AFTER	A	LECTURE	ON	MOORE
	The	linnet	sings	as	there	lie	sung;
	The	unseen	cuckoo	cries,
	And	daisies	strew	the	banks	along,
	And	yellow	kingcups	shine,
	With	cowslips,	and	a	primrose	throng,
	And	humble	celandine.
	Ah	foolish	dream	!	when	Nature	nursed
	Her	daughter	in	the	West,
	The	fount	was	drained	that	opened	first	;
	She	bared	her	other	breast.
	On	the	young	planet	s	orient	shore
	Her	morning	hand	she	tried;
	Then	turned	the	broad	medallion	o	er
	And	stamped	the	sunset	side.
	Take	what	she	gives,	her	pine	s	tall	stem,
	Her	elm	with	hanging	spray;
	She	wears	her	mountain	diadem
	Still	in	her	own	proud	way.
	Look	on	the	forests	ancient	kings,
	The	hemlock	s	towering	pride:
	Yon	trunk	had	thrice	a	hundred	rings,
	And	fell	before	it	died.
	Xor	think	that	Nature	saves	her	bloom
	And	slights	our	grassy	plain;
	For	us	she	wears	her	court	costume,
	Look	on	its	broidered	train;
	The	lily	with	the	sprinkled	dots,
	Brands	of	the	noontide	beam;
	The	cardinal,	and	the	blood-red	spots,
	Its	double	in	the	stream,
	As	if	some	wounded	eagle	s	breast,
	Slow	throbbing	1	o	er	the	plain,
	Had	left	its	airy	path	impressed
	In	drops	of	scarlet	rain.
	And	hark	!	and	hark	!	the	woodland	rings
	There	thrilled	the	thrush	s	soul;
	And	look	!	that	flash	of	flamy	wings,
	The	fire-plumed	oriole	!
	Above,	the	hen-hawk	swims	and	swoops,
	Flung	from	the	bright,	blue	sky;
	Below,	the	robin	hops,	and	whoops
	His	piercing	Indian	cry.
	Beauty	runs	virgin	in	the	woods
	Robed	in	her	rustic	green,
	And	oft	a	longing	thought	intrudes,
	As	if	we	might	have	seen
	Her	every	finger	s	every	joint
	Ringed	with	some	golden	line,
	Poet	whom	Nature	did	anoint	!
	Had	our	wild	home	been	thine.
	Yet	think	not	so	;	Old	England	s	blood
	Runs	warm	in	English	veins;
	But	wafted	o	er	the	icy	flood
	Its	better	life	remains:
	Our	children	know	each	wildwood	smell,
	The	bay	berry	and	the	fern,
	The	man	who	does	not	know	them	well
	Is	all	too	old	to	learn.
	Be	patient	!	On	the	breathing	page
	Still	pants	our	hurried	past;
	Pilgrim	and	soldier,	saint	and	sage,
	The	poet	comes	the	last	!
	Though	still	the	lark-voiced	matins	ring
	The	world	has	known	so	long;
	The	wood-thrush	of	the	We.st	shall	sing-
	Earth	s	last	sweet	even-son"	!
	AFTER	A	LECTURE	OX	MOORE
	SHINE	soft,	ye	trembling	tears	of	light
	That	strew	the	mourning	skies;
	Hushed	in	the	silent	dews	of	night
	The	harp	of	Erin	lies.
	What	though	her	thousand	years	have	past
	Of	poets,	saints,	and	kings,
	Her	echoes	only	hear	the	last
	That	swept	those	golden	strings.
	Fling	o	er	his	mound,	ye	star-lit	bowers,
	The	balmiest	wreaths	ye	wear,
	\\	hose	breath	has	lent	your	earth-born
	flowers
	Heaven	s	own	ambrosial	air.
	Breathe,	bird	of	night,	thy	softest	tone	;
	By	shadowy	grove	and	rill;
	Thy	song	will	soothe	us	while	we	own
	That	his	was	sweeter	still.
	Stay,	pitying	Time,	thy	foot	for	him
	Who	gave	thee	swifter	wings,
	Nor	let	thine	envious	shadow	dim
	The	light	his	glory	flings.


350	BUNSEN.
	impressed	by	the	discovery	that	the	peculiar	system
	of	inheritance	which	in	Greece	existed	only	in	the
	petrified	form	of	a	primitive	custom,	sanctioned	by
	law,	disclosed	in	the	laws	of	Manu	its	original	pur
	port	and	natural	meaning.	This	one	spark	excited
	in	Bunsen's	mind	that	constant	yearning	after	a
	knowledge	of	Eastern	and	more	particularly	of	Indian
	literature	which	very	nearly	drove	him	to	India	in
	the	same	adventurous	spirit	as	Anquetil	Duperron
	and	Czoma	de	Koros.	We	are	now	familiar	with
	the	great	results	that	have	been	obtained	by	a	study
	of	the	ancient	languages	and	religion	of	the	East	;	but
	in	1813	neither	Bopp	nor	Grimm	had	begun	to	pub
	lish,	and	Frederic	Schlegel	was	the	only	one	who	in
	his	little	pamphlet,	"	On	the	Language	and	the
	Wisdom	of	the	Indians"	(1808),	had	ventured	to
	assert	a	real	intellectual	relationship	between	Europe
	and	India.	One	of	Bunsen's	earliest	friends,	Wolrad
	Schumacher,	related	that	even	at	school	Bunsen's
	mind	was	turned	towards	India.	"	Sometimes	he
	would	let	fall	a	word	about	India	which	was	unac
	countable	to	me,	as	at	that	time	I	connected	only	a
	geographical	conception	with	that	name	"	(p.	17).
	While	thus	engaged	in	his	studies	at	Gottingen,	and
	working	in	company	with	such	friends	as	Brandis,	the
	historian	of	Greek	philosophy	;	Lachmann,	the	editor
	of	the	New	Testament	;	Liicke,	the	theologian	;	Ernst
	Schulze,	the	poet,	and	others,	Bunsen	felt	the	influ
	ence	of	the	great	events	that	brought	about	the	regen
	eration	of	Germany	;	nor	was	he	the	man	to	stand	aloof,
	absorbed	in	literary	work,	while	others	were	busy
	doing	mischief	difficult	to	remedy.	The	princes	of
	Germany	and	their	friends,	though	grateful	to	the	peo
	ple	for	having	at	last	shaken	off	with	fearful	sacrifices


CHRONOLOGY
	Born	in	Boston,	January	6,	1811.
	Admitted	to	Boston	Latin	School,	August,	1821.
	Graduated,	Harvard,	1830.
	Entered	Law	School,	1831.
	Admitted	to	bar,	1834.
	Traveled	in	Europe,	1837-1840.
	Law	and	general	public	activity,	1840-51.
	First	public	speech,	July	4,	1845.
	Entered	Senate,	1851.
	Assaulted	by	Brooks,	May	22,	1856.
	Recovering,	1856-60.
	Active	in	Senate,	1860-74.
	Married	Mrs.	Hooper,	October	17,	1866.
	Parted	from	wife,	June,	1867.
	Removed	from	chairmanship	of	Foreign	Affairs	Committee,
	1871.
	Died,	March	11,	1874.


The	Most	Valuable	Techno-Chemical	Receipt	Book	Published
	Henley's	Twentieth	Century	Book	01
	RECIPES
	FORMULAS
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	To	present	here	even	a	limited	number	of	the	subjects	which	find	a	place	in	this	valual
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	Among	the	Recipes	given	are:
	Bleaching	Recipes
	Etching	and	Engraving	Recipes
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	Paint	Making	Formulas
	Gilding	Recipes
	Galvanizing	Recipes
	Bronzing	Recipes
	Tinning	Recipes
	Silvering	Recipes
	Recipes	for	Adhesives
	Recipes	for	Plating	and	Enameling
	Cleaning	Processes
	Soap	Making
	Leather	and	its	Preparation
	Recipes	for	Alloys
	Recipes	for	Solders
	Photographic	Formulas
	Shoe	Dressing	Recipes
	Stove	Blacking	Recipes
	Rust	Preventive	Recipes
	Recipes	for	Lubricants
	Recipes	for	Oils
	Recipes	for	Dyes,	Colors,	and	Pigments
	Recipes	for	Dryers
	Ink	Recipes
	Recipes	for	Artificial	Gem	Making
	Jewelers'	and	Watchmakers'	Recipes
	Household	Formulas
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	Fireproofing	Recipes
	Recipes	for	Cements,	Glues,	Mucila#
	Fireworks	Recipes
	Recipes	for	Eradicators
	Alcohol	and	its	Uses
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	Perfume	Recipes
	Tanning	Recipes
	Metallurgical	Formuho
	Hair	Restorers
	Depilatories
	And	many	thousands	more	Equally	Important	in	the	Arts	and	Manufacture*


256	NEBULOSA	DE	COLÓ-V.
	errata,	por	Torroella.	El	Rdo.	P.	D.	Fidel	Fita	y	Colomé
	ha	publicado	en	Los	Reys	(VA	vagó	y	la	Seu	de	Girona,
	segona	edició,	Barcelona,	1873,	pág,	90,	algunos	documen-
	tos	relativos	á	este	caballero	y	á	otros	de	su	familia,	em-
	pezando	por	el	obispo	Juan	de	Margarit,	que	procedían
	de	Torroella	de	Montgrí	en	la	provincia	de	Gerona.	El
	dictado	de	Mosen	que	le	da	el	Memorial	de	Juan	de	Va-
	lencia,	indica	por	sí	solo	que	no	era	castellano.	Los	docu_
	mentos	citados	acreditan	que	D.	Pedro	Margarit	asistió	á
	la	guerra	de	Granada,	prestando	buenos	servicios,	que
	remuneró	el	rey	D.	Fernando	por	Cédula	expedida	en
	Santa	Fe	á	7	de	Julio	de	1491.	Allí	le	conocería	Alonso
	de	Valencia	y	formaría	el	acuerdo	del	viaje	á	las	tierras
	descubiertas	por	Colón.	Este,	en	el	Memorial	que	para
	SS.	AA.	entregó	á	Antonio	de	Torres,	proponía	«le	pro-
	veyeran	de	alguna	encomienda	en	la	Orden	de	Santiago,
	de	la	cual	él	tenía	el	hábito,	porque	su	mujer	é	hijos	tu-
	vieran	con	qué	vivir.»	Los	Reyes	le	acordaron	30.000	ma-
	ravedís	cada	año.	No	he	encontrado	su	nombre	en	los	ca-
	tálogos	generales	de	Caballeros	de	la	Orden	de	Santiago
	que	posee	el	Archivo	histórico	nacional;	pero	aparece	en
	ellos	el	año	1566	una	doria	Violante	Margarit,	natural	de
	Girona.	Colón	atestiguó	también	que	Mosen	Pedro	era
	criado	de	SS.	AA.,	y	había	bien	servido	en	la	Isla	Espa-
	ñola.
	*^	Hist.	nat.	y	gral	de	las	Indias,	lib.	ITI,	cap.	V.
	•*'	ídem,	lib.	il,	cap.	Vil.
	**	ídem,	lib.	Ill,	cap.	V.
	^^	La	relación	ó	memorial	segundo,	cita	una	del	rey
	Felipe	11	dada	á	10	de	Noviembre	de	1588,	y	otra	de	Fe-
	lipe	III	á	13	de	Diciembre	de	161	1,	en	que	se	mencionan
	los	servicios	y	cargos.	En	el	testamento	del	segundo	al-
	mirante	D.	Diego	Colón,	otorgado	en	1523,	consta	se	no-


328
	mostly	to	the	States	for	cattle	and	poultry	food.	The	money
	earned	was	spent	on	many	things,	including	expensive	polished
	rice.	They	grew	manioc	as	their	preferred	food,	an	indigenous
	food	staple	with	minimal	food	value.	They	also	invested	in
	Coca-cola.
	The	team	interviewed	lots	of	people	and	learned	that
	soybeans	were	not	considered	fit	for	humans,	that	the	villagers
	had	a	lovely	sweet	diet	and	the	kids	thrived	on	it,	except	that
	they	didn't	grow	properly.
	The	team	came	back	with	two	sizeable	growing	families	of
	white	rats,	a	rarity	in	this	part	of	the	world,	and	suggested
	an	experiment	for	the	main	school.	One	team	of	children	would
	raise	one	rat	family	on	the	diet	everyone	liked	so	well,	and
	another	team	would	raise	the	other	white	rat	family	on	a	basic
	soybean	diet.	The	kids	loved	this	hands-on	approach,	took
	turns	taking	the	animals	home	on	weekends	to	keep	them	on	their
	diets.
	The	Cali	team	returned	in	two	weeks	and	everyone	gathered
	around	to	check	the	animals	and	weigh	them.	Naturally,	the
	soybean	animals	were	beautiful	and	the	valley	diet	rats	were
	looking	runty.	However,	not	everyone	trusted	the	Cali	team	and
	one	of	the	valley	farmers	who	was	taking	it	all	in	asked	if	the
	rat	families	could	have	their	diets	switched.	This	was	beyond
	the	dreams	of	the	team	and	they	agreed	promptly.	The	dietary
	switch	was	made	and	when	the	team	came	back	in	another	two
	weeks,	everyone	was	excited.	The	previously	run-down	rat
	family	was	thriving,	and	the	previously	healthy	one	was	looking
	bad	on	the	village	diet.
	The	entire	valley	was	aroused	and	the	Cali	team	asked	them
	what	they	could	do	about	their	obviously	dangerous	diet.	Since
	they	had	many	times	more	soybeans	than	they	could	eat,	they
	could	eat	them	and	could	still	have	enough	to	sell	and	have
	enough	money	to	buy	things	they	really	needed.
	A	group	of	women	formed	a	committee	and	came	up	with	the
	idea	that	they	had	to	invent	recipes	for	soybeans	that	would	be
	tasty	for	the	local	folk,	and	that	once	they	found	such	recipes
	they	would	write	them	up,	set	up	a	booth	at	the	weekly	market,
	hand	out	samples	of	the	dishes,	and	sell	the	recipes	for	the
	new	dishes	for	a	few	cents	each.
	They	asked	if	they	could	borrow	a	hundred	dollars	to	get
	all	this	done.	The	team	found	the	money	and	got	it	back	in
	fairly	short	order.	The	entire	valley	found	that	soybeans	were


75.]	KNOWLEDGE	OF	SELF.	175
	chemistry	succeed	in	producing	a	cell,	a	muscular	fibre,	a	nerve,
	in	short,	an	organism	endowed	with	vital	qualities,	consequently
	an	actual	organism.	He	who	has	ever	seen	carbonate	of
	ammonia,	carbonate	of	lime,	phosphate	of	lime,	an	iron-ore,	a
	mineral	containing	alkaline	ore,	will	from	the	beginning	hold
	it	as	quite	impossible	that	from	these	substances	an	organic
	germ,	capable	of	propagation	and	higher	development,	can	ever
	originate	through	the	effect	of	heat,	of	electricity,	or	of	any
	other	natural	power."	So	Liebig.
	Obs.	2.	The	reviewer	in	the	Schurer'schen	Litztg.	affirms:
	"	It	is	useless	trouble	to	point	to	design	as	realized	anywhere
	in	nature	to	one	who	is	not	disposed	to	believe	in	it,	since	every
	design	needs	for	its	realization	a	complete	series	of	causes	operat-
	ing	blindly,	which	present	to	thought	the	sufficient	reason	of
	the	sequence.	To	see	design	in	the	domain	of	experience	is
	a	matter	of	immediate	belief,	not	of	mediated	knowledge."
	Granting,	therefore,	that	a	design	lay	at	the	basis	of	an	action,
	"the	design,"	i.e.,	he	who	acts	with	design	requires	certain	means,
	which	consist	in	blindly	operating	causes	;	and	thus	I	feel
	authorized	logically	to	infer	from	the	result	only	these	means
	as	the	causa	proxima,	and	by	no	means	an	activity	of	a	subject
	arranging	the	same	in	conformity	to	an	end	as	a	causa	prima.
	And	this	is	to	be	valid	as	a	philosopheme	in	"	the	domain	of
	experience	"	good.	To	the	domain	of	experience	belongs	like-
	wise	the	perception	of	human	works	and	labours	;	thus	the
	philosopheme	will	have	to	be	valid	of	these	also,	if	it	is	generally
	true.	When	now	I	see	a	shattered	flower-pot	lying	on	the
	street-pavement	in	front	of	a	house,	I	will	thus	be	entitled	to
	infer	with	certainty	from	this	empirical	perception,	only	a	falling-
	down	as	the	causa	proxima,	and	will	by	no	means	be	allowed	to
	infer	an	intention	and	a	design	;	the	flower-pot	may	be	thrown
	down	by	the	wind,	by	a	cat.	by	a	man	from	inadvertence,	con-
	sequently	without	intention,	just	as	easily	as	it	may	be	thrown
	down	by	an	angry	and	malevolent	man	for	the	design	of	vexing
	another.	If,	on	the	other	hand,	I	pass	by	a	workshop	just
	standing	idle	in	the	hour	of	recess,	and	look	in	through	the
	window	and	see	there	a	metallic	concave-mirror	touched	with
	polish	;	further,	several	cylinders	ready	and	one	to	be	found	on
	the	turning	machine	;	further,	different	stands	with	instruments
	for	measuring	degrees,	verniers,	micrometer-screws,	and	so	forth,
	I	shall,	nevertheless,	in	spite	of	all	respect	to	the	logic	of	our
	rosin-scraper	ninny,	infer	from	these	empirical	perceptions	not
	merely	a	fire,	smalt,	turning	motion,	iron	instruments,	as
	causas	proximas	of	the	processes	of	polishing	and	turning,	but	the
	prevalence	of	a	unified	design	:	to	produce	a	reflecting-telescope.
	And	indeed	for	this	reason,	because	there	lies	here	before	me


