The Palace of Dreaming in Infantlonia. King Hector tosses restlessly in
his bed and mutters to himself: “Grey dawn is coming, bringing in its
hand Death for the three _who saved my son from death_, And I have
signed the warrant for their deaths— I, the _lone_ King of poor
Saxscoberland. Oh! Isola, had you been by my side, Had you been
_reigning_ jointly with me now As you declared you had the right to
reign, Such foul injustice never had been done. Isola, noble Isola,
divorced, Driven from Hector’s side by unjust law, Come to me, drive
away the imp Remorse Which grinning sits before me, mocking me.”
_Enter Prince Bernis_ (in his nightdress, peeping in): “Papa, mamma
_is_ calling. I heard her. _Who_ is Isola? Is it mamma, papa?”
_Hector_ (springing up): “What brings _you_ here, my child? Bernis,
what is’t? By all the Gods! _What is it_, Bernis boy?”
_Prince Bernis._ “Mamma called me to come here. I have come. Where is
mamma? Is mamma Isola? Nurse calls her _Lady_ Isola, papa; But,
yesterday, I heard His Gaysiousness Say ‘Isola _was_ Fortunatus.’
Who? Papa say, who is Fortunatus, and How can he be my dear mamma,
Isola?”
_Hector_ (seizing the boy and staring at him): “He said that Fortunatus
_was Isola_? Speak, Bernis, did His Graciousness _say that_?”
_Prince Bernis._ “Oh! yes, papa. Conception said it, too. I heard the
Ardrigh and Conception say it. Tell me, papa, where is mamma and why
Is she called Fortunatus by them both, And nurse calls her the _Lady_
Isola?”
_King Hector_ (dressing hastily): “Oh! God Almighty, I shall be too
late. ’Tis twenty-nine miles to the prison gates. They die at eight.
’Tis now far after six. Almighty God! How reach Holdfast in time? Oh!
for the pow’r to flash the word ‘Reprieved’ Into the hands of
Holdfast’s Governor. Surely the Universe holds property Able to send
forth silent messages.” (To the child) “Run back to bed, my darling,
run, Bernis; Papa is going to try to save Mamma. No. I can’t take
you, run to bed, Bernis. Almighty God! _can I get there in time?_”
[_He rushes from his room._
END OF ACT V.
[Illustration]
_ACT SIXTH._
[Illustration]
SCENE I.
Early morning in the condemned cell where Isola lies sleeping. In one
corner of it a warder sits, with his head sunk on his chest, asleep.
The first sign of day dawn is stealing through the barred window.
_Isola_ (gradually awaking, says dreamily): “’Tis somewhat hard my
rugged, earthy couch, Yet the brown heather nurtures Liberty. I’d
rather nestle in its arms, than lie Cushioned and canopied on regal
couch.” [_Wakes more fully, and starts up into a sitting posture, as
consciousness and remembrance return._ “’Tis neither, though. Memory
has returned. Morning is breaking on my last one here. In a few hours
my deathless Counterpart Will meet once more my loved Escanior.
Escanior! I am coming, Escanior! They sought to part us. We shall
meet again.” (She looks at the dim light in the cell, and says):
“’Tis a lone scene. A dreary aspect. _Cold._” [_Shivers._ “Bare
walls, grey dawn, a flick’ring light at play A drowsy gaoler, with
his sleeping head, Nodding upon his almost soulless breast. What is
he but a thing mechanical, The tool of icy and unfeeling law? Law,
_sacred_ law! _No matter how unjust._ An idol to be viewed with
veneration! Yes, Death _is_ nigh, nigh unto Isola. It has no terror
for her, still she fain Would turn aside its grip from _dear_ Vulnar,
And faithful Scrutus, too, if possible. Why should _they_ die for
saving Hector’s son? Hector, _awake_! _Save them_, preserve _their_
lives. What is their crime? Did they not save Vergli, Half-brother of
our little Bernis? Hark! Far off I hear a clock tower tolling six.
Just two hours more. Bernis, _awake_? _My child._ Bernis, _arouse
your father_, bid him _save_, Bid him give Scrutus and Vulnar their
lives. It matters not for me, but for these two, Bernis awake him,
bid him _think of them_. My little boy, make haste. _Time glides
along; It waits for no one, peasant, peer, or king._”
[_Enter another gaoler, the drowsy one starts up._
_Gaoler._ “The pastor’s here. Would you converse with him? And let him
shrift your soul from coal black sin? What will you have to eat? Name
your desire, And I will see it is attended to. You must be hungry,
aye, and thirsty too, For two whole days food has not passed your
lips, Nor water either. Are you not famishing?”
_Fortunatus._ “Ask the wild bird, deprived of Liberty, And caged inside
a narrow prison cell, Either to eat of seed or drink of water! I am
not hungry friend, I need no food, Nor do I need the pastor’s aid to
shrive My soul of some imaginary sins. Let me be left in peace. ’Tis
all I ask, And when the hour arrives for me to die, I’ll leave this
cage ever so joyfully.”
_Gaoler._ “You’re a queer lot, you evolutionists. I would not like to
die, at all, at all, And without eating, or a steadying dram To keep
the nerves together. Think of it! It is to me incomprehensible. Queer
fish indeed these evolutionists.”
_Isola_ (musingly to herself): “Hector _might_ wake. My voice _may_
have reached him, Those thoughts of mine _might_ possibly strike
home! Somehow I feel he’ll wake and send reprieve. Send it, yes, but
will it arrive in time? I’ll claim the privilege of dying first. Each
moment saved is precious. _Dear_ Vulnar, Your staunch fidelity to me
and Truth, Merits not death, but Honour, Liberty. And you, too,
Scrutus, you so faithful. No, You do not merit such a punishment.
Hector! Art coming? Give these men their lives.”
SCENE II.
On the scaffold. An immense crowd is assembled outside the prison of
Holdfast. The three prisoners have been pinioned, and have reached
the spot of execution.
_Fortunatus_ (to the hangman): “I claim the privilege of dying first,
Being the youngest of us three condemned, So man, make me your first
experiment, And take your time, don’t hurry, be composed. Tut man,
don’t tremble! What is there to fear? Learn from young Fortunatus how
to die. Adjust the rope. There! Steady. Hark! _I_ hear. [_Listens._
’Tis the far echo of a horse’s feet, Surely, yes surely, _both_ will
now be saved, I _feel_ it, _bless thee_ Hector, Vic——”
_A tremendous roar is heard outside. The words_ “Reprieve, Reprieve,
the King himself! The King!” _suddenly penetrate to the scaffold. A
minute later and the King hurries thereon_.
_King Hector._ “Reprieved! Governor hear! They are reprieved!”
[_Staring at the group._ “Two only here? _Where_ is young
Fortunatus?”
_The Hangman._ “Dead, Sire! The word ‘reprieve’ reached me too late,
The sound arrived just as I pulled the bolt. His last words were
‘Bless thee Hector, Victory!’ I heard them uttered as he fell below,
His death was speedy, instantaneous.”
_Hector_, laying both hands on Vulnar’s shoulder and bowing his head on
them, sobs out: “Isola! Isola! too late! too late! Oh! Isola forgive.
I rode _my_ best. I rode not as a King, _but as a man_ Whose heart
was bursting to reach you in time. I rode the horse you used to love
so well. The chestnut Saladin. He cleft the air, He seemed to fly
like arrow from the bow. _He did his utmost. I did mine._ Alas! Fate
was against us. Fate inexorable.”
_The Governor_ of Holdfast prison exclaiming to himself: “Isola!
Fortunatus, Isola? By all the gods! This is a pretty pass. [_To a
Warder._ Haste man! Cut down young Fortunatus. See. Quick! bear the
body to my private rooms. Explain the situation to my wife. Tell her
to lay Isola on the bed. Apprise her that the King is here. The King!
A pretty pass! A tragedy indeed!”
_Vulnar_ (to the hangman): “Unpinion me and Scrutus. Do it sharp, man.”
[_A pause._ Turning to the King and taking his hand: “Oh! sire,
grieve not, you did your very best. Would I had died first, and saved
Isola. I never dreamed of a reprieve. Brave heart! She died to give
me life. She died for Truth. Sire, see to it she did not die in vain.
Her last words, ‘Bless thee Hector. Victory!’ Shall ring into your
soul and make you just, Oh! yes, they shall. Her name will gain the
day, Isola dead, _shall_ win bright Victory.”
_King Hector_ (still sobbing): “Take me to Isola. Isola! I tried to
save thee, but I came too late. I strove with human might to be in
time, _The human heart was beating in my breast_. All royal mummery
had left my side, It was _the man_ and not the King that strove,
Though Kings _can_ feel, _they are just human beings_, Albeit
barbaric customs make them dolls. And I, I loved thee Isola. _I did._
Who could help loving one so kind, so true?” (To Vulnar) “Vulnar,
where is she? Take me to her side, I tried to save her, but I came
_too late_.”
