PREFACE. In this translation of a work rich in the raciest beauties and defects of an author long since made known to the British public, the present writer has striven to recast the trenchant humour, the scornful eloquence, the epigrammatic dash of Mr. Michelet, in language not all unworthy of such a word-master. How far he has succeeded others may be left to judge. In one point only is he aware of... more...

My dear Cornwall Hollis: With the Allied cause crumbling away it is high time we thought of aesthetics. As a triste jest I said that to you the other day, and your reply was a plea to let you write a preface for a new edition of my forgotten Sonnets from the Patagonian. I am at last persuaded, and who but you should do the preface? With Mitteleuropa a fact it should be apparent to any honest, thinking... more...

I REBIRTH   To me no mortal but a spirit blest,  A Light-girt messenger of Love art thou—  The radiant star of Hope upon thy brow.  The thrice-pure fire of Love within thy breast!  Thou comest to me as a heavenly guest,  As God's fulfilment of the purest vow  Love's heart e'er made—thou com'st to show e'en now   The Infinite, th' Eternal and the Best!... more...

WITH OMARI sat with Omar by the Tavern door,Musing the mystery of mortals o'er,And soon with answers alternate we stroveWhether, beyond death, Life hath any shore."Come, fill the cup," said he. "In the fire of Spring Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling. The Bird of Time has but a little way To flutter—and the Bird is on the Wing.""The Bird of Time?" I answered.... more...

AFTERWARD. There is no vacant chair. The loving meet—A group unbroken—smitten, who knows how?One sitteth silent only, in his usual seat;We gave him once that freedom. Why not now? Perhaps he is too weary, and needs rest;He needed it too often, nor could weBestow. God gave it, knowing how to do so best.Which of us would disturb him? Let him be. There is no vacant chair. If he will takeThe mood... more...

PREFACES, like long sermons to fashionable congregations, are distasteful to most readers, and in no very high favor with us. A deep interest in the welfare of South Carolina, and the high esteem in which we held the better, and more sensible class of her citizens, prompted us to sit down in Charleston, some four years ago (as a few of our friends are aware), and write this history. The malady of her... more...

I. “ENGLAND.”IN THE CAMP. This is a leader’s tent.  “Who gathers here?”   Enter and see and listen.  On the groundMen sit or stand, enter or disappear,   Dark faces and deep voices all around. One answers you.  “You ask who gathers here?   Companions!  Generals we have none, nor chief.What need is there?  The plan is all so clear—  The future’s hope, the present’s grim... more...

THE JUTE INDUSTRY FROM SEED TO FINISHED CLOTH The five main fibres used for ordinary textile purposes are cotton, flax, jute, silk and wool; in this group jute has been considered in general as being of the least value, not only in regard to price, but also in regard to utility. It is only under phenomenal conditions which arise from a great upheaval such as that which took place during the... more...

HOW THE WHALE GOT HIS THROAT Nthe sea, once upon a time, O my Best Beloved, there was a Whale, and he ate fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the skate and his mate, and the mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel. All the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth—so! Till at last there was... more...

I. It is with diffidence that I offer a translation of Michael Angelo's sonnets, for the first time completely rendered into English rhyme, and that I venture on a version of Campanella's philosophical poems. My excuse, if I can plead any for so bold an attempt, may be found in this—that, so far as I am aware, no other English writer has dealt with Michael Angelo's verses... more...