J60	Kant.
	know	or	estimate	things	in	the	way	we	do.	It	seeks	to
	present	the	fundamental	features	of	mental	action	which
	are	operative	in	generating	the	product	known	as	the
	world	of	knowledge.	These	fundamental	features,	dis
	covered	by	an	analysis	of	mind	regarded	simply	as	the
	organ	of	knowledge,	are	what	Kant	terms	a	priori.
	Evidently	they	are	no	innate	ideas.	But	they	are	pre
	suppositions	without	which	knowledge	is	impossible.
	Further,	they	have	always	a	bearing	towards	experience,
	and	concrete	knowledge	of	facts	:	they	are	always	on	the
	outlook,	as	it	were,	for	an	a	posteriori,	in	which	alone
	they	are	actually	and,	so	to	speak,	tangibly	embodied.
	To	sift	out	these	conditions,	to	discover	the	element
	logically	antecedent	to	experience,	and	which	renders
	experience	itself	possible,	to	find	out	the	fundamental
	spirit	of	unification	which	is	the	progenitor	of	all	the
	several	unifications	of	sense-impressions	which	make	up
	our	experience,	this	is	the	work	of	Kant	s	criticism.
	But	as	criticism	it	accomplishes	the	task	in	a	partial	way.
	The	aim	of	the	work,	as	a	criticism,	is	to	point	out	how
	these	conditions,	inherent	in	the	very	act	of	knowing,
	impose	a	limit	upon	its	application.	Only	so	far,	there
	fore,	as	is	needed	in	order	to	show	the	necessary	restric
	tions	of	science	does	Kant	enter	upon	the	analysis	of	its
	elementary	laws.	Yet	he	himself	believed	that	he	had
	so	far	demarcated	the	main	outlines	of	the	a	priori,	that
	only	a	little	more	labour,	w	r	ith	the	help	of	a	metaphy
	sical	text-book,	was	needed	to	expand	the	criticism	into
	a	complete	transcendental	philosophy.
	The	process	of	knowledge	is	assigned	by	Kant,	in	the
	first	instance,	to	the	action	of	two	factors	the	senses
	and	the	understanding.	By	the	former,	it	is	said,	ob-


Stephen	the	Black	201
	raise	the	needed	funds	either	by	his	own	la
	bor,	or	by	appealing	to	the	fabulous	generos
	ity	of	Northern	philanthropists	in	whose	good
	ness	he	believed	as	implicitly	as	he	did	in	the
	articles	of	the	Christian	religion.
	He	stepped	out	of	the	colored	coach	at
	Washington,	he	might	have	left	it	earlier	if
	he	had	been	so	minded,	but	his	thoughts	were
	not	on	distinctions	of	race	and	on	entering
	the	train	of	the	Pennsylvania	Railroad	he	was
	somewhat	abashed	to	find	himself	the	only
	colored	man	in	the	car.	He	selected	a	seat	near
	the	door	conspicuous	for	its	discomfort,	and	as
	the	car	filled	up,	one	traveler	after	another	ap
	proached	him,	hesitated,	looked	at	him	and
	passed	on	into	the	next	car.	But	Stephen's	feel
	ings	were	not	hurt	by	the	fact	that	he	was	per
	mitted	on	account	of	his	color	to	occupy	a	seat
	intended	for	two.	He	looked	steadily	out	of	the
	window,	having	shrunk	into	the	smallest	space
	that	it	was	possible	for	him	to	fit	into	after
	laying	his	bag	on	the	floor.	Strange	to	say,
	he	was	light-hearted	over	the	situation,	and
	pondered	with	a	keen	relish	the	disinterested-


66	POETRY	AND	IMAGINATION
	virtue.	He	is	the	true	Orpheus	who	writes	his
	ode,	not	with	syllables,	but	men.	"	In	poetry,"
	said	Goethe,	"only	the	really	great	and	pure
	advances	us,	and	this	exists	as	a	second	nature,
	either	elevating	us	to	itself,	or	rejecting	us."
	The	poet	must	let	Humanity	sit	with	the	Muse
	in	his	head,	as	the	charioteer	sits	with	the	hero
	in	the	Iliad.	"	Show	me,"	said	Sarona	in	the
	novel,	"	one	wicked	man	who	has	written	poetry,
	and	I	will	show	you	where	his	poetry	is	not
	poetry	;	or	rather,	I	will	show	you	in	his	poetry
	no	poetry	at	all."
	I	have	heard	that	there	is	a	hope	which	pre
	cedes	and	must	precede	all	science	of	the	visible
	or	the	invisible	world	;	and	that	science	is	the
	realization	of	that	hope	in	either	region.	I	count
	the	genius	of	Swedenborg	and	Wordsworth	as
	the	agents	of	a	reform	in	philosophy,	the	bring
	ing	poetry	back	to	Nature,	to	the	marrying
	of	Nature	and	mind,	undoing	the	old	divorce	in
	which	poetry	had	been	famished	and	false,	and
	Nature	had	been	suspected	and	pagan.	The
	philosophy	which	a	nation	receives,	rules	its	re
	ligion,	poetry,	politics,	arts,	trades	and	whole
	history.	A	good	poem	say	Shakspeare	s	Mac
	beth,	or	Hamlet,	or	the	Tempest	goes	about
	the	world	offering	itself	to	reasonable	men,	who


22
	JAMES	CLARKE	AND	CO.	S
	V-
	By	MARY	B.	MANNERS.
	Crown	8vo,	Linen	Covers,	Is.	eachi
	A	Tale	of	a	Telephone,	and	Other	Pieces.
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	tion	platform.	They	have	a	pleasant	light	humour	and	a	lilt	often	like	that
	of	the	Ingoldsby	Legends,	and	should	not	fail	to	entertain	any	reader	In	a
	jocular	mood."	Scotsman.
	The	Bishop	and	the	Caterpillar	(as	recited	by	the	late	Mr.
	Brandram),	and	Other	Pieces.	Dedicated	by	permission	to
	Lewis	Carroll.	Fourth	Edition.
	"	The	first	two	pieces	are	quite	worthy	of	Ingoldsby,	and	that	reverend
	gentleman	would	not	have	been	ashamed	to	own	them.	The	pieces	are
	admirably	suited	for	recitation."	Dramatic	Review.
	Aunt	Agatha	Ann	;	and	Other	Ballads.	Dlustrationa	by
	EBNOLD	A.	MASON	and	Louis	WAIN.
	Twisted	Threads;	or,	Those	Villagers,	By	H.	E.	STONE.
	Crown	8vo,	cloth.	Is.
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	to	have	pleasant	and	varied	entertainment	for	themselves
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	tion.	New	Edition.	Thoroughly	revised	and	brought	up	to
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	ment	to	"	Tasty	Dishes."	Price	Is.
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	"	The	recipes	given	have	been	carefully	tried	and	not	been	found	wanting,"
	The	Star.
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	Dundee	Advertiser.
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	Law.	Paper,	Is.


258	CHRIST	IN	PROVIDENCE.
	who,	when	passing	dryshod	through	the	sea	between
	two	crystal	walls,	thought	no	more	of	God	than	you	or
	I,	perhaps,	have	done,	when,	on	a	bright	summer	day,
	beneath	the	flickering	shade	of	overhanging	trees,	and,
	on	a	carpet	of	heath	and	wild	flowers,	we	were	threading
	some	mountain	gorge.	He	too,	incurred	double	guilt,
	who,	having	risen	with	the	dawn,	and	left	his	tent,	ere
	the	sun	had	shot	one	slanting	ray	across	the	desert
	sands,	to	gather	food	fallen	fresh	from	dewy	skies,
	thought	no	more	of	God	than	yonder	merry	band,	that,
	with	talk	and	songs	and	laughter,	sweep	down	the	golden
	corn,	or,	when	sheaves	are	stacked	and	fields	are	cleared,
	with	gleesome	dances	keep	harvest-home.	"	Go,	see
	now	this	cursed	woman,	and	bury	her,	for	she	is	a	king	s
	daughter,"	were	Jehu	s	orders	;	and	doubly	guilty	were
	his	messengers	if,	as	they	drove	off	the	dogs	that	were
	crunching	Jezebel	s	skull,	and	saw	the	curse	of	an	avenging
	prophet,	they	thought	no	more	of	God	s	righteous	judg
	ments,	than	does	the	rude,	brutal	mob	which	executions
	gather	from	low	lanes	and	alleys	around	a	gallows-tree.
	It	is	good	to	see	God	s	hand	in	every	extraordinary
	event,	but	it	is	better	to	see	his	providence	in	every
	thing,	saying	with	David,	I	have	set	the	Lord	always
	before	me.	How	happy	is	such	a	frame	of	mind	!	I
	cherish	the	memory	of	one	over	whose	chequered	life	it
	shed	a	perpetual	sunshine.	A	widow	with	a	helpless
	family,	she	had	literally	left	father	and	mother,	and
	house	and	lands,	for	Jesus	sake,	and	had	had	her	full
	share	of	trials.	Yet	nothing	came	wrong	to	her	;	nor
	did	leaden	cares	ever	sit	long	or	press	heavy	on	her
	saintly	breast	hers,	a	bearing	that	often	reminded	me


GENERAL	INDEX
	4	n
	diction	in,	270	j	the	sensuous	and
	the	sensual	in,	280	;	value	of
	abundance	in,	293	;	the	influence
	of	character	in,	5,	168	;	the	ques
	tion	of	matter	and	form,	176	;
	the	difference	between	Fact	and
	Truth,	208	;	good	poetry	more
	fiercely	resented	than	bad	morals,
	323	;	instructs	not	by	precept,
	but	by	suggestion,	7,	133	;	of	the
	eighteenth	century,	wanting	in	the
	imaginative	quality,	8,	3	5	indis
	cretions	make	the	charm	of,	5	;
	the	difference	between	it	and	prose,
	49	;	the	neglect	of,	an	unhealthy
	symptom,	196	;	as	a	criticism	of
	life,	313	;	also,	3,	40.	See	a/so,
	American,	Anglo-Norman,	An
	glo-Saxon,	English,	French,
	German,	Proven9al,	Romance,
	Scotch,	Teutonic	poetry	j	also,
	Ballad	poetry	;	Descriptive	poetry	;
	Dramatic	poetry	;	Epic	poetry	j
	Moral	poetry	j	Narrative	poetry	5
	Pastoral	poetry	;	Philosophical
	poetry	;	Religious	poetry	;	Roman
	tic	poetry	;	Sacred	poetry	;	Son
	net	;	Troubadours	;	Trouveres.
	Bacon	s	definition	of,	2,	ill	;
	Emerson	s	criticism	of,	396	;
	Edward	Phillips	on,	408	;	Vol
	taire	makes	Difficulty	a	tenth
	Muse,	415	;	Waller	on	care	in
	writing,	422	;	Dryden	on	the	end
	and	character	of,	3,	71	;	Fauriel
	on	prosaic	passages	in,	79	n	;	Les-
	sing	on	the	cultivation	of,	4,	1	29	;
	Spenser	s	conception	of,	267	;
	Wordsworth	s	theories	of,	5,	204,
	223,	232	;	Sir	John	Harrington
	on,	235.
	Poetry	and	prose,	danger	of	mixing
	them,	3,	59	;	the	distinction	be
	tween	them,	4,	129,	163,	295	;
	Coleridge	s	distinction,	5,	207	;
	1	8th	century	ideas	of	their	rela
	tion,	346.
	Poggetto,	Cardinal,	5,	29.
	Police	in	Rome,	I,	254.
	Polish,	Waller	on,	2,	423.
	Political	dogmas,	their	tendency	to
	become	dead	formulas,	6,	45.
	Political	economy,	humanity	its	most
	important	element,	7,	34	;	value
	of	the	study,	in	;	study	of,	212.
	Political	eloquence,	American,	6,
	62,	64.
	Political	evils,	the	cure	of,	I,	311.
	Political	machinery,	7,	221.
	Political	meetings,	7,	220.
	Political	office,	the	qualifications	for,
	i	3"-
	Political	parties,	7,	28	;	blind	to
	vicious	methods	employed	for	their
	advantage,	244.	See	also,	Party
	government.
	Political	speculations,	possible	value
	of,	I,	265.
	Political	thinker,	Burke	and	Milton,
	5,	271;	effect	of	abstract	ideas	on,
	275.
	Political	wisdom	of	Burke,	4,	175.
	Politicians,	Steele	on,	i,	368.	Poli
	ticians	and	statesmen,	5,	73	5	not
	leaders	but	followers	of	public	sen
	timent,	6,	93	;	the	study	of	polit
	ical	economy	recommended	to,
	7,	222	j	object	to	the	scholar	in
	politics,	233	$	call	learned	men
	pedants	and	doctrinaires,	236	;	re
	quired	by	the	system	of	party
	government,	257	;	engaged	with
	the	local	eddies	of	prejudice,	267.
	See	a/so,	Statesmen.
	Politics,	subordinate	to	poetry,	5,
	195	;	its	deepest	lesson	taught	by
	a	common	danger,	6,	58	;	diffi
	culty	of	forecasting	events,	155;
	men	taking	the	place	of	principles,
	162;	the	qualities	necessary	for
	success	in	statecraft,	226	;	a	rigid
	doctrinaire	an	unsafe	politician,
	233	;	success	obtained	by	skill	in
	taking	advantage	of	circumstances,
	233	j	a	science	demanding	serious
	application,	237	;	trifling	consid
	erations	to	be	taken	into	account,
	240	;	loyalty	to	great	ends,	not


l80	WALT	WHITMAN
	fut	pas	là	l'unique	circonstance	où	le	poète	eut	à	subir	des
	assauts	du	même	g^enre	:	maintes	fois	des	amis	le	pressèrent
	de	supprimer	ou	d'atténuer	les	passages	«	sexuels	»	de	son
	livre.	En	les	maintenant,	lui	disait-on,	il	commettait	la	plus
	fatale	des	imprudences,	car	c'était	se	vouer,	lui	et	son	œuvre,
	à	l'universelle	réprobation	et	fournir	des	arg-uments	redou-
	tables	à	ses	adversaires.	Pourquoi	retenir	ces	versets	natu-
	ralistes	que	nul	reg-ard	ne	pouvait	rencontrer	sans	rougir?	Que
	lui	aurait-il	coûté	de	les	faire	disparaître	afin	que	le	public	ne
	fût	pas	empêché	de	découvrir	les	réelles	beautés	de	ses	poèmes?
	Emerson	et	les	autres	jugeaient	probablement	inadmissible	le
	traitement	poétique	de	la	a	pure	sensualité	»	.	En	tous	cas	ils
	avertissaient	l'auteur	des	Feuilles	d'Herbe	du	grand	danger
	qu'il	courait,	de	conserver	devant	le	monde	une	réputation
	d'écrivain	obscène,	qui	l'empêcherait	à	jamais	de	faire	accepter
	son	message.	Il	fallait	supprimer	cette	infranchissable	barrière
	qui	se	dressait	entre	le	public	et	lui.	Et	Walt,	ainsi	sollicité,
	ne	discutait	pas,	ne	cherchait	pas	à	justifier	son	réalisme	inté-
	gral.	Il	ne	répondait	rien,	ayant	en	lui-même	des	raisons,	que
	la	raisonne	connaissait	pas.	Ou	bien	il	se	contentait	de	répliquer
	avec	un	sourire,	comme	il	le	fit	un	jour	à	l'un	de	ses	intimes
	qui	le	chapitrait	sur	ce	sujet	:	«	Si	vous	avez	besoin	de	me
	poser	cette	question,	John,	cela	prouve	pour	le	moins	que	le
	livre	n'a	pas	été	écrit	pour	vous	(i).	»	Rien	de	tout	cela	ne
	l'ébranlait	;	aux	objurgations	affectueuses,	il	opposait	la	même
	résistance	passive	qu'aux	furibondes	diatribes	de	ses	détrac-
	teurs.	Il	était	lui	et	il	n'avait	pas	à	faire	de	concessions.	Qu'il
	ait	eu	finalement	tort	ou	raison,	l'avenir	le	dirait	;	en	attendant,
	il	était	venu	au	monde	pour	se	proposer	tel	qu'il	était.	Certains
	l'eussent	préféré	châtré	:	mais	il	était	un	mâle	et	il	gardait	les
	attributs	du	mâle.	Il	avait	regardé	le	monde	de	ses	yeux	clairs
	et	il	n'y	avait	rien	découvert	d'immoral	:	hormis	une	seule
	chose	peut-être	—	mais	si	petite,	de	si	minime	importance!	—
	ia	pudeur	malsaine	de	ces	misérables	fanatiques,	rejetons	d'une
	humanité	pervertie,	que	la	grande	image	phallique,	dressée
	(i)	Bucke	:	Walt	Whitman,	p.	i44-


