thence, Against the vndivulg'd pretence, I fight Of Treasonous Mallice
Macd.
And so doe I
All.
So all
Macb.
Let's briefely put on manly readinesse, And meet i'th'Hall together
All.
Well contented.
Exeunt.
Malc.
What will you doe?
Let's not consort with them: To shew an vnfelt Sorrow, is an Office Which the false man do's easie.
Ile to England
Don.
To Ireland, I: Our seperated fortune shall keepe vs both the safer: Where we are, there's Daggers in mens smiles; The neere in blood, the neerer bloody
Malc.
This murtherous Shaft that's shot, Hath not yet lighted: and our safest way, Is to auoid the ayme.
Therefore to Horse, And let vs not be daintie of leaue - taking, But shift away: there's warrant in that Theft, Which steales it selfe, when there's no mercie left.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Rosse, with an Old man.
Old man.
Threescore and ten I can remember well, Within the Volume of which Time, I haue seene Houres dreadfull, and things strange: but this sore Night Hath trifled former knowings
Rosse.
Old man.
' Tis vnnaturall, Euen like the deed that's done: On Tuesday last, A Faulcon towring in her pride of place, Was by a Mowsing Owle hawkt at, and kill'd
Rosse.
And Duncans Horses, (A thing most strange, and certaine) Beauteous, and swift, the Minions of their Race, Turn'd wilde in nature, broke their stalls, flong out, Contending'gainst Obedience, as they would Make Warre with Mankinde
Old man.
' Tis said, they eate each other
Rosse.
They did so: To th'amazement of mine eyes that look'd vpon't.
Enter Macduffe.
Heere comes the good Macduffe.
How goes the world Sir, now?
Macd.
Why see you not?
Ross.
Is't known who did this more then bloody deed?
Macd.
Those that Macbeth hath slaine
Ross.
Alas the day, What good could they pretend?
Macd.
They were subborned, Malcolme, and Donalbaine the Kings two Sonnes Are stolne away and fled, which puts vpon them Suspition of the deed
Rosse.
' Gainst Nature still, Thriftlesse Ambition, that will rauen vp Thine owne liues meanes: Then'tis most like, The Soueraignty will fall vpon Macbeth
Macd.
He is already nam'd, and gone to Scone To be inuested
Rosse.
Where is Duncans body?
Macd.
Carried to Colmekill, The Sacred Store - house of his Predecessors, And Guardian of their Bones
Rosse.
Will you to Scone?
Macd.
No Cosin, Ile to Fife
Rosse.
Well, I will thither
Macd.
Well may you see things wel done there: Adieu Least our old Robes sit easier then our new
Rosse.
Farewell, Father
Old M. Gods benyson go with you, and with those That would make good of bad, and Friends of Foes.
Exeunt.
omnes
Actus Tertius.
Scena Prima.
Enter Banquo.
Banq.
Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weyard Women promis'd, and I feare Thou playd'st most fowly for't: yet it was saide It should not stand in thy Posterity, But that my selfe should be the Roote, and Father Of many Kings.
If there come truth from them, As vpon thee Macbeth, their Speeches shine, Why by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my Oracles as well, And set me vp in hope.
But hush, no more.
Senit sounded.
Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Lenox, Rosse, Lords, and Attendants.
Macb.
Heere's our chiefe Guest
La.
If he had beene forgotten, It had bene as a gap in our great Feast, And all - thing vnbecomming
Macb.
To night we hold a solemne Supper sir, And Ile request your presence
Banq.
Let your Highnesse Command vpon me, to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tye For euer knit
Macb.
Ride you this afternoone?
Ban.
I, my good Lord
Macb.
We should haue else desir'd your good aduice (Which still hath been both graue, and prosperous) In this dayes Councell: but wee'le take to morrow.
Is't farre you ride?
Ban.
As farre, my Lord, as will fill vp the time'Twixt this, and Supper.
Goe not my Horse the better, I must become a borrower of the Night, For a darke houre, or twaine
Macb.
Faile not our Feast
Ban.
My Lord, I will not
Macb.
We heare our bloody Cozens are bestow'd In England, and in Ireland, not confessing Their cruell Parricide, filling their hearers With strange inuention.
But of that to morrow, When therewithall, we shall haue cause of State, Crauing vs ioyntly.
Hye you to Horse: Adieu, till you returne at Night.
Goes Fleance with you?
Ban.
I, my good Lord: our time does call vpon's
Macb.
I wish your Horses swift, and sure of foot: And so I doe commend you to their backs.
Farwell.
Exit Banquo.
Let euery man be master of his time, Till seuen at Night, to make societie The sweeter welcome: We will keepe our selfe till Supper time alone: While then, God be with you.
Exeunt.
Lords.
Sirrha, a word with you: Attend those men Our pleasure?
Seruant.
They are, my Lord, without the Pallace Gate
Macb.
Bring them before vs.
Exit Seruant.
To be thus, is nothing, but to be safely thus Our feares in Banquo sticke deepe, And in his Royaltie of Nature reignes that Which would be fear'd.
' Tis much he dares, And to that dauntlesse temper of his Minde, He hath a Wisdome, that doth guide his Valour, To act in safetie.
There is none but he, Whose being I doe feare: and vnder him, My Genius is rebuk'd, as it is said Mark Anthonies was by Caesar.
He chid the Sisters, When first they put the Name of King vpon me, And bad them speake to him.
Then Prophet - like, They hayl'd him Father to a Line of Kings.
Rather then so, come Fate into the Lyst, And champion me to th'vtterance.
Who's there?
Enter Seruant, and two Murtherers.
Now goe to the Doore, and stay there till we call.
Exit Seruant.
Was it not yesterday we spoke together?
Murth.
It was, so please your Highnesse
Macb.
Well then, Now haue you consider'd of my speeches: Know, that it was he, in the times past, Which held you so vnder fortune, Which you thought had been our innocent selfe.
This I made good to you, in our last conference, Past in probation with you: How you were borne in hand, how crost: The Instruments: who wrought with them: And all things else, that might To halfe a Soule, and to a Notion craz'd, Say, Thus did Banquo
1. Murth.
You made it knowne to vs
Macb.
I did so: And went further, which is now Our point of second meeting.
Doe you finde your patience so predominant, In your nature, that you can let this goe?
Are you so Gospell'd, to pray for this good man, And for his Issue, whose heauie hand Hath bow'd you to the Graue, and begger'd Yours for euer?
1. Murth.
We are men, my Liege
Macb.
2. Murth.
I am one, my Liege, Whom the vile Blowes and Buffets of the World Hath so incens'd, that I am recklesse what I doe, To spight the World
1. Murth.
And I another, So wearie with Disasters, tugg'd with Fortune, That I would set my Life on any Chance, To mend it, or be rid on't
Macb.
Both of you know Banquo was your Enemie
Murth.
True, my Lord
Macb.
2. Murth.
We shall, my Lord, Performe what you command vs
1. Murth.
Though our Liues - Macb.
Your Spirits shine through you.
Murth.
We are resolu'd, my Lord
Macb.
Ile call vpon you straight: abide within, It is concluded: Banquo, thy Soules flight, If it finde Heauen, must finde it out to Night.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Macbeths Lady, and a Seruant.
Lady.
Is Banquo gone from Court?
Seruant.
I, Madame, but returnes againe to Night
Lady.
Say to the King, I would attend his leysure, For a few words
Seruant.
Madame, I will.
Enter.
Lady.
Nought's had, all's spent.
Where our desire is got without content:'Tis safer, to be that which we destroy, Then by destruction dwell in doubtfull ioy.
Enter Macbeth.
How now, my Lord, why doe you keepe alone?
Of sorryest Fancies your Companions making, Vsing those Thoughts, which should indeed haue dy'd With them they thinke on: things without all remedie Should be without regard: what's done, is done
Macb.
We haue scorch'd the Snake, not kill'd it: Shee'le close, and be her selfe, whilest our poore Mallice Remaines in danger of her former Tooth.
Duncane is in his Graue: After Lifes fitfull Feuer, he sleepes well, Treason ha's done his worst: nor Steele, nor Poyson, Mallice domestique, forraine Leuie, nothing, Can touch him further
Lady.
Come on: Gentle my Lord, sleeke o're your rugged Lookes, Be bright and Iouiall among your Guests to Night
Macb.
So shall I Loue, and so I pray be you: Let your remembrance apply to Banquo, Present him Eminence, both with Eye and Tongue: Vnsafe the while, that wee must laue Our Honors in these flattering streames, And make our Faces Vizards to our Hearts, Disguising what they are
Lady.
You must leaue this
Macb.
O, full of Scorpions is my Minde, deare Wife: Thou know'st, that Banquo and his Fleans liues
Lady.
But in them, Natures Coppie's not eterne
Macb.
There's comfort yet, they are assaileable, Then be thou iocund: ere the Bat hath flowne His Cloyster'd flight, ere to black Heccats summons The shard - borne Beetle, with his drowsie hums, Hath rung Nights yawning Peale, There shall be done a deed of dreadfull note
Lady.
What's to be done?
Macb.
Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest Chuck, Till thou applaud the deed: Come, seeling Night, Skarfe vp the tender Eye of pittifull Day, And with thy bloodie and inuisible Hand Cancell and teare to pieces that great Bond, Which keepes me pale.
Light thickens, And the Crow makes Wing toth'Rookie Wood: Good things of Day begin to droope, and drowse, Whiles Nights black Agents to their Prey's doe rowse.
Thou maruell'st at my words: but hold thee still, Things bad begun, make strong themselues by ill: So prythee goe with me.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Enter three Murtherers.
But who did bid thee ioyne with vs?
Macbeth
He needes not our mistrust, since he deliuers Our Offices, and what we haue to doe, To the direction iust
Then stand with vs: The West yet glimmers with some streakes of Day.
Now spurres the lated Traueller apace, To gayne the timely Inne, and neere approches The subiect of our Watch
Hearke, I heare Horses
Banquo within.
Giue vs a Light there, hoa
Then'tis hee: The rest, that are within the note of expectation, Alreadie are i'th'Court
His Horses goe about
Almost a mile: but he does vsually, So all men doe, from hence toth'Pallace Gate Make it their Walke.
Enter Banquo and Fleans, with a Torch.
A Light, a Light
' Tis hee
Stand too't
Ban.
It will be Rayne to Night
Let it come downe
Ban.
O, Trecherie!
Flye good Fleans, flye, flye, flye, Thou may'st reuenge.
O Slaue!
3. Who did strike out the Light?
Was't not the way?
There's but one downe: the Sonne is fled
We haue lost Best halfe of our Affaire
Well, let's away, and say how much is done.
Exeunt.
Scaena Quarta.
Banquet prepar'd.
Enter Macbeth, Lady, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants.
Macb.
You know your owne degrees, sit downe: At first and last, the hearty welcome
Lords.
Thankes to your Maiesty
Macb.
Our selfe will mingle with Society, And play the humble Host: Our Hostesse keepes her State, but in best time We will require her welcome
La.
Pronounce it for me Sir, to all our Friends, For my heart speakes, they are welcome.
Enter first Murtherer.
Macb.
See they encounter thee with their harts thanks Both sides are euen: heere Ile sit i'th'mid'st, Be large in mirth, anon wee'l drinke a Measure The Table round.
There's blood vpon thy face
Mur.
' Tis Banquo's then
Macb.
' Tis better thee without, then he within.
Is he dispatch'd?
Mur.
My Lord his throat is cut, that I did for him
Mac.
Thou art the best o'th'Cut - throats, Yet hee's good that did the like for Fleans: If thou did'st it, thou art the Non - pareill
Mur.
Most Royall Sir Fleans is scap'd
Macb.
Then comes my Fit againe: I had else beene perfect; Whole as the Marble, founded as the Rocke, As broad, and generall, as the casing Ayre: But now I am cabin'd, crib'd, confin'd, bound in To sawcy doubts, and feares.
But Banquo's safe?
Mur.
I, my good Lord: safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a Death to Nature
Macb.
Thankes for that: There the growne Serpent lyes, the worme that's fled Hath Nature that in time will Venom breed, No teeth for th'present.
Get thee gone, to morrow Wee'l heare our selues againe.
Exit Murderer.
Lady.
My Royall Lord, You do not giue the Cheere, the Feast is sold That is not often vouch'd, while'tis a making:'Tis giuen, with welcome: to feede were best at home: From thence, the sawce to meate is Ceremony, Meeting were bare without it.
Enter the Ghost of Banquo, and sits in Macbeths place.
Macb.
Sweet Remembrancer: Now good digestion waite on Appetite, And health on both
Lenox.
May't please your Highnesse sit
Macb.
Here had we now our Countries Honor, roof'd, Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present: Who, may I rather challenge for vnkindnesse, Then pitty for Mischance
Rosse.
His absence (Sir) Layes blame vpon his promise.
Pleas't your Highnesse To grace vs with your Royall Company?
Macb.
The Table's full
Lenox.
Heere is a place reseru'd Sir
Macb.
Where?
Lenox.
Heere my good Lord.
What is't that moues your Highnesse?
Macb.
Which of you haue done this?
Lords.
What, my good Lord?
Macb.
Thou canst not say I did it: neuer shake Thy goary lockes at me
Rosse.
Gentlemen rise, his Highnesse is not well
Lady.
Sit worthy Friends: my Lord is often thus, And hath beene from his youth.
Pray you keepe Seat, The fit is momentary, vpon a thought He will againe be well.
If much you note him You shall offend him, and extend his Passion, Feed, and regard him not.
Are you a man?
Macb.
I, and a bold one, that dare looke on that Which might appall the Diuell
La.
O proper stuffe: This is the very painting of your feare: This is the Ayre - drawne - Dagger which you said Led you to Duncan.
O, these flawes and starts (Impostors to true feare) would well become A womans story, at a Winters fire Authoriz'd by her Grandam: shame it selfe, Why do you make such faces?
When all's done You looke but on a stoole
Macb.
Prythee see there: Behold, looke, loe, how say you: Why what care I, if thou canst nod, speake too.
If Charnell houses, and our Graues must send Those that we bury, backe; our Monuments Shall be the Mawes of Kytes
La.
What?
quite vnmann'd in folly
Macb.
If I stand heere, I saw him
La.
Fie for shame
Macb.
Blood hath bene shed ere now, i'th'olden time Ere humane Statute purg'd the gentle Weale: I, and since too, Murthers haue bene perform'd Too terrible for the eare.
The times has bene, That when the Braines were out, the man would dye, And there an end: But now they rise againe With twenty mortall murthers on their crownes, And push vs from our stooles.
This is more strange Then such a murther is
La.
My worthy Lord Your Noble Friends do lacke you
Macb.
I do forget: Do not muse at me my most worthy Friends, I haue a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me.
Come, loue and health to all, Then Ile sit downe: Giue me some Wine, fill full: Enter Ghost.
I drinke to th'generall ioy o'th'whole Table, And to our deere Friend Banquo, whom we misse: Would he were heere: to all, and him we thirst, And all to all
Lords.
Our duties, and the pledge
Mac.
Auant, & quit my sight, let the earth hide thee: Thy bones are marrowlesse, thy blood is cold: Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with
La.
Thinke of this good Peeres But as a thing of Custome:'Tis no other, Onely it spoyles the pleasure of the time
Macb.
What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian Beare, The arm'd Rhinoceros, or th'Hircan Tiger, Take any shape but that, and my firme Nerues Shall neuer tremble.
Or be aliue againe, And dare me to the Desart with thy Sword: If trembling I inhabit then, protest mee The Baby of a Girle.
Hence horrible shadow, Vnreall mock'ry hence.
Why so, being gone I am a man againe: pray you sit still
La.
You haue displac'd the mirth, Broke the good meeting, with most admir'd disorder
Macb.
Can such things be, And ouercome vs like a Summers Clowd, Without our speciall wonder?
You make me strange Euen to the disposition that I owe, When now I thinke you can behold such sights, And keepe the naturall Rubie of your Cheekes, When mine is blanch'd with feare
Rosse.
What sights, my Lord?
La.
I pray you speake not: he growes worse & worse Question enrages him: at once, goodnight.
Stand not vpon the order of your going, But go at once
Len.
Good night, and better health Attend his Maiesty
La.
A kinde goodnight to all.
Exit Lords.
Macb.
It will haue blood they say: Blood will haue Blood: Stones haue beene knowne to moue, & Trees to speake: Augures, and vnderstood Relations, haue By Maggot Pyes, & Choughes, & Rookes brought forth The secret'st man of Blood.
What is the night?
La.
Almost at oddes with morning, which is which
Macb.
How say'st thou that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding
La.
Did you send to him Sir?
Macb.
I heare it by the way: But I will send: There's not a one of them but in his house I keepe a Seruant Feed.
I will to morrow (And betimes I will) to the weyard Sisters.
More shall they speake: for now I am bent to know By the worst meanes, the worst, for mine owne good, All causes shall giue way.
I am in blood Stept in so farre, that should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go ore: Strange things I haue in head, that will to hand, Which must be acted, ere they may be scand
La.
You lacke the season of all Natures, sleepe
Macb.
Come, wee'l to sleepe: My strange & self - abuse Is the initiate feare, that wants hard vse: We are yet but yong indeed.
Exeunt.
Scena Quinta.
Thunder.
Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecat.
Why how now Hecat, you looke angerly?
Hec.
Haue I not reason (Beldams) as you are?
Sawcy, and ouer - bold, how did you dare To Trade, and Trafficke with Macbeth, In Riddles, and Affaires of death; And I the Mistris of your Charmes, The close contriuer of all harmes, Was neuer call'd to beare my part, Or shew the glory of our Art?
And which is worse, all you haue done Hath bene but for a wayward Sonne, Spightfull, and wrathfull, who (as others do) Loues for his owne ends, not for you.
But make amends now: Get you gon, And at the pit of Acheron Meete me i'th'Morning: thither he Will come, to know his Destinie.
Your Vessels, and your Spels prouide, Your Charmes, and euery thing beside; I am for th'Ayre: This night Ile spend Vnto a dismall, and a Fatall end.
Great businesse must be wrought ere Noone.
Vpon the Corner of the Moone There hangs a vap'rous drop, profound, Ile catch it ere it come to ground; And that distill'd by Magicke slights, Shall raise such Artificiall Sprights, As by the strength of their illusion, Shall draw him on to his Confusion.
He shall spurne Fate, scorne Death, and beare His hopes'boue Wisedome, Grace, and Feare: And you all know, Security Is Mortals cheefest Enemie.
Musicke, and a Song.
Hearke, I am call'd: my little Spirit see Sits in Foggy cloud, and stayes for me.
Sing within.
Come away, come away, & c.
1 Come, let's make hast, shee'l soone be Backe againe.
Exeunt.
Scaena Sexta.
Enter Lenox, and another Lord.
Lenox.
My former Speeches, Haue but hit your Thoughts Which can interpret farther: Onely I say Things haue bin strangely borne.
The gracious Duncan Was pittied of Macbeth: marry he was dead: And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late, Whom you may say (if't please you) Fleans kill'd, For Fleans fled: Men must not walke too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous It was for Malcolme, and for Donalbane To kill their gracious Father?
Damned Fact, How it did greeue Macbeth?
Did he not straight In pious rage, the two delinquents teare, That were the Slaues of drinke, and thralles of sleepe?
Was not that Nobly done?
I, and wisely too: For'twould haue anger'd any heart aliue To heare the men deny't.
So that I say, He ha's borne all things well, and I do thinke, That had he Duncans Sonnes vnder his Key, (As, and't please Heauen he shall not) they should finde What'twere to kill a Father: So should Fleans.
But peace; for from broad words, and cause he fayl'd His presence at the Tyrants Feast, I heare Macduffe liues in disgrace.
Sir, can you tell Where he bestowes himselfe?
Lord.
The Sonnes of Duncane (From whom this Tyrant holds the due of Birth) Liues in the English Court, and is receyu'd Of the most Pious Edward, with such grace, That the maleuolence of Fortune, nothing Takes from his high respect.
And this report Hath so exasperate their King, that hee Prepares for some attempt of Warre
Len.
Sent he to Macduffe?
Lord.
He did: and with an absolute Sir, not I The clowdy Messenger turnes me his backe, And hums; as who should say, you'l rue the time That clogges me with this Answer
Lenox.
And that well might Aduise him to a Caution, t'hold what distance His wisedome can prouide.
Some holy Angell Flye to the Court of England, and vnfold His Message ere he come, that a swift blessing May soone returne to this our suffering Country, Vnder a hand accurs'd
Lord.
Ile send my Prayers with him.
Exeunt.
Actus Quartus.
Scena Prima.
Thunder.
Enter the three Witches.
1 Thrice the brinded Cat hath mew'd
2 Thrice, and once the Hedge - Pigge whin'd
3 Harpier cries,'tis time,'tis time
1 Round about the Caldron go: In the poysond Entrailes throw Toad, that vnder cold stone, Dayes and Nights, ha's thirty one: Sweltred Venom sleeping got, Boyle thou first i'th'charmed pot
All.
Double, double, toile and trouble; Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble
2 Fillet of a Fenny Snake, In the Cauldron boyle and bake: Eye of Newt, and Toe of Frogge, Wooll of Bat, and Tongue of Dogge: Adders Forke, and Blinde - wormes Sting, Lizards legge, and Howlets wing: For a Charme of powrefull trouble, Like a Hell - broth, boyle and bubble
All.
Double, double, toyle and trouble, Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble
Adde thereto a Tigers Chawdron, For th'Ingredience of our Cawdron
All.
Double, double, toyle and trouble, Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble
2 Coole it with a Baboones blood, Then the Charme is firme and good.
Enter Hecat, and the other three Witches.
Hec.
O well done: I commend your paines, And euery one shall share i'th'gaines: And now about the Cauldron sing Like Elues and Fairies in a Ring, Inchanting all that you put in.
Musicke and a Song.
Blacke Spirits, & c.
2 By the pricking of my Thumbes, Something wicked this way comes: Open Lockes, who euer knockes.
Enter Macbeth.
Macb.
How now you secret, black, & midnight Hags?
What is't you do?
All.
A deed without a name
Macb.
1 Speake
2 Demand
3 Wee'l answer
1 Say, if th'hadst rather heare it from our mouthes, Or from our Masters
Macb.
Call'em: let me see'em
1 Powre in Sowes blood, that hath eaten Her nine Farrow: Greaze that's sweaten From the Murderers Gibbet, throw Into the Flame
All.
Come high or low: Thy Selfe and Office deaftly show.
Thunder.
Apparation, an Armed Head.
Macb.
Tell me, thou vnknowne power
1 He knowes thy thought: Heare his speech, but say thou nought
1 Appar.
Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth: Beware Macduffe, Beware the Thane of Fife: dismisse me.
Enough.
He Descends.
Macb.
What ere thou art, for thy good caution, thanks Thou hast harp'd my feare aright.
But one word more
1 He will not be commanded: heere's another More potent then the first.
Thunder.
2 Apparition, a Bloody Childe.
2 Appar.
Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth
Macb.
Had I three eares, Il'd heare thee
Appar.
Be bloody, bold, & resolute: Laugh to scorne The powre of man: For none of woman borne Shall harme Macbeth.
Descends.
Mac.
Then liue Macduffe: what need I feare of thee?
But yet Ile make assurance: double sure, And take a Bond of Fate: thou shalt not liue, That I may tell pale - hearted Feare, it lies; And sleepe in spight of Thunder.
Thunder 3 Apparation, a Childe Crowned, with a Tree in his hand.
What is this, that rises like the issue of a King, And weares vpon his Baby - brow, the round And top of Soueraignty?
All.
Listen, but speake not too't
3 Appar.
Be Lyon metled, proud, and take no care: Who chafes, who frets, or where Conspirers are: Macbeth shall neuer vanquish'd be, vntill Great Byrnam Wood, to high Dunsmane Hill Shall come against him.
Descend.
Macb.
That will neuer bee: Who can impresse the Forrest, bid the Tree Vnfixe his earth - bound Root?
Sweet boadments, good: Rebellious dead, rise neuer till the Wood Of Byrnan rise, and our high plac'd Macbeth Shall liue the Lease of Nature, pay his breath To time, and mortall Custome.
Yet my Hart Throbs to know one thing: Tell me, if your Art Can tell so much: Shall Banquo's issue euer Reigne in this Kingdome?
All.
Seeke to know no more
Macb.
I will be satisfied.
Deny me this, And an eternall Curse fall on you: Let me know.
Why sinkes that Caldron?
& what noise is this?
Hoboyes
1 Shew
2 Shew
3 Shew
All.
Shew his Eyes, and greeue his Hart, Come like shadowes, so depart.
A shew of eight Kings, and Banquo last, with a glasse in his hand.
Macb.
Thou art too like the Spirit of Banquo: Down: Thy Crowne do's seare mine Eye - bals.
And thy haire Thou other Gold - bound - brow, is like the first: A third, is like the former.
Filthy Hagges, Why do you shew me this?
- A fourth?
Start eyes!
What will the Line stretch out to'th'cracke of Doome?
Another yet?
A seauenth?
Ile see no more: And yet the eighth appeares, who beares a glasse, Which shewes me many more: and some I see, That two - fold Balles, and trebble Scepters carry.
Horrible sight: Now I see'tis true, For the Blood - bolter'd Banquo smiles vpon me, And points at them for his.
What?
is this so?
1 I Sir, all this is so.
But why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
Come Sisters, cheere we vp his sprights, And shew the best of our delights.
Ile Charme the Ayre to giue a sound, While you performe your Antique round: That this great King may kindly say, Our duties, did his welcome pay.
Musicke.
The Witches Dance, and vanish.
Macb.
Where are they?
Gone?
Let this pernitious houre, Stand aye accursed in the Kalender.
Come in, without there.
Enter Lenox.
Lenox.
What's your Graces will
Macb.
Saw you the Weyard Sisters?
Lenox.
No my Lord
Macb.
Came they not by you?
Lenox.
No indeed my Lord
Macb.
Infected be the Ayre whereon they ride, And damn'd all those that trust them.
I did heare The gallopping of Horse.
Who was't came by?
Len.
' Tis two or three my Lord, that bring you word: Macduff is fled to England
Macb.
Fled to England?
Len.
I, my good Lord
Macb.
Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits: The flighty purpose neuer is o're - tooke Vnlesse the deed go with it.
From this moment, The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand.
And euen now To Crown my thoughts with Acts: be it thoght & done: The Castle of Macduff, I will surprize.
Seize vpon Fife; giue to th'edge o'th'Sword His Wife, his Babes, and all vnfortunate Soules That trace him in his Line.
No boasting like a Foole, This deed Ile do, before this purpose coole, But no more sights.
Where are these Gentlemen?
Come bring me where they are.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Macduffes Wife, her Son, and Rosse.
Wife.
What had he done, to make him fly the Land?
Rosse.
You must haue patience Madam
Wife.
He had none: His flight was madnesse: when our Actions do not, Our feares do make vs Traitors
Rosse.
You know not Whether it was his wisedome, or his feare
Wife.
Wisedom?
to leaue his wife, to leaue his Babes, His Mansion, and his Titles, in a place From whence himselfe do's flye?
He loues vs not, He wants the naturall touch.
For the poore Wren (The most diminitiue of Birds) will fight, Her yong ones in her Nest, against the Owle: All is the Feare, and nothing is the Loue; As little is the Wisedome, where the flight So runnes against all reason
Rosse.
My deerest Cooz, I pray you schoole your selfe.
But for your Husband, He is Noble, Wise, Iudicious, and best knowes The fits o'th'Season.
I dare not speake much further, But cruell are the times, when we are Traitors And do not know our selues: when we hold Rumor From what we feare, yet know not what we feare, But floate vpon a wilde and violent Sea Each way, and moue.
I take my leaue of you: Shall not be long but Ile be heere againe: Things at the worst will cease, or else climbe vpward, To what they were before.
My pretty Cosine, Blessing vpon you
Wife.
Father'd he is, And yet hee's Father - lesse
Rosse.
I am so much a Foole, should I stay longer It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort.
I take my leaue at once.
Exit Rosse.
Wife.
Sirra, your Fathers dead, And what will you do now?
How will you liue?
Son.
As Birds do Mother
Wife.
What with Wormes, and Flyes?
Son.
With what I get I meane, and so do they
Wife.
Poore Bird, Thou'dst neuer Feare the Net, nor Lime, The Pitfall, nor the Gin
Son.
Why should I Mother?
Poore Birds they are not set for: My Father is not dead for all your saying
Wife.
Yes, he is dead: How wilt thou do for a Father?
Son.
Nay how will you do for a Husband?
Wife.
Why I can buy me twenty at any Market
Son.
Then you'l by'em to sell againe
Wife.
Thou speak'st withall thy wit, And yet I'faith with wit enough for thee
Son.
Was my Father a Traitor, Mother?
Wife.
I, that he was
Son.
What is a Traitor?
Wife.
Why one that sweares, and lyes
Son.
And be all Traitors, that do so
Wife.
Euery one that do's so, is a Traitor, And must be hang'd
Son.
And must they all be hang'd, that swear and lye?
Wife.
Euery one
Son.
Who must hang them?
Wife.
Why, the honest men
Son.
Then the Liars and Swearers are Fools: for there are Lyars and Swearers enow, to beate the honest men, and hang vp them
Wife.
Now God helpe thee, poore Monkie: But how wilt thou do for a Father?
Son.
If he were dead, youl'd weepe for him: if you would not, it were a good signe, that I should quickely haue a new Father
Wife.
Poore pratler, how thou talk'st?
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
Blesse you faire Dame: I am not to you known, Though in your state of Honor I am perfect; I doubt some danger do's approach you neerely.
If you will take a homely mans aduice, Be not found heere: Hence with your little ones To fright you thus.
Me thinkes I am too sauage: To do worse to you, were fell Cruelty, Which is too nie your person.
Heauen preserue you, I dare abide no longer.
Exit Messenger
Wife.
Whether should I flye?
I haue done no harme.
But I remember now I am in this earthly world: where to do harme Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly.
Why then (alas) Do I put vp that womanly defence, To say I haue done no harme?
What are these faces?
Enter Murtherers.
Mur.
Where is your Husband?
Wife.
I hope in no place so vnsanctified, Where such as thou may'st finde him
Mur.
He's a Traitor
Son.
Thou ly'st thou shagge - ear'd Villaine
Mur.
What you Egge?
Yong fry of Treachery?
Son.
He ha's kill'd me Mother, Run away I pray you.
Exit crying Murther.
Scaena Tertia.
Enter Malcolme and Macduffe.
Mal.
Let vs seeke out some desolate shade, & there Weepe our sad bosomes empty
Macd.
Let vs rather Hold fast the mortall Sword: and like good men, Bestride our downfall Birthdome: each new Morne, New Widdowes howle, new Orphans cry, new sorowes Strike heauen on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out Like Syllable of Dolour
Mal.
What I beleeue, Ile waile; What know, beleeue; and what I can redresse, As I shall finde the time to friend: I wil.
What you haue spoke, it may be so perchance.
This Tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you haue lou'd him well, He hath not touch'd you yet.
I am yong, but something You may discerne of him through me, and wisedome To offer vp a weake, poore innocent Lambe T'appease an angry God
Macd.
I am not treacherous
Malc.
But Macbeth is.
A good and vertuous Nature may recoyle In an Imperiall charge.
But I shall craue your pardon: That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose; Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
Though all things foule, would wear the brows of grace Yet Grace must still looke so
Macd.
I haue lost my Hopes
Malc.
Perchance euen there Where I did finde my doubts.
Why in that rawnesse left you Wife, and Childe?
Those precious Motiues, those strong knots of Loue, Without leaue - taking.
I pray you, Let not my Iealousies, be your Dishonors, But mine owne Safeties: you may be rightly iust, What euer I shall thinke
Macd.
Bleed, bleed poore Country, Great Tyrrany, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodnesse dare not check thee: wear y thy wrongs, The Title, is affear'd.
Far thee well Lord, I would not be the Villaine that thou think'st, For the whole Space that's in the Tyrants Graspe, And the rich East to boot
Mal.
Be not offended: I speake not as in absolute feare of you: I thinke our Country sinkes beneath the yoake, It weepes, it bleeds, and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds.
I thinke withall, There would be hands vplifted in my right: And heere from gracious England haue I offer Of goodly thousands.
But for all this, When I shall treade vpon the Tyrants head, Or weare it on my Sword; yet my poore Country Shall haue more vices then it had before, More suffer, and more sundry wayes then euer, By him that shall succeede
Macd.
What should he be?
Mal.
It is my selfe I meane: in whom I know All the particulars of Vice so grafted, That when they shall be open'd, blacke Macbeth Will seeme as pure as Snow, and the poore State Esteeme him as a Lambe, being compar'd With my confinelesse harmes
Macd.
Not in the Legions Of horrid Hell, can come a Diuell more damn'd In euils, to top Macbeth
Mal.
I grant him Bloody, Luxurious, Auaricious, False, Deceitfull, Sodaine, Malicious, smacking of euery sinne That ha's a name.
But there's no bottome, none In my Voluptuousnesse: Your Wiues, your Daughters, Your Matrons, and your Maides, could not fill vp The Cesterne of my Lust, and my Desire All continent Impediments would ore - beare That did oppose my will.
Better Macbeth, Then such an one to reigne
Macd.
Boundlesse intemperance In Nature is a Tyranny: It hath beene Th'vntimely emptying of the happy Throne, And fall of many Kings.
But feare not yet To take vpon you what is yours: you may Conuey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seeme cold.
The time you may so hoodwinke: We haue willing Dames enough: there cannot be That Vulture in you, to deuoure so many As will to Greatnesse dedicate themselues, Finding it so inclinde
Mal.
Macd.
This Auarice stickes deeper: growes with more pernicious roote Then Summer - seeming Lust: and it hath bin The Sword of our slaine Kings: yet do not feare, Scotland hath Foysons, to fill vp your will Of your meere Owne.
All these are portable, With other Graces weigh'd
Mal.
But I haue none.
The King - becoming Graces, As Iustice, Verity, Temp'rance, Stablenesse, Bounty, Perseuerance, Mercy, Lowlinesse, Deuotion, Patience, Courage, Fortitude, I haue no rellish of them, but abound In the diuision of each seuerall Crime, Acting it many wayes.