[_Sobs._
_Vulnar_ (linking the King’s arm in his and signing to the Governor,
standing close by, to lead forward): “Come, sire, I’ll take your
Majesty to her. Take comfort thinking how she blest you, sire; Mourn
not for her, she died as she had lived, With valiant heart beating
for others’ woes. Death had no terrors for her, sire, indeed, It
cannot claim the soul of Isola, Her deathless Thought, that which
made her a pow’r, Lives on and will live on eternally. Doubtless ’tis
roving with Escanior’s, She loved him, loved no other all her life,
I, his old Comrade, testify to this, I who e’er worshipped where her
feet have trod. And yet she’ll hover round you sire again, And
influence your heart to make the Cause, For which she died,
triumphant everywhere. She claimed to reign with you, see to it Sire
That her loved voice _shall_ wake this world again.”
They follow the Governor to his private apartments, and this latter and
Vulnar silently stand aside as the King enters the one in which Isola
has been laid.
_King Hector_ (solus): “Yes, she _is_ dead. Isola, thou art gone, _That
which o’ertakes all men_ has come to thee. Vulnar spoke rightly, when
he said that thou, Dead should ne’erless obtain the Victory. Yes,
thou hast won it. Here, I swear to thee, All thou did’st die for
shall be realised, Right shall prevail, and _Men shall own their
own_, There shall be no more disinherited. Saxscober’s Constitution
shall become The constitution of a people free, And I will be their
real, not dummy King, Their brother worker, their companion. While
Life is left to me to work, I’ll work, I’ll make Saxscoberland a
dreamland scene, It shall reflect thy dream dear Isola, _Its face
shall be the mirror of thy soul_. Vergli shall aid me. My first act
shall be To do him justice and proclaim him heir; Our little Bernis
shall not act the thief, He shall be what thou sought’st to keep the
child, A human being, not a puppet slave. He shall be his brave
mother’s substitute, In him already shines thy deathless soul. Isola,
thou hast won, I swear it, _Love_. Thy _death has won_ Saxscober’s
Liberty,”
He bends over and kisses her forehead. Then leaves the room. Meeting
Vulnar outside, he says: “Vulnar, I leave _her body_ in your care.
Treat her as you would treat a _reigning_ Queen. She shall reign over
fair Saxscoberland In deed, in fact, in true reality. Unto the other
nations of our Erth Her message shall be borne and shall prevail, The
bright example of Saxscoberland Shall move the smaller fry to
imitate, A bright example has its magnetism, And draws men to solicit
its embrace. Hector is clasping Isola’s. No force Shall ever tear it
from his grasp. No fear! I leave you, Vulnar. Do your part. I go. My
share in Evolution has begun. With Vergli I will lead its sacred
cause, With him will realize Isola’s dream.”
[He wrings Vulnar’s hand, and calling the Governor to him walks away by
his side.
_Vulnar._ “Is it a dream or Truth’s reality? Can it be fact or is it
only fancy? Isola dead, I living, Scrutus free, Vergli no longer
outlawed, but our Prince? It seems a dream, and yet ’tis not a dream,
’Tis true, and Isola has triumphed. Sure! My love! my love! Who died
to save Vulnar, Who died for noble Truth, which he upheld, And dying,
won Saxscober’s liberty. Yes, it is won. Though Opposition strong
Will struggle to retain the law of Might, Right shall prevail, and
noble Truth prevail, That Right and Truth for which Isola died.”
[He beckons Scrutus, who is standing near, to follow him, and goes out.
In the streets around the prison loud cheers can be heard. They are
given to King Hector, who is driving away in the Governor’s carriage.
So far, the death of Fortunatus and the fact that Fortunatus is
Isola, has not transpired. Vulnar interviews the Governor, and makes
every preparation for the removal of Isola’s body to the residence of
her brother, The Prince of Bernia.
SCENE III.
The fortress Castle of Bawn co Pagh. A voice sings: “Where Liberty with
Love entwines its arms, Its Life possesses vast, magnetic charms;
Cold, lifeless Licence is not liberty, To be a King means not that
you are free. Laws docked of Nature are not Freedom’s joys, But just
mechanical and puppet toys, Laughed at by men, who scorn their puny
sway, And treat them as just made to disobey. ’Tis Love whose occult
Pow’r alone conceives What properties makes freedom. She receives
Into her gentle bosom Truth’s mandate And guided by it learns how to
create Those laws which fashion Liberty divine, And which alone from
Love’s soft eyes can shine. Oh! Love, thou child of the Almighty
Pow’r, Seductive as the sweetest scented flow’r, Thy influence is
paramount to save, Teaching men to be just, be fair, be brave, To be
the sons of Liberty and thee, True mates who can alone produce the
free, Those free, whose eyes are fixed on Love’s bright Star,
Speaking to them in flashes from afar. Be thou my guide all through
my mortal Life, Holding thy hand let me destroy the strife Which
Cruelty creates and scatters round, Sowing its poisoned grain in
fertile ground. I will, by aid of thee, uproot this grain, Upon it
Fire’s consuming powers rain, Burn it to ashes, sow instead thy seed
Which shall Love’s golden luscious harvest breed, Whose sustenance
shall nourish and inspire Kindness to triumph over Selfish ire.”
_Vergli_ (coming to the ramparts and looking over them): “Do my ears
mock me? Sure, ’tis Vulnar’s voice, None other owns such subtle
melody. Is it your Spirit serenading me, Comrade in arms, friend of
my boyhood, too? Vulnar, sure voice like yours is quite unique, You
have no rival, so it must be you. You have no equal, whose melodious
touch Sends through the being thrills of ecstacy. Vulnar, where are
you? Is your presence nigh, In body or in spirit calling me? It seems
to me as though Isola’s voice Whispers unto me, ‘Vergli, Victory,’
And now I hear song rippling from your lips, Song such as Vulnar’s
lips alone can frame, Song in whose melody, immortal Truth Mingles
with mortal utterance in tune.”
_Enter Vulnar_: “Hail, Prince of Scota. Welcome to my home. Welcome,
Prince Vergli, to our Bawn co Pagh.”
_Vergli_ (seizing his hand): “Vulnar alive! Vulnar not dead? Not gone?
Are my eyes clear, or am I dreaming dreams? Vulnar saluting me as
Hector’s heir, Calling me Prince of Scota? Hark! _I_ hear. Whispers
are whispering within my brain, I hear Isola’s voice addressing me.
It comes from Vulnar, yet _it is her_ voice. ‘Vergli,’ it says, ‘Hail
Vict’ry? You are free.’”
_Vulnar._ “Yes, Vergli, it is Victory indeed. From Isola, whom both of
us adore, I bear you the last word her dear lips framed, She died
while utt’ring it. ’Twas ‘Victory.’”
_Vergli._ “Isola dead! And you alive, Vulnar? Can it be possible? Speak
man. Explain.”
Vulnar recounts events to Vergli. The latter listens in silence, then
exclaims: “Isola dead. Happy Escanior. You revel in a being we have
lost. Lost, yet not lost, for Isola is nigh. Around me is her
presence. Ev’rywhere! Her Thought permeates my soul, entrancing it,
The breath of Memory is on my brow, Within my brain her voice is
speaking Love, Love, velvet Love, to Vergli and Vulnar. Yes, Vulnar,
love to you, and love to me, For Isola is Love itself. Her Life Was
one long act of love. Cold Cruelty Was the sole thing she hated on
our Erth.”
_Vulnar._ “Sir, Diamond Truth falls from inspired lips, Your words are
echoes of that attribute. There was no hate or fear in Isola, Save of
the awful demon Cruelty, And him she feared and hated cordially. Her
words through Hector, my dear lord, The King, I bear you now. ‘Come,
take your own, Vergli, You are The Prince of Scota, true born son Of
Noble Merani. Saxscober’s heir.’ Hail Sir, as such, no _courtly_
homage mine. But just acknowledgment of brotherhood, There is but one
nobility, one claim, Which I acknowledge as nobility, And that is
Merit, child of Perfect Thought, That perfect thought which love
alone can frame. Lo! sinks the sun behind the Bawn co Pagh. Amidst a
perfect sea of yellow gold, Whence shoots aloft a fan of brilliant
rays, Blue, opal, green and purple in their hues. Mark the ascending
stream. Is it not fair, This portrait of the fireworks of Heaven? Is
not the scene symbolic of that Thought Which sinks in Death only to
rise again?”
_Vergli._ “’Tis so, for Thought is Life, Eternal Life, Soul of the
Body, Master of the mind, Its eyes look through the eyes of human
sight And speak their eloquence, fervid though mute, There is more
meaning in one soulful glance, Than reams of words from mere material
lips. But come, Vulnar. Gladden your people’s hearts, They mourn you
as amid the gallant dead. Rejoicing will awake the Bawn co Pagh And
ring its echoes over hill and dale. I love them well, these hillmen.
They are true. They’ve treated me as though I were a King, And
yielded me a kindness exquisite. I might have been the lord of Bawn
co Pagh, Instead of what I was, a hunted thing.”