410	THE	UNITED	KINGDOM	CHAP.
	Such	was	the	Lowland	monarchy	;	and	that	to	the	Low-
	lands,	not	to	the	Highlands	and	the	Isles,	the	legal	and
	titular	sovereignty	should	belong,	fortune	decided	on	the
	1411	battle-field	of	Harlaw.	But	the	realm	of	the	Celt	beyond
	the	Grampians	remained	unassimilated	and	unsubdued.
	There	the	clan	system	with	all	its	relations	and	sentiments
	continued	in	full	force,	and	the	chief,	instead	of	being,
	like	the	baron,	lord	of	the	land,	was	lord	of	the	men	to
	whom	as	a	clan	the	land	belonged.	There	Gaelic	was	still
	the	tongue	;	the	Celtic	mantle	was	still	the	garb	;	the	word
	of	a	lawless	chief	was	still	the	law;	and	the	most	honour-
	able	occupation	was	raiding	on	Lowland	farms.	Chris-
	tianity	could	hardly	be	said	to	exist,	and	the	restraints	of
	marriage	were	almost	unknown.	Only	by	alliance	with
	the	powers	of	Huntley,	in	the	eastern	Highlands,	and	of
	Argyle,	in	the	west,	could	the	monarchy	of	Edinburgh
	obtain	slight	and	precarious	control.	Between	Lowland
	Saxon	and	Highland	Celt	the	antipathy	and	antagonism
	were	hardly	less	than	between	the	English	colonist	in
	Ireland	and	the	native	Irish.	"	Cateran	"	\vas	the	name	of
	hatred	and	contempt	given	by	the	Lowlander	to	the	plun-
	dering	Gael.	For	the	suppression	of	caterans	a	statute
	1384	was	made	by	which	any	man	might	seize	one	of	them,
	bring	him	to	the	sheriff,	and	kill	him	if	he	refused	to
	come	;	and	this	was	the	first	in	a	train	of	penal	and
	denunciatory	laws	against	the	Highlander,	each	more
	cruel	than	the	last.	The	caterans,	like	the	Irish	kerne,
	retaliated	when	they	had	the	power.	Driven	from	the
	fruitful	to	the	barren	lands,	they	were	shut	out	from	civili-
	zation	and	almost	constrained	to	plunder.	The	enmity
	between	the	two	races	was	deadly	;	there	was	apparently
	no	hope	of	reconciliation,	much	less	of	a	common	nation-


122
	MACAULAY	S	MISCELLANEOUS	WRITINGS.
	mutable	principles?	Is	poetry,	like	heraldry,
	mere	matter	of	arbitrary	regulation	1	The
	heralds	tell	us	that	certain	scutcheons	and
	bearings	denote	certain	conditions,	and	that	to
	put	colours	on	colours,	or	metals	on	rnetals,	is
	false	blazonry.	If	all	this	were	reversed;	if
	every	coat	of	arms	in	Europe	were	new-fash
	ioned;	if	it	were	decreed	that	or	should	never
	be	placed	but	on	argent,	or	argent	but	on	or;
	that	illegitimacy	should	be	denoted	by	a	lozenge,
	and	widowhood	by	a	bend,	the	new	science
	would	be	just	as	good	as	the	old	science,	be
	cause	both	the	new	and	the	old	would	be	good
	for	nothing.	The	mummery	of	Portcullis	and
	Rouge	Dragon,	as	it	has	no	other	value	than
	that	which	caprice	has	assigned	to	it,	may	well
	submit	to	any	laws	which	caprice	may	impose
	on	it.	But	it	is	not	so	with	that	great	imitative
	art,	to	the	power	of	which	all	ages,	the	rudest
	and	the	most	enlightened,	bear	witness.	Since
	its	first	grea	masterpieces	were	produced,
	every	thing	t*	at	is	changeable	in	this	world
	has	been	changed.	Civilization	has	been
	gained,	los	,	gained	again.	Religions,	and
	languages,	and	forms	of	government,	and
	usages	of	private	life,	and	the	modes	of	think
	ing,	?1I	have	undergone	a	succession	of	revo
	lutions.	Every	thing	has	passed	away	but	the
	great	features	of	nature,	the	heart	of	man,	and
	the	miracles	of	that	art	of	which	it	is	the	office
	to	reflect	back	the	heart	of	man	and	the	fea
	tures	of	nature.	Those	two	strange	old	poerns,
	the	wonder	of	ninety	generations,	still	retain
	all	their	freshness.	They	still	command	the
	veneration	of	minds	enriched	by	the	literature
	&gt;f	many	nations	and	ages.	They	are	still,	even
	Ji	wretched	translations,	the	delight	of	school-
	oys.	Having	survived	ten	thousand	capri
	cious	fashions,	having	seen	successive	codes
	f	criticism	become	obsolete,	they	still	remain,
	nn	mortal	with	the	immortality	of	truth,	the
	same	when	perused	in	the	study	of	an	English
	scholar	as	when	they	were	first	chanted	at	the
	banquets	of	the	Ionian	princes.
	Poetry	is,	as	that	most	acute	of	human
	beings,	Aristotle,	said,	more	than	two	thousand
	years	ago,	imitation.	It	is	an	art	analogous	in
	many	respects	to	the	art	of	painting,	sculpture,
	and	acting.	The	imitations	of	the	painter,	the
	sculptor,	and	the	actor	are,	indeed,	within	cer
	tain	limits,	more	perfect	than	those	of	the	poet.
	The	machinery	which	the	poet	employs	con
	sists	merely	of	words	;	and	words	cannot,	even
	when	employed	by	such	an	artist	as	Homer	or
	Dante,	present	to	the	mind	images	of	visible
	objects	quite	so	lively	and	exact	as	those	which
	we	carry	away	from	looking	on	the	works	of
	the	brush	and	the	chisel.	But,	on	the	other
	hand,	the	range	of	poetry	is	infinitely	wider
	than	that	of	any	other	imitative	art,	or	than
	that	of	all	the	other	imitative	arts	together.
	The	sculptor	can	imitate	only	form	;	the	painter
	only	form	and	colour	;	the	actor,	until	the	poet
	supplies	him	with	words,	only	form,	colour,
	and	motion.	Poetry	holds	the	outer	world	in
	common	with	the	other	arts.	The	heart	of
	man	is	the	province	of	poetry,	and	o	r	poetry
	alone.	The	painter,	the	sculptor,	and	the
	actor,	when	the	actor	is	unassisted	by	the	poet,
	can	exhibit	no	more	of	human	passion	and
	character	than	that	small	portion	which	over-
	!	flows	into	the	gesture	and	the	face	always	an
	imperfect,	often	a	deceitful	sign	of	that	which
	!	is	within.	The	deeper	and	more	complex	parts
	i	of	human	nature	can	be	exhibited	by	means
	of	words	alone.	Thus	the	objects	of	the	imi-
	i	tation	of	poetry	are	the	whole	external	and	the
	j	whole	internal	universe,	the	face	of	nature,	the
	j	vicissitudes	of	fortune,	man	as	he	is	in	himself,
	I	man	as	he	appears	in	society,	all	things	of
	1	which	we	can	form	an	image	in	our	minds,	by
	combining	together	parts	of	things	which	really
	exist.	The	domain	of	this	imperial	art	is	com
	mensurate	with	the	imaginative	faculty.
	An	art	essentially	imitative	ought	not	surely
	to	be	subjected	to	rules	which	tend	to	make	its
	imitations	less	perfect	than	they	would	other
	wise	be;	and	those	who	obey	such	rules	ought
	to	be	called,	not	correct,	but	incorrect	nrtists.|
	The	true	way	to	judge	of	the	rules	by	which
	English	poetry	was	governed	during	the	last
	century,	is	to	look	at	the	effects	which	they
	produced.
	It	was	in	1780	that	Johnson	completed	hi$
	Lives	of	the	Poets.	He	tells	us	in	that	work
	that	since	the	time	of	Dryden,	English	poetry
	had	shown	no	tendency	to	relapse	into	its	ori
	ginal	savlgeness	;	that	its	language	had	been
	refined,	its	numbers	tuned,	and	itj&gt;	sentiments
	improved.	It	may,	perhaps,	be	doubted	whether
	the	nation	had	any	great	reason	to	exult	in	the
	refinements	and	improvements	which	gav-	it
	Douglas	for	Othello,	and	the	Triumphs	of
	Temper	for	the	Faerie	Queen.
	It	was	during	the	thirty	years	which	preceded
	the	appearance	of	Johnson	s	Lives,	that	the
	diction	and	versification	of	English	poetry
	were,	in	the	sense	in	which	the	word	is	com
	monly	used,	most	correct.	Those	thirty	years
	form	the	most	deplorable	part	of	our	literary
	history.	They	have	bequeathed	to	us	scarcely
	any	poetry	which	deserves	to	be	remembered.
	Two	or	three	hundred	lines	of	Gray,	twice	as
	many	of	Goldsmith,	a	few	stanzas	of	Beattie
	and	Collins,	a	few	strophes	of	Mason,	and	a
	few	clever	prologues	and	satires,	were	the
	masterpieces	of	this	age	of	consummate	excel
	lence.	They	may	all	be	printed	in	one	volume,
	and	that	volume	would	be	by	no	means	a	vo
	lume	of	extraordinary	merit.	It	would	contain,
	no	poetry	of	the	highest	class,	and	little	which
	could	be	placed	very	high	in	the	second	class.
	The	Paradise	Regained,	or	Comus,	would	out
	weigh	it	all.
	At	last,	when	poetry	had	fallen	intc	such
	utter	decay	that	Mr.	Hayley	was	thought	a	great
	poet,	it	began	to	appear	that	the	excess	of	the
	evil	was	about	to	work	the	cure.	Men	became
	tired	of	an	insipid	conformity	to	a	standard
	which	derived	no	authority	from	nature	or	rea
	son.	A	shallow	criticism	had	taught	them	to
	ascribe	a	superstitious	value	to	the	spurious
	correctness	of	poetasters.	A	deeper	criticism
	brought	them	back	to	the	free	correctness	of
	the	first	great	masters.	The	eternal	laws	of
	poetry	regained	their	power,	and	the	temporary
	fashions	which	had	superseded	those	laws
	went	after	the	wig	of	Lovelace	and	the	hoop
	of	Clarissa.
	It	was	in	a	cold	and	barren	season	that	the
	seeds	of	that	rich	harvest	which	we	have
	reaped	were	first	sown.	While	poetry	waj


30	INTRODUCTORY	CHAPTER.
	with	wonder.	'	My	good	fellow,'	said	I,	'	you	are	well	aware	that	I
	managed	to	escape	from	the	police	while	they	were	transferring	me
	from	La	Force	to	BicStre.	Well	!	I	went	to	Paris	and	stayed	there
	till	I	could	go	elsewhere.	One	must	live,	you	know,	how	and	where
	one	can.	Unfortunately,	I	am	still	compelled	to	play	at	hide	and
	eeek,	and	it	is	only	by	assuming	a	variety	of	disguises	that	I	dare
	venture	abroad,	to	look	about	and	just	see	what	my	old	friends	are
	doing	;	but,	in	spite	of	all	my	precautions,	I	live	in	constant	dread	of
	many	individuals,	whose	keen	eyes	quickly	penetrate	my	assumption
	of	other	names	and	habits	than	my	own	;	and	who,	having	formerly
	been	upon	terms	of	familiarity	with	me,	pestered	me	with	questions
	I	had	no	other	means	of	shaking	off,	than	by	insinuating	that	I	was
	in	the	pay	of	the	police	;	and	thus	I	obtained	the	double	advantage
	of	evading,	in	my	character	of	"spy,"	both	their	suspicions	and	ill-
	will,	should	they	feel	disposed	to	exercise	it	in	procuring	my	arrest.'
	"	'	Enough	enough,'	interrupted	St.	Germain	;	'	I	believe	you	;	and
	to	convince	you	of	the	unbroken	confidence	I	place	in	you,	I	will	let
	you	into	the	secret	of	our	plans	for	to-night.'	"
	We	add	a	single	adventure	which	is	illustrative	of	the	shrewdness
	and	success	of	the	ever-active,	fearless,	self-reliant,	and	successful
	Vidocq	:
	"	I	was	employed	to	detect	the	authors	of	a	nocturnal	robbery,
	committed	by	climbing	and	forcible	entry	into	the	apartments	of	the
	Prince	de	Conde,	in	the	Palais	Bourbon.	Glasses	of	a	vast	size	had
	disappeared,	and	their	abstraction	was	effected	with	so	much	precau-
	tion,	that	the	sleep	of	two	cerberi,	who	supplied	the	place	of	a	watch-
	man,	had	not	been	for	a	moment	disturbed.	The	frames	in	which
	these	glasses	had	been	were	not	at	all	injured	:	and	I	was	at	first
	tempted	to	believe	that	they	had	been	taken	out	by	looking-glass
	makers	or	cabinet-makers	;	but	in	Paris	these	workmen	are	so	numer-
	ous,	that	I	could	not	pitch	on	any	one	of	them	whom	I	knew,	with
	any	certainty	of	suspicion.	Yet	I	was	resolved	to	detect	tho	guilty,
	and	to	effect	this	I	commenced	my	inquiries.
	"	The	keeper	of	a	sculpture-gallery,	near	the	Quineaux	of	the	inva-
	lids,	gave	me	first	the	information	by	which	I	was	guided.	About	three
	o'clock	in	the	morning,	he	had	seen	near	his	door	several	glasses	hi	the
	care	of	a	young	man,	who	pretended	to	have	been	obliged	to	station


3	GO	THE	COMPLAINT	FOR	FRUSTRATED	AIMS.
	as	if	evil	in	the	world	were	an	overwhelmingly	gigantic
	enemy	which	it	is	hopeless	to	attack.	It	comes	every	day
	with	its	boastful	challenge	and	its	brazen	armour,	and	God
	seems	to	stand	aloof	in	indifference,	till	we	are	tempted	to
	do	the	same	and	to	put	up	the	prayer,	not	in	faith	but	in
	fretfulness	"Arise,	God,	plead	thine	own	cause."	We
	have	tried	and	failed,	and	shall	try	no	more.	Let	God
	himself	look	to	it.	There	is	much	of	the	apathy	of	indolence
	among	Christian	men	;	but	we	must	all	feel	that	there	is
	much	also	of	this	apathy	of	disappointment,	and	that,	even
	where	it	does	not	stop	our	hands,	it	lies	like	a	stone	upon
	our	hearts,	and	prevents	us	going	forward	with	that	joyful
	vigour	which	is	the	fore-token	of	victory.
	III.	We	shall	now	consider,	in	the	third	place,	the
	resource	we	have	in	the	midst	of	this	sorrow	for	failure.
	It	is	in	these	words	:	"	Yet	surely	my	judgment	is	with
	the	Lord,	and	my	work	with	my	Grod."
	There	are	two	things	this	speaker	fixes	upon,	and	they
	are	a	powerful	stay	if	we	can	bring	them	as	clearly	and
	confidently	to	God	as	he	did.	"	My	judgment	is	with	the
	Lord."	I	can	appeal	to	his	decision	for	the	character	of
	my	motive.	It	was,	so	far	as	I	knew	it,	pure	and	true.
	"	My	work	is	with	my	God."	I	can	cast	on	his	decision	the
	result	of	my	labour.	I	have	put	it	into	his	keeping,	and
	I	leave	it	there.	I	place	myself	with	the	aim	of	my	life,
	both	as	to	how	I	have	pursued	it,	and	what	shall	come	of	it,
	in	the	hand	of	the	Searcher	of	hearts,	and	the	Disposer	of
	all	things.	"	Judge	me,	God,	and	plead	my	cause."
	Now,	I	do	not	say	that	any	mere	man	can	do	this	with
	a	perfect	assurance	that	all	is	right	with	him,	and	that	He
	who	searches	the	hearts,	and	tries	the	reins,	can	absolve
	him	as	faultless	;	but	I	do	say	that	there	are	men	who,	by
	the	grace	of	God,	can	appeal	to	God	himself	for	the	sin-


68	NEPTUNE'S	ISLE
	With	the	great	wheels	of	heaven.	So	live	we
	all
	So	the	diurnal	actions	of	the	sky
	Work	out	the	gods'	designs.
	KING
	(Raising	his	hand	to	impose	silence	while	the
	god	withdraws.	Exit	Neptune.}
	No	mortal	voice	must	answer.	He	is	gone
	And	we	are	left	in	wonder.	What	he	spake
	I	do	believe,	although	the	proof	of	it
	Lies	in	the	piecing	out	of	many	fragments,
	Work	for	a	winter's	evening.	O	my	friends,
	Strong	inward	props	to	courage	must	we	take
	Seeing	the	gods	do	love	us,	and	their	loom,
	Behind	the	shuttling	conflict	of	events,
	Weaves	only	justice.
	LEON
	Father,	I	perceive
	With	what	a	tenderness	you	viewed	our	love,
	Seeming	so	stern.
	AGLAIA
	No,	he	seemed	never	stern.
	I	feared	your	mother	more;	but	now,	not	so.
	(Gives	her	hand	to	the	Queen.)
	QUEEN
	Daughter,	you	have	no	need.
	I	had	as	heartfelt	pangs	about	you	both
	As	woman	ever	knew.	Now	is	all	saved.
	AGLAIA
	How	now,	Bacchylides,	are	you	gloomy	now
	that	the	storm	is	over?