Nay, had I powre, I should Poure the sweet Milke of Concord, into Hell, Vprore the vniuersall peace, confound All vnity on earth
Macd.
O Scotland, Scotland
Mal.
If such a one be fit to gouerne, speake: I am as I haue spoken
Mac.
Fit to gouern?
No not to liue.
O Natio [ n ] miserable!
With an vntitled Tyrant, bloody Sceptred, When shalt thou see thy wholsome dayes againe?
Since that the truest Issue of thy Throne By his owne Interdiction stands accust, And do's blaspheme his breed?
Thy Royall Father Was a most Sainted - King: the Queene that bore thee, Oftner vpon her knees, then on her feet, Dy'de euery day she liu'd.
Fare thee well, These Euils thou repeat'st vpon thy selfe, Hath banish'd me from Scotland.
O my Brest, Thy hope ends heere
Mal.
Macduff, this Noble passion Childe of integrity, hath from my soule Wip'd the blacke Scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts To thy good Truth, and Honor.
Diuellish Macbeth, By many of these traines, hath sought to win me Into his power: and modest Wisedome pluckes me From ouer - credulous hast: but God aboue Deale betweene thee and me; For euen now I put my selfe to thy Direction, and Vnspeake mine owne detraction.
Heere abiure The taints, and blames I laide vpon my selfe, For strangers to my Nature.
I am yet Vnknowne to Woman, neuer was forsworne, Scarsely haue coueted what was mine owne.
At no time broke my Faith, would not betray The Deuill to his Fellow, and delight No lesse in truth then life.
My first false speaking Was this vpon my selfe.
What I am truly Is thine, and my poore Countries to command: Whither indeed, before they heere approach Old Seyward with ten thousand warlike men Already at a point, was setting foorth: Now wee'l together, and the chance of goodnesse Be like our warranted Quarrell.
Why are you silent?
Macd.
Such welcome, and vnwelcom things at once'Tis hard to reconcile.
Enter a Doctor.
Mal.
Well, more anon.
Comes the King forth I pray you?
Doct.
I Sir: there are a crew of wretched Soules That stay his Cure: their malady conuinces The great assay of Art.
But at his touch, Such sanctity hath Heauen giuen his hand, They presently amend.
Enter.
Mal.
I thanke you Doctor
Macd.
What's the Disease he meanes?
Mal.
Tis call'd the Euill.
With this strange vertue, He hath a heauenly guift of Prophesie, And sundry Blessings hang about his Throne, That speake him full of Grace.
Enter Rosse.
Macd.
See who comes heere
Malc.
My Countryman: but yet I know him not
Macd.
My euer gentle Cozen, welcome hither
Malc.
I know him now.
Good God betimes remoue The meanes that makes vs Strangers
Rosse.
Sir, Amen
Macd.
Stands Scotland where it did?
Rosse.
Alas poore Countrey, Almost affraid to know it selfe.
Macd.
Oh Relation; too nice, and yet too true
Malc.
What's the newest griefe?
Rosse.
That of an houres age, doth hisse the speaker, Each minute teemes a new one
Macd.
How do's my Wife?
Rosse.
Why well
Macd.
And all my Children?
Rosse.
Well too
Macd.
The Tyrant ha's not batter'd at their peace?
Rosse.
No, they were wel at peace, when I did leaue'em Macd.
Rosse.
When I came hither to transport the Tydings Which I haue heauily borne, there ran a Rumour Of many worthy Fellowes, that were out, Which was to my beleefe witnest the rather, For that I saw the Tyrants Power a - foot.
Now is the time of helpe: your eye in Scotland Would create Soldiours, make our women fight, To doffe their dire distresses
Malc.
Bee't their comfort We are comming thither: Gracious England hath Lent vs good Seyward, and ten thousand men, An older, and a better Souldier, none That Christendome giues out
Rosse.
Would I could answer This comfort with the like.
But I haue words That would be howl'd out in the desert ayre, Where hearing should not latch them
Macd.
What concerne they, The generall cause, or is it a Fee - griefe Due to some single brest?
Rosse.
No minde that's honest But in it shares some woe, though the maine part Pertaines to you alone
Macd.
If it be mine Keepe it not from me, quickly let me haue it
Rosse.
Let not your eares dispise my tongue for euer, Which shall possesse them with the heauiest sound that euer yet they heard
Macd.
Humh: I guesse at it
Rosse.
Your Castle is surpriz'd: your Wife, and Babes Sauagely slaughter'd: To relate the manner Were on the Quarry of these murther'd Deere To adde the death of you
Malc.
Mercifull Heauen: What man, ne're pull your hat vpon your browes: Giue sorrow words; the griefe that do's not speake, Whispers the o're - fraught heart, and bids it breake
Macd.
My Children too?
Ro.
Wife, Children, Seruants, all that could be found
Macd.
And I must be from thence?
My wife kil'd too?
Rosse.
I haue said
Malc.
Be comforted.
Let's make vs Med'cines of our great Reuenge, To cure this deadly greefe
Macd.
He ha's no Children.
All my pretty ones?
Did you say All?
Oh Hell - Kite!
All?
What, All my pretty Chickens, and their Damme At one fell swoope?
Malc.
Dispute it like a man
Macd.
I shall do so: But I must also feele it as a man; I cannot but remember such things were That were most precious to me: Did heauen looke on, And would not take their part?
Sinfull Macduff, They were all strooke for thee: Naught that I am, Not for their owne demerits, but for mine Fell slaughter on their soules: Heauen rest them now
Mal.
Be this the Whetstone of your sword, let griefe Conuert to anger: blunt not the heart, enrage it
Macd.
O I could play the woman with mine eyes, And Braggart with my tongue.
But gentle Heauens, Cut short all intermission: Front to Front, Bring thou this Fiend of Scotland, and my selfe Within my Swords length set him, if he scape Heauen forgiue him too
Mal.
This time goes manly: Come go we to the King, our Power is ready, Our lacke is nothing but our leaue.
Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the Powres aboue Put on their Instruments: Receiue what cheere you may, The Night is long, that neuer findes the Day.
Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
Scena Prima.
Enter a Doctor of Physicke, and a Wayting Gentlewoman.
Doct.
I haue too Nights watch'd with you, but can perceiue no truth in your report.
When was it shee last walk'd?
Gent.
Since his Maiesty went into the Field, I haue seene her rise from her bed, throw her Night - Gown vppon her, vnlocke her Closset, take foorth paper, folde it, write vpon't, read it, afterwards Seale it, and againe returne to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleepe
Doct.
A great perturbation in Nature, to receyue at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching.
In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actuall performances, what (at any time) haue you heard her say?
Gent.
That Sir, which I will not report after her
Doct.
You may to me, and'tis most meet you should
Gent.
Neither to you, nor any one, hauing no witnesse to confirme my speech.
Enter Lady, with a Taper.
Lo you, heere she comes: This is her very guise, and vpon my life fast asleepe: obserue her, stand close
Doct.
How came she by that light?
Gent.
Why it stood by her: she ha's light by her continually,'tis her command
Doct.
You see her eyes are open
Gent.
I, but their sense are shut
Doct.
What is it she do's now?
Looke how she rubbes her hands
Gent.
It is an accustom'd action with her, to seeme thus washing her hands: I haue knowne her continue in this a quarter of an houre
Lad.
Yet heere's a spot
Doct.
Heark, she speaks, I will set downe what comes from her, to satisfie my remembrance the more strongly
La.
Out damned spot: out I say.
One: Two: Why then'tis time to doo't: Hell is murky.
Fye, my Lord, fie, a Souldier, and affear'd?
what need we feare?
who knowes it, when none can call our powre to accompt: yet who would haue thought the olde man to haue had so much blood in him
Doct.
Do you marke that?
Lad.
The Thane of Fife, had a wife: where is she now?
What will these hands ne're be cleane?
No more o'that my Lord, no more o'that: you marre all with this starting
Doct.
Go too, go too: You haue knowne what you should not
Gent.
She ha's spoke what shee should not, I am sure of that: Heauen knowes what she ha's knowne
La.
Heere's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
Oh, oh, oh
Doct.
What a sigh is there?
The hart is sorely charg'd
Gent.
I would not haue such a heart in my bosome, for the dignity of the whole body
Doct.
Well, well, well
Gent.
Pray God it be sir
Doct.
This disease is beyond my practise: yet I haue knowne those which haue walkt in their sleep, who haue dyed holily in their beds
Lad.
Wash your hands, put on your Night - Gowne, looke not so pale: I tell you yet againe Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's graue
Doct.
Euen so?
Lady.
To bed, to bed: there's knocking at the gate: Come, come, come, come, giue me your hand: What's done, cannot be vndone.
To bed, to bed, to bed.
Exit Lady.
Doct.
Will she go now to bed?
Gent.
Directly
Doct.
Foule whisp'rings are abroad: vnnaturall deeds Do breed vnnaturall troubles: infected mindes To their deafe pillowes will discharge their Secrets: More needs she the Diuine, then the Physitian: God, God forgiue vs all.
Looke after her, Remoue from her the meanes of all annoyance, And still keepe eyes vpon her: So goodnight, My minde she ha's mated, and amaz'd my sight.
I thinke, but dare not speake
Gent.
Good night good Doctor.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Drum and Colours.
Enter Menteth, Cathnes, Angus, Lenox, Soldiers.
Ment.
The English powre is neere, led on by Malcolm, His Vnkle Seyward, and the good Macduff.
Reuenges burne in them: for their deere causes Would to the bleeding, and the grim Alarme Excite the mortified man
Ang.
Neere Byrnan wood Shall we well meet them, that way are they comming
Cath.
Who knowes if Donalbane be with his brother?
Len.
For certaine Sir, he is not: I haue a File Of all the Gentry; there is Seywards Sonne, And many vnruffe youths, that euen now Protest their first of Manhood
Ment.
What do's the Tyrant
Cath.
Great Dunsinane he strongly Fortifies: Some say hee's mad: Others, that lesser hate him, Do call it valiant Fury, but for certaine He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause Within the belt of Rule
Ang.
Now do's he feele His secret Murthers sticking on his hands, Now minutely Reuolts vpbraid his Faith - breach: Those he commands, moue onely in command, Nothing in loue: Now do's he feele his Title Hang loose about him, like a Giants Robe Vpon a dwarfish Theefe
Ment.
Who then shall blame His pester'd Senses to recoyle, and start, When all that is within him, do's condemne It selfe, for being there
Cath.
Well, march we on, To giue Obedience, where'tis truly ow'd: Meet we the Med'cine of the sickly Weale, And with him poure we in our Countries purge, Each drop of vs
Lenox.
Or so much as it needes, To dew the Soueraigne Flower, and drowne the Weeds: Make we our March towards Birnan.
Exeunt.
marching.
Scaena Tertia.
Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.
Macb.
Bring me no more Reports, let them flye all: Till Byrnane wood remoue to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with Feare.
What's the Boy Malcolme?
Was he not borne of woman?
The Spirits that know All mortall Consequences, haue pronounc'd me thus: Feare not Macbeth, no man that's borne of woman Shall ere haue power vpon thee.
Then fly false Thanes, And mingle with the English Epicures, The minde I sway by, and the heart I beare, Shall neuer sagge with doubt, nor shake with feare.
Enter Seruant.
The diuell damne thee blacke, thou cream - fac'd Loone: Where got'st thou that Goose - looke
Ser.
There is ten thousand
Macb.
Geese Villaine?
Ser.
Souldiers Sir
Macb.
Go pricke thy face, and ouer - red thy feare Thou Lilly - liuer'd Boy.
What Soldiers, Patch?
Death of thy Soule, those Linnen cheekes of thine Are Counsailers to feare.
What Soldiers Whay - face?
Ser.
The English Force, so please you
Macb.
Take thy face hence.
Seyton, I am sick at hart, When I behold: Seyton, I say, this push Will cheere me euer, or dis - eate me now.
Seyton?
Enter Seyton.
Sey.
What's your gracious pleasure?
Macb.
What Newes more?
Sey.
All is confirm'd my Lord, which was reported
Macb.
Ile fight, till from my bones, my flesh be hackt.
Giue me my Armor
Seyt.
' Tis not needed yet
Macb.
Ile put it on: Send out moe Horses, skirre the Country round, Hang those that talke of Feare.
Giue me mine Armor: How do's your Patient, Doctor?
Doct.
Not so sicke my Lord, As she is troubled with thicke - comming Fancies That keepe her from her rest
Macb.
Cure of that: Can'st thou not Minister to a minde diseas'd, Plucke from the Memory a rooted Sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the Braine, And with some sweet Obliuious Antidote Cleanse the stufft bosome, of that perillous stuffe Which weighes vpon the heart?
Doct.
Therein the Patient Must minister to himselfe
Macb.
Throw Physicke to the Dogs, Ile none of it.
Come, put mine Armour on: giue me my Staffe: Seyton, send out: Doctor, the Thanes flye from me: Come sir, dispatch.
If thou could'st Doctor, cast The Water of my Land, finde her Disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine Health, I would applaud thee to the very Eccho, That should applaud againe.
Pull't off I say, What Rubarb, Cyme, or what Purgatiue drugge Would scowre these English hence: hear'st y of them?
Doct.
I my good Lord: your Royall Preparation Makes vs heare something
Macb.
Bring it after me: I will not be affraid of Death and Bane, Till Birnane Forrest come to Dunsinane
Doct.
Were I from Dunsinane away, and cleere, Profit againe should hardly draw me heere.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Drum and Colours.
Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe, Seywards Sonne, Menteth, Cathnes, Angus, and Soldiers Marching.
Malc.
Cosins, I hope the dayes are neere at hand That Chambers will be safe
Ment.
We doubt it nothing
Seyw.
What wood is this before vs?
Ment.
The wood of Birnane
Malc.
Let euery Souldier hew him downe a Bough, And bear't before him, thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our Hoast, and make discouery Erre in report of vs
Sold.
It shall be done
Syw.
We learne no other, but the confident Tyrant Keepes still in Dunsinane, and will indure Our setting downe befor't
Malc.
' Tis his maine hope: For where there is aduantage to be giuen, Both more and lesse haue giuen him the Reuolt, And none serue with him, but constrained things, Whose hearts are absent too
Macd.
Let our iust Censures Attend the true euent, and put we on Industrious Souldiership
Sey.
The time approaches, That will with due decision make vs know What we shall say we haue, and what we owe: Thoughts speculatiue, their vnsure hopes relate, But certaine issue, stroakes must arbitrate, Towards which, aduance the warre.
Exeunt.
marching
Scena Quinta.
Enter Macbeth, Seyton, & Souldiers, with Drum and Colours.
Macb.
What is that noyse?
A Cry within of Women.
Sey.
It is the cry of women, my good Lord
Macb.
I haue almost forgot the taste of Feares: The time ha's beene, my sences would haue cool'd To heare a Night - shrieke, and my Fell of haire Would at a dismall Treatise rowze, and stirre As life were in't.
I haue supt full with horrors, Direnesse familiar to my slaughterous thoughts Cannot once start me.
Wherefore was that cry?
Sey.
The Queene (my Lord) is dead
Macb.
She should haue dy'de heereafter; There would haue beene a time for such a word: To morrow, and to morrow, and to morrow, Creepes in this petty pace from day to day, To the last Syllable of Recorded time: And all our yesterdayes, haue lighted Fooles The way to dusty death.
Out, out, breefe Candle, Life's but a walking Shadow, a poore Player, That struts and frets his houre vpon the Stage, And then is heard no more.
It is a Tale Told by an Ideot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing.
Enter a Messenger.
Thou com'st to vse thy Tongue: thy Story quickly
Mes.
Gracious my Lord, I should report that which I say I saw, But know not how to doo't
Macb.
Well, say sir
Mes.
As I did stand my watch vpon the Hill I look'd toward Byrnane, and anon me thought The Wood began to moue
Macb.
Lyar, and Slaue
Mes.
Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so: Within this three Mile may you see it comming.
I say, a mouing Groue
Macb.
If thou speak'st false, Vpon the next Tree shall thou hang aliue Till Famine cling thee: If thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much.
I pull in Resolution, and begin To doubt th'Equiuocation of the Fiend, That lies like truth.
Feare not, till Byrnane Wood Do come to Dunsinane, and now a Wood Comes toward Dunsinane.
Arme, Arme, and out, If this which he auouches, do's appeare, There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
I'ginne to be a - weary of the Sun, And wish th'estate o'th'world were now vndon.
Ring the Alarum Bell, blow Winde, come wracke, At least wee'l dye with Harnesse on our backe.
Exeunt.
Scena Sexta.
Drumme and Colours.
Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe, and their Army, with Boughes.
Mal.
Now neere enough: Your leauy Skreenes throw downe, And shew like those you are: You (worthy Vnkle) Shall with my Cosin your right Noble Sonne Leade our first Battell.
Worthy Macduffe, and wee Shall take vpon's what else remaines to do, According to our order
Sey.
Fare you well: Do we but finde the Tyrants power to night, Let vs be beaten, if we cannot fight
Macd.
Make all our Trumpets speak, giue the [ m ] all breath Those clamorous Harbingers of Blood, & Death.
Exeunt.
Alarums continued.
Scena Septima.
Enter Macbeth.
Macb.
They haue tied me to a stake, I cannot flye, But Beare - like I must fight the course.
What's he That was not borne of Woman?
Such a one Am I to feare, or none.
Enter young Seyward.
Y. Sey.
What is thy name?
Macb.
Thou'lt be affraid to heare it
Y. Sey.
No: though thou call'st thy selfe a hoter name Then any is in hell
Macb.
My name's Macbeth
Y. Sey.
The diuell himselfe could not pronounce a Title More hatefull to mine eare
Macb.
No: nor more fearefull
Y. Sey.
Thou lyest abhorred Tyrant, with my Sword Ile proue the lye thou speak'st.
Fight, and young Seyward slaine.
Macb.
Thou was't borne of woman; But Swords I smile at, Weapons laugh to scorne, Brandish'd by man that's of a Woman borne.
Enter.
Alarums.
Enter Macduffe.
Macd.
There thou should'st be, By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seemes bruited.
Let me finde him Fortune, And more I begge not.
Exit.
Alarums.
Enter Malcolme and Seyward.
Sey.
This way my Lord, the Castles gently rendred: The Tyrants people, on both sides do fight, The Noble Thanes do brauely in the Warre, The day almost it selfe professes yours, And little is to do
Malc.
We haue met with Foes That strike beside vs
Sey.
Enter Sir, the Castle.
Exeunt.
Alarum
Enter Macbeth.
Macb.
Why should I play the Roman Foole, and dye On mine owne sword?
whiles I see liues, the gashes Do better vpon them.
Enter Macduffe.
Macd.
Turne Hell - hound, turne
Macb.
Of all men else I haue auoyded thee: But get thee backe, my soule is too much charg'd With blood of thine already
Macd.
I haue no words, My voice is in my Sword, thou bloodier Villaine Then tearmes can giue thee out.
Fight: Alarum
Macb.
Thou loosest labour As easie may'st thou the intrenchant Ayre With thy keene Sword impresse, as make me bleed: Let fall thy blade on vulnerable Crests, I beare a charmed Life, which must not yeeld To one of woman borne
Macd.
Dispaire thy Charme, And let the Angell whom thou still hast seru'd Tell thee, Macduffe was from his Mothers womb Vntimely ript
Macb.
Accursed be that tongue that tels mee so; For it hath Cow'd my better part of man: And be these Iugling Fiends no more beleeu'd, That palter with vs in a double sence, That keepe the word of promise to our eare, And breake it to our hope.
Ile not fight with thee
Macd.
Then yeeld thee Coward, And liue to be the shew, and gaze o'th'time.
Wee'l haue thee, as our rarer Monsters are Painted vpon a pole, and vnder - writ, Heere may you see the Tyrant
Macb.
I will not yeeld To kisse the ground before young Malcolmes feet, And to be baited with the Rabbles curse.
Though Byrnane wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou oppos'd, being of no woman borne, Yet I will try the last.
Before my body, I throw my warlike Shield: Lay on Macduffe, And damn'd be him, that first cries hold, enough.
Exeunt.
fighting.
Alarums.
Enter Fighting, and Macbeth slaine.
Retreat, and Flourish.
Enter with Drumme and Colours, Malcolm, Seyward, Rosse, Thanes, & Soldiers.
Mal.
I would the Friends we misse, were safe arriu'd
Sey.
Some must go off: and yet by these I see, So great a day as this is cheapely bought
Mal.
Macduffe is missing, and your Noble Sonne
Rosse.
Your son my Lord, ha's paid a souldiers debt, He onely liu'd but till he was a man, The which no sooner had his Prowesse confirm'd In the vnshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he dy'de
Sey.
Then he is dead?
Rosse.
I, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then It hath no end
Sey.
Had he his hurts before?
Rosse.
I, on the Front
Sey.
Why then, Gods Soldier be he: Had I as many Sonnes, as I haue haires, I would not wish them to a fairer death: And so his Knell is knoll'd
Mal.
Hee's worth more sorrow, and that Ile spend for him
Sey.
He's worth no more, They say he parted well, and paid his score, And so God be with him.
Here comes newer comfort.
Enter Macduffe, with Macbeths head.
Macd.
Haile King, for so thou art.
Behold where stands Th'Vsurpers cursed head: the time is free: I see thee compast with thy Kingdomes Pearle, That speake my salutation in their minds: Whose voyces I desire alowd with mine.
Haile King of Scotland
All.
Haile King of Scotland.
Flourish.
Mal.
We shall not spend a large expence of time, Before we reckon with your seuerall loues, And make vs euen with you.
This, and what need full else That call's vpon vs, by the Grace of Grace, We will performe in measure, time, and place: So thankes to all at once, and to each one, Whom we inuite, to see vs Crown'd at Scone.
Flourish.
Exeunt Omnes.
FINIS.
THE TRAGEDIE OF MACBETH.
[ Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman 1855 ]
Walt Whitman
[ BOOK I. INSCRIPTIONS ]
} One's - Self I Sing
One's - self I sing, a simple separate person, Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En - Masse.
Of physiology from top to toe I sing, Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say the Form complete is worthier far, The Female equally with the Male I sing.
Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful, for freest action form'd under the laws divine, The Modern Man I sing.
} As I Ponder'd in Silence
it said, Know'st thou not there is hut one theme for ever - enduring bards?
And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles, The making of perfect soldiers.
} In Cabin'd Ships at Sea
Then falter not O book, fulfil your destiny, You not a reminiscence of the land alone, You too as a lone bark cleaving the ether, purpos'd I know not whither, yet ever full of faith, Consort to every ship that sails, sail you!
Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold it here in every leaf;) Speed on my book!
spread your white sails my little bark athwart the imperious waves, Chant on, sail on, bear o'er the boundless blue from me to every sea, This song for mariners and all their ships.
} To Foreign Lands
I heard that you ask'd for something to prove this puzzle the New World, And to define America, her athletic Democracy, Therefore I send you my poems that you behold in them what you wanted.
} To a Historian
} To Thee Old Cause
To thee old cause!
(A war O soldiers not for itself alone, Far, far more stood silently waiting behind, now to advance in this book.)
Thou orb of many orbs!
Thou seething principle!
thou well - kept, latent germ!
thou centre!
} Eidolons
I met a seer, Passing the hues and objects of the world, The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense, To glean eidolons.
Put in thy chants said he, No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments, parts, put in, Put first before the rest as light for all and entrance - song of all, That of eidolons.
Ever the dim beginning, Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle, Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again,) Eidolons!
eidolons!
Ever the mutable, Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re - cohering, Ever the ateliers, the factories divine, Issuing eidolons.
Lo, I or you, Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown, We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build, But really build eidolons.
The ostent evanescent, The substance of an artist's mood or savan's studies long, Or warrior's, martyr's, hero's toils, To fashion his eidolon.
Of every human life, (The units gather'd, posted, not a thought, emotion, deed, left out,) The whole or large or small summ'd, added up, In its eidolon.
The old, old urge, Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo, newer, higher pinnacles, From science and the modern still impell'd, The old, old urge, eidolons.
The present now and here, America's busy, teeming, intricate whirl, Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing, To - day's eidolons.
These with the past, Of vanish'd lands, of all the reigns of kings across the sea, Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailors'voyages, Joining eidolons.
Densities, growth, facades, Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees, Far - born, far - dying, living long, to leave, Eidolons everlasting.
Exalte, rapt, ecstatic, The visible but their womb of birth, Of orbic tendencies to shape and shape and shape, The mighty earth - eidolon.
All space, all time, (The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns, Swelling, collapsing, ending, serving their longer, shorter use,) Fill'd with eidolons only.
The noiseless myriads, The infinite oceans where the rivers empty, The separate countless free identities, like eyesight, The true realities, eidolons.
Not this the world, Nor these the universes, they the universes, Purport and end, ever the permanent life of life, Eidolons, eidolons.
Beyond thy lectures learn'd professor, Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope observer keen, beyond all mathematics, Beyond the doctor's surgery, anatomy, beyond the chemist with his chemistry, The entities of entities, eidolons.
Unfix'd yet fix'd, Ever shall be, ever have been and are, Sweeping the present to the infinite future, Eidolons, eidolons, eidolons.
The prophet and the bard, Shall yet maintain themselves, in higher stages yet, Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy, interpret yet to them, God and eidolons.
And thee my soul, Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations, Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet, Thy mates, eidolons.
Thy body permanent, The body lurking there within thy body, The only purport of the form thou art, the real I myself, An image, an eidolon.
Thy very songs not in thy songs, No special strains to sing, none for itself, But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating, A round full - orb'd eidolon.
} For Him I Sing
For him I sing, I raise the present on the past, (As some perennial tree out of its roots, the present on the past,) With time and space I him dilate and fuse the immortal laws, To make himself by them the law unto himself.
} When I Read the Book
When I read the book, the biography famous, And is this then (said I) what the author calls a man's life?
And so will some one when I am dead and gone write my life?
(As if any man really knew aught of my life, Why even I myself I often think know little or nothing of my real life, Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews and indirections I seek for my own use to trace out here.)
} Beginning My Studies
} Beginners
} To the States
To the States or any one of them, or any city of the States, Resist much, obey little, Once unquestioning obedience, once fully enslaved, Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city of this earth, ever afterward resumes its liberty.
} On Journeys Through the States
On journeys through the States we start, (Ay through the world, urged by these songs, Sailing henceforth to every land, to every sea,) We willing learners of all, teachers of all, and lovers of all.
We have watch'd the seasons dispensing themselves and passing on, And have said, Why should not a man or woman do as much as the seasons, and effuse as much?
} To a Certain Cantatrice
} Me Imperturbe
} Savantism
} The Ship Starting
Lo, the unbounded sea, On its breast a ship starting, spreading all sails, carrying even her moonsails.
The pennant is flying aloft as she speeds she speeds so stately--below emulous waves press forward, They surround the ship with shining curving motions and foam.
} I Hear America Singing
} What Place Is Besieged?
What place is besieged, and vainly tries to raise the siege?
Lo, I send to that place a commander, swift, brave, immortal, And with him horse and foot, and parks of artillery, And artillery - men, the deadliest that ever fired gun.
} Still Though the One I Sing
Still though the one I sing, (One, yet of contradictions made,) I dedicate to Nationality, I leave in him revolt, (O latent right of insurrection!
O quenchless, indispensable fire!)
} Shut Not Your Doors
} Poets to Come
Poets to come!
orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to - day is to justify me and answer what I am for, But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known, Arouse!
for you must justify me.
I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future, I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness.
I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a casual look upon you and then averts his face, Leaving it to you to prove and define it, Expecting the main things from you.
} To You
Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me?
And why should I not speak to you?
} Thou Reader
Thou reader throbbest life and pride and love the same as I, Therefore for thee the following chants.
[ BOOK II ]
} Starting from Paumanok
2 Victory, union, faith, identity, time, The indissoluble compacts, riches, mystery, Eternal progress, the kosmos, and the modern reports.
This then is life, Here is what has come to the surface after so many throes and convulsions.
How curious!
how real!
Underfoot the divine soil, overhead the sun.
See revolving the globe, The ancestor - continents away group'd together, The present and future continents north and south, with the isthmus between.
See, vast trackless spaces, As in a dream they change, they swiftly fill, Countless masses debouch upon them, They are now cover'd with the foremost people, arts, institutions, known.
See, projected through time, For me an audience interminable.
3 Americanos!
conquerors!
marches humanitarian!
Foremost!
century marches!
Libertad!
masses!
For you a programme of chants.
4 Take my leaves America, take them South and take them North, Make welcome for them everywhere, for they are your own off - spring, Surround them East and West, for they would surround you, And you precedents, connect lovingly with them, for they connect lovingly with you.
I conn'd old times, I sat studying at the feet of the great masters, Now if eligible O that the great masters might return and study me.
In the name of these States shall I scorn the antique?
Why these are the children of the antique to justify it.
6 The soul, Forever and forever--longer than soil is brown and solid--longer than water ebbs and flows.
I will make the poems of materials, for I think they are to be the most spiritual poems, And I will make the poems of my body and of mortality, For I think I shall then supply myself with the poems of my soul and of immortality.
I will acknowledge contemporary lands, I will trail the whole geography of the globe and salute courteously every city large and small, And employments!
I will put in my poems that with you is heroism upon land and sea, And I will report all heroism from an American point of view.
And who but I should be the poet of comrades?
7 I am the credulous man of qualities, ages, races, I advance from the people in their own spirit, Here is what sings unrestricted faith.
Omnes!
omnes!
I too, following many and follow'd by many, inaugurate a religion, I descend into the arena, (It may be I am destin'd to utter the loudest cries there, the winner's pealing shouts, Who knows?
they may rise from me yet, and soar above every thing.)
Each is not for its own sake, I say the whole earth and all the stars in the sky are for religion's sake.
I say no man has ever yet been half devout enough, None has ever yet adored or worship'd half enough, None has begun to think how divine he himself is, and how certain the future is.
I say that the real and permanent grandeur of these States must be their religion, Otherwise there is just no real and permanent grandeur; (Nor character nor life worthy the name without religion, Nor land nor man or woman without religion.)
8 What are you doing young man?
Are you so earnest, so given up to literature, science, art, amours?
These ostensible realities, politics, points?
Your ambition or business whatever it may be?
It is well--against such I say not a word, I am their poet also, But behold!
such swiftly subside, burnt up for religion's sake, For not all matter is fuel to heat, impalpable flame, the essential life of the earth, Any more than such are to religion.
9 What do you seek so pensive and silent?
What do you need camerado?
Dear son do you think it is love?
10 Know you, solely to drop in the earth the germs of a greater religion, The following chants each for its kind I sing.
My comrade!
For you to share with me two greatnesses, and a third one rising inclusive and more resplendent, The greatness of Love and Democracy, and the greatness of Religion.
Not he with a daily kiss onward from childhood kissing me, Has winded and twisted around me that which holds me to him, Any more than I am held to the heavens and all the spiritual world, After what they have done to me, suggesting themes.
O such themes--equalities!
O divine average!
Warblings under the sun, usher'd as now, or at noon, or setting, Strains musical flowing through ages, now reaching hither, I take to your reckless and composite chords, add to them, and cheerfully pass them forward.
11 As I have walk'd in Alabama my morning walk, I have seen where the she - bird the mocking - bird sat on her nest in the briers hatching her brood.
I have seen the he - bird also, I have paus'd to hear him near at hand inflating his throat and joyfully singing.
And while I paus'd it came to me that what he really sang for was not there only, Nor for his mate nor himself only, nor all sent back by the echoes, But subtle, clandestine, away beyond, A charge transmitted and gift occult for those being born.
12 Democracy!
near at hand to you a throat is now inflating itself and joyfully singing.
Ma femme!
for the brood beyond us and of us, For those who belong here and those to come, I exultant to be ready for them will now shake out carols stronger and haughtier than have ever yet been heard upon earth.
I will make the songs of passion to give them their way, And your songs outlaw'd offenders, for I scan you with kindred eyes, and carry you with me the same as any.
13 Was somebody asking to see the soul?
See, your own shape and countenance, persons, substances, beasts, the trees, the running rivers, the rocks and sands.
All hold spiritual joys and afterwards loosen them; How can the real body ever die and be buried?
Of your real body and any man's or woman's real body, Item for item it will elude the hands of the corpse - cleaners and pass to fitting spheres, Carrying what has accrued to it from the moment of birth to the moment of death.
Not the types set up by the printer return their impression, the meaning, the main concern, Any more than a man's substance and life or a woman's substance and life return in the body and the soul, Indifferently before death and after death.
Behold, the body includes and is the meaning, the main concern and includes and is the soul; Whoever you are, how superb and how divine is your body, or any part of it!
14 Whoever you are, to you endless announcements!
Daughter of the lands did you wait for your poet?
Did you wait for one with a flowing mouth and indicative hand?
Toward the male of the States, and toward the female of the States, Exulting words, words to Democracy's lands.
Interlink'd, food - yielding lands!
Land of coal and iron!
land of gold!
land of cotton, sugar, rice!
Land of wheat, beef, pork!
land of wool and hemp!
land of the apple and the grape!
Land of the pastoral plains, the grass - fields of the world!
land of those sweet - air'd interminable plateaus!
Land of the herd, the garden, the healthy house of adobie!
Lands where the north - west Columbia winds, and where the south - west Colorado winds!
Land of the eastern Chesapeake!
land of the Delaware!
Land of Ontario, Erie, Huron, Michigan!
Land of the Old Thirteen!
Massachusetts land!
land of Vermont and Connecticut!
Land of the ocean shores!
land of sierras and peaks!
Land of boatmen and sailors!
fishermen's land!
Inextricable lands!
the clutch'd together!
the passionate ones!
The side by side!
the elder and younger brothers!
the bony - limb'd!
The great women's land!
the feminine!
the experienced sisters and the inexperienced sisters!
Far breath'd land!
Arctic braced!
Mexican breez'd!
the diverse!
the compact!
The Pennsylvanian!
the Virginian!
the double Carolinian!
O all and each well - loved by me!
my intrepid nations!
O I at any rate include you all with perfect love!
I cannot be discharged from you!
not from one any sooner than another!
O death!