_Vulnar._ “Sir, you were to them what you are to me, The Prince of
Scota, though a hunted thing. They honoured you as such. The
brotherhood You preach for practice, they gave unto you, You were
their brother, they your brothers, too, And thus fraternal love they
meted out, My people and myself are one in all Upon the heather
slopes, amidst the dales, And all around the fortress Bawn co Pagh,
We preach and practise Brotherhood in Men, Love is our guiding Star,
our motive Pow’r, The Love for which our dear Isola died.”
[_Both enter the Bawn co Pagh._
SCENE IV.
In the _Hall of Magnitude_. This, the most magnificent public building
in Infantlonia, is packed from floor to ceiling with an immense
crowd, all assembled to hear the proclamation of King Hector,
proposing a new Constitution to his people, the repeal of old and
effete laws, and the substitution in their place of laws suited to
the immediate requirements of the times. It has been announced that
Vergli, Prince of Scota, will be its mouthpiece, and the excitement
and expectation of the vast throng is intense. Enter Vergli, attended
by the Prince of Bernia and Vulnar, Lord of Avenamore, various high
functionaries and friends, amongst whom are Maxim, Scrutus and
Verita. A scene of wild enthusiasm greets him, and the welcome
accorded him is unprecedented in the annals of Saxscoberland, as ever
having been accorded to any other public favourite or prince of the
Saxscober dynasty.
_Vergli_ (raising his hand to command silence) exclaims: “To some men,
moments come into their lives, Which toiling for, they little dreamt
to see. Though I have toiled for Right, I never thought That _I_
should see its triumph and behold Dawn breaking in upon the brains of
men. I thought to sow good seed and see it root, But dared not hope
to reap the golden grain. Yet lo! we stand with sickles in our hands,
Ready to reap the produce of our toil. It seems quite wonderful, it
seems a dream, Yet ’tis not so, my friends. See you this scroll, It
is the message of my lord, the King, A message to his people far and
wide, Wherever floats Saxscober’s crimson flag, There will these
words be wafted to our kin, And indirectly through them to the world.
It is my proud and honoured task to-day To be the mouthpiece of
Saxscober’s King. Yet ere I read his words I fain would say They are
an echo of another’s voice, Who pleaded hard to have them realized,
And died to win the Cause of Right and Truth. Hector shall reign, but
by his side shall _reign_ The deathless voice which pleaded thus for
them, While memory remains let none forget The glorious victory of
Isola.”
Tumultuous cheering greets this assertion. When silence is restored,
Vergli proceeds to read King Hector’s message to his people. It reads
as follows:
“TO MY PEOPLE.
“We stand upon the meeting of two ways. One leads to Peace and
Comfort, Right and Truth, The other to the very opposite. Which shall
we take, my people, which pursue? I counsel that the first shall be
our choice. Counselling this, I now propose to you, An altered and a
higher constitution, A Magna Charter giving Human Rights, Not to a
few, but unto _ev’ryone_, The fact of birth into this life, the sole,
The only proof of right to such a claim, Shall be required, and
opportunity To every human being shall be given To live, and thrive,
and never be in want. The Slums of Infantlonia and elsewhere _Must_
by the law become prohibited. All men _must_ dwell in decent
tenements, In towns there must be gardens for the people, Each child,
no matter what its birth, shall learn To be a useful member of the
state, By being taught a trade, of which it can Make choice itself
approved of by its parents. When work is scarce, the State must give
employment, Not the nigh penal work of the Poor House, But work where
work shall be Co-operative, Men reaping as they sow, their proper
share. Co-operative law must be the law, Wherever groups of human
beings work, It is not right that one should benefit And on men’s
toil become a millionaire, Reaping where others have not had a share
Except in paltry doles, which we call wage. Vast ownership in land or
property Should bear its duty of ‘wealth in excess,’ And be a taxable
commodity. Wealth must contribute to the public good. A millionaire
is an unjust creation, The base result of wasted human toil, The
offspring of a living Man Machine, Made to produce this creature’s
holiday. Co-operative law disgorges wealth And makes it useful and
distributable, Men who grow rich upon excessive toil, And give not to
that toil its proper share, Are Master Murderer millionaires, unfit
To be the holders of this hoarded wealth, Which, miser-like, they
neither spend nor share. Only one remedy can heal this sore, It is
that which we call Co-operation. So long as angry Nations stand like
dogs, Facing each other with their grinders showing, Saxscoberland
must be prepared for war, And spend thereon, alas! much of its
wealth, But, be it my Life’s task to advocate The institution of
Appealing Courts, Where Arbitration shall decide disputes And deftly
patch up human differences. If our Erth’s Governments would all agree
To melt their armies and wage bloodless war In all things
International; then war Could never raise its grinning head again,
Starved by the disappearance of its food— The human flocks and herds
we breed and raise, Fatten and decorate expensively, In order to
provide this Monster’s feast. Be it my task to plead that he shall
die, My people, _help me_ to exterminate him. We are the greatest
Nation on our Erth, Surely, if we _are earnest_ in endeavour, We can
accomplish this desired end? Co-operate with me and let us strive,
And we _shall_ be successful in the end. Now to the matter of our
Government, Saxscober calls its ruler a Monarch. What’s in a word? A
mere form of letters. Hereditary is this Monarchy, Yet we unjustly
give the male first call And make the eldest male born our Monarch.
This is unjust. While Primogeniture Is the acknowledged law of
Saxscober, The heir shall be the eldest born, and sex Should not be
made a Disinherited. Let this injustice be removed at once. And give
each Sex equality of rights, Let law applying to all Succession Be
altered to deny sex privilege— Which we so arrogantly arrogate.
Another point connected with this matter Earnestly demands an
alteration, Children should not usurp a parent’s power; Children
should not stand in a parent’s place. The parents both should be the
ruling pow’r, And so remain until Death takes them hence. ’Tis
monstrous that a child should occupy The place that parent has a
right to fill. Out on such partial, inconsiderate law, Born of
immatured brains and puny thought. The King and Queen should both be
reigning powers And the survivor hold the reins till death. This law,
applying as it did of yore When William, Prince of Citron, was
consort— And this law should apply to all _Succession_. Perish the
unjust law which gives the child The right to occupy its parent’s
place. This being so, let Monarchs have fair play— Let them be human
beings not mere dolls, Let them have pow’r to vote and speak with
you, Let them be otherwise than dressed-up shapes To be the objects
of barbaric shows. Let the cheers greeting Monarchs be sincere, Given
as to a fellow-worker, pray; Not to mute flesh and blood nonentities
But part of an acting Constitution. Monarchs should not be absolute,
but free, Co-operation be the principle. I counsel, too, the House of
Bores should be Elective like the House of Commonpersons, And that no
Righ or Ardrigh have a seat Claiming such as our Spiritual peers.
This brings me to the matter of the Church And the religion which now
reigns supreme. There should be no State Church, but liberty To every
man to feel that his own creed Was not an outcast one and unendowed.
Let conscience have its freedom and all creeds Be self-supporting,
not ignored by State, While one alone is bolstered up as right. I
counsel, therefore, Disestablishment; First giving compensation to
the Clergy. Let all men pray in secret and display Fade, as should
fade barbaric practices. Force not upon your Sovereigns the disgrace
Of swearing false allegiance to a lie, What greater Moral crime than
to exclaim ‘I do believe that which I don’t believe’? Is not such
utterance a sacrilege? Away, my people, with the reign of Lie, Let
Truth prevail, let Honest Truth be law. Another urgent law requires
attention, The Marriage law I mean. Marriage should be The Act which
makes the Man and Woman one, Accompanied by the solemn declaration ‘I
am thy husband and thou art my wife,’ ‘I am thy wife and thou art my
husband,’ Uttered in presence of two witnesses. This is the law of
Scota and is fair, But Saxen law insists on marriage ties Being tied
by its religious ceremony; Which makes the Woman utter slavish words,
Which self-respecting women hate and loathe And some have absolutely
scorned to say. My Merani refused to utter them And was, in
consequence, adjudg’d unwed By the exacting laws of Saxenland. I say
that she _was_ wed by law of God, And, being wed, was lawfully my
wife; The son she bore is Prince of Scota now, Made so by a late Act
of Parliament, Specially drafted and passed into law At my most
earnest prayer and intercession. It is my hope that our new
Parliament Will sweep away every impediment To civil marriage, and
destroy the law Which forces royalty to wed with such, Ordaining that
the heir shall royal be. ’Tis an unnatural law and maketh sad The
wedded life of many Sovereigns. In all we do let us be natural, Laws
born of selfishness or ignorance Flout Nature and create unhappiness.