INDEX	OF	ANCESTORS	AND	DESCENDANTS.
	Rodes,	Frank,	149.
	Shelton,	Richard	T.,	149,
	Harris,	Wiiliam,	1610-1681.	Com-
	missioner	to	Court	of	Commis-
	sioners,	i66o-'62,	'63.	Deputy,	R.
	I.,	1665,	et	seq.	Gov.'s	Asst.,
	1666,	et	seq.	General	Solicitor,
	1	67	1.
	Allin,	George	A.,	28.
	Nickerson,	Thomas	W.,	99.
	Harris,	William,	1650-17	1	2.	Mem-
	ber	Md.	Assembly	from	Kent	Co.,
	1688,	'92,	'94;	from	Cecil	Co.,
	1	698-1	704.
	Hill,	Malcolm	W.,	74.
	Hill,	Norman	A.,	72.
	Harris,	Capt.	William,	I	7	I	4>
	Middletown,	Conn.	Capt.,	.
	Deputy,	1687.
	Booth,	Charles	E.,	83.
	Harrison,	Benjamin,	1698.
	Council	of	Va.	Member	of	House
	of	Burgesses,	i68o-'82,	and
	Speaker	of	same.
	Harrison,	Russell	B.,	212.
	Hoge,	Peyton	H.,	166.
	Hart,	Lieut.	Elijah,	New	Britain,
	Conn.	Ens.	of	Train	Band,	1752.
	Lieut.,	1756.
	Case,	John	E.,	139.
	Hart,	John,	1651-1714.	Member
	Penn.	Assembly,	1683,	'84.
	Hough,	Oliver,	68.
	Hart,	Stephen,	1605-	1682.	Cam-
	bridge	and	Farmington,	Conn.
	Under	Maj.	John	Mason,	Pequot
	War.	Deputy,	1647,	et	seq.
	Case,	John	E.,	140.
	Hart,	Albert	B.,	88.
	Hart,	Richard	H.,	176.
	Hart,	Cait.	Thomas,	1644-1726,
	Farmington,	Conn.	Ens.,	1678.
	Lieut.,	1693.	Capt.,	1695.	Deputy,
	1690-1711.	Speaker,	i70o-'o6.
	Case,	John	E.,	139.
	Hartshorne,	Joseph,	1652	.
	Soldier	in	King	Philip's	War	with
	Mass.	troops.	In	Capt.	Poole's
	Co.	at	Quaboag,	and	at	defence	of
	Hatfield,	1675.	Corp.	in	Capt.
	Turner's	Co.	at	Falls	Fight.
	Macpherson,	Robert	B.,	38.
	Hartwell,	John,	1	641-1703,	Concord,
	Mass.	Soldier	in	Capt.	Thomas
	Wheeler's	Co.	in	King	Philip's
	War.
	Bates,	Theodore	C,	98.
	Hartwell,	Lieut.	Jonathan.	1690-
	1778,	Littleton,	Mass.	Ens.,	1737.
	Lieut.,	.
	Bates,	Theodore	C,	98.
	Hartwell,	Q.	M.	William,	161	3-
	1690,	Concord,	Mass.	Corp.,	1671.
	Quartermaster,	Middlesex	Co.
	Troops,	Capt.	Thomas	Wheeler,
	1673.	Soldier	in	King	Philip's
	War,	i675~'76.	Cornet	in	Troop
	of	Horse	of	Middlesex	Co.
	Bates,	Theodore	C,	98.
	Gardner,	James	B.,	86.
	Loomis,	John	H.,	141.
	Nickerson,	Stephen	W.,	99.
	Hasey,	Lieut.	William,	1619-1689,
	Boston.	A.	&	H.	A.	Co.,	1652.
	Cornet	in	Three	County	Troop,
	1665;	Lieut.,	1674.	In	1675	com-
	manded	Co.	in	King	Philip's	War.
	Green,	Robert	M.,	87.
	Haskell,	Capt.	William,	1617-1693,
	Gloucester,	Mass.	Lieut,	of	Train
	Band,	1	68	1.	Capt.,	.	Repre-
	sentative,	1672,	et	seq.
	Perkins,	William	IL,	100.
	Haskell,	William,	1	690-1	766,
	Gloucester,	Mass.	Representative,
	1736.
	Perkins,	William	H.,	100.
	Hastings,	Thomas,	1605-	1685,	Water-
	town,	Mass.	Deputy,	1673.
	Parker,	George	T.,	149.
	Hatcher,	William,	1614-1680.	Mem-
	ber	Va.	House	of	Burgesses,	1644,
	et	seq.
	Clarke,	Bailey	T.,	166.
	Hathaway,	Ens.	Jacob.	Soldier	in
	King	Philip's	War.
	Brown,	Paul,	137.
	Hathaway,	John,	Barnstable,	Mass.
	Soldier	in	Narragansett	War.
	Brown,	Paul,	138.
	Hathorne,	Major	William,	1607-
	168	1,	Salem,	Mass.	Deputy	to
	Genl.	Ct.	1635,	et	seq.	First
	Speaker,	House	of	Deputies,	1644,
	also	Speaker,	1645,	et	seq.	Gov.'s
	Asst.,	i662-'79.	Commissioner,
	United	Colonies,	1650-54,	'73.
	Capt.,	Salem,	Co.,	1645.	Maj.,	1656.
	Member	of	Committee	on	Articles
	of	Confederation	of	United	Colo-
	nies,	1648.	Member	of	Commit-
	tee	for	Preservation	of	Charter,
	320


170	AMERICAN	PLANNING	AND	CIVIC	ANNUAL
	who	operates	an	automobile	but	can't	afford	to	or	won't	use	a	parking
	lot	is	favored	over	the	vast	majority	who	must	depend	upon	public
	vehicles	operating	on	the	streets.	Thousands	of	these	parked	cars,	each
	requiring	300	square	feet	per	car,	come	from	outside	the	City	via	the
	various	subsidized	transportation	facilities,	and	as	more	highways	are
	built,	so	more	cars	enter	the	City	further	to	choke	the	streets.
	As	the	New	York	Regional	Plan	Association	pointed	out	in	a	recent
	report,	one	of	the	effects	of	the	failure	to	make	a	comparable	investment
	in	railroad	access	to	the	city	has	been	enormously	to	increase	the	number
	of	vehicles	that	cause	congestion	in	Manhattan's	streets	and	use	these
	streets	as	mass	parking	fields.	This	situation	is	brought	to	your	atten-
	tion	because	the	basic	factors,	if	not	their	magnitude,	are	common	to
	all	American	cities.	Columbus	must	not	fail	to	recognize,	in	meeting
	its	destiny	of	an	830,000	population	by	1980,	that	the	rivalry	between
	rail	and	rubber	must	cease	and	that	the	situation	calls	for	a	mid-century
	solution	with	mid-century	resources,	not	with	those	thought	adequate
	in	1925	when	the	traction	lines	went	out	and	the	rubber	tired	vehicles
	found	existing	streets	quite	adequate.	Perhaps	a	north-south,	east-west,
	and	circumferential	rapid	transit	line	in	its	own	right	of	way	and	with
	appropriate	bus	feeders	of	its	own	is	your	best	bet.	You	can't	go	on
	enticing	private	passenger	cars	into	Broad	and	High	unless	you	are	pre-
	pared	to	build	several	layers	of	subterranean	parking	lots	under	the
	State	House	yard,	the	way	they	have	done	under	Union	Square	in	San
	Francisco.	In	New	York	City	auto	borne	passengers	doubled	in	5	years.
	You	may	reach	that	point,	and	be	forced	as	New	York	has,	to	consider
	stopping	private	cars	at	the	entrances	to	the	City	and	transporting	the
	passengers	by	public	rail	or	bus	into	the	business	district.
	So	let	me	review	briefly	and	come	to	a	conclusion.	My	first	idea	is
	that	the	manifest	destiny	of	Columbus	is	to	be	the	headquarters	of
	government	of	this	great	State,	to	be	an	important	rail	and	industrial
	crossroads	of	this	properous	mid-west	region,	and	to	be	the	center	of
	higher	education,	research,	and	culture.
	My	second	idea	is	that	the	rivalry	between	rail	and	rubber	must	be
	reconciled.	Paradoxical	as	it	may	seem,	speedways,	parkways,	every
	step	you	take	to	facilitate	private	vehicular	traffic	into	the	heart	of	the
	city	will	defeat	your	objective	of	reducing	congestion	unless	you	provide
	off-street	parking	for	every	vehicle	that	approaches	within	a	half-mile
	of	the	State	House.	You	must	equate	the	cost	of	making	provision	for
	such	individual	privileges	on	rubber	tires	against	the	cost	of	public
	rapid	transit	on	steel	rails.
	My	third	idea	and	last	one	is	the	most	difficult	to	discuss	because	it
	is	in	the	realm	of	esthetics	and	that	is	a	subject	usually	left	to	the	long-
	haired	philosophers.	But	I	shall	be	one	of	those	fools	who	rush	in	where
	angels	fear	to	tread!


OERSTED
	O	GABAN	Y	GUERRA
	559
	eminent	of	Venezuela,	two	figures	for	the	soldier	s
	monument	at	Lawrence,	Mass.,	two	bas-reliefs	for
	the	monument	in	Herkimer	county,	X.	Y.,	com
	memorating	the	battle	of	Oriskany	(see	HERKIMER,
	NICHOLAS)	(1883),	and	a	statue	of	Washington	for
	the	monument	at	Xewburg	(1886-	7).	Gen.	Wash
	ington	is	a	favorite	subject	with	this	sculptor,	and
	he	has	published	a	series	of	papers	on	his	portraits.
	OERSTED,	Anders	Saiidoe	(urr	-sted),	Danish
	naturalist,	b.	in	Rudkjoebing	(Langeland),	21	June.
	1810;	d.	in	Copenhagen,	3	Sept.,	1872.	He	was
	brought	up	in	the	house	of	his	uncle,	Hans	Chris
	tian	Oersted,	the	famous	chemist,	became	in	1837
	professor	of	natural	history	in	Copenhagen,	was
	given	a	gold	medal	and	a	fellowship	in	1844	by	the
	university,	and	in	the	following	year	went	to	study
	the	geography	of	Central	America,	visiting	most
	of	the	West	Indies,	Central	America,	and	in	par
	ticular	the	Republic	of	Nicaragua	in	1845-	8.
	Among	his	works	are	"	Planterigets	natur	histo
	ric	"	(Copenhagen,	1839)	;	"	Groenlandiae	annulata
	dorsibrarichiata."	published	in	vol.	x.	of	the	"	An
	nals	of	the	Copenhagen	Academy	of	Sciences";
	"	L	amerique	centrale,	rccherches	sur	sa	flore	et	sa
	geographic	physique	"	(1864)	;	and	several	papers
	in	magazines	in	Europe	and	America.
	OERTEL,	Johannes	Adam,	artist,	b.	in	Fiirth,
	near	Nuremberg,	Bavaria,	3	Nov.,	1823.	He	studied
	art	in	Nuremberg	and	Munich,	but	devoted	him
	self	chiefly	to	engraving	until	1848,	when	he	came
	to	the	United	States	and	taught	for	a	time	in
	Newark,	N.	J.	In	1857	he	removed	to	Madison,
	N.	J.,	where	he	painted	the	Lament	of	the	Fallen
	Spirits	"	and	"Redemption."	About	this	time	he
	was	invited	to	assist	in	preparing	new	decorations
	for	the	National	capitol.	In	1861	he	transferred
	his	studio	to	Westerly,	R.	I.,	where	he	painted
	"	Father	Time	and	his	Family	"	and	"	The	Final
	Harvest	"	(1862)	;	"	The	Dispensation	of	the	Promise
	and	the	Law,"	containing	150	figures	(1863)	:
	"Walk	to	Emmaus."	"The	Walk	to	Gethsemane,"
	Easter	Morning,"	"Magdalen	at	the	Sepulchre,"
	"	The	Rock	of	Ages,"	and	others	(1868).	The	last-
	named	picture	was	reproduced	by	chromo-lithogra-
	phy.	and	sold	extensively	both	in	this	country	and
	in	England.	During	the	civil	war	Mr.	Oertel	ac
	companied	the	Army	of	Virginia	under	Gen.	Burn-
	side.	His	"	Virginia	Turnpike	"	and	other	land
	scapes	were	the	fruit	of	his	military	experience.
	Besides	his	paintings	he	has	produced	several
	carved-wood	altar-pieces,	among	them	an	elaborate
	altar	and	reredos	for	the	Church	of	the	Incarna
	tion,	Washington,	D.	C.	While	residing	at	Wester
	ly	he	prepared	himself	for	orders	in	the	Protestant
	Episcopal	church,	and	he	was	made	deacon	in	1865,
	and	subsequently	presbyter.	He	has	since	confined
	himself	almost	entirely	to	the	domain	of	Christian
	art,	and	painted	pictures	that	he	presented	to
	churches	in	Glen	Cove,	N.	Y.,	New	York	city,
	Washington,	D.	C.,	North	Carolina,	and	elsewhere.
	After	having	charge	of	two	parishes	in	the	latter
	state	and	spending	a	year	in	Florida,	Mr.	Oertel
	was	invited	to	fill	the	chair	of	Christian	art	at	the
	University	of	the	South,	Sewanee,	Tenn.,	which	he
	now	(1888)	occupies.
	O	FALLON,	John,	philanthropist,	b.	in	Louis
	ville.	Ky.,	23	Nov.,	1791	:	d.	in	St.	Louis,	Mo.,	18
	Dec.,	1865.	His	father.	Dr.	James	O	Fallon,	emi
	grated	to	Wilmington.	N.	C..	in	1774,	and	sejved	in
	the	Revolutionary	army.	The	son	fought	under
	Gen.	William	II.	Harrison	at	the	battle	of	Tippe-
	canoe,	where	he	was	severely	wounded,	and	also
	in	the	war	of	1812.	He	subsequently	became	a
	merchant	in	St.	Louis,	and	accumulated	a	large
	fortune,	which	he	distributed	liberally	among	va-
	I	rious	educational	and	charitable	institutions.	He
	I	endowed	the	O	Fallon	polytechnic	institute,	now
	the	scientific	department	of	St.	Louis	university,
	with	property	that	was	valued	at	$100.000:	gave
	liberally	to	Washington	university	;	built	a	dispen
	sary	and	medical	college,	and	spent	in	all	more
	tha	n	1.000.000	for	benevolent	purposes.
	O	FAKRELL,	Michael	Joseph,	R.	C.	bishop,
	b.	in	Limerick,	Ireland,	2	Dec.,	1832.	He	began
	i	his	studies	in	All-Hallows	college	for	foreign	mis
	sions,	Drumcondra,	in	1848,	afterward	entered	the
	:	Seminary	of	St.	Sulpice,	Paris,	and	on	finishing	his
	course	returned	to	Ireland,	where	he	was	ordained
	priest	on	18	Aug.,	1855.	Becoming	a	member	of
	the	Sulpitian	order,	he	entered	the	novitiate	in
	Paris,	and	was	subsequently	professor	of	dogmatic
	theology	in	the	college	of	the	order	in	that	city.
	I	He	afterward	emigrated	to	Canada,	and	was	ap
	pointed	professor	in	its	seminary	at	Montreal.	He
	1	then	came	to	the	United	States,	and	was	affiliated
	to	the	archdiocese	of	New	York	and	placed	in
	charge	of	St.	Patrick	s	church.	He	was	transferred
	to	St.	Peter	s	in	1869,	and	became	pastor	at	Ron-
	dout	in	1872.	He	then	returned	as	pastor	to	St.
	Peter	s,	where	he	gave	special	attention	to	educa
	tion,	and	founded	a	school	that	became	one	of	the
	finest	in	the	city.	When	the	diocese	of	Trenton
	was	formed	out	of	that	of	Newark	in	1881,	he	was
	nominated	to	the	new	see,	and	consecrated	bishop
	in	the	cathedral	of	New	York	by	Cardinal	McClos-
	key.	He	made	Trenton	his	residence,	and	at	once
	began	the	erection	of	new	churches	and	educa
	tional	and	charitable	institutions.	Bishop	O	Far-
	rell	is	popular	as	a	lecturer	among	his	co-religion
	ists.	The	number	of	churches	in	his	diocese	is
	eighty-four,	and	it	includes	four	convents,	one
	seminary,	seven	academies,	an	orphan	asylum,	and
	twenty-four	parochial	schools.
	OFFICER,	Morris,	missionary,	b.	in	Holmes
	county,	Ohio,	21	July,	1823	;	d.	in	Topeka.	Kansas.
	1	Nov.,	1874.	He	was	educated	at	Wittenberg	col
	lege	and	theological	seminary,	Ohio,	and	ordained
	a	clergyman	of	the	Lutheran	church	in	1851.	In
	1852	he	went	as	a	missionary	to	Africa,	under	the
	auspices	of	the	American	missionary	society.	On
	his	return	to	the	United	States	he	was	engaged
	in	1855-	60	in	arousing	an	interest	in	missions
	among	the	churches	of	his	denomination.	He	was
	then	sent	out	by	the	Lutheran	missionary	society
	to	establish	the	Muhlenberg	station	on	St.	Paul
	river,	Liberia.	After	he	had	accomplished	this	he
	engaged	in	home	mission	work	during	the	rest	of
	his	life,	residing	from	1861	till	1871	at	Lancaster,	Pa.,
	and	Mansfield,	York,	and	Fredericksburg,	Ohio.	He
	is	the	author	of	"A	Plea	fora	Lutheran	Mission	in
	Africa	"	(1855)	;	"	Western	Africa	a	Mission	Field	"
	(1856)	;	and	"	African	Bible	Pictures,	or	Scripture
	Scenes	and	Customs	in	Africa	"(Philadelphia.	1859).
	OFFICER,	Thomas	S.,	miniature-painter,	b.
	in	Carlisle,	Pa.	;	d.	in	California	in	January.	1860.
	He	became	a	miniature-painter,	practised	that	art
	in	New	Orleans,	went	to	Philadelphia,	and	thence
	to	New	York	city,	where	he	gained	a	high	reputa-
	|	tion,	returned	to	New	Orleans	about	1847,	and
	after	the	Mexican	war	went	to	Mexico,	where	he
	was	successful.	He	also	resided	for	some	time	in
	Australia,	and	passed	his	last	years	in	California.
	His	works	are	remarkable	for	crisp,	fresh	color,
	artistic	delicacy,	and	individuality	of	treatment.
	O	GABAN	Y	GUERRA.	Juan	Bernardo	(o-
	gah-ban	).	Cuban	clergyman,	b.	in	Santiago.	Cuba,
	in	1782	;	d.	there	in	1838.	He	studied	in	the	Uni
	versity	of	Havana,	and	was	ordained	priest	in	1805.
	He	was	sent	to	Europe	in	1807	to	study	the	educa-^
	tional	svstem	of	Pestalozzi,	and	returned	to	his