15 With me with firm holding, yet haste, haste on.
For your life adhere to me, (I may have to be persuaded many times before I consent to give myself really to you, but what of that?
Must not Nature be persuaded many times?)
No dainty dolce affettuoso I, Bearded, sun - burnt, gray - neck'd, forbidding, I have arrived, To be wrestled with as I pass for the solid prizes of the universe, For such I afford whoever can persevere to win them.
16 On my way a moment I pause, Here for you!
and here for America!
Still the present I raise aloft, still the future of the States I harbinge glad and sublime, And for the past I pronounce what the air holds of the red aborigines.
These, my voice announcing--I will sleep no more but arise, You oceans that have been calm within me!
how I feel you, fathomless, stirring, preparing unprecedented waves and storms.
19 O camerado close!
O you and me at last, and us two only.
O a word to clear one's path ahead endlessly!
O something ecstatic and undemonstrable!
O music wild!
O now I triumph--and you shall also; O hand in hand--O wholesome pleasure--O one more desirer and lover!
O to haste firm holding--to haste, haste on with me.
[ BOOK III ]
} Song of Myself
1 I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty - seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death.
Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy.
2 Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes, I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it, The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much?
have you reckon'd the earth much?
Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
3 I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.
Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world.
Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.
To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so.
Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery here we stand.
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.
Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age, Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.
Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest.
Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.
5 I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you, And you must not be abased to the other.
Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
6 A child said What is the grass?
fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child?
I do not know what it is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers'laps, And here you are the mothers'laps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?
They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.
All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
7 Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
I pass death with the dying and birth with the new - wash'd babe, and am not contain'd between my hat and boots, And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good, The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.
I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth, I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself, (They do not know how immortal, but I know.)
Undrape!
you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded, I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no, And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.
8 The little one sleeps in its cradle, I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand.
The youngster and the red - faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the top.
The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen.
9 The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready, The dried grass of the harvest - time loads the slow - drawn wagon, The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged, The armfuls are pack'd to the sagging mow.
I am there, I help, I came stretch'd atop of the load, I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other, I jump from the cross - beams and seize the clover and timothy, And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.
The Yankee clipper is under her sky - sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud, My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck.
The boatmen and clam - diggers arose early and stopt for me, I tuck'd my trowser - ends in my boots and went and had a good time; You should have been with us that day round the chowder - kettle.
11 Twenty - eight young men bathe by the shore, Twenty - eight young men and all so friendly; Twenty - eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.
She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank, She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.
Which of the young men does she like the best?
Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.
Where are you off to, lady?
for I see you, You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.
Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty - ninth bather, The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.
The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their long hair, Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.
An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies, It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.
The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them, They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch, They do not think whom they souse with spray.
12 The butcher - boy puts off his killing - clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market, I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break - down.
Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil, Each has his main - sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire.
From the cinder - strew'd threshold I follow their movements, The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.
I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop there, I go with the team also.
In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as forward sluing, To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing, Absorbing all to myself and for this song.
Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes?
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.
My tread scares the wood - drake and wood - duck on my distant and day - long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around.
14 The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night, Ya - honk he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation, The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listening close, Find its purpose and place up there toward the wintry sky.
The sharp - hoof'd moose of the north, the cat on the house - sill, the chickadee, the prairie - dog, The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats, The brood of the turkey - hen and she with her half - spread wings, I see in them and myself the same old law.
The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them.
I am enamour'd of growing out - doors, Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods, Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses, I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out.
What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my good will, Scattering it freely forever.
I resist any thing better than my own diversity, Breathe the air but leave plenty after me, And am not stuck up, and am in my place.
(The moth and the fish - eggs are in their place, The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place, The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.)
This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air that bathes the globe.
18 With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums, I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquer'd and slain persons.
Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?
I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.
I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.
Vivas to those who have fail'd!
And to those whose war - vessels sank in the sea!
And to those themselves who sank in the sea!
And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes!
And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known!
This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far - off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.
Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?
Well I have, for the Fourth - month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.
Do you take it I would astonish?
Does the daylight astonish?
does the early redstart twittering through the woods?
Do I astonish more than they?
This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.
20 Who goes there?
hankering, gross, mystical, nude; How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?
What is a man anyhow?
what am I?
what are you?
All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me.
I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.
Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, conformity goes to the fourth - remov'd, I wear my hat as I please indoors or out.
Why should I pray?
why should I venerate and be ceremonious?
Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel'd with doctors and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.
In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley - corn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.
I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.
I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass, I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.
I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood, I see that the elementary laws never apologize, (I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.)
I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware I sit content, And if each and all be aware I sit content.
One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself, And whether I come to my own to - day or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.
My foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time.
21 I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into new tongue.
I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.
I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development.
Have you outstript the rest?
are you the President?
It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on.
I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half - held by the night.
Press close bare - bosom'd night--press close magnetic nourishing night!
Night of south winds--night of the large few stars!
Still nodding night--mad naked summer night.
Smile O voluptuous cool - breath'd earth!
Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!
Earth of departed sunset--earth of the mountains misty - topt!
Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue!
Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!
Far - swooping elbow'd earth--rich apple - blossom'd earth!
Smile, for your lover comes.
Prodigal, you have given me love--therefore I to you give love!
O unspeakable passionate love.
22 You sea!
Sea of stretch'd ground - swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always - ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases.
Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others'arms.
I am he attesting sympathy, (Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them?)
I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also.
What blurt is this about virtue and about vice?
Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault - finder's or rejecter's gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown.
Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy?
Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and rectified?
I find one side a balance and the antipedal side a balance, Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine, Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start.
This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now.
What behaved well in the past or behaves well to - day is not such wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel.
23 Endless unfolding of words of ages!
And mine a word of the modern, the word En - Masse.
A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.
It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all.
I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing.
Hurrah for positive science!
long live exact demonstration!
Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac, This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of the old cartouches, These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas.
This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician.
Gentlemen, to you the first honors always!
Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.
24 Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest.
Unscrew the locks from the doors!
Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!
Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.
Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index.
I speak the pass - word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, By God!
I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms.
Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.
I do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.
I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm - pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.
If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me it shall be you!
Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!
Firm masculine colter it shall be you!
Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you!
You my rich blood!
your milky stream pale strippings of my life!
Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you!
My brain it shall be your occult convolutions!
Root of wash'd sweet - flag!
timorous pond - snipe!
nest of guarded duplicate eggs!
it shall be you!
Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you!
Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!
Sun so generous it shall be you!
Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you!
You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you!
Winds whose soft - tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you!
Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you!
Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd, it shall be you.
That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, A morning - glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.
To behold the day - break!
The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.
Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low.
Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven.
The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heav'd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master!
25 Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun - rise would kill me, If I could not now and always send sun - rise out of me.
We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak.
My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds.
Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?
Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded?
My final merit I refuse you, I refuse putting from me what I really am, Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me, I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking toward you.
Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic.
26 Now I will do nothing but listen, To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it.
I hear the violoncello, (' tis the young man's heart's complaint,) I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad - sweet pangs through my belly and breast.
I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music--this suits me.
A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.
I hear the train'd soprano (what work with hers is this?)
27 To be in any form, what is that?
(Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither,) If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough.
Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me.
I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand.
28 Is this then a touch?
The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me.
I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there.
You villain touch!
what are you doing?
my breath is tight in its throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for me.
29 Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath'd hooded sharp - tooth'd touch!
Did it make you ache so, leaving me?
Parting track'd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward.
Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full - sized and golden.
30 All truths wait in all things, They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, The insignificant is as big to me as any, (What is less or more than a touch?)
Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.
(Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies is so.)
I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long - threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, But call any thing back again when I desire it.
32 I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self - contain'd, I stand and look at them long and long.
So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession.
I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?
A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.
His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well - built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.
I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, Why do I need your paces when I myself out - gallop them?
Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.
33 Space and Time!
now I see it is true, what I guess'd at, What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass, What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed, And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of the morning.
My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea - gaps, I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision.
I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green.
I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul, My course runs below the soundings of plummets.
I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me.
I anchor my ship for a little while only, My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me.
I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike - pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue.
I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires, I turn the bridgroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself, I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips.
My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd.
Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.
I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire - caps, The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches.
Distant and dead resuscitate, They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself.
I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment, I am there again.
Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive.
Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, He gasps through the clot Mind not me--mind--the entrenchments.
34 Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth, (I tell not the fall of Alamo, Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo,)'Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and twelve young men.
They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age.
The second First - day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred, it was beautiful early summer, The work commenced about five o'clock and was over by eight.
At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies; That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men.
35 Would you hear of an old - time sea - fight?
Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?
List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to me.
Our foe was no sulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,) His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be; Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us.
We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch'd, My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.
We had receiv'd some eighteen pound shots under the water, On our lower - gun - deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead.
Fighting at sun - down, fighting at dark, Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported, The master - at - arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after - hold to give them a chance for themselves.
The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels, They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust.
Our frigate takes fire, The other asks if we demand quarter?
If our colors are struck and the fighting done?
Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting.
Only three guns are in use, One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main - mast, Two well serv'd with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear his decks.
The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main - top, They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.
Not a moment's cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder - magazine.
One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking.
Serene stands the little captain, He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give more light to us than our battle - lanterns.
Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us.
37 You laggards there on guard!
look to your arms!
In at the conquer'd doors they crowd!
I am possess'd!
Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain.
For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch, It is I let out in the morning and barr'd at night.
Not a mutineer walks handcuff'd to jail but I am handcuff'd to him and walk by his side, (I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat on my twitching lips.)
Not a youngster is taken for larceny but I go up too, and am tried and sentenced.
Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last gasp, My face is ash - color'd, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat.
Askers embody themselves in me and I am embodied in them, I project my hat, sit shame - faced, and beg.
38 Enough!
enough!
enough!
Somehow I have been stunn'd.
Stand back!
Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping, I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.
That I could forget the mockers and insults!
That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers!
That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and bloody crowning.
I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me.
I troop forth replenish'd with supreme power, one of an average unending procession, Inland and sea - coast we go, and pass all boundary lines, Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth, The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of years.
Eleves, I salute you!
come forward!
Continue your annotations, continue your questionings.
39 The friendly and flowing savage, who is he?
Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it?
Is he some Southwesterner rais'd out - doors?
is he Kanadian?
Is he from the Mississippi country?
Iowa, Oregon, California?
The mountains?
prairie - life, bush - life?
or sailor from the sea?
Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him, They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them.
40 Flaunt of the sunshine I need not your bask--lie over!
You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also.
Earth!
you seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top - knot, what do you want?
Man or woman, I might tell how I like you, but cannot, And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot, And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and days.
Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself.
You there, impotent, loose in the knees, Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you, Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets, I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare, And any thing I have I bestow.
I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me, You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you.
To cotton - field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right cheek I put the family kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will deny him.
On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes.
(This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.)
To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door.
Turn the bed - clothes toward the foot of the bed, Let the physician and the priest go home.
I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, O despairer, here is my neck, By God, you shall not go down!
hang your whole weight upon me.
I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves.
Sleep--I and they keep guard all night, Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you, I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself, And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so.
41 I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on their backs, And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help.
I heard what was said of the universe, Heard it and heard it of several thousand years; It is middling well as far as it goes--but is that all?
becoming already a creator, Putting myself here and now to the ambush'd womb of the shadows.
42 A call in the midst of the crowd, My own voice, orotund sweeping and final.
Come my children, Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates, Now the performer launches his nerve, he has pass'd his prelude on the reeds within.
Easily written loose - finger'd chords--I feel the thrum of your climax and close.
My head slues round on my neck, Music rolls, but not from the organ, Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine.
hoot!
till we find where the sly one hides and bring him forth, Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life, Ever the bandage under the chin, ever the trestles of death.
This is the city and I am one of the citizens, Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets, newspapers, schools, The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate.
I know perfectly well my own egotism, Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less, And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself.
Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring; This printed and bound book--but the printer and the printing - office boy?
The well - taken photographs--but your wife or friend close and solid in your arms?
The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets--but the pluck of the captain and engineers?
In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture--but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes?
The sky up there--yet here or next door, or across the way?
The saints and sages in history--but you yourself?
Sermons, creeds, theology--but the fathomless human brain, And what is reason?
and what is love?
and what is life?
One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like man leaving charges before a journey.
Down - hearted doubters dull and excluded, Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, dishearten'd, atheistical, I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, despair and unbelief.
How the flukes splash!
How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood!
Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers, I take my place among you as much as among any, The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely the same.
I do not know what is untried and afterward, But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail.
Each who passes is consider'd, each who stops is consider'd, not single one can it fall.
44 It is time to explain myself--let us stand up.
What is known I strip away, I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown.
The clock indicates the moment--but what does eternity indicate?
We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.
Births have brought us richness and variety, And other births will bring us richness and variety.
I do not call one greater and one smaller, That which fills its period and place is equal to any.
Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister?
I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation, (What have I to do with lamentation?)
I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an encloser of things to be.
My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount.
Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me, Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there, I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist, And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon.
Long I was hugg'd close--long and long.
Immense have been the preparations for me, Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me.
Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen, For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings, They sent influences to look after what was to hold me.
Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it.
For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care.
All forces have been steadily employ'd to complete and delight me, Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul.
45 O span of youth!
ever - push'd elasticity!
O manhood, balanced, florid and full.
My lovers suffocate me, Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin, Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me at night, Crying by day, Ahoy!
Old age superbly rising!
O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days!
Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows after and out of itself, And the dark hush promulges as much as any.
I open my scuttle at night and see the far - sprinkled systems, And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems.
Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding, Outward and outward and forever outward.
My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels, He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit, And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them.
A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span or make it impatient, They are but parts, any thing is but a part.
See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that, Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that.
My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain, The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms, The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there.
46 I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured.
I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!)
Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself.
It is not far, it is within reach, Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know, Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.
Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth, Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go.
If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip, And in due time you shall repay the same service to me, For after we start we never lie by again.
This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied then?
And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond.
You are also asking me questions and I hear you, I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.
Sit a while dear son, Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink, But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss you with a good - by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence.
Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams, Now I wash the gum from your eyes, You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.
Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore, Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair.
47 I am the teacher of athletes, He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own, He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me?
I follow you whoever you are from the present hour, My words itch at your ears till you understand them.
I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while I wait for a boat, (It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you, Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd.)
I swear I will never again mention love or death inside a house, And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her who privately stays with me in the open air.
If you would understand me go to the heights or water - shore, The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves key, The maul, the oar, the hand - saw, second my words.
No shutter'd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little children better than they.
The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek me.
And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God, For I who am curious about each am not curious about God, (No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and about death.)
I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least, Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.
Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
49 And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me.
To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes, I see the elder - hand pressing receiving supporting, I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors, And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape.
And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet - scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons.
And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.)
I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven, O suns--O grass of graves--O perpetual transfers and promotions, If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing?
Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest, Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, Toss, sparkles of day and dusk--toss on the black stems that decay in the muck, Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.
I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night, I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected, And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small.
50 There is that in me--I do not know what it is--but I know it is in me.
Wrench'd and sweaty--calm and cool then my body becomes, I sleep--I sleep long.
I do not know it--it is without name--it is a word unsaid, It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.
Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me.
Perhaps I might tell more.
Outlines!
I plead for my brothers and sisters.
Do you see O my brothers and sisters?
It is not chaos or death--it is form, union, plan--it is eternal life--it is Happiness.
51 The past and present wilt--I have fill'd them, emptied them.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.
Listener up there!
what have you to confide to me?
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening, (Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.)
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)
I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door - slab.
Who has done his day's work?
who will soonest be through with his supper?
Who wishes to walk with me?
Will you speak before I am gone?
will you prove already too late?
52 The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot - soles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.
[ BOOK IV.
CHILDREN OF ADAM ]
} To the Garden the World
} From Pent - Up Aching Rivers
O for any and each the body correlative attracting!
O for you whoever you are your correlative body!
O it, more than all else, you delighting!)
The oath of the inseparableness of two together, of the woman that loves me and whom I love more than my life, that oath swearing, (O I willingly stake all for you, O let me be lost if it must be so!
O you and I!
what is it to us what the rest do or think?
What is all else to us?
} I Sing the Body Electric
1 I sing the body electric, The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.
Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?
And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?
2 The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account, That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.
3 I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons, And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.
I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.
There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well, All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.
This the nucleus--after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman, This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again.
Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest, You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.
The female contains all qualities and tempers them, She is in her place and moves with perfect balance, She is all things duly veil'd, she is both passive and active, She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.
As I see my soul reflected in Nature, As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty, See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.
The man's body is sacred and the woman's body is sacred, No matter who it is, it is sacred--is it the meanest one in the laborers'gang?
Is it one of the dull - faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?
Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well - off, just as much as you, Each has his or her place in the procession.
(All is a procession, The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)
Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight?
Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts, For you only, and not for him and her?
7 A man's body at auction, (For before the war I often go to the slave - mart and watch the sale,) I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.
Gentlemen look on this wonder, Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it, For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant, For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll'd.
In this head the all - baffling brain, In it and below it the makings of heroes.
Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve, They shall be stript that you may see them.
Exquisite senses, life - lit eyes, pluck, volition, Flakes of breast - muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good - sized arms and legs, And wonders within there yet.
Within there runs blood, The same old blood!
the same red - running blood!
There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings, aspirations, (Do you think they are not there because they are not express'd in parlors and lecture - rooms?)
This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers in their turns, In him the start of populous states and rich republics, Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.
How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring through the centuries?
(Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace back through the centuries?)
8 A woman's body at auction, She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers, She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.
Have you ever loved the body of a woman?
Have you ever loved the body of a man?
Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and times all over the earth?
If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred, And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted, And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm - fibred body, is more beautiful than the most beautiful face.
Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body?
or the fool that corrupted her own live body?
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.
9 O my body!
} A Woman Waits for Me
A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking, Yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the right man were lacking.
Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of his sex, Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.
I draw you close to me, you women, I cannot let you go, I would do you good, I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for others'sakes, Envelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards, They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me.
} Spontaneous Me
} One Hour to Madness and Joy
One hour to madness and joy!
O furious!
O confine me not!
(What is this that frees me so in storms?
What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)
O to drink the mystic deliria deeper than any other man!
O savage and tender achings!
(I bequeath them to you my children, I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.)
O to be yielded to you whoever you are, and you to be yielded to me in defiance of the world!
O to return to Paradise!
O bashful and feminine!
O to draw you to me, to plant on you for the first time the lips of a determin'd man.
O the puzzle, the thrice - tied knot, the deep and dark pool, all untied and illumin'd!
O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last!
To be absolv'd from previous ties and conventions, I from mine and you from yours!
To find a new unthought - of nonchalance with the best of Nature!
To have the gag remov'd from one's mouth!
To have the feeling to - day or any day I am sufficient as I am.
O something unprov'd!
something in a trance!
To escape utterly from others'anchors and holds!
To drive free!
to love free!
to dash reckless and dangerous!
To court destruction with taunts, with invitations!
To ascend, to leap to the heavens of the love indicated to me!
To rise thither with my inebriate soul!
To be lost if it must be so!
To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fulness and freedom!
With one brief hour of madness and joy.
} Out of the Rolling Ocean the Crowd
Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me, Whispering I love you, before long I die, I have travel'd a long way merely to look on you to touch you, For I could not die till I once look'd on you, For I fear'd I might afterward lose you.
Now we have met, we have look'd, we are safe, Return in peace to the ocean my love, I too am part of that ocean my love, we are not so much separated, Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect!
But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us, As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever; Be not impatient--a little space--know you I salute the air, the ocean and the land, Every day at sundown for your dear sake my love.
} Ages and Ages Returning at Intervals
} We Two, How Long We Were Fool'd
} O Hymen!
O Hymenee!
O hymen!
O hymenee!
why do you tantalize me thus?
O why sting me for a swift moment only?
Why can you not continue?
O why do you now cease?
Is it because if you continued beyond the swift moment you would soon certainly kill me?
} I Am He That Aches with Love
I am he that aches with amorous love; Does the earth gravitate?
does not all matter, aching, attract all matter?
So the body of me to all I meet or know.
} Native Moments
O you shunn'd persons, I at least do not shun you, I come forthwith in your midst, I will be your poet, I will be more to you than to any of the rest.
} Once I Pass'd Through a Populous City
} I Heard You Solemn - Sweet Pipes of the Organ
you too I heard murmuring low through one of the wrists around my head, Heard the pulse of you when all was still ringing little bells last night under my ear.
} Facing West from California's Shores
And why is it yet unfound?)
} As Adam Early in the Morning
As Adam early in the morning, Walking forth from the bower refresh'd with sleep, Behold me where I pass, hear my voice, approach, Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, Be not afraid of my body.
[ BOOK V. CALAMUS ]
} In Paths Untrodden
} Scented Herbage of My Breast
O blossoms of my blood!
grow up out of my breast!
Spring away from the conceal'd heart there!
Do not fold yourself so in your pink - tinged roots timid leaves!
Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!
} Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand
Whoever you are holding me now in hand, Without one thing all will be useless, I give you fair warning before you attempt me further, I am not what you supposed, but far different.
Who is he that would become my follower?
Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?
But these leaves conning you con at peril, For these leaves and me you will not understand, They will elude you at first and still more afterward, I will certainly elude you.
Even while you should think you had unquestionably caught me, behold!
Already you see I have escaped from you.
} For You, O Democracy
Come, I will make the continent indissoluble, I will make the most splendid race the sun ever shone upon, I will make divine magnetic lands, With the love of comrades, With the life - long love of comrades.
I will plant companionship thick as trees along all the rivers of America, and along the shores of the great lakes, and all over the prairies, I will make inseparable cities with their arms about each other's necks, By the love of comrades, By the manly love of comrades.
For you these from me, O Democracy, to serve you ma femme!
For you, for you I am trilling these songs.
} These I Singing in Spring
These I singing in spring collect for lovers, (For who but I should understand lovers and all their sorrow and joy?
And who but I should be the poet of comrades?)
let none render it back!)
} Not Heaving from My Ribb'd Breast Only
O pulse of my life!
Need I that you exist and show yourself any more than in these songs.
} Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances
} The Base of All Metaphysics
And now gentlemen, A word I give to remain in your memories and minds, As base and finale too for all metaphysics.
(So to the students the old professor, At the close of his crowded course.)
} Recorders Ages Hence
} When I Heard at the Close of the Day
} Are You the New Person Drawn Toward Me?
Are you the new person drawn toward me?
To begin with take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose; Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?
Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover?
Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy'd satisfaction?
Do you think I am trusty and faithful?
Do you see no further than this facade, this smooth and tolerant manner of me?
Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real heroic man?
Have you no thought O dreamer that it may be all maya, illusion?
} Roots and Leaves Themselves Alone
} Not Heat Flames Up and Consumes
O I the same, O nor down - balls nor perfumes, nor the high rain - emitting clouds, are borne through the open air, Any more than my soul is borne through the open air, Wafted in all directions O love, for friendship, for you.
} Trickle Drops
Trickle drops!
my blue veins leaving!
O drops of me!
} City of Orgies
} Behold This Swarthy Face
} I Saw in Louisiana a Live - Oak Growing
} To a Stranger
Passing stranger!
} This Moment Yearning and Thoughtful
} I Hear It Was Charged Against Me
I hear it was charged against me that I sought to destroy institutions, But really I am neither for nor against institutions, (What indeed have I in common with them?
or what with the destruction of them?)
} The Prairie - Grass Dividing
Those of earth - born passion, simple, never constrain'd, never obedient, Those of inland America.
} When I Persue the Conquer'd Fame
} We Two Boys Together Clinging
We two boys together clinging, One the other never leaving, Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions making, Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching, Arm'd and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving.
} A Promise to California
} Here the Frailest Leaves of Me
Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.
} No Labor - Saving Machine
} A Glimpse
} A Leaf for Hand in Hand
A leaf for hand in hand; You natural persons old and young!
You on the Mississippi and on all the branches and bayous of the Mississippi!
You friendly boatmen and mechanics!
you roughs!
You twain!
and all processions moving along the streets!
I wish to infuse myself among you till I see it common for you to walk hand in hand.
} Earth, My Likeness
} I Dream'd in a Dream
} What Think You I Take My Pen in Hand?
What think you I take my pen in hand to record?
The battle - ship, perfect - model'd, majestic, that I saw pass the offing to - day under full sail?
The splendors of the past day?
or the splendor of the night that envelops me?
Or the vaunted glory and growth of the great city spread around me?
-- no; But merely of two simple men I saw to - day on the pier in the midst of the crowd, parting the parting of dear friends, The one to remain hung on the other's neck and passionately kiss'd him, While the one to depart tightly prest the one to remain in his arms.
} To the East and to the West
} Sometimes with One I Love
} To a Western Boy
Many things to absorb I teach to help you become eleve of mine; Yet if blood like mine circle not in your veins, If you be not silently selected by lovers and do not silently select lovers, Of what use is it that you seek to become eleve of mine?
} Fast Anchor'd Eternal O Love!
Fast - anchor'd eternal O love!
O woman I love!
O bride!
O wife!
more resistless than I can tell, the thought of you!
Then separate, as disembodied or another born, Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation, I ascend, I float in the regions of your love O man, O sharer of my roving life.
} Among the Multitude
Among the men and women the multitude, I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs, Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I am, Some are baffled, but that one is not--that one knows me.
Ah lover and perfect equal, I meant that you should discover me so by faint indirections, And I when I meet you mean to discover you by the like in you.
} O You Whom I Often and Silently Come
O you whom I often and silently come where you are that I may be with you, As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same room with you, Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.
} That Shadow My Likeness
} Full of Life Now
Full of life now, compact, visible, I, forty years old the eighty - third year of the States, To one a century hence or any number of centuries hence, To you yet unborn these, seeking you.
When you read these I that was visible am become invisible, Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me, Fancying how happy you were if I could be with you and become your comrade; Be it as if I were with you.
(Be not too certain but I am now with you.)
[ BOOK VI ]
} Salut au Monde!
1 O take my hand Walt Whitman!
Such gliding wonders!
such sights and sounds!
Such join'd unended links, each hook'd to the next, Each answering all, each sharing the earth with all.
What widens within you Walt Whitman?
What waves and soils exuding?
What climes?
what persons and cities are here?
Who are the infants, some playing, some slumbering?
Who are the girls?
who are the married women?
Who are the groups of old men going slowly with their arms about each other's necks?
What rivers are these?
what forests and fruits are these?
What are the mountains call'd that rise so high in the mists?
What myriads of dwellings are they fill'd with dwellers?
3 What do you hear Walt Whitman?
4 What do you see Walt Whitman?
Who are they you salute, and that one after another salute you?
I behold the mariners of the world, Some are in storms, some in the night with the watch on the lookout, Some drifting helplessly, some with contagious diseases.
5 I see the tracks of the railroads of the earth, I see them in Great Britain, I see them in Europe, I see them in Asia and in Africa.
I see the electric telegraphs of the earth, I see the filaments of the news of the wars, deaths, losses, gains, passions, of my race.
6 I see the site of the old empire of Assyria, and that of Persia, and that of India, I see the falling of the Ganges over the high rim of Saukara.
7 I see the battle - fields of the earth, grass grows upon them and blossoms and corn, I see the tracks of ancient and modern expeditions.
I see the nameless masonries, venerable messages of the unknown events, heroes, records of the earth.
I see the highlands of Abyssinia, I see flocks of goats feeding, and see the fig - tree, tamarind, date, And see fields of teff - wheat and places of verdure and gold.
I see the Brazilian vaquero, I see the Bolivian ascending mount Sorata, I see the Wacho crossing the plains, I see the incomparable rider of horses with his lasso on his arm, I see over the pampas the pursuit of wild cattle for their hides.
10 I see vapors exhaling from unexplored countries, I see the savage types, the bow and arrow, the poison'd splint, the fetich, and the obi.
11 You whoever you are!
You daughter or son of England!
You of the mighty Slavic tribes and empires!
you Russ in Russia!
You dim - descended, black, divine - soul'd African, large, fine - headed, nobly - form'd, superbly destin'd, on equal terms with me!
You Norwegian!
Swede!
Dane!
Icelander!
you Prussian!
You Spaniard of Spain!
you Portuguese!
You Frenchwoman and Frenchman of France!
You Belge!
you liberty - lover of the Netherlands!
(you stock whence I myself have descended;) You sturdy Austrian!
you Lombard!
Hun!
Bohemian!
farmer of Styria!
You neighbor of the Danube!
You working - man of the Rhine, the Elbe, or the Weser!
you working - woman too!
You Sardinian!
you Bavarian!
Swabian!
Saxon!
Wallachian!
Bulgarian!
You Roman!
Neapolitan!
you Greek!
You lithe matador in the arena at Seville!
You mountaineer living lawlessly on the Taurus or Caucasus!
You Bokh horse - herd watching your mares and stallions feeding!
You beautiful - bodied Persian at full speed in the saddle shooting arrows to the mark!
You Chinaman and Chinawoman of China!
you Tartar of Tartary!
You women of the earth subordinated at your tasks!
You Jew journeying in your old age through every risk to stand once on Syrian ground!
You other Jews waiting in all lands for your Messiah!
You thoughtful Armenian pondering by some stream of the Euphrates!
you peering amid the ruins of Nineveh!
you ascending mount Ararat!
You foot - worn pilgrim welcoming the far - away sparkle of the minarets of Mecca!
You sheiks along the stretch from Suez to Bab - el - mandeb ruling your families and tribes!
You olive - grower tending your fruit on fields of Nazareth, Damascus, or lake Tiberias!
You Thibet trader on the wide inland or bargaining in the shops of Lassa!
You Japanese man or woman!
you liver in Madagascar, Ceylon, Sumatra, Borneo!
All you continentals of Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia, indifferent of place!
All you on the numberless islands of the archipelagoes of the sea!
And you of centuries hence when you listen to me!
And you each and everywhere whom I specify not, but include just the same!
Health to you!
good will to you all, from me and America sent!
Each of us inevitable, Each of us limitless--each of us with his or her right upon the earth, Each of us allow'd the eternal purports of the earth, Each of us here as divinely as any is here.
12 You Hottentot with clicking palate!
you woolly - hair'd hordes!
You own'd persons dropping sweat - drops or blood - drops!
You human forms with the fathomless ever - impressive countenances of brutes!
You poor koboo whom the meanest of the rest look down upon for all your glimmering language and spirituality!
You dwarf'd Kamtschatkan, Greenlander, Lapp!
You Austral negro, naked, red, sooty, with protrusive lip, groveling, seeking your food!
You Caffre, Berber, Soudanese!
You haggard, uncouth, untutor'd Bedowee!
You plague - swarms in Madras, Nankin, Kaubul, Cairo!
You benighted roamer of Amazonia!
you Patagonian!
you Feejeeman!
I do not prefer others so very much before you either, I do not say one word against you, away back there where you stand, (You will come forward in due time to my side.)
13 My spirit has pass'd in compassion and determination around the whole earth, I have look'd for equals and lovers and found them ready for me in all lands, I think some divine rapport has equalized me with them.
What cities the light or warmth penetrates I penetrate those cities myself, All islands to which birds wing their way I wing my way myself.
Toward you all, in America's name, I raise high the perpendicular hand, I make the signal, To remain after me in sight forever, For all the haunts and homes of men.
[ BOOK VII ]
} Song of the Open Road
1 Afoot and light - hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good - fortune, I myself am good - fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road.
The earth, that is sufficient, I do not want the constellations any nearer, I know they are very well where they are, I know they suffice for those who belong to them.
(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens, I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go, I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them, I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)
2 You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here, I believe that much unseen is also here.
3 You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me.
You flagg'd walks of the cities!
you strong curbs at the edges!
You ferries!
you planks and posts of wharves!
you timber - lined side!
you distant ships!
You rows of houses!
you window - pierc'd facades!
you roofs!
You porches and entrances!
you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps!
you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements!
you trodden crossings!
From all that has touch'd you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me, From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me.
4 The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The picture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road.
O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me?
Do you say Venture not--if you leave me you are lost?
Do you say I am already prepared, I am well - beaten and undenied, adhere to me?
O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, You express me better than I can express myself, You shall be more to me than my poem.
I think heroic deeds were all conceiv'd in the open air, and all free poems also, I think I could stop here myself and do miracles, I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me, I think whoever I see must be happy.
I inhale great draughts of space, The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.
I am larger, better than I thought, I did not know I held so much goodness.
6 Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me, Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear'd it would not astonish me.
Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons, It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.
Here a great personal deed has room, (Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men, Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all authority and all argument against it.)
Now I re - examine philosophies and religions, They may prove well in lecture - rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents.
Here is realization, Here is a man tallied--he realizes here what he has in him, The past, the future, majesty, love--if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them.
Only the kernel of every object nourishes; Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me?
Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?
Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion'd, it is apropos; Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers?
Do you know the talk of those turning eye - balls?
7 Here is the efflux of the soul, The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower'd gates, ever provoking questions, These yearnings why are they?
these thoughts in the darkness why are they?
Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood?
Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?
(I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;) What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side?
What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by and pause?
What gives me to be free to a woman's and man's good - will?
what gives them to be free to mine?
8 The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness, I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times, Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.
Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old, From it falls distill'd the charm that mocks beauty and attainments, Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.
9 Allons!
whoever you are come travel with me!
Traveling with me you find what never tires.
The earth never tires, The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first, Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop'd, I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.
Allons!
10 Allons!
the inducements shall be greater, We will sail pathless and wild seas, We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail.
Allons!
with power, liberty, the earth, the elements, Health, defiance, gayety, self - esteem, curiosity; Allons!
from all formules!
From your formules, O bat - eyed and materialistic priests.
The stale cadaver blocks up the passage--the burial waits no longer.
Allons!
yet take warning!
(I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes, We convince by our presence.)
11 Listen!
12 Allons!
after the great Companions, and to belong to them!
13 Allons!
All parts away for the progress of souls, All religion, all solid things, arts, governments--all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe.
Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.
Forever alive, forever forward, Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied, Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men, They go!
they go!
I know that they go, but I know not where they go, But I know that they go toward the best--toward something great.
Whoever you are, come forth!
or man or woman come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.
Out of the dark confinement!
out from behind the screen!
It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it.
Behold through you as bad as the rest, Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people, Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash'd and trimm'd faces, Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.