Laws, to be fair, must recognise the fact That all men must have
Opportunity, And none shall be a Disinherited. Parliament is
dissolved and I appeal, With all my heart, unto my countrymen To give
me unmistakable response That my desire for justice shall prevail. By
law, my women subjects cannot vote, More shame to such a law is all I
say; Next Parliament shall sweep that law away And give us one with
equal rights for all. Capacity and Merit are the tests Of human
fitness which should e’er prevail; Nature and circumstances will
select The fittest to perform Life’s many functions, Seek not to
_force_ on women Motherhood— A vast mistake _which breeds the puny
Man_. Some women are not fit to bear a child, Some men are unfit to
be Sires at all; To breed unhealthy offspring is a Crime Which our
religion has concealed from men. To bring disease into the world is
bad, To force this on a child is a foul shame. It is a sacred trust
which Nature gives, That trust of giving Life, and should command The
reverence of those to whom ’tis giv’n; Let this be plainly taught to
either sex, Bring up the sexes to respect each other. Give lessons in
the schools how Health is made And how ’tis kept, and how it bringeth
joy. When Men believe that sickness need not be, That human beings
can be well and strong By living lives in keeping with good sense, A
Nation of fair beings will arise With senses purified and thought
increased— And knowledge drawing nearer day by day To those veiled
secrets of the Universe Which we believe so foolishly are closed, And
hidden mysteries for aye and aye; Hidden from feeble sight and
clouded brain, From Thought as yet in an imperfect state, But when
the Mind becomes a mighty pow’r Its eyes _will_ penetrate the misty
veil And clearly read what now it cannot do. Let education,
therefore, elevate; Let it accomplish a vast revolution By giving
children Nature’s noble truths, And focussing them on their pliant
brains. _Teach Kindness in the schools._ Before all things Teach _its
vast virtue_ to the youthful mind. Let _the religion_ taught, _be
just this thing_ Mingled with Justice, Fair Play and Sweet Love;
_Love to all things that feel_ and, like ourselves, Are sentient and
possess the gift of Life. Perish, Cold Cruelty! _the hugest bar To
Progress and Perfection_ on this Erth. Thus, have I spoken to my
countrymen, And ask them to return a Parliament Which shall not fear
to work for Evolution; Strike down oppressive laws, creating those
Which shall inaugurate The Golden Age Of Peace, Good Health and
Happiness to all— That living _Life_ for which Isola died.”
[_Loud and prolonged cheers._
_Vergli._ “This is King Hector’s message, countrymen, In which the
Spirit of Isola breathes— A Spirit whose chief element was love, Love
the Creator of true happiness. Let this appeal go forth throughout
the world And pierce into the brains and hearts of men. It shall
prevail, because it is The Truth. It shall bear fruit, because it is
pure seed. It shall establish its real Sovereignty, Because it is
Reality not Sham. If all true hearts declare _it shall prevail_ And
_work_ to bring about the Victory, That Victory will come with leaps
and bounds, And bring rejoicing into ev’ry heart. Ah! yes, it _will_
come. It was prophesied By lips whose last word echoed Victory, It
was Isola’s message to the world Wherever moan The Disinherited.
Arouse, ye Children of Saxscoberland, Hark to her Spirit speaking out
aloud. The sound is Hector’s but his words are hers, His Message but
the Echo of Isola’s.”
[_As Vergli ceases speaking, the immense audience rises and cheers him
again and again with intense enthusiasm. Acquiescence in the King’s
wishes is carried unanimously, and the meeting comes to an end._
“RESULTANT.”
Once, long ago, Death came and took my soul And bore it far away
through boundless space, And left Earth turning round within that
space Moving along its path of Evolution. “Where takest thou me,
Death?” my soul enquired. “To look on Life where perfect laws
prevail,” Made answer he whom my Earth fears so much. And so I sped
with Death on to a world Where everywhere Love and Delight prevailed.
Death called it Erth. It was like my own Earth, And yet how different
in every way. Everywhere Peace prevailed and Love enthralled, The Men
were handsome and the Women fair. Bright fields of waving grain and
fruits and flow’rs Made beautiful the human dwelling-places. There
was no blood apparent anywhere— The moans of vivisected animals, The
groans of millions slaughtered to make food, The awful cruelties of
War and Strife, Had no existence on this planet Erth. Women and Men
did not disgrace each other, But revelled in a sweet companionship,
Sharing in _all_ things as the sexes should. The children’s schools
did not divide each sex But taught to both a pure and natural law, So
that the very thought, in after-life, Of Prostitution had no place or
part Within the brains of Nature’s true nurselings. Health was
apparent in the multitude; Vast kitchens, groaning stomachs were
unknown; Hunger alone proclaimed the feeding hour And pure and
bloodless food gave sustenance, Partaken of in moderation and Never
indulged in after hunger ceased. On Erth the secret of Real Health
was known, To eat as Nature bade and not to gorge. And everywhere
pure air prevailed and dwelt By night and day within a people’s
lungs, And dwelling-places overlooked fair scenes, The people living
on their own loved land And drawing from its nurture health and
strength. There lived on this bright Erth a King and Queen Whose
names were Escanior and Isola, Who loved each other, whom the people
loved And who in turn truly loved their people. Said Death unto my
Soul: “In ages past Thought woke the mind of Isola the first, She
whom the Erthians call their deathless Queen, Because the Spirit
which lit up her mind Lives on and permeates the whole of Erth. This
Isola lived when this Erth was gross, Cruel and Sensual, and fed on
lies. She, too, loved a fair youth—Escanior called— Whom uncouth men
murdered before her eyes, Giving her to a King to be his slave, And
hold degrading post as Consort Queen. But Isola’s spirit would _not_
be a slave, And so with others she opposed foul Wrong And, dying for
the Right, won the King’s heart To raise aloft the flag of Evolution.
Rest here awhile and I will tell the tale Of how Isola lived, and
ruled, and died; But lives again in the resultant thought Which found
its birth in her evolving pow’r.” I sat and listened while Death told
the tale, And learned how Erth had answered Hector’s prayer, And
given him and Vergli, and Vulnar The pow’r to build on Erth a perfect
State Which it has been my joy to look upon, And which here, or
elsewhere, I’ll see again. For Thought is Life, it cannot die, it
lives, And, in my Memory, I see that scene, Not in a dream but in
Reality, When Vision wakes to Life my Thoughtful Soul. As Erth is, so
shall this Earth be in time When Men believe the words of Isola.
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COMPANION VOLUME TO IJAIN.
READY, PART I. AND PART II. OF LADY FLORENCE DIXIE’S BOOK:
The Songs of a Child.
IT CONTAINS THREE COLOURED PORTRAITS.
_May be ordered of Messrs. W. H. SMITH & SON, 186, Strand, W.C.; J.
MENZIES, Edinburgh; or of any other Bookseller or Library._
PRICE FIVE SHILLINGS.
_or from Charles Scribner’s Sons, 153–757, Fifth Avenue, New York. Price
=2= dols._
_The following are a few reviews of_ PART I. _and of_ PART II.
_The Leamington Spa Courier and Warwickshire Standard_ of Jan. 31st,
1902, concluding a long review, writes:—“Lack of space prevents us
giving one tithe of its fine passages. In the ‘Death of Robespierre’ we
have a lurid scene from the Reign of Terror that might have come from
the pen of a Macaulay or an Aytoun. Another vivid historical picture is
to be found in the story of Nigel Bruce, brother of the heroic King
Robert Bruce. The death-song of Wallace has the true heroic ring. For
romance, tragic yet delightful, we must turn to the ‘Lure Witch of the
Alpine Glen’—a very fine poem. Pantheists will appreciate ‘A Child’s
Search for God.’... Perhaps the most delightful and refreshing of the
longer poems is an exquisitely told narrative of the Bavarian Highlands
(‘The Wandering Waif and the King’).... And ‘I Wandered in the Market’
is a powerful plea for the dumb-stricken animal. For an original and
pleasingly put advocacy of the sacred rights of bird and beast, ‘The
Judgment of Airielle’ stands prominent.... This book is really a real,
living, human production, and one which must ever be a joy to the man or
woman whom the cares of this world have not robbed of all that is
natural and unaffected.”
_The Literary World_ of Dec. 30th remarks:—“‘Esterelle; or, The Lure
Witch of the Alpine Glen,’ fills fifty-six pages, and contains passages
that would do no discredit to poets of riper age and more mature mind.
Pathetic and beautiful thoughts are expressed on every page.”
_The Yorkshire Herald_, Jan. 2nd, 1902, concludes an appreciative
review:—“Her longer pieces are written with power and poetic fervour,
and had the gifted authoress devoted her talents solely to the
composition of poetry, the world of literature would have been all the
richer for it.”
_The Banff Journal_, Feb. 1st, 1902, concluding a long review,
says:—“The book possesses elements which will ensure for the name of the
gifted authoress a permanent place among the poets of the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries.”
In a lengthy review _The Dumfries Standard_ says:—“The whole volume is
richer in the promise of poetic greatness than most great poets can show
at so early an age; better than any extract the book itself will be, and
for the nobility of its sentiment, for the vein of genuine poetry that
is in it we have no word too cordial to recommend it.”—Dec. 4th, 1901.
“Ouida” writes:—“I am much moved by the pathos and beauty of many of
your poems. Thanks from my heart for the ‘Prayer for the Dogs,’ and
‘Janet Lees’ is lovely. It should be reprinted everywhere, and
‘Averille.’”—Dec. 3rd, 1901.