52
	Sibley:	Oh,	the	Baptist	minister	and	his	wife,	each	weighing	about	250
	pounds,	wanted	to	live	a	life	that	the	whole	world	could	see.
	So	they	had	no	curtains	in	their	house	and	a	great	big	sign	in
	the	front,	"Bibles	for	sale."	They	would	go	out	in	their	old
	Ford	and	he	had	to	sit	on	the	front	seat	and	she	had	to	sit	in
	the	back	to	balance	it.	They	couldn't	both	sit	on	the	front
	seat.	This	is	very	mean	of	me,	but	this	is	what	I	found	in	the
	religious	life	of	this	community.
	I	did	teach	weekday	religious	education	because	I	had	my
	background	in	Bible	at	Wellesley.	I	did	that	up	until	the	time
	my	little	girl	was	born	and	then	I	didn't	have	time,	really,
	because	I	didn't	have	any	help.	I	had	to	learn	everything.	I
	went	through	the	cookbook	and	learned	to	cook	everything.	I
	love	to	cook	now.	We	couldn't	get	anything	except	carrots	and
	canned	goods	it	was	so	cold	up	there	and	there	were	no	fresh
	vegetables.	So	this	was	really	an	interesting	experience	trying
	to	learn	to	run	a	house	with	this	sort	of	thing.
	Glaser:	In	the	wintertime	did	you	have	cabin	fever	from	being	stuck	at
	home	because	of	the	bad	weather?
	Sibley:	I	didn't	feel	trapped	because	I've	always	loved	to	read.	If	you
	can	read,	it	sort	of	makes	life	much	more	bearable.	Also,	my
	husband	I	were	very	much	in	love	and	we	enjoyed	each	other's
	company.	We	loved	to	do	the	outdoor	things	that	we	did	on	the
	weekends.	We	would	go	up	to	the	St.	Lawrence	River,	which	was
	just	two	miles	away,	and	there	were	two	little	rivers	that	ran
	right	through	the	town.	We	had	a	nice	circle	of	friends	right
	away.	Paul	had	made	friends.	He'd	been	there	for	about	six
	months	before	I	got	there	and	he	was	very	attractive	and	a	very
	quiet	person,	but	he'd	made	friends	already.
	I	was	startled	to	find	out	that	the	people	we	knew	who
	became	our	friends	(and	this	wasn't	because	I	was	snobbish	but
	because	I	had	never	been	exposed	to	it	before)	were	the	grocer
	and	the	plumber	and	all	these	people	who	made	the	social	life
	in	Massena.	I'd	always	just	known	the	people	who	were	the
	professors	'	and	the	ministers	'	sons	and	daughters	and	some
	lawyers'	sons	and	daughters.	But	I	never	really	had	known	the
	people	whom	we	would	now	call	blue	collar	people.	Nobody	made
	any	difference	about	anything	like	this	at	all.	It	was	a	very
	nice	experience.
	Paul	had	lived	in	a	boarding	house	where	the	man	was	our
	local	milk	man	and	they	became	our	good	friends.	The	local
	sler	was	one	of	the	best	dancers	in	town—I	liked	to	dance
	with	him.	Then	I	found	they	had	a	combination	of	the	furniture
	•tore	and	an	undertaking	establishment,	which	I	had	never	heard
	of	before,	but	that's	how	they	ran	it	there.


PERSPECTIVE	DKAWING.	397
	d	c	in	the	latter.	To	determine	the	perspective	position	of	the	points	a
	and	c,	or	the	length	of	these	lines,	draw	the	rays	a	S	and	<?S,	project	their
	intersection	with	the	base	M	H,	upon	the	lines	'd	1	D	and	d'	D',	and	their	in-
	tersections	a',	c'	will	be	the	perspective	projection	of	the	points	a	and'c.
	To	complete	the	projection	of	the	square,	draw	the	lines	a!	D'	and	c	D,
	their	intersection	will	be	the	perspective	projection	of	the	point	5,	and	the
	square	is	complete.	To	prove	the	construction,	draw	the	ray	I	S	and	pro-
	ject	its	intersection	with	the	base	M	M,	and	if	the	construction	be	correct
	it	will	fall	upon	the	point	V	.
	As-	the	cube	is	placed	at	some	distance	from	the	plane	of	the	picture,
	it	will	be	necessary	to	continue	either	e	h	or	g	h,	or	both,	till	they	intersect
	the	base	line	M	M	at	n	and	m;	drop	perpendiculars	or	project	these	points
	upon	M	M'	at	n'	and	m'	;	on	these	perpendiculars	set	up	the	height	of	the
	cube	m!	o	and	n'	s,	draw	the	lines	in'	D',	o'	~D'	and	n'	D,	s	D	;	connect	the
	intersections	Ji	and	h"	;	draw	the	rays	S	e	and	S	#-,	and	project	their	inter-
	sections	with	M	M,	to	g'	e'	;	draw	the	lines	e"	D'	and	g"	D	;	if	the	construction
	be	correct,	the	projection	of	the	intersection	of	the	ray	S/with	the	base
	will	fall	upon/',	and	of	the	ray	S	h	will	fall	upon	h"	and	ti.
	To	Solve	the	Same	Problem	ly	a	Different	Construction.	Let	A	and
	B,	(fig.	1,)	be	as	before	the	plans	of	the	square	and	of	the	cube	;	to	pro-
	ject	them	perspectively	on	the	plane	of	the	picture	MD	D'M,	(fig.	2).
	From	the	point	M	and	M,	(fig.	1,)	set	off	distances	equal	to	M	S,	M	S,
	to^>	and^/	;	project	these	points	upon	D	D'	fig.	2,	the	pointy,	fig	2,	will	be
	that	from	which	any	number	of	parts	may	be	laid	off	on	lines	vanishing	in
	D'	;	the	pointy	will	be	the	corresponding	point	for	lines	vanishing	in	D.
	These	points	may	be	called	the	points	of	division.	In	parallel	perspec-
	tive	the	points	of	distance	were	the	points	of	division,	the	one	for	the
	other.	To	illustrate	their	application	in	the	present	example,	project	the
	point	d,	(fig.	1,)	to	d'	(fig.	2,)	draw	d'	D	and	d'	D',	from	d'	on	either	lay
	off	a	distance	d'	i,	d'	Tt,	equal	to	the	side	of	the	square	a	d.	Now	since	p
	is	the	division	point	of	lines	vanishing	in	D	from	*',	draw	the	line	ip,	and
	its	intersection	with	d'	D	cuts	off	a	line	d'	o!	equal	perspectively	to	the
	line	d'	i	or	ad	measured	on	the	base	line.	Again	since	p'	is	the	division
	point	of	lines	vanishing	in	D',	the	line	fop'	cuts	off	on	d'	D',	a	line	d'	c'	equal
	perspectively	to	the	line	d'	&,	or	a	d	measured	on	the	base	:	having	a'	d'	c,
	the	square	is	completed	by	drawing	the	lines	c'	V	towards	D,	and	a'	b'
	towards	D'.
	To	construct	the	cube,	project	the	point	m,	(fig.	1,)	to	m',	(fig.	2)	;	lay
	off	on	the	perpendicular	forming	the	projection,	the	height	m'	o'	of	the
	cube	;	draw	the	lines	m'	D'	and	o'	D'.	Lay	off	the	disfcnce	m!	r	equal	to


400	PERSPECTIVE	DRAWING.
	lines	parallel	to	a	c,	the	other	to	a	I	;	extend	a	c,	a	I	;	project	d,	<?,	to
	d,	e'	t	and	on	d	f	d	set	off	the	height	of	the	eaves	d'	o,	f	and	of	the	ridge	d
	n	;	from	d',	o	and	n	draw	lines	to	D',	and	from	e	to	D,	draw	rays	from	c
	and	l>	to	S',	and	project	their	intersection	with	the	base	to	the	vanishing
	lines	just	drawn.	To	find	the	perspective	of	the	ridge	draw	a	ray	from
	the	centre	of	a	&,	and	project	its	intersection	with	the	base	to	r	on	the	line
	n	D',	the	point	is	the	apex	of	the	gable,	the	line	r	D	will	be	the	perspective
	of	the	ridge	;	to	determine	its	length	erect	a	perpendicular	at	the	intersec-
	tion	of	t	D'	and	s	D,	draw	the	sloping	lines	of	the	roof,	and	the	outline	of
	the	building	is	complete.	The	filling	in	of	the	details	will	be	readily	under-
	stood	;	it	will	only	be	necessary	to	keep	in	mind,	that	all	lines	parallel	to
	a	1)	must	meet	in	D',	those	to	a	c	in	D	:	all	measures	laid	off	on	any	lines
	of	the	plan	must	be	connected	with	the	point	of	sight	S,	and	their	inter-
	sections	with	the	base	projected.	All	vertical	heights	must	be	laid	off	on
	the	line	d'	d,	and	referred	to	the	proper	position	by	lines	to	D	or	D',	as	the
	case	may	be.
	As	an	example	of	the	other	method	of	constructing	this	same	problem,
	let	the	scholar	lay	off	to	the	double	of	the	present	scale	the	plane	of	the
	picture	M	D	D'	IF,	and	the	division	points	p'	and	p,	and	without	drawing
	plan	or	elevation	take	the	dimensions	from	Plate	LXXIY.
	To	Draw	an	Arched	Bridge	in	Angular	Perspective.	PL	CIII.	Let
	A	and	B,	(fig.	1,)	be	the	plans	of	the	piers;	on	the	line	a	A,	one	of	the	sides
	of	the	bridge,	lay	down	the	curve	of	the	arch	as	it	would	appear	in	eleva-
	tion,	in	this	example	an	ellipse.	Divide	the	width	of	the	arch	as	at	b.	c.
	d.	e.f.	g.	A.,	carry	up	lines	perpendicular	to	5	h	until	they	intersect	the
	curve	of	the	arch,	and	through	these	points,	draw	lines	parallel	to	b	h	as	Jc.
	I.	m.	/	let	o	r	be	the	height	of	the	parapet	of	the	bridge	above	the	spring	of
	the	arch.	Through	the	station	point	draw	lines	parallel	to	the	side	a	h
	and	end	a	a	of	the	bridge,	till	they	intersect	the	assumed	base	line	M	M	:
	project	these	intersections	to	the	horizon	line	of	the	picture	for	the	vanish-
	ing	points	D,	D'	of	perspective	lines	parallel	to	a	h	and	a	a.	Let	fall	a
	perpendicular	from	a	to	a',	and	on	this	perpendicular	set	off	from	a!	the
	heights	s	k,	s	I,	s	m,	and	s	t	;	from	a!	and	r'	draw	lines	to	D	and	D',	and	from
	the	points	ra',	Z',	&'	to	D'.	Draw	rays	from	the	points	a.	1).	c.	d.	e.f.	g.	h.
	to	the	station	point	S,	and	project	their	intersection	with	the	base	lines	to
	the	perspective	line	a'	D'	as	in	previous	examples	:	the	intersection	of	the
	lines	Jc'	D	7	,	1'	D',	m'	D	7	by	the	perpendiculars	thus	projected,	will	establish
	the	points	of	the	curve	of	the	arch	on	the	side	nearest	the	spectator.	To
	determine	the	position	of	the	opposite	side	of	the	arch,	from	a",	the	per-
	spective	width	of	the	bridge,	draw	a"	D',	and	from	h'	draw	lines	to	D	;