14 Allons!
through struggles and wars!
The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.
Have the past struggles succeeded?
What has succeeded?
yourself?
your nation?
Nature?
Now understand me well--it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.
My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion, He going with me must go well arm'd, He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions.
15 Allons!
the road is before us!
It is safe--I have tried it--my own feet have tried it well--be not detain'd!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen'd!
Let the tools remain in the workshop!
let the money remain unearn'd!
Let the school stand!
mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit!
let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.
Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself before preaching or law; Will you give me yourselp.
will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
[ BOOK VIII ]
} Crossing Brooklyn Ferry
1 Flood - tide below me!
I see you face to face!
Clouds of the west--sun there half an hour high--I see you also face to face.
Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious you are to me!
On the ferry - boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home, are more curious to me than you suppose, And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.
5 What is it then between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?
6 It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall, The dark threw its patches down upon me also, The best I had done seem'd to me blank and suspicious, My great thoughts as I supposed them, were they not in reality meagre?
The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not wanting,
7 Closer yet I approach you, What thought you have of me now, I had as much of you--I laid in my stores in advance, I consider'd long and seriously of you before you were born.
Who was to know what should come home to me?
Who knows but I am enjoying this?
Who knows, for all the distance, but I am as good as looking at you now, for all you cannot see me?
8 Ah, what can ever be more stately and admirable to me than mast - hemm'd Manhattan?
River and sunset and scallop - edg'd waves of flood - tide?
The sea - gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay - boat in the twilight, and the belated lighter?
What gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest name as approach?
What is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that looks in my face?
Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you?
We understand then do we not?
What I promis'd without mentioning it, have you not accepted?
What the study could not teach--what the preaching could not accomplish is accomplish'd, is it not?
9 Flow on, river!
flow with the flood - tide, and ebb with the ebb - tide!
Frolic on, crested and scallop - edg'd waves!
Gorgeous clouds of the sunset!
drench with your splendor me, or the men and women generations after me!
Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers!
Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta!
stand up, beautiful hills of Brooklyn!
Throb, baffled and curious brain!
throw out questions and answers!
Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution!
Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house or street or public assembly!
Sound out, voices of young men!
loudly and musically call me by my nighest name!
Live, old life!
play the part that looks back on the actor or actress!
Play the old role, the role that is great or small according as one makes it!
Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown ways be looking upon you; Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet haste with the hasting current; Fly on, sea - birds!
fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in the air; Receive the summer sky, you water, and faithfully hold it till all downcast eyes have time to take it from you!
Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my head, or any one's head, in the sunlit water!
Come on, ships from the lower bay!
pass up or down, white - sail'd schooners, sloops, lighters!
Flaunt away, flags of all nations!
be duly lower'd at sunset!
Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys!
cast black shadows at nightfall!
cast red and yellow light over the tops of the houses!
[ BOOK IX ]
} Song of the Answerer
1 Now list to my morning's romanza, I tell the signs of the Answerer, To the cities and farms I sing as they spread in the sunshine before me.
A young man comes to me bearing a message from his brother, How shall the young man know the whether and when of his brother?
Tell him to send me the signs.
And I stand before the young man face to face, and take his right hand in my left hand and his left hand in my right hand, And I answer for his brother and for men, and I answer for him that answers for all, and send these signs.
Him all wait for, him all yield up to, his word is decisive and final, Him they accept, in him lave, in him perceive themselves as amid light, Him they immerse and he immerses them.
He puts things in their attitudes, He puts to - day out of himself with plasticity and love, He places his own times, reminiscences, parents, brothers and sisters, associations, employment, politics, so that the rest never shame them afterward, nor assume to command them.
He is the Answerer, What can be answer'd he answers, and what cannot be answer'd he shows how it cannot be answer'd.
A man is a summons and challenge, (It is vain to skulk--do you hear that mocking and laughter?
do you hear the ironical echoes?)
Books, friendships, philosophers, priests, action, pleasure, pride, beat up and down seeking to give satisfaction, He indicates the satisfaction, and indicates them that beat up and down also.
Whichever the sex, whatever the season or place, he may go freshly and gently and safely by day or by night, He has the pass - key of hearts, to him the response of the prying of hands on the knobs.
His welcome is universal, the flow of beauty is not more welcome or universal than he is, The person he favors by day or sleeps with at night is blessed.
Every existence has its idiom, every thing has an idiom and tongue, He resolves all tongues into his own and bestows it upon men, and any man translates, and any man translates himself also, One part does not counteract another part, he is the joiner, he sees how they join.
He says indifferently and alike How are you friend?
to the President at his levee, And he says Good - day my brother, to Cudge that hoes in the sugar - field, And both understand him and know that his speech is right.
He walks with perfect ease in the capitol, He walks among the Congress, and one Representative says to another, Here is our equal appearing and new.
The English believe he comes of their English stock, A Jew to the Jew he seems, a Russ to the Russ, usual and near, removed from none.
The gentleman of perfect blood acknowledges his perfect blood, The insulter, the prostitute, the angry person, the beggar, see themselves in the ways of him, he strangely transmutes them, They are not vile any more, they hardly know themselves they are so grown.
Divine instinct, breadth of vision, the law of reason, health, rudeness of body, withdrawnness, Gayety, sun - tan, air - sweetness, such are some of the words of poems.
The sailor and traveler underlie the maker of poems, the Answerer, The builder, geometer, chemist, anatomist, phrenologist, artist, all these underlie the maker of poems, the Answerer.
[ BOOK X ]
} Our Old Feuillage
Always our old feuillage!
how he smiles in his sleep!)
Whoever you are!
how can I but offer you divine leaves, that you also be eligible as I am?
How can I but as here chanting, invite you for yourself to collect bouquets of the incomparable feuillage of these States?
[ BOOK XI ]
} A Song of Joys
O to make the most jubilant song!
Full of music--full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Full of common employments--full of grain and trees.
O for the voices of animals--O for the swiftness and balance of fishes!
O for the dropping of raindrops in a song!
O for the sunshine and motion of waves in a song!
O the joy of my spirit--it is uncaged--it darts like lightning!
It is not enough to have this globe or a certain time, I will have thousands of globes and all time.
O the engineer's joys!
to go with a locomotive!
To hear the hiss of steam, the merry shriek, the steam - whistle, the laughing locomotive!
To push with resistless way and speed off in the distance.
O the gleesome saunter over fields and hillsides!
The leaves and flowers of the commonest weeds, the moist fresh stillness of the woods, The exquisite smell of the earth at daybreak, and all through the forenoon.
O the horseman's and horsewoman's joys!
The saddle, the gallop, the pressure upon the seat, the cool gurgling by the ears and hair.
O the fireman's joys!
I hear the alarm at dead of night, I hear bells, shouts!
I pass the crowd, I run!
The sight of the flames maddens me with pleasure.
O the joy of the strong - brawn'd fighter, towering in the arena in perfect condition, conscious of power, thirsting to meet his opponent.
O the joy of that vast elemental sympathy which only the human soul is capable of generating and emitting in steady and limitless floods.
O the mother's joys!
The watching, the endurance, the precious love, the anguish, the patiently yielded life.
O the of increase, growth, recuperation, The joy of soothing and pacifying, the joy of concord and harmony.
O to go back to the place where I was born, To hear the birds sing once more, To ramble about the house and barn and over the fields once more, And through the orchard and along the old lanes once more.
I go to all the places one after another, and then row back to the shore, There in a huge kettle of boiling water the lobsters shall be boil'd till their color becomes scarlet.
(O something pernicious and dread!
Something far away from a puny and pious life!
Something unproved!
something in a trance!
Something escaped from the anchorage and driving free.)
O to work in mines, or forging iron, Foundry casting, the foundry itself, the rude high roof, the ample and shadow'd space, The furnace, the hot liquid pour'd out and running.
O to resume the joys of the soldier!
To feel the presence of a brave commanding officer--to feel his sympathy!
To behold his calmness--to be warm'd in the rays of his smile!
To go to battle--to hear the bugles play and the drums beat!
To hear the crash of artillery--to see the glittering of the bayonets and musket - barrels in the sun!
To see men fall and die and not complain!
To taste the savage taste of blood--to be so devilish!
To gloat so over the wounds and deaths of the enemy.
O the whaleman's joys!
O I cruise my old cruise again!
I feel the ship's motion under me, I feel the Atlantic breezes fanning me, I hear the cry again sent down from the mast - head, There--she blows!
O the old manhood of me, my noblest joy of all!
My children and grand - children, my white hair and beard, My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the long stretch of my life.
O ripen'd joy of womanhood!
O happiness at last!
I am more than eighty years of age, I am the most venerable mother, How clear is my mind--how all people draw nigh to me!
What attractions are these beyond any before?
what bloom more than the bloom of youth?
What beauty is this that descends upon me and rises out of me?
O the orator's joys!
To inflate the chest, to roll the thunder of the voice out from the ribs and throat, To make the people rage, weep, hate, desire, with yourself, To lead America--to quell America with a great tongue.
O the farmer's joys!
Ohioan's, Illinoisian's, Wisconsinese ', Kanadian's, Iowan's, Kansian's, Missourian's, Oregonese'joys!
To rise at peep of day and pass forth nimbly to work, To plough land in the fall for winter - sown crops, To plough land in the spring for maize, To train orchards, to graft the trees, to gather apples in the fall.
O to bathe in the swimming - bath, or in a good place along shore, To splash the water!
to walk ankle - deep, or race naked along the shore.
O to realize space!
The plenteousness of all, that there are no bounds, To emerge and be of the sky, of the sun and moon and flying clouds, as one with them.
O the joy a manly self - hood!
Knowist thou the excellent joys of youth?
Joys of the dear companions and of the merry word and laughing face?
Joy of the glad light - beaming day, joy of the wide - breath'd games?
Joy of sweet music, joy of the lighted ball - room and the dancers?
Joy of the plenteous dinner, strong carouse and drinking?
Yet O my soul supreme!
Knowist thou the joys of pensive thought?
Joys of the free and lonesome heart, the tender, gloomy heart?
Joys of the solitary walk, the spirit bow'd yet proud, the suffering and the struggle?
The agonistic throes, the ecstasies, joys of the solemn musings day or night?
Joys of the thought of Death, the great spheres Time and Space?
Prophetic joys of better, loftier love's ideals, the divine wife, the sweet, eternal, perfect comrade?
Joys all thine own undying one, joys worthy thee O soul.
For not life's joys alone I sing, repeating--the joy of death!
O to attract by more than attraction!
How it is I know not--yet behold!
the something which obeys none of the rest, It is offensive, never defensive--yet how magnetic it draws.
O to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted!
To be entirely alone with them, to find how much one can stand!
To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, face to face!
To mount the scaffold, to advance to the muzzles of guns with perfect nonchalance!
To be indeed a God!
O to sail to sea in a ship!
To leave this steady unendurable land, To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the sidewalks and the houses, To leave you O you solid motionless land, and entering a ship, To sail and sail and sail!
O to have life henceforth a poem of new joys!
To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on, float on!
To be a sailor of the world bound for all ports, A ship itself, (see indeed these sails I spread to the sun and air,) A swift and swelling ship full of rich words, full of joys.
[ BOOK XII ]
} Song of the Broad - Axe
1 Weapon shapely, naked, wan, Head from the mother's bowels drawn, Wooded flesh and metal bone, limb only one and lip only one, Gray - blue leaf by red - heat grown, helve produced from a little seed sown, Resting the grass amid and upon, To be lean'd and to lean on.
Strong shapes and attributes of strong shapes, masculine trades, sights and sounds.
Long varied train of an emblem, dabs of music, Fingers of the organist skipping staccato over the keys of the great organ.
4 Muscle and pluck forever!
What do you think endures?
Do you think a great city endures?
Or a teeming manufacturing state?
or a prepared constitution?
or the best built steamships?
Or hotels of granite and iron?
or any chef - d'oeuvres of engineering, forts, armaments?
Away!
these are not to be cherish'd for themselves, They fill their hour, the dancers dance, the musicians play for them, The show passes, all does well enough of course, All does very well till one flash of defiance.
A great city is that which has the greatest men and women, If it be a few ragged huts it is still the greatest city in the whole world.
6 How beggarly appear arguments before a defiant deed!
How the floridness of the materials of cities shrivels before a man's or woman's look!
What is your money - making now?
what can it do now?
What is your respectability now?
What are your theology, tuition, society, traditions, statute - books, now?
Where are your jibes of being now?
Where are your cavils about the soul now?
8 I see the European headsman, He stands mask'd, clothed in red, with huge legs and strong naked arms, And leans on a ponderous axe.
(Whom have you slaughter'd lately European headsman?
Whose is that blood upon you so wet and sticky?)
I see the clear sunsets of the martyrs, I see from the scaffolds the descending ghosts, Ghosts of dead lords, uncrown'd ladies, impeach'd ministers, rejected kings, Rivals, traitors, poisoners, disgraced chieftains and the rest.
I see those who in any land have died for the good cause, The seed is spare, nevertheless the crop shall never run out, (Mind you O foreign kings, O priests, the crop shall never run out.)
I see the blood wash'd entirely away from the axe, Both blade and helve are clean, They spirt no more the blood of European nobles, they clasp no more the necks of queens.
I see the headsman withdraw and become useless, I see the scaffold untrodden and mouldy, I see no longer any axe upon it,
I see the mighty and friendly emblem of the power of my own race, the newest, largest race.
9 (America!
I do not vaunt my love for you, I have what I have.)
The axe leaps!
The shapes arise!
The shapes arise!
10 The shapes arise!
The shapes arise!
The shapes arise!
12 The main shapes arise!
Shapes of Democracy total, result of centuries, Shapes ever projecting other shapes, Shapes of turbulent manly cities, Shapes of the friends and home - givers of the whole earth, Shapes bracing the earth and braced with the whole earth.
[ BOOK XIII ]
} Song of the Exposition
1 (Ah little recks the laborer, How near his work is holding him to God, The loving Laborer through space and time.)
Long and long has the grass been growing, Long and long has the rain been falling, Long has the globe been rolling round.
3 Responsive to our summons, Or rather to her long - nurs'd inclination, Join'd with an irresistible, natural gravitation, She comes!
I hear the rustling of her gown, I scent the odor of her breath's delicious fragrance, I mark her step divine, her curious eyes a - turning, rolling, Upon this very scene.
The dame of dames!
can I believe then, Those ancient temples, sculptures classic, could none of them retain her?
Nor shades of Virgil and Dante, nor myriad memories, poems, old associations, magnetize and hold on to her?
But that she's left them all--and here?
pass'd!
4 But hold--don't I forget my manners?
To introduce the stranger, (what else indeed do I live to chant for?)
to thee Columbia; In liberty's name welcome immortal!
clasp hands, And ever henceforth sisters dear be both.
Fear not O Muse!
truly new ways and days receive, surround you, I candidly confess a queer, queer race, of novel fashion, And yet the same old human race, the same within, without, Faces and hearts the same, feelings the same, yearnings the same, The same old love, beauty and use the same.
5 We do not blame thee elder World, nor really separate ourselves from thee, (Would the son separate himself from the father?)
Looking back on thee, seeing thee to thy duties, grandeurs, through past ages bending, building, We build to ours to - day.
As in a waking vision, E'en while I chant I see it rise, I scan and prophesy outside and in, Its manifold ensemble.
Somewhere within their walls shall all that forwards perfect human life be started, Tried, taught, advanced, visibly exhibited.
Not only all the world of works, trade, products, But all the workmen of the world here to be represented.
In large calm halls, a stately museum shall teach you the infinite lessons of minerals, In another, woods, plants, vegetation shall be illustrated--in another animals, animal life and development.
One stately house shall be the music house, Others for other arts--learning, the sciences, shall all be here, None shall be slighted, none but shall here be honor'd, help'd, exampled.
6 (This, this and these, America, shall be your pyramids and obelisks, Your Alexandrian Pharos, gardens of Babylon, Your temple at Olympia.)
The male and female many laboring not, Shall ever here confront the laboring many, With precious benefits to both, glory to all, To thee America, and thee eternal Muse.
And here shall ye inhabit powerful Matrons!
7 Away with themes of war!
away with war itself!
Hence from my shuddering sight to never more return that show of blacken'd, mutilated corpses!
That hell unpent and raid of blood, fit for wild tigers or for lop - tongued wolves, not reasoning men, And in its stead speed industry's campaigns, With thy undaunted armies, engineering, Thy pennants labor, loosen'd to the breeze, Thy bugles sounding loud and clear.
Away with old romance!
8 And thou America, Thy offspring towering e'er so high, yet higher Thee above all towering, With Victory on thy left, and at thy right hand Law; Thou Union holding all, fusing, absorbing, tolerating all, Thee, ever thee, I sing.
Thou, also thou, a World, With all thy wide geographies, manifold, different, distant, Rounded by thee in one--one common orbic language, One common indivisible destiny for All.
And by the spells which ye vouchsafe to those your ministers in earnest, I here personify and call my themes, to make them pass before ye.
Behold, America!
(and thou, ineffable guest and sister!)
For thee come trooping up thy waters and thy lands; Behold!
thy fields and farms, thy far - off woods and mountains, As in procession coming.
Behold, the sea itself, And on its limitless, heaving breast, the ships; See, where their white sails, bellying in the wind, speckle the green and blue, See, the steamers coming and going, steaming in or out of port, See, dusky and undulating, the long pennants of smoke.
Behold, in Oregon, far in the north and west, Or in Maine, far in the north and east, thy cheerful axemen, Wielding all day their axes.
Behold, on the lakes, thy pilots at their wheels, thy oarsmen, How the ash writhes under those muscular arms!
There by the furnace, and there by the anvil, Behold thy sturdy blacksmiths swinging their sledges, Overhand so steady, overhand they turn and fall with joyous clank, Like a tumult of laughter.
Mark the spirit of invention everywhere, thy rapid patents, Thy continual workshops, foundries, risen or rising, See, from their chimneys how the tall flame - fires stream.
All thine O sacred Union!
Ships, farms, shops, barns, factories, mines, City and State, North, South, item and aggregate, We dedicate, dread Mother, all to thee!
Protectress absolute, thou!
bulwark of all!
For well we know that while thou givest each and all, (generous as God,) Without thee neither all nor each, nor land, home, Nor ship, nor mine, nor any here this day secure, Nor aught, nor any day secure.
9 And thou, the Emblem waving over all!
Now here and these and hence in peace, all thine O Flag!
And here and hence for thee, O universal Muse!
and thou for them!
And here and hence O Union, all the work and workmen thine!
None separate from thee--henceforth One only, we and thou, (For the blood of the children, what is it, only the blood maternal?
And lives and works, what are they all at last, except the roads to faith and death?)
While we rehearse our measureless wealth, it is for thee, dear Mother, We own it all and several to - day indissoluble in thee; Think not our chant, our show, merely for products gross or lucre--it is for thee, the soul in thee, electric, spiritual!
Our farms, inventions, crops, we own in thee!
cities and States in thee!
Our freedom all in thee!
our very lives in thee!
[ BOOK XIV ]
} Song of the Redwood - Tree
1 A California song, A prophecy and indirection, a thought impalpable to breathe as air, A chorus of dryads, fading, departing, or hamadryads departing, A murmuring, fateful, giant voice, out of the earth and sky, Voice of a mighty dying tree in the redwood forest dense.
Farewell my brethren, Farewell O earth and sky, farewell ye neighboring waters, My time has ended, my term has come.
The choppers heard not, the camp shanties echoed not, The quick - ear'd teamsters and chain and jack - screw men heard not, As the wood - spirits came from their haunts of a thousand years to join the refrain, But in my soul I plainly heard.
Murmuring out of its myriad leaves, Down from its lofty top rising two hundred feet high, Out of its stalwart trunk and limbs, out of its foot - thick bark, That chant of the seasons and time, chant not of the past only but the future.
Nor yield we mournfully majestic brothers, We who have grandly fill'd our time, With Nature's calm content, with tacit huge delight, We welcome what we wrought for through the past, And leave the field for them.
For them predicted long, For a superber race, they too to grandly fill their time, For them we abdicate, in them ourselves ye forest kings.'
In them these skies and airs, these mountain peaks, Shasta, Nevadas, These huge precipitous cliffs, this amplitude, these valleys, far Yosemite, To be in them absorb'd, assimilated.
Then to a loftier strain, Still prouder, more ecstatic rose the chant, As if the heirs, the deities of the West, Joining with master - tongue bore part.
3 But more in you than these, lands of the Western shore, (These but the means, the implements, the standing - ground,) I see in you, certain to come, the promise of thousands of years, till now deferr'd, Promis'd to be fulfill'd, our common kind, the race.
The new society at last, proportionate to Nature, In man of you, more than your mountain peaks or stalwart trees imperial, In woman more, far more, than all your gold or vines, or even vital air.
Fresh come, to a new world indeed, yet long prepared, I see the genius of the modern, child of the real and ideal, Clearing the ground for broad humanity, the true America, heir of the past so grand, To build a grander future.
[ BOOK XV ]
} A Song for Occupations
1 A song for occupations!
In the labor of engines and trades and the labor of fields I find the developments, And find the eternal meanings.
Workmen and Workwomen!
Were all educations practical and ornamental well display'd out of me, what would it amount to?
Were I as the head teacher, charitable proprietor, wise statesman, what would it amount to?
Were I to you as the boss employing and paying you, would that satisfy you?
The learn'd, virtuous, benevolent, and the usual terms, A man like me and never the usual terms.
Neither a servant nor a master I, I take no sooner a large price than a small price, I will have my own whoever enjoys me, I will be even with you and you shall be even with me.
If you carouse at the table I carouse at the opposite side of the table, If you meet some stranger in the streets and love him or her, why I often meet strangers in the street and love them.
Why what have you thought of yourself?
Is it you then that thought yourself less?
Is it you that thought the President greater than you?
Or the rich better off than you?
or the educated wiser than you?
(Because you are greasy or pimpled, or were once drunk, or a thief, Or that you are diseas'd, or rheumatic, or a prostitute, Or from frivolity or impotence, or that you are no scholar and never saw your name in print, Do you give in that you are any less immortal?)
2 Souls of men and women!
it is not you I call unseen, unheard, untouchable and untouching, It is not you I go argue pro and con about, and to settle whether you are alive or no, I own publicly who you are, if nobody else owns.
Grown, half - grown and babe, of this country and every country, in - doors and out - doors, one just as much as the other, I see, And all else behind or through them.
The wife, and she is not one jot less than the husband, The daughter, and she is just as good as the son, The mother, and she is every bit as much as the father.
I bring what you much need yet always have, Not money, amours, dress, eating, erudition, but as good, I send no agent or medium, offer no representative of value, but offer the value itself.
Have you reckon'd them for your trade or farm - work?
or for the profits of your store?
Or to achieve yourself a position?
or to fill a gentleman's leisure, or a lady's leisure?
Have you reckon'd that the landscape took substance and form that it might be painted in a picture?
Or men and women that they might be written of, and songs sung?
Or the attraction of gravity, and the great laws and harmonious combinations and the fluids of the air, as subjects for the savans?
Or the brown land and the blue sea for maps and charts?
Or the stars to be put in constellations and named fancy names?
Or that the growth of seeds is for agricultural tables, or agriculture itself?
Old institutions, these arts, libraries, legends, collections, and the practice handed along in manufactures, will we rate them so high?
Will we rate our cash and business high?
I have no objection, I rate them as high as the highest--then a child born of a woman and man I rate beyond all rate.
We thought our Union grand, and our Constitution grand, I do not say they are not grand and good, for they are, I am this day just as much in love with them as you, Then I am in love with You, and with all my fellows upon the earth.
The most renown'd poems would be ashes, orations and plays would be vacuums.
All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it, (Did you think it was in the white or gray stone?
or the lines of the arches and cornices?)
5 Will the whole come back then?
Can each see signs of the best by a look in the looking - glass?
is there nothing greater or more?
Does all sit there with you, with the mystic unseen soul?
Strange and hard that paradox true I give, Objects gross and the unseen soul are one.
whoever you are, your daily life!
I do not affirm that what you see beyond is futile, I do not advise you to stop, I do not say leadings you thought great are not great, But I say that none lead to greater than these lead to.
6 Will you seek afar off?
When the psalm sings instead of the singer,
[ BOOK XVI ]
} A Song of the Rolling Earth
1 A song of the rolling earth, and of words according, Were you thinking that those were the words, those upright lines?
those curves, angles, dots?
No, those are not the words, the substantial words are in the ground and sea, They are in the air, they are in you.
Were you thinking that those were the words, those delicious sounds out of your friends'mouths?
No, the real words are more delicious than they.
Human bodies are words, myriads of words, (In the best poems re - appears the body, man's or woman's, well - shaped, natural, gay, Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame.)
Air, soil, water, fire--those are words, I myself am a word with them--my qualities interpenetrate with theirs--my name is nothing to them, Though it were told in the three thousand languages, what would air, soil, water, fire, know of my name?
A healthy presence, a friendly or commanding gesture, are words, sayings, meanings, The charms that go with the mere looks of some men and women, are sayings and meanings also.
The workmanship of souls is by those inaudible words of the earth, The masters know the earth's words and use them more than audible words.
Amelioration is one of the earth's words, The earth neither lags nor hastens, It has all attributes, growths, effects, latent in itself from the jump, It is not half beautiful only, defects and excrescences show just as much as perfections show.
To bear, to better, lacking these of what avail am I?
(Accouche!
accouchez!
Will you rot your own fruit in yourself there?
Will you squat and stifle there?)
To her children the words of the eloquent dumb great mother never fail, The true words do not fail, for motion does not fail and reflection does not fall, Also the day and night do not fall, and the voyage we pursue does not fall.
Of the interminable sisters, Of the ceaseless cotillons of sisters, Of the centripetal and centrifugal sisters, the elder and younger sisters, The beautiful sister we know dances on with the rest.
Embracing man, embracing all, proceed the three hundred and sixty - five resistlessly round the sun; Embracing all, soothing, supporting, follow close three hundred and sixty - five offsets of the first, sure and necessary as they.
2 Whoever you are!
motion and reflection are especially for you, The divine ship sails the divine sea for you.
Whoever you are!
you are he or she for whom the earth is solid and liquid, You are he or she for whom the sun and moon hang in the sky, For none more than you are the present and the past, For none more than you is immortality.
Each man to himself and each woman to herself, is the word of the past and present, and the true word of immortality; No one can acquire for another--not one, Not one can grow for another--not one.
3 I swear the earth shall surely be complete to him or her who shall be complete, The earth remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains jagged and broken.
I swear I begin to see love with sweeter spasms than that which responds love, It is that which contains itself, which never invites and never refuses.
I swear I see what is better than to tell the best, It is always to leave the best untold.
When I undertake to tell the best I find I cannot, My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots, My breath will not be obedient to its organs, I become a dumb man.
4 These to echo the tones of souls and the phrases of souls, (If they did not echo the phrases of souls what were they then?
If they had not reference to you in especial what were they then?)
I swear I will never henceforth have to do with the faith that tells the best, I will have to do only with that faith that leaves the best untold.
Say on, sayers!
sing on, singers!
Delve!
mould!
pile the words of the earth!
Work on, age after age, nothing is to be lost, It may have to wait long, but it will certainly come in use, When the materials are all prepared and ready, the architects shall appear.
} Youth, Day, Old Age and Night
Youth, large, lusty, loving--youth full of grace, force, fascination, Do you know that Old Age may come after you with equal grace, force, fascination?
Day full - blown and splendid - day of the immense sun, action, ambition, laughter, The Night follows close with millions of suns, and sleep and restoring darkness.
[ BOOK XVII.
BIRDS OF PASSAGE ]
} Song of the Universal
1 Come said the Muse, Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted, Sing me the universal.
In this broad earth of ours, Amid the measureless grossness and the slag, Enclosed and safe within its central heart, Nestles the seed perfection.
By every life a share or more or less, None born but it is born, conceal'd or unconceal'd the seed is waiting.
2 Lo!
keen - eyed towering science, As from tall peaks the modern overlooking, Successive absolute fiats issuing.
Yet again, lo!
the soul, above all science, For it has history gather'd like husks around the globe, For it the entire star - myriads roll through the sky.
In spiral routes by long detours, (As a much - tacking ship upon the sea,) For it the partial to the permanent flowing, For it the real to the ideal tends.
For it the mystic evolution, Not the right only justified, what we call evil also justified.
Forth from their masks, no matter what, From the huge festering trunk, from craft and guile and tears, Health to emerge and joy, joy universal.
Out of the bulk, the morbid and the shallow, Out of the bad majority, the varied countless frauds of men and states, Electric, antiseptic yet, cleaving, suffusing all, Only the good is universal.
3 Over the mountain - growths disease and sorrow, An uncaught bird is ever hovering, hovering, High in the purer, happier air.
From imperfection's murkiest cloud, Darts always forth one ray of perfect light, One flash of heaven's glory.
To fashion's, custom's discord, To the mad Babel - din, the deafening orgies, Soothing each lull a strain is heard, just heard, From some far shore the final chorus sounding.
O the blest eyes, the happy hearts, That see, that know the guiding thread so fine, Along the mighty labyrinth.
4 And thou America, For the scheme's culmination, its thought and its reality, For these (not for thyself) thou hast arrived.
Thou too surroundest all, Embracing carrying welcoming all, thou too by pathways broad and new, To the ideal tendest.
The measure'd faiths of other lands, the grandeurs of the past, Are not for thee, but grandeurs of thine own, Deific faiths and amplitudes, absorbing, comprehending all, All eligible to all.
All, all for immortality, Love like the light silently wrapping all, Nature's amelioration blessing all, The blossoms, fruits of ages, orchards divine and certain, Forms, objects, growths, humanities, to spiritual images ripening.
Give me O God to sing that thought, Give me, give him or her I love this quenchless faith, In Thy ensemble, whatever else withheld withhold not from us, Belief in plan of Thee enclosed in Time and Space, Health, peace, salvation universal.
Is it a dream?
Nay but the lack of it the dream, And failing it life's lore and wealth a dream, And all the world a dream.
} Pioneers!
O Pioneers!
Come my tan - faced children, Follow well in order, get your weapons ready, Have you your pistols?
have you your sharp - edged axes?
Pioneers!
O pioneers!
For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
O you youths, Western youths, So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship, Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
Have the elder races halted?
Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas?
We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
All the past we leave behind, We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world, Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
We detachments steady throwing, Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep, Conquering, holding, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
We primeval forests felling, We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within, We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
Colorado men are we, From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus, From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
From Nebraska, from Arkansas, Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental blood intervein'd, All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the Northern, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
O resistless restless race!
O beloved race in all!
O my breast aches with tender love for all!
O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
Raise the mighty mother mistress, Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress, (bend your heads all,) Raise the fang'd and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon'd mistress, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
See my children, resolute children, By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or falter, Ages back in ghostly millions frowning there behind us urging, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
On and on the compact ranks, With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly fill'd, Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
O to die advancing on!
Are there some of us to droop and die?
has the hour come?
Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill'd.
Pioneers!
O pioneers!
All the pulses of the world, Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement beat, Holding single or together, steady moving to the front, all for us, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
Life's involv'd and varied pageants, All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work, All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
All the hapless silent lovers, All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked, All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
I too with my soul and body, We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way, Through these shores amid the shadows, with the apparitions pressing, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
Lo, the darting bowling orb!
Lo, the brother orbs around, all the clustering suns and planets, All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
These are of us, they are with us, All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait behind, We to - day's procession heading, we the route for travel clearing, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
O you daughters of the West!
O you young and elder daughters!
O you mothers and you wives!
Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
Minstrels latent on the prairies!
(Shrouded bards of other lands, you may rest, you have done your work,) Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
Not for delectations sweet, Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious, Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
Do the feasters gluttonous feast?
Do the corpulent sleepers sleep?
have they lock'd and bolted doors?
Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
Has the night descended?
Was the road of late so toilsome?
did we stop discouraged nodding on our way?
Yet a passing hour I yield you in your tracks to pause oblivious, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
Till with sound of trumpet, Far, far off the daybreak call--hark!
how loud and clear I hear it wind, Swift!
to the head of the army!-- swift!
spring to your places, Pioneers!
O pioneers!
} To You
They stand forth out of affairs, out of commerce, shops, work, farms, clothes, the house, buying, selling, eating, drinking, suffering, dying.
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your ear.
I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you.
O I have been dilatory and dumb, I should have made my way straight to you long ago, I should have blabb'd nothing but you, I should have chanted nothing but you.
O I could sing such grandeurs and glories about you!
There is no endowment in man or woman that is not tallied in you, There is no virtue, no beauty in man or woman, but as good is in you, No pluck, no endurance in others, but as good is in you, No pleasure waiting for others, but an equal pleasure waits for you.
As for me, I give nothing to any one except I give the like carefully to you, I sing the songs of the glory of none, not God, sooner than I sing the songs of the glory of you.
Whoever you are!
claim your own at any hazard!
} France [ the 18th Year of these States ]
A great year and place A harsh discordant natal scream out - sounding, to touch the mother's heart closer than any yet.
Pale, silent, stern, what could I say to that long - accrued retribution?
Could I wish humanity different?
Could I wish the people made of wood and stone?
Or that there be no justice in destiny or time?
O Liberty!
O mate for me!
Here too the blaze, the grape - shot and the axe, in reserve, to fetch them out in case of need, Here too, though long represt, can never be destroy'd, Here too could rise at last murdering and ecstatic, Here too demanding full arrears of vengeance.
} Myself and Mine
Myself and mine gymnastic ever, To stand the cold or heat, to take good aim with a gun, to sail a boat, to manage horses, to beget superb children, To speak readily and clearly, to feel at home among common people, And to hold our own in terrible positions on land and sea.
Not for an embroiderer, (There will always be plenty of embroiderers, I welcome them also,) But for the fibre of things and for inherent men and women.
Not to chisel ornaments, But to chisel with free stroke the heads and limbs of plenteous supreme Gods, that the States may realize them walking and talking.
Let me have my own way, Let others promulge the laws, I will make no account of the laws, Let others praise eminent men and hold up peace, I hold up agitation and conflict, I praise no eminent man, I rebuke to his face the one that was thought most worthy.