Marie Corelli says:—“Your charming book of poems which I find very
fascinating.”—Dec. 6th, 1901.
_The Herald of the Golden Age_ for December says:—“This volume of poems
contains many gems of thought. There is a freshness and versatility
about the book that is quite unique. There can be no doubt that the
author possesses the poetic gift in a most marked degree.”
_The Northern Scot_ of Feb. 15th, 1902, says:—“The whole volume is rich
in poetic greatness, and the yearnings of the child’s soul are
beautifully and pathetically expressed in every page. It is a
fascinating book.”
A Sailor writes from one of H. M. ironclads, Feb. 2nd, 1902:—“We know
many of the ‘Songs of a Child’ by heart. I can say every word of ‘Love
Knots’ and ‘Why I Kissed the Soldier Boy’ and ‘Towards Sadowa.’ I have
never touched a drop of drink since I read ‘Drink’s Curse.’ God bless
the child who wrote these songs.”
A soldier writes from one of tho blockhouses in South Africa:—“Will you
let another ‘soldier boy’ thank you for that grand poem ‘Why I Kissed
the Soldier Boy’? It goes to every soldier’s heart straight as a die. I
simply love it. It is human to the backbone. What a splendid poem ‘The
Lure Witch of the Alpine Glen’ is; and I have read ‘The Wandering Waif
and the King’ over and over again. How I and my mates have laughed over
‘The Raid of Ruby Roses’ from Sandringham. We all hope Part II. will
soon find its way here.”
Under date June 15th, 1902, Mr. George Jacob Holyoake writes:—“Dear Lady
Florence, ‘Abel Avenged’ is a splendid heresy, splendidly set forth. It
supplies what Milton omits, and what only a free spirit could conceive,
only an intrepid mind could express. The wealth of thought in that epic
and in the ‘Sceptic’s Defence’ is wonderful.”
_The Herald of the Golden Age_ for June says:—“This additional volume of
poems, written by Lady Florence Dixie between the ages of twelve and
seventeen years, is a phenomenal production for one so young, and it
will, apart from the additional poems which are still awaiting
publication, establish her reputation as a poet. The dramatic tragedy,
entitled ‘Abel Avenged,’ evidences the doubts which orthodox religious
teaching produces in the minds of many children. It reminds one so
strongly of Milton’s style and depth of thought as to make one wonder
how a girl of fourteen could have been the author. Some of the poems
which are written in lighter vein are very charming and idyllic; two of
the best of these are ‘Before the lights come in,’ and ‘King Taija.’ A
strong humanitarian note is sounded in the poem entitled ‘A Ramble in
Hell,’ which is an impassioned protest against the iniquities of
Vivisection, and demonstrates how early in life the gifted authoress
became a champion on the rights of animals.”
In a long review of an advance copy of the book in _The Agnostic
Journal_ of May 10, “Saladin” remarks in his “At Random” sketch:—“The
lyric [of the poem ‘Saladin’] is deft and musical, but it is the little
schoolgirl’s chivalrous treatment of him who was Christendom’s most
formidable foe that entitles the lines to distinction. To try a person
or a cause by his or its intrinsic merits, and not in the light of the
extrinsic prejudices with which it has come to be encrusted, is, in
addition to the function of a poet, the deed of a heroine.... The
child’s precocious rejection of religious orthodox is recorded in the
ambitious dramatic effusion, ‘Abel Revenged,’ an earnest and gifted
child’s succedaneum for Byron’s ‘Cain.’ The assault upon Orthodoxy is,
of course, delivered not from the critical or historical, but from the
moral side. The teaching of the Church is impugned on the ground of its
incompatibility with truth and justice, and—nobly characteristic of the
writer—for its disregard of the sufferings of sentient creatures.... Any
really educated lady of rank and fortune can secretly hold unpopular
tenets, but it takes a Douglas to avow them. The volume here is of
gold.”
_The Dumfries Standard_, under date June 28, says:—“These poems exhibit
a degree of intellectual daring and a maturity of speculative thought in
the realms of religion and morals that are amazing, and a literary
talent hardly less so. In ‘Abel Avenged’ one reads with a feeling of
astonishment the inexorable directness of the child’s logic and the
skill with which she discharges her function of critic in the action of
a drama.”
_The Northern Weekly_ of July 19 remarks:—“‘Songs of a Child’ shows a
passionate love of Nature, high ideals and a noble longing for truth,
and sympathy with all living things.... ‘A Ramble in Hell’ you cannot
forget once you have read it. Lady Florence has fronted the riddle of
the Universe in many poems and asked questions that are daring and
heterodox. ‘The Sceptic’s Defence’ is full of questions prompted by the
mystery and the misery of the world. ‘Abel Avenged’ is amazing as the
production of one so young.”
_Young Oxford_ for July says:—“In these songs the golden thread of
genius runs alike through tender lyric and daring drama. That a girl of
fourteen should have written ‘Abel Avenged’ is one of the marvels of
literature. Orthodoxy has created more than one epic, but let us hope
that never again will it have opportunity to fashion one from the brain
and nerve tissue of a child, for in the vigorous, sympathetic sketch of
‘Cain’ we see a free, truthful spirit beating in defiant despair against
the bars of a narrow theology ... the old belief in a vengeful deity
were not dead, surely it would be killed by the remorseless logic of the
child whose ponderings resulted thus.”
In a letter dated May 1, the Editor of _The Golden Age_ writes:—“Please
accept my warmest thanks for the pleasure you have given me, and let me
offer you my sincerest congratulations. The world has certainly been the
poorer in consequence of the delay in the publication of the poems, for
they are both beautiful and remarkable in many ways, to say nothing of
the helpful thought and sentiment contained in them. If ‘Abel Avenged’
had been issued as a lost manuscript (re-discovered) by Milton, no one
would have doubted the authenticity. Are you Milton re-incarnated? I
wonder! The manner in which you have thought out the deepest problems of
life and handled them in this poem and in ‘The Sceptic’s Defense’ is
remarkable.”
Reviewing an advance copy of this book, _The Literary Guide_ for May
says:—“The perusal of the Second Part of Lady Florence Dixie’s poems
increases our astonishment at the extraordinary development of her
mental powers in early life. The present volume possesses special
interest.... Her poetic drama, ‘Abel Avenged’ was written at the age of
fourteen, and one knows not whether to be most astounded at the boldness
of the language or the fact that at so early a period of life the doubts
and obstinate questionings which the work reveals should have arisen at
all. The chief personage is Cain, whose character is conceived with
striking power and sympathy.... Lady Florence Dixie is a writer who
dares to think for herself—one who can, moreover, express her ideas with
refreshing vigour and in most cases in unmistakable clearness. The
Poetry of Revolt and the Poetry of Sympathy for animal life are
distinctly enriched by the publication of this volume. To have performed
such a service is an achievement of which any author might be proud.
That it should have been done by a child is one of the most remarkable
facts in present-day literature.”
_The Review of Reviews_ for July says:—“There is great pathetic interest
attaching to these poems and to the opening chapters of ‘Ijain,’ ... and
there is something touching in the longing desire so manifest in every
page of Lady Florence’s writings to save other children from the misery
through which she has emerged.... The story of Lady Florence’s
pilgrimage from the first plank in her atheistic platform to her present
position is told in ‘The Story of Ijain,’ which promises to be of
considerable interest. It is a kind of demonstration in vivisectional
anatomy of the living soul, from which most people would shrink ... and
those who read it cannot fail to sympathise even if they do not agree.”
AN AMERICAN APPRECIATION.—_The Boston Press Writer_, the organ of the
American Press Writers’ Association, Nov. 1902, says:—“We always like to
think of the great Iconoclasts as a Roman Gladiator, striding into the
arena armed with sword and shield hurling defiance at Cæsar and the
world; but what picture can imagination conjure up when a child steps
upon the scene and throws down the gauntlet which defies Cæsar and all
the world. Kindness steals up from every page like perfume from a
flower.... After reading the rubbish called poetry published to-day in
newspaper and magazine; oceans of words nicely joined together, but a
desert of ideas; it is refreshing to reach this oasis called ‘Songs of a
Child.’ Sweet mingling of sentiment and philosophy.... You will find
that which rings as true as ‘A MAN’S A MAN, FOR A’ THAT.’... Why should
Humanity wait till its best friends have departed for ever, before
paying them a fitting tribute. Let us while they are still with us,
gather from the fields of thought the fairest flowers they have sown,
and weave them in a chaplet—‘Let us wreath the living brow.’ All
thinkers, liberal, progressive people, friends of ‘The New Thought,’ and
those who love Humanity and worship truth, should purchase this book and
place it in their libraries where it belongs, beside Burns, Byron and
Shelley.”