ON	THE	LAYING	OF	A	COBKER-STOKE
	WE	HAVE	assembled	here	for	a	great	and	solemn	purpose.
	I	say	a	great	and	solemn	object,	for	whatever	concerns	the
	welfare	of	man,	no	matter	on	what	scale	or	to	what	extent,
	can	be	nothing	else	than	momentous	and	important.
	But	the	importance	of	that	purpose	grows	when	we	re
	member	that	the	ceremony	which	we	have	witnessed	con
	cerns	not	merely	the	individual,	but	society,	that	it	has	ref
	erence,	not	alone	to	time,	but	in	its	effects	reaches	far	into
	eternity;	that	though	performed	by	human	means	and	with
	natural	instruments,	yet	it	belongs	to	the	supernatural	order.
	It	is	supernatural	in	its	purpose,	supernatural	in	its	sig
	nificance,	supernatural	in	its	effects.
	We	sometimes	witness,	or	we	hear	or	read,	of	the	laying
	of	the	corner-stone	of	public	buildings;	but	these	buildings
	have	reference	to	time,	they	are,	perhaps,	for	the	purpose	of
	elevating	man	socially	or	intellectually,	and	sometimes	while
	ostensibly	for	that	object,	they	tend	to	destroy	the	super
	natural	order,	and	even	natural	religion,	in	the	heart	of
	man,	thus	loosening	effectually	the	very	bonds	of	society.
	But	I	need	not	tell	you	that	far	different	is	the	object	of
	this	day	s	ceremony.	We	have	assembled	to	witness	the	sol
	emn	blessing	and	putting	in	its	place	of	the	chief	corner
	stone	of	a	Christian	temple,	a	house	in	which	the	Incarnate
	God	may	dwell,	not	alone	as	He	did	of	old	in	the	Temple,	but
	really,	truly,	and	substantially,	even	as	He	dwells	at	the
	right	hand	of	the	Father.	Therefore	is	this	solemn	cere
	mony	no	vain	or	meaningless	rite;	therefore	does	it	belong
	to	the	supernatural	order;	therefore	does	the	Chief	Pastor
	of	this	portion	of	the	flock	of	Jesus	Christ,	clad	in	the	sym
	bolic	vestments	of	his	divine	office,	and	bearing	in	his	hand
	the	staff	of	his	pastoral	authority,	in	the	words	of	the
	Church	s	sacred	liturgy,	implore	a	blessing	on	that	corner-
	305


CONCORDANCE	TO	MILTON'S	POETICAL	WORKS.
	65
	L'A.	52.	stoutly	struts	his	d.	before.
	Damiata.-P.	L.	2,	593.	D.	and	mount	Casius
	Dammed.	C.	336.	your	influence	be	quite	d.	up
	Damnation.	P.	L.	1,	215.	on	himself	d.
	Damned.	-P.	L.	2,	482.	the	Spirits	d.	lose	all
	P.	L.	2,	496.	shame	to	men	!	devil	with	devil	d.
	P.	L.	2,	597.	at	certain	revolutions	all	the	d.
	P.	L.	4,	392.	though	d.,	I	should	abhor
	P.	R.	4,	194.	that	Evil	One,	Satan	for	everd.
	C.	571.	where	that	d.	wizard,	hid	in	sly	disguise
	C.	602.	but	for	that	d.	magician,	let	him	be	girt
	H.	228.	control	the	d.	crew	.
	Damoetas.	L.	36.	and	old	D.	loved	to	hear
	Damp.	P.	L.	1,	523.	with	looks	downcast	and	d.
	P.	L.	5,	65.	me	d.	horror	chilled	at	such	bold
	P.	L.	9,	45.	or	years	d.	my	intended	wing
	P.	L.	10,	283.	wide	anarchy	of	Chaos,	d.
	P.	L.	11,	293.	the	cold	sudden	d.	recovering
	P.	L.	11,	544.	will	reign	a	melancholy	d.
	S.	A.	8.	the	air,	imprisoned	also,	close	and	d.
	C.	470.	are	those	thick	and	gloomy	shadows	d.
	C.	640.	all	enchantments,	mildew	blast,	or	d.
	Damps.	-P.	L.	10,	848.	with	d.	and	dreadful
	P.	R.	4,	406.	from	dews	and	d.	of	night
	Damsel.	S.	A.	721.	her	harbinger,	a	d.	train
	C.	158.	and	put	the	d.	to	suspicious	flight
	C.	829.	she,	guiltless	d.,	flying	the	mad	pursuit
	D.	F.	1.	9.	by	boisterous	rape	the	Athenian	d.	got
	Damsels.	P.	L.	1,	448.	the	Syrian	d.	to	lament
	P.	R.	2,	359.	of	faery	d.	met	in	forest	wide
	Dan.	P.	L.	1,	485.	that	sin	in	Bethel	and	in	D.
	P.	R.	3,	431.	perhaps	of	Bethel	and	of	D.
	S.	A.	332.	brethren,	and	men	of	D.
	S.	A.	976.	in	D.,	in	Judah,	and	the	bordering
	S.	A.	1436.	rushed	on	thee	in	the	camp	of	I).
	Danaw.	P.	L.	1,	353.	to	pass	Rhene	or	the	D.
	Dance.	P.	L.	1,	786.	mirth	and	d.	intent
	P.	L.	2,	664.	to	d.	with	Lapland	witches
	P.	L.	3.	580.	move	their	starry	d.	in	numbers
	P.	L.	4,	267.	Graces	and	the	Hours	in	d.
	P.	L.	4,	768.	mixed	d.,	or	wanton	mask
	P.	L.	5,	178.	move	in	mystic	d.	not	without	song
	P.	L.	5,	619.	in	song	and	d.	about	the	sacred
	P.	L.	5,	620.	mystical	d.,	which	yonder	starry
	P.	L.	5,	630.	forthwith	from	d.	to	sweet	repast
	P.	L.	6,	615.	vagaries	fell,	as	they	would	d.
	P.	L.	6,	615.	for	a	d.	they	seemed	somewhat
	P.	L.	7,	324.	rose,	as	in	d.,	the	stately	trees
	P.	L.	8,	125.	incited,	d.	about	him	various	rounds
	P.	L.	8.	243.	noise,	other	than	the	sound	of	d.
	P.	L.	11,	584.	amorous	ditties,	and	in	d.	came	on
	P.	L.	11,	619.	of	lustful	appetence,	to	sing	tod.
	P.	L.	11,	715.	to	luxury	and	riot,	feast	and	d.
	C.	104.	tipsy	d.,	and	jollity
	C.	176.	in	wanton	d.	they	praise	the	bounteous
	C.	883.	by	all	the	nymphs	that	nightly	d.
	C.	952.	with	jigs	and	rural	d.	resort
	C.	974.	to	triumph	in	victorious	d.
	A.	96.	nymphs	and	shepherds	d.	no	more
	H.	210.	in	dismal	d.	about	the	furnace	blue
	Danced.	P.	L.	5,	395.	here	d.	hand	in	hand
	P.	L.	7,	374.	before	him	d.,	shedding	sweet
	P.	L.	9,	103.	terrestrial	Heaven,	d.	round	by
	L.	34.	Satyrs	d.,	and	Fauns	with	cloven	heel
	V.	Ex.	60.	the	faery	ladies	d.	upon	the	hearth
	Dancers.	S.	A.	1325.	jugglers,	and	d.,	antics
	Dances.	C.	673.	that	flames	and	d.	in	his	crystal
	Dancing.	S.	A.	543.	nor	did	the	d.	ruby
	L'A.	96.	d.	in	the	chequered	shade
	M.	M.	2.	comes	d.	from	the	east,	and	leads
	Dandled.	P.	L.	4,	344.	in	his	paw	d.	the	kid
	Danger.	P.	L.	2,	421.	pondering	the	d.
	P.	L.	2,	449.	in	the	shape	of	difficulty	or	d.
	P.	L.	2,	1008.	much	the	nearer	d.	go	and	speed
	P.	L.	3.	635.	which	else	might	work	him	d.
	P.	L.	4,	934.	through	ways	of	d.	by	himself
	P.	L.	5,	239.	tell	him,	withal,	his	d.,	and	from
	P.	L.	6,	418.	O	now	in	d.	tried,	now	known
	P.	L.	9,	267.	the	wife,	where	d.	or	dishonour
	P.	L.	9,	349.	within	himself	the	d.	lies
	P.	L.	9,	864.	is	not,	as	we	are	told,	a	tree	of	d.
	P.	L.	9,	1157.	going	into	such	d.,	as	thou	saidst
	P.	L.	9,	1172.	foretold	the	d.	and	the	lurking
	P.	L.	9,	1176.	secure	either	to	meet	no	d.,	or	to
	P.	R.	1,	94.	ye	see	our	d.	on	the	utmost	edge
	S.	A.	529.	fearless	of	d.,	like	a	petty	god
	S.	A.	1522.	we,	unawares,	run	into	d's	mouth
	C.	370.	not	being	in	d.	(as	I	trust	she	is	not)
	C.	401.	bid	me	hope	D.	will	wink	on	Opportunity
	Dangerous.	P.	L.	2,	107.	and	battle	d.
	P.	L.	2,	342.	with	d.	expedition	to	invade
	P.	L.	6,	698.	wild	work	in	heaven,	and	d.	to	the
	P.	L.	10,	382.	try	thee	now	more	d.	to	his	throne
	P.	R.	4,	455.	as	d.	to	the	pillared	frame
	Dangers.	P.	L.	1,	275.	in	fears	and	d.
	P.	L.	1,	636.	or	d.	shunned	by	me
	P.	L.	2,	444.	remains	him	less	than	unknown	d.
	P.	L.	7,	27.	in	darkness,	and	with	d.	compassed
	P.	R.	2,	460.	brings	d.,	troubles,	cares
	P.	R.	4.	479.	many	a	hard	assay	of	d.
	P.	11.	a.,	and	snares,	and	wrongs,	and	worse
	Daniel.-P.	R.	2,	278.	with	D.	at	his	pulse
	P.	R.	2,	329.	those	young	D.	could	refuse
	Danite.	P.	L.	9,	1059.	so	rose	the	D.	strong
	Dank.	P.	L.	7,	441.	yet	oft	they	quit	the	d.
	P.	L.	9,	179.	through	each	thicket	d.	or	dry
	C.	891.	where	grows	the	willow	and	the	osier	d.
	S.	20,	2.	now	that	the	fields	are	d.,and	ways	are
	Dante.	S.	13,	12.	D.	shall	give	Fame	leave
	Danubius.-P.	R.	4,	79.	beyond	D.	to	the
	Daphne.	-P.	L.	4,	273.	of	D.	by	Orontes
	P.	R.	2,	187.	D.,	or	Semele,	Antiopa
	C.	661.	you	a	statue;	or	as	D.	was,	rootbound
	Dapper.	C.	118.	faeries	and	the	d.	elves
	Dappled.	L'A.	44.	till	the	d.	dawn	doth	rise
	Dare.-P.	L.	3,	523.	whether	to	d.	the	fiend
	P.	L.	4,	942.	and	thy	gay	legions	d.
	P.	L.	9.	304.	enemy	though	bold	will	hardly	d.
	P.	R.	4,	610.	he	never	more	henceforth	will	d.
	S.	A.	1254.	and	offered	fight	will	not	d.	mention
	C.	427.	will	d.	to	soil	her	virgin	purity
	H.	225.	nor	all	the	gods	beside	longer	d.	abide
	F.	of	C.	5.	d.	ye	for	this	adjure	the	civil	sword
	Dared.-P.	L.	9,	922.	who	thus	hast	d.
	P.	R.	4,	172.	since	thou	hast	d.	to	utter	the
	Dares.	P.	R.	3,	57.	lot	who	d.	De	singularly
	C.	780.	to	him	that	d.	arm	his	profane	tongue
	A.	23.	Juno	d.	not	give	her	odds
	Darest.	P.	L.	2,	682.	that	d.,	though	grim
	P.	L.	6,	182.	yet	lewdly	d.	our	ministering
	P.	R.	4,	178.	and	d.	thou	to	the	Son	of	God
	S.	A.	1394.	and	d.	thou,	at	our	sending	and
	Darien.	P.	L.	9,	81.	the	ocean	barred	at	D	f
	Daring.-P.	L.	6.	129.	met	his	d.	foe
	P.	L.	9,	305.	or	d.,	first	on	me	the	assault
	P.	L.	11,	703.	beset	with	foes,	for	d.	single
	S.	A.	531.	on	hostile	ground,	none	d.	my	affront
	S.	A.	1628.	none	d.	appear	antagonist
	Dark.	P.	L.	1,	22.	what	in	me	is	d.	illumine
	P.	L.	1,	213.	left	him	at	large	to	his	own	d.
	P.	L.	1,	456.	his	eye	surveyed	the	d.	idolatries
	P.	L.	2.	58.	accept	this	d.	opprobrious	den
	P.	L.	2,	264.	how	oft	amidst	thick	clouds	and	d.
	P.	L.	2,	405.	the	d.,	unbottomed,	infinite	abyss
	P.	L.	2,	464.	through	all	the	coasts	of	d.
	P.	L.	2,	486.	doubtful	consultations	d.	ended
	P.	L.	2,	588.	a	frozen	continent	lies	d.	and	wild
	P.	L.	2,	618.	through	many	a	d.	and	dreary	vale
	P.	L.	2,	718.	their	d.	encounter	in	mid	air
	P.	L.	2,	823.	from	put	this	d.	and	dismal	house
	P.	L.	2,	891.	a	d.	illimitable	ocean
	P.	L.	2,	916.	them	ordain	his	d.	materials
	P.	L.	2,	953.	borne	through	the	hollow	rf.
	P.	L.	2,	960.	and	his	d.	pavilion	spread	wide
	P.	L.	2,	1027.	over	the	d.	Abyss,	whose	boiling
	P.	L.	3,	11.	rising	world	of	waters	d.	and	deep
	P.	L.	3,	20.	to	venture	down	the	d.	descent
	P.	L.	3,	45.	and	ever-during	d.	surrounds	me
	P.	L.	3,	188.	for	I	will	clear	their	senses	d.
	P.	L.	3,	380.	d.	with	excessive	bright	thy	skirts
	P.	L.	3,	424.	d.,	waste,	and	wild,	under	the
	P.	L.	3,	498.	all	this	d.	globe	the	Fiend	found