(Who are you?
and what are you secretly guilty of all your life?
Will you turn aside all your life?
will you grub and chatter all your life?
And who are you, blabbing by rote, years, pages, languages, reminiscences, Unwitting to - day that you do not know how to speak properly a single word?)
Let others finish specimens, I never finish specimens, I start them by exhaustless laws as Nature does, fresh and modern continually.
I give nothing as duties, What others give as duties I give as living impulses, (Shall I give the heart's action as a duty?)
Let others dispose of questions, I dispose of nothing, I arouse unanswerable questions, Who are they I see and touch, and what about them?
What about these likes of myself that draw me so close by tender directions and indirections?
After me, vista!
O I see life is not short, but immeasurably long, I henceforth tread the world chaste, temperate, an early riser, a steady grower, Every hour the semen of centuries, and still of centuries.
I must follow up these continual lessons of the air, water, earth, I perceive I have no time to lose.
} Year of Meteors [ 1859 - 60 ]
Year of meteors!
brooding year!
welcome to you from me, young prince of England!
(Remember you surging Manhattan's crowds as you pass'd with your cortege of nobles?
Year of comets and meteors transient and strange--lo!
even here one equally transient and strange!
As I flit through you hastily, soon to fall and be gone, what is this chant, What am I myself but one of your meteors?
} With Antecedents
sending itself ahead countless years to come.
As for me, (torn, stormy, amid these vehement days,) I have the idea of all, and am all and believe in all, I believe materialism is true and spiritualism is true, I reject no part.
(Have I forgotten any part?
any thing in the past?
Come to me whoever and whatever, till I give you recognition.)
3 In the name of these States and in your and my name, the Past, And in the name of these States and in your and my name, the Present time.
[ BOOK XVIII ]
} A Broadway Pageant
1 Over the Western sea hither from Niphon come, Courteous, the swart - cheek'd two - sworded envoys, Leaning back in their open barouches, bare - headed, impassive, Ride to - day through Manhattan.
Libertad!
I do not know whether others behold what I behold, In the procession along with the nobles of Niphon, the errand - bearers, Bringing up the rear, hovering above, around, or in the ranks marching, But I will sing you a song of what I behold Libertad.
2 Superb - faced Manhattan!
Comrade Americanos!
to us, then at last the Orient comes.
To us, my city, Where our tall - topt marble and iron beauties range on opposite sides, to walk in the space between, To - day our Antipodes comes.
See my cantabile!
these and more are flashing to us from the procession, As it moves changing, a kaleidoscope divine it moves changing before us.
Geography, the world, is in it, The Great Sea, the brood of islands, Polynesia, the coast beyond, The coast you henceforth are facing--you Libertad!
for themselves and for you.
3 And you Libertad of the world!
You shall sit in the middle well - pois'd thousands and thousands of years, As to - day from one side the nobles of Asia come to you, As to - morrow from the other side the queen of England sends her eldest son to you.
The sign is reversing, the orb is enclosed, The ring is circled, the journey is done, The box - lid is but perceptibly open'd, nevertheless the perfume pours copiously out of the whole box.
Young Libertad!
with the venerable Asia, the all - mother, Be considerate with her now and ever hot Libertad, for you are all, Bend your proud neck to the long - off mother now sending messages over the archipelagoes to you, Bend your proud neck low for once, young Libertad.
Here the children straying westward so long?
so wide the tramping?
Were the precedent dim ages debouching westward from Paradise so long?
Were the centuries steadily footing it that way, all the while unknown, for you, for reasons?
They are justified, they are accomplish'd, they shall now be turn'd the other way also, to travel toward you thence, They shall now also march obediently eastward for your sake Libertad.
[ BOOK XIX.
SEA - DRIFT ]
} Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking
Shine!
shine!
shine!
Pour down your warmth, great sun.'
While we bask, we two together.
Two together!
Winds blow south, or winds blow north, Day come white, or night come black, Home, or rivers and mountains from home, Singing all time, minding no time, While we two keep together.
Till of a sudden, May - be kill'd, unknown to her mate, One forenoon the she - bird crouch'd not on the nest, Nor return'd that afternoon, nor the next, Nor ever appear'd again.
Blow!
blow!
blow!
Blow up sea - winds along Paumanok's shore; I wait and I wait till you blow my mate to me.
Yes, when the stars glisten'd, All night long on the prong of a moss - scallop'd stake, Down almost amid the slapping waves, Sat the lone singer wonderful causing tears.
He call'd on his mate, He pour'd forth the meanings which I of all men know.
Listen'd to keep, to sing, now translating the notes, Following you my brother.
Soothe!
soothe!
soothe!
Close on its wave soothes the wave behind, And again another behind embracing and lapping, every one close, But my love soothes not me, not me.
Low hangs the moon, it rose late, It is lagging--O I think it is heavy with love, with love.
O madly the sea pushes upon the land, With love, with love.
O night!
do I not see my love fluttering out among the breakers?
What is that little black thing I see there in the white?
Loud!
loud!
loud!
Loud I call to you, my love!
High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves, Surely you must know who is here, is here, You must know who I am, my love.
Low - hanging moon!
What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow?
O it is the shape, the shape of my mate.'
O moon do not keep her from me any longer.
Land!
land!
O land!
Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate back again if you only would, For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look.
O rising stars!
Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you.
O throat!
O trembling throat!
Sound clearer through the atmosphere!
Pierce the woods, the earth, Somewhere listening to catch you must be the one I want.
Shake out carols!
Solitary here, the night's carols!
Carols of lonesome love!
death's carols!
Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon!
O under that moon where she droops almost down into the sea!
O reckless despairing carols.
But soft!
sink low!
Soft!
let me just murmur, And do you wait a moment you husky - nois'd sea, For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me, So faint, I must be still, be still to listen, But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately to me.
Hither my love!
Here I am!
here!
With this just - sustain'd note I announce myself to you, This gentle call is for you my love, for you.
Do not be decoy'd elsewhere, That is the whistle of the wind, it is not my voice, That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray, Those are the shadows of leaves.
O darkness!
O in vain!
O I am very sick and sorrowful
O brown halo in the sky near the moon, drooping upon the sea!
O troubled reflection in the sea!
O throat!
O throbbing heart!
And I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night.
O past!
O happy life!
O songs of joy!
In the air, in the woods, over fields, Loved!
loved!
loved!
loved!
loved!
But my mate no more, no more with me!
We two together no more.
Demon or bird!
(said the boy's soul,) Is it indeed toward your mate you sing?
or is it really to me?
O give me the clue!
(it lurks in the night here somewhere,) O if I am to have so much, let me have more!
A word then, (for I will conquer it,) The word final, superior to all, Subtle, sent up--what is it?-- I listen; Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea - waves?
Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?
Which I do not forget.
} As I Ebb'd with the Ocean of Life
I perceive I have not really understood any thing, not a single object, and that no man ever can, Nature here in sight of the sea taking advantage of me to dart upon me and sting me, Because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all.
3 You oceans both, I close with you, We murmur alike reproachfully rolling sands and drift, knowing not why, These little shreds indeed standing for you and me and all.
You friable shore with trails of debris, You fish - shaped island, I take what is underfoot, What is yours is mine my father.
I too Paumanok, I too have bubbled up, floated the measureless float, and been wash'd on your shores, I too am but a trail of drift and debris, I too leave little wrecks upon you, you fish - shaped island.
I throw myself upon your breast my father, I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me, I hold you so firm till you answer me something.
Kiss me my father, Touch me with your lips as I touch those I love, Breathe to me while I hold you close the secret of the murmuring I envy.
4 Ebb, ocean of life, (the flow will return,) Cease not your moaning you fierce old mother, Endlessly cry for your castaways, but fear not, deny not me, Rustle not up so hoarse and angry against my feet as I touch you or gather from you.
I mean tenderly by you and all, I gather for myself and for this phantom looking down where we lead, and following me and mine.
} Tears
Tears!
tears!
tears!
In the night, in solitude, tears, On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck'd in by the sand, Tears, not a star shining, all dark and desolate, Moist tears from the eyes of a muffled head; O who is that ghost?
that form in the dark, with tears?
What shapeless lump is that, bent, crouch'd there on the sand?
Streaming tears, sobbing tears, throes, choked with wild cries; O storm, embodied, rising, careering with swift steps along the beach!
O wild and dismal night storm, with wind--O belching and desperate!
O shade so sedate and decorous by day, with calm countenance and regulated pace, But away at night as you fly, none looking--O then the unloosen'd ocean, Of tears!
tears!
tears!
} To the Man - of - War - Bird
Thou who hast slept all night upon the storm, Waking renew'd on thy prodigious pinions, (Burst the wild storm?
above it thou ascended'st, And rested on the sky, thy slave that cradled thee,) Now a blue point, far, far in heaven floating, As to the light emerging here on deck I watch thee, (Myself a speck, a point on the world's floating vast.)
Far, far at sea, After the night's fierce drifts have strewn the shore with wrecks, With re - appearing day as now so happy and serene, The rosy and elastic dawn, the flashing sun, The limpid spread of air cerulean, Thou also re - appearest.
what joys were thine!
} Aboard at a Ship's Helm
Aboard at a ship's helm, A young steersman steering with care.
Through fog on a sea - coast dolefully ringing, An ocean - bell--O a warning bell, rock'd by the waves.
O you give good notice indeed, you bell by the sea - reefs ringing, Ringing, ringing, to warn the ship from its wreck - place.
For as on the alert O steersman, you mind the loud admonition, The bows turn, the freighted ship tacking speeds away under her gray sails, The beautiful and noble ship with all her precious wealth speeds away gayly and safe.
But O the ship, the immortal ship!
O ship aboard the ship!
Ship of the body, ship of the soul, voyaging, voyaging, voyaging.
} On the Beach at Night
On the beach at night, Stands a child with her father, Watching the east, the autumn sky.
From the beach the child holding the hand of her father, Those burial - clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all, Watching, silently weeps.
Then dearest child mournest thou only for jupiter?
Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?
} The World below the Brine
} On the Beach at Night Alone
On the beach at night alone, As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song, As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes and of the future.
} Song for All Seas, All Ships
Of sea - captains young or old, and the mates, and of all intrepid sailors, Of the few, very choice, taciturn, whom fate can never surprise nor death dismay.
Pick'd sparingly without noise by thee old ocean, chosen by thee, Thou sea that pickest and cullest the race in time, and unitest nations, Suckled by thee, old husky nurse, embodying thee, Indomitable, untamed as thee.
(Ever the heroes on water or on land, by ones or twos appearing, Ever the stock preserv'd and never lost, though rare, enough for seed preserv'd.)
2 Flaunt out O sea your separate flags of nations!
Flaunt out visible as ever the various ship - signals!
} Patroling Barnegat
is that a wreck?
is the red signal flaring?)
} After the Sea - Ship
[ BOOK XX.
BY THE ROADSIDE ]
} A Boston Ballad [ 1854 ]
To get betimes in Boston town I rose this morning early, Here's a good place at the corner, I must stand and see the show.
Clear the way there Jonathan!
Way for the President's marshal--way for the government cannon!
Way for the Federal foot and dragoons, (and the apparitions copiously tumbling.)
I love to look on the Stars and Stripes, I hope the fifes will play Yankee Doodle.
How bright shine the cutlasses of the foremost troops!
Every man holds his revolver, marching stiff through Boston town.
A fog follows, antiques of the same come limping, Some appear wooden - legged, and some appear bandaged and bloodless.
Why this is indeed a show--it has called the dead out of the earth!
The old graveyards of the hills have hurried to see!
Phantoms!
phantoms countless by flank and rear!
Cock'd hats of mothy mould--crutches made of mist!
Arms in slings--old men leaning on young men's shoulders.
What troubles you Yankee phantoms?
what is all this chattering of bare gums?
Does the ague convulse your limbs?
do you mistake your crutches for firelocks and level them?
If you blind your eyes with tears you will not see the President's marshal, If you groan such groans you might balk the government cannon.
For shame old maniacs--bring down those toss'd arms, and let your white hair be, Here gape your great grandsons, their wives gaze at them from the windows, See how well dress'd, see how orderly they conduct themselves.
Worse and worse--can't you stand it?
are you retreating?
Is this hour with the living too dead for you?
Retreat then--pell - mell!
To your graves--back--back to the hills old limpers!
I do not think you belong here anyhow.
But there is one thing that belongs here--shall I tell you what it is, gentlemen of Boston?
Now call for the President's marshal again, bring out the government cannon, Fetch home the roarers from Congress, make another procession, guard it with foot and dragoons.
This centre - piece for them; Look, all orderly citizens--look from the windows, women!
The committee open the box, set up the regal ribs, glue those that will not stay, Clap the skull on top of the ribs, and clap a crown on top of the skull.
You have got your revenge, old buster--the crown is come to its own, and more than its own.
Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan--you are a made man from this day, You are mighty cute--and here is one of your bargains.
} Europe [ The 72d and 73d Years of These States ]
Suddenly out of its stale and drowsy lair, the lair of slaves, Like lightning it le'pt forth half startled at itself, Its feet upon the ashes and the rags, its hands tight to the throats of kings.
O hope and faith!
O aching close of exiled patriots'lives!
O many a sicken'd heart!
Turn back unto this day and make yourselves afresh.
And you, paid to defile the People--you liars, mark!
Not for numberless agonies, murders, lusts, For court thieving in its manifold mean forms, worming from his simplicity the poor man's wages, For many a promise sworn by royal lips and broken and laugh'd at in the breaking,
Then in their power not for all these did the blows strike revenge, or the heads of the nobles fall; The People scorn'd the ferocity of kings.
But the sweetness of mercy brew'd bitter destruction, and the frighten'd monarchs come back, Each comes in state with his train, hangman, priest, tax - gatherer, Soldier, lawyer, lord, jailer, and sycophant.
Meanwhile corpses lie in new - made graves, bloody corpses of young men, The rope of the gibbet hangs heavily, the bullets of princes are flying, the creatures of power laugh aloud, And all these things bear fruits, and they are good.
Those corpses of young men, Those martyrs that hang from the gibbets, those hearts pierc'd by the gray lead, Cold and motionless as they seem live elsewhere with unslaughter'd vitality.
They live in other young men O kings!
They live in brothers again ready to defy you, They were purified by death, they were taught and exalted.
Not a grave of the murder'd for freedom but grows seed for freedom, in its turn to bear seed, Which the winds carry afar and re - sow, and the rains and the snows nourish.
Not a disembodied spirit can the weapons of tyrants let loose, But it stalks invisibly over the earth, whispering, counseling, cautioning.
Liberty, let others despair of you--I never despair of you.
Is the house shut?
is the master away?
Nevertheless, be ready, be not weary of watching, He will soon return, his messengers come anon.
} A Hand - Mirror
Hold it up sternly--see this it sends back, (who is it?
is it you?)
} Gods
Lover divine and perfect Comrade, Waiting content, invisible yet, but certain, Be thou my God.
Thou, thou, the Ideal Man, Fair, able, beautiful, content, and loving, Complete in body and dilate in spirit, Be thou my God.
O Death, (for Life has served its turn,) Opener and usher to the heavenly mansion, Be thou my God.
Aught, aught of mightiest, best I see, conceive, or know, (To break the stagnant tie--thee, thee to free, O soul,) Be thou my God.
All great ideas, the races'aspirations, All heroisms, deeds of rapt enthusiasts, Be ye my Gods.
Or Time and Space, Or shape of Earth divine and wondrous, Or some fair shape I viewing, worship, Or lustrous orb of sun or star by night, Be ye my Gods.
} Germs
} Thoughts
} When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer
} Perfections
Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves, As souls only understand souls.
} O Me!
O Life!
O me!
O life!
of the questions of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish, Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew'd, Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me, Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined, The question, O me!
so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here--that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
} To a President
} I Sit and Look Out
} To Rich Givers
What you give me I cheerfully accept, A little sustenance, a hut and garden, a little money, as I rendezvous with my poems, A traveler's lodging and breakfast as journey through the States,-- why should I be ashamed to own such gifts?
why to advertise for them?
For I myself am not one who bestows nothing upon man and woman, For I bestow upon any man or woman the entrance to all the gifts of the universe.
} The Dalliance of the Eagles
} Roaming in Thought [ After reading Hegel ]
Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is Good steadily hastening towards immortality, And the vast all that is call'd Evil I saw hastening to merge itself and become lost and dead.
} A Farm Picture
Through the ample open door of the peaceful country barn, A sunlit pasture field with cattle and horses feeding, And haze and vista, and the far horizon fading away.
} A Child's Amaze
Silent and amazed even when a little boy, I remember I heard the preacher every Sunday put God in his statements, As contending against some being or influence.
} The Runner
On a flat road runs the well - train'd runner, He is lean and sinewy with muscular legs, He is thinly clothed, he leans forward as he runs, With lightly closed fists and arms partially rais'd.
} Beautiful Women
Women sit or move to and fro, some old, some young, The young are beautiful--but the old are more beautiful than the young.
} Mother and Babe
I see the sleeping babe nestling the breast of its mother, The sleeping mother and babe--hush'd, I study them long and long.
} Thought
Of obedience, faith, adhesiveness; As I stand aloof and look there is to me something profoundly affecting in large masses of men following the lead of those who do not believe in men.
} Visor'd
A mask, a perpetual natural disguiser of herself, Concealing her face, concealing her form, Changes and transformations every hour, every moment, Falling upon her even when she sleeps.
} Thought
Of justice--as If could be any thing but the same ample law, expounded by natural judges and saviors, As if it might be this thing or that thing, according to decisions.
} Gliding O'er all
Gliding o'er all, through all, Through Nature, Time, and Space, As a ship on the waters advancing, The voyage of the soul--not life alone, Death, many deaths I'll sing.
} Hast Never Come to Thee an Hour
Hast never come to thee an hour, A sudden gleam divine, precipitating, bursting all these bubbles, fashions, wealth?
These eager business aims--books, politics, art, amours, To utter nothingness?
} Thought
Of Equality--as if it harm'd me, giving others the same chances and rights as myself--as if it were not indispensable to my own rights that others possess the same.
} To Old Age
I see in you the estuary that enlarges and spreads itself grandly as it pours in the great sea.
} Locations and Times
Locations and times--what is it in me that meets them all, whenever and wherever, and makes me at home?
Forms, colors, densities, odors--what is it in me that corresponds with them?
} Offerings
A thousand perfect men and women appear, Around each gathers a cluster of friends, and gay children and youths, with offerings.
} To The States [ To Identify the 16th, 17th, or 18th Presidentiad ]
Why reclining, interrogating?
why myself and all drowsing?
What deepening twilight - scum floating atop of the waters, Who are they as bats and night - dogs askant in the capitol?
What a filthy Presidentiad!
(O South, your torrid suns!
O North, your arctic freezings!)
Are those really Congressmen?
are those the great Judges?
is that the President?
Then I will sleep awhile yet, for I see that these States sleep, for reasons; (With gathering murk, with muttering thunder and lambent shoots we all duly awake, South, North, East, West, inland and seaboard, we will surely awake.)
[ BOOK XXI.
DRUM - TAPS ]
} First O Songs for a Prelude
First O songs for a prelude, Lightly strike on the stretch'd tympanum pride and joy in my city, How she led the rest to arms, how she gave the cue, How at once with lithe limbs unwaiting a moment she sprang, (O superb!
O Manhattan, my own, my peerless!
O strongest you in the hour of danger, in crisis!
O truer than steel!)
How you sprang--how you threw off the costumes of peace with indifferent hand, How your soft opera - music changed, and the drum and fife were heard in their stead, How you led to the war, (that shall serve for our prelude, songs of soldiers,) How Manhattan drum - taps led.
A shock electric, the night sustain'd it, Till with ominous hum our hive at daybreak pour'd out its myriads.
From the houses then and the workshops, and through all the doorways, Leapt they tumultuous, and lo!
Manhattan arming.
How I love them!
how I could hug them, with their brown faces and their clothes and knapsacks cover'd with dust!)
The blood of the city up - arm'd!
arm'd!
an arm'd race is advancing!
the welcome for battle, no turning away!
War!
be it weeks, months, or years, an arm'd race is advancing to welcome it.
Mannahatta a - march--and it's O to sing it well!
It's O for a manly life in the camp.
And the sturdy artillery, The guns bright as gold, the work for giants, to serve well the guns, Unlimber them!
(no more as the past forty years for salutes for courtesies merely, Put in something now besides powder and wadding.)
And you lady of ships, you Mannahatta, Old matron of this proud, friendly, turbulent city, Often in peace and wealth you were pensive or covertly frown'd amid all your children, But now you smile with joy exulting old Mannahatta.
} Eighteen Sixty - One
} Beat!
Beat!
Drums!
Beat!
beat!
drums!-- blow!
bugles!
blow!
Beat!
beat!
drums!-- blow!
bugles!
blow!
Over the traffic of cities--over the rumble of wheels in the streets; Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses?
no sleepers must sleep in those beds, No bargainers'bargains by day--no brokers or speculators--would they continue?
Would the talkers be talking?
would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums--you bugles wilder blow.
Beat!
beat!
drums!-- blow!
bugles!
blow!
} From Paumanok Starting I Fly Like a Bird
} Song of the Banner at Daybreak
Words!
book - words!
what are you?
Words no more, for hearken and see, My song is there in the open air, and I must sing, With the banner and pennant a - flapping.
Beware and arouse!)
I'll pour the verse with streams of blood, full of volition, full of joy, Then loosen, launch forth, to go and compete, With the banner and pennant a - flapping.
Pennant: Come up here, bard, bard, Come up here, soul, soul, Come up here, dear little child, To fly in the clouds and winds with me, and play with the measureless light.
Child: Father what is that in the sky beckoning to me with long finger?
And what does it say to me all the while?
How envied by all the earth.
Child: O father it is alive--it is full of people--it has children, O now it seems to me it is talking to its children, I hear it--it talks to me--O it is wonderful!
O it stretches--it spreads and runs so fast--O my father, It is so broad it covers the whole sky.
Father: Cease, cease, my foolish babe, What you are saying is sorrowful to me, much't displeases me; Behold with the rest again I say, behold not banners and pennants aloft, But the well - prepared pavements behold, and mark the solid - wall'd houses.
Poet: I hear and see not strips of cloth alone, I hear the tramp of armies, I hear the challenging sentry, I hear the jubilant shouts of millions of men, I hear Liberty!
aye!)
my little and lengthen'd pennant shaped like a sword, Runs swiftly up indicating war and defiance--and now the halyards have rais'd it, Side of my banner broad and blue, side of my starry banner, Discarding peace over all the sea and land.
Banner and Pennant: Yet louder, higher, stronger, bard!
yet farther, wider cleave!
in life and death supreme, We, even we, henceforth flaunt out masterful, high up above, Not for the present alone, for a thousand years chanting through you, This song to the soul of one poor little child.
Child: O my father I like not the houses, They will never to me be any thing, nor do I like money, But to mount up there I would like, O father dear, that banner I like, That pennant I would be and must be.
With passions of demons, slaughter, premature death?
insensate!
(yet I at any rate chant you,) O banner!
Not houses of peace indeed are you, nor any nor all their prosperity, (if need be, you shall again have every one of those houses to destroy them, You thought not to destroy those valuable houses, standing fast, full of comfort, built with money, May they stand fast, then?
O pennant!
where you undulate like a snake hissing so curious, Out of reach, an idea only, yet furiously fought for, risking bloody death, loved by me, So loved--O you banner leading the day with stars brought from the night!
Valueless, object of eyes, over all and demanding all --(absolute owner of all)-- O banner and pennant!
I too leave the rest--great as it is, it is nothing--houses, machines are nothing--I see them not, I see but you, O warlike pennant!
O banner so broad, with stripes, sing you only, Flapping up there in the wind.
} Rise O Days from Your Fathomless Deeps
I mark'd the white combs where they career'd so high, curling over, I heard the wind piping, I saw the black clouds, Saw from below what arose and mounted, (O superb!
O wild as my heart, and powerful!)
What, to pavements and homesteads here, what were those storms of the mountains and sea?
What, to passions I witness around me to - day?
was the sea risen?
Was the wind piping the pipe of death under the black clouds?
Lo!
from deeps more unfathomable, something more deadly and savage, Manhattan rising, advancing with menacing front--Cincinnati, Chicago, unchain'd; What was that swell I saw on the ocean?
behold what comes here, How it climbs with daring feet and hands--how it dashes!
How the true thunder bellows after the lightning--how bright the flashes of lightning!
How Democracy with desperate vengeful port strides on, shown through the dark by those flashes of lightning!
(Yet a mournful wall and low sob I fancied I heard through the dark, In a lull of the deafening confusion.)
3 Thunder on!
stride on, Democracy!
strike with vengeful stroke!
And do you rise higher than ever yet O days, O cities!
Crash heavier, heavier yet O storms!
} Virginia--The West
The noble sire fallen on evil days, I saw with hand uplifted, menacing, brandishing, (Memories of old in abeyance, love and faith in abeyance,) The insane knife toward the Mother of All.
The noble son on sinewy feet advancing, I saw, out of the land of prairies, land of Ohio's waters and of Indiana, To the rescue the stalwart giant hurry his plenteous offspring, Drest in blue, bearing their trusty rifles on their shoulders.
Then the Mother of All with calm voice speaking, As to you Rebellious, (I seemed to hear her say,) why strive against me, and why seek my life?
When you yourself forever provide to defend me?
For you provided me Washington--and now these also.
} City of Ships
City of ships!
(O the black ships!
O the fierce ships!
O the beautiful sharp - bow'd steam - ships and sail - ships!)
City of the world!
(for all races are here, All the lands of the earth make contributions here;) City of the sea!
city of hurried and glittering tides!
City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede, whirling in and out with eddies and foam!
City of wharves and stores--city of tall facades of marble and iron!
Proud and passionate city--mettlesome, mad, extravagant city!
Spring up O city--not for peace alone, but be indeed yourself, warlike!
Fear not--submit to no models but your own O city!
Behold me--incarnate me as I have incarnated you!
} The Centenarian's Story
[ Volunteer of 1861 - 2, at Washington Park, Brooklyn, assisting the Centenarian.]
Rest, while I tell what the crowd around us means, On the plain below recruits are drilling and exercising, There is the camp, one regiment departs to - morrow, Do you hear the officers giving their orders?
Do you hear the clank of the muskets?
Why what comes over you now old man?
Why do you tremble and clutch my hand so convulsively?
But drill and parade are over, they march back to quarters, Only hear that approval of hands!
hear what a clapping!
As wending the crowds now part and disperse--but we old man, Not for nothing have I brought you hither--we must remain, You to speak in your turn, and I to listen and tell.
As I talk I remember all, I remember the Declaration, It was read here, the whole army paraded, it was read to us here, By his staff surrounded the General stood in the middle, he held up his unsheath'd sword, It glitter'd in the sun in full sight of the army.
Twas a bold act then--the English war - ships had just arrived, We could watch down the lower bay where they lay at anchor, And the transports swarming with soldiers.
A few days more and they landed, and then the battle.
Twenty thousand were brought against us, A veteran force furnish'd with good artillery.
I tell not now the whole of the battle, But one brigade early in the forenoon order'd forward to engage the red - coats, Of that brigade I tell, and how steadily it march'd, And how long and well it stood confronting death.
Who do you think that was marching steadily sternly confronting death?
It was the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand strong, Rais'd in Virginia and Maryland, and most of them known personally to the General.
The General watch'd them from this hill, They made repeated desperate attempts to burst their environment, Then drew close together, very compact, their flag flying in the middle, But O from the hills how the cannon were thinning and thinning them!
It sickens me yet, that slaughter!
I saw the moisture gather in drops on the face of the General.
I saw how he wrung his hands in anguish.
Meanwhile the British manoeuvr'd to draw us out for a pitch'd battle, But we dared not trust the chances of a pitch'd battle.
We fought the fight in detachments, Sallying forth we fought at several points, but in each the luck was against us, Our foe advancing, steadily getting the best of it, push'd us back to the works on this hill, Till we turn'd menacing here, and then he left us.
That was the going out of the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand strong, Few return'd, nearly all remain in Brooklyn.
That and here my General's first battle, No women looking on nor sunshine to bask in, it did not conclude with applause, Nobody clapp'd hands here then.
But in darkness in mist on the ground under a chill rain, Wearied that night we lay foil'd and sullen, While scornfully laugh'd many an arrogant lord off against us encamp'd, Quite within hearing, feasting, clinking wineglasses together over their victory.
So dull and damp and another day, But the night of that, mist lifting, rain ceasing, Silent as a ghost while they thought they were sure of him, my General retreated.
I saw him at the river - side, Down by the ferry lit by torches, hastening the embarcation; My General waited till the soldiers and wounded were all pass'd over, And then, (it was just ere sunrise,) these eyes rested on him for the last time.
Every one else seem'd fill'd with gloom, Many no doubt thought of capitulation.
But when my General pass'd me, As he stood in his boat and look'd toward the coming sun, I saw something different from capitulation.
[ Terminus ] Enough, the Centenarian's story ends, The two, the past and present, have interchanged, I myself as connecter, as chansonnier of a great future, am now speaking.
And is this the ground Washington trod?
And these waters I listlessly daily cross, are these the waters he cross'd, As resolute in defeat as other generals in their proudest triumphs?
I must copy the story, and send it eastward and westward, I must preserve that look as it beam'd on you rivers of Brooklyn.
In death, defeat, and sisters ', mothers'tears.
Ah, hills and slopes of Brooklyn!
I perceive you are more valuable than your owners supposed; In the midst of you stands an encampment very old, Stands forever the camp of that dead brigade.
} Cavalry Crossing a Ford
} Bivouac on a Mountain Side
far, far out of reach, studded, breaking out, the eternal stars.
} An Army Corps on the March
} By the Bivouac's Fitful Flame
} Come Up from the Fields Father
Come up from the fields father, here's a letter from our Pete, And come to the front door mother, here's a letter from thy dear son.
Lo,'tis autumn, Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder, Cool and sweeten Ohio's villages with leaves fluttering in the moderate wind, Where apples ripe in the orchards hang and grapes on the trellis'd vines, (Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines?
Smell you the buckwheat where the bees were lately buzzing?)
Above all, lo, the sky so calm, so transparent after the rain, and with wondrous clouds, Below too, all calm, all vital and beautiful, and the farm prospers well.
Down in the fields all prospers well, But now from the fields come father, come at the daughter's call.
And come to the entry mother, to the front door come right away.
Fast as she can she hurries, something ominous, her steps trembling, She does not tarry to smooth her hair nor adjust her cap.
Open the envelope quickly, O this is not our son's writing, yet his name is sign'd, O a strange hand writes for our dear son, O stricken mother's soul!
All swims before her eyes, flashes with black, she catches the main words only, Sentences broken, gunshot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish, taken to hospital, At present low, but will soon be better.
Ah now the single figure to me, Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio with all its cities and farms, Sickly white in the face and dull in the head, very faint, By the jamb of a door leans.
Grieve not so, dear mother, (the just - grown daughter speaks through her sobs, The little sisters huddle around speechless and dismay'd,) See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better.
Alas poor boy, he will never be better, (nor may - be needs to be better, that brave and simple soul,) While they stand at home at the door he is dead already, The only son is dead.
} Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night
} A March in the Ranks Hard - Prest, and the Road Unknown
} A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim
Curious I halt and silent stand, Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest the first just lift the blanket; Who are you elderly man so gaunt and grim, with well - gray'd hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you my dear comrade?
Then to the second I step--and who are you my child and darling?
Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming?
Then to the third--a face nor child nor old, very calm, as of beautiful yellow - white ivory; Young man I think I know you--I think this face is the face of the Christ himself, Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies.
} As Toilsome I Wander'd Virginia's Woods
no time to lose--yet this sign left, On a tablet scrawl'd and nail'd on the tree by the grave, Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.
} Not the Pilot
} Year That Trembled and Reel'd Beneath Me
Year that trembled and reel'd beneath me!
Your summer wind was warm enough, yet the air I breathed froze me, A thick gloom fell through the sunshine and darken'd me, Must I change my triumphant songs?
said I to myself, Must I indeed learn to chant the cold dirges of the baffled?
And sullen hymns of defeat?
} The Wound - Dresser
the other was equally brave;) Now be witness again, paint the mightiest armies of earth, Of those armies so rapid so wondrous what saw you to tell us?
What stays with you latest and deepest?
of curious panics, Of hard - fought engagements or sieges tremendous what deepest remains?
I onward go, I stop, With hinged knees and steady hand to dress wounds, I am firm with each, the pangs are sharp yet unavoidable, One turns to me his appealing eyes--poor boy!
I never knew you, Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would save you.
3 On, on I go, (open doors of time!
open hospital doors!)
The crush'd head I dress, (poor crazed hand tear not the bandage away,) The neck of the cavalry - man with the bullet through and through examine, Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life struggles hard, (Come sweet death!
be persuaded O beautiful death!
In mercy come quickly.)
I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep, But a day or two more, for see the frame all wasted and sinking, And the yellow - blue countenance see.
I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet - wound, Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so offensive, While the attendant stands behind aside me holding the tray and pail.
I am faithful, I do not give out, The fractur'd thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen, These and more I dress with impassive hand, (yet deep in my breast a fire, a burning flame.)
} Long, Too Long America
} Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun
Give me interminable eyes--give me women--give me comrades and lovers by the thousand!
Let me see new ones every day--let me hold new ones by the hand every day!
Give me such shows--give me the streets of Manhattan!
Give me Broadway, with the soldiers marching--give me the sound of the trumpets and drums!
(The soldiers in companies or regiments--some starting away, flush'd and reckless, Some, their time up, returning with thinn'd ranks, young, yet very old, worn, marching, noticing nothing;) Give me the shores and wharves heavy - fringed with black ships!
O such for me!
O an intense life, full to repletion and varied!
The life of the theatre, bar - room, huge hotel, for me!
The saloon of the steamer!
the crowded excursion for me!
the torchlight procession!
Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me.
} Dirge for Two Veterans
The last sunbeam Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath, On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking, Down a new - made double grave.
Lo, the moon ascending, Up from the east the silvery round moon, Beautiful over the house - tops, ghastly, phantom moon, Immense and silent moon.