The Rev. J. P. Hopps, in _The Coming Day_, writes:—“A truly astonishing
book is ‘Songs of a Child and other Poems,’ by ‘Darling,’ (Lady Florence
Dixie), published by The Leadenhall Press, London, in two parts, now
issued in one volume. The writings of this wonderful child, the story of
whose childhood is promised, suggest the presence and inspiration of a
master spirit, fierce for freedom, daring in criticism, and splendid in
spiritual adventure. The poems are full of dash and fire, whether
treating of Nature and her wild delights or the mind-world with all its
possibilities of rapture and depression, joy and anguish, trust and
horror. But the wonder of it! The strenuous ‘Dramatic Tragedy’ of ‘Abel
Avenged’ was written at fourteen and a half, and the militant ‘Sceptic’s
Defence’ at sixteen—both crammed with the rankest imaginable heresies.
Throughout the whole book there is hardly a line—perhaps not a
line—which is mere composition. It is all powder and shot, and morning
and evening stars.”
_The Daily Chronicle_, Quebec, says:—“The poems represent the lyrical
activity of Lady Florence from the age of ten years to seventeen, and
they are presented to the public in the form in which they first
appeared, untouched and unrevised. Many of them are really so good, so
musical, so original in choice of topic, so vigorous in execution, so
rich in allusion, and often, so spirited, that one may well wonder how
so youthful a poet could turn out such work, and such creations. In the
compass of six hundred pages we have here the product of her pen for
seven years,—only a selection from a mass of manuscripts.”
PUBLISHERS:
The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall Street, London, E.C.
Charles Scribner’s Sons, 153–157, Fifth Avenue, New York.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
READY. SECOND EDITION.
IJAIN;
or,
The Evolution of a Mind.
WITH THREE COLOURED PORTRAITS AND ILLUSTRATION.
_May be ordered from W. H. SMITH & SON, 186, Strand, London, W.C., or
any Bookseller or Library._
PRICE FOUR SHILLINGS.
_and CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, 153–157, Fifth Avenue, New York._
PRICE ONE-AND-A-HALF DOLLARS.
In an Epilogue on IJAIN “Saladin” (W. Stewart Ross) writes:—
“The breezy freshness of Ijain’s character is replete with simple but
insinuating charm. Her spirit, genial and generous, was never meant for
a cage. Hardly emerged from her cradle, her unsophisticated commonsense,
on its own initiative, anticipated the propositions of ‘the Higher
Criticism.’ She looked upon the dogmas of the popular faith, not through
conventionally-coloured spectacles, but with the vision of her own
clear, honest, fearless eyes; and the Father of Mercy have mercy upon
Dogma when it is thus surveyed!
* * * * *
“When Ijain first threw down her play-things and began to regard the
world on her own account, with her new, not second-hand, type of mind,
she found, to her distress, that, before she had come into the world at
all, everything had been cut and dried for her. The thinking had all
been done for her by heads in the grave; and, to question the findings
of those heads in the grave meant obloquy here, and hell elsewhere.
* * * * *
“Ijain laid down these play-things that she might, without undue
distraction, think this finality over—and it did not meet with her
endorsement. There was nothing in her of the rebel for rebellion’s sake;
but there was much in her of the mettle of the martyr for Truth’s sake.
She adopted the more than Golden Rule, ‘To thine own self be true.’ She
took it for granted that it is with our own individual faculties we must
work out our own salvation, and that not with fear and trembling, but
with modest self-reliance and simple sincerity. She precociously grasped
the principle of Human Brotherhood, involving a repudiation of all
racial and credal prejudice. In the whole composition of the little
heroine there is no vestige of the braggart. There is the mortification
of finding herself in an environment in which all the vital questions of
existence had been finally settled thousands of years before she had
been born, and that by credulous hierophants thousands of years behind
the highest tide-mark of the intelligence of the present hour.
* * * * *
“The record of Ijain, with inimitable directness and simplicity,
exemplifies what everyone who really knows and sympathizes with children
knows, that the mind of the child is, naturally, in revolt against our
popular dogmas, ay, and in revolt against theism itself as held by the
orthodox. The affirmation that it was not Jesus, but Nigel, that, in a
certain crisis, saved Ijain from drowning, is an argument as forceful as
it is simple; and the mind, till, by the Nans and Miss O’Learies, it has
been warped and sophisticated, does not in an anthropomorphic deity find
the Œdipus to read the riddle of the cosmos. The child instinctively
knows what the philosopher, after his mind has been subjected to
theologic distortion, requires all his mental faculties to rediscover,
and all his moral courage to avow. Ijain, susceptibly intuitive child
though she was, did _not_ find the god-idea instinctive. She anticipated
Darwin, which at the time, she had not read.
‘The belief in God has often been advanced as not only the greatest,
but the most complete of all the distinctions between men and the
lower animals. It is, however, impossible, as we have seen, to
maintain that this belief is innate or instinctive to man. On the
other hand, a belief in all pervading spiritual agencies seems to be
universal; and apparently follows from a considerable advance in
man’s reason, and from a still greater advance in his faculties of
imagination, curiosity and wondre. I am aware that the assumed
instinctive belief in God has been used by many persons as an
argument for his existence. But this is a rash argument, as we
should thus be compelled to believe in the existence of many cruel
and malignant spirits, only a little more powerful than man; for the
belief in them is far more general than in a beneficent deity.’
* * * * *
“Moreover, in the immaculate simplicity of her soul, Ijain anticipated
an admission in one of the sermons of John Wesley which probably she has
not read even up to the present hour.
‘After all that has been so plausibly written concerning “the innate
idea of God”; after all that has been said of its being common to
all men, in all ages and nations, it does not appear that man has
naturally any more idea of God than any of the beasts of the field;
he has no knowledge of God at all; no fear of God at all; neither is
God in all his thoughts. Whatever change may afterwards be wrought
(whether by grace of God, or his own reflections, or by education),
he is by nature a mere Atheist.’
* * * * *
“And, even were the orthodox deity taken for granted, with her girlish
heart and tender sympathy with every living creature, Ijain’s whole
nature rose in revolt against the savage truculence of the deity of the
churches. She, instinctively, endorsed the sentiments of the philosopher
of Ferney:—
‘Whoever dares to say “God has spoken to me,” is criminal before God
and men; for would God, the common father of all men, have
communicated himself to an individual? God to walk! God to talk! God
to write upon a little mountain! God to become man! God-man to die
upon the cross! Ideas worthy of a _Punch_! To invent all these
things is the last degree of rascality; to believe them, the extreme
of brutal stupidity!’
* * * * *
“Yes, Ijain, if, in the reading of the Riddle of the Universe, we must
postulate deity, let us have GOD expressive of the ripest knowledge, the
loftiest aspirations, the most transcendental spiritual vision of modern
humanity, not the coarse and barbaric eidolon of credulous and
unlettered savages. In respect of our intelligence, in mercy upon our
feelings, give us GOD up to date.
* * * * *
“The lesson the ‘story’ teaches is that
He prayeth best who loveth best,
All things both great and small;
that the world, in its noblest aspect, is an arena for generous and
unselfish endeavour; that, in service to your brother man, you are
offering the very service to God that any god born of a noble and
spiritual ideal would most readily accept. Ijain’s lesson is, Help Man,
and, if it so please you, call it worshiping God. The most divine of all
the sayings attributed to the Nazarine is, in regard to a kindly,
helpful deed, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of
these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’”
PUBLISHERS:
The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall Street, London, E.C.
Charles Scribner’s Sons, 153–157, Fifth Avenue, New York.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
_EXTRACTS FROM BOOK LIST_
OF
The Leadenhall Press, Ltd:
_By Permission Dedicated to_
=H.R.H. The Duchess of Cornwall and York, now Princess of Wales.=
Upwards of one hundred and eighty beautifully engraved illustrations
from original drawings.
THE CHILDREN’S LONDON. By CHARLOTTE THORPE. Illustrated by WM. LUKER,
Jr. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall Street, E.C.
[Half-a-Guinea, _net_.
Large paper edition, strictly limited to 250 earliest printed copies,
each signed and numbered, One Guinea, _net_.
_By Command Dedicated to Her late Majesty Queen Victoria._
LONDON CITY SUBURBS, dealing with the great residential belt of London.
By PERCY FITZGERALD. Three Hundred Picturesque Views from Original
Drawings by W. LUKER, JR. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Two Guineas.
_By Command Dedicated to Her late Majesty the Queen-Empress._
_Upwards of 300 Superb Illustrations (some beautifully hand-coloured)._
KENSINGTON: PICTURESQUE AND HISTORICAL. By W. J. LOFTIE, B.A., F.S.A.,
Author of a “History of London,” &c., &c. Illustrated by W. LUKER,
JUN., from Original Drawings carefully finished on the spot and
engraved in Paris. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Three Guineas.
THE SIGNS OF OLD LOMBARD STREET. By F. G. HILTON PRICE, DIR., S.A.
Illustrations by JAMES WEST and others. New and Revised Edition.
LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall Street, E.C. [Six
Shillings.
[Illustration]
PART I OF THE HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED
SONGS OF A CHILD AND OTHER POEMS. By “DARLING” (LADY FLORENCE DOUGLAS,
now LADY FLORENCE DIXIE), with introductory Poem by the first LORD
LYTTON, the famous novelist. Popular Edition, with coloured portrait
of the Author when a child. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall Street, E.C. Out of print. [Two-and-Sixpence.