66
	CONCORDANCE	TO	MILTON'S	POETICAL	WORKS.
	P.	L.	3,	644.	through	d.	and	desert	ways
	P.	L.	8,	Oil.	here	in	the	d.	so	many	precious
	P.	L.	4.	609.	and	o'er	the	d.	her	silver	mantle
	P.	L.	4,	99.	if	he	intends	our	stay	in	that	d.
	P.	L.	6,	208.	as	now	light	dispels	the	d.
	P.	L.	6,	880.	in	d.	oblivion	let	them	dwell
	P.	L.	6,	415.	far	in	the	d.	dislodged
	P.	L.	6,	478.	d.	and	crude	of	spiritous	and	fiery
	P.	L.	6,	482.	these,	in	their	d.	nativity,	the	deep
	P.	L.	6,	870.	cast	too	deep	her	d.	foundations
	P.	L.	7,	212.	outrageous	as	a	sea,	d.,	wasteful
	P.	L.	8,	478.	she	disappeared,	and	left	me	d.
	P.	L.	9,	90.	and	his	a.	suggestions	hide
	P.	L.	9,	162.	to	hide	me,	and	the	d.	intent
	P.	L.	10,	283.	anarchy	of	Chaos,	damp	and	d.
	P.	L.	10,	371.	this	portentous	bridge,	the	d.
	P.	L.	10,	438.	many	a	d.	league,	reduced	in
	P.	L.	10,	457.	raised	from	their	rf.	divan
	P.	L.	10,	594.	at	Hell's	d.	threshold	to	have	sat
	P.	L.	10,	067.	with	terror	through	the	d.
	P.	L.	11,	478.	appeared,	sad,	noisome,	d.
	P.	L.	11,	743.	the	thickened	sky	like	a	a.	ceiling
	P.	L.	11,	809.	the	only	son	of	light	in	ad.	age
	P.	R.	1,	41.	thick	clouds	and	d.	tenfold	involved
	P.	R.	1,	194.	with	d.	shades	and	rocks
	P.R.	1,	434.	thy	answers,	what	but	d..	ambiguous
	P.	R.	3,	318.	of	Caucasus,	and	d.	Iberian	dales
	P.	R.	4,	456.	the	earth's	d.	basis	underneath
	S.	A.	2.	lend	thy	guiding	hand	to	these	d.	steps
	S.	A.	75.	d.	in	light,	exposed	to	daily	fraud
	S.	A.	80.	d.,	d.,	d.,	amid	the	blaze	of	noon
	S.	A.	86.	the	sun	to	me	is	d.	and	silent	as	the
	S.	A.	154.	prison	within	prison	inseparably	d.
	S.	A.	591.	that	these	d.	orbs	no	more	shall	treat
	C.	197.	in	thy	d.	lantern	thus	close	up	the	stars
	C.	383.	he	that	hides	a	d.	soul	and	foul	thoughts
	C.	500.	how	couldst	thou	find	this	d.	sequestered
	L.	101.	the	eclipse,	and	rigged	with	curses	d.
	L'A.	10.	in	d.	Cimmerian	desert	ever	dwell
	S.	19,	2.	half	my	days	in	this	d.	world
	H.	123.	and	cast	the	d.	foundations	deep
	H.	219.	in	vain	with	timbreled	anthems	d.
	P.	7.	swallowed	up	in	d.
	P.	33.	my	sorrows	are	too	d.	for	day	to	know
	D.	F.	I.	30.	corse	corrupts	in	earth's	d.	womb
	V.	Ex.	71.	in	Time's	d.	prospective	glass
	Barked.	C.	730.	the	winged	air	d.	with	plumes
	Darken.	P.	L.	6,	57.	and	clouds	began	to	d.
	Darkened.-?.	L.	1,	343.	and	d.	all	the	land
	P.	L.	1,	699.	d.	so.	yet	shone	above	them	all
	P.	L.	2,	491.	scowls	o'er	the	d.	landscape	snow
	P.	L.	9,	1054.	and	their	minds	how	a.
	Darkens.-P.	L.	1,	501.	and	when	night	d.
	Darker.-P.	L.	2,	720.	grew	d.	at	their	frown
	P.	L.	5,	646.	night	comes	not	there	in	d.	veil
	T>arkest.	II	P.	33.	all	in	a	robe	of	d.	grain
	Darklsh.-C.	681.	the	leaf	was	d.	and	had
	Darkling.-P.	L.	3,	39.	the	wakeful	bird	singsd.
	Darkness.	P.	L.	1,	63.	no	light,	but	rather	<*
	P.	L.	1,	72.	in	utter	d.;	and	their	portion	set
	P.	L.	1,	391.	and	with	their	d.	durst	affront
	P.	L.	1,	659.	nor	the	Abyss	long	under	d.	cover
	P.	L.	2,	220.	this	horror	will	grow	mild,	this	d.
	P.	L.	2,	263.	this	deep	world	of	d.	do	we	dread
	P.	L.	2,	266.	and	with	the	majesty	of	d.	round
	P.	L.	2,	269.	as	he	our	d.,	cannot	we	his	light
	P.	L.	2,	377.	attempting;	or	to	sit	in	d.	here
	P.	L.	2,	754.	in	d.,	while	thy	head	flames	thick
	P.	L.	2,	958.	wh	ich	way	the	nearest	coast	of	d.
	P.	L.	2,	984.	to	her	original	d.	and	your	sway
	P.	L.	3,	16.	through	utter	and	through	middle	d.
	P.	L.	3,	256.	and	show	the	Powers	of	D.	bound
	P.	L.	3,	421.	from	Chaos	and	the	inroad	of	D.
	P.	L.	8,	639.	where	bounds	were	set	to	d.
	P.	L.	3,	712.	till	at	his	second	bidding	d.	fled
	P.	L.	4,	666.	lest	total	d.	should	by	night	regain
	P.	L.	5,	179.	who	out	of	d.	called	up	light
	P.	L.	5,	614.	falls	into	utter	d.,	deep	ingulfed
	P.	L.	6,	6.	where	light	and	d.,	in	perpetual
	P.	L.	6,	10.	at	the	other	door	obsequious	d.
	P.	L.	6,	11.	though	d.	there	might	well	seem
	P.	L.	6,	142.	and	whelmed	thy	legions	under	d.
	P.	L.	6,	407.	inducing	d.,	grateful	truce	imposed
	P.	L.	6,	715.	pursue	these	sons	of	d.
	P.	L.	6,	739.	to	chains	of	d.	and	the	undying
	P.	L.	7,	27.	in	d.,	and	with	dangers	compassed
	P.	L.	7,	233.	d.	profound	covered	the	abyss
	P.	L.	7,	250.	light	from	d.	by	the	hemisphere
	P.	L.	7,	251.	Light	the	Day,	and	D.	Night
	P.	L.	7,	255.	exhaling	first	from	d.	they	beheld
	P.	L.	7,	352.	and	light	from	d.	to	divide
	P.	L.	9,	64.	continued	nights	he	rode	with	d.
	P.	L.	10,	383.	thus	the	Prince	of	D.	answered
	P.	L.	10,	394.	descend	through	d.,	on	your	road
	P.	L.	10,	745.	I	solicit	thee	from	d.	to	promote
	P.	L.	11,	204.	why	in	the	east	d.	ere	day's
	P.	L.	12,	187.	d.	must	overshadow	all	his
	P.	L.	12,	188.	palpable	d.,	and	blot	out	three	days
	P.	L.	12,	207.	d.	defends	between	till	morning
	P.	L.	12,	271.	from	Heaven,	enlightener	of	my	d.
	P.	L.	12,	473.	first	brought	forth	light	out	of	d.
	P.	R.	4,	397.	d.	now	rose,	as	daylight	sunk
	P.	R.	4,	441.	mischief	done,	the	Prince	of	D.
	S.	A.	99.	as	in	the	land	of	d.	yet,	in	light
	S.	A.	159.	in	real	d.	of	the	body	dwells
	S.	A.	693.	but	yield	to	double	d.	nigh	at	hand
	C.	132.	of	Stygian	d.	spets	her	thickest	gloom
	C.	194.	and	envious	d.,	ere	they	could	return
	C.	204.	yet	nought	but	single	d.	do	I	find
	C.	252.	the	raven-down	of	D.	till	it	smiled
	C.	278.	dim	d.,	and	this	leafy	labyrinth
	C.	335.	in	double	night	of	d.,	and	of	shades
	L'A.	6.	where	brooding!),	spreads	his	jealous
	L'A.	50.	scatters	the	rear	of	d.	thin
	M.	W.	10.	to	house	with	d.,	and	with	death
	Darksome.-P.	L.	2,	973.	this	d.	desert
	P.	L.	4,	232.	which	from	his	d.	passage
	P.	L.	5,	225.	scaped	through	the	d.	gulf
	P.	L.	12.	185.	a	d.	cloud	of	locusts	swarming
	H.	14.	cho.se	with	us	ad.	house	of	mortal	clay
	Dark-	veiled.	-C.	129.	d.-t.	Cotytto!	to	whom
	Darling.	-P.	L.	2,	373.	when	his	d.	sons
	P.	L.	2,	870.	thy	d.,	without	end
	Dart.	-P.	L.	2,	672.	and	shook	a	dreadful	d.
	P.	L.	2,	702.	or	with	one	stroke	of	this	d.
	P.	L.	2,	729.	that	mortal	d.	against	thy	father's
	P.	L.	2,	786.	brandishing	his	fatal	d.
	P.	L.	2,	854.	ready	stands	to	interpose	his	d.
	P.	L.	11,	491.	triumphant	Death	his	d.	shook
	P	L.	11,	668.	defend	with	d.	and	javelin
	Darted.-P.	L.	9,	1036.	of	Eve,	whose	eyed.
	Darts.	-P.	L.	1,	568.	d.	his	experienced	eye
	P.	L.	6,	213.	the	dismal	hiss	of	fiery	d.
	P.	L.	8,	62.	and	from	about	her	shot	d.	of	desire
	P.	L.	12,	492.	and	quench	his	fiery	d.
	P.	L.	12,	536.	bestuck	with	slanderous	d.
	P.	R.	4,	366.	(for	all	his	d.	were	spent)
	P.	R.	4,	424.	some	bent	at	thee	their	fiery	d.
	Darwen.-S.	16,7.	while	D.	stream,	with	blood
	Dash.	-P.	L.	2,	114.	to	perplex	and	d.
	P.	L.	6,	488.	mischief	as	shall	d.	to	pieces
	P.	L.	10,	577.	to	d.	their	pride	and	joy
	P.	R.	4,	149.	or	as	a	stone	that	shall	to	pieces	d.
	P.	R.	4,	559.	thou	chance	to	d.	thy	foot
	S.	A.	1240.	or	swing	thee	in	the	air,	then	d.	thee
	Dashed.-P.	R.	4,	19.	though	all	to	shivers	d.
	C.	451.	and	noble	grace	that	d.	brute	violence
	Date.-P.	L.	12,	649.	ages	6f	endless	d.
	P.	R.	4,	392.	for	no	d.	prefixed	directs	me
	C.	362.	what	need	a	man	forestall	his	d.	of	grief
	U.C.	II.	29.	obedient	to	the	moon	he	spent	hisd.
	Daughter.	-P.	L.	2,	817.	dear	d.,	since	thou
	P.	L.	2,	870.	beseems	thy	d.	and	thy	darling
	P.	L.	4,	660.	d.	of	God	and	man
	P.	L.	9,	291.	d.	of	God	and	man,	immortal	Eve
	P.	L.	9,	653.	and	left	that	command	sole	d.
	P.	L.	10,	353.	till	Sin,	his	fair	enchanting	d.
	P.	L.	10,	384.	d.,	and	thou	son	and	grandchild
	P.	L.	10.	708.	but	Discord	first,	d.	of	Sin
	P.	R.	3,	842.	his	d.,	sought	by	many	prowest
	S.A.221.	that	I	sought	to	wed	the	d.	of	an	infidel
	C.	61.	who	knows	not	Circe,	the	d.	of	the	Sun


CONCORDANCE	TO	MILTON'S	POETICAL	WORKS.
	P.	L.	8,	646.	he	d.	not	nigh	unheard
	P.	L.	8,	646.	the	angel	bright,	ere	he	d.	nigh
	P.	L.	4,	861.	now	d.	they	nigh	the	western	point
	P.	L.	6,	82.	he	d.	nigh,	and	to	me	held
	P.	L.	6,	710.	d.	after	him	the	third	part
	P.	L.	6,	798.	to	final	battle	d.,	disdaining	flight
	P.	L.	7,	144.	d.	many	whom	their	place	Knows
	P.	L.	7,	480.	as	a	line,	their	long	dimension	d.
	P.	L.	8,	284.	I	first	d.	air,	and	first	beheld
	P.	L.	9,	434.	nearer	he	d.,	and	many	a	walk
	P.	L.	9,	678.	I	nearer	d.	to	gaze,	when	from
	P.	L.	9,	739.	the	hour	of	noon	d.	on,	and	waked
	P.	L.	10.	629.	know	not	that	I	called	and	d.
	P.	L.	11,	238.	and	the	Archangel	soon	d.	nigh
	P	L.	11.	846.	of	the	fresh	wave	largely	d.
	S.	A.	736.	though	the	fact	more	evil	d.
	S.	A.	1596.	occasions	d.	me	early	to	this	city.
	8.	A.	I*i60.	he	shook,	till	down	they	came,	and	d
	II	P.	107.	d.	iron	tears	down	Pluto's	cheek
	Dried.-?.	L.	8,	256.	his	beams	the	sun	soon	d.
	P.	R.	4,	433.	d.	the	wet	from	drooping	plant
	Drift.	-P.	R.	3,	4.	weak	arguing	and	fallacious	d.
	S.	17,	6.	the	d.	of	states	hard	to	be	spelled
	Drink.	P.	L.	6,	344.	for	d.	the	grape	she
	P.	L.	5,	637.	they	d.,	and	in	communion
	P.	L.	7,	862.	made	porous	to	receive	and	d.
	P.	L.	9,	838.	derived	from	nectar,	d.	of	gods
	P.	L.	10,	728.	all	that	I	eat	ord.	or	shall	oeget
	P.	R.	1,	340.	and	to	d.	go	far
	P.	R	8,	289.	amber	stream,	the	d.	of	none
	P.	R	4,	690.	the	fount	of	live	ambrosial	d.
	S.	A.	657.	whose	d.	was	from	the	liquid	brook
	C.	722.	d.	the	clear	stream
	8.	14,	14.	d.	thy	fill	of	pure	immortal	streams
	Drinks.-P.	L.	2,	584.	whereof	who	d.
	P.	L.	5,	451.	thus	when	with	meats	and	d.
	P.	L.	11,473.	intemperance	more	in	meatsandd.
	P.	R	2,	265.	meats	and	d.,	nature's	refreshment
	8.	A.	541.	desire	of	wine	and	all	delicious	d.
	S.	A.	554.	and	strongest	d.	our	chief	support
	C.	527.	the	visage	quite	transforms	of	him	that	d
	Drinkest.-?.	L.	11,	532.	thou	eat'st	and	d.
	Drive.-	P.	L.	1,	260.	will	not	d.	us	hence
	P.	L.	2,	366.	and	d.,	as	we	were	driven
	P.	L.	2.	3H7.	if	not	d.,	seduce	them	to	our	party
	P.	L.	3,	438.	where	Chinese^	A.	with	sails
	F.	L.	4,	155.	able	to	d.	all	sadness	but	despair
	P.	L.	6,	52.	d.	them	out	from	God	and	bliss
	P.	L.	6,	715.	these	sons	of	darkness	d.	them	out
	P.	L.	7,	32.	but	d.	far	off	the	dissonance
	P.	L.	10,	290.	together	d.	mountains	of	ice
	P.	L.	11,	105.	remorse	d.	out	the	sinful	pair
	P.	L.	11,	853.	thence	the	rapid	currents	a.
	P.	R	1,	153.	and	d.	him	back	to	Hell
	D.	F.	1.	68.	or	d.	away	the	pestilence
	U.	C.	II.	15.	to	d.	the	time	away	he	sickened
	Driven.-?.	L.	1,	223.	the	flames	d.	back	ward
	P.	L.	2,	86.	to	dwell	here,	d.	out	from	bliss
	P.	L.	2,	366.	and	drive,	as	we	were	d.
	P.	L.	2,	772.	d.	head-long	from	the	pitch
	P.L.	3,	677.	justly	hath	d.	out	his	rebel	foes
	P.	L.	4,	753.	by	thee	adulterous	lust	was	d.
	P.	L.	6,	738.	to	their	prepared	ill	mansion	d.
	P.L.	7,	67.	but	the	evil,	soon	d.	back,	redounded
	P.	L.	7,	185.	d.	out	the	ungodly	from	his	sight
	P.	L.	9,	62.	full	of	anguish,	d.	the	space	of	seven
	P.	L.	10,	240.	he	had	returned,	with	fury	d.
	P.	L.	10,	683.	thence	by	Saturn	d.	and	Ops
	P.	L.	10,	843.	fears	and	horrors	hast	thou	d.
	P.	L.	10,	1075.	whose	thwart	flame	d.	down
	P.	L.	11,	842.	d.	by	a	keen	north	wind
	P.	R	1,	860.	but	was	d.	with	them	from	bliss
	Drives.	-P.	L.	4,	184.	whom	hunger	d.	to	seek
	P.	L.	11,	646.	from	forage	d.	a	herd	of	beeves
	Driving.	-V.	Ex.	5.	d.	dumb	Silence	from
	C.	45i.	d.	far	off	each	thing	of	sin	and	guilt
	Drizzling.	-P.	L.	6,	645.	no	d.	shower
	Dromedaries.-?.	R	3,	335.	camels	and	d.
	Drone.	-P.	L.	7.	490.	feeds	her	husband	d,
	8.	A.	567.	a	bTrdenous	d.
	Droop.	-P.	L.	11,	178.	laborious,	till	dav	d.
	S.	A.	594.	so	much	I	feel	my	genial	spirits	d-
	Drooping.	-P.	L.	1,	328.	tread	us	down	thus	d.
	P.	L.	6,	496.	their	d.	cheer
	P.	L.	9,	430.	hung	d.	unsustained
	P.	R	4,	434.	from	d.	plant	or	d.	tree
	C.	812.	will	bathe	the	d.	spirits	in	delight
	L.	169.	and	yet	anon	repairs	his	d.	head
	Drop.-P.	L.	2,	607.	with	one	small	d.	to	lose
	P.	L.	3,	25.	so	thick	a	d.	serene	hath	quenched
	P.	L.	11,	635.	thou	d.	into	thy	mother's	lap
	Dropped	or	Dropt.	P.	L.	1,	745.	d.	from	the
	P.	L.	2,	113.	though	his	tongue	d.	manna
	P.	L.	6,	839.	down	their	idle	weapons	d.
	P.	L.	7,	406.	waved	coats	d.	with	gold
	P.	L.	9,	893.	the	garland	.	.	.	down	d.
	P.	L.	12,	645.	tears	they	d^but	wip-d	them
	P.	R	1,	324.	and	d.	not	here	his	carcase
	C.	840.	d.	in	ambrosial	oils	till	she	revived
	L.	191.	now	was	d.	into	the	western	bay
	P.	16.	d.	with	odorous	oil	down	his	fair	eyes-
	Dropping.	P.	L.	4,	630.	and	those	d.	gums
	P.	L.	9,	582.	of	ewe	or	goat	d.	with	milk
	C.	106.	d.	oaours.	d.	wine
	Drops.-P.	L.	2,	933.	d.	ten	thousand	fathom
	P.	L.	5,	23.	what	d.	the	myrrh
	P.	L.	5,	132.	other	precious	d.	that	ready	stood
	P.	L.	7,	292.	d.	on	dust	conglobing	from	the	dry
	P.	L.	9,	1002.	sad	d.	wept	at	completing
	P.	L.	11.	416.	from	the	well	of	life	three	d.
	C.	912.	d.	that	from	my	fountain	pure
	II	P.	130.	with	minute-d.	from	off	the	eave*
	Dropsies.	P.	L.	11,	488.	d.	and	asthmas
	Dross.	P.	L.	1,	704.	and	scummed	the	bullion	d.
	P.	R	3,	29.	treasures	and	all	gain	esteem	as	d,
	T.	6.	and	merely	mortal	d.
	Drossiest.-?.	L.	5,	442.	d.	ore	to	perfect	gold
	Drouth.	P.L,	7,	66.	whose	d.	yet	scarce	allayed
	P.	R.	1,	325.	pined	with	hunger	and	with	d_
	P.	R	3,	274.	and	inaccessible,	the	Arabian	d.
	C.	66.	to	quench	the	d.	of	Phoebus
	C.	928.	summer	d.	or	singed	air
	Drove.-P.	L.	1,	41&	d.	them	thence	to	hell
	P.	L.	4,	169.	the	fishy	fume	that	d.	him
	P.	L.	6,	831.	his	impious	foes	right	onward	d.
	P.	L.	6,	858.	d.	them	before	him	thunderstruck
	P.	L.	10,	287.	together	crowded	d.
	PJj.	11,	186.	birds	of	gayest	plume	before	himd.
	P.	L.	11,	739.	all	the	clouds	together	d.
	P.	R.	1,	90.	his	fierce	thunder	d.	us	to	the	deep
	S.	A.	209.	proportioned	ill,	d.	me	transverse
	C.	115.	with	all	their	finny	d.
	L.	27.	we	d.	afield,	and	both	together	heard
	Drovest.-P.	L.	3,.	396.	o'er	the	necks	thoud.
	Drown.	P.	L.	11,	894.	nor	rain	to	d.	the	world
	Drowned.	P.	L.	7,	36.	d.	both	harp	and	voice
	P.	L.	11,	13.	to	restore	the	race	of	mankind	d.
	P.	L.	11.	757.	and	sorrow	a	flood,	thee	also	d.
	Drowse.-P.	L.	11.	131.	wakeful	than	to	d.
	Drowsed.	P	L.	8,	289.	seized	my	d.	sense
	Drowsiness.	A.	61.	when	d.	hath	locked	up
	Drowsy.	C.	553.	gave	respite	to	thed.	frighted
	II	P.	83.	or	the	bellman's	d.	charm
	V.	Ex.	61.	thy	d.	nurse	hath	sworn
	Drudge.-P.	L.	2,	732.	ordained	his	d.
	S.	A.	573.	here	rather	let	me	d.	and	earn
	S.	A.	1338.	although	their	d.,	to	be	their	fool
	S.	A.	1393.	at	the	public	mill	our	d.
	Dmdging.-L'A.	105.	how	the	d.	goblin	sweat
	Drugged.-?.	L.	10,	568.	d.	as	oft	with
	Drugs.	P.	L.	2,	640.	bring	their	spicy	d.
	C.	255.	culling	then-	potent	herbs	and	d.
	Druids.	-L.53.	your	old	bards,	the	famous	D.,lie
	Drums.	P.	L.	1,	394.	though	for	the	noise	of	d.
	Drunk.	-S.	A.	1670.	d.	with	idolatry,	d.	with
	Dry.-P.	L.	1,	227.	till	on	d.	land	he	lights
	P.	L.	2,	898.	for	hot,	cold,	moist,	and	d.
	P.	L.	2,	940.	neither	sea,	nor	good	d.	land
	P.	L.	8,	662.	moist	and	d.,	o'er	sea	and	land
	P.	L.	7,	284.	and	let	d.	land	appear
	P.	L.	7,	292.	on	dust	conglobing,	from	the	d.
	P.	L.	7,	304.	ere	God	had	bid	the	ground	be	d.