I see a sad procession, And I hear the sound of coming full - key'd bugles, All the channels of the city streets they're flooding, As with voices and with tears.
I hear the great drums pounding, And the small drums steady whirring, And every blow of the great convulsive drums, Strikes me through and through.
For the son is brought with the father, (In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell, Two veterans son and father dropt together, And the double grave awaits them.)
Now nearer blow the bugles, And the drums strike more convulsive, And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded, And the strong dead - march enwraps me.
In the eastern sky up - buoying, The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd, (' Tis some mother's large transparent face, In heaven brighter growing.)
O strong dead - march you please me!
O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me!
O my soldiers twain!
O my veterans passing to burial!
What I have I also give you.
The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music, And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.
} Over the Carnage Rose Prophetic a Voice
Over the carnage rose prophetic a voice, Be not dishearten'd, affection shall solve the problems of freedom yet, Those who love each other shall become invincible, They shall yet make Columbia victorious.
Sons of the Mother of All, you shall yet be victorious, You shall yet laugh to scorn the attacks of all the remainder of the earth.
No danger shall balk Columbia's lovers, If need be a thousand shall sternly immolate themselves for one.
One from Massachusetts shall be a Missourian's comrade, From Maine and from hot Carolina, and another an Oregonese, shall be friends triune, More precious to each other than all the riches of the earth.
To Michigan, Florida perfumes shall tenderly come, Not the perfumes of flowers, but sweeter, and wafted beyond death.
It shall be customary in the houses and streets to see manly affection, The most dauntless and rude shall touch face to face lightly, The dependence of Liberty shall be lovers, The continuance of Equality shall be comrades.
These shall tie you and band you stronger than hoops of iron, I, ecstatic, O partners!
O lands!
with the love of lovers tie you.
(Were you looking to be held together by lawyers?
Or by an agreement on a paper?
or by arms?
Nay, nor the world, nor any living thing, will so cohere.)
} I Saw Old General at Bay
} The Artilleryman's Vision
snap!
I hear the sounds of the different missiles, the short t - h - t!
t - h - t!
} Ethiopia Saluting the Colors
Who are you dusky woman, so ancient hardly human, With your woolly - white and turban'd head, and bare bony feet?
Why rising by the roadside here, do you the colors greet?
(' Tis while our army lines Carolina's sands and pines, Forth from thy hovel door thou Ethiopia comist to me, As under doughty Sherman I march toward the sea.)
Me master years a hundred since from my parents sunder'd, A little child, they caught me as the savage beast is caught, Then hither me across the sea the cruel slaver brought.
No further does she say, but lingering all the day, Her high - borne turban'd head she wags, and rolls her darkling eye, And courtesies to the regiments, the guidons moving by.
What is it fateful woman, so blear, hardly human?
Why wag your head with turban bound, yellow, red and green?
Are the things so strange and marvelous you see or have seen?
} Not Youth Pertains to Me
} Race of Veterans
Race of veterans--race of victors!
Race of the soil, ready for conflict--race of the conquering march!
(No more credulity's race, abiding - temper'd race,) Race henceforth owning no law but the law of itself, Race of passion and the storm.
} World Take Good Notice
World take good notice, silver stars fading, Milky hue ript, wet of white detaching, Coals thirty - eight, baleful and burning, Scarlet, significant, hands off warning, Now and henceforth flaunt from these shores.
} O Tan - Faced Prairie - Boy
O tan - faced prairie - boy, Before you came to camp came many a welcome gift, Praises and presents came and nourishing food, till at last among the recruits, You came, taciturn, with nothing to give--we but look'd on each other, When lo!
more than all the gifts of the world you gave me.
} Look Down Fair Moon
Look down fair moon and bathe this scene, Pour softly down night's nimbus floods on faces ghastly, swollen, purple, On the dead on their backs with arms toss'd wide, Pour down your unstinted nimbus sacred moon.
} Reconciliation
} How Solemn As One by One [ Washington City, 1865 ]
yourself I see, great as any, good as the best, Waiting secure and content, which the bullet could never kill, Nor the bayonet stab O friend.
} As I Lay with My Head in Your Lap Camerado
I confess I have urged you onward with me, and still urge you, without the least idea what is our destination, Or whether we shall be victorious, or utterly quell'd and defeated.
} Delicate Cluster
Delicate cluster!
flag of teeming life!
Covering all my lands--all my seashores lining!
Flag of death!
(how I watch'd you through the smoke of battle pressing!
How I heard you flap and rustle, cloth defiant!)
Flag cerulean--sunny flag, with the orbs of night dappled!
Ah my silvery beauty--ah my woolly white and crimson!
Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty!
My sacred one, my mother.
} To a Certain Civilian
Did you ask dulcet rhymes from me?
Did you seek the civilian's peaceful and languishing rhymes?
Did you find what I sang erewhile so hard to follow?
therefore leave my works, And go lull yourself with what you can understand, and with piano - tunes, For I lull nobody, and you will never understand me.
} Lo, Victress on the Peaks
} Spirit Whose Work Is Done [ Washington City, 1865 ]
Spirit whose work is done--spirit of dreadful hours!
} Adieu to a Soldier
} Turn O Libertad
} To the Leaven'd Soil They Trod
[ BOOK XXII.
MEMORIES OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN ]
} When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd
1 When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd, And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever - returning spring.
Ever - returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, And thought of him I love.
2 O powerful western fallen star!
O shades of night--O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear'd--O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless--O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.
4 In the swamp in secluded recesses, A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.
Solitary the thrush, The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song.
Song of the bleeding throat, Death's outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know, If thou wast not granted to sing thou wouldist surely die.)
7 (Nor for you, for one alone, Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring, For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O sane and sacred death.
All over bouquets of roses, O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilies, But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first, Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes, With loaded arms I come, pouring for you, For you and the coffins all of you O death.)
9 Sing on there in the swamp, O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call, I hear, I come presently, I understand you, But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain'd me, The star my departing comrade holds and detains me.
10 O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?
And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?
And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?
Sea - winds blown from east and west, Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till there on the prairies meeting, These and with these and the breath of my chant, I'll perfume the grave of him I love.
11 O what shall I hang on the chamber walls?
And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls, To adorn the burial - house of him I love?
13 Sing on, sing on you gray - brown bird, Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes, Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.
Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song, Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.
O liquid and free and tender!
O wild and loose to my soul--O wondrous singer!
You only I hear--yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,) Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me.
And the singer so shy to the rest receiv'd me, The gray - brown bird I know receiv'd us comrades three, And he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him I love.
From deep secluded recesses, From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still, Came the carol of the bird.
And the charm of the carol rapt me, As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night, And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.
Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later delicate death.
Prais'd be the fathomless universe, For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, And for love, sweet love--but praise!
praise!
praise!
For the sure - enwinding arms of cool - enfolding death.
Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?
Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.
Approach strong deliveress, When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead, Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee, Laved in the flood of thy bliss O death.
From me to thee glad serenades, Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee, And the sights of the open landscape and the high - spread shy are fitting, And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night.
The night in silence under many a star, The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know, And the soul turning to thee O vast and well - veil'd death, And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.
Over the tree - tops I float thee a song, Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide, Over the dense - pack'd cities all and the teeming wharves and ways, I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee O death.
15 To the tally of my soul, Loud and strong kept up the gray - brown bird, With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night.
Loud in the pines and cedars dim, Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp - perfume, And I with my comrades there in the night.
While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, As to long panoramas of visions.
I cease from my song for thee, From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee, O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night.
} O Captain!
My Captain!
O Captain!
my Captain!
our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart!
heart!
heart!
O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain!
my Captain!
rise up and hear the bells; Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a - crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain!
dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
} Hush'd Be the Camps To - Day [ May 4, 1865 ]
Hush'd be the camps to - day, And soldiers let us drape our war - worn weapons, And each with musing soul retire to celebrate, Our dear commander's death.
No more for him life's stormy conflicts, Nor victory, nor defeat--no more time's dark events, Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky.
But sing poet in our name,
Sing of the love we bore him--because you, dweller in camps, know it truly.
As they invault the coffin there, Sing--as they close the doors of earth upon him--one verse, For the heavy hearts of soldiers.
} This Dust Was Once the Man
This dust was once the man, Gentle, plain, just and resolute, under whose cautious hand, Against the foulest crime in history known in any land or age, Was saved the Union of these States.
[ BOOK XXIII ]
} By Blue Ontario's Shore
(Democracy, the destin'd conqueror, yet treacherous lip - smiles everywhere, And death and infidelity at every step.)
2 A Nation announcing itself, I myself make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, then reproduce all in my own forms.
Nothing is sinful to us outside of ourselves, Whatever appears, whatever does not appear, we are beautiful or sinful in ourselves only.
(O Mother--O Sisters dear!
If we are lost, no victor else has destroy'd us, It is by ourselves we go down to eternal night.)
3 Have you thought there could be but a single supreme?
There can be any number of supremes--one does not countervail another any more than one eyesight countervails another, or one life countervails another.
All is eligible to all, All is for individuals, all is for you, No condition is prohibited, not God's or any.
All comes by the body, only health puts you rapport with the universe.
Produce great Persons, the rest follows.
4 Piety and conformity to them that like, Peace, obesity, allegiance, to them that like, I am he who tauntingly compels men, women, nations, Crying, Leap from your seats and contend for your lives!
I am he who walks the States with a barb'd tongue, questioning every one I meet, Who are you that wanted only to be told what you knew before?
Who are you that wanted only a book to join you in your nonsense?
(With pangs and cries as thine own O bearer of many children, These clamors wild to a race of pride I give.)
O lands, would you be freer than all that has ever been before?
If you would be freer than all that has been before, come listen to me.
Fear grace, elegance, civilization, delicatesse, Fear the mellow sweet, the sucking of honey--juice, Beware the advancing mortal ripening of Nature, Beware what precedes the decay of the ruggedness of states and men.
5 Ages, precedents, have long been accumulating undirected materials, America brings builders, and brings its own styles.
The immortal poets of Asia and Europe have done their work and pass'd to other spheres, A work remains, the work of surpassing all they have done.
Any period one nation must lead, One land must be the promise and reliance of the future.
6 Land of lands and bards to corroborate!
then your life or ours be the stake, and respite no more.
(Bravas to all impulses sending sane children to the next age!
But damn that which spends itself with no thought of the stain, pains, dismay, feebleness, it is bequeathing.)
9 I listened to the Phantom by Ontario's shore, I heard the voice arising demanding bards, By them all native and grand, by them alone can these States be fused into the compact organism of a Nation.
To hold men together by paper and seal or by compulsion is no account, That only holds men together which aggregates all in a living principle, as the hold of the limbs of the body or the fibres of plants.
Of all races and eras these States with veins full of poetical stuff most need poets, and are to have the greatest, and use them the greatest, Their Presidents shall not be their common referee so much as their poets shall.
(Soul of love and tongue of fire!
Eye to pierce the deepest deeps and sweep the world!
Ah Mother, prolific and full in all besides, yet how long barren, barren?)
For the great Idea, the idea of perfect and free individuals, For that, the bard walks in advance, leader of leaders, The attitude of him cheers up slaves and horrifies foreign despots.
Without extinction is Liberty, without retrograde is Equality, They live in the feelings of young men and the best women, (Not for nothing have the indomitable heads of the earth been always ready to fall for Liberty.)
11 For the great Idea, That, O my brethren, that is the mission of poets.
Songs of stern defiance ever ready, Songs of the rapid arming and the march, The flag of peace quick - folded, and instead the flag we know, Warlike flag of the great Idea.
(Angry cloth I saw there leaping!
I stand again in leaden rain your flapping folds saluting, I sing you over all, flying beckoning through the fight--O the hard - contested fight!
12 Are you he who would assume a place to teach or be a poet here in the States?
The place is august, the terms obdurate.
Who would assume to teach here may well prepare himself body and mind, He may well survey, ponder, arm, fortify, harden, make lithe himself, He shall surely be question'd beforehand by me with many and stern questions.
Who are you indeed who would talk or sing to America?
Have you studied out the land, its idioms and men?
Have you learn'd the physiology, phrenology, politics, geography, pride, freedom, friendship of the land?
its substratums and objects?
Have you consider'd the organic compact of the first day of the first year of Independence, sign'd by the Commissioners, ratified by the States, and read by Washington at the head of the army?
Have you possess'd yourself of the Federal Constitution?
Do you see who have left all feudal processes and poems behind them, and assumed the poems and processes of Democracy?
Are you faithful to things?
do you teach what the land and sea, the bodies of men, womanhood, amativeness, heroic angers, teach?
Have you sped through fleeting customs, popularities?
Can you hold your hand against all seductions, follies, whirls, fierce contentions?
are you very strong?
are you really of the whole People?
Are you not of some coterie?
some school or mere religion?
Are you done with reviews and criticisms of life?
animating now to life itself?
Have you vivified yourself from the maternity of these States?
Have you too the old ever - fresh forbearance and impartiality?
Do you hold the like love for those hardening to maturity?
for the last - born?
little and big?
and for the errant?
What is this you bring my America?
Is it uniform with my country?
Is it not something that has been better told or done before?
Have you not imported this or the spirit of it in some ship?
Is it not a mere tale?
a rhyme?
a prettiness?-- Is the good old cause in it?
Has it not dangled long at the heels of the poets, politicians, literats, of enemies'lands?
Does it not assume that what is notoriously gone is still here?
Does it answer universal needs?
will it improve manners?
Does it sound with trumpet - voice the proud victory of the Union in that secession war?
Can your performance face the open fields and the seaside?
Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, to appear again in my strength, gait, face?
Have real employments contributed to it?
original makers, not mere amanuenses?
Does it meet modern discoveries, calibres, facts, face to face?
What does it mean to American persons, progresses, cities?
Chicago, Kanada, Arkansas?
Does it see behind the apparent custodians the real custodians standing, menacing, silent, the mechanics, Manhattanese, Western men, Southerners, significant alike in their apathy, and in the promptness of their love?
Does it see what finally befalls, and has always finally befallen, each temporizer, patcher, outsider, partialist, alarmist, infidel, who has ever ask'd any thing of America?
What mocking and scornful negligence?
The track strew'd with the dust of skeletons, By the roadside others disdainfully toss'd.
after death you shall be superb, Justice, health, self - esteem, clear the way with irresistible power; How dare you place any thing before a man?
14 Fall behind me States!
A man before all--myself, typical, before all.
(Say O Mother, have I not to your thought been faithful?
Have I not through life kept you and yours before me?)
(Mother!
with subtle sense severe, with the naked sword in your hand, I saw you at last refuse to treat but directly with individuals.)
16 Underneath all, Nativity, I swear I will stand by my own nativity, pious or impious so be it; I swear I am charm'd with nothing except nativity, Men, women, cities, nations, are only beautiful from nativity.
Underneath all is the Expression of love for men and women, (I swear I have seen enough of mean and impotent modes of expressing love for men and women, After this day I take my own modes of expressing love for men and women.)
in myself,
I swear I will have each quality of my race in myself, (Talk as you like, he only suits these States whose manners favor the audacity and sublime turbulence of the States.)
Underneath the lessons of things, spirits, Nature, governments, ownerships, I swear I perceive other lessons, Underneath all to me is myself, to you yourself, (the same monotonous old song.)
I am for those that have never been master'd, For men and women whose tempers have never been master'd, For those whom laws, theories, conventions, can never master.
I am for those who walk abreast with the whole earth, Who inaugurate one to inaugurate all.
I will not be outfaced by irrational things, I will penetrate what it is in them that is sarcastic upon me, I will make cities and civilizations defer to me, This is what I have learnt from America--it is the amount, and it I teach again.
(Democracy, while weapons were everywhere aim'd at your breast, I saw you serenely give birth to immortal children, saw in dreams your dilating form, Saw you with spreading mantle covering the world.)
I match my spirit against yours you orbs, growths, mountains, brutes, Copious as you are I absorb you all in myself, and become the master myself, America isolated yet embodying all, what is it finally except myself?
These States, what are they except myself?
I know now why the earth is gross, tantalizing, wicked, it is for my sake, I take you specially to be mine, you terrible, rude forms.
(Mother, bend down, bend close to me your face, I know not what these plots and wars and deferments are for, I know not fruition's success, but I know that through war and crime your work goes on, and must yet go on.)
19 Thus by blue Ontario's shore, While the winds fann'd me and the waves came trooping toward me, I thrill'd with the power's pulsations, and the charm of my theme was upon me, Till the tissues that held me parted their ties upon me.
And I saw the free souls of poets, The loftiest bards of past ages strode before me, Strange large men, long unwaked, undisclosed, were disclosed to me.
20 O my rapt verse, my call, mock me not!
Not for the bards of the past, not to invoke them have I launch'd you forth, Not to call even those lofty bards here by Ontario's shores, Have I sung so capricious and loud my savage song.
Bards for my own land only I invoke, (For the war the war is over, the field is clear'd,) Till they strike up marches henceforth triumphant and onward, To cheer O Mother your boundless expectant soul.
Bards of the great Idea!
bards of the peaceful inventions!
(for the war, the war is over!)
Yet bards of latent armies, a million soldiers waiting ever - ready, Bards with songs as from burning coals or the lightning's fork'd stripes!
Ample Ohio's, Kanada's bards--bards of California!
inland bards--bards of the war!
You by my charm I invoke.
} Reversals
[ BOOK XXIV.
AUTUMN RIVULETS ]
} As Consequent, Etc.
As consequent from store of summer rains, Or wayward rivulets in autumn flowing, Or many a herb - lined brook's reticulations, Or subterranean sea - rills making for the sea, Songs of continued years I sing.
Life's ever - modern rapids first, (soon, soon to blend, With the old streams of death.)
In you whoe'er you are my book perusing, In I myself, in all the world, these currents flowing, All, all toward the mystic ocean tending.
Currents for starting a continent new, Overtures sent to the solid out of the liquid, Fusion of ocean and land, tender and pensive waves, (Not safe and peaceful only, waves rous'd and ominous too, Out of the depths the storm's abysmic waves, who knows whence?
Raging over the vast, with many a broken spar and tatter'd sail.)
Or from the sea of Time, collecting vasting all, I bring, A windrow - drift of weeds and shells.
} The Return of the Heroes
1 For the lands and for these passionate days and for myself, Now I awhile retire to thee O soil of autumn fields, Reclining on thy breast, giving myself to thee, Answering the pulses of thy sane and equable heart, Turning a verse for thee.
O earth that hast no voice, confide to me a voice, O harvest of my lands--O boundless summer growths, O lavish brown parturient earth--O infinite teeming womb, A song to narrate thee.
3 Fecund America--today, Thou art all over set in births and joys!
thou miracle!
4 When late I sang sad was my voice, Sad were the shows around me with deafening noises of hatred and smoke of war; In the midst of the conflict, the heroes, I stood, Or pass'd with slow step through the wounded and dying.
But now I sing not war, Nor the measur'd march of soldiers, nor the tents of camps, Nor the regiments hastily coming up deploying in line of battle; No more the sad, unnatural shows of war.
Ask'd room those flush'd immortal ranks, the first forth - stepping armies?
Ask room alas the ghastly ranks, the armies dread that follow'd.
(Pass, pass, ye proud brigades, with your tramping sinewy legs, With your shoulders young and strong, with your knapsacks and your muskets; How elate I stood and watch'd you, where starting off you march'd.
5 But on these days of brightness, On the far - stretching beauteous landscape, the roads and lanes the high - piled farm - wagons, and the fruits and barns, Should the dead intrude?
Ah the dead to me mar not, they fit well in Nature, They fit very well in the landscape under the trees and grass, And along the edge of the sky in the horizon's far margin.
Nor do I forget you Departed, Nor in winter or summer my lost ones, But most in the open air as now when my soul is rapt and at peace, like pleasing phantoms, Your memories rising glide silently by me.
6 I saw the day the return of the heroes, (Yet the heroes never surpass'd shall never return, Them that day I saw not.)
I saw the interminable corps, I saw the processions of armies, I saw them approaching, defiling by with divisions, Streaming northward, their work done, camping awhile in clusters of mighty camps.
No holiday soldiers--youthful, yet veterans, Worn, swart, handsome, strong, of the stock of homestead and workshop, Harden'd of many a long campaign and sweaty march, Inured on many a hard - fought bloody field.
A pause--the armies wait, A million flush'd embattled conquerors wait, The world too waits, then soft as breaking night and sure as dawn, They melt, they disappear.
Exult O lands!
victorious lands!
Not there your victory on those red shuddering fields, But here and hence your victory.
Melt, melt away ye armies--disperse ye blue - clad soldiers, Resolve ye back again, give up for good your deadly arms, Other the arms the fields henceforth for you, or South or North, With saner wars, sweet wars, life - giving wars.
7 Loud O my throat, and clear O soul!
The season of thanks and the voice of full - yielding, The chant of joy and power for boundless fertility.
All till'd and untill'd fields expand before me, I see the true arenas of my race, or first or last, Man's innocent and strong arenas.
I see the heroes at other toils, I see well - wielded in their hands the better weapons.
I see where the Mother of All, With full - spanning eye gazes forth, dwells long, And counts the varied gathering of the products.
8 Toil on heroes!
harvest the products!
Not alone on those warlike fields the Mother of All, With dilated form and lambent eyes watch'd you.
Toil on heroes!
toil well!
handle the weapons well!
The Mother of All, yet here as ever she watches you.
Beneath thy look O Maternal, With these and else and with their own strong hands the heroes harvest.
All gather and all harvest, Yet but for thee O Powerful, not a scythe might swing as now in security, Not a maize - stalk dangle as now its silken tassels in peace.
} There Was a Child Went Forth
There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became, And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day, Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
His own parents, he that had father'd him and she that had conceiv'd him in her womb and birth'd him, They gave this child more of themselves than that, They gave him afterward every day, they became part of him.
Men and women crowding fast in the streets, if they are not flashes and specks what are they?
} Old Ireland
} The City Dead - House
That immortal house more than all the rows of dwellings ever built!
Or white - domed capitol with majestic figure surmounted, or all the old high - spired cathedrals, That little house alone more than them all--poor, desperate house!
} This Compost
O how can it be that the ground itself does not sicken?
How can you be alive you growths of spring?
How can you furnish health you blood of herbs, roots, orchards, grain?
Are they not continually putting distemper'd corpses within you?
Is not every continent work'd over and over with sour dead?
Where have you disposed of their carcasses?
Those drunkards and gluttons of so many generations?
Where have you drawn off all the foul liquid and meat?
I do not see any of it upon you to - day, or perhaps I am deceiv'd, I will run a furrow with my plough, I will press my spade through the sod and turn it up underneath, I am sure I shall expose some of the foul meat.
2 Behold this compost!
behold it well!
Perhaps every mite has once form'd part of a sick person--yet behold!
What chemistry!
} To a Foil'd European Revolutionaire
Courage yet, my brother or my sister!
What we believe in waits latent forever through all the continents, Invites no one, promises nothing, sits in calmness and light, is positive and composed, knows no discouragement, Waiting patiently, waiting its time.
(Not songs of loyalty alone are these, But songs of insurrection also, For I am the sworn poet of every dauntless rebel the world over, And he going with me leaves peace and routine behind him, And stakes his life to be lost at any moment.)
When liberty goes out of a place it is not the first to go, nor the second or third to go, It waits for all the rest to go, it is the last.
Then courage European revolter, revoltress!
For till all ceases neither must you cease.
I do not know what you are for, (I do not know what I am for myself, nor what any thing is for,) But I will search carefully for it even in being foil'd, In defeat, poverty, misconception, imprisonment--for they too are great.
Did we think victory great?
So it is--but now it seems to me, when it cannot be help'd, that defeat is great, And that death and dismay are great.
} Unnamed Land
O I know that those men and women were not for nothing, any more than we are for nothing, I know that they belong to the scheme of the world every bit as much as we now belong to it.
Are those billions of men really gone?
Are those women of the old experience of the earth gone?
Do their lives, cities, arts, rest only with us?
Did they achieve nothing for good for themselves?
I believe of all those men and women that fill'd the unnamed lands, every one exists this hour here or elsewhere, invisible to us.
In exact proportion to what he or she grew from in life, and out of what he or she did, felt, became, loved, sinn'd, in life.
} Song of Prudence
Manhattan's streets I saunter'd pondering, On Time, Space, Reality--on such as these, and abreast with them Prudence.
The last explanation always remains to be made about prudence, Little and large alike drop quietly aside from the prudence that suits immortality.
The indirect is just as much as the direct, The spirit receives from the body just as much as it gives to the body, if not more.
Not one word or deed, not venereal sore, discoloration, privacy of the onanist, Putridity of gluttons or rum - drinkers, peculation, cunning, betrayal, murder, seduction, prostitution, But has results beyond death as really as before death.
Charity and personal force are the only investments worth any thing.
No specification is necessary, all that a male or female does, that is vigorous, benevolent, clean, is so much profit to him or her, In the unshakable order of the universe and through the whole scope of it forever.
Who has been wise receives interest, Savage, felon, President, judge, farmer, sailor, mechanic, literat, young, old, it is the same, The interest will come round--all will come round.
Did you guess any thing lived only its moment?
The world does not so exist, no parts palpable or impalpable so exist, No consummation exists without being from some long previous consummation, and that from some other, Without the farthest conceivable one coming a bit nearer the beginning than any.
Whatever satisfies souls is true; Prudence entirely satisfies the craving and glut of souls, Itself only finally satisfies the soul, The soul has that measureless pride which revolts from every lesson but its own.
Now I breathe the word of the prudence that walks abreast with time, space, reality, That answers the pride which refuses every lesson but its own.
} The Singer in the Prison
O sight of pity, shame and dole!
O fearful thought--a convict soul.
A soul confined by bars and bands, Cries, help!
O help!
and wrings her hands, Blinded her eyes, bleeding her breast, Nor pardon finds, nor balm of rest.
Ceaseless she paces to and fro, O heart - sick days!
O nights of woe!
Nor hand of friend, nor loving face, Nor favor comes, nor word of grace.
It was not I that sinn'd the sin, The ruthless body dragg'd me in; Though long I strove courageously, The body was too much for me.
Dear prison'd soul bear up a space, For soon or late the certain grace; To set thee free and bear thee home, The heavenly pardoner death shall come.
Convict no more, nor shame, nor dole!
Depart--a God - enfranchis'd soul!
O sight of pity, shame and dole!
O fearful thought--a convict soul.
} Warble for Lilac - Time
the summer is here!
and what is this in it and from it?
Thou, soul, unloosen'd--the restlessness after I know not what; Come, let us lag here no longer, let us be up and away!
O if one could but fly like a bird!
O to escape, to sail forth as in a ship!
} Outlines for a Tomb [ G. P., Buried 1870 ]
1 What may we chant, O thou within this tomb?
What tablets, outlines, hang for thee, O millionnaire?
The life thou lived'st we know not, But that thou walk'dst thy years in barter,'mid the haunts of brokers, Nor heroism thine, nor war, nor glory.
2 Silent, my soul, With drooping lids, as waiting, ponder'd, Turning from all the samples, monuments of heroes.
While through the interior vistas, Noiseless uprose, phantasmic, (as by night Auroras of the north,) Lambent tableaus, prophetic, bodiless scenes, Spiritual projections.
In one, among the city streets a laborer's home appear'd, After his day's work done, cleanly, sweet - air'd, the gaslight burning, The carpet swept and a fire in the cheerful stove.
In one, the sacred parturition scene, A happy painless mother birth'd a perfect child.
In one, at a bounteous morning meal, Sat peaceful parents with contented sons.
In one, by twos and threes, young people, Hundreds concentring, walk'd the paths and streets and roads, Toward a tall - domed school.
In one a trio beautiful, Grandmother, loving daughter, loving daughter's daughter, sat, Chatting and sewing.
In one, along a suite of noble rooms,'Mid plenteous books and journals, paintings on the walls, fine statuettes, Were groups of friendly journeymen, mechanics young and old, Reading, conversing.
3 O thou within this tomb, From thee such scenes, thou stintless, lavish giver, Tallying the gifts of earth, large as the earth, Thy name an earth, with mountains, fields and tides.
} Out from Behind This Mask [ To Confront a Portrait ]
1 Out from behind this bending rough - cut mask, These lights and shades, this drama of the whole, This common curtain of the face contain'd in me for me, in you for you, in each for each, (Tragedies, sorrows, laughter, tears--0 heaven!
The passionate teeming plays this curtain hid!)
} Vocalism
1 Vocalism, measure, concentration, determination, and the divine power to speak words; Are you full - lung'd and limber - lipp'd from long trial?
from vigorous practice?
from physique?
Do you move in these broad lands as broad as they?
Come duly to the divine power to speak words?
2 O what is it in me that makes me tremble so at voices?
Surely whoever speaks to me in the right voice, him or her I shall follow, As the water follows the moon, silently, with fluid steps, anywhere around the globe.
All waits for the right voices; Where is the practis'd and perfect organ?
where is the develop'd soul?
For I see every word utter'd thence has deeper, sweeter, new sounds, impossible on less terms.
I see brains and lips closed, tympans and temples unstruck, Until that comes which has the quality to strike and to unclose, Until that comes which has the quality to bring forth what lies slumbering forever ready in all words.
} To Him That Was Crucified
} You Felons on Trial in Courts
You felons on trial in courts, You convicts in prison - cells, you sentenced assassins chain'd and handcuff'd with iron, Who am I too that I am not on trial or in prison?
Me ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chain'd with iron, or my ankles with iron?
You prostitutes flaunting over the trottoirs or obscene in your rooms, Who am I that I should call you more obscene than myself?
O culpable!
I acknowledge--I expose!
(O admirers, praise not me--compliment not me--you make me wince, I see what you do not--I know what you do not.)
} Laws for Creations
Laws for creations, For strong artists and leaders, for fresh broods of teachers and perfect literats for America, For noble savans and coming musicians.
All must have reference to the ensemble of the world, and the compact truth of the world, There shall be no subject too pronounced--all works shall illustrate the divine law of indirections.
What do you suppose creation is?
What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk free and own no superior?
What do you suppose I would intimate to you in a hundred ways, but that man or woman is as good as God?
And that there is no God any more divine than Yourself?
And that that is what the oldest and newest myths finally mean?
And that you or any one must approach creations through such laws?
} To a Common Prostitute
Be composed--be at ease with me--I am Walt Whitman, liberal and lusty as Nature, Not till the sun excludes you do I exclude you, Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you and the leaves to rustle for you, do my words refuse to glisten and rustle for you.
My girl I appoint with you an appointment, and I charge you that you make preparation to be worthy to meet me, And I charge you that you be patient and perfect till I come.
Till then I salute you with a significant look that you do not forget me.
} I Was Looking a Long While
} Thought
} Miracles
Why, who makes much of a miracle?
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle, The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships with men in them, What stranger miracles are there?
} Sparkles from the Wheel
Where the city's ceaseless crowd moves on the livelong day, Withdrawn I join a group of children watching, I pause aside with them.
} To a Pupil
Is reform needed?
is it through you?
The greater the reform needed, the greater the Personality you need to accomplish it.
You!
do you not see how it would serve to have eyes, blood, complexion, clean and sweet?
Do you not see how it would serve to have such a body and soul that when you enter the crowd an atmosphere of desire and command enters with you, and every one is impress'd with your Personality?
O the magnet!
the flesh over and over!
Go, dear friend, if need be give up all else, and commence to - day to inure yourself to pluck, reality, self - esteem, definiteness, elevatedness, Rest not till you rivet and publish yourself of your own Personality.
} Unfolded out of the Folds
} What Am I After All
What am I after all but a child, pleas'd with the sound of my own name?
repeating it over and over; I stand apart to hear--it never tires me.
To you your name also; Did you think there was nothing but two or three pronunciations in the sound of your name?
} Kosmos
} Others May Praise What They Like
Others may praise what they like; But I, from the banks of the running Missouri, praise nothing in art or aught else, Till it has well inhaled the atmosphere of this river, also the western prairie - scent, And exudes it all again.
} Who Learns My Lesson Complete?
Who learns my lesson complete?
The great laws take and effuse without argument, I am of the same style, for I am their friend, I love them quits and quits, I do not halt and make salaams.
I lie abstracted and hear beautiful tales of things and the reasons of things, They are so beautiful I nudge myself to listen.
I cannot say to any person what I hear--I cannot say it to myself--it is very wonderful.
I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me, or any one else.
Is it wonderful that I should be immortal?
And that my soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other without ever seeing each other, and never perhaps to see each other, is every bit as wonderful.
And that I can think such thoughts as these is just as wonderful, And that I can remind you, and you think them and know them to be true, is just as wonderful.
And that the moon spins round the earth and on with the earth, is equally wonderful, And that they balance themselves with the sun and stars is equally wonderful.
} Tests
} The Torch
On my Northwest coast in the midst of the night a fishermen's group stands watching, Out on the lake that expands before them, others are spearing salmon, The canoe, a dim shadowy thing, moves across the black water, Bearing a torch ablaze at the prow.
} O Star of France [ 1870 - 71 ]
O star of France, The brightness of thy hope and strength and fame, Like some proud ship that led the fleet so long, Beseems to - day a wreck driven by the gale, a mastless hulk, And'mid its teeming madden'd half - drown'd crowds, Nor helm nor helmsman.
Dim smitten star, Orb not of France alone, pale symbol of my soul, its dearest hopes, The struggle and the daring, rage divine for liberty, Of aspirations toward the far ideal, enthusiast's dreams of brotherhood, Of terror to the tyrant and the priest.
Star crucified--by traitors sold, Star panting o'er a land of death, heroic land, Strange, passionate, mocking, frivolous land.
Miserable!
yet for thy errors, vanities, sins, I will not now rebuke thee, Thy unexampled woes and pangs have quell'd them all, And left thee sacred.
O star!
O ship of France, beat back and baffled long!
Bear up O smitten orb!
O ship continue on!
Sure as the ship of all, the Earth itself, Product of deathly fire and turbulent chaos, Forth from its spasms of fury and its poisons, Issuing at last in perfect power and beauty, Onward beneath the sun following its course, So thee O ship of France!