Edition de Luxe, beautifully bound in White Vellum, and with coloured
portrait, Seven-and-Sixpence.
SONGS OF A CHILD AND OTHER POEMS. By “DARLING” (LADY FLORENCE DOUGLAS,
now LADY FLORENCE DIXIE). Parts I and II together, in one volume,
with three portraits beautifully printed in colours. LONDON: The
Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall Street, E.C. [Five Shillings.
THE STORY OF IJAIN, OR THE EVOLUTION OF A MIND. By LADY FLORENCE DIXIE.
With Epilogue by “Saladin.” (W. STEWART ROSS) and four illustrations
beautifully printed in colours. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd:
50, Leadenhall Street, E.C. [Five Shillings.
ISOLA; OR THE DISINHERITED. A Drama in Six Acts. By LADY FLORENCE
DIXIE. With Foreword by GEORGE JACOB HOLYOAKE. Coloured Frontispiece.
LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C.
[Half-a-Crown.
A GENERAL HISTORY OF THE KEMP AND KEMPE FAMILIES OF GREAT BRITAIN AND
HER COLONIES, with Arms, Pedigrees, Portraits, Illustrations of
Seats, &c. By FRED. HITCHIN-KEMP. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd:
50, Leadenhall Street, E.C. [Two Guineas net.
STREAMLETS FROM THE FOUNT OF POESY. By N. B. GAZDER, B.A.,
Barrister-at-Law. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Three-and-Sixpence.
SONGS OF THE MORNING: LYRICS FOR MUSIC. By EDWARD TESCHEMACHER. LONDON:
The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall Street, E.C.
[Two-and-Sixpence.
LOVE, SPORT, AND A DOUBLE EVENT. By W. B. GILPIN, Author of
“Ranchland,” &c. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Three-and-Sixpence.
ECHOES: A MUSICAL BIRTHDAY BOOK. By the HON. MRS. BRETT. Frontispiece
by EVERARD HOPKINS. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Twelve-and-Sixpence.
[Illustration]
BRIDGE CONDENSED. BY COLIN SMITH. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd:
50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. [One Shilling
ILLUSTRATED.
NOVEL NOTES. BY JEROME K. JEROME, author of “The Idle Thoughts of an
Idle Fellow,” “On the Stage—and Off,” &c. LONDON: The Leadenhall
Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Three-and-Sixpence.
Edition not Illustrated, One Shilling.
THE IDLE THOUGHTS OF AN IDLE FELLOW: A BOOK FOR AN IDLE HOLIDAY.
One-hundred-and-forty-third Edition. By JEROME K. JEROME, Author of
“On the Stage—and Off.” LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Half-a-Crown.
“The _Idle Thoughts_ by JEROME, with his special private views, Is a
book all busy people should undoubtedly peruse.”—_Punch._
Cheap Edition, Paper Wrapper, One Shilling.
ON THE STAGE—AND OFF. The brief career of a would-be actor. Sixteenth
Edition. By JEROME K. JEROME. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall-street, E.C. [One Shilling.
NEW EDITION, ILLUSTRATED
ON THE STAGE—AND OFF. The brief career of a would-be actor. By JEROME
K. JEROME. With One Hundred Illustrations by KENNETH M. SKEAPING.
LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C.
[Half-a-Crown.
MADAME MARIE, SINGER. By ESTER DALE. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd:
50, Leadenhall Street, E.C. [Three-and-Sixpence.
THE FITZDOODLE MEMOIRS. By LORD ADOLPHUS FITZDOODLE. LONDON: The
Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall Street, E.C. [One Shilling.
THE BOOK OF DELIGHTFUL AND STRANGE DESIGNS being One Hundred facsimile
Illustrations of the Art of the Japanese Stencil-Cutter to which the
Gentle Reader is introduced by one ANDREW W. TUER, F.S.A. LONDON: The
Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Six Shillings.
[Illustration]
Illustrated Shilling Series of Forgotten Children’s Books.
PUBLISHERS’ NOTE.
The little books printed about a hundred years ago “for the amusement of
little masters and misses” must now be looked for in the cabinets of the
curious. The type is quaint, the illustrations quainter and the grayish
tinted paper abounds in obtrusive specks of embedded dirt. For the
covers, gaudy Dutch gilt paper was used, or paper with patchy blobs of
startlingly contrasted colours laid on with a brush by young people. The
text, always amusing, is of course redolent of earlier days.
[Illustration]
1. THE DAISY; OR, CAUTIONARY STORIES IN VERSE, adapted to Ideas of
Children from Four to Eight Years Old. 1807.
Reprints of this laughter-laden little book, written by Mrs. ELIZABETH
TURNER, followed each other right up to about 1850: in the reprint of
the illustrated first (1807) edition before the reader, nothing is
omitted and nothing is added.
2. THE COWSLIP; OR MORE CAUTIONARY STORIES IN VERSE. By the author of
that much-admired little work, entitled THE DAISY. 1811.
3. NEW RIDDLE-BOOK. BY JOHN-THE-GIANT-KILLER, Esquire. 1778.
[Illustration]
GUIDE FOR LITERARY BEGINNERS. By JOHN OLDCASTLE. LONDON: The Leadenhall
Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall Street, E.C. [One Shilling.
“We can remember nothing of the kind so capable from first to
last.”—_Notes and Queries._
“_Forgotten Children’s Books_”
AND
“_Old-Fashioned Children’s Books_”
_ARE QUITE INDEPENDENT VOLUMES_.
STORIES FROM OLD-FASHIONED CHILDREN’S BOOKS. Brought together and
introduced to the Reader by ANDREW W. TUER, F.S.A. Adorned with 250
amusing cuts. Nearly 500 pages: handsomely and attractively bound.
LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Six
Shillings.
“A compendium of delightful stories.”—_Saturday Review._
[Illustration:
THE PROUD BOY.
]
[Illustration]
SIX STORIES RELATED BY MAX V. POCHHAMMER. With an appreciation by
EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN. Illustrated by AMBROSE DUDLEY. I. The
Minister’s Marriage. II. The Soldier’s Stratagem. III. A Perplexing
Patient. IV. The Professor’s Peril. V. The Sailor’s Sacrifice. VI.
“No!” LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C.
[Three-and-Sixpence.
_SMILES AND LAUGHTER IN EVERY PAGE. A BOOK FOR CHILDREN AND THEIR
ELDERS._
PAGES AND PICTURES FROM FORGOTTEN CHILDREN’S BOOKS. Brought together
and introduced to the Reader by ANDREW W. TUER, F.S.A. Four hundred
illustrations; five hundred pages, handsomely bound, top edge gilt,
silk book-marker. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall
Street, E.C. [Six Shillings.
One hundred large paper copies at a Guinea, net.
[Illustration:
Two Belles, one of the Past and the other of the Present Age.
]
[Illustration]
THE SOCIALISM OF TO-DAY. By ÉMILE DE LAVELEYE, Member of the Royal
Academy of Belgium, &c., &c. Translated into English by GODDARD H.
ORPEN, Barrister-at-Law. Together with an account of Socialism in
England by the translator. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall Street. E.C. [Six Shillings.
In three stately quarto volumes, with maps.
FULHAM OLD AND NEW: BEING AN EXHAUSTIVE HISTORY OF THE ANCIENT PARISH
OF FULHAM. Profusely illustrated. By CHAS. JAS. FÈRET, F.R.G.S., F.R.
HIST: SOC. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street,
E.C. [Three Guineas.
A few copies are reserved in sheets, and can be had interleaved for
manuscript additions, bound in cloth at £4 4s. od.
THE PRINCIPLES OF WARFARE. By H. O. BLAKER. LONDON: The Leadenhall
Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall Street, E.C. [One Shilling.
“The author of these essays, feeling that a proper understanding of the
great principles which govern warfare is absolutely necessary to anyone
who would study the progress of the war in South Africa from any other
than a mere ‘win or lose’ standpoint, has ventured to place before the
public, in as small a compass as possible, an outline of those main
truths, the thorough knowledge of which is essential to the successful
conduct of a campaign. He hopes that—drawn as they are from experience
and from the recognised and standard works on the subject, by great
military writers—they may be found of some service in explaining the
intricacies of strategy, tactics and field fortification.”
ENGLISH AS SHE IS SPOKE: OR A JEST IN SOBER EARNEST: Ninth Edition.
LONDON: The Leadenhall Press. Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. [One
Shilling.
A manual by means of which the Portuguese author, who has struggled with
the difficulties of the English language by aid of dictionary and
phrase-book, proposes to teach its complexities to his fellow
countrymen. The solemn good faith of the writer crowns the
unapproachable grotesqueness of his composition.
“Excruciatingly funny.”—_The World._
ENGLISH AS SHE IS SPOKE: OR A JEST IN SOBER EARNEST. “HER SECONDS
PART.” (new matter.) LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall-street, E.C. [One Shilling.
An unlimited mine of salt for diners-out.