CONCORDANCE	TO	MILTON'S	POETICAL	WORKS.
	313
	P.	L.	9,	1112,	together	s.	to	(.ird	their	waist
	Sewers.	P.	L.	9,	38.	up	in	hall	with	s.	and
	P.	L.	9,	446.	where	houses	thick	and	s.	annoy
	Sex.	P.	L.	1,	424.	can	either	s.	assume	or	both
	P.	L.	4,	296.	though	both	not	equal	as	their	s.
	P.	L.	8,	471.	manlike	but	different	s.	so	lovely
	P-	L.	9,	574.	nor	aught	but	food	discerned	or	s.
	P.	L.	9,	822.	so	to	add	what	wants	in	female	s.
	P.	L.	10,	898.	and	strait	conjunction	with	this	s.
	P.	L.	10,	956.	frailty	and	infirmer	s.	forgiven
	P.	R.	3,	341.	to	win	the	fairest	of	her	s.
	S.	A.	711.	female	of	s.	it	seems
	S.	A.	774.	weakness	.	.	.	incident	to	all	our	s.
	S.	A.	1026.	was	lavished	on	their	s.	that	inward
	Sexes.	P.	L.	8,	151.	which	two	great	s.
	Sextile.	P.	L.	10,	659.	in	s.	square,	and
	Shackles.	S.	A.	1326.	me	out	with	s.	tired
	Shade.	P.	L.	3,	557.	of	night's	extended	s.
	P.	L.	3,	615.	sight	no	obstacle	found	here	nor	s.
	P.	L.	4,	138.	insuperable	height	of	loftiest	s.
	P.	L.	4,	141.	s.	above	s.	a	woody	theatre
	P.	L.	4,	245.	and	where	the	unpierced	s.
	P.	L.	4,	325.	under	a	tuft	of	s.	that	on	a	green
	P.	L.	4,	451.	found	myself	reposed	under	a	s.
	P.	L.	4,	532.	by	fountain	side	or	in	thick	s.
	P.	L.	4,	572.	but	under	s.	lost	sight	of	him
	P.	L.	4,	693.	of	thickest	covert	was	inwoven	s.
	P.	L.	4,	868.	Ithuriel	and	Zephon	through	the	s.
	P.	L.	5,	203.	fountain	or	fresh	s.
	P.	L.	5,	230.	in	what	bower	or	s.	thou	find'st
	P.	L.	5,	277.	six	wings	he	wore	to	s.	his
	P.	L.	5,	643.	whence	light	and	s.	spring	both
	P.	L.	6,	666.	ground	they	fought	in	dismal	s.
	P.	L.	6,	828.	with	dreadful	s.	contiguous	and
	P.	L.	8,	653.	up	to	heaven	from	the	thick	s.
	P.	L.	9,	185.	not	yet	inr	horrid	s.	or	dismal	den
	P.	L.	9,	1106.	a	pillared	s.	high	overarched
	P.	L.	9,	1110.	loop-holes	cut	through	thickest	s.
	P.	L.	10,	249.	thou	my	s.	inseparable	must
	P.	L.	10,	716.	in	part	though	hid	in	gloomiest	s.
	P.	L.	11,	78.	blissful	bowers	of	amaranthine	s.
	P.	R.	2,	242.	where	still	from	s.	to	s.	the	Son	of
	P.	R.	2,	292.	and	entered	soon	the	s.	high
	P.	R.	2,	339.	space	under	the	broadest	s.
	S.	A.	3.	for	yonder	bank	hath	choice	of	sun	ors.
	S.	A.	1734.	and	plant	it	round	with	s.	of	laurel
	L.	24.	fed	the	same	flock	by	fountain,	s.	and	rill
	L.	68.	to	sport	with	Amaryllis	in	the	s.
	L'A.	96.	dancing	in	the	chequered	s.
	H.	188.	the	nymphs	in	twilight	s.
	Shaded.	P.	L.	6,	885.	s.	with	branching	palm
	Shades.	P.	L.	1,	65.	of	sorrow,	doleful	s.
	P.	L.	1,	303.	where	the	Etrurian	s.
	P.	L.	2,	621.	fens,	bogs,	dens,	and	s.	of	death
	P.	L.	3,	734.	Adam's	abode	those	lofty	s.	his
	P.	L.	4,	239.	mazy	error	under	pendent	s.
	P.	L.	4,	1015.	with	him	fled	the	s.	of	night
	P.	L.	7,	331.	and	love	to	haunt	her	sacred	s.
	P.	L.	9,	266.	that	gave	thee	being	still	s.	thee
	P.	L.	9,	408.	hid	among	sweet	flowers	and	s.
	P.	L.	10,	861.	other	echo	late	I	taught	your	s.
	P.	L.	11,	270.	these	happy	walks	and	s.	fit
	P.	R.	1,	194.	and	with	dark	s.	and	rocks
	P.	R.	1,	296.	pathless	desert	dusk	with	horrid	s.
	P.	R.	4,	243.	suburban,	studious	walks	and	s.
	P.	R.	4,	404.	under	some	concourse	of	s.
	C.62.	and	in	thick	shelter	of	black	s.	embowered
	C.	127.	which	these	dun	s.	will	ne'er	report
	C.	266.	whom	certain	these	rough	s.	did	never
	C.	335.	in	double	night	of	darkness	and	of	s.
	C.	429.	grots	and	caverns	shagged	with	horrid	s.
	C.	521.	immured	in	cypress	s.	a	sorcerer	dwells
	C.	580.	night,	and	s..'	how	are	ye	joined
	C.	984.	along	the	crisped	s.	and	bowers
	A.	42.	which	I	full	olt	amidst	these	s.	alone
	L.137.s.and	wanton	winds	and	gushing	brooks
	L'A.	8.	under	ebon	s.	and	low-browed	rocks
	II	P.	28.	and	in	secret	s.	of	woody	Ida's	inmost
	S.	13,	14.	met	in	the	milder	s.	of	purgatory
	Shadest.	P.	L.	3,	377.	but	when	thou	s.	the
	Shadier.	P.	L.	4,	705.	in	s.	bower	more
	Shadiest.	P.	L.	3,	39.	and	in	s.	covert	hid
	Shading.	P.	L.	3,	57.	s.	the	fount	of	life
	P.	L.	3,	509.	by	model	or	by	s.	pencil	drawn
	P.	R.	3,	221.	a	kind	of	s.	cool	interposition
	Shadow.-P.	L.	2,	669.	might	be	called	that	s.
	P.	L.	3,	120.	so	without	least	impulse	or	s.
	P.	L.	3,	619.	s.	from	body	opaque	can	fall
	P.	L.	4,	470.	where	no	s.	stays	thy	coming
	P.	L.	5,	575.	though	what	if	earth	be	but	the	s.
	P.	L.	9,	12.	sin	and	her	s.	death	and	misery
	P.	L.	10,264.	whom	thus	the	meagre	s.	answered
	P.	R.	4,	70.	where	the	s.	both	way	falls
	Shadowed.	P.	L.	5,	284.	s.	from	either	heel
	P.	L.	8,	311.	all	real	as	the	dream	had	lively	s.
	P.	L.	9.	1055.	a	veil	had	s.	them	from	knowing
	Shadowing.	P.	L.	6,	554.	every	side	with	s.
	P.	L.	6,	655.	s.	and	oppressed	whole	legions
	Shadows.	P.	L.	12,	233.	by	types	and	s.
	C.	207.	of	calling	shapes	and	beckoning	s.	dire
	C.	470.	such	are	those	thick	and	gloomy	s.	damp
	II	P.	134.	and	s.	brown	that	Sylvan	loves
	H.	206.	hath	left	in	s.	dread
	H.	232.	the	flocking	s.	pale
	Shadowy.	P.	L.	4,	776.	with	her	s.	cone
	P.	L.	5,	43.	s.	sets	off	the	faoe	of	things
	P.	L.	5,	686.	ere	yet	dim	night	her	s.	cloud
	P.	L.	12,	291.	save	by	those	s.	expiations	weak
	P.	L.	12,	303.	disciplined	from	s.	types	to	truth
	P.	R.	4,	399.	brought	in	lowering	night	her	s.
	L'A.	108.	his	s.	flail	hath	threshed	the	corn
	Shady.	-P.	L.	3,	28.	clear	spring	or	s.	grove
	P.	L.	4,	720.	thus	at	their	s.	lodge	arrived	both
	P.	L.	5,	137.	from	under	s.	arborous	roof
	P.	L.	5,	367.	in	yonder	&	bower	to	rest
	P.	L.	8,	262.	hill,	dale	and	s.	woods	and	sunny
	P.	L.	8,	286.	green	s.	bank	profuse	of	flowers
	P.	L.	9,	277.	as	in	a	s.	nook	I	stood	behind
	P.	L.	9,	420.	by	fountain	or	by	s.	rivulet
	P.	L.	9,	1037.	her	hand	he	seized	and	to	a	s.
	P.	R.	1,	304.	on	hill	sometimes	anon	on	s.	vale
	C.	38.	the	nodding	horror	of	whose	s.	brows
	A.	88.	under	the	s.	roof	of	branching	elm
	H.	77.	and	though	the	s.	gloom
	Shafts.	P.	L.	1,	176.	hath	spent	his	s.
	P.	R.	3,	305.	they	issue	forth	steel	bows	and	s.
	Shagged.	C.	429.	caverns	s.	with	horrid	shades
	Shaggy.	P.	L.	4,	224.	but	through	the	s.hill
	P.	L.	6,	645.	waters,	woods	and	by	the	s.	tops
	L.	54.	nor	on	the	s.	top	of	Mona	high
	Shake.	P.	L.	6,	712.	the	rapid	wheels	that	s.
	C.	797.	and	s.	till	all	thy	magic	structures
	H.	162.	shall	from	the	surface	to	the	centre	s.
	Shaked.	D.F.I.	44.of	s.	Olympus	by	mischance
	Shaken.	P.	L.	9,	287.	can	by	his	fraud	be	s.
	Shakes.	P.	L.	2,	711.	from	his	horrid	hair	s.
	P.	L.	7,	466.	and	rampant	s.	his	brinded	mane
	A.	58.	or	tasselled	horn	s.	the	high	thicket
	Shakespeare.	L'A.	133.	or	sweetest	S.	fancy's
	W.	S.	1.	what	needs	my	S.	for	his	bones
	Shallow.	P.	L.	9,	544.	and	s.	to	discern	half
	P.	R.	4,	327.	versed	in	books	and	s.	in	himself
	C.	514.	though	so	esteemed	by	s.	ignorance
	L'A.	76.	s.	brooks	and	rivers	wide
	S.	1,	6.	first	heard	before	the	s.	cuckoo's	bill
	F.ofC.	12.	s.	Ed	wards	andScotchWhat-d'ye-call
	Shallow-searching.	A.	41.	s.-s.	fame	hath
	Shame.	P.	L.	1,	115.	an	ignominy	and	s.
	P.	L.	2,58.accept	this	dark	opprobrious	den	of	s.
	P.	L.	2,	496.	s.	to	men,	devil	with	devil	damned
	P.	L.	2,	564.	apathy	and	glory	and	s.
	P.	L.	4,	82.	my	dread	of	s.	among	the	spirits
	P.	L.	4,	313.	guilty	s.	dishonest	s.	of	nature's
	P.	L.	6,	340.	for	anguish	and	despite	and	s.
	P.	L.	9,	255.	seeks	to	work	us	woe	and	s.	by	sly
	P.	L.	9,	312.	while	s.	thou	looking	on	s.	to	be
	P.	L.	9,	3S4.	so	bent	the	more	shall	s.	him
	P.	L.	9,	1058.	naked	left	to	guilty	s.
	P.	L.	9,	1079.	whence	evil	store	even	s.	the	last
	P.	L.	9,	1094.	to	s.	obnoxious	and	unseemliest
	P.	L.	9,	1097.	that	this	new-comer	s.	there	sit
	P.	L.	9,	1114.	to	hide	their	guilt	and	dreaded	s.