Finish'd the days, the clouds dispel'd The travail o'er, the long - sought extrication, When lo!
reborn, high o'er the European world, (In gladness answering thence, as face afar to face, reflecting ours Columbia,) Again thy star O France, fair lustrous star, In heavenly peace, clearer, more bright than ever, Shall beam immortal.
} The Ox - Tamer
how soon his rage subsides--how soon this tamer tames him; See you!
on the farms hereabout a hundred oxen young and old, and he is the man who has tamed them, They all know him, all are affectionate to him; See you!
some are such beautiful animals, so lofty looking; Some are buff - color'd, some mottled, one has a white line running along his back, some are brindled, Some have wide flaring horns (a good sign)-- see you!
the bright hides, See, the two with stars on their foreheads--see, the round bodies and broad backs, How straight and square they stand on their legs--what fine sagacious eyes!
How straight they watch their tamer--they wish him near them--how they turn to look after him!
What yearning expression!
} An Old Man's Thought of School [ For the Inauguration of a Public School, Camden, New Jersey, 1874 ]
An old man's thought of school, An old man gathering youthful memories and blooms that youth itself cannot.
Now only do I know you, O fair auroral skies--O morning dew upon the grass!
And these I see, these sparkling eyes, These stores of mystic meaning, these young lives, Building, equipping like a fleet of ships, immortal ships, Soon to sail out over the measureless seas, On the soul's voyage.
Only a lot of boys and girls?
Only the tiresome spelling, writing, ciphering classes?
Only a public school?
Ah more, infinitely more; (As George Fox rais'd his warning cry, " Is it this pile of brick and mortar, these dead floors, windows, rails, you call the church?
Why this is not the church at all--the church is living, ever living souls.")
And you America, Cast you the real reckoning for your present?
The lights and shadows of your future, good or evil?
To girlhood, boyhood look, the teacher and the school.
} Wandering at Morn
Wandering at morn, Emerging from the night from gloomy thoughts, thee in my thoughts, Yearning for thee harmonious Union!
thee, singing bird divine!
There ponder'd, felt I, If worms, snakes, loathsome grubs, may to sweet spiritual songs be turn'd, If vermin so transposed, so used and bless'd may be, Then may I trust in you, your fortunes, days, my country; Who knows but these may be the lessons fit for you?
From these your future song may rise with joyous trills, Destin'd to fill the world.
} Italian Music in Dakota [" The Seventeenth--the finest Regimental Band I ever heard."]
While Nature, sovereign of this gnarl'd realm, Lurking in hidden barbaric grim recesses, Acknowledging rapport however far remov'd, (As some old root or soil of earth its last - born flower or fruit,) Listens well pleas'd.
} With All Thy Gifts
With all thy gifts America, Standing secure, rapidly tending, overlooking the world, Power, wealth, extent, vouchsafed to thee--with these and like of these vouchsafed to thee, What if one gift thou lackest?
(the ultimate human problem never solving,) The gift of perfect women fit for thee--what if that gift of gifts thou lackest?
The towering feminine of thee?
the beauty, health, completion, fit for thee?
The mothers fit for thee?
} My Picture - Gallery
In a little house keep I pictures suspended, it is not a fix'd house, It is round, it is only a few inches from one side to the other; Yet behold, it has room for all the shows of the world, all memories!
Here the tableaus of life, and here the groupings of death; Here, do you know this?
this is cicerone himself, With finger rais'd he points to the prodigal pictures.
} The Prairie States
[ BOOK XXV ]
} Proud Music of the Storm
2 Come forward O my soul, and let the rest retire, Listen, lose not, it is toward thee they tend, Parting the midnight, entering my slumber - chamber, For thee they sing and dance O soul.
Now loud approaching drums, Victoria!
seest thou in powder - smoke the banners torn but flying?
the rout of the baffled?
Hearest those shouts of a conquering army?
(Ah soul, the sobs of women, the wounded groaning in agony, The hiss and crackle of flames, the blacken'd ruins, the embers of cities, The dirge and desolation of mankind.)
Now airs antique and mediaeval fill me, I see and hear old harpers with their harps at Welsh festivals, I hear the minnesingers singing their lays of love, I hear the minstrels, gleemen, troubadours, of the middle ages.
Tutti!
for earth and heaven; (The Almighty leader now for once has signal'd with his wand.)
The manly strophe of the husbands of the world, And all the wives responding.
The tongues of violins, (I think O tongues ye tell this heart, that cannot tell itself, This brooding yearning heart, that cannot tell itself.)
All songs of current lands come sounding round me, The German airs of friendship, wine and love, Irish ballads, merry jigs and dances, English warbles, Chansons of France, Scotch tunes, and o'er the rest, Italia's peerless compositions.
Across the stage with pallor on her face, yet lurid passion, Stalks Norma brandishing the dagger in her hand.
I see poor crazed Lucia's eyes'unnatural gleam, Her hair down her back falls loose and dishevel'd.
I see where Ernani walking the bridal garden, Amid the scent of night - roses, radiant, holding his bride by the hand, Hears the infernal call, the death - pledge of the horn.
To crossing swords and gray hairs bared to heaven, The clear electric base and baritone of the world, The trombone duo, Libertad forever!
From Spanish chestnut trees'dense shade, By old and heavy convent walls a wailing song, Song of lost love, the torch of youth and life quench'd in despair, Song of the dying swan, Fernando's heart is breaking.
Awaking from her woes at last retriev'd Amina sings, Copious as stars and glad as morning light the torrents of her joy.
(The teeming lady comes, The lustrious orb, Venus contralto, the blooming mother, Sister of loftiest gods, Alboni's self I hear.)
4 I hear those odes, symphonies, operas, I hear in the William Tell the music of an arous'd and angry people, I hear Meyerbeer's Huguenots, the Prophet, or Robert, Gounod's Faust, or Mozart's Don Juan.
I hear the dance - music of all nations, The waltz, some delicious measure, lapsing, bathing me in bliss, The bolero to tinkling guitars and clattering castanets.
I see again the wild old Corybantian dance, the performers wounding each other, I see the Roman youth to the shrill sound of flageolets throwing and catching their weapons, As they fall on their knees and rise again.
I hear from the Mussulman mosque the muezzin calling, I see the worshippers within, nor form nor sermon, argument nor word, But silent, strange, devout, rais'd, glowing heads, ecstatic faces.
I hear the Egyptian harp of many strings, The primitive chants of the Nile boatmen, The sacred imperial hymns of China, To the delicate sounds of the king, (the stricken wood and stone,) Or to Hindu flutes and the fretting twang of the vina, A band of bayaderes.
Composers!
mighty maestros!
And you, sweet singers of old lands, soprani, tenori, bassi!
To you a new bard caroling in the West, Obeisant sends his love.
(Such led to thee O soul, All senses, shows and objects, lead to thee, But now it seems to me sound leads o'er all the rest.)
I hear the annual singing of the children in St. Paul's cathedral, Or, under the high roof of some colossal hall, the symphonies, oratorios of Beethoven, Handel, or Haydn, The Creation in billows of godhood laves me.
Give me to hold all sounds, (I madly struggling cry,) Fill me with all the voices of the universe, Endow me with their throbbings, Nature's also, The tempests, waters, winds, operas and chants, marches and dances, Utter, pour in, for I would take them all!
[ BOOK XXVI ]
} Passage to India
the Past!
the Past!
The Past--the dark unfathom'd retrospect!
The teeming gulf--the sleepers and the shadows!
The past--the infinite greatness of the past!
For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past?
(As a projectile form'd, impell'd, passing a certain line, still keeps on, So the present, utterly form'd, impell'd by the past.)
2 Passage O soul to India!
Eclaircise the myths Asiatic, the primitive fables.
O you fables spurning the known, eluding the hold of the known, mounting to heaven!
You lofty and dazzling towers, pinnacled, red as roses, burnish'd with gold!
Towers of fables immortal fashion'd from mortal dreams!
You too I welcome and fully the same as the rest!
You too with joy I sing.
Passage to India!
Lo, soul, seest thou not God's purpose from the first?
The earth to be spann'd, connected by network, The races, neighbors, to marry and be given in marriage, The oceans to be cross'd, the distant brought near, The lands to be welded together.
A worship new I sing, You captains, voyagers, explorers, yours, You engineers, you architects, machinists, yours, You, not for trade or transportation only, But in God's name, and for thy sake O soul.
3 Passage to India!
(Ah Genoese thy dream!
thy dream!
Centuries after thou art laid in thy grave, The shore thou foundest verifies thy dream.)
4 Passage to India!
Struggles of many a captain, tales of many a sailor dead, Over my mood stealing and spreading they come, Like clouds and cloudlets in the unreach'd sky.
and Whither O mocking life?
Ah who shall soothe these feverish children?
Who Justify these restless explorations?
Who speak the secret of impassive earth?
Who bind it to us?
what is this separate Nature so unnatural?
What is this earth to our affections?
(unloving earth, without a throb to answer ours, Cold earth, the place of graves.)
Yet soul be sure the first intent remains, and shall be carried out, Perhaps even now the time has arrived.
6 Year at whose wide - flung door I sing!
Year of the purpose accomplish'd!
Year of the marriage of continents, climates and oceans!
Passage to India!
Cooling airs from Caucasus far, soothing cradle of man, The river Euphrates flowing, the past lit up again.
The mediaeval navigators rise before me, The world of 1492, with its awaken'd enterprise, Something swelling in humanity now like the sap of the earth in spring, The sunset splendor of chivalry declining.
And who art thou sad shade?
Gigantic, visionary, thyself a visionary, With majestic limbs and pious beaming eyes, Spreading around with every look of thine a golden world, Enhuing it with gorgeous hues.
(Curious in time I stand, noting the efforts of heroes, Is the deferment long?
bitter the slander, poverty, death?
Lies the seed unreck'd for centuries in the ground?
lo, to God's due occasion, Uprising in the night, it sprouts, blooms, And fills the earth with use and beauty.)
7 Passage indeed O soul to primal thought, Not lands and seas alone, thy own clear freshness, The young maturity of brood and bloom, To realms of budding bibles.
O soul, repressless, I with thee and thou with me, Thy circumnavigation of the world begin, Of man, the voyage of his mind's return, To reason's early paradise, Back, back to wisdom's birth, to innocent intuitions, Again with fair creation.
With laugh and many a kiss, (Let others deprecate, let others weep for sin, remorse, humiliation,) O soul thou pleasest me, I thee.
Ah more than any priest O soul we too believe in God, But with the mystery of God we dare not dally.
Waitest not haply for us somewhere there the Comrade perfect?)
Thou pulse--thou motive of the stars, suns, systems, That, circling, move in order, safe, harmonious, Athwart the shapeless vastnesses of space, How should I think, how breathe a single breath, how speak, if, out of myself, I could not launch, to those, superior universes?
Greater than stars or suns, Bounding O soul thou journeyest forth; What love than thine and ours could wider amplify?
What aspirations, wishes, outvie thine and ours O soul?
What dreams of the ideal?
what plans of purity, perfection, strength?
What cheerful willingness for others'sake to give up all?
For others'sake to suffer all?
9 Passage to more than India!
Are thy wings plumed indeed for such far flights?
O soul, voyagest thou indeed on voyages like those?
Disportest thou on waters such as those?
Soundest below the Sanscrit and the Vedas?
Then have thy bent unleash'd.
Passage to you, your shores, ye aged fierce enigmas!
Passage to you, to mastership of you, ye strangling problems!
You, strew'd with the wrecks of skeletons, that, living, never reach'd you.
Passage to more than India!
O secret of the earth and sky!
Of you O waters of the sea!
O winding creeks and rivers!
Of you O woods and fields!
of you strong mountains of my land!
Of you O prairies!
of you gray rocks!
O morning red!
O clouds!
O rain and snows!
O day and night, passage to you!
O sun and moon and all you stars!
Sirius and Jupiter!
Passage to you!
Passage, immediate passage!
the blood burns in my veins!
Away O soul!
hoist instantly the anchor!
Cut the hawsers--haul out--shake out every sail!
Have we not stood here like trees in the ground long enough?
Have we not grovel'd here long enough, eating and drinking like mere brutes?
Have we not darken'd and dazed ourselves with books long enough?
Sail forth--steer for the deep waters only, Reckless O soul, exploring, I with thee, and thou with me, For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go, And we will risk the ship, ourselves and all.
O my brave soul!
O farther farther sail!
O daring joy, but safe!
are they not all the seas of God?
O farther, farther, farther sail!
[ BOOK XXVII ]
} Prayer of Columbus
A batter'd, wreck'd old man, Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home, Pent by the sea and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months, Sore, stiff with many toils, sicken'd and nigh to death, I take my way along the island's edge, Venting a heavy heart.
I am too full of woe!
Haply I may not live another day; I cannot rest O God, I cannot eat or drink or sleep, Till I put forth myself, my prayer, once more to Thee, Breathe, bathe myself once more in Thee, commune with Thee, Report myself once more to Thee.
All my emprises have been fill'd with Thee, My speculations, plans, begun and carried on in thoughts of Thee, Sailing the deep or journeying the land for Thee; Intentions, purports, aspirations mine, leaving results to Thee.
O I am sure they really came from Thee, The urge, the ardor, the unconquerable will, The potent, felt, interior command, stronger than words, A message from the Heavens whispering to me even in sleep, These sped me on.
By me and these the work so far accomplish'd, By me earth's elder cloy'd and stifled lands uncloy'd, unloos'd, By me the hemispheres rounded and tied, the unknown to the known.
My terminus near, The clouds already closing in upon me, The voyage balk'd, the course disputed, lost, I yield my ships to Thee.
My hands, my limbs grow nerveless, My brain feels rack'd, bewilder'd, Let the old timbers part, I will not part, I will cling fast to Thee, O God, though the waves buffet me, Thee, Thee at least I know.
Is it the prophet's thought I speak, or am I raving?
What do I know of life?
what of myself?
I know not even my own work past or present, Dim ever - shifting guesses of it spread before me, Of newer better worlds, their mighty parturition, Mocking, perplexing me.
And these things I see suddenly, what mean they?
As if some miracle, some hand divine unseal'd my eyes, Shadowy vast shapes smile through the air and sky, And on the distant waves sail countless ships, And anthems in new tongues I hear saluting me.
[ BOOK XXVIII ]
} The Sleepers
1 I wander all night in my vision, Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping and stopping, Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers, Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill - assorted, contradictory, Pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping.
How solemn they look there, stretch'd and still, How quiet they breathe, the little children in their cradles.
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep, The prisoner sleeps well in the prison, the runaway son sleeps, The murderer that is to be hung next day, how does he sleep?
And the murder'd person, how does he sleep?
The female that loves unrequited sleeps, And the male that loves unrequited sleeps, The head of the money - maker that plotted all day sleeps, And the enraged and treacherous dispositions, all, all sleep.
I stand in the dark with drooping eyes by the worst - suffering and the most restless, I pass my hands soothingly to and fro a few inches from them, The restless sink in their beds, they fitfully sleep.
Now I pierce the darkness, new beings appear, The earth recedes from me into the night, I saw that it was beautiful, and I see that what is not the earth is beautiful.
I go from bedside to bedside, I sleep close with the other sleepers each in turn, I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other dreamers, And I become the other dreamers.
I am a dance--play up there!
the fit is whirling me fast!
I am the ever - laughing--it is new moon and twilight, I see the hiding of douceurs, I see nimble ghosts whichever way look, Cache and cache again deep in the ground and sea, and where it is neither ground nor sea.
with mirth - shouting music and wild - flapping pennants of joy!
I am the actor, the actress, the voter, the politician, The emigrant and the exile, the criminal that stood in the box, He who has been famous and he who shall be famous after to - day, The stammerer, the well - form'd person, the wasted or feeble person.
I am she who adorn'd herself and folded her hair expectantly, My truant lover has come, and it is dark.
Double yourself and receive me darkness, Receive me and my lover too, he will not let me go without him.
I roll myself upon you as upon a bed, I resign myself to the dusk.
He whom I call answers me and takes the place of my lover, He rises with me silently from the bed.
Darkness, you are gentler than my lover, his flesh was sweaty and panting, I feel the hot moisture yet that he left me.
My hands are spread forth, I pass them in all directions, I would sound up the shadowy shore to which you are journeying.
Be careful darkness!
already what was it touch'd me?
I thought my lover had gone, else darkness and he are one, I hear the heart - beat, I follow, I fade away.
2 I descend my western course, my sinews are flaccid, Perfume and youth course through me and I am their wake.
It is my face yellow and wrinkled instead of the old woman's, I sit low in a straw - bottom chair and carefully darn my grandson's stockings.
It is I too, the sleepless widow looking out on the winter midnight, I see the sparkles of starshine on the icy and pallid earth.
A shroud I see and I am the shroud, I wrap a body and lie in the coffin, It is dark here under ground, it is not evil or pain here, it is blank here, for reasons.
(It seems to me that every thing in the light and air ought to be happy, Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave let him know he has enough.)
What are you doing you ruffianly red - trickled waves?
Will you kill the courageous giant?
will you kill him in the prime of his middle age?
4 I turn but do not extricate myself, Confused, a past - reading, another, but with darkness yet.
The beach is cut by the razory ice - wind, the wreck - guns sound, The tempest lulls, the moon comes floundering through the drifts.
I look where the ship helplessly heads end on, I hear the burst as she strikes, I hear the howls of dismay, they grow fainter and fainter.
I cannot aid with my wringing fingers, I can but rush to the surf and let it drench me and freeze upon me.
I search with the crowd, not one of the company is wash'd to us alive, In the morning I help pick up the dead and lay them in rows in a barn.
5 Now of the older war - days, the defeat at Brooklyn, Washington stands inside the lines, he stands on the intrench'd hills amid a crowd of officers.
His face is cold and damp, he cannot repress the weeping drops, He lifts the glass perpetually to his eyes, the color is blanch'd from his cheeks, He sees the slaughter of the southern braves confided to him by their parents.
6 Now what my mother told me one day as we sat at dinner together, Of when she was a nearly grown girl living home with her parents on the old homestead.
7 A show of the summer softness--a contact of something unseen--an amour of the light and air, I am jealous and overwhelm'd with friendliness, And will go gallivant with the light and air myself.
O love and summer, you are in the dreams and in me, Autumn and winter are in the dreams, the farmer goes with his thrift, The droves and crops increase, the barns are well - fill'd.
I swear they are all beautiful, Every one that sleeps is beautiful, every thing in the dim light is beautiful, The wildest and bloodiest is over, and all is peace.
Peace is always beautiful, The myth of heaven indicates peace and night.
I too pass from the night, I stay a while away O night, but I return to you again and love you.
Why should I be afraid to trust myself to you?
I am not afraid, I have been well brought forward by you, I love the rich running day, but I do not desert her in whom I lay so long, I know not how I came of you and I know not where I go with you, but I know I came well and shall go well.
I will stop only a time with the night, and rise betimes, I will duly pass the day O my mother, and duly return to you.
} Transpositions
[ BOOK XXIX ]
} To Think of Time
1 To think of time--of all that retrospection, To think of to - day, and the ages continued henceforward.
Have you guess'd you yourself would not continue?
Have you dreaded these earth - beetles?
Have you fear'd the future would be nothing to you?
Is to - day nothing?
is the beginningless past nothing?
If the future is nothing they are just as surely nothing.
To think that the sun rose in the east--that men and women were flexible, real, alive--that every thing was alive, To think that you and I did not see, feel, think, nor bear our part, To think that we are now here and bear our part.
2 Not a day passes, not a minute or second without an accouchement, Not a day passes, not a minute or second without a corpse.
The living look upon the corpse with their eyesight, But without eyesight lingers a different living and looks curiously on the corpse.
3 To think the thought of death merged in the thought of materials, To think of all these wonders of city and country, and others taking great interest in them, and we taking no interest in them.
To think how eager we are in building our houses, To think others shall be just as eager, and we quite indifferent.
(I see one building the house that serves him a few years, or seventy or eighty years at most, I see one building the house that serves him longer than that.)
Slow - moving and black lines creep over the whole earth--they never cease--they are the burial lines, He that was President was buried, and he that is now President shall surely be buried.
4 A reminiscence of the vulgar fate, A frequent sample of the life and death of workmen, Each after his kind.
Cold dash of waves at the ferry - wharf, posh and ice in the river, half - frozen mud in the streets, A gray discouraged sky overhead, the short last daylight of December, A hearse and stages, the funeral of an old Broadway stage - driver, the cortege mostly drivers.
5 The markets, the government, the working - man's wages, to think what account they are through our nights and days, To think that other working - men will make just as great account of them, yet we make little or no account.
The vulgar and the refined, what you call sin and what you call goodness, to think how wide a difference, To think the difference will still continue to others, yet we lie beyond the difference.
To think how much pleasure there is, Do you enjoy yourself in the city?
or engaged in business?
or planning a nomination and election?
or with your wife and family?
Or with your mother and sisters?
or in womanly housework?
or the beautiful maternal cares?
These also flow onward to others, you and I flow onward, But in due time you and I shall take less interest in them.
Your farm, profits, crops--to think how engross'd you are, To think there will still be farms, profits, crops, yet for you of what avail?
6 What will be will be well, for what is is well, To take interest is well, and not to take interest shall be well.
You are not thrown to the winds, you gather certainly and safely around yourself, Yourself!
yourself!.
yourself, for ever and ever!
The threads that were spun are gather'd, the wet crosses the warp, the pattern is systematic.
The preparations have every one been justified, The orchestra have sufficiently tuned their instruments, the baton has given the signal.
The guest that was coming, he waited long, he is now housed, He is one of those who are beautiful and happy, he is one of those that to look upon and be with is enough.
8 Slow moving and black lines go ceaselessly over the earth, Northerner goes carried and Southerner goes carried, and they on the Atlantic side and they on the Pacific, And they between, and all through the Mississippi country, and all over the earth.
The great masters and kosmos are well as they go, the heroes and good - doers are well, The known leaders and inventors and the rich owners and pious and distinguish'd may be well, But there is more account than that, there is strict account of all.
The interminable hordes of the ignorant and wicked are not nothing, The barbarians of Africa and Asia are not nothing, The perpetual successions of shallow people are not nothing as they go.
And I have dream'd that the purpose and essence of the known life, the transient, Is to form and decide identity for the unknown life, the permanent.
If all came but to ashes of dung, If maggots and rats ended us, then Alarum!
for we are betray'd, Then indeed suspicion of death.
Do you suspect death?
if I were to suspect death I should die now, Do you think I could walk pleasantly and well - suited toward annihilation?
Pleasantly and well - suited I walk, Whither I walk I cannot define, but I know it is good, The whole universe indicates that it is good, The past and the present indicate that it is good.
How beautiful and perfect are the animals!
How perfect the earth, and the minutest thing upon it!
What is called good is perfect, and what is called bad is just as perfect, The vegetables and minerals are all perfect, and the imponderable fluids perfect; Slowly and surely they have pass'd on to this, and slowly and surely they yet pass on.
9 I swear I think now that every thing without exception has an eternal soul!
The trees have, rooted in the ground!
the weeds of the sea have!
the animals!
I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!
That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is for it, and the cohering is for it!
And all preparation is for it--and identity is for it--and life and materials are altogether for it!
[ BOOK XXX.
WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH ]
} Darest Thou Now O Soul
Darest thou now O soul, Walk out with me toward the unknown region, Where neither ground is for the feet nor any path to follow?
No map there, nor guide, Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand, Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.
I know it not O soul, Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us, All waits undream'd of in that region, that inaccessible land.
Till when the ties loosen, All but the ties eternal, Time and Space, Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds bounding us.
Then we burst forth, we float, In Time and Space O soul, prepared for them, Equal, equipt at last, (O joy!
O fruit of all!)
them to fulfil O soul.
} Whispers of Heavenly Death
Whispers of heavenly death murmur'd I hear, Labial gossip of night, sibilant chorals, Footsteps gently ascending, mystical breezes wafted soft and low, Ripples of unseen rivers, tides of a current flowing, forever flowing, (Or is it the plashing of tears?
the measureless waters of human tears?)
I see, just see skyward, great cloud - masses, Mournfully slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing, With at times a half - dimm'd sadden'd far - off star, Appearing and disappearing.
(Some parturition rather, some solemn immortal birth; On the frontiers to eyes impenetrable, Some soul is passing over.)
} Chanting the Square Deific
no more have I, But as the seasons and gravitation, and as all the appointed days that forgive not, I dispense from this side judgments inexorable without the least remorse.
2 Consolator most mild, the promis'd one advancing, With gentle hand extended, the mightier God am I, Foretold by prophets and poets in their most rapt prophecies and poems, From this side, lo!
the Lord Christ gazes--lo!
Hermes I--lo!
what were God?)
Essence of forms, life of the real identities, permanent, positive, (namely the unseen,) Life of the great round world, the sun and stars, and of man, I, the general soul, Here the square finishing, the solid, I the most solid, Breathe my breath also through these songs.
} Of Him I Love Day and Night
} Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours
Yet, yet, ye downcast hours, I know ye also, Weights of lead, how ye clog and cling at my ankles, Earth to a chamber of mourning turns--I hear the o'erweening, mocking voice, Matter is conqueror--matter, triumphant only, continues onward.
Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me, The call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarm'd, uncertain, The sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me, Come tell me where I am speeding, tell me my destination.
} As If a Phantom Caress'd Me
As if a phantom caress'd me, I thought I was not alone walking here by the shore; But the one I thought was with me as now I walk by the shore, the one I loved that caress'd me, As I lean and look through the glimmering light, that one has utterly disappear'd.
And those appear that are hateful to me and mock me.
} Assurances
} Quicksand Years
When shows break up what but One's - Self is sure?
} That Music Always Round Me
} What Ship Puzzled at Sea
What ship puzzled at sea, cons for the true reckoning?
Or coming in, to avoid the bars and follow the channel a perfect pilot needs?
Here, sailor!
here, ship!
take aboard the most perfect pilot, Whom, in a little boat, putting off and rowing, I hailing you offer.
} A Noiseless Patient Spider
A noiseless patient spider, I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated, Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding, It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament out of itself, Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
} O Living Always, Always Dying
O living always, always dying!
always living!)
and leave the corpses behind.
} To One Shortly to Die
From all the rest I single out you, having a message for you, You are to die--let others tell you what they please, I cannot prevaricate, I am exact and merciless, but I love you--there is no escape for you.
} Night on the Prairies
Night on the prairies, The supper is over, the fire on the ground burns low, The wearied emigrants sleep, wrapt in their blankets; I walk by myself--I stand and look at the stars, which I think now never realized before.
Now I absorb immortality and peace, I admire death and test propositions.
How plenteous!
how spiritual!
how resume!
The same old man and soul--the same old aspirations, and the same content.
I was thinking the day most splendid till I saw what the not - day exhibited, I was thinking this globe enough till there sprang out so noiseless around me myriads of other globes.
O I see now that life cannot exhibit all to me, as the day cannot, I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited by death.
} Thought
A huge sob--a few bubbles--the white foam spirting up--and then the women gone, Sinking there while the passionless wet flows on--and I now pondering, Are those women indeed gone?
Are souls drown'd and destroy'd so?
Is only matter triumphant?
} The Last Invocation
At the last, tenderly, From the walls of the powerful fortress'd house, From the clasp of the knitted locks, from the keep of the well - closed doors, Let me be wafted.
Let me glide noiselessly forth; With the key of softness unlock the locks--with a whisper, Set ope the doors O soul.
Tenderly--be not impatient, (Strong is your hold O mortal flesh, Strong is your hold O love.)
} As I Watch the Ploughman Ploughing
As I watch'd the ploughman ploughing, Or the sower sowing in the fields, or the harvester harvesting, I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies; (Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest according.)
} Pensive and Faltering
Pensive and faltering, The words the Dead I write, For living are the Dead, (Haply the only living, only real, And I the apparition, I the spectre.)
[ BOOK XXXI ]
} Thou Mother with Thy Equal Brood
1 Thou Mother with thy equal brood, Thou varied chain of different States, yet one identity only, A special song before I go I'd sing o'er all the rest, For thee, the future.
I'd sow a seed for thee of endless Nationality, I'd fashion thy ensemble including body and soul, I'd show away ahead thy real Union, and how it may be accomplish'd.
The paths to the house I seek to make, But leave to those to come the house itself.
Belief I sing, and preparation; As Life and Nature are not great with reference to the present only, But greater still from what is yet to come, Out of that formula for thee I sing.
2 As a strong bird on pinions free, Joyous, the amplest spaces heavenward cleaving, Such be the thought I'd think of thee America, Such be the recitative I'd bring for thee.
And for thy subtler sense subtler refrains dread Mother, Preludes of intellect tallying these and thee, mind - formulas fitted for thee, real and sane and large as these and thee, Thou!
mounting higher, diving deeper than we knew, thou transcendental Union!
By thee fact to be justified, blended with thought, Thought of man justified, blended with God, Through thy idea, lo, the immortal reality!
Through thy reality, lo, the immortal idea!
3 Brain of the New World, what a task is thine, To formulate the Modern--out of the peerless grandeur of the modern, Out of thyself, comprising science, to recast poems, churches, art, (Recast, may - be discard them, end them--maybe their work is done, who knows?)
By vision, hand, conception, on the background of the mighty past, the dead, To limn with absolute faith the mighty living present.
these in thee, (certain to come,) to - day I prophesy.
6 Land tolerating all, accepting all, not for the good alone, all good for thee, Land in the realms of God to be a realm unto thyself, Under the rule of God to be a rule unto thyself.
(Lo, where arise three peerless stars, To be thy natal stars my country, Ensemble, Evolution, Freedom, Set in the sky of Law.)
Land of unprecedented faith, God's faith, Thy soil, thy very subsoil, all upheav'd, The general inner earth so long so sedulously draped over, now hence for what it is boldly laid bare, Open'd by thee to heaven's light for benefit or bale.
Not for success alone, Not to fair - sail unintermitted always, The storm shall dash thy face, the murk of war and worse than war shall cover thee all over, (Wert capable of war, its tug and trials?
The soul, its destinies, the real real, (Purport of all these apparitions of the real;) In thee America, the soul, its destinies, Thou globe of globes!
thou wonder nebulous!
By many a throe of heat and cold convuls'd, (by these thyself solidifying,) Thou mental, moral orb--thou New, indeed new, Spiritual World!
The Present holds thee not--for such vast growth as thine, For such unparallel'd flight as thine, such brood as thine, The FUTURE only holds thee and can hold thee.
} A Paumanok Picture
[ BOOK XXXII.
FROM NOON TO STARRY NIGHT ]
} Thou Orb Aloft Full - Dazzling
Thou orb aloft full - dazzling!
thou hot October noon!
Flooding with sheeny light the gray beach sand, The sibilant near sea with vistas far and foam, And tawny streaks and shades and spreading blue; O sun of noon refulgent!
my special word to thee.
Hear me illustrious!
Thy lover me, for always I have loved thee, Even as basking babe, then happy boy alone by some wood edge, thy touching - distant beams enough, Or man matured, or young or old, as now to thee I launch my invocation.
Nor only launch thy subtle dazzle and thy strength for these, Prepare the later afternoon of me myself--prepare my lengthening shadows, Prepare my starry nights.
} Faces
1 Sauntering the pavement or riding the country by - road, faces!
Sauntering the pavement thus, or crossing the ceaseless ferry, faces and faces and faces, I see them and complain not, and am content with all.
2 Do you suppose I could be content with all if I thought them their own finale?
This now is too lamentable a face for a man, Some abject louse asking leave to be, cringing for it, Some milk - nosed maggot blessing what lets it wrig to its hole.
This face is a dog's snout sniffing for garbage, Snakes nest in that mouth, I hear the sibilant threat.
This face is a haze more chill than the arctic sea, Its sleepy and wobbling icebergs crunch as they go.
This is a face of bitter herbs, this an emetic, they need no label, And more of the drug - shelf, laudanum, caoutchouc, or hog's - lard.
This face is bitten by vermin and worms, And this is some murderer's knife with a half - pull'd scabbard.
This face owes to the sexton his dismalest fee, An unceasing death - bell tolls there.
3 Features of my equals would you trick me with your creas'd and cadaverous march?
Well, you cannot trick me.
I see your rounded never - erased flow, I see'neath the rims of your haggard and mean disguises.
Splay and twist as you like, poke with the tangling fores of fishes or rats, You'll be unmuzzled, you certainly will.
4 The Lord advances, and yet advances, Always the shadow in front, always the reach'd hand bringing up the laggards.
Out of this face emerge banners and horses--O superb!
I see what is coming, I see the high pioneer - caps, see staves of runners clearing the way, I hear victorious drums.
This face is a life - boat, This is the face commanding and bearded, it asks no odds of the rest, This face is flavor'd fruit ready for eating, This face of a healthy honest boy is the programme of all good.
These faces bear testimony slumbering or awake, They show their descent from the Master himself.
Off the word I have spoken I except not one--red, white, black, are all deific, In each house is the ovum, it comes forth after a thousand years.
Spots or cracks at the windows do not disturb me, Tall and sufficient stand behind and make signs to me, I read the promise and patiently wait.
5 The old face of the mother of many children, Whist!
I am fully content.
Lull'd and late is the smoke of the First - day morning, It hangs low over the rows of trees by the fences, It hangs thin by the sassafras and wild - cherry and cat - brier under them.
I saw the rich ladies in full dress at the soiree, I heard what the singers were singing so long, Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white froth and the water - blue.
Behold a woman!
She looks out from her quaker cap, her face is clearer and more beautiful than the sky.
She sits in an armchair under the shaded porch of the farmhouse, The sun just shines on her old white head.
Her ample gown is of cream - hued linen, Her grandsons raised the flax, and her grand - daughters spun it with the distaff and the wheel.
The melodious character of the earth, The finish beyond which philosophy cannot go and does not wish to go, The justified mother of men.
} The Mystic Trumpeter
1 Hark, some wild trumpeter, some strange musician, Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to - night.
I hear thee trumpeter, listening alert I catch thy notes, Now pouring, whirling like a tempest round me, Now low, subdued, now in the distance lost.
4 Blow again trumpeter!
and for my sensuous eyes, Bring the old pageants, show the feudal world.
What charm thy music works!
5 Blow again trumpeter!
and for thy theme, Take now the enclosing theme of all, the solvent and the setting, Love, that is pulse of all, the sustenance and the pang, The heart of man and woman all for love, No other theme but love--knitting, enclosing, all - diffusing love.
O how the immortal phantoms crowd around me!
6 Blow again trumpeter--conjure war's alarums.
I see ships foundering at sea, I behold on deck and below deck the terrible tableaus.
8 Now trumpeter for thy close, Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet, Sing to my soul, renew its languishing faith and hope, Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future, Give me for once its prophecy and joy.
O glad, exulting, culminating song!
A vigor more than earth's is in thy notes, Marches of victory--man disenthral'd--the conqueror at last, Hymns to the universal God from universal man--all joy!
A reborn race appears--a perfect world, all joy!
Women and men in wisdom innocence and health--all joy!
Riotous laughing bacchanals fill'd with joy!
War, sorrow, suffering gone--the rank earth purged--nothing but joy left!
The ocean fill'd with joy--the atmosphere all joy!
Joy!
joy!
in freedom, worship, love!
joy in the ecstasy of life!
Enough to merely be!
enough to breathe!
Joy!
joy!
all over joy!
} To a Locomotive in Winter
Fierce - throated beauty!
} O Magnet - South
O magnet - south!
O glistening perfumed South!
my South!
O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love!
good and evil!
O all dear to me!
the growing fields of rice, sugar, hemp!
O tender and fierce pangs, I can stand them not, I will depart; O to be a Virginian where I grew up!
O to be a Carolinian!
O longings irrepressible!
O I will go back to old Tennessee and never wander more.
} Mannahatta
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon lo!
upsprang the aboriginal name.
city of spires and masts!
City nested in bays!
my city!
} All Is Truth
(This is curious and may not be realized immediately, but it must be realized, I feel in myself that I represent falsehoods equally with the rest, And that the universe does.)
Where has fail'd a perfect return indifferent of lies or the truth?
Is it upon the ground, or in water or fire?
or in the spirit of man?
or in the meat and blood?
} A Riddle Song
Indifferently,'mid public, private haunts, in solitude, Behind the mountain and the wood, Companion of the city's busiest streets, through the assemblage, It and its radiations constantly glide.
In looks of fair unconscious babes, Or strangely in the coffin'd dead, Or show of breaking dawn or stars by night, As some dissolving delicate film of dreams, Hiding yet lingering.
Two little breaths of words comprising it, Two words, yet all from first to last comprised in it.
How ardently for it!
How many ships have sail'd and sunk for it!
How many travelers started from their homes and neer return'd!
How much of genius boldly staked and lost for it!
What countless stores of beauty, love, ventur'd for it!
How all superbest deeds since Time began are traceable to it--and shall be to the end!
How all heroic martyrdoms to it!
How, justified by it, the horrors, evils, battles of the earth!
How the bright fascinating lambent flames of it, in every age and land, have drawn men's eyes, Rich as a sunset on the Norway coast, the sky, the islands, and the cliffs, Or midnight's silent glowing northern lights unreachable.
Haply God's riddle it, so vague and yet so certain, The soul for it, and all the visible universe for it, And heaven at last for it.
} Excelsior
Who has gone farthest?
for I would go farther, And who has been just?
for I would be the most just person of the earth, And who most cautious?
for I would be more cautious, And who has been happiest?
O I think it is I--I think no one was ever happier than I, And who has lavish'd all?
for I lavish constantly the best I have, And who proudest?
for I think I have reason to be the proudest son alive--for I am the son of the brawny and tall - topt city, And who has been bold and true?
for I would be the boldest and truest being of the universe, And who benevolent?
for I would show more benevolence than all the rest, And who has receiv'd the love of the most friends?
for I know what it is to receive the passionate love of many friends, And who possesses a perfect and enamour'd body?
for I do not believe any one possesses a more perfect or enamour'd body than mine, And who thinks the amplest thoughts?
for I would surround those thoughts, And who has made hymns fit for the earth?
for I am mad with devouring ecstasy to make joyous hymns for the whole earth.
} Ah Poverties, Wincings, and Sulky Retreats
Ah poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats, Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me, (For what is my life or any man's life but a conflict with foes, the old, the incessant war?)
You degradations, you tussle with passions and appetites, You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds the sharpest of all!)
You toil of painful and choked articulations, you meannesses, You shallow tongue - talks at tables, (my tongue the shallowest of any;) You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smother'd ennuis!
Ah think not you finally triumph, my real self has yet to come forth, It shall yet march forth o'ermastering, till all lies beneath me, It shall yet stand up the soldier of ultimate victory.
} Thoughts
Of public opinion, Of a calm and cool fiat sooner or later, (how impassive!
how certain and final!)
Of the President with pale face asking secretly to himself, What will the people say at last?
} Mediums
} Weave in, My Hardy Life
} Spain, 1873 - 74
Nor think we forget thee maternal; Lag'd'st thou so long?
shall the clouds close again upon thee?
Ah, but thou hast thyself now appear'd to us--we know thee, Thou hast given us a sure proof, the glimpse of thyself, Thou waitest there as everywhere thy time.
} By Broad Potomac's Shore
By broad Potomac's shore, again old tongue, (Still uttering, still ejaculating, canst never cease this babble?)
Perfume this book of mine O blood - red roses!
Lave subtly with your waters every line Potomac!
Give me of you O spring, before I close, to put between its pages!
O forenoon purple of the hills, before I close, of you!
O deathless grass, of you!
} From Far Dakota's Canyons [ June 25, 1876 ]
From far Dakota's canyons, Lands of the wild ravine, the dusky Sioux, the lonesome stretch, the silence, Haply to - day a mournful wall, haply a trumpet - note for heroes.
Continues yet the old, old legend of our race, The loftiest of life upheld by death, The ancient banner perfectly maintain'd, O lesson opportune, O how I welcome thee!
As sitting in dark days, Lone, sulky, through the time's thick murk looking in vain for light, for hope, From unsuspected parts a fierce and momentary proof, (The sun there at the centre though conceal'd, Electric life forever at the centre,) Breaks forth a lightning flash.
} Old War - Dreams
In midnight sleep of many a face of anguish, Of the look at first of the mortally wounded, (of that indescribable look,) Of the dead on their backs with arms extended wide, I dream, I dream, I dream.
Of scenes of Nature, fields and mountains, Of skies so beauteous after a storm, and at night the moon so unearthly bright, Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and gather the heaps, I dream, I dream, I dream.
Long have they pass'd, faces and trenches and fields, Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composure, or away from the fallen, Onward I sped at the time--but now of their forms at night, I dream, I dream, I dream.
} Thick - Sprinkled Bunting
Thick - sprinkled bunting!
flag of stars!
O hasten flag of man--O with sure and steady step, passing highest flags of kings, Walk supreme to the heavens mighty symbol--run up above them all, Flag of stars!
thick - sprinkled bunting!
} What Best I See in Thee [ To U. S. G. return'd from his World's Tour ]
} Spirit That Form'd This Scene [ Written in Platte Canyon, Colorado ]
To fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatesse?
The lyrist's measur'd beat, the wrought - out temple's grace--column and polish'd arch forgot?
But thou that revelest here--spirit that form'd this scene, They have remember'd thee.
} As I Walk These Broad Majestic Days
I see the ships, (they will last a few years,) The vast factories with their foremen and workmen, And hear the indorsement of all, and do not object to it.
But I too announce solid things, Science, ships, politics, cities, factories, are not nothing, Like a grand procession to music of distant bugles pouring, triumphantly moving, and grander heaving in sight, They stand for realities--all is as it should be.
Then my realities; What else is so real as mine?
Libertad and the divine average, freedom to every slave on the face of the earth, The rapt promises and lumine of seers, the spiritual world, these centuries - lasting songs, And our visions, the visions of poets, the most solid announcements of any.
} A Clear Midnight
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best, Night, sleep, death and the stars.
[ BOOK XXXIII.
SONGS OF PARTING ]
} As the Time Draws Nigh
As the time draws nigh glooming a cloud, A dread beyond of I know not what darkens me.
I shall go forth, I shall traverse the States awhile, but I cannot tell whither or how long, Perhaps soon some day or night while I am singing my voice will suddenly cease.
O book, O chants!
must all then amount to but this?
Must we barely arrive at this beginning of us?
-- and yet it is enough, O soul; O soul, we have positively appear'd--that is enough.
} Years of the Modern
Years of the modern!
years of the unperform'd!
are the acts suitable to them closed?)
I see Freedom, completely arm'd and victorious and very haughty, with Law on one side and Peace on the other, A stupendous trio all issuing forth against the idea of caste; What historic denouements are these we so rapidly approach?
Are all nations communing?
is there going to be but one heart to the globe?
Is humanity forming en - masse?
for lo, tyrants tremble, crowns grow dim, The earth, restive, confronts a new era, perhaps a general divine war, No one knows what will happen next, such portents fill the days and nights; Years prophetical!
the space ahead as I walk, as I vainly try to pierce it, is full of phantoms, Unborn deeds, things soon to be, project their shapes around me, This incredible rush and heat, this strange ecstatic fever of dreams O years!
Your dreams O years, how they penetrate through me!
(I know not whether I sleep or wake;) The perform'd America and Europe grow dim, retiring in shadow behind me, The unperform'd, more gigantic than ever, advance, advance upon me.
} Ashes of Soldiers
Ashes of soldiers South or North, As I muse retrospective murmuring a chant in thought, The war resumes, again to my sense your shapes, And again the advance of the armies.
Now sound no note O trumpeters, Not at the head of my cavalry parading on spirited horses, With sabres drawn and glistening, and carbines by their thighs, (ah my brave horsemen!
My handsome tan - faced horsemen!
what life, what joy and pride, With all the perils were yours.)
Nor you drummers, neither at reveille at dawn, Nor the long roll alarming the camp, nor even the muffled beat for burial, Nothing from you this time O drummers bearing my warlike drums.
But aside from these and the marts of wealth and the crowded promenade, Admitting around me comrades close unseen by the rest and voiceless, The slain elate and alive again, the dust and debris alive, I chant this chant of my silent soul in the name of all dead soldiers.
Faces so pale with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet, Draw close, but speak not.
Phantoms of countless lost, Invisible to the rest henceforth become my companions, Follow me ever--desert me not while I live.
Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living--sweet are the musical voices sounding, But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead with their silent eyes.
Dearest comrades, all is over and long gone, But love is not over--and what love, O comrades!
Perfume from battle - fields rising, up from the foetor arising.
Perfume therefore my chant, O love, immortal love, Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers, Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride.
Perfume all--make all wholesome, Make these ashes to nourish and blossom, O love, solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry.
Give me exhaustless, make me a fountain, That I exhale love from me wherever I go like a moist perennial dew, For the ashes of all dead soldiers South or North.
} Thoughts
} Song at Sunset
Splendor of ended day floating and filling me, Hour prophetic, hour resuming the past, Inflating my throat, you divine average, You earth and life till the last ray gleams I sing.
Open mouth of my soul uttering gladness, Eyes of my soul seeing perfection, Natural life of me faithfully praising things, Corroborating forever the triumph of things.
Illustrious every one!
Good in all, In the satisfaction and aplomb of animals, In the annual return of the seasons, In the hilarity of youth, In the strength and flush of manhood, In the grandeur and exquisiteness of old age, In the superb vistas of death.
Wonderful to depart!
Wonderful to be here!
The heart, to jet the all - alike and innocent blood!
To breathe the air, how delicious!
To speak--to walk--to seize something by the hand!
To prepare for sleep, for bed, to look on my rose - color'd flesh!
To be conscious of my body, so satisfied, so large!
To be this incredible God I am!
To have gone forth among other Gods, these men and women I love.
Wonderful how I celebrate you and myself How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around!
How the clouds pass silently overhead!
How the earth darts on and on!
and how the sun, moon, stars, dart on and on!
How the water sports and sings!
(surely it is alive!)
How the trees rise and stand up, with strong trunks, with branches and leaves!
(Surely there is something more in each of the trees, some living soul.)
O amazement of things--even the least particle!
O spirituality of things!
O strain musical flowing through ages and continents, now reaching me and America!
I take your strong chords, intersperse them, and cheerfully pass them forward.
I too carol the sun, usher'd or at noon, or as now, setting, I too throb to the brain and beauty of the earth and of all the growths of the earth, I too have felt the resistless call of myself.
O setting sun!
though the time has come, I still warble under you, if none else does, unmitigated adoration.
} As at Thy Portals Also Death
} My Legacy
} Pensive on Her Dead Gazing
O air and soil!
O my dead, an aroma sweet!
Exhale them perennial sweet death, years, centuries hence.
} Camps of Green
Lo, the camps of the tents of green, Which the days of peace keep filling, and the days of war keep filling, With a mystic army, (is it too order'd forward?
is it too only halting awhile, Till night and sleep pass over?)
For presently O soldiers, we too camp in our place in the bivouac - camps of green, But we need not provide for outposts, nor word for the countersign, Nor drummer to beat the morning drum.
} The Sobbing of the Bells [ Midnight, Sept. 19 - 20, 1881 ]
} As They Draw to a Close
} Joy, Shipmate, Joy!
Joy, shipmate, Joy!
(Pleas'd to my soul at death I cry,) Our life is closed, our life begins, The long, long anchorage we leave, The ship is clear at last, she leaps!
She swiftly courses from the shore, Joy, shipmate, joy.
} The Untold Want
The untold want by life and land ne'er granted, Now voyager sail thou forth to seek and find.
} Portals
What are those of the known but to ascend and enter the Unknown?
And what are those of life but for Death?
} These Carols
These carols sung to cheer my passage through the world I see, For completion I dedicate to the Invisible World.
} Now Finale to the Shore
} So Long!
To conclude, I announce what comes after me.
I remember I said before my leaves sprang at all, I would raise my voice jocund and strong with reference to consummations.
When America does what was promis'd, When through these States walk a hundred millions of superb persons, When the rest part away for superb persons and contribute to them, When breeds of the most perfect mothers denote America, Then to me and mine our due fruition.
I have press'd through in my own right, I have sung the body and the soul, war and peace have I sung, and the songs of life and death, And the songs of birth, and shown that there are many births.
I have offer'd my style to every one, I have journey'd with confident step; While my pleasure is yet at the full I whisper So long!
And take the young woman's hand and the young man's hand for the last time.
I announce natural persons to arise, I announce justice triumphant, I announce uncompromising liberty and equality, I announce the justification of candor and the justification of pride.
I announce that the identity of these States is a single identity only, I announce the Union more and more compact, indissoluble, I announce splendors and majesties to make all the previous politics of the earth insignificant.
I announce adhesiveness, I say it shall be limitless, unloosen'd, I say you shall yet find the friend you were looking for.
I announce a man or woman coming, perhaps you are the one, (So long!)
I announce the great individual, fluid as Nature, chaste, affectionate, compassionate, fully arm'd.
I announce a life that shall be copious, vehement, spiritual, bold, I announce an end that shall lightly and joyfully meet its translation.
I announce myriads of youths, beautiful, gigantic, sweet - blooded, I announce a race of splendid and savage old men.
O thicker and faster --(So long!)
O crowding too close upon me, I foresee too much, it means more than I thought, It appears to me I am dying.
Hasten throat and sound your last, Salute me--salute the days once more.
Peal the old cry once more.
What is there more, that I lag and pause and crouch extended with unshut mouth?
Is there a single final farewell?
My songs cease, I abandon them, From behind the screen where I hid I advance personally solely to you.
Camerado, this is no book, Who touches this touches a man, (Is it night?
are we here together alone?)
It is I you hold and who holds you, I spring from the pages into your arms--decease calls me forth.
O how your fingers drowse me, Your breath falls around me like dew, your pulse lulls the tympans of my ears, I feel immerged from head to foot, Delicious, enough.
Enough O deed impromptu and secret, Enough O gliding present--enough O summ'd - up past.
Remember my words, I may again return, I love you, I depart from materials, I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead.
[ BOOK XXXIV.
SANDS AT SEVENTY ]
} Mannahatta
My city's fit and noble name resumed, Choice aboriginal name, with marvellous beauty, meaning, A rocky founded island--shores where ever gayly dash the coming, going, hurrying sea waves.
} Paumanok
Sea - beauty!
stretch'd and basking!
One side thy inland ocean laving, broad, with copious commerce, steamers, sails, And one the Atlantic's wind caressing, fierce or gentle--mighty hulls dark - gliding in the distance.
Isle of sweet brooks of drinking - water--healthy air and soil!
Isle of the salty shore and breeze and brine!
} From Montauk Point
I stand as on some mighty eagle's beak, Eastward the sea absorbing, viewing, (nothing but sea and sky,) The tossing waves, the foam, the ships in the distance, The wild unrest, the snowy, curling caps--that inbound urge and urge of waves, Seeking the shores forever.
} To Those Who've Fail'd
} A Carol Closing Sixty - Nine
} The Bravest Soldiers
Brave, brave were the soldiers (high named to - day) who lived through the fight; But the bravest press'd to the front and fell, unnamed, unknown.
} A Font of Type
} As I Sit Writing Here
As I sit writing here, sick and grown old, Not my least burden is that dulness of the years, querilities, Ungracious glooms, aches, lethargy, constipation, whimpering ennui, May filter in my dally songs.
} My Canary Bird
Did we count great, O soul, to penetrate the themes of mighty books, Absorbing deep and full from thoughts, plays, speculations?
But now from thee to me, caged bird, to feel thy joyous warble, Filling the air, the lonesome room, the long forenoon, Is it not just as great, O soul?
} Queries to My Seventieth Year
Approaching, nearing, curious, Thou dim, uncertain spectre--bringest thou life or death?
Strength, weakness, blindness, more paralysis and heavier?
Or placid skies and sun?
Wilt stir the waters yet?
Or haply cut me short for good?
Or leave me here as now, Dull, parrot - like and old, with crack'd voice harping, screeching?
} The Wallabout Martyrs
} The First Dandelion
Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close emerging, As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been, Forth from its sunny nook of shelter'd grass--innocent, golden, calm as the dawn, The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful face.
} America
Centre of equal daughters, equal sons, All, all alike endear'd, grown, ungrown, young or old, Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich, Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love, A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother, Chair'd in the adamant of Time.
} Memories
How sweet the silent backward tracings!
The wanderings as in dreams--the meditation of old times resumed--their loves, joys, persons, voyages.
} To - Day and Thee
The heirdom all converged in thee!
} After the Dazzle of Day
After the dazzle of day is gone, Only the dark, dark night shows to my eyes the stars; After the clangor of organ majestic, or chorus, or perfect band, Silent, athwart my soul, moves the symphony true.
} Abraham Lincoln, Born Feb. 12, 1809
To - day, from each and all, a breath of prayer--a pulse of thought, To memory of Him--to birth of Him.
} Out of May's Shows Selected
} Halcyon Days
The brooding and blissful halcyon days!
[ FANCIES AT NAVESINK ]
}[ I ] The Pilot in the Mist
}[ II ] Had I the Choice
}[ III ] You Tides with Ceaseless Swell
You tides with ceaseless swell!
you power that does this work!
You unseen force, centripetal, centrifugal, through space's spread, Rapport of sun, moon, earth, and all the constellations, What are the messages by you from distant stars to us?
what Sirius '?
what Capella's?
What central heart--and you the pulse--vivifies all?
what boundless aggregate of all?
What subtle indirection and significance in you?
what clue to all in you?
what fluid, vast identity, Holding the universe with all its parts as one--as sailing in a ship?
}[ IV ] Last of Ebb, and Daylight Waning
Last of ebb, and daylight waning, Scented sea - cool landward making, smells of sedge and salt incoming, With many a half - caught voice sent up from the eddies, Many a muffled confession--many a sob and whisper'd word, As of speakers far or hid.
How they sweep down and out!
how they mutter!
Poets unnamed--artists greatest of any, with cherish'd lost designs, Love's unresponse--a chorus of age's complaints--hope's last words, Some suicide's despairing cry, Away to the boundless waste, and never again return.
On to oblivion then!
On, on, and do your part, ye burying, ebbing tide!
On for your time, ye furious debouche!
}[ V ] And Yet Not You Alone
}[ VI ] Proudly the Flood Comes In
}[ VII ] By That Long Scan of Waves
}[ VIII ] Then Last Of All
Then last of all, caught from these shores, this hill, Of you O tides, the mystic human meaning: Only by law of you, your swell and ebb, enclosing me the same, The brain that shapes, the voice that chants this song.
} Election Day, November, 1884
it serves to purify--while the heart pants, life glows: These stormy gusts and winds waft precious ships, Swell'd Washington's, Jefferson's, Lincoln's sails.
} With Husky - Haughty Lips, O Sea!
With husky - haughty lips, O sea!
} Death of General Grant
Thou from the prairies!-- tangled and many - vein'd and hard has been thy part, To admiration has it been enacted!
} Red Jacket (From Aloft)
Upon this scene, this show, Yielded to - day by fashion, learning, wealth, (Nor in caprice alone--some grains of deepest meaning,) Haply, aloft, (who knows?)
} Washington's Monument February, 1885
} Of That Blithe Throat of Thine
Of that blithe throat of thine from arctic bleak and blank, I'll mind the lesson, solitary bird--let me too welcome chilling drifts, E'en the profoundest chill, as now--a torpid pulse, a brain unnerv'd, Old age land - lock'd within its winter bay --(cold, cold, O cold!)
} Broadway
What hurrying human tides, or day or night!
What passions, winnings, losses, ardors, swim thy waters!
What whirls of evil, bliss and sorrow, stem thee!
What curious questioning glances--glints of love!
Leer, envy, scorn, contempt, hope, aspiration!
Thou portal--thou arena--thou of the myriad long - drawn lines and groups!
(Could but thy flagstones, curbs, facades, tell their inimitable tales; Thy windows rich, and huge hotels--thy side - walks wide;) Thou of the endless sliding, mincing, shuffling feet!
Thou, like the parti - colored world itself--like infinite, teeming, mocking life!
Thou visor'd, vast, unspeakable show and lesson!
} To Get the Final Lilt of Songs
} Old Salt Kossabone
} The Dead Tenor
As down the stage again, With Spanish hat and plumes, and gait inimitable, Back from the fading lessons of the past, I'd call, I'd tell and own, How much from thee!
the revelation of the singing voice from thee!
(So firm--so liquid - soft--again that tremulous, manly timbre!
} Continuities
Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost, No birth, identity, form--no object of the world.
Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing; Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain.
Ample are time and space--ample the fields of Nature.
} Yonnondio
No picture, poem, statement, passing them to the future:) Yonnondio!
Yonnondio!-- unlimn'd they disappear; To - day gives place, and fades--the cities, farms, factories fade; A muffled sonorous sound, a wailing word is borne through the air for a moment, Then blank and gone and still, and utterly lost.
} Life
Ever the undiscouraged, resolute, struggling soul of man; (Have former armies fail'd?
} " Going Somewhere "
} Small the Theme of My Chant
Small the theme of my Chant, yet the greatest--namely, One's - Self--a simple, separate person.
That, for the use of the New World, I sing.
Man's physiology complete, from top to toe, I sing.
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the Muse;-- I say the Form complete is worthier far.
The Female equally with the Male, I sing.
Nor cease at the theme of One's - Self.
I speak the word of the modern, the word En - Masse.
My Days I sing, and the Lands--with interstice I knew of hapless War.
(O friend, whoe'er you are, at last arriving hither to commence, I feel through every leaf the pressure of your hand, which I return.
And thus upon our journey, footing the road, and more than once, and link'd together let us go.)
} True Conquerors
Old farmers, travelers, workmen (no matter how crippled or bent,) Old sailors, out of many a perilous voyage, storm and wreck, Old soldiers from campaigns, with all their wounds, defeats and scars; Enough that they've survived at all--long life's unflinching ones!
Forth from their struggles, trials, fights, to have emerged at all--in that alone, True conquerors o'er all the rest.
} The United States to Old World Critics
} The Calming Thought of All
That coursing on, whate'er men's speculations, Amid the changing schools, theologies, philosophies, Amid the bawling presentations new and old, The round earth's silent vital laws, facts, modes continue.
} Thanks in Old Age
} Life and Death
The two old, simple problems ever intertwined, Close home, elusive, present, baffled, grappled.
By each successive age insoluble, pass'd on, To ours to - day--and we pass on the same.
} The Voice of the Rain
And who art thou?
} Soon Shall the Winter's Foil Be Here
Soon shall the winter's foil be here; Soon shall these icy ligatures unbind and melt--A little while, And air, soil, wave, suffused shall be in softness, bloom and growth--a thousand forms shall rise From these dead clods and chills as from low burial graves.
Thine eyes, ears--all thy best attributes--all that takes cognizance of natural beauty, Shall wake and fill.
} While Not the Past Forgetting
} The Dying Veteran
Give me my old wild battle - life again!"
} Stronger Lessons
Have you learn'd lessons only of those who admired you, and were tender with you, and stood aside for you?
Have you not learn'd great lessons from those who reject you, and brace themselves against you?
or who treat you with contempt, or dispute the passage with you?
} A Prairie Sunset
} Twenty Years
What of the future?)
} Orange Buds by Mail from Florida
} Twilight
The soft voluptuous opiate shades, The sun just gone, the eager light dispell'd --(I too will soon be gone, dispell'd,) A haze--nirwana--rest and night--oblivion.
} You Lingering Sparse Leaves of Me
} Not Meagre, Latent Boughs Alone
Not meagre, latent boughs alone, O songs!
(scaly and bare, like eagles'talons,) But haply for some sunny day (who knows?)
some future spring, some summer--bursting forth, To verdant leaves, or sheltering shade--to nourishing fruit, Apples and grapes--the stalwart limbs of trees emerging--the fresh, free, open air, And love and faith, like scented roses blooming.
} The Dead Emperor
To - day, with bending head and eyes, thou, too, Columbia, Less for the mighty crown laid low in sorrow--less for the Emperor, Thy true condolence breathest, sendest out o'er many a salt sea mile, Mourning a good old man--a faithful shepherd, patriot.
} As the Greek's Signal Flame
} The Dismantled Ship
In some unused lagoon, some nameless bay, On sluggish, lonesome waters, anchor'd near the shore, An old, dismasted, gray and batter'd ship, disabled, done, After free voyages to all the seas of earth, haul'd up at last and hawser'd tight, Lies rusting, mouldering.
} Now Precedent Songs, Farewell
Beat!
Drums!
or To the Leaven'd Soil they Trod, Or Captain!
My Captain!
what flash and started endless train of all!
compared indeed to that!
What wretched shred e'en at the best of all!)
} An Evening Lull
After a week of physical anguish, Unrest and pain, and feverish heat, Toward the ending day a calm and lull comes on, Three hours of peace and soothing rest of brain.
} Old Age's Lambent Peaks
} After the Supper and Talk
Garrulous to the very last.
[ BOOKXXXV.
GOOD - BYE MY FANCY ]
} Sail out for Good, Eidolon Yacht!
Heave the anchor short!
} Lingering Last Drops
And whence and why come you?
We know not whence, (was the answer,) We only know that we drift here with the rest, That we linger'd and lagg'd--but were wafted at last, and are now here, To make the passing shower's concluding drops.
} Good - Bye My Fancy
Good - bye my fancy --(I had a word to say, But'tis not quite the time--The best of any man's word or say, Is when its proper place arrives--and for its meaning, I keep mine till the last.)
} On, on the Same, Ye Jocund Twain!
On, on the same, ye jocund twain!
continue on the same!
} MY 71st Year
} Apparitions
A vague mist hanging'round half the pages: (Sometimes how strange and clear to the soul, That all these solid things are indeed but apparitions, concepts, non - realities.)
} The Pallid Wreath
Somehow I cannot let it go yet, funeral though it is, Let it remain back there on its nail suspended, With pink, blue, yellow, all blanch'd, and the white now gray and ashy, One wither'd rose put years ago for thee, dear friend; But I do not forget thee.
Hast thou then faded?
Is the odor exhaled?
Are the colors, vitalities, dead?
No, while memories subtly play--the past vivid as ever; For but last night I woke, and in that spectral ring saw thee, Thy smile, eyes, face, calm, silent, loving as ever: So let the wreath hang still awhile within my eye - reach, It is not yet dead to me, nor even pallid.
} An Ended Day
The soothing sanity and blitheness of completion, The pomp and hurried contest - glare and rush are done; Now triumph!
transformation!
jubilate!
} Old Age's Ship & Crafty Death's
From east and west across the horizon's edge, Two mighty masterful vessels sailers steal upon us: But we'll make race a - time upon the seas--a battle - contest yet!
bear lively there!
(Our joys of strife and derring - do to the last!)
Put on the old ship all her power to - day!
Crowd top - sail, top - gallant and royal studding - sails, Out challenge and defiance--flags and flaunting pennants added, As we take to the open--take to the deepest, freest waters.
} To the Pending Year
Have I no weapon - word for thee--some message brief and fierce?
(Have I fought out and done indeed the battle?)
Is there no shot left, For all thy affectations, lisps, scorns, manifold silliness?
Nor for myself--my own rebellious self in thee?
Down, down, proud gorge!-- though choking thee; Thy bearded throat and high - borne forehead to the gutter; Crouch low thy neck to eleemosynary gifts.
} Shakspere - Bacon's Cipher
} Long, Long Hence
} Bravo, Paris Exposition!
} Interpolation Sounds
} To the Sun - Set Breeze
elements!
Law's, all Astronomy's last refinement?
Hast thou no soul?
Can I not know, identify thee?
} Old Chants
An ancient song, reciting, ending, Once gazing toward thee, Mother of All, Musing, seeking themes fitted for thee, Accept me, thou saidst, the elder ballads, And name for me before thou goest each ancient poet.
(Of many debts incalculable, Haply our New World's chieftest debt is to old poems.)
with as now thy bending neck and head, with courteous hand and word, ascending, Thou!
pausing a moment, drooping thine eyes upon them, blent with their music, Well pleased, accepting all, curiously prepared for by them, Thou enterest at thy entrance porch.
} A Christmas Greeting
Welcome, Brazilian brother--thy ample place is ready; A loving hand--a smile from the north--a sunny instant hall!
(Let the future care for itself, where it reveals its troubles, impedimentas, Ours, ours the present throe, the democratic aim, the acceptance and the faith;) To thee to - day our reaching arm, our turning neck--to thee from us the expectant eye, Thou cluster free!
thou brilliant lustrous one!
thou, learning well, The true lesson of a nation's light in the sky, (More shining than the Cross, more than the Crown,) The height to be superb humanity.
} Sounds of the Winter
} A Twilight Song
} When the Full - Grown Poet Came
} Osceola
(And here a line in memory of his name and death.)
} A Voice from Death
Although I come and unannounc'd, in horror and in pang, In pouring flood and fire, and wholesale elemental crash, (this voice so solemn, strange,) I too a minister of Deity.
Then after burying, mourning the dead, (Faithful to them found or unfound, forgetting not, bearing the past, here new musing,) A day--a passing moment or an hour--America itself bends low, Silent, resign'd, submissive.
War, death, cataclysm like this, America, Take deep to thy proud prosperous heart.
E'en as I chant, lo!
out of death, and out of ooze and slime, The blossoms rapidly blooming, sympathy, help, love, From West and East, from South and North and over sea, Its hot - spurr'd hearts and hands humanity to human aid moves on; And from within a thought and lesson yet.
Thou ever - darting Globe!
through Space and Air!
Thou waters that encompass us!
Thou that in all the life and death of us, in action or in sleep!
Thou laws invisible that permeate them and all, Thou that in all, and over all, and through and under all, incessant!
Thou!
thou!
the vital, universal, giant force resistless, sleepless, calm, Holding Humanity as in thy open hand, as some ephemeral toy, How ill to e'er forget thee!
} A Persian Lesson
For his o'erarching and last lesson the greybeard sufi, In the fresh scent of the morning in the open air, On the slope of a teeming Persian rose - garden, Under an ancient chestnut - tree wide spreading its branches, Spoke to the young priests and students.
" Finally my children, to envelop each word, each part of the rest, Allah is all, all, all--immanent in every life and object, May - be at many and many - a - more removes--yet Allah, Allah, Allah is there.
" Has the estray wander'd far?
Is the reason - why strangely hidden?
Would you sound below the restless ocean of the entire world?
Would you know the dissatisfaction?
the urge and spur of every life; The something never still'd--never entirely gone?
the invisible need of every seed?
" It is the central urge in every atom, (Often unconscious, often evil, downfallen,) To return to its divine source and origin, however distant, Latent the same in subject and in object, without one exception."
} The Commonplace
The commonplace I sing; How cheap is health!
how cheap nobility!
} " The Rounded Catalogue Divine Complete "
Newts, crawling things in slime and mud, poisons, The barren soil, the evil men, the slag and hideous rot.
} Mirages
} L. of G.' s Purport
Not to exclude or demarcate, or pick out evils from their formidable masses (even to expose them,) But add, fuse, complete, extend--and celebrate the immortal and the good.
Haughty this song, its words and scope, To span vast realms of space and time, Evolution--the cumulative--growths and generations.
Begun in ripen'd youth and steadily pursued, Wandering, peering, dallying with all--war, peace, day and night absorbing, Never even for one brief hour abandoning my task, I end it here in sickness, poverty, and old age.
I sing of life, yet mind me well of death: To - day shadowy Death dogs my steps, my seated shape, and has for years--Draws sometimes close to me, as face to face.
} The Unexpress'd
How dare one say it?
the best yet unexpress'd and lacking.)
} Grand Is the Seen
of what amount without thee?)
More evolutionary, vast, puzzling, O my soul!
More multiform far--more lasting thou than they.
} Unseen Buds
} Good - Bye My Fancy!
Good - bye my Fancy!
Farewell dear mate, dear love!
I'm going away, I know not where, Or to what fortune, or whether I may ever see you again, So Good - bye my Fancy.
Now for my last--let me look back a moment; The slower fainter ticking of the clock is in me, Exit, nightfall, and soon the heart - thud stopping.
Long have we lived, joy'd, caress'd together; Delightful!-- now separation--Good - bye my Fancy.
May - be it is you the mortal knob really undoing, turning--so now finally, Good - bye--and hail!
my Fancy.