“Deliciously humorous.”—_Detroit Free Press._
[Illustration]
ENGLISH COUNTY SONGS. (Words and Music.) Collected and Edited by LUCY
E. BROADWOOD and J. A. FULLER MAITLAND, M.A., F.S.A. LONDON: The
Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Six Shillings.
[Illustration: TEMPTATION!]
FIFTY HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED PEN-AND-INK SKETCHES by PHIL MAY. LONDON:
The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. [One Shilling.
[Illustration]
1,000 QUAINT CUTS FROM BOOKS OF OTHER DAYS. Including amusing
illustrations from Children’s Story Books, Fables, Chap-books, &c.,
&c., a Selection of Pictorial Initial Letters and Curious Designs and
Ornaments from Original Wooden Blocks belonging to The Leadenhall
Press. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C.
[One-and-Fourpence.
A limited number printed on one side of the paper only at
Two-and-Eightpence.
[Illustration]
THE BUSINESSES OF A BUSY MAN. By R. S. WARREN BELL. LONDON:
The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C.
[Three-and-Sixpence.
JOHN BULL AND HIS ISLAND. (Cheap Edition.) Translated from the French
by the Author, MAX O’RELL. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall-street, E.C. [One Shilling.
Upwards of two hundred thousand copies have been disposed of.
JOHN BULL JUNIOR: or FRENCH AS SHE IS TRADUCED. Enlarged from “_Drat_
the Boys!” By MAX O’RELL, author of “John Bull and his Island,” &c.
LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. [One
Shilling.
[Illustration]
BABY’S RECORD: WITH SPACES FOR MOTHER’S NOTES ABOUT HER BABY. As used
by the Royal Mother of the future King of England. Compiled by the
Rev. R. I. WOODHOUSE, M.A. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall Street, E.C. [One Shilling.
[Illustration:
THE DAINTIEST OF DAINTY BOOKS.
]
[Illustration:
“BABY’S RECORD will in many cases prove an invaluable aid to the
family doctor in the treatment of ailments in later life.”
]
[Illustration]
BABY’S RECORD.
_EDITION DE LUXE._
A limited number of Large Paper Copies, in an extremely choice and novel
white vellum and green morocco binding, with silk ties, at One Guinea
nett.
Each copy contains a couple of genuine Bartolozzi engravings, printed
direct from the original copperplates, one of which (the frontispiece)
is delicately hand-coloured.
An acceptable Christening Present.
[Illustration]
HORN-BOOK JINGLES. By Mrs. ARTHUR GASKIN. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press,
Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Three-and-Sixpence.
A delightful book (which will be loved by the little ones) based on the
old-fashioned and now extinct A B C horn-book. Every page is beautifully
illustrated, and both illustrations and jingles are by that clever
artist, Mrs. Arthur Gaskin (Georgie Cave France).
[Illustration: YOU ASK TOO MUCH FOR YOUR HORN-BOOKS TO-DAY THREE
HA’PENCE EACH IS A GREAT DEAL TO PAY]
_DRAT_ THE BOYS! or, RECOLLECTIONS OF AN EX-FRENCH MASTER IN ENGLAND.
By MAX O’RELL, author of “John Bull and his Island,” &c., &c. LONDON:
The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Two
Shillings.
[Illustration]
A QUAINT OLD TREASURY OF DECORATIVE DRAWINGS FOR LEADED GLASS.
(100 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS AND DESCRIPTIVE TEXT.)
A BOOKE OF SVNDRY DRAVGHTES, _Principaly serving for Glasiers_: And not
Impertinent for Plasterers, and Gardiners: be sides sundry other
professions: _whereunto is annexed the manner how to anniel in Glas:
And also the true forme of the Fornace, and the secretes thereof_. By
WALTER GIDDE. London, 1615. [Quarto.] LONDON: The Leadenhall Press,
Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C.
Bound in strong limp parchment, with leather thongs at side (facsimile
of the original binding) [Six Shillings.
An original copy of this book (published in 1615) is worth its weight in
gold, and is now almost impossible to procure. The specimen cuts shewn
below are portions of pages reduced.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE BEST BOOK OF ALPHABETS PUBLISHED
A NEW SHILLING BOOK OF ALPHABETS, PLAIN AND ORNAMENTAL, ANCIENT AND
MODERN. For the use of Architects, Clergymen, Decorators, Designers,
Draughtsmen, Teachers, &c. With a curiously interesting Alphabet
(capitals and small letters) in facsimile from an original MS.
written by Charles I., together with his writing-master’s “copy.”
LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. [One
Shilling.
]
“It is a noticeable feature of this collection of alphabets and
ornaments that it has been selected entirely and solely from the
material in everyday use at the Leadenhall Press.”—_The Art Printer._
[Illustration]
SEVENTY-SIXTH THOUSAND.
OLD LONDON STREET CRIES AND THE CRIES OF TO-DAY. With heaps of quaint
cuts, including hand-coloured frontispiece. By ANDREW W. TUER,
F.S.A., author of “Bartolozzi and his Works,” &c., &c. LONDON: The
Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street. E.C. [One Shilling.
THAT HEADSTRONG BOY: A FREAK OF HIS AND WHAT CAME OF IT. By EDWARD
KENT. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C.
[Six Shillings.
A LAWFUL CRIME: A STORY OF TO-DAY. By EDWARD KENT, Author of “That
Headstrong Boy.” LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50,
Leadenhall-street, E.C. [Six Shillings.
[Illustration]
THE AUTHOR’S PAPER-PAD.
=Quarto size=, 7 × 8½ =6d.= each. =5/-= per doz.
=Half size= (for pocket) =3d.= „ =3/-= „
If to be forwarded by post, send 2d. extra for postage of single Pad,
and 9d. for postage of one dozen Pads: on pocket size Pads, postage of
single Pad, 1d., and of one dozen Pads, 6d. The postage on one
Pad-Holder is 2d., and on Pad-Holder and one Pad together, 8d.
The sheets may be secured after removal by passing a string or tape
through the eyelet hole.
“_With bad paper, one’s best is impossible._”
(_Punch_ is responsible for this transposition!)
[Illustration: THE HAIRLESS AUTHOR’S _trs_: PAPER-PAD (REGISTERED)]
_Issued by The Leadenhall Press, Ltd_:
CONTAINS, in block form, fifty sheets of strong _hairless_ paper, over
which—being of unusual but not painful smoothness—the pen slips with
perfect freedom. Easily detachable, the size of the sheets is about 7 ×
8½, and the price is only that charged for common scribbling paper.
_THE AUTHOR’S HAIRLESS PAPER-PAD_ may be comfortably used, whether at
the desk, held in the hand, or resting on the knee. As being most
convenient for both author and compositor, the paper is ruled the narrow
way, and of course on one side only.
“_With paper and ink and well directed brains at one end, and a printing
press at the other, we may look for the achievement of the greatest good
to the greatest number._”
“=The Pads are MOST USEFUL.”—F. C. BURNAND=, _of “Punch.”_
_The Rev. W. Gordon Baillie_ writes “With the AUTHOR’S PAD and a
fountain pen I can work ten times more easily.”
THE AUTHOR’S PAPER-PAD HOLDER
(for the larger size, of wood, for resting on the knee, 1/-
each)—suggested by _Punch_—is equally useful to the busy few who write
when travelling, and to stay-at-homes who dislike the restraint of desk
or table. It is intended that the wooden rim at the side of the AUTHOR’S
HAIRLESS PAPER-PAD HOLDER should be grasped by the left hand, the right
being free to travel over the whole surface of the paper from top to
bottom. The height of Pad and Holder will be kept uniform if each
written sheet is placed as torn off underneath the Pad, the base of
which is now thick blotting paper instead of the old and useless
cardboard. The ordinary sloped position when in use keeps Pad and Holder
together.
The Best ==Book of Alphabets== Published.
[Illustration: _A NEW SHILLING_ Book of Alphabets Plain & =Ornamental=,
_Ancient_ and Modern, For the Use of Draughtsmen, Clergymen, Decorators,
Designers, ARCHITECTS, Teachers, &c.]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
With a curiously interesting and complete Alphabet (capitals and small
letters) in facsimile from an original MS. written by CHARLES I.,
together with his writing-master’s “copy.”
LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 50 Leadenhall Street, E.C.
[Illustration: _Special facilities are possessed for printing Books,
Pamphlets, Prospectuses, Professional and Trading Announcements, &c., in
that high-class & attractive manner for which THE LEADENHALL PRESS has
been so long and favourably known. Estimates free of cost._]
[Illustration]
Specimens of Type from
The Leadenhall Press, Ltd:
50, Leadenhall Street, London, E.C.
[Illustration]
Stickphast Paste
for Sticking in Scraps, Joining and Repairing Papers, &c.
3_d._, 6_d._ and 1_s._ with strong, useful Brush (not a Toy).
Sold by Stationers, Chemists, Stores, &c.
[Illustration]
☛ Sample bottle, with strong useful brush (not a toy) for two stamps
(cost of postage).
Stickphast Paste Factory, Sugar-Loaf Court, Leadenhall Street, London,
E.C.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
spelling.
2